one name more dreaded, more loathed and accursed than the rest, it was
that of the brutal and ferocious Thorg--the frequent leader of foraging
parties, the unsparing destroyer of womanhood, infancy and age, the
jackal and purveyor of Admiral Cockburn. If anywhere there was a
beautiful woman unprotected, or a rich plantation house ill-defended,
this jackal was sure to scent out "the game" for his master, the lion.
And many were the comely maidens and youthful wives seized and carried
off by this monster.

The Patuxent and the Wicomico, with the coast between them, offered no
strong temptation to a rapacious foe, and the inhabitants reposed in the
fancied security of their isolation and unimportance. The business of
life went on, faintly and sorrowfully, to be sure, but still went on.
The village shops at B---- and C---- were kept open, though tended
chiefly by women and boys. The academicians at the little college
pursued their studies or played at forming juvenile military companies.
The farms and plantations were cultivated chiefly under the direction of
ladies whose husbands, sons and brothers were absent with the army. No
one thought of danger to St. Mary's.

Most terrible was the awakening from this dream of safety, when, on the
morning of the 17th of August, the division under the command of Admiral
Cockburn--the most dreaded and abhorred of all--was seen to enter the
mouth of the Patuxent in full sail for Benedict. Nearly all the
able-bodied men were absent with the army at the time when the combined
military and naval forces tinder Admiral Cockburn and General Ross
landed at that place. None remained to guard the homes but aged men,
women, infants and negroes. A universal panic seized the neighborhood
and nothing occurred to the defenseless people but instant flight.
Females and children were hastily put into carriages, the most valuable