Lucy Foster Madison

“It wounds, indeed,
To bear affronts too great to be forgiven,
And not have power to punish.”

—“Spanish Friar,” Dryden.

“Let them sleep, Hannah. I make no doubt but that they are greatly fatigued.”

“Yet methinks they would not care to be left behind if we go to the meeting-house, Mary. Both maidens have regard for the Sabbath. First-day, they call it.”

Peggy sat up quickly as the foregoing words penetrated her drowsed consciousness, and parting the curtains of the bed looked out. The door leading into the adjoining chamber was ajar, and through it the voices of the two women sounded distinctly. A flood of bright sunshine filled the little room with dazzling light, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay at the lateness of the hour.

“Sally,” she called, bending over her still sleeping friend and shaking her gently, “’tis time to get up. I fear me that we have over-slept.”

Sally stirred protestingly between the lavender-scented sheets, then opened her blue eyes sleepily.

“Did mother call?” she murmured. “Oh, dear! I don’t want to get up.”

“Thy wits are wool-gathering, Sally,” laughed Peggy slipping from the high bed without touching the small flight of steps generally used for descending. “Thee is not at home, but in Freehold. We must dress with speed, for the friends wish to go to the meeting-house.”

“Heigh-ho!” yawned Sally rubbing her eyes. “Methought I was in Philadelphia, and here we are in—— Is it East or West Jersey, Peggy?”

“Neither. ’Tis New Jersey, Sally.”

“But which would it be had they not gone together to make New Jersey?” persisted Sally.

“It seems to me, miss, that for so sleepy a damsel thee is consumed with a great thirst for geographical knowledge,” was Peggy’s comment as she dipped her face in the washing bowl.

“Does thee really know, Peggy Owen?”

“I don’t, Sally. Is thee pleased?”

“Yes,” declared Sally. “I thought of course thee would be informed, as thee has traveled so much. Peggy!”

“Well?”

“Did thee name the bedposts to find who would be thy fate? And at which one did thee look? Betty and I always do it when we sleep in a strange bed.”

“Yes, Sally. And I looked at this one.” Peggy lightly touched the post nearest her.

“Why, that’s the very one I saw first,” cried Sally excitedly. “For whom did thee name it, Peggy? What if it should be the same as mine! I called it—Fairfax.”

“Fairfax,” came from Peggy at the same moment. A merry peal of laughter filled the chamber as they uttered the name in unison.

“And how shall it be decided?” cried Sally gaily. “I shall never be second, Peggy.”

“What if Betty were here?” queried Peggy mirthfully.

“We should both have to give up then, of course. I’ll tell thee what: Being of the sect of Friends we cannot fight a duel, as the world’s people do, so when we go down-stairs let’s note which one of us he addresses first. That one shall be The One,” she ended impressively.

“Very well. Is thee ready, Sally?”

Arm in arm they descended the stairs. A chorus of “Good-mornings” greeted them as they entered the living-room. Mrs. Ashley, who was just putting breakfast on the table, glanced at them smilingly.

“You are both as bright as the morning,” she remarked approvingly. “’Tis no need to ask how ye slept. Truly your experience of yesterday doth not seem to have weighed upon you as I feared it would.”

“And how I did sleep!” exclaimed Sally. “The bed was so downy that Peggy had hard work to make me get up. What virtue does thee give thy feathers, Mistress Ashley, to make them bestow so sound a slumber?”

“Methinks any bed would have served the purpose when you were so fatigued, child,” answered the hostess, pleased nevertheless by the girl’s tribute to her feathers. “Nevvy, will you find places for the girls at the table?”

“Certainly, Aunt Mary.” Fairfax placed the chairs around the table, then drawing out two of them, turned toward the maidens, his face flushing at the necessity of addressing them, his whole manner betokening the diffidence that beset him. With demure looks but twinkling eyes the girls awaited his next words eagerly. “Have these chairs,” he said.

An irrepressible giggle came from Sally. Peggy bit her lips to keep back her laughter, and cast down her eyes quickly. The youth had included both in his speech, and, during the meal that followed, his few remarks were characterized by a like impartiality. When at length all were in the sleigh bound for the meeting-house at Freehold both girls were bubbling over with mischief.

“What spirits you two are in this morning,” observed Nurse Johnson. “Do tell us the fun.”

“’Tis thy son,” explained Sally in a whisper. “We want to see which one of us he addresses singly, because we both named the same bedpost after him, and ’tis the only way to decide our fate. He won’t speak to either of us alone,” she ended plaintively.

Nurse Johnson laughed heartily, well knowing that these girls liked her boy, and that such teasing as they indulged in was partly girlish fun, and partly a desire to cure him of his bashfulness.

“What a thing it is to be young,” she commented almost enviously. “Mary, did we ever do such things?”

“As naming bedposts, do you mean, Hannah? Truly. Many and many a post have we both named.”

“And how did it turn out?” asked Sally eagerly. Before the lady could reply Peggy spoke suddenly:

“Why do thy husband and Fairfax carry their muskets?” she inquired with surprise.

“’Tis not safe to go to meeting without them, child,” responded the matron gravely. “To such a state hath New Jersey come that ’tis impossible to go from one’s door without firelocks.”

“’Tis as it was when the country was first settled,” remarked Nurse Johnson. “Only then, ’twas fear of the savages, and now——”

“’Tis of a foe no less savage, Hannah,” completed her sister. “The long years of warfare have rendered the enemy cruel and pitiless in the extreme.”

“’Tis as bad here as on the frontiers,” commented Peggy. “Before we came ’twas talked at Philadelphia that an uprising of the Indians was looked for along the borders. In truth, methinks there hath already been atrocities committed upon the settlers, but affairs seem no worse with them than they are here with you.”

When they finally drew up before the Freehold meeting-house it was obvious to the least heedful that something unusual was astir. Although the snow lay deep in front of the building and a keen nip was in the air, there were groups of men scattered over the green. Despite the chill, some sat upon the steps of the church, others clustered about the wagons in the wagon-shed, and still others stood about, stamping their feet or swinging their arms to keep warm. But whether sitting or standing each man held a musket in the hollow of his arm ready for instant use, while about the church two men patrolled as sentinels. All the light and laughter died out of the faces of the maidens at these warlike signs, and unconsciously they drew closer together.

“I wonder what hath happened,” mused Farmer Ashley stopping before the horse-block. “What’s to do, neighbor?” he called to a man in a near-by group.

“Sam Nathan’s farm was raided by the loyalists last night, Tom,” came the startling response. “His house and barns were burned, and Sam himself killed. His wife and daughter escaped into the woods, and reached Freehold this morning half dead from shock and exposure.”

“Sam Nathan!” ejaculated Mrs. Ashley becoming pale. “Why, that was only five miles from us, father. ’Twill be our turn next.”

“Now don’t go to looking for trouble, Mary,” chided her husband. “You women-folks go right into the meeting-house, and whatever you do, be cheerful. Nevvy and I will come in presently.”

The church was partly filled with sad-eyed, patient-faced women, whose quiet demeanor was more heartrending than tears would have been. Some gave them the welcome that those who are united in the bonds of affliction give each other; others only stared at them with stony, unseeing eyes. Whose turn would be the next? was the thought that filled every breast. Oppressed and saddened, Peggy thoughtfully took the seat assigned her, and, as Sally sank down beside her, she slipped her hand into her friend’s protectingly. Sally responded with a reassuring pressure, and so with clasped hands the two sat throughout the service. And a memorable service it was. While the minister preached, the men took turns in patrolling the building and watching the horses. Beside every pew stood a musket, ready for instant use. Even in the house of God these people were not secure from the attacks of their enemies.

And without the sun shone brightly upon the hills and plains of Monmouth. Over the meadows lay the snow, and on the streams a thick coating of ice; but the pines were green in the woodlands, and the air—though sharp and nipping—still breathed of spring and hope. The land was fair to see in its winter garb. Man alone was the discordant note in Nature’s harmony.

As Thomas Ashley had said, all New Jersey was roused to action. Harassed and harried as no other state had been, with the exception of South Carolina, at this time it seemed on the verge of extinction, and its condition was in truth deplorable. In the earlier years of the war it had been swept like a plague by the horde of hireling Hessians and the British army. In addition, the main army of the patriots had wintered for several years among its mountains, and drawn upon it for supplies until the state was all but beggared. But if liberty live the army must eat; so the farmers plowed, and sowed, and reaped, even though many dropped in the fields from the crack of an ambushed rifle.

As though suffering from the depredations of the pine robbers were not enough, there was added to the state’s afflictions the incursions of the freebooters of the sea, and, far more bitter to bear—for civil war is ever without mercy and compassion—were the heinous outrages of the Tories. It was no wonder, with foes without and foes within, that the temper of the people had risen to fever heat, and that they were making determined efforts to rid themselves of their enemies.

The meeting was ended finally, and with saddened mien the family reËntered the sleigh. Farmer Ashley’s face wore a grave expression, while Fairfax’s countenance betokened a set determination. He turned toward his mother abruptly.

“Mother,” he said, “these girls must go home. New Jersey is no place for them.”

“You never spoke a truer word, nevvy,” chimed in his uncle. “They must go home; the sooner they start, the better ’twill be. So long as the snow lasts, the riding will be easy. Now, if you are willing to risk another encounter with the robbers, we will start with them Tuesday.”

“But would not Friend Nurse and thy wife be left unprotected while ye were away?” questioned Peggy in troubled accents.

“Now, Peggy, don’t wherrit over that,” spoke Nurse Johnson. “The first thing to attend to is getting you girls home. I should never have another minute’s peace if anything befell you. I ought never to have brought you into such danger, but I knew not that things were as they are here. Mary and I can take care of ourselves.”

“It won’t do, Hannah,” said Thomas Ashley decidedly. “The girls must go of a truth, but you and Mary must have protection, too. Capable ye both are, but ’twould not do to leave ye alone. The journey to Philadelphia would take all of six days, there and back. That would mean fast going at that. Should there come a thaw there’s no telling when we’d get home.”

“Friend,” broke in Peggy eagerly, “if thee could get us to Trenton there would be no need for thee to go on to Philadelphia. Both Sally and I have friends there who would see that we reached home safely. Beside, the stage runs thrice a week from that point to our city, and should other means fail, we could take that.”

“Come! that’s well thought of,” he cried quickly. “’Twould be but a day’s travel to Trenton, if the snow holds. Mary and Hannah could bide in Freehold until our return; so we’ll call the matter settled. Nevvy, we will start Tuesday.”

“Then on Tuesday ye will both be gone,” said Fairfax with such a sigh of relief that Sally, despite the gravity of the situation, could not forbear a little laugh.

“Oh, Peggy!” she cried, “why weren’t we named Betty? Had we been Captain Johnson would not wish us gone as soon as we arrived.”

“’Tis not as you think, Mistress Sally,” he protested earnestly. “Indeed, in truth”—he faltered, then continued manfully—“did I regard your friend as your words imply I would not consent to wait until Tuesday to take her back.”

A puzzled look spread over Sally’s face.

“Doth he mean that he is indeed fond of Betty?” she whispered to Peggy under cover of Thomas Ashley’s laughter which followed the youth’s response.

“I fear to say,” was Peggy’s amused reply.

And so, in spite of the fact that ravage and pillage had come very near to them in the night, they returned to the farm in much better spirits than would have been deemed possible when they left the meeting-house.