A TRUE STORY OF THE REVOLUTION[V]

A TRUE STORY OF THE REVOLUTION[V]

By Everett T. Tomlinson

A boy’s story by a boy’s author, telling of a thrilling escape from “Tarleton’s men.”

“FATHER’S escaped! Moses has just brought me word,” said John Russell, as he ran to the steps of the broad veranda. His mother quickly rose from her chair and looked down at the eager boy on the steps below her. Her slight figure was trembling, and a bright red spot had appeared on each cheek.

“Are you sure, John?” she asked, in a low tone.

“Yes, sure! It seems that the British escort had gone but halfway to Charleston when a band of five Whigs met them. They had a bit of an argument, and the upshot of it was that father made off. Strange about these Whigs happening to meet them, wasn’t it?”

John, unable to restrain his feelings longer, threw his hat high in the air, and rushing up the steps, seized his “little mother” in his arms and began to dance with her about the porch.

“What’s that you say? Your father’s escaped?”

John quickly released his mother and turned to face the gruff-voiced Captain Heald of the British service, who had just come out of the open door. The boy’s manner instantly changed, although he could not conceal his exultation as he replied: “Yes, sir; he’s escaped! He had no fancy to spend any more time in the ‘provost’ at Charleston. It isn’t a fit place for vermin, to say nothing of human beings.”

“I ought to have hanged him, and you, too!” replied the captain. “It’s the only way to deal with such rebels!”

“Hanging, sir,” said John, “seems the thing your party do best; unless you have a still stronger fancy for quartering yourselves on your betters.”

“Fine parole you’ve kept!” sneered the captain. “I’ll warrant, if the truth were known, you yourself had a share in this escape of your father.”

“I’m under no parole not to help my father to freedom,” said John.

The captain looked at him angrily a moment, and then, without making any further reply, turned and went down the steps and across the lawn to join some of the soldiers who were quartered on the plantation.

“I beg you to be careful, John,” said his mother anxiously, when they were alone again. “You know that man can do whatever he pleases here.”

“No,” replied John, “he cannot frighten me with his bluster and his red coat.”

“But you must not provoke him. Tarleton has given him full command in this district, and he has already committed outrages that no British regular officer would venture on.”

In fact, the war in that region was largely a conflict of partisans native to the soil, and Tory Americans often committed against Whig Americans high-handed acts from which officers accustomed to the procedure of military law would have shrunk.

“Very well,” said John, laughing to reassure his mother. “He hasn’t any great cause for liking me, that’s a fact. I’ve let the pigs out of the pens and scared away the chickens, and told the negroes where to hide some of the stuff in the barns. But this last work is the worst—this sending word, as I did, by Moses to Dick Eddy to look out for father when he passed. Heald will never forgive me for that. I’m not afraid, though,” he added, as he left his mother and followed the captain across the lawn.

Even in his excitement the beautiful summer day had an influence to soothe him. All about him lay the fertile lands of Ridgefield, his father’s plantation, one of the most beautiful in all the South. Behind him was the great house in which he had been born, flanked by the quarters of the negroes and the spacious barns. Off on the left was a grove, and below the hill was the slow stream. John would have felt the sweet influences of the hour more but for the presence of thirty men in scarlet, who now were the virtual masters of the place.

Only a week earlier Captain Heald had somehow gained information that Major Russell and his son had left Sumter’s army for a brief visit home, so the Tory band had at once swooped down and captured both. John had been left on parole, and his father had escaped; but Ridgefield was now occupied by “Tarleton’s men,” and all its beauty for John was gone.

He stopped and watched the guards doing “sentry go” in the road and out by the grove beyond the house, and the longer he watched them the more helpless and angry he felt. “Great liberty this!” he muttered. “Shut up here like a pig in a pen! Not that there are many pigs left here now,” he added, smiling grimly. “Oh, well, I hope father’ll do something, now that he’s got away.”

“John,” said his mother, when he returned to the house, “Captain Heald is going to leave.”

“Good for Captain Heald! When is he going?”

“To-night. Lieutenant Mott is to be left in charge here.”

“He’s not as bad as the other. Where’s the captain going?”

“I think over to Fort Granby.”

“Humph! Probably to set some one on father’s tracks. He’ll never get him, though. Hello! Here comes the captain now, and he’s all dressed to leave!”

A colored man soon brought the captain’s horse, and as the officer swung himself lightly into the saddle, John, taking off his hat and bowing low, called out: “Good-bye, captain! We’ll speed the parting guest, although we can’t welcome the coming!”

Captain Heald made no reply, but turned on John a threatening look, at which the boy laughed.

That day went by and on the following morning John was wandering about the place, idly watching the soldiers, longing to be with his father, and wishing he had not given his parole to stay on the plantation. A black servant came to him and said that his mother wished to speak with him at the house. He went, and found his mother at the door. An expression of agony was on her face.

“What is it mother?” he asked.

“Go up to your room, John, and I’ll tell you.”

The boy ran swiftly up the stairs, and held the door of his room open for his mother to enter. She closed and locked the door behind her, and then, handing him a letter, said: “I found this in the dining-room after Lieutenant Mott left the breakfast-table.”

John took the letter from his mother’s hand and read:

Fort Granby, August 6, 1780.

Lieutenant Mott. Upon receipt of this, you will at once take and hang that young rebel, John Russell. He has violated his parole and is entitled neither to a further hearing nor a trial. Hang him before sunset to-night. I shall expect to receive word by to-morrow morning.—Heald.

John’s face turned deadly pale, then red with anger. “I have not broken my parole!” he cried. “I never gave a promise that I would not help father to escape. This is murder, and——”

“I think Lieutenant Mott dropped that letter in the dining-room intentionally,” broke in his mother. “He’s not as bad as Captain Heald. He won’t carry out the order.”

With a great effort John controlled his voice. “We’ll see, mother. If it is really an order, I suppose he’ll have to carry it out—unless I escape.”

“He might let you escape.”

“No, little mother. But don’t give up. I’ll find a way out.”

He kissed his mother, unlocked the door and walked slowly down the stairs and out upon the veranda. Lieutenant Mott was coming up the steps, and as he met John he gave him a keen glance of sympathy. But that was all. Not a word or sign to show that he would not carry out his order.

Hanged! The very crickets seemed to be chirping it. Over and over the word kept repeating itself in John’s mind as he walked slowly on over the lawn. He saw that now he was no longer bound by his parole. His word of honor had held him, but the order to hang him released him from the bond. He would escape if he could, but wherever he went red-coated soldiers were lounging lazily about, and up and down the road marched the sentries with their muskets over their shoulders.

If it were only night! In the darkness he might escape, but it was not yet noon. The very words of the letter came back to him. “Hang him before sunset to-night!”

And this was to be the end of it all! To be hanged! It was too horrible to think of. Every avenue of escape was blocked, and in sheer desperation he returned to the house and made his way noiselessly up the stairs to his room. His mother was not there, and relieved by the thought that she was not present to look upon him in his weakness, he bolted the door and seated himself by the table on which stood a miniature of her. He looked at it, and dropping his head upon his arms on the table before him, he sobbed in an agony of despair.

He was roused by the sound of the dinner-bell. He must go down and somehow conceal his feelings. He bathed his face and, somewhat relieved by his tears, arose to join the family in the room below.

Only his sisters were there when he entered, and he knew at once by the expression upon their faces that his mother had not shown the letter to them. He choked down a few mouthfuls of food, but he could not eat. Excusing himself from the table on the plea that he wished to find his mother, he ran swiftly up to her room and rapped upon the door.

He had to repeat his summons before it was opened, and then it was only far enough to enable his mother to see who the visitor was. Then she drew him inside, and quickly closed and bolted the door again.

John almost broke down when he looked at her, so woful and desperate was her expression. He must cheer her with some hope, and his own courage revived at the cheerful tone which he assumed:

“Little mother, none of the Russells were ever hanged, and I shall not be the first.”

“What will you do, my son?” Her voice sounded as if it were far away, and John looked up quickly as he replied: “I shall make a break for it, if I must. I’d rather be shot in trying to get away than be hanged.”

“You are my own brave laddie,” said his mother, rising. “Do your best, John; but if you have to——”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, as for one moment he returned her frantic embrace; and then, not daring to look back, he left the room.

After crossing the lawn he seated himself beneath a spreading tree to collect his thoughts and survey the place. Everything was as it had been. The guards were marching up and down in the road; the idle soldiers were lounging about the tents; the locusts were calling in the trees, and peace apparently was over all.

“I’ll have to try it. They may come for me any time now,” he thought, suddenly rising and starting toward the guard in the upper road. He could feel that his mother was watching him, but he dared not look toward her windows. The testing time had come and now it was to be a struggle for life.

He walked leisurely up the road, although his heart was beating furiously. He would try not to attract attention, and it was no unusual thing for him to join the men on guard. They all knew he was on parole, and besides, there were the guns if he should try to get away.

“It’s hot to-day, Tom,” he said, as he approached.

“You’d think it was if you had to carry a gun up and down this dusty road.”

“I’d be glad to relieve you, Tom. You rest a bit, while I take your place.”

“That’s kind of you,” laughed the guard, “but I fear it won’t do, sir,” and he passed on, while John seated himself to await his return.

He glanced at the soldiers in the tents near by. How easily they could reach him, and only one word would bring them all after him! But he must take his chances. There was no other way, and when the guard turned his back again he would try it.

Just then a little, lean, half-starved pig came out of the woods and stood for a moment stupidly staring at the boy before him. “Poor fellow!” thought John. “You’re in the same box with me. Tarleton’s men will treat us alike.”

He looked up and saw the returning guard. The pig saw him, too, and as if inspired by a sudden fear, he gave a startled grunt and darted swiftly up the road.

“Here, sir, help me catch the pig!” shouted the guard, starting swiftly in pursuit of the runaway. “He’s the last on the place.”

John needed no second invitation, and in a moment he and the guard were following the pig, which was running as if he knew his life was in danger. The soldiers rushed from their tents, and stood laughing and cheering the pursuers. To them it was a comedy to see the sentry and the prisoner striving to catch one poor, little half-starved pig; but to John the pursuit had all the elements of a tragedy. Life or death lay in the outcome for him.

He flung aside his hat and coat, and put forth all his strength. Dripping with perspiration, streaked with dust, almost breathless he sped on and on. Once he came close upon the frightened pig, but he took good care to fall upon him in such a manner that the little “porker” only emitted a terrified squeal and redoubled his speed.

“Hold! hold!” shouted the guard, who was behind now. “Let him go. We can’t catch him!”

John glanced quickly back, and saw that he was out of the range of the soldiers’ muskets. His speed increased as he realized that the supreme moment had come at last. Only the gun of the guard was to be feared now.

“Halt!” shouted the guard again. “Stop, or I shoot!”

John only drew his head down between his shoulders. His heart almost ceased to beat. The report of the gun rang out, and he almost fell to the ground as he heard the bullet whistle over his head.

A few days afterward, when he was with his father in Sumter’s army near Camden, just before the terrible battle, and for the second time had been relating the story of his escape, he added, “That little porker did a double duty. He saved his bacon, and he saved mine, too.”