Ten American Girls From History

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Aunt Lydia was quick in her response. Of course she would do as he
wished. It would be far better for the motherless girl to be under her
protection at this time than with any one else, and she could
understand perfectly her nephew's desire to be under the same roof
even for a brief time with his dear Dolly. She would see the Judge
immediately.

At once her stately coach was ordered out, and soon it rolled up
before the Quincy door to set down Aunt Lydia, intent on achieving her
end. And she did. Although the Judge was not altogether pleased with
the idea of being separated from Dorothy, he saw the wisdom of the
plan and assented to it. Dorothy, with a girl's light-heartedness at
the prospect of a change, especially one which meant seeing her lover,
hastily packed up enough clothing for use during a brief visit. Then
she said an affectionate farewell to her father, little dreaming what
an eventful separation it was to be, and rode away by the side of Aunt
Lydia, who was delighted that she had been able to so successfully
manage the Judge, and that she was to have cheerful Dorothy for a
companion during days of dark depression.

To Lexington they went, and as John Hancock had predicted, the Rev.
Mr. Clark gave them a cordial welcome. Hancock was there to greet
them, and with great satisfaction the elder woman saw the lovers'
rapturous meeting, and knew that her diplomacy had brought this joy to
them.

When the excitement of the meeting had somewhat subsided, they talked
long and earnestly of the critical situation, and Dorothy, with her
hand clasped close in her lover's, heard with sudden terror of a rumor
that General Gage intended to seize Adams and Hancock at the earliest
opportunity. But roses bloomed in her cheeks again as she declared,
proudly: "I have no fear! You will be clever enough to evade them. No
cause as worthy as yours will have as a reward for its champion such a
fate as to be captured!"

Seeing her flashing eyes and courageous thrusting aside of
possibilities, that he might not count her a coward, John Hancock
loved her better than before, and tenderly raised her hand to his lips
with a simple: "God bless you, dear. I hope you may be right!"

And now, in quiet Lexington, Dorothy and Aunt Lydia occupied
themselves with such daily tasks as they were able to accomplish in
the minister's home, and the girl was bewildering in her varied charms
as John Hancock saw them displayed in daily life during their brief
but precious meetings. Dorothy enjoyed an occasional letter from a
cousin, Helena Bayard, who was still in Boston, and who gave lively
accounts of what was happening there.

As Mrs. Bayard lived in a boarding-house, she saw many persons who
knew nothing of her relatives, and one day, after returning from a
visit, she found the parlor full of boarders, who eagerly asked her if
she had heard the news. She said she had not, and in a letter to
Dorothy later, she gives this spicy account of what she heard:

I was told that Linsee was coming, and ten thousand troops,
which was glorious news for the Congress. Mr. Hancock was
next brought on the carpet, and as the company did not
suspect I had the least acquaintance with him, I can't think
they meant to affront me.

However, as Mr. Hancock has an elegant house and well
situated, and this will always be a garrison town, it will
do exceedingly well for a fort, ... "I wonder how Miss ...
will stand affected? I think he defers marrying until he
returns from England." At this speech I saw a wink given,
and all was hush!--myself as hush as the grave, for reasons.
"Mr. Hancock has a number of horses. Perhaps he would be
glad to dispose of them, as the officers are buying up the
best horses in town"--Mrs. Bayard, don't look so dull! You
will be taken the greatest care of! Thought I,--if you knew
my heart, you would have the most reason to look dull.
However, a little time will decide that.

I am, you will say, wicked, but I wish the small-pox would
spread. Dolly, I could swell my letter into a balloon, but
lest I should tire you, I will beg my sincere regards to Mr.
Hancock, and beg the favor of a line from my dear Dolly,

Your affectionate Coz

HELENA BAYARD.

Dorothy's eyes flashed as she read this, and laying it down she
exclaimed: "We will see whether the British come off victorious or
not! If I mistake not, there is more ability in the finger-tip of
John Hancock than in those of all the generals in the English army.
You will be taken the greatest care of, indeed--We shall see what we
shall see!" with which sage remark pretty Dolly, head held high,
walked out of the room and gave vent to her feelings in vigorous
exercise.

The issue was to be confronted sooner than they knew, and it was
peaceful Lexington where the first alarm of war sounded.

According to advice, a messenger had been sent to Concord to warn
Hancock of his possible danger, but neither he nor Adams attached much
importance to the report, after their first alarm was over, and they
were enjoying the quiet village life of Lexington with the two women
guests at the parsonage, when on the eighteenth of April, General Gage
really did order a force to march on Concord, not so much to seize the
few military supplies stored there, as to capture the rebellious
enemies of the crown.

Just how a small group of men in Boston, calling themselves the "Sons
of Liberty," who had constituted themselves a volunteer committee to
watch over the movements of the enemy, knew of the plan of the British
to march to Concord, and on the way to arrest Hancock and Samuel
Adams, will never be known. It is enough to know that they had
received the information, and knew that the British were determined
not to have a report of the march reach the enemy until it had been
successfully accomplished. The question was how to carry the news to
Lexington and Concord ahead of the British troops. There was no time
to waste in lengthy discussions, and in a very short time Paul Revere
was ready for his historic ride. The signals agreed on before affairs
had reached this climax were: if the British went out by water, _two_
lanterns would be swung in the North Church steeple; if they went by
land, _one_ would be shown, and a friend of Paul Revere's had been
chosen as the man to set the signal.

Now, on the night of the eighteenth of April, 1775, _two_ lanterns
swung high in the historic steeple, and off started Paul Revere on the
most famous ride in American history. As Longfellow has so vividly
expressed it:

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet through the gloom and the light
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

With clank of spur and brave use of whip, on he dashed, to waken the
country and rouse it to instant action--and as he passed through every
hamlet heavy sleepers woke at the sound of his ringing shout:

"The Regulars are coming!"

Then on clattered horse and rider, scattering stones and dirt, as the
horse's hoofs tore into the ground and his flanks were flecked with
foam. Midnight had struck when the dripping steed and his breathless
rider drew up before the parsonage where unsuspecting Dorothy and Aunt
Lydia were sheltered, as well as the two patriots. The house was
guarded by eight men when Paul Revere dashed up to the door, and they
cautioned him not to make a noise.

"Noise!" exclaimed Revere. "You'll have noise enough before long. The
Regulars are coming out!"

John Hancock, ever on the alert for any unwonted sounds, heard the
commotion and recognizing Revere's voice opened a window and said:

"Courier Revere, we are not afraid of you!"

Revere repeated his startling news.

"Ring the Bell!" commanded Hancock. In a few moments the church bell
began to peal, according to pre-arranged signal, to call men of the
town together. All night the tones of the clanging bell rang out on
the clear air and before daylight one hundred and fifty men had
mustered for defense, strong in their desire for resistance and
confident of the justice of it.

John Hancock was determined to fight with the men who had come
together so hurriedly and were so poorly equipped for the combat. With
a firm hand he cleaned his gun and sword and put his accoutrements in
order, refusing to listen to the plea of Adams that it was not their
duty to fight, that theirs it was, rather, to safeguard their lives
for the sake of that cause to which they were so important at this
critical time. Hancock was deaf to all appeals, until Dorothy grasped
his hands in hers and forced him to look into her eyes:--

"I have lost my mother," she said; "to lose you, too, would be more
than I could bear, unless I were giving you for my country's good. But
you can serve best by living rather than by courting danger. You must
go, and go now!"

And Hancock went.

Meanwhile a British officer had been sent in advance of the troops to
inquire for "Clark's parsonage." By mistake he asked for Clark's
tavern, which news was brought to Hancock as he was debating whether
to take Dorothy's advice or not. He waited no longer. With Adams he
immediately took refuge in a thickly wooded hill back of the
parsonage. An hour later Paul Revere returned to the house to report
that after he left there, with two others, he had been captured by
British officers. Having answered their questions evasively about the
whereabouts of the patriots, he finally said: "Gentlemen, you have
missed your aim; the bell's ringing, the town's alarmed. You are all
dead men!" This so terrified the officers that, not one hundred yards
further on, one of them mounted Revere's horse and rode off at top
speed to give warning to the on-coming troops, while Revere went back
to report to Hancock and Adams.

It was evidently unsafe for them to remain so near the scene of the
struggle, and at daylight they were ready to start for the home of the
Rev. Mr. Marrett in Woburn. Dorothy and Aunt Lydia were to remain in
Lexington, and although they had kept well in the background through
all the excitement of the fateful night, Aunt Lydia now went down to
the door, not only to see the last of her beloved nephew, but to try
to speak to some one who could give her more definite news of the
seven hundred British soldiers who had arrived in town and were drawn
up in formidable array against the motley company of colonists. The
British officers at once commanded the colonists to lay down their
arms and disperse. Not a single man obeyed. All stood in silent
defiance of the order. Then the British regulars poured into the
"minute-men" a fatal volley of shots; and about that time Aunt Lydia
descended to the parsonage door, and excited Dorothy threw open her
window that she might wave to her lover until he was out of sight. As
she drew back, she saw something whiz through the air past her aunt's
head, striking the barn door beyond, and heard her aunt exclaim:

"What was that?"

It was a British bullet, and no mistake! As Dorothy told later: "The
next thing I knew, two men were being brought into the house, one,
whose head had been grazed by a bullet, insisted that he was dead; but
the other, who was shot in the arm, behaved better."

Dorothy Quincy had seen the first shot fired for independence!

Never was there a more gallant resistance of a large and
well-disciplined enemy force than that shown by the minute-men on that
day at Lexington, and when at last the British retreated under a hot
fire from the provincials at whom they had sneered, they had lost two
hundred and seventy-three, killed, wounded, and missing, while the
American force had lost only ninety-three.

As soon as the troops were marching on their way to Concord, a
messenger brought Dorothy a penciled note from Hancock: "Would she and
his aunt come to their hiding-place for dinner, and would they bring
with them the fine salmon which was to have been cooked for dinner at
the parsonage?" Of course they would--only too eagerly did they make
ready and allow the messenger to guide them to the patriot's place of
concealment. There, while the lovers enjoyed a tete-a-tete, Adams and
Aunt Lydia made the feast ready, and they were all about to enjoy it,
when a man rushed in crying out wildly:

"The British are coming! The British are coming! My wife's in eternity
now."

This was grim news, and there was no more thought of feasting.
Hurriedly Mr. Marrett made ready and took the patriots to a safer
hiding-place, in Amos Wyman's house in Billerica. There, later in the
day, they satisfied their appetites as best they could with cold pork
and potatoes in place of the princely salmon, while Dorothy and Aunt
Lydia, after eating what they had heart to consume of the feast,
returned to Parson Clark's home, where they waited as quietly as
possible until the retreat of the British troops. Then Dorothy had the
joy of being again clasped in her lover's arms--and as he looked
questioningly into her dear eyes, he could see lines of suffering and
of new womanliness carved on her face by the anxiety she had
experienced during the last twenty-four hours. Then, at a moment when
both were seemingly happiest at being together, came their first
lovers' quarrel.

When she had somewhat recovered from the fear of not seeing Hancock
again, Dorothy announced that she was going to Boston on the following
day--that she was worried about her father, who had not yet been able
to leave the city, that she must see him. Hancock listened with set
lips and grim determination:

"No, madam," he said, "you shall not return as long as there is a
British bayonet in Boston."

Quick came the characteristic reply: "Recollect, Mr. Hancock, I am not
under your control yet! I shall go to my father to-morrow."

Her determination matched his own, and Hancock saw no way to achieve
his end, yet he had not thought of yielding. As usual, he turned to
Aunt Lydia for advice. She wisely suggested retiring, without settling
the mooted question, as they were all too tired for sensible
reflection on any subject. Then, after defiant Dorothy had gone to her
room, the older woman stole to the girl's bedside, not to advise,--oh
no!--merely to suggest that there was more than one girl waiting to
step into Dorothy's place should she flout the handsome young patriot.
Also, she suggested, how terrible it would be if Hancock should be
killed, or even captured while the girl he worshiped was away from his
side! There was no reply, and the older woman stole from the room
without any evidence that she had succeeded in her mission. But she
smiled to herself the next morning when Dorothy announced that she had
never had any real intention of leaving for Boston, and gracefully
acknowledged to an entranced lover that _he_ had been right, after
all!

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.

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