The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Bell Of Independence; Or,
Philadelphia In 1776, by Henry C. Watson

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Title: The Old Bell Of Independence; Or, Philadelphia In 1776

Author: Henry C. Watson

Release Date: March 7, 2004 [EBook #11506]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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[Illustration: The Old State House Bell]



THE YOUNG AMERICAN'S LIBRARY.

THE OLD BELL OF INDEPENDENCE;

OR,

PHILADELPHIA IN 1776.

BY HENRY C. WATSON,

AUTHOR OF "THE CAMP-FIRES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION," "THE YANKEE
TEA-PARTY, OR BOSTON IN 1773," ETC. ETC.

With Illustrations.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by LINDSAY AND
BLAKISTON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.



PREFACE.

To awaken in the minds of all Americans that veneration of the patriots
and heroes of the War of Independence, and that emulation of their noble
example which is so necessary to the maintenance of our liberties, are
the objects of this little work. Every day's developments illustrate
the importance of these objects. In the enjoyment of the freedom and
prosperity of our country, we are apt to under-rate the means by which
that enjoyment was secured to us, and to forget the men who worked for
that end. A knowledge of the toils and sufferings of the noble-hearted
fathers of the Revolution is the best preventative, or curative, for
this "falling off." War, clothed as it is, with horrors, is to be
condemned, and the spirit which leads to it should be driven from the
breasts of men. But generous devotion, strength of resolution, and
far-reaching skill, are things to be commended and imitated wherever
displayed. In these pages, will be found stories of the chief men of the
Revolution, so connected, by the manner in which they are narrated, as
to give a general interest to them--"The Old Bell of Independence" being
the rallying point of the veteran story-tellers.



CONTENTS.


INTRODUCTION

STORY OF GENERAL WASHINGTON

THE SPY'S FATE

STORY OF THE SERMON

STORY OF THE PRAYER

STORY OF LYDIA DARRAGH

THE DEAD MAN'S LAKE

THE HALF-BREED

DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE

MURDER OF MISS McCREA

DEFENCE OF SHELL'S BLOCK-HOUSE

BATES'S REVENGE

STORY OF GENERAL WAYNE

THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES

THE TORY'S CONVERSION

THE TIMELY RESCUE

THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN

THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS

ARNOLD'S TREASON

CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT

JONATHAN RILEY AND FRANK LILLY

MASSACRE OF WYOMING

STORY OF THE DAUPHIN'S BIRTHDAY




THE OLD BELL OF INDEPENDENCE.


INTRODUCTION.

It was a season of unparalleled enthusiasm and rejoicing, when General
Lafayette, the friend and supporter of American Independence, responded
to the wishes of the people of the United States, and came to see their
prosperity, and to hear their expressions of gratitude. The national
heart beat joyfully in anticipation; and one long, loud, and free shout
of welcome was heard throughout the land.

Arriving at New York in August, 1824, General Lafayette journeyed
through the Eastern States, receiving such tokens of affection as the
people had extended to no other man except Washington, and then returned
southward. On the 28th of September, he entered Philadelphia, the
birth-place of the Declaration of Independence, the greater part of the
population coming out to receive and welcome him. A large procession was
formed, and thirteen triumphal arches erected in the principal streets
through which the procession passed.

After General Lafayette himself, the most remarkable objects in the
procession were four large open cars, resembling tents, each containing
forty veterans of the struggle for independence. No one could, without
emotion, behold these winter-locked patriots, whose eyes, dimmed by age,
poured forth tears of joy at their unexpected happiness in once more
meeting an old commander, and joining in the expressions of gratitude to
him.

After passing through the principal streets, General Lafayette was
conducted into the hall of the State-House, where the old Continental
Congress had assembled, and where the immortal Declaration of
Independence was signed. Here the nation's guest was received formally
on behalf of the citizens by the mayor, and then the people were
admitted to take him by the hand. At night there was a splendid
illumination; and crowds of people traversed the streets, singing and
celebrating the exploits of the champion of liberty and the friend of
America.

On one of the days succeeding Lafayette's grand entry into the city,
he received, in the Hall of Independence, the veteran soldiers of the
Revolution who had come to the city, and those who were residents. One
by one these feeble old men came up and took the General by the hand,
and to each he had some reminiscence to recall, or some congratulation
to offer. Heroes of Brandy wine, Germantown, Trenton, Princeton,
Monmouth, and other fields, were there; some with scars to show, and all
much suffering to relate. The old patriotic fire was kindled in their
breasts, and beamed from their furrowed countenances, as memory flew
back to the time that proved their truth and love of liberty. One had
been under the command of the fiery Wayne, and shared his dangers with
a spirit as dauntless; another had served with the cool and skilful
Greene, and loved to recall some exploit in which the Quaker general
had displayed his genius; another had followed the lead of Lafayette
himself, when a mere youth, at Brandywine: everything conspired to
render this interview of the General and the veteran soldiers as
touching and as interesting as any recorded by history, or invented by
fiction.

After the reception of the veterans, one of them proposed to go up into
the belfry, and see the old bell which proclaimed liberty "to all the
land, and to all the nations thereof." Lafayette and a few others
accompanied the proposal by expressing a wish to see that interesting
relic. With great difficulty, some of the old men were conducted up to
the belfry, and there they beheld the bell still swinging. Lafayette was
much gratified at the sight, as it awakened his old enthusiasm to think
of the period when John Adams and his bold brother patriots dared to
assert the principles of civil liberty, and to proclaim the independence
of their country. Old John Harmar, one of the veteran soldiers who had
been in Philadelphia when the Declaration was proclaimed, and who again
shook hands with his old brothers in arms, gave vent to his thoughts and
feelings as he stood looking at the bell.

"Ah! that's the trumpet that told the Britishers a tale of vengeance! My
memory's not so bad but I can recollect the day that old bell was rung
for independence! This city presented a very different appearance in
those days. It was a small town. Every body was expectin' that the
king's troops would be comin' here soon, and would sack and burn the
place: but the largest number of us were patriots, and knew the king was
a tyrant; and so we didn't care much whether they came or not. How the
people did crowd around this State-House on the day the Declaration was
proclaimed! Bells were ringing all over town, and guns were fired; but
above 'em all could be heard the heavy, deep sound of this old bell,
that rang as if it meant something! Ah! them was great times."

As old Harmar concluded these remarks, the old men standing near the
bell nodded approvingly, and some echoed, "Them _was_ great times!" in
a tone which indicated that memory was endeavoring to conjure back the
time of which they spoke. They then slowly turned to descend. Lafayette
had preceded them with his few friends. "Stop!" said old Harmar;
"Wilson, Morton, Smith, and you, Higgins, my son wants you to come home
with me, and take dinner at his house. Come; I want to have some chat
with you over old doings. I may never see you again after you leave
Philadelphia."

The invitation, cordially given, was cordially accepted, and the party
of old friends descended the stairs, and, arriving at the door, were
assisted by the cheering crowd to get into their carriage, which then
drove towards the residence of old Harmar's son. At that place we shall
consider them as having arrived, and, after much welcoming, introducing,
and other preparatory ceremonies, as seated at a long, well-supplied
table, set in a large and pleasant dining-hall. Young Harmar, his wife,
and the four children, were also accommodated at the same table, and a
scene of conviviality and pleasure was presented such as is not often
witnessed. The old men were very communicative and good-humored; and
young Harmar and his family were free of questions concerning the great
scenes through which they had passed. But we will let the company speak
for themselves.



STORY OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.

"GRANDFATHER," said Thomas Jefferson Harmar, "won't you tell us
something about General Washington?"

"I could tell you many a thing about that man, my child," replied old
Harmar, "but I suppose people know everything concerning him by this
time. You see, these history writers go about hunting up every incident
relating to the war, now, and after a while they'll know more about
it--or say they do--than the men who were actors in it."

"That's not improbable," said young Harmar. "These historians may not
know as much of the real spirit of the people at that period, but that
they should be better acquainted with the mass of facts relating to
battles and to political affairs is perfectly natural." The old man
demurred, however, and mumbled over, that nobody could know the real
state of things who was not living among them at the time.

"But the little boy wants to hear a story about Washington," said
Wilson. "Can't you tell him something about _the_ man? I think I could.
Any one who wants to appreciate the character of Washington, and the
extent of his services during the Revolution, should know the history of
the campaign of 1776, when every body was desponding, and thinking
of giving up the good cause. I tell you, if Washington had not been
superior to all other men, that cause must have sunk into darkness."

"You say well," said Smith. "We, who were at Valley Forge, know
something of his character."

"I remember an incident," said Wilson, "that will give you some idea,
Mrs. Harmar, of the heart George Washington had in his bosom. I suppose
Mr. Harmar has told you something of the sufferings of our men during
the winter we lay at Valley Forge. It was a terrible season. It's hard
to give a faint idea of it in words; but you may imagine a party of
men, with ragged clothes and no shoes, huddled around a fire in a log
hut--the snow about two feet deep on the ground, and the wind driving
fierce and bitter through the chinks of the rude hovel. Many of the men
had their feet frost-bitten, and there were no remedies to be had, like
there is now-a-days. The sentinels suffered terribly, and looked more
like ghosts than men, as they paced up and down before the lines of
huts."

"I wonder the men didn't all desert," remarked Mrs. Harmar. "They must
have been uncommon men."

"They were uncommon men, or, at least, they suffered in an uncommon
cause," replied Wilson. "But about General Washington. He saw how the
men were situated, and, I really believe, his heart bled for them. He
would write to Congress of the state of affairs, and entreat that body
to procure supplies; but, you see, Congress hadn't the power to comply.
All it could do was to call on the States, and await the action of their
Assemblies.

"Washington's head-quarters was near the camp, and he often came over to
see the poor fellows, and to try to soothe and comfort them; and, I tell
you, the men loved that man as if he had been their father, and would
rather have died with him than have lived in luxury with the red-coat
general.

"I recollect a scene I beheld in the next hut to the one in which I
messed. An old friend, named Josiah Jones, was dying. He was lying on a
scant straw bed, with nothing but rags to cover him. He had been sick
for several days, but wouldn't go under the doctor's hands, as he always
said it was like going into battle, certain of being killed. One day,
when we had no notion of anything of the kind, Josiah called out to us,
as we sat talking near his bed, that he was dying, and wanted us to pray
for him. We were all anxious to do anything for the man, for we loved
him as a brother; but as for praying, we didn't exactly know how to go
about it. To get clear of the service, I ran to obtain the poor fellow a
drink of water to moisten his parched lips.

"While the rest were standing about, not knowing what to do, some one
heard the voice of General Washington in the next hut, where he was
comforting some poor wretches who had their feet almost frozen off.
Directly, he came to our door, and one of the men went and told him the
state of things. Now, you see, a commander-in-chief might have been
justified in being angry that the regulations for the sick had been
disobeyed, and have turned away; but he was a nobler sort of man than
could do that. He entered the hut, and went up to poor Josiah, and asked
him how he was. Josiah told him that he felt as if he was dying, and
wanted some one to pray for him. Washington saw that a doctor could do
the man no good, and he knelt on the ground by him and prayed. We all
knelt down too; we couldn't help it. An old comrade was dying, away from
his home and friends, and there was our general kneeling by him, with
his face turned towards heaven, looking, I thought, like an angel's.
Well, he prayed for Heaven to have mercy on the dying man's soul; to
pardon his sins; and to take him to Himself: and then he prayed for us
all. Before the prayer was concluded, Josiah's spirit had fled, and his
body was cold and stiff. Washington felt the brow of the poor fellow,
and, seeing that his life was out, gave the men directions how to
dispose of the corpse, and then left us to visit the other parts of the
camp."

"That was, indeed, noble conduct," said young Harmar. "Did he ever speak
to you afterwards about violating the regulations of the army?"

"No," replied Wilson. "He knew that strict discipline could not be, and
should not have been maintained in that camp. He was satisfied if we
were true to the cause amid all our sufferings."

[ Illustration: WASHINGTON'S PRAYER
FOR THE DYING SOLDIER.]

"Praying at the death-bed of a private," mused Smith aloud. "Well, I
might have conjectured what he would do in such a case, from what I saw
of him. I wonder if history ever spoke of a greater and better man?"

Young Mr. Harmar here felt inclined to launch out into an elaborate
panegyric on the character of Washington, but reflected that it might be
out of place, and therefore contented himself with remarking, "We shall
ne'er look upon his like again."

"He was a dear, good man," remarked Mrs. Harmar.

"Yes," said old Harmar, "General Washington was the main pillar of the
Revolution. As a general, he was vigilant and skilful; but if he had
not been anything more, we might have been defeated and crushed by the
enemy. He had the love and confidence of the men, on account of his
character as a man, and that enabled him to remain firm and full of hope
when his countrymen saw nothing but a gloomy prospect."


THE SPY'S FATE

"Now I'll tell you a story that I have just called to mind," said old
Harmar. "It's of a very different character, though, from the story of
Washington. It's about a spy's fate."

"Where was the scene of it?" inquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Out here on the Schuylkill's banks, just after the British took
possession of this city," replied old Harmar. "There was a man named
James Sykes, who had a lime-kiln on the east bank of the river, and was
manufacturing lime pretty extensively when the enemy came to this city.
While Congress was sitting here, Sykes always professed to be a warm
friend to the colonial cause; but there was always something suspicious
about his movements, and his friends and neighbours did not put much
faith in his professions. He would occasionally be out very late at
night, and sometimes be gone from home for a week, and give very vague
accounts of the business which had occupied him during his absence. Some
of his neighbours suspected that he was acting as one of Sir William
Howe's spies, but they could never get any positive proof of their
suspicions.

"At length the enemy took possession of this city, and then Sykes began
to show that he was not such a very warm friend of the right side. He
went to the head-quarters of the British general frequently, and seemed
to be on the best terms with the enemy. Well, it happened that one of
his old neighbors, named Jones, was the captain of one of the companies
of our line; and he, somehow or other, obtained proof that Sykes was
acting as a spy for the enemy. He informed General Wayne of the fact,
and immediately proposed that he should be allowed to attempt his
capture. Wayne consented, and Captain Jones set about preparing for the
enterprise. Sykes was usually out at his lime-kiln, with some of his
men, during the morning, and, as the guilty are ever suspicious, he
increased the number of his assistants, to ensure himself against
attack. Captain Jones took only twenty men from his company, and left
our camp just before dark. The business was full of danger. The place
where Jones expected to capture the spy was within a mile of a British
out-post; and the greatest secrecy and rapidity of movement was
necessary to prevent surprise by the enemy's scouting parties.

"About daylight, Jones and his party reached the wood near Sykes'
lime-kiln, and halted to reconnoitre. Sykes and four of his men were at
work at that early hour. The lime was burning, and some of the men were
engaged in loading and unloading two carts which stood near the kiln.
Captain Jones' plan was quickly formed. He sent one half his party
around to cut off the escape of Sykes towards the city, and when he
thought they had reached a favorable position sallied out towards the
kiln. When he was about half-way to it, Sykes discovered the party,
and, shouting to his men to follow, ran along the bank of the river
to escape; but the other party cut off retreat, and Jones coming up
rapidly, Sykes and his men were taken. Jones did not intend to detain
the workmen any longer than till he got out of the reach of the British,
when he would not have cared for their giving the alarm. Sykes seemed to
be very anxious to know why he was arrested in that manner; but Jones
simply told him he would know when they got him to the American camp;
and that, if Sykes had not thought of a reason for his arrest, he
would not have attempted to run away. Well, the Americans hurried the
prisoners towards the wood, but Jones soon descried a large party of
British coming over a neighboring hill, and knew that his chance was
a desperate one. Sykes also discovered the party of red-coats, and
struggled hard to make his escape from the Americans. Jones wanted to
bring him alive to the American camp, or he would have shot him down at
once. Suddenly, Sykes broke away from his captors, and ran towards the
lime-kiln. Several muskets were discharged, but all missed him. Then
one of the privates, named Janvers, a daring fellow, rushed after the
prisoner, and caught him just as he reached the kiln. There a fierce
struggle ensued; but Sykes was cut in the shoulder, and, in attempting
to throw his antagonist into the hot lime and fire, was hurled into it
himself. Then Janvers hurried to the woods after his brave comrades. The
British party was near enough to see the struggle at the limekiln, and
came on rapidly in pursuit of our men. A few of the red-coats were
ordered to examine the lime-kiln, to see if Sykes was alive and
concealed; and they found his body burned almost to a crisp."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Mrs. Harmar.

"Well," continued Old Harmar, "there was a long and doubtful race
between the two parties; but Jones succeeded in getting within the lines
of the Americans without losing a man, and with his four prisoners in
safe custody. These fellows were examined, but no evidence of their
being spies and confidants of Sykes could be produced, and they were
discharged with the promise of a terrible punishment if they were
detected tampering with the enemy."

"Captain Jones was a daring fellow to venture so near the British lines,
and with such a small party," observed Morton.

"In such an attempt, a small party was preferable. Its success depended
upon secrecy and quickness of movements," said Wilson.

"It was a horrible death," remarked young Harmar. "Sykes, however,
courted it by treachery to his countrymen."


STORY OF THE SERMON.

"I believe this is the first time I've seen you since the disbanding of
the army, Morton," said Wilson. "Time has been rather severe on us both
since that time."

"Oh, we can't complain," replied Morton. "We can't complain. I never
grumble at my age."

"Some men would have considered themselves fortunate to have seen what
you have seen," said young Harmar. "I think I could bear your years, to
have your experience."

"So do I," added Mrs. Harmar. She always agreed with her husband in
whatever he asserted.

"Let me see," said old Harmar; "where did I first meet you, Higgins?
Oh! wasn't it just before the battle of Brandywine you joined the
Pennsylvania line?"

"No," answered Smith for Higgins, who, just then, was endeavoring to
make up for his want of teeth by the vigorous exertions of his jaws. "He
joined at the same time I did, before the battle of Germantown."

"Yes, just before the battle of Germantown," added Higgins. "I was not
at Brandywine."

"You wasn't? Then you missed seeing us retreat," said old Harraar. "But
we did considerable fightin', howsomever. Mad Anthony was there, and he
used to fight, you know--at least the enemy thought so. I shall never
forget the night before that battle."

"Why?" asked Higgins. "Was you on the watch?"

"No, not on that account; something very different. There was a sermon
preached on the evenin' before that battle, such as can only be heard
once."

"A sermon?" enquired Wilson.

"Yes; a sermon preached for our side by the Rev. Joab Prout. I told my
son there about it, and he wrote it into a beautiful sketch for one of
the papers. He's got a knack of words, and can tell about it much better
than I can. Tell them about it, Jackson, just as you wrote it," said old
Harmar.

"Certainly," replied young Harmar. "If I can recall it."

"Do," said Mrs. Harmer; and "Oh! do," added the children; and Mr.
Jackson Harmar did--as follows:--"All day long, on the tenth of
September, 1777, both armies were in the vicinity of each other, and
frequent and desperate skirmishes took place between advanced parties,
without bringing on a general action. At length, as the day closed,
both armies encamped within sight of each other, anxiously awaiting the
morrow, to decide the fate of the devoted city.

"The Americans lay behind Chadd's Ford, with the shallow waters of the
Brandywine between them and their opponents; the line extending two
miles along that stream.

"The sun was just sinking behind the dark hills of the west, gilding the
fading heavens with an autumnal brightness, and shedding a lurid glare
upon the already drooping and discolored foliage of the surrounding
forests. It was an hour of solemn calm. The cool evening breezes stole
softly through the air, as if unwilling to disturb the repose of all
around. The crystal waters of the creek murmured gently in their narrow
bed, and the national standard flapped lazily from the tall flag-staff
on its banks.

"In the American camp, interspersed between groups of tents and stacks
of arms, might be seen little knots of weary soldiers seated on the
ground, resting from the fatigues of the day, and talking in a low but
animated tone of the coming contest.

"Suddenly the tattoo sounded,--not loud and shrill, as on ordinary
occasions, but in a subdued and cautious manner, as if fearful of being
heard by the British, whose white tents might be seen in the distance.
Obedient to the signal, the greater part of the soldiers assembled
in front of the marquee of the commander, near the centre of the
encampment.

"All was hushed in expectation: soon the tall form of Washington,
wrapped in his military cloak, and attended by a large body of officers,
was seen advancing in their midst. All present respectfully saluted
them, to which they bowed courteously, and then took their seats upon
camp-stools set for them by a servant. The venerable Joab Prout,
chaplain of the Pennsylvania line, then stood upon the stump of a tree,
and commanded silence--for it was the hour of prayer.

"Here was a scene of moral grandeur unsurpassed by anything in the
annals of war. There, on that still, cool evening, when the sky was
darkening into night, were assembled some eight thousand men; very many
of whom would never look upon the glorious sunset again. From the humble
cottages in the quiet valley of the Connecticut--from the statelier
mansions of the sunny South--at the call of liberty, they had rushed to
the tented field; and now, on the eve of battle, as brethren in heart
and deed, had met together to implore the God of battles to smile upon
their noble cause.

"Oh! it was a thrilling and an august sight! The mild and dignified
Washington looked around him with proud emotion, and turned enquiringly
to the fair young stranger, Lafayette, beside him, as if to ask, 'Can
such men as these be vanquished?'

"The bold and fearless Wayne was there; the undaunted Pulaski, and the
whole-hearted Kosciusko; and they bowed their heads in reverence to Him
in whose presence they were worshipping.

"Never beneath the vaulted dome of the stately temple--never from the
lips of the eloquent divine--was seen such a congregation, or was heard
such a discourse, as on that September evening, from that humble old
man, with his grey locks streaming in the wind.

"With a firm, clear voice, that re-echoed to the distant hills, he
announced his text:--

_'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_

Then, straightening himself to his full height, and his eye beaming with
a holy feeling inspired by the time and place, he commenced:--

  "'_They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_
  'Soldiers and Countrymen:

We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared
the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the
retreat--alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the
internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night
after, night, beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers'
fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us
to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy
sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his
pillow.

'And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley,
on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder
heights--the sunlight that, to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of
blood. We have met, amid the whitening tents of our encampment,--in
times of terror and of gloom have we gathered together--God grant it may
not be for the last time!

'It is a solemn moment. Brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature
seem to echo the sympathies of the hour? The flag of our country droops
heavily from yonder staff; the breeze has died away along the green
plain of Chadd's Ford--the plain that spreads before us, glistening
in the sunlight; the heights of the Brandywine arise gloomy and grand
beyond the waters of yonder stream, and all nature holds a pause of
solemn silence, on the eve of the uproar and bloodshed and strife of
to-morrow.'

"The propriety of this language was manifest. Breathless attention was
pictured upon every countenance, and the smallest whisper could be
distinctly heard. Pausing a moment, as if running back, in his mind's
eye, over the eventful past, he again repeated his text:--

"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'

'And have they not taken the sword?

'Let the desolated plain, the blood-soddened valley, the burnt
farm-house, blackening in the sun, the sacked village, and the ravaged
town, answer; let the whitening bones of the butchered farmer, strewn
along the fields of his homestead, answer; let the starving mother, with
the babe clinging to the withered breast, that can afford no sustenance,
let her answer; with the death-rattle mingling with the murmuring tones
that mark the last struggle for life--let the dying mother and her babe
answer!

'It was but a day past and our land slept in peace. War was not
here--wrong was not here. Fraud, and woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not
among us. From the eternal solitude of the green woods arose the blue
smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden fields of corn looked forth
from amid the waste of the wilderness, and the glad music of human
voices awoke the silence of the forest.

'Now! God of mercy, behold the change! Under the shadow of a
pretext--under the sanctity of the name of God--invoking the Redeemer to
their aid, do these foreign hirelings slay our people! They throng our
towns; they darken our plains; and now they encompass our posts on the
lonely plain of Chadd's Ford.

"The effect was electric. The keen eye of the in-trepid Wayne flashed
fire. The neighboring sentinels, who had paused to listen, quickened
their pace, with a proud tread and a nervous feeling, impatient for
vengeance on the vandal foe.

"Gathering strength once more, he checked the choking sensations his own
recital had caused, and continued:

"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'

"Brethren, think me not unworthy of belief, when I tell you that the
doom of the Britisher is near! Think me not vain, when I tell you that
beyond the cloud that now enshrouds us, I see gathering, thick and fast,
the darker cloud and the blacker storm of a Divine retribution!

'They may conquer us on the morrow! Might and wrong may prevail, and we
may be driven from this field--but the hour of God's own vengeance will
surely come!

'Ay, if in the vast solitudes of eternal space, if in the heart of the
boundless universe, there throbs the being of an awful God, quick
to avenge, and sure to punish guilt, then will the man, George of
Brunswick, called king, feel in his brain and in his heart the vengeance
of the Eternal Jehovah! A blight will be upon his life--a withered
brain, an accurst intellect; a blight will be upon his children, and on
his people. Great God! how dread the punishment!

'A crowded populace, peopling the dense towns where the man of money
thrives, while the labourer starves; want striding among the people
in all its forms of terror; an ignorant and God-defying priesthood
chuckling over the miseries of millions; a proud and merciless nobility
adding wrong to wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery and fraud;
royalty corrupt to the very heart; aristocracy rotten to the core; crime
and want linked hand in hand, and tempting men to deeds of woe and
death--these are a part of the doom and the retribution that shall come
upon the English throne and the English people!'

"This was pronounced with a voice of such power, that its tones might
have reached almost to the Briton's camp, and struck upon the ear of
Howe as the prophetic inspiration of one whose keen eye had read from
the dark tablets of futurity.

"Looking around upon the officers, he perceived that Washington and
Lafayette had half risen from their seats, and were gazing spell-bound
at him, as if to drink in every word he uttered.

"Taking advantage of the pervading feeling, he went on:--

"'Soldiers--I look around upon your familiar faces with a strange
interest! To-morrow morning we will all go forth to battle--for need I
tell you that your unworthy minister will march with you, invoking God's
aid in the fight?--we will march forth to battle! Need I exhort you to
fight the good fight, to fight for your homesteads, and for your wives
and children?

'My friends, I might urge you to fight, by the galling memories of
British wrong! Walton--I might tell you of your father butchered in the
silence of midnight on the plains of Trenton; I might picture his grey
hairs dabbled in blood; I might ring his death-shriek in your ears.
Shelmire--I might tell you of a mother butchered, and a sister
outraged--the lonely farm-house, the night assault, the roof in flames,
the shouts of the troopers, as they despatch their victim, the cries
for mercy, the pleadings of innocence for pity. I might paint this all
again, in the terrible colors of the vivid reality, if I thought your
courage needed such wild excitement.

'But I know you are strong in the might of the Lord. You will forth to
battle on the morrow with light hearts and determined spirits, though
the solemn duty--the duty of avenging the dead--may rest heavy on your
souls.

'And in the hour of battle, when all around is darkness, lit by the
lurid cannon glare and the piercing musket flash--when the wounded strew
the ground, and the dead litter your path--then remember, soldiers, that
God is with you. The eternal God fights for you--He rides on the battle
cloud, He sweeps onward with the march of the hurricane charge--God, the
Awful and the Infinite, fights for you, and you will triumph.'

"Roused by this manly and pathetic appeal, a low murmur ran from man
to man, as a heartfelt response; and the chieftains who were near the
speaker, felt proud and happy in the command of such true hearts and
tried blades. But darkness was enveloping all, and he hastened to
conclude.

"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'

'You have taken the sword, but not in the spirit of wrong and ravage.
You have taken the sword for your homes, for your wives, for your little
ones. You have taken the sword for truth, for justice and right, and to
you the promise is, Be of good cheer, for your foes have taken the sword
in defiance of all that man holds dear, in blasphemy of God--they shall
_perish by the sword_.

'And now, brethren and soldiers, I bid you all farewell. Many of us may
fall in the fight of to-morrow--God rest the souls of the fallen; many
of us may live to tell the story of the fight of to-morrow; and, in
the memory of all, will ever rest and linger the quiet scene of this
autumnal night.

'Solemn twilight advances over the valley; the woods on the opposite
heights fling their long shadows over the green of the meadow; around
us are the tents of the continental host, the suppressed bustle of the
camp, the hurried tramp of the soldiers to and fro among the tents, the
stillness and silence that marks the eve of battle.

'When we meet again, may the long shadows of twilight be flung over a
peaceful land.

'God in heaven grant it.'

"And now the last ray of lingering light had departed, and they were
left in darkness. Presuming it proper to dismiss his auditors, he
proposed a parting prayer, and immediately every head was uncovered and
bowed in reverence, while, with outstretched hands, that sincere old man
in the homespun garb thus addressed the throne of grace.

"'Great Father, we bow before thee. We invoke thy blessing, we deprecate
thy wrath, we return thee thanks for the past, we ask thy aid for the
future. For we are in times of trouble, oh, Lord! and sore beset by
foes, merciless and unpitying; the sword gleams over our land, and
the dust of the soil is dampened with the blood of our neighbors and
friends.

'Oh! God of mercy, we pray thy blessing on the American arms. Make the
man of our hearts strong in thy wisdom; bless, we beseech, with renewed
life and strength, our hope and thy instrument, even GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Shower thy counsels on the honorable, the Continental Congress.
Visit the tents of our host; comfort the soldier in his wounds and
afflictions; nerve him for the hour of fight; prepare him for the hour
of death.

'And in the hour of defeat, oh, God of Hosts, do thou be our stay; and
in the hour of triumph be thou our guide.

'Teach us to be merciful. Though the memory of galling wrongs be at our
hearts, knocking for admittance, that they may fill us with desires for
revenge, yet let us, oh, Lord, spare the vanquished, though they never
spared us in their hour of butchery and bloodshed. And, in the hour of
death, do thou guide us into the abode prepared for the blest; so shall
we return thanks unto thee, through Christ, our Redeemer.--GOD PROSPER
THE CAUSE.--_Amen_"

During the recital of this interesting and thrilling incident of the
Revolution, the veterans--even Higgins, too--laid down their knives
and forks, and listened as if carried back to the memorable eve of the
battle of Brandywine, and filled with the hopes and fears of the period.
At its conclusion, they expressed their approbation of the manner of the
recital, and the beauty of the sermon.

"That minister was one of the kind that I like," said Wilson. "He could
preach peace as long as peace was wise, and buckle on his armor and
fight when it became his duty."

"Mr. Harmer handles his pen well," remarked Morton, "but such an
incident would make any pen write well of itself. There's fire in it."

"Yes, a whole heap of fire," put in Mrs. Harmar, who thought she must
make a remark, as she had been quieting the children while the latter
part of the sermon and the remarks upon it were listened to by the
others.

"But the Lord didn't assist us much in that next day's battle," said old
Harmar. "We had hard fighting, and then were compelled to retreat."

"It was all for the best," said Wilson. "We shouldn't have known our
enemies nor ourselves without losing that battle. The harder the
struggle for liberty, the more we enjoy it when won."

"That's true," said young Harmar, "The freedom dearest bought is highest
prized, and Americans have learned the value of that inestimable gem."

The dinner was, by this time, pretty well disposed of, and the party
adjourned to the large parlor, where they were soon comfortable seated.
Mrs. Harmar would make one of the company, and the children would force
their way in to see and hear the "sogers." The windows were up, and the
gentle breeze of summer blew softly through the parlor, thus relieving
the otherwise oppressive atmosphere.

But we must introduce the company to the reader. Old Hannar was seated
on one end of the sofa, with one of the small children on his knee. He
was a stout, hearty-looking man of about seventy, with silvery hair,
and a face much embrowned by exposure and furrowed by time. The general
expression of his features was a hearty good humor, as if perfectly
satisfied with things around. On the other end of the sofa sat Mr.
Higgins, a thin, small-featured, bald-headed man, looking much older
than old Mr. Harmar. On the opposite sofa sat Mr. Morton and Mr. Wilson.
The first was a large-bodied, full-faced man, slightly bald, with a scar
across his forehead, from the right eye to the left side of his head.
His appearance bespoke an active life, and a strong constitution; and
his eye yet beamed with intelligence. Mr. Wilson was evidently about
seventy-five, with a long, lank face, tall figure, and head scantily
covered with grey hair. Mr. Smith sat in an easy arm-chair. His
appearance was much the same as that of Mr. Higgins, though his face
expressed more intelligence. He had a troublesome cough, and was
evidently very weak. Mr. Jackson Harmar sat on a chair next to his
father. He was about thirty-five, rather short and thin, with long brown
hair, wild, blue eyes, in a "fine frenzy rolling," and a very literary
appearance generally. Mrs. Harraar sat near her husband, with two very
mischievous little boys, apparently about six and eight years of age, by
her side. She had a childish face, but might have been thought pretty by
a loving and indulgent husband.


STORY OF THE PRAYER.

"There is only one other scene during the struggle for our country's
right," said young Harmar, "which I would compare with the one I have
just narrated; and that is the scene in Congress--the old Continental
Congress--during the first prayer by the Rev. Mr. Duche."

"I've heard something of that prayer," said Morton, "since the
Revolution, but nothing that I could depend on."

"An account of the scene is given by John Adams, who was a chief actor
in it," said young Harmar.

"Old John Adams?" enquired Higgins. "He was the man! He was the
Washington of our politics during the war. He was the man!" and Higgins
rubbed his hands together.

"Thomas Jefferson, take your foot off your brother's, and quit pinching
him," interrupted Mrs. Harmar.

"I have Mr. Adams' account of that first prayer and its effects," said
young Harmar, "and here it is." So saying, he pulled from his pocket a
paper into which the account had been copied, and read:--

"'When the Congress met, Mr. Gushing made a motion that it should be
opened with prayer. It was opposed by Mr. Jay, of New York, and Mr.
Rutledge, of South Carolina, because we were so divided in our religious
sentiments, some Episcopalians, some Quakers, some Anabaptists, some
Presbyterians, and some Congregationalists, that we could not join in
the same act of worship. Mr. Samuel Adams arose and said, 'that he was
no bigot, and could hear a prayer from any gentleman of piety, and who
was, at the same time, a friend of his country. He was a stranger in
Philadelphia, but had heard that Mr. Duche (Dushay they pronounced it)
deserved that character, and therefore he moved that Mr. Duche, an
Episcopal clergyman, might be desired to read prayers to the Congress
to-morrow morning.' The motion was seconded, and passed in the
affirmative.--Mr. Randolph, our President, waited on Mr. Duche, and
received for answer, that if his health would permit he certainly would.
Accordingly, next morning he appeared with his clerk, and, in his
pontificals, read several prayers in the established form, and then read
the collect for the seventh day of September, which was the thirty-fifth
psalm. You must remember, this was the next morning after we had heard
the rumor of the horrible cannonade of Boston. _It seemed as if Heaven
had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning_.

"'After this, Mr. Duche, unexpectedly to every body, struck out into an
extemporary prayer which filled the bosom of every man present. I must
confess I never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced.
Episcopalian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor,
such correctness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime, for
America, for Congress, for the province of Massachusetts Bay, especially
the town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon every body here.
I must beg you to read that psalm. If there is any faith in the sortes
Virgilianę, or sortes Homericę, or especially the sortes Biblicę, it
would be thought providential.'

"The thirty-fifth psalm was indeed appropriate to the news received, and
the exigencies of the times. It commences:--

"'Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that fight against me.

'Take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for my help.

'Draw out also the spear, and stop the way against them that persecute
me: say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.'

"What a subject for contemplation does this picture present. The
forty-four members of the first Congress, in their Hall, all bent before
the mercy-seat, and asking Him that their enemies 'might be as chaff
before the wind.' WASHINGTON was kneeling there; and Henry and Randolph,
and Rutledge, and Lee, and Jay; and by their side there stood, bowed in
reverence, the Puritan patriots of New England, who, at that moment,
had reason to believe that an armed soldiery was wasting their humble
households. It was believed that Boston had been bombarded and
destroyed. They prayed fervently 'for America, for the Congress, for the
province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially for the town of Boston;'
and who can realize the emotion with which they turned imploringly to
Heaven for divine interposition and aid? 'It was enough to melt a heart
of stone. I saw the tears gush into the eyes of the old, grave Quakers
of Philadelphia.'"

"Yes," said Wilson, when young Harmar had concluded, "that was a scene
equal, at least, to the one on the eve of Brandywine: how finely old
John Adams speaks about it!"

"That Dr. Duche forgot his connexion with the Church of England, and
only thought of his country," remarked Morton. "He was a good man."

"Yes; and he prayed in the presence of as good a set of men as was ever
assembled together," added Smith. "Them was men--those Congressmen. They
didn't get eight dollars a day for making speeches."

"No," put in Higgins, "but they earned a great deal more. Some of 'em
lost all the property they had, during the war."

"The spirit which animated our countrymen at that period was the noblest
which could prompt the deeds of men," said young Harmar, growing quite
eloquent. "From the men who emptied the tea into Boston harbor, to the
statesman of the Continental Congress, all were filled with patriotism,
and that's the most unselfish of human motives."


STORY OF LYDIA DARRAGH.

"Mrs. Harmar, your sex nobly maintained their reputation for devotion
and patriotism during the Revolution," said Wilson. "Did you ever hear
how a Quaker lady, named Lydia Darragh, saved the army under Washington
from being surprised?"

"No, never," replied Mrs. Harmar.

"No! Then, as a Philadelphia lady, you should know about it," said
Wilson.

"The superior officers of the British army were accustomed to hold their
consultations on all subjects of importance at the house of William and
Lydia Darragh, members of the Society of Friends, immediately opposite
to the quarters of the commander-in-chief, in Second street. It was
in December, in the year that they occupied the city, that the
adjutant-general of the army desired Lydia to have an apartment prepared
for himself and friends, and to order her family early to bed; adding,
when ready to depart, 'Notice shall be given to you to let us out, and
to extinguish the fire and candles.' The manner of delivering this
order, especially that part of it which commanded the early retirement
of her family, strongly excited Lydia's curiosity, and determined her,
if possible, to discover the mystery of their meeting. Approaching
without shoes the room in which the conference was held, and placing her
ear to the keyhole, she heard the order read for the troops to quit the
city on the night of the 4th, to attack the American army encamped at
White Marsh. Returning immediately to her room, she laid herself down,
but, in a little while, a loud knocking at the door, which for some time
she pretended not to hear, proclaimed the intention of the party to
retire. Having let them out, she again sought her bed, but not to sleep;
the agitation of her mind prevented it. She thought only of the dangers
that threatened the lives of thousands of her countrymen, and believing
it to be in her power to avert the evil, determined, at all hazards, to
apprize General Washington of his danger. Telling her husband, at early
dawn, that flour was wanting for domestic purposes, and that she should
go to Frankford to obtain it, she repaired to headquarters, got access
to General Howe, and obtained permission to pass the British lines.
Leaving her bag at the mill, Lydia now pressed forward towards the
American army, and meeting Captain Allen M'Lean, an officer, from his
superior intelligence and activity, selected by General Washington to
gain intelligence, discovered to him the important secret, obtaining
his promise not to jeopardize her safety by telling from whom he
had obtained it. Captain M'Lean, with all speed, informed the
commander-in-chief of his danger, who, of course, took every necessary
step to baffle the contemplated enterprize, and to show the enemy that
he was prepared to receive them. Lydia returned home with her flour,
secretly watched the movements of the British, and saw them depart. Her
anxiety during their absence was excessive, nor was it lessened when, on
their return, the adjutant-general, summoning her to his apartment and
locking the door with an air of mystery, demanded 'Whether any of the
family were up on the night that he had received company at her house?'
She told him, that, without an exception, they had all retired at eight
o'clock. 'You, I know, Lydia, were asleep, for I knocked at your door
three times before you heard me, yet, although I am at a loss to
conceive who gave the information of our intended attack to General
Washington, it is certain we were betrayed; for, on arriving near his
encampment, we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, and at
every point so perfectly prepared to receive us, that we were compelled,
like fools, to make a retrograde movement, without inflicting on our
enemy any manner of injury whatever.'"

"Ha! ha! a neat stratagem, and a patriotic woman," exclaimed young
Harmar.

"Talking of the services of the women during the war," said Higgins,
"reminds me of Molly Macauly, or Sergeant Macauly, as we knew her while
in the army. She was a Pennsylvanian, and was so enthusiastic in her
patriotism, that she donned a man's dress, and joined the army, when she
became a sergeant, and fought bravely in several battles and skirmishes.
Nobody suspected that she was not what she seemed to be; for she was
tall, stout, and rough-looking, and associated with men very freely.
Molly had a custom of swinging her sabre over her head, and hurraing for
Mad Anthony, as she called General Wayne. She was wounded at Brandywine,
and, her sex being discovered, returned home."

"She was not the only woman in disguise in the army," said old Harmar.
"There was Elizabeth Canning, who was at Fort Washington, and, when her
husband was killed, took his place at the gun, loading, priming, and
firing with good effect, till she was wounded in the breast by a
grape-shot. While our army lay at Valley Forge, several Pennsylvania
women were detected in disguise, enduring all kinds of want, and with
less murmuring than the men themselves. Oh, yes! the women were all
right in those days, however they may have degenerated since."

"Come, no slander on the women of the present day," said Mrs. Harmar.
"I've no doubt, take them all in all; they will not suffer in comparison
with those of any age."

"Bravo! Mrs. Harmar," exclaimed Wilson.

"Women, now, are ready enough with disguises," remarked young Harmar.

"To be sure!" replied his wife, "and always were."


THE DEAD MAN'S LAKE.

"Mr. Smith, can't we have a leaf from your experience in those trying
times?" said old Harmar.

"Ah! sir, I would have much to tell if I had time to collect my
memory--much to tell, sir. But though I saw a great deal in the
Revolution, I heard much more."

"Tell us anything to pass time," said young Harmar. "I've heard my
father speak of some bold exploits up in the vicinity of New York. The
history of the Cowboys and Skinners always interested me."

"Ah! I've heard many a story of them," replied Smith. "I'll tell you of
one old Jack Hanson told me--you recollect old Jack, don't you, Harmar?
He was with us at Valley Forge."

"That I do," replied old Harmer. "He gave me a piece of his blanket, and
an old shoe, when I believe I was freezing to death."

"Yes, he was ever a good-hearted fellow--Jack Hanson was. He's been dead
now about ten years. Well, as I was saying, he told me a story about
those Cowboys and Skinners which will bear telling again."

"It happened when the British were in possession of the city of New
York. Many brave men did all that could be done to destroy the power and
comfort of the king's representatives, and alarm them for their personal
safety; and, to the greater part of them, the neighboring county of West
Chester furnished both the home, and a theatre of action. Their system
of warfare partook of the semi-savage and partisan predatory character,
and many fierce and desperate encounters took place between them and the
outlawed hordes of desperadoes in the pay of the British.

"The refugees, banded together for the purpose of preying upon
the patriots, and then retreating behind the shelter of the royal
fortifications, were composed of the vilest miscreants that could be
gathered from the dregs of any community, and were generally known by
the slang name of 'Skinners.'

"To oppose these desperadoes, and protect their lives and property from
insult, many of the whigs had united in small parties, and were styled
by the Skinners, in derision, the 'Cow-boys.' One of the most active and
energetic of these bands, ever ready for any species of patriotic duty,
was led by Nicholas Odell. Nick, as he was familiarly termed, though
entirely uneducated, was one of the shrewdest men to be found; for
Nature had gifted him where cultivation was wanting, and he became, in
consequence, a most formidable and dangerous enemy in the service he had
chosen. But fifty men composed his entire force, and with these he did
his country much service, and the enemy no little mischief.

"The line of the Bronx River was the route always kept in view by Nick
and his men; and, at six several points, places of rendezvous were
established, at which they were generally to be found when off duty,
which was, indeed, seldom the case.

"One of these places was on the banks of that stream, where the water
was so wide and deep as to render it perilous for any but an expert and
experienced swimmer to attempt its passage, and always placid, with a
sort of oily surface looking like the backed waters of a mill-pond. The
banks were covered with a thick undergrowth of vines, saplings, and
trees in abundance, so that autumn did not, by taking away the leaves,
expose the spot to the observation of the passer-by. Here a rude board
shanty had been knocked up in a hurry, and was used to shelter the men
from the intense cold of the winter nights. This episode in the stream
Nick had named 'Dead Man's Lake,' in consequence of finding on its
banks the body of a man who had been murdered and mutilated by his old
enemies, the Skinners.

"One evening, in the depth of winter, Nick, who had been a long distance
above White Plains, hastened back to the lake in order to intercept
a body of Skinners, on their way from Connecticut to the city, with
considerable booty taken from the inhabitants in the vicinity of the
Sound. They numbered about eighty, under the control of a petty Scotch
officer named McPherson. Nick had contrived to gain intelligence of
their movements and access to their party, by means of John Valentine,
one of his own scouts, who, by his direction, had met and joined the
tories with a specious tale, and promised to lead them through the
country so securely that none of the prowling rebels should encounter
them.

"Previous to John's starting on his perilous adventure, it was agreed
that Nick, with all his men, should remain the whole night in question
concealed at the lake, without entering the hut. John was then to bring
the refugees to the spot, shelter them in the hut, and, at a favorable
moment, he would sing out, 'Hurrah for Gin'ral Washington, and down with
the red-coats!' when the Cow-boys were to rush in, and take them by
surprise.

"Having reached the lake about nine o'clock in the evening, Nick
proceeded to devise a plan for concealment, for he expected to wait
several hours. The cold was intense, and, like all the servants
of Congress, Nick and his men were but ill prepared to resist the
inclemency of the weather.

"Nick was in perplexity; no plan could be devised with satisfaction to
the majority, and they stood in absolute danger of perishing with cold.
The debate on the subject was still in progress, when heavy flakes
of snow began to fall briskly, with promising appearances of a long
continuance. 'Good!' said Nick, half in soliloquy, as he viewed the
feathery element, and a new idea seemed to strike him, 'I have hit it at
last. Boys, no grumblin' or skulkin' now, for I won't have it. You must
do as I am goin' to order, or we part company.'

"So saying, he directed the whole of his men to enter a swamp meadow
which was behind the shanty, and had been rendered hard and porous by
the weather. Here he directed them to spread their blankets, and lie
down with the locks of their muskets between their knees, and the muzzle
protected by a wooden stopper kept for the purpose. Nick enforced this
command with an explanation of its advantages: the snow being dry, and
not subject to drift, would soon cover them, keeping them quite warm,
and would also conceal them at their ease. The porous quality of the
ground would enable them to distinguish the distant approach of the
enemy, and therefore they could snatch a few moments sleep in the snow.
To prevent its being fatal or injurious, he made each man, previous to
lying down, drink freely of rye whiskey. Four long hours elapsed, by
which time the hardy patriots were completely under the snow, being
covered with nearly eight inches of it.

"The keenest eye, or acutest cunning, could not have detected in those
undulating hillocks aught but the natural irregularities of swampy
ground.

"At length, about two o'clock in the morning, John arrived with his
_devoted_ followers. They were right thankful for the shelter of the
shanty, and McPherson swore he would report John's generous conduct at
head-quarters, and procure him a deserved reward.

"'Wait,' said John; '_I have not done the half that I intend to do for
you_.'

"Nick, whose _bed_ was nearest the hovel, now arose, and placed himself
against it, that he might be ready to act when John's signal was given.
He first, however, awoke his men, without permitting them to rise, by
the summary process of slightly pricking each one with the sharp point
of a bayonet.

"The tories, stowed like sheep in the little hut, soon began to drink,
and, as they did so, became very valorous and boastful. McPherson,
singularly communicative to John, detailed his atrocities on the route
with savage exultation. He feared no assault--not he! He was strong
enough to repel any handful of half-starved, skulking outlaws. If he
caught any of the Cow-boys he would hang them to their own trees, and
manure the soil with the blood of their women.

"John had crept to the door by degrees, and now stood with his hand upon
the raised latchet. He applauded the officer's remarks, and was willing,
he said, to aid him in the deed he contemplated. He then proposed
a toast, and, filling a tin-cup with liquor, said in a loud voice,
'_Hurrah for Ginral Washington, and down with the red-coats_!' The
liquor was dashed in McPherson's face, and John vanished from the hut.
Nick immediately summoned his men by a repetition of the toast, and the
fifty hillocks of snow were suddenly changed, as if by magic, into as
many armed and furious 'rebels.' Before the Skinners could recover from
the momentary surprise into which this curious incident had thrown them,
a volley of powder and shot had been fired into their midst. Dashing
like a frightened hare through the open door, McPherson beheld his
assailants. His fears magnified their numbers, and, conceiving there was
no hope in _fight_, he summoned his men to follow him in _flight_.

"They madly rushed after him, and forcing their way through the dry
limbs of brush that stuck up on the banks of the lake, gained the frozen
surface. More than one half their number had taken this course, while
the rest had either fallen victims to the first fire, or taken to their
heels towards the main road. Suddenly a terrible crash was heard,
accompanied by a splash, and a hubbub of unearthly screams. The ice
had broken, and 'Dead Man's Lake' was accomplishing a victory for the
handful of American patriots who stood upon its banks.

"The result was, that over twenty of the Skinners were taken prisoners.
Only half-a-dozen were killed by fire-arms. The lake was examined at
sunrise, and fifteen bodies were drawn from its remorseless bosom. The
remainder, McPherson among them, escaped."

"That Nick Odell was nearly equal to old Nick himself in stratagems,"
said Wilson, when Smith had concluded.

"It's a wonder the men didn't freeze to death under the snow," said
Morton. "I think I should have been opposed to trying such a way of
disposing of myself."

"Oh! there 's no doubt about its keeping you warm," said old Harmar.

"How can cold snow keep men warm?" enquired Thomas Jefferson Harmar.

"I suppose," answered Higgins, "that it's much like blowing your warm
breath on anything hot to cool it."

As nobody seemed disposed to contradict this explanation, old Higgins
took it for granted that he was correct; and Thomas Jefferson was
satisfied.

[Illustration: DEFEAT OF THE SKINNERS AT DEADMAN'S LAKE.]


[Illustration: THE STORY OF THE HALF-BREED.]

STORY OF THE HALF-BREED.

"Now," said young Harmar, who, as a literary gentleman, was anxious to
collect as many incidents of the Revolution as he could from these old
men; "now, Mr. Higgins, you must oblige us by recalling something of
your experience."

"Ah!" replied Higgins, "if I could tell in words a small part of what I
know of the war, I'm sure I could interest you."

"We are not critical," said old Harmar. "Jackson may think of his
bookish notions sometimes; but he knows what kind of old men we are.
Narrate anything that comes uppermost."

"Well," commenced Higgins, "I'll tell you about an adventure of a
friend of mine, named Humphries, with a half-breed--that's horribly
interesting--if I can only recollect it." And, after a short pause, to
let his old memory bring up the incidents from the far past, Higgins
told the following story of revenge.

"In the country around Saratoga, when General Gates lay encamped there,
lived a half-breed Indian, called Blonay. He was well known in the
neighborhood as a fierce and outlawed character, who wandered and
skulked from place to place, sometimes pretending to be for the
Americans, and, at others, for the tories. He went anywhere, and did
everything to serve his own ends; but his whole life, and all his
actions, seemed centred in one darling object, and that was revenge.
He had deeply and fearfully sworn never to rest until he had drawn the
heart's blood of Humphries, a member of Morgan's corps, and his greatest
enemy. They had been mortal foes from boyhood, and a blow Humphries had
given Blonay had fixed their hatred for life. He had pursued him from
place to place with untiring vigilance, and had watched, day after day,
and month after month, for an opportunity to glut his revenge, but none
offered.

"One morning, Humphries and a comrade named Davis, with a negro servant
belonging to Marion's band, were standing on a small hill near the
encampment, when a strange dog suddenly appeared through the bushes, at
the sight of which Humphries seized his rifle, and raised it to his eye,
as if about to fire. The black was about to express his surprise at this
sudden ferocity of manner, when, noticing that the dog was quiet, he
lowered the weapon, and, pointing to the animal, asked Davis if he knew
it. 'I do; but can't say where I've seen him,' replied the other. 'And
what do you say, Tom?' he asked of the black, in tones that startled
him. 'Don't _you_ know that dog?' 'He face berry familiar, massa, but I
loss to recollect.' 'That's the cur of Blonay, and the bear-eyed rascal
must be in the neighborhood.' 'Do you think so?' inquired Davis. 'Think
so! I know so; and why should he be here if his master was not?' 'Tom,'
he continued, 'hit the critter a smart blow with your stick--hard enough
to scare him off, but not to hurt him; and do you move to the edge of
the creek, Davis, as soon as the dog runs off, for his master must be in
that direction, and I want to see him.'

"Thus ordering, he called two of the riflemen that were near, and sent
them on the path directly opposite to that taken by Davis. He himself
prepared to strike the creek at a point between these two. He then made
a signal, and Tom gave the dog a heavy blow, which sent him howling into
the swamp, taking, as they had expected, the very path he came. Blonay,
however, was not to be caught napping. He left the point from which
he was watching the camp, and running in a line for some fifty yards,
turned suddenly about for the point at which he had entered the swamp.
But he could not but have some doubts as to the adequacy of his
concealment. He cursed the keen scent of the dog, which he feared would
too quickly discover him to his pursuers. He hurried on, therefore,
taking the water at every chance, to leave as small a trail as possible;
but, from place to place, the cur kept after him, giving forth an
occasional yelp. 'Aroint the pup! there's no losin' him. If I had my
hand on him, I should knife him as my best caution,' exclaimed the
half-breed, as the bark of the dog, in making a new trail, showed the
success with which he pursued him. Exasperated, he rose upon a stump,
and saw the head of Humphries, who was still pressing on, led by the
cries of the dog.

"'I can hit him now,' muttered Blonay. 'It's not two hundred yards, and
I've hit a smaller mark than that at a greater distance, before now.'

"He raised the rifle and brought the sight to his eye, and would have
fired, but the next minute Humphries was covered by a tree. The dog came
on, and Blonay heard the voices of his pursuers behind; and just then
the dog reached him.

"The faithful animal, little knowing the danger into which he had
brought his master, leaped fondly upon him, testifying his joy by
yelping with his greatest vocal powers.

"With a hearty curse, Blonay grasped the dog by the back of the neck,
and, drawing the skin tightly across the throat, quickly passed the keen
edge of his knife but once over it, and then thrust the body from him.
Sheathing the knife and seizing his rifle, he again set forward, and did
not stop till he gained a small but thick under-brush. His pursuers
now came up to the dead body of the dog; seeing which, they considered
further pursuit hopeless.

"At this moment, sounds of a trumpet came from the camp, as the signal
to return. Humphries told the others to obey its summons, but avowed his
determination of pursuing Blonay until he or the other had fallen. After
they had left him, he again set forward, and walked very fast in the
direction he supposed his enemy had taken, and had not proceeded far ere
he saw his track in the mud, which he followed until it was lost among
the leaves. Darkness coming on, he gave up the chase until the next
morning. That night both slept in the swamp, not more than two hundred
yards apart, but unconscious of each other's locality. In the morning,
Humphries was the first to awake. Descending from the tree where he had
slept, he carefully looked around, thinking what he should do next.
While he thus stood, a slight noise reached his ears, sounding like
the friction of bark; a repetition of it showed where it came from. He
glanced at an old cypress which stood in the water near him, and saw
that its trunk was hollow, but did not look as if it would hold a man.
On a sudden, something prompted him to look upward, and, in the quick
glance he gave, the glare of a wild and well-known eye, peeping out upon
him from its woody retreat, met his gaze. With a howl of delight, he
raised his rifle, and the drop of the deadly instrument fell upon the
aperture; but before he could draw the trigger the object was gone. It
was Blonay, who, the moment he perceived the aim of Humphries' piece,
sank into the body of the tree.

"'Come out and meet your enemy like a man!' exclaimed Humphries, 'and
don't crawl, like a snake, into a hollow tree, and wait for his heel.
Come out, you skunk! You shall have fair fight, and your own distance.
It shall be the quickest fire that shall make the difference of chances
between us. Come out, if you're a man!' Thus he raved at him; but a
fiendish laugh was the only answer he got. He next tried to cut his legs
with his knife, by piercing the bark; but a bend of the tree, on which
Blonay rested, prevented him. He then selected from some fallen limbs
one of the largest, which he carried to the tree and thrust into the
hollow, trying to wedge it between the inner knobs on which the feet of
the half-breed evidently were placed. But Blonay soon became aware of
his design, and opposed it with a desperate effort. Baffled for a long
time by his enemy, Humphries became enraged, and, seizing upon a jagged
knot of light wood, he thrust it against one of the legs of Blonay.
Using another heavy knot as a mallet, he drove the wedge forward against
the yielding flesh, which became awfully torn and lacerated by the sharp
edges of the wood. Under the severe pain, the feet were drawn up, and
Humphries was suffered to proceed with his original design. The poor
wretch, thus doomed to be buried alive, was now willing to come to any
terms, and agreed to accept the offer to fight; but Humphries refused
him, exclaiming, 'No, you don't, you cowardly skunk! you shall die in
your hole, like a varmint as you are; and the tree which has been your
house shall be your coffin. There you shall stay, if hard chunks and
solid wood can keep you, until your yellow flesh rots away from your
bones. You shall stay there until the lightning rips open your coffin,
or the autumn winds tumble you into the swamp.' So saying, he left him,
and went back to the camp--left him to die in the old woods, where
no help could ever come; and in this wild and awful manner--buried
alive--perished the savage half-breed."

"That was an awful death, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Harmar. "That
Humphries must have been a very disagreeable fellow."

"And why so?" enquired Higgins. "The men in those parts of the country
were forced to be as fierce as their foes. Humphries was one of the
cleverest fellows I ever knew."

"A man after your own heart," remarked Smith. "A warm friend and a warm
foe. I know you, Higgins."

"You should know me, Smith, or no man should," replied Higgins,
evidently profoundly satisfied with himself.

"Many a time have we messed together," added Smith; "ay, and many a time
have we hunted in company for the food we made a mess of."

"Those times are gone," said old Harmar mournfully. "Those times are
gone."

"I wonder where?" put in Mrs. Harmar's youngest, looking up in her face
for an answer. She smoothed his hair, and shook her head.


STORY OF THE DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE.

"Speaking of awful deaths," said Morton, "reminds me of a scene I
witnessed at Saratoga, which I may as well tell you about, as young
Mr. Harmar seems anxious to hear anything relating to the war of
independence. You know there was an unconscionable number of tories up
there in New York State about the time of Burgoyne's invasion. Some of
them were honest, good sort of men, who didn't happen to think just as
we did: they kept at home, and did not lift their arms against us during
the war, though some of them were pretty hardly used by their whig
neighbors. Another set of the tories, however, acted upon the maxim that
'might makes right.' They were whigs when the royal power was weak, and
tories when they found it strong. Though raised in the same neighborhood
with the staunch whigs, these men turned robbers and murderers, and lost
all virtuous and manly feelings. Colonel Tom Lovelace was one of this
class: He was born and raised in the Saratoga district, and yet his old
neighbors dreaded him almost as much as if he had been one of the fierce
Senecas. When the war commenced, Lovelace went to Canada, and there
confederated with five men from his own district, to come down to
Saratoga, and kill, rob, or betray his old neighbors and friends.
There's no denying Lovelace was a bold, wary, and cunning fellow, and
he made the worst use of his qualities. He fixed his quarters in a
large swamp, about five miles from the residence of Colonel Van Vechten,
at Dovegat, and very cunningly concealed them.

"Soon after, the robberies and captures around that neighborhood became
frequent. General Schuyler's house was robbed, and an attempt was made,
by Lovelace and his companions, to carry off Colonel Van Vechten. But
General Stark, who was in command of the barracks north of Fish Creek,
was too wide awake for him. He got wind of the scheme, and gave the
Colonel a strong guard, and so Lovelace was balked, and compelled to
give up his design. Captain Dunham, who commanded a company of militia
in the neighborhood, found out the tory colonel's place of concealment,
and he determined to attempt his capture. Accordingly, he summoned his
lieutenant, ensign, orderly, and one private, to his house; and, about
dusk, they started for the swamp, which was two miles distant. Having
separated to reconnoitre, two of them, named Green and Guiles, got lost;
but the other three kept together, and, about dawn, discovered Lovelace
and his party, in a hut covered over with boughs, just drawing on their
stockings. The three men crawled cautiously forward till near the hut,
when they sprang up with a shout, levelled their muskets, and Captain
Dunham sang out, 'Surrender, or you are all dead men!' There was no time
for parley; and the tory rascals, believing that our men were down on
them in force, came out one by one, without arms, and Dunham and his men
marched them off to General Stark's quarters. The rascals were all tried
by court-martial, as spies, traitors, and robbers; and Lovelace was
sentenced to be hung, as he was considered too dangerous to be allowed
to get loose again. He made complaint of injustice, and said he ought to
be treated as a prisoner of war; but our general could not consent to
look upon such a villain as an honorable soldier, and his sentence was
ordered to be carried into effect three days afterwards. I was then with
a company of New York volunteers, sent to reinforce General Stark, and
I was enabled to gratify my desire to witness the execution of a man I
detested. The gallows was put up on the high bluff a few miles south of
Fish Creek, near our barracks. When the day arrived, I found that our
company was on the guard to be posted near the gallows. It was a gloomy
morning, and about the time the tory colonel was marched out to the
gallows, and we were placed in position at the foot of the bluff, a
tremendous storm of wind and rain came on. It was an awful scene.
The sky seemed as black as midnight, except when the vivid sheets of
lightning glared and shot across it; and the peals of thunder were loud
and long. Lovelace knelt upon the scaffold, and the chaplain prayed with
him. I think if there was anything could change a man's heart, it must
have been the thought of dying at such a time, when God himself seemed
wrathful at the deeds of men.

"I expected to be delighted with seeing such a man hung; but I tell you,
my friends, I felt very differently when the time came, and I saw the
cruel tory kneeling on the scaffold, while the lightning seemed to be
quivering over the gallows. I turned away my head a moment, and when I
looked again, the body of Lovelace was suspended in the air, and his
spirit had gone to give its account to its God."

The account of this terrible scene had deeply interested the company;
and the animated manner of Morton impressed even the children with a
feeling of awe.

"Why didn't they postpone the hanging of the man until there was a clear
day?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Executions are never postponed on account of the weather, my dear,"
replied her husband. "It would be rather cruel than otherwise thus to
delay them."

"I've heard of that Lovelace before," remarked old Harmar. "I judged
that he was a bold villain from some of his outrages, and I think he
deserved his death."

"For my part," said Higgins, "I hated the very name of a tory so much,
during the war, that I believe I could have killed any man who dared to
speak in their defence. All that I knew or heard of were blood-thirsty
scoundrels."


STORY OF THE MURDER OF MISS M'CREA.

"If you were at Saratoga, Mr. Morton, perhaps you know something about
the murder of Miss M'Crea," said Mrs. Harmar.

"Oh, yes! I know the real facts of the case," replied Morton. "I got
them from one who was acquainted with her family. The real story is
quite different from the one we find in the histories of the war, and
which General Gates received as true."

"Then set us right upon the matter," remarked young Harmar.

"Do," added Wilson. "I've heard the story through two or three
twistings, and I'm only satisfied that the lady was killed."

"Well," commenced Morton, "what I now tell you may depend on as the
truest account you can receive. No one but Heaven and the Indians
themselves witnessed the death of the young girl; and our only evidence
of a positive nature is the declaration of those who were supposed to be
her murderers. But to the story.

"Jane M'Crea, or Jenny M'Crea, as she is more generally known, was the
daughter of a Scotch clergyman, who resided in Jersey City, opposite
New York. While living with her father, an intimacy grew up between the
daughter of a Mrs. M'Niel and Jenny. Mrs. M'Niel's husband dying, she
went to live on an estate near Fort Edward. Soon after, Mr. M'Crea died,
and Jenny went to live with her brother near the same place. There the
intimacy of former years was renewed, and Jenny spent much of her time
at the house of Mrs. M'Niel and her daughter. Near the M'Niel's lived a
family named Jones, consisting of a widow and six sons. David Jones, one
of the sons, became acquainted with Jenny, and at length this friendship
deepened into love. When the war broke out, the Jones's took the royal
side of the question; and, in the fall of 1776, David and Jonathan Jones
went to Canada, raised a company, and joined the British garrison at
Crown Point. They both afterwards attached themselves to Burgoyne's
army; David being made a lieutenant in Frazer's division. The brother
of Jenny M'Crea was a whig, and, as the British army advanced, they
prepared to set out for Albany. Mrs. M'Niel was a loyalist, and, as she
remained, Jenny remained with her, perhaps with the hope of seeing David
Jones.

"At length Jenny's brother sent her a peremptory order to join him, and
she promised to comply the next day after receiving it. On the morning
of that day, (I believe it was the 27th of July,) a black servant boy
belonging to Mrs. M'Niel discovered some Indians approaching the house,
and, giving the alarm, he ran to the fort, which was but a short
distance off. Mrs. M'Niel, Jenny, a black woman, and two children, were
in the house when the alarm was given. Mrs. M'Niel's eldest daughter was
at Argyle. The black woman seized the two children, fled through the
back door into the kitchen, and down into the cellar. Jenny and Mrs.
M'Niel followed; but the old woman was corpulent, and before they could
descend, a powerful Indian seized Mrs. M'Niel by the hair and dragged
her up. Another brought Jenny out of the cellar. But the black woman and
the children remained undiscovered. The Indians started off with the two
women on the road towards Burgoyne's camp. Having caught two horses that
were grazing, they attempted to place their prisoners upon them. Mrs.
M'Niel being too heavy to ride, two stout Indians took her by the arms,
and hurried her along, while the others, with Jenny on horseback,
proceeded by another path through the woods. The negro boy having
alarmed the garrison at the fort, a detachment was sent out to effect
a rescue. They fired several volleys at the party of Indians; and the
Indians said that a bullet intended for them mortally wounded Jenny, and
she fell from her horse; and that they then stripped her of her clothing
and scalped her, that they might obtain the reward offered for those
things by Burgoyne.

"Mrs. M'Niel said that the Indians who were hurrying her along seemed to
watch the flash of the guns, and fell down upon their faces, dragging
her down with them. When they got beyond the reach of the firing, the
Indians stript the old lady of everything except her chemise, and
in that plight carried her into the British camp. There she met her
kinsman, General Frazer, who endeavored to make her due reparation
for what she had endured. Soon after, the Indians who had been left
to bring Jenny arrived with some scalps, and Mrs. M'Niel immediately
recognised the long bright hair of the poor girl who had been murdered.
She charged the savages with the crime, but they denied it, and
explained the manner of her death. Mrs. M'Niel was compelled to believe
their story, as she knew it was more to the interest of the Indians to
bring in a prisoner than a scalp.

"It being known in camp that Lieutenant Jones was betrothed to Jenny,
some lively imagination invented the story that he had sent the Indians
to bring her to camp, and that they quarrelled, and one of them scalped
her. This story seemed to be confirmed by General Gates' letter to
Burgoyne, and soon spread all over the country, making the people
more exasperated against the British than ever. Young Jones was
horror-stricken by the death of his betrothed, and immediately offered
to resign his commission, but they would not allow him. He bought
Jenny's scalp, and then, with his brother, deserted, and fled to
Canada."

"Did you ever hear what became of him?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Yes; he was living in Canada the last time I heard of him," replied
Morton. "He never married; and, from being a lively, talkative fellow,
he became silent and melancholy."

"Poor fellow! It was enough to make a man silent and melancholy,"
remarked young Harmar. "I can imagine how I would have felt if deprived
of her I loved, in as tragical a manner." "Don't--don't mention it, my
dear!" exclaimed his wife, sensibly affected at the thought of her being
scalped.

"It was a horrible transaction," remarked Wilson; "and it had a stirring
effect upon our people. I can recollect when I first heard the story
with all its embellishments; I felt as if I could have eaten up all the
red varmints I should chance to meet."

"General Gates's version of the affair answered a good purpose," said
Higgins. "It roused our people to great exertions to defeat the designs
of a government which employed those savages."

"King George's government thought it had a right to make use of every
body--rascals and honest men--to effect its design of enslaving us; but
we taught 'em a thing or two," added Morton, with a gratified smile.


STORY OF THE DEFENCE OF SHELL'S BLOCK-HOUSE.

"I suppose," said young Harmar, "that, while you were up in New York,
you heard of many bloody affairs with the Indians and tories."

"Many a one," replied Morton. "Many a one, sir. I could interest you for
days in recounting all I saw and heard. The poor whigs suffered a great
deal from the rascals--they did. Those in Tryon county, especially, were
always exposed to the attacks of the savages. I recollect an affair that
occurred at a settlement called Shell's Bush, about five miles from
Herkimer village.

"A wealthy German, named John Shell, had built a block-house of his
own. It was two stories high, and built so as to let those inside fire
straight down on the assailants. One afternoon in August, while the
people of the settlement were generally in the fields at work, a
Scotchman named M'Donald, with about sixty Indians and tories, made an
attack on Shell's Bush. Most of the people fled to Fort Dayton, but
Shell and his family took refuge in the block-house. The father and two
sons were at work in the field when the alarm was given. The sons were
captured, but the father succeeded in reaching the block-house, which
was then besieged. Old Shell had six sons with him, and his wife loaded
the muskets, which were discharged with sure aim. This little garrison
kept their foes at a distance. M'Donald tried to burn the block-house,
but did not succeed. Furious at the prospect of being disappointed
of his expected prey, he seized a crowbar, ran up to the door, and
attempted to force it; but old Shell fired and shot him in the leg, and
then instantly opened the door and made him a prisoner. M'Donald was
well supplied with cartridges, and these he was compelled to surrender
to the garrison. The battle was now hushed for a time; and Shell,
knowing that the enemy would not attempt to burn the house while their
captain was in it, went into the second story, and began to sing the
favorite hymn of Martin Luther, when surrounded with the perils he
encountered in his controversy with the Pope."

"That was cool," remarked Higgins.

"Bravely cool," added old Harmar.

"Oh, it was necessary to be cool and brave in those times," said Morton.
"But to go on with my story; the respite was very short. The tories and
Indians were exasperated at the successful resistance of the garrison,
and rushed up to the block-house. Five of them thrust the muzzles of
their pieces through the loop-holes; but Mrs. Shell seized an axe, and,
with well-directed blows, ruined every musket by bending the barrels. At
the same time, Shell and his sons kept up a brisk fire, and drove the
enemy off. About twilight, the old man went up stairs, and called out in
a loud voice to his wife, that Captain Small was approaching from Fort
Dayton, with succor. In a few minutes, he exclaimed, 'Captain Small,
march your company round on this side of the house. Captain Getman, you
had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up on that side.'
This, you see, was a stratagem. The enemy were deceived, took to their
heels, and fled through the woods, leaving eleven men killed and six
wounded. M'Donald was taken to Fort Dayton the next day, where his leg
was amputated; but the blood flowed so freely that he died in a few
hours. On his person was found a silver-mounted tomahawk, which had
thirty-two scalp notches on the handle, to show how he had imitated the
savages."

"But what became of the two sons who were captured by the tories and
Indians?" inquired young Harmar.

"They were carried to Canada," replied Morton. "They afterwards asserted
that nine of the wounded tories died on the way. But some of the Indians
were resolved to have revenge for their defeat, and they lurked in the
woods near Shell's house. One day they found the wished-for opportunity,
and fired upon Shell and his boys while they were at work in the field.
One of the boys was killed, and Shell so badly wounded that he died soon
after, at Fort Dayton."

"Revenge seems a part of an Indian's nature," remarked young Harmar.

"Yes," said Higgins, "they will pursue one who has injured them in any
way until he has paid for it."

"Our people suffered much from them during the Revolution," added
Higgins, "and they want no instruction in regard to their character."


STORY OF BATE'S BEVENGE.

"I recollect," said old Harmar, "after our line went south, under
General Wayne, just after the surrender of Cornwallis, I met some of the
men who had passed through Green's campaign. They were the bitterest
kind of whigs--men who had seen their houses burnt over their heads, and
who could have killed and eaten all the tories they should meet. They
told me many wild stories of the black doings of those traitorous
rascals."

"Tell us one of them, won't you?" entreated Mrs. Harmar.

"Come, father, spin us one of those yarns, as the sailors say," added
her husband. The children also became clamorous for 'a story,' and the
old veteran was compelled to comply.

"Well, you shall hear. A man named Joe Bates told me how he had been
used by the enemy, and how he had been revenged. He joined the southern
army when Greene first took command of it, leaving his wife and two
children at his farm on the banks of the Santee River. His brother, John
Bates, promised to take care of the family and the farm. You see, John
used to help Marion's band whenever he could spare the time--he was so
anxious to do something for the good of his country, and he didn't know
how else he could do it than by going off on an occasional expedition
with Marion. Well, some how or other, Major Wernyss, the commander of
the royalists in the neighborhood, got wind of John's freaks, and also
of those of some other whig farmers, and he said he would put a stop
to them. So he sent a detachment of about twenty-five men to burn the
houses of the people who were suspected of being the friends of Marion.
John Bates heard of their coming, and collected about ten or a dozen
whigs to defend his house. He hadn't time to send the wife of Joe and
his children away to a safer place, or else he thought there was no
better place. However it was, they remained there. The house was barred
up, and everything fixed to give the red-coats a warm reception, should
they attempt to carry out their intention. The time they chose for it
was a moonlight night. The neighbors could see their houses burning
from the upper windows of the one where they were posted, and they kept
muttering curses and threats of vengeance all the time."

"Why didn't each man stay at home, and take care of his own house?"
enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Of what use would that have been?" returned old Harmar. "By so doing,
they could not have saved any house, and would have lost the chance
of punishing the red-coats for their outrages. I forgot to tell you,
though, that some of the farmers had brought their wives and children
to Bates', and these were all put up-stairs out of the way. The little
garrison had made loop-holes on all sides of the house, and each man had
his rifle and knife ready to guard the post at which he was stationed.
John Bates was the captain, because he knew most about such fightin'
matters; he learned it of Marion. Well, at last the garrison caught
sight of the Britishers coming up steadily, the leader a little in
advance. They didn't seem to suspect that any body was in the house, for
they had found all the rest deserted. Still they thought it wise to be
careful. They surrounded the house at their leader's command, and were
getting their things ready to set fire to it, when the garrison, who had
kept still as death all the time, blazed away at them from all sides.
This staggered the whole party; four or five of their number were shot
dead, and as many more wounded. They rallied, however, and poured a
volley into the house. The garrison, under John's command, returned the
fire, and seemed to have decidedly the best of the matter. Joe's wife
couldn't content herself up-stairs with the women and children. She
wanted to be of some use in defending her own house. She would come down
and load the guns for John, while he kept a look-out on the movements of
the British party. Well, she had just loaded the gun, and was handing it
to John, when a bullet whizzed past him, struck her in the breast, and
she fell dead. John Bates looked through the loop-hole, and caught sight
of one of the red-coats running back from the house, and fired at him
but missed. He saw the man's face, though, and remembered it. John then
bore the corpse up-stairs. The women and children shrieked at the sight,
and thus discovered to the cowardly foe where they were placed. A volley
was sent through the upper part of the house, which killed one of Joe's
children and wounded the wife of a neighbor. But the enemy were losing
men too fast to continue the attack. I think Joe said they had lost half
their party in killed and wounded, while in the house only one man was
wounded. The red-coats that were left began to move off, dragging some
of their wounded with them. Then the farmers threw open the doors and
windows, and, giving a shout of triumph, sent a volley after them that
must have done some damage."

"Didn't they start a pursuit?" inquired Higgins.

"No: John thought his party was not strong enough, and that the glory of
defeating such a party of regulars was enough for once. But several of
the wounded red-coats were taken. Some of the farmers wanted to kill
them right off, but John wouldn't let them. He said there had been blood
enough shed already, and set them at work to bury the dead. Soon after,
John went to the army, and told Joe of the attack, and of the death
of his wife and child. Joe swore, by the most sacred oaths, to have
revenge; and made John describe the appearance of the man whom he had
seen running away from the house after firing the shot that had killed
Mrs. Bates. The man had peculiar features, and could not be mistaken.

"At the great Battle of Eutaw Springs, Joe was among the troops
who charged with trailed arms. He came upon a man who answered the
description given by John, and rushed upon him with such force that he
pinned him to the ground with his bayonet, and he then drew a knife
across his throat to make sure work of it. He told me that he stopped,
amid a tremendous storm of grape and musketry, to take a look at the
Britisher, and to be sure that he had no life in him."

"What bloody creatures war can make men," remarked young Harmar. "That
man was not sure he had killed the murderer of his wife."

"It made no difference to him," replied old Harmar. "He hated the
whole set, and he had no mercy on any of them. Joe Bates was a clever
fellow--as warm a friend and as quiet a companion as you would wish to
meet in time of peace; but he hated like he loved--with all his heart,
and would go through fire and death to get at a foe."

"I believe Joe Bates' conduct was a fair specimen of that of the whole
people of those parts, at that time," said Wilson. "I've been told that
the whigs and tories had no mercy on each other."

"Not a bit," added old Harmar. "It seems to me that the fighting up here
in the North was child's play in comparison with that in the South.
Every man on the American side that went into the battle of Eutaw
Springs, was so full of courage and the desire of revenge that he was
equal to two common men. Greene had difficulty in restraining their
ardor within the limits of prudence. I heard of Colonel Henry Lee and
his legion coming up with a body of tories who were assembled to
march to the British camp, and his men would slaughter them without
mercy, in spite of his efforts to restrain them."

"It was a bloody time," remarked Smith.

"God grant that we may never see its like again," added Morton.

"Up this way," said Wilson, "the tories were quite peaceable and
respectable; and some of them were badly treated without any reason for
it. They were honest men, and differed in opinion with those who judged
the Declaration of Independence and the assumption of arms, necessary
measures."

"Yes," replied Higgins; "its all very well for men to differ in
opinion--nobody finds fault with that; its taking up arms against their
own countrymen, and opposing their country's cause, that we grumble at.
We should all adopt Commodore Decatur's motto; 'Our country--right or
wrong.' If she be right, our support cannot be refused; if wrong, we
should endeavor to set her right, and not, by refusing our support, or
by taking up arms against her, see her fall."

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Jackson Harmar. "There's the true patriotic sentiment
for you. Allow me, Mr. Higgins, to shake hands with you over that
sentiment."

The veteran patriot extended his hand, and received the hearty shake of
the patriot of another generation.


STORY OF GENERAL WAYNE

"Grandfather," said Thomas Jefferson Harmar, "wont you tell us something
about Mad Anthony Wayne?"

"Who learnt you to call him Mad Anthony Wayne?" inquired Higgins.

"That's what grandfather calls him," replied the boy.

"Yes," said old Harmar; "we always called him Mad Anthony--he was such
a dare-devil. I don't believe, if that man, when alone, had been
surrounded by foes, they could really have made him afraid."

"He was a bold and skilful general," remarked Morton. "He was equal to
Arnold in those qualities, and superior to him in all others."

"I think I can see him now, at Morristown, in the midst of the
mutineers, with his cocked pistol in his hand, attempting to enforce
orders--an action that no other man would have thought of doing under
such circumstances." "He did his duty," said Wilson; "but the men cannot
be censured for their conduct. They had received no pay for many months,
were without sufficient clothing to protect them from the weather, and
sometimes without food. If they had not been fighting for freedom and
their country's rights, they never could have stood it out."

"One of the best things Wayne ever did," said Smith, "was that manoeuvre
of his in Virginia, where the British thought they had him surely in a
net."

"What manoeuvre was that?" inquired Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"Why, you see, General Lafayette was endeavoring to avoid a general
action with Cornwallis, and yet to harass him. Early in July, 1781, the
British army marched from Williamsburg, and encamped on the banks of the
James River, so as to cover a ford leading to the island of Jamestown.
Soon after, the baggage and some of the troops passed the ford, but the
main army kept its ground. Lafayette then moved from his encampment,
crossed the Chichahominy, pushed his light troops near the British
position, and advanced with the continentals to make an attempt on the
British rear, after the main body had passed the river. The next day,
the Marquis was told that the main body of the British had crossed the
ford, and that a rear-guard only remained behind. This was what the
British general wanted him to believe, and he posted his troops ready to
receive our men. Well, General Wayne, with eight hundred men, chiefly of
the Pennsylvania line, (including Mr. Harmar, Mr. Higgins, Mr. Wilson,
and myself,) was ordered to advance against the enemy. Now, Wayne
thought he had to fight a rear-guard only, and so he moved forward
boldly and rapidly; but, in a short time, he found himself directly in
front of the whole British army, drawn up to receive him. Retreat was
impracticable, as the enemy then might have had a fair chance to kill or
capture the whole detachment. Wayne thought that the best plan was to
put on a bold face, and so he commenced the attack at once. A fierce
and bloody struggle followed, and I'm not sure but we were gaining the
advantage, when General Lafayette discovered the mistake and ordered a
retreat, and we were compelled to fall back, leaving two cannon in the
hands of the enemy. By General Wayne's presence of mind and courage, you
see, we got off with but the loss of one hundred men. The British lost
the same number."

"The Marquis was, of course, right in ordering a retreat," remarked
young Harmar.

"I suppose so," replied Smith. "Our detachment might have made
considerable havoc among the British, and, perhaps, if promptly
supported, have maintained a long and doubtful battle. But General
Lafayette wanted to save his men until a more certain contest could be
brought about. He was a very young general--younger than Napoleon when
he took command of the army of Italy; but all his movements about that
time indicated that he was as skilful and vigilant as he was brave."

"Americans should ever be grateful to the memory of such a man as
Lafayette," said old Harmar. "He was a true lover of liberty, and a
staunch friend to this land when it most needed friends."

"And that reminds me," added young Harmar, "that I've a song here, which
I wrote for one of the papers, in relation to Lafayette. It is arranged
in the measure of the feeling melody of 'Auld Lang Syne.'"

"Sing it," said Mr. Smith; and the request was echoed by the rest.
Mr. Jackson Harmar, therefore, after sundry excuses in the usual
routine--that he had a cold, &c.--sang the following words in a very
emphatic manner, with an occasional break in the high notes, and
huskiness in the low ones.

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot
  And never brought to mind?
  The friend that's true, remember'd not,
  And days of auld lang syne?
  For auld lang syne, my dear,
  We never can forget;
  When dangers press'd, and foes drew near,
  Our friend was Lafayette.

  When first our fathers bravely drew
  'Gainst tyrants and their laws,
  On wings of generous zeal he flew
  To aid the holy cause.
  For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

  He stemm'd the broad Atlantic wave;
  He vow'd they should be free;
  He led the bravest of the brave
  To death or victory.
  For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.
  Let Brandywine his glory tell,
  And Monmouth loud proclaim;
  Let York in triumph proudly swell
  The measure of his fame.
  For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

  Shall sons of freedom e'er forget,
  Till time shall cease to move,
  The debt they owe to Lafayette
  Of gratitude and love?
  For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

The song was listened to with considerable pleasure by the company, and
there was an occasional attempt, on the part of the veterans, to join in
the chorus, which, however, ended in a slight cough and shaking of the
head, as if the attempt was hopeless.

"There's good sentiment in that song," remarked Smith. "It stirs the
heart."

"Mr. Harmar, did you say the piece was your own composition?" inquired
Morton.

"It is one of my humble efforts," modestly replied Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"I'm very glad there are some young men left who can write something
else besides the love trash that's so popular," said Mr. Higgins. Old
men generally have a strong aversion or lofty contempt for everything
relating to the love matters of youth.

"Everything has its time," was the sage remark of Mr. Jackson Harmar;
"or, in the more popular phrase of Mr. Shakespeare, 'Every dog will have
his day!'"

"I should like to see patriotic songs more popular," remarked Morton;
and it is highly probable the conversation would have continued on
this subject, but Mrs. Harmar and the children kept up a constant clamor
for more stories, and old Harmar consented to amuse them and the rest of
the company with a story which, he said, he had seen in several papers,
and told in several different ways, none of which were correct. The true
circumstances he would then relate in order that his son might make a
story of it for his forthcoming work,--"Legends of the Times that tried
Men's Souls."


STORY OF THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES.

"In the fall and winter of 1776," began Mr. Harmar, "the people of New
Jersey experienced their full share of the miseries of civil war. During
no period of the Revolutionary contest did the enemy's troops act more
cruelly or more unlike civilized men. As they marched through the
Jerseys, driving our poor 'rebel' army before them, they committed all
kinds of outrages on helpless women and old men; but this conduct was
destined to recoil upon the heads of the foe. The people were roused
to resist the invaders, and the militia was organised throughout the
State--silently but surely. Our victories at Trenton and Princeton were
received as the signals for action. As the enemy retired on Brunswick,
they were followed by the exasperated farmers, and harassed terribly.
But, at the time when my story commences, the red-coats were in
quiet possession of New Jersey, from Burlington to New York. General
Washington had come over on this side of the Delaware.

"It was late in December. The weather was bitter cold, and the enemy
seldom stirred from their quarters to visit the interior of the State.
This respite would have been refreshing to the harassed farmer, if the
withdrawal of the regular troops had not left free play for the more
desperate servants of King George, or others who pretended to be such.
One of these pretenders was named Fagan. He was the leader of about
twenty ruffians as free from any particle of human feeling as himself.
There was no romance about the black character of Fagan; he was a
perfect wretch; he robbed for gain, and murdered to conceal the robbery.
The hiding-place of the band was in the pine barrens of New Jersey, and
they thence received the name of 'the pine robbers' from the people of
the country. Their violence and cruelty towards women and even children
had made them the terror of all classes. The whigs charged their doings
on the tories and refugees; but the robbers were against both parties.
They plundered a tory in the name of the continentals, and were true to
the Crown when a whig chanced to be in their power.

"Well, I'm going to tell you about one of their exploits. Not many miles
from Trenton, on the road to Bordentown, was the farm-house of Nathaniel
Collins, a Quaker, but who was not strict enough for his sect. He was
disowned by them on account of encouraging his two sons to join the
continental army, and for showing a disposition to do the same himself.
He was about sixty years old at the time of which I speak, but still
a large, powerful man, with the glow of health on his cheek and
intelligence in his eye. Though disowned by the Quaker sect, Nathaniel
Collins retained their dress, manners, and habits, and always defended
them from the attacks of their enemies.

"One night, the old Quaker, his wife Hannah, cousin Rachel, and daughter
Amy, were sitting up till a very late hour. They expected Nathan's sons
home from the Continental army. These sons had chosen the night to cross
the river, to avoid the notice of the Hessians at Trenton. Well, the
family waited till the clock struck one, but the sons did not appear,
and Nathan was getting impatient. At last footsteps were heard on the
road.

"'There they are at last!' eagerly exclaimed Amy.

"'Let me see,' said Nathan, as, with the placid manner characteristic
of a Friend, he moved to a window which commanded a view of the kitchen
door, at which a knocking had commenced. He could distinguish six men,
armed and equipped like militia, and another, whose pinioned arms
proclaimed him a prisoner. His sons were not of the party; and as the
persons of the strangers were unknown, and the guise of a militia-man
was often assumed by Fagan, our friend was not 'easy in his mind how to
act.' His first idea was to feign deafness; but a second knock, loud
enough to wake all but the dead, changed his intention--he raised the
window and hailed the men:

"'Friends, what's your will?'

'A little refreshment of fire and food, if you please; we have been far
on duty, and are half frozen and quite starved.' 'We don't entertain
them who go to war.'

'Yes; but you will not refuse a little refreshment to poor fellows like
us, this cold night; that would be as much against the principles of
your society as war.'

'Thee's from Trenton?'

'No, I thank you; Nathaniel Collins is too well known as a friend to the
country, and an honest man, to aid a refugee--we know that.'

'Soap the old fox well,' whispered one of the band.

'Come, friend, make haste and let us in, we are almost perished, and
have far to go before sunrise, or we may change places with our prisoner
here before sunset.'

'But what does the party here, this side of the river, right under the
Hessians' nose, if--'

'Oh, we are minute-men, sent from within by Captain Smallcross, to seize
this deserter--don't you mean to let us in?'

"Nathaniel closed the window and said, 'I don't know what to make of
these men. Amy, call the boys; tell them to make haste and bring their
guns, but keep them out of sight, where they will be handy.'

"As the command was obeyed, and the three young men, laborers on the
farm, appeared and placed their guns behind the inner, their master
unbolted the outer door and admitted five of the armed men--the prisoner
and one of his captors remaining without. Nathaniel thought this
unnecessary of so cold a night, and a little suspicious--'Will not thy
companions enter also?'

"'No, thank you; he guards the prisoner.'

'But why may not the prisoner, too?' 'Pshaw! he's nothing but a
deserter. The cold will be good for _him_.'

"'I must say,' quote Nathan, 'exercised,' as he afterwards owned, past
endurance, 'thy conduct neither becomes thy nature as a man, or thy
calling, which should teach thee more feeling--I'll take the poor fellow
something to eat myself.'

"The old man had reached the door on his merciful errand, meaning it is
true, to satisfy his curiosity at the same time, when he who had acted
as leader of the party sprang from his chair, and, placing his hand on
his host's breast, pushed him rudely back. 'Stand back--back, I say, and
mind your own business, if you _are_ a Quaker.'

"There was a momentary struggle in Nathan's mind, whether to knock
the fellow down, as from appearances he easily might, or to yield,
in obedience to his _principles._ 'It was strongly on his mind,' he
confessed, to pursue the former course, but prudence conquered, and
he quietly withdrew to the upper end of the apartment, where his men
lounged on a bench, apparently half asleep, and indistinctly visible
in the light of the fire and one small candle, which burned near the
strangers. In the interim, the old cook had been summoned, and had
arranged some cold provisions on the table. 'Old Annie,' the cook, was
the child of Indian and mulatto parents, but possessed none of the
features of her darker relation, except a capacious mouth and lips
to match. She refused to associate with either negroes or Indians,
considering herself as belonging to neither, and indulging a
sovereign contempt for both. Her favorite term of reproach was 'Injin'
and 'nigger,' and when they failed _separately_ to express her feelings,
she put the two together, a compliment always paid the Hessians, when
she had occasion to mention them. A party of these marauders had, on
a visit to her master's house, stolen her fall's store of sausages;
thenceforth she vowed eternal hatred to the race--a vow she never forgot
to the day of her death.

"The strangers ate their repast, showing anything but confidence in
their entertainer, and ate, each man with his gun resting on his
shoulder. During the whole meal, he who called himself their captain was
uneasy and restless. For some time, he appeared to be engaged in a very
close scrutiny of the household, who occupied the other end of the
kitchen--a scrutiny which, owing to the darkness, could not yield him
much satisfaction. He then whispered anxiously and angrily with his men,
who answered in a dogged, obstinate fashion, that evidently displeased
him; till, finally, rising from his seat, he bade them follow, and
scarcely taking time to thank Nathan for his food and fire, passed out
of the door and made from the house.

"'Well, now, that beats me!' said Elnathan, as he and his comrades
looked at each other in astonishment at the abrupt departure and
singular conduct of their guests.

"'That are a queer lark, any how!' responded John; 'it beats all
natur'.'

''The Injins,' said Ann. 'If that is not Fagan or some of his gang,
never trust me!--why did you not give them a shot, the 'tarnal thieves?'

"But our household troop were too glad to get rid of their visitors to
interrupt their retreat. The house was secured again, the men had thrown
themselves down, and some of them were already asleep, when another
knock at the same door brought them as one man to their feet. On opening
the door, a laborer attached to a neighboring farm presented himself,
breathless from haste, and almost dead with fear. When he so far
recovered his speech as to be able to tell his story, he proved to
be the man whom the pretended militia-men had brought with them as a
prisoner, and his captors were found to be no less than Fagan and a
portion of his band. They had that night robbed five different houses
before they attempted our Friend's. Aware that his sons were from
home, they expected to find the old man unsupported, but having gained
admission into the house, they were surprised at the appearance of three
additional men. Fagan, however, was bent upon completing his enterprise
in spite of all opposition; but his followers obstinately refused. At
the foot of the avenue a bitter quarrel ensued, Fagan taxing his men
with cowardice; but the fear of pursuit silenced them at length. The
next question was, how to dispose of their prisoner, whom they had
seized in one of their 'affairs,' and, for want of some means of
securing him, brought with them. Fagan, as the shortest way, proposed,
as he had before, to cut his throat; but the proposal was overruled as
unnecessary. He was unbound, and, upon his solemn promise to return
without giving the alarm, one of the band returned him his silver and
a little money they had abstracted from his chest. In consideration
whereof he made to the nearest house and gave the alarm, impelled by
instinct more than anything else.

"Suddenly, the man's narrative was interrupted by an explosion of
fire-arms, which broke upon the clear, frosty night, and startled even
Nathan. Another and another followed before a word was uttered.

"'What can that be? It must be at Trenton.'

"'By jingo,' exclaimed Elnathan, forgetting, in his excitement, that
his master was present, 'if I don't believe our men ain't giving the
Hessians a salute this morning with ball _cartridges_--there it goes
again!--I say, John, it's a piert scrimmage.'

"In his own anxiety, Nathan forgot to correct his servant's profanity.
'It must be--but how they got over through the ice without wings--'

"'No matter 'zackly how, marster, it's them. I'll warrant them's hard
plums for a Christmas pudding. Ha! ha! they get it this morning,--them
tarnation Hessian niggers!'

"'Ann, thee'll never forgive the Hessians thy sausages and pork.'

"'Forgive--not I. All my nice sausages and buckwheat cakes, ready
buttered--and all for them 'are yaller varments.'

"The firing having continued some minutes, though less in volleys
than at first, gradually ceased, and all was quiet, as if nothing had
happened to disturb the deathlike stillness of the night. Yet, in
that brief hall hour, the fate of a continent was decided--the almost
desperate cause of the colonies had been retrieved. The victory of
Trenton had been achieved.

"The attention of Nathan was diverted, by this first incident, from the
other events of the night, but was soon recalled to the pursuit of
the robbers, and the relief of their victims, who, from their late
prisoner's account, had been left in an unpleasant condition. His men
being dispatched to collect aid, Nathan now remained with old Anne; the
sole efficient defender of the house. He was not doomed to wait their
return undisturbed--the indistinct sound, as of many feet, was heard
advancing along the road to Bordentown.

"'It's them Hessians,' said Anne. But Nathan thought not--it was not
the tread of regular troops, but the confused rush of a multitude. He
hastened to an upper window to reconnoitre. The day had begun to break,
and he easily distinguished a large body of men in Hessian uniform,
hurrying along the road in broken ranks. As they came nearer, he
perceived many individuals half clad and imperfectly equipped. The whole
consisted of about six hundred men. Before their rear was lost behind a
turn in the road another body appeared in rapid pursuit. They marched in
closer order and more regular array. In the stillness of the morning the
voice of an officer could be distinctly heard urging on the men. They
bore the well-known standard of the colonies. It all flashed on Nathan's
mind--Washington _had_ crossed the river, and was in pursuit of the
routed foe. The excited old man forgot his years, as he almost sprang
down stairs to the open air, proclaiming the tidings as he went. Even
the correct Hannah, who had preserved her faith unbroken, in spite of
her husband's and sons' contumacy, and the, if possible, still _more_
particular Rachel, were startled from their usual composure, and gave
vent to their joy.

"'Well, now, _does_ thee say so?' said the latter, eagerly following the
others to the door. 'I hope it is not unfriendly to rejoice for such a
cause.'

"'I hope not, cousin Rachel,' said Amy; 'nor to be proud that _our_ boys
had a share in the glorious deed.'

"Amy was left to herself, and broke loose upon this occasion from the
bonds of Quaker propriety; but no one observed the transgression--except
old Anne.

"'That's right, Amy Collins; I like to hear you say so. How them
Hessians can run--the 'tarnal niggers; they steal sausages better than
they stand bullets. I told 'em it would be so, when they was here
beguzzlen my buckwheat cakes, in plain English; only the outlandish
Injins couldn't understand their mother tongue. They're got enough
swallowen without chawen, this morning. I wish them nothen but Jineral
Maxwell at their tails, tickling 'em with continental bagonets.'

"'That friend speaks my mind,' said Elnathan, with a half-sanctimonious,
half-waggish look, and slight nasal twang.

"'Mine too,' as devoutly responded a companion, whom he had just brought
to assist in the pursuit of the robbers.

"The whole family had assembled at the door to watch the motions of the
troops. The front ranks had already passed down the road, when a
horseman, at full speed, galloped along the line of march to the extreme
right, and commanded a halt. After a few minutes delay, two or three
officers, followed by a party carrying a wounded man, emerged from the
ranks and approached the house. This was too much for the composure of
our late overjoyed family; all hastened to meet their wounded or dead
relation, but were disappointed agreeably--the brothers were indeed of
the party, but unhurt.

"'Charles--boys--what means--'

'Nothing, father, except that we paid the Hessians a friendly visit this
morning. You saw them?'

'A part--where are the rest?'

'Oh, we could not consent to turn them out of their comfortable quarters
this cold night, so we insisted on their remaining, having first gone
through the trifling ceremony of grounding their arms.'

"The greeting between the young soldiers and their more peaceful
relations could not have been more cordial if their hands had been
unstained with blood. Nathaniel proffered refreshments to the whole
detachment; old Anne trembled for her diminished stock of sausages, and
remarked to Elnathan, that it would take a ''tarnal griddle' to bake
cakes for 'all that posse cotatus.' But the offer was declined by the
officer in command, who only desired our friends to take charge of the
wounded Hessian, whom his own men had deserted in the road.

[Illustration: THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES.]

"In the meanwhile, about forty men had assembled at Nathan's summons to
pursue the robbers, some of them having first visited those who had
suffered from the previous night's depredations. In one instance, they
found a farmer tied in his own stable, with his horse gear, and his wife,
with the bed-cord, to some of the furniture in her own apartment. In
another place, the whole household was quietly disposed down a shallow
well, up to their knees in water, and half frozen. In a third, a
solitary man, who was the only inmate at the time, having fled, in his
fright, to the house-top, was left there by the unfeeling thieves, who
secured the trap-door within. But the last party who arrived had a
bloody tale to tell: they had been to the house of Joseph Farr, the
sexton to a neighboring Baptist church; a reputation for the possession
of concealed gold proved fatal to him. On entering his house, the door
of which stood open, the party sent to his relief stumbled over his
body. After having most cruelly beaten him, in the hope of extorting
the gold he was said to possess, the murderers, upon his positive
denial, pierced him in twenty places with their bayonets. The old
bedridden wife was still alive in her bed, though the blood had soaked
through the miserable pallet and run in a stream into the fire-place.
Their daughter, a woman of fifty years, fled from the house as the
murderers entered, and was pursued by one of them, nearly overtaken,
and even wounded in the arm by his bayonet; but his foot slipped in
making the thrust, and she escaped slightly hurt.

"This bloody business aroused the whole country; a persevering and
active pursuit was commenced. The murderers had many miles to traverse
before they could reach a safe retreat, and were obliged to lighten
themselves of their heavier plunder in the chase. Four were shot down
in the pursuit; the knapsack of a fifth was found partly concealed in a
thicket, and pierced with a ball, which had also penetrated a large mass
of continental money in sheets, and, by the blood on the inner covering,
had done good service on the wearer. It was believed that he contrived
to conceal himself in a thicket, and died there; as he was never heard
of after. Fagan alone escaped unhurt to the pines, and for days defied
all the exertions of the whig farmers. By this time, the pursuing party
had increased to nearly two hundred men. The part of the wood in which
he was known to be concealed, was surrounded and fired, till the wretch
was literally burnt from his den, and, in an attempt to escape from one
flaming thicket to another, taken alive, although not unwounded. One of
the gang, who had not participated in the deeds I have mentioned, was
secured at the same time.

"There appeared to be no difference of opinion about the mode of
disposing of the prisoners--indeed, an opinion was scarcely asked or
given. It seemed taken for granted--a thing of course; and the culprits
were led in silence to the selected place of execution. There was
neither judge nor jury--no delay--no prayer for mercy; a large oak then
stood at the forks of two roads, one of which leads to Freehold; from
the body of the tree a horizontal branch extended over the latter road,
to which two ropes were attached. One of them having been fixed to the
minor villain's neck, _his_ sufferings were soon over; but a horrible
and lingering death was reserved for Fagan. The iron hoops were taken
off a meat cask, and by a blacksmith in the company fitted round his
ankles, knees, and arms, pinioning the latter to his body, so that,
excepting his head, which was 'left free to enjoy the prospect,' he
could not move a muscle. In this condition he hung for days beside his
stiffened companion; dying by inches of famine and cold, which had
moderated so as, without ending, to aggravate his misery. Before he
died, he had gnawed his shoulder from very hunger. On the fifth night,
as it approached twelve o'clock, having been motionless for hours,
his guards believed him to be dead, and, tired of their horrid duty,
proposed to return home. In order, however, to be sure, they sent one of
the party up the ladder to feel if his heart still beat. He had ascended
into the tree, when a shriek, unlike anything human, broke upon the
stillness of the night, and echoed from the neighboring wood with
redoubled power. The poor fellow dropped from the tree like a dead man,
and his companions fled in terror from the spot. When day encouraged
them to return, their victim was swinging stiffly in the north wind--now
lifeless as the companion of his crime and its punishment. It is
believed, to this day, that no mortal power, operating upon the lungs of
the dead murderer, produced that awful, unearthly, and startling scream;
but that it was the voice of the Evil One, warning the intrusive guard
not to disturb the fiend in the possession of his lawful victim; a belief
materially strengthened by a fact that could not be disputed--the limb
upon which the robbers hung, after suffering double pollution from
them and their master's touch, never budded again; it died from that
hour; the poison gradually communicated to the remaining branches, till,
from a flourishing tree, it became a sapless and blasted trunk, and so
stood for years, at once an emblem and a monument of the murderers' fate.

"Fagan was never buried; his body hung upon its gibbet till the winds
picked the flesh from off his bones, and they fell asunder by their own
weight. A friend of mine has seen his horrid countenance, as it
hung festering and blackening in the wind, and remembers, by way of
amusement, between schools, pelting the body with stones. The old trunk
has disappeared, but the spot is still haunted in the belief of the
people of the neighborhood, and he is a bold man who dare risk a
nocturnal encounter with the bloody Fagan, instead of avoiding the
direct road, at the expense of half a mile's additional walk. No
persuasion or force will induce a horse _raised in the neighborhood_ to
pass the fated spot at _night_, although he will express no uneasiness
by daylight. The inference is, that the animals, as we know animals
_do_, and Balaam's certainly _did_, see more than their masters. A
skeptical gentleman, near, thinks this only the force of habit, and that
the innocent creatures have been so taught by the cowards who drive
them, and would saddle the horses with their own folly.

"I am at the close of my story, and not a lover or a tender scene in the
whole tedious relation--alas! what a defect, but it is too late to mind
it now; it only remains to take leave of our friends. Nathan and
Hannah have mingled with dust, and their spirits with that society
whose only business is love, and where sighing and contention can never
intrude. Nathan was permitted, on his expressing his sorrow that he
had 'disobliged Friends,' to rejoin his society, and he died an elder.
Rachel departed at a great age, as she had lived, a spotless maiden. The
blooming, the warm-hearted, mischievous Amy lives, a still comely old
lady, the mother of ten sons, and the grandparent of three times as many
more. She adheres strictly to all the rules of her society, and bears
her testimony in the capacity of a public Friend. Still, she is
evidently not a little proud of her father's and brothers' share in the
perils and honors of the revolutionary contest, though she affects to
condemn their contumacy and unfriendly conformity to the world's ways,
and their violation of 'Friends' testimony concerning war.' Old Annie
died four years since, at an almost incredible age, though she was not
able to name the exact number of the days of her pilgrimage. From the
deep furrows on her cheeks, and the strong lines of her naturally
striking countenance, which, as she advanced in years, assumed more and
more the character of her Indian parentage, and the leather-like
appearance of her skin, she might have passed for an antediluvian.
While other less important matters lost their impression on her memory,
the Hessian inroads upon her sausages and buckwheat cakes were neither
forgotten nor _entirely_ forgiven to the last. She sent for a friend
when on her death-bed, to make arrangement of her little affairs. He
found her strength of body exhausted, but her powers of mind unimpaired.
After disposing her stock of personalities among some of her friends,
she turned to him. 'That's all, Mr. Charles, except the old sash you
used to play with, which I sp'iled from the Hessian officer, the
Injin--keep that to mind old Anne by,'

"'Thank you, Anne--I'll keep it carefully. But you must not bear malice
_now_, Anne; you must forgive even the Hessians,' said Charles.

"'What, them Hessians, the bloody thieves?' and the old woman's eyes
lighted up, and she almost arose in her bed with astonishment, as she
asked the question.

'Yes; even _them_: you are about to need forgiveness as much as
they--they _were_ your enemies and persecutors, whom you are especially
enjoined to pardon, as you would expect to be pardoned.'

'So it is, Mr. Charles; you say the truth,--poor ignorant, sinful mortal
that I am! Well, then, I do--I _hope_ I _do_--forgive 'em; I'll try--the
bloody _creeters_.'

"There; will that do for a story, Thomas Jefferson?" asked the old
grandfather, when he had concluded. The old man had a straight-forward,
natural way of telling a story that showed he had practised it
frequently. The boy seemed much gratified by the horrible narration.
Mrs. Harmar said she was interested, but didn't like it much; her
husband remarked, however, that it would make a thrilling sketch.

"I suppose that Nathaniel Collins was very much the same sort of a
Quaker as General Green," said Morton. "They were peaceable men, as
long as peace and quiet were not inconsistent with self-defence. To
be peaceable when a foe is wasting your fields and slaughtering your
brethren, is cowardly and against nature."

"That's truth," replied Higgins. "We must look upon a merciless invader
in the same light as upon a cruel beast, whom it is saving life to
slay."

"Fagan was well punished for his outrages," remarked Wilson.

"It was the only way for the inhabitants to ensure their safety," said
Smith.


THE TORY'S CONVERSION.

"By the bye," said Mr. Morton, "some events have just recurred to my
mind, which interested me very much when I first heard of them, and
which I think may strike you as being wonderful. I knew of many strange
and unaccountable things that happened during the Revolution, but the
conversion of Gil Lester from toryism capped the climax."

"Enlighten us upon the subject, by all means," remarked Mr. Jackson
Harmar.

"Yes, that was a strange affair, Morton; tell 'em about it," added
Higgins.

"There's a little love stuff mixed up with the story," said Morton,
"but you will have to excuse that. I obtained the incidents from Lester
himself, and I know he was always true to his word, whether that was
right or wrong. Gilbert Lester, Vincent Murray, and their ladye-loves,
lived up here in Pennsylvania, in the neighborhood of the Lehigh. One
night a harvest ball was given at the house of farmer Williams. Vincent
Murray and Mary Williams, the farmer's daughter, joined in the
festivities, and, becoming tired of dancing in a hot room, they went out
to walk along the banks of the Lehigh, and, of course, to talk over love
matters.

"They had seated themselves on a fallen tree, and continued for a few
moments to gaze in the mirrored Lehigh, as if their very thoughts might
be reflected on its glassy surface. Visions of war and bloodshed were
passing before the fancy of the excited girl, and she breathed an inward
prayer to heaven to protect her lover; when, casting her eyes upward,
she suddenly exclaimed with startling energy:

"'Vincent, look at the sky!' Murray raised his head, and sprang
instantly on his feet. 'Tell me,' continued Mary, 'am I dreaming, or am
I mad! or do I actually see armies marching through the clouds?'

"Murray gazed steadfastly for a moment, and then exclaimed, 'It is the
British, Mary--I see the red coats as plainly as I see you.'

"The young girl seemed transfixed to the spot, without the power of
moving. 'Look there,' said she, pointing her finger upward--'there are
horses, with officers on them, and a whole regiment of dragoons! Oh, are
you not frightened?'

"'No,' replied her companion--but before he had time to proceed, she
again exclaimed:

'There, there, Vincent! See the colors flying, and the drums, and
trumpets, and cannon, I can almost hear them! What can it mean?'

'Don't be so terrified, Mary. It is my belief, that what we see is an
intimation from God of the approaching war. The 'Lord of Hosts' has
set his sign in the heavens. But come, let us run to the house. This is
no time to dance--and they will not believe us, unless their own eyes
behold the vision!'

"Before he had finished speaking, they were hastily retracing their
steps to the scene of merriment; and in another moment the sound of the
violin was hushed, and the feet of the dancers were still. With one
accord, they all stood in the open air, and gazed with straining glances
at the pageant in the heavens; and marked it with awe and wonder. A
broad streak of light spread itself gradually over the sky, till the
whole wide expanse was in one brilliant blaze of splendor. The clouds,
decked in the richest and most gorgeous colors, presented a spectacle of
grandeur and glory, as they continued to shape themselves into various
forms of men, and horses, and armor, till a warlike and supernatural
host was distinctly presented to the view. The dragoons, on their
prancing horses; the riflemen and artillery, with their military ensigns
and accoutrements; the infantry, and even the baggage-wagons in the
rear, were all there to complete the imposing array. _It is no fiction_;
many were eye-witnesses of that remarkable vision, which passed on from
the east, and disappeared in the west--and, from that evening, the sound
of the violin was heard no more in those places, until the end of the
Revolution.

"Mary Tracy hung upon the arm of her lover, and listened anxiously to
his words, as he spoke to her in a low but decided tone." "That's very
strange; but you have not told us how the young tory was converted,"
interrupted Mrs. Harmar.

"I am coming to that," replied Morton. "Vincent Murray and Mary Williams
conversed together for some time. He told her he was going to leave his
friends and join the American army. He said he thought the signs in the
clouds were warning to all the friends of liberty to rush to the aid of
our little struggling band; and that he intended to go to New York,
and then seek out the best plan for enlistment. Before he bade his
sweetheart farewell, he also told her he was resolved to do his best to
convert Gilbert Lester from his tory principles. Now this was no easy
task, as the two young men had often argued the question of rights, and
Lester had shown that he was as firmly fixed to his creed as Murray was
to his. Mary told him that she thought that the frowns or the smiles of
Jane Hatfield alone could change his way of thinking. But, nevertheless,
Murray resolved to try what he could do.

"The little group of dancers were all scattered in different directions.
Murray sought among the number for Gilbert Lester, and found him, at
length, leaning in a thoughtful attitude against the trunk of a huge
sycamore tree, whose broad shadow fell upon the waters of the Lehigh. So
profound was his reverie, that Murray touched his arm before he stirred
from his position, or was aware of approaching footsteps.

"'Gilbert, shall I divine your thoughts?'

"'You, perhaps, think you could do so, but I doubt whether you would
guess right.' "'Why, there can be but one subject, I should suppose,
which could occupy the mind of any one who has seen what we have seen
this evening.'

"'True; but there may be different interpretations put upon what is
equally a mystery to us all.'

"'Well, I will not dispute that point with you,--but there is a _right_
and a _wrong_, notwithstanding. Now, tell me, what is your opinion?'

"'It will hardly coincide with yours, Vincent; for I fear we shall never
agree in our ideas of the propriety and expediency of taking up arms
against our sovereign. As to this pantomime of the clouds, I must
confess it is beyond my comprehension; so, if your understanding has
been enlightened by the exhibition, I beg you will have charity to
extend the benefit.'

"'You are always for ridiculing my impressions, Gilbert; but you cannot
change my belief that our cause is a rightful one, and that it will,
with the help of the Almighty, ultimately prevail.'

"'What, against such a host as we have just seen imaged out in the sky?'

"'The Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save,' replied
Murray.

"'But,' continued his friend, 'if a real army, coming over the sea to
do battle for the king, has been represented by that ghostly multitude
which passed before our view, you will find the number too strong for
this fanciful faith of yours, in the help of an invisible arm.'

"'It is a faith, however, which I am not yet disposed to yield,--the
race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' "'I will
acknowledge,' said Lester, interrupting him, 'that you have the
advantage of me in quoting Scripture--but depend upon it, the
_practical_ advantages of the British over the rebel army will soon
overturn your theory.'

"'No such thing, Gilbert. I tell you that the zeal, fortitude, undaunted
courage, and invincible resolution, which encompass our little band of
patriots, will prove a shield of strength that will make every single
man of them equal to at least a dozen British soldiers. And having once
risen up in defence of their rights, they will persevere to the last
extremity before they will submit to the disgraceful terms of a despotic
government. It grieves me that _you_ should be among the tories. Come, I
entreat you, and share in the glory of the triumph which I am persuaded
will eventually be ours.'

"'Then you really do believe, Murray, that God will work a modern
miracle in favor of America! My dear friend, I wish you would abandon
this vain chimera of your imagination, and let common sense and reason
convince you of the folly of this mad rebellion.'

"'And what then? Should I sit down in cowardly inaction, while others
are sacrificing their lives in the struggle? No--that shall never be
said of Vincent Murray! My resolution is taken; I will rise or fall with
my country!'

"'And perhaps the next time we meet,' said Lester, 'it may be on the
field of battle.'

"'God forbid! But should it even be the case, Gilbert, I should know no
friend among my country's enemies. Farewell--you will think better of
this subject; and remember, that no one but a _Republican_ will ever win
Jane Hatfield,' said Murray.

"The young men wrung each other's hands, and each went his way."

"Murray thought he would put in the last remark by way of strengthening
the effect of the vision in the clouds, I suppose," remarked Mr. Jackson
Harmar.

"Yes; the promise of the hand of a lovely girl has a great influence on
the opinions of a young man," replied Morton. "But in this case, if you
will wait till my story is through, you will see that Jane Hatfield had
but little to do with Lester's conversion. The next morning after the
occurrence of the wonderful phantom in the clouds, Murray left his home,
and soon after enlisted in the army under General Montgomery. He was in
the unlucky expedition against Québec.

"After the death of Montgomery, and the uniting of the different
detachments under Arnold, as their head, Murray, to his marvellous
astonishment, encountered his friend Gilbert Lester among the
Pennsylvania riflemen, under Captain Morgan. By some strange accident,
and each being ignorant of the proximity of the other, they had not met
before the attack on Québec. Great, therefore, was Murray's surprise and
pleasure; for, since the evening of their last conversation on the banks
of the Lehigh, he had no opportunity of learning whether there had been
any change in the political sentiments of his friend. With the utmost
fervor of delight he grasped his hand as he exclaimed: "'I rejoice to
see you,--but, my dear friend, what is the meaning of this meeting? And
how, in the name of wonder, came you here?'

"'Why, it is truly a wonder to myself, Murray,' replied Lester, 'that
I ever got here; or that any of us, who passed through that frightful
wilderness, are now alive to tell the story.'

"'The wilderness! I should like to know how you contrived to get into
the wilderness from the place where I last saw you?' said Murray.

"'I remember,' said Gilbert, laughing; 'you left me looking at the
clouds on the banks of the Lehigh; and, perhaps, you imagine that I
was taken up into them, and dropped down in that horrible place as a
punishment for my _toryism!_'

"'And if that was not the case, pray throw a little light on the
mystery.'

"'Have patience, then, and let me tell my story my own way. The getting
into the labyrinth was a trifle in comparison to the getting out.
Believe me, the tales of romance are nothing to the tremendous horrors
of that march. Why do you look incredulous?'

"'You know your love of the marvellous, Gilbert--but go on; only don't
out-Herod Herod in your description.'

"'There is no danger of that--no description can come up to the truth. I
looked upon that whole army in the desert as destined to make their
next general parade in the heavens--and fancied you would see our poor,
unhappy apparitions gliding through the sky; and, perhaps, exclaim,
'Poor Gilbert; he died in the good cause at last. It seems, however, that
the necessity is spared of my making so pathetic an apostrophe. You had
the good fortune to escape.'

'It was little less than a miracle that we did so, I assure you,'
replied Gilbert.

'Your preservation, then, should be a more convincing proof to your
mind, that the Lord is on our side, and will not forsake us in this
unequal strife.'

'Ah,' replied Lester, 'you may beat me in _faith_, Vincent, but I will
contend that I have beaten you in _works_. Had you waded, as we did,
through those hideous bogs, which a poor Irishman, whose bones we left
on the way, declared, 'bate all the bogs of Ireland!' you would have
said the Israelites in the wilderness had a happy time of it, compared
to us. Why, we were drowned, and starved, and frozen, till we had nearly
given up all hope of the honor of being shot.'

'But you forget that I am still in ignorance of the preceding causes,
which produced the revolution in your sentiments, and consequently
influenced your actions after I left the farm,' said Murray,
interrupting him.

"'You are right,' replied Gilbert; 'I am before my story. My head was
so completely filled with the images on the way, that I was obliged
to dispose of them first, ere I could clear a passage in my memory to
relate what came before. It would, however, require too much time, at
this moment, to enter into all the detail of argument and persuasion
that gradually undermined my first principles. My imagination was a
little excited by the whole scene at our last harvest festival. The
sudden interruption in the dancing by the singular phenomena in the
heavens, and the termination, from that evening, of all our accustomed
mirth and gaiety, made a strong impression, which led me to inquire
and reflect on passing events, connected with the disturbances in the
country, much more closely and anxiously than I had done before. The
result was a determination, in my own mind, to follow you. Knowing your
admiration of General Washington, I instantly jumped at the conclusion
that you had proceeded to Cambridge, in order to be guided in your
future movements by the commander-in-chief; and so, without the least
hesitation, I straightway decided on pursuing the same course. You are
well aware, Vincent, that I am a creature of impulse. My arrival at
head-quarters happened to be at the moment when Colonel Arnold was
fitting out his troops for this unhappy expedition; and meeting
accidentally with an acquaintance among the Pennsylvania riflemen, I
enlisted in the same regiment, under Captain Morgan. A spice of romance,
which I believe nature infused into my disposition, and which was
increased among the mountain passes and wild fastnesses of our native
scenery, induced me to look forward with a kind of adventurous pleasure,
to the projected passage through the unexplored wilderness. The probable
hazard and difficulty of the exploit presented only a spur to my newly
awakened ardor; and thus, with my usual impetuosity of feeling, I
pushed on among the most enthusiastic followers of Colonel Arnold. The
concluding part of the history is written in the blood of our brave and
gallant general; and now, in the closing scene of the drama, I find
myself, by a singular freak of fortune, thrown again in your company, in
a place where I had little dreamed of such a meeting.'

"In the meanwhile, an interesting event happened on the banks of the
Lehigh. The usual business in that part of the country was suspended.
The men congregated to talk over the causes and events of the war, and
the signs of the times. The appearance of the army in the heavens was
still fresh in the minds of all; and it was but a few weeks after the
departure of Murray and Lester that another spectacle was seen, even
more astonishing than the first.

"It was on a September evening that the _Aurora Borealis_ was discovered
in the sky. It grew brighter and brighter, and soon drew together a
large number of the inhabitants of the neighborhood. The distance was
short to the highest ground on the ridge of the Lehigh Mountains, and
the whole party ascended to the summit, near the old road between Easton
and Philadelphia. There they paused, to view the surrounding scenery in
the broad, clear light. The Kittating Mountain, enveloped in its blue
shade of mist, lay far away to the north and west; while, on the Jersey
side, to the east, the high Musconetcong rose darkly in the distance.
Suddenly, a cloud appeared on the blue sky above, and immediately,
quick, successive sounds, as of the firing of cannon, broke on the ear.
The cloud dispersed with the noise, and flying troops were seen rushing
on from the west. Men and horses were mingled in one indiscriminate mass
of confusion. The soldiers wore the uniform of the British; but
there was no order, as in the former vision. Ranks were cut up and
destroyed--plumes were bent down and broken--horses fled without
riders--and the fallen were trampled on by their companions. Terror
seemed to move in their midst, as they hurried onward. The pillar of a
cloud rose again behind them. It was like a thick smoke from the fire
of the enemy. It curled and wreathed itself away in the heavens, and
disappeared, as with another sound of guns. Then came the Continental
Army. Soldiers marching in triumph--officers mounted, and flags of
victory streaming on the sky. On and on, they followed in the pursuit,
till the singular phantasm melted away in the east.

"The sight was hailed with joy, as an omen of success to the American
cause. Numerous were the spectators to that second vision--and some are
yet alive in the part of the country where it was seen.

"An account of this phenomenon was sent to Murray and Lester, and the
latter became confirmed, heart and soul, in the cause to which he had
attached himself. Now, I know, you may look upon these things with a
smile of credulity, and say it was all the result of imagination; but a
mere fancy cannot mislead hundreds of people, and make them believe
that their eyes are traitors. I have told you nothing but what is well
attested. I don't pretend to know anything of the causes of such events,
but I do know that these visions changed many a heart from toryism to
patriotism." "I am very much obliged to you for your interesting
story, Mr. Morton," said Mr. Jackson Harmar. "I like your plain,
straight-forward style, and your matter excites my wonder. It is a fact,
that General Washington was known to observe and mention the remarkable
apparitions in the heavens, at many different periods of the Revolution.
They were not without their influence on his mind. I firmly believe
that such things occurred; and can look for no cause but that of God's
providence, to explain them."

Of course Mrs. Harmar believed the story of the apparitions to be
perfectly true, and did not look for any other cause except the direct
order of the Almighty; but Wilson said he was always suspicious of such
stories. He even ventured to offer an explanation of the phenomenon,
which amounted to this:--A thunder-storm came up while the people were
gathered together, very much excited upon the subject of the war, and
feeling very anxious for the success of the cause of the colonies; one
man thought he saw an army in the clouds driven before the winds, and
heard the roar of the artillery; this he communicated in an excited
manner to the others, and they, disposed to believe, also thought the
clouds looked "very like a whale." But Morton, old Harmar, Mr. Jackson
Harmar, Smith, and Higgins, brought their argumentative batteries to
bear upon the explanation and incredulity of Wilson, and silenced,
if they did not convince him. He admitted that a man of General
Washington's strength of mind could not easily be deceived, and said,
that if it was a fact that he had seen and mentioned the phenomenon,
he could think it true; but no one was prepared to prove what had been
asserted. Mr. Morton was again thanked for the manner in which he had
told the story, and Mr. Jackson Harmar said that some of the writers of
the day might learn from him.

"Of course, Murray and Lester lived through the war, went home to the
banks of the Lehigh, and married the girls they loved," remarked Wilson.

"They did; and two very happy couples they made. Jane Hatfield had
always been a republican in sentiment, and she loved Lester more than
ever when she heard he had dropped toryism as something that would have
burnt his fingers if he had held on to it," replied Morton.


THE TIMELY RESCUE.

"When Mr. Morton commenced his story," said old Harmar, "he said
there was considerable love-stuff mixed up with it, as if that was an
objection to his telling it. Now I can tell you a story of which love
and fighting are the elements. The events occurred up here in New
Jersey, and are true to the time and the people that acted in it."

"No matter if it was all made up of love, if it illustrated the
character of the time, I should like to hear it," remarked Mr. Jackson
Harmar.

"And so should I," added his wife.

"Is it that story about Captain Edwards and Miss Williams, that Bill
Moore used to tell?" inquired Higgins.

"That's the affair; and, supposing you folks will wish to hear about it,
I shall proceed. Shortly after the surrender of Burgoyne, two horsemen
were riding along the road which leads to the town of Ridgefield. One
was Captain Edwards, and the other Lieutenant Brown. Their conversation
partook of the spirit of the period. They were discussing the relative
merits of General Gates and General Washington. Brown thought that
Washington was deficient in energy, while Edwards thought him a model
general, and Gates deficient in both energy and skill. They could not
agree, and so they dropped the subject.

"As the colloquy ended, the horsemen spurred onward, and soon arrived in
view of the residence of Mrs. Williams, which was situated on a gentle
acclivity, accessible by a long avenue, skirted on either side with
tall poplars, and entered at the extremity by a slight wooden gate. On
entering this avenue, old Pompey came running towards them with a brow
darkened a number of shades by his agitation, and grasping the bridle of
Captain Edward's horse, exclaimed:

"'Oh! for Heaven's sake, good master Edwards, don't go to the house!'

"'What the devil's the matter?' ejaculated the captain, as he endeavored
to disengage the hold of the negro.

"'Mistress has gone clean 'stracted,' began the African, 'because young
Miss Caroline--'

"'What of her?--speak out, in the fiend's name!' exclaimed Captain
Edwards, evincing much greater emotion than he had hitherto betrayed.

"'You stop me, sir; I must tell my story in my own way,' replied Pompey.

"'Proceed with it, then, with a murrain to you,' said Lieutenant Brown,
impatiently, 'or, by heaven, I'll beat it out of you with the flat of my
sword.' "'Well, then,' cried the negro, angrily, 'the tory Captain Lewis
came to our house last night with some sodgers, and carried off Miss
Caroline.'

"'The unhung villain!' muttered Captain Edwards, from between his
clenched teeth; and then, compelling himself to speak more calmly, he
said, 'Brown, my dear fellow, return directly to the camp, and meet me
at Stophel's tavern, with Sergeant Watkins and a dozen trusty soldiers.
The scoundrel cannot escape me--I know every tory haunt between here
and the Hudson; I must go to the house, and console the afflicted Mrs.
Williams.'

"The subaltern struck his spurs into the flank of his steed, and
hastened to execute the orders of his superior. The captain rode up the
lane, and having reached the house, threw his bridle to a servant, and
entered without ceremony. As he had anticipated, he found Mrs. Williams
in an indescribable state of grief; her health was delicate, and this
unexpected calamity had prostrated her. After offering a few encouraging
words, which produced but a very slight effect, he remounted his horse
and rode to the place of rendezvous. Here he met Lieutenant Brown, a
sergeant, corporal, and ten privates, all finely armed and equipped, and
prepared to brave any danger and incur any hazard, in the service of a
commander in whom they had the most unbounded confidence. He instantly
placed himself at their head, and proceeded on his expedition.

"It was now dark. Their road lay along the margin of a small stream,
bounded on the one side by half cultivated fields, and on the other by
a thick gloomy forest, in which the death-like stillness of its dark
bosom was only broken by the occasional howl of wild beasts.

"After pursuing their course for some distance along the bank of this
rivulet, now traversing the ground on its very margin, and then again
carried by the windings of the path miles from the stream, they came to
a sharp angle in the road, on turning which, the captain, being a short
distance in advance of his troops, discovered a figure slightly defined,
but yet bearing some resemblance to the human species, stealing along
the side of the path, apparently wishing to avoid observation.

"Striking his spurs into his horse, and drawing his sword at the same
time, the captain had the person completely in his power before the
other had time to offer either flight or resistance.

"'For whom are you?' was demanded by Captain Edwards, in no gentle
accents.

"'I'm nae just free to say,' replied the stranger, thus rudely
interrogated, with the true Scotch evasion.

"'Answer me at once,' returned the captain; 'which party do you favor?'

"'Ye might have the civility to give me a gentle hint which side ye
belang to,' said Sawney.

"'No circumlocution,' rejoined the soldier, sternly. 'Inform me
immediately: Are you a mercenary of the tyrant of England, or a friend
to liberty? your life depends on your answer.'

"'Aweel, then,' said the Scotchman firmly, 'sin ye will have it, by
my saul, I won't go to heaven with a lie in my mouth--I'm whig to the
back-bone, ye carline; now do your warst, and be hanged till ye!'"

"He might still have been a foe," remarked Wilson. "He might have seen,
from Edwards' language, that to be a whig was to ensure his safety."

"I cannot say whether the Scotchman was sincere or not," replied old
Harmar. "The American captain was well pleased to discover a friend,
when he had every reason to expect an enemy; and, after furnishing him
with a pistol, and advising him to avoid the scouting parties of the
enemy, by keeping in the wood, he again proceeded on his expedition.
They soon reached a fork in the road: one branch led into the recesses
of the wood, and the other lay still farther along the banks of the
stream. On arriving at this spot, the captain, calling Lieutenant Brown
a little distance from the troop, said, 'A few miles' ride will carry us
to an encampment of a party of these tories. I wish to reconnoitre the
position of the enemy, and shall take the road which leads into the
wood, for that purpose, while you with the soldiers will ride on the
other road, till you will arrive within sight of the enemy, and then
return to this point, which shall be our place of rendezvous. In the
meantime, I wish you to avoid coming to any engagement with the tories;
but, in case you hear me fire two pistol shots, you may believe me to be
in danger, and hasten to my relief.'

"To command was to be obeyed with Captain Edwards, and soon no sound
was heard save the slow and regular tread of the horses of the soldiers
under command of Lieutenant Brown "Captain Lewis, the partisan tory who
had carried off Miss Williams, was an officer of some fame. Of English
extraction, and bred in the principles of entire acquiescence in the
orders of the British ministry, he beheld the struggles of the colonists
with contempt. He saw the inhabitants rising about him in various parts
of the country, with feelings of bitter hatred, and he determined
to crush these evidences of rebellion in the outset. He accepted a
captain's commission in the English army, and fought for a time under
the banners of General Clinton, with success worthy of a better cause.
But taking offence at some imperious order of his commander, he threw up
his commission in disgust, and retired to his native village near the
river Hudson. Here, collecting about him a few choice spirits like
himself, he kept the inhabitants in a continual state of alarm by his
plundering and rapacious conduct. Acting, as he pretended, under the
orders of the king, the tories durst not oppose him, and the whigs were
too few in numbers to resist his foraging excursions with any prospect
of success.

"In his youth he had been a school companion of Captain Edwards, but
their principles were widely dissimilar, and little intercourse had
taken place between them. In after life they embraced different sides,
and the tory disliked the whig for his virtues, and envied his good
name. In one of his marauding expeditions he became acquainted with
Miss Williams, and discovering the interest the republican had in her
affections, he determined to get her into his power, for the purpose of
holding a check on the whig officer, whom he equally feared and hated. A
libertine in principle, and a profligate in practice, he scrupled at
no means to attain his object, and a violent attack on the peaceful
dwelling of a defenceless woman was as consonant with his views as
robbing a hen-roost.

"The dwelling of this renegade was situated on a small hill on the bank
of the river Hudson. His peculiar occupation, and the state of affairs
in the country, had rendered it necessary for him to fortify and
strengthen his house, and, at the time referred to, it resembled, what
in fact it was, the rendezvous of a band of lawless desperadoes.

"In the principal room of the building was the villain captain, with
three of his officers, seated round a decayed table, playing cards; on
one end of the table stood a dirty decanter, partly filled with apple
brandy; three or four cracked, dingy tumblers were scattered over the
table, and the rest of the furniture of the apartment was in keeping.
In one corner of the room sat Miss Williams, apparently in the depth of
wretchedness. She occasionally cast furtive glances at the captain, and
then toward a small window, which was firmly barricaded; but seeing no
prospect of escape, she relapsed again into hopeless sorrow. Groups of
blackguard soldiers were seated on stools in different parts of the
room, many of them following the example of their officers, and others
amusing themselves with burnishing their muskets and equipments. After
numerous potations from his bottle, the captain started up, reeling
under the influence of the liquor, and addressing a ruffian-looking
officer, one of his boon companions, said: "'Lieutenant Jocelyn, have
the drum beat to arms, and take these lazy knaves and scour the woods
for a few miles around, and cut down or make prisoner every rebel rascal
you meet; leave soldiers enough, however, to guard the old castle;
quick--blast me, no hesitation.'

"'Humph!' muttered the old soldier; 'ready enough to run his comrades
into the noose, but devilish careful to keep his own delicate person out
of danger.'

"'Ha! what say you, old grumbler? You shall stay here and guard the
lady, if you are so much afraid of your beautiful self; and I will take
command of the men.'

"The lieutenant liked this proposition still worse than the former, but
seeing no alternative, obeyed in silence. In a short time, the captain,
accompanied by about twenty men, including a sergeant and two corporals,
left their camp and proceeded toward the wood. It was night-fall when
they reached the forest, through which the road was very narrow and
circuitous. They were travelling along the path in double files, when
the sergeant in front ordered a halt.

"'Why do we stop here,' roared the captain, 'when it is as dark as
Egypt?'

"'I hear a noise like the trampling of horses,' replied the sergeant.

"'Hist, then,' said Captain Lewis; 'draw up the men into a body, and
await their arrival in silence.'

"'The horse's footsteps were now distinctly heard, but it was a solitary
horseman whom these worthy soldiers were to encounter. When he
arrived within speaking distance, the sergeant advanced a few paces in
front of the soldiers, and exclaimed:

"'Stand! stand! or you are a dead man!'

"The horseman evinced no disposition to comply with this arbitrary
requisition, but deliberately drew pistol from his holsters and
endeavored to urge his horse through the ranks of his opponents. Captain
Lewis now came to the front of his men, and ordered: "'Seize the bridle,
and down with the rebel!'

"'Let no man lay a hand on me or my horse, as he values his life,' said
the horseman in a determined tone, at the same time cocking his pistol.

"'The sergeant drew back a few yards, and discharged his carbine, but
without effect; two soldiers grasped the horse by the head at the same
instant. The horseman, seeing a struggle inevitable, literally blew out
the brains of one of his assailants, and, plucking his other pistol from
its holster with his left hand, he fired at and slightly wounded his
second antagonist; he now threw aside his pistols, &c., and then
drew his heavy broadsword, and essayed to cut his way through his
opponents--but giant strength, combined with the most desperate courage,
could not compete with such vast disparity of numbers;  some of his
enemies fastened themselves on his horse, while others thrust at him
with their bayonets, and, after a protracted contest, during which the
tories lost five men, the horseman was disarmed and brought to the
ground.

"'Bind the rebel dog,' shouted the infuriated captain; 'he shall die
the death of a felon, were he George Washington. By Heaven!' continued
he, as he viewed the prostrate horseman, 'it is Captain Edwards! Are
then my dearest wishes gratified? I will be doubly revenged! Bind him
hand and foot, boys, and throw him across his own horse, if the beast
can bear him; if not, drive a bullet through the horse's brains, and
carry the soldier in your arms.'

"The whig officer was firmly bound and placed on his own charger, while
a soldier marched on either side of him, and another led the horse.
After prosecuting their route homeward near a mile, they were startled
with 'No quarter to the cowardly tories! cut them down root and branch!'
followed by the discharge of near a dozen pistols, which killed four
men, and wounded two or three others; and in a moment they were nearly
surrounded by the dragoons under command of Lieutenant Brown. For a
short time the contest was maintained with vigor; the bonds of Captain
Edwards were soon cut; he attacked the tory captain, sword in hand, and,
after a short conflict, succeeded in wounding him in the sword-arm and
hurling him to the ground, and placing his foot on his breast, he said:

"'Now, you dastardly ruffian, avow your villanies, and inform me where I
shall find Miss Howard, or, by heaven, I will send you where the tenor
of your life will be hard to account for.'

"The fierceness of the whig soldier's manner, and the consciousness of
being wholly in his power, completely humbled the tory, and he begged
his life, and promised to conduct the troops to his encampment, where
they would find the lady in safety.

"The tories were now effectually routed; some were killed, some wounded,
others captured, and some had escaped. A few miles' travel, and Captain
Edwards and the men under his command arrived at the habitation of the
tories. A coarse slovenly soldier was pacing the ground in front of the
building, and, on the advance of the continental troops, presented his
musket, and ordered them to halt. Captain Edwards briefly informed him
of the reverse that had taken place in the fortunes of his commander,
and concluded by telling him that 'Submission was safety--resistance
death.'

"The door was now burst open, and in a moment Miss Williams was folded
in the arms of her lover.

"Little more remains to be told. No entreaties of Captain Edwards, or
persuasions of her aunt, could induce Miss Williams to give her hand to
her admirer till the close of the war. On the establishment of peace,
Colonel Edwards, (for he had received that rank,) was made happy in the
possession of his long-tried affection. Lieutenant Brown served under
his captain during the war, and, on the promotion of Captain Edwards,
succeeded to his command. The tory Lewis, and the remainder of his
guilty accomplices, were captured shortly after the occurrence of the
events I have related, and executed for desertion."

"The tories generally received the worst of every encounter," remarked
Higgins; "at least, so all our love-story tellers say." "What I have
told you I know to be true--just as Bill Moore, who was one of Captain
Edwards' men, used to tell it," replied old Harmar.

"I believe it to be a fact that the tories did get the worst of most
of the encounters in which they had an equal number of our men to deal
with. The reason was plain. They had not the same great motives to spur
them to daring and noble effort; and the whigs fought against them with
more ardor than they would against the British," said Wilson.

"Captain Edwards was a host. Just think of one man daring to resist the
attack of twenty men, and killing five of them before he was taken. It
seems like the deed of a fabulous hero," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"The case was a desperate one, and demanded desperate conduct. A
surrender would not have saved his life, and might have secured Miss
Williams in the hands of Lewis. By a bold attack, Edwards won new
reputation and alarmed his men, who then saved his life and the honor of
his beloved," said old Harmar, in defence of his hero.

"I expect they would have murdered the poor man, and then Lewis would
have forced Miss Williams to become his wife--the wretch!" put in Mrs.
Harmar.

"Nothing would have been too black for his heart, when he had an end in
view. Such men are the most dangerous foes to their fellows, and we
must rejoice when a just punishment overtakes them in their headstrong
career. Many of those who are glorified as great men have possessed the
same unscrupulous disposition. The only difference between them and
Lewis lies in this--they fixed their minds on greater objects," said old
Harmar.

"What's that for?" inquired Higgins, starting up as the sound of drum
and fife broke on his ear. Mrs. Harmar went to the front window, and
reported that a Volunteer company of soldiers was coming down the
street. The old men instantly crowded round the window, and expressed
their gratification at the sight that presented itself. The volunteers
were neatly uniformed and very precisely drilled. They marched with
the firm and uniform tread of regulars. The "ear-piercing fife and
spirit-stirring drum" discoursed the music sweetest to the ears of the
old warriors, and their eyes brightened and they made an effort to
straighten themselves, as if "the old time came o'er them." They
lingered at the window as long as they could catch the sound, and long
after the volunteers had turned the corner of the street. Perhaps, if we
had possessed sufficient mental insight, we might have been with those
old men in the scenes that came back to their minds like a tide that had
seemed to have ebbed away for ever. We might have been with them where
the drum and fife were as strong drink to the warriors, firing their
hearts and steeling their nerves for the bloody struggle. But we are
left to conjecture what was present to their imaginations by what they
express in conversation.


BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN.

"Those fellows look very neat and prim; they march well, and their
muskets are polished very bright. I wonder how they would stand fire,"
said Higgins, after the party had seated themselves.

"I doubt if they would like it as well as parading the streets; but
there may be some stout hearts among them," replied old Harmar.

"They should have been at Brandywine or Germantown. At either place they
would have had a chance to prove their stuff. Fife and drum would have
been necessary, I think, to stir them up," said Wilson.

"I paid a visit to Germantown, the other day," said Mr. Jackson Harmar.
"I passed over the chief portion of the battle-ground, and examined
Chew's house, where some of the British took refuge and managed to turn
the fortunes of the day. The house is in a good state of preservation,
and bears many marks of the conflict."

"I have seen it since the day of the battle, and have also walked over
the neighboring grounds," said Smith "You are wrong in stating that the
troops that threw themselves into that house turned the fortune of the
day. Our defeat was the result of many unlooked-for circumstances, which
no general could have been prepared to meet."

"I have always understood that the check received by our troops
at Chew's house gave the enemy time to rally, and thus defeated
Washington's plan," replied Mr. Jackson Harmar. "If it was otherwise, I
should like to be informed of the circumstances."

"Oh, tell us about the battle of Germantown, Mr. Smith!" exclaimed Mrs.
Harmar. She had some acquaintances at Germantown, and she wished to
astound them by the extent of her information. "Father says he was not
in the battle, being sick at the time. Besides, if he knew, he would
never condescend to tell me about it, when he could find Jackson to talk
to."

"Why, I'm sure, my child, you never seemed very anxious to know,"
replied old Harmar; "but if you will listen to Mr. Smith, you will know
all about it. He was present during the whole battle."

"Ay; and did my share of the fighting, too," added Smith. "But I'll tell
you how it was; and you, Mr. Harmar, may judge whether our defeat was
owing in any degree to the exertions of the enemy. After General Howe
took possession of Philadelphia, the main body of the British was
encamped at Germantown. Our army lay at Skippack Creek, about sixteen
miles from Germantown. Well, General Washington having received all
the reinforcements he expected, and knowing that the enemy had been
considerably weakened by sending detachments to take possession of the
city and the ports on the river, determined to attempt to surprise them
in their camp. The plan was formed with all the judgment and foresight
we might expect in Washington. We were to march at night for Germantown.
Wayne and Sullivan were to attack the left wing of the enemy in front,
whilst Armstrong, with a body of militia, attacked it in the rear.
Greene and Stephens were to attack the right wing in front, while
Smallwood fell upon its rear. Then there was a strong reserve. Of
course, I was with the Pennsylvania line, under Wayne's command. We
started on the evening of the third of October. I shall never forget
that night's march. It was very dark. We could scarcely see three feet
from us; and, as we wished to move on so as not to be discovered by any
of those who usually gave the enemy information, we carried very few
lanthorns. The road, however, was well known, and we marched rapidly and
surely. As we approached Germantown, we found an evidence that the enemy
were aware of our vicinity, and Wayne determined to attack at once. Just
at dawn of day, a party of Sullivan's troops attacked the picket at the
end of the village, and our whole division rushed on as the picket was
driven in. The surprise was complete. The enemy could not make a stand.
They were broken and routed, and their tents and marquees burnt. We
pushed on, took some prisoners, and drove the British from behind fences
and houses where they had taken shelter.

"Six companies of a British regiment, under their lieutenant-colonel,
being hard pressed by an advancing column, threw themselves into Chew's
house, and, barricading the lower windows, opened a destructive fire
from the cellars and upper windows. Our troops, finding their musketry
made no impression, were in the act of dragging up their cannon to
batter the walls, when a stratagem was attempted, which, however, failed
of success. An officer galloped up from the house, and cried out, 'What
are you about? You will fire on your own people.' The artillery opened,
but, after fifteen or twenty rounds, the pieces were found to be of too
small calibre to make a serious impression, and were withdrawn.

"A most daring attempt was then made to fire the building.
Lieutenant-Colonel Laurens, aid-de-camp to the commander-in-chief, with
a few volunteers, rushed up to the house under cover of the smoke,
and applied a burning brand to the principal door, at the same time
exchanging passes with his sword with the enemy on the inside. By almost
a miracle, this gallant officer escaped unharmed, although his clothes
were repeatedly torn by the enemy's shot. Another and equally daring
attempt was made by Major White, aide-de-camp to General Sullivan, but
without as fortunate a result. The major, while in the act of firing one
of the cellar windows, was mortally wounded, and died soon after.

"Washington accompanied the leading division under Major-General
Sullivan, and cheered his soldiers in their brilliant onset, as they
drove the enemy from point to point. Arriving in the vicinity of Chew's
house, the commander-in-chief halted to consult his officers as to the
best course to be pursued towards this fortress that had so suddenly
and unexpectedly sprung up in the way. The younger officers who were
immediately attached to the person of the chief, and among the choicest
spirits of the Revolution, including Hamilton, Reed, Pinckney, Laurens,
and Lee, were for leaving Chew's house to itself, or of turning the
siege into a blockade, by stationing in its vicinity a body of troops to
watch the movements of the garrison, and pressing on with the column in
pursuit of the flying enemy. But the sages of the army, at the head of
whom was Major-General Knox, repulsed at once the idea of leaving a
fortified enemy in the rear, as contrary to the usages of war and the
most approved military authorities.

"At this period of the action the fog had become so dense that objects
could scarcely be distinguished at a few yards' distance. We had
penetrated the enemy's camp even to their second line, which was drawn
up to receive us about the centre of Germantown. The ammunition of the
right wing, including the Maryland brigades, became exhausted, the
soldiers holding up their empty cartridge boxes, when their officers
called on them to rally and face the enemy. The extended line of
operations, which embraced nearly two miles, the unfavorable nature
of the ground in the environs of Germantown for the operations of the
troops, a large portion of whom were undisciplined, the ground being
much cut up, and intersected by stone fences and enclosures of various
sorts, the delay of the left wing under Greene in getting into
action--all these causes, combined with an atmosphere so dense from
fog and smoke as to make it impossible to distinguish friend from foe,
produced a retreat in our army at the moment when victory seemed to be
within its grasp.

"Washington was among the foremost in his endeavors to restore the
fallen fortunes of the day, and, while exerting himself to rally his
broken columns, the exposure of his person became so imminent, that his
officers, after affectionately remonstrating with him in vain, seized
the bridle of his horse. The retreat, under all circumstances, was quite
as favorable as could be expected. The whole of the artillery was saved,
and as many of the wounded as could be removed. The ninth Virginia
regiment, under Colonel Mathews, having penetrated so far as to be
without support, after a desperate resistance, surrendered its remnant
of a hundred men, including its colonel, who had received several
bayonet wounds. The British pursued but two or three miles, making
prisoners of the worn-out soldiers, who, after a night-march of fifteen
miles and an action of three hours, were found exhausted and asleep in
the fields and along the road.

"I made a narrow escape from being taken by a party of dragoons. They
were nearly upon a small body of us that had got separated from our
division, before we perceived them. I gave the alarm, and we ran on, as
we thought, toward our troops; but the fog was so thick that we mistook
the way, and wandered about for some time in constant risk of being
surrounded by the enemy. At length we stumbled on the main body of
our line, and retreated with them. I never saw a more irritated and
disappointed set of men than our officers on that day. Every one had a
different cause for the repulse. Some said that Greene did not come up
in time to aid Wayne and Sullivan; while others said that Greene had
performed the most effective service during the engagement, and that the
loss of the day was owing to the military prejudices of Knox and some
others, who would halt to attack Chew's house, instead of following up
the advantages already gained. Then the fog was blamed for the confusion
it caused. The fact was, the defeat was owing to many causes combined,
some of which I have mentioned."

"The attack was certainly skilfully planned and truly executed, in spite
of its want of success," remarked old Harmar. "Your opinion of the
causes of the defeat, Mr. Smith, is that which is now generally adopted.
The halt at Chew's house did not give rise to the retreat of Sullivan's
division. The ammunition of the troops was exhausted, and they were not
aware of Greene's approach until they had begun to fall back. By the
way, did you hear how General Nash was killed?"

"He was killed by a cannon-ball, I believe," replied Smith.

"Yes," said old Harmar. "A round-shot from the British artillery
striking a sign-post in Germantown, glanced therefrom, and, passing
through his horse, shattered the general's thigh on the opposite side.
The fall of the animal hurled its unfortunate rider with
considerable force to the ground. With surprising courage and
presence of mind, General Nash, covering his wound with both
of his hands, called to his men, 'Never mind me, I have had a
devil of a tumble; rush on, my boys, rush on the enemy--I'll
be after you presently.' He could do no more.

Faint from loss of blood and the intense agony of his wound, the
sufferer was borne to a house hard by, and attended by Dr. Craik, by
special order of the commander-in-chief. The doctor gave his patient but
feeble hopes of recovery, even with the chances of amputation, when Nash
observed, 'It may be considered unmanly to complain, but my agony is too
great for human nature to bear. I am aware that my days, perhaps hours,
are numbered, but I do not repine at my fate. I have fallen on the field
of honor, while leading my brave Carolinians to the assault of
the enemy. I have a last request to make of his Excellency, the
commander-in-chief, that he will permit you, my dear doctor, to remain
with me, to protect me while I live, and my remains from insult.' Dr.
Craik assured the general that he had nothing to fear from the enemy; it
was impossible that they would harm him while living, or offer insult
to his remains; that Lord Cornwallis was by this time in the field,
and that, under his auspices, a wounded soldier would be treated with
humanity and respect. The dying patriot and hero then uttered these
memorable words: 'I have no favors to expect from the enemy. I have been
consistent in my principles and conduct since the commencement of the
troubles. From the very first dawn of the Revolution I have ever been
on the side of liberty and my country.' "He lingered in extreme torture
between two and three days, and died admired by his enemies, admired and
lamented by his companions in arms. On Thursday, the ninth of October,
the whole American army was paraded by order of the commander-in-chief,
to perform the funeral obsequies of General Nash."

"I have heard those who knew him best speak of him as a brave soldier
and a noble-hearted man; and your account of his death assures me of the
truth of their eulogy," remarked Smith.

"It is said that Washington, seeing that his well-arranged plan was
about to be defeated, could not control his anger and disappointment,"
said Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"It is true. Washington, like all very great men, was naturally strongly
passionate. His usual self-command was the more wonderful because it had
been acquired by stern practice. The battle of Germantown was one of
those few occasions in his life when his feelings burst through all
restraint; and then, it is said by those who should know, that his wrath
was fierce and terrible. The officers were compelled, by considerations
of his safety, to lead his horse from the field. He did all that a man
could do to rally his broken troops, and exposed himself as fearlessly
as the bravest soldier. All his exertions were vain, however, and he
became much irritated in consequence."

"The retreat just when victory was within his grasp was enough to
irritate any commander who valued his aim and plan," observed Mr.
Jackson Harmar, agreeing with Smith in the remarks which he had just
made. "I suppose, if Washington had been completely successful at
Germantown, the British would have been driven from Philadelphia," said
Higgins.

"Ay; and from the vicinity of Philadelphia," replied Smith. "They could
not have recovered from such a defeat."

[Illustration: BATTLE OF THE KEGS.]


BATTLE OF THE KEGS.

"Father," said Mr. Jackson Harmar, "I have a song in my portfolio,
written by Francis Hopkinson while the British were in Philadelphia;
perhaps you can tell us something about the event which is the subject
of it. Here it is. It is called 'The Battle of the Kegs.'"

"The Battle of the Kegs! That I can, my boy. But read the song," replied
old Harmar. His son then read the following facetious ditty:


  "Gallants, attend, and hear a friend
  Trill forth harmonious ditty:
  Strange things I'll tell, which late befell
  In Philadelphia city.

  Twas early day, as poets say,
  Just when the sun was rising,
  A soldier stood on log of wood,
  And saw a sight surprising.

  As, in amaze, he stood to gaze,--
  The truth can't be denied, sirs,--
  He spied a score--of kegs, or more,
  Come floating down the tide, sirs.
  A sailor, too, in jerkin blue,
  The strange appearance viewing,
  First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise,
  Then said, 'Some mischief's brewing.

  These kegs now hold the rebels bold,
  Pack'd up like pickled herrings
  And they're come down to attack the town,
  In this new way of ferrying.'

  The soldier flew, the sailor, too,
  And, scared almost to death, sirs,
  Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
  And ran till out of breath, sirs.

  Now up and down, throughout the town,
  Most frantic scenes were acted;
  And some ran here, and some ran there,
  Like men almost distracted.

  Some fire cried, which some denied,
  But said the earth had quakčd;
  And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
  Ran through the town half-naked.

  Sir William he, snug as a flea,
  Lay all this time a snoring,
  Nor dream'd of harm, as he lay warm,
  While all without was roaring.

  Now, in affright, he starts upright,
  Awaked by such a clatter:
  He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
  'For God's sake, what's the matter?'
  At his bedside he then espied
  Sir Erskine at command, sirs;
  Upon one foot he had one boot,
  And t'other in his hand, sirs.

  'Arise! arise!' Sir Erskine cries:
  'The rebels--more's the pity--
  Without a boat, are all afloat,
  And ranged before the city.

  'The motley crew, in vessels new,
  With Satan for their guide, sir,
  Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs,
  Come driving down the tide, sir.

  'Therefore prepare for bloody war!
  These kegs must all be routed;
  Or surely we despised shall be,
  And British courage doubted.'

  The royal band now ready stand,
  All ranged in dread array, sirs;
  With stomach stout, to see it out,
  And make a bloody day, sirs.

  The cannons roar from shore to shore,
  The small arms make a rattle;
  Since wars began, I'm sure no man
  E'er saw so strange a battle.

  The rebel vales, the rebel dales,
  With rebel trees surrounded,
  The distant woods, the hills and floods,
  With rebel echoes sounded.
  The fish below swam to and fro,
  Attack'd from every quarter:
  Why, sure, thought they, the devil's to pay
  'Mongst folks above the water.

  The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made,
  Of rebel staves and hoops, sirs,
  Could not oppose their powerful foes,
  The conquering British troops, sirs.

  From morn to night, these men of might
  Display'd amazing courage;
  And when the sun was fairly down,
  Retired to sup their porridge.

  A hundred men, with each a pen,
  Or more--upon my word, sirs,
  It is most true--would be too few
  Their valor to record, sirs.

  Such feats did they perform that day
  Upon these wicked kegs, sirs,
  That years to come, if they get home,
  They'll make their boasts and brags, sirs."


"Ha! ha! that's a good thing. The enemy used to be so fond of the word
'rebel' that they would attach it to the most trifling things, when
speaking of our people. Judge Hopkinson ridicules that in fine style,"
remarked old Harmar.

"It ought to be sung to the tune of the 'Hoosier's Ghost,'" said Wilson.

"Who is the Sir Erskine alluded to in the song?" inquired Mrs. Harmar.
"Sir William Erskine, one of Sir William Howe's officers," replied old
Harmar. "This song created much merriment among the whigs at the time
it was written, so that, however much the enemy were right, we had the
laugh on our side."

"But what were the circumstances which gave rise to it?" inquired Mr.
Jackson Harmar, impatiently.

"I was about to tell you," replied his father. "A Mr. David Bushnell
had invented several ingenious articles of submarine machinery, for the
purpose of destroying the British vessels stationed in the Delaware.
Among these was the American torpedo, a machine shaped like a water
tortoise, and managed by a single person. It contained sufficient air to
support respiration thirty minutes without being replenished, valves to
admit or reject water for the purpose of rising or sinking, ballast to
keep it upright, and a seat for the operator. Above the rudder was a
place for carrying a large powder magazine, constructed from two pieces
of oak timber, and capable of carrying one hundred and fifty pounds of
powder, with the apparatus for firing it. Within the magazine was an
apparatus constructed to run any proposed length of time under twelve
hours, after which it sprung a strong lock similar to that of a gun,
which gave fire to the powder. This apparatus was so secured that it
could be set in motion only by the casting off of the magazine from the
vessel.

"With this machine a skilful operator could swim so low on the surface
of the water, as to approach at night very near to a ship without being
discovered. After sinking quickly, he could keep at any necessary depth,
and row to a great distance in any direction, without coming to the
surface. Bushnell found, however, that much trial and instruction were
required for a man of common ingenuity to become a skilful manager. It
was first tried by his brother, who, unfortunately, was taken ill at the
time when he had become an able operator. Another person was procured,
and the first experiment tried upon the Eagle, a sixty-four, which Lord
Howe commanded in person. He went under the ship, and attempted to fix
the wooden screw into her bottom, but struck, as was supposed, a bar
of iron running from the rudder-hinge. Not being well skilled in the
management of the machine, he lost the ship in attempting to move to
another place; and, after seeking her in vain for some time, rowed a
little distance and rose to the surface. Daylight had now advanced so
that the attempt could not be renewed, and, fearing he was discovered,
he detached the magazine from his vessel and escaped. In an hour the
powder exploded, throwing a vast column of water to an amazing height,
and leaving the enemy to conjecture whether it was caused by a bomb, a
water-spout, or an earthquake. Want of resources obliged Mr. Bushnell to
abandon his schemes for that time; but, in 1777, he made an attempt from
a whale-boat against the Cerberus frigate, by drawing a machine against
her side with a line. It accidentally became attached to a schooner and
exploded, tearing the vessel in pieces. Three men were killed, and one
dangerously wounded.

"In December, 1777, Mr. Bushnell contrived another ingenious expedient
for accomplishing his favorite object. He charged a number of kegs
with powder, arranging them so as to explode on coming in contact with
anything while floating along the tide. This squadron was launched
at night on the Delaware river, above the English shipping; but,
unfortunately, the proper distance could not be well ascertained, and
they were set adrift too far from the vessels, so that they became
obstructed and dispersed by the floating ice. On the following day,
however, one of them blew up a boat, and others exploded, occasioning
the greatest consternation among the British seamen. The troops were
aroused, and, with the sailors, manned the wharves and shipping at
Philadelphia, discharging their cannon and small-arms at everything they
could see floating in the river during the ebb tide.

"The scene must have been a very ridiculous one, and we cannot wonder
at Judge Hopkinson making such comic use of it. The British must have
imagined that every keg was the visible part of a torpedo, intended for
their destruction."

"We cannot wonder at their consternation, while in constant danger of
being blown into the air," said Mr. Jackson Harmar. "Just place yourself
in their position; and, knowing that several attempts had been made to
blow up the ships, how would you have acted?"

"I should have made quite as much noise, I suppose," replied old Harmar;
"but then it was so laughable. I don't think the folks aboard of those
ships slept for a week after finding that there was powder in the kegs.
That, I believe, was Bushnell's last attempt to destroy the fleet."

"For my part," remarked Wilson, "I never liked such contrivances; and it
is a very pregnant fact that in most cases they have failed, when, from
the skill and science displayed in their construction, success was
anticipated. It's my opinion, God works against such things. As much
as I hated the enemy, I could not sanction such wholesale murder--for
murder it would have been, to have sent hundreds of men into eternity,
without giving them an inch of fair fighting ground. I would not have
minded blowing up the British government--that I could have done myself
without any more sting of conscience than the hangman feels; but
soldiers and seamen fight fairly and openly for their country's honor
and rights, as they understand those things, and they should be met in
the same manner."

"You're right, Mr. Wilson. Torpedoes, catamarans, and such inventions,
might be employed by both parties in war, and with destructive effect.
But wars ought to be conducted in such a manner as to gain the desired
end with as little loss of life as possible; besides, in the eyes of all
really brave men, these things must seem cowardly," said Morton.

"You must permit me to differ with you, gentlemen," put in Mr. Jackson
Harmar; and, in a very dignified, Congressional style, he delivered
himself of the following defence of the innovations of modern warfare:
"I view all such contrivances as the triumph of the genius and skill of
man over mere brute force, and as tending to the great ends of the peace
and happiness of mankind. They place the weak upon a level with the
strong, and make it evident to every one that the best course would be
to submit all questions of right to the arbitration of the mind instead
of the arm and sword. Suppose I, being a small, weak man, should quarrel
with a man of great physical strength, and a hatred to the death should
be declared between us. Now, upon whichever side the bone of right lay,
the strong man would have the power to destroy me; but if I set my brain
to work, and contrive an 'infernal machine,' I shall be superior to him,
and drive him to the same resource. Now, we both see by this, that we
stand an even chance of being destroyed, and reason resumes her reign.
We see that the wisest and safest course for both would be to submit
the question involved in the quarrel to the judgment of a mutual and
impartial friend. Even so these inventions operate among nations,
which, by the way, should be ruled by the same general principles as
individuals."

"That's all very true," remarked Wilson. "But if I was about to fight
a duel with a man, and I stood up, pistol in hand, while he stood off
beyond my reach, and with some infernal invention endeavored to kill me,
I should call him a coward."

"That would not settle the dispute," said Mr. Jackson Harmar. "Your
wisest course would be to equal his invention, and compel him to fight
fairly or make peace."


ARNOLD'S TREASON.

"Many strange and many laughable public events occurred in Philadelphia
during the Revolution," said old Harmar. "I was with the army during the
greater part of the time, but our family remained in the city, and kept
me advised of everything that was going on. I was engaged to be married
to your mother, Jackson, before the war commenced, and I had to leave
her in Philadelphia also, until the war was over. She used to write me
letters, telling me about everything that passed in the city that was
interesting. I recollect in one letter she gave me an account of how the
news of Arnold's treason was received among the people."

"With blessings on the traitor's head, of course," remarked Wilson,
ironically.

"I could imagine how it was received," said Mr. Jackson Harmar. "The
people were indignant and cursed the traitor."

"The people of Philadelphia knew Arnold's real character," replied old
Harmar. "They knew, from his residence among them, that he was capable
of selling his soul for gold, glory, and pleasure; but they did not
suspect him of any intention of leaving our cause entirely. They thought
he would see that it was for his interest to stand by his country's
rights. While in command in this city, Arnold had been very intimate
with several wealthy tory families, and I believe had married a lady
who was connected with them. But such an intimacy was not sufficient to
justify suspicions of his patriotism, if it had not been joined with
other circumstances. He gave great entertainments at his house, and
lived as if he was worth a mint of money. Then he was always in trouble
with the committees of Congress about money matters, which made
people generally believe that he cared more for gold than he did for
principles. Well, when the news of his discovered treachery reached
Philadelphia, the men with whom he had been wrangling about money said
they knew it would turn out just so, and they never expected anything
else; and the citizens generally were very indignant. They chose some
laughable ways of showing the state of their feelings. An artist
constructed a stuffed figure of the traitor, as large as life, and
seated him in a cart, with a figure of the devil alongside of him,
holding a lantern so as to show his face to the people. The words,
'Benedict Arnold, the Traitor,' were placed on a board over the head
of the first figure. An evening was appointed for the display, and the
hanging and burning of the effigy. A vast procession was formed, with
the cart at the head, and drums and fife playing the Rogues' March. This
paraded the streets of the city during the whole evening. The people
groaned and hissed, and pelted the figures as they passed. At length the
procession reached a common which had been selected for the purpose, and
on which a gallows had been erected. There the effigy was hung, and then
taken down and burnt. In the fire, the figure of old Nick was arranged
with one hand upon Arnold's head, and the other pointing below, while he
grinned as if over a triumph."

"An appropriate ceremony," said Wilson.

"It must have been a great sight," observed Mrs. Harmar.

"They should have caught the man himself, and burnt him instead of a
stuffed figure," said Higgins.

"It would have saved Andre," remarked Smith.

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Morton. "He ought to have been put to death
with all the torture the Indians use with their captives."

These slight remarks indicated the peculiar manner in which each of
these individuals viewed a subject.

"The British generals expected that Arnold's example would be followed
by numbers of the Americans; but I think they soon saw the character of
the people, and the way they regarded Arnold," said old Harmar.

"It's my opinion that Arnold's going over to the enemy was a benefit to
our cause," remarked Smith. "Such men are stains upon the character of
the people with whom they associate; and if a selfish, sensual traitor
was fit company for Sir Henry Clinton and his officers, he was not for
Washington and the other generals of our army." "Some of our people
thought that he would prove a dangerous foe; but, after the attack on
New London, all his activity and bravery seem to have fallen asleep. We
had many men who could have met and defeated him, with anything like
equal force. We did not lose much by his treachery, and the British lost
Andre, who would have outweighed many Arnolds," said Morton.

"But treason found its reward," observed Mr. Jackson Harmar. "If Arnold
had an atom of conscience or sensibility to shame, the curses of a whole
people, whom he had turned from admiring friends to bitter foes, and
the jeers and scorn of those whom he wished to make friends, must have
planted many a thorn in his bosom, to rankle and poison his life."

"If he had any conscience?" remarked Morton, with an unbelieving smile.

"The people of Philadelphia showed that they had the true patriotic
spirit in them, in burning that effigy of Arnold," said Mr. Jackson
Harmar; "and taught the enemy that, though they might buy one man, they
could not hire a people to follow wrong example."


CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT.

"Well, leaving Arnold to the execration of all patriotic and pure-souled
men," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar, assuming the post of pilot to the
conversation, "there is an exploit of the Revolution which always struck
me as being one of the most daring and perilous to be found in the
annals of war. I mean the capture of Major-General Prescott by Major
Barton. If either of you, gentlemen, know the circumstances of that
affair, I would be obliged to you for your information."

"I don't know as much about it as you may obtain from history,"
replied old Harmar, speaking for himself. "Our line was in another
neighborhood."

"I should suppose Mr. Morton was acquainted with the facts, as he was up
in that part of the country about that time," observed Wilson.

"I was; and do know all that one engaged in the expedition might tell
me," replied Morton. "Furthermore, I have no objection to communicating
my information.--I would thank you for a glass of water, Mrs. Harmar."
The water was handed to the old man, and, after a refreshing draught, he
proceeded with his narrative.

"You must know, that in the latter part of 1771 General Charles Lee was
surprised and taken prisoner by a detachment of British troops. This
was the result of his own carelessness. The British chuckled over his
capture, saying that they had caught the American palladium, as if Lee
was at all necessary to the success of our cause. However, the Americans
considered him a valuable officer, and Major William Barton, of the
Rhode Island line, resolved upon retaking him or procuring his exchange.

"Some months elapsed, after the capture of General Lee, before an
opportunity offered of effecting the object which Major Barton had
in view. In the month following that of the capture, the enemy took
possession of the islands of Rhode-Island, Canonicut, and Prudence.
Major Barton was then stationed at Tiverton, and for some months
anxiously watched the motions of the enemy, with but feeble prospect of
obtaining the opportunity he desired.

"At length, on the 20th June, 1777, a man by the name of Coffin, who
made his escape from the British, was seized by some of the American
troops, and carried to Major Barton's quarters. Major Barton availed
himself of the opportunity to inquire respecting the disposition of the
British forces. Coffin on examination, stated that Major-General
Richard Prescott had established his head-quarters on the west side of
Rhode-Island, and described minutely the situation of the house in which
he resided, which he said was owned by a Mr. Pering. His account was
a few days after confirmed by a deserter from the ranks of the enemy.
Major Barton was now confirmed in his belief of the practicability of
effecting his favorite object:--but serious obstacles were first to be
encountered and removed. Neither his troops, nor their commander, had
been long inured to service; and the intended enterprise was of a nature
as novel as it was hazardous. Besides, Major Barton was aware that the
undertaking, should it prove unsuccessful, would be pronounced rash and
unadvised, and, in its consequences, though his life might be preserved,
be followed by degradation and disgrace. Moreover, to involve in the
consequences of an enterprise, devised and undertaken without previous
consultation with his superiors in rank, the interest and perhaps the
lives of a portion of his brave countrymen, was a subject that excited
reflections calculated to damp the ardor and appall the courage of the
bravest minds. Still, however, upon mature reflection, aided by a
consciousness that its only motive was the interest of his country, he
resolved to hazard his reputation and his life in the attempt.

"The regiment to which Major Barton was attached, was commanded by
Colonel Stanton, a respectable and wealthy farmer in Rhode-Island, who,
in the spirit of the times, had abandoned the culture of his farm and
the care of his family, and put at hazard his property and his life in
defence of his country. To this gentleman Major Barton communicated his
plan, and solicited permission to carry it into execution. Colonel
Stanton readily authorized him 'to attack the enemy when and where he
pleased.' Several officers in the confidence of Major Barton were
then selected from the regiment for the intended expedition, on whose
abilities and bravery he could rely:--these were, Captain Samuel
Phillips, Lieutenant Joshua Babcock, Ensign Andrew Stanton, and John
Wilcock. (Captain Adams subsequently volunteered his services, and took
an active part in the enterprise.) These gentlemen were informed by
Major Barton, that he had in contemplation an enterprise which would be
attended with great personal hazard to himself and his associates; but
which, if success attended it, would be productive of much advantage
to the country. Its particular object, he stated, would be seasonably
disclosed to them. It was at their option to accept or decline his
invitation to share with him in the dangers, and, as he trusted, in the
glory that would attend the undertaking. The personal bravery of Major
Barton had been previously tested; and such was the confidence and
esteem which he had acquired among the officers under his command,
that, without insisting upon a previous developement of his plans,
his proposal was immediately accepted. Major Barton experienced more
difficulty in obtaining the necessary number of boats, as there were but
two in the vicinity. But this difficulty, though it caused a few days'
delay, was at length obviated, and five whale-boats were procured and
fitted for service. Major Barton had purposely postponed procuring the
necessary number of men until the last moment, from an apprehension that
their earlier selection might excite suspicion, and defeat the object
of their enterprise. Desirous that this little band might be composed
entirely of volunteers, the whole regiment was now ordered upon parade.
In a short, but animated address, Major Barton informed the soldiers
that he projected an expedition against the enemy, which could be
effected only by the heroism and bravery of those who should attend him;
that he desired the voluntary assistance of about forty of their number,
and directed those 'who would hazard their lives in the enterprise,
to advance two paces in front.' Without one exception, or a moment's
hesitation, the whole regiment advanced. Major Barton, after bestowing
upon the troops the applause they merited, and stating that he required
the aid of but a small portion of their number, commenced upon the
right, and, passing along the lines, selected from the regiment, to
the number of thirty-six, those who united to bravery and discipline
a competent knowledge of seamanship, for the management of the boats.
Having thus obtained an adequate number of officers and men, and
everything being ready, the party, on the 4th of July, 1777, embarked
from Tiverton for Bristol. While crossing Mount Hope Bay, there arose a
severe storm of thunder and rain, which separated three boats from that
of their commander. The boat containing Major Barton, and one other,
arrived at Bristol soon after midnight. Major Barton proceeded to the
quarters of the commanding officer, where he found a deserter who had
just made his escape from the enemy at Rhode-Island. From this man he
learned that there had been no alteration for the last few days in the
position of the British. On the morning of the fifth, the remaining
boats having arrived, Major Barton, with his officers, went to Hog
Island, not far distant from Bristol, and within view of the British
encampment and shipping. It was at this place that he disclosed to
his officers the particular object of the enterprise, his reasons for
attempting it, and the part each was to perform. Upon reconnoitring
the position of the enemy, it was thought impracticable, without great
hazard of capture, to proceed directly from Bristol to the head-quarters
of the British general. It was determined, therefore, to make Warwick
Neck, a place opposite to the British encampment, but at a greater
distance than Bristol, the point from which they should depart
immediately for Rhode-Island. The closest secrecy was enjoined upon his
officers by Major Barton, and they returned to Bristol.

"On the evening of the sixth, about nine o'clock, the little squadron
again sailed, and crossing Narragansett Bay, landed on Warwick Neck.
On the seventh, the wind changing to E.N.E. brought on a storm, and
retarded their plan. On the ninth, the weather being pleasant, it was
determined to embark for the island. The boats were now numbered, and
the place of every officer and soldier assigned. About nine o'clock in
the evening, Major Barton assembled his little party around him, and in
a short but spirited address, in which were mingled the feelings of the
soldier and the man, he disclosed to them the object of the enterprise.
He did not attempt to conceal the danger and difficulties that would
inevitably attend the undertaking; nor did he forget to remind them,
that should their efforts be followed by success, they would be entitled
to, and would receive, the grateful acknowledgments of their country.
'It is probable,' said he, 'that some of us may not survive the daring
attempt; but I ask you to hazard no dangers which will not be shared
with you by your commander; and I pledge to you my honor, that in every
difficulty and danger I will take the lead.' He received the immediate
and unanimous assurance of the whole party, that they would follow
wherever their commander should lead them. Major Barton then, reminding
them how much the success of the enterprise depended upon their strict
attention to orders, directed that each individual should confine
himself to his particular seat in the boat assigned him, and that not
a syllable should be uttered by any one. He instructed them, as they
regarded their character as patriots and soldiers, that in the hour
of danger they should be firm, collected, and resolved fearlessly to
encounter the dangers and difficulties that might assail them. He
concluded by offering his earnest petition to the Great King of Armies,
that he would smile upon their intended enterprise, and crown it with
success. The whole party now proceeded to the shore. Major Barton had
reason to apprehend that he might be discovered in his passage from the
main to Rhode-Island, by some of the ships of war that lay at a small
distance from shore. He therefore directed the commanding officer at
Warwick Neck, that if he heard the report of three distinct muskets, to
send boats to the north end of Prudence Island to his aid. The whole
party now took possession of the boats in the manner directed. That
which contained Major Barton was posted in front, with a pole about
ten feet long fixed in her stern, to the end of which was attached a
handkerchief, in order that his boat might be distinguished from the
others, and that none might go before it. In this manner they proceeded
between the islands of Prudence and Patience, in order that they might
not be seen by the shipping of the enemy that lay off Hope Island. While
passing the north end of Prudence Island, they heard from the sentinels
on board the shipping of the enemy, the cry of 'All's well!' As they
approached the shore of Rhode-Island, a noise like the running of horses
was heard, which threw a momentary consternation over the minds of the
whole party; but, in strict conformity to the orders issued, not a word
was spoken by any one. A moment's reflection satisfied Major Barton of
the utter impossibility that his designs could be known by the enemy,
and he pushed boldly for the shore. Apprehensive that, if discovered,
the enemy might attempt to cut off his retreat, Major Barton ordered
one man to remain in each boat, and be prepared to depart at a
moment's warning. The remainder of the party landed without delay. The
reflections of Major Barton at this interesting moment, were of a
nature the most painful. The lapse of a few hours would place him in a
situation in the highest degree gratifying to his ambition, or overwhelm
him in the ruin in which his rashness would involve him. In the solemn
silence of night, and on the shores of the enemy, he paused a moment to
consider a plan which had been projected and matured amidst the bustle
of a camp and in a place of safety. The night was excessively dark, and,
a stranger to the country, his sole reliance upon a direct and rapid
movement to the head-quarters of a British general, so essential to
success, rested upon the imperfect information he had acquired from
deserters from the enemy. Should he surprise and secure General
Prescott, he was aware of the difficulties that would attend his
conveyance to the boat; the probability of an early and fatal discovery
of his design by the troops upon the island; and, even if he should
succeed in reaching the boats, it was by no means improbable that the
alarm might be seasonably given to the shipping, to prevent his retreat
to the main. But regardless of circumstances, which even then would have
afforded an apology for a hasty retreat, he resolved at all hazards to
attempt the accomplishment of his designs.

"To the head-quarters of General Prescott, about a mile from the shore,
a party in five divisions now proceeded in silence. There were doors on
the south, the east and west sides of the house in which he resided. The
first division was ordered to advance upon the south door, the second
the west, and the third the east, the fourth to guard the road, and the
fifth to act in emergencies. In their march they passed the guard-house
of the enemy on their left, and on their right a house occupied by a
company of cavalry, for the purpose of carrying with expedition the
orders of the general to remote parts of the island. On arriving
at the head-quarters of the enemy, as the gate of the front yard was
opened, they were challenged by a sentinel on guard. The party was at
the distance of twenty-five yards from the sentinel, but a row of
trees partially concealed them from his view, and prevented him from
determining their number. No reply was made to the challenge of the
sentinel, and the party proceeded on in silence. The sentinel again
demanded, 'Who comes there?' 'Friends,' replied Barton. 'Friends,' says
the sentinel, 'advance and give the countersign.'

"Major Barton, affecting to be angry, said to the sentinel, who was now
near him, 'Damn you, we have no countersign--have you seen any rascals
to-night?' and, before the sentinel could determine the character of
those who approached him, Major Barton had seized his musket, told him
he was a prisoner, and threatened, in case of noise or resistance, to
put him to instant death. The poor fellow was so terrified, that upon
being asked whether his general was in the house, he was for some time
unable to give any answer. At length, in a faltering voice, he replied
that he was. By this time each division having taken its station, the
south door was burst open by the direction of Major Barton, and the
division there stationed, with their commander at their head, rushed
into the head-quarters of the general. At this critical moment, one of
the British soldiers effected his escape, and fled to the quarters of
the main guard. This man had no article of clothing upon him but a
shirt; and having given the alarm to the sentinel on duty, passed on
to the quarters of the cavalry, which was more remote from the
head-quarters of the general. The sentinel roused the main guard, who
were instantly in arms, and demanded the cause of alarm. He stated the
information which had been given him by the soldier, which appeared so
incredible to the sergeant of the guard that he insisted that he had
seen a ghost. The sentinel, to whom the account of the general's capture
appeared quite as incredible as to his commanding officer, admitted that
the messenger was clothed in white; and after submitting to the jokes
of his companions, as a punishment for his credulity, he was ordered to
resume his station, while the remainder of the guard retired to their
quarters. It was fortunate for Major Barton and his brave followers,
that the alarm given by the soldier was considered groundless. Had the
main guard proceeded without delay to the relief of their commanding
general, his rescue certainly, and probably the destruction of the
party, would have been the consequence.

"The first room Major Barton entered was occupied by Mr. Pering, who
positively denied that General Prescott was in the house. He next
entered the room of his son, who was equally obstinate with his father
in denying that the general was there. Major Barton then proceeded
to other apartments, but was still disappointed in the object of
his search. Aware that longer delay might defeat the object of his
enterprise, Major Barton resorted to stratagem to facilitate his
search. Placing himself at the head of the stairway, and declaring
his resolution to secure the general dead or alive, he ordered
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT.] his soldiers to set fire
to the house. The soldiers were preparing to execute his orders, when
a voice, which Major Barton at once suspected to be the general's,
demanded 'What's the matter?' Major Barton rushed to the apartment from
whence the voice proceeded, and discovered an elderly man just rising
from his bed, and clapping his hand upon his shoulder, demanded of
him if he was General Prescott. He answered 'Yes, sir.' 'You are my
prisoner, then,' said Major Barton. 'I acknowledge that I am,' replied
the general. In a moment, General Prescott found himself, half dressed,
in the arms of the soldiers, who hurried him from the house. In the
meantime, Major Barrington, the aid to General Prescott, discovering
that the house was attacked by the rebels, as he termed them, leaped
from the window of his bed-chamber, and was immediately secured a
prisoner. General Prescott, supported by Major Barton and one of his
officers, and attended by Major Barrington and the sentinel, proceeded,
surrounded by the soldiery, to the shore. Upon seeing the five little
boats, General Prescott, who knew the position of the British shipping,
appeared much confused, and, turning to Major Barton, inquired if he
commanded the party. On being informed that he did, he expressed a hope
that no personal injury was intended him; and Major Barton assured the
general of his protection, while he remained under his control.

"The general had travelled from head-quarters to the shore in his
waistcoat, small-clothes, and slippers. A moment was now allowed him to
complete his dress, while the party were taking possession of the boats.
The general was placed in the boat with Major Barton, and they proceeded
for the main.

"They had not got far from the island, when the discharge of cannon and
three sky-rockets gave the signal of alarm. It was fortunate for the
party that the enemy on board the shipping were ignorant of the cause
of it, for they might easily have cut off their retreat. The signal
of alarm excited the apprehensions of Major Barton and his brave
associates, and redoubled their exertions to reach the point of their
destination before they could be discovered. They succeeded, and
soon after day-break landed at Warwick Neck, near the point of their
departure, after an absence of six hours and a half.

"General Prescott turned towards the island, and, observing the ships
of war, remarked to Major Barton, 'Sir, you have made a bold push
to-night.' 'We have been fortunate,' replied the hero. An express was
immediately sent forward to Major-General Spencer, at Providence,
communicating the success which had attended the enterprise. Not long
afterwards, a coach arrived, which had been despatched by General
Spencer to convey General Prescott and his aide-de-camp prisoners to
Providence. They were accompanied by Major Barton, who related to
General Spencer, on their arrival, the particulars of the enterprise,
and received from that officer the most grateful acknowledgments for the
signal services he had rendered to his country."

"I suppose Prescott paid for Lee soon afterwards?" said young Harmar.
"Yes; he was an officer of equal rank with Lee. The enemy had refused to
exchange Lee for two or three officers of an inferior grade, but they
were ready enough to take Prescott for him," replied Morton.

"It was as complete an enterprise as was ever carried through," remarked
old Harmar.

"The poor general must have been surprised to find he was a prisoner,
when he thought himself safe among an army and fleet," observed Mrs.
Harmar.

"Major Barton was every inch a hero. See his skill and daring in
planning and executing the capture, and then his modesty when Prescott
said he had made a bold push--'We have been fortunate.' The reply was
worthy of the noblest of the Athenians," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"Circumstances did certainly favor the enterprise," said Smith. "In
fact, we may say its success turned upon chances, and if it had failed
and the whole party been made prisoners, Major Barton would have been
called a rash and inconsiderate officer. Success works wonders in our
estimate of deeds."

"You are harsh. Barton calculated the chances before he entered into the
expedition--saw that they were in his favor, and then formed his plan.
I am persuaded that, had he failed, his countrymen would have done him
justice," said Wilson.

"Perhaps," replied Higgins.


JONATHAN RILEY AND FRANK LILLY.

"I say, Mr. Higgins," said old Harmar, wishing to change the subject,
"do you recollect Jonathan Riley and Frank Lilly, that were in our
company?"

"I do. I shall never forget the death of either of them," replied
Higgins. "Poor Frank used to be the butt of the regiment."

"And why shall you always remember the death of those two men?" inquired
Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"Well, from peculiar circumstances connected with them," replied
Higgins. "However, your father knew them most intimately, and he can
tell you more about them than I can."

"Come, father, we call on you for the story," said Mrs. Harmar.

"You shall have what I can recollect of it, my child. My memory won't
pass muster any more; but if there's one event that will never escape
its grasp, it is the singular death of Jonathan Riley. He was a sergeant
in our regiment.

[Illustration: RILEY GOING TO THE PLACE OF EXECUTION.]

He had served in the old French war, and, being a man of tried
courage and presence of mind, he was usually selected for dangerous and
trying situations. He was at length placed on a recruiting station, and
in a short period he enlisted a great number of men. Among his recruits
was Frank Lilly, a boy about sixteen years old, who was so weak and
small that he would not have passed muster if the array had not been
greatly in want of men. The soldiers made this boy the butt of their
ridicule, and many a joke was perpetrated at his expense. Yet there was
a spirit in the boy beyond his years. Riley was greatly attached to him;
and it was reported, on good authority, that he was the fruit of one of
Riley's love affairs with a beautiful and unfortunate girl.

"Often on our long and fatiguing marches, dying almost from want,
harassed incessantly by the enemy, did Riley carry the boy's knapsack
for miles, and many a crust for the poor wretch was saved from his
scanty allowance. But Frank Lilly's resolution was once the cause
of saving the whole detachment. The American army was encamped at
Elizabethtown. The soldiers stationed about four miles from the main
body, near the bay that separated the continent from Staten-Island,
forming an advance picket-guard, were chosen from a southern regiment,
and were continually deserting. It was a post of some danger, as the
young ambitious British officers, or experienced sergeants, often headed
parties that approached the shore in silence, during the night, and
attacked our outposts. Once they succeeded in surprising and capturing
an officer and twenty men, without the loss of a man on their part.
General Washington determined to relieve the forces near the bay,
and our regiment was the one from which the selection was made. The
arrangement of our guard, as near as I can recollect, was as follows:

"A body of two hundred and fifty men was stationed a short distance
inland. In advance of these were several outposts, consisting of an
officer and thirty men each. The sentinels were so near as to meet in
their rounds, and were relieved every two hours. It chanced one dark and
windy night, that Lilly and myself were sentinels on adjoining posts.
All the sentinels were directed to fire on the least alarm, and retreat
to the guard, where we were to make the best defence we could, until
supported by the detachment in our rear. In front of me was a strip of
woods, and the bay was so near that I could hear the dashing of the
waves. It was near midnight, and occasionally a star was to be seen
through the flying clouds. The hours passed heavily and cheerlessly
away. The wind at times roared through the adjoining woods with
astonishing violence. In a pause of the storm, as the wind died suddenly
away, and was heard only moaning at a distance, I was startled by an
unusual noise in the woods before me. Again I listened attentively, and
imagined that I heard the heavy tread of a body of men, and the rattling
of cartridge boxes. As I met Lilly, I informed him of my suspicions. All
had been quiet in the rounds, but he promised to keep a good watch, and
fire on the least alarm. We separated, and I had marched but a few rods,
when I heard the following conversation. 'Stand.' The answer was from
a speaker rapidly approaching, and in a low constrained voice. 'Stand
yourself, and you shall not be injured. If you fire, you are a dead man.
If you remain where you are, you shall not be harmed. If you move, I
will run you through.'

"Scarcely had he spoken, when I saw the flash, and heard the report of
Lilly's gun. I saw a black mass rapidly advancing, at which I fired, and
with all the sentinels retreated to the guard, consisting of thirty men,
commanded by an ensign. An old barn had served them for a guard-house,
and they barely had time to turn out, and parade in the road, as the
British were getting over a fence within six rods of us, to the number
of eighty, as we supposed. We fired upon them, and retreated in good
order towards the detachment in the rear. The enemy, disappointed of
their expected prey, pushed us hard, but we were soon reinforced, and
they, in their turn, were compelled to retreat, and we followed them
at their heels to the boats. We found the next morning that poor Frank
Lilly, after discharging his musket, was followed so close by the enemy
that he was unable to get over a fence, and he was run through with
a bayonet. It was apparent, however, that there had been a violent
struggle; for in front of his post was a British non-commissioned
officer, one of the best formed men I ever saw, shot directly through
the body. He died in great agonies, as the ground was torn up with his
hands, and he had literally bitten the dust. We discovered long traces
of blood, but never knew the extent of the enemy's loss. Poor Riley
took Lilly's death so much to heart that he never afterwards was the man
he previously had been. He became indifferent, and neglected his duty.
There was something remarkable in the manner of his death. He was
tried for his life, and sentenced to be shot. During the trial and
subsequently, he discovered an indifference truly astonishing. On the
day of his execution, the fatal cap was drawn over his eyes, and he was
caused to kneel in front of the whole army. Twelve men were detailed for
the purpose of executing him, but a pardon had been granted, unknown to
Riley, in consequence of his age and services; they had no cartridges.
The word 'ready' was given, and the cocking of guns could be distinctly
heard. At the word 'fire,' Riley fell dead upon his face, when not a gun
had been discharged."

"That was a remarkable death; but there have been many instances of
a similar kind. The dread of death has been sufficient to produce it
without a mortal blow," remarked Wilson.

"But I cannot believe that Riley ever felt a dread of death. He was
always as reckless of his own life as if it was not of the value of a
pin's head. No; it was not the dread of death," replied old Harmar.

"It may have been the belief that death was certainly about to visit
him. Imagination may produce effects quite as wonderful," observed Mr.
Jackson Harmar.

"It's a waste of time and thought to speculate on such things," said
Smith. "But I'm inclined to believe, with young Mr. Harmar, that it was
the result of imagination. A man hearing the word 'fire,' in such a
case, would feel sure of death, and then his faculties would sink into
the expected state."

"I guess Riley's heart must have been almost broken at the death of poor
Frank Lilly," said Mrs. Harmar.

"Yes; he felt it deeper than most of us thought, and as I said, became
perfectly indifferent whether his duty was performed or not," replied
old Harmar. "The whole story of Riley and Lilly, including the account
of the love affair, was a sad bit of romance."


THE MASSACRE OF WYOMING.

"The people of Pennsylvania," observed Morton, "suffered more from the
tories and Indians than they did from the British. Philadelphia and
its vicinity were the only parts which any considerable British force
visited; but look at the depredations of the tories and Indians on
the northern and western frontiers, and at the massacre at Wyoming
particularly."

"Ay, there were suffering and horror enough experienced in that valley
alone, to match those of any other event in our history. It was a time
of blood and desolation," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"I was intimately acquainted with several families residing in the
valley at the time of the massacre," said Morton; "and one man, who
was taken prisoner after seeing his whole family slaughtered, and who
afterwards escaped from the bloody band, narrated the whole affair to
me."

"There is considerable dispute in regard to the circumstances attending
the massacre. It seems impossible to get at the precise truth," observed
Mrs. Harmar. "It's my opinion, the horrors of the event have been
greatly exaggerated," added Smith.

"I do not think they could be exaggerated," replied Morton. "If you
desire it, I will relate the circumstances as they were narrated to me.
I can vouch for the strict regard to truth that has ever distinguished
my friend."

Of course, the company signified their desire to hear the account, and
thereupon Morton began as follows.

"Wyoming, besides being a frontier settlement during the course of the
Revolutionary war, and therefore constantly exposed to the inroads of
the savages, had furnished two full companies, and about sixty recruits
more, for the main army--all which were annexed to the Connecticut line,
and armed at their own expense. They amounted, in the whole, to two
hundred and thirty men. While thus weakened and unguarded, they were
invaded by an army from Niagara, in the British service, composed of
regulars, tories, and Indians; of which the Indians composed the greater
part.

"The Indians, in the spring of 1777, began to be troublesome. Their
numbers were frequently augmented by the arrival of new parties; and it
was from the cattle, hogs, and other plunder taken from the inhabitants,
that they furnished themselves with provisions. Some of the inhabitants
were killed by them, and others captured; and they destroyed much
property. At length they became very formidable.

"The inhabitants had erected several small forts, but the principal one
was Forty Fort, in Kingston, on the west side of the river, a small
distance above Wyoming Falls. To this the settlers had chiefly resorted.
They had sent agents to the continental army to acquaint them with their
distressed situation; in consequence of which, Captain Spaulding, with
about sixty or seventy men, was dispatched to their assistance. This
detachment was, at the time of the massacre, about forty miles distant.
The garrison had been apprised of their march from Lancaster, but not of
their proximity.

"The people in the garrison grew uneasy, under the insults of the
invaders. The militia were placed under officers taken from themselves,
and the whole body was commanded by Colonel Zebulon Butler, of the
continental army. Colonel Dennison, of the militia, was second in
command. There was a fortification about three miles above Forty Fort,
called Wintermoot's Fort. This was in the possession of tories. They
surrendered at the approach of the enemy, without opposition, and gave
them aid; some of them entering fully into their interests. Wintermoot's
Fort instantly became the headquarters of the expedition from Canada;
and was commanded by Colonel John Butler, a British officer, and
commander of a party of rangers. The second in command was Colonel
Brandt, a natural son of Sir William Johnson, by an Indian woman. Some
communications by flag had taken place between the hostile parties
previous to the battle, with propositions of compromise. The Canadians
insisted on an unqualified submission to Great Britain; but this the
garrison peremptorily refused, and nothing was effected. The reciprocal
bearers of flags represented the army of the invaders as double the
garrison in number, and still more superior in the quality of their
arms.

"It was debated in the garrison, whether it would be a point of prudence
to hazard a sally. An officer, who had been at the enemy's camp with a
flag, opposed it, as did also Colonel Dennison and several others, and
Colonel Butler rather declined it; but, among others who were in favor
of it, a certain captain, (who never lived to lament his temerity,)
urged it with so much vehemence, that the commandant consented. A Mr.
Ingersol, then in the garrison with a flag from the enemy, had been some
time their captive, and was intimately acquainted with their strength.
He did his utmost to deter them from the rash attempt, but all in vain;
and, when he saw them turn out and parade, could no longer refrain from
tears.

"The third day of July, in the year 1778, was the fatal day that deluged
in blood the plains of Wyoming! The garrison marched off in a solid
column, and met with no material obstruction till they reached the
enemy's camp, about three miles above Forty Fort. Here they had the
Susquehanna on the right, and a thick swamp on the left; and, perceiving
that the enemy extended from the one to the other, ready to receive
them, they displayed column, which threw them into a similar position.
Colonel Zebulon Butler commanded the right, and was opposed by Colonel
John Butler, on the enemy's left. Colonel Dennison commanded on the
left, and was opposed by Colonel Brandt, on the enemy's right. The
action commenced at about forty rods distance. The air being heavy, the
smoke obstructed their sight; and, after the first discharge, they could
only direct their aim by the flash of the enemy's guns. Little execution
was done till after several discharges. Brandt marched a party into the
swamp, and flanked the militia. The enemy, now firing from under cover
of the thicket, greatly annoyed that wing. The militia dropped down
very fast, and at length began to give way, one after another, in rapid
succession, till the rout became general. The fugitives were closely
pursued by the Indians, who, besides their rifles and tomahawks, were
provided with long spears, which they threw with great dexterity, and
seldom missed their object--the practice of throwing the tomahawk and
spear, and of taking aim, being the principal exercises to which an
Indian warrior is trained.

"It was impossible for men thus flying and thus pursued to rally, nor
had they a moment's time even to load their pieces, while death was
close upon every man's heel. And, besides, many of them had no other
weapon but a rusty musket. Flight was their only hope; and the Indians,
being most accustomed to running, if they could not run the fastest,
could, however, out-wind them. The carnage at once became general, and
three-fourths of the militia were killed.

"According to the account of some who were present, the number
that sallied out was five hundred, and of those who escaped the
scalping-knife two hundred. Others assert that the sortie consisted of
but three hundred, and those who escaped were less than one hundred.
The probability is that, between the confusion, carnage, and panic of
the day, the accounts are all incorrect. But, by every account, about
three hundred able-bodied men, amounting to more than half the
settlement, were slain on that dismal day.

"The fugitives fled in every direction. Some saved themselves by fair
running; some, by hiding till the darkness covered their retreat; and
many by swimming the river, &c. Particular details of all individual
escapes cannot be given; nor would they, perhaps, be entertaining, and I
shall, therefore, pass them over. Some few of the enemy were killed
in the pursuit; their total loss was never ascertained, but we are to
presume that it was small.

"Forty Fort was immediately evacuated. Some few of the inhabitants took
British protections, and remained on their premises. The signal for a
house under protection was a white cloth hung up near the door, and for
a man, a white rag round the crown of his hat.

"Those of the militia who escaped from the battle, hastened toward the
Delaware, and, on their way through the swamp, met Captain Spaulding's
detachment, who, on being informed of the strength of the enemy and
deplorable condition of the settlement, judged it prudent to turn about
and retire to the settlement on the Delaware.

"The road through the swamp was thronged with women and children,
heavy-hearted and panic-struck; destitute of all the comforts of life,
travelling day and night, and in continual dread of the tomahawk and
scalping-knife! The whole country, and all the property in it, was
abandoned to the savages, save only by the few who had taken British
protections.

"Colonel Nathan Dennison, who succeeded to the command after Butler
escaped, seeing the impossibility of an effectual defence, went with
a flag to Colonel John Butler, to know what terms he would grant on a
surrender; to which application Butler answered, with more than savage
phlegm, in two short words, '_The hatchet_.' Dennison, having defended
the fort till most of the garrison were killed or disabled, was
compelled to surrender at discretion. Some of the unhappy persons in the
fort were carried away alive; but the barbarous conquerors, to save
the trouble of murder in detail, shut up the rest promiscuously in
the houses and barracks, which they set on fire, enjoying the savage
pleasure of beholding the whole consumed in one general blaze.

"They then crossed the river to the only remaining fort, Wilkesborough,
which, in hopes of mercy, surrendered without demanding any conditions.
They found about seventy continental soldiers, who had been engaged
merely for the defence of the frontiers, whom they butchered with every
circumstance of horrid cruelty. The remainder of the men, with the women
and children, were shut up, as before, in the houses, which being set on
fire, they perished altogether in the flames.

"A general scene of devastation was now spread through all the
townships. Fire, sword, and the other different instruments of
destruction, alternately triumphed. The settlements of the tories
alone generally escaped, and appeared as islands in the midst of the
surrounding ruin. The merciless ravagers, having destroyed the main
objects of their cruelty, directed their animosity to every part of
living nature belonging to them--shooting and destroying some of their
cattle, and cutting out the tongues of others, leaving them still alive
to prolong their agonies.

"The following are a few of the more singular circumstances of the
barbarity practised in the attack upon Wyoming. Captain Bedlock, who had
been taken prisoner, being stripped naked, had his body stuck full of
splinters of pine-knots, and then a heap of the same piled around him;
the whole was then set on fire, and his two companions, Captains Ranson
and Durgee, thrown alive into the flames and held down with pitchforks.
The returned tories, who had at different times abandoned the
settlement in order to join in those savage expeditions, were the most
distinguished for their cruelty: in this they resembled the tories that
joined the British forces. One of these Wyoming tories, whose mother had
married a second husband, butchered with his own hands both her, his
father-in-law, his own sisters, and their infant children. Another, who
during his absence had sent home several threats against the life of his
father, now not only realized them in person, but was himself, with his
own hands, the exterminator of his whole family, mothers, brothers, and
sisters, and mingled their blood in one common carnage with that of
the aged husband and father. The broken parts and scattered relics of
families, consisting mostly of women and children who had escaped to the
woods during the different scenes of this devastation, suffered little
less than their friends, who had perished in the ruins of their houses.
Dispersed, and wandering in the forests as chance and fear directed,
without provision or covering, they had a long tract of country to
traverse, and many, without doubt, perished in the woods."

"Such deeds make the blood curdle in my veins," observed Mrs. Harmar.

"It is said that the cruelty of Colonel John Butler at Wyoming has been
greatly exaggerated," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar. "His son, Walter
Butler, was certainly a savage, and the bloody deeds he committed have
been frequently attributed to his father. But I think history should
set the matter right, nor found its assertions upon the stories of the
exasperated whigs."

"That's well thought of you, Mr. Harmar, but it's my opinion that
historians cannot find any evidence of the humanity of John Butler. As I
said before, I firmly believe the story of my friend. If John Butler did
not butcher the men who asked for quarter, he looked quietly on while
the red men did it, and therefore he is just as criminal, in my eyes, as
if he had handled the tomahawk," said Morton, emphatically.

"Colonel Zebulon Butler, with his family, escaped from the fort before
the massacre, I believe?" observed Higgins, inquisitively.

"Yes; and in that I think he betrayed his trust. A commander should
either conquer or die with his men," replied Morton.

"But when slaughter is certain, I think every man is justified in doing
all that he can to save himself," said old Harmar.

"That is selfish. If slaughter was certain, would it not have been more
honorable to remain, and make the enemy pay life for life, than it would
be to steal away and leave women and children to fall without revenge?"
observed Wilson.

"But would it be wise?" asked old Harmar, interrogatively.

"Whatever is honorable is wise," replied Wilson.


STORY OF THE DAUPHIN'S BIRTHDAY.

"Mr. Mortan, what do you think was the most interesting scene you saw
during the war?" enquired Mr. Jackson Harraar.

"Well, that's a question it requires some thinking to answer," replied
Morton. "Leaving battle scenes out of view, I think the celebration of
the Dauphin's birth-day, in May, 1782, was one of the most interesting
events I have ever witnessed."

"It was a great celebration," observed Higgins.

"You see," began Morton, "our army was then encamped on the high grounds
on both sides of the Hudson. The camp on the west side of the river was
called New Boston, because the huts had been put up by the Massachusetts
troops. The head-quarters of General Washington were at West Point.
As our Congress had entered into an alliance with the king of France,
General Washington thought it proper to seize every occasion of doing
honor to our allies; and when the French were thrown into all sorts of
rejoicing by the birth of an heir to the throne, he decided that we
should celebrate the same event. The thirty-first of May was fixed upon
for the celebration. Great preparations were made for the festival. In
General Washington's orders, invitations were given to all the
officers in the army, and they were requested to invite any friend or
acquaintance they might have in the country to join them. A romantic,
open plain near West Point was chosen for the building of the great
bower under which the company were to meet and partake of a grand feast.
A French engineer, named Villefranche, was employed, with one thousand
men, ten days in completing it, and, when completed, it was one of the
most beautiful edifices I have ever seen. It was composed entirely of
the material which the trees in the neighborhood afforded, and was about
six hundred feet long and thirty wide. The roof was supported by a grand
colonnade of one hundred and eighteen pillars made of the trunks of
trees. The roof and walls were made of the boughs and branches of trees,
curiously interwoven, while the ends were left open. On the inside,
every pillar was enriched with muskets and bayonets, which were arranged
in a fanciful manner; and the whole interior was decorated with
evergreens, French and American colors, and various emblems and mottoes.

"On the day of the festival, the whole army was paraded on the hills
on both side of the river, and it was a grand view. For several miles
around, as far as the eye could reach, lines of men, glittering in their
accoutrements, appeared. The officers were in front, or among their
respective commands, and their waving plumes seemed like floating
foam on the waves. At the signal--the firing of three cannon--all the
regimental officers left their commands and proceeded to the building
to join in the festivities there prepared by order of the
commander-in-chief.

"At five o'clock, dinner being on the table, an interesting procession
moved from the quarters of Major-General M'Dougall, through a line
formed by Colonel Grain's regiment of artillery. In front, walked
the noble commander-in-chief, his countenance expressive of unusual
cheerfulness, and his stately form moving with characteristic grace and
dignity. He was accompanied by his lady, and his suite followed him.
Then came all the principal officers of the army with their ladies,
Governor Clinton and lady, and various distinguished characters from
the States of New York and New Jersey. The procession moved to the vast
bower, where more than five hundred guests were assembled. The banquet
was magnificently prepared, and bands of music added melody to the other
charms of the scene--thus feasting and satisfying the eye, the ear, and
the palate. The cloth being removed, thirteen appropriate toasts were
drank, each being announced by the firing of thirteen cannon and the
playing of appropriate music by the bands in attendance. The company
retired from the table at seven o'clock, and the regimental officers
rejoined their respective commands. In the evening, the arbor was
brilliantly illuminated. The numerous lights, gleaming among the boughs
and leaves of the trees that composed the roof and the walls, presented
the appearance of myriads of glowworms or of thousands of stars
glittering in the night. When the officers had rejoined their different
regiments, thirteen cannon were again fired, as a prelude to the general
feu-de-joie which immediately succeeded. Three times was it repeated,
and the reverberations sounded among the hills with tremendous effect,
darkness adding grandeur to the scene, as the flashing of the musketry
of the army broke upon it like sheeted lightning. The feu-de-joie was
immediately followed by three shouts of acclamation and benediction for
the dauphin, given by the whole army as with one voice. At half-past
eleven o'clock the celebration was concluded by an exhibition of
fireworks, ingeniously constructed of various figures. There was a ball
given during the evening in the arbor, at which General Washington,
with Mrs. Knox for a partner, led the dance. Thus ended the general
festivity."

"There," remarked Mrs. Harmar, "that has interested me much more than
all the horrible stories that have been told to-day. How I should have
liked to be there!"

"It was a sight such as all men are not permitted to see," said Morton.

"It was grand--it was sublime!" exclaimed Mr. Jackson Harmar. "A scene
worthy of any pen or any pencil!" As Mr. Jackson Harmar seized all such
opportunities for exercising his literary propensities, it was most
probable that he considered that the pen alone could do justice to the
scene, and that _his_ pen was destined to immortalize it.

The bell now rang for tea, and the party adjourned to the tea-table,
where, however, the conversation turned upon matters foreign to the
Revolution. Mrs. Harmar would introduce household concerns when her
husband began to allude to the war, and the children, especially Thomas
Jefferson Harmar, would play around the old veterans, asking them
trifling questions, until the meal was finished, and then Morton,
Higgins, Smith, and Wilson prepared to return to their respective
residences. Morton lived in the interior of Pennsylvania, and was
stopping with a near relative during his visit to the city. The other
three resided in New Jersey, and were putting up at the same house--that
of a friend of Higgins'. Old Harmar shook hands with his old camp
associates, wishing them many days of health and happiness to come, and
trusting that they might meet again before death should claim them. The
veterans kissed the children, and Morton gave Thomas Jefferson Harmar a
bullet from Bunker's Hill, telling him to learn what his countrymen had
fought and bled for, and to act like them on a like occasion, if any
such should ever occur, which he earnestly hoped would never be the
case. Mr. Jackson Harmar procured a carriage, and the veterans being
soon comfortably seated, he accompanied them to their respective
residences. On bidding him farewell, the aged patriots thanked him
for his kindness, which Mr. Jackson Harmar returned with an elaborate
panegyric on the men of the Revolution, and the duty of his generation
to treat them with the highest veneration and respect. The public either
suffered from or were benefited by the interview between Mr. Jackson
Harmar and the veteran patriots, for the press soon teemed with stirring
poetical appeals to the people to hold their liberties dearer than
life, on account of the blood that they had cost. A large volume also
appeared, entitled "Legends of the Times that tried Men's Souls,"
beginning with the history of the "Old State-House Bell."

THE END.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Bell Of Independence; Or,
Philadelphia In 1776, by Henry C. Watson

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