THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT
IT was long before daylight when the boys were stirring on the morning
which followed the events recorded in the preceding chapter. No one had
disturbed them, and with the return of the day their courage was
somewhat revived. Tom, however, had decided to start at once for the
army, which he knew from Indian John's words was not many miles away. He
was thoroughly familiar with all the roads in the county, for he had
ridden over them many times in company with Benzeor, or when he had been
sent on errands to the more remote regions by his foster father, and
consequently had no fears of losing his way.
Little Peter did not urge his friend to accompany him on his expedition
to Refugee Town, for he was aware of the perils that were likely to
beset him on his journey. He would not listen to any of the protests of
Tom, for he was fully determined to learn what had become of his
father, and even share his experiences if the occasion demanded. And Tom
could not find it in his heart to blame Little Peter, hopeless as he
considered all his efforts likely to be. Perhaps he would do the same
thing if his own father had been carried away by the pine robbers, and
he found himself conjecturing how it was a boy would feel in such
circumstances as those in which his friend had been placed. The feeling
was one of which he knew nothing by experience, and his own loneliness
seemed to press upon him with a heavier weight.
However, he still said nothing to Little Peter concerning Benzeor's
recent actions, for he was well assured that his friend's younger
brothers and sisters could be in no place where they would so easily
escape all further troubles for the present as in his foster father's
house; and then all of Little Peter's plans would be changed at once if
he knew the part which his neighbor had taken in the tragedy which had
recently occurred.
"Perhaps Indian John will go with me," said Little Peter. "He'll be a
great help if he'll go."
"That he will," replied Tom, "and I'm sure he'll be glad to go with
you. I should like to go myself."
"That's all right, Tom; I know you would, but you couldn't do any good,
and might only get into trouble yourself. Perhaps I'll be with you in a
day or two, if I don't hear anything about my father down by Refugee
Town,--that is, if Benzeor is willing for the children to stay in his
house. I'll have to look after them, you see, for it's likely I'll have
to be father and mother, as well as big brother, now," he added sadly.
"I know, I know," said Tom; "but I'm hoping you'll have good luck, and
if the army really is coming here, it may be that you'll get some help
from the Continentals if you need it then. Good-by, Peter."
"Good-by, Tom," replied his friend.
Tom placed some bread in his pockets, and then started forth on his
journey. Somewhere off towards Hopewell the American army must be,
according to all the reports which had come, and to that place he must
make his way. The time for which he had been waiting at last had come,
and with a lighter heart than he had known for days the lad began his
journey.
The summer morning was clear and warm. The birds were flitting about in
the trees and filling the air with their songs. In spite of the heat,
there was a delicious freshness in the early morning air, and as he
walked rapidly forward he soon came to feel a sense of exhilaration
which not even the loss and grief of his boy friend could entirely
banish.
By the time the sun rose red and full in the east, he had placed several
miles between him and Little Peter's home, but with unabated zeal he
steadily pushed onward, resolved to make the best possible use of the
early hours before the more intense heat of the day should come.
By the middle of the forenoon more than ten miles had been left behind
him, but he was beginning to feel the effects of his exertions. His face
was flushed and streaming with perspiration. The rough road was hot and
dusty, for only a single day had been required to dry out all the
vestiges of the recent storm. He was beginning to feel somewhat tired,
and was about to stop for a brief rest by the roadside, when he saw some
one approaching on horseback.
He quickly drew back among the trees which grew close to the road,
thereby hoping to escape all notice by the stranger; but his plan was
quickly changed when he discovered, as the horseman came nearer, that he
was clad in the uniform of the Continental army. His relief was greater
when he recognized the man as the son of one of Benzeor's neighbors, who
more than a year before this time had enlisted and had passed the
preceding winter in Valley Forge.
He quickly resolved to hail the man as he passed, and accordingly
stepped out into the road and waved his arms as a signal for the
horseman to stop. The man quickly heeded, and as he drew the rein and
checked his horse he peered down at the lad by the roadside, and Tom's
fears were instantly relieved when he perceived that he had been
recognized.
"Why, Tom Coward, what are you doing here? Nothing wrong over home, is
there?"
"Yes, there is;" and Tom at once proceeded to give young Lieutenant
Gordon an account of all that had occurred in the past three days.
"That's bad," said the lieutenant slowly, patting his horse's dripping
neck as he spoke. "That's bad. I wish I could take a company and go over
there this minute. I can't, though; it's out of the question. But the
army will be here shortly now, and there may be a chance to give these
pine robbers a dose then. Where are you going now, Tom?"
"I thought I'd start for the army," replied Tom. "I've no other place to
go to, and I've been waiting to join it a long time."
The lieutenant smiled at the lad's words as he replied, "That's all
right. You're a well-grown fellow, and I doubt not they'll find a place
somewhere for you in the Jersey militia. There are younger fellows than
you there."
"So I hear," replied Tom eagerly. "Indian John told me the army was over
by Hopewell, and had halted there, so I thought I'd put straight for
that place."
"There isn't very much of the militia there now," said the lieutenant.
"They're mostly regulars at Hopewell, and I doubt not have started from
there before this."
"Where are the militia then?" said Tom quickly. "I've got a rifle here,
and if I'm to join them I want to know where they are."
"That would be a little difficult to say just at present, my lad,"
replied the lieutenant, assuming a more fatherly air than the
difference between their years would seem to warrant. "That would be a
little difficult to say."
As Tom plainly showed his disappointment, the young officer continued:
"You see it's this way, Tom. It was early in the morning of the 18th
when the last of General Clinton's forces marched out of the city of
Philadelphia. They went by the way of Gloucester Point, about three
miles below Camden, and then the entire force, with Knyphausen and his
Hessians in advance, marched over to Haddonfield and halted there. We
had means up at Valley Forge of finding out what was going on, and
before they were fairly out of Philadelphia some of our scouting parties
and light horse were in the city, and they gathered in about sixty or
seventy prisoners and were back again at the Forge with the men and the
news. By three o'clock that same day General Lee's division had started,
and by five o'clock General Wayne's had gone, too. They lost no time
over there, I can tell you."
"But I don't understand," said Tom. "Where are the militia, and what are
you doing here?"
"That's what I'm explaining to you," replied the lieutenant. "Well, at
five o'clock the next morning,--that was the 19th of June, you
know,--Washington had the rest of the army on the march for Coryell's
Ferry; but the roads were so heavy--for we've been having some great
rains this month--that the divisions which had been sent out didn't
cross the Delaware until Saturday morning, and the main body till
Monday. And all this time the British were mighty careful, let me tell
you. They thought Washington was after their baggage-wagons and stores,
you see. Clinton and his main body moved out of Haddonfield on Friday,
but he left Knyphausen and his Dutch butchers, as well as two brigades
of the regulars behind him, while he marched eight miles up to Evesham
and went into camp there. He wanted to keep his train of baggage-wagons
well protected, you see, for the militia were doing all sorts of
mischief. You wanted to know where they were. Well, that's where they
were."
"They're away down at Haddonfield, then, are they?"
"No, no. But they'd been sent out to bother the British, you see, and
try to hold them back by skirmishes and a few such gentle deeds. They
were tearing up bridges and firing at the regulars from the woods, and
doing all sorts of things. Why, when Clinton was marching from
Haddonfield to Evesham, General Leslie, who was in command of his
advanced guard, fell in with a party of these very militia I'm telling
you about. Leslie hid some of his men in a rye-field, and they saw
Captain Jonathan Beesley. He was a captain in the Cumberland County
militia, you know, and had been in the army two years,--yes, and he was
one of the best men we ever had, too, let me tell you. Well, Leslie's
men saw Beesley and a couple of his officers reconnoitring in advance of
their companies, and they fired on them. Captain Beesley was wounded,
and of course they took him prisoner and carried him with them into
camp. They tried to get him to own up what Washington's plans were, but
Captain Beesley just stopped them by saying they wouldn't get a word out
of him. And they didn't; but the next day the poor fellow died from his
wounds. They'd taken him into Hinchman Haines's house, you see, and that
was where he died. I understand that they buried him there with the
honors of war, and I understand, too, that they've given permission for
the body to be taken up and placed in the Friends' burying-ground down
at Haddonfield. It may have been done before this, for all that I know.
Captain Beesley was a good man. The redcoats couldn't do too much for
him."
"But where are the militia now? That's what I want to know."
"And that's what I'm trying to tell you. This is too hot to be standing
out here in the road. Let's go into the shade. I've got time enough, and
it may be a bit safer there, too."
The lieutenant led his horse a short distance into the woods, and,
slipping the bridle-rein over his head, he permitted him to graze, while
he himself resumed his story.
"At four o'clock the next morning,--that was Saturday, the
20th,--Clinton took up the line of march, but he only went seven miles,
as far as Mount Holly, and there he halted till Monday. On Sunday,
Knyphausen joined him, having marched by the way of Moorestown. The next
morning they all marched on to Black Horse and halted again, but at five
o'clock Tuesday morning they were up and at it once more. They divided
their forces there a bit, Leslie going by the way of Bordentown,
Clinton keeping on along the road to Crosswicks, while Grant and the
Dutch butchers brought up the rear and served as a kind of guard for the
baggage-train. All this was only yesterday, the 23d, you see."
"But where are the militia now?" protested Tom. "They are the ones I
want to join, not the British. You keep telling me about them. What I
want is the other side."
"Listen, then, and you shall hear. Yesterday General Dickinson, with the
Jersey militia, was right there in Bordentown."
"What! when the British came up?"
"Yes, when the British came up, that is, when Leslie's division did. Not
all of the militia were there, though. A good many had been withdrawn
and posted where they could do the most good. There weren't very many
left in Bordentown, but when they found out that Leslie was almost upon
them, they made up their minds in very short order that the climate
there was not the best in the world, so they cleared out and left. But
before they went they left a few slight tokens of their regard. They
pulled up the planks of the bridge there over Crosswicks Creek, and
raised the draw so that Leslie had to find another crossing-place.
Before they did that they tried to fix up the bridge, but they were
fired upon, and I understand that four were killed and quite a large
number were wounded.
"Clinton, too, wasn't finding his road all covered over with roses
either. About five hundred of our men met him as he came up nearer to
Crosswicks, and they thought they were ready, but they weren't anything
of the kind. They had cut down a lot of trees and stretched them across
the road, but that didn't stop the British. They came on just as if they
didn't mind marching over such little things as trees, and there was a
little skirmish there, and two or three of the redcoats were killed. One
of their officers was shot and they took him up to a house near by, and
left him there. Of course the Americans couldn't stand there long, but
they didn't run very far.
"Well, the British divisions joined then and started on again. They came
to another bridge and our men had it all fixed so that they could just
let it fall by one or two strokes of an axe. They had one or two little
cannons there, too."
"Who did? The British?"
"No, our men. You know Sam Clevenger, don't you? Well, he stood there
on the bridge with his axe in his hands when the British came in sight.
He'd cut the sleepers almost through, and when he saw the redcoats
coming, he lifted his axe, and the third time he struck down went the
bridge and all. Then Clevenger started to run, but the British fired at
him and he fell dead. They'd shot him in the back of the head. Our men
then fired their cannon once or twice, but all they hit was the Friends'
meeting-house. Of course the British didn't mind that, and then our men
pulled back and left. That was only yesterday. I shouldn't be surprised
if the British were over here by Allentown or Imlaystown now, or it may
be both."
"What! not more than ten or fifteen miles away?" said Tom excitedly.
"That's what I say. And they'll be nearer, too, before they're farther
off, let me tell you."
"Why? How? What do you mean?"
"They'll never go to Brunswick or Amboy, for Washington's right in front
of them, and ready to head them off. They'll just have to come this way
or go back, and that they won't do, for 'Britons never retrograde.'
That's one of their pet words, you know. Isn't that what John Burgoyne
said, too?"
"I don't know anything about that," said Tom. "Then General Washington
has been using a part of the militia and a part of the regulars to
bother Clinton and keep him from getting to Brunswick or Amboy, has he?"
"Yes, that's just it."
"Well, I shan't have very far to go, then, to join them now."
"Oh, you're not going to join them. You're coming with me. You're just
such a lad as I have been looking for, and you can help me, if I'm not
greatly mistaken."
As Tom made no reply except to look up in surprise, the young officer at
once began to explain to him the nature of the task to which he had
referred.