CHAPTER V
THE MESSENGER
FOR a moment Tom closed his eyes and waited for the words which heexpected and feared to hear. His body was trembling and all his strengthwas required to prevent his teeth from chattering. If Benzeor shouldenter the room Tom knew that at once his predicament would bediscovered, and in the present state of his foster father's feelings hewas aware that he could expect no mercy at his hands.
He heard no footstep, but he felt that the light of the candle was stillshining upon his face and knew that Benzeor had not departed. At last,unable to bear the suspense longer, he opened his eyes, for he felt thathe must see what was going on in the room. There stood Benzeor in thedoorway holding the candle with one hand, and intently regarding theapparently sleeping boy before him.
"I'll be down directly," said Tom drowsily, as if he were just awaking."I didn't know it was time to get up. I'll be with you in a minute."
"It isn't time to get up," replied Benzeor slowly. "I'm just going tobed. I stopped to see if you were all right. Have you been asleep long?"
"I--I don't know. Is there anything wrong?" Tom still kept thebedclothes drawn tightly about his face, and although he was feigningthat he had been sleeping, he was in a state of terror. If Benzeorshould approach the bed he well knew what would follow.
"No, there's nothing wrong," replied Benzeor. "I just wanted to see ifyou were all right. It's been a hard trip, and there's much work to bedone to-morrow."
Tom closed his eyes and did not continue the conversation, hoping thatthe man would feel satisfied and leave him to himself. Nor was hedisappointed, for Benzeor soon withdrew and closed the door behind him.
Tom could hear him as he stumbled about in the adjoining room, preparingfor bed. Frightened as the lad had been, he had not failed to notice theexpression upon Benzeor's face. It seemed to him that fear andrecklessness were combined there, and that in the recent decision whichthe man had made, he had bidden farewell to everything good in hisnature.
Benzeor had not been without his good qualities. Even then, in spite ofhis alarm, Tom recalled his rough kindnesses, and thought how muchbetter in many ways his foster father had treated him than had some ofthe true fathers treated their own sons, for the times were rough andthe one thing which was demanded of all the growing boys was implicitobedience to their elders. And this obedience had been ofttimescompelled by no gentle means. The use of the strap upon boys who were aslarge as their fathers was not unknown, and no one ever thought ofresenting the harsh treatment. But Benzeor had seldom struck him. Tomalmost wished that he had, for it would make the carrying out of theproject he had already formed much easier.
Then, too, all the kindness he had received at the hands of Benzeor'swife and of the girls came back to him. It was true that this had beenlargely of a negative character, but in times like these through whichthe troubled lad was then passing, even that was not forgotten. He hadtoiled early and late, and knew that he had given more than a fullequivalent for the scanty food and rough clothing he had received. Butafter all, Benzeor's home had been all the home he had ever known, andhe was not unmindful of the benefits he had received.
His soul now, however, was in a state of turmoil. The words he hadoverheard had proved conclusively that Benzeor was a changed man, and asTom thought of the project which Fenton had presented, and into whichhis foster father had entered with apparent eagerness, his ownindignation increased. The long waiting was past now, and the time foraction, the time of which he had dreamed and thought so much of late,had come at last.
He removed the bed-clothing and sat up on the side of the bed, listeningintently. Benzeor had ceased to move about in his room, and the soundswhich now came indicated clearly that he was asleep. Against the littlewindow the rain was still beating, and the darkness was so intense inthe room that Tom could not distinguish any object.
For several minutes he continued in his position, undecided whether hehad better make the attempt to depart from the house by the way of thestairs, or through the window in his room. If he should select theformer, the stairs would be sure to creak under his feet; and then, too,there would be the bars which must be drawn from the door. There weretoo many possibilities of detection to make that method of departure thedesirable one.
If he should go through the window, all he would have to do would be todrop upon the woodpile directly beneath,--a pile which Tom knew wasthere, for he himself had drawn and cut the wood only a few days beforethis time. He decided to use the window.
Stepping slowly and carefully, he approached and quietly raised thesash. As he looked out into the night, the farm buildings could be seen,and yonder was the road he was to seek.
Hesitating no longer, the resolute boy crawled through the open window,and then, clinging for a moment to the sash with his hands, dropped uponthe woodpile below. There was a noise as the wood rolled from under him,but, quickly rising, he ran to the long lane which led out to the road,and then stopped to learn whether his departure had been discovered ornot.
The silence was unbroken. The outlines of the rude little house stoodout in the darkness, the rain was falling steadily, and the heavy cloudshung low over the earth. Not even the dog had been disturbed, and with alighter heart Tom turned and ran down the lane and was soon in the road.
The mud was now thick and heavy, and he found his progress difficult.But as he had not far to go, he ran steadily on, and soon came withinsight of Little Peter's house. There was no light to be seen within it,and he was not at all certain that his friend had returned.
He approached and stood beneath the window of the boy's room, which,like his own, was over the kitchen. Then he gave the low whistle whichthey both had used as a "call." At first there was no response, and whenhe had given it two or three times he concluded that his friend had notreturned from his work as the lookout in the tree by the mouth of theNavesink. Nothing then remained to be done but to rouse the family, forTom was determined, and was well aware that what he planned to do mustbe done quickly.
Approaching the kitchen door he rapped loudly upon it. Twice had herepeated the summons before a window was raised, and some one lookingout upon him called, "Who's there? Is that you, Peter?"
"No, it's not Peter. It's Tom Coward, and I want to get in. I've gotsomething to tell you."
"I'll be down in a moment," said Peter's mother, for Tom had recognizedthe voice as her's.
Tom soon heard the heavy bars withdrawn, and in a brief time the doorwas opened, and then closed and carefully barred behind him.
"What's wrong, Tom?" inquired the woman anxiously. "Has anythinghappened to Peter?"
"I don't think so," replied Tom. "He was all right when I left him a fewhours ago down by the Hook. But what I want to know now is whetheryou've had any word from his father?"
"Not a word, except that it's reported the army's on the march again.Why do you ask?"
"I don't know that I ought to tell you," replied Tom hesitatingly, "butthe truth of the matter is that I happened to hear that he was cominghome."
"You've heard something more than that, Tom Coward," said the woman nowthoroughly alarmed. "I know you've heard more, or you wouldn't have comeover here at this time of night and in such a storm. What is it? What isit?"
Tom perceived that he had gone too far to retreat now, and so he beganhis story. He did not go into all the details, for as yet he did notdesire to implicate Benzeor, at least in the eyes of all his neighbors.
"The way of it is this," began Tom hesitatingly. "I happened to beto-night where I overheard the talk between two men, and one of 'em wasFenton, the pine robber."
Tom could perceive the expression of alarm which swept over the face ofthe woman, who was still standing before him. Apparently ignoring it,however, he went on. "It seems that both of the armies are on the marchacross Jersey, and that Washington has halted over by Hopewell. Somehow,Fenton had got word that your husband was coming home for a day, andhe's fixed up a plan to trap and take him."
"I
haven't heard a word," said the woman slowly. "When was he coming?"
"To-morrow."
"And Fenton knows of it?"
"Yes. And he knows something more, too, or at least he pretends to. Iheard him say that you had some money hidden in an old sock, which you'dstored away in the garret."
Tom saw the woman start at his words, and knew then that Fenton'sstatement had been correct, although he could not conjecture how thepine robber had received his information. Little Peter's mother was aresolute woman, but even the stoutest heart might well be alarmed tohear that Fenton was aware of such possessions.
"Have you any idea when Little Peter will come home?"
"No. It's too bad to keep him out in such a night. And we need him herenow."
"I'll wait till he comes," said Tom quietly. "There's no dangerto-night, but I want to see him, and I don't think you'll object to mystaying, will you?"
"No," said the woman eagerly. "Oh, what times these are! My husband hasbeen in the army more than a year, and the end hasn't come yet. Whatwill become of us? What shall we do? Tom," she added suddenly, "what wasFenton going to do with him if he caught him?"
"Take him and send him to New York. You know there's a reward for everyprisoner taken. But he hasn't got him yet."
"No, that's so; and what's more he won't either, if it can be prevented.Have you told Benzeor about it? Hark! There's some one at the door now!"
The woman was not mistaken, for a low tapping on the kitchen door couldbe distinctly heard. For a moment neither spoke, but they could notconceal their fears from each other. Just then a stronger gust of winddrove the rain with added force against the windows. The sound of thestorm seemed to increase the fear of those within the house. PerhapsFenton himself had even then come; or, as was more probable, Tomthought, his own departure had been discovered, and Benzeor had come forhim. As between the two, Tom decidedly preferred to meet Fenton at thattime.
Again the low rapping was heard, and Tom knew that some response must bemade. "I'll open the door. Maybe it's Little Peter come back," hewhispered.
"No, it isn't Peter. He wouldn't come in that way."
"I'll find out who it is," replied Tom more resolutely, although hisheart was oppressed by a great fear. His hands were trembling, and healmost expected that the moment he drew back the bars a rush against thedoor would be made.
"You stand ready to push against the door," he said as he grasped thebar. Slowly he drew it back, and standing away from the slight openingcalled out, "Who's there?"
No reply was heard, and the wind which swept through the open spacequickly extinguished the candle, leaving them both in total darkness.For a moment Tom thought they were being attacked, and he instantlyslammed the door back, and shot the bar into its place.
The rapping upon the door was quickly repeated, and the voice of someone outside could be heard. "Don't light the candle again," whisperedTom. "It'll let them see what's inside here. Who's out there?" he calledin louder tones. "Who's there? You'll have to tell who you are, or weshan't let you in. Who is it?"
Another rap was the only reply, and Tom was almost decided not to heedthe summons longer, but to leave the callers, whoever they might be, outthere in the storm.
"I'll go upstairs and look out of the window," whispered Peter's mother;and, creeping softly out of the room, she soon made her way up thestairway to the room overhead from which she had replied to Tom's ownsummons a few minutes before.
Tom waited and listened. The rapping was not repeated, and no soundcould be heard outside the door. What could it all mean? Had themarauders gone around to some of the windows? These were barred by heavyinside shutters, and no light could be seen to reveal the presence ofany one. The darkness in the room was intense, and Tom almost thought hecould feel it. He was breathing hard in his excitement, but he had notleft his position by the door.
Soon he heard the sound of the woman returning down the stairway. Hewaited breathlessly, and she soon rejoined him.
"I can't see but one man," she whispered. "He's right there in front ofthe door."
"Is it Benzeor?"
"I couldn't see. You'd better open the door and let him in. We canhandle one."
Tom did not feel so positive about that, but bidding her light thecandle, he again drew back the bar. "Come in! Come in! Quick!" hecalled.
Some one pushed past him, and the door was instantly closed and barredagain.
The candle was not yet lighted, and in the darkness he felt as if someone were about to grasp him. He could almost feel hands upon him now. Hestepped farther back from the door, and waited in breathless suspensefor the candle to be lighted.
After several attempts, the woman succeeded in igniting a splinter fromthe embers in the ashes on the fireplace, and the beams of the lightedcandle quickly dispelled the darkness.
"It's Indian John!" said Tom with a great sigh of relief as he saw theman before him.
The visitor was a strange appearing being, clad in the leggings andmoccasins of his race, while over his shoulders he wore a faded coatwhich once had done duty for some Continental soldier. His dark eyesburned as if they had caught a reflection from the sputtering candle,but with a countenance unmoved he gazed quietly at his companions in theroom.
"Oh, John, what a fright you gave us!" said the woman at last. "Whatbrings you here on a night like this?"
The Indian made no reply, save to draw a letter from the pocket of thedripping, faded coat, and quietly held it forth to the woman.
Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778 Page 5