“Then, I would have to lean down even more and whisper into your ear, which I enjoy very much.” She smiled at the thought of his face close to hers. “Let me show you the places I have come to know through the graciousness of Mrs. Knox and the friends I have made during my brief few months here.”
Bells pealed in noisy chiming from the nearby Anglican Church, as they ambled along Market Street, one hundred feet wide with the now closed and shuttered wooden market sheds running down the middle of the street ahead of them.
“Lightning struck that very steeple at the beginning of the month,” Elisabeth said, pointing upward. “Some took it as a sign of Heaven’s approbation of the King. Others said it was God’s punishment for the British destruction and desecration of Presbyterian and Congregational houses of worship in New Jersey. 6 Will?” she asked. “Do you believe Kind Providence favors our cause?”
Will looked at her in amusement. “I have seen too many lightening storms to believe them to be Divinely inspired.” Sensing she thought his answer did not seriously respond to the religious implications of her question, he added quickly, “However, I have also seen the hand of Providence in two instances when weather protected our army.” He told her of the cloaking fog on the East River when the army had escaped to Manhattan, and the sudden drop in temperature at Trenton, enabling the troops to make the quick night march on newly frozen roads to attack Princeton.
They passed row after row of homes, each window illuminated by candles, as part of the city’s celebration of Independence. Will noticed the buildings had become larger and more imposing, signifying people of wealth lived within.
“This is Mr. Powel’s house,” Elisabeth said cheerfully, pointing to a large red brick three-story building. “His wife is related to the Shippens and I have frequently been invited within for tea, to dine and once to a ball. Can you imagine a room so long eighteen couples may dance together and with room for others to watch and applaud.”
He could not imagine it, he thought somewhat sourly. Nor could he see himself within, dancing with Elisabeth before an elegantly attired crowd, fearful of embarrassing himself and her too. However, with her now on his arm, neither could he imagine Elisabeth in this grand mansion dancing with without him.
“And this elegant building belongs to Dr. Benjamin Franklin himself,” Elisabeth said in a softer, awestruck voice. “Although I have not been inside,” she admitted.
As they continued walking on Market, she leaned her head against his shoulder. He smelled the freshness of her hair and the scent dispelled his gloomy thoughts.
“Would it not be nice Will, to live in such a grand city and partake of all it had to offer?”
He had been thinking at the moment of Sergeant Merriam reunited with his family in Boston, home with his darling daughters and secure from the immediate dangers of war.
“I am sorry Elisabeth, but when one is a soldier who has experienced battle and seen dead and wounded men, my mind does not dwell on elegant homes nor grand balls and dancing.” He paused, wanting to choose his words carefully. “I long to be with you, forever if that is possible, and wherever it may be. But I cannot see past this war.”
She reached up with her free hand and placed her fingers on his. “I do not wish to seem flighty. I am light-headed because we are together and it is a joyous occasion. I too dread our separations and the anxieties they bring. I only imagine better times to escape from my present worries.”
He was about to reply when she pointed ahead.
“Look. There are Captain Hadley and Miss Mercy. Hurry. Let us join them.”
Still holding her hand, Will quickened his pace, moving slightly ahead of Elisabeth so as to protect her from being jostled by passersby. “Captain,” he called when they were closer. Hadley turned, smiled and removed his tri-corn while bowing slightly to Elisabeth. Will did the same for Miss Mercy and the two ladies embraced and chose to walk together, leaving Hadley and Will to amble ahead.
“There has been a fair amount of powder used today to celebrate an independence which is not assured so long as General Howe can take the field,” Hadley said. “Would that some of the barrels had been transported to Morristown or held in reserve for when the need arises.”7
They had turned north off Market, where the streets were less crowded. People were heading home after the long day of celebrating, eating and drinking, anticipating the official celebrations were coming to an end. Sporadic fireworks and discharge of muskets sounded from the area of the wharves along the river, together with drunk singing and shouting. The windows of the homes on this street were unlit. Will recalled he had seen a flyer, posted at the City Tavern notifying all of the Council’s decision that festive candles were to be extinguished at eleven o’clock. It did not seem it was already that hour.
Ahead they heard the shattering of glass followed by loud shouts of anger. Several men carrying torches and armed with wooden clubs were methodically breaking the first floor windows of homes and pulling up cobblestones to heave at the glass on the second stories. A tall man was framed in an open doorway, confronting the thugs as they approached his house.
“You obstinate Tory bastard. You had your chance to light up your windows. Now you will pay,” one of them shouted. They became more incensed by his presence and crowded in front of his doorstep.
“I am not a Loyalist. It is the spirit of Christ which moves me not to take up arms against anyone.”
“Christ be damned,” one of them yelled, picking up a cobblestone and throwing it at the red brick front of the house. Several others bent down, pried up the large stones, and launched them with vigor. Most pounded against the building but one smashed a window causing a jagged shards of glass to fall to the street.
“You are either with us or a damned Tory. None of this bloody Quaker double talk,” their leader said, shaking his club in the man’s face.
Will ran forward with Hadley close behind. “Stop,” Will shouted. “In the name of Congress and General Knox.” He climbed the two steps and stood in front of the man. Hadley roughly shoved one of the men aside and drew his sword.
“A patrol of the local militia and watchmen are nearby on Market Street. They will be here any moment. Disburse immediately,” Hadley commanded. Will reached inside his uniformed jacket as if to bring a pistol to bear.
“And who are you to order us around and protect this scummy Tory,” their leader asked, holding his club across his chest with both hands.
“I am Captain Samuel Hadley of the General Knox’s own Artillery Regiment,” he said loudly. “And this is General Knox’s aidede-camp.” The men hesitated although it was the just the two of them and one admittedly pacifist Quaker against an enraged group of ten or so.
Out of the corner of his eye, coming from the end of the street Will saw others carrying torches and advancing toward them. At first, he feared they were more patriotic thugs coming to join their compatriots. Anxiously, he watched them approach. The mob in front of the two steps hesitated. Will caught the glint from a musket and brass buttons of a uniform and recognized a squad of the town’s militia.
“You there,” the man leading them called out. “Put down those stones and leave this area immediately. By order of the City Magistrates. Or I will place the whole lot of you under arrest.”
The mob’s leader weighed the chances of confronting the militia and thought better of it. Reluctantly, he motioned for the others to drop the stones.
“Why do we pay taxes to protect the likes of them,” he said gesturing with his club toward the Quaker. “It is the Magistrates who should be seizing the property of these secret Tories, instead of threatening we true patriots,” he said directing his comments to passerbys who had stopped to watch the confrontation.
“Yes,” another shouted. “They are either for us or against us. And if they straddle the fence, then they should ride the rail with a coat of tar and feathers,” he said to the laughter of the other ruffians and cries of “quite right” and “tar an
d feather them.”
The town militia’s officer had heard enough. “Disband now or you will spend this Independence night in jail,” he ordered. After some muttering and more cursing of “damned Quakers,” the mob dissolved into surly groups of twos and threes, all going in the same direction, angrily jostling other pedestrians as they made their way down the cobblestoned lane.
“I thank you for your assistance,” Captain Hadley said to the officer. “Perhaps you should follow them to ensure they do not engage in more mischievous thuggery,” he suggested.
Will turned and looked back up the street. He saw Elisabeth emerging from the shadows. He ran forward and held her in his arms, his chin resting on her head, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair.
“I was so afraid for your well-being,” she said, looking up at him. “When I ran to seek assistance, you were framed in the doorway by the light from within, confronting those terrible men holding stones and clubs.” She shivered, recalling the image and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “Fortunately, I encountered these militia not too far down the street.”
They walked the half block quickly toward the Quaker’s home, ignoring the curious looks of those on the street who had been attracted to the scene. Captain Hadley and Miss Mercy had crossed the threshold. The door was open but Will knocked before entering. The man, who was placing Captain Hadley’s tri-corn on a prong of a curved wood coat tree immediately inside the door, stepped forward to welcome them.
“My name is Edward Lewis,” he said “and this is my wife, Mary,” gesturing to a short woman who smiled warmly at Will and Elisabeth. They made an odd pair, Will thought, the man much taller than his wife, with a boney, mournful face, a grim line of a mouth beneath a sharp nose. She was petite, cheery, almost doll like, with round cheeks, flushed red as if the color had been painted on. Her auburn hair was tucked modestly under a circular, white embroidered cap. Will and Elisabeth joined Miss Mercy in the front parlor, near the windows still devoid of candles, while Mary retreated to the kitchen to instruct the servant to prepare some refreshments. Will held a chair for Elisabeth next to Miss Mercy so both ladies were seated safely away from the darkened windows.
“You are Quakers,” Hadley said, more as a statement than a question, “which is why I assume you have chosen not to display candles in your windows. But surely, simply showing such support for our cause on this, our celebratory day, is not taking up arms against other human beings and thus contrary to your religion?”
“I am grateful for your intervention and protection of my home,” Lewis said, “and your young gentleman friend as well,” he nodded toward Will. “However, as a member of the Society of Friends, which is what we prefer to be called,” he said, as a polite reprimand to Hadley, “I am bound by the direction of the Philadelphia’s Yearly Meeting of last September to observe strict neutrality.”
“And the reason for interpreting such direction to include not even placing a single candle in a window on this particular day?” Miss Mercy inquired.
Lewis sighed, reluctant to explain anymore about his religious beliefs but feeling politeness and gratitude required a more detailed response. “We are committed to nonviolence by our Peace Testimony. We interpret that not to take any overt action to support either side, although I do admit, there are some of us who have renounced this requirement and actively sided with your cause. I am not one of them,” he said with finality. 8
“Not yet,” his wife added, having rejoined them in the parlor. “My dear, by confronting the ruffians, however peacefully, you provoked them to further violence. Had they attacked you, are you so certain of thyself that you would not have raised a hand in defense, or had they entered the house, to defend me?”
“We have had this discussion between us, many times,” Lewis said by way of explanation. “My dear wife drives the carriage up to the point where I may be compelled to commit violence and then she reins in the horse of her reasoning short of taking up arms.”
“And if the mob had attacked my Will and Captain Hadley and blood had been spilled protecting you and your home without your ever raising a hand? Does that preserve your mantle of non-violence,” Elisabeth asked. Will heard Elisabeth’s words and was seized with an overwhelming desire to be alone with her and have her call him “my Will,” over and over.
“Violence is the product of the lusts of men, out of which lusts the Lord hath redeemed us,” Lewis replied quickly.
“We are perceived and condemned by both Loyalists and Patriots, as being for the other, when we are directed to be for neither,” Mary said. “In a situation in which violence is forced upon and done to us, non-violence condemns us to destruction by both sides. Our Lord did not . . .”
Lewis interrupted her. “You are deviating from our religious precepts which are not for you to question,” he said severely. Mary looked fiercely at her husband and then smiled.
“You are right Edward. We are thankful for the intervention by these good people who are guests in our home. It is the duty of both of us,” she emphasized, “to be gracious.” The timely arrival of tea and sweets ended the argument between husband and wife.
“You assisted without any obligation to do so,” Lewis said.
“Sergeant Stoner has an aversion to mobs, drawn from personal experience,” Hadley said. He recounted Will’s beating at the hands of patriotic thugs in Boston and nearly being tarred and feathered. Will remained silent while Elisabeth gasped at some of the details Will had not told her.
Miss Mercy demurely finished her cup of tea and with her lips still barely above the rim, mirthfully noted that the tea being served was of the patriotic flavor made from local herbs rather than British tea sometimes still available in the city. Mary’s eyes lit up at the jest.
“I do my best, my dear, to support a worthy cause,” Mary replied, winking at both young ladies. “Although I hear, down at the wharves, one may still purchase British tea masquerading as Dutch, for more than twenty shillings a pound. And that is for Bohea rather than the better Hyson leaves” she added knowledgeably.
It was after eleven when the two couples left the Lewis home, the time when all candles, by direction of the Executive Council were to be extinguished.
“Now, Quaker, Patriot and Loyalist homes all appear alike,” Miss Mercy commented, as they passed the darkened windows of the homes on the street.
“Would that more would join our cause, for we sorely will be outnumbered when General Howe takes to the field,” Hadley said.
Will felt Elisabeth tremble. He let his arm drop and took her hand in his. “We have prevailed before when we were fewer,” he said to calm her. He knew she feared the perils he faced on the battlefield. For him, it was different. He found it unbearable to be apart, neither knowing the duration, nor the dangers she faced while they were separated.
Chapter 10 – A Death Wish and Close Encounter
The scream began as one of fear of anticipated horror. It rose in a pitch of agony and continued as a shriek of pain before descending into uncontrollable wails of misery.
Bant and McNeil stood up with some of the others in their scouting party, sixty men strong, turning their heads toward the piercing sound. They had been lying hidden amongst the shrubs of this lightly rolling hill country, grateful for the limited shade and respite from the hot August sun, watching the dusty road winding down toward the flat coastal plain below and waiting for some sign of the enemy. They were part of a newly formed corps of light infantry, riflemen all, composed of one hundred volunteers from each Continental Brigade. The corps, under the command of Scotch Willie had left the main army and marched south to gather intelligence and harass the advance guard of the British Army. 1
“That is not the cry of a woman being ravished,” one of the men said quietly.
“How would you know?” another asked.
“Tis true,” another said “It is more the cry of hopelessness.”
Lieutenant Patten asked for volunteers and Bant
and McNeil stepped forward, together with six others. Quickly, they left their camp and loped away, using the shrubs that sporadically bordered the road as cover. Around the second bend, they came upon a clearing with a roughly built one story stone house, tucked in amongst a copse of scraggly pine trees. A woman lay motionless on her back with a boy, no more than ten, kneeling next to her, holding her right arm straight up in the air. Blood covered the white cloth bandage wrapped around her hand. The boy started when the riflemen appeared, but remained defiantly by the woman’s side.
“We are Continentals,” McNeil said. “Who did this?
“Some soldiers came,” the boy said bravely trying to contain a sob. “They broke into our house. My mother could not take off her ring fast enough. They cut off her fingers,” he said breaking down and pointing from his mother to a thin line of fresh blood on the dark brown, desiccated pine needles. It formed a pool below a wooden stump chopping block near her feet. The woman’s four fingers lay at its base, like pale white grubs revealed when one turns over a rotting log.
“In which direction did they go? How many are there?” McNeil asked. “Quickly, boy if we are to catch them.”
“Four or five, I think,” he said hesitantly, and pointed to a narrow path to the left of the house, which disappeared into the bushes heading uphill. “They are after our cow.”
The eight riflemen ran up the trail in single file. They had gone less than half a mile when they heard laughter and the guttural language of the Hessians. Creeping closer they found four of them in the shadows, on the edge of a sunlit meadow, squatting in a semi-circle around their pile of plunder- cups and plates, pewter candle holders, some clothing
- laughing and holding different items up to the light. Their muskets and brass hats lay haphazardly nearby. From the amount of booty, it was clear they had looted more homes than the one of belonging to the woman whose fingers they had cut off.
Blood Upon The Snow Page 18
