THE MEETING ON THE RIVER
"I'VE been here since noon," began Peter, "but it seems more like a
whole day to me. I've listened to the calls of the sea-birds and heard
the roar of the storm which I knew was coming, till it almost seemed to
me I couldn't bear it any longer. I'm glad you've come, for I've got a
chance to stretch now, and the sound of a voice will help to quiet my
nerves again."
"I didn't know you had any nerves," replied Tom. "But we can't stand
here in this storm talking about such things. Benzeor sent me over to
find out what you meant by hanging out the white flag. You haven't seen
anything suspicious, have you?"
"I have that," said Peter eagerly. "I was beginning to think that my
coming here was all a piece of foolishness, when along about four
o'clock--leastwise I should think it was about that time, though I
didn't have any dial anywhere about to mark the time for me--what
should I see but a whaleboat making for the river? You had better
believe I forgot all about the time and everything else but the boat
then, for I didn't know but some more of the Greens were coming up the
Navesink on another trip such as they made the other day."
Peter referred to an expedition which a band of several hundred tories
from New Jersey, commonly known as the "Greens," had made a few weeks
before this time. They had set forth from New York and had made a visit
to some of their former neighbors and friends, and the tokens of their
affection which they had left behind them had chiefly consisted of the
ashes of burned homes and empty barns. The raid had been a cruel one,
and its object apparently was more for devastation than for plunder, and
many of the good people of Red Bank and Middletown and the adjoining
towns had good cause to remember it so long as they lived. The numbers
of the invaders had rendered them safe from all attacks, and the wanton
destruction they wrought before they returned to New York had been the
chief reason for keeping a watch stationed in the old tree every day
since their visit. And Peter had received strict orders not to depart
from his place of observation, if he saw anything suspicious, until he
was satisfied that all danger was past. And Peter was faithful, that was
well known, or he would not have been selected for the duty that day.
"Well," resumed Peter, "I watched the boat till it went out of sight up
the river. There were seven men on board of her, six of 'em pulling at
the oars and the seventh steering. No more boats followed her, and I
shouldn't have been suspicious if I hadn't thought I recognized the man
who was steering."
"Who was he?"
"He looked to me a good deal like Fenton."
"What? The pine robber?"
"Yes, though of course I may have been mistaken. I never saw him but
once and that was when he was a blacksmith over by the Court House
before the war. My father had sent me over there to have one of the
horses shod at his shop. I don't know that I should have remembered him
if it hadn't been for something he did that day. I saw him take a
half-inch bar of iron and bend it almost double with his hands. That
made a great impression upon me, for I didn't believe there was another
man in the colony who could do that."
"Probably not," replied Tom. "But what made you think this was one of
Fenton's whaleboats?"
"Nothing but Fenton himself. Of course I've heard of the stories of what
he's been doing since he became a pine robber. His gang is one of the
worst, you know, and the minute I set my two eyes on him I suspected it
was Fenton himself."
"Why didn't you get word up the river as soon as you saw him?"
"They've got watchers farther up, and that's their business. Besides, I
didn't care to have him double me up the way he did that iron bar. Then,
my business was to stay here and give the warning to anybody that might
be going up the stream, you see. That's why I waved the flag when I saw
you coming."
"And they haven't come back yet?" inquired Tom eagerly.
"No. That's what I'm waiting for. There isn't any fun in hanging out
here in the wet, I can tell you. Just as soon as I can see that
whaleboat coming out into the bay again I'm done."
"All right, Peter, I'll go right back and report to Benzeor. Maybe he'll
take you on board and carry you home."
"Not unless I see the whaleboat again," said Peter doggedly as he
prepared to climb to his seat in the tree again.
Tom hurriedly departed and started to return with his message to the
waiting Benzeor and his men, who he knew would be becoming impatient by
this time. As he ran along the beach the storm smote him full in the
face, but in spite of the driving rain the night was not very dark. The
moon was near the full and gave sufficient light to enable him to see
far out over the tossing waters. He could even discern the outlines of
the little boat far up the shore, and as he ran swiftly forward he was
thinking of the report he was to make to the waiting Benzeor, and his
thoughts were not entirely pleasing.
Fenton's deeds had become notorious in Old Monmouth. At the head of his
brutal band, composed of men as desperate and reckless as he, he had
pillaged and plundered throughout the county during the preceding year,
and up to this time no one had been found strong enough to put a stop to
his evil deeds. Any unprotected farmhouse was liable to receive one of
his visits, and such a visit was seldom made without profit to the
outlaws, for such in fact they were, and with their ill-gotten gains
they hastened away to store them in their hiding-places among the pines.
Nor was Fenton's band the only one which had its headquarters in that
lonely and unfrequented region known in Old Monmouth as the "Pines."
West, Disbrow, Fagan, Davenport, and many others of the lawless men, had
engaged in similar occupations, and all had their hiding-places in the
same wild spot, and in a measure protected and aided one another.
Up to this time Fagan had been the only one to suffer the well-deserved
penalty of his crimes, and in the preceding winter a band of two hundred
of the desperate patriots had assembled and driven the famous, or rather
infamous, outlaw to bay. At last he had been taken, and the infuriated
men, mindful not only of the sufferings of their own families at his
hands, but also of their possible future sufferings as well, had
measured out a stern justice to the man, and with their own hands had
hanged him from the long limb of a tree which stood by the side of the
road which led from Monmouth Court House[1] to Trenton. Afterwards some
of the patriots who had suffered most from his evil deeds had severed
the skull from the body and nailed it to the tree, and then, placing the
pipe between the grinning jaws, had left the uncanny sight as a warning
to all who might be disposed to follow in the footsteps of the outlaw.
For a few weeks the suffering patriots found relief, but only for a few
weeks.
Despite the terrible warning, the other bands of pine robbers soon
renewed their labors, and now in the early summer of '78 the region was
suffering more from the marauding bands than ever had been known before.
It was all a part of the horrors of war. Sometimes, when we read of the
brave deeds which have made famous some of the men who had a share in
the struggle, we are prone to think only of the heroism displayed. And
there was many a true hero in that and in every other war which our
country has waged. We are never to forget that; but there was another
side which has, to a large extent, passed from the memory of the present
generation. The loss of property and of life, the sufferings of the
women and children in the lonely homes, the barbarity and cruelty of
evil men who, freed from the restraint of law in a time when the worst
passions of men were aroused, gave free rein to their avarice and all
that was bad in them, have frequently been ignored or forgotten. The
glory of war or the pride in true heroism cannot entirely atone for the
sufferings that were only too common in the scattered homes or lonely
places.
And Fenton's band was one of the worst. From their strongholds among the
pines, into which few men had the hardihood to enter, they would set
forth on horseback some dark night, and the tale they might have told
upon their return was ever one of blood and sorrow. People tortured
until in their agony they were compelled to yield up their scanty
savings, raids upon the flocks and herds already becoming far too small
for the necessities of their owners, burning houses, and men and women
deliberately shot by the outlaws, were only a few among the many results
of their raids.
Not the least of the evils was the knowledge that among the people of
Monmouth there were some who, while they might not openly be known as
members of the bands, still gave the desired information to the leaders
as to the places where possessions were secreted, or of the times when
the patriots were aroused and it was best for the "Barons of the Pines,"
as some termed them, to remain in hiding among the tall dark trees.
Professedly, the outlaws acknowledged no allegiance to either side in
the struggle, but somehow it had come to pass that a stanch whig was
liable to suffer far more from their depredations than his tory
neighbor, and as a natural consequence the feeling between neighbors and
those who had been friends was becoming more and more strained and
bitter.
Thoughts of these things were passing rapidly through Tom's mind as he
ran swiftly on through the storm to rejoin his companions. Fenton? Yes,
he had heard of him too many times not to recognize his name and to feel
well assured that a visit from him in such a night could promise little
good for any of the patriots dwelling near the Navesink.
"Well, what is it, Tom?" said Benzeor, as the panting lad rejoined them.
"Is it Little Peter on the lookout? He must have seen a ghost to have
warned us to stay out here in the bay in such a night as this. I'm wet
to the skin."
"It's Fenton," replied Tom huskily, for he had not yet recovered his
breath. "Peter said he saw him and six of his men go up the Navesink
about four o'clock."
"Fenton?" said Jacob quickly. "Then we're in for a night of it. We don't
want to fall into the hands of that pine robber when our pockets are as
well lined as they are to-night."
"I'm not so sure about that," replied Benzeor slowly. "There's ten
chances to one that they won't come back before morning, and if they do
they won't be likely to find us in such a storm as this."
As he spoke a fresh gust swept the rain directly into their faces. The
storm certainly was increasing, and the prospect of spending a night in
the bay was dreary enough to cause the most stout-hearted to hesitate.
And it may have been that other thoughts than that of the storm
influenced Benzeor.
At any rate he gruffly responded, "You can do as you please, but I'm
going up the Navesink. If you're afraid, you can stay here or start out
across the country on foot. You'll have to speak quick if you go with
me, for I'm off."
Benzeor turned and grasped the bow of his boat to push her off the
beach upon which she had grounded. Before he had succeeded, however,
Jacob spoke up quickly and said, "We're with you, Benzeor. If you can
stand it, we can."
"Get aboard then, every one of you!" said Benzeor gruffly.
Tom and Barzilla quickly took their places in the stern, while Benzeor,
with the aid of Jacob, soon sent the boat out from the shore.
The sail was soon rigged and shortened, and the little party then
started for the narrow mouth of the Navesink. The boat rolled and
pitched in the storm, but Benzeor had her well in hand, and soon steered
into the more quiet waters of the river. Tom could see the tree as they
passed, and was positive that Peter could also see them, but no hail was
given, and the point was soon left far behind them.
Then up the narrower waters of the river the boat sped on in her course,
but not a word was spoken by any of those on board. The storm was still
raging and Benzeor's attention was largely occupied in managing his
craft, and the others were busied with thoughts which perhaps they did
not care to express.
Tom was decidedly anxious. A meeting with Fenton and his band was
something of which he was fearful, and as they sped on his fears
increased each moment. Benzeor's apparent indifference had not deceived
him, and deep in his heart there was a lurking suspicion that perhaps he
might be able to account for it, if he felt so disposed.
However, he too was silent, and a half hour had passed and as yet no
signs of danger had appeared. Benzeor was steering as close inshore as
the wind permitted, and Tom was beginning to hope that they would
succeed in making their way up the river without being discovered.
Suddenly Jacob, who was seated in the bow and was keeping a constant
lookout ahead, shouted, "Port! Port your helm, Benzeor! Quick! Quick!"
Benzeor instantly heeded the warning, but his quick movement barely
served to enable them to pass a boat which loomed up in the darkness. It
was a whaleboat, and with a sinking heart Tom saw that there were six
men rowing, while a seventh was seated in the stern and was serving as
helmsman.
Instantly Peter's words flashed into his mind, and he knew that they had
barely escaped a collision with the very boat which the lookout had
discovered making its way up the Navesink late in the afternoon. The
party could be none other than that of Fenton and his outlaw band.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Freehold.