Midnight ride of Sybil Ludington

Listen up, folks, and I'll tell you some
Of the ride of Sybil Ludington
On 26 April, 1777.
None now on earth and few even in heaven
Remember that day or what she had done.
Of Paul Revere, the tale's often told
to great acclaim. Such a feat! He's so bold!
But who knows of this girl? The 16 year-old?
The British in Fairfield County had landed
A force New York's governor William Tryon commanded.
With 12 transport boats they'd hoped to surprise
and burn nearby Danbury's militia supplies.
But as oft was the case, they did not realize
the extent of Washington's network of spies.
Ludington's father, Henry, as it so happened,
Was a volunteer Continental regiment captain.
His men, through the countryside, widely dispersed,
could nonetheless muster and defend as rehearsed,
if only the message could reach them all first.

Alas, but the man and the horse he'd received
Could travel no more, despite the great need.
Haggard and weary, he looked sorely worn
And Father would leave with the troops in the morn.
Only Sybil was able to travel the land,
And so, she quietly raised her right hand.
"I'll go." She said simply, "You don't need to ask."
Henry smiled, for he knew she was up to the task.

Telling her, "Here is the job that you take:
Alert all the minutemen, for liberty's sake.
Saddle the horse, and ride with all haste,
Toward Mahopac Falls, there's no time to waste.
Put on warm clothes, and here, take this crop,
Just rap on the doors, don't dismount or stop.
Danbury's burning. Spread the news far and wide.
Alert, if you can, the whole countryside.
Perhaps we can help, if in time we arrive."

At once Sybil mounted her favorite horse, Star,
And took the road south. Carmel Lake wasn't far.
She knocked on the doors and cried a great shout,
"Muster at Ludington's! You all must help out!"
Four houses there and then back on her way,
She rounded Kent Cliffs by the end of the day.
She hollered and yelled all the way by the course,
Until it wasn't just Star – she too was quite hoarse.
Midnight soon passed and she turned to the north,
Through thickets, by hills, yet still she strove forth.
Watchdogs would wake and by going berserk,
Would rouse all the neighbors, the worst of the work.

By Stormville, of course, the rain had got worse
Till Sybil was soaked, and quietly cursed
Exhausted and wet and covered with mud,
For near forty miles she'd done all she could.
A turn to the east, and through Pecksville she saw
The windows were lit – another rider had called.
"That's all just as well," she thought as she passed.
"It's not too much longer," and not long would she last.
Two miles more, and soon she'd be home,
But two miles more she would still have to roam.

Arriving there well in the deep of the night,
A warm fire and family were the welcomest sight.
Numb with the cold, near dead with fatigue,
Both rider and horse had gone more than twelve leagues.
In a clockwise rectangle poor Sybil had traveled
Through forests over the roughest of gravel.
Too tired to notice the shouts and the praise,
Our heroine wanted naught than to bathe.
Carried inside and given hot drink,
Instead all around found her soon fast asleep.

When Sybil awoke and asked of the news,
Her face turned downcast, and looked sadly confused.
The British had burned all the Danbury stores.
Barrels of food, shoes, and much, much more.
The Battle of Ridgefield had not gone too well.
Houses destroyed, and General Wooster fell.
The questions arose, "Did it do any good?
Was it really my best? Did I do all I could?"
And so here is the lesson, as I've understood.

Is honor due only to those chosen few
That get great results? Or to also those who
Show the resolve and finish the work
Not knowing if failure is fortune's foul quirk.
On this issue, I think, it is good to reflect
Do we measure an action by its effort or effect?

None that day knew, but it's true, before long,
Connecticut rose a force three thousand strong.
Where "neutral" had been what many had felt
Outrage grew up at the blow they'd been dealt.
By the fall, they would raise and proudly provide
General Gates with three units to help him defy
Burgoyne's redcoats in the New York invasion,
Sending him back to his Canadian station.

Ludington's ride does not easily compare
To Paul Revere's own, and maybe that's fair.
Longfellow's fame lent him quite a head start.
And his words show a beauty less science than art.

Ludington's lack of renown is a loss;
She shares the same fate as Prescott and Dawes.