The Young Continentals at Trenton

This discovery, as may well be imagined, increased the interest which George Prentiss felt in his surroundings; the aspect of his ill-mannered, loud-mouthed table companion immediately underwent a change. From a hired bully, the fellow was at once transformed into something more subtle—a spy—a creature whose employment was as underhand as his appearance was blunt. But what made the occasion more surprising than anything else was that the spy was, apparently, in the pay of Major Hyde—and the object of his surveillance was perhaps the major’s uncle.

And so as the burly man listened to the conversation at Mr. Camp’s table, George listened also, proceeding leisurely with his dinner, and always keeping his eyes upon the face opposite him.

Mr. Camp still clung to the political situation as a subject for remark.

“Brother will be arrayed against brother,” said he, “and father against son. The separations and heart burnings will be dreadful to think about, for it is really civil war that these rogues seek to bring upon us.”

“But,” said Mr. Dana, earnestly, “would it not be well to wait until matters are further developed before prophesying evil?”

Mr. Camp grew irate at this. “Hah!” cried he. “Let me assure you, sir, that it requires no prophet here. The things that I speak of have already come to pass. My nephew Robert Hyde has gone over to the enemies of the king, as you know. And I ask you to look at Harry here. What uniform does he wear? They have poisoned him also with their doctrines; nothing will do him but that the king’s officers be taken by the scruff of the neck and bundled on board ship, never to return.”

“A gentleman must always follow the dictates of his conscience,” returned Harry. “Yours leads you to support the king—mine impels me in other directions.”

“Impel is a very good word,” commented Merchant Camp, addressing Dana. “I could not pick one that described it better if I tried. But,” and he turned to Herbert, “look you, young man. You are not the only one that feels the impulse of change. It has occurred to me many times of late that my will also needs a bit of altering.”

For a brief moment George, who had turned his head, saw Herbert Camp’s face go blank.

“Why, as to—as to a mere matter of money,” stammered Herbert, obviously endeavoring to make his voice ring angrily, “that can have no effect upon a person of honor.”

“Not a trifle like sixty thousand pounds, mark you,” said the old Tory to Dana. “They hold themselves high, these patriots.” And once more addressing himself to Herbert, he continued: “Do you recall that some days ago I asked you to change the color of your coat?”

“I do,” replied the young lieutenant.

“It was a week, I think, that I gave you.”

“It was.”

“Very good. There are a couple of days yet to go. So consider the matter well. Change your coat, or I change my will.”

George felt the table shake; the big man had twitched spasmodically, and his knees had knocked against its legs. Young Prentiss flashed him a searching look; but in no other way did the bully manifest interest.

“Your money is your own to do what you please with,” said Herbert Camp to his uncle, but for all his effort, there was a certain waver in his voice and tones. “And you would not have me sink my principle to get it, I know.”

“To be sure not, nephew,” said the old gentleman. “But be assured of this: My money will never go to any one who upholds the rebel cause. I would not buy your allegiance, nor that of any other person; but the facts are as I have stated them.”

The nephew drummed upon the edge of the table with his finger-tips. Things were at this stage when a waiter approached, bearing the burly man’s dinner; this he placed before him with care, then shook him gently.

“Your dinner, sir,” suggested the waiter, not without some caution. The burly man opened his little eyes.

“Ay, ay,” said he, “I see it. And I’ll warrant it has no more seasoning than a brindle cow’s milk.”

But the waiter hastened to reassure him upon this point; and so the man began to eat with an appetite but with much muttering and complaining. The conversation continued at the Camp table, the youth Herbert rather weakly maintaining his position, and his uncle proclaiming his fixity of purpose. But the spy took no more notice of them or their sayings. Strangely enough, as George Prentiss thought, he had lost all interest in them.

Indeed, even when they had finished their meal and their discussion and arisen to their feet, he did not lift his head. But old Camp’s nephew, apparently in an ill-humor, did not forget him. The youth in turning stumbled across one of the man’s legs, which were needlessly sprawled out.

“Perhaps,” said the young man, tartly, after recovering himself, “this is the recognition which you just now promised me—trying to dash out my brains among the inn furniture.”

The man looked up at him insolently.

“Did I promise you anything?” asked he.

“You did, sir,” replied the lieutenant, paying no heed to Mr. Dana’s plucking at his sleeve.

“Ah, well,” said the man, “sometimes little things happen which prevent our keeping promises hurriedly made.” There was something like a laugh in his voice as he added, “Perhaps some such little thing has happened since I spoke to you last, sir.”

The young militiaman grew very indignant at this and seemed about to make a heated rejoinder; however, the two merchants pushed him on ahead of them.

They had paid the reckoning and left the inn; and George was examining his own score, when the burly man suddenly lifted a hand and called out:

“Ah, this way, sir, this way!”

Major Hyde, his dark face full of eagerness, approached; and at his heels was the foppish dragoon, Henderson.

“I just now saw them leave,” said the major. “Did you find an opportunity, Slade?”

The burly man shrugged his lumpy shoulders carelessly.

“Oh, yes,” answered he. “It wasn’t difficult. But I let it pass.”

“What’s that?” and there was a note of menace in Hyde’s voice.

“Do you call that living up to a contract?” asked Henderson. “Seems like downright neglect to me.”

“There was no occasion to follow out your plan,” said Slade. “I have lived by quarrels these many years,” with a laugh, “but for all that, I don’t believe in them much unless they are necessary. I had your young blade fast enough and could have had it out with him very nicely. But as it turned out——”

Here Major Hyde noted George for the first time and instantly his gesture stopped Slade’s mouth. Affecting a careless laugh, although all the time there was an evil look upon his face, he said:

“Ah, well, it makes no great difference, either way. It was but a stupid sort of jest to say the best of it. At another time, we’ll have our laugh out to the full. But come, let us be going. I have some business to see to.”

“I have but begun my dinner,” said Slade in protest.

“Dinners,” spoke the major, “can be had at any time; but these affairs of mine must not be kept waiting.”

With much complaint Slade left the table, casting longing looks at the smoking dishes thereon. They had reached the door of the public room as George arose and began readjusting his shoulder belt, of which he had freed himself when he sat down. He saw Hyde lean toward Slade and say something in a low tone; then he noted the latter’s quick, furtive, over-the-shoulder look in his direction; after this they passed out, and he could see them through the window, walking arm in arm down Broadway, their heads very close together.

When George in his turn left the “King’s Arms” he was busily revolving what he had seen and heard.

“It has an odd look,” mused he. “And I don’t just get the meaning of it all. There can be no doubt that Major Hyde sent this man into the inn for a purpose. But what was this purpose? Hyde’s words might lead one to believe that it was the carrying out of some sort of idle jest. But I doubt that. He gave that turn to the matter only when he recognized me, and felt that I had overheard what he had said.”

Slowly he walked along Broadway past Wall Street and the English Church, still going over the situation.

“The first words that Hyde said to Slade upon entering were: ‘Did you find your opportunity?’ And Slade answered that he had, but had let it pass. Then he said he’d found there was no occasion to follow Hyde’s plans, and that he had heard something——Now the only thing which he heard that seemed to greatly interest him was that——”

Here the young man’s muttering stopped; his thoughts took a wild leap; for a moment or two they were a jumble of extravagances; then order began to reappear.

“Mr. Camp, it seems, is enormously rich,” was the new train of thought. “Major Hyde is his nephew, as is also this young man called Herbert. And Herbert, apparently, was to be the heir; a thing which was distasteful to Major Hyde. So the major sent this bully who sat at table with me to pick a quarrel with the lucky nephew. A duel would perhaps have been the result; and the course of the old man’s money shifted.

“But the bully proved a man of cunning as well as ferocity. When he heard that Herbert would likely be disinherited because of his political leanings, he saw that the fight would be unnecessary.”

Here, however, the chain of reasoning showed a missing link.

“If Herbert is to be disinherited for holding to the cause of the colonies,” George asked himself “how can Major Hyde, who also advocates that cause, hope to replace him?”

This seemed to unsettle the foundation of all that had gone before, and he shook his head more puzzled than ever. But in a moment or two he put the entire matter aside.

“I don’t know why I am bothering about the interests of strangers,” said he, impatiently. He had about dismissed the matter from his mind and was looking curiously at some of the quaint old Dutch houses still standing when there came a beat of hoofs upon the stones of the road; and the horseman drew up beside him.

“Ah, well caught, Mr. Prentiss,” laughed the horseman, jovially. “I asked for you at the ‘King’s Arms,’ and they told me that you had just gone. So I took the liberty of guessing which direction you had taken.”

It was the ensign with whom George had previously spoken; he rode a strong-looking gray horse which chafed at the bit and pawed nervously at the ground. The ensign had struck young Prentiss from the first as being a likable sort of fellow, and so he greeted him in friendly fashion.

“You had not been gone from headquarters above an hour when General Putnam asked for you,” said the rider. “Major Hyde had left some time before, and none would have known where you were to be found had I not happened to be still lounging about. And so,” with a laugh, “here I am to take you back with me in all haste.”