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.