The Young Continentals at Trenton

There were sundry other patrons of the “King’s Arms” gathered in the public room at the time, dining on the wholesome food for which the inn was noted. There were officers of the colonial army; there were, also, citizens of the town, who, judging from their discourse, were of various political complexions; and, also, there were many smartly attired ladies of apparent consequence.

The peppery Lee and his successor in command of New York had shown a marvelously short temper in their dealings with the more vigorous of the Tories; but for all that there were many of them left in the town, and, too, they were not of the sort that keep a still tongue to gain favor.

Indeed, as he listened to the conversation going on upon all sides, young Prentiss was greatly astonished. Round about Boston, the king’s men had not dared to express themselves since Boston fight; but here they not only proclaimed their views, but the patriots listened patiently.

“It is because the matter has not progressed so rapidly here as in Boston,” he reasoned with himself. “The king’s army is not strong enough to take the initiative—and the friends of liberty have not yet abandoned hope of patching up matters with the ministers at London.”

Very near to George, one of these discussions was fast gathering volume, but, as his breakfast on board the “Nancy Breen” had been of the slimmest, he gave more attention to his dinner than to the dispute. But gradually, as the voices grew in sternness, the young fellow noticed something familiar in them; so turning his head he recognized Merchant Camp, his partner Dana, and the heavy-faced young militiaman, Camp’s nephew.

The old Tory merchant, a napkin tucked about his neck, was flourishing his fork and airing his opinions with much relish. He sat directly facing his nephew, and seemed to be scorching him with sarcasm and his private version of the facts.

“Keep to your opinions, if you style them as such,” he was saying. “You are only a lad and I will not quarrel with you because of them. But, as sure as the sun shines at this moment, there will be wreck and ruin for many because of the loose thinking of you and the like of you.”

He put down the fork carefully upon his plate and now shook his finger beneath the sullen young man’s nose, while he went on:

“Because your party has forced a handful of king’s troops to keep behind the walls of the fort—because you have taken the government’s cannon with none to prevent you, you must needs fancy yourselves great fellows, indeed. And because the king’s frigates do not open upon you, you think it is because they fear you. Bah, sir, bah! I never credited reasoning creatures with so little sense. The reason why the garrison remains quiet—the reason why Lee and Putnam were permitted to seize the guns—the reason why the frigates below there have withheld their broadsides, is because they are biding their time. The answer will yet come, never fear; and when it does, trust His Majesty’s officers to make it full and complete.”

The heavy-browed young man shook his head, stubbornly, and looked more sullen than ever.

“They are awaiting reinforcements,” said he. “We all know that. But what difference does it make? Let them come. By the time they get here, General Washington will also have arrived with the American army. He drove the British out of Boston, and he’ll drive them out of New York.”

“He drove them out of Boston—I grant you that. But it was because vigorous measures had not been taken in the first place. Gage was too lenient—too easily gulled. He did not dream that British subjects would ever take up arms against their sovereign. But here it is different. Howe knows the full measure of this treason, and he should come prepared to cope with it. He’ll be provided with fleets and armies and equipment; and no doubt he’ll have his instructions as to how to act. It’ll not be the case of Gage over again. Trust the king’s ministers for that. And another thing,” here the old man’s voice was pitched a key lower, “in the colony of New York, your brave Washington and his fellows will have a different people to deal with. The countryside will not be with him as in Massachusetts. There will be thousands of loyal gentlemen; and besides, there will be the Johnson family.”

In spite of the lowered voice, the words were caught by those seated close by; and George Prentiss noticed that every one near paused and looked up.

“Hah! Those Johnsons!” grumbled a gentleman of undoubted Dutch extraction at the table at George’s right. “A dangerous set of rascals, indeed!”

“If I may make bold, sir,” asked the young man, “to whom does he refer?”

The pursy gentleman looked astonished at this.

“Is it possible,” said he thickly, “that there is any one who does not know of Sir William Johnson, once His Majesty’s Indian agent?”

“But is he not now dead?”

“Yes, but his descendants still live,” complained the other, his broad Dutch face full of indignation. “Sir William made vast wealth in his office; he was almost actual sovereign of the Six Nations. His family have all his riches and all his power over the Indians, and they threaten to bring the tomahawks upon us if we persist in our demands for justice.”

George could not help a shudder at this; that the British might resort to the Indians to help their cause had never occurred to him.

“And, uncle,” demanded the heavy-browed young man, “do you approve of so barbarous a method of putting down the popular will as Guy Johnson or Colonel Claus could supply?”

Here Mr. Camp was seized with a fit of coughing; that he did not approve of it was plain enough; but he was not the man to give an opponent in debate the slightest advantage. It was Mr. Dana who next spoke.

“Far be it from any of us to desire bloodshed of whatsoever kind,” said he. “For my part, I fervently hope that the misguided people of these provinces will shortly see their error, and abide by what the law plainly requires them to do.”

Here the sullen young man laughed scornfully.

“There will be blood letting and plenty of it, never fear,” exclaimed he. “The Sons of Liberty will never give a step in their demands; and England’s present ministers are not of the sort to let a rich prize slip from them without a struggle.”

“And why should they?” demanded Mr. Camp in a high voice. “Why should they, nephew? These colonies cost men’s lives and much treasure to acquire, and why should the government not defend them?”

Here he plunged into an angry defense of any action that the ministry might take; his voice was so unguarded and his manner so violent that the waiters went scurrying here and there; and finally the landlord himself approached hastily.

“I must beg of you, Mr. Camp,” suggested he in a smooth voice, “that you moderate your language. You are giving offense to my guests, sir.”

For a moment it seemed as though the short-tempered old king’s man was about to flare forth as he had upon the wharf earlier in the day. But a remembrance of what had followed that outburst, perhaps, deterred him. He waved his hand, and said:

“Ah, yes; I had forgotten. I ask your pardon.”

Highly gratified at quelling a possible disturbance so easily, the landlord was about to turn away when a voice bellowed:

“Come now, a place—a place! Must I be kept waiting as though my money were not as good as another’s? Get me a place, blockhead, or I’ll see what cudgeling will do for you.”

A frightened little man in a huge apron fluttered about somewhat helplessly.

“Here is a place,” said he, drawing back his chair at a table in a shadowy corner. “And a very good place, too, sir. Much to be desired, indeed.”

“You’ll tempt me to lay my stick over your back yet,” bellowed the impatient guest. “What sort of a situation is that for a man of my quality? A fitting place for a dog to curl up, but not for a gentleman to eat his dinner in.”

“This way, sir,” interposed the host, much in haste, for complaint was distasteful to him. “This way. Here is a place well lighted and well aired,” and he drew out a chair at George’s table. “The young gentleman will not object, I’m sure,” and he bowed to George.

“Not in the least,” said George, and as he spoke he glanced up. At once he recognized in the noisy, ill-tempered guest the burly personage whom he had seen a few minutes before in conference with Major Hyde and the dragoon officer, across the way.

“Object!” said the big man in a harsh voice. “Object! Why should he, I’d like to know? This is a public inn, and I think I know my rights in such a place.”

So saying, he slapped his dusty beaver hat upon the table and sat down facing George with noisy ostentation. There was something deliberately offensive in the man’s manner, and George darted a sharp look at him, though he said nothing. The newcomer noted the look, and thrusting his head forward inquired, bluntly:

“You have nothing to say, I trust, young sir?”

“In my turn,” replied young Prentiss, quietly, “I trust that I shall have no occasion to say anything.”

The burly man did not seem to know how to take this; but evidently he suspected some hidden meaning in the saying, for his little eyes began to snap.

“I make it a point to pay as I go, and ask favors of no one,” declared he. “What have you to say to that?”

“It’s a good resolution, as such things run,” returned the youth. “But, believe me, sir, I can do very well without the particulars as to your private affairs.”

The burly personage was taken somewhat aback at this, and his surprise was so evident that several persons who had been listening laughed outright. Among these was Herbert Camp, and instantly the big man selected him from the others and whirled round in his chair.

“I hope, sir,” said he, with much directness, “that you are not laughing at my expense.”

The sullen-faced lieutenant flushed as he saw the eyes of all within hearing turn upon him. But he answered readily enough:

“I would be very sorry, indeed, to do anything at your expense.”

“Ah, would you so?” and the man eyed him with singular intentness. “Well,” with a nod of the head, “I’ll bear you in mind, my lad. It is possible that I’ll make some small effort in your direction before a very great while.”

From the time that he had seen his neighbor in conference with Major Hyde and the officer of dragoons and had caught their gestures, George had had no doubt but the man’s intentions in entering the “King’s Arms” was in some way connected with himself. He had given both officers offense during the morning, and he had felt that the burly one’s errand was some scheme of retaliation.

The offensive manner of the man toward him seemed to clinch this belief; but now, as George went sedately on with his dinner, all the time observing his neighbor, his suspicions gradually changed. The newcomer paid no further attention to him; indeed, for all the knowledge he betrayed of his presence, young Prentiss might as well not have existed.

This seemed odd to George and piqued his interest; he was still speculating upon its meaning, when he made a peculiar discovery. The man before him sat, as stated, with his arms folded across his chest; his eyes had also closed, and a casual observer would have pronounced him fallen into a doze. But several little things pointed out the real facts to George. The big man was intently listening to the conversation which had been resumed at Mr. Camp’s table.