Ten American Girls From History

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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.

In order to surprise the three British regiments which were at
Princeton at that time, General Washington, Commander-in-chief of the
Continental force, quietly left Trenton with his troops, and crept up
behind the unsuspecting British at Princeton, killing about one
hundred men and taking three hundred prisoners, while his own losses
were only thirty men. Then, anxious to get away before Lord Cornwallis
could arrive with reinforcements for the British, he slipped away with
his men to Morristown, New Jersey, while the cannon were still booming
on the battle-field, their noise being mistaken in Trenton for
thunder. With the Continental troops went John Hays, gunner, and as
soon as Molly heard of the engagement, and the retirement of General
Washington's troops, she hastened to the field of action to seek out
any wounded men whom she could care for or comfort in their last
hours. Picking her way across the littered field, she brought a drink
of water here, lifted an aching head there, and covered the faces of
those who had seen their last battle. As she passed slowly on, she saw
a friend of her husband's, Dilwyn by name, lying half buried under a
pile of debris. She would have passed him by but for a feeble movement
of his hand under the rubbish, seeing which, she stooped down, pushed
aside his covering, and felt for his pulse to see whether he were
still alive. As she bent down her quick eye saw a cannon near where
the wounded man lay, a heavy, cumbersome gun which the Continentals
had evidently left behind as being of a type too heavy to drag with
them on their hasty march to Morristown. Beside the cannon Molly also
saw a lighted fuse slowly burning down at one end. She had a
temptation as she looked at the piece of rope soaked in some
combustible, lying there ready to achieve its purpose. She stooped
over Dilwyn again, then she rose and went to the cannon, fuse in hand.
In a half-second the booming of the great gun shook the
battle-field--Molly had touched it off, and at exactly the right
moment, for even then the advance guard of Lord Cornwallis and his men
was within range!

At the sound of the cannon they halted abruptly, in alarm. The foe
must be lurking in ambush dangerously near them, for who else would
have set off the gun? They spent an hour hunting for the concealed
Continentals, while Molly picked Dilwyn up and laid him across her
shoulder as she had carried the wheat-bags in childhood, and coolly
walked past the British, who by that time were swarming across the
battle-field, paying no attention to the red-headed young woman
carrying a wounded soldier off the field, for what could she have to
do with discharging a gun!

Molly meanwhile bore her heavy burden across the fields for two miles
until she reached the farm, where she laid the wounded man gently down
on a bed which was blissfully soft to his aching bones, and where he
was cared for and nursed as if he had been Molly's own kin. When at
last he was well again and able to ride away from the farm, he
expressed his admiration for his nurse in no measured terms, and there
came to her a few days later a box of fine dress goods with the
warmest regards of "one whose life you saved." As she looked at the
rich material, Molly smoothed it appreciatively with roughened hand,
then she laid the bundle away among her most cherished possessions,
but making use of it never entered her mind--it was much too handsome
for that!

Every hour the British troops were delayed at Princeton was of great
advantage to the Continental forces, and by midnight they had come to
the end of their eighteen-mile march, to their great rejoicing, as it
had been a terrible walk over snow and ice and in such bitter cold
that many a finger and ear were frozen, and all had suffered severely.
The men had not had a meal for twenty-four hours, had made the long
march on top of heavy fighting, and when they reached their
destination they were so exhausted that the moment they halted they
dropped and fell into a heavy sleep.

While they were marching toward Morristown, Lord Cornwallis was
rushing his troops on to New Brunswick to save the supplies which the
British had stored there. To his great relief he found them untouched,
so he gave up the pursuit of Washington's fleeing forces, and the
Continental army, without resistance, went into winter quarters at
Morristown, as their Commander had planned to do. While John Hays,
with the American army, was following his Commander, Molly, at the
farm, had become the proud mother of a son, who was named John Hays,
Jr., and who became Molly's greatest comfort in the long months when
she had no glimpse or tidings of her husband. Then came news--General
Washington's troops were again on the march, passing through New
Jersey toward New York. There would be a chance to see her husband,
and Molly determined to take it, whatever risk or hardship it might
entail, for not only did she long to see Hays, but she could not wait
longer to tell him of the perfections of their son. And so Molly went
to the scene of the battle of Monmouth.

It was Sunday, the 28th of June, 1778, a day which has come down in
history, not only because of the battle which marks its date, but
because of its scorching heat. The mercury stood near the 100 mark,
and man and beast were well-nigh overcome.

History tells us that the British had remained at Philadelphia until
early in June, when they had evacuated that city and crossed the
Delaware River on June the eighteenth, with an intention to march
across New Jersey to New York. Having heard of this movement of the
British, General Washington, with a force nearly equal to that of the
enemy, also crossed into New Jersey, with the purpose of retarding the
British march and, if opportunity offered, bring on a general
engagement. By the 22d of June the whole of the American force was
massed on the east bank of the Delaware in a condition and position to
give the enemy battle. Despite some opposition on the part of General
Lee and other officers, Lafayette and Greene agreed with General
Washington in his opinion that the time to strike had come, and soon
orders were given which led to the battle of Monmouth.

Lafayette was detached with a strong body of troops to follow up the
British rear and act, if occasion presented. Other riflemen and
militia were in advance of him and on his flanks, making a strong body
of picked troops. To protect his twelve-mile baggage-train from these
troops, Sir Henry Clinton placed them with a large escort under
Knyphausen, while he united the rest of his force in the rear to check
the enemy, if they came too close. The distance between Knyphausen's
force and that which brought up the rear suggested the idea to
Washington to concentrate his assault on the rear force, and to hasten
the attack before the British should reach the high ground of
Middletown, about twelve miles away, where they would be comparatively
safe.

At once General Lee was sent forward to join Lafayette, with
instructions to engage the enemy in such action as was possible until
the remainder of the troops should arrive. Lee carried out his part of
the command in such a half-hearted way as to bring severe censure on
him later, and when General Greene arrived on the scene of action, Lee
and his men were in retreat.

A sharp reproof from General Washington brought Lee partially to his
senses; he turned about and engaged in a short, sharp conflict with
the enemy, and retired from the field in good order. At that time
Greene's column arrived, and as a movement of the British threatened
Washington's right wing, he ordered Greene to file off from the road
to Monmouth and, while the rest of the army pushed forward, to fight
his way into the wood at the rear of Monmouth Court-House. Greene was
obeying orders when, foreseeing that by the flight of Lee Washington
would be exposed to the whole weight of the enemy's attack, he
suddenly wheeled about and took an advantageous position near the
British left wing.

As he hoped, this diverted the enemy's attention from the fire of the
American army. A furious attack followed, but was met by a cool
resistance which was the result of the army's discipline at Valley
Forge.

The artillery of Greene's division, well posted on a commanding
position, was in charge of General Knox, and poured a most destructive
fire on the enemy, seconded by the infantry, who steadily held their
ground. Repeated efforts of the British only increased their losses.

Colonel Monckton's grenadiers, attempting to drive back the American
forces, were repulsed by General Knox's artillery with great
slaughter. A second attempt was made, and a third, when Colonel
Monckton received his death-blow and fell from his horse. General
Wayne then came up with a force of farmers, their sleeves rolled up as
if harvesting, and they forced the British back still farther, leaving
the bodies of their wounded and dead comrades on the field.

Through the long hours of the desperate fighting on that June day, the
mercury rose higher and higher, and many of the men's tongues were so
swollen with the heat that they could not speak, and they fell
exhausted at their posts. Seeing this, Molly, who was with her husband
on the field of battle, discovered a bubbling spring of water in the
west ravine, and spent her time through the long hours of blistering
heat tramping back and forth carrying water for the thirsty men, and
also for her husband's cannon. She used for her purpose "the cannon's
bucket," which was a fixture of the gun of that time, and she told
afterward how every time she came back with a brimming bucket of the
sparkling water, the men would call out:

"Here comes Molly with her pitcher!"

As the battle grew fiercer and her trips to the spring became more
frequent, the call was abbreviated into, "Molly Pitcher!" by which
name she was so generally known from that day that her own name has
been almost forgotten.

Higher and higher rose the sun in a cloudless sky, and up mounted the
mercury until the suffering of the soldiers in both armies was
unspeakable, although the British were in a worse state than the
Americans, because of their woolen uniforms, knapsacks, and
accoutrements, while the Continental army had no packs and had laid
off all unnecessary clothing. Even so, many of both forces died of
prostration, despite Molly's cooling drinks which she brought to as
many men as possible. John Hays worked his cannon bravely, while
perspiration streamed down his face and heat blurred his vision.
Suddenly all went black before him--the rammer dropped from his
nerveless hand, and he fell beside his gun. Quickly to his side Molly
darted, put a handkerchief wet with spring water on his hot brow, laid
her head on his heart to see whether it was still beating. He was
alive! Beckoning to two of his comrades, Molly commanded them to carry
him to the shade of a near-by tree. And soon she had the satisfaction
of seeing a faint smile flicker over his face as she bent above him.
At that moment her keen ears heard General Knox give a command.

"Remove the cannon!" he said. "We have no gunner brave enough to fill
Hays's place!"

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