Lucy Foster Madison

“Man is not born alone to act, or be
The sole asserter of man’s liberty;
But so God shares the gifts of head and heart,
And crowns blest woman with a hero’s part.”

—Author Unknown.

“Surely thee is not unpacking, Peggy?” questioned Sally as she entered their little room for the night. Peggy had preceded her by a few moments, and was now bending over her portmanteau. “It hardly seems worth while when we return so soon.”

“I am just getting my diary, Sally,” answered Peggy, drawing forth the book after several attempts to locate it. “Methought the time was propitious to make an entry. And of a verity that encounter with those robbers ought to make exciting reading for the Social Select Circle.”

“’Twas a wondrous adventure,” cried Sally with a shiver of pure enjoyment. “Since none of us received injury ’tis delightsome to have so stirring a thing to record for the girls. And oh, Peggy! is it not charming that I am with thee?”

“It is indeed, Sally. Anything is always more enjoyable when thee shares it with me; although I agree with Fairfax in wishing that we were at home.”

“If we start Third-day we should be there soon, Peggy. Were it not for the danger I should like to stay a little longer.”

“And so should I,” responded Peggy. “There! that entry is finished, with a half page to spare. Wouldn’t thee like to add something, Sally?”

“I’ll wait until morning,” decided Sally. “Although,” she added, “perchance ’twould be best to do it now, as to-morrow will be the day before we leave, and consequently we are quite apt to be busy.”

But Monday morning brought a clouded and softened sky; a brisk south wind arose, and the rain came driving. By Tuesday the wind had increased to a heavy gale, and the rain came with violence from the southwest. The snow-drifts that had been so white and fair became yellow, and smirched, and muddy, and lost their curves and lines. The roads were troughs of slush and water, impassable for any sort of vehicle. In spite of this condition of things Fairfax Johnson insisted that the maidens should be taken to Trenton.

“Why, son, ’twould be monstrous to send them forth in such weather,” remonstrated his mother. “They would get drenched.”

“Better that than to stay here,” he declared, but his uncle interposed:

“’Twould never do, nevvy. You couldn’t get as far as Freehold with the roads as they are. The rain won’t last more than a few days; and if it keeps us in it works the same with the raiders by keeping them out. They won’t venture into Monmouth County until the weather changes. They know too well the danger of the quagmires. We must bide our time, nevvy.”

And with this the lad was forced to content himself. For three days the rain continued, and with its ceasing every vestige of snow had disappeared, leaving conditions worse than ever. The roads were very soft and heavy, and most perilous where they crossed the marshes. Even the youth acknowledged that travel with a wagon was utterly out of the question. But he himself managed to ride into Freehold daily that he might meet with his company, and begin preparations to take the field as soon as offensive operations by the raiders were resumed.

So the days went by, but they were pleasant and busy ones for Peggy and Sally. True to their resolve to accept with cheerfulness whatever befell, their gay spirits softened and enlivened the gloom which might otherwise have settled upon the family. The mornings were devoted to housework and cookery; the afternoons to quilting the homespun bed-quilt which Sally had noticed in the frames on the night of their arrival. In the evenings all gathered about the great fireplace and indulged in such recreations as the farmhouse afforded. The girls had each set a pair of stockings upon the needles which they declared were for Fairfax, and, much to his embarrassment, he was called upon every evening to note the progress of the work. After the fashion of the time the name, Fairfax, and the date, 1782, were knit in the threads.

Soon the raw winds of March gave place to softer ones which blew caressingly from the south, dispelling all fear of frost. The soft wet of the ground disappeared under the balmy sunshine, and the air was a fount of freshness. The glad earth reveled under the warmth of the sun, and hill and valley, wood and meadow, blossomed under the touch of spring.

Along the Hudson, Washington gathered his forces for a final campaign, for not yet would England consent to terms of peace, and urged with entreaty upon the states the need of men and supplies. But with resources drained, and rendered apathetic by the long years of fighting, the country believed that the crisis had passed, and so responded slowly to the appeals of their leader. Each state had its own troubles that demanded attention, and the general welfare was lost sight of in the specific need. In New Jersey particularly, rent as it was by the internecine warfare, nothing was talked or thought but the putting down of its own individual enemies. As soon as the weather permitted the attacks of the loyalists were renewed with increased virulence. It was as though these people realized that with the coming of peace nothing would remain for them but expatriation, and so were determined to leave behind them naught but desolation.

And to stay this lawlessness the young captain with his company rode hither and thither over the county, pursuing the raiders with so much zeal and intrepidity that their rancor was aroused toward him. There came a day when Fairfax did not return in the evening as was his custom. Far away from the south-eastern part of the county had come the alarm that the refugees, under the leadership of Frank Edwards—a notorious desperado loyalist—had come down from Sandy Hook, and were approaching the neighborhood of Cedar Creek. Upon receipt of the intelligence the young captain had immediately set forth to prevent their marauding progress into the interior. A sharp skirmish took place which resulted in victory for the Monmouth defenders, and when at length they reËntered Freehold, they bore with them the notorious Edwards, a prisoner, together with a majority of his Tory band. Thomas Ashley was jubilant when the youth arrived with the news.

“Keep after ’em, nevvy,” he cried. “A few more such captures and old Monmouth may rest secure.”

“Report hath it that nothing short of hanging will be given Edwards,” Fairfax told him. “Few of the band will escape a sentence of some sort. Do you not think, Uncle Tom, that a few days could be taken now to get these maidens home? It preys upon my mind that they are still here.”

“And upon mine also, son,” said his mother gravely. “If these Tories are as vindictive as I hear they are there will be no safety for any of us since you have taken one of their leaders.”

“She speaks truth, nevvy. These girls have no part in this war. Pennsylvania hath woes of her own to endure. It is not just, or fitting that any of her citizens should be called upon to bear ours also. They shall go home.”

So once again Peggy and Sally gathered their belongings together for an early start to Trenton. All the day before the maidens were in a pleasurable state of excitement. Each realized that New Jersey was no longer a place for them, so they were glad to go; still, there were regrets at parting from these people who had been so kind, and whom the vicissitudes of fortune might preclude them from ever seeing again. Full of this feeling, Peggy found herself the victim of a pleasing melancholy the night before they were to leave, and it was long past midnight ere she was able to sleep. How long she slept she did not know, but it seemed to her that she had just fallen into slumber when something caused her to open her eyes. For a few moments she lay in that strange debatable region between sleeping and waking when the mind cannot distinguish between the real and the imaginary. All at once she sat up, fully awake, every sense strained and alert. Something was wrong. What was it? She listened intently, but such an intense stillness reigned throughout the house that Sally’s soft breathing smote her with a sense of disturbance. Parting the curtains of the bed she glanced apprehensively about the little chamber. The wooden shutters were closed, but through their bow-shaped openings came such a brilliant light that every object in the little room was plainly visible.

“How brightly the moon shines,” was her thought, and completely reassured she was about to draw the curtains when again there came the mysterious sound that had awakened her.

It was a crackling, snapping sound such as seasoned wood makes when the flame catches it in the open air. Very much alarmed Peggy slipped from the bed and ran to one of the windows. Softly she raised the sash, then cautiously swung back one of the shutters. She gave a low cry at the sight that met her gaze, and leaned far out of the window. The barn was a mass of flames, and there were dark forms flitting about among the budding trees. The raiders! For a moment she stood stricken with terror. Then the necessity for action roused her. Fairfax! Thomas Ashley! They must not be caught asleep. What would be their portion should these men find them? Full of excitement, her heart beating hard and fast, she sped into the adjoining room where Nurse Johnson slept.

“Awake!” she cried shaking her violently, her whisper rendered sharp and penetrating by fear. “The raiders are here. Thy son, Friend Nurse! There is danger. Oh, wake! wake!”

“What is it, Peggy?” Nurse Johnson was roused at last. “Are you ill?”

“The Tories,” gasped the maiden. “They are here. The barn is burning.”

In an instant Nurse Johnson was out of the bed, and had started for the door when the calm voice of her son spoke from the entrance:

“I hear. You women get in the middle room, and don’t go near a window. Uncle Tom is getting the muskets ready for the assault.”

Peggy ran back to close the shutter of the window she had opened, but could not forego a glance downward as she did so. The men, satisfied that nothing would be left of the barn, were now advancing stealthily toward the house, each bearing a lighted pine-knot. The girl’s heart beat pitifully as she divined their intention, which was obviously to set fire to the dwelling. She closed the shutter tightly, and then awakened Sally.

“Can’t we do something?” whispered Sally, after the women and the two girls had waited in breathless suspense for a few moments. “This waiting in the dark is terrifying. I shall scream if I can’t do something.”

Before a reply could be made there came a snort of terror from the lean-to, and a shout of triumph broke from the raiders as the snorting discovered the whereabouts of the horses. A ripping, tearing sound betokening that the boards were being torn from the improvised stable to get at the animals followed. A roar of rage burst from Farmer Ashley.

“At ’em, nevvy,” he cried. “They’re after the horses. He who shoots first has the advantage of the enemy.”

The young captain’s reply was a shot from his musket. A howl of anger rose from the attackers as the report of Thomas Ashley’s gun followed quickly. The two men then ran to other windows and began firing, endeavoring by quick shifting of position to give the impression that a large force was in the house. There were six muskets altogether, and one was placed by each window.

“This is work for us,” said Nurse Johnson calmly, as the women and girls in answer to Sally’s plea came down-stairs. “We can load while you two do the shooting. Peggy, do you stay with me while Mary and Sally take that side.”

There ensued several minutes of brisk work from without as well as within, and bullets came spitefully through windows and doors. Presently Mary Ashley spoke shrilly:

“Father, where is the cartridge paper? There are no more cartridges made up.”

“I don’t know, mother,” shouted Mr. Ashley successfully dodging a bullet that came through a shutter. “Ask nevvy.”

But Fairfax turned a look of consternation on his aunt.

“If there are no more cartridges in the pouch we are done for,” he said. “There’s plenty of powder and ball, but I don’t know where to lay hand to wadding.”

“Any sort of paper will do, Mary,” interposed Nurse Johnson. “Get a book.”

Paper was a scarce commodity in those times, and few houses, especially country houses, kept it in quantity. Books were rarer still, so now Mrs. Ashley spoke with the calmness of despair:

“There isn’t a book on the place. I let——”

“Wait a minute,” cried Peggy. “I have one.” She ran up the stairs as she finished speaking and soon returned, a book in her hand.

“Oh, Peggy,” wailed Sally, “’tis thy diary. And how will the girls ever know what hath befallen us without it?”

“They are apt to know naught if we do not use it, Sally,” said Peggy with some excitement, proceeding to tear the leaves into squares. Presently she paused, powder-horn in hand. “How much powder do I put in, Friend Nurse?” she asked.

While Nurse Johnson was showing the proper amount the enemy’s fire slackened suddenly. Farmer Ashley and Fairfax exchanged apprehensive glances. Were they weary, or was their stock of cartridges getting low? Then the fire ceased altogether, and as the smoke lifted Fairfax stole a look through the opening in a shutter. He turned a troubled face toward them after a moment’s survey.

“There’s nothing to be seen,” he said. “Surely they have not gone away?”

At this juncture a call came from outside:

“Tom Ashley!”

“Well? What’s wanted?” cried the farmer.

“We want that nephew of yours, and we’re going to have him.”

“Come and get him, then,” growled Thomas Ashley.

“We’re going to, Tom. We’ve burned your barn, and taken your horses. Now unless you let us have that captain we’ll burn the house right over your head. Will you surrender Captain Johnson?”

“No,” came from the farmer in a roar. “What manner of man do you think I am that I’d let a pack of Tory scoundrels have my nephew?”

“The woods won’t be pleasant camping for your women-folks at this time of the year, Tom,” came in threatening accents.

“No,” shouted the farmer. “You can’t have him.”

“Uncle, I’d better go out to them,” said Fairfax. “If they will promise to let the rest of you alone, and not burn the house, I’ll——”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, nevvy,” spoke Tom Ashley gruffly. “If they spare the house now ’twill be only that they may burn it later. You can’t depend upon the word of a Tory. We will stay here as long as we can, then make a dash for the woods. Thanks to Peggy we have plenty of cartridges now.”

“Something is burning,” cried Sally suddenly, sniffing the air.

A peculiar odor came through the loopholes of the windows, and the wind whirled a puff of smoke into the room. The faces of the girls blanched, and they looked at each other fearfully. The entire party seemed benumbed for the moment, then Fairfax sprang to the door of the lean-to.

“I’m going out to them,” he announced determinedly. “You shan’t burn here like rats in a trap.”

“Don’t go, son,” screamed his mother.

And, “Don’t go, Friend Fairfax,” came from the girls. “’Tis death out there.”

“And death to all within if I stay,” he answered, opening the door resolutely. A burst of flame from the lean-to forced him to recoil, and before he could recover himself his uncle had closed the door quickly.

“You young idiot,” he growled, “stay where you are. ’Twould be a useless sacrifice. You’ll do more good by staying here, and helping to cover the retreat of the women should we have to take to the woods.”

Fairfax made no answer, but stood in a dejected attitude, his head sunk upon his breast. The stillness without was ominous. Presently jets of flame crept across the threshold of the door leading to the lean-to. The farmer uttered an exclamation almost of despair as he reached for the water bucket.

“We are all right as long as the water holds out,” he groaned, dashing the bucket’s contents on the blaze. “God help us when ’tis gone.”

“Uncle Tom,” spoke the youth imploringly, “they only want me. Let me at least make a dash for the woods. There would be a chance of escape, and ’twould draw them away from here.”

“Would they really take after Fairfax if they saw him taking to the woods?” queried Nurse Johnson abruptly.

“Of a truth, Hannah. You see they’d like to get him on account of capturing Edwards, but we won’t give him up. He’s too necessary to the country.”

“Another place is on fire, friend,” screamed Sally at this moment.

Both the youth and his uncle sprang for the blaze, beating the flames with heavy wet cloths. Under cover of the excitement Nurse Johnson threw her son’s long cloak around her, caught up his three-cornered hat, and, before they realized what she was about, had opened the rear door of the kitchen and darted out.

A shout went up from the raiders, telling that she had been seen. A few scattering shots followed, then the clarion tones of the leader rang out:

“Don’t shoot, boys. Take him alive. We’ve got him now.”

“Mother!” cried Fairfax, springing toward the door. Tom Ashley caught him in an iron grip.

“Be quiet, nevvy,” he said sternly. “Hannah’s got too much wit to be taken, and she hath saved you; and all of us, for that matter. You are too valuable to the country to be given to such wretches. Even though all the rest of us perish, you must live. Now help me put out this fire. Peggy, do you run up-stairs, and see what’s happening.”

Up the stairs darted Peggy, with Mrs. Ashley and Sally following after. Too eager to be cautious she flung back a shutter, and looked out. The night was now far spent, and in the dim gray light of early dawn Nurse Johnson’s tall figure was not unlike that of her son. The intrepid woman had cleared the open spaces of the yard, and was now under the great trees of the forest, with the raiders in full pursuit. A few moments, and hunted and hunters were swallowed up by the long dark shadows of the woods.