Lucy Foster Madison

“And as the shell upon the mountain height
Sings 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 not mind 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 doubt he 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 hour later, “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 during the 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 for a 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 Fourth Street. 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, my daughter. 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 to me; 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.