A WOMAN'S WIT
"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 reentered 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.