As Barclugh mounted his steed and cantered through Trenton, he saw happy children and old men, chickens and ducks at every household. Occasionally the housewife came to the side door and gazed with arms akimbo at the strange horse and rider.

There was much to occupy Barclugh’s thoughts as he rode over this road. A little over a year previous here the hirelings of George III laid down their arms to the intrepid Washington, and his mission was to overcome by means of money what Britain’s generals had lost at arms. The irony of the situation aroused his red blood. He quickened the pace of his horse as the blood surged through his body at the thoughts of the enormity of his undertaking.

Quickly he left the town and turned his direction toward Princeton. He knew that he was travelling on martial ground. He soon came to and had to cross the identical bridge that Washington had so gallantly defended against Cornwallis, whom he had sent to camp; but ere the morning, the thunder of American artillery in the rear at Princeton awoke the British to the fact that they were out-generalled.Also the sleepy town of Princeton presented its scenes of disaster to Barclugh, who was riding along on his solitary journey of intrigue. Here he had to pass in view of Nassau Hall, where Washington’s force surrounded two hundred British and compelled them to surrender. On his way thither he had to pass over the road that Washington’s rear-guard had so successfully blocked to the British advance by chopping down timber across the roadway and by burning the bridges behind him.

The British representative gnashed his teeth to actually see how helpless was the situation of Washington’s band of barefooted patriots one day at Trenton, and the next how triumphant under the daring leader as he marched his little force to safety at Morristown Heights.

The question never was so vividly presented to mortal mind as now to Barclugh, to learn the foundation for such intrepid feats in the presence of thoroughly disciplined European forces. Americans had no training or discipline; so, how did they maintain such superiority with such inferior numbers?

As Barclugh had not journeyed in the heart of American territory without being wide-awake to every bit of character, he had not forgotten the injunction of old Samuel Whitesides to visit his son-in-law, Benjamin Andrews. His home was five miles north of Morristown. Here he could rest and perhaps learn something.

North of Princeton the country begins to grow abruptly hilly, and at Morristown veritable mountains occur, with broad valleys stretching to the northeast and southwest. But beyond Morristown the country grows hard to travel through. The ridges grow steeper, the settlers fewer, and the timber thicker. The streams find a chance to gurgle around the rocks and roar over the falls. The wilderness impressed Barclugh. As his horse, that was now jaded, carried him upon a ridge, he stood, to take in the extensive landscape. When ridge upon ridge met his eye the immensity of the Colonial territory grew to a realization upon his mind. His journey was more than a revelation to him; it was a conviction of how little the King’s advisers knew about the conditions in America, while gaming around the green tables at Brooks’.

Nestling among the timber in the valley of the Whippany River was a settler’s log-house. It stood back from the roadside and was approached by a serpentine road, crude at present, but designed some day to grace more pretentious grounds. But what a pity the settler’s axe had not spared a few of those giants of the forest, whose degradation was evidenced by the blackened stumps of the clearing.

However, the pioneer had no time to consider anything but present utility in those days, and as Barclugh turned his horse down the road toward this house, he was met in the dooryard by Benjamin Andrews, whose six feet four of brawn and sinew had unmistakable characteristics of force and endurance. Simplicity of life and hard labor developed such men.

“May I have lodging and fodder for my horse?” said Barclugh as he rode up to the settler. “I have been directed to you by Mr. Samuel Whitesides, while travelling through Trenton.”

“Wal, I b’leeve you kin, if daddy Whitesides sent you here. Thomas, take the gentleman’s horse. Bless me, come in and get warm. My Nancy will be glad to hear from daddy. What’s the news from south’ard?” were the words of welcome of the settler, as he led the way to the latched door. He pulled on the string that opened into the large room that answered for kitchen, dining-room and sleeping-room, except for the loft that was used by the children to sleep in.

As Barclugh entered the log-house, he found Mrs. Andrews standing in the middle of the room, shyly holding her apron, and shielding a four-year-old boy who was holding on to her skirt and gazing at the stranger in amazement.

“Nancy, this gentleman was sent to us by daddy,” was the introduction of the stranger by the husband, and the wife curtsied, nodding her head as the youngster began to cry. But no name was necessary to be mentioned so long as he knew daddy.

However, Barclugh accepted the native hospitality, and cheerfully took the chair proffered him before the comfortable fireplace, while the housewife went silently about her duties.

Benjamin Andrews had been on his farm in the Whippany valley nearly two years, and he had a comfortable log-house well chinked and roofed with shakes riven out of white pine. A good-sized log-barn, thatched with straw, six head of cattle,—three cows and three yearlings,—one full sow and three porkers running about the yard,—two indifferent horses worth about four guineas each, constituted Andrews’ belongings. His land was one hundred and eighty acres, for which he paid forty pounds sterling, and about thirty-five acres of which was under tillage.

With willing hands, he and his family had started in the primitive forest to make a home. They had left the parental roof with three children and about thirty pounds in ready money, saved by several years of hard labor. They had two cows and a heifer, a pair of old horses, a sow, utensils, and a provision of flour and cider to take to their new home.

That night Barclugh sat in a large arm-chair before a blazing log fire, after he had done full justice to a bowl of fresh milk and cornmeal mush, also a plentiful portion of fried pork and boiled potatoes with their jackets on. Relays of creamy bread and rich, wholesome butter had done him more service, after his weary journey, than a dinner À la carte at the CafÉ Rochefoucauld in his native Paris.

However, what rankled in the brain of Barclugh was the collection of so much real contentment and the enjoyment of much comfort and plenty in the wilderness in so short a time. Whence had it sprung? Could one man accomplish much in so short a period? Barclugh could not restrain his anxiety for enlightenment. He began to ask questions:

“How have you built such a fine home in so short a time, Mr. Andrews?” were the words addressed to the settler, who sat smoking his pipe, while the two older children hung around their father, gazing at the stranger from behind their father’s chair.

“Wal, it’s ben pritty hard work, but you see we’ve ben pritty lucky. When we fust came on the land, nigh on to two year ago, our neighbors,—”

“What, have you neighbors, Mr. Andrews?” interjected Barclugh.

“Wal, a few, sir. After we got on to the land, as I was sayin’, four of them came with their oxen and axes, and in two days we hed this here house put up and the floor hewed and the chimney built and then in the fall they came agin, but more on ’em, and we hed a barn-raisin’ and daddy was here and we hed a rip-roarin’ old time with that barrel of cider that I kept over and that five gallon of rum that daddy brought from taown.”

“But didn’t it cost you anything to do all of this?” was the inquiry of Barclugh, as he sat listening in amazement.

“Nary a farthing, ’cept the cider the boys had and the grub. But that summer I hed raised lots of ’taters and a good piece of corn and a piece of wheat in the clearance, the milk of the cows kept the sow goin’ and the chickens gave us lots of eggs. Nancy here” (who stopped and smiled at the mention of her name) “raised all those chickens,—but the first winter I hed a close shave on the cattle and horses, but I kinder looked ahead for that and the spring before I found a nat’ral medder down the river and I mowed abaout six acres of r’al good hay and stacked it up for caow feed. That was mighty lucky, for thet winter was hard and browsing was short in the woods for the cattle and the horses.”

“Oh, do you let your stock run loose in the winter, Mr. Andrews?” was the next interrogation.

“Why, sir, them old pelters of horses will find a bit o’ grass if it’s kivered six inches in snow, and two mile away. They’ll paw right through a crust of snow for a bite of nat’ral grass. But I keep them up at night and feed ’em in the stable. Cattle and horses do better to run out when the weather isn’t too cold.”

“But tell me, Mr. Andrews, how do you raise crops among those stumps?” was the question from Barclugh’s puzzled mind that broke the serenity of his amazement.

“Wal, Mister,’scusin’ my curiosity, but where were you raised? I guess they didn’t know much in them parts. For, I’d rather have ’taters on a piece of new ground. Then corn grows taller en your head in new ground. At fust we go in and cut out all the small trees, and girdle the big ones so that we can go in and clear and break up the new soil, for it’s meller and rich. Then we have loggin’-bees when a new settler comes into the neighborhood. In that way he gets a good boost.”

“Do you have to get up these bees, as you call them? What are bees?” continued our interrogator, who desired to make the most of his opportunity.

“Wal, that’s mighty queer you don’t know what bees are. Why they’re very common in these parts. But say, Mister, you must come from some seaport town where there’s no sich things. I guess you’re mighty green ennyhow, for bees ain’t new aroun’ here. Where air you from? I hain’t seed sich a greeny in all my life,” were the concluding words of Andrews, as he actually laughed aloud.

“I am from Philadelphia, Mr. Andrews,” replied Barclugh, who fully appreciated the confiding nature of the settler.

“But you’re not raised thar,” continued Andrews.

“No, in Paris.”

“But you’re not French.”

“Yes, I speak the language.”

“Do you know Mr. Franklin?”

“Certainly, I came here for him.”

“You did?” queried Andrews. “Look at that, Nancy,” continued Andrews, addressing his wife who sat knitting at the table listening to the men’s conversation. “This gentleman knows Benjamin Franklin. How’s the French takin’ up the cause?”

“Oh, they’re helping the Colonies,” replied Barclugh, but continuing, in order to get at his own line of thought, he asked:“Do you need much money to buy these lands and start a home in the wilderness, Mr. Andrews?”

“Wal,” replied Andrews, “as far as money is consarned, nary a shilling have I made in two year, but I hed some to start on,—mighty lettle though, for I paid most on’t for the first payment on my land, and then I’ll have to wait till I git crops off this summer for the next payment. But you see, we raise our livin’ and the old folks at home make us some cloth for clothes while we’re startin’, so that by next year we can help ourselves right along.”

“So you have no use for money at home, but you get your pay for supplies furnished Mr. Washington, don’t you?” queried Barclugh.

“Wal, that’s all well understood among our people. When we have some pork or flour for the army, or beef or grain, we take it to our nearest depot and get a receipt for the stuff at the price paid, and when it’s signed by General Washington’s commissary that’s all the money we want for our transactions. Our receipts will be redeemed if Congress gains independence, and if we fail we shall not need the receipts, for we shall all be dead.”

This last bit of information killed all the enthusiasm in Barclugh’s breast, and, as he had observed Andrews’ children and wife ascend the ladder in the corner, leading to the loft, he yawned and began to wonder where he would sleep for the night.

Andrews noticed his evident desires and remarked:

“Mister, I b’leeve you better turn in for the night, and you will find your bed prepared in the corner where Nancy and I sleep, but we allus give it up to company,” were the parting remarks of Barclugh’s host, who turned and climbed the ladder into the loft.

Dawn was barely visible when the Andrews household was astir. Barclugh was up first, for he occupied the sole living-room. Then a good breakfast was soon steaming on the table,—consisting of fried pork, fried eggs, potatoes and bread and butter, and bowls of milk.

After doing full justice to the frugal meal, Barclugh started to prepare for departure. He found his horse, well groomed, standing hitched in the dooryard.

Going up to Mrs. Andrews, Barclugh thanked her for such a fine bed and such wholesome meals. He then took the little boy in his arms and kissed him while he congratulated the mother upon her well-behaved children.

As Barclugh stepped into the dooryard, he drew a guinea from his pocket and placed it in the hand of Benjamin Andrews, remarking while he did so:

“Mr. Andrews, you have been so kind and considerate of me, I wish to leave you my name and give you a small token of my appreciation of your generous and hearty hospitality. My name is Roderick Barclugh; I am on my way to General Washington’s headquarters, and I hope that I may see you again. If I can be of any service to you, I shall gladly be at your command.”

“Wal, Mr. Barclugh, I thought mebbee you had some desire to not give your name, and I couldn’t be rude enough to ask you. But you have mistaken Benjamin Andrews, when you offer him gold for his simple services to a friend of General Washington. I could not and I would not be guilty of this kind er hospitality. You may need this money before the war is over. I can git along fust-rate without it,” were the words of Andrews, as he looked straight into Barclugh’s eyes and held out the coin for its return.

Barclugh reluctantly took the piece of gold and being completely nonplussed at the sterling qualities of his backwoods host, he grasped him by the hand, and said with much earnestness:

“Sir, I honor your courtesy and your sentiments. May we meet again so that I can return your kindness. I thank you.” At that the rider turned and rode toward the gate.

But before Barclugh could reach the gate, little Sammy Andrews was on foot before him, and as the horse passed through the gate, already opened by Sammy, Barclugh beckoned the boy to come near him and pressed into his hand a small buckskin wallet containing two guineas, telling the boy at the same time:

“Sammy, take this to your mother with the best wishes of Mr. Barclugh.”

The boy flew toward the house, as Barclugh rode up the road, and soon disappeared over the hill, among the timber.