| Notes |
- Molly is the daughter of Jacob Compton, b 1749.
REVOLUTIONARY REMINISCENCES
Pretty Molly Compton spent eight years of her girlhood in the din and dangers of the Revolutionary War. Her father, Jacob Compton, owned theThomas Guest place in Bonhamtown before, during, and after the struggle for independence. Molly was six years old when the war began, and was fourteen when it ended. She saw Count Van Donop and his famous Hesse-Cassel musketeers march away in the direction of New Brunswick. She saw Sir William Howe and his royal army as they undertook to cross overNew Jersey into Pennsylvania. She saw them return a few days later quite crestfallen from a five days' interview they had with General Washington and his forces, near Middlebrook. She saw the Hessians falling back to Amboy after their fierce but futile attack on Fort Mercer. The brave men made a halt in front of her father's house. The road known as the King's Highway was blocked with footmen, dragoons, baggage wagons, and artillery. In the rear was a moving hospital, followed by a funeral procession. The ambulance contained dead and seriously wounded soldiers. To pass the jam, and hurry on to the surgeons awaiting their arrival in Amboy, the drivers turned their horses from the road, breaking down the fences and crossing the garden. In passing the house Molly saw the wounded and dying and their blood dripping from the wagons in which they were riding. Last of all came a hearse, and in it was all that was left on earth of Count Van Donop. His war horse was led by a groom, and across the saddle was tied and thrown the military boots of the late ambitious leader. Count Van Donop was a British hireling, but he was one of nature's noblemen for all that. He fell in the glacis of Fort Mercer mortally wounded while leading his men against our intrepid defenders. As he was about breathing his last he said: "I fall a victim of my own ambition, and to the avarice of my prince, but full of thankfulness for the good treatment I have received from my generous enemy."
Colonel Webster was sent with a regiment of troops from Amboy to strengthen their lines near Bonhamtown. The Colonel took possession of the Jerome Ross house, and quartered his men in the best buildings he could find in the village and neighborhood. Jesse Compton and family were driven into their low chamber while the British occupied the ground floors of the little building. Soon after taking possession, the troops rolled a barrel of gunpowder into the cellar for safe keeping. This created much uneasiness in the minds of the citizens of the upper half story, but Colonel Webster ordered it so to be, and from his commands there was no appeal. Later in the year Webster and his men moved to the South and took part in the battle of Camden under Lord Cornwallis. A Colonel Webster, probably the one whose headquarters were in the Jerome Ross mansion a portion of the year 1779, was killed in the battle of Guilford Court-house, in NorthCarolina, March 15th, 1781.
Molly Compton heard the booming of cannon at the battle of Monmouth on the 28th of June, 1778. She personally knew Molly Pitcher who took a conspicuous part in the struggle after her husband had been killed by the British in the bloody encounter.
One day, while standing at a window of the Thomas Guest house, she saw a fine-looking man approaching on the road leading in the direction of Metuchen. He was superbly mounted on a dapple gray, whose mane and tail, white as the driven snow, were cavorting with the wind. Molly thought she had never seen such a fine-looking man, such a splendid equestrian. He turned the corner on the gallop as if going to New Brunswick, but halted in front of the house, dismounted, and then led his beautiful horse into a blacksmith shop near at hand. A few minutes were spent in having a shoe tightened on the animal, and then, coming out, the man remounted his steed and was "off to the wars again." It was General Washington.
While making the Jerome Ross house in Bonhamtown his headquarters in1779, the British commander, Col. Webster, did not rest on a bed of roses. He favored the Tory element, and oppressed those he called rebels. He would pay gold to the Tory and confiscate property belonging to the Patriot, when he needed supplies. Foraging parties were sent out to buy and to plunder. Loyal farmers and dealers could sell and obtain good prices and good pay, while their neighbors, if Patriots, could seldom sell at any figure, nor were they allowed to retain what they had if the Colonel's men wanted it. This engendered such bitter feeling that men outside of military organizations united in small numbers to oppose what they termed the British marauders. Five men, well mounted, decided to do what they could in this direction.They kept in or near the camp of the American army a portion of the time; but when the exigencies of war encouraged, they made excursions along the British lines, or across them, to intercept parties taking supplies to the enemy. The little band knew every road and lane and drift way in this part of Middlesex County. These men watched Colonel Webster and his troops and weighed their doings and probable purposes with eagle eyes and the courage of lions.
The leader of the scouts, Joseph Thickstun, had a sister Mary, living near Bonhamtown, who was as bold and patriotic as he. Somehow she knew when he and his four comrades would be in the neighborhood. She could not give them shelter in her home, as Tories would make speedy report to Colonel Webster. She did a better thing than that. There was a place not far away called the Swamp, near the Raritan. The men would leave Bound Brook, or some other place in the vicinity of the American army, in time to reach the Swamp after dark. Here they were sure to find a basket of provisions suitable for the not over fastidious appetite of a hungry soldier. To reach the spot, the men were obliged to pass the British lines near Stelton, Bonhamtown, or Valentine's. They remained in the Swamp until the following evening. Soon after dark they turned out to reconnoitre. One night they came upon a party driving a flock of sheep to Bonhamtown. They put the men under guard and drove the sheep to the mountains, and then to General Washington's forces, where half starved volunteers tickled their palates with mutton, and thanked the scouts profoundly between mouthfuls. When the shepherds reported their mishap, and did not know who were their captors nor whence they came nor whither they went, there was wrath and profanity in Bonhamtown.
A second excursion with similar results created almost a panic, and plans as well as execrations against the perpetrators filled the minds of the Colonel, his aids, and abettors. The "Red Coats" were called dunces and idiots, interlaced with expletives. A Tory came into town and believed that Mary Thickstun knew more about the raids than ought to be known by a loyal subject of King George. Proof was so strong against her that the Colonel thought it might be well to have her watched. Accordingly he sent a Scotch sergeant with 6 men under orders to shoot her if seen 6 rods from her house after dark. Her brother William, who lived on a farm, now known as the Mumford-Wilson place, and his family talked the matter over at the breakfast table. A lad of 14 years listened intently, and before finishing the morning meal, had decided what to do. His name was Lewis. He was William's oldest son. He was proud of such an auntie, and she doted on him. He did the chores at the barn, feeding forty-five head of cattle, ninety fat sheep, a span of horses, pigs, turkeys, ducks,geese, pigeons, chickens, all that an industrious and prosperous farmer usually had in that day, and then started in quest of his uncle Joseph.
He took an out-of-the-way lane, and crossed the British lines without challenge. Before night he found his uncle in the American camp, nicely located between spurs of the Watchhung Mountains. He lost no time in telling his story. In half an hour the five scouts were in their saddles. They were after larger game, this time, than sheep. Before morning they were in theSwamp, near the Raritan. They found no basket of provisions this time on the well-known stump. Mary knew that she was under guard, and didn't know that her brother and his friends were risking their lives to save hers. The hours dragged slowly along. Finally night came with her friendly mantle to hide them from their dangerous foes. Emerging from their safe retreat, they called on Mary, who told them in whispers that the Scotch sergeant and his armed men were in the little building not ten rods away.Thither they crept. The Scotchman and his squad were not so watchful as they might have been. They were playing "seven up," and deeply absorbed in the game. Each won a booby prize. There was no way of egress but by 2 windows and a door. One scout was to stand at each window, and threat the door, to prevent escape. To break open the door was to be the beginning of the attack, and the first blow was the signal for the men at the windows to smash them in and demand surrender. The door held a few moments, but the windows yielded at once. Six of the seven astonished inmates gave up their guns at once, but the Sergeant showed fight. He was cocking his musket to fire as Joseph gained the open doorway, and in a moment more would have fixed him. Joseph, although a man not thirsting for gore, was too quick for him. He blazed away without taking much aim and shot off the Sergeant's right index finger. This put a sudden end of the attempt to cock his gun, and he too surrendered. Each side took a good look at the other. Seven unarmed men, if they were proud Britons, were no match for 5 determined and doubly armed Yankees. "Walk out!" said Joseph. "Form in line! Halt!" The new commander's orders were promptly obeyed. The scouts vaulted hurriedly into their saddles, and "Forward, march!" greeted the ears of the discomfited seven.
Joseph did not wish to disturb the slumbers of the Colonel and his men, scarcely half a mile distant. He was thinking of his own safety, and self-preservation only, induced him to discharge his carbine when the Scotchman was making haste to kill him. As it was, pickets heard the report and guns were soon popping all along the "King's Highway" in both directions from Colonel Webster's headquarters. Men were soon rushing hither and thither, officers were calling, fifes were screaming, drums were pounded. Molly Compton heard the din. Her eyes were wide open. She was soon at the window. She said she had never before heard such a hubbub at Bonhamtown. It seemed more like a riot than the proceedings of members of a disciplined army. They knew the scouts were out again, and glory or shame would be theirs on the morrow. Of course the troopers were in a hurry, but the Scotchman and his men were not. The Sergeant was corpulent, and to make the required time, was obliged to trot now and then on his night parade. He found room, however, to put in some bristling interjections about the "damned rebels." Just then, sometimes, he would feel a prick of his lately surrendered bayonet in some tender spot in the rear, and would conclude that discretion was more useful if not so ornamental as profanity, and would trot on. The line of march was probably by way of Piscatawaytown, New Durham and so onto the American army in the vicinity of Bound Brook. At any rate, the the vicinity scouts escaped unharmed from the many dangers which hovered closely around them from the moment of the capture to their arrival in the vicinity of the mountains.
General Washington received the scouts with thanks, and took care of their crest-fallen footmen. The gallant Englishmen detailed by a British officer and led by a Scotchman to shoot an amiable woman, armed with a basket of provisions for her brother, were taken to New York and exchanged for 7 American soldiers in the Sugar House there. After the encounter with the Scotchman and his disgruntled comrades,Joseph Thickstun and his associated remained near the American army, helping wherever and whenever they could be useful. His brave young nephew, Lewis, knew better than to return to his home and be hung by the British as a spy. He was too young to carry a musket and endure the hardships of a trained militiaman, but he clung to the army, acting as a courier, and doing all he could in its interest until it was disbanded with the benedictions of the entire nation in 1783. The whole story of the raid was soon known to Colonel Webster, and a small force was sent to arrest and take William Thickstun before that austere officer. He was charged with the grave crime of being a father of a degenerate son, a crime so common that it sometimes, in the estimation of army officers, ceases to be a sin. The accused knew nothing about the plans of his brave boy before they developed into action. William had no part in the undertaking which led to the capture of the Scotchman and his men. This so appeared at the trial, and the Colonel let him off with the warning that he must expect to pay for the luxury of being the father of a reprobate.
A day or so later Webster sent men to view the farm. They were clothed with military authority to confiscate the 45 head of cattle, 90 sheep, span of horses, pigs, turkeys, ducks, geese, pigeons,chickens, and every moving thing which belonged to the unfortunate William Thickstun, for the use and behoof of the British stationed atBonhamtown, Perth Amboy, and New Brunswick. Did they take them? Well, yes, every hoof, wisp of wool, bristle, wing, and feather. It was a big haul, but was too small for the greedy British. Soon afterward, redcoats were quartered in the kitchen, dining room, parlors, and bedrooms. Dirty Hessians crawled into spare beds, too lazy or too boozy to pull off their army shoes. Cockneys, fresh from London, turned into effeminate? cooks, They burned wined and dined on oysters and viands from the pantry and cellar. They burned down the orchard and cut up posts and rails which had served as fences. All the small outbuildings were torn down and used as kindling wood. The place which had blossomed as a rose was as desolate as the scouts' camp in the swamp.
When Lewis returned from the war in April, 1783, he found none of his barnyard pets where he left them one morning in 1779, but he was not upbraided. He was honored and beloved by all good citizens who knew him. His father saw him while yet a great way off and ran and met him. There was no fatted calf, or even duck or chicken to kill, but the faithful lad was most welcome. His aunt shook him and hugged him and kissed him. Best of all, if possible, Molly Compton received him with open arms.
Ref: by Carrie St. John's grandfather Lewis William Thickstun - - -
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1769 - 1846 (77 years)