Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778

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  "WHAT ABOUT THE BOY?" (page 13)]

  THE BOYS OF OLD MONMOUTH

  A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778

  BY EVERETT T. TOMLINSON

  _Author of "Washington's Young Aids," "Guarding the Border," "The Boyswith Old Hickory," "Ward Hill at Weston," etc., etc._

  The Riverside Press]

  BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press,Cambridge

  COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY EVERETT T. TOMLINSON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. OLD MONMOUTH 1 II. TOM INVESTIGATES 15 III. THE MEETING ON THE RIVER 27 IV. BENZEOR'S VISITOR 40 V. THE MESSENGER 53 VI. IN THE TEN-ACRE LOT 67 VII. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 82 VIII. INDIAN JOHN 96 IX. THE YOUNG LIEUTENANT 112 X. THE STORY OF THE MISCHIANZA 126 XI. TO REFUGEE TOWN 141 XII. BATHSHEBA'S FEAST 156 XIII. WITH THE REDCOATS 169 XIV. THE WAY TO CRANBERRY 182 XV. THE BOAT ON THE BAR 195 XVI. TED WILSON'S VICTIM 208 XVII. A FRUITLESS CHASE 221 XVIII. A RARE BEAST 233 XIX. THE RELEASE OF BENZEOR 246 XX. THE FLEET OF BARGES 259 XXI. THE RIDE WITH THE LIEUTENANT 272 XXII. A SOLDIER WOMAN 286 XXIII. AN INTERRUPTED JOURNEY 298 XXIV. THE ABODE OF INDIAN JOHN 310 XXV. THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT FIGHT 323 XXVI. THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH 336 XXVII. THE RETURN TO BENZEOR'S HOUSE 349 XXVIII. THE RIDE TO THE MILL 364 XXIX. AFTER THE BATTLE 377 XXX. TOM COWARD'S PATIENT 390 XXXI. AMONG THE PINES 403 XXXII. CONCLUSION 416

  THE BOYS OF OLD MONMOUTH

  CHAPTER I

  OLD MONMOUTH

  OLD Monmouth is an expression dear to the heart of every native-bornJerseyman. The occasional visitor seeking health among its whisperingpines, or relaxation in the sultry summer days along its shore, wherethe roll of the breakers and the boundless sweep of the ocean combine toform one of the most sublime marine views on all the Atlantic seaboard,may admire the fertile farmlands and prosperous villages as much as theman to the manor born, but he never speaks of "Old" Monmouth.

  Nor will he fully understand what the purebred Jerseyman means when heuses the term, for to the stranger the word will smack of length ofdays, and of the venerable position which Monmouth holds among thecounties of the State.

  Monmouth is old, it is true, and was among the first of the portions ofNew Jersey to be settled by the Woapsiel Lennape, the name which theIndians first gave to the white people from across the sea, or by theSchwonnack,--"the salt people,"--as the Delawares afterwards calledthem. But the true Jerseyman is not thinking alone of the age ofMonmouth when he uses the word "Old." To him it is a term of affectionalso, used it may be as schoolboys or college mates use it when theyaddress one another as "old fellow," though but a few years may havepassed over their heads.

  The new-comer or the stranger may speak of Fair Monmouth, and think heis giving all the honor due to the beautiful region, but his failure touse the proper adjective will at once betray his foreign birth and hisignorance of the position which the county holds in the affections ofall true Jerseymen.

  Still, Monmouth is old in the sense in which the summer visitor uses theword. Here and there in the county an antiquated house is standingto-day, which if it were endowed with the power of speech could tell ofstirring sights it had seen more than a century ago. Redcoats, fleeingfrom the wrath of the angry Washington and his Jersey Blues, marchedswiftly past on their way to the Highlands and the refuge of New York.Fierce contests between neighbors, who had taken opposite sides in thestruggle of the colonies for freedom from the yoke of the mothercountry, or step-mother country, as some not inappropriately termed herin these days, occurred in the presence of these ancientdwelling-places, and sometimes within their very walls. Many, too, wouldbe the stories of the deeds of tories, and refugees, and pine robberscontending with stanch and sturdy whigs. Up the many winding streams,boat-loads of sailors made their way from the gunboat or privateeranchored off the shore, to burn the salt works of the hardy pioneers, orlay waste their lands as they searched for plunder or for forage.

  The forked trees along the shore, in whose branches the lookouts wereconcealed as they swept the ocean for miles watching for the appearanceof the hostile boat, were standing until recent years. In their lastdays broken, it is true, and almost destroyed by the winter storms andtheir weight of long years, still they stood as the few remaining tokensof that century when our fathers contended for "their lives, theirfortunes, and their sacred honor." At last the pathos and weakness ofold age prevailed, and to-day there remains scarcely a vestige of thoseancient landmarks.

  Perhaps if the boys and girls of New Jersey had been as mindful of thoseold trees as the Cambridge lads and lassies have been of the spreadingelm beneath whose branches the noble-hearted Washington assumed thecommand of the little American army, some of them might still bestanding; but as it is, the most of them have crumbled and fallen anddisappeared as completely as have the men who sought the shelter oftheir branches in the trying times of '78.

  So, too, for many years stood the famous tree from whose limbs the noblepatriot, Captain Huddy, was hanged,--as dastardly a deed as wascommitted by either side in that struggle which tried the souls of ourfathers. But the trees are gone, and only a few quaint houses andvenerable landmarks and heirlooms remain of those things which witnessedthe contests, and deeds high or base, of that far-away time.

  The lofty monument on the old battle-ground of Monmouth is surmounted bythe figure of a man whose face is shaded by his hand, as if he werestill striving to obtain a glimpse of the redcoats in the darkness asthey hastened to gain the Highlands and the refuge of the waiting boatswhich were to bear them away to the safety of the great city. But it isitself essentially modern, and only in its brief records, carved bypatriotic hands upon its sides, and in its figure of the granite soldierstanding upon its summit, does its suggestiveness lie. It looks downupon a thriving village and out upon the lands of thrifty and prosperousfarmers, and there is nothing in all the vision to remind one that thesoil was ever stained by the blood of soldiers clad in uniforms ofscarlet, or of buff and blue.

  And yet, as fierce a struggle as our country ever knew occurred withinthe region. Women toiled in the fields while their husbands and sonsfought, or even gave up their lives to drive away their oppressors. Yes,even in the battles some of the women found places, and Captain MollyPitcher was only one among many who had a share in the actual struggleof the Revolution. Houses were doubly barred at night against theattacks of prowling bands of refugees or pine robbers, and many timeswere defended by the patriotic women themselves. Spies crept in amongthem, and evil men who owned no allegiance to either side seized theopportunity to prey alike upon friend and foe. At times it almost seemedas if the words spoken many centuries ago were then fulfilled, and that"a man was set at variance against his father, and the daughter agai
nsther mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, and thata man's foes were they of his own household."

  But with all the suffering and bloodshed there were many heroes andheroines, and even the boys and girls were not without a share in thestruggles of the times which tried men's souls. The houses in which theydwelt may have disappeared and given place to far more imposingstructures; their very names may no longer be recalled; but, after all,they displayed many qualities which the world ought not willingly topermit to die, and the heritage which they have bequeathed to us willlose nothing of its value if we go back in our thoughts and strive tocomprehend more clearly the price which our fathers paid for the land welove.

  In the early summer of 1778, while the feelings of the Monmouth peoplehad been deeply stirred,--and indeed the patriots of the county hadbeen among the foremost to pass resolutions and be enrolled among thedefenders of the new nation,--there had not as yet come the intenseexcitement which followed the advance of General Clinton's army fromPhiladelphia. The long winter at Valley Forge had at last come to anend, and when the British moved out from the city,--for holding itlonger seemed to be useless,--Washington had led his troops into thetown almost as soon as the enemy departed. Nor was that all, for hequickly decided to follow after the departing general, and overtake andgive him battle before Clinton could lead his men across the Jerseys.

  The American commander knew that his own forces numbered nearly as manyas those the British general had; and as, in spite of the dreadfulsufferings of the winter, his men were in far better condition than theyhad ever been before,--thanks to the tireless energy of BaronSteuben,--he resolved to depart from Philadelphia and follow after theBritish.

  Clinton had sent the recently enrolled tories to New York by water, andas there were some three thousand of these alone, he soon decided thathis troops must go by land.

  Accordingly, the journey was begun, but the Continentals, going a littlefarther to the north than the line of Clinton's march, planned to gain aposition in advance of the enemy by the rapidity of their movements, andthen, turning about in their course, fall upon the redcoats face to faceand offer them battle in some advantageous place.

  The baggage wagons of Clinton stretched out in a long line of twelvemiles as they followed after the army, and in other ways the Britishleader was somewhat embarrassed. Consequently, when he learned ofWashington's plan, he quickly decided to change the direction of hismarch, and, by passing through "Old Monmouth," lead his army to theNavesink Highlands and there have them all embark for New York.

  Washington had first offered the command of his advance forces to youngLafayette, but he was somewhat perplexed by the return of General Lee tohis army, and knew not just what to do.

  Lee had been captured a little more than a year before this time,through his own carelessness, near Morristown, and we may be sure thatWashington was not greatly troubled by the loss. Lee had steadilyopposed him, and was plotting to secure his position for himself.However, the British general Prescott, whose capture by the Americanshad been effected in a manner not unlike that in which Lee himself hadbeen taken, had been exchanged, and Lee once more returned to theAmerican army.

  He was still the same Lee, sensitive, jealous, and suspected of being inleague with Howe, who recently had sailed away for England to explain toParliament the causes of his failures in the preceding year.

  Much as he disliked to make the change, Lee's return compelledWashington to recognize his presence, and after some tactful efforts heremoved Lafayette and gave Lee his position as leader of the advancedforces. Lee had bitterly opposed the project of following Clinton, andsteadily objected to the march across the Jerseys.

  Washington, however, was firm in his determination, and the march wassoon begun; but the lack of confidence which he felt in General Lee musthave sadly increased the troubles of the great commander, already besetby perils of so many kinds. Whether he was mistaken in his estimate ofthe man, we shall learn in the course of this story.

  Such then was the general condition of affairs as the summer of 1778drew on. Those of the people of Old Monmouth who were at home heardoccasional rumors of the advance of the two armies, but few of them hadany thought of the stirring scenes which were to be enacted in theirmidst before the summer was ended.

  It was now late in June. The summer had been unusually warm, and the menand boys, as well as the women, who were at home had labored busily inthe fields, in the hope of an early as well as an abundant harvest. Forthose who cared to avail themselves of them, the markets in New Yorkprovided a ready place for the sale of their produce, and not only thetories, but some of the men whose sympathies as yet had not led themopenly to declare their preferences for either side, or who perhapscared more for the prices they were likely to receive in New York forthe results of their labors than they did for liberty or any suchabstract quality, were not averse to loading up the boats, which many ofthe farmers near the shore owned, and sailing away for the city.

  Down the lower bay one such boat was swiftly making its way oneafternoon in June, 1778. On board were four men, three of whomevidently were in middle life, but the fourth was a sturdy lad aboutseventeen years of age, and it was plain that he was not in fullsympathy with his companions. He took but little part in theconversation, and the expression upon his face frequently betrayed thefeelings in his heart. The three men with him apparently did not givehim much thought or attention, and evidently were too well satisfiedwith the results of their expedition to waste any time in questioningthe lad as to the cause of his silence.

  "There's the old tree now," said one of the men as they came withinsight of the landmark. "If nothing has gone wrong, we'll soon be in theNavesink."

  "Yes, and back at work again," grumbled another. "For my part I thinkFenton and Davenport and the rest of the pine robbers have the easiesttime of all. They swoop down upon some whig farmer, and all they have todo is to take what he has worked out. I don't see why it isn't all fairenough in war."

  "If it wasn't for that skull of Fagan, with that pipe stuck in itsmouth, nailed up on the tree over there beyond the Court House, I'd goin myself," said the first speaker. "The grin on it is almost more thanI can bear."

  "That'll do to frighten women and children with," said the third man,who had been silent for a time. "Fagan got a little too bold, that wasthe trouble with him. He carried it a little too far. I happen to knowthat there are some men who know enough to put a finger in, and not getit burned either."

  "Perhaps you've done a little yourself in that line, Benzeor Osburn?"queried the last speaker. "I've thought sometimes you could tell sometales if you wanted to."

  "And who knows but I might?" replied Benzeor. "I may be able to keep myplace from being confiscated and sold, the way my brother's was twoyears ago, but that may not mean either that I don't know what's to myown advantage when I see it. You'd do the same, wouldn't you, JacobVannote?"

  "That I would," replied Jacob, "and so would Barzilla Giberson here,too. All we want is that some good man like you, Benzeor, should tell ushow to do it."

  "I can tell you," said Benzeor quietly. "I've made up my mind that I'veheld off just as long as I am going to. I'm going in, and if you have amind to join, I'll let you in, too."

  "Tell us about it," said Jacob eagerly. "What about the boy?" he addedin a low voice, glancing toward the fourth member of the party as hespoke.

  "What? Tom Coward? He's a coward by name as well as by nature. Youhaven't anything to fear from him. He's been in my home since he wasfive year old. He won't make any trouble."

  Nevertheless, the speaker lowered his voice, and for a long time thetrio conversed eagerly upon the new topic. So intent were they that notone of them noted the flush upon the lad's face at the brutal referenceto him, nor saw the look of determination which came a little later inits place.

  Apparently Tom was not giving any attention to the men with him in theswift sailing boat. He retained his seat near the bow, and seemed to beinterested only in the
waves before him. A brisk wind was blowing, andthe waters betrayed the tokens of a coming storm.

  The boat was pitching more and more as it sped on, and Tom watched therolling waves, many of them capped with white and rising steadilyhigher and higher. The darker hues gave place to a lighter green as theyrose, and the increasing roughness seemed to reflect somewhat thefeelings in his own heart.

  Far away in the distance stretched the long sandy beach of the Hook,becoming more and more distinct as the boat drew nearer. The gulls wereflying low, and the weird cries of the sea-birds were heard on everyside.

  Suddenly Tom stood upright, and, after gazing intently for a moment atsome object on the shore, turned to his companions and said,--

  "Some one's up in the tree, and the signal's out, too."

  The men instantly ceased from their conversation, and peered intently atthe tree in the distance.

  Evidently the sight was not altogether pleasing, for with an exclamationof anger Benzeor Osburn, who was holding the tiller, quickly changed thecourse of the boat, and started back in the direction from which theyhad come.