The Boys of Old Monmouth: A Story of Washington's Campaign in New Jersey in 1778

by Everett T. Tomlinson

Now that he was so near to the American army, the lad was eager to go forward. All his dreams and visions of the forces which were fighting against the redcoats came back to him, and his impatience to proceed increased each moment. Perhaps the sight and presence of Captain Molly, as well as the account the young lieutenant had given of her, had created a still greater desire in Tom's heart to quit the place; but, be that as it may, he was ready to go, and apparently his companion shared in his feeling.

"If you think your horse will stand up for a mile, we might do as you say," replied the lieutenant. "I think we'll be going on," he added, turning to the men as he spoke. "I've some important information to give the general, and as I don't see any signs of the rain stopping, I think we ought not to delay longer. We can't be much worse off than we are now."

"Sure, and ye'll not be after goin' out in such a storm as this!" protested Molly. "It would be a shame to take that poor baste out into the rain now. He has all he can do to stand up in the barn, to say nothin' of havin' to be carryin' a load. It's the last drop that'll be after breakin' of his back, yez know."

The men all laughed at the woman's words, but the lieutenant was not to be deterred, and accordingly the horses were brought forth and the two men speedily mounted. Tom's horse was limping painfully when he started, and as the lad glanced backward he could see Captain Molly standing in the doorway, her hands resting upon her hips, and her broad, freckled face beaming with delight over the sorry spectacle he was well aware that he presented.

A feeling of disgust arose in his heart as he watched her. Surely she must be lacking in all the qualities which he had most honored in the women he knew. Coarseness was in place of delicacy, boldness instead of modesty, and her entire bearing was such that Tom never afterwards could hear her name mentioned without expressing his disgust. Not even the bravery of the deed which Captain Molly Pitcher did not many hours after this time, and which Tom Coward himself witnessed, entirely banished the prejudice which he entertained against the coarse, good-natured, manly, unwomanly woman.

The storm had ceased when, after a short ride, Tom and his companion first came within sight of the American army. All the long pent-up hopes of the lad were now about to be fulfilled, and for the first time in his life he was to look upon the men whose names and deeds had long been familiar to him. His eagerness brought a smile to his companion's face, but while he watched the lad he did not speak.

Molly Pitcher had spoken truly, and the American army had halted after a brief march from Kingston in the preceding night, and now were compelled to remain during the entire day in Cranberry. Only the advance corps had moved forward, and at that time were holding a position on the road to Monmouth Court House and within five miles of the rear of the British.

In spite of his own excitement, and that which was apparent among the men in the camp when Tom and the lieutenant entered, the lad's first feeling was one of keen disappointment. Were these the men of whom he had heard so much and from whom so much was expected? Mud-stained, worn by their recent exertions, plainly showing the effects of the intense heat, many of them without uniforms, some hatless and coatless, to the vision of Tom Coward they presented far more the appearance of a mob than of the orderly and well-trained soldiers he had expected to see.

The young lieutenant had left him as soon as they entered the camp, leading the two horses away with him,—a fact over which Tom did not long lament, we may be sure. An hour passed before the young officer returned, for he was to make a report of all that he had learned, and Tom's hopes were not strengthened as he watched the men about him during his companion's absence.

Lieutenant Gordon noticed the expression upon Tom's face when he rejoined him, but, attributing it to the fear which he supposed the lad felt, he did not refer to it, and in the labors which soon followed no opportunity to explain was given by either.