The Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778

by Everett T. Tomlinson

And Monmouth was a great battle. Not only did the men struggle with a determination such as has been seldom displayed, but the results of the engagement itself were also marked and strong. While the two armies, after Washington had gone to the Hudson and Clinton to New York, occupied much the same relative positions as in the latter part of '76, the motives which controlled each were exactly reversed. The Americans now became the aggressors, and the British were compelled to defend themselves.

All this was intensified by the action of France. Benjamin Franklin had succeeded in arranging a treaty between that land and ours. France was to send a fleet of sixteen war vessels under D'Estaing to our shores, and also an army of four thousand men. It was the coming of this fleet which, as we know, caused the British to depart from Philadelphia and hasten to the defense of New York, which place they thought would be first attacked. The march of the redcoats and Hessians across New Jersey gave Washington an opportunity to pursue them, and while he failed in accomplishing all that he hoped, and much that he might have done had it not been for the treacherous actions of Lee, still he virtually had won a victory. He compelled the British to retreat with great losses, he strengthened his own position, he silenced his enemies in Congress, and, above all, he aroused a new feeling of hope and determination in the hearts of the struggling Americans.

The British very promptly declared war against France, and then coolly invited the Americans to join them, promising all that the colonists had asked three years before this time. The offer had come too late, however, for now the colonies had become States, and independence had been declared, and independence the new nation would have. So the war was continued, but the part which the new allies took and the further struggles of the determined Americans belong to another story.

It only remains to refer briefly to the experiences of our friends, whose fortunes we have followed in the course of this book.

Lieutenant Gordon at last recovered from his wound. Tom Coward divided his time between caring for his friend and the labor on Benzeor's farm. In the former task he was aided by Friend Nathan Brown until such a time as the young lieutenant could be removed to his own home.

Friend Nathan had been unable to remain away from the battle of Monmouth, and while both his feelings and professions had prevented him from entering into the struggle, still his interest had been so intense that he had started from his home to the scene of the struggle. There he met Tom, and the part he then took in caring for the wounded young officer we already know.

Neither Tom nor Little Peter was idle. There was much work to be done on both farms, and the lads aided each other. The crop on the ten-acre lot was successfully grown and harvested, and the immediate problem of food in Benzeor's household was in a measure solved.

Indian John was never seen by our boys again. Whether he had been slain by the British or the pine robbers, or had departed from the homes of his ancestors for a region into which the redcoats and buffcoats did not enter, was never known. Both Tom and Little Peter were inclined to the latter conclusion, however, and their opinion was strengthened by the fact that "Charlie" Moluss, and his wife Bathsheba, and her sister "Suke" were never seen or heard from again.

Several times the boys made their way into Indian John's cave by the brook, but they never discovered any signs of their friend. He had forever disappeared, but his stories concerning the origin of the Jersey mosquitoes, his interpretations of the roar of the ocean and the calls of the sea-birds, and above all the assistance he had rendered Little Peter in the trying days of '78 were never forgotten.

Weeks had passed before Little Peter positively learned that Benzeor's statement concerning his father had been correct, but at last he received definite information that he was a prisoner in New York. What that meant to the troubled lad, few of us to-day can understand. The sufferings on board the prison-ships and in the prison-houses of New York almost baffle description; but we may be sure of one thing, and that is that Little Peter did not sit idly down, nor rest content to leave his father where he was without making some efforts in his behalf. But that, too, belongs to another record.