Читать книгу The Road to Paris - Robert Neilson Stephens - Страница 10

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In those days the tri-weekly stage-coaches made the trip from Philadelphia to New York in the unprecedented time of two days, passing Bristol and several other thriving Pennsylvania villages, taking ferry over the Delaware River to Trenton, which then consisted mainly of two straggling streets and their rustic tributaries; bowling through New Jersey woods and farms and hamlets, and crossing ferries and marshes to Paulus Hook, where the passengers alighted and boarded the ferry-boat for the city whose fort, spires, and snug houses adorned the southernmost point of the hilly island of Manhattan. Several times, during the first day of their trip, Dick and MacAlister had brief sights of the three Canadians, who sometimes fell behind the stage-coach, and as often overtook and passed it again. Dick nursed a hope of meeting the party at dinner, or at the tavern where the coach should stop for the night, yet he inwardly trembled at thought of such a meeting, knowing how awkward and abashed he should feel in the presence of that girl. His hopes, however, were disappointed, for, though the riders stopped where the stage did, they ate in private rooms, and the only one of the party who came into the bar or public dining-room anywhere was the English lieutenant, Blagdon, who ignored MacAlister, and bestowed on Dick only a look of disdain.

On the second morning the Canadians, as before, started with the stage and were soon out of sight ahead. Dick kept a lookout forward, while MacAlister engaged in talk with the other passengers, with whom his narrative powers had by this time made him highly popular. For a long time Dick was rewarded with no glimpse of the scarlet riding-habit his eyes so wistfully sought. But at last, at a turn of the road, it came into view against the green of the woods. Strangely, though, it was not on horseback. The two young gentlemen stood beside the girl in the road, and not one of their three animals was to be seen. All this was quickly noticed by the others in the stage-coach, who uttered prompt expressions of wonder, while the driver whipped up his four horses.

When the coach came up, Lieutenant Blagdon hailed the driver, who immediately stopped.

"We are in a predicament," began the young lieutenant, in an annoyed and embarrassed manner. "Half an hour ago, as we were riding by these woods, several wild-looking ruffians rushed out from these bushes on either side of the road, with pistols and fowling-pieces, which they aimed at us, and demanded our money and horses. We were so completely taken by surprise, our anxiety for this lady's safety was so great, we could not have drawn our pistols before they could have brought us down,—in short, we had to yield up our horses and what little money we carried, and the robbers made off by the lane yonder, leaving us here."

From the passengers came cries of "Outrage!" "See the authorities!" and "Alarm the county!" When others had had their say, Tom MacAlister was for organizing a pursuing party of the passengers, and was seconded by a reverend-looking gentleman, who asked if one of the robbers was not blind of an eye.

"The affair was so quickly over, I for one did not notice any peculiarities of appearance among them," answered Blagdon.

The young Frenchman, standing with his sister at the edge of the road, now spoke, in perfectly good English: "One of them called another Fagan, in ordering him to keep quiet; and said 'That's right, Jonathan,' to one who said we shouldn't delay in hope of assistance, as they would shoot us at the first sound of wheels or horses coming this way."

"That makes it certain," said the clerical-looking man; "they are the Pine Robbers, as we call them in our part of Monmouth County, where they are a great curse. It is surprising, though, that they should venture so far inland and from their burrows in the sand-hills by the swamps near the coast. I can be of use in tracking them, as I live at Shrewsbury, which is not far from the swamps they inhabit and the groggeries they resort to."

But the officer, learning from further talk that proper steps for the recovery of the property might require several days, and yet fail, said the attempt was not to be thought of; that the horses were the only considerable loss, as his party had relied on money to be taken up in New York, and that therefore they could do no more than take places in the stage-coach for that city.

As the inside places were all filled, and one of them would be required for the girl, Dick was out in the road in an instant, blushingly blundering out to the Frenchman an offer of his seat to the lady, with the declaration that he would ride outside,—which in those days meant on the flat roof of the coach. The Frenchman bowed thanks and held out his hand to lead his sister to the coach; but she stood reluctant, and said:

"But the portrait, Gerard!" As she spoke her eyes became moist.

"I fear we must lose it, Catherine," said Gerard, sadly.

"If I can be of any service," said Dick, speaking as calmly as his heartbeats would let him, and meeting with hot cheeks the first look the girl's fine eyes ever cast upon him.

"I thank you," said Gerard, "but I fear nothing can be done. My sister speaks of a miniature portrait of our mother, who is dead. One of the robbers, the one called Jonathan, seeing the chain by which it was suspended from her neck, tore it from her and carried it away."

"I will try to recover it, sir," said Dick, bowing to the girl while he addressed the brother. Hearing a derisive "Huh!" behind him, Dick turned and saw Blagdon viewing him with a contemptuous smile, which was assumed to cover the chagrin caused by Dick's undertaking a task the officer himself had shirked. Dick reddened more deeply, with anger, but said nothing and went to the coach for his rifle and baggage. MacAlister, always accepting whatever enterprise turned up for him, promptly got out, with his own belongings, as also did the reverend gentleman, who explained that he had intended leaving the coach at the next village, to go thence by horse to his home at Shrewsbury. The vacant places were taken by the Canadians, accounts were settled with the driver, Gerard de St. Valier courteously thanked Dick again, giving him a New York address but begging him to reconsider so desperate a project, Catherine sent back one grateful but hopeless look, the driver cracked his whip, the coach rolled off, and the three men were left alone in the forest-bordered road.

After a brief consultation, in which it came out that the clerical gentleman was the Reverend Mr. McKnight, the Presbyterian pastor of Shrewsbury, it was decided that the three should go back to the last village passed, which was nearer than the next one ahead, hire horses there, then return, and make for Shrewsbury by way, first, of the lane down which the robbers were said to have fled. They would stop at Freehold, report the robbery to the county authorities, and call for the services of sheriff and constable in hunting down the malefactors.

"If the loss were merely of money and horses," said the pastor, as the three trudged along with their baggage on their backs, "I should not stir far in the matter, seeing that the losers are apparently well supplied with this world's goods. But the young lady's sorrow at the loss of the keepsake was too much for me. It will be a kind of miracle if we get it back. The man Fagan is a desperate rascal, and so, for that matter, are Jonathan West and all the others. The man whom those young people heard giving orders to the rest was doubtless Fenton, who learned the blacksmith's trade at Freehold and was an excellent workman at it before he took to crime. These men will stop at nothing. When they are not at refuge in their sand-caves on the edges of swamps, among the brush, they are plundering, burning, and killing, by night, or spending their ill-gotten money at some low groggery in the pines. They will rob anything, from a poor tailor's shop to a wagon carrying grain to mill, and, though it doesn't sound like Christian charity to say so, they ought to be hanging now in chains from trees, as they probably will be some day."

At the village, so much time was lost in obtaining horses, that it was dark before the three arrived at Freehold, and therefore they put up for the night at the tavern next the court-house, which abode of justice was of wood, clapboarded with shingles, and had a peaked roof. In the tavern it was learned that Fenton and his gang had been seen passing two miles east of the court-house, that afternoon, going towards Shrewsbury, three on horseback, the others in a wagon. Mr. McKnight visited a justice of the peace, the sheriff, and the constable; but, as it was now Saturday night, those useful officers would not think of budging before Monday. Dick feared that if a day were lost, even though the miniature should be recovered, the Canadians would have left New York before he could arrive there to restore it to them. Accordingly, the next morning, the three men set out alone towards Shrewsbury, the clergyman having stipulated that his share in the enterprise should be kept secret, lest his act might serve the undiscriminating as an example of Sabbath-breaking.

"I am clear in my conscience on that score," said the minister to Tom and Dick, "and, having put my hand to the plow in this business, I will not turn back. I can guide you to a rough drinking-place in the woods, where it is most likely the ruffians will be found. To counterbalance their superior numbers, we must use strategy, and we have in our favor the fact that most of them are likely by this time to be helpless with liquor."

"'Oh, that men should put into their mouths an enemy to steal away their brains!'" misquoted Tom, who thought it proper that he should speak piously in the presence of the minister.

"It is fortunate for us if they have done so, in this case," said the clergyman, with a smile. A moment later he sighed pensively. "My congregation will be disappointed this morning. I was expected to arrive home last night and to preach to-day. I have my sermon in my pocket."

"What is the text, sir, if I may be so bold?" asked Tom.

"Leviticus, sixth chapter, fourth verse: 'Then it shall be, because he hath sinned, and is guilty, that he shall restore that which he took violently away.'"

"By the powers," cried Tom, forgetting himself, "ye're like to get more results putting that text into action the morning than by holding forth on it frae your ain pulpit!"

Under the pastor's guidance, the party turned presently from the road into the pine forest, through which their horses passed freely by reason of the complete absence of undergrowth. MacAlister and Dick had left their baggage at Freehold, and Mr. McKnight's was so light as to encumber him little. Dick and Tom had their rifles, while the minister carried Tom's pistol. They proceeded in silence some miles, now and then emerging on clear places, skirting swamps, and advancing over ground that became more and more sandy. At last, in the midst of woods, the minister held his finger to his lips, and all three stopped. From a distance came the sound of a coarse voice singing in maudlin tones a tuneless song. The three dismounted, tied their horses to trees, and walked cautiously forward in single file, Mr. McKnight leading. A low, one-story log building came into view among the trees. At one end of it, under a shed roof, stood four horses and a wagon. The bawling of the song came through a small, unglazed window, of which the oiled paper was torn.