This last lack grew with the passing hours to the size of a threatening hazard. As you may have guessed, I knew no more than a blind man the route I should take; knew no more of the whereabouts of Gilbert Town and Major Ferguson's rendezvous5 than that both were some eighty miles to the westward.
At the outset I had thought to feel out the way in general by cautious inquiry6 along the road; but when I came to consider of this, the risk of betraying my ignorance to those who followed me was too great to let me turn aside to any of the wayside houses; and as for chance passers-by, there were none—the rain kept all within doors.
So I was constrained7 to gallop8 on without pause; and throughout that comfortless afternoon and the scarce less miserable9 day which followed, there were no incidents to break the dull monotony of the blind race save these two; that once the clouds lifted enough to give me a glimpse of my pursuers in a far reach to the eastward10; and once again I had a sight of an awkward horseman in the road before me—saw him and tried to overtake him, and could not, for all his clumsy riding.
Now I was curious about this lone11 horseman ahead for more reasons than one, but chiefly because my glimpse of him seemed to show me the back of a man whom I made sure I had left safe behind in the British guard-house in Charlotte, to wit: the scoundrelly little pettifogger.
At first I scoffed12 at the idea. Saying he were free to leave Charlotte, how should he be riding post on my haphazard13 road to the westward? 'Twas against all reason, and yet the tittuping figure of which I had but a rain-veiled glimpse named itself Owen Pengarvin in spite of all the reasons I could bring to bear.
'Twas close on eventide of the second day, the early evening gloaming of a chill autumnal rain-day, and I had been since morning dubiously14 lost in the somber15 trackless forest, when an elfish cry rose, as it would seem, from beneath the very hoofs16 of my horse.
"God save the king!"
The bay shied suddenly, standing17 with nostrils18 a-quiver; and I had to look closely to make out the little brown dot of humanity clad in russet homespun crouching19 in the path, its childish eyes wide with fear and its lips parted to shrill20 again: "God save the king!"
I threw a stiff leg over the cantle and swung down to go on one knee to my stout21 challenger. I can never make you understand, my dears, how the sight of this helpless waif appearing thus unaccountably in the heart of the great forest mellowed22 and softened23 me. 'Twas a little maid, not above three or four years old, and with a face that Master Raphael might have taken as a pattern for one of his seraphs.
"What know you of the king, little one?" I asked.
"Gran'dad told me," she lisped. "If I was to see a soldier-man I must say, quick, 'God save the king,' or 'haps24 he'd eat me. Is—is you hungry, Mister Soldier-man?"
"Truly I am that, sweetheart; but I don't eat little maids. Where is your grandfather?"
"Ain't got any gran'favver; I said 'gran'dad.'"
"Well, your gran'dad, then; can you take me to him?"
"I don't know. 'Haps you'd eat him."
"No fear of that, my dear. Do I look as if I ate people?"
She gave me a long scrutiny25 out of the innocent eyes and then put up two little brown hands to be taken. "I tired" she said; and my sore heart went warm within me when I took her in my arms and cuddled her. After a long-drawn26 sigh of contentment, she said: "My name Polly; what's yours?"
"You may call me Jack27, if you please—Captain Jack, if that comes the easier. And now will you let me take you to your gran'dad?"
She nodded, and I spoke28 to the bay and mounted, still holding her closely in my arms.
"Tell me quickly which way to go, Polly," I said; for besides being, as I would fear, far out of the way to Gilbert Town, the last hilltop to the rear had given me another sight of my shadowing pursuers riding hard as if they meant to overtake me.
The little maid sat up straight on the saddle horn and looked about her as if to get her bearings.
"That way," she said, pointing short to the right; and I wheeled the horse into a blind path that wound in and out among the trees for a long half mile, to end at a little clearing on the banks of a small stream.
In the midst of the clearing was a rude log cabin; and in the open doorway29 stood a man bent30 and aged31, a patriarchal figure with white hair falling to his shoulders and a snowy beard such as Aaron might have worn. At sight of me the old watcher disappeared within the house, but a moment later he was out again, fingering the lock of an ancient Queen's-arm.
I drew rein32 quickly, and the little maid sat up and saw the musket33.
"Don't shoot, gran'dad!" she cried. "He's Cappy Jack, and he doesn't eat folkses."
At this the old man came to meet us, though still with the clumsy musket held at the ready.
"These be parlous34 times, sir," he said, half in apology, I thought. And then: "You have made friends with my little maid, and I owe you somewhat for bringing her safe home."
"Nay," said I; "the debt is mine, inasmuch as I have the little one for my friend. 'Tis long since I have held a trusting child in my arms, I do assure you, sir."
He bowed as grandly as any courtier. "I hope her trust is not misplaced, sir; though for the matter of that, we have little enough now to take or leave."
"You have given it all to the king?" said I, feeling my way as I had need to.
His eyes flashed and he drew himself up proudly.
"The king has taken all, sir, as you see," this with a wave of the hand to point me to the forlorn homestead. "There is naught35 left me save this poor hut and my little maid."
"'Taken,' you say? Then you are not of the king's side?"
He came a step nearer and faced me boldly. "Listen, sir: two of my sons were left on the bloody36 field of Camden, and the butcher Banastre Tarleton slew37 the other two at Fishing Creek38. A month since a band of roving savages39, armed with King George's muskets41, mind you, sir, came down upon us at Northby, and this little maid's mother—"
He stopped and choked; and the child looked up into my face with her blue eyes full of nameless terror. "Oh, I want my mammy!" she said. "Won't you find her for me, Cappy Jack?"
I slipped from the saddle, still clasping the little one tightly in my arms.
"Enough, sir," I said, when I could trust myself to speak. "This same King George's minions42 have made me a homeless outcast, too. I live but to give some counter stroke, if I may."
"Ha!" said the old man, starting back; "then you are for our side? But your uniform—"
"Is that of an Austrian officer, my good sir, which I should right gladly exchange for the buff and blue, but that I can serve the cause better in this."
He dropped the Queen's-arm, took the child from me and bade me welcome to his cabin and all it held. But I was not minded to make him a sharer in my private peril43.
"No," said I. "Tell me how I may find Gilbert Town and Major Ferguson's rendezvous, and I will ride whilst I can see the way."
He looked at me narrowly. "Ferguson left Gilbert Town some days since. If 'tis the place you seek, you are gone far out of your way; if 'tis the man—"
"'Tis the man," I cut in hastily.
The patriarch shook his head.
"If you be of our side, as you say, he will hang you out of hand."
"So I can make my errand good, I care little how soon he hangs me."
"And what may your errand be? Mayhap I can help you."
"It is to bring him to a stand till the mountain men can overtake him."
The old man trembled with excitement like a boy going into his first battle.
"Ah, if you could—if you could!" he cried. "But 'tis too late, now. Listen: his present camp is but three miles to the westward on Buffalo44 Creek. I was there no longer ago than the Wednesday. I—I made my submission45 to him—curse him—so that I might mayhap learn of his plans. He told me all; how that now he was safe; that the mountaineers were gone off from the fording of the Broad on a false scent46; that Tarleton with four hundred of the legion would soon be marching to his relief.
"I stole away when I could, and that night took horse and rode twenty miles to Tom Sumter's camp at Flint Hill—all to little purpose, I fear. Poor Tom is still desperately47 sick of his Fishing Creek wounds, and Colonel Lacey was the only officer fit to go after Shelby and the mountain men to set them straight. I should have gone myself, but—"
"Stay, my good friend," said I; "you go too fast for me. If Ferguson is still out of communication with the main at Charlotte, we may halt him yet."
The old man made a gesture of impatience48.
"'Tis a thing done because it is as good as done. The major will break camp and march to-morrow morning, and he can reach Charlotte at ease in two days. What with their losing of his trail, the mountain men are those same two days behind him."
"None the less, we shall halt him," said I. "Have you ever an inkhorn and a quill49 in your cabin?"
"Both; at your service, sir. But I can not understand—"
"We may call it the little maid's judgment50 on those who have made her fatherless. But for her stopping of me I should have come unprepared into the camp of the enemy. I am the bearer of a letter from Lord Cornwallis to this same Major Ferguson."
"You?—a bearer of Lord Cornwallis's despatches?" The old man put a blade's length between us and held the little one aloft as if he feared I might do her a mischief52. I laughed and bade him be comforted.
"'Tis a long story, and I may not take the time to tell it now. But a word will suffice. Like yourself, I made my submission—and for the same purpose. My Lord accepted it and made me his despatch-bearer because he thought I knew the way to Ferguson when no one else knew it. But enough of this; time presses. Let me have ink and the quill."
The old man led the way into the cabin and put his writing tools at my disposal. Left to myself, I should have broken the seal of the packet; but my wise old ally, cool and collected now, showed me how to split the paper beneath the wax. Opened and spread before us on the rude slab53 table, the letter proved to be the briefest of military commands: a peremptory54 order to Ferguson to rejoin the main body at once, proceeding
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