Then Marched the Brave | Page 6

It is the spot where they shot our pastor's boy, only two days ago. I fear the place. A few rods beyond, we will again strike the thicket, and be under cover until we reach the river."
The solemn quiet that precedes a hot summer dawn surrounded the man and boy. The red band broadened in the east. The birds, fearing neither friend nor foe, began to challenge the stillness with their glad notes, and so guide and follower passed the gruesome place where young Sam White gave up his untried life a few short days ago. The thicket gained, the two paused for breath.
"We must not talk in the boat, sir." They had reached the moored boat now. "Pray tell me how I am to know our General's messenger."
"By this." The stranger detached a charm from a hidden chain and held it in his palm so that the clearer light fell upon it. "I command you to learn its peculiarities well. There must be no blunder."
It was very quaint. Andy's keen eye took in every detail.
"I shall know it," he sighed. And the stranger smiled and replaced it. "And you, sir?" he faltered, for the hour of parting came with a strange sadness; "may I not know your name? You have made me so proud and happy because you accepted my poor service."
"George Washington, and your true friend, Andy McNeal! We are both serving the same great cause. God keep us both!"
The General clasped the boy's trembling hand, and Andy looked through dim eyes into the face of his hero. The hero who for months past had been the imaginative comrade of lonely hours and dreamy play.
[Illustration: "ANDY WAS AT THE OARS NOW."]
"We shall meet again--comrade!" Washington was smiling and the mist passed. "Never fear death, lad, if you are doing your duty; it comes but once. Row swiftly. Day is breaking. A messenger with a horse awaits me on the further shore. Head for Point of Cedars."
"Good-by, sir; I shall never fear anything again--after this, I think. Good-by!" Andy was at the oars now. He handled them like the master that he was. The old Indian had taught well, and the apt pupil had been making ready against this day and chance.
While Andy kept Point of Cedars in view, he saw, also, the noble figure in the stern. The keen eyes kept smiling in kindly fashion, while the firm lips kept their accustomed silence. To Andy, the future was as rosy as the dawn, and he wondered that he had ever been depressed and afraid.
"Death comes but once!" kept ringing in his thoughts; "it shall find me doing my duty. God and Washington forever!" The song of the times had found a resting-place in Andy McNeal's heart at last.
Point of Cedars was safely reached. The general stepped upon the pebbly beach. Almost at once, from among the bushes, appeared a young man in ragged Continental uniform, leading a large, white horse.
Without a word Washington mounted, nodded his thanks to the messenger, and a final farewell to Andy, then he, followed by his newer guide, faded from sight among the forest-trees. Standing bareheaded and alone upon the shore, Andy watched until the last sound of the hoof-beats died away, then, with a sigh of hope and memory mingled, he retraced his way.
Janie McNeal greeted her son at the door-way. "Andy!" she cried, "our guest is gone!" She quite forgot that Andy, presumably, knew nothing of the guest. "He desired a lad to row him across the river. I was going to neighbor Jones's at early dawn to summon James. I should have gone last night, but I was sore tired. When I arose this morning, the stranger was gone. God forgive me!
"The poor gentleman must have thought me a heedless body. I trust he will not think me in league with the Britishers; there is much of that sort of thing going on." Janie shook her head dolefully, not heeding Andy's smile.
"How do we know," she went on, "but that the gentleman was on the great Washington's business? He was an overgrand body himself, and had excellent manners."
"Mother!" the old hesitating tone crept back unconsciously into Andy's voice as he faced his mother; "mother, I rowed the stranger across the river, he is--safely landed. It--was--it--was--Washington himself!"
"Andy!" Janie flung up her hands, and nearly fell from the step; "think, lad, of your words. You look and talk clean daft."
"It--was--Washington!" The boy drew the words out with a delicious memory.
"And--you--rowed--him--across! You--my--poor--lame lad! God have mercy upon me, and forgive me for my doubts!"
"I can help a little, mother." Andy drew near the quivering figure. "I know, mother, and I do not wonder, but there is a place for every one in these days, and I'm going to be ready."
Janie drew herself up,