# Mistress Madcap Surrenders/Chapter 16

MEHITABLE was off through the murky, storm-threatened twilight. Shreds of lightning beyond the Mountain showed that thunder heads still existed there, that the storm had not yet passed on over Newark and Bergen Heights to its usual destination, the Hudson Valley.
She had left Charity at the Condit gate, had dug her slipper heels into Dulcie's sides, and now she was slowing down before the Briggs's house, deserted since the Tory, Elijah Briggs, had been sent to Staten Island by order of the government. The Briggs's farmhouse was at the junction of the Second Road, which followed the foot of the Mountain across the Orange Valley, and Fifth Road, which dwindled as it ascended steeply up the side of the Mountain into a mere narrow Indian trail. Mehitable debated the question briefly—should she ride straight over the hills to the Short Hills road or should she follow the more traveled road to Millburn and so to the Sow's Back? Presently, she shook her head.
"The longest way be the shortest," she mur​mured into her horse's intelligent ears. "On, Dulcie!"
So they held to the way which, leading south and then west, would take them around the foot of Orange Mountain.
On and on they flew. Up the turn of the lane as it led to the ridge road on which was situated the Widow Ball's house. As she flashed past it, she looked at its lighted windows with a smile upon her face. She had very pleasant memories of the large family who had grown up within its walls—memories she had formed when a tiny girl taken a-visiting there by her mother to be petted and caressed by the larger boys and girls. Now, these same boys and girls were grown men and women, though Mistress Ball was more than proud of her three sons, John, thirty-three, Uzal, thirty-one, and David, her baby, twenty-three, who were fighting valiantly with other New Jersey men.
Galloping on, there came a flash of lightning, a low, threatening rumble of thunder. Glancing back nervously, Mehitable suddenly started. Was that someone following her on horseback there, just appearing over the edge of the ridge? Another glare of lightning blinded her, as she gazed, and when she looked back again, the figure had disappeared into the shadows, if it had existed at all, and pursuing hoof-beats, if there were any, were drowned in Dulcie's hoof-beats.
​On and on. Past stretches of forest, rising not so abruptly now as the road led away a little from the mountain-foot. Past scattered farmhouses. Past more forest. On and on.
"No more hills, Dulcie!" Mehitable promised the old horse, lying along her neck and speaking encouragingly into the cocked ear. "Just a tiny short one at the very end o' your trip!"
But Dulcie was commencing to limp! Mehitable, glancing frantically over her shoulder, saw at that moment, too, when there came a convenient flash of lightning, that someone was following! She felt her heart turn to lead. Who could it be? She searched her mind, having dismissed Simpson and Hawtree and Moody as not being likely to travel in that direction. Who could it be? Dulcie's hoof-beats made it into an annoying rhythm—who—could—it—be? One by one she dismissed the names of Tory neighbors and confessed herself at last to be totally puzzled. But whoever it was, she told herself grimly, she would ride to the bitter end rather than surrender before Dulcie was down and out entirely!
"Tush!" she tried to reassure herself. "Art becoming silly!"
But glancing back an instant later, she saw, as the lightning came again, that the distance between the mysterious rider and herself was decreasing by reason of Dulcie's misfortune. It could only be ​a matter of time before she would be overtaken. Mehitable uttered a little sob. Was she not to have her chance to help the country she had not meant to betray? she asked herself forlornly.
It was raining now. A great drop spattered upon her hand, another upon her bared head from which the sunbonnet had been discarded long ago. Then came a swift downpour, and the road turned to a sea of mud beneath Dulcie's feet, a sea both treacherous and dangerous in its bog holes.
It was not Dulcie who found it so, however. As she glanced back, with the green lightning flare, she saw the pursuer's horse go down, and at the next flash, the rider was up on his feet again, but not the beast.
"The animal hath broken his leg!" she murmured to Dulcie, who pricked her ears rebukingly. "Ah, I beg your pardon!" The girl patted her steed's neck whimsically. "I did forget it might be a friend o' yours, my dear!"
So, freed from the fear of pursuit, Mehitable galloped through the quiet village of Millburn. There, supper over long ago, bedtime candles were beginning to twinkle through house windows.
As suddenly then as it had commenced the rain stopped. To the north of the bridle path she was following through the forest Mehitable could see the end of the Mountain with its lookout and its cliffs, when the lightning would allow her and the ​forest opened to permit her. A farmhouse up a side lane showed yellow blots for windows, too.
"General Washington's headquarters at the Short Hills, I believe!" speculated the girl. Afterward she found her surmises to have been true.
At last they swung into the more traveled road leading straight to Morris Town, and there Mehitable headed west for a time.
"On, Dulcie, on!" came her monotonous cry, and the old horse responded gamely. "Poor lass!" Mehitable's throat ached at the awful limp the animal was displaying. "Poor lass, ye must be in pain! Amos will ne'er forgive me for this trip!"
They were ascending a rise of the road when Mehitable, peering sharply and watchfully to her left, suddenly pulled sharply in that direction and Dulcie bolted into a woodland trail leading to the ridge that was their destination. But suddenly there came a shout.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"A messenger!" cried the girl, drawing rein.
"Advance, messenger, and give the countersign!" The sentry's voice came to her through profound darkness now, for the lightning had ceased.
"How can I when I don't know it!" retorted Mehitable impatiently. "Let me pass to see your officer in charge!"
"Nay!" The answer came sternly.
​"Fool!" Mehitable fidgeted in her saddle. Her impatience grew. "We are wasting valuable time, I tell ye—nay, I will go ahead!"
"Halt!" Again came the command; but Mehitable was riding down the sentry. As he leaped out of the way, there came the flash of his musket, the singing of a bullet, and Mehitable felt her horse quiver beneath her knees. Then poor Dulcie sank to the ground, rolled in agony. Mehitable was thrown clear of the beast and staggered to her feet. She and the sentry met over Dulcie's now motionless body.
"Fool!" said Mehitable furiously. "Fool!" Her voice changed. She sank upon the horse lying quiet between them. "Oh, you have killed her! You have killed my old Dulcie! Why, she—she—be dead!"
"Hitty Condit!" The sentry bent unbelievingly over her.
Mehitable dashed the bitter tears from her eyes and looked up. "Why, Young Cy!" she began. Her face worked. "Oh, Young Cy—how could ye! How could ye!"
"But, Hitty—you—I——" Young Cy stammered helplessly and relapsed into aching silence. How could he explain to Mehitable that he had merely done his duty? But presently the girl looked up.
"It was my fault, Young Cy! I—I—killed poor ​Dulcie! I had no right to ride past ye without the countersign!" she said quietly. "But come"—her voice changed—"now that ye know who I am, lead me to your officer. I have important news!"
It was not long, then, after the girl and the lad had entered the officer's hut, that the cannon given by General Washington for that purpose barked out its warning to the New Jersey countryside. Soon, too, great beacons, ready piled, blazed their message to the militia far and near.
Mehitable could see the scenes that were taking place in almost every home. The men leaping to arms, hurrying forth into the night with wives and children fetching their powder horns, their hats, their coats; the men reporting to their respective captains; the men, gathered together, marching to the point of battalion or regimental mobilization. She stood with clasped hands a little distance away from the cannon, gazing from the Sow's Back across distant valleys, and gloried in the answering beacon fires which sprang out against the darkness of the world, reassuring, magnificent.
"To arms! To arms!" thundered Old Sow.
"To arms! To arms!" came the echoes.
"We have armed! We have armed!" signalled the beacon fires.