One of the most prominent of these was a Captain Huddy of Monmouth County. He had command of a company of militiamen, and he made himself very formidable to the bodies of Tories who had formed themselves in the country, and his name and fame as a great fighter began to spread over that part of the State. He lived in a good-sized house, for that time, in the village of Colt's Neck, and in this house he generally kept part of his command.

But one evening he happened to be at home without any one with him except a servant, a negro girl about twenty years old. His men had all gone away on some errand, and the fact that the captain was at home by himself became known to some Tories in the neighborhood. These, led by a mulatto named Tye, made an attack upon his house.

But although Captain Huddy's men were all away, they had left their guns behind; and so the brave Huddy, instead of surrendering to the force of fifty or sixty Tories who were outside, determined to fight them, with no garrison but himself and the negro girl, and he made ready to hold his house as long as he could. The girl loaded the guns; and Huddy, running from one window to another, fired at the Tories so rapidly and with such good effect, that they believed that there were a number of men in the house, and so did not dare to rush forward and break in the doors, as they certainly would have done if they had known that they were fighting two persons only, and one of them a girl.

Several of the attacking party were wounded, and they found at last that there was little chance of capturing this fortress, so well defended: so they concluded to burn the house, and thus force the garrison to come out. While they were at work setting fire to the wooden building, Huddy shot the mulatto in the arm; but, finding that he could not prevent them from carrying out their purpose, he shouted to them that if they would put out the fire, he would surrender.

When the fort had capitulated and the enemy marched in, the Tories were so angry to find that they had been fighting no one but a man and a negro girl, that many of them were inclined to fall upon these unfortunates, and butcher them on the spot; but they were restrained. As it was known that Huddy's men would probably soon return,-for the noise of the firing had aroused the neighborhood,-the enemy seized the captain and hurried him away, leaving the rest of the garrison behind.

It may be said here that this girl, whose name was Lucretia Emmons, afterwards married a man named Chambers, and, like all other Jersey women who were of benefit to their State, lived to a good old age, and had a large posterity.

Captain Huddy was hurried away to the boats in which the Tories had arrived; but the militiamen were in hot pursuit, and a running fight took place between them and the Tories, in which six of the latter were killed. The Tories, with their prisoner, got on board their boats; but they had not pushed very far from the sh.o.r.e, before the militiamen were firing at them again. During the hubbub which ensued, Captain Huddy made a bold dash for liberty. He sprang to his feet, plunged into the water, and began to swim to the sh.o.r.e. In so doing, unfortunately, he received a shot in the thigh from his own friends; but he raised his hands above his head and shouted, "I am Huddy, I am Huddy!" and so, with one leg and two arms, he continued to strike out for the sh.o.r.e, which he reached in safety. His wound could not have been very severe, for it was not long before he was again engaged in fighting the Tories.

Two years after this, Captain Huddy was once more obliged to hold a fort against a superior body of Tories,-this time a rude structure of logs, or blockhouse, near Tom's River, close to the coast. His garrison consisted of twenty-five men. Here he was attacked by a number of refugees, some of them from New York, and some from the neighborhood. They gathered from various quarters during the night, and early on a Sunday morning they made a united attack on the blockhouse. Huddy and his men fought bravely; but when their ammunition was gone, and seven or eight of them were killed, he was obliged to surrender.

Now, there was no one to rescue him, and he was marched away, put in irons, and confined in the hold of a prison ship anch.o.r.ed off the coast. The state of feeling at the time is shown by the way in which the commander of this expedition speaks of the village of Tom's River; for he says, "The Town, as it is called, consists of about a dozen houses, in which none but a piratical set of banditti reside."

What afterwards happened to the captain was the result of a chain of events which could only have occurred in a country where neighbors and former friends were arrayed in b.l.o.o.d.y conflict against each other. A prominent Tory of that neighborhood, named White, had been captured by the patriots, and it happened that the father of one of White's guards had been murdered by a party of Tories of whom White was a member. White was shot soon after his capture; and it was generally believed that he had been killed by this guard, who wished to avenge his father's death.

Thus one murder led to another, but the b.l.o.o.d.y business had not yet gone far enough. The friends of White were determined to avenge his death, and could think of no better way of doing it than by killing Captain Huddy. The Tories wished to get rid of him anyway, and here was a reason which was considered good enough in those days of furious animosity between fellow-countrymen. It was not long, therefore, before Huddy was taken from his prison, and, without even a show of a trial, was condemned to death. It was said that he a.s.sisted in the killing of White; and although he a.s.serted boldly that this was an absurd charge, as he was in prison at the time White was shot, the Tories would not listen to any such plea. They were determined to kill him, and die he must.

He was taken on sh.o.r.e at Sandy Hook, and on the beach a rude gallows was constructed of three fence rails, and there he was hung. Before he died, he wrote his will, resting the paper on the top of a flour barrel; and it is said that his handwriting was as firm and legible as if he had been sitting at a table in his own house.

This inhuman and lawless execution of a man so well known and of such good reputation as Captain Huddy, created great indignation in the patriotic party all over the country, and there was a general demand that the British army should deliver up a man named Lippencot, who had been the leader of the party which had hung Huddy; but the British did not consent to this. They did make a show of investigating the matter; and Lippencot, who was an officer of a refugee regiment regularly enlisted in the British service, was tried by court-martial. But he was acquitted; and no satisfaction was offered to the Americans for this crime, which had been committed in open defiance of the laws of war.

But the British commander in chief, who arrived about this time, was a man of honor and good sense, and he openly condemned the action of Lippencot and his men, and a.s.sured the Americans that he would do what he could to further investigate the matter.

This, however, did not satisfy the country, and from every side there came demands that some one of the officers who were then prisoners in the American lines should be executed in retaliation for Huddy's murder, unless Lippencot were delivered up to the Americans. Here, then, opened the fourth act of this b.l.o.o.d.y play of progression, and we will tell the story of the other captain.

It is a horrible thing to deliberately execute an innocent man because some one else has committed a crime; but war is horrible, and we must expect that horrible things will continually spring from it. As no satisfaction could be obtained from the British for this acknowledged outrage and murder,-for in acquitting Lippencot the British authorities virtually took upon themselves the responsibility of Huddy's execution,-the Americans, being at war and acting in accordance with the b.l.o.o.d.y rules of war, determined to select an officer from among the English prisoners in the American lines, who should be executed in retaliation for Huddy's death.

As soon as this order had been issued, thirteen British officers, who were at liberty on parole in the American lines, were ordered to report at Lancaster, Penn., in order that one of them might be selected to be the victim of retaliation.

These officers were a.s.sembled in a room of the Black Bear Tavern with several American officers, who conducted the proceedings, and a guard of mounted dragoons was stationed outside.

The question was to be decided by lot according to the following plan: the thirteen names of the officers were written each upon a little slip of paper, and these were put into a hat. Then in another hat were placed thirteen other slips of the same size, all of them blank excepting one, on which was written the word "unfortunate." Two drummer boys were called in to draw out the slips, one from one hat, the other from the other. As one boy drew out the piece of paper and read the name of the officer written upon it, the other boy at the same time drew a slip from the other hat. After several drawings, in which the slips from the second hat had all been blank, one of the boys drew, and read upon the little piece of paper the name of Captain Asgill, and at the same time the other boy drew out a slip, and read the word "unfortunate." This decided the matter; and the American officer in command turned to the leader of the dragoons and said to him, "This gentleman, sir, is your prisoner."

Now this most tragical meeting broke up, and we are told that every man in that room, except Captain Asgill himself, was in tears. The truly unfortunate man who had been chosen by this most doleful chance was a handsome young gentleman, scarcely more than a boy. He was beloved by every one who knew him, and he would have been the last man to have consented to any such deed as that for which he was to pay the penalty. When it became known that he had been selected by fate to be executed in retaliation, every one who knew anything about him, either in the British army or the American, deeply deplored the fact that the doom should have fallen on one who so little deserved it. Captain Asgill was taken to Philadelphia, and after a while was carried to New Jersey, where in Chatham, Morris County, he was held to await his end.

Washington himself was greatly affected by this event; and he wrote to the colonel who had charge of Captain Asgill, to treat the unfortunate young man with all tenderness and respect while he should be in his hands, and to do everything for him that was consistent with propriety under the circ.u.mstances.

Now, there came from many parts of this country, as well as from the English, all sorts of communications and memorials addressed to the government and the commander of the army, urging clemency in the case of this unfortunate young man; and it was no doubt in consequence of these, that his punishment was delayed from time to time.

Captain Asgill's mother was a lady of good position in England, and, overwhelmed with grief at the impending fate of her son, she spared no efforts to save him. She wrote to every man of influence whom she knew; and among others she wrote to the Count de Vergennes, who was in this country as the representative of the court of France.

The French, who had been the faithful friends of the Americans throughout the struggle, were as willing to a.s.sist their allies to be merciful and forgiving as they were to help them fight their battles. The amba.s.sador addressed a strong letter to Congress, urging that young Captain Asgill might be spared, and sending a copy of the letter written by the heartbroken mother.

Still war is war; and one of its laws is, that, if a prisoner is unjustly killed by an enemy, one of the enemy's men held as prisoner shall be killed in retaliation, the object being, of course, to put a stop to unjust executions. With this law in view, Congress did not consent to countermand the young man's execution.

Captain Asgill had another friend, a powerful one, who did all that he could to save him from his impending fate. This was General Washington, who from the first had pitied the young man on account of his youth and general character; but he had also objected to the selection for the reason that he had been among the officers who surrendered with Lord Cornwallis, who had been promised that they should not be dealt with as hostages. There were other prisoners who might have been more justly taken as subjects of retaliation, but for some reason the thirteen officers who had been summoned to this trial by lot were not among those who were justly liable in the case. Washington felt that the selection of Asgill was a breach of good faith, and he did all that he could to induce the secretary of war to act justly and honorably in the matter. At all events, the efforts in behalf of the young officer had the effect of delaying the execution; and three months after his fatal lot had been drawn, he was allowed to go to Morristown and remain there a prisoner on parole.

Not long after this, another reason arose for the pardon of Captain Asgill, which was used with effect by his friends. Peace was now approaching, and there was no need of the execution of hostages in order to prevent further outrages on the part of the enemy; and so the members of Congress began to feel that after this long delay, and the approaching general rejoicing in the success of American independence, it would seem like murder to execute this young man. Therefore a law was pa.s.sed by Congress, directing that Captain Asgill should be set at liberty and allowed to return to his family.

Dreadful months of suspense and fearful antic.i.p.ation had darkened the souls of this young soldier, his family, and his friends; but they had probably produced a better effect upon the minds of the lawless bands of Tory refugees than would have resulted had the execution taken place; for, had Captain Asgill been hung, there is no doubt that an American prisoner would have suffered in his place; and how many more steps in the b.l.o.o.d.y business of retaliation would have taken place, no man can tell. So, if we look at the matter philosophically, it may have been a very good thing that the British officer selected to atone for the death of Captain Huddy happened to be a young man whom n.o.body wished to kill, for the merciful delay exercised in his case was the probable cause of the cessation of retaliation during the last months of the Revolution.

THE STORY OF TEMPE WICK.

There are so many curious and unexpected things which may happen in time of war, especially to people who live in parts of a country where the enemy may be expected to come, or where the friendly army is already encamped, that it is impossible to guard against unpleasant occurrences; and it often happens that the only thing to be depended upon when an emergency arises, is presence of mind, and quickness of wit.

In these qualities, New Jersey girls have never shown themselves behind their sisters of other parts of the country, and a very good proof of this is shown by an incident which took place near Morristown during the time that the American army was quartered in that neighborhood.

Not far from the town was a farm then known as Wick's farm, situated in a beautiful wooded country. The daughter of Mr. Wick, named Tempe (probably short for Temperance), was the owner of a very fine horse, and on this beautiful animal it was her delight to ride over the roads and through the woods of the surrounding country. She had been accustomed to horses since she was a child, and was not afraid to ride anywhere by herself.

When she first began to canter over these hills and dales, it had been in times of peace, when there was nothing in this quiet country of which any one might be afraid; and now, although these were days of war, she felt no fear. There were soldiers not far away, but these she looked upon as her friends and protectors; for Washington and his army had encamped in that region to defend the country against the approach of the enemy. If any straggling Redcoats should feel a desire to come along the hills, they would be very apt to restrain their inclinations so long as they knew that that brave American army was encamped near by.

So Miss Tempe Wick, fearing nothing, rode far and wide, as she had been in the habit of doing, and every day she and her good steed became better and better acquainted with each other.

One fine afternoon, as Tempe was slowly riding homeward, within a mile of her house, she met half a dozen soldiers in Continental uniform, and two of them, stepping in front of her, called upon her to stop. When she had done so, one of them seized her bridle. She did not know the men; but still, as they belonged to Washington's army, who were her countrymen and friends, she saw no reason to be afraid, and asked them what they wanted.

At first she received no answer, for they were very busily occupied in looking at her horse and expressing their satisfaction at the fine points of the animal. Tempe had had her horse praised before; but these men were looking at him, and talking about him, very much as if he were for sale and they were thinking of buying. Presently one of the men said to her that this was a very excellent horse that she was riding, and they wanted it. To this Tempe exclaimed, in great amazement, that it was her own horse, that she wanted him herself, and had no wish to dispose of him. Some of the soldiers laughed, and one of them told her that the troops were about to move, and that good horses were greatly needed, and that they had orders to levy upon the surrounding country and take horses wherever they could find them.

Now was Tempe astonished beyond measure. If half a dozen British soldiers had surrounded her, and had declared that they intended to rob her of her horse, she would not have wondered at it, for they would have taken it as the property of an enemy. But that the soldiers of her own country, the men on whom she and all her friends and neighbors depended for protection and safety, should turn on her and rob her, as if they had been a set of marauding Hessians, was something she could scarcely comprehend.

But it did not take her long to understand, that no matter who they were or what they were,-whether they thought they had a right to do what they threatened, or whether they had no regard for right and justice,-they were in earnest, and intended to take her horse. When this conviction flashed into the mind of Tempe Wick, there also flashed into it a determination to show these men that a Jersey girl had a will of her own, and that if they wanted her property, they would have to do a great deal more than simply to come to her and ask her to hand it over to them.

After a little parley, during which the man who held her bridle let go of it, supposing she was about to dismount, she suddenly gave her spirited horse a sharp cut with the whip, dashed between two of the soldiers, and, before they could comprehend what had happened, she was off and away.

As fast as they could run, the soldiers followed her, one or two of them firing their guns in the air, thinking to frighten her and make her stop; but, as though she had been a deer and her pursuers ordinary hunters, she swiftly sped away from them.

But they did not give up the chase. Some of them knew where this girl lived, and were confident that when they reached her house, they would have the horse. If they had known it was such a fine animal, they would have come after it before. According to their belief, good horses should go into the army, and people who staid at home, and expected other people to fight for them, ought to be willing to do what they could to help in the good cause, and at least give their horses to the army.

As Tempe sat upon her bounding steed, she knew very well that the soldiers could never catch her; but her heart sank within her as she thought of what would happen when they came to the farm and demanded her horse. Running away from them was only postponing her trouble for a little while, for there was no one about the place who could prevent those men from going to the barn and taking away the animal.

It would be of no use to pa.s.s her house and ride on and on. Where should she go? She must come back some time, and all the soldiers would have to do would be to halt at the farm, and wait until she returned. And even if she should take her horse into the Wood and tie him to a tree, they would know by her coming back on foot that she had left him at no great distance, and they would be sure to follow his tracks and find him.

As Tempe rode swiftly on, her thoughts galloped as fast as her horse, and before she reached the house she had come to a conclusion as to the best thing to be done. She did not ride towards the barn, but dashed through the gateway of the large yard, and sprang from her steed. As she turned in, she looked down the road; but the men were not in sight. What she was going to do was something which people never did, but it was the only thing she could think of, and she was a girl whose actions were as quick as her ideas were original. Without stopping an instant, she took her horse to the back door, and led him boldly into the house.

This was not the sort of stable to which Tempe's horse or any other American horse was accustomed; but this animal knew his mistress, and where she led, he was willing to follow. If one of the farm hands had attempted to take the creature into the house, there would probably have been some rearing and plunging; but nothing of this kind happened as our Jersey girl, with her hand on her horse's bridle, led him quickly inside and closed the door behind him. As the story goes, she took him through the kitchen, and then into the parlor, without the slightest regard to the injury his shoes might do to the well-kept floor; and from the parlor she led him into a bedroom on the lower floor, which was usually used as a guest chamber, but which never before had such a guest as this.

This room had but a single window, the shutters of which were kept closed when it was not in use, and there was no entrance to it except through the door which opened from the parlor. The door was quickly closed, and Tempe stood with her horse in the darkness.

When the soldiers reached the farm, they went to the barn. They examined the outhouses, visited the pasture fields, and made a thorough search, high and low, near and far; but no sign of a horse could they find. Of course, the notion that the animal was concealed in the house did not enter their minds, and the only way in which they could account for the total disappearance of the horse was, that Tempe had ridden off with him-where they knew not. We do not know how long they waited for the sight of a hungry horse coming home to his supper, but we do know that while there was the slightest danger of her dear horse being taken away from her, that animal remained a carefully attended guest in the spare room of the Wick house; and the tradition is, that he staid there three weeks. There Tempe waited on him as if he had been a visitor of high degree; and if she was afraid to go to the barn to bring him hay and oats, she doubtless gave him biscuit and soft bread,-dainties of which a horse is very fond, especially when they are brought to him by such a kind mistress as Tempe.