INDIAN JOHN
INDIAN JOHN had for years been a frequent visitor in the home of
Benzeor, as he had in many of the other homes of the region. He was an
old man now,--how old no one knew, perhaps not even Indian John
himself,--but he had lingered about old Monmouth long after the
Schwonnack had taken possession of the lands and his own tribe had
gradually relinquished their homes and mostly withdrawn from the region.
For months together he would disappear, and no one would know whither he
had gone, although it was thought that he was on a visit to some of his
kindred, who had withdrawn farther into the interior of the country; but
he would soon return and resume his wandering life. At such times,
Indian John would be restless and uneasy. Perhaps then he realized more
fully the loss of the homes of his ancestors, and his heart would be
filled with thoughts he never uttered. He continued to be friendly with
the settlers, and though he never refused to accept the food which
almost every housewife was willing to give him, he had never been
willing to pass a night under a roof. It was commonly reported that he
used a cave in the woods not far away as his abode, but he never had
welcomed any one there, nor had any one ever seen the aged Indian in the
place. Still the report was believed, and "Indian John's cave" was a
well-known name among the boys of Old Monmouth.
Between Tom and the lonely warrior there had been a very strong feeling
of sympathy, although not even Tom himself was able to explain it. It
had come about, however, as the result of an accidental meeting between
them a few years previous to this time. Tom had gone down to the shore
one day when a storm had been raging, and the great breakers had been
rolling in upon the beach.
As the lad had walked on over the sand, he had been surprised to see the
figure of a man in the distance, standing motionless, and evidently
watching the tumult of the angry waters. He had not changed from his
position as Tom approached, and the lad did not know that his presence
was even recognized by the Indian, who seemed to be absorbed in his
reflections as he looked out over the tossing waves.
Tom had gone on and at last touched the Indian upon the shoulder. Indian
John had then slowly turned his head, and Tom knew that his presence had
been perceived, but for a moment neither had spoken.
Then the aged warrior, with a gesture toward the ocean, had said, "Boy
no home. Warrior no home. Brothers."
It was the first time Tom had known that Indian John was aware of his
own early history, and his heart had been deeply touched by the sympathy
of the red man.
"Boy no home. Warrior no home. Both like waves. Driven here. Driven
there. No rest. No home. Storm there. Storm here," said the Indian
laying his hand upon his bosom as he spoke.
From that time, although Indian John never referred to his loneliness
again, a strong bond of sympathy had existed between the two, and every
time Tom had seen the old man, he thought of his quiet eloquence in the
presence of that storm which they both had witnessed from the shore.
And Indian John had been kind and thoughtful to all the white children
of the region. He had made bows for the boys, and taught them their use,
and as their skill had increased, his pride was as marked, although it
had not been as demonstrative, as that of the youthful warriors
themselves. He had taught them how to make and set their traps for the
foxes and the rabbits, and how to catch the eels in the river.
Apparently his happiest hours had been those which he passed with his
young companions.
Highly as the boys had prized the lessons he had given them, still more
did they prize the marvelous tales which Indian John could tell. To them
he told what the waves were saying when they came rolling in upon the
sandy shore. He knew what the tall trees were whispering when the wind
swept through their branches and brought the leaves into contact with
one another. The hoarse calls of the wild geese, when they passed high
overhead on their long journeys in the spring and autumn, were all known
to Indian John, and the screams of the eagles and the fish-hawks were
all in a language which he clearly understood.
He knew, also, all the tales his fathers had told him of the first
appearance of the Woapsiel Lennape in Old Monmouth, when, in the spring
of 1524, John de Verrazano, in his good ship The Dolphin, had entered
Sandy Hook, and had soon after written a long letter to King Francis the
First of France, and had given a full account of the marvelous
adventures which had befallen him, and the no less marvelous country he
had discovered. He had heard, also, of the visit, in the summer of 1609,
which Sir Henry Hudson had made in The Half Moon, and how that one of
his crew had fallen as the first victim of the rage of the Indians at
the invasion of their lands.
The tale which Tom had always enjoyed most, however, was that of the
origin of the troublesome little pests which, in the warm days of the
summer, were the torment of the people, for Jersey mosquitoes were not
unknown in those far-off times of the Revolution.
It seemed that ages before this time, indeed away back in the days
before John de Verrazano or Henry Hudson had come, or even the memory of
the oldest warriors could run, the Great Spirit had permitted two huge
monsters to appear and prey upon the red men of Monmouth as a penalty
for some crime they had committed, a crime the nature of which Indian
John did not know, or, if he knew, he never explained.
In size these monsters were larger than any house. They had long slender
legs which held their huge bodies higher in the air than the tallest
trees could have done. They also had immense wings, which, although they
were as fine in texture as the finest silk, were so large and strong
that when the huge monsters used them they created such a breeze that
even the strongest trees of the forest fell before them.
Their most distinguishing characteristic, however, was an immense
"bill," which was as long as the tallest pine-tree and as sharp and
delicate in its point as that of the smallest needle. With this they
wrought incalculable destruction and suffering among the helpless
people. The largest man served only as a single "bite," and the bodies
of little children seemed only to whet the appetite of these savage
monsters.
The helpless warriors knew not what to do. They sacrificed, and prayed,
and besought the Great Spirit to free them from their tormentors, but
all was without avail. Their prayers were unanswered, and the Great
Spirit was not appeased.
No man could describe the destruction wrought by the huge tormentors.
Whole tribes disappeared before them, and it soon came to pass that the
warriors dared not venture forth in search of food for their starving
little ones, who were kept concealed in dens and caves of the earth.
Watchers were stationed to give warning of the approach of the monsters,
for their great bodies cast shadows upon the earth like those of the
low-passing clouds on a summer day, and long before they appeared in the
sky the cry of the watchman sent all within the sound of his voice to
their places of refuge under the ground. Not even then were they always
safe, for the monsters could bore into the ground with their bills, and
often brought to the surface the body of a man, who struggled and kicked
much after the fashion of a frog impaled on the beak of some long-legged
heron. The torments of the people increased. The women neglected their
fields, and the warriors remained in their hiding-places, while the
frightened children cried for food.
At last, rendered desperate by their sufferings, the warriors of the
entire region banded themselves together, and one day fell upon the
monsters as they were lying asleep in a valley which their immense
bodies almost filled.
The carnage was frightful to behold. All day long the contest was waged,
and the multitudes of men that fell could not be counted up for numbers.
But at last the red men were victorious, and when the few remaining
warriors left the field of battle, their enemies lay stretched upon the
valley, dead.
Great was the rejoicing among the people. They came forth from their
hiding-places, and their feastings and songs of victory were continued
for two entire days. The land was freed from its tormentors, and peace
and prosperity would now return, or so at least they thought.
Great was the astonishment and sorrow of Indian John's forefathers when,
upon the third day, they discovered that their troubles were not ended.
As decay had begun to work upon the dead bodies of the mammoth
mosquitoes, little particles became loosened, and as they were lifted
into the air by the summer wind, each tiny and separate atom became
endowed with life and received a body in shape exactly like that of the
huge monsters themselves, only they were exceedingly small in size. Day
after day clouds of these tiny torments were borne away by the breezes
from the valley of the dead, and, filled with a burning desire to avenge
the death of their parents, they fell upon the unprotected people.
From these there had been no relief. The camp-fires of the warriors did
not avail, and although the men went valiantly forth to give them
battle, their efforts were all futile, and from that day until the
present time the Jersey mosquito has remained a foe to the red man and
the white, and ever consumed by the one purpose, to avenge the death of
the parents, who had fallen years ago in their battle with the
red-skinned warriors of Old Monmouth.
To Indian John this story of the origin of the pests of New Jersey had
been eminently satisfactory, and never by word or deed had he shown that
he had the slightest doubt of the accuracy of the tradition which had
come down to him through many generations. Tom at first had received the
account with all the implicit faith of an ardent admirer of Indian John,
and his first rude shock had come when Benzeor had laughed aloud upon
his relating the story with all seriousness one morning at the
breakfast-table. With the passing of the years other doubts as to the
entire reliability of some of Indian John's stories had crept into his
mind. Alas that it should be so with us all! But his strong regard for
the old warrior had never ceased, and Tom's heart was glad that morning
when he recognized the new-comer as his long-time friend.
"Where have you been, John?" he said, as the Indian approached.
"See Peter."
"Have you seen him?" said Tom eagerly. "Where is he? Has he got away?"
"How?" replied the Indian quickly; and Tom at once perceived from the
expression upon his face that he was aware of some but not of all the
recent events in Peter's home.
As he related the story which Sarah had told him, Indian John made no
reply, although his eyes seemed to blaze as he listened to Tom's words.
He then explained that he had left the house soon after Tom had departed
on the preceding night, to intercept Big Peter on the road and give to
him the warning which his wife had bidden him to carry. But Peter must
have returned by a different route from that which he had been expected
to use, and as a natural result Indian John had not seen him, the
warning word had not been given, and Big Peter had returned to learn of
the sad death of his wife and to be carried away a prisoner by Fenton
and his brutal band.
"I don't know just what to do now, John," said Tom. "I want to go and
join the army. You have been there, and perhaps you would like to go
back with me."
Indian John had been with the soldiers in Washington's army, but he made
no reply to Tom's words, and indeed the lad was not certain that he had
heard, for he stood looking upon the ground and evidently was thinking
deeply.
"Where Little Peter now?" said the Indian abruptly, looking up at Tom as
he spoke.
"I don't know. Fenton didn't take him with him, though I don't know why
he didn't."
"Little Peter home," said the Indian decidedly. "Go see Little Peter."
Tom hesitated. He, too, had longed to go to his friend, not only to
express his sympathy but also to learn what his plans were to be, for he
knew that Little Peter would not remain in his home now. Indeed, he
could not, if he would, after such a scene as that which he had
witnessed there. But Tom's mind was filled with thoughts of Benzeor, and
a meeting with him certainly was not very desirable at that time.
"Go see Little Peter," said the Indian again, starting on up the road as
he spoke.
"All right, I'll go with you," replied Tom, as he joined his companion.
Little Peter's house was not far away, and he would not lose much time
in going there. It was almost night now, and if his friend should be at
home they might be able to devise some plan by which they could act
together. Besides all that, Tom was more than glad to have an
opportunity to express his sympathy for his friend in his sorrow.
They soon came within sight of the house, and both stopped when they saw
a little group of people near the garden. Tom knew at once what their
presence meant, for they were near the spot where two of the members of
the family had been buried. He had seen the rude wooden headstones which
marked their graves many times before this.
The few neighbors who had assembled to perform the last rites for Little
Peter's mother had just returned to the house as Tom and Indian John
approached. Tom at once went to his friend, and the warm grasp of the
hand was all he could give. Not one of the children save Little Peter
was there, and the hurried duties had been hastily performed by kind,
though rough hands.
The two boys withdrew from the house, and after an awkward silence Tom
said in a low voice, "What are you going to do now?"
"I'm going to leave the children at Benzeor's house. He has been very
kind, or rather Sarah has, Tom. And then I'm going to start for Refugee
Town; I think father may be there."
"Refugee Town?" said Tom in surprise. "Do you think that will be safe?"
Tom well knew the place. It was a spot on the outer beach of the Hook,
where some of the more desperate refugees, tories and negroes, had
assembled. A few huts and tents served as their dwelling-places, and the
men were supposed to be in league with the men on board the boats which
the British had stationed near by, for a part of Howe's fleet was
already anchored there, waiting for the coming of Clinton's men.
Clinton's original plan had been to march across Jersey to New
Brunswick, there embark his men on the Raritan, and sail away for New
York; but the rapid march of Washington had caused him to abandon the
project, and word had been sent for the fleet to be ready for him when
he should arrive at the Highlands.
Refugee Town had become a familiar name within the past few weeks.
"No, it isn't safe exactly, but I've got to do something for father. If
he's taken to New York and shut up in the sugar-house I'll go with him;
and if he's still there at the Town I may be able to do something,
though I don't know what," said Little Peter sadly.
"But there are the children," protested Tom. "What'll become of them?"
"They're at Benzeor's, and they'll be all right. You'll help look after
them, won't you?"
"I've left Benzeor's."
"Left Benzeor's? What for?"
"I'm going to join the army. It's time I was doing my share."
Tom gave no other reason. He knew the children would be safe at
Benzeor's, and with what Little Peter then had it in his mind to do it
would perhaps be unwise to tell him all he knew. However, he intended
to tell him all, and that soon.
"Going to join the army?" repeated Little Peter, as if he did not
comprehend the words.
"Yes; you know I've been thinking of it a long time, and now that
they're on the march, and coming this way, I've made up my mind that my
turn has come. I didn't know but you would want to go, too, now."
"I'd like to, but I can't. I've got this other matter on hand. Come into
the house, Tom, and spend the night with me. You can start in the
morning as well as now, and besides it's almost dark. You can't go in
the night."
Tom hesitated, but finally consented, and with his friend went into the
house which so recently had been the scene of the greatest sorrow which
had ever entered Little Peter's life.
Indian John followed them, but after his custom refused to remain,
although he promised to return early in the morning. One of the women of
the neighborhood had stayed to look after Little Peter's immediate
wants, but as soon as her duties were done she departed for her own home
with an eagerness she could not entirely conceal. And Tom did not blame
her, for he himself was not without fear when at last Little Peter
closed the doors for the night, and, after having slipped the heavy bars
into their places, the two boys sought their bed in the low room over
the kitchen.