WITH THE REDCOATS
THE fear in Tom Coward's heart, when he discovered that he was between
the lines of the soldiers, made him almost desperate. The men before him
already had raised their guns, and at any moment he expected to hear
their report. When he had glanced behind him he had seen that the men
there were also prepared to shoot, and he was in a position where he was
likely to receive the discharges of both sides.
Along by the side of the road was a deep ditch, which had been worn by
the spring floods. Just at present there was no water in it, and Tom
instantly threw himself upon the ground, and, still grasping his gun,
rolled toward the place. As he slipped over the side he heard the
discharge of the guns, and his heart almost stood still in his terror.
The bullets, however, had all gone over his head, and the lad was
unharmed, although he was so frightened that even the thoughts of his
own personal safety were almost driven from his mind.
Shouts and calls followed the discharge of the guns, and then there was
a rush of men past the place in which he was lying. From the direction
from which the men had come, Tom concluded that those who were behind
him had fled, and that the others were in swift pursuit of them. He did
not dare to raise his head, nor try to obtain a glimpse of the
combatants, but lay still in his hiding-place, hoping that in the
excitement his presence would not be discovered. The shouts continued,
but as they sounded farther and farther away, the trembling lad
concluded that pursuers and pursued must have turned the bend in the
road. If they kept on, he would soon be able to crawl forth from the
ditch, he thought, and in the woods would find some place in which he
might remain until all the immediate danger had passed.
Still, he did not yet dare to leave his hiding-place, and, as the
moments passed, his own fears and anxiety were not allayed. His face and
hands were covered with the mud which had clung to them when he had slid
into the ditch. The mosquitoes gathered about him, and, do what he
would, he could not drive off the tormenting little pests. The
sultriness which had followed the brief storm was almost unbearable, and
Tom felt as if he could not have selected a worse place in which to
conceal himself. There had not been much of any "selecting" about it, he
grimly thought, for he had crawled into the first shelter that presented
itself. A place in the muddy ditch was to be preferred to one in the
middle of the road, and between two contending bands of soldiers. Here
the bullets were not likely to find him, at least for the present, and
his only hope depended upon the possibility of his presence not having
been heeded. Perhaps the soldiers in either band had been so intent upon
watching what the others would do, that a frightened lad between their
lines would not be discovered.
This hope was not strong enough to induce him to leave his shelter, and
he decided to remain in the ditch until he was satisfied that all danger
was past. The moments dragged on, and the silence which had followed the
brief contest was unbroken. The heat was becoming more and more intense,
and Tom felt that he could not remain much longer in his present
position. Still, he waited and listened, but the sound of the cawing
crows was all that he could hear. He counted off the minutes, and when
what he judged must be an hour had passed, he concluded to remain there
no longer. The men had not been heard in all that time, and doubtless
must have disappeared from the immediate vicinity.
The sight of the men had shown Tom that he was nearer the army than he
had supposed. For a moment the thought of his former eager desire to
join it came into his mind, and when he contrasted his feelings then
with those he now had, his present position seemed almost ludicrous.
Bespattered with mud, hiding in a ditch by the roadside, in constant
fear of the return of the men, he certainly did not present the
appearance of a very brave young soldier. Even Tom smiled as he thought
of all this, but he was wiser than he had been a few days before this
time, and the sound of guns was not exactly like that of which he had
dreamed.
Tom Coward was not lacking in bravery, however, but the position in
which he had found himself certainly was a trying one, and perhaps the
boldest of us might have done no better had we been caught in his
predicament.
The time had now come, he thought, when it must be safe for him to
venture out upon the road again, and, grasping his gun, he prepared to
climb out of the ditch, when he suddenly paused as he thought he heard
the sound of voices once more.
Yes, there could be no mistake about it; the men were approaching from
the direction in which both bands had disappeared.
He crouched lower and waited for them to pass. If they were foes, it
certainly would be wiser, as well as safer, for him not to attract their
attention; and if they were friends he was hardly in a condition to
present himself before them.
The men were coming nearer, and were almost opposite his hiding-place
now. The lad's excitement returned, and he leaned harder against the
muddy bank. It seemed to him as if the loud beatings of his heart would
betray him.
The band had halted, and were within a few feet of the ditch. What could
it mean? Had his hiding-place been discovered? He crouched still lower,
and did not once look up. He clutched his gun in his hands as if he
thought he could lean upon that. The suspense was intense, and almost
unbearable.
"Hello! Here's some one in the ditch!"
Tom's heart sank, and, as he glanced hastily upward, he saw a redcoated
soldier peering down at him. The end had come, and all his efforts to
conceal himself had been in vain.
"The fellow's alive," exclaimed the soldier in surprise. "Come up out of
that and give an account of yourself!"
Tom obeyed, and, crawling up the bank, stood facing the men. There were
thirty-five or forty of them, and, as he saw that they were clad in the
British uniform, he realized that he was in the presence of the enemy.
The suspense, at least, was ended now, and, as he glanced at the
soldiers, in spite of the fact that he was well aware of his danger,
much of his alarm had disappeared, for Tom Coward was not unlike others
in being stronger to face the actual condition than the uncertainty
which is connected with the approach of perils.
The men glanced curiously at him a moment and then burst into a loud
laugh. The troubled boy at first could not discover the cause of their
merriment, but as he glanced at his hands and saw that they were covered
with the mud which was not yet dry, he realized that doubtless his face
and clothing were in the same condition. And Tom's appearance was not
very prepossessing at that moment. His hat was gone, his face was so
completely covered with mud that any one would have had difficulty in
deciding whether he was white or black, and his bearing was far from
being bold.
The laughter of the men continued until an officer approached and said,
"Who are you? What were you hiding for?"
Tom hesitated a moment, and then replied, "I was trying to keep out of
the way of your bullets."
Again the soldiers laughed, and the officer said, "You didn't differ
very much from the other fellows in the band, although they took to the
woods and you to the ditch."
"What band?"
"Why, those men of Dickinson's we've just driven away. You don't mean to
say that you didn't belong to them?"
"I didn't belong to any band," said Tom slowly. "I was just coming
across the country, and when I stepped out into the road I found I was
right between you and the other fellows. I crawled into the ditch, for I
was afraid that both of you would hit me."
"Quite right, my lad, quite right. But how does it happen that you carry
a rifle? The most of the Yankees are glad enough to get muskets, and
here you are traveling round the country with a rifle. I'm afraid your
story won't do, my lad. We'll have to take you along with us, and let
you tell your story to the colonel."
Tom perceived that any further protest on his part would be useless,
and, as the word to advance was at once given, he obediently took his
place in the ranks and marched on with the men.
The heat was so intense that they were compelled to halt frequently for
rests. A few of the men evidently were Hessians, and their high
jack-boots, their heavy fur hats, as well as the short broadswords they
carried, in addition to the short guns or carbines which were slung over
their shoulders, seemed sadly out of place under the burning heat of the
summer day. Tom did not know how the British officers had protested
against the customs of their allies, so unsuitable in the country in
which they were fighting; but the men from Hesse were obstinate, and,
firmly believing that the equipment which had been good enough for them
in the old country would certainly be good enough in the new, clung to
the uncomfortable garments and unwieldy arms, unmindful alike of the
jeers of their comrades in arms and the danger they incurred by the use
of them.
In the course of two hours the band arrived at a little camp in command
of a man whom the leader addressed as Colonel Simcoe. Tom was at once
summoned by him and taken into the presence of the colonel, or
lieutenant-colonel, as he then really was.
"What have you here?" inquired the colonel, glancing at Tom as he spoke.
"We picked this fellow out of a ditch back here. We had a little brush
with a band of Dickinson's men, but they didn't wait for us. We chased
them a mile or two up the road; but the day was so warm, and as the
rebels took to the woods, we soon gave it up and came back. We found
this fellow on our return. He claims he doesn't belong to the rebels;
but as we found that he carried a rifle, we thought best to bring him
into camp with us. We didn't know but he might be able to give you some
of the information you wanted just now."
"You did right, lieutenant. I'll talk with him later. Now tell me what
you learned. Did you hear anything more about Washington? How are the
roads and the bridges?"
"The rebels have been tearing up the bridges, and Dickinson has a good
many of the militia scattered along in the woods. I rather suspect they
are planning to serve us as the countrymen served Lord Percy up at
Lexington."
"I fancy we shall be able to put a stop to that, though your report is
much like that which I have found out myself. Did you hear anything more
of Washington?"
"I couldn't get a word out of anybody. I don't believe he's moved from
the position he held yesterday, though."
For several minutes the men conversed, and when at last the younger
officer departed, Colonel Simcoe turned to Tom and said, "Now, my lad,
I'll listen to your story."
"I haven't any story," replied Tom. "I was coming through the woods back
here, and when I stepped out into the road I found myself right between
the two bands, and as I was afraid I'd be caught by the fire of both of
them, I crawled into the ditch to be out of the way. That's why I'm
covered with this dirt," he added apologetically.
"You don't need any one to confirm your words as to that," said the
colonel, smiling slightly, as he spoke, at Tom's appearance. "Now what I
want to know is who you are and what you were doing with a rifle? Few
people here carry rifles, I find."
Tom hesitated a moment, not knowing just what to say in reply to the
question. The colonel was watching him intently, and the lad felt that
he must say something. "I live back here," he said at last. "I've lived
in Old Monmouth all my life. I'd started out from home to go to--to--to
some of my friends, and, as I told you, I got caught between the lines."
"How about the rifle?"
"My father had the other guns and I had to take that. The last thing he
told me was to take a gun and scare the blackbirds and crows from the
ten-acre lot."
"Is your father a loyalist?"
"Yes."
"That's good; and now if you can answer my questions, perhaps I'll be
inclined to let you go. You say you've lived here all your life. Do you
know all the roads and bridges? Could you find your way anywhere in the
county?"
"Yes, sir; I think I could."
"Tell me about the bridges. Have many of them been torn up?"
Tom did not know, but he thought of his meeting with young Lieutenant
Gordon that morning, and boldly answered, "Yes, sir."
"How does it happen that your good father and the other loyalists permit
that?"
"My father's not at home, and there are too many of the pa--of the
rebels."
"I thought you told me your father sent you out with your gun," said the
colonel quickly. "How is that? How could he send you if he wasn't at
home?"
"He sent me before he left," replied Tom, his voice trembling in spite
of his efforts to control it.
"Do you know where Washington is?" inquired the colonel abruptly.
"I hear he's up by Hopewell. I don't know." Tom might have added that he
would be glad to learn, but his wish was not expressed.
"That's right. He _is_ at Hopewell. Is there any talk about his plans?
Have you heard of any rumors among the rebels as to what he plans to
do?"
"Yes, sir. I hear he is planning to fall on Clinton's baggage train."
"Sir Henry Clinton, you mean, I suppose," said the colonel sharply. "Do
you think you could find your way from here to Cranberry?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know every road?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well, then, I shall expect you to go with a party to-night and
show them the way."
"But," protested Tom, "I thought you said I could go if I answered your
questions."
"You'll have to stay now. Your father's a good loyalist, you say, and
he'll not object to his son's remaining here for a day or two and
serving as a guide. I'll see that you have some supper and are ready to
start before it's dark."
Tom left the colonel's presence, and with a heavy heart turned to look
about the little camp.