The Young Continentals at Trenton

When George Prentiss and Peggy Camp reached the inn, they found it brilliant with lights, festoons of green branches and laurels hung all about; holly berries gleamed redly against their backgrounds of somber leaves. The public rooms were alive with merrymakers; the gleaming costumes of the ladies mingled with the rich European uniforms of the German and English officers. Bright looks and happy laughter were everywhere; the beloved band of Colonel Rahl throbbed through a German waltz.

Peggy instantly sought out Mrs. Hawksworth; what explanation she made of her absence, George did not know; but he noted that both Mrs. Hawksworth and her cold-faced husband looked at him searchingly.

It was then past midnight; George was on fire to be off that he might watch for Washington’s coming; but he knew that this would be both dangerous and useless, and so he remained where he was.

The clock struck two, and then pointed to the half hour before Peggy came to him again.

“They forbade me speaking to you until they had heard and understood everything concerning my escapade, as they call it,” she laughed. “And so I had to steal away.” Then, eagerly: “What have you heard? Are they really coming?”

“I have heard nothing,” said George. “We can’t hope to get news before the last moment. The rifles will then tell us what we are to expect.”

“I can’t get the picture of those great blocks of ice out of my mind,” she said, with a shudder. “And then the river looked so dark and so deep. And it was so cold and pitiless.”

They stood by one of the windows at the front of the inn; the room, save for a few other couples, was deserted. Through an open doorway at one side they could see the dancers whirl by; also there came the gleam of the brass instruments and the high-colored uniforms of the bandsmen. Another open door showed the numerous parties grouped about the tables engrossed in their game. Colonel Rahl was among those nearest the door; opposite him sat Mr. Hawksworth, and grouped about the table were numerous officers and Tory residents of quality.

“The colonel is ill prepared, should things go as we wish,” whispered George.

“The worse prepared, the better for our friends,” said Peggy, sagely.

The snow all about the inn was packed hard by the steady tramping of the Hessian guard. Under a beefy sergeant they kept all intruders at a distance; the squeaking of their boots and the clanking of their equipment were constant.

Three o’clock struck, and it was some time afterward that George became aware of an altercation going on outside the window where they sat. Since seeing Hyde and Henderson he had kept himself much in the background, but all matters in any way unusual were quick to draw his attention. So he turned at once to see what was going forward.

The beefy sergeant and a number of his men were grouped outside; in their midst was a burly figure with a face blood-clotted, a shirt-frill crimson and with the bearing of one about to sink down from exhaustion. His legs seemed to sag beneath him; his big head weakly swayed from side to side; his hands pawed at the Hessians in an effort to hold himself erect.

“Slade!” exclaimed George, under his breath. And as he said it, he stepped back from the window, drawing Peggy away also. “He’s slipped out of the things I tied him up with.”

“Does he suspect anything, do you think?” whispered the girl. “Did he hear what we said as we talked by the fire?”

“Perhaps.”

“And he’s here to give warning.” She drew in her breath in a great frightened gasp, and her eyes were fixed upon the blood-smeared man swaying so weakly in the snow.

“Colonel Rahl!” they heard him say. “Colonel Rahl!”

“Well, what about him?” demanded the fat sergeant, waving away the pawing hands.

“I must see him—at once.”

The sergeant laughed. His men, who understood almost no English, looked at Slade with stolid indifference.

“You must see him,” said the sergeant “Plenty peoples think the same as yourself to-night.” He waved a hand. “Poof! Get away!”

“I tell you I must see him,” said Slade.

“Make me no troubles,” advised the Hessian sergeant. “Get away, or you’ll feel der ramroad your back across.”

“I have business with him—important business.”

“Der colonel no business listens to, to-night yet,” stated the beefy sergeant.

“He’ll listen to this,” cried Slade, desperately, almost sinking down in the snow from very weakness. “Ask him to give me a moment.”

But the sergeant, bored, gestured him away. Two of the men seized him by the shoulder.

“Wait!” cried Slade. “Just a moment.”

From his pockets he took a number of broad gold pieces; and at sight of them the sergeant’s eyes shone.

“These are yours,” said Slade, “if you carry a note to your colonel.”

The sergeant nodded.

“Business so important as dot,” grinned he, “must be attended to, a little.”

At a command of the sergeant, one of the soldiers brought an ink pot and a quill from the headquarters across the way; with weak, numbed fingers, Slade scrawled a few lines upon a sheet of paper.

“Take that to him,” he said. “That will answer, I think.”

The sergeant accepted the note and the gold pieces.

“Inside,” said he, pointing to headquarters, “a fire is by der hall. Go there and wait. When I der time get, I’ll give this to der colonel.”

“You will be sure?”

“You will wait der fire beside,” stated the fat sergeant. “To my own affairs I will attend myself.”

As there was nothing to be gained by insistence, Slade turned and limped slowly across the street; then the door opened and closed behind him.

“If he gives that note to Colonel Rahl,” breathed Peggy, “it may destroy everything.”

“It’s half-past three,” replied George, quietly, looking at his watch. “The army has more than likely now reached this side of the river.”

“Oh, do you think so!”

“I do. But,” and there was an anxious note in his voice, “for all that, if the message did not come under the eyes of Rahl, it would be much better.”

Here came a loud shout of laughter from Rahl. He had won. His face was flushed and exultant.

“Ach!” he shouted. “I have not yet forgotten the game.” Then noting that his band had ceased playing he added, with a frown: “What is the matter with the music? Eh? Tell them to play. What do I pay the swine for?” Then to his companions, “Come, deal, deal——”

Muddled, excited, engrossed in his game, the leader of the Hessians had no thought of his trust; had any one spoken of an American attack at that moment, he would have been treated as one beneath contempt. On and on went the game, the dance and the throbbing of the band; the minutes passed and grew in number; the long hand of young Prentiss’ watch climbed slowly upward.

“Four o’clock,” he said at last to Peggy, who sat huddled in her cloak in the outer room. “It would seem that the sergeant has forgotten Slade’s note entirely.”

That Slade had arrived at this conclusion also was at that moment made evident; he came out of the headquarters across the way, his face cleansed of the blood stains and seeming much stronger. At once he accosted the fat sergeant. That worthy gazed at him stupidly for a moment; his naturally sluggish brain had been rendered more so than ever by the cold of the early morning; then he remembered.

“Ach! Donner und blitz!” he cried. “I have not der colonel spoken to yet. But I will. Stand here der door by.”

So saying, he entered the outer room where George and Peggy stood alone by the fire. The sergeant saluted awkwardly; he was a plain man, and the lights and beautiful women in the rooms beyond rather bewildered him.

Instantly Peggy was at his side, smiling and bewitching.

“Did you want anything, sergeant?”

Again the fat man’s hand went to his hat.

“A message for der colonel, Fräulein,” he said. “But,” with a glance toward the card room, “he don’t like to be disturbed when he blays. So I will wait.”

He had turned to go when Peggy stopped him.

“A message,” she said, insinuatingly. “It might be important. Give it to me.”

“You will hand it to him, Fräulein?” eagerly.

“To be sure—and before very long.”

“Danke schön.” The man went out, leaving Slade’s note in her hand.

George looked at her; there was admiration in his face.

“That was very clever,” he said.

“It was necessary,” answered Peggy, and she laughed.

“But you promised to give it to Rahl,” said George, his eyes now on the message.

“I know. And I will—but not until it is too late to do harm.”

Again they stood together before the hearth, watching the curling flames and the darting sparks. Then suddenly he reared his head, as he became aware of a jarring, far-off sound. His eyes went to the window; a Hessian guard had paused in his monotonous tramping and stood as though listening. Again it came, a sullen jarring, far off, yet somehow plain.

“What was that?” Peggy’s hand was on his arm.

“I don’t know. And yet it sounds like——” he paused as the sound came again. “Yes, it is! It is volley firing!”

“They are here!” She bent her head to catch the sound. “But it seems so far off.”

“That is because of the snow. They are firing on the outposts, and none of these are stationed more than a half mile outside the town.”

At once she left his side and started toward the room where Rahl sat. And as she did so, the tired musicians began to play once more.

“Where are you going?” George was at her side.

But she did not answer in words; between her fingers he saw the crumpled scrawl of the Tory, Slade; and as she held it up, it replied eloquently.

He followed her. The men and women about the table were eagerly absorbed in the game; the room was hot, and crowded with onlookers. As the girl paused beside Colonel Rahl, several players lifted their heads surprisedly; the idlers as though they felt that something was about to occur came a step nearer to the Hessian leader’s table.

“Colonel Rahl,” said the girl.

The man turned his flushed face toward her. She held out the paper.

“A message,” she said. “Your sergeant brought it.”

“Ah, yes; I will see to it.”

He took the note and stuffed it feverishly into his breast pocket, never once looking at it; then he gave his attention once more to the game.

George noted that the candles were beginning to grow dim; and this told him that dawn was at hand. Above the blare of the brass throated instruments he fancied more than once that he caught the scattering discharge of small arms. At length, unable to stand the suspense, he turned to leave the room; and as he did so, came face to face with Major Hyde. A sarcastic smile lit the man’s cold eyes.

“It is something of a surprise,” said he. “But, nevertheless, I am very glad to see you.” Then in a loud tone he added: “Colonel Rahl, if you will summon the guard, I’ll give this spy in charge.”

“Spy!” Men and women sprang to their feet; swords were drawn, chairs were overturned. With a swift look over his shoulder George saw Peggy’s face whiten; then like a panther he sprang upon Hyde. Down went the man as though stricken by a thunderbolt; over his body leaped the young New Englander. As he did so the outer door was flung open and the fat sergeant bounced into the inn.

“Der feind!” he roared. A volley of musketry rolled through the streets. “Der feind!”

George flashed by him and gained the street; out of the inn poured Rahl and his officers, excited, confused, buttoning up their greatcoats and feeling for their swords.

“Heraus!” shouted Rahl, flashing his blade from its sheath. “Heraus!”

The cry was taken up by the officers; the Hessians, heavy eyed, gorged with feasting and totally unfit for battle, thronged out of the warm houses into the bitter night. Drums were beating; the town was roaring with fright.

A group of artillerymen formed behind the half circle of guns before Rahl’s headquarters; their matches were lighted and they waited for the word that would scatter death into the onrushing Americans. But there was no officer collected enough to give it; and in another instant the gunners were bayoneted at their posts.

George Prentiss saw two forces of Americans, coming from different directions, form a junction; at their heads he recognized Sullivan and the commander-in-chief himself. Seizing the musket of a fallen Hessian, he joined the massed column. A battery of six guns under Forest was drawn up and opened upon Rahl and his frantic brigade at a few hundred paces.

“Hot work,” said a voice at George’s side. And turning he saw the forms of Ezra and Nat Brewster. Ben Cooper, his chubby cheek pressed against a rifle-barrel, was drawing a bead upon an enemy.

“Glad to see you’re all right,” he nodded to George. “But I’ll tell you more about it later on.”

Under the galling fire of Forest’s artillery, Rahl drew his men off to the east side of the town. Hand’s riflemen took up a place in his rear while he was forming his command. Desperate fighters that they were, the mercenaries still had a chance to escape. But they so despised the Americans, and their quarters in the town were so stowed with plunder, that they determined to stand their ground. Rahl gave the word to charge. The Americans braced to meet them, their rifles held ready.

“Steady! Steady!” ran through the columns. “Hold your fire.”

In spite of this a scattering of bullets met the Hessians as they began their charge. Even in the dawn, the face of Washington shone with exultation. Ezra, who stood near him, heard him say to one of his officers:

“They are gorged like animals and cannot fight long. After the first volley, we’ll give them the bayonet.”

A moment later he lifted his hand; the order to fire was given, and the onrushing Hessians began to fall. Through the dimness and smoke George saw Rahl press a hand to his side and sway in his saddle.

“He’s hit!” cried the lad.

And no sooner had the words left his mouth than the Hessian leader pitched forward under his horse’s feet. Dismayed at his fall, the mercenaries faltered; then the hardy colonials broke upon them with sword, bayonet and pistol; but the sluggish, overfed foreigners had no stomach for hard fighting and in a few moments the cry went up for quarter; and then to a man they threw down their arms.

It was high noon before the last batch of prisoners had been banded together to be sent across the river; and half the American force was busy in making ready the Hessian stores and plunder for transportation. Now and then a shot rang out which told of a detected looter, or an unearthed enemy; but for the most part the streets were quiet.

Private property, by Washington’s strict order, was in every way protected. Before the Hawksworth mansion paced a guard of stalwart continentals; within was gathered a party which laughed and talked joyously. Stout old Merchant Camp shook Ezra Prentiss by the hand for perhaps the tenth time.

“And so you are Seth’s other grandson, eh? Well, well! And both of you hold to Washington and the Congress, you say! Were there ever such times in the world before!”

“And grandfather, too, don’t forget that,” laughed Ezra.

But the staunch old Tory did not laugh.

“So Seth has gone over, too! Well, every man to his own beliefs. I am alone among you, but,” and his stubborn old head lifted high, “I’m a king’s man still, and will be to the end.”

Peggy and her brother, Herbert, together with young Brewster, Ben Cooper and George, were grouped at the fireside. First Peggy would look at George and then at Ezra.

“I am almost frightened, Cousin George,” she said in an awed sort of way, “when I look at you both. You look so much alike that it’s really uncanny.”

The heavy-browed Herbert, who proved a most companionable fellow, said to Ben, aside:

“They look alike, but it is not possible that Ezra is as great a fellow as George. It would be expecting too much.”

But Ben waved the notion aside at once.

“There is no greater chap than Ezra Prentiss in the army,” said he. “And after you’ve come to know him, you’ll say so yourself.”

“No, no,” said old Mr. Camp to something which Ezra had just remarked. “Howe is at New York; I’ll go back there; that is the place for me.”

“You’ll probably meet with Cousin Hyde and his friend Henderson there,” said Peggy. “Mr. Brewster has just been telling me that they escaped.”

“A pair of rascals, my dear,” said the old gentleman. “I want nothing to do with them.”

“You will go back to New York also, I suppose,” said George to Peggy.

“No,” she said, proudly. “I have lived my last under British rule. Herbert will take me to Philadelphia.”

“Then,” spoke Ezra, “we’ll see you often, more than likely, for, if the indications are to be trusted, the army will be thereabouts for some time to come.”

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