CHAPTER VI
IN THE TEN-ACRE LOT
LITTLE Peter's mother instantly grasped the letter, and seating herselfby the table, and drawing the candle nearer, at once began to read. Tomwatched her eagerly, but she did not speak, and the expression upon herface did not betray any of the emotions in her heart.
The Indian still stood motionless in the position he had taken when hefirst entered the room, and except for the occasional turning of hisdark eyes from the boy to the woman, so far as appearances went he mighthave been a statue. The rain still dashed against the windows, and thesounds of the wind outside showed that the storm was unabated. Theflickering candle served to intensify the darkness, and the alarm whichTom had felt had not entirely departed.
The woman read the letter all through carefully, and then, without aword of explanation, began to read it again. Tom hardly knew what todo. He had given her his warning, and whether she would care for hisfurther services he could not determine. He did not feel likeinterrupting her, and yet he feared that his presence now might not bealtogether welcome, for he had no means of knowing what the message was,or who had sent it.
His uncertainty was quickly dispelled, however, as the woman laid theletter upon the table, and turning to him said, "You were right, Tom.Peter is coming home; but how you found it out, I cannot even guess."
Tom did not feel at liberty to enlighten her upon the subject beyondwhat he had told her already, for he was sadly troubled about Benzeorand his relations with Fenton. Doubtless Benzeor was implicated, butmatters had not yet gone so far that he felt he was at liberty to betrayhis foster father to the neighbors.
"Yes," resumed the woman, "Peter is coming home, but only for a day ortwo."
"Where is he? What does he say of the army?" inquired Tom.
"Washington is at Hopewell, as you said, Tom. When he found out thatClinton really intended to march across Jersey, he detached GeneralMaxwell's brigade and some of the militia to obstruct and bother theBritish, and Peter was in the militia, you know. They were to keep closeto the redcoats, and by their skirmishes keep them from going too fast,and so give Washington a chance to pass them, and then, when the placehe wanted was found, turn about and fight. When the army crossed theDelaware at Coryell's Ferry, Washington sent Colonel Morgan with sixhundred of the riflemen to reinforce Maxwell, and with the rest of hismen he set out to march toward Princeton."
"I thought you said he was at Hopewell now," said Tom.
"So he is, Peter writes, but Hopewell isn't but a few miles fromPrinceton, you know, and he decided to stop there and give his army agood rest. Peter writes that all the men now think that Clinton ismarching so slowly on purpose, and that his plan is to let the Americansgo on into the lower country and then gain the right of our army by aquick march and get possession of the higher ground on the right of ourmen. Peter writes that that is what all the Continentals think Clintonis trying to do, and so General Washington has halted at Hopewell.That's only five miles from Princeton, you see, and he is going to staythere a few days so that he can give his men a good rest before anyengagement takes place; and he can find out what Clinton's plans are,too."
"And while the army is waiting there, Big Peter thinks he'll run up homefor a day, does he?" said Tom.
"Yes, that's just it. He's sent me word of his coming by Indian John,here. But you must have been delayed John," she said, turning to theIndian as she spoke.
"Heap wet," said the Indian quietly.
"When does he say he expects to be here?" inquired Tom.
"To-morrow; no, to-day, for it must be long past midnight now. Ishouldn't be surprised to see him any time."
"Well I've given you my message, and you'll know what to do now. I thinkperhaps I'd better be going back home, that is, unless there's somethingyou think I can do to help you."
"No, there's nothing more now, Tom. Little Peter will soon be here, andwith him and Indian John in the house, I don't think we shall have muchto fear. It was good of you to come, Tom. I shall never forget you, andI know that Peter will not, either. I am sadly troubled, but I think itwill be all right."
"Good-night, then," said Tom.
"Good-night, and thank you again for all your trouble and kindness."
Tom drew back the bar, and, opening the door, passed out into the night,little dreaming that he had looked upon the face of Little Peter'smother for the last time.
As he ran along the lonesome road, he could see that the clouds werebreaking, and in low masses were swept by the wind across the sky. Therain had almost ceased now, but the air was damp and heavy and strangelyoppressive. Perhaps it was the oppressiveness which affected Tom morethan the excitement through which he had just passed, for the lad wasmuch depressed as he came nearer to Benzeor's house. All theconversation he had overheard between the men came back to him, and healmost wished that he had not left Peter's mother alone with Indian Johnand the children. His feeling of obligation to Benzeor had mostlydeparted now, and as he recalled the plots of his foster father hisheart was hot within him. He even thought of going over to the CourtHouse and reporting the matter to Sheriff Forman that very night; butthe hope that Benzeor still might not join Fenton in the evil projectthey had formed deterred him, and as he just then obtained a glimpse ofthe house which for more than ten years had been the only home he hadever known, his mind was recalled to his own immediate plans. At leasthe had given Peter's mother the warning, and if Fenton's band shouldmake the proposed visit, in any event she would be prepared to receivethem.
At first Tom thought he would not return to his room, but would pass thenight in the barn; still the fear that Benzeor might discover hisabsence, and be led to suspect its cause, quickly presented itself, andthe troubled lad decided to go back to his accustomed place.
Carefully he climbed up on the woodpile, and grasping the sill drewhimself up and passed through the open window. He stood for a moment inthe room and listened intently. Not a sound could be heard, and even thelong drawn-out snores with which Benzeor had been wont to proclaim tothe household the fact that he had entered the land of dreams weresilent now. He waited several moments, and as the silence was stillunbroken he proceeded carefully to remove his wet clothing, and climbedinto his high bed.
For the first time then he realized how thoroughly tired he was. The bedhad never been more grateful to him, and a heavy sigh of relief escapedhis lips. He heard the crowing of the cocks and knew that the morningcould not be far away now.
Not even the exciting events of the day, or the treacherous project ofBenzeor, or his anxiety for the safety of Little Peter's father, nowavailed to keep the wearied lad awake.
How long he slept he did not know, but it was broad daylight when heopened his eyes. Some one was pounding upon his door, and with aconfused thought that Fenton was besieging the house, or that Washingtonhad begun an attack upon Clinton's forces, he quickly sat up in the bedand listened.
The summons was repeated, and Tom at once realized where he was and whatwas expected of him. There was no mistaking Benzeor's rude method ofproclaiming the presence of the morning, and if he had had any doubts,they would have been quickly dispelled by the words which followed.
"Come, Tom, get up! It's high time we were at work again!"
"I'll be down in a minute," replied Tom as he leaped out of bed andhastily dressed.
While he was engaged in that occupation he tried desperately to collecthis thoughts and think of some way out of the troubles which he fearedwere sure to come that day. Should he tell Benzeor plainly that he couldno longer remain under his roof? Ought he to tell him what he hadoverheard the night before? Had the time come for him to declare himselfand to take the open stand which he had for a long time secretly plannedto do? Thoughts of Sarah and the toiling, careworn little mother of thehousehold presented themselves before his troubled mind, and the longerhe thought, the more perplexed he became.
The problem was not solved when he passed down the stairs and went outof the house to the barrel which
stood beneath the corner of the eaves.He took the rude wooden bowl and filled it with water, and desperatelytried to arrive at some conclusion as he bathed his flushed face.
The family were already seated at the breakfast-table, and the sounds ofBenzeor's gruff voice could be distinctly heard through the openwindows. The hens with their broods were moving about the yard, and thedog came and rubbed against his leg as the lad dried his face and handson the rough towel that was hanging near the water barrel. The storm hadpassed, and the summer sun was shining clear and strong now.
As he lifted his eyes and looked out over Benzeor's fertile lands, onlya vision of peace and restfulness could be seen on every side. It wasall so different from the storm which was in his own soul that Tomalmost groaned aloud as he turned to enter the kitchen and take hisaccustomed place at the table.
As he entered the room, Benzeor said, "You're late this morning, lad,but I thought I would let you sleep, you had such a hard day of ityesterday. But there's no trip to New York this morning, and not likelyto be one again soon."
Benzeor's manner was not unkind, and as Tom glanced at him he wonderedwhether the man was in any wise suspicious of him or not. Apparently hewas not, but without making any reply Tom seated himself and quietlydecided to wait until they were alone before he spoke of what was in hismind.
"Tom," said Benzeor after a brief silence, "I want you to go over to theten-acre lot to-day. The ground's wet, but the corn there needs hoeing,and we can't wait."
The "ten-acre lot" was on the border of Benzeor's possessions, and wasnearly a mile distant from the house. On all sides it was bordered bywoods, and was as lonely a place as could be found in all the region.
"Are you going, too?" inquired Tom, with an apparent indifference he wasfar from feeling.
"No. I've got to go in another direction to-day. I may not be back atnight either, though I can't say as to that. You'd better take yourdinner, too, Tom, and I'll leave one of the muskets for you. You canload it up with bird-shot and keep the blackbirds and crows away.They're raising the mischief this year, and corn's going to be worthmoney this fall, if I'm not greatly mistaken."
Tom made no reply, although his heart was beating a little more rapidlythan usual. Benzeor's absence from home promised little good, and thewords which he had overheard the night before came back now withredoubled force. Where was Benzeor going? And why did he send him towork in the distant field, when he was positive that some of the cornnearer the house was in far greater need of hoeing than that in theten-acre lot?
However, he did not voice his questions, and immediately after thebreakfast was over Benzeor mounted his horse and departed up the road,going in the opposite direction to that which led to Little Peter'shouse.
Tom went up into the unfinished room in which Benzeor kept his guns andammunition, but instead of taking the musket to which the man hadreferred, he selected a rifle, and loaded it with a ball instead of thebird-shot as Benzeor had directed. Just why he did this Tom could nothave explained even to himself, but somehow there was the feeling in hisheart that he might need to be prepared to deal with larger game thatday than the thieving blackbirds or the noisy crows.
"I've got your dinner all ready, Tom," said Sarah, as the boy came backwith his gun into the kitchen. "Why, you've got the rifle!" she added insurprise, as she noted the weapon he had in his hands. "There's nothingwrong, is there?" she said anxiously.
"I hope not. I don't know. I thought I'd take this gun," replied Tom insome confusion.
Sarah said nothing more, but Tom knew from her manner that she wasalarmed. He would have been glad to quiet her fears, but the anxiety inhis own heart rendered him somewhat embarrassed, and without sayinganything more he shouldered his gun, and picking up the little pail, or"blicky," as the country people termed it, having adopted the Dutch wordwhether they themselves were Dutch or not, he set forth on his walk tothe distant ten-acre lot.
He stopped in the barn long enough to select a hoe, and then with theadded implement resumed his journey across the fields. When he came tothe borders of the woods through which he was to pass, he turned andlooked back at the house.
Sarah was still standing in the doorway, and as she saw Tom stop shewaved at him the sunbonnet which she was holding in one hand by thestrings. Tom waved his "blicky" by way of a return, and then entered thewoods, which shut out the view of all that lay behind him.
The birds were flitting about in the trees and filling the air withtheir songs. The squirrels darted along the branches, stopping onlyoccasionally to chatter at the intruder. High over all he could see afish-hawk and his mate circling in the air, and Tom knew that their nestwas not far away, and doubtless they were watching him to see that hedid no harm to their little ones, which by this time must be well grown.
As he came near to a marshy little pond which lay in the centre of anopen place in the woods, he stopped for a moment when he heard the angrynotes of a ground thrush near by. He soon saw that the bird was engagedin a fierce contest with a water snake which had crawled up the bank anddoubtless had been endeavoring to make his breakfast upon thefledgelings in the nest he had discovered.
Tom watched the contest for a moment, and then advanced to the aid ofthe bird, which was beating the ground with her wings, and occasionallydarting swiftly at her foe. His approach was instantly seen by thesnake, which quickly abandoned the contest, and, squirming down thebank, slid into the stagnant water; but Tom could still see the headwhich was lifted above the water, and the glittering little eyes wereintently watching his movements, although the rest of the long slimybody was concealed in the pond.
"That's just like Benzeor," said Tom aloud, as he dropped his pail, andpicking up a stone threw it savagely at the head he could see a fewyards out from the bank.
The head instantly disappeared, and Tom turned to watch the bird, whichnow was hopping about in the bushes, uttering harsh little notes ofrelief.
"You're all right now, old lady," said Tom. "Go back and tend to yourbabies. I only wish I could serve every crawling thing the way I servedyour enemy."
He soon arrived at the end of his journey, and, placing his gun withineasy reach, began his task for the day. Why he had put off hisconversation with Benzeor he could not explain. But the energy withwhich he began his work served to afford a measure of relief for hispent-up feelings, and when the noon hour at last came he had done farmore work than a morning often witnessed.
Once he had stopped suddenly when he thought he heard the report of agun in the distance. The sound had twice been repeated, but it seemed tobe muffled and far away, and as he resumed his labor he tried topersuade himself that it was only Little Peter firing at the blackbirdsor the thieving crows.
The reports had made him anxious, however, and when he had stopped fordinner he had kept his gun near him all the time. The silence served toincrease his feeling of loneliness. On every side stood the forests; andthe great trees, which had never as yet felt the stroke of the axe, werecompanions without sympathy.
With a feeling of desperation Tom soon resumed his labors. The sunpassed over his head and began to sink below the tops of the tallertrees. He had stopped for a moment to wipe his dripping face and gain abrief rest, when he was startled by the sight of some one emerging fromthe forest.
He gazed for a moment intently at the new-comer, and soon recognizedSarah. What was the trouble? Her dress had been torn by the bushes, herhair had become loose and was streaming down her back. But herdisheveled appearance was not the worst, for as Tom dropped his hoe andran across the lot to meet her, he saw that her eyes were filled with anexpression of terror, and her face betrayed the wild alarm which seemedto possess the swiftly running girl.
Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778 Page 6
