The Riddle of Penncroft Farm (9 page)

“
Aye, I remember the soldier well and still keep it by me, Father. 'Tis my lucky piece. I tried to get Will to take it with him, but perhaps his ring will bring him the luck he needs.” I crossed to the settle and took out another length of thread
.

When I turned back, the shuttered look had
returned to my father's face. “What Will needs is a dose of reason. I forbid you to mention his name again,” he said gruffly
.

Mother and I exchanged unhappy looks
.

Father began pacing back and forth. “You're right, Patience,” he said after a time. “Geordie must peddle those apples, and he'd best start tomorrow. 'Tis rumored the British army is coming up from Chesapeake Bay to take Philadelphia back from the rebels. I for one will give General Howe a most warm welcome—and there are many who share my sentiments, although they've feared to speak out whilst the rebels are in the saddle hereabouts.” He crossed the room and opened the cupboard hidden in the woodwork over the fireplace. Inside we kept our spices, money, and valuable papers safe from mildew and robbers
.

Father brought out some farthings and closed the cupboard door. “Here's a bit of money for your journey, lad, but try to barter for your board and keep as you go. Gold coins are scarce
.”

“
But, Laban, if the British army is coming, mightn't Geordie be in danger?” Mother protested, her eyes dark with, worry
.

“
Nonsense, Patience. The British are gentlemen, and Geordie is loyal to his king and country. They'll not harm him
.”

So it was that early the next day I set off with a wagonload of apples, pears, cider, and perry to sell to the country taverns down Brandywine Creek way
.

By late afternoon I had sold everything but four kegs of perry. I found a buyer for three of these in Mr. Welsh, whose tavern stood four miles west of Chadd's Ford, one of several places where Brandywine Creek could be waded in safety. These fords, besides being shallow spots in the stream, offered the only clear access to the riverbank, which elsewhere was steep and thickly wooded
.

As it was dark by the time I made my bargain with Mr. Welsh, I decided to stay the night. There were few guests, so I had the luxury of a bed to myself. I quickly readied for sleep, rubbing my teeth with a chalked rag and adjusting the bed ropes more tautly under the sagging mattress so that I might sleep tight
.

I slept far
too
tight, not waking until nearly nine. Fearing that Father would be angry at my dawdling, I hurried downstairs to settle up my accounts with the jovial tavern keeper
.

Mr. Welsh was busy in the common room with a lively group of customers; he told me they were a patrol of American mounted sentries, called
vedettes.
The sight of these Continentals, washing down slabs
of ham with hot, steaming toddy, filled me with great dismay. Last I had heard, the American army was miles away—close to Philadelphia, capital city of the rebellion simply because the Congress of “madmen and traitors” met there. Or had, before fleeing to York. At any rate, the presence of Washington's forces at Welsh's Tavern could mean trouble was close at hand
.

I sat down quietly on the puncheon bench and helped myself to the ham. I reckoned I should find out what was going on, else I might blunder into trouble on my way home
.

My attention was drawn by the thunderous sound of Mr. Welsh's huge hand slamming down on the rough wooden tabletop. “So, lads, you think I should run and hide like a rabbit because the British are on the way? Nay, I'm a neutral party. I shall pour punch for any thirsty man with nary a thought for his politics!
”

One of the soldiers shook his head in disbelief. “But politics is nothing when a battle's in the offing, you fool! A cannonball doesn't stop to inquire if you've taken sides! The British camped last night at Kennett Square, only two miles west of here. They may arrive at any time, going east to Chadd's Ford. But Washington's troops are waiting for them there
.”

Mr. Welsh took a long swig from his own mug and set it down with a clatter. “If you're so all-fired certain the lobsterbacks are coming through here, you'd best pay your shot and move along. I'd hate for you to be interrupted before settling up
.”

“
It won't be so soon as all that, old man,” laughed another vedette. “Pour another round. This day promises to be long and hard, and I must needs fortify myself to face those redcoats
.”

“I'll
settle up with ye now, if you please, sir,” I said timidly
.

Mr. Welsh's hearty laugh rang out. “Only one gentleman is wise enough to settle his accounts ahead of the lobsterbacks, and 'tis my misfortune to owe him, not the other way round.” He slapped me on the back; 'twas kindly meant, but I felt it to my ribs. “You go out and harness your team. When you return, I'll have your money ready for you—and a nunchion to take along
.”

I thanked the tavern keeper, then ran outside and hitched up my father's slugfooted team, Daisy and Buttercup. A morning fog was rising, but I could clearly see the vedettes' horses tied nearby. When I returned to the common room, Mr. Welsh handed me a small leather pouch full of coins and a bundle that smelt of spicy apple tart and savory beef pasty
.

It was then that we heard the first shouts and the sound of marching feet coming up the road from Kennett Square. Instantly, the vedettes dropped to the floor. One crawled like a crayfish across the uneven wooden planks to peek through the shutters. Mr. Welsh and I stood, staring at each other
.

“
Ready your muskets,” hissed the soldier at the window
.

Mr. Welsh whispered so loud I thought the pewter tankards would shake on the boards. “Nay! Don't fire! There are too many. You'll rot in prison ships or in the grave unless you get out!
”

“
But we can't reach our horses!
”

“
Then use your bloody feet!” Mr. Welsh growled. “Take the path at the back It comes out down the road closer to Chadd's
.”

The men rushed from the room. Petrified with fear, I watched Mr. Welsh stride across and throw open the front door. I could hear his voice booming forth. “Welcome to Welsh's Tavern, sir. May I offer you a hot toddy to ward off this dreary fog? Geordie, be a good lad and fetch a mugful for this officer
.”

My hands were shaking so that I could barely keep the toddy from sloshing over the edges of the cup, but somehow I managed to heat the drink with
a red-hot poker and carry it outside without spilling too much. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed red-coated soldiers in endless columns, but fear kept my gaze to the ground as I approached the officer
.

A rolling laugh brought my eyes up. This officer was no lobsterback; indeed, his coat was as blue as Washington's, though he wore a red-and-silver sash and his cockade was edged with gold. I figured he must be one of the German soldiers hired to fight for the British—one of the Hessians so hated by the patriots. To me, his round face looked like that of one of the German farmers I'd seen selling vegetables at the High Street Market in Philadelphia
.

“Ja,
is dusty for all the fog is damp,” he said. He raised the mug and drank thirstily
.

Mr. Welsh asked, most politely, who was commanding the column. The officer answered, “Knyphausen.” This outlandish name tickled my fancy, and, despite my state of terror—or perhaps because of it—nervous laughter bubbled up inside me
.

“
Vat is
so
funny, young man?” the officer asked sternly
.

“
Oh, sir, I . . . I . . . ,” I gasped
.

“
The lad is but a simpleton—a witling, sir,” said Mr. Welsh hastily, pointing significantly to his head
. “
I fear this war has addled his wits even further. I pray you let him depart in peace. His is that old rig yonder
.”

The Hessian officer looked at my team and wagon, then peered at me. I let my jaw hang slack and goggled at him blankly
.

“
We don't make war on
Idioten,
and we don't need those broken-down creatures. Someone has left us better horseflesh. Friends of yours?” he challenged Mr. Welsh
.

The tavern keeper's laugh rang out. “Mine, sir? And me loyal to the core—as is this poor boy's father. Run along home now, Geordie.
Now,
Geordie.” Once again that huge hand landed on my back, this time propelling me smartly in the direction of my rig. I leaped into the seat and drove away, for the first time grateful that Daisy and Buttercup were slow as molasses. Had they looked fleeter-footed, the British likely would have confiscated them along with the horses of the luckless Continental patrol
.

Since the British columns blocked the road going west, I was forced to turn east, toward Chadd's Ford. Soon I came in sight of Kennett Meetinghouse. I could see that the Friends were assembled for midweek meeting, and I stopped to warn them that the
British were not far behind me. What a waste of precious time! They thanked me for the warning but went calmly on with their meeting as if I had never interrupted, even though shots were now ringing out behind me on the road
.

I hunkered down on the seat and looked desperately about for a place to turn off the main road. To my great relief, I found a lane that headed north. It was barely more than wheel ruts in the dirt, but at least 'twas clear of trees—and soldiers. Seemingly oblivious to my fears, Daisy and Buttercup ambled along at their regular snail's pace, despite my shaking the reins to urge them faster. Such effort only delayed me further, for one of the reins snapped. It took the better part of an hour to mend. Thus, it was past noon before I reached Street Road and turned east toward Jones's Ford, several miles upstream from Chadd's Ford, where the Americans were waiting for the British attack

Crossing at Jones's Ford was not easy—I had to pick my way around felled logs in the stream, and an American patrol stopped me on the east side for questioning. When I said I'd seen troops at Welsh's but none since, the captain nodded. “Just what Major Spear reported. I don't know what that blind fool
Colonel Bland saw going up to the fork, but it surely wasn't redcoats! Now you'd best get along, boy,” he said
.

Mystified, I got along. Then, toiling up a steep slope, I heard rolling, distant thunder. I looked at the sky. It was cloudless—even the morning fog had burned away under the bright, hot sun. Again the rumbling rent the air, and this time I knew 'twas no thunderclap but the firing of guns, louder than I'd ever heard. I stopped the wagon to listen closely, trying to decide where the ominous sound was coming from. Panic rose in my chest until I could scarcely catch my breath. Instinctively, I reached into my pocket and brought out my lucky piece. The small lead grenadier in the red-painted tunic stood on my palm, aiming down his long musket. Clutching the toy, I made a childish wish that it could tell me what to do
.

But a much larger and less silent figure decided my course of action. I heard a peculiar muttering in the woods nearby—a string of oaths. Without stopping to think, I raised up my lead soldier to throw at the mutterer. Then I saw his face: It belonged to Squire Thomas Cheyney, a swarthy, thickset man who had been a friend of my father's before the war had set them at odds. As the squire thrashed his way through the bushes with his riding crop, he scowled
and swore like a madman. When he spotted me, his mouth opened into a perfect O of astonishment
.

“
Why, Geordie, what are you doing here?” he gasped
.

“
Been delivering perry at Welsh's
.”

“
Then your horses are fresh?” he inquired eagerly
.

“
If you want to call them that. Slowest nags in creation
.”

“
At least they're not lame,” he said with disgust. “I had to leave my infernal mount tied to a stile and was nearly caught by the redcoats! Give me a hand up, lad. We must hurry
.”

“
What do you mean?” I asked, helping him up beside me
.

“
Why, we must warn Washington about this flanking action!
”

“
Flanking action?” I echoed, still not understanding
.

“
Aye. Ten thousand British are crossing the two branches of the Brandywine north of the fork, guided by the Tory Galloway. I saw them myself! They'll come down Birmingham Road behind the American line and fall upon the Continentals from the rear. And by the cannon fire coming from the south, I judge Howe has sent some troops to make Washington believe that that is where the main attack will come
.”

“
Aye, troops under Knyphausen are moving against Chadd's
.”

Cheyney pounded his fist down on the seat. “I thought so! 'Tis the same trick Howe used to win at Long Island! I tried to warn General Sullivan of this, but he thought I was exaggerating! Well, at least the damned fool gave me a pass to Washington's headquarters. I'll need your wagon
.”

My expression must have resembled one of the idiots the Hessian thought me to be, for the squire said, more kindly, “If you're too feared to come, wait here for me. I'll be back as soon as I can
.”

“
Father will flay me if I help the Continentals, but . . .” Suddenly I thought of my brother, Will. I couldn't let him be taken by surprise. “Aye, I'm going with you!” I blurted out
.

“
That's a brave lad!” the squire cried. He seized the reins and whipped up the horses until they ran as if wolves were nipping at their hooves
.