The guests came early, as was the custom when there was work to be done. The men rode horseback with their wives behind them on pillions, and with rifles held in the hollow of their left arms; for it was the practice in those trying times to bear arms even upon visits of business or friendship. Soon a company of two score or more had gathered at the farmhouse. Greetings exchanged, the men hastened to the cornfields to gather the new corn, while the women clustered about the quilting frames, and fingers plied the needles busily, while tongues clacked a merry accompaniment.
The morning passed quickly, and at noon the gay party had just seated themselves around the table where a bountiful dinner steamed, when they were startled by a shout from the yard.
“Fly for your lives, men! The British are coming to forage.”
Instantly the men sprang for their rifles and accoutrements. Inured to danger and alarms, the women were as quick to act as their husbands. Some of them ran to the stables and led forth the horses, which they saddled hastily, ready for service; while others gathered up whatever objects of value they could carry. With marvelous celerity the men placed the women and servants on the horses by twos and threes, bidding them to betake themselves to neighbors who were more remote from the main road. They themselves had scarcely time for concealment in a deep thicket and swamp which bordered one extremity of the farm before the British videttes were in sight. These halted upon the brow of a hill for the approach of the main body, and then in complete order advanced to the plantation.
After reconnoitering the premises, and finding no one present, but all appearances of the hasty flight of the occupants, the dragoons dismounted, tethered their horses and detailed a guard. Some sumpter-horses were harnessed to farm wagons, and some of the troopers began to load them with various products of the fields; while military baggage wagons under charge of a rear guard gradually arrived, and were employed in the gathering of the new corn, carrying off stacks of oats and the freshly pulled corn fodder.
Enjoying the prospect of free living the soldiers shouted joyously among their plunder. Separate parties, regularly detailed, shot down and butchered the hogs and calves, while others hunted and caught the poultry of different descriptions. In full view of this scene stood the commander of the British forces, a portly, florid Englishman, one hand on each side the doorway of the farmhouse, where the officers were partaking of the abundant provisions provided for the guests of Mistress Sevier.
Meanwhile Peggy, who had been mounted behind Grandma Sevier, for so she had learned to call Mistress Egan’s mother, discovered that lady in tears.
“Grandma,” she cried with concern, “what is it? Is thee frightened?”
“It’s my Bible,” wailed the old lady. “The Scottish translation of the Psalms is bound in with it, and they say the British burn every Bible they find like that. Oh, I’ll never have another! My mother gave it to me when William and me was married. The births and deaths of my children are in it—oh, I’d rather everything on the place was took than that.”
“Stop just a minute, please,” spoke Peggy. Then, as the surprised woman brought the horse to a standstill, the maiden slipped to the ground. “I’m going back for the Bible,” she cried, and darted away before any of them guessed her intention.