TO REFUGEE TOWN
WHEN Little Peter reentered the lonely house after his friend Tom
departed, the full sense of his own sorrow for the first time swept over
him. Up to this time the necessity of action had prevented him from
fully realizing his loss. The death of his mother, the capture of his
father, the provision he was compelled to make at once for his younger
brothers and sisters, had so absorbed his thoughts that he had had but
little time to dwell upon his own sorrow.
With the departure of Tom, however, there came the reaction, and for a
few moments the heartbroken lad was almost overcome. The very silence
was oppressive. The only sound he could hear was the loud and regular
ticking of the tall clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. How
proud his mother had always felt of that ancient timepiece! Many a time
had she told him of its history and the pride with which she had
received it from her own father, when as a young bride she had first
entered the new house which henceforth was to be hers. To Peter, it
almost seemed as if the stately clock had been a member of the family,
and its voice was almost human to him. On the summer afternoons, when he
was a little fellow and his mother had been busied in her household
duties, he had often stretched himself upon the sanded floor, and,
resting his face upon his hands, with eager eyes had gazed up into the
face of the old timepiece and listened to the swing of its long
pendulum, which for him had had a language all its own.
And now in the light of the early morning the old clock still stood in
the corner and regularly ticked off the passing hours, as if it were
unmindful of all the sad scenes to which it had recently been a witness.
And yet to Peter it almost seemed, too, as if there was a tone of
sadness after all in the monotonous tickings that day. Perhaps the old
clock was striving to express its sympathy for the sorrowing boy, but
not even its sympathy must be permitted to interfere with its duty in
marking the passage of the swiftly flying minutes.
The few antiquated chairs were standing just as they had stood when his
mother had been there. The brass-rimmed mirror, the one ornament of the
room, which hung over the low mantelpiece, reflected the scene before
it, but in all the picture one figure was wanting and would be
forevermore. Overcome by the full knowledge of his loss, Little Peter
bowed his head upon his hands and leaned low upon the table, and burst
into a flood of tears--the first he had shed since the sad event had
occurred. Indian John was forgotten, the few chores about the place were
ignored, and for a time the heartbroken lad gave way to his sorrow for
the loss of his mother, upon whose face he never was to look again.
How long he remained in that attitude he did not know, but he was
recalled to the necessities of the present by the sound of footsteps
outside the door. His first thought was that Indian John had returned,
and he hastily rose to greet him; but quickly he perceived that the
new-comer was not his Indian friend, but Barzilla Giberson, one of his
nearest neighbors. If Little Peter had looked carefully into his
neighbor's face, he would doubtless have noticed that the man was
evidently somewhat troubled, and apparently was not overjoyed at the
prospect of an interview; but the lad was too busied with his own
thoughts and sorrows to bestow a critical examination upon a neighbor's
countenance, and Barzilla's evident uneasiness, therefore, was all
passed by unnoticed.
"Good-morrow to you, Little Peter," said Barzilla. "The women folks
wanted me to come over and say to you that you were welcome to make your
home with them, if you so chose."
"Thank you, Barzilla," replied Peter. "If I were going to stay here I
should be glad to do that, but I'm going away this morning."
"Sho! Ye don't say so! Where ye goin', if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"I'm going to look up my father."
"Where ye goin' to look him up?" said Barzilla, somewhat uneasily.
"I'm going down to Refugee Town first. I don't know what I'll do if I
don't find him there."
"Ye won't find him there," said Barzilla quickly. "In course I don't
know where he is," he hastily added, "but I don't b'lieve ye'll find him
there; and, besides, that's no place for a lad like you to go to alone,
for I take it ye're goin' alone?"
"Yes, I'm going alone," replied Peter, to whom Barzilla's anxiety was
not apparent.
"In course it isn't for me to say what ye shall do and what ye shan't,
but I don't believe a trip there will do ye any good. Ye've got to
remember that other folks has suffered, too. Yer marm isn't the only one
that's been shot, and yer pop isn't the only man that's been carried off
by the British."
"It wasn't the British that carried my father away," said Peter quickly.
"'Twan't the British? Who was it then, I'd like to know?"
"'Twas Fenton and his band, that's who it was."
"Sho! I can't believe that! I reckon ye're mistaken, Peter. It must 'a'
been the redcoats."
"It was Fenton," repeated Peter decidedly.
"I can't b'lieve it," said Barzilla, rising as he spoke. "I can't
b'lieve it. However, Peter, we'll look after yer place. The women folks
or I will do the chores for ye, while ye're gone. It's only neighborly,
ye know, and what's friends good for if they can't help in a time like
this?"
"Thank you," said Peter quietly. "There isn't much to be done, but if
you'll look after what there is, I shall be glad. The children are at
Benzeor's house, you know."
"So I hear. So I hear. Well, they're in good hands; ye can rest easy
about that. Well, I must be a-goin'. Ye still think ye'd better go down
to Refugee Town, do ye?"
"Yes."
"Well, good luck to ye. Good luck to ye. We'll look after the place,"
called Barzilla as he departed.
If Peter had gone to the door, he would have discovered that Barzilla
had not departed to go to his own house, but that after he had entered
the road he had turned quickly and started in the direction in which the
Navesink lay. But as Peter did not rise from his seat, he missed all
that, and, besides, in all probability he would only have been puzzled
by his neighbor's actions and unable to account for the haste with which
he had made the change.
Peter prepared his breakfast, and then waited for the coming of Indian
John. The minutes passed, but the Indian did not put in an appearance,
and the lad began to suspect that he would not return. At last, when the
sun had appeared, his suspicions passed into certainty, and, resolving
to wait for him no longer, he closed the house and started resolutely
on the path which led down to the bank of the Navesink, where he kept
his little skiff concealed.
He soon arrived at the familiar place, and, after taking his oars from
their hiding-place on the bank, pushed the little boat out into the
stream and began to row. The heat of the morning soon began to make
itself felt, but Peter did not cease from his labors. He was thinking of
his father and where he might then be. He was hoping that he would be
retained and sent to New York as a prisoner, for Little Peter was well
aware of the value of the reward which was offered for every prisoner
taken; but Fenton, eager as he was for money, was not likely to incur
any unnecessary risk for himself by keeping any one near him who might
prove to be a source of danger. And Little Peter knew that his father,
especially after the recent events, was not likely to be quiet. Of what
might then occur, the lad hardly dared to think. He only knew that what
he was to do must be done quickly, if it was to avail, and he rowed on
and on without once stopping for rest.
He had covered about half the distance he was to go, when he heard a
hail from down the river. Hastily turning about at the unexpected
summons, he saw a little cat-boat slowly coming up the river, and now
not many yards away.
"It's Benzeor Osburn," said Peter to himself, as he obtained a glimpse
of the man at the helm. "But who's that with him? It's Jacob Van Note.
Yes, and that's Barzilla Giberson, too. What in the world"--
His meditations were interrupted by Benzeor's hail, "Where ye bound this
mornin', Little Peter? There's to be no lookout to-day, is there?"
"I haven't heard of any," replied Peter, looking at Barzilla and
striving to understand how it was that the man who had so recently left
his house could now be with Benzeor sailing up the Navesink.
"I came down here after I left you," said Barzilla, as if he felt that
he must reply to the question expressed in Peter's manner, "and I fell
in with Benzeor, so I stopped and came back to tell him all about the
doin's that have been goin' on since he went away. Benzeor's been gone
from home two days and more, ye know."
"Has he?" replied Peter. "No. I didn't know. Benzeor, the children are
at your house. Sarah said I could leave them there and she'd look after
them. If it isn't all right, I'll take them away as soon as I come
back."
"It's all right. In course it's all right. Barzilla here has been
tellin' me about your troubles. It's hard, Peter, but then ye know that
lots of people have been served the same way. 'Misery loves company,' ye
know."
As Peter made no reply, Benzeor quickly began to talk again, too quickly
the lad might have perceived, if he had not been so filled with his own
thoughts that all else seemed to escape his observation. "Barzilla tells
me as how ye're goin' down to Refugee Town to look up yer pop. Is that
so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm tellin' ye it won't do any good. He isn't there--leastwise,
that is, I don't believe he's there. In course I don't know anything
about it, but it stands to reason he isn't. Ye'd better let me take yer
skiff in tow, as I've done with Barzilla's, and come along back with
us."
"I think I'll go on. If I don't find him there I can report to Captain
Dennis. Perhaps he'll be able to help me a bit, if it's not too late."
Captain Dennis was in command of the local militia, and he and his men
already had had several skirmishes with the pine robbers. Indeed, the
militia had been enrolled with the very purpose of protecting the
scattered homes from the inroads of the outlaws and refugees. Thus far,
however, their efforts had not met with a very marked success.
Peter did not observe the scowl which crept over Benzeor's face at the
mention of the name of Captain Dennis. "Have it your own way then," said
the man gruffly. "They say there's no fool like an old fool, but for
downright foolishness give me the young fool every time. I'm tellin' ye
that ye won't find yer pop down at Refugee Town, but ye'll have to find
it out for yerself, I suppose."
Surprised as Peter was at the abrupt change in Benzeor's manner, his own
purpose was not changed, and without replying he picked up his oars and
began to row again. He could see the men in earnest conversation as he
drew away from them, but it had not yet entered his thoughts that
anything could be wrong with them. He was puzzled to account for
Barzilla's unexpected presence, but his offer to look after his home in
his absence was still fresh in his mind, and left no room for suspicion.
As for Benzeor, Little Peter knew that he was considered as a strange
man,--"odd," the country people termed it,--and he gave little heed to
him or his words. His one purpose now was to go to Refugee Town. He had
but little fear of meeting the men who had assembled there, although he
knew they were all desperate and reckless. They would not harm him, he
thought, and it was possible that he might find his father there, or
learn of his whereabouts. Just what he would do if he should find him,
he did not know. In any event, he would be with him again, and if he was
to be sent as a prisoner to the sugar-house in New York, or to the
Whitby or the Jersey, at least his captivity might be shared.
Accordingly, Little Peter rowed steadily forward and in the course of an
hour arrived at the mouth of the Navesink. Then he landed and hauled his
skiff up on the shore, striving to conceal it among the bushes which
grew there. It was only a mile now across the sandy strip to the shore
of the ocean, and the lad began to walk rapidly. Refugee Town was not
far away, and the end of his journey would soon be gained.
The heat of the sun was now intense. Across the sands he could see
eddies in the heated air, and he felt as if he were breathing the blasts
from an oven. His face was streaming with perspiration, while the touch
of the sand beneath his feet seemed almost as if it would blister them.
He soon arrived at a place from which he could look out upon the ocean,
and it was with a sigh of relief he felt its first cool breath upon his
face. Refugee Town now was not far away, so he began to run.
He stopped as he saw two gunboats riding at anchor about a quarter of a
mile out from the shore. What could it all mean? They were British
vessels, their flags disclosed that; but what was their purpose in
casting their anchors there?
He was upon the beach now, and stopped for a moment to gaze at the
graceful vessels. He thought he could almost make out the figures of the
sailors on the deck. And a little boat was just approaching the larger
of the gunboats. Doubtless it had been ashore and was now returning.
"How!"
Peter turned suddenly as he heard the exclamation, and saw Indian John
standing before him. His alarm subsided as he recognized his friend, and
he said reprovingly, "I thought you were going to go with me this
morning, John. Why didn't you?"
"John been. Go to 'Gee Town. No fader there."
"What, my father isn't there? Are you sure, John?"
The Indian made no reply, evidently considering his first words
sufficient. He was gazing intently at the boats in the distance, and
Little Peter almost unconsciously turned and followed his look. At first
he could discover nothing to indicate what had interested his companion;
but he soon saw that the little boat, which he had thought was returning
to the gunboat, was coming to the shore. Startled by the sight, he was
about to inquire of John whether he knew anything concerning the
vessels, when he heard a shout.
At a distance of a hundred yards up the beach he saw a motley crowd
approaching. Negroes and poorly clad men were among them, and the
appearance of all revealed that they were doubtless from Refugee Town.
Their own presence was discovered at the same time, and a shout greeted
them.
"Come!" said Indian John quickly; and in an instant Little Peter obeyed,
and both were running swiftly over the sand along the beach.
Their flight was greeted by another shout from the men behind them, and
one or two guns were discharged, but the bullets passed harmlessly over
the heads of the fugitives. One glance, however, showed Peter that some
of the men had started in pursuit.
"They're after us, John!" he said in a low voice to his companion.
Instantly increasing their efforts, they sped swiftly on in their
flight, but the shouts, which were now redoubled, betrayed that the
pursuit had not been abandoned. On and on ran pursuers and pursued,
while at intervals a gun was discharged and the calls and shouts could
be distinctly heard.
[Illustration: "THEY'RE AFTER US, JOHN!"]
For a half mile the flight had continued, and Peter was beginning to
feel that he could go no farther. The hot air of the summer morning, the
burning sand beneath his feet, as well as the weariness arising from his
previous exertions, combined to sap his strength. His breath was coming
in gasps now, and down his face the perspiration was pouring in
streams. He felt that he could go no farther.
Another glance behind him showed that the men had not abandoned the
pursuit. A half dozen of them were still running swiftly along the
beach, and to Little Peter it seemed as if they were gaining upon him.