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s it *-<r st. h i A Crown For Valor » J1 l^e vo It jitionary War Story of Washington By Horatio Lankford King i ASIUXGTOX’S main army h.ul crcsscd the Delaware: it lay encamped along the hardly discernible shores of (he frozen, silent river. It was bitter cold, the night was black and the swiftly falling (lakes of snow and :;]< t pelted the shivering forms of the guards along the picket lines. Here and there the shimmering glerm ol a camp tire cast its yellow reflection along the ice batger on the river below. And the howl of the sleety wind lillod the night with its hoarse anthem as if foretelling doom and disaster. That day the gm'- of the revolutionists had bellowed out their thunders of delta nee down along the •Delaware and had sent many a “redcoat'’ to his doom, blood had run like water through the stre -ts, flaw ns had bit n sacked and pillaged-tonight the elements v,ere at war, and the whining wolf had come from the far off snow-clad hills to harry the scattered slain. Washington sat in his- tent befoire a smouldering (ire; an officer of the con tinental army, a ycurg man with a smooth and grave face, sat opposite him. They were both looking down with the j alias of their outstretched hands spread cut over the smoking embers, apparently listening to the weary flap of canvas out ride and the s-w-i-s-u s-w-i-s-h of the wintry blast. Jt was a night of terrors. night of a thousand dangers, a night of uoubt and of fear. The army was vith- • ut food, without clothing, the soldiers •won- dying of cold and hunger. Wash- iugp. 11 had been weeping for his soldiers lik • a child. And there was bad news. General Howe, with his thousands, was l iar, ready to swoop down upon his lit- (I starving army like a vulture of prey, flier Is had turned against him and some had even denounced him in congress be cause he had not brought the war to a ..j :i. lei into.u ion. Even John Adams had cried out, "1 am rick of Fabian sys t-ras; my toast is a short war and a violent one!” And now to mime matters v.c 1 re, ho had learned that another was aliout to play him tiaitor, a man whom In had always loved and esteemed as a countryman and a fellow-patriot was about to deliver him a fatal blow by be tlaying him to his enemy. The news had C! uio ns a shock, and a look of dumb agony had settled on his diawn face, which looked strangely white and ghast ly in the flickering lire fight. •Lieutenant Brent,” he said in a quivering voice, ’’are you sure that this is s a—can you not bo mistaken?” "Sir, 1 am not mistaken, else I would not have breathed a word about it. My God! you don't understand. If 1 had but c\ . n doubted the trutli of it—1—I—” •Well?” “Oh, nothing—nothing,” continued the. younger wildly, “but that one of -hose who shall suffer for this is—is—” “I understand, Charles; and knowing that why did you tell me?” Washington bad risi n and with arms folded on his breast stood looking at his companion with a hungry, pleading expression on his face. "Knowing (his and that by uncovering this foul plot to me you would not only expose a friend, but dis- gi.u- ■ that friend and seal that friend's doom, why did you do it?” The young lieutenant had also risen and stood facing his commander. “Sir,” he said, "I am a soldier of the continental army; 1 have pledged my life end sword to a noble cause. I fight to win the freedom of an oppressed people. And, God helping me, I will not play the trai tor! I shall fight It out at whatever cost- friend or no friend, love or no love. 1 hope you do but jest with me ” “Nay, 1 neither jest nor believe ought of you. It was only to see the look of offended dignity in the fine young face of a brave and faithful soldier." A flush had mounted to the weather worn cheeks of the young lieutenant, and v iih a short confused how he spoke. “Sir, you have a most uncommon way— a most uncommon way oj»making one feel like an ass. I beg of you to desist.” The great man was sil°nt for a mo ment; he stood regarding the man before l.im, and when he spoke again it was only tc show that his thoughts had been wan dering. "You spoke of love, Charles; must T In fer from that—. But there, I will not be Inquisitive. If it be a petticoat that at Toast cannot be 'In peri!, though in some way you may incur its anger. Then let ns hope that the prospect for you is not as gloomy as you picture it. Let us hope —as we fight—earnestly, resolutely; that all shall turn out well In the end.” And with a grave smile he laid Ills hand on the young man's shoulder. "And now. It is nigh onto the hour of midnight; you have a hard task to complete before dawn. Let us hope again that you will not mistake the rendezvous of the con spirators and capture the traitor and the whole party. It is a bitter night; you have a long ride before you and you will he exposed to a great deal of danger. Written for CAe Sunny South But God speed you and God be with you. I will expect you back insi-le of four hours.” The two men shook hands; till’ll the younger passed out of the tent—and "Washington was alone. He threw a fag known to the enemy. The secret meet ing was to he held in an old deserted wood-cutter's shod, lying back in the deep shadows of the forest, about threo- fourths of a mile off the main road. And it was his plan to steal a march moning his men to the front and about the window, and placing his shoulder against the door, with a mighty effort sent it crashing inward on the occupants <>f the shanty. So sudden and unexpected v.as this assault that those within were so startled that the daring American and his brave followers close to his roar found themselves staring in a dozen faces blanched with surprise and terror, and huddled in a corner Charles Brent saw the contemptible traitor who had betrayed his country, cowering in a pitiful guise of fear and shame. And'between him and the light he saw the slight figure of a girl ‘Knowing this, and 'hat by uncovering this foot plot to me you hvould not only expose a friend, but disgrace that friend ana seal that riend’s doom. Why did you do it?' got or two on the fire and reseated him self. And out of the cohj, starless dark ness came the watchword from the pick et lines. Fair away and faint at first, hut as it was taken up by the guards in and about the camp h- heard it plainly. “The hour of midnight. All’s well!” Then the faint, muffled gallop of horses and the clank, clank of swords rattling In Fheir sheathes broke on his ears and a small body of troopers passed ids tent. He sat rigidly, his face calm and strange ly white. “it is Charles,” - he muttered, “and his men. Thank God. I can trust him!” Once upon th-’ Highway the little troop of horsemen faded away in the deepening gloom, the young lieutenant at their head, his gloved hands clutching at the lee- coated reins. In his heart a storm was raging as well, and the wild thoughts which had been welling up in his mind for (he last hour had almost completely stunned him. Ho minded not the pelting sleet or the cold, pitiless bite of the wind. His thoughts were centered upon one ob ject, the face of the woman he loved—no. she was not a woman, but just a girl in years. And her shadowy face framed in its mass of misty brown hair and with its dark brown eyes so deep, so worm in their glowing color danced before him so persistently _ that lie was almost per suaded that the fancied image was a tiring of life. And she was the spy he was sent out to capture, though Wash ington knew It not nor any one else but lr.vnsejf. And when ho thought of the fate of all spies he cringed in his saddle and groaned. But it must be done. To have let her gone uneaptnred and kept the secret buried within him would have meant perhaps a terrible defeat for the American army and his being branded as a traitor' In his heart, though the world would not have been any the wiser. And then he was a somier under oath, trusted and esteemed by his commander. There was only one course to take, and that waa to do his duty. The selfishness of his heart could'not turn him. He knew the secluded spot in the forest where the disgraced officer was to meet a party of English and hand over to them papers which would mean a fatal blow to the cause If their contents were once made on the unsuspecting plotters and demand their immediate surrender. In order to do this he must needs command his men to dismount before reaching the hut. tic their horses and leaving a guard behind to warn of danger and approaching en emy, surround the place as quietly as possible so as to avoid an uproar. Tne stroke must be decisive and vital in its effect %o as to render it impossible for a single redcoat to escape and to raise the hue and cry in the neighboring camp of British. It was to be an adventure spiced with peril, and with faces as rigid and expressionless as stone the little party of Americans groped their way through the darkness—swiftly, silently. After an hour's hard ride they entered the wood, and here the heavy fall of snow and the scream of the north wind through the ice burdened limbs of the swaying trees proved to be their friends. They moved as noiselessly as a column of marching shadows. No living thing chanced to obstruct their path until they had dismounted in a clump of under brush and had crept within sight of the little shanty When, suddenly, a broad ray of light streaming out of a little window revealed the fact that a number of horses, riderless, were huddled in a bunch at the side of the shack. Lieu tenant Brent and his men paused to con sider. and drawing his sword the leader spoke, in muffled tones: “Comrades, you will draw arms, but let not a shot be fired until I give the com mand. It may not be necessary.” And once more the little procession moved on and with a sudden dash the place was surrounded. Stepping forward Charles beat upon the barred door with the hilt of his sword and called out in a voice that Was heard above the wind: “In the name of Washington and the Continental Congress, open!” There was a sudden clatter inside, a cry of dismay, a shrill scream of a woman and Brent felt his heart bound in his throat. But regaining his self-possession he once more beat with a lively and ener getic force on the rattling panels of the door and awaited results. “In the name of the British and his majesty. King George—no!”_ came the sneering reply. To this Charles Brent answered by sum- standing in bold relief in the lurid glare. His breath came short, and with a choke lie moved toward her and called her name. But the girl moved not a muscle. With hands clenched upon her breast she met his look with a face bloodless and white. It was now a moment of surprise for ill, and taking advantage of the opportunity which the astonishment of the soldiers on seeing a woman before them offeied him, the man wearing the uniform of an American officer made a frantic dash for the window, hoping to escape, but the outstretched foot of Lieutenant Brent sent him sprawling on the floor. With a cry that some wild animal might make, he rose like a flash and drawing his sw >rd made a rush at his captor. Charles Brent saw through his trick, and quick'.v thrusting out his own blade in defense cried out: "Let no one kill the hound: it is wiiat lie is looking for. But he must live in suffer all the humiliation and tortures of his damnable deed! So!" and with a sharp ring of colliding steel the two men fought—one to kill; the other in sheer de fense. It was a blood-stirring spectacle; and while the duel went on the wind and the sleet heat upon the ro if in their un tiring wrath. Great beads of sweat formed on the disgraced man’s face, and lie raught his breath with a gasp; the look of terror in his eyes had become more start ling. And pitying the wretch from the depths of his heart the young lieutenant with a quick thrust sent the man's sword elattering across the floor. Stepping for ward he meant to drive him to the wail, that he might he seized and bound, but the girl mistaking his intentions inter cepted him. “Stop,” she cried, “you shall not harm him. . . . lie is my f; thcr! ' He heard her words with a groan, and turning his face to the wall, sobbed. The bitter truth was upon him. Tn his blind- ress ho hid not realized it before. And turning he was about tc speak when l i i y was heard outside, and m xt. a crash ing volley of musket resounded through the night. The little )odv of troopers whirled about ar.d feed the shower of lead. The British were upon them. They were howling threugh '.bo wood like a band of bloodthirsty wolves, and the young lieutenant saw with dim eyes one of his men stagger and fall. Not losing his presence of mind for a moment no wheeled about and confrt nted bis prison ers. then stepping to the side of the young "Oman, held out his hand. “Th? papers. ... I must c mpr! you to surrender them.” She took Ihem from her -n, ; v.iia a courtly bow held th-'in toward him, and in a voice that was troth mock ing and mischievous, spoke: 1 “Yours, my lord and master. For sooth. it is good in see a man so brave.” But tin re was a tone of insincerity in her voice, end r>er lip tremhled when their hands touched. And unwaveringly lie turned about and dashed the docu ment in the fire. “You may slaughter us now. but you have lest in the game." he cried. At this several hands lay hold of him in their effort tn get at the papers. But it was too late, in a burst of flame they burnt into a crisp. And. wrenching him self free, the officer backed to the door, swinging his sword as he went and held guard over the nrisoners whil. his men outside were struggling to defend them selves. But it was a useh^ - ; struggle. The heavy fire of the British was terri- blo in its effect. As Brent reeled and'Tell to the floor it was with the command on his lips to held the prisoners to the last. And as he sank he saw the bulky figure of the traitor totter and pitch forward. A stray bullet crashing through, the win dow had struck him. He lay as one dead. Charles Brent laughed, then he lay quite still, grappling with the awful pain in his side. He heard thv sharp crack of muskets and the exultant cry of the vic torious. He knew that ail was 'ost. and it was only a matter of a few moments that ihc redcoats would be swarming into the room. After that he lost con sciousness, and on recovering he lv’ard strange voices about him. and opening bis eyes he saw the sad. sweet face of a gul bending over him and several officers ill English, dr-ss standing about, their long army cloaks dripping before the tire “By the ghost of St. Philip.” exclaimed one. coming up, “Lieutenant Brent, to lie sure. Forsooth, it does me good to feast my eyes upon such a valiant personage. And how is his lordshim George \\ ush- ington? I have heard it said that iiis soldiers were in rags, and that George himself—pardon the familiarity—has not even a pair of shoes to his name. Be lieve me. it bereaves me sorely to hear such news.” Tide prostrate man felt the hot blood r ! so tj> his brow, and with a feeling of disgust he recognized the young Britisher as being the cousin of the girl he loved. Vtterly ignoring the sneers and jibes of hi.- captors, he turned his face from ; a m once more to meet the pleading eves of th girl. A few minutes later he was lifted in the saddle in front of a big burly soldier and compelled to ride at a good pace in the thick of the body of horsemen, weak and faint from the loss of blood. But though he was suffering tortures, he had not forgotten his brave comrades. And peering about him among the shadowy figures he tried to discover them, but could nqt. They had either been killed or were in his rear. Once upon the highway the hand of raiders broke into a swift gallop, taking the north road that led to the distant river. The wind was still blowing a stiff gale, hut the sleet and snow had ceased .and Brent could see that in the far hor izon the sky wore a tinge of yellowish red—the reflection of some burning town. The British cheered and lift -.1 £’• ’ to the lurid glare burning in the inkv sky and clattered on down the road in a mad, reckless dash. So loud wag the din that they made that 'the moan of the wind sunk to a whisper, and the piercing notes of .a bu gle mingled with the hoarse roar. The American found himself ’ ring lvrne along ; , ;.;t .>: debris might be tossed on the bosom of some mighty flood. There was nothing to do but to fol low the current and await nis fate. There was no hope. But here he was mistaken, for within ten minutes there was the wildest confu sion. th” thunderous roar of musket, the rumble of drums and the steady, rever berant sound of marching columns. Dihe English raiders had unwittingly dashed into a force of Americans, S00 strong, which was hurrying toward the Delaware to reinforce Washington. It was an ex ceeding fortunate circumstance, and by the sad gray light of dawn Charles Brent lay in his tent stretched on a cot unconscious. And fifty yards from his door the captured had stacked their arms. But the wounded man did not know this, or that Washington knew the full particulars of the night’s fray. When he recovered consciousness two days later it was to hear that a groat battle had been fought and that the Brit ish had been “driven to the sea,” and also to find, sitting beside him close to the cot, the woman he loved looking down at him. I cannot describe the light that came into his eyes or the expression on his pale face, but I can say that there were two young people in the world at that time who were very happy. And Continued on last page THE MAN UNDER THE BED By Garnette Jackson cAn unusually grotesque story in the honorable mention Written for Sunny South r *MBCAN see it now as I saw it I 1 that first evening. The old S red brick house sitting ■ majestically back amongst the tall stately oaks that stood like grim sentinels keeping watch over dead and living alike. Back in the garden gray white stones peeping up through the myrtle vines marked the resting place of dead and gone Montgomerys. The locust trees in front emitted sweet, intoxicating odors and shed a delightful cool shade over the grassy lawn. The whole place wore a cool, rest ful look. “The old Kentucky home” im mortalized. From attic to cellar the little window panes winked and blinked their bright eyes at me as the last rays of the sunset danced merrily over them, giving them the impression of fiery-eyed little demons witnessing the discomfiture of their prey. How closely I gathered my skirts about me to escape the touch of some uncanny reptile hiding in the rank grasses as I made my way up the narrow path to the house. How tenderly and affectionately Aunt IMarian took me. in her arms and kissed me, calling me her precious child. I remember well how our voices re echoed down the wide old halls like voices from departed spirits claiming still a right to life; and the grim old portraits looked upon me critically, and I shuddered to tbink what a judgment those industrious forefathers would pass upon an idle young lady of modern times. Aunt Marian led the way into the roomy old sitting room. “Sit down her, child,’’ she said, placing a great armchair for me. “You must be tired to death, all but; and your Uncle Jim drives so slow. Now let me take your hat; how like your mother you are growing! She was quite the belle of our neighborhood in her day, so you should be proud to be like her. Is she as gray as I am? No? Well, now, I wonder! She must be at least three years older, for her sister Mary was just my age a_nd your mother was older than Mary.” Then the dear old lady rattled off on to something else, while I eyed the dark stained wainscoting, the numer ous nooks and crannies of the old room, dubiously. How often had a cold, still being rested In state here upon stretchers, covered with immaculate sheets scented with the sweef old odor that pervaded the room. How often had people passed noiselessly along the old corridors, speaking in hushed voices, with their faces so white and sad? Not once did a merry, rollicking scene present itself to my mind. I could not for the life of me associate merry voices and hearty Christmas cheers with these gloomy old rooms. I had worked so hard the whole year and now that I was given a vacation I meant to spend it here in quiet and se clusion. Somewhere down yonder where the syca mores grew up so white and tall I could see them through the window there, a placid stream flowed along in its slow, lazy way, making that rippling, musical sound which nothing else on earth can produce. How sweet and soothing it would be to slip down there In the cool and quiet, listening to its cadence forever! “It is so kind of you, my dear,” Aunt Marian was saying, “to come to me when there are so many places with more at tractions and gayety.” “You musn’t get dull while you are here. There’s lots of books strewn around; may be they are not what girls love to read nowadays, but some young ladies love .to prowl in old attics just for ’novelty,’ so you may have the first chance at mine, for Lily never cared for such things. She would only sit bv the window, poor child, and look away toward the great fleecy clouds in a wistful sort of way as if she’d like for it to come- and pick her up and carry her off to the sunny skies. 1 used to wish the old place wasn't so shady and lonesome like on her account; seems as though thej5unshine would have bright ened and cheered her more.” “But, Aunt Marian, who was Lily?” X asked. “She was your cousin that lived in Chi cago. I had heard so much of the big feet and loud voices of Chicago women that I was surprised when Lily came. Such a wee. dainty maiden, but her face was so sad it pained me to look at her, and it was all on account of a lovers’ quarrel. “Philosophers may talk in that wise way of their’s and say folks never di* «f broken hearts, but if they had seen Lily pining away day after day their belief would have been shaken. Your 1'ncie Jim and me used to try to cheer her up, but it was no use. She drooped like a delicate flower until the good Lord saw cause to take her away from all sorrow; then we laid her away out there under the weeping willows where she used to sit on summer evenings and listen to the birds sing.” Contiuued. on last page I ft Pi? n 4 i 4) 4 >■