The reunion of the Merediths was so joyful a one that little thought was taken of the course of public events. Nor were they now in a position easily to learn of them. Philemon and his troop had hastened to rejoin at the first news of the British reverses, the remaining farm servants had one by one taken advantage of the anarchy of the last eight months secretly to desert, or boldly enlist, the squire’s gout prevented his going abroad, and the quiet was too great a boon to both Mrs. Meredith and Janice to make them wish for anything but its continuance.

If there was peace at Greenwood, it was more than could be said for the rest of the land. The Continental success at Princeton, small though it was in degree, worked as a leaven, and excited a ferment throughout the State. Every Whig whom the British successes had for a moment made faint-hearted, every farmer whose crops or stock had been seized, every householder on whom troops had been quartered, even Joe Bagby and the Invincibles took guns from their hiding-places and, forming themselves into parties, joined Washington’s army in the Jersey hills about Morristown, or, acting on their own account, boldly engaged the British detachments and stragglers wherever they were encountered. Withdrawn as the Merediths might be, the principal achievements were too important not to finally reach them, and by infinite filtration they heard of how the Waldeckers had been attacked at Springfield and put to flight, how the British had abandoned Hackensack and Newark without waiting for the assaults, and how at Elizabethtown they had been surprised and captured. Less than a month from the time that the royal army had practically held the Jerseys, it was reduced to the mere possession of Brunswick, Amboy, and Paulus Hook, and every picket or foraging party sent out from these points was almost certain of a skirmish.

It was this state of semi-blockade which gave the Merediths their next taste of war’s alarums. Late in February a company of foot and a half troop of horse, with a few waggons, made their appearance on the river road, and halted opposite the gate of Greenwood. Painful as was the squire’s foot, this sight was sufficient to make him bear the agony of putting it to the ground, and bring him limping to the door.

“How now! For what are ye come?” he shouted at a detachment which was already filing through the gate.

At the call, two officers who had been seemingly engaged in a discussion, rode toward the porch, and the moment they were within speaking distance one of them began an explanation.

“I was just a-tellin’ Captain Plunkett that we’d done a mighty bad stroke this mornin’, but that this ’ud be a worse one, for—”

“Why, it ’s Phil!” cheerfully exclaimed Mr. Meredith. “Welcome, lad, and all the more that I feared ’t was another call the thieving Whigs were about to pay my cribs and barn. Where have ye been, lad? But, rather, in with ye and your friend,” he said, interrupting his own question, as the other officer approached, “and tell your errand over a bottle where there’s more warmth.”

“It’s such a mighty sorry errand, squire,” replied Philemon, with evident reluctance, and reddening, “that it won’t take many words ter tell. We was sent out yestere’en toward Somerset Court-house, a-foragin’, and this mornin’ as we was returnin’, we was set upon by the rebels.”

“Devil burn it!” muttered the captain, “what do you call such mode of warfare? At Millstone Ford, where they attacked us, they scattered like sheep as we deployed for a charge. But the moment we were on the march in column, ping, ping, ping from every bit of cover, front, flank, and rear, and each bullet with a billet at that, no matter what the distance. Not till we reached Middle Brook did their stinging fire cease."

“And ’stead of bringin’ into Brunswick forty carts of food and forage, and a swipe of cattle,” groaned Philemon, “we has only four waggon-loads of wounded ter show for our raid.”

“With the post nigh to short commons,” went on Plunkett. “Therefore, Mr. Meredith, we are put to the necessity of taking a look at your barn and granaries.

“What!” roared the squire, incredulously, yet with a wrath in his voice that went far to show that conviction rather than disbelief was his true state of mind. “’T is impossible that British regulars will thieve like the rebels.”

Both the officers flushed, and Philemon began a faltering explanation and self-exculpation, but he was cut short by his superior saying sharply: “Tush, sir, such language will not make us deal the more gently with your cribs; so if you ’d save something, mend your speech.”

“I done my best, squire,” groaned Philemon, “ter dissuade Captain Plunkett, but General Grant’s orders was not ter come back without a train.”

“Then at least ye’ll have the grace to pay for what ye take? Ye’ll be no worse than the rebel, that I’ll lay to.”

“Ay, and so we should, could we pay in the same worthless brown paper. In truth, sir, ’t was General Howe’s and the commissary’s orders that nothing that we seize was to be paid for, so if thou hast a quarrel ’t is with those whom Mr. Hennion says are thy good friends. Here ’s a chance, therefore, to exhibit the loyalty which the lieutenant has been dinging into my ears for the last half-mile.”

“Belza burn the lot of ye!” was the squire’s prompt expression of his loyalty.

Neither protests nor curses served, however, to turn the marauders from their purpose. Once again the outbuildings and store-rooms of Greenwood were ransacked and swept clear of their goodly plenty, and once again, as if to deepen the sense of injury, the stable was made to furnish the means with which the robbery was to be completed.

While the troops were still scattered and occupied in piling the loot upon the sleighs and sledges, a volley of something more potent than the squire’s oaths and objurgations interrupted them. From behind the garden hedgerow of box came a discharge of guns, and a dozen of the foraging party, including both the captain and the lieutenant of foot, fell. A moment of wild confusion followed, some of the British rushing to where the troopers’ steeds were standing, and, throwing themselves into the saddles, found safety in flight, while the rest sought shelter in the big barn. Here Lieutenant Hennion succeeded in rallying them into some order, but it was to find that numbers of the infantry had left their muskets, and that many of the light horse were without their sabres, both having been laid aside to expedite the work.

Not daring offensive operations with such a force, the young officer, aided by the one subaltern, made the best disposition possible for defence, trusting to hold the building until the fugitives should return with aid from Brunswick. Those who had their muskets were stationed at the few windows, while the dragoons with drawn swords were grouped about the door, ready to resist an attack.

The Jersey militia had too often experienced the effectiveness of British bayonets and sabres to care to face them, and so they continued behind the hedge, and coolly reloaded their guns. Yet they, as well as their opponents, understood that time was fighting against them, and as soon as it became obvious that those in the barn intended no sortie they assumed the initiative.

The first warning of this to the besieged was another volley, which sent bullets through the windows and the crack in the door, without doing the slightest injury. At the same moment four men trailing their rifles appeared from behind the hedge, and, scattering and dodging as they ran, made for the cow yard. Two of the infantry who guarded the window that over-looked this movement, thrust out their muskets and fired; but neither of their shots told, for the moment they appeared five flashes came from the hedge, and one of the defenders, as his hand pressed the trigger, was struck in the forehead by a rifle ball, and, staggering sidewise, he clutched his comrade’s gun, so that it sent its bullet skyward. Before new men could take their places, the four runners had leaped the low fence and dashed across the yard to the shelter under the barn.

Knowing that they must be dislodged, the lieutenant commanded that the manure trap should be raised and a number of the dragoons drop down it; but no sooner had one started to swing himself through the opening than a gun cracked below, and the man, relaxing his hold, fell lifeless on his face. Another, not pausing to drop, jumped. He landed in a heap, but was on his feet in a flash, only to fall backward with a bullet through his lung. The rest hung back, unwilling to face such certain death, though their officers struck them with the flat of their swords.

Another moment developed the object of the attack, for through the trap-door suddenly shone a red light, and with it came the sound of crackling faggots. A cry of terror broke from the British, and there was a wild rush for the door, which many hands joined in throwing open. As it rolled back a dozen guns spoke, and the seven exposed men fell in a confused heap at the opening,—a lesson sharp enough to turn the rest to right about.

All pretence of discipline disappeared at once, the men ceasing to pay the slightest heed to their officers; and one, panic-stricken with fear, threw off his coat and, fairly tearing his shirt from his back, tied it to his bayonet and waved it through the door. Hennion, with an oath, sprang forwards, caught the gun and wrenched it out of the fellow’s hands, at the same moment stretching him flat with a blow in the neck; but as he did so one of the troopers behind him cut the officer down with his sabre. The subaltern of foot who rushed to help his superior was caught and held by two of the men, and the officers thus disposed of, the white flag was once more held through the doorway.

At the very instant that this was accomplished, the fire below found some crevice in the flooring under the hay, and in a trice the mow burst into spitting and crackling flame. With the holder of the white flag at their head, the men dashed through the doorway, those with arms tossing them away, and most of them throwing themselves flat upon the ground, with the double purpose of signalling their surrender and of escaping the bullets that might greet their exit.

In a moment they were the centre of a hundred men, who, but for their guns, might have been taken for a lot of farmers and field hands. One alone wore a military hat with a cockade, and it was he who demanded in a voice of self-importance:—

“Have you surrendered, and where is your commanding officer?”

“Yes,” shouted a dozen of the British, while the three men still holding the subaltern dragged him forward, without releasing their hold on his arms.

“Give up your sword, then,” demanded the wearer of the cockade.

“I’ll die first!” protested the young fellow,—a lad of not over seventeen at most,—still struggling with his soldiers. “You’ll not see an officer coerced by his own men, sir,” he sobbed, as another of the soldiers caught him by the wrist and twisted his sword from his hand.

“A mighty good lesson it is for your stinking British pride,” was the retort of the militia officer, as he accepted the sword. “I guess you ’re the kind of man we’ve been looking for to make an example of. We’ll teach you what murdering our generals and plundering our houses come to— eh, men?”

“Hooray fer Joe Bagby!” shouted one of the conquerors.

“Some of you tie the prisoners, except him, two and two, and start them down the road at double quick,” ordered Captain Bagby. “Collect all the guns and sabres and throw them on the sledges. Look alive there, for we’ve no time to lose. Well, squire, what do you want?” he demanded, as he turned and found the latter’s hand on his sleeve.

“I’ve to thank ye for arriving in the nick o’ time to save me from being plundered,” said Mr. Meredith, speaking as if he were taking a dose of medicine. “Now can’t ye set to and save my outbuildings from taking fire?”

“Harkee, squire, replied Joe, dropping his voice to a confidential pitch, while at the same time leading his interlocutor aside out of hearing. “The sledges and what they hold is our prize, captivated from the British in a fair fight, yet we’ll get around that if you’ll say the right word.”

“And what ’s that?” queried the squire.

“You know as well as I what ’t is. The sledges are yours, and we’ll do our prettiest to prevent the stables and cribs from catching, if you’ll but say what I want said as to Miss Janice.”

“I’d see her in her grave first.”

“Some of you fellows start those sleighs and sledges up the road!” shouted Bagby. “Now then, have you got that officer ready?”

“He ain’t ready, but we is, cap,” answered one of the little group about the prisoner.

“Up with him, then!” ordered Bagby. “See-saw ’s the word: down goes Mercer, up goes a bloody-back.”

At the command, half a dozen men pulled on a rope which had been passed over the bough of a tree, and the young subaltern was swung clear of the ground. He struggled so fiercely for a moment that the cords which bound his wrists parted and he was able to clutch the rope above his head in a desperate attempt to save himself. It was useless, for instantly two rifles were levelled and two bullets sent through him; his hands relaxing, he hung limply, save for a slight muscular quiver.

“If your friends, the British, come back, you can tell them that ’s only the beginning,” Bagby told the squire. “And look out for yourself, or it ’s what will come to you. Now then, fellows, fall in,” he called. “The line of retreat is to Somerset Court-house, and you are to guard the prisoners and the provisions if you can, but scatter if attacked in force. March!”

The motley company, without pretence of order, set off on their long, weary night tramp through the snow. Behind them the flame of the barn, now towering sixty feet in the air, made the whole scene bright with colour, save where the swinging body of the lad threw a shifting shadow across a stretch of untrampled snow.