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

by Everett T. Tomlinson

INDIAN JOHN

Indian John had for years been a frequent visitor in the home of Benzeor, as he had in many of the other homes of the region. He was an old man now,—how old no one knew, perhaps not even Indian John himself,—but he had lingered about old Monmouth long after the Schwonnack had taken possession of the lands and his own tribe had gradually relinquished their homes and mostly withdrawn from the region.

For months together he would disappear, and no one would know whither he had gone, although it was thought that he was on a visit to some of his kindred, who had withdrawn farther into the interior of the country; but he would soon return and resume his wandering life. At such times, Indian John would be restless and uneasy. Perhaps then he realized more fully the loss of the homes of his ancestors, and his heart would be filled with thoughts he never uttered. He continued to be friendly with the settlers, and though he never refused to accept the food which almost every housewife was willing to give him, he had never been willing to pass a night under a roof. It was commonly reported that he used a cave in the woods not far away as his abode, but he never had welcomed any one there, nor had any one ever seen the aged Indian in the place. Still the report was believed, and "Indian John's cave" was a well-known name among the boys of Old Monmouth.

Between Tom and the lonely warrior there had been a very strong feeling of sympathy, although not even Tom himself was able to explain it. It had come about, however, as the result of an accidental meeting between them a few years previous to this time. Tom had gone down to the shore one day when a storm had been raging, and the great breakers had been rolling in upon the beach.

As the lad had walked on over the sand, he had been surprised to see the figure of a man in the distance, standing motionless, and evidently watching the tumult of the angry waters. He had not changed from his position as Tom approached, and the lad did not know that his presence was even recognized by the Indian, who seemed to be absorbed in his reflections as he looked out over the tossing waves.

Tom had gone on and at last touched the Indian upon the shoulder. Indian John had then slowly turned his head, and Tom knew that his presence had been perceived, but for a moment neither had spoken.

Then the aged warrior, with a gesture toward the ocean, had said, "Boy no home. Warrior no home. Brothers."

It was the first time Tom had known that Indian John was aware of his own early history, and his heart had been deeply touched by the sympathy of the red man.

"Boy no home. Warrior no home. Both like waves. Driven here. Driven there. No rest. No home. Storm there. Storm here," said the Indian laying his hand upon his bosom as he spoke.

From that time, although Indian John never referred to his loneliness again, a strong bond of sympathy had existed between the two, and every time Tom had seen the old man, he thought of his quiet eloquence in the presence of that storm which they both had witnessed from the shore.