[Illustration]
YOUNG
FOLKS
MAGAZINE
VOLUME 1 NUMBER 2
1902
APRIL
An ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY JOURNAL for BOYS & GIRLS
The Penn Publishing Company Philadelphia
CONTENTS FOR APRIL
FRONTISPIECE--Valley Forge--Washington and Lafayette Page
WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE (Serial) W. Bert Foster 37
Illustrated by F. A. Carter
THE FRESHMAN BANQUET Harriet Wheeler 48
Illustrated by H. M. Brock
MR. NOBODY 51
A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST (Serial) Evelyn Raymond 52
Illustrated by Ida Waugh
APRIL--Selected from “In Memoriam” 61
WOOD-FOLK TALK J. Allison Atwood 62
LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS (Serial) Elizabeth Lincoln Gould 64
Illustrated by Ida Waugh
APRIL LEAVES Julia McNair Wright 71
WITH THE EDITOR 72
EVENT AND COMMENT 73
IN-DOORS (Parlor Magic, Paper II) Ellis Stanyon 74
THE OLD TRUNK (Puzzles) 76
WITH THE PUBLISHER 77
YOUNG FOLKS MAGAZINE
_An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys and Girls_
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Copyright 1902 by The Penn Publishing Company.
[Illustration: VALLEY FORGE--WASHINGTON AND LAFAYETTE]
Young Folks Magazine
VOL. I APRIL 1902 No. 2
WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE
By W. Bert Foster
CHAPTER III
Black Sam
SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
The story opens in the year 1777, during one of the most critical
periods of the Revolution. Hadley Morris, our hero, is in the employ
of Jonas Benson, the host of the Three Oaks, a well known inn on the
road between Philadelphia and New York. Like most of his neighbors,
Hadley is an ardent sympathizer with the American cause. When,
therefore, the bearer of dispatches, having been captured on his way
to Philadelphia, gives Hadley the all-important packet to be forwarded
to General Washington, the boy immediately makes his escape with it,
in spite of the risk to his own life from the pursuing horsemen. In
the darkness the fleeing boy meets a friendly teamster, Lafe Holdness,
in reality a patriot spy and friend of Washington. At his suggestion
the boy and his horse take safety in the low, covered wagon just as
the closely pursuing horsemen come dashing up the road.
The covered wagon went creaking on until the officer, wheeling his big
steed directly across the road, halted the astonished team of draught
horses perforce.
“Who be yeou, Mister, an’ what d’ye want?” drawled the teamster, rising
in his seat and throwing the light of his lantern directly into the
colonel’s eyes, so that by no possibility he might see into the back
of the wagon. “There seems to be a slather o’ folks ridin’ this road
ter-night.”
“See you, sirrah!” exclaimed the colonel, riding close up to the
driver and scanning his smoothly-shaven, humorous face closely. “Has a
boy on horseback just passed you?”
“Wa-al, now, I couldn’t tell whether it was a boy ’r th’ old Nick
himself,” declared Holdness, with apparent sincerity; “but suthin’ went
by me as slick as er streak o’ greased lightnin’.”
“Sure he passed you?” repeated the British officer.
“Honest Injun!” returned Holdness, with perfect truth. “I didn’t ketch
much of a sight of him; but he went past. What’s goin’ on, anyway, sir?”
But Colonel Knowles, having considered that he had found out all that
was possible from the countryman, paid no attention to his question,
but turned to the dragoons who now thundered up. “He’s still ahead of
us, men!” he cried. “We must overtake him before he reaches the ferry--”
“Indeed, we must, Colonel,” interposed the sergeant in command of
the dragoons. “There will be a force of the enemy at the ferry, it’s
likely, and we must not be drawn into any skirmish. Those were my
orders, sir, before I started.”
“After him at once!” shouted the older officer. “I tell you, the boy
must be stopped. The papers he bears may be of the utmost importance.”
They were all off at a gallop the next instant, and the axles of the
heavy wagon began to creak again. “Them fellers seem toler’ble anxious
ter see you, Had,” drawled Holdness, turning half around in his seat.
“What yeou been doin’?”
Hadley related in a few words the excitement at the inn and his escape
from the barn on Black Molly. “And now I want to know what to do with
the papers, Lafe. Will you take ’em, and--”
“No, sir! I can’t do it. I’ve orders to perceed just as I am perceedin’
now, an’ nothin’ ain’t goin’ ter stop me.”
“But the papers may be of importance. The man said they were for
General Washington.”
“Then take ’em across the river an’ give ’em ter the Commander-in-Chief
yourself. That’s what yeou do, sonny!”
“Me go to General Washington?” cried Hadley. “What would Jonas say,
anyway?”
“Don’t yeou fret erbout Jonas. I’ll fix him as I go by. I can’t relieve
ye of any responsibility; the duty’s yourn--yeou do yer best with it.”
Hadley was silent for a time. “I’ll do it, Lafe!” he exclaimed,
finally. “But I don’t know what Uncle Ephraim will say when he hears of
it. He’ll think I’ve run away to join the army.”
“Don’t yeou worry erbout ol’ Miser Morris, Had. He’s as mean a Tory as
there is in New Jersey, ef he is your kin. I’ll stop right here an’ you
git the mare out.”
He pulled up his plodding horses, thus giving Hadley no further
opportunity for objection, and the youth leaped up and spoke to Black
Molly, who scrambled to her feet at once. She knew what was expected
of her, and she squeezed around and stood head to the rear of the big
wagon without any command from Hadley. The boy pulled up the curtain,
dropped out himself, and then spoke to the intelligent animal. Out
she leaped, he caught her bridle, and, while Holdness dropped the end
curtain again, the boy mounted the mare and was ready to start.
“Take the lower road,” Holdness advised again, “an’ try to git across
the river before midnight. When those dragoons find nobody at the ferry
they might take it inter their pesky heads s’arch along the river bank.
The Alwoods have got a bateau there--”
“I don’t believe I could trust them,” Hadley interrupted.
“I know. They’re pizen Tories--the hull on ’em. But there’s a
long-laiged boy there; what’s his name?”
“’Lonzo.”
“Ya-as. That’s him. Mebbe you c’d make him pole yer over.”
“’Lonzo don’t like me any too well,” Hadley returned, with a laugh.
“He wanted to work for Jonas, and Jonas wouldn’t have him, but took me
instead.”
“An’ good reason for it, too,” Holdness said. “Jonas didn’t want one o’
that nest o’ Tories spyin’ on everything that goes on up to the inn.
Wa-al, ye’ll hafter do what seems best ter ye when yeou git there, Had.
That’s all I kin tell yer erbout it. Ride quick, an’ find some way of
crossing as soon as possible.”
Hadley hurried on. Along the road were a few scattered dwellings,
mostly inhabited by farmers of more than suspected royalist tendencies.
In the house nearest the river lived a family named Alwood, the oldest
son of which was in a Tory regiment; the other boy, a youth of about
Hadley’s age, was one with whom our hero had come in contact more than
once.
Hadley and Lon Alwood had attended the same school previous to the
breaking out of the war, and for months before the massacre at
Lexington, in the Massachusetts colony, feeling had run high here in
Jersey. The school itself had finally been closed, owing to the divided
opinions of its supporters; and whereas Hadley had been prominent among
the boys opposed to King and Parliament, Lon was equally forward among
those on the other side. Many of their comrades, boys little older
than themselves, were in one or the other army now, and Hadley Morris
thought of this with some sadness as he rode on through the night. But
his thoughts were soon in another channel.
“I only hope I won’t run across Lon,” Hadley muttered, as Black Molly
clattered along. “I don’t just see how I am to pole that heavy flatboat
across the river alone, but I cannot call upon any of the Alwoods to
help me. Ah! there’s Sam.”
Not that Hadley saw the individual of whom he spoke ahead of him.
Indeed, he could not see a dozen feet before the mare’s nose. But there
had flashed into his mind the remembrance of the black man, who was
one of the few slaves in the neighborhood. Black Sam belonged to the
Alwoods, and, although an old man, he was still vigorous. He lived
alone in a little hut on the river bank, and it was near his cabin that
the Alwood’s bateau was usually chained. The old slave was a favorite
with all the boys, and Hadley Morris had reason to know that Sam was to
be trusted.
When the young dispatch bearer reached the river bank and the black
man’s hut, his mare was all of a lather and it was upwards of ten
o’clock. The Alwood house was several rods away, and, as was the case
with all the other farmhouses he had passed since crossing his uncle’s
estate, was wrapped in darkness. Nobody would travel these Jersey roads
by night, or remain up to such an hour, unless urgency commanded.
Hadley rolled off his mount and rapped smartly on the cabin door.
A long silence followed, then, to his joy, a voice from within called,
“Who’s dar?”
“It’s me--Had Morris. I want you,” whispered the boy.
“Want me!” exclaimed the astonished Sam. “Is dat sho’ ’nough you,
Moster Had? How come yo’ ’way down yere fr’m de T’ree Oaks? Whadjer
want?”
“I’ve got to get across the river--quick, Sam! I haven’t a minute to
lose.”
“Why don’ yo’ go up ter de ferry, Moster?” demanded the negro, still
behind the closed door.
“I can’t go there. The Britishers are there--and they’re after me!”
By this time the old negro had opened the door.
“Lawsey, Moster Had! It is sho’ ’nough you. How come yo’ ter git in
such er fix?”
“I can’t stop to tell you that, Sam.” Then he drew nearer and whispered
in the old man’s ear: “I’m going to headquarters. I’ve got dispatches
that must reach General Washington.”
With this the old slave’s interest seemed to awaken.
“Good! Ah’ll come right erlong, Moster Had--Ah’ll come right erlong.”
Sam went hurriedly down to the boat and unfastened the chain. Then,
both putting their shoulders to the gunwale, they shoved the craft down
the sloping beach into the water. Sam placed a wide plank from the
shore, and Hadley led Black Molly across and urged her into the boat.
Just as they were ready to shove off and the young courier was
congratulating himself on the safety of his project, there came a
startling interruption. A figure ran down to the landing from the
direction of the cabin, and, finding the boat already afloat, the
newcomer leaped aboard before Sam and Hadley could push away.
“You black limb! I’ve caught you this time. What are you gettin’ the
boat out for at this time o’ night?” demanded a wrathful voice which to
Hadley seemed familiar.
Black Sam, who stood beside him, and whom he could feel begin to shake,
whispered in his ear: “Dat ar’s Moster Lon--whadjer goin’ ter do?”