



Produced by David Widger from page images generously
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THE WOMEN OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

By Elizabeth F. Ellet

With an Introduction by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton

Volume II (of II)

Illustrated

George W. Jacobs & Co.

1900




XXVI. MARTHA WASHINGTON.

[Illustration: 0008]

|None who take an interest in the history of Washington can fail to
desire some knowledge of her who shared his thoughts and plans, and was
associated with him in the great events of his life. Few women have been
called to move, in the drama of existence, amid scenes so varied and
imposing; and few have sustained their part with so much dignity and
discretion. In the shades of retirement, or the splendor of eminent
station, she was the same unostentatious, magnanimous woman; through the
gloom of adverse fortune she walked by the side of the Chief, ascending
with him the difficult path Heaven had opened before him; and when
standing with him on the summit, in the full light of his power and
renown, the eyes of her spirit looked still upward, seeking in the smile
of the Supreme a reward which earthly honors could not bestow.

Though the life of Mrs. Washington was a changeful one, and had its
full measure of sorrow and joy, it affords little material for the
biographer. She moved in woman's domestic sphere, to which pertain not
actions that strike the public eye, but uncomplaining endurance, and
continual, unnoted self-sacrifice. The best account of her is the memoir
prepared for the National Portrait Gallery, by her grandson, George
Washington Parke Custis, of Arlington, D. C. According to this, Martha
Dandridge was descended from an ancient family that migrated to the
colony of Virginia and was born in the county of New Kent, in May, 1732.
Her education was only a domestic one, such as was given to females in
those days, when there were few seminaries of instruction, and private
teachers were generally employed. Her beauty and fascinating manners,
with her amiable qualities of character, gained her distinction among
the ladies who were accustomed to resort to Williamsburg, at that time
the seat of government.

When but seventeen, Miss Dandridge was married to Colonel Daniel
Parke Custis, of the same county. Their residence--called the "White
House,"--was on the banks of the Pamunkey River, where Colonel Custis
became a highly successful planter. None of the children of this
marriage survived the mother; Martha, who arrived at womanhood, died at
Mount Vernon, in 1770; and John perished eleven years later, at the age
of twenty-seven.

Mrs. Custis was early left a widow, in the full bloom of beauty and
"splendidly endowed with worldly benefits." As sole executrix, she
managed with great ability the extensive landed and pecuniary business
of the estate. Surrounded by the advantages of fortune and position, and
possessing such charms of person, it may well be believed that suitors
for her hand and heart were many and pressing.

"It was in 1758," says her biographer, "that an officer, attired in a
military undress, and attended by a body servant, tall and militaire as
his Chief, crossed the ferry called Williams's, over the Pamun-key, a
branch of the York River. On the boat touching the southern, or New Kent
side, the soldier's progress was arrested by one of those personages
who give the beau ideal of the Virginia gentleman of the old regime--the
very soul of kindness and hospitality." He would hear of no excuse on
the officer's part for declining the invitation to stop at his house.
In vain the Colonel pleaded important business at Williamsburg; Mr.
Chamberlayne insisted that his friend must dine with him at the very
least. He promised, as a temptation, to introduce him to a young and
charming widow, who chanced then to be an inmate of his dwelling. At
last the soldier surrendered at discretion, resolving, however, to
pursue his journey the same evening. They proceeded to the mansion. Mr.
Chamberlayne presented Colonel Washington to his various guests, among
whom was the beautiful Mrs. Custis. Tradition says that the two were
favorably impressed with each other at the first interview. It may be
supposed that the conversation turned upon scenes in which the whole
community had a deep interest--scenes which the young hero, fresh from
his early fields, could eloquently describe; and we may fancy with
what earnest and rapt interest the fair listener "to hear did seriously
incline;" or how "the heavenly rhetoric of her eyes" beamed unconscious
admiration upon the manly speaker. The morning passed; the sun sank
low in the horizon. The hospitable host smiled as he saw the Colonel's
faithful attendant, Bishop, true to his orders, holding his master's
spirited steed at the gate. The veteran waited, and marvelled at the
delay. "Ah, Bishop," says a fair writer describing the occurrence,
"there was an urchin in the drawing-room more powerful than King George
and all his governors! Subtle as a sphynx, he had hidden the important
despatches from the soldier's sight, shut up his ears from the summons
of the tell-tale clock, and was playing such mad pranks with the bravest
heart in Christendom, that it fluttered with the excess of a new-found
happiness!"

Mr. Chamberlayne insisted that no guest ever left his house after
sunset; and his visitor was persuaded, without much difficulty, to
remain. The next day was far advanced when the enamored soldier was
on the road to Williamsburg. His business there being despatched, he
hastened to the presence of the captivating widow.

A short time after the marriage, which took place about 1759, Colonel
and Mrs. Washington fixed their residence at Mount Vernon. The mansion
was at that period a very small building compared with its present
extent. It did not receive many additions before Washington left it to
repair to the first Congress, and thence to the command-in-chief of
the armies of his country. He was accompanied to Cambridge by Mrs.
Washington, who remained some time with him, and witnessed the siege and
evacuation of Boston. She then returned to Virginia.

So prevalent at one time was the disaffection, as Mrs. Washington
herself remarked, that on a visit to Philadelphia, upon her way to camp
one season, few of the ladies of the city called upon her. A passage
from Christopher Marshall's manuscript diary for the year 1775, *
curiously illustrates the state of popular feeling at the breaking out
of the war.

* This passage may be found, quoted from the MS., in a note in the Life
and Correspondence of President Reed. Vol. II., p. 24.

Mrs. Washington arrived in the city on the twenty-first of November, on
her journey to Cambridge. A ball was in preparation, to be given on the
twenty-fourth; and it was expected that both she and the wife of Colonel
Hancock would grace the entertainment with their presence. But from some
threats thrown out, it was feared that a commotion would be made,
which might result in disturbance of the peace of the city. A large
and respectable committee was held at the Philosophical Hall, called
together for the purpose of considering the propriety of allowing the
ball to be given that evening; and after mature consideration, it was
concluded that no such entertainment should take place, either then,
or during the continuance of those melancholy times. A committee was
appointed to inform the managers that they must proceed no further in
the preparations; and also to wait upon "Lady Washington," and request
her not to attend at the assembly to which she had been invited.
The committee acted agreeably to directions; and reported that Lady
Washington had received them with great politeness, thanked the
committee for their kind care and regard in giving her timely notice,
and assured them that their sentiments on this occasion were perfectly
agreeable to her own.

It was not often that the interest taken by Mrs. Washington in political
affairs was evinced by any public expression. The address already
mentioned, which was read in the churches of Virginia, and published in
the Philadelphia papers, June, 1780, as "The Sentiments of an American
Woman"--was attributed--it cannot be ascertained with what truth--to her
pen. * She passed the winters with her husband. Mr. Custis states that
it was the habit of the Commander-in-chief to despatch an aid-decamp, at
the close of each campaign, to escort Mrs. Washington to head-quarters.

* Remembrancer, Vol. VIII.

Her arrival at camp was an event much anticipated; the plain chariot,
with the neat postillions in their scarlet and white liveries, was
always welcomed with great joy by the army, and brought a cheering
influence, which relieved the general gloom in seasons of disaster
and despair. Her example was followed by the wives of other general
officers.

It happened at one time while the ladies remained later than usual in
the camp on the Hudson, that an alarm was given of the approach of the
enemy from New York. The aids-de-camp proposed that the ladies should
be sent away under an escort. To this Washington would not consent.
"The presence of our wives," said he, "will the better encourage us to
a brave defence." The night was dark; and the words of command from the
officers, the marching of the troops, the dragging of artillery into
the yard, and the noise of removing the windows of the house--the
house itself being filled with soldiers--all gave "dreadful note of
preparation." The enemy, however, finding themselves mistaken in their
hopes of a surprise, withdrew without coming to blows.

Lady Washington, as she was always called in the army, usually remained
at head-quarters till the opening of the succeeding campaign, when she
returned to Mount Vernon. She was accustomed afterwards to say that it
had been her fortune to hear the first cannon at the opening, and the
last at the closing, of all the campaigns of the Revolutionary war. How
admirably her equanimity and cheerfulness were preserved, through the
sternest periods of the struggle--and how inspiriting was the influence
she diffused, is testified in many of the military journals. She was
at Valley Forge in that dreadful winter of 1777-8; her presence and
submission to privation strengthening the fortitude of those who might
have complained, and giving hope and confidence to the desponding.
She soothed the distresses of many sufferers, seeking out the poor and
afflicted with benevolent kindness, extending relief wherever it was in
her power, and with graceful deportment presiding in the Chiefs humble
dwelling. *

* Thacher's Journal and other authorities.

In a letter to Mrs. Warren she says, "The General's apartment is very
small; he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which has made our
quarters much more tolerable than they were at first." Their table was
but scantily furnished; but the soldiers fared still worse, sitting down
at a board of rough planks, set with horn spoons and a few tumblers; the
food being often salt herrings and potatoes, without other vegetables,
or tea, coffee, or sugar. Their continental money was no temptation to
the farmers to sell them produce. The stone jug passed round was filled
with water from the nearest spring; and rare was the privilege of toddy
in which to drink the health of the nation. Yet here, forgetful of
herself, the patriot wife anxiously watched the aspect of affairs, and
was happy when the political horizon brightened. She writes to Mrs.
Warren--"It has given me unspeakable pleasure to hear that General
Burgoyne and his army are in safe quarters in your State. Would
bountiful Providence aim a like stroke at General Howe, the measure of
my happiness would be complete." *

* MS. letter, March 7th, 1778.

The Marquis de Chastellux says of Mrs. Washington, whom he met at the
house of General Reed in Philadelphia,--"'She had just arrived from
Virginia, and was going to stay with her husband, as she does at the end
of every campaign. She is about forty, or five-and-forty, rather plump,
but fresh, and of an agreeable countenance." In another passage, he
notices the camp life shared by her: "The head-quarters at Newburgh
consist of a single house, built in the Dutch fashion, and neither large
nor commodious. The largest room in it, which General Washington has
converted into his diningroom, is tolerably spacious, but it has seven
doors and only one window. The chimney is against the wall; so that
there is, in fact, but one vent for the smoke, and the fire is in the
room itself. I found the company assembled in a small room which served
as a parlor. At nine, supper was served, and when bedtime came, I found
that the chamber to which the General conducted me was the very parlor
spoken of, wherein he had made them place a camp-bed. We assembled at
breakfast the next morning at ten, during which interval my bed
was folded up; and my chamber became the sitting room for the whole
afternoon; for American manners do not admit of a bed in the room
in which company is received, especially where there are women. The
smallness of the house, and the inconvenience to which I saw that
General and Mrs. Washington had put themselves to receive me, made me
apprehensive lest M. Rochambeau might arrive on the same day. The day I
remained at headquarters was passed either at table or in conversation."

The recollections of a veteran still living at Manchester,
Massachusetts, at the age of ninety-two, bear testimony to the kindness
of Mrs. Washington towards those in the humblest sphere. One little
incident occurred when she came to spend the cold season with her
husband in winter-quarters. There were but two frame-houses in the
settlement, and neither had a finished upper story. The General was
contented with his rough dwelling, but wished to prepare for his wife a
more retired and comfortable apartment. He sent for the young mechanic,
and desired him and one of his fellow-apprentices to fit up a room in
the upper story for the accommodation of Lady Washington through the
winter. She herself arrived before the work was commenced. "She came,"
says the narrator, "into the place--a portly-looking, agreeable woman
of forty-five, and said to us: 'Now, young men, I care for nothing but
comfort here; and should like you to fit me up a beauffet on one side of
the room, and some shelves and places for hanging clothes on the other.'
We went to work with all our might. Every morning about eleven Mrs.
Washington came up stairs with a glass of spirits for each of us; and
after she and the General had dined, we were called down to eat at their
table. We worked very hard, nailing smooth boards over the rough and
worm-eaten planks, and stopping the crevices in the walls made by time
and hard usage. Then we consulted together how we could smooth the
uneven floor, and take out, or cover over some of the huge black knots.
We studied to do every thing to please so pleasant a lady, and to make
some return in our humble way for the kindness of the General. On the
fourth day, when Mrs. Washington came up to see how we were getting
along, we had finished the work, made the shelves, put up the pegs on
the wall, built the beauffet, and converted the rough garret into a
comfortable apartment. As she stood looking round, I said, 'Madam, we
have endeavored to do the best we could; I hope we have suited you.' She
replied, smiling, 'I am astonished! your work would do honor to an
old master, and you are mere lads. I am not only satisfied, but highly
gratified with what you have done for my comfort.'" As the old soldier
repeated these words, the tears ran down his furrowed cheeks. The thrill
of delight which had seventy years before penetrated his heart at the
approving words of his General's lady, again animated his worn frame,
sending back his thoughts to the very moment and scene.

At one time the head-quarters of the Commander-in-chief were at
the house of Mrs. Berry, in New Jersey. While he remained here Mrs.
Washington arrived. When the carriage stopped, and a female in a plain
russet gown, with white handkerchief neatly folded over her neck, was
seen, Mrs. Berry imagined her to be a domestic. But she was undeceived
when the General went forward to receive her, assisted her from the
carriage, and after the first greeting, began to inquire after his pet
horses. A ball was given in honor of the arrival of "Lady Washington,"
at which her brave husband himself condescended to lead a minuet; it
being the first occasion in a long time on which he had been known to
dance. *

* Communicated by a friend of Mrs. Berry.

An anecdote illustrative of the heroic spirit of the lady whose house
was the Chief's abode on this occasion, will not be here misplaced. Her
husband was at Saratoga attending to some private business, when General
Washington, with his officers and troops, went forth to battle. Mrs.
Berry and the wives of the officers who were with her, were busily
occupied in preparing bandages and wrappings for the use of the army;
every sheet and article of linen in the house having been torn up for
that purpose. She was harassed with anxiety lest her husband should not
return to assume his post before the departure of the troops. He did
not arrive in time; and she had the mortification of seeing another
appointed to the command of his men. Sometime after they were gone, she
heard the welcome sound of his horse's feet. He rode up hastily, and
stopped only long enough to change his wearied horse for another. As he
galloped down the lane leading from the house, he heard his wife's
voice calling, "Sidney, Sidney!" She was leaning from a window, her hand
stretched towards him, as if eagerly soliciting his attention. He turned
and rode within hearing; she wished but to give him her parting words.
These were, "Remember, Sidney, to do your duty! I would rather hear that
you were left a corpse on the field, than that you had played the part
of a coward!"

Mrs. Wilson, a lady whose name is mentioned elsewhere in this book, has
favored me with an account of Mrs. Washington's visit to her father's
house at Union Farm, the last time she came to that part of New Jersey.
She was escorted by Major Washington and ten dragoons. She remained a
day and night at the house of Colonel Stewart, and spoke much with
his daughter concerning housekeeping and her domestic affairs. Her
conversation is described as agreeable, and her manners simple, easy,
and dignified. Among other particulars, Mrs. Washington mentioned that
she had a great deal of domestic cloth made in her house, and kept
sixteen spinning wheels in constant operation. She showed Mrs. Wilson
two dresses of cotton striped with silk, manufactured by her own
domestics, and worn by herself; one weighing a pound and a half, the
other rather less. The silk stripes in the fabric were made from the
ravellings of brown silk stockings, and old crimson damask chair-covers.
Her coachman, footman, and waiting-maid, were all habited in domestic
cloth; though the coachman's cuffs and collars, being scarlet, must have
been imported. In the practice of this economy and moderation, as in the
simplicity of her dress, Mrs. Washington appeared desirous of affording
an example to others in inferior station. As late as 1796, Mrs. Wilson,
inquiring for pocket handkerchiefs at a celebrated fancy store in
Philadelphia, was shown some pieces of lawn, of which Mrs. Washington
had just purchased. The information was added, that she paid six
shillings for handkerchiefs for her own use, but went as high as seven
shillings for the General's.

The anniversary of the alliance with France was celebrated by an
entertainment given in the camp near Middlebrook. * On this festive
occasion Mrs. Washington, Mrs. Greene and Mrs. Knox, and the wives of
several officers were present; and a circle of brilliants, the least
of which, says the gallant journalist, was more valuable than the stone
which the king of Portugal received for his Brazilian possessions. The
ladies and gentlemen from a large circuit around the camp, attended
the celebration. It was opened by a discharge of cannon; and dinner was
prepared in a building used for an academy. There was dancing in the
evening, and a grand display of fire-works. The ball was opened by
General Washington. As this was a festival given by men who had not
enriched themselves by the war, the illuminations were on a cheap scale,
being entirely of their own manufacture; the seats were adorned with no
armorial blazonry, but were the work of native, and rather unskillful
artisans. "Instead of knights of different orders, such as pageants
like the Mischianza could boast, there were but hardy soldiers; happy,
however, in the consciousness that they had contributed to bring about
the auspicious event they had met to celebrate."

* Remembrancer, Vol. VI.

Among the lively sallies of the belles of this entertainment, one is
recorded, that caused no inconsiderable amusement. A young lady, when
asked if the roaring of the British lion in his late speech had not
somewhat depressed the spirit of the dance--replied: "No, it should
rather enliven it; for I have heard that such animals always increase
their howlings when frightened."

For Mrs. Washington a heavy cloud of sorrow hung over the conclusion of
the glorious campaign of 1781. Her only child was seized with a fever
while attending to his duties during the siege of Yorktown. He lived to
behold the surrender of the British army, and expired in the arms of his
mother, mourned for by Washington as a son. The Marquis de Chastellux
visiting Mount Vernon not long after this sad event, says: "I had the
pleasure of passing a day or two with Mrs. Washington, at the General's
house in Virginia, where she appeared to me one of the best women in the
world, and beloved by all about her. She has no family by the General,
but was surrounded by her grandchildren and Mrs. Custis, her son's
widow. The family were then in mourning for Mr. Custis, whose premature
death was a subject of public and private regret."

After the close of 1783, General Washington had leisure for the
superintendence of improvements in the building and grounds at Mount
Vernon. This old mansion was always crowded with visitors.

Social and rural pleasures winged the hours, and past dangers were
pleasantly talked over. A letter never before published, of Mr. N.
Webster, affords a passing glimpse of this period.

"When I was travelling to the south in the year 1785, I called on
General Washington at Mount Vernon. At dinner the last course of dishes
was a species of pancakes, which were handed round to each guest,
accompanied with a bowl of sugar, and another of molasses for seasoning
them, that each one might suit himself. When the dish came to me, I
pushed by me the bowl of molasses, observing to the gentlemen present
that I had enough of _that_ in my own country. The General burst out
with a loud laugh, a thing very unusual with him; 'Ah,' said he, 'there
is nothing in that story about your eating molasses in New England!'
There was a gentleman from Maryland at the table, and the General
immediately told a story, stating that during the Revolution, a hogshead
of molasses was stove in at Westchester by the oversetting of a wagon;
a body of Maryland troops being near, the soldiers ran hastily and saved
all they could by filling their hats or caps with molasses.

"Near the close of the Revolutionary war, I think in 1782, I was at
West Point, when the birth of a Dauphin in France was celebrated by the
American troops at that place. The troops were arranged in a line along
the hills on the west of the camp, on the point, and on the mountains on
the east side of the Hudson. When the order was given to fire, there was
a stream of firing all around the camp, rapidly passing from one end of
the line to the other; while the roar of cannon reverberated from the
hills, resounded among the mountains, and thousands of human voices made
the atmosphere ring with a song prepared for the occasion. 'A Dauphin
is born!' This was a splendid exhibition, closed with a handsome repast
under a long arcade or bower formed with branches of trees. I have never
seen any account of this celebration in print."

While the victorious general was thus merged in "the illustrious farmer
of Mount Vernon," Mrs. Washington performed the duties of a Virginia
housewife, which in those days were not merely nominal. She gave
directions, it is said, in every department, so that, without bustle
or confusion, the most splendid dinner appeared as if there had been no
effort in the preparation. She presided at her abundant table with ease
and elegance, and was indeed most truly great in her appropriate sphere
of home. Much of her time was occupied in the care of the children of
her lost son.

The period came when this rural Eden, which had bloomed and flourished
under their care, was to be exchanged for new scenes. A few years of
rest and tranquil happiness in the society of friends having rewarded
the Chief's military toils, he was called by the voice of the nation
to assume the duties of its Chief Magistrate. The call was obeyed. The
establishment of the President and Mrs. Washington was formed at the
seat of government. The levees had more of courtly ceremonial than has
been known since; but it was necessary to maintain the dignity of office
by forms that should inspire respect. Special regard was paid to the
wives of men who had deserved much of their country. Mrs. Robert Morris
was accustomed to sit at the right of the lady of the President, at
the drawing-rooms; and the widows of Greene and Montgomery were always
handed to and from their carriages by the President himself; the
secretaries and gentlemen of his household performing those services for
the other ladies. In this elevated station, Mrs. Washington, unspoiled
by distinction, still leaned on the kindness of her friends, and
cultivated cheerfulness as a duty. She was beloved as few are in a
superior condition. Mrs. Warren says, in reply to one of her letters,
"Your observation may be true, that many younger and gayer ladies
consider your situation as enviable; yet I know not one who by general
consent would be more likely to obtain the suffrages of the sex, even
were they to canvass at elections for the elevated station, than the
lady who now holds the first rank in the United States." * On the
retirement of Washington from public life, he prepared to spend the
remnant of his days in the retreat his taste had adorned.

* Manuscript letter.

It was a spectacle of wonder to Europeans, to see this great man calmly
resigning the power which had been committed to his hands, and returning
with delight to his agricultural pursuits. His wife could justly claim
her share in the admiration; for she quitted without regret the elevated
scenes in which she had shone so conspicuous, to enter with the same
active interest as before upon her domestic employments. Her advanced
age did not impair her ability or her inclination to the discharge
of housewifely duties. But she was not long permitted to enjoy the
happiness she had anticipated. It was hers too soon to join in the grief
of a mourning nation for the death of Washington.

Visits of condolence were paid to the bereaved lady by the President and
others; and from all quarters came tributes of sympathy and sorrow. She
continued to receive the visitors who came to Mount Vernon, and gave
the same attention to her domestic concerns. But in less than two years
after her husband's death, she was attacked by a fever that proved
fatal. When aware that the hour of her dissolution was approaching, she
called her grandchildren to her bedside; discoursed to them on their
respective duties; spoke of the happy influences of religion; and then,
surrounded by her weeping family, resigned her life into the hands of
her Creator, in the seventy-first year of her age. Her death took place
on the 22d of May, 1802. Her remains rest in the same vault with those
of Washington, in the family tomb at Mount Vernon.

Those who read the record of her worth, dwell with interest on the
loveliness of her character. To a superior mind she joined those amiable
qualities and Christian virtues which best adorn the female sex, and
a gentle dignity that inspired respect without creating enmity. Her
features are familiar to all, from the portraits of her, taken at
different ages, published in Sparks' Life of Washington, and the
National Portrait Gallery. These have been copied into different
publications.




XXVII. ABIGAIL ADAMS.

[Illustration: 0040]

|The Letters of Mrs. Adams are well known to American readers. Her
history and character have been so well unfolded in these and in
the memoir by her grandson, that an extended sketch of her would be
superfluous. Only a brief notice, therefore, is here required.

Abigail Smith was descended from the genuine stock of the Puritan
settlers of Massachusetts. Her father, the Reverend William Smith,
was for more than forty years minister of the Congregational Church at
Weymouth. The ancestors of her mother, Elizabeth Quincy, were persons
distinguished in the sacred office, and first in honor among the leaders
of the church. From this ancestry, it may be inferred that her earliest
associations were among those whose tastes and habits were marked by the
love of literature. She was the second of three daughters, and was born
at Weymouth, Nov. 11th, 1744. Not being sent to any school, on account
of the delicate state of her health, the knowledge she evinced in after
life was the result of her reading and observation, rather than of what
is commonly called education. The lessons that most deeply impressed her
mind were received from Mrs. Quincy, her grandmother, whose beneficial
influence she frequently acknowledges. Her marriage took place, October
25th, 1764. She passed quietly the ten years that succeeded, devoting
herself to domestic life, and the care of her young family. In 1775 she
was called to pass through scenes of great distress, amid the horrors of
war and the ravages of pestilence.

She sympathized deeply in the sufferings of those around her. "My hand
and heart," she says, "still tremble at this domestic fury and fierce
civil strife. I feel for the unhappy wretches, who know not where to
fly for succor. I feel still more for my bleeding countrymen, who
are hazarding their lives and their limbs!" To the agonized hearts of
thousands of women went the roar of the cannon booming over those hills!
Many a bosom joined in breathing that prayer--"Almighty God! cover the
heads of our countrymen, and be a shield to our dear friends."

When the neighborhood was no longer the field of military action, she
occupied herself with the management of the household and farm. Mr.
Adams was appointed joint commissioner at the court of France, and
embarked in February, 1778, with his eldest son, John Quincy. During
the years in which Mrs. Adams was deprived of his society, she devoted
herself to the various duties devolving on her, submitting with
patience to the difficulties of the times. In all her anxieties,
her calm and lofty spirit never deserted her; nor did she regret the
sacrifice of her own feelings for the good of the community. After the
return of peace, Mr. Adams was appointed the first representative of the
nation at the British court, and his wife departed to join him; moving
from this time amidst new scenes and new characters, but preserving,
in the variety and splendor of life in the luxurious cities of the old
world, the simplicity and singleness of heart which had adorned
her seclusion at home. In the prime of life, with a mind free from
prejudice, her record of the impressions she received is instructive as
well as interesting. She resided for a time in France, and visited the
Netherlands, enjoying all she saw, with that delicate perception of
beauty which belongs to a poetic spirit. When the official duties of Mr.
Adams called him to the court of St. James, the unaffected republican
simplicity, and exquisite union of frankness and refinement in her
manners, charmed the proud circles of the English aristocracy. As was to
be expected, neither she nor her husband were exempted from annoyances
growing out of the late controversy. She writes to Mrs. Warren: "Whoever
in Europe is known to have adopted republican principles must expect to
have all the engines of every court and courtier in the world displayed
against him." *

The aspect of independence she maintained, considering what was due
to her country, did not tend to propitiate the pride of royalty; yet
notwithstanding the drawbacks that sometimes troubled her, her residence
in London seems to have been an agreeable one. Her letters to her
sisters are a faithful transcript of her feelings. She observed with
mingled pleasure and pain the contrast between the condition of her own
country and that of the prosperous kingdoms she visited. Writing to Mrs.
Shaw she says--"When I reflect on the advantages which the people of
America possess over the most polished of other nations, the ease
with which property is obtained, the plenty which is so equally
distributed,--their personal liberty and security of life and property,
I feel grateful to Heaven who marked out my lot in that happy land;
at the same time I deprecate that restless spirit, and that baneful
ambition and thirst for power, which will finally make us as wretched as
our neighbors." **

* Unpublished letter.

** Unpublished letter, 1787.

When Mr. Adams, having returned with his family to the United States,
became Vice President, his wife appeared, as in other situations--the
pure-hearted patriot--the accomplished woman--the worthy partner of his
cares and honors. He was called to the Presidency, and the widest field
was opened for the exercise of her talents. Her letter written on
the day that decided the people's choice, shows a sense of the solemn
responsibility he had assumed, with a spirit of reliance upon Divine
guidance, and forgetfulness of all thoughts of pride in higher
sentiments--honorable to the heart of a Daughter of America. Well might
the husband thus addressed bear the testimony he does in one of
his letters, in the midst of the perils of war: "A soul as pure, as
benevolent, as virtuous, and pious as yours, has nothing to fear, but
every thing to hope and expect from the last of human evils."

In her elevated position, the grace and elegance of Mrs. Adams, with
her charms of conversation, were rendered more attractive by her frank
sincerity. Her close observation, discrimination of character, and clear
judgment, gave her an influence which failed not to be acknowledged. Her
husband ever appreciated her worth, and was sustained in spirit by her
buoyant cheerfulness and affectionate sympathy, in the multiplicity of
his cares and labors. It was hers, too, to disarm the demon of party
spirit, to calm agitations, heal the rankling wounds of pride, and pluck
the root of bitterness away.

After the retirement of her husband, Mrs. Adams continued to take a deep
interest in public affairs, and communicated to her friends her opinions
both of men and measures. Writing to Mrs. Warren, March 9th, 1807,
she says: "If we were to count our years by the revolutions we have
witnessed, we might number them with the Antediluvians. So rapid have
been the changes that the mind, though fleet in its progress, has been
outstripped by them, and we are left like statues gazing at what we can
neither fathom nor comprehend. You inquire, what does Mr. Adams think of
Napoleon? If you had asked Mrs. Adams, she would have replied to you in
the words of Pope,=

```'If plagues and earthquakes break not heaven's design,

```Why then a Borgia or a Napoline?'"=

Her health was much impaired; and from this time she remained in her
rural seclusion at Quincy. With faculties unimpaired in old age, her
serenity and benign cheerfulness continued to the last; the shadows of a
life full of changes never deepened into gloom; she was still a minister
of blessing to all within her influence, and in the settled calm of
Christian contentment awaited the change that was to terminate her
connection with the things of earth. To this she was summoned on the
twenty-eighth of October, 1818.

Her character is a worthy subject of contemplation for her countrywomen.
With intellectual gifts of the highest order she combined sensibility,
tact, and much practical knowledge of life. Thus was she qualified for
eminent usefulness in her distinguished position as the companion of
one great statesman, and the guide of another. Few may rise to such
pre-eminence; but many can emulate the firmness that sustained her
in all vicissitudes, and can imitate her Christian virtues. These are
pictured in her Letters, the publication of which was the first attempt
to give tradition a palpable form, by laying open the thoughts and
feelings of one who had borne an important part in our nation's early
history.

[Illustration: 0050]

|The mother of Abigail Adams, it is said, took her last illness from a
soldier who had served in her daughter's family, and whom she visited at
Braintree, he having returned sick from the army.

She was the daughter of the Hon. John Quincy, of Braintree, and died in
1775, at the age of fifty-three. Without the least tincture of what is
called pride of family, she possessed a true dignity of character,
with great kindness of heart; and her efforts to relieve those in
need extended to all objects of distress within her reach. Prudent and
industrious in her own domestic management, she was attentive to provide
employment for her poor neighbors; and was mild, frank and friendly in
her intercourse with the parishioners, who regarded her with unbounded
esteem and affection.

Another of her three celebrated daughters--Elizabeth--was remarkable in
character and influence. She was born in 1750, and married the Rev. John
Shaw of Haverhill. Her second husband was the Rev. Stephen Peabody,
of Atkinson. Like her sister, she possessed superior powers of
conversation, with a fine person, and polished and courtly manners. Her
reading was extensive, and when speaking to youthful listeners on some
improving topic, she would frequently recite passages from Shakespeare,
Dryden, and the other English poets. Attentive to her domestic duties,
and economical from Christian principle, to purity of heart and highly
cultivated intellectual powers she united the most winning feminine
grace. Her house at Haverhill was the centre of an elegant little circle
of society for many years after the Revolution, and resorted to by the
most cultivated residents of Boston and its vicinity. In Atkinson
her gentle and friendly deportment won the lasting regard of the
parishioners. She loved to instruct the ignorant, feed the poor, and
comfort the afflicted; and the young were particularly the objects of
her solicitude. Thus dispensing light and joy wherever she moved, she
passed a useful, and therefore a happy life, which terminated at the age
of sixty-six.

Mrs. Peabody formed an early and enduring friendship with Mrs. Warren,
for whose character and intellect her letters express the highest
respect.

Her correspondence contains frequent remarks upon the prospects of the
country, and the movements of the army. "Lost to virtue," she says to
John Adams--"lost to humanity must that person be, who can view without
emotion the complicated distress of this injured land. Evil tidings
molest our habitations, and wound our peace. Oh, my brother! oppression
is enough to make a wise people mad."

On her road to Plymouth to visit Mrs. Warren, her MS. journal mentions
that she stopped at the house of Dr. Hall, where she dined on salt bacon
and eggs. Three of the daughters were grown, and appeared sensible as
well as pretty. "But," she says, "in order to discover whether their
sensibility reached further than their faces, I sat down after dinner,
while they were quilting a very nice homespun bedquilt, and read in a
book I had brought with me several detached pieces--"Virtue and
Constancy rewarded," "Zulima the Coquette, etc." This little memorandum
throws light not only on the writer's character, but the manners of the
time. The result appeared satisfactory; the young ladies being so well
pleased with the reading that they begged their visitor to continue it.

The eldest daughter, Mary, was married in 1762, to Richard Cranch,
afterwards Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in Massachusetts. In 1775,
the family removed from Boston to Quincy, then a part of Braintree,
where they continued to reside till 1811. In October of that year both
Mr. and Mrs. Cranch died, and were buried on the same day. The life
of Mrs. Cranch was spent in deeds of charity and kindness. She was
remarkable for her cheerfulness and fortitude, with earnestness in the
discharge of her Christian duties. The Hon. Judge William Cranch, of
Washington, is her son.

In those portions of the country which were, at different periods, the
scene of military operations, the energy, heroism, and magnanimity of
woman were called by necessity into continual exercise. But there were
other women whose more homely heroism was not without its effect; whose
unacknowledged influence extended widely into the future. Their sphere
of action limited to the bosom of their own families, the influence
wrought quietly and unmarked, yet sent forth an impulse and an energy,
like the life-blood propelled from the heart, through our whole national
system. The mothers, who through years of adverse fortune were true to
American principles, and who kept them pure in their homes in the
season of prosperity, although no brilliant acts illustrate their simple
history, rendered real service to the country. Their duties during
the war, or after the return of peace, were fulfilled in a spirit of
self-sacrifice, without the wish or expectation of reward. The noblest
reward, however, was theirs; the sons in whose minds they had nursed the
germs of patriotism and virtue, rose up to call them blessed.

Our country offers abundant examples of men who have attained the
highest eminence, ascribing all to early maternal influence and
training. For the mother of Henry Clay, that great man--the pride and
honor of his country--has ever expressed feelings of profound affection
and veneration. Though her life afforded no incidents of striking or
romantic interest, she was what expresses the perfection of female
character--an excellent mother. She was the youngest of two daughters,
who were the only children of George and Elizabeth Hudson. Her name also
was Elizabeth. She was born in the county of Hanover, in Virginia, in
1750. Her early education was such as was attainable at that period
in the colony. In her fifteenth year she was married to John Clay, a
preacher of the Baptist denomination, and became the mother of eight
children. Mr. Clay died during the war of the Revolution. Some years
afterwards, Mrs. Clay contracted a second marriage with Mr. Henry
Watkins; and in course of time eight children more were added to her
family. The cares devolving upon her, in the charge of so many children,
and the superintendence of domestic concerns, of course occupied her
time to the exclusion of participation in matters of public interest.
She must, however, have borne her share in the agitations and dangers
of the time, in behalf of those who claimed her maternal solicitude and
guidance.

Her son, Henry, was separated from her when only thirteen years of age,
having before that period been occasionally absent from home for months
in going to school. In 1792, his step-father removed, with his mother
and family, from Hanover County to Woodford County in Kentucky, leaving
him at Richmond, in Virginia. He did not again see his mother till the
fall of 1797, when he himself emigrated to Kentucky. His estimable and
beloved parent died in 1827, having survived most of her children, of
whom there are now but four remaining--two by her first, and two by her
last marriage.

She was from her youth a member of the Baptist Church, and eminent in
piety. Her distinguishing traits of character were energy and industry;
and she was most faithful in the performance of all her domestic duties.




XXVIII. MARTHA WILSON.

[Illustration: 0060]

|One of the representatives of those times, in which America must
ever feel pride, is yet living at the Lakelands, Lake of Otsego, near
Cooperstown, New York. She not only retains an accurate and vivid
recollection of scenes in the stormy and fearful infancy of the nation
on whose vigorous manhood she is permitted to look, but has kept pace in
intellectual cultivation, with the advancement of modern days. The grasp
of mind that apprehends and appreciates the progress of her country's
prosperity and power, gives a deeper interest to her thrilling recital
of incidents belonging to its struggle for life. I am particularly
favored in having received from her various anecdotes of persons with
whom she was intimately acquainted at that period, her reminiscences of
whom would form a most valuable contribution to the domestic history of
the Revolution.

The subject of this brief sketch is a daughter of the late Colonel
Charles Stewart of New Jersey. She was born December 20th, 1758, at
Sidney, the residence of her maternal grandfather, Judge Johnston, in
the township of Kingwood, and county of Hunterdon, in that State. This
old mansion was at that time one of the most stately and aristocratic
of the colonial residences in this section of West Jersey. Constructed
while the border settlements of the province were still subject to
treacherous visits from the Indian, its square and massive walls and
heavy portals had reference as well to protection and defence as to
"the pride of life;" and for many years, in its earlier days, it
was not only the stronghold of the wealthy proprietor, his family and
dependants, but the refuge in alarm, for miles around, to the settlers
whose humbler abodes were more assailable by the rifle and firebrand of
the red man. "The big stone house," as it was designated in the common
parlance of the people, was thus long a place of note as a refuge from
danger; and not less, in later times, as one for a redress of wrongs,
and the punishment of crime; Judge Johnston having been, for more than
thirty years previous to the Revolution, the chief magistrate of that
section of the colony, holding a court regularly, on Monday of every
week, in one of the halls of his dwelling.

It stood in that region of-undulating hill country, between the high
mountains of North and the flat sands of South Jersey, of the beauty of
which those who fly across the State by railroad at the present day
can form no conception: where blue hills and tufted woodlands, winding
streams and verdant valleys, often present to the eye in their varied
forms and combinations, a perfection of picturesque and rural beauty,
which, while it seldom fails to attract the admiration of the passing
traveller, fastens upon the heart of the resident with an enduring
charm. Finely situated on an elevated terrace, at the confluence of
the Capulong and a branch of the Raritan, overhung by extensive and
park-like woods, with encircling waters and clusters of grove-covered
islets behind, and wide-spread valleys in front, it was regarded in
olden times as one of the choicest residences in the State. As the
birthplace and home in childhood of the subject of this record, it has
attractions of association and memory which cause her affections to
revert warmly to it after a pilgrimage, amid other scenes, of well nigh
a century.

The old house was accidentally burned down some fifty years ago, and
a new, though less imposing, dwelling erected on the same site, by a
branch of the Coxe family. This, in its turn, became the resort, for
many years, of a circle greatly distinguished for beauty, wit, and
cultivated talent; but now, for a long time, vicissitudes of fortune,
neglect, desertion, and decay, have accomplished in it their accustomed
work; and stripped of its embellishments of taste, despoiled of much
of its fine woods, and its majestic single trees, it presents little
indication of its former fortunes, and is fallen in its uses to the
purposes of a common farm.

Previous to the Revolution, Colonel Stewart resided chiefly at
Landsdown, a beautiful property in Kingwood, immediately adjoining the
estate of his father-in-law at Sidney. It was here that the later years
of the childhood of his daughter were spent; and here, at the early
age of thirteen, she was bereaved of her mother--a woman of strong and
polished intellect, of a refined and poetical taste, and said to have
been the best read female in the province. Till within a short time of
Mrs. Stewart's death, the education of her daughter had been exclusively
at home. She had been but a brief period at a boarding-school, when
summoned to the dying bed of her mother; and it is no slight proof
of the mental attainments and maturity of character which she already
possessed, that her father, in his bereavement, found her society too
necessary to his happiness, and the maternal care which she was called
to exercise over her sisters and brothers of a more tender age, too
essential to their welfare, to permit her again to resume her place
at school. It is chiefly, therefore, to the self-cultivation of an
inquiring and philosophic mind, and to association at home and in
society, with the intelligent and the wise, that are to be ascribed the
rich stores of general information and wide-spread practical knowledge,
for which, from early womanhood to the passing day, she has been so
highly distinguished, and so justly and extensively honored.

The hospitality of Colonel Stewart was unbounded. His friend Chief
Justice Smith of New Jersey has expressed this trait of character in
the epitaph upon his tomb--"The friend and the stranger were almost
compelled to come in." His house was the resort of the choice spirits
in intellect and public influence, of the times; and it was at his
table and fireside that his daughter, called at the early age we have
mentioned to the responsible position of female head of his family, from
1771 to 1776, imbibed even in childhood from him and his compeers the
principles of patriotism and the love of freedom which entitle her name
and character to a prominent place among the Women of the Revolution.
Colonel Stewart himself had been trained from infancy in the spirit
of 1688. His grandfather, Charles Stewart, of Gortlee, a cadet of the
Stewarts of Garlies, was an officer of dragoons in the army of William
III., and acquitted himself gallantly, at the side of his monarch, in
the battle of the Boyne. The demesne which he afterwards possessed, in
the north of Ireland, was the reward of his valor; but, in transmitting
to his son and his son's son the untrammelled spirit of a Scotch
Puritan, who had periled his life in the cause of civil and religious
liberty, he conferred upon them a better and more enduring heritage.

It was the proud and honorable independence of the same indomitable
principles, that led his descendant in early youth, ere he had fully
attained his majority, to self exile in the new world. Energy of
character and enlarged enterprise soon secured to him here both private
fortune and public influence; and the first breath of the spirit of
"'76" which passed over the land, kindled within his bosom a flame
of zeal for the freedom and honor of his adopted country, which no
discouragement could dampen, and which neither toil, nor danger, nor
disaster could extinguish.

His daughter well recollects having been told by him, on his return
from the first general meeting of the patriots of New Jersey for
a declaration of rights, an incident relating to himself, highly
characteristic of the times. Many of the most distinguished royalists
were his personal and intimate friends; and when it became evident
that a crisis in public feeling was about to occur, when disregarded
remonstrance would be converted into open resistance, great efforts
were made by some of those holding office under the crown, to win him to
their side. Tempting promises of ministerial favor and advancement were
made to induce him at least to withhold his influence from the cause of
the people, even if he would not take part in support of the king; and
this with increased importunity till the very opening of the meeting.
But when it was seen to have been in vain--when he immediately rose and
was one of the first, if not the very first, with the Stocktons, the
Pattersons, and the Frelinghuysens of the day, in the spirit, at least,
of the Declaration of 1776, boldly to pledge his "life, his fortune,
and his sacred honor" in defence of the rights of freemen against
the aggressions of the throne--the Attorney General, approaching and
extending his hand, said to him, in saddened tones, as if foretelling
a speedy doom--"Farewell, my friend Charles!--when the halter is about
your neck, send for me!--I'll do what I can to save you!"

It was thus that the familiar confidence of the patriot father
cherished and strengthened, in the bosom of his daughter, sympathies
and principles corresponding with his own; while in the accelerated
movements of the Revolution, he successively and rapidly became a member
of the first Provincial Congress of New Jersey, Colonel of the First
Regiment of minute-men of that State; Colonel of the Second Regiment of
the line; and eventually, one of the staff of Washington, as Commissary
General of Issues, by Commission of the Congress of 1776.

In January of this year, Miss Stewart, at the age of seventeen, gave
her hand in marriage to Robert Wilson, a young Irishman of the Barony of
Innishowen, who, after being educated and trained for mercantile life
in one of the first houses of his native land, had emigrated to America
a few years before, and amassed a considerable fortune. In her husband
she made choice of one not less congenial in political sentiments and
feeling than in intellectual culture and in winning manners. The first
intelligence of the battle of Lexington had fired his warm blood into
immediate personal action in the cause; and he was one of the volunteers
who, with his friend Colonel Reed, accompanied General Washington from
Philadelphia to the camp at Cambridge. A brief journal kept by him
at this time shows that for six months he was at head-quarters,
as muster-master-general, honored by the confidence of the
Commander-in-chief, and often a guest at his table. He shared largely
in the exposures of the camp, and distinguished himself for daring
intrepidity, in two or three instances, in the skirmishes and
cannonading which occurred at times between the forces. But his health
failing, he was obliged to forego the prospect of a military appointment
pledged to him; and resigning his position sought the milder climate of
the Jerseys.

Among the officers in the British army were several near relatives of
Mr. Wilson; and it is a fact illustrative of the times, that a young
cousin-german, who not long before the commencement of hostilities had
visited the family of their common friend and relative, Colonel Stewart,
at Kingwood, was now at Boston, in the gallant discharge of his duty
in the enemy's ranks. He was afterwards wounded at the battle of
Germantown, and visited by Colonel Stewart under a flag of truce.

It was on his return to Jersey that Mr. Wilson's marriage took
place. Shortly afterwards, he, with his bride, became a resident of
Hackettstown, near which he possessed a valuable property. During the
year 1777, he was again in public service, as Assistant Commissary
General of Purchases; but, finding the duties of the station too arduous
for his health, he resigned his appointment and entered into mercantile
pursuits in Philadelphia. In these he was very extensively and
successfully engaged--greatly honored and beloved--till his death, in
1779, at the early age of twenty-eight. His wife had accompanied him
to Philadelphia, and was established in much elegance there; but on her
widowhood thus in her twentieth year, she returned to her residence at
Hackettstown, where she remained till near the close of the war.

During the whole Revolution, the situation of Mrs. Wilson was as
favorable, if not more so, for observation and a knowledge of important
movements and events, than that of any other lady in her native State.
Her father, at the head of an important department, in the staff of
the Commander-in-chief, became generally, and almost from necessity,
familiarly acquainted with the principal officers of the army; and
head-quarters being most of the time within twenty or thirty miles of
her residence, she not only had constant intercourse in person and by
letter with him, but frequently and repeatedly entertained at her house
many of his military friends. Among these, with numerous others of
less distinction, were Washington, La Fayette, Hamilton, Wayne, Greene,
Gates, Maxwell, Lincoln, Henry Lee, Stevens, Walter Stewart, Ethan
Allen, Pulaski, Butler, Morgan, Sinclair, Woodward, Varnum, Paul Jones,
Cochrane, Craik, etc.-With General Washington she was on terms of
friendship. She first met him in Philadelphia, in 1775, when he was
preparing to join the army at Cambridge. He afterwards visited her at
different times at her residence in Hackettstown; on the last occasion a
year after her husband's death, and a short time after the execution of
Major André. His approach, with Mrs. Washington and his staff, under the
escort of a troop of horse, was privately announced to Mrs. Wilson in
time to have dinner in readiness for a party of thirty or forty persons.
To one whose patriotism was so decided, it must have been a pleasure
indeed, thus to welcome to her roof and table the leading spirits of the
land. The party did not leave till after luncheon on the second day; and
knowing that they could not reach their destination till late at night,
ample provision was made from her larder and wine cellar, to furnish all
needed refreshment by the way.

Before these distinguished guests took their departure, a large
concourse of people from the adjacent country and the towns in the
vicinity had crowded round the house to catch a glimpse of the idolized
Chief. A few members of the legislature and the prominent gentlemen of
the neighborhood were admitted and formally introduced. Among these was
Dr. Kennedy, the family physician, whose salutation, as Mrs. Wilson well
recollects, was: "I am happy indeed to meet the man whom under God, I
deem the saviour of our country." As it was impossible for the multitude
to obtain entrance, a little stratagem was devised by one of the
gentlemen, by which those without could be gratified without subjecting
the General to the annoyance of a mere exhibition of himself. Knowing
his admiration of a fine horse, he ordered an animal remarkable for
its beauty to be brought into the street, and then invited him out to
inspect it. Thus an opportunity was afforded to the whole assemblage to
gaze upon and salute him with their cheers.

Mrs. Wilson relates the following anecdote in connection with another of
the visits of Washington to her:

One Mrs. Crafts, a native of Germany, who had emigrated and settled in
New Jersey, through the industry of herself and husband had become the
owner of a fine farm near Hackettstown, and was in comfortable and easy
circumstances. She was an excellent neighbor; and though an ardent tory,
was universally respected for her many kind and good qualities. On
the morning of General Washington's departure, as on the visit before
described, Mrs. Wilson's house was surrounded by a throng of persons
eager to obtain a glance at him. In this state of things, Mrs. Crafts,
tory as she was, repaired to the spot and sent a message to Mrs. Wilson
in her parlor, requesting from her the privilege of seeing the General.
A reply was sent, saying that General Washington was at the time
surrounded by a crowd of officers; but if Mrs. Crafts would station
herself in the hall till he passed through, her desire would be
gratified. She accordingly took her post there, and patiently waited his
appearance. When, at length, she obtained a full view of his majestic
form and noble countenance, raising both hands, she burst into tears,
uttering in her native tongue an exclamation expressive of intense
astonishment and emotion! Mrs. Crafts never afterwards ranked herself on
the tory side. "The august and commanding presence of the father of his
country," as Mrs. Wilson remarks, "having alone inspired her with such
profound veneration for the man as to produce an abiding respect for the
cause of which he was leader."

Mrs. Washington was several times the guest of Mrs. Wilson, both at her
own house and that of her father. These visits were made when on her
way to and from the camp. That mentioned in the sketch of "Martha
Washington," was at the Union Farm, the residence of Colonel Stewart.

The hospitality which Mrs. Wilson had the privilege thus repeatedly to
extend to these illustrious guests, was not forgotten by them, but
most kindly acknowledged, and returned by very marked attentions to her
daughter and only child, on her entrance into society in Philadelphia
during the Presidency of Washington. In personal calls and invitations
to her private parties, Mrs. Washington distinguished her by courtesies
rarely shown to persons of her age. The merest accident has placed
before me, without the knowledge or agency of any one interested, the
letter of a lady to a friend, in which the appearance and dress of this
daughter at a drawingroom at-the President's is described. I insert it
as illustrative of the costume on such an occasion, now more than half
a century ago. She says, "Miss Wilson looked beautifully last night. She
was in full dress, yet in elegant simplicity. She wore book muslin over
white mantua, trimmed with broad lace round the neck; half sleeves of
the same, also trimmed with lace; with white satin sash and slippers;
her hair elegantly dressed in curls, without flowers, feathers, or
jewelry. Mrs. Moylan told me she was the handsomest person at the
drawing-room, and more admired than any one there."

Mrs. Wilson herself was favored with more than ordinary advantages
of feature and person. In youth she is said to have been remarkably
handsome. Even at the age of thirty-eight, the period of life at which
the likeness engraved for this volume was taken, a lady of Philadelphia
thus writes of her during a visit there: "I wish you could see dear Mrs.
Wilson. She is the genteelest, easiest, prettiest person I have seen
in the city. And I am far, I can assure you, from being alone in this
sentiment. I hear many others constantly express the same opinion. She
looked charmingly this evening in a Brunswick robe of striped muslin,
trimmed with spotted lawn; a beautiful handkerchief gracefully arranged
on her neck; her hair becomingly craped and thrown into curls under a
very elegant white bonnet, with green-leafed band, worn on one side. She
says she is almost worn out with a round of visiting among the Chews,
Conynghams, and Moylans, Mrs. General Stewart, etc., etc.; but she does
not look so. I do not wonder that all who know this good lady should so
love her. I am sure no one could know her intimately and not do so." It
was not alone for friends and acquaintances, and persons of distinction
and known rank, that Mrs. Wilson kept open house in the Revolution.
Such was the liberality of her patriotism, that her gates on the public
road.bore in conspicuous characters the inscription, "Hospitality within
to all American officers, and refreshment for their soldiers."

An invitation not likely to prove a mere form of words on the regular
route of communication between the northern and southern posts of the
army. Not satisfied with having given even this assurance of welcome,
instances have occurred in which the stranger of respectability, who had
taken quarters at the public-house of the village, has been transferred
at her solicitation to the comforts and elegance of her table and
fireside.

On one occasion it was reported to her that a gentleman had been taken
ill at the tavern. Knowing, if this were true, that he must suffer there
from the poorness of the accommodations, and want of proper attention,
a male friend was sent to make inquiry; and learning that this was the
case, she had him brought by her servants immediately to her dwelling,
and the best medical aid and nursing secured. He proved to be a surgeon
in the army, * of high respectability, several of whose friends, male
and female, hastened to visit him; and during a critical illness, and
long convalescence, shared with him the hospitality of the benevolent
hostess, and formed with her an enduring friendship.

* Dr. Crosby, of New York.

From the commencement of the struggle for freedom till its close, Mrs.
Wilson was occasionally a personal witness and participator in scenes
and incidents of more than ordinary interest. She was in Philadelphia
on the day of the Declaration of Independence, and made one of a
party--embracing the élite of the beauty, wealth, and fashion of the
city and neighborhood--entertained at a brilliant fête, given in
honor of the event, on board the frigate Washington, at anchor in the
Delaware, by Captain Reid, the Commander. The magnificent brocade which
she wore on the occasion, with its hooped petticoat, flowing train,
laces, gimp, and flowers, remained in its wardrobe unaltered long after
the commencement of the present century, and till the difficulty of
transporting it in its ample folds and stately dimensions led to its
separation into pieces, and thus prepared the way for it to become
a victim to the modern taste for turning the antique dresses of
grandmammas into eiderdown bedspreads, and drawing-room chair-covers.

Within the month after, she became a witness to a scene--the legitimate
result of that Declaration--the mustering of her neighbors and fellow
citizens in Jersey under the banner of her uncle, Colonel Philip
Johnston of Sidney, and the girding on of their arms for the bloody
conflict in which, on Long Island, they were so speedily engaged.
Colonel Johnston, when a mere youth, a student of college at Princeton,
had abandoned his books for the sword, in the French war of 1755, and
with such bravery and success as to return to his home with military
reputation and honors. He was now appointed by the Congress of New
Jersey to the command of its first volunteer regiment; and in a few
days a thousand strong arms and brave hearts were gathered round him, in
readiness to march against the invading foe. Mrs. Wilson was present
in his house at the final leave-taking of his youthful wife and infant
daughters. He was a fine-looking officer--tall and athletic, and of
great physical power. He was said to have had a premonition of his fate.
This impression, it was thought, added to his own, if not to the common
grief of his family. He was seen in his closet in earnest prayer just
before taking his departure. The final embrace of his family was
deeply affecting, and is well pictured in the frontispiece of Glover's
Leonidas, where the husband and the father, departing for Thermopylae,
overcome by the grief of his wife hanging upon his bosom, and that of
his children clinging in his embrace, looks to Heaven in strong appeal
for aid, while=

````" Down the hero's cheek--

```Down rolls the manly sorrow."=

Colonel Johnston fell a victim on the altar of his country a few days
afterwards, in the fatal conflict of the 27th August, 1776. General
Sullivan, in whose division he served, bore the strongest testimony to
his intrepidity and heroism. "By the well-directed fire of his troops,"
he wrote, "the enemy were several times repulsed, and lanes made through
them, till a ball in the breast put an end to the life of as gallant an
officer as ever commanded a battalion."

The robbery of her father's house by a company of bandit tories was,
however, the most alarming and exciting scene, illustrative of the times
of the Revolution, through which Mrs. Wilson passed. This occurred in
June, 1783. Deprived, by the marriage of his daughter in 1776, of the
maternal care which she had exercised over his younger children, Colonel
Stewart, on his appointment to the staff of the Commander-in-chief, had
placed them at school, and broken up his establishment in King-wood. But
when the triumph at Yorktown gave assurance of peace, in the hope of
a speedy return to the enjoyments of private life, he gathered his two
sons and two daughters to a home again, under the management, for a
second time, of their elder and now widowed sister: not at Landsdown,
his former dwelling, however, but at the "Union," in the adjoining
township of Lebanon. Like Sidney, this old residence was, in that day,
one of the great houses of upper jersey; and the surrounding farm,
comprising a thousand acres of land under fine cultivation, was noted
throughout the State. The dwelling consisted of three separate houses,
built at different periods--one of brick, one of wood, and the other of
stone--without regard to any harmony of style or architecture. They were
so situated as to form the connecting sides of a quadrangular courtyard,
into which the porches and a piazza opened. With a farm-house and
numerous out-buildings clustering round, the whole presented the
aspect of a hamlet, rather than of a single abode, in the midst of
the landscape spreading widely on the east, the west and the south.
Immediately in the rear, on the north, stretches the chain of rugged
hills, which separate the head waters of the Raritan from those of the
Muskenetcong, a tributary of the Delaware; and within a quarter of a
mile of the house was the mouth of the wild ravine of the "Spruce Run,"
the only pass through them for miles on either hand. This gorge, filled
with interlacing trees and closely-set thickets bordering the rapid
waters of the stream, afforded, in the days of Indian warfare, a choice
place of ambush; and on the occasion referred to, was selected by
the tory robbers, as the securest approach to the scene of their
depredations, and a safe place of concealment, for the day preceding
their descent upon "the Union." It was the Sabbath. Spies in advance,
whom the servants at the dairy recollected to have seen moving
stealthily about in the early dusk, reported to their accomplices, as
was afterwards learned, the retirement for the night of the workmen
to their quarters, and the departure of the overseer also to his home,
after having been to Mrs. Wilson, as accustomed, for instructions for
the following day. These could scarce have had time to fall asleep, when
the family, with some female friend, on a visit, enjoying the cool of
the evening in the porch of the principal building, were startled by the
sudden exclamation, in a suppressed but authoritative tone: "Surround
the house! Close in!" While from either side some twenty or thirty
men, disguised with paint and charcoal, and armed with various weapons,
rushed upon them. Silence was enjoined on pain of death, and inquiry
made for Colonel Stewart. They evidently supposed him to be at home, and
his capture if not assassination, was doubtless a chief object in their
plans. But he had been summoned away by express, and accompanied by
General Lincoln, had left for Philadelphia, with a large amount of
public funds at a late hour the day before. Being assured of this,
the ring-leaders approached Mr. Charles Stewart, the eldest son of the
Colonel, and a son-in-law, the late Judge Wilson of Landsdown, both
young men some twenty years of age and the only gentlemen of the party,
saying, "you are our prisoners;" and demanded their purses and watches.
Young Wilson, somewhat recovered from the first surprise, and his Irish
blood inflamed by the indignity, replied, "I would like, to know who
the d------l you are, first!" when he instantly received a severe stroke
across the head with a sword or sabre, laying open his forehead from
temple to temple. A pistol was immediately afterwards placed at the
breast of young Stewart, because he hesitated, after delivering his
purse, to yield up his watch, the dying gift of his mother. Mrs. Wilson
in alarm for her brother rushed forward, promising, if life and further
bloodshed were spared, the money and every thing valuable in the house
should be delivered up. Upon this she was ordered with her brother,
to show two of the gang to her father's apartments. Here, besides a
considerable amount in specie, they secured four thousand dollars in
current bills, while another package containing the same amount, being
placed among some wearing apparel, escaped their notice. In addition
to this money, a large amount of silver plate, a quantity of valuable
linen, every article of gentlemen's apparel in the house, three watches,
Colonel Stewart's sword and a pair of superb pistols, with heavy
mountings of solid silver beautifully and elaborately wrought, a present
of friendship from Baron Steuben, were among the booty secured.

The pistols thus lost, brought from Europe by the Baron, had been
carried by him through the war. The circumstances under which they were
presented to Colonel Stewart are honorable alike to the generous spirit
both of himself and friend, and deserve a record.

After the capture of Yorktown, the superior officers of the American
army, together with their allies, vied with each other in acts of
civility and attention to the captive Britons. Entertainments were given
to them by all the Major Generals except the Baron Steuben. He was above
prejudice or meanness, but poverty prevented him from displaying that
liberality which had been shown by others. Such was his situation,
when calling on Colonel Stewart, and informing him of his intention to
entertain Lord Cornwallis, he requested that he would furnish him the
money necessary for this purpose, as the price of his favorite charger.
"Tis a good beast," said the Baron, "and has proved a faithful servant
through all the dangers of the war: but, though painful to my heart, we
must part." Colonel Stewart immediately tendering his purse, recommended
the sale or pledge of his watch should the sum it contained prove
insufficient. "My dear friend," replied the Baron, "'tis already sold.
Poor North was sick and wanted necessaries. He is a brave fellow and
possesses the best of hearts. The trifle it brought is set apart for
his use. So, say no more--my horse must go." To the purchase, however,
Colonel Stewart would not listen; and having pressed upon the Baron the
means requisite for his purpose, received from him in acknowledgment of
his friendship the pistols above referred to. It was to expenditures of
this kind, it is probable, that the generous-hearted soldier and patriot
alluded, when as he first met his daughter after this decisive crisis
in the Revolution, he exclaimed--"Well, Martha, my dear, I come to you a
thousand dollars out of pocket by the surrender of Yorktown. But I care
not. Thank God! the struggle is over and my country is free!"

Three hours were spent by the leaders of the banditti in ransacking the
dwelling under the forced guidance of Mrs. Wilson and her brother. The
others, relieving each other in standing guard outside, and over the
rest of the family, refreshed themselves abundantly from the store-rooms
and cellars which the servants were compelled to throw open to them.
Mrs. Wilson at last ventured the request that they would leave, as
her brother-in-law, Mr. Wilson, ill from loss of blood, required
her attention. During the whole time she had been treated with great
deference and respect; so much so as to have been asked by the leaders
as they passed over the house, to point out what belonged to her
personally, that it might be left in her possession. On preparing to
depart, they took the whole family to an upper room, and extorting a
promise from Mrs. Wilson that no one should attempt to leave it within
two hours, fastened them in. The staircases were then closely barricaded
with tables, chairs and every kind of furniture, the windows and doors
firmly fastened, the lights all extinguished, the front door locked,
and the key thrown among the grass and shrubbery in the courtyard. The
jingling of the plate in the bags in which it was carried off, could be
heard for some time, and marked the rapidity of their flight when once
started with their booty. The gentlemen, not regarding Mrs. Wilson's
promise as of any binding force, insisted upon an immediate alarm of
the workmen and neighborhood. But the difficulty of making a way out was
such that they were long in accomplishing it. By daybreak, however, some
three hundred were in pursuit of the plunderers. Some of them were taken
on suspicion, but could not be fully identified on account of the paint
and disguises they had worn. The ring-leaders, Caleb and Isaac Sweezey,
and one Horton, all tories of the neighborhood, made their escape to New
York, and though known, were not heard of till after the evacuation of
the city by the British, when it was ascertained that they had purchased
a vessel with the proceeds of this robbery, and sailed for Nova Scotia.

Till the death of Colonel Stewart, in 1800, Mrs. Wilson continued at
the head of his family--the wise, benevolent, energetic and universally
admired manager of a house proverbial in her native State, and
extensively out of it, for generous and never changing hospitality.
Among the many guests entertained at the Union, General Maxwell was a
constant visitor. Mrs. Wilson expresses her regret that justice has not
yet been done, in a full biography, to this valued friend. "As a soldier
and patriot," is her testimony, "he had few superiors; and in integrity,
strength of mind, and kindness of heart--but few equals." She saw him
first in 1775, at a review of his regiment, the second raised in New
Jersey, Lord Stirling being the commander of the first. Her father was
intimately acquainted with him; he was ever a welcome guest, and after
the war, spent much of his time at their fireside. *

* It is unquestionably true that injustice has been done to this
officer--his merits and services never having been properly represented
before the public. In early life he was an officer in the Colonial
service; fought on the field of the Monongahela and in other battles;
and continuing in the army after the commencement of the Revolutionary
war, was one of the most prominent patriots in New Jersey. He was at
the storming of Quebec, and distinguished himself in the battles of
Brandywine, Germantown, Monmouth, etc., etc. In numerous letters and
journals of the day, testimony is borne to his high character and
services. Less than two years before the close of the war, he resigned
his commission in displeasure at the appointment over him of an inferior
officer. His death took place, probably in 1796, at the house of Colonel
Stewart. He had escorted the young ladies on a visit, from which the
whole party had returned early in the evening in fine spirits. The
Colonel and the General had sat down to their usual evening amusement
of backgammon, when Maxwell was suddenly taken ill. Supposing it to be
a headache, which he had never experienced before, he rose to retire to
his room. But the attack was fatal, and he expired about one o'clock
the same night. Expresses were sent for his brothers, one of whom was
an officer in the Revolution; but they did not arrive until some hours
after his death. His remains rest in the Presbyterian church-yard, at
Greenwich, Warren County, New Jersey.

For a period of near fifteen years after the death of Colonel Stewart,
much of the time of his daughter became necessarily devoted, as his sole
administratrix, to the settlement of a large and widely scattered landed
estate, including the disputed proprietorship of a portion of the valley
of Wyoming, which the business habits and energy of her father had
scarce disenthralled at his death from the effects of unavoidable
neglect and inattention during the discharge of his official duties in
the Revolution. The strength of mind, clearness of judgment, practical
knowledge, and firmness of purpose and character, witnessed in her by
much of the finest talent at the bar and on the bench, not only of New
Jersey, but of the adjoining States, in the legal investigations of
claims, and titles, and references, and arbitrations, were such as to
secure to her, in general estimation, a degree of respect for talent and
ability not often accorded to her sex.

Though thus for a long time placed in circumstances which tasked heavily
the energies both of body and of mind, she was ever prompt and true to
the discharge of the gentler and more feminine duties of life, to all
who had any possible claim upon her kindness and regard. Not long after
she had been called to the management of her father's estate, two orphan
sons of her brother were left in their childhood to her guardianship
and maternal care. Delicacy to Mrs. Wilson and to her correspondents
yet living, has forbidden an inquiry for any letters from her pen,
illustrating her character; but a series written by her to one of these
adopted sons * while a boy in school and college, shows so strikingly
the fidelity with which she discharged her trust, and at the same time
so clearly exhibits her own principles and views of character and life,
that I cannot forego the privilege granted me of making one or two
extracts.

* The Rev. C. S. Stewart--of the U. S. Navy--the distinguished
missionary, and author of "A Residence in the Sandwich Islands"--"Visit
to the South Seas," etc.

After pointing out some grammatical errors in a letter just received,
she thus writes:

"February 16th, 1811.

"It is not from any pleasure in finding fault that I point out these
errors; but from the sincere desire that you should be as perfect as
possible in every branch of education. Next to your being an honest and
virtuous man, I wish to see you the accomplished gentleman. You have
no better friend on earth than myself: regard, therefore, my advice.
Solomon says, 'A wise man will take counsel from a friend, but a fool
will despise it.' Prove yourself to be the former by putting in practice
all I say in reference to your mind, manners and morals. Let your
example to your brother, as the eldest, ever be such as to induce him
to look to you as a polar-star by which he may safely guide his own
conduct.

"Your desire to attend the birth-night ball, is neither improper nor
unnatural at your age. It is always a gratification to my heart to
promote, or be the means of promoting your innocent enjoyment, and
that which is esteemed pleasure in youth, when the indulgence is not
incompatible with your interest and honor, and not contrary to the rules
of the institution to which you belong. But I would by no means have you
forfeit a character for obedience and good order, with your tutors, for
the trifling gratification of a dance; and let it never be forgotten
by you that the reputation established by a boy at school and college,
whether it be of merit or demerit, will follow him through life. As to
your dress and manners, avoid as you would a pestilence those of a <DW2>.
Be plain and simple in your apparel and modest and unassuming in your
address--respectful and courteous to all, but especially to the aged.
The wise and the well-bred will ever mete to you a just reward; for
nothing affords more pleasure to the good and truly great, while nothing
certainly is more prepossessing than a modest youth.

"You say that you have received much attention from the first
families in --------. Whatever company you do keep, should ever be the
first--that is, the wisest and the best; but for the present, the less
time you spend in society of any kind the better. Close attention to
your studies, in the acquisition of a solid and polished education, will
yield you a larger profit. Be particular in the intimacies formed with
your schoolmates. Boys of good family and good breeding are always to
be preferred as companions, if their principles and conduct are
praiseworthy. But where this is not the case, those morally good, though
destitute of such advantages, are to be chosen as more worthy of your
regard and friendship.

"I again commend you to the care of Heaven. May the Almighty guide
and shield you--preserving you from temptation and delivering you when
tempted."

In a letter written shortly afterwards, she says:

"B------ has read to me a paragraph from a letter just received, in
which it is stated that you are one of the most studious and best
scholars in --------. If you knew how gratifying to my heart this
intelligence is, it would, I am sure, inspire you with the love of
honest fame. Go on, my dear boy, as you have begun, and you will
attain all that is most desirable and most valuable in this world--the
character and position of a good and wise man, useful, beloved, and
honored in your generation. True, there is no near male friend in your
family to extend a fostering hand to you and lead you onward to fame and
fortune. Let not this circumstance, however, discourage you, but rather
let it stimulate you to fresh industry and exertion. A faithful use of
the means in your power will insure to you the desired result. But ever
remember that in this more even will depend on your moral conduct as
a man and gentleman than on your mental accomplishments. There is
much even in external manner--more than many wise people think; and
a gentlemanlike deportment, accompanied by honest candor, strict
integrity, and undeviating truth will secure more respect and esteem
for you in youth, as well as in after age, than any degree of talent,
however brilliant, possibly can without them."

When, some three years afterwards, the same relative had commenced his
collegiate course, she thus writes, under the date of May 31st, 1814:

"I am happy to learn that you have received so much kindness from so
many friends. Be mindful of their civilities and ever prove yourself
worthy of them. I confess I have been greatly gratified in hearing from
many quarters such flattering reports of your good conduct and success
in study. Press forward, my dear son, in the ways of wisdom--they are
ways of pleasantness, and their end is peace. Industry is the handmaid
of good fortune; and always keep it in mind, that persevering assiduity
will surely accomplish for you all that is desirable in this world.
Under this conviction, which is certainly a truth, let no trivial
obstacle you may occasionally meet discourage your efforts or impede
your progress. You have gained considerable distinction in your career
thus far;--never rest satisfied short of the first honors of the
institution you have now entered.

"Your advantages for the study of composition and oratory have not been,
I fear, as good heretofore as I could have wished. Let these important
branches now engage much of your attention; you cannot excel in either
of the leading professions without them. If you would become a wise man,
a variety of reading from the best authors, both ancient and modern,
must also be added to your attainments in college studies. Acquire, too,
a habit of observation on men and manners, without which you can never
secure the knowledge of the world essential to success in practical
life. Political knowledge, also, is absolutely indispensable to the
attainment in our country of a conspicuous and influential position, at
which I trust you will aim; pay attention, therefore, to the passing
events of the day and to the information to be derived from the best
conducted public prints. Man can do much for himself as respects his own
improvement, unless selflove so blinds him that he cannot see his own
imperfections and weaknesses. Some of the most finished characters, in
all ages, of which the world can boast, are those who found the greatest
difficulty in controlling their natural propensities, but whose
persevering efforts caused even bad habits to give place to the most
graceful accomplishments. Above all, my dear son, take care of your
morals. All I ever say to you proceeds from the sincerest affection and
the deepest anxiety for your success and happiness in life. Keep
yourself for the future, as you have for the past, as far as possible
from unprincipled young men, many of whom you will everywhere find
around you. Treat your tutors and professors with the respect to which
they are entitled, and conform promptly and strictly to the discipline
and usages of the college. If ever tempted to a different course, resist
the evil. The exercise of a little self-denial for the time will be
followed by the pleasure of having achieved the greatest of triumphs--a
triumph over one's self.

"I cheer myself daily with thoughts of your constant improvement in
everything calculated to be useful and honorable to yourself, and
gratifying to your friends. May God ever bless and keep you."

One additional extract from a letter to the same individual, written
while he was still in college, under the date of March 20th, 1815,
presents briefly, but clearly, the sentiments and feelings of Mrs.
Wilson, on the most important of all subjects--that of personal and
experimental piety.

"Your last letter," she writes, "gave me more pleasure than any one I
have ever received from you. I cannot be too thankful to that great and
good Being who, in infinite mercy, hath opened your eyes to see
yourself spiritually as you are--a guilty sinner, in need of a better
righteousness than your own, to appear acceptably in His sight.
Believers, even as others, are by nature dead in trespasses and sins;
but by faith in the Son of God--derived from him alone--they arise
to newness of life, and become heirs of eternal glory. The blessed
assurance is, 'Because I live, ye shall live also.' Live in life, and
live for ever.

"I doubt not that your views of the world, and the things pertaining
to it, as well as of yourself, are different from what they ever were
before. You see and feel that to the renewed soul, all things, in
comparison with 'Christ and Him crucified,' are of small consideration.
Since God has been pleased to impress your soul with a sense of His
divine perfections, of the depravity of your nature, and of the riches
of His grace, be watchful, my dear son, and continue instant in prayer.
Confident that the life of a sincere Christian will ever be your highest
honor, on this subject regard neither the smiles nor frowns of the
world--neither its fashions nor its favors. I have often thought of
you with much satisfaction, in the belief that you would prove yourself
worthy of my warmest and sincerest affection; but the possession of
the finest talents, such as would command the applause of a vain world,
attended with the most brilliant success, could never give me half the
happiness of an assurance that you were truly a pious man. I could write
much upon this interesting and sublime subject, but the necessity of
preparing several letters for the present mail, obliges me to close with
my blessing."

Mrs. Wilson herself became interested in the subject of personal and
practical piety in early youth, and made a profession of her faith, at
the time, in the Presbyterian church of Bethlehem, New Jersey,' of
which her grandfather, Judge Johnston, was the founder and chief patron
through life. Her example as a Christian has ever been in harmony
with the leading traits of her character--consistent, energetic,
decisive--abounding in charities, and full of good works. In religion,
as in intellectual advancement, she has kept pace in spirit and active
zeal with the enlarged benevolence and expanding enterprise of the
passing age; and though now in her ninetieth year, not only by her
subscriptions and her prayers, but often by her personal presence and
aid, still cheers the ladies of her neighborhood in their associations
for purposes of local and general benevolence and piety.

The marriage of her only daughter and child in 1802, to the late John
M. Bowers, Esq., of Bowers-town, county of Otsego, New York, led Mrs.
Wilson, in 1808, to change her home from Flemington, New Jersey, to
Cooperstown, New York, in which village for a long period afterwards,
she, at different times occupied her own dwelling; but now for many
years she has lived exclusively at the Lakelands, the beautiful
residence of her daughter, in the immediate vicinity of that place.
Here, respected and honored by all who know her, and reposing in the
affections of a devoted household, with the blessings of unnumbered
poor--the widow, the orphan, the destitute and friendless of every
name--descending like dews of Hermon on her head, she cheerfully awaits
the change when the "corruptible shall put on incorruption, and the
mortal put on IMMORTALITY."



XXIX. REBECCA MOTTE.

[Illustration: 0100]

|Fort Motte, the scene of the occurrence which so strikingly displayed
the patriotism of one of South Carolina's daughters, stood on the
south side of the Congaree river. The height commands a beautiful view,
several miles in extent, of sloping fields, sprinkled with young pines,
and green with broom grass or the corn or cotton crops; of sheltered
valleys and wooded hills, with the dark pine ridge defined against the
sky. The steep overlooks the swamp land through which the river flows;
and that may be seen to a great distance, winding, like a bright thread,
between the sombre forests.

After the abandonment of Camden to the Americans, Lord Rawdon, anxious
to maintain his posts, directed his first effort to relieve Fort Motte,
at the time invested by Marion and Lee. * This fort, which commanded
the river, was the principal depot of were entertained at her luxurious
table, she had attended with active benevolence to the sick and wounded,
soothed the infirm with kind sympathy, and animated the desponding to
hope. It was thus not without deep regret that the commanders determined
on the sacrifice, and the Lieutenant Colonel found himself compelled to
inform Mrs. Motte of the unavoidable necessity of the destruction of her
property.

* Ramsay's History of South Carolina: Moultrie's Memoirs? Lee's Memoirs
of the War in the Southern Department, etc.

The smile with which the communication was received, gave instant relief
to the embarrassed officer. Mrs. Motte not only assented, but declared
that she was "gratified with the opportunity of contributing to the good
of her country, and should view the approaching scene with delight."
Shortly after, seeing by accident the bow and arrows which had been
prepared to carry combustible matter, she sent for Lee, and presenting
him with a bow and its apparatus, which had been imported from India,
requested his substitution of them, as better adapted for the object
than those provided.

Every thing was now prepared for the concluding scene. The lines were
manned, and an additional force stationed at the battery, to meet a
desperate assault, if such should be made. The American entrenchments
being within arrow shot, M'Pherson was once more summoned, and again
more confidently--for help was at hand--asserted his determination to
resist to the last.

The scorching rays of the noon-day sun had prepared the shingle roof for
the conflagration. The return of the flag was immediately followed
by the shooting of the arrows, to which balls of blazing rosin and
brimstone were attached. Simms tells us the bow was put into the hands
of Nathan Savage, a private in Marion's brigade. The first struck, and
set fire; also the second and third, in different quarters of the roof.
M'Pherson immediately ordered men to repair to the loft of the house,
and check the flames by knocking off the shingles; but they were soon
driven down by the fire of the six pounder; and no other effort to stop
the burning being practicable, the commandant hung out the white flag,
and surrendered the garrison at discretion.

If ever a situation in real life afforded a fit subject for poetry, by
filling the mind with a sense of moral grandeur--it was that of Mrs.
Motte contemplating the spectacle of her home in flames, and rejoicing
in the triumph secured to her countrymen--the benefit to her native
land, by her surrender of her own interest to the public service. I have
stood upon the spot, and felt that it was indeed classic ground, and
consecrated by memories which should thrill the heart of every American.
But the beauty of such memories would be marred by the least attempt at
ornament; and the simple narrative of that memorable occurrence has more
effect to stir the feelings than could a tale artistically framed and
glowing with the richest hues of imagination.

After the captors had taken possession, M'Pherson and his officers
accompanied them to Mrs. Motte's dwelling, where they sat down together
to a sumptuous dinner. Again, in the softened picture, our heroine is
the principal figure. She showed herself prepared, not only to give up
her splendid mansion to ensure victory to the American arms, but to do
her part towards soothing the agitation of the conflict just ended. Her
dignified, courteous, and affable deportment adorned the hospitality of
her table; she did the honors with that unaffected politeness which wins
esteem as well as admiration; and by her conversation, marked with
ease, vivacity and good sense, and the engaging kindness of her manners,
endeavored to obliterate the recollection of the loss she had been
called upon to sustain, and at the same time to remove from the minds of
the prisoners the sense of their misfortune.

To the effect of this grace and gentle kindness, is doubtless due much
of the generosity exercised by the victors towards those who, according
to strict rule, had no right to expect mercy. While at the table, "it
was whispered in Marion's ear that Colonel Lee's men were even then
engaged in hanging certain of the tory prisoners. Marion instantly
hurried from the table, seized his sword, and running with all haste,
reached the place of execution in time to rescue one poor wretch from
the gallows. Two were already beyond rescue or recovery. With drawn
sword, and a degree of indignation in his countenance that spoke more
than words, Marion threatened to kill the first man that made any
further attempt in such diabolical proceedings." *

* Simms' Life of Marion, p. 239.

Other incidents in the life of Mrs. Motte, illustrate the same rare
energy and firmness of character she evinced on this occasion, with the
same disinterested devotion to the American cause. When an attack upon
Charleston was apprehended, and every man able to render service was
summoned to aid in throwing up intrenchments for the defence of the
city, Mrs. Motte, who had lost her husband at an early period of the
war, and had no son to perform his duty to the country, despatched a
messenger to her plantation, and ordered down to Charleston every male
slave capable of work. Providing each, at her own expense, with proper
implements, and a soldier's rations, she placed them at the disposal of
the officer in command. The value of this unexpected aid was enhanced by
the spirit which prompted the patriotic offer.

At different times it was her lot to encounter the presence of the
enemy. Surprised by the British at one of her country residences on the
Santee, her son-in-law, General Pinckney, who happened to be with her at
the time, barely escaped capture by taking refuge in the swamps. It
was to avoid such annoyances that she removed to "Buckhead," afterwards
called Fort Motte, the neighborhood of which in time became the scene of
active operations.

When the British took possession of Charleston, the house in which
she resided--still one of the finest in the city--was selected as the
head-quarters of Colonels Tarleton and Balfour. From this abode she
determined not to be driven; and presided daily at the head of her own
table, with a company of thirty British officers. The duties forced upon
her were discharged with dignity and grace, while she always replied
with becoming spirit to the discourteous taunts frequently uttered in
her presence, against her "rebel countrymen." In many scenes of danger
and disaster was her fortitude put to the test; yet through all, this
noble-spirited woman regarded not her own advantage, hesitating at no
sacrifice of her convenience or interest, to promote the general good.

One portion of her history--illustrating her singular energy,
resolution, and strength of principle-should be recorded. During
the struggle, her husband had become deeply involved by securities
undertaken for his friends. The distracted state of the country--the
pursuits of business being for a long time suspended,--plunged many
into embarrassment; and after the termination of the war, it was found
impossible to satisfy these claims. The widow, however, considered the
honor of her deceased husband involved in the responsibilities he had
assumed. She determined to devote the remainder of her life to the
honorable task of paying the debts. Her friends and connections, whose
acquaintance with her affairs gave weight to their judgment, warned her
of the apparent hopelessness of such an effort. But, steadfast in the
principles that governed all her conduct, she persevered; induced a
friend to purchase for her, on credit, a valuable body of rice-land,
then an uncleared swamp--on the Santee--built houses for the <DW64>s,
who constituted nearly all her available property--even that being
encumbered with claims--and took up her own abode on the new plantation.
Living in an humble dwelling--and relinquishing many of her habitual
comforts--she devoted herself with such zeal, untiring industry, and
indomitable resolution to the attainment of her object, that her success
triumphed over every difficulty, and exceeded the expectations of all
who had discouraged her. She not only paid her husband's debts to
the full, but secured for her children and descendants a handsome and
unincumbered estate. Such an example of perseverance under adverse
circumstances, for the accomplishment of a high and noble purpose,
exhibits in yet brighter colors the heroism that shone in her country's
days of peril!

In the retirement of Mrs. Motte's life after the war, her virtues and
usefulness were best appreciated by those who knew her intimately, or
lived in her house. By them her society and conversation were felt to
be a valued privilege. She was accustomed to amuse and instruct her
domestic circle with various interesting anecdotes of persons and
events; the recollection of which, however, at this distant period,
is too vague to be relied on for a record. The few particulars here
mentioned were received from her descendants.

She was the daughter of Robert Brewton, an English gentleman, who
emigrated to South Carolina, and settled in Charleston before the war.
Her mother was a native of Ireland, and married Mr. Brewton after her
removal to this country, leaving at her death three children--Miles,
Frances, and Rebecca. Miles Brewton took part with the first abettors of
resistance to British oppression; and their consultations were held at
his house in Charleston. Early in the war he was drowned on his way
to England with his family, whom he intended to leave there, while he
should return to take part with the patriots.

Rebecca Brewton was born on the 28th June, 1738. * She married Jacob
Motte ** in 1758, and was the mother of six children, only three of whom
lived to maturity. General Thomas Pinckney married in succession the
two elder daughters. *** The third surviving daughter was married to the
late Colonel William. Alston, of Charleston. By the children of these,
whose families are among the most distinguished in the State, the memory
of their ancestor is cherished with pride and affection. Her fame is,
indeed, a rich inheritance; for of one like her the land of her birth
may well be proud!

* The dates are taken from the family Bible, recorded in Mrs. Motte's
own hand-writing.

** A celebrated writer informs me that the name is French, and was
originally spelled 'Mothè.

*** It was the wife of Thomas Pinckney who dressed his wounds after
the battle of Camden, with her own hands, and fainted when the task was
over.

Mrs. Motte died in 1815, at her plantation on the Santee. The portrait
from which the engraving is taken is said to be an excellent likeness.

Some facts related to Major Garden by Mrs. Brew-ton, who was an inmate
of Mrs. Motte's family at the time of the destruction of her house,
are interesting in this connection. She stated that Mrs. Motte and her
family had been allowed to occupy an apartment in the mansion while the
American forces were at a distance; but when the troops drew near, were
ordered to remove immediately. As they were going, Mrs. Brewton took up
the quiver of arrows, and said to her friend that she would take those
with her, to prevent their being destroyed by the soldiers. She was
passing the gate with the quiver in her hands, when M'Pherson asked what
she had there, at the same time drawing forth a shaft, and applying the
point to his finger. She sportively bade him be careful, "for the arrows
were poisoned;" and the ladies then passed on to the farm-house where
they were to take up their abode.

On several occasions Mrs. Brewton incurred the enmity of the British
officers by her lively sallies, which were sometimes pointed with
severity. Before the siege of Fort Motte, a tory ensign had frequently
amused himself, and provoked the ladies, by taunts levelled against the
whigs, sometimes giving the names of the prominent commanders to pine
saplings, while he struck off their heads with his weapon. After the
surrender, Mrs. Brewton was cruel enough, meeting this young man on
the spot where he had uttered these bravadoes, to request, sportively,
another exhibition of his prowess, and regret that the loss of his sword
did not permit him to gratify her.

Not long after this, Mrs. Brewton obtained permission to go to
Charleston. An officer in the city inquiring the news from the country,
she answered "that all nature smiled, for every thing was _Greene_,
down to Monk's Corner." This _bon mot_ was noticed by an order for her
immediate departure; she was obliged to leave the city at a late hour,
but permitted to return the following day. Her ready wit procured her
still further ill-will. An officer going into the country offered to
take charge of letters to her friends. She replied, "I should like
to write, but have no idea of having my letters read at the head of
Marion's brigade." The officer returned in a few days on parole, having
been taken prisoner by Marion, and called to pay his thanks, as he said,
to her for having communicated the intelligence of his movements.

The society of this sprightly and fascinating widow appears to have been
much sought by the more cultivated among the British, who enjoyed her
brilliant conversation, while they winced under her sarcasm. One day
when walking in Broad street, wearing deep mourning, according to the
custom of the whig ladies, she was joined by an English officer. They
were passing the house of Governor Rutledge, then occupied by Colonel
Moncrief, when taking a piece of crape that had been accidently torn
from the flounce of her dress, she tied it to the front railing,
expressing at the same time her sorrow for the Governor's absence,
and her opinion that his house, as well as his friends, ought to wear
mourning. It was but a few hours after this act of daring, that the
patriotic lady was arrested and sent to Philadelphia.

* Note.--Mrs. Motte's arrows, which have become so famous in history,
had been given as a curiosity--being poisoned--by an East India
captain to her brother, Miles Brewton. After his loss at sea, they were
accidentally put among some household articles belonging to Mrs. Motte,
and in her several removals for quiet and security, chanced to be taken
to "Buckhead" in the hurried transportation of her effects.




XXX. SUSANNAH ELLIOTT.

|The presentation of a pair of colors, by the wife of Colonel Barnard
Elliott, is mentioned in several historical works. They were presented
to the second South Carolina regiment of infantry, commanded by
Colonel Moultrie,--on the third day after the attack on Fort Moultrie,
Sullivan's Island, which took place June 28th, 1776. These colors were
very elegant, and both richly embroidered by Mrs. Elliott's own hand.
One was of fine blue, the other of red silk. They were presented with
these words: "Your gallant behavior in defence of liberty and your
country, entitles you to the highest honors; accept these two standards
as a reward justly due to your regiment; and I make not the least doubt,
under Heaven's protection, you will stand by them as long as they can
wave in the air of liberty." *

* Moultrie's Memoirs; Ramsay's History of South Carolina; McCall's
History of Georgia.

The colors having been received from the lady's hands by the Colonel and
Lieutenant Colonel, she was thanked for the gift--and a promise was
made by the Colonel in the name of the soldiers--that they should be
honorably supported, and never tarnished by the second regiment. Never
was pledge more nobly fulfilled. Three years afterwards, they were
planted on the British lines at Savannah. Two officers, who bore them,
lost their lives; and just before the retreat was ordered, the gallant
Sergeant Jasper, in planting them on the works, received a mortal wound
and fell into the ditch. One of the standards was brought off in the
retreat; and Jasper succeeded in regaining the American camp. In his
last moments he said to Major Horry, who had called to see him--"Tell
Mrs. Elliott I lost my life supporting the colors she presented to our
regiment." The colors were afterwards taken at the fall of Charleston,
and were deposited in the Tower of London.

The maiden name of Mrs. Barnard Elliott was Susannah Smith. She was a
native of South Carolina, and the daughter of Benjamin Smith, for many
years Speaker of the Assembly of the province. Left young an orphan and
an heiress, she was brought up by her aunt, Mrs. Rebecca Motte, with
whom she lived till her marriage. Mrs. Daniel Hall used to say she was
"one of the most busy among the Revolutionary women, and always active
among the soldiers." It is known that her husband raised and maintained
a regiment at his own expense. Among the papers in the possession of the
family is a letter from General Greene to Mrs. Elliott, expressive of
high respect and regard, offering her a safe escort through the camp,
and to any part of the country to which she might desire to travel.

While at her plantation called "The Hut," she had three American
gentlemen as guests in the house. Surprised one day by the sudden
approach of the British, she hurried them into a closet, and opening a
secret door, disclosed a large opening back of the chimney, known only
to herself, and contrived for a hiding-place. Two entered; but the third
determined to trust to the fleetness of his horse, and his knowledge
of the woods. In leaping a fence he was overtaken, and cut down within
sight of the house.

This was searched thoroughly for the others; but no threats could
induce Mrs. Elliott to reveal their place of retreat. The officers then
demanded her silver; and pointing to some mounds of earth not far off,
asked if the plate was buried there. Mrs. Elliott replied that those
mounds were the graves of British soldiers who had died at her house.
Not believing her, they ordered two of the soldiers to dig and see. The
coffin in one of the graves was soon disinterred; and on opening it
the truth was at once made manifest. After the men had taken their
departure, Mrs. Elliott released her two guests. The silver had been put
in a trunk and buried in the marsh by a faithful servant, who after the
close of the war came to Mrs. Elliott's son, requested assistance to dig
for it, and brought it out safe, though perfectly blackened.

Mrs. Elliott was beautiful in person, with a countenance inexpressibly
soft and sweet. Her portrait is in the possession of the family, defaced
by the act of a British soldier--a small sword having been run through
one eye. Her descendants reside in Charleston, and in other parts of the
State.

A Revolutionary _jeu d'esprit_ sent me by a friend in Charleston,
containing allusions to some of the prominent whig ladies, mentions the
name of Mrs. Elliott. It is a letter from Major Barry to "Mrs. G." and
was found copied in the hand-writing of Bishop Smith. It appears to be a
burlesque dedication of a poem, which unfortunately has not descended
to posterity. It is somewhat curious to observe how the writer, with
playful sarcasm, characterizes women of the opposite party, while
seeking one who might fitly matronize his offspring.

"The feathers which bedeck the head of Mrs. Ferguson for a moment
attracted my attention, but right fearful was I lest the critics and
poetasters of this age might infer a light foundation from so airy a
superstructure; which most sorrowful event might at once overthrow both
the patronized and patronizer.

"Mrs. Savage and Mrs. Parsons called vociferously for notice; but their
zeal so shook the dagger and the bowl in their hands, that I deemed them
unfit for the calm dignity of the tragic scene. Too much mildness, on
the other hand, superseded the veteran Mrs. Pinckney, when I beheld
her smiling, sliding, gliding advance to meet the commissioners of
sequestration. As for Mrs. Charles Elliott, she is only allied to
such exalted spirits by the zeal of party--perhaps in her case the
too exuberant emanation of a delicate and susceptible mind. And as the
banners in the hand of Mrs. Barnard Elliott waved but for a moment,
flimsy as the words that presented them, so slight a triumph could not
entitle her to fame so pre-eminent as this. 'Tis in you alone,
madam, we view united every concomitant for this most eminent
distinction--qualities which receive addition, if addition they can
have, from the veteran and rooted honors of that exalted character, the
General--a character allied to you by all the warm as well as tender
ties. It is with pleasure I ever view the _Wharf and Bridge_, those
works of his hands, which stand, like the boasted independence of your
country, the crumbling monuments of his august repute. With what rapture
do I behold him, in the obscure recesses of St. Augustine, attracting
the notice of all mankind, and, as he traverses the promised land,
planting deep in Hebrew ground the roots of everlasting fame, etc."

Although not active in political affairs, the patriotic feeling and
secluded, yet picturesque life of _Sabina Elliott_, passed in the
exercise of the domestic and Christian virtues, was not without its
influence. By the early death of her parents, she was left in her eighth
year, the eldest of several daughters, dependent on their relatives; and
was brought up by an aunt. Her personal beauty was remarkable; and when
she was about fourteen, arrested the attention of William Elliott, a
wealthy widower, who had been twice married, but had no children. He saw
her accidentally in the street, dressed in coarse apparel, and
carrying a pitcher of water into the house; and deeply impressed by her
appearance, sought an early introduction to the aunt, and soon after
married the object of his admiration. He then procured masters for
her and her sisters, whom he took home and educated. All, except one,
married from his house.

When Mrs. Elliott was about twenty-eight, the sad event took place which
cast a blight on her life. Her husband riding one day over his rice
fields, on a low horse he commonly used, struck with his whip a dog
lying by the roadside. The animal sprang upon him and tore his cheek.
It was discovered soon after to be mad; and Mr. Elliott calmly made
preparations to meet his terrible and inevitable fate. So fearful was he
that in the paroxysms of the disease he might injure some of his family,
that he strictly commanded two of his stoutest men servants to bind him
hand and foot upon the first symptom. At the end of forty days he died
of hydrophobia.

The grief caused by this misfortune, and the loss of three children,
permanently impaired Mrs. Elliott's health. Two daughters remained to
her; the eldest married Daniel Huger; Ann, the youngest, was united, at
the close of the war, to Colonel Lewis Morris, aid-de-camp to General
Greene, and eldest son of Lewis Morris, of Morrisania, one of the
signers of the Declaration of Independence.

Mrs. Elliott employed herself constantly in useful domestic occupations;
and was remarkable for industry and economy of time. She superintended
the manufacture of the wool and cotton worn by her slaves, to whom she
was most kind and indulgent; and made salt on her plantation during
the war. Some of the stockings knit by her are still extant--having the
date, 1776, knit in the threads.

Garden relates a pleasant anecdote of her wit. A British officer having
ordered the plundering of her poultry houses, she afterwards observed,
straying about the premises, an old muscovy drake, which had escaped the
general search. She had him caught, and mounting a servant on horseback,
ordered him to follow and deliver the bird to the officer with her
compliments; as she concluded that in the hurry of departure, it had
been left altogether by accident.

She took particular delight in improving the family seat, Accabee,
seven miles from Charleston. This place, mentioned in history, was
noted during the war as a place of refuge; being unmolested because
its mistress had no male relative to be obnoxious to the British. The
mansion was of brick, solidly built; with a piazza in front, and a
garden and lawn extending to the Ashley river. The grounds were covered
with grass, on which the sheep owned by Mrs. Elliott might be seen lying
under the magnificent live oaks decorated with the floating, silvery
moss so beautiful in the low country. The graceful fringe tree and
magnolia grandiflora, with other ornamental trees, grew in clumps in
front and on either side. In the rear, a portico looked on an avenue of
flowering locusts, nearly a mile in length. A circular stairs ascended
from the spacious hall to Mrs. Elliott's study. This beautiful country
seat--now in ruins--was the usual residence of Mrs. Elliott in the
spring months; the summers being spent at Johnson's Fort, on John's
Island. It was there that she died.

_Ann Elliott_, the wife of Lewis Morris, was born at Accabee. In
Charleston, while the city was occupied by the British, she wore
a bonnet decorated with thirteen small plumes, as a token of her
attachment to republican principles; and for her patriotic spirit,
was called "the beautiful rebel." Kosciusko was her admirer and
correspondent. An English officer--the second son of a noble family--who
was billeted upon her mother, became so enamored of her that he sought
the good offices of one of her female friends to intercede in his
behalf; and even offered, if she would favor him, to join the Americans.
Miss Elliott bade her friend say to him in reply, that to her former
want of esteem, was added scorn for a man capable of betraying his
sovereign for selfish interest. She had before declined the gift of a
splendid English saddle-horse, of which he wished her acceptance. She
would not attend church, as she had been accustomed, in Charleston,
while prayers were offered there for the success of the British arms;
preferring to join in the service read at her mother's house, where
petitions were put up for the downfall of the invaders.

At one time, while Colonel Morris, to whom she was then engaged, was on
a visit to her at Accabee, the attention of the family was drawn to
the windows by an unusual noise, and they perceived that the house was
surrounded by the Black Dragoons, in search of the young officer, who
had no time to escape. Ann went to one of the windows, opened it, and
presenting herself to the view of the dragoons, demanded what they
wanted. "We want the ------ rebel!" was the reply. "Go and look for him
in the American army!" answered the young girl. "How dare you disturb a
family under the protection of both armies?" Her firmness and resolution
conquered; and the enemy departed without further molestation.

Colonel and Mrs. Morris owned, among other possessions, a cotton
plantation on the Edisto River, about four miles from Charleston, called
the Round O, which is mentioned in Lee's Southern War. They had also a
residence upon Sullivan's Island. In September of one year there was so
severe a gale that several houses were blown down. The house of Colonel
Morris, which stood on a narrow part of the island, was undermined by
the advance of the tide. There was only time to remove the family to a
neighbor's, when the house fell, overthrown by the assault of wind and
waves.

Mrs. Lewis Morris was one of the belles distinguished at the levees of
the first President. Her residence during the last years of her life,
was in Morrisania. She died in New York the 29th of April, 1848, at the
age of eighty-six.

The incident of Jane Elliott's first acquaintance with her husband might
adorn a chapter in the romance of the real. She was the only child of
Charles Elliott, of St. Paul's parish--a staunch whig in principle, who
exhibited his devotion to the cause by equipping a considerable body of
troops at his own expense; but fell a victim to disease ere the war
had been waged in Carolina. His daughter having imbibed his opinions,
endeavored to serve the cause he had espoused, by the bestowal of a
portion of her wealth for the relief of the wounded American soldiers,
and to contribute to the establishment of hospitals for that purpose.
Not satisfied with this substantial aid, Miss Elliott gave her personal
supervision to certain wards in the hospital, which she visited to
attend to the sufferers. It was on one of these ministering visits
that she first saw Colonel Washington, who had been wounded and taken
prisoner in the cavalry charge at Eutaw Springs, and sent to Charleston
for surgical aid, and for safe keeping. The interest with which the
young girl heard the story of his perils, the sympathy given to his
misfortunes, and the gratitude and admiration of the brave young
soldier, may all be imagined, as leading to the reciprocal sentiment
that soon grew up between them. Miss Elliott was then in the early bloom
of youth, and surpassingly beautiful. Her manners were dignified, yet
gentle and winning; her perceptions quick, and her nature frank and
generous. Homage had been paid to her charms by the conquerors, from
which she turned to succor the defenders of her country. Major Barry,
whose pen seems to have celebrated the charms of many rebel fair ones,
addressed a poem "to Jane Elliott playing the guitar," which was lately
found in the ruins of Accabee by a daughter of Mrs. Lewis Morris. These
lines may serve as a specimen:=

```"Sweet harmonist! whom nature triply arms

```With virtue, beauty, music's powerful charms,--

```Say, why combin'd, when each resistless power

```Might mark its conquest to the fleeting hour?"

Colonel Washington was a gallant officer, imbued with the chivalric
feeling of that period, ardent in patriotism, and covered with the
brilliant renown of a successful soldier. It was not strange that two so
congenial should love each other, and become bound by a mutual pledge
to unite their fortunes; but the marriage did not take place till the
spring of 1782. With the return of peace the soldier exchanged
the fatigues of the camp for the quiet avocations of the planter,
establishing himself at the family-seat of his wife, at Sandy Hill,
South Carolina. They had two children; one of whom, a daughter, is yet
living. Mrs. Washington survived her husband about twenty years, and
died in 1830, at the age of sixty-six.

_Anna,_ the wife of Charles Elliott, was a patriot by inheritance, being
the daughter of Thomas Ferguson, one of the bravest and most zealous
among the friends of liberty. It was said of her that she "appeared to
consecrate every thought and every hour of existence to the interests of
America." She received under her hospitable roof the sick and wounded,
and gave them her personal attention and sympathy; she divided of her
substance among those who needed aid; she was the advocate and friend of
such as were unjustly persecuted. The prisoners she visited at regular
intervals received hope and strength from her presence, and were
beguiled into forgetfulness of their sufferings by her conversation. To
the afflicted she was indeed an angel of blessing; and even the enemies
of her country were influenced by the remarkable power of fascination
she possessed, which few, even the most harsh and unbending, could
resist. This was acknowledged in the most satisfactory way--the granting
of privileges and favors by many British officers. What she would not
have condescended to ask for herself, she solicited for the benefit of
her countrymen. Major Garden says: "I do not know an officer who did not
owe to her some essential increase of comfort." Yet her efforts in the
cause of justice and clemency were not always successful; she is said to
have drawn up the petition addressed to Lord Rawdon, and signed by the
ladies of Charleston, in behalf of the gallant and unfortunate Colonel
Isaac Hayne.

The following anecdote of Mrs. Elliott has been mentioned. An officer
of the royal army, noted for his cruelty and relentless persecution of
those opposed to his political views, was one day walking with her in a
garden where was a great variety of flowers. "What is this, madam?" he
asked, pointing to the chamomile. "The rebel flower," she replied.
"And why is it called the rebel flower?" asked the officer. "Because,"
answered Mrs. Elliott, "it always flourishes most when trampled upon."

One day an officer, in the house of Mrs. Elliott in Charleston, pointed
out to her a young French officer of the legion of Pulaski, passing by.
"There, Mrs. Elliott," he cried, "is one of your illustrious allies! He
has a fine form and martial appearance. What a pity the hero is minus
his _sword!_" She answered promptly and with spirit, "Had two thousand
such men been here to aid in the defence of our city, I should not
at this moment, sir, have been subjected to the insolence of your
observation."

Her impulsive and feeling nature is shown by another anecdote. When her
father was arrested and put on board a transport ship to be sent into
exile, Mrs. Elliott, who had received the intelligence in the country,
hastened to Charleston and solicited permission to bid him farewell.
Her request was granted. She went on board the vessel in which he was
a prisoner, but had scarcely entered the cabin, when, oppressed with
grief, she fainted, and was laid upon a couch. The captain, in alarm,
recommended a variety of remedies, and at last said "A cordial would
revive her; we have some fine French liqueur." On hearing this, Mrs.
Elliott sprang from her couch in sudden excitement. "The French!"
she exclaimed; "who speaks of the French? God bless the nation!" Then
turning to her father, she strove by her touching eloquence, to sustain
him under his misfortunes, and inspire him with hope for the future.
"Let not oppression shake your fortitude," she said, "nor the hope of
gentler treatment cause you for a moment to swerve from strict duty.
Better times are in store for us; the bravery of the Americans, and the
friendly aid of France, will yet achieve the deliverance of our country
from oppression. We shall meet again, my father, and meet with joy."

The historian Ramsay bears heart-warm testimony to the patriotism of the
Carolinian women, who gloried in being called "rebels;" and did their
utmost to support the fortitude of their relatives.

The wife of Isaac Holmes, one of the patriots sent into exile at St.
Augustine, sustained his firmness by her own resolution, to the moment
when the guard separated him from his family. Bidding him have no
fears for those he left, her parting injunction was, "Waver not in your
principles, but be true to your country."

When the sons of Rebecca Edwards were arrested as objects of
retaliation, she encouraged them to persevere in devotion to the cause
they had espoused.

Should they fall a sacrifice, a mother's blessing, and the approbation
of their countrymen, would go with them to the last; but if fear of
death ever prevailed on them to purchase safety by submission, they must
forget she was their parent, for it would to her be misery to look on
them again.

The sufferings of the sick and wounded American prisoners after the fall
of Charleston, appealed to female benevolence also among the loyalists.
Though attached to the royal cause, Mrs. Sarah Hopton and her daughters
were indefatigable in their attentions to the sufferers, whom many
feared to visit in consequence of the prevalence of a contagious fever
in the hospitals. The English were well supplied with necessary stores;
the Americans were destitute, and therefore experienced their kindness
and bounty. Their servants were continually employed in carrying them
nourishment and articles needed; and in some cases, they paid the hire
of nurses, where personal services were indispensable. They soothed the
death-bed of many with the consolations of religion, prayed with those
who were in danger, and joined with the convalescent in returning
thanks. These kind offices were rendered to men of whose political
principles and acts they disapproved, while great bitterness of feeling
existed between the opposing parties; but no prejudice could make these
Christian women insensible to the claims of humanity.

The lessons of piety and charity--the great lessons of life--taught
by Mrs. Hopton to her daughters, were afterwards neither forgotten nor
neglected. They were prominent in promoting the diffusion of religious
education, and devoted to such objects their energies and wealth. Two of
them aided in the establishment of a charity school for the education of
female orphans. Mrs. Gregorie, the eldest daughter, appropriated a
fund to aid in the support of this school, with many other bequests to
different religious associations.




XXXI. BEHETHLAND FOOTE BUTLER.

|The influence of women, so powerful an agent during the progress of
the Revolutionary war, was essential after its close in restoring
a healthful tone and vigor to society. The exercise of the higher
qualities of character was then no less demanded than in the troublous
times of violent popular excitement. Energy, industry, and perseverance
were necessary to the fulfilment of daily duties, which were to form the
character and shape the destinies of the youth of the Republic. It was
the part of women to reclaim what the ravages of war had laid waste;
to weed from the soil the rank growth it had nourished; to carry out in
practice the principles for which patriots had shed their blood, and
to lay a moral foundation on which the structure of a nation's true
greatness might be built. How faithfully the honorable yet difficult
task was performed, may be best seen from the characters of those who
were prepared for usefulness under this training. And it is not a little
remarkable how indifferent were those to whom this mighty trust was
committed, to views of personal ambition or interest. The spirit of Mary
Washington was among them. No distinction was in their eyes worthy to be
coveted, except that of eminent usefulness; they thought not of the fame
or power to be won by service to the Republic, but in their simplicity
and singleness of heart believed a patriot's best reward the
consciousness of having done his duty. Such were the matrons of the
nation's early day. Had they been otherwise, America would not have been
what now she is.

It is pleasant to dwell upon the character of one of these matrons,
whose influence, exerted in the privacy of the domestic circle, has
borne rich fruit in those who owe their distinction to her training. But
few incidents of her early personal history can be obtained; her life,
like that of most women, has been too quiet and secluded to furnish
material for the chronicler of mere events; but in view of the part she
has borne in the great work appointed by Providence to American women,
and the example afforded, its lesson should not be lost.

Behethland Moore was born on the 24th December, 1764, in Fauquier
County, Virginia. Her father, Captain Frank Moore, commanded as
lieutenant one of the Virginia troops at Braddock's defeat. Her mother
was Frances Foote, of whose family many still reside in that part of the
State. About 1768, five years after the marriage of her parents, they
removed to South Carolina, and settled on Little River, in Laurens
District, where Captain Moore died two years afterwards. His widow
contracted a second marriage with Captain Samuel Savage, who in 1774
removed to Edgefield District, and fixed his residence on Saluda River,
just above Saluda Old Town. Here Miss Moore and her two brothers,
William and George, lived with her mother and stepfather. Her education
was attended to with more care than was usually bestowed on the tuition
of young girls. She was sent to school in Camden, and placed under
the charge of a female teacher who enjoyed in that day a very high
reputation, receiving instruction in various useful and ornamental
branches.

While she was at this school, Count Pulaski, with the forces under his
command, passed through Camden on his way to join the American army at
Charleston. Miss Moore and her young companions took great pleasure in
looking at the soldiers as they passed through the streets; though they
were frequently rebuked for this indulgence of a natural curiosity. In
1781, she returned home. The smallpox was making fearful ravages through
the country; and to secure her against the dangers of the disease in
its more violent form, Miss Moore was sent to the neighborhood of
Ninety-Six, where she was innoculated by a British surgeon. While
awaiting the effects of the operation, being placed as a boarder in the
house of James Maysons, General Greene laid siege to Ninety-Six. The
wife of Colonel Cruger, the commander of the garrison, had lodgings
in the same house with Miss Moore, and was well acquainted with the
American General. The approach of Lord Rawdon rendered it necessary to
attempt carrying the place by storm. Greene determined on this; but with
characteristic humanity and delicacy, gave notice of his intention to
Mrs. Cruger, and detached a sergeant and guard of eight men to protect
the house in which she resided, from dangers that might be apprehended
in the heat of the assault. When the cannonading commenced, Mrs. Cruger
was engaged in sewing up guineas in a girdle; an occupation which she
continued in spite of the alarm occasioned by the successive reports.
Miss Moore, as may be supposed, had her share in the uneasiness caused
by the military preparations. She returned home the day before Lord
Rawdon's troops passed along the road, not far from the dwelling of her
parents. The terrors of war were brought to their very door; for it was
here that a sanguinary skirmish took place between Rawdon's men and a
body of Colonel Washington's cavalry sent to impede their progress. Soon
after, one of the royalist officers came to the house, where there were
none but women; and advised the family to take care of their property.
The caution was not unnecessary; for they were presently intruded upon
by several British soldiers. In their search for plunder, they rolled
down from above stairs some apples that had been gathered and stored for
the use of the family. The soldiers below began picking them up as they
fell on the floor; Miss Moore commanded them to desist, and gathering
some of the fruit in her apron, offered it to a non-commissioned officer
who stood by. Struck with the cool courage and determination of so young
a girl, he made some remark expressive of his admiration, and ordered
the soldiers instantly to desist from their rude trespass. He then
asked if her father did not own some sheep; to which she replied in
the affirmative. "The men are killing them, then, in the lot," said the
officer. Miss Moore hastened thither, followed by her informant. Two men
were in the act of slaughtering one of the sheep; but at the officer's
bidding, with the threat of reporting them to the commander, were
compelled to let them go. This incident, though trifling, exhibits the
same spirit which in other instances impelled to heroic actions. The
determination to interfere, though at no little personal hazard, for the
protection of her father's property, required a degree of courage in one
of her age, which can be estimated only when we consider the ferocity
of the marauders who then made it their business to pillage private
families.

On another occasion a band of tories came to the house of Captain
Savage, and were taking off a <DW64> boy who had been the personal
attendant of Miss Moore's father in the Indian war. With no thought of
the risk to herself, she hastened after them to rescue him from their
hands. The men, however, merely wanted him to show them where the horses
were. When they returned driving the latter, one of them ordered another
servant to catch one for him. Miss Moore commanded him not to obey such
an order; it was repeated; and the tory swore he would beat the servant
for his disobedience. As he was about to put his threat in execution,
the young girl threw herself between them, and the grumbling assailant
was forced to forego the intended violence. It must be remembered that
the intrepid maiden thus braved the ruthless band entirely on a point
of honor--knowing that the horses would be taken, but resolved not to
permit a servant belonging to her family to wait upon a tory.

While she resided at home, it became necessary to convey intelligence
of danger to Captain Wallace, who was in command of a small force on the
other side of the Saluda. There was difficulty in doing this, as no male
messenger could be procured. Miss Moore, at that time but fifteen, years
old, volunteered to undertake the service. Accompanied by her little
brother, and a friend named Fanny Smith, she went up the river in a
canoe in the middle of the night; gave the warning to Captain Wallace,
and through him to Colonel Henry Lee, who had crossed the Island Ford on
the retreat ordered by General Greene.

The next morning a young American officer, who had been below on some
reconnoitering service, rode up to the house to make a few inquiries.
These were answered by the young lady, who, it is said, was somewhat
struck with the appearance of the handsome man in dragoon uniform. This
was the first occasion on which she saw her future husband. It appears
that the pleasing impression at first sight was reciprocal; and that
the fair girl's image accompanied Captain William Butler into his next
battle-field; for it was not long before the courtship took place. This
did not meet the full approbation of the step-father; but love seldom
yields to the discouragement of obstacles; and the lover's perseverance
was crowned with success. The marriage took place in 1784. The young
people took possession of a small farm which Captain Butler had
inherited from his father, near Mount Willing. Fourteen years afterwards
they removed to an estate on one of the branches of Saluda River, where
they continued to live till the husband's death in 1821.

General Butler was almost constantly engaged in public service, and was
necessarily absent from home a great part of his time. In Congress from
1801 to 1814, and commanding the South Carolina forces in Charleston
as Major General during 1814 and 1815, the whole care not only of his
family, but of his plantation and business, devolved upon Mrs.
Butler. Never were such varied responsibilities more worthily met and
discharged. It was in this situation that the sterling qualities of her
character were developed, and shone with brightest lustre. She had the
care of a large family, the support of which was derived mainly from the
produce of a small farm; and the energy with which she devoted herself
to the charge, evinced a wonderful fertility in resources, commanding
the admiration of all who knew her. She undertook the superintendence
of her children's education, and especially of its most important
part--that moral training which always gives tone to character in after
life. Abundant occasions were afforded, in many trying scenes, for the
exercise of the unfaltering fortitude and prompt judgment which have
been her most remarkable characteristics. One who has enjoyed an
intimate acquaintance with her, says he has never known her, in many
years to perform an act, or utter a word, which calm and deliberate
judgment could disapprove. Amid trials and difficulties, sustained by
high principle, integrity and independence, her character has impressed
itself upon those who know her as rare and remarkable, commanding
universal respect; while her gentle virtues endear her to all within the
circle of her acquaintance. With a singular power of command and stern
energy, she combines the softest and most womanly qualities. In her it
may be seen that a superior mind, rigidly disciplined, may belong to a
woman without the development of any harsh or unfeminine lineaments;
and that a heart the most tender and affectionate may prompt to all the
generous charities of life, without being allied to weakness. It is this
union of benignity with force of intellect and firmness of resolution,
which has given her the ascendancy she possesses over others--an
attribute difficult to define, yet which is felt instinctively, as the
most peculiar and imposing of natural gifts.

The best testimony that could be borne to the excellence of this noble
mother, and of her system of education, is afforded by the career of her
sons, several of whom have attained distinction in public service. Their
acknowledgment of indebtedness to her for this eminence speaks more than
volumes of eulogy. The family consisted of seven sons and one daughter.
The eldest, James, was sheriff in his native district, and a Colonel in
the militia of the State. He died in 1821. George, a Major in the army,
which he left in 1815 for the bar, was one of the most prominent men in
the State; and died at the age of thirty-three. The Hon. William Butler
studied medicine, and was for several years in the navy. The fourth son,
who practised law, died in 1828. The eminent talents and public career
of Andrew Pickens Butler, for many years a distinguished member of the
Judiciary of South Carolina, and now United States Senator, are too well
known to need illustration. It may suffice to say that in domestic
life, and in the social circle, he commands the same esteem as in public
station. He appears to have inherited the cheerfulness of disposition
still retained by his mother, and which contributes more than any other
quality to shed around home the sunshine of happiness. The late Colonel
Pierce Mason Butler was celebrated for heroic and generous qualities.
A hero in the best sense of the term was this "American Douglas." He
commanded the regiment of his native State in the Florida war; and
subsequently received the highest testimony of the people's confidence,
in his election to the Chief Magistracy of South Carolina. He fell at
the head of the Palmetto regiment in Mexico. Few of our prominent men
have left any single condensed expression that has become classic by
fixing itself in popular remembrance; some of Colonel Butler's are,
however, thus embalmed. In his letter to General Worth, on the day of
the battle of Churubusco, he claims-a position for his command in the
front of the action. "South Carolina," he says, "is entitled to a place
in the picture." And his motto of his regiment--"Our State expects us
to do our duty, but to make no show of it"--is an expression strongly
characteristic not only of him, but of the noble-minded mother by whose
precepts, discipline, and example his character was formed. To her
judicious care, and the high example of their father, her sons owe the
large share they have exhibited of the old Greek feeling that they were
born for their country.

The parting of Mrs. Butler with her gallant son, on his departure for
Mexico, was cheered by no expectation of meeting again--his health being
greatly impaired. She gave him her last embrace with tearless eyes,
though with an agonized heart. Chosen as he was by the unanimous and
spontaneous call of the State to lead her forces, he could not refuse
to accept the trust; nor would his mother allow the exhibition of her
sorrow to impede him in the performance of his duty.

The youngest son, Leontine, died at the age of twenty-five. The only
daughter, Emmala E., was the wife of Hon. Waddy Thompson, late Minister
to Mexico.

A single anecdote of domestic management may serve to illustrate Mrs.
Butler's power over the minds trained by her, and her habit of making
use of slight occurrences to mould the character. The children of the
late Colonel Butler attended school in the village of Edgefield, where
she resides. One day when it rained violently, the children having been
provided with cloaks and umbrellas sent for the purpose, her grandson,
eleven years of age, observed that a little girl, the child of humble
parents, had no such protection. He gave her his arm and the shelter of
his umbrella, and conducted her home amid the jeers and laughter of his
young companions. The amount of moral courage required for this simple
act of courtesy and kindness, can be estimated when we consider the
sensitiveness to ridicule in a boy of such early age. His grandmother's
expression of approval was sufficient reward, and she lost not the
opportunity of exhorting the generous child never to be ashamed of an
honorable action, however humble the object.

It may perhaps be seen, even in this brief and inadequate sketch, how
in the incidents of Mrs. Butler's early life, were developed the high
mental and moral qualities which marked her in after years, illustrated
in her actions, and sending forth so many streams of blessing. In her
children, whom she reared to usefulness, and whose devotion to her has
never faltered, her recompense has been found. Admired and beloved by
her descendants and friends--the object of the high regard and respect
of a large circle of acquaintance--she has yet the consciousness of
being able to contribute to the enjoyment and improvement of those
around her. It is but recently she has been called to mourn the death of
her only daughter, worthy of her in her elevated principles, her gentle
yet lofty spirit, and her grace and benignity of nature. The death of
the brother whom she loved--Colonel Butler--it is said, was the blow
which consigned her to an untimely grave. The memory of her amiable and
noble qualities, and her deep and unaffected piety, is warmly cherished
in the hearts of her kindred and friends.




XXXII. HANNAH CALDWELL.

|Few occurrences in the history of ancient or modern warfare have so
strongly influenced the public feeling--have excited so universal a
sentiment of horror, or such deep resentment towards the authors of the
crime--as the deliberate and barbarous murder of Mrs. Caldwell. It was
perpetrated not only as an act of vengeance upon an individual, but
with the design of striking terror into the country, and compelling the
inhabitants to submission. So far, however, from producing this effect,
it but roused the indignation of the whole community, filling all with
one spirit--one desire to avenge the deed, and drive the invaders from
their soil. It animated the brave with new energy, inspired the timid
to feats of heroism, and determined the irresolute to throng to the
standard of liberty. One of the journals of the day says: "The Caldwell
tragedy has raised the resolution of the country to the highest pitch.
They are ready almost to swear everlasting enmity to the name of a
Briton."

The Rev. James Caldwell, pastor of the First Presbyterian church in
Elizabethtown, New Jersey, was descended of a Huguenot family, and born
in Virginia. He married in 1763, Hannah, the daughter of John Ogden of
Newark. Her mother was Miss Sayre, a descendant of the Pilgrims. Her
brothers were all staunch whigs, with the exception of Jonathan, who
subsequently held the offices of Surgeon General in the British army,
and Judge of Newfoundland.

Shortly after the settlement of Mr. Caldwell at Elizabethtown, the war
broke out; and inheriting from his ancestors a feeling of opposition
to tyranny, he warmly espoused the cause of his country. He acted
as chaplain of those portions of the American army that successively
occupied New Jersey; joined Colonel Dayton's regiment, and accompanied
the Jersey brigade to the northern lines. He was stationed some time at
Johnstown, New York, and was afterwards appointed assistant commissary
to the army; stood high in the confidence of Washington; and by his
eloquent and patriotic appeals, contributed greatly, in times of
despondency to excite and sustain the drooping spirits of the soldiers.
All the influence commanded by his character and talents--his energy,
and his unbounded popularity in the community--was devoted to the cause
of American freedom.

This zeal and activity did not fail to render him obnoxious to the
enemy, and no effort was spared to do him injury. A price was set upon
his head; and it is said that while preaching the gospel of peace to his
people, he was often forced to lay his loaded pistols by his side in the
pulpit. On account of the predatory incursions of the British, he was
compelled to leave his home, for a temporary residence at Springfield,
New Jersey. The parsonage thus deserted, and the church in which he
preached, were used as a hospital for the sick and wounded of the
American army. Its bell sounded the alarm through the town on the
approach of the enemy; * the weary soldiers often slept upon its floor,
and ate their hurried and scanty meals from the seats of the pews; so
that worshippers on the Sabbath were not unfrequently compelled to stand
through the service. Even of this shelter the British and tories, who
cherished implacable enmity towards the pastor of the church, determined
to deprive the soldiers; it was burnt, with the parsonage, on the night
of January 25th, 1780.

Finding the situation at Springfield inconvenient, and the distance
too great from his church, Mr. Caldwell again removed to "Connecticut
Farms," four miles from Elizabethtown. It was during his residence at
this place that the British troops from New York, under the command
of the Hessian General Knyphausen, landed at Elizabethtown, before
daylight, on the seventh of June. *

* See Notes concerning Elizabethtown, by Rev. Dr. Murray.

Their march into the interior was marked by cruelty and devastation.
Several houses were fired, and the inhabitants left destitute of
provisions or shelter. When informed of the enemy's approach, Mr.
Caldwell put his elder children into a baggage wagon in his possession
as commissary, and sent them to some of his friends for protection.
Three of the younger ones--Josiah Flint, Elias Boudinot, and Maria, an
infant about eight months old, remained with their mother in the house.
* Mr. Caldwell had no fears for the safety of his wife and young family;
for he believed it impossible that resentment could be extended to a
mother watching over her little ones. He had that morning taken an early
breakfast, intending to join the force collecting to oppose the enemy.
Having in vain endeavored to persuade his wife to go with him,
he returned to make a last effort to induce her to change her
determination; but she remained firm. She handed him a cup of coffee,
which he drank as he sat on horseback. Seeing the gleam of British arms
at a distance, he put spurs to his horse, and in a few moments was out
of sight.

* The nurse also remained, and a little girl named Abigail Lennington,
a soldier's daughter, whom Mr. Caldwell had taken into his family. She
is still living at Elizabethtown. Immediately after the tragedy, she
with the nurse, gave deposition as to the facts before a magistrate.

Mrs. Caldwell herself felt no alarm. She had hid several articles of
value in a bucket and let it down into the well; and had filled her
pockets with silver and jewelry. She saw that the house was put in
order, and then dressed herself with care, that should the enemy enter
her dwelling, she might, to use her own expression--"receive them as a
lady." She then took the infant in her arms, retired to her chamber, the
window of which commanded a view of the road, towards which the end of
the house stood--and seated herself upon the bed. The alarm was given
that the soldiers were at hand. But she felt confidence that no one
could have the heart to do injury to the helpless inmates of her house.
Again and again she said--"They will respect a mother." She had just
nursed the infant and given it to the nurse, who was in the room. The
girl, Abigail, was standing by the window. A soldier left the road, and
crossing a space of ground diagonally to reach the house, came to
the window of the room, put his gun close to it, and fired. Two balls
entered the breast of Mrs. Caldwell; she fell back on the bed, and in a
moment expired. **

* He wore a red coat, and is generally supposed to have been a British
soldier. Some have attributed the act to a refugee.

** The little girl received in her face some of the glass when the two
balls entered, both of which took such deadly effect.

After the murder, Mrs. Caldwell's dress was cut open, and her pockets
were rifled by the soldiers. Her remains were conveyed to a house on the
other side of the road; the dwelling was then fired and reduced to ashes
with all the furniture. The ruthless soldiers went on in their work of
destruction, pillaging and setting fire to the houses, piling beds and
clothing in the street and destroying them, till the village was laid
waste.

Let it be imagined what were the feelings of the husband, when the
terrible news was communicated to him. It is said that he overheard some
soldiers in a house where he stopped, speaking of the occurrence; and
by questioning them, learned the truth. La Fayette, on his last visit to
America, informed one of the family, that Mr. Caldwell was with him
that morning on the heights near Springfield, and saw, by the aid of a
spy-glass, the smoke ascending from the burning houses. "Thank God,"
he exclaimed, "the fire is not in the direction of my house." He was
fatally mistaken!

Mr. Josiah F. Caldwell, one of the sons--the sixth of the nine children
who were thus bereaved of a mother--relates what he remembers of the
event. He was at the time six years of age. About sunrise, when it was
announced that the British were coming, he went into the street and
joined the people who were driving their cattle to Springfield. There
he saw his father with a field-piece--a six pounder, which had formerly
been used as an alarm piece. Thence the little boy proceeded to Bottle
Hill, and found his second sister, Hannah, at the house of Mr.
Sayre; and a day or two after, both the children set off on foot for
Connecticut Farms, to see their mother. On their way, they were met by
the nurse, Katy, with the two youngest children, in a chair belonging
to Mr. Caldwell; she informed the young orphans of their mother's death,
and insisted that they should return with her to Bottle Hill. The sister
yielded, and was taken into the carriage; the little brother refused to
go till he had taken a last look at his beloved parent, and pursued his
way to the Farms. On his arrival he was conducted to the house where
his mother's remains were laid. His father, who had arrived a short time
before, was standing beside the bed on which reposed the lifeless
form of this victim of political hatred. What a meeting for the
heart-stricken mourner, and the child scarce able to comprehend his
irreparable loss!

Some attempts were made by the royalist party to escape the odium of
this sanguinary transaction, by pretending that Mrs. Caldwell had been
killed by a chance shot. *

* Rivington's Royal Gazette, 1780.

The actual evidence, however, sets the fact beyond question that one of
the enemy was the murderer; and there is too much reason to believe that
the deed was deliberately ordered by those high in command. A letter to
General Knyphausen, published in the New Jersey Journal, in reproaching
him for the outrages of his army, unhesitatingly casts the blame of
the murder on him, as committed designedly by one of his men: and the
various rumors that went abroad amidst the popular excitement on the
subject, and were mentioned in the papers of the day, show that such was
the prevalent opinion. *

* The Hon. Samuel L. Southard, alluding to Mrs. Caldwell's death, in
connection with a memorial presented to the U. S. Senate for the church
and property destroyed, says "her children were baptized to piety and
patriotism in a mother's blood."

Mr. Caldwell himself presented an address to the public, * showing
that the murder of his wife had been a deliberate act, committed at the
instigation of those in authority. "Mrs. Caldwell," he says, "was of so
sweet a temper, and so prudent, benevolent and soft in her manners, that
I verily believe she had not upon earth one personal enemy; and whatever
rancor the enemy felt against myself for my public conduct and political
character, I have no reason to believe there was any person among them
under the influence of any personal difference, or private revenge.
I cannot therefore esteem it the private action of an individual. No
officer interfered to preserve the corpse from being stripped or burnt,
nor to relieve the babes left thus desolate among them. Many officers,
indeed, showed their abhorrence of the murder, and their tenderness for
the babes; why did they not set a sentinel over the corpse, till the
neighboring women could have been called? They knew she was a lady of
amiable character and reputable family; yet she was left half the day
stripped in part, and tumbled about by the rude soldiery; and at last
was removed from the house before it was burnt, by the aid of those who
were not of the army. From this I conclude the army knew the will of
their superiors; and that those who had benevolence dared not show it to
this devoted lady."

* Pennsylvania Journal, October 4, 1780.

The children were left at different places, till Mr. Caldwell bought a
small farm at Turkey, now called New Providence, where he collected his
family together, under the care of the faithful nurse, Katy. The remains
of Mrs. Caldwell were interred in the burial-ground of the Presbyterian
Church at Elizabethtown, and the congregation placed above the grave
a neat freestone slab, on which is an inscription recording her bright
virtues, and her melancholy fate. The memory of this martyr to American
liberty will long be revered by the inhabitants of the land with whose
soil her shed blood has mingled!

Her personal appearance is described as conveying the abiding impression
of benevolence, serenity, and peculiar sweetness of disposition. She
was about the medium height, with dark gray eyes, auburn hair, and
complexion of singular fairness; of pleasing countenance, and quiet,
gentle, and winning manners.

The tragedy was not yet complete. On the 24th of November, 1781, Mr.
Caldwell went to Elizabethtown Point for a Miss Murray, who came under
the protection of a flag of truce from New York, where she had shown
great kindness to some of the sick soldiers. Mr. Caldwell conducted her
to his gig, and then went back into the boat for her bundle containing
some articles of clothing. As he came on shore he was challenged by the
American sentinel, who demanded what "contraband goods" he had there.
Unwilling then to dispute the matter, he turned back to leave the bundle
with the officer; and at that moment was shot by a man named Morgan, who
had just been relieved from duty as a sentinel. This man is supposed to
have been bribed by British gold to the deed. Mr. Caldwell fell,
pierced by two balls; and his body was borne to Mrs. Noel's house in
Elizabethtown. Morgan, who fired upon him, was afterwards tried, found
guilty of murder, and executed. The remains of Mr. Caldwell were laid in
the same grave-yard with those of his wife; and the "Caldwell monument,"
at the inauguration ceremonies of which Dr. Miller and Hon. William L.
Dayton delivered their eloquent addresses in 1846, was erected to their
memory.

Mrs. Noel, the steadfast friend of the family, took the children under
her protection, assembled their friends, and consulted upon measures to
be taken for the care of them. All lived to become eminent and useful
members of society. The eldest son, John Edwards, was taken by La
Fayette to France, where he was educated; and in after years was
foremost in New York in benevolent enterprises, and editor of one of
the first religious periodicals in the country. The fifth son, Elias
Boudinot, was taken by the Hon. Elias Boudinot, President of the first
Congress; and was afterwards Clerk of the United States Supreme Court,
and one of the originators of the Colonization Society. Mrs. Noel
adopted the youngest child--a daughter--who is still living in New York.

The Rev. Dr. Murray of Elizabethtown, who has thoroughly investigated
the subject, has prepared an accurate account of the death of the
devoted patriot and pastor, which will shortly be given to the public.

On the 28th of February, 1779, a party of British troops from New York
landed at Elizabethtown Point, for the purpose of capturing the Governor
of New Jersey, and surprising the force stationed in the village under
General Maxwell. One detachment marched at night to "Liberty Hall," the
residence of Governor Livingston, and forced an entrance; but failed
of their object--for it happened that he had left home some hours
previously. Disappointed in the expectation of securing his prisoner,
the British officer demanded the Governor's papers. Miss Livingston
assented to the demand; but appealing to him as a gentleman, requested
that a box standing in the parlor, which she claimed as containing
her private property, should be secured from molestation. A guard was
accordingly stationed over it, while the library was thrown open to the
soldiers, who filled their foraging bags with worthless law papers and
departed. The box, which had been sedulously guarded, contained all the
Governor's correspondence with Congress, with the Commander-in-chief,
and the State officers; the young lady's stratagem thus preserving what
would have proved a most valuable prize to the plunderers. *

* Life of Livingston, by Theodore Sedgwick.

A repartee made by one of Lord Dorchester's aids to Miss Susan
Livingston, has been celebrated. When the British were evacuating
New York, she expressed a wish to him that their departure might be
hastened, "for among your incarcerated belles, the _scarlet_ fever must
rage till you are gone." Major Upham, the aid, replied that he feared,
if freed from the prevailing malady--"they would be tormented by a
worse--the _blue_ devils."

All the letters of Livingston to his daughters show the sympathy that
existed between them, and his confidence in the strength of their
republican principles. His opinions and wishes on all subjects are
openly expressed to them. In a letter to the Earl of Stirling, he
says he has entrusted to his daughter Catharine his despatches to his
correspondents in Spain. He writes at one time to her, noticing the
favor shown to the British captives--"I know there are a number of
flirts in Philadelphia, who will triumph in our over-complaisance to the
red-coat prisoners lately arrived in that metropolis. I hope none of my
connections will imitate them, either in the dress of their heads, or
the still more tory feelings of their hearts."

Catharine, the second daughter, afterwards married Matthew Ridley,
of Baltimore. He was at Nantes in 1778, in the American commission
business. *

* The following copy of an order sent to Nantes, rather curiously shows
the precariousness of transportation in those times. It is extracted
from a MS. letter of John Jay, dated Madrid, Jan. 21st, 1782, which
expresses a hope that one of the parcels may meet its destination:

"Be pleased to send for Miss Kitty W. Livingston, to the care of Hon.
R. Morris, Esq., at Philadelphia, by the first three good vessels bound
there, the three following parcels, viz:

"No. I to contain--

2 White embroidered patterns for shoes.

4 Pair silk stockings.

A pattern for a negligeé of light pink  silk, with a set of
ribbons suitable to it.

6 Pair of kid gloves.

6 Yards of catgut, and cap-wire in proportion.

6 Yards of white silk gauze.

"No. 2 to contain--

"The same as above, except that the silk for the negligeé must not
be pink-, but of any other color that Mrs. Johnson may think
fashionable and pretty. The shoes and ribbons may be adapted to it.

"No. 3 to contain--

"The same as above, except that the silk for the negligleé must be of
a different color from the other two, and the shoes and ribbons of a
proper color to be worn with it."

She took a deep interest in public affairs. Her friend, Lady Catharine
Alexander, writes from Valley Forge, after the cheering news of the
alliance with France--"We have nothing here but rejoicings; every one
looks happy and seems proud of the share he has had in humbling the
pride of Britain, and of establishing the name of America as a nation."
The following note, addressed to her by Washington from the same place,
has never before been published. *

* The MS. correspondence of Miss Catharine Livingston, including this
note, is in the possession of Mr. Theodore Sedgwick.

"General Washington having been informed lately of the honor done him
by Miss Kitty Livingston in wishing for a lock of his hair, takes
the liberty of inclosing one, accompanied by his most respectful
compliments.

"_Camp, Valley Forge, 18th Mar., 1778._"

The wife of William Livingston was Susannah, the daughter of Philip
French, and grand-daughter, by the mother's side, of Anthony Brockholst,
Lieutenant Governor, under Andross, of the Colony of New York, and
subsequently its chief magistrate. Simple and unpretending in manners,
she was endowed with a strong intellect and a warm and tender heart. The
letters of her husband show his high respect as well as love for her.
When the British troops made the memorable incursion into New Jersey
by Elizabethtown, the Governor, being absent from his family, suffered
intense-anxiety on their account. But while the neighboring villages
were seen in flames, the enemy respected "Liberty Hall," and treated its
inmates with courtesy. A correspondent of Rivington's Gazette accounts
for this by saying that one of the British officers received a rose
from Miss Susan Livingston on his visit to the house, as a memento of a
promise of protection. An anecdote connected with this invasion has
been traditionally preserved, which, if proved authentic, would furnish
curious evidence as to the agency concerned in the murder of Mrs.
Caldwell. After a day of alarm, the flames of Springfield and
Connecticut Farms being in view, and soldiers continually passing the
house, Mrs. Livingston and her daughters were at a late hour surprised
by the entrance of several British officers, who announced their
intention of lodging there. Their presence was felt to be a protection,
and the ladies retired. About midnight the officers left the house,
called away by some startling news; and not long afterwards a band of
straggling soldiers, intoxicated, rushed with oaths and threats into the
hall. "The maid-servant--all the males in the establishment having
taken refuge in the woods early in the day to avoid being made
prisoners--fastened herself in the kitchen; and the ladies crowding
together like frightened deer, locked themselves in another apartment.
Their place of retreat was soon discovered by the ruffians; and afraid
to exasperate them by refusing to come out, one of Governor Livingston's
daughters opened the door. A drunken soldier seized her by the arm.
She grasped the villain's collar, and at the very moment a flash of
lightning illumining the hall and falling full upon her white dress--he
staggered back, exclaiming, with an oath--'It's Mrs. Caldwell, that we
killed to-day!' One of the party was at length recognized, and the house
by his intervention finally cleared of the assailants." * The influence
of Mrs. Livingston over her husband, in spite of his unyielding
and irritable temper, is repeatedly noticed by his biographer. This
influence was secured by her strong good sense, her sympathy, and
unselfish tenderness. She shared his thoughts in time of war, and his
joy when allowed to relinquish his wandering life, and return to his
home; to enter once more his deserted library, and superintend his
long neglected garden. In his simple and rural occupations she was his
constant and faithful companion; and his letters evince the solicitude
with which he watched over her health, with the warm affection he
cherished for her through years of absence and absorbing occupation. She
died on the 17th of July, 1789.

* Life of Livingston, p. 353.

_Sarah, Lady Stirling_, was the sister of Governor Livingston. She
accompanied the Earl, her husband, who was Major General in the American
army, to the camp. While the Earl was in the camp at White Plains, she
paid a visit to New York--then in possession of the British--with
her youngest daughter, Lady Catharine Alexander, to visit her eldest
daughter, whose husband, Robert Watts, had remained quietly in the city,
taking no active part on either side. The letters of both mother and
daughter descriptive of this visit are interesting as showing the
situation and temper of those Americans who had continued in the city
during its occupation by the enemy. Lady Catharine, who writes--August,
1778--from Parsippany, the place where Governor Livingston's family had
taken refuge after an invasion of Elizabethtown, is sanguine in her hope
of soon seeing her relatives as zealous patriots as herself. Mr. Watts,
she says, is among the number of those who are heartily sick of the
tyranny witnessed; and "as to Mary, her political principles are
perfectly _rebellious_.. . . The sentiments of a great number have
undergone a thorough change since they have been with the British army;
as they have many opportunities of seeing flagrant acts of injustice
and cruelty of which they could not have believed their friends capable.
This convinces them that if they conquer, we must live in abject
slavery. Lady Stirling exhibits her disinterested patriotism by
refusing to avail herself of the permission sent from Sir Henry Clinton,
to take anything she pleased out of the city; fearing "there would be a
handle made of it," if she accepted the offer. "The last time I saw him
(Mr. Elliott,) he told me I must take a box of tea; but I stuck to my
text."

Lady Catharine afterwards became the wife of the Hon. William Duer. A
letter of condolence from Washington to the Countess of Stirling--upon
her husband's death--has been preserved in the Historical Collections of
New Jersey.




XXXIII. DEBORAH SAMSON.

[Illustration: 0166]

|When the lapse of years shall have invested the period of the
Revolution with the coloring of poesy, and the novelist shall seek his
materials in the romance of American history, the heroism and deeds
of the subject of this notice will perhaps afford the ground-work of
a tragedy or a novel. Something of the latter sort has already been
constructed upon this foundation; a production, half tale, half
biography, entitled "The Female Review," published in Massachusetts
about the commencement of the present century. I have not been able to
find a copy; but have been told that it was not in any measure reliable,
and that the heroine had repeatedly expressed her displeasure at the
representation of herself, which she "did not at all recognize." The
following facts respecting her, I received from a lady who knew her
personally, * and has often listened with thrilling interest to the
animated description given by herself of her exploits and adventures.

* A niece of Captain Tisdale, upon whom Robert attended in the army for
some months.

Though not comparable, certainly, to the "prophetess" in whom France
triumphed--=

````"The maid with helméd head,

```Like a war-goddess, fair and terrible--"=

for the dignity with which the zeal of a chivalrous and superstitious
age, and the wonderful success of her mission invested her--it cannot
be denied that this romantic girl exhibited something of the same spirit
with the lowly herdsmaid, who, amidst the round of her humble duties,
felt herself inspired with resolution to go forth and do battle in her
country's cause, exchanging her peasant's garb for the mail, and the
helmet, and the sword. There is something moving and interesting in the
aspect of the enthusiasm fostered in her secret soul, struggling with
obstructions and depressions, and at length impelling her to the
actual accomplishment of what she had pondered in day-dreams; while the
ignorance and error mingled with this enthusiasm, should increase our
sympathy without diminishing the share of admiration we would bestow,
had it been evinced in a more becoming manner.

Several instances are mentioned in the history of the war, in which
female courage was displayed by actions pertaining to the stronger sex.
The resolution of Congress is on record, in which honorable mention is
made of the services of Margaret Corbin. * The story of the gunner's
wife, who took her husband's place when he was killed at the battle
of Monmouth, and did such execution that after the engagement she was
rewarded by a commission, ** has been often related. And many examples
were there of matrons, who, having suffered incredibly from the
spoliations of the enemy, lost patience, and fought manfully for the
last loaf of bread, or the last bed-quilt for their children. In the
case before us, the isolation from ordinary domestic and social ties
favored the impulse that prompted to a course so extraordinary.

* "Resolved--That Margaret Corbin, wounded and disabled at the attack on
Fort Washington, while she heroically filled the post of her husband,
who was killed by her side serving a piece of artillery, do receive
during her natural life, or continuance of said disability, one-half the
monthly pay drawn by a soldier in service of these States; and that she
now receive out of public stores, one suit of clothes, or value thereof
in money." July, 1779.

** History of Scoharie County.

Deborah Samson was the youngest child of poor parents, who lived in the
county of Plymouth, Massachusetts. Their poverty, rendered hopeless
by pernicious habits, was the least of the evils suffered by the
unfortunate children. Charity interposed to rescue them from the effects
of evil example; they were removed from their parents, and placed in
different families, where a prospect was afforded of their receiving
proper care and instruction to fit them for maintaining themselves
when arrived at a suitable age. Deborah found a home in the house of a
respectable farmer, whose wife, a well-disposed woman, bestowed upon
her as much attention as is common in such cases. The friendless and
destitute girl was kindly treated, and provided with comfortable food
and clothing; but had no advantages of education. Her keen feeling of
this deprivation, and the efforts she made to repair the deficiency,
show her possession of a mind naturally superior, and that judicious
training might have fitted her to promote in no insignificant degree
the good of society. There was none to teach her; but she seized
every opportunity for acquiring knowledge. She borrowed books from the
children who passed the house in which she lived' on their way to
and from school, and persevered with untiring exertion in her private
studies, till she had learned to read tolerably well; but attempted no
other branch of scholarship, until, on the completion of her eighteenth
year, the law released her from her indentures.

Her first arrangement on becoming the mistress of her own movements, was
to secure herself the advantages of instruction. The only way in which
she could do this was by engaging to work in the family of a farmer one
half the time, in payment for her board and lodging, and attending the
common district school in the neighborhood. Her improvement was rapid
beyond example. In a few months she had acquired more knowledge than
many of her schoolmates had done in years; and was by them regarded as
quite a prodigy of industry and attainment.

Meantime, the Revolutionary struggle had commenced. The gloom that had
accompanied the outburst of the storm, hung over the whole land; the
news of the carnage on the plains of Lexington--the sound of the cannon
at Bunker Hill, had reached every dwelling, and vibrated on the heart of
every patriot in New England. The zeal which had urged the men to
quit their homes for the battlefield, found its way to a female bosom;
Deborah felt as if she would shrink from no effort or sacrifice in
the cause which awakened all her enthusiasm. She entered with the most
lively interest into every plan for the relief of the army, and bitterly
regretted that as a woman she could do no more, and that she had not the
privilege of a man, of shedding her blood for her country.

There is no reason to believe that any consideration foreign to the
purest patriotism, impelled her to the resolution of assuming male
attire, and enlisting in the army. She could have been actuated by no
desire of gaining applause; for the private manner in which she quitted
her home and associates, entrusting no one with her design, subjected
her to surmises of a painful nature; and the careful preservation of her
secret during the period of her military service, exonerates her from
the least suspicion of having been urged to the step by an imprudent
attachment. It is very likely that her youthful imagination was kindled
by the rumor of brave deeds, and that her visions of "the camp's stir
and crowd and ceaseless 'larum" were  richly by the hues of
fancy. Curiosity to see and partake of this varied war-life, the
restlessness of "a heart unsouled and solitary"--the consuming of
energies which had no object to work upon, may have contributed to the
forming of her determination. It must be borne in mind, too, that
she was restrained by no consideration that could interfere with the
project. Alone in the world, there were few to inquire what had
become of her, and still fewer to care for her fate. She felt herself
accountable to no human being.

By keeping the district school for a summer term, she had amassed the
sum of twelve dollars. She purchased a quantity of coarse fustian, and
working at intervals when she could be secure from observation, made up
a suit of men's clothing; each article, as it was finished, being hid
in a stack of hay. Having completed her preparations, she announced her
intention of going where she could obtain better wages for her labor.
Her new clothes, and such articles as she wished to take with her, were
tied in a bundle. The lonely girl departed; but went not far, probably
only to the shelter of the nearest wood, before putting on the disguise
she was so eager to assume. Although not beautiful, her features were
animated and pleasing, and her figure, tall for a woman, was finely
proportioned. As a man, she might have been called handsome; her general
appearance was extremely prepossessing, and her manner calculated to
inspire confidence.

She now pursued her way to the American army, where she presented
herself, in October, 1778, as a young man anxious to join his efforts to
those of his countrymen in their endeavors to oppose the common enemy.
Her acquaintances, meanwhile, supposed her engaged in service at a
distance. Rumors of her elopement with a British soldier, and even of
her death, were afterwards current in the neighborhood where she had
resided; but none were sufficiently interested to make such search for
her as might have led to a discovery.

Distrusting her own constancy, and resolute to continue in the service,
notwithstanding any change of her inclination, she enlisted for the
whole term of the war. She was received and enrolled in the army by the
name of Robert Shirtliffe. She was one of the first volunteers in the
company of Captain Nathan Thayer of Medway, Massachusetts; and as the
young recruit appeared to have no home or connections, the Captain gave
her a home in his family until his company should be full, when they
were to join the main army.

We now find her performing the duties and enduring the fatigues of
military life. During the seven weeks she passed in the family of
Captain Thayer, she had time both for experience and reflection; but in
after years her constant declaration was that she never for one moment
repented or regretted the step she had taken. Accustomed to labor from
childhood, upon the farm and in out-door employment, she had acquired
unusual vigor of constitution; her frame was robust, and of masculine
strength; and having thus gained a degree of hardihood, she was enabled
to acquire great expertness and precision in the manual exercise, and to
undergo what a female delicately nurtured would have found it impossible
to endure. Soon after they had joined the company, the recruits were
supplied with uniforms by a kind of lottery. That drawn by Robert did
not fit; but taking needle and scissors, he soon altered it to suit him.
To Mrs. Thayer's expression of surprise at finding a young man so expert
in using the implements of feminine industry, the answer was--that
his mother having no girl, he had been often obliged to practise the
seamstress's art.

While in the house of Captain Thayer, a young girl visiting his wife
was much in the society of Deborah, or as she was then called, Robert.
Coquettish by nature, and perhaps priding herself on the conquest of the
"blooming soldier," she suffered her growing partiality to be perceived.
Robert on his part felt a curiosity to learn by new experience how soon
a maiden's fancy might be won; and had no scruples in paying attentions
to one so volatile and fond of flirtation, with whom it was not likely
the impression would be lasting. This little piece of romance gave some
uneasiness to the worthy Mrs. Thayer, who could not help observing that
the liking of her fair visitor for Robert was not fully reciprocated.
She took an opportunity of remonstrating with the young soldier, and
showed what unhappiness might be the consequence of such folly, and how
unworthy it was of a brave man to trifle with a girl's feelings. The
caution was taken in good part and it is not known that the "love
passage" was continued, though Robert received at parting some tokens of
remembrance, which were treasured as relics in after years.

For three years our heroine appeared in the character of a soldier,
being part of the time employed as a waiter in the family of Colonel
Patterson. During this time, and in both situations, her exemplary
conduct, and the fidelity with which her duties were performed, gained
the approbation and confidence of the officers. She was a volunteer in
several hazardous enterprises, and was twice wounded, the first time by
a sword cut on the left side of the head. Many were the adventures she
passed through; as she herself would often say, volumes might be filled
with them. Sometimes placed unavoidably in circumstances in which she
feared detection, she nevertheless escaped without the least suspicion
being awakened among her comrades. The soldiers were in the habit of
calling her "Molly," in playful allusion to her want of a beard; but not
one of them ever dreamed that the gallant youth fighting by their side
was in reality a female.

About four months after her first wound she received another severe one,
being shot through the shoulder. Her first emotion when the ball entered
she described to be a sickening terror at the probability that her
sex would be discovered. She felt that death on the battlefield were
preferable to the shame that would overwhelm her, and ardently prayed
that the wound might close her earthly campaign. But, strange as it may
seem, she escaped this time also unsuspected; and soon recovering her
strength, was able again to take her place at the post of duty, and in
the deadly conflict. Her immunity was not, however, destined long to
continue--she was seized with a brain fever, then prevalent among the
soldiers. For the few days that reason struggled against the disease,
her sufferings were indescribable; and most terrible of all was the
dread lest consciousness should desert her, and the secret she had
guarded so carefully be revealed to those around her. She was carried to
the hospital, and there could only ascribe her escape to the number of
patients, and the negligent manner in which they were attended.

Her case was considered a hopeless one, and she perhaps received less
attention on this account. One day the physician of the hospital,
inquiring--"How is Robert?" received from the nurse in attendance the
answer--"Poor Bob is gone." The doctor went to the bed, and taking the
hand of the youth supposed dead, found that the pulse was still feebly
beating; attempting to place his hand on the heart, he perceived that a
bandage was fastened tightly round the breast. This was removed, and to
his utter astonishment he discovered a female patient where he had least
expected one!

This gentleman was Dr. Binney, of Philadelphia. With a prudence,
delicacy and generosity ever afterwards warmly appreciated by the
unfortunate sufferer, he said not a word of his discovery, but paid
her every attention, and provided every comfort her perilous condition
required. As soon as she could be removed with safety, he had taken
her to his own house, where she could receive better care. His family
wondered not a little at the unusual interest manifested for the poor
invalid soldier.

Here occurred another of those romances in real life which in
strangeness surpass fiction. The doctor had a young and lovely niece, an
heiress to considerable property, whose compassionate feelings led her
to join her uncle in bestowing kindness on the friendless youth. Many
censured the uncle's imprudence in permitting them to be so much in each
other's society, and to take drives so frequently together. The doctor
laughed to himself at the warnings and hints he received, and thought
how foolish the censorious would feel when the truth should come out.
His knowledge, meanwhile, was buried in his own bosom, nor shared even
with the members of his family. The niece was allowed to be as much with
the invalid as suited her pleasure. Her gentle heart was touched by the
misfortunes she had contributed to alleviate; the pale and melancholy
soldier, for whose fate no one seemed to care, who had no possession
in the world save his sword, who had suffered so much in the cause of
liberty, became dear to her. She saw his gratitude for the benefits and
kindness received, yet knew by intuition that he would never dare aspire
to the hand of one so gifted by fortune. In the confiding abandonment
of woman's love, the fair girl made known her attachment, and offered to
provide for the education of its object before marriage. Deborah often
declared that the moment in which she learned that she had unwittingly
gained the love of being so guileless, was fraught with the keenest
anguish she ever experienced. In return for the hospitality and tender
care that had been lavished upon her; she had inflicted pain upon one
she would have died to shield. Her former entanglement had caused no
uneasiness, but this was a heart of a different mould; no way of amends
seemed open, except confession of her real character, and to that,
though impelled by remorse and self-reproach, she could not bring
herself. She merely said to the generous girl, that they would meet
again; and though ardently desiring the possession of an education, that
she could not avail herself of the noble offer. Before her departure
the young lady pressed on her acceptance several articles of needful
clothing, such as in those times many of the soldiers received from fair
hands. All these were afterwards lost by the upsetting of a boat,
except the shirt and the vest Robert had on at the time, which are still
preserved as relics in the family.

Her health being now nearly restored, the physician had a long
conference with the commanding officer of the company in which Robert
had served, and this was followed by an order to the youth to carry a
letter to General Washington.

Her worst fears were now confirmed. From the time of her removal into
the doctor's family, she had cherished a misgiving, which sometimes
amounted almost to certainty, that he had discovered her deception. In
conversation with him she anxiously watched his countenance, but not a
word or look indicated suspicion, and she had again flattered herself
that she was safe from detection. When the order came for her to deliver
a letter into the hands of the Commander-in-chief, she could no longer
deceive herself.

There remained no course but simple obedience. When she presented
herself for admission at the headquarters of Washington, she trembled as
she had never done before the enemy's fire. Her heart sank within her;
she strove in vain to collect and compose herself, and overpowered with
dread and uncertainty, was ushered into the presence of the Chief.
He noticed her extreme agitation, and supposing it to proceed from
diffidence, kindly endeavored to re-assure her. He then bade her retire
with an attendant, who was directed to offer her some refreshment, while
he read the communication of which she had been the bearer.

Within a short time she was again summoned into the presence of
Washington. He said not a word, but handed her in silence a discharge
from the service, putting into her hand at the same time a note
containing a few brief words of advice, and a sum of money sufficient
to bear her expenses to some place where she might find a home. The
delicacy and forbearance thus observed effected her sensibly. "How
thankful"--she has often said, "was I to that great and good man who so
kindly spared my feelings! He saw me ready to sink with shame; one word
from him at that moment would have crushed me to the earth. But he spoke
no word--and I blessed him for it."

After the termination of the war, she married Benjamin Gannett, of
Sharon. When Washington was President, she received a letter inviting
Robert Shirtliffe, or rather Mrs. Gannett, to visit the seat of
government. Congress was then in session, and during her stay at the
capital, a bill was passed granting her a pension in addition to certain
lands, which she was to receive as an acknowledgment for her services
to the country in a military capacity. She was invited to the houses of
several of the officers, and to parties given in the city; attentions
which manifested the high estimation in which she was there held.

In 1805 she was living in comfortable circumstances, the wife of a
respectable farmer, and the mother of three fine, intelligent children,
the eldest of whom was a youth of nineteen. The Dedham Register, dated
December, 1820, states that during the late session of the court, Mrs.
Gannett had presented for renewal her claims for services rendered
the country as a _Revolutionary soldier_. She was at that time about
sixty-two; and is described as possessing a clear understanding
and general knowledge of passing events, as being fluent in speech,
delivering her sentiments in correct language, with deliberate and
measured accent; easy in her deportment, affable in her manners, and
robust and masculine in her appearance. She was recognized on her
appearance in court by many persons belonging to the county, who were
ready to testify to her services. A brief notice added of the life of
this extraordinary woman, was copied into many of the papers of the day,
and appears in Niles' "Principles and Acts of the Revolution."

It is but a few years since she passed from the stage of human life.
The career to which her patriotism urged her, cannot be commended as an
example; but her exemplary conduct after the first step will go far to
plead her excuse.




XXXIV. MARGARET GASTON.

|The name of Mrs. Gaston is associated with that of her distinguished
son, to whose education she devoted herself with assiduous care, and
whose eminent character was most appropriately praised when described as
"the maturity of his mother's efforts." He himself always esteemed the
possession of such a parent the greatest blessing of his existence,
and attributes the part he acted in life to her watchful tenderness and
judicious training. No honors are too high to be accorded to matrons
who, like her, have formed the characters which shed lustre on the
nation.

Margaret Sharpe was born in the county of Cumberland, England, about
1755. * Her parents desiring her to have every advantage of education in
the Catholic faith to which they were attached, she was sent to France
when young, and brought up in a convent. She often recurred in after
life to the happy days passed there.

* See Life of Judge Gaston. I am indebted for these particulars
respecting Mrs. Gaston to her accomplished granddaughter, Mrs. Susan G.
Donaldson.

Her two brothers were extensively engaged in commerce in this country,
and she came out to visit them. It was during her sojourn in North
Carolina that she met Dr. Alexander Gaston, a native of Ireland, of
Huguenot ancestry, to whom she was married at Newbern, in the twentieth
year of her age. He had attended the expedition which captured the
Havana, as surgeon in the British army; but being attacked by the
epidemic, and suffering from the exhaustion of a warm climate, had
resigned his post, to make his home in the North American provinces.

The happy married life of these two young persons was destined to be of
brief duration. Dr. Gaston was one of the most zealous patriots in North
Carolina--being a member of the committee of safety for the district
where he resided, and serving in the army at various periods of the
war; and his devotion to the cause of freedom, while it secured the
confidence of the whigs, gained him the implacable enmity of the
opposite party. On the 20th of August, 1781, a body of tories entered
Newbern, being some miles in advance of the regular troops, who had
marched with a view of taking possession of the town. The Americans,
taken by surprise, were forced to give way after an ineffectual
resistance. Gaston, unwilling to surrender to the foe, hurried his wife
and children from their home, hoping to escape across the river, and
thus retire to a plantation eight or ten miles distant. He reached
the wharf with his family, and seized a light scow for the purpose of
crossing the river. But before his wife and children had stepped on
board, the tories, eager for his blood, came galloping in pursuit.
There was no resource but to push off from the shore, where his wife and
little ones stood--the wife alarmed only for him against whom the rage
of their enemies was directed. Throwing herself in agony at their feet,
she implored his life, but in vain! Their cruelty sacrificed him in the
midst of her cries for mercy--and the musket which found his heart was
levelled over her shoulder!

Even the indulgence of grief was denied to the bereaved wife; for she
was compelled to exert her self to protect the remains of her murdered
husband. Loud were the threats of the inhuman tories that the "rebel
should not have even, the rest of the grave;" and she kept watch in
her lonely dwelling beside the beloved and lifeless form, till it was
deposited in the earth. She was now left alone in a foreign land--both
her brothers and her eldest son having died before the event. Her son
William, three years of age, and an infant daughter, remained the
sole objects of her care and love. Many women possessing her acute
sensibility would have been overwhelmed in such a situation; but severe
trials served only to develop the admirable energy of her character.
Every movement of her being guided by religion, she was strong in its
support, and devoted herself to the duties that devolved upon her, with
a firmness and constancy by which all who knew her saw that she lived
above time and above the world.=

```"--Her footsteps seemed to touch, the earth

```Only to mark the track that leads to Heaven."=

Though still young when left a widow, she never laid aside the
habiliments of sorrow; and the anniversary of her husband's murder was
kept as a day of fasting and prayer. The great object of her life
was the instruction of her son, and imbuing his mind with the high
principles, the noble integrity, and Christian faith, which shone
conspicuous in herself. Her income being small she practised economy to
enable her to gratify her dearest wish, and procure for him a complete
education; while her maternal tenderness did not dispense with implicit
obedience, and strict admonitions, or yet stricter discipline, were
employed to correct the faults of childhood and youth. One slight
anecdote may give an idea of her method of education. When her son
was seven or eight years of age, being remarkable for his aptitude and
cleverness, a little schoolmate as much noted for his dullness said to
him--"William, what is the reason you are always head of the class, and
I am always foot?"--"There is a reason," replied the boy; "but if I tell
you, you must promise to keep it a secret, and do as I do. Whenever I
take up my book to study I first say a little prayer my mother taught
me, that I may be able to learn my lessons." He tried to teach the words
of the petition to the dull boy, who could not remember them. The same
night Mrs. Gaston observed William writing behind the door; and as she
permitted nothing her children did to be concealed from her, he was
obliged to confess having been writing out the prayer for little Tommy,
that he might be able to get his lessons.

When this cherished son, after several years absence, returned from
Princeton College, where he had borne away the first honors of the
institution from able and diligent competitors, her reception of him
was characteristic. He was greeted not with the common effusion of a
mother's joy and pride; but she laid her hands upon his head as he
knelt before her, and exclaimed--"My God, I thank Thee!" ere she
allowed herself the happiness of embracing this only son of a widow.
Her satisfaction in his success was enhanced by the knowledge that he
preserved unsullied what was of far greater moment in her eyes--his
youthful piety. During his absence her house and furniture had been
destroyed by fire; yet her letters to him breathe no word even of
regret for a calamity which, with her slender resources, must have been
severely felt.

William Gaston married a distant relative in whose education his mother
had taken a maternal interest. In the house of these her affectionate
children she passed the autumn of her days, regarded by all who
approached her with feelings of the deepest respect, with which a
portion of awe was blended among youthful spirits; for she had very
strict ideas as to the conduct of the young, and the deference due to
age. Her daughter, when a young lady, could venture but stolen glances
in a mirror; nor did she or any of her juvenile companions ever allow
their shoulders the support of the back of the chair in Mrs. Gaston's
presence. Those who spoke of her invariably named her as the most
dignified as well as most devout woman they had ever seen. Her calm grey
eyes, which were of surpassing beauty, could sternly reprove misconduct,
while ever ready to soften into kindness towards the distressed. Her
upright carriage of person, and scrupulous neatness in dress, were
always remarkable. She kept primitive hours, taking tea at four o'clock
in summer; her arrangements were marked by unsurpassed order, and in her
domestic management, economy and hospitality were so well blended, that
at any time she was ready to welcome a guest to her neatly arranged
table, without additions which the pride, of life teaches us to deem
indispensable. She survived the husband of her youth thirty-one years,
in which time she never made a visit, save to the suffering poor, yet
her life, though secluded, was not one of inactivity. Her attendance on
the sick and indigent was unwearied, and the poor sailors who came to
Newbern, frequently experienced her kind offices.

During the last seven years of her life, after her son's marriage, she
seemed more constantly engaged in preparation for her final change. A
room in her house was used as a Catholic place of worship, whenever a
priest visited that section of the State. She was to be found at all
hours with her Bible or some other book of devotion in her hands; her
thoughts were ever fixed on things above, while the fidelity with which
her high mission had been fulfilled was rewarded even in this world--the
gratitude, love, and usefulness of her children forming the crowning joy
and honor of a life devoted to good. Her character is well appreciated
throughout North Carolina, and the memory of her excellence is not
likely soon to pass away. Her remains rest in the burial ground at
Newbern.




XXXV. FLORA M'DONALD.

[Illustration: 0194]

|Massachusetts has her Lady Arabella, Virginia her Pocahontas, North
Carolina her Flora M'Donald," says the eloquent author of the "Sketches"
of that State. The residence of this celebrated heroine on the banks of
Cape Fear River, and the part she took in the American Revolution, link
her name as inseparably with the history of North Carolina, as it is
with that of her own Scotland. *

* The reader is referred to the Sketches of North Carolina, by Rev.
William Henry Foote; see also "Memorials" of that State, by J. Seawell
Jones; and an article on Pichot's History of Charles Edward, in the
North American Review, Jan. 1847.

During those events which succeeded the rising in favor of the
Pretender, Charles Edward--the rebellion of 1745--and led to the
emigration of the colony of Highlanders who settled among the sandy
forests on the Cape Fear, Flora M'Donald first makes her appearance--a
young and blooming maiden. After the battle of Culloden, which destroyed
the power of the Highland "lairds," Prince Charles Edward sought
concealment in the mountains of Rosshire, where he escaped capture by
the generous self-sacrifice of the chivalrous Mackenzie. Landing on
the island of South Uist, he found a temporary shelter at Ormaclet
with Laird M'Donald; but being traced thither by the keen scent of his
pursuers, it seemed that a miracle alone could save him from the net so
closely drawn. After many projects for his escape had been proposed, and
laid aside, the wife of the laird suggested the plan of disguising him
in female attire, and passing him for a travelling waiting-maid; but it
was difficult to find a lady willing to undertake the enterprise. Two
who were appealed to, declined it from fear of the consequences. In
this emergency she turned to the young and beautiful Flora M'Donald, the
daughter of a petty laird in the same island, whose mother, after her
father's death, had married an adherent of the government, Captain
M'Donald, of Armadale, in the Isle of Skye. This step-father was then
in command of a company of the clan M'Donald, in the service of King
George, and searching for the Prince. Flora had come to visit her
relations, on her return from Edinburgh, where she had just completed
her education. She was a simple, kind-hearted girl, possessed of strong
natural sense, and a resolution firm to accomplish whatever she decided
to undertake. She had never seen the Prince; but to the proposition made
to her, and her kinswoman's question, "Will you expose yourself to this
danger, to aid the Prince's escape from his enemies?" she replied
at once, "I am willing to put my life in jeopardy to save his Royal
Highness from the dangers that beset him." In this heroic determination,
she was actuated not so much by attachment to the house of Stuart, as by
a generous wish to succor the distressed.

O'Neill, an officer to whom Lady M'Donald entrusted the business, and
MacEachen, accompanied Flora to Carradale, a rocky, wild, sequestered
place, where the royal fugitive had his place of concealment in a damp
and unwholesome cavern. They found him alone, broiling a small fish upon
the coals, for his solitary repast. Startled at their approach, he made
ready to defend his life; but soon discovered that the new comers were
his friends, and entered with delight into their plan for his escape.
The preparations for leaving the island being completed, the maiden
secured a passport from her step-father for herself and companions,
including a stout Irishwoman, whom she called Betsey Burke, pretending
she had engaged her as an assistant in spinning for her mother in
Armadale. On the 28th of June, 1746, the party set out from Uist in an
open boat for the Isle of Skye. A violent storm overtook them, and
they were tossed about all night; the heroic girl, anxious only for
the safety of her charge, encouraged the oarsmen to exert their utmost
strength, while the Prince sang songs he had learned round the Highland
watchfires, and recited wild legends of the olden time. At dawn they
approached the island. The sight of a band of soldiers drawn up on the
shore, turned them back; the soldiers fired after them, and while the
balls were whistling past, they pursued their course eastwardly, landing
about noon, near the residence of Sir Alexander M'Donald, the Laird of
Sleite.

Concealing the Prince in a hollow rock on the beach, Flora repaired to
the chieftain's house, the hall of which was full of officers in search
of the royal fugitive. The Laird himself, at that time absent, was known
to be hostile to his pretentions; but Flora appealed not in vain to
the generous enthusiasm of woman. Lady M'Donald's compassionate heart
responded to her confidence; she sent refreshments to the weary wanderer
by the Laird of Kingsburg, her husband's Baillie, and as it was deemed
safest to depart immediately, he accompanied them to Kingsburg. The
country people whom they met returning from church looked with much
curiosity at the coarse, clumsy, long-legged female figure with the
Laird and the maiden; but they reached unsuspected the place of their
destination, and Kingsburg conducted the Prince to his house, where he
was to pass the night. His wife came to receive him and his guests, and
it is said, was terrified on saluting the supposed Betty, at the rough
beard which encountered her cheek. The next morning Flora accompanied
the Prince to Portaree, and bade him adieu, as he was to embark for the
Isle of Raarsay. At parting, he kissed her, and said, "Gentle, faithful
maiden, I hope we shall yet meet in the Palace Royal." But the
youthful heroine never again met the Prince who owed so much to woman's
tenderness, and the loyal feelings of Scottish hearts.

After the escape of Charles Edward to France, the indignation of the
officers of the crown fell upon those who had aided his flight. Flora
was arrested with others, and imprisoned in the Tower of London, to be
tried for her life. The nobility of England became deeply interested
in the beautiful and high-spirited girl, who, without any political or
religious bias, had exhibited such romantic devotion to the cause of
royalty. Prince Frederick, the heir apparent, visited her in prison,
and by his exertions at length succeeded in obtaining her release. After
being set at liberty, she was introduced into the court society by
Lady Primrose, a partisan of Charles Edward, and a person of wealth and
distinction. It is said that Flora's dwelling in London was surrounded
by the carriages of the aristocracy, who came to pay their respects and
congratulate her on her release; and that presents were showered upon
her, more than sufficient to meet the expenses of her detention and
return. The tradition in Carolina is, that "she received gold ornaments
and coin enough to fill a half bushel." She was presented to George the
Second; and when he asked how she dared render assistance to the enemy
of his crown, she answered with modest simplicity, "It was no more than
I would have done for your Majesty, had you been in a like situation."
For her escort back to Scotland, she chose a fellow-prisoner, Malcolm
M'Leod, who used afterwards to boast, "that he came to London to be
hanged, but rode back in a chaise-and-four with Flora M'Donald."

Four years after her return she married Allen M'Donald, son of the Laird
of Kingsburg, and thus became eventually mistress of the mansion in
which the Prince had passed his first night in the Isle of Skye. Here
Doctor Johnson and Mr. Boswell were hospitably entertained in 1773; at
which time Flora, though a matron and a mother, was still blooming
and graceful, and full of the enthusiasm of her youth. She put her
distinguished guest to sleep in the same bed in which the unfortunate
Charles Edward had occupied. It is mentioned in the tour to the
Hebrides, that M'Donald then contemplated a removal to America, on
account of pecuniary embarrassments.

In 1775, with his family and some friends, he landed in North Carolina,
so long a place of refuge for the distressed Scottish families, and
settled first at Cross Creek--so called from the intersection of two
streams--the seat of the present town of Fayetteville. It was a stormy
period, and those who came to seek peace and security found disturbance
and civil war. The Colonial governor summoned the Highland emigrants to
support the royal cause; General Donald M'Donald, a kinsman of Flora's,
who was the most influential among them, erected his standard at Cross
Creek, and on the first of February, 1776, sent forth his proclamation,
calling on all his true and loyal countrymen to join him. Flora herself
espoused the cause of the English monarch with the same spirit and
enthusiasm she had shown thirty years before in the cause of the Prince
she saved. She accompanied her husband when he went to join the army,
and tradition even says she was seen among the soldiers, animating
their courage when on the eve of their march. Though this may be an
exaggeration, there is no doubt that her influence went far to inspire
her assembled clansmen and neighbors with a zeal kindred to her own.

The celebrated battle of Moore's Creek proved another Culloden to the
brave but unfortunate Highlanders. The unhappy General M'Donald, who had
been prevented by illness from commanding his troops in the encounter,
was found, when the engagement was over, sitting alone on a stump near
his tent; and as the victorious American officers advanced towards
him, he waved in the air the parchment scroll of his commission, and
surrendered it into their hands. Captain M'Donald, the husband of Flora,
was among the prisoners of that day, and was sent to Halifax: while
Flora found herself once more in the condition of a fugitive and an
outlaw.

The M'Donalds, with other Highlanders, suffered much from the
plunderings and confiscations to which the royalists were exposed. It is
said that Flora's house was pillaged and her plantation ravaged. Allen,
after his release, finding his prospects thus unpropitious, determined
to return with his family to his native land--and they embarked in a
sloop of war. On their voyage home, an incident occurred, illustrative
of the character of this remarkable woman. The sloop encountered a
French vessel of war, and an action ensued. The courage of the sailors
appearing to fail, capture seemed inevitable, when Flora ascended the
quarter-deck in the fiercest of the battle, and, nothing daunted by
a wound received, or according to one account, an arm broken in the
tumult, encouraged the men to a more desperate conflict. The enemy was
beaten off, and the heroine safely landed on her native soil. She was
accustomed afterwards to say pleasantly, that she had hazarded her life
for both the house of Stuart and the house of Hanover; but that she did
not perceive she had greatly profited by her exertions.

Notwithstanding her masculine courage, her character was thoroughly
feminine, and blended modesty and dignity with sensibility and
benevolence. Her eventful life closed March 5th, 1790. An immense
concourse assembled at her funeral, and not less than three thousand
persons followed her remains to the cemetery of Kilmuir, in the Isle of
Skye. According to a wish long previously expressed, her shroud was
made of the sheets in which the Prince had slept the night he lodged
at Kings-burg. It is said she had carried them with her through all her
migrations.

The town of Fayetteville covers the former metropolis of the Highland
clans. It was surrounded by a sandy, barren country, sprinkled with
lofty pines, and the American home of Flora M'Donald stood in the midst
of this waste. The place of her residence has been destroyed by fire;
but her memory is still cherished in that locality, and the story of her
romantic enthusiasm, intrepidity, and disinterested self-devotion, has
extended into lands where in life she was unknown.




XXXVI. RACHEL CALDWELL.

|The history of the Rev. David Caldwell is in many ways identified with
that of North Carolina. He was for almost sixty years the pastor of
the two oldest and largest Presbyterian congregations in the county of
Guilford, and kept a celebrated classical school, for a long time the
only one of note in the State, in which for forty years nearly all its
professional men, and many from adjoining States, were educated. Not
only was he thus the father of education in North Carolina, but before
and during the Revolutionary struggle, he exerted a strong influence in
favor of the promotion of national independence, and bore an active part
in the prominent events of that period. The influence of Mrs. Caldwell
in his school was great and beneficial, increasing the respect of
the students towards him, and disposing their minds to religious
impressions. They bore uniform testimony to her intelligence and zeal,
and to the value of her counsels, while her kindness won their regard
and confidence. The success with which she labored to inculcate the
lessons of practical piety, gave currency to the saying throughout the
country--"Dr. Caldwell makes the scholars, and Mrs. Caldwell makes the
preachers." She was the third daughter of Rev. Alexander Craighead, the
pastor of the Sugar Creek congregation, and a man of eminent piety and
usefulness. In early life she had a share in many of the perils and
hardships of the Indian war--the inroads of the savages being frequent
and murderous, and her home in an exposed situation. She often said,
describing these incursions, that as the family would escape out of one
door, the Indians would come in at another. When Braddock's defeat left
the Virginia frontier at the mercy of the savages, Mr. Craighead fled,
with some of his people, and crossing the Blue Ridge, passed to the more
quiet regions of Carolina, where he remained till the close of his life.
Rachel married Dr. Caldwell in 1766.

For some days before the battle at Guilford Courthouse, the army
of Cornwallis was encamped within the bounds of Dr. Caldwell's
congregations; and most of the men being with General Greene, the
distress fell on the defenceless women and children. In the detail of
spoliation and outrage, their pastor suffered his share. He had been
repeatedly harassed by the British and tories, who bore him special
enmity; a price had been set upon his head, and a reward of two hundred
pounds offered for his apprehension. *

* The reader is referred to the Life and Character of Rev. David
Caldwell, D. D., by Rev. E. W. Caruthers, Greensboro', N. C.

On the 11th of March, while he was in Greene's camp, the army was
marched to his plantation and encamped there, the officers taking
possession of his house. Mrs. Caldwell was at home with her children
when they arrived. They at first announced themselves as Americans, and
asked to see the landlady; but a female domestic who had ascertained
by standing on the fence and seeing red coats at a distance, that they
belonged to the army of Cornwallis, quickly communicated her discovery
to her mistress. Excusing herself by saying that she must attend to
her child, Mrs. Caldwell retired within the house, and immediately gave
warning to two of her neighbors who happened to be there, that they
might escape through the other door and conceal themselves. She then
returned to the gate. The party in front when charged with being British
soldiers, avowed themselves such, and said they must have the use of the
dwelling for a day or two. They immediately established themselves in
their quarters, turning out Mrs. Caldwell, who with her children retired
to the smoke house, and there passed a day with no other food than a few
dried peaches and apples, till a physician interposed, and procured
for her a bed, some provisions, and a few cooking utensils. The family
remained in the smoke house two days and nights--their distress being
frequently insulted by profane and brutal language. To a young officer
who came to the door for the purpose of taunting the helpless mother,
by ridiculing her countrymen, whom he termed rebels and cowards, Mrs.
Caldwell replied, "Wait and see what the Lord will do for us."

"If he intends to do anything," pertly rejoined the military <DW2>, "'tis
time he had begun." In reply to Mrs. Caldwell's application to one of
the soldiers for protection, she was told she could expect no favors,
for that the women were as great rebels as the men.

After remaining two days, the army took their departure from the ravaged
plantation, on which they had destroyed every thing; but before leaving
Dr. Caldwell's house, the officer in command gave orders that his
library and papers should be burned. A fire was kindled in the large
oven in the yard, and books which could not at that time be replaced,
and valuable manuscripts which had cost the study and labor of years,
were carried out by the soldiers, armful after armful, and ruthlessly
committed to the flames. Not even the family Bible was spared, and the
house, as well as plantation, was left pillaged and desolate.

On the fifteenth was heard the roar of that battle which was to compel
the retreat of the invaders, and achieve the deliverance of Carolina.
The women of Dr. Caldwell's congregation met, as has been mentioned, and
while the conflict was raging fiercely between man and man, wrestled
in earnest prayer for their defenders. After the cold, wet night which
succeeded the action, the women wandered over the field of battle to
search for their friends, administer the last sad rites to the dead,
and bear away the wounded and expiring. One officer who had lain thirty
hours undiscovered, was found in the woods by an old lady, and carried
to his house, where he survived long enough to relate how a loyalist of
his acquaintance had passed him the day after the battle, had recognized
him, and bestowed a blow and an execration, instead of the water he
craved to quench his consuming thirst. Conscience, however, sometimes
avenged the insulted rights of nature;--the man who had refused the
dying request of a fellow creature, was found after the officer's death,
suspended on a tree before his own door. *

* Sketches of North Carolina.

The persecution of Dr. Caldwell continued while the British occupied
that portion of the State. His property was destroyed, and he was hunted
as a felon; snares were laid for him, and pretences used to draw him
from his hiding-place; he was compelled to pass nights in the woods,
and ventured only at the most imminent peril to see his family. Often he
escaped captivity or death, as it were, by a miracle. At one time
when he had ventured home on a stolen visit, the house was suddenly
surrounded by armed men, who seized him before he could escape,
designing to carry him to the British camp. One or two were set to guard
him, while the others went to gather such articles of provisions and
clothing as could be found worth taking away. When they were nearly
ready to depart, the plunder collected being piled in the middle of the
floor, and the prisoner standing beside it with his guard, Mrs. Dunlap,
who with Mrs. Caldwell had remained in an adjoining apartment, came
forward. With the promptitude and presence of mind for which women are
often remarkable in sudden emergencies, she stepped behind Dr. Caldwell,
leaned over his shoulder, and whispered to him, as if intending the
question for his ear alone, asking if it was not time for Gillespie and
his men to be there. One of the soldiers who stood nearest caught the
words, and with evident alarm demanded what men were meant. The lady
replied that she was merely speaking to her brother. In a moment all was
confusion; the whole party was panic-struck; exclamations and hurried
questions followed; and in the consternation produced by this ingenious
though simple manouvre, the tories fled precipitately, leaving their
prisoner and their plunder. The name of Gillespie was a scourge and
terror to the loyalists, and this party knew themselves to be within the
limits of one of the strongest whig neighborhoods in the State.

Sometime in the fall of 1780, a stranger stopped at the house of Dr.
Caldwell, faint and worn with fatigue, to ask supper and lodging for
the night. He announced himself an express bearing despatches from
Washington to General Greene, then on the Pedee river. He had imagined
that he would be free from danger under the roof of a minister of the
gospel; but Mrs. Caldwell soon undeceived him on this point. She was
alone; her husband was an object of peculiar hatred to the tories, and
she could not tell the day or hour when an attack might be expected.
Should they chance to hear of the traveller, and learn that he had
important papers in his possession, he would certainly be robbed before
morning. She said he should have something to eat immediately--but
advised him to seek some safer place of shelter for the night. This
intelligence so much alarmed the stranger that his agitation would not
permit him to eat, even when the repast was prepared and placed before
him. But a short time had passed before voices were heard without, with
cries of "Surround the house!" and the dwelling was presently assailed
by a body of tories. With admirable calmness, Mrs. Caldwell bade the
stranger follow her, and led him out at the opposite door. A large
locust tree stood close by, and the night was so dark that no object
could be discerned amid its clustering foliage. She bade him climb
the tree, thorny as it was, and conceal himself till the men should
be engaged in plundering the house. He could then descend on the other
side, and trust to flight for his safety. The house was pillaged as
she had expected; but the express made his escape, to remember with
gratitude the woman whose prudence had saved him with the loss of her
property.

One little incident is characteristic. Among such articles as the
housewife especially prizes, Mrs. Caldwell had an elegant tablecloth,
which she valued as the gift of her mother. While the tories on one
occasion were in her house collecting plunder, one of them broke open
the chest or drawer which contained it, and drew out the tablecloth.
Mrs. Caldwell seized and held it fast, determined not to give up her
treasure. When she found that her rapacious enemy would soon succeed
in wresting it from her, unless she could make use of some other than
muscular force to prevent him, she turned to the other men of the party,
whose attention had been attracted by the struggle, so that they had
gathered around her. Still keeping her hold on the tablecloth, she
appealed to them with all a woman's eloquence, asking if some of them
had not wives or daughters for whose sake they would interfere to cause
her to be treated with more civility. A small man who stood at the
distance of a few-feet presently stepped up, with tears in his eyes, and
said that he had a wife--a fine little woman she was, too! and that he
would not allow any rudeness to be practised towards Mrs. Caldwell. His
interference compelled the depredator to restore the valued article.

It was not unfrequently that female prudence or intrepidity was
successful in disappointing the marauders. The plantations of Dr.
Caldwell and his brother Alexander were near each other. One evening,
during Alexander's absence from home, two soldiers entered his house,
and began rudely to seize upon every thing they saw worth carrying off,
having ordered his wife to prepare supper for them. They were supposed
to belong to the army of Cornwallis, at that time foraging in the
neighborhood. Not knowing what to do, Mrs. Caldwell sent to her
brother-in-law for advice. He sent word in answer that she must treat
the men civilly, and have supper ready as soon as practicable; but that
she must observe where they placed their guns, and set the table at the
other end of the house. He promised to come over in the meantime and
conceal himself in a haystack close by; and she was to inform him as
soon as the men had sat down to supper. These directions were implicitly
followed. The house was a double cabin, containing two rooms on the
same floor. While the men were leisurely discussing their repast, Dr.
Caldwell quietly entered the other apartment, took up one of the guns,
and stepping to the door of the room where they were so comfortably
occupied, presented the weapon, and informed them they were his
prisoners, and their lives would be the forfeit, should they make the
least attempt to escape. They surrendered immediately, and Dr. Caldwell
marched them to his own house, where he kept them till morning, and then
suffered them to depart, after putting them on their parole by causing
them to take a solemn oath upon the family Bible, that they would no
longer bear arms against the United States, but would return to him upon
a day named. This pledge was faithfully kept.

After the war, Dr. Caldwell resumed his labors as a teacher and
preacher--his pastoral services being continued till within about four
years of his death. He died in the summer of 1824, in the hundredth year
of his age. His wife, who had accompanied him in the vicissitudes of
his long pilgrimage, aiding him in his useful work, followed him to the
grave in 1825, at the age of eighty-six. All who knew, regarded her as
a woman of remarkable character and influence, and she is remembered
throughout the State with high respect.

The influence of Colonel Hamilton, of the British army, contributed
greatly--at the time-Lord Cornwallis, on his last ill-fated expedition,
was in the neighborhood of Halifax--to mitigate the evils usually
attendant upon the march of a hostile force. Hamilton had resided there
before the Revolution, and showed a regard for his old acquaintances
by inducing the Commander to forbid the molestation of the persons or
property of non-combatants.

It is not improbable that female influence had something to do with this
magnanimity. The tone of public opinion in Halifax and its neighborhood
was affected in no slight degree by three women, who were rendered
prominent by the position of their husbands, and by their own talents
and example. These women were Mrs. Willie Jones, Mrs. Allen Jones, and
Mrs. Nicholas Long. Their husbands were men of cultivated minds,
of wealth and high consideration, having great influence in
public councils, and being zealously devoted to the achievement of
independence. The importance of the principles for which they contended,
was vindicated not less impressively by the conversation and patriotic
zeal of their wives, than by their own efforts in more striking appeals.

Colonel Nicholas Long was Commissary general for the forces raised in
North Carolina, and superintended the preparation, in workshops erected
on his premises, of warlike implements, military equipments, and
clothing for the soldiers. His wife was a most efficient co-operator
in this business. She possessed great energy and firmness, with mental
powers of no common order. Her praises were the theme of conversation
among the old officers of the army as long as any were left who had
known her. Her maiden name was M'Kinney. She died when about eighty
years of age, leaving a numerous offspring.

Mrs. Allen Jones was a Miss Edwards, the sister of Isaac Edwards, the
English secretary of Governor Tryon. She had the reputation of being the
most accomplished woman of her day, and was remarkable for the elegance
and taste shown in all her domestic arrangements. She died shortly after
the Revolution, leaving an only daughter, who married the son of Mrs.
Long.

_Mrs. Willie Jones_ was the daughter of Colonel Montfort, and was
married at a very early age. She is regarded as the most conspicuous
among the Revolutionary heroines in the region where she lived, and is
said to have been eminent in every quality that constitutes excellence
in female character. She possessed a remarkable faculty of gaining
influence by the affections. One of her acquaintances says: "She is the
only person with whom it has been my fortune to be acquainted, who was
loved--devotedly, enthusiastically loved--by every human being who knew
her." Born to an ample fortune, she dispensed it with a munificent and
elegant hospitality rarely seen in a new country, while her charities
were extended to all proper objects of her beneficence. A native
nobility of soul rendered her superior to the influence of any selfish
feeling, or of accidental circumstances, which often mould the character
of ordinary minds. The enjoyments of life were partaken by her with
sobriety, while the troubles and privations that fell to her lot were
borne with calmness and cheerful fortitude. She died about 1828, leaving
five children, of whom two are living in North Carolina.

The celebrated retort to Tarleton's sneering remark concerning Colonel
William Washington, a witticism variously repeated, has been generally
attributed to Mrs. Jones; but I have been assured by her daughter
that it was incorrectly ascribed to her. Mrs. Jones often related the
occurrence to this lady, and disclaimed the merit of the retort, which
belonged to her sister Mrs. Ashe. The circumstances were as follows:
During the stay of General Leslie and the British troops in Halifax,
several of his officers were quartered at the house of Colonel Ashe, and
Mrs. Ashe was in the habit of playing backgammon with them. Among these
was Tarleton, who often conversed with her, and was especially fond
of indulging his sarcastic wit in her presence at the expense of
her favorite hero Colonel Washington. On one occasion he observed,
jestingly, that he should like to have an opportunity of seeing that
man, who he had understood was very small. Mrs. Ashe replied quickly:
"If you had looked behind you, Colonel Tarleton, at the battle of the
Cowpens, you would have had that pleasure." The taunt was keenly felt,
and the British Colonel so moved, that his hand involuntarily sought the
hilt of his sword. At this moment General Leslie entered the room, and
observing that Mrs. Ashe was much agitated, inquired the cause of her
emotion. She explained what had passed, to which General Leslie answered
with a smile; "Say what you please, Mrs. Ashe; Colonel Tarleton knows
better than to insult a lady in my presence."

The following illustrative incident was communicated to the Rev. J. H.
Saye, by two Revolutionary officers, one of whom lived in the vicinity
where it occurred--the other being of the party concerned in the
adventure.

Early in the war, the inhabitants on the frontier of Burke County,
North Carolina, being apprehensive of an attack by the Indians, it was
determined to seek protection in a fort in a more densely populated
neighborhood in an interior settlement. A party of soldiers was sent to
protect them on their retreat. The families assembled, the line of march
was taken towards their place of destination, and they proceeded some
miles unmolested--the soldiers marching in a hollow square, with the
refugee families in the centre. The Indians, who had watched these
movements, had laid a plan for their destruction. The road to be
travelled lay through a dense forest in the fork of a river, where the
Indians concealed themselves, and waited till the travellers were in
the desired spot. Suddenly the war-whoop sounded in front, and on either
side; a large body of painted warriors rushed in, filling the gap
by which the whites had entered, and an appalling crash of fire-arms
followed. The soldiers, however, were prepared; such as chanced to be
near trees darted behind them, and began to ply the deadly rifle; the
others prostrated themselves upon the earth, among the tall grass, and
crawled to trees. The families screened themselves as best they could.
The onset was long and fiercely urged; ever and anon amid the din and
smoke, the warriors would rush, tomahawk in hand, towards the centre;
but they were repulsed by the cool intrepidity of the back-woods
riflemen. Still they fought on, determined on the destruction of the
victims who offered such desperate resistance. All at once, an appalling
sound greeted the ears of the women and children in the centre; it was a
cry from their defenders--a cry for powder! "Our powder is giving
out," they exclaimed. "Have you any? Bring us some, or we can fight no
longer!" A woman of the party had a good supply. She spread her apron on
the ground, poured her powder into it, and going round from soldier to
soldier as they stood behind the trees, bade each who needed powder put
down his hat, and poured a quantity upon it. Thus she went round the
line of defence, till her whole stock, and all she could obtain from
others, was distributed. At last the savages gave way, and pressed by
their foes, were driven off the ground. The victorious whites returned
to those for whose safety they had ventured into the wilderness.
Inquiries were made as to who had been killed, and one running up,
cried, "Where is the woman that gave us the powder! I want to see her!"

"Yes!--yes!--let us see her!" responded another and another; "without
her we should have been all lost!" The soldiers ran about among the
women and children, looking for her and making inquiries. Directly came
in others from the pursuit, one of whom observing the commotion, asked
the cause, and was told. "You are looking in the wrong place," he
replied. "Is she killed? Ah, we were afraid of that!" exclaimed many
voices. "Not when I saw her," answered the soldier. "When the Indians
ran off, she was on her knees in prayer at the root of yonder tree, and
there I left her." There was a simultaneous rush to the tree--and there,
to their great joy, they found the woman safe, and still on her knees
in prayer. Thinking not of herself, she received their applause without
manifesting any other feeling than gratitude to Heaven for their great
deliverance.




XXXVII. THE WOMEN OF WYOMING.

|The name of Wyoming is celebrated from its association with events of
thrilling interest. Its history from its first settlement is well known
to the American reader, nor is there needed another recital of the
catastrophe of July, 1778, which converted the fertile and thriving
settlement into a field of slaughter, and recorded in characters of
blood one of the darkest pages in the annals of our race. The pen of the
historian--the eloquence of the orator--the imagination of the poet and
novelist--have by turns illustrated the scene--the realities of which
transcend the wildest creations of fiction, and over which hovers the
solemn glory that enshrines the resting place of heroes. The very ground
speaks of the past=

```" And on the margin of yon orchard hill

```Are marks where time-worn battlements have been,

```And in the tall grass traces linger still

```Of arrowy frieze and wedged ravelin;'

```Five hundred of her brave that valley green

```Trod on the morn, in soldier spirit gay;

```But twenty lived to tell the noonday scene."

`````Halleck.=

Vain was the bravery of that little band--the population of the valley
having been drained of its strength to supply the continental army--to
stem the fury of the tories and savages, gathering strength with
success, till it swept in a tempest of blood and fire over their devoted
homes. Their gallant deeds--their fate--have been told in song and
story.

The wives and daughters of Wyoming deserve to share in the tribute due
to their unfortunate defenders. While the men were engaged in public
service they had cheerfully assumed such a portion of the labor as they
could perform; had tilled the ground to plant and make hay, husked and
garnered the corn, and assisted in manufacturing ammunition. *

* Miner's History of Wyoming, page 212, etc. See this work for notices of
the women.

They, too, were marked out for the enemy's vengeance, and were victims
in the scene of carnage and horror. Dreadful was the suspense in which
they awaited, with their children, the event of the battle; and when the
news was brought in the night--warned that instant flight would be their
only means of escape, they fled in terrified confusion, without clothes
or food--looking back only to behold "the light of burning plains,"
repressing their groans for fear of Indians in ambush, and fortunate
if they escaped butchery--to implore the aid of strangers in a distant
land. Many an aged matron, after the lapse of half a century, "could
tell you where the foot of battle stepped, upon the day of massacre;"
for the spot was marked by the blood of her nearest and dearest.

A nearer view may be given by the mention of one or two instances
among the sufferers. Two sons of Esther Skinner, in the flower of early
manhood, went forth to the desperate conflict of that day, and were seen
no more by their widowed mother. A young man who afterwards married her
daughter--one of the twenty who was saved--related an incident of his
escape. "Driven to the brink of the river, he plunged into the water for
safety, and swam to a small island. Here, immersed in water, protected
by the bushes at the water's edge, and screened by the darkness of
night, he happily eluded the search of the pursuing foe, thirsting for
blood; while about twenty of his companions, who had retreated to the
same spot, were all massacred within a few yards of him. He heard the
dismal strokes of the tomahawk, and the groans of the dying, expecting
every moment himself to become the next victim. One savage foot trod
upon the very bush to which he clung. A solitary individual besides
himself was left, at the departure of the savages, to weep with him over
the mangled bodies of their friends." **

** Extract from a sermon preached at the funeral of Esther Skinner,
1831.

Mrs. Skinner was in the company of women who fled amid the horrors of
the conflagration. With her six surviving children, the youngest but
five years of age, she hastened to the water-side, where boats were
prepared for their conveyance down the river. The little ones, half
destitute of clothing, "were ready to cry with the anguish of their
bruised and lacerated feet; but the chidings of the wary mother, and the
dread of being heard by the lurking savage, repressed their weeping, and
made them tread in breathless silence their painful way."

The widow's little property plundered, her home in ashes, her husband
buried, and her eldest son lying mangled on the field of battle, her
thoughts were turned towards the land of her birth, formidable as the
journey was on foot, with six helpless children, and without money,
clothes, or provisions. Her way lay in part through Dutch settlements,
where she could only by signs tell the story of her sufferings, or make
known her wants. The tale of woe, however, swifter in its flight, had
spread far and wide, and she received many kindnesses from the people
of a strange language. Sometimes, indeed, she was refused admission
into their houses; "but," she would add in her narration, "they had nice
barns, with clean straw, where my children lodged very comfortably."
After travelling one hundred miles by water, and nearly three hundred
by land, she arrived in safety at the place of her former residence in
Connecticut; where, having survived all her children but one, she died
in 1831, in the hundredth year of her age.

_Mrs. Myers_ was one of the crowd who resorted to Forty Fort, and was
about sixteen years old at the time of the massacre. Her maiden name was
Bennett, and her father's family stood conspicuous among the patriots
of that day. A relative, Mrs. Bennett, was living in 1845, at the age of
eighty-three, and though blind, was one of the clearest chroniclers of
the scenes witnessed in her eventful youth. Whether she was the "woman,
withered, gray, and old," with whom the poet conversed, sitting and
smoking--as he says, in her chimney-corner--is uncertain; for she was
not the only one who had a lively recollection of those times. Mrs.
Myers had even preserved the table on which had been signed the terms of
capitulation, and repeated the conversation between Colonel Denison and
Colonel Butler, overheard by herself and another girl on a seat within
the Fort; with Butler's acknowledgment of his inability to check the
savages in their plunder and slaughter of the inhabitants. At one time
the Indians, to show their power, came into the fort. One took the hat
from Colonel Denison's head, and another demanded his frock. The savage
raised his tomahawk menacingly, and the Colonel was obliged to yield;
but seeming to find difficulty in taking off the garment, he stepped
back to where the young women were sitting. The girl who sat by Miss
Bennett was an inmate of his family--understanding the movement, she
took from the pocket of the frock a purse, which she hid under her
apron. The frock was then delivered to the Indian, and the town money
thus saved; for the purse, containing a few dollars, was the whole
military chest of Wyoming.

Another patriotic sufferer, Mrs. Lucy Ives, was a child of ten years old
at Forty Fort. She had two brothers and a brother-in-law in the battle,
and both her brothers were killed. Her father and family escaped through
the swamp; but on his return to secure a part of his harvest, he was
killed by the Indians. The mother and children, having lost all their
property, sought refuge in Canterbury, Connecticut, their native place,
whence they did not return till peace was established. With broken
fortunes and blighted hopes, left to grapple with a hard world--while
a compensating degree of prosperity awaited many of the ancient
sufferers--the night of bloodshed and woe was not succeeded to them as
to others, by a bright and cheering morning of sunshine.

Mrs. Bidlack was the daughter of Obadiah Gore, and about twenty years
old at the time of the battle. Her family were devoted to the cause of
liberty. The aged father was left in Forty Fort to aid in its defence,
while five sons with two brothers-in-law marched to the conflict! At
sunset five of the seven lay mangled corpses on the field. Mrs. Murfee,
another sister, begged her way, among the rest of the fugitives, across
the wilderness, and sought a home in the State from which she had
emigrated. The mother of the Gore family lived to see prosperity return
to her remaining children.

The death of Mrs. Young was particularly noticed in the newspapers at
the time of its occurrence, on account of the many vicissitudes that
marked her life. Her father, Mr. Poyner, was a Huguenot, who had been
driven by religious persecution from France, and had been a commissary
in the old French war. Mrs. Young was the last survivor of those who
occupied the fort at Mill Creek. She made her escape with six others,
in a canoe, on hearing of the issue of the battle, and the enemy's
approach--and pushed off into the river, without provisions, to seek
safety from the murderous tomahawk. Meeting a boat coming up with stores
for Captain Spalding's company, the sufferings of hunger were relieved;
and the distressed fugitives, not knowing the fate of their friends,
after a dangerous navigation of one hundred and twenty miles--landed
near Harrisburg, where, being hospitably received and kindly treated,
they remained till Sullivan's army came to Wyoming and rendered it safe
to return. She died at the age of eighty-nine.

Mrs. Dana took with her in her flight a pillowcase of valuable
papers--her husband being engaged in public business; and the
preservation of these has thrown light on the path of research. The
names of a hundred others, who shared that memorable flight, might be
mentioned; but these are sufficient.

In the enemy's ranks, some of the women were foremost in the work of
carnage. Esther, the queen of the Seneca tribe of Indians--a fury in
female form--it is said, took upon herself the office of executioner,
passing with her tomahawk round the circle of prisoners, counting with
a cadence, and sinking the weapon into the heads of the victims. In the
journal of one of Sullivan's officers, her plantation is described--an
extensive plain near the Susquehanna, where she dwelt in sullen
retirement.

The story of the captivity of Frances Slocum has some romantic interest.
Her father was a member of the Friends' Society, and having always been
kind to the Indians, was at first left unmolested; but when they learned
that one of his sons had been in the battle, the family was marked out
for sure vengeance. A shot, and cry of distress, one day summoning Mrs.
Slocum to the door, she saw an Indian scalping a lad to whom, with
his brother, her husband had given a home, their father being taken
prisoner. The savages soon after entered the house, seized her little
boy, Ebenezer, and when the mother interposed to save the child, caught
up her daughter Frances, about five years old, and fled swiftly to the
mountains. This was within a hundred rods of Wilkesbarre fort; but,
though the alarm was instantly given, the Indians eluded pursuit, and no
trace of their retreat could be discovered.

The cup of vengeance was not yet full--the father being afterwards
murdered. The widowed mother heard nothing of her lost child, though
peace came in time, and prisoners returned. When intercourse with
Canada was opened, two of her sons, then among the most intelligent and
enterprising young men in the valley, determined, if living, to find
their sister, and connecting business with their search, traversed the
Indian settlements, and went as far as Niagara. But vain were their
inquiries and offered rewards; and the conclusion seemed probable that
she had been killed by her merciless captors. Still the fond mother saw
the lost one in her dreams, and her soul clung to the hope of recovering
her daughter, as the great and engrossing object of her life. At length
a girl was found, who had been carried away captive from Susquehanna
River, and could not remember her parents. She was brought to Mrs.
Slocum's home; but the mysterious sympathy which exists between a mother
and her offspring did not draw them together. Mrs. Slocum could
not believe the orphan to be her own child, and the girl, feeling a
persuasion that she had no claim of relationship, at length returned to
her Indian friends.

Time extinguished the last ray of hope, and the bereaved parent, at an
advanced age, descended to the grave.

In August, 1837, fifty-nine years after the capture, a letter appeared
in the Lancaster Intelligencer, written by Mr. Ewing of Logansport,
Indiana, and dated a year and a half previous. It stated that an aged
white woman was living in that vicinity, among the Miami tribe of
Indians, who had recently informed the writer that she had been brought,
when very young, from the Susquehanna, and that her father's name was
Slocum; that he was a Quaker, and that his house was near a village
where there was a fort. Her attachment to Indian life, and fear of
being claimed by her kindred, had prevented her, in past years, from
disclosing her name and history--which she did then from a conviction
that her life was drawing to an end. She was a widow, with two
daughters--wealthy, respected and bearing an excellent character.

The sensation produced throughout Wyoming by this letter, can scarcely
be imagined. Joseph Slocum, the brother of Frances, moved by affection,
duty, and the known wishes of his deceased parent, made immediate
preparations for the journey, though a thousand miles intervened;
and with his younger brother, Isaac, who lived in Ohio, hastened to
Logansport. The lost sister, whose residence was about twelve miles
distant, was informed of their arrival, and came to the village to
meet them, riding a high-spirited horse, and accompanied by her two
daughters, tastefully dressed in the Indian costume. Her bearing was
grave and reserved; she listened, through an interpreter, to what they
had to say--but doubt, amounting to jealous suspicion, possessed her
mind. She returned home, and came again the next day, desiring further
explanation, ere she would recognize those who claimed such near
kindred. At length Joseph Slocum mentioned that his sister, at play in
their father's smithshop with the children, had once received a blow
from a hammer on the middle finger of the hand, which crushed the bone;
and that his mother had always said the injury would leave a mark that
could not be mistaken. This was conviction to the long separated sister;
her countenance was instantly lighted up with smiles, while tears
ran down her cheeks, as she held out the scarred hand; the welcome
recognition, the tender embrace, the earnest inquiries for her
parents--showed the awakening of the long slumbering affections, and
filled every heart present to overflowing.

The events of her life, as detailed by herself, were truly remarkable.
On her capture, she had been carried to a rocky cave on the mountain,
where a bed of blankets and dried leaves had been prepared for the
accommodation of the Indians. Thence taken to the Indian country, she
was treated with kindness, and brought up as an adopted daughter of
their people. When her Indian parents died, she married a young chief of
the nation, and removed to the waters of the Ohio. Changed completely by
time and education--exempted from the tasks usually imposed on women
in the savage state, the most flattering deference being paid to her
superior understanding--invested with the dignity of a queen among
them--and happy in her family and connections--she had been led to
regard the whites with a degree of fear and aversion, and to deem return
to her kindred a calamity rather than a blessing; so that when prisoners
were inquired for, she always earnestly entreated that she might not be
betrayed.

When her narration was finished, Frances, or Maconaquah, as she was
called, appealed with solemnity to the Great Spirit, to bear witness to
its truth. The next day, her brothers, with the interpreter, rode out to
visit her. Every thing bore the appearance, not only of plenty, but of
rude abundance; the cattle and horses were numerous; the house, though
roughly constructed, was better than the Indian wigwams; and the repast,
of venison, honey, and cakes of flour, was excellent. Frances caused her
brothers to enter into a formal covenant of recognition and affection,
by lifting a snow-white cloth from a piece of venison she had placed
beneath it. The visit was prolonged for several days; and was afterwards
repeated by another member of the family--Mrs. Bennett, the daughter of
Joseph Slocum, and wife of the Hon. Ziba Bennett, who accompanied her
father on his second visit to Indiana.

The sufferings of families during the depredations of the Indians on the
frontier, in Wawasink and its vicinity, were not exceeded even by those
of Wyoming. The women bore their share not only in these, but in the
efforts made for defence--loading guns for their defenders, and carrying
water to extinguish the flames of their dwellings. In an attack upon
the house of the widow Bevier, when, after it was fired, the two women
sought refuge in the cellar, the daughter, Magdalen, took with her the
Dutch family Bible. When the flames approached them, they decided to
deliver themselves up to the savages, and made their way through the
cellar window--the mother in advance. The daughter threw her apron over
her head, fearing to see her parent killed. As she feared, the widow
fell a prey to the cruel tomahawk, while the Bible was wrested from
Magdalen's hands and stamped in the mud--she herself being retained a
prisoner. When afterwards released, she was fortunate enough to recover
the treasure she had saved from the flames--some of the leaves only
being soiled by the mud--and it is still preserved as a precious relic
in the family.

The house of Jesse Bevier at the Fantinekill, was assailed afterwards,
and defended successfully by the spirit and resolution of its inmates.
Their powder was laid in basins on the table, and the women helped to
load the pieces, till at length the old log house was fired at a point
where the little band of heroes could not bring their guns to bear.
Their situation now became most alarming, and the women applied every
drop of liquid in the house to check the progress of the flames; taking
milk, and even swill, in their mouths, and spiriting it through the
cracks of the logs, in hopes thus to protract existence till relief
might come from Naponoch. At this awful crisis, when death appeared
inevitable, the pious mother, knowing that "with God all things are
possible," proposed that they should suspend their exertions, and unite
in petitions to the throne of grace for mercy. Her son replied that
she must pray, and they would continue to fight. And fervent were the
prayers of that mother--till it seemed as if they were answered by
direct interposition from heaven. The brother of Bevier, warned of
danger by the mute appeal of the dog belonging to the house, came with
another to his assistance, and the Indians and tories, not knowing, when
they heard the firing of their sentry, how large a force was coming,
withdrew from the house just as the flames had extended to the curtains
of the bed.

A solemn and affecting scene in this tragedy was that at the bedside of
Jacob Bevier, who lay ill, and unable to move, when all the family had
fled across the mountain, except an insane brother, who was sitting
on the fence, unconscious of danger, and a daughter, who in spite of
entreaties and expostulations, would not leave her suffering parent.

The old stone fort at Wawasink was also the scene of active operations.
It was the courage and presence of mind of Catharine Vernooy, that saved
the fort when first assailed by the enemy. She was going to milk when
she heard them coming; but returned quickly to the fort, closed the
door, and called to the sentry to assist her in getting the brace
against it. At the house of Peter Vernooy, too, the females were active
in rendering assistance. They loaded the pieces, of which there was a
double set, and stood with axes, determined to plunge them into their
foes, if they should attempt to break through the windows. The wife
of Vernooy had a family of small children, but kept them quiet by her
authority, while all was going on.




XXXVIII. JANE CAMPBELL.

|Mrs. Campbell was a distinguished representative of the female actors
in the Revolutionary drama in the section of country where she lived.
Prominent in position and character, her influence was decided; and
in the extraordinary trials through which she was called to pass, her
firmness and fortitude, her intrepid bearing under sufferings that
would have crushed an inferior nature, her energy, constancy, and
disinterested patriotism--render her example a bright and useful one,
and entitle her to a conspicuous place among those to whom her country
pays the willing tribute of honor and gratitude.

Jane Cannon was born on the first day of January, 1743, in the county
of Antrim, Ireland, almost within hearing of the ocean as it beat around
the Giant's Causeway. Her early years were spent upon this coast; and it
was perhaps her familiarity with nature in the wild and sublime scenery
of this romantic region, that nourished the spirit of independence, and
the strength of character, so strikingly displayed by her in after life,
amid far distant scenes. The permanency of the impressions received in
childhood is shown by her frequent recurrence, towards the close of a
protracted life, to these juvenile associations, to her school and her
youthful companions, and the customs and manners of that day. At the
age of ten she left Ireland with her family, her father--Captain Matthew
Cannon, who was a sea-faring man, having determined to emigrate to the
North American Colonies. His first settlement was at New Castle in the
present State of Delaware, where he remained for ten or eleven years
engaged in agricultural pursuits. He then, with his family, penetrated
the wilderness to the central part of the State of New York, and fixed
his home in the extreme frontier settlement, within the limits of the
present county of Otsego, and about seven miles from the village of
Cherry Valley. A year after the removal of the family to this new abode,
Jane Cannon was married to Samuel Campbell, a son of one of the first
settlers of Cherry Valley, a young man twenty-five years of age, and
already distinguished for his energy of character and bold spirit of
enterprise. At the very commencement of the Revolutionary war, the
father and the husband of Mrs. Campbell embraced the quarrel of the
Colonies with great ardor. They were both on the committee of safety;
both at an early period, pledged themselves to the achievement of
national independence, and in the long and bloody warfare on the
frontier, both were actively engaged. Both also lost every thing, save
life and honor--in the contest. Mr. Campbell was early chosen to the
command of the militia in that region; and at the genial request
converted his own house into a garrison, where for two years--and until
a fort was erected in the settlement, the inhabitants of that exposed
frontier were gathered for protection. In all his patriotic efforts,
he not only had the sympathy of his wife, but found her a zealous and
efficient co-operator. Her feelings were ardently enlisted in behalf of
her adopted Country, and she was ready to give her own exertions to
the cause, as well as to urge forward those who had risen against the
oppressor.

In August, 1777, Colonel Campbell, with his regiment, was engaged in
the disastrous battle of Oriskany, the bloodiest, in proportion to the
number engaged, of any of the battles of the Revolution. His brother
was killed by his side; and he himself narrowly escaped. In the July
following, occurred the massacre at Wyoming; and in November, 1778,
a part of the same force, composed principally of Indians and tories,
invaded and utterly destroyed the settlement at Cherry Valley. The
dreadful tragedy here enacted, says Dunlap, "next to the destruction of
Wyoming, stands out in history as conspicuous for atrocity." The horrors
of the massacre, and the flight, indeed likened the scene to that=

``"Whose baptism was the weight of blood that flows

```From kindred hearts."=

Some extraordinary instances of individual suffering are recorded. *

* See Annals of Tryon County, by William W. Campbell.

One young girl, Jane Wells, was barbarously murdered by an Indian near
a pile of wood, behind which she had endeavored to screen herself. The
wife of Colonel Clyde fled with her children into the woods, where
she lay concealed under a large log during a cold rainy day and night,
hearing the yells of the savages as they triumphed in their work of
death, and seeing them pass so near that one of them trailed his gun
upon the log that covered her. Colonel Campbell was absent from home
at the time; but the father of Mrs. Campbell, who was in her house,
attempted almost single-handed to oppose the advance of the enemy--and
notwithstanding that resistance was madness, the brave old man refused
to yield till he was wounded and overpowered. Imagination alone can
depict the terror and anguish of the mother trembling for her children
in the midst of this scene of strife and carnage, the shrieks of
slaughtered victims, and the yells of their savage foes. They were
dragged away as prisoners by the triumphant Indians, and the house was
presently in flames. The husband and father--who had hastened homeward
on the alarm of a cannon fired at the fort, arrived only in time to
witness the destruction of his property, and was unable to learn what
had become of his wife and children.

Leaving the settlement a scene of desolation, the enemy took their
departure the same night, with their prisoners, of whom there were
between thirty and forty. That night of wretchedness was passed in a
valley about two miles south of the fort. "A large fire was kindled,
around which they were collected, with no shelter, not even in most
cases an outer garment, to protect them from the storm. There might
be seen the old and infirm, and the middle-aged of both sexes, and
'shivering childhood, houseless but for a mother's arms, couchless but
for a mother's breast.' Around them at a short distance on every side,
gleamed the watchfires of the savages, who were engaged in examining and
distributing their plunder. Along up the valley they caught occasional
glimpses of the ruins of their dwellings, as some sudden gust of wind,
or falling timber, awoke into new life the decaying flame."

The prominent position and services of Colonel Campbell had rendered him
peculiarly obnoxious to the enemy. It was well known that his wife had
constantly aided his and her father's movements, and that her determined
character and excellent judgment had not only been of service to them,
but to the friends of liberty in that region. Hence both the husband and
wife were marked objects of vengeance. Mrs. Campbell and her children
were considered important captives, and while most of the other women
and little ones were released, after the detention of a day or two, and
permitted to return to their homes, to them no such mercy was extended.
Mrs. Campbell was informed that she and her children must accompany
their captors to the land of the Senecas. On the second day after the
captivity her mother was killed by her side. The aged and infirm lady
was unable to keep pace with the rest; and her daughter was aiding her
faltering steps, and encouraging her to exert her utmost strength, when
the savage struck her down with his tomahawk. Not a moment was Mrs.
Campbell suffered to linger, to close the dying eyes, or receive the
last sigh, of her murdered parent; the same Indian drove her on with his
uplifted and bloody weapon, threatening her with a similar fate, should
her speed slacken. She carried in her arms an infant eighteen months
old; and for the sake of her helpless little ones, dragged on her
weary steps in spite of failing strength, at the bidding of her inhuman
tormentors.

This arduous, long, and melancholy journey was commenced on the 11th of
November. Mrs. Campbell was taken down the valley of the Susquehanna
to its junction with the Tioga, and thence into the Western part of New
York, to the Indian Castle, the capital of the Seneca nation, near the
site of the present beautiful village of Geneva. The whole region was
then an unbroken wilderness, with here and there an Indian settlement,
and the journey was performed by Mrs. Campbell partly on foot, with her
babe in her arms. Her other children were separated from her on the way,
being given to Indians of different tribes; and on her arrival at the
village, her infant also--the last link which visibly bound her to home
and family and civilization--was taken from her. This, to the mother's
heart, was the severest trial; and she often spoke of it in after years
as the most cruel of all her sufferings. The helpless babe clung to her
when torn away by savage hands, and she could hear its piercing cries
till they were lost in the distance. Long and dreary was the winter that
followed. In one respect Mrs. Campbell was fortunate. She was placed in
an Indian family, composed of females, with the exception of one aged
man, and with the tact which always distinguished her she began at once
to make herself useful; thus early securing the confidence and even the
admiration of these daughters of the forest. She taught them some of
the arts of civilized life, and made garments not only for the family to
which she belonged, but for those in the neighborhood, who sent corn
and venison in return. In acknowledgment of these services, care and
protection were extended to her; she was allowed the command of her own
time, and freedom from restraint, and was permitted to abstain from her
usual avocations on the sacred day of rest.

One day an Indian who came to the house, observing her cap, promised to
give her one; and inviting her to his cabin, pulled from behind a beam a
cap of a smoky color, and handed it to her, saying he had taken it from
the head of a woman at Cherry Valley. Mrs. Campbell recognized it as
having belonged to the unfortunate Jane Wells. It had a cut in the crown
made by the tomahawk, and was spotted with blood. She shrank with horror
from the murderer of her friend. Returning to her cabin, she tore off
the lace border, from which, however, she could not wash the stains of
blood, and laid it away, to give to the friends of the murdered girl,
should any have escaped the massacre. In the midst of her own sorrows
she lost not her sympathy with the woes of others.

The proposed exchange of Mrs. Campbell and her children for the wife
and sons of Colonel John Butler--the noted partisan leader--being agreed
upon by Governor Clinton and General Schuyler, early in the spring
Colonel Campbell dispatched an Indian messenger to Colonel Butler at
Fort Niagara. Butler came soon after to the village of Canadaseago,
to confer with the Indian council on the subject of giving up their
prisoners. The families who adopted captives in the place of deceased
relatives were always unwilling to part with them; and Butler had some
difficulty in obtaining their assent. It was necessary also to procure
the consent of a family in the Genesee village, with whom Mrs. Campbell
was to have been placed in the spring. They were kinsfolk of the king of
the Senecas; and it is no small evidence of the esteem Mrs. Campbell had
won from the Indians, that he volunteered to go himself, and persuade
them to yield their claim. Though aged, the kind-hearted savage
performed the journey on foot; and returning, informed Mrs. Campbell
that she was free, bade her farewell, and promised to come and visit
her when the war was over. In June, 1799, she was sent to Fort Niagara,
where many persons took refuge--preparation being made for an expected
attack by General Sullivan. Among them came Katrine Montour, a fury
who had figured in the horrors of Wyoming. One of her sons having taken
prisoner in Cherry Valley the father of Mrs. Campbell, and brought him
to the Indian country, it may be conceived what were the feelings of the
captive on hearing her reproach the savage for not having killed him at
once, to avoid the incumbrance of an old and feeble man!

Mrs. Campbell was detained a year as a prisoner in the fort; but had the
solace of her children, all except one of whom Butler obtained from the
Indians and restored to her. She associated freely, too, with the wives
of the officers of the garrison. In the summer of 1780 she received
the first letter from her husband, sent by a friendly Oneida Indian. In
June, she was sent to Montreal, where she recovered her missing child--a
boy seven years old, whom she had not seen since the day after the
massacre at Cherry Valley. He had been with a branch of the Mohawk
tribe, and had forgotten his native tongue, though he remembered his
mother, whom, in the joy of seeing her, he addressed in the Indian
language.

At Montreal the exchange of prisoners was effected. In the fall, Mrs.
Campbell and her children reached Albany, escorted into that city by
a detachment of troops under the command of Colonel Ethan Allen. Here
Colonel Campbell awaited their arrival, and the trials of a two years'
captivity were almost forgotten in the joy of restoration. They remained
there till the close of the war, and in 1783, returned to Cherry Valley,
and literally began the world anew. Their lands had gone to waste, and
were overgrown with underbrush; all besides was destroyed; and with no
shelter save a small log-cabin hastily put up--they felt for a time that
their lot had been a hard one. But the consciousness of having performed
the duty of patriots, sustained them under misfortune. By the close of
the following summer a more comfortable log-house was erected on the
ruins of their former residence, and the farm began to assume the aspect
of cultivation. Here General Washington was received and entertained on
his visit to Cherry Valley, accompanied by Governor George Clinton and
other distinguished officers. It was on this occasion that Mrs. Campbell
presented her sons to Washington, and told him she would train them up
to the service of their country, should that country ever need their
services.

From this time Mrs. Campbell was eminently blessed in all things
temporal; being permitted in old age to see around her a large and
prosperous family. Her oldest son was the Hon. William Campbell, late
Surveyor general of the State of New York. Her second son, James
S. Campbell, though educated as a farmer--inheriting the "old
homestead"--was for many years a magistrate, and one of the judges of
the Court of Common Pleas in Otsego; while the youngest son, the late
Robert Campbell, of Cooperstown, an able and eminent lawyer, enjoyed
in a high degree the confidence of the people of that county. Colonel
Campbell, after an active life, died in 1824, at the age of eighty-six.
His wife lived, in the enjoyment of almost uninterrupted health, to
the age of ninety-three, and died in 1836--the last survivor of the
Revolutionary women in the region of the head waters of the Susquehanna.
All her children but two have followed her to the grave.

Mrs. Campbell's latter days--to the close of a life marked with so much
of action, enterprise and stirring incident--were days of industry. Like
the Roman matron, she bore the distaff in her hand, and sat with her
maidens around her; and her characteristic energy was infused into
every thing she did. Yet she was in every sense of the term a lady:
scrupulously neat in her apparel, combining dignity with affable and
pleasing manners--the expression of real kindness of heart; and with a
mind naturally vigorous and clear improved by reading, and still more by
observation and society--and conversation enriched by the stores she had
gathered in her experience, she was well fitted to shine in any sphere
of life. For many years before her death she was designated throughout
the country, as "old Lady Campbell." Her memory unimpaired, she was a
living chronicler of days gone by; the peculiar circumstances in
which she was placed during the war having brought her into personal
acquaintance with almost all the prominent men engaged on both sides.

The feminine and domestic virtues that adorned her character, rendering
her beloved in every relation--especially by those towards whom she
so faithfully discharged her duties--were brightened by her unaffected
piety. It was the power of Christian principle that sustained her
through all her wanderings and trials, and in her lonely captivity
among a barbarous people. It was this which cheered her closing days
of existence, and supported her when, almost on the verge of a
century--having survived the companions who had commenced life with
her, surrounded by her children, and her descendants to the fourth
generation--she passed calmly to her rest.




XXXIX. CORNELIA BEEKMAN.

[Illustration: 0252]

|A memoir of the long and eventful life of Mrs. Beekman, describing
scenes in which those connected with her were prominent actors,
would form a valuable contribution to American history. But it is not
possible, at this distant day, without the materials afforded by letters
or contemporaneous details, to give an adequate idea of the influence
she exercised. There are many who retain a deep impression of her
talents and noble qualities; but no record has preserved the memory
of what she did for America, and her character can be but imperfectly
illustrated by the anecdotes remembered by those who knew her most
intimately. The active part she sustained in the contest, her trials and
the spirit exhibited under them, her claims for substantial service to
the gratitude of her country, and a name in its annals, cannot now
be appreciated as they deserve. But it may be seen that hers was no
ordinary character, that she was a true patriot, and that her part must
have been a very important one in directing the judgment and movements
of others.

Her family was one of distinction, from which numerous branches have
proceeded. The ancestor, Oloff Stevenson Van Cortlandt, died in this
country about 1683, leaving seven children; and in 1685, his eldest
son obtained from Governor Dongan a patent for large tracts of land
purchased from the Indians, in Westchester, Putnam, and Dutchess
Counties. For many years preceding the Revolution, the family resided in
the Cortlandt manor house, an old-fashioned stone mansion situated upon
the banks of the Croton River. It was here that Cornelia, the second
daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt and Joanna Livingston, was born, in
1752. Her father, who was Lieutenant Governor of the State of New York,
under George Clinton, from 1777 to 1795, was distinguished for his
zealous maintenance of American rights. From him she imbibed the
principles to which, in after life, she was so ardently devoted.

The childhood and youth of Cornelia passed in peace and happiness in her
pleasant home. On her marriage, about the age of seventeen, with Gerard
G. Beekman, she removed to the city of New York, where her residence was
in the street which bears her name. Her husband was in mind, education,
and character, worthy of her choice. Not many years of her married life
had passed, when the storm of war burst upon the land, and, taught to
share in aspirations for freedom, she entered into the feelings of the
people with all the warmth of her generous nature. She often spoke with
enthusiasm of an imposing ceremonial procession she witnessed, of the
mechanics of the city, who brought their tools and deposited them in
a large coffin made for the purpose--marched to the solemn music of a
funeral dirge, and buried the coffin in Potter's Field; returning to
present themselves, each with musket in hand, in readiness for military
service.

Finding a residence in New York not agreeable in the state of popular
excitement, she returned with her husband and family to the home of her
childhood at Croton, till the Peekskill Manor House could be completed.
This was a large brick building situated on a flat about two miles north
of Peek-skill, at the foot of Regular Hill, the place of encampment for
the American army. The top of Anthony's Nose can be seen from its rear.
Here she resided during the war, marked out as an object of aggression
and insult by the royalists, on account of the part taken by her
relatives and friends, and her own ardent attachment to the American
cause. At intervals of the struggle, when portions of the British army
were ranging through Westchester, she was particularly exposed to their
injuries. But her high spirit and strong will contributed to her safety,
and supported her through many scenes of trial. Only once was she
prevailed upon to leave her residence, being persuaded by her brother,
Colonel Philip Van Cortlandt, to retire with her family some miles
back in the country for safety from a scouting party on their way from
Verplanck's Point. She yielded to the counsel, contrary to her own
judgment and wishes; and after being absent a day and night, not hearing
of any depredations committed, returned to the manor house. She found
it a scene of desolation! Not an article of furniture was left, except
a bedstead; a single glass bottle was the only drinking utensil; and one
ham was all that remained of the provisions, having, by good fortune,
been hung in an obscure part of the cellar. This disaster, and the
inconveniences to which she was obliged to submit in consequence, were
borne with fortitude, and even formed subject of merriment. Soon
after, she was called upon by two of the American officers--Putnam and
Webb--who asked how she had fared, not supposing she had been visited
with annoyance, and were much surprised at her description of the
state of the house on her return. The General promised, if she would be
satisfied with army conveniences, to send her the next day a complete
outfit to recommence housekeeping. On the morrow a horseman arrived,
carrying a bag on either side, filled with all kinds of woodenware--a
welcome and useful present--for such things were not at that time easy
to be obtained. Some of these articles were still in the house at the
time of Mrs. Beekman's decease.

The leading officers of the American army were often received and
entertained at her hospitable mansion. General Patterson was at one time
quartered there; and the room is still called "Washington's," in which
that beloved Chief was accustomed to repose. He visited her frequently,
their acquaintance being of long standing, and while his troops were
stationed in the neighborhood, made her house his quarters. The chairs
used by his aids as beds are still in the possession of her descendants.
Her hospitality was not limited to persons of distinction; she was at
all times ready to aid the distressed, and administer to the necessities
of those who needed attention. Nor were her acts of humanity and
benevolence confined to such as were friendly to the cause in which her
warmest feelings were enlisted, many in the enemy's ranks experiencing
her kindness, and that in return for grievance and outrage. Of this she
had more than her share--and sometimes the most daring robberies were
committed before her eyes. On one occasion the favorite saddle-horse
which she always rode, was driven off with the others by marauders. The
next day Colonel Bayard, mounted upon the prize, stopping at the gate,
Mr. Beekman claimed the animal as belonging to his wife, and demanded
that it should be restored. The insolent reply was, that he must
hereafter look upon his property as British artillery horses; and the
officer added, as he rode away, "I am going now to burn down your rebel
father's paper mill!"

At another time, in broad day, and in sight of the family, a horse
was brought up with baskets fastened on either side, and a deliberate
ransacking of the poultry yard commenced. The baskets were presently
filled with the fowls, and the turkey-gobbler, a noisy patriarch, was
placed astride the horse, the bridle being thrown over his head. His
uneasiness when the whip was used, testified by clamorous complaints,
made the whole scene so amusing that the depredators were allowed to
depart without a word of remonstrance. One day when the British were
in the neighborhood, a soldier entered the house, and walked
unceremoniously towards the closet. Mrs. Beekman asked what he wanted;
"Some brandy;" was his reply. When she reproved him for the intrusion,
he presented his bayonet at her breast, and calling her a rebel, with
many harsh epithets, swore he would kill her on the spot. Though alone
in the house, except an old black servant, she felt no alarm at the
threats of the cowardly assailant; but told him she would call her
husband, and send information to his officer of his conduct. Her
resolution triumphed over his audacity; for seeing that she showed no
fear, he was not long in obeying her command to leave the house. Upon
another occasion she was writing a letter to her father, when, looking
out, she saw the enemy approaching. There was only time to secrete the
paper behind the frame-work of the mantel-piece; where it was discovered
when the house was repaired after the war.

The story of Mrs. Beekman's contemptuous repulse of the enemy under
Bayard and Fanning is related by herself, in a letter written in 1777. A
party of royalists, commanded by those two colonels, paid a visit to
her house, demeaning themselves with the arrogance and insolence she was
accustomed to witness. One of them insultingly said to her: "Are you not
the daughter of that old rebel, Pierre Van Cortlandt?" She replied with
dignity: "I am the daughter of Pierre Van Cortlandt--but it becomes not
such as you to call my father a rebel!" The tory raised his musket, when
she, with perfect calmness, reproved him for his insolence and bade him
begone. He finally turned away abashed.

The persecutors of Mrs. Beekman were sometimes disappointed in their
plundering expeditions. One day the miller came to her with the news
that the enemy had been taking a dozen barrels of flour from the mill.
"But when they arrive at the Point," he added, "they will find their
cakes not quite so good as they expect; as they have taken the lime
provided for finishing the walls, and left us the flour." Often,
however, the depredators left nothing for those who came after them.

One morning a captain serving in the British army rode up to the house,
and asked for Mrs. Beekman. When she appeared, he told her he was much
in want of something to eat. She left the room, and soon returning,
brought a loaf of bread and a knife. This, she assured him, was all she
had in the house, the soldiers of his army having taken away every thing
else. "But I will divide this," she said: "you shall have one-half, and
I will keep the other for my family." This magnanimity so struck the
officer, that he thanked her cordially, and requested her to let him
know if in future any of his men ventured to annoy her, promising that
the offence should not be repeated. It is not known that this promise
was of any avail.

In one instance the firmness and prudence displayed by Mrs. Beekman were
of essential service. John Webb, familiarly known as "Lieutenant
Jack," who occasionally served as an acting aid in the staff of
the Commander-in-chief, was much at her house, as well as the other
officers, during the operations of the army on the banks of the Hudson.
On one occasion, passing through Peekskill, he rode up and requested her
to oblige him by taking charge of his valise, which contained his new
suit of uniform and a quantity of gold. He added, "I will send for it
whenever I want it; but do not deliver it without a written order from
me or brother Sam." He threw in the valise at the door, from his horse,
and rode on to the tavern at Peekskill, where he stopped to dine.
A fortnight or so after his departure, Mrs. Beekman saw an
acquaintance--Smith--whose fidelity to the whig cause had been
suspected, ride rapidly up to the house. She heard him ask her husband
for "Lieutenant Jack's" valise, which he directed a servant to bring
and hand to Smith. Mrs. Beekman called out to ask if the messenger had a
written order from either of the brothers. Smith replied that he had
no written order, the officer having had no time to write one; but
added--"You know me very well, Mrs. Beekman; and when I assure you that
Lieutenant Jack sent me for the valise, you will not refuse to deliver
it to me, as he is greatly in want of his uniform." Mrs. Beekman often
said she had an instinctive antipathy to Smith, and, by an intuition for
which it is difficult to account, felt convinced that he had not been
authorized to call for the article she had in trust. She answered--"I do
know you very well--too well to give you up the valise without a written
order from the owner or the colonel." Smith was angry at her doubts, and
appealed to her husband, urging that the fact of his knowing the valise
was there, and that it contained Lieutenant Jack's uniform, should be
sufficient evidence that he came by authority; but his representations
had no effect upon her resolution. Although even her husband was
displeased at this treatment of the messenger, she remained firm in her
denial, and the disappointed horseman rode away as rapidly as he came.
The result proved that he had no authority to make the application; and
it was subsequently ascertained that at the very time of this attempt
Major André was in Smith's house. How he knew that the uniform had been
left at Mrs. Beek-man's was a matter of uncertainty; but another account
of the incident--given by the accomplished lady who furnished these
anecdotes of Mrs. Beek-man--states that Lieutenant Webb, dining at the
tavern the same day, had mentioned that she had taken charge of his
valise, and what were its contents. He thanked Mrs. Beekman, on his
return, for the prudence that had saved his property, and had also
prevented an occurrence which might have caused a train of disasters.
He and Major André were of the same stature and form; "and beyond all
doubt," says one who heard the particulars from the parties interested,
"had Smith obtained possession of the uniform, André would have made his
escape through the American lines." The experience that teaches in
every page of the world's history what vast results depend on things
apparently trivial, favors the supposition, in dwelling on this simple
incident, that under the Providence that disposes all human events, the
fate of a nation may here have been suspended upon a woman's judgment.

Many of Mrs. Beekman's letters written during the war breathe the most
ardent spirit of patriotism. The wrongs she was compelled to suffer in
person, and the aggressions she witnessed on every side, roused her
just indignation; and her feelings were expressed in severe reproaches
against the enemy, and in frequent prayers for the success of the
American arms. But although surrounded by peril and disaster, she would
not consent to leave her home; her zeal for the honor of her family
and her country inspiring her with a courage that never faltered, and
causing her to disregard the evils she had so continually to bear.

Years rolled on, and peace came at last to smile upon those who had shed
their blood, or sacrificed their possessions for the achievement of
national independence. The lands in the manor of Philipsburgh having
become vested in the State of New York by the attainder of Frederick
Philipse, were parcelled out and sold; and Mr. Beekman purchased the
tract in the vicinity of Tarrytown, on which the old manor-house is
situated. To this he removed with his family in 1785. Historical
recollections, and the classic creations of genius, combine to shed a
romance and a glory around this spot. The manor-house--Castle Philipse--
the ancient residence of the lords of Philipsburgh--was strongly
fortified in the early days of the colony, being built for defence
against the Indians. The embrasures or portholes now form the cellar
windows. Rodolphus Philipse made additions to this fort, to render it
suitable for a place of residence. It faces the east, and looks upon the
old Dutch church, which stands at a little distance, with its time-
honored walls and antique belfry--a fit memorial of the past. This
church was built about 1699 by Frederick Philipse and Catharina Van
Cortlandt his wife, who, according to tradition, was in the habit of
riding up from the city of New York on horseback--upon moonlight nights-
-mounted on a pillion behind her brother, Jacobus Van Cortlandt, for the
purpose of superintending its erection. *

* See History of Westchester County.

It was struck by lightning some years since, and was in part rebuilt,
with modern improvements. Many readers will remember the description of
this church in the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," with the wide woody dell
beside it, and the bridge over the stream shaded by overhanging trees;
for it was there that the Yankee pedagogue Ichabod Crane met with the
adventure so renowned in story. The ravine on the other side of the hill
forms the dreamy region of "Sleepy Hollow." This locality bore a
reputation more than equivocal--less, however, on account of its
haunting goblins, than its human inhabitants; and often did our heroine
express her regret and indignation that Mr. Irving's description had
given the name to a spot so near her own residence. The Pocanteco--or
Mill river--wanders hereabouts in a region of romantic beauty; winding
through dark woodlands, or grassy meadows, or stealing along beneath
rugged heights, replenished by a thousand crystal rills that glide
murmuring down to mingle with the stream. The venerable manor-house is
seen to advantage from the bridge, the trees intercepting the view in
other directions. The stately trees that surrounded a silver sheet of
water before the door, have been felled; and the old mill with its
moss-covered roof, where in its palmy days so many bushels of grain were
ground free of toll for the neighboring poor, exhibits tokens of decay.
All is, however, in mellow keeping with the surrounding scenery. A
picturesque view is presented from the windows of the manor-house, of
the stream flowing in its serpentine windings to lose itself in the
bosom of the majestic Hudson.

It was here that Mrs. Beekman resided to the day of her death, enjoying
life among the friends she loved, and contributing to the improvement
and happiness of those who had the advantage of her society. She was
one of the company who welcomed the arrival of La Fayette, and conversed
with the veteran general of times gone by. Mr. Beekman died in 1822,
at the age of seventy-six; and on the 14th of March, 1847, in her
ninety-fifth year, did she too "like tired breezes fall asleep." The
day on which her remains were borne to the family burial-ground, is
described by one who was present as not soon to be forgotten. At an
early hour the inhabitants for miles around began to assemble, until
the crowd became so great, that as far as the view extended, the space
seemed alive with carriages, and persons on foot and on horseback. After
the funeral services, "the coffin was placed in the hall, and not a
dry eye beheld the loved relics. Domestics who had grown gray in
her service, sobbed to part with their kind mistress; and when the
hoary-headed pall-bearers had placed the coffin in the sable hearse,
before which were two milk white horses with black trappings, the solemn
silence was broken by the tolling of the old church bell," and one
sentiment of grief seemed to pervade the assemblage.

Mrs. Beekman is described as an accomplished lady of the old school.
She was remarkable for force of will, resolution, and a lofty sense of
honor. Steadfast in her principles, she had a mind of uncommon vigor,
and a heart alive to all kindly and noble feelings. In the prime of life
she possessed a great share of personal beauty, while her manners
were courteous, dignified and refined. Her conversation, brilliant and
interesting, was enlivened by stores of anecdote supplied by a memory
unusually retentive, and many were the thrilling tales of the olden
time heard from her lips. Her sight failed during the last three or
four years; but her mental faculties continued clear and unimpaired
in strength to the close of her almost century of existence. She
could dwell with minuteness of detail on the scenes her childhood had
witnessed, while the realities she described were fading traditions to
those who listened. Thus was she a faithful type of a past generation,
on few of which any can look again.

The energy of mind which had characterized her through life, was evinced
on her death-bed. With her usual disinterestedness, she refused to
summon those among her nearest relatives whose age and infirmities
rendered their separation inevitable, to behold the progress of disease
they could not alleviate. Calmly and quietly, bearing much suffering,
but disturbed by no apprehension, she awaited with her accustomed
fortitude, the coming of that last enemy, whose nearer and yet nearer
approach she announced unshrinkingly to those about her. When it was
necessary to affix her signature to an important paper, and being
supposed too weak to write, she was told that her mark would be
sufficient, she immediately asked to be raised, called for a pen, and
placing her left hand on the pulse of her right, wrote her name as
distinctly as ever. It was the last act of her life. Literally counting,
it is said, the failing beats of her pulse, she "looked death in the
face with the same high resolve and strong will with which she had been
wont, in her life-time, to encounter less powerful enemies." It was the
strength of Christian faith, which thus gave her victory over the king
of terrors.

Of her brothers and sisters, only Mrs. Van Rensselaer and General Pierre
Van Cortlandt survived her. The latter died recently at Peekskill. Her
daughter, Mrs. De Peyster, resides in New York; and her son, Dr. S. D.
Beekman, at Tarrytown on a part of the old place.




XL. FRANCES ALLEN.


* The reader is indebted for this sketch to the pen of Mr. H. R.
Schoolcraft.


|Of the men of strong energy of thought or action, who arrested public
attention during the momentous period of the Revolution, there is
scarcely one who assimilates at all to the zealous and erratic, yet
firm and indomitable Ethan Allen. He had been schooled in the fierce
conflicts in which New Hampshire on the one side, and New York on the
other, contended for legal jurisdiction and sovereignty over the present
area of Vermont; and his bold character had fitted him, when the people
refused to submit to either, to be the functionary of popular will, in
administering justice without law, and maintaining independence without
a government. He possessed traits in common with William Tell, Wat
Tyler, and Brennus, the conqueror of Rome; but was in himself unique and
original, acting and thinking on the spur of occasion, as few other
men have ever done. His views of theology were as curious as those of
politics; yet he had fixed points for both; and when the contest of 1775
drew on, he boldly grasped his sword, and by a sudden movement summoned
Ticonderoga to surrender, "in the name of God and the Continental
Congress." Here, then, were the two points of his faith, which led him
forward in a series of bold and masterly movements and adventures; in
which he was indeed but the exponent of the feelings and views of a
bold, hardy, Tyrolese-like yeomanry, who had settled on the sides of the
Green Mountains, and glowed with an unquenchable love of civil liberty.
The result was, that they cast off effectually both the authority of New
Hampshire and New York, and coming patriotically to the rescue of
the United Colonies, at a time of "bitter need," secured their own
independence, and gave the name of Vermont to the pages of future
history. In all this Ethan Allen was the leader; and it is upon him,
more than any other individual, that we are to look as the founder of
that patriotic State.

Whom such a man married--who became the counsellor and companion of his
secret and private hours, it may be interesting to inquire! The results
of such an inquiry are indeed as unique and original as the rest of the
traits of his life, and show a curious correspondence, acting by reverse
affinities, in the mysterious chain of the marriage tie.

The wild and adventurous character of Allen's early life prevented him
from forming a youthful attachment; and he had enacted his most daring
scenes before he appears to have thought of it. It was owing to the
curiosity and interest arising from the domestic recital of one of these
daring adventures of the Green Mountain hero, that an acquaintance was
brought about, which resulted in an attachment between two individuals
from the antipodes of American society--the one a bold, rough,
free-spoken democrat, and stickler for the utmost degree of power in
the people; the other a well-educated and refined young lady of high
aristocratic feelings, the daughter of a British field-officer who had
served with distinction in the ante-revolutionary French wars, and the
grand-daughter of a proud veteran British artillerist, who had also
served with reputation under the Duke of Marlborough, and came to
America after the treaty of Utrecht, with the most extravagantly exalted
notions, not only of the part he had borne in the field, but of the
glorious reign of Queen Anne, under whose banners he had served. Miss
Fanny Brush, who was destined to be the wife of the bold Vermonter, was
the daughter of Colonel Brush of the British army, whose military acts
at Boston just before the Revolution, gave notoriety to his name. This
officer had served under General Bradstreet, commanding at Albany, at
whose mansion he became acquainted with, and married Miss Elizabeth
Calcraft, the daughter of James Calcraft, * a retired veteran of the
army of Queen Anne, who enjoyed in a high degree the friendship and
confidence of the British general.

* This name is changed to Schoolcraft in that county, in a rather too
graphic allusion to the last employment of the declining days of a
soldier of fortune--a pilgrim of the sword from England, and withal a
man of letters.

After the death of Colonel Brush, Mrs. Brush, by whom he had but a
single child, married Mr. Edward Wall, and removed with him to the
township of Westminster, in Vermont. The position chosen by him for his
residence, was one of the most beautiful and picturesque in that section
of the fertile valley of the Connecticut. The settlement in that town,
is one of the oldest and best cultivated in the State; and the society
of that portion of the new district, which had originally been settled
as part of the "New Hampshire grants," excelled, as it preceded others,
in comforts and refinement. Such was at least the wealth and position
of Mr. Wall, that he spared no expense in the education of his daughter,
Miss Brush, who was sent to the capital of New England to complete
her accomplishments. She was in her eighteenth year when Ethan Allen,
liberated from the Tower of London, returned to his native State, with
the fame of his daring deeds not a little exalted by reports of his
sayings and doings beyond the water. Among other reports which probably
had very little foundation, it was said that he had bit off a tenpenny
nail while in the Tower of London. "I should like," said Miss Brush, one
evening, in a mixed company in her father's parlor, "above all things to
see this Mr. Allen, of whom we hear such incredible things."

This saying reached the ears of Allen, who soon after paid a visit
to the house of Mr. Wall, and was introduced to Miss Brush. There was
mutually an agreeable surprise. Both were manifestly pleased with the
tone of thought and conversation, which ran on with a natural flow, and
developed traits of kindred sympathies of intellect and feeling. It was
late in the evening before Mr. Allen rose. He had not failed to observe
the interest his conversation had excited in Miss Brush. "And now," said
he, as he stood erect before her, and was about to depart--"and now,
Miss Brush, allow me to ask, how do you like 'this Mr. Allen?"

This was the initiative to an offer which resulted in the marriage
of the parties. Mrs. Allen was a woman of more than the ordinary
intellectual endowment; bold, striking, and original in her conceptions,
and of singular facility and clearness in her expression. She was
educated from early life to disbelieve in the capacity or general
intelligence of the masses for efficient self-government. All her
prejudices were nurtured in favor of the British Constitution as
developed by Magna Charta, and administered by a king and ministers
responsible to the nation; which form of government she believed to be
above all comparison the best in the world. Yet, in spite of all these
deeply-rooted prejudices, with a grasp of thought that could look at and
examine questions of inherent right, on their original basis--with the
abiding principles of the Christian faith to serve as a guide in judging
of human duty in governments, and with the daily recurring practical
examples of the conflicts of opinion between the Colonies and the
mother country, which the American Revolution presented, she saw and
acknowledged the wrongs inflicted on the Colonies--the justice of that
cause in which they had, at length, banded for a higher measure of
liberty, and the growing capacity of the people to maintain those
rights, both by the sword and the pen. She was thus made an intellectual
convert to the doctrines of the Revolution, and became a most useful and
capable counsellor to Allen, in the subsequent critical periods of
his life. Her mind was, indeed, a counterpart, in its boldness and
originality, to that of her husband, whose intuitive mode of reaching
conclusions enabled him to put into the shape of acts, what it might
have sorely puzzled him sometimes to reason out; and what, indeed, if he
could have reasoned ever so well, his bold and fiery zeal, and crushing
rapidity of action, put him out of all temper to submit to the slow
process of ratiocination. He also felt the happy influences of manners,
opinions, and sentiments at once dignified and frank, yet mild and
persuasive.

We have no means of access to Mrs. Allen's correspondence, which it is
hoped some member of the family will give to the public. It is known
that Allen did not confine his notions of human freedom and right, to
questions of government only, in which he devoted himself so effectually
during the struggle for independence; but that, mistaking the great
theory of a substitute for the lost type of righteousness in man, he as
boldly attacked the doctrines of revelation, as he had done the divine
right of kings, in the person of George III., and the Guelph family. We
have no copy of his writings on this head to refer to, and only allude
to them for the purpose of denoting the meliorating effects of Mrs.
Allen's opinions, superior reading, and influence on his mind. For he is
believed to have relinquished these dangerous anti-Christian views prior
to his death. One of his daughters, who inherited a disquisitive and
metaphysical mind, and intellectual vigor, from her parents, joined a
convent of nuns at the city of Montreal, in which she became an eminent
example of charity in her order, and devoted her life to the most
inflexible obedience to her vows.

Ethan Allen was many years his wife's senior. After his death, she
married Dr. Penniman, of Colchester, Vermont, where she resided during
the latter years of her life. By this marriage she had several children,
and her descendants of the names Allen and Penniman are numerous in
that State. It was during her residence here, in the year 1814, that the
writer of this sketch became personally acquainted with her. She
visited his residence at Lake Dunmore, during that winter. She was then,
perhaps, a lady past fifty years of age, of an erect figure, middle
size, with an energetic step, and a marked intellectual physiognomy.
Her animated eyes assumed their full expression, in speaking of her
grand-father Calcraft, whose true name she said had been changed
among the Palatine Germans of Queen Anne; whom she pronounced "a loyal
Briton;" and whose military services under the Duke of Marlborough, she
appeared to hold in lively remembrance.

In writing this sketch, the author has neither time to refer to Mrs.
Allen's relatives in Vermont, for details to fill out the picture which
is here attempted, nor even to refer to his own notes, made many years
ago, when his memory of events, and of conversations with her was fresh.
This tribute may, at least, excite some other hand to do full justice to
her character and memory.=

````"Man is not born alone to act, or be

````The sole asserter of man's liberty;

````But so God shares the gifts of head and heart,

````And crowns blest woman with a hero's part."=




XLI. MARGARET ARNOLD.

|The wife of Benedict Arnold was Margaret Ship-pen, of Philadelphia.
One of her ancestors--Edward Shippen, who was Mayor of the city in the
beginning of the eighteenth century, suffered severe persecution from
the zealots in authority at Boston for his Quakerism; but, successful
in business, amassed a large fortune, and according to tradition, was
distinguished for "being the biggest man, having the biggest house, and
the biggest carriage in Philadelphia." *

* See Watson's Annals of Philadelphia. It is singular that this "zealous
chronicler" should have been led into the mistake of stating that Mrs.
Arnold's name was Sarah, and that she died in Massachusetts in 1836, at
the age of eighty-three!

His mansion, called "the governor's house "Shippen's great house "--and
"the famous house and orchard outside the town,"--was built on an
eminence, the orchard overlooking the city; yellow pines shaded the
rear, a green lawn extended in front, and the view was unobstructed
to the Delaware and Jersey shores;--a princely place, indeed, for that
day--with its summer-house, and gardens abounding with tulips, roses
and lilies! It is said to have been the residence, for a few weeks, of
William Penn and his family. An account of the distinguished persons who
were guests there at different times, would be curious and interesting.

Edward Shippen, afterwards Chief Justice of Pennsylvania, was the father
of Margaret. His family, distinguished among the aristocracy of the day,
was prominent after the commencement of the contest, among those known
to cherish loyalist principles--his daughters being educated in these,
and having their constant associations and sympathies with those who
were opposed to American independence. The youngest of them--only
eighteen years of age--beautiful, brilliant and fascinating, full of
spirit and gaiety--the toast of the British officers while their army
occupied Philadelphia--became the object of Arnold's admiration. She had
been "one of the brightest of the belles of the Mischianza;" and it
is somewhat curious that the knight who appeared in her honor on
that occasion, chose for his device a bay-leaf--with the
motto--"Unchangeable." This gay and volatile young creature, accustomed
to the display connected with "the pride of life"--and the homage paid
to beauty in high station, was not one to resist the lure of ambition,
and was captivated, it is probable, through her girlish fancy, by the
splendor of Arnold's equipments, and his military ostentation. These
appear to have had their effect upon her relatives; one of whom, in
a manuscript letter still extant, says: "We understand that General
Arnold, a fine gentleman, lays close siege to Peggy;"--thus noticing
his brilliant and imposing exterior, without a word of information or
inquiry as to his character or principles.

A letter from Arnold to Miss Shippen, which has been published--written
from the camp at Raritan--February 8th, 1779--not long before their
marriage, shows the discontent and rancor of his heart, in the allusions
to the President and Council of Pennsylvania. These feelings were
probably expressed freely to her, as it was his pleasure to complain
of injury and persecution; while the darker designs, of which no one
suspected him till the whole community was startled by the news of his
treason, were doubtless buried in his own bosom.

Some writers have taken delight in representing Mrs. Arnold as another
Lady Macbeth--an unscrupulous and artful seductress, whose inordinate
vanity and ambition were the cause of her husband's crime; but there
seems no foundation even for the supposition that she was acquainted
with his purpose of betraying his trust. She was not the being he
would have chosen as the sharer of a secret so perilous, nor was the
dissimulation attributed to her consistent with her character. Arnold's
marriage, it is true, brought him more continually into familiar
association with the enemies of American liberty, and strengthened
distrust of him in the minds of those who had seen enough to condemn
in his previous conduct; and it is likely that his propensity to
extravagance was encouraged by his wife's taste for luxury and display,
while she exerted over him no saving influence. In the words of one of
his best biographers: "He had no domestic security for doing right--no
fireside guardianship to protect him from the tempter. Rejecting, as
we do utterly, the theory that his wife was the instigator of his
crime--all common principles of human action being opposed to it--we
still believe that there was nothing in her influence or associations
to countervail the persuasions to which he ultimately yielded. She was
young, gay and frivolous; fond of display and admiration, and used to
luxury; she was utterly unfitted for the duties and privations of a poor
man's wife. A loyalist's daughter, she had been taught to mourn over
even the poor pageantry of colonial rank and authority, and to recollect
with pleasure the pomp of those brief days of enjoyment, when military
men of noble station were her admirers. Arnold had no counsellor on
his pillow to urge him to the imitation of homely republican virtue, to
stimulate him to follow the rugged path of a Revolutionary patriot. He
fell, and though his wife did not tempt or counsel him to ruin, there is
no reason to think she ever uttered a word or made a sign to deter him."

Her instrumentality in the intercourse carried on while the iniquitous
plan was maturing, according to all probability, was an unconscious one.
Major André, who had been intimate in her father's family while General
Howe was in possession of Philadelphia, wrote to her from New York,
in August, 1779, to solicit her remembrance, and offer his services in
procuring supplies, should she require any, in the millinery department,
in which, he says playfully, the Mischianza had given him skill and
experience. *

* This letter is published in the Life and Correspondence of President
Reed, which see--Vol. II., pp. 272-275.

The period at which this missive was sent--more than a year after André
had parted with the "fair circle" for which he professes such lively
regard, and the singularity of the letter itself, justified the
suspicion which became general after its seizure by the Council of
Pennsylvania--that its offer of service in the detail of capwire,
needles, and gauze, covered a meaning deep and dangerous. This view was
taken by many writers of the day; but, admitting that the letter was
intended to convey a mysterious meaning, still, it is not conclusive
evidence of Mrs. Arnold's participation in the design or knowledge of
the treason, the consummation of which was yet distant more than a
year. The suggestion of Mr. Reed seems more probable--that the guilty
correspondence between the two officers under feigned names having been
commenced in March or April, the letter to Mrs. Arnold may have been
intended by André to inform her husband of the name and rank of his New
York correspondent, and thus encourage a fuller measure of confidence
and regard. The judgment of Mr. Reed, Mr. Sparks, and others who have
closely investigated the subject, is in favor of Mrs. Arnold's innocence
in the matter.

It was after the plot was far advanced towards its denouement, and only
two days before General Washington commenced his tour to Hartford, in
the course of which he made his visit at West Point--that Mrs. Arnold
came thither, with her infant, to join her husband, travelling by short
stages, in her own carriage. * She passed the last night at Smith's
house, where she was met by the General, and proceeded up the river in
his barge to head-quarters.

* See Sparks' Life of Arnold.

When Washington and his officers arrived at West Point, having sent from
Fishkill to announce their coming, La Fayette reminded the Chief, who
was turning his horse into a road leading to the river--that Mrs.
Arnold would be waiting breakfast; to which Washington sportively
answered--"Ah, you young men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold, and wish
to get where she is as soon as possible. Go, breakfast with her--and do
not wait for me."

Mrs. Arnold was at breakfast with her husband and the
aids-de-camp--Washington and the other officers having not yet
come--when the letter arrived which bore to the traitor the first
intelligence of Andrè's capture. He left the room immediately, went
to his wife's chamber, sent for her, and briefly informed her of the
necessity of his instant flight to the enemy. This was, probably, the
first intelligence she received of what had been so long going on; the
news overwhelmed her, and when Arnold quitted the apartment, he left her
lying in a swoon on the floor.

Her almost frantic condition--plunged into the depths of distress--is
described with sympathy by Colonel Hamilton, in a letter written the
next day: "The General," he says, "went to see her; she upbraided
him with being in a plot to murder her child, raved, shed tears, and
lamented the fate of the infant.... All the sweetness of beauty--all
the loveliness of innocence--all the tenderness of a wife, and all the
fondness of a mother, showed themselves in her appearance and conduct."
He, too, expresses his conviction that she had no knowledge of Arnold's
plan, till his announcement to her that he must banish himself from
his country for ever. The opinion of other persons qualified to judge
without prejudice, acquitted her of the charge of having participated
in the treason. John Jay, writing from Madrid to Catharine Livingston,
says--"All the world here are cursing Arnold, and pitying his wife."
* And Robert Morris writes--"Poor Mrs. Arnold! was there ever such an
infernal villain!" **

* MS. letter, 17th Dec., 1780.

** MS. letter.

Mrs. Arnold went from West Point to her father's house; but was not long
permitted to remain in Philadelphia. The traitor's papers having been
seized, by direction of the Executive Authorities, the correspondence
with André was brought to life; suspicion rested on her; and by an order
of the Council dated October 27th, she was required to leave the State,
to return no more during the continuance of the war. She accordingly
departed to join her husband in New York. The respect and forbearance
shown towards her on her journey through the country, notwithstanding
her banishment, testified the popular belief in her innocence. M. de
Marbois relates that when she stopped at a village where the people were
about to burn Arnold in effigy, they put it off till the next night.
And when she entered the carriage on her way to join her husband, all
exhibition of popular indignation was suspended, as if respectful pity
for the grief and shame she suffered for the time overcame every other
feeling.

Mrs. Arnold resided with her husband for a time in the city of St.
Johns, New Brunswick, and was long remembered by persons who knew her
there, and who spoke much of her beauty and fascination. She afterwards
lived in England. Mr. Sabine says that she and Arnold were seen by an
American loyalist in Westminster Abbey, standing before the cenotaph
erected by command of the king, in memory of the unfortunate André. With
what feelings the traitor viewed the monument of the man his crime had
sacrificed, is not known; but he who saw him standing there turned away
with horror.

Mrs. Arnold survived her husband three years, and died in London in
1804, at the age of forty-three. Little is known of her after the
blasting of the bright promise of her youth by her husband's crime, and
a dreary obscurity hangs over the close of her career; but her relatives
in Philadelphia cherish her memory with respect and affection.

Hannah, the sister of Arnold, whose affection followed him through
his guilty career, possessed great excellence of character; but no
particulars have been obtained, by which full justice could be done to
her. Mr. Sabine says: "That she was a true woman in the highest possible
sense, I do not entertain a doubt;" and the same opinion of her is
expressed by Mr. Sparks.




XLII. JANE M'CREA.

|So many wild tales have been told of the tragical fate of Jane M'Crea,
that the reader of different accounts, inconsistent with each other,
knows not which to receive as truth. That given in the Life of Arnold,
by Mr. Sparks, has the authority of an eye witness; the particulars
having been related to him by Samuel Standish, who was present at the
murder, and confirmed by General Morgan Lewis, one of the party that
found Miss M'Crea's body, and superintended her funeral. It is therefore
given with entire confidence in its correctness.

The head-quarters of the division of the American army commanded by
Arnold were at the time between Moses Creek and Fort Edward. Jane M'Crea
was residing with her brother, one of the pioneer settlers, about four
miles from Fort Edward, on the western bank of the Hudson. Her father
was James M'Crea, an Episcopal clergyman of New Jersey, who died before
the Revolution.

In the solitude of those wilds she had formed an intimacy with a young
man named David Jones, to whom she was betrothed, and who had taken part
with the British. He had gone to Canada after the commencement of the
war, had there been made captain of a company, and was now serving
among the provincials in Burgoyne's army. The lovers had kept up a
correspondence, and Jones was informed that his affianced bride was on
a visit to Mrs. M'Niel, a widow lady whose house stood near the foot
of the hill, about one-third of a mile northward from the fort. Fort
Edward, then in possession of a guard of one hundred Americans, was
situated on the eastern margin of the river, very near the water, and
surrounded by a cleared and cultivated plain of considerable extent.

It is evident that Miss M'Crea felt no assurance of her own safety,
notwithstanding her friendly relations with the English; having been
alarmed by the rumors that had reached her of the approach of the
Indians, and reminded of her danger by the people at the fort. It is not
known why she remained unprotected in so exposed a situation; but it is
conjectured that she had been counselled by her lover not to leave her
friend's house, till the advance of the British troops should enable her
to join him, in company with Mrs. M'Neil. The woods being filled with
American scouting parties, it would be dangerous for him to attempt a
visit to her, as the tory captain, if taken prisoner, could expect no
mercy at the hands of his countrymen.

The anxiety may be conceived with which the timid but confiding girl
expected, from hour to hour, intelligence from her betrothed, and
awaited the long desired moment when they should meet to part no more.
She was young--some authorities say nineteen, some twenty-three--but all
agree that she was beautiful, with auburn hair, blue eyes, and a fresh
complexion; and endowed with accomplishments and virtues not less
attractive than her personal charms. With the trustfulness of youth she
yielded her own fears and scruples implicitly to the judgment of him she
loved, resolving to be guided by his directions.

The catastrophe took place about the latter part of July or first of
August, 1777. It should be borne in mind that the side of the hill, near
the foot of which stood Mrs. M'Neil's house, was covered with bushes,
while a quarter of a mile above, on the summit of the hill, a huge pine
tree shadowed a clear spring. On the hill--a little beyond, within the
cover of the woods, was stationed at the time a picket-guard under the
command of Lieutenant Van Vechten.

Jane and her friend were at first alarmed by seeing a party of Indians
advancing towards the house. The savages had been a terror to all that
part of the country; and the tales told of their unsparing cruelty
were fresh in the remembrance of the women. Their first impulse was to
endeavor to escape; but the Indians made signs of a pacific intent, and
one of them held up a letter, intimating that it would explain their
business. This removed all apprehensions, and the letter was taken from
the messenger.

It proved to be from Captain Jones. He entreated Jane and her friend to
put themselves under the protection of the Indians, whom he had sent
for the purpose of taking charge of them, and who would escort them in
safety to the British camp. The story that he sent his horse for the use
of Miss M'Crea appears to be unfounded.

The two women, notwithstanding some misgivings, lost no time in
preparation, and set off under the guidance of the savages. It happened
that two separate parties of Indians, commanded by two independent
chiefs, had come forth on this enterprise. They had another object in
view--an attack upon the picket stationed in the woods on the hill. This
arrangement, it is probable, was not known to Jones, or he would hardly
have trusted the safety of Miss M'Crea to the contingencies of such an
expedition.

The party attacking the guard rushed upon it through the woods from
different points, making the forest resound with their horrible yelling;
killing the lieutenant and five others, and wounding four more. One of
the guard was Samuel Standish, whose post was near the pine-tree. He
discharged his musket at an Indian, and ran down the hill towards the
fort; but being intercepted on the plain by three Indians, who rushed
from the thicket, fired at and wounded him slightly, and then secured
him, he was forced to re-ascend the hill, where he saw several Indians
at the spring beneath the pine-tree.

Here he was left alone, bound, and expecting death every moment, to
witness, at a short distance, the appalling scene that ensued. Another
party of Indians came in a few minutes up the hill, bringing with them
Miss M'Crea and her companion. The two parties of savages here met; and
it was presently apparent that a violent altercation had arisen between
them. The dispute was about the division of the reward they were to
receive for the service rendered. The savages to whom the mission had
been entrusted, it appears, were not aware of the relation in which the
girl stood to their employer, and looked upon her rather as a prisoner,
decoyed by a stratagem into their power. This supposition accounts for
their conduct, consistently with the usages of the Indians in the
case of captives whom they feared to lose. The quarrel became furious;
violent words and blows ensued, and in the midst of the fray, one of the
chiefs fired at Miss M'Crea. The shot entered her breast; she sank to
the ground, and instantly expired. The Indian grasped her long flowing
locks, drew his knife, and took off the scalp; then leaping from the
ground with a yell of savage exultation, he brandished it in the air,
and tossed it in the face of a young warrior who stood near him.

This murder terminated the quarrel, and the Indians, fearful of being
pursued by men from the fort, where the alarm had already been given,
hurried away with their two prisoners, Standish and Mrs. M'Niel, towards
General Frazer's encampment on the road to Fort Anne.

The body of the murdered girl was left under the tree, gashed in several
places by a tomahawk or scalping knife, and was found, with the others
who had been slain, by the party in pursuit. A messenger was immediately
despatched with the dreadful tidings to her brother, who soon after
arrived and took charge of his sister's corpse. It was buried on the
east side of the river, about three miles below the fort.

Imagination may depict the state of mind of the unfortunate Captain
Jones, when the bloody trophy was presented to him, which revealed
the horrible truth. To the anguish of his bereavement was added the
reflection that the innocent girl had fallen a victim to her confidence
in him. Time could not give him strength to bear the burden of his
grief; he lived but a few years, and went down heartbroken to the grave.

General Gates reproached Burgoyne for this murder, and the frightful
story spread rapidly over the country, the glowing description given
of it by Burke in one of his celebrated speeches rendering it familiar
throughout Europe. The remembrance of the tragedy, Mr. Sparks says, is
yet cherished with sympathy by the people in the village of Fort Edward,
who not many years since removed the remains of the hapless girl from
their obscure resting place to the public burial-ground. "The little
fountain still pours out its clear waters near the brow of the hill; and
the venerable pine is yet standing in its ancient majesty--broken at
the top, and shorn of its branches by the winds and storms of half a
century, but revered as marking the spot where youth and innocence were
sacrificed."




XLIII. NANCY HART.

|At the commencement of the Revolutionary war, a large district in the
State of Georgia, extending in one direction from Newson's Ponds to
Cherokee Corner near Athens, and in the other, from the Savannah River
to Ogeechee River and Shoulder-bone, had been already organized into a
county which received the name of Wilkes, in honor of the distinguished
English politician. At the commencement of hostilities, so great a
majority of the people of this county espoused the whig cause, that it
received from the tories the name of the "Hornets Nest." In a portion
of this district, near Dye's and Webb's ferries on Broad River, now in
Elbert County, was a stream known as "War-woman's Creek"--a name derived
from the character of an individual who lived near the entrance of the
stream into the river.

This person was Nancy Hart, a woman entirely uneducated, and ignorant of
all the conventional civilities of life, but a zealous lover of liberty
and of the "liberty boys," as she called the whigs. She had a husband
whom she denominated a "poor stick," because he did not take a decided
and active part with the defenders of his country; although she could
not conscientiously charge him with the least partiality to the tories.
This vulgar and illiterate, but hospitable and valorous female patriot
could boast no share of beauty; a fact she would herself have readily
acknowledged, had she ever enjoyed an opportunity of looking in a
mirror. She was cross-eyed, with a broad, angular mouth--ungainly in
figure, rude in speech, and awkward in manners--but having a woman's
heart for her friends, though that of a tigress or a Katrine Montour for
the enemies of her country. She was well known to the tories, who stood
somewhat in fear of her vengeance for any grievance or aggressive act;
though they let pass no opportunity of teasing and annoying her, when
they could do so with impunity.

On the occasion of an excursion from the British camp at Augusta, a
party of loyalists penetrated into the interior; and having savagely
massacred Colonel Dooly in bed in his own house, proceeded up the
country with the design of perpetrating further atrocities. On their
way, a detachment of five from the party diverged to the east, and
crossed Broad River to examine the neighborhood and pay a visit to
their old acquaintance Nancy Hart. When they arrived at her cabin, they
unceremoniously entered it, although receiving from her no welcome but
a scowl, and informed her they had come to learn the truth of a story
in circulation, that she had secreted a noted rebel from a company of
"king's men" who were pursuing him, and who, but for her interference,
would have caught and hung him. Nancy undauntedly avowed her agency in
the fugitive's escape. She had, she said, at first heard the tramp of
a horse, and then saw a man on horseback approaching her cabin at his
utmost speed. As soon as she recognized him to be a whig flying from
pursuit, she let down the bars in front of her cabin, and motioned
him to pass through both doors, front and rear, of her single-roomed
house--to take to the swamp, and secure himself as well as he could.
This he did without loss of time; and she then put up the bars, entered
the cabin, closed the doors, and went about her usual employments.
Presently, some tories rode up to the bars, calling vociferously for
her. She muffled up her head and face, and opening the door, inquired
why they disturbed a sick, lone woman. They said they had traced a
man they wanted to catch near to her house, and asked if any one on
horseback had passed that way. She answered, no--but she saw some one
on a sorrel horse turn out of the path into the woods, some two or three
hundred yards back. "That must be the fellow!" said the tories; and
asking her direction as to the way he took, they turned about and went
off, "well fooled," concluded Nancy, "in an opposite course to that of
my whig boy; when, if they had not been so lofty minded--but had looked
on the ground inside the bars, they would have seen his horse's tracks
up to that door, as plain as you can see the tracks on this here floor,
and out of t'other door down the path to the swamp."

This bold story did not much please the tory party but they would not
wreak their revenge upon the woman who so unscrupulously avowed
the cheat she had put upon the pursuers of a rebel. They contented
themselves with ordering her to prepare them something to eat. She
replied that she never fed traitors and king's men if she could help
it--the villains having put it out of her power to feed even her own
family and friends, by stealing and killing all her poultry and pigs,
"except that one old gobbler you see in the yard."

"Well, and that you shall cook for us," said one who appeared to be a
leader of the party; and raising his musket he shot down the turkey,
which another of them brought into the house and handed to Mrs. Hart to
be cleaned and cooked without delay. She stormed and swore awhile--for
Nancy occasionally swore--but seeming at last disposed to make a merit
of necessity, began with alacrity the arrangements for cooking, assisted
by her daughter, a little girl ten or twelve years old, and sometimes
by one of the party, with whom she seemed in a tolerably good humor--now
and then exchanging rude jests with him. The tories, pleased with her
freedom, invited her to partake of the liquor they had brought with
them--an invitation which was accepted with jocose thanks.

The spring--of which every settlement has one near by--was just at the
edge of the swamp; and a short distance within the swamp was hid among
the trees a high snag-topped stump, on which was placed a conch-shell.
This rude trumpet was used by the family to convey information, by
variations in its notes, to Mr. Hart or his neighbors, who might be at
work in a field, or "clearing," just beyond the swamp; to let them know
that the "Britishers" or tories were about--that the master was wanted
at the cabin--or that he was to keep close, or "make tracks" for another
swamp. Pending the operation of cooking the turkey, Nancy had sent her
daughter Sukey to the spring for water, with directions to blow the
conch for her father in such a way as should inform him there were
tories in the cabin; and that he was to "keep close" with his three
neighbors who were with him, until he should again hear the conch.

The party had become merry over their jug, and sat down to feast upon
the slaughtered gobbler. They had cautiously stacked their arms where
they were in view and within reach; and Mrs. Hart, assiduous in her
attentions upon the table and to her guests, occasionally passed between
the men and their muskets. Water was called for; and our heroine having
contrived that there should be none in the cabin, Sukey was a second
time despatched to the spring, with instructions to blow such a signal
on the conch as should call up Mr. Hart and his neighbors immediately.
Meanwhile Nancy had managed, by slipping out one of the pieces of pine
which form a "chinking" between the logs of a cabin, to open a space
through which she was able to pass to the outside two of the five guns.
She was detected in the act of putting out the third. The whole party
sprang to their feet; when quick as thought Nancy brought the piece
she held, to her shoulder, declaring she would kill the first man who
approached her. All were terror-struck; for Nancy's obliquity of sight
caused each to imagine himself her destined victim. At length one of
them made a movement to advance upon her; and true to her threat,
she fired and shot him dead! Seizing another musket, she levelled it
instantly, keeping the others at bay. By this time Sukey had returned
from the spring; and taking up the remaining gun, she carried it out
of the house, saying to her mother--"Daddy and them will soon be here."
This information much increased the alarm of the tories, who perceived
the importance of recovering their arms immediately; but each one
hesitated, in the confident belief that Mrs. Hart had one eye at least
on him for a mark. They proposed a general rush. No time was to be lost
by the bold woman;--she fired again, and brought down another of the
enemy. Sukey had another musket in readiness, which her mother took,
and posting herself in the doorway, called upon the party to surrender
"their d------ tory carcasses to a whig woman." They agreed to
surrender, and proposed to "shake hands upon the strength of it. But
the victor, unwilling to trust their word, kept them in their places for
a few minutes, till her husband and his neighbors came up to the door.
They were about to shoot down the tories, but Mrs. Hart stopped them,
saying they had surrendered to her; and her spirit being up to boiling
heat, she swore that "shooting was too good for them." This hint was
enough; the dead man was dragged out of the house; and the wounded tory
and the others were bound, taken out beyond the bars and hung! The tree
upon which they were suspended was shown in 1828 by one who lived in
those bloody times, and who also pointed out the spot once occupied
by Mrs. Hart's cabin; accompanying the mention of her name with the
emphatic remark--"Poor Nancy! she was a honey of a patriot--but the
devil of a wife!"




XLIV. REBECCA BIDDLE.

|The husband of this lady, Colonel Clement Biddle, was among the
first of those who took an active part on the breaking out of the war,
resolved to sacrifice every thing in the cause. Both he and his wife
were members of the Society of Friends, and as a consequence of his
taking up arms he was "read out of meeting" by that peace-loving
community; while Mrs. Biddle, as ardent a patriot--expressing her
approval of the war, and encouraging her husband in his course--was
subjected to similar discipline.

Mrs. Biddle gave up the comforts of home to join the army with her
husband, and was with the camp during the greater part of the war. With
Mrs. Greene and Mrs. Knox, who were also with the army, she formed
a lasting friendship, and was intimate with Mrs. Washington--being
moreover on terms of personal friendship with the Commander-in-chief,
for whom she entertained the highest respect and admiration. His letters
to her husband, with whom a correspondence was kept up during his life,
are still in the possession of her children. This intimacy, with the
unusual facilities she enjoyed for observing the events of the war,
and the characters of the distinguished men engaged in it, render it
a matter of regret that the spirited anecdotes and graphic details, so
well worthy of being embodied in history, with which her conversation
abounded in after life, should not have been recorded as they fell from
her lips. One or two of these, however, received from a member of her
family, may illustrate her character.

When the American army was encamped near the Brandywine, Mrs. Biddle was
informed by an aid of Washington, that a large British foraging party
was within the distance of a few miles; that orders had been issued
for a party to start before day for the purpose of cutting off their
retreat, and that, as an engagement might be expected, the women were
directed to leave the camp. Mrs. Biddle, not willing to consider herself
included in the order, told General Washington, when an opportunity of
addressing him occurred, that as the officers would return hungry
and fatigued from the expedition, she would, if allowed to stay, make
provision for their refreshment. He assured her she might remain in
safety, but recommended that she should hold herself in readiness to
remove at a moment's warning, promising, in the event of any disaster,
to send her timely information. She immediately despatched her servant
through the neighborhood to collect provisions; and all the food cooked
that day in the camp was thus procured by her. The enemy, informed by
spies of the movement against them, made a hasty retreat, and at a late
hour the American troops returned after a fatiguing march. Mrs. Biddle
had the pleasure of giving the dinner she had provided to at least a
hundred officers; each remarking, as he entered, "Madam, we hear
that you feed the army to-day," which she really did till not a crust
remained.

Among her guests on that occasion was the gallant La Fayette, who on
his last visit paid his respects to her in Philadelphia. One of the
Revolutionary reminiscences which they talked over in the presence of
her deeply interested children and friends, was that entertainment, to
which the General alluded with marked satisfaction. He also recalled
to Mrs. Biddle's memory the suffering condition of the army at Valley
Forge, where the want of provisions was at one time providentially
supplied by a flight of wild pigeons in such vast numbers, and so
near the ground, that they were killed with clubs and poles. Even the
officers were at that time so destitute of decent clothing, that it was
jocosely remarked, that a single suit of dress uniform served them all
for dining in, when invited by turns to head-quarters, where the repast
consisted of pigeons prepared in as many ways as the cook could devise.

In no instance did the enthusiasm and patriotic spirit which animated
the heroines of that day, shine more brightly than in this high-minded
woman. The purest and most disinterested love of country induced a
cheerful submission, on her part, to all the inconveniences, hardships,
and losses rendered inevitable by a protracted war; and often, in
subsequent years, did her detail of those difficulties serve for the
amusement of her family circle. Her attachment to General Washington
and his family continued through life; and during their residence in
Philadelphia, she and Colonel Biddle were always honored guests at
their table. She survived her husband many years, living till upwards of
seventy, and to the last retaining in all their strength and freshness,
the faculties and feelings of her prime. She ever loved to dwell on the
signal display of the hand of Providence in the contest with the mother
country, and whenever allusion was made to the Revolutionary war, it was
a source of new delight to her children to hear her "fight her battles
o'er again."

_Mrs. Graydon_ has been made known to us in her son's "Memoirs" of his
own life and times. She was the eldest of four daughters; was born in
the island of Barbadoes, and when but seven years old came with her
family to Philadelphia. Her father was a German who had been engaged in
trade in Barbadoes--her mother a native of Glasgow; but notwithstanding
the want of national affinity, and the still greater differences of
dialect and religion, there was no lack of harmony in their judgment
with respect to the training of their children, who were brought up in
strict principles, and after good example in both parents. The mother
died before the commencement of hostilities, and it is not ascertained
at what time the subject of this notice married Mr. Graydon. She was
pronounced by one of her acquaintances (Dr. Baird), who has transmitted
the record to posterity, to be "the finest girl in Philadelphia,
having the manners of a lady bred at court." Her house was the seat of
hospitality, and the resort of numerous guests of distinction, including
officers of the British army. The Baron de Kalb was often there; and
among persons of rank from the mother country, were Lady Moore, the
wife of Sir Henry Moore, and her daughter; Lady Susan O'Brien and her
husband; Major George Etherington, and others. Sir William Draper, who
attained the rank of general in the British army, and, in 1779, was
appointed Lieutenant Governor of Minorca, was also a frequent guest.

The account of Mrs. Graydon's visit to her son Alexander, who had
been taken prisoner at the battle of Fort Washington, has interest as
exhibiting the strength of her maternal affection, with a fortitude and
patriotic spirit worthy of an American matron. After having addressed
a letter to General Washington, who could do nothing to accomplish
the release of her son, she resolved on going herself to New York,
notwithstanding the opposition of her friends on account of the
difficulties of travelling, for the purpose of soliciting his freedom
on parole, from the British commander. She accordingly purchased a horse
and chair, and set out for Philadelphia, her residence being then at
Reading. On her arrival in the city, one Fisher, a distant relative,
was officious in tendering his service to drive her to New York, and
the offer was accepted; but when they had nearly reached Princeton, they
were overtaken, to their great astonishment, by a detachment of American
cavalry--Fisher, it seems, being a loyalist. The lady found in such evil
company was taken also into custody, and after some delay, was obliged
to retrace her road to Philadelphia, under an escort of horse. When they
reached Bristol on their return, means were found for the prisoner to
go on without the chair, and Mrs. Graydon was accompanied by Colonel
M'Ilvaine, an old friend, to the head-quarters of the American army,
where proper measures could be taken for her proceeding within the
British lines. After being conducted to the lines, she was committed to
the courtesy of some Hessian officers. It happened, during the ceremony
of the flag, that a gun was somewhere discharged on the American side.
This infringement of military etiquette was furiously resented by
the German officers; and their vehement gestures, and expressions of
indignation, but imperfectly understood by the lady, alarmed her not
a little. She supported herself as well as she could, under this
inauspicious introduction into the hostile territory, and had her horse
led to the quarters of the general who commanded in Brunswick, where she
alighted, and was shown into a parlor. Weary and faint from fatigue and
agitation, she partook of some refreshment offered her, and then went to
deliver a letter of introduction she had received from Mr. Vanhorne of
Boundbrook to a gentleman in Brunswick. Five of the Misses Vanhorne,
his nieces, were staying at the house, and with them Mrs. Graydon became
well acquainted, as they avowed whig principles. Their uncle had been
compelled to leave Flatbush on account of his attachment to the American
cause; but was permitted not long afterwards to return to his house
there, accompanied by Mrs. Vanhorne and her daughters.

After a detention of a week or more at Brunswick, Mrs. Graydon embarked
in a sloop or shallop for New York. The vessel was fired upon from the
shore, but no one was injured, and she reached in safety the destined
port. Mr. Bache allowed Mrs. Graydon to occupy his part of Mr. Suydam's
house during her stay at Flatbush. Here, in the society of her son, her
accustomed flow of good spirits returned: she even gave one or two tea
drinkings to the "rebel clan," and "learned from Major Williams the art
of making Johnny cakes in the true Maryland fashion." These recreations
did not interfere with the object of her expedition, nor could her son
dissuade her from her purpose of proving the result of an application.
When she called in New York on Mr. Galloway, who was supposed to have
much influence at head-quarters, he advised her to apply to Sir William
Howe by memorial, and offered to draw up one for her. In a few minutes
he produced what accorded with his ideas on the subject, and read to her
what he had written, commencing with--"Whereas Mrs. Graydon has always
been a true and faithful subject of His Majesty George the Third; and
whereas her son, an inexperienced youth, has been deluded by the arts of
designing men-"

"Oh, sir,"--cried the mother--"that will never do! my son cannot obtain
his release on those terms."

"Then, madam"--replied the officer, somewhat peevishly, "I can do
nothing for you!" Though depressed by her first disappointment, Mrs.
Graydon would not relinquish her object; but continued to advise with
every one she thought able or willing to assist her. In accordance with
the counsel received from a friend, she at length resolved upon a direct
application to General Howe.

After several weeks of delay, anxiety and disappointment, through which
her perseverance was unwearied, the design was put in execution. Without
having informed her son of what she meant to do, lest he might prevent
her, through his fear of improper concessions on her part, she went one
morning to New York, and boldly waited upon Sir William Howe. She was
shown into a parlor, and had a few moments to consider how she should
address him who possessed the power to grant her request, or to destroy
her hopes. He entered the room, and was near her, before she perceived
him.

"Sir William Howe--I presume?" said Mrs. Graydon, rising. He bowed; she
made known her business--a mother's feelings doubtless giving eloquence
to her speech--and entreated permission for her son to go home with her
on parole.

"And then immediately to take up arms against us, I suppose!" said the
General.

"By no means, sir; I solicit his release upon parole; that will restrain
him until exchanged; but on my own part I will go further, and say that
if I have any influence over him, he shall never take up arms again."

"Here," says Graydon, "the feelings of the patriot were wholly lost in
those of the 'wardetesting' mother." The General seemed to hesitate; but
on the earnest renewal of her suit, gave the desired permission.

The mother's joy at her success was the prelude to a welcome summons
to the prisoners, to repair to New York for the purpose of being
transported in a flag-vessel to Elizabethtown. The captives having-been
kept in the dark on subjects concerning which they most desired
information--the state of the army and public affairs--one of those left
behind furnished Graydon with a kind of cypher, by which intelligence
could be conveyed to him. The disguise consisted in the substitution of
one piece of information for another; for instance--a lady named, was to
signify the army; if that was prosperous, the fact was to be indicated
by announcing the health and charming looks of the belle in question;
there being a scale in the key, by which intelligence might be
graduated.

After some adventures, the travellers reached Philadelphia, where they
dined at President Hancock's. He had opposed Mrs. Graydon's scheme of
going to New York; and though apparently pleased with her success, could
not be supposed cordially gratified by an event which might give to the
adverse cause any reputation for clemency. Such is the policy of war,
and so stern a thing is patriotism!




XLV. ANN ELIZA BLEECKER.

[Ill 0316]

|Ann Eliza Bleecker, whose name is prominent in the list of the female
poets of our country, was the youngest child of Brandt Schuyler, of
New York, where she was born, in 1752. In her early years she was
passionately fond of books, and wrote verses, which, however, were shown
to none but her most intimate acquaintances. After her marriage, at the
age of seventeen, to John J. Bleecker, of New Rochelle, she removed to
Poughkeepsie, and thence to Tomhanick, a pretty and secluded village
about eighteen miles from Albany, where her residence was well suited to
her romantic tastes. The house commanded a beautiful view; on one side
was a fine garden, filled with flowers and fruit trees, and beyond it
the Tomhanick River dashed foaming over a bed of broken rocks. On the
other lay wide cultivated fields; a wood, through the openings of which
cottages might be descried, bounded the orchard in the rear, and in
front a meadow, through which wandered a clear stream, stretched itself
to join a ridge of tall pines, on the shelving side of a mountain. To
the imagination of Mrs. Bleecker, the dark forest, the green valley and
the rushing river had more charms than the gay city she had quitted; but
her tranquil enjoyment of these lovely scenes, in the cultivation of
her flowers and grounds, and the indulgence of her poetical tastes, was
destined to be shortlived.

The approach of Burgoyne's army, in 1777, drove the family from their
rural retreat. While Mr. Bleecker was gone to Albany to seek a place
of refuge for them, his wife was terrified by news that the enemy were
close to the village, burning and murdering all before them. With her
children and one servant, she fled to a place called Stony Arabia.
The roads were crowded with carriages loaded with women and children;
distress and weeping were everywhere; no one spoke to another, and the
tramping of horses and the dismal creaking of burdened wheels, alone
interrupted the mournful silence. Mrs. Bleecker obtained a place for
her children in one of the wagons, and herself performed the journey on
foot. But when she reached the place where she hoped to find friends,
no door was open to her. She wandered from house to house, and at length
obtained an asylum in the garret of a rich acquaintance, where a couple
of blankets, spread on boards, were given her as a bed. The night was
passed in tears; but the next day Mr. Bleecker came and brought them to
Albany, whence they set off with several other families by water. A
more severe distress here overtook the mother--her little daughter being
taken so ill that they were obliged to go on shore, where she died, and
was buried on the banks of the river. This bereavement was followed in
rapid succession by the death of her mother and sister.

In August of the year 1781, while Mr. Bleecker was assisting in the
harvest, he was taken prisoner by one of the scouting parties from
Canada. His wife abandoned herself to hopeless grief. She says, "My hour
of darkness and astonishment was very great; I lifted my broken heart
in despair." But after the agonizing suspense of a few days, her husband
returned, having been rescued by a party of Americans.

Amid the scenes of distress, in many of which Mrs. Bleecker was a
principal sufferer, she was sustained by the hope of yet seeing the
footsteps of desolation effaced from the soil. She was not destined,
however, to behold the recovery of her native land from the ravages of
war. After a rapid decline, the struggles of this calm and lovely spirit
were ended in death, in November, 1783.

The benevolence of Mrs. Bleecker's heart overflowed on all with whom
she associated. "To the aged and infirm," says her daughter, "she was
a physician and a friend; to the orphan a mother, and a soother of the
widow's woes." She is said to have possessed a considerable share of
beauty, her figure being tall and graceful; and her easy, unaffected
deportment and engaging manners prepossessed strangers in her favor. Her
letters describing the scenes around her, show her ardent and poetical
temperament. An intense love of nature appears in her poems, and a
warmth of heart, with a delicacy and taste, that cannot fail to please;
though they lack the high finish a greater severity of critical judgment
would have bestowed.

Mrs. Bleecker's daughter, Margaretta Faugeres, was also a poet, and has
sung in sweet strains "the hoar genius of old Hudsons stream," including
a description of the scenery of Fort Edward and West Point. In the
latter portion is introduced a highly poetical "Vision of Arnold," where
Treason is personified, plotting her dark schemes while bending over the
bright waters, and stealing softly to the traitor's couch. Margaretta
became distinguished after the war, in New York fashionable society, as
a gifted and accomplished woman, although her married life was rendered
unhappy by a profligate husband. After his death in 1798, she assisted
in a female academy in New Brunswick; but her sufferings had broken her
heart. She died, a hopeful Christian, at the early age of twenty-nine.


ALICE IZARD

[Illustration: 0324]

|The correspondence of Ralph Izard was published a few years since
by his daughter, Anne Izard Deas, at the desire of her mother, whose
anxiety to do justice to the memory of her husband proves her worthy of
sharing in his fame. Moving in her youth in the gayest circles of New
York society, her amiable qualities, and the discretion and modesty
joined to her singular personal attractions, won the admiration and
regard of all her acquaintances, and gave promise of those virtues which
shone amid the trials of after life.

She was the daughter of Peter De Lancey, of Westchester, and niece to
James De Lancey, Lieutenant Governor of the province of New York. It
is remarkable how many women of this distinguished family have married
eminent men. Susan, the daughter of Colonel Stephen De Lancey, whose
first husband was Lieutenant Colonel William Johnson, became the wife
of Lieutenant General Sir Hudson Lowe, and was the beautiful Lady Lowe
praised by Bonaparte. Charlotte De Lancey, who married Sir David Dundas,
did not escape her share of trials during the war. When their house at
Bloomingdale was burned, her mother hid herself in a kennel, and
not being able on account of her deafness to discover when the enemy
departed, narrowly escaped death. On a visit afterwards from a party
of soldiers, the young girl was put into a bin for concealment by the
servants, and covered with oats, into which the soldiers, who were
in search of a prisoner they might hold as a hostage, plunged their
bayonets repeatedly, but luckily did not touch her. A Miss De Lancey
was the wife of Sir William Draper. In later years one of this family
married a distinguished American, whose genius is the pride of his
country. *

* J. Fenimore Cooper.

Alice was married in 1767, to Ralph Izard; and after some years
accompanied him to Europe. After the breaking out of the war, her
anxious desire was to return with him to this country; but not being
able to do so, she remained in France during his absence, devoting
herself to the care and improvement of her children.

On their arrival at home, after the establishment of peace, their estate
was found in a state of lamentable dilapidation; but the energy and good
management of Mrs. Izard soon restored a degree of order, and rendered
"the Elms"--the old family residence--the seat of domestic comfort and
liberal hospitality. During her husband's illness, which lasted seven
years, she was his devoted nurse, while the management of his large
estate, embarrassed by losses sustained during the war, devolved upon
her. She wrote all his letters of business, besides attending to the
affairs of her family, then augmented by the addition of two orphan
grandchildren; yet found time to read to him several hours of every
day. The charge of two other families of grandchildren was afterwards
undertaken by her. Notwithstanding these multiplied cares, each day was
marked by some deed of unostentatious charity. Her piety, though deep
and sincere, was cheerful, for a humble faith directed her steps, and
taught resignation in trials the most severe--the loss of many children.
In the faithful performance, from day to day, of the duties before her,
and the promotion of the good of others, her useful life was closed in
1832, in the eighty-seventh year of her age.

An interesting anecdote is related of another Mrs. Ralph Izard, a
relative of the patriot, who resided near Dorchester, within the range
of excursions made by the British, at that time in the neighborhood of
Charleston. When the enemy ventured beyond their lines, the inhabitants
of the country were frequently subjected to depredations. The plantation
of Mr. Izard, who at that time acted as aid-de-camp to the commanding
officer of the Light Troops, was often visited, but had been preserved
from destruction by the prudent deportment of his wife. She invariably
received the officers with polite attention, and by the suavity and
gentle dignity of her manners, disarmed their hostility, and induced
them to retire without disturbance. On one occasion her courage was put
to a severe trial. Her husband was at home, when the alarm was suddenly
given by the appearance of a party of British soldiers, from whom there
was no way of escape, the house being surrounded. Mr. Izard hastily
concealed himself in a clothes-press, while his wife awaited the
entrance of his enemies, who had been informed of the visit of the
master of the house, and were determined on his capture. A search was
instituted, which proving unsuccessful, the soldiers threatened to
fire the house, unless he surrendered himself. In their rage and
disappointment, they proceeded to outrages they had never before
ventured upon; Mr. Izard's wardrobe was robbed, and several of the
marauders arrayed themselves in his best coats; valuable articles were
seized in the presence of the mistress of the mansion, and an attempt
was even made to force her rings from her fingers. Through all this
trying scene, Mrs. Izard preserved, in a wonderful manner, her firmness
and composure; her bearing, on which she knew her husband's safety
depended, was marked with her accustomed courtesy and urbanity, and she
betrayed no apprehension, notwithstanding the indignities offered. So
calm, so dignified was her deportment, that the plunderers, doubting the
correctness of the information they had received, and perhaps ashamed of
their insolence, withdrew. No sooner were they gone, than Mr. Izard
made his escape, and quickly crossing the Ashley, gave notice to the
Americans on the other side of the river of the proximity of the enemy.
Meanwhile, the British soldiers, returning to the house, again entered
Mrs. Izard's apartment, and burst open the press, which they had before
forgotten to examine. Finding no one there, they retired; but were
speedily intercepted by a body of cavalry that had pushed across
Bacon's bridge, and so completely routed, that but a few of their number
returned within their lines to relate the disaster. The property taken
from Mr. Izard's house was recovered, and restored by the conquerors to
the owner, with a compliment to the matron whose strength of spirit had
proved the means of their obtaining the victory.




XLVI. ANNA BAILEY.

|At the time of the burning of New London, in Connecticut, a detachment
of the army of the traitor Arnold was directed to attack Fort Griswold,
at Groton, on the opposite side of the river. This fort was little more
than a rude embankment of earth, thrown up as a breast-work for the
handful of troops it surrounded, with a strong log-house in the centre.
The garrison defending it, under the command of the brave Colonel
Ledyard, was far inferior to the force of the assailants; but the
gallant spirits of the commander and his men could not brook the thought
of retreat before a marauding enemy, without an effort at resistance.
They refused to yield, and stood their ground, till, overwhelmed by
numbers, after a fierce and bloody encounter, hand to hand, with the
foe, it was found to be impossible to maintain the post. No mercy was
shown by the conquerors--the noble Ledyard was slain in the act of
surrender, with the sword he had placed in the hand of the commander
of the assailants--and after an indiscriminate butchery, such of the
prisoners as showed signs of life, were thrown into a cart, which heaped
with mangled bodies, were started down a steep and rugged hill towards
the river.

The course of the cart being interrupted by stones and logs, the victims
were not precipitated into the water; and, after the enemy had been
driven off by the roused inhabitants of the country, friends came to the
aid of the wounded, and several lives were preserved. Their sufferings
before relief could be obtained, were indescribable. Thirty-five men,
covered with wounds and blood, trembling with cold, and parched with
thirst, lay all night upon the bare floor, almost hopeless of succor,
and looking to death as a deliverance from intolerable anguish. With the
first ray of morning came a ministering angel to their aid--one who bore
a name imperishably connected with the event--Miss Fanny Ledyard--a
near relative of the commander who had been so barbarously murdered.
She brought warm chocolate, wine, and other refreshments; and while
Dr. Downer of Preston was dressing their wounds, she went from one
to another, administering her cordials, and breathing into their ears
gentle words of sympathy and encouragement. In these labors of
kindness she was assisted by another relative of the lamented Colonel
Ledyard--Mrs. John Ledyard--who had also brought her household stores to
refresh the sufferers, and lavished on them the most soothing
personal attentions. The soldiers who recovered from their wounds were
accustomed, to the day of their death, to speak of these ladies in terms
of fervent gratitude and praise.

The morning after the massacre at Fort Griswold, a young woman, now Mrs.
Anna Bailey, left her home, three miles distant, and came in search of
her uncle, who had joined the volunteers on the first alarm of invasion,
and was known to have been engaged in the disastrous conflict. He was
among those wounded unto death. His niece found him in a house near the
scene of slaughter, where he had shared the attention bestowed on the
rest. His wounds had been dressed, but it was evident that he could
bear no further removal, and that life was fast departing. Still perfect
consciousness remained, and with dying energy he entreated that he might
once more behold his wife and child.

Such a request was sacred to the affectionate and sympathizing girl. She
lost no time in hastening home, where she caught and saddled the horse
used by the family, placed upon the animal the delicate wife, whose
strength could not have accomplished so long a walk; and taking the
child herself, bore it in her arms the whole distance, and presented it
to receive the blessing of its expiring father.

With pictures of cruelty like the scene at Groton fresh in her
recollection, it is not surprising that Mrs. Bailey, during the
subsequent years of her life, has been noted for bitterness of feeling
towards the ancient enemies of her country. She was emphatically a
daughter of the Revolution, and in those times of trial was nourished
the ardent love of her native land for which she has ever been
distinguished, and the energy and resolution which in later days
prompted the patriotic act that has made her name so celebrated as "the
heroine of Groton." This act was performed in the last war with Great
Britain. On the 13th July, 1813, a British squadron appearing off New
London harbor, an attack, evidently the enemy's object, was momentarily
expected. The most intense excitement prevailed among the crowds
assembled on both sides of the river, and the ancient fort was again
manned for a desperate defence. In the midst of the preparations for
resistance, it was discovered that there was a want of flannel to make
the cartridges. There being no time to cross the ferry to New
London, Mrs. Bailey proposed appealing to the people living in the
neighborhood--went herself from house to house to make the collections,
and took even a garment from her own person to contribute to the stock.
*

* A graphic account of this incident, and of "Mother Bailey," appeared
in the Democratic Review for January, 1847. But as a piece of historical
justice, it is due to this heroine to state that she defies having used
the coarse and profane expression there attributed to her. The highly
intelligent lady residing in New London, who received the particulars I
have mentioned from Mrs. Bailey's own lips, also says that she has never
claimed the credit of being among those who ministered to the wants of
the wounded, after the massacre at Fort Griswold.

This characteristic instance of enthusiasm in the cause of her country,
with the impression her remarkable character has produced, has acquired
for her a degree of popularity, which brings many curious visitors, from
time to time, to see and converse with the heroine of whom they have
heard so much, and to look at her museum of Revolutionary relics.

Her maiden name was Anna Warner, and she married Captain Elijah Bailey,
of Groton. She is still living, in her eighty-ninth year, in the
possession of her mental faculties, able to describe the scenes of
hardship and peril in which she shared in the nation's infancy, and
still glowing with the ardent feelings of love to America and hatred to
America's foes, which have given a coloring to her life.

The following extract from Butler's "History of Groton," may show that
the women of Massachusetts were not behind their sisters of other States
in patriotic daring.

"The patriotism of the women in those times 'which tried men's souls,'
must not be passed over in silence. After the departure of Colonel
Prescott's regiment of 'minute-men,' Mrs. David Wright of Peppered, Mrs.
Job Shattuck of Groton, and the neighboring women, collected at what
is now Jewett's Bridge, over the Nashua, between Pepperell and Groton,
clothed in their absent husbands' apparel, and armed with muskets,
pitchforks, and such other weapons as they could find; and having
elected Mrs. Wright their commander, resolutely determined that no foe
to freedom, foreign or domestic, should pass that bridge. For rumors
were rife, that the regulars were approaching, and frightful stories of
slaughter flew rapidly from place to place, and from house to house.

"Soon there appeared one * on horseback, supposed to be treasonably
engaged in conveying intelligence to the enemy. By the implicit command
of Sergeant Wright, he is immediately arrested, unhorsed, searched,
and the treasonable correspondence found concealed in his boots. He was
detained prisoner, and sent to Oliver Prescott, Esq., of Groton, and his
despatches were sent to the Committee of Safety."

* "Captain Leonard Whiting, of Hollis, N. H., a noted tory. He was in
reality the bearer of despatches from Canada to the British in Boston.
An article was some time after inserted in a warrant for town meeting:
'To see what the town will vote or order to be paid to Mr. Solomon
Rogers, for entertaining Leonard Whiting and his guard.' Not acted
upon."

The worthy author of the History of Groton has omitted, in his account
of this transaction, one of the most important and characteristic
particulars, which I cannot, as a faithful chronicler, neglect
to notice, having received it on the authority of America's most
distinguished historian. The officer thus taken prisoner, being a
politic gentleman, and probably somewhat experienced in the tactics of
gallantry, endeavored, when thus arrested and disarmed, to win his way
by kissing his fair captors. But they were proof against his arts as
well as his arms.

It is not generally known that Joel Barlow--the poet, philosopher and
politician, the author of the Columbiad and other works--owed much of
the formation of his mind and character to the wife of his elder brother
Aaron. Much of his time in early life was spent in the society of his
sister-in-law, who was a woman of strong mind, and united the qualities
of gentleness and resolute firmness. Her residence was at Redding,
Connecticut, in the south part of the town, called by the Indian name of
"Umpawag," which it still retains. The country is much broken, and the
ground almost entirely covered with stones; yet the soil was rich enough
to reward the labor of the husbandman, and for some years after their
marriage the young couple lived there in comfort. When the stirring
scenes of the Revolution commenced, both were called to act their part.
The husband entered the army in the service of his country, and in a
short time was promoted to the rank of colonel. His military duties
required long absences from home, and the young wife was left to
take the entire charge of her helpless little ones. The courage and
resolution she displayed, in the midst of many trials, moved the
admiration of those who knew her, and presented an example which ought
to be recorded for the benefit of her countrymen. No feminine fears were
strong enough to prevent the calm discharge of her duty to her family.
At one time a rumor came that the British army was approaching and
would probably reach Umpawag that very night. The terrified inhabitants
resolved on instant flight, and each family, gathering together such
of their effects as they could take with them, quitted the village, and
were travelling nearly the whole night to reach a place of refuge from
the enemy. Mrs. Barlow could not carry away her children, and to leave
them was out of the question; she therefore remained to protect them,
or share their fate, being deserted by all her neighbors. No enemy,
however, was near; the groundless alarm having been caused by the firing
of some guns below.

At one time during the war, a brigade of the American troops under the
command of General Putnam, was quartered during the winter months at
Redding. The head-quarters of the General were in an old-fashioned
house, standing at some distance from the road, with a green lawn in
front. A lane led from this to the public highway. Nearly a quarter of
a mile distant, and parallel with this ancient mansion, stood the
residence of Colonel Barlow.

The story of Mrs. Barlow's heroism, in remaining alone in the village
when the attack from the British was apprehended, was of course told
to the bluff General, and gained his admiration for the intrepid young
mother. He also heard much of her fortitude amidst the privations to
which she was obliged to submit, of her gentle and courteous, though
retiring deportment, and her cheerful endurance of evils common to all,
which she hoped might result in the accomplishment of great good to her
country. It is said that, feeling a curiosity to make the acquaintance
of one whose character met with his strong approbation, he took a
stroll over the fields towards her house, on a frosty morning in
February--wearing the simple dress of a countryman--and made her a
visit; his ostensible errand being a neighborly request that Mrs. Barlow
would be kind enough to give or lend him a little yeast for a baking. *

* This incident is related by a descendant of Mrs. Barlow.

He entered the kitchen without ceremony, where the matron was busily
engaged in preparing breakfast, and stopping a moment to look at her,
asked for the yeast. But she had none to give, and told him so, each
time his request was repeated, without suspending her employment to
look at her visitor. It was not till after his departure, that she was
informed by her old black servant who it was, who had asked the favor
with such importunity.

"I suppose"--was her remark--"had I known him, I should have treated him
with rather more civility; but it is no matter now." And Putnam, who
had observed her cheerful countenance, and attention to her domestic
affairs, saw that she was of the proper material for the matrons of the
infant nation.

The house in which General Putnam had his head-quarters at this time,
was long celebrated on that account. It was taken down a few years
since, and a new and elegant mansion erected on the spot where it stood.
The inhabitants of Umpawag saw with regret what they could not but deem
the sacrilegious destruction of a dwelling so hallowed by association,
and rich with reminiscences of the early and glorious struggle of our
country for freedom--that a more costly edifice might be built on the
ground it occupied.

Rebecca Barlow was the daughter of Elnathan Sanford, of Redding, and was
born in the village where she resided after her marriage. A few years
after the war ended, Colonel Barlow, with his family, removed to Norfolk
in Virginia, where he subsequently fell a victim to the yellow fever.
The whole family suffered with the disease; and after the burial of her
husband and daughter, and the recovery of the others, the widow returned
to her former home at Umpawag. She died at an advanced age. Some of her
sons have rendered important services to their country as statesmen.
The youngest, Thomas, accompanied his uncle Joel, the Minister
Plenipotentiary at the Court of France, as his Secretary; and after the
death of Joel at Zarnovica, in the winter of 1812, escorted his wife,
who had been left in Paris, to America. The remains of the minister were
brought with them, and placed in the family vault at Washington.




XLVII. THE WOMEN OF KENTUCKY.

|Many were the brilliant exploits of the pioneers of Kentucky, and among
them many a tale of woman's fortitude, intrepidity, and heroism, lived
long in the recollection of those who witnessed or mingled in the
stirring scenes. No materials can be gathered for extended memoirs of
those dwellers in the forest, whose history, were it recorded, would
throw so strong a light upon early western life; but a few detached
anecdotes--illustrative of their trials in the times of civil war--may
be found interesting. *

* See Collin's Historical Sketches of Kentucky.

The wife of the distinguished pioneer Daniel Boone--after whom Boone
County was named--and her daughters, were the first white women who
stood upon the banks of the Kentucky River. They removed to the new
fort, afterwards known as Boonesborough, in the summer of 1775. This
place soon became the central object of Indian hostilities. A cabin,
not far distant, erected to found a new fort some years afterwards, was
attacked by the savages, one man and his wife killed, and the other, Mr.
Duree, mortally wounded. His wife, who had barred the door, grasped a
rifle, and told her husband she would help him to fight, but received
the answer that he was dying. Having presented the gun through several
port-holes in quick succession, she sat down beside her husband with the
calmness of despair, and closed his eyes in death. Some hours passed,
in which nothing more was heard of the Indians, and taking her infant in
her arms--her son, three or four years older, following her, she sallied
forth in desperation to make her way to the fort at White Oak Spring.
Wandering in the woods, and running till she was nearly exhausted, she
came at length to the trail, and pursuing it, met her father-in-law,
with his wife and son, on their way to the new station. The melancholy
tidings changed their course; they led their horses into an adjoining
cane brake, unloaded them of the baggage, and regained the White Oak
Spring before daylight.

The wife of Whitley, another of the enterprising hunters whose
adventurous exploits have shed a coloring of romance over the early
history of Kentucky, manifested a spirit of adventure and a love of
independence equal to his own. To his observation that he had heard a
fine report of Kentucky, and thought they could obtain a living there
with less hard work--her answer was--"Then, Billy, I would go and see;"
and in two days he was on his way with axe and plough, and gun and
kettle. She afterwards collected his warriors to pursue the Indians.
This was on an occasion when the emergency called for prompt action--the
camp of an emigrant named M'Clure having been assaulted in the night and
six whites killed. His wife fled into the woods with her four children;
but the cries of the infant she bore in her arms betrayed her place of
retreat. She heard the savages coming towards the spot, eager to imbrue
their hands in innocent blood; she could have escaped with three of
the children by abandoning the youngest; the night, the grass, and the
bushes, offered concealment--but how could the mother leave her helpless
babe to certain destruction? She resolved to die with it. The other
affrighted little ones clung to her for protection; she dared not bid
them fly and hide themselves, lest the savages should discover them; she
hoped her arms might shield them, should the inhuman enemy find them
at her side. The Indians came, and quickly extinguished both hopes and
fears in the blood of three of the children. The hapless mother and
infant were taken to their camp where she was compelled to cook the meal
on which the murderers feasted. In the morning they pursued their way,
forcing her to accompany them, riding an unbroken horse.

Whitley was not at home when the news of this outrage was brought to his
station. His wife immediately despatched a messenger for him, and sent,
in the meantime, to warn and assemble his company. When he returned, he
found twenty-one men awaiting his orders. Directing his course to the
war-path, he gained it in advance of the savages, who had stopped to
divide their plunder; concealed his men, and opening a deadly fire upon
them as they approached, soon dispersed them, and rescued the captives.

The siege of Bryant's station, near Lexington, which took place
in August, 1782, gave occasion for a brilliant display of female
intrepidity. The garrison was supplied with water from a spring at some
distance from the fort, near which a considerable body of the Indians
had been placed in ambush. Another party in full view was ordered to
open a fire at a given time, with the hope of enticing the besieged to
an engagement without the walls, when the remaining force could seize
the opportunity of storming one of the gates. The more experienced of
the garrison felt satisfied that Indians were concealed near the spring,
but conjectured that they would not unmask themselves, until the firing
on the opposite side of the fort should induce them to believe that
the men had come out and were engaged with the other party. The need
of water was urgent, and yielding to the necessity of the case, they
summoned all the women. "Explaining to them the circumstances in which
they were placed, and the improbability that any injury would be offered
them, until the firing had been returned from the opposite side of the
fort, they urged them to go in a body to the spring, and bring up each
a bucket full of water. Some, as was natural, had no relish for the
undertaking, and asked why the men could not bring water as well as
themselves, observing that they were not bullet-proof, and the Indians
made no distinction between male and female scalps. To this it was
answered, that the women were in the habit of bringing water every
morning to the fort; and that if the Indians saw them engaged as usual,
it would induce them to think their ambuscade was undiscovered; and that
they would not unmask themselves for the sake of firing at a few women,
when they hoped, by remaining concealed a few moments longer, to obtain
complete possession of the fort. That if men should go down to the
spring, the Indians would immediately suspect something was wrong, would
despair of succeeding by ambuscade, and would instantly rush upon them,
follow them into the fort, or shoot them down at the spring.

"The decision was soon made. A few of the boldest declared their
readiness to brave the danger, and the younger and more timid rallying
in the rear of these veterans, they all marched down in a body to
the spring, within point blank shot of more than five hundred Indian
warriors! Some of the girls could not help betraying symptoms of terror;
but the married women, in general, moved with a steadiness and composure
that completely deceived the Indians. Not a shot was fired. The party
were permitted to fill their buckets, one after another, without
interruption; and although their steps became quicker and quicker,
on their return, and when near the fort, degenerated into a rather
unmilitary celerity, with some little crowding in passing the gate, yet
not more than one-fifth of the water was spilled, and the eyes of the
youngest had not dilated to more than double their ordinary size." *

* M'Clung's Sketches of Western Adventure.

At the siege of Logan's fort, while the men composing the small garrison
were constantly at their posts, engaged in a vigorous defence, the
women were actively employed in moulding bullets. In 1779, General Simon
Kenton owed his liberty to female compassion. He was one of the most
celebrated pioneers of the west, and was honored by having his name
given to one of the counties of Kentucky. In an expedition for taking
horses from the Indians, he was captured, and for eight months suffered
incredible cruelties at their hands, till at length, being transferred
to a Canadian trader, he was delivered to the British commander at
Detroit. Here, while he-worked for the garrison, his hard lot excited
the commiseration of Mrs. Harvey, the wife of an Indian trader.
His exterior was calculated to interest in his fate the gentle and
enthusiastic sex; he was but twenty-four years of age, and according to
one who served with him, "was fine looking, with a dignified and
manly deportment, and a soft, pleasing voice, being wherever he went a
favorite among the ladies." He appealed to Mrs. Harvey for assistance,
and she promised at his solicitation to aid him and two other Kentuckian
prisoners in their escape, and to procure them rifles and ammunition,
which were indispensable on a journey through the wilderness. It was not
long before she found opportunity to execute her benevolent design.
A large concourse of Indians was assembled at Detroit, in western
parlance, "to take a spree;" and before indulging in their potations,
several stacked their guns near Mrs. Harvey's house. As soon as it was
dark, she stole noiselessly out, selected three of the best looking,
hid them quickly in her garden in a patch of peas, and, careful to
avoid observation, hastened to Kenton's lodgings, to inform him of her
success. Her directions were, that he should come at midnight to the
back of the garden, where he would find a ladder, by means of which he
could climb the fence and get the guns. She had previously collected
such articles of ammunition, food and clothing, as would be necessary in
their journey, and with Kenton's knowledge had hid them in a hollow tree
some distance from the town. No time was lost by the prisoners in their
secret preparations for flight. At the hour appointed, they came to the
end of the garden; the ladder was there, and Kenton climbing over, saw
Mrs. Harvey already waiting for him, seated by the place where she had
concealed the guns. No woman ever appeared half so beautiful in the
eyes of the grateful young hunter. His thanks were expressed with the
eloquence of true feeling; but she would not suffer the fugitives
to waste a moment; the night was far advanced, the shoutings of the
Indians, in their drunken revelry, could be heard all around them; a few
hours would reveal their escape and the loss of the guns, and instant
pursuit would be made. She bade him make haste to be gone; and with a
brief farewell Kenton joined his companions, with whom, hastening from
the city, he travelled towards the prairies of the Wabash. He never
ceased to remember and acknowledge, in language glowing with gratitude
and admiration, the kindness of the trader's wife; but when the lapse
of half a century had changed the aspect of the whole country, still
delighted to dwell on this adventure, saying that he had seen her a
thousand times in his reveries as he had last beheld her--"sitting by
the guns in the garden."

The presence of mind, and cool deliberate courage of Mrs. Daviess, of
Lincoln County, brought about the deliverance of herself and family from
the savages. Early one morning, her husband having left the house for
a few moments, four Indians rushed into the room where she was still in
bed with her children. They ordered her, by signs, to rise immediately;
and one of them inquired how far it was to the next house. She instantly
comprehended that it was important to make the distance appear as great
as possible, for the purpose of detaining them at the house till her
husband, who had evidently taken the alarm, should have time to bring
assistance. Counting on her fingers, she made them understand that it
was eight miles. She then rose and dressed herself; after which she
showed the savages various articles of clothing one after another--their
pleased examination delaying them nearly two hours. Another Indian, who
had been in pursuit of her husband, now entered the house, and holding
up in her sight his hands stained with pokeberry juice, at the same
time using violent gestures and brandishing his tomahawk, endeavored to
persuade her that the fugitive had been slain. Her quick eye, however,
at once discovered the deception, and she rejoiced in the evidence that
her husband had escaped uninjured.

The house was now plundered of every thing that could be carried away,
and the savages set out, taking with them Mrs. Daviess and all her
children as prisoners. The mother's care was in requisition to provide
for their safety, and she was obliged to make the two oldest carry the
younger ones, for well she knew that death would be the penalty of any
failure of strength or speed. The Indians watched them closely, that no
twigs nor weeds were broken off, as they passed along, which might serve
to mark the course they had taken. Even the length of Mrs. Daviess'
dress interfering, as they thought, with their movements, one of them
drew his knife and cut off some inches of it.

Meanwhile this courageous woman was revolving projects for accomplishing
a deliverance. She determined at length, if not rescued in the course of
the day, to make a desperate attempt at night, when the Indians should
be asleep, by possessing herself of their arms, killing as many as she
could, and inducing the belief of a night attack to frighten the others.
To such extremity was female resolution driven in those times. Those
who knew Mrs. Daviess entertained little doubt that her enterprise would
have succeeded; but she was prevented from the perilous attempt--being
overtaken and rescued by nine o'clock, by her husband and a party of
friends.

Another act of courage displayed by Mrs. Daviess, strikingly illustrates
her character. A marauder who had committed extensive depredations on
the property of Mr. Daviess and his neighbors, was pursued by them with
the purpose of bringing him to justice. During the pursuit, not aware
that they were on his track, he came to the house, armed with gun and
tomahawk, to obtain refreshment, and found Mrs. Daviess alone with her
children. She placed a bottle of whiskey on the table, and requested him
to help himself. While he was drinking, she went to the door, took his
gun, which he had set there on his entrance, and placing herself in the
doorway, cocked the weapon and levelled it at him. He started up, but
she ordered him, on pain of instant death, to sit down, and remain
quiet. The terrified intruder asked what he had done; she replied that
he had stolen her husband's property, that he was her prisoner, and she
meant to stand guard over him. She kept him thus, not daring to make
the slightest movement towards escape, till her husband and his party
returned and took him into custody.

The wife of Joseph Russell, who, with her children, was taken captive,
had the presence of mind, when on their march, to leave signs which
might show the direction they had taken, by occasionally breaking off
a twig and scattering along their route pieces of a white handkerchief
which she had torn in fragments; so that General Logan's party found
no difficulty in the pursuit. At the house of Mr. Woods, near the Crab
orchard in Lincoln County, a singular adventure occurred. He had gone
one morning to the station, not expecting to return till night, and
leaving his family, which consisted only of his wife, a young daughter,
and a lame <DW64> man. Mrs. Woods was at a short distance from her cabin,
when she saw several Indians approaching it. Screaming loudly to give
the alarm, she ran to reach the house before them, and succeeded; but
before she could close the door, one of the savages had pushed his way
into the house. He was instantly grappled with by the <DW64>, a scuffle
ensued, and both fell on the floor, the black man underneath. Mrs. Woods
could render no assistance, having to exert all her strength in keeping
the door closed against the party without; but the lame domestic,
holding the Indian tightly in his arms, called to the young girl to
take the axe from under the bed and despatch him by a blow on the head.
Self-preservation demanded instant obedience, and after an ineffectual
blow, the Indian was killed. The <DW64> then proposed to his mistress to
let in another of those still trying to force open the door, and dispose
of him in the same manner; but the experiment was thought too dangerous.
Shortly after, some men from the station discovered the situation of the
family, and soon scattered the besiegers.

It was at the Blue Lick Springs, the most noted watering place in the
west, that the bloody battle was fought with the Indians which shrouded
Kentucky in mourning, and is only less famous than Braddock's defeat, in
the annals of savage warfare. A romantic incident is related as having
occurred after that fatal action. *

* Judge Robertson's Address on the Fourth of July, at Camp Madison, in
1843.

Among the unfortunate captives who had survived the ordeal of the
gauntlet, and had been painted black by the savages, as devoted
to torture and death, was an excellent husband and father. By some
unaccountable freak of clemency, his life was spared when all his fellow
prisoners were butchered. For about a year his friends believed him
numbered with the slain of that disastrous day. His wife was wooed by
another; but continued to hope against hope that he yet lived and would
return to her. Persuaded, at length, through the expostulations of
others, that her affectionate instinct was a delusion, she reluctantly
yielded a consent to the second nuptials, which, however, she postponed
several times, declaring that she found it impossible to divest herself
of the belief that her husband lived. Again she submitted to the
judgment of friends, and the day of her marriage was appointed. Just
before the dawn of that day, when we may suppose her wakeful from
reflection, the crack of a rifle was heard near her lonely cabin.
Startled by the familiar sound, she leaped out "like a liberated fawn,"
exclaiming as she sprang towards the door, "That's John's gun!" and
in an instant was clasped in the arms of her lost husband. In poetical
justice to the disappointed suitor, it should perhaps be mentioned,
that nine years afterwards the same husband was killed at "St. Clair's
defeat"--and that in proper time he obtained the hand of the fair
widow. The scene of this occurrence was in Garrard County, Kentucky.

An incident that occurred at a fort on Green River, shows the
magnanimity which the dangers besetting the emigrants of that period
often gave opportunity to exercise. Several young persons belonging
to the fort were pulling flax in one of the distant fields. They were
joined by two of their mothers, the younger carrying an infant. The
whole party was attacked by some Indians, who rushed from the woods, and
pursued them towards the fort, yelling and firing upon them. The elder
of the two mothers, recollecting in her flight that the younger, a small
and feeble woman, was encumbered with her child, turned back in the face
of the enemy, who were still firing, and rending the air with hideous
yells, snatched the babe from its almost exhausted mother, and ran with
it to the fort. She was twice shot at when the foe was near, and one
arrow passed through her sleeve; but she escaped without injury.

The attack on the house of John Merrill, in Nelson County, Kentucky, is
related differently in some particulars by different authorities; but
they agree in citing it as a remarkable instance of female heroism. *

* Drake's Book of the Indians. M'Clung's Sketches of Western Adventure,
etc.

Merrill was alarmed at midnight by the barking of the dog, and on
opening the door, was fired upon by several Indians. He fell back
wounded, and the door was instantly closed by his wife, who, an Amazon
in strength and courage, stood on guard with an axe, and killed or
wounded four as they attempted to enter through a breach. They then
climbed to the roof to come down the chimney. She hastily ripped a
feather-bed, and threw it on the fire. The blaze and smoke brought down
two Indians, whom she despatched, while she wounded the cheek of
another who meanwhile assailed the door. He fled with a loud yell; and
afterwards at Chillicothe gave an exaggerated account of the strength
and fierceness of the "long knife squaw."




XLVIII. ELIZABETH ZANE.

|The name of Elizabeth Zane is inseparably associated with the history
of one of the most memorable incidents in the annals of border warfare.
The most reliable account of it is that prepared by Mr. Kiernan for the
"American Pioneer," a Cincinnati journal devoted to sketches relative to
the early settlement of the country. In this a full history is given of
the establishment of Fort Fincastle--afterwards called Fort Henry, in
honor of Patrick Henry--under the superintendence of Ebenezer Zane and
John Caldwell.

This fort stood on the left bank of the Ohio, a little above the mouth
of Wheeling Creek, and near the foot of a hill that rose abruptly from
the inner margin of the bottom land. Of this land, the portion next the
river was cleared, fenced, and planted with corn. Between the fort and
the base of the hill, the forest had also been cleared away, and there
stood some twenty or thirty log houses; a rude village, which, though of
little importance then, was the germ of one of the fairest cities that
now grace the domain of Virginia. The fort covered about three-quarters
of an acre of ground, and had a block-house at each corner, with lines
of stout pickets about eight feet high, extending from one to the other.
Within the enclosure were a number of cabins for the use of families,
and the principal entrance was through a gateway on the side next to the
straggling village.

In May and June, 1777, a number of savage forays upon the settlements
took place, and as the season advanced, these depredations became more
bold and frequent. So imminent was the danger, that the people threw
aside their private pursuits; the troops were constantly in service, and
civil jurisdiction gave place for months to martial law throughout the
country. In September it was ascertained that a large Indian force
was concentrating on the Sandusky River, under the direction of the
notorious white renegade and tory, Simeon Girty. This savage host,
numbering, according to various estimates, from three hundred and eighty
to five hundred warriors, having completed the preparations for their
campaign, took up their line of march in the direction of Limestone,
Kentucky; and were brought by their-leader before the walls of Fort
Henry, before the scouts employed by Colonel Shepherd were able to
discover his real design.

They were made aware of this in the night by seeing the smoke caused by
the burning of a blockhouse twelve miles below; and the inhabitants of
the village and several families in the neighborhood betook themselves
to the fort for safety. At break of day, a man despatched to bring in
some horses having been killed, a party of fourteen was sent to dislodge
the savages from a corn-field near the fort. They found themselves
unexpectedly and furiously assailed by the whole of Girty's army, and
but two survived the skirmish. Others who had pressed to their relief,
fell into an ambuscade, and two-thirds of their number perished. The
Indians then advanced with loud whoops to take their position before the
fort. The garrison, which had at first numbered forty-two fighting men,
was now reduced to twelve, including boys. Girty, having posted his
forces, appeared with a white flag, and demanded their surrender in the
name of His Britannic Majesty; but Colonel Shepherd promptly replied
that he should only obtain possession of the fort when there remained
no longer an American soldier to defend it. The little band had a sacred
charge to protect; their mothers, sisters, wives and children were
assembled around them, and they resolved to fight to the last extremity,
trusting in Heaven for a successful issue.

For many hours, after the opening of the siege, the firing of the
Indians, eager for butchery, was met by a sure and well-directed fire
from the garrison, which was composed of excellent marksmen. But
the stock of gunpowder in the fort was nearly exhausted! A favorable
opportunity was offered by the temporary suspension of hostilities, to
procure a keg of powder known to be in the house of Ebenezer Zane, about
sixty yards from the gate. The commandant explained the matter to his
men, and, unwilling to order any one upon an enterprise so desperate,
asked who would volunteer for the perilous service. The person going and
coming would necessarily be exposed to the danger of being shot down by
the Indians; yet three or four young men promptly offered to undertake
it. The Colonel answered that only one man could be spared, and left it
to them to decide who it should be. While they disputed--every moment of
time being precious, from the danger of a renewal of the attack before
the powder could be procured--the interposition of a young girl put an
end to their generous contention. Elizabeth, the sister of Ebenezer and
Silas Zane, came forward, and requested that she might be permitted
to go for the powder. Her proposition at first met with a peremptory
refusal; but she renewed her petition with steadfast earnestness; nor
would she be dissuaded from her heroic purpose by the remonstrances of
the commandant and her anxious relatives. Either of the young men, it
was represented, would be more likely than herself to perform the
task successfully, by reason of greater familiarity with danger, and
swiftness in running. Her answer was--that her knowledge of the danger
attending the undertaking was her reason for offering to perform the
service; her loss would not be felt, while not a single soldier could be
spared from the already weakened garrison. This argument prevailed; her
request was granted; and when she had divested herself of such portions
of clothing as might impede her speed, the gate was opened for her to
pass out.

The opening of the gate arrested the attention of several Indians
straggling through the village, and it could be seen from the fort that
the eyes of the savages were upon Elizabeth as she crossed the open
space--walking as rapidly as possible, to reach her brother's house.
But probably deeming a woman's life not worth the trouble of taking, or
influenced by some sudden freak of clemency, they permitted her to pass
without molestation.

In a few moments she re-appeared, carrying the powder in her arms, and
walked at her utmost speed towards the gate. One account says the powder
was tied in a table-cloth, and fastened round her waist. The Indians
doubtless suspected, this time, the nature of her burden; they raised
their fire-locks, and discharged a leaden storm at her as she went on;
but the balls whistled past her harmless--and the intrepid girl reached
the fort in safety with her prize.

The story of this siege has been preserved in the collections of
Virginia as the most important event in the history of Wheeling, and is
enumerated among the battles of the Revolution. The brothers Silas
and Ebenezer Zane received honor for having contributed to its
final success; nor did the courageous conduct of the women pass
unacknowledged. The wife of Ebenezer, and others, undismayed by the
bloody strife going on, employed themselves in running bullets and
preparing patches for the use of the garrison, and by their presence at
every point where they could perform useful service, and their cheering
encouragement of their defenders, inspired the soldiers with new energy
for desperate resistance. The noble act of Elizabeth, in particular,
caused an enthusiasm which contributed to sustain their courage when
fate seemed against them--till the arrival of relief.

Elizabeth had but recently returned from school in Philadelphia, and was
totally unused to such scenes as were daily exhibited on the frontier.
She married twice, and afterwards lived in Ohio with Mr. Clarke, her
last husband. * An Ohio newspaper states that she has raised a family of
children, and was living, a short time since, near St. Clairsville.

* Withers.




XLIX. MARGARET MORRIS.

[Illustration: 0368]

|A Journal--which has never been published, but of which a few copies
were printed for private circulation many years since--kept during the
Revolutionary war for the amusement of a sister, by Margaret Morris, of
Burlington, New Jersey, presents a picture of the daily alarms to which
a private family was liable, and of the persecution to which obnoxious
individuals were subjected. The writer was a patriot in principle and
feeling, but sympathized with the distresses she witnessed on both
sides. She had, however, no liking for warbeing a member of the Society
of Friends. Her maiden name was Hill. Her father, Richard Hill, had been
engaged in the wine trade, and lived long with his family on the island
of Madeira; her brother, Henry, accumulated a large fortune in the same
business, and died of the yellow fever in Philadelphia. Margaret
was eminently pious, and cheerful through many years of illness and
suffering. In this character she is best remembered by her grandchildren
and connections, among whom she was greatly beloved and venerated for
her example of Christian benevolence and humble reliance on Providence
in every trial. She was left a widow early in life, and died at the age
of seventy-nine, at Burlington, in 1816. The sister for whom the journal
was written was Milcah Martha Moore, the wife of Dr. Charles Moore, of
Philadelphia.

The following extracts are from the "Journal." December 16th, 1776:

"About noon this day, a very terrible account of thousands coming into
town, and now actually to be seen off Gallows Hill--my incautious son
caught up the spy-glass, and was running towards the mill to look at
them. I told him it would be liable to misconstruction, but he prevailed
on me to allow him to gratify his curiosity. He went, but returned much
dissatisfied, for no troops could he see. As he came back, poor Dick
took the glass, and resting it against a tree, took a view of the fleet.
Both were observed by the people on board, who suspected it was an
enemy who was watching their motions. They manned a boat and sent her on
shore.

"A loud knocking at my door brought me to it. I was a little fluttered,
and kept locking and unlocking that I might get my ruffled face a little
composed. At last I opened it, and half a dozen men, all armed, demanded
the key of the empty house. I asked what they wanted there; they
replied--'To search for a d----d tory who had been spying at them from
the mill.

"The name of a tory, so near my own door, seriously alarmed me; for
a poor refugee, dignified by that name, had claimed the shelter of my
roof, and was at that very time concealed, like a thief in an augerhole.
I rang the bell violently--the signal agreed upon if they came to
search; and when I thought he had crept into the hole, I put on a very
simple look and exclaimed--'Bless me! I hope you are not Hessians!'

"'Do we look like Hessians?' asked one rudely.

"'Indeed, I don't know.'

"'Did you never see a Hessian?'

"'No--never in my life; but they are men; and you are men; and may
be Hessians for aught I know! But I'll go with you into Colonel Cox's
house; though indeed it was my son at the mill; he is but a boy, and
meant no harm; he wanted to see the troops.'

"So I marched at the head of them, opened the door, and searched every
place; but we could not find the tory. Strange where he could be! We
returned--they greatly disappointed; I pleased to think my house was
not suspected. The Captain, a smart little fellow named Shippen, said
he wished they could see the spy-glass. So Dick produced it, and very
civilly desired his acceptance of it; which I was sorry for, as I often
amused myself looking through it.

"They left us and searched James Verree's and the two next houses; but
no tory could they find. This transaction reached the town, and Colonel
Cox was very angry and ordered the men on board. In the evening I went
to town with my refugee, and placed him in other lodgings. I was told
to-day of a design to seize upon a young man in town, as he was esteemed
a tory. I thought a hint would be kindly received; and as I came back,
called upon a friend of his, and told him. Next day he was out of reach
of the gondolas."

"Dec. 17th. More news! great news! very great news! (J. V.'s). The
British troops actually at Mount Holly! guards of militia placed at
London and York bridges--gondola-men in arms patrolling the street, and
diligent search making for fire-arms, ammunition, and tories--another
attempt last night to enter into R. Smith's house. Early this morning,
J. V. sent in, to beg I would let my son go a few miles out of town on
some business for him. I consented, not knowing of the formidable doings
up town; when I heard of it I felt a mother's pangs for her son all the
day; but when night came, and he did not appear, I made no doubt of his
being taken by the Hessians. A friend made my mind easy, by telling me
he had passed through the town where the dreadful Hessians were said to
be 'playing the very mischief,' (J. V. again); it is certain there were
numbers of them at Mount Holly, but they behaved very civilly to the
people, excepting only a few persons who were actually in rebellion, as
they termed it, whose goods, etc., they injured.

"This evening every gondola-man sent on board with strict orders not to
set a foot on the Jersey shore again--so far, so good."

"Dec. 27th. This evening about three thousand of the Pennsylvania
militia and other troops landed in the Neck, and marched into town with
artillery, baggage, etc., and are quartered on the inhabitants.

"An officer spent the evening with us, and appeared to be in high
spirits, and talked of engaging the English as a very trifling
affair--nothing so easy as to drive them over the North River, etc.; not
considering that there is a God of battle as well as a God of peace,
who may have given them the late advantage, in order to draw them out to
meet the chastisement that is reserved for them."

"Dec. 29th. This morning the soldiers at the next house prepared to
depart; and as they passed my door, they stopped to bless and thank me
for the food I sent them. I received it not as my due, but as belonging
to my Master, who had reached a morsel to them by my hand."

The journal continues, at a later period--

"June 14th, 1777. By a person from Borden-town, we hear twelve expresses
came in there today from camp. Some of the gondola-men and their wives
being sick, and no doctor in town to apply to, they were told Mrs.
Morris was a skillful woman, and kept medicines to give to the poor; and
notwithstanding their late attempts to shoot my poor boy, they ventured
to come to me, and in a very humble manner begged me to come and do
something for them. At first I thought they might design to put a trick
on me, get me aboard their gondola, and then pillage my house, as they
had done some others; but on asking where the sick folks were, I was
told they were lodged in the Governor's house. So I went to see them;
there were several, both men and women, very ill with a fever; some
said, the camp or putrid fever. They were broke out in blotches; and
on close examination, it appeared to be the itch fever. I treated them
according to art, and they all got well. I thought I had received all
my pay when they thankfully acknowledged my kindness; but lo! in a short
time afterwards a very rough ill-looking man came to the door and asked
for me. When I went to him he drew me aside, and asked if I had any
friends in Philadelphia. The question alarmed me, supposing there
was some mischief meditated against that poor city; however, I calmly
said--'I have an ancient father, some sisters, and other near friends
there.'

"'Well,' said the man, 'do you wish to hear from them, or send any thing
by way of refreshment to them? If you do, I will take charge of it, and
bring you back any thing you may send for.'

"I was very much surprised, and thought, to be sure, he only wanted to
get provisions to take to the gondolas; but when he told me his wife
was one of those I had given medicine to, and this was the only thing he
could do to pay me for my kindness, my heart leaped with joy, and I set
about preparing something for my dear absent friends. A quarter of beef,
some veal, fowls and flour, were soon put up; and about midnight the
man called and took them aboard his boat. He left them at Robert
Hopkins'--at the Point--whence my beloved friends took them to town.

"Two nights afterwards, a loud knocking at our front door greatly
alarmed us, and opening the chamber window we heard a man's voice,
saying, 'Come down softly and open the door, but bring no light.'

"There was something mysterious in such a call; but we concluded to go
down and set the candle in the kitchen.

"When we got to the front door, we asked, 'Who are you?'

"The man replied, 'A friend; open quickly.' So the door was opened; and
who should it be but our honest gondola-man, with a letter, a bushel of
salt, a jug of molasses, a bag of rice, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and
some cloth for a coat for my poor boys; all sent by my kind sisters!

"How did our hearts and eyes overflow with love to them, and thanks to
our Heavenly Father, for such seasonable supplies! May we never forget
it! Being now so rich, we thought it our duty to hand out a little to
the poor around us, who were mourning for want of salt; so we divided
the bushel, and gave a pint to every poor person who came for it--having
abundance left for our own use. Indeed, it seemed to us as if our
little store was increased by distribution, like the bread broken by our
Saviour to the multitude."




L. MISCELLANEOUS ANECDOTES.

|Many incidents and scenes of Revolutionary times are remembered, of
the actors in which little is known beyond what is contained in the
anecdotes themselves. A few of these are subjoined as aiding our general
object of illustrating the spirit and character of the women of those
days. Fragmentary as they are--they have some interest in this light,
and it seems a duty to preserve them as historical facts, which may
possibly prove of service in future inquiries.

The county of Sussex in New Jersey, was noted for its number of tories.
A party of them one night attacked and broke into the house of Mr.
Maxwell, the father of General William Maxwell. Their first assault was
upon the old man, who was eighty years of age; and having felled him
with repeated blows, so that his skull was fractured, they left him for
dead, and proceeded to plunder the house. Mrs. Maxwell was compelled to
direct them to the place where her husband's money was kept, and to send
a female domestic to show them the way. They had determined, when their
work should be finished, to make an attack on the house of Captain John
Maxwell--the General's brother, who lived about a mile distant, and whom
they supposed to have in his possession a large sum of money, he being
commissary in the army. But their design of obtaining the spoil was
frustrated by the timely information given by the <DW64>s, who, escaping
from the old gentleman's house, gave warning to the family of the
young officer. John afterwards arrested one of the robbers in the
neighborhood, before he had time to change his bloody garments. The
others succeeded in effecting their escape.

Some British officers quartered themselves at the house of Mrs.
Dissosway, situated at the western end of Staten Island, opposite Amboy.
Her husband was a prisoner; but her brother, Captain Nat. Randolph,
who was in the American army, gave much annoyance to the tories by his
frequent incursions. A tory colonel once promised Mrs. Dissosway to
procure the release of her husband, on condition of her prevailing upon
her brother to stay quietly at home. "And if I could," she replied, with
a look of scorn, and drawing up her tall figure to its utmost height,
"if I could act so dastardly a part, think you that General Washington
has but one Captain Randolph in his army?"

The cattle and horses of many of the whig residents on Staten Island
having been driven away by the loyalists--they had no means of attending
divine worship. After the establishment of Independence, one winter's
day, when several families of those who had suffered during the war,
were returning in their sleighs from "meeting," the word was given by
Mr. Dissosway to stop before the house of a tory captain. He gave a
loud thump with the handle of his whip at the door, and when the captain
appeared, said--"I called, sir, to inform you that 'the rebels' have
been to church; it is their turn, now, to give thanks!" He then returned
to his sleigh and drove on.

Among the noble spirits whose heroism has never been known beyond the
circle of their personal acquaintance, was Mrs. Jackson, who resided
on a farm upon Staten Island. The island, as is known, was a "nest of
tories;" and it was thought proper to banish her husband, on account
of his zeal in the cause of his country, although he had not joined the
army. He was nine months confined in the Provost, and the remainder of
two years was on his parole on Long Island and in the vicinity. During
his absence the house was for a great part of the time the abode of
British officers and soldiers, who made themselves quite at home in
the use of every thing. On one occasion a soldier, carrying through the
house a tin pail, used for milking, was asked by the mistress what
he meant to do with it. "My master wants to bathe his feet," was the
insolent reply. "Carry it instantly back," said the resolute lady,
authoritatively; "not for your master's master shall you touch what you
have no business with!" By the exhibition of such firmness and spirit
she saved herself much inconvenience.

This lady was in the habit of sending provisions from time to time, to
the American army on the opposite shore. This she was obliged to do with
the utmost secrecy; and many a time would she set going the mill which
belonged to her husband--to allow the black man she employed to cross
the water unsuspected by the watchful enemy. At one time, having a calf
which she was anxious to send to the suffering American soldiers, she
kept it concealed all day under her bed, having muzzled it to prevent
its cries. * She sometimes came to New York, with friends, to visit
prisoners in the Provost. They were received on such occasions at
Whitehall by a gentleman, who, though of whig principles, had been
permitted to remain in the city--the father of one whose genius has
rendered his name illustrious. He was in the habit of accompanying the
ladies to the prison, and directed them, when they wished to convey
money to the captives, to drop it silently as they went past, while he
would walk just behind, so as to screen them from the observation of the
stern provost-marshal.

* These facts were given the writer by the daughter of Mrs. Jackson.

On one occasion, Mrs. Jackson received intelligence that one of the
American generals was coming to her house in the night, to surprise and
capture the enemy quartered there. She gave no information to her guests
of what awaited them, till there was reason to believe the whig force
was just at hand. Then, unwilling to have her house made the scene of
a bloody contest, she knocked at each of the doors, crying out, "Run,
gentlemen, run! or you are all prisoners!" They waited for no second
bidding, and made their escape. Mrs. Jackson used afterwards to give a
ludicrous description of their running off--each man with his boots and
clothes in his hands.

Mr. Jackson's house was robbed after his return home. A knock was
heard at the door one night, and on opening it he felt a pistol pressed
against his breast, while a gruff voice bade him be silent, on pain
of instant death. His little daughter uttered a terrified scream,
and received a violent blow on the forehead with the pistol from the
ruffian, which stretched her upon the floor. The house was then stripped
of all that could be taken away; and the path of the villains might have
been traced next morning by the articles dropped as they carried off the
plunder. The family believed this to have been done by tories, whom
they found at all times much more cruel and rapacious than the British
soldiers.

Mary Bowen, the sister of Jabez Bowen, Lieutenant Governor of Rhode
Island, was celebrated for her charitable efforts in behalf of those who
suffered in the war. Through her influence and exertions a petition
was addressed to the commandant at Providence for the lives of two
soldiers--brothers--who had been condemned as deserters. The petition
was successful, and the reprieve was read when the prisoners were on the
scaffold. Miss Bowen was active in collecting charitable contributions
for clothing for the army, and assisted in making up the material,
exerting herself to interest others in the same good work. General La
Fayette was one of her visitors, and maintained a correspondence with
her. Her information was extensive, her manners gentle and pleasing; and
she had the respect and affection of all who knew her. Her brother, who
resided at Providence, was in the habit of entertaining persons of high
distinction. Rochambeau occupied part of his house during his stay in
the town.

A gentleman residing in Charlottesville, to whom application was made
for personal recollections of the Baroness de Riedesel, mentions the
following instance of female patriotism.

At the time that Tarleton with his corps of cavalry was working a secret
and forced march to surprise and capture the Governor and
Legislature of Virginia--the latter then holding its session in
Charlottesville--several of the members chanced to be at the house of
Colonel John Walker, distant some twelve miles from the town. This was
directly on the route; and the first intimation the family had of the
enemy's approach, was the appearance of Tarleton's legion at their
doors. Colonel Walker was at the time on service with the troops in
Lower Virginia. Having made prisoners of one or two members of the
Legislature, Colonel Tarleton ordered breakfast for himself and his
officers and men. Mrs. Walker, who was a staunch whig, knew well that
the design of her unwelcome guest was to proceed to Charlottesville, and
plunder and destroy the public stores there collected. She delayed as
long as possible the preparations for breakfast, for the purpose of
enabling the members who had escaped to reach the town, and to remove
and secrete such portions of stores as could be saved. Her patriotic
stratagem gained time for this. Tarleton remained but a day or two
at Charlottesville, and then hurried back to join the main army under
Cornwallis.

Of the same kind was the service rendered by Mrs. Murray, which Thacher
has acknowledged in his Journal.

On the retreat from New York, Major General Putnam with his troops, was
the last to leave the city. To avoid any parties of the enemy that might
be advancing towards it, he made choice of a road along the river from
which, at a certain point, another road would conduct him in a direction
to join the American army. It happened that a force of British and
Hessians more than twice as large as his own, was advancing on the
road at the same time, and but for a fortunate occurrence, would have
encountered that of General Putnam, before he could have reached the
turn into the other road. In ignorance that an enemy was before them,
the British officers halted their troops, and stopped at the house
of Robert Murray, a Quaker, and friend to the whig cause. Mrs. Murray
treated them with cake and wine, and by means of her refreshments
and agreeable conversation, beguiled them to stay a couple of
hours--Governor Tryon jesting with her occasionally about her American
friends. She might have turned the laugh upon him; for one half hour, it
is said, would have enabled the British to secure the road at the turn,
and cut off Putnam's retreat. The opportunity was lost--and it became a
common saying among the officers, that Mrs. Murray had saved this part
of the American army.

The following record of an instance of female patriotism has appeared in
several of the journals. It is relied upon as fact by the friends of the
family who reside in the neighborhood where the occurrence took place,
and there is no reason to doubt its authenticity. A grand-nephew of the
heroine is living near Columbia, South Carolina.

"At the time General Greene retreated before Lord Rawdon from
Ninety-Six, when he had passed Broad River, he was very desirous to send
an order to General Sumter, then on the Wateree, to join him, that they
might attack Rawdon, who had divided his force. But the country to be
passed through was for many miles full of blood-thirsty tories, and it
was a difficult matter to find a man willing to undertake so dangerous
a mission. At length a young girl--Emily Geiger, presented herself to
General Greene proposing to act as his messenger; and the General, both
surprised and delighted, closed with her proposal. He accordingly wrote
a letter and gave it to her, at the same time communicating the contents
verbally, to be told to Sumter in case of accident. Emily was young,
but as to her person or adventures on the way, we have no further
information, except that she was mounted on horseback, upon a
side-saddle, and on the second day of her journey was intercepted by
Lord Rawdon's scouts. Coming from the direction of Greene's army, and
not being able to tell an untruth without blushing, she was shut up; and
the officer in command having the modesty not to search her at the time,
he sent for an old tory matron as more fitting for the purpose. Emily
was not wanting in expedients, and as soon as the door was closed, she
ate up the letter, piece by piece. After a while the matron arrived.
Upon searching carefully, nothing was to be found of a suspicious nature
about the prisoner, and she would disclose nothing. Suspicion being
thus allayed, the officer commanding the scouts suffered Emily to depart
whither she said she was bound. She took a route somewhat circuitous to
avoid further detection, and soon after struck into the road to Sumter's
camp, where she arrived in safety. She told her adventure, and delivered
Greene's verbal message to Sumter, who in consequence soon after joined
the main army at Orangeburg. Emily Geiger afterwards married a rich
planter on the Congaree. She has been dead thirty-five years, but it is
trusted her name will descend to posterity among those of the patriotic
females of the Revolution."

It is said that the first Governor Griswold, of Connecticut, was once
indebted to a happy thought of his wife for his escape from the British,
to whom he was extremely obnoxious. He was at home, but expected to
set out immediately for Hartford, to meet the legislature, which had
commenced its session a day or two previous. The family residence was
at Blackhall, opposite Saybrook Point, and situated on the point of land
formed by Connecticut River on the east, and Long Island Sound on the
south. British ships were lying in the Sound; and as the Governor was
known to be at this time in his own mansion, a boat was secretly sent on
shore for the purpose of securing his person. Without previous warning,
the family were alarmed by seeing a file of marines coming up from
the beach to the house. There was no time for flight. Mrs. Griswold
bethought herself of a large meat barrel, or tierce, which had been
brought in a day or two before and was not yet filled. Quick as thought,
she decided that the Governor's proportions--which were by no means
slight--must be compressed into this, the only available hiding place.
He was obliged to submit to be stowed in the cask and covered. The
process occupied but a few moments, and the soldiers presently entered.
Mrs. Griswold was of course innocent of all knowledge of her husband's
whereabouts, though she told them she well knew the legislature was in
session, and that business required his presence at the capital. The
house and cellar having been searched without success, the soldiers
departed. By the time their boat reached the ship, the Governor on
his powerful horse was galloping up the road on his way to Hartford.
* Blackhall, in Lyme, Connecticut, is still the residence of the
Griswolds.

* This traditional anecdote is communicated by a relative of the family,
who believe it entirely authentic.

A man named Hubbs, who had served with the bloody tory and renegade
Cunningham in South Carolina was an "outlier" during the war. At one
time he proposed, with two confederates, to rob an old man of Quaker
habits--Israel Gaunt--who was reputed to be in the possession of money.
The three rode up one evening to the house and asked lodging, which
was refused. Hubbs rode to the kitchen door--in which Mrs. Gaunt was
standing, and asked for water. He sprang in while she turned to get
the water, and as she handed it to him she saw his arms. Her husband,
informed of this, secured the doors. Hubbs presented his pistol at him;
but his deadly purpose was frustrated by the old man's daughter,
Hannah. She threw up the weapon, and, being of masculine proportions
and strength, grappled with, and, threw him on the floor, where she
held him, though wounded by his spurs--in spite of his desperate
struggles--till he was disabled by her father's blows. Gaunt was wounded
through the window by Hubbs' companions, and another ball grazed his
heroic daughter just above the eye; but both escaped without further
injury. Hannah afterwards married a man named Mooney. The gentleman who
relates the foregoing incident * has often seen her, and describes her
as one of the kindest and most benevolent of women. She died about
the age of fifty, and her grandson, a worthy and excellent man, is now
living in the village of Newberry.

* The Hon. Judge O'Neall of South Carolina. He gives this incident
and that of Mrs. Lee's exploit, in his "Random Recollections of
Revolutionary Characters and Incidents," published in the Southern
Literary Journal, 1838, pp. 104, 105.

The same company of marauders, with Moultrie, another of Cunningham's
gang, visited Andrew Lee's house, at Lee's Ferry, Saluda River, for the
purpose of plunder. Moultrie succeeded in effecting an entrance into the
house. Lee seized and held him, and they fell together on a bed; when
he called to his wife, Nancy, to strike him on the head with an axe.
Her first blow, in her agitation, fell on her husband's hand; but she
repeated it, and stunned Moultrie, who fell on the floor insensible.
Lee, with his <DW64>s and dogs, then drove away the other robbers, and
on his return secured Moultrie, who was afterwards hanged in Ninety-Six.

In the collections of the Maine Historical Society is an account of the
exertions of the O'Brien family. The wife of one of a party who left
Pleasant River settlement, on an expedition, found a horn of powder
after their departure, and knowing their want of it, followed them
twenty miles through the woods--for there were no roads--to bring it to
her husband. Hazard's Register * gives a notice of Margaret Durham, one
of the early settlers of a portion of Pennsylvania, who shared largely
in the toils and dangers of the war.

* Vol. IV., page 192.

When the thinly-scattered population fled before the savages, she was
overtaken, scalped, and left for dead; but recovered to be an example
of Christian faith and virtue. The daughter of a miller in Queens County
defended her father from his brutal assailants at the risk of her life,
when men who witnessed the cruelty dared offer no assistance. "The death
bed of Mercer was attended by two females of the Society of Friends,
who, like messengers from heaven, smoothed his pillow, and cheered his
declining hours. They inhabited the house to which he was carried,
and refusing to fly during the battle, were there when he was brought,
wounded and dying, to the threshold."

When the wife of General Woodhull, who perished under the inhuman
treatment he received at the hands of his captors, reached his bed-side,
it was only in time to receive his last sigh. She distributed the
wagon-load of provisions she had brought, for the relief of the other
American prisoners. *

* Revolutionary Incidents of Queens County, by H. Onderdonk, Jr.

Rebecca Knapp, who died recently in Baltimore, was one of those who
relieved the American prisoners in Philadelphia, by carrying them
provisions from her own table. Others were associated in the same good
work in New York. Mary Elmendorf, who lived in Kingston, Ulster County,
studied medicine, that, in the absence of the physicians, who were
obliged to be with the army, she might render assistance to the poor
around her. Mrs. Speakman, of Philadelphia, daily visited the soldiers
who were brought into the city ill of the camp fever, and placed in
empty houses--carrying food and medicines, and ministering to their
wants. Eleven in one house were restored through her kind attentions.

The journal of Rev. Thomas Andross, who escaped from a prison ship
through Long Island, alludes frequently to female kindness and
assistance. These prison ships were indeed store houses of pestilence
and misery. A large transport--the Whitby--was the first anchored in the
Wallabout; she was moored October 20th, 1776, and crowded with American
prisoners, whom disease, bad provisions, and deprivation, of air and
light, soon reduced to a pitiable condition. The sand-beach and ravine
near were filled with graves, "scratched along the sandy shore." One of
these ships of death was burned the following year--fired, it is said,
by the sufferers, who were driven to desperation. *

* Thompson's History of Long Island.

Mr. Andross thus describes the old Jersey, in which he was a prisoner:
"Her dark and filthy exterior corresponded with the death and despair
reigning within. It is supposed that eleven thousand American seamen
perished in her. None came to relieve their woes. Once or twice, by
order of a stranger on the quarter-deck, a bag of apples was hurled
promiscuously into the midst of hundreds of prisoners, crowded as thick
as they could stand--and life and limbs were endangered in the struggle.
The prisoners were secured between the decks by iron gratings; and when
the ship was to be cleared of water, an armed guard forced them up to
the winches, amid a roar of execrations and reproaches--the dim light
adding to the horrors of the scene. Thousands died whose names have
never been known; perishing when no eye could witness their fortitude,
nor praise their devotion to their country."

A very interesting account is given in Dwight's Travels of the capture
and escape of General Wadsworth. He had been for many years a member of
Congress--and was sent by the legislature of Massachusetts to command in
the District of Maine. In February, 1781, he dismissed his troops, and
made preparations for his return to Boston. His wife and her friend Miss
Fenno, who had accompanied him, shared in the peril, when, by order of
the commander of the British fort, an attack was made on the house where
the General lodged. It was near midnight, the weather being severely
cold, and the ground covered with snow, when the enemy came suddenly
upon the sentinel, and forced an entrance into the guard-room. Another
party of them at the same instant fired through the windows of Mrs.
Wadsworth's apartment; a third forcing their way through the windows
into Miss Fenno's room. The two terrified women had only time to dress
hastily, when the intruders assailed the barred door of the General's
chamber. He made a brave defence, but at length, being wounded in the
arm, was compelled to surrender.

With the most admirable self-command, Mrs. Wadsworth and her friend gave
no expression to their own agitated feelings, intent only on relieving
those of the wounded prisoner. The wife wrapped a blanket round him, and
Miss Fenno tied a handkerchief round his arm, to check the effusion of
blood. In this condition, his strength almost exhausted, he was carried
off and the ladies were left behind in their desolated house. Not a
window had escaped destruction; the doors were broken down, two of the
rooms set on Fire, the floors drenched with blood; and an old soldier,
desperately wounded, was begging for death, that he might be released
from his sufferings. The neighboring inhabitants, who came to see what
had happened, spared no labor--so that the next day they could be more
comfortable; but the anxiety endured on the General's account could not
be relieved by any kind attentions to themselves.

In about two months, Mrs. Wadsworth and her friend obtained permission
to visit the prisoner, in the gloomy solitude of his quarters at
Bagaduce. Parting from him at the end of ten days, Miss Fenno contrived
to give him an intimation of the knowledge she had gained that he
was not to be exchanged, by saying in a significant manner, "General
Wadsworth--take care of yourself." The General soon understood this
caution, learning that he was regarded as a prisoner of too much
consequence to be trusted with his liberty. The account of his
imprisonment, his remarkable escape, and his adventures wandering
through the wilderness, before reaching the settlements on the river
St. George, where he found friends--has all the interest of the wildest
romance, but would here be out of place. His wife and Miss Fenno had
sailed for Boston before his arrival at Portland. They were overtaken by
a violent storm, and barely escaped shipwreck--being obliged to land at
Portsmouth. There they had a new source of anxiety. The wife had left
all her specie with her captive husband, and the continental bills
had lost their currency. Without money, and without friends, after
meditating on various expedients, she at last remembered that she had
one acquaintance in the place. To him the wanderers applied--receiving
assistance which enabled them to return to Boston, where a happy reunion
terminated the distresses of the family. It may be added that General
Wadsworth was an ancestor of the distinguished American poet, Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow.

Immediately before the battle of Bennington, General Stark, with several
of his officers, stopped to obtain a draught of milk and water, at the
house of Mr. Munro, a loyalist, who chanced to be absent. One of the
officers walked up to Mrs. Munro, and asked where her husband was.
She replied that she did not know; whereupon he drew his sword, and
endeavored to intimidate her into a more satisfactory answer. The
General, hearing the commotion, severely reproved the officer for his
uncivil behavior to a woman; and the offender went out, apparently
much abashed. Mrs. Munro always remembered Stark's words--"Come on, my
boys,"--as they marched to battle. The firing continued till late; and
after a sleepless night, Mrs. Munro and her sister repaired with
the earliest dawn to the battle-field, carrying pails of milk and
water,--and wandering among heaps of slain and wounded, relieved the
thirst of many sufferers, of whom some--the Hessians--were unable to
express their thankfulness, save by the mute eloquence of grateful
looks. Towards noon, wagons were sent to convey them to hospitals, and
to bring away the dead for burial. This was not the only occasion on
which Mrs. Munro was active in relieving distress, nor was her share of
hardship and trial a light one. *

A spirit kindred to that of Mrs. Motte was exhibited by Mrs. Borden at
a period when American prospects were most clouded. New Jersey being
overrun by the British, an officer stationed at Bordentown, **
endeavored to intimidate her into using her influence over her husband
and son. They were absent in the American army when she was visited at
her residence for this purpose. The officer promised that if she
would induce them to quit the standard they followed and join the
royalists--her property should be protected; while in case of refusal,
her estate would be ravaged and her elegant mansion destroyed. Mrs.
Borden answered by bidding the foe begin the threatened havoc. "The
sight of my house in flames," she said, "would be a treat to me; for I
have seen enough to know that you never injure what you have power
to keep and enjoy. The application of a torch to my dwelling I should
regard as a signal for your departure."

* This fact is mentioned by a descendent of Mrs. Munro.

** Said by Major Garden to be Lord Cornwallis.

The house was burned in fulfillment of the threat, and the property
laid waste; but as the owner had predicted, the retreat of the spoiler
quickly followed.

The spirit exhibited by Mrs. Thomas Heyward, of Charleston, S. C, is as
worthy of remembrance. A British order having been issued for a general
illumination, in honor of the victory of Guilford, it was remarked that
the house occupied by her and her sister showed no light. An officer
called to demand the reason of this mark of disrespect to the order.
In reply, Mrs. Heyward asked how she could be expected to join in
celebrating a victory claimed by the British army, while her husband
was a prisoner at St. Augustine? The answer was a peremptory command to
illuminate. "Not a single light"--said the lady--"shall with my consent
be placed in any window in the house." To the threat that it should
be destroyed before midnight, she answered with the same expression
of resolute determination. When, on the anniversary of the battle of
Charleston, another illumination was ordered in testimony of joy for
that event, Mrs. Heyward again refused compliance. Her sister was lying
in the last stage of a wasting disease. The indignation of the mob was
vented in assaults upon the house with brickbats and other missiles; and
in the midst of the clamor and shouting, the invalid expired. The town
major afterwards expressed his regret for the indignities, and requested
Mrs. Heyward's permission to repair the damages done to the house. She
thanked him, but refused, on the ground that the authorities could not
thus cause insults to be forgotten, which they should not have permitted
to be offered. *

* Garden, First Series, p. 227.

An American soldier, flying from pursuit, sought the protection of Mrs.
Richard Shubrick. The British, who followed him, insisted with threats
that he should be delivered into their hands. While the other ladies in
the house were too much frightened to offer remonstrance, this young
and fragile creature withstood the enemy. With a delicacy of frame that
bespoke feeble health, she possessed a spirit strong in the hour of
trial: and her pale cheek could flush, and her eyes sparkle with scorn
for the oppressor. She placed herself resolutely at the door of
the apartment in which the fugitive had taken refuge, declaring her
determination to defend it with her life. "To men of honor," she said,
"the chamber of a lady should be sacred as a sanctuary!"

The officer, struck with admiration at her intrepidity immediately
ordered his men to retire.

On another occasion, when a party of Tarleton's dragoons was plundering
the house of one of her friends, a sergeant followed the overseer into
the room where the ladies were assembled. The old man refused to tell
him where the plate was hidden, and the soldier struck him with a sabre;
whereupon Mrs. Shubrick, starting up, threw herself between them, and
rebuked the ruffian for his barbarity. She bade him strike her, if
he gave another blow, for she would protect the aged servant. Her
interposition saved him from further injury.

The family of Dr. Channing, on their way from France to America, not
long after the commencement of the war, were attacked by a privateer.
During the engagement that ensued, Mrs. Channing remained on deck,
handing cartridges, with encouraging speeches to the crew, and assisting
the wounded. When the colors of the vessel were struck, she seized
the pistols and side-arms of her husband, and flung them into the sea,
declaring that they, at least, should not be surrendered to the enemy.

An anecdote is related of Mrs. Daniel Hall, who was a guest in the house
of Mrs. Sarah Reeve Gibbes when the British surrounded it. It is said
that having obtained permission from the authorities then in power, to
go to Johns' Island on a visit to her mother, she was stopped when going
on board by an officer who demanded the key of her trunk. She asked him
what he wished to look for. "For treason--madam," he replied. "Then,"
retorted Mrs. Hall, "you may be saved the trouble of search, for you may
find enough of it at my tongue's end." *

* Garden's Revolutionary Anecdotes.

It is well known that the name of Gustavus Conyngham, the captain of one
of the first privateers under the American flag, was one of terror to
the British. The print of him exposed in the shops of London, labelled,
"The Arch Rebel," and representing a man of gigantic frame and ferocious
countenance, was one of the expressions indicating the popular fear
attached to his name. He was repeatedly captured by the enemy, and
treated with barbarous severity, being only saved from death by the
resolution of Congress that his execution should be avenged by that of
certain royalist officers then in custody. While he was a prisoner
in irons on board one of their vessels, his wife made an eloquent and
touching appeal in his behalf, in a letter to General Washington, which
was laid before Congress. "To have lost a beloved and worthy husband in
battle," she says, "would have been a light affliction;" but her courage
failed at the thought of the suffering, despair, and ignominious death
that awaited him. The interposition she besought was granted, and saved
the prisoner's life.

A letter written from Antigua, published in the Pennsylvania Register,
gives an account of Mrs. Conyngham's romantic introduction to the noted
hero who was afterwards her husband. She was, with two other ladies,
at sea, and shared the common fear of meeting with some American
privateer--"the Revenge" in particular--cruising near the West India
Islands. The Captain was pacing the quarter-deck with a glass in his
hand, and was pressed with many questions as to the danger by his
fair passengers, who had heard dreadful accounts of the cruelty of the
Americans. Suddenly a cry from aloft--"A sail! a sail!" caused general
confusion. "The captain hastened up the shrouds, gave orders to the
man at the helm, and remained some minutes watching the approaching
suspicious stranger; then coming on deck, said that the vessel
looked d--d rakish; he had no doubt it was a privateer, probably the
Revenge--the terror of those seas.' The ladies were in tears, and
withdrew to the cabin half fainting from apprehension." There was no
prospect of escape; the sail gradually drew near; a gun was fired, and
the pursued vessel lay to. A boat put off from the stranger, and two
officers and several men were soon upon her deck. The spokesman wore
a blue roundabout and trow-sers, and was well armed; he was about
twenty-five, of a light and active figure; his sunburnt face showed much
intelligence, and was, withal, interesting from a shade of melancholy.
He made some inquiries concerning the vessel, cargo, and passengers, and
on being informed there were ladies in the cabin, , and observed
to his lieutenant--that he would have to go and say to them, the
passengers were not prisoners, but guests. The lieutenant replied that
he had not "confidence enough to speak to them," and the other went into
the cabin. The fears of the ladies were soon dispelled, and the youngest
asked the officer, with much naïveté, if he was really a pirate. "I am
captain of an American privateer," he answered, "and he, I trust, cannot
be a pirate."

"Are you the captain of 'the Revenge'?"

"I am."

"Is it possible you are the man represented to be a bloody and ferocious
pirate, whose chief delight is in scenes of carnage?"

"I am that person of whom these nursery tales have been told; whose
picture is hung up to frighten children. I have suffered much from
British prisons and from British calumny; but my sufferings will never
make me forget the courtesy due to ladies."

During the few days the vessels were together, the chivalrous spirit of
Conyngham, and his kindness towards the passengers, won their esteem,
and they listened with pleasure to the lieutenant's account of his
gallant achievements on the seas. The beautiful Miss Anne --------, who
chatted with him in so sprightly a manner, was, a day or two afterwards,
with her two companions, put on board a vessel bound to one of the
islands. When the writer of the letter saw her again at L'Orient, some
time afterwards, she was the wife of the far-famed captain of "the
Revenge."

The case of Sir Charles Asgill, a young officer of the British Guards,
selected by lot for execution in retaliation for the murder of Captain
Huddy, was made the ground-work of a French tragedy by Sau-vigny,
represented in Paris, in 1789. The story of his imprisonment--the
sufferings of his mother and family while the doom hung over him--her
appeal to the King and Queen of France--their intercession, and the
final relenting of Congress--is one of deep and touching interest. It is
included, with the letters of Lady Asgill, in many of the books on the
Revolution.

END OF VOL. II.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Women of The American Revolution,
Vol 2 (of 2), by Elizabeth F. Ellet

*** 