The Young Continentals at Trenton

The leader of the colonials was a tall man with wide, sloping shoulders and a harsh face. He had quick, eager eyes that snapped inquiringly and questioned everything upon which they rested.

Halting his men in the center of the public room, he surveyed its three occupants.

“Your position and consequence, gentlemen?” said he. “And how is it that you are here to-night and not at your homes?”

The peddler chuckled and cracked the great fingers of each hand.

“A person of my station, sir,” he made answer, “is at home wherever night overtakes him. I am by occupation a peddler, selling honest stuffs and asking ready silver in exchange.”

“Your name?” demanded the officer, and his eager eyes snapped more than ever.

“Thomas Friend.”

Watching the officer’s face, George saw it change grimly at this answer; he made no remark, but turning to Herbert Camp, inquired:

“And how is it with you, my lad?”

“My name is Bardwell,” returned the young man, composedly. “I suppose, sir,” with a glance at the party of soldiers, “that you have a right to make these inquiries?”

“Ay,” replied the officer, “that I have; and I’m not called upon to show any credentials, either. This uniform will do all that,” and he slapped himself upon the chest, “and so out with the rest of it. What are you, and what is your errand here?”

“I am clerk to a mercer in the city,” replied young Camp—“Mr. Nathan in Maiden Lane, to be exact. And I’m on my way beyond the Harlem upon some matters of business.”

“You could have gotten beyond the Harlem if you had had the mind,” spoke the leader of the party, positively. “There was no reason for your stopping here.”

“I dislike traveling at night,” said the other.

“Then you should have started earlier in the day.” And with this the officer turned upon George. “And you, sir?” he demanded, peremptorily. “What have you to say?”

“I am from Cambridge,” replied George. “I arrived in New York only recently and am traveling about.”

“You selected a most indifferent time and place to do it in,” the other made answer. Then with a gesture that took in all three he added: “You are under arrest.”

Herbert Camp was upon his feet instantly. George fancied he saw his face paling.

“But why?” asked young Camp. “You have no right to interfere with inoffensive people.”

“Not if I know them to be such,” replied the officer, and he laughed harshly. “But my orders are to take all suspicious characters in charge. This man,” and he pointed to the peddler, “I have orders to take wherever and whenever found. You two,” and his snapping eyes shot glances at the two young men, “I’ll take charge of for further examination. I have no desire to inflict hardship upon you,” with something like an apologetic note in his voice, “but these are troublesome times, and we have suffered a great deal through secret agencies. If you are what you claim to be, you will be put to as little disadvantage as possible.”

With that he made a sign to his men; they immediately approached the three guests of the “Wheat Sheaf” and laid hands upon them. But if they expected unresisting submission, they reckoned without the spirit of the strong-limbed peddler. With a sweep of his arms he dashed the troopers aside; then with remarkable agility he bounded to a window; there was a smashing of glass, a rending of wood, and he was gone. Several muskets flashed after him, their reports sounding like thunder in the low ceilinged room.

A soldier had apparently been left to guard the horses.

“Halt!” he cried as his charges began to stamp with fear of the musket shots.

Then there came a racing of hoofs and the sound of a discharging pistol. At the command of their officer, some of the soldiers rushed out after him; the remainder seized upon George and Herbert Camp roughly; their arms were pinioned in an instant with a couple of stout leather belts.

There was a roar of firearms, and hoarse, excited shouts sounded from the darkness; then nags were evidently mounted in haste; the rattle of hoofs sounded as the riders plunged away in pursuit. But that all had not started in the chase was soon made plain. Voices, loud and interrogatory, came from without. Apparently some one made answer; but the answer was not of the sort to satisfy, for again the voices chorused their inquiries. The reply to this was also unsatisfactory and still inaudible to those in the public room. Then came the sound of heavy steps upon the porch; in the hall there was a slight scuffle and then the slope-shouldered officer entered. And after him two of his men led between them—Peggy Camp!

A cry of astonishment broke from the lips of her brother, while George Prentiss gave a gasp.

“Peggy!” exclaimed young Camp.

The girl’s eyes mutely commanded him to be still; but the eager-eyed officer caught the look.

“Too late,” laughed he. “The young man is evidently not accustomed to surprises.” His gaze went from Herbert to the girl with great enjoyment. “And so,” said he to the young man, “you are acquainted with this lady?”

Young Camp made no reply; Peggy stood stiffly upright with her chin tilted proudly, an expression of scorn in her eyes; and she also was silent when the man turned his glance upon her once more.

But for all her pride of bearing, for all her scorn of her captor, George noted a small tremble of the lower lip; it were as though her restraint would goat any moment and the tears begin to flow. And as he watched he saw the resentment in her eyes now and then give place to something else. It was fear; the shivering fear of one who is helpless.

The officer addressed her. “It may be,” said he, “that you can explain your presence outside.”

“Perhaps I could,” she returned, and if there was fear in her eyes, there was no trace of it in her voice.

“It would be somewhat interesting to hear your reasons for lurking about.”

“It would be equally interesting to hear your reasons for treating me as you have done,” answered Peggy, quietly.

“As to that, I have my orders,” and the man laughed, not without good nature. “And in the face of what has just now occurred, I am bound to be even more strict than ever in carrying them out.”

While the officer questioned and the girl answered, her glances went here and there about the room like those of a hunted thing seeking a way of escape. The eyes of George Prentiss closely followed after; but they saw things that her startled glances passed over.

He noted four muskets stacked near a window. These belonged to the men who had pinioned Herbert Camp and himself. The men who had brought Peggy into the room each held one.

“But they,” reflected George, “were fired after the peddler, and have not been reloaded. The same is true of the pistol in the belt of the officer.”

Also he noted something which Peggy could not see. This was that the belt which held his arms behind him had begun to slip; he felt that at any moment he desired he could free himself from it.

He found himself thrilling at the thought. His entrance into the “Wheat Sheaf” had put him upon the track of a promising Tory plot, the coming of the soldiers had all but ruined his chances of getting to the bottom of it; but now hope sprang up once more. If he could help Herbert Camp to escape from the colonials, he felt that he’d have even more chance than before to sound the plot, whatever its nature, to the bottom.

Mistress Trout, the man Job, and all the other inn servants had been greatly put about by the events of the last half hour. As the worst seemed over, they had ventured into the public room and stood listening with much attention to what was being said. The landlady at length took courage; at first this found expression in low-voiced but acid comments upon the proceedings; but when the officer turned to his men and gave orders that the prisoners be removed, she broke out:

“It is a disgrace and a shame, sir, that an inn that has been respected for forty years must be invaded this way, and its guests carried off like common thieves.”

The officer favored her with no very friendly look.

“Perhaps if your inn had not been respected for so long, mistress,” said he, “things would be in a better way for us all. As for these,” and he pointed to George and Herbert Camp, “perhaps common thieves would be far less dangerous to the public good.”

“How dare you hint that I would harbor such!” stormed Mistress Trout. “How dare you, sir! Oh, things have come to a pretty pass, indeed, when honest people must submit to insult from a parcel of upstarts!”

“Hard words, landlady!” said the officer sternly. “You had better put them in your pocket, for you are not so trusted as to be greatly in favor. You are known to have given house-room to plotting king’s men these many weeks back; indeed, there’s not been such another nest of rascals in all the country round about—and that’s saying a great deal.”

The angular Mistress Trout was about to reply, and Herbert Camp and Peggy were being led from the room, when George Prentiss suddenly slipped the belt from his arms. Like a flash he whipped up the four loaded muskets and hurled them through a window at the back; and with a bound he reached the door leading to the hall, flung aside the two soldiers who had charge of Peggy and her brother, slapped the door in their faces, slipped a bolt into place and went racing down the hall. He drew the girl along with him, and young Camp was hard at his heels.

In the light of the inn’s outside lamp he drew his hanger, of which they had not deprived him, and slashed Herbert’s bonds away.

“The horses!” he breathed; “it’s our only chance.”

He had counted upon the horses of the remaining troopers being still outside, and probably unguarded. And in this he was right; there stood the troop in a line, the bridles cast loosely over the hitching-posts. Lightly, George tossed Peggy upon the back of one of these, while Herbert leaped upon another. The young New Englander was in the saddle instantly, and casting loose the other horses, with shouts and blows, sent them scattering down the road.

All this only occupied a few moments; and those few moments the soldiers wasted in endeavoring to force the door which George had bolted in their faces. Their officer was the first to recover his wits, and with excited shouts he drove them to the windows. Out they came, leaping like so many jacks-in-the-box; but the escaping three were already mounted, had given their nags rein and were speeding along the dark road. In a fury the officer drew his pistol and snapped it; the two soldiers followed his example with their muskets. But they were empty, as George had guessed.

And when they had rammed fresh charges home, the flying trio were beyond range. Indeed the sound of the horses’ hoofs had almost died away.