The Boys of Old Monmouth Part 9

"Left Benzeor's? What for?"

"I'm going to join the army. It's time I was doing my share."

Tom gave no other reason. He knew the children would be safe at Benzeor's, and with what Little Peter then had it in his mind to do it would perhaps be unwise to tell him all he knew. However, he intended to tell him all, and that soon.

"Going to join the army?" repeated Little Peter, as if he did not comprehend the words.

"Yes; you know I've been thinking of it a long time, and now that they're on the march, and coming this way, I've made up my mind that my turn has come. I didn't know but you would want to go, too, now."

"I'd like to, but I can't. I've got this other matter on hand. Come into the house, Tom, and spend the night with me. You can start in the morning as well as now, and besides it's almost dark. You can't go in the night."

Tom hesitated, but finally consented, and with his friend went into the house which so recently had been the scene of the greatest sorrow which had ever entered Little Peter's life.

Indian John followed them, but after his custom refused to remain, although he promised to return early in the morning. One of the women of the neighborhood had stayed to look after Little Peter's immediate wants, but as soon as her duties were done she departed for her own home with an eagerness she could not entirely conceal. And Tom did not blame her, for he himself was not without fear when at last Little Peter closed the doors for the night, and, after having slipped the heavy bars into their places, the two boys sought their bed in the low room over the kitchen.

CHAPTER IX

THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT

IT was long before daylight when the boys were stirring on the morning which followed the events recorded in the preceding chapter. No one had disturbed them, and with the return of the day their courage was somewhat revived. Tom, however, had decided to start at once for the army, which he knew from Indian John's words was not many miles away. He was thoroughly familiar with all the roads in the county, for he had ridden over them many times in company with Benzeor, or when he had been sent on errands to the more remote regions by his foster father, and consequently had no fears of losing his way.

Little Peter did not urge his friend to accompany him on his expedition to Refugee Town, for he was aware of the perils that were likely to beset him on his journey. He would not listen to any of the protests of Tom, for he was fully determined to learn what had become of his father, and even share his experiences if the occasion demanded. And Tom could not find it in his heart to blame Little Peter, hopeless as he considered all his efforts likely to be. Perhaps he would do the same thing if his own father had been carried away by the pine robbers, and he found himself conjecturing how it was a boy would feel in such circ.u.mstances as those in which his friend had been placed. The feeling was one of which he knew nothing by experience, and his own loneliness seemed to press upon him with a heavier weight.

However, he still said nothing to Little Peter concerning Benzeor's recent actions, for he was well a.s.sured that his friend's younger brothers and sisters could be in no place where they would so easily escape all further troubles for the present as in his foster father's house; and then all of Little Peter's plans would be changed at once if he knew the part which his neighbor had taken in the tragedy which had recently occurred.

"Perhaps Indian John will go with me," said Little Peter. "He'll be a great help if he'll go."

"That he will," replied Tom, "and I'm sure he'll be glad to go with you. I should like to go myself."

"That's all right, Tom; I know you would, but you couldn't do any good, and might only get into trouble yourself. Perhaps I'll be with you in a day or two, if I don't hear anything about my father down by Refugee Town,--that is, if Benzeor is willing for the children to stay in his house. I'll have to look after them, you see, for it's likely I'll have to be father and mother, as well as big brother, now," he added sadly.

"I know, I know," said Tom; "but I'm hoping you'll have good luck, and if the army really is coming here, it may be that you'll get some help from the Continentals if you need it then. Good-by, Peter."

"Good-by, Tom," replied his friend.

Tom placed some bread in his pockets, and then started forth on his journey. Somewhere off towards Hopewell the American army must be, according to all the reports which had come, and to that place he must make his way. The time for which he had been waiting at last had come, and with a lighter heart than he had known for days the lad began his journey.

The summer morning was clear and warm. The birds were flitting about in the trees and filling the air with their songs. In spite of the heat, there was a delicious freshness in the early morning air, and as he walked rapidly forward he soon came to feel a sense of exhilaration which not even the loss and grief of his boy friend could entirely banish.

By the time the sun rose red and full in the east, he had placed several miles between him and Little Peter's home, but with unabated zeal he steadily pushed onward, resolved to make the best possible use of the early hours before the more intense heat of the day should come.

By the middle of the forenoon more than ten miles had been left behind him, but he was beginning to feel the effects of his exertions. His face was flushed and streaming with perspiration. The rough road was hot and dusty, for only a single day had been required to dry out all the vestiges of the recent storm. He was beginning to feel somewhat tired, and was about to stop for a brief rest by the roadside, when he saw some one approaching on horseback.

He quickly drew back among the trees which grew close to the road, thereby hoping to escape all notice by the stranger; but his plan was quickly changed when he discovered, as the horseman came nearer, that he was clad in the uniform of the Continental army. His relief was greater when he recognized the man as the son of one of Benzeor's neighbors, who more than a year before this time had enlisted and had pa.s.sed the preceding winter in Valley Forge.

He quickly resolved to hail the man as he pa.s.sed, and accordingly stepped out into the road and waved his arms as a signal for the horseman to stop. The man quickly heeded, and as he drew the rein and checked his horse he peered down at the lad by the roadside, and Tom's fears were instantly relieved when he perceived that he had been recognized.

"Why, Tom Coward, what are you doing here? Nothing wrong over home, is there?"

"Yes, there is;" and Tom at once proceeded to give young Lieutenant Gordon an account of all that had occurred in the past three days.

"That's bad," said the lieutenant slowly, patting his horse's dripping neck as he spoke. "That's bad. I wish I could take a company and go over there this minute. I can't, though; it's out of the question. But the army will be here shortly now, and there may be a chance to give these pine robbers a dose then. Where are you going now, Tom?"

"I thought I'd start for the army," replied Tom. "I've no other place to go to, and I've been waiting to join it a long time."

The lieutenant smiled at the lad's words as he replied, "That's all right. You're a well-grown fellow, and I doubt not they'll find a place somewhere for you in the Jersey militia. There are younger fellows than you there."

"So I hear," replied Tom eagerly. "Indian John told me the army was over by Hopewell, and had halted there, so I thought I'd put straight for that place."

"There isn't very much of the militia there now," said the lieutenant.

"They're mostly regulars at Hopewell, and I doubt not have started from there before this."

"Where are the militia then?" said Tom quickly. "I've got a rifle here, and if I'm to join them I want to know where they are."

"That would be a little difficult to say just at present, my lad,"

replied the lieutenant, a.s.suming a more fatherly air than the difference between their years would seem to warrant. "That would be a little difficult to say."

As Tom plainly showed his disappointment, the young officer continued: "You see it's this way, Tom. It was early in the morning of the 18th when the last of General Clinton's forces marched out of the city of Philadelphia. They went by the way of Gloucester Point, about three miles below Camden, and then the entire force, with Knyphausen and his Hessians in advance, marched over to Haddonfield and halted there. We had means up at Valley Forge of finding out what was going on, and before they were fairly out of Philadelphia some of our scouting parties and light horse were in the city, and they gathered in about sixty or seventy prisoners and were back again at the Forge with the men and the news. By three o'clock that same day General Lee's division had started, and by five o'clock General Wayne's had gone, too. They lost no time over there, I can tell you."

"But I don't understand," said Tom. "Where are the militia, and what are you doing here?"

"That's what I'm explaining to you," replied the lieutenant. "Well, at five o'clock the next morning,--that was the 19th of June, you know,--Washington had the rest of the army on the march for Coryell's Ferry; but the roads were so heavy--for we've been having some great rains this month--that the divisions which had been sent out didn't cross the Delaware until Sat.u.r.day morning, and the main body till Monday. And all this time the British were mighty careful, let me tell you. They thought Washington was after their baggage-wagons and stores, you see. Clinton and his main body moved out of Haddonfield on Friday, but he left Knyphausen and his Dutch butchers, as well as two brigades of the regulars behind him, while he marched eight miles up to Evesham and went into camp there. He wanted to keep his train of baggage-wagons well protected, you see, for the militia were doing all sorts of mischief. You wanted to know where they were. Well, that's where they were."

"They're away down at Haddonfield, then, are they?"

"No, no. But they'd been sent out to bother the British, you see, and try to hold them back by skirmishes and a few such gentle deeds. They were tearing up bridges and firing at the regulars from the woods, and doing all sorts of things. Why, when Clinton was marching from Haddonfield to Evesham, General Leslie, who was in command of his advanced guard, fell in with a party of these very militia I'm telling you about. Leslie hid some of his men in a rye-field, and they saw Captain Jonathan Beesley. He was a captain in the c.u.mberland County militia, you know, and had been in the army two years,--yes, and he was one of the best men we ever had, too, let me tell you. Well, Leslie's men saw Beesley and a couple of his officers reconnoitring in advance of their companies, and they fired on them. Captain Beesley was wounded, and of course they took him prisoner and carried him with them into camp. They tried to get him to own up what Washington's plans were, but Captain Beesley just stopped them by saying they wouldn't get a word out of him. And they didn't; but the next day the poor fellow died from his wounds. They'd taken him into Hinchman Haines's house, you see, and that was where he died. I understand that they buried him there with the honors of war, and I understand, too, that they've given permission for the body to be taken up and placed in the Friends' burying-ground down at Haddonfield. It may have been done before this, for all that I know.

Captain Beesley was a good man. The redcoats couldn't do too much for him."

"But where are the militia now? That's what I want to know."

"And that's what I'm trying to tell you. This is too hot to be standing out here in the road. Let's go into the shade. I've got time enough, and it may be a bit safer there, too."

The lieutenant led his horse a short distance into the woods, and, slipping the bridle-rein over his head, he permitted him to graze, while he himself resumed his story.

"At four o'clock the next morning,--that was Sat.u.r.day, the 20th,--Clinton took up the line of march, but he only went seven miles, as far as Mount Holly, and there he halted till Monday. On Sunday, Knyphausen joined him, having marched by the way of Moorestown. The next morning they all marched on to Black Horse and halted again, but at five o'clock Tuesday morning they were up and at it once more. They divided their forces there a bit, Leslie going by the way of Bordentown, Clinton keeping on along the road to Crosswicks, while Grant and the Dutch butchers brought up the rear and served as a kind of guard for the baggage-train. All this was only yesterday, the 23d, you see."

"But where are the militia now?" protested Tom. "They are the ones I want to join, not the British. You keep telling me about them. What I want is the other side."

"Listen, then, and you shall hear. Yesterday General d.i.c.kinson, with the Jersey militia, was right there in Bordentown."

"What! when the British came up?"

"Yes, when the British came up, that is, when Leslie's division did. Not all of the militia were there, though. A good many had been withdrawn and posted where they could do the most good. There weren't very many left in Bordentown, but when they found out that Leslie was almost upon them, they made up their minds in very short order that the climate there was not the best in the world, so they cleared out and left. But before they went they left a few slight tokens of their regard. They pulled up the planks of the bridge there over Crosswicks Creek, and raised the draw so that Leslie had to find another crossing-place.

Before they did that they tried to fix up the bridge, but they were fired upon, and I understand that four were killed and quite a large number were wounded.