The Young Continentals at Monmouth

For a space Ben Cooper and Paddy Burk sat their horses in the cold road, and stared at the house which showed the green light.

“Well,” said Ben, “there it is! At least our one-legged friend was no dealer in untruths.”

Paddy wagged his head.

“No,” said he, “he was not. But sorra the one of me would trust much to him for all. I didn’t see him, to be sure, but for all that, I take him to be a blackguard.”

“It may be,” said Ben, “that he is that, and perhaps worse than that. But,” and there was a note in the boy’s voice which his companion had come to know, “I rather fancy that there is considerable interest behind what he said; and perhaps we should not pass this place by without giving it a glance.”

“There it is, then,” said Paddy. “There it is before you. So take your glance and let us be off.”

“A glance at the inside,” smiled Ben. “There may be something under that green light which we should know about.”

But Paddy Burk shook his head.

“Better leave it alone,” spoke he.

“What,” said Ben, in a tone of banter, “do you at last pass by a chance for a ‘ruction’?”

“Faith, then,” and Paddy slipped from his horse, “at a hint like that, it’s not for my father’s son to hang back. Come along, then; I’m with you to the end of it, whatever it brings us to.”

But now it was Ben who showed the greatest caution. As he, too, dismounted, he said:

“It will be best, perhaps, for us to tie our horses at the roadside.”

“Arrah, but you have the fine head on you, so you have,” admired Paddy. “A good notion it is, for sorra the one of us knows how soon or how suddenly we’ll be wanting them.”

Accordingly the two horses were made fast to a tree near at hand; then the lads advanced toward the house with the green light.

It was a low stone structure with broad, small paned windows and a huge sloping porch. Directly over the door burned a lantern of green glass, and through the windows streamed the yellow illumination of candles. As they stepped upon the porch, the murmur of many voices came to their ears.

“They have a most excellent patronage for a place so situated,” spoke Paddy Burk, after a glance through one of the windows. “Sure a body would think a tavern upon a road like this would be lonely enough.”

Ben lifted the great wrought-iron latch and opened the door. The place was filled with a babble of voices; a knot of men sat at each table eating and drinking and talking loudly; a huge fire of logs blazed and roared in the chimney place; there was a bustle of serving men and women, and over all, the fat landlord beamed smilingly.

“A cold night, sir,” said this worthy, to Ben, with a little bow, “a cold night for the road, young gentleman.”

“Cold enough,” replied Ben, cheerily. “And your excellent fire is none amiss, landlord.”

“Bless you,” smiled the host, “you are not the first to find that out to-night, by a good bit, sir.”

“Quite a company,” said Ben, and as he spoke he surveyed the gathering curiously.

“Quite, sir,” answered the other, well pleased. “It taxes us to serve them all; but we are being paid for it in coin, so what matters a trifle of labor? At times like these when the Americans come down on us we are usually paid in notes,” and the landlord made a wry face. “And when it’s the British, they do not bother to pay at all.”

There was a short silence, then Ben said in a low voice:

“Perhaps, sir, you might have the acquaintance of a Master Bleekwood.”

The expression upon the host’s face changed instantly from one of careless good humor to one of acute interest.

“Ah, so it is you, then,” he said. “I am most pleased to see you, indeed.” Then lifting his voice he called, before Ben could prevent him:

“Master Bleekwood, a gentleman desires the favor of a word with you, sir.”

At the far end of the room a man in a brown velvet coat arose. He was tall and thin and had cadaverous cheeks and long hair, tied in the back and faintly powdered. He approached with hasty, nervous steps.

“Sir,” said he to Ben, “I am pleased to see you.”

Nothing behindhand, the lad replied:

“And I am glad to see you, Master Bleekwood. Indeed, I have had quite a deal of interest in you from the moment I first heard your name.”

“That,” said the man in the brown velvet coat, “is exceedingly kind of you.” His eyes went nervously about, as though he feared his words might be overheard. “But,” resumed he, “let us find a more secluded place; it is exceedingly annoying that there should be so many here just now.”

“How does it happen so?” asked Ben, as they went down the room, and took seats at a table which had been occupied by Master Bleekwood alone.

“People interested in our matters going to York to attend Congress,” nodded the other.

“Ah,” said Ben, wisely.

“I see you understand,” said Bleekwood. Then, after a glance over the company, he went on: “It will be no great while, now, before we have the movement upon a most excellent footing. And when that is finally accomplished, the object of our labors will be accomplished shortly after.”

“No doubt,” said Ben, with the same air of knowledge. “Not the slightest doubt in the world.”

The cadaverous Master Bleekwood coughed behind his hand.

“I am quite pleased to find you so very confident,” said he. “I am delighted, in fact. You see,” and he bent confidentially toward Ben, “I am not at all the sort of person to be engaged in this matter—least of all the matter of to-night. My nerves are not of the strongest, and the condition of things is quite a pressure upon them.”

“I can understand that very well,” said Ben, groping in the dark, but determined to go as far as he might in the matter. “These are troublous times in more ways than one.”

“Indeed, yes,” said Master Bleekwood. “Indeed, yes, sir.” His eyes wandered back to the spot where he had greeted Ben, and he added: “That is—ah—your friend, I take it?”

Ben glanced in the same direction as his companion and saw Paddy engaged in what seemed a most interesting conversation with the landlord.

“Yes,” replied Ben, nodding, “that is my friend.”

“He seems over young for one who has caused so much unrest,” complained Master Bleekwood. “But,” as he shook his head sadly, “one cannot go by ages in these strange times. Why, they say Lafayette himself is not yet twenty.”

“No more than that, at the most,” spoke Ben.

“And to think that one so youthful must have so much power invested in his personality,” sighed the melancholy Bleekwood. “It’s a most strange thing, sir, most strange.”

“Lafayette, you mean, of course,” said Ben.

“Eh? Oh, no, no! Your—ah—friend, yonder. He has told what he knows, to be sure; but that matters little. What is to be guarded against is his testimony, should any slip ever be made and the entire matter come to a—well—ah—public hearing.”

“I see,” said Ben.

“Master Hawkins is a most careful gentleman,” spoke Bleekwood.

“Master Tobias Hawkins!”

“Yes. He is extraordinarily careful. He says the small things are the ones which usually wreck the largest enterprises.”

“Perhaps there is much wisdom in that,” spoke the lad, now more alert than ever.

“I dare say there is. But Master Hawkins finds many impediments in his path. Congress, or a part of it, is anxious enough to dispossess the commander-in-chief. But there are some steps which it will not countenance, and which must not be brought to its notice.”

“To be sure,” said the lad. “That I supposed taken for granted. The present affair now is——” he paused, questioningly.

“Is one of them? Why, yes.” Master Bleekwood seemed very much troubled. “It is of that sort, I understand.” He paused a moment, and then once more leaned toward Ben, confidentially. “And this being the case, I am convinced that it should not have been entrusted to me.”

“Perhaps not,” said Ben.

“A person with stronger nerves, now,” said Master Bleekwood, “would have been a more fitting selection. It has sometimes occurred to me that I would scarcely be prepared to cope with a sudden emergency.”

For the first time Ben’s attention was caught by something in the man’s tone—a lurking something which did not at all agree with his words. Without appearing to do so, Ben looked more closely into the face of the other. Its drawn thinness, he now saw, was not the result of disease. The jaw was square and powerful; the eyes, which had seemed sunken, he now noted were merely overshadowed by more than usually high cheek bones.

“The coping with sudden emergencies is scarcely my best quality,” said the man, still in low-voiced confidence. “I am hardly what would be called a man of action.”

Lurking in the eyes of the speaker as he said this was a glint of mockery, which did not escape the boy. And, as he caught it, the suspicion at once flashed through his mind:

“Is he playing with me? Is all that he has said mere pretense?”

But Bleekwood proceeded:

“It was Master Sugden who approached me first. He seemed to fancy me for the task, for some reason.

“‘A young gentleman of the name of Seaforth will ride the road to York on such and such a night,’ said he to me. ‘And there will bear him company another young gentleman of the name of Cooper.’”

Ben started at this, but covered the fact by making a pretense of turning slightly in his chair. Bleekwood went on:

“‘The matter is one to be kept secret,’ said Sugden to me, ‘for there are foolish prejudices abroad as to certain things. The youth Seaforth you may trust to do his share of what’s going forward. And you will meet him and the—ah—other, at the Crossed Keys.’”

“The Crossed Keys!” echoed Ben, his eyes opening wide.

“Why, to be sure,” said the other. “The Crossed Keys Inn—where we sit at the present moment.”