“Oh, mercy, mercy! Bridget, let me in again, let me in!” it said. “The house is surrounded by armed men, and thy unhappy husband is truly caught in the snares of the enemy.”
We had no time to spare, so I thought it best to catch our friend and see what we could make of him. I accordingly knocked at the door and desired to be admitted.
“Oh, mercy, mercy! oh dear, oh dear!” was the only answer I got.
“Well, my friends, I can wait no longer,” I exclaimed, in a voice which showed that I would not be trifled with. “I have something to communicate to you, and if you come out peaceably it will save trouble, and be better for all parties. You have my word that no harm whatever is intended you.”
There was some discussion inside. I knocked pretty loudly two or three times with the hilt of my sword. The hint was taken, and at length the door was slowly and cautiously opened, and the worthy farmer and his portly dame stood before us. I asked him his name.
“Ruggles,” he answered, looking as if he did not love me certainly, “Ebenezer Ruggles, and that’s my wife Bridget. And now, stranger, what is it you want of us?”
“Why, my friend, all I want you to do is to guide a party of his Majesty’s troops and blue-jackets by the nearest and best road to the town of Hampton, and to give me such other information as I may reasonably require,” I replied, somewhat sternly. “I have lost some time already, so put on your hat and great coat and come along.”
“What! you are going to carry my husband off, are you? He’ll not go; I tell you that he shan’t!” exclaimed Mrs Bridget, walking up in front of him, like a turkey hen defending her young. “Whatever you want to know I’ll tell you, but you shan’t take away my good man from me. He’d catch his death of cold, I know he would. Here, Jeremiah! Boaz! Timothy! Luke! Sarah! Martha! Jane! come and stop your dear father from being shot, murdered, drowned, hung up as a Tory! Oh, dear, oh, dear! I don’t know what will happen to him.”
As she spoke, a number of children streamed in from an inner room, the smaller ones in their night-gowns, and all more or less in déshabille, as if they had been hurriedly summoned out of their beds. They looked at me, and the soldiers and sailors behind me, and then threw themselves shrieking and crying round their father’s neck. As I knew that we should take very good care of the poor man, I could not stand this scene very long, and had at last to tell him that he must put an end to it, or that I must order the soldiers to separate him from his children and to carry him off by force.
“Oh, you cruel, hard-hearted slave of a tyrant!” exclaimed their mother, advancing boldly towards me; “you will not take him away—you will not—you dare not! You’ll have his life to answer for if you do.”