AMONG THE PINES
Tom'ssurprise was still further increased when he recognized one of the men on the seat as Little Peter, and by his side a sergeant, who was driving. It was Little Peter's condition, however, which quickly drew all of Tom's attention, for the lad was carrying one arm in a sling, one of his eyes was discolored, and the marks of suffering were plainly to be seen on his face.
Tom quickly ran out into the road, and as his friend recognized him, at a word from him the horses stopped, and the two boys looked at each other for a moment as if each was trying to understand how it was that they both were there.
"What's the matter? Were you in the battle?" said Tom, who was the first to speak.
"No, that is, I wasn't in the battle by the Court-House. I met Fenton three days ago up by the old mill, and these are a fewtokens of his regard which he left with me," said Little Peter, slightly moving his wounded arm as he spoke.
As Tom still looked blankly at him, the lad continued, "I suppose Fenton thought he left me dead, and it's likely I should have died if Barzilla Giberson and Jacob Vannote hadn't found me. They took me up and carried me over to Benzeor's, though Ididn'tknow anything about it at the time. Sarah and her mother took such good care of me that I'm all right now, or at least I'm a good deal better."
"You don't look as if you ought to be here," replied Tom. "You say Barzilla and Jacob found you and took you over to Benzeor's? I don't understand."
"They're all right; I understand just how it is now."
"What, Benzeor all right?"
"No, Barzilla and Jacob. I know all about Benzeor, too," he added in a low voice.
"Where is he?"
"He hasn't been seen or heard from in four days. I don't think he'll come home again very soon. Tom, Sarah wanted me to tell you, if I saw you, that you were to come home just as soon as you could. I think shewants to explain something to you," he added, noting Tom's expression of surprise. "Since she's found out about Benzeor she feels all broken up, and wants you to come home."
"Then she knows about Benzeor, does she?" inquired Tom thoughtfully.
"Yes, and so do I. You'll go, won't you?"
"I can't now; perhaps I will after a while," and Tom went on to explain the circumstances which seemed to make his return to Benzeor's impossible for a time.
"But how does it happen that you are here so early in the morning, and with Benzeor's team? You're almost the last person I expected to see."
"Oh, the way of it is like this. Barzilla and Jacob and some of the Whigs have been on the track of Fenton for several days now. We've got word that he's down in the pines, about two miles below Blue Ball. Several parties are out after him, for they've made up their minds to rid Old Monmouth of the outlaw, if such a thing can be done. Well, Barzilla came up to Benzeor's yesterday, and when he found I was all right again, he suggested that Ted and I report the matter tosome of the officers in the American army, and get a detachment to go down there, so that's what we've done, you see."
"No, I don't see," replied Tom, looking about for the detachment of soldiers of which Little Peter had spoken. "Ted? Ted who?"
"Ted Wilson, if you please," said that worthy, suddenly rising from beneath the straw with which the wagon-box was apparently filled. "I'm the Ted what Little Peter means. Yes, sir, I'm on the lookout for those fellows that go around hangin' Sallies. She's my wife, ye know."
Startled as Tom was by the unexpected appearance of the mighty Ted, he nevertheless was compelled to laugh, as the huge man stood before him striving to shake himself free from the bits of straw which covered his face, and shaking his fist at imaginary Fentons, who went about engaged in the detestable occupation of "hanging Sallies."
"We saw General Lee yesterday, but he had so much trouble of his own that he couldn't listen much to ours," explained Little Peter, "but he managed to give us a sergeant and two men. The sergeant here is driving, and the men are with Ted under the straw."
Tom's first thought was to inquire concerning the trouble of General Lee, which Little Peter referred to, but Ted interrupted his question by declaring, "Yes, sir, I've got two companions in my misery, cooped up here under the straw. I don't see why they don't let us sit up straight like men; but no, they must cover us all over with straw, and then put two or three barrels in the wagon-box too. 'Tisn't my way o' doin' things, for I'd take Jesh and go straight down to the pines and hang Fenton on the first tree I found. That's the way I'd do it. But I suppose I'll have to obey orders."
"That's what you will," said the sergeant, who had been manifesting signs of impatience for several minutes. "We mustn't stand here in the road talking all day. Lie down, Ted, and we'll cover you up again."
Reluctantly the huge man consented, and was soon hidden from sight by the straw which was thrown over him. The barrels were again arranged to present the appearance of an ordinary load, and then the sergeant, picking up the reins which were lying loose in his hands, spoke to the horses and started down the road.
Little Peter turned and watched Tom, whohad remained by the roadside, gazing eagerly after the departing wagon, and when at last he could see him no longer, once more gave all his thought to the dangerous expedition on which he had started with his companions.
Benzeor's horses were in much better condition than those of his neighbors, for reasons that are apparent now to all our readers, and they maintained so steady a pace that by noontime the party had entered within the borders of the pines.
The road here became rough and heavy, and the progress, as a consequence, was correspondingly slow. The tall stately trees, the whisperings of the wind, the silence of the great forest, and above all, the knowledge that they had entered upon the most dangerous portion of their journey, made all the men in the wagon anxious and watchful. Not a word was spoken now, even Ted having ceased to complain of his narrow quarters, and having no remarks to make concerning the outlaws, whose disposition led them to go about the country attacking defenseless men and "hanging Sallies."
Every tree might conceal an enemy, and at any moment the discharge of a gun might indicate that their presence had been discovered.The habitations of men had been left behind them soon after they had entered the sombre forests, and the few rude little shanties near the border, occupied by negroes and people whose reputation in Old Monmouth was not of the best, had all been passed. The vegetation was scanty, and long barren stretches of sand could be seen on every side. The sunlight only penetrated the gloom in places, and its presence served to increase the dark and sombre appearance of the unbroken forest.
Little Peter maintained a careful watch upon one side as they advanced, and the sergeant watched the other, but they seldom spoke now, and then only in whispers. The full sense of the danger of entering a region, known to be used by the pine robbers as their headquarters, was appreciated as it had not been when they started. They had no means of knowing how many men Fenton might have with him, and hard as the outlaws were against the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, doubtless they would display the honor which it is said thieves maintain toward one another, and if others should be within hailing distance when Fenton was attacked they would all quickly rally to his assistance.
And the resistance which Fenton himself would be likely to make was not forgotten. The vision of him, as he suddenly appeared to Little Peter on that lonely road to the old mill a few days previous to this time, came up before the lad now. His big and burly frame, his bared and powerful arms, the brutal and merciless expression upon his evil face, were all seen again, and the lad shuddered as he recalled his experiences with him.
"What's wrong?" whispered the sergeant quickly. "See anything?"
"Not yet."
Little Peter had not been in the region since the breaking out of the war, although before that time he and Tom had made frequent visits there. Still, he recognized the locality, and knew the place to which Barzilla had reported that Fenton had gone. It was a rude log house, built of the pine-trees, and could not be more than two miles in advance of them.
The horses were toiling now as they dragged the heavy wagon through the deep sand. Fish-hawks had their nests in the tops of the lofty trees, and occasionally Peter obtained a glimpse of the great birds as they sailed in the air far above him. A brown rabbit nowand then came forth from his burrow, and after eying the intruders a moment, would go bounding away into the thickets, or else dart swiftly back into his underground home. The note of a wood-thrush now and again broke in upon the stillness with its clear, sweet whistle, and the watchful men would glance quickly about them, almost thinking that the sound was the call of the pine robbers to one another.
Little Peter's fear and the pain he was suffering from his recent encounter with Fenton made his face pale, and as the sergeant again turned to him and marked his appearance, he said, "'T was too bad, my lad, that you had to come."
"I knew the way. I had to come and show you."
"Yes, yes. I know it, but it's hard, for all that."
"We're almost there now. The place can't be more than a quarter of a mile farther on."
The sergeant did not reply, but turned quickly at the words, and peered keenly into the forest before him. No one could be seen, and the tall trees guarded well their secret. The toiling horses were pulling steadilyon their load, and they, at least, felt no alarm; but Little Peter and his companion were anxious now, and were keeping their eyes steadily fixed upon the road before them.
"There! That's the place!" whispered the lad excitedly, as he obtained a glimpse of a little clearing not far in advance of them.
The sergeant did not reply, but he tightened his grasp upon the reins, and glanced down at the gun which he had placed within easy reach. Little Peter's excitement had become intense, and he was peering eagerly ahead of him, while his breathing was quick and hard. They would soon know what the result of the expedition was to be.
The heavy wagon came out into the clearing, and drew near to the one small house, which was standing within it. The house was of logs, and corresponded exactly to the description which Barzilla had given of it. As yet, no human being had been seen, and the sergeant was just about to declare that the place was not inhabited when the door was suddenly opened and a man stepped forth to view. Evidently he had heard the sounds of the approaching wagon, and had come out to investigate.
He was a tall, broad-shouldered, powerful-appearing man. He was clad in a pair of rough trousers and high boots, which looked as if they might have belonged to some Hessian dragoon at one time, and the red flannel shirt which partially covered his chest could not entirely conceal the great bunches of muscle there. In one hand he grasped a pistol, and the expression upon his face might well have caused a man with a much stouter heart than Little Peter had to tremble.
The sergeant glanced inquiringly at the lad by his side, and Little Peter nodded his head in reply to the unspoken question. The man was Fenton himself,—the one who had robbed the widows and the fatherless, had made the midnight attacks upon the defenseless people of Old Monmouth, had hanged trembling women from the limbs of trees, and tortured his helpless victims into revealing the places where their scanty savings had been concealed. He had been the leader of bands as desperate and wicked as himself, and the suffering and woe which the good people of the surrounding region had experienced at his hands can never be told. And now the man himself stood waiting for the wagon, in which were Little Peter,himself a victim of the pine robbers' cruelty, and his companions, to approach.
"Hold on!" called Fenton. "You're movin' too fast. What ye doin' here?"
The sergeant stopped his horses, and as Fenton approached and stood near the wheel, he said, "We've come down here to look for a man we want to find."
"I reckon I'll do as well as any other. Look at me! Ye're not goin' any farther, ye might as well understand that now as any time. Got a bottle with ye?"
The sergeant drew forth a bottle of brandy and handed it to the outlaw. Fenton took it, and raised one foot upon the hub of the wheel. As he lifted the bottle to his lips, his eyes fell upon Little Peter, who had been endeavoring to conceal himself behind his companion.
Instantly recognizing the lad, he shouted, "You here? You? I thought I left ye dead up by the mill the other day! You rascal! One whipping wasn't enough, was it? I'll give ye what ye deserve now!"
Fenton reached back with one hand to grasp the pistol he had thrust into his pocket when he had taken the bottle. Quickly the sergeant kicked the foot ofTed Wilson under the straw, and instantly the men arose, and before Fenton could act, had brought their guns to their shoulders and the reports rang out together.
The pine robber pitched heavily forward, and lay dead upon the sand. Oh, it was horrible, awful! A sensation of sickness, of faintness, swept over Little Peter as he looked down upon the face of the dead outlaw.
"What's that? What's that?" said Ted quickly.
It was the sound of a gun not far away. It might be the answer of other bands of pine robbers to the volley which had just been fired; and hurriedly throwing the body of Fenton into the wagon, the sergeant turned his horses about and started swiftly back up the road.
CONCLUSION
Inspite of the heavy sand the horses were driven swiftly, until their heaving sides and dripping flanks compelled their driver to give them a much-needed rest. Ted Wilson and one of the soldiers then leaped lightly to the ground and ran into the woods on either side of the road to ascertain whether they were pursued or not.
As the silence of the great forest was unbroken they speedily returned, and the flight was resumed. No one was concealed beneath the straw in the wagon-box now, and every one stood waiting and ready to share in the defense which at any moment might become necessary.
On past the tall pine-trees, on through the heavy sandy road, rushed the returning party, and at last, when they obtained a glimpse of the open country, they breathed a sigh of relief as they realized that the danger of immediate pursuit was gone. It was not untilnearly a year after this time that they learned that the gun they had heard had been discharged by De Bow, the desperate leader of another band of outlaws as evil in every way as those whom the detested Fenton had himself led.
It was near the close of the day when the party, of which Little Peter was a member, drove up to Monmouth Court-House. Carelessly, almost brutally, the sergeant and one of his companions seized the body of the dead outlaw, and flinging it from the wagon into one of the trenches the soldiers had made, shouted, "Here's a cordial for your tories and wood robbers!"
Little Peter had no share in the rejoicing which followed when it was known that the pine robber was no more. It was true, he knew Fenton had richly deserved his fate, and that no more would the defenseless people of Old Monmouth suffer from the evil deeds of his marauding band. He, too, had known something of Fenton's wickedness, for he was motherless, homeless, and almost fatherless because of him, and his own body for many days bore the traces of his meeting with him on his return from the mill; but in spite of all that, his heart was sick whenever hethought of the dead face he had seen looking up at him from the wagon-box, and the brutal rejoicings of the men who had shot him near his abode among the pines.
On the following day Tom Coward returned to Benzeor's house for a brief visit, reporting a very decided improvement in the condition of young Lieutenant Gordon. A long interview between Tom and Sarah followed, and as the troubled girl explained to the lad what she had learned concerning the evil deeds of her own father, and begged him to return and aid her in caring for the family in the presence of such dangers and perplexities, Tom could not find it in his heart to refuse. The kindness bestowed upon him in the home, and the obligations to repay as best he could the care he himself had received there, were too strong to be ignored, and greatly to the joy of Sarah and her mother he yielded to their urgent pleas. He had not yet enlisted in the army, and so was free to decide the question for himself.
He was aided in making the decision by the fact that Little Peter was also to remain. His own home had been destroyed, and as there was no place to which he could take his little brothers and sisters, there was everyreason why he should accept the invitation and increase the defenses of the household.
It was not considered probable that Benzeor would return, nor was it known what had become of the man, who had gradually and yet steadily been drawn into the power of the pine robbers, until at last he was considered by them all as one of themselves, and indeed he was. Neither the boys nor Sarah knew then whither he had gone. Tom thought he might have been killed in the battle, and it was not until more than a year had passed that word came from the missing Benzeor; but where he had been and what he had been doing do not belong to this story.
On the day following the great battle of Monmouth, General Lee had, to a certain extent, recovered from his chagrin at the public rebuke General Washington had administered to him, and in his arrogance, and as a relief to his feeling of mortification, he wrote a childish letter to the commander, demanding an apology for the words he had spoken in the presence of the soldiers.
Washington's reply to Lee's letter was as follows:—
"Sir,—I received your letter, expressed, as I conceive, in terms highly improper. Iam not conscious of making use of any very singular expressions, at the time of meeting you, as you intimate. What I recollect to have said was dictated by duty and warranted by the occasion. As soon as circumstances will permit, you shall have an opportunity of justifying yourself to the army, to Congress, to America, and to the world in general; or of convincing them that you were guilty of a breach of orders, and of misbehavior before the enemy on the 28th instant, in not attacking them as you had been directed, and in making an unnecessary, disorderly, and shameful retreat."
Lee's reply to this letter, as impudent as it was childish, certainly did not tend to elevate him in the estimation of the men of his own time, or of ours. His letter was as follows: "You cannot afford me greater pleasure than in giving me the opportunity of showing to America the sufficiency of her respective servants. I trust that temporary power of office, and the tinsel dignity attending it, will not be able, by all the mists they can raise, to obfuscate the bright rays of truth."
Washington's reply to this insulting letter was to arrest Lee. The traitor was at once court-martialed and charged with disobedienceof orders, misbehavior on the field, making a disgraceful retreat, and also with gross disrespect to his commander-in-chief. The trial lasted more than a month, and the result was that Lee was suspended for the term of one year. If strict justice had been measured out to the man, doubtless he would not have escaped with so light a sentence; but Washington was merciful, and although Lee did not appreciate the kindness shown him, he owed his life to the man whose heart and mind were so much greater than his own.
General Washington did not long delay in Old Monmouth after the battle. The British army had gained New York, and so the American commander moved to the Hudson, and on the 20th of July went into camp at White Plains, having left some of the militia to look well to the needs of the country in which the great battle had been fought.
And Monmouth was a great battle. Not only did the men struggle with a determination such as has been seldom displayed, but the results of the engagement itself were also marked and strong. While the two armies, after Washington had gone to the Hudson and Clinton to New York, occupied much the same relative positions as in the latterpart of '76, the motives which controlled each were exactly reversed. The Americans now became the aggressors, and the British were compelled to defend themselves.
All this was intensified by the action of France. Benjamin Franklin had succeeded in arranging a treaty between that land and ours. France was to send a fleet of sixteen war vessels under D'Estaing to our shores, and also an army of four thousand men. It was the coming of this fleet which, as we know, caused the British to depart from Philadelphia and hasten to the defense of New York, which place they thought would be first attacked. The march of the redcoats and Hessians across New Jersey gave Washington an opportunity to pursue them, and while he failed in accomplishing all that he hoped, and much that he might have done had it not been for the treacherous actions of Lee, still he virtually had won a victory. He compelled the British to retreat with great losses, he strengthened his own position, he silenced his enemies in Congress, and, above all, he aroused a new feeling of hope and determination in the hearts of the struggling Americans.
The British very promptly declared waragainst France, and then coolly invited the Americans to join them, promising all that the colonists had asked three years before this time. The offer had come too late, however, for now the colonies had become States, and independence had been declared, and independence the new nation would have. So the war was continued, but the part which the new allies took and the further struggles of the determined Americans belong to another story.
It only remains to refer briefly to the experiences of our friends, whose fortunes we have followed in the course of this book.
Lieutenant Gordon at last recovered from his wound. Tom Coward divided his time between caring for his friend and the labor on Benzeor's farm. In the former task he was aided by Friend Nathan Brown until such a time as the young lieutenant could be removed to his own home.
Friend Nathan had been unable to remain away from the battle of Monmouth, and while both his feelings and professions had prevented him from entering into the struggle, still his interest had been so intense that he had started from his home to the scene of the struggle. There he met Tom, and the parthe then took in caring for the wounded young officer we already know.
Neither Tom nor Little Peter was idle. There was much work to be done on both farms, and the lads aided each other. The crop on the ten-acre lot was successfully grown and harvested, and the immediate problem of food in Benzeor's household was in a measure solved.
Indian John was never seen by our boys again. Whether he had been slain by the British or the pine robbers, or had departed from the homes of his ancestors for a region into which the redcoats and buffcoats did not enter, was never known. Both Tom and Little Peter were inclined to the latter conclusion, however, and their opinion was strengthened by the fact that "Charlie" Moluss, and his wife Bathsheba, and her sister "Suke" were never seen or heard from again.
Several times the boys made their way into Indian John's cave by the brook, but they never discovered any signs of their friend. He had forever disappeared, but his stories concerning the origin of the Jersey mosquitoes, his interpretations of the roar of the ocean and the calls of the sea-birds, and aboveall the assistance he had rendered Little Peter in the trying days of '78 were never forgotten.
Weeks had passed before Little Peter positively learned that Benzeor's statement concerning his father had been correct, but at last he received definite information that he was a prisoner in New York. What that meant to the troubled lad, few of us to-day can understand. The sufferings on board the prison-ships and in the prison-houses of New York almost baffle description; but we may be sure of one thing, and that is that Little Peter did not sit idly down, nor rest content to leave his father where he was without making some efforts in his behalf. But that, too, belongs to another record.
Barzilla Giberson and Jacob Vannote after the death of Fenton did not find it necessary to play a double part. They believed that their efforts to run the pine robbers to cover had been successful, and that now they could boldly and openly take their stand on the side of the patriots. And take that stand they did, and their services in the New Jersey militia are known in all the region of Old Monmouth.
Ted Wilson, with Jeshurun "waxen fatter"and consequently still more inclined to kick, returned to his home after the death of Fenton. He found Sallie and the babies safe at the Dennises, but all of the mighty Ted's former indifference as to his rulers had departed. The taste of the struggle he had had seemed only to whet his appetite for more, and not many days had passed before Ted and Jeshurun once more started forth in quest of service and adventure.
Sarah Osburn labored faithfully and cheerfully for the welfare of her enlarged household, and the boys did not fail to appreciate her kindness. Tom thought he understood the motive which prompted much of her care for Little Peter's younger brothers and sisters, but throughout the long absence of Benzeor he never directly or indirectly referred to it.
There was a brief lull in the outrages and attacks of the pine robbers after the death of Fenton, but it was very brief. Stephen Burke (or Stephen Emmons as he was sometimes called), Stephen West, Ezekiel Williams, Jonathan West, Richard Bird, Davenport, De Bow, and others were yet living, and as each was the leader of a band as desperate as himself, and as all were as reckless andbrave as Fenton had been, in a brief time the suffering people of Old Monmouth found that their troubles were by no means ended.
Redcoat and buffcoat were again to contend within their borders, salt-works and houses were to be burned, gunboats were to anchor off her shore and their crews were to engage in conflicts with the patriots; whigs and tories were not yet reconciled, the pine robbers were not yet subdued. Five long and terrible years of the struggle of the Revolution were yet to come, and the sands of Old Monmouth were again and again to be dyed by the blood of fallen men.
The waves which came creeping, crawling up the long sandy shore, the tall pine-trees whose tops whispered together as they bent beneath the summer winds and winter storms, the fertile plains and noble forests of oak and chestnut, were unchanged; but the struggling men and women of Old Monmouth were yet to endure the bitter hardships and fierce contests, which the closing days of the Revolution brought to them in greater numbers than to almost any other people of our land.
Transcriber's Notes:Obvious punctuation errors repaired.The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text willappear.