Then Marched the Brave | Page 6

close.
"Would you bear a message, and try to find him?"
"Aye."
"They are planning an attack. I could not hear when or where, for the
men moved past. As they came back, and passed where I was hidden, I
heard them say that they who are near Washington had best be on
watch, poison in the food made no such noise as a gun--but it would
serve!"
"You heard that?" almost moaned the listener. "My God! could they
plan such a cowardly thing?"
"Aye, sir. I am thinking they can. I would warn the General if I could,
but you may be luckier. The men said Lord Howe desired the death of
every rebel."
"May heaven forgive him!" The words fell sadly from the strong lips.
"And now," again Andy took the lead, "do not speak as we pass here. 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