A heroine of 1812

by Amy Ella Blanchard

The night grew darker and darker. Not one of the three in the house thought of sleep, for from time to time the crackle and blaze of some new fire, the roar of the devouring element, announced that one or another building had been sacrificed to the revengeful lust of the enemy. Up and down the streets swarmed the redcoated soldiers, ransacking, shooting wildly, without reason or conscience, at any who dared venture forth not uniformed as were themselves.

With the advancing hours the gathering of a storm became more and more apparent. Sharp lightning vied with the rollicking flames. Deep growls of thunder drowned the sound of carousals, and the wind, rising to a fury, lashed and whipped the trees, tore away roofs, and shrieked as if in defiance. Soon down came the rain in torrents, in floods, and the flames, so eagerly mounting higher and higher, became less and less aggressive. In the battle between the two elements fire was vanquished. Save for the raging of the storm, there was now little noise in the streets, and the occupants of more than one closely shut house ventured to open the windows to let in the cool air which was sweeping away the intense heat of the day.

“It is a merciful interposition of Providence,” declared William Hopkins. “I think we can take some rest and feel no alarm while the storm continues. Go to bed, Lettice.” And Lettice, feeling suddenly heavy-eyed and weary, now that the strain was relieved, obeyed and soon sank into a deep slumber.

She awoke early, for the sun was shining in at the window which she had left open. She sat up in bed, for a moment bewildered. “Patsey,” she called; then suddenly she remembered, and she sprang up, venturing to peep out into the street. As she looked she saw an officer on a white mare galloping up the avenue; a little colt trotted behind; it seemed an incongruous sight in that scene of desolation. The streets were full of bits of paper, some charred and soaked with rain; there were further evidences of the work of plunder, of tempest, and of destruction, but Lettice did not dare to look long, for groups of soldiers were becoming more and more numerous, and she did not know what moment a chance shot might come her way.

She closed the shutters softly, dressed herself, and ran downstairs. “I must try to get up some sort of breakfast,” she said to herself, as she rummaged through closets and pantry. She was fortunate in finding coffee, bacon, corn meal, and some sour milk. With deft fingers she kindled a fire, and then discovered that the water buckets were all empty. “Water I must have,” she said, “and I will have to go and fetch it from the pump. It will be better for me to go than one of the men, for I’m what Brother Tom calls a non-combatant. Poor Tom, I wonder is he safe?”

She sighed, and picking up a bucket, sallied forth into the street. More than one person had ventured out. There were no soldiers near enough to inspire fear, and she felt quite safe as she ran along toward the old wooden pump which stood before the house occupied by her friends, the Ingles. A little girl was sitting on the doorstep. “It’s plain to see you’re not afraid, Mary,” said Lettice, as she vigorously worked the pump-handle up and down.

“No, I’m not,” returned Mary. “I came out to see the soldiers.”

Lettice, having filled her bucket, lifted it and set it on the sidewalk. At that moment a British officer, attended by an orderly, came riding up the street. He paused before the pump, and drawing out a silver goblet, summoned his orderly. “Here, bring me a drink of water in this goblet of old Jimmy Madison’s,” he said.

Then up spoke Mary Ingle. “No, sir, that isn’t President Madison’s goblet, because my father and a whole lot of gentlemen have got all his silver and papers and things and have gone—” From the doorway some one reached forth a silencing hand, which was placed over Mary’s mouth, and the little maid was drawn within doors. Fortunately the officer had been drinking freely and did not notice the candid statement. He quaffed his draught of water and rode off.

Lettice did not tarry either, but lifting her bucket, which weighed down her slender arm, she made ready to carry it home. She noticed that fires were again starting up in every direction, and she felt a quiver of fear for the safety of herself and her friends. What if the whole city should be swept by flames?