CHAPTER XXI_The Young Continentals at Monmouth

IN WHICH THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH IS LOST AND WON

The winter at Valley Forge was one of untold suffering. When stout old

Baron Steuben, one of Frederick the Great’s general officers, first saw

the army of shoeless, naked and hungry men, he threw up his hands.

“Nefer,” he cried, in his broken English, “haf I seen such before!

Nefer! If an army was half so wretched in Europe they would run

away--noddings could hold them.”

But in time things grew more bearable. Little by little the higher

souls in Congress made their way against the spirit of intrigue. The

enemies of Washington, after their failure with Lafayette, relaxed

their efforts. Mifflin resigned his post as head of the commissariat

and Washington’s tried friend, General Greene, succeeded him. Food and

clothing began to be fairly plentiful; the spirits of the troops rose

accordingly.

Baron Steuben also succeeded Conway as inspector-general, and his

constant labors on the drill ground soon began to bear fruit. From

a wretched rabble, the regiments began to take on the aspect of

discipline and training.

Gates also suddenly fell to some degree in the favor of his friends

in Congress; and once more he was directed to journey north and take

command of the army in that region.

The surrender of Burgoyne had been the cause of the French cabinet’s

concluding a treaty of alliance with the United States, and this in

turn had been the means of strengthening Washington’s hands in the

manner mentioned above.

“It looks,” said Ezra Prentiss, “as though the conspiracy were dead.”

“With Gates, Conway and Mifflin all declining in favor,” spoke his

brother, George, “it has that appearance, surely.”

Nat Brewster was also of a similar opinion; but Ben was not so sure.

Only a little while before, General Charles Lee, for some time a

prisoner in the hands of the British, had been exchanged for the

English General Prescott, and when he saw this brilliant and erratic

soldier warmly greeted by Washington and his officers, Ben’s heart

somehow grew heavy with fear for the future.

What if Conway and Mifflin and Gates were out of favor? They

were merely instruments in the hands of the British, through the

machinations of Tobias Hawkins.

“And Hawkins is still able to plot,” mused Ben. “And that he is

somewhere plotting and laying his snares is sure, for he is not the

one to give up.” He paused for a little, staring straight before him,

his mind in that curious state when it seems to have stopped working,

retaining a single picture of a single thing. Then his thoughts began

to flow again.

“And that conversation between Hawkins and Sugden at Claflin’s that

night! I would that I had heard more of it. They seemed to expect

something from the exchange of General Lee. What, I wonder? Can it

be possible that----” but this led to thoughts that could not be

entertained, and so he banished the matter from his mind.

A council of war held in the camp early in May had concluded that no

blow was to be attempted against the British until some opportunity

presented itself that would insure success. Then Howe was recalled and

Sir Henry Clinton took command of the British army at Philadelphia; and

not long after this signs were shown of an intention to evacuate the

city.

New York was thought to be the point aimed at; Washington sent some

brigades into the Jerseys to break bridges and otherwise harass

Clinton, should this be the case, but the main body of his army

remained in waiting to make sure of his enemy’s movements.

It was on the eighteenth of June that the British began their movement

to a point below Philadelphia; from there they crossed the Delaware

into New Jersey. Immediately upon hearing this, Washington broke up his

camp at Valley Forge; sent Arnold, whose wounded leg did not permit

his taking the field, with a strong force to occupy the city, and then

pushed forward in pursuit of the enemy.

The Americans crossed the Delaware a little later, not far from the

point where they had crossed to attack the Hessians a year and a half

before. Clinton was so slow in his movements that Washington suspected

him of desiring to get the American force into the level country, then,

by a rapid march, gain the heights, and so take them at a disadvantage.

Another council of war was held; General Lee was for holding aloof

and merely annoying the enemy by detachments. As his military skill

was highly regarded, he gained a majority of the officers to his way

of thinking; and the command went forth that this style of warfare be

begun. However, it was not at all in favor with the rank and file, and

though they obeyed their officers readily enough, they were not at all

backward in their criticisms.

“Are we a parcel of old women that we should be afraid to get near

enough to the enemy to come to hand grasps with him?” asked a

stalwart sergeant of artillery. “Ah, I wish, Molly,” to a red-haired,

freckle-faced young woman, “that they had had you in the council

instead of General Lee.”

“Why, then,” said Molly, whom Ben, who sat near by, at once recognized

as the Molly Hayes he had seen perform so creditably at the Crossed

Keys, “if I had it’s after old Clinton we’d a-been long ago. Sure it’s

in the arms of our lads to give him and his redcoats a trouncing, so it

is, and I’m for giving it to them while we have the chance.”

“Bravo, Molly Pitcher,” cried a soldier. “Good for you.”

“I’m obliged to you for agreeing with me,” said Molly, dropping the

speaker a satirical courtesy. “But I’d thank you, soldier, not to call

me out of my name, which is Molly Hayes, and not Molly Pitcher.”

“Your pitcher, Molly,” stated her husband, the sergeant of artillery,

“is welcome enough when the lads are thirsty and you bring it to them

full of cool water. So what harm if they do name you after it? It’s

proud you should be.”

“Sorra the bit do I mind it,” said Molly to Ben, a little later. “But

it becomes a lady not to allow them too much familiarity, so it do.”

[Illustration: “_BRAVO, MOLLY PITCHER!_”]

Generals Wayne, Greene and Lafayette had all been of the same opinion

as to the proper means of distressing the enemy. In spite of the

confidently expressed opinions of Lee they believed that the rear

of the British should be attacked by a heavy force, while the main

army should be held ready to give general battle. Washington held the

same opinion and shortly afterward set about carrying it out. He was

no longer in doubt as to Clinton’s route; the British were on the road

through Freehold, meaning to embark at Sandy Hook.

As Lee was opposed to all attack, Washington, at Lafayette’s eager

solicitation, gave command of the advance to that gallant young man.

“But,” said the commander-in-chief, “the command is rightfully Lee’s.

However, if he has no objection, you may have it.”

Ben carried the request to General Lee. The latter’s face when he read

the message was a study to the speculative eyes of the boy.

“Imbeciles!” muttered Lee, who was noted for his bluntness of speech as

well as oddities of character. “But let them have their way.”

He wrote a reply stating that he willingly relinquished command of the

advance. Ben placed this in his belt, saluted and darted out to his

horse. But he had barely gathered up the reins when he heard the ring

of hoofs almost beside him, and glancing around he saw the strong face

of Tobias Hawkins.

For a moment the man looked into the boy’s face; and the boy returned

the gaze steadily.

“Ah,” said Hawkins, at last, “so I see you here, Master Cooper.”

Ben nodded, smilingly.

“Are you surprised? Surely you knew that your plans at Rising Sun and

at the Crossed Keys both failed.”

A sour smile crossed the man’s face, but his hard eyes did not smile.

“I don’t think I quite understand,” said he. “But, then, you are

difficult to understand at best. However,” and there was a low menace

in his tone, “I may come to understand you yet. And, mayhap, the

understanding is not far away.”

Ben saluted smilingly, shook his rein and galloped away; but at some

little distance he turned in his saddle and looked back. Hawkins had

dismounted before General Lee’s tent and was at that moment upon the

point of entering. At this the lad caught his breath sharply. The

suspicions aroused by the words he had heard pass between Hawkins and

Sugden at Claflin’s returned to him with a rush.

“What if, after all, it should be so?” was his thought.

“What if----” but here another thought occurred to him. “It makes no

difference just now, at any rate,” he continued. “General Lafayette is

to have command of the advance.”

He delivered Lee’s message at headquarters in all haste; but the

delighted young Frenchman had scarcely rushed away to assume his post

than a horseman dismounted before the tent of the commander-in-chief

and was shown in. Ben was lingering about under instructions to wait,

as there would probably be work for him; and he heard the rider

announce:

“From General Lee.”

Washington at once broke the seal; and as he read the paper, a cloud

overspread his face, his heavy brows came together in a frown, and he

turned to General Greene.

“Lee has altered his mind,” said he.

“You don’t mean that he now wants the command, after it’s given to

another?” asked the astonished Greene.

“Just so.”

At this a quick shock seemed to strike at Ben Cooper’s heart. If

General Lee was a traitor--and the words of Hawkins made him think so

in spite of himself--what an opportunity this was to play into the

hands of the British; what an opportunity it was to deal the cause of

liberty a blow from which it might never recover.

“It may be,” was the lad’s instant thought, “that Hawkins has had

something to do with this change of mind on the part of General Lee.

Irritated that his advice was not being followed, the general, who

is notoriously testy, agreed to having Lafayette in command of the

advance. But no sooner had I gone with this answer, than Hawkins

arrived and pointed out that this course was a mistake for one in the

pay of the British government, and so instantly Lee altered his mind.”

“This situation,” said General Washington, “is a most perplexing one.

I do not see how I can agree to Lee’s altered fancy without grievously

wounding the feelings of Lafayette.”

But it developed that this could be done without any difficulty. A

sudden altering of Clinton’s plans, which threw the weight of British

power into the rear under Cornwallis, made it necessary for General

Washington to send a reinforcement to his advance. The brigades of

Varnum and Scott were sent under the headship of General Lee, and he,

being senior officer, was in this way placed in command of the whole

advance.

That night the British encamped near Monmouth Court House, while the

Americans under Lee lay at Englishtown, five miles away. Washington and

the main body were three miles to the rear of the advance.

At sundown Washington rode forward; his practiced eye told him that

the British position was an awkward one to attack; but if they were

allowed to proceed a dozen miles further their position would be

stronger still, for the heights of Middletown would greatly favor them.

In consequence he made up his mind to attack at dawn. His orders were

given to Lee in the presence of officers.

“Make your disposition for an attack,” said Washington. “Keep your men

lying on their arms; be ready for action at the shortest notice.”

The commander-in-chief then rode back to the main body, and during

the remainder of the night was busy with preparations for the coming

struggle. At sunrise, Ben Cooper, who had remained during the night

with the advance, brought news that the British were in motion. By

another rider General Washington sent a command to Lee to advance and

attack, saying that he was coming on rapidly to support him. Then the

main army was ordered to discard its blankets, knapsacks and other

heavy equipment so that its progress should not be retarded.

The Hessian commander, Knyphausen, had charge of the British advance,

which included all the baggage. And in the early morning while he

slowly made his way into the valley between Monmouth and Middletown,

Clinton with the fighting men held the camp on the heights of Freehold.

This body did not move from the latter position until after eight

in the morning, when they also took up the line of march through

Middletown.

It was a region covered by wood and morass, and General Lee had no

great opportunity to reconnoiter the enemy; seeing Clinton’s army on

its march, he told his officers it was only a detachment. Ordering

Wayne with a body of infantry and a few pieces of artillery to skirmish

in the rear, he set out with the remainder of his force to, as he said,

head the detachment off. At the same time he sent a rider to Washington

telling him of the movement and adding that he was confident of success.

The army under Washington was making excellent time; as they reached

Freehold church a cannon boomed in the distance, telling them that the

fight had opened. At once the command was given to quicken the advance.

Washington, with his officers grouped about him, was giving his final

instructions. Ben Cooper and the other young riders were within call,

ready and eager to bear any messages that might need sending. The

commander-in-chief had just finished his orders to Greene who was to

push on with a division along a side road and so flank the enemy, when

a farmer mounted upon a plough horse rode up, wild-eyed and scarcely

able to speak.

“They are retreating!” he cried.

“Who?” demanded some one.

“Our army; and the British are after them!”

Washington, who stood by the side of his great white horse, turned an

angry face upon the man.

“What, sir,” demanded he, “do you dare bring us a false report at such

a time?”

“I’m telling the truth!” gasped the man, his hands tossing in protest.

“See, there; he’ll tell you the same.”

As he spoke he pointed to a small man in an American uniform, who held

a fife in his hand, and had at that moment dashed breathlessly up.

“All’s lost,” he said. “We’ve been driven back.”

A swift command, and the fifer was in the custody of Nat Brewster and

Ezra Prentiss.

“Don’t let him speak to any one,” was the order. “He might spread a

panic among the men.”

Washington mounted, and the officers spurred forward. In a little

while a scattering of running men were met upon the road; then small

bodies. Finally complete commands were encountered. Some officers were

now ordered forward to find out the meaning of the thing; dashing past

Freehold Meeting House, Washington came upon Grayson’s and Patton’s

regiments in full retreat and badly disordered. Then came other

commands.

“Sir,” demanded Washington of Colonel Shreve, who rode at the head of

his own regiment, “is the entire advance party falling back?”

Colonel Shreve smiled significantly.

“General, I believe it is. And under the orders of General Lee.”

“And,” declared Major Howard of the same command, “I never saw the

like. It’s cowardice.”

“We are running from a shadow,” cried another officer, hotly. “The most

of us never even caught sight of the enemy.”

Though he had been close to Washington since the opening of the war,

Ben Cooper had never seen him angry until now. As the remainder of the

advance now came up, the commander-in-chief rode up to General Lee, who

came with it.

“General Lee, what is the meaning of this?” cried Washington, his face

white with fury.

Lee flushed and seemed unable to answer.

“Can you not speak?” demanded Washington. “I desire to know the meaning

of this disorder and confusion!”

Lee’s naturally irascible nature here asserted itself, and he made a

stinging reply.

“You asked for the command, sir,” said Washington. “Why did you do so

unless you desired to fight the enemy?”

For an instant it was upon Ben Cooper’s tongue to ride forward and tell

what he knew.

“But no, no,” he said to himself. “I know but little, and am sure of

nothing. I had best be silent.”

Though he was deeply exasperated at the conduct of General Lee,

Washington did not lose sight of the fact that the enemy were close

upon him.

“They are only fifteen minutes away,” reported George Prentiss who,

from a height, had been observing them.

The place where Washington had stopped the retreat, as it happened, was

highly favorable for a stand. With eagle glance, Washington saw this,

and the command was posted upon a hill, the only approach to which

was over a narrow causeway. To the left of this eminence, Stewart and

Ramsey’s batteries were planted in a woody covert. Upon another hill,

there were two guns stationed under Colonel Oswald. With all the hurry

and excitement of the moment, the different bodies of troops moved with

the precision of machines.

When all was ready Washington once more rode up to Lee.

“Will you retain this command, sir?” he asked.

“It is all one to me, sir, where I command,” replied Lee.

“I shall expect you to take proper measures for checking the enemy,”

said Washington.

“Your orders shall be obeyed,” returned Lee. “I shall be the last to

leave the ground.”

The guns from the woods on the left and from the hilltop had begun to

speak, and the British were brought to a halt. Washington rode back and

brought on the main body, which he formed upon a hill with thick woods

at its back and a swamp to the front. Sterling had the left wing and

Greene the right.

This time the command of Lee fought stubbornly. Then, at last, he was

obliged to fall back, which he did in an orderly manner upon the left.

Ben was with Greene’s division upon the right, having been sent there

with some orders. From this position he saw the batteries of General

Sterling open upon the British and force them back; there was a pause,

then the enemy came driving upon the position of Greene. But here the

artillery of Knox met them with its thunder. In the face of it the

invaders came on; smoke was ascending in choking clouds, but through

it the red coats and gleaming brass and steel of the British could be

seen. Their musket balls pattered among the artillerymen like rain, and

suddenly Ben saw a stalwart sergeant throw up his hands and fall. There

was a shriek; a figure with streaming red hair rushed to his side and

sank to her knees beside him.

“It’s Sergeant Hayes that’s down,” reported one of the men.

“Take him to the rear,” was the order.

“I’m not badly hurt, Molly,” said Hayes to his wife. “So don’t cry

about me.”

“You are sure?” said she.

“It’s only a scratch,” said the sergeant with a smile as he was placed

on a litter.

“Another man, there, to Hayes’ place,” came the order.

As she stood watching the litter being borne to the rear Molly Hayes

heard these words.

“What!” she cried, whirling about, “another man to that gun!” pointing

to the piece at which her husband had fallen. “Faith, then, there’s no

need of it. That big-throated roarer is one of the family, so it is,

and if one of us isn’t able to attend to it, the other must.”

And with that she seized a ramrod and thrust it into the smoking maw

of the cannon; as brave as the bravest she worked away amid the musket

shot of the British, never heeding them as they came plunging upon the

battery.

“What a virago!” Ben heard a voice say some little distance in his

rear, and turning swiftly in his saddle he recognized Tobias Hawkins.

“I wish there were more like her,” spoke the officer to whom the remark

had been addressed. “And now, sir, let me again request you to go to

the rear.”

“I am sorry to have intruded,” said Tobias Hawkins, as he turned his

horse’s head. “The fact is that I have a message of an important and

private nature for an officer whom I expected to see here.”

Here the British fell back before the deadly fire of Knox’s guns; and

Ben Cooper as he turned away had a last vision of Molly Hayes, her mass

of red hair tossing in the wind, wildly cheering with the men; then the

boy rode after Tobias Hawkins.

As it chanced the man had taken a direction across a stretch which had

been only a short time ago swept by the fire of General Wayne’s command

which lay concealed in an orchard not far away. Before it was a command

of British being drawn up as though preparing to make an attack. Ben

glanced here and there, but there was no sign of the Americans.

“They must have retreated,” thought the boy.

Hearing the hoof-beats in his rear, Hawkins turned; and an evil smile

overspread his face at sight of Ben.

“Once more,” said he, “it is you.”

“It is,” smiled Ben. “I saw you back there by Knox’s battery, and heard

what you said regarding a private message for a friend.”

“Ah,” said Tobias Hawkins, “you did?”

“I did,” nodded the boy, “and I rode after you to say that if the

friend is General Lee you will find him somewhere on the left, as I saw

him----”

He had just gotten this far when Hawkins drew a pistol and lifted it.

But just then a sheeted volley leaped from the orchard and he sank to

the ground. And as he did so, Ben Cooper’s horse reared and plunged;

the lad fell from the saddle and lay like one dead, while over him

swept the charging division of Monckton with leveled bayonets to

dislodge the command of General Wayne.

* * * * *

It was well toward noon next day when Ben Cooper was able to get upon

his feet; and then, surrounded by his anxious friends, he made his way

to the scene of yesterday’s mishap.

“Wayne must have been waiting for the British,” said Ezra. “And as they

charged just as you got in line, you had to take your chance. It’s

lucky you weren’t killed.”

Ben touched the bandage around his head and smiled.

“Did Wayne drive them back?” he asked.

“He did. And before much else could be done, darkness came on. We were

all under arms at daybreak; but the enemy had gone--ran away in the

night.”

“Ran away!” Ben smiled once more. “From now on he’ll be used to that.

With the armies and fleets of France to aid him, General Washington

will give him plenty of practice.”

“What’s that?” asked the Porcupine, his eyes upon a small group beside

a gun.

There stood a cheering, laughing cluster of young officers; then there

was Molly Hayes in the midst of them, standing at salute, while before

her was General Washington himself. The boys approached through the

lines of men who, with litters, were bearing off the dead from the

field, and were just in time to hear the commander-in-chief say:

“Your bravery, Mistress Hayes, was equal to that of any man in the

army. You served your gun gallantly, and in the name of Congress I

thank you. My only regret is that I can do nothing more.”

“You can, general, asthore,” cried a voice from the rear, a voice which

Ben at once recognized as that of Paddy Burk. “Now that her husband is

wounded, make her a sergeant in his place.”

The grave-faced commander-in-chief smiled at the suggestion.

“An excellent notion; and from this time on, Mistress Hayes, you are a

sergeant in the service of the United States, with the pay of such and

all the other things that such rank demands.”

There was a chorus of cheers at this, and Molly Hayes, with cheeks

stained crimson and eyes shining, once more saluted with proper

military stiffness. And just then a litter holding a body came up and

Ben, as he stepped aside to permit its passage, had a view of the face.

“She earned it,” said Nat Brewster, who had heard the story of Molly’s

courage. “And she’s deserved all she’s got.”

Ben turned away from the litter, and a shudder ran through him. But,

though he closed his eyes, he could not shut out the cold, white, dead

face of Tobias Hawkins.

“There are more than she who have received what they deserved,” said

he, in a low voice.