CHAPTER XI
TO REFUGEE TOWN
WHEN Little Peter reentered the lonely house after his friend Tomdeparted, the full sense of his own sorrow for the first time swept overhim. Up to this time the necessity of action had prevented him fromfully realizing his loss. The death of his mother, the capture of hisfather, the provision he was compelled to make at once for his youngerbrothers and sisters, had so absorbed his thoughts that he had had butlittle time to dwell upon his own sorrow.
With the departure of Tom, however, there came the reaction, and for afew moments the heartbroken lad was almost overcome. The very silencewas oppressive. The only sound he could hear was the loud and regularticking of the tall clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. Howproud his mother had always felt of that ancient timepiece! Many a timehad she told him of its history and the pride with which she hadreceived it from her own father, when as a young bride she had firstentered the new house which henceforth was to be hers. To Peter, italmost seemed as if the stately clock had been a member of the family,and its voice was almost human to him. On the summer afternoons, when hewas a little fellow and his mother had been busied in her householdduties, he had often stretched himself upon the sanded floor, and,resting his face upon his hands, with eager eyes had gazed up into theface of the old timepiece and listened to the swing of its longpendulum, which for him had had a language all its own.
And now in the light of the early morning the old clock still stood inthe corner and regularly ticked off the passing hours, as if it wereunmindful of all the sad scenes to which it had recently been a witness.And yet to Peter it almost seemed, too, as if there was a tone ofsadness after all in the monotonous tickings that day. Perhaps the oldclock was striving to express its sympathy for the sorrowing boy, butnot even its sympathy must be permitted to interfere with its duty inmarking the passage of the swiftly flying minutes.
The few antiquated chairs were standing just as they had stood when hismother had been there. The brass-rimmed mirror, the one ornament of theroom, which hung over the low mantelpiece, reflected the scene beforeit, but in all the picture one figure was wanting and would beforevermore. Overcome by the full knowledge of his loss, Little Peterbowed his head upon his hands and leaned low upon the table, and burstinto a flood of tears--the first he had shed since the sad event hadoccurred. Indian John was forgotten, the few chores about the place wereignored, and for a time the heartbroken lad gave way to his sorrow forthe loss of his mother, upon whose face he never was to look again.
How long he remained in that attitude he did not know, but he wasrecalled to the necessities of the present by the sound of footstepsoutside the door. His first thought was that Indian John had returned,and he hastily rose to greet him; but quickly he perceived that thenew-comer was not his Indian friend, but Barzilla Giberson, one of hisnearest neighbors. If Little Peter had looked carefully into hisneighbor's face, he would doubtless have noticed that the man wasevidently somewhat troubled, and apparently was not overjoyed at theprospect of an interview; but the lad was too busied with his ownthoughts and sorrows to bestow a critical examination upon a neighbor'scountenance, and Barzilla's evident uneasiness, therefore, was allpassed by unnoticed.
"Good-morrow to you, Little Peter," said Barzilla. "The women folkswanted me to come over and say to you that you were welcome to make yourhome with them, if you so chose."
"Thank you, Barzilla," replied Peter. "If I were going to stay here Ishould be glad to do that, but I'm going away this morning."
"Sho! Ye don't say so! Where ye goin', if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"I'm going to look up my father."
"Where ye goin' to look him up?" said Barzilla, somewhat uneasily.
"I'm going down to Refugee Town first. I don't know what I'll do if Idon't find him there."
"Ye won't find him there," said Barzilla quickly. "In course I don'tknow where he is," he hastily added, "but I don't b'lieve ye'll find himthere; and, besides, that's no place for a lad like you to go to alone,for I take it ye're goin' alone?"
"Yes, I'm going alone," replied Peter, to whom Barzilla's anxiety wasnot apparent.
"In course it isn't for me to say what ye shall do and what ye shan't,but I don't believe a trip there will do ye any good. Ye've got toremember that other folks has suffered, too. Yer marm isn't the only onethat's been shot, and yer pop isn't the only man that's been carried offby the British."
"It wasn't the British that carried my father away," said Peter quickly.
"'Twan't the British? Who was it then, I'd like to know?"
"'Twas Fenton and his band, that's who it was."
"Sho! I can't believe that! I reckon ye're mistaken, Peter. It must 'a'been the redcoats."
"It was Fenton," repeated Peter decidedly.
"I can't b'lieve it," said Barzilla, rising as he spoke. "I can'tb'lieve it. However, Peter, we'll look after yer place. The women folksor I will do the chores for ye, while ye're gone. It's only neighborly,ye know, and what's friends good for if they can't help in a time likethis?"
"Thank you," said Peter quietly. "There isn't much to be done, but ifyou'll look after what there is, I shall be glad. The children are atBenzeor's house, you know."
"So I hear. So I hear. Well, they're in good hands; ye can rest easyabout that. Well, I must be a-goin'. Ye still think ye'd better go downto Refugee Town, do ye?"
"Yes."
"Well, good luck to ye. Good luck to ye. We'll look after the place,"called Barzilla as he departed.
If Peter had gone to the door, he would have discovered that Barzillahad not departed to go to his own house, but that after he had enteredthe road he had turned quickly and started in the direction in which theNavesink lay. But as Peter did not rise from his seat, he missed allthat, and, besides, in all probability he would only have been puzzledby his neighbor's actions and unable to account for the haste with whichhe had made the change.
Peter prepared his breakfast, and then waited for the coming of IndianJohn. The minutes passed, but the Indian did not put in an appearance,and the lad began to suspect that he would not return. At last, when thesun had appeared, his suspicions passed into certainty, and, resolvingto wait for him no longer, he closed the house and started resolutelyon the path which led down to the bank of the Navesink, where he kepthis little skiff concealed.
He soon arrived at the familiar place, and, after taking his oars fromtheir hiding-place on the bank, pushed the little boat out into thestream and began to row. The heat of the morning soon began to makeitself felt, but Peter did not cease from his labors. He was thinking ofhis father and where he might then be. He was hoping that he would beretained and sent to New York as a prisoner, for Little Peter was wellaware of the value of the reward which was offered for every prisonertaken; but Fenton, eager as he was for money, was not likely to incurany unnecessary risk for himself by keeping any one near him who mightprove to be a source of danger. And Little Peter knew that his father,especially after the recent events, was not likely to be quiet. Of whatmight then occur, the lad hardly dared to think. He only knew that whathe was to do must be done quickly, if it was to avail, and he rowed onand on without once stopping for rest.
He had covered about half the distance he was to go, when he heard ahail from down the river. Hastily turning about at the unexpectedsummons, he saw a little cat-boat slowly coming up the river, and nownot many yards away.
"It's Benzeor Osburn," said Peter to himself, as he obtained a glimpseof the man at the helm. "But who's that with him? It's Jacob Van Note.Yes, and that's Barzilla Giberson, too. What in the world"--
His meditations were interrupted by Benzeor's hail, "Where ye bound thismornin', Little Peter? There's to be no lookout to-day, is there?"
"I haven't heard of any," replied Peter, looking at Barzilla andstriving to understand how it was that the man who had so recently lefthis house could now be with Benzeor sailing up the Navesink.
"I came down here after I left you," said Barzilla,
as if he felt thathe must reply to the question expressed in Peter's manner, "and I fellin with Benzeor, so I stopped and came back to tell him all about thedoin's that have been goin' on since he went away. Benzeor's been gonefrom home two days and more, ye know."
"Has he?" replied Peter. "No. I didn't know. Benzeor, the children areat your house. Sarah said I could leave them there and she'd look afterthem. If it isn't all right, I'll take them away as soon as I comeback."
"It's all right. In course it's all right. Barzilla here has beentellin' me about your troubles. It's hard, Peter, but then ye know thatlots of people have been served the same way. 'Misery loves company,' yeknow."
As Peter made no reply, Benzeor quickly began to talk again, too quicklythe lad might have perceived, if he had not been so filled with his ownthoughts that all else seemed to escape his observation. "Barzilla tellsme as how ye're goin' down to Refugee Town to look up yer pop. Is thatso?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm tellin' ye it won't do any good. He isn't there--leastwise,that is, I don't believe he's there. In course I don't know anythingabout it, but it stands to reason he isn't. Ye'd better let me take yerskiff in tow, as I've done with Barzilla's, and come along back withus."
"I think I'll go on. If I don't find him there I can report to CaptainDennis. Perhaps he'll be able to help me a bit, if it's not too late."
Captain Dennis was in command of the local militia, and he and his menalready had had several skirmishes with the pine robbers. Indeed, themilitia had been enrolled with the very purpose of protecting thescattered homes from the inroads of the outlaws and refugees. Thus far,however, their efforts had not met with a very marked success.
Peter did not observe the scowl which crept over Benzeor's face at themention of the name of Captain Dennis. "Have it your own way then," saidthe man gruffly. "They say there's no fool like an old fool, but fordownright foolishness give me the young fool every time. I'm tellin' yethat ye won't find yer pop down at Refugee Town, but ye'll have to findit out for yerself, I suppose."
Surprised as Peter was at the abrupt change in Benzeor's manner, his ownpurpose was not changed, and without replying he picked up his oars andbegan to row again. He could see the men in earnest conversation as hedrew away from them, but it had not yet entered his thoughts thatanything could be wrong with them. He was puzzled to account forBarzilla's unexpected presence, but his offer to look after his home inhis absence was still fresh in his mind, and left no room for suspicion.
As for Benzeor, Little Peter knew that he was considered as a strangeman,--"odd," the country people termed it,--and he gave little heed tohim or his words. His one purpose now was to go to Refugee Town. He hadbut little fear of meeting the men who had assembled there, although heknew they were all desperate and reckless. They would not harm him, hethought, and it was possible that he might find his father there, orlearn of his whereabouts. Just what he would do if he should find him,he did not know. In any event, he would be with him again, and if he wasto be sent as a prisoner to the sugar-house in New York, or to theWhitby or the Jersey, at least his captivity might be shared.
Accordingly, Little Peter rowed steadily forward and in the course of anhour arrived at the mouth of the Navesink. Then he landed and hauled hisskiff up on the shore, striving to conceal it among the bushes whichgrew there. It was only a mile now across the sandy strip to the shoreof the ocean, and the lad began to walk rapidly. Refugee Town was notfar away, and the end of his journey would soon be gained.
The heat of the sun was now intense. Across the sands he could seeeddies in the heated air, and he felt as if he were breathing the blastsfrom an oven. His face was streaming with perspiration, while the touchof the sand beneath his feet seemed almost as if it would blister them.
He soon arrived at a place from which he could look out upon the ocean,and it was with a sigh of relief he felt its first cool breath upon hisface. Refugee Town now was not far away, so he began to run.
He stopped as he saw two gunboats riding at anchor about a quarter of amile out from the shore. What could it all mean? They were Britishvessels, their flags disclosed that; but what was their purpose incasting their anchors there?
He was upon the beach now, and stopped for a moment to gaze at thegraceful vessels. He thought he could almost make out the figures of thesailors on the deck. And a little boat was just approaching the largerof the gunboats. Doubtless it had been ashore and was now returning.
"How!"
Peter turned suddenly as he heard the exclamation, and saw Indian Johnstanding before him. His alarm subsided as he recognized his friend, andhe said reprovingly, "I thought you were going to go with me thismorning, John. Why didn't you?"
"John been. Go to 'Gee Town. No fader there."
"What, my father isn't there? Are you sure, John?"
The Indian made no reply, evidently considering his first wordssufficient. He was gazing intently at the boats in the distance, andLittle Peter almost unconsciously turned and followed his look. At firsthe could discover nothing to indicate what had interested his companion;but he soon saw that the little boat, which he had thought was returningto the gunboat, was coming to the shore. Startled by the sight, he wasabout to inquire of John whether he knew anything concerning thevessels, when he heard a shout.
At a distance of a hundred yards up the beach he saw a motley crowdapproaching. Negroes and poorly clad men were among them, and theappearance of all revealed that they were doubtless from Refugee Town.
Their own presence was discovered at the same time, and a shout greetedthem.
"Come!" said Indian John quickly; and in an instant Little Peter obeyed,and both were running swiftly over the sand along the beach.
Their flight was greeted by another shout from the men behind them, andone or two guns were discharged, but the bullets passed harmlessly overthe heads of the fugitives. One glance, however, showed Peter that someof the men had started in pursuit.
"They're after us, John!" he said in a low voice to his companion.
Instantly increasing their efforts, they sped swiftly on in theirflight, but the shouts, which were now redoubled, betrayed that thepursuit had not been abandoned. On and on ran pursuers and pursued,while at intervals a gun was discharged and the calls and shouts couldbe distinctly heard.
"THEY'RE AFTER US, JOHN!"]
For a half mile the flight had continued, and Peter was beginning tofeel that he could go no farther. The hot air of the summer morning, theburning sand beneath his feet, as well as the weariness arising from hisprevious exertions, combined to sap his strength. His breath was comingin gasps now, and down his face the perspiration was pouring instreams. He felt that he could go no farther.
Another glance behind him showed that the men had not abandoned thepursuit. A half dozen of them were still running swiftly along thebeach, and to Little Peter it seemed as if they were gaining upon him.
Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778 Page 11