United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
The thicket was sufficiently dense to conceal us from the man, who
remained standing at the foot of the steps. He was but a mere dark
shadow, and I could not even distinguish that he was a soldier, yet the
danger of his presence was sufficiently great, for should he advance to
the right he would come upon Grant's unconscious form, and in that
silence the slightest noise might arouse suspicion. Mistress Claire still
clung to my hand, but only to whisper a sentence of instruction.
"Go straight north, Major, until you reach the hedge; follow the shadow
of that beyond the orchard, and then take the road running westward.
Don't mount until you reach there--good-bye."
"Good-bye, you will not forget me?"
"I--I am afraid not, but--but you must go!"
I left her standing there, a faint gleam of white against the dark
shrubbery, motionless. Grasping the bit of the horse I picked my course
slowly across the lawn, watchful that the intervening thicket hid my
movements, the soft carpet of grass muffling every sound. We reached the
hedge,--a high, impassable barrier to further progress in that direction,
but here the shadows were sufficiently dense for us to proceed faster,
with little peril of discovery. There were no sounds of alarm from the
house, by this time barely visible, but we continued on a walk until the
orchard was skirted, and I felt beneath my feet the ruts of a road
running east and west. I waited long enough to adjust the stirrups, which
were too short, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit. The house
could no longer be seen, and the night was quiet as a grave. What had
become of Claire? Was she still hiding at the edge of the thicket, or had
she found means of attaining shelter within the house? It was useless to
speculate, and I could better serve her by going my way. I swung up into
the saddle, and the horse broke into a lope.
There is no incident of that night's ride which I recall distinctly. I
merely pushed on steadily through the darkness, leaving my mount to
choose his own course, confident we were headed toward the river. I was
sufficiently acquainted with the valley of the Delaware, when daylight
came, to decide upon the nearest ford. As to the British patrols I must
run the risk of dodging these, but felt safe from such an encounter for
several hours. In truth I met no one, having no occasion to even draw
rein, although we passed through two small villages, and by a number of
farms. I could not even determine that these houses were occupied; they
were dark and silent, even the galloping hoofs of my horse failing to
awaken response.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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