The Boys of Old Monmouth Part 14

The time had now come, he thought, when it must be safe for him to venture out upon the road again, and, grasping his gun, he prepared to climb out of the ditch, when he suddenly paused as he thought he heard the sound of voices once more.

Yes, there could be no mistake about it; the men were approaching from the direction in which both bands had disappeared.

He crouched lower and waited for them to pa.s.s. If they were foes, it certainly would be wiser, as well as safer, for him not to attract their attention; and if they were friends he was hardly in a condition to present himself before them.

The men were coming nearer, and were almost opposite his hiding-place now. The lad's excitement returned, and he leaned harder against the muddy bank. It seemed to him as if the loud beatings of his heart would betray him.

The band had halted, and were within a few feet of the ditch. What could it mean? Had his hiding-place been discovered? He crouched still lower, and did not once look up. He clutched his gun in his hands as if he thought he could lean upon that. The suspense was intense, and almost unbearable.

"h.e.l.lo! Here's some one in the ditch!"

Tom's heart sank, and, as he glanced hastily upward, he saw a redcoated soldier peering down at him. The end had come, and all his efforts to conceal himself had been in vain.

"The fellow's alive," exclaimed the soldier in surprise. "Come up out of that and give an account of yourself!"

Tom obeyed, and, crawling up the bank, stood facing the men. There were thirty-five or forty of them, and, as he saw that they were clad in the British uniform, he realized that he was in the presence of the enemy.

The suspense, at least, was ended now, and, as he glanced at the soldiers, in spite of the fact that he was well aware of his danger, much of his alarm had disappeared, for Tom Coward was not unlike others in being stronger to face the actual condition than the uncertainty which is connected with the approach of perils.

The men glanced curiously at him a moment and then burst into a loud laugh. The troubled boy at first could not discover the cause of their merriment, but as he glanced at his hands and saw that they were covered with the mud which was not yet dry, he realized that doubtless his face and clothing were in the same condition. And Tom's appearance was not very prepossessing at that moment. His hat was gone, his face was so completely covered with mud that any one would have had difficulty in deciding whether he was white or black, and his bearing was far from being bold.

The laughter of the men continued until an officer approached and said, "Who are you? What were you hiding for?"

Tom hesitated a moment, and then replied, "I was trying to keep out of the way of your bullets."

Again the soldiers laughed, and the officer said, "You didn't differ very much from the other fellows in the band, although they took to the woods and you to the ditch."

"What band?"

"Why, those men of d.i.c.kinson's we've just driven away. You don't mean to say that you didn't belong to them?"

"I didn't belong to any band," said Tom slowly. "I was just coming across the country, and when I stepped out into the road I found I was right between you and the other fellows. I crawled into the ditch, for I was afraid that both of you would hit me."

"Quite right, my lad, quite right. But how does it happen that you carry a rifle? The most of the Yankees are glad enough to get muskets, and here you are traveling round the country with a rifle. I'm afraid your story won't do, my lad. We'll have to take you along with us, and let you tell your story to the colonel."

Tom perceived that any further protest on his part would be useless, and, as the word to advance was at once given, he obediently took his place in the ranks and marched on with the men.

The heat was so intense that they were compelled to halt frequently for rests. A few of the men evidently were Hessians, and their high jack-boots, their heavy fur hats, as well as the short broadswords they carried, in addition to the short guns or carbines which were slung over their shoulders, seemed sadly out of place under the burning heat of the summer day. Tom did not know how the British officers had protested against the customs of their allies, so unsuitable in the country in which they were fighting; but the men from Hesse were obstinate, and, firmly believing that the equipment which had been good enough for them in the old country would certainly be good enough in the new, clung to the uncomfortable garments and unwieldy arms, unmindful alike of the jeers of their comrades in arms and the danger they incurred by the use of them.

In the course of two hours the band arrived at a little camp in command of a man whom the leader addressed as Colonel Simcoe. Tom was at once summoned by him and taken into the presence of the colonel, or lieutenant-colonel, as he then really was.

"What have you here?" inquired the colonel, glancing at Tom as he spoke.

"We picked this fellow out of a ditch back here. We had a little brush with a band of d.i.c.kinson's men, but they didn't wait for us. We chased them a mile or two up the road; but the day was so warm, and as the rebels took to the woods, we soon gave it up and came back. We found this fellow on our return. He claims he doesn't belong to the rebels; but as we found that he carried a rifle, we thought best to bring him into camp with us. We didn't know but he might be able to give you some of the information you wanted just now."

"You did right, lieutenant. I'll talk with him later. Now tell me what you learned. Did you hear anything more about Washington? How are the roads and the bridges?"

"The rebels have been tearing up the bridges, and d.i.c.kinson has a good many of the militia scattered along in the woods. I rather suspect they are planning to serve us as the countrymen served Lord Percy up at Lexington."

"I fancy we shall be able to put a stop to that, though your report is much like that which I have found out myself. Did you hear anything more of Washington?"

"I couldn't get a word out of anybody. I don't believe he's moved from the position he held yesterday, though."

For several minutes the men conversed, and when at last the younger officer departed, Colonel Simcoe turned to Tom and said, "Now, my lad, I'll listen to your story."

"I haven't any story," replied Tom. "I was coming through the woods back here, and when I stepped out into the road I found myself right between the two bands, and as I was afraid I'd be caught by the fire of both of them, I crawled into the ditch to be out of the way. That's why I'm covered with this dirt," he added apologetically.

"You don't need any one to confirm your words as to that," said the colonel, smiling slightly, as he spoke, at Tom's appearance. "Now what I want to know is who you are and what you were doing with a rifle? Few people here carry rifles, I find."

Tom hesitated a moment, not knowing just what to say in reply to the question. The colonel was watching him intently, and the lad felt that he must say something. "I live back here," he said at last. "I've lived in Old Monmouth all my life. I'd started out from home to go to--to--to some of my friends, and, as I told you, I got caught between the lines."

"How about the rifle?"

"My father had the other guns and I had to take that. The last thing he told me was to take a gun and scare the blackbirds and crows from the ten-acre lot."

"Is your father a loyalist?"

"Yes."

"That's good; and now if you can answer my questions, perhaps I'll be inclined to let you go. You say you've lived here all your life. Do you know all the roads and bridges? Could you find your way anywhere in the county?"

"Yes, sir; I think I could."

"Tell me about the bridges. Have many of them been torn up?"

Tom did not know, but he thought of his meeting with young Lieutenant Gordon that morning, and boldly answered, "Yes, sir."

"How does it happen that your good father and the other loyalists permit that?"

"My father's not at home, and there are too many of the pa--of the rebels."

"I thought you told me your father sent you out with your gun," said the colonel quickly. "How is that? How could he send you if he wasn't at home?"

"He sent me before he left," replied Tom, his voice trembling in spite of his efforts to control it.

"Do you know where Washington is?" inquired the colonel abruptly.

"I hear he's up by Hopewell. I don't know." Tom might have added that he would be glad to learn, but his wish was not expressed.

"That's right. He _is_ at Hopewell. Is there any talk about his plans?

Have you heard of any rumors among the rebels as to what he plans to do?"

"Yes, sir. I hear he is planning to fall on Clinton's baggage train."

"Sir Henry Clinton, you mean, I suppose," said the colonel sharply. "Do you think you could find your way from here to Cranberry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know every road?"