CONCLUSION
IN spite of the heavy sand the horses were driven swiftly, until their
heaving sides and dripping flanks compelled their driver to give them a
much-needed rest. Ted Wilson and one of the soldiers then leaped lightly
to the ground and ran into the woods on either side of the road to
ascertain whether they were pursued or not.
As the silence of the great forest was unbroken they speedily returned,
and the flight was resumed. No one was concealed beneath the straw in
the wagon-box now, and every one stood waiting and ready to share in the
defense which at any moment might become necessary.
On past the tall pine-trees, on through the heavy sandy road, rushed the
returning party, and at last, when they obtained a glimpse of the open
country, they breathed a sigh of relief as they realized that the danger
of immediate pursuit was gone. It was not until nearly a year after
this time that they learned that the gun they had heard had been
discharged by De Bow, the desperate leader of another band of outlaws as
evil in every way as those whom the detested Fenton had himself led.
It was near the close of the day when the party, of which Little Peter
was a member, drove up to Monmouth Court-House. Carelessly, almost
brutally, the sergeant and one of his companions seized the body of the
dead outlaw, and flinging it from the wagon into one of the trenches the
soldiers had made, shouted, "Here's a cordial for your tories and wood
robbers!"
Little Peter had no share in the rejoicing which followed when it was
known that the pine robber was no more. It was true, he knew Fenton had
richly deserved his fate, and that no more would the defenseless people
of Old Monmouth suffer from the evil deeds of his marauding band. He,
too, had known something of Fenton's wickedness, for he was motherless,
homeless, and almost fatherless because of him, and his own body for
many days bore the traces of his meeting with him on his return from the
mill; but in spite of all that, his heart was sick whenever he thought
of the dead face he had seen looking up at him from the wagon-box, and
the brutal rejoicings of the men who had shot him near his abode among
the pines.
On the following day Tom Coward returned to Benzeor's house for a brief
visit, reporting a very decided improvement in the condition of young
Lieutenant Gordon. A long interview between Tom and Sarah followed, and
as the troubled girl explained to the lad what she had learned
concerning the evil deeds of her own father, and begged him to return
and aid her in caring for the family in the presence of such dangers and
perplexities, Tom could not find it in his heart to refuse. The kindness
bestowed upon him in the home, and the obligations to repay as best he
could the care he himself had received there, were too strong to be
ignored, and greatly to the joy of Sarah and her mother he yielded to
their urgent pleas. He had not yet enlisted in the army, and so was free
to decide the question for himself.
He was aided in making the decision by the fact that Little Peter was
also to remain. His own home had been destroyed, and as there was no
place to which he could take his little brothers and sisters, there was
every reason why he should accept the invitation and increase the
defenses of the household.
It was not considered probable that Benzeor would return, nor was it
known what had become of the man, who had gradually and yet steadily
been drawn into the power of the pine robbers, until at last he was
considered by them all as one of themselves, and indeed he was. Neither
the boys nor Sarah knew then whither he had gone. Tom thought he might
have been killed in the battle, and it was not until more than a year
had passed that word came from the missing Benzeor; but where he had
been and what he had been doing do not belong to this story.
On the day following the great battle of Monmouth, General Lee had, to a
certain extent, recovered from his chagrin at the public rebuke General
Washington had administered to him, and in his arrogance, and as a
relief to his feeling of mortification, he wrote a childish letter to
the commander, demanding an apology for the words he had spoken in the
presence of the soldiers.
Washington's reply to Lee's letter was as follows:--
"SIR,--I received your letter, expressed, as I conceive, in terms highly
improper. I am not conscious of making use of any very singular
expressions, at the time of meeting you, as you intimate. What I
recollect to have said was dictated by duty and warranted by the
occasion. As soon as circumstances will permit, you shall have an
opportunity of justifying yourself to the army, to Congress, to America,
and to the world in general; or of convincing them that you were guilty
of a breach of orders, and of misbehavior before the enemy on the 28th
instant, in not attacking them as you had been directed, and in making
an unnecessary, disorderly, and shameful retreat."
Lee's reply to this letter, as impudent as it was childish, certainly
did not tend to elevate him in the estimation of the men of his own
time, or of ours. His letter was as follows: "You cannot afford me
greater pleasure than in giving me the opportunity of showing to America
the sufficiency of her respective servants. I trust that temporary power
of office, and the tinsel dignity attending it, will not be able, by all
the mists they can raise, to obfuscate the bright rays of truth."
Washington's reply to this insulting letter was to arrest Lee. The
traitor was at once court-martialed and charged with disobedience of
orders, misbehavior on the field, making a disgraceful retreat, and also
with gross disrespect to his commander-in-chief. The trial lasted more
than a month, and the result was that Lee was suspended for the term of
one year. If strict justice had been measured out to the man, doubtless
he would not have escaped with so light a sentence; but Washington was
merciful, and although Lee did not appreciate the kindness shown him, he
owed his life to the man whose heart and mind were so much greater than
his own.
General Washington did not long delay in Old Monmouth after the battle.
The British army had gained New York, and so the American commander
moved to the Hudson, and on the 20th of July went into camp at White
Plains, having left some of the militia to look well to the needs of the
country in which the great battle had been fought.
And Monmouth was a great battle. Not only did the men struggle with a
determination such as has been seldom displayed, but the results of the
engagement itself were also marked and strong. While the two armies,
after Washington had gone to the Hudson and Clinton to New York,
occupied much the same relative positions as in the latter part of '76,
the motives which controlled each were exactly reversed. The Americans
now became the aggressors, and the British were compelled to defend
themselves.
All this was intensified by the action of France. Benjamin Franklin had
succeeded in arranging a treaty between that land and ours. France was
to send a fleet of sixteen war vessels under D'Estaing to our shores,
and also an army of four thousand men. It was the coming of this fleet
which, as we know, caused the British to depart from Philadelphia and
hasten to the defense of New York, which place they thought would be
first attacked. The march of the redcoats and Hessians across New Jersey
gave Washington an opportunity to pursue them, and while he failed in
accomplishing all that he hoped, and much that he might have done had it
not been for the treacherous actions of Lee, still he virtually had won
a victory. He compelled the British to retreat with great losses, he
strengthened his own position, he silenced his enemies in Congress, and,
above all, he aroused a new feeling of hope and determination in the
hearts of the struggling Americans.
The British very promptly declared war against France, and then coolly
invited the Americans to join them, promising all that the colonists had
asked three years before this time. The offer had come too late,
however, for now the colonies had become States, and independence had
been declared, and independence the new nation would have. So the war
was continued, but the part which the new allies took and the further
struggles of the determined Americans belong to another story.
It only remains to refer briefly to the experiences of our friends,
whose fortunes we have followed in the course of this book.
Lieutenant Gordon at last recovered from his wound. Tom Coward divided
his time between caring for his friend and the labor on Benzeor's farm.
In the former task he was aided by Friend Nathan Brown until such a time
as the young lieutenant could be removed to his own home.
Friend Nathan had been unable to remain away from the battle of
Monmouth, and while both his feelings and professions had prevented him
from entering into the struggle, still his interest had been so intense
that he had started from his home to the scene of the struggle. There he
met Tom, and the part he then took in caring for the wounded young
officer we already know.
Neither Tom nor Little Peter was idle. There was much work to be done on
both farms, and the lads aided each other. The crop on the ten-acre lot
was successfully grown and harvested, and the immediate problem of food
in Benzeor's household was in a measure solved.
Indian John was never seen by our boys again. Whether he had been slain
by the British or the pine robbers, or had departed from the homes of
his ancestors for a region into which the redcoats and buffcoats did not
enter, was never known. Both Tom and Little Peter were inclined to the
latter conclusion, however, and their opinion was strengthened by the
fact that "Charlie" Moluss, and his wife Bathsheba, and her sister
"Suke" were never seen or heard from again.
Several times the boys made their way into Indian John's cave by the
brook, but they never discovered any signs of their friend. He had
forever disappeared, but his stories concerning the origin of the Jersey
mosquitoes, his interpretations of the roar of the ocean and the calls
of the sea-birds, and above all the assistance he had rendered Little
Peter in the trying days of '78 were never forgotten.
Weeks had passed before Little Peter positively learned that Benzeor's
statement concerning his father had been correct, but at last he
received definite information that he was a prisoner in New York. What
that meant to the troubled lad, few of us to-day can understand. The
sufferings on board the prison-ships and in the prison-houses of New
York almost baffle description; but we may be sure of one thing, and
that is that Little Peter did not sit idly down, nor rest content to
leave his father where he was without making some efforts in his behalf.
But that, too, belongs to another record.
Barzilla Giberson and Jacob Vannote after the death of Fenton did not
find it necessary to play a double part. They believed that their
efforts to run the pine robbers to cover had been successful, and that
now they could boldly and openly take their stand on the side of the
patriots. And take that stand they did, and their services in the New
Jersey militia are known in all the region of Old Monmouth.
Ted Wilson, with Jeshurun "waxen fatter" and consequently still more
inclined to kick, returned to his home after the death of Fenton. He
found Sallie and the babies safe at the Dennises, but all of the mighty
Ted's former indifference as to his rulers had departed. The taste of
the struggle he had had seemed only to whet his appetite for more, and
not many days had passed before Ted and Jeshurun once more started forth
in quest of service and adventure.
Sarah Osburn labored faithfully and cheerfully for the welfare of her
enlarged household, and the boys did not fail to appreciate her
kindness. Tom thought he understood the motive which prompted much of
her care for Little Peter's younger brothers and sisters, but throughout
the long absence of Benzeor he never directly or indirectly referred to
it.
There was a brief lull in the outrages and attacks of the pine robbers
after the death of Fenton, but it was very brief. Stephen Burke (or
Stephen Emmons as he was sometimes called), Stephen West, Ezekiel
Williams, Jonathan West, Richard Bird, Davenport, De Bow, and others
were yet living, and as each was the leader of a band as desperate as
himself, and as all were as reckless and brave as Fenton had been, in a
brief time the suffering people of Old Monmouth found that their
troubles were by no means ended.
Redcoat and buffcoat were again to contend within their borders,
salt-works and houses were to be burned, gunboats were to anchor off her
shore and their crews were to engage in conflicts with the patriots;
whigs and tories were not yet reconciled, the pine robbers were not yet
subdued. Five long and terrible years of the struggle of the Revolution
were yet to come, and the sands of Old Monmouth were again and again to
be dyed by the blood of fallen men.
The waves which came creeping, crawling up the long sandy shore, the
tall pine-trees whose tops whispered together as they bent beneath the
summer winds and winter storms, the fertile plains and noble forests of
oak and chestnut, were unchanged; but the struggling men and women of
Old Monmouth were yet to endure the bitter hardships and fierce
contests, which the closing days of the Revolution brought to them in
greater numbers than to almost any other people of our land.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 260, "Webberley" changed to "Webberly" (And Webberly had taught)
Page 404, "did't" changed to "didn't" (didn't know anything)
End of Project Gutenberg's The Boys of Old Monmouth, by Everett T. Tomlinson