THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT FIGHT
Themorning of Sunday, June 28, 1778, dawned clear and warm. Not a cloud could be seen in the sky, and the air was motionless, save in occasional places where it quivered under the burning heat of the summer sun. By eight o'clock the thermometer already had indicated ninety-six degrees, and before the day was done it had risen considerably above a hundred.
The British forces had now arrived within ten or twelve miles of the Heights of Middletown, and if once they should succeed in gaining that position, all attempts on the part of the Americans to attack them would be worse than useless, for it was now as well known by Washington as it was by Clinton that British vessels were lying at anchor off Sandy Hook, ready and waiting to receive the advancing army and its stores on board, and transport all in safety to New York.
Clinton, as we already know, still believedthat the Americans were seeking only to capture his stores and train of baggage wagons, and, therefore, wisely had placed them in the care of General Knyphausen and the Hessian soldiers, in advance of the place of danger, as he supposed, and also of the place where the brave leader himself took his stand with his men. All of the British grenadiers, light infantry, and chasseurs of the line were encamped in the strong position that Clinton had selected in the parting of the road which led from Monmouth Court House to Middletown, the right wing extending about a mile and a half beyond the court house itself, while the left lay stretched for three miles along the road from Allentown. Thick woods afforded strong protection to the flanks, while a swamp extended toward the rear and the left, and woods also covered their front. The British general had chosen his place wisely, and there he waited until that eventful Sunday morning.
General Washington was well aware of all that was going on, and had determined to attack the British the moment they moved from the position they then occupied. Late on Saturday night, the commander had given orders for General Maxwell to send out partiesof observation, who were to watch the British and report instantly any signs they might discover of an attempt to retreat during the night, and to keep up a constant communication with himself. General orders had also been given Lee to be prepared to attack Clinton's forces the moment they should depart from their camping-place.
General Lee's treachery or incompetency, or both, are well known to-day, and the only cause of surprise is that General Washington should have given him such discretionary orders. The great commander must have been fully aware of Lee's true feelings, for already he had suffered much from his jealousy and his traitorous designs; but perhaps the rest of the army did not know what Washington himself well knew, and on the eve of battle he chose the lesser of the two evils, and thought he would suffer less by permitting Lee to continue to act, than he would from the misunderstanding and confusion that might arise if he dealt with the man at that time as he justly deserved. At all events, his orders were somewhat general, and the fact that he had not given specific commands is all that remains to-day to be quoted in favor of the guilty Lee.
It was about five o'clock in the morning when a messenger arrived in Washington's camp from General Dickinson—who, with the New Jersey militia, was nearest the enemy's lines—with the information that the front of the British line had begun its march toward the Heights of Middletown. Instantly Washington's army was put in motion, and one of his aids was sent in all haste to inform General Lee of the movement of the British, and to urge him forward to attack them at once unless some very strong obstacle should be found, and to assure him that the main body of the American army would be rushed forward to his support.
I am very certain that if my readers could somehow have been privileged to witness the march of Washington's soldiers, they would not have been greatly impressed by the sight. Many of them were without uniforms, and their flushed and streaming faces under the burning heat, while they bore an expression of determination, after all would not have been very prepossessing in their appearance. Numbers of the Continentals had either cast aside their coats or rolled them up and strapped them across their backs, so that entire ranks appeared to be marching tobattle in their shirt-sleeves. However, although their personal bearing was not made more forceful by the absence of coats, their personal comfort was decidedly improved; and, as we shall soon see, their work in the battle was not hindered by their lack of bright colored uniforms.
Meanwhile, the advanced corps under General Lee had moved from Englishtown, and was now advancing toward the British. The redcoats were also in motion, and the left wing had marched more than a mile beyond Monmouth Court House when it discovered that the American columns had out-flanked it on the north. Lee's forces had marched along the main road, successfully crossing the deep ravines and causeways. They had halted frequently to receive reports from the scouts and the men in advance as to the movements of the British, but these reports apparently were somewhat contradictory and created some confusion among the American ranks.
One of these halts had been made near the "new church," which was so called to distinguish it from the smaller structure, which until 1752 had stood upon the same site. This "new church" was of wood, its sidescovered with shingles, and painted white. There such famous preachers as Whitefield, the missionary Brainerd, Tennent, and others had given their messages of peace, but it can be safely asserted that in all its long history the "old" church or the "new" had never seen such a "service" as that which was held there on that Sunday morning in June, 1778. Before the day was done bullet marks and the effect of cannon shot were apparent on its walls, and while the roof and even the steeple were said to have been covered with people on that day, who had assembled to watch the battle, probably no other congregation in all our land had ever been gathered by such summons, or had taken their seats on the roof of the building instead of in the accustomed place within the walls.
Young General Lafayette, who had command of Lee's right, soon passed the Court House, and was advancing upon the other end of the British line on the south at the same time when the left wing was folding about Cornwallis on the north; and General Wayne, who was in command of the American centre, was also pressing strongly forward. Apparently, all things were favoring the rugged Continentals, and had it not been for Lee'scowardice or treachery, or both, they would have won the battle there and then, before Washington could come with the aid of his advancing troops.
Some slight minor engagements had already occurred, though not one of them was of much importance; but now General Wayne discovered that most of the British forces before him had descended from the high ground they had occupied and were advancing along the same route, over the plains of Monmouth, which the Hessians had followed when they departed earlier in the morning.
Instantly the impetuous Wayne sent a messenger to General Lee requesting permission for his own "troops to be pressed on." No such permission was given, however, until it was discovered that a band of eight or nine hundred of the redcoats had halted, and, turning about, appeared to be inviting an attack. General Wayne was then ordered to take about four hundred men and advance.
Despite the smallness of the number, Wayne eagerly obeyed, when the Queen's light dragoons were sent back by Clinton to check the movement.
So excited was the little band of Americans that they instantly formed, and drovethe horsemen back upon a body of foot soldiers who had been sent to their aid. A much larger body of troops were soon discovered to be moving upon General Wayne's right, but he immediately opened fire upon them with the two pieces of artillery he possessed, sent back for reinforcements, and gallantly prepared for the battle.
During this time General Lee apparently was trying to cut off the force with which Wayne was engaged by making a detour and falling upon the line of Clinton's march between the rear of the main body and that detachment.
This action of Lee's, together with those which three of the others of the divisions of the American forces were making at the same time, led Clinton to suppose that his baggage train was what the Americans were striving to gain. As we already know, this, all the time, had been his understanding of the purpose of Washington, and now the action and movements of the various bodies of troops strengthened his suspicion.
The first thing the British commander did was to send the Queen's light dragoons against Wayne. Then he sent a detachment from the men in advance to strengthen his ownright, and next he arranged for the main body, of which Lord Cornwallis was in command, to form on the plain and prepare to attack General Lee and the various divisions which were under him at the time.
General Wayne and his brave men were now fighting desperately, and to all appearances success was about to crown his efforts, when he was dumfounded by an order he received from Lee to make only a feigned attack, and not to press too hard against the redcoats in front of him.
Wayne did not know what to make of the order. He was chagrined and angry to receive such a word at a time when all things seemed to favor his determined band. It is said that he made use of some very forceful language, and even expressed his opinion of his superior officer in no very complimentary terms; but he was too good a soldier not to obey; and, although he could not understand what Lee meant by giving him such directions at such a time, he held back his men, hoping all the time that Lee himself would come up and grasp the victory which almost seemed to be in his hand.
General Lee had been watching the movements of the British, and perceived whatClinton was trying to do by the actions to which we already have referred. Instead of meeting them boldly, and permitting his soldiers, who were all now eager for the battle, to advance, he at once prepared to withdraw them from the field.
Young Lafayette had just discovered a body of British cavalry advancing toward Lee's right, and, quickly riding up to his commander, he begged for permission to advance and gain their rear, and so cut them off from the main body.
"Sir," replied Lee, "you do not know British soldiers. We cannot stand against them. We shall certainly be driven back at first, and we must be cautious."
"It may be so, general," said Lafayette quietly, "but British soldiers have been beaten, and they may be again. At any rate I am disposed to make the trial."
Reluctantly Lee yielded, so far as to permit the brave young marquis to wheel his column by the right and make an attempt to gain the left of the British, but at the same time he ordered three regiments to be withdrawn from Wayne's command, thereby weakening him for reasons which neither Wayne nor any one of his men ever understood.
General Lee then rode off to reconnoitre, as he afterwards declared, and to his astonishment discovered another large body of British soldiers marching back on the Middletown road toward the Court House. If there was one thing more than another which Lee apparently disliked at that time, it was the sight and presence of men clad in scarlet coats, and he instantly gave orders for the several corps in his division to retreat, or to make a "retrograde movement," as he afterwards explained it.
His friends claimed for him, and, indeed, Lee afterwards claimed for himself, that he had only ordered the right to fall back, and had commanded the left, under Scott and Maxwell, to advance, and his order was misunderstood; and that when Maxwell's men perceived the retreat of their comrades on the left, they thought all was ended and they must save themselves. But, at all events, proof of the truthfulness of his statement was wanting, and all his men were soon retreating toward the "new meeting-house," on the roof and steeple of which were assembled the people of the congregation.
Few of the men beside Lee himself knew why the retreat was made. The soldiers wereangry and were giving vent to their feelings in terms which had not been carefully selected. General Wayne's men were the only ones who had even fired a shot, and the anger of Wayne himself was steadily increasing. Every soldier felt as if he were being robbed of success, which by right belonged to him and to his country.
Between the "meeting-house" and the parsonage, General Washington, all unaware of Lee's disgraceful actions and the retreat of the advanced division, met a fifer, who appeared to be in great haste to leave the region.
Reining in his horse, the great commander ordered the fleeing man to halt, and then said sternly:—
"Who are you? Do you belong to the army? Why are you running in this fashion?"
"I am a soldier," replied the trembling man, "but all the Continentals are running, too."
"It isn't true! It can't be true! I'll have you whipped if you dare to mention such a thing to another living man!" cried the astonished commander.
Nevertheless, he put the spurs to his horse, and in a few minutes discovered two or threeother men, who apparently were in as great haste to depart as the fifer had been.
Instantly the trembling men halted at his sharp command, and again the excited general demanded an explanation of their actions.
THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH
Evidently, the reply which General Washington received from the men, who were as greatly frightened by the bearing of the commander as they had been by the sight of the redcoats, did not convince him that they had spoken truly. He had not heard any firing, except that of a few cannon a considerable time before this, and he could not believe that the picked men under Lee's command had ingloriously retreated without making even an attempt to stand against the forces of Sir Henry Clinton.
This second report, however, caused Washington to send forward two of his trusty officers, whom he ordered to ride swiftly in the direction of the Court House, and, after they should have discovered the true condition of affairs, to report instantly to him.
As the two brave men quickly obeyed and started their horses into a run, they met on the bridge the members of a regiment in adisorderly retreat. A little farther on another regiment was discovered, and soon still another appeared in sight.
Colonel Ogden, who was in command of the last, in a towering passion declared, in reply to the question of the officers, that Lee's men were indeed retreating and that "they were flying from a shadow."
Still hoping that they would find that a stand had been made farther back, the two officers pushed eagerly forward and soon met General Maxwell and his men. That gallant officer was also in a state of great anger, and not only confirmed the report that Lee was retreating, but also added some words of his own, expressing his opinion of that officer and of the movement in words that would have caused the cheeks of the treacherous general to tingle, if he had chanced to hear them.
Still hoping against hope, the two aids pressed forward and soon met General Lee himself. His face at all times was decidedly plain, and indeed, as we know, he had the reputation of having the "ugliest face in America;" but at this time a scowl rested upon it which doubtless did not tend to increase his beauty, and he sullenly refused to reply to the questions of the men.
The two officers did not long delay to talk to him, but still urged their horses swiftly forward, although the straggling, disorderly troops now almost filled the road, and their worst fears were confirmed each moment.
At last, in the post of danger and nearest to the pursuing British, the two officers discovered General Wayne and his men. "Mad Anthony" was certainly "mad" at that time, and while he assured the aids that the retreat was genuine and general, at the same time he declared that it was absolutely needless. He also declared that "Lee had drawn off his best men at the very time when he was facing a body of British far superior to himself in numbers, but that even then the redcoats could be beaten if a stand were made against them."
There was no time for an extended conversation, but, doubtless, the two officers understood what the exceedingly vigorous language of Mad Anthony Wayne was intended to convey, and after receiving the suggestions he sent by them to General Washington, and assured now that they had discovered the worst, they put spurs to their horses and rode swiftly back to give the information they had received to the great commander.
Meanwhile, General Washington himself had not been idle, we may be well assured. Riding swiftly forward, he met band after band of the retreating, disorderly Continentals, and heard many expressions of anger and disgust, very like to that which had already greeted the two officers he had sent forward.
At last, in the rear of the retreating column, he met General Wayne and his angry men. Hastily summoning Mad Anthony and two or three of his officers, the great leader told them that he "should depend upon them that day to give the enemy a check," and quickly directed General Wayne to form his men, and, with their two pieces of artillery, strive to stop the progress of the redcoats.
It was just at this moment that General Lee himself rode up, and the scene which followed was one which those who witnessed it never forgot. There is no more sublime sight in all this world than the towering passion of a great man. Not pettiness, not irritability, but the just and righteous anger of a noble, large-hearted man in the presence of wickedness.
General Washington probably never before in all his life had been so angry as he was at that time. Thoughts of the cause of thecountry he loved, the lives of thousands of brave and devoted patriots, the sight of angry, desperate men all about him, the disappointment at the loss of what he had confidently counted upon, the loss also of that for which so many noble men had been sacrificing and toiling through many weary days and on their long marches, rushed upon him like a flood. And before him stood the guilty man who alone was to be blamed for it all. Small wonder is it that Washington was almost beside himself with rage and sorrow.
The name of Benedict Arnold is one that is hated to-day by every American schoolboy, for, after all, most boys can be trusted to hate evil in whatever form it presents itself. But the treachery of Benedict Arnold had at least the merit of being unmasked and comparatively open, for he took his stand boldly on the side of the redcoats, whom he at one time had fought with a bravery none can ever forget. But the memory of Charles Lee has not even that redeeming quality, for his actions on the field of Monmouth can only be explained on the ground of treachery or cowardice, and a coward is not very greatly to be preferred to a traitor. If both Lee and Arnold had fallen in battle, how much betterit would have been for them and their friends, for "a good name is to be preferred above great riches," and they left neither. Perhaps the strange desire which Lee later expressed in his will, that his "body should not be interred in any church or churchyard, or within a mile of any Presbyterian or Baptist church," was not entirely out of keeping with the man himself.
The conversation between Washington and Lee at the time they met on the retreat at Monmouth has been variously reported; but doubtless the fact that those who heard it were as excited as the generals themselves may in part account for the differences in the reports which have come down to us. We may be sure the conversation was not extended to the length which some have said it was, or that it savored largely of the high-flown expressions which have been quoted.
One of the men who was present is reported to have said that Washington in his sternest manner looked at Lee, and demanded, "What is the meaning of all this, sir?"
Dismayed by the terrible appearance of the commander-in-chief, and mortified that he should be so addressed in the presence of his soldiers, the crestfallen general could only stammer, "Sir? sir?"
Again the enraged commander demanded the meaning of the retreat, and Lee attempted to explain. His orders, he said, had been misunderstood, his officers had not obeyed his commands, he had not thought it wise to attempt to make a stand against the British with his detachment; but the angry Washington would not stay to listen to the lame attempts at explanation, and muttering something about a "poltroon," he hastened back to the high ground between the meeting-house and the bridge, where he quickly formed the regiments which were waiting there.
Apparently thinking better of his words, he then rode back to General Lee and inquired whether he still desired to retain the command on that height or not. "If you will," he added, "I will return to the main body and have it formed on the next height."
As Lee accepted the offer, Washington said: "I expect you will take proper means for checking the enemy."
"Your orders shall be obeyed," replied Lee, "and I shall not be the first to leave the ground."
Meanwhile, the British general Clinton had also been busy. He had ordered back many of the troops which the Hessian generalKnyphausen commanded, and was making vigorous attempts to compel the Americans to keep up the retreat, which Lee had ordered with such disastrous results.
The forces under Mad Anthony had rallied at the call of their leader, and were bravely holding their position near the parsonage. The British grenadiers climbed over the fence which crossed the lot in front of Wayne, but were quickly driven back by the angry Continentals.
Again the determined British advanced, and again were driven back. Then their brave leader, Colonel Monckton, placing himself at their head, and calling upon his men to follow him, led the charge. But Mad Anthony and his men were waiting for them, and under their terrible fire the brave colonel and many of his men went down as the grass falls before the scythe of the mower. Desperate was the struggle then for the body of the fallen leader. Hand to hand, clubbing their muskets, using their bayonets any way, every way, the men fought on; but the band of sturdy Americans held both the body and the place, and as the British fell back it was not to attack Mad Anthony's men again during that day.
Sir Henry Clinton then moved the main body of his troops against the left of the Americans, where General (Lord) Stirling was in command, but the batteries were so well handled that there also the redcoats were repulsed.
Then they turned toward the American right; but that sturdy blacksmith from Rhode Island, Nathanael Greene, was there, and no better success crowned their desperate and determined efforts. And Mad Anthony and his men had rushed to the assistance of their comrades. When his men perceived the nature of the work which was expected of them, they prepared for the action after their own peculiar manner. As we already know, many of them had cast aside their coats when they entered the battle, but now some of them stopped and deliberately rolled up their shirt sleeves. A shout greeted the men, when their action was perceived, and in a moment their companions had followed their example. Then, with cheers and calls, the unsoldierly appearing soldiers rushed into the fray, and so vigorous was their work that soon the redcoats were compelled to retreat behind the defile, where the first stand had been made in the beginning of the battle.
There they felt secure. On either side lay heavy swamps and thick woods, while in front of them was a narrow pass, through which the Americans must go if they continued the attack.
And that was just what General Washington determined to do. Carefully he arranged for divisions to move upon the right and upon the left, while the artillery was to be brought up and pour its terrible fire directly into the front of the position the British had taken.
The men responded with a will, but before the detachments could gain the desired position the night had come, and darkness spread over the field, wrapping friend and foe alike within its folds. Although the eager Americans could not then advance, they resolved to pass the night in the positions they then held, which were very near to the lines of the British, and renew the attack as soon as the light of the morning came.
Guards were established, and then the entire army prepared for the night. The exhausted men threw themselves upon the ground, many of them lying at full length with their arms spread wide and their faces resting directly upon the sand. Seldom have men been more completely worn out thanwere those hardy soldiers on that day of the battle of Monmouth. Many had fallen, and when their friends examined their bodies for the marks of the fatal bullets not a scratch could be found.
The beams of the summer sun had accomplished what, in many instances, the bullets of the enemy had failed to do. All day long the sun had hung in the heavens like a great red ball of fire. Steadily the heat had risen higher and higher, until it had arrived at a point which even the "oldest inhabitants" could not exaggerate in their stories. The tongues of some of the men had swelled so that speech became impossible. The poor Hessians, condemned to wear their heavy fur hats, left many a lifeless body behind them which the heat had conquered before the desperate Americans could accomplish the same result.
For hours that night not a sign of life appeared in the American camp. Motionless as logs the exhausted soldiers lay stretched upon the ground, and the sounds of their deep breathing were all that could be heard. They had not stopped even to bury their dead, so little life did the living men apparently retain.
Great was the astonishment in the American camp when the first faint streaks of the dawn appeared on the following morning, and it was discovered that not a soldier remained in the British camp. Sir Henry Clinton had permitted his weary men to rest until ten o'clock, and then, in silence, preparations were made to join the forces of General Knyphausen, who, meanwhile, had marched on and gone into camp at Nut Swamp, near the Heights of Middletown.
The British soldiers hastily had collected their wounded, leaving only forty of the poor fellows behind them, and then under the light of the moon began their march to the position which Knyphausen was holding. So wearied were the American soldiers, so heavy was their slumber, and so silent were all the movements of Clinton's men, that their departure was not discovered before the morning came, and by that time the redcoats were with the Hessians and safe from all danger of an attack.
General Washington considered a further pursuit as "impracticable and fruitless," and greatly to the chagrin of his army no attempt was made to push forward. The great battle of Monmouth had been fought. The soldiershastily prepared to bury their dead, and so hurried were their movements that one man afterwards declared he had seen the bodies of thirteen men cast into one shallow pit which had been dug in the sand. Yet the Continentals were neither brutal nor indifferent. A British army was near them, and desperate haste was considered necessary.
The results of the battle, its effect upon the redcoats and buffcoats, and those who wore no coats at all, and the parts which Tom Coward and certain other of our acquaintances had taken in the struggle, we must reserve for another chapter.
THE RETURN TO BENZEOR'S HOUSE
Therewere several motives in the mind of Little Peter which made him eager to overtake Ted and the fat and kicking Jeshurun, not the least of which was the sense of protection he felt in the presence of the powerful man. Boyish as Ted was in many ways, his great size and wonderful physical strength made him a companion to be desired in the midst of such dangers as the troubled lad was compelled to face in those sad times in Old Monmouth.
Accordingly, Little Peter ran eagerly forward, hoping to overtake Ted before he should arrive at Benzeor's house, which now was not more than two miles away. Long before he came within sight of the place, he discovered Ted and his steed in advance of him, and from their motionless attitude he quickly concluded that Jeshurun had been seized with another attack of obstinacy.
His surmise proved to be correct, and as hecame nearer he beheld Ted seated by the roadside holding Jeshurun's bridle in his hand, and apparently waiting patiently for the time when the little beast should decide to continue his journey.
"I'm glad to see you, lad," remarked Ted, as Little Peter approached. "I left you rather suddenly back there, but when Jesh makes up his mind to start, it's time for me to go, too, and I can't always stop to say good-by to my friends. It's easier than walkin', though, but I wish I knew some way to fix the little rascal. I've been thinkin' as how, if Jeshurun kicked when he waxed fat, it might be that if he waxed thin, the kickin' would go, too, along with the fatness. I say, Little Peter, I want to ask ye a question."
"All right, Ted, go ahead," replied Little Peter, as he fanned his dripping face with his hat and took a seat beside his companion.
"In your opinion," said Ted soberly, "is the oyster a wild animal, or a tame one?"
"What?"
"Is the oyster a wild animal or a tame one? Maybe you don't think he's an animal at all, only just an insect; but my opinion is that he's an animal, and what I'd like to know is whether he's wild or tame."
"He isn't savage, anyway," remarked Little Peter demurely.
"I'm not talkin' about whether he's savage or not, but whether he's wild or tame. That's been a-botherin' me a good bit, and I just can't find any answer. Whoa! Whoa there, Jesh! What's the matter with ye? If ye want to start on, I'm your man." These last remarks were directed at the mule, which had begun to display some of the qualities of the famous character for whom he had been named; but his owner's words served to calm him, and Jeshurun soon stood in such an abject attitude that, to one who was not familiar with his ways, wickedness and kicking would never have been suspected of him.
"Maybe the oyster's a bird more than he is an insect," said Little Peter. "When his shell is spread out it looks something like wings."
"No, he isn't a bird, he's a animal," said Ted, "and what I want to know is whether he's a tame or a wild one."
"What do you want to know for?"
"Why, the way of it is this: Some time ago I planted an oyster-bed off the mouth of the river, and the first thing I knew myneighbors was a-helpin' themselves to it. When I said I didn't like that very much, and those oysters was mine, all the men did was to laugh. Yes, sir, jest laughed," repeated Ted, as if he felt aggrieved at the levity of his neighbors. "Then, they went on to tell me that I couldn't plant oysters, same as I did 'taties and things in my garden. Oysters was wild things and belonged to anybody that found them, jest the same as turtles and clams and wild geese did. I've been a-puzzlin' my head a good deal over it, and I can't make it out. I planted them oysters for Sallie,—she's my wife, ye know,—and as long as she had all she wanted of 'em, I didn't care how much the neighbors helped themselves; but when it comes to sayin' that them oysters I planted don't belong to me, but any one can go and take all he wants, jest as if they was clams, or gooseberries, or—or—or—saltwater, I don't know what to do about it. What do you think, Little Peter?" he added anxiously.
"I don't know; I never thought of it before."
Absurd as the question appears to us, it was far from being so to the people of Old Monmouth in the times of which we arewriting. So warm had the discussion become that it was soon after carried into the courts, and in 1808 a case was tried before the supreme court, but no definite decision was gained. In 1821 another famous trial was held, and finally in 1858 the supreme court decided that oysters were both tame and wild. Where they had grown naturally and without being planted, they were to be considered as wild and the property of any one who chose to take them; but where they had been planted, and there was no natural growth, the oysters were "tame" and the property of the one who had made the bed. Even after that decision there was trouble for a long time in Old Monmouth over the question, although to-day it is generally accepted that a man may own oysters as he does other animals.
"I'm sorry ye can't help me," said Ted.
"So am I, but I'm not thinking of oysters just now. I want to go up to Benzeor Osburn's more than anything else."
"I'm with ye. We're so near, maybe Jeshurun will be willing to go, if he doesn't have to carry me on his back. I'll try him and see."
To the surprise of both, Jeshurun appearedto be willing to resume the journey and obediently followed Ted, who led him by the bridle rein which he slipped over the mule's head.
In this wise they all walked on, but as they came nearer to the end of their journey, conversation ceased. Little Peter was thinking of the children and trying to devise some plan by which he might care for them. What his companion's thoughts were did not appear, but the expression upon his face had undergone a change, and from the occasional word he dropped, which sounded very like "Hangin' Sallies," the lad thought he knew what was going on in Ted's mind. What would occur if Benzeor should be found at his home, Little Peter could not determine; but he felt assured from Ted's manner that this time his neighbor would not escape so easily as he had when the angry man had given him his involuntary bath in the waters of the Shrewsbury River.
However, there was a deal of comfort for the lad in the company of his powerful friend; and as Benzeor's little house now appeared in the distance, he was more and more rejoiced that he was not compelled to approach it alone. If Indian John's words were correct, Benzeor was not there now; but it was more thanpossible that John had been mistaken, or that the man had returned since his visit in the early morning.
These possibilities were sufficiently strong to increase Little Peter's excitement, and when they turned into the lane which led up to the house his heart was beating rapidly and his breathing was hard and fast. As he glanced toward the place, he suddenly discovered some children playing in the yard and instantly recognized two of them as his own little brothers.
The children, then, were safe; and with a sigh of relief he turned to his companion and said, "There are my little brothers! They're all right, and so far it looks better."
"Hangin' Sallies!" muttered Ted; and Little Peter said no more, as he perceived that his companion's rage over the treatment his wife had received had returned with increased force.
Suddenly out from the barn beyond the house started two men on horseback, riding directly down the lane toward them. Startled and perplexed by the sight, both Little Peter and Ted stopped and waited for the men to approach. If the lad had been alone he would instantly have turned and fled withoutwaiting to see who the strangers were; but Ted's presence restrained him, and although he was thoroughly alarmed, he waited with his companion.
As the horsemen came nearer he discovered that they were Barzilla Giberson and Jacob Vannote, the two men who had been with Tom and Benzeor on their voyage to New York just before Tom's departure from his foster-father's home. Quickly recalling what Tom had reported of their conversation at that time, the sight of them now did not tend to allay his fears; but Ted's presence was a source of comfort, and, although he was trembling in his excitement, he did not speak.
Barzilla instantly stopped his horse as he recognized Little Peter, and, leaning forward on his horse's neck as he spoke, said, "Where's Benzeor?"
"I don't know," replied Little Peter. "Isn't he here?"
"No, he isn't here. He came back last night, but he's gone again, and the women folks pretend they don't know where he is. It's lucky for him."
"What do you want of him?"
"You and he both will know more aboutthat after we've found him," replied Barzilla, as he touched his horse with his spurs, and both men rode swiftly down the lane and soon disappeared from sight up the road.
Little Peter told his companion of his suspicions as they resumed their walk, and Ted quickly stopped, and, shaking his fist in the direction in which the horsemen had disappeared, said, "Hangin' Sallies! Maybe I'd better take after them, if I don't find Benzeor."
"No, no, Ted. Come on, we're almost here now."
They soon entered the yard, and as the children discovered the presence of their brother they ran eagerly to him and threw themselves into his arms.
"I want to go home. I want to go home. May we go home now?" said one of them.
Little Peter's eyes filled with tears as he lifted the child in his arms and said, "No, I'm afraid not. We haven't any home now."
"But I want to go home," persisted the little fellow pleadingly. "I don't want to stay here any longer. I want to go home."
"Hasn't Benzeor been good to you?"
"Yes, but he isn't here. I want to go home. I want to go home."
Little Peter glanced up and saw that Ted's face was moving strangely, and that the tears were streaming from his eyes. The powerful man had a heart as tender as a woman's, and the piteous pleadings of the homeless, motherless little lad were more than he could endure.
"Here, Little Peter!" said Ted hastily. "You go in the house, and I'll look after the babies while you're gone. Here, my lads and lassies all! Come take a ride on the back of Jeshurun."
In a moment the grief of the little ones was forgotten, and, laughing in their delight, they were lifted upon the back of Jeshurun, who to all appearances had suddenly become as mild and gentle as a lamb.
Little Peter glanced back at the laughing group as he started toward the house, and then looking up beheld Sarah standing in the doorway. Her face was red with weeping and she evidently was in great distress.
"Why, Sarah!" exclaimed Little Peter. "What's the trouble? What is it?"
"My father! My father!" sobbed Sarah, burying her face in her hands.
"What's happened to him? Is he killed? Is he dead?"
"No, no. It's worse than that."
"Worse than that? What do you mean?"
"Oh, Little Peter, don'tyouknow?" exclaimed the girl, looking up again as she spoke.
Peter made no reply. He did not know just what it was to which Sarah referred, and although he had his own suspicions, he did not feel that he could refer to them in the presence of the troubled girl.
"Have you seen Tom?" said Sarah suddenly.
"No. He's in the army, I think, and I haven't been near that."
"You wouldn't have to go very far. They say they're both near here, and that there either has been a battle or there will be one soon. I wish Tom was here. If you see him, won't you tell him to come back just as soon as he can?"
"Yes, if I see him. I don't know that I shall very soon, though. I don't know what to do, Sarah. I came to see about the children."
"They're all right. They seem to be now, don't they?" she said, as a burst of laughter came from the noisy group. "Perhaps you don't want to leave them here now, though," she added, her eyes filling withtears once more as she spoke. "I wish you would leave them. It isn't much we can do for you, but we want to do what we can."
There was an intensity in Sarah's manner which Little Peter could not understand. He was in ignorance of all that Sarah knew, and perhaps if he had known his reply might have been somewhat different.
"It's good of you, Sarah. I don't know what to do or where to go."
"You can stay here, too."
"No, no. I can't do that," he said hastily; and then fearing that he had said too much, added, "I'll leave the children for a little while. They'll be safe here till after the battle you tell about."
"I wish you would, Peter. You couldn't please us better. Who's that man with you?" she added, apparently for the first time becoming aware of Ted's presence.
"A man to see your father," said Little Peter evasively. "Is he home?"
"No, no," and Sarah shuddered as she spoke. "He came last night, but he didn't stay long. He went away again, and I don't know when he'll come again. It'll be a long time. I hope"—
What Sarah hoped for she did not explain,and Little Peter said, "I want to talk with Ted before I say anything more. He's the man out there with the children. I'll be back in a minute."
Many minutes passed, however, before the lad returned. He called to Ted and for a long time they talked together. Ted was decidedly averse to the plan of leaving the children in Benzeor's home, and freely offered to take them with him to the place where he had left Sallie and his own little ones, also venturing to refer several times to the fact that Sallie was his wife.
Pleased as Little Peter would have been to accept the offer, Sarah's pleadings could not be forgotten, and as he felt that the children would be safe where they then were, he declined the kind offer of Ted.
"I'll tell you what, my lad," said Ted at last. "If the armies are as near here as the girl says they are, the thing for you and me to do is to go over there. They may need us, too. The most I've done so far has been to look out for that stuff the men brought up the Shrewsbury in the supply boat. That's all in good hands now, and I'm free to go. Jesh will be glad to go, too."
"But you can't leave Sallie and the babies."
"Yes, I can, too. Sallie's my wife, ye know, and when I took her over to the Dennises I told her I might not be back for a week or two. She won't be disappointed, and Jesh will be tickled to pieces to join the army. Jest look at his ears now. When his ears is that way, I always know Jeshurun wants to fight the Dutch butchers."
"We've no other place to go to, or at least I haven't," said Little Peter thoughtfully. "Well, we'll do as you say. I'll go and tell Sarah."
"I'm so glad you'll leave the children," said Sarah eagerly, when Little Peter reported the decision which had been made. "It isn't much we can do, as I told you, but we do want to do everything we can for you."
"It's good of you to take them."
"It's good of you to leave them. There's one thing, though, I must tell you. We haven't much to eat in the house. There's some meal over at the mill, and father would have gone for it if he'd been home to-day. But he isn't here and I don't know what we'll do."
"You'd like to have me go over there and get it, before we start," said the boy. "Have you got your horses yet?"
"Yes, there are two in the barn, and you can take the heavy wagon. It's kind of you to do it, Little Peter, but it won't take you long, and you don't know how much it will help us just now."
"I'll go right away."
Little Peter turned and explained to Ted the cause of the delay. At first, Ted insisted upon going with him, but as the lad explained that only two hours would be required for the journey, he persuaded him to remain.
In a few minutes the two horses had been led forth from the barn, and hitched to the wagon ("geared" was what Ted called the task), and then Little Peter mounted the seat, grasped the reins in his hands, and turned down the lane, on what proved to be the most eventful ride in all his life.