THE STORY OF THE MISCHIANZA
"I'vebeen sent out, as a good many others have been, to look up the bridges over the creeks" (the young officer called them "runs," as many of the Jerseymen did then, and still do for the matter of that) "and find out the lay of the land. As I happened to be born in Old Monmouth, and lived here till I was a man grown, it was naturally thought I'd be pretty well informed, so you see I was selected for this special work. I don't know that I object to it, but I'd rather be back with my men."
"And that's what you've been doing, is it?" said Tom.
"Yes, I've been in that work ever since the British started out from Philadelphia. I've kept just a little ahead of the men all the way, and have gone back every night to report, and then the next day they'd follow all my plans. You see I've got a map of every road in the county here," and as hespoke the young lieutenant drew from his pocket a paper on which had been traced every road and every little stream in the region, while the places where bridges were to be found were indicated by red marks.
"Whew!" he added, throwing back his coat. "Isn't it warm! I don't believe there's been a summer like this in years. We've had showers and thunder-storms almost every day. The air now feels as if we'd get another one pretty soon, too."
The air was exceedingly sultry, and a strange stillness seemed to be resting over all. Not a leaf was stirring, and as Tom looked up through the tops of the trees the bright blue of the sky appeared to be more intense than ever he had seen it before. Here and there separate masses of heavy clouds could be seen, which, with the sunlight streaming through them, glistened almost like silver. He knew the signs well. There was the appearance of a coming shower.
"It's too hot to go on," said the young lieutenant. "I'm almost afraid to take my horse out in such heat. I've got the most of my work for the day done, though, and I thought that perhaps you might be able to help me out, Tom. You must know everybridge in this part of the country. Now you go over this map with me, and tell me if the places are marked right. I've been gone so long I'm not sure of myself, but you ought to know. It'll save me a trip in this broiling sun, if you can help me."
Tom took the map and looked over it carefully. He was thoroughly familiar with the roads and streams, as the lieutenant had intimated, and in a brief time he had given him all the information he possessed.
"There," said the lieutenant at last, folding the paper and restoring it to his pocket again, "that helps me out. I'd been over most of the way, and the two or three places you have told me about finishes the whole thing. I'm ready to go back and report. I think I'll take a bite, though, before I start, and wait and see what the weather is likely to be."
Going to his saddle-bags the young officer brought out the dinner which he carried with him. "Sometimes I stop at some farmhouse and get something to eat," he explained, "but it isn't always safe to trust to that, you see, so I always go provided. I want you to join me, Tom. It'll seem almost like old times."
The horse had been tied to one of the trees, and, as the lieutenant seated himself upon the ground, Tom gladly joined him. He was tired and hungry, and the piece of bread which he had in his own pocket would keep, and, as he was aware that he might find further use for it, he was the more willing to accept the invitation which had been given him. For a few minutes neither spoke, for they both seemed to be intent upon the immediate duty.
As soon, however, as the first pangs of his hunger were relieved Tom said, "I never understood just why it was that the British left Philadelphia. They'd been there all winter, and after holding the city so long I never could understand why it was that they abandoned it without even a skirmish. What did they do it for?"
"Why, the way of it was this," replied the lieutenant, taking an unusually large bite of the bread he was holding in his hand, as he spoke. "You see, we'd been trying for a long time to get up some kind of a treaty with France. Ben Franklin, and I don't know who all, had been over there trying to work it up, and at last the Frenchmen agreed. Our Congress ratified the treaty on the 4thof last May, and that completely changed the plans of the redcoats."
"I don't see just how that could do it," replied Tom, somewhat puzzled.
"Why it really means a declaration of war by the French against the British. I don't believe the Frenchmen care very much for us, barring young Lafayette and a few others of his kind, but they hate the British, and took this way to get even with them. It's expected that they'll send a fleet over here, and of course the redcoats have got to be ready to meet it,—that is, if they can. Well, Philadelphia doesn't amount to very much any way in war times. It isn't very easy to get into it, so the British there thought they'd better get out and go over to New York, which was a good deal more likely to be threatened by the French fleets. That's the cause of the change, my lad."
"I should think the redcoats would feel like giving up, now that the French are going to join us."
The young officer laughed as he replied: "That's just where you're mistaken, my young friend. They don't feel that way after they've sent so many armies over here and have spent so much money in discoveringus, you see. And then, too, they don't object to getting a few taxes and such like things out of us, either. I've a dim suspicion that the Frenchmen may have just a bit of a dream that they may get back some of the country that dropped out of their hands during the French and Indian war. But, however that may be, we're glad to have their help now, for we need it badly enough, and will have to let the future take care of itself."
"I don't see that any one can blame the British for wanting to hold on to us. They have spent a lot of money, and lots of their soldiers have been killed in the wars with the Indians and the Frenchmen."
"Oh no, we don't blame them," laughed the lieutenant. "We don't blame them. It's all natural enough for them to want to hold on to us, but how about ourselves? What about the Stamp Act and the tea tax? What about all their oppression and the way they've treated us? They seem to forget that we're men of like passions with themselves. Oh, it's all natural enough for them to want to keep a good hold on us, but it's just as natural for us to object to being held on to. And, Tom, such things as have happenedlately, too! Why, this story about Little Peter's mother is only one of a thousand here in Jersey. I've been pretty much all over the colony—the state, I mean—and it's the same story everywhere. It's just plundering, and robbing, and worse. And then to bring over here those Dutch butchers,—that's the worst of it all! To think of hiring those butchers! Why, it just makes my blood boil to think of it! And against us, too, who are their own blood relatives! That's more than human nature can stand!"
Tom felt the contagion of the young lieutenant's enthusiasm, but he made no reply, and his companion continued, "The redcoats had a great time when they cleared out of Philadelphia. I was there and saw it myself."
"You were there? I thought you were up at Valley Forge all winter!"
"So I was, when I wasn't in Philadelphia. I had to go there sometimes, but I never wore my uniform then. Oh no, I didn't think it was very becoming to my peculiar style of beauty, so I always left it behind me."
"What were you, a spy?"
"That isn't what we call it," replied theyoung officer, lowering his voice and glancing quickly about him at Tom's words, "Never mind what I was, but I was there and that's enough. I'm telling you now about the time the redcoats had when Sir William Howe gave over the command to Sir Henry Clinton. His officers got it up as a kind of a farewell, you see. They called it the Mischianza."
"What's that? I don't understand."
"What, the Mischianza? Oh, that's an Italian word, and means a 'mix up' or a 'medley,' or some such thing; I don't know just what. But I'm telling you now what it was, and what they did. It commenced with a kind of a regatta which they'd arranged in three divisions. Up the river in front came the Ferret galley, and on board were some of the general officers and their ladies. Then came the Centre galley,—that was called the Hussar,—and carried both the Howes and Clinton and their suites, along with a lot of ladies. Behind came the Cornwallis galley, in which were Knyphausen and some of the British generals, and, of course, a lot of ladies.
"Well, sir, they looked fine, I can tell you, for I was in the crowd which watched the affair from the shore, and I saw every bit ofit. On each quarter of the galleys there were five flatboats, all lined with green, and having lots of people on board. Then, in front of the galleys, were three more flatboats, and a band of music was on board of each, and they could play, too, let me tell you, if they were redcoats. Six rowed along each flank, and they were all dressed up in bright colors, and so were the ships and the transport boats, which made a line all the way down to the city. All the wharves were crowded and the people were just wild. The boats started out from Knight's wharf—that's away up in the northern part of the city, you know—and rowed all the way down to Market wharf. There they rested on their oars, the bands played 'God save the King,' the people shouted and sang, and I couldn't help feeling something of the excitement, though I hate the very sight of a redcoat.
"Well, they landed at the Old Fort, and the bands were still playing, and the Roebuck fired seventeen guns and then the Vigilant fired seventeen more. The grenadiers had been drawn up in a double file on shore, and the company then marched up between the lines. They had horsemen there, too, andwhat with the bright dresses of the ladies and the bright favors of blue and white ribbons on the breasts of the managers, who moved in front of the procession, and the uniforms and all, it was a great sight. I should have thought Lord Howe would almost have been sorry he was going to leave.
"The avenue led up to a big lawn, which was all fixed up with arches and rows of benches, rising one above another, where the ladies were to be seated; and then they had some tilts and tournaments, something as they used to have in old England. There were young ladies there, too, lots of them, and they were all dressed up in Turkish costumes, and such like.
"Pretty soon the trumpets sounded, and then a band of knights, dressed in red and white silk, on horses all decked out in the same colors, advanced. Lord Cathcart was the chief, and he had squires to carry his lances and others to carry his shield, and two black slaves with silver clasps on their bare necks and arms held his stirrups. The band then marched around the square and saluted the ladies, and then the herald, after a great flourish of trumpets, declared the ladies of the Blended Rose were ahead of all others.
"When the challenge had been given the third time, some other heralds and a trumpeter came in, along with a lot of knights dressed up in black and orange, and after going through a lot of motions and the bands had played, the herald proclaimed that the Knights of the Burning Mountain were prepared to contest the claim of the others. Then the gauntlet was thrown down and picked up, and the encounter began.
"After they had met four times, the two leaders, Lord Cathcart and Captain Watson, advanced and began a contest between themselves. After they had kept it up a little while, the marshal of the field rushed in between them, and declared the ladies were all right on either side, and commanded the men to stop. Then bands filed off in different directions, playing lively tunes and saluting the ladies as they marched.
"Then the whole company marched through great arches to the garden, and then up into the hall, which had been painted up to resemble Sienna marble. They had a faro table in that room and one great cornucopia all filled with flowers and fruit, and another one empty. Then they went to the ballroom, which was all painted in pale blue, and there were festoonsof flowers, and I don't know what all. I never saw anything like it before. There were eighty-five big mirrors in the room, and they were all fixed out with ribbons and flowers, and as they sent back the light from the branches of waxlights, it made the room look bright enough, I can tell you. On that same floor they had four drawing-rooms, where they got their refreshments, and these rooms were all decorated and lighted up, too.
"They kept up the dancing till ten, and then the fireworks began and the windows were all thrown open. I remember that the first of the fireworks was a great bouquet of rockets,—but that was only one, and they kept it up till twelve o'clock.
"When midnight came, the great folding doors, which had been all covered over with flowers so that no one knew they were there, were thrown open, and there was a great room all decorated and lighted up, most too wonderful to tell about; and there, too, was a great table, which they said had twelve hundred dishes on it—just think of that, will you?—and four hundred and thirty people could sit down to the table at the same time.
"They had supper then, and when theyhad finished that part of the programme the herald and trumpeters entered and proclaimed the health of the king and the royal family. Of course all the people there responded, and then there was a toast for the knights, and the ladies, and lots of others, and there was a great flourish of trumpets as each toast was announced.
"Then they all went back to the ballroom and began to dance again. They kept it up till four o'clock, and I don't know how much later, for I left then."
"And you saw it all?" said Tom slowly.
"Yes, almost every bit of it; 'twas a great sight, too. The like of it has never been seen before on this side of the water, and never will be again, I'm thinking. By the way, Tom, I heard a man there called by your name. It was Captain Coward, I think—though it may have been colonel or judge; I don't just recollect."
"I'm sorry for him."
"You needn't be. Just show that the name's of no account. But I've got to start now. I wish I could take you with me, but I can't. I'll see you soon, though, so good luck to you till we meet again."
"But it's raining," said Tom quickly, asthe patter of the falling drops could be heard on the leaves.
"Can't stop for that; I'm due at five o'clock, rain or no rain. Good-by to you, Tom, and thank you for your help. You've saved me a hard ride in such a day as this!"
The young lieutenant was gone, and Tom waited for the shower to pass. The rain continued only a few minutes, but left the air still more sultry than it had been before, and walking became much more difficult.
However, Tom started on as soon as the rain ceased, and kept steadily to his work until the sun was low in the heavens. His thoughts had been withdrawn, in a measure, from the camp at Hopewell, and he was thinking of the description which the young lieutenant had given of the Mischianza, and the brilliant scene which it must have presented. What could the poor and desperate Continentals do against men who had feasts like that? And Captain, or Colonel, Coward, who was he? Tom found himself thinking of the man, and wondering how he came to have the name.
He turned the bend in the road and saw a band of soldiers marching directly toward him, and not far away. Startled by the sight,he stopped a moment and gazed intently at them, striving to discover whether they wore red coats or buff; but they were covered with dust and he could not decide.
He quickly realized that he must act, and he had just turned about, prepared to run back in the road, when he heard several shots fired at the approaching men from the woods by the roadside.
The band instantly halted and prepared to defend themselves. Without waiting to watch the contest, he once more turned to run, when he obtained a glimpse of men behind him, partially concealed among the trees and standing with their guns raised to their shoulders, and with their attention fixed upon the advancing soldiers.
Were the men friends or foes? Tom could not determine; and, trembling with fear and excitement, he stopped. He was between the opposing bands, while off on his right it was evident that other men were concealed. Thoughts of the Mischianza and of the captain with the unfortunate name were all gone now. He could not advance; he dared not retreat.
TO REFUGEE TOWN
WhenLittle Peter reëntered the lonely house after his friend Tom departed, the full sense of his own sorrow for the first time swept over him. Up to this time the necessity of action had prevented him from fully realizing his loss. The death of his mother, the capture of his father, the provision he was compelled to make at once for his younger brothers and sisters, had so absorbed his thoughts that he had had but little time to dwell upon his own sorrow.
With the departure of Tom, however, there came the reaction, and for a few moments the heartbroken lad was almost overcome. The very silence was oppressive. The only sound he could hear was the loud and regular ticking of the tall clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. How proud his mother had always felt of that ancient timepiece! Many a time had she told him of its history and the pride with which she hadreceived it from her own father, when as a young bride she had first entered the new house which henceforth was to be hers. To Peter, it almost seemed as if the stately clock had been a member of the family, and its voice was almost human to him. On the summer afternoons, when he was a little fellow and his mother had been busied in her household duties, he had often stretched himself upon the sanded floor, and, resting his face upon his hands, with eager eyes had gazed up into the face of the old timepiece and listened to the swing of its long pendulum, which for him had had a language all its own.
And now in the light of the early morning the old clock still stood in the corner and regularly ticked off the passing hours, as if it were unmindful of all the sad scenes to which it had recently been a witness. And yet to Peter it almost seemed, too, as if there was a tone of sadness after all in the monotonous tickings that day. Perhaps the old clock was striving to express its sympathy for the sorrowing boy, but not even its sympathy must be permitted to interfere with its duty in marking the passage of the swiftly flying minutes.
The few antiquated chairs were standingjust as they had stood when his mother had been there. The brass-rimmed mirror, the one ornament of the room, which hung over the low mantelpiece, reflected the scene before it, but in all the picture one figure was wanting and would be forevermore. Overcome by the full knowledge of his loss, Little Peter bowed his head upon his hands and leaned low upon the table, and burst into a flood of tears—the first he had shed since the sad event had occurred. Indian John was forgotten, the few chores about the place were ignored, and for a time the heartbroken lad gave way to his sorrow for the loss of his mother, upon whose face he never was to look again.
How long he remained in that attitude he did not know, but he was recalled to the necessities of the present by the sound of footsteps outside the door. His first thought was that Indian John had returned, and he hastily rose to greet him; but quickly he perceived that the new-comer was not his Indian friend, but Barzilla Giberson, one of his nearest neighbors. If Little Peter had looked carefully into his neighbor's face, he would doubtless have noticed that the man was evidently somewhat troubled, and apparently wasnot overjoyed at the prospect of an interview; but the lad was too busied with his own thoughts and sorrows to bestow a critical examination upon a neighbor's countenance, and Barzilla's evident uneasiness, therefore, was all passed by unnoticed.
"Good-morrow to you, Little Peter," said Barzilla. "The women folks wanted me to come over and say to you that you were welcome to make your home with them, if you so chose."
"Thank you, Barzilla," replied Peter. "If I were going to stay here I should be glad to do that, but I'm going away this morning."
"Sho! Ye don't say so! Where ye goin', if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"I'm going to look up my father."
"Where ye goin' to look him up?" said Barzilla, somewhat uneasily.
"I'm going down to Refugee Town first. I don't know what I'll do if I don't find him there."
"Ye won't find him there," said Barzilla quickly. "In course I don't know where he is," he hastily added, "but I don't b'lieve ye'll find him there; and, besides, that's no place for a lad like you to go to alone, for I take it ye're goin' alone?"
"Yes, I'm going alone," replied Peter, to whom Barzilla's anxiety was not apparent.
"In course it isn't for me to say what ye shall do and what ye shan't, but I don't believe a trip there will do ye any good. Ye've got to remember that other folks has suffered, too. Yer marm isn't the only one that's been shot, and yer pop isn't the only man that's been carried off by the British."
"It wasn't the British that carried my father away," said Peter quickly.
"'Twan't the British? Who was it then, I'd like to know?"
"'Twas Fenton and his band, that's who it was."
"Sho! I can't believe that! I reckon ye're mistaken, Peter. It must 'a' been the redcoats."
"It was Fenton," repeated Peter decidedly.
"I can't b'lieve it," said Barzilla, rising as he spoke. "I can't b'lieve it. However, Peter, we'll look after yer place. The women folks or I will do the chores for ye, while ye're gone. It's only neighborly, ye know, and what's friends good for if they can't help in a time like this?"
"Thank you," said Peter quietly. "There isn't much to be done, but if you'll lookafter what there is, I shall be glad. The children are at Benzeor's house, you know."
"So I hear. So I hear. Well, they're in good hands; ye can rest easy about that. Well, I must be a-goin'. Ye still think ye'd better go down to Refugee Town, do ye?"
"Yes."
"Well, good luck to ye. Good luck to ye. We'll look after the place," called Barzilla as he departed.
If Peter had gone to the door, he would have discovered that Barzilla had not departed to go to his own house, but that after he had entered the road he had turned quickly and started in the direction in which the Navesink lay. But as Peter did not rise from his seat, he missed all that, and, besides, in all probability he would only have been puzzled by his neighbor's actions and unable to account for the haste with which he had made the change.
Peter prepared his breakfast, and then waited for the coming of Indian John. The minutes passed, but the Indian did not put in an appearance, and the lad began to suspect that he would not return. At last, when the sun had appeared, his suspicions passed into certainty, and, resolving to wait for himno longer, he closed the house and started resolutely on the path which led down to the bank of the Navesink, where he kept his little skiff concealed.
He soon arrived at the familiar place, and, after taking his oars from their hiding-place on the bank, pushed the little boat out into the stream and began to row. The heat of the morning soon began to make itself felt, but Peter did not cease from his labors. He was thinking of his father and where he might then be. He was hoping that he would be retained and sent to New York as a prisoner, for Little Peter was well aware of the value of the reward which was offered for every prisoner taken; but Fenton, eager as he was for money, was not likely to incur any unnecessary risk for himself by keeping any one near him who might prove to be a source of danger. And Little Peter knew that his father, especially after the recent events, was not likely to be quiet. Of what might then occur, the lad hardly dared to think. He only knew that what he was to do must be done quickly, if it was to avail, and he rowed on and on without once stopping for rest.
He had covered about half the distancehe was to go, when he heard a hail from down the river. Hastily turning about at the unexpected summons, he saw a little cat-boat slowly coming up the river, and now not many yards away.
"It's Benzeor Osburn," said Peter to himself, as he obtained a glimpse of the man at the helm. "But who's that with him? It's Jacob Van Note. Yes, and that's Barzilla Giberson, too. What in the world"—
His meditations were interrupted by Benzeor's hail, "Where ye bound this mornin', Little Peter? There's to be no lookout to-day, is there?"
"I haven't heard of any," replied Peter, looking at Barzilla and striving to understand how it was that the man who had so recently left his house could now be with Benzeor sailing up the Navesink.
"I came down here after I left you," said Barzilla, as if he felt that he must reply to the question expressed in Peter's manner, "and I fell in with Benzeor, so I stopped and came back to tell him all about the doin's that have been goin' on since he went away. Benzeor's been gone from home two days and more, ye know."
"Has he?" replied Peter. "No. I didn'tknow. Benzeor, the children are at your house. Sarah said I could leave them there and she'd look after them. If it isn't all right, I'll take them away as soon as I come back."
"It's all right. In course it's all right. Barzilla here has been tellin' me about your troubles. It's hard, Peter, but then ye know that lots of people have been served the same way. 'Misery loves company,' ye know."
As Peter made no reply, Benzeor quickly began to talk again, too quickly the lad might have perceived, if he had not been so filled with his own thoughts that all else seemed to escape his observation. "Barzilla tells me as how ye're goin' down to Refugee Town to look up yer pop. Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm tellin' ye it won't do any good. He isn't there—leastwise, that is, I don't believe he's there. In course I don't know anything about it, but it stands to reason he isn't. Ye'd better let me take yer skiff in tow, as I've done with Barzilla's, and come along back with us."
"I think I'll go on. If I don't find him there I can report to Captain Dennis. Perhapshe'll be able to help me a bit, if it's not too late."
Captain Dennis was in command of the local militia, and he and his men already had had several skirmishes with the pine robbers. Indeed, the militia had been enrolled with the very purpose of protecting the scattered homes from the inroads of the outlaws and refugees. Thus far, however, their efforts had not met with a very marked success.
Peter did not observe the scowl which crept over Benzeor's face at the mention of the name of Captain Dennis. "Have it your own way then," said the man gruffly. "They say there's no fool like an old fool, but for downright foolishness give me the young fool every time. I'm tellin' ye that ye won't find yer pop down at Refugee Town, but ye'll have to find it out for yerself, I suppose."
Surprised as Peter was at the abrupt change in Benzeor's manner, his own purpose was not changed, and without replying he picked up his oars and began to row again. He could see the men in earnest conversation as he drew away from them, but it had not yet entered his thoughts that anything could be wrong with them. He was puzzled to accountfor Barzilla's unexpected presence, but his offer to look after his home in his absence was still fresh in his mind, and left no room for suspicion.
As for Benzeor, Little Peter knew that he was considered as a strange man,—"odd," the country people termed it,—and he gave little heed to him or his words. His one purpose now was to go to Refugee Town. He had but little fear of meeting the men who had assembled there, although he knew they were all desperate and reckless. They would not harm him, he thought, and it was possible that he might find his father there, or learn of his whereabouts. Just what he would do if he should find him, he did not know. In any event, he would be with him again, and if he was to be sent as a prisoner to the sugar-house in New York, or to the Whitby or the Jersey, at least his captivity might be shared.
Accordingly, Little Peter rowed steadily forward and in the course of an hour arrived at the mouth of the Navesink. Then he landed and hauled his skiff up on the shore, striving to conceal it among the bushes which grew there. It was only a mile now across the sandy strip to the shore of the ocean, andthe lad began to walk rapidly. Refugee Town was not far away, and the end of his journey would soon be gained.
The heat of the sun was now intense. Across the sands he could see eddies in the heated air, and he felt as if he were breathing the blasts from an oven. His face was streaming with perspiration, while the touch of the sand beneath his feet seemed almost as if it would blister them.
He soon arrived at a place from which he could look out upon the ocean, and it was with a sigh of relief he felt its first cool breath upon his face. Refugee Town now was not far away, so he began to run.
He stopped as he saw two gunboats riding at anchor about a quarter of a mile out from the shore. What could it all mean? They were British vessels, their flags disclosed that; but what was their purpose in casting their anchors there?
He was upon the beach now, and stopped for a moment to gaze at the graceful vessels. He thought he could almost make out the figures of the sailors on the deck. And a little boat was just approaching the larger of the gunboats. Doubtless it had been ashore and was now returning.
"How!"
Peter turned suddenly as he heard the exclamation, and saw Indian John standing before him. His alarm subsided as he recognized his friend, and he said reprovingly, "I thought you were going to go with me this morning, John. Why didn't you?"
"John been. Go to 'Gee Town. No fader there."
"What, my father isn't there? Are you sure, John?"
The Indian made no reply, evidently considering his first words sufficient. He was gazing intently at the boats in the distance, and Little Peter almost unconsciously turned and followed his look. At first he could discover nothing to indicate what had interested his companion; but he soon saw that the little boat, which he had thought was returning to the gunboat, was coming to the shore. Startled by the sight, he was about to inquire of John whether he knew anything concerning the vessels, when he heard a shout.
At a distance of a hundred yards up the beach he saw a motley crowd approaching. Negroes and poorly clad men were among them, and the appearance of all revealed that they were doubtless from Refugee Town.
Their own presence was discovered at the same time, and a shout greeted them.
"Come!" said Indian John quickly; and in an instant Little Peter obeyed, and both were running swiftly over the sand along the beach.
"THEY'RE AFTER US, JOHN!""THEY'RE AFTER US, JOHN!"
Their flight was greeted by another shout from the men behind them, and one or two guns were discharged, but the bullets passed harmlessly over the heads of the fugitives. One glance, however, showed Peter that some of the men had started in pursuit.
"They're after us, John!" he said in a low voice to his companion.
Instantly increasing their efforts, they sped swiftly on in their flight, but the shouts, which were now redoubled, betrayed that the pursuit had not been abandoned. On and on ran pursuers and pursued, while at intervals a gun was discharged and the calls and shouts could be distinctly heard.
For a half mile the flight had continued, and Peter was beginning to feel that he could go no farther. The hot air of the summer morning, the burning sand beneath his feet, as well as the weariness arising from his previous exertions, combined to sap his strength. His breath was coming in gasps now, anddown his face the perspiration was pouring in streams. He felt that he could go no farther.
Another glance behind him showed that the men had not abandoned the pursuit. A half dozen of them were still running swiftly along the beach, and to Little Peter it seemed as if they were gaining upon him.
BATHSHEBA'S FEAST
Indian Johnhad been slightly changing the direction in which they were running, although Little Peter had not perceived the change. At first they had kept close to the water's edge, and at times the creeping tide had rolled up to their feet. As his companion had gradually drawn closer to the higher ridge which extended somewhat farther back from the beach, Peter had thought nothing of the slight divergence, except that the Indian was desirous of keeping a little farther from the water.
Along this ridge in advance of him, Peter saw that thick bushes and stunted trees were growing, and he thought of the possibility of finding some hiding-place there; but he was hardly prepared for the change which Indian John then made. They had just passed a bend in the ridge which shut out the view of their pursuers, and come to a little gully which the winter storms had in the course ofmany years cut deep into the bank. Here Indian John turned sharply, and, bidding his companion follow him, turned directly into the woods, which extended from the shore far back into the adjoining country.
Little Peter instantly followed, but they had not gone many yards before they came suddenly upon a wigwam in the midst of the forest. Indian John stopped, and, after a few hurried words with the Indian who was standing near and who had silently watched the approaching fugitives, beckoned for Peter to follow him, and both entered the conical shaped dwelling and threw themselves upon the ground.
The lad was so thankful for the respite, and was so nearly exhausted by his efforts, that for a time he said nothing, being only too glad of an opportunity to rest. Every moment he expected to hear the voices of their pursuers, and more than once was on the point of starting forth from the hut and resuming his flight, so certain was he that the men had discovered the hiding-place.
After a time he was positive that he was not deceived. He could hear the voices of men in conversation with the Indians, and all of his fears returned. His companion placedhis hand upon the arm of the trembling lad, and Peter waited, listening intently, and fearful every moment that some one would enter the hut and summon them to come forth.
The conversation lasted several minutes, and then abruptly ceased. Peter could not determine whether the strangers had departed or not; but he waited anxiously and did not speak.
The moments slowly passed and his suspense increased. It seemed to him that he must escape from the place in which he was concealed. The very air was strangely oppressive, and the ignorance as to what was going on outside the wigwam increased the anxiety of the frightened boy.
He did not know where he was, nor who were the people whose abode Indian John had so unceremoniously entered. No voice within or without the hut could now be heard, and the silence itself added to his alarm.
He could see that Indian John was seated upon the ground with his head resting upon his knees. He had not moved nor changed his position since they had entered. Motionless as a statue he remained seated, as if he were utterly unmindful of all about him.
"John!" whispered Little Peter at last.
The Indian raised his head and looked at his companion, but did not speak.
"John, don't you think we'd better start on again?"
Indian John still made no reply, and his head dropped again upon his knees. Peter then perceived that his companion intended neither to speak nor to depart, and that he must wait in silence for him to explain his purpose, or to act.
The impatient lad endeavored to possess his soul in patience, but as the moments passed his anxiety and fear increased. The uncertainty, he thought, was even more difficult to be borne than was the pursuit itself, for action of some kind was then possible, while this waiting in silence was almost unbearable. Not a sound could now be heard. The very birds were silent under the burning heat of the noontime, and the grating notes of the crickets had ceased.
At last it seemed to him he could bear it no longer, and he was about to arise and go forth from the hut, regardless of consequences, when some one entered and spoke a few words in an unknown tongue to Indian John.
"Come," said the Indian gently, standing erect as he spoke; and Little Peter at once followed him out into the open air.
He glanced quickly about him, but no one was to be seen except three Indians, one of whom was a man, and the others, two women. Little Peter instantly recognized them as Moluss, or "Charlie" Moluss, as many of the whites called him, and his wife and her sister.
The two women were busily engaged in preparing the contents of a small iron vessel, which was hanging from a stick supported by two forked branches, driven into the ground, and beneath which a brisk fire was burning.
One of the women was feeding the fire, while the other was stirring the contents of the hanging pot. A savory odor greeted Little Peter's nostrils, and as soon as he perceived that he was in no immediate danger he realized that he was hungry; and, with the passing of his alarm, there came an eager interest in the occupation of the two women before him.
Little Peter had seen the trio many times before this. They had their home with others of their tribe in a little settlement several miles back in the interior. This settlementwas commonly known as Edgepelick, or Edge Pillock, and to it the Indians had gradually withdrawn after they had disposed of their lands, for the good people of Old Monmouth were as scrupulous as their New England cousins in not taking the lands from the dusky owners without giving a so-called equivalent for them.
It is true that this "equivalent" sometimes was a barrel of cider, or a piece of bright-colored cloth; but perhaps the Indians thought that was better than nothing, and as their lands were certain to be taken from them, even such an equivalent as that which was offered was not to be despised, and so they had submitted to the unequal exchange. At all events, the exchanges had been made, and in the summer of 1778, many of the Indian families were dwelling in Edge Pillock, and there continued to reside until the year 1802, when the men who had driven such shrewd bargains with them caused them all to be removed to Oneida Lake, in the neighboring State of New York.
Charlie Moluss, with his wife and her sister, had been frequent visitors in Little Peter's home, and he knew them almost as well as he did Indian John. Somehow, they had notbeen content to abide continuously in Edge Pillock, and at least twice each year came down to the shore, where they erected a wigwam, and while Moluss fished and gathered oysters and clams, the women made baskets and sold them among the scattered homes of the settlers. Doubtless this, then, was their annual visit, thought Little Peter, and their abiding place had been known to Indian John, who had sought its shelter as a place of refuge from their pursuers. And Little Peter was quite content, at least for the present, and his feeling of relief was not diminished by the savory odor which now arose from the iron vessel.
Charlie Moluss's wife was a strikingly handsome Indian woman, and was known as Bathsheba, which the irreverent settlers had shortened into "Bath," as they had her sister's name into "Suke."
Bathsheba was considered as an Indian queen, and the respect which the Indians showed her was, to a certain extent, shared by the white people, especially by the Quakers. She was regarded as a highly intelligent woman, and the most prominent people of the region were always glad to welcome her to their homes.
Little Peter thought of all these things as he seated himself upon the ground beside the two men, who were, apparently, as deeply interested in the occupation of the women as was he, himself. The work went steadily on, and, while Peter found that his hunger was increasing, he nevertheless listened to what Indian John told him of Moluss's success in turning their pursuers back to their camp at Refugee Town. Some of them had followed the fugitives as far as the wigwam, but had turned away after the Indian had professed his inability to give them the information they desired, and, doubtless, before this time, were safely back in "'Gee Town," as Indian John termed their little settlement by the Hook.
Just why they had been pursued Indian John could not explain, but he had connected it in some way with the appearance of the boat off the shore, and Little Peter was not inclined to differ from his conclusion. He was satisfied now that his father was not to be found in Refugee Town, and he had decided to go farther down the shore to the place where he thought he would be likely to find Captain Dennis, or some of the local militia who had been stationed near to protectthe salt works and strive to hold back the pine robbers, many of whom had their places of concealment not far away.
Just at present, however, the thought of his dinner was uppermost in his mind. He eagerly watched Bathsheba and her sister in their work, and, from their movements, he concluded that his waiting time was soon to end. One of the women entered the wigwam and brought out several small wooden bowls. Into these she dipped some of the steaming contents of the iron vessel, placing each bowl upon the ground when it had been filled.
A word from Bathsheba caused Moluss to arise, and, approaching the fire, he took one of the bowls in both hands and then seated himself upon the ground and proceeded to blow with his breath upon the soup, preparatory to drinking it.
His example was speedily followed by Indian John and Little Peter, who took their bowls and seated themselves beside Moluss on the ground. An expression of deep satisfaction was manifest upon the faces of the two men, while the women, apparently proud of their success in the culinary art, looked on with evident pleasure. Little Peter also raised the bowl in his hands and blew upon it.
"Good!" said Moluss, taking a long draught. "Good hop! Hop good!"
"Good!" muttered Indian John, following his friend's example. "Good hop! Good hop!"
"What?" said Little Peter suddenly, placing his bowl again on the ground before him as he spoke. "What was that you said, John?"
"Good! Good hop," replied the Indian, with evident satisfaction.
"You don't mean to say that hop-toads are in this soup, do you?"
"Um!" replied Indian John, with a grunt of pleasure. "Good! Little hop-hop! John like um! Good hop! John like um little hop-hop!" And, suiting the action to the word, he proceeded to take a deeper draught of the savory mixture.
All of Little Peter's hunger, however, had disappeared. He quickly arose from his seat, and, with an expression of disgust upon his face, which he could not entirely repress, prepared to pass the group and go into the forest.
A loud laugh greeted his action, and as he passed Moluss, the Indian held forth his bowl, and said, "Peter like um hop-hop? Good! Moluss like um hop-hop! John like um hop-hop!Squaw like um hop-hop! All like um hop-hop! All like um hop-hop! Peter like um, too?"
Little Peter was not to be tempted, and the broad grin upon the faces of the women, as well as the loud laugh of the men which followed him as he turned into the forest, did not tend to overcome his feeling of disgust. How was it possible that they could be willing to eat such filthy creatures as hop-toads? Little Peter was all in ignorance of some of the dainty viands which, under high-sounding names, are served up in our modern restaurants, and so, as a matter of course, could draw no comparison between the tastes of the rude, uncivilized savages and those of the more highly cultivated men of our own times. Perhaps he would not have compared them if he had been possessed of the prophet's foresight. He knew, however, that his own hunger had disappeared, and as he walked on he found many excuses for his uncivilized friends. They were welcome to their own customs, but they must not expect him to join them in their feasts.
He had gone so far from the wigwam by this time that he thought the repast, which had so highly delighted his friends, wouldbe ended by the time he could walk back. Accordingly, he reversed his steps, but as he walked on his own pressing problem returned in full force.
His father was not to be found in Refugee Town, of that he felt certain; for, while Indian John had not said much, he knew him so well that he was satisfied he had known whereof he had spoken.
Where, then, could he be? It was currently reported that Fenton's band had a place in the lower part of the county, to which they carried their booty and from which they started forth on their raids. It was just possible that his father had been taken there by the outlaws in their flight, but he would not long be retained there. Fenton knew what American prisoners were worth in the New York market, and, doubtless, he would find some means by which he could send him there. And the pine robber would act soon, too, for with the approach of the armies, there would be many opportunities for his own special work, and he would not long be hampered by the presence of a single prisoner, whose value would be slight compared with that of the plunder he might secure.
Little Peter decided that what he was to dohe must do quickly. He would start at once for the place where Captain Dennis's men were said to be, and place the entire matter in their hands. The captain was a man whose bravery was well known in Old Monmouth, and he was ever ready to aid the scattered settlers.
Captain Dennis would surely help him, too, Peter thought, and, with his heart somewhat lightened, he began to walk more rapidly. He would return to the wigwam and inform Indian John of his decision. If John would go with him, he would be glad of his aid, but, whether he went or not, the lad felt that his own problem was, in a measure, already solved.
"Little Peter, is that you?"
The startled lad looked up quickly at the unexpected summons, and saw, standing directly in his pathway, nine men. Each had a musket in his hands, but they wore no uniforms, and for a moment Little Peter could not determine whether they were friends or foes.