Chapter VII: New Friends and New Foes

"HERE is she? Where is the child?" asked two or three together.

"In there, asleep," answered Caspar, pointing over his shoulder to where Kitty lay, unawakened by the noise.

"Thank the Lord!" said one, a hard-featured, preternaturally solemn-looking man. "I never hoped to see her alive again. Are you sure she is living, and not dead?"

"She is surely living unless she has died within half an hour," said Caspar.

"And where did thee find her, friend?" asked the solemn man, after he had looked at Kitty and satisfied himself that she was indeed alive.

"Some miles below here, on the bank of the river. She told me she had been out all night."

"And why didn't you bring her right home, instead of camping down here?" asked one of the men who had spoken first, in a loud, harsh voice.

"Because I was tired with carrying her and did not know my way; and besides, seeing that a storm was coming up, I judged it better not to leave a shelter I was sure of."

"Yes, that is a likely story!" said the loud-voiced man. "I believe you meant to carry her off and sell her."

"Joses Dandy, if it wasn't against Scripture, I would certainly call thee a fool," said the solemn man. "Why should the man have answered our shouts if he had wished to steal the child? And why should he be going up the river instead of down? Can thee answer me that?"

Apparently, Joses Dandy could not, for he began on another tack.

"And who are you, any way?" he asked, turning again to Caspar.

"Never mind that now," said the other man. "We must fire our pieces to let our friends know the child is found."

The pieces were fired, and in a few minutes, three or four more men made their way to the scene of action.

"What is it? Where is the child?" asked one and another. "Is she found? Is she alive?"

"Alive and well, and sound asleep in there," answered the solemn man.

"And this man here says he found her, and was bringing her home, but I don't believe a word of it," said Joses Dandy, who seemed to have conceived an enmity at first sight against Caspar. "I believe the man is a British spy and meant to steal the child."

"A likely thing for a spy to do!" observed the solemn man.

"Any way, the man is a Hessian by his tongue, and he looks like a soldier," observed another of the party.

"Just so, and I know him. He is a regimental smith," said Joses. "I saw him in Philadelphia last month. He is just a spy come to spy out the nakedness of the land, and it is all fudge about his finding the child."

"And what was thee doing in Philadelphia, I should like to know?" asked the solemn man.

Joses did not find it convenient to hear the question:

"I say hang him up and be done with him!"

"I say so too," said another, who seemed to be somewhat drunk. "The Hessians burnt my grandfather's house and shot down the poor old man in cold blood. Spy or not, I say hang him up without judge or jury! I wish we could hang all the rest with him."

"That's what I say," added Joses. "Hang him up at once!"

"I wouldn't say quite so much about hanging if I was thee, Joses Dandy," said a young man who had hardly spoken before. "If we were to hang up every one whose loyalty was suspected, thy women-folks might have to wait breakfast for thee longer than was convenient. What I want to know is how thee came to see him in the city?"

"Anyhow, we can search him and see what he has about him."

The proposition was acceded to. Caspar now gave himself up for lost, but he remained perfectly passive, while the search proceeded pretty roughly.

"Here's a pass from Clinton himself," said the loud-voiced man. "What do you say now, Recompense Joake?"

"Just what I did before," answered the solemn man, his face, however, lengthening perceptibly.

"And here's a list of names," said another, "and in the same handwriting. What does this mean?"

"What signifies what it means?" said Joses, hastily. "Haven't we enough to convict him? Hang him up, I say, and have done with him."

"Take me out of sight and hearing of the child, any way," said Caspar.

"Oh, thee will keep; there's no such hurry," said the young man, who was called Thomas Whitecar. "Here we are, six men against one; and besides, thee has a right to be heard in thy own defence. Let us see this list.—Hold up the lanthorn, Recompense.—Well, here's thy name first of all, Joses Dandy. I should like to know the meaning of that?"

At this moment the search was interrupted. Kitty, sleeping the sound sleep of tired childhood, had heard none of the noise for a while, but at last the sound of the loud talking made its way to her brain. She woke, sat up, and looked around her, quite bewildered at first, but presently remembering all about it.

"Where are you, Mr. Hessian?" she called.

Receiving no answer, she made her way to the door, and beheld her friend in the hands of men who were evidently treating him roughly enough. Kitty did not know what fear was. With one bound, she was in the midst of the group and had her arms clasped tight round Caspar's body.

"Touch him if you dare!" said she, her great gray eyes flashing fire. "What are you doing to him? There! He drove away the bear and tied up my feet and all, and that's the way you use him—to pull off his coat and his shoes, and make him catch cold in the wet!—Recompense Joake, see if I don't tell father of you when he comes!"

The men looked at each other.

"What was it about the bear, Kitty?" asked Thomas Whitecar.

Kitty told her story, which we have already heard, and which lost nothing by her way of telling it.

"And he tied up my feet real good; and when I couldn't walk, he carried me in his arms miles upon miles, and then he cooked a bird for my supper, and gave me every bit of the biscuit—yes, every bit. He wouldn't take one crumb, and he made me a nice bed; and that's the way you serve him!" cried Kitty, in a tempest of wrath.—"Recompense Joake, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live—so there! Just see if I tell you any more stories, that's all."

"Well, now, Kitty, if it wasn't wrong, I could be put out with thee," said Recompense, seriously aggrieved, as it seemed, by Kitty's threat. "Haven't I been out all night and all day looking for thee, say?"

"Why didn't you look in the right place, then?" asked Kitty, no ways appeased.—"Oh, Cousin Thomas, you won't let them hurt him, will you?"

"Not if I can help it, Kitty," answered Thomas.

"But you shall help it or I'll—I'll kill somebody myself. I'll run right away and get lost again, and tell General Washington of you—yes, and Aunt Deborah too!" cried Kitty, heaping threat upon threat, and keeping fast hold of Caspar.

"I say hang him up! Who minds what a child says?" said Joses Dandy. "I dare say he put the story in her mouth. I know the man, I tell you. I saw him myself shoeing a big white horse for one of the officers of the Waldeckers, as they call them."

"And pray where was thee when thee saw him?" asked Recompense Joake.

"He was selling fresh eggs at a shilling apiece to some of the English officers," said Caspar, quietly.

All the time he had been haunted with the idea that he had seen the man before, and the mention of the big white horse brought back to his mind an egg-and-butter peddler who had asked and obtained an exorbitant price for his wares.

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed Thomas Whitecar. "What's that?"

Caspar repeated the story, which Joses noisily denied, declaring the man was only trying to save his own neck, and deserved hanging more than ever.

"Nonsense!" said Thomas Whitecar. "We can't hang a man who has just saved the child's life, and that without any authority or examination. I for one want to know how thy name came into this list of Tories in West Jersey, for that is what it is."

"Just so," said Recompense Joake. "And about this peddling business? If it wasn't against the testimony of Friends to bet, I'd bet something that thee sold to the British in Philadelphia the provisions the women got together to send to the sick in our army. I, for one, should like to hear what this Hessian has to say about that. I think things look rather black for thee, Joses."

"Anyhow, friends, I vote we take the man home with us and keep him till we can consult Captain Elmer. As Recompense says, I want to hear about this peddling business," said Thomas: "I've had my suspicions before."

"Jonathan Elmer!" repeated Caspar.

"Yes, Jonathan Elmer," said Recompense. "Thee seems to know the name."

"I do, and he knows me," replied Caspar, a ray of hope arising at the name of his former assistant. "Bring me face to face with him, I beseech you; I ask nothing better. Is he of these parts?"

"Yes; he lives in Bridgeton. This is his child thee has saved.—Come, friends, let us turn toward home.—Kitty, shall I carry thee?"

"No, indeed, thank you!" replied Kitty, disdainfully. "I don't want any one to carry me only Mr. Hessian.—But maybe you are too tired?" she added, looking up in her friend's face. "You carried me so long this morning. Don't your arms ache?"

"Not a bit!" answered Caspar, taking her up and kissing her. "I am in your hands, comrades," he added, with a smile. "You see I am in no case to run away."

"And that is true. I believe you are an honest fellow, though appearances are against you," said the young man who had been most violent against Caspar. "But you needn't wonder that we hate the Hessians, we Jersey folks.—But I say, friends, what's come of Dandy?"

"Sure enough!" said another. "I believe he has slipped away. I've a notion we sha'n't see him again very soon. The rascal! To get so much credit for carrying provisions to our own camp, while all the time he was making money by supplying the British! No wonder he was for hanging this man here in a hurry."

"How far are we from the child's home?" asked Caspar.

"Only about two miles."

It is needless to say with what joy Kitty's arrival was greeted. Her first question was whether her father had come home.

"Yes, he came last night, and is out looking for thee," said her aunt. "Oh, Kitty, Kitty! How much trouble thee has made just because thee wouldn't mind!"

"I know I have been very naughty," said Kitty, penitently, "and I won't ever do so again—not even if you won't take me to meeting, Aunt Deborah. Oh dear! I wish father would come. I want to tell him how Mr. Hessian drove away the bear."

"Thou shouldst call me Caspar, my child," said Caspar.

"Well, Caspar, then!—And won't you give him something real nice to eat, Aunt Deborah, because he gave me almost all the supper there was?"

"Yes, yes! We will see to that. So he found thee in the woods?"

Kitty told her tale over again to admiring listeners, and Caspar found himself promoted from the position of a suspected prisoner to that of a hero. A comfortable room was assigned to him for a prison, if so it could be called, and a savoury hot supper sent up to him. It was the most homelike meal he had seen in many a day, but somehow, though parched with thirst, he felt no disposition to eat. He had just emptied the pitcher of home-brewed beer when Recompense Joake presented his solemn face at the door:

"Has thee got everything comfortable?"

"Everything, thank you."

"I have brought thee a pipe and some tobacco," said his friend, advancing into the room and closing the door. "I don't smoke myself, but I know how much people who do are attached to the weed."

"I don't smoke, either, for a wonder," answered Caspar, "but I thank you all the same."

Recompense still lingered, arranging the fire, and Caspar, who longed to be alone, wondered when he was going.

At last, Recompense drew close to him and said, in a low tone,—

"Friend, I'm not just clear that I am in the path of duty, but I reckon I'll risk it, seeing you saved the child."

"Risk what?" asked Caspar.

"Well, risk going a little grain out of the way for thee. If thee would rather get away before the captain comes home, there's that window opens out on the roof of the shed. It's only five feet from the ground, and there's a boat down by the landing with the oars in it. Does thee understand?"

"I understand," said Caspar, seeing what was the drift of the good-natured Quaker. "You mean to let me get away."

"Just so. I won't take it upon me to advise thee. Thee can do as thee likes, of course. But if thee shouldn't think best to run any risks—Thee sees thy people have done a good many hard things in the Jerseys, and folks is naturally put out. Of course we expect the British to fight us, but when it comes to folks we never had any quarrel with, and never did anything to, coming over and abusing our women-folks and stealing our goods—well, if it wasn't against the testimony of Friends, I don't say but I should feel like fighting myself."

"But you see, we can't help it," said Caspar. "Nobody asked us if we would come. Our king sold us to the English king, and we couldn't help ourselves. I was carried away from my family, and never allowed even to bid them good-bye."

"Then, if I was thee, and didn't see it to be against my conscience, I'd run away first chance I got. Well, good-night! I thought I'd tell thee, and thee could do as thee liked. Good-night! I hope thee 'll sleep."

It was kind to hope so, but there was little chance of the hope being realized. Caspar's mind was in a whirl of excitement trying to decide upon his course. He might escape, it was true; but reviewing all the circumstances, he thought the chances were against him. It must be nearly morning already. He would soon be missed and pursued, and were he retaken, he could hardly hope for mercy. On the other side of the river, he might possibly find shelter with some Tory family, had he only known where to look for them, but he had lost his list, and could not remember a single name save that of Joses Dandy, who seemed more likely to want protection than to afford it. He rose and went to the window, which opened easily enough. It was already growing light.

"Heaven help me, for I am in a sore strait!" was his prayer.

He leaned for a few minutes against the window-frame. Then he spoke aloud in German:

"No, I will not try to get away. This man Elmer owes me two lives—his own and his child's. It will go hard but he will find some way to save me if I tell him the truth. I have prayed that a way might be opened for me to leave the army, and it may be this is the answer to my prayer."

Caspar knelt down and prayed earnestly for a few minutes. Then he extinguished his light and threw himself on Deborah Whitecar's clean and soft feather bed. His head ached and he felt strangely tired and excited, but after a time he fell into a troubled sleep.

It was broad day when he awoke, and for some minutes he could not remember what had happened or where he was. He felt weak and unnerved, and almost as if he were out of the body. What in the world had happened to his hands to make them so thin and white? And why did he find such a difficulty in turning himself over? He looked about him. He felt sure this was not the room in which he had gone to sleep. It was a larger and better-furnished apartment, and his bed had full white curtains.

A middle-aged woman in a muslin cap and a wonderfully neat plain dress sat knitting at the side of his bed, and rose as his eye met hers.

"Thee is better?" said she, taking his hand into her soft fingers and feeling his pulse. "The doctor said he thought thee would be all right on waking.—Kitty, thee may tell Discretion to bring the broth."

"Better! Have I been ill?" asked Caspar, bewildered.

"Hush! Thee mustn't talk. Yes, thee has been sick abed fur three weeks, and out of thy head all the time. Thee 'll hear all about it when thee is better. Now thee must take thy broth, and perhaps thee may sleep again."

Caspar took the delicate broth which his nurse held to his lips, and then, sinking back on his pillows, he began to try to think a little. He seemed to remember now that some time had passed, that he had seen people about him whom he did not know, and that he had heard some one say,—

"I think he will live through it."

But thinking was hard and sleepy work, and he soon dropped off again. When he woke, the setting sun was sending rays through the closed blinds, and his nurse was standing by the bed with a gentleman who was engaged in feeling his pulse.

"Well, my man, you have come out on the right side this time," said the doctor, cheerfully. "You must have a pretty good constitution. I don't see anything now to hinder you getting well directly."