“Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,Last eve in beauty’s circle, proudly gay,The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,The morn the marshaling in arms,—the day,Battle’s magnificently-stern array!”—Byron.
“Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,Last eve in beauty’s circle, proudly gay,The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,The morn the marshaling in arms,—the day,Battle’s magnificently-stern array!”
—Byron.
The cry echoed and reëchoed through the streets of Tom’s River:
“Every man to the blockhouse! The British and refugees are approaching!”
It seemed but an instant until the village was aroused. Candles flashed in the windows, and lanthorns gleamed in the streets as the people prepared for the foe. Every man and boy capable of bearing a musket hurried to the fort, while white-faced women snatched their little ones from their cots, and huddled together for mutual comfort and consolation.
Peggy and Sally had awakened at the first alarm. Often the former had been thankfulfor the Quaker teaching which enabled her to retain her self-control. She felt doubly grateful for it now in the midst of a confusion that was terrifying. Men shouted hoarsely as they ran through the town: sometimes repeating the orders of their captain, sometimes calling reassuringly to the women. The wailing and crying of the children, added to the screaming of the mothers, made a commotion that was frightful. The girls were pale, but they managed to retain composure.
“Is thee afraid, Peggy?” whispered Sally.
“Yes,” admitted Peggy squeezing her friend’s hand. “I am, Sally, but ’twill not help matters to give way to it.”
“Ye are brave girls,” commented Mrs. Ashley joining them. “Let us go down-stairs. ’Tis planned to have all of the women and children come here, as this is the largest house, and ’twill give comfort to be together. If some of us remain calm it will help to quiet the others. You can aid greatly in this.”
So the Quakeresses went down among the assembled women, and, by assisting to quiet the children, helped Mrs. Ashley, Nurse Johnson, and others to bring a sort of order out ofthe tumult. An hour went by; then another, yet there was no sign of the enemy, and the tension relaxed among the waiting, frightened women. A few whispered that it was a false alarm, and smiled hopefully. Some slept; others sat quietly by their slumbering children, or stood about the rooms in listening attitudes. All wore the tense expression of those who face a fearful danger. Slowly the time passed, until another hour had gone by. All at once the sound of hurrying feet was heard without, and Peggy and Sally ran out on the verandah to find the meaning of it. It proved to be a scouting party sent down the river road by Captain Johnson to intercept the foe should it approach from that direction.
“I feel better out here in the air; doesn’t thee, Sally?” asked Peggy after the men had passed.
“Yes; let’s stay for a while. There is naught more that can be done inside.”
For answer Peggy slipped her arm about Sally’s waist, and the two sat down on the steps of the porch. The house was near the bay, and the restless lapping of the waves smote their ears with rhythmic dismalness.A brisk southwest wind was singing through the pines, but after the tumult engendered by the alarm, the stillness seemed abnormal. The streets were deserted now, and the only sign of life came from the dim lanthorns of the blockhouse. Nothing was stirring save the waves, the wind, and the leaves of the forest. Slowly the gray dawn crept into the sky, and still the maidens sat on the steps, silently waiting and watching.
Then, so suddenly that it drew an involuntary scream from both of them, a rifle went bang among the trees in the direction of the fort. Another report rang out, followed almost instantly by twenty or more in a volley. In the imperfect light of the dawn a number of dark forms could be seen running toward the blockhouse.
“’Tis from the Court House Road,” exclaimed Sally rising quickly. “And oh, Peggy! Fairfax thought they would come the river way.”
“Yes,” said Peggy with despair in her voice. There seemed to be a great many of the attacking party, and she recalled Fairfax’s misgivings concerning the fewness of the garrison.“And he hath sent part of his force to meet them there. I fear! I fear!”
Had Peggy been aware of the full force of the attacking party she would have known that there were grounds for grave apprehension. This is what had happened: Forty loyalists, under command of Captain Evan Thomas, had embarked from New York on whaleboats manned by Lieutenant Blanchard, of the British navy, and eighty armed seamen. Landing at Coates’ Point, a place near the mouth of Tom’s River, they were there joined by a detachment of Monmouth County refugees under Richard Davenport. Securing a guide, the party had made a wide détour through the woods, coming upon the blockhouse from the Court House Road instead of the river road, which was the logical one to use. The small force of the garrison was outnumbered several times over by their assailants, but of this fact both sides were ignorant for the time being. All these particulars Peggy, of course, did not know. She only knew that the fort was being stormed; that the numbers of the enemy seemed multitudinous, and that the noise was deafening.
By this time the women were up; either out on the verandah, or at the windows of the upper floors of the dwelling straining their eyes eagerly toward the blockhouse. Firelocks and muskets were banging, and the surrounding woods swam in smoke. Volley after volley swept the pines, then came the thundering report of the cannon. The smoke came driving toward the town into their faces, blinding and choking them. Again and again the cannon flashed and thundered. Again and again came the dense black pall of smoke. But so long as the fort stood the village was safe, and breathlessly the anxious women waited the issue, striving, when the smoke lifted, to catch glimpses of what was occurring.
A CRY OF ANGUISH WENT UP.A CRY OF ANGUISH WENT UP.
For a considerable time the report of musketry and the cannonading was incessant. The assault on the part of the enemy was furious, and was met by the defenders with great firmness and gallantry. Suddenly the sound of the cannon ceased. The women gazed at each other in alarm. What did it mean? Had the garrison repulsed the foe, or was the ammunition exhausted? For a little longer the volleys from the muskets continuedunabated, then these became fewer, until presently only a few scattering reports sounded. Soon the firing stopped altogether. The countenances of the women blanched. What was taking place behind those clouds of smoke?
As if in answer to the question, the smoke cleared. Through the whirling rifts they caught glimpses of the sky, the tree tops, and finally of the blockhouse itself. An awful cry arose from the women. The walls were partly down, and a terrific hand-to-hand struggle was taking place between friend and foe. There followed a few moments in which attackers and attacked were indistinguishable. Then, high above the clash of pike and bayonet, sounded the terrible command:
“No quarter! No quarter! No quarter!”
A dreadful moment succeeded when the air resounded with the screams of wounded and dying men, the agony of the conquered. The blockhouse had fallen.
A cry of anguish went up from the women. A cry so terrible, so heart-breaking in its bereavement that Peggy and Sally covered their ears to shut out the awfulness of its desolation. This was war in its most fearful aspect. War,civil war, that knows neither mercy nor compassion. War, the Juggernaut that rides to victory on a highway of women’s hearts, watered by women’s tears. O Liberty! thou art as the breath of life to man. Without thee he were a base, ignoble thing! We cannot set thy metes and bounds, for thou art thine own eternal law. Thou art the light by which man claims kinship with his Maker. And yet, at what price art thou bought? At what price! At what price!
The tragedy darkened.
A tiny tongue of flame darted up from one corner of the doomed fort. At a little distance another showed luridly. Presently the whole structure was a mass of flames. Trussed like fowls, the prisoners were taken to the oyster boats on the river, and thrown in unceremoniously. The barges and scows not wanted by the conquerors were scuttled and sunk, or fired and burned to the water. Then, with shouts of triumph, the yelling horde of British and refugees came toward the ill-fated village.
As though paralyzed with fear the terrified women waited their approach. Of what use toflee? All that made life dear was about them. That gone, what was left? And so they looked on in the numbness of despair while their houses were stripped and the torch applied. House after house burst into flame, and pitchy clouds of vapor obscured everything. Suddenly the women were galvanized into action as the enemy approached the house near which they stood. It was the only one remaining. As though animated by one impulse they turned and fled into the forest.
Peggy found herself running with the others. In all her short life she had never been so possessed by blind, unreasoning terror as she was at that moment. When at length tree and sky, and objects resumed their normal relation, she found that she and Sally were clinging to each other, and sobbing convulsively. And Sally was saying something. Peggy could not comprehend at first, but presently the words came to her clearly:
“We must go back, Peggy. We must go back.”
“Why?” whispered Peggy, her voice filled with the horror of the scenes she had witnessed.
“Because, because,” sobbed Sally, “there must be wounded. Oh, the poor, poor fellows!”
Peggy made a violent effort to collect herself.
“Yes,” she said. “Thee is right, Sally. We must go back.”
Soon they regained a degree of composure, and then they turned back. When again they came into the village, or rather the place where the village had been, the enemy had gone, but the destruction was complete. Not a dwelling stood, the salt works, the grist-mills, the lumber mills, even the little boats of the fishermen had been destroyed. Of that busy, lively, little town not a vestige remained. Shudderingly but with the resolution to be of service, if service should be necessary, the two girls made their way to the spot where the blockhouse had stood. As they drew near they saw the form of a woman moving among the bodies of the dead. She limped slightly, and they knew it was Nurse Johnson.
“Friend Nurse! Oh, Friend Nurse!” cried the girls running to her.
“He is not here,” said Nurse Johnsonapathetically. “They carried away some prisoners; he must be among them.”
“Then he can be exchanged,” cried Peggy, a gleam of joy irradiating her countenance. “Oh, I’m glad, glad!”
Nurse Johnson smiled wanly.
“I shall know no peace until I find where he is,” she said. “I am glad that you are safe. Why came ye back from the woods? The British have just gone.”
“The wounded,” cried the maidens together. “We must care for them.”
“Only the dead lie here,” she told them with terrible composure. “Did ye not hear the order to spare none? There was no quarter given after the surrender. ’Tis that which makes me fearful for my son.”
With that she sat down upon the bank of the river, and bowed her head upon her hands. One by one the women stole back from the forest. Each went first to those still forms lying so quietly, searching for father, husband, son or brother among them; then silently sat down among the ashes, and bowed her head. The little children stifled the sobs that rose in their throats, awed by this voiceless grief, andcrept softly to the sides of their mothers, hiding their faces against them. More than a hundred women and children were stripped of everything, and rendered homeless, widowed and orphaned by the attack.
As though unable to bear the sight of such sorrow, the sun hid his face behind a cloud, and the forest lay in shadow. The waters of the bay sobbed in their ebb and flow upon the sands, and the wind that sighed through the pines echoed the wail of the grief-stricken women:
“Desolate! Desolate! Desolate!”
“Close his eyes; his work is done!What to him is friend or foeman,Rise of moon, or set of sun,Hand of man, or kiss of woman?“Fold him in his country’s stars,Roll the drum and fire the volley!What to him are all our wars,What but death bemocking folly?”—George H. Boker.
“Close his eyes; his work is done!What to him is friend or foeman,Rise of moon, or set of sun,Hand of man, or kiss of woman?“Fold him in his country’s stars,Roll the drum and fire the volley!What to him are all our wars,What but death bemocking folly?”
—George H. Boker.
There is no time when man so realizes his helplessness as in the presence of great affliction. So now Peggy and Sally, wishing to give comfort but at a loss how to do so, withdrew a short distance from the stricken ones, then they too sat down. The girls were in sore need of consolation themselves, for they were faint and weary after the trying ordeal through which they had passed. It was therefore no wonder that through utter exhaustion they fell into slumber; for youth and weariness will assert themselves against the tyrannyof nerve-racking stress. A slumber that was of short duration.
A drop of rain splashed suddenly upon Peggy’s hand causing her to start up in alarm. She looked about her quickly. The sky was covered by dark, lowering clouds which hung above them like a pall. The wind had veered to the east and a fiercer note had crept into its moaning. Instead of the soft lapping of the tide there was an angry menace in the waves breaking turbulently upon the shore. A storm was coming, and they were without shelter. The girl ran to Nurse Johnson and touched her gently.
“’Tis going to rain,” she cried, her clear young voice ringing out with startling suddenness. “Does thee not think that we should try to get somewhere, Friend Nurse?”
Nurse Johnson glanced at her dully, then at sight of the overcast sky she rose hurriedly.
“You are right, Peggy,” she said. “’Tis time for action now. We must give way to grief no longer. Help me to rouse these women.”
A patter of rain which fell as she finished speaking, brought a realizing sense of the situationto the women, and bravely they rose to meet it. For one short hour they had indulged their sorrow. In the greatness of the calamity that had overwhelmed them there had seemed to come an end of everything. That Freedom might live they had been bereft of all, but life with its responsibilities still remained, so resolutely they put aside their woe to take up again the burden of living. Though loth to leave the bodies of the brave dead there was no alternative, so presently a sad procession wended its way into the Court House Road. As the forest was neared there issued from its confines a small body of armed men followed by several wagons. A cry of gladness burst from Sally at sight of the leader.
“’Tis Friend Ashley,” she cried. “Does thee not see, Peggy? ’Tis Friend Ashley!”
It was indeed Thomas Ashley. Full of amazed incredulity, for they had believed him to be among the prisoners taken by the enemy, his wife, Nurse Johnson and the girls ran to greet him.
“And Charley, father?” cried Mrs. Ashley. “Where is Charley?”
“With Hannah’s boy, in the hands of the British,” he answered. “Now, now, mother! don’t give way. Prisoners can be exchanged, so he is not lost to us. Others did not fare so well.”
But underneath his assumed cheerfulness Peggy detected anxiety. He did not linger talking, but bustled about helping the women into the wagons. The rain was falling heavily now, and there was need for haste. A small party of men was detached from the main body to go on into the village to bury the dead of both sides. The British had left their fallen ones to be cared for by the Americans, and generously the duty was performed. At length all was in readiness, and the journey toward shelter was resumed.
“And thou, friend? How did thee escape?” questioned Peggy as Thomas Ashley rode up beside the wagon in which the family sat.
“I was one of the scouting party that nevvy sent down the river road to intercept the enemy,” he answered. “We were to take their fire while falling back on the blockhouse, but we did not see any signs of them. Alarmed at this, we scoured the woods to findwhere they were, when suddenly we were set upon by a party of refugees. A lively skirmish ensued, but the enemy was in superior force, and soon had the victory. In the disorder and confusion following the surrender a few of us made our escape. Meantime we heard the cannonading and knew that the blockhouse was attacked, but by the time we could make our way back to the village, the fort had fallen, and the British were burning the town.
“There was no sign of the women and children, but as the foe put off down the river with the prisoners, a friend crawled out of the bushes to tell me that the women had fled to the forest. It seemed best under the circumstances to go for aid for them, so we scattered to get it. Of course I am glad to be with you,” he ended huskily, “but ’tis pity that it could not be either Charley or nevvy.”
“They are young, friend, and perhaps can stand imprisonment better than thee could,” consoled Peggy. “And, as thee hath said, they can be exchanged, so after a short time all of us will be together again.”
“Yes, father,” spoke his wife. “Peggy isright. It hath all happened for the best, I dare say. They might have been killed, and you also. So we won’t grieve, but try to bear the lads’ captivity as best we may. I do wish though that we could go home.”
“We are going to, Mary; just as soon as I can find some one to take us there. There will be many to care for who have no place to go, and ’tis the right thing to make the charge as light as possible.”
“And we shall be as safe there as anywhere,” she said eagerly. “I shall be glad to get home.”
Peggy’s glance met Sally’s, and her own wistfulness was reflected in Sally’s eyes. They too would like to be home out of this turbulence of warfare, but knowing that these friends would take them were it possible they gave no voice to their longings.
As the journey proceeded parties of men swung into the road from all directions bound for the devastated town, bearing food, clothing, and medical necessities for the stricken inhabitants. The news of the attack had flown over the county like wild-fire, and the people rallied to the aid of the victims of this latestoutrage, vying with each other in a generous contest as to the care of the villagers. It was found best to apportion a certain number to each party, and Farmer Ashley’s family being in better condition than many of the others were among the last to find an abode. Tarrying only long enough to rest and refresh themselves, for they were anxious to return to the farmhouse, they were soon on their way thither.
“How glad we were to leave here,” exclaimed Sally when at length they drove into the familiar yard. “And now how good it seems to get back!”
“Yes,” sighed Nurse Johnson. “Would that we had never left the place. Then the boys would not be in the hands of the British.”
“You never can tell, Hannah,” remarked the farmer. “Had we stayed here there would have been another attempt to capture nevvy, and we might not have got off so well as we did before. It’s about as broad as ’tis long. Then too, nevvy had to obey orders from the Council of Safety, so he would have had to go to Tom’s River. Edwards, I hear, is sentenced to be hanged; naturally theTories would have been after the boy hot-foot.”
After the total annihilation of the village of Tom’s River, the damage to the farmhouse seemed inconsiderable, and it was with a sense of rest that the girls entered the pleasant and homey kitchen. And now for a time there was peace from molestation of any sort, and the short period of repose brought healing to their bruised spirits.
In some manner Thomas Ashley contrived to learn that Fairfax had been carried to New York, and subsequently to Sandy Hook, where he was confined in the hold of a guard-ship. Simultaneously with this information came the news that Edwards, the refugee leader whom the young captain had captured, had been shot while attempting to escape, and the county exulted that at last it was rid of such a desperado.
So the soft days of April passed until ten had elapsed since the return from Tom’s River. It seemed to Peggy that never before had there been so beautiful a spring, and she spent much time among the sweet scented things of the garden. There came a morning when all theearth was kissed with scent, and all the air caressed by song. The two maidens were out under the blossoming trees, and their talk turned, as it frequently did, upon the absent Fairfax.
“’Tis such a lovely day, but poor Fairfax cannot enjoy it,” uttered Sally pensively. “How long doth it take for an exchange, Peggy?”
“I believe ’tis done in order of capture, Sally. Those who are taken first are first to be liberated. And rank also hath much to do with it. A captain would not be exchanged until a captain of equal rank could be given for him. As to militia officers I know not how ’tis managed. But whatever can be done, Friend Ashley will do. He hath influence with the principal men of the county, and will no doubt use it for Fairfax’s release. He is proud of his nephew. Methinks he grieves over the lad’s imprisonment as much as his mother does.”
“I think he does, Peggy. Then too, he hath the welfare of Monmouth County so much at heart, and Fairfax was especially vigilant in suppressing the incendiary acts ofthe Tories and refugees, that he is missed. I hope he is well treated. ’Tis dreadful to be confined in such weather!”
“I like not to think of it,” remarked Peggy with a sigh. “I wish we had not teased him so; yet what sport it was to see him mantle.”
“There were times when I thought he liked it as well as we did, Peggy. And he was beginning to hold his own with us. There was wit in the conceit of naming his horse after both of us.”
“I wonder what became of that horse,” exclaimed Peggy. “Would that Friend Ashley had it! He hath need of it for his trips into Freehold.”
“The enemy must have taken it. They destroyed everything that they did not take, and horses are valuable plunder. I saw naught of any animal after the town was burned.”
Both maidens became silent at the mention of that dreadful time. Neither willingly spoke of it, and any reference to the affair was casual. Peggy stooped and picked a sprig of tender grass, and began to bite it meditatively.
“Friend Ashley comes back early,” she remarked glancing over the fence into the road. “Methought he was not to return until nightfall.”
“Why, that was the intention,” answered Sally. “I heard him tell his wife that ’twould be late ere he came back. I wonder why he did not stay?” She went to the fence and leaned upon it, gazing with some curiosity at Thomas Ashley’s approaching form. “Peggy,” she called quickly, “something is wrong. Does thee not see?”
“He is ill,” cried Peggy as the farmer stopped suddenly in his onward way and leaned against a tree. “Let us go to him, Sally.”
There was no gate near where they were standing so the girls climbed to the top of the fence, then jumping lightly down on the other side, they ran hastily to Farmer Ashley.
“Is thee ill, friend?” queried Peggy. “Thee seems sick.”
“Sick? Ay! sick at heart, child.” Thomas Ashley turned to them such a woebegone countenance that the maidens uttered cries of dismay. His face was lined and drawn, andinto his kindly eyes had come an expression of care. He seemed no longer a robust, middle-aged man, but somehow old and feeble.
“Lean on me,” cried Peggy slipping her strong young arm about him. “Sally and I will help thee into the house.”
“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet. Let me collect myself before I face Hannah.”
“There is bad news of Fairfax,” cried Sally. “What is it, friend?”
“The worst,” he answered brokenly. “The lad is no more.”
“What does thee mean, friend?” gasped Peggy. “Is he—— No; thee can’t mean that he is—dead?” Her voice sank to a whisper as she uttered the word.
Thomas Ashley let his face fall into his hands with a groan.
“Peggy! Sally! Where are you?” Clearly, Nurse Johnson’s voice came to them. A moment later she herself came down the road. “Are you in hiding that you do not answer?” she asked. As there was no response from any of them she glanced from one to the other anxiously. “Something hath happened,” she said. “What is it, Tom?”
But the farmer cowered before her.
“How shall I tell you, Hannah?” he cried piteously. “How shall I tell you?”
“It is about my son,” she said quickly. “Tell me instantly.” As Thomas Ashley continued unable to speak she added with passion: “Don’t keep me waiting. Am I not his mother? Who hath a better right to know if aught hath befallen him?”
“No one,” he answered her. “No one, Hannah. I would rather die than tell you, yet I must. Hannah! Hannah!” Sobs burst from him that racked his body. “They hanged him this morning.”
A cry of horror broke from Sally and Peggy, but Nurse Johnson stood as though turned to stone.
“Hanged?” she said. “My boy! What are you saying, Tom Ashley?”
“The truth,” he cried with bitter grief. “The truth, God help us, Hannah. The loyalists took him from prison, and brought him to Gravelly Point, where they hanged him this morning. ’Twas because of Edwards, they said. An express brought the news into Freehold. That boy, that noble,gallant boy hath been hanged like a criminal!”
“But of what was he guilty? What crime did he commit?” Her calm was terrible to see, and Peggy involuntarily took a step toward her, but Sally stayed her quickly.
“Of what was he guilty, Hannah? Why, of repelling the invader. Of trying to stay the ravages of the enemy. He committed the crime of which Washington, and Jefferson, and Franklin, and John Adams are guilty: the crime of patriotism.”
“But he was a prisoner? A prisoner taken in open warfare. How could such an one be hanged?”
“By all the code of civilized warfare he could not,” broke from the farmer passionately. “They have done it in defiance of the code. But there shall be retaliation, Hannah. Eye for eye,” he cried lifting his clenched hands and shaking them fiercely above his head. “Tooth for tooth, life for life. There shall be retaliation.”
A sudden, wild cry burst from her:
“Will that give me back my son? Oh,my boy! My boy!” And she broke into a passion of weeping.
The farmer motioned the girls away when they would have gone to her.
“Let her weep,” he said, controlling his own emotion with difficulty. “’Tis Nature’s way toward helping her to bear it. Come! leave her for a time.”
So the maidens crept to their own little room to give vent to the sorrow that filled them. The shy fellow had endeared himself to them, and his untimely end affected them deeply. The days that followed were sorrowful ones. Nurse Johnson was completely prostrated, and Mrs. Ashley added to her woe a great anxiety for her own son. It fell to the lot of Peggy and Sally to look after the household affairs, and they were thankful for the occupation.
The last sad rites were performed at Freehold. Wrapped in his country’s flag, Fairfax Johnson was buried with all the honors of war. But with the firing of the last volley the indignation of Monmouth County blazed forth. A single deed of violence and cruelty affects the nerves more than when these areexercised upon a more extended scale, and this act was peculiarly atrocious. The cry of Thomas Ashley sounded upon every lip: Retaliation! The cry grew as all the details of the inhuman murder became known.
The young man had been charged with being privy to the killing of Edwards, even though he pointed out to his captors that the refugee’s death had occurred after his capture. The opportunity to rid themselves of so active an adversary, however, was not one to be neglected; so, without listening to a defense, or even going through the form of a trial, he was hurried to Gravelly Point by a band of sixteen loyalists under Captain Lippencott, a former Jerseyman and an officer in a refugee regiment, The King’s Rangers, and there hanged. It was said that he met death with great firmness and composure. Upon his breast was affixed the label:
“Up goes Johnson for Frank Edwards.”
The country, a little later England and the entire civilized world, stood aghast at the atrocity of the incident. A prisoner taken in open warfare hanged! Such a thing was unheard of. Such execution should be dealt aspy, an informer, a deserter. But a prisoner of war—— Even barbarians deal not so with an honorable foe. It was therefore no wonder that the cry of Monmouth County reached into every part of New Jersey, growing deeper and fiercer. Retaliation! It passed on, and spread into every state. Everywhere the cry was taken up by the press and the people: Retaliation! What had happened to a prisoner from New Jersey might very well happen to a prisoner from any state. The matter must be stopped before it proceeded any further. The grievance of one was the grievance of all. The issue was no longer local, but national. The cry rose and swelled into a volume. As with one voice the entire people of the new nation demanded retaliation.
And the cry was heard in the halls of Congress. And it was heard on the banks of the Hudson by Washington. Heard and answered. A stern demand went to Sir Henry Clinton for Lippencott, the leader under whose command the dastardly deed had been committed. For Lippencott, else the act should be retaliated upon by the death of one of the British prisoners of war.
“And as the shell upon the mountain heightSings of the sea,So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,So do I ever, wandering where I may,Sing, O my home! sing, O my home, of thee.”—Eugene Field.
“And as the shell upon the mountain heightSings of the sea,So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,So do I ever, wandering where I may,Sing, O my home! sing, O my home, of thee.”
—Eugene Field.
“Peggy, does thee know that Fifth Month is upon us, and that we have been here nearly two months?” Sally turned from the open window by which she was standing, and looked at Peggy with eyes full of longing. “Shall we ever go home, I wonder!”
“I hope so, Sally.” Peggy was making the bed in their little room, and she smoothed the wrinkles out of the coverlid as she continued: “Friend Ashley hath no horses, and he hath been busy, as thee knows. I make no doubt but that a way will soon be opened for us. I think both he and Friend Nurse would be glad to find one for us.”
“So long as we could be of use I did notmind it so much,” went on Sally. “But matters are beginning to move in their accustomed groove, and I cannot but wherrit anent what thy mother and mine are thinking.”
“Yes, I know. I hardly dare think of it, but I am hoping as I said, Sally, that a way will soon be opened. Thee must not dwell too much upon it, but be as brave as thee can be.”
“Friend Nurse hath another visitor,” announced Sally, turning again to the window. “This seems to be some one of great importance, for he hath a fine coach. I wonder who it is?”
Peggy came to Sally’s side, and leaned out of the window.
“That is Governor Livingston,” she cried. “Does thee not remember I told thee how the enemy tried to capture him when I was at Middlebrook? I knew him quite well there. He and father are friends.”
“Friend Nurse would wish thee to see him if she knew that, Peggy. Does thee not think thee should go down?”
“I’ll wait a little,” said Peggy. “No doubthe wishes to see her about something concerning Fairfax, and therefore he would rather speak alone with her. Thee knows that Sir Henry Clinton refused to give up the leader, Lippencott, but ordered a court-martial. ’Tis reported that His Excellency just waits the finding of the investigation before he acts.”
It was two weeks after the burial of Fairfax, and the farmhouse had become a veritable Mecca to travelers. From all over the state they came to learn the full particulars of the affair, and to offer sympathy to the bereaved mother. The storm of protest which the lad’s death raised had so startled the British general that the Honorable Board of Associated Loyalists had been dissolved, and there were no more incursions into New Jersey from that source. Even the pine robbers, as though appalled by the deed, ceased their depredations for the time being, and the highways were comparatively safe. As visitors reported this improved condition of things, Peggy and Sally grew anxious to take advantage of it to return home, but no good opportunity had as yet presented itself.
“Peggy,” called Nurse Johnson a half hourlater, “come down-stairs a moment. There is some one here who knows you. Bring Sally too.”
Peggy sprang up quickly.
“Come, Sally,” she cried. “I have a feeling that——”
“So have I,” exclaimed Sally breathlessly. “Let’s run, Peggy.”
“Bless my soul, Miss Peggy,” ejaculated the doughty governor, as the girls entered the kitchen. “Who would have thought to find you here? And this is your friend, Miss Sally, eh?”
“I am glad to see thee, sir,” said Peggy warmly. “And how are thy wife and daughters?”
“Well, I thank you. They are with me at Trenton. By the way, Mistress Johnson here hath been telling me what a time you’ve had trying to get home. Knowing what a care girls can be, I have three of my own, you remember, I have consented to take you off her hands.”
“Nay,” protested Nurse Johnson, “they have been no care, sir. I really do not know what we should have done without them duringthe past few weeks. ’Tis only that we do not know when strife will break out again, and I shall be uneasy while they are here. I do not wish their mothers to mourn as I am doing.”
“Well, have it your own way, madam,” he answered. “If the young ladies do not mind an old man for a cavalier I shall be pleased to take them with me to Trenton. The journey to Philadelphia can be easily arranged from that place.”
“We are glad to accept, Friend Livingston,” spoke Peggy gratefully while Sally was so delighted that she could only look her thanks. “And when does thee wish to start?”
“I must get to Trenton to-day, Miss Peggy. It will mean a long, hard ride, and I hope you can be ready, say in an hour, though the time might be stretched a little, if it were absolutely necessary.”
“An hour will be more than sufficient, sir,” she replied. “We will surprise thee by being ready before that.”
“I know that you are able to do many things, Miss Peggy,” he said smiling, “but if you and your friend are able to get ready fora journey in that length of time you will give me a new estimate of girlhood.”
“We will show thee,” she cried eagerly as they left the room.
But their very anxiety threatened to defeat their purpose. Had not both Nurse Johnson and Mrs. Ashley helped them the governor must have had the best of it. As it was they were ready a quarter of an hour before the time set. Then came the farewells. In spite of their desire to go the maidens found it very hard to say good-bye. There is a bond between those who have endured much together, and the girls had become almost a part of the family. Both Nurse Johnson and Mrs. Ashley could not control their tears, and Farmer Ashley wrung their hands again and again. The maidens’ own eyes were soft with weeping, and they silently took their places in the coach.
Nurse Johnson had told Governor Livingston the trials which the girls had undergone, so now as the coach rolled away, he spoke cheerily:
“When my girls start on a journey I give them three mile-stones to get over weeping.Susannah usually sniffs for two more before she begins to laugh. I am wondering how many will do for you girls?”
“We are going to cheer up right now, aren’t we, Peggy?” spoke Sally wiping her eyes.
“We are indeed,” answered Peggy resolutely.
“Now that’s sensible,” he commended warmly. “See that orchard over there. How beautiful it is! So full of bloom. There is nothing to my mind prettier than blossoming trees. Indeed, I am fond of trees of all kinds.”
And so he talked, kindly directing their attention to anything of interest by the wayside, until soon both girls were chatting with more animation than they had known for weeks. They reached Trenton that evening, and stayed with the governor’s family that night. A stage-coach and wagon ran between Princeton and Philadelphia by way of Trenton and Bristol three times a week. It happened that the next morning was one for the tri-weekly trip, and the girls insisted upon taking the coach. It would mean another day of hard riding, but they were anxious to get home.
“And we will have all the rest of our lives to rest up in,” declared Sally. “For I don’t believe that anything will ever tempt me to leave Philadelphia again. Peggy, did thee feel like this when coming back from thy other flittings?”
“Yes, Sally. It hath always proved hard to get back because of the enemy. I think it always will until we have peace. I don’t want to leave home again either.”
“If ever we get there,” said Sally looking fearfully out of the coach window. “Peggy, when the governor’s family insisted that it would make too hard a journey to take the stage to-day, I just felt that if we didn’t come something would happen to the coach so that we couldn’t.”
“I am glad we didn’t wait, though it does seem as though the stage goes very slowly. It fairly crawls.”
Sally laughed.
“I dare say any vehicle would seem to crawl to us, Peggy. But we are going home, home. Oh, I could just shout, I am so glad.”
It was late that evening when the stage drew up before the Indian Queen in FourthStreet. Leaving their portmanteaus to be called for, the girls fairly ran down the street, turning presently into Chestnut Street.
“Is thee afraid, Sally?” asked Peggy pausing before her home. “If thee is, mother and I will see thee home.”
“Afraid in Philadelphia?” cried Sally. “Why, there are neither raiders nor pine robbers here. No; go right in, Peggy. I’m going on to mother. I will see thee to-morrow.”
She was off as she spoke, and Peggy mounted the steps, and sounded the knocker. Her mother gave a faint cry as she opened the door.
“My daughter!” she cried. “Oh, Peggy, Peggy! I have feared for thee.”
And Peggy crept into her arms, feeling that no harm could come to her in such loving shelter. It was long before she was calm enough to tell all that had happened, but at length sitting by her mother’s side with her head on her lap, she related what had occurred.
“The poor boy!” sighed Mrs. Owen. “It is too dreadful to think about it. And his mother! I read of it, Peggy, in the paper.Thee can imagine my feelings knowing that thou wert in the midst of such occurrences. And Sally’s mother hath been well-nigh crazed. Ah, my daughter! I am thankful to hold thee in my arms again, but my heart bleeds for that other mother who will nevermore clasp her son.”
“And he was such a dear fellow,” said Peggy brokenly. “And so brave! Thee should have seen how he fought the pine robbers. In just the short time that he was in Monmouth County he had made a reputation. And he was as modest as he was brave, mother.”
Mrs. Owen stooped suddenly so that she could look into her daughter’s eyes.
“Was thee very fond of him, Peggy?” she asked softly.
“So fond, mother.” Peggy met her mother’s look frankly. “Sally and I both were. Thee would have been too had thee been with him long.”
The anxious gleam which had shone for a second in Mrs. Owen’s eyes faded at Peggy’s answer, and she said quietly:
“I liked him very much as it was, mydaughter. The matter hath created quite a stir in the city. Nothing but retaliation is talked of. Report hath it that General Washington expects a speedy adjustment of the matter when the new British commander comes. They expect him in a few days. It is a sad affair. But oh, Peggy! I am glad thee is home!”
“And I never want to leave Philadelphia again,” cried Peggy. “It seems so hard to get back when I do go away. No; I never want to leave it again.”
“That is unfortunate, Peggy.” Her mother stroked her hair gently. “David hath writ that he is to be stationed at Lancaster all summer, and that, as ’twas possible to get a comfortable house there, he would like for us to come to him. We might then all be together once more. But thy experiences have been most trying, my daughter. Father would understand if thee feels that thee would rather stay here.”
“Why, mother, if I am with thee and father I won’t mind,” spoke Peggy quickly. “Of course I love Philadelphia, for it is my own city. No other place seems quite like it tome; but, after all, home is where our loved ones are. If I can be with thee and father, I will not mind where I am.”
Mrs. Owen kissed her fondly.
“I am glad that thou hast so decided, Peggy. It would have been a great disappointment to David had it been thought best not to come. His visits home have been infrequent, and we have not been together much since the winter at Middlebrook.”
“And when do we go, mother?”
“In about a week. Robert Dale hath some business with General Washington, and is at Newburgh now. He will act as our escort on his way back to Lancaster.”
“Is Robert to be there all summer?”
“I believe so. He thinks we shall like Lancaster. The Congress met there while the British held this city, thee remembers?”
“Yes, mother. Oh, ’tis so good to be with thee!” Peggy laid her head down in her mother’s lap with a sigh of content. “I don’t believe that any other girl ever had so dear a mother as thou art.”
Mrs. Owen laughed softly.
“I wonder what Sally is thinking,” she said.