Chapter 6

The next question was, where should the women take refuge until the cloud of war should have passed over sufficiently to make it safe for them to return to their homes? Hancock advised Fairfield, Connecticut, a beautiful town where there would be small chance of any danger or discomfort. His suggestion met with approval, and Mrs. Hancock and her pretty ward at once set off for the Connecticut town, while Adams and Hancock journeyed cautiously toward Worcester, where they were to meet and go with other delegates to the Continental Congress at Philadelphia. They were detained at Worcester three days, which gave Hancock a chance to see his Dorothy again on her way to the new place of refuge. Theirs was a rapturous though a brief visit together; then the patriots went on toward New York, and Dorothy and Aunt Lydia proceeded to Fairfield, where they were received in the home of Mr. Thaddeus Burr, an intimate friend of the Hancocks, and a leading citizen, whose fine colonial house was a landmark in the village.

Judge Quincy, meanwhile, had at last been able to take flight from Boston, and after a long, uncomfortable trip, had arrived at his daughter's home in Lancaster, where he heard that "Daughter Dolly and Hancock had taken dinner ten days before, having driven over from Shirley for the purpose." He writes to his son Henry of this, and adds, "As I hear, she proceeded with Mrs. Hancock to Fairfield; I don't expect to see her till peaceable times are restored."

The two patriots reached New York safely, and Hancock at once wrote to Dorothy:

NEW YORK, _Sabbath Even'g, May 7, 1775_.

MY DEAR DOLLY:--

I Arrived well, tho' fatigued, at King's Bridge at Fifty Minute after Two o'clock yesterday, where I found the Delegates of Massachusetts and Connect' with a number of Gentlemen from New York, and a Guard of the Troop. I dined and then set out in the Procession for New York,--the Carriage of your Humble servant being first in the procession (of course). When we Arrived within three Miles of the City, we were Met by the Grenadier Company and Regiment of the City Militia under Arms,--Gentlemen in Carriages and on Horseback, and many thousand of Persons on foot, the roads fill'd with people, and the greatest cloud of dust I ever saw. In this Situation we Entered the City, and passing thro' the Principal Streets of New York amidst the Acclamations of Thousands were set down at Mr. Francis's. After Entering the House three Huzzas were Given, and the people by degrees dispersed.

When I got within a mile of the City my Carriage was stopt, and Persons appearing with proper Harnesses insisted upon Taking out my Horses and Dragging me into and through the City, a Circumstance I would not have Taken place on any consideration, not being fond of such Parade.

I beg'd and entreated that they would suspend the Design, and they were at last prevail'd upon and I proceeded....

After having Rode so fast and so many Miles, you may well think I was much fatigued, but no sooner had I got into the Room of the House we were Visited by a great number of Gentlemen of the first Character of the City, who took up the Evening.

About 10 o'clock I Sat down to Supper of Fried Oysters &, at 11 o'clock went to Capt Sear's and Lod'g. Arose at 5 o'clock, went to the House first mentioned, Breakfasted, Dress'd and went to Meeting, where I heard a most excellent Sermon....

The Grenadier Company of the City is to continue under Arms during our stay here and we have a guard of them at our Doors Night and Day. This is a sad mortification for the Tories. Things look well here.... I beg you will write me. Do acquaint me every Circumstance Relative to that Dear Aunt of Mine; write Lengthy and often.... People move slowly out, they tell me, from Boston.... Is your Father out? As soon as you know, do acquaint me, and send me the letters and I will then write him. Pray let me hear from you by every post. God bless you, my Dr. Girl, and believe me most Sincerely

Yours most affectionately

JOHN HANCOCK.

One can fancy the flutter of pride in Dorothy's heart at the reading of such honors to her lover, and she settled down to await the turn of events with a lighter heart, while Hancock and Adams, with the other delegates, went on toward Philadelphia, their trip being a triumphal progress from start to finish.

On the ninth of May they arrived at their destination, and on the following day the Continental Congress met, when John Hancock was unanimously elected President of the Congress.

While her lover was occupied with matters of such vital importance, he always found time to pour out his hopes and fears and doings in bulky letters which reached his lady love by coach, every fortnight, and which--"shortened absence" to her impatient desire for the one man in the world who meant all to her. But even where Dorothy's heart was so seriously engaged, she could no more help showering coquettish smiles and pretty speeches on those residents of Fairfield whom she came to know, than she could help bewitching them by her charm and beauty. The more sober-minded men of the town were delighted by her conversation, which was sparkling, and by her keen comment on public affairs--comment far beyond the capability of most of her sex and age, while it became the fashion to pay court to vivacious Dorothy, but the moment an adorer attempted to express his sentimental feelings he found himself checkmated by a haughty reserve that commanded admiration, but forced an understanding that Mistress Dolly wished no such attentions.

Of this John Hancock knew nothing, as Dolly was the most tantalizingly discreet of correspondents, and poor Hancock looked and longed in vain for written evidence of her devotion, despite which, however, he continued to write long letters to her:

In one, written on June 10, 1775, he says pathetically:

I am almost prevailed on to think that my letters to my aunt and you are not read, for I cannot obtain a reply. I have asked a million questions and not an answer to one.... I really take it extremely unkind. Pray, my dear, use not so much ceremony and reservedness.... I want long letters.... I beg my dear Dolly, you will write me often and long letters. I will forgive the past if you will mend in future. Do ask my aunt to make me up and send me a watch-string, and do you make up another. I want something of your doing....

I have sent you in a paper Box directed to you, the following things for your acceptance & which I do insist you wear, if you do not, I shall think the Donor is the objection.

2 pair white silk, 4 pair white thread stockings which I think will fit you, 1 pr Black Satin Shoes, 1 pr Black Calem Do, the other shall be sent when done, 1 very pretty light Hat, 1 neat airy Summer Cloak ... 2 caps, 1 Fann.

I wish these may please you, I shall be gratified if they do, pray write me, I will attent to all your Commands.

Adieu my Dr. Girl, and believe me with great Esteem and Affection

Yours without Reserve

JOHN HANCOCK.

Surely such an appeal could not have failed of its purpose, and we can imagine Dorothy in the pretty garments of a lover's choosing, and her pride and pleasure in wearing them. But little coquette that she was, she failed to properly transmit her appreciation to the man who was so eager for it, and at that particular time her attention was entirely taken up by other diversions, of which, had Hancock known, he would have considered them far more important than colonial affairs.

To the Fairfield mansion, where Dolly and her aunt were staying, had come a visitor, young Aaron Burr, a relative of Thaddeus Burr, a brilliant and fascinating young man, whose cleverness and charming personality made him very acceptable to the young girl, whose presence in the house added much zest to his visit, and to whom he paid instant and marked attention. This roused Aunt Lydia to alarm and apprehension, for she knew Dorothy's firmness when she made up her mind on any subject, and feared that the tide of her affection might turn to this fascinating youth, for Dorothy made no secret of her enjoyment of his attentions. This should not be, Aunt Lydia decided.

With determination, thinly veiled by courtesy, she walked and talked and drove and sat with the pair, never leaving them alone together for one moment, which strict chaperonage Dolly resented, and complained of to a friend with as much of petulancy as she ever showed, tossing her pretty head with an air of defiance as she told of Aunt Lydia's foolishness, and spoke of her new friend as a "handsome young man with a pretty property."

The more devoted young Burr became to her charming ward, the more determined became Aunt Lydia that John Hancock should not lose what was dearer to him than his own life. With the clever diplomacy of which she was evidently past mistress, she managed to so mold affairs to her liking that Aaron Burr's visit at Fairfield came to an unexpectedly speedy end, and, although John Hancock's letters to his aunt show no trace that he knew of a dangerous rival, yet he seems to have suddenly decided that if he were to wed the fair Dolly it were well to do it quickly. And evidently he was still the one enshrined in her heart, for in the recess of Congress between August first and September fifth, John Hancock dropped the affairs of the colony momentarily, and journeyed to Fairfield, never again to be separated from her who was ever his ideal of womanhood.

On the 28th day of August, 1775, Dorothy Quincy and the patriot, John Hancock, were married, as was chronicled in the _New York Gazette_ of September 4th:

This evening was married at the seat of Thaddeus Burr, at Fairfield, Conn., by the Reverend Mr. Eliot, the Hon. John Hancock, Esq., President of the Continental Congress, to Miss Dorothy Quincy, daughter of Edmund Quincy, Esq., of Boston. Florus informs us that "in the second Punic War when Hannibal besieged Rome and was very near making himself master of it, a field upon which part of his army lay, was offered for sale, and was immediately purchased by a Roman, in a strong assurance that the Roman valor and courage would soon raise the siege." Equal to the conduct of that illustrious citizen was the marriage of the Honorable John Hancock, Esq., who, with his amiable lady, has paid as great a compliment to American valor by marrying now while all the colonies are as much convulsed as Rome was when Hannibal was at her gates.

The _New York Post_ also gave a detailed account of the wedding, and of the brilliant gathering of the "blue blood" of the aristocratic old town as well as of the colonies. Had the ceremony taken place in the old Quincy home, as had originally been intended, in a room which had been specially paneled with flowers and cupids for the auspicious event, it would doubtless have been a more homelike affair, especially to the bride, but it would have lacked the dignified elegance to which the stately Burr mansion lent itself so admirably.

Pretty Dorothy a bride! Mrs. John Hancock at her gallant husband's side, receiving congratulations, with joy shining in her dark eyes, which were lifted now and again to her husband, only to be answered by a responsive glance of love and loyalty. They were a handsome and a happy pair, to whom for a few hours the strife of the colonies had become a dream--to whom, despite the turbulent struggle in which Hancock must soon again play such a prominent part, the future looked rose color, because now nothing but death could part them.

* * * * *

Vivacious Dorothy had not only now become Mrs. John Hancock, but she was also called _Madam_ Hancock! Oh, the bliss of the dignified title to its youthful owner! She read with girlish satisfaction the item in a New York paper of September 4th, which reported, "Saturday last, the Honorable John Hancock and his Lady arrived here, and immediately set out for Philadelphia." With still greater pleasure a few days later she set herself to the establishing of a home in that city which was to be her first residence as a married woman. And well did she carry out her design to make John Hancock a worthy comrade, for besides accomplishing all the necessary duties of a housekeeper, she quickly acquired the dignity and reserve needed for the wife of a man filling such a prominent position in the colonies during the war for Independence. There was much lavish living and extravagant elegance of dressing, with which she was obliged to vie, even in the town where the Quakers were so much in evidence; and meeting, as she did, many persons of social and political importance, it was impossible for pretty Dorothy to be as care-free and merry now as she had been in the days when no heavy responsibilities rested on her shoulders.

So well did she fill her position as Madam Hancock that she won golden opinions from the many distinguished men and women who came together under Hancock's hospitable roof-tree; her husband noting with ever increasing pride that his Dolly was more deeply and truly an American woman in her flowering than ever he could have dreamed she would become when he fell in love with her on that Sunday in June. And loyally did he give to her credit for such inspiration as helped to mold him into the man who received the greatest honors in the power of the colonists to bestow.

With the later life of Dorothy Hancock we are not concerned; our rose had bloomed. It matters not to us that Madam Hancock was one of the most notable women of the Revolution, who had known and talked with George Washington, that she and Martha Washington had actually discussed their husbands together. To Dorothy's great pride Mrs. Washington had spoken enthusiastically of Hancock's high position, while at that time her husband was but a general. Then, too, pretty Madam Hancock had known the noble Lafayette--had met in intimate surroundings all those great and patriotic men who had devoted their best endeavors to the establishment of a free and independent America. All that is no concern of ours in this brief story of the girl, Dorothy, nor is it ours to mourn with the mother over the death or her two children, nor ours to wonder why, three years after the death of her beloved husband, a man who had made his mark in the history of his country, she should have married again.

Ours only it is to admire Hancock's Dolly as we see her in her girlish beauty, as we follow her through the black days of fear and of tension preceding the outbreak of that war in which her lover played such a prominent part; ours to enjoy her charming manner and sparkling wit, and to respect with deep admiring a brave girl of the Massachusetts colony who watched a great nation in its birth-throes, and whose name is written in history not alone as Madam Hancock, but as Dorothy Quincy, the girl who saw the first gun fired for Independence.

An inspiration and an example for the girls of to-day, at a time when all good Americans are united in a firm determination to make the world safe for democracy.

MOLLY PITCHER: THE BRAVE GUNNER OF THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH

"Oh, but I would like to be a soldier!"

The exclamation did not come from a man or boy as might have been expected, but from Mary Ludwig, a young, blue-eyed, freckled, red-haired serving-maid in the employ of General Irving's family, of Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Molly, as they called her, had a decided ability to do well and quickly whatever she attempted, and her eyes of Irish blue and her sense of humor must have been handed down to her somewhere along the line of descent, although her father, John George Ludwig, was a German who had come to America with the Palatines.

Having been born in 1754 on a small dairy farm lying between Princeton and Trenton, New Jersey, Molly's early life was the usual happy one of a child who lived in the fields and made comrades of all the animals, especially of the cows which quite often she milked and drove to pasture. Like other children of her parentage she was early taught to work hard, to obey without question, and never to waste a moment of valuable time. In rain or shine she was to be found on the farm, digging, or among the live stock, in her blue-and-white cotton skirt and plain-blue upper garment, and she was so strong, it was said, that she could carry a three-bushel bag of wheat on her shoulder to the upper room of the granary. This strength made her very helpful in more than one way on the farm, and her parents objected strongly when she announced her determination to leave home and earn her living in a broader sphere of usefulness, but their objections were without avail.

The wife of General Irving, of French and Indian war fame, came to Trenton to make a visit. She wished to take a young girl back to Carlisle with her to assist in the work of her household, and a friend told her of Molly Ludwig. At once Mrs. Irving saw and liked the buxom, honest-faced country girl, and Molly being willing, she was taken back to the Irvings' home. There she became a much respected member of the family, as well as a valuable assistant, for Molly liked to work hard. She could turn her hand to anything, from fine sewing, which she detested, to scrubbing floors and scouring pots and pans, which she greatly enjoyed, being most at home when doing something which gave her violent exercise. Meals could have been served off a floor which she had scrubbed, and her knocker and door-knobs were always in a high state of polish.

But though she liked the housework which fell to her lot, it was forgotten if by any chance the General began to talk of his experiences on the battle-field. One day, when passing a dish of potatoes at the noon meal, the thrilling account of a young artilleryman's brave deed so stirred Molly's patriotic spirit that she stood at breathless attention, the dish of potatoes poised on her hand in mid-air until the last detail of the story had been told, then with a prodigious sigh she proclaimed her fervent desire to be a soldier.

The General's family were not conventional and there was a hearty laugh at the expense of the serving-maid's ambition, in which Molly good-naturedly joined. Little did she dream that in coming days her wish was to be fulfilled, and her name to be as widely known for deeds of valor as that of the artilleryman who had so roused her enthusiasm.

So wholesome and energetic in appearance was Molly that she had many admirers, some of them fired with a degree of practical purpose, beyond their sentimental avowals. Molly treated them one and all with indifference except as comrades until John Hays, the handsome young barber of the town, much sought after by the girls of Carlisle, began to pay her attention, which was an entirely different matter. Molly grew serious-minded, moped as long as it was possible for one of her rollicking nature to mope--even lost her appetite temporarily--then she married the adoring and ecstatic Hays, and gave her husband a heart's loyal devotion.

Of a sudden the peaceful Pennsylvania village was stirred to its quiet center by echoes of the battle of Lexington, and no other subject was thought of or talked about. All men with a drop of red blood in their veins were roused to action, and Hays was no slacker. One morning he spoke gently to his wife, with intent to hurt her as little as possible.

"I am going, Molly," he said; "I've joined the Continental army."

Then he waited to see the effect of his words. Although he knew that his wife was patriotic, he was utterly unprepared for the response that flamed in her eager eyes as she spoke.

"God bless you!" she exclaimed; "I am proud to be a soldier's wife. Count on me to stand by you."

And stand by she did, letting no tears mar the last hours with him, and waving as cheerful a farewell when he left her as though he were merely going for a day's pleasuring. From the firing of the first gun in the cause of freedom her soul had been filled with patriotic zeal, and now she rejoiced in honoring her country by cheerfully giving the man she loved to its service, although she privately echoed her wish of long ago when she had exclaimed, "Oh, how I wish I could be a soldier!"

Like a brave and sensible young woman, Molly stayed on with the Irvings, where she scrubbed and scoured and baked and brewed and spun and washed as vigorously as before, smiling proudly with no sharp retort when her friends laughingly predicted that she "had lost her pretty barber, and would never set eyes on him again." She was too glad to have him serving his country, and too sure of his devotion, to be annoyed by any such remarks, and kept quietly on with her work as though it were her sole interest in life.

Months went by, and hot July blazed its trail of parched ground and wilted humanity. One morning, as usual, Molly hung her wash on the lines, then she took a pail and went to gather blackberries on a near-by hillside. As she came back later with a full pail, she saw a horseman, as she afterward said, "riding like lightning up to General Irving's house." Perhaps he had brought news from her husband, was her instant thought, and she broke into a run, for she had received no tidings from him for a long time, and was eager to know where he was and how he fared. She had been right in her instinct, the messenger had brought a letter from John Hays, and it contained great news indeed, for he wrote:

"When this reaches you, take horse with bearer, who will go with you to your father's home. I have been to the farm and seen your parents, who wish you to be with them now. And if you are there, I shall be able to see you sometimes, as we are encamped in the vicinity."

Molly might have objected to such a peremptory command, but the last sentence broke down any resistance she might have shown. Hastily she told Mrs. Irving of the letter and its tidings, and although that lady was more than sorry to lose Molly at such short notice, she not only made no objections to her departure, but helped her with her hurried preparations and wished her all possible good fortune. In less time than it takes to tell it, Molly had "unpegged her own clothing from the lines," then seeing they were still wet, she made the articles into a tight bundle which she tied to the pommel, the messenger sprang into the saddle, with Molly behind him, and off they started from the house which had been Molly's home for so long, journeying to the farm of her childhood's memories.

Although she missed the kind-hearted Irving family who had been so good to her, it was a pleasure to be with her parents again, and Molly put on her rough farm garments once more, and early and late was out among the cattle, or working in the fields. And she had a joyful surprise when her husband paid her a flying visit a few days later. After that, he came quite frequently, though always unexpectedly, and if proof was wanting that she was the kind of a wife that John Hays was proud to have his fellow-soldiers see, it lies in the fact that he allowed Molly to visit him in camp more than once. She saw him at Trenton, and at Princeton, before the Continental army routed the British there, on January 3, 1777.