The Young Continentals at Monmouth

For a moment it seemed as though the group of ruffians might take heart and fly at Molly Hayes, despite the scalding reception it was in her power to give them. But before they could fully make up their minds, the landlord and his fellows hurried up.

“What’s to do now?” demanded the worthy host, bewildered at this fresh outbreak. “Is the house never to be at rest? How, sirs,” to the men, “with your swords out—and at a woman. For shame! And you, mistress,” to the girl, “will nothing do but flourishing one of my coppers in the faces of my guests?”

“Your guests!” The girl put the vessel upon the floor, and wiped her arms with her apron. “And pretty guests they are for any one to have around about them.” She pointed to the room which she had just left. “Upon a bed there is the lieutenant, as you know, and there I sits by his side, giving him his medicine and his small bite to eat. And then open bursts the window like a thunderbolt and into the room they leaped, their swords in their hands, like a lot of robbers.”

“We’d never have bothered you if it hadn’t been for him,” and one of the men pointed at Paddy, who still stood all agrin behind the girl.

“Take shame for you, a parcel of thieves, each with a sword in his fist, all after the life of one poor boy. No wonder he jumped through the window into the room to get away from you, and small blame to him.”

But diplomatically the landlord, without any inquiries into the cause of the outbreak, soothed everybody; the result was that the men put up their weapons and grumblingly took seats at a table far down the room, while Molly Hayes and Paddy Burk disappeared into the room from which they had emerged a few moments before.

The cadaverous Master Bleekwood had regarded this scene with scornful eyes.

“The clumsy rascals,” he now said to Ben, “they have ruined their chances. I might have expected such.” He arose to his feet. “Do you,” said he, “try and quiet any suspicions which your friend may have; I will have a quiet word with these fellows of mine.”

Ben sat at the table trying to collect his thoughts which had been badly scattered by the events of the last few moments; then, more by chance than anything else, he saw the door which had closed in Paddy Burk open a trifle and a hand beckon him into the room beyond. He went to the door and passed through; Paddy Burk immediately closed it behind him.

“Why, then,” said Paddy, and his face had lost none of the grin of a short time before, “why, then, this is the great night entirely. Did you have a fair view of it all?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Ben. “But, tell me, how did it come about?”

“As I were standing watching the landlord and the rampaging fellow a while back,” said Paddy, “a gossoon comes up to me and begins a bit of a discussion. I’ll never know how it came about, but soon we were head over ears in a quarrel; and then he invited me to the outside where we could settle the matter without further words. Out I goes with him, behind the inn; but sorra a blow was struck before the rest of them made at me. So I slipped open the window nearest me and dove in with the lot of them after me. The rest, I think, you know already.”

“And a-plenty it is to know, faith,” said the voice of Molly Hayes. “Sure, it’s fair ashamed of myself I am for making such a botheration as I have to-night. But a body must not allow himself to be imposed upon. And above all, the lieutenant must not be disturbed.”

As the girl spoke Ben for the first time saw a pale young man, with a bandage about his head, propped up on a sort of couch. There was something familiar in his aspect, but Ben did not recognize him until he spoke.

“What,” said he, “and have I changed so much, Cooper, that you do not remember me?”

“Lieutenant Claflin!” Ben advanced and took the wasted hand held out to him. “Why, can it be you, indeed?”

“All that’s left of me,” said Lieutenant Claflin with a wan smile. “I happened to have been sent to the neighborhood of the Highland forts some little time ago; and on the day the British made their attack, I was at Fort Clinton.”

“Were you badly hurt?” asked Ben.

“It could have been worse,” said Claflin. “But it was bad enough as it was. However, I am now on the mend, and Molly, here, is taking me home.”

“Home?” Ben looked puzzled.

“Ah, yes, of course, you have not heard; but since the army of Lord Howe has been in the possession of Philadelphia, my father has changed his place of residence to the town of York.”

“Many have done the like,” said Ben Cooper. “My own father has been forced from his house at Germantown and is now at Reading.” They discussed the situation for a time and then Ben said: “You must have suffered great hardship in the long journey across the Jerseys.”

“Not so much as you might think,” replied Lieutenant Claflin with a laugh. “Here’s Molly, wife to a fine fellow who is a sergeant in the artillery, Hayes by name; and she’s stood between me and all the hard knocks I would otherwise have had.”

“Arrah, then, sir,” said Molly Hayes, “is it leaving you to die I’d be doing? And you with the young sister and old father you’ve so often told me about! Anybody could see by the way you speak of them, sir, that it’s the world they think of you; and if you’d a-died what would they have done at all, at all?”

“Sure enough, Molly,” said young Claflin, soberly; “sure enough. Well, they will have you to thank when we get to York.”

“It’s little enough they have to thank me for!” protested Molly. “Sure, anybody would have done the like.”

“Well, nobody but you made any attempt at it,” said Claflin. “You must know,” and the speaker turned to Ben, “that Molly is a great girl.”

“So I should think,” laughed Ben, “after the few exhibitions of her prowess which I have witnessed to-night.”

Molly laughed and flushed at this.

“Arrah, don’t be judging me from that, young gintleman,” she pleaded.

“No, indeed,” smiled Claflin, “subduing a bully and putting to flight a crew of murderous wretches like those a while ago are scarcely performances that will do her complete justice. Now at Fort Clinton, for example——”

“Hush, lieutenant,” commanded young Mistress Hayes. But he never heard her.

“When the enemy had hemmed us in so that there was scarce time for the hindmost to make safely away, who remembered that there was a loaded cannon left unfired? Who was it that went back, in the peril of her very life, applied the match and discharged it in their very faces as they came rushing on, shouting in triumph? Who but Molly Hayes, herself?”

“The lieutenant is a kind-hearted young man,” Molly explained to Ben. “And he do be always giving more credit to people than is their due.”

“I can plainly see that you’re more than an ordinary person, Mistress Hayes,” smiled Ben, “and so I will not take even your own word against yourself.”

And so laughing and chatting they passed a half hour; at the end of this time Paddy Burk and Molly Hayes and Ben and Lieutenant Claflin became immersed in more momentous things.

“My father,” the young officer had said, “does a great deal of entertaining, even at York.”

This remark was brought out in his insisting that Ben make them a visit while in the town. And instantly upon hearing it, Ben’s face took on an expression of much seriousness.

“In Philadelphia,” said he, “all the notables flocked to your father’s entertainments.”

The lieutenant laughed.

“And they do so at York, if what I hear be so,” said he.

From that moment Ben grew more and more thoughtful; it were as though he were revolving an important something in his mind. After a little the lieutenant noticed this.

“Hello,” said he. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking,” answered Ben, “of a small chain of incidents which happened to-night, and also of some larger things, which took place some time ago, but which are intimately connected with them.”

“I see.”

“And,” proceeded Ben Cooper, “I have been wondering if——”

“If—what?” inquired Claflin, as he paused.

“I scarcely think you will understand unless I tell you all that has happened,” said Ben. “So if you will listen——”

“Go on,” directed the young lieutenant.

So with that Ben began the story of Tobias Hawkins at the point where that gentleman’s path had first crossed his own; step by step he followed it until he reached the doings of that very night. And when he had done the lieutenant drew a deep breath.

“Well,” said he, in amazement, “this is indeed a tale.”

“It is not done even yet,” said Ben.

“I can see that,” replied the other. “I can see that readily enough.”

“The story of Tobias Hawkins is not yet finished,” said Ben. “Nor will it ever be, to the satisfaction of true believers in liberty, at any rate—until several links are added to the chain by a hand other than his own.”

“You have some sort of a plan,” cried the other, sitting more upright upon his couch. “What is it?”

“Listen,” said Ben. And so, with their heads close together and their voices pitched low, they sat for the better part of another hour. And when they had finished, Lieutenant Claflin grasped Ben’s hand.

“I’ll do what I can,” declared he. “And my father and sister will do the same. If success to your plan can be won by effort upon our parts, depend upon it that we will do our best.”

“That is all I ask,” said Ben.

After a few moments more the latter arose.

“We must make haste,” said he. “Paddy and I are on our way to York now, and must lose no more time. However, I will see you before a great while.”

And so with good-byes for the injured lieutenant and his nurse, Ben and the Irish lad made their way out by a rear door.

“It will be just as well,” said Ben, “if we avoid the attention of Master Bleekwood and his friends. Our way is a long one, and we’ll be the better for not having an enemy in our rear.”

Their horses were found where they had tied them; they mounted silently and proceeded upon their way. Nothing further was encountered upon the road; and after a wearying ride they finally reached York to learn that their services were not in demand.

“A curt reception,” said Ben, thoughtfully.

“It have a queer look, so it have,” said Paddy, scratching his head.

“In that it agrees with many other things which we have encountered of late,” spoke Ben Cooper. “And it agrees entirely with the idea I formed some time back regarding this summons.”

“You mean——”

“That we were never really wanted—here. It was Seaforth and I who were wanted, at the Crossed Keys—Seaforth the decoy, and I the victim.”

As soon as they were sufficiently rested they returned to the American camp, and made their report. However, Ben said nothing as to what had happened upon the road, and warned Paddy to do likewise.

Not long after this the forts which guarded the passage of the Delaware fell before the assault of the British. A pressure was brought upon Washington to attack Philadelphia, which he resisted with all his might.

“Shall the army of the north alone win victories?” was the cry. “Can we not strike even a blow with the army of the Schuylkill? Give us a general who will fight.”

With at least outward calm, Washington faced this fresh outburst against him. He knew that the British defenses were too powerful to be taken at that time, and he refused to dash his small force against their bristling lines.

“It would mean only destruction,” said he, and the greater part of his officers agreed with him.

His enemies, always at work, about this time succeeded in altering the form of the Board of War—and most significant of all, General Gates was made president of it. Mifflin was also one of the five who composed the board, which had the direction of military affairs in its hands; and it was plain to be seen that these two were intended to be the master spirits of the war. At once the board began its work. Two inspector-generals were appointed; and one of these was Conway, who was given the rank of major-general, in the teeth of Washington’s plainly expressed opinion as to the man’s unfitness.

Seeing that nothing was to be gained by keeping the field in the dead of winter, Washington now prepared to hut his army at Valley Forge, about twenty miles from Philadelphia. At once another cry burst upon him.

“Why have we raised and officered an army?” was the burden of this complaint. “Its purpose is to protect us from our enemies. And to do this it should keep the field.”

The brave heart of the commander-in-chief burned in his breast at this; his gallant fellows were without shoes, blankets or clothing to protect them from the icy winds. Their tents were thin and gave them little shelter; and to ask men so circumstanced to keep the field was heartless and inhuman. So in spite of the storm of protest, the ragged army took up its gloomy march through the snow to Valley Forge. Cold, bitter weather was upon them; the naked feet of many left bloody footprints in the snow. And yet, while this suffering was being undergone, great quantities of clothing, shoes and woolen stockings were lying at intervals along distant roadsides, rotting for want of teams, supplied by those in charge of such things, to cart them where they were held in such pressing need. Washington’s enemies were now in charge of such supplies, and this was another blow leveled at him—a blow calculated to break his high heart and cause him to throw up his commission.

Inch by inch the plotters had forced General Schuyler from his command in the north; successful there, they were now using the same methods upon Washington. But through it all he stood unflinching and unmoved save by the suffering of his soldiers. The depths of the conspirators’ meanness was equaled only by the depths of his courage; the obstacles erected in his path, the pitfalls dug for his feet were meant for one whose patience and patriotism could be measured. But in a splendid soul like that of General Washington, these virtues are unmeasured; and so he passed on serene and unmoved, his calm eyes fixed steadily upon the future.

It was while the naked army shivered in the midst of that most rigorous of winters at Valley Forge that Ben Cooper one day received a letter. It read:

“Come at once. Everything now ready.”

A glance at the signature showed that it was “Claflin”; then instantly he went to headquarters and requested leave to visit York at once. As the young rider was possessed of the confidence of those in command, this was granted without delay. Immediately his horse was saddled and eagerly mounted; and away he went over the winter road.