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<h3> THE WOMEN, OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION </h3>
<h2> By Elizabeth F. Ellet </h2>
<h3> With an introduction by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton </h3>
<h5>
Author of "Through Colonial Doorways," "Colonial Days and Dames,"
"Heirlooms in Miniature," "Salons, Colonial and Republican," etc.
</h5>
<h3> Volume I (of II) </h3>
<h3> Illustrated </h3>
<h5>
George W. Jacobs & Co.
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<h4>
1900
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<p><br/><br/></p>
<h3> TO MY MOTHER </h3>
<h3> SARAH MAXWELL LUMMIS, </h3>
<h3> THE DAUGHTER OF A REVOLUTIONARY OFFICER, </h3>
<h3> THIS WORK </h3>
<h3> IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED </h3>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><br/><br/></p>
<p><b>CONTENTS ( With Portrait: $ )</b></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0004"> I. MARY WASHINGTON. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0005"> II. ESTHER REED. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0006"> III. CATHARINE SCHUYLER. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0007"> IV. CATHARINE GREENE. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0008"> V. MERCY WARREN. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0009"> VI. LUCY KNOX. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0010"> VII. MARY DRAPER. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0011"> VIII. FREDERICA DE RIEDESEL. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0012"> IX. DOROTHY HANCOCK. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0013"> X. HARRIET ACKLAND. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0014"> XI. HANNAH ERWIN ISRAEL. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0015"> XII. LYDIA DARRAH. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0016"> XIII. REBECCA FRANKS. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0017"> XIV. ELIZABETH FERGUSON. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0018"> XV. MARY PHILIPSE. </SPAN> $</p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVI. SARAH REEVE GIBBES. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0020"> XVII. ELIZA WILKINSON. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0021"> XVIII. MARTHA BRATTON. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0022"> XIX. JANE THOMAS. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0023"> XX. DORCAS RICHARDSON. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXI. ELIZABETH, GRACE, AND RACHEL MARTIN, </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXII. DICEY LANGSTON. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXIII. ELIZABETH STEELE. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXIV. MARY SLOCUMB. </SPAN></p>
<p><SPAN href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXV. SARAH BÂCHE. </SPAN></p>
<p><br/><br/> <br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> INTRODUCTION. </h2>
<p>When Mrs. Ellet compiled her history of "The Women of the Revolution," she
could not have foreseen the deep interest in Colonial and Revolutionary
history, that was destined to mark the last decade of the Nineteenth
Century, nor could she have realized that the various patriotic societies
that were to be organized among women, would lead to as great an interest
in the lives of the mothers as in those of the fathers of the Republic.
Yet the writer of these sketches of noted women has prepared for just such
a phase of American life, which makes her work now appear a prophecy of
the future as well as a summary of past events.</p>
<p>"The Women of the Revolution" having been published in the middle of the
century, the material for these biographical sketches was collected while
some men and women were still living who could recall the faces and
figures of the statesmen and soldiers of the Revolutionary struggle. When
the sketch of Mrs. Philip Schuyler went to press, the daughter of that
heroic lady was still living in Washington, and able to relate for the
entertainment of her friends stirring incidents of her mother's life, and
of her own life in camp with Mrs. Washington, when as Miss Betsey Schuyler
she won the heart of the General's young aide-de-camp, the brilliant,
versatile Hamilton. Another interesting character, who was living while
Mrs. Ellet's work was in course of preparation, was Mrs. Gerard G.
Beekman, whose mind was a storehouse of Revolutionary incidents and
adventures, of many of which she was herself the heroine or an eyewitness.</p>
<p>There are in these volumes many proofs that Mrs. Ellet availed herself of
the opportunities afforded her to draw from original sources. In some
instances, the author acknowledged her indebtedness to the rich fields of
reminiscence in which it was her privilege to glean, in other passages the
result of such gleaning is evident from the minuteness and vividness with
which she portrayed certain characters and depicted the scenes and
circumstances in which they moved.</p>
<p>In the opening paragraph of the sketch of Martha Wilson of New Jersey,
Mrs. Ellet speaks of the valuable fund of recollection that was opened to
her through familiar association with intimate friends of the subject of
the biography. Mrs. Wilson, who lived through the first decade of the
Nineteenth Century, recollected the stirring days of the Revolution when
New Jersey was its principal battle ground, and she, as the daughter of
one of General Washington's officers and the wife of another, entertained
in her father's house and in her own, the Commander-in-Chief and other
prominent Revolutionary heroes. Mrs. Wilson was able to relate many
conversations that were held at her table, and numerous personal incidents
which threw light upon the characters of Washington, Wayne, Greene and
Knox, while the faces and voices of such foreign patriots as Pulaski and
the Marquis de Lafayette were familiar to her as household words.</p>
<p>An excellent characteristic of Mrs. Ellet's work is its comprehensiveness
and breadth of view. She wrote, not only of women who were prominent in
the pivotal centres of action, but also of those whose homes in small
inland towns or remote country places rendered them liable to dangers and
depredations unknown to their sisters more favorably situated in the
larger cities and towns. We are wont to think of the trials and privations
of the early settlement of our country as having been confined to the
narrow strip along the Atlantic seaboard that once stood for Colonial
America, forgetting the dangers and vicissitudes of pioneer life in such
border lands as Kentucky, Ohio, and the western part of Virginia. Mrs.
Ellet, in her chapters upon the women of the Western States, draws a vivid
picture of the heroism and endurance of these border settlers, who were
subjected to the successive forays of Tories and Indians. In the intrepid
courage and fertility of resource exhibited by the wives and daughters of
some of the settlers, especially in the story of young Elizabeth Zane, we
are confronted with a record of bravery that rivals that of such
well-known heroines as Lydia Darrach, Deborah Samson and the women of the
Valley of the Wyoming.</p>
<p>Side by side with the sketches of women who, however patriotic and highly
placed in public and social life, were essentially domestic, as Martha
Washington, Catherine Greene, Rebecca Biddle and Sarah Bache, we find
those of such women of letters as Elizabeth Ferguson of Pennsylvania,
Mercy Warren and Abigail Adams of Massachusetts, and of Annis Stockton of
New Jersey. Here also are the biographies of women who were chiefly
distinguished for beauty, wit and social charm, as Dorothy Hancock,
Rebecca Franks and Margaret Shippen, for without them any picture of the
life of the time would have been as incomplete as without the record of
characters as heroic as those of Rebecca Motte, Catherine Schuyler,
Cornelia Beekman, and Mary Slocumb.</p>
<p>In these two volumes of 650 pages, a vast amount of information, of
characterization, of incident and anecdote has been preserved for the use
of the historian and scholar, as well as for the pleasure and instruction
of the casual reader. More than this, if as Mr. Froude says, "history is a
voice forever sounding across the centuries the laws of right and wrong,"
the reader of to-day may draw from the record of the lives of these women
of yesterday, lessons in courage, endurance, fidelity to principle and
unselfish devotion to their country, that may well prove an inspiration to
higher ideals of citizenship and broader patriotism in the future.</p>
<p>Anne Hollingsworth Wharton.</p>
<p>Philadelphia, June 15th, 1900.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<p><SPAN name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> PREFACE. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n offering this
work to the public, it is due to the reader no less than the writer, to
say something of the extreme difficulty which has been found in obtaining
materials sufficiently reliable for a record designed to be strictly
authentic. Three-quarters of a century have necessarily effaced all
recollection of many imposing domestic scenes of the Revolution, and cast
over many a veil of obscurity through which it is hard to distinguish
their features. Whatever has not been preserved by contemporaneous written
testimony, or derived at an early period from immediate actors in the
scenes, is liable to the suspicion of being distorted or discolored by the
imperfect knowledge, the prejudices, or the fancy of its narrators. It is
necessary always to distrust, and very often to reject traditionary
information. Much of this character has been received from various
sources, but I have refrained from using it in all cases where it was not
supported by responsible personal testimony, or where it was found to
conflict in any of its details with established historical facts.</p>
<p>Inasmuch as political history says but little—and that vaguely and
incidentally—of the Women who bore their part in the Revolution, the
materials for a work treating of them and their actions and sufferings,
must be derived in great part from private sources. The apparent dearth of
information was at first almost disheartening. Except the Letters of Mrs.
Adams, no fair exponent of the feelings and trials of the women of the
Revolution had been given to the public; for the Letters of Mrs. Wilkinson
afford but a limited view of a short period of the war. Of the Southern
women, Mrs. Motte was the only one generally remembered in her own State
for the act of magnanimity recorded in history; and a few fragmentary
anecdotes of female heroism, to be found in Garden's collection, and some
historical works—completed the amount of published information on
the subject. Letters of friendship and affection—those most faithful
transcripts of the heart and mind of individuals, have been earnestly
sought, and examined wherever they could be obtained. But letter-writing
was far less usual among our ancestors than it is at the present day; and
the uncertainty, and sometimes the danger attendant upon the transmission
of letters were not only an impediment to frequent correspondence, but
excluded from that which did exist, much discussion of the all-absorbing
subjects of the time. __Of the little that was written, too, how small a
portion remains in this—as it has been truly called—manuscript-destroying
generation! But while much that might have illustrated the influence of
woman and the domestic character and feeling of those days, had been lost
or obscured by time, it appeared yet possible, by persevering effort, to
recover something worthy of an enduring record. With the view of eliciting
information for this purpose, application was made severally to the
surviving relatives of women remarkable for position or influence, or
whose zeal, personal sacrifices, or heroic acts, had contributed to
promote the establishment of American Independence.</p>
<p>My success in these applications has not been such as to enable me to fill
out entirely my own idea of the work I wished to present to the reader.
Some of the sketches are necessarily brief and meagre, and perhaps few of
them do full justice to their subjects. There is, also, inherent
difficulty in delineating female character, which impresses itself on the
memory of those who have known the individual by delicate traits, that may
be felt but not described. The actions of men stand out in prominent
relief, and are a safe guide in forming a judgment of them; a woman's
sphere, on the other hand, is secluded, and in very few instances does her
personal history, even though she may fill a conspicuous position, afford
sufficient incident to; throw a strong light upon her character. This want
of salient points for description must be felt by all who have attempted a
faithful portraiture of some beloved female relative. How much is the
difficulty increased when a stranger essays a tribute to those who are no
longer among the living, and whose existence was passed for the most part
in a quiet round of domestic duties!</p>
<p>It need scarcely be said that the deficiency of material has in no case
been supplied by fanciful embellishment. These memoirs are a simple and
homely narrative of real occurrences. Wherever details were wanting to
fill out the picture, it has been left in outline for some more fortunate
limner. No labor of research, no pains in investigation—and none but
those who have been similarly engaged can estimate the labor—have
been spared in establishing the truth of the statements. It can hardly be
expected that inaccuracies have been altogether avoided in a work where
the facts have to be drawn from numerous and sometimes conflicting
authorities; but errors, if discovered, may be hereafter corrected.</p>
<p>The sketches contained in the first volume, illustrating progressive
stages of the war, are arranged with some observance of chronological
order; while those in the second do not admit of such a distribution.</p>
<p>Many authorities, including nearly all the books upon the Revolution, have
been consulted, and reference is made to those to which I am under special
obligations. For the memoir of Mrs. Bache, I am indebted to the pen of Mr.
William Duane, of Philadelphia, and for that of Mrs. Allen, to Mr. Henry
R. Schoolcraft, of Washington. My grateful acknowledgments are due also to
Mr. Jacob B. Moore, Librarian of the New York Historical Society, for
valuable advice, and for facilities afforded me in examining the books and
manuscripts under his, charge; and to Dr. Joseph Johnson, the Rev. James
H. Saye, and the Hon. Judge O'Neall, of South Carolina, who have
obligingly aided me in the collection of authentic particulars connected
with the war in that State. Others have rendered valuable assistance in
the same way, and in affording me an opportunity of examining family
papers in their possession. To them all—and to those numerous
friends who have encouraged me by their sympathy and kind wishes in this
arduous but interesting task—I offer most heartfelt thanks. If the
work whose progress they have cherished should be deemed a useful
contribution to American History, they will be no less gratified than
myself that its design has been accomplished. E. F. E.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> THE WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ll Americans are
accustomed to view with interest and admiration the events of the
Revolution. Its scenes are vivid in their memory, and its prominent actors
are regarded with the deepest veneration. But while the leading spirits
are thus honored, attention should be directed to the source whence their
power was derived—to the sentiment pervading the mass of the people.
The force of this sentiment, working in the public heart, cannot be
measured; because, amidst the abundance of materials for the history of
action, there is little for that of the feeling of those times. And, as
years pass on, the investigation becomes more and more difficult. Yet it
is both interesting and important to trace its operation. It gave
statesmen their influence, and armed heroes for victory. What could they
have done but for the home-sentiment to which they appealed, and which
sustained them in the hour of trial and success? They were thus aided to
the eminence they gained through toils and perils. Others may claim a
share in the merit, if not the fame, of their illustrious deeds. The
unfading laurels that wreathe their brows had their root in the hearts of
the people, and were nourished with their life-blood.</p>
<p>The feeling which wrought thus powerfully in the community depended, in
great part; upon the women. It is always thus in times of popular
excitement. Who can estimate, moreover, the controlling influence of early
culture! During the years of the progress of British encroachment and
colonial discontent, when the sagacious politician could discern the
portentous shadow of events yet far distant, there was time for the
nurture, in the domestic sanctuary, of that love of civil liberty, which
afterwards kindled into a flame, and shed light on the world. The talk of
matrons, in American homes, was of the people's wrongs, and the tyranny
that oppressed them, till the sons who had grown to manhood, with
strengthened aspirations towards a better state of things, and views
enlarged to comprehend their invaded rights, stood up prepared to defend
them to the utmost. Patriotic mothers nursed the infancy of freedom. Their
counsels and their prayers mingled with the deliberations that resulted in
a nation's assertion of its independence. They animated the courage, and
confirmed the self-devotion of those who ventured all in the common cause.
They frowned upon instances of coldness or backwardness; and in the period
of deepest gloom, cheered and urged onward the desponding.</p>
<p>They willingly shared inevitable dangers and privations, relinquished
without regret prospects of advantage to themselves, and parted with those
they loved better than life, not knowing when they were to meet again. It
is almost impossible now to appreciate the vast influence of woman's
patriotism upon the destinies of the infant republic. We have no means of
showing the important part she bore in maintaining the struggle, and in
laying the foundations on which so mighty and majestic a structure has
arisen. History can do it no justice; for history deals with the workings
of the head, rather than the heart. And the knowledge received by
tradition, of the domestic manners, and social character of the times, is
too imperfect to furnish a sure index. We can only dwell upon individual
instances of magnanimity, fortitude, self-sacrifice, and heroism, bearing
the impress of the feeling of Revolutionary days, indicative of the spirit
which animated all, and to which, in its various and multiform
exhibitions, we are not less indebted for national freedom, than to the
swords of the patriots who poured out their blood.</p>
<p>"'Tis true, Cleander," says a writer in one of the papers of the day, *
"no mean merit will accrue to him who shall justly celebrate the virtues
of our ladies! Shall not their generous contributions to relieve the wants
of the defenders of our country, supply a column to emulate the Roman
women, stripped of their jewels when the public necessity demanded them?"
Such tributes were often called forth by the voluntary exertions of
American women. Their patriotic sacrifices were made with an enthusiasm
that showed the earnest spirit ready on every occasion to appear in
generous acts. Some gave their own property, and went from house to house
to solicit contributions for the army. Colors were embroidered by fair
hands, and presented with the charge never to desert them; and arms and
ammunition were provided by the same liberal zeal. They formed themselves
into associations renouncing the use of teas, and other imported luxuries,
and engaging to card, spin, and weave their own clothing. In Mecklenburgh
and Rowan counties, North Carolina, young ladies of the most respectable
families pledged themselves not to receive the addresses of any suitors
who had not obeyed the country's call for military service.</p>
<p class="foot">
* New Jersey Gazette, October 11th, 1780.</p>
<p>The needy shared the fruit of their industry and economy. They visited
hospitals daily; sought the dungeons of the provost, and the crowded holds
of prison ships; and provisions were carried from their stores to the
captives whose only means of recompense was the blessing of those who were
ready to perish. Many raised grain, gathered it, made bread, and carried
it to their relatives in the army, or in prisons, accompanying the supply
with exhortations never to abandon the cause of their country. The burial
of friends slain in battle, or chance-encounters, often devolved upon
them; and even enemies would not have received sepulture without the
service of their hands.</p>
<p>When the resources of the country scarcely allowed the scantiest supply of
clothing and provisions, and British cruisers on the coast destroyed every
hope of aid from merchant vessels; when, to the distressed troops, their
cup of misfortune seemed full to overflowing, and there appeared no
prospect of relief, except from the benevolence of their fellow-citizens;
when even the ability of these was almost exhausted by repeated
applications—then it was that the women of Pennsylvania and New
Jersey, by their zealous exertions and willing sacrifices, accomplished
what had been thought impossible. Not only was the pressure of want
removed, but the sympathy and favor of the fair daughters of America, says
one of the journals, "operated like a charm on the soldier's heart—gave
vigor to exertion, confidence to his hopes of success, and the ultimate
certainty of victory and peace." General Washington, in his letter of
acknowledgment to the committee of ladies, says, "The army ought not to
regret its sacrifices or its sufferings, when they meet with so flattering
a reward, as in the sympathy of your sex; nor can it fear that its
interests will be neglected, when espoused by advocates as powerful as
they are amiable." An officer in camp writes, in June, 1780: "The
patriotism of the women of your city is a subject of conversation with the
army. Had I poetical genius, I would sit down and write an ode in praise
of it. Burgoyne, who, on his first coming to America, boasted that he
would dance with the ladies, and coax the men to submission, must now have
a better understanding of the good sense and public spirit of our females,
as he has already heard of the fortitude and inflexible temper of our
men." Another observes: "We cannot appeal in vain for what is good, to
that sanctuary where all that is good has its proper home—the female
bosom."</p>
<p>How the influence of women was estimated by John Adams, appears from one
of his letters to his wife:</p>
<p>"I think I have sometimes observed to you in conversation, that upon
examining the biography of illustrious men, you will generally find some
female about them, in the relation of mother, or wife, or sister, to whose
instigation a great part of their merit is to be ascribed. You will find a
curious example of this in the case of Aspasia, the wife of Pericles. She
was a woman of the greatest beauty, and the first genius. She taught him,
it is said, his refined maxims of policy, his lofty imperial eloquence,
nay, even composed the speeches on which so great a share of his
reputation was founded,</p>
<p>"I wish some of our great men had such wives. By the account in your last
letter, it seems the women in Boston begin to think themselves able to
serve their country. What a pity it is that our generals in the northern
districts had not Aspasias to their wives.</p>
<p>"I believe the two Howes have not very great women for wives. If they had,
we should suffer more from their exertions than we do. This is our good
fortune. A smart wife would have put Howe in possession of Philadelphia a
long time ago."</p>
<p>The venerable Major Spalding, of Georgia, writes, in reply to an
application to him for information respecting the revolutionary women of
his state: "I am a very old man, and have read as much as any one I know,
yet I have never known, and never read of one—no, not one!—who
did not owe high standing, or a great name, to his mother's blood, or his
mother's training. My friend Randolph said he owed everything to his
mother. Mr. Jefferson's mother was a Randolph, and he acknowledged that he
owed everything to her rearing. General Washington, we all know,
attributed everything to his mother. Lord Bacon attributed much to his
mother's training. And will any one doubt that even Alexander believed he
owed more to the blood and lofty ambition of Olympia, than the wisdom or
cunning of Philip?"</p>
<p>The sentiments of the women towards the brave defenders of their native
land, were expressed in an address widely circulated at the time, and read
in the churches of Virginia. "We know," it says—"that at a distance
from the theatre of war, if we enjoy any tranquillity, it is the fruit of
your watchings, your labors, your dangers.... And shall we hesitate to
evince to you our gratitude? Shall we hesitate to wear clothing more
simple, and dress less elegant, while at the price of this small
privation, we shall deserve your benedictions?"</p>
<p>The same spirit appears in a letter found among some papers belonging to a
lady of Philadelphia. It was addressed to a British officer in Boston, and
written before the Declaration of Independence. The following extract will
show its character:</p>
<p>"I will tell you what I have done. My only brother I have sent to the camp
with my prayers and blessings. I hope he will not disgrace me; I am
confident he will behave with honor and emulate the great examples he has
before him; and had I twenty sons and brothers they should go. I have
retrenched every superfluous expense in my table and family; tea I have
not drunk since last Christmas, nor bought a new cap or gown since your
defeat at Lexington; and what I never did before, have learned to knit,
and am now making stockings of American wool for my servants; and this way
do I throw in my mite to the public good. I know this—that as free I
can die but once; but as a slave I shall not be worthy of life. I have the
pleasure to assure you that these are the sentiments of all my sister
Americans. They have sacrificed assemblies, parties of pleasure, tea
drinking and finery, to that great spirit of patriotism that actuates all
degrees of people throughout this extensive continent. If these are the
sentiments of females, what must glow in the breasts of our husbands,
brothers, and sons! They are as with one heart determined to die or be
free. It is not a quibble in politics, a science which few understand,
that we are contending for; it is this plain truth, which the most
ignorant peasant knows, and is clear to the weakest capacity—that no
man has a right to take their money without their consent. You say you are
no politician. Oh, sir, it requires no Machiavelian head to discover this
tyranny and oppression. It is written with a sunbeam. Everyone will see
and know it, because it will make everyone feel; and we shall be unworthy
of the blessings of Heaven if we ever submit to it....</p>
<p>"Heaven seems to smile on us; for in the memory of man, never were known
such quantities of flax and sheep without number. We are making powder
fast, and do not want for ammunition."</p>
<p>From all portions of the country thus arose the expression of woman's
ardent zeal. Under accumulated evils the manly spirit that alone could
secure success, might have sunk but for the firmness and intrepidity of
the weaker sex. It supplied every persuasion that could animate to
perseverance, and secure fidelity.</p>
<p>The noble deeds in which this irrepressible spirit breathed itself, were
not unrewarded by persecution. The case of the quakeress Deborah Franklin,
who was banished from New York by the British commandant for her
liberality in relieving the sufferings of the American prisoners, was one
among many. In our days of tranquillity and luxury, imagination can
scarcely compass the extent or severity of the trials endured; and it is
proportionately difficult to estimate the magnanimity that bore all, not
only with uncomplaining patience, but with a cheerful forgetfulness of
suffering in view of the desired object. The alarms of war—the roar
of the strife itself, could not silence the voice of woman, lifted in
encouragement or in prayer. The horrors of battle or massacre could not
drive her from the post of duty. The effect of this devotion cannot be
questioned, though it may not now be traced in particular instances. These
were, for the most part, known only to those who were themselves actors in
the scenes, or who lived in the midst of them. The heroism of the
Revolutionary women has passed from remembrance with the generation who
witnessed it; or is seen only by faint and occasional glimpses, through
the gathering obscurity of tradition.</p>
<p>To render a measure of justice—inadequate it must be—to a few
of the American matrons, whose names deserve to live in remembrance—and
to exhibit something of the domestic side of the Revolutionary picture—is
the object of this work. As we recede from the realities of that struggle,
it is regarded with increasing interest by those who enjoy its results;
while the elements which were its life-giving principle, too subtle to be
retained by the grave historian, are fleeting fast from apprehension. Yet
without some conception of them, the Revolution cannot be appreciated. We
must enter into the spirit, as well as master the letter.</p>
<p>While attempting to pay a tribute but too long withheld, to the memory of
women who did and endured so much in the cause of liberty, we should not
be insensible to the virtues exhibited by another class, belonging equally
to the history of the period. These had their share of reverse and
suffering. Many saw their children and relatives espousing opposite sides;
and with ardent feelings of loyalty in their hearts, were forced to weep
over the miseries of their families and neighbors. Many were driven from
their homes, despoiled of property, and finally compelled to cast their
lot in desolate wilds and an ungenial climate. * And while their heroism,
fortitude, and spirit of self-sacrifice were not less brightly displayed,
their hard lot was unpitied, and they met with no reward.</p>
<p class="foot">
* The ancient Acadia, comprising Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, was
settled by many of the refugee loyalists from the United States.</p>
<p>In the library of William H. Prescott, at his residence in Boston, are two
swords, crossed above the arch of an alcove. One belonged to his
grandfather, Colonel William Prescott, who commanded the American troops
in the redoubt at Bunker Hill. The other was the sword of Captain Linzee,
of the royal navy, who commanded the British sloop of war—The
Falcon, then lying in the Mystic; from which the American troops were
fired upon as they crossed to Bunker Hill. Captain Linzee was the
grandfather of Mrs. Prescott. The swords of those two gallant soldiers who
fought on different sides upon that memorable day—now in the
possession of their united descendants, and crossed—an emblem of
peace, in the library of the great American historian—are emblematic
of the spirit in which our history should be written. Such be the spirit
in which we view the loyalists of those days.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> I. MARY WASHINGTON. </h2>
<p><br/><br/><SPAN name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </SPAN></p>
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<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Mother of
Washington! There needs no eulogy to awaken the associations which cling
around that sacred name. Our hearts do willing homage to the venerated
parent of the chief—</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"Who 'mid his elements of being wrought</p>
<p class="indent15">
With no uncertain aim—nursing the germs</p>
<p class="indent15">
Of godlike virtue in his infant mind."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>The contemplation of Washington's character naturally directs attention to
her whose maternal care guided and guarded his early years. What she did,
and the blessing of a world that follows her—teach impressively—while
showing the power—the duty of those who mould the characters of the
age to come. The principles and conduct of this illustrious matron were
closely interwoven with the destinies of her son. Washington ever
acknowledged that he owed everything to his mother—in the education
and habits of his early life. His high moral principle, his perfect
self-possession, his clear and sound judgment, his inflexible resolution
and untiring application—were developed by her training and example.
A believer in the truths of religion, she inculcated a strict obedience to
its injunctions. She planted the seed, and cherished the growth, which
bore such rich and glorious fruit. La Fayette observed that she belonged
rather to the age of Sparta or Rome, than to modern times; she was a
mother formed on the ancient model, and by her elevation of character and
matchless discipline, fitted to lay the foundation of the greatness of him
who towered "beyond all Greek—beyond all Roman fame."</p>
<p>The course of Mrs. Washington's life, exhibiting her qualities of mind and
heart, proved her fitness for the high trust committed to her hands. She
was remarkable for vigor of intellect, strength of resolution, and
inflexible firmness wherever principle was concerned. Devoted to the
education of her children, her parental government and guidance have been
described by those who knew her as admirably adapted to train the youthful
mind to wisdom and virtue. With her, affection was regulated by a calm and
just judgment. She was distinguished, moreover, by that well marked
quality of genius, a power of acquiring and maintaining influence over
those with whom she associated. Without inquiring into the philosophy of
this mysterious ascendancy, she was content to employ it for the noblest
ends. It contributed, no doubt, to deepen the effect of her instructions.</p>
<p>The life of Mrs. Washington, so useful in the domestic sphere, did not
abound in incident. She passed through the trials common to those who
lived amid the scenes of the Revolutionary era. She saw the son whom she
had taught to be <i>good</i>—whom she had reared in the principles
of true honor, walking the perilous path of duty with firm step, leading
his country to independence, and crowned with his reward—a nation's
gratitude; yet in all these changes, her simple, earnest nature remained
the same. She loved to speak, in her latter days, of her boy's merits in
his early life, and of his filial affection and duty; but never dwelt on
the glory he had won as the deliverer of his country, the chief magistrate
of a great republic. This was because her ambition was too high for the
pride that inspires and rewards common souls. The greatness she discerned
and acknowledged in the object of her solicitous tenderness was beyond
that which this world most esteems.</p>
<p>The only memoir of the mother of Washington extant, is the one written by
George W. P. Custis, the grandson of Martha Washington, and published more
than twenty years ago in his "Recollections" in the National Gazette.
These reminiscences were collected by him in the course of many years; and
to them we are indebted for all that is known of the life and actions of
this matron. According to these, she was descended from the respectable
family of Ball, who came to this country and settled on the banks of the
Potomac. In the old days of Virginia, women were taught habits of industry
and self-reliance, and in these Mrs. Washington was nurtured. The early
death of her husband involved her in the cares of a young family with
limited resources, which rendered prudence and economy necessary to
provide for and educate her children. Thus circumstanced, it was left to
her unassisted efforts to form in her son's mind, those essential
qualities which gave tone and character to his subsequent life. George was
only twelve years old at his father's death, and retained merely the
remembrance of his person, and his parental fondness. Two years after this
event, he obtained a midshipman's warrant; but his mother opposed the
plan, and the idea of entering the naval service was relinquished.</p>
<p>The home in which Mrs. Washington presided, was a sanctuary of the
domestic virtues. The levity of youth was there tempered by a well
regulated restraint, and the enjoyments rational and proper for that age
were indulged in with moderation. The future chief was taught the duty of
obedience, and was thus prepared to command. The mother's authority never
departed from her, even when her son had attained the height of his
renown; for she ruled by the affection which had controlled his spirit
when he needed a guardian; and she claimed a reverence next to that due to
his Creator. This claim he admitted, mingling the deepest respect with
enthusiastic attachment, and yielding to her will the most implicit
obedience, even to the latest hours of her life. One of the associates of
his juvenile years, Lawrence Washington, of Chotank, thus speaks of his
home:</p>
<p>"I was often therewith George, his playmate, schoolmate, and young man's
companion. Of the mother I was ten times more afraid than I ever was of my
own parents; she awed me in the midst of her kindness, for she was indeed
truly kind. And even now, when time has whitened my locks, and I am the
grandparent of a second generation, I could not behold that majestic woman
without feelings it is impossible to describe. Whoever has seen that
awe-inspiring air and manner, so characteristic of the Father of his
country, will remember the matron as she appeared, the presiding genius of
her well-ordered household, commanding and being obeyed." Educated under
such influences, it is not to be wondered at that Washington's deportment
towards his mother at all times, testified his appreciation of her
elevated character, and the excellence of her lessons.</p>
<p>"On his appointment to the command-in-chief of the American armies," says
Mr. Custis, "previously to his joining the forces at Cambridge, he removed
his mother from her country residence, to the village of Fredericksburg, a
situation remote from danger and contiguous to her friends and relatives.
There she remained, during nearly the whole of the trying period of the
Revolution. Directly in the way of the news, as it passed from north to
south; one courier would bring intelligence of success to our arms;
another, "swiftly coursing at his heels," the saddening reverse of
disaster and defeat. While thus ebbed and flowed the fortunes of our
cause, the mother, trusting to the wisdom and protection of Divine
Providence, preserved the even tenor of her life; affording an example to
those matrons whose sons were alike engaged in the arduous contest; and
showing that unavailing anxieties, however belonging to nature, were
unworthy of mothers whose sons were combating for the inestimable rights
of man, and the freedom and happiness of the world."</p>
<p>When news arrived of the passage of the Delaware in December, 1776, the
mother received calmly the patriots who came with congratulations; and
while expressing pleasure at the intelligence, disclaimed for her son the
praises in the letters from which extracts were read. When informed by
express of the surrender of Cornwallis, she lifted her hands in gratitude
towards heaven, and exclaimed, "Thank God! war will now be ended, and
peace, independence and happiness bless our country!"</p>
<p>Her housewifery, industry, and care in the management of her domestic
concerns, were not intermitted during the war. "She looketh well to the
ways of her household," and "worketh willingly with her hands," said the
wise man, in describing a virtuous woman; and it was the pride of the
exemplary women of that day, to fill the station of mistress with
usefulness as well as dignity. Mrs. Washington was remarkable for a
simplicity which modern refinement might call severe, but which became her
not less when her fortunes were clouded, than when the sun of glory arose
upon her house. Some of the aged inhabitants of Fredericksburg long
remembered the matron, "as seated in an old-fashioned open chaise she was
in the habit of visiting, almost daily, her little farm in the vicinity of
the town. When there, she would ride about her fields, giving her orders
and seeing that they were obeyed." When on one occasion an agent departed
from his instructions—she reproved him for exercising his own
judgment in the matter; "I command you," she said; "there is nothing left
for you but to obey."</p>
<p>Her charity to the poor was well known; and having not wealth to
distribute, it was necessary that what her benevolence dispensed should be
supplied by domestic economy and industry. How peculiar a grace does this
impart to the benefits flowing from a sympathizing heart!</p>
<p>It is thus that she has been pictured in the imagination of one of our
most gifted poets. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Mrs. Sigourney, in her poetical tribute on the occasion of laying the
corner-stone for the monument,</p>
<p class="indent15">
"Methinks we see thee, as in olden time,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Simple in garb, majestic and serene,—</p>
<p class="indent15">
Unawed by 'pomp and circumstances'—in truth</p>
<p class="indent15">
Inflexible—and with a Spartan zeal</p>
<p class="indent15">
Repressing vice, and making folly grave.</p>
<p class="indent15">
Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste</p>
<p class="indent15">
Life in inglorious sloth, to sport awhile</p>
<p class="indent15">
Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Then fleet like the ephemeron away,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Building no temple in her children's hearts,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Save to the vanity and pride of life</p>
<p class="indent15">
Which she had worshipped."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>Mr. Custis states that she was continually visited and solaced, in the
retirement of her declining years, by her children and numerous
grandchildren. Her daughter, Mrs. Lewis, repeatedly and earnestly
solicited her to remove to her house, and there pass the remainder of her
days. Her son pressingly entreated her that she would make Mount Vernon
the home of her age. But the matron's answer was: "I thank you for your
affectionate and dutiful offers, but my wants are few in this world, and I
feel perfectly competent to take care of myself." To the proposition of
her son-in-law, Colonel Lewis, to relieve her by taking the direction of
her concerns, she replied: "Do you, Fielding, keep my books in order; for
your eyesight is better than mine: but leave the executive management to
me." Such were the energy and independence she preserved to an age beyond
that usually allotted to mortals, and, till within three years other
death, when the disease under which she suffered (cancer of the breast),
prevented exertion.</p>
<p>Her meeting with Washington, after the victory which decided the fortune
of America, illustrates her character too strikingly to be omitted. "After
an absence of nearly seven years, it was, at length, on the return of the
combined armies from Yorktown, permitted to the mother again to see and
embrace her illustrious son. So soon as he had dismounted, in the midst of
a numerous and brilliant suite, he sent to apprize her of his arrival, and
to know when it would be her pleasure to receive him. And now, mark the
force of early education and habits, and the superiority of the Spartan
over the Persian schools, in this interview of the great Washington with
his admirable parent and instructor. No pageantry of war proclaimed his
coming—no trumpets sounded—no banners waved. Alone, and on
foot, the marshal of France, the general-in-chief of the combined armies
of France and America, the deliverer of his country, the hero of the age,
repaired to pay his humble duty to her whom he venerated as the author of
his being, the founder of his fortune and his fame. For full well he knew
that the matron was made of sterner stuff than to be moved by all the
pride that glory ever gave, or by all the 'pomp and circumstance' of
power.</p>
<p>"The lady was alone—her aged hands employed in the works of domestic
industry, when the good news was announced; and it was further told, that
the victor-chief was in waiting at the threshold. She welcomed him with a
warm embrace, and by the well-remembered and endearing names of his
childhood. Inquiring as to his health, she remarked the lines which mighty
cares, and many trials, had made on his manly countenance—spoke much
of old times, and old friends; but of his glory, <i>not one word!</i></p>
<p>"Meantime, in the village of Fredericksburg, all was joy and revelry. The
town was crowded with the officers of the French and American armies, and
with gentlemen from all the country around, who hastened to welcome the
conquerors of Cornwallis. The citizens made arrangements for a splendid
ball, to which the mother of Washington was specially invited. She
observed, that although her dancing days were <i>pretty well over</i>, she
should feel happy in contributing to the general festivity, and consented
to attend.</p>
<p>"The foreign officers were anxious to see the mother of their chief. They
had heard indistinct rumors respecting her remarkable life and character;
but forming their judgment from European examples, they were prepared to
expect in the mother, that glare and show which would have been attached
to the parents of the great in the old world. How were they surprised when
the matron, leaning on the arm of her son, entered the room! She was
arrayed in the very plain, yet becoming garb worn by the Virginia lady of
the olden time. Her address, always dignified and imposing, was courteous,
though reserved. She received the complimentary attentions which were
profusely paid her, without evincing the slightest elevation; and at an
early hour, wishing the company much enjoyment of their pleasures, and
observing that it was time for old people to be at home, retired, leaning
as before, on the arm of her son."</p>
<p>To this picture may be added another:</p>
<p>"The Marquis de La Fayette repaired to Fredericksburg, previous to his
departure for Europe, in the fall of 1784, to pay his parting respects to
the mother, and to ask her blessing. Conducted by one of her grandsons, he
approached the house, when the young gentleman observed: 'There, sir, is
my grandmother.' La Fayette beheld—working in the garden, clad in
domestic-made clothes, and her grey head covered with a plain straw hat—the
mother of 'his hero, his friend and a country's preserver!' The lady
saluted him kindly, observing, 'Ah, marquis! you see an old woman; but
come, I can make you welcome to my poor dwelling, without the parade of
changing my dress.'"</p>
<p>To the encomiums lavished by the marquis on his chief, the mother replied:
"Iam not surprised at what George has done, for he was always a very good
boy." So simple in her true greatness of soul, was this remarkable woman.</p>
<p>Her piety was ardent; and she associated devotion with the grand and
beautiful in nature. She was in the habit of repairing every day for
prayer to a secluded spot, formed by rocks and trees, near her dwelling.</p>
<p>After the organization of the government, Washington repaired to
Fredericksburg, to announce to his mother his election to the chief
magistracy, and bid her farewell, before assuming the duties of his
office. Her aged frame was bowed down by disease; and she felt that they
were parting to meet no more in this world. But she bade him go, with
heaven's blessing and her own, to fulfil the high destinies to which he
had been called. Washington was deeply affected, and wept at the parting.</p>
<p>The person of Mrs. Washington is described as being of the medium height,
and well proportioned—her features pleasing, though strongly marked.
There were few painters in the colonies in those days, and no portrait of
her is in existence. Her biographer saw her but with infant eyes; but well
remembers the sister of the chief. Of her we are told nothing, except that
"she was a most majestic woman, and so strikingly like the brother, that
it was a matter of frolic to throw a cloak around her, and place a
military hat upon her head; and such was the perfect resemblance, that had
she appeared on her brother's steed, battalions would have presented arms,
and senates risen to do homage to the chief."</p>
<p>Mrs. Washington died at the age of eighty-five, rejoicing in the
consciousness of a life well spent, and the hope of a blessed immortality.
Her ashes repose at Fredericksburg, where a splendid monument has been
erected to her memory.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
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<br/>
<h2> II. ESTHER REED. </h2>
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<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>sther De Berdt was
born in the city of London, on the 22d of October, 1746, (N. S.,) and died
at Philadelphia on the 18th of September, 1780. Her thirty-four years of
life were adorned by no adventurous heroism; but were thickly studded with
the brighter beauties of feminine endurance, uncomplaining self-sacrifice,
and familiar virtue—under trials, too, of which civil war is so
fruitful. She was an only daughter. Her father, Dennis De Berdt, was a
British merchant, largely interested in colonial trade. He was a man of
high character. Descended from the Huguenots, or French Flemings, who came
to England on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Mr. De Berdt's pure
and rather austere religious sentiments and practice were worthy of the
source whence they came. His family were educated according to the
strictest rule of the evangelical piety of their day—the day when
devotion, frozen out of high places, found refuge in humble dissenting
chapels—the day of Wesley and of Whitfield. Miss De Berdt's youth
was trained religiously; and she was to the end of life true to the
principles of her education. The simple devotion she had learned from an
aged father's lips, alleviated the trials of youth, and brightened around
her early grave.</p>
<p>Mr. De Berdt's house in London, owing to his business relations with the
Colonies, was the home of many young Americans who at that time were
attracted by pleasure or duty to the imperial metropolis. Among these
visitors, in or about the year 1763, was Joseph Reed, of New Jersey, who
had come to London to finish his professional studies (such being the
fashion of the times) at the Temple. Mr. Reed was in the twenty-third year
of his age—a man of education, intelligence, and accomplishment. The
intimacy, thus accidentally begun, soon produced its natural fruits; and
an engagement, at first secret, and afterwards avowed, was formed between
the young English girl and the American stranger. Parental discouragement,
so wise that even youthful impetuosity could find no fault with it, was
entirely inadequate to break a connection thus formed. They loved long and
faithfully—how faithfully, the reader will best judge when he learns
that a separation of five years of deferred hope, with the Atlantic
between them, never gave rise to a wandering wish, or hope, or thought.</p>
<p>Mr. Reed, having finished his studies, returned to America, in the early
part of 1765, and began the practice of the law in his native village of
Trenton. His success was immediate and great. But there was a distracting
element at work in his heart, which prevented him from looking on success
with complacency; and one plan after another was suggested, by which he
might be enabled to return and settle in Great Britain. That his young and
gentle mistress should follow him to America, was a vision too wild even
for a sanguine lover. Every hope was directed back to England; and the
correspondence, the love letters of five long years, are filled with plans
by which these cherished, but delusive wishes were to be consummated. How
dimly was the future seen!</p>
<p>Miss De Berdt's engagement with her American lover, was coincident with
that dreary period of British history, when a monarch and his ministers
were laboring hard to tear from its socket, and cast away for ever, the
brightest jewel of the imperial crown—American colonial power. It
was the interval when Chatham's voice was powerless to arouse the Nation,
and make Parliament pause—when penny-wise politicians, in the happy
phrase of the day, "<i>teased America into resistance</i>;" and the varied
vexations of stamp acts, and revenue bills, and tea duties, the congenial
fruits of poor statesmanship, were the means by which a great catastrophe
was hurried onward. Mr. De Berdt's relations with the Government were, in
some respects, direct and intimate. His house was a place of counsel for
those who sought, by moderate and constitutional means, to stay the hand
of misgovernment and oppression. He was the Agent of the Stamp Act
Congress first, and of the Colonies of Delaware and Massachusetts,
afterwards. And most gallantly did the brave old man discharge the duty
which his American constituents confided to him. His heart was in his
trust; and we may well imagine the alternations of feeling which throbbed
in the bosom of his daughter, as she shared in the consultations of this
almost American household; and according to the fitful changes of time and
opinion, counted the chances of discord that might be fatal to her peace,
or of honorable pacification which should bring her lover home to her.
Miss De Berdt's letters, now in the possession of her descendants, are
full of allusions to this varying state of things, and are remarkable for
the sagacious good sense which they develope. She is, from first to last,
a stout American. Describing a visit to the House of Commons, in April,
1766, her enthusiasm for Mr. Pitt is unbounded, while she does not
disguise her repugnance to George Grenville and Wedderburn, whom she says
she cannot bear, because "<i>they are such enemies to America</i>." So it
is throughout, in every line she writes, in every word she utters; and
thus was she, unconsciously, receiving that training which in the end was
to fit her for an American patriot's wife.</p>
<p>Onward, however, step by step, the Monarch and his Ministry—he, if
possible, more infatuated than they—advanced in the career of
tyrannical folly. Remonstrance was vain. They could not be persuaded that
it would ever become resistance. In 1769 and 1770, the crisis was almost
reached. Five years of folly had done it all. In the former of these
years, the lovers were re-united, Mr. Reed returning on an uncertain visit
to England. He found everything, but her faithful affection, changed.
Political disturbance had had its usual train of commercial disaster; and
Mr. De Berdt had not only become bankrupt, but unable to rally on such a
reverse in old age, had sunk into his grave. All was ruin and confusion;
and on the 31st of May, 1770, Esther De Berdt became an American wife, the
wedding being privately solemnized at St. Luke's Church, in the city of
London.</p>
<p>In October, the young couple sailed for America, arriving at Philadelphia
in November, 1770. Mr. Reed immediately changed his residence from Trenton
to Philadelphia, where he continued to live. Mrs. Reed's correspondence
with her brother and friends in England, during the next five years, has
not been preserved. It would have been interesting, as showing the
impressions made on an intelligent mind by the primitive state of society
and modes of life in these wild Colonies, some eighty years ago, when
Philadelphia was but a large village—when the best people lived in
Front street, or on the water side, and an Indian frontier was within an
hundred miles of the Schuylkill. They are, however, all lost. The
influence of Mrs. Reed's foreign connection can be traced only in the
interesting correspondence between her husband and Lord Dartmouth, during
the years 1774 and 1775, which has been recently given to the public, and
which narrates, in the most genuine and trustworthy form, the progress of
colonial discontent in the period immediately anterior to actual
revolution. In all the initiatory measures of peaceful resistance, Mr.
Reed, as is well known, took a large and active share; and in all he did,
he had his young wife's ardent sympathy. The English girl had grown at
once into the American matron.</p>
<p>Philadelphia was then the heart of the nation. It beat generously and
boldly when the news of Lexington and Bunker Hill startled the whole land.
Volunteer troops were raised—money in large sums was remitted, much
through Mr. Reed's direct agency, for the relief of the sufferers in New
England. At last, a new and controlling incident here occurred. It was in
Philadelphia that, walking in the State House yard, John Adams first
suggested Washington as the National commander-in-chief; and from
Philadelphia that in June, 1775, Washington set out, accompanied by the
best citizens of the liberal party, to enter on his duties. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* As this memoir was in preparation, the writer's eye was attracted by a
notice of the Philadelphia obsequies of John Q. Adams, in March, 1848. It
is from the New York Courier and Enquirer:</p>
<p class="foot">
* "That part of the ceremonial which was most striking, more impressive
than anything I have ever seen, was the approach through the old State
House yard to Independence Hall. I have stood by Napoleon's dramatic
mausoleum in the Invalides, and mused over the more simple tomb of Nelson,
lying by the side of Collingwood, in the crypt of St. Paul's; but, no
impression was made like that of yesterday. The multitude—for the
crowd had grown into one—being strictly excluded from the square,
filled the surrounding streets and houses, and gazed silently on the
simple ceremonial before them. It was sunset, or nearly so—a calm,
bright spring evening. There was no cheering, no disturbance, no display
of banners, no rude sound of drum. The old trees were leafless; and no
one's free vision was disappointed. The funeral escort proper, consisting
of the clergy, comprising representatives of nearly all denominations, the
committee of Congress, and the city authorities—in all, not
exceeding a hundred, with the body and pall bearers, alone were admitted.
They walked slowly up the middle path from the south gate, no sound being
heard at the point from which I saw it, but the distant and gentle music
of one military band near the Hall, and the deep tones of our ancient bell
that rang when Independence was proclaimed. The military escort, the
company of Washington Greys, whose duty it was to guard the body during
the night, presented arms as the coffin went by; and as the procession
approached the Hall, the clergy, and all others uncovered themselves, and,
if awed by the genius of the place, approached reverently and solemnly.
This simple and natural act of respect, or rather reverence, was most
touching. It was a thing never to be forgotten. This part of the
ceremonial was what I should like a foreigner to see. It was genuine and
simple.</p>
<p class="foot">
* "And throughout, remember, illusion had nothing to do with it. These
were simple, actual realities, that thus stirred the heart. It was no
empty memorial coffin; but here were the actual honored remains of one who
was part of our history—the present, the recent, and remote past.
And who could avoid thinking, if any spark of consciousness remained in
the old man's heart, it might have brightened as he was borne along by the
best men of Philadelphia, on this classic path, in the shadow of this
building, and to the sound of this bell. The last of the days of
Washington was going by, and it was traversing the very spot, where,
seventy years ago, John Adams had first suggested Washington as
Commander-in-chief of the army of the Revolution. It reposed last night in
Independence Hall."</p>
<p>Mr. Reed accompanied him, as his family supposed, and as he probably
intended, only as part of an escort, for a short distance. From New York
he wrote to his wife that, yielding to the General's solicitations, he had
become a soldier, and joined the staff as Aid, and Military Secretary. The
young mother—for she was then watching by the cradle of two infant
children—neither repined nor murmured. She knew that it was no
restless freak, or transient appetite for excitement, that took away her
husband; for no one was more conscious than she, how dear his cheerful
home was, and what sweet companionship there was in the mother and her
babes. It was not difficult to be satisfied that a high sense of duty was
his controlling influence, and that hers it was "to love and be silent."</p>
<p>At Philadelphia she remained during Mr. Reed's first tour of duty at
Cambridge; and afterwards, in 1776, when being appointed Adjutant-General,
he rejoined the army at New York. In the summer of that year, she took her
little family to Burlington; and in the winter, on the approach of the
British invading forces, took deeper refuge at a little farmhouse near
Evesham, and at no great distance from the edge of the Pines.</p>
<p>We, contented citizens of a peaceful land, can form little conception of
the horrors and desolation of those ancient times of trial. The terrors of
invasion are things which nowadays imagination can scarcely compass. But
then, it was rugged reality. The unbridled passions of a mercenary
soldiery, compounded not only of the brutal element that forms the vigor
of every army, but of the ferocity of Hessians, hired and paid for
violence and rapine, were let loose on the land. The German troops, as if
to inspire especial terror, were sent in advance, and occupied, in
December, 1776, a chain of posts extending from Trenton to Mount Holly,
Rhal commanding at the first, and Donop at the other. General Howe, and
his main army, were rapidly advancing by the great route to the Delaware.
On the other hand, the river was filled with American gondolas, whose
crews, landing from time to time on the Jersey shore, by their
lawlessness, and threats of retaliation, kept the pacific inhabitants in
continual alarm. The American army, if it deserved the name, was literally
scattered along the right bank of the Delaware; Mr. Reed being with a
small detachment of Philadelphia volunteers, under Cadwalader, at Bristol.</p>
<p>Family tradition has described the anxious hours passed by the sorrowing
group at Evesham. It consisted of Mrs. Reed, who had recently been
confined, and was in feeble health, her three children, an aged mother,
and a female friend, also a soldier's wife: the only male attendant being
a boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. If the enemy were to make a
sudden advance, they would be entirely cut off from the ordinary avenues
of escape; and precautions were taken to avoid this risk. The wagon was
ready, to be driven by the boy we have spoken of, and the plan was
matured, if they failed to get over the river at Dunk's or Cooper's Ferry,
to cross lower down, near Salem, and push on to the westward settlements.
The wives and children of American patriot-soldiers thought themselves
safer on the perilous edge of an Indian wilderness, than in the
neighborhood of the soldiers who, commanded by noblemen—by "men of
honor and cavaliers," for such, according to all heraldry, were the Howes
and Cornwallises, the Percies and Rawdons of that day—were sent by a
gracious monarch to lay waste this land. The English campaigning of our
Revolution—and no part of it more so than this—is the darkest
among the dark stains that disfigure the history of the eighteenth
century; and if ever there be a ground for hereditary animosity, we have
it in the fresh record of the outrages which the military arm of Great
Britain committed on this soil. The transplanted sentimentalism which
nowadays calls George III. a wise and great monarch, is absolute treason
to America. There was in the one Colony of New Jersey, and in a single
year, blood enough shed, and misery enough produced, to outweigh all the
spurious merits which his admirers can pretend to claim. And let such for
ever be the judgment of American history.</p>
<p>It is worth a moment's meditation to pause and think of the sharp
contrasts in our heroine's life. The short interval of less than six years
had changed her not merely to womanhood, but to womanhood with
extraordinary trials. Her youth was passed in scenes of peaceful
prosperity, with no greater anxiety than for a distant lover, and with all
the comforts which independence and social position could supply. She had
crossed the ocean a bride, content to follow the fortunes of her young
husband, though she little dreamed what they were to be. She had become a
mother; and, while watching by the cradle of her infants, had seen her
household broken up by war in its worst form—the internecine
conflict of brothers in arms against each other—her husband called
away to scenes of bloody peril, and forced, herself, to seek uncertain
refuge in a wilderness. She too, let it be remembered, was a native-born
Englishwoman, with all the loyal sentiments that beat by instinct in an
Englishwoman's heart—reverence for the throne, the monarch, and for
all the complex institutions which hedge that mysterious oracular thing
called the British Constitution. "God save the king," was neither then,
nor is it now, a formal prayer on the lips of a British maiden. Coming to
America, all this was changed. Loyalty was a badge of crime. The king's
friends were her husband's, and her new country's worst enemies. That
which, in the parks of London, or at the Horse-Guards, she had admired as
the holiday pageantry of war, had become the fearful apparatus of savage
hostility. She, an Englishwoman, was a fugitive from the brutality of
English soldiers. Her destiny, her fortunes, and more than all, her
thoughts, and hopes, and wishes, were changed; and happy was it for her
husband that they were changed completely and thoroughly, and that her
faith to household loyalty was exclusive.</p>
<p>Hers it was, renouncing all other allegiance—</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"In war or peace, in sickness, or in health,</p>
<p class="indent15">
In trouble and in danger, and distress, '</p>
<p class="indent15">
Through time and through eternity, to love."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>"I have received," she writes, in June, 1777, to her husband, "both my
friend's letters. They have contributed to raise my spirits, which, though
low enough, are better than when you parted with me. The reflection how
much I pain you by my want of resolution and the double distress I
occasion you, when I ought to make your duty as light as possible, would
tend to depress my spirits, did I not consider that the best and only
amends is, to endeavor to resume my cheerfulness, and regain my usual
spirits. I wish you to know, my dearest friend, that I have done this as
much as possible, and beg you to free your mind from every care on this
head."</p>
<p>But to return to the narrative—interrupted, naturally, by thoughts
like these. The reverses which the British army met at Trenton and
Princeton, with the details of which every one is presumed to be familiar,
saved that part of New Jersey where Mrs. Reed and her family resided, from
further danger; and on the retreat of the enemy, and the consequent relief
of Philadelphia from further alarm, she returned to her home. She returned
there with pride as well as contentment; for her husband, inexperienced
soldier as he was, had earned military fame of no slight eminence. He had
been in nearly every action, and always distinguished. Washington had, on
all occasions, and at last in an especial manner, peculiarly honored him.
The patriots of Philadelphia hailed him back among them; and the wife's
smile of welcome was not less bright because she looked with pride upon
her husband.</p>
<p>Brief, however, was the new period of repose. The English generals, deeply
mortified at their discomfiture in New Jersey, resolved on a new and more
elaborate attempt on Philadelphia; and in July, 1777, set sail with the
most complete equipment they had yet been able to prepare, for the capes
of the Chesapeake. On the landing of the British army at the head of Elk,
and during the military movements that followed, Mrs. Reed was at
Norristown, and there remained, her husband having again joined the army,
till after the battle of Brandywine, when she and her children were
removed first to Burlington, and thence to Flemington. Mr. Reed's hurried
letters show the imminent danger that even women and children ran in those
days of confusion. "It is quite uncertain," he writes on 14th September,
1777, "which way the progress of the British army may point. Upon their
usual plan of movement, they will cross, or endeavor to cross, the
Schuylkill, somewhere near my house; in which case I shall be very
dangerously situated. If you could possibly spare Cato, with your light
wagon, to be with me to assist in getting off if there should be
necessity, I shall be very glad. I have but few things beside the women
and children; but yet, upon a push, one wagon and two horses would be too
little." Mrs. Reed's letters show her agonized condition, alarmed as she
was, at the continual and peculiar risk her husband was running. A little
later (in February, 1778), Mrs. Reed says, in writing to a dear female
friend: "This season which used to be so long and tedious, has, to me,
been swift, and no sooner come than nearly gone. Not from the pleasures it
has brought, but the fears of what is to come; and, indeed, on many
accounts, winter has become the only season of peace and safety. Returning
spring will, I fear, bring a return of bloodshed and destruction to our
country. That it must do so to this part of it, seems unavoidable; and how
much of the distress we may feel before we are able to move from it, I am
unable to say. I sometimes fear a great deal. It has already become too
dangerous for Mr. Reed to be at home more than one day at a time, and that
seldom and uncertain. Indeed, I am easiest when he is from home, as his
being here brings danger with it. There are so many disaffected to the
cause of their country, that they lie in wait for those who are active;
but I trust that the same kind presiding Power which has preserved him
from the hands of his enemies, will still do it."</p>
<p>Nor were her fears unreasonable. The neighborhood of Philadelphia, after
it fell into the hands of the enemy, was infested by gangs of armed
loyalists, who threatened the safety of every patriot whom they
encountered. Tempted by the hard money which the British promised them,
they dared any danger, and were willing to commit any enormity. It was
these very ruffians, and their wily abettors, for whom afterwards so much
false sympathy was invoked. Mr. Reed and his family, though much exposed,
happily escaped these dangers.</p>
<p>During the military operations of the Autumn of 1777, Mr. Reed was again
attached as a volunteer to Washington's staff, and during the winter that
followed—the worst that America's soldiers saw—he was at, or
in the immediate neighborhood, of Valley Forge, as one of a committee of
Congress, of which body he had some time before been chosen a member. Mrs.
Reed with her mother and her little family took refuge at Flemington, in
the upper part of New Jersey. She remained there till after the evacuation
of Philadelphia and the battle of Monmouth, in June, 1778.</p>
<p>While thus separated from her husband, and residing at Flemington, new
domestic misfortune fell on her, in the death of one of her children by
smallpox. How like an affectionate heart-stricken mother is the following
passage, from a letter written at that time. Though it has no peculiar
beauty of style, there is a touching genuineness which every reader—at
least those who know a mother's heart under such affliction—will
appreciate.</p>
<p>"Surely," says she, "my affliction has had its aggravation, and I cannot
help reflecting on my neglect of my dear lost child. For thoughtful and
attentive to my own situation, I did not take the necessary precaution to
prevent that fatal disorder when it was in my power. Surely I ought to
take blame to myself. I would not do it to aggravate my sorrow, but to
learn a lesson of humility, and more caution and prudence in future. Would
to God I could learn every lesson intended by the stroke. I think
sometimes of my loss with composure, acknowledging the wisdom, right, and
even the kindness of the dispensation. Again I feel it overcome me, and
strike the very bottom of my heart, and tell me <i>the work is not yet
finished</i>."</p>
<p>Nor was it finished, though in a sense different from what she
apprehended. Her children were spared, but her own short span of life was
nearly run. Trial and perplexity and separation from home and husband were
doing their work. Mrs. Reed returned to Philadelphia, the seat of actual
warfare being forever removed, to apparent comfort and high social
position. In the fall of 1778, Mr. Reed was elected President, or in the
language of our day, Governor of Pennsylvania. His administration, its
difficulties and ultimate success belong to the history of the country,
and have been elsewhere illustrated. It was from first to last a period of
intense political excitement, and Mr. Reed was the high target at which
the sharp and venomous shafts of party virulence were chiefly shot.</p>
<p>The suppressed poison of loyalism mingled with the ferocity of ordinary
political animosity, and the scene was in every respect discreditable to
all concerned. Slander of every sort was freely propagated. Personal
violence was threatened. Gentlemen went armed in the streets of
Philadelphia. Folly on one hand and fanaticism on the other, put in
jeopardy the lives of many distinguished citizens, in October, 1779, and
Mr. Reed by his energy and discretion saved them. There is extant a letter
from his wife, written to a friend, on the day of what is well known in
Philadelphia, as the Fort Wilson riot, dated at Germantown, which shows
her fears for her husband's safety were not less reasonable, when he was
exposed to the fury of an excited populace, than to the legitimate
hostility of an enemy on the field of battle:</p>
<p>"Dear Sir:—I would not take a moment of your time to tell you the
distress and anxiety I feel, but only to beg you to let me know in what
state things are, and what is likely to be the consequence. I write not to
Mr. Reed because I know he is not in a situation to attend to me. I
conjure you by the friendship you have for Mr. Reed, don't leave him.—E.
R."</p>
<p>And throughout this scene of varied perplexity, when the heart of the
statesman was oppressed by trouble without—disappointment,
ingratitude—all that makes a politician's life so wretched, he was
sure to find his home happy, his wife smiling and contented, with no
visible sorrow to impair her welcome, and no murmur to break the melody of
domestic joy. It sustained him to the end. This was humble, homely
heroism, but it did its good work in cheering and sustaining a spirit that
might otherwise have broken. Let those disparage it who have never had the
solace which such companionship affords, or who never have known the
bitter sorrow of its loss.</p>
<p>In May, 1780, Mrs. Reed's youngest son was born. It was of him, that
Washington, a month later wrote, "I warmly thank you for calling the young
Christian by my name," and it was he who more than thirty years
afterwards, died in the service of his country, * not less gloriously
because his was not a death of triumph. It was in the fall of this year,
that the ladies of Philadelphia united in their remarkable and generous
contribution for the relief of the suffering soldiers, by supplying them
with clothing. Mrs. Reed was placed, by their united suffrage, at the head
of this association. The French Secretary of Legation, M. de Marbois, in a
letter that has been published, tells her she is called to the office as
"the best patriot, the most zealous and active, and the most attached to
the interests of her country."</p>
<p class="foot">
* George Washington Reed, a Commander in the U. S. Navy, died a prisoner
of war in Jamaica, in 1813. He refused a parole, because unwilling to
leave his crew in a pestilential climate; and himself perished.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding the feeble state of her health, Mrs. Reed entered upon her
duties with great animation. The work was congenial to her feelings. It
was charity in its genuine form and from its purest source—the
voluntary outpouring from the heart. It was not stimulated by the
excitements of our day—neither fancy fairs, nor bazaars; but the
American women met, and seeing the necessity that asked interposition,
relieved it. They solicited money and other contributions directly, and
for a precise and avowed object. They labored with their needles and
sacrificed their trinkets and jewelry. The result was very remarkable. The
aggregate amount of contributions in the City and County of Philadelphia,
was not less than 7,500 dollars, specie; much of it, too, paid in hard
money, at a time of the greatest appreciation. "All ranks of society,"
says President Reed's biographer, "seem to have joined in the liberal
effort, from Phillis, the colored woman, with her humble seven shillings
and six pence, to the Marchioness de La Fayette, who contributed one
hundred guineas in specie, and the Countess de Luzerne, who gave six
thousand dollars in continental paper." La Fayette's gentlemanly letter to
Mrs. Reed is worth preserving.</p>
<p>Head Quarters, June the 25th, 1780.</p>
<p>Madam,</p>
<p>In admiring the new resolution, in which the fair ones of Philadelphia
have taken the lead, I am induced to feel for those American ladies, who
being out of the Continent cannot participate in this patriotic measure. I
know of one who, heartily wishing for a personal acquaintance with the
ladies of America, would feel particularly happy to be admitted among them
on the present occasion. Without presuming to break in upon the rules of
your respected association, may I most humbly present myself as her
ambassador to the confederate ladies, and solicit in her name that Mrs.
President be pleased to accept of her offering.</p>
<p>With the highest respect, I have the honor to be,</p>
<p>Madam, your most obedient servant,</p>
<p>La Fayette.</p>
<p>Mrs. Reed's correspondence with the Commander-in-chief on the subject of
the mode of administering relief to the poor soldiers, has been already
published, * and is very creditable to both parties. Her letters are
marked by business-like intelligence and sound feminine common sense, on
subjects of which as a secluded woman she could have personally no
previous knowledge, and Washington, as has been truly observed, "writes as
judiciously on the humble topic of soldier's shirts, as on the plan of a
campaign or the subsistence of an army."</p>
<p>All this time, it must be borne in mind, it was a feeble, delicate woman,
who was thus writing and laboring, her husband again away from her with
the army, and her family cares and anxieties daily multiplying. She writes
from her country residence on the banks of Schuylkill, as late as the
22nd. of August, 1780: "I am most anxious to get to town, because here I
can do little for the soldiers." But the body and the heroic spirit were
alike overtasked, and in the early part of the next month, alarming
disease developed itself, and soon ran its fatal course. On the 18th of
September, 1780—her aged mother, her husband and little children,
the oldest ten years old, mourning around her—she breathed her last
at the early age of thirty-four. There was deep and honest sorrow in
Philadelphia, when the news was circulated that Mrs. Reed was dead. It
stilled for a moment the violence of party spirit. All classes united in a
hearty tribute to her memory.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Life and Correspondence of President Reed.</p>
<p>Nor is it inappropriate in closing this brief memoir, to notice a
coincidence in local history; a contrast in the career and fate of two
women of these times, which is strongly picturesque.</p>
<p>It was on the 25th of September, 1780, seven days after Mrs. Reed was
carried to her honored grave, and followed thither by crowds of her own
and her husband's friends, that the wife of Benedict Arnold, a native born
Philadelphia woman, was stunned by the news of her husband's detected
treachery and dishonor. Let those who doubt the paramount duty of every
man and every woman, too, to their country, and the sure destiny of all
who are false to it, meditate on this contrast. Mrs. Arnold had been a
leader of what is called fashion, in her native city, belonging to the
spurious aristocracy of a provincial town—a woman of beauty and
accomplishment and rank. Her connections were all thorough and sincere
loyalists, and Arnold had won his way into a circle generally exclusive
and intolerant by his known disaffection, and especially his insolent
opposition to the local authorities, and to Mr. Reed as the chief
executive magistrate. The aristocratic beauty smiled kindly on a lover who
felt the same antipathies she had been taught to cherish. While Mrs. Reed
and her friends were toiling to relieve the wants of the suffering
soldiers—in June, July and August, 1780, Mrs. Arnold was communing
with her husband, not in plans of treason, but in all his hatreds and
discontents. He probably did not trust her with the whole of the perilous
stuff that was fermenting in his heart; for it was neither necessary nor
safe to do so. But he knew her nature and habits of thought well enough to
be sure that if success crowned his plan of treason, and if honors and
rewards were earned, his wife would not frown, or reject them because they
had been won by treachery. And he played his game out, boldly, resolutely,
confidently. The patriot woman of Philadelphia sank into her grave,
honored and lamented by those among whom so recently she had come a
stranger. Her tomb, alongside of that of her husband, still stands on the
soil of her country. The fugitive wife of an American traitor fled forever
from her home and native soil, and died abroad unnoticed, and by her
husband's crime dishonored. She was lost in a traitor's ignominy. Such was
then and such ever will be, the fate of all who betray a public and a
patriot trust.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> III. CATHARINE SCHUYLER </h2>
<div class="fig"> <ANTIMG src="images/0006.jpg" alt="0006m " width-obs="100%" /><br/></div>
<h5>
<SPAN href="images/0006.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </SPAN>
</h5>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he name of Philip
Schuyler adds another to the list of distinguished men indebted largely to
maternal guidance. To his mother, a woman of strong and cultivated mind,
he owed his early education and habits of business, with that steadfast
integrity, which never faltered nor forsook him. His wife—the
beloved companion of his maturer years—cherished his social virtues
and added lustre to his fame. Those who shared his generous hospitality,
or felt the charm of his polished manners, were ready to testify to the
excellence of her whose gentle influence was always apparent. A brief
notice of her is all that can here be offered.</p>
<p>Catharine Schuyler was the only daughter of John Van Rensselaer, called
Patroon of Greenbush, a patriot in the Revolutionary struggle, and noted
for his hospitality, and for his kindness and forbearance towards the
tenants of his vast estates during the war. It cannot be doubted that the
recent anti-rent struggles, which have almost convulsed the State of New
York, can be traced to the amiable but injudicious indulgence of this
great landholder and his immediate heirs.</p>
<p>The qualities which in some cases shone in remarkable acts, were
constantly exercised by Mrs. Schuyler in the domestic sphere. At the head
of a large family, her management was so perfect that the regularity with
which all went on appeared spontaneous. Her life was devoted to the care
of her children; yet her friendships were warm and constant, and she found
time for dispensing charities to the poor. Many families in poverty
remember with gratitude the aid received from her; sometimes in the shape
of a milch cow, or other article of use. She possessed great self-control,
and as a mistress of a household, her prudence was blended with unvarying
kindness. Her chief pleasure was in diffusing happiness in her home.</p>
<p>The house in which the family resided, near Albany, was built by Mrs.
Schuyler, while her husband was in England, in 1760 and 1761. It had,
probably, been commenced previously. The ancient family mansion, large and
highly ornamented in the Dutch taste, stood on the corner of State and
Washington streets, in the city. It was taken down about the year 1800. It
was a place of resort for British officers and travellers of note in the
French war. Fourteen French gentlemen, some of them officers who had been
captured in 1758, were here entertained as prisoners on parole. They found
it most agreeable to be in Schuyler's house, as he could converse with
them in French; and his kindness made them friends. In 1801, when Mrs.
Schuyler and some of her family visited Montreal and Quebec, they were
received with grateful attention by the descendants of those gentlemen.</p>
<p>Near Saratoga, the scene of General Schuyler's triumph, he had an elegant
country-seat, which was destroyed by General Burgoyne. It was one of the
most picturesque incidents of the war, that the captive British general
with his suite, should be received and entertained, after the surrender at
Saratoga, by those whose property he had wantonly laid waste. The courtesy
and kindness shown by General and Mrs. Schuyler to the late enemy, and
their generous forgetfulness of their own losses, were sensibly felt and
acknowledged. Madame de Riedesel says their reception was not like that of
enemies, but of intimate friends. "All their actions proved, that at sight
of the misfortunes of others, they quickly forgot their own." This
delicacy and generosity drew from Burgoyne the observation to General
Schuyler, "You are too kind to me, who have done so much injury to you."
The reply was characteristic of the noble-hearted victor: "Such is the
fate of war; let us not dwell on the subject."</p>
<p>The Marquis de Chastellux mentions, that just previous to this visit,
General Schuyler being detained at Saratoga, where he had seen the ruins
of his beautiful villa, wrote thence to his wife to make every preparation
for giving the best reception to Burgoyne and his suite. "The British
commander was well received by Mrs. Schuyler, and lodged in the best
apartment in the house. An excellent supper was served him in the evening,
the honors of which were done with so much grace, that he was affected
even to tears, and said, with a deep sigh, 'Indeed, this is doing too much
for the man who has ravaged their lands, and burned their dwellings.' The
next morning he was reminded of his misfortunes by an incident that would
have amused any one else. His bed was prepared in a large room; but as he
had a numerous suite, or family, several mattresses were spread on the
floor for some officers to sleep near him. Schuyler's second son, a little
fellow about seven years old, very arch and forward, but very amiable, was
running all the morning about the house. Opening the door of the saloon,
he burst out a laughing on seeing all the English collected, and shut it
after him, exclaiming, 'You are all my prisoners!' This innocent cruelty
rendered them more melancholy than before."</p>
<p>Thus were even the miseries of war softened by Mrs. Schuyler's graceful
courtesy; while the military renown won by her husband's illustrious
services, was associated with remembrances of disinterested kindness
bestowed in requital for injury. In reverse, her resolution and courage
had been proved equal to the emergency. When the continental army was
retreating from Fort Edward before Burgoyne, Mrs. Schuyler went up
herself, in her chariot from Albany to Saratoga, to see to the removal of
her furniture. While there, she received directions from the General, to
set fire, with her own hand, to his extensive fields of wheat, and to
request his tenants, and others, to do the same, rather than suffer them
to be reaped by the enemy. The injunction shows the soldier's confidence
in her spirit, firmness, and patriotism.</p>
<p>Many of the women of this family appear to have been remarkable for strong
intellect and clear judgment. The Mrs. Schuyler described in Mrs. Grant's
memoirs, was a venerated relative of the General. He lost his admirable
wife in 1803. Her departure left his last years desolate, and saddened
many hearts in which yet lives the memory of her bright virtues. One of
her daughters, Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, now resides in Washington, D. C.,
and another at Oswego.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> IV. CATHARINE GREENE. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>atharine
Littlefield, the eldest daughter of John Littlefield and Phebe Ray, was
born in New Shore-ham, on Block Island, 1753. When very young, she came
with her sister to reside in the family of Governor Greene, of Warwick, a
lineal descendant of the founder of the family, whose wife was her aunt.
The house in which they lived, twelve or fourteen miles south of
Providence, is still standing. It is situated on a hill, which commands a
view of the whole of Narragansett Bay, with its islands. Mount Hope,
associated with King Philip, and the Indian traditions, fills the
background, rising slightly above the line of the horizon. It was here
that Miss Littlefield's happy girlhood was passed; and it was here also
that she first knew Nathanael Greene. She often went on a visit to her
family at Block Island. Nathanael would come there to see her; and the
time was spent by the young people in amusements, particularly in riding
and dancing, of which the future general was remarkably fond,
notwithstanding his father's efforts to whip out of him such idle
propensities. He was not discouraged by the example of his fair companion
from any of these outbreaks of youthful gaiety; for the tradition of the
country around, and the recollections of all who knew her, testify that
there never lived a more joyous, frolicsome creature than "Kate
Littlefield." In person, she was singularly lovely. Her figure was of the
medium height, and light and graceful at this period, though in after
years she was inclined to <i>embonpoint</i>. Her eyes were gray, and her
complexion fair; her features regular and animated. The facilities for
female education being very limited at that period, Miss Littlefield
enjoyed few advantages of early cultivation. She was not particularly fond
of study, though she read the books that came in her way, and profited by
what she read. She possessed, moreover, a marvellous quickness of
perception, and the faculty of comprehending a subject with surprising
readiness. Thus in conversation, she seemed to appreciate every thing said
on almost any topic; and frequently would astonish others by the ease with
which her mind took hold of the ideas presented. She was at all times an
intelligent listener. On one occasion, when the conversation turned on
botany, she looked over the books and collection of a Swedish botanist,
making remarks from time to time which much interested him, and showed her
an observer of no common intelligence. This extraordinary activity of
mind, and tact in seizing on points, so as to apprehend almost
intuitively, distinguished her through life. It enabled her, without
apparent mental effort, to apply the instruction conveyed in the books she
read, to the practical affairs of life, and to enrich her varied
conversation with the knowledge gained from them, and her observation of
the world. This power of rendering available her intellectual stores,
combined with a retentive memory, a lively imagination, and great fluency
in speech, rendered her one of the most brilliant and entertaining of
women. When to these gifts was added the charm of rare beauty, it cannot
excite wonder that the possessor of such attractions should fascinate all
who approached her.</p>
<p>How, when, or by what course of wooing, the youthful lover won the bright,
volatile, coquettish maiden, cannot be ascertained; but it is probable
their attachment grew in the approving eyes of their relatives, and met
with no obstacle till sealed by the matrimonial vow. The marriage took
place July 20th, 1774, and the young couple removed to Coventry. Little,
it is likely, did the fair Catharine dream of her future destiny as a
soldier's wife; or that the broad-brimmed hat of her young husband covered
brows that should one day be wreathed with the living laurels won by
genius and patriotism. We have no means of knowing with how much interest
she watched the over-clouding of the political horizon, or the dire
advance of the necessity that drove the Colonies to armed resistance. But
when her husband's decision was made, and he stood forth a determined
patriot, separating himself from the community in which he had been born
and reared, by embracing a military profession, his spirited wife did her
part to aid and encourage him. The papers of the day frequently notice her
presence, among other ladies, at head-quarters. Like Mrs. Washington, she
passed the active season of the campaign at home. Hers was a new
establishment at Coventry, a village in Rhode Island, where her husband
had erected a forge, and built himself what then passed for a princely
house on the banks of one of those small streams which form so beautiful a
feature in Rhode Island scenery. When the army before Boston was
inoculated for the smallpox, she gave up her house for a hospital. She was
there during the attack on Rhode Island; and every cannon on the hard
fought day which closed that memorable enterprise, must have awakened the
echoes of those quiet hills. When the army went into winter quarters, she
always set out to rejoin her husband, sharing cheerfully the narrow
quarters and hard fare of a camp. She partook of the privations of the
dreary winter at Valley Forge, in that "darkest hour of the Revolution;"
and it appears that, as at home, her gay spirit shed light around her even
in such scenes, softening and enlivening the gloom which might have
weighed many a bold heart into despondency. There are extant some
interesting little notes of Kosciusko, in very imperfect English, Which
show her kindness to her husband's friends, and the pleasure she took in
alleviating their sufferings.</p>
<p>How much her society was prized by General Greene, and how impatiently he
bore separation from her, may be seen in his letters. * When about to
start for the South, in October, 1780, he waits for her arrival to join
him, expecting she will overtake him at camp, or in Philadelphia; and
expresses the greatest anxiety that she should avoid the dangerous route
by Peekskill. His fears for her safety at last impel him to request her
not to encounter the risk. Mr. Hughes, who knows the feelings of the
anxious wife, detains the letters: and afterwards, confessing the
unwarrantable liberty—for which he "deserved to appear before a
court-martial"—says: "But if I do, I will plead Mrs. General
Greene." Again he writes: "Give me leave to say that your lady, if
possible, without injury to herself, must see you. My God! she will suffer
a thousand times as much by a disappointment, as she can by going ten
times the distance!"</p>
<p class="foot">
* The letters quoted or referred to in this sketch are from the MS.
correspondence of General Greene, in the possession of his grandson, Prof.
George W. Greene, of Providence, R. I., late Consul at Rome.</p>
<p>Notwithstanding her ardent wish to accompany the General, it seems that
Mrs. Greene was prevented from doing so. Mrs. Washington writes to her
from Mount Vernon, to say that General Greene was well, and had spent the
evening at Mount Vernon, on his way to Richmond. General Weedon, in a
letter to her, announces that the General had stopped for the night at his
house in Richmond; and invites Mrs. Greene, if she should come as far as
Virginia, to quarter under his roof. A letter from the Commander-in-chief,
written from New Windsor on the 15th of December, encloses Mrs. Greene a
letter from her husband, and offers to forward hers.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Washington," he says, "who is just arrived at these my quarters,
joins me in most cordial wishes for your every felicity, and regrets the
want of your company. Remember me to my namesake. Nat, I suppose, can
handle a musket."</p>
<p>The "namesake" alluded to, was the eldest son, who was afterwards drowned
in the Savannah River. His mother never recovered her spirits after this
shock.</p>
<p>Mrs. Greene joined her husband in the South after the close of the active
campaign of 1781, and remained with him till the end of the war, residing
on the islands during the heats of summer, and the rest of the time at
head-quarters. In the spring of 1783, she returned to the North where she
remained till the General had completed his arrangements for removing to
the South. They then established themselves at Mulberry Grove, on a
plantation which had been presented to Greene by the State of Georgia.</p>
<p>Mrs. Greene's first impressions of southern life and manners are painted
in lively colors in her letters to northern friends. The following passage
is from one to Miss Flagg:</p>
<p>"If you expect to be an inhabitant of this country, you must not think to
sit down with your netting pins; but on the contrary, employ half your
time at the toilet, one quarter to paying and receiving visits; the other
quarter to scolding servants, with a hard thump every now and then over
the head; or singing, dancing, reading, writing, or saying your prayers.
The latter is here quite a phenomenon; but you need not tell how you
employ your time."</p>
<p>The letters of General Greene to his wife breathe the most entire
confidence and affection. His respect for her judgment and good sense is
shown in the freedom with which he expresses his thoughts and unfolds his
hopes and plans. He evidently looked to her for support and sympathy in
all his cares and troubles. His lighter hours, even in absence, were
shared with her. Sometimes his youthful gaiety breaks forth in his
descriptions of adventures and persons encountered in his travels. And
regard for his interests was plainly above every other thought in the mind
of his wife. After his death, she writes to Mr. Wadsworth, his executor,
September 19th, 1788, "I consider ———, ———,
———, debts of honor, and would starve, rather than they
should not be paid."—"I am a woman—unaccustomed to anything
but the trifling business of a family; yet my exertions may effect
something. If they do not, and if I [sacrifice] my life in the cause of my
children, I shall but do my duty, and follow the example of my illustrious
husband."</p>
<p>It was while on a visit to Savannah with his wife, that General Greene was
seized with the disease which in a few days closed his brilliant career.
They were then preparing to return and pass the summer at the North. The
weight of care that fell on Mrs. Greene in consequence of this event,
would have crushed an ordinary mind; but she struggled nobly through it
all. Some years afterwards, thinking that some lands she owned on
Cumberland Island offered greater advantages than Mulberry Grove, she
removed there with her family; dividing her time between her household
duties and the cares of an extensive hospitality; occasionally visiting
the North in the summer, but continuing to look upon the south as her
home. It was while she lived at Mulberry Grove, that she became
instrumental in introducing to the world an invention which has covered
with wealth the fields of the South.</p>
<p>Late in 1792, her sympathies were enlisted in behalf of a young man, a
native of Massachusetts, who having come to Georgia to take the place of
private teacher in a gentleman's family, had been disappointed in
obtaining the situation, and found himself without friends or resources in
a strange land. Mrs. Greene and her family treated him with great
kindness. He was invited to make his home in her house while he pursued
the study of the law, to which he had determined to devote himself.
According to the account of some, his attention was attracted to the
cotton plant growing in the garden, and to Mr. Miller's observation that
cotton of that sort could be cultivated as a staple, provided some method
could be found of cleaning it from the seed. According to others, a party
of gentlemen on a visit to the family, spoke of the want of an effective
machine for separating the cotton from the seed, without which, it was
allowed, there could be no profitable cultivation of this more productive
species. Mrs. Greene spoke of the mechanical genius of her young protégé;
introduced him to the company, and showed little specimens of his skill,
in tambour frames and articles for the children. Eli Whitney, for that was
the name of the young student, was strongly impressed with the
conversation. He examined the cotton, and communicated his plans to Mrs.
Greene and Mr. Miller, who gave him warm encouragement. A basement room,
into which no one else was admitted, was appropriated for his work. He
labored day after day, making the necessary tools; and persevering with
unwearied industry. By spring the <i>cotton gin</i> was completed, and
exhibited to the wonder and delight of planters invited from different
parts of Georgia to witness its successful operation.</p>
<p>Mr. Phineas Miller entered into an agreement with Whitney, to bear the
expense of maturing the invention, and to divide the future profits. He
was a man of remarkably active and cultivated mind. Mrs. Greene married
him some time after the death of General Greene. She survived him several
years—dying just before the close of the late war with England. Her
remains rest in the family burial-ground at Cumberland Island, where but a
few years afterwards, the body of one of her husband's best officers and
warmest friends—the gallant Lee—was brought to moulder by her
side. She left four children by her first marriage—three daughters
and one son—of whom the son and second daughter are still living.</p>
<p>Mrs. Miller related to a lady residing in New York, the incident of
Colonel Aaron Burr's requesting permission to stop at her house, when he
came South, after his fatal duel with General Hamilton. She would not
refuse the demand upon her hospitality, but his victim had been her
friend; and she could not receive as a guest, one whose hands were
crimsoned with his blood. She gave Burr permission to remain; but at the
same time ordered her carriage, and quitted her house; returning as soon
as he had taken his departure. This little anecdote is strongly
illustrative of her impulsive and generous character. The lady who
mentioned it to me had herself experienced, in time of the illness of one
dear to her, Mrs. Miller's sympathy and active kindness; and described her
manners as gentle, frank and winning. Her praise, were I at liberty to
mention her name, would do the highest honor to its object.</p>
<p>The descendants of Mrs. Greene regard her with affectionate reverence. She
was a loved and honored wife, and a tender yet judicious mother. Her
discipline was remarkably strict, and none of her children ever thought of
disobeying her. Yet she would sometimes join with child-like merriment in
their sports. A lady now living in Providence states, that one day, after
the close of the war, passing General Greene's house in Newport, she saw
both him and his wife playing "puss in the corner," with the children.</p>
<p>She loved a jest, and sometimes too, a hearty laugh upon her friends. On
one occasion, while living at Newport after the close of the war, she
disguised herself like an old beggar-woman, so effectually that she was
not recognized even by her brother-in-law. In this dress she went round to
the houses of her friends to ask charity—telling a piteous tale of
losses and sufferings. At one house they were at the card-table; and one
of her most intimate friends, as she ordered her off, desired the servant
to look well as she went out and see that she did not steal something from
the entry. At another, the master of the house was just sitting down to
supper; and though an old acquaintance and a shrewd man, was not only
deceived, but so moved by her story, that he gave her the loaf he was on
the point of cutting for himself. When she had sufficiently amused herself
with this practical test of her friends' charity, she took off her
disguise, and indulged her merriment at their expense; reminding them that
with the exception of the loaf, she had been turned away without any
experience of their liberality.</p>
<p>Mrs. Greene's power of fascination, described as absolutely irresistible,
may be illustrated by a little anecdote. A lady, who is still living, had
heard much of her, and resolved as young ladies sometimes will when they
hear too much about a person—that she would not like her. One day
she chanced to be on a visit at the late Colonel Ward's in New York, where
she saw a lady—dressed completely in black, even to the head dress,
which was drawn close under the throat—who from her seat on the sofa
was holding the whole company in breathless attention to the lively
anecdotes of the war, and the brilliant sketches of character, which she
was drawing so skillfully and in a tone so winning, that it was impossible
not to listen to her. Still the young girl's resolution was not shaken.
She might be compelled to admire, but the liking depended on herself; and
she took a seat at the opposite side of the room. How long she remained
there she was never able to tell; but her first consciousness was of being
seated on a stool at the old lady's feet, leaning upon her knee, and
looking up in her face as confidingly as if she had been her own mother.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> V. MERCY WARREN. </h2>
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<h5>
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</h5>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he name of Mercy
Warren belongs to American history. In the influence she exercised, she
was perhaps the most remarkable woman who lived at the Revolutionary
period. She was the third child of Colonel James Otis, of Barnstable, in
the old colony of Plymouth; and was born there, September 25th, 1728. *
The Otis family came to the country in 1630 or 1640, and settled first in
Hingham.</p>
<p>The youth of Miss Otis was passed in the retirement of her home, in a
routine of domestic employments, and the duties devolving upon her as the
eldest daughter in a family of high respectability. Her love of reading
was early manifested; and such was her economy of time, that, never
neglecting her domestic cares or the duties of hospitality, she found
leisure not only to improve her mind by careful study, but for various
works of female ingenuity. A card-table is preserved by one of her
descendants in Quincy, as a monument of her taste and industry. The design
was her own, the patterns being obtained by gathering and pressing flowers
from the gardens and fields. These are copied in worsted work, and form
one of the most curious and beautiful specimens to be found in the
country.</p>
<p class="foot">
* This date, with that of her death, is taken from the entries in the
family Bible at Plymouth.</p>
<p>At that period, the opportunities for female education were extremely
limited, but perhaps the more prized on that account. Miss Otis gained
nothing from schools. Her only assistant, in the intellectual culture of
her earlier years, was the Rev. Jonathan Russell, the minister of the
parish, from whose library she was supplied with books, and by whose
counsels her tastes were in a measure formed. It was from reading, in
accordance with his advice, Raleigh's "History of the World," that her
attention was particularly directed, to history, the branch of literature
to which she afterwards devoted herself. In later years, her brother
James, who was himself an excellent scholar, became her adviser and
companion in literary pursuits. There existed between them a strong
attachment, which nothing ever impaired. Even in the wildest moods of that
insanity, with which, late in life the great patriot was afflicted, her
voice had power to calm him, when all else was without effect.</p>
<p>These favorite employments of reading, drawing and needle work, formed the
recreation of a quiet life, in the home which Miss Otis rarely quitted. A
visit to Boston, at the time of her brother's graduation at Harvard
College, in 1743, was the occasion of her first absence for any length of
time.</p>
<p>When about twenty-six, she became the wife of James Warren, then a
merchant of Plymouth, Massachusetts. In him she found a partner of
congenial mind. Her new avocations and cares were not allowed to impair
the love of literature which had been the delight of her youth. It was
while residing occasionally for a few weeks with her husband and children
on a farm a few miles from the village, to which she gave the name of
"Clifford," that most of her poetical productions were written. On the
other hand, attached as she was to these pursuits, she never permitted
them to interfere with household duties, or the attention of a devoted
mother to her children. Her attainments fitted her to give them valuable
instruction; and the lessons of her loving spirit of wisdom were not lost.</p>
<p>With this fondness for historical studies, and the companionship of such a
brother and husband, it is not strange that the active and powerful
intellect of Mrs. Warren should become engaged with interest in political
affairs. These were now assuming an aspect that engrossed universal
attention. Decision and action were called for on the part of those
in-dined to one or the other side. How warmly Mrs. Warren espoused the
cause of her country—how deeply her feelings were enlisted—appears
in her letters. Her correspondence with the great spirits of that era, if
published, would form a most valuable contribution to our historical
literature. This rich correspondence has been preserved by her
descendants; and affords the material for the present memoir. It includes
letters, besides those from members of her own family, from Samuel and
John Adams, Jefferson, Dickinson, Gerry, Knox and others. These men asked
her opinion in political matters, and acknowledged the excellence of her
judgment. Referring to some of her observations on the critical state of
affairs after the war, General Knox writes:—"I should be happy,
Madam, to receive your communications from time to time, particularly on
the subject enlarged on in this letter. Your sentiments shall remain with
me." Mrs. Warren herself thus writes to Mr. Adams, before the meeting of
the first Congress:</p>
<p>"Though you have condescended to ask my sentiments, in conjunction with
those of a gentleman qualified both by his judgment and integrity, as well
as his attachment to the interest of his country, to advise at this
important crisis, yet I shall not be so presumptuous as to offer anything
but my fervent wishes that the enemies of America may hereafter for ever
tremble at the wisdom and firmness, the prudence and justice of the
delegates deputed from our cities, as much as did the <i>Phocians</i> of
old at the power of the <i>Amphyctions</i> of Greece. But if the <i>Locrians</i>
should in time appear among you, I advise you to beware of choosing an
ambitious Philip as your leader. Such a one might subvert the principles
on which your institution is founded, abolish your order, and build up a
<i>monarchy</i> on the ruins of the happy institution. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Letter, July 14th, 1774. All the extracts from letters in this memoir,
are from the manuscript correspondence of Mrs. Warren, in the possession
of her daughter-in-law, who resides at Plymouth. This lady is herself a
descendant of Governor Winslow, whose family inter-married with the
Warrens in the fourth and sixth generations. One of the curiosities of her
parlor is an easy chair belonging to Governor Winslow, which was brought
over in the Mayflower. The iron staples are still attached, by which it
was fastened to the cabin floor of the Pilgrim ship; and its present
covering is the dress of white brocade richly embroidered, worn by Mercy
Warren on the day after her marriage. Some of the ancient china also
remains; several pieces one hundred and fifty years old, are of surpassing
beauty.</p>
<p>Colonial difficulties, and the signs of the times, formed subjects of
communication continually between Mrs. Warren and her female friends. Mrs.
Adams says to her, in 1773, "You, madam, are so sincere a lover of your
country, and so hearty a mourner in all her misfortunes, that it will
greatly aggravate your anxiety to hear how much she is now oppressed and
insulted. To you, who have so thoroughly looked through the deeds of men,
and developed the dark designs of a "Rapatio" soul, no action, however
base or sordid, no measure, however cruel and villainous, will be matter
of any surprise. The tea, that baneful weed, is arrived: great, and I hope
effectual opposition, has been made to the landing."</p>
<p>The friendship that existed between these two gifted women was truly
beautiful and touching. Commenced in early youth, it continued unchanged
through the vicissitudes of a long and eventful life—unshaken by
troubles, unchilled by cares, unalienated by misunderstanding. Their
thoughts were communicated to each other with perfect freedom and
openness; and they found in joy and sorrow, a solace, or an added
pleasure, in each other's sympathy and affection. The sister of Abigail
Adams, who married Mr. Shaw, was also warmly attached to Mrs. Warren.</p>
<p>The celebrated Mrs. Macauley was another of her favorite correspondents,
though they were not personally acquainted till that lady's visit to New
England. Mrs. Warren's letters to her describe the progress of the
Revolutionary spirit. That written December 29th, 1774, speaks forcibly of
the aspect of things:</p>
<p>"America stands armed with resolution and virtue; but she still recoils at
the idea of drawing the sword against the nation from whence she derived
her origin. Yet Britain, like an unnatural parent, is ready to plunge her
dagger into the bosom of her affectionate offspring. But may we not yet
hope for more lenient measures! You, madam, can easily delineate the
characters of the new Parliament."</p>
<p>"The seeds of empire are sown in this new world: the ball rolls westward
fast, and though we are daily threatened with the depredations of Britain
with foreign auxiliaries, and the incursions of the savages, yet each
city, from Nova Scotia to Georgia, has her Decii and her Fabii, ready to
sacrifice their devoted lives to preserve inviolate, and to convey to
their children the inherent rights of men, conferred on all by the God of
nature, and the privileges of Englishmen claimed by Americans from the
sacred sanction of compacts."</p>
<p>In the following year she writes:</p>
<p>"I hinted that the sword was half drawn from the scabbard. Since that it
has been unsheathed.... Almost every tongue is calling on the justice of
heaven to punish or disperse the disturbers of the peace, liberty, and
happiness of their country."</p>
<p>She says to John Adams:</p>
<p>"I have my fears. Yet, notwithstanding the complicated difficulties that
rise before us, there is no receding; and I should blush if in any
instance the weak passions of my sex should damp the fortitude, the
patriotism, and the manly resolution of yours. May nothing ever check that
glorious spirit of freedom which inspires the patriot in the cabinet, and
the hero in the field, with courage to maintain their righteous cause, and
to endeavor to transmit the claim to posterity, even if they must seal the
rich conveyance to their children with their own blood." *</p>
<p>"The desk, the pews, and other incumbrances are taken down in the Old
South (a church long venerated in the town), to make it convenient for the
accommodation of General Burgoyne's light horse; while the infamous Dr.
Morrison, whose character I suppose you are acquainted with, reads prayers
in the church in Brattle street to a set of banditti, who, after the
rapines, robberies, and devastations of the week, dare—some of them—to
lift up their sacrilegious hands, and bow before the altar of mercy.</p>
<p>"I will breathe one wish more; and that is for the restoration of peace—peace,
I mean, on equitable terms; for pusillanimous and feeble as I am, I cannot
wish to see the sword quietly put up in the scabbard, until justice is
done to America." **</p>
<p class="foot">
* Letter, August 2d, 1775.</p>
<p class="foot">
** Letter, October, 1775.</p>
<p>During the years that preceded the Revolution, and after its outbreak,
Mrs. Warren's house appears to have been the resort of much company. As
she herself says, "by the Plymouth fireside were many political plans
originated, discussed, and digested." She reminds Mr. Adams while he is in
Europe, of his words once uttered in a moment of despondency, that "the
dispute between Great Britain and America will not be settled till your
sons and my sons are able to assist and negotiate with the different
European courts."—"A lady replied, though perhaps not from
prescience, but from presentiment or presumption, that you must do it
yourself; that the work must be done immediately; and that she expected
from you in the intervals of business, a pleasing narration of the
different customs, manners, taste, genius, and policy of nations with
whom, at present, we were little acquainted. You assented a compliance if
the prediction took place."</p>
<p>Although her home was in Plymouth, her place of residence was occasionally
changed during the war. At one time she lived in the house at Milton,
which Governor Hutchinson had occupied. Wherever she was, the friends of
America were always welcomed to the shelter of her roof, and the
hospitalities of her table. In different passages of her letters to Mr.
Adams, the officers with whom she became acquainted are described. The
following extract is interesting:</p>
<p>"The Generals Washington, Lee, and Gates, with several other distinguished
officers from headquarters, dined with us (at Watertown) three days since.
The first of these I think one of the most amiable and accomplished
gentlemen, both in person, mind, and manners, that I have met with. The
second, whom I never saw before, I think plain in his person to a degree
of ugliness, careless even to unpoliteness—his garb ordinary, his
voice rough, his manners rather morose; yet sensible, learned, judicious,
and penetrating: a considerable traveller, agreeable in his narrations,
and a zealous, indefatigable friend to the American cause; but much more
from a love of freedom, and an impartial sense of the inherent rights of
mankind at large, than from any attachment or disgust to particular
persons or countries. The last is a brave soldier, a high republican, a
sensible companion, an honest man, of unaffected manners and easy
deportment."</p>
<p>She speaks thus of the Count D'Estaing:</p>
<p>"While the errand on which the Count D'Estaing came out excites our
gratitude, the dignity of his deportment commands respect; and his
reserved affability, if I may so express it, heightens our esteem."</p>
<p>And La Fayette is praised in laconic fashion: "Penetrating, active,
sensible, and judicious, he acquits himself with the highest applause in
the public eye, while the politeness of his manners, and the sociability
of his temper, insure his welcome at every hospitable board."</p>
<p>Every page from the pen of Mrs. Warren, is remarkable for clearness and
vigor of thought. Thus her style was not vitiated by the artificial tastes
of the day; yet her expression is often studiously elaborated, in
accordance with the prevalent fashion. This is the case in her letters
written with most care; while in others her ardent spirit pours out its
feelings with irrepressible energy, portraying itself in the genuine and
simple language of emotion. The following passage perhaps did not then
appear studied, even in a familiar letter:</p>
<p>"The late convulsions are only the natural struggles which ensue when the
genius of liberty arises to assert her rights in opposition to the ghost
of tyranny. I doubt not this fell form will ere long be driven from our
land: then may the western skies behold virtue (which is generally the
attendant of freedom) seated on a throne of peace, where may she ever
preside over the rising Commonwealth of America." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Letter to Mrs. Lathrop, 1775.</p>
<p>About this time, as it appears, was published "The Group"—a
satirical dramatic piece in two Acts, in which many of the leading tory
characters of the day were humorously introduced. A strong political
influence has been ascribed to this and other satirical poems from her
pen. It is in allusion to this that Mrs. Adams speaks of "a Rapatio soul"—Governor
Hutchinson being thus designated. The following description is applied to
him:</p>
<p class="indent15">
"But mark the traitor—his high crime glossed o'er</p>
<p class="indent15">
Conceals the tender feelings of the man,</p>
<p class="indent15">
The social ties that bind the human heart;</p>
<p class="indent15">
He strikes a bargain with his country's foes,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And joins to wrap America in flames.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
Yet with feigned pity, and Satanic grin,</p>
<p class="indent15">
As if more deep to fix the keen insult,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Or make his life a farce still more complete,</p>
<p class="indent15">
He sends a groan across the broad Atlantic,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And with a phiz of crocodilian stamp,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Can weep, and wreathe, still hoping to deceive;</p>
<p class="indent15">
He cries—the gathering clouds hang thick about her,</p>
<p class="indent15">
But laughs within; then sobs—</p>
<p class="indent15">
Alas, my country!"</p>
<p class="indent30">
Act II. Scene I.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>With the classical allusions then common, she mentions</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"——-India's poisonous weed,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Long since a sacrifice to Thetis made,</p>
<p class="indent15">
A rich regale. Now all the watery dames</p>
<p class="indent15">
May snuff souchong, and sip in flowing bowls</p>
<p class="indent15">
The higher flavored choice Hysonian stream,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And leave their nectar to old Homer's gods."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>It may be imagined that such bold and keen satire would produce a marked
sensation, and be severely felt by the persons against whom it was aimed.
The author herself seems to have had some misgivings, fearing lest her
patriotic feelings should have carried her too far. Mrs. Adams thus
re-assures her:</p>
<p>"I observe my friend is laboring under apprehension, lest the severity
with which a certain <i>Group</i> was drawn, was incompatible with that
benevolence which ought always to be predominant in a female character.
Though 'an eagle's talon asks an eagle's eye,' and satire in the hands of
some is a very dangerous weapon; yet when it is so happily blended with
benevolence, and is awakened only by the love of virtue and abhorrence of
vice—when truth is unavoidably preserved, and ridiculous and vicious
actions are alone the subject, it is so far from blamable that it is
certainly meritorious."</p>
<p>Mrs. Warren employed much of her leisure with her pen. She kept a faithful
record of occurrences during the dark days of her country's affliction,
through times that engaged the attention both of the philosopher and the
politician. She did this with the design of transmitting to posterity a
faithful portraiture of the most distinguished characters of the day.</p>
<p>Her intention was fulfilled in her history of the war. Her poetical
compositions, afterwards collected and dedicated to General Washington,
were the amusement of solitude, when many of her friends were actively
engaged in the field or cabinet. Some of them contain allusions to bodily
sufferings, her health being far from robust. The tragedies, "The Sack of
Rome," and "The Ladies of Castile," are more remarkable for patriotic
sentiment than dramatic merit. The verse is smooth and flowing, and the
language poetical, but often wanting in the simplicity essential to true
pathos. An interest deeper than that of the story is awakened by the
application of many passages to the circumstances of the times. The truth
of the following lines must have been dolefully felt:</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent20">
"'Mongst all the ills that hover o'er mankind,</p>
<p class="indent20">
Unfeigned, or fabled in the poet's page,</p>
<p class="indent20">
The blackest scroll the sister furies hold</p>
<p class="indent20">
For red-eyed wrath, or malice to fill up,</p>
<p class="indent20">
Is incomplete to sum up human woe;</p>
<p class="indent20">
Till civil discord, still a darker fiend,</p>
<p class="indent20">
Stalks forth unmasked from his infernal den,</p>
<p class="indent20">
With mad Alecto's torch in his right hand,</p>
<p class="indent20">
To light the flame, and rend the soul of nature."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>Both these tragedies were read with interest, and much praised in after
years. Alexander Hamilton writes to the author, July 1st, 1791:</p>
<p>"It is certain that in the 'Ladies of Castile,' the sex will find a new
occasion of triumph. Not being a poet myself, I am in the less danger of
feeling mortification at the idea that in the career of dramatic
composition at least, female genius in the United States has out-stripped
the male."</p>
<p>The criticism of John Adams—who writes from London, Dec. 25th, 1787,
is equally favorable.</p>
<p>"The 'Sack of Rome' has so much spirit in itself, that for the honor of
America, I should wish to see it acted on the stage in London, before
crowded audiences. The dedication of it does so much honor to me, that I
should be proud to see it in print, even if it could not be acted. It
requires almost as much interest and intrigue to get a play acted, as to
be a member of Parliament."</p>
<p>At another time he says of her Poems: "The Poems are not all of them new
to me, by whom some of them have been read and esteemed some years ago.
However foolishly some European writers may have sported with American
reputation for genius, literature and science, I know not where they will
find a female poet of their own to prefer to the ingenious author of these
compositions." * "A Poetical Reverie" was published before the breaking
out of the war. It gives a poetical view of the future greatness of
America, and the punishment of her oppressors.</p>
<p class="foot">
* MS, Letter to Mrs. Warren, Dec, 36th, 1790,</p>
<p>"The Squabble of the Sea Nymphs," celebrates the pouring of the tea into
the sea, and is something in the Rape of the Lock style. The lines to a
friend, who on the American determination to suspend all commerce with
Great Britain, except for the necessaries of life, requested a poetical
list of the articles the ladies might comprise under that head, have some
fine satire. The reader will not object to the following specimen:</p>
<p class="indent30">
"An inventory clear</p>
<p class="indent15">
Of all she needs, Lamira offers here;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Nor does she fear a rigid Cato's frown</p>
<p class="indent15">
When she lays by the rich embroidered gown,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And modestly compounds for just enough,—</p>
<p class="indent15">
Perhaps some dozens of more sightly stuff:</p>
<p class="indent15">
With lawns and lutestrings—blond and mechlin laces,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Fringes and jewels, fans and tweezer cases;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Gay cloaks and hats, of every shape and size,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Scarfs, cardinals, and ribbons of all dyes;</p>
<p class="indent15">
With ruffles stamped, and aprons of tambour,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Tippets and handkerchiefs, at least three score:</p>
<p class="indent15">
With finest muslins that fair India boasts,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And the choice herbage from Chinesan coasts;</p>
<p class="indent15">
(But while the fragrant hyson leaf regales,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Who'll wear the home-spun produce of the vales?</p>
<p class="indent15">
For if 'twould save the nation from the curse</p>
<p class="indent15">
Of standing troups—or name a plague still worse,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Few can this choice delicious draught give up,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Though all Medea's poisons fill the cup.)</p>
<p class="indent15">
Add feathers, furs, rich satins, and ducapes,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And head-dresses in pyramidal shapes; *</p>
<p class="indent15">
Side-boards of plate, and porcelain profuse,</p>
<p class="indent15">
With fifty dittos that the ladies use;</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="foot">
* It is mentioned in Sanderson's Biography of the Signers of Independence,
that the Whig ladies of Philadelphia having adopted the tory fashion of
high head-dresses, after the evacuation of the city by the British, some
Whigs dressed a negress in the full costume of a loyalist lady, took her
to a place of resort, where the fashionables displayed their towering
top-knots, seating her in a conspicuous place,—and afterwards
paraded her through the city. Nothing, however, could stop the progress of
the fashion, which for a season became general in America.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
If my poor treacherous memory has missed,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Ingenious T——l shall complete the list.</p>
<p class="indent15">
So weak Lamira, and her wants so few,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Who can refuse? they're but the sex's due.</p>
<p class="indent20">
"In youth, indeed, an antiquated page</p>
<p class="indent15">
Taught us the threatenings of a Hebrew sage</p>
<p class="indent15">
'Gainst wimples, mantles, curls and crisping pins,</p>
<p class="indent15">
But rank not these among our modern sins;</p>
<p class="indent15">
For when our manners are well understood,</p>
<p class="indent15">
What in the scale is stomacher or hood?</p>
<p class="indent20">
'Tis true, we love the courtly mien and air,</p>
<p class="indent15">
The pride of dress, and all the debonair:</p>
<p class="indent15">
Yet Clara quits the more dressed negligeé,</p>
<p class="indent15">
And substitutes the careless polancé;</p>
<p class="indent10">
Until some fair one from Britannia's court</p>
<p class="indent15">
Some jaunty dress, or newer taste import;</p>
<p class="indent15">
This sweet temptation could not be withstood,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Though for the purchase paid her father's blood;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Though loss of freedom were the costly price,</p>
<p class="indent15">
Or flaming comets sweep the angry skies;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Or earthquakes rattle, or volcanoes roar;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Indulge this trifle, and she asks no more;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Can the stern patriot Clara's suit deny?</p>
<p class="indent15">
'Tis beauty asks, and reason must comply."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>The powers of Mrs. Warren were devoted to nobler objects than chastising
the follies of the day. She gave her tenderest sympathies to the
sufferings of her friends, and poured the balm of consolation into many a
wounded heart. The letters of Mrs. Adams show how much she leaned, amidst
her heavy trials, on this faithful support. Nor was her kindness limited
to the circle of her acquaintance.</p>
<p>Every sufferer from this cruel war had a claim her heart acknowledged, and
her benevolence went forth on its gentle mission among strangers. She
addressed a letter of condolence to the widow of the brave Montgomery,
Jan. 20th, 1776, in which the consolatory suggestions are those of a
patriot and a Christian.</p>
<p>"While you are deriving comfort," she says, "from the highest source, it
may still further brighten the clouded moment to reflect that the number
of your friends is not confined to the narrow limits of a province, but by
the happy union of the American Colonies, (suffering equally by the rigor
of oppression,) the affections of the inhabitants are cemented; and the
urn of the companion of your heart will be sprinkled with the tears of
thousands who revere the commander at the gates of Quebec, though not
personally acquainted with General Montgomery."</p>
<p>Montgomery, as is known, married Janet Livingston, a sister of Chancellor
Robert R. Livingston. Her life was a secluded one, and affords few
materials for biography; but her letters expressive of her feelings have a
deep interest. Mrs. Warren says with truth—writing to her Nov. 25th,
1777:</p>
<p>"The sensibility of soul, the pathos of grief so strongly marked in your
letters, have convinced me that the brave Montgomery had a partner worthy
of his character."</p>
<p>The following is an extract from her letter in reply to Mrs. Warren:</p>
<p>"My dear Madam,</p>
<p>"The sympathy that is expressed in every feature of your letter, claims
from me the warmest acknowledgments; and the professions of friendship
from one who so generously feels and melts at the woes of a stranger, not
only soothe but flatter me.</p>
<p>"It is very kind of you, madam, to seek for alleviating consolations in a
calamity (though of so much glory). I thank God I feel part of their
force, and it is owing to such affectionate friends as you, that have
lightened the load of misery.</p>
<p>"As a wife I must ever mourn the loss of the husband, friend and lover; of
a thousand virtues, of all domestic bliss; the idol of my warmest
affections, and in one word, my every dream of happiness. But with America
I weep the still greater loss of the firm soldier and the friend to
freedom. Let me repeat his last words when we parted: '<i>You shall never
blush for your Montgomery</i>.'</p>
<p>"Nobly has he kept his word; but how are my sorrows heightened! Methinks I
am like the poor widow in the Gospel, who having given her mite, sits down
quite destitute. Yet would I endeavor to look forward to the goal with
hope; and though the path is no longer strewed with flowers, trust to the
sustaining hand of friendship to lead me safely through, and in assisting
me to rise superior to my misfortunes, make me content to drag out the
remainder of life, till the Being who has deprived me of husband and
father, will kindly close the melancholy scene, and once more unite me to
them in a world of peace, where the tyrant shall no more wantonly shed the
blood of his innocent subjects, and where vice and virtue will receive
their reward."</p>
<p>All the letters of Mrs. Montgomery preserved in the correspondence of Mrs.
Warren, dwell on her irreparable loss, breathing a tender sorrow, mingled
with an ardent spirit of patriotism. She writes, Nov. 20th, 1780:</p>
<p>"I have been interrupted. Another alarm of the enemy's being in full march
for Saratoga, and the poor harassed militia are again called upon. My
impatient spirit pants for peace. When shall the unfortunate individual
have the gloomy satisfaction of weeping alone for his own particular
losses! In this luckless state, woes follow woes—every moment is big
with something fatal. We hold our lives and fortunes on the most
precarious tenure. Had Arnold's plan taken place, we could not have
escaped from a fate dreadful in thought, for these polished Britons have
proved themselves fertile in inventions to procrastinate [protract]
misery."</p>
<p>When going with her nephew to visit her husband's family in Dublin, her
patriotic feeling is still fervent. "When I return," she says, "I hope to
find my dear country, for which I have <i>bled</i>, the envy of her
enemies and the glory of her patriots."</p>
<p>The friendships formed by Mrs. Warren were not short-lived. The letters
addressed to her evince the warmth of attachment she inspired; and her own
true heart never swerved from its faith. The interchange of sentiments was
continued for years; and when interrupted, resumed with the same
affectionate ardor as soon as the obstacles were removed. Mrs. Washington
was one of her favorite correspondents. On her visit to head-quarters in
Cambridge, Mrs. Warren invited her to her house, and paid her many
attentions. Her letter from Valley Forge, describing their accommodations,
and others have been elsewhere published. The Commander-in-chief joined in
his wife's feelings of regard.</p>
<p>Another of Mrs. Warren's intimate friends, was Hannah Winthrop, the wife
of Dr. Winthrop, of Cambridge. Her letters discover a mind of no common
order. They corresponded sometimes under the signatures of Honoria and
Philomela, the last name being bestowed on Mrs. Warren for her powers of
song. The poetical signature assumed by Mrs. Warren was "Marcia,"
afterwards given at her request to a beloved granddaughter. But as the
subjects became momentous on which the two wrote, the fanciful
appellations were dropped. Some portions of Mrs. Winthrop's letters are so
characteristic, that extracts will be interesting. She writes, in Jan.
1773, "I think one of the most extraordinary political manouvres this
century has produced, is the ministerial mandate to the Newportians for
transporting them a thousand leagues for trial. Oh, America! you have
reason to tremble and arouse, if we of this side of the Atlantic are not
able to say to this Royal Vengeance—hitherto shalt thou come and no
further; here shall thy proud waves be stayed! I should rejoice to see the
Plymouthean spirit prevail, which discovers such noble disinterested
virtue, and such a sacred regard to rights purchased at the expense of
every thing valuable by those persevering, self-denying patriarchs, who,
if permitted to be spectators of these terrestrial scenes, must view those
of their sons who set so little value upon the dear bought purchases, with
displeasure. Many are waiting impatiently the meeting of our assembly.....
I hope Colonel Warren will not fail of favoring his country with his
presence at that important crisis, when every eye will be upon our
political fathers."</p>
<p>Again, Jan. 1st, 1774, her patriotic spirit breaks out. "Yonder, the
destruction of the detestable weed, made so by cruel exaction, engages our
attention. The virtuous and noble resolution of America's sons, in
defiance of threatened desolation and misery from arbitrary despots,
demands our highest regard. May they yet be endowed with all that firmness
necessary to carry them through all their difficulties, till they come off
conquerors. We hope to see good accounts of the tea cast away on the Cape.
The union of the Colonies, the firm and sedate resolution of the people,
is an omen for good unto us. And be it known unto Britain, even American
daughters are politicians and patriots, and will aid the good work with
their female efforts.". . . "—Nor can she ever forget, nor will old
time ever erase—the horrors of that midnight cry, preceding the
bloody massacre at Lexington, when we were roused from the benign slumbers
of the season, by beat of drum and ringing of bells, with the dire alarm
that a thousand of the troops of George the Third had gone forth to murder
the peaceful inhabitants of the surrounding villages. A few hours, with
the dawning day, convinced us the bloody purpose was executing; the
platoon firing assuring us the rising sun must witness the bloody carnage.
Not knowing what the event would be at Cambridge, at the return of these
bloody ruffians, and seeing another brigade dispatched to the assistance
of the former, looking with the ferocity of barbarians, it seemed
necessary to retire to some place of safety till the calamity was passed.
My partner had been confined a fortnight by sickness. After dinner we set
out, not knowing whither we went. We were directed to a place called
Fresh-pond, about a mile from the town; but what a distressed house did we
find it, filled with women whose husbands had gone forth to meet the
assailants, seventy or eighty of these (with numberless infant children,)
weeping and agonizing for the fate of their husbands. In addition to this
scene of distress, we were for some time in sight of the battle; the
glittering instruments of death proclaiming by an incessant [fire] that
much blood must be shed; that many widowed and orphaned ones [must] be
left as monuments of British barbarity. Another uncomfortable night we
passed; some nodding in their chairs, some resting their weary limbs on
the floor. The welcome harbingers of day gave notice of its dawning light.
[It] brings no news. It is unsafe to return to Cambridge, as the enemy
were advancing up the river, and fixing on the town to stay in.</p>
<p>"Thus with precipitancy we were driven to the town of Anderson, following
some of our acquaintance—five of us to be conveyed with one poor
tired horse and chaise; thus we began our pilgrimage, alternately walking
and riding, the roads filled with frighted women and children; some in
carts with their tattered furniture, others on foot fleeing into the
woods. But what added greatly to the horrors of the scene, was our passing
through the bloody field at Monotong, which was strewed with the mangled
bodies. We met one affectionate father with a cart, looking for his
murdered son, and picking up his neighbors who had fallen in battle, in
order for their burial."</p>
<p>"July 8th, 1775.—Our barrack, or wigwam, or whatever name you may
please to give it when you see it, ornamented with broken chairs and
unlegged tables, with shattered etceteras, is entirely at your service.
Methinks I need not repeat the pleasure I shall have in administering
comfort to my friends."</p>
<p>She writes in the following August, after the conflagration of Charlestown—"The
laying a whole town in ashes, after repeated promises that if they would
protect their troops in their return from Concord, it should be the last
place that should suffer harm! How did they give shelter to the wounded
expiring soldiers! Their houses, their beds, were prepared to receive
them; the women readily engaged in pouring balm into their wounds, making
broths and cordials to support their exhausted spirits, for at that time
the softer sex had not been inured to trickling blood and gaping wounds.
Some of the unhappy victims died. They gave up the ghost blessing the
hands that gave relief; and now in return for this kindness, they take the
first opportunity to make five hundred householders miserable; involving
many a poor widow and orphan in one common ruin. Be astonished, O heavens,
at this, and let the inhabitants of America tremble to fall into the hands
of such a merciless foe."</p>
<p>The following extract, the last that will be given from Mrs. Winthrop's
letters, describes the entry into Cambridge of the captive army of
Burgoyne. The letter bears date November 11th, 1777:</p>
<p>"It is not a great while since I wrote my dear friend on my disappointment
in not paying her a visit. Now methinks I hear her wondering how it is
with her Cambridge friends, who are at this time delayed with British and
Hessian—what shall I call them? who are prancing and patrolling in
every corner of the town, ornamented with their glittering side-arms—weapons
of destruction. A short detail of our situation may perhaps amuse you. You
will be able to form a judgment of our unhappy circumstances. Last
Thursday, which was a very stormy day, a large number of British troops
came softly through the town <i>via</i> Watertown to Prospect Hill. On
Friday we heard the Hessians were to make a procession in the same route.
We thought we should have nothing to do but view them as they passed. To
be sure the sight was truly astonishing. I never had the least idea that
the creation produced such a sordid set of creatures in human figure—poor,
dirty, emaciated men. Great numbers of women, who seemed to be the beasts
of burden, having bushel-baskets on their backs, by which they were bent
double. The contents seemed to be pots and kettles, various sorts of
furniture, children peeping through gridirons and other utensils—some
very young infants, who were born on the road—the women barefoot,
clothed in dirty rags. Such effluvia filled the air while they were
passing, that had they not been smoking all the time, I should have been
apprehensive of being contaminated. After a noble-looking advanced-guard,
General Burgoyne headed this terrible group on horseback. The other
generals also clothed in blue cloaks—Hessians, Waldeckers,
Anspackers, Bruns-wickers, etc., etc., followed on. The Hessian generals
gave us a polite bow as they passed. Not so the British. Their
baggage-wagons [were] drawn by poor, half-starved horses. But to bring up
the rear, another fine, noble-looking guard of American brawny victorious
yeomanry, who assisted in bringing these sons of slavery to terms. Some of
our wagons drawn by fat oxen, driven by joyous-looking Yankees, closed the
cavalcade. The generals and other officers, went to Bradish's, where they
quarter at present. The privates trudged through thick and thin to the
hills, where we thought they were to be confined. But what was our
surprise, when in the morning we beheld an inundation of those
disagreeable objects filling our streets? How mortifying is it!—they
in a manner demanding our houses and colleges for their genteel
accommodation. Did the brave General Gates ever mean this? Did our
legislature ever intend the military should prevail above the civil? Is
there not a degree of unkindness in loading poor Cambridge, almost ruined
before this great army seemed to be let loose upon us! What will be the
consequence, time will discover. Some polite ones say we ought not to look
on them as prisoners—that they are persons of distinguished rank.
Perhaps, too, we must not view them in the light of enemies. I fear this
distinction will be soon lost. Surprising that our general, or any of our
colonels, should insist on the first university in America being disbanded
for their more genteel accommodation; and we, poor oppressed people, seek
an asylum in the woods against a piercing winter! Where is the stern
virtue of a ————, who opposed such infractions, in
former days? Who is there to plead our cause? Pity—pity it is our
Assembly had not settled these matters before their adjournment. It will
be vastly more difficult to abridge them after such an unbounded license.
Perhaps you may see some of them at Plymouth. For my part, I think
insults, famine, and a train of evils present themselves to view. General
Burgoyne dined on Saturday in Boston with General —————.
He rode through the town properly attended, down Court street and through
the main street; and on his return walked on foot to Charlestown Ferry,
followed by a great number of spectators as ever attended a Pope; and
generously observed to an officer with him, the decent and modest behavior
of the inhabitants as he passed; saying, if he had been conducting
prisoners through the city of London, not all the Guards of Majesty could
have prevented insults. He likewise acknowledges Lincoln and Arnold to be
great generals. It is said we shall have not less than seven thousand
persons to feed in Cambridge and its environs, more than its inhabitants.
Two hundred and fifty cords of wood will not serve them a week. Think then
how we must be distressed. Wood has risen to L5 10s. per cord, and but a
little to be purchased. I never thought I could lie down to sleep
surrounded by these enemies; but we strangely become inured to those
things which appear difficult when distant."</p>
<p>"If you like anecdotes, I will give you one more: When General Phillips
was travelling back of Albany, where it is very rocky and barren, he
expressed his astonishment that they should ever cross; the Atlantic, and
go through such difficulty to conquer so unfavorable a country, which
would not be worth keeping when conquered. When they came upon the fertile
banks of Connecticut River, General Whipple said to him, 'This is the
country which we are fighting for.' 'Ah,' replied the General, 'this is a
country worth a ten years' war.'"</p>
<p>Her indignation does not seem to have subsided at once. In February she
says:</p>
<p>"Methinks I hear Mrs. Warren wondering how they do at head-quarters at
Cambridge. Perhaps her wonder may increase when I tell her the British
officers live in the most luxurious manner possible, rioting on the fat of
the land, and talking at large with the self-importance of lords of the
soil."</p>
<p>To return to Mrs. Warren. From her retirement, in which she was constantly
visited by her friends, she continued to watch the progress of the
struggle, and to treasure her observations for the historical work she had
in contemplation. Early in 1777 she writes to her friend, Mrs. Macaulay:</p>
<p>"The approaching spring appears big with the fate of empires, and the
wheels of revolution move in swift progression. They may smite the diadem
from the brow, and shake some tyrant from his throne before he is aware.
The flatterers of majesty may be more attended to than the prophetic voice
that augurs evil; yet when the <i>mene tekel</i> is inscribed on the walls
of the palace, it cannot be blotted out by the hand of the prince who
humbles not himself, though he sees the works that have been done in the
days of his fathers."</p>
<p>After the close of the war, Mrs. Macaulay visited this country, and met
with a reception due to the celebrity her works had gained. Her principles
endeared her to the Americans, who were willing to bestow lasting honor on
such as had distinguished themselves by the sword or the pen in defence of
their opinions. Mrs. Warren says of her, writing to Mr. Adams, "She is a
lady of most extraordinary talents, of commanding genius, and brilliancy
of thought. This, in my opinion, often outruns her capacity of
expression."</p>
<p>Mrs. Warren's correspondence with Mr. Adams continued while he remained
abroad. From time to time she demands of him an account of the busy and
important scenes in which he is engaged; and when she fails to receive
intelligence, playfully accuses the watery nymphs of Neptune's court of
having robbed the woodland dames of America. This was in allusion to the
practice during the war, of sinking all packages in case of capture.
"Otherwise," she says, "a folio from the court of France would, ere this,
have reached Braintree, and one small octavo at least have found its way
to Plymouth." The statesman was under an engagement to make observations
for the use of more than one woman on the western side of the Atlantic. In
a letter to him, dated October, 1778, she thus mentions Franklin:</p>
<p>"Are you, sir, as much in the good graces of the Parisian ladies, as your
venerable colleague, Dr. F————? We often hear he
is not more an adept in politics than a favorite of the ladies. He has too
many compliments of gratulation and esteem from each quarter of the globe,
to make it of any consequence whether I offer my little tribute of respect
or not. Yet I would tell him as a friend to mankind, as a daughter of
America, and a lover of every exalted character, that no one more
sincerely wishes the continuance of his health and usefulness; and so
disinterested is my regard, that I do not wish him to leave the soft
caresses of the court of France; for his unpolished countrywomen will be
more apt to gaze at and admire the virtues of the philosopher, than to
embrace the patriotic sage."</p>
<p>A soul like Mrs. Warren's must have been continually saddened by grief and
pity, in the view not only of the miseries of war, but the depravity
prevalent as one of its consequences. Yet while she mourned the crimes and
follies of many to whom her country looked for succor, she followed with
ardent admiration the career of those incorruptible patriots who kept
their faith unshaken by misfortune or temptation. Her anxieties and hopes
were freely communicated to her friends, whose answers show the intense
interest felt in every movement. Miss Catharine Livingston, the sister of
Mrs. Montgomery, writes in April, 1781:</p>
<p>"The news from the southward is by no means so favorable as the sanguine
among us expected. Arnold, it is feared, will get off safely as well as
Cornwallis. I think the British understand retreat better than we do
pursuit. It has been an observation, this war, whenever the expectations
of the multitude were raised to almost a certainty of success, the event
has turned directly opposite to their views. This I believe we may extend
to private, as well as public concerns."</p>
<p>A letter from Mrs. Montgomery, the year previous, so agreeably describes
Mrs. Jay, that an extract must be given:</p>
<p>"You speak of my dear friend Mrs. Jay. We have heard from her at
Hispaniola, where she was obliged to put in after the storm, in which she
had like to have been taken. When she arrives at Paris, I expect to hear
from her; if in the descriptive way, it shall be entirely at your service.
She is one of the most worthy women I know—has a great fund of
knowledge, and makes use of most charming language; added to this she is
very handsome, which will secure her a welcome with the unthinking, whilst
her understanding will gain her the hearts of the most worthy. Her manners
will do honor to our countrywomen; and I really believe will please even
at the splendid court of Madrid.</p>
<p>"The starting tear, and the heaving sigh, interrupt my thread. Strange
that self will for ever discover itself! I find I am to learn much before
I become a philosopher; but in every instance of my life I hope you, my
dear madam, will ever find me your most sincere friend and humble servant,</p>
<p>"J. Montgomery."</p>
<p>Mrs. Warren wrote many letters to her sons at college, containing sound
advice, of which she preserved copies, labelling the packages for the use
of her grandchildren. Space can be afforded for but a single passage from
one of these parental missives: "I am persuaded you will never counteract
those native dictates that lead you to struggle for distinction by
cherishing that ambition that dignifies the rational creature. May you
extend your views beyond the narrow limits of time, that you may rank not
only with those models of virtue and heroism that have been so much your
admiration from your earliest youth, but may be able to stand with
confidence before Him who discriminates character not according to the
weak decisions of man, but by the unerring scale of eternal truth."</p>
<p>Rochefoucault, in his Travels in the United States, speaks of Mrs.
Warren's extensive and varied reading. She was then seventy; and he says,
"truly interesting; for, lively in conversation, she has lost neither the
activity of her mind, nor the graces of her person." Her history of the
Revolution was written, but not published till some years afterwards. This
work exhibits her as a writer in advance of the age. Its sound judgment
and careful research, with its clear and vigorous style, give it a high
and lasting value. Her portraiture of Mr. Adams gave offence to the great
statesman, which for a time threatened to interrupt the affectionate
relations between the two families. But after a sharp correspondent, it
was amicably settled; and as a token of reconciliation, Mrs. Adams sent
her friend a ring containing her own and her husband's hair. This is now
in the possession of one of Mrs. Warren's descendants.</p>
<p>For many years before her death Mrs. Warren was afflicted with the failure
of her sight; but she submitted to the trial with pious resignation,
continuing to receive with cheerfulness the company that frequented her
house, and to correspond with her friends by means of a secretary. A
passage from a letter to one of her sons, written in 1799, amidst the
convulsions that agitated Europe, may serve to show that she still
occasionally indulged in the elaborate style so much in vogue:</p>
<p>"The <i>ices of the Poles</i> seem to be dissolved to swell the tide of
popularity on which swim the idols of the day; but when they have had
their day, the tide will retire to its level, and perhaps leave the
floating lumber on the strand with other perishable articles, not thought
worth the hazard of attempting their recovery."</p>
<p>Towards the close of her protracted life, her influence did not diminish;
for her mental superiority was still unimpaired and acknowledged. Seldom
has one woman in any age, acquired such an ascendency over the strongest,
by the mere force of a powerful intellect. She is said to have supplied
political parties with their arguments; and she was the first of her sex
in America who taught the reading world in matters of state policy and
history.</p>
<p>By her own relatives and connections she was reverenced and beloved in a
degree that affords the best testimony to her elevated character, and the
faithfulness with which she had discharged her duty towards them. The
influence commanded by her talents was enhanced by her virtues, and by the
deep religious feeling which governed her throughout life. Her descendants
are still taught to cherish her memory with reverent affection.</p>
<p>The portrait from which the engraving is taken, was painted by Copley. A
lady who visited Mrs. Warren in 1807, describes her as at that time erect
in person, and in conversation full of intelligence and eloquence. Her
dress was a steel-colored silk gown, with short sleeves and very long
waist; the black silk skirt being covered in front with a white lawn
apron. She wore a lawn mob-cap, and gloves covering the arm to the elbows,
cut off at the fingers.</p>
<p>In her last illness, her constant fear was that she might lose her mental
faculties as death approached. She prayed to be spared this; and her
prayer was granted. With an expression of thankfulness upon her lips—that
reason was clear, and the vision of her spirit unclouded—she passed
to the rest that awaits the faithful Christian, October 19th, 1814, in the
eighty-seventh year of her age.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<br/>
<h2> VI. LUCY KNOX. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Major Henry
Knox, then a resident of Boston, was parading the company to the command
of which he had just been elected, he was seen, among many who admired the
young officer, by Miss Lucy Flucker, the daughter of the Secretary of the
Province of Massachusetts. His noble form and martial appearance naturally
attracted the attention of the young lady; and on a personal acquaintance,
a mutual sentiment of regard grew up and ripened into love. Interruption
to its course was threatened by the growing troubles of the times. Thomas
Flucker, the father of Lucy, who had long held office under the British
government, adhered to the royal side amidst popular discontent. The
maiden had adopted her lover's views and feelings. In the gathering storm,
the time came when her decision was to be made. It was made with a true
woman's faith and self-devotion; and she pledged herself to the fortunes
of a soldier's wife. The separation from her family that became necessary,
was a painful trial, but submitted to with firmness and resolution. Mr.
Flucker and his family removed from the country soon after the battle of
Lexington; and Mrs. Knox, with her husband, joined the American army at
Cambridge. From this time she adhered to her determination to encounter
the perils and hardships incident to a military life. Neither her courage
nor her powers of endurance failed. When Boston was occupied by the
British, she escaped with her husband; and in their precipitate retreat,
it is said that she concealed the sword he wore through the war, by having
it quilted within the lining of her cloak.</p>
<p>In various journals we find the presence of Mrs. Knox noticed in camp.
Chastellux describes the hut on a small farm where she lived with her
children, a short distance from head-quarters at Verplanck's Point.</p>
<p>Whenever her health permitted, she followed the army: and it is
represented that her presence and cheerful manners did much to diffuse
contentment and enliven dreary scenes. The soldiers could not murmur at
privations which she endured without complaint. Sad it is, that no record
remains of the ministrations of women in thus softening war's grim
features. The good they did, however, was at the time acknowledged with
respectful gratitude. There is reason to believe that General Knox often
deferred to his wife's judgment, regarding her as a superior being; and it
is said that her influence and superiority were owned by Washington
himself. Her mind was undoubtedly of a high order, and her character a
remarkable one. She appears to have possessed an ascendancy over all with
whom she associated. After the close of the struggle, while General Knox
held the office of Secretary of War, his wife's position was next to that
of Mrs. Washington, whom she advised in matters of ceremony. Mrs. Knox had
a taste for the management and show of public life, and was a leader of
the ton in the social circles at the seat of government. When the General
retired from the political arena, she accompanied him to his—or
rather her estates in Maine. She had inherited a share of the domain on
Penobscot River and Bay which belonged to her mother's father, General
Waldo, the proprietor of the Waldo patent in Maine. The property had been
confirmed by government to her and General Knox after the peace.</p>
<p>Their residence was at Thomaston, in a splendid mansion at the head of St.
George's River, furnished with taste and elegance. Here the soldier
enjoyed the honors he had won, and spent his time in the indulgence of his
literary tastes, and the companionship of his friends. His hospitality was
unbounded, and numerous visitors frequented his house. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Sullivan, in his "Familiar Letters on Public Characters," speaks of the
hospitality of Knox at his superb mansion. It was not unusual for him in
summer, when visited by great numbers of his friends, to kill an ox and
twenty sheep every Monday morning, and to have a hundred beds made up
daily in the house. He kept for his own use and that of his friends,
twenty saddle horses and several pairs of carriage horses in his stables.
This expensive style of living encroached greatly on his means.</p>
<p>The influence of "Madam Knox," as she was called, on all within the circle
of her acquaintance, was decided; and she shared the lot of all remarkable
persons, in having enemies as well as friends. Tradition speaks much of
her; but little of what is said is sufficiently well authenticated to
relate. With rare powers of conversation, a memory stored with interesting
incidents, and much knowledge of the world, she was, when she pleased, one
of the most charming and entertaining of women; and her society was much
sought by men of taste and talent, while the unreserved expression of her
opinions to those with whom she conversed, sometimes displeased persons
who could not appreciate the independence of an original and intelligent
mind. The military life of which she had partaken, and her association
with those in command, with her engrossing interest in political measures,
perhaps imparted a tone to her character and deportment; none, it is said,
could forget her superiority of intellect, though in her the loftier
qualities of woman's nature were softened by the generous feelings that
impel to the kindly courtesies and charities of life. Having accompanied
her husband through the vicissitudes of an eight years' war—and
shared with him the splendors of exalted public station—she was
content to retire with him to the privacy of domestic life, and devote her
talents to the education of her children. Her taste created the elegance
that surrounded the General's home, and diffused a beneficial influence
throughout the section of country in which they resided. With her strong
mind and remarkable traits of character, it is not singular that the
popular remembrance of her should be abiding, as of one who had filled
more than the ordinary sphere of a woman. She had ten children, only three
of whom lived beyond infancy. She lived at her place after the death of
General Knox, continuing active in her charities, and in the exercise of
hospitality, during her almost eighteen years of widowhood. She died in
1824.</p>
<p>The manuscript correspondence of General Gates, now in the library of the
New York Historical Society, contains many letters addressed to Mrs.
Gates, and some written by her. Although these give no detail of her
personal history, they throw light upon some points in her character,
showing that she was an efficient helpmate as well as an intelligent
companion to her husband in all affairs that came properly under her
supervision. She was undoubtedly well skilled in the art of managing the
concerns of the household and farm, and acquainted with their details. Her
interest in public affairs is however, not the less manifest. Colonel
Wilkinson announces to her the news of the victory at Saratoga; and
continual allusions in the correspondence show that she closely observed
the progress of events. Her letter to the Count D'Estaing in
acknowledgment of the compliments paid her husband, may serve to show that
she could write both with ease and grace.</p>
<p>Danbury, Oct., 1778. Sir:</p>
<p>The terms in which your Excellency has expressed your esteem for General
Gates are so personally obliging, that I am afraid I am rather more
grieved than pure patriotism permits, that I cannot at this time send you
his portrait. It is in Virginia.</p>
<p>If I can have it in time before you leave these parts, I need not assure
you, Sir, that my partiality to the General will be such powerful
inducement to my transmitting it to the painter you have directed to copy
it, that you may depend on the gratification of what your kindness to the
General has made you wish for.</p>
<p>With all the gratitude which the honor you feel inclined to confer on
General Gates entitles you to from his family, and with the respect your
personal merit commands from all, I have the honor to be, Sir, your
Excellency's most humble and most obedient servant. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* From the original MS.</p>
<p>The maiden name of Mrs. Gates was Phillips. She was the daughter of a
British officer. She and the General resided several years on their estate
in Berkeley County, Virginia. They afterwards removed to New York, and
fixed their abode at the country seat near the city which received the
name of Rosehill. Here General Gates appears to have enjoyed a happy
retirement, cheered by visits from his friends, for whom "my Mary" had
always a cordial welcome.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<br/>
<h2> VII. MARY DRAPER. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen the news
reached Connecticut that blood had been shed, Putnam, who was at work in
the field, left his plow in the furrow, and started for Cambridge without
delaying to change his apparel. Stark was sawing pine logs without a coat;
he shut down the gate of his mill, and commenced the journey to Boston in
his shirt-sleeves. * The same spirit prevailed far and near. The
volunteers waited not to be supplied with arms, but seizing on whatever
rude weapons were at hand, hastened away to fight for home and liberty.
The women, lacking not their share of patriotic zeal, were active in
preparations to encourage, assist, and sustain them. Among many whose
persevering exertions were ready and efficient, Mrs. Draper is still
remembered with admiration by those who knew her. ** She was the wife of
Captain Draper, of Dedham, Massachusetts, and lived on a farm. Her house,
which was always a home for the destitute while occupied by her, is yet
standing, and is owned by one of her descendants. It was her abode to the
age of one hundred years.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Sabine.</p>
<p class="foot">
** The facts were communicated by a lady who was well acquainted with Mrs.
Draper, and has often heard her relate particulars of the war.</p>
<p>Mrs. Draper felt the deepest sympathy for the hardships inevitably
encountered by the newly raised troops, and considered the limited means
she possessed not as her own property, but belonging to her distressed
country. When the first call to arms sounded throughout the land, she
exhorted her husband to lose no time in hastening to the scene of action;
and with her own hands bound knapsack and blanket on the shoulders of her
only son, a stripling of sixteen, bidding him depart and do his duty. To
the entreaties of her daughter that her young brother might remain at home
to be their protector, she answered that every arm able to aid the cause
belonged to the country. "He is wanted and must go. You and I, Kate, have
also service to do. Food must be prepared for the hungry; for before
to-morrow night, hundreds, I hope thousands, will be on their way to join
the continental forces. Some who have travelled far will need refreshment,
and you and I, with Molly, must feed as many as we can."</p>
<p>This undertaking, though of no small labor, was presently commenced.
Captain Draper was a thriving farmer; his granaries were well filled, and
his wife's dairy was her special care and pride. All the resources at her
command were in requisition to contribute to her benevolent purpose.
Assisted by her daughter and the domestic, she spent the whole day and
night, and the succeeding day, in baking brown bread. The ovens of that
day were not the small ones now in use, but were suited for such an
occasion, each holding bread sufficient to supply a neighborhood. By good
fortune two of these monster ovens appertained to the establishment, as is
frequently the case in New England. These were soon in full blast, and the
kneading trough was plied by hands that shrank not from the task. At that
time of hurry and confusion, none could stop long enough to dine. The
people were under the influence of strong excitement, and all were in such
haste to join the army, that they stayed only to relieve the cravings of
hunger, though from want of food, and fatigue, many were almost exhausted.
With the help of a disabled veteran of the French war, who had for years
resided in her family, Mrs. Draper had soon her stores in readiness. A
long form was erected by the road-side; large pans of bread and cheese
were placed upon it, and replenished as often as was necessary; while old
John brought cider in pails from the cellar, which, poured into tubs, was
served out by two lads who volunteered their services. Thus were the weary
patriots refreshed on their way. Mrs. Draper presided at the
entertainment; and when her own stock of provisions began to fail, applied
to her neighbors for aid. By their contributions her hospitable board was
supplied, till in a few days the necessity for extraordinary exertion had
in a measure passed, and order and discipline took the place of popular
tumult. When each soldier carried his rations, the calls on private
benevolence were less frequent and imperative.</p>
<p>But ere long came the startling intelligence, after the battle of Bunker
Hill, that a scarcity of ammunition had been experienced. General
Washington called upon the inhabitants to send to head-quarters every
ounce of lead or pewter at their disposal, saying that any quantity,
however small, would be gratefully received.</p>
<p>This appeal could not be disregarded. It is difficult at this day to
estimate the value of pewter as an ornamental as well as indispensable
convenience. The more precious metals had not then found their way to the
tables of New Englanders; and throughout the country, services of pewter,
scoured to the brightness of silver, covered the board, even in the
mansions of the wealthy. Few withheld their portion in that hour of the
country's need; and noble were the sacrifices made in presenting their
willing offerings. Mrs. Draper was rich in a large stock of pewter, which
she valued as the ornament of her house. Much of it was precious to her as
the gift of a departed mother. But the call reached her heart, and she
delayed not obedience, thankful that she was able to contribute so largely
to the requirements of her suffering country. Her husband before joining
the army had purchased a mould for casting bullets, to supply himself and
son with this article of warfare. Mrs. Draper was not satisfied with
merely giving the material required, when she could possibly do more; and
her platters, pans, and dishes were soon in process of transformation into
balls.</p>
<p>The approach of winter brought fears that the resources of the country
would hardly yield supplies for the pressing wants of the army. Mrs.
Draper was one of the most active in efforts to meet the exigencies of the
times; and hesitated at no sacrifice of personal convenience to increase
her contributions. The supply of domestic cloth designed for her family
was in a short time converted by her labor, assisted by that of her
daughter and maid, into coats for the soldiers: the sheets and blankets
with which her presses were stored, were fashioned into shirts; and even
the flannel already made up for herself and daughter, was altered into
men's habiliments. Such was the aid rendered by women whose deeds of
disinterested generosity were never known beyond their own immediate
neighborhood!</p>
<p>Another anecdote may here be mentioned, illustrative of the spirit that
was abroad. On the morning after the battle of Lexington, a company of
nearly a hundred halted before the house of Colonel Pond of West Dedham.
They had marched all night, and were covered with dust, and faint from
fatigue and want of food. Their haste was urgent, and the mistress of the
house whose hospitality they claimed, was unprepared for the entertainment
of so large a party. Her husband was absent with the army, and she had
only one female assistant and a hired man. But the willing heart can do
wonders. In a few minutes she had a large brass kettle holding ten pails
full, over the fire, filled with water and Indian meal for hasty pudding.
In the barnyard were ten cows ready to contribute their share to the
morning meal. Near the farm-house was a store well supplied with brown
earthen dishes, and pewter spoons tied in dozens for sale. The military
guests volunteered their aid. Some milked the cows, others stirred the
pudding; while the two domestics collected all the milk in the
neighborhood. Thus, in the short space of an hour, by the energetic
efforts of one kind-hearted woman, a hundred weary, hungry soldiers were
provided with refreshment. They ate, and marched on to the place of their
destination; receiving encouragement, it cannot be doubted, from this
simple manifestation of good-will, which was not soon forgotten.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<br/>
<h2> VIII. FREDERICA DE RIEDESEL. </h2>
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<h5>
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</h5>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>eneral Wilkinson,
who was personally acquainted with Madame de Riedesel, published fragments
of her journal in his Memoirs. He calls her "the amiable, accomplished,
and dignified baroness."—"I have more than once," he says, "seen her
charming blue eyes bedewed with tears, at the recital of her sufferings."
The regard she inspired, however, was not due entirely to admiration of
her loveliness; for others in the American ranks, as well as in Europe,
were deeply interested in her account of her adventures.</p>
<p>Frederica Charlotte Louisa, the daughter of Mas-sow, the Prussian Minister
of State, was born in Brandenburgh, in 1746. Her father was Intendant
General of the allied army at Minden, where, at the age of seventeen, she
married Lieutenant Colonel Baron de Riedesel. In the war of the
Revolution, he was appointed to the command of the Brunswick forces in the
British service in America, and his wife followed him in 1777, with her
three young children. Her journal, and letters addressed to her mother,
describe her travels with the camp through various parts of the country,
and the occurrences she witnessed. These papers, intended only for a
circle of the writer's friends, were first published by her son-in-law in
Germany in 1801, shortly after the death of General Riedesel. Portions
having been copied into periodicals, and read with interest, the whole was
translated, and presented to the American public. It forms an appropriate
appendix to the history of the period, with its graphic pictures of scenes
in the war and the state of society, and its notices of distinguished men.
But it is still more valuable as exhibiting an example of female energy,
fortitude, and conjugal devotion. The moral is the more striking as drawn
from the experience of a woman of rank, subjected to dangers and
privations from which the soldier might have shrunk. The readiness with
which she hastened to cross the ocean that she might bear her husband
company through toils or want, or suffering, or death, the courage with
which she encountered perils, and the cheerful resignation displayed under
trials felt the more severely for the sake of those she loved, present a
touching picture of fidelity and tenderness. After she has joined her
husband in Canada, and is again separated from him, she thinks only of joy
at being permitted at last to follow the army. Obliged to pass the night
on a lonely island, where the only shelter is a half-finished house, and
the only couch a cluster of bushes over which the traveller's cloaks are
spread, she utters no murmur, nor complains of the scarcity of food. "A
soldier," she says, "put a pot to the fire. I asked him what it contained.
'Some potatoes,' quoth he, 'which I brought with me.' I threw a longing
glance at them; but as they were few, it would have been cruel to deprive
him of them. At last my desire to have some for my children overcame my
diffidence; and he gave me half his little provision (about twelve
potatoes), and took at the same time from his pocket two or three ends of
candles, which I accepted with pleasure; for my children were afraid to
remain in the dark. A dollar which I gave him made him as happy as his
liberality had made me."</p>
<p>With her three children, the Baroness proceeded to meet her husband at
Fort Edward. When the army broke up the encampment, she would not remain
behind. Her spirits rose at the observation of General Burgoyne on the
passage across the Hudson—"Britons never retrograde." The action at
Freeman's Farm took place in her hearing, and some of the wounded were
brought to the house where she was. Among them was a young English
officer, an only son, whose sufferings excited her deepest sympathy, and
whose last moans she heard. A calash was ordered for her further progress
with the army. They marched through extensive forests, and a beautiful
district, deserted by the inhabitants, who were gone to re-enforce General
Gates.</p>
<p>The Diary gives a touching account of the scenes passed through at the
memorable conclusion of Bur-goyne's campaign, with the battles of
Saratoga. "On the seventh of October," she says, "our misfortunes began."
Generals Burgoyne, Phillips, and Frazer, with the Baron, were to dine with
her on that day. She had observed in the morning an unusual movement in
the camp; and had seen a number of armed Indians in their war dresses, who
answered "War! war!" to her inquiries whither they were going. As the
dinner hour approached, an increased tumult, the firing, and the yelling
of the savages, announced the approaching battle. The roar of artillery
became louder and more incessant. At four o'clock, instead of the guests
invited, General Frazer was brought in mortally wounded. The table,
already prepared for dinner, was removed to make room for his bed. The
Baroness, terrified by the noise of the conflict raging without, expected
every moment to see her husband also led in pale and helpless. Towards
night he came to the house, dined in haste, and desired his wife to pack
up her camp furniture, and be ready for removal at an instant's warning.
His dejected countenance told the disastrous result. Lady Ackland, whose
tent was adjoining, was presently informed that her husband was wounded,
and a prisoner! Thus through the long hours till day the kind ministries
of the Baroness were demanded by many sufferers. "I divided the night,"
she says, "between her I wished to comfort, and my children who were
asleep, but who I feared might disturb the poor dying General. Several
times he begged my pardon for the trouble he thought he gave me. About
three o'clock I was informed he could not live much longer; and as I did
not wish to be present at his last struggle, I wrapped my children in
blankets, and retired into the room below. At eight in the morning he
expired."</p>
<p>All day the cannonade continued, while the melancholy spectacle of the
dead was before their eyes. The women attended the wounded soldiers who
were brought in, like ministering angels. In the afternoon the Baroness
saw the house that had been built for her in flames.</p>
<p>Frazer's last request had been that he should be buried at six in the
evening, in the great redoubt on the hill; and the retreat was delayed for
this purpose. The generals, with their retinues, followed the honored
corpse to the spot, in the midst of a heavy fire from the Americans; for
General Gates knew not that it was a funeral procession. The women stood
in full view of this impressive and awful scene, so eloquently described
by Burgoyne himself:</p>
<p>"The incessant cannonode during the solemnity; the steady attitude and
unaltered voice with which the chaplain officiated, though frequently
covered with dust which the shot threw up on all sides of him; the mute
but expressive mixture of sensibility and indignation upon every
countenance; these objects will remain to the last of life upon the mind
of every man who was present."</p>
<p>The deepening shadows of evening closed around the group thus rendering
the last service to one of their number, while each might anticipate his
own death in the next report of artillery. A subject was presented for the
pencil of a master. An appropriate side-piece to the picture might
represent the group of anxious females who shared the peril, regardless of
themselves. "Many cannon-balls," says Madame de Riedesel, "flew close by
me; but I had my eyes directed towards the mountain where my husband was
standing amidst the fire of the enemy; and of course I did not think of my
own danger."</p>
<p>That night the army commenced its retreat, leaving the sick and wounded; a
flag of truce waving over the hospital thus abandoned to the mercy of the
foe. The rain fell in torrents all day of the 9th, and it was dark when
they reached Saratoga. The Baroness suffered cruel suspense as to the fate
of her husband. She had taken charge of some valuables belonging to the
officers, and having no place to change her drenched apparel, lay down
with her children upon some straw by the fire. Her provisions were shared
the next day with the officers; and being insufficient to satisfy their
hunger, she made an appeal to the Adjutant-General in their behalf. Again
the alarm of battle, and reports of muskets and cannon, drove them to seek
shelter in a house, which was fired at under the impression that the
generals were there. It was occupied by women and crippled soldiers. They
were obliged at last to descend into the cellar, where the Baroness laid
herself in a corner, supporting her children's heads on her knees. The
night was passed in the utmost terror and anguish; and with the morning
the terrible cannonade commenced anew. So it continued for several days.
But in the midst of the dreadful scenes, when the Baron spoke of sending
his family to the American camp, the heroic wife declared that nothing
would be so painful to her as to owe safety to those with whom he was
fighting. He then consented that she should continue to follow the army.
"However," she says—"the apprehension that he might have marched
away, repeatedly entered my mind; and I crept up the staircase more than
once to dispel my fears. When I saw our soldiers near their watchfires, I
became more calm, and could even have slept.</p>
<p>"The want of water continuing to distress us, we could not but be
extremely glad to find a soldier's wife so spirited as to fetch some from
the river, an occupation from which the boldest might have shrunk, as the
Americans shot every one who approached it. They told us afterwards that
they spared her on account of her sex.</p>
<p>"I endeavored to dispel my melancholy by continually attending to the
wounded. I made them tea and coffee, and often shared my dinner with them.
One day a Canadian officer came creeping into our cellar, and was hardly
able to say that he was dying with hunger, I felt happy to offer him my
dinner, by eating which he recovered his health, and I gained his
friendship."</p>
<p>At length the danger was over.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"A gallant army formed their last array</p>
<p class="indent15">
Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom,</p>
<p class="indent20">
And at their conquerors' feet</p>
<p class="indent20">
Laid their war weapons down.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"Sullen and stern—disarmed but not dishonored;</p>
<p class="indent15">
Brave men—but brave in vain—they yielded there;—</p>
<p class="indent20">
The soldier's trial task</p>
<p class="indent20">
Is not alone * to die.'"</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>On the seventeenth, the capitulation was carried into effect. The generals
waited upon Gates, and the troops surrendered themselves prisoners of war.
"At last," writes the fair Riedesel, "my husband's groom brought me a
message to join him with the children. I once more seated myself in my
dear calash; and while driving through the American camp, was gratified to
observe that nobody looked at us with disrespect; but on the contrary,
greeted us, and seemed touched at the sight of a captive mother with three
children. I must candidly confess that I did not present myself, though so
situated, with much courage to the enemy. When I drew near the tents, a
fine-looking man advanced towards me, helped the children from the calash,
and kissed and caressed them. He then offered me his arm, and tears
trembled in his eyes. "You tremble, madam," said he; "do not be alarmed, I
beg of you."</p>
<p>"Sir," cried I—"a countenance so expressive of benevolence, and the
kindness you have evinced towards my children, are sufficient to dispel
all apprehension." He then ushered me into the tent of General Gates, whom
I found engaged in friendly conversation with Generals Burgoyne and
Phillips. General Burgoyne said to me—"you can now be quiet and free
from all apprehension of danger." I replied that I should indeed be
reprehensible, if I felt any anxiety, when our general was on such
friendly terms with General Gates.</p>
<p>"All the generals remained to dine with the American commander. The
gentleman who had received me with so much kindness, came and said to me:
"You may find it embarrassing to be the only lady in so large a company of
gentlemen. Will you come with your children to my tent, and partake of a
frugal dinner, offered with the best will?"</p>
<p>"You show me so much kindness," replied I, "I cannot but believe that you
are a husband and a father." He informed me that he was General Schuyler.
The dinner was of excellent smoked tongues, beefsteaks, potatoes, fresh
butter, and bread. Never did a meal give me so much pleasure. I was easy
after many months of anxiety, and I read the same happy change in the
countenances of those around me. That my husband was out of danger, was a
still greater cause of joy. After our dinner, General Schuyler begged me
to pay him a visit at his house near Albany, where he expected that
General Burgoyne would also be his guest. I sent to ask my husband's
directions, who advised me to accept the invitation. We were two days'
journey from Albany, and as it was now five o'clock in the afternoon, he
wished me to endeavor to reach, on that day, a place distant about three
hour's ride. General Schuyler carried his civilities so far as to solicit
a well-bred French officer to accompany me on that first part of my
journey. As soon as he saw me safely established in the house where I was
to remain, he went back to the General.</p>
<p>"We reached Albany, where we had so often wished ourselves; but did not
enter that city, as we had hoped, with a victorious army. Our reception,
however, from General Schuyler, and his wife and daughters, was not like
the reception of enemies, but of the most intimate friends. They loaded us
with kindness; and they behaved in the same manner towards General
Burgoyne, though he had without any necessity ordered their splendid
establishment to be burnt. All their actions proved that at the sight of
the misfortunes of others, they quickly forgot their own. Burgoyne was so
much affected by this generous deportment, that he said to Schuyler: 'You
are too kind to me—who have done you so much injury,' 'Such is the
fate of war,' he replied; 'let us not dwell on this subject.' We remained
three days with that excellent family, and they seemed to regret our
departure."</p>
<p>General Riedesel who brooded continually on the late disastrous events,
and upon his captivity, was not able to bear his troubles with the spirit
and cheerfulness of his wife. He became moody and irritable; and his
health was much impaired in consequence of having passed many nights in
the damp air. "One day," says the Baroness, "when he was much indisposed,
the American sentinels at our doors were very noisy in their merriment and
drinking; and grew more so when my husband sent a message desiring them to
be quiet; but as soon as I went myself, and told them the General was sick
they were immediately silent. This proves that the Americans also respect
our sex."</p>
<p>The prisoners at length reached Boston; and after a stay of three weeks,
were transported to Cambridge, where Madame de Riedesel and her family
were lodged in one of the best houses of the place. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* On one of the windows of this house the name "Riedesel," written on the
glass with a diamond, is still to be seen. In front; are several beautiful
lime-trees, and the view is a lovely one. The house near it, which
Washington occupied as his head-quarters, is now the residence of the poet
Longfellow.</p>
<p>None of the officers were permitted to enter Boston; but Madame de
Riedesel went to visit Mrs. Carter, the daughter of General Schuyler, and
dined with her several times. Boston she describes as a fine city; but the
inhabitants as "outrageously patriotic." The captives met in some
instances with very different treatment from that which they had before
encountered; and the worst, she says, from persons of her own sex. They
gazed at her with indignation, and testified contempt when she passed near
them. Mrs. Carter resembled her parents in mildness and goodness of heart;
but the Baroness has no admiration for her husband—"this wicked Mr.
Carter, who, in consequence of General Howe's having burnt several
villages and small towns, suggested to his countrymen to cut off our
generals' heads, to pickle them, and to put them in small barrels; and as
often as the English should again burn a village—to send them one of
these barrels." She here adds some sad stories of American cruelty towards
the loyalists.</p>
<p>On the third of June, 1778, Madame de Riedesel gave a ball and supper to
celebrate her husband's birthday. The British officers were invited, with
Mr. and Mrs. Carter, and General Burgoyne, of whom the fair hostess
records that he sent an excuse after he had made them wait till eight
o'clock. "He had always some excuse," observes she—"for not visiting
us, until he was about departing for England, when he came and made me
many apologies; to which I made no other reply than that I should be
extremely sorry if he had put himself to any inconvenience for our sake."
The dance and supper were so brilliant, and so numerously attended, and
the toasts drunk with such enthusiasm, that the house was surrounded with
people, who began to suspect a conspiracy. The Baroness here notices the
American method of telegraphing by lighting torches on surrounding
heights, when they wished to call troops together. When General Howe
attempted to rescue the troops detained in Boston, the inhabitants planted
their torches, and a crowd of people without shoes or stockings—their
rifles on their shoulders, flocked together; so that the landing would
have been attended with extreme difficulty. Towards the approach of winter
the prisoners received orders to set out for Virginia. The ingenuity of
Madame de Riedesel devised means of preserving the colors of the German
regiments, which the Americans believed they had burned. A mattress was
made under her direction, into which the honorable badges were introduced.
Captain O'Connell, under pretence of some commission, took the mattress to
New York; and the Baroness received it again at Halifax, on their voyage
from New York to Canada, and had it placed in her cabin.</p>
<p>A rascal on no small scale was the cook of Madame la Baronne. She had
given him money for the daily expenditure—but he had paid nobody;
and while preparations for the journey were going on, bills were presented
to the amount of a thousand dollars. The cook was arrested; but escaping,
went into the service of General Gates, who finding him too expensive, he
entered into the employment of General La Fayette. The Marquis used to
say, "that he was a cook only fit for a king."</p>
<p>The Baroness had the accommodation of an English coach in commencing her
journey to Virginia, November, 1778. The provisions followed in the
baggage wagon; but as that moved more slowly, they were often without
food, and were obliged to make a halt every fourth day. At Hartford,
General La Fayette was invited to dine by the Baron, somewhat to the
perplexity of his wife, who feared she would have difficulty in preparing
her provisions so as to suit one who appreciated a good dinner. The
Marquis is mentioned with great respect; but Madame de Riedesel thinks the
suspicions of the Americans were excited by hearing them speak French.</p>
<p>"We reached one day a pretty little town; but our wagon remaining behind,
we were very hungry. Seeing much fresh meat in the house where we stopped,
I begged the landlady to sell me some. 'I have,' quoth she, 'several sorts
of meat; beef, mutton and lamb.' I said, 'let me have some; I will pay you
liberally.' But snapping her fingers, she replied; 'You shall not have a
morsel of it; why have you left your country to slay and rob us of our
property? Now that you are our prisoners, it is our turn to vex you.'
'But,' rejoined I, 'see those poor children; they are dying of hunger.'
She remained still unmoved; but when at length my youngest child,
Caroline, who was then about two years and a half old, went to her, seized
her hands, and said in English: 'Good woman, I am indeed very hungry,' she
could no longer resist; and carrying the child to her room, she gave her
an egg. 'But,' persisted the dear little one, 'I have two sisters.'
Affected by this remark, the hostess gave her three eggs, saying, 'I am
loth to be so weak, but I cannot refuse the child.' By-and-by she
softened, and offered me bread and butter. I made tea: and saw that the
hostess looked at our tea-pot with a longing eye; for the Americans are
very fond of that beverage; yet they had stoutly resolved not to drink any
more, the tax on tea, as is well known, having been the immediate cause of
the contest with Great Britain. I offered her, however, a cup, and
presented her with a paper case full of tea. This drove away all clouds
between us. She begged me to go with her into the kitchen, and there I
found her husband eating a piece of pork. The woman went into the cellar
to bring me a basket of potatoes. When she returned into the kitchen, the
husband offered her some of his dainty food; she tasted it, and returned
to him what remained. I was disagreeably struck with this partnership; but
the man probably thought I was envious of it, on account of the hunger I
had manifested; and presented me with the little both had left. I feared
by refusing, to offend them, and lose the potatoes. I therefore accepted
the morsel, and having kept up the appearance as if I ate, threw it
secretly into the fire. We were now in perfect amity; with the potatoes
and some butter I made a good supper, and we had to ourselves three neat
rooms, with very good beds."</p>
<p>On the banks of the Hudson, in a skipper's house, they were not so
fortunate in finding good accommodations—being given the remnants of
breakfast after the hostess, children, and servants had finished their
meal. The woman was a staunch republican, and could not bring herself to
any courtesies towards the enemies of her country. They fared a little
better after crossing the river. When the aids-de-camp who accompanied
them to the house where they were to lodge, wished to warm themselves in
the kitchen, the host followed, and taking them by their arms, said, "Is
it not enough that I give you shelter, ye wretched royalists?" His wife,
however, was more amiable; and his coarseness gradually softened, till
they became good friends.</p>
<p>They stopped one night on the road, at the house of a Colonel Howe, to
whom the Baroness meant to pay a compliment by asking him if he was a
relative of the general of that name. "Heaven forbid!" replied he, in
great anger; "he is not worthy of that honor." Madame de Riedesel is
amusingly indignant at the sanguinary temper of this gentleman's daughter,
who was very pretty and only fourteen years of age. "Sitting with her near
the fire, she said on a sudden, staring at the blaze, 'Oh! if I had here
the king of England, with how much pleasure I could roast and eat him!' I
looked at her with indignation, and said, 'I am almost ashamed to belong
to a sex capable of indulging such fancies! I shall never forget that
detestable girl.'"</p>
<p>Passing through a wild, grand, and picturesque country, they at length
arrived in Virginia. At a day's distance from the place of destination,
their little stock of provisions gave out. At noon they reached a house,
and begged for some dinner; but all assistance was denied them, with many
imprecations upon the royalists. "Seizing some maize, I begged our hostess
to give me some of it to make a little bread. She replied that she needed
it for her black people. 'They work for us,' she added, 'and you come to
kill us.' Captain Edmonstone offered to pay her one or two guineas for a
little wheat. But she answered, 'You shall not have it even for hundreds
of guineas; and it will be so much the better if you all die!' The captain
became so enraged at these words, that he was about to take the maize; but
I prevented him from doing it, thinking we should soon meet with more
charitable people. But in this I was much mistaken; for we did not see
even a solitary hut. The roads were execrable, and the horses could hardly
move. My children, starving from hunger, grew pale, and for the first time
lost their spirits. Captain Edmonstone, deeply affected at this, went
about asking for something for the children; and received at last from one
of the wagoners who transported our baggage, a piece of stale bread, of
three ounces weight, upon which many a tooth had already exercised its
strength. Yet to my children it was at this time a delicious morsel. I
broke it, and was about giving the first piece to the youngest, but she
said, 'No, mamma; my sisters are more in want of it than I am.' The two
eldest girls, with no less generosity, thought that little Caroline was to
have the first piece. I then distributed to each her small portion. Tears
ran down my cheeks; and had I ever refused to the poor a piece of bread, I
should have thought retributive justice had overtaken me. Captain
Edmonstone, who was much affected, presented the generous wagoner who had
given us his last morsel, with a guinea; and when we were arrived at our
place of destination, we provided him, besides, with bread for a part of
his journey homewards."</p>
<p>The place of their destination was Colle, in Virginia, where General
Riedesel, who had advanced with the troops, already expected them with
impatient anxiety. This was about the middle of February, 1779. They had
passed, in the journey, through the States of Connecticut, New York, New
Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Maryland; and in about three months had
travelled six hundred and twenty-eight miles. They hired a house belonging
to an Italian who was about leaving the country. The troops were at
Charlottesville, three hours' ride distant—the road thither running
through a fine wood.</p>
<p>The life of Madame de Riedesel and her family in Virginia was not an
unhappy one, though they suffered from the heat during the summer. The
General was brought home one day with a <i>coup de soleil,</i> which for
years afterwards affected his health. His physician and acquaintances
advised him to go to Frederic Springs. It was there that he and his wife
became acquainted with General Washington's family, and with some other
amiable persons attached to the American cause.</p>
<p>While at Frederic Springs, General Riedesel received the news that he and
General Phillips, with their aids-de-camp, were expected in New York,
where they were to be exchanged for American prisoners. He returned to
Colle, to place the troops during his absence, under the care of Colonel
Specht. In August, 1779, the Baroness left the Springs to join her husband
in Pennsylvania, stopping near Baltimore to pay a visit to one of the
ladies with whom, though of opposite political opinions, she had formed a
friendship at the Springs. This visit was a charming episode in the
troubled life of Madame de Riedesel. She remembered long after, with
gratitude, the hospitality and kindness received. "The loyalists," she
says, "received us with frank hospitality, from political sympathy; and
those of opposite principles gave us a friendly welcome, merely from
habit; for in that country it would be considered a crime to behave
otherwise towards strangers."</p>
<p>At Elizabethtown they met with many friends to their cause. They were
exulting in the anticipation of an exchange, and restoration to freedom,
when an officer arrived, commissioned by Washington to deliver to General
Phillips a letter containing an order to return to Virginia—Congress
having rejected the proposal of a cartel. The disappointment was
excessive, but unavoidable; and after a day's halt, they commenced their
journey back. On reaching Bethlehem, the two Generals, Riedesel and
Phillips, obtained permission to remain there till the difficulties
respecting the cartel should be removed. Their bill, after six weeks'
lodging for the party, with the care of their horses, amounted to
thirty-two thousand dollars in paper money, corresponding to about four
hundred guineas in specie. A traveller who bought silver coin, gave them
eighty dollars in paper money for every dollar in silver, and thus enabled
them to leave the place, when at last permitted to go to New York.</p>
<p>Arrived at New York, a soldier went before the travellers "from the gate
of the city," to show the way to their lodging. This proved to be the
house of the Governor, General Tryon, where the Baroness made herself at
home with her children and attendants, under the belief that they had been
conducted to a hotel. She received visits here from General Patterson, the
Commandant of the city; and also from Generals Cornwallis and Clinton; and
had a romantic introduction to her host, who did not announce his name at
the first visit, nor till she had expressed a wish to become personally
acquainted with him.</p>
<p>Madame de Riedesel went from the city to General Clinton's country-seat, a
mile distant, where her children were inoculated for the small-pox. When
the danger of infection was over, they returned and spent the winter in
New York. The charming country seat was again their residence in the
summer of 1780. The situation was uncommonly beautiful; around the house
were meadows and orchards, with the Hudson at their feet; and they had
abundance of delicious fruit. General Clinton visited them frequently, and
the last time was accompanied by Major André, the day before he set out on
his fatal expedition.</p>
<p>The breaking out of a malignant fever, which made dreadful ravages in the
city and neighborhood, disturbed their pleasure. In the house no less than
twenty were laboring under the disease. The Baron himself was dangerously
ill; and the cares and nursing devolved on his wife, who was worn out with
anxiety. "We were one day," she says, "in anxious expectation of our
physician from New York, my husband's symptoms having become of late more
and more threatening. He was continually in a lethargic stupor, and when I
presented him the sago water, which the physician had ordered for him, he
turned round, desiring me to let him die quietly. He thought his end must
be near. The physician having entered the room at that moment, I urgently
begged him to tell me the truth, and to let me know if there was any hope
of my husband's recovery. He had scarcely said 'Yes,' when my children, on
hearing this merciful word, sprang from under a table where they had lain
concealed in dreadful expectation of the doctor's sentence, threw
themselves at his feet, and kissed his hands with rapturous feelings of
gratitude. Nobody could have witnessed the scene without sharing my deep
emotion."</p>
<p>..."Out of thirty persons of whom our family consisted, ten only escaped
the disease. It is astonishing how much the frail human creature can
endure; and I am amazed that I survived such hard trials. My happy
temperament permitted me even to be gay and cheerful, whenever my hopes
were encouraged. The best health is often undermined by such sufferings;
still I rejoice to think I had it in my power to be useful to those who
are dearest to me; and that without my exertions, I might have lost those
who now contribute so much to my felicity. At length all my patients were
cured."</p>
<p>In the autumn Generals Phillips and Riedesel were exchanged; although the
rest of the army who surrendered at Saratoga still remained prisoners.
General Clinton wished to replace the Baron in active service, and
appointed him Lieutenant General, investing him with the command at Long
Island. A second dangerous attack of fever so impaired his health, that
the physicians thought he could never recover as long as he resided in
that climate. But he would not leave the army, nor ask a furlough.</p>
<p>In the following spring, the Baroness was established on Long Island. Her
husband's health mended slowly; and his thoughts being often fixed on the
remnant of his late regiments, which had remained in Canada, General
Clinton at length consented that he should pay them a visit. Being about
to depart in July, Madame de Riedesel sent the residue of their wood—about
thirty cords—to some poor families, and took but a few articles of
furniture, returning the rest to the commissary of the army. They at last
embarked for Canada, and reached Quebec after a journey of about two
months, in September, 1781.</p>
<p>Madame de Riedesel gives a pleasing description of her life in Canada,
which seems to have been very agreeable. She had an opportunity of
observing the habits of the Indians, some of whom were under her husband's
command. Before she joined him on her first arrival in Canada, one of the
savages, having heard that M. de Riedesel was ill, that he was married,
and felt uneasy on account of the delay in his wife's arrival, came with
his own wife, and said to the General; "I love my wife—but I love
thee also; in proof of which I give her to thee." The Indian seemed
distressed and almost offended at the refusal of his gift. It is somewhat
remarkable that this man was by birth a German, who had been taken
prisoner by the savages when about fifteen years of age.</p>
<p>In the summer of 1783, the General having received news of the death of
his father, became impatient to return to Europe. They made all necessary
arrangements for the voyage, and after the troops had embarked, were
accompanied by many of their friends to the vessel.</p>
<p>General and Madame de Riedesel were graciously received by the king and
queen of Great Britain when they reached London. Their return to Germany
was welcomed by their old friends and acquaintance; and the fair traveller
rejoiced on seeing her husband once more "standing in the midst of his
soldiers, and a multitude of parents, wives, children, brothers and
sisters, who either rejoiced at meeting again their relatives who had been
so long absent, or mourned over the loss of those who had been long missed
and expected."</p>
<p>It is to be presumed that the after life of one who possessed a spirit so
generous and cheerful, was happy. The record of her sojourn in America
impresses the reader with feelings of admiration and esteem for her. Such
details have a value beyond that of a mere narration of facts; they
illustrate character, and add the warm coloring of life to the outlines of
history. They afford light by which we can more clearly read the great
lessons in the story of battle and victory. In the midst of our enthusiasm
for the achievement of Saratoga, we do not lose pity for the disasters
that accompanied the triumph. We see courtesy and humanity prevailing in
the midst of the strife, and honor both the opposing principles of loyalty
and patriotism. "If the figures of the picture are at first fierce and
repulsive—the figures of brethren armed against brethren, of
mercenary Germans and frantic savages, Canadian rangers and American
ploughmen, all bristling together with the horrid front of war—what
a charm of contrast is presented, when among these stern and forbidding
groups is beheld the form of a Christian woman moving to and fro,
disarming the heart of every emotion but reverence, softening the
misfortunes of defeat, and checking the elation of victory!"</p>
<p>After the death of General Riedesel, in 1800, the Baroness fixed her
residence at Berlin, where she died, on the 29th of March, 1808. She
established here an asylum for military orphans, and an almshouse for the
poor in Brunswick.</p>
<p>She was long remembered, with her interesting family, in Virginia, as well
as in other parts of the continent. She is described as full in figure,
and possessing no small share of beauty. Some of her foreign habits
rendered her rather conspicuous; such as riding in boots, and in what was
then called, "the European fashion;" and she was sometimes charged with
carelessness in her attire. She was visited by many families in the
neighborhood of Charlottesville.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> IX. DOROTHY HANCOCK. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>rs. Hancock was
one of those, who, at Cambridge, extended courtesies to the ladies of
Bur-goyne's army, when under the convention of surrender. She was the
daughter of Edmund Quincy, of Massachusetts, and was born in 1750. At the
age of twenty-four she was married to one of the greatest men of the age.
The honor that encircled the name of John Hancock, received added lustre
from the fair partner of his fortunes. Moving in the best circles of
society, and a leader in taste and fashion, she filled her illustrious
station with dignity, and dispensed with grace the hospitalities of her
house. There might be seen at her table all classes; the grave clergy, the
veteran and the gay—and the gifted in song, or anecdote, or wit. The
social customs of the day savored of profusion. It was a practice in
families of respectability, to have a tankard of punch made in the
morning, of which visitors during the day were invited to partake. Dinners
and suppers were frequently interchanged: and the tables were loaded with
provision. The dinner hour was at one or two o'clock; and three was the
latest for formal occasions. The evening amusement was usually a game at
cards; and dancing was much in vogue. There were concerts; but theatrical
amusements were prohibited. Much attention was paid to dress; and coats
various in color were worn.</p>
<p>Mrs. Hancock was not only admirable in the pleasing duties of mistress of
her household, but in hours of disease and pain soothed her husband and
calmed his sensitive and irritable temper. She had her share, too, in the
terrors and dangers of the war. When the British made their attack at
Lexington and Concord, she was at the latter place with Mr. Hancock, and
fled with him to Woburn. Many a scene of Revolutionary days, in which she
was herself an actor or a spectator, she was accustomed to depict in after
years. She would often describe the appearance and manners of the British
officers who had been quartered in Boston, dwelling particularly on the
military virtue of Earl Percy, who slept in a tent among his soldiers
encamped on the Common in the winter of 1774-5, and whose voice could be
heard at the dawn of day, drilling his troops.</p>
<p>During the life of her husband, Mrs. Hancock was of necessity much in the
gay world, in which she occupied a position so distinguished. After his
death she married Captain Scott, with whom she passed a less brilliant,
yet not a less happy life. Her later years were spent in seclusion. She
was still, however, surrounded by friends who were instructed and charmed
by her superior mind, and cheerful conversation. She went but little into
society, and whenever she appeared, was received with great attention. La
Fayette, on his visit to this country, called upon her, and many spoke of
the interesting interview witnessed between "the once youthful chevalier
and the splendid belle."</p>
<p>She died in her seventy-eighth year. Several anecdotes are told of her
sprightliness, good sense, and benevolence, but unfortunately cannot be
obtained in a form sufficiently authentic for this sketch.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>arah Hull, the
wife of Major William Hull, was one of those women who followed their
husbands to the camp, resolved to partake their dangers and privations.
She was with the army at Saratoga, and joined the other American ladies in
kind and soothing attentions to the fair captives after the surrender. She
was the daughter of Judge Fuller, of Newton, Massachusetts, and was born
about 1755. At the close of the war she returned home; and when her
gallant husband was appointed general of the county militia, did the
honors of his Marquée, and received guests of distinction with a grace,
dignity, and affability that attracted general admiration.</p>
<p>For several years General Hull held the office of Governor of Michigan
Territory. In her eminent station, Mrs. Hull displayed so much good sense,
with more brilliant accomplishments, that she improved the state of
society in her neighborhood, without provoking envy by her superiority.
The influence of a strong intellect, with cultivated taste and refinement,
presided in her circle. Those who visited the wild country about them
found a generous welcome at her hospitable mansion, and departed with
admiring recollections of' her and her daughters.</p>
<p>But it was in the cloud of misfortune that the energy of Mrs. Hull's
character was most clearly shown. Governor Hull having been appointed
Major General in the war of 1812, met with disasters which compelled his
surrender, and subjected him to suspicions of treason. His protracted
trial and his defence belong to history. His wife sustained these evils
with a trustful serenity, hoping that the day would yet come when all
doubts should be cleared away, and her husband restored to public
confidence. The loss of her son in battle was borne with the same
Christian fortitude. Her quiet, calm demeanor exhibited no trace of the
suffering that had wrung her heart. She lived to see her hopes, realized
in the General's complete vindication; and died in 1826, in less than a
year from his decease.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> X. HARRIET ACKLAND. </h2>
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<h5>
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</h5>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he story of female
heroism, fidelity, and piety, with which the name of Lady Harriet Ackland
is associated, is familiar to the readers of American history. To the
fairer page where such examples of virtue are recorded, we delight to turn
from the details of military achievement. The presence that shed radiance
on the sunny days of hope and success,-relieved and brightened the season
of disaster. Her offices of mediation softened the bitterness of political
animosity. The benevolent and conciliating efforts are known by which this
heroine endeavored to settle differences that arose between the captive
British soldiers and their conquerors, at the time the troops were
quartered at Cambridge after the surrender.</p>
<p>Lady Harriet was the wife of Major Ackland, an officer in Burgoyne's army.
She accompanied him to Canada in 1776, and in the disastrous campaign of
the following year, from Canada to Saratoga. Beautiful and admired as she
was, and accustomed to all the luxuries and refinements incident to rank
and fortune, her delicate frame ill calculated to sustain the various
hardships to be undergone, she yet shrank not from her husband's perils
and privations in traversing the dreary wilderness. When he lay ill at
Chambly, in a miserable hut, her attention was assiduous, in defiance of
fatigue and discomfort. When he was wounded at Hubbardton, she hastened
from Montreal, where she had been at first persuaded to remain, and
crossed Lake Champlain, resolved to leave him no more. Her vehicle of
conveyance on the march of the army, was part of the time a small
two-wheeled tumbril, drawn by a single horse over roads almost impassable.
The women followed in the rear of the artillery and baggage; but heard all
the uproar in encounters with the enemy.</p>
<p>On the advance of the army to Fort Edward, the tent in which Lady Ackland
lodged took fire, the light being pushed over by a pet Newfoundland dog;
and she and her husband made their escape with the utmost difficulty. But
no hazards dissuaded the wife from her purpose. She was not only the
ministering angel of him she loved so devotedly, but won the admiration of
the army by her amiable deportment; continually making little presents to
the officers belonging to his corps, whenever she had anything among her
stores worth acceptance; and receiving in return every kind attention
which could mitigate the hardships she had daily to encounter. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Burgoyne's Campaign; Thatcher's Military Journal; and other authorities.</p>
<p>In the decisive action of the seventh of October, Lady Ackland was again
in the tumult of battle. During the heat of the conflict, tortured by
anxiety, she took refuge among the wounded and dying. Her husband,
commanding the grenadiers, was in the most exposed part of the battle, and
she awaited his fate in awful suspense. The Baroness Riedesel, and the
wives of two other field officers, were her companions in apprehension.
One of the officers was brought in wounded, and the death of the other was
announced. In the midst of the heartrending scenes that followed,
intelligence came that the British army was defeated, and that Major
Ackland was desperately wounded and a prisoner.</p>
<p>The unhappy lady, sustained by the counsels of her friend the Baroness,
determined to join her husband in the American camp. She sent a message to
General Burgoyne, through his aid-de-camp, Lord Petersham, to ask
permission to depart. The British commander was astonished at this
application. He was ready to believe patience and fortitude most brightly
displayed in the female character; but he could hardly understand the
courage of a woman, who after suffering so long the agitation of suspense,
exhausted by want of rest and want of food, was ready to brave the
darkness of night and the drenching rain for many hours, and to deliver
herself to the enemy, uncertain into what hands she might fall! "The
assistance I was able to give," he says, "was small indeed. I had not even
a cup of wine to offer her. All I could furnish was an open boat, and a
few lines written on dirty and wet paper to General Gates, recommending
her to his protection."</p>
<p>How picturesque is the grouping of scenes we have at this point, and how
do woman's strength of character and ardent affection shine amid the
surrounding gloom! The army on its retreat—the sick and wounded
abandoned to the mercy of the victors—the state of confusion
following disasters so fatal to British power—the defeated general
appealing in behalf of the suffering wife, by his tribute, written in
haste and agitation, to her grace and excellence, and his expression of
compassion for her hard fortune—and her own forgetfulness of danger,
in hastening to her husband's aid!</p>
<p>She obtained from the wife of a soldier the refreshment of a little
spirits and water, and set out in an open boat, accompanied by the British
chaplain Brudenell, her own waiting-maid, and her husband's valet, who had
been severely wounded in the search for his master when first missing from
the field of battle. They went down the river during a violent storm of
rain and wind, and arrived at the American outposts in the night, having
suffered much from wet and cold. The sentinel of the advance-guard heard
the sound of oars, and hailed the boat. What must have been his surprise
to hear that a woman had braved the storm on such an errand! He sent for
Major Dearborn, the officer of the guard, before he would permit the
passengers to land. Major Dearborn invited Lady Ackland to his
guard-house, offered her a cup of tea, and every accommodation in his
power, and gave her the welcome intelligence of her husband's safety. In
the morning she experienced the kindness of General Gates, who treated her
with the tenderness of a parent, bestowing every attention which her sex
and circumstances required. She was conveyed, under a suitable escort, to
the quarters of General Poor on the heights, to her wounded husband; and
there remained till he was taken to Albany. Her resolution, and devotion
to him, touched the feelings of the Americans, and won the admiration of
all who heard her story.</p>
<p>It is related that Major Ackland showed his sense of the generous
treatment he had received, by doing all in his power, while in New York on
parole, to alleviate the condition of American prisoners of distinction.
After his return to England, he lost his life in defence of American
honor. At a dinner of military gentlemen, a Lieutenant Lloyd threw out
sneering remarks upon the alleged cowardice of the American troops. This
was an indirect aspersion on the bravery of the unfortunate officers who
had been taken captive with Burgoyne's army, and was felt and resented by
Major Ackland. High words ensued, and a duel was the consequence, in which
Ackland fell at the first fire. The shock of his death deprived Lady
Harriet of reason, and she remained two years in that sad condition. After
her recovery she quitted the gay world, and gave her hand to the Rev. Mr.
Brudenell, who had accompanied her on that gloomy night to the camp of
General Gates. She survived him many years, and died at an advanced age.</p>
<p>The narrative of that celebrated campaign contains an anecdote of female
compassion which, though not connected with the subject of this notice,
may be properly mentioned here.</p>
<p>"Colonel Cochran having been sent to Canada as a spy, his mission was
suspected, and a large bounty offered for his head. While there he was
taken sick, and knowing that he was suspected, concealed himself for a few
days in a brush heap, within about two miles of the American lines, unable
to make his escape, or even to walk. Having suffered much from his
sickness and want of nourishment, and having discovered a log cabin at
considerable distance from the spot where he was concealed, the only one
in sight, he crept to it on his hands and knees, for the purpose of
soliciting assistance. On his approach to the rear of the cabin, he heard
three men in earnest conversation; and it happened that he was the subject
of their discourse. Having heard of the heavy bounty offered for the
Colonel, and having seen a man in the vicinity a few days before,
answering the description of him, they were forming their plans, and
expressing their determination to find his whereabouts, and take him for
the sake of the bounty. One of the men was the owner of the cabin. His
wife was also present; and the others were his brother and brother-in-law.
Soon after this conversation, the three men departed in pursuit. He crept
into the cabin, and frankly told the woman, who seemed favorably impressed
towards him on account of his almost helpless condition, that he had
overheard the conversation; that he was the man of whom they were in
search; and that he should throw himself entirely upon her mercy, trusting
to her fidelity for protection. This she very kindly promised him to the
utmost of her ability. Having received some restoratives, which seemed to
give relief, and taken suitable nourishment, he lay down on a bed in the
room for the purpose of taking some repose. After the men had been absent
about three hours, they returned; when she concealed him in a closet by
the side of the fireplace, and shut the door, taking good care while the
men were in the house, to keep near it, that if any thing should be wanted
from within, she might be ready to get it herself. During the time the men
were in the cabin, they expressed much confidence in the belief that the
Colonel was concealed somewhere in the vicinity, and named many places in
which they intended to look for him. Having taken some food, and otherwise
prepared themselves, the men departed to renew their search.</p>
<p>"Soon after they retired, the woman, not considering the Colonel's present
situation safe, proposed that he should conceal himself at some distance
from the cabin, where she might secretly bring him food, and render such
other assistance as he needed. She accordingly directed him to take post
on a certain hill about half a mile distant, where he might be able to
discover any person's approach, and to flee, if he was able, should it
become necessary. He manifested an inclination to resume his former
position in the brush heap, which was in the midst of a patch of ground
that had been cut over for a fallow; but she told him her husband intended
to burn it the next day, and in that case he would certainly be
discovered, or perish in the conflagration. He then submitted entirely to
her directions; and crept along to the hill in the best way he could. He
remained sometime in this place of concealment, undiscovered by any one
except this faithful Rahab of the forest, who like a good Samaritan,
poured in the oil and wine, until his strength was in a measure restored,
and he was enabled to return to his country and his home.</p>
<p>"Some years after the close of the war, and while the Colonel lived at
Ticonderoga, he accidentally met with this kind-hearted woman, whose name
I have not been able to ascertain, and rewarded her handsomely for her
fidelity."</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XI. HANNAH ERWIN ISRAEL. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>bout the close of
the year 1777, while the commander-in-chief of the British forces was in
possession of Philadelphia, a foot passenger might have been seen on the
road leading from Wilmington to that city. He was a young man of tall
figure and powerful frame, giving evidence of great muscular strength, to
which a walk of over thirty miles, under ordinary circumstances, would be
a trifle. But the features of the traveller were darkened by anxiety and
apprehension; and it was more the overtasking of the mind than the body
which occasioned the weariness and lassitude under which he was plainly
laboring. His dress was that of a simple citizen, and he was enveloped in
a large cloak, affording ample protection against the severity of the
weather, as well as serving to conceal sundry parcels of provisions, and a
bag of money, with which he was laden. It was long after dark before he
reached the ferry; but renewed hope and confidence filled his heart as he
approached the termination of his journey.</p>
<p>Sir William Howe, it will be remembered, had entered the capital towards
the end of September, after much manoeuvring and several battles—Washington
having made ineffectual efforts to prevent the accomplishment of his
object. He was received with a welcome, apparently cordial, by the timid
or interested citizens. His first care was to reduce the fortifications on
the Delaware, and remove the obstructions prepared by the Americans to
prevent the British fleet from ascending the river. While Fort Mifflin at
Mud Island, and Fort Mercer at Red Bank, were occupied by their garrisons,
he could have no communication with his fleet, and was in danger of being
speedily compelled to evacuate the city. Count Donop, detached with the
Hessian troops to take possession of the fort at Red Bank, was repulsed
and mortally wounded. The invader's fortune, however, triumphed; and the
Americans were finally driven from their posts. Their water force was
compelled to retire from the fire of the batteries; and the British at
length gained free communication, by way of the Delaware, between their
army and the shipping. Thus the reverses in New Jersey and Pennsylvania
had cast a gloom over the country, which could not be altogether dispelled
even by the brilliant victories of Saratoga and the capture of Burgoyne
and his army. The condition of the American army, when it retired into
winter quarters at Valley Forge, was deplorable enough to change hope into
despair, and presented truly a spectacle unparalleled in history.
"Absolute destitution held high court; and never was the chivalric heroism
of patriotic suffering more tangibly manifested than by that patriot-band
within those frail log huts that barely covered them from the falling
snow, or sheltered them from the keen wintry blasts." This privation of
necessary food and clothing during one of the most rigorous winters ever
experienced in the country—this misery—the detail of which is
too familiar to need repetition, was endured by the continental soldiers
at the same time that the English in the metropolis were revelling in
unrestrained luxury and indulgence. * Many whig families, meanwhile, who
remained in Philadelphia, plundered and insulted by the soldiers, wanted
the comforts of life, and received assistance clandestinely from their
friends at a distance.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Marshall's MS. Journal says,—December 28th, 1777, "Our affairs
wear a very gloomy aspect. Great part of our army gone into winter
quarters; those in camp wanting breeches, shoes, stockings [and] blankets,
and by accounts brought yesterday, were in want of flour.". . . "Our
enemies revelling in balls, attended with every degree of luxury and
excess in the city; rioting and wantonly using our houses, utensils and
furniture; all this [and] a numberless number of other abuses, we endure
from that handful of banditti, to the amount of six or seven thousand men,
headed by that monster of rapine, General Howe."</p>
<p>To return to our narrative. When the traveller arrived at the ferry, he
was promptly hailed by the sentinel, with "Who goes there?"</p>
<p>"A friend," was the reply.</p>
<p>"The countersign!"</p>
<p>The countersign for the night was promptly given.</p>
<p>"Pass, friend!" said the soldier; and the other went on quickly.</p>
<p>Israel Israel was a native of Pennsylvania. He had left America at
twenty-one, for the island of Barbadoes; and by nine or ten years of
patient industry had amassed considerable property. He returned rich to
his native country; but in a few months after his marriage the war broke
out, and his whole fortune was lost or sacrificed by agents. He had
resolved, with his brother, at the commencement of the struggle, to take
up arms in the cause of freedom. But the necessity was imperative that one
should remain for the protection of the helpless females of the family;
and their entreaties not to be left exposed to a merciless enemy without a
brother's aid, at last prevailed. Israel and Joseph drew lots to determine
which should become a soldier. The lot fell upon the younger and unmarried
one. At this period the residence of Israel was on a small farm near
Wilmington, Delaware. His mother had removed with her family to
Philadelphia, her house at Newcastle being thought too much exposed in the
vicissitudes of war. After the occupation of the capital by the British,
they endured severe hardships, sometimes suffering the want of actual
necessaries. Israel watched over their welfare with incessant anxiety.</p>
<p>The knowledge that his beloved ones were in want of supplies, and that his
presence was needed, determined him to enter the city at this time,
notwithstanding the personal hazard it involved. One of his tory
neighbors, who professed the deepest sympathy for his feelings, procured
for him the countersign for the night. He had thus been enabled to elude
the vigilance of the sentinel.</p>
<p>When arrived at his mother's dwelling, Mr. Israel found that it was in
possession of several soldiers, quartered upon the family. Among them was
a savage-looking Hessian, with aspect of itself quite enough to terrify
timid women. But all annoyances, and the fatigues of his long walk, were
forgotten in the joyful meeting. A still more pleasing surprise was
reserved for him; his young brother, Joseph, was that very hour on a
secret visit to the family. For some hours of the evening the household
circle was once more complete.</p>
<p>But such happiness, in those times of peril, was doomed to be short-lived.
At eleven o'clock, while the family were seated at supper, the tramp of
horses was heard without; and the rough voices of soldiers clamored at the
door. Within, all was confusion; and the terrified women entreated the
brothers to fly. They followed the younger with frantic haste up the
stairs, where he left his uniform, and made his escape from the roof of
the house. The knocking and shouting continued below; Israel descended,
accompanied by the pale and trembling females, and himself opened the
door. The intruders rushed in. At their head was the Hessian sergeant, who
instantly seized the young man's arm, exclaiming, "We have caught him at
last—the rebel rascal!"</p>
<p>Mr. Israel's presence of mind never forsook him under the most appalling
circumstances. He was sensible of the imminence of his own danger, and
that his brother's safety could be secured only by delay. He shook off the
grasp of the officer, and calmly demanded what was meant, and <i>who</i>
it was that accused him of being a rebel.</p>
<p>"There he is!" replied the Hessian, pointing to Cæsar, a slave Mr. Israel
had brought from the West Indies, and given his mother for a guard.</p>
<p>The master fixed upon the negro his stern and penetrating look so
steadfastly, that Cæsar trembled and hung his head. "<i>Dare</i> you,
Cæsar, call me rebel?" he exclaimed. "Gentlemen"—the muscles of his
mouth worked into a sneer as he pronounced the word—"there is some
mistake here. My brother Joe is the person meant, I presume. Let me fetch
the uniform; and then you can judge for yourselves. Cæsar, come with me."</p>
<p>So saying, and taking the black by the arm with a vice-like grasp, he led
him up stairs. "Not one word, you rascal," was whispered in his ear, "or I
kill you upon the spot." The negro drew his breath hard and convulsively,
but dared not speak. The uniform was produced and exhibited; and Israel
made efforts to put it on before his captors. The person whom it fitted
being short and slight in figure, its ludicrous disproportion to the
towering height and robust form of the elder brother, convinced the
soldiers of their mistake; and the sergeant made awkward apologies,
shaking the hand of the man he had so lately called a rebel, assuring him
he had no doubt he was an honest and loyal subject; and that he would take
care his fidelity should be mentioned in the proper quarter.</p>
<p>"And now," he said, "as your supper is ready, we will sit down." He seated
himself beside his host, whose resentment at the familiarity was tempered
by the thought that his brother was saved by the well-timed deceit. The
ladies also were compelled to take their places, and to listen in silence
to the coarse remarks of their unwelcome guest. With rude protestations of
good will, and promises of patronage, he mingled boastful details of his
exploits in slaughtering "the rebels," that caused his auditors to shudder
with horror. Mr. Israel used to relate afterwards that he grasped the
knife he was using, and raised it to strike down the savage; but that his
mothers look of agonized entreaty withheld the blow. The Hessian continued
his recital, accompanied by many bitter oaths.</p>
<p>"That Paoli affair," cried he, "was capital! I was with General Grey in
that attack. It was just after midnight when we forced the outposts, and
not a noise was heard so loud as the dropping of a musket. How the fellows
turned out of their encampment when they heard us! What a running about—barefoot
and half clothed—and in the light of their own fires! These showed
us where to chase them, while they could not see us. We killed three
hundred of the rebels with the bayonet; I stuck them myself like so many
pigs—one after another—till the blood ran out of the touchhole
of my musket."</p>
<p>The details of the Hessian were interrupted by Mr. Israel's starting to
his feet, with face pale with rage, convulsed lips, and clenched hands.
The catastrophe that might have ensued was prevented by a faint shriek
from his young sister, who fell into his arms in a swoon. The sergeant's
horrible boastings thus silenced, and the whole room in confusion, he bade
the family good night, saying he was on duty, and presently quitted the
house.</p>
<p>The parting of those who had just gone through so agitating a scene was
now to take place. Cæsar was sternly questioned, and reprimanded for his
perfidy; but the black excused himself by pleading that he had been
compelled to do as he had done. For the future, with streaming eyes, he
promised the strictest fidelity; and to his credit be it said, remained
steadfast in the performance of this promise.</p>
<p>Having bidden adieu to his family, Mr. Israel set forth on his journey
homeward. He arrived only to be made a prisoner. The loyalist who had
given him the countersign, had betrayed the secret of his expedition. He
and his wife's brother were immediately seized and carried on board the
frigate Roebuck, lying in the Delaware, a few miles from the then borough
of Wilmington—and directly opposite his farm—in order to be
tried as <i>spies</i>.</p>
<p>Being one of the "Committee of Safety," the position of Mr. Israel, under
such an accusation, was extremely critical. On board the ship he was
treated with the utmost severity. His watch, silver shoe-buckles, and
various articles of clothing were taken from him; his bed was a coil of
ropes on deck, without covering from the bitter cold of the night air; and
to all appearances his fate was already decided. The testimony of his Tory
neighbors was strong against him. Several were ready to swear to the fact,
that while the loyal population of the country had willingly furnished
their share of the provisions needed by the ships of war, he had been
heard to say repeatedly, that he "<i>would sooner drive his cattle as a
present to General Washington, than receive thousands of dollars in
British gold for them.</i>"</p>
<p>On being informed of this speech, the commander gave orders that a
detachment of soldiers should proceed to drive the rebel's cattle, then
grazing in a meadow in full view, down to the river, and slaughter them in
the face of the prisoners.</p>
<p>What, meanwhile, must have been the feelings of the young wife—herself
about to become a mother—when her husband and brother were led away
in her very sight? The farm was a mile or more from the river; but there
was nothing to intercept the view—the ground from the meadow sloping
down to the water. Mrs. Israel was at this period about nineteen years of
age; and is described as of middle height, and slight but symmetrical
figure; of fair complexion, with clear blue eyes and dark hair; her
manners modest and retiring. She was devoted to her family and her
domestic concerns. It needed the trying scenes by which she was
surrounded, to develop the heroism which, in times more peaceful, might
have been unmarked by those who knew her most intimately.</p>
<p>From her position on the look-out, she saw the soldiers land from the
ships, shoulder arms, and advance toward the meadow. In an instant she
divined their purpose; and her resolution was taken. With a boy eight
years old, whom she bade follow her at his utmost speed, she started off,
determined to baffle the enemy, and save the cattle at the peril of her
life. Down went the bars, and followed by the little boy, she ran to drive
the herd to the opening.</p>
<p>The soldiers called out repeatedly to her to desist, and threatened, if
she did not, to fire upon her.</p>
<p>"Fire away!" cried the heroic woman. They fired! The balls flew thickly
around her. The frightened cattle ran in every direction over the field.</p>
<p>"This way!" she called to the boy, nothing daunted; "this way, Joe! Head
them there! Stop them, Joe! Do not let one escape!"</p>
<p>And <i>not one</i> did escape! The bullets fired by the cowardly British
soldiers continued to whistle around her person. The little boy, paralyzed
by terror, fell to the ground. She seized him by the arm, lifted him over
the fence, and herself drove the cattle into the barnyard. The assailants,
baffled by the courage of a woman, and probably not daring, for fear of
the neighbors, to invade the farm-houses, retraced their steps, and
returned disappointed to the ship.</p>
<p>All this scene passed in sight of the officers of the "Roebuck" and the
two prisoners. The agony of suspense and fear endured by the husband and
brother, when they saw the danger to which the wife exposed herself, may
be better imagined than described. It may also be conceived how much they
exulted in her triumph.</p>
<p>The trial was held on board the ship. The tory witnesses were examined in
due form; and it was but too evident that the lives of the prisoners were
in great danger. A kind-hearted sailor sought an opportunity of speaking
in private with Mr. Israel, and asked him if he were a freemason. The
answer was in the affirmative. The sailor then informed him that a lodge
was held on ship-board, and the officers, who belonged to it, were to meet
that night.</p>
<p>The prisoners were called up before their judges, and permitted to answer
to the accusations against them. Mr. Israel, in bold but respectful
language, related his story; and acknowledged his secret visit to
Philadelphia, not in the character of a spy, but to carry relief to his
suffering parent and her family. He also acknowledged having said, as was
testified, that "he would rather give his cattle to Washington, or destroy
the whole herd than sell them for British gold." This trait of magnanimity
might not have been so appreciated by the enemies of his country, as to
operate in his favor, but that—watching his opportunity, he made to
the commanding officer the secret sign of masonic brotherhood. The effect
was instantly observable. The officer's stern countenance softened; his
change of opinion and that of the other judges, became evident; and after
some further examination, the court was broken up. The informants, and
those who had borne testimony against the prisoners, hung their heads in
shame at the severe rebuke of the court, for their cowardly conduct in
betraying, and preferring charges against an honorable man, bound on a
mission of love and duty to his aged mother. The acquitted prisoners were
dismissed, loaded with presents of pins, handkerchiefs, and other articles
not to be purchased at that time, for the intrepid wife; and were sent on
shore in a splendid barge, as a mark of special honor from the officer in
command.</p>
<p>Such was the adventure in which the courage and patriotism of the subject
of this notice was displayed. The records of the Grand Lodge of
Pennsylvania, of which Mr. Israel was Grand Master for many years, bear
testimony to his having been saved from an ignominious death <i>by masonry</i>.
Mrs. Israel's family name was Erwin; her ancestors were Quakers who came
with Penn, her parents native Americans; and she herself was born in
Wilmington, Delaware. Her first meeting with her husband was romantic
enough. Mr. Israel had sailed in a sloop, or packet, from Philadelphia, to
visit New Castle, where his mother and family resided. He observed on deck
an extremely pretty girl, hardly seventeen years of age, and very neatly
and tastefully dressed, with the finest turned foot and ankle in the
world. All who went on such voyages were then obliged to furnish
themselves with provisions; and his attention was drawn by the young
girl's kindly distribution of her little stock, handing it about from one
to another, till but little was left for her own portion.</p>
<p>In passing him, she modestly hesitated a moment, and then offered him a
share. This led to conversation; he learned that she was the daughter of
highly respectable parents, and resided in Wilmington. Love at first sight
was as common in those days as now. After seeing his mother, he visited
Wilmington; became better acquainted, offered himself and was accepted;
and on his marriage, rented the farm above mentioned, and commenced life
anew. It may be proper to mention here—that the <i>castle</i> from
which the town of New Castle took its name, was in very early days the
property and residence of his ancestors. Subsequently he became the
purchaser of the old castle; and removed the tiles that covered it, with
the vane that graced it, to his country-seat, where part of them, several
hundred years old, are still to be seen.</p>
<p>Mr. Israel died in 1821, at the age of seventy-eight. The death of his
wife took place at his country-seat near Philadelphia, at the age of
fifty-six. She was the mother of thirteen children, many of whom died
young. But two are now living—and reside in Philadelphia. One of
them is the accomplished lady—herself the wife of a gallant officer
thirty-five years engaged in the service of his country—from whom I
received these particulars.</p>
<p>To this glance at the condition of some of the citizens of Philadelphia at
that time, may be added a description, from a lady's letter to her friend,
of the first entrance of the British army into the city.</p>
<p>"We had for a neighbor, and an intimate acquaintance, a very amiable
English gentleman, who had been in the British army, and had left the
service on marrying a rich and excellent lady of Philadelphia, some years
before. He endeavored to give my mother confidence that the inhabitants
would not be ill-treated. He advised that we should be all well-dressed,
and that we should keep our houses closed. The army marched in, and took
possession of the town in the morning. We were up-stairs, and saw them
pass to the State House. They looked well—clean and well-clad; and
the contrast between them and our poor barefooted and ragged troops was
very great, and caused a feeling of despair. It was a solemn and
impressive day; but I saw no exultation in the enemy, nor indeed in those
who were reckoned favorable to their success. Early in the afternoon Lord
Cornwallis's suite arrived, and took possession of my mother's dwelling.
But my mother was appalled by the numerous train in her house, and shrank
from having such inmates; for a guard was mounted at the door, and the
yard filled with soldiers and baggage of every description; and I well
remember what we thought of the haughty looks of Lord Rawdon and the other
aid-de-camp, as they traversed the apartments. My mother desired to speak
with Lord Cornwallis, and he attended her in the front parlor. She told
him of her situation, and how impossible it would be for her to stay in
her own house with such a train as composed his lordship's establishment.
He behaved with great politeness to her; said he should be sorry to give
trouble, and would have other quarters looked out for him. They withdrew
that very afternoon, and we felt glad of the exemption. But it did not
last long; for directly the quartermasters were employed in billeting the
troops, and we had to find room for two officers of artillery; and
afterwards, in addition, for two gentlemen, secretaries of Lord Howe."</p>
<p>"General Howe, during the time he stayed in Philadelphia, seized and kept
for his own use Mary Pemberton's coach and horses, in which he used to
ride about the town."</p>
<p>"My wife," says Marshall in his manuscript diary, February 14th, 1778,
"looks upon every Philadelphian who comes to see us as a person suffering
in a righteous cause, and entitled to partake of our hospitality."
Tradition has preserved, in several families, anecdotes illustrative of
the strait to which even women and children were then reduced. One of Mary
Redmond may be mentioned. She was the daughter of a patriot somewhat
distinguished among his neighbors in Philadelphia. Many of her relatives
were loyalists; and she was playfully called among them "the little
black-eyed rebel." She was accustomed to assist several women whose
husbands were in the American army, to procure intelligence. The
despatches were usually sent from their friends by a boy, who carried them
stitched in the back of his coat. He came into the city bringing
provisions to market. One morning, when there was some reason to fear he
was suspected, and his movements watched by the enemy, Mary undertook to
get the papers in safety from him. She went, as usual, to the market, and
in a pretended game of romps, threw her shawl over the boy's head, and
thus secured the prize. She hastened with the papers to her anxious
friends, who read them by stealth, after the windows had been carefully
closed. When the news came of Burgoyne's surrender, and the whig women
were secretly rejoicing, the sprightly girl, not daring to give vent
openly to her exultation, put her head up the chimney and gave a shout for
Gates.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
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<br/>
<h2> XII. LYDIA DARRAH. </h2>
<p>* Sometimes spelled Darrach.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the second day
of December, 1777, late in the afternoon, an officer in the British
uniform ascended the steps of a house in Second street, Philadelphia,
immediately opposite the quarters occupied by General Howe, who, at that
time, had full possession of the city. The house was plain and neat in its
exterior, and well known to be tenanted by William and Lydia Darrah,
members of the Society of Friends. It was the place chosen by the superior
officers of the army for private conference, whenever it was necessary to
hold consultations on subjects of importance; and selected, perhaps, on
account of the unobtrusive character of its inmates, whose religion
inculcated meekness and forbearance, and forbade them to practice the arts
of war.</p>
<p>This anecdote is given in the first number of the American Quarterly
Review, and is said to be taken from Lydia's own narration. It is
mentioned or alluded to by several other authorities, and in letters
written at the time. The story is familiar to many persons in
Philadelphia, who heard it from their parents; so that there appears no
reason to doubt its authenticity.</p>
<p>The officer, who seemed quite familiar with the mansion, knocked at the
door. It was opened; and in the neatly-furnished parlor he met the
mistress, who spoke to him, calling him by name. It was the
adjutant-general; and he appeared in haste to give an order. This was to
desire that the backroom above stairs might be prepared for the reception
that evening of himself and his friends, who were to meet there and remain
late. "And be sure, Lydia," he concluded, "that your family are all in bed
at an early hour. I shall expect you to attend to this request. When our
guests are ready to leave the house, I will myself give you notice, that
you may let us out, and extinguish the fire and candles."</p>
<p>Having delivered this order with an emphatic manner which showed that he
relied much on the prudence and discretion of the person he addressed, the
adjutant-general departed. Lydia betook herself to getting all things in
readiness. But the words she had heard, especially the injunction to
retire early, rang in her ears; and she could not divest herself of the
indefinable feeling that something of importance was in agitation. While
her hands were busy in duties that devolved upon her, her mind was no less
actively at work. The evening closed in, and the officers came to the
place of meeting. Lydia had ordered all her family to bed, and herself
admitted the guests, after which she retired to her own apartment, and
threw herself, without undressing, upon the bed.</p>
<p>But sleep refused to visit her eyelids. Her vague apprehensions gradually
assumed more definite shape. She became more and more uneasy, till her
nervous restlessness amounted to absolute terror. Unable longer to resist
the impulse—not of curiosity, but surely of a far higher feeling—she
slid from the bed, and taking off her shoes, passed noiselessly from her
chamber and along the entry. Approaching cautiously the apartment in which
the officers were assembled, she applied her ear to the key-hole. For a
few moments she could distinguish but a word or two amid the murmur of
voices; yet what she did hear but stimulated her eager desire to learn the
important secret of the conclave.</p>
<p>At length there was profound silence, and a voice was heard reading a
paper aloud. It was an order for the troops to quit the city on the night
of the fourth, and march out to a secret attack upon the American army,
then encamped at White Marsh.</p>
<p>Lydia had heard enough. She retreated softly to her own room, and laid
herself quietly on the bed.</p>
<p>In the deep stillness that reigned through the house, she could hear the
beating of her own heart—the heart now throbbing with emotions to
which no speech could give utterance. It seemed to her that but a few
moments had elapsed, when there was a knocking at her door. She knew well
what the signal meant, but took no heed. It was repeated, and more loudly;
still she gave no answer. Again, and yet more loudly, the knocks were
repeated; and then she rose quickly, and opened the door.</p>
<p>It was the adjutant-general, who came to inform her they were ready to
depart. Lydia let them out, fastened the house, and extinguished the
lights and fire. Again she returned to her chamber, and to bed; but repose
was a stranger for the rest of the night. Her mind was more disquieted
than ever. She thought of the danger that threatened the lives of
thousands of her countrymen, and of the ruin that impended over the whole
land. Something must be done, and that immediately, to avert this
wide-spread destruction. Should she awaken her husband and inform him?
That would be to place him in special jeopardy, by rendering him a
partaker of her secret; and he might, too, be less wary and prudent than
herself. No; come what might, she would encounter the risk alone. After a
petition for heavenly guidance, her resolution was formed; and she waited
with composure, though sleep was impossible, till the dawn of day. Then
she waked her husband, and informed him flour was wanted for the use of
the household, and that it was necessary she should go to Frankfort to
procure it. This was no uncommon occurrence; and her declining the
attendance of the maid-servant exited little surprise. Taking the bag with
her, she walked through the snow; having stopped first at head-quarters,
obtained access to General Howe, and secured his written permission to
pass the British lines.</p>
<p>The feelings of a wife and mother—one whose religion was that of
love, and whose life was but a quiet round of domestic duties—bound
on an enterprise so hazardous, and uncertain whether her life might not be
the forfeit, may be better imagined than described. Lydia reached
Frankford, distant four or five miles, and deposited her bag at the mill.
Now commenced the dangers of her undertaking; for she pressed forward with
all haste towards the outposts of the American army. Her determination was
to apprise General Washington of the danger.</p>
<p>She was met on her way by an American officer, who had been selected by
General Washington to gain information respecting the movements of the
enemy. According to some authorities, this was Lieutenant-Colonel Craig,
of the light horse. He immediately recognized her, and inquired whither
she was going. In reply, she prayed him to alight and walk with her; which
he did, ordering his men to keep in sight. To him she disclosed the
secret, after having obtained from him a solemn promise not to betray her
individually, since the British might take vengeance on her and her
family.</p>
<p>The officer thanked her for her timely warning, and directed her to go to
a house near at hand, where she might get something to eat. But Lydia
preferred returning at once; and did so, while the officer made all haste
to the commander-in-chief. Preparations were immediately made to give the
enemy a fitting reception.</p>
<p>With a heart lightened and filled with thankfulness the intrepid woman
pursued her way homeward, carrying the bag of flour which had served as
the ostensible object of her journey! None suspected the grave, demure
Quakeress of having snatched from the English their anticipated victory.
Her demeanor was, as usual, quiet, orderly, and subdued, and she attended
to the duties of her family with her wonted composure. But her heart beat,
as late on the appointed night, she watched from her window the departure
of the army—on what secret expedition bound, she knew too well! She
listened breathlessly to the sound of their footsteps and the trampling of
horses, till it died away in the distance, and silence reigned through the
city.</p>
<p>Time never appeared to pass so slowly as during the interval which elapsed
between the marching out and the return of the British troops. When at
last the distant roll of the drum proclaimed their approach; when the
sounds came nearer and nearer, and Lydia, who was watching at the window,
saw the troops pass in martial order, the agony of anxiety she felt was
too much for her strength, and she retreated from her post, not daring to
ask a question, or manifest the least curiosity as to the event.</p>
<p>A sudden and loud knocking at her door was not calculated to lessen her
apprehensions. She felt that the safety of her family depended on her
self-possession at this critical moment. The visitor was the
adjutant-general, who summoned her to his apartment. With a pale cheek,
but composed, for she placed her trust in a higher Power, Lydia obeyed the
summons.</p>
<p>The officer's face was clouded, and his expression stern. He locked the
door with an air of mystery when Lydia entered, and motioned her to a
seat. After a moment of silence, he said—</p>
<p>"Were any of your family up, Lydia, on the night when I received company
in this house?"</p>
<p>"No," was the unhesitating reply. "They all retired at eight o'clock."</p>
<p>"It is very strange"—said the officer, and mused a few minutes.
"You, I know, Lydia, were asleep; for I knocked at your door three times
before you heard me—yet it is certain that we were betrayed.</p>
<p>I am altogether at a loss to conceive who could have given the information
of our intended attack to General Washington! On arriving near his
encampment we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, and so
prepared at every point to receive us, that we have been compelled to
march back without injuring our enemy, like a parcel of fools."</p>
<p>It is not known whether the officer ever discovered to whom he was
indebted for the disappointment.</p>
<p>But the pious quakeress blessed God for her preservation, and rejoiced
that it was not necessary for her to utter an untruth in her own defence.
And all who admire examples of courage and patriotism, especially those
who enjoy the fruits of them, must honor the name of Lydia Darrah.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
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<br/>
<h2> XIII. REBECCA FRANKS. </h2>
<p>"The celebrated Miss Franks"—so distinguished for intelligence and
high accomplishment, in Revolutionary times, could not properly be passed
over in a series of notices of remarkable women of that period. In the
brilliant position she occupied in fashionable society, she exerted, as
may well be believed, no slight influence; for wit and beauty are potent
champions in any cause for which they choose to arm themselves. That her
talents were generally employed on the side of humanity and justice,—that
the pointed shafts of her wit, which spared neither friend nor foe, were
aimed to chastise presumption and folly—we may infer from the
amiable disposition which it is recorded she possessed. Admired in
fashionable circles, and courted for the charms of her conversation, she
must have found many opportunities of exercising her feminine privilege of
softening asperities and alleviating suffering—as well as of
humbling the arrogance of those whom military success rendered regardless
of the feelings of others. Though a decided loyalist, her satire did not
spare those whose opinions she favored. It is related of her, that at a
splendid ball given by the officers of the British army to the ladies of
New York, she ventured one of those jests frequently uttered, which must
have been severely felt in the faint prospect that existed of a successful
termination to the war. During an interval of dancing, Sir Henry Clinton,
previously engaged in conversation with Miss Franks, called out to the
musicians, "Give us 'Britons, strike home.'"</p>
<p>"The commander-in-chief," exclaimed she, "has made a mistake; he meant to
say, 'Britons—<i>go home</i>.'"</p>
<p>The keenness of her irony, and her readiness at repartee, were not less
promptly shown in sharp tilting with the American officers. At the
festival of the Mischianza, where even whig ladies were present, Miss
Franks had appeared as one of the princesses. She remained in Philadelphia
after its evacuation by the British troops. Lieutenant-Colonel Jack
Steward of Maryland, dressed in a fine suit of scarlet, took an early
occasion to pay his compliments; and gallantly said—"I have adopted
your colors, my princess, the better to secure a courteous reception.
Deign to smile on a true knight." To this covert taunt Miss Franks made no
reply: but turning to the company who surrounded her, exclaimed—"How
the ass glories in the lion's skin!" The same officer met with another
equally severe rebuff, while playing with the same weapons. The
conversation of the company was interrupted by a loud clamor from the
street, which caused them to hasten to the windows. High head-dresses were
then the reigning fashion among the English belles. A female appeared in
the street, surrounded by a crowd of idlers, ragged in her apparel, and
barefoot; but adorned with a towering head-dress in the extreme of the
mode. Miss Franks readily perceived the intent of this pageant; and on the
lieutenant-colonel's observing that the woman was equipped in the English
fashion, replied, "Not altogether, colonel; for though the style of her
head is British, her shoes and stockings are in the genuine continental
fashion!" *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Garden.</p>
<p>Many anecdotes of her quick and brilliant wit are extant in the memory of
individuals, and many sarcastic speeches attributed to her have been
repeated. It is represented that her information was extensive, and that
few were qualified to enter the lists with her. General Charles Lee in the
humorous letter he addressed to her—<i>a jeu d'esprit</i> she is
said to have received with serious anger—calls her "a lady who has
had every human and divine advantage." Rebecca Franks was the daughter and
youngest child of David Franks, a Jewish merchant, who emigrated to this
country about a century since. He married an Englishwoman before coming to
America, and had three sons and two daughters. The eldest daughter married
Andrew Hamilton, brother to the well-known proprietor of "The Woodlands."
After the termination of the war, Rebecca married General Henry Johnson, a
British officer of great merit, and accompanied him to England. He
distinguished himself by some act of gallantry in one of the outbreaks of
rebellion in Ireland, and received the honor of knighthood. Their
residence was at Bath, where their only surviving son still lives. The
other son was killed at the battle of Waterloo.</p>
<p>The lady who furnished the above details, informed me that her brother was
entertained in 1810, at Lady Johnson's house in Bath, where she was living
in elegant style, and exercising with characteristic grace the duties of
hospitality, and the virtues that adorn social life. He described her
person as of the middle height, rather inclining to embonpoint; and her
expression of countenance as very agreeable, with fine eyes. Her manners
were frank and cheerful, and she appeared happy in contributing to the
happiness of others. Sir Henry was at that time living.</p>
<p>It is said that Lady Johnson, not long after this period, expressed to a
young American officer her penitence for her former toryism, and her pride
and pleasure in the victories of her countrymen on the Niagara frontier,
in the war of 1812. It has been remarked that favorable sentiments towards
the Americans are general among loyalists residing in England; while, on
the other hand, the political animosity of Revolutionary times is still
extant in the British American Colonies. A loyal spinster of four-score
residing in one of these, when on a visit to one of her friends, some two
years since, saw on the walls, among several portraits of distinguished
men, a print of "the traitor Washington." She was so much troubled at the
sight, that her friend, to appease her, ordered it to be taken down and
put away during her visit. A story is told also of a gentleman high in
office in the same colony, on whom an agent of the "New York Albion"
called to deliver the portrait of Washington which the publisher that year
presented to his subscribers. The gentleman, highly insulted, ordered the
astonished agent to take "the ——— thing" out of his
sight, and to strike his name instantly from the list.</p>
<p>Miss Franks, it has been mentioned, was one of the princesses of the
Mischianza. This Italian word, signifying a medley or mixture, was applied
to an entertainment, or series of entertainments, given by the British
officers in Philadelphia as a parting compliment to Sir William Howe, just
before his relinquishment of command to Sir Henry Clinton, and departure
to England. Some of his enemies called it his triumph on leaving America
unconquered. A description of this singular fête may be interesting to
many readers; I therefore abridge one written, it is said, by Major André
for an English lady's magazine.</p>
<p>I have seen a <i>facsimile</i> of the tickets issued, in a volume of
American Historical and Literary curiosities. The names are in a shield,
on which is a view of the sea with the setting sun, and on a wreath the
words, "<i>Luceo discedens, ancto splendore resurgam</i>." At the top is
General Howe's crest, with the words, "<i>Vive vale</i>." Around the
shield runs a vignette; and various military trophies fill up the
back-ground.</p>
<p>The entertainment was given on the 18th of May, 1778. It commenced with a
grand regatta, in three divisions. In the first was the Ferret galley, on
board of which were several general officers and ladies. In the centre,
the Hussar galley bore Sir William and Lord Howe, Sir Henry Clinton, their
suite, and many ladies. The Cornwallis galley brought up the rear—General
Knyphausen and suite, three British generals, and ladies, being on board.
On each quarter of these galleys, and forming their division, were five
flat boats lined with green cloth, and filled with ladies and gentlemen.
In front were three flat boats, with bands of music. Six barges rowed
about each flank, to keep off the swarm of boats in the river. The galleys
were dressed in colors and streamers; the ships lying at anchor were
magnificently decorated; and the transport ships with colors flying, which
extended in a line the whole length of the city, were crowded, as well as
the wharves, with spectators. The rendezvous was at Knight's wharf, at the
northern extremity of the city. The company embarked at halfpast four, the
three divisions moving slowly down to the music. Arrived opposite Market
wharf, at a signal all rested on their oars, and the music played "God
save the king," answered by three cheers from the vessels. The landing was
at the Old Fort, a little south of the town, and in front of the building
prepared for the company—a few hundred yards from the water. This
regatta was gazed at from the wharves and warehouses by all the uninvited
population of the city.</p>
<p>When the general's barge pushed for shore, a salute of seventeen guns was
fired from His Majesty's ship Roebuck; and after an interval, seventeen
from the Vigilant. The procession advanced through an avenue formed by two
Files of grenadiers, each supported by a line of light-horse. The avenue
led to a spacious lawn, lined with troops, and prepared for the exhibition
of a tilt and tournament. The music, and managers with favors of white and
blue ribbons in their breasts, led the way, followed by the generals and
the rest of the company.</p>
<p>In front, the building bounded the view through a vista formed by two
triumphal arches in a line with the landing place. The pavilions, with
rows of benches rising one above another, received the ladies, while the
gentlemen ranged themselves on each side. On the front seat of each
pavilion were seven young ladies as princesses, in Turkish habits, and
wearing in their turbans the favors meant for the knights who contended.
The sound of trumpets was heard in the distance; and a band of knights in
ancient habits of white and red silk, mounted on gray horses caparisoned
in the same colors, attended by squires on foot, heralds and trumpeters,
entered the lists. Lord Cathcart was chief of these knights; and appeared
in honor of Miss Auchmuty. One of his esquires bore his lance, another his
shield; and two black slaves in blue and white silk, with silver clasps on
their bare neck and arms, held his stirrups. The band made the circuit of
the square, saluting the ladies, and then ranged themselves in a line with
the pavilion in which were the ladies of their device. Their herald, after
a flourish of trumpets, proclaimed a challenge; asserting the superiority
of the ladies of the Blended Rose, in wit, beauty and accomplishment, and
offering to prove it by deeds of arms according to the ancient laws of
chivalry. At the third repetition of the challenge, another herald and
trumpeters advanced from the other side of the square, dressed in black
and orange, and proclaimed defiance to the challengers, in the name of the
knights of the Burning Mountain. Captain Watson, the chief, appeared in
honor of Miss Franks; his device—a heart with a wreath of flowers;
his motto—Love and Glory. This band also rode round the lists, and
drew up in front of the white knights. The gauntlet was thrown down and
lifted; the encounter took place. After the fourth encounter, the two
chiefs, spurring to the centre, fought singly, till the marshall of the
field rushed between, and declared that the ladies of the Blended Rose and
the Burning Mountain were satisfied with the proofs of love and valor
already given, and commanded their knights to desist. The bands then filed
off in different directions, saluting the ladies as they approached the
pavilions.</p>
<p>The company then passed in procession through triumphal arches built in
the Tuscan order, to a garden in front of the building; and thence
ascended to a spacious hall painted in imitation of Sienna marble. In this
hall and apartment adjoining, were tea and refreshments; and the knights,
kneeling, received their favors from the ladies. On entering the room
appropriated for the faro table, a cornucopia was seen filled with fruit
and flowers; another appeared in going out, shrunk, reversed and empty.
The next advance was to a ball-room painted in pale blue, pannelled with
gold, with drooping festoons of flowers; the surbase pink, with drapery
festooned in blue. Eighty-five mirrors, decked with flowers and ribbons,
reflected the light from thirty-four branches of wax lights. On the same
floor were four drawing-rooms with sideboards of refreshments, also
decorated and lighted up. The dancing continued till ten; the windows were
then thrown open, and the fire-works commenced with a magnificent bouquet
of rockets.</p>
<p>At twelve, large folding doors, which had hitherto been concealed, were
suddenly thrown open, discovering' a splendid and spacious saloon, richly
painted, and brilliantly illuminated; the mirrors and branches decorated,
as also the supper table; which was set out—according to Major
André's account—with four hundred and thirty covers, and twelve
hundred dishes. When supper was ended, the herald and trumpeters of the
Blended Rose entered the saloon, and proclaimed the health of the king and
royal family—followed by that of the knights and ladies; each toast
being accompanied by a flourish of music. The company then returned to the
ball-room; and the dancing continued till four o'clock.</p>
<p>This was the most splendid entertainment ever given by officers to their
general. The next day the mirrors and lustres borrowed from the citizens
were sent home, with their ornaments. The pageant of a night was over; Sir
William Howe departed. The folly and extravagance displayed were apparent
not only to the foes of Britain. It is said that an old Scotch officer of
artillery, when asked if he would be surprised at an attack from General
Washington during the festivities of the day, replied—"If Mr.
Washington possess the wisdom and sound policy I have ever attributed to
him, he will not meddle with us at such a time. The excesses of the
present hour are to him equivalent to a victory."</p>
<p>It is interesting to contrast the situation of the two hostile armies at
this time; and to follow the destiny of the revellers. When the alliance
was concluded between France and America, it was determined in Great
Britain immediately to evacuate Philadelphia, and concentrate the royal
forces in the city and harbor of New York. In one month knights and army
marched from the city they had occupied. Major André, represented as the
charm of the company, who had aided in painting the decorations, and
illustrated the pageant by his pen, went forth to mingle in graver scenes.
General Wayne writes, on the twelfth of July: "Tell those Philadelphia
ladies who attended Howe's assemblies and levees, that the heavenly,
sweet, pretty redcoats—the accomplished gentlemen of the guards and
grenadiers, have been humbled on the plains of Monmouth. The knights of
the Blended Roses, and of the Burning Mount—have resigned their
laurels to rebel officers, who will lay them at the feet of those virtuous
daughters of America who cheerfully gave up ease and affluence in a city,
for liberty and peace of mind in a cottage."</p>
<p>But the empire of beauty was not to be overthrown by political changes.
The belles who had graced the fête found the reproach cast on them by
indignant patriots speedily forgotten. When the Americans, on their return
to the capital, gave a ball to their own and the French officers, and it
was debated whether the ladies of the Mischianza should be honored with
invitations, the question was soon decided by the reflection that it would
be impossible to make up an agreeable company without them.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<h2> XIV. ELIZABETH FERGUSON. </h2>
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<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he old building
called the Carpenter Mansion, the site of which is now occupied by the
Arcade in Philadelphia, was the residence of Doctor Thomas Graeme, the
father of Mrs. Ferguson. He was a native of Scotland; distinguished as a
physician in the city; and for some time was colonial collector of the
port. He married Anne, the daughter of Sir William Keith, then Governor of
Pennsylvania.</p>
<p>More than thirty years before the Revolution, when these premises were
occupied by Governor Thomas, the fruit-trees, garden, and shrubbery often
allured the townsfolk to extend their walks thither. The youth of that day
were frequently indebted to the kindness of the Governor's lady, who
invited them to help themselves from a long range of cherry-trees; and
when May day came, the young girls were treated to bouquets and wreaths
from the gardens. After the death of Dr. Graeme, in 1772, the property
passed successively into different hands. In time of the war, the house
was appropriated for the use of the sick American soldiery, who died there
in hundreds, of the camp fever. The sufferers were supplied with
nourishment by the ladies of Philadelphia; and General Washington himself
sent them a cask of Madeira, which he had received as a present from
Robert Morris. The mansion was the scene, moreover, of a most touching
spectacle, on one occasion, when the mother of a youth from the country
came to seek her son among the dead in the hospital. While mourning over
him as lost to her for ever, she discerned signs of life, and ere long he
was restored to consciousness in her arms. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* See Watson's Annals of Philadelphia.</p>
<p>While occupied by Dr. Graeme, the house was long rendered attractive and
celebrated, not only by his exuberant hospitality, but by the talents and
accomplishments of his youngest daughter. She was the centre of the
literary coteries of that day, who were accustomed to meet at her father's
residence. Even in early life she discovered a mind richly endowed with
intellectual gifts. These were cultivated with care by her excellent and
accomplished mother. She was born in 1739. In her youth she passed much
time in study; for which, and the cultivation of her poetical talents,
opportunities were afforded in the pleasant retreat where her parents
spent their summers—Graeme Park, in Montgomery county, twenty miles
from Philadelphia. It is said that the translation of Telemachus into
English verse—the manuscript volumes of which are in the
Philadelphia Library—was undertaken by Elizabeth Graeme, as a relief
and diversion of her mind from the suffering occasioned by a
disappointment in love. After this, the failure of her health induced her
father to send her to Europe. Her mother, who had long been declining,
wished her much to go, and for a reason as singular as it is touching. *
She believed the time of her death to be at hand; and felt that the
presence of her beloved daughter prevented that exclusive fixing of her
thoughts and affections upon heavenly things, which in her last hours she
desired.</p>
<p class="foot">
* See Hazard's Pennsylvania Register, vol. iii., p. 394, for a memoir of
Mrs. Ferguson, first published in the Port-Folio, from which are derived
these particulars of her personal history. Some of her letters appeared in
the Port-Folio.</p>
<p>This distrust of the heart is not an uncommon feeling. Archbishop
Lightfoot wished to die separated from his home and family. A mother, some
years ago, in her last moments said to her daughter, who sat weeping at
her bedside, "Leave me, my child; I cannot die while you are in the room."
Something of the same feeling is shown in an extract from one of Mrs.
Graeme's letters, written to be delivered after her death: "My trust," she
says, "is in my heavenly Father's mercies, procured and promised by the
all-sufficient merits of my blessed Saviour; so that whatever time it may
be before you see this, or whatever weakness I may be under on my
death-bed, be assured <i>this</i> is my faith—<i>this</i> is my hope
from my youth up until now."</p>
<p>Mrs. Graeme died, as she expected, during the absence of her daughter; but
left two farewell letters to be delivered on her return. These contained
advice respecting her future life in the relations of wife and mistress of
a household; and the most ardent expressions of maternal affection.
Elizabeth remained a year in England, under the guardianship of the Rev.
Dr. Richard Peters, of Philadelphia, whose position enabled him to
introduce her into the best society. She was sought for in literary
circles, attracted the attention of distinguished persons by her mental
accomplishments, and was particularly noticed by the British monarch. The
celebrated Dr. Fothergill, whom she consulted as a physician, was during
his life her friend and correspondent.</p>
<p>Her return to Philadelphia was welcomed by a numerous circle of friends,
who came to condole with her upon her mother's death, and to testify their
affectionate remembrance of herself. The stores of information gained
during her visit to Great Britain, where she had been "all eye, all ear,
and all grasp," were dispensed for the information and entertainment of
those she loved. She now occupied the place of her mother in her father's
family, managing the house and presiding in the entertainment of his
visitors. During several years of their winter residence in the city,
Saturday evenings were appropriated for the reception of their friends,
and strangers who visited Philadelphia with introductions to the family of
Dr. Graeme. The mansion was, in fact, the head-quarters of literature and
refinement; and the hospitality of its owner rendered it an agreeable
resort. Miss Graeme was the presiding genius. Her brilliant intellect, her
extensive and varied knowledge, her vivid fancy, and cultivated taste,
offered attractions which were enhanced by the charm of her graceful
manners.</p>
<p>It was at one of these evening assemblies that she first saw Hugh Henry
Ferguson, a young gentleman lately arrived in the country from Scotland.
They were pleased with each other at the first interview, being congenial
in literary tastes, and a love of retirement. The marriage took place in a
few months, notwithstanding that Ferguson was ten years younger than Miss
Graeme. Not long after this event her father died, having bequeathed to
his daughter the country-seat in Montgomery county, on which she and her
husband continued to reside.</p>
<p>The happiness anticipated by Mrs. Ferguson in country seclusion and her
books, was of brief duration. The discontents were increasing between
Great Britain and America, which resulted in the war of Independence. It
was necessary for Mr. Ferguson to take part with one or the other; and he
decided according to the prejudices natural to his birth, by espousing the
royal cause. From this time a separation took place between him and Mrs.
Ferguson.</p>
<p>Her connection with certain political transactions exposed her for a time
to much censure and mortification. But there is no reason to doubt the
sincerity of her declarations with regard to the motives that influenced
her conduct. Many of her unobtrusive charities testify to her sympathy
with her suffering countrymen. She not only visited the cottages in her
neighborhood with supplies of clothing, provisions, or medicines for the
inmates, but while General Howe had possession of Philadelphia, she sent a
quantity of linen into the city, spun with her own hands, and directed it
to be made into shirts for the benefit of the American prisoners taken at
the battle of Germantown.</p>
<p>Another instance of her benevolence is characteristic. On hearing, in one
of her visits to the city, that a merchant had become reduced, and having
been imprisoned for debt, was suffering from want of the comforts of life,
she sent him a bed, and afterwards visited him in prison, and put twenty
dollars into his hands. She refused to inform him who was his benefactor;
but it was discovered by his description of her person and dress. At this
time her annual income, it is said, was reduced to a very limited sum.
Many other secret acts of charity, performed at the expense of her
personal and habitual comforts were remembered by her friends, and many
instances of her sensibility and tender sympathy with all who suffered.</p>
<p>Her husband being engaged in the British service, she was favored by the
loyalists, while treated with respect at the same time by the other party
as an American lady who occupied a high social position. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* The reader is referred to the Life and Correspondence of President Reed,
by his grandson, William B. Reed. Vol. i., 381. Mrs. Ferguson's letters
are there quoted, with her narrative, at length.</p>
<p>It was natural that she should be in some measure influenced by attachment
to the old order of things, and respect for the civil institutions she had
been accustomed to venerate; while her desire for the good of her
countrymen led to ardent wishes that the desolations and miseries she
witnessed might cease. It is said she often wept over newspapers
containing details of suffering. The sensibility that could not bear to
look on the woes even of the brute creation, must have been severely tried
by the daily horrors of civil war. It is not surprising, therefore, that
she should be eager to seize any opportunity that offered, of being
instrumental in ending them.</p>
<p>Immediately after the British took possession of Philadelphia, Mrs.
Ferguson was the bearer of a letter from the Rev. Mr. Duché to General
Washington, which greatly displeased him, causing him to express to her
his disapprobation of the intercourse she seemed to have held with the
writer, and his expectation that it should be discontinued. At a later
period she came again to Philadelphia, under a pass granted her by the
Commander-in-chief, for the purpose of taking leave of her husband. She
was at the house of her friend Charles Stedman, which chanced to be the
place appointed for the residence of Governor Johnstone, one of the
commissioners sent under parliamentary authority to settle the differences
between Great Britain and America. She was in company with him three
times; the conversation being general on the first two occasions. His
declarations, she says, were so warm in favor of American interests, that
she looked upon him as really a friend to her country. He wished, since he
could not himself be permitted to pass the lines, to find some person who
would step forward and act a mediatorial part, by suggesting something to
stop the effusion of blood likely to ensue if the war were carried on.
Mrs. Ferguson said repeatedly, that she believed the sentiment of the
people to be in favor of Independence. "I am certain," were her words in
the last conversation on the subject—"that nothing short of
Independence will be accepted." Yet it does not appear that her own views
were averse to a re-union of the two countries.</p>
<p>Governor Johnstone then expressed a particular anxiety for the influence
of General Reed; and requested Mrs. Ferguson, "if she should see him," to
convey the idea, that provided he could, "com-formably to his conscience
and views of things," exert his influence to settle the dispute, "he might
command ten thousand guineas, and the best post in the government." In
reply to Mrs. Ferguson's question, if Mr. Reed would not look upon such a
mode of obtaining his influence as a bribe, Johnstone immediately
disclaimed any such idea; said such a method of proceeding was common in
all negotiations; and that one might honorably make it a man's interest to
step forth in such a cause. She on her part expressed her conviction that
if Mr. Reed thought it right to give up the point of Independence, he
would say so without fee or reward; and if he were of a different opinion,
no pecuniary emolument would lead him to give a contrary vote. Mr.
Johnstone did not see the matter in this light.</p>
<p>A day or two after this communication was suggested, Mrs. Ferguson sent by
a confidential messenger a note to General Reed, at head-quarters,
requesting an hour's conversation previous to her going to Lancaster on
business, and desiring him to fix a place where she could meet him without
the necessity of passing through the camp. She stated that the business on
which she wished to confer with him could not be committed to writing.</p>
<p>The note was received on the 21st of June, after General Reed's arrival in
the city, which had been evacuated three days before by the British. He
sent word by the bearer that he would wait upon Mrs. Ferguson the same
evening. At this interview, the conversation treating of Governor
Johnstone's desire of settling matters upon an amicable footing, and his
favorable sentiments towards Mr. Reed, General Reed mentioned that he had
received a letter from him at Valley Forge. Mrs. Ferguson then repeated,
in all its particulars, the conversation that had passed at the house of
Mr. Stedman. Her repetition of the proposition of Governor Johnstone
brought from General Reed the prompt and noble reply: "I AM NOT WORTH
PURCHASING; BUT SUCH AS I AM, THE KING OF GREAT BRITAIN IS NOT RICH ENOUGH
TO DO IT."</p>
<p>General Reed laid before Congress both the written and verbal
communications of Governor Johnstone; withholding, however, the name of
the lady, from motives of delicacy, and reluctance to draw down popular
indignation upon her. An account of the transaction was also published in
the papers of the day. It was useless to attempt concealment of her name;
suspicion was at once directed to her; and her name was called for by a
resolution of the Executive Council of Pennsylvania. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* "The attempt through the wife of a loyalist to bribe a member of
Congress to aid in uniting the Colonies to the mother country, proved of
incalculable service in recalling the doubting and irresolute whigs to a
sense of duty. The story, and the noble reply, were repeated from mouth to
mouth; and from the hour it was known, the whigs had won—the tories
lost—the future empire."—Sabine's American Loyalists.</p>
<p>Congress issued a declaration condemning the daring and atrocious attempts
made to corrupt their integrity, and declaring it incompatible with their
honor to hold any manner of correspondence with the said George Johnstone.
As may be imagined, disagreeable consequences ensued, which were severely
felt by Mrs. Ferguson. As soon as she saw the article in Towne's Evening
Post, which reached her at Graeme Park, July 26th, 1778, she addressed a
letter of remonstrance to General Reed, bitterly complaining of having
been exhibited in the newspapers as a mere emissary of the commissioners.
"I own I find it hard," she says, "knowing the uncorruptness of my heart,
to be held out to the public as a tool to the commissioners. But the
impression is now made, and it is too late to recall it. How far, at this
critical juncture of time, this affair may injure my property, is
uncertain; that, I assure you, is but a secondary thought." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Letter published in the Remembrancer, vol. vi.</p>
<p>It appears evident that Mrs. Ferguson did not act this part in any
expectation of deriving advantage for herself. Her associations and
connections being chiefly with the royalists, it was natural that her
opinions should be influenced by theirs; but her desire for the good of
the country was undoubtedly disinterested. After the return of Governor
Johnstone to England, he ventured to deny the charge preferred in the
resolutions of Congress, by a letter published in Rivington's Gazette; and
in a speech in November in the House of Commons, boldly asserted the
falsehood of the statement made by General Reed. His denial no sooner
reached America, than Mrs. Ferguson, anxious that justice should be done
to all parties, published her narrative of the transaction, confirmed by
her oath. The excellence of the motives which had actuated her in
consenting to act as Johnstone's confidential agent, is sufficiently
apparent in the spirit she now exhibited.</p>
<p>"Among the many mortifying insinuations that have been hinted on the
subject, none has so sensibly affected me, as an intimation that some
thought I acted a part, in consequence of certain expectations of a post,
or some preferment from Mr. Johnstone, to be conferred on the person
dearest to me on earth. On that head I shall say no more, but leave it to
any person of common sense to determine, if I had any views of that kind,
whether I should, in so full and solemn a manner, call in question what
Mr. Johnstone has asserted in the House of Commons. A proceeding of this
kind must totally exclude all avenues of favor from that quarter, were
there ever any expected, which I solemnly declare never was the case. If
this account should ever have the honor to be glanced over by the eye of
Governor Johnstone, I know not in what medium he may view it. It is
possible that the multiplicity of ideas, which may be supposed to pass
through the brain of a politician in the course of a few months, may have
jostled the whole transaction out of his memory. Should this be the case,
insignificant and contemptible as I may appear to him, I believe there are
two or three people in Britain who will venture to tell him, in all his
plenitude of power, that they believe I would not set my hand to an
untruth."</p>
<p>Mrs. Ferguson's poetical talent has been mentioned. Her verses were said
to possess vigor and measure, but to lack melody, while her prose writings
indicated both genius and knowledge. She was well read in polemical
divinity, and a firm believer in the doctrines of revelation. She is said
to have transcribed the whole Bible, to impress its contents more deeply
upon her mind; hence the facility with which she would select appropriate
passages to illustrate or adorn the subjects of her writings or
conversation.</p>
<p>She had no children, but adopted the son and daughter of one of her
sisters, who on her deathbed committed them to her care. The nephew, an
accomplished scholar and gentleman, was till his death a lieutenant in the
British army.</p>
<p>The talents and attainments of Mrs. Ferguson, her virtues, elevated and
invigorated by Christian faith, her independence and integrity of
character, and her benevolent feeling for others—endeared her name
to a large circle of friends. Yet her life appears to have been one
darkened by sorrow. In her later years the reduction of her income
diminished her means of usefulness; but she would not permit any
privations to which she found it necessary to submit, to be a source of
unhappiness.</p>
<p>She died at the house of a friend near Graeme Park, on the twenty-third of
February, 1801, in the sixty-second year of her age.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<h2> XV. MARY PHILIPSE. </h2>
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<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n 1756, Colonel
George Washington, then commander-in-chief of the Virginia forces, had
some difficulties concerning rank with an officer holding a royal
commission. He found it necessary to communicate with General Shirley, the
commander-in-chief of His Majesty's armies in America; and for this
purpose left his head-quarters at Winchester, and travelled to Boston on
horse-back, attended by his aids-de-camp. On his way, he stopped in some
of the principal cities. The military fame he had gained, and the story of
his remarkable escape at Brad-dock's defeat, excited general curiosity to
see the brave young hero; and great attention was paid to him. While in
New York, says his biographer, Mr. Sparks, "he was entertained at the
house of Mr. Beverley Robinson, between whom and himself an intimacy of
friendship subsisted, which indeed continued without change, till severed
by their opposite fortunes twenty years afterwards in the Revolution. It
happened that Miss Mary Philipse, a sister of Mrs. Robinson, and a young
lady of rare accomplishments, was an inmate in the family. The charms of
this lady made a deep impression upon the heart of the Virginia Colonel.
He went to Boston, returned, and was again welcomed to the hospitality of
Mrs. Robinson. He lingered there till duty called him away; but he was
careful to entrust his secret to a confidential friend, whose letters kept
him informed of every important event. In a few months intelligence came
that a rival was in the field, and that the consequences could not be
answered for, if he delayed to renew his visits to New York."</p>
<p>Washington could not at this time leave his post, however deeply his
feelings may have been interested in securing the favor of the fair object
of his admiration. The fact that his friend thought fit to communicate
thus repeatedly with him upon the subject, does not favor the supposition
that his regard was merely a passing fancy, or that the bustle of
camp-life, or the scenes of war, had effaced her image from his heart. Mr.
Sparks assures me that the letters referred to, which were from a
gentleman connected with the Robinson family, though playful in their
tone, were evidently written under the belief that an attachment existed
on Washington's part, and that his happiness was concerned. How far the
demonstrations of this attachment had gone, it is now impossible to
ascertain; nor whether Miss Philipse had discouraged the Colonel's
attentions so decidedly as to preclude all hope. The probability is,
however, that he despaired of success. He never saw her again till after
her marriage with Captain Roger Morris, the rival of whom he had been
warned.</p>
<p>Mary Philipse was the daughter of the Hon. Frederick Philipse, Speaker of
the Assembly. He was lord of the old manor of Philipsborough, and owned an
immense landed estate on the Hudson. Mary was born at the Manor Hall, on
the third of July, 1730. No particulars relating to her early life can be
given by her relatives; but the tradition is, that she was beautiful,
fascinating, and accomplished. A lady now living in New York, who knew her
after she became Mrs. Morris, and had visited her at her residence near
the city tells me that she was one of the most elegant women she had ever
seen; and that her manners, uniting dignity with affability, charmed every
one who knew her. The rumor of Washington's former attachment was then
current, and universally believed. Her house was the resort of many
visitors at all seasons. She removed to New York after her marriage, in
1758, with Roger Morris, who was a captain in the British army in the
French war, and one of Brad-dock's aids-de-camp. A part of the Philipse
estate came by right of his wife into his possession, and was taken from
him by confiscation, in punishment for his loyalism. Mrs. Morris was
included in the attainder, that the whole interest might pass under the
act. * The rights of her children, however, as time showed, were not
affected; and the reversionary interest was sold by them to John Jacob
Astor.</p>
<p class="foot">
* The authentic facts relating to Captain Morris and Colonel Robinson, and
to their wives, have been preserved by Mr. Sabine in his "American
Loyalists." He visited the relatives of the family in New Brunswick.</p>
<p>The descendants of Mrs. Robinson, the sister of Mary Morris, speak of her
with warm praise, as one who possessed high qualities of mind, and great
excellence of character. To one of these, a gentleman high in office in
New Brunswick, the author of the 'Loyalists' once remarked in
conversation, that there was some difference to his aunt, between being
the wife of the Commander-in-chief—the first President of the United
States, and the wife of an exile and an outlaw—herself attainted of
treason. The tables were turned upon him by the reply, that Mrs. Morris
had been remarkable for fascinating all who approached her, and moulding
everybody to her will; and that had she married Washington, it could not
be certain that she would not have kept him to his allegiance. "Indeed,
Washington would not, could not have been a traitor with such a wife as
Aunt Morris." Without dwelling on the possibilities of such a contingency,
one can hardly think, without some degree of national shame, that a lady
whom we have every reason to believe had been the object of Washington's
love, "should be attainted of treason for clinging to the fortunes of her
husband."</p>
<p>Mrs. Morris died in England in 1825, at the advanced age of ninety-six.
The portrait of her is engraved from an original painting taken after her
marriage, and now in the possession of her namesake and grandniece, Mrs.
Governeur, who resides at "Highland Grange," Philipstown, in the
Highlands. It is stated in the History of Westchester County, that Miss
Mary Philipse was the original of the lovely character of Frances, in Mr.
Cooper's novel of "The Spy:" this is incorrect.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>usannah, the
sister of Mary Philipse, was the wife of Beverley Robinson of New York.
There is some ground for the belief that she actually exercised over her
husband's mind some portion of the influence said to have been possessed
by her sister; for it appears that he was at first disinclined to take any
active part in the contest between the Colonies and Great Britain. He was
so much opposed to the measures of the ministry, that he would not use
imported merchandise; but was at length prevailed on by his friends to
enter the royal service. As before-mentioned, he and Washington were
intimate friends before they were separated by difference of political
opinion. "The Robinson house," which had been confiscated with the lands,
was occupied by Arnold as his head-quarters, and by Washington at the time
of Arnold's treason.</p>
<p>When Colonel Robinson gave up the quiet enjoyment of country life, his
wife took her share of the outlawry that awaited him; she, as well as her
sister, being included in the act of confiscation. After their removal to
England, they lived in retirement. She died near Bath, at the age of
ninety-four, in 1822. Her descendants in New Brunswick preserve, among
other relics of the olden time, a silver tea-urn, of rich and massive
workmanship, said to be the first of such articles used in America.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<br/>
<h2> XVI. SARAH REEVE GIBBES. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he failure of the
British commissioners to conclude an amicable adjustment of differences
between the two countries—and the ill success of the effort to gain
their ends by private intrigue and bribery—annihilated the hopes of
those who had desired the acceptance by Congress of terms of
accommodation. War was now the only prospect; the reduction of the
Colonies to obedience by force of arms, or the establishment of national
Independence by a protracted struggle. The movements and expeditions which
succeeded the battle of Monmouth—the incursion of the Indians and
tories under Colonel John Butler and Brandt, for the destruction of the
settlement in the lovely valley of Wyoming—the terrible tragedy of
July, with the retaliatory expeditions against the Indians—and the
repetition of the barbarities of Wyoming at Cherry Valley, in November—were
the prominent events that took place in the middle and northern sections
of the country during the remainder of 1778. The scene of important action
was now changed to the South. In November, Count D'Estaing, with the
French fleet, sailed for the West Indies, to attack the British
dependencies in that quarter. General Sir Henry Clinton, on his part,
despatched Colonel Campbell from New York, on an expedition against
Georgia, the feeblest of the southern provinces. His troops landed late in
December near Savannah, which was then defended by the American general,
Robert Howe. His small force being enfeebled by sickness, defeat was the
consequence of an attack; and the remnant of the American army retreated
into South Carolina. The British having obtained possession of the capital
of Georgia, the plan of reducing that State and South Carolina was
vigorously prosecuted in 1779, while the armies of Washington and Clinton
were employed in the northern section of the Union. Soon after the fall of
Savannah, General Prevost, with troops from East Florida, took possession
of the only remaining military post in Georgia; and joining his forces to
those of Colonel Campbell, assumed the chief command of the royal army at
the South. The loyalists who came along the western frontier of Carolina
to join his standard, committed great devastations and cruelties on their
way. General Lincoln, who commanded the continental forces in the southern
department, sent a detachment under General Ashe across the Savannah, to
repress the incursions of the enemy, and confine them to the low country
near the sea coast. The surprise and defeat of this detachment by Prevost,
completed the subjugation of Georgia. But in April General Lincoln entered
the field anew, and leaving Moultrie to watch Prevost's movements,
commenced his march up the left bank of the Savannah and crossed into
Georgia near Augusta, with the intention of advancing on the capital.
Prevost attacked Moultrie and Pulaski, compelling them to retreat; and
then hurried to place himself before Charleston. From this position,
however, he was obliged to withdraw on Lincoln's approach. He proceeded to
the island of St. John's, separated from the mainland by an inlet called
Stono River; and leaving a division at Stono Ferry, retired with a part of
his force towards Savannah. On the 20th of June, Lincoln attacked the
division at Stono Ferry, but was repulsed. The British soon after
established a post at Beaufort, and the main body of the army retired to
Savannah. For some months the hot and sickly season prevented further
action on either side.</p>
<p>The siege of Savannah under D'Estaing and Lincoln took place early in
October, 1779. The Americans were repulsed, the gallant Pulaski receiving
his death wound; and the enterprise was abandoned. The French fleet
departed from the coast; and General Lincoln retreated into South
Carolina. A cloud of despondency hung over the close of this year. The
flattering hopes inspired by the alliance with France had not been
realized. The continental army reduced in numbers and wretchedly clothed—the
treasury empty—the paper currency rapidly diminishing in value—distress
was brought on all classes, and the prospect seemed more than ever dark
and discouraging. On the other hand, Britain displayed new resources, and
made renewed exertions, notwithstanding the formidable combination against
her. Sir Henry Clinton determined to make the South his most important
field of operations for the future, and planned the campaign of 1780 on an
extensive scale. He arrived in Georgia late in January, and early in the
succeeding month left Savannah for the siege of Charleston, then defended
by General Lincoln. The fleet of Arbuthnot was anchored in the harbor, and
the British overran the country on the left side of the Cooper river. The
surrender of Charleston on the twelfth of May, seemed to secure the
recovery of the southern section of the Union; and Clinton immediately set
about re-establishing the royal government.</p>
<p>The foregoing brief glance at the course of events during the two years
succeeding the evacuation of Philadelphia, is necessary to prepare the
reader for the southern sketches that follow.</p>
<p>A few hundred yards from a fine landing on Stono River, upon John's
Island, about two hours' sail from Charleston, stands a large, square,
ancient-looking mansion, strongly built of brick, with a portico fronting
the river. On the side towards the road, the wide piazza overlooks a lawn;
and a venerable live oak, with aspen, sycamore, and other trees, shade it
from the sun. On either side of the house, about twenty yards distant,
stands a smaller two story building, connected with the main building by a
neat open fence. In one of these is the kitchen and out-offices; the other
was formerly the school-house and tutor's dwelling. Beyond are the barns,
the overseer's house, and the negro huts appertaining to a plantation. The
garden in old times was very large and well-cultivated, being laid out in
wide walks, and extending from the mansion to the river. The "river walk,"
on the verge of a bluff eight or ten feet in height, followed the bending
of the water, and was bordered with orange-trees. Tall hedges of the
ever-green wild orange-tree divided the flower from the vegetable garden,
and screened from view the family burial-ground. The beautifully laid out
grounds, and shaded walks, give this place a most inviting aspect,
rendering it such an abode as its name of "Peaceful Retreat" indicated.</p>
<p>At the period of the Revolution this mansion was well known throughout the
country as the seat of hospitality and elegant taste. Its owner, Robert
Gibbes, was a man of cultivated mind and refined manners—one of
those gentlemen of the old school, of whom South Carolina has justly made
her boast. Early in life he became a martyr to the gout, by which painful
disease his hands and feet were so contracted and crippled that he was
deprived of their use. The only exercise he was able to take, was in a
chair on wheels, in which he was placed every day, and by the assistance
of a servant, moved about the house, and through the garden. The circuit
through these walks and along the river, formed his favorite amusement.
Unable, by reason of his misfortune, to take an active part in the war,
his feelings were nevertheless warmly enlisted on the republican side; and
his house was ever open for the reception and entertainment of the friends
of liberty. He had married Miss Sarah Reeve, she being at the time about
eighteen years of age. Notwithstanding her youth, she had given evidence
that she possessed a mind of no common order. The young couple had a house
in Charleston, but spent the greater part of their time at their
country-seat and plantation upon John's Island. Here Mrs. Gibbes devoted
herself with earnestness to the various duties before her; for in
consequence of her husband's infirmities, the management of an extensive
estate, with the writing on business it required—devolved entirely
upon her. In addition to a large family of her own, she had the care of
the seven orphan children of Mrs. Fenwick, the sister of Mr. Gibbes, who
at her death had left them and their estate to his guardianship. Two other
children—one her nephew, Robert Barnwell—were added to her
charge. The multiplied cares involved in meeting all these
responsibilities, with the superintendence of household concerns, required
a rare degree of energy and activity; yet the mistress of this well
ordered establishment had always a ready and cordial welcome for her
friends, dispensing the hospitalities of "Peaceful Retreat," with a grace
and cheerful politeness that rendered it a most agreeable resort.</p>
<p>It was doubtless the fame of the luxurious living at this delightful
country-seat—which attracted the attention of the British during the
invasion of Prevost, while the royal army kept possession of the seaboard.
A battalion of British and Hessians, determined to quarter themselves in
so desirable a spot, arrived at the landing at the dead of night, and
marching up in silence, surrounded the house. The day had not yet begun to
dawn, when an aged and faithful servant tapped softly at the door of Mrs.
Gibbes' apartment. The whisper—"Mistress, the redcoats are all
around the house," was the first intimation given of their danger. "Tell
no one, Cæsar, but keep all quiet," she replied promptly; and her
preparations were instantly commenced to receive the intruders. Having
dressed herself quickly, she went up-stairs, waked several ladies who were
guests in the house, and requested them to rise and dress with all
possible haste. In the meantime the domestics were directed to prepare the
children, of whom, with her own eight and those under her care, there were
sixteen; the eldest being only fifteen years old. These were speedily
dressed and seated in the spacious hall. Mrs. Gibbes then assisted her
husband, as was always her custom—to rise and dress, and had him
placed in his rolling chair. All these arrangements were made without the
least confusion, and so silently, that the British had no idea anyone was
yet awake within the house. The object of Mrs. Gibbes was to prevent
violence on the enemy's part, by showing them at once that the mansion was
inhabited only by those who were unable to defend themselves. The
impressive manner in which this was done produced its effect. The invaders
had no knowledge that the inmates were aware of their presence, till
daylight, when they heard the heavy rolling of Mr. Gibbes' chair across
the great hall towards the front door. Supposing the sound to be the
rolling of a cannon, the soldiers advanced, and stood prepared with
pointed bayonets to rush in, when the signal for assault should be given.
But as the door was thrown open, and the stately form of the invalid
presented itself, surrounded by women and children, they drew back, and—startled
into an involuntary expression of respect—presented arms. Mr. Gibbes
addressed them—yielding, of course, to the necessity that could not
be resisted. The officers took immediate possession of the house, leaving
the premises to their men, and extending no protection against pillage.
The soldiers roved at their pleasure about the plantation, helping
themselves to whatever they chose; breaking into the wine room, drinking
to intoxication, and seizing upon and carrying off the negroes. A large
portion of the plate was saved by the provident care of a faithful
servant, who secretly buried it. Within the mansion the energy and
self-possession of Mrs. Gibbes still protected her family. The appearance
of terror or confusion might have tempted the invaders to incivility; but
it was impossible for them to treat otherwise than with deference, a lady
whose calm and quiet deportment commanded their respect. Maintaining her
place as mistress of her household, and presiding at her table, she
treated her uninvited guests with a dignified courtesy that ensured
civility while it prevented presumptuous familiarity. The boldest and
rudest among them bowed involuntarily to an influence which fear or force
could not have secured.</p>
<p>When the news reached Charleston that the British had encamped on Mr.
Gibbes' plantation, the authorities in the city despatched two galleys to
dislodge them. These vessels ascended the river in the night, and arriving
opposite, opened a heavy fire upon the invaders' encampment. The men had
received strict injunctions not to fire upon the house, for fear of injury
to any of the family. It could not, however, be known to Mr. Gibbes that
such a caution had been given; and as soon as the Americans began their
fire, dreading some accident, he proposed to his wife that they should
take the children and seek a place of greater safety. Their horses being
in the enemy's hands, they had no means of conveyance; but Mrs. Gibbes,
with energies roused to exertion by the danger, and anxious only to secure
shelter for her helpless charge, set off to walk with the children to an
adjoining plantation situated in the interior. A drizzling rain was
falling, and the weather was extremely chilly; the fire was incessant from
the American guns, and sent—in order to avoid the house—in a
direction which was in a range with the course of the fugitives. The shot,
falling around them, cut the bushes, and struck the trees on every side.
Exposed each moment to this imminent danger, they continued their flight
with as much haste as possible, for about a mile, till beyond the reach of
the shot.</p>
<p>Having reached the houses occupied by the negro laborers on the
plantation, they stopped for a few moments to rest. Mrs. Gibbes, wet,
chilled, and exhausted by fatigue and mental anxiety, felt her strength
utterly fail, and was obliged to wrap herself in a blanket and lie down
upon one of the beds. It was at this time, when the party first drew
breath freely—with thankfulness that the fears of death were over—that
on reviewing the trembling group to ascertain if all had escaped
uninjured, it was found that a little boy, John Fenwick, was missing. In
the hurry and terror of their flight the child had been forgotten and left
behind! What was now to be done? The servants refused to risk their lives
by returning for him; and in common humanity, Mr. Gibbes could not insist
that any one should undertake the desperate adventure. The roar of the
distant guns was still heard, breaking at short intervals the deep silence
of the night. The chilly rain was falling, and the darkness was profound.
Yet the thought of abandoning the helpless boy to destruction, was agony
to the hearts of his relatives. In this extremity the self-devotion of a
young girl interposed to save him. Mary Anna, the eldest daughter of Mrs.
Gibbes—then only thirteen years of age, determined to venture back—in
spite of the fearful peril—alone. The mother dared not oppose her
noble resolution, which seemed indeed an inspiration of heaven; and she
was permitted to go. Hastening along the path with all the speed of which
she was capable, she reached the house, still in the undisturbed
possession of the enemy; and entreated permission from the sentinel to
enter; persisting, in spite of refusal, till by earnest importunity of
supplication, she gained her object. Searching anxiously through the
house, she found the child in a room in a third story, and lifting him
joyfully in her arms, carried him down, and fled with him to the spot
where her anxious parents were awaiting her return. The shot still flew
thickly around her, frequently throwing up the earth in her way; but
protected by the Providence that watches over innocence, she joined the
rest of the family in safety. * The boy saved on this occasion by the
intrepidity of the young girl, was the late General Fenwick, distinguished
for his services in the last war with Great Britain. "Fenwick Place,"
still called "Headquarters," was three miles from "Peaceful Retreat."</p>
<p class="foot">
* Major Garden, who after the war married Mary Anna Gibbes, mentions this
intrepid action. There are a few errors in his account; he calls the boy
who was left, "a distant relation," and says the dwelling-house was fired
on by the Americans. The accomplished lady who communicated the
particulars to me, heard them from her grandmother, Mrs. Gibbes; and the
fact that the house was not fired upon, is attested by a near relative now
living. The house never bore any marks of shot; though balls and
grape-shot have been often found on the plantation. Again—Garden
says the family "were allowed to remain in some of the upper apartments;"
and were at last "ordered to quit the premises," implying that they were
treated with some severity as prisoners. This could not have been the
case; as Mrs. Gibbes constantly asserted that she presided at her own
table, and spoke of the respect and deference with which she was uniformly
treated by the officers. Her refusal to yield what she deemed a right,
ensured civility toward herself and household.</p>
<p>The family Bible, from which the parentage of General Fenwick might have
been ascertained, was lost during the Revolution, and only restored to the
family in the summer of 1847.</p>
<p>Some time after these occurrences, when the family were again inmates of
their own home, a battle was fought in a neighboring field. When the
conflict was over, Mrs. Gibbes sent her servants to search among the slain
left upon the battle-ground, for Robert Barnwell, her nephew, who had not
returned. They discovered him by part of his dress, which one of the
blacks remembered having seen his mother making. His face was so covered
with wounds, dust and blood, that he could not be recognized. Yet life was
not extinct; and under the unremitting care of his aunt and her young
daughter, he recovered. His son, Robert W. Barnwell, was for some years
president of the South Carolina College. Scenes like these were often
witnessed by the subject of this sketch, and on more than a few occasions
did she suffer acute anxiety on account of the danger of those dear to
her. She was accustomed to point out the spot where her eldest son, when
only sixteen years old, had been placed as a sentinel, while British
vessels were in the river, and their fire was poured on him. She would
relate how, with a mother's agony of solicitude, she watched the balls as
they struck the earth around him, while the youthful soldier maintained
his dangerous post, notwithstanding the entreaties of an old negro hid
behind a tree, that he would leave it. Through such trials, the severity
of which we who enjoy the peace so purchased cannot fully estimate, she
exhibited the same composure, and readiness to meet every emergency, with
the same benevolent sympathy for others. During the struggle, while
Carolina was invaded or in a state of defence, her house was at different
times the quarters of friend and foe. The skirmishes were frequent, and
many who went forth in the morning in health and vigor, returned no more;
nor did she know from day to day who were next to be her guests.</p>
<p>Mrs. Gibbes had a cultivated taste; and amidst her many cares, still found
leisure for literary occupation. Volumes of her writings remain, filled
with well-selected extracts from the many books she read, accompanied by
her own comments; with essays on various subjects, copies of letters to
her friends, and poetry. Everything from her pen evinces delicacy as well
as strength of mind, extensive information, and refinement of taste, with
the tenderest sensibility, and a deep tone of piety. Most of her letters
were written after the war, and throw no additional light on the feeling
or manners of that period.</p>
<p>She was in the habit of putting aside locks of hair enclosed with
appropriate poetical tributes, as mementoes of her departed friends; and
many of these touching memorials have been found among her papers. For
fifteen years she was deprived of sight, but lost nothing of her
cheerfulness, or the engaging grace of her manner; nor was her
conversation less interesting or entertaining to her visitors. A stranger,
who shortly before her death was at her house with a party of friends,
whom she delighted by her conversation—expressed great surprise on
being informed she was blind.</p>
<p>During the latter part of her life, she resided at Wilton, the
country-seat of Mrs. Barnard Elliott, where she died in 1825, at the age
of seventy-nine. Her remains rest in the family burial-ground upon John's
Island. A beautiful monumental inscription in St. Paul's church,
Charleston, records the virtues that adorned her character, and the faith
which sustained her under many afflictions.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XVII. ELIZA WILKINSON. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he letters of
Eliza Wilkinson present a lively picture of the situation of many
inhabitants of that portion of country which was the scene of various
skirmishes about the time of Lincoln's approach to relieve Charleston from
Prevost, the retreat of that commander, and the engagement at Stono Ferry.
The description given of occurrences, is not only interesting as a graphic
detail, but as exhibiting traits of female character worthy of all
admiration. It is much to be regretted that her records do not embrace a
longer period of time.</p>
<p>Her father was an emigrant from Wales, and always had much pride in his
Welsh name, Francis Yonge. He had three children, Eliza and two sons; and
owned what is called Yonge's Island. He was old and infirm, and suffered
much rough treatment at the hands of the British, from whom he refused to
take a protection. Both his sons died—one the death of a soldier;
and the old family name now lives in Charleston in the person of Francis
Yonge Porcher, great grandchild of the subject of this notice.</p>
<p>Mis. Wilkinson had been married only six months when her first husband
died. At the period of the war, she was a young and beautiful widow, with
fascinating manners, quick at repartee, and full of cheerfulness and good
humor. Her place of residence, Yonge's Island, lies thirty miles south of
Charleston. The Cherokee rose which still flourishes there in great
abundance, hedging the long avenue, and the sight of the creek and
causeway that separate the island from the mainland, call up many
recollections of her. She bore her part in Revolutionary trials and
privations, and was frequently a sufferer from British cruelty.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilkinson was in Charleston when news came that a large party of the
enemy had landed near Beaufort. With a few friends, she went over to her
father's plantation, but did not remain there long; for upon receiving
information that a body of British horse were within five or six miles,
the whole party, with the exception of her father and mother, crossed the
river to Wadmalaw, and went for refuge to the house of her sister. A large
boatload of women and children hurrying for safety to Charleston, stayed
with them a day or two, and presented a sad spectacle of the miseries
brought in the train of wan One woman with seven children, the youngest
but two weeks old, preferred venturing her own life and that of her tender
infant, to captivity in the hands of a merciless foe.</p>
<p>Mrs. Wilkinson remained at Wadmalaw for some time, and at length returned
to her home on the island. The surrounding country was waiting in a
distressed condition for the coming of General Lincoln, to whom the people
looked for deliverance. Many painful days of suspense passed before
tidings were received. All trifling discourse, she says, was laid aside—the
ladies who gathered in knots talking only of political affairs. At last
her brothers, with the Willtown troops, arrived from Charleston, and
brought the joyful news of the approach of Lincoln. The dreaded enemy had
not yet invaded the retirement of Yonge's Island; although it was
suspected that spies were lurking about, and boatloads of redcoats were
frequently seen passing and re-passing on the river. Mrs. Wilkinson
retreated with her sister to an inland country-seat. There they were
called on by parties of the Americans, whom they always received with
friendly hospitality. "The poorest soldier," says one letter, "who would
call at any time for a drink of water, I would take a pleasure in giving
it to him myself; and many a dirty, ragged fellow have I attended with a
bowl of water, or milk and water: they really merit every thing, who will
fight from principle alone; for from what I could learn, these poor
creatures had nothing to protect, and seldom got their pay; yet with what
alacrity will they encounter danger and hardships of every kind!"</p>
<p>One night a detachment of sixty redcoats passed the gate with the
intention of surprising Lieutenant Morton Wilkinson at a neighboring
plantation. A negro woman was their informer and guide; but their attempt
was unsuccessful. On re-passing the avenue early the next morning, they
made a halt at the head of it, but a negro man dissuaded them from
entering, by telling them the place belonged to a decrepit old gentleman,
who did not then live there. They took his word for it, and passed on.</p>
<p>On the second of June, two men belonging to the enemy, rode up to the
house, and asked many questions, saying that Colonel M'Girth and his
soldiers might be presently looked for, and that the inmates could expect
no mercy. The family remained in a state of cruel suspense for many hours.
The following morning a party of the whigs called at the gate, but did not
alight. One of them, in leaping a ditch, was hurt, and taken into the
house for assistance; and while they were dressing his wound, a negro girl
gave the alarm that the "king's people" were coming. The two men mounted
their horses and escaped: the women awaited the enemy's approach. Mrs.
Wilkinson writes to a friend:</p>
<p>"I heard the horses of the inhuman Britons coming in such a furious
manner, that they seemed to tear up the earth, the riders at the same time
bellowing out the most horrid curses imaginable—oaths and
imprecations which chilled my whole frame.</p>
<p>Surely, thought I, such horrid language denotes nothing less than death;
but I had no time for thought—they were up to the house—entered
with drawn swords and pistols in their hands: indeed they rushed in in the
most furious manner, crying out, 'Where are these women rebels?' That was
the first salutation! The moment they espied us, off went our caps. (I
always heard say none but women pulled caps!) And for what, think you?
Why, only to get a paltry stone and wax pin, which kept them on our heads;
at the same time uttering the most abusive language imaginable, and making
as if they would hew us to pieces with their swords. But it is not in my
power to describe the scene: it was terrible to the last degree; and what
augmented it, they had several armed negroes with them, who threatened and
abused us greatly. They then began to plunder the house of every thing
they thought valuable or worth taking; our trunks were split to pieces,
and each mean, pitiful wretch crammed his bosom with the contents, which
were our apparel, &c. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Letters of Eliza Wilkinson, arranged by Mrs. Gilman.</p>
<p>"I ventured to speak to the inhuman monster who had my clothes. I
represented to him the times were such we could not replace what they had
taken from us, and begged him to spare me only a suit or two: but I got
nothing but a hearty curse for my pains; nay, so far was his callous heart
from relenting, that casting his eyes towards my shoes, 'I want them
buckles," said he; and immediately knelt at my feet to take them out.
While he was busy doing this, a brother villain, whose enormous mouth
extended from ear to ear, bawled out, 'Shares there, I say! shares!' So
they divided my buckles between them. The other wretches were employed in
the same manner; they took my sister's earrings from her ears, her and
Miss Samuells' buckles; they demanded her ring from her finger; she
pleaded for it, told them it was her wedding-ring, and begged they would
let her keep it; but they still demanded it; and presenting a pistol at
her, swore if she did not deliver it immediately, they would fire. She
gave it to them; and after bundling up all their booty, they mounted their
horses. But such despicable figures! Each wretch's bosom stuffed so full,
they appeared to be all afflicted with some dropsical disorder. Had a
party of rebels (as they call us) appeared, we should have seen their
circumference lessen.</p>
<p>"They took care to tell us, when they were going away, that they had
favored us a great deal—that we might thank our stars it was no
worse. I had forgot to tell you that upon their first entering the house,
one of them gave my arm such a violent grasp, that he left the print of
his thumb and three fingers in black and blue, which was to be seen very
plainly for several days afterwards. I showed it to one of our officers
who dined with us, as a specimen of British cruelty. After they were gone,
I began to be sensible of the danger I had been in, and the thoughts of
the vile men seemed worse (if possible) than their presence; for they came
so suddenly up to the house, that I had no time for thought; and while
they stayed, I seemed in amaze—quite stupid! I cannot describe it.
But when they were, gone, and I had time to consider, I trembled so with
terror that I could not support myself. I went into the room, threw myself
on the bed, and gave way to a violent burst of grief, which seemed to be
some relief to my swollen heart."</p>
<p>This outrage was followed by a visit from M'Girth's men, who treated the
ladies with more civility; one of them promising to make a report at camp
of the usage they had received. It was little consolation, however, to
know that the robbers would probably be punished. The others, who
professed so much feeling for the fair, were not content without their
share of plunder, though more polite in the manner of taking it. "While
the British soldiers were talking to us, some of the silent ones withdrew,
and presently laid siege to a beehive, which they soon brought to terms.
The others perceiving it, cried out, 'Hand the ladies a plate of honey.'
This was immediately done with officious haste, no doubt thinking they
were very generous in treating us with our own. There were a few horses
feeding in the pasture. They had them driven up. 'Ladies, do either of you
own these horses?' 'No; they partly belonged to father and Mr. Smilie!'
'Well, ladies, as they are not <i>your</i> property, we will take them!'"</p>
<p>They asked the distance to the other settlements; and the females begged
that forbearance might be shown to the aged father. He was visited the
same day by another body of troops, who abused him and plundered the
house. "One came to search mothers pockets, too, but she resolutely threw
his hand aside. 'If you must see what's in my pocket, I'll show you
myself;' and she took out a thread-case, which had thread, needles, pins,
tape, &c. The mean wretch took it from her.". . . "After drinking all
the wine, rum, &c., they could find, and inviting the negroes they had
with them, who were very insolent, to do the same—they went to their
horses, and would shake hands with father and mother before their
departure. Fine amends, to be sure!"</p>
<p>After such unwelcome visitors, it is not surprising that the unprotected
women could not eat or sleep in peace. They lay in their clothes every
night, alarmed by the least noise; while the days were spent in anxiety
and melancholy. One morning, when Mrs. Wilkinson was coming out of her
chamber, her eyes fixed on the window—for she was continually on the
watch—she saw something glitter through a thin part of the wood
bordering the road. It proved to be the weapons of a large body of
soldiers. As they came from the direction of the enemy's encampment, she
concluded they were British troops; and every one in the house took the
alarm. "Never was there such a scene of confusion. Sighs, complaints,
wringing of hands—one running here, another there, spreading the
dreadful tidings; and in a little time the negroes in the field came
running up to the house with a hundred stories. Table, tea-cups—all
the breakfast apparatus, were immediately huddled together and borne off;
and we watched sharply to see which way the enemy (as we supposed them)
took. But, oh! horrible! in a minute or two we saw our avenue crowded with
horsemen in uniform. Said I, 'that looks like our uniform—blue and
red;' but I immediately recollected to have heard that the Hessian uniform
was much like ours; so out of the house we went, into an out-house." Their
excessive fright prevented the explanation attempted from being
understood. While the officer was endeavoring to re-assure the terrified
ladies, a negro woman came up, and tapping Mrs. Wilkinson on the shoulder,
whispered, "I don't like these men; one of them gave me this piece of
silver for some milk; and I know our people don't have so much silver
these times."</p>
<p>Their dismay and terror were groundless; for the horsemen were a party of
Americans, under the command of Major Moore. The one taken for a Hessian
was a French officer. The mistake had been mutual; the distress shown at
sight of them having caused the officer in command to conclude himself and
his men unwelcome visitors to some tory family. The discovery that they
were friends changed fear into delight. "They then laughed at me," says
Mrs. Wilkinson, "heartily for my fright—saying that they really
expected, by the time I had done wringing my hands, I would have no skin
left upon them; but now they knew the reason they no longer wondered."</p>
<p>Word was presently brought that a number of the enemy were carrying
provisions from a plantation about two miles distant. The whigs marched to
the place, and returned with seven prisoners. Two of these were of
M'Girth's party, who had treated the ladies so cruelly; yet
notwithstanding the injuries received, the kind heart of Mrs. Wilkinson
relented at the sight of them. She expressed pity for their distress,
calling them <i>friends</i>, because they were in the power of her
countrymen; and interceded for them with the captors. Enquiring if they
would like any thing to drink, she supplied them with the water they
craved, holding the glass to their lips, as their hands were tied behind
them. Several of the American officers, who had gathered at the door and
window, were smiling at the unusual scene. "In the meanwhile," she writes,
"Miss Samuells was very busy about a wounded officer, (one of M'Girth's,)
who had been brought to the house. He had a ball through his arm; we could
find no rag to dress his wounds, everything in the house being thrown into
such confusion by the plunderers; but (see the native tenderness of an
American!) Miss Samuells took from her neck the only remaining
handkerchief the Britons had left her, and with it bound up his arm."</p>
<p>Their friends having left them, Mr. Yonge sent for his daughter to his own
plantation. The ladies were obliged to walk three miles, the horses having
been taken away; but umbrellas were sent for them, and they were attended
by two of Mr. Yonge's negro men armed with clubs. While crossing a place
called the Sands, the blacks captured and wounded a negro belonging to the
loyalists, who came out of the woods. Mrs. Wilkinson interfered to save
his life; and to insure the safety of the poor creature who claimed her
protection, and who was dragged on rapidly by his captors—they
fearing pursuit—was obliged to walk very fast, leaving the others
behind, till she was ready to faint from fatigue and the overpowering
heat. They arrived safe at her father's, whence they were driven ere long
by another alarm. This time their flight was in darkness, through bogs and
woods, stumbling against the stumps or each other. In their new abode they
had more security. Parties of friends were out continually, keeping the
enemy quiet; and sometimes in the night soldiers would ride up, and bid
the negroes tell the ladies they might sleep soundly, for they were to
maintain a patrol during the night.</p>
<p>At length the arrival of General Lincoln was announced; and he was
joyfully welcomed by the inmates of the house. That night two or three
hundred men were quartered on the plantation—some of the officers
sleeping in the hall. They refused to have beds made. "Beds were not for
soldiers; the floor or the earth served them as well as anywhere else." At
daybreak they moved to camp. Another alarm occurred, and General Lincoln's
defeat near Stono Ferry, caused the retreat of the family to Willtown. Our
writer's pen had thence to record only new aggressions and sufferings.</p>
<p>The siege and capitulation of Charleston brought the evils under which the
land had groaned, to their height. The hardships endured by those within
the beleaguered city—the gloomy resignation of hope—the
submission to inevitable misfortune, have been described by abler
chroniclers. The general feeling is expressed in a letter from a soldier
to his wife, written twelve days before the event:</p>
<p>"Our affairs are daily declining; and not a ray of hope remains to assure
us of our success.... I expect to have the liberty of soon returning to
you; but the army must be made prisoners of war. This will give a rude
shock to the independence of America; and a Lincolnade will be as common a
term as a Burgoynade.... A mortifying scene must be encountered; the
thirteen stripes will be levelled in the dust; and I owe my life to the
clemency of the conqueror."</p>
<p>After the surrender, Mrs. Wilkinson visited the city, went on board the
prison-ship, and drank coffee with the prisoners awaiting an exchange. She
saw the departure of her friends who were driven into exile, and indulged
herself occasionally in provoking her enemies by sarcastic sallies.
"Once," she writes, "I was asked by a British officer to play the guitar.</p>
<p>"'I cannot play; I am very dull.'</p>
<p>"'How long do you intend to continue so, Mrs. Wilkinson?'</p>
<p>"'Until my countrymen return, sir!'</p>
<p>"'Return as what, madam?—prisoners or subjects?'</p>
<p>"'As conquerors, sir!'</p>
<p>"He affected a laugh. 'You will never see that, madam!'</p>
<p>"'I live in hopes, sir, of seeing the thirteen stripes hoisted once more
on the bastions of this garrison.'</p>
<p>"'Do not hope so; but come, give us a tune on the guitar.'</p>
<p>"'I can play nothing but rebel songs.'</p>
<p>"'Well, let us have one of them.'</p>
<p>"'Not to-day—I cannot play—I will not play; besides, I suppose
I should be put into the Provost for such a heinous crime.'</p>
<p>"I have often wondered since, I was not packed off, too; for I was very
saucy, and never disguised my sentiments.</p>
<p>"One day," she continues, "Kitty and I were going to take a walk on the
Bay, to get something we wanted. Just as we had got our hats on, up ran
one of the Billets into the dining-room, where we were.</p>
<p>"'Your servant, ladies.'</p>
<p>"'Your servant, sir.'</p>
<p>"'Going out, ladies?'</p>
<p>"'Only to take a little walk.'</p>
<p>"He immediately turned about, and ran downstairs. I guessed for what....
He offered me his hand, or rather arm, to lean upon.</p>
<p>"'Excuse me, sir,' said I; 'I will support myself, if you please.'</p>
<p>"'No, madam, the pavements are very uneven; you may get a fall; do accept
my arm.'</p>
<p>"'Pardon me, I cannot."</p>
<p>"'Come, you do not know what your condescension may do. I will turn
rebel!'</p>
<p>"'Will you?' said I, laughingly—'Turn rebel first, and then offer
your arm.'</p>
<p>"We stopped in another store, where were several British officers. After
asking for the articles I wanted, I saw a broad roll of ribbon, which
appeared to be of black and white stripes.</p>
<p>"'Go,' said I to the officer who was with us, 'and reckon the stripes of
that ribbon; see if they are <i>thirteen!</i>' (with an emphasis I spoke
the word)—and he went, too!</p>
<p>"'Yes, they are thirteen, upon my word, madam.' "'Do hand it me.' He did
so; I took it, and found that it was a narrow black ribbon, carefully
wound round a broad white. I returned it to its place on the shelf.</p>
<p>"'Madam,' said the merchant, 'you can buy the black and white too, and
tack them in stripes.'"</p>
<p>"'By no means, sir; I would not have them <i>slightly tacked</i>, but <i>firmly
united</i>.' The above-mentioned officers sat on the counter kicking their
heels. How they gaped at me when I said this! But the merchant laughed
heartily."</p>
<p>Like many others, Mrs. Wilkinson refused to join in the amusements of the
city while in possession of the British; but gave her energies to the
relief of her friends. The women were the more active when military
efforts were suspended. Many and ingenious were the contrivances they
adopted, to carry supplies from the British garrison, which might be
useful to the gallant defenders of their country. Sometimes cloth for a
military coat, fashioned into an appendage to female attire, would be
borne away, unsuspected by the vigilant guards whose business it was to
prevent smuggling, and afterwards converted into regimental shape. Boots,
"a world too wide" for the delicate wearer, were often transferred to the
partisan who could not procure them for himself. A horseman's helmet has
been concealed under a well-arranged head-dress; and epaulettes delivered
from the folds of a matron's simple cap. Other articles in demand for
military use, more easily conveyed, were regularly brought away by some
stratagem or other. Feathers and cockades thus secured, and presented by
the fair ones as a trophy, had an inestimable value in the eyes of those
who received them; and useful apparel was worn with the greater
satisfaction, that it had not been conveyed without some risk on the
donor's part.</p>
<p>It was after the return of Mrs. Wilkinson to Yonge's Island, that news was
received of the glorious victory of Washington over Cornwallis. Her last
letter which is of any public interest, contains congratulations on this
event.</p>
<p>The old family mansion has been removed from the island. But the
burial-ground is still held sacred; and the memory of Eliza Wilkinson is
cherished in the hearts of her kindred.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XVIII. MARTHA BRATTON. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he memory of Mrs.
Martha Bratton.—In the hands of an infuriated monster, with the
instrument of death around her neck, she nobly refused to betray her
husband; in the hour of victory she remembered mercy, and as a guardian
angel, interposed in behalf of her inhuman enemies. Throughout the
Revolution she encouraged the whigs to fight on to the last; to hope on to
the end. Honor and gratitude to the woman and heroine, who proved herself
so faithful a wife—so firm a friend to liberty!"</p>
<p>The above toast was drunk at a celebration of Huck's defeat, given at
Brattonsville, York District, South Carolina, on the twelfth of July,
1839. The ground of the battle that had taken place fifty-nine years
before, was within a few hundred yards of Dr. Bratton's residence,
inherited from his father, one of the heroes of that day. He celebrated
the anniversary of this triumph of the whigs. The cool spring of the
battle-field, it is said, furnished the only beverage used on the
occasion.</p>
<p>The victory gained at this spot had the most important effect on the
destinies of the State. It was the first check given to the British troops—the
first time after the fall of Charleston, that the hitherto victorious
enemy had been met. It brought confidence to the drooping spirits of the
patriots, and taught the invaders that freemen are not conquered while the
mind is free. The whigs, inspired with new life and buoyant hopes, began
to throng together; the British were again attacked and defeated; a band
of resolute and determined spirits took the field, and kept it till
victory perched upon their banners, and South Carolina became an
independent State.</p>
<p>The year 1780 was a dark period for the patriots of Carolina. Charleston
surrendered on the twelfth of May; and General Lincoln and the American
army became prisoners of war. This success was followed up by vigorous
movements. One expedition secured the important post of Ninety-Six;
another scoured the country bordering on the Savannah; and Lord Cornwallis
passed the Santee and took Georgetown. Armed garrisons were posted
throughout the State, which lay at the mercy of the conqueror, to overawe
the inhabitants, and secure a return to their allegiance. For several
weeks all military opposition ceased; and it was the boast of Sir Henry
Clinton, that here, at least, the American Revolution was ended. A
proclamation was issued, denouncing vengeance on all who should dare
appear in arms, save under the royal authority, and offering pardon, with
a few exceptions, to those who would acknowledge it, and accept British
protection. The great body of the people, believing resistance unavailing
and hopeless, took the offered protection, while those who refused
absolute submission were exiled or imprisoned. But the fact is recorded
that the inhabitants of York District never gave their paroles, nor
accepted protection as British subjects; preferring resistance and exile
to subjection and inglorious peace. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* This fact is dwelt upon in the oration delivered on the occasion by
Colonel Beatty. Dr. Joseph Johnson of Charleston, to whom I am indebted
for some of the particulars in Mrs. Bratton's history, thinks it due to
the circumstance that a large proportion of the settlers in that part of
the State were of Irish origin, and derived their distrust of British
faith from traditions of violated rights, contrary to the stipulations of
the treaty of Limerick.</p>
<p>A few individuals, who were excepted from the benefits of the
proclamation, with others in whose breasts the love of liberty was
unconquerable, sought refuge in North Carolina. They were followed by the
whigs of York, Chester and some other districts bordering on that State,
who fled from the British troops as they marched into the upper country to
compel the entire submission of the conquered province. These patriot
exiles soon organized themselves in companies, and under their gallant
leaders, Sumter, Bratton, Wynn, Moffit and others, began to collect on the
frontier, and to harass the victorious enemy by sudden and desultory
attacks. At the time when this noble daring was displayed, the State was
unable to feed or clothe or arm the soldiers. They depended on their own
exertions for every thing necessary to carry on the warfare. They
tabernacled in the woods and swamps, with wolves and other beasts of the
forests; and frequently wanted for both food and clothing.</p>
<p>To crush this bold and determined spirit, British officers and troops were
despatched, in marauding parties, to every nook and corner of South
Carolina, authorized to punish every whig with the utmost rigor, and to
call upon the loyalists to aid in the work of carnage. A body of these
marauders, assembled at Mobley's Meeting-house in Fairfield district, were
attacked and defeated in June by a party of whigs under the command of
Colonel Bratton, Major Wynn, and Captain M'Clure. The report of this
disaster being conveyed to Rocky Mount in Chester District, Colonel
Turnbull, the commander of a strong detachment of British troops at that
point, determined on summary vengeance, and for that purpose sent Captain
Huck, at the head of four hundred cavalry, and a considerable body of
tories, all well mounted, with the following order:</p>
<p>"To Captain Huyck—</p>
<p>"You are hereby ordered, with the cavalry under your command, to proceed
to the frontier of the province, collecting all the royal militia with you
on your march, and with said force to push the rebels as far as you may
deem convenient." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* The order was found in Huck's pocket after death, and is still preserved
by one of his conquerors. His name is spelt as above in the manuscript.</p>
<p>It was at this time that the heroism of the wife of Colonel Bratton was so
nobly displayed. The evening preceding the battle, Huck arrived at Colonel
Bratton's house. He entered rudely, and demanded where her husband was.</p>
<p>"He is in Sumter's army," was the undaunted reply.</p>
<p>The officer then essayed persuasion, and proposed to Mrs. Bratton to
induce her husband to come in and join the royalists, promising that he
should have a commission in the royal service. It may well be believed
that arguments were used, which must have had a show of reason at the
time, when the people generally had given up all hopes and notions of
independence. But Mrs. Bratton answered with heroic firmness, that she
would rather see him remain true to his duty to his country, even if he
perished in Sumter's army.</p>
<p>The son of Mrs. Bratton, Dr. John S. Bratton, who was then a child,
remembers that Huck was caressing him on his knee while speaking to his
mother. On receiving her answer, he pushed the boy off so suddenly, that
his face was bruised by the fall. At the same time, one of Huck's
soldiers, infuriated at her boldness, and animated by the spirit of deadly
animosity towards the whigs which then raged in its greatest violence,
seized a reaping-hook that hung near them in the piazza, and brought it to
her throat, with intention to kill her. Still she refused to give
information that might endanger her husband's safety. There is no mention
made of any interference on the part of Captain Huck to save her from the
hands of his murderous ruffian. But the officer second in command
interposed, and compelled the soldier to release her. They took prisoners
three old men, whom, with another they had captured during the day, they
confined in a corncrib.</p>
<p>Huck then ordered Mrs. Bratton to have supper prepared for him and his
troopers. It may be conceived with what feelings she saw her house
occupied by the enemies of her husband and her country, and found herself
compelled to minister to their wants. What wild and gloomy thoughts had
possession of her soul, is evident from the desperate idea that occurred
to her of playing a Roman's part, and mingling poison, which she had in
the house, with the food they were to eat; thus delivering her neighbors
from the impending danger. But her noble nature shrank from such an
expedient, even to punish the invaders of her home. She well knew, too,
the brave spirit that animated her husband and his comrades. They might
even now be dogging the footsteps of the enemy; they might be watching the
opportunity for an attack. They might come to the house also. She would
not have them owe to a cowardly stratagem the victory they should win in
the field of battle. Having prepared the repast, she retired with her
children to an upper apartment.</p>
<p>After they had supped, Huck and his officers went to another house about
half a mile off, owned by James Williamson, to pass the night. His troops
lay encamped around it. A fenced road passed the door, and sentinels were
posted along the road. The soldiers slept in fancied security, and the
guard kept negligent watch; they dreamed not of the scene that awaited
them; they knew not that defeat and death were impending. Colonel Bratton,
with a party chiefly composed of his neighbors, had that day left
Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, under the conviction that the
royalists would shortly send forces into the neighborhood of their homes,
to revenge the defeat of the tories at Mobley's Meeting-house. With a
force of only seventy-five men—for about fifty had dropped off on
the way—Colonel Bratton and Captain M'Clure, having received
intelligence of the position and numbers of the enemy, marched to within a
short distance of their encampment. The whigs arrived at night, and after
concealing their horses in a swamp, Bratton himself reconnoitered the
encampment, advancing within the line of sentinels. The party of Americans
divided to enclose the enemy; one-half coming up the lane, the other being
sent round to take the opposite direction. Huck and his officers were
still sleeping when the attack commenced, and were aroused by the roar of
the American guns. Huck made all speed to mount his horse, and several
times rallied his men; but his efforts were unavailing: the spirit and
determined bravery of the patriots carried all before them. The rout was
complete. As soon as Huck and another officer fell, his men threw down
their arms and fled. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* It is said that Huck was shot by John Carrol, who, as well as his
brother Thomas, was a brave and daring soldier, his valor being always of
the most impetuous kind. A brief, but characteristic description of him
has been given by another Revolutionary hero: "He was a whig from the
first—he was a whig to the last; he didn't believe in the tories,
and he made the tories believe in him."</p>
<p>Some were killed, or mortally wounded; some perished in the woods; the
rest escaped, or were made prisoners. In the pursuit the conflict raged
around Bratton's house; and Mrs. Bratton and her children, anxious to look
out, were in some danger from the shots. She made her little son, much
against his will, sit within the chimney. While he was there, a ball
struck against the opposite jam, and was taken up by him as a trophy. The
battle lasted about an hour; it was bloody, though brief; and it is stated
that the waters of the spring, which now gush forth so bright and
transparent, on that memorable spot, were then crimsoned with the tide of
human life. About daylight, when the firing had ceased, Mrs. Bratton
ventured out, anxious, and fearful of finding her nearest and dearest
relatives among the dead and wounded lying around her dwelling. But none
of her loved ones had fallen. Her house was opened alike to the wounded on
both sides; and she humanely attended the sufferers in person, affording
them, indiscriminately, every relief and comfort in her power to bestow;
feeding and nursing them, and supplying their wants with the kindest and
most assiduous attention. Thus her lofty spirit was displayed no less by
her humanity to the vanquished, than by her courage and resolution in the
hour of danger. After the death of Huck in battle, the officer next in
command became the leader of the troops. He was among the prisoners who
surrendered to the whigs, and they were determined to put him to death. He
entreated as a last favor, to be conducted to the presence of Mrs.
Bratton. She instantly recognized him as the officer who had interfered in
her behalf and saved her life. Gratitude, as well as the mercy natural to
woman's heart, prompted her now to intercede for him. She pleaded with an
eloquence which, considering the share she had borne in the common
distress and danger, could not be withstood. Her petition was granted; she
procured his deliverance from the death that awaited him, and kindly
entertained him till he was exchanged. There is hardly a situation in
romance or dramatic fiction, which can surpass the interest and pathos of
this simple incident.</p>
<p>The evening before the battle, Huck and his troops had stopped on their
way at the house of Mrs. Adair, on South Fishing Creek, at the place where
the road from Yorkville to Chester courthouse now crosses that stream.
They helped themselves to every thing eatable on the premises, and one
Captain Anderson laid a strict injunction on the old lady, to bring her
sons under the royal banner. After the battle had been fought, Mrs. Adair
and her husband were sent for by their sons and Colonel Edward Lacy, whom
they had brought up, for the purpose of sending them into North Carolina
for safety. When Mrs. Adair reached the battle-ground, she dismounted from
her horse, and passed round among her friends. Presently she came with her
sons to a tent where several wounded men were lying—Anderson among
them. She said to him, "Well, Captain, you ordered me last night to bring
in my rebel sons. Here are two of them; and if the third had been within a
day's ride, he would have been here also." The chagrined officer replied,
"Yes, madam, I have seen them." Mrs. Adair was the mother of the late
Governor John Adair of Kentucky.</p>
<p>Instances of the noble daring of the women of that day, thus thrown "into
the circle of mishap," and compelled to witness so many horrors, and share
so many dangers, were doubtless of almost hourly occurrence. But of the
individuals whose faithful memory retained the impression of those scenes,
how few survive throughout the land! Enquiries made on this subject are
continually met by expressions of regret that some relative who has within
a few years descended to the grave, was not alive to describe events of
those trying times. "If you could only have heard ————,
or ————, talk of Revolutionary scenes, volumes
might have been filled with the anecdotes they remembered!" is the
oft-repeated exclamation, which causes regret that the tribute due has
been so long withheld from the memory of those heroines.</p>
<p>The defeat of Huck had the immediate effect of bringing the whigs
together; and in a few days a large accession of troops joined the army of
Sumter. The attack on the British at Rocky Mount was shortly followed by a
complete victory over them at Hanging Rock.</p>
<p>Another anecdote is related of Mrs. Bratton. Before the fall of
Charleston, when effectual resistance throughout the State was in a great
measure rendered impossible by the want of ammunition, Governor Rutledge
had sent a supply to all the regiments, to enable them to harass the
invading army.</p>
<p>Many of these supplies were secured by the patriots in the back country,
by secreting them in hollow trees and the like hiding-places; others fell
into the hands of the enemy or were destroyed. The portion given to
Colonel Bratton was in his occasional absence from home confided to the
care of his wife. Some loyalists who heard of this, informed the British
officer in command of the nearest station, and a detachment was
immediately sent forward to secure the valuable prize. Mrs. Bratton was
informed of their near approach, and was aware that there could be no
chance of saving her charge. She resolved that the enemy should not have
the benefit of it. She therefore immediately laid a train of powder from
the depot to the spot where she stood, and, when the detachment came in
sight, set fire to the train, and blew it up. The explosion that greeted
the ears of the foe, informed them that the object of their expedition was
frustrated. The officer in command, irritated to fury, demanded who had
dared to perpetrate such an act, and threatened instant and severe
vengeance upon the culprit. The intrepid woman to whom he owed his
disappointment answered for herself. "It was I who did it," she replied.
"Let the consequence be what it will, I glory in having prevented the
mischief contemplated by the cruel enemies of my country."</p>
<p>Mrs. Bratton was a native of Rowan County, North Carolina, where she
married William Bratton, a Pennsylvanian of Irish parentage, who resided
in York District in the State of South Carolina. The grant of his land,
which is still held by his descendants, was taken out under George the
Third. In the troubled times that preceded the commencement of
hostilities, the decision of character exhibited by Mr. and Mrs. Bratton,
and their exemplary deportment, gave them great influence among the
neighbors. Colonel Bratton continued in active service during the war, and
was prominent in the battles of Rocky Mount, Hanging Rock, Guilford, etc.,
and in most of the skirmishes incident to the partisan warfare under
General Sumter. During his lengthened absences from home, he was seldom
able to see or communicate with his family. A soldier's perils add lustre
to his deeds; but the heart of the deeply anxious wife must have throbbed
painfully when she heard of them. She, however, never complained, though
herself a sufferer from the ravages of war; but devoted herself to the
care of her family, striving at the same time to aid and encourage her
neighbors. On the return of peace, her husband resumed the cultivation of
his farm. Grateful for the preservation of their lives and property, they
continued industriously occupied in agricultural pursuits to a ripe old
age, enjoying to the full</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p class="indent15">
"That which should accompany old age,</p>
<p class="indent15">
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends."</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p>Colonel Bratton died at his residence two miles south of Yorkville, now
the seat of Mrs. Harriet Bratton; and his wife, having survived him less
than a year, died at the same place in January, 1816. They were buried by
the side of each other.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XIX. JANE THOMAS. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he state of
popular feeling after the occupation of Charleston by the British, and
during the efforts made to establish an undisputed control over the State,
might be in some measure illustrated by the life of Mrs. Thomas, were
there materials for a full narrative of incidents in which she and her
neighbors bore an active or passive part. It is in wild and stirring times
that such spirits are nurtured, and arise in their strength. She was
another of the patriotic females in whose breast glowed such ardent
patriotism, that no personal hazard could deter from service, wherever
service could be rendered. She was a native of Chester County,
Pennsylvania, and the sister of the Reverend John Black, of Carlisle, the
first president of Dickinson College. She was married about 1740, to John
Thomas, supposed to be a native of Wales, who had been brought up in the
same county. Some ten or fifteen years after his marriage, Mr. Thomas
removed to South Carolina. His residence for some time was upon Fishing
Creek in Chester District. About the year 1762, he removed to what is now
called Spartanburg District, and settled upon Fairforest Creek, a few
miles above the spot where the line dividing that district from Union
crosses the stream. Mrs. Thomas was much beloved and respected in that
neighborhood. She was one of the first members of the Presbyterian
congregation organized about that time, and known as Fairforest church, of
which she continued a zealous and efficient member as long as she resided
within its bounds.</p>
<p>For many years previous to the commencement of the Revolutionary war, Mr.
Thomas was a magistrate and a captain of militia. Before hostilities
began, he resigned both these commissions. When Colonel Fletcher refused
to accept a commission under the authority of the province of South
Carolina, an election was held, and John Thomas was chosen Colonel of the
Spartan regiment. The proximity of this regiment to the frontier imposed a
large share of active service on the soldiers belonging to it, and
devolved great responsibilities upon its commander. Colonel Thomas led out
his quota of men to repel the Indians in 1776, and shared the privations
and dangers connected with the expedition under General Williamson into
the heart of the Indian territory, in the autumn of that year. When that
campaign terminated, and the Indians sued for peace, the protection of a
long line of the frontier was intrusted to him. With diligence, fidelity
and zeal did he perform this duty; and retained his command till after the
fall of Charleston.</p>
<p>As soon as the news of the surrender of that city reached the borders of
the State, measures were concerted by Colonels Thomas, Brandon and Lysles,
for the concentration of their forces with a view to protect the country.
Their schemes were frustrated by the devices of Colonel Fletcher, who
still remained in the neighborhood. Having discovered their intentions, he
gave notice to some British troops recently marched into the vicinity, and
to a body of tory cavalry thirty miles distant. These were brought
together, and surprised the force collected by Brandon at the point
designated, before the others had time to arrive. Within a short time
after this event, almost every whig between the Broad and Saluda rivers
was compelled to abandon the country or accept British protection. Numbers
of them fled to North Carolina. Colonel Thomas, then advanced in life,
with some others in like defenceless circumstances, took protection. By
this course, they hoped to secure permission to remain unmolested with
their families; but in this supposition they were lamentably mistaken. It
was not long before Colonel Thomas was arrested, and sent to prison at
Ninety-Six. Thence he was conveyed to Charleston, where he remained in
durance till near the close of the war.</p>
<p>It was the policy of Cornwallis, whom Sir Henry Clinton, on his departure
to New York, had left in command of the royal army, to compel submission
by the severest measures. The bloody slaughter under Tarleton at Waxhaw
Creek, was an earnest of what those who ventured resistance might expect.
This course was pursued with unscrupulous cruelty, and the unfortunate
patriots were made to feel the vengeance of exasperated tyranny. He hoped
thus eventually to crush and extinguish the spirit still struggling and
flashing forth, like hidden fire, among the people whom the arm of power
had for a season brought under subjection. But the oppressor, though he
might overawe, could not subdue the spirit of a gallant and outraged
people. The murmur of suffering throughout the land rose ere long into a
mighty cry for deliverance. The royal standard became an object of
execration. And while brave leaders were at hand—while the fearless
and determined Sumter could draw about him the hardy sons of the upper and
middle country—while the patriotic Marion, ever fertile in resource,
could harass the foe from his impenetrable retreat in the recess of
forests and swamps; while the resolute and daring Pickens could bring his
bold associates to join in the noble determination to burst the chains
riveted on a prostrate land—and others of the same mould, familiar
with difficulties, accustomed to toil and danger, and devoted to the cause
of their suffering country, were ready for prompt and energetic action—hope
could be entertained that all was not yet lost. The outrages committed by
the profligate and abandoned, whose loyalty was the cover for deeds of
rapine and blood, served but to bind in closer union the patriots who
watched their opportunity for annoying the enemy, and opening a way for
successful resistance.</p>
<p>One of the congenial co-operators in these plans of the British commander,
was Colonel Ferguson. He encouraged the loyalists to take arms, and led
them to desolate the homes of their neighbors. About the last of June he
came into that part of the country where the family of Colonel Thomas
lived, and caused great distress by the pillage and devastation of the
bands of tories who hung around his camp. The whigs were robbed of their
negroes, horses, cattle, clothing, bedding and every article of property
of sufficient value to take away. These depredations were frequent, the
expeditions for plunder being sometimes weekly; and were continued as long
as the tories could venture to show their faces. In this state of things,
while whole families suffered, female courage and fortitude were called
into active exercise; and Mrs. Thomas showed herself a bright example of
boldness, spirit and determination.</p>
<p>While her husband was a prisoner at Ninety-Six, she paid a visit to him
and her two sons, who were his companions in rigorous captivity. By chance
she overheard a conversation between some tory women, the purport of which
deeply interested her. One said to the others: "To-morrow night the
loyalists intend to surprise the rebels at Cedar Spring."</p>
<p>The heart of Mrs. Thomas was thrilled with alarm at this intelligence. The
Cedar Spring was within a few miles of her house; the whigs were posted
there, and among them were some of her own children.</p>
<p>Her resolution was taken at once; for there was no time to be lost. She
determined to apprise them of the enemy's intention, before the blow could
be struck. Bidding a hasty adieu to her husband and sons, she was upon the
road as quickly as possible; rode the intervening distance of nearly sixty
miles the next day, and arrived in time to bring information to her sons
and friends of the impending danger. The moment they knew what was to be
expected, a brief consultation was held; and measures were immediately
taken for defence. The soldiers withdrew a short distance from their
camp-fires, which were prepared to burn as brightly as possible. The men
selected suitable positions in the surrounding woods.</p>
<p>Their preparations were just completed, when they heard in the distance,
amid the silence of night, the cautious advance of the foe. The scene was
one which imagination, far better than the pen of the chronicler, can
depict. Slowly and warily, and with tread as noiseless as possible, the
enemy advanced; till they were already within the glare of the blazing
fires, and safely, as it seemed, on the verge of their anticipated work of
destruction. No sound betrayed alarm; they supposed the intended victims
wrapped in heavy slumbers; they heard but the crackling of the flames, and
the hoarse murmur of the wind as it swept through the pine trees. The
assailants gave the signal for the onset, and rushed towards the fires—eager
for indiscriminate slaughter. Suddenly the flashes and shrill reports of
rifles revealed the hidden champions of liberty. The enemy, to their
consternation, found themselves assailed in the rear by the party they had
expected to strike unawares. Thrown into confusion by this unexpected
reception, defeat, overwhelming defeat, was the consequence to the
loyalists. They were about one hundred and fifty strong, while the whigs
numbered only about sixty. The victory thus easily achieved they owed to
the spirit and courage of a woman! Such were the matrons of that day.</p>
<p>Not merely upon this occasion was Mrs. Thomas active in conveying
intelligence to her friends, and in arousing the spirit of Independence
among its advocates. She did, as well as suffered much, during the period
of devastation and lawless rapine. One instance of her firmness is well
remembered. Early in the war Governor Rutledge sent a quantity of arms and
ammunition to the house of Colonel Thomas, to be in readiness for any
emergency that might arise on the frontier. These munitions were under a
guard of twenty-five men; and the house was prepared to resist assault.
Colonel Thomas received information that a large party of tories, under
the command of Colonel More of North Carolina, was advancing to attack
him. He and his guard deemed it inexpedient to risk an encounter with a
force so much superior to their own; and they therefore retired, carrying
off as much ammunition as possible. Josiah Culbertson, a son-in-law of
Colonel Thomas, who was with the little garrison would not go with the
others, but remained in the house. Besides him and a youth, the only
inmates were women. The tories advanced, and took up their station; but
the treasure was not to be yielded to their demand. Their call for
admittance was answered by an order to leave the premises; and their fire
was received without much injury by the logs of the house. The fire was
quickly returned from the upper story, and proved much more effectual than
that of the assailants. The old-fashioned "batten door," strongly
barricaded, resisted their efforts to demolish it. Meanwhile Culbertson
continued to fire, the guns being loaded as fast as he discharged them, by
the ready hands of Mrs. Thomas and her daughters, aided by her son
William; and this spirited resistance soon convinced the enemy that
further effort was useless. Believing that many men were concealed in the
house, and apprehending a sally, their retreat was made as rapidly as
their wounds would permit. After waiting a prudent time, and
reconnoitering as well as she could from her position above, Mrs. Thomas
descended the stairs, and opened the doors. When her husband made his
appearance, and knew how gallantly the plunderers had been repulsed, his
joy was only equalled by admiration of his wife's heroism. The powder thus
preserved constituted the principal supply for Sumter's army in the
battles at Rocky Mount and Hanging Rock.</p>
<p>Mrs. Thomas was the mother of nine children; and her sons and sons-in-law
were active in the American service. John, the eldest son, rose during the
war from the rank of captain till he succeeded his father in the command
of the Spartan regiment. This he commanded at the battle of the Cowpens,
and elsewhere. He was with Sumter in several of his most important
engagements. Robert, another son, was killed in Roebuck's defeat. Abram,
who was wounded at Ninety-Six and taken prisoner, died in the enemy's
hands. William, the youth who had assisted in defending his home on the
occasion mentioned, took part in other actions. Thus Mrs. Thomas was
liable to some share of the enmity exhibited by the royalists towards
another matron, against whom the charge, "She has seven sons in the rebel
army," was an excuse for depredations on her property. If she had but four
sons, she had sons-in-law who were likewise brave and zealous in the
cause. Martha, one of the daughters, married Josiah Culbertson, who was
the most effective scout in the country. He fought the Indians
singlehanded and in the army; was in nearly every important battle; and
killed a number of celebrated tories in casual encounter. He seems to have
been a special favorite with Colonel Isaac Shelby, in whose regiment he
served in the battle at Mus-grove's Mill, King's Mountain, and elsewhere.
To this officer his daring spirit and deadly aim with the rifle,
especially commended him; and he was employed by Shelby in the execution
of some important trusts. He received a captain's commission towards the
close of the war.</p>
<p>Ann was the wife of Joseph McJunkin, who entered the service of his
country as a private, at the age of twenty, and rose to the rank of major
before the close of 1780. He was in most of the battles before March,
1781, and contributed much to the success of those fought at Hanging Rock,
Musgrove's Mill, Blackstock's Fort, and the Cowpens. This brave and
faithful officer died in 1840. A sketch of his life, by the Rev. James H.
Saye, of South Carolina, is in preparation, and has in part been
published.</p>
<p>Jane, the third daughter, married Captain Joseph McCool; and Letitia was
the wife of Major James Lusk. Both these were brave and efficient
patriots; but the scenes of their exploits, and the success that attended
them, are now remembered but in tradition. Of how many who deserve the
tribute of their country's gratitude, is history silent! Every member of
this family, it will thus be seen, had a personal interest in the cause of
the country.</p>
<p>Not only was Mrs. Thomas distinguished for her indomitable perseverance
where principle and right were concerned, and for her ardent spirit of
patriotism, but for eminent piety, discretion, and industry. Her daughters
exhibited the same loveliness of character, with the uncommon beauty of
person which they inherited from her. All accounts represent Mrs.
Culbertson as a woman of great beauty; and her sister Ann is said to have
been little inferior to her in personal appearance. Mrs. Thomas herself
was rather below the ordinary stature, with black eyes and hair, rounded
and pleasing features, fair complexion, and countenance sprightly and
expressive.</p>
<p>Soon after the close of the war, Colonel Thomas removed into Greenville
district, where he and his wife resided till their death. But few of their
descendants remain in the section of country where their parents lived,
being scattered over the regions of the far West. To the gentleman already
mentioned as the biographer of Mcjunkin, I am indebted for all these
details, ascertained from authentic papers in his possession.</p>
<p>A few anecdotes of other women in the region where Mrs. Thomas lived
during the war, are of interest as showing the state of the times.
Isabella Sims, the wife of Captain Charles Sims, resided on Tyger River,
six or seven miles below the scene of Brandon's defeat, above mentioned,
on Fairforest Creek. When she heard of that disaster, she went up and
devoted herself for several days to nursing the wounded soldiers. Daniel
Mcjunkin shared her maternal care, and recovered to render substantial
service afterwards.</p>
<p>On another occasion, having heard the noise of battle during the afternoon
and night, she went up early in the morning to Leighton's. A scout
consisting of eight whigs had been surrounded by a very large body of
tories. Some of the scouts made their escape by charging through the line;
four defended themselves in the house till after dark, when they
surrendered. Mrs. Sims, on her arrival, found that John Jolly, a whig
officer who belonged to the vicinity, had been shot in attempting to
escape. She sent for his wife, and made the necessary arrangements for his
decent burial. Sarah, his widow, was left with five children; and for a
time had great difficulty in procuring a subsistence. Her house was
visited almost weekly by plundering parties, and robbed of food and
clothing. At one time one of the robbers remained after the others had
gone; and to an order to depart returned a refusal, with abusive and
profane language. The exasperated mother seized a stick, with which she
broke his arm, and drove him from the premises.</p>
<p>Not long after the death of Jolly, the famous Cunningham, a tory colonel
who acted a prominent part in the partisan warfare of Laurens, Newberry,
and Edgefield districts, came with a squadron of cavalry to the house of
Captain Sims, who was gone for safety to North Carolina. Calling Mrs. Sims
to the door, Cunningham ordered her to quit the place in three days;
saying if he found the family there on his return, he would shut them in
the house and burn it over them. Mrs. Sims fled with her family across the
country to the house of a friendly old man; and remained there till her
husband came and took them to York District, and thence to Virginia.</p>
<p>The wife of Major Samuel Otterson, a distinguished patriot, who lived also
on Tyger River, chanced to know the place where a barrel of powder was
concealed in the woods close at hand. She received intelligence one night
that a party of tories would come for the treasure the next morning.
Resolved that it should not fall into their hands, she prepared a train
immediately, and blew up the powder. In the morning came the enemy, and on
their demand for it, were told by Mrs. Otterson what she had done. They
refused to believe her, but cut off her dress at the waist, and drove her
before them to show the place of deposit. The evidence of its fate was
conclusive, when they reached the spot.</p>
<p>Other instances of female intrepidity are rife in popular memory. Miss
Nancy Jackson, who lived in the Irish settlement near Fairforest Creek,
kicked a tory down the steps as he was descending loaded with plunder. In
a great rage he threatened to send the Hessian troops there next day;
which obliged her to take refuge with an acquaintance several miles
distant. On one occasion the house of Samuel Mc-Junkin, a stout patriot,
but too old for the battlefield, was visited by a party under the noted
Colonel Patrick Moore. They stayed all night; and when about to depart,
stripped the house of bed-clothes and wearing apparel. The last article
taken was a bed-quilt, which one Bill Haynesworth placed upon his horse.
Jane, Mr. Mcjunkin's daughter, seized it, and a struggle ensued. The
soldiers amused themselves by exclaiming, "Well done, woman!"—"Well
done, Bill!" For once the colonel's feelings of gallantry predominated;
and he swore if Jane could take the quilt from the man, she should have
it. Presently in the contest, Bill's feet slipped from under him, and he
lay panting on the ground. Jane placed one foot upon his breast and
wrested the quilt from his grasp.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XX. DORCAS RICHARDSON. </h2>
<p>* For the details of this sketch I am indebted to the kindness of Dr.
Joseph Johnson, of Charleston, who has collected and preserved many
interesting anecdotes of the war in South Carolina.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ruitful in noble
spirits were those wild and gloomy times; and woman's high truth and
heroic devotion poured a solemn radiance over the dreary and appalling
scene of civil war. No pen has recorded the instances innumerable in which
her virtues shone conspicuous; they are forgotten by those who enjoy the
benefits thus secured; or but a vague recollection remains—or an
example is here and there remembered in family tradition. Even to these
examples what meagre justice can be done by the few scattered and
desultory anecdotes which must take the place of a complete history!</p>
<p>Living in the midst of the storm and struggle, and bearing more than her
own share of the terrible trials which fell to woman's lot, Mrs.
Richardson afforded an example of modest heroism, and of humble, cheerful
faith. Her residence was in Clarendon, Sumter District. She was the
daughter of Captain John Nelson, a native of Ireland, who married Miss
Brownson, of South Carolina. The ferry over the Santee River, established
and kept for several years by them, is still called Nelson's Ferry; and
many of their descendants continue to live on both sides of the river. It
is said that Lord Cornwallis, on his march into the interior, after the
fall of Charleston, established his head-quarters at this ferry, at the
house of the widow Nelson. She received from him an assurance that her
property should be protected. When a large quantity of plate which she had
buried for security was discovered and claimed as a prize by the captors,
she reminded his lordship of his promise; but he refused to order the
restoration of the plate, saying that the protection he had pledged
extended only to things above ground!</p>
<p>Dorcas was married at the age of twenty, in 1761, and removed to her
husband's plantation, situated about twenty miles further up the river, on
the east side, near the junction of the Congaree and Wateree. In this home
of peace, contentment and abundance, she enjoyed all the comforts of southern
country life among the prosperous class, till the outburst of that storm
in which the fortunes and happiness of so many patriots were wrecked.</p>
<p>At the commencement of the war Richard Richardson was captain of a company
of militia in the brigade of his father General Richardson; and with him
embraced the quarrel of the Colonies, in defence of their chartered
rights. Both were zealous, firm, and influential officers. The captain was
frequently called out with his company by order of the new government; and
his first expedition was against the loyalists in the upper districts,
incited by the royal governor, Lord William Campbell. General Richardson
commanded, and was aided by Colonel William Thompson which his regiment of
regulars called the Rangers. The enemy was dispersed, most of their
leaders captured, and the arms and ammunition they had seized recovered.
Captain Richardson was appointed with his mounted men to guard the
prisoners to Charleston. This occurrence took place at the close of 1775;
and the winter having set in earlier than usual with uncommon severity,
the young soldiers suffering much from the cold, sleet, and snow, it was
called the Snow Campaign.</p>
<p>When the three regiments of regulars were raised and officered in 1775,
Captain Richardson and his father were retained in the militia on account
of their great popularity and influence; Edward, a younger brother, being
appointed captain of the Rangers under Colonel Thompson. A second regiment
of riflemen, however, was raised in March of the following year; and
Richard Richardson was appointed captain under Colonel Thomas Sumter. From
this time, during the six succeeding years, he was able to be very little
at home with his family.</p>
<p>At the surrender of Charleston he was taken prisoner with his father and
brother. In violation of the terms of capitulation, Richard was sent to a
military station on John's Island, where he nearly fell a victim to the
small-pox. The British having failed to observe the conditions on which he
had surrendered, as soon as he recovered sufficiently to move about, he
made his escape; and being disguised by the effects of the disease,
returned to the neighborhood of his home, where he concealed himself in
the Santee Swamp. This extensive swampland borders the river for many
miles, presenting to the view a vast plain of dense woods which seem
absolutely impervious. The recesses of those dark thickets, where the
trees grow close together, and are interlaced by a luxuriant growth of
giant creepers, often afforded hiding-places for the hunted Americans. At
this time the British troops had overrun the State; and Colonel Tarleton
had made the house of Captain Richardson, with some others, a station for
his regiment of cavalry. They lived luxuriously on the abundance of his
richly-stocked and well-cultivated plantation; while Mrs. Richardson and
her children, it is said, were restricted to a single apartment, and
allowed but a scanty share of the provisions furnished from her own
stores. Here was an occasion for the exercise of self-denial, that the
wants of one dear to her might be supplied. Every day she sent food from
her small allowance to her husband in the swamp, by an old and faithful
negro, in whose care and discretion she could implicitly trust. She had
expected the seizure of her horses and cattle by the British, and had sent
Richardson's favorite riding-horse into the swamp for concealment, with a
few cattle which she wished to save for future need. Every thing that fell
into the enemy's hands was consumed. The horse was shut up in a covered
pen in the woods, which had once been used for holding corn; and he thence
received the name of Corncrib. He was subsequently killed in the battle of
Eutaw.</p>
<p>Mrs. Richardson not only sent provisions to her husband in his place of
shelter, but sometimes ventured to visit him, taking with her their little
daughter. These stolen meetings were full of consolation to the fugitive
soldier. The spot he had chosen for his retreat was a small knoll or
elevation in the heart of the swamp, called "John's Island," by way of
distinction from another in the neighborhood, occupied by other whigs,
which bore the name of "Beech Island." On this many of their initials may
still be seen, carved on the bark of the trees.</p>
<p>It was not long before the British had information of Richardson's escape.
They naturally concluded that he was somewhere in the vicinity of his
family and relatives. A diligent search was instituted; scouts were sent
in every direction, and they watched to surprise him, or find some clue to
his retreat. In secret and publicly rewards were offered for his
apprehension; but without success. One day an officer, caressing the
little girl, asked when she had seen her papa; the mother grew pale, but
dared not speak, for a short time only had elapsed since the child had
been taken on a visit to her father. The thoughtless prattler answered
promptly, that she had seen him only a few days before. "And where?" asked
the officer, eager to extract information from innocent lips that might
betray the patriot. The child replied without hesitation, "On John's
Island." The officer knew of no place so called except the large sea
island from which Richardson had escaped. After a moment's reflection, he
came to the conclusion that the child had been dreaming, relieved the
mother's throbbing heart by saying, "Pshaw, that was a long time ago!" It
may well be believed that the little telltale was not trusted with another
visit to the spot.</p>
<p>Not unfrequently did the officers, in the most unfeeling manner, boast in
the presence of the wife, of what they would do to her husband when they
should capture him. Once only did she deign the reply, "I do not doubt
that men who can outrage the feelings of a woman by such threats, are
capable of perpetrating any act of treachery and inhumanity towards a
brave but unfortunate enemy. But conquer or capture my husband, if you can
do so, before you boast the cruelty you mean to mark your savage triumph!
And let me tell you, meanwhile, that some of you, it is likely, will be in
a condition to implore <i>his</i> mercy, before he will have need to
supplicate, or deign to accept yours." This prediction was literally
verified in more than one instance during the eventful remainder of the
war.</p>
<p>Tarleton himself was frequently present during these scenes, apparently a
pleased, though generally a silent spectator. He would remark at times, in
the way of self-vindication, "that he commiserated the trials, and
wondered at the endurance, of this heroic woman; but that his sanction of
such proceedings was necessary to the success of His Majesty's cause."
Weak cause, indeed, that was constrained to wring the cost of its
maintenance from the bleeding hearts of wives and mothers!</p>
<p>On one occasion some of the officers displayed in the sight of Mrs.
Richardson, their swords reeking with blood—probably that of her
cattle—and told her it was the blood of Captain Richardson, whom
they had killed. At another time they brought intelligence that he had
been taken and hanged. In this state of cruel suspense she sometimes
remained for several successive days, unable to learn the fate of her
husband, and not knowing whether to believe or distrust the horrible tales
brought to her ears.</p>
<p>One day, when the troops were absent on some expedition, Captain
Richardson ventured on a visit to his home. A happy hour was it to the
anxious wife and faithful domestics, when they could greet him once more
in his own mansion. But before he thought of returning to his refuge in
the forest, a patrolling party of the enemy appeared unexpectedly at the
gate. Mrs. Richardson's presence of mind and calm courage were in instant
requisition, and proved the salvation of the hunted patriot. Seeing the
British soldiers about to come in, she pretended to be intently busy about
something in the front door, and stood in the way, retarding their
entrance. The least appearance of agitation or fear—the least change
of color—might have betrayed all by exciting suspicion. But with a
self-control as rare as admirable, she hushed even the wild beating of her
heart, and continued to stand in the way, till her husband had time to
retire through the back door, into the swamp near at hand. The brave
captain was not idle in his seclusion; but collecting around him the whigs
of his acquaintance who remained firm in their devotion to their native
land, he trained them daily in cavalry exercise. When Tarleton ravaged the
plantation and burnt the dwelling of his deceased father, General
Richardson, he passed so near the ruins as to see the extent of the
desolation. General Marion happened at that time to be in a very critical
situation, and unaware of the great superiority of the enemy's force close
at hand. The gallant Richardson hastened to his aid; joined him, and
conducted the retreat of his army, which was immediately commenced and
successfully executed. The British were not long in discovering that the
captain had joined the forces of Marion; and their deportment to his wife
was at once changed. One and all professed a profound respect for her
brave and worthy husband, whose services they were desirous of securing.
They endeavored to obtain her influence to prevail on him to join the
royal army, by promises of pardon, wealth, and honorable promotion. The
high-spirited wife treated all such offers with the contempt they
deserved, and refused to be made instrumental to their purposes. They then
despatched his brother Edward, who was a prisoner on parole upon the
adjoining plantation, to be the bearer of their offers. By him Mrs.
Richardson also sent a message to her husband. It was to assure him that
she did not join in British solicitations; that she and her children were
well, and provided with abundance of everything necessary for their
comfort. Thus with heroic art did she conceal the privations and wants she
was suffering, lest her husband's solicitude for her and his family might
tempt him to waver from strict obedience to the dictates of honor and
patriotism.</p>
<p>Edward went as directed to the American camp, took his brother into
Marion's presence, and there faithfully delivered both messages with which
he had been charged. The specious offers from the enemy were of course
rejected, and the messenger, conceiving himself absolved from his parole
by the treatment he had received, remained with Marion till the
termination of hostilities in the State.</p>
<p>Several times after this did Richard place his life in peril to visit his
amiable family. Hearing that Tarleton's troop had been ordered away from
his plantation, he obtained permission to go thither for a short time. He
arrived in safety; but had been seen on his way by a loyalist. A party of
them was immediately assembled, and was soon to be seen drawn up in front
of his house. Corncrib, the faithful steed, was hitched outside the gate;
his master hastily came forth, leaped on him, and galloping up the avenue,
where the enemy were posted, passed through the midst of them without
receiving either a shot or a sabre wound. Just as he passed their ranks,
one of his well-known neighbors fired at him, but missed the aim. All this
took place in the sight of his terrified family, who often afterwards
described his danger and providential escape. His wife could only account
for this by conjecturing that the party had determined to take Richardson
alive, and thus claim the reward offered for his apprehension; and that
when in their midst, they could not shoot him without the risk of killing
some of their comrades. His daring gallantry entirely disconcerted them,
and saved his life.</p>
<p>Some time after this, he again asked the indulgence of a visit to his
family; but General Marion in granting it, mindful of the danger he had
before encountered, insisted that he should be accompanied by an escort.
The party had scarcely reached the house of Richardson, when, as before, a
large body of British and tories was seen advancing rapidly down the
avenue, eager to surprise their intended victims. To remount in all haste
their wearied steeds, and rush down the bank at the rear of the house
seeking concealment in the swamp, offered the only chance for escape. In
this they all succeeded, except a young man named Roberts, with whom Mrs.
Richardson was well acquainted, and who was taken prisoner. In vain did
she intercede for him with the British officers, and with streaming eyes
implore them to spare the life of the unfortunate youth. They hanged him
on a walnut tree only a few paces from her door, and compelled her to
witness the revolting spectacle! When she complained with tears of
anguish, of this cruelty to herself, and barbarity towards one who had
offended by risking his life in defence of her husband, they jeeringly
told her they "would soon have him also, and then she should see him kick
like that fellow." To such atrocities could the passions of brutalized men
lead them, even in an age and nation that boasted itself the most
enlightened on earth!</p>
<p>When peace returned to shed blessings over the land, Mrs. Richardson
continued to reside in the same house, with her family. Tarleton and his
troopers had wasted the plantation, and destroyed everything movable about
the dwelling; but the buildings had been spared, because they were
spacious, and afforded a convenient station for the British, about midway
between Camden and Fort Watson on Scott's Lake. Colonel Richardson, who
had been promoted for his meritorious service in the field, cheerfully
resumed the occupations of a planter. His circumstances were much reduced
by the chances of war; but a competence remained, which he and his wife
enjoyed in tranquillity and happiness, surrounded by affectionate
relatives and friendly neighbors. Of their ten children, four died young;
the rest married and reared families.</p>
<p>Mrs. Richardson survived her husband many years, and died at the advanced
age of ninety-three, in 1834. She was remarkable throughout life for the
calm judgment, fortitude, and strength of mind, which had sustained her in
the trials she suffered during the war, and protected her from injury or
insult when surrounded by a lawless soldiery. To these elevated qualities
she united unostentatious piety, and a disposition of uncommon serenity
and cheerfulness. Her energy and consolations, through the vicissitudes of
life, were derived from religion; it was her hope and triumph in the hour
of death.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<br/>
<h2> XXI. ELIZABETH, GRACE, AND RACHEL MARTIN, </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he daring exploit
of two women in Ninety-Six District, furnishes an instance of courage as
striking as any remembered among the traditions of South Carolina. During
the sieges of Augusta and Cambridge, the patriotic enthusiasm that
prevailed among the people prompted to numerous acts of personal risk and
sacrifice. This spirit, encouraged by the successes of Sumter and others
over the British arms, was earnestly fostered by General Greene, whose
directions marked at least the outline of every undertaking. In the
efforts made to strike a blow at the invader's power, the sons of the
Martin family were among the most distinguished for active service
rendered, and for injuries sustained at the enemy's hands. The wives of
the two eldest, during their absence, remained at home with their
mother-in-law. One evening intelligence came to them that a courier,
conveying important despatches to one of the upper stations, was to pass
that night along the road, guarded by two British officers. They
determined to waylay the party, and at the risk of their lives, to obtain
possession of the papers. For this purpose the two young women disguised
themselves in their husbands' clothes, and being well provided with arms,
took their station at a point on the road which they knew the escort must
pass. It was already late, and they had not waited long before the tramp
of horses was heard in the distance. It may be imagined with what anxious
expectation the heroines awaited the approach of the critical moment on
which so much depended. The forest solitude around them, the silence of
night, and the darkness, must have added to the terrors conjured up by
busy fancy. Presently the courier appeared, with his attendant guards. As
they came close to the spot, the disguised women leaped from their covert
in the bushes, presented their pistols at the officers, and demanded the
instant surrender of the party and their despatches. The men were
completely taken by surprise, and in their alarm at the sudden attack,
yielded a prompt submission. The seeming soldiers put them on their
parole, and having taken possession of the papers, hastened home by a
short cut through the woods. No time was lost in sending the important
documents by a trusty messenger to General Greene. The adventure had a
singular termination. The paroled officers, thus thwarted in their
mission, returned by the road they had taken, and stopping at the house of
Mrs. Martin, asked accommodation as weary travellers, for the night. The
hostess inquired the reason of their returning so soon after they had
passed. They replied by showing their paroles, saying they had been taken
prisoners by two rebel lads. The ladies rallied them upon their want of
intrepidity. "Had you no arms?" was asked. The officers answered that they
had arms, but had been suddenly taken off their guard, and were allowed no
time to use their weapons. They departed the next morning, having no
suspicion that they owed their capture to the very women whose hospitality
they had claimed.</p>
<p>The mother of this patriotic family was a native of Caroline County,
Virginia. Her name was Elizabeth Marshall, and she was probably of the
same family with Chief Justice Marshall, as she belonged to the same
neighborhood. After her marriage to Abram Martin, she removed to his
settlement bordering on the Indian nation, in Ninety-Six, now Edgefield
District, South Carolina. The country at that time was sparsely settled,
most of its inhabitants being pioneers from other States, chiefly from
Virginia; and their neighborhood to the Indians had caused the adoption of
some of their savage habits. The name Edgefield is said to have been given
because it was at that period the edge or boundary of the respectable
settlers and their cultivated fields. Civilization, however, increased
with the population; and in the time of the Revolution, Ninety-Six was
among the foremost in sending into the field its quota of hardy and
enterprising troops, to oppose the British and their savage allies.</p>
<p>At the commencement of the contest, Mrs. Martin had nine children, seven
of whom were sons old enough to bear arms. These brave young men, under
the tuition and example of their parents, had grown up in attachment to
their country, and ardently devoted to its service, were ready on every
occasion to encounter the dangers of border warfare. When the first call
for volunteers sounded through the land, the mother encouraged their
patriotic zeal. "Go, boys," she said; "fight for your country! fight till
death, if you must, but never let your country be dishonored. Were I a man
I would go with you."</p>
<p>At another time, when Colonel Cruger commanded the British at Cambridge,
and Colonel Browne in Augusta, several British officers stopped at her
house for refreshment; and one of them asked how many sons she had. She
answered—eight; and to the question, where they all were, replied
promptly: "Seven of them are engaged in the service of their country."</p>
<p>"Really, madam," observed the officer, sneeringly, "you have enough of
them."</p>
<p>"No sir," said the matron, proudly, "I wish I had fifty."</p>
<p>Her house in the absence of the sons was frequently exposed to the
depredations of the tories. On one occasion they cut open her feather
beds, and scattered the contents. When the young men returned shortly
afterwards, their mother bade them pursue the marauders. One of the
continental soldiers having been left at the house badly wounded, Mrs.
Martin kindly attended and nursed him till his recovery. A party of
loyalists who heard of his being there, came with the intention of taking
his life; but she found means to hide him from their search.</p>
<p>The only daughter of Mrs. Martin, Letitia, married Captain Edmund Wade, of
Virginia, who fell with his commander, General Montgomery, at the siege of
Quebec. At the time of the siege of Charleston by Sir Henry Clinton, the
widow was residing with her mother at Ninety-Six. Her son Washington Wade
was then five years old, and remembers many occurrences connected with the
war. * The house was about one hundred miles in a direct line west of
Charleston. He recollects walking in the piazza on a calm evening, with
his grandmother. A light breeze blew from the east; and the sound of heavy
cannon was distinctly heard in that direction. **</p>
<p class="foot">
* Most of the particulars relating to this family were furnished by him to
Dr. Johnson, of Charleston, who kindly communicated them to me, with
additional ones obtained from other branches of the family.</p>
<p class="foot">
** This statement has been repeatedly confirmed by others in the
neighborhood.</p>
<p>The sound of cannon heard at that time, and in that part of the State,
they knew must come from the besieged city. As report after report reached
their ears, the agitation of Mrs. Martin increased. She knew not what
evils might be announced; she knew not but the sound might be the knell of
her sons, three of whom were then in Charleston. Their wives were with
her, and partook of the same heart-chilling fears. They stood still for a
few minutes, each wrapped in her own painful and silent reflections, till
the mother at length, lifting her hands and eyes towards heaven—exclaimed
fervently:—"<i>Thank God, they are the children of the Republic!</i>"</p>
<p>Of the seven patriot brothers, six were spared through all the dangers of
partisan warfare in the region of the "dark and bloody ground." The
eldest, William M. Martin, was a captain of artillery; and after having
served with distinction in the sieges of Savannah and Charleston, was
killed at the siege of Augusta, just after he had obtained a favorable
position for his cannon, by elevating it on one of the towers constructed
by General Pickens. It is related that not long after his death, a British
officer passing to Fort Ninety-Six, then in possession of the English,
rode out of his way to gratify his hatred to the whigs by carrying the
fatal news to the mother of this gallant young man. He called at the
house, and asked Mrs. Martin if she had not a son in the army at Augusta.
She replied in the affirmative. "Then I saw his brains blown out on the
field of battle," said the monster, who anticipated his triumph in the
sight of a parent's agony. But the effect of the startling announcement
was other than he expected. Terrible as was the shock, and aggravated by
the ruthless cruelty with which her bereavement was made known, no woman's
weakness was suffered to appear. After listening to the dreadful recital,
the only reply made by this American dame was, "He could not have died in
a nobler cause!" The evident chagrin of the officer as he turned and rode
away, is still remembered in the family tradition.</p>
<p>This eldest son married Grace Waring, of Dorchester, when she was but
fourteen years of age. She was the daughter of Benjamin Waring, who
afterwards became one of the earliest settlers of Columbia when
established as the seat of government in the State. The principles of the
Revolution had been taught her from childhood; and her efforts to promote
its advancement were joined with those of her husband's family. She was
one of the two who risked their lives to seize upon the despatches, as
above related. Her husband's untimely death left her with three young
children—two sons and a daughter; but she never married again.</p>
<p>Her companion in that daring and successful enterprise was the wife of
Barkly Martin, another son.</p>
<p>She was Rachel Clay, the daughter of Henry Clay, Jun., of Mecklenburg
County, Virginia, and first cousin to Henry Clay, of Kentucky. She is said
to be still living in Bedford County, Tennessee; is about eighty-six years
of age, and never had any children. Her sister married Matthew, another of
the brothers, and removed to Tennessee. Their family was large and of high
respectability. One of the sons is the Hon. Barkly Martin, late member of
Congress from that State. His father lived to a great age, and died in
Tennessee in October, 1847, about seventy-six years after his first
battle-field. The descendants of the other brothers are numerous and
respectable in the different southern States.</p>
<p>A tribute is due to the fortitude of those who suffered when the war swept
with violence over Georgia. After Colonel Campbell took possession of
Savannah in 1778, the whole country was overrun with irregular marauders,
wilder and more ruthless than the Cossacks of the Don. As many of the
inhabitants as could retire from the storm did so, awaiting a happier time
to renew the struggle. One of those who had sought refuge in Florida, was
Mr. Spalding, whose establishments were on the river St. John's. He had
the whole Indian trade from the Altamaha to the Apalachicola. His
property, with his pursuits, was destroyed by the war; yet his heart was
ever with his countrymen, and the home he had prepared for his wife was
the refuge of every American prisoner in Florida. The first Assembly that
met in Savannah re-called him and restored his lands; but could not give
back his business, nor secure the debts due; while his British creditors,
with their demands for accumulated interest, pressed upon the remnant of
his fortune. Under these adverse circumstances, and distressed on account
of the losses of her father and brothers, who had taken arms in the
American cause, Mrs. Spalding performed her arduous duties with a true
woman's fidelity and tenderness. She followed her husband with her child,
when flight became necessary; and twice during the war traversed the two
hundred miles between Savannah and St. John's River in an open boat, with
only black servants on board, when the whole country was a desert, without
a house to shelter her and her infant son. The first of these occasions
was when she visited her father and brothers while prisoners in Savannah;
the second, when in 1782, she went to congratulate her brothers and uncle
on their victory. This lady was the daughter of Colonel William McIntosh,
and the niece of General Lachlan McIntosh. Major Spalding, of Georgia, is
her son.</p>
<p>Mrs. Spalding's health was seriously impaired by the anxieties endured
during the struggle, and many years afterwards it was deemed necessary for
her to try the climate of Europe. In January, 1800, she, with her son and
his wife, left Savannah in a British ship of twenty guns, with fifty men,
built in all points to resemble a sloop of war, without the appearance of
a cargo. When they had been out about fifteen days, the captain sent one
morning at daylight, to request the presence of two of his gentlemen
passengers on deck. A large ship, painted black and showing twelve guns on
a side, was seen to windward, running across their course. She was
obviously a French privateer. The captain announced that there was no hope
of out-sailing her, should their course be altered; nor would there be
hope in a conflict, as those ships usually carried one hundred and fifty
men. Yet he judged that if no effort were made to shun the privateer, the
appearance of his ship might deter from an attack. The gentlemen were of
the same opinion. Mr. Spalding, heart-sick at thought of the perilous
situation of his wife and mother, and unwilling to trust himself with an
interview till the crisis was over, requested the captain to go below and
make what preparation he could for their security. After a few minutes'
absence the captain returned to describe a most touching scene. Mrs.
Spalding had placed her daughter-in-law and the other inmates of the cabin
for safety in the two state-rooms, filling the berths with cots and
bedding from the outer cabin. She had then taken her own station beside
the scuttle, which led from the outer cabin to the magazine, with two
buckets of water. Having noticed that the two cabin boys were heedless,
she had determined herself to keep watch over the magazine. She did so
till the danger was past. The captain took in his light sails, hoisted his
boarding nettings, opened his ports, and stood on upon his course. The
privateer waited till the ship was within a mile, then fired a gun to
windward, and stood on her way. This ruse preserved the ship. The incident
may serve to show the spirit of this matron, who also bore her high part
in the perils of the Revolution.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
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<h2> XXII. DICEY LANGSTON. </h2>
<p>The portion of South Carolina near the frontier, watered by the Pacolet,
the Tyger, and the Ennoree, comprising Spartanburg and Union Districts,
witnessed many deeds of violence and blood, and many bold achievements of
the hardy partisans. It could also boast its full complement of women
whose aid in various ways was of essential service to the patriots. So
prevalent was loyalism in the darkest of those days, so bitter was the
animosity felt towards the whigs, and so eager the determination to root
them from the soil, that the very recklessness of hate gave frequent
opportunities for the betrayal of the plans of their enemies. Often were
the boastings of those who plotted some midnight surprise, or some
enterprise that promised rare pillage—uttered in the hearing of weak
and despised women—unexpectedly turned into wonder at the secret
agency that had disconcerted them, or execrations upon their own folly.
The tradition of the country teems with accounts of female enterprise in
this kind of service, very few instances of which were recorded in the
military journals.</p>
<p>The patriots were frequently indebted for important information to one
young girl, fifteen or sixteen years old at the commencement of the war.
This was Dicey, the daughter of Solomon Langston of Laurens District. He
was in principle a stout liberty man, but incapacitated by age and
infirmities from taking any active part in the contest. His son was a
devoted patriot, and was ever found in the field where his services were
most needed. He had his home in the neighborhood, and could easily receive
secret intelligence from his sister, who was always on the alert. Living
surrounded by loyalists, some of whom were her own relatives, Miss
Langston found it easy to make herself acquainted with their movements and
plans, and failed not to avail herself of every opportunity to do so, and
immediately to communicate what she learned to the whigs on the other side
of the Ennoree River. At length suspicion of the active aid she rendered
was excited among the tory neighbors. Mr. Langston was informed that he
would be held responsible thenceforward, with his property, for the
conduct of his daughter. The young girl was reproved severely, and
commanded to desist from her patriotic treachery. For a time she obeyed
the parental injunction; but having heard by accident that a company of
loyalists, who on account of their ruthless cruelty had been commonly
called the "Bloody Scout," intent on their work of death, were about to
visit the "Elder settlement" where her brother and some friends were
living, she determined at all hazards to warn them of the intended
expedition. She had none in whom to confide; but was obliged to leave her
home alone, by stealth, and at the dead hour of night. Many miles were to
be traversed, and the road lay through woods, and crossed marshes and
creeks, where the conveniences of bridges and foot-logs were wanting. She
walked rapidly on, heedless of slight difficulties; but her heart almost
failed her when she came to the banks of the Tyger—a deep and rapid
stream, which there was no possibility of crossing except by wading
through the ford. This she knew to be deep at ordinary times, and it had
doubtless been rendered more dangerous by the rains that had lately
fallen. But the thought of personal danger weighed not with her, in
comparison to the duty she owed her friends and country. Her momentary
hesitation was but the shrinking of nature from peril encountered in
darkness and alone, when the imagination conjures up a thousand appalling
ideas, each more startling than the worst reality. Her strong heart
battled against these, and she resolved to accomplish her purpose, or
perish in the attempt. She entered the water; but when in the middle of
the ford, became bewildered, and knew not which direction to take. The
hoarse rush of the waters, which were up to her neck—the blackness
of the night—the utter solitude around her—the uncertainty
lest the next step should ingulph her past help, confused her; and losing
in a degree her self-possession, she wandered for some time in the channel
without knowing whither to turn her steps. But the energy of a resolute
will, under the care of Providence, sustained her. Having with difficulty
reached the other side, she lost no time in hastening to her brother,
informed him and his friends of the preparations made to surprise and
destroy them, and urged him to send his men instantly in different
directions to arouse and warn the neighborhood. The soldiers had just
returned from a fatiguing excursion, and complained that they were faint
from want of food. The noble girl, not satisfied with what she had done at
such risk to herself, was ready to help them still further by providing
refreshment immediately. Though wearied, wet, and shivering with cold, she
at once set about her preparations. A few boards were taken from the roof
of the house, a fire was kindled with them, and in a few minutes a
hoe-cake, partly baked, was broken into pieces, and thrust into the shot
pouches of the men. Thus provisioned, the little company hastened to give
the alarm to their neighbors, and did so in time for all to make their
escape. The next day, when the "scout" visited the place, they found no
living enemy on whom to wreak their vengeance.</p>
<p>At a later period of the war, the father of Miss Langston incurred the
displeasure of the loyalists in consequence of the active services of his
sons in their country's cause. They were known to have imbibed their
principles from him; and he was marked out as an object of summary
vengeance. A party came to his house with the desperate design of putting
to death all the men of the family. The sons were absent; but the feeble
old man, selected by their relentless hate as a victim, was in their
power. He could not escape or resist; and he scorned to implore their
mercy. One of the company drew a pistol, and deliberately levelled it at
the breast of Langston. Suddenly a wild shriek was heard; and his young
daughter sprang between her aged parent and the fatal weapon. The brutal
soldier roughly ordered her to get out of the way, or the contents of the
pistol would be instantly lodged in her own heart. She heeded not the
threat, which was but too likely to be fulfilled the next moment. Clasping
her arms tightly round the old man's neck, she declared that her own body
should first receive the ball aimed at his heart! There are few human
beings, even of the most depraved, entirely insensible to all noble and
generous impulses. On this occasion the conduct of the daughter, so
fearless, so determined to shield her father's life by the sacrifice of
her own, touched the heart even of a member of the "Bloody Scout."
Langston was spared; and the party left the house filled with admiration
at the filial affection and devotion they had witnessed.</p>
<p>At another time the heroic maiden showed herself as ready to prevent wrong
to an enemy as to her friends. Her father's house was visited by a company
of whigs, who stopped to get some refreshment, and to feed their wearied
horses. In the course of conversation one of them mentioned that they were
going to visit a tory neighbor, for the purpose of seizing his horses. The
man whose possessions were thus to be appropriated had been in general a
peaceful citizen; and Mr. Langston determined to inform him of the danger
in which his horses stood of having their ownership changed. Entering
cordially into her father's design, Miss Langston set off immediately to
carry the information. She gave it in the best faith; but just before she
started on her return home, she discovered that the neighbor whom she had
warned was not only taking precautions to save his property, but was about
to send for the captain of a tory band not far distant, so that the
"liberty men" might be captured when intent on their expedition, before
they should be aware of their danger. It was now the generous girl's duty
to perform a like friendly act towards the whigs. She lost no time in
conveying the intelligence, and thus saved an enemy's property, and the
lives of her friends.</p>
<p>Her disregard of personal danger, where service could be rendered, was
remarkable. One day, returning from a whig neighborhood in Spartanburg
District, she was met by a company of loyalists, who ordered her to give
them some intelligence they desired respecting those she had just left.
She refused; whereupon the captain of the band held a pistol to her
breast, and ordered her instantly to make the disclosures, or she should
"die in her tracks." Miss Langston only replied, with the cool intrepidity
of a veteran soldier: "Shoot me if you dare! I will not tell you," at the
same time opening a long handkerchief which covered her neck and bosom, as
if offering a place to receive the contents of the weapon. Incensed by her
defiance, the officer was about to fire, when another threw up his hand,
and saved the courageous girl's life.</p>
<p>On one occasion, when her father's house was visited on a plundering
expedition by the noted tory Captain Gray with his riflemen, and they had
collected and divided every thing they thought could be of use, they were
at some loss what to do with a large pewter basin. At length the captain
determined on taking that also, jeeringly remarking, "it will do to run
into bullets to kill the rebels."</p>
<p>"Pewter bullets, sir," answered Miss Langston, "will not kill a whig."</p>
<p>"Why not?" inquired Captain Gray. "It is said, sir," replied she, "that a
witch can be shot only with a silver bullet; and I am sure the whigs are
more under the protection of Providence." At another time when a company
of the enemy came to the house they found the door secured. To their
demand for admission and threats of breaking down the door, Miss Langston
answered by sternly bidding them begone. Her resolute language induced the
company to "hold a parley;" and the result was, that they departed without
further attempt to obtain an entrance.</p>
<p>One more anecdote is given to illustrate her spirit and fearlessness. Her
brother James had left a rifle in her care, which she was to keep hid till
he sent for it. He did so, by a company of "liberty men," who were to
return by his father's dwelling. On arriving at the house, one of them
asked the young girl for the gun. She went immediately, and brought it;
but as she came towards the soldiers, the thought struck her that she had
neglected to ask for the countersign agreed upon between her brother and
herself. Advancing more cautiously—she observed to them that their
looks were suspicious; that for aught she knew they might be a set of
tories; and demanded the countersign. One of the company answered that it
was too late to make conditions; the gun was in their possession, and its
holder, too. "Do you think so," cried she, cocking it, and presenting the
muzzle at the speaker. "If the gun is in your possession, <i>take charge
of her!</i>" Her look and attitude of defiance showed her in earnest; the
countersign was quickly given; and the men, laughing heartily, pronounced
her worthy of being the sister of James Langston.</p>
<p>After the war was ended, Miss Langston married Thomas Springfield, of
Greenville, South Carolina. She died in Greenville District, a few years
since. Of her numerous descendants then living, thirty-two were sons and
grandsons capable of bearing arms, and ready at any time to do so in the
maintenance of that liberty which was so dear to the youthful heart of
their ancestor. *</p>
<p>The recollection of the courage and patriotism of Mrs. Dillard is
associated with the details of a battle of considerable importance, which
took place in Spartanburg District, at the Green Spring, near Berwick's
iron works. The Americans here gained great honor. Colonel Clarke, of the
Georgia volunteers, joined with Captains McCall, Liddle, and Hammond, in
all about one hundred and ninety-eight men—having received
intelligence that a body of tory militia, stated to be from two to five
hundred, commanded by Colonel Ferguson, were recruiting for the horse
service—determined to attempt to rout them. **</p>
<p class="foot">
* The preceding anecdotes were furnished by. Hon. B. F. Perry, of
Greenville, South Carolina, who received them from one of Mrs.
Springfield's family.</p>
<p class="foot">
** Mills' Statistics of South Carolina, p. 738.</p>
<p>They marched accordingly; and hearing that a scouting party was in advance
of Ferguson's station, prepared to give them battle. Colonel Clarke, with
his forces, encamped for the night at Green Spring.</p>
<p>On that day the Americans had stopped for refreshment at the house of
Captain Dillard, who was with their party as a volunteer. They had been
entertained by his wife with milk and potatoes—the simple fare which
those hardy soldiers often found it difficult to obtain. The same evening
Ferguson and Dunlap, with a party of tories, arrived at the house. They
inquired of Mrs. Dillard whether Clarke and his men had not been there;
what time they had departed; and what were their numbers? She answered
that they had been at the house; that she could not guess their numbers;
and that they had been gone a long time. The officers then ordered her to
prepare supper for them with all possible despatch. They took possession
of the house, and took some bacon to be given to their men. Mrs. Dillard
set about the preparations for supper. In going backwards and forwards
from the kitchen, she overheard much of their conversation. It will be
remembered that the kitchens at the South are usually separate from the
dwelling-houses. The doors and windows of houses in the country being
often slightly constructed, it is also likely that the loose partitions
afforded facilities for hearing what might be said within. Besides, the
officers probably apprehended no danger from disclosing their plans in the
presence of a lonely woman.</p>
<p>She ascertained that they had determined to surprise Clarke and his party;
and were to pursue him as soon as they had taken their meal. She also
heard one of the officers tell Ferguson he had just received the
information that the rebels, with Clarke, were to encamp that night at the
Great Spring. It was at once resolved to surprise and attack them before
day. The feelings may be imagined with which Mrs. Dillard heard this
resolution announced. She hurried the supper, and as soon as it was placed
upon the table, and the officers had sat down, slipped out by a back way.
Late and dark as it was, her determination was to go herself and apprize
Clarke of his danger, in the hope of being in time for him to make a safe
retreat; for she believed that the enemy were too numerous to justify a
battle.</p>
<p>She went to the stable, bridled a young horse, and without saddle, mounted
and rode with all possible speed to the place described. It was about half
an hour before day when she came in full gallop to one of the videttes, by
whom she was immediately conducted to Colonel Clarke. She called to the
colonel, breathless with eagerness and haste, "Be in readiness either to
fight or run; the enemy will be upon you immediately, and they are
strong!"</p>
<p>In an instant every man was up, and no moments were lost in preparing for
action. The intelligence came just in time to put the whigs in readiness.
Ferguson had detached Dunlap with two hundred picked mounted men, to
engage Clarke and keep him employed till his arrival. These rushed in full
charge into the American camp; but the surprise was on their part. They
were met hand to hand, with a firmness they had not anticipated. Their
confusion was increased by the darkness, which rendered it hard to
distinguish friend from foe. The battle was warm for fifteen or twenty
minutes, when the tories gave way. They were pursued nearly a mile, but
not overtaken. Ferguson came "too late for the frolic;" the business being
ended. Clarke and his little band then returned to North Carolina for rest
and refreshment; for the whole of this enterprise was performed without
one regular meal, and without regular food for their horses.</p>
<p>Mrs. Angelica Nott, widow of the late Judge Nott, of South Carolina,
remembers some illustrative incidents which occurred in the section where
she resided with her aunt, Mrs. Potter, near the Grindal Shoal, a little
south of Pacolet River. The whig population in this portion of the State,
were exposed during part of 1780 and 1781 to incredible hardships. The
breezes of fortune which had fanned into life the expiring embers of
opposition to English tyranny, had been so variable that the wavering
hopes of the people were often trembling on the verge of extinction. The
reverses of the British arms had exasperated the loyalists, and embittered
the enmity felt towards the stubborn people who refused to be conquered.
Such was the state of feeling when the destiny of the South was committed
to the hands of a soldier of consummate genius, in whom the trust of all
was implicitly placed.</p>
<p>When Tarleton was on his march against Morgan, just before their encounter
at the Cowpens, a party of loyalists came to the place where Mrs. Potter
lived, and committed some depredations. They burned the straw covering
from a rude hut, in which the family lodged, while a relative ill of the
smallpox occupied the house. Mrs. Potter and her children had built this
lodge of rails, for their temporary accommodation. The soldiers attempted
to take off her wedding-ring, which, as it had been worn for years, became
imbedded under the skin, in the effort to force it from her finger. They
swore it should be cut off, but finally desisted from the attempt. On the
same march, Tarleton encamped at the house of John Beckham, whose wife was
the sister of Colonel Henderson of the continental army. Mrs. Beckham saw
for the first time this renowned officer while standing in her yard, and
ordering his men to catch her poultry for supper. She spoke civilly to
him, and hastened to prepare supper for him and his suite, as if they had
been honored guests. When about to leave in the morning, he ordered the
house to be burnt, after being given up to pillage, but on her
remonstrance, recalled the order. All her bedding was taken, except one
quilt, which soon shared the same fate. At another time Mrs. Beckham went
to Granby, eighty miles distant, for a bushel of salt, which she brought
home on the saddle under her. The guinea appropriated for the purchase,
was concealed in the hair braided on the top of her head.</p>
<p>Mrs. Potter was visited by the famous tory, Colonel Cunningham, commonly
called "Bloody Bill Cunningham," on one occasion, with a party of two
hundred and fifty men. They arrived after dark; and as green corn happened
to be in season, encamped by one of her fields, fed their horses with the
corn, built fires with the rails, and roasted the ears for themselves. At
that time, the family lived chiefly on roasted corn, without bread, meat,
or salt. Hickory ashes were used, with a small quantity of salt, for
preserving beef when it could be had. Leather shoes were replaced by
woollen rags sewed round the feet; and of beds or bedding none were left.
The beds were generally ripped open by the depredators, the feathers
scattered, and the ticking used for tent-cloths. The looms were robbed of
cloth found in them; and hence the women of the country resorted to
various expedients to manufacture clothing, and preserve it for their own
use and that of their friends. A family residing on the Pacolet, built a
loom between four trees in the forest, and wove in fair weather, covering
the loom and web with cow-hides when it rained.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XXIII. ELIZABETH STEELE. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he long, arduous,
and eventful retreat of General Greene through the Carolinas, after the
battle of the Cowpens, that retreat on whose issue hung the fate of the
South—with the eager pursuit of Cornwallis, who well knew that the
destruction of that army would secure his conquests—is a twice-told
tale to every reader. The line of march lay through Salisbury, North
Carolina; and while the British commander was crossing the Catawba, Greene
was approaching this village. With the American army were conveyed the
prisoners taken by Morgan in the late bloody and brilliant action, the
intention being to convey them to Virginia. Several of these were sick and
wounded, and among them were some British officers, unable, from loss of
strength, to proceed further on the route.</p>
<p>General Greene, aware of the objects of Cornwallis, knew his design, by a
hurried march to the ford, to cross the Catawba before opposition could be
made; and had stationed a body of militia there to dispute the passage.
Most anxiously did the General await their arrival, before he pursued his
route. The day gradually wore away, and still no signs appeared of the
militia; and it was not till after midnight that the news reached him of
their defeat and dispersion by the British troops, and the death of
General Davidson, who had commanded them. His aids having been despatched
to different parts of the retreating army, he rode on with a heavy heart
to Salisbury. It had been raining during the day, and his soaked and
soiled garments and appearance of exhaustion as he wearily dismounted from
his jaded horse at the door of the principal hotel, showed that he had
suffered much from exposure to the storm, sleepless fatigue, and harassing
anxiety of mind. Dr. Reed, who had charge of the sick and wounded
prisoners, while he waited for the General's arrival was engaged in
writing the paroles with which it was necessary to furnish such officers
as could not go on. From his apartment overlooking the main street, he saw
his friend, unaccompanied by his aids, ride up and alight; and hastened to
receive him as he entered the house. Seeing him without a companion, and
startled by his dispirited looks—the doctor could not refrain from
noticing them with anxious inquiries; to which the wearied soldier
replied: "Yes—fatigued—hungry—alone, and penniless!"</p>
<p>The melancholy reply was heard by one determined to prove, by the generous
assistance proffered in a time of need, that no reverse could dim the pure
flame of disinterested patriotism. General Greene had hardly taken his
seat at the well-spread table, when Mrs. Steele, the landlady of the
hotel, entered the room, and carefully closed the door behind her.
Approaching her distinguished guest, she reminded him of the despondent
words he had uttered in her hearing, implying, as she thought, a distrust
of the devotion of his friends, through every calamity, to the cause.
Money, too, she declared he should have; and drew from under her apron two
small bags full of specie, probably the earnings of years. "Take these,"
said she, "for you will want them, and I can do without them."</p>
<p>Words of kindness and encouragement accompanied this offering of a
benevolent heart, which General Greene accepted with thankfulness.
"Never," says his biographer, "did relief come at a more propitious
moment; nor would it be straining conjecture to suppose that he resumed
his journey with his spirits cheered and lightened by this touching proof
of woman's devotion to the cause of her country." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* Greene's Life of Nathanael Greene. See also Foote's Sketches of North
Carolina, p. 355.</p>
<p>General Greene did not remain long in Salisbury; but before his departure
from the house of Mrs. Steele, he left a memorial of his visit. He took
from the wall of one of the apartments a portrait of George III., which
had come from England as a present from a person at court to one of Mrs.
Steele's connections attached to an embassy, wrote with chalk on the back,
"O, George, hide thy face and mourn;" and replaced it with the face to the
wall. The picture, with the writing uneffaced, is still in possession of a
granddaughter of Mrs. Steele, a daughter of Dr. McCorkle, and may be seen
in Charlotte.</p>
<p>Elizabeth Steele was distinguished not only for attachment to the American
cause during the war, but for the piety that shone brightly in her useful
life. Among her papers was found after her death a written dedication of
herself to her Creator, and a prayer for support in the practice of
Christian duty; with a letter, left as a legacy to her children, enjoining
it upon them to make religion the great work of life. She was a tender
mother, and beloved for her constant exercise of the virtues of kindness
and charity. She was twice married, and died in Salisbury, in 1791. Her
son, the Hon. John Steele, conspicuous in the councils of the State and
Nation, was one whose public services offer materials for an interesting
biography. A collection of his correspondence has lately been added to the
treasures of the Historical Society of the University of North Carolina;
and it is to be hoped that under its auspices, justice will be done to his
memory at no distant period. Margaret, Mrs. Steele's daughter, was the
wife of the Rev. Samuel E. McCorkle.</p>
<p>It was in the same pursuit of Greene and Morgan by Cornwallis, that the
British destroyed the property of the Widow Brevard, in Centre
congregation. "She has seven sons in the rebel army," was the reason given
by the officer for permitting her house to be burned and her farm
plundered. One of her sons, Captain Alexander Brevard, took part in nine
battles, and the youngest was at seventeen first lieutenant of a company
of horse. Ephraim Brevard, another son, having graduated at Princeton
College, and completed a course of medical studies, fixed his residence at
Charlotte. Mr. Foote says, "His talents, patriotism, and education, united
with his prudence and practical sense, marked him as a leader in the
councils that preceded the convention held in Queen's Museum; and on the
day of meeting designated him as secretary and draughtsman of that
singular and unrivalled <i>declaration</i>, which alone is a passport to
the memory of posterity through all time."</p>
<p>It will be borne in mind that it was in Charlotte, the county town of
Mecklenburg County, that the bold idea of National Independence was first
proclaimed to the world. On the 19th May, 1775, an immense concourse of
people was assembled in this frontier settlement—all agitated with
the excitement which had plunged the whole land into commotion; on that
day came the first intelligence of the commencement of hostilities at
Lexington; and when the convention and the people were addressed, the
universal cry was, "Let us be independent! Let us declare our
independence, and defend it with our lives and fortunes!" The resolutions
drawn up by Dr. Brevard were discussed; and by their unanimous adoption,
the day following, by the convention and the approving multitude, the
citizens of Mecklenburg County declared themselves a free and independent
people. Due honor is awarded to him who took so active a part in that
memorable transaction; but where is the tribute that should be paid to the
widowed mother who sowed the seeds which on that day yielded fruit—who
implanted in her son's mind those sterling principles, the guidance of
which rendered his life one of eminent usefulness?</p>
<p>When the southern States became the arena of war, Dr. Brevard entered the
army as surgeon, and was taken prisoner at the surrender of Charleston. In
that city he was seized with a fatal disease, to which he fell a victim
after being set at liberty, and permitted to place himself under the care
of friends.</p>
<p>The deplorable sufferings of the unfortunate prisoners in Charleston,
moved the sympathy of the inhabitants of Western Carolina; for news came
that many were perishing in captivity of want and disease. The men could
not go thither to visit their friends and relatives, without insuring
their own destruction; but the women gathered clothing, medicines, and
provisions, and travelled long journeys, encountering danger as well as
hardship, to minister in person to those who so sorely needed their
succor. Much relief was brought to the sufferers by these visits of mercy;
although the lives preserved were sometimes saved at the sacrifice of the
noble benefactors. The mother of Andrew Jackson, returning to the Waxhaw,
after a journey to Charleston—to carry clothing and other
necessaries to some friends on board the prison ship, was seized with the
prison-fever, and died in a tent, in the midst of the wide, sandy
wilderness of pines. Her lonely grave by the roadside, were the spot
known, would speak mournfully of woman's self-immolating heroism. Mrs.
Jackson, with her children, had quitted their home on the Waxhaw, where
she had buried her husband, after the rout and slaughter of Buford's
regiment by the forces of Tarleton, when the women and children fled from
the ravages of the merciless enemy. They had found a place of refuge in
Sugar Creek congregation, where they remained during part of the summer.
Part of the foundations of the log meeting-house where the congregation
met for worship may still be seen.</p>
<p>Other widowed mothers were there in North Carolina, who trained their sons
to become zealous patriots and efficient statesmen. The names of Mrs.
Flinn, Mrs. Sharpe, Mrs. Graham, and Mrs. Hunter, are worthy of
remembrance. The great principles proclaimed at the Mecklenburg
Convention, were acted out in the noblest efforts of patriotism by their
sons.</p>
<p>Mr. Caruthers, the biographer of the Rev. David Caldwell, states, that
while all the active men in his congregations were engaged with the army
at the battle of Guilford Court-house, there were two collections of
females, one in Buffalo, and the other in Alamance, engaged in earnest
prayer for their families and their country; and that many others sought
the divine aid in solitary places. One pious woman sent her son frequently
during the afternoon, to the summit of a little hill near which she spent
much time in prayer, to listen and bring her word which way the firing
came—from the southward or the northward. When he returned and said
it was going northward, "Then," exclaimed she, "all is lost! Greene is
defeated." But all was not lost; the God who hears prayer remembered his
people.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XXIV. MARY SLOCUMB. </h2>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he first
expedition into North Carolina projected by Lord Cornwallis, was baffled
by the fall of Colonel Ferguson at King's Mountain. The disaster at the
Cowpens forbade perseverance in the second attempt and was followed by the
memorable retreat of Greene. The battle of Guilford took place in March,
1781; and towards the end of April, while Lord Rawdon encountered Greene
at Hobkirk's Hill, Cornwallis set out on his march from Wilmington, bent
on his avowed purpose of achieving the conquest of Virginia. On his march
towards Halifax, he encamped for several days on the river Neuse, in what
is now called Wayne County, North Carolina. His head-quarters were at
Springbank, while Colonel Tarleton, with his renowned legion, encamped on
the plantation of Lieutenant Slocumb. This consisted of level and
extensive fields, which at that season presented a most inviting view of
fresh verdure from the mansion-house. Lord Cornwallis himself gave it the
name of "Pleasant Green," which it ever afterwards retained. The owner of
this fine estate held a subaltern's commission in the State line under
Colonel Washington, and was in command of a troop of light horse, raised
in his own neighborhood, whose general duty it was to act as Rangers,
scouring the country for many miles around, watching the movements of the
enemy, and punishing the loyalists when detected in their vocation of
pillage and murder. These excursions had been frequent for two or three
years, and were often of several weeks' duration. At the present time
Slocumb had returned to the vicinity, and had been sent with twelve or
fifteen recruits to act as scouts in the neighborhood of the British
General. The morning of the day on which Tarleton took possession of his
plantation, he was near Sprinkbank, and reconnoitered the encampment of
Cornwallis, which he supposed to be his whole force. He then, with his
party, pursued his way slowly along the south bank of the Neuse, in the
direction of his own house, little dreaming that his beautiful and
peaceful home, where, some time before, he had left his wife and child,
was then in the possession of the terrible Tarleton.</p>
<p>During these frequent excursions of the Rangers, and the necessary absence
of her husband, the superintendence of the plantation had always devolved
upon Mrs. Slocumb. She depended for protection upon her slaves, whose
fidelity she had proved, and upon her own fearless and intrepid spirit.
The scene of the occupation of her house, and Tarleton's residence with
her, remained through life indelibly impressed on her memory, and were
described by her to one who enjoyed the honor of her intimate friendship.
I am permitted to give his account, copied almost verbatim from notes
taken at the time the occurrences were related by Mrs. Slocumb.</p>
<p>It was about ten o'clock on a beautiful spring morning, that a
splendidly-dressed officer, accompanied by two aids, and followed at a
short distance by a guard of some twenty troopers, dashed up to the piazza
in front of the ancient-looking mansion. Mrs. Slocumb was sitting there,
with her child and a near relative, a young lady, who afterwards became
the wife of Major Williams. A few house servants were also on the piazza.</p>
<p>The officer raised his cap, and bowing to his horse's neck, addressed the
lady, with the question—</p>
<p>"Have I the pleasure of seeing the mistress of this house and plantation!"</p>
<p>"It belongs to my husband."</p>
<p>"Is he at home?"</p>
<p>"He is not."</p>
<p>"Is he a rebel?"</p>
<p>"No sir. He is in the army of his country, and fighting against our
invaders; therefore not a rebel." It is not a little singular, that
although the people of that day gloried in their rebellion, they always
took offence at being called rebels.</p>
<p>"I fear, madam," said the officer, "we differ in opinion. A friend to his
country will be the friend of the king, our master."</p>
<p>"Slaves only acknowledge a master in this country," replied the lady.</p>
<p>A deep flush crossed the florid cheeks of Tarleton, for he was the
speaker; and turning to one of his aids, he ordered him to pitch the tents
and form the encampment in the orchard and field on their right. To the
other aid his orders were to detach a quarter guard and station piquets on
each road. Then bowing very low, he added: "Madam, the service of His
Majesty requires the temporary occupation of your property; and if it
would not be too great an inconvenience, I will take up my quarters in
your house."</p>
<p>The tone admitted no controversy. Mrs. Slocumb answered: "My family
consists of only myself, my sister and child, and a few negroes. We are
your prisoners."</p>
<p>From the piazza where he seated himself, Tarleton commanded a view of the
ground on which his troops were arranging their camp. The mansion fronted
the east and an avenue one hundred and fifty feet wide, and about half a
mile in length, stretched to the eastern side of the plantation, where was
a highway, with open grounds beyond it, partly dry meadow and partly sand
barren. This avenue was lined on the south side by a high fence, and a
thick hedge-row of forest trees. These are now removed, and replaced by
the Pride of India and other ornamental trees. On the north side extended
the common rail-fence seven or eight feet high, such as is usually seen on
plantations in the low country. The encampment of the British troops being
on that part of the plantation lying south of the avenue, it was
completely screened by the fences and hedge-row from the view of any one
approaching from down the country.</p>
<p>While the men were busied, different officers came up at-intervals, making
their reports and receiving orders. Among others, a tory captain, whom
Mrs. Slocumb immediately recognized—for before joining the royal
army, he had lived fifteen or twenty miles below—received orders in
her hearing to take his troop and scour the country for two or three miles
round.</p>
<p>In an hour every thing was quiet, and the plantation presented the
romantic spectacle of a regular encampment of some ten or eleven hundred
of the choicest cavalry of the British monarch.</p>
<p>Mrs. Slocumb now addressed herself to the duty of preparing for her
uninvited guests. The dinner set before the king's officers was, in her
own words to her friend, "as good a dinner as you have now before you, and
of much the same materials." A description of what then constituted a good
dinner in that region may not be inappropriate. "The first dish, was, of
course, the boiled ham, flanked with the plate of greens. Opposite was the
turkey, supported by the laughing baked sweet potatoes; a plate of boiled
beef, another of sausages, and a third with a pair of baked fowls, formed
a line across the centre of the table; half a dozen dishes of different
pickles, stewed fruit, and other condiments filled up the interstices of
the board." The dessert, too, was abundant and various. Such a dinner, it
may well be supposed, met the particular approbation of the royal
officers, especially as the fashion of that day introduced stimulating
drinks to the table, and the peach brandy prepared under Lieutenant
Slocumb's own supervision, was of the most excellent sort. It received the
unqualified praise of the party; and its merits were freely discussed. A
Scotch officer, praising it by the name of whiskey, protested that he had
never drunk as good out of Scotland. An officer speaking with a slight
brogue, insisted it was not whiskey, and that no Scotch drink ever
equalled it. "To my mind," said he, "it tastes as yonder orchard smells."</p>
<p>"Allow me, madam," said Colonel Tarleton, "to inquire where the spirits we
are drinking is procured."</p>
<p>"From the orchard where your tents stand," answered Mrs. Slocumb.</p>
<p>"Colonel," said the Irish captain, "when we conquer this country, is it
not to be divided out among us?"</p>
<p>"The officers of this army," replied the Colonel, "will undoubtedly
receive large possessions of the conquered American provinces."</p>
<p>Mrs. Slocumb here interposed. "Allow me to observe and prophesy," said
she, "the only land in these United States which will ever remain in
possession of a British officer, will measure but six feet by two."</p>
<p>"Excuse me, madam," remarked Tarleton. "For your sake I regret to say—this
beautiful plantation will be the ducal seat of some of us."</p>
<p>"Don't trouble yourself about me," retorted the spirited lady. "My husband
is not a man who would allow a duke, or even a king, to have a quiet seat
upon his ground."</p>
<p>At this point the conversation was interrupted by rapid volleys of
fire-arms, appearing to proceed from the wood a short distance to the
eastward. One of the aids pronounced it some straggling scout, running
from the picket-guard; but the experience of Colonel Tarleton could not be
easily deceived.</p>
<p>"There are rifles and muskets," said he, "as well as pistols; and too many
to pass unnoticed. Order boots and saddles, and you—Captain, take
your troop in the direction of the firing."</p>
<p>The officer rushed out to execute his orders, while the Colonel walked
into the piazza, whither he was immediately followed by the anxious
ladies. Mrs. Slocumb's agitation and alarm may be imagined; for she
guessed but too well the cause of the interruption. On the first arrival
of the officers she had been importuned, even with harsh threats—not,
however, by Tarleton—to tell where her husband, when absent on duty,
was likely to be found; but after her repeated and peremptory refusals,
had escaped further molestation on the subject. She feared now that he had
returned unexpectedly, and might fall into the enemy's hands before he was
aware of their presence.</p>
<p>Her sole hope was in a precaution she had adopted soon after the coming of
her unwelcome guests. Having heard Tarleton give the order to the tory
captain as before-mentioned, to patrol the country, she immediately sent
for an old negro, and gave him directions to take a bag of corn to the
mill about four miles distant, on the road she knew her husband must
travel if he returned that day. "Big George" was instructed to warn his
master of the danger of approaching his home. With the indolence and
curiosity natural to his race, however, the old fellow remained loitering
about the premises, and was at this time lurking under the hedge-row,
admiring the red coats, dashing plumes, and shining helmets of the British
troopers.</p>
<p>The Colonel and the ladies continued on the lookout from the piazza. "May
I be allowed, madam," at length said Tarleton, "without offence, to
inquire if any part of Washington's army is in this neighborhood."</p>
<p>"I presume it is known to you,", replied Mrs. Slocumb, "that the Marquis
and Greene are in this State. And you would not of course," she added,
after a slight pause, "be surprised at a call from Lee, or your old friend
Colonel Washington, who, although a perfect gentleman, it is said shook
your hand (pointing to the scar left by Washington's sabre) very rudely,
when you last met." *</p>
<p class="foot">
*As I cannot distrust the authority on which I have received this
anecdote, it proves that on more than one occasion the British colonel was
made to feel the shaft of female wit, in allusion to the unfortunate
battle of the Cowpens. It is said that in a close encounter between
Washington and Tarleton during that action, the latter was wounded by a
sabre cut on the hand. Colonel Washington, as is well known, figured in
some of the skirmishes in North Carolina.</p>
<p>This spirited answer inspired Tarleton with apprehensions that the
skirmish in the woods was only the prelude to a concerted attack on his
camp. His only reply was a loud order to form the troops on the right; and
springing on his charger, he dashed down the avenue a few hundred feet, to
a breach in the hedge-row, leaped the fence, and in a moment was at the
head of his regiment, which was already in line.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Lieutenant Slocumb, with John Howell, a private in his band,
Henry Williams, and the brother of Mrs. Slocumb, Charles Hooks, a boy of
about thirteen years of age, was leading a hot pursuit of the tory captain
who had been sent to reconnoitre the country, and some of his routed
troop. These were first discerned in the open grounds east and northeast
of the plantation, closely pursued by a body of American mounted militia;
while a running fight was kept up with different weapons, in which four or
five broad swords gleamed conspicuous. The foremost of the pursuing party
appeared too busy with the tories to see any thing else; and they entered
the avenue at the same moment with the party pursued. With what horror and
consternation did Mrs. Slocumb recognize her husband, her brother, and two
of her neighbors, in chase of the tory captain and four of his band,
already half-way down the avenue, and unconscious that they were rushing
into the enemy's midst!</p>
<p>About the middle of the avenue one of the tories fell; and the course of
the brave and imprudent young officer was suddenly arrested by "Big
George," who sprang directly in front of their horses, crying, "Hold on,
massa! de debbil here! Look yon!" * A glance to the left showed the young
men their danger: they were within pistol shot of a thousand men drawn up
in order of battle. Wheeling their horses, they discovered a troop already
leaping the fence into the avenue in their rear.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Yon, for yonder.</p>
<p>Quick as thought they again wheeled their horses, and dashed down the
avenue directly towards the house, where stood the quarter-guard to
receive them. On reaching the garden fence—a rude structure formed
of a kind of lath, and called a wattled fence—they leaped that and
the next, amid a shower of balls from the guard, cleared the canal at one
tremendous leap, and scouring across the open field to the northwest, were
in the shelter of the wood before their pursuers could clear the fences of
the enclosure. The whole ground of this adventure may be seen as the
traveller passes over the Wilmington railroad, a mile and a half south of
Dudley depot.</p>
<p>A platoon had commenced the pursuit; but the trumpets sounded the recall
before the flying Americans had crossed the canal. The presence of mind
and lofty language of the heroic wife, had convinced the British Colonel
that the daring men who so fearlessly dashed into his camp were supported
by a formidable force at hand. Had the truth been known, and the fugitives
pursued, nothing could have prevented the destruction not only of the four
who fled, but of the rest of the company on the east side of the
plantation.</p>
<p>Tarleton had rode back to the front of the house, where he remained
eagerly looking after the fugitives till they disappeared in the wood. He
called for the tory captain, who presently came forward, questioned him
about the attack in the woods, asked the names of the American officers,
and dismissed him to have his wounds dressed, and see after his men. The
last part of the order was needless; for nearly one-half of his troop had
fallen. The ground is known to this day as the Dead Men's Field.</p>
<p>As Tarleton walked into the house he observed to Mrs. Slocumb, "Your
husband made us a short visit, madam. I should have been happy to make his
acquaintance, and that of his friend, Mr. Williams."</p>
<p>"I have little doubt," replied the wife, "that you will meet the
gentlemen, and they will thank you for the polite manner in which you
treat their friends."</p>
<p>The Colonel observed apologetically, that necessity compelled them to
occupy her property; that they took only such things as were necessary to
their support, for which they were instructed to offer proper
remuneration; and that every thing should be done to render their stay as
little disagreeable as possible. The lady expressed her thankfulness for
his kindness, and withdrew to her room, while the officers returned to
their peach-brandy and coffee, and closed the day with a merry night.</p>
<p>Slocumb and his companions passed rapidly round the plantation, and
returned to the ground where the encounter had taken place, collecting on
the way the stragglers of his troop. Near their bivouac he saw the tory
captain's brother, who had been captured by the Americans, hanging by a
bridal rein from the top of a sapling bent down for the purpose, and
struggling in the agonies of death. Hastening to the spot, he severed the
rein with a stroke of his sword, and with much difficulty restored him to
life. Many in the lower part of North Carolina can remember an old man
whose protruded eyes and suffused countenance presented the appearance of
one half strangled. He it was who thus owed his life and liberty to the
humanity of his generous foe.</p>
<p>Mr. Slocumb, by the aid of Major Williams, raised about two hundred men in
the neighborhood, and with this force continued to harass the rear of the
royal army, frequently cutting off foraging parties, till they crossed the
Roanoke, when they joined the army of La Fayette at Warrenton. He remained
with the army till the surrender at Yorktown.</p>
<p>It need hardly be mentioned that "Big George" received his reward for this
and other services. His life with his master was one of ease and
indulgence. On the division of Colonel Slocumb's estate some years since,
a considerable amount was paid to en-, able the faithful slave to spend
the remnant of his days with his wife, who belonged to another person.</p>
<p>Another anecdote, communicated by the same friend of Mrs. Slocumb, is
strikingly illustrative of her resolution and strength of will. The
occurrence took place at a time when the whole country was roused by the
march of the British and loyalists from the Cape Fear country, to join the
royal standard at Wilmington. The veteran Donald McDonald issued his
proclamation at Cross Creek, in February, 1776, and having assembled his
Highlanders, marched across rivers and through forests, in haste to join
Governor Martin and Sir Henry Clinton, who were already at Cape Fear. But
while he had eluded the pursuit of Moore, the patriots of Newburn and
Wilmington Districts were not idle. It was a time of noble enterprise, and
gloriously did leaders and people come forward to meet the emergency. The
gallant Richard Caswell called his neighbors hastily together; and they
came at his call as readily as the clans of the Scotch mountains mustered
at the signal of the burning cross. The whole county rose in mass; scarce
a man able to walk was left in the Neuse region. The united regiments of
Colonels Lillington and Caswell encountered McDonald at Moore's Creek; *
where, on the twenty-seventh, was fought one of the bloodiest battles of
the Revolution.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Moore's Creek, running from north to south, empties into the South
River, about twenty miles above Wilmington. See sketch of Flora McDonald.</p>
<p>Colonel Slocum's recollections of this bravely-contested field were too
vivid to be dimmed by the lapse of years. He was accustomed to dwell but
lightly on the gallant part borne by himself in that memorable action; but
he gave abundant praise to his associates; and well did they deserve the
tribute. "And," he would say—"<i>my wife was there!</i>" She was
indeed; but the story is best told in her own words:</p>
<p>"The men all left on Sunday morning. More than eighty went from this house
with my husband; I looked at them well, and I could see that every man had
mischief in him. I know a coward as soon as I set my eyes upon him. The
tories more than once tried to frighten me, but they always showed coward
at the bare insinuation that our troops were about.</p>
<p>"Well, they got off in high spirits; every man stepping high and light.
And I slept soundly and quietly that night, and worked hard all the next
day; but I kept thinking where they had got to—how far; where and
how many of the regulars and tories they would meet; and I could not keep
myself from the study. I went to bed at the usual time, but still
continued to study. As I lay—whether waking or sleeping I know not—I
had a dream; yet it was not all a dream. (She used the words,
unconsciously, of the poet who was not then a being.) I saw distinctly a
body wrapped in my husband's guard-cloak—bloody—dead; and
others dead and wounded on the ground about him. I saw them plainly and
distinctly. I uttered a cry, and sprang to my feet on the floor; and so
strong was the impression on my mind, that I rushed in the direction the
vision appeared, and came up against the side of the house. The fire in
the room gave little light, and I gazed in every direction to catch
another glimpse of the scene. I raised the light; everything was still and
quiet. My child was sleeping, but my woman was awakened by my crying out
or jumping on the floor. If ever I felt fear it was at that moment. Seated
on the bed, I reflected a few moments—and said aloud: 'I must go to
him.' I told the woman I could not sleep and would ride down the road. She
appeared in great alarm; but I merely told her to lock the door after me,
and look after the child. I went to the stable, saddled my mare—as
fleet and easy a nag as ever travelled; and in one minute we were tearing
down the road at full speed. The cool night seemed after a mile or two's
gallop to bring reflection with it; and I asked myself where I was going,
and for what purpose. Again and again I was tempted to turn back; but I
was soon ten miles from home, and my mind became stronger every mile I
rode. I should find my husband dead or dying—was as firmly my
presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When day broke I was
some thirty miles from home. I knew the general route our little army
expected to take, and had followed them without hesitation. About sunrise
I came upon a group of women and children, standing and sitting by the
roadside, each one of them showing the same anxiety of mind I felt.
Stopping a few minutes I inquired if the battle had been fought. They knew
nothing, but were assembled on the road to catch intelligence. They
thought Caswell had taken the right of the Wilmington road, and gone
towards the northwest (Cape Fear). Again was I skimming over the ground
through a country thinly settled, and very poor and swampy; but neither my
own spirits nor my beautiful nag's failed in the least. We followed the
well-marked trail of the troops.</p>
<p>"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when I heard a
sound like thunder, which I knew must be cannon. It was the First time I
ever heard a cannon. I stopped still; when presently the cannon thundered
again. The battle was then fighting. What a fool! my husband could not be
dead last night, and the battle only fighting now! Still, as I am so near,
I will go on and see how they come out. So away we went again, faster than
ever; and I soon found by the noise of guns that I was near the fight.
Again I stopped. I could hear muskets, I could hear rifles, and I could
hear shouting. I spoke to my mare and dashed on in the direction of the
Firing and the shouts, now louder than ever. The blind path I had been
following brought me into the Wilmington road leading to Moore's Creek
Bridge, a few hundred yards below the bridge. A few yards from the road,
under a cluster of trees were lying perhaps twenty men. They were the
wounded. I knew the spot; the very trees; and the position of the men I
knew as if I had seen it a thousand times. I had seen it all night! I saw
all at once; but in an instant my whole soul was centred in one spot; for
there, wrapped in his bloody guard-cloak, was my husband's body! How I
passed the few yards from my saddle to the place I never knew. I remember
uncovering his head and seeing a face clothed with gore from a dreadful
wound across the temple. I put my hand on the bloody face; 'twas warm; and
an <i>unknown voice</i> begged for water. A small camp-kettle was lying
near, and a stream of water was close by. I brought it; poured some in his
mouth; washed his face; and behold—it was Frank Cogdell. He soon
revived and could speak. I was washing the wound in his head. Said he, 'It
is not that; it is that hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of
blood was standing on the ground about his feet. I took his knife, cut
away his trousers and stocking, and found the blood came from a shot-hole
through and through the fleshy part of his leg. I looked about and could
see nothing that looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but some
heart-leaves. I gathered a handful and bound them tight to the holes; and
the bleeding stopped. I then went to the others; and—Doctor! I
dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after
that day! I had not inquired for my husband; but while I was busy Caswell
came up. He appeared very much surprised to see me; and was with his hat
in hand about to pay some compliment: but I interrupted him by asking—'Where
is my husband?'</p>
<p>"'Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,' said
he, 'how came you here?'</p>
<p>"'Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as soldiers.
See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows; and here is one'—going
to Frank and lifting him up with my arm under his head so that he could
drink some more water—'would have died before any of you men could
have helped him.'</p>
<p>"'I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my husband, as
bloody as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher, * stood before me.</p>
<p class="foot">
* It was his company that forded the creek, and penetrating the swamp,
made the furious charge on the British left and rear, which decided the
fate of the day.</p>
<p>"'Why, Mary!' he exclaimed, 'What are you doing there? Hugging Frank
Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'</p>
<p>"'I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and a
true friend to Congress.'</p>
<p>"'True, true! every word of it!' said Caswell. 'You are right, madam!'
with the lowest possible bow.</p>
<p>"I would not tell my husband what brought me there. I was so happy; and so
were all! It was a glorious victory; I came just at the height of the
enjoyment. I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see he was not
displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all
subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some very
obnoxious; but the worst of the tories were not taken prisoners. They
were, for the most part, left in the woods and swamps wherever they were
overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell readily
told me none should be hurt but such as had been guilty of murder and
house-burning. In the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and
started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next
morning and they would send a party with me; but no! I wanted to see my
child, and I told them they could send no party who could keep up with me.
What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace my child as
he ran to meet me!"</p>
<p>What fiction could be stranger than such truth! And would not a plain
unvarnished narrative of the sayings and doings of the actors in
Revolutionary times, unknown by name, save in the neighborhood where they
lived, and now almost forgotten even by their descendants, surpass in
thrilling interest any romance ever written! In these days of railroads
and steam, it can scarcely be credited that a woman actually rode alone,
in the night, through a wild unsettled country, a distance—going and
returning—of a hundred and twenty-five miles; and that in less than
forty hours, and without any interval of rest! Yet even this fair
equestrian, whose feats would astonish the modern world, admitted that one
of her acquaintances was a better horsewoman than herself. This was Miss
Esther Wake, the beautiful sister-in-law of Governor Tryon, after whom
Wake County was named. She is said to have rode eighty miles—the
distance between Raleigh and the Governor's head-quarters in the
neighborhood of Colonel Slocumb's residence—to pay a visit;
returning the next day. Governor Tryon was here several days, at the time
he made the famous foray against the Regulators. What would these women
have said to the delicacy of modern refinement in the southern country,
fatigued with a moderate drive in a close carriage, and looking out on
woods and fields from the windows!</p>
<p>The physiologist may explain the vision that produced an impression so
powerful as to determine this resolute wife upon her nocturnal expedition
to Moore's Creek. The idea of danger to her husband, which banished sleep,
was sufficient to call up the illusion to her excited imagination; and her
actions were decided by the impulse of the moment, prompting her to hasten
at once to his assistance.</p>
<p>This is not the place to record the Revolutionary services of Colonel
Slocumb. The aid of one of his descendants enables me to add some notice
of the personal history of his wife to the foregoing anecdotes. Her maiden
name was Hooks. She was born in the county of Bertie, North Carolina, in
1760. When she was about ten years of age, her father, after a tour of
exploration in search of a portion of country which combined the
advantages of fertility and healthful air, removed his family to the
county of Duplin. He was an open-hearted, hospitable man; and was one of a
number bearing the same character, who settled a region of country called
Goshen, still famous in North Carolina for the frank simplicity of the
manners of its inhabitants, and for their profuse and generous
hospitality. Here were nurtured some of the noblest spirits of the
Revolution. The names of Renau, Hill, Wright, Pearsall, Hooks, and
Slocumb, among others, are remembered with pride. The constant presence of
the loyalists or tories in the neighborhood, and their frequent
depredations, called for vigilance as well as bravery. Many a tale of
treachery and cruelty, enough to freeze the blood with horror, is this day
told at the fireside. Sometimes the barn or dwelling of the doomed whig,
wrapped in lurid flames, lighted up the darkness of the night; sometimes
his fate was to be hung to a sapling; and not unfrequently these
atrocities were in like manner avenged upon the aggressors. Accustomed to
hear of such things, and inured to scenes of danger, it cannot be
wondered, that the gay and sprightly Mary Hooks should acquire a degree of
masculine energy and independence, with many of the accomplishments of the
bolder sex. She was at this time in the early bloom of youth, with slender
and symmetrical form and pleasing features, animated by blue, expressive,
laughing eyes. If not absolutely beautiful, her face could not fail to
charm; for it beamed with the bright soul that knew not what it was to
fear. Her playful wit and repartee, rendered piquant by her powers of
sarcasm, were rarely equalled.</p>
<p>Soon after the removal of the family to Goshen, her mother died; and in
1777, her father married the widow of John Charles Slocumb, who resided in
the locality above-described, on the Neuse.. At the time of their
marriage, the parties had each three children. Ezekiel Slocumb was the
eldest son, and as the law then stood, inherited the whole of his father's
real estate. Of the two plantations to which he was entitled, however, he
gave one to his brother. Though but a youth of seventeen, the management
of the property devolved on him; while the other children of the united
family lived together at Goshen. In due time for a "course of love,"
Ezekiel Slocumb and Mary Hooks were married, both being about eighteen
years of age. The lovely and spirited bride immediately entered upon her
duties at her husband's home on the Neuse; but they were not allowed to
remain long in untroubled security. To prevent or punish the frequent
depredations of the tories, the boy-husband joined a troop of light-horse,
who, acting on their own responsibility, performed the duty of scouts,
scouring the country wherever they had notice of any necessity for their
presence. In these prolonged absences, Mrs. Slocumb took the entire charge
of the plantation, being obliged to perform many of the duties which
usually fall to the lot of the rougher sex. She used to say, laughingly,
that she had done in those perilous times all that a man ever did, except
"mauling rails;" and to take away even that exception she went out one day
and <i>spilt a few</i>. She was a graceful and fearless rider; and Die
Vernon herself never displayed more skillful horsemanship in scampering
over the hills of Scotland, than did the subject of this memoir, in her
excursions through the wild woods of Neuse. Not only was this southern
accomplishment then in vogue among the women, but it was not thought
unfeminine to chase the fox. Many a time and oft has our heroine been in
at the death, and won the honor. Nor could the stag say confidently, "this
day he would not die," if Mary Slocumb chanced to be mounted on "Old
Roam," with her light unerring "Joe Manton" slung at her side!</p>
<p>But those were not days for sport and pleasure alone. In the knowledge how
to spin, sew, and weave, our fair equestrian was perfect. She could also
wash and cook; and it was her pride to excel in all she did. In those days
matrons of condition disdained not labor with their hands; nor were
affluent circumstances an excuse for idleness or extravagance. The results
of her persevering industry and that of her domestics appeared at her
death in curtains, quilts, and cloths of various sorts and patterns,
sufficient in quantity to furnish a country store. Let our indolent fine
ladies blush for themselves when they learn that a woman of mind and
intelligence, whose rare powers of conversation charmed the social circle,
actually carded, spun, wove, cut and made all the clothes worn by an
officer of the army in active service during the southern campaign,
including his guard-cloak; and that the material of her own dress was
manufactured by her own hands! *</p>
<p class="foot">
* The following picture of a housewife of the older time is taken from the
MS. "Remembrancer" of Christopher Marshall, Member of the Committee of
Observation, &c., &c. These curious, manuscript papers have been
arranged by William Duane, jun., of Philadelphia:</p>
<p>"As I have in this memorandum taken scarcely any notice of my wife's
employments, it might appear as if her engagements were very trifling; the
which is not the case, but the reverse; and to do her that justice which
her services deserved, by entering them minutely, would take up most of my
time, for this genuine reason, how that from early in the morning till
late at night, she is constantly employed in the affairs of the family,
which for four months has been very large; for besides the addition to our
family in the house, [is] a constant resort of comers and goers, which
seldom go away with dry lips and hungry bellies. This calls for her
constant attendance, not only to provide, but also to attend at getting
prepared in the kitchen, baking our bread and pies, meat, &c., and
also on the table. Her cleanliness about the house, her attendance in the
orchard, cutting and drying apples, of which several bushels have been
procured; add to which, her making of cider without tools, for the
constant drink of the family, her seeing all our washing done, and her
fine clothes and my shirts, the which are all smoothed by her; add to
this, her making of twenty large cheeses, and that from one cow, and daily
using with milk and cream, besides her sewing, knitting, &c. Thus she
looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of
idleness; yea, she also stretcheth out her hand, and she reacheth forth
her hand to her needy friends and neighbors. I think she has not been
above four times since her residence has been here, to visit her
neighbors."</p>
<p>Mrs. Slocumb's was a happy girlhood and youth. She always recurred to its
history with delight; and retained the fashion of dress then prevalent
with a fond pertinacity amusing to others. She scorned ever to wear any
other than the long tight-waisted habit worn in her youthful days; and
however costly the material, it had to be cut in the good old way.</p>
<p>For almost sixty years she never did, and never would, allow herself to
vary one iota from the fashion of Seventy-Six. It was with her a matter of
pride no less than taste; it was a relic of the Revolution; and it would
have savored of ingratitude, if not of impiety, to cast it away.</p>
<p>The true dignity of an American matron was shown in Mrs. Slocumb's
reception and entertainment of the British officers, as already related.
Her deportment was uniformly calm and self-possessed; her lofty spirit
gave to her slender and fragile form a majesty that secured the respect of
all the officers, and protected her from the slightest approach towards
insolent familiarity. She presided at her table with dignity and courtesy,
extending open hospitality to all her unbidden guests. Her liberality was
acknowledged by strict orders that no depredations should be committed on
any thing belonging to the house or plantation. These orders were in
general successfully enforced; but even military authority could not save
the farm-yard poultry or stock from a hungry soldiery. Not a feather was
left, and many a fine bullock was knocked in the head. But in other things
the protection availed her. On the news of the army's approach, she had
taken the precaution to bury in the edge of a marsh near at hand, her
plate and other valuables. The soldiers suspected the place of deposit,
and plunged their pike-staffs into the ground about the spot, until they
discovered the treasure. They were compelled to restore it to the rightful
owner.</p>
<p>Mrs. Slocumb's little son, at this time two or three years old, became a
pet with several of the officers. The little fellow was permitted to share
with them the pleasure and pride of prancing about on their splendid
chargers. Perhaps to some of them his childish glee recalled their own
domestic circles, and awakened in their stern hearts the holy feelings of
home. They seemed delighted when the infant equestrian thus playing
dragoon, would clap his little hands and shout in his innocent mirth. This
child was the Hon. Jesse Slocumb, member of Congress, who died full of
honors in early manhood. His remains rest in the Congressional
burial-ground at Washington. The brother of Mrs. Slocumb already
mentioned, was at the same time a member from the Wilmington District. He
died two or three years since in Alabama.</p>
<p>When the British army broke up their encampment at the plantation, a
sergeant was ordered by Colonel Tarleton to stand in the door till the
last soldier had gone out, to ensure protection to a lady whose noble
bearing had inspired them all with the most profound respect. This order
was obeyed; the guard brought up the rear of that army in their march
northward. Mrs. Slocumb saw them depart with tears of joy; and on her
knees gave thanks, with a full heart, to the Divine Being who had
protected her. A day or two afterwards, her husband returned to her arms
and a happy home. They lived together for sixty years in unbroken harmony,
the patriarchs of all that country, and looked up to by the inhabitants
with unbounded love and respect. Many a traveller has been entertained at
this hospitable mansion. A chapter might here be written on the subject of
that ancient hospitality now so nearly obsolete in regions of country
visited by the march of improvement. It was preserved in all its primitive
exuberance in the house of Colonel Slocumb; there was always provision in
his larder, and a place at his board for the chance guest, who was certain
of a cordial welcome, and wine which a connoisseur would have pronounced
of the choicest vintage of Europe. If it be asked how this unbounded
hospitality was supported—the answer is, every thing used was of
home manufacture; nothing being purchased except those few essentials
which are not the produce of our country.</p>
<p>Mrs. Slocumb possessed a strong and original mind, a commanding intellect
and clear judgment, which she retained unimpaired to the time of her
death. Among her friends she was remarkable for vivid powers of
conversation, while those less familiarly acquainted thought her reserved,
and some fancied her severe and sarcastic. In this respect she was
misjudged, for her severity was aimed only at folly or misconduct.</p>
<p>Her characteristic fortitude in the endurance of bodily pain—so
great that it seemed absolute stoicism—should be noticed. In her
seventy-second year she was afflicted with a cancer on her hand, which the
surgeon informed her must be removed with the knife. At the time appointed
for the operation she protested against being held by the assistants,
telling the surgeon, "it was his business to cut out the cancer; she would
take care of her arm." He insisted, however, on her submitting to be held.
At the first incision, one of the assistants complained of faintness; Mrs.
Slocumb bade him go away; and driving them off, braced her arm on the
table, and never moved a muscle nor uttered a groan during the operation.</p>
<p>In her last years she was visited with a complication of disorders, enough
to have broken the stoutest spirit; but bore all with Christian patience,
and at the age of seventy-six sank quietly to rest. She died on the sixth
of March, 1836. Her venerable husband survived her about five years. Both
now slumber together near the home where they lived and loved so long.
Pleasant Green has passed into the hands of other owners; the noble old
oaks that surrounded the mansion and lined the avenue, have been girdled,
and seem to lift their bare arms in lamentation for their ancient
possessors. But the memory of those who dwelt there is linked with
glorious recollections, which time can never efface from American hearts.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ention has been
made of Esther Wake, the sister of Lady Tryon. These two lovely and
accomplished women exercised great influence, according to tradition, in
matters of state. * The gallantry of a warm-hearted people perhaps
inclined them to estimate the character of their governor by the grace,
beauty and accomplishment that adorned his domestic circle. The governor's
dinners were princely, and the fascination of the ladies irresistible. In
his attempt to obtain an appropriation from the assembly for building a
splendid palace, female genius and influence rose superior to his official
consequence and political manouvres. Though the colony was poor, their
management obtained a second grant. The admiration they commanded helped
to sustain Governor Tryon's waning authority. When the royal government
was annihilated, and the motion to change the name of Tryon County was
under consideration, the resolution to alter that of Wake was rejected by
acclamation. Thus the county in which the city of Raleigh is located, is
consecrated to the memory of beauty and virtue.</p>
<p class="foot">
* Sabine's American Loyalists. Jones' Defence of North Carolina.</p>
<p><br/><br/></p>
<hr />
<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </SPAN></p>
<br/>
<h2> XXV. SARAH BÂCHE. </h2>
<p>* Mr. William Duane, to whose pen the reader is indebted for this sketch—is
the grandson of Mrs. Bâche.</p>
<p class="pfirst">
<span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>arah, the only
daughter of Benjamin Franklin, was born at Philadelphia, on the eleventh
of September, 1744. Of her early years no particulars can now be obtained;
but from her father's appreciation of the importance of education, and the
intelligence and information that she displayed through life, we may
presume that her studies were as extensive as were then pursued by females
in any of the American colonies.</p>
<p>In 1764, she was called to part with her father, sent to Europe for the
first time in a representative capacity. The people of Pennsylvania were
at that time divided into two parties—the supporters and the
opponents of the proprietaries. The sons of Penn, as is known, had left
the religion of their father, and joined the Church of England; and the
bulk of that persuasion were of the proprietary party. The mass of the
Quakers were in opposition, and with them Franklin had acted. After having
been for fourteen years a member of the Assembly, he lost his election to
that body in the autumn of 1764, by a few votes; but his friends being in
the majority in the House, immediately elected him the agent of the
province in England. The proprietary party made great opposition to his
appointment; and an incident occurred in connection with it that shows us
how curiously the affairs of Church and State were intermingled in those
days. A petition or remonstrance to the Assembly against his being chosen
agent, was laid for signature upon the communion-table of Christ Church,
in which he was a pew-holder, and his wife a communicant. His daughter
appears to have resented this outrage upon decency and the feelings of her
family, and to have spoken of leaving the church in consequence; which
gave occasion to the following dissuasive in the letter which her father
wrote to her from Reedy Island, November 8th, 1764, on his way to Europe:
"Go constantly to church whoever preaches. The act of devotion in the
common prayer-book is your principal business there; and if properly
attended to, will do more towards amending the heart than sermons
generally can do; for they were composed by men of much greater piety and
wisdom than our common composers of sermons can pretend to be; and
therefore I wish you would never miss the prayer days. Yet I do not mean
you should despise sermons, even of the preachers you dislike, for the
discourse is often much better than the man, as sweet and clear waters
come through very dirty earth. I am the more particular on this head, as
you seemed to express a little before I came away some inclination to
leave our church, which I would not have you do." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* The manuscript letters from which extracts are made in this memoir, are
in the possession of Mrs. Bache's descendants in Philadelphia.</p>
<p>The opinion entertained by many that a disposition to mobbing is of modern
growth in this country is erroneous. In Colonial times outrages of this
character were at least as frequent as now. Dr. Franklin had not been gone
a year before his house was threatened with an attack. Mrs. Franklin sent
her daughter to Governor Franklin's in Burlington, and proceeded to make
preparation for the defence of her "castle." Her letter detailing the
particulars may be found in the last edition of Watson's Annals of
Philadelphia.</p>
<p>The first letter from Sarah Franklin to her father that has been
preserved, was written after her return from this visit to Burlington. In
it she says, "The subject now is Stamp Act, and nothing else is talked of.
The Dutch talk of the 'Stamp tack,' the negroes of the 'tamp'—in
short, every body has something to say." The commissions which follow for
gloves, lavender, and tooth-powder, give us a humble idea of the state of
the supplies in the Colonies at that day. The letter thus concludes:
"There is not a young lady of my acquaintance but what desires to be
remembered to you. I am, my dear, your very dutiful daughter,</p>
<p>"Sally Franklin."</p>
<p>In a letter dated on the 23d of the following March (1765), the Stamp Act
is again mentioned: "We have heard by a round-about way that the Stamp Act
is repealed. The people seem determined to believe it, though it came from
Ireland to Maryland. The bells rung, we had bonfires, and one house was
illuminated. Indeed I never heard so much noise in my life; the very
children seem distracted. I hope and pray the noise may be true."</p>
<p>A letter to her brother, written September 30th, 1766, speaks thus of some
political movements in Philadelphia at that time: "The letter from Mr.
Sergeant was to Daniel Wistar. I send you the Dutch paper, where I think
there is something about it. On Friday night there was a meeting of seven
or eight hundred men in Hare's brew-house, where Mr. Ross, mounted on a
bag of grain, spoke to them a considerable time. He read Sergeant's
letter, and some others, which had a good effect, as they satisfied many.
Some of the people say he outdid Whitfield; and Sir John says he is in a
direct line from Solomon. He spoke several things in favor of his absent
friend, whom he called the good, the worthy Dr. Franklin, and his worthy
friend. After he was gone, Hugh Roberts stood up and proposed him in
Willing's place, and desired those who were for him to stand up; and they
all rose to a man."</p>
<p>On the 29th of October, 1767, Sarah Franklin was married to Richard Bache,
a merchant of Philadelphia, and a native of Settle, in Yorkshire, England.
After their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Bache appear to have resided with Mrs.
Franklin in the house built by her in the year 1765, upon ground over
which Franklin Place now runs. *</p>
<p class="foot">
* This house, in which Franklin died, stood rather nearer to Chestnut
Street than to Market Street. The original entrance to it was over the
ground upon which No. 112 Market Street is now built. On Franklin's return
from Europe, he opened a new entrance to it between Nos. 106 and 108,
under the archway still remaining, the house No. 106, and that lately No.
108, being built by him. His house was torn down about the year 1813, when
Franklin Court was built upon the ground occupied by it—the court in
front and the garden in the rear.</p>
<p>Mrs. Franklin died on the 19th of December, 1774, having been attacked by
paralysis four days previously. The mansion house continued to be occupied
by Mr. Bache and his family. In the garden a willow tree was planted by
Mrs. Bache on the 4th of July, 1776.</p>
<p>The approach of the British army through New Jersey in December, 1776,
induced Mr. Bache to remove his family to Goshen township in Chester
County, from which place the following letter was addressed by Mrs. Bache
to her father, who, in the previous October, had been sent to France by
the American Congress. Mrs. Bache's eldest son accompanied him, and was
educated in France and Geneva under the supervision of his grandfather.</p>
<p>"Goshen, February 23d, 1777.</p>
<p>"Honored Sir—</p>
<p>"We have been impatiently waiting to hear of your arrival for some time.
It was seventeen weeks yesterday since you left us—a day I shall
never forget. How happy shall we be to hear you are all safe arrived and
well. You had not left us long before we were obliged to leave town. I
never shall forget nor forgive them for turning me out of house and home
in the middle of winter, and we are still about twenty-four miles from
Philadelphia, in Chester County, the next plantation to where Mr.
Ashbridge used to live. We have two comfortable rooms, and we are as
happily situated as I can be separated from Mr. Bache; he comes to see us
as often as his business will permit. Your library we sent out of town
well packed in boxes, a week before us, and all the valuable things,
mahogany excepted, we brought with us. There was such confusion that it
was a hard matter to get out at any rate; when we shall get back again I
know not, though things are altered much in our favor since we left town.
I think I shall never be afraid of staying in it again, if the enemy were
only three miles instead of thirty from it, since our cowards, as Lord
Sandwich calls them, are so ready to turn out against those heroes who
were to conquer all before them, but have found themselves so much
mistaken; their courage never brought them to Trenton, till they heard our
army were disbanded. I send you the newspapers; but as they do not always
speak true, and as there may be some particulars in Mr. Bache's letters to
me that are not in them, I will copy those parts of his letters that
contain the news. I think you will have it more regular.</p>
<p>"Aunt has wrote to you, and sent it to town. She is very well, and desires
her love to you and Temple. We have wished much for him here when we have
been a little dull; he would have seen some characters here quite new to
him. It's lucky for us Mr. George Clymer's, Mr. Meredith's, and Mr.
Bud-den's families are moved so near us. They are sensible and agreeable
people, and are not often alone. I have refused dining at Mr. Clymer's
today, that I might have the pleasure of writing to you and my dear boy,
who, I hope, behaves so as to make you love him. We used to think he gave
little trouble at home; but that was, perhaps, a mother's partiality. I am
in great hopes that the first letter of Mr. Bache will bring me news of
your arrival. I shall then have cause to rejoice. I am, my dear papa, as
much as ever, your dutiful and affectionate daughter. S. Bache."</p>
<p>Mrs. Bache returned home with her family shortly after, but in the
following autumn the approach of the British army after their victory on
the Brandywine, again drove them from Philadelphia. On the 17th of
September, 1777, four days after the birth of her second daughter, Mrs.
Bache left town, taking refuge at first in the hospitable mansion of her
friend Mrs. Duffield, in Lower Dublin Township, Philadelphia County. They
afterwards removed to Manheim Township in Lancaster County where they
remained until the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British forces. The
following extracts are from letters written to Dr. Franklin after their
return. On the 14th July, 1778, Mr. Bache writes: "Once more I have the
happiness of addressing you from this dearly beloved city, after having
been kept out of it more than nine months.. . . I found your house and
furniture upon my return to town, in much better order than I had reason
to expect from the hands of such a rapacious crew; they stole and carried
off with them some of your musical instruments, viz: a Welsh harp, ball
harp, the set of tuned bells which were in a box, viol-degamba, all the
spare armonica glasses and one or two spare cases. Your armonica is safe.
They took likewise the few books that were left behind, the chief of which
were Temple's school books and the History of the Arts and Sciences in
French, which is a great loss to the public; some of your electric
apparatus is missing also—a Captain André also took with him the
picture of you which hung in the dining-room. The rest of the pictures are
safe and met with no damage, except the frame of Alfred, which is broken
to pieces." *</p>
<p class="foot">
* The postscript to this letter is curious. "I wish I could have sent to
me from France two dozen of padlocks and keys fit for mails, and a dozen
post-horns; they are not to be had here."</p>
<p>André was quartered in Franklin's house during the sojourn of the British
in Philadelphia. In the following letter from Mrs. Bache, his future
acquaintance Arnold is mentioned. It is dated October 22, 1778, Mrs. Bache
having remained at Man-heim with her children until the autumn. "This is
the first opportunity I have had since my return home of writing to you.
We found the house and furniture in much better order than we could
expect, which was owing to the care the Miss Cliftons took of all we left
behind; my being removed four days after my little girl was born, made it
impossible for me to remove half the things we did in our former flight."
After describing her little girl, she adds: "I would give a good deal if
you could see her; you can't think how fond of kissing she is, and gives
such old-fashioned smacks, General Arnold says he would give a good deal
to have her for a school mistress, to teach the young ladies how to
kiss.". . . There is hardly such a thing as living in town, everything is
so high, the money is old tenor to all intents and purposes. If I was to
mention the prices of the common necessaries of life it would astonish
you. I have been all amazement since my return; such an odds have two
years made, that I can scarcely believe I am in Philadelphia.. . . They
really ask me six dollars for a pair of gloves, and I have been obliged to
pay fifteen pounds for a common calamanco petticoat without quilting, that
I once could have got for fifteen shillings."</p>
<p>These high prices were owing to the depreciation of the continental money,
but it subsequently was much greater. The time came when Mrs. Bache's
domestics were obliged to take two baskets with them to market, one empty
to contain the provisions they purchased, the other full of continental
money to pay for them.</p>
<p>On the 17th of January, 1779, after speaking of the continued rise of
prices, she writes, that "there never was so much dressing and pleasure
going on; old friends meeting again, the whigs in high spirits and
strangers of distinction among us." Speaking of her having met with
General and Mrs. Washington several times, she adds: "He always inquires
after you in the most affectionate manner, and speaks of you highly. We
danced at Mrs. Powell's on your birthday, or night I should say, in
company together, and he told me it was the anniversary of his marriage;
it was just twenty years that night."</p>
<p>With this letter a piece of American silk was sent as a present to the
queen of France, Marie Antoinette.</p>
<p>Dr. Franklin in his reply seems to have expressed some dissatisfaction at
the gaiety of his countrymen, which he considered unseasonable. Mrs. Bache
thus excuses herself for participating in it in a letter dated September
14, 1779: "I am indeed much obliged to you for your very kind present. It
never could have come at a more seasonable time, and particularly so as
they are all necessary.... But how could my dear papa give me so severe a
reprimand for wishing a little finery. He would not, I am sure, if he knew
how much I have felt it. Last winter was a season of triumph to the whigs,
and they spent it gaily. You would not have had me, I am sure, stay away
from the Ambassador's or General's entertainments, nor when I was invited
to spend the day with General Washington and his lady; and you would have
been the last person, I am sure, to have wished to see me dressed with
singularity. Though I never loved dress so much as to wish to be
particularly fine, yet I never will go out when I cannot appear so as to
do credit to my family and husband.... I can assure my dear papa that
industry in this country is by no means laid aside; but as to spinning
linen, we cannot think of that till we have got that wove which we spun
three years ago. Mr. Duffield has bribed a weaver that lives on his farm
to weave me eighteen yards, by making him three or four shuttles for
nothing, and keeping it a secret from the country people, who will not
suffer them to weave for those in town. This is the third weaver's it has
been at, and many fair promises I have had about it. 'Tis now done and
whitening, but forty yards of the best remains at Liditz yet, that I was
to have had home a twelvemonth last month. Mrs. Keppele, who is gone to
Lancaster, is to try to get it done there for me; but not a thread will
they weave but for hard money. My maid is now spinning wool for winter
stockings for the whole family, which will be no difficulty in the
manufactory, as I knit them myself. I only mention these things that you
may see that balls are not the only reason that the wheel is laid
aside.... This winter approaches with so many horrors that I shall not
want anything to go abroad in, if I can be comfortable at home. My
spirits, which I have kept up during my being drove about from place to
place, much better than most people's I meet with, have been lowered by
nothing but the depreciation of the money, which has been amazing lately,
so that home will be the place for me this winter, as I cannot get a
common winter cloak and hat but just decent under two hundred pounds; as
to gauze now, it is fifty dollars a yard; 'tis beyond my wish, and I
should think it not only a shame but a sin to buy it if I had millions. It
is indeed, as you say, that money is too cheap; for there are so many
people that are not used to have it, nor know the proper use of it, that
get so much, that they care not whether they give one dollar or a hundred
for anything they want; but to those whose every dollar is the same as a
silver one, which is our case, it is particularly hard; for Mr. Bache
could not bear to do business in the manner it has been done in this
place, which has been almost all by monopolizing and forestalling."</p>
<p>In the patriotic effort of the ladies of Philadelphia to furnish the
destitute American soldiers with money and clothing during the year 1780,
Mrs. Bache took a very active part. After the death of Mrs. Reed, the duty
of completing the collections and contributions devolved on her and four
other ladies, as a sort of Executive Committee. The shirts provided were
cut out at her house. A letter to Dr. Franklin, a part of which has been
published, shows how earnestly she was engaged in the work. The Marquis de
Chastellux thus describes a visit which he paid her about this time:
"After this slight repast, which only lasted an hour and a half, we went
to visit the ladies, agreeable to the Philadelphia custom, where the
morning is the most proper hour for paying visits. We began by Mrs. Bache.
She merited all the anxiety we had to see her, for she is the daughter of
Mr. Franklin. Simple in her manners, like her respected father, she
possesses his benevolence. She conducted us into a room filled with work,
lately finished by the ladies of Philadelphia. This work consisted neither
of embroidered tambour waistcoats, nor of net-work edging, nor of gold and
silver brocade. It was a quantity of shirts for the soldiers of
Pennsylvania. The ladies bought the linen from their own private purses,
and took a pleasure in cutting them out and sewing them themselves. On
each shirt was the name of the married or unmarried lady who made it; and
they amounted to twenty-two hundred."</p>
<p>Mrs. Bache writes to Mrs. Meredith at Trenton; "I am happy to have it in
my power to tell you that the sums given by the good women of Philadelphia
for the benefit of the army have been much greater than could be expected,
and given with so much cheerfulness and so many blessings, that it was
rather a pleasing than a painful task to call for it. I write to claim you
as a Philadelphian, and shall think myself honored in your donation."</p>
<p>A letter of M. de Marbois to Dr. Franklin, the succeeding year—thus
speaks of his daughter: "If there are in Europe any women who need a model
of attachment to domestic duties and love for their country, Mrs. Bache
may be pointed out to them as such. She passed a part of the last year in
exertions to rouse the zeal of the Pennsylvania ladies, and she made on
this occasion such a happy use of the eloquence which you know she
possesses, that a large part of the American army was provided with
shirts, bought with their money, or made by their hands. In her
applications for this purpose, she showed the most indefatigable zeal, the
most unwearied perseverance, and a courage in asking, which surpassed even
the obstinate reluctance of the Quakers in refusing."</p>
<p>The letters of Mrs. Bache show much force of character, and an ardent,
generous and impulsive nature. She has a strong remembrance of kindness,
and attachment to her friends; and in writing to her father her veneration
for him is ever apparent, combined with the confidence and affection of a
devoted daughter. Her beloved children are continually the theme on which
her pen delights to dwell. Again and again the little family group is
described to her father when abroad; and it is pleasing to dwell on the
picture of the great philosopher and statesman reading with parental
interest domestic details like the following; "Willy begins to learn his
book very well, and has an extraordinary memory. He has learned, these
last holidays, the speech of Anthony over Cæsar's body, which he can
scarcely speak without tears. When Betsy looks at your picture here, she
wishes her grandpapa had teeth, that he might be able to talk to her; and
has frequently tried to tempt you to walk out of the frame with a piece of
apple pie, the thing of all others she likes best. Louis is remarkable for
his sweet temper and good spirits." To her son she says: "There is nothing
would make me happier than your making a good and useful man. Every
instruction with regard to your morals and learning I am sure you have
from your grandpapa: I shall therefore only add my prayers that all he
recommends may be strictly attended to."</p>
<p>In September, 1785, after an absence of nearly seven years at the Court of
France, Dr. Franklin returned to his home in Philadelphia. He spent the
last years of his life amidst the family of his daughter and the
descendants of the friends of his early years, the most of whom he had
survived.</p>
<p>In 1792 Mr. and Mrs. Bache visited England, and would have extended their
tour to France, had it not been for the increasing troubles of the French
Revolution. They were absent about a year.</p>
<p>Mr. Bache, having relinquished commercial pursuits, removed in 1794 to a
farm upon the river Delaware, sixteen miles above Philadelphia, which he
named Settle, after his birthplace. Here they spent upwards of thirteen
years, making their residence the seat of hospitality.</p>
<p>In 1807, Mrs. Bache was attacked by cancer, and removed to Philadelphia in
the winter of 1807-8, for the benefit of medical attendance. Her disease
proved incurable, and on the 5th of October, 1808, she died in the house
in Franklin Court, aged sixty-four years. Her remains, with those of her
husband, who survived her a few years only, are interred in the Christ
Church burial-ground, beside those of her parents.</p>
<p>In person, Mrs. Bache was rather above the middle height, and in the
latter years of her life she became very stout. Her complexion was
uncommonly fair, with much color; her hair brown, and her eyes blue, like
those of her father.</p>
<p>Strong good sense, and a ready flow of wit, were among the most striking
features of her mind. Her benevolence was very great, and her generosity
and liberality were eminent. Her friends ever cherished a warm affection
for her.</p>
<p>It has been related that her father, with a view of accustoming her to
bear disappointments with patience, was sometimes accustomed to request
her to remain at home, and spend the evening over the chess-board, when
she was on the point of going out to some meeting of her young friends.
The cheerfulness which she displayed in every turn of fortune, proves that
this discipline was not without its good effect.</p>
<p>Many of her witticisms have been remembered, but most of them, owing to
the local nature of the events which gave rise to them and their mention
of individuals, would not now bear being repeated. Her remark that "she
hated all the Carolinians from Bee to Izard," would be excluded for the
latter reason, but may perhaps be excused here, as it has already appeared
in print. What offence Mr. Bee had given, is not known, but Mr. Izard's
hostility to her father was of the most malignant character.</p>
<p>She took a great interest through life in political affairs, and was a
zealous republican. Having learnt that the English lady to whom some of
her daughters were sent to school, had placed the pupils connected with
persons in public life, (her children among the number), at the upper end
of the table, upon the ground that the young ladies of rank should sit
together, Mrs. Bache sent her word that in this country there was no rank
but rank mutton.</p>
<p>Mrs. Bache had eight children, of whom her eldest daughter died very
young, and her eldest son in 1798 of the yellow fever, then prevailing in
Philadelphia. Three sons and three daughters survived her.</p>
<h3> END OF VOL. 1. </h3>
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