TED WILSON'S VICTIM
A shoutarose from the eager crew as they perceived the success which had crowned their desperate efforts, but an answering shout from the men in the two approaching barges quickly recalled them to the necessity for further and immediate action. Why it was that the guns of the gunboats had remained silent they could not understand, but there was no time now for investigations. It was sufficient that they had not been molested thus far; and as the leader at once gave the command for them to resume their labors with their oars, the men at once responded and gave way together, the supply boat still being towed.
The whaleboat had been built for speed, and was long, narrow, and light. Had it not been for the laden supply boat, which as yet they were not willing to abandon, they would easily and speedily have drawn away from the pursuing barges. As it was, theyswept forward swiftly, and apparently were almost holding their own in the race.
For several minutes the desperate efforts of the men continued. The heavy clouds had gathered in the sky, and the blaze of the sun had disappeared. The air was sultry and oppressive, and the unusual calm which rested over the waters indicated that the storm which had been threatening was fast approaching. No one glanced at the heavens, however, the set and streaming faces indicating that the immediate task in hand was sufficient of itself to occupy all their thoughts.
On and on rowed the men, and on and on swept the pursuing barges. Less than a quarter of a mile lay between them, and, heavily laden as the supply boat was, it materially decreased the speed which otherwise the whaleboat might have made. The moments passed, but the efforts were not relaxed. Together, the long oars struck the water, and the bodies of the men swayed back and forth as if they were controlled by a common impulse. The distance between the boats was not materially changed, although if any change was to be seen it was in favor of the barges.
"This will never do," said the leader atlast, letting his oar go, and rising in his seat as he spoke. "Here, you men," he added, grasping his gun and facing the prisoners in the other boat as he spoke, "it's time for you to work your passage. Take those oars and pull your prettiest! Four oars are better than one, and I can do more with a gun than I can by pulling. Take your oars, every one of you, and the first one to drop will be fired on!"
The four men in the supply boat sullenly obeyed, and the increased impulse of their efforts at once became manifest. The leader stood in the stern of the whaleboat facing the prisoners, and watchful of their every movement. His words of encouragement served to inspire his companions, and for a time it appeared as if they were gaining upon their pursuers.
Still, the distance between them did not materially increase, and such efforts as the men were then making could not be long maintained. Indeed, signs of distress were already becoming apparent, and Little Peter felt every time he drew in his oar as if he had not strength enough left to pull another stroke. His face betrayed the pain he was suffering, but his condition was not muchworse than that of some of the other men with him in the boat.
The exciting contest could not be continued much longer, and as the leader glanced about the boat he almost decided to cut the rope which held the supply boat, and, leaving that behind, seek safety in flight.
He had drawn his knife from his pocket, and was standing ready to free them from their heavy load, when the rain began to fall. In a moment the wind swept down upon them, and the storm was at hand.
Prom the first of the pursuing barges came a shot, but no damage was done, and the leader muttered, "That's all right. It's a farewell salute you're giving us. You might as well say good-by to us, for I take it you'll never see us again."
The waves were now rising, and the rain was falling in torrents. Between them and the shore it almost seemed as if a cloud intervened, so heavy was the downpour. The voice of the leader could hardly be heard by his men. The deep-toned thunder sounded almost continuously, and the darting lightning appeared to be all about them. In escaping from one peril they had encountered another.
The barges could now no longer be seen, and, with the passing of the fear of pursuit, the men gave all their attention to their efforts to keep the whaleboat out of the trough of the rolling waves. Still, the supply boat was not cut loose, for the determined men were resolved to hold to that so long as it lay within their power to do so.
For a half hour the shower continued, and although much water was shipped, and the men were compelled to bail the boats, they behaved well. When at last the storm had passed and the low mutterings of the thunder sounded far out to sea, they all looked keenly behind them to discover the whereabouts of their pursuers.
Neither of the barges was to be seen. Doubtless, with the approach of the shower, they had both put back to the gunboats for safety. The whaleboat had weathered the storm, and the supply boat was still safely in tow.
Drenched though the men were, new strength seemed to come with the knowledge that they were no longer being pursued, and then, relieved of their fear, they continued on their way down the shore.
They frequently stopped for rest and toscan the waters behind them, but no boat could anywhere be seen. Nor was any one to be discerned upon the beach. Doubtless the men from Refugee Town had fled for safety and shelter, or, as the leader grimly said, "They were afraid of being wet, for water was something to which all the men assembled there were strongly opposed."
For mile after mile they held steadily to their course, even their excitement apparently having mostly disappeared. The supply boat contained guns and ammunition, and if there was anything of which the militia stood in need, it was of that very commodity.
At first it was thought that they would put in at the entrance to Shark River, but it was soon decided to continue on their way until they should come to Manasquan Inlet, and then go up the river to a place where some of their friends were to be found. To gain Tom's River they would be compelled to keep on to Barnegat Inlet, and then retrace their way up Barnegat Bay, to the place where the river entered; and as that would require a voyage of thirty miles more, no one regretted the change in the plan.
They were all nearly worn out by their exertions, and no one knew what Britishvessel might be met before they could gain the shelter of Tom's River.
Little Peter, in spite of his eagerness to go on to the place where he hoped to learn something concerning his father, was so weary from the work of the day, and as he had not tasted food since early that morning, he rejoiced with the others when at last the boats turned into Manasquan Inlet and began to make their way up the little stream.
The sun was now low in the western sky, and the night would soon be upon them. The shadows already were lengthening when the two boats passed out of the inlet into the waters of the river. The leader, however, had not yet given the word to rest on their oars, and Little Peter did not know where they were to pass the night.
The whaleboat kept steadily on in its course, and the wearied men were still pulling at the oars. The river was becoming narrower now, and more than one was hoping that the word would soon be given for them to land.
Suddenly, the leader called to his men, and, standing erect, pointed excitedly to a place on the shore not far in advance of them. His companions quickly looked in that direction and saw on the little point of land, aroundwhich the river swept in its course, two men standing in the water. But what was it they were doing? One of them was holding the other and frequently forcing his head beneath the surface of the river. He would hold him in that position for a moment and then lift him upon his feet again, and shake him, much as a dog might have done with a rabbit. Apparently neither had observed the approaching boats, nor had either uttered a sound which the men in the whaleboat could hear.
"The fellow's drowning him!" said the leader excitedly. "He's drowning him. Give way, men, and we'll lend a hand."
The men, no less excited than their leader, instantly responded, and the boats dashed rapidly forward. The eyes of all were fixed upon the two men before them, and the leader shouted and called; but apparently, unmindful of their approach, the strange actions continued. The larger of the two men again and again forced the head of his companion under the water, and then would lift him up and repeat the shaking. So thoroughly intent was he upon his strange occupation, that he did not once heed the hail, or even glance toward the whaleboat.
Nearer and nearer swept the boats, and finally, when they were almost upon him, the man ceased his efforts and glanced coolly up at the approaching men, still, however, retaining his grasp on his victim, who apparently was helpless in his hands.
A startled exclamation escaped Little Peter's lips when he saw that the smaller of the men was none other than his own neighbor, Benzeor Osburn. "Help him! Help him!" he said excitedly to the leader. "It's Benzeor! It's Benzeor Osburn! He's my neighbor! He's being drowned! He'll be killed!"
"Be still!" said the leader roughly. "It's Ted Wilson that's got him. Ted knows what he's doing. What's the trouble, Ted? What's gone wrong?" he added quickly, addressing the man who still held Benzeor tightly in his grasp.
The huge man slowly turned his head as he heard himself addressed, and Little Peter thought he never before had seen such an expression of rage upon any human countenance. His great muscular arms were bare, and his entire body seemed to express the marvelous strength he possessed. Benzeor was not struggling, and indeed there seemed to be but little hope of protecting himselffrom the powerful man whose prisoner he was.
Little Peter could see that, although Benzeor was almost breathless, he had recognized him, but he made no effort to speak and scarcely glanced at the men before him.
"What's wrong, Ted?" repeated the leader. "What's the matter with the man?"
"The matter isn't with the man, it's with me," said Ted slowly, speaking in a deep, gruff voice, which betrayed the strong feeling under which he labored.
"You're not going to drown him, are you?"
"Naw—though the snake deserves it. Drownin' is too good for such as he!"
Ted had not moved from his position, and still was standing up to his waist in the water.
"Tell us about it. Maybe we can help you a bit."
"Naw, ye can't help any. It's my business. I don't mind tellin' ye how it came about, though. This forenoon I sold some corn and stuff up here at the mill, and got my pay in coin, too. Well, this fellow was there and he saw me get paid off, and I half suspected the reptile from the way he looked at me when he saw me take the money. Hereyou!" he quickly added, as Benzeor struggled slightly. "Ye want some more, do ye? Well, I'll give ye all ye want and all ye need, too," and again he thrust the helpless Benzeor's head beneath the water.
"Let him up. You'll drown him!" said the leader, when Ted had held his victim several seconds under the water.
"It's no more than he deserves," replied the huge man, nevertheless lifting his victim and shaking him again. "Now will ye keep still?"
As Benzeor was unable to reply, Ted again turned to the men in the boat and said, "Well, I took that money home and gave it to Sallie. She's my wife, ye know, and I always gives her what money I get, not that it's ever very much, though. I didn't ferget the eyes o' this fellow, however, and I told Sallie,—she's my wife, ye know, and as likely a woman as there is in Old Monmouth, if I do say it as ought not to,—I told her to keep a good lookout for the pine robbers, fer I had a kind of a suspicion this here reptile might know where they was, and might get word to 'em, too.
"I took my axe and went off down into my swamp-lot to cut some wood, and leftSallie up in the house. Sallie's my wife, ye know. I felt uneasy like all the time, but I worked on for three hours or more, but I kept a-gettin' uneasier and uneasier, and, finally, I just couldn't stand it any longer and put straight fer the house.
"'Twas mighty lucky I did, too, I'm tellin' you, fer when I came in sight o' the house,—ye can see it up there now," and Ted pointed to his home, a short distance up the bank, giving the unfortunate Benzeor an additional shake as he did so,—"I see somethin' was wrong. There was three or four men a-standin' out by the big maple in front o' my house, and the minit I looked I see what they was up to. Somebody was a hangin' from a bedcord they'd threw over a limb o' that very maple-tree.
"Mebbe ye know how I felt when I see it was my Sallie; she's my wife, ye know. They was a-drawin' her up and then lettin' her down, and I knew then they was tryin' to make her own up where that money was. I had my axe in my hands, and when I see what they was up to, I didn't wait very long, I'm tellin' ye. I cut Sallie loose,—she wasn't very much hurt; she's my wife, ye know,—and then I took after the rascals.They scattered in every direction, but this vermin started for the river and I after him."
"You got him, I see."
"Did I get him? Let him answer for hisself."
And the angry Ted again shook the helpless Benzeor until the men wondered that his trembling limbs still held together.
A FRUITLESS CHASE
Thesurprise of Tom Coward was not diminished as the novel race continued. Twice through the open doors of the barn dashed the two riders, their horses' hoofs slipping on the rough floor and almost throwing the men from their seats. Both continued to maintain their positions, however, and would no sooner disappear from Tom's sight than they would be seen coming around the corner of the barn again, the young American lieutenant still in advance and the British officer in close pursuit.
Friend Nathan was standing in the doorway of his house, and, in spite of his peaceful professions, there was an eager expression upon his face which betrayed the fact that he was not an uninterested observer of the strange contest. Tom had not moved from his position, and his excitement had almost deprived him of the power of speech.
Again through the open doorways of thebarn the riders had urged their swiftly running horses, but as yet their relative positions had remained unchanged. The British officer was leaning forward on his horse's neck and endeavoring to grasp the bridle of the young lieutenant's horse, but the quick movements of the latter had prevented him, and the mad race continued.
As Lieutenant Gordon dashed around the corner of the barn, and for the fourth time prepared to enter the open door, Tom saw that the other members of the band were just entering the yard. The excited lad could not longer remain silent. His friend was beset by new perils and must be warned.
"Look out! Look out!" shouted Tom.
Young Gordon looked up and for the first time beheld the increase in the number of his enemies. Without hesitating a moment, he turned his horse toward the low fence and cleared it at a bound. Then, directly across the open lot toward the woods in the distance he urged his trusty steed, and almost before the men in the yard perceived what had occurred, he had placed a considerable distance between him and the barn.
The confusion, however, lasted but a moment, for, with a shout, several of the menurged their horses forward, and, leaping the low fence, renewed the pursuit. Those who did not follow raised their guns and discharged them at the fleeing officer; but either his movements were too swift, or their excitement prevented them from taking careful aim, for the bullets went wide of their mark, and in a very brief time the young lieutenant disappeared within the woods, and soon after his pursuers followed him.
"Thee didn't seem to catch him," said Nathan blandly to the men who remained in the yard.
"They'll get him. They'll get him," replied the leader. "They'll soon run him down, never you fear. But he's a bold fellow, there's no mistake about that. What did you call out to him for?" he added, turning sharply to Tom.
"Did I call out to him?" replied Tom. "I don't just know what I did, I was so excited. I thought you had him."
"So I would, if it hadn't been for the barn floor."
Tom thought the barn floor was perhaps as much of a disadvantage to the pursued as to the pursuer, but he discreetly held his peace and said no more.
"Now, old man, you can get us some breakfast. My men will be back here in no time with the young rebel, and will have all the better appetite because of their morning's work. You can feed us all, can't you?" said the officer.
"I have spoken to Rachel. Doubtless she will do her best for thee."
The men at once proceeded to place their horses in the barn and serve them freely from the Quaker's store. Then they entered the house and seated themselves at the table which Rachel had spread for them, although they first stationed one of their companions as guard.
For a time no one spoke, so busied were they in their occupation, and Tom Coward was not one whit behind any of them. He was tired and hungry, and the breakfast was doubly welcome to him. Rachel moved quietly about the room, her drab dress and broad white collar being in marked contrast to the brilliant uniforms of her self-invited guests.
"Old man," said the officer at last, "I wish you'd tell me how it happened that that young rebel was here on your place. You weren't sheltering him, were you?"
"Nay," replied Nathan. "In times like these, Friends are not prone to shelter any soldiers. Our guests are only those who come without any bidding of ours."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the officer. "I fancy you mean that as a reproach for us. Well, we'll pay you for our breakfast, never you fear about that. Your scruples don't carry you so far that you object to receiving a return in good yellow or white metal, do they?"
"The laborer is ever worthy of his hire. I shall be thankful for any equivalent it may seem good unto thee to bestow upon me."
"That's right, that's right. Trust a broad brim for that every time. I'm not complaining, old man, I'm not complaining. You don't happen to know just where the rebel army is at present, do you?"
"It is reported that Washington is on the march for this very place. Even now he may be approaching."
"Do you know that?" inquired the officer in a lower tone.
"Nay. I know nothing of their movements. It is all of the current report I am speaking to thee. I fear me that a man of peace is likely to suffer double ills betweenthe two armies, for it is also reported that the British and their Hessian companions are also likely to march through this very region."
If the officer had glanced at the old Quaker he would have discovered that there was a very keen expression upon his face as he ventured the last supposition. But as he did not look up it was all lost upon him, and perhaps if he had seen it, he would not have understood its meaning, since his host was ostensibly a man of peace.
"I'm not so sure of that," said the officer quietly. "We've come to look over the land and report to Colonel Simcoe. What makes you think the rebels are near here, and are likely to march this way?"
"I will tell thee truly. The young man whom your companions are pursuing slept last night in my barn. He informed me frankly that Washington was to pass this way"—
"And fall on our army?" broke in the officer eagerly.
"That is the natural inference for thee to draw. It's a sad day for the Friends. They are ground between the upper and the nether millstones, for I understood thee to say that the British also were to come hither."
"You can understand what you please," replied the leader gruffly. "You've given me the information I most desire and Colonel Simcoe would be glad to reward you for it, but being, as you are, a man of peace, of course you wouldn't be willing to take anything from a man whose occupation is blood letting. Hello! here's the guard!" he added, rising abruptly from the table as he spoke. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," replied the guard, "except that our men are returning from the woods."
"And did they catch the young rebel?"
"No, or at least he's not with them now."
All hurriedly left the table and rushed out into the yard, Tom also going with them. The men could be seen returning across the lot, but it was at once evident that the young lieutenant was not with them.
"What's the trouble? How was it that you let the slippery little rebel get away from you?" demanded the leader, as the soldiers once more entered the yard.
"Simply because he could ride faster than we could," replied one of the band in a surly tone. "His horse was fresh and ours had been out all night."
The officer was angry, but, after a fewsharp words to his men, he bade them enter the kitchen and get their breakfast.
"Did thee find him?" inquired Nathan.
"No, we didn't find him. I'd chase him right into camp if it wasn't that I must hurry back to the colonel with the word you've given me. You're sure about what you told me?"
"What did I tell thee?" inquired Nathan blandly.
"About the march of the rebels," replied the officer angrily. "I half believe you're in league with them yourself, in spite of all your whining words. If I thought you were I'd leave your body for the crows to pick."
"And is that the method which seemeth to thee to prove thou art right, and that I am no man of peace?"
"Oh, never mind, old man, never mind my words. Perhaps I'm a little too hard with you. This young rebel's getting away from us has put me out of temper. What I want to know is whether you believe what you said about the rebels coming through Cranberry."
"I have given thee the words as they were given me. I am not in the councils of the 'rebels,' as it seemeth good to thee to callthem, and cannot say more. It is for thee to judge, not me, who am a man of peace and not familiar with the ways of warlike men."
By this time the men had finished their breakfast, and a hurried consultation followed. The decision at which they arrived was soon apparent when the leader approached Nathan, and, holding forth some silver in his hand, said, "There, take that for the breakfast you've given us."
"I thank thee," replied Nathan, accepting the money.
"Are you going back with us, lad?" said the officer, turning to Tom as he spoke.
"No. You said all you wanted of me was to point out the way to Cranberry."
"So I did, but if this old man speaks the truth,—and I'm inclined to think he does,—you'll be better off with us than you will be to stay behind when the rebels are coming. You'll have a good horse to ride, too; you must not forget that."
"I think I'll stay. I'm not afraid of the rebels, and can find my way all right." Tom's heart was beating rapidly, and the fear that permission for him to remain would not be granted was uppermost in his thoughts.
"Have it your own way, lad, have it yourown way. I only spoke what I thought was for your own best good."
He gave a few orders to his men, and in a brief time the band departed, riding swiftly up the road and soon disappearing from sight.
"This was not a bad morning's work, Friend Thomas," said Nathan, when at last the men were gone, jingling the silver in his pocket as he spoke.
"It was a good deal better than I ever expected to have," replied Tom.
Neither of them realized, however, the full consequences, for Nathan's words, in addition to what the officer had already discovered, caused him to return in all haste with the information he had received to Colonel Simcoe. That officer, upon receiving the word, which was corroborated by other discoveries he had made, at once reported to Sir Henry Clinton, and an immediate change in the plans of the British was made. The advance to the Raritan was speedily abandoned, the route to the Highlands was at once chosen, and it was decided that the army should march by the way of Monmouth Court House. The battle of Monmouth, which soon followed, thus became possible,and that, with all its consequences to the struggling patriots, turned upon the information which Colonel Simcoe had received, and which he speedily carried to his commander.
Upon such slight events do those which we sometimes call the greater ones turn. Perhaps as we grow older and wiser we shall come to perceive more clearly the true relation which the so-called little things of life bear to the greater ones. A very wise man once declared that "he who was faithful in the little affairs of life was very greatly faithful." In any event, we have partially learned the lesson that it is a test of true greatness to be able to do little things well, and that the very best evidence of a man's being able to do the greater things is that he is willing to do the smaller ones, as they come to him, faithfully and honestly.
However, neither Nathan nor Tom was moralizing after this fashion when they entered the house after watching the departure of the British soldiers. Tom then related all his recent experiences to Nathan, not omitting the story of Benzeor's misdeeds.
The old Quaker listened attentively, and it was apparent from his frequent expressions of anger that his interest in the success of theContinentals was not entirely banished by his peaceful professions.
"What thee needs now, friend Thomas," he said, when at last the lad's story was ended, "is a good rest. Rachel has a bed ready for thee."
Tom followed his friend to the room upstairs, and soon stretched himself upon the bed. How grateful it seemed to the weary lad! For a moment he gazed at the four high posts, but soon everything was forgotten and he was asleep.
How long he slept he did not know, but he was awakened by Nathan, who called to him and said, "Friend Thomas, there is some one below who desires to see thee."
Tom leaped from the bed and followed the Quaker down the stairs, wondering who it was that wished to see him. There were confused thoughts in his mind of the British officer and Benzeor, but he was not in the least prepared for the sight upon which he looked when he entered the room.
A RARE BEAST
Itis necessary now for us to turn and follow some of the movements of that army which Tom Coward was so eager to join.
Sir Henry Clinton fully understood that he had little to gain from an engagement with Washington's army at this time. The Americans were not holding any position which he desired to gain, their stores and equipments were of slight value, and if Washington should be defeated, the result would be that his men would simply be scattered in the surrounding region, where they would still be free to carry on their straggling methods of warfare, and harass the British by falling upon their baggage trains and shooting at the men as they marched along the country roads.
On the other hand, Clinton's stores were numerous and of no little value. The loss of them would be a serious blow to the redcoats, while the possession of them by the Continentalswould put new life into the cause of the poorly equipped patriots. And above all of these things, the danger which now threatened from the approach of a French fleet led the British commander to hasten forward to the defense of New York, which he feared was likely to be the first place to be attacked by the allies of the colonies.
The very motives which caused Sir Henry to wish to avoid an engagement were those which appealed most strongly to Washington to enter into one. He had but little to lose and much to gain. A defeat for the British would mean a weakening of the defense of New York, and the long train of baggage wagons was a most tempting prize. The possession of those stores would replenish the scanty supplies of the Americans; and, as we know, Washington had eagerly pushed his army forward, hoping to gain a position in advance of the British and fall upon them in some advantageous position which he himself could select.
The main body had advanced as far as Hopewell, as we have already learned in the course of this story, but there had halted for a brief time. The weather had been unusually trying, and as a consequence the menwere suffering intensely. Even the "oldest inhabitants" had never known such a summer. The thermometer had climbed well up into the nineties and then had stayed there. The frequent thunder showers apparently did not cool the air and afforded no relief, as the sultriness seemed to be increased by each one. The roads had become heavy and well-nigh impassable in places, and when at last the men had marched to the plains of Hopewell, Washington wisely halted to give them their much needed rest.
Another matter led the great commander to remain there for a time. He had now gained a position which offered him a considerable advantage, and he wished to call a council of his officers to consult concerning his further movements.
Accordingly, the second of the councils since the army had departed from Philadelphia was then called, and the one question in the mind of the commander was this: "Will it be advisable to hazard a general engagement?"
General Charles Lee, who was second in command, and was by some even then suspected of being in secret league with Howe, was present, and his voice was soon heard.Lee was a Welshman, brilliant in certain ways, and had seen much service in the armies of Europe. Many had preferred him to Washington as the commander-in-chief of the American armies, and Lee himself was not averse to the idea. He affected to regard Washington with contempt, looking upon him as a man who lacked military training and of but little ability. His jealousy already had been the cause of many serious troubles, and at the present time, in spite of the fact that he had been exchanged for the British general Prescott, captured in a manner not unlike that in which Lee himself had been taken in a previous winter at Morristown, he apparently was unmindful of all the regard bestowed upon him, and was not unwilling to see Washington make some mistakes which would bring upon the leader the anger of his fellows, and perhaps open the way for Lee to gain his position. This view of the case is certainly to be preferred to that which marked him simply as a traitor and in league with the enemy, although in all likelihood both, in a measure, were correct. Probably Washington understood the man thoroughly at the time, and we may be certain that his troubles were not decreased by his knowledge.
Lee was possessed of a strikingly ugly face, and his plain features were the cause of many rude jests among the soldiers who were opposed to him. But whatever his lacks in personal beauty or moral character may have been, he at least had a most persuasive tongue. His eager and impulsive manner, his commonly accredited ability, and his foreign training, which had great influence among many of his ruder and unpolished companions, caused some of the men about him to become ready listeners to what he had to say.
In the council which Washington called at Hopewell, Lee exerted himself to the utmost to oppose the proposition to enter into an engagement with the advancing British. So persuasive were his words that the majority of the officers voted with him that it would not be advisable to detach more than fifteen hundred men from the main body to harass the enemy on their flank and rear, while the remainder of the army should preserve their present position relative to the British, and be governed by circumstances.
Just what Lee's motive was is not fully apparent. Whether he wished to avoid a battle or simply desired to cause Washingtonto fail in taking advantage of the favorable opportunity, which Lee himself must have seen had presented itself, is not clearly known. It may have been a combination of both wishes.
General Wayne bitterly opposed the proposition of Lee, and generals such as Greene, Lafayette, Steuben, and others, expressed themselves as being decidedly of the opinion that, at the very least, twenty-five hundred men should be detached from the main body and sent forward to carry out Washington's plan.
Lee's motion, however, prevailed; but while Washington seemingly consented to the decision of the council, we can now see, as we look backward, that his own purpose was not changed. Perhaps he was strengthened in his opinion by the words of General Wayne and General Greene, spoken after the breaking up of the assembly, for we know that they then expressed themselves very freely to their leader.
Apparently yielding to the expressed wishes of the majority, Washington dispatched General Scott with fifteen hundred men "to gall the enemy's left flank and rear," as he expressed it in the letters he wrote that dayto General Dickinson and the president of the Continental Congress; and on the following day advanced with his army to Kingston, and halted there on the very day when Tom Coward arrived at the house of Friend Nathan Brown in Cranberry.
As Tom came down the stairs and entered the room below, his surprise was great when he saw young Lieutenant Gordon standing before him. "Where—where did you come from?" said the astonished boy. "I thought they chased you out into the woods!"
"So they did. So they did," laughed the young officer; "but that doesn't mean that I was bound to stay there, does it? I had spent the night with Friend Nathan here, and I had such a good time I almost decided to come back for another. And then, too, I left a lad here whose face haunted me, he looked so scared and white."
"I was scared," said Tom, "for I thought they'd got you. How in the world did you ever manage to get away from them?"
"Oh, I've learned by experience," replied the lieutenant, laughing. "This was about the closest call I ever had, and once there, when my horse slipped on the barn floor, I thought I was done for; but it's all comeout right, you see. When I once got into the woods I knew I was all right, and I didn't have to go very far, either. About noon I thought I'd venture back and see what had become of Friend Nathan and Tom Coward, for I didn't believe those redcoats would stay here very long after they found out that our army is over here by Kingston."
"Kingston?" said Tom quickly. "Kingston? Why, that's only ten miles from here!"
"Correct, my son; correct. They'll be nearer yet, very soon."
Tom was excited in a moment, and eagerly began to ask many questions. The young lieutenant replied to them all, and then said to the Quaker, who had remained silent during the conversation, "And now, Friend Nathan, you feel sure that those redcoats will carry the word back to Clinton that we've turned out of our way to meet them, do you?"
"Verily, I do," replied Nathan. "It was for the very purpose of learning the plans of Washington that they dared to venture as far as this. I endeavored to learn from the soldier what effect he thought his report would have upon the British leader, but he did not speak in many words. Doubtless heconsidered them valueless to a man of peace. But thy surmise is correct, I doubt not."
"Then the sooner we put out of this the better, Tom; that is, if you're still of the same mind you were day before yesterday."
"I'm ready to go," replied Tom eagerly.
The thought of the American army being only ten miles away aroused all his enthusiasm once more. He knew nothing of camp life, and the hardships were not in his thoughts. He knew that he had no place to which he could go, and now that he had left Benzeor's home he felt like an outcast. Besides, he had dreamed of joining the army, and, now that at last the longed-for day had arrived, all his curiosity and eagerness returned in full measure.
"But I haven't any horse and you're mounted," he added. "I don't see how I can go with you. You can't wait for me to trudge along on foot."
"That is something of a poser," replied the lieutenant. "No, it's a fact I can't waste much time on the road with such news as I have to carry back to camp. Perhaps my horse will carry double part of the way."
"I have a beast I might let thee have," said Nathan.
"That's the way to talk!" said the lieutenant eagerly. "Where is this horse of yours?"
"It is out in the back lot in the woods. My heart was filled with fears of the war men, and I dared not to leave any of my property within their sight."
As Nathan still hesitated, the lieutenant said quickly, "Hurry up, Nathan! Get your horse and let us start. We've no time to lose."
"Thou knowest that I am a man of peace," said the Quaker slowly. "It is not for me to waste my property in this wicked war."
"That's the way the wind blows, is it?" laughed the lieutenant. "Well, I don't know that I can promise you very much, but I'll do what I can for you after I get back to camp. But I'll tell you what, Nathan, you'll not be the loser to give up the horse to us, and with a good grace, too. Both of the armies are likely to pass this way, and you won't have much left on your place, I can tell you. Now, if you give it up you may get something for it, and then, too, you'll have the credit of doing something for your country."
"What did the war men give thee, FriendThomas? Did I not hear thee say that the war men rewarded thee for thy services?"
"Yes," said Tom quickly, drawing the two half joes forth from his pocket as he spoke. "Here they are. You can have them and welcome."
"The beast is not what would be considered a valuable one, Friend Thomas, and yet he is still capable of rendering some service to me. I will take one of thy half joes and leave the other with thee. Then thou canst see that I am suitably repaid after thou hast joined thy comrades in the war."
The young lieutenant slyly winked at Tom as the lad handed the man one of his half joes, and then said, "Hurry up, Nathan! We've got to start soon, and ought to be off now. We'll do the best we can for you, as we said. You're going to give us something to eat, aren't you, before we go?"
"It shall be according to thy desire. Rachel, if thou hast some milk and a small portion of corn bread, set it before these guests whilst I am gone for my beast."
The old man departed, and his wife carried out his request. The lieutenant and Tom at once seated themselves at the table and hastily ate the food she set before them, for neitherknew when another opportunity might be found. In the ten miles which lay between them and the army of Washington many adventures might be awaiting them, and it was only the part of wisdom to make the most of the present.
"I have thy beast for thee," said Nathan, soon afterwards entering the room. "He is not what might be called by thee a swift beast, but he is still possessed of some excellent qualities. Thou hast promised to see that I am further rewarded for my gift."
Tom and the lieutenant hastened out of the room to examine Nathan's "gift," and, as they saw the horse which he had tied to the post, they both stopped in surprise and the lieutenant broke into a loud laugh.
"Oh, Friend Nathan," said he, adopting the Quaker's style of speech, "thou art a friend indeed! Dost thou call that thing a 'beast'? Thou hast cheated the lad woefully. A good half joe for that scarecrow? Thou oughtest to reward Thomas for riding him, for I am of the opinion that I shall be compelled to carry him into camp in two pieces if he mounts that 'razorback.' Oh, Nathan, Nathan! Who would have believed it of thee?"
The horse was old and gaunt. A spavin was apparent in one leg, while on another was a great ringbone. One eye betrayed its blindness, and, altogether, the poor animal presented a most woe-begone and helpless appearance.
"He hath not beauty, as I told thee," said Nathan soberly. "But he is of value to me, and thou hast promised to see that I am suitably rewarded."
"Oh, Tom! Tom!" laughed the lieutenant. "What a sight you'll be on the back of that bunch of bones! There's no help for it, though. Come on and we'll see what the poor 'beast' can do!"