CHAPTER VII

IN MORTAL FEAR

The horror which came upon me when I learned that our comrades and the prisoner had disappeared, and realized that they could not have vanished save through some work of the lobster-backs, was so overpowering that during three or four minutes maybe--I had no knowledge of the passing of the time--I remained silent and motionless, my hand on young Chris’s shoulder as if depending upon him in some way for support.

For the first time since I had known the lad was he awed into silence. He could not have failed to understand, as did I, very much of what had happened, and realized fully the danger which menaced us.

For awhile my mind was in such a whirl that I was not capable of connected thought, and then, as the moments went by, each bringing nearer to us that peril which I believed, and almost was the same as certain, awaited us outside our hiding place, I began to gather my wits. For the first time since the terrible blow had come upon me, I understood that it behooved young Chris and me to be doing whatsoever we might to insure our safety.

And what could we do, I asked myself, clutching my comrade yet more firmly by the shoulder as if believing he, without questioning, could give me the solution to the riddle.

There was no doubt whatsoever but that the lobster-backs had heard from Skinny that we were gone on a mission to the American army, and like to return to that very place. Therefore would they keep watch for us, and that we had been able to get in there without being arrested, was due to the fact that we had come at the one time of all others during the night when those who watched would be less keenly on the alert.

“We must leave here at once,” young Chris said, starting up as if he would on the instant go into the open air, and I seized the lad roughly, pulling him back until he was where I could hold him motionless, as I said:

“Have you no better sense than to go out now, when we know beyond a peradventure that there will be lobster-backs nearabout watching for us?”

“But we _must_ go,” young Chris cried helplessly. “To stay here is to be made prisoners.”

“Ay, and to go out is to make certain of being taken into custody. There is some slight chance we may escape yet if we but hold ourselves together, striving to hit upon that which is the wisest course.”

“There can be no wise course as we are situated now,” the lad replied with a choking of the breath that was like unto a sob. “We are the same as taken already. Do you fancy for a single instant that Skinny would hold his peace concerning the chances of our return?”

It was as if this question of young Chris’s brought to my mind a plan, a poor one it is true, and yet better than none at all, therefore I replied eagerly, thus showing that the idea had just come into my mind:

“If so be there are lobster-backs on watch for us, then must they be of the belief that we have not yet returned. How we got in here without their knowledge I know not, save that they must have slept while on duty, for I dare venture to swear one or more has been placed over this lumber pile as guard both day and night. Now we are here, and with the chance that they yet believe we are up the river, it behooves us to stay until nightfall at the very least. Between now and then shall we decide how we can best go away without attracting the attention of those who would send us to the gallows.”

“And think you it will be possible, even after night has come, for us to get away from here?” the lad asked in a despairing tone, whereupon I, to hearten him rather than because I believed such matter, replied with as much of cheerfulness as I could assume:

“It is certain we got in here without being seen, else they would have nabbed us on the instant, had our approach been known. There is no chance we could escape if we ventured out in the open day, for not only would we stand a chance of being seen by those who are on guard nearby, but the odds are that the hue and cry has been raised against us, and if peradventure we showed ourselves in the city, someone would be certain to gobble us up.”

“But we can’t stay here all day,” young Chris moaned. “Fancy sitting here eating our hearts out with fear that each instant may bring the lobster-backs upon us!”

“Ay, lad; but think of going out and being haled before a company of British officers who have formed themselves into what is called a court martial, and have them decide whether we shall be hanged to-morrow or next day.”

Young Chris made no reply; but, covering his eyes with his hands, sat with head bent on his knees, the perfect picture of despair.

Well might he present such a picture, for look upon the situation as I could, in the most favorable light, I saw but little hope of our being able to go free many hours longer.

However, it was possible, as I figured the matter in my mind, for us to remain where we were until nightfall--only possible; but yet why not take the chances of remaining alive yet a little longer? Why rush out as Chris would have me to do, into the arms of those who would judge us as spies?

I could not if I would set down all the horrible ideas which came into my mind during the long day that seemingly would never come to an end.

Each minute, full of terror as it was, appeared to have been lengthened into an hour, and the hours were like unto weeks, until it was all I could do to prevent myself from crying aloud in agony.

Chris still remained with his head on his knee when I fancied noon had come. It was as if the lad had given up all hope, and I questioned whether there might not be some difficulty in arousing him when I believed our time for action was come.

Now and then we could hear voices on the outside of the lumber pile, and these I made certain were come from those who stood on watch to seize us.

More than once did I fancy I heard someone creeping through the passageway to make certain whether we were there, and then involuntarily I crouched back against the timbers as if I would force myself through them, straining every muscle until I felt as sore as if I had been beaten from head to foot.

We gave no thought to hunger; in fact, we were not conscious of lack of food while the mental agony was so great; but there were times when it seemed as if I would give half my chances of escape, if indeed I had any, for water enough to moisten my throat.

Fear had dried my mouth and parched my tongue until it was with difficulty I could speak, when now and then I would strive to cheer young Chris from out his terrible despondency.

However slowly the minutes moved, the day finally came to an end, as all days will whether they bring us good or evil.

While the sun was shining this hiding place of ours was lighted sufficiently for one to see another; but when evening came the darkness was so intense that it was only by the sense of touch you could determine where was your comrade, even though he sat close by your side.

I believe young Chris had remained silent and motionless a full three hours before this, and then, when we knew that the day had passed, he said in the tone of one who has lost all hope:

“When may it be to your mind that we make a change? When do you count on taking the chances of getting away from here?”

“As soon as I believe midnight has come.”

“And have you any faith that we may succeed?”

“Whether I have or no, it is better we make the attempt. God has thus far been good to us, inasmuch as He has allowed that we remain here throughout the day without being discovered, and let us hope His goodness will so far continue that we may be able to get away undetected.”

“And what then?” Chris asked with a groan. “Where can we go? Surely not to your home or mine, for if the hue and cry be out against us, then will the lobster-backs pay frequent visits to the bakery and your mother’s house.”

“Let us not cross bridges until we come to them, for of a verity we have trouble enough without looking into the future in search of more,” I replied sharply, angered because he would persist in striving to find yet further cause for anxiety when we had so much upon us. “Our first work is to get away from here, and if so be we should succeed in leaving this hiding place, then let us take the chances of crossing the city once more, making our way to Valley Forge, where we know beyond a peradventure we shall be safe from the Britishers; for however greatly they outnumber our army, General Howe has not dared to give battle.”

“There is as little hope we can cross the city since the hue and cry is most likely out, as that we can go straight from this place to heaven,” Chris said despairingly, and once more lapsed into silence, which was irritating to me, for of a verity I needed a cheering word now and then even as much as did he.

Again and again I cast about me to decide what we should do if peradventure we succeeded in getting away from the hiding place; but without avail.

Then I fell to counting the minutes, so that I might have some fair idea of when midnight had come, and in all these ways of making the time seem to pass more quickly, I failed because of the shadow of the scaffold which was weighting me down.

It was at the very moment when I said to myself that we might as well go out and give ourselves up at the nearest guard-house, as to make any effort toward escape, when I heard a soft rippling of the water just at the mouth of our hiding place nearabout where we usually moored the _Jolly Rover_.

On the instant all that spirit which had been driven out of me by the horror of the situation, came back, for I knew that that which I heard was not the lip, lip, lipping of the tide; but caused by some living thing, although it might be only an animal.

“Do you hear that?” I asked feverishly, gripping young Chris by the shoulder and pulling him toward me, as if by such change of position he might the better distinguish the sounds.

He, listening for an instant, fell back once more in helpless fear as he muttered:

“’Tis only a rat, or something of that kind. Perchance a cur which one of the lobster-backs has thrown into the water; but surely nothing that may be of avail to us, for there is no one who can help us now.”

I could have pummeled the lad, so great was my irritation because he refused even to suspect that there might be some in the city who would try to aid us, and perhaps in my anger I said many bitter things to him; but I had as well have talked to a stone, so far as making myself understood was concerned, for young Chris was the same as dead to the world.

“Whether it be rat or no, I am minded to find out, for surely something is moving toward this place against the current.”

Chris made no reply, and I crept softly down upon a projecting timber to which we had always moored the _Jolly Rover_, and, hardly conscious of what I did, stretched my hand out over the surface of the water, striving to feel that which was causing the ripples.

Then my heart came up into my throat like to burst the skin, as I touched the hair of a human being’s head, and an instant later I was near to losing consciousness because of the wondrous joy that came over me, as I heard a familiar voice ask:

“Is that you by any good chance, Richard Salter?”

“Me? Ay, that it is, Timothy Bowers! God bless you for having come to me at this moment when I was near dead with fear!”

“Are you alone here?” and Tim, rising sufficiently out of the water to clutch the plank on which I was standing, drew himself up beside me all unaided, for I was so weakened by joy that I could not have raised a pound’s weight strive however I might.

Mayhap a full minute passed before I was able to speak connectedly, and then I answered his question by saying that young Chris was near at hand.

“How did you get inside here without being seen by the lobster-backs?” he asked in amazement.

“That I know not; we came just before break of day, and saw no one nearabout. The first we knew that any trouble had befallen our lads, was when we found this place empty. Tell me what has happened?”

Now, eager as was I to learn the full extent of the danger which menaced, I clutched Timothy by the throat so fiercely that he cried out, and young Chris, hearing the noise, asked stupidly:

“Who may be there? Who is raising a noise to give an alarm to those who would hang us?”

“Arouse yourself, Chris Ludwig,” I cried sharply, creeping back along the plank to catch him by the arm, for I was minded he should come out of this swoon of terror as soon as might be. “Rouse yourself, for here is Timothy Bowers who has come to give us information of what has happened, even though he may not be able to aid us.”

“How did he come?” Chris asked stupidly, and as I replied, the idea came into my mind like a flash of light.

“He came as we shall go, lad, by swimming! If he could find his way here, verily we can follow him out, and we are the same as free this moment!”

Such words as these could not fail of arousing the lad from his apathy of terror, and now he was as keenly on the alert as I would have him, pressing forward in the darkness that he might put his hand upon Timothy while the lad told his story, which we were burning to hear.

It was little, however, that Timothy Bowers could tell us when we had recovered sufficiently from our excitement to listen.

He knew naught, save that suddenly he saw Skinny Baker free on the street, and, coming down to the lumber pile as swiftly as might be, found two lobster-backs guarding the entrance where we were in the custom of creeping through into the vacant space beyond.

[Illustration: HE FOUND TWO LOBSTER-BACKS GUARDING THE ENTRANCE.]

Tim had sufficient sense to understand that if Skinny Baker was walking the streets free, Jeremy and Sam must be in the clutches of the lobster-backs, and straightway he took every precaution for his own safety, going to the house of a cousin who lived on Third street beyond Chestnut, rather than returning home.

While he lay there in hiding during the day, his cousin, who was a girl of mayhap fourteen or fifteen years, went out on the street, where, after some time had been spent, she gathered that two rebel lads had been arrested. No sooner was this information come to her than she ran plumply against Master Baker, who, pluming himself over the fact that the British officers were taking some notice of him now that his son had been able to give what seemed to be valuable information, was strutting along the street like any turkey cock.

She, dear girl, had wit enough to ask him if he had any news from his son, for Master Baker had made public the fact that Skinny was missing.

Then it was the Tory told her that Skinny had been held prisoner by a party of wicked rebel lads; but now was escaped, and those who held him captive were themselves in jail, where, so he said, he hoped they would stay until they went to their death.

It was poor information enough to us who thirsted for all the details, and I was mystified as to why Skinny, who was not a quick-witted lad, nor one who had courage enough to fight his way through, had succeeded in shaking off Sam and Jeremy.

However, that was but of little moment so far as our situation was concerned.

Our company of Minute Boys had hardly more than been formed when two of them were prisoners, with the chance of being hardly dealt with, and here under the timbers were three more who must bring all their wits to bear if they would preserve their freedom.

When Timothy had come to an end of his story, I asked him whether he had seen any lobster-backs on the shore nearby the lumber pile when he swam down the stream, and he replied grimly, while I could almost fancy even in the darkness that there was a smile of content on his face:

“I had no spare time to watch out for lobster-backs, knowing if they caught a glimpse of my head on the stream they would soon let me understand I had been discovered, therefore I swam on, giving little heed to anything save my own progress.”

“But why did you come here, Timothy, when you knew that the lobster-backs must be waiting for young Chris and me?” I asked.

“That was exactly why I did come,” the lad replied promptly. “There was in my mind a fancy that you might possibly have done exactly as you did, and were waiting here in the belief that some of our Minute Boys would come to your aid. Therefore it was I cast about as to how I could best make my way to this place.”

“You are a true comrade, Timothy Bowers!” I cried, seizing both his hands with a grip that caused him to wince with pain. “In all my reaching out for some means of escape, it never came into my thick head that one of our lads who called himself a Minute Boy, could or would come to our aid.”

“I have come,” Timothy said in a laughing tone; “but whether it is to your aid or no remains to be seen. In fact I misdoubt my being able to help, and have an idea that I shall rather be a burden upon you, for where two might swim up the river unseen, three are like to show themselves, either by noise, or because of so many black objects upon the surface of the water.”

“You have brought aid, Timothy, even though we are taken next minute, for it has heartened Chris and me, who were well-nigh dead with despair, to such courage as I doubt not will bring us through in safety, for a certain time at least. We are boldened to do great things now, knowing that at the end of them is, perhaps, our safety, therefore let us get about the work rather than remain here thinking of what may happen.”

“In that you are pleasing me exactly,” Timothy replied. “I have no desire to linger here, and if you are minded to follow me, I am ready to take to the water; but once there I know not what we shall do, or which way we are to turn. If I might take you to the house of my cousin, it would be well; but my aunt has said that if peradventure I found any of my comrades wandering around the city, I must escort them to some other place, for she fears that too many boys gathering at her home would attract the attention of the lobster-backs, thereby bringing her in danger of arrest.”

“I have thought that mayhap we might find our way back to Valley Forge,” I suggested, and Timothy cried on the instant:

“No, no, do not venture that way! Simcoe’s rangers went up the road to Germantown this afternoon, so I heard at the house where I have been hiding, and who shall say that they are not out in search of you? You must find some hiding place in the city, and mark you, Richard Salter, I am of the belief that it is our business to teach Skinny Baker a lesson which as yet he has not received.”

“What?” young Chris cried in a tone of mingled surprise and fear, “Would you now, when the hue and cry is out against us, think of paying Skinny Baker back in the coin which he deserves?”

“Ay, that I would,” Timothy replied stoutly. “The lobster-backs haven’t got us yet, and it strikes me that we are timorous lads if we give up at this moment simply because the Britishers are burning to take us prisoners. It is our business to do whatsoever we may to aid Jeremy and Sam, for verily they are in sore distress, and you would not forsake a comrade at such a time?”

The lad caused me to feel shame for myself. He stood in quite as great danger as did Chris and I, and yet instead of mourning over his fate as I had done during all that long day, he was reaching out in the hope to help others--had already taken desperate chances on the chance that we might have come back, and seemed to have cast aside all thoughts of self.

Again I clutched him by the hand, and said in a tone which he must have known was sincerely from the bottom of my heart:

“Timothy Bowers, you are a comrade among a thousand! I have never known but one who would do as much for a friend, and that one Jeremy Hapgood, who you say is now in prison.”

“Ay, that’s where he is, Richard Salter; but if you and I are half as keen-witted as we claim to be, it seems to me we should be able to work him some good, for the lobster-backs feel so secure of holding this city that they are grown careless, as you know full well. Once you and Chris are out of this place, which is much like a rat-trap, I dare venture to say we can find a chance to hide without bringing danger upon those who care for us, and what matters though we go hungry for a day or two, if so be we do all that which we should?”

You can well fancy how I was heartened; how my courage was strengthened by such words as these from a lad whom I had never believed had it in him to do brave deeds, and if there was a hero in the city of Philadelphia that night, I claim it was Timothy Bowers.

He had brought me out from the slough of despond, and I fancied now it was possible for me to see my way clear, despite the fact that all those servants of General Howe who wore red coats were on the lookout to make me prisoner.

“It shall be you who leads the way, Timothy, and we are ready at the word, unless, peradventure, you think better for us to linger here awhile longer.”

“This is no place in which to stand idle. The first move is to get away, for the thick-headed lobster-backs believe there is no question but that on your return from Valley Forge--and of course Skinny told them where you had gone--this will be the first place you aim at. Therefore if so be they fail to see you by to-morrow, I’ll go bail they’ll search inside here. We have considerable of work before us, for it is no child’s play to swim against the current.”

“Go you on and we will follow,” I cried, throwing off my shoes that they might not encumber me while in the water, and young Chris followed my example. Timothy himself, I learned by sense of touch, was already barefoot.

Then the brave lad led the way down on the plank where we moored the _Jolly Rover_, and allowed himself to sink gently into the water in such manner as not to raise the slightest ripple, we following his every movement.

I must confess, however, brave though I felt myself to be while he was talking, there was more than a certain fear in my heart when we came out from under the timbers, swimming close within the shadow of the bank, for I feared, and with good reason, that some of the lobster-backs might be near at hand watching for just such a manœuvre as we were executing.

Even while we struck out, striving to avoid making any commotion in the water and at the same time keeping so near Timothy that I could see his head even in the darkness, I reproached myself for the cowardly fear and despair which had come upon me during the day.

Now, after all my forebodings, we were going peacefully away from the hiding place without being molested by the enemy, and all because one certain lad had come to hearten us, showing that we were selfish indeed to think only of ourselves when there were comrades in sore distress needing aid.

I believe that the sense of shame caused by my having shown the white feather at a time when I needed all my courage, became so great as to quicken my wits, for even while we swam I bethought me of a safe place of refuge if so be we might gain it, and, hastening my stroke, I pulled alongside Timothy as I said to him:

“There is at the Jolly Tar inn the Weaver of Germantown, who is, as we know, a friend to the Cause, and it must be that Master Targe, the innkeeper, is also what the lobster-backs call a rebel. If one can remain hidden in his tavern, why not all of us, and there we shall find not only shelter, but food.”

“It is the place for us,” Timothy replied quickly, and with a note of relief in his voice. “Surely there is no other house in all the city we could come at so easily as the inn.”

As a matter of course this conversation had been carried on in whispers, and young Chris heard nothing whatsoever concerning it; but when we turned to enter the creek his curiosity was roused, and he asked almost angrily if I knew whither we were bound.

“To the Jolly Tar inn, where is the Weaver of Germantown,” I replied curtly, and then turned all my attention to swimming as swiftly as might be, for now we were come so near a place of refuge and could see no one on the bank, it surely seemed as if we should strain every nerve in order to arrive at the earliest possible moment.

I heard a smothered exclamation of satisfaction from young Chris when I had spoken, and knew that he understood what we might find if so be we arrived at our journey’s end in safety.

And this we did, thanks to that same Providence which it appeared to me had had direct ruling over us from the time we left the falls to go to the hiding place.

We came up out of the water within a few yards of the inn, taking due care to make no noise whatsoever, as you may well suppose, and then, instead of going boldly into the place, for we knew not who might be there, we circled around the building until it had been possible, through the windows, to see the interior of every room on the lower floor.

There was no one to be seen inside save the sour-visaged landlord, who no longer looked surly to me now that I had good reason for believing he was a true friend to the Cause.

It is not to be wondered at that Master Targe looked up in surprise when we three lads, dripping like water rats, and I dare say looking very much like such animals, entered the tap-room.

While one might have counted ten he stood gazing at us as if having no knowledge that he had ever met any of the party before, and I, fearing he might be pleased to forget that I had been recommended to his care, said in a low tone as I came close to him:

“We would have speech with the Weaver of Germantown, and later with you, if it be possible.”

“Where have you lads come from?”

“Out of the river,” Timothy replied laughingly, and Master Targe, taking no heed to what the lad counted was a joke, asked sternly:

“Where before that?”

“Young Chris and I came down from Valley Forge to our hiding place, not knowing what had happened, and but for Timothy Bowers here, I dare say before morning we would have been in the hands of the lobster-backs.”

“Why would you see the Weaver of Germantown?” the innkeeper asked, and this I thought was displaying rather too much curiosity, therefore replied, not curtly; but in such a tone as showed that I was not willing to be questioned closely:

“That remains for him to tell you, if so be it is his mind. Master Dingley sent us here, and I believe we should have speech with him before saying aught to anyone else.”

To my surprise the innkeeper appeared well satisfied with the reply, and said in a tone of commendation:

“Verily you are cautious for a lad of your years, and if so be you continue in the same way, then will there be less difficulty in doing the work which may be set for you.”

Having said this he came out from behind the bar, where he had been lounging, so to speak, leaning on his elbows over the wooden counter, and without bidding us follow him, went through the next room and up a flight of stairs which I knew led to the apartments in the rear.

Timothy would have hung back to wait for an invitation; but I was minded to take the innkeeper’s movements as indication that he was ready to lead us to that man who was called the Weaver of Germantown, and beckoned for my comrades to follow me.

Within two or three minutes we were standing before this worker for the Cause, who was periling his life by remaining in the city, and Master Targe had left the room, closing the door carefully behind him, after which the so-called Weaver of Germantown took good care to bolt it securely.

Then, looking from one to the other of us with much the same surprise as had been shown by the innkeeper, he asked of me:

“Did you fail to meet Master Dingley?”

“Indeed we did not, and came back from Valley Forge this morning, not knowing that anything in the way of trouble had occurred.”

Then the man, as if simply to gratify his own curiosity, questioned us as to why we were so soaked with water, and not until I had explained how it was we succeeded in leaving the hiding place among the timbers, did he show any desire to hear what we might have brought in the way of instructions or news.

“Your Timothy Bowers seems to be a boy who can be depended on in time of trouble,” he said in a tone of satisfaction. “When a lad like him will undertake to aid his comrades at such risks as he ventured, one may well put confidence in him. Now tell me what you heard from the man to whom I sent you.”

In order that the Weaver of Germantown might understand fully all we had seen and heard, I made an overly long story of the matter, to which he listened patiently and with deepest interest until I was come to the end, when he said as if speaking to himself:

“Then it appears that he whom you met believed it would be possible for boys to keep an eye out over those who are to be at the carnival, with the idea that something may be learned there. At the time such a proposition was made to you, it was not known that your prisoner had escaped, and you yourselves in gravest danger of being brought before a court martial.”

“Ay, and it seems to me we are come to an end of our rope, so far as serving the colonies is concerned,” young Chris replied promptly, whereupon the man looked at him sharply, and said in what I took to be a tone of irony:

“When danger threatens you are ready to give over calling yourself a Minute Boy, eh?”

“If you accuse me of showing the white feather, then are you doing a wrong,” Chris replied hotly. “It is one thing to do all a lad may, taking such chances as come to those who play the spy; but when is coupled to it the fact that beyond peradventure the hue and cry has gone out against Richard Salter and myself, while every lobster-back in the city has been instructed to search for us, then does it seem as if we might question whether there was a possibility of doing anything, save allow ourselves to be taken prisoners.”

“That is as may be, lad,” the Weaver of Germantown replied as if he was saddened by the fact. “So that you have come to believe you may not go out of doors without being taken in custody, then indeed has your time of service come to an end, and we need make no further talk regarding what is desired by those whom you left at Valley Forge.”