State Regent Debra Jamison, Malavika Ramarao, and American History Chair Barbara Volker
A snowflake drifted down from the sky, twisting and turning in the cold winter breeze. As it settled gently on a blanket of snow, I could hear only the muffled trampling of my own feet. It had been snowing for days. The light was fading when I finally staggered into my destination – Camp Hyco.
I come from a family of Quakers and am the oldest of six children. In my short life of fifteen years, I have seen my parents bury two of my baby brothers. We live in a modest house on a farm near the town of Hillsborough in NorthCarolina.
It is February 1781 and for a long time there has been a war brewing, the war for independence. Quakers are a quiet people who abhor violence and believe it goes against Godʼs word. We belonged to the Society of Friends and assumed that change would come through peaceful means, not brute force. Most of our friends are neutral to the revolution. My father, however, rejected this ideology and joined the Free Quakers, a group which believes in fighting for freedom from the British. Now, he is off fighting in General Nathaniel Greeneʼs regiment, leaving us to hold up the home front.
Without my father around, it is hard to run the farm. I help my mother as much as I can, but we hardly grow enough to eat. My brothers and sisters are young and cannot be of much help. They do their bit in fetching water and doing the laundry. My motherʼs brow is always furrowed with worry, trying to put the next meal on the table. Her hands are calloused, working the hoes all through summer. Winter is harsh and our pantry is almost empty.
To help the Patriot cause, my mother and I work in the Homespun Movement. We make blankets and clothing for the Patriot soldiers. I have learnt to embroider and etch my initials on the collars of the shirts, to give them a personal touch. They say that the soldiersʼ hearts are lifted when they see these tokens of affection from home. This is the least I can do to help the soldiers who are giving up their lives for our freedom!
The only time we leave the farm these days is every “First Day” or Sunday, when we pray at the Quaker meeting house. There are no stained glass windows, altars, ministers, or spoken prayers and singing of hymns. We sit in silence facing one another for an hour, believing this to be the best path towards communicating with God. This helps me find peace when there is chaos all around me.
It was on one such “First Day”, that we found our meeting house taken over by British soldiers. They had set up their headquarters there! Undeterred, I sneak in once in a while, sitting in the gallery where no one would notice me. The soldiers are used to seeing me around and do not pay me heed. Quakers are deemed harmless since most are neutral to the war. I look young for my age, having led a life of near starvation for the last few years.
This is what led me on my adventure to Camp Hyco. I was in the gallery of the meeting house when I overheard two soldiers discussing an attack on the camp, which not only houses a Patriot garrison, but also has military stores and ammunition depots. I was horrified! I had to get the message to them somehow!
I rushed home and told my mother the whole story. She agreed that the message had to be sent to the camp. My brothers were too young to go to the camp and we could not trust anyone else with this information. I should be the one to go! Our horse is old and decrepit and would be unable to survive the journey on snow. I would have to walk.
I left at dawn. I knew the alleys and byways, having grown up in the area. My threadbare coat provided little protection from the strong winter winds. The soles of my shoes were practically gone, and had been reinforced by pieces of quilt. I heard passing hoofbeats a few times, but managed to stay undetected.
My heart was pounding with excitement and fear when I finally reached the camp at dusk. The guards were astonished to see an exhausted girl approaching them. They were suspicious at first but when I gave them my news, they took me to a tent to rest and left to pass the message to their colonel.
The colonel came in briskly. He was very interested in the fact that I had not been detected by British scouts while on the way to the camp. He wondered whether I could lead a group of his soldiers back to the meeting house for a surprise attack. The excitement I felt was only tempered by my fear of failing in this important mission.
I had not slept well the previous night, and was exhausted from my long trek, but did not hesitate when they suggested that we leave immediately. The cover of darkness would help us in our journey to Hillsborough. Fortunately, it had stopped snowing, and high in the sky, the stars twinkled comfortingly. We trudged through the night without incident. My knowledge of the landscape helped immensely. When we reached my farm at dawn, I provided the soldiers with a detailed map to get them to the meeting house.
My motherʼs welcoming arms provided great comfort. We prayed and waited with bated breath for news of the soldiers. It was a few hours later that we heard that the small band of Patriots had overrun the British headquarters and taken all their soldiers prisoner. I might be a young girl, in a fledgeling country but I had made a difference. I was part of the Revolution!