LA Les,

TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE

OF

BORDER AND REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.

 

A GREAT HUNTING ADVENTURE.
COLONEL HORRY’S EXPLOITS.
ELERSON’S FAMOUS RACE.

MOLLY PITCHER AT MONMOUTH.

 

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NEW YORK

BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
118. WILLIAM STREET. z

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BEADLE AND COMPANY,
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Southern District of New York.

 

 
.

A REMARKABLE

ra HUNTING EXCURSION.

 

On a September morning of the year 1817, Solomon Sweatland, of
Conneaut, on the Ohio shore of Lake Erie, had risen at earliest dawn
to enjoy his favorite amusement of hunting deer. Royal game was
this, and hunted in royal parks, which the dukes and princes of
haughty old England might envy, and, best of all, they were not
barred from the poorest settler. There was no punishment for

’

“poaching” on the magnificent prairies, and in the glorious forests

of the West. The men who there slung their rifles over their
shoulders, and set out, careless whether they met a fawn or a panther,
would have sneered at an English hunting-ground as a bit of a hand- <4

kerchief which one of their favorite ‘‘ per-raries” could tuck away in
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her pocket and never feel it. Men who can “drive the nail” and

 

“snuff a candle,” three shots out of six, and who kill such dainty
game as squirrels by blowing the breath out of them with the wind
of their bullets instead of lacerating their litle bodies with the ball ;
who have hand-to-hand, or hand-to-paw, tussles with ferocious
grizzlies, and make nothing of two or three deer before breakfast,
may afford to smile at their fox-hunting, partridge-shooting English
png cousins. Such were the men who first settled our now populous
Western States; and we may well believe that the healthy and
thrilling excitement of pursuits like these compensated for the want %
of many luxuries, and that they became so attached to their free and a
venturesome modes of life, as to feel stifled at the idea of the con- ”

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“Their gaunt hounds yelled, theifirifies flashed—
The grim bear bushed his savage growl ; war 4g

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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

In blood and foam the panther gnashed

His fangs, with dying howl;

The fleet deer ceased its flying bound,
Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground,
And, with a moaning cry,
The beaver sunk beneath the wound,
- Its pond-built Venice by.”

Fascinating, even in contemplation, is a life like this. It makes
the blood tingle in the veins, the sinews stretch, and the lungs
expand, to read of the scenes which cluster around it, and to breathe,
in faney, the pure air, and sweep, with our vision, the wide
horizon.

But we must go back to our hunter, who stood, in the gray light
of dawn, without coat or waistcoat, outside his cabin, listening to the
baying of the dogs, as they drove the deer. In this part of the
country, Jying along the lake, it was the custom for one party, aided
by dogs, to drive the deer into the water, when another would pur-
sue them in boats, and when the game was a little tired, shoot it
without difficulty. Sweatland had a neighbor who hunted with him
in this manner, and lie it was who had already started a noble buck,
which dashed into the lake, while Sweatland stood listening for the
direction of the dogs.

In the enthusiasm of the moment, he threw his hat on the beach,
jumped into his canoe, and pulled out after the animal, every
nerve thrilling with intense interest in the pursuit. The wind,
which had been blowing steadily from the south during the night,
had now increased to a gale, but he was too intent upon securing
the valuable prize which was breasting the waves in advance, to
heed the dictates of prudence. The race promised to be a long one,
for the buck was a powerful aniinal, and was not easily to be beaten
by a log canoe and a single paddle.

A considerable distance from the land had been obtained, and the
canoe had already shipped a heavy sea, before he overtook the deer,
which turned and made for the opposite shore. Upon tacking to
pursue him, Sweatland was at once apprised of his danger by the
fact that, with his utmost. exertions, he not only made no progress
in the desired direction, but was actually drifting out to sea. He

had been observed, as he left the shore, by his neighbor, and also
134

 
A REMARKABLE HUNTING EXCURSION. ®

by his family, and as he disappeared from sight, great apprehension
was felt for his safety.

The alarm was soon given in the neighborhood, and it was decided
by those competent to judge, that his return would be impossible,
and unless aid was afforded him, that he was doomed to perish.

Actuated by those generous impulses which often induce men to
risk their own lives for the salvation of others, three neighbors took
a light boat and started in search of the wanderer. They met the
deer returning, but saw nothing of their friend. They made stretches
off shore in the probable range of the hunter, until they reached a
distance of five or six miles from land, when, meeting with a heavy
sea, in which they thought it impossible for « canoe to live, and
seeing no signs of it on the vast expanse of waters, they reluctantly,
and not without danger to themselves, returned to shore, giving
Sweatland up as lost.

Meantime, the object of their search was laboring at his paddle,
in the vain hope that the wind might abate, or that aid might reach
him from the shore.

“ An antlered dweller of the wild
Ilad met his eager gaze,
And far his wandering steps beguiléd
Within an unknown maze.”

ened every lordly buck of the

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Willingly would he now have resi
forest, to warm himself by his cabin fire, hear the laugh of his little
ones, and breathe the odor of the welcome breakfast—ay, even for
his coat and a biscuit he would have given much.

One or two schooners were in sight in the course of the day, but
although he made every effort to attract the notice of their crews,
he failed to do so. For along time the shore continued in sight,
and as ‘he traced its fast-receding outline, and recognized the spot
where stood his home, within whose precincts were the cherished
objects of his affection, now doubly dear from the prospect of losing
them forever; he felt that the last tie which united him in companion;
ship with his fellow-men was about to be dissolved—the world, with
all its busy interests, was floating far away. “

Sweatland possessed a cool head and a stout heart; these, united

to considerable physical strength and power of endurance, - him
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8 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

for the emergency in which he found himself. He was a good
sailor, and his experience taught him that “while there was life
there was hope.” Experience taught him also, as the outline of the
far-off shore receded from sight, that his only expedient was to
endeavor to reach the Canada shore, a distance of fifty miles.

It was now blowing a gale, so that it required the most incredible
exertions to trim his uncouth vessel to the waves. He was obliged
to stand erect, and move cautiously from one end to the other, well
aware that one lost stroke of the paddle, or a tottering movement,
would bring his voyage to a sudden termination. Much of his
attention was likewise required in bailing out the canoe, which he
managed to do with one of his shoes, which were a substantial pair
of stogas. Hitherto he had been blessed by the light of day, but
now, to add to his distress, night approached, and he could only
depend upon a kind Providence to guide him over the watery waste.
The sky, too, began to be overcast; an occasional star, glistening
through the scudding clouds, was all the light afforded him through
that long and fearful night.

Wet to the skin by the dashing spray; part of the time in water
half way to his knees; so cold that his blood chilled in his veins,
and almost famished, he felt that death was preferable to such long-
continued suffering ; and nothing but the thought of his family gave
him courage to keep up his exertions.

When morning dawned, the outline of the Canada shore greeted
his sight; he soon made the land in the vicinity of Long Point.
Here he met additional difficulties in an adverse wind and heavy
breakers, but the same hand which had guided him thus far re-
mained with him still; he succeeded in safely landing. What his
emotions were upon again treading “the green and solid earth,” we
may faintly imagine; but his trials were not ended. Faint with
hunger and exhausted by fatigue, he was forty miles from human
habitation, while the country which intervened was a desert, filled
with marshes and tangled thickets, from which nothing could be
drawn to supply his wants. These difficulties, together with his
reduced state, made his progress toward the settlements very slow.

On his way he found a quantity of goods which had been thrown

ashore from the wreck of some vessel, which, though they afforded
136

-

 

 
A REMARKABLE HUNTING EXCURSION. 9

no immediate relief, were afterward of service to him. After a long
and toilsome march through the wilderness, he arrived at a settle-
ment, where he was treated with great kindness by the people.
When his strength was sufficiently recruited, he procured a boat, and
went afler the wrecked goods, which he found and brought off. He
then started overland for Buffalo, where he disposed of part of his
treasure, and with the proceeds furnished himself with a complete
outfit. Here, finding the Traveler, Captain Brown, from Conneaut,
in the harbor, he engaged passage on board of her. The Captain
and crew, having heard of his disappearance, looked upon him
almost as one risen from the dead. His story was so astonishing as
hardly to be credible; but as he was there, in person, to verify it;;
they were obliged to believe the testimony.

Within a day or two, he was on his way to rejoin his family, who,
the Captain informed him, had given him up, and were in great
grief and distress. When the packet arrived opposite the house, the
crew gave three loud, long and hearty cheers, and fired guns from
the deck in teken of joy, which led the family to anticipate his
return.
On landing, he found that his funeral sermon had been preached,
and had the rare privilege of seeing his own widow clothed in the
habiliments of mourning.

Deer hunting, even down to a recent period, was a chosen amuse-
ment in Ohio. At this time the animal is only found in the great
forests of the north-west counties of Paulding, Van Wart, Williams,
etc., and in the heavy woods of Wyandot and Hardin’ counties.
Sandusky Bay, an estuary of Lake Erie, and one of the most beautiful
sheets of water in America, is yet a great sportsman’s resort, though
now chiefly for wild water-fowl, whose spring and fall season calls
thither many a modern Nimrod. The writer of this has spent many
a season among the marshes and overflow-lands at the head of the
bay in pursuit of game which, with proper care, will continue for
years to afford good gunning. Only keep out the murderous blunder-
busses of certain Englishmen, which sweep away a whole flock of
green-heads and canvas-backs atashot. We have often beg@tcmpted
to have arrested, as a common nuisance, these sneaking I ‘owlers

  

after “a shot for twenty birds—not a whit less.” But it w

 
     

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10 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

birds we are to write. Sandusky Bay, in days gone by, used to
afford rare sport in deer-hunting tm the water. To illustrate :

The bay is bounded on the east by a narrow strip of sand and cedars,
which divides it from Lake Erie. On the north is the peninsula,
another strip of rich soil, once densely covered with forests, stretching
far to the west. The sport practiced in early times was to drive the
deer with dogs from Cedar Point and the peninsula into the water,
when they would make for the opposite shore, above the town of San-
dusky. The heads of the beautiful animals could be seen a great dis-
tance, as they glided along the surface of the clear waters. Then boats
would put out, in each of which was a dog—no guns being allowed—
the men being armed only with a knife. The deer always would scent
the danger from afar, and, with extraordinary celerity, move off up the
bay, followed by the boats. When a comparatively near approach was
at length made, after hard pulling for two or three miles, the dogs
were let loose. Being fresh, and the deer somewhat exhausted from
their long swim, the dogs would gain on their prey rapidly, and soon
the struggle in the water would commence—the noble bucks always
receiving their enemy, while the ewes and fawns were kept out of
harm’s reach. The bucks were, if not too much exhausted, quite a
match for the dogs. Not unfrequently their antlers would crimson
the water with the blood of their canine foe. The boats, mean-
while, were but spectators of the contest, and only came up when
their dogs showed signs of defeat. A good dog, however, ys.
sucgeeded in fastening to the throat of his prey, and there clung with
such tenacity as to sink and rise with the buck, avoiding the terrific
strokes of its hoofs by laying close to the deer’s body. One blow
of a fore-hoof has been known to smash the skull of a mastiff. The
sport, to those in the boats, is exciting in the extreme; but strict
honor used to govern the combats. The fawns and most of the
ewes were permitted to escape, and the bucks were only slaughtered
with the knife when it became evident tliat the dogs would be over-
powered, or when some favorite mastiff brought his game to the boat
in a conquered condition,

A startling adventure once occurred in the waters of the bay. A
well-known hunter, named Dick Moxon, somewhat addicted to drink,

one day saw a fine drove of deer coming in to land from the opposite
188

 

 
DICK MOXON’S FIGHT WITH THE DEER. 11

shore. He at once advanced, knife in hand, into the water to his
waist. The bucks, three of them, led the convoy, and made directly
for their enemy to cover the retreat of the females. The hunter
found himself in a position of imminent danger, and sought to retreat,
but this the deer did not permit, as one of them drove him down
into the water by a terrible butt with his ugly antlers. Moxon
grappled the deer, but the animal trampled the hunter and kept him
down. With great presence of mind, Moxon disappeared under
water and swam for the shore, coming up a rod nearer the land.
This dodge did not save him, however, for the infuriated bucks pur-
sued, and soon the combat became terrible. Moxon cut right and
left with his knife, making shocking wounds in the glistening bodies
of the noble beasts; but the fight was not stayed, and the hunter’s

strength, so severely overtaxed in the first encounter in deep water,

began to give way entirely. A few minutes more must have seen
him down in the water under the hoofs of the frenzied animals. At
this moment a woman appeared on the shore. It was Moxon’s wife,
whose cabin was not far distant in the woods. Sally Moxon was as
“coarse as a cow, but brave as a catamount,” as her husband always
averred ; and so she proved in this moment of Dick’s peril. Seizing
. his rifle, which lay on the bank, she advanced to the rescue. One
buck quickly fell from the well-aimed shot. Then she “ clubbed”
her gun, and made at the nearest -beast with great caution, The
buck made a furious dash at her, leaping at a bound out of the water,
almost upon her, but Sally was wide awake, and was not caught by
the ugly horns and hoofs. She struck the beast such a blow on its
neck as broke both the gunstock and the buck’s spinal column.
With the rifle-barrel still in ber hand, Sally then made for the last
buck, a very savage fellow, who still confronted Dick in a threaten-
ing manner. The fight which followed was severe. Sally was
knocked down into the water, but Moxon’s knife saved his spouse

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from being “ trampled into a pudding,” as he afterward expressed it. ~~

With all his remaining strength, he seized the deer by the horns,
while with his left hand he buried his knife to the hilt in the ani-

mal’s shoulder. The deer fell in the water, and Moxon went down
under him; but Sally was, by this time, on her feet again, and drag-

ged Dick’s almost ibanimate form to the shore. The victory was
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12 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

complete, though Dick was so terribly bruised that the meat of the
three bucks was long gone before the hunter could again go forth
to kill more. The mcral of the story is that he learned not only
never to attack three bucks, single-handed, in four feet of water, but
to let the whisky bottle alone. :

The adventure which we are now about to chronicle is quite as
marvelous as those above related, although of another character.
It is deeply interesting, as illustrating one of the many phases of
danger which constantly lurked on the steps of the pioneers. Start-
ling as were the romantic realities of those early days, needing not
the touch of fiction to heighten their interest, it will be confessed
that few incidents can equal this for a novel combination of perils.

The family of John Lewis were the first settlers of Augusta, in the
State of Virginia, and consisted of himself, his wife, and four sons,
Thomas, William, Andrew and Charles. Of these, the first three
were born in Ireland, from whence the family came, and the last
was a native of Virginia. j

Lewis was a man of -wealth and station in the old country, and
the cause of his present emigration to America was an attempt, on
the part of a man of whom he hired some property, to eject him
therefrom, which led to an affray, in which the noble landlord lost
his life. Fearing, from the high standing of his antagonist, the
desperate character of his surviving assailants, and the want of evi-
dence to substantiate his case, that his life would be in danger if he
stayed, Lewis fled the country, accompanied by a party of his tenantry,
and settled in the then western wilds of Virginia.

The futher appears to have been a man of remarkable force and
energy, and all four of his sons renJered themselves conspicuous for
deeds of daring and determined bravery during the early history of
Western Virginia, and that of her infant sisters, Ohio and Kentucky,
which would require volumes to relate.

Charles Lewis, the hero of this sketch, was, even in early youth,
distinguished for those qualifications which have rendered the class
to which he belonged—the Indian fighters—so remarkable among
men. He was a young man when the Indians commenced their
attacks upon the settlement of Western Virginia, but entered the
contest with a zeal and courage which outstripped many of his

140

 

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LEWIS AND THE RATTLESNAKE. 18

older and more boastful compeers. His astonishing self-possession
and presence of mind carried him safely through many a gallant -
exploit, which has rendered his name as familiar, and his fame as
dear to the memories of the descendants of the’ early settlers, as
household words. Cool, calm and collected in the face of danger,
and quick-witted where others would be excited and tremulous, he
was able to grasp On the instant the propitious moment for action,
and render subservient to his own advantage the most trifling
incident.

He was so unfortunate, on one occasion, as to be taken prisoner
by a party of Indians while on a hunting excursion. Separated from
his companions, he was surprised and surrounded before he was
aware of his danger, and when he did become aware of his critical
situation, he saw how futile it was to contend, and how reckless and
fatal it must be to himself, should he kill one of his antagonists.
He knew full well that the blood of his enemy would be washed
out in his own, and that, too, at the stake; whereas, if he surren-
dered peaceably, he stood a chance of being-adopted by the Indians
as one of themselves. Revolving these things in his mind, he
quietly delivered up his rifle to his captors, who rejoiced exceedingly
over their prisoner. Bareheaded; with his arms bound tightly be-—
hind him, without a coat, and barefooted, he was driven forward
some two hundred miles toward the Indian towns, his inhuman cap-
tors urging him on when he lagged, with their knives, and tauntingly
reminding him of the trials which awaited him at the end of his
journey. Nothing daunted, however, by their threats and menaces,
he marched on in the weary path which led him further and further
from his friends, perfectly tractable, so far as his body was concerned, ~
but constantly busy in his mind with schemes of escape. He bided
his time, and at length the wished-for moment came.

As the distance from the white settlements increased, the vigilance
of the Indians relaxed, and his hopes strengthened. As the party
yiassed along the edge of a precipice, some twenty feet high, at the
foot of which ran a mountain torrent, he, by a powerful effort, broke
the cords which bound his arms, and made the leap. The Indians,
whose aim was to take him alive, followed him, and then commenced
a race for life and liberty, which was rendered the more re by

 
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TALES AND TRADITIONS.
,
the fact that his pursuers were close upon him, and could at any

14

   

moment have dispatched him. But such was not their desire, and
on, on he sped, now buoyed up by hope as his recent captors were
lost to sight, and anon despairing of success as he crossed an open
space which showed them almost at his heels. At length, taking
advantage of a thicket, through which he passed, and which hid
him from their sight for a moment, he darted aside and essayed to
leap a fallen tree which lay across his path. The tangled under-
brush and leaves which grew thickly around and almost covered the
decaying trunk, tripped him as he leaped, and he fell with consid-
erable force on the opposite side. For an instant he was so stunned
by the fall as to lose his consciousness, but soon recovered it to find
that the Indians were searching every nook in his immediate vicinity,
and that he had fallen almost directly upon a large rattlesnake which
had thrown itself into the deadly coil so near his face that his fangs
were within a few inches of his nose. Is it possible for the most
vivid imagination to conceive of a more horrible and terrifying
situation ?

The pursuit of his now highly exasperated and savage enemies,
who thirsted for his recapture that they might wreak upon him an
appalling revenge, which of itself was a danger calculated to thrill the
nerves of the stoutest system, had now become a secondary fear,
for death in one of its most terrifying and soul-sickening forms was
vibrating on the tongue, and darting from the eye of the reptile
before him, so near, too, that the vibratory motion of his rattle as
it waved to and fro, caused it to strike hisear. The slightest move-
ment of a muscle—a convulsive shudder—almost the winking of an
eyelid, would have been the signal for his death. Yet, in the midst
of this terrible danger, his presence of mind did not leave him, but
like a faithful friend did him good service in his hour of trial. Know
ing the awful nature of his impending fate, and conscious that the
slightest quivering of a nerve would pereipitate it, he scarcely
breathed, and the blood flowed feebly through- his veins as he lay
looking death in the eye. Surrounded thus by double peril, he was
conscious that three of the Indians had passed over the log behind
which he lay without observing him, and disappeared in the dark

. recesses of the forest. Several minutes—which to him were as many

142

 
COLONEL HORRY, OF “ MARION’S BRIGADE.” 15

‘
hours—passed in this terrifying situation, until the snake, apparently
satisfied that he was dead, loosed his threatening coil, and passing
directly over his body, was lost. to sight in the luxuriant growth of
weeds which grew up around the fallen tree. Oh! what a thrill—
what a revulsion of feeling shook his frame as he was relieved from
this awful suspense. Tears—tears of joyous gratitude coursed down
his cheeks as he poured out his heart to God in thankfulness for his
escape. “I had eaten nothing,” said he to his companions, after his
return, “for many days; I had no fire-arms, and I ran the risk of
dying with hunger before I could reach the settlements; but rather
would I have died than have made a meal of that generous beast.*
He was still in imminent danger from the Indians, who knew that
he had hidden in some secluded spot, and were searching with the
utmost zeal every nook and corner to find him. He was fortunate
enough, however, to escape them, and after a weary march through
the wilderness, during which he suffered intensely from hunger, he

reached the settlements.

COLONEL HORRY, OF “ MARION’S BRIGADE,”
Ir is much to be regretted that the chronicles of the war of the Rey-

olution in the South are so meager in personal incidents. There ean
be but one reason for this: the want of a local historian to gather

up and preserve in print the details of the contest, ere the actors of ie

those stirring scenes had passed from the stage—for the wild and
stirring adventures of “ Marion’s Men,” and of others in North and
South Carolina, must have been as full of romance as the heart of
the historian could desire.

It is fortunate that one of Marion’s officers did wield the pen a
little, as well as the sword. Colonel Horry served under General
Marion. His adventures were numerous and some of them amusing.
He left a manuscript memoir, giving the particulars of some of his
exploits, among others the one illustrated in our engraving.

*It was no unusual thing for hungry hunters, like the Indians, to dine upon
vroiled rattlesnake !

143

 

 
16 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

-

He was brave, and ambitious of distinction. ‘This ambition led
him to desire a command of cavalry rather than of infantry. But
he was no rider—-was several times unhorsed in combat, and was
indebted to the fidelity of his soldiers for his safety. On one occa-

sion his escape was more narrow from a different cause. Crossing

the swamp at Lynch’s Creek, to join Marion, in the dark, and the
horse swimming, he encountered the bough of a tree, to which he
clung while his horse passed from under him, He was no swimmer,
and but for timely assistance from his followers would have been
drowned.

Another story is told of him which places him in a scarcely less
ludicrous attitude:

- He was ordered by Marion to await, in ambush, the approach of
a British detachment. The duty was executed with skiJl: the enemy
was completely in his power. But he labored under an impediment
in his speech, which we may readily suppose was greatly increased
by anxiety and excitement. The word “ Fire!” stuck in his throat,
as “amen” did in that of Macbeth. The emergency was pressing,
but this only increased tle difficulty. In vain did he make the
attempt. He could say: “ Fi—fi—fi!” but he could get no further ;
the “ er” was incorrigible. At length, irritated almost to madness,
he exclaimed :

“ Shoot, d—n you, shoot! you know what I would say! Shoot,
and be d——d to you!”

He was present, and acted bravely, in almost every affair of con-
sequence, in the brigade of Marion. At Quimly, Captain Baxter, a
man distinguished by his great strength and courage, as well as size,
and by equally great simplicity of character, cried out :

“T am wounded, Colonel !”

“Think no more of it, Baxter,” was the answer of Horry, “but
stand to your post.”

“ But I can’t stand,” says Baxter, “I am wounded a second time.”

“Lie down then, Baxter, but quit not your post.”

“They have shot me again, Colonel,” said the wounded man, “ and
if I stay any longer here, I shall be shot to pieces.”

“ Be it so, Baxter, but stir not,’ was the order, which the brave
fellow obeyed, receiving a fourth wound ere the engagement was over.

144

 
Colonel Horry and Captain Merritt’s Conflict.—Fage 15.

 
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COLONEL HORRY, OF “‘ MARION’S BRIGADE,” 19

Another adventure is thus related by Horry himself: “I was
sent,” he writes, “ by General Marion to reconnoiter Georgetown. I
proceeded with a guide through the woods all night. At the dawn
of day, I drew near the town. I laid an ambuscade, with thirty
men and three officers, near the road. About sunrise a chair ap-
peared with two ladies escorted by two British officers. I was ready
in advance with an officer to cut them off, but reflecting that they
might escape, and alarm the town, which would prevent my taking
greater numbers, I desisted. The officers and chair halted very near
me, but soon the chair went on, and the. officers galloped in retro-
grade into the town. Our pM continuea in ambush, until ten
o'clock, A. M. Nothing appearing, and men and horses having eaten
nothing for thirty-six hours, we were hungered, and retired to a plan-
tation of my quartermaster’s, a Mr. White, not far distant. There
a curious scene took place. As soon as I entered the house, four
ladies appeared, two of whom were Mrs. White and her daughter,
I was asked what I wanted. I answered, food, refreshment. The
other two ladies were those whom I had seen escorted by the British
officers. They seemed greatly agitated, and begged most earnestly
that I would go away, for the family was very poor, had no provi-
sions of any sort—that I knew that they were Whigs, and surely
would not add to their distress. So pressing were they for my im-
mediately leaving the plantation, that I thought they had more in
view than they pretended. [I kept my eyes on Mrs. White, and saw.
she valine countenance, but said nothing. Soon she left the
room, and I left it also and went into the piazza, laid my cap, sword
and pistols on the long bench, and walked the piazza ;—when I
discovered Mrs. White behind the house chimney beckoning me. I
got to her, undiscovered by the young ladies, when she said: ‘ Col-
onel Horry, be on your guard; these two ladies, Miss F— and M—,
are just from Georgetown; they are much frightened, and I believe
the British are leaving it and may soon attack you. As to provi-
sions, which they make ‘such a rout about, I have plenty for your
men and horses in yonder barn, but you must affect to take them by
force. Hams, bacon, rice and fodder are there, You must insist,

ait

on the key of the barn, and threaten to split the door with an ax. —

  

if not immediately opened.’ 1 begged her to say no more, for I-wa
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20 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

well acquainted with all such matters—to leave the ladies and every
thing else to my management. She said ‘ Yes; but do not ruin us:
be artful and cunning, or Mr. White may be hanged and all our
houses burned over our heads.’ We both secretly. returned, she to
the room where the young ladies were, and I to the piazza I had
just left.”

This little narrative will give some idea of the straits to which
the good whig matrons of Carolina were sometimes reduced in those
days. But no time was allowed Horry to extort the provisions as
suggested. He had scarcely got tothe piazza when his videttes gave
the alarm. Two shots warned i: the approach of the foe, and
forgetting that his cap, saber and pistols lay on the long bench on
the piazza, Horry mounted his horse, left the inclosure, and rushed
into the melée The British were seventeen in number, well mounted
and commanded by a brave fellow named Merritt. The dragoons,
oS taken by surprise, turned in flight, and, smiting at every step, the
E ; partisans pursued them with fatal earnestness. But two men are
; . reported to have escaped death or captivity, and they were their or

Captain and a Sergeant. It was in approaching to encounter Merrit

that Horry discovered that he was weaponless. “ My officers,” says

he, “in succession, came up with Captain Merritt, who was in the

rear of his party, urging them forward. They engaged him. He

was a brave fellow. Baxter, with pistols, fired at his breast, and

missing him, retired; Postelle and Greene, with swords, engaged

him ; both were beaten off. Greene nearly lost his head. ‘t buck-

skin breeches were cut through several inches. I almost blush to '

say that this one British officer beat off three Americans.” The

honor of the day was decidedly with Merritt, though he was beaten.

He was no doubt a far better swordsman than our self-taught cav-

alry, with broadswords wrought out of mill-saws. Merritt abandoned Re aan

his horse, and escaped to a neighboring swamp, from whence, at

midnight, he got into Georgetown.

Colonel Horry, after the war, met Captain Merritt in New York,

when the latter recognized him, and in the interview which followed,
; confessed, that although so desperate in his self-defense he was
never more frightened in his life,
| “Believe me, sir,” said he, “ when I assure you that I went out

148

ee

:
H
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COLONEL HORRY, OF “MARION’S BRIGADE.. 21

that morning with my locks as bright an auburn as ever curled upon
the forehead of youth, but by the time I had crawled out of the
swamp into Georgetown that night, they were as gray as a badger !”

If this is true, he must indeed have .been wofully frightened, for
the records of such an effect of terror are few and far between. One
of Byron’s heroes says that

“ His locks grew white,
In a single night.”
But that was with grief, and not with fear.

Horry’s award of praise to the British Captain for his courage in
beating off three of his own a: both generous and ingenious,
when it is considered that the Englishman was a scientific swords-
man, possessing a superior weapon, while his antagonists were self-
taught, and their swords, if not beaten out of “ plowshares,” were
veritably made out of mill-saws.

In one of his numerous encounters, while his men were individu-
ally engaged and scattered through the woods around him, he sud-
denly found himself alone, and assailed by a Tory Captain, named
Lewis, at the head of a small party. Lewis was armed with a
musket, and in the act of firing, when an.unexpected shot from the
voods tumbled him off his horse, in the very moment when his own
gun was discharged. The bullet of Lewis took effect on Horry’s
horse. The shot which so seasonably slew the Tory was sent by the
hand of a boy named Given.

Coloitii Horry gives, in his memoirs, a good illustration of the
mingled firmness and forbearance with which Marion enforced disci-
pline amidst men and circumstances not any too easily governed.
Marion had placed one of his detachments at the plantation of George
Crofts, on Tampit Creek. This person had proved invariably true
to the American cause ; had supplied the partisans frequently, though
secretly, with munitions of war, cattle and provisions. He was an
invalid, however, suffering from a mortal infirmity, which compelled
his removal, for medical attendance, to Georgetown, then in posses-
sion of the enemy. During the absence of the family, Marion
placed a Sergeant in the house for its protection. This guard was ex-
delled from the premises by two officers of the brigade, who stripped

the house of its contents. Colonel Horry disclosed these facts to
149°

 
   

 

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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

General Marion—the Colonel having received them from Mrs. Crofts,
who had pointed to the sword of her husband hanging by the side of
the principal offender. The indignation of Marion was not apt to
expend itself in words. Redress was promised to the complainant,
and she was dismissed.

The offenders were men of some influence, and had a small fac-
tion in the brigade, which had already proved troublesome, and
which might easily become dangerous. One of them was a Major,
the other a Captain. They were in command of a company of men
known as the Georgia Refugees. Upon the minds of these men the
offenders had already sought to Me, reference to the expected col-
lision with their General.

Marion dispatched Horry to the person who had possession of
the sword of Crofts, with a formal demand for the weapon. He
refused to give it up, alleging that it was his, and taken in war.

“Tf the General wants it,” he added, “let him come for it him-
self.”

When this reply was communicated to Marion, he instructed
Horry to renew the demand. His purpose seems to have been, dis-
covering the temper of the offender, to gain the necessary time. His
officers, meanwhile, were gathering around him. He was making
his preparations for a struggle which might be bloody—which might,
indeed, involve, not only the safety of the brigade, but his own
future usefulness. Horry, with proper spirit, entreated not to be
sent again to the refractory officer, giving as the reason roll relue-
tance, that, in consequence of the previous rudeness of the other, he
was not in the mood to tolerate a repetition of the indignity, and
might, if irritated, be provoked to violence.

Marion then dispatched his orderly to the guilty Major, with a
civil request that he might see him at head-quarters. The Major
appeared, accompanied by the Captain who had joined him in the
outrage, and under whose influence he appeared to act. Marion
renewed his demand, in person, for the sword of Crofts. The Major
again refused to deliver it, asserting that Crofts was a Tory, even then
with the enemy in Georgetown.

“ Will you deliver me the sword, Major?” repeated the General.

“T will not.”
150

 
COLONEL HORRY, OF “ MARION’S BRIGADE.” 2%

“ At these words,” says Horry, in his memoirs, “I could forbear
no longer, and said with great warmth, and a great oath: “ Did I,
sir, command this brigade, as you do, I would hang them both in
half an hour!”

Marion sternly replied :

“This is none of your business, sir; they are before me! Ser-
geant of the guard, bring me a file of men with loaded arms and
fixed bayonets.”

“I was silent,” added Horry. “ All our field-officers in camp were
present, and they had put their hands to their swords in readiness
to draw. My own sword wasififready drawn.”

In the regular service, with officers bred up to the severe sense of

:

authority considered necessary to proper discipline, the offender
would probably have been hewn down in the moment of disobedience.
The effect of such a measure, in this instance, might have been most
unhappy.. The esprit du corps might have prompted the Major’s
immediate followers to have resisted, and, though annihilated, as
Horry says they would have been, yet several valuable lives would
have been lost, which their country could ill spare. The mutiny’ —
would have been put down, but at what a price ! Pee:

The patience and prudence of Marion's character taught him
forbearance. His mildness, by putting the offender entirely in the
wrong, so justified his severity, as to disarm the followers of the
criminals, who were about sixty in number.

Horry continues: “ The purpose of the officers was, to call upon
these men for support—we well knew they meant, if possible, to in-
timidate Marion, so as to compel him to come into their measures of ‘
plunder and Tory killing. The affair, fortunately, terminated with- —
out-any bloodshed. The prudence of the General had its effect.
The delay gave time to the offender for reflection. Perhaps, look
ing around upon their followers, they saw no consenting spirit of
mutiny in their eyes; for, though many of the refugees were present,
none offered to back the mutinous officers—and when the guard
which was ordered appeared in sight, the companion of the offender
was seen to touch the arm of the other, who then proffered the
sword to Marion, saying:

“*General, you need not have sent for the guard.’”
115

 
  

 

Bie teckecrereaeeneneee eee

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

- Marion, refusing to receive it, referred him to the Sergeant of the
guard, and thus, doubly degraded, the dishonored Major of the Con-
tinentals disappeared from sight, followed by his associate.

Another one of Marion’s bravest men was Sergeant Jasper, of
whom the readers of a former number have already heard in connec-
tion with the melancholy and romantic story of the young Creole
girl, who followed him to camp, in the disguise of a soldier, and
sacrificed her life to preserve that of the man she loved, by rushing
in between him and the shot aimed at his breast.

Sergeant William Jasper, at the time of the affair which we are
about to relate, belonged to the Se@@nd regiment of the South Caro-
lina militia, having enlisted under Marion, who was then a Captain.
Jasper, from the day of his entering the camp, had been proverbial
for his bravery. His coolness and valor in times of emergency, and
more than all, his utter disregard of danger, had won for him the
golden opinions of his comrades, with the esteem and confidence of
his'‘commander. Jasper possessed remarkable talents and capacity
for a scout. Bold, active and shrewd, with a frame capable of every
endurance—the result of a hardy, backwoods: life—and_ retaining
those noble qualities of bravery and generosity which were the
shining points of his character, he was admirably adapted for that
dangerous but important branch of the service. Combining, in happy
harmony, so many virtues, it is not surprising that he won the affec-
tions of his associates, and the entire confidence of his commander,
who was so assured of his fitness that he granted him a roving
commission, with full power to select from the brigade such men and
as many as he should think proper. But of these he never, or sel-
dom, selected more than six or eight, preferring, by this small band,
celerity and secrecy. He was almost universally successful, often
penetrating the enemy’s camp, or cutting off bis rear or advanced
guard, and then returning with his prisoners, or his information,
according to the circumstances of the case. So rapid were his move-
ments, that he has been known to disappear from the camp and
return again with his prisoners, ere his absence was noticed by the
commandant. He would often enter the enemy’s camp as a deserter,
and complaining of the ill usage he had received from his country-
men, 80 gain upon their confidence, that he would completely disarm
152

 

 
SERGEANT JASPER. 25

shem of his real intentions, and after satisfying himself of their
strength, position, intentions, and the like, would return and report
his knowledge te the commander. On one of these occasions, he
remained in the enemy’s camp eight days, and then ‘returned, after
first informing himself of every thing necessary that could be of any
use to his General. This game, however, could be played but once.
Never at a loss how to proceed, he, with his usual promptness,
devised other ways and means to gain his information.

It was while he was in the employment of one of these roving
expeditions, that he prepared to again enter the camp of the British
at Ebenezer. It so happened that he had a brother at this post, who
was in the employ of the enemy—a melancholy instance among many
other cases of a like nature, which occurred during the war—who

was a Tory, and who held the same rank in the British army that he—

possessed in the American. The brothers were equally dear to each
other, though opposite in political sentiment.

William Jasper loved his brother in the natural warmth of his
generous heart, and wished to see him. He also wished to inform
himself of the enemy’s movements. With this double object in his
mind, he therefore prepared for his departure, taking with him only
one companion, a brave young fellow, like himself, who had shared
with him many a “happy hunt,” as he termed it, to the united honor
of both. This young officer’s name was Newton, holding the same
rank in the service as Jasper, namely, a Sergeant.

It was about sunset when the two young officers left the camp for
their destination. Passing the American lines, they proceeded on
rapidly toward the British camp, which Jay some few miles from
Abercorn. Taking the direct road to the latter place, they traveled
rapidly until they arrived in sight of the encamped British force, at
Abercorn.

“We must now make a detour,” said Jasper, halting, “in order to

avoid the British at this place, and not be discovered. Our route

lies to the south-east a little, and to shorten the journey, we must
pass yonder forest, the southern side of which borders upon a small
lake or pond, a very convenient place for a respite after the toils and
fatigues of a whole day’s travel. I have ofien met straggling parties

of Tories or British in this forest, or around the margin of the lake,
153

 
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26 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

and it is necessary, therefore, to proceed carefully while passing it,
Just beyond the lake is a small hill, from the summit of which the
town of Ebenezer can be seen some three or four miles distant.
After we pass this forest and hill, we must observe the utmost silence
and scrutiny, for we are then in the immediate vicinity of and
between the two British posts, which will necessarily place us in a

_double danger from the meeting of scouts or Tories from either or

both camps.”

With these directions the two now resumed their journey, taking
asmall path leading to the left, and directly in line of the forest.
A few minutes of brisk walking brought them to the outskirts of
the forest, which was an extensive piece of woodland, stretching with
occasional intervals far to the south-east, interrupted by a few
broken and uneven ranges of hills, somewhat elevated, but scarcely
sufficiently so to be called mountains. On the left of our travelers;
the forest broke off abruptly, a short distance above them, while ils
width was about a quarter of a mile. It was quite dark ere they
reached the woods, which seemed to them almost impenetrable,
having nothing but the faint glimmering of the stars to guide them.
The day had been very clear, however, which left the atmosphere
perfectly free, with nothing to interrupt the twinklings of the little
suns in the distant spheres.

As they entered the forest, they turned to the right, and struck
into the main road leading from Abercorn. They had proceeded
some fifty yards, when Jasper’s accustomed ear caught the sound of
horses’ hoofs upon the dry soil, moving somewhat rapidly toward
them. Motioning his comrade to halt, he remained an instant
listening to the sound, and then darted off into the thicket on his
left, quickly followed by Newton. Scarcely were they concealed
behind a thick cluster of small cedars, ere the horsemen, for such
they proved to be, came up, Jasper instantly recognized them as a
party of British horse, bound on some scouting expedition. Halting
directly opposite to our travelers, two of them, who appeared td be
the leaders of the squad, dismounted and withdrew a short distance.
The road, at this place, was considerably wider than the usual width,
which caused a small opening in the wood, and which seemed a very
convenient situation for a halt. As the officers retired, they fortu-

154

 
SERGEANT JASPER. 27

nately came directly abreast of the cedars, behind which Jasper and
his comrade were ensconced, so that their conversation could easily
be distinguished by both of the latter.

“Our prisoners are no doubt safely within the nel of Ebenezer,
ere this,” began the first, “unless rescued by some of their rebel
brethren, which I think can hardly be the case, as we were close to
the town when we left them.”

‘No fear of that, Lieutenant,” replied the second, “for the rebel
dogs would not dare to be so audacious.”

“I am-not so sure of that,’ exclaimed the other, doubtingly ;
“that Jasper has the audacity of Satan himself, and if he should be
in the neighborhood, I should almost fear for our prisoners. How-
ever, if they are once within the lines, no power will save them, as
I am assured by the commandant that they will be sent to Savannah
for trial and execution, which will have the effect of intimidating,
at least, these rebel curs from further marauding expeditions ;’ and
he chuckled with an air of self-satisfaction at the thought of their

”»

petty victory.
“Well, be that as it may, Lieutenant,” replied his comrade, “ it is
another letter in our catalogue of victories, which serves to make us

more popular with the commandant. In either case, we get our,

thanks, you know, and that is something toward elevating us toward
our desired height.”

“True,” rejoined the Lieutenant. “But let us not waste more
time and words than is necessary. Let me see,” he added, thought-
fully, “we will pursue our course north to Abercorn, and deliver
our messuge to the commander, and then shape our proceedings as
shall seem most fit.”

With these words, the two officers mounted their horses, and were
soon lost to view, with their party, on the road to the northern
station.

Jasper and his friend now emerged from their place of conceal-
ment, and taking the road opposite to the direction of the royalists,
resumed their journey.

“So, so,” exclaimed Jasper, as they hurried along, “ they have
taken some ‘rebel curs’ prisoners, have they? And they will no

doubt give them the benefit of ‘short shrift and sudden cord, if they
155
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—————

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23 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

act in consonance with their general character. But we must
endeavor to rescue them, if their guard is not too strong for us,
which I hardly think will be the case, as they will have no fear of

such a thing in the immediate vicinity of their own lines.”

’ “

“Tt is a hazardous undertaking, Jasper,’ replied Newton, “and
must be attended with a great deal of risk,.as, you know, the enemy
occupy every point of note between this and Savannah; and besides,
there is scarcely an hour of the day that some of their scouting-
parties do not prowl between the posts.”

“So much the more glory if we succeed,” said the noble Jasper;
“and if we fail, why then we share their fate’ And we could not
sacrifice ourselyes in a nobler cause. There is another reason why
we should endeayor to rescue them, and that is, they are prisoners,
and will, no doubt, be driven to their execution within the walls of
Savannah without even .the right of a trial; for the British are
notorious for their bloody propensities, and seek to vent their hate
upon poor captives in a cruel and shameful manner.”

“T am certainly of your opinion,” said Newton, “still we must
not be impetuous. Our country needs all the help she can command,
and she does not require us to sacrifice our lives in endeavoring to

accomplish impossibilities. However, we shall soon see.”

The officers had now nearly reached the limits of the forest, and

_ taking the right of two roads which here joined, they were presently

in the open country. Nothing of importance occurred to them during
the rest of the journey, which was accomplished in safety to the
British lines. Arriving at the advanced guard, and having left New-
ton concealed until his return, Jasper promptly gave the password, and
soon found himself within the enemy’s camp. Passing on hastily,
he entered his brother’s quarters, whom he found just about issuing
forth to detail a file of men for special duty to guard the prisoners
recently captured, having been sent into Ebenezer on their way to
Savannah for trial.

These prisoners had taken up arms against’their countrymen at
the beginning of the contest; but as the British had been in a
measure overthrown, they again joined the ranks of the patriots, and
on being taken, were to be executed. This was only one instance
of hundreds of others who had acted similarly.

156 wv

 
SERGEANT JASPER. 29

The brothers Jasper were mutually rejoiced to see each other;
but the Tory shook his head doubtfully as he beheld his brother
again within the British camp, afier having so shrewdly deceived
them’ on a former occasion. But William Jasper quickly reassured
his mind on this point, and bade him be under no uneasiness.

Having ascertained from his brother the number of men who
were to conduct the prisoners to Savannah, at what time they
intended to leave, aud also making such other inquiries as he deemed
proper, Jasper bade him adieu, and soon sought his comrade, New-
ton, whom he found anxiously waiting his return.

“T have received information from my brother,” he said, “that
these prisoners leave to-morrow morning at sunrise for Savannah,
under a guard of eight men, and accompanied by a Sergeant and a
Corporal. The odds is not so very great after all; and I think bya
little stratagem and boldness we can succeed in rescuing them. At
all events, let us make the trial.”

But Jasper’s friend was not so sure of success. Ten to two, and
those two unarmed, seemed to him too great odds to contend with,
as having any chance of succeeding. But when Jasper related to
him that one of these prisoners was a woman who had a young
child, and that she was the wife of one of the captured men, his
heart was touched at the melancholy spectacle, and he instantly
coincided with his friend that they should attempt their rescue. This
being their conclusion, they conferred as to the best means of accom-
plishing the desired object. This was soon decided upon. They
determined to linger around the fortifications until they should see
the prisoners, with their guard, set out for the place of destination,
and then follow their footsteps until a convenient opportunity offered
to put into force the execution of their design. Accordingly, select-
ing a secure concealment near the lines to await the approach of
dawn, they threw themselves upon the ground, and being somewhat
fatigued, soon fell asleep, The day was just beginning to emerge
ere Jasper awoke, so sound had been his rest, and springing up, he
aroused his friend.

All was activity in the British camp. Men were hurrying to and
fro, preparing for the duties of the day. _ In fact, the whole camp

seemed to be astir to Jasper and his comrade, as they issued
157
  

 

30 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

from their place of concealment to watch the movements of the
enemy.

They had not proceeded far before their attention was arrested by
a file of soldiers marching out into the inclosure and then coming
to a halt, as though waiting further orders. Presently a body of
men, with their arms pinioned, was marched directly to their front.
Dividing their force, the prisoners were placed in the center, with a
portion of their guard in front and rear. Every thing being now in
readiness, the whole party started off toward their destined point,
leaving the village at the southern extremity.

Jasper and his companion now made a circuit of the village, so
as not to be discovered, and in order to place themselves on the
track of the troop. Having secured a suitable distance from the
guard, they followed them silently, watching their opportunity when
to make the endeavor. In this way they continued to track their
friends and their guards for some time, without any prospect of
accomplishing their design, until they were within two miles of
Savannah. They had become nearly discouraged, when Jasper
suddenly recollected that just ahead of them there was a noted spring,
at which place they conjectured the guard would halt, with their
prisoners, to refresh themselves. The spring was known to travelers,
who, when journeying that way, seldom or never passed it without
tasting its crystalline waters. Jasper and Newton were right in
their conjectures. Arriving opposite the spring, the guard halted
their prisoners in the road under the shade of a large ouak-tree,
which stood just on the margin of. the road, and between that and
the spring. Our heroes, however, had reached the spring before the
British, having taken an obscure path with which. they were well
acquainted, and placing themselves in ambush, awaited the arrival
of the enemy.

The day was warm, and as the guard halted, the prisoners, glad
to rest their wearied limbs after so long a march, threw themselves
upon the earth under the shade of the tree, little dreaming of the
succor so near at hand. Very soon after, they were conducted to
the spring by the Corporal with four men. The remainder of the

guard were under the charge of the Sergeant, who halted them on
the road a short distance from the spring, and haying ordered them
158 e

 

+
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oe

SERGEANT JASPER. 81

1o stack their arms, brought up the rear. After having sufficiently
quenched their thirst, the whole party returned, leaving two men on
guard of the arms which were all stacked near the spring. These
two men kept guard but indifferently. They had nothing to fear
within so short a distance of the fortress at Savannah, conscious of
being surrounded by none of their foes, and inclosed within the very
stronghold of the British lines. It is not surprising that they should
not maintain a very strict watch under such circumstances.

The propitious moment for the daring and hazardous attempt was
drawing near, which was eagerly watched by Jasper and his com-
rade in their adjoining ambush.

The localities of the place, the position of the guard, the nearness
of the ambush—in short, every thing seemed most appropriate and
advantageous.

The spring, as we have said, was situated on the left, within
a few feet of the road, between which and the water stood the
arms of the guard in charge of the two men, who were lazily em-
ployed in watching the bubblings of the fountain, and then tracing
its clear waters as they flowed silently off in a small rivulet in a
winding direction, until lost in the thick foliage a few rods below.
Beyond, and in full view, were the walls and fortifications of Savan-
nah, almost within hailing distance of the spot which our heroes
have rendered immortal by their daring achievement.

The remaining guard stood in a group on the opposite side of
the road, conversing freely and gayly, and utterly unconscious of
the presence of an enemy, while the prisoners were reclining under
the stately oak, a little on the left of the British.

The two soldiers were conversing cheerfully, having seated them-
selves by the side of the spring, Jittle dreaming that this colloquy.
was destined to be their last.

Presently, the two arose, and leaning their muskets against a
small tree, close to where Jasper and his comrade lay concealed,
they*proceeded to fill their canteens with the refreshing draught of
the spring.

At this moment Jasper gave the signal. Springing out from their
ambush, be and his companion seized the loaded weapons, and

instantly leveling them, shot the two soldiers dead upon the ground.
159

 
32 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

Then rushing upon the guard, they clubbed thei: muskets, and as-
sailing two of the remaining soldiers, who were in advance of tho
rest, they felled them to the earth, and before the astonished guard
could recover trom their surprise, they rushed to the stack of arms,
and with presented weapons, instantly demanded the surrender of
the whoie troop. The British officers seeing their perilous situation
and noticing the determined looks of Jasper and Newton, and being
withal deprived of their arms, complied with their demand, and
yielded themselves and their men as prisoners of war. To set free
the captives was but the work of an instant, and placing the muskets
of the captured British into their hands, Jasper ordered the irons to
be placed upon the new prisoners; and then hurrying away from
this spot, which they have immortalized with a name not soon to be
forgotten, they crossed the Savannah with both friends and foes, and
were soon rapidly marching toward the American camp.

Thus was this noble act achieved, of which history furnishes but
few parallels ; and which strikingly illustrates the coolness, determi-
nation and bravery, which ever characterized the noble-hearted
Jasper. But, unfortunately for his country, she was soon destined
to lose his valuable services, when, in the very hey-day of his youth,
he sealed his patriotism with his heart’s blood before the walls of
Savannah.

ELERSON’S TWENTY-FIVE MILE RACE.
Amone the members of that celebrated rifle corps. commanded
by Daniel Morgan, to which we already have referred, was a man by
the name of Elerson, who, in deeds of daring and intrepidity, was
almost a match for Timothy Murphy, whose frequent companion he
was when on an expedition against their mutual enemies, the Tories,
red-coats, and Indians. Quick of perception, rapid in his conclu-
sions and his actions, light of foot, and brave as a lion, he was an
_ enemy whom the Indians feared, and a friend whom all reckoned ‘as

second only to the renowned Murphy himself. The corps to which
160

 
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ELERSON’S TWENTY-FIVE MIL@ RACE. 385

these celebrated marksmen belonged was attached to the expedition
of Generals Clinton and Sullivan against the Six Nations in 1779.
Elerson was with Clinton when that officer halted at Otsego Lake,
to await the coming up of his superior, from the direction of Wyo-
ming. While the army lay at this place, Elerson rambled off from
the main body, in search of adventure, and pulse for the dinner of
the mess to which he belonged. Regardless of danger, he wandered
about until he had procured a quantity of the weed, when he pre-
pared to return to camp. It seems that he had been discovered and
tracked by a party of Indians, who determined upon his capture.
As he was adjusting his burden, he heard a rustling of the leaves
near him. Looking in the direction indicated, he discovered a band
of six or eight Indians, stationed between him and the camp, so as
to cut off his retreat in that direction, and who were in the act of
springing upon him. Conscious of their object—for he might have
been shot down with ease—he determined to foil‘ them if in his
power, knowing full well the fate of a prisoner in their hands.
Seizing his rifle, he dropped his bundle, and fled through the only
avenue left open for his escape, followed by the whole pack, hooting
and yelling at his heels. As he started to run, half a dozen toma-
hawks were hurled at him, and came whizzing and flying through
the air. Fortunately but one reached its object, and that nearly cut
the middle finger from his left hand. With the agility of the hunted
stag, Elerson bounded over an old brushwood fence which stood in
his path, and darted into the shades of the forest, followed by his
no less rapid pursuers. Aware that the course he had taken was
away from the camp—so also were his enemies—he prepared himself
for a mighty effort, trusting that an opportunity would offer to
“double” and find his way back. Vain hope! The Indians, aware
that such would naturally be his aim, took care to prevent it by
spreading themselves somewhat in the form of a crescent; but, in
so doing, they nearly lost sight of their prey. Fearful that he might
escape, they discharged their rifles—hoping to wound or kill him—
but with no effect. The brave fellow tried every nerve to outstrip,
and every stratagem and device to mislead his savage pursuers; but
they were too cunning to be deceived, and kept on his track with
the ardor of blood-hounds. Four long hours the chase continued

16h sons

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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

36

thus, until overtasked nature threatened to give way, and yield him
to the tomahawk and scalping-knives of his enemies. Like some
powerful engine, his heart was forcing the blood through his dis-
tended and throbbing veins, which were swollen to bursting with the
mighty efforts of the chase. His breath came short and rapid, be-
tokening a speedy termination of the race, unless a breathing spell
was afforded him. An opportunity at last was offered, when, hav-
ing, as he thought, outstripped his pursuers for a moment, he halted
in a little lonely dell to recover his waning strength. His hope was
destined to disappointment, however, for the circle closed in upon
him, and the bust of an Indian presented itself at a slight opening
in front. He raised his rifle to fire, but at that moment a shot from
his rear admonished him that danger was all around; another took
effect in his side, and warned him of the danger of delay. The In-
dian in front had disappeared, and he hastened forward, with the love
of life still strong in his breast. The wound in his side bled freely,
although only a flesh-wound, and therefore not dangerous nor painful.
It served, however, to track him by, and, conscious of the fact, he
managed to tear a strip from his hunting-shirt and staunch the blood.
Op, on went pursuer and pursued—over hill and. dale, brook, stream-
let and running stream—through brier and bramble, through field
and wood—until the parched and burning tongue of the fugitive
protruded from his mouth swelled to such distention as ahnost to
stop his breathing. Exhausted nature could dono more; he threw
himself prostrate on the bank of a tiny brook, resolved to yield the
contest for the sake of a hearty draught of its clear, sparkling
waters. He bathed his brow in the cool element, and drank deeply
of ils reviving virtues. Raising his head, he discovered the fore-
most of the now scattered and equally exhausted enemy, crossing
the brow of a ridge over which he had just passed. The instinet
of preservation wa8 awakened afresh in his bosom at the sight; he
. started to his feet and raised his rifle, but failing strength would not
allow of a certain aim, and an empty weapon would insnre his death,
Another moment, and he would be at the merey of his enemy, with-
out hope or chance of life. Again he raised his trusty rifle, and,
steadying its barrel against a saplivg, he secured his-aim, fired, and

the Indian fell headlong in death, Before the echoes of the report
164

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WILLIAM KENNAN. 87

had died away in the neighboring hills, he beheld the remainder of
the band of eager, hungry pursuers coming over the ridge; he then
felt that his minutes indeed were numbered. Hidden partially by
E: the tree behind which he stood, they did not discover him, how-
ever; and while they paused over the body of thet fallen comrade,
he made another attempt to fly. He staggered forward—fell—
ra s and, exerting his failing powers to the utmost, he managed to reach
a thicket of young trees, overgrown with wild vines, into which he
threw himself with the energy of desperation. Fortune favored
him; he discovered the rotten trunk of a fallen tree, whose hollow
butt, hidden and screened by the deep shadow of the surrounding
foliage, offered an asylum from the impending death which seemed
so near. The approaching steps of the savages quickened his move-
ments, as he crawled head first into the recess, which was barely
large enough to admit his person. Here he lay within hearing of a
the efforts made to discover his hiding-place, until they died away in | heed
the distance. Conscious, however, that the Indians would search
o“~ long and anxiously for him, he lay in this situation for two days and
nights. When he ventured out he knew not which way to turn, but
atriking off at random, he soon emerged upon a clearing near Cob-
bleskill—a distance of twenty-five miles from his place of starting.
The brave fellow had earned his liberty; and the Indians never
ceased to recur to the race, with grunts of approbation at the white
man’s power of endurance. &
Another race for life, not so lengthy, but equally exciting while it -
lasted, is related in the historical records of Kentucky—that State
‘ _ whose infancy was “baptized in .blood.” William Kennan, a
" # brothey spirit of Kenton, Hunt, and Boone, a ranger renowned for
strength and courage, had joined the expedition of St. Clair against
— the Indians. In the course of the march from Fort Washington he
had repeated opportunities of testing his surprising powers, and was
admitted to be the swiftest runner of the light corps. This expedi-
tion of St. Clair was organized after the disastrous defeat of Har-
mar by the Indians, in 1779. Washington, who-was at this time
President, determined to employ'a force sufficient to crush out the
‘savages. This force was to have been two thousand regular troops,

rs composed of cavalry, infantry and artillery, and a large number of
ars ea .
ov ay 165
ea

 
 

 

38 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

militia which were ordered to move from the several States in which
they had been enlisted, toward Fort Washington, now Cincinnati,
where the men rendezyoused in September. The object of the cam-
paign was to establish a line of posts, stretching from the Ohio to
the Maumee, to build a strong post on the latter river, and by leay-
ing in it a garrison of a thousand men, to enable the commander of
the fort to send out detachments to keep the Indians in awe. But
there was difficulty about organizing the army, St. Clair being very
unpopular in Kentucky; the season was far advanced befure he took
the field, and when he did, he had only about two thousand men all
told, and from these, desertions were continually taking place. The
Kentucky levies were reckless and ungovernable, the conscripts from
the other States were dissatisfied, and to make matters worse, the
mountain leader, a Chickasaw chief, whose knowledge of Indian
tactics would have been invaluable, losing faith in the success of the
Whites, abandoned the enterprise with his band of warriors.

St. Clair, however, continued his march; and on the evening of
the third of November, halted on one of the tributaries of the Wa-
bash. A few Indians were seen, who fled with precipitation. The
troops encamped ; the regulars and levies in two lines, covered by
the stream; the militia on the opposite shore, and about a quarter
vf a mile in advance, Stil! further in advance was posted Captain
Hough with a company of regulars. His orders were to intercept
small parties of the enemy, should oer venture to approach the
camp, and to giye intelligence of any occurrences which might
transpire,

Colonel Oldham, who commanded the Kentucky levies, such as

had not deserted, was cautioned to remain on the alert during the

night, and to send out patrols of twenty-five or thirty men each, in

different directions, before daylight, to scour the adjoining woods.
Kennan was with one of these patrols. Just as day was dawn-

ing he perceived about thirty Indians within one hundred yards of

‘the guard fire, cautiously approaching the spot where he, with about

twenty other rangers, stood, the rest of his company being consid-
erably in the rear. Supposing it mere scouting party, not
superior in numbers to the naMcers, | forward a few paces
to shelter himself in a spot of tall | , after firing with
166

   
    
  

   

 

  
  

/

WILLIAM KENNAN.

   
 

quick aim upon the foremost savage, he fell flat upon his face, rap-
idly reloading his gun, not doubting but what his companions would
maintain their position. ;

However, as the battle afterward proved, this, instead of being a
scouting-party of savages, was the front rank of their whole body,
who had chosen their favorite hour of daybreak for a fierce assault
upon the whites, and who now marched forward in such overwhelm-
ing masses, that the rangers were compelled to fly, leaving Kennan
in total ignorance of his danger. Fortunately, the Captain of his
company, observing him throw himself in the grass, suddenly ex-
claimed :

“Run, Kennan! or you are a dead man !”

Instantly springing to his feet, he beheld the Indians within ten
feet of him, while his company was more than a hundred yards in
front. He had no time for thought; but the instinct of self-preser-
vation prompted him to dart away, while the yells of his pursuers
seemed absolutely close in his ears. He fancied he could feel their
hot breath. At first, he pressed straight toward the usual fording-
place in the creek, which was between the savages and the main
army. Ten feet behind him! ay, théy were before, and all about
him! Several savages had passed him, as he lay in the grass, with-.
out discovering him; and these now turned, heading him off from
the ford.

There was but one way possible for him to reach the camp, which
was to dart aside, between his pursuers, and make a long circuit, —
He had not succeeded in reloading his rifle; with a pang of regret, he
threw it down, for it encumbered him, in the exertions he was mak-
ing, and putting every nerve to its utmost strain, he bounded aside
and onward. Running like a deer, he soon had the relief’ of Sue
stripping all his pursuers but one, a young chief, perhaps Mes
who displayed a swiftness and perseverance equal to his own. =

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 

Here was a race worth seeing! With long, panther-like ut
the agile Indian chased the fugitive, who scarcely knew whether he
fled on air or earth. The distance between them on the start was
about eighteen feet ; the herculean efforts of Kennan could not make
it one inch more, nor the equally powerful leaps of the savage make
it one inch less. Kennan 1 was at a great disadvantage. = had to

: Winns — a a
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40 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

watch the pending blow of his adversary, whose tomahawk was
poised in the air, ready for the first favorable opportunity to be dis-
charged at him. This gave him small chance to pick his footsteps
with prudence.

Growing tired of this contest of skill, in which neither gained,
the ranger, seeing that no other Indian was near enough to interfere,
resolved to end the matter by a hand-to-hand conflict. Feeling in
his belt for his knife, he found that it was gone.

“Tm tellin’ the straight out-and-out truth, my friends,” Kennan
used to remark, when he related this adventure, “ when I felt for
sartin that knife was lost, my ha’r just lifted my cap off my head—
it stood straight up—that’s a fact!”

But if fear lifted his hair up, it lifted his body up, likewise. The
thought of his unarmed condition gave him wings, which, verily,
he needed, for he had slackened his pace as he felt for his knife, and
the tomahawk of his enemy was now almost at his shoulder.

For the first time he gained ground a trifle. He had watched the
motions of his pursuer so closely, however, as not to pay attention
to the nature of the ground, so that he suddenly found himself in
front of a large tree, which had been torn up by the winds, and
whose dry branches and trunk made an obstacle eight or nine feet
high. As he paused before this hindrance, the young chief gave a
whoop of triumph.

“Yell yer throat open, yer blasted red blood-hound !” thought the

invincible Kentucky ranger.

Putting his soul into the effort, he bounded into the air with a
power which astonished -himself as much as his pursuers; trunk,
limbs, brush, were cleared—he alighted in perfect safety on the other
side. A loud yell of amazement burst from the band of savages

who witnessed the feat, which not even the young chief, Messhawa, |

hardihood to repeat.
an, however, had no leisure to enjoy his triumph. Dashing

creek, where its high banks protected him from the fire of
the Indians, he ran up the edge of the stream until he came toa
convenient crossing-place, when he rejoined the encampment, where

he threw himself on the ground, exhausted by his exertions.
He had little time for rest. The Indians had begun a furious -
168

ie

 

 
eames

  
 

WILLIAM KENNAN. 41

ultack, which raged for three hours, and which resulted in a defeat of
the whites still more disastrous than that of Harmar's.

In the retreat which followed, Kennan was attached to the bat-
talion which had the dangerous service of protecting the rear. This
corps quickly lost its commander, Major Clarke, and was completely -
demoralized. Kennan was among the hindmost when the retreat
commenced ; but the same powers which had saved him in the morn-
ing enabled him to gain the front, passing several horsemen in his
flight. The retreat of the whole army was in the utmost disorder:
The camp, artillery, baggage and wounded were left in the hands
of the enemy. Most of the officers, who had fought bravely, were
already fallen.

St. Clair himself, who had been confined to his tent with the gout,
made his escape on a pack-horse, which he could neither mount nor
dismount without assistance. The flying troops made their way
back to Fort Jefferson. Under such circumstances, it may be im-
agined that the line of flight was a scene of fearful disorder. “The
Indians, making matters more appalling by their yells of triumph,
pursued the routed foe. Giving up all efforts to protect the rear, the
battalion to which Kennan belonged fled as it could, every man for
himself,

It was here, as he was making guvod his own retreat, that our
hero came across a private in his own company, an intimate friend,
lying upon the ground with his thigh broken, who, in tones of piere-
ing distress, implored each horseman to take him up. When he be-
held Kennan coming up on foot he stretched out his hands entreat-
ingly. Notwithstanding the imminent peril, his friend could not
withstand this passionate appeal; he lifled him upon his back, and—
ran in that manner several hundred yards. *

The enemy gained upon them so fast that Kennan saw the death
of both was certain unless he relinquished his burden. He told: his

  
  

friend that he had done all he could for him, but that it was in Vai
He could not save him, and unless he wished both to perish, to let
go his clasp about his neck. The unhappy man only clung the

 

more tenaciously ; Kennan staggered on under his burden, until the
foremost of the enemy were within twenty yards of him—then,

yielding to a cruel necessity, he drew his knife form its sheath and
169

 
   
 

42 TALES AND TRADITIONS.
severed the fingers of the wounded man, who fell to the ground, and
was tomahawked three minutes after,

But if unsuccessful in the attempt to save this fated fellow-soldier,
he had the pleasure, before the race was over, of saving the life of
one who afterward became his warm and helpful friend.

Darting forward with renewed swiftness, after cutting his burden
from him, he was again out of immediate danger, when he came
across “a young man, sitting upon a log, calmly awaiting the ap-
proach of his enemies. He was deadly pale, but his refined and
handsome face wore not the least expression of fear.

“Don’t you know the red-skins are upon us?” called out the
ranger.

“T know it; but I can not help it. Ihave never been strong,
and now Iam wounded. I could not take another step to save
my life. Go on—don’t stop to pity me.”

Kennan was too brave himself not to admire the calm: courage
of this young man. He looked about. A short distance off he saw
an exhausted horse, refreshing himself upon the luxuriant grass.
Running after the animal, he caught him without difficulty, brought
him up, assisted the wounded stranger to mount, and ran by his side
4 until they were out of danger. Fortunately the pursuit ceased about

that time, the spoils of the camp offering attractions to the savages
more irresistible even than the blood of the remaining whites. The
stranger thus saved by Kennan was Madison, afterward Governor
of Kentucky, who continued through life the friendship formed that
day.

- Kennan never entirely recovered from the superhuman exertions

he was compelled to make on that disastrous day.

Of this melancholy campaign of St. Clair’s, Hall, in his sketches
of the West, says: “The fault was not in the leader, but in the
plan of the expedition, and the kind of troops employed. All that
J an old commander could effect with such a force, under the circum-
“stances by which he was surrounded and overruled, was accomplished

by: General St. Clair. The brilliant talents of this brave soldier and

veteran patriot were exerted in vain in the wilderness. The wari-
ness and perseverance of Indian warfare created every day new

obstacles and unforeseen dangers ; the skill of the experienced leader
170 ;

  
     
 

 

 

 

 
 

    

WILLIAM KENAAN. 43

was baffied, and undisciplined force prevailed over military science.
The art of the tactician proved insufficient when opposed toa count-
Jess multitude of wily savages, protected by the labyrinths of the
forest and aided by the terrors of the climate. At a moment of
fancied security his troops were assailed upon all sides by a numerous
and well-organized foe, who had long been hanging on his flanks,
and had become acquainted with his strength, his order of encamp-
ment, and the distribution of his force—who knew when to attack
and where to strike.”

The loss on this occasion was mournfully great; thirty-eight offi-
cers and eight hundred men were slain.

Hall further says: “In reference to all these (Indian) wars, it has
never been sufficiently urged, that they were but a continuation, and
a protracted sequel to the War of Independence. For years after
the United States had been acknowledged as a nation, Great Britain
continued to hold a number of military posts within her North-
western limits, and to urge a destructive warfare through her savage
allies. It was against Britain that St. Clair, Harmar, Wayne and
Harrison fought ; and they, with others, who bled in those Western
wilds, contributed as much to the purchase of our independence, as
those who fought for our birthright at an earlier period.”

Oh, mother-country ; how very like the worst personification of a
stepmother thou hast ever been, and still art, to this fairest of thy
children.

The Indians are remarkable for fleetness of foot and endurance.
Trained from childhood to the forest and chase, to run without tiring
is one of their most esteemed virtues. They have been known fre-
quently to run down the deer. We have seen them, on the western
plains, exhaust the horse in the contest for strength of “ wind.”
One savage of the Osages used to run from one village to another
a distance of fifteen miles, in one hundred minutes, for a swallow of
“ fire-water,” and his squaw once performed the feat in the space of
two hours, for the price of three yards of red ribbon. The stones
now related of Ellerson and Kennan prove that, in speed and endur-
ance, the white man sometimes excels even the savages, We shall,
in the course of these pages, have occasion to mention other instances
of running for life.

171

 
 

TALES AND TRADITIONS,

 

MOLLY PITCHER AT MONMOUTH.

THE battle of Monmouth was one of the most severely contested
engagements of the Revolution. From the rising to the setting sun,
on that sultry Sabbath in June, two armies strove for the mastery of
that ensanguined field, until heaps of dead and dying strewed the
plain, marking the path of the serried ranks as the ebb and flow of
battle changed their relative positions. Both armies fought with a
desperate determination to conquer, and instances of personal
bravery and daring were innumerable; yet, when night drew her
sable mantle over the earth, shrouding from sight the soul-sickening
scene, neither party could claim the meed of victory. Of the many
thrilling incidents of that eventful day, that which brought into
conspicuous notice the heroine of our story was not the least
interesting.

Molly Pitcher, or, as she was afterward more familiarly known,
Captain Molly, was a sturdy young Irish woman of some twenty-two
or twenty-three years of age, short, thick-set, with red hair, a freckled
face, and a keen, piercing eye, which gave token of a spirit of mis-
chief ever ready for a frolic or a fight. She was the wife of a
Sergeant in an artillery corps, which had seen service since the
commencement of the war, and was attached to him with all the
warmth of the Irish disposition. She had followed him through all
his campaigns, and was with him at Fort Clinton, in the Hudson
highlands, when that post was attacked and captured by Sir Henry
Clinton. Here, too, she gave a specimen of that reckless courage
which distinguished her at Monmouth some nine months after. Her
husband, who was in the act of touching off his piece, seeing the
British scaling the walls, and getting in his rear, dropped his match,
‘and calling to Molly to follow, fled as fast as his legs would carry
him. She, determined not to waste powder and ball, and knowing
that her “ petticoats” would protect ber retreat in a measure, picked
up the linstock, fired the piece, and then scampered off. She

172

 

 
 

MOLLY PITCHER AT MONMOUTH. : 45

escaped scot-free, and when the scattered fugitives from the forts
were collected, and the artillery was attached to the main army, she
accompanied her husband asasutler, and was. with him through that
bitter winter at Valley Forge.

When Sir Henry Clinton evacuated Philadelphia, and teok up his
march across the Jerseys, Washington left his winter camp and pre-
pared to follow, hoping to get an opportunity to strike a blow which
should animate his own troops and effectually cripple, perhaps cap-
ture, the British army. On the plains of Monmouth the hostile
armies met in battle array. Of the details of the action it is not
our province to speak. It will suffice our purpose to say that Lee
had been ordered to attack the British on their first movement, and
engage them until the main army of the Americans could be bronght
into action by Washington in person. The first part of his orders
he had obeyed ; the latter, for reasons never fully explained, he did
not conform to, but retreated unexpectedly toward the main body,
which movement was timely checked by Washington, who ordered
the whole army into action. It became necessary, however, for a
portion to fall back a second time ; and to check the pursuit, the ar-.
tillery, to which Molly’s husband was attached, was stationed on an
eminence, in the rear of a hedge-row, for that purpose. Molly her-
self was engaged in bringing water from a spring to assuage the
thirst of the men at the guns, when she saw her husband struck
down by acannon-shot from the enemy, which cut him nearly in
two, killing him instantly ; at the same time she heard the comman-
dant order the piece withdrawn, as he had no one to fill the place
now vacant. Molly heard the order, and maddened by her loss,
rushed forward, exclaiming as she did so: “ No! you shan’t remove
the gun, neither. Shure, can’t I ram it as well as Tom, there?
Al! it’s kilt entirely he is, bad luck to the bloody vagabond tha
pinted the gun that shot him. Sorra a day was it when ye ‘listed,

darlint, to leave me a lone widdy now, with nary a soul to care’

whether I live or die. But Pll pay the dirty vagabonds for this —
day’s work, cuss ’em.” And thus alternately apostrophizivg her
husband and anathematizing the British, she continued to ram the
Le

wn

gun until it was withdrawn. The activity and courage which

exhibited attracted the attention of .all who witnessed it, and on the.
173

    

 

 

 
A

«

  
 

46 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

morning after the battle the circumstance was reported to General
Greene, who was so much pleased at her bravery and spirit that he
sent for her and Cetermined to present her to the Commander-in-

Chief. This he did, covered with dirt and blood’as she was, and

Washington, after questioning her, eonferred on her a warrant as
Sergeant, and subsequently, by his influence, her name was placed
on the list of half-pay officers for life. She went ever after by the
name of “ Captain Molly,” and the French officers, particularly, took
i a great deal of notice of her, and made her many presents. She
dressed in a mongrel suit, composed of a cocked hat, soldier’s coat
with an epaulette on one shoulder, and petticoats. In this rig she
would pass along the French lines any day and get her hat filled
with crowns.

Molly Pitcher’s bravery was not, perhaps, of the highest order,
being a part of the natural recklessness of her character ; but there were
women, plenty of them, in the time of our country’s peril, and dur-
ing the still more dreadful dangers of the new country, who proved
their heroism to be of the noblest sort. Not only the heroism of
endurance, in which women always excel—the endurance of fear,
privation, loneliness and grief—but the heroism of action. Of such
metal was the deed of prowess which has immortalized the name of
Elizabeth Zane. In 1777, Fort Henry, in Ohio county, Virginia,
was attacked by Indians. The defence was made with vigor, until
the ammunition became exhausted, when surrender seemed the only
alternative—a fearful alternative, in view of the treacherous charac-

 

ter of their enemies. There was a keg of powder in a house about

eae

twelve rods distant, to obtain which would prolong the defense, and
perhaps preserve the lives of the whole garrison. It was resolved
P that one person should venture out, and, if possible, secure and bear
: into the fort the valued prize. The Indians having retired a little

Feat rot

distance, a favorable opportunity was afforded; but it became diffi-
cult to decide who should undertake the service, as many soldiers
were emulous for the honor of executing the perilous enterprise.
Their contention was cut short by Miss Zane, who claimed to be
chosen for performing the duty, upon the ground that the life of a
soldier was more valuable to be employed in defending the fort, and

also that her sex might save her errand from suspicion and thu
(174

Bp Ske SS Si

 

 

 
 

ELIZABETH ZANE. 47

secure its success. It was the latter plea, which was somewhat
plausible, united to her resolution, which overcame the scruples of
the officer in command, far enough to permit her to make the
attempt.

Her sex might protect her! Ah! no one better than the girl her-
self knew how very slender was that “migh t’—for an instant her
heart stood still in her bosom, as the gate of the fort opened a little
and closed behind her, shutting her out in the very shadow of the
valley of death! For one instant her eyes grew dark and her ears
rung, and in her bosom she felt, by apprehension, the piercing anguish
of a dozen bullets; but, as quickly, she rallied, and with a light,
fleet foot passed on to the house, not running, for fear of calling
down the suspicions of the murderous eyes which watched her every
movement. The Indians observed her leave the fort, but, as she had
hoped, did not at first comprehend her actions, allowing her to pass
on to the building, without molesting her, probably absorbed in a
momentary wonder at her sex and her audacity.

She reached the house, seized the powder, and hastened to return.
By this time the savages had recovered from the spell which the
first sight of the young heroine had thrown upon them; they saw
the keg of powder in her arms, and with yells of anger, fired a vol-
ley after her as she ran rapidly toward the fort. Fortunately, not a
bullet touched her. As they rattled about her, singing past her ears,
they only gave activity to her movements. In another moment she
was safe within the gate, to the unbounded joy of the garrison.
Animated by so noble an example, the men fought with a vigor
which the enemy could not overcome, who were compelled to raise
the siege.

The following anecdote, which is too well authenticated to be dis-
puted, furnishes one instance, among thousands, of that heroic spirit
which animated the American women during the struggle for Inde-
pendence.

In 1775, a good lady lived on the seaboard, about a day’s march
from Boston, where the British then were. By some unaccountable
mistake, a rumor was spread, in town and country, in and about
her residence, that the regulars were on a march for that place, where

they would arrive in about three hours. This was after the battle
175

 
48 . TALES AND TRADITIONS.

of Lexington, and all, as might be supposed, was in sad confusion ,
some were boiling with rage and full of fight; some in fear and
tribulation were hiding their treasures; others flying for life. In
this wild moment, when most people, in_one way or another, were
frightened from propriety, our heroine, who had two sons, aged re-
spectively nineteen and sixteen, was seen preparing them to dis-
charge their duty in the emergency. The eldest she was enabled to
equip in fine style; she took her husband’s fowling-piece, ‘‘ made for
duck or plover,” (the good man being absent on a coasting voyage
to Virginia,) and with it, the powder-horn and shot-bag. But the
lad, thinking the duck and geese-shot not quite the size to kill regu-
lars, his mother, with the chisel, cut up her pewter spoons, ham-

mered them into slugs, put them into his bag, and he set off in great

earnest, calling a moment, on the way, to see the parson, who said :
“Well done, my brave boy. God preserve you!”
The youngest was importunate for Ais equipments, but his

mother could find nothing to arm him with but an old rusty sword.
The boy seemed unwilling to .risk himself with this alone, linger-
ing in the street until his mother thus upbraided him :

“ You, John H——, what will your father say, if he hears that
a child of his is afraid to meet the British? Go along; beg or
borrow a gun, or you'll find one, child; some coward, I dare say,
will be running away; then take his gun and mareh forward! If
you come back, and I hear you have not behaved like a man, I shall
earry the blush of shame’on my face to the grave.”

She then shut the door, wiped the tear from her eye, and abided
the issue.

There were not wanting American ladies whose wit and courage
could bring the blush of shame or anger to the haughty faces of. the
British officers. There is scarcely a more stinging retort on record
than that which was given to the insolent Tarleton by a lady at Wash-
ington, before whom he was boasting his feats of gallantry. Said he:

“J have a very earnest desire to see your far-famed hero, Colonel
Washington.”

“Your wish, Colonel, might have been fully gratified,” she
promptly replied, “bad you ventured to look behind you at the

battle of the Cowpens.”
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Molly Pitcher at Monmouth.—Page 44

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-—s

   
 

WOMEN OF THE REVOLUTION. 51

It was in that battle that Washington had wounded Tarleton,
which gave rise to an equally pointed remark from Mrs.Wiley Jones,
to whom Tarleton had observed :

“You appear to think very highly of Colonel Washington ; yet I
have been told that he is so ignorant a fellow that he can hardly
write his own name.”

“Tt may be the case,” she readily replied, “but no one knows
better than yourself that he knows how to make his mark.”

We should think that he would have been ready to drop the sub-
ject in the presence of ladies so well able to defend their country’s
gallant officers.

Mrs. Thomas Heyward, in two instances, with the utmost firmness
refused to illuminate for British victories. An officer forced his way
into her presence, sternly demanding :

“How dare you disobey the order which has been issued? Why,
madam, is not your house illuminated ?”

“Ts it possible for me, sir,” replied the lady, with perfect calm-

©

ness, “to feel a spark of joy ? Can I celebrate the victory of your
army while my husband remains a prisoner at St.. Augustine ?”

“That is of litthe consequence,” rejoined the officer; “ the last
hopes of the rebellion are crushed by the defeat of Greene at Guil-
ford. You shall illuminate.”

“ Not a single light,’ replied the lady, “ shall be placed on such
an occasion, with my consent, in any window of my house.”

“Then, madam, I will return with a party, and before midnight,
level it with the ground.”

“You have power to destroy, sir, and seem well disposed to use
t; but over my opinions you possess no control. I disregard your
menaces, and resolutely declare—I will not illuminate !”

Mrs. Rebecea Motte was another lady who proved, in a signal
manner, that her patriotism was equal to the severest test. After
the iatanesind of Camden tothe Americans, Lord Rawdon, anx-
ious to maintain his posts, directed his first efforts to relieve Fort
Mott, at the time invested by Marion and Lee. This fort, which -
commanded the river, was the principal depot of the convoys from
Charleston to Camden, and the upper districts. It was occupied. by a

garrison, under the command of Captain McPherson, of one hundred
179

 
 

   

52 TALES AND TRADITIONS.
and sixty-five men, having been increased ‘by a small detachment T
of dragoons from Charleston, a few hours before the appearance of
the Americans.

The large new mansion-house belonging to Mrs. Motte, which had
been selected for the establishment of the post, was surrouuded by
a deep trench, along the interior margin of which was raised a
strong and lofty parapet. Opposite, and northward, upon another
hill, was an old farm-house to which Mrs> Motte had removed when
dismissed from her mansion. On this height Lieutenant-Colonel
Lee took position with his.force, while Marion occupied the eastern
declivity of the ridge on which the fort stood, the valley running
between the two hills permitting the Americans to approach within

four hundred yards.

McPherson was unprovided with artillery, but hoped to be relieved
by the arrival of Lord Rawdon to dislodge the assailants before they
could push their preparations to maturity. He therefore replied to
the summons to surrender—which came on May twentieth, about a
year after the victorious British had taken possession of Charleston— ie *
F that he should hold out to the last moment in his power.

i The besiegers had carried on their approaches rapidly, by relays :
r of working-parties, and, aware of the advance of Rawdon with all J
his force, had every motive for perseverance. In the night a courier r,
arrived from General Greene, to advise them of Rawdon’s retreat
from Camden, and to urge redoubled activity ; and Marion persevered
through the hours of darkness in pressing the completion of the
works. The following night Lord Rawdon encamped on the highest

pie

gee mes ee oe
.

| ground in the country opposite Fort Motte, where the despairing gar-
. rison saw with joy the illumination of his fires, while the Americans vie
were convinced that no time was to be lost.

The large house in the center of the encircling trench left but a he
fe w yards of ground within the British works uncovered ; burning
: ansion, therefore, must compel the surrender of the garrison.
expedient was reluctantly resolved upon by Marion and Lee,

= a ahmed

    

Tris, always unwilling to destroy private property, felt the duty to

be unusually painful in the present case, It was the summer resi-

dence of the owner, whose deceased husband had been a firm friend

to his country, and whose daughter (Mrs. Pinckney) was the wife of _"
180 rs

ET gp = ae

 
~ ie

THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL. 53

a gallant officer then a prisoner in the hands of the British. Lee
had made Mrs. Motte’s dwelling his quarters, at her pressing invitation,
and with his officers had shared her liberal hospitality. Not satis-
fied with polite attentions to the officers while they were entertained
at her luxurious table, she had attended, with active benevolence, to
the sick and wounded, soothed the infirm with kind sympathy, and
animated the desponding to hope.

It was thus not without deep regret that the commanders deter-
mined upon the sacrifice, and the Lieutenant-Colonel found himself
compelled to inform Mrs. Motte of the unavoidable necessity of de-
stroying her property. The smile with which the communication
was received gave instant relief to the embarrassed officer. Mrs.
Motte not only assented, but declared that she was “ gratified with
the opportunity of contributing to the good of her country, and
should view the approaching scene with delight.” Shortly after,
seeing by accident the bows and arrows which’ had been prepared
for to carry combustible matter, she sent for Lee, and, presenting
him with a bow and its apparatus, which had been imported from
India, requested his substitution of them, as better adapted for the
object than those provided.

An interesting incident, illustrative of female patriotism and acti-
vity, is given by Mr. Headley as occurring in the chureh at Litchfield,
Connecticut. The pastor, Judah Champion, was an ardent patriot,
and on a certain Sabbath was earnestly preaching and praying for the
success of the American arms. During the service a messenger
arrived, announcing that St. John’s—which had been besieged six
weeks, and was regarded as the key to Canada—was taken. “ Thank
God for the victory !” exclaimed the patriot preacher, and the cho-
rister, clapping his hands vigorously, shouted: ‘ Amen, and amen!’?

The communication of the messenger announced that our army
was in a suffering condition, destitute of clothing, without stockings
or shoes. ‘Sorrows and pity took the place of exultation, and
generous sympathetic eyes filled with tears on every side. There
was scarcely a dry eye among the females of the congregation. As
soon as the audience was dismissed, they were soon gathered to-
gether in excited groups, and it was evident that some scheme was

on foot that would not admit of delay. The result was, that when
181
 

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iq

4

Hy
be

. MPAC SN ae -

54 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

the congregation assembled in the afternoon, not a@ woman was to be
seen.. The men had come to church, but their earnest, noble wives
and daughters had taken down their hand-cards, drawn forth their
spinning wheels, set in motion their looms, while the knitting and
sewing needles were plied as they never were before. It was a
strange spectacle to see that Puritan Sabbath turned into a day of
secular work. The pastor was at the meeting-house, performing
those duties belonging to the house of God, and the voice of prayer
and hymns of praise ascended as usual from devout and solemn
hearts; but all through the usually quiet streets of Litchfield the
humming of the spinning-wheel, the clash of the shuttle flying to
and fro, were heard, making strange harmony with the worship of
the sanctuary. But let it not be supposed that these noble women
had gone to work without the knowledge of their pastor. They had
consulted with him, and he had given them his sanction and blessing.

“Swimming eyes and heaving bosoms were over their work, and
lips moved in prayer for the destitute and suffering soldier. The
pastor’s wife contributed eleven blankets from her own stores to the
collection.”

The women of the Revolution were active in their service of
relief and comfort to the armies of the country. “The supply of
domestic cloth designed for families was in a short time, by the labor
of the females, converted into coats for the soldiers; sheets and
blankets were fashioned into shirts; and even the flannels already
made up were altered into men’s habiliments. Such aid was ren-
dered by many whose deeds of disinterested generosity were never
known beyond their own immediate neighborhood.”

Weights of clocks, pans, dishes, pewter services of plate, then com-
mon, were melted by the women and given to the army to be used
in defense of freedom.

In 1776, Lafayette passed through Baltimore, and was honored
with a public reception. In the gayeties of the scene he was seen
to be sad. “Why so sad?” said a gay belle. “Ican not enjoy
these festivities,” said Lafayette, “ while so many of the poor soldiers
are without shirts and other necessaries.” “ They shall be supplied,”
responded the fair ladies ; and the scenes of the festive hall were ex-
changed for the service of their needles. They immediately made

182 .

 

 
a.

THE LADIES OF BALTIMORE AND PHILADELPHIA. 55

up clothing for the suffering soldiers—one of the ladies cutting out
five hundred pairs of pantaloons with her own hands, and superin-
tending the making. eg

In 1780, a cold and dreary winter, when the» soldiers gregtly.suf-
fered, the ladies of Philadelphia formed an Industrial Assdéiaition
for the relief of the American army. © They solicited money, Sacri-
ficed their jewelry, and labored with their own hands. Mrs. Bache,
daughter of Dr. Franklin, was a Jeading spirit in these patriotic

efforts. “ She conducted us,”

said a French nobleman, in describing
the scene, “into a room filled with work lately finished by
the ladies of Philadelphia. It was shirts for the soldiers of Penn-
sylvania. The ladies bought the cloth from their own private purses,
and took a pleasure in cutting them out and sewing them together.
On each shirt was the name of the married or unmarried | dy who
made it; and they amounted to twenty-two hundreg. During
the cold winter that followed, thousands of poor soldiers in Wash-
ington’s camp had occasion to bless the women of Philadelphia for

these labors of love.”

THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL.

One of the most interesting papers of personal reminiscences,
which has come down to us from Revolutionary times, is the narra-
tive by the Baroness de Reidesel, wife of the distinguished German,
the Baron de Reidesel, a Major-General in Burgoyne’s army of inya-—
sion. With all the truth of a bigh-minded lady, and the deyotion
of a true wife and mother, she accompanied her husband to America,

° . : ee :
and was present at the disastrous defeat of Burgoyne at Saravoga,

Her story gives us an inside view of the British camp, and reveals
the hardships to which she was exposed. After the battle of Sara-

toga she witnessed the British retreat, and never after could refer to
: 183

 
   
 

 

' TALES AND TRADITIONS,

it without weeping—the terrible scene so affected her. In his rather
pretentious “memoirs,” General Wilkinson has engrafied her entire
narrative. We give our readers so much of the interesting docu-
ment as our space permits. The “women of America ” will peruse
it with intense interest. After detailing her experiences up to the
day of battle, (October 7th, 1779,) she proceeds :

“T was at breakfast with my husband and heard that something
was intended. On the same day I expected Generals Burgoyne,
Phillips. and Frazer to dine with us. I saw a great movement
among the troops; my husband told me it was merely a reconnois-
sance, which gave me no concern, as it often happened. I walked
out of the house and met several Indians‘in their war-dresses, with
guns in their hands. When I asked them where they were going,
they cried out: ‘War! war! meaning that they were going to
battle. Tis filled me with apprehension, and I had seareely got
home before I heard reports of cannon and musketry, which grew
louder by degrees, till at last the noise became excessive.

“ About four o’clock in the afternoon, instead of the guests whom I
expected, General Frazer was brought on a litter, mortally wounded.
The table, which was already set, was instantly removed, and a
bed placed in its stead for the wounded General. I sat trembling in
a corner; the noise grew louder, and the alarm increased; the
thought that my husband might be brought in, wounded in the same
manner, was terrible to me, and distressed me exceedingly. General
Frazer said to the surgeon,’ ‘ Tell. me if my wound ts mortal > do not
flatter me” The ball had passed through his body, and, unhappily
for the General, he had eaten a very hearty breakfast, by which "his
stomach was distended, and the ball, as the surgeon said, had passed
through it. I heard him often exclaim, with a sigh, ‘ Ok fatal am-
bition! Poor General Burgoyne! Oh! my poor wife? He was
asked if he had any request to make, to which he replied, that, ‘Jf

General Burgoyne would permit it, he would like to be buried, at six -

o'clock in the evening, on the top of a mountain, ina redoubt which had
been built there. .

“T did not know which way to turn; all the other rooms were
full of sick. Toward evening Isaw my husband coming; then I
forgot all my sorrows, and thanked God that he was spared to me.

184

 

 
THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL. 57

He ate in great haste, with me and his aid-de-camp, behind the
house. We had been told that we had the advantage over the enemy,
but the sorrowful faces I beheld told a different tale; and before my
husband went away he took me aside, and said every thing was going
very badly, and that I must keep myself in readiness to leave the
place,-but not to mention it to any one. I made the pretense that
I would move the next morning into my new house, and had every
thing packed up ready.

“Lady Ackland had a tent not far from our house; in this she
slept, and the rest of the day she was in the camp. All of a sadden
a& man came in to tell her that her husband was mortally wounded,
and taken prisoner. On hearing this she became very miserable.
We comforted her by telling her that the wound was very slight, and
advised her to go over to her husband, to do which she would cer-
tainly obtain permission, and then she could attend him herself,
She was a charming woman, and very fond of him. I spent much
of the night in comforting her, and then went again to my children,
whom I had put to bed. ,

“T could not go to sleep, as I had General Frazer and all-the
other wounded gentlemen in my room, and I was sadly afraid my
children would wake, and by their crying disturb the dying man in ;
his last moments, who often addressed me and apologized ‘ for the -
trouble he gave me’ About three o’clock in the morning, I was told
that he could not hold out much longer; I had desired to be in-
formed of the near approach of this sad crisis, and I then wrapped
up my children in their clothes, and went with them into the room
below. About eight o’clock in the morning he died.

“ After he was laid out, and his corpse wrapped up in a sheet, ©
we came again into the room, and had this sorrowful sight before us

‘the whole day ; and, to add to the melancholy scene, almost every

moment some officer of my acquaintance was brought in wounded.
The cannonade commenced again ; a retreat was spoken of, but not
the smallest motion was made toward it. About four o’clock in the
afternoon, I saw the house, which had just been built for me, in
flames, and the enemy was now not far off. We knew that General
Burgoyne would not refuse the last request of General Frazer,

though, by his acceding to it, an unnecessary delay was occasioned,
: 185

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58 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

by which the inconvenience of the army was much increased. At
six o’ciock the corpse was brought out, and we saw all the Generals
attend it to the mountain. The Chaplain, Mr, Brudenell, performed
the funeral service, rendered unusually solemn and awful from its
being accompanied by constant peals of the enemy’s artillery. Many
cannon-balls flew close by me, but I had my eyes directed toward
the mountain, where my husband was standing, amidst the fire of
the enemy; and, of course, I could not think of my own danger.

“ General Gates afterward said, that, if. he had known it had been
a funeral, he would not have permitted it to be fired on.

“ Assoon as the funeral service was finished, and the grave of
General Frazer closed, an order was issued that the army should re-

treat. My calash was prepared, but I would not consent to go before

_the troopse Major Harnage, though suffering from his wounds, crept

from his bed, as he did not-wish to remain in the hospital, which
was left with a flag of truce. When General Reidesel saw me in
the midst of danger, he ordered my women and. children to be
brought into the calash, and intimated to me to depart without delay.
I still prayed to remain, but my husband, knowing my weak side,
said, ‘ Well, then, your children must go, that at least they may be
safe from danger.’ I then agreed to enter the calash with them, and
we set off at eight o'clock.

“ The retreat was ordered to be conducted with the greatest silence,
many fires were lighted, and several tents left standing ; we traveled
continually through the night. At six o’clock in the morning we
halted, which excited the surprise of all; this delay seemed to dis-
please everybody, for if we could only have made another good march
we should have been in safety. My husband, quite exhausted with
fatigue, came into my calash, and slept for three, hours. During
that time, Captain Willoe brought mea bag full of bank notes, and
Captain Grismar his elegant gold watch, a ring, and a purse full of
money, which they requested me to take care of, and which I prom-
ised to do, to the utmost of my power. We again marched, but
had scarcely proceeded an hour, before we halted, as the enemy was
in sight ; it proved to be.only a reconnoitering party of two hundred
men, who might easily have bee» made prisoners, if General Bur-
goyne had given proper orders for the occasion. °

186 “

 

 
THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL. 59

“ The Indians had now lost their courage, and were departing for
their homes ; these people appeared to droop much under adversity,
and especially when they had no prospect of plunder. One of my
waiting-women was in a state of despair, which approached to mad-
ness; she cursed and tore her hair, and when I attempted to reason
with her, and to pacify her, she asked me if I was not grieved at
our situation, and on my saying I was, she tore her hat off her head
and Jet her hair fall over her face, saying to me, ‘ It is very easy for
you to be composed and talk; you have your husband with you; I
have none, and what remains to me but the prospect of perishing or
losing all I have? I again bade her take comfort, and assured her
I would make good whatever she might-happen to lose; and I made
the same promise to Ellen, my other waiting-woman, who, though
filled with apprehension, made no complaints.

“ About evening we arrived at Saratoga ; my dress was wet through
and through with rain, aud in this state I had to remain the whole
night, having no place to change it; I however got close to a large
fire, and at last lay down on some straw. At this moment General
Phillips came up to me, and I asked him why he had not continued
our retreat, as my husband had promised to cover it, and bring the
ammy through ? ‘Poor, dear woman,’ said he, ‘I wonder how,
drenched as you are, you have the courage still to persevere, and
venture further in this kind of weather; I wish, continued he,
‘you was our commanding General ; General Burgoyne is tired, and
means to halt here to-night and give us our supper.’

“On the morning of the 17th, at ten o’clock, General Burgoyne
ordered the retreat to be continued, and caused the handsome houses
and mills of General Schuyler to be burnt ; we marched, how-
ever, but a short distance, and then halted. The greatest misery at
this time prevailed in the army, and more than thirty officers came
to me, for whom tea and coffee was prepared, and with whom I
shared all my provisions, with which my calash was in general well
supplied, for | had a cook who was an excellent caterer, and who
often in the night crossed small rivers, and foraged on the inhabitants,
bringing in with him sheep, small pigs, and poultry, for which he
very often forgot to pay, though+he received good pay from me 80

long as I had any, and was ultimately handsomely rewarded. Our
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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

60

provisions now failed us, for want of proper conduct in the commis-
sary’s department, and I began to despair.

“ About two o’clock in the afternoon, we again heard a firing of
cannon and small-arms; instantly all was alarm, and every thing in
motion. My husband told me to go to a house not far off. I im-
mediately seated myself in my calash, with my children, and drove
off ; but scarcely had we reached it before I discovered five or six
armed men on the other side of the Hudson. Instinctively I threw
my children down in the calash, and then concealed myself with
them. At this moment the fellows fired, and wounded an already
wounded English soldier, who was behind me. Poor fellow! I pitied
him exceedingly, but at this moment had no means or power to
relieve him. ;

“ A terrible cannonade was commenced by the enemy, against the
house in which I sought to obtain shelter for myself and children,
under the mistaken idea that all the Generals were in it. Alas! it
contained none but wounded and women. We were at last obliged
to resort to the cellar for refuge, and in one corner of this I remained
the whole day, my children sleeping on the earth with their heads
in my lap; and in the same situation I passed a sleepless night.
Eleven cannon-balls passed through the house, and we could dis-
tinctly hear them roll away. One poor soldier who was lying on a
table, for the purpose of having his leg amputated, was struck by a
shot, which carried away his other; his comrades had left him, and
when we went to his assistance, we found him in the corner of a
room, into which he had crept, more dead than alive, scarcely breath-
ing. My reflections on the danger to which my husband was exposed
now agonized me exceedingly, and thoughts of my children, and the
necessity of struggling for their preservation, alone sustained me.

“The ladies of the army who were with me, were Mrs. Harnage,
a Mrs. Kennels, the: widow of a Lieutenant who was killed, and the
lady of the commissary. Major Harnage, his wife, and Mrs. Ken-

nels, made a little room in a corner with curtains to it, and wished

to do the same for m@, but I preferred being near the door, in case
of fire. Not far off my women slept, and opposite to us three Eng-
lish officers, who, though wounded, were determined nut to be left

! behind ; one of them was Captain Green, an aid-de-camp to Major-

188

 

 
THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL. 61

General Phillips, a very valuable officer and most agreeable man.
They each made me a most sacred promise not to leave me behind,
and, in case of sudden retreat, that they would each of them take
one of my children on his horse; and for myself, one of my hus-
band’s was in constant readiness.

“Our cook, whom I have before mentioned, procured us our meals,
but we were in want of water, and I was often obliged to drink
wine, and to give it to my children. It was the only thing my hus-
band took, which made our faithful hunter, Rockel, express one day
his apprehensions, that ‘ the General was weary of his life, or fearful
of being taken, as he drank so much wine.’ The constant danger which
my husband was in, kept me in a state of wretchedness; and I
asked myself if it was possible I should be the only happy one,
and have my husband spared to me unhurt, exposed as he was to so
many perils. He never entered his tent, but lay down whole nights
by the watch-fires; this alone was enough to have killed him, the
cold was so intense.

“The want of water distressed us much; at length we found a
soldier’s wife, who had courage enough to fetch us some from the
river, an office nobody else would undertake, as the Americans shot
at every person who approached it; but out of respect for her sex,
they never molested her. >

“T now occupied myself through the day in attending to the
wounded; I made them tea and coffee, and often shared my dinner
with them, for which they offered me a thousand expressions of
gratitude. One day a Canadian officer came to our cellar, who had
scarcely the power to hold himself upright, and we concluded he
was dying for want of nourishment ; I was, happy in offering him my
dinner, which strengthened him, and procured me his friendship. I
now undertook the care of Major Bloomfield, another aid-de-camp
of General Phillips; he had received a musket-ball through both

cheeks, which in its course had knocked out several of his teeth, and.

cut his tongue; he could hold nothing in his mouth, the matter
which ran from his wound almost choked him, ‘and he was not able
go take any nourishment except a little soup, and something liquid.
We had some Rhenish wine, and in the hope that the acidity of it

‘would cleanse his wound, I gave him a bottle of it. He took a Jittle
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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

now and then, and with such effect that his cure soon followed : thus
I added another to my stock of friends, and derived a satisfaction
which, in the midst of suffering, served to tranquilize me.

“One day, General Phillips accompanied my husband, at the risk
of their lives, on a visit to us. The General, after having witnessed
our situation, said to him, ‘I would not for ten thousand guineas
come again to this place, my heart is almost broken.’

“In this horrid situation we remained six days; a cessation of hos-
tilities was now spoken of, and eventually took place. <A conyention
was afterward agreed on; but one day a message was sent to my
husband who had visited me, and was reposing in my bed, to attend
a council of war, where it was proposed to break the convention ;
but, to my great joy, the majority were for adhering to it. On the
sixteenth, however, my husband had to repair to his post, and I to
my cellar. This day fresh beef was served out to the officers, who
till now had only had salt provisions, which was very bad for their
wounds. The good woman who brought us water made us an ex-
cellent soup of the meat, but I had lost my appetite, and took noth-
ing but crusts of bread dipped in wine. The wounded officers, my
unfortunate companions, cut off the best bit, and presented it to me
ona plate. I declined eating any thing, but they contended that it
was necessary for me. to take nourishment, and declared they would
not touch a morsel till I afforded them the pleasure of seeing me
partake. I could no longer withstand their pressing invitations, ac-
companied as they were by assurances of the happiness they had in
offering me the first good thing they had in their power, and I par-
took of a repast rendered palatable by the kindness and good-will
of my fellow-sufferers, forgetting for a moment the misery of our
apartment, and the absence of almost every comfort.

“On the 17th of October, the convefition was completed. Gen-
eral Burgoyne and the other Generals waited on the American Gen-
eral Gates ; the troops laid down their arms, and gave themselves up
prisoners of war! And now the good woman who had supplied us
with water at the hazard of her life received the reward of her ser-
vices ; each of us threw a handful of money into her apron, and she
got altogether about twenty guineas. At such a moment as this
bow susceptible is the heart of feelings of gratitude !

190

 
THE BARONESS DE REIDESEL. 68

‘““My husband sent a message to me, to come over to him with my
two children. I seated myself once more in my dear calash, and
then rode shrough the American camp. As I passed on, I observed,
and this was a great consolation to me, that no one eyed me with
looks of resentment, but that they all greeted us, and even showed
compassion in their countenances at the sight of a woman with small
children. I was, I confess, afraid to go over to the enemy, as it
was quite a new situation to me. When I drew near the tents, a
handsome man approached and met me, took my children from the
calash, and hugged and kissed them, which almost affected me to tears.
‘ You tremble,’ suid he, addressing himself to me; ‘be not afraid?
‘No, I answered, ‘you seem so kind and tender to my children, it
inspires me with courage.’ He now led me to the tent of General
Gates, where I found Generals Burgoyne and Phillips, who were on
a friendly footing with the former. Burgoyne said to me, ‘ Never
mind ; your sorrows have an end.’ I answered him, ‘ that I should
be reprehensible to have any cares, as he had none; and I was
pleased to see him on such friendiy footing with General Gates,’
All the Generals remained to dine with General Gates.

‘The same gentleman who received me so kindly, now came and
said to me, ‘ You will be very much embarrassed to eat with all these
gentlemen ; come with your children to my tent, where I will prepare

for you a frugal dinner, and give tt with a free will” T said, ‘ You

are certainly a husband and a father, you have showed me so much.

kindness” I now found that he was GENERAL SCHUYLER. He
treated me with excellent smoked _ tougue, beefsteak, potatoes, and
good bread and butter! Never could I have wished to eat a better
dinner; I was content; I saw all around me were so likewise ; and
what was better than all, my husband was out of danger.

“ When we had dined, he told me~-his residence was at Albany,
and that General Burgoyne intended to honor him as his guest, and
invited myself and children to do so likewise. I asked my hus-
band how I should act; he told me to accept the invitation. As it
was two days’ journey there, he advised me to go to a place which
was about three hours’ ride distant. General Schuyler had the
politeness to send with me a French officer, a very agreeable man,

who commanded the reconnoitering party of which I have before
191

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TALES AND TRADITIONS.

spoken; and when he had escorted me to the house where I was to
remain, he turned back again,

“Some days after this we arrived at Albany, where we so often
wished oursclyes; but we did not enter it as we expected we should
—victors! We were received by the good General Schuyler, his
wife and daughters, not as enemies, but as kind friends; and they
treated us with the most marked attention and politeness, as they did
General Burgoyne, who had caused General Schuyler’s beautifully
finished house to be burnt. In fact, they behaved like persons of
exalted minds, who determined to bury all recollections of their own
injuries in the contemplation of our misfortunes. General Burgoyne
was struck with General Schuyler’s generosity, and said to him,
‘You show me great kindness, though I have done you much injury.’
‘That was the fate of war, replied the brave man, ‘let us say no
more about it.’ ”

This presents a picture of those trying times upon which it is
both pleasurable and painful to dwell. It outlines General Schuy-
ler as a noble nature, which is true to history. He was a brave
among the brave—chivalrous as the Cid, gentle as a woman, wise as
Solomon. Next to Greene, he is regarded by those most conver-
sant with the men of the Revolution, as the column which most
sustained Washington in his gigantic labors; while, as one of those

who, after our independence was won, contributed most toward the

reorganization of government and society. It is agreeable to con-
template such a character, for it heightens the worship which this
generation feels for those who won the priceless boon of a nation’s
freedom !