The Only Woman in the Town, and Other Tales of the American Revolution

by Sarah J. Prichard

  BECCA BLACKSTONE'S TURKEYS AT VALLEY FORGE.

  Turkeys, little girl and apple-tree lived in Pennsylvania, a hundredyears ago. The turkeys--eleven of them--went to bed in the apple-tree,one night in December.

  After it was dark, the little girl stood under the tree and peered upthrough the boughs and began to count. She numbered them from one upto eleven. Addressing the turkeys, she said: "You're all up there, Isee, and if you only knew enough; if you weren't the dear, old, wise,stupid things that you are, I'll tell you what you would do. After I'mgone in the house, and the door is shut, and nobody here to see, you'dget right down, and you'd fly off in a hurry to the deepest part ofthe wood to spent your Thanksgiving, you would. The cold of the woodsisn't half as bad for you as the fire of the oven will be."

  Becca finished her speech; the turkeys rustled in their feathers anddoubtless wondered what it all meant, while she stood thinking. Onepoor fellow lost his balance and came fluttering down to the ground,just as she had decided what to do. As soon as he was safely reset onhis perch, Becca made a second little speech to her audience, inwhich she declared that "they, the dear turkeys, were her own; thatshe had a right to do with them just as she pleased, and that it washer good pleasure that not one single one of the eleven should make apart of anybody's Thanksgiving dinner."

  "Heigh-ho," whistles Jack, Becca's ten-year-old brother: "that you,Bec? High time you were in the house."

  "S'pose I frightened you," said Becca. "Where have you been gone allthe afternoon, I'd like to know? stealin' home too, across lots."

  "I'll tell, if you won't let on a mite."

  "Do I ever, Jack?" reproachfully.

  He did not deign to answer, but in confidential whispers breathed itinto her ears that "he had been down to the Forge. Down to the ValleyForge, where General Washington was going to fetch down lots and lotsof soldiers, and build log huts, and stay all Winter." He ended hisbreathless narration with an allusion that made Becca jump as thoughshe had seen a snake. He said: "It will be bad for your turkeys."

  "Why, Jack? General Washington won't steal them."

  "Soldiers eat turkey whenever they can get it; and, Bec, thisapple-tree isn't above three miles from the Forge. You'd better have'em all killed for Thanksgiving. Come, I'm hungry as a bear."

  "But," said Becca, grasping his jacket sleeve as they went, "I've justpromised 'em that they shall not be touched."

  Jack's laugh set every turkey into motion, until the tree was all in aflutter of excitement. He laughed again and again, before he could say"What a little goose you are! Just as if turkeys understood a word yousaid."

  "But I understood if they didn't, and I should be telling my own selfa lie. No, not a turkey shall die. They shall all have a real goodThanksgiving once in their lives."

  Two days later, on the 18th of December, Thanksgiving Day came, theturkeys were yet alive, and Becca Blackstone was happy.

  The next day General Washington's eleven thousand men marched intoValley Forge, and went out upon the cold, bleak hillsides, carryingwith them almost three thousand poor fellows, too ill to march, tooill to build log huts, ill enough to lie down and die. Such a busytime as there was for days and days. Farmer Blackstone felt a littletoryish in his thoughts, but the chance to sell logs and split slabsso near home as Valley Forge was not likely to happen again, and heworked away with strong good will to furnish building material. Jackwent every day to the encampment, and grew quite learned in the waysof warlike men.

  Becca staid at home with her mother, but secretly wished to see whatthe great army looked like.

  At last the final load of chestnut and walnut and oaken logs went upto the hills from Mr. Blackstone's farm, and a great white snow felldown over all Pennsylvania, covering the mountains and hills, thesoldiers' log huts, and the turkeys in the apple-tree. January cameand went, and every day affairs at the camp grew worse. Men were dyingof hunger and cold and disease. Stories of the sufferings of the mengrew strangely familiar to the inhabitants. Affairs that Winter wouldnot have been quite so hard at Valley Forge if the neighbors for milesaround had not been Tories. Now Becca Blackstone's mother was a NewEngland women, and in secret she bestowed many a comfort upon oneafter another of her countrymen at the encampment. Her husband waswilling to sell logs and slabs and clay from his pits, but not afarthing or a splinter of wood had he to bestow on the rebels.

  At last, one January day, when Mr. Blackstone had gone to Philadelphia,permission was given to Becca to accompany her mother and Jack to thevillage. Into the rear of the sleigh a big basket was packed. Beccawas told that she must not ask any questions nor peep, so sheneither questioned nor looked in, but found out, after all, for whenthey were come to the camp, she saw her mother take out loaves of ryebread and a jug, into which she knew nothing but milk ever was put, andcarry them into a hut which had the sign of a hospital over it. Everythird cabin was a hospital, and each and every one held within itmen that were always hungry and in suffering.

  In all her life Becca had never seen so much to make her feelsorry, as she saw when she followed her mother to the door of thelog-hospital, into which she was forbidden to enter.

  There large-eyed, hungry men lay on the cold ground, with only poor,wretched blankets to cover them. She caught a glimpse of a youth--hedid not seem much older than her own Jack--with light, fair hair, suchbig blue eyes, and the thinnest, whitest hands, reaching up for themug of milk her mother was offering to him.

  Then, when Jack came to her, he was wiping his eyes on his jacketsleeve. He said "If I was a soldier, and my country didn't care anymore for me than Congress does, I'd go home and leave the Red Coats tocarry off Congress. It's too bad, and he's a jolly good fellow. Wishwe could take him home and get him well."

  "Who is he, Jack?"

  "O, a soldier-boy from one of the New England colonies. He's got abrother with him--that's good."

  The drive home, over the crisp snow, was a very silent one. More thanone tear froze on Mrs. Blackstone's cheek, as she remembered themisery her eyes had beheld, and her hands could do so little tolighten.

  The next day Mr. Blackstone reached home from Philadelphia. He hadseen the Britons in all the glory and pomp of plenty and redregimentals in a prosperous city. He returned a confirmed Tory, andwished--never mind what he did wish, since his unkind wish never cameto pass--but this is that which he did, he forbade Mrs. Blackstoneto give anything that belonged to him to a soldier of GeneralWashington's army.

  "What will you do now, mamma, with all the stockings and mittens youare knitting?" questioned Becca.

  "Don't ask me, child," was the tearful answer that mother made, forher whole heart was with her countrymen in their brave struggle.

  Three nights after that time Mr. Blackstone entered his house,saying:

  "I caught a ragged, bare-footed tatterdemalion hanging around, and Iwarned him off; told him he'd better go home, if he'd got oneanywhere, and if not to join the army, of his king at Philadelphia."

  "What did he say, pa?" asked Jack.

  "O some tomfoolery or other about the man having nothing to eat buthay for two days, and his brother dying over at the Forge. I didn'tstop to listen to the fellow, but sent him flying."

  Jack touched his mother's toe in passing, and gave Becca a mysteriousnod of the head, as much as to say:

  "He's the soldier from our hospital over there," but nobody madeanswer to Mr. Blackstone.

  Becca's eyes filled with tears as she sat down at the tea-table, andsturdy Jack staid away until the last minute, taking all the time hecould at washing his hands, that he might get as many looks aspossible through the window in the hope that the bare-footed soldiermight be lingering about, but he gained no glimpse of him.

  Farmer Blackstone had the rheumatism sometimes, and that night he hadit worse than ever, so that an hour after tea-time he was quite readyto go to bed, and his wife was quite ready to have him go, also togive him the soothing, quieting remedies he called for.

  Becca was to sit up that nigh
t until eight-of-the-clock, if she madeno noise to disturb her father.

  While her mother was busied in getting her father comfortable, shethought, as it was such bright moonlight, she would go out to give herturkeys a count, it having been two or three nights since she hadcounted them.

  Slipping a shawl of her mother's over her head, she opened softly thekitchen door to steal out. The lowest possible whistle from Jackaccosted her at the house corner. That lad intercepted her course,drew her back into the shadow, and bade her "Look!"

  She looked across the snow, over the garden wall, into the orchard,and there, beneath her apple-tree, stood something between a man and ascarecrow, and it appeared to be looking up at the sleeping turkeys.Both arms were uplifted.

  "O dear! what shall we do?" whispered Becca, all in a shiver of coldand excitement.

  "Let's go and speak to him. Maybe it is our hospital man," said Jack,with a great appearance of courage.

  The two children started, hand in hand, and approached the soldier soquietly that he did not hear the sound of their coming.

  As they went, Becca squeezed her brother's fingers and pointing to thesnow over which they walked, whispered the word "Blood!"

  "From his feet," responded Jack, shutting his teeth tightly together.

  Yes, there it lay in bright drops on the glistening snow, showingwhere the feet of the patriot had trod. The children stood still whenthey were come near to the tree. At the instant their mother appearedin the kitchen doorway and called "Jack!"

  The ragged soldier of the United American States lost his courage atthe instant and began to retire in confusion; but Becca summoned himto "Wait a minute!" He waited.

  "Did you want one of my turkeys?" she asked.

  "I was going to _steal_ one, to save my brother's life," he answered.

  "Is he only a boy, and has he light hair and blue eyes, and does helie on the wet ground?"

  "That's Joseph," he groaned.

  "Then take a good, big, fat turkey--that one there, if you can gethim," said Becca. "They are all mine."

  The turkey was quietly secured.

  "Now take one for yourself," said Becca.

  Number two came down from the perch.

  "How many men are there in your hospital?" asked Jack, who hadresponded to his mother's summons, and was holding a pair of warmstockings in his hand.

  "Twelve."

  "Give him another, Bec--there's a good girl; three turkeys ain't abone too many for twelve hungry men," prompted Jack.

  "Take three!" said Becca. "My pa never counts my turkeys."

  The third turkey joined his fellows.

  "Better put these stockings on before you start, or father will trackyou to the camp," said Jack. "And pa told ma never to give youanything of his any more."

  Never was weighty burden more cheerfully borne than the bag Jackhelped to hoist over the soldier's shoulder as soon as the stockingshad been drawn over the bleeding feet.

  "Now I'm going. Thank you, and good night. If you, little girl, wouldgive me a kiss, I'd take it--as from my little Bessy in Connecticut."

  "That's for Bessy in Connecticut," said the little girl, giving himone kiss, "and now I'll give you one for Becca in Pennsylvania. Hurryhome and roast the turkeys quick."

  They watched him go over the hill.

  "Jack," said Becca, "if I'd told a lie to the turkeys where would theyhave been to-night, and Joseph? There are eight more. I wish I'd toldhim to come again. Pa's rheumatism came just right to-night, didn'tit?"

  "I reckon next year you won't have all the turkeys to give away to thesoldiers," said Jack, adding quite loftily, "I shall go to raisingturkeys in the Spring myself, and when Winter comes we shall see."

  "Now, Jacky," said Becca, half-crying, "there are eight left, and youtake half."

  "No, I won't," rejoined Jack. "I'd just like to walk over to ValleyForge and see the soldiers enjoy turkey. Won't they have a feast! Ishouldn't wonder if they'd eat one raw."

  "O, Jack!"

  "Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes," he assured her with alofty air. And then they went into the house, and the door was shut.

  The next year there was not a soldier left above the sod at ValleyForge.

  Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the little girl has passedaway, the apple-tree is dead, and only the hills at Valley Forge areleft to tell the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with praise,of the men who had a hundred years ago toiled for Freedom there, andare gone home to God.