OF A BROKEN SABBATH AND BROKEN HEADS.
In those days the tri-weekly stage-coaches made the trip from
Philadelphia to New York in the unprecedented time of two days, passing
Bristol and several other thriving Pennsylvania villages, taking ferry
over the Delaware River to Trenton, which then consisted mainly of two
straggling streets and their rustic tributaries; bowling through New
Jersey woods and farms and hamlets, and crossing ferries and marshes to
Paulus Hook, where the passengers alighted and boarded the ferry-boat
for the city whose fort, spires, and snug houses adorned the
southernmost point of the hilly island of Manhattan. Several times,
during the first day of their trip, Dick and MacAlister had brief sights
of the three Canadians, who sometimes fell behind the stage-coach, and
as often overtook and passed it again. Dick nursed a hope of meeting the
party at dinner, or at the tavern where the coach should stop for the
night, yet he inwardly trembled at thought of such a meeting, knowing
how awkward and abashed he should feel in the presence of that girl.
His hopes, however, were disappointed, for, though the riders stopped
where the stage did, they ate in private rooms, and the only one of the
party who came into the bar or public dining-room anywhere was the
English lieutenant, Blagdon, who ignored MacAlister, and bestowed on
Dick only a look of disdain.
On the second morning the Canadians, as before, started with the stage
and were soon out of sight ahead. Dick kept a lookout forward, while
MacAlister engaged in talk with the other passengers, with whom his
narrative powers had by this time made him highly popular. For a long
time Dick was rewarded with no glimpse of the scarlet riding-habit his
eyes so wistfully sought. But at last, at a turn of the road, it came
into view against the green of the woods. Strangely, though, it was not
on horseback. The two young gentlemen stood beside the girl in the road,
and not one of their three animals was to be seen. All this was quickly
noticed by the others in the stage-coach, who uttered prompt expressions
of wonder, while the driver whipped up his four horses.
When the coach came up, Lieutenant Blagdon hailed the driver, who
immediately stopped.
"We are in a predicament," began the young lieutenant, in an annoyed and
embarrassed manner. "Half an hour ago, as we were riding by these
woods, several wild-looking ruffians rushed out from these bushes on
either side of the road, with pistols and fowling-pieces, which they
aimed at us, and demanded our money and horses. We were so completely
taken by surprise, our anxiety for this lady's safety was so great, we
could not have drawn our pistols before they could have brought us
down,--in short, we had to yield up our horses and what little money we
carried, and the robbers made off by the lane yonder, leaving us here."
From the passengers came cries of "Outrage!" "See the authorities!" and
"Alarm the county!" When others had had their say, Tom MacAlister was
for organizing a pursuing party of the passengers, and was seconded by a
reverend-looking gentleman, who asked if one of the robbers was not
blind of an eye.
"The affair was so quickly over, I for one did not notice any
peculiarities of appearance among them," answered Blagdon.
The young Frenchman, standing with his sister at the edge of the road,
now spoke, in perfectly good English: "One of them called another Fagan,
in ordering him to keep quiet; and said 'That's right, Jonathan,' to one
who said we shouldn't delay in hope of assistance, as they would shoot
us at the first sound of wheels or horses coming this way."
"That makes it certain," said the clerical-looking man; "they are the
Pine Robbers, as we call them in our part of Monmouth County, where they
are a great curse. It is surprising, though, that they should venture so
far inland and from their burrows in the sand-hills by the swamps near
the coast. I can be of use in tracking them, as I live at Shrewsbury,
which is not far from the swamps they inhabit and the groggeries they
resort to."
But the officer, learning from further talk that proper steps for the
recovery of the property might require several days, and yet fail, said
the attempt was not to be thought of; that the horses were the only
considerable loss, as his party had relied on money to be taken up in
New York, and that therefore they could do no more than take places in
the stage-coach for that city.
As the inside places were all filled, and one of them would be required
for the girl, Dick was out in the road in an instant, blushingly
blundering out to the Frenchman an offer of his seat to the lady, with
the declaration that he would ride outside,--which in those days meant
on the flat roof of the coach. The Frenchman bowed thanks and held out
his hand to lead his sister to the coach; but she stood reluctant, and
said:
"But the portrait, Gerard!" As she spoke her eyes became moist.
"I fear we must lose it, Catherine," said Gerard, sadly.
"If I can be of any service," said Dick, speaking as calmly as his
heartbeats would let him, and meeting with hot cheeks the first look the
girl's fine eyes ever cast upon him.
"I thank you," said Gerard, "but I fear nothing can be done. My sister
speaks of a miniature portrait of our mother, who is dead. One of the
robbers, the one called Jonathan, seeing the chain by which it was
suspended from her neck, tore it from her and carried it away."
"I will try to recover it, sir," said Dick, bowing to the girl while he
addressed the brother. Hearing a derisive "Huh!" behind him, Dick turned
and saw Blagdon viewing him with a contemptuous smile, which was assumed
to cover the chagrin caused by Dick's undertaking a task the officer
himself had shirked. Dick reddened more deeply, with anger, but said
nothing and went to the coach for his rifle and baggage. MacAlister,
always accepting whatever enterprise turned up for him, promptly got
out, with his own belongings, as also did the reverend gentleman, who
explained that he had intended leaving the coach at the next village, to
go thence by horse to his home at Shrewsbury. The vacant places were
taken by the Canadians, accounts were settled with the driver, Gerard de
St. Valier courteously thanked Dick again, giving him a New York
address but begging him to reconsider so desperate a project, Catherine
sent back one grateful but hopeless look, the driver cracked his whip,
the coach rolled off, and the three men were left alone in the
forest-bordered road.
After a brief consultation, in which it came out that the clerical
gentleman was the Reverend Mr. McKnight, the Presbyterian pastor of
Shrewsbury, it was decided that the three should go back to the last
village passed, which was nearer than the next one ahead, hire horses
there, then return, and make for Shrewsbury by way, first, of the lane
down which the robbers were said to have fled. They would stop at
Freehold, report the robbery to the county authorities, and call for the
services of sheriff and constable in hunting down the malefactors.
"If the loss were merely of money and horses," said the pastor, as the
three trudged along with their baggage on their backs, "I should not
stir far in the matter, seeing that the losers are apparently well
supplied with this world's goods. But the young lady's sorrow at the
loss of the keepsake was too much for me. It will be a kind of miracle
if we get it back. The man Fagan is a desperate rascal, and so, for that
matter, are Jonathan West and all the others. The man whom those young
people heard giving orders to the rest was doubtless Fenton, who
learned the blacksmith's trade at Freehold and was an excellent workman
at it before he took to crime. These men will stop at nothing. When they
are not at refuge in their sand-caves on the edges of swamps, among the
brush, they are plundering, burning, and killing, by night, or spending
their ill-gotten money at some low groggery in the pines. They will rob
anything, from a poor tailor's shop to a wagon carrying grain to mill,
and, though it doesn't sound like Christian charity to say so, they
ought to be hanging now in chains from trees, as they probably will be
some day."
At the village, so much time was lost in obtaining horses, that it was
dark before the three arrived at Freehold, and therefore they put up for
the night at the tavern next the court-house, which abode of justice was
of wood, clapboarded with shingles, and had a peaked roof. In the tavern
it was learned that Fenton and his gang had been seen passing two miles
east of the court-house, that afternoon, going towards Shrewsbury, three
on horseback, the others in a wagon. Mr. McKnight visited a justice of
the peace, the sheriff, and the constable; but, as it was now Saturday
night, those useful officers would not think of budging before Monday.
Dick feared that if a day were lost, even though the miniature should be
recovered, the Canadians would have left New York before he could arrive
there to restore it to them. Accordingly, the next morning, the three
men set out alone towards Shrewsbury, the clergyman having stipulated
that his share in the enterprise should be kept secret, lest his act
might serve the undiscriminating as an example of Sabbath-breaking.
"I am clear in my conscience on that score," said the minister to Tom
and Dick, "and, having put my hand to the plow in this business, I will
not turn back. I can guide you to a rough drinking-place in the woods,
where it is most likely the ruffians will be found. To counterbalance
their superior numbers, we must use strategy, and we have in our favor
the fact that most of them are likely by this time to be helpless with
liquor."
"'Oh, that men should put into their mouths an enemy to steal away their
brains!'" misquoted Tom, who thought it proper that he should speak
piously in the presence of the minister.
"It is fortunate for us if they have done so, in this case," said the
clergyman, with a smile. A moment later he sighed pensively. "My
congregation will be disappointed this morning. I was expected to arrive
home last night and to preach to-day. I have my sermon in my pocket."
"What is the text, sir, if I may be so bold?" asked Tom.
"Leviticus, sixth chapter, fourth verse: 'Then it shall be, because he
hath sinned, and is guilty, that he shall restore that which he took
violently away.'"
"By the powers," cried Tom, forgetting himself, "ye're like to get more
results putting that text into action the morning than by holding forth
on it frae your ain pulpit!"
Under the pastor's guidance, the party turned presently from the road
into the pine forest, through which their horses passed freely by reason
of the complete absence of undergrowth. MacAlister and Dick had left
their baggage at Freehold, and Mr. McKnight's was so light as to
encumber him little. Dick and Tom had their rifles, while the minister
carried Tom's pistol. They proceeded in silence some miles, now and then
emerging on clear places, skirting swamps, and advancing over ground
that became more and more sandy. At last, in the midst of woods, the
minister held his finger to his lips, and all three stopped. From a
distance came the sound of a coarse voice singing in maudlin tones a
tuneless song. The three dismounted, tied their horses to trees, and
walked cautiously forward in single file, Mr. McKnight leading. A low,
one-story log building came into view among the trees. At one end of it,
under a shed roof, stood four horses and a wagon. The bawling of the
song came through a small, unglazed window, of which the oiled paper was
torn.
"They take their pleasure in security now," whispered the minister,
halting a moment, "because the officers of justice will not break the
Sabbath to attack them. On other days they would not be so unguarded. I
will look through the window, and see how the land lies; then we shall
decide what to do."
He led the way to the groggery and applied his eye to a slit in the
oiled paper, while Dick and Tom stood on either side. In a moment, the
preacher crouched down beneath the window, and, motioning Tom and Dick
to do likewise, whispered:
"There has evidently been a fight. Fagan and another are lying on the
floor with their heads bound in bloody rags. Another is lying near them,
dead drunk, as his position shows. Jonathan West is sitting on the
floor, also drunk; it is he who is singing. Fenton and Burke are playing
cards, Fenton's back towards the door, Burke facing it. The keeper of
the place is lying asleep on the bar, and his wife is behind it paring
potatoes. If we are speedy, two of us shall have only Fenton and Burke
and the woman to deal with, while one goes through West's clothes in
search of the miniature."
"Then let us go in at once," said Dick.
"Softly," quoth the minister; "let us all understand what each is to do.
You, lad, perhaps should search West--"
"Nay," put in Tom; "trust me for that. I've plied my fingers on the
battle-field, and can do the thing so quick I can tak' my ain fu' share
of the fighting, too."
"You are right," said the pastor. "The door is unbarred. Let us all
three burst in at once. You, lad, who look the strongest, deal with
Fenton, the man sitting with his back to the door. Strike him down with
the butt of your rifle, and be ready to shoot if he attempts to rise. I
shall take care of the other card-player. You, Captain MacAlister,
search Jonathan West for the portrait, and keep your eye on the woman
behind the bar. If I am not mistaken, she will prove the worst foe of
all."
At MacAlister's suggestion, he and Dick each looked through the slit to
get a view of the chosen field of battle. Then the three stepped softly
around to the door. Each grasped his weapon tightly, and the minister
pushed the door open. All made a move to rush in,--but started back on
being confronted by Fenton and Burke, who stood, each with pistol
raised, doubtless put suddenly on their guard by the sound of footsteps.
Old Tom was the first to recover from surprise. He made a swift lunge at
Burke, which caught that person in the neck, almost breaking it, and
sent him flying back into the room. Tom leaped after him, and was
followed by the minister. Fenton turned to shoot the latter with his
pistol, and Dick availed himself of this movement to bring down his
rifle-butt heavily on the rascal's unkempt head. Fenton did not fall,
but, after staggering a moment, during which Dick reversed his weapon,
turned to shoot the latter, uttering a savage curse the while; he thus
opened his mouth wide, and Dick thrust the muzzle of the rifle therein,
and forced Fenton rapidly backward into the groggery, to the very
farthest corner thereof, pinning him therein with the rifle-muzzle in
his mouth. "Drop the pistol, or I'll fire," cried Dick; and Fenton,
perceiving his disadvantage, did so. Dick kicked the pistol towards the
minister, who picked it up. The gentle McKnight had been raining blows
on the head of Burke, who now succumbed and lay without protest, leaving
the minister free to draw the woman's attention from Tom. She had run
around the bar and threatened with her knife the deft-fingered
MacAlister while the latter was going through West's clothes, an
operation preceded by a quieting blow on the robber's skull from Tom's
rifle-butt. Of the four prostrate men, the drunkest one slept on through
the fray, the two gory-headed rascals opened their eyes and looked on
with apathy, while the proprietor got down off the bar and looked around
for some weapon with which to take a hand. At this moment Dick, who
continued to hold the ferocious but speechless Fenton against the wall,
felt something smooth slipped into his left hand, heard from Tom the
words, "'Tis yours to guard, lad," saw at an instant's glance that it
was the miniature portrait of a woman, and thrust it into his waistcoat
pocket. The proprietor of the place had now picked up a fowling-piece
from a corner and was aiming it at Dick. It was knocked up by
MacAlister, who then fell on its holder and was in a fair way to beat
out his brains, when the woman, having seen her spouse in danger,
abandoned her contest with the minister, and bounded panther-like at
Tom. She lodged the point of her knife in his cheek, and drew it out for
a second blow, whereupon the minister, putting a pistol in each of his
coat-pockets, ran up behind her, caught her by the long hair, and
dragged her out of the house. He did not stop until she was on her back
on the ground. Before she could rise, Tom had sent her husband reeling
with a final blow, and had come to aid the minister, knowing that the
latter had more than a match in the woman. Tom placed his feet on her
hair, which was lying about her head, and, digging his heels into the
sandy earth, put the muzzle of his rifle against her forehead, and told
her it was his custom, as a soldier, to make short work of cutthroat
she-devils of camp-following buzzards. So she lay still, glaring and
panting. Mr. McKnight reentered the groggery, aimed both his pistols at
Fenton, and told Dick to release that worthy and back out of the place
with rifle kept ready to shoot. Dick obeyed, and backed out side by side
with the minister. A minute later, the three thief-hunters were running
for their horses. They mounted, and made their way back to the place
where they had turned into the pines from the road.
"And won't ye stand in danger of retaliation from the devils?" queried
MacAlister, as Mr. McKnight turned to take leave.
"I think they were so drunk, and the thing was so quickly done, they did
not know me from a stranger like yourselves. They would not suspect a
minister of such work on a Sabbath day."
"Begorra, if more such work was done by ministers on Sabbath days, more
of the wicked would get punishment in this world! By the Lord, 'twas a
fine illustration ye gave of the penalties that follow wrong-doing, and
none the waur for that ye thumped a rascal's head instead of the pulpit,
and made the way of the transgressor hard instead of merely saying it
was."
"That's the grandest minister I ever saw, and the only sermon I never
went to sleep at," said MacAlister to Dick, as the two rode back towards
Freehold, Mr. McKnight having taken his way towards Shrewsbury after a
friendly farewell and a tender of his compliments to the young lady to
whom Dick was to restore the miniature.
That night they slept at the village where they had hired their horses.
They had to lose another day in waiting till the stage-coach came
along, and so it was Tuesday morning when they found themselves again on
a "Flying Machine" bound for New York. This time MacAlister's face was
tied up in cloths, the wound in his cheek being not serious, but vastly
inconvenient for the time being. "Another war-scar, bedad!" quoth he. "A
mark of the battle of Shrewsbury Pines."
The greater part of the journey was dampened by a series of April
showers, but when they arrived at Paulus Hook and descended from the
coach, the sun reappeared for a brief display before setting. As they
crossed in the ferry to New York, that English-Dutch-Huguenot seaport
town, in the midst of its hills and trees, seemed to smile upon them.
Looking out towards the bay, with its backing of green heights, Dick got
his first hint of the ocean beyond, and was deeply stirred thereat. In
those days a beach ran at the foot of bluffs that were crowned by
gardens and other grounds behind the spacious residences on the west
side of Broadway. There was no commerce along the North River, all the
Dutch Hudson sloops and the New Jersey boats rounding the point to make
landing in the East River. Dick's gaze, coming in from the bay, past the
green islands, close at hand, rested successively on the fort whose
walls rose from sloping green banks, the governor's garden, the water
ends of crooked streets, the little forest of masts in the East River,
the tiny village of Brooklyn nestling at the foot of the heights on Long
Island, and finally on the ferry landing-place, on which he and Tom
presently set foot. On the recommendation of a fellow passenger on the
ferry, they took lodgings in a small tavern near the Whitehall slip.
During supper Dick was absent-minded and perturbed. He was all afire to
return the miniature to Miss de St. Valier. Tom advised him to wait till
the next day, as it was now quite late. But Dick was fearful the
Canadian party might depart before he could see them. Moreover, the
prospect of again beholding the entrancing Catherine and receiving
thanks from her own lips, although a delicious one, was also
disquieting, and Dick was anxious to face the interview at the earliest
possible moment. He therefore put himself and his clothes into the best
possible appearance, and, while Tom sought the Coffee House, found the
way to the boarding-house in Queen Street at which Gerard de St. Valier
had told him the party would stay. At the door, where he inquired with
much concealed trepidation, a black servant told him the Canadians had
left. His heart sank, but rose again a moment later, when the mistress
of the house, Mrs. Carroll, having overheard, told him the St. Valiers
and Lieutenant Blagdon had gone to the King's Arms Tavern for their last
night in New York, intending to take sloop the next morning for Albany.
It was now dark, the street lamps having been lighted for some time, and
Dick decided that, after all, the morning would be the more suitable
time for approaching the Canadians. Being very tired and desiring to
rise early, he went to bed, and dreamt of the eyes of Miss de St.
Valier.
The next morning he made a hasty breakfast, and was already on the way
to the King's Arms when it occurred to him that he might make himself
ridiculous by intruding on the peerless Catherine too early. He
therefore walked about the town awhile, viewing the markets near the
East River; then going up Broad Street from the Exchange to the City
Hall of that day; then admiring the marble image of William Pitt in a
Roman toga, at Wall and William Streets; the great dry goods shops in
William Street, up to Maiden Lane; the fine broad red and yellow brick
residences, some with many windows, double-pitched and tile-covered
roofs, balustrades and gardens, in William Street, Queen Street, Hanover
Square, and elsewhere: finally crossing to the Broadway, and beholding
the leaden statue of King George, in the Bowling Green or parade-ground
before the fort. At last he entered the King's Arms, which was next but
one to the fine Kennedy house at the foot of the west side of Broadway,
both facing the Bowling Green and fort. In the public room he saw Tom,
who sat reading the New York _Gazette_, and who now merely winked at
him, being of no mind to figure with him in the restoration of the
portrait. Dick put on a bold face and asked the man in charge to
announce him to Mr. and Miss de St. Valier.
"And, pray, what do you desire of them?" queried an insolent voice at
Dick's elbow. He looked around and encountered Lieutenant Blagdon, who
stood eyeing him with a manifest resentment that betrayed an uneasy
divination of Dick's purpose.
Dick was on the point of answering hotly, but contented himself with a
defiant look and the quiet reply:
"I wish to restore the portrait of which Miss de St. Valier was robbed
while in your company last Saturday."
Blagdon's wrath was now mingled with chagrin, at the confirmation of his
fear that another had accomplished for the lady the task he had not
offered to undertake. After a moment's pause, controlling his
expression, he said:
"Miss de St. Valier and her brother left New York yesterday. As I sail
after them on the next Albany sloop, you can give me the portrait. I'll
carry it to them."
Dick looked the other in the face for a moment in surprise, then said,
with a contempt as genuine as the lieutenant's was affected:
"You lie, you know they are still here."
"What!" gasped Blagdon, and turned to an Irish officer in whose company
he was,--for there were still a few British troops in New York, the last
of them not leaving the barracks in Chambers Street for Boston until
June 6th. "By God, did you hear that?" And with great fury, Blagdon, who
was himself unarmed, grasped the other officer's sword, drew it from the
sheath, and would have thrust it into Dick's breast, had not the
Pennsylvanian quickly leaped aside. Furious in turn, at so sudden and
violent an onslaught, Dick caught the sword with both hands near the
guard, wrenched it from Blagdon, and struck the latter heavily on the
head with the hilt. The lieutenant fell, leaving a curse unfinished, and
lay quite motionless on the floor.
After a moment, during which every one in the room stood startled, the
Irish officer stooped over Blagdon, felt his head and chest, and said,
looking up:
"He's done for! The blow has killed him!"
Dick heard a whisper in his ear, "Run for your life, lad!" and felt
himself pushed aside by old Tom, who gave no sign of knowing him, and
the seeming purpose of whose violent movement was to get a look at the
prostrate man.
Mechanically, as in a dream, Dick took the hint and sped out of the
tavern. As he issued forth, a picture of the Bowling Green with its
statue and locust-trees, the green and gray fort and the one linden and
two apple-trees that stood on the city side thereof, was imprinted
lastingly on his memory, heedless as he was of it at the time. Still
holding the officer's sword, and with no course determined on, he ran up
the Broadway. He had not gone far, when he heard a shout behind him,
doubtless from some witness of the blow, "Murder! Murder! Stop that
man!" On he went, while the hue and cry gathered behind him. Up the
roughly paved Broadway, steering wide alike of the house-stoops at the
side and the gutter in the middle, he ran. Once, as he neared Trinity
Church, he glanced back. The pursuing crowd behind him now looked a
multitude, and at its head, crying "Stop that man!" louder than any
other, but giving him a quick gesture to hasten on, was Tom MacAlister.