Janice Meredith: A Story of the American RevolutionFord, Paul Leicester
History
Janice Meredith: A Story of the American Revolution
Ford, Paul Leicester
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
"'T is quite of a piece that a runaway redemptioner should
return with other thieves and rob his master!" fumed the
owner of Greenwood.
Brereton grew red, and retorted: "I am not in command
of this force, and rode out with them at some sacrifice to save
you from possible violence or unnecessary discomfort. Since
you choose to insult me, I will not remain. Do your duty,
sergeant," was the officer's parting injunction as he wheeled
his horse and started toward the road.
"Stick him with yer bagonet, Pelatiah," ordered the
sergeant, motioning toward the squire, who, still sitting in the
doorway, very effectually blocked the way. Pelatiah, duly
obedient, pricked the well-developed calf of the master of
Greenwood, bringing that individual to his feet with another
howl, which drew sympathetic shrieks from Mrs. Meredith and
Janice.
Evidently the cries made it impossible for Colonel Brereton
to hold to his intention, for he once again turned his horse
and came riding back. By the time he reached the door the
squire had been shoved to one side, and the men could be
heard ransacking the larder and cellar none too quietly.
"Though you slight my services," the aide explained, "I'll
bide for the present."
Meanwhile the parties that had been detached to the other
points could be seen harnessing oxen and horses to the hay
cart, farm waggons, and even the big coach, and loading them
from the corn-crib and barn. Presently the cortege started for
the house, and here more stores of various kinds were loaded.
During the whole of this operation the squire kept busily
expressing his opinions of the proceedings of the foragers, of
the army to which they belonged, and of the Continental
cause generally, which, but for the presence of the staff officer,
would have probably led to his ducking in the horse trough,
or to some other expression of the party's displeasure.
"I see ye take good care to steal all my horses, so that I
shall not be able to ride to Brunswick and report ye to the
commander," he railed, just as the last armful of hams and
sides of bacon was thrown into the coach. "We heard tales
of how ye robbed and plundered about York, unbeknownst to
the general, and I've no doubt ye are thieving now without
his knowledge."
"If you want to get to Brunswick you shall have a lift,"
offered the aide. "We'll drive you there, and I'll see to it
that you have a horse to bring you back."
"Ay. And leave my wife and daughter to be outraged by
you villainous Whigs."
Again Brereton lost his temper. "I challenge you to prove
one case of our army insulting a woman," he cried. "And
hast heard of the doings of the last few days? Of the conduct
of British soldiers to the women of Hackensack and
Elizabethtown, or of the brutality of the Hessians at Rahway?
At this very moment Mr. Collins is printing for us broadsides
of the affidavits of the poor miserable victims, in the hopes
that we can rouse the country by them."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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