CHAPTER XI

THE CAPTURE OF THE WAGON TRAIN


We could see them quite clearly, as they topped the crest, the moonlight
revealing men and horses so distinctly I could even guess at their
uniform. Those in advance rode slowly, four abreast, down into the black
shadows, lolling in their saddles, voices murmuring, seemingly
unconscious of any danger. It was easy to comprehend their state of mind.
Delavan had been left alone for a week, permitted to sweep the
countryside unmolested. He and his command had naturally grown careless,
never suspecting their every move had been watched by keen-eyed scouts.
Now, guarded by Grant's troop, they believed themselves sufficiently
strong for any emergency; that no force the scattered enemy could gather
would venture upon attack. By daylight they would be within sight of the
Philadelphia outposts, and serenely confident in their numbers, the night
march had therefore become a mere routine. I heard Farrell chuckle grimly
to himself as he observed the careless approach of those advance riders.

They were Queen's Rangers, the white facings of their coats conspicuous,
their guns swung at the shoulder in reckless confidence. A slim young
lieutenant appeared to be in command, and we counted twenty in the
advance body as they slowly passed and disappeared into the denser gloom
below. Following them appeared the wagons, huge Conestogas, heavily
laden, creaking dismally in the night silence, and lurching along the
rutty road. These were dragged by mules, horses, and oxen, the drivers