One night when the sun had crept to bed, And rain clouds lingered overhead, And sent their surly drops for proof To drum a tune on the cottage roof, Close after a knock at the outer door, There entered a dozen dragoons or more. Their red coats, stained by the muddy road, That they were British soldiers showed; The captain his hostess bent to greet, Saying, “Madam, please give us a bit to eat; We will pay you well, and, if may be, This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea; Then we must dash ten miles ahead, To catch a rebel colonel abed. He is visiting home, as doth appear; We will make his pleasure cost him dear.” And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal, Close-watched the while by Jennie M’Neal. For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near Had been her true friend, kind and dear; And oft, in her younger days, had he Right proudly perched her upon his knee, And told her stories many a one Concerning the French war lately done. And oft together the two friends were, And many the arts he had taught to her; She had hunted by his fatherly side, He had shown her how to fence and ride; And once had said, “The time may be, Your skill and courage may stand by me.” So sorrow for him she could but feel, Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie M’Neal. With never a thought or a moment more, Bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door, Ran out where the horses were left to feed, Unhitched and mounted the captain’s steed, And down the hilly and rock-strewn way She urged the fiery horse of gray. Around her slender and cloakless form Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm; Secure and tight, a gloveless hand Grasped the reins with stern command; And full and black her long hair streamed Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. And on she rushed for the colonel’s weal, Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie M’Neal. Hark!--From the hills, a moment mute, Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit; And a cry from the foremost trooper said, “Halt, or your blood be on your head!” She heeded it not, and not in vain She lashed the horse with the bridle rein. So into the night the gray horse strode; His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road; And the highborn courage that never dies Flashed from the rider’s coal-black eyes. The pebbles flew from that fearful race; The raindrops grasped at her glowing face. “On, on, brave beast!” with loud appeal, Cried eager, resolute Jennie M’Neal.