The winter at Valley Forge was one of untold suffering. When stout old Baron Steuben, one of Frederick the Great’s general officers, first saw the army of shoeless, naked and hungry men, he threw up his hands.

“Nefer,” he cried, in his broken English, “haf I seen such before! Nefer! If an army was half so wretched in Europe they would run away—noddings could hold them.”

But in time things grew more bearable. Little by little the higher souls in Congress made their way against the spirit of intrigue. The enemies of Washington, after their failure with Lafayette, relaxed their efforts. Mifflin resigned his post as head of the commissariat and Washington’s tried friend, General Greene, succeeded him. Food and clothing began to be fairly plentiful; the spirits of the troops rose accordingly.

Baron Steuben also succeeded Conway as inspector-general, and his constant labors on the drill ground soon began to bear fruit. From a wretched rabble, the regiments began to take on the aspect of discipline and training.

Gates also suddenly fell to some degree in the favor of his friends in Congress; and once more he was directed to journey north and take command of the army in that region.

The surrender of Burgoyne had been the cause of the French cabinet’s concluding a treaty of alliance with the United States, and this in turn had been the means of strengthening Washington’s hands in the manner mentioned above.

“It looks,” said Ezra Prentiss, “as though the conspiracy were dead.”

“With Gates, Conway and Mifflin all declining in favor,” spoke his brother, George, “it has that appearance, surely.”

Nat Brewster was also of a similar opinion; but Ben was not so sure. Only a little while before, General Charles Lee, for some time a prisoner in the hands of the British, had been exchanged for the English General Prescott, and when he saw this brilliant and erratic soldier warmly greeted by Washington and his officers, Ben’s heart somehow grew heavy with fear for the future.

What if Conway and Mifflin and Gates were out of favor? They were merely instruments in the hands of the British, through the machinations of Tobias Hawkins.

“And Hawkins is still able to plot,” mused Ben. “And that he is somewhere plotting and laying his snares is sure, for he is not the one to give up.” He paused for a little, staring straight before him, his mind in that curious state when it seems to have stopped working, retaining a single picture of a single thing. Then his thoughts began to flow again.

“And that conversation between Hawkins and Sugden at Claflin’s that night! I would that I had heard more of it. They seemed to expect something from the exchange of General Lee. What, I wonder? Can it be possible that——” but this led to thoughts that could not be entertained, and so he banished the matter from his mind.

A council of war held in the camp early in May had concluded that no blow was to be attempted against the British until some opportunity presented itself that would insure success. Then Howe was recalled and Sir Henry Clinton took command of the British army at Philadelphia; and not long after this signs were shown of an intention to evacuate the city.

New York was thought to be the point aimed at; Washington sent some brigades into the Jerseys to break bridges and otherwise harass Clinton, should this be the case, but the main body of his army remained in waiting to make sure of his enemy’s movements.

It was on the eighteenth of June that the British began their movement to a point below Philadelphia; from there they crossed the Delaware into New Jersey. Immediately upon hearing this, Washington broke up his camp at Valley Forge; sent Arnold, whose wounded leg did not permit his taking the field, with a strong force to occupy the city, and then pushed forward in pursuit of the enemy.

The Americans crossed the Delaware a little later, not far from the point where they had crossed to attack the Hessians a year and a half before. Clinton was so slow in his movements that Washington suspected him of desiring to get the American force into the level country, then, by a rapid march, gain the heights, and so take them at a disadvantage. Another council of war was held; General Lee was for holding aloof and merely annoying the enemy by detachments. As his military skill was highly regarded, he gained a majority of the officers to his way of thinking; and the command went forth that this style of warfare be begun. However, it was not at all in favor with the rank and file, and though they obeyed their officers readily enough, they were not at all backward in their criticisms.

“Are we a parcel of old women that we should be afraid to get near enough to the enemy to come to hand grasps with him?” asked a stalwart sergeant of artillery. “Ah, I wish, Molly,” to a red-haired, freckle-faced young woman, “that they had had you in the council instead of General Lee.”

“Why, then,” said Molly, whom Ben, who sat near by, at once recognized as the Molly Hayes he had seen perform so creditably at the Crossed Keys, “if I had it’s after old Clinton we’d a-been long ago. Sure it’s in the arms of our lads to give him and his redcoats a trouncing, so it is, and I’m for giving it to them while we have the chance.”

“Bravo, Molly Pitcher,” cried a soldier. “Good for you.”

“I’m obliged to you for agreeing with me,” said Molly, dropping the speaker a satirical courtesy. “But I’d thank you, soldier, not to call me out of my name, which is Molly Hayes, and not Molly Pitcher.”

“Your pitcher, Molly,” stated her husband, the sergeant of artillery, “is welcome enough when the lads are thirsty and you bring it to them full of cool water. So what harm if they do name you after it? It’s proud you should be.”

“Sorra the bit do I mind it,” said Molly to Ben, a little later. “But it becomes a lady not to allow them too much familiarity, so it do.”

“BRAVO, MOLLY PITCHER!”

Generals Wayne, Greene and Lafayette had all been of the same opinion as to the proper means of distressing the enemy. In spite of the confidently expressed opinions of Lee they believed that the rear of the British should be attacked by a heavy force, while the main army should be held ready to give general battle. Washington held the same opinion and shortly afterward set about carrying it out. He was no longer in doubt as to Clinton’s route; the British were on the road through Freehold, meaning to embark at Sandy Hook.

As Lee was opposed to all attack, Washington, at Lafayette’s eager solicitation, gave command of the advance to that gallant young man.

“But,” said the commander-in-chief, “the command is rightfully Lee’s. However, if he has no objection, you may have it.”

Ben carried the request to General Lee. The latter’s face when he read the message was a study to the speculative eyes of the boy.

“Imbeciles!” muttered Lee, who was noted for his bluntness of speech as well as oddities of character. “But let them have their way.”

He wrote a reply stating that he willingly relinquished command of the advance. Ben placed this in his belt, saluted and darted out to his horse. But he had barely gathered up the reins when he heard the ring of hoofs almost beside him, and glancing around he saw the strong face of Tobias Hawkins.

For a moment the man looked into the boy’s face; and the boy returned the gaze steadily.

“Ah,” said Hawkins, at last, “so I see you here, Master Cooper.”

Ben nodded, smilingly.

“Are you surprised? Surely you knew that your plans at Rising Sun and at the Crossed Keys both failed.”

A sour smile crossed the man’s face, but his hard eyes did not smile.

“I don’t think I quite understand,” said he. “But, then, you are difficult to understand at best. However,” and there was a low menace in his tone, “I may come to understand you yet. And, mayhap, the understanding is not far away.”

Ben saluted smilingly, shook his rein and galloped away; but at some little distance he turned in his saddle and looked back. Hawkins had dismounted before General Lee’s tent and was at that moment upon the point of entering. At this the lad caught his breath sharply. The suspicions aroused by the words he had heard pass between Hawkins and Sugden at Claflin’s returned to him with a rush.

“What if, after all, it should be so?” was his thought.

“What if——” but here another thought occurred to him. “It makes no difference just now, at any rate,” he continued. “General Lafayette is to have command of the advance.”

He delivered Lee’s message at headquarters in all haste; but the delighted young Frenchman had scarcely rushed away to assume his post than a horseman dismounted before the tent of the commander-in-chief and was shown in. Ben was lingering about under instructions to wait, as there would probably be work for him; and he heard the rider announce:

“From General Lee.”

Washington at once broke the seal; and as he read the paper, a cloud overspread his face, his heavy brows came together in a frown, and he turned to General Greene.

“Lee has altered his mind,” said he.

“You don’t mean that he now wants the command, after it’s given to another?” asked the astonished Greene.

“Just so.”

At this a quick shock seemed to strike at Ben Cooper’s heart. If General Lee was a traitor—and the words of Hawkins made him think so in spite of himself—what an opportunity this was to play into the hands of the British; what an opportunity it was to deal the cause of liberty a blow from which it might never recover.

“It may be,” was the lad’s instant thought, “that Hawkins has had something to do with this change of mind on the part of General Lee. Irritated that his advice was not being followed, the general, who is notoriously testy, agreed to having Lafayette in command of the advance. But no sooner had I gone with this answer, than Hawkins arrived and pointed out that this course was a mistake for one in the pay of the British government, and so instantly Lee altered his mind.”

“This situation,” said General Washington, “is a most perplexing one. I do not see how I can agree to Lee’s altered fancy without grievously wounding the feelings of Lafayette.”

But it developed that this could be done without any difficulty. A sudden altering of Clinton’s plans, which threw the weight of British power into the rear under Cornwallis, made it necessary for General Washington to send a reinforcement to his advance. The brigades of Varnum and Scott were sent under the headship of General Lee, and he, being senior officer, was in this way placed in command of the whole advance.

That night the British encamped near Monmouth Court House, while the Americans under Lee lay at Englishtown, five miles away. Washington and the main body were three miles to the rear of the advance.

At sundown Washington rode forward; his practiced eye told him that the British position was an awkward one to attack; but if they were allowed to proceed a dozen miles further their position would be stronger still, for the heights of Middletown would greatly favor them. In consequence he made up his mind to attack at dawn. His orders were given to Lee in the presence of officers.

“Make your disposition for an attack,” said Washington. “Keep your men lying on their arms; be ready for action at the shortest notice.”

The commander-in-chief then rode back to the main body, and during the remainder of the night was busy with preparations for the coming struggle. At sunrise, Ben Cooper, who had remained during the night with the advance, brought news that the British were in motion. By another rider General Washington sent a command to Lee to advance and attack, saying that he was coming on rapidly to support him. Then the main army was ordered to discard its blankets, knapsacks and other heavy equipment so that its progress should not be retarded.

The Hessian commander, Knyphausen, had charge of the British advance, which included all the baggage. And in the early morning while he slowly made his way into the valley between Monmouth and Middletown, Clinton with the fighting men held the camp on the heights of Freehold. This body did not move from the latter position until after eight in the morning, when they also took up the line of march through Middletown.

It was a region covered by wood and morass, and General Lee had no great opportunity to reconnoiter the enemy; seeing Clinton’s army on its march, he told his officers it was only a detachment. Ordering Wayne with a body of infantry and a few pieces of artillery to skirmish in the rear, he set out with the remainder of his force to, as he said, head the detachment off. At the same time he sent a rider to Washington telling him of the movement and adding that he was confident of success.

The army under Washington was making excellent time; as they reached Freehold church a cannon boomed in the distance, telling them that the fight had opened. At once the command was given to quicken the advance. Washington, with his officers grouped about him, was giving his final instructions. Ben Cooper and the other young riders were within call, ready and eager to bear any messages that might need sending. The commander-in-chief had just finished his orders to Greene who was to push on with a division along a side road and so flank the enemy, when a farmer mounted upon a plough horse rode up, wild-eyed and scarcely able to speak.

“They are retreating!” he cried.

“Who?” demanded some one.

“Our army; and the British are after them!”

Washington, who stood by the side of his great white horse, turned an angry face upon the man.

“What, sir,” demanded he, “do you dare bring us a false report at such a time?”

“I’m telling the truth!” gasped the man, his hands tossing in protest. “See, there; he’ll tell you the same.”

As he spoke he pointed to a small man in an American uniform, who held a fife in his hand, and had at that moment dashed breathlessly up.

“All’s lost,” he said. “We’ve been driven back.”

A swift command, and the fifer was in the custody of Nat Brewster and Ezra Prentiss.

“Don’t let him speak to any one,” was the order. “He might spread a panic among the men.”

Washington mounted, and the officers spurred forward. In a little while a scattering of running men were met upon the road; then small bodies. Finally complete commands were encountered. Some officers were now ordered forward to find out the meaning of the thing; dashing past Freehold Meeting House, Washington came upon Grayson’s and Patton’s regiments in full retreat and badly disordered. Then came other commands.

“Sir,” demanded Washington of Colonel Shreve, who rode at the head of his own regiment, “is the entire advance party falling back?”

Colonel Shreve smiled significantly.

“General, I believe it is. And under the orders of General Lee.”

“And,” declared Major Howard of the same command, “I never saw the like. It’s cowardice.”

“We are running from a shadow,” cried another officer, hotly. “The most of us never even caught sight of the enemy.”

Though he had been close to Washington since the opening of the war, Ben Cooper had never seen him angry until now. As the remainder of the advance now came up, the commander-in-chief rode up to General Lee, who came with it.

“General Lee, what is the meaning of this?” cried Washington, his face white with fury.

Lee flushed and seemed unable to answer.

“Can you not speak?” demanded Washington. “I desire to know the meaning of this disorder and confusion!”

Lee’s naturally irascible nature here asserted itself, and he made a stinging reply.

“You asked for the command, sir,” said Washington. “Why did you do so unless you desired to fight the enemy?”

For an instant it was upon Ben Cooper’s tongue to ride forward and tell what he knew.

“But no, no,” he said to himself. “I know but little, and am sure of nothing. I had best be silent.”

Though he was deeply exasperated at the conduct of General Lee, Washington did not lose sight of the fact that the enemy were close upon him.

“They are only fifteen minutes away,” reported George Prentiss who, from a height, had been observing them.

The place where Washington had stopped the retreat, as it happened, was highly favorable for a stand. With eagle glance, Washington saw this, and the command was posted upon a hill, the only approach to which was over a narrow causeway. To the left of this eminence, Stewart and Ramsey’s batteries were planted in a woody covert. Upon another hill, there were two guns stationed under Colonel Oswald. With all the hurry and excitement of the moment, the different bodies of troops moved with the precision of machines.

When all was ready Washington once more rode up to Lee.

“Will you retain this command, sir?” he asked.

“It is all one to me, sir, where I command,” replied Lee.

“I shall expect you to take proper measures for checking the enemy,” said Washington.

“Your orders shall be obeyed,” returned Lee. “I shall be the last to leave the ground.”

The guns from the woods on the left and from the hilltop had begun to speak, and the British were brought to a halt. Washington rode back and brought on the main body, which he formed upon a hill with thick woods at its back and a swamp to the front. Sterling had the left wing and Greene the right.

This time the command of Lee fought stubbornly. Then, at last, he was obliged to fall back, which he did in an orderly manner upon the left.

Ben was with Greene’s division upon the right, having been sent there with some orders. From this position he saw the batteries of General Sterling open upon the British and force them back; there was a pause, then the enemy came driving upon the position of Greene. But here the artillery of Knox met them with its thunder. In the face of it the invaders came on; smoke was ascending in choking clouds, but through it the red coats and gleaming brass and steel of the British could be seen. Their musket balls pattered among the artillerymen like rain, and suddenly Ben saw a stalwart sergeant throw up his hands and fall. There was a shriek; a figure with streaming red hair rushed to his side and sank to her knees beside him.

“It’s Sergeant Hayes that’s down,” reported one of the men.

“Take him to the rear,” was the order.

“I’m not badly hurt, Molly,” said Hayes to his wife. “So don’t cry about me.”

“You are sure?” said she.

“It’s only a scratch,” said the sergeant with a smile as he was placed on a litter.

“Another man, there, to Hayes’ place,” came the order.

As she stood watching the litter being borne to the rear Molly Hayes heard these words.

“What!” she cried, whirling about, “another man to that gun!” pointing to the piece at which her husband had fallen. “Faith, then, there’s no need of it. That big-throated roarer is one of the family, so it is, and if one of us isn’t able to attend to it, the other must.”

And with that she seized a ramrod and thrust it into the smoking maw of the cannon; as brave as the bravest she worked away amid the musket shot of the British, never heeding them as they came plunging upon the battery.

“What a virago!” Ben heard a voice say some little distance in his rear, and turning swiftly in his saddle he recognized Tobias Hawkins.

“I wish there were more like her,” spoke the officer to whom the remark had been addressed. “And now, sir, let me again request you to go to the rear.”

“I am sorry to have intruded,” said Tobias Hawkins, as he turned his horse’s head. “The fact is that I have a message of an important and private nature for an officer whom I expected to see here.”

Here the British fell back before the deadly fire of Knox’s guns; and Ben Cooper as he turned away had a last vision of Molly Hayes, her mass of red hair tossing in the wind, wildly cheering with the men; then the boy rode after Tobias Hawkins.

As it chanced the man had taken a direction across a stretch which had been only a short time ago swept by the fire of General Wayne’s command which lay concealed in an orchard not far away. Before it was a command of British being drawn up as though preparing to make an attack. Ben glanced here and there, but there was no sign of the Americans.

“They must have retreated,” thought the boy.

Hearing the hoof-beats in his rear, Hawkins turned; and an evil smile overspread his face at sight of Ben.

“Once more,” said he, “it is you.”

“It is,” smiled Ben. “I saw you back there by Knox’s battery, and heard what you said regarding a private message for a friend.”

“Ah,” said Tobias Hawkins, “you did?”

“I did,” nodded the boy, “and I rode after you to say that if the friend is General Lee you will find him somewhere on the left, as I saw him——”

He had just gotten this far when Hawkins drew a pistol and lifted it. But just then a sheeted volley leaped from the orchard and he sank to the ground. And as he did so, Ben Cooper’s horse reared and plunged; the lad fell from the saddle and lay like one dead, while over him swept the charging division of Monckton with leveled bayonets to dislodge the command of General Wayne.

It was well toward noon next day when Ben Cooper was able to get upon his feet; and then, surrounded by his anxious friends, he made his way to the scene of yesterday’s mishap.

“Wayne must have been waiting for the British,” said Ezra. “And as they charged just as you got in line, you had to take your chance. It’s lucky you weren’t killed.”

Ben touched the bandage around his head and smiled.

“Did Wayne drive them back?” he asked.

“He did. And before much else could be done, darkness came on. We were all under arms at daybreak; but the enemy had gone—ran away in the night.”

“Ran away!” Ben smiled once more. “From now on he’ll be used to that. With the armies and fleets of France to aid him, General Washington will give him plenty of practice.”

“What’s that?” asked the Porcupine, his eyes upon a small group beside a gun.

There stood a cheering, laughing cluster of young officers; then there was Molly Hayes in the midst of them, standing at salute, while before her was General Washington himself. The boys approached through the lines of men who, with litters, were bearing off the dead from the field, and were just in time to hear the commander-in-chief say:

“Your bravery, Mistress Hayes, was equal to that of any man in the army. You served your gun gallantly, and in the name of Congress I thank you. My only regret is that I can do nothing more.”

“You can, general, asthore,” cried a voice from the rear, a voice which Ben at once recognized as that of Paddy Burk. “Now that her husband is wounded, make her a sergeant in his place.”

The grave-faced commander-in-chief smiled at the suggestion.

“An excellent notion; and from this time on, Mistress Hayes, you are a sergeant in the service of the United States, with the pay of such and all the other things that such rank demands.”

There was a chorus of cheers at this, and Molly Hayes, with cheeks stained crimson and eyes shining, once more saluted with proper military stiffness. And just then a litter holding a body came up and Ben, as he stepped aside to permit its passage, had a view of the face.

“She earned it,” said Nat Brewster, who had heard the story of Molly’s courage. “And she’s deserved all she’s got.”

Ben turned away from the litter, and a shudder ran through him. But, though he closed his eyes, he could not shut out the cold, white, dead face of Tobias Hawkins.

“There are more than she who have received what they deserved,” said he, in a low voice.

Other Stories in this Series are:

THE YOUNG CONTINENTALS AT LEXINGTON
THE YOUNG CONTINENTALS AT BUNKER HILL
THE YOUNG CONTINENTALS AT TRENTON