The Hidden Children | Page 5

the
table lightly with doubled fist, "Mr. Loskiel," he said, "I ask you-- can
we find recruits for our regiment in such a place as this? Damme, sir,

but I think the entire land has lost its manhood."
We sat staring out into the sunshine through a bullet-shattered window.
"And all this country here seems so fair and peaceful," he murmured
half to himself, "so sweet and still and kindly to me after the twilight of
endless forests where men are done to death in the dusk. But hell in
broad sunshine is the more horrible."
"Look closer at this country," I said. "The highways are deserted and
silent, the very wagon ruts overgrown with grass. Not a scythe has
swung in those hay fields; the gardens that lie in the sun are but tangles
of weeds; no sheep stir on the hills, no cattle stand in these deep
meadows, no wagons pass, no wayfarers. It may be that the wild birds
are moulting, but save at dawn and for a few moments at sundown they
seem deathly silent to me."
He had relapsed again into his moody, brooding attitude, elbows on the
table, his handsome head supported by both hands. And it was not like
him to be downcast. After a while he smiled.
"Egad," he said, "it is too melancholy for me here in the open; and I
begin to long for the dusk of trees and for the honest scalp yell to cheer
me up. One knows what to expect in county Tryon-- but not here,
Loskiel-- not here."
"Our business here is like to be ended tomorrow," I remarked.
"Thank God for that," he said heartily, rising and buckling on his war
belt. He added: "As for any recruits we have been ordered to pick up en
passant, I see small chance of that accomplishment hereabout. Will you
summon the landlord, Mr. Loskiel?"
I discovered the man standing at the open door, his warn hands clasped
behind him, and staring stupidly at the cloudless sky. He followed me
back to the taproom, and we reckoned with him. Somehow, I thought
he had not expected to be paid a penny-- yet he did not thank us.

"Are you not Benjamin Hays?" inquired Boyd, carelessly retying his
purse.
The fellow seemed startled to hear his own name pronounced so loudly,
but answered very quietly that he was.
"This house belongs to a great villain, one James Holmes, does it not?"
demanded Boyd.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
"How do you come to keep an ordinary here?"
"The town authorities required an ordinary. I took it in charge, as they
desired."
"Oh! Where is this rascal, Holmes?"
"Gone below, sir, some time since."
"I have heard so. Was he not formerly Colonel of the 4th regiment?"
"Yes, sir."
"And deserted his men, eh? And they made him Lieutenant-Colonel
below, did they not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Colonel-- of what?" snarled Boyd in disgust.
"Of the Westchester Refugee Irregulars."
"Oh! Well, look out for him and his refugees. He'll be back here one of
these days, I'm thinking."
"He has been back."
"What did he do?"

The man said listlessly: "It was like other visits. They robbed, tortured,
and killed. Some they burnt with hot ashes, some they hung, cut down,
and hung again when they revived. Most of the sheep, cattle, and horses
were driven off. Last year thousands of bushels of fruit decayed in the
orchards; the ripened grain lay rotting where wind and rain had laid it;
no hay was cut, no grain milled."
"Was this done by the banditti from the lower party?"
"Yes, sir; and by the leather-caps, too. The leather-caps stood guard
while the Tories plundered and killed. It is usually that way, sir. And
our own renegades are as bad. We in Westchester have to entertain
them all."
"But they burn no houses?"
"Not yet, sir. They have promised to do so next time."
"Are there no troops here?"
"Yes, sir."
"What troops?"
"Colonel Thomas's Regiment and Sheldon's Horse and the Minute
Men."
"Well, what the devil are they about to permit this banditti to terrify and
ravage a peaceful land?" demanded Boyd.
"The country is of great extent," said the man mildly. "It would require
many troops to cover it. And His Excellency has very, very few."
"Yes," said Boyd, "that is true. We know how it is in the North-- with
hundreds of miles to guard and but a handful of men. And it must be
that way." He made no effort to throw off his seriousness and nodded
toward me with a forced smile. "I am twenty-two years of age," he said,
"and Mr. Loskiel here is no older, and we fully expect that when we
both are past forty we will still be fighting in