The Boys of Old Monmouth Part 11

"Pretty soon the trumpets sounded, and then a band of knights, dressed in red and white silk, on horses all decked out in the same colors, advanced. Lord Cathcart was the chief, and he had squires to carry his lances and others to carry his s.h.i.+eld, and two black slaves with silver clasps on their bare necks and arms held his stirrups. The band then marched around the square and saluted the ladies, and then the herald, after a great flourish of trumpets, declared the ladies of the Blended Rose were ahead of all others.

"When the challenge had been given the third time, some other heralds and a trumpeter came in, along with a lot of knights dressed up in black and orange, and after going through a lot of motions and the bands had played, the herald proclaimed that the Knights of the Burning Mountain were prepared to contest the claim of the others. Then the gauntlet was thrown down and picked up, and the encounter began.

"After they had met four times, the two leaders, Lord Cathcart and Captain Watson, advanced and began a contest between themselves. After they had kept it up a little while, the marshal of the field rushed in between them, and declared the ladies were all right on either side, and commanded the men to stop. Then bands filed off in different directions, playing lively tunes and saluting the ladies as they marched.

"Then the whole company marched through great arches to the garden, and then up into the hall, which had been painted up to resemble Sienna marble. They had a faro table in that room and one great cornucopia all filled with flowers and fruit, and another one empty. Then they went to the ballroom, which was all painted in pale blue, and there were festoons of flowers, and I don't know what all. I never saw anything like it before. There were eighty-five big mirrors in the room, and they were all fixed out with ribbons and flowers, and as they sent back the light from the branches of waxlights, it made the room look bright enough, I can tell you. On that same floor they had four drawing-rooms, where they got their refreshments, and these rooms were all decorated and lighted up, too.

"They kept up the dancing till ten, and then the fireworks began and the windows were all thrown open. I remember that the first of the fireworks was a great bouquet of rockets,--but that was only one, and they kept it up till twelve o'clock.

"When midnight came, the great folding doors, which had been all covered over with flowers so that no one knew they were there, were thrown open, and there was a great room all decorated and lighted up, most too wonderful to tell about; and there, too, was a great table, which they said had twelve hundred dishes on it--just think of that, will you?--and four hundred and thirty people could sit down to the table at the same time.

"They had supper then, and when they had finished that part of the programme the herald and trumpeters entered and proclaimed the health of the king and the royal family. Of course all the people there responded, and then there was a toast for the knights, and the ladies, and lots of others, and there was a great flourish of trumpets as each toast was announced.

"Then they all went back to the ballroom and began to dance again. They kept it up till four o'clock, and I don't know how much later, for I left then."

"And you saw it all?" said Tom slowly.

"Yes, almost every bit of it; 'twas a great sight, too. The like of it has never been seen before on this side of the water, and never will be again, I'm thinking. By the way, Tom, I heard a man there called by your name. It was Captain Coward, I think--though it may have been colonel or judge; I don't just recollect."

"I'm sorry for him."

"You needn't be. Just show that the name's of no account. But I've got to start now. I wish I could take you with me, but I can't. I'll see you soon, though, so good luck to you till we meet again."

"But it's raining," said Tom quickly, as the patter of the falling drops could be heard on the leaves.

"Can't stop for that; I'm due at five o'clock, rain or no rain. Good-by to you, Tom, and thank you for your help. You've saved me a hard ride in such a day as this!"

The young lieutenant was gone, and Tom waited for the shower to pa.s.s.

The rain continued only a few minutes, but left the air still more sultry than it had been before, and walking became much more difficult.

However, Tom started on as soon as the rain ceased, and kept steadily to his work until the sun was low in the heavens. His thoughts had been withdrawn, in a measure, from the camp at Hopewell, and he was thinking of the description which the young lieutenant had given of the Mischianza, and the brilliant scene which it must have presented. What could the poor and desperate Continentals do against men who had feasts like that? And Captain, or Colonel, Coward, who was he? Tom found himself thinking of the man, and wondering how he came to have the name.

He turned the bend in the road and saw a band of soldiers marching directly toward him, and not far away. Startled by the sight, he stopped a moment and gazed intently at them, striving to discover whether they wore red coats or buff; but they were covered with dust and he could not decide.

He quickly realized that he must act, and he had just turned about, prepared to run back in the road, when he heard several shots fired at the approaching men from the woods by the roadside.

The band instantly halted and prepared to defend themselves. Without waiting to watch the contest, he once more turned to run, when he obtained a glimpse of men behind him, partially concealed among the trees and standing with their guns raised to their shoulders, and with their attention fixed upon the advancing soldiers.

Were the men friends or foes? Tom could not determine; and, trembling with fear and excitement, he stopped. He was between the opposing bands, while off on his right it was evident that other men were concealed.

Thoughts of the Mischianza and of the captain with the unfortunate name were all gone now. He could not advance; he dared not retreat.

CHAPTER XI

TO REFUGEE TOWN

WHEN Little Peter reentered the lonely house after his friend Tom departed, the full sense of his own sorrow for the first time swept over him. Up to this time the necessity of action had prevented him from fully realizing his loss. The death of his mother, the capture of his father, the provision he was compelled to make at once for his younger brothers and sisters, had so absorbed his thoughts that he had had but little time to dwell upon his own sorrow.

With the departure of Tom, however, there came the reaction, and for a few moments the heartbroken lad was almost overcome. The very silence was oppressive. The only sound he could hear was the loud and regular ticking of the tall clock which stood in one corner of the kitchen. How proud his mother had always felt of that ancient timepiece! Many a time had she told him of its history and the pride with which she had received it from her own father, when as a young bride she had first entered the new house which henceforth was to be hers. To Peter, it almost seemed as if the stately clock had been a member of the family, and its voice was almost human to him. On the summer afternoons, when he was a little fellow and his mother had been busied in her household duties, he had often stretched himself upon the sanded floor, and, resting his face upon his hands, with eager eyes had gazed up into the face of the old timepiece and listened to the swing of its long pendulum, which for him had had a language all its own.

And now in the light of the early morning the old clock still stood in the corner and regularly ticked off the pa.s.sing hours, as if it were unmindful of all the sad scenes to which it had recently been a witness.

And yet to Peter it almost seemed, too, as if there was a tone of sadness after all in the monotonous tickings that day. Perhaps the old clock was striving to express its sympathy for the sorrowing boy, but not even its sympathy must be permitted to interfere with its duty in marking the pa.s.sage of the swiftly flying minutes.

The few antiquated chairs were standing just as they had stood when his mother had been there. The bra.s.s-rimmed mirror, the one ornament of the room, which hung over the low mantelpiece, reflected the scene before it, but in all the picture one figure was wanting and would be forevermore. Overcome by the full knowledge of his loss, Little Peter bowed his head upon his hands and leaned low upon the table, and burst into a flood of tears--the first he had shed since the sad event had occurred. Indian John was forgotten, the few ch.o.r.es about the place were ignored, and for a time the heartbroken lad gave way to his sorrow for the loss of his mother, upon whose face he never was to look again.

How long he remained in that att.i.tude he did not know, but he was recalled to the necessities of the present by the sound of footsteps outside the door. His first thought was that Indian John had returned, and he hastily rose to greet him; but quickly he perceived that the new-comer was not his Indian friend, but Barzilla Giberson, one of his nearest neighbors. If Little Peter had looked carefully into his neighbor's face, he would doubtless have noticed that the man was evidently somewhat troubled, and apparently was not overjoyed at the prospect of an interview; but the lad was too busied with his own thoughts and sorrows to bestow a critical examination upon a neighbor's countenance, and Barzilla's evident uneasiness, therefore, was all pa.s.sed by unnoticed.

"Good-morrow to you, Little Peter," said Barzilla. "The women folks wanted me to come over and say to you that you were welcome to make your home with them, if you so chose."

"Thank you, Barzilla," replied Peter. "If I were going to stay here I should be glad to do that, but I'm going away this morning."

"Sho! Ye don't say so! Where ye goin', if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"I'm going to look up my father."

"Where ye goin' to look him up?" said Barzilla, somewhat uneasily.

"I'm going down to Refugee Town first. I don't know what I'll do if I don't find him there."

"Ye won't find him there," said Barzilla quickly. "In course I don't know where he is," he hastily added, "but I don't b'lieve ye'll find him there; and, besides, that's no place for a lad like you to go to alone, for I take it ye're goin' alone?"

"Yes, I'm going alone," replied Peter, to whom Barzilla's anxiety was not apparent.

"In course it isn't for me to say what ye shall do and what ye shan't, but I don't believe a trip there will do ye any good. Ye've got to remember that other folks has suffered, too. Yer marm isn't the only one that's been shot, and yer pop isn't the only man that's been carried off by the British."

"It wasn't the British that carried my father away," said Peter quickly.

"'Twan't the British? Who was it then, I'd like to know?"

"'Twas Fenton and his band, that's who it was."

"Sho! I can't believe that! I reckon ye're mistaken, Peter. It must 'a'

been the redcoats."

"It was Fenton," repeated Peter decidedly.

"I can't b'lieve it," said Barzilla, rising as he spoke. "I can't b'lieve it. However, Peter, we'll look after yer place. The women folks or I will do the ch.o.r.es for ye, while ye're gone. It's only neighborly, ye know, and what's friends good for if they can't help in a time like this?"

"Thank you," said Peter quietly. "There isn't much to be done, but if you'll look after what there is, I shall be glad. The children are at Benzeor's house, you know."

"So I hear. So I hear. Well, they're in good hands; ye can rest easy about that. Well, I must be a-goin'. Ye still think ye'd better go down to Refugee Town, do ye?"

"Yes."

"Well, good luck to ye. Good luck to ye. We'll look after the place,"

called Barzilla as he departed.