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TOUR
PATRIOT AND TORY:
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
A Tale of the Revolution,
EMBRACING
AN AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE THRILLING INCIDENTS AND EXCITING
EPISODES OF THE STRUGGLE FOR INDEPENDENCE ; GRAPHIC
SKETCHES OF REVOLUTIONARY CELEBRITIES: THE STORY
of DeboraH SAMSON, THE WOMAN SOLDIER; AND
A COMPLETE DRAMA OF AMERICAN LIFE
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
BY
JULIA MCNAIR WRIGHT.
Illustrated with authentic Portraits, Diagrams, and Sketches.
A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY,
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.,
1877.
1
انا
296
W95
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by
JOHN T. JONES,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, DC.
ELECTROTYPED AT
FRANKLIN TY PL FOUNDRY
CINCINNATI.
1
Mis. Die E. Go don'
12-21-62
PREFACE.
THE
following pages are not a novel or romance, but a
Chronicle, of the years from 1773 to 1784 inclusive. A chron-
icle, not only of public and historic deeds, but also of domestic
life and incidents. Beside great events and fields of blood,
lie homes and home scenes. There runs along by the wild
tide of war, the calm stream of daily duties, the quiet toils.
of women, and the plays of little children. Here, not only
are represented some-British and American, Patriots and To-
ries-whose memories are preserved only in the line of their
own descendants, but others, whose names are of renown,
and
whose lives are an inheritance of the civilized world.
Certain facts about this work must be noted. It is in-
tended to be, and is, a careful presentation-a photograph, in-
deed of the manners, daily lives, style of speech, culture,
dress, amusements, customs, housekeeping, avocations, reading,
and habits, of Americans one hundred years ago.
All the historic characters introduced speak, not words put
into their mouths by a writer, but words exactly their own,
that have come down as matters of historic verity. It might
(iii)
iv
PREFACE.
t
have been thought that the care of a Dame Warren, the dili-
gence of a Stark, the researches of a Bancroft, the compre-
hensiveness of a Ridpath, the aptness and assiduity of a Hil-
dreth, the zeal of a Watson, and the lively gossiping of a
Mrs. Ellet, must have already recorded every Revolutionary
incident, and yet some events of the time were even by these
omitted, and are in this Chronicle for the first time made public.
It is fitting that the story of our separation from the mother-
country should be set forth without rancor or bitterness toward
either side, and that the feelings, opinions, and arguments of
those who conscientiously took different sides in that famous
struggle should be explicated. A man was not necessarily a
demon, because he was a Tory; nor a saint, because he was a
Patriot.
Again, there were giants in those days, moral giants, not
merely in the higher ranks of the army, but in the station of
common soldiers; men who in their narrower spheres, showed
the heroic virtues of a Washington, and of such we would pre-
serve the portraiture.
Since that period of our nation's birth, our whole public and
private life has undergone such a change, that these cameos
of scenes of that time are more valuable as curiosities, than
even for beauty. One who carefully reads this history of
that epoch will have firmly fixed in mind the origin and causes
of the difficulty between England and the thirteen colonies, the
relation, weight, proceedings, life and death of many of the
leading men of that day; a clear idea of our foreign relations;
PREFACE.
V
of the sequence and bearing of public events; of the progress
of the war in all the colonies; the victories and defeats, the suf
ferings and triumphs, the daily business, and pleasures, hopes,
fears, losses, despair, and joys, of the people in their homes; a
glimpse of the thousand sacrifices and conquests and martyr-
doms that fell then to the share of private life.
The religious views, questions, and training which had a pow-
erfully moulding influence on public opinion when differences
arose between England and her Colonies, have been too gener-
ally disregarded. The Revolution of 1776 was the harvest of
Luther's seed-sowing in 1521. The high hearts of Scotch Cove-
nanters, and English Puritans, and French Huguenots, and
Holland Beggars, wrought out the problem of national freedom,
and laid deep and broad and lasting the foundations of repub-
lican institutions. Blood that had garrisoned Londonderry,
leaped at the challenge to war for a principle, in Georgia and
the Carolinas; and the followers of the conquering House of
Orange shouted Amen to the Mecklenberg Declaration of Inde-
pendence.
And yet, there were honest men to whose hearts and in
whose ideas, England was indeed a mother; who felt that to
sunder ties with her, would be foully unfilial; and who, like
David, cried "Who shall stretch his hand against the Lord's
Anointed, and be guiltless?"
While careful histories, frequently by eye-witnesses, of the
public events of the Revolutionary War have been multiplied,
a clear picture of daily domestic life, education, and views,
vi
PREFACE.
has long been needed. Such a knowledge of our ancestors is
usually as vague as our views of the domestic manners of the
Trojans or Carthagenians; or of the Egyptians before the
tombs were opened; or of the Romans before Macaulay sang
his Lays.
We know generally that our ancestors wore knee-breeches,
and wigs, and powder; and we do not realize that they did not
read daily the Times or Tribune, and that they had not Walter
Scott and Washington Irving on their book-shelves, and friction
matches in their kitchens.
To bring those to whom we owe not merely physical, but na-
tional and moral life, home to us, so that across the gulf of one
hundred years we can shake hands with them, and be friends,
as well as descendants, is one of the several objects of this
work.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Why the book appears.-New Interests in old times.-A bit of family
history.-Cid Paisley.-Family feud.-Grandfather.-Aunt Jean and
Uncle John.-An old lady's vengeance.-A manuscript.-The British
Museum.-A search successful.-A pair of pictures.-Grandmother's
mother.
CHAPTER II.
19-25.
A Plymouth Homestead.-A Little Maid of the Puritans.-One of
the old Covenanters.-Dame Mercy Warren.-Memories of the League
and Covenant.-The Scotsmen of the West Country.-A Theory of Gov-
ernment.-Dame Warren advises journalizing.-Long and short lines.-
A present.-Tea and Taxes.-Can these men be heroes.-A morning
gallop.-An India Scarf.-Full dress one hundred years ago.-Gentle-
men and Ladies of ye olden time.-Keeping a one hundredth birth-
day.-Dinner table politics.-A Patriot and Tory.-Discussion of the
causes of dissatisfaction between the Mother Country and the Colonies.-
Manners of our Revolutionary Ancestors.
26-46.
CHAPTER III.
Dame Mercy Warren and Abbey Temple.-That dreadful creature, a
boy.-Boys and girls one hundred years ago.-Great grandfather and the
lassie.-A Puritan Sermon.-An old man's blessing.Family traditions.-
"Christ's Crown and Covenant!"-Colonial newspapers.-Cousin Bessie.-
Three R's.-Daughter's of Liberty and Hyperion.-A young lady of
1773.-A coquette one hundred years ago.-Spinning in the garret.—
Novel of old time.-The Otis Family.-Gala dress of ancient days.-
"The evil art of dancing."-A sudden interruption.-At Dame War-
ren's.-Private Theatricals in a barn.-Patriotic songs.-Bessie's flirta-
tions.-A model young man.-Training day.-Minute Men.-"Colonial
lubbers."
47-70.
(vii)
viii
CONTENTS.
Å
CHAPTER IV.
Bessie and her iniquities.-Occupations of a New England family.—
Tea Ships.-The Taisch.-Remedy for nervousness.-A Massachusetts
Woman.-A Plymouth fireside.-Colonial agitations.-Tories for gain.-
'Sons of Liberty."-War Sermon.-Tea ships at Boston.-Letter from
Mistress Abigail Adams.-The Covenanters' last days.-A battle cry and
a victory.-A winter funeral.-News of the famous Tea Party.-Patriots
last resort. The cloud of war.-What may be in a hundred years from
1774.-A quilting party.-A lonely heart.-People with histories: 71-95.
CHAPTER V.
In Boston.-Boston a Century ago.-A young lady's dress.-From Ply-
mouth to Boston.-What our grandmothers studied; how they occupied
their time.-Boston Port Bill.-Public sympathy.-Errand of Paul
Revere.-Massachusetts Patriots.-A new Governor.-Gifts to Boston.-
A young girl's reading a century ago.-A reproof not taken in good
part.-At Plymouth.-A lock of hair.-Putnam in Boston.-National
Congress in Philadelphia in 1774.-The quiet currents of life.-Deborah
Samson.--A bound girl's fortunes.-Hoeing a hard row.-A Negro's war
principles.-The "Home Guard."-Hiring Indians to fight. 95-121.
CHAPTER VI.
News from the Continental Congress.-Brig Peggy Stuart.-Patriot and
Tory.-Make a compact.-A high heart.-Visit from British officers.-
A snow bound house.-Two kinds of Tories.-Commemoration of the
Boston Massacre.-War begins.-Night ride of Paul Revere.-Battle of
Lexington.-The curse of civil war.-Isaialı Hooper joins the army.
Stark and Putnam go to camp.-Deborah in the field.-Giving break-
fast to the recruits.-Ethan Allen, his politics, creed, and exploits.-
The Colonies rising to arms.-Stores for the army.-Powder.-Washington
chosen commander-in-chief.-Battle of Bunker Hill.-Death of Warren.-
Spies at Plymouth.-Minute-men's revenge.-Ministers plea.—A Patriot
martyr-A woman's heart broken.-Grandmother's last will and Testa-
ment.-The "pewter for bullets."-Two chests.-Christmas night.-
Burial Hill at Plymouth.
122-148.
CHAPTER VII.
M
•
M
Doings at Congress.-Sending supplies to camp.-Franklin comes back
from England.-Petition from Congress to the King.-Virginia.—The new
flag!-Bessie Warley comes to take possession.-Debtors and creditors.—
CONTENTS. -
ix
Bessie in a passion.-A pewter bottle.-Two strings to one's bow.-A fash-
ionable young lady's amusements.-The new minister.-Bessie's new
lover. Richard Reid as Othello.--Seige of Boston.-Heroic self-sacrifices.-
Skirmishes in the Carolinas.-Deborah Samson's disguise.-Going for a sol-
dier.-Hannah Dana goes to camp.-Such a naughty Bessie.-Love and
rage. Starting for Philadelphia.-Puritan Pilgrim's Progress.-Recognizes
Robert Shirtliffe.-Tavern fare and prices, tavern drinks and topics one
hundred years ago.-From Plymouth to Philadelphia on horseback.-A
queer calvacade.-July 4th, 1776.-Judith at the door.-The ring of lib-
149-180.
erty bell.
CHAPTER VIII.
Uncle John Temple's family.-Puritan domestic life.-Pretty girls.—
Philadelphia a century ago.-A Tory family.-Young loves crossed.—
Which side shall conquer, England or the Colonies.-Brothers on dif-
ferent sides.-Giving a son to the country.-A curious covenant.-The
Theater in the attic.-Uncle John's indignation.-"O, Comus, Comus!".
Private life in Philadelphia during the Revolution.-Sewing for the sol-
diers.-A ball in the attic.-The head-dress on fire.-Early hours.-Mas-
querading as beggars.-Serious consequences.-The battle of Trenton.-
Washington crossing the Delaware.-Rahl's death.-Charles wounded.-
Going to the scene of war.-A winter ride to Trenton.
181-209.
CHAPTER IX.
At a Quaker's home.-Kind Mistress Stacy Potts.-A sight of Wash-
ington.-Deborah as Robert again.-The army clad.-Camp fires along
the Assanpink.-Battle of Princeton.-Death of Mercer.-That coward.-
Robert Morris raising funds.-Borrowing from a Quaker.-Judith's dona-
tion. The American Fabius.-Winter-quarters at Morristown.-The
Howe Brothers.-Lovers in war time.-Books from England.-A lovely
Tory lady.-Bessie and Mr. Bowdoin.-Exchange of Prisoners.-Isaiah
Hooper, and the prison hulk "Jersey."-Nigh unto death.-A woman's
ministrations. An incorruptible Patriot.-A Uriah of "76.-Men of iron.-
Putnam at Philadelphia.-Meeting with Doctor Franklin.-A man in
love. The wrong thing at the wrong time.-Toryism flourishing.-The
second 4th of July. Visit from Thomas Otis.-Girls and lovers.-A wise
woman's words.-Dark days and disasters.-Sullivan's defeat.-Marquis
Lafayette.-Philadelphia in the hands of Cornwallis.
CHAPTER X.
My dad
210-240.
Fright of the colored people.-A garrison of girls.-Summoned to sur-
render.-Patriot women.-Hester and the weed.-Uninvited guests.-
X
CONTENTS.
A mixed dinner party.—A conquering beauty.-Sharp replies.—A Tory
to the rescue.-Henry Seaforth and Judith.-Donop's defeat.-A Hessian
prisoner. The mercenaries.-Winter of 1777.-Burgoyne's surrender.-
Yankee Doodle.-Frigates captured.-Battle of Germantown.-A British
lover. Two strings of Warley wisdom.-Bessie holds forth on the best
you can do for yourself.-British occupation of Philadelphia.-Captain
Andrè.-Turncoats.-Mr. Duche.-A spy in the house.-Escaping a
halter. A girl's quick wits.-Going to the Logan home.-A subterranean
passage.-Ta-ga-jute the Indian.
240-277.
M
Makka
A
CHAPTER XI.
A young lady's winter in Revolutionary times.-Logan House.-A
nymph of 1777.-Value of a fan. Mistress Logan's dinner.-Logan's
ghost.-A light-brained captain.-The secret key.-Sending news to
Washington.-Battle of White Marsh.-News of the Patriot army.-
Uncle Temple appears.-A valuable petticoat, and an unsuspected
money purse.-An early start.-A neutral's troubles.-Uncle and Abbey
going to camp. The patriotic ferryman.-Camp at Valley Forge.-Sol-
dier's life.—Privations of the Patriots.—Washington's head-quarters.—
The nurse in camp.-The New Year's dinner party.-The friends in
camp.—Sick in camp.-An Indian friend.—Washington's dinner.—Lady
Washington at Valley Forge.-The General's prayer. The pathos of
Logan.-Visitors by a kitchen fire.-Two armies contrasted.-Bryan
Fairfax.-Arrival of Baron Steuben.-The Baron's difficulties.-A drill.
-Fortunes of war.-Getting home.-A long absence.
278-309.
M
CHAPTER XII.
Dame Warren's history.-Uncle John and his daughter Susannah.-
A British lover.-Liking a man better than his cause.-A Patriot
maiden.-War and lovers.-General Howe to be superseded.-Phila-
delphia about to be evacuated.-Bessie and her principles.-A loyal
soul.-Mistress Seaforth on the King's army.-A matron's advice upon
love and marriage.-London and the Colonies.-Lady Washington's
caution and compliment.-A chaperon secured.-Captain Banks ac-
cepted.-Officers' club house.-Captain Andrè.-Doctor Franklin's house.
Hester's wit.-Gates, Greene, and Howe.-Persistent guests.-Doctor
Franklin in Paris.-A treaty of alliance.-France and Spain.-A junto
of Patriots.-Neutral allies.-Dinner table politics.-King of Prussia and
the mercenaries.-Dangers of America.-Congress is timid.-The money.-
Easy to condemn.-Sending to Nantes for goods.-Grandmother's laee.-
Mary Pemberton's coach.-A spy in the city. The prisoners are ill.-
Sent to Logan House.
309-331.
Pla
K
C
CONTENTS.
xi
C
CHAPTER XIII.
Logan House to be burnt.-Madam Logan's presence of mind.-
Clearing out a fashionable dwelling.-Captain Banks.-A reprieve.—A
drunkard's folly.-A laughable scene.-Return to the city.-Bessie de-
termines to be foolish.-A wedding in 1776.-The wedding party.-
General Howe and Judith.-Repartee.-Puritan principles.-A gay couple
beginning life.—Evil omens.-Signs of the times.—Light for the pa-
triots.-The English Commons desire peace.-The power of kings.-This
waste of lives.-The stir of departure.-Mirth and War.-" Philadelphia
has captured Howe; not Howe Philadelphia."-The Howe brothers
under the displeasure of the Minister of War.-The commissioners from
England.-Flight of Tories.-Steady fathers' views of the follies of the
time. The Mischianza.-An alarmı.-Howe Brothers.-The British evac-
uate Philadelphia.-Tory Terror.
331-353.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
A girl's dream of war.-Arnold occupies Philadelphia.-The battle of
Monmouth.-Lee's evil star.-Howe's retreat through the Jerseys.-Failure
of the commissioners.-Reed's reply.-French fleet arrives just too late.-
Massacre of Wyoming.-Woes of Wyoming.-British prognostications.-
Charles at home.-A soldier's return.-A bashful maid.-Army in sum-
mer.-Hannah Dana's outfit.-Mr. Reid's eulogism.-Oaks and roses.-
"Good-bye, Thomas."-Mr. Bowdoin's delusion.-In a garden.-Arnold in
the city.-Miss Shippen.-Continental money.-Spain and America.-
The widow Ross and her money.-Affairs at Rhode Island.-Georgia
and General Lincoln.-The Jerseys.-A letter from Bessie.-Goods from
Nantes. A meeting in the street.-Robert Shirtliffe again.-Christmas
1778.-Poor Deborah!-Her story.-Massacre at Cherry Valley.-Isaiah
Hooper disappears.-A letter from Dame Warren.-A ride in Washing-
ton's cortege.-Trouble about Arnold.-Camp in 1779.
353-377.
C
M
Winter-quarters 1779.-Baron Steuben.-Ladies in Camp.-At Wash-
ington's headquarters.-Robert Shirtliffe.-A friend in need.-General
Washington handles a difficult question discreetly.-A soldier's dis-
charge.-Condemned unheard.-An un-feed attorney.-Saying a lesson
well.-Richard Reid's intentions.-Apples a dollar each.-A spy in
camp.-All for nothing.-A grand fête in camp.-General Arnold's
court-martial.—Letters from Bessie.-A pass to New York.-Exchanged
prisoners.-The beautiful river.-At New York in 1779.-Bessie in dis-
xii
CONTENTS.
響
​tress.-A new nurse.-Living in New York.-Captain Banks's singular
manners.-Letters from London.-Why not?-New dresses from Lon-
don.-Major Andrè.-The review.-Bessie elated.-An English Lady.-
The little lad.-A terrible denouement.-The fearful game played to
the end.—Mr. Warley.—The ensign.—Explanation.—Mr. Seaforth sum-
moned.-A dead man on a bier.-Shot through the heart.-The Eng-
lish Mrs. Banks.-My uncle's heart and fortune.
378-405.
Bessie in Philadelphia.-Connecticut wasted.-"Mad Anthony's" ex-
ploits." Light-horse Harry" at Paulus Hook.-The American Fabius.---
Paul Jones.-Washington at West Point.-Rhode Island evacuated.-
British in the South.-Providing for soldiers.-Charles gone North.-
Headquarters at Morristown.-The valueless money.-Nothing to give.-
Bravo, Jersey.-A cold winter.-Arnold reprimanded.-Hannah Dana
ill.-Going to Morristown.-The farm-house.-A peddler.-A dog a
four-legged defender.-A terrible scene.-An escape.-Joseph Dana
wounded. Taken to Philadelphia.-Sent home armless.—Lafayette's
return. Mutiny.-Pain and Patriotismı.-Isaiah Hooper Missing.-Letter
from Deborah.-Ta-ga-jute at his father's grave.-The Indian's white
brother. The chief's errand.-A wounded friend.-Faithful unto death.-
Trust and remorse.-"Good-bye, Bessie."-"He died believing in her."-
Whose fault is it?-Children of the covenant.
406-428.
M
Geliga pag
CHAPTER XVI.
!
Affairs in the spring of 1780.-Troubles between Congress and the
army. The hero of the age.-Death of De Kalb.-War in Virginia.-
Arnold's treason.-The whole story.-Andrè's doom.-Intentions are not
dealt with in court-martials.-Mrs. Arnold.-No news of Colonel Nel-
son.-Was Thomas dead?-A lock of fair hair.-Retrospection.-Susan-
nah's faith.-A true girl's heart.-Hard winters.-Laurens sent to France
to ask funds.-The soldiers of the Revolution.-The great mutiny.-Reed
to the front.-Clinton's proposals.-"What, are we all Arnolds?"-Robert
Morris at the tea-table.-Proposals in Congress.-Confederation and
Union. Moving toward unity.-Virginia gentlemen.-Arnold ravaging
Virginia.-Cowpens and Guilford Court-house.-Greene leads a chase.-
A goodly Saxon knight.-A British view of affairs.-Plans for spring war-
fare.-Richard Reid vexed.-At tea.-A wonderful surprise.-Isaiah res-
cued.-Ta-ga-jute does his duty.-His story.-Captive in Shawnee
Town.-A hero every inch.
429-451.
CHAPTER XVII.
Mod de la
M
P
CONTENTS.
xiii
CHAPTER XVIII.
Uncle Matthew's visit.-A ride.-A drover.-The Frenchman's.-Mr.
Reid shot. The girl dragged off.-A struggle for life.—Who shall drown、—
A rescuer.-Hurled over the cliff-Ta-ga-jute.-Richard revives.-Re-
turning home in a cart.-The invalids.-Going to the country.-Sum-
mer on the Delaware.-A swift messenger.-Terrible tidings.-A night
ride. The dying officer.-The father's coming.-The price of victory
This is the fruit of war.-Old men's tears.-The Saxon knight's return
Hearts break but war goes on.-The Burial at the vault.-At home
Desolation.-Susannah the fair.-Sharp questions.-A sad visit.-More
452-473.
hopeful prospects.
M
CHAPTER XIX.
A lull in war times.--August 1781.-News of the army in motion
Washington coming.-Patriot army marches through Philadelphia-
Worn Patriots and splendid French allies.-March to head of Elk←
Laurens' success.-The parting.-Cross purposes and cross maidens-
Hester's new freak.-The lost soldier.-Washington's ride to head of
Elk.-Good news in the city.-Big bonfires.-Mount Vernon.-Virginian
hospitality.-Lady Washington at home.-The allied fleet.-News at
midnight." One o'clock and Cornwallis is taken!"-A wild night-
Mutations of fortune.-Description of the siege of Yorktown.-A Patriot
Governor. The surrender.-Sorrow in joy.-Death of Mr. Curtis. -Han-
nah Dana's lonely grave.-Anxieties of General Washington.-Dreams of
Plymouth.-Nothing to wear in 1782.-Belles of the olden times. 474-498.
CHAPTER XX.
Lady Washington in Philadelphia.-A call on Lady Washington-
"I should suppose so."-Uncle John proposes to buy the old home-
stead.-Beautiful vistas.-What the land will need.-The army at New-
berg.-Dangers of peace.-Commissioners in Paris.-Hardships in camp.
Bitter to the end.-The truant Colonel's return.-A live sale.-Taken
into favor.-A Revolutionary father.-British and British.—Our Susan-
nah is happy.-A new arrival.-A guest from Canada.-Prison life in
Montreal. A fantastic couple.-Judith gives sound advice.-A young
lady speaks to the point.-Turning the heel of a stocking.-Discontents
in the army.-Waiting for news from England.-Dawnings of peace-
Confiscating Tory property.-Honest men's contracts.-The idea of a
Republic. What kind of men are needed.—And what kind of women-
True life of Republics.-The remedy for all the evils in the world—
Death of Otis.-Sending to France for goods.
498-525.
Y
xiv
CONTENTS.
Mod de pa
Reduction of the army.-Jan. 1st, 1783.-Sir Guy Carleton in New
York.-Thomas and Hester.-An expected marriage.-Deborah Sam-
son again.—The anonymous papers in the army.-Washington's telling
speech.-Letters from Congress to the army.-Arrival of the Triumph.-
Letter from Lafayette.-Soldier become citizen.-The Plymouth hero
goes home.-Eight years of absence.-The goods from Nantes.-Hester's
wedding. The house in Boston.-A wedding journey 100 years ago.-
At the old home in Plymouth.-Richard Reid in the old home.-Han-
nah's parents.-The joyous greeting.-The mutineers in Philadelphia.---
Congress adjourns to Princeton.-A Patriot and a Tory joined in holy
matrimony.—Bessie and Mrs. Seaforth.-Colonel Nelson returns from
England. A jolly British uncle.-Treaty signed in Paris.-All the land
our own.-Washington resigns his commission.-The scene at Annap-
opolis.-New Year's eve 1784.-Two letters.-God bless you!—A colored
woman's opinions and intentions.-" Me an' Peter an' Pompey.”—The old
home and the new life and a cheerful greeting.-May the word be ful-
filled unto us.
525-548.
1
M
CHAPTER XXI.
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Susannah-" Beautiful even in London'
Grandmother's Mother
The Old Farm
Portrait of Patrick Henry.
The old Thirteen Colonies.
Grandfather's Church
•
Novel Reading
Nut Gathering-A New England Scene
Portrait of Samuel Adams
Winter at Plymouth
By Coach to Boston
Night Ride of Paul Revere
Abbey at Home with Grandfather
Carpenter's Hall-1774
Telling the War-News
Bringing home the letters
•
""
Scene of the Battle of Bunker Hill-1775
Burial Hill at Plymouth
The Retreat from Quebec .
The Old Mill
Faneuil Hall-Boston
Portrait of Deborah Samson as "Robert Shirtliffe "
•
Bessie and Mr. Bowdoin
State House-Philadelphia, 1776
House in which Decl. of Independence was written.
Independence Bell
Philadelphia and vicinity-1776
Independence Hall
Map of the Jerseys-1776.
Portrait of Dr. Benjamin Franklin
Portrait of General Greene
O
Battle of Long Island-1776
Battle of Trenton-1776
Portrait of General Washington
The Prison Hulk "Jersey"
Isaiah Hooper on his farm
PAGE.
(Frontispiece)
25
28
44
46
52
59
79
80
84
99
103
111
113
115
122
139
148
151
161
162
167
168
177
179
.
180
. 182
183
190
193
196
197
208
211
223
225
•
•
•
•
•
•
·
•
•
(15)
16
ILLUSTRATIONS.
"
Fourth of July Celebration in 1777 .
Portrait of General Burgoyne
Portrait of General Sullivan
Portrait of La Fayette
Portrait of Lord Cornwallis
Portrait of General Fraser.
Burgoyne's Encampment .
Scene of Burgoyne's Surrender.
Bessie and Abbey-" What! has he asked you?"
Portrait of General Francis Marion
Indian Massacre in Cherry Valley
Return of La Fayette to France
Bessie convalescent
Portrait of Captain André .
Portrait of Ta-ga-jute Logan-The White Man's friend .
The Subterranean Passage under the Logan House .
Bringing in the Yule Log-Logan House.
Supplies for Army at Valley Forge.
Encampment at Valley Forge-1777-8
Hannah Dana
Portrait of Lady Washington
Portrait of General Arnold
The Beautiful Valley of Wyoming
Portrait of Brandt
•
O
The Arrest of Major André
The Logan House
Portrait of General Heath.
Mt. Vernon, the home of Washington
Siege of Yorktown-1781.
The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis
Washington's Headquarters at Newberg
Portrait of Sir Guy Carleton
Capture of Thomas Otis by the Indians
Abbey and Richard visit Plymouth .
Washington resigning his command.
The End.
•
Verplanck's Point, from Stony Point Lighthouse
Portrait of General Anthony Wayne.
Subscriptions for the Continental Army
Scene of Arnold's Treason.
•
·
。
•
·
•
·
•
•
•
•
•
•
PAGE.
233
234
237
238
239
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250
251
261
263
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283
286
291
292
295
300
353
357
359
368
374
385
395
404
407
409
431
432
450
483
484
489
490
501
502
511
535
542
548
Introductory Note.
IT.
T was the vice of the old-school historians that they
dealt only with the public affairs of nations. According
to their philosophy, events were nothing unless projected
on the heroic scale: and the difference between the
heroic and the Quixotic was often undiscoverable. The
most obscure annalist felt called upon to mask, mount,
and marshal his characters, and set them all a-jousting.
The world was a tournament and human life a ceremony.
Here was a king, there a priest, and yonder a warrior.
Here was a Senate debating, there an army marching,
and yonder a city sacked by janizaries. The whole
panorama was a thing remote from the real dispositions
and purposes of life; a pageant of idealities rather than
a drama of facts.
Not so with the historical writings of the New Era.
History now hath its undercurrent, upon whose abound-
ing bosom are borne the destinies of all men. Now have
the lowly found a voice; the weak man, a tongue; the
poor man, an oracle. The poets from Wordsworth down,
Calg
(17)
18
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
the great novelists, and the new-school historians have
praised the common lot and made it beautiful. Every-
day life has been crowned with all the beätitudes of
letters and art. The discovery has at last been made
that Manners and Customs are the vital parts of history;
that what the people think about and hope for is more
important in the records of nationality than the story of
intrigues, debates, and battles.
The following work is a contribution to the history of
the social life of the fathers. It aspires to be considered
a special study made in the by-ways of the Revolution.
The aim has been to preserve and present, in a compact
and attractive form, the story of some important facts
likely to be overlooked or forgotten in the glamour of
the great Centennial-facts already but half discover-
able through the shadows, and soon to be lost in oblivion
unless preserved in some such record as this.
THE PUBLISHERS.
JULY 1ST, 1876.
1
PATRIOT AND TORY:
One Hundred Years Ago.
CHAPTER I.
THE STORY'S HISTORY.
THINGS trifling in themselves, at the time and place of
their origin, become of worth as curiosities when re-
moved to a certain distance of space, or as antiquities when
removed to a certain distance of time. In this centennial
year of our Republic every relic of Revolutionary days
has acquired an arbitrary value. What a treasure to the
"Committee" would be that famous pie for which one
hundred dollars of Colonial currency were paid! What
a romance hangs about some idle letter, describing a party
given to Lord Howe; or a fragment of a complimentary
note bearing the signature of Martha Washington. This
interest in all that belongs to our Revolutionary struggle
has influenced me to present to the public a simple memo-
rial of family life one hundred years ago, which until now
would only have been interesting to the descendants of
her by whom it was written. In editing this chronicle for
the public I feel obliged to give an account of its origin
and history. My paternal grandfather was a Scotchman
(19)
20
PATRIOT AND TORY:
.
from Paisley. He left home early in life, and having
settled in New York State, after some years married a
maiden of mingled Scotch and Puritan blood. About a
decade after the marriage, my grandmother's mother died,
and among her papers was found a portly roll of yellow
manuscript, written in a clear, bold hand. My grand-
mother at once recognized this as the record of her
mother's early life-a bit of family chronicle which she
had heard read in her young days, and which had been
carefully preserved by its author, as a relic of happy and
yet often anxious hours.
My grandfather had, with Scotch tenacity, clung to his
home and kindred over seas. He had been often urged
to bring his wife on a visit to the old country relations;
but family and business cares had prevented him from
accepting the invitation. Yet he was exceedingly de-
sirous of making his large circle of brothers and sisters
feel acquainted with their "American relative," and when
he had read the story left by his mother-in-law he thought
that if he sent the manuscript, with miniatures of the au-
thor and her daughter, his wife, it would serve to make
the whole family feel less like strangers to him and his.
His parents being dead, he very naturally sent his gift to
his eldest brother John, with a request that he would
"lend it around" among his family friends.
1
G
Now, my great-uncle John had made a good marriage,
and prospered in his business; and, among other strokes.
of good luck, it had been his fortune to rent a historic bit
of property —nothing less than the Grange, near Crooks-
town Castle, once a royal demesne, and belonging to Mar-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
21
garet, wife of James IV. of Scotland, and daughter of
Henry VII. of England. This Grange had been one of
the homes of Mary Stuart, with her governess and nurse,
before her departure for France. The Grange had fallen
from hand to hand, the old dwelling still standing, until
it was rented, with a mill property, to my great-uncle
John. Success had made this worthy man a little arro-
gant: established in what had been an abode of royalty,
beholding around him the oaken wainscotings and the
tapestried panels which had graced the home of the luck-
less and ill-deserving princess, he began to feel himself in
some occult fashion allied to the Tudors and Stuarts, and
treated his own family in a lofty and dictatorial manner.
Those canny Scots were unruffled by this style of broth-
erly kindness; they merely accepted it as "ane o' Johnny's
ways”—all but my great-aunt Jean. Aunt Jean, eldest
of her family, a spinster who had inherited several thou-
sand pounds from a far-off cousin, deeply resented her
brother's assumption of superiority. Between John and
Jean existed internecine war that nothing could placate.
-
When the errant Matthew sent from America his pres-
ent of two miniatures on ivory, and an ancient chronicle,
to the home of his fathers, and chose John as the recipi-
ent of his gift, great was the wrath that surged in the soul
of Aunt Jean. She believed that the family had entered
into a conspiracy against her-that Matthew was confed-
erate with John to rob her of the respect due her. John,
with much condescension, offered her the first reading of
the manuscript after his own family had finished it. My
aunt Jean scornfully rejected the proffer, and avowed she
22
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"wad hae naething to do wi't." True to her chosen
policy, when the story was in the hands of a niece, whom
she was visiting, and was to be read aloud to the house-
hold, aunt Jean arose and left the room. (However, there
was pretty good proof that she satisfied her curiosity by
remaining so near an open door that she heard every word
of all the readings.) My great-aunt could not be content
without some more forcible manifestation of her feelings
in this important matter. She cast about her for a fashion
of punishing her delinquent brothers. Where should she
find it better than in the making her will? Aunt Jean
theorized in general that she should some day die, as did
other mortals; but the prospect of death was not near
enough to set her at peace with all humankind, brothers
Matthew and John included. She summoned a lawyer and
had her will prepared and duly signed, and took care to
proclaim fully the manner of her last testament. She left
to each of her brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, twenty
pounds to buy a mourning ring—except to the erring John
and Matthew, and their children. The remainder of her
property did Aunt Jean devise to the "Breetish Museum
Library, whar (to quote her own words) nae doubt waur
buiks eneugh to teach people hoo properly to respec' their
elders."
Thus did Aunt Jean testify to her final rejection of her
family, her native place, and all Scottish institutions.
Uncle John heard the news, and great was his disgust.
It was now needful that he should make his will, and pro-
claim its contents, that Aunt Jean might find him even
with her in the strife. Great was the debate in his heart
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
23
when he considered how he could outrival his excellent
sister; he was almost ready to order his body to be turned
into a mummy and devised to the Egyptian collection in
that famous Museum! What should he do? Uncle John
was resolved to leave his son and daughter "forehanded
wi' the warld," and he would not bequeath from them one
hoof of his thoroughbreds, one horn of his choice cattle,
one "pund o'siller." Day after day he pondered, and
then the solution of his difficulty came in a great burst
of light; he leaped up, snapping his fingers, and cried:
"I hae it the noo! I will gie the manuscript to the
Breetish Museum." Forthwith a lawyer was summoned,
and a codicil added to my great-uncle's last will and tes-
tament "The manuscrup sent frae America, to the Li-
brary o' the Breetish Museum." When I visited Scotland
I expected to find this famous manuscript of my great-
grandmother still in the hands of some one of the family,
and trusted that it might be bestowed upon me, at my re-
quest. Uncle John and Aunt Jean had long been buried,
and great was my chagrin to learn that the roll of paper,
valueless to any one but myself, had been done up in a
morocco case lined with silk and forwarded to the British
Museum. A year afterward, I entered the famous Library
as a constant reader, and when I had made acquaintance
with the ways of the place I looked for the family manu-
script; it was not down on the catalogue. I then applied
to the Librarian. A little discussion and research served
to recall the fact of Aunt Jean's legacy, but Uncle John's
bequest had been quite forgotten. When I explained that
the lost paper contained a bit of family history, with a
Į
24
PATRIOT AND TORY:
few hints of the public affairs of a stirring time, those
most obliging of mortals, the Librarians, set themselves
to hunt it up. Two months passed; I had quite given
up all hopes of seeing the object of my desire, when one
morning the oldest Librarian came to my desk and whis-
pered triumphantly: "We have found that manuscript.
We got hold of it yesterday morning, and have cata-
logued it properly. So if you will come and make out a
ticket you will have the paper in a few minutes." Ac-
cordingly, within half an hour, that Revolutionary relic
was laid on my desk. I turned over the yellow, faded,
dusty leaves, and meditated. "My great-grandmother was
remarkably persevering in journalizing." "They made
wonderfully strong paper and good ink in those times.”
"Written with a quill." "Great-grandmother's chirog-
raphy was of the very best." "What is given to this
Museum is like time, or the spoken word, it can not be
recalled." "What a work to copy all this, when surely it
ought to be mine rather than the Museum's." I beck-
oned a Librarian: "Think I could buy this?" He shook
his head. This is as the lion's den-all steps point in,
none out. The manuscript would be valuable as a relic
of antiquity in the year 4000 or 5000 A. D. The Museum
must cherish it for the benefit of posterity. All readers
at the Museum are pledged not to peculate-in other
words, not to secretly borrow for indefinite periods―any
of the books or manuscripts. Alas, that clause! It com-
pelled me to copy my great-grandmother's history.
While I was thus copying, I laid on the manuscript
those ivory miniatures of great-grandmother and her
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
25
daughter, which had been sent to Scotland and returned
to me.
Pretty-faced great-grandmother!
How strange that
this manuscript which you traced under apple-trees, and
in garrets, and by latticed windows; in joy, hope, fear,
wonder; in the din
of arms, in the mar-
vel of a nation's
birth; in early love
and mature knowl-
edge, lies here! And
here is the picture
of your child; and
you and she have
grown old and wrin-
kled and turned to
dust; and I, your
descendant, after so
many years, sit in
this old-world tem-

Jad
;.
GRANDMOTHER'S MOTHER.
ple of learning and copy the story you wrote when you and
the nation were yet young, and doubtful of your destiny!
"Grandmother's mother! her age I guess
Thirteen summers, or something less.
Girlish bust, but womanly air;
Smooth, square forehead, with uprolled hair;
Lips that lover has never kissed;
Taper fingers and slender wrist;
Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade-
So they painted the little maid.
What if, one hundred years ago,
Those close-shut lips had answered No!
Should I be I? or would it be
One-tenth another to nine-tenths me?
Co
26
PATRIOT AND TORY: .
CHAPTER II.
BEGINNING OF THE STORY.
MAY 12, 1773.
How
W strange it must be to have lived one hundred
years a whole century! If great-grandfather lives.
until day after to-morrow-and of course he will he
will be one hundred years old. Suppose I should live
that long, how would the world look, and how would peo-
ple dress, and what would be going on, and who would be
our king, one hundred years from to-day? Perhaps no-
body would be our king. I hear very strange talk from
those who come to see my grandfather. But how could
people get on then? A nation without a king seems to me
like a body without any head. To be sure there were the
old Greeks, and the Romans of the Republic, and Eng-
land in Cromwell's time-but it did not last so very long;
and there is Holland-but that is the same. My uncle
from Philadelphia and my uncle from Virginia will be
here to-morrow, to keep great-grandfather's birthday. I
have helped grandmother make good things all the morn-
ing. After dinner I came out under the big apple-tree
in front of the house; it is so pretty here- the house
with its nice little windows winking in the sun, and the
high-peaked, mossy roof, and the bright red paint. I am
sure it is prettier than any of the pictures in my grand-
•
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
27
mother's big Bible. The blue-birds are building a nest
here in the apple-tree, and the redbreasts are back-one
of them sits on the top of the well-sweep every day and
sings for ever so long. Great-grandfather says he is
praising God for fresh air and water, two things the dear
old man likes very much.
When I brought my knitting out here, great-grand-
father came and stood in the doorway, and he looked
very beautiful with the sun on his white head. I brought
his big oaken chair under the tree, and grandmother put
her best braided mat beneath his feet, and laid the big
wolf-skin robe over his lap; the skins are of the wolves
my father shot when he was a young man. I think he
must have been as great as Israel Putnam, whom my
grandfather often speaks of. When great-grandfather was
sitting here with me I began to talk to him. I know
how to do so now; once I did not. I used to talk to
him about the farm, and the school, and my uncles, and
the neighbors, and Dame Mercy Warren; and he would
say, "Who? What?" He has lived, so long that he for-
gets yesterday and to-day, and only remembers a long
while ago, unless you talk to him about the Bible, or the
old country, or the good of the Colonies, especially this
of Massachusetts. So now when I talk to great-grand-
father I ask him about the old times, and the mother
country, and then he enjoys talking. To-day I said,
"Grandfather, you have lived so long that the world
must have changed very much since you came into it.
Don't you wish you could remember way back to the time
when you were a little baby?" Yes, he said he did.
28
PATRIOT AND TORY:
There was many a scene he wished he could remember.
And of course I asked him, "What were they, grandfa-
ther?" He said, “Child, ye have heard of the Solemn
League and Covenant, signed by us Scots people on a
stone in Greyfriars Churchyard in Edinboro'? Well,

ed
/he
THE OLD FARM.
child, when that was signed my father was a child in his
mother's arms. When my parents were young they were
of those who went by night to the conventicles, to worship
God in the glens and forests; their friends were the good
men who were hunted and killed like beasts on the mount-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
29
ains; and when I was a child they oft carried me with
them. I wish I could remember those times. Popish
James fled over seas when I was sixteen, and I stood
with my father and mother and elder brothers all day in
the High Street of Edinboro' waiting to hear the decision
of the convention upon the claims of James and William
to the throne. I can remember, child, the great crowd in
the street, and how children were set upon their fathers'
shoulders to keep them from being crushed by the crowd.
And then I remember a shout, that seemed to shake the
very skies; and I saw my mother and other women crying
and waving handkerchiefs, and heard my father and
brothers cheering, and I saw the crowd divide, and the
great nobles and the Lord Provost and the heralds passing
along High Street. Ah, child, it was a grand sight, and a
proclamation of liberty to the captive, and opening of
prison to them that had been bound, and the coming of
the acceptable year of the Lord. I would I had been a
little older then, and able better to help on the good time,
or old enough to go to London and get a look at William,
of glorious and immortal memory!"
"But, grandfather," I said, "suppose that convention
had decided in favor of King James?"
"The Western Covenanters were there," said grand-
father, "and they would have risen to a man and led Scot-
land to religious liberty. Wonder it is that they saw the
murderer of the saints, Dundee, daily in the streets and
withheld their hands; it was God's grace in them. My
own father had an account to settle with him, for he
killed father's only brother; but he left it to be reckoned
C
P
30
PATRIOT AND TORY:
for at God's bar, and that is well: it is written, 'Vengeance
is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.""
66
'But, grandfather," I said again, "very many of the
Scots were loyal to the Stuarts. I have read that Scotland
was their hope and stronghold.”
"Yes, child," said grandfather, "many Scots were loyal,
to their own destruction, to the Stuarts-loyal to them
rather than to God. But, child, my fathers were of a
race who knew no loyalty to a king who was not loyal to
God. We honor the king in the ways of righteousness.
Kings are set to defend the liberty of subjects, and to lead
nations in holiness and justice; and when they fail there
they forfeit the crown. It was thus the Scottish Estates
decided in the convention I told ye of."
"C
People could be loyal but to few kings, grandfather,”
I said, "if only to such as you describe. Dame Mercy
Warren said yesterday that kings generally supposed the
people were made for them."
"Na, na," said grandfather, "kings are made for the
people. The Princes of Orange have always held that
doctrine."
"It is a pity, grandfather," said I, "that you Scotchmen
had to go to Holland to find kings with right views. You
have been unlucky in your kings, have you not?”
"Well, my girl," grandfather said, "belike it was to set
our allegiance aboon all earthly princes, and fix our hearts
on King Jesus. I have often thought of they old days
when Jehovah alone was king over Israel, and I have
wished that here in this new country such a government
could be set up, with no king but Christ."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
31
Grandfather had come out to see if great-grandfather
were not tired of being under the apple-tree, and he said
to this, "The world is too corrupt for that, father. If we
had no king here we would have some other form of gov-
ernment tainted with human evil and avarice—the few
strong lording it over the many weak."
And just here we heard a laugh, and that clear voice of
Dame Warren, crying out, "But, sir, it would be as your
cousin wrote us from London, that Sir Robert Walpole said
we would be taxed more agreeably to our constitution
and laws.' We might more peacefully endure our own
errors in government than other people's."
""
Grandfather shook his head. I suppose all ministers
should feel as he does. He quoted the Psalmist, “I am for
peace; but when I speak they are for war.' He then took
great-grandfather's arm to help him to the house, and Dame
Warren stopped to take the cushion and mat. She said to
me, "Why so grave, Abbey-what troubles you?" I
laughed, it seemed so foolish; but I can always speak to
Dame Mercy Warren. I said, "It seems to me so quiet
out here; life is as still as a mill-pond. We have only the
change from the white snow that falls in winter, to the
pink snow from the apple-trees in spring, and the brown
snow of the dead leaves in autumn. My great-grandfather
has been telling me about times when he was young, when
great events happened, and even girls and children had a
part in them, and there was something worth living for. I
would like my life to be not like the mill-pond, but like
Cape Cod Bay out here-sometimes bright and shiny with
the sun, and sometimes wild and stirring and strong, as
3
32
PATRIOT AND TORY:
66
when the storms are out and the waves beat against the
coast!" Then Dame Warren looked earnestly at me for a
moment, standing there; she was under the apple-tree, with
the wolf-skin robe over her arms and grandmother's braided
mat in her hand, and she said, “ Child, if you were out on
our bay in a storm you would wish for the mill-pond. So
in the stir of war you may come to long for peace. Your
great-grandfather lived in days that were wonderful and
troubled and mighty in result, but you may live in days
that are greater still."
I hardly knew what she meant, but I went on with my
own thoughts. "And I can not get grandfather to tell
me all about those days, nor how he felt and talked. I
wish he had spent part of his time in writing a story for
me."
"So Dame Warren laughed again, and said, “Child, the
story of each generation will be history to those that come
after. Do you in your leisure hours write a book of your
days, and what you say and do, for there may be greater
days than you imagine."
I replied, "Oh, I have written of my days often, and it
is such silly stuff: 'The blue-birds are building their nest.
The robins have hatched their young. The apples are ripe;
and now the winter storms are all along the coast!""
"Keep on," said Dame Warren, "and the little song about
the birds may grow into the greater poem: the tragedy,
as Shakespeare wrote, of life and death, and heart-break;
or the story of a Milton, how angels fell from heaven."
Just then out came grandmother, crying, "Dame
Warren! come in, will you, and have a c-some supper!'
""
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
33
We
I know why grandmother stopped. We had no tea.
used the last a week ago. Grandfather has scruples about
using smuggled tea, for he says it comes like the water from
the well of Bethlehem to David-at the risk of men's lives,
and he will not use the taxed tea, for he thinks the tax is
wrong.
MAY 13, 1773.
Last night as we were sitting by the door in the twilight
I was thinking of great-grandfather, and all the wonderful
changes that he could remember, and I said to grand-
mother: "I wonder how he came to live so long."
"Because he was godly, child," says she; "godliness is
the best thing for preserving life that I know of."
"But were not my father and mother godly?" I said,
"and they died young; and so did my mother's mother,
and so shall I."
"Why, how is this?" said grandfather; "what is my
little girl talking about? Your father, my child, died not
in the course of nature, but in strife with the Indians in
Pontiac's War. Your mother was born in England, and our
climate in America doubtless shortened the lives of her
mother and herself. But you are in your native land, and
are not likely to be injured by causes which affected them.
My little girl must not be melancholy. You are, perhaps,
too much with grown people, and we are dull company.
You must have young companions.'
Grandmother said that there were few young folks near
us, and she did not believe in girls running about.
"Then," said grandfather, patting my head, "I must
cheer you up with a present. Once you could be made to
""
31
PATRIOT AND TORY:
rejoice at a wooden doll or a ginger-bread horse; but you
are too old for that now. What shall I give you?"
I said I wished he would give me some paper-a great
deal of paper-so that I could put down all that I saw or
heard. Grandmother said paper cost too much money to
be used in recording nonsense. But grandfather said it
was never nonsense to make people happier. Then he
went to his desk and took out the package of paper which
Deacon Dana brought him last month from Boston, and he
gave me half of it. I think he is a very good grandfather!
When I bid him good-night-it was almost eight o'clock,
a little later than common-he said: "Cheer up and be
hearty, my little Abbey. I have no doubt that you will
live to be a grandmother"-but, of course, that is quite
impossible. This morning as soon as it was light I rose,
so that I could iron my white apron, which I am to wear
with my new calico dress this evening when our friends
come from Philadelphia. One has to be dressed pretty well
to see people from such great cities.
Before I had heated the irons sufficiently, my grand-
mother beckoned me into the pantry, and said to me:
"Abbey, your great-grandfather says nothing, but I know
he is pining after his tea. A man of his age can not go
without what he has been accustomed to without being
hurt by it. I promised your grandfather that I would buy
no tea when ours was gone, as I must get either taxed or
smuggled, and both alike evil. Now I want you to run
to the field for a horse, and before the others are up, ride
over to Mrs. Brown's and tell her that I should like to
make her a present of my red scarf from India, if she has
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
35
a mind to make me a present of a package of tea for grand-
father's use, and that the flavor of the tea will be better the
less I know about where it came from."
"It is sure to be smuggled or taxed," I said.
"Taxed or smuggled," said grandmother, "the rest of us
will have only hot water in our cups; but the good old man
shall not die for a spoonful of tea, while I can help it."
Dear me! I thought grandmother would die rather than
ask a favor of Mrs. Brown, and that she would be cut in
pieces rather than give up the India scarf which her only
brother brought her the voyage before he was drowned.
Well, grandmother is a very good woman, for all she is so
sharp sometimes.
I ran out to the lot and caught old Maple, and put a
halter on him, and with grandmother's big calico pocket
hung at my waist, to carry the scarf and bring back the
tea, off I went a little after sunrise, and it was as nice a
morning ride as ever I had. As I rode along, I saw our
neighbors out in the fields planting corn. Dame Warren
said to me the other day that I might live in as great times
as the old grandfather did; but it takes heroes to make great
times, and these men do not look like heroes, only like
every-day fathers, and uncles and cousins. It seems to me
that the Covenanters of the west country, who stood in
Edinboro' ready to fight or die, must some way have looked
larger and grander than these men, out in the dewy fields
with the carly sunlight shining on their home-braided straw
hats, with blue home-spun shirts, and gray home-spun
trousers, and stockings knit of black yarn, and heavy shoes,
all mud, and planting-bags hung at their waists. No one
36
PATRIOT AND TORY:
need tell me; heroes are dead, and I live a long while too
late, and all the men that do wonderful deeds, and that
history is written about, are born no more, unless among
the lords and ladies and counts and princes, in the old
world. I shall never let Dame Warren see that line.
As I passed Isaiah Hooper he was out in his field, and
he called to me to ask if all was well; he thought old
grandfather might be poorly, and that perhaps I went
for the doctor. Isaiah Hooper is an every-day sort of
man; he only thinks of plowing, and planting, and crops,
and on Sundays of the sermon, though I believe he thinks
of religion all the time, for he said he should come to see
our grandfather on his birthday, and that a hoary head
was a crown of glory if found in the way of righteous-
Then he told me he hoped the Lord would send
heavy crops, for there might, before long, be fewer men
to till the soil, and he added there was a promise of
swords being turned into plowshares, but that was far
away; and he thought that first the plowshares would
be turned into swords.
ness.
I was sorry when I reached Mistress Brown's. She
examined every inch of the scarf, as if grandmother
would cheat her; and oh! how little tea she gave for
such a scarf! I took pains to tell her that only great-
grandfather would use the bohea, and that he quite forgot
each day the controversy upon the tax. Said Mistress
Brown:
"If it were not for folk like your grand'-ther and
grandmother there would be an end to this trouble about
tea and taxes and all that. I don't see how reasonable
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
37
folk with money in hand will sit and drink hyperion
or go about in homespun. How many yards did your
mother spin last year?"
Mistress Brown's little black eyes do vex me so. They
bore into one just like a gimlet when she asks a question.
"She spins all we use," I said.
Then she told how Mistress Partridge had woven three
coverlids and four hundred yards of cloth this year past.
"And how much did you say your people use in a
year?" says Mistress Brown.
"All that grandmother spins," I told her, and made
haste to get back to old Maple, who was biting the fence
rails as if they were Mistress Brown. I was home by
breakfast-time, and great-grandfather had his tea. Grand-
father sniffed and smelled at the table; he caught the fra-
grance of that cup of bohea. I handed him my cup, and
there were only raspberry leaves in that, and then grand-
mother smiled and held out hers. He came to the pantry
after breakfast and said he hoped we had not been buy-
ing any tea. Grandmother told him no, and then con-
cluded to let him know how she had traded the scarf.
He shook his head a little doubtfully, but I think she
did right.
plaka
We had dinner at eleven, and then grandmother put
on her dark-red flowered satin gown with the Brussels
lace in the neck and sleeves; she had it when she was
married, thirty years ago, to grandfather; being his second
wife, she is only ten years older than my father was,
who was grandfather's only child. When grandmother is
dressed in her satin gown with the string of gold beads
38
PATRIOT AND TORY:
about her neck, and her pin of garnets and diamonds,
I think she looks very handsome. Great-grandfather
wore his damask gown; grandmother has taken out the
silk lining and put squirrels' skins in instead. She made
me a Sunday pelisse out of the silk. I think my grand-
father is the best looking man near here. He wore the
broadcloth coat and breeches that came, ten years past,
from London, and a round velvet cap instead of his wig.
Grandmother had embroided his vest, and his ruffles were
nearly a quarter of a yard deep.
But then our company came. Uncle John Temple and
Uncle Matthew Temple; and with them a friend of my
Uncle John-Mr. Seaforth. Mr. Seaforth wore his wig
powdered, and gathered behind in a black-silk bag; but
my uncles had theirs in a long queue, with a bow of black
ribbon. Mr. Seaforth looked very splendid. His coat
and breeches were of blue velvet; his vest was swans-
down in buff stripes; and he had carbuncles set in his
knee-buckles. My uncles wore brown cloth and figured
satin vests. They had big pearl buttons on their clothes,
such as I never saw before. James Warren, and Dame
Mercy, and Deacon Dana, and Isaiah Hooper, and some
others, came early, and we had supper at five, and drank
great-grandfather's health in a big bowl of punch, out
of the bowl that came from London. They talked about
the cities, and Mr. Seaforth said that he paid thirty shil-
lings for a ticket to a ball; and Uncle John said that his
friend John Livingstone, of New York, merchant, told
him it cost a thousand dollars to live there in good style.
I do not know what we shall do if things become so ex-
G
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
39
pensive. After supper we still sat at the table. I sup-
pose grandmother would have sent me away, only grand-
father kept me by him. The talk was all about the state
of affairs.
MAY 14, 1773.
I could not put down yesterday all that was said at the
table about affairs in this country. I found that there
were many opinions on the question of what we should
do. My uncles, and Mr. Warren, and Dame Mercy are
all agreed, but Mr. Seaforth says he will hold to the
mother country to the last breath; and grandfather fears
we shall be too hasty and not count the cost. James
Warren, and the Dame, and my two uncles are for a
republic, while Deacon Dana and Isaiah Hooper are look-
ing for a Cromwell of the Colonies, and some think we
shall find him in the Adamses, or in Otis, and others in
Patrick Henry. I can not remember how the political
talk began, but Isaiah Hooper said to my Uncle John
Temple:
"What are you doing in Pennsylvania?"
And both my uncles struck the table hard and said, in
a breath:
"We are preparing for war!"
Grandfather said: "My brothers, no man goeth wisely
to war unless first he sitteth down and counteth the cost."
66 'The balance of cost would be in our favor," said Mr.
Warren. "We would fight for our own hearths and fami-
lies, in sight of them! And the king's troops would be in
a foreign land. We could fight for a principle to a man;
but the hearts of many of the royal troops would be with
1
40
PATRIOT AND TORY:
us, and many more would be indifferent. Again, we
should be in the midst of our supplies, and the king must
send clothes, and food, and pay, three thousand miles over
sea. Chances are for us, minister."
"It was not that cost which I meant," said grandfather.
"We should, if we went to war, be arrayed against our
own blood. Wherever victory went, victory would be
clad in mourning because brothers on either side had been
slain by brothers. We should be armed against our best
friends, for however the British Government may treat us,
we know that that Government has never adequately rep-
resented the people, and the great heart of the Commons
is with us; then we must turn against our best defenders,
as Burke, and Walpole, and Pitt, and Barré."
"You touch the very root of controversy," said James
Warren. "You say the Government has never adequately
represented the Commons of England; how can it, then,
represent the Commons of America? We are all Com-
mons here. We have a different nationalty, different
objects, a different future; and we are to be governed by
men who can not understand us, our country, or our
future; men who have no sympathy with our feelings,
no desire for our advancement; men for the most part
totally opposed to the principles whereon our Colonies
are founded. The Home Government is trying to keep a
full-grown giant in swaddling-bands and leading-strings.
Whatever we owed England we paid long ago.'
""
"I admit all the misconception, all the arrogance, all
the obstinacy that is charged on His Majesty's Govern-
ment," said my grandfather. But I see in Britain the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
41
great champion nation of Protestantism and education,
and I look with horror on a war between ourselves and
the one nation knit to us by blood, by religion, by all
our past history. I fear that when we and England are
weakened by a long, fierce war we shall be seized in our
exhaustion and overcome by mutual foes, and that popery
will regain its prestige by our strife.
"We must leave those distant results with God," said
Uncle John. "J believe that we shall conquer a peace
which shall be lasting, and end in mutual respect. Re-
leased from those leading-strings which Mr. Warren spoke
of, we shall become desirable and worthy allies of Eng-
land, and shall present a solid front of opposition to super-
stition and despotism. After the affairs of the Gaspe
and the Boston Massacre, and after such iniquitous legis-
lation as gave us the Writs of Assistance, and the Stamp
Act, and the contempt of our chartered rights of trial in
our own country, what recourse have the "Sons of Lib-
erty" but war? What pledge have we that, unrepresented
as we are in the Government, and toys of foreigners'
will, we shall not find some day a re-enactment of Charles
Second's wild charter, and ourselves and our heirs con-
demned to be 'leet men forever ? ""
"We take our stand on this," said Uncle Matthew
Temple: "No taxation without representation! If taxes
are a favor bestowed by British Commons on the King,
why are they a tribute demanded and wrested nolens volens
from the American Commons?"
"The fact is," said Mercy Warren, "the Colonies have
grown into a powerful and distinct nation, and the mother
42
PATRIOT AND TORY:
country does not know it, nor are we half conscious of it
ourselves. The ties that held our grand-parents to Eng-
land hold us to this land of our birth. Three millions of
people, a country unlimited in resources and of almost in-
calculable extent, and an army of two hundred thousand
men, can not be treated as a mere handful of slaves, gov-
erned by foreigners, taxed by foreigners, legislated for by
foreigners. The need and ability of self-government are
in us."
Madame," said Mr. Seaforth, "it pains me deeply to
hear you call the English foreigners. They are our kins-
men in the flesh and our brethren in the Church."
"That is all truc," said Dame Warren, "and yet, to all
intents and purposes of government, they are foreigners,
just as the French and Germans are."
"I hope and pray," said grandfather, "that England
will yet be brought to a right mind in these matters, and
that to us of the Colonics will be given a spirit of peace
and conciliation, and that riot and bitterness will be un-
known."
"Sirs," said Isaiah Hooper, "we have lost faith in Eng-
land, and in the promises of our king. New England is
as keen of wit as Old England. Why are British soldiers
left here? To coerce us! Let us meet distrust with dis-
trust. Why was Boston blockaded in time of peace? We
asked of our fatherland bread, and we have been given a
stone. We see that a North can succeed to a Chatham.
If we would be well governed let us govern ourselves!
Our future wealth will lie in trade, and in trade we are
limited and hindered. We are to have no market but
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
43
England, purchase no goods but from England. Let us
break loose from England, and the world will be our
market!"
66
'Sir," cried Mr. Seaforth, "you do not speak for us
all-not for me. I may have lost some faith in the wis-
dom of my king, but I have not lost my loyalty. His
Majesty may not be doing all the part of a beneficent
sovereign, but that will not clear me from doing all my
duty as a subject. Two wrongs, sir, will not make a
right. I believe that if there is any erring in our king, it
is in his head and not in his heart. He may be mistaken;
he is not corrupt. Do you feel sure that in rejecting the
present government we should make a good exchange?
The English Parliament has been for centuries the world's
noblest exponent of government, and what improvement
on that will be an unlettered mob? If we cut ourselves
loose from England, our future government may be led,
as was the Boston mob of 1770, by a mulatto, whose only
advantage was muscle. I, sir, come of a family which
survived the persecutions in the Wealden of Kent, and
came out of them loyal, although we had members who
perished at the stake. Men may err, but monarchy is
divine. The history of the world shows that monarchy is
the only fit and stable form of government."
"For my part," said Uncle Matthew, "I hold that this
is the proper land of free speech, and I honor the man
who speaks out his honest mind. I respect your opinions,
though I do not share them. Virginia, sir, goes with
Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. All the Colonies are a
unit, though in all there are many honorable men of your
1
44
PATRIOT AND TORY:
mind, whom we regret do not think with us. I was in the
House of Burgesses in Virginia when Patrick Henry cried,
'Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles his Cromwell, and George
the Third-may
profit by their
examples!' Ah,
sirs, all our
hearts went with
him."

"It is true,"
""
said Mr. Sca-,
forth, "that Ca-
sar had a Bru-
tus, but-the
Romans raised
a pillar to Cæ-
sar, inscribed
"To the father
of his country;' and after him came Augustus. Charles
had a Cromwell; but after Cromwell a second Charles.
What did it profit? The powers that be are ordained
of God.' True, primarily they are ordained for a terror
to evil doers, and a praise to them that do well; and
frequently they come short of this, but that does not
release subjects from duty nor justify anarchy and regi-
cide. David's cause was righteous, but he would not lift
up his hand against the Lord's anointed, nor will I!"
There was a silence all around the table. Then Uncle
John reached over and shook Mr. Seaforth's hand.
He said:
·-
#}/
AEONE THINGS T
PATRICK HENRY.
M
-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
45
"Old friend, here is the bitterness of civil war: that
brothers in heart, like you and I, find their consciences
placing them on different sides of a question. Yet,
Harry, however politics may divide us, personally you
and I will be David and Jonathan, as we have ever
been. I shall never forget that when I and mine lay
as dying from yellow fever, you stood by us night and
day. Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love
of woman.'"
6
Mr. Seaforth shook my great-uncle's hand heartily,
saying:
"Nor shall I forget that you, John, risked once your
whole fortune to save mine."
66
Dame Warren wiped her eyes, quite secretly, and
grandmother looked away for several minutes. Then
great-grandfather stood up, and taking his, velvet cap
off his bald head, lifted both hands to heaven and said:
Thou, Lord, dost know that from a child I have
lived in wars; but now am I very old. Bring out of
these controversies the advancement of Thy holy king-
dom; and if wars must come, let Thy servant be taken
to Thee before that evil day when the brother shall de-
liver the brother to death, and the father the child."
After supper the day was so fair that the company
went on the porch before the door. I stopped to help
grandmother; but she said I was in her way, and that
Pompey and Nervey were all the help she needed, so I
went with the rest, and found Mr. Seaforth taking a
brighter view, and saying that the London merchants
would never permit war, for that the Colonies owed
46
PATRIOT AND TORY:
them five millions of pounds, and that trade with the
Colonies was their greatest source of wealth; therefore,
all their influence would be for a recognition of Colonial
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rights and
for peace. He
appealed to
great-grand-

father, but
he shook his
head, saying:
"God has
given me a
century to
watch the
progress of
ideas, and I
see plainly
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nation was
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spirit of in-
dependence
and self-gov-
ernment-
on the idea
of popular
privileges and restriction of royal prerogative, it will
carry on its views of national and chartered rights to
the entire independence of the Colonies."
S
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
47
CHAPTER III.
MAY 21, 1773.
IT took me one or two days to write all the talk about
politics; and indeed I carried my paper once or twice
to grandfather, to see if I had it quite right. I wanted
to put something solid in my journal. That day after
dinner Dame Warren said to me:
"You are a good listener and a close observer, Abbey.
Are you putting down what goes on day by day?"
I blushed quite red as I was obliged to answer:
"Yes, Madam Warren. But-oh, dear!-it is all about
dress, and so on."
She laughed, saying:
"Well, even our dress may be historic. Keep on,
Abbey. Perhaps I shall write a history of these days,
and who knows but I may come to your journal for in-
formation!"
t
She never will. The idea of Dame Warren, forty-five
years old, and so very wise, ever asking information of
little Abbey Temple! However, I shall put down all the
great things that I hear; and this talk among our guests
is better than all that about their clothes. Grandmother
is fearful that I spend too much time with books and
paper. She says that I do not spin and knit and weave
enough. Now that we are pledged not to use English
4
48
PATRIOT AND TORY:
goods, we women and girls must supply our own mar-
kets, and grandmother has been talking with my uncles,
and she, and Isaiah Hooper's wife, and other women of
grandfather's congregation, are going to weave quantities
of blankets. I wish they would not. I hate to spin.
When I am walking up and down in that long garret,
by the wheel, how I envy every spider that is making
a web out of doors, and all the birds, and all the
boats-tiny specks, dancing far out on the Bay. But
there is no use of saying any thing if grandmother has
once made up her mind. However, there has been no
time for spinning and weaving while our guests have
been with us. On the day after grandfather's birth-day
I went out quite soon after breakfast with my knitting
to the apple-tree; and I sat so deeply thinking that I
noticed no one near until a bunch of leaves hit my
cheek; then looking up I saw in the boughs Thomas
Otis, a far-off cousin of Dame Warren's, who is passing
the Spring at her house. Thomas had been sent by the
dame to say that we should all take our supper with her
on the morrow. I went with Thomas to speak with
grandmother, and then he said he was to stop all day.
Thomas is the only young person who comes here, except
the two small children of Isaiah Hooper, and Hannah,
the daughter of Deacon Dana. I do not love Hannah
very greatly, for she feels older than my great-grand-
father, and always watches for opportunity to reprove
me.
Grandmother would not permit so dreadful a creature
as a boy to be around for a moment did he belong to
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
49
any less a person than Dame Warren. Thomas is so
funny; he pretended that he thought grandmother was
very pleased to have him come stay. He offered to help
her get the vegetables ready for dinner; and he made
Pompey and Nervey laugh so much by telling what the
boys did in school at Hartford that grandmother said
we had better go off somewhere. I seldom get a
chance to go out of the house-yard except to church.
We went to the felds to see the sheep. The flock is
now getting quite numerous; for, as the Assembly have
recommended that we use no sheep for meat, but keep
all for wool, we are raising more lambs. We then went
off to the coast. The mile seemed very short, we en-
joyed the walk so much. We rowed out on the Bay
and fished, and when we came in-shore we caught three
lobsters on the rocks and took them home for Mr. Sea-
forth, who is fond of such things. When we got home
dinner was cleared away, for grandmother says a table
should never be kept waiting for young folk. We would
have gone hungry after our long walk, but for Nervey.
She said to us:
"You chilluns run see ef dem pesky hens nebber laid
nuffin to-day up de mow."
She rolled her eyes so funny at me that I pulled
Tom's sleeve, and off we went. We climed up the mow,
and there was the nicest place made, and a clean cloth
spread, and a dish of fried chicken, custard pies, and
biscuits. My, they tasted good! And out of the win-
dow where the sun came in we could look over to the
porch of the house; and there sat grandmother knitting,
50
PATRIOT AND TORY:
with her head held very high, thinking, I dare say, what
a good lesson on punctuality she had given us children.
We did not talk very loud, but Thomas told me how,
if there is a war, he shall go, and how he will fight and
never fly, and rush into battle shouting "Victory or
death!" I think it is horrid to be a girl and able only
to stay at home and spin. Thomas said he never should
forget me, and when he went to war I was to give him
a lock of my hair, and if he was found dead on the
field it would be with that in his hand; and I might be
sure about it, for he never would take any lock of hair
but mine. He stood upon the mow (after he had eaten
all the dinner), and was just showing how he would or-
der the British troops to surrender, when he stepped
too far over and fell into old Maple's stall below with
such a crack that he broke the manger. We then went
into the orchard, and Thomas put me up a swing.
Grandmother was especially vexed about that when she
knew it. She said that I was not half womanly enough;
and that she knew not whatever would become of me. Mr.
Seaforth took my part a little. He is such a gentleman!
He said that his wife thought it not well for little girls
to grow up too soon, but liked for them to get health
and good spirits in their young days.
"As the twig is bent the tree is inclined," quoth
grandmother; "and if we would have women we must
have womanly little girls. The world would soon go a
begging for lack of such women as Dame Warren."
"Forsooth, so it has always," said Uncle John, "there
are not many like Mistress Mercy Warren, nor many
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
51
men to match such women; for the most part the world
is made of poorer stuff than the Otis family."
The next morning, after worship, while Nervey and
Pompey were bringing in breakfast, they spoke of going
to Mr. Warren's, and lo! grandmother said I was to stop
at home. "She did not favor girls gadding about." Oh,
I felt like crying, yet was ashamed; still the cry rose in
my throat and made a great noise therein. I sat behind
great-grandfather. He has his second sight and second
hearing too; and he caught the sound I made in my
throat striving not to cry, so he said.
"Na, na, my daughter, it is nae gadding aboot to go wi'
her forbears like we, to see the dame. Let the lassie go;
she is fit company for an auld man like me.”
Sometimes great-grandfather talks very broad Scotch.
So grandmother said:
"If you want her along, father, that is another thing.
Children should ever pleasure their parents."
Great-grandfather said to me softly:
"The grandmother does not remember what pleases a
child, because she is old, yet not old enough for second
childhood, like me. Come with us then the day, lassie.
You will be lonely enough when the old man is taken
away. But dinna greet, lassie, I'll speak a word for you
to the grandfather before I go home." Then, as if he
feared I would think hard of grandmother, he said: "But
the grandmother is a woman among a thousand, and has
a heart of gold." He would say so all the more if he
knew about the scarf and the tea; but I dare not tell.
We had a very nice day at Dame Warren's, and there
52
PATRIOT AND TORY:
was much talk about the mother country, and all wishing
for peace and just views, but my uncles and the Warrens,
doubting that the Parliament and the King would yield
the claimed right of taxing, and would put us all on the
same footing as people at home-I mean in England.
Mr. Seaforth stopped till after Sunday to hear grand-
father preach. Mr. Seaforth goes to Mr. Duche's church
GRANDFATHER'S CHURCH.
feuer
A

in Philadelphia, but says he likes to hear Mr. Wither-
spoon preach, and he liked grandfather. The text was:-
"Thou hast trodden down all them that err from Thy
statutes;" and the subject was: "The law of God con-
tained in the Scriptures indispensable to the prosperity
and perpetuity of a nation." Grandfather always expects
me to give him text, subject, and heads of all the sermons
on Sunday. When he has twelve or fourteen heads it is
very troublesome to remember them all; but Sunday he
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
53
did not have so many, and it was easy to remember, for
all that he said was so very good. Grandfather said that
the foundations of this country were laid on the Bible as
a corner-stone; that our Pilgrim Fathers came here to be
able to worship God in freedom of conscience, enlight-
ened by His Word. He said that only by adhering
closely to Bible principles could we be able to have a
clear path and an honorable record in the troubled times
we are entering; that only as we held to the teachings of
the Bible could we expect the blessing of God; and that
if we cut loose from the Bible we would fall into an-
archy and be a mob of desperadoes, and not a nation of
patriots. He said there was no true patriotism except in
Bible Christianity. All that was called patriotism in ir-
religion was selfishness and private ambition. He said
the Bible must be the instructor of our children, the guide
of our youth, the staff of old age, the law of lawgivers,
and the rule of rulers, and that it must be first in the pul-
pit, first in the school, first in legislation; and if it ceased
to be that, infidelity, and superstition, and party corrup-
tion would destroy the land. If we yielded one jot of the
prestige of the Bible, or in the least despised its claim as
the man of our counsel and the protector of our liberties,
then we would be ungrateful to God, who had led us in
this New World's wilderness, recreant to the teachings and
example of our fathers, and forfeit our future prosperity.
Every body said it was a very good sermon. But what
else could my grandfather preach?
Mr. Seaforth went to Boston on Monday. He has busi-
ness there. Also, my uncles left for Cambridge, but will
54
PATRIOT AND TORY:
be back again before they return home. Before they left
they all went to great-grandfather to say good-bye, and
they asked him for his blessing. It was a very solemn
sight I thought-those three gray-haired men (I would
call them old anywhere but by great-grandfatl.er,) bend-
ing their heads for his blessing. They are tall men
enough, but great-grandfather was taller―he seems almost
like a giant when he draws himself up-and he rose to his
full height, and spread out his hands, and said, like old
Jacob: "God, who fed me all my life long until this day,
the angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads,
and let them grow to a multitude in the midst of the
earth." From that great distance of his century, my
great-grandfather looks at all of us as about of one age,
I think. I am sure he talks with me just as with the
others.
JUNE, 1773.
One day goes by exactly like another. I have my les-
sons with grandfather, and Nervey, our black woman,
teaches me to cook and bake. I am raising forty chick-
ens, and I work in my garden every day. Pompey made
me a border for flowers when he made the vegetable
garden, and I have marigolds and sweet-pea, hollyhocks,
and pinks, and violets. The rose-trees that climb on the
front porch are all in blossom; the bees are very busy,
and Pompey has braided four new straw hives. The blue-
birds have hatched their young, and a lovely wood-pigeon
has made a nest in the apple-tree, and sits all day with her
pretty little brown head rising out of her rough nest.
Great-grandfather likes more than ever to sit talking to
-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
55
me under the apple-tree, and that gets me free of many an
hour's spinning. I see a change in his talk. He tells
more and more about his early days. Yesterday he told
me all about the battle of Bothwell Bridge, at which his
father was present; and about Aird's Moss, where his
cousin was killed beside Richard Cameron. He told me
also about the repeating of the Sanquhar Declaration,
when James Second came to the throne; and about Mrs.
Mitchell, whose husband was executed for his religion;
and as he told of one and another who fought and died,
and of the pitiful defeats, out of which came final victory,
and described the little band of Covenanters advancing
boldly to meet great hosts of enemies, his voice rose; and
when he pictured the charge at Bothwell he sprang up like
a strong young man, and caught off his velvet cap (which he
will call his bonnet) and waved it over his bald head, and
shouted: "Christ's Crown and Covenant!" so loudly that
it brought grandmother to the door, and the dove, dis-
turbed, lifted her pretty head with a soft "coo." So all
the time, while grandfather is describing to me those days
of dread: the field of battle, with the crash of guns, the
clash of sword on sword, the shouts, the cries, the groans,
and the awful night coming down over the dying and the
dead-beside this talk runs the soft monotone of the
brooding dove, and the sharp "chipper" of the little bluc-
birds, waiting to be fed. I wonder if, when war is in the
land, and the sun is shining on such fields of blood, and
great events are taking place, there can run along by the
wild tide of war the calm stream of home lives, and daily
56
PATRIOT AND TORY:
duties, and the quiet toils of women, and the plays of
little children?
JUNE 20, 1773.
To-day we had a letter from Cousin Bessie Warley, of
Boston, and a package of newspapers. The Massachusetts
Spy and the Boston Gazette had letters from Mr. Quincy
and Dr. Warren, and the Widow Draper's paper, the
News-Letter, had more of what grandfather calls gossip.
The papers gave us the Whig views, and Cousin Bessie's
letter the other side. Cousin Bessie is the only child of
grandmother's youngest sister. Her mother is dead, but
her father is living, and she is with him in Boston. My
grandmother never liked Mr. Warley, for she thinks him
a sly, unscrupulous man. This farm where we live be-
longs to grandmother, and will go to Bessie, as the only
one left of that family. Grandmother loves Bessie, but
she does not take any comfort in her. Bessie hates the
Whigs; she never gets done talking about the wicked riot
in '65, when Governor Hutchinson's house was burned, on
the North Square, in Boston. That was a shameful work,
but grandmother says there are evil men and evil deeds in
all causes, even in the best; and moreover, things would
not have been so bad if the mob had not been given a
whole barrel of rum-the drink, given to satisfy, only
made them more fierce. I shall never forget what Deacon
Dana said, not long since, when grandmother said that
drink would make our soldiers demons rather than patri-
ots, and that rum in the mouth put reason from the head
and religion from the heart. Said the Deacon :
"Aye, aye! royalty, rum and Rome are like to be the
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
57
ruin of this country, and we and our children for many
generations are certain to see sore fight with them.”
Well, in that riot Mr. Warley's roof got on fire and his
windows were broken, because his house was near the
Governor's. She ridicules the Boston "Daughters of Lib-
erty," with their spinning, song-singing and hyperion-
drinking, and says that the reverend gentlemen, Cooper
and Mayhew, are only fit for hanging. (My grandfather
says those divines are somewhat hasty of counsel.) Cousin
Bessie ended her letter by saying that she was to come to
stop with us for two months. She is seventeen, three
years older than I am. I am glad that she is coming.
JUNE 26, 1773.
Cousin Bessie came to-day. She came to Plymouth by
coach, and Isaiah Hooper being in with his wagon brought
her here. She had a trunk covered with cow-skin with
the hair on, and set with large brass nails. It is the
biggest and handsomest trunk I ever saw. Cousin Bessie
wore a green cloth dress with a hoop, and a beaver hat
with a plume half a yard long. Her shoes had high red
heels and pointed toes, and, altogether, I never saw a
young lady so gay; she is gay as my grandmother in her
very best, which she only puts on once or twice a year.
Cousin Bessie traveled with a matron of Plymouth; but
two British officers were in the coach, and she talked of
them much, in a manner that frightened me, and for
which grandmother at last reproved her sharply; but Bes-
sie laughed, and said she would marry one day a British
officer, and he would be knighted for reducing these rebel-
lious Colonies to submission, and then she would go to
58
PATRIOT AND TORY:
London, and be presented at Court, and live a lady. It
quite took away my breath to think of any one whom I
know doing such wonderful things! Cousin Bessie is not
one bit afraid of grandmother. She will not spin, but she
knits lace stockings and mittens for herself; and she works
worsteds and embroiders ruffles-not for her father, but
to give to some officers in Boston.
JULY 2.
Grandmother keeps me at all my duties, I think, closer
than ever, by way of setting example to Bessie. This
morning we heard that Mistress Brown's child is not like
to live, and so grandmother went to her for the day. She
left me a large task of spinning, and since Bessie could not
spin, she bade her reel. As soon as grandmother was
gone Cousin Bessie came to the garret, but not to reel. I
set open all the windows and began my work. Bees and
butterflies swung in and out on the sunbeams, and I
walked up and down by my wheel. Bessie went for some
flowers and dressed my hair, and tied a ribbon on my
neck; then she trimmed herself all up with flowers and
true-love knots. I do not deny that she looked very
pretty. And then she got out three pictures of gentlemen,
who, she said, were her lovers, and she said she liked one
with a sword best of all. She read me some verses another
onc (a student at Cambridge) wrote to her. They praised
her eyebrows, "arched like Cupid's bow;" and I told her
that was evidently not true, for her eyebrows are quite
straight; and she was vexed and said nobody wanted love
verses to be true, so they sounded well. But I should
want them to be true. For instance, if Thomas Otis wrote
•
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
59

WIL
FAR
She read about the Lady Clementina, Harriet Byron, and Sir Charles Grandison."
60
PATRIOT AND TORY:
1
me verses I would not thank him to call my eyes blue,
because they are not blue, but gray.
Then Bessie went and brought a book to read. She
read a long time, all about the Lady Clementina, Harriet
Byron and Sir Charles Grandison. I thought it beautiful
at first, until I found it was a novel. Grandmother has
told me that novels are dreadful books, inspired by the
Evil One. And this, to be sure, was very bewildering -
all about love and marriage, and various things which
girls should not think of. Grandfather gave me "Thomp-
son's Seasons" for my birthday. I think it very nice, and
I read it for hours underneath the apple-tree, or on the
hay-mow. However, Bessie would read on, until she was
as hoarse as a crow; and we both agreed that we would
never, never marry a man not as perfect as Sir Charles;
but Bessie says all the British officers are just as good;
and I know James Otis, whom Mr. Adams called "a flame
of fire," is just as noble-and-all the Otis family are
alike. After dinner I returned to my spinning, and Bes-
sie went to our room. Presently she came up to me, and
I fairly held my breath to look at her. Her hair was in
scrolls, powdered white. She had a gauze head-dress a
foot high, and a blue satin trained gown, with a cream-
colored satin petticoat. She had a gauze kerchief on her
neck, and her arms were in long embroidered gloves. So
dressed she made me a curtesy-like those made in Court,
she assured me; and danced me a minuet. She offered to
teach me, but I feared grandfather's roof might fall as it
was- with novels and dancing under it. Then off went
Bessie, and came back in a peach-colored brocade, with a
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
61
white petticoat and wide hoop, and a lace kerchief, and a
fan from Paris. She stood so in the sunshine, telling me
what compliments were paid her in the winter, when she
went to the Governor's ball in this dress; and I stood by
my wheel, forgetting to spin, and feeling very shabby in
my unpowdered hair, my home-spun dress and linen apron
of grandmother's bleaching, when lo! there stood grand-
mother in the door. I was dreadfully frightened, but Bes-
sie laughed and swept a curtesy, saying:
"So I shall look when I am presented to His Gracious
Majesty the King of England."
Grandmother said sternly:
"You look fitter for such a court than to appear before
the King of Heaven. Go lay off those trappings, child,
and do not strive to pervert Abbey with your nonsense.
The land will be ruined for want of good, plain-hearted
women. I feel sure of it.”
JULY 26, 1773.
Whatever is going to happen! I am at Dame War-
ren's, to stay for two weeks! How it came about I
never could tell, only, the evening before last grand-
mother put my silk pelisse, my straw hat, and my nan-
keen gown in a box, and bid me wear my calico dress
next day, for I was to go on a visit to Dame Warren's.
Cousin Bessie smuggled me in a pair of gloves, a muslin
neck-kerchief, and a ribbon. At Dame Warren's I found
Doctor Joseph Warren, one of the Sons of Liberty, and
a member of the Assembly. Mr. James Otis was there-
a little better than usual, though never to get well. How
awful it was of that vile man to beat him on the head in
<day
62
PATRIOT AND TORY:
that coffee-house, and spoil what my grandfather says
was the finest brain in America! He talked in Latin
with Doctor Warren. There was a thunder-storm a few
days ago, and he said he always asked God to let him die
by lightning. Thomas Otis was there too, and also a
Mr. Richard Reid, a graduate of Harvard College-a
very grave man, who was studying for the ministry, but
has left it to busy himself in politics, feeling that the
country will soon need her young men for soldiers; and
so he is captain among the Minute Men, and spends
much time drilling his company. He knows Israel Put-
nam, and has visited him on his farm.
It was here at Dame Warren's house that, in 1764, the
idea of a General Convention of delegates from the Assem-
blies of the Colonies originated. The Dame's father and
brother were visiting her, and together they thought of
this plan. It is always the same here; all the talk is of
great plans, and of preserving our liberties. At home I
suppose the same idea is in grandmother's heart, but she
says nothing-only spins, and knits, and weaves more
than ever.
I said something of the kind to Dame War-
ren, and she replied:
1
"Oh, child, no amount of talking will do our soldiers
so much good when war comes as your grandmother's
big warm blankets and thick socks."
Mr. Richard Reid was sitting near; he seldom says very
much, but now he did venture to open his mouth; and he
remarked that while it was the part of men to go forth,
arms in hand, and give perhaps their lives for their
country, it was the part of women to send them forth
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
63
cheerfully, and to provide for them food and clothes, and
keep up their hearts with good words. This was woman's
proper work, and they who undervalued that were not
likely to do any patriotic work at all-and he looked
quite savagely at me. I replied quickly that I only got
my ideas from the Bible, being allowed to read few other
books, and that therein I found war and women but sel-
dom mentioned together, and when they were so men-
tioned it was to show Deborah leading an army, and Jael
driving a nail into a tyrant's head.
Dame Warren laughed heartily at my spirit, and
Thomas said he was glad I answered so smartly.
"What right,” said Thomas, "has he to be sitting by
you and talking all the time?”
So I think.
Categ
In the evening we got on well, for we sat by the harp-
sichord singing the "Massachusetts Song of Liberty,"
written by Mrs. Werran. Richard Reid hath a very fine
voice. We all came out loudly on the chorus:
"In freedom we're born, and like sons of the brave
Will never surrender
But swear to defend her,
And scorn to survive if unable to save."
Dame Warren also read to us in the evening some of
her dramas and poetry. She has many books from Eng-
land, and I have been reading some in the "Feiry
""Chaucer" and "Dryden;" also in "Shakes-
peare," which I doubt my grandmother would quite ap-
prove, at my age. This afternoon Thomas invited me
out to the barn for something that was going on there.
5
64
PATRIOT AND TORY:
We found the floor swept, and bundles of hay for seats,
and some dozen lads from Plymouth prepared to act
Dame Warren's drama of "The Group:" I never was at
a theater, of course; but Thomas says he went once in
Boston-boys go to such fearful places—and he assured me
that this is exactly like. I am glad I know, for I always
had a vast curiosity about it; and I suppose my grand-
father would not object to my seeing in the barn how a
play is done. A number of the maïdens and children of
the neighborhood came to see. Thomas had a sheet for
a curtain, and some boards laid over barrels for a stage.
They had also a drum, a cow-horn, and a big conch-shell
in the orchestra, whereon some little herd boys played;
also a pine-tree flag, and a big scroll with the "Colony
snake” and “ Unite or die? upon it. This was the scenery
of the play, and very appropriate, Thomas said. All
went well, except once the curtain fell-and generally it
would not draw-and the lad who acted Brigadier Hate-
all-who means Timothy Ruggles-stamped so hard that
he broke his end of the platform, and fell into a barrel.
However, they played beautifully, flourishing swords, and
making a terrible noise, and we all clapped, making so
much ado that Richard Reid came in, and sitting by me said
that making theatrical representations of such awful things
as war and rupture between kindred countries was ill-ad-
vised. Quoth I, "the play is the Dame's," and sure enough
beside us stood the Dame who had come in unperceived. "Is
it so?” said Mr. Reid; "Well, good friend, if you would
write a treatise on nursing the wounded, and on the proper
stores to send to camp, and on the danger of rum-drink-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
65
ing to our soldiers, and the duty of mothers and maids at
home to provide things needful, and to urge the men to
temperance while on duty, I fancy you would be giving
us what we much need. Here Thomas came out and an-
nounced that he had an address to deliver, and rather
roughly bid Richard Reid "be quiet." Then he made a
very good speech-at least it had a deal of noise, and ges-
ture, and big words in it; and he made us all laugh in
speaking of the change in the ministry in the mother
country, and twisting Shakespeare:
"Now is the Summer of our vast content,
Made grievous Winter by this Lord of North."
-
Richard Reid went off after this and was gone until bed-
time. Thomas told me that it was understood that Mr.
Brown and his wife are opposed to the Colonies, and are
saying and doing what they can against the "Minute
Men" and the "Sons of Liberty," and that Mr. Reid went
to warn them to do no evil, if they were not of a mind
to do good. The next day I was greatly surprised to
see Cousin Bessie riding up to the gate of Mrs. War-
ren's house. I knew not that she had been invited here,
and indeed I do not think that she had. She was very
lively and pleasant, said she missed me, and that she de-
sired to see so famous a woman as Dame Warren in her
own house; in truth, she was so delightful that she was
made welcome. Mr. Reid seemed much struck with her,
and as he came in he asked me who that beautiful girl
was. I heard him also say that it must be the same lovely
creature whom he met riding away from Mistress Brown's
66
PATRIOT AND TORY:
14
last evening. "Yes," said Thomas, who hates Bessie for
hating the Colonies, "I dare say. Birds of a feather flock
together."
"Fie,” replied Mr. Reid; "no doubt her errand was the
same as mine, with a difference. I went to threaten them
for disloyalty. She doubtless went to entreat to loyalty."
"Aye, to the King," said Thomas Otis.
Richard Reid looked vexed and went to talk to Bessie.
All that she said fascinated him. I thought her so un-
maidenly that I blushed, and the Dame shook her head;
nevertheless Bessie sang, very sweetly, "Where the bee
sucks, there lurk I;" also, "There eternal Summer dwells,"
from Comus. Richard Reid, who reproved me for want-
ing higher work than spinning, and all of us for that drama
in the barn, heard Bessie singing love-songs and saying
how she hated all work except embroidering ruffles and
making rosewater; and the more she jested the better
pleased he was. I think men are such deceitful creatures!
Even when Bessie said she was for the King, and that the
Colonies would be beaten if they fought, and that they
were a mob of boors compared to the British army, he
would believe that she only talked so to draw him out
and give him a chance to defend the patriots. It made
me think of Job-"When I laughed on them, they be-
lieved it not."
Mrs. Warren was not half pleased, and we all retired
about eight o'clock. When we were in our room Bes-
sie told me she spent the previous day with Mrs. Brown.
By some ill luck grandmother sent her, a fortnight past,
to Mistress Brown with herbs for the sick child, which
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
67
is recovering, and from a similarity of sentiments they
got up an intimacy, and as a result Bessie went off to
spend the day.
"But grandmother must have disapproved," I cried, as-
tonished.
"Pooh! I could not help that," said Bessie. "How
can she be so very inconsistent? She demands liberty for
the Colonies, and that they should judge for themselves,
and not be hindered of their rights; and yet she would
refuse me liberty, and not permit me to judge for myself,
and would hinder me of my right to choose my own com-
pany. Your grandmother has very few jewels, and con-
sistency is one of those that she lacks. Am I not as
good as the Colonies? Have I no rights, no liberties,
no judgment? Truly, I shall free myself of the yoke;
and, as a testimony, off I went to see Mistress B.; not
that she is congenial: her shoes are of cowhide, and she
is given to devouring onions. I went to vindicate prin-
ciple. Well, as I was about to return home, and galloping
along in my best hat, I met this Mr. Reid, and the bump-
kin gazed as if I were an angel or a sweet-cake. I saw
that he had fallen in love with me, and I stopped to ask
a cow-boy about him, and heard that he was here. For
this I came here to-night."
"Why, Bessie," I cried, "you pretended never to have
seen him, and not to know visitors were here."
"Goodness, child! that is company manners," she said.
“But it is not truth!" I protested.
"Bless the baby-not to know that truth does not go
in good society," said Bessie. Then she went on: "I am
1
68
PATRIOT AND TORY:
wholly devoted to doing good, and I felt that to fall in
love with me and enjoy my society would refine and civ-
ilize this country fellow and make a man of him.”
"Why, Bessie Warley!" I said, "he graduated at Har-
vard, and has studied for the ministry, and is Captain of
Minute Men, and knows Israel Putnam!"
"All of which proves him a Colonial lubber, unused to
and unfit for good society," said Bessie. "However, I
will improve him.”
Bessie soon fell asleep, but I lay awake pondering her
motive. Was she secretly attracted by this Richard Reid,
who is a marvelous handsome man? or, did she simply
want amusement such as she has in Boston? or, does she
want to use her power in drawing away one patriot from
the cause of the Colonies? She shall not do that. But
shall not mind. How dare
Only, after all, I would be
making a fool of a Whig,
if she just makes fun of him I
he speak like a teacher to me!
sorry to see a Tory like Bessie
and a friend of Putnam.
Bessie was not urged to stay with the Dame, but she
did remain three days. The first day there was a meeting
of the Sons of Liberty in a field a mile from James War-
ren's, and we all went to hear the speaking. They sang
the Dame's song, and pledged themselves to dispute Brit-
ish right of taxation, and to demand continuance of char-
ter, and trial at home by jury. The women had brought
cider and baskets of cake; and they fired a cannon when
the meeting ended. I never heard a cannon before. Bes-
sie made no end of fun of the speaking, and of the home-
spun dress, and said the Colonies were all playing Shake-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
69
speare's drama of "Much Ado About Nothing." The next
day a hundred Minute Men were to be drilled on a farm
ten miles north of us, and we rose at four o'clock, and
Thomas took Bessie and me and some other young folks
to see. Richard Reid had gone off at three o'clock on
horseback. We took baskets of provisions, and had enough
to eat ourselves and share with some of the men; so did
others, and all feasted. On the way home Bessie ridiculed
the clothes and the poor guns and the awkwardness of the
militia, and said they would run from the sight of the
red-coats, and that such plowmen could not withstand
British discipline. I think she made Richard Reid angry.
He told her that of these very plowmen heroes would be
made who would live in fame so long as the world stood;
that God would be with these men who fought for a prin-
ciple, as He was with Gideon's three hundred; and he told
her the days were like to come when Britain would admit
that the Colonies were doing the best thing for her, the
world and themselves, and would be as proud of these
rough-clad, honest, manly souls as we ourselves. He said
little to Bessic after that, and the next day she went back
to grandmother.
AUGUST 30, 1773.
Bessie has gone home to Boston. She worried grand-
mother dreadfully by refusing to spin, by visiting Mistress
Brown, and by talking about lovers. Bessie says if the
Colonies fight, when they are beaten Government will take
away rebel's property, and then we will see that she and
her father were on the safe side, and we will be indebted
to her for a home. She will find that grandmother and I
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
Į
can earn a home by our own hands if it comes to that; and
we are working for a principle, not property. Sometimes
I love and admire Bessie; other times I can not endure
her. Grandmother says all her faults arise from having
no mother since she was ten years old; but I have heard
that her mother-grandmother's younger sister by many
years—was a very foolish woman. Nervey told me so. I
miss Bessie; but it is well for me that she has gone. I am
so weak-minded I do not stand by what I know to be
right. I let Bessie read to me all that dreadful novel, and
another beside; and she taught me to walk a minuet. We
took occasion for these things when I had hurried through
my spinning in the big garret. Certainly it was very
wicked, but I find it so dull here when I can do nothing
but spin; and grandmother will not let me outside of the
yard lest I get "gadding habits." It has been a busy
summer—fruit and grain plenty, a heavy fleece at shearing-
time. Pompey catching and curing many fish, and grand-
mother making much yarn, and drying bushels of fruits.
We are to cure much bacon, and make more cider than
usual.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
71
{
CHAPTER IV.
SEPTEMBER, 1773.
THE
HE country is in a most troubled state.
Letters from
Dr. Franklin, from England, are very discouraging.
The Doctor sent to Rev. Mr. Cooper, of Boston, some
letters that have turned the people more than ever against
Governor Hutchinson, and it is thought he must leave the
Colony. Josiah Quincey has been through all the Colonies
conversing with the leading men, and he finds they are all
of a mind; to stand together and resist oppression. It is
said that the East India Company has seventeen millions
of pounds of tea in store, and are pressing the Government
to remove the tax. I thought that would make it all right;
but yesterday I heard James Warren and grandfather
saying that it was not the tax, which is small, but the
principle of the thing, that was cause of contention.
The question is: has Britain a right to tax the Colonies
without their consent to make laws for them without
consulting the Colonies? Americans say no, generally;
but some, like, Mr. Seaforth, hold that this is a less evil
than war; that rebellion, even to an earthly government,
is as the sin of witchcraft; and that if we are patient more
and more, enlightened counsels will prevail. I know more
about these questions than I did, on account of great grand-
father. There is a strange change in him lately; his body
-
}
72
PATRIOT AND TORY:
grows weaker, but his mind seems to get stronger and
stronger; he takes even more interest than before in public
affairs. I have to read all the papers to him, and all the
letters that come to us or that Dame Warren sends over,
and these must be read many times, so that I have come to
know how affairs stand.
My uncle Matthew writes from Virginia that Governor
Dunmore is not popular officially, though personally well
treated, and great changes are talked over in the Apollo
Room of Raleigh Tavern. Uncle John writes that Penn-
sylvania is resolved to stand by the Colonial cause; and
the leading men, as Morris, and Witherspoon, and others,
are great patriots. They are resolved to import nothing
from England, and have constant meetings of the friends
of liberty. Grandfather says this can not long continue;
our land of harvests and minerals, lumber and harbors,
was made for commerce, and we must have imports and
exports, and it can not lóng be that we will be content
merely with refusing English articles; trade we must have.
News has come from South Carolina that they have a
Vigilance Committee, and meet at Charleston under a tree,
called, like that at Boston, "Liberty Tree." Gadsden and
Samuel Priolean, and Pinkney, are of the leaders there.
In Georgia there is a strong Royalist party of very worthy,
honest men, and there is also trouble from the Indians; so
that the "Sons of Liberty" have much ado to hold their
own. The Presbyterians in the hill districts are very
strongly in favor of breaking with the mother country, and
having here a Republic.
I read all these things to great grandfather, and we talk
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
73
of them hour after hour-not under the apple-tree now.
The birds are gone, the leaves are falling, the apples are
gathered, and grandfather, feeling the chill of autumn and
the chill of age, sits mostly by the wood-fire in the common
room, and I usually sit near him, because he likes it, and
lest he might need something.
Great-grandfather has been in this country seventy-five
years; usually he has spoken without any Scotch accent;
indeed, he has been thought a very able and eloquent man;
but when he talked to children, or in tenderness, he fell
back on the old Scotch phrases. But now he uses that way
of speaking more than formerly; grandmother sometimes
shakes her head when she hears him. The other evening
several of the neighbors came in, the Danas, and Isaiah
Hooper, and after much talk they all seemed to think that'
this country would divide from England. Said grand-
father, "it is to this separation that our history points; for
this end were we planted and thus far nurtured, but the
day is coming when the child grown to man's estate must
set up his own household." Then they talked much of
how this would be accomplished. Grandfather hopes for
a peaccable parting, but no one thinks that possible.
Grandfather said that if to set up a separate nation here.
meant to always be enemies of England, allies of her foes,
haters of her government, and watching for her ruin, then
he hoped there would not be a separate nation, for it is ill
for children to despise their fathers, and for nations to
hate their ancestors, and it is from the old country that we
get our sturdy race and our ideas of freedom, and all our
education in liberty until to-day.
74
ATRIOT AND TORY:
1
Deacon Dana says lasting enmity is impossible. A little
bitterness may trouble us for a time; but our language, our
traditions, our kinship, our similar institutions will bind
us together closer than other peoples.
Isaiah Hooper said that the feeling between us and the
old country, after we became independent, would be like
that between Deacon Dana and his son. The Deacon said
that Joseph was rash and vain and overgrown, and that
his pride would go before a fall; but secretly he thought
Joseph a remarkably smart and well-grown lad, and re-
joiced in his prosperity, though he felt it his duty as a
father to snub him betimes. Joseph declares that his fa-
ther is behind the age, is too sharp with him, is opinion-
ated to a degree; but Joseph is privately very proud of
his parentage, thinks the Dana family the best in the
world, and boasts aside of his father's industry and good
judgment.
-
We all laughed at that. Then great-grandfather began
to speak very earnestly. He seemed to take the separation
of these Colonies from the mother country as a thing al-
ready finished, although hardly any one ventures to speak
clearly of it. He then went on to speak of the dangers
of America. He spoke of party feeling and political strife,
and personal envy, and he feared the desire of power and
gain would corrupt our leaders, so that instead of a mon-
arch, hedged round by a Constitution, we would have a
venal mob at the head of affairs. Immigration would
bring to us the worst men of many lands, despisers of the
Bible and the Sabbath; the idea of liberty was in danger
of being carried too far; toleration would be shown where
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
75
toleration was a crime against God, the State and human-
ity-there were some things, said grandfather, that were
not to be tolerated: clerical dominion and intemperance
were of them. The spirit of Romanism drove our ances-
tors from the old country, said great-grandfather, and if
permitted it will follow us here, and like a cuckoo in the
nest, will drive us all out. "You may talk," said great-
grandfather, "of extent and resources, and commerce, and
allies, of patriotism and education, and all that, but if
there is a Republic in this country, it will only last so
long as it is God-honoring, as God's glory is compromised
with it, and would suffer loss, if the nation that trusted
and served Him should perish. But if this country for-
gets God, holds His day, His name, His Book, lightly,
then it will begin to die just in proportion as it is so cor-
rupted, and the greater its glory, the more terrible its fall;
the only hope for America is in the Church of Christ."
Grandfather held up his head, lifted his hands, his eyes
flamed, his face was bright, and his voice strong. Our
neighbors said it was quite equal to his best day. They
were all so taken up with what he said, that it was nearly
nine o'clock before they left; a wonderfully late hour for
us, though Bessie told me she often staid up so late as
that. I said to grandmother next morning: "I am almost
ready to think our grandfather a prophet, he speaks with
such power." But she said: "Child, people have been
supposed to be gifted with the spirit of prophecy, merely
because they were close students of their times, and of
God's word, and so discovered whereunto things would
grow, which meant nothing to other people. Of such
76
PATRIOT AND TORY:
were good Bishop Usher and noble John Knox, and cer-
tain of the Covenanters, as Welsh, and Brown, and others.”
I do not wonder that Dame Warren calls my grandmother
"a woman of much judgment."
SEPTEMBER 28, 1773.
Isaiah Hooper brought us a rumor from Boston of news
from England that ships are on their way here with tea.
Lord North has removed the duties on all other articles,
but holds to this on tea as a token to the Colonies that
they must submit to the mother country. Meanwhile they
favor the East India Company so that the tea can be
offered here at a low price, and so they expect to tempt
the Colonies to buy. I wish tea had never been heard of;
but grandmother says that is folly: the question of right
lay between us, and if there had been no tea some other
thing would call it up. As Isaiah Hooper says, "it is the
principle, not the pence," we are standing about. How-
ever, Boston vows not to receive the tea, and so also
Charleston, Savannah, Philadelphia, and other ports. In
all these things great-grandfather sees God's hand, and
seems to know the end as if he stood in the light of
heaven. I said to grandmother to-day:
"Do you believe in second sight?"
"Be sure I do," says she. "Your great-grandfather
sees better than he did twenty years gone.'
"But it is not second sight of the body I mean," I said,
"but of the mind. I mean Scotch second sight that
knows the future-the taisch, that tells of death; the
wraith-.'
22
66
""
Nonsense, child!" cried grandmother; "you read too
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
77
much folly in your grandfather's study-poetry, and the
like. It is my opinion that a girl of your age should read
nought but her Bible, 'Pilgrim's Progress,' a cook-book,
and possibly, 'Hervey's Meditations Among the Tombs,
until she has reached an age too discreet to be beguiled
with fancies. Hannah Dana reads nothing else than these."
"Well, grandmother," I said, "our Puritan fathers be-
lieved in some of these supernatural things, and—and I be-
lieve great-grandfather holds to them a little; and I feel
very afraid that he has had a summons-he's not like he
was, grandmother," and I began to cry. Grandmother was
mixing bread; she looked puzzled.
"Well, of all things! Having had no children of my
own, I was glad you were a girl, for me to bring up; but,
Abbey, you are as perplexing as a boy. I doubt not
youv'e been in the house too much, and are nervous, and
nerves I can't abide." So she called to Pompey, and bid
him put a saddle on old Maple, and said I was to ride.
over to Deacon Dana's to spend the day and cheer me up.
I dared not say I did not like Hannah Dana, so off I
went. Hannah gave me a new pattern for patchwork, and
taught me a new stitch in knitting. She wore all home-
made clothes, and says she shall wear no other until the
Colonies get their rights. She told me I think in confi-
dence, at least I shall not mention it-that if there was
war she should go to the army. I asked her, would she
carry a gun; she said mayhap-at least she was now
learning of Joseph to load and fire, and that women
would be needed to cook, and nurse, and help, and she
should go. I came home liking Hannah Dana better
S
78
PATRIOT AND TORY:
She is stern, sharp, rude, and harsh, perhaps—she caught
their black boy torturing a mouse with matches, and she
made no ado, but held him by the collar and thrashed
him soundly-but she is true and strong, and I like
people strong of heart, and mind, and body. To be a
day with Hannah Dana made me feel as if I had been a
day by the sea, or on the mountain-tops. I wish I could
find a woman so strong, and with so deep a heart, and yet
one who was gracious, like an angel, and fair to look
upon.
OCTOBER 10, 1773:
The harvests are all gathered, and Pompey and I have
been for quantities of nuts; the cider is made, and the
wheels are brought down now to the common room. The
winter clothes are all cut out, and the shoemaker has
been here and made us all shoes for winter. Grand-
mother is like the notable woman in Proverbs-"She is
not afraid of the snow for her household, for all her
household are clothed in scarlet." Ours is blue, and
gray, and black, mostly; but grandfather says that "scar-
let" referred more to warmth and goodness of quality
than to color. I think sometimes if I could paint, I
would paint our common room in the evening. There is
the big fire-place, where Pompey piles logs of wood, and
on one side great-grandfather in his high oaken chair,
with a plaid, which he brought from Scotland, thrown
about his shoulders, and his white hair coming from
under his close black-velvet cap. Before great-grand-
father's feet lie our cat and dog; near great-grandfather I
sit knitting; in front of the center of the fire is a table
Mo
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
79
with some books, and grandfather in his dark, damask
gown, his round cap, and his gold-bowed spectacles, al-
ways reading. On the further side of the table is grand-
mother, at her
wheel; she sits
so straight, her

eyes are SO
bright, and the
linen kerchief
on her neck is
SO fine and
snowy that I of
ten think she
would look as
well in a pict-
ure as Cousin
Bessie. Beyond
grandmother, in
the further side
of the fire-place,
is a settle, paint-
cd blue, and
there sit our
three black people-Pompey, Nervey, and their boy,
Peter; Peter nearest the corner. I never heard of such
a boy as Peter; he must always have his head or his
feet about into the fire. Peter is always making wooden
bowls, plates, pudding-sticks, or something of that sort.
Pompey sits mending farm tools, or the colored people's
shoes, or the harness, and Nervey always knits or sews
"POMPEY AND I GATHERING NUTS.' ""
6
80
PATRIOT AND TORY:
for the three, so we are constantly employed, and indeed
very happy. Sometimes grandfather reads aloud, or great-
grandfather tells some of his tales; and Pompey, too, has
odd stories, which he ventures to relate if he gets a little
encouragement. We usually have a can of cider heating
on the hob, and a row of apples set to roast. Thus it is
from five to eight. Then we have prayers, and go to bed.
OCTOBER 30, 1773.
The towns in every direction are holding meetings, and
appointing committees, and sending messages to each
other, encouraging
to stand by the Co-
lonial cause. Sam-
uel Adams is here
the leading spirit.
James Warren is at
the head of the
movement in Ply-
mouth; but he is
very greatly dis-
couraged it dis-
tresses him to think
of civil war of war
with our relatives
over seas, as We
may say—and of sending his sons forth to be soldiers.
Samuel Adams wrote to him the other day: "If there is
a spark of patriotic fire we will enkindle it." Mr. War-
ren brought the letter to read to grandfather, and he said
grandfather must preach a sermon especially to the men

SAMUEL ADAMS.
ww
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
81
capable of bearing arms. Grandfather agreed to do so.
Mr. James Otis is just now in a sad state; often nothing
will quiet him but Dame Mercy's voice. There is much
suspicion against Mr. Brown and his wife. A Royalist
like Mr. Seaforth, who is such from principle, who would
give his life for the cause which he believes to be right-
eous, and whom no bribe could buy, I can love and re-
spect; but these Browns are folk of another strain; they
hold to the royal side because they think that side will
win the day, and that they will be paid for adhering to
it. They are spies on their neighbors, and volunteer to
the Hutchinson men the information which they steal,
and then ask pay for service which they have offered un-
requested. The Browns are lazy, and their farm is ill-
kept; but they expect to get rich out of their neighbors.
Mistress Brown met me going into Deacon Dana's lane
yesterday.
"A fine farm is the Deacons," quoth she, "but his
children will not inherit it. All your farms about
here will be confiscated for your rebellious doings, and
children will each have choice of them.
my
I was very angry.
"Look you, Mistress Brown," I said, "when the chil-
dren of those you call rebels are honored for their
father's patriotism, your children, instead of farms, will
only have room for graves, where they shall be forgotten;
traitors are not worth remembering."
66
Why, you saucy magpie," said she, "when you beg
a crust at my door you'll not get it, nor your lofty
grandmother, nor Dame Warren."
f
}
82
PATRIOT AND TORY:
I made no further answer; and when I told grand-
father he said I was wrong to say any thing as I did, to
one so much older. However, the Browns have got into
trouble, for a letter from them that they sent to post was
dropped by their servant lad, and being found by one of
the "Sons of Liberty " it was seen that the Browns were
sending word to the Governor's party that the Warrens
and my grandfather and some others were the ruin of
Plymouth Township, and that there would be no loyalty
here to the king until they were carried to jail. The
"Sons of Liberty" then sent the Browns word that for
a like evil deed again, they would be harried out of the
township.
NOVEMBER 5, 1773.
Grandfather has preached his sermon to the patriots.
His text was: "And the people repented them for Ben-
jamin, because that the Lord had made a breach in the
tribes of Israel." He showed how civil war is sometimes
justifiable—is a remedy for evils that can be cured by no
other means-and is a messenger of righteousness. But
he also showed the great danger of such war-that it be
filled with human bitterness-that it may pass from right-
eous zeal to deadly wrath, and to that vengeance that is
not for man but for God to execute. He showed, then,
what might be our full justification for a war with Eng-
land, but also how we should only look to war when all
else had failed, and that reasonable and peaceable meas-
ures should be tried, and that we should cast out all
malice from among ourselves. Then he bade the pat-
riots, if war came, to go forth boldly in the name of the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
83
Lord, looking for deliverance to the arm of His strength,
and to be valiant in fight, and gentle in victory, and pa-
tient in defeat. After the sermon a meeting was called
at Deacon Dana's for all the women of the congregation.
Grandmother was at the meeting. She told me that they
resolved to be on the watch and ready at any moment to
send supplies to a camp if war broke out; and that they
should prepare stores, and cloth, linen, socks and shirts,
and bottle up home-made wine for the sick, and make up
their minds to give their sons, brothers, and husbands,
and their time and property, to the cause of their coun-
try. Dame Warren came out and made a speech to
them, and grandmother wrote out an account of the
meeting.
Nadalj
NOVEMBER 24, 1773.
The post from Boston came to Plymouth last night.
We sent Peter for our letters, but he must needs delay at
every shop-window and blacksmith's door; therefore,
while Peter was yet gone Dame Warren rode up to our
gate. She has a letter from Mistress Abigail Adams, and
she read us part of it. After, while she was speaking to
my great-grandfather, she allowed me to copy this bit:
"You, madam, are so sincere a lover of your country,
and so hearty a mourner in all her misfortunes, that it
will greatly aggravate your anxiety to hear how she is
now much oppressed and insulted. The tea-that bane-
ful weed-is arrived. Great, and, I hope, effectual op-
position has been made to the landing."
After Mistress Warren had long been gone, Peter came
idling back. He had a letter from Bessie, and some
84
PATRIOT AND TORY:
newspapers. Tea! tea! tea! is the cry. The papers tell
of the meeting at Liberty Tree, the address to the con-
signees, and the adoption of the "Philadelphia Re-
solves." The pilots have been warned not to bring up
the ships beyond the Hook, in New York. Bessie writes
that the foolish Colonists are running their necks into
a halter; that Franklin is in disgrace abroad; that Gov-

WINTER AT PLYMOUTH.
MAB
ernor Hutchinson will have his place as Postmaster-Gen-
eral of the Colonies; that a number of the ringleaders
of mischief will be sent to England for sedition; that
half the people of Boston are for submission to Govern-
ment; and that the patriots are a mob, and that they are
on the eve of riot, and came near throwing Richard
Clarke and some others out of their windows the other
day. The winter is coming on with great bitterness;
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
85
already we have had deep snows; and, moreover, it is a
very evil winter for disease; fevers are abroad, and
grandfather is much by the sick. Great-grandfather is
failing very fast; he does not now walk much about the
room, and he scarcely eats any thing. He sits musing
for long whiles, and then he breaks forth into words of
how God has led the Church of Scotland through many
years of trouble and conflict, and then he predicts that
so these Colonies will be led out of war to lasting peace.
DECEMBER 27, 1773.
It is a long while since I wrote in my journal. I was
telling last about great-grandfather. He got feebler very
fast;—no disease, only a sudden) breaking up of the life
that had held out so long. We were much alone. Mis-
tress Dana was very ill of a fever; Mr. James Otis was
worse than usual, and one of Dame Warren's sons was
very ill also, and thus Mistress Warren might not come
to us; moreover, the roads were almost impassable from
deep snows: In this trouble, on the 19th of December,
grandfather was sent for, to go twenty miles back into
the country, to the funeral of his only sister, married to
a minister, who has ceased preaching because of feeble
health. Grandfather thought he would return next day,
but he was kept to the fifth day by an awful storm,
which seemed as if it would destroy all Plymouth Town-
ship. And what did we pass through in that storm! At
the very hour of grandfather's going, Pompey must
needs, in chopping wood, chop his leg, and would have
bled to death only that grandmother had skill to tie up
his leg and put a plaster upon it. We saw a change in
86
PATRIOT AND TORY:
great-grandfather that evening, and grandmother wished
much that grandfather had not left us, but expected him
next day. Next day the old, good man would be placed
in his chair, with a stool to his feet and his plaid about
his shoulders; and so he sat, saying very little, all day,
and grandmother close by him, talking now of the
Saint's Rest (whereof Mr. Baxter wrote so much), and
again reading from the Bible. At night Peter was to
stop with his father in their little cabin behind our
kitchen, but Nervey was to stay in the common room,
where we were watching by great-grandfather. While I
helped Nervey wash the dishes she told me how she had
long seen winding-sheets in the candles, and coffins
jumping out of the fire, and asked me if I heard our
dog howl all last night. I said no, for I am a sound
sleeper. Nervey told me all these things meant death,
and she thought there were too many signs for the death
of one man so old that it was to be expected. As grand-
father had not come, Nervey felt sure he had perished in
the snow. I shook like a leaf in the wind, and I felt
like screaming and crying, but I dared not disturb great-
grandfather; and surely grandmother had her own fears
and enough to bear. Then that dreadful dog began
howling. I went and coaxed him, gave him a bit of meat,
and then beat him; but still he would howl. After that
we heard a noise in the house-side, which Nervey said
was a death-watch. I bid her be quiet, for grandfather
tells me all these superstitions are wickedness. What I
cared for was not so much Nervey's talk (but that was
eerie enough), but the awful thought of my grandfather
•
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
87
buried under the snow and freezing to death. At last
Nervey went and sat on the settle, sighing and shaking
her head. The house was terribly still, but the storm
outside was furious, and so the hours grew on to twelve,
one, two. I wonder if it is always so cold and solemn
and ghostly all these long hours when folk are in bed
and asleep. At two, great-grandfather, who had been
napping, awoke, quite bright; he took a little wine and
beef tea, asked the time and after grandfather, and then
said, very confidently, that no harm had come to him.
He then desired worship, and asked grandmother to read
and pray. She woke Nervey and had worship, while I
こ
​sat at great-grandfather's feet, and he laid his hand on
my head.
After grandmother had read a Psalm and
prayed a most strong and wonderful prayer, which seemed
to me to open the door of heaven and set us all in the
presence of God, great-grandfather said:
"I shall this night pass over Jordan."
•
Then said grandmother:
"Dear father, is your soul in perfect peace?"
He made answer :
"Aye, aye! After a century of living I can say that
the Lord's way with His people is a good way, and He
makes all right at last. As to this Jordan, I shall not so
much as wet the soles of my feet, for Christ, the Ark of
the Covenant, has gone over before me, and the stream is
dried." Then he held out his hand to grandmother and
blessed her, saying: "The Lord recompense thy work, and
a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel."
And to me he said: "Grow in grace, and in the knowl-
I
88
PATRIOT AND TORY:
edge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." And he
bade Nervey, as she was a good servant to us, to be a
good servant to God. Then he folded his hands and
made a prayer for the nation. Doubtless that caused him
to recall the old days and the scenes of his early life.
He talked rapidly for some time of his parents and of the
Covenanters, and their sore troubles, when, after a pause,
he passed suddenly to speaking a language which I did
not understand. I wondered if he were already speaking
the tongue of heaven; but I thought not that there they
used so rugged a speech. I looked at my grandmother;
she said:
"It is the twenty-third Psalm, in Gaelic, as he learned
it at his mother's knee. Behold, he is entering heaven as
a little child."
But when he had said this Psalm and the Lord's
Prayer, strangely he gathered all his strength, and he who
had been weak as a babe for days, sprang like a strong
man to his feet, and shouted: "Forward, men of the
West! Christ's Crown and Covenant!" And then he
sank back in his chair, and with a smile on his face as
one who had obtained a victory, he went into that city
where they wear white robes and have palms in their
hands. That night and the next day, until Peter brought
us some neighbors about noon, we were alone with our
dead, and sore was our distress about grandfather. The
day following we had great-grandfather laid ready for
burial, when grandfather should come home, and certain
of the young men of the congregation went to seck him.
On the morning of the 24th they returned, bringing grand-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
89
father. A grave had been dug and covered over in our
church-yard, but the snow had fallen again to a weary
depth. The funeral set forth about noon, young men on
horses and with ox-teams breaking the way before us, and
the gathering was not large, owing to the sickness and
storm, and the uncertainty of the time. The storm dięd
away, and the sun shone out from behind very glorious
clouds as they filled up the grave; then we turned and
went slowly toward home, buffeting the winds and the
drifted snow. We were well on our road, and were passing
the highway toward Plymouth, when a man on a huge,
wild, plunging horse, came spurring toward us with great
leaps, in a wonderful manner. He took off his hat, and
waved, and shouted, while we halted in the road and
waited for what news he brought. He called out:
"On the evening of the sixteenth there was in Boston
a meeting of seven thousand patriots. They took posses-
sion at night of three ships, and emptied into the bay the
whole of the tea that had been imported!"
We heard the news in silence, and without a word we
went on through the snow for some while. Then Deacon.
Dana said:
"This is the beginning of very great things. We must
stand by Boston, come what may."
Isaiah Hooper said:
"Now at last they will know that the Colonies mean
what they say and have a principle stake."
But my grandfather said:
"I see strong reasons to condemn this destroying of
private property.'
""
!
$
90
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Every one felt as if a very important step had been
taken, and that henceforth affairs in these Colonies could
not move on as they had before. When our neighbors
had taken us to our home, and grandfather had thanked
them for helping him to bury his dead, many of them
turned and rode to Plymouth, to hear the rest of the
news from the mail-carrier. The next day some of those
who had been to Plymouth came in to tell the news, and
on the morrow James Warren came, bringing a letter
which he had from Samuel Adams; and from hearing all
these people talk I gathered what I set down herein of
this matter. The Boston people wanted to send back the
tea as it came, and waited nineteen days so to do. The
captains of the vessels agreed to return to London with
their lading, but the Custom-house would not clear them,
nor the governor give them a pass to get by the Castle.
All this trouble has risen from an evil governor. The
patriots waited until half-past six of the last day's grace.
In a few hours the tea must pass into the Admiral's
hands. Governor Hutchinson gave his final refusal to
allow it to return. Josiah Quincy then told the meeting
to consider well what they did, for one step further would
bring them into such a struggle as this country never saw.
Then Samuel Adams rose and said:
"This meeting can do nothing more."
He meant that the time for submission, for yielding
principle, had come-or, the time for action; the hour of
talk, of resolutions, had gone by. Then an Indian war-
whoop sounded at the porch of the Old South Church,
and fifty men and lads, dressed as Indians, passed the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
91
door, went to the docks, boarded the three ships, threw
the three hundred and fifty chests of tea into the bay,
touched no other particle of lading, and went silently
back to the city; and there was a hush through all Boston
as if it had been Sabbath. Many people of Boston are
willing to pay the East India Company for the tea if it
will be only understood that we have the right to tax our-
selves, and no one else must tax us.
JANUARY 15, 1774.
We have heard that all the Colonies approve the course
of Boston. The tea sent to Charleston was landed, but
put in cellars because there was no one to pay the duty.
Paul Revere carried the Boston news South. From Phila-
delphia we hear that the tea ships returned quietly to Eng- ·
land. We got a rumor from England that Dr. Franklin
is being badly treated there. The King and his ministers
misunderstand us-and no wonder, for we are misrepre-
sented by such men as Hutchinson, who live among us
and are supposed to know all about us. We are told that
many people in England think that we Colonists are
black, or Indians, and do not speak English; that we all
carry tomahawks, and amuse ourselves by scalping each
other. Even our King thinks that in Boston they have
a regular committee for tarring and feathering people!
My grandfather says it is such a terrible pity that some
unguarded acts of "lewd fellows of the baser sort" have
given a foundation for such ideas, and that the inhu-
man deeds of the few are charged to us all. So it is,
grandfather says, we can not do evil for ourselves alone.
If they would only let our great and noble Franklin
My
92
PATRIOT AND TORY:
who loves the Colonies and loves the mother country,
and knows both act as a peacemaker, then we might all
be one happy people. But now, doubtless, war must come.
Grandfather spoke very sadly of it last night. War, he
said, meant houses and towns burned, husbands, sons and
brothers slaughtered, widows, families, babes unprotected,
civilization rolled backward, the demon in the hearts of
men and women let loose to do deeds that, in days of
peace they would shudder to think of. And yet war, hor-
rible as it is, is sometimes needful, like a red-hot iron or a
physician's knife. Joseph Dana was in here, and he said
he guessed we'd see the war out by the end of the year;
but grandfather said for him not to think it; if we fought
Britain it would be different work from fighting Indians,
and we would not see the end under two, or more likely
three, years. Grandmother said that a long war would
ruin us; but grandfather replied we did not know what
we could endure until we were put to the test. Our neigh-
bors were talking of our country last night, in our com-
mon room, where they often gather. They say by its
charter Connecticut goes west even to the Pacific, and
that, wild as are the mountains, deep the rivers, and ter-
rible the plains of that unknown extent of territory, it
may some time be explored and its wealth of furs, and
perhaps minerals, be in our hands. Massachusetts has
sent emigrants toward the great river, and grandfather
says if things prosper with us as they have since the Pu-
ritans landed, in fifty years there will be towns far out
by Fort Duquesne; and in a hundred years from now
we doubtless shall have settlers and villages, and also
Ga
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
93
school and churches, so far off even as the banks of the
Mississippi! This country is capable of having a com-
merce as great as England, and we may reach a popula-
tion of ten millions; and for such a country and future,
and such a great population, we must provide impregnable
Constitutions for the Colonies, a firm spirit of union, just
principles, equitable laws, thorough education, a living
Christianity, and these we must purchase by our lives, if
need be. This seems very wonderful to me. Grandfather
is a very wise man; but when he talks in this way of the
future of America it seems more like a dream, or a fairy
tale, than what will truly be. What! all those thousands
of miles of lumber cut down, those hosts of Indians scat-
tered, millions of miles of roads made, so many millions.
of houses built, great grain-fields where are now swamps
and thickets-and all in a hundred years! I can not be-
lieve it.
FEBRUARY 20, 1774.
I have been to spend the day at Mistress Dana's. Han-
nah had a "quilting," and I went early, to take Mistress
Dana-who is still feeble from her fever-some calve's-
foot jelly, of my grandmother's making. As Mistress
Dana does not yet leave her room, I sat with her much
of the day, that Hannah might be with the quilters in the
common room. Mistress Dana told me of her early life
in these parts, and more particularly of the young days of
her mother, when Indians and wild beasts were plenty
hereabouts. This good dame knew well certain folk who
had spoken with the Pilgrim Fathers-at least with some
of the longest survivors of them. Mistress Dana says
SEVİ
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
that Hannah is like this excellent grandmother, who
feared nothing but sin, who was as a tower of strength to
her family and neighbors, a most worthy nurse in all dis-
eases, and who had been known to shoot a bear and three
wolves with her own hands. Mistress Dana bid me go to
a certain drawer in her press and bring a framed silhouette
from the left-hand corner. I went as she said, but she
had told me wrong, for when I carried the picture, without
looking. She said:
"Ah, that was Hannah's drawer. Carry the picture
back quickly, and say nothing-that is of Jonas Hooper.
My mother's is in the drawer above."
After, she told me that Hannah had been betrothed to
Isaiah Hooper's brother, Jonas, but that the poor young
man was killed by the falling of a tree on the day before
that set for the marriage. She said:
"Hannah takes her trouble in a different mood from
many. It has shut her up to herself-made her silent
and stern. She lives now only to do her duty; and I dare
say she would be thankful any hour to be called out of
this life, only that she now expects a war, and desires to
be of some use to her country."
Poor Hannah Dana! Little did I think she had had
her history, much more touching to the heart than those
novels which my Cousin Bessie read to me. Hannah is
so plain, so sharp, so quiet, I did not think that she had a
story of her own. Perhaps it might be possible — that
Isaiah Hooper might be a hero, or that there are very
great men living to-day, and that if we had a war it might
be a war as great and wonderful as those of Greece, or
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
95
1
Rome, or France, or the Wars of the Roses. I have just
heard from Dame Warren that Tom Otis ran away from
his school, dressed as an Indian, and tried to join the "tea-
"but was left on the wharf. I think that was very
bold of Tom.
CHAPTER V.
BOSTON, MAY 2, 1774.
WHAT
WHAT a long time since I wrote in my journal, and
how little did I think that I should be writing in
Boston! After our cold winter, spring came early: in
April the grass was green along the roadsides, the birds
were twittering, the flowers sprang up, the farmers were
busy in their fields. Following our excitement and ex-
pectation of immediate strife came days of quiet. About
the 10th of April, Pompey dug my flower-border for me,
and I went out to set some seeds and roots. While I
was so busied grandmother called to me from the garret
window. I went up to her. She was kneeling before
an oaken chest, which my mother's mother brought from
England, and on the chest and floor were lying dresses
and other clothing that had been my mother's. I stood
silent, feeling solemn, and wondering how my mother
had looked in these gowns. I have very little recol-
lection of my parents, and have grown used to orphan-
hood; yet frequently I long for a mother of my own.
Grandmother said:
7
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ATRIOT AND TORY:
"Abbey, I shall now make up some of these clothes
for you."
She laid out a chintz gown, a muslinet figured, a gauze
kerchief with satin stripes for the neck, a fan, two pairs
of embroidered gloves, a ribbon for a hat, and blue sati-
net for a cardinal; also, a silk apron. I was much sur-
prised at this, and finally I said :
"I did not know, grandmother, that you thought me
old enough to wear such clothes; and these are much
finer than our neighbors have. I fear they might esteem.
me proud, or that I should be gazed at too much in meet-
ing if I should wear these things."
Grandmother looked better pleased with me than com-
monly, for she considered girls very silly, and she replied:
"That is sensible thinking, Abbey, and gives me hope、
of the stability of your character when you are grown up.
Before your father went out to the fight in which he was
killed he wrote to your grandfather that if it pleased God
to make you an orphan he wished you to come here. He
also bid your grandfather educate you with the very best
of the time, as much like the girls of the old country as
possible. Your grandfather has taught you well, as much
as, I think, girls should know-too much books, I think,
may turn your head. However, the grandfather desires
you to learn French and drawing, and tapestry-work;
and, by Dame Warren's advice, the harpsichord; though
I fear that is dangerous. Our Puritan ancestors esteemed
that a profane art; but we are departing from their ways.
To have masters in these lessons you must go to Boston;
and as Dame Warren is traveling thither in ten days, you
C
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
97
are to go with her, and be put at the house of Doctor
Cooper, who, though he is hasty of speech, and over-
zealous for war, is a godly man. You can see Bessie at
times, but Mr. Warley's house is not a fit home for a!
child of the Puritans. These clothes will be made ready
for you to wear in Boston, but I hope you will not be
carried away by the vanities of this world. Attend to
your lessons, for your time at them may be short; read
your Bible and pray every day, and do not neglect the
house of God. While Mistress Warren is in Boston,
consult her in all your affairs."
I do not remember that grandmother had ever said so
much to me at one time before. I carried the articles
which she had laid out down stairs, and spent most of the
day ripping and pressing, under grandmother's orders.
I felt afraid to go to Boston, among strangers, and
feared that, as I am so weak and easily led, I might get
astray and do things which my grandfather would disap-
prove. Grandfather, I knew, would miss me much;
grandmother would not. She likes me, but she only
really loves grandfather; if she has him she is content-
indeed, she would rather have no one else to disturb them.
Her whole life is in grandfather. He loves her much-
as he ought-but his life is wider than hers. He has his
church, his people, his friends, public affairs, his brothers,
and even me, to share his thoughts and his heart; but
grandmother puts all else aside and has only grandfather.
Grandfather said often to me while we prepared for my
journey, "I shall miss thee, my good little maid,” and
I fancied it troubled grandmother a little. She never
98
PATRIOT AND TORY:
misses any one when he is there, and she desires the
same feeling in him; but it is grandfather's nature to
have a heart for many.
Before I went away grandfather talked long with me
one day, telling me to read no idle books, to beware of
choosing Bessie's friends for mine; bidding me praise God
on the harpsichord and not sing silly songs, and by no
means to be persuaded to go to the theater. He said I
1
was yet a child, and must live as a child, obey my elders,
go early to bed, rise early, and mind my books. I hope
I shall do all these things and not disoblige my grand-
father.
I traveled with Mistress Warren and her son, in a
coach. I slept at Dame Warren's in Plymouth, the night
before we set forth, and she showed me the beautiful
card-table which she has wrought from patterns of real
flowers, and the dress of rich brocade, embroidered,
which she wore the day after her wedding. To beguile
the tedium of our journey Mistress Warren read to us
some of her dramas: "The Ladies of Castile" and the
"Sack of Rome." It would be worth while to study
hard to be as wise as Dame Mercy Warren.
At last we reached Boston, and I was set down at the
house of Doctor Cooper. The Doctor is a grave and
learned man, but much more bitter against the mother
country, and much more zealous for war, than my grand-
father. I had no idea how great and wonderful Boston
would seem to me after living all my life on a farm.
There are six thousand inhabitants, or thereabouts; also,
there is a marvelous maze of streets, houses, shops, ware-
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
99

།
Vire
7th
Sun
"I traveled with Dame Warren and her son in a coach."
100
PATRIOT AND TORY:
houses, wharves, churches, and a commotion of people fit
to turn one's head. My grandmother bade me not to
gad about the streets-she need not have feared, I dare
not step out alone lest I be run over, or lose my way.
But Bessie, who has been twice to see me, tells me that
this feeling is but nonsense, and will wear off betimes.
Richard Reid has also been to call on me, to make
inquiries about my grandfather I suppose. Cousin Bessie
was here when he called, and jested freely with him, not
to his distaste. He is still drilling Minute-men, and
Bessie told him that when next news comes from Lon-
don, and the Government takes it in hand to chastise
rebellious subjects, all the manual exercise practiced by
Minute-men will be that of heels. About that coming
news we are very anxious. We look daily for a ship,
for the weather of late hath been most propitious for
sailing. We have heard that in New York, on the 19th
of last month, a tea ship which had arrived the day
before was sent home, and eighteen chests of tea found
on another vessel were cast into the slip. Thus England
will have more than Boston to deal with.
Meanwhile I am busy following my grandfather's direc-
tions. I practice on the harpsichord three hours daily;
also read French two hours, and have one hour for house-
hold work, and an hour for learning all kinds of mend-
ing; also, I sew embroidery one hour, and in the even-
ings I write a letter, or my diary, and read in "Raleigh's
History of the World," as Dame Warren bade me.
MAY 20, 1774.
These have been terrible days. Early one morning
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
101
a ship was reported entering the harbor. Doctor Cooper,
Samuel Adams, Mr. Savage, Mr. Hancock, and others,
were at the wharf at daybreak for news.
And what news
was there!. The Parliament, on the 13th of March,
passed a Bill called the Boston Port Bill, designed quite
to destroy this noble city. Boston is regarded as the
head and center of rebellious America, and for its part in
the "Tea" business is to be ruined. This Bill is to go
into effect on June 1st. No merchandise is to come or
go from this port; no ships to leave or enter; customs,
courts, officers, and trade of every kind, are to be taken
to Salem. Boston is to be starved out-must be depopu-
lated; grass must grow in her streets. Doctor Cooper
says that the object is to reduce Boston to the misery of
London in the days of the plague. The publication of
this news caused every heart for a time to stand still.
Then some began to say that for this disaster Governor
Hutchinson was responsible, and most likely his house
would have been mobbed, and he might have fared ill,
had not a rumor risen that he had been removed and
would be superseded by General Gage, who would at
once arrive. Indeed, the poor Governor had received
his dismissal, and in great turmoil of spirit he fled that
very evening to Milton, where he hath a country-seat,
there to tarry until he finds an opportunity to return to
London. About noon General Gage arrived at the Long
Wharf. Many of the best people went down to meet
him. He was attended by his staff only, and being wel-
comed with due respect he was bidden to a dinner by the
magistrates and others. Doctor Cooper and some of his
102
PATRIOT AND TORY:
friends were at the dinner. He tells us that albeit a
great decency and courtesy were shown, a gloom rested
on all, and there were frowns and whisperings, not only
because of the Port Bill, but because it was known that
four regiments are ordered here from New York to keep
this proud and rebellious city in order. And are we
Colonists to be kept in bondage by the bayonets of hired
troops? The temper of the city is not to be thus co-
erced. While the company were just parting after their
dinner, a great crowd of men and boys passed with the
effigy of Governor Hutchinson, which they burned on
the Common, exactly in front of John Hancock's door.
Of all things it seems to me that burning an effigy, or
an unpleasing book, is the most idle and ungracious.
My grandfather has told me that in such riotous proceed-
ings a little vain bravado exhausts itself; righteous zeal
and true patriotism turn not to these doings. But Doc-
tor Cooper says that lads, and the unlearned, must have
these methods of expressing their feelings, where others
can fight, or speak, or write.
The next day a meeting of grave citizens considered
the Port Bill, and Paul Revere was forthwith sent by
Boston to New York and Philadelphia to ask advice,
sympathy and aid. Paul Revere had been up all night
engraving on wood a cut to head the copies of the Port
Bill which were printed for distribution. The cut is of a
crown, a skull and cross-bones, and a liberty-cap. Paul
Revere went thundering out of town on a great coal-
black horse, and all the boys shouted and cried "Long,
life!" and "Good speed!" as he passed. After him
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
103

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“Paul Revere went thundering out of town on a great coal-black horse."
104
PATRIOT AND TORY:
rode several gentlemen, and members of the Masonic
fraternity, of which he is Grand Master. However, the
feelings of all the citizens do not go with the patriots.
One hundred and twenty of the best merchants, lawyers,
magistrates and gentlemen of Salem and Boston signed a
letter of sympathy, approval and good wishes to Gov-
ernor Hutchinson. Doctor Cooper says that many of
these are unreliable men, who will turn their party when
gain lies in the change; and others, like Mr. Warley, are
King's men from bribes and petty spite; but many others
are honestly loyal to the King, and would lose their for-
tunes or die in his cause, as their conscience so dictates.
Now such men I honor; and surely it must be a comfort
to the Governor in his mischances to have their counsel.
Doctor Cooper has been reading to us a book, brought
by the same ship which carried our bad news; it is writ-
ten by Josiah Tucker, Dean of Gloucester, and Doctor
Cooper says that he never thought to find a book that he
liked so heartily, written by a churchman and an Eng-
lishman. The Dean reasons, and clearly shows, that
England should permit the Colonies to set up for them-
selves as an independent nation; then, as allies, each
country would grow stronger, and a most notable com-
merce would spring up. Peaceable separation is what
the worthy Dean demands. Oh, that his voice might be
heeded. The Doctor had also a letter, published by onę,
John Cartwright, on the 27th of March last, which
pleads in the same fashion for American freedom as a
means of glory and advancement to both England and
America.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
105
There is great bitterness against General Gage because
he is known to have promised the King "that he would
keep the Colonies quiet with four regiments;" and more-
over it is known that he hath orders to arrest Samuel
Adams, Joseph Warren, and John Hancock, but he dares
not lay a finger on them, knowing that the Colonies
would rise at once in their defense. In view of the sad
condition of the public affairs, the people have asked
Governor Gage to proclaim a fast day; but he refused,
saying that "it would be but an occasion for the pouring
forth of sedition from all the pulpits of the land." Sam-
uel Adams and Mr. Hancock came the evening after this
refusal, to call on Doctor Cooper and talk about our pres-
ent troubles. I was greatly struck with the words and
manner of Mr. Adams; he seemed to me like the grand
men of old, of whom I have read in history. Doctor
Cooper was for proclaiming the fast from every street-cor-
ner, in defiance of the Governor, but Mr. Adams replied:
"Let us wait. Patience is the grand characteristic of
the patriot."
Bessie and Mr. Warley were present, having come in
to see me. They are full of confidence in General Gage,
and say that presently "these ringleaders" will be "sent
to England for punishment, and their estates confiscated."
Mr. Warley said very rudely to Mr. Adams:
"I can not see why you men will persist in running
your heads into a noose. You have now reputation and
good fortunes, why not live content? But no, you must
expose yourselves to the name of rioters, and sacrifice all
your goods. Sirs, you will be reduced to beggary!"
106
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Mr. Adams kept his temper well in hand. He stood
leaning on the mantel, and looking down on Mr. Warley,
who is but an insignificant-looking man.
"Sir," he replied, "we do not expect you, a man who
came here but for gain, to sympathize with us, whose
fathers laid the foundations of this empire in the interests
of freedom. Our fathers lived content on clams, muscles
and wild fruits while they planted these Colonies; and
we, their sons, are emulous of their sacrifices. For my
own part, I have been wont to converse with poverty,
and if those who are unaccustomed to her company think
her ill to endure, for me, I can live happily with her
until my days end, if so be thus I can serve my
country."
I remembered what says my grandfather: "How hon-
orable is that man who fears naught but an evil con-
science."
Bessie tarried all night with me. She talks very freely ;
says that her father has lived beyond his fortune, and is
deep in debt, and that she is only like to get what my
grandmother will leave her. She says if her father had
property like Adams or Hancock nothing would persuade
him to risk it as they do-not for a thousand kings or
countries; and that now his sole hope is that the fortunes
of these rebels will be confiscated, and that by some
means he may get a share out of it. I told Bessie that
it seemed shameful for a man to stand by seeking the
ruin of neighbors who had never harmed him. But she
only replied all was fair in love or war.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
107
JUNE 12, 1774.
Governor Gage has vice-regal powers as commander-in-
chief of all this continent; but men who know how mat-
ters stand say that he is quite unequal to the task of deal-
ing with America. The other Colonies have been heard
from. New York has come nobly to the help of Boston.
They recommend a General Congress, and bid Boston
stand firm, and all the Colonies would come to her help.
But since this was done a new meeting has been called,
and the Royalists, the merchants who fear to ruin trade,
and the careful men, like John Jay, have proposed great
caution, and repress any further movement of the "Sons
of Liberty." Philadelphia did not respond to Paul Re-
vere's news as warmly as did New York. Farmer Dick-
inson is there at the head of affairs, in Franklin's absence.
He proposes a Congress, but expects representations to
the King to set matters right, and feels that Boston has
been over-hasty, and is like to drag the whole country
with her to ruin.
W
On the 1st of June Governor Hutchinson sailed for
England, and at noon the closing of the port took place.
Not even a row-boat can pass from pier to pier. Not a
bundle of hay or a sheep can be carried from the harbor
islands. All is silent here; and at once work is stopped,
and starvation seems to approach. But Boston does not
suffer unheeded. At the hour when our port closed, all
the bells in Philadelphia tolled, the flags were at half-
mast, the houses and shops were shut, the people repaired
to the churches to pray for us in our calamity When he
heard of this, Samuel Adams said:
L
108
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"They mourn for us as for a dead city; they shall be-
hold our resurrection."
Connecticut and Rhode Island, and all the Massachu-
setts towns, send encouraging letters; also from Maryland'
has come such a word of encouragement as has made all
our patriots here glad. Grandfather sent to Dame War-
ren a letter which he had from Uncle Matthew Temple,
from Virginia. Patrick Henry, Lee and Washington
take our part. They have appointed a day of fasting and
prayer, and all go in mourning to the churches. Beside
this, from all parts of the country food is being sent to
Boston-rice, corn, fish, wheat, meat, vegetables-from
every poor little mountain village and fishing station, from
every planter in the lovely South, we are getting help for
this time of adversity. England now will see that the
Colonies are one. Dr. Cooper preached a very good ser-
mon on the text: "And whether one member suffer, all
the other members suffer with it." I would it could be
printed in England, perhaps then we would be better un-
derstood. But of all comfort that has come to us, I think
the patriots here most prize that offered by Georgia and
the Carolinas. Of all the Colonies, South Carolina has
most ties with England. Carolina, Mr. Adams says, has
derived more profit and protection from the mother
country, and has met less restrictions than any other Col-
ony. In fact, it is said that Carolina has no private cause
of complaint, and if any Colony is to withdraw from the
American cause and hold to the mother country, Carolina
would be most justified in so doing; and if Carolina
cleaves to the Continental side it will be pure patriotism
S
Cha
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
109
W
and self-sacrifice on her part. And yet from Carolina
comes a letter which has made our stoutest hearts shed
tears of joy, and has been handed from one person to an-
other, that all may read the good words. Dr. Cooper had
it, and I copied this bit:
"The whole continent must be animated by one soul,
and all must stand by each other unto death;" they "re-
membered that the happiness of many generations, and of
many millions, depends on their spirit and constancy."
I think the souls of these good men must be as beau-
tiful as their land, where winter never comes, but flowers
bloom and birds sing all the year, and they put at stake
this good inheritance for our sakes, who dwell by stormy
seas among the snows.
JUNE 26, 1774.
Grandfather has written for me to return home. He
had meant me to stay here a year, but he finds the state
of the country so unsettled, and the city of Boston in such
a degree the center of the distress, that he desires to have
me under his own roof for the present. Grandfather
says the war will be ended in two years or so, and then
I will not be too old to learn, and can return to Boston to
finish my lessons. I am glad to be back with grandfather.
People are kind here, but no one loves me. Moreover, I
fear I shall be lead to do wrong. I do not suppose it was
wicked to read Mr. Pope's "Rape of the Lock,”—and,
indeed, Belinda is so like my Cousin Bessie that I laughed
all the time I was reading it; but reading that poem was
not the worst of it, for Bessie brought me a book of plays,
and I was so fond of reading, that, like a silly girl, I be-
110
PATRIOT AND TORY:
gan at once upon it; but, as good luck would have it,
Doctor Cooper came in as I had read but a page, and he
took it away, and said he knew not as any soap was strong
enough to cleanse the hands after touching the covers of
such trash. Yet he made up to me the loss by giving
me "Froissart's Chronicles," on my promise to read no
books until he had passed opinion on them. I also al-
lowed Bessie to dress my hair in a tower, after the Eng-
lish style, with powder; and Doctor Cooper seeing that,
did hand me the Bible open at Isaiah iii. 16: about the
daughters of Zion who are haughty; and thereat I blushed,
and tears came into my eyes for shame. I know Doctor
Cooper thinks I am dreadful, and he would think me
worse if he knew what nonsense and compliments were
talked at Mr. Warley's the last time I was at tea there,
and a foolish British ensign gave me a rose; and I was
quite pleased at their gossip. About 7 o'clock Richard Reid
came in, and before long he said he would take me back to
Doctor Cooper's-not at all as asking my leave, but as giv-
ing his orders. Still I rose and got my hat, though Bessie
bade me not, for I feared if I did not go with Mr. Reid,
Bessie would manage to send that ensign instead of her
maid, as she promised, and so Dr. Cooper would be angry in-
deed. Richard Reid said nothing, but walked by me as if
on guard, until we reached the door-stone, when he said:
"Those were not companions such as your grandmother
would approve, Miss Temple."
The thought of his reproving me, the great cross creat-
ure!—and only a matter of ten years or so older. I will
never speak to him again.
འ
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
111
And so I am going home, and am very glad of it. I
shall go as I came, for Dame Warren returns to Plymouth
sooner than she thought.
harpsichord I
must forget, as
I have none to
play upon. I
miss great-
grandfather so
much; he and
I used to talk
by the hour
under the
JULY 6, 1774.
I am at home with my grandfather. He thinks me
improved. I try to keep up my French and drawing,
though grand-
mother ap-
proves nei-
ther. The

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ຂາຍ
台湾
​trees, and he
loved birds
and flowers as
simply as a
child. Grand-
father is al-
"I am at Home with my Grandfather."
ways busy at
his sermons, and grandmother sits by him knitting; there
seems to be no one just for me, yet I will say it was very,
good of Pompey to keep my flower-borders all in order
Maller
8
112
PATRIOT AND TORY:
while I was gone; he and Nervey are right glad to have
me back. Again I am learning to make pies, and butter,
and cheese, and am rearing fowls, and spinning endless
skeins of yarn in the garret. Thomas Otis is back at
Dame Warren's, and sometimes he comes here for the
day, and then we go to the shore and fish, and find shells,
and sail boats, or row out in a boat ourselves; also, we
go to the pastures after strawberries. Thomas tells me
that several of the lads in his school are ready to go
the defense of their country as soon as they are needed.
They have all muskets and powder-horns, and have
melted all the lead which they could get, and have run it
into balls. All these requirements are kept for them by a
negro man living near the school, and when men are
called for, off they will go. After one of our talks,
Thomas reminded me of the lock of hair which I was
to give him, and asked for it then, as perhaps a call might
come any night, and he might go off without seeing me.
I gave him a good lock (I know grandmother would
not like it), and I promised him I would give none to
any one else. But Thomas might know I would not!-
whom should I give it to, pray?
James Warren hath a letter from Boston saying that a
gun-ship lies in the harbor, four regiments are landed,
and the town is in a ferment; but into the city are com-
ing constantly trains of sheep and beef cattle, and wagon-
loads of flour, fish, and so forth.
AUGUST 20, 1774.
Grandfather had a letter from Doctor Cooper. He said
that Israel Putnam rode into town the other day, bring-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
113
ing an hundred and thirty sheep as a gift from Brooklyn
Parish, and the streets were lined with crowds cheering
the old hero. It was under Israel Putnam that my father
was fighting when he was killed in Pontiac's War. Israel
Putnam went to Doctor Warren's for dinner, and even
some of the British officers came to see the old hero.
Major Small said to him:
"If Boston does not submit speedily, twenty ships of
the line and twenty regiments will come from Britain."
Said Putnam:

"If they come
I am ready to
treat them as en-
emies."
Also the Dele-
gates to the Gen-
eral Congress in
Philadelphia
have set forth,
and were escort-
ed by numbers
so far as Water-
Te
ALLIPI
town. They are
accompanied by
prayers of
CARPENTER'S HALL.
(Where the first Congress met.)
the
good men like-
wise, and so many like my grandfather are praying that
wisdom, and gentleness, and patience may be given them,`
and judgment, and kindness may be in the counsels of
England, that surely we shall have peace and not war.
114
PATRIOT AND TORY:
And yet it is not peace with slavery that we want, but
peace and liberty! There have been times, both in the
meeting-house and at home, when, as my grandfather has
stood praying for the success of the cause of liberty,
he has been as one inspired, and has seemed, like the
prophets of old-time, to have his face shine with a light
from heaven. Then all who hear him hold their breath
in awe and wonder, that so a man can talk with God.
Richard Reid was in our church last Sabbath, when
grandfather was uncommonly fervent in prayer. After
the preaching, he said to grandfather:
"Sir, such prayers must conquer victory for the Colo-
nies."
But Richard Reid tells us very sore tales of the troubles
about Boston, and indeed in all the Colony. All the
King's mandamus councilors have been intimidated, so
that they dare not serve. The "Sons of Liberty" have
dealt in such fashion with one after another that they will
venture to give no advice; and now General Gage, who
came here promising to "play the lion," is becoming
alarmed. He has neither been so wise as a serpent, nor
so harmless as a dove. The Governor has also begun to
fortify Boston Neck, fearing to remain longer in Salem.
Yet though the artisans of Boston have been all this
while without work, and are dependent on the charity of
neighboring cities for food, they will not labor for the
Governor on works which shall be used against their
towns people.
This disturbance at Boston sends a troubled feeling into
all our villages. Men leave their work early to go and
* &
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
115
drill in the fields and by the road-sides. Every one has
his sword and musket bright and ready for use, and not
a day passes but one hears the sound of fife and drum.
Yet, as the little dove cooed on her nest when grandfather
told his tales of war, and rang out his cry for a charge,
so alongside this stream of public trials, of arming and
drilling, of alarms, and wrath, glides the quiet current of

"This disturbance sends a troubled feeling into all our villages."
life at home, like some slow stream that scarce disturbs
the leaves of its water-lilies. I do not see that flowers
bloom less bright, nor birds are less glad, nor bees less
busy, than before these troubles came. And when, hour.
after hour, in our long garret, grandmother, and Nervey,
and I are each busy at a wheel, we hear Pompey and
Peter singing in the field, and see the yellow grain stoop-
ing under the breeze, and far beyond the harvest fields
that lie in the broad sunshine we catch the glimmer of
116
PATRIOT AND TORY:
the waters and the white shine of foam-crests that curl
on Plymouth Bay.
On some days we get a very fair escape from the garret
and the monotonous hum of wheels. Such an escape we
had this last week. The blackberries are very fine and
plentiful, and grandmother said it would be well to make.
large quantities of wine and cordial of them for the sick;
as, in case of war, there would be much demand for such
things. She bade me go and invite Mistress Hooper, and
Hannah Dana, and their servant lads to go with us, and
we would take our wagon to bring back the pails. I was
to carry my knitting and tarry with Hannah until milk-
ing-time. Grandmother has a great idea of my being
with Hannah. I was glad to go. All the world looked
very lovely, and I went slowly along knitting, so as not
to lose any time. I went to Mistress Hooper first, and
then to Deacon Dana's. I had not been long with Han-
nah before a tall, strong, rather handsome girl came in.
She had a pleasant face, a neat dress, and a bold, daring
look, as if she feared nothing. She went to her wheel,
and as I sat knitting on the doorstep by Hannah, I asked
her who this girl was. She said:
"It is Deborah Samson, who was indentured to old
Mistress Hooper. She was free last spring, and came to
us to work half times for her board, and so be able to
go to school."
"Can that be Deborah?" I said. "Deborah was gen-
erally sullen, and rough, and untidy. I remember her
when I was a little child going to the district school. She
was wont to wait for us at the yard gate as we returned
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
117
of afternoons, and with an odd leaf or bit of newspaper
ask us to tell her letters or words. Grandmother bade me
give her my horn-book when I had done with it, and after
a spelling-book, and then a Testament. Grandfather had
much controversy with Mistress Hooper because she so
seldon took the girl to church; but she said she was
needed at home Sundays to mind the place while others
went to meeting. I often sat with Deborah beside the
stone wall for half-hours teaching her to read. But it is
some three years since I saw her, and I had forgotten her."
"Mistress Hooper gave her a pretty good setting out
of clothes, because Deborah had nursed her so faithfully
through the fever," said Hannah. "Indeed, the old wo-
man bid her stay for wages; but Deborah turned her back
on all offers and came to us, requesting to work for her
board and go to school. Father said we owed it to the
poor, friendless creature to help her so much as that, and
she has improved every hour. Her very looks have al-
tered, and the mistress and children at school say they
never saw such progress. I thought she would give up,
being a woman among children; but no, she rises by day
and toils at her book."
As we talked we saw Deborah, who was at her wheel at
the end of a long porch, casting sundry glances at the
black boy, who is an evil, idle imp. Presently she went
to him where he was cutting wood, seized him by the
collar, and flung him one side, took the ax and hewed the
wood with right good will, with strong, rapid strokes, like
a man.
"There!" she said, giving back the ax, "work like
118
PATRIOT AND TORY:
that as if you meant something! A despiseable boy you
are, with your slowness!"
I have never seen a woman half so strong; she is far
beyond Hannah. Hannah looked after her well pleased,
and said:
"I could almost love that girl."
"And why not love her?" I asked. "Poor soul! no
one has ever loved her, or had an interest in her."
And then I went to Deborah, who was at her wheel,
and giving her my hand, I said:
"You are so changed I did not know you.'
She replied:
"I can never forget how good you were to me. I think
I would never have learned to read but for you. You
were my only helper."
I could do no less than bid her come to us if she wanted
a book or any help in her studies and she should have
what we could give. I then asked her to go next day with
us for blackberries. She said no-she had only time for
work, none for play. But as I explained the plan of my
grandmother her face changed; she looked full of eager-
ness, and said indeed she would go and pick with a will—
she would do any thing for her country.
When it was milking-time I set out for home, and Deb-
orah and Hannah went with me along the lane with their
pails in hand. Deborah talked earnestly about war. She
said she hoped war would come, to show what Americans
could do. For her part she wished she might go to battle,
and hated the thought that she was but a woman and
could do nothing worth while for her country. I told her
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
119
what my grandfather says of the horrors of war, but she
seems to think war and battles are something grand and
splendid.
When I reached home Pompey was mending the gate,
and looking after several of our young neighbors, who had
just come by from a training. Pompey said to me:
"Missey Abbey, wonder what white folk made of dat
'em likes guns and fightin'? Nobody nebber ketch Pomp
doin' dat."
"But it is not because they like it, Pompey," I said;
"but they are preparing, like honest men, to do their
duty."
"Hoh!” said Pompey, "dis nigger honest 'nuff, but neb-
ber see it him duty to fight. Why, folks gets hurt fightin',
missey!"
"Well, can not they suffer for their country?"
“Mebby dey kin, ef dey has one," said Pompey; "but
Pompey nebber hab no country. Africa ought to bin
Pomp's country, but missed it somehow; and now nebber
fight nohow."
"But suppose people come here to attack us in our
house, would not you and Peter fight for us then?"
"No; run and take care ob own skin."
"But there is Nervey, your wife—you would protect her.”
66 'No; let Nervey look after self-plenty big 'nuff, mis-
sey."
"Oh, are you not ashamed to be such a coward? I
should think you'd blush at such ideas?" I cried, angrily.
"Can't blush; brack folks don't blush. Like to be a
coward, missey-coward save a whole skin."
120
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"And you would not try to defend the people who
have taken care of you all your life? What would you
do, pray?
?"
"Holler and beg, and promise anyting, do anyting,
say anyting, tell anyting, and run away so fast as can,
missey."
"I am disgusted with such a coward!" I said.
"Can't help it, missey. Coward sleep, eat, get warm,
hab tings taste just as good as nudder man. Better to lib
long like coward dan to die pretty soon cause he mighty
brabe."
And so this is the home-guard we should have if the
war came this way! Grandfather, old and not very
strong, having all his life been a student; three black
people to shriek "quarter" and run away; and grand-
mother and me. Still, a war like this which we dread,
would not be like Indian wars, with barbarous murders.
of women and children, and scalping, and burning, and
torture.
OCTOBER 1, 1774.
Perhaps I must take back those last lines that I wrote.
It is said that Governor Gage has threatened to hire In-
dians to fight against the Colonies! Grandfather says
that there will be as great indignation at this in England
as here, and that every right-minded Englishman will de-
test the spirit that would set barbarians to murder and
pillage Christian people. But more than this, there has
been a terrible excitement because the Governor, on the
first day of September, took from the magazine at Tem-
ple's Farm, Charleston, two hundred and fifty barrels of
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
121
powder and two field-pieces. This so exasperated the peo-
ple that thousands of men seized their arms and marched
forth, and were hardly persuaded to go home. Again a
rumor was that Israel Putnam had been captured in Con-
necticut, and another that British ships were bombarding
Boston. In less than thirty-six hours all this region of
country was in arms, and companies of militia were crowd-
ing all the roads. Full thirty thousand men rose at each
call, and without tumult, but without hesitation, directed
their steps to what they thought the point of danger, and
only returned when assured that the alarm was false. A
company who had been marching since midnight in cross-
roads came through our farm, and they halted while grand-
mother gave them breakfast. Grandmother made two
huge kettles of mush, and Nervey and I milked all the
cows, and then we passed the mush and milk about in all
the bowls, basins, pans and kettles which we could find.
Then grandfather made a short prayer, and they went on
much refreshed. At night this same company were return-
ing, and they stopped and gave us three cheers, but would
take nothing. Pompey and Peter vanished at the first
military sounds, and did not return for twenty-four hours;
they came very hungry, having hidden in fodder-stacks
in a distant field. They said they thought the "sodgers
were going to cut off our heads, and so they ran to save
their own.
I should think Nervey would hate Pompey
for that; but she seemed to think it very funny of him to
take such good care of his skin.
122
PATRIOT AND TORY:
'ily!
NOVEMBER 20, 1774.
WI
INTER has come upon us, and we are, for the most
part, shut up from the outside world. We have been
waiting with some anxiety for letters from Uncle John
Temple, on
whom we rely
//
CHAPTER VI.

"Grandfather and I went for letters."
to supply us
with news of
the Conti-
-
nental Con-
gress, which
met on the 5th
day of Sep-
tember.
At
last the post
has come.
Grandfather
and I went
for the let-
ters and
brought back
two, one from
Uncle John
Temple, one
from Uncle
Matthew, in
Virgina. We sent word by Peter to some of our neighbors,
and next day they came about 12 o'clock, to hear what
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
123
W
had been done. Grandmother had a quilt on the frame
in our common room, and Hannah Dana and Deborah
Samson came over offering to quilt; but that was only an
excuse to get opportunity to listen to the great news.
Just as grandfather took out his letters, up rode James
Warren, covered with snow. He also had a letter; his
was from Samuel Adams. From hearing these letters,
and what was said, I gathered what I here set down: and
I am quite sure of being right, for I took the pages to
grandfather to be corrected. There were fifty-five mem-
bers at the Congress. Patrick Henry was the great ora-
tor; Rutledge stands next him in debate; and for judg-
ment and authority Colonel Washington stood before them
all. Peyton Randolph, of Virginia, was chosen President,
and one Charles Thompson was Secretary. Samuel Ad-
ams suspects that they had a traitor or two among them
from the start; but that is not to be marveled at, says
grandfather-Judas was of the twelve. The Congress-
for this name they took-was opened by prayer and read-
ing of the thirty-fifth Psalm by Reverend Mr. Duché, an
Episcopalian clergyman-the pastor, as I remember, of
Mr. Seaforth. The whole desire of this Congress seemed
to be for peace, and they were willing to make many con-
cessions to obtain the favor of the king. Farmer Dick-
inson drew up a petition to the King full of wishes for
conciliation, and enumerating only recent acts of oppres-
sion, and asking only for peace, liberty, and safety, with
a righteous regard for our charters. Nevertheless, on the
motion of Mr. Adams they recommended the Colonies to
prepare arms and ammunition, and study carefully the art
C
S
124
PATRIOT AND TORY:
}
of war.
The Colonies also prepared an address to the
people of Quebec Province, and to Nova Scotia and New
Brunswick. They approved the opposition of Massachu-
setts to the tyranny exercised toward her, and promised
to stand by the people of the Bay until death. They also
agreed, after the first day of December next, to stop en-
tirely the slave-trade. The neighbors all said that this
was a good motion, and like, in the event, to end the
system of slave-holding bestowed by Britain upon us, but
contrary to the laws of nature and conscience, and also
contrary to those principles for which the Colonics avow
themselves ready to fight. Grandfather said a word
which explained our Pompey to me:
"Slaves have no country. A man without a country is
bound to be a coward and a traitor. When political
storms arise he is like a ship without anchor-hold, danger-
ous in its drifting to any fleet that it may be lying with."
This Congress also addressed itself, not to kings and
councils chiefly, but to the commons, to the people—the
people of Great Britain, the people of the Provinces, the
people of the Colonies. Said James Warren :
"It is not the favor of lords and princes, but the popu-
lar heart which will carry our cause to triumph."
The Congress adjourned to meet May next. It had
been said by some that jealousies and enmities between
the Colonies and between the members, would sow dis-
cords and make this meeting but a brawl. Instead, it is
declared that the whole Congress was conducted with a
kindness, a generosity, a dignity, and a deep earnestness
which all ages must admire; and James Warren said a
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
125
correct record of such an assembly, and such discussions,
must enlighten the people of England concerning us, and
convince them of certain mistakes they had fallen into.
After reading the letters about the Congress, my grand-
father read that from Uncle Matthew Temple. He has
been on business to Annapolis, and while he was there
the brig Peggy Stewart came in from England with two
thousand three hundred and twenty pounds of tea. The
owner made haste to pay the duty thereupon, and so
deeply offended the public. A committee kept constant
watch to prevent the landing of the tea, and great meet-
ings were held, so angry in temper that the owner of the
herb saw that he had made a sad mistake. He sent writ-
ten regrets and apologies, but they were not accepted-
these would not atone for an act that might involve the
whole Colony of Maryland. He, then, seeing no escape,
said that he would burn the tea; but still the people did
not esteem this meet compensation. Finally he declared
he would burn brig and tea. This offer was accepted.
The sailors came ashore with their effects, and the owners
and importers went aboard the doomed Peggy Stewart, set
her sails and left the colors flying, then set the fire blaz-
ing and came back to the wharf, where an immense crowd
stood to see the ship burn at anchor, until she was fully
consumed.
I felt sorry for the owners, poor men; but then they
should have remembered that the Colonists have a great
principle at stake, and can make no concessions.
From Annapolis Uncle Matthew, his business there
being finished, went to Philadelphia, which he reached
126
PATRIOT AND TORY:
after Congress had adjourned. He went with Uncle John
to a meeting of some gentlemen, and there the talk
turned on the acts of the Congress, and on the declaration
that they had made that Massachusetts Bay folk were
right, and should be maintained to the death by all the
Colonies. Mr. Seaforth was there. He wished much that
Boston had been bidden to submit and pay for the tea,
and apologize for her contumacy. Said Mr. Seaforth:
"The king will never forgive Boston, nor forgive
Congress for supporting the acts of that city. It is true
the king is not heeding his best councilors, but as he
lists he will do, and he will turn all the power of Britain on
these Colonies, and crush them as one would an egg-shell."
Said Uncle Matthew:
"You reason like one who leaves God out of account.
God will maintain our cause and plead for our rights, and
one thousand shall flee at the rebuke of five."
Mr. Seaforth replied:
"I prognosticate failure, just because I take God into
account. He will not prosper the rebellious people. He
will fight against the Colonies as He did against Absalom
and Benjamin.”
Mr. Reid was present, and he said he trusted that the
two countries would yet make mutual concessions, and
that peace would be more firmly established than ever
before.
"No," said Mr. Seaforth, "you do not comprehend the
temper of our king and his present ministers. They will
not yield one iota of their authority."
Uncle John spoke up:
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
127
"And we will not yield one tittle of our rights."
Mr. Seaforth looked at Uncle John; his faced worked;
tears overflowed his eyes; he held out his hand :
66
My friend, my friend, you are rushing on your own
doom! But, John Temple, when your cause is lost, and
the vengeance of England falls on such stalwart Colonists
as you are, I shall stand by you; and if my intercessions
and all my fortunes can buy your pardon, all shall be
yours. Depend on me to stand by you when the conse-
quences of this work are heavier than you can bear
alone."
The two men shook hands heartily, and Uncle Matthew
says that every man in the room seemed deeply moved.
DECEMBER 1, 1774.
Winter brings little variety in our lives. Grandmother
and Nervey and I have been busy at the looms. Our
flax was very good this year, and our linen is truly beau-
tiful-the best in the neighborhood. We have also woven
some dresses for grandmother and for me; they are of
cotton, with a narrow silk stripe. We got silk for the
stripe by raveling out a silk shawl of grandmother's.
We have also woven a blanket for my room. Deborah
Samson came to help us weave the blanket; she is so
grateful to us for lending her two or three books, and for
helping her on with her lessons. Grandfather says Deb-
orah has a wonderful talent for learning. I offered to
teach her what I knew of French and drawing, but she
said no, she had no need of fine studies, for she was not
like to be reckoned a lady; what she wanted was cipher-
ing and reading and such other studies as should make
Va
9
128
PATRIOT AND TORY:
her, in my grandfather's opinion, fit to teach the district
school. She reads aloud to me sometimes, to practice;
and when she is moved or agitated she has such deep, pe-
culiar tones to her voice as I shall never forget. The
other day, as she was working out a long sum which my
grandfather had given her, she pushed back the thick
black hair which she wears always oddly pulled down
over her ears, and I saw that a piece had been cut out
of the rim of her right ear, making a queer mark. I did
not mean to look curiously at any personal defect, for
that my grandmother has taught me is a rudeness; but
Deborah felt her ear uncovered, and suddenly pointing to
the place, said:
"That is all that I have to remember my mother by.
She threw a hatchet at me and cut that. That was the
final reason for the township taking us children from
our parents. I was one of the youngest. My eldest
brother and sister died; the next brother went South; the
youngest girl was carried to Canada by one who adopted
her, and I fell to Mistress Hooper, who was neither good
nor evil to me, but only judged that I had no brains for
study and no soul for religion."
She spoke so earnestly that I grieved for her, and for
her pitiful fortunes and bitter memories. I said, gently:
“Well, Deborah, you have proved your brains by tak-
ing now to your studies; and as to the religion, you have
your Bible, and grandfather asks you to meeting far
oftener than you come. Your past is done; let it be as
if it had never been; but your future is yours: to be a
wise and Christian woman, if you so will."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
129
Poor Deborah shook her head.
"Abbey Temple, you at fifteen, having parents and
grand-parents to thank for it, are a little lady, and a Chris-
tian, and a pretty scholar; and I, at nineteen, am a big,
rough lout, puzzling my brains over sums, and with noth-
ing to boast of but muscles. The child of drunkards,
Mistress Hooper's bound girl, can not be what you point
out. But my future is mine; I see it lifting up great and
dim before me sometimes; and I will make it such a
future as many shall hear about."
Then she went back to her slate and would talk no
more. I wonder what she has it in her mind to do? In
Boston a colored woman named Phillis-one who was
brought a slave from Africa-has become quite learned,
and a poet. I wonder if Deborah means any thing like
that?
G
JANUARY 2, 1775.
In winter here it seems to me that we are like sailors,
of whom I have read, who are locked up in Northern
seas. By some of our storms we are cut off from our
nearest neighbors; the snow drifts in at doors and win-
dows, and lies, day and night, a little white frilling
(which the blaze in the fire-place does not reach,) about
the sills. The fences are buried; the corn and straw
stacks show like white hillocks; the outbuildings are
lost, and Peter and Pompey are all day cutting out paths
to the barn, and from their cabins to the house; indeed,
I often think that the cabin will be quite buried, and
that grandfather and grandmother and I will be obliged
to go and dig our servants from a mound of snow, as I
130
PATRIOT AND TORY:
have heard the Swiss dig out huts that have been covered
by avalanches. This is our case in stormy winters. At
other times it is not so bad, and we are able to see our
neighbors and to get our letters from Plymouth town.
Being for so many weeks in a state of siege from storm
makes a guest very welcome, and we regard strangers as
the old patriarchs did: as having not only a claim on
our hospitality, but on our gratitude, for coming to our
doors. This morning we had two such guests; and
though we had never seen them before, and though they
do not quite share my grandfather's sentiments on many
matters, still we were very glad to see them; and my
grandmother set her table with the linen her mother
spun, and with our best willow pattern blue-and-white
china, and with the silver we have had for two or three
generations. Grandmother also put on her silk gown
in the afternoon, and Nervey mounted a splendid turban,
which Mr. Seaforth fetched from England on my uncle's
order twenty years ago; so Nervey's turban is older
than I am, but looks quite as fresh as I do.
Our guests are two English officers, a captain and an
ensign; and very pretty gentlemen they are, and so well
read that my grandfather took much satisfaction in their
company. My grandmother also was well pleased with
them, and questioned them much about the dress and
manners and ways of English women; and when the
ensign complimented her, and told her she was like a
London lady-in fact like his aunt, whose husband is a
counselor-at-law-my grandmother took it not amiss.
However, the ensign proceeded yet further, in making
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
131
himself agreeable, to flatter me; but my grandmother
checked him, betimes, short and sharp.
66
Abbey," quoth she, "is but a child, although she is
well grown, and she knows not what to make of your
compliments, nor am I desirous that she should learn.
The world is over-well provided with women who have
not tarried sufficiently long in girlhood."
These two officers are traveling about Plymouth Colony,
and are to go as far as Taunton and Providence, in service
of General Gage. Theirs is not a public mission, nor, in
truth, a secret one.
The Governor, feeling uneasy, has
given these officers leave of absence for a journey, and
they are to visit the prominent men in the towns-as
James Warren, and the ministers, as my grandfather-and
get a view of the state of mind of the people in the
country and towns of lesser note than Boston and Cam-
bridge. Our gentlemen had been for a day and a night
with Mr. Warren, and are vastly pleased with Dame
Mercy, although they think her tone to the mother coun-
try is too bitter.
Ca
!
P
At dinner the captain asked my grandfather did he and
his neighbors intend to sustain the course of Boston.
"Sir, we do," said grandfather.
"And on what grounds?" asked the captain.
"On the ground that Boston has been treated with tyr-
anny.”
Then quoth the ensign, pettishly:
"You are a good man, and must be ruled by righteous
laws. Where find you a law for resisting tyranny,
granted, even, that there has been tyranny?"
132
PATRIOT AND TORY:
*
"Sir," said my grandfather, "the law of resisting tyr-
anny has from time immemorial been written upon the
hearts of Englishmen ; and you are not to think that, be-
ing transplanted to this country, we lose the characteris-
tics of our old stock."
M
Indeed I think my grandfather was more than equal to
them both, for further on they said:
"You talk of charter in these Colonies; but in sooth
you are going beyond chartered liberties.”
"Sir," returned grandfather, "our charter was not
meant to supercede any of our natural or divine rights.
We hold those on higher authority still. Charter says
nothing about rights to air and water; and there are
liberties as wide and inalienably ours as our atmos-
phere."
Grandfather had in Deacon Dana and Isaiah Hooper
for the evening; also, he told the officers that the
Brown family were not of our way of thinking, and sent
Peter with the captain to show him the way to their
house, that he might talk with them. He returned be-
times, and said he to my grandfather:
"Do not disgrace honest Royalists by ranking such
people with them. Those are but Royalists for spite and
gain. They would be treacherous to either party for
money."
As these gentlemen were leaving they shook hands with
grandfather and said:
"No one hopes more than do we that this dispute will
be peaceably settled. We belong firmly to our King's
cause, but we are loath to fight with you Americans.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
133
You have, indeed, very much of right and justice on
your side."
So they rode off, with grandfather's blessing.
APRIL, 1775.
At Boston, they have commemorated the massacre,
Joseph Warren being orator. Marblehead, Danvers, and
Salem have been ransacked by British troops for stores.
The soldiers at Boston have emulated our worst deeds,
and have exasperated the people by tarring and feather-
ing a country fellow from Billerica. Over all the country
the fires of revolution seem bursting up. In Virginia,
Patrick Henry inspires all men by his oratory; and along
our stormy shores the fishers are arming to protect their
right to the produce of the sea.
At last war
has broken out, blood has been shed! Eight hundred
British troops marched for Concord on the 18th, to cap-
ture the stores and cannon. But Dawes and Paul Revere
rode off from Boston to rouse the country; from the North
Church tower the beacon streamed the signal to the
watching towns near by; and as Paul Revere rushed
through the farms and hamlets in the clear night he
called all men to arms upon the way to Lexington.
Young men and old, farmers, and pastors, went out with
powder-horn and gun, and so, early on the morning of
the 19th, the Minute Men made stand at Lexington.
Trained troops well armed, and countrymen half pre-
pared, were illy matched for fight. It was only for a lit-
tle while that guns were fired and shots were heard; and
then the regulars had all their own way, and the country
people fled, and seven of the Minute Men were lying dead
Sally
134
PATRIOT AND TORY:
on the common; and, however much men may now talk
of reconciliation, all know well that hopes of peace are
gone, and war has begun.
The troops then went on and partly plundered Con-
cord, and then strove to tear up Concord Bridge. The
Minute Men were too quick for them, fired, drove them
off, and held their bridge. At noon the British troops
drew back toward Lexington. The Minute Men lay in
ambush at every wall and tree, followed their way, and
so pushed their enemies into a rapid retreat until two.
Then the battle was renewed by Percy's men, and lasted
all day, until eighty-eight Americans and two hundred and
seventy-three Britons were killed, wounded, or missing.
After this terrible day the post-carriers and messengers
rode day and night, carrying the news, and calling the
country to arms, and bidding men, and arms, and stores
be sent forward to Cambridge.
To our house came a messenger by day-break. He
was covered with dust, and his horse with blood and
foam. He told the terrible story while I ran for a bowl
of warm milk, and Nervey and grandmother flew to the
stable and put saddle on our one fleet horse, Prince
Charlie. They were obliged to do this, for at the man's
first shout, and at the beat of hoofs, Pompey and Peter
fled, as if the whole British army were on us. Grand-
father stood as a man stunned at the news. As the mes-
senger leaped on Prince Charlie, and Nervey led away
the poor, tired-out roan, grandfather paced up and down
our common room, crying; "Lord, pity us. This is
civil war.
Ah! all that tide of brother's blood." And
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
135
so he wrung his hands, and tears poured over his face;
for he has so long prayed for peace, and now here is
war! My grandmother went about collecting clothes and
stores to send to Cambridge; and grandfather, after the
first burst of sorrow, went to bid his neighbors good-bye.
I ran over to Isaiah Hooper's, and found him dressing
quickly, and his wife helping him, while she sobbed
aloud. The eldest little girl was putting him up a small
sack of food, and I set at aiding her; but I was blind
from tears, and the three little ones were clinging about
their father's knees, praying him not to go and be killed;
and I thought of my poor father, who went to Pontiac's
war, and never came back.
MAY 10, 1775.
From all parts of the country we get news of the arm-
ing, and of troops setting forth for Cambridge. There is
terrible anger at plundering and murder done by Percy's
men; and yet it is quite true that he sought to restrain
them, and could not. This, as my grandfather says, is one
of the great evils of war. It unchains the demons in men's
hearts, and they go to excess that in peace would seem
to them impossible. Massachusetts calls for an army of
thirteen thousand six hundred men. When the news
reached Connecticut, Israel Putnam was plowing. He
left his plow in the furrow, and set forth to Cambridge.
John Stark was in his mill sawing logs, and went off in
his shirt sleeves, so great was his haste. But why do I
only think of those distant? Our neighbors are gone.
At Deacon Dana's they sent off Joseph as if each instant's
delay had been a crime; and since he went the house is
136
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"
like a funeral; they speak only of duty and the patriot's
glory, and at each sound turn pale, as if they heard men
carrying home Joseph's corpse. Mistress Hooper being
alone, and help very scarce in the fields, Deborah Samson
went over to bide with her; and she will take no wages,
as Isaiah is in camp; but Deborah does a man's work,
and is up betimes, plowing and planting by daybreak.
Also, she keeps the two scrvant lads well in hand, as
Mistress Hooper would not be able to do. Deborah has
also come to my grandfather, asking him to examine her
fitness to have the school this summer, and I think it
will be given her.
Many companies of militia have passed us, coming up
from Barnstable, Yarmouth, and Sandwich, and our farm
lying fronting the road which is their straightest route,
we have seen much of them. My grandmother, and
Nervey, and Hannah Dana are constantly making bread,
and boiling beef and bacon, and setting out cheese; and
many hungry patriots have we fed in this way. Grand-
father going among them as they halt to eat, gives them
baskets of bread and other food, and therewith much good
exhortation and counsel.
JUNE 1, 1775.
I knew not what was taking place when I wrote my
former date. On that day Ticonderoga, a fort on Lake
Champlain, was captured by Ethan Allen, a rough but
valiant man. Strangely enough, though this fort was
most important, and had cost Britain eight millions ster-
ling, it was taken in ten minutes, without bloodshed-
"in the name of Jehovah and the Continental Congress,"
I
A
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
137
as said Ethan Allen, calling on Commander Delaplace to
surrender. Grandfather says this is truly like Ethan
Allen, whom he knows well. He is no Christian man,
such as my grandfather, but he does believe in two
things - Jehovah and Congress-and about equally in
both; and grandfather is only surprised that he put Con-
gress last in his summons. My grandfather says if indeed
our trust would be first in the Lord's arm, and then in
our righteous cause, as represented by our Congress, then
truly victory would soon be ours, at little cost. But doubt-
less we shall suffer much, because bitterness and trust in
the arm of the flesh will be in our hearts. Meanwhile all
the Colonies are rising to arms, and ready to sustain Mass-
achusetts; but some still hope for peace and for a recon-
ciliation to be effected by this present Congress in Phila-
delphia. We are likely, so we hear from our friends in
camp, to suffer from a lack of supplies, from lack of dis-
cipline in our men, from want, also, of unanimity in coun-
sels, and of proper leaders.
C
Our neighbors have made up three wagon loads of
stores-clothes, food, powder, and the like-and have
added all the lead and pewter that we can find, and have
sent these on to Cambridge. Grandmother says if the
trouble continues the pewter spoons and dishes and pitch-
ers must be melted for bullets. How hard that would be
for grandmother, who had her pewter from her mother,
and values it so, keeping it bright as silver! but she speaks
calmly of melting it.
138
PATRIOT AND TORY:
BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.
JULY 26, 1775.
Once I wished greatly to have something to write about
other and greater than the changing of seasons, the com-
ing and going of birds and flowers, and the tasks of home
work, which are always the same. Now, when I seem
only to have war and bloodshed and sorrow to write, I can
not set it down. Thus, Dame Warren told me, it is ever
with us human beings, who never are satisfied.
On June 15th the Continental Congress, sitting in Phila-
delphia, recognized the existence of an army called the
Continental Army, and unanimously chose Colonel George
Washington, of Virginia, as commander-in-chief. On
him, as the foremost son of the most powerful of the
Colonies, as brave in war, wise in peace, reserved in coun-
sel, the hearts of all the people seem to be set. My grand-
father paid him the highest compliment that he can bestow
on living man, when he heard of his election to the com-
mand of the army. He said:
66 "This is the man likest William the Silent of all men
that ever were born."
From this choice of George Washington, and the ap-
pointment of a day of fasting and prayer, to be kept in all
the Colonics, entreating God to preserve our liberties, and
reconcile us with the mother country, we might have hoped
much; but before news. of these things reached us, we of
Massachusetts heard again the awful sound of war, and
buried the dead of Bunker Hill.
-
Tel:
On June the 17th a dreadful battle was fought between
the Regulars and our poor half-armed Colonists. Charles-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
139
town was burned. Twice our men drove back the King's
troops, and then only failed to complete the victory be-
cause their powder gave out. From what we hear, the
King's men were bold indeed, and did wonders; but that
only shows more marvelously the courage of our farmers,
who fought so well. Oh! what a grievous sight was that,
when wives and children

Charleston
##
Flouting
Batteries
stood to see our patriots
falling; and the ground
was covered with dead
British, whom once all
we Americans loved so
well as if they were our
brothers. And that good
town of Charlestown was
burned. And when the
fight was done there
were found of the American loss, all counted, 450; and the
English loss was 1,050; for three times the English marched
up that hill, while our guns poured their fire on them. But
we lost Moore, and Gardner, and Parker, and, worst of
all, that best of our patriots, Doctor Joseph Warren. When
Warren went to the field, Elbridge Gerry, so they say,
met him and begged him to save his life for a more hope-
ful day, but he replied:
"It is pleasant and becoming to die for one's country."
The terrible news came to us the afternoon after the
day of battle. As the messenger stopped by our gate
grandfather ran forth bareheaded to hear the news. He
listened until the words came, "and Joseph Warren was
Lechmere's
Point
N
Bur
Road
Road
MysticRiver
Charles
NC
TOWDE
River
Mortons
Hi.
Charlesto
Ju
Reinforteine
he
Somerset
British Battery
Boston.
IL
BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.
Copp
ܟ ܐ ܐ .
Falcon
The
Lively.
Hill
140
PATRIOT AND TORY:
killed, the last in the trenches," and then he turned about,
unable to hear more, and went into the house; for he
loved Warren, not only as a patriot, but as a friend and
son-for my grandfather was his teacher long ago, before
Warren went to Harvard. We did not see grandfather
until prayer-time, but we heard him pacing his room,
mourning and crying, “Would God I had died for thee,
my son, my son!" At worship-time he composed himself
and came out, and opening the Bible he read from Sam-
uel, “The beauty of Israel is slain upon the high places;
how are the mighty fallen;" his voice trembled, but he
kept on until he reached the words, "I am distressed for
thee, my brother," when he broke into sobs, and could read
no more. All night he remained walking up and down
the common room, praying for the wounded and for pris-
oners, for widows and orphans, and for the afflicted land.
Grandmother says she fears grandfather will die of a bro-
ken heart for these things; and truly he has aged very
fast-eats but little, and sleeps poorly.
We heard that Isaiah Hooper was wounded, yet slightly,
and not enough to send him home. Joseph Dana sent
home a letter a week after the battle, giving us a full ac-
count. Deacon Dana hath broken his leg by a fall from
the haymow, and Hannah has now to manage the farm,
and is most of the time afield. Were it not for this she
would, I think, go forward to camp to tend the sick and
be of what use she might. I hinted as much to her, and
she retorted somewhat savagely:
"The war is not done yet. Quarrels like this last
longer than bone-breaks.”
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
141
Deborah Samson has gotten the school from my grand-
father, and teaches well, besides being the mainstay of
Mistress Hooper's forlorn house.
DECEMBER 5, 1775.
Woe is me for the words I have to write. The judg-
ments of God have fallen heavily on our house; or per-
haps His mercies to my grandfather come in the light of
judgments to grandmother and me. The Lord is doubt-
less angry with an unforgiving heart; but still I can not
forgive the Brown family! In all our sorrows they re-
joiced; they exulted in Warren's death; they gloried in
our defeats and in our errors; and when my grandfather
prayed for Colonial success they would no more come to
meeting, but reviled him to his face, and said he should
rue the day. Thus they turned on themselves the atten-
tion of the Minute Men, and they were watched. Now,
on the 29th of October it was known among us that at
James Warren's, in Plymouth, would meet, in a few days'
time, several notable patriots, to take counsel, especially
about provision of balls and powder for our army. The
Browns were perhaps allowed to know this, to try them.
In truth they sent a messenger to have a half company of
Regulars come and surround James Warren's, to have him
and his guests—my grandfather among them—captured
as rebels. This messenger was seized on the 30th of Oc-
tober, and carried into Plymouth and made confession.
Deborah Samson had ridden to town after school to see
to some matters for Mistress Hooper. A pelting storm
came up, and in this Deborah stopped at our gate as she
went home, to leave a letter, and she cried to me: "Those
Ga
142
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Browns will get their deserts this night!" and she told the
tale, saying: "And now twenty Minute Men are starting
from Plymouth town to burn the Browns' house and
barns and bid them speed within Royalist lines; or, if they
be caught among us in forty-eight hours they must see to
it-and good enough for them.”
So my grandfather having come to learn the truth, he
said:
،،
""Tis an evil deed."
But Deborah cried out:
"Minister, the Browns are fierce to get you a halter!"
"Love your enemies," quoth grandfather, as Deborah
rode on, saying she was "right glad spies would be dealt
with, and the worse the night the better for their deserts.”
But my grandfather was already preparing to go out,
and bid Peter saddle him old Maple. Says my grand-
mother:
"The night is too wild, and you are sick and feverish;
do not go out; let the Minute Men settle with spies."
"So much the worse night for a woman and children to
be out."
"But 'tis their deserving," said my grandmother to this.
"God deals not with us after our deservings," he re-
plied.
"And you are one whom they most hate," said grand-
mother.
"Then I must the more forgive them," said grand-
father.
"But the Minute Men will have their way," persists she.
"Look you," said the goodman, "these men are most
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
143
of them from my flock; and if I go not to hinder them
I shall be like Eli, whose sons made themselves vile, and
he restrained them not."
And now the horse was ready; and wrapping great-
grandfather's plaid about him, my sick grandfather rode
off in that storm of sleet and wind, and reached the Browns'
home just as the Minute Men were giving them ten min-
utes to leave. And in sooth it was a sore deed, for the
younger children were innocent, and Mistress Brown not a
strong woman; and no one about would like to take them
in, when, wet and beggared, they were turned into the
stormy night. My grandfather rode up where the light
streamed from the open door, and cried out: "Sons and
brothers, what are you doing? Are you trying to draw
down God's curse on the cause of liberty?" And then
he so plead with them, and laid down God's law, and
threatened them with God's anger if they thus avenged
themselves, that they agreed to leave the house; but they
brought out the Bible and made Mr. and Mistress Brown
swear on it that hereafter if they desired to help the Royal
cause they would not act as spies, but would openly remove
themselves and their belongings within the lines of the
Governor's party. Mistress Brown and her younger chil-
dren were shrieking and praying for mercy; and they clung
to grandfather—the man whom they would have had seized
as a rebel—and begged him to stay all night to protect
them; but he, having taken a promise from the Minute
Men, told the Browns that they were safe, and so rode
home in two hours' time wet to the skin. Grandmother
had hot cider and a supper ready for him, but he appeared.
10
144
PATRIOT AND TORY:
greatly chilled and depressed. The next day being Sab-
bath, he preached; but he seemed to feel that he might
stand in his place no more, and so he preached and so
plead with his people that all were in tears; and after two
hours' speaking-for he was as one who had all his last
words to say he fell in a faint as he came from the pul-
pit, and was thus carried home.
podat
From the first my grandfather felt that he must die,
and he sent for Mr. James Warren, that he might make
known his wishes. He told him that after his own death
my uncle John Temple, in Philadelphia, was to be my
guardian, and I should go to him when he ordered it;
but so long as I might be left to comfort grandmother in
her loneliness I was to stay. As for grandmother, from
the moment my grandfather fell ill she had neither word
nor sigh nor tear. I do not think she knew when she ate
nor when she slept, doing both sparely and unconsciously,
and keeping her place as nurse by grandfather without
laying off her clothes day or night; and it seemed that she
begrudged any of us the privilege of so much as bringing
him his medicine. And so our weary days wore on; and
I am sure grandmother wanted to die with grandfather,
and I know I do-for who will love or care for me after
him? This world is no place for orphan girls. And now
I shall never be happy again, for grandfather has gone,
and yesterday we buried him; and coming back here it
seemed as if all the world were dead. I made sure that
he would live to be an hundred years old, like great-
grandfather, and that I should make his old age so happy;
and now he has gone, and these dreary snow-flakes are
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
145
falling on his grave, where, last evening, we laid him,
while all his people wept and mourned like children be-
reft of a father. Grandmother has said no word, shed no
tear; she has put his empty chair opposite her own, and
there she sits, looking at it hour after hour. It seems to
trouble her for me to be crying. I wonder does she think
I have lost nothing in grandfather? And so I wrap my
shawl about me and stay much in my own room, or with
Nervey in the kitchen. No one to teach me; no one to
say a kind word and call me "little maid." Oh! how
can all the world go on as before, when such a good and
lovely life has died out of it!
JANUARY 30, 1776.
The day after that last writing grandmother called me
to her and bid me take from the presses and chests,
blankets, sheets, socks, woolen cloth, linen, dried fruit,
bottles of wine, until all the floor of the common room
was covered. Then she laid down all her pewter-the
plates, the pitchers, all the shining store that she had
cared for. She had sent Peter to bid Hannah Dana
come to her in a wagon; and Hannah came in with a
sad face, for she much loved grandfather-and there sat
grandmother, white and haggard and trembling, with all
these goods laid about the floor. She said to Hannah,
quite calmly:
1
"These goods all belong to my country. You are to
take them to your home, and send them forward with
your own gifts as they are needed; for those who follow
me here will not be loyal to the cause of the Colonies."
When she said that, I could not stop a scream, and I
146
PATRIOT AND TORY:
rushed out into the kitchen to cry. When I dropped
down on the hearth, and hid my face in a chair to cry,
Nervey said to me:
"Dere chile, you knows it all now. Missey hab got
her call sure, and you and me be lef' alone. You see,
chile, one-half a body can't lib in dis yere ebil worl'
when odder half gone to heaven; no, can't no how."
When I dared return to the common room Pompey
and Peter were carrying all those things out and packing
them in Hannah Dana's wagon; but Pompey did hate to
carry out the pewter. Then Hannah bid Pompey drive
to her house and unload, and grandmother signed to
Hannah and me, and went to the garret. She tottered
as if she would fall, but would not be helped. She
opened a big blue chest full of linen, and said to me:
"Abbey, you have been a good child; this is my gift
to you."
She locked it and gave me the key, while I kept on
crying. And then she sealed up the key-hole, and fast-
ened into the seal a paper with "Abbey Temple: her
property," and signed her name, and Hannah signed
her's. She did the same with the oaken chest with my
mother's things, and a smaller box holding silver and
other property that had come to grandmother's with me;
then she said that grandfather's books would be packed
and go to Deacon Dana's, to be kept for me; and after
that she went to the common room, and grandmother not
wishing to talk more, Hannah went home. How can I
tell of those pitiful days! Poor grandmother sat by the
chimney-place, sometimes reading her Bible, and then for
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
147
hours looking at that empty chair, as she knit and knit
socks for our patriots-knit with hands so feeble that she
could hardly hold the needles, but scarcely noticed any
one as they went and came.
On Christmas night I left her knitting and went to
try and make some dish which would tempt her to eat.
When I returned she had fallen into a pleasant sleep,
with a smile on her face, as if she dreamed of grand-
father. So I sat to watch her until she should wake, and
Nervey coming in, I beckoned her to keep quiet, whis-
pering that now grandmother would be better. Nervey
stood by me for a few moments, looking at grandmother,
then she stepped over and felt her forehead and the hand
from which the knitting had fallen, and she said to me:
"Chile! she better now forebber; nebber hab no
more heartache. Misscy done gone where de good man
went to."
Oh, me! oh, me! I had been sitting there to watch
the dead. And she was indeed a good grandmother; and
there are few so faithful hearts to love and break.
We buried grandmother beside the other two. Our lot
in the churchyard is fuller than our home. Hannah
Dana came to stay with me until Mr. Warley and Bessie,
and Mr. Warren, who has gone to Cambridge, might be
written to. The answers have come.
Mr. Warley says
that he and Bessie will come at once to take possession.
Mr. Warren writes that, as the season is so bad, I had
better tarry here with Bessie until traveling is good, and
then, with the black people, I will go to my uncle John
Temple, in Philadelphia. I look for Bessie and her
L
148
PATRIOT AND TORY:
father to-morrow, or any day soon. I will see changed
times here in this house, where love of God and love of
country have ruled. I would it were spring, and I might
get away to Philadelphia. And yet, how can I leave this
best and only home that ever I have known !

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And now, in turning over these pages, I see that I
have, in our home and heart troubles, forgotten to tell of
what has passed in the country these many months since
the terrible day at Bunker Hill. But now I shall have
time to write it all, for I shall not care to be very much
with my gay cousin, who has not such sorrows as I have
to make her grave of mood.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
149
CHAPTER VII.
FEBRUARY 3, 1776.
THE
HE roads are very good now for runners, and all our
neighbors are sending supplies to camp. Three large
loads start to-morrow, and Nervey and Hannah are busy
preparing food to send. Hannah says no help will go to
patriots from this house again, and so she shall make the
best of her last chance. I am by the fire in the common
room writing, and now I shall try and recall some of
those things that happened while our home troubles were
driving every thing else out of my mind.
The Congress did much the same as last year except
that General Washington, four major-generals, and an
adjutant-general and eight brigadiers were appointed ;
also, a battalion of riflemen were raised in Pennsylvania.
Richard Penn went to England to seek peace, and Con-
gress prayed the king for reconciliation.
It is said that General Washington has about double
the number of men that the British havé, but our men
are ill-armed, half clad, and without training or supplies,
or fit officers, while the English troops are the flower of
the army, perfectly appointed for war. James Warren
writes that the trials of the General are bitter indeed:
without money, food, powder, tents, or any authority ex-
cept what resides in his own power over men, and his
150
PATRIOT AND TORY:
skill to guide; and yet our people are liberal, and feed
and clothe the troops, and the men are passing brave.
From every cellar and farm-yard supplies go to camp; and
many, like my dear grandmother, cheerfully melt their
domestic utensils to make bullets. Money is wanting,
and I often hear our friends say that the paper issued by
Congress will be worth nothing.
Doctor Franklin has come back, and has visited the
camp. He says there is no hope of peace but by war,
and that the Colonies-now thirteen represented in Con-
gress, for Georgia has come in-must firmly unite and
set up a government, and declare independence. All
summer, and until now, there have been skirmishes, and
burning of houses and towns, and capture of men; also,
fights on the sea, and taking of small ships. Meanwhile
some of the Colonies have armed ships of their own, and
talk of a navy. General Gage is gone home to England,
and is succeeded by General Howe; and every one thinks
it a shame that an Irishman should lead an attack on
America while Ireland is a colony like ourselves, and
there has always been such friendship between us—so
James Warren says.
An answer came to the petition from Congress to the
King. He refuses all conciliation. We must give up
all our liberties or fight until we conquer what we claim.
These are dreary times, for now those whose friends are
in camp know not when to look for them home. Dame
Warren showed me a letter from Mistress Abigail Adams,
wife of John Adams; indeed from my heart I pity her.
She hath a family of young children, her farm is left to
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
151
her to manage, and their poverty is sore; also, a dread
fever hath been among them, and her mother is dead,
while her son had almost died, also; yet still she hopes

RETREAT FROM QUEBEC.
that her husband will tarry at the front post of duty so
Ethan Allen has been
Point, and is sent in
will hang at Tyburn, and
Nor do we lose him alone.
long as the country is in need.
captured at the Island of Long
chains to England; 'tis said he
so we lose a right brave man.
152
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Montreal has been captured, and that is a small gain com-
pared to our loss at Quebec, where fell young MacPher-
son, and Montgomery, who was as a mirror of every
virtue, for whose loss, as for Warren's, the heart of the
whole country was broken. Oh! who shall fight our bat-
tles now that the good and brave are gone?
In Virginia, Governor Dunmore has proclaimed mar-
tial law, and has freed all convicts, debtors and slaves
who will join his standard; also, the Regulars have
armed the Indians. I had a letter from Uncle Matthew,
from Virginia, last evening, and he said that Norfolk
was cannonaded and fired on New Year's day; and not
only were some people killed, but nearly all the town
was reduced to ashes. On that same 1st of January, as
we learn from Joseph Dana, the new American flag-
a tricolor, with thirteen red and white stripes and a blue
ground in the corner, was unfurled over our army at
Boston. We hear that the King is hiring foreign troops,
Hessians and Hanoverians, to fight against us.
And so
this is our state in these Colonies; and I suppose this
year of 1776 is the most miserable and unpromising that
ever has been since our Puritan fathers came hither to
found a country.
FEBRUARY 10.
Bessie Warley and her father came soon after my last
writing. Bessie seemed a deal moved when she reached
here. She kissed me and lamented over me, and said
that the house looked like a grave or a prison, and that
she wished that people never died. She moped a deal
that day; but the day following Hannah Dana went home,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
153
and Bessie unpacked her boxes. She wore a black gown,
and as she put her gayer clothing in the press she said
black did well enough where there were none to see; and
presently she wished there were no farms, and that a law
were passed making it a capital punishment to live away
from town.
"In truth, Bessie," I said, "I am surprised that you,
who delight in society, have come to this farm to dwell."
Bessie sat on the bed-side, and throwing up her hands
she cried:
"Is the child a natural! Surely you know it is not
choice, but need, sends us."
I did not see the need, and I remarked as much to her.
"Why, child, did I not tell you that the father is in
debt; and in Boston he is set on for payment night and
day. Also, he can hardly get credit for fuel or meat.
Therefore, to escape from his creditors to a house with a
full cellar, albeit it is in the back woods, is much to his
mind, and we shall stay until our creditors, who are
patriots, are harried out of Boston. Again, Abbey, this
farm and its belongings are like to be my sole dowry, for
if father got ten thousand pounds sterling to-morrow he
is capable of spending the same in a year. But as your
grandfather and grandmother were patriots the place is
like to be confiscated as soon as this rebellion is put
down, and I come to secure my own by taking posses-
sion before the royal cause triumphs. "Tis not from
toleration of the country, for in sooth I might as well be
dead and buried as be here, where not an officer nor a
pleasing young man is to be scen."
154
PATRIOT AND TORY:
And so much as Bessie railed at the country, so did
her father revile country fare, and the fact that there was
no wine and no better drink than cider in the cellar.
The two kept up such a din of complainings at low ceil-
ings, and small windows, and blue paint, and the coarse-
ness of the furnishings, that full often I ran to the
kitchen, where it was far pleasanter to hear the black
people bemoaning their "master and missey," and telling
of all their life-long goodness.
After the third day Bessie and her father got out a
pack of cards and sat playing with each other, the stakes
being pence, or pins, or toothpicks. They entreated me
to learn; but I told them roundly cards were the devil's
playthings, and I would not touch a hand to them,
whereat they were angry; but I have often heard my
grandmother say it. The fourth day Bessie would exam-
ine her new possessions. She was quite anxious at the
sight of the three chests sealed up, and called her father to
look at them; but he, knowing grandmother's signature,
and Hannah's name as witness, bade her let them be, as
they were none of her's. Bessie searched grandmother's
wardrobe, and declared it old-fashioned trash. She
deeply hurt my feelings by the way she flung things
about. Then she ended by saying grandmother's goods
were no use to her, except the lace and jewelry, which she
carried off, telling me I could have the rest. So I cried
over the things, and packed them in my box. While I
was so doing Bessic called me loudly, and I ran to her.
"Where is the pewter?" said she. "Is that in your
box, too?"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
155
"No," quoth I, roundly, ""Tis sent to camp to run
into bullets."
"What! not all the pewter gone to be melted by rascal
rebels!"
Yes; my grandmother sent it, before she grew too ill
to do so."
"Sent it away! What robbery! what shameless rob-
bery of me! She had no right!-and sent it to rebels!-
for shame on her!"
I had never seen Bessie angry. She is merry, careless,
and witty. But now her eyes flashed, and she was in a
fierce rage. Her father sat by, saying nothing, but up I
spoke with spirit :
"Shame to you, Bessie Warley! Was it not her own?
and had she not a right to give it to a holy cause?—and
God's blessing will go with it. Nor is it just nor decent
for you to revile the dead!"
And with that, bursting out crying, I rushed off up
stairs, and putting a shawl of grandmother's about me, I
sat in the window looking over the snowy fields, and cry-
ing, and bemoaning grandmother, and pitying myself,
until up came Nervey, who had heard all.
"Nebber min', honey," says she, "don't cry for dat
ebil chile. Dis nigger nebber git her no dinner, see ef I
do. I don't 'long to her, an' I nebber do one han's turn
more for no such ebil-minded trash.”
But before I could reprove Nervey, as my grandmother
would have done, we heard Mr. Warley's voice raised
high:
"Have done fretting about that pewter! You can't
156
PATRIOT AND TORY:
gather spilled milk. And when these rebels are got
under, you can have your pick of what silver belongs to
John Hancock or the Quinceys. But I tell you, daughter
Bessic, it is always well to have two strings to your bow;
one never can tell what may turn up. If this rebel side
does get the best of the quarrel, what will you do unless
you have friends among the rebels to say a word for you
or take you into their houses? Now, your only chance
of that is in these Temples. I beg you treat your cousin
Abbey with more respect. Go, and apologize. A few
words are a small matter to waste, and you may see the
time when those few words will be all your chance of a
home."
Just here Nervey heard a squalling among her chickens,
and ran down to them; and before long I heard Bessie
coming. I looked out of the window; she stood in my
door, saying, in a cold tone:
"Cousin Abbey, perhaps I was over hasty."
It was as the voice of Mr. Warley, counseling her to
apologize for selfishness' sake, and I turned to say,
angrily, that she need not give herself the trouble,
when suddenly Bessie relented on her own account, and,
springing to me, she clasped me in her arms, kissed me,
calling herself all manner of names for having hurt my
feelings, and bidding me never hced, for hereafter she
would be the best cousin that ever could be heard of.
Now this was not Mr. Warley's policy, but my own fickle,
easy, kindly cousin Bessie; so I made friends with her,
and went and persuaded Nervey to get dinner. Bessic
was very good until to-day. She talked nicely about
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
157
1
grandmother, knit, reeled while I spun, and did not say a
word amiss about the Colonies.
To-day she looked into grandfather's empty study, and
said she was glad the books had been carried off, for
doubtless they were full of hobgoblins, and awful threats
to the wicked, and doleful tales of Cotton Mather. I told
her they were good books indeed, and grandfather could
have given me nothing I liked better. I was spinning,
and Bessie ran to her room and came down with a book,
in marble paper covers. She bid me knit, or do some-
thing quiet, and she would read to me, for she was like
to die of ennui in this waste of snow. The book she had
in hand was called "Amelia," written by one Mr. Field-
ing; and she had not read above three pages in it when I
begged her to stop, saying it was not snch a book as my
grand-parents would have allowed me to read.
True," said Bessie, "'tis a novel; but why so fastidi-
ous all at once? Did I not read you two novels when I
visited here?"
"Yes," I said; "that is so; and I know it was wrong in
me to hear them. But though I did thus deceive my
grand-parents while they were alive, I am sorry for it,
and I shall not disobey their rules now that they are dead.
What would a young maid, left alone in the world as I
am, come to if she despised the teachings of those who
had been her only friends and guides?"
"Dear! dear!" cries Bessie, "what an old-fashioned
creature you are! Surely I do not know what you
wanted with a grandmother, being quite capable of being
grandmother to yourself."
66
158
PATRIOT AND TORY:
At that I burst out crying, and Bessie wished herself in
Boston, and Mr. Warley said we two were the plague of
his life; so I came here to the kitchen fire to write this
diary, and Mr. Warley and Bessie sit in the other room
playing cards. Ah! what a changed house is this! I
used to think when we were all here, before great-grand-
father died, that surely those angels whom Elisha's young
men saw at Dothan must be encamped in shining ranks
about this long, red farm-house, with its high roof, its
sheltering trees, its peaceful fields-for here were always
love to God and love to man, and good works, and days
begun and closed with prayers. But now-now it is al-
ways quarreling and card-playing, and Bessie sings
French love-songs, and her father says very swearing
words, like "bless my soul," and "confound me "—which
I ought never to have written, only they got down be-
fore I thought; and as for me, I quarrel with Bessie, and
often hate Mr. Warley, and think myself very much
better than them both! How I wish it were spring, so
that I might go to my Uncle John. But Mr. Warren is
away, being Speaker of Assembly, and here I must stay
for a time.
APRIL 28, 1776.
Only the day after that last writing we got in this
house such a change for peace as I would not have be-
lieved possible. A new minister had been got for this
congregation, and being a young man and a bachelor, the
deacons asked that he might have his home here with us,
and Bessie bid her father agree. He is indeed a godly
young man; also a learned and a handsome; and such a
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
159
•
change as he wrought here is most marvelous. The min-
ister is a great patriot; he is named Bowdoin ; he is from
the old Bowdoin family. Of course Mr. Warley, who is
ready to take precautions in case of the success of either
side in this war-who says he must have two strings to
his bow-will not resent and contradict any thing that
Mr. Bowdoin may say or do. I am not surprised at his
polite silence.
But Bessie puzzles me. She does not
come out fairly patriot, but she talks about loyalty, and
conscience, and duty, and both sides being her brothers.
But she has stopped the French songs, hidden the cards,
sews, and knits, and talks of housekeeping; and she has
also changed to me. She is very kind, but she always
calls me "child," and says I grow too fast. She affects
to be very much older than I am; and whereas once she
would have me set up for a young lady, now she says my
gowns are too long, and will not have my hair done like
her's; whereof I am glad, for she tortured me fearfully
with pins and powder. Bessie also began at once to go
regularly to church, and I think the sermons did her a
world of good, for soon she would have morning and eve-
ning worship, and read her Bible of Sundays; so I would
not wonder if Bessie became a very good woman now
that she is away from the temptations of Boston.
I liked Mr. Bowdoin very much also. He talked to
me of my grand-parents, and I know he is a godly and
patriotic man. I think Mr. Bowdoin is much in love with
Bessie; but though she is so very lovely to him, and in
all ways tries to please him, I make sure it is only the
pleasantness of her disposition and not a love for him;
11
160
PATRIOT AND
AND TORY:
for Bessie has often told me she has set her heart on
gayer life than here in a country parish.
Thomas Otis came to see us. He has at last left
school and got leave to join the army. He talks much
of what he will do; he will be as valiant as Samson or
David. He spent the day, and we went to all the places
where we have been together-to the orchard, the barn,
the mill, the swing, the shore. He went away at dusk.
I went with him to the gate, and gave him a bunch of
violets, and he kissed my hand, and said we would never,
never forget each other. When he was gone I went up
stairs and cried, for fear Thomas might be killed, or lest
he might forget me, as would not be wonderful. The
second day after came Richard Reid. He has been long
in the camp, and told us all about the taking of Boston.
The British officers had no idea of losing the city; they
relied on the superiority of their troops and on Washing-
ton's lack of powder. Many people had been allowed to
leave that city on account of the scarcity of provisions,
but very many who wanted to go were obliged to remain
because General Howe would not permit any valuables,
nor more than five pounds in money, to leave the city.
I had asked Bessie how they managed, and she told me
easy enough; their money was all gone, their plate had
been seized by their creditors, and she quilted her jewelry
into her petticoats. The Royal troops had showed no re-
spect to the good city. The South Meeting-house had
been turned into a riding-school. Brattle Street and
Hollis Street churches were used as barracks; the best
houses were burned; Crean Brush had been allowed to
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
161

1 U
mer Vill
Endi
Thin
TË. DHE
THE OLD MILL.
"We went to all the places where we have been together."
162
PATRIOT AND TORY:
pillage all houses and stores not belonging to Royalists;
Liberty Tree was cut into firewood, and Faneuil Hall was
converted into a neat theater. Some of the officers got
up a burletta to ridicule the
Americans. It was called
"Boston Bombarded," and
was jesting at the idea of
the patriots getting the city.
While they were playing it,
and the people were ap-
plauding, in ran a sergeant,
crying:
"The Yankees are attack-
ing our works!"
The spectators thought
this a part of the play, and clapped and shouted at the
man's fine acting, but stopped short when General Howe
started up, roaring:
"Officers! to your alarm-posts!

GATESTELPIS
SSCART
- S
KUL
00000
OODIE
FANEUIL HALL-BOSTON.
""
That broke up the play, and they never had a chance
to finish it. General Howe found that he could not hold
the city, and he and General Washington being equally
desirous to avoid bloodshed, the Royalists went out, one
Sunday morning, and the Americans then came in.
There was great joy in all Massachusetts, and soon great
sorrow, when people found their homes and public build-
ings ruined, and the North Chapel, the West Church
steeple, and the Prince's Library used for fuel. But this
is war! I said to Richard Reid:
·
"But how did you know all these doings in the city?”
C
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
163
"I was there," he replied.
"You? Why, you endangered your life?" cried Bessie.
"As well mine as another man's," he said, cooly. "I
am old enough to die; and General Washington needed
some one there.”
He then turned the conversation, for Richard Reid
neither talks about what he has done, nor what he will
do. He told us much about General Washington, and
we agreed that he must be the man of all others worth
the seeing. Mr. Reid quoted from the address of the
Legislature to the General:
"Go on, still go on, approved by heaven, revered by
all good men, and dreaded by tyrants. May future gen-
erations, in the enjoyment of that freedom which your
sword shall have established, raise the most lasting monu-
ments to the name of Washington."
Mr. Reid says that under the General's direction Boston,
within a week, returned to peace, and order, and industry;
wrecks were cleared away, trade was resumed, provisions
came in, the churches were opened, the Thursday evening
lecture was recommenced, and the General attended.
Bessie seemed much interested in all that Mr. Reid
said-as Desdemona, she asked this Othello to tell his
story again and again; so gracious indeed was she that
Mr. Bowdoin looked hurt. After Mr. Reid was gone
Bessie was very unkind. She said:
"Our Abbey is a sorry coquette for her age. There is
Mr. Reid, her admirer-"
I cried out: "Oh, Bessie! how can you say what is so
very untrue?"
!
164
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"And Thomas Otis, her sweetheart this three years'
so I ran crying out of the room; and after that Mr. Bow-
doin was more pleased with Bessie.
MAY 10, 1776.
By this time I was to have started for Philadelphia;
but yesterday I had a letter from my Uncle John Tem-
ple saying that one of his servants had been taken with
small-pox, and that I was not to come to him until all
danger of that disease had passed, so I am to wait longer.
But things go on better here since Mr. Bowdoin came.
He helps me with my studies; and I suppose it is being
in the lonely country that makes Bessie so industrious,
for as soon as I began with my books she began also,
and Mr. Bowdoin takes great pleasure in helping her.
I can scarcely realize that it is three years since I sat
here under the apple tree, where I am sitting now, and
great-grandfather was with me, and the uncles were com-
ing to keep the birthday, and grandfather and grand-
mother were alive and well. But now they are all gone,
and I am sixteen, and alone in the world.
All the Colonies are declaring themselves independent,
or intend to do so at once; and doubtless the Congress in
Philadelphia will announce an American nation—at least
Mr. Bowdoin says they will.
The Colonists have had some great success. In Caro-
lina, in February, they routed the Regulars, and got fif-
teen thousand pounds sterling, in gold, just from Eng-
land, and two chests of medicine, besides wagons, and
horses, and arms. New companies are being enlisted,
although the men are sure of hard fighting, poor fare,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
165
almost no clothes, and scarcely any pay. General Wash-
ington says it is this heroic self-sacrifice which assures
the triumph of the cause of freedom.
Last evening I went to see Hannah Dana. The Deacon
was feeble all winter, but his leg is mended at last, and the
rest has done him good, for now he is heartier than ever.
After I had spent some while with Hannah I prepared to
come home, and she walked with me until we came to
the Deacon's last field, lying next Isaiah Hooper's. Says
she:
"There is my best black hen! I know she is stealing
a nest."
"Then it is on the top of your fodder-stack,” I replied,
"for I saw her there as I came by; so, Hannah, do you
stop here and I will climb the stack and bring you the
eggs. How does the silly bird expect to bring chickens
down from such a place?"
As there was no ladder nigh, we laid two fence-rails
against the stack, and I, being nimble at climbing,
essayed to go up, when we heard Deborah Samson cry-
ing to us, and saw her beckoning us.
"Let her come," said Hannah, and as I climbed the
stack she signed to Deborah, who ran over the fields at a
great pace. I found no eggs; but as I searched the top
of the stack I found a bundle done up in a square of
unbleached linen, and forthwith I threw it down, and,
coming after it, undid the knots, and lo! a man's new
suit of coarse fustian, some shirts, socks, and kerchiefs;
also a powder-horn and belt-and all the articles were
Hannah cried, "What's this?" And just as I
new.
166
PATRIOT AND TORY:
said, "I saw exactly a bit of this fustian lying on the
floor of Deborah Samson's room last week," Deborah
herself had climbed the last fence and stood by us. I
cried, "Just look!" But Hannah suddenly picked up
the coat and held it up by Deborah, then said, “Oh!
that's it, is it?” and I, turning, saw the two looking into
each other's eyes-Deborah with her lips firm set, but
unabashed, and Hannah nothing reproving. I blushed
in Deborah's behalf, and screamed:
"Oh! you can not mean it! Never do it!"
"When is it to be?" asked Hannah.
"To-morrow night," said Deborah. "And now, as you
have found me out, you shall cut my hair like Joseph's.
And promise me, both of you, that no matter what stories
rise about me-no matter how evil or how false-you
will neither of you open your mouths to tell where went
Deborah Samson. You stole my secret, in a way, now
keep it!"
We promised; but I essayed to beg her to alter her
mind.
"Talk to yon setting sun!" said Deborah.
"And what name will you have?-trust me with that,"
said Hannah, "so that two at least may weep when a
patriot falls."
"Robert Shirtliffe," she replied. "Hannah, you could
do this as well as I. Let us go together, and one can
protect the secret of the other.”
66
No," said Hannah; "that can not be my way. I
respect my father and my mother."
“And I have none to respect!" cried Deborah, sharply,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
167
"so this can be my way. And having nothing else to
give the country, which is the sole object of my love, I
give her a strong arm and an unerring shot!"
g
And now - this
evening-Hannah

TESTING INTERESE
is to cut Deborah's
hair, and Deborah,
in her soldier's dress,
with a musket on her
shoulder, is to set out
for camp, and will
enlist for the war.
I admire Deborah's
zeal, but I think her
way of showing it is
wrong. But Han-
nah and I will for-
ever keep her secret,
and I shall always pray God to protect poor Deborah.
JUNE 1, 1776.
My uncle has written for me to come to him at Phila-
delphia. My boxes are to be sent by a sailing vessel
from Plymouth, but as so many coasting vessels are cap-
tured now, it seems safer on land than by sea. And I
am to go with the colored people, and some one who will
be found to go with me, on horseback.
Hannah Dana has left home. She took a wagon-load
of stores and set off for camp, and she will stay with
Joseph so long as she can find work to do in mending,
cooking, or in nursing the sick. Joseph is with General
DEBORAH SAMSON AS
66
ROBERT SHIRTLIFFE."
168
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Putnam. General Washington has gone to Philadelphia.
Our army in Canada is said to be ruined; but we have
had a victory at sea, and captured a ship with fifteen
hundred barrels of

MDF/
UBERTY!!!
D.
as if every body in
the world could be
shot with fifteen
hundred pounds of
powder but Mr.
Bowdoin says not.
I feel very, very
sorry about Mr.
Bowdoin. I wish
he had never come
here. I am afraid
Bessie is acting a
very wicked part.
Nervey called my
attention to it first;
and though I bade
her be quiet, I no-
ticed things afterward which I did not before. Mr. Bow-
doin loves Bessie with all his heart-not the real Bessie,
but the Bessie that is outside; the pretty-looking Bessie,
and a heart Bessie, which he has fancied her to be, and
which she has pretended to be. I dare not set down all
BESSIE AND MR. BOWDOIN.
powder. I should
think that would
be enough to end
the war. It seems
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
169
her deceits; one is enough. She pretended to him either
that she gave away our pewter to be melted, or that she
cheerfully assented before it was done. Not before me
did Bessie say this, but Mr. Bowdoin, in his admiration
of his made-up Bessie, said to me:
"How noble of your cousin to let her household ware
go off to be melted into bullets! Few young women
could cheerfully make such a sacrifice.”
I stood dumb. I could not bring myself to contradict,
and Bessie not there; and yet I felt like a liar, standing
silent. Well, one morning last week, I sat reading in
the common room, and Mr. Bowdoin and Mr. Warley
came in talking, and not caring for my presence.
"Well, sir," said Mr. Warley, "I neither consent nor
refuse. I am not of a mind to have my daughter marry
just now, but I shall not decide for her; I can not be re-
sponsible for a girl of her age."
Mr. Bowdoin presently went off to Plymouth, and Mr.
Warley, seeing Bessie in the garden, called her, and
began:
((
Daughter Bessie, you are going too fast and too far.
Have you given up your ideas of a British officer, that
you have said you would marry a Yankee parson?"
Bessie pirouetted about on her toes, swept a curtesy,
and said:
"Please your honor, I did not say when I would marry
him; and perhaps I shall change my mind before the
time comes. Besides, the one lesson which your paternal
wisdom has taught me is to have two strings to my bow."
"Oh! that's it, is it?" said Mr. Warley, looking posi-
170
PATRIOT AND TORY:
tively relieved. "I thought you had nearly fixed your
mind on Captain Banks?”
66
Captain Banks is not here," said Bessie, "and one
must have some interest and excitement in the country,
or one would petrify."
66
"Bessie Warley! how can you talk so of the worst
form of deceit? If you deliberately try and break the
heart of such a good man as that God will judge you!"
"Your Puritanism has not made you civil," said Mr.
Warley to me, angrily. And Bessie first laughed, and
then called me jealous and spiteful. I felt so grieved for
the just man who must be cheated by these two, and hurt
in his best feelings, that I took opportunity to suggest to
him that Bessie was not in heart a patriot, but was re-
solved, if possible, to marry a British officer and go to
England; but he said, coldly:
"Mr. Warley said that you were not friendly to your
cousin because she has the farm. Now, as it is her's by
right, you should not feel enmity nor jealousy; and I
could not believe that you did, until now that you have
shown it."
The cruel, hasty, blind, unreasoning man that he is!
Now let Bessie make a fool of him if she wants to. He
will not be warned, nor use any prevent on-let him take
the consequences!
JUNE 14, 1776.
I have been very unhappy since my last writing. I
have no one to say a word to of any of my troubles.
Mr. Warley hates me; Mr. Bowdoin thinks I am deceit-
.ful, evil, jealous of Bessie, and a slanderer of my cousin;
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
171
and Bessie, while she petted and spoke nicely to me, was
just amusing herself and showing off before Mr. Bow-
doin, whom she pleases her vanity by fooling into a
belief that she will marry him "as soon as father is
reconciled to the thought of losing her, and the troubles
of the country are settled; she can not marry in the
midst of civil war!" Very nice for Bessie, who can
dance, and flirt, and play cards in the midst of civil
war!
On the 11th Mr. Warley got some letters, and hé
came home from Plymouth and began talking to Bessie
in his loud fashion, that can be heard all over the house.
Mr. Bowdoin was away for two days. Mr. Warley cries
out:
"I tell you, daughter Bessie, we'd best go back to
Boston. This affair with the parson is going too far.
The rebels are not going to have the war their own way,
and you can do better than marry a Yankee preacher.
If we go to Boston we will be in at the death, and I may
get the Hancock mansion, or some other. The king is
sending over the best troops in Europe, and this war will
be closed up and these rebels punished in a six-months.
My letters assure me of it. You have taken possession
of this farm, and we can rent it, perhaps. Let us to Bos-
ton. The parson can do that much for us to look after
our interests here and get us a tenant if he can.
Let us
be off, and perhaps we will go to New York before
long."
At the word of New York, Bessie was wild to go; so
they patched up some story, and yesterday away they
172
PATRIOT AND TORY:
1
went, leaving poor Mr. Bowdoin to lament for them, hunt
them up a tenant, and live in the full conviction that I
am Bessie's most artful enemy. But what odds? I am
to be off to-morrow. I wrote to Mr. James Warren,
sending him my uncle's letter bidding me come and say-
ing that he would find homes and work for our black
people. Mr. Warren was looking for some one to take
me to Philadelphia, when so it happened that Deacon
Dana must go, and I am to go in his care, and to-mor-
row we set off. The journey will be safe enough, for
roads and weather are good, all is quiet along the way,
and if one keeps clear of companies of soldiers all is
well. My goods are off from Plymouth by ship. I hope
I shall ever see them again!
JULY 10, 1776.
We were up early on the morning of the 15th of June—
indeed, before daylight. Mr. Bowdoin is to stay at the
farm for the present, and the old woman who keeps the
house for him got us a breakfast. After breakfast I stood
in the door looking at the garden, the well, the old apple-
tree, as they shone out in the pink dawning, and the tears
came into my eyes for the life I was leaving forever, and
the cold, lonely life that was to come-so it seemed to me
that morning. Mr. Bowdoin came to me and spoke very
kindly. He said he knew God would take care of me and
bless me.
He also hoped he had not spoken too harshly
to me, but it was part of his duty to reprove faults, and
he had felt obliged to speak of the only ones he had ever
seen in me-jealousy of my cousin because of the farm.
Well of all things! All my real faults-and, as my grand-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
173
mother said, they are many-this good man could not see;
and, being enlightened by Mr. Warley, he saw the one
fault I do not possess: jealousy of Bessie. I am sure I
love Bessie for what is pretty, and sweet, and amusing in
her, and I only dislike her faults. As to the farm, I am
very glad it is hers, as she tells me it is her all.
Mr. Warren had made all arrangements for me. He
had sent me a good, strong, easy-moving horse and a nice
saddle. The saddle had a large bag, wherein I packed
what I needed to carry for the journey. I had also a
great cape and a hood strapped where I could easily get
them, and a big pocket at my waist. The horse I rode
was bought to be kept by my uncle; but the colored peo-
ple had two big farm-horses, which will be sold for army
use. Pompey being very short in the body and long-
legged, and carrying his legs stuck widely out as if he
had no knee-joints, looked so queerly that I could scarcely
ride for laughing. Such a picture as was Pompey: his
feet very big, his legs very thin, his coat lined with red
and a world too short in waist and sleeves, a quantity
of white shirt with flapping ruffles, and his saddle-bags so
stuffed, and such a pack tied behind him, that his horse
looked like a dromedary with a hoe thrust forth on each
side. Moreover, Pompey thought every tree a soldier and
every sound a shot; his teeth chattered, and he was like
to fall from his horse from very fear. On the other horse
rode that imp Peter, dressed to match his father, save that
his breeches were green, and he had huge brass buckles.
Peter was in as great fear as Pompey; but the boy had a
more immediate cause for part of his terrors, namely, his
174
PATRIOT AND TORY:
mother, who rode on a pillion behind him, and vowed
that she would "punch 'e on 'e head ef he showed a white
fedder." But Nervey herself was a sight to cheer the un-
happy. Besides being short and prodigiously fat, she had
not been on a horse for years, and she hugged Peter about
the waist until he was breathless, and she showed several
"white fedders" by screaming whenever her horse made a
fast step; however, fortunately the beast was too burdened
to be frisky. Nervey was dressed in her best, with a hat
of her own braiding; and her gown being short, and never
in place, she showed a pair of stout legs to the knee, well
clad in blue hose of her own knitting. Peter carried a
basket on his arm; and crouched on a bundle strapped in
some fashion behind, Nervey has her favorite cat, which
carry she would; and in a great pocket in her apron was
a yearling cock, which she had raised from the egg, and
could not part with; so this bird crowed in a constrained
fashion at intervals to revive his spirits and our own.
This was our procession, headed by the Deacon on a fine
roan-the Deacon being clad in decent homespun, having
a broad-brimmed hat and well-stuffed saddle-bags, and
going steadily forward in deep meditation-while I came
next, followed by Nervey and her penates, and Pompey
bringing up the rear in a state of great uneasiness and
confusion.
Our road lay from Plymouth to Taunton, thence to
Providence, thence on to Norwich; from Norwich to Had-
dam, and after that to New Haven; from New Haven as
direct as possible to White Plains; then, avoiding New
York, to Newark, and by way of Trenton to Philadelphia.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
175
This was a wonderful route to me, who had never left
my home within my recollection. We were on the way
two Sundays, when we tarried over at taverns, and duly
attended. meeting. Our only rainy day was one of these
Sundays. Our horses were in excellent condition, and we
met with no misadventure, thanks to the kind care of
God over us.
We were twenty days on our journey, and
each morning before setting out, and each evening before
retiring, the Deacon had us all together for worship. By
degrees the fears of Nervey of falling, and of Pompey
and Peter of soldiers, wore off, and they proceeded with
much content.
But I must set down some two or three facts about our
journey.
On all our road we were constantly meeting parties of
men going to the different camps, or messengers riding to
and from Congress, and wagons loaded with provisions
and other things needful for the soldiers. We stopped
over night always at the public house where we had
chanced to come by our day ride, and full often we were
the only guests. Then the black folk went to the kitchen,
and I stayed with the hostess and her daughters, and the
Deacon sat in the tap-room with the host and a man or
two of the townspeople who had dropped in, and they
drank cider betimes, and discussed the affairs of the coun-
try, and also theology; and the Deacon was especially
weighty on the iniquity of our whole nature, and on Ad-
am's transgression. There was no lack of good fare, and
I would the men in camp were served so well. At supper
we were given cider, tea (of hyperion,) boiled and roast
12·
176
PATRIOT AND TORY:
meat, cakes and pie, for fourteen pence each; our break-
fast would be milk, tea, corn porridge, bacon, eggs and
bread, for ten pence each. It was our way to take a wallet
of food and tarry by the roadside for our dinner, resting
for an hour or so. I had not known that the Deacon
could talk much, he being a man of few words, save when
stirred up by politics or theology; nevertheless he made
himself gracious and companionable to me, and told me
much of his young days, and of his father's early life;
also of his conversion, when he was twenty, and of his
courtship and marriage. By this talk he beguiled many
long hours.
About one mile before we entered Providence, we came
upon a camp of recruits.. The officer in command was
known to the Deacon, and they delayed to exchange a few
words. A knot of soldiers were pleased to make game
of Nervey and her cat, boy, and cock. The officer
checked them, and Nervey was offended at them, and on
her dignity, and Pompey so quaked with fear that the lid
of our dinner-basket rattled amain. I turned aside and
hid my eyes under my hat, not liking so many to be
gazing curiously at me, when suddenly I saw, leaning on
a musket, a handsome young soldier, and lo! it was no
other than-Deborah Samson. We recognized each other
at the same time, and Deborah turned aside in great
trouble, then looked at me again. I beckoned her:
66
Soldier, would you bring me a drink?" She made
haste and handed me a cup of water. I took it, saying
softly: "Do not betray the cause of your country. I
never betray any one who has trusted me."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
177.
She took back the cup with a bow. No one had heard
me, but one soldier said:
66
'Ha, Bob, 'tis thy good looks has helped thee."
And here Nervey felt called on to interfere:
"Now, Missey Abbey, don' you hab nottin' to say to
dey strange people. Your grandmother nebber like dat
nohow."
FIFV
And just then the Deacon rode on, to my great relief.
As I said, we were twenty days on our journey, count-
ing the Sabbath, when we rested. It was on the morn-
ing of the fourth day of July that we came to̟ Phila-
delphia.
FIT
בד
300
I BERITELY MUFFLER MATIIKKA METILLANI MUUTTI
· pries
SUOM MADLADALLION
THE STATE-HOUSE IN 1776.
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My Uncle John lives on Chestnut Street, about a
square below the State House. As we entered the city
we found men, women, and children all hurrying one
way. Pompey cried out that the "Regulars were making
a fight," and was for fleeing by the way he had just
come, but Nervey conjectured that it was a fire, and
178
PATRIOT AND TORY:
wanted to hurry on to see it. We rode on, such a queer
spectacle that many of the hurrying people paused to
look and smile; tired horses, stuffed saddle-bags, deacon
in broad-brimmed hat, young maiden, Pompey, Peter,
pillion, Nervey, bag, basket, cock, and cat, for surely
Nervey had brought all her possessions safely through
the journey. Finally the deacon called to know whither
people went, and why, and one replied, "To the State
House, to hear independence proclaimed." So, it lying
in our way, and in our wishes, we pressed on also, and
were presently on the outskirts of the greatest crowd
which ever I had seen. The State House seemed to me
a very magnificent building, and my head fairly whirled
at the idea that the chiefest men of the nation were now
within considering of that most weighty question, whether
we Colonies should be free. I would that Mr. Warren
and Dame Mercy had been there with me!
All eyes
were toward one place; all cars waited for the one sig-
nal; the Congress was sitting with locked doors, and the
people without knew that the thirteen Colonies, through
their representatives, were arguing our Declaration of In-
dependence of Britain. Suddenly the bell in the State-
house steeple rang out a joyous peal, and the multitude.
shouted aloud. Other bells caught up the sound; guns
were fired; men shook hands; women kissed each other.
and cried; children were bidden to remember what took
place this day, and over all the sea of faces shone the
light of a confident joy brighter than shines the sun on
the waves of Plymouth Bay. Then one standing near
my horse's head leaned forward and asked Deacon Dana
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
.
179
did he know what words were cast upon the bell that
rung in the State-house steeple, and the Deacon said nay.
He told him: "The words are these, Proclaim liberty

.
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KATRAMAT
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THE HOUSE IN WHICH THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE WAS WRITTEN.
throughout all the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof.''
And all at once I recalled what my great-granfather had
told me of the day when he, a youth of sixteen, stood in
the High Street of Edinburgh and heard William pro-
claimed king; and with the memory of that fair May day,
and that good old man, who is not here to listen to this
new proclaiming of liberty, I bent my head to my horse's
neck and cried.
#
66
Come, then," said the old deacon, "the child is
weary." And as
And as we could not thread the throng, we
passed about another street, and so arrived at my uncle's
door.
180
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Now, as we drew near I saw one on the stone portico,
looking toward the State-house steeple. She was some-
what tall and stately, so that she might be one's model
for a queen, with her head held up, and her shoulders
thrown back, as would have pleased my grandmother, her
face was so beautiful that it seemed nothing in color, or
feature, or in shape could be more lovely; she turned as
Deacon Dana lifted me from my horse, and hastening to
meet me, she took me in her arms with a welcome both
like that of a mother and a sister, and so I knew that
this was my eldest cousin, Judith, and that here in her I
had found that woman who was brave, and strong, and
deep of heart, and yet who was fair and gracious like an
angel, as I had often hoped that I might see.
Then with her arm around me, my cousin still lingered,
looking toward that bell of freedom, and could not for a
time leave the sight of the happy
multitude shouting at a nation's
birth. But while she looked, she
sent for servants to care for the
horses, the luggage, and the black
people; and she told the Deacon
what had been the recent doings of
Congress.
But now as I write, Cousin Ju-
dith looks in at my door, and shakes
her head, which means that I must sit up no longer to-
night, and I must leave all further writing for to-morrow.

E MIXIDE
FLEVXXVX PROCLAIM LIBERT
NE IN PHILADA BY ORDEROF-THE A
PASS & STOW
PHILADA
MDCCLL
INDEPENDENCE BELL.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
181
CHAPTER VIII.
JULY 14, 1776.
ΜΕ
Y Cousin Judith is the mistress of her father's house,
her mother being dead. My uncle has a son Charles,
older than Judith, a daughter, Susannah, who is seven-
teen, and a young ward of fifteen, named Hester. A
teacher comes to the house to give lessons to Susannah,
Hester, and me, in French and on the harpischord; the
girls are also greatly desirous of being taught dancing,
but my uncle, being of Puritan training, will not hear
thereof. My uncle has a large library, indeed of several
hundred volumes, and each morning when the household
is in order, we go to the parlor with Judith, and while we
work, one of us reads for half an hour, and then another,
and so the third, and Cousin Judith questions us, and
makes pleasant and instructive remarks.
We all practice two hours a day on the harpsichord,
and study our French for one hour. Sometimes Judith
allows us to read poetry, as Milton's Comus, or Samson
Agonistes, or Mr. Pope's Dunciad, but she does not think
much poetry to be good for young people. My uncle
gave us to read a new book that he had from London
through Mr. Seaforth; 'tis "Winter Evening Confer-
ences," by Doctor Goodman. He puts us at this because
he thinks Susannah, and Hester, and I are likely to be
G
182
PATRIOT AND TORY:
led off by the gay young friends in this city to idle pur-
suits, and gaieties which are unbecoming. My Cousin
Judith keeps Pompey and Nervey in her own family, and
hath found a place for Peter not far off. I have not gone
much out into the city, but it seems to me as fine as Bos-
ton almost, and the trees are large and lovely, and make
me think of the coun-
Doylestown
try, but I miss the
sea and the salt, brisk
breezes that blow over
the waves.
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When I first en-
tered my uncle's
house, and saw how
beautiful and how wise
my Cousin Judith is,
and how pretty and
witty, like Bessie, only
truer, the younger girls are, and how fine were the clothes
and furnishings, money seeming abundantly plenty, it ap-
peared to me that every one under this roof must be mar-
velously and perfectly happy. Also, when I saw my Cousin
Judith standing in the portico with eyes intent on the
State-house, and face of joy at hearing that bell proclaim-
ing freedom, how could I tell at what a cost to Judith
that bell was ringing, and can I now guess how great in
the end that cost may grow to be? Moreover I do not
think Judith realized it herself. My uncle is good, and
wise, and stately, and liberal; my two young companions.
are bright and pleasant; while my Cousin Charles is a
Salem
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ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
183
young man who would quite distract my Cousin Bessie-
until she saw another. But my Cousin Judith is the
center of this home. I am sure she must write books.
I have no doubt that these hours when she is shut in her
own room she is

writing those
wonderful books
which are pub-
lished in Eng-
land.
10.
Mr. Seaforth
lives but two
doors from my
uncle, and the
friendship be-
tween the two
families is close
indeed, for Mr.
Seaforth has but
two children. Henry, the son, is engaged to be married
to my Cousin Judith, and Annie, the daughter, is to be
the wife of my Cousin Charles. And now between these
families, so united in heart and life, comes this war-for
Mr. Seaforth and his family are just as strong, consistent,
and conscientious Royalists as my uncle's family are Pa-
triots.
INDEPENDENCE HALL.
m
Mr. Seaforth and his son Henry were in New York
when the Declaration of Independence was proclaimed.
They had been there from the 20th of June, and only
came home on the 12th of this month. We have had
184
PATRIOT AND TORY:
some strange scenes here. Since the Declaration every one
sees war to be certain, and enlisting soldiers for the war
is going on every-where. My Cousin Charles has until
now not felt himself needed in the army. He is very
important to his father in their business, and on Annie
Seaforth's account of course he could not readily enter
the army. But from the 4th of July he has been very
much preoccupied in mind, and has hardly eaten or slept.
His room is above mine, and I heard him pacing up and
down for hours in the night. I felt such pity for him
that I could not sleep. Judith watched him without a
word, but just as his anxiety grew did hers, and one
morning as she came into the breakfast-room where he
sat with his head on his hands, he cried out to her in a
pitiful way: "Help me, Judith! Advise me." And she
answered: "I can not-you are deciding for us both,"
and then she ran to her room, and did not come down
for a long while. On the morning of the 12th, Charles
went out as usual, early, and before long Annie Seaforth
came in, and went with Susannah into a little room off
the parlor, where some flowers were kept. The door
between this room and the parlor was open, and Hester
and I were there sewing with Judith, when in rushed
Charles, looking very excited, and crying, "Judith, I
have done it! I have enlisted for the war, and am to
raise a company. I could not withhold my arm from my
country in her need-but, oh, what will Annie say?"
Annie had heard him, and she was already standing in
the door between the two rooms, with her face as white
as the dead. She and Charles stood looking at each other
·
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
185
for a moment and then she said, "Oh, Charles, will
you be a rebel, and fight against my king?" Charles
replied, "Annie, I must be a patriot, and fight for my
country."
Annie turned away her face, she was too heart-broken
to cry. Charles went close to her and said, "Will you
hate me now, Annie?" Susannah put her arm around
her. Annie said, "I can not hate you, Charles-but-
but"-then she could say no more, and she turned as if
to go away. Charles offered to go with her to her home,
but she said she would rather have Susannah.
It was a dreary day. We all felt as if a great sorrow
hung over us; and though Judith kept us to our lessons
and work, we had no heart in them, and Charles went
away and did not return until 5 o'clock.
At 6 came Mr. Seaforth and his two children, and we
all gathered in the parlor. Mr. Seaforth said:
“In truth, friend Temple, this is an ill-judged motion
of these Colonies. They shut the door of conciliation
with the King, and in the evil ways of rebellion draw on
them the whole anger of Britain. I could hardly believe
the thing possible when I heard that Mr. Washington
had had the Declaration read to all his soldiers—whom
I do not call rebels out of spite or contempt, but because
it expresses a fact, as I look at it, and I can see it in no
other light."
"My good Harry," said my uncle, "I conceive the
cause of the Colonies to be the most righteous in the
world. We contend for the inalienable rights and liber-
ties of men. Not we, but the King, are contumacious.
186
PATRIOT AND TORY:
And by the help of wise and valiant men like General
Washington, please God, we shall succeed."
"We have often argued this matter," said Mr. Seaforth,
"and we are no nearer agreeing. We have often said,
John, that nothing shall break our friendship, nor shall
this civil war. I would, for very friendship's sake, go
over to your side if I could; but my conscience is clearly
for loyalty, and rebellion is to me a sin as black as mur-
der; therefore I can not rebel. Like Luther, I must say:
'Here stand I, I can not do otherwise: God help me.'
999
"Why, Harry," said Uncle John, "that word of Luther
is my watchword, and by it I am put on a far different
platform than you-even on the cause of the Colonies.
I tell thee, Harry, yon stout old German scattered seed
more widely than he knew; and this that you call rebel-
lion and I call the cause of righteousness, is a part of
his harvest. That seed that he planted was carried to
England, and thence being transmitted to America finds
in these Colonies a most congenial soil, so that we can
type it as the kingdom of heaven. It was 'the least of
all seeds, but when it is sown it groweth up and becometh
greater than all herbs, and shooteth out great branches,
so that the fowls of the air may lodge in the shadow of
it.' I tell thee, Harry, our children's children shall see
this land a refuge for all the oppressed."
Mr. Seaforth shook his head.
Mahak
." "Tis dreaming, 'tis hopeless, John. How will you
succeed? Only ruin is before you. Men, money, dis-
cipline-all are wanting. You patriots are brave-brave
in an ill cause.
•
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGÒ.
187
·
"As to the men," returned my uncle, "they are plenty―
not less than two hundred thousand capable of bearing
arms. As for money, the resources of all the people will
be laid on the altar of liberty. There is Robert Morris
will give his fortune; and they shall have mine to the
last shilling. And more than the money, and dearer
than the money, they must have-even my son. Believe
me, Harry, it is not liking to cross your wishes or those
of your family, but it is on the lad's heart as duty to
serve his country as a soldier."
5
Annie was looking out of the window. I knew she
was only doing this that her tears might be unperceived,
and I, sitting near her, softly took her hand for sympa-
thy's sake.
"In truth, my poor John," said Mr. Seaforth, "your
money may as well go to the Colonies, if your support
and mind go with them; for in the end all that you had
would only be confiscated by Britain. You have said that
your daughter shall marry my son, and Annie shall be
wife to Charles, and I will not withdraw from it; but
little did I think that first these two lads must stand in
opposite armies! For truth is, John, since the King has
called on all loyal men to join his standard I dare not
hold back my son from the cause of his sovereign--aye,
I must go myself, were I not too old."
Judith grew a little paler and looked quickly at Henry
Seaforth; and Henry looked to the full as unhappy as
Charles. There was a silence, and then Mr. Seaforth
said:
"I follow my convictions of duty, and I know that you
•
188
PATRIOT AND TORY:
do the same-I respect while I regret your course.
But
now, friend John, I know thy proud spirit, and I come
here to take time by the forelock. Let us enter into a
compact. This war shall not disturb the relations of
these young people. And there is another thing: promise
me that if your cause fails, and your property is con-
fiscated, thereafter we shall all be one family, and you
will share my purse like a brother-nay, like myself!"
At these words Uncle John half shook his head.
"To the agreement about our children, Harry, I say
amen with all my heart; but as to the property and the
purse—"
"Why, man," cried Mr. Seaforth, "you say the Colo-
nies will succeed, so the promise for you is a safe one—
My uncle's face brightened suddenly.
"Look you, Harry, if I promise that to you will you
enter into like treaty with me? If your side loses will you
share my home and purse?
"Aye, aye,” said Mr. Seaforth, as readily as might be;
for he thinks the sun can as readily fall from heaven as
the King's party be loser.
"As for the young people," said my uncle, "let them
make treaties for themselves. But here, you and I will
have this down in black and white, duty signed and wit-
nessed, that if the Colonies win the day, and your prop-
erty is confiscated, you will, without demur, use my home
and my purse until you are on your feet again."
"Aye," said Mr. Seaforth, "that will do well if, for
your part and agreement, you do fully pledge yourself to
the same."
22
""
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
189
So Hester was sent for my uncle's writing-desk, and
straightway those two old friends wrote out the said agree-
ment, and made a copy for each, and duly it was signed,
we all setting our names as witnesses; and each of them
feels assured that his party will be the victor, and that he
has entered into a compact not for the benefit of himself,
but of his friend!
My Cousin Judith and Henry Seaforth were to have.
been married next winter, and Charles and Annie in an-
other year, for Mr. Seaforth thinks Annie too young to
marry now; but this dreadful war has changed all their
plans. Judith says she can not marry a Royalist officer
(for Henry is to have a commission) while her own sym-
pathies are so entirely with the Colonists that she could
rejoice in none of her husband's triumphs, and sorrow for
none of her husband's defeats. Also, she can not marry
Henry now when he and her only brother are arrayed in
opposite armies, and either might be made a party to the
death of the other. She therefore says the marriage must.
be put off to the end of the war, whenever that may be (I
wish it would come to-morrow); and she will meanwhile
pray only for a speedy and honorable settlement of diffi-
culties, and for Henry's preservation. In this Judith does
not decide for herself alone; Annie Seaforth takes the
same views—and so this civil war comes to separate these
four, who have loved each other for years, have grown up
together, and have expected to be all in all to each other
all their lives. I asked Cousin Judith if she had ever
tried to persuade Henry to take part with the Colonists,
and she said no; that loyalty to the King of Britain was
-
-
190
PATRIOT AND TORY:
a matter of conscience with him; he had been trained in
it as part of his religion, and she should not respect
him if he could lightly cast it aside. So here, and in Mr.
Seaforth's, we are all
busy preparing to send
soldiers to two oppo-
site armies. When we

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Philadelphi。
Wilmington
NewCastle
Salom
E
WE ST
Delaware River
ARE BA
Delaware liver
Camden
20 30 40
1
NEW YORK
EAST
Raritan R
New Brunswick
JERSEY
50
Passaic R
Trenton
Burlington
Cape May
Newarko
Elizabethtowno
Newark
60
E
New York
Bergono
Middletown
Shrewsbury
Bro
70
Sandy Hook
LittleEyglar.
Great Bay
HudsonRiver
MAP OF THE JERSEYS.
ATLANTIC
N
OCE-
80 90
100
-41
-40
-39
have been in Mr. Sea-
forth's for a half-hour
I know that Judith
wished to take part in
the work they were do-
ing, yet would she not
lend one finger to fit
out an enemy to her
country, even though
that enemy is her lover.
However, she had one.
present for him, and
that was her Bible.
She took it to him the
night before he went
✔
away, and he gave her
his prayer-book — the
one his mother gave
him when he was confirmed in Mr. Duché's church. Henry
Seaforth went away first; he went to join the army under
Lord Howe, encamped on Staten Island. Charles did not
leave until three days later; he went into the Jerseys. It
was truly a sad morning, that of his going; and, like the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
223
British had been kept starving in horrible old hulks and
crowded prisons, deprived of air, exercise, and clean
clothing, until they were as skeletons, and too sickly
to go into ser-

vice; also,
many of them
are burned up
with fever, or
sinking under
consumptions.
Well, after long
delays, by va-
rious divisions,
some of these
unhappy he-
PRISON HULK, JERSEY.
roes-far more to be pitied than those who fell in
battle-were got out and sent, some of them (as were
able) to camp, some to their homes, and some, who were
too far from home, were carried here and there to towns,
or farms, to recover as they might, for money, and medi-
cines, and hospitals are wanting, and private charity is the
resource for these, who have laid down their lives for our
sakes. So it was that on the second day of this month, being
sent by Judith on an errand to Mistress Bache's, as I was
returning I saw a man like a skeleton sitting on the curb-
stone of the sidewalk, truly too feeble to proceed on his
way. His long hair was unkempt, his clothes ragged and
foul, his eyes sunken in his head. How I recognized him
I know not, unless, as grandfather often said, mine eyes
are sharper than others; but lo! it was no other than our
15
224
PATRIOT AND TORY:
old neighbor, Isaiah Hooper. The recognition came upon
me as a flash, and with it a picture of the morning when,
on old Maple, I rode to Mistress Brown's for tea, and
passed this Isaiah Hooper, cheery and stalwart, striding
through the fields with his sowing-bag at his waist, his
home, with wife and babes, lying safe behind him, and the
promise of plenty in all the smiling plain. So, springing
to his side, and but half able to speak his name, I began
crying like a baby. He looked up, a little light gleaming
in his faded eyes, and said:
66
Surely 'tis Abbey Temple."
And there was a sound in his hollow voice as if it did
him good to see a familiar face. But how should it?
Mistress Seaforth would have spoken sweet, kind, sooth-
ing words, and Judith would have seemed so strong and
brave that the very sight of her would have been succor.
Interpreting the thoughts of foolish me, who could but
stand crying, he said:
"Yes; this is what I am, after six months' captivity
dying, far from wife and children, if, indeed, I have any."
"Oh," sobbed I, "you have them. I but now heard
from the minister, who says all are well. And do not say
dying! My Uncle John, whom you have met, lives
near, and you will go with me, and we will nurse you,
and cure you. But-how can you go so far as two
squares?"
"I can do that," he said, and essayed to rise, and I
helped him, and, as he shook like an aspen, I had him
lean on my shoulder, and moved slowly. People turned
to stare after us, for I was neat, and dressed as became
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
225

MAANDEN
W
ALENGAN
WESE
Isaiah Hooper, striding through the fields with his sowing-bag at his waist."
་
226
L
PATRIOT AND TORY:
my station, and poor friend Hooper-wet, ragged, and
dirty-looked the beggar-man indeed. I think he would
have fallen, although my news of his family had been to
him as wine, and renewed in him a flash of vigor, but
when we had stumbled along about half our way, up
came my uncle, going to his dinner, and he understood
my story in a few words. So putting his arm around our
unfortunate, he almost carried him forward, and I ran
on to tell Judith, and have food and a bed prepared.
No one of us could think of eating our dinner until
Pompey and my uncle had given this "stranger within
their gates" a bath, and clean garments, and laid him in
bed, and Judith and Nervey had prepared wine-whey and
set a soup cooking for his after benefit; and thus tended
he fell asleep, Pompey remaining in his room, for in very
sooth we feared he would die even in his slumber.
It was several days before Isaiah Hooper recovered
sufficiently to tell his story. It seems that many of the
prisoners in the hulks being unfit for service, General
Washington could not exchange sound men for them, and
demanded rather that they should be released on parole;
and so at last it was offered to release Isaiah Hooper, but
he refused. He "would not pass his word not to fight
for his country so long as breath remained in his body."
At last six of the invalid prisoners were exchanged for a
certain corporal, and Isaiah Hooper being one of the six,
was set free at New Brunswick, where he got a little food,
and managed to get to the river by Trenton, where he found
a sailing-boat dropping down to Philadelphia. Sick, pen-
niless, homeless, hungry, he concluded to go to Philadelphia,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
227
where he hoped to get help and recover himself; but he
grew worse on the vessel, and being set ashore at the
city he staggered on, "feeling nearly crazed, and as if
God had forsaken him," until he was brought, half dead,
into our house, where, I am sure, he was doubly welcome.
as a suffering Christian and as a suffering soldier. I wrote
to his wife for him, and I gave him what news I had, for
Isaiah hath not been at home since that day I helped his
little daughter put up his luncheon for him when he set
out to Cambridge.
The conduct of Mistress Seaforth was worth notice.
As soon as she heard of our sick guest she must come
and see him; then she must bring him some slippers of
her own knitting and a gown which Henry had left home,
wherein he might sit up conveniently; then she would sit
by his bed and read the Psalms for the day, and often
would bring him a dish of posset, or jelly, or conserve,
made by herself; and so she ministered to him;—Isaiah,
grown gray, with a dark, rough, seamed face, his hands
large and horny, his voice hoarse from his cold on the
chest; and Mistress Seaforth, slender, fair, faded, small-
handed, delicate as a lily, and silver-voiced, consoling
and nursing the ex-captive. I met her. one morning
bringing a panado, and I said:
"All this for a rebel, dear madame?"
"Child," she answered, "he loses the rebel in the suf
ferer. But more, I see in him a victim of my own party;
and deeply I grieve that carelessness or cruelty, or the
necessary mischances of war, have caused them to reduce
a prisoner to so evil a case, and therefore I do my little
YA
228
PATRIOT AND TORY:
part to repair the wrong and relieve my king's cause
from ignominy." .
As Isaiah grew stronger he began to talk about going
back to the army, and Susannah said to him:
"Mr. Hooper, surely you have suffered quite enough.
Your time of enlistment is expired, why not go home,
and let others take their turn?"
But he said:
"No; the country needs us all, and I shall re-enlist for
the war. We must fight for our freedom to a man!”
"But you may be killed," urged Hester.
"And think
how long it is since you saw your wife and children."
Tears came into his eyes at mention of them: but he
said, resolutely:
·
"I will not see them until I can tell my sons that I
have helped purchase freedom, a free land,
a free land, a good future
for them. 'Tis better that they grow up fatherless and
free, than that we are all slaves. They have a good
mother, and she will teach them to use freedom hon-
estly."
"At least," said Judith, "you might go home for a six
months."
✔
"Spare me that temptation," he said. "My country
needs every hour of my health, and she shall have it.
Like Uriah, I can say, 'The Ark, and Israel, and Judah,
abide in tents: and my lord Joab, and the servants of my
lord, are encamped in the open fields: shall I, then, go to
mine house?""
And this is the man of whom once I questioned: could
such as he tillers of the fields, wearers of homespun-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
233

;
+4
STER
The 4th of July was celebrated with great rejoicings here."
234
PATRIOT AND TORY:
prepared a flag, which waved over our door, and we had
a strip of white linen stretched between the windows be-
low, with "Our Country" thereon, made of leaves and
fine vines.
Burgoyne is moving southward, and his progress from
Canada is marked
with Indian ravages,
captives, burnings,
tortues, scalpings.
Had we not a Her-
kimer to keep up our
hearts they would
sink with fear when
we hear the dolorous.
news from the val-
leys of the Oswego
and the Mohawk.
Some of the best
men from the other
armies have been de-
tached to go to General Gates, in the Northern Army, and
help him fight the Indians. One of the, companies thus
ordered off is that to which Thomas Otis belongs. I did
not know it at the time, but found it out by his coming
here. Some stores and clothes were needed from Phila-
delphia previous to marching, and three men and a cor-
poral came down, and Thomas was that corporal; and,
being in town, he came here and stayed one night; in-
deed, my uncle had his men come too, and we made beds
for them in the attic, and uncle fed them royally; also,

GENERAL BURGOYNE.
A
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
235
Judith gave them all socks, kerchiefs, shirts and towels;
also, uncle gave them some money, and a small Bible to
two whose Bibles were lost. Thomas Otis, having money
of his own, was very well dressed. He says he shall be
a sergeant soon, and so go on. Being brave he will rise
in rank, and before the close of the war he will be a
general.
The girls liked Thomas very much, and he told us
many stories of camp life while he stayed. Hester thinks
that Thomas is braver than Richard Reid, because he is
always the hero of his own stories. I do not judge be-
tween them. I am sure Richard is brave enough; but
perhaps he does not tell all that he does. After Thomas
was gone what does Hester do but say to Judith that
Thomas was my lover, which I denied. She then said:
66
'Why, then, do you not like him?”
"Oh, yes,” I said; "for a long while he was my only
playmate as a brother; for I had no brother nor sister."
"But he is not your brother," quoth Hester, "and
therefore if you like him he must be your lover."
"That is impossible," I said, "for I am only seventeen
this year."
"Girls of seventeen can have lovers," said Hester. "I
should like one, I know."
Then Judith interrupted us. She asked Hester did she
not see that there was another relation for a young lad to
stand in beside brother or lover, even friend. Also, she
said that as at seventeen girls were too young to marry,
so it should be too young for them to have lovers; and
that this playing at love was a frittering away and be-
236
PATRIOT AND TORY:
littling of our best sentiments; it was dwarfing to the
mind and enfeebling to the heart.."If," said Judith,
"you had a choice apple on a tree which you would have
grow to full perfection, you would not be going up to it
betimes and taking bites out, one here and one there.
If you did not quite destroy your apple in the operation
you would have no fair and perfect fruit. Why must you
spoil the full and perfect development of your young
hearts by taking bites out of them in this playing at love-
making? Again, it may be incredible to you how be-
tween seventeen and twenty-one your opinions and pref-
erences will change, so that what suited your hearts at
seventeen will come far short of them at twenty-one. By
playing at lovers too early, you may entangle yourself in
a way to be regretted hereafter, or you may be some time
the object of your own contempt that your preference
stooped so low.”
Now I could not endure that Judith should think me
other than I am, so when we were alone I said to her:
"Indeed Cousin, Hester is wrong; there is no 'lover'
about the business. But, Judith, doubtless I also was
wrong, for Thomas had a lock of my hair, and-once he
kissed my hand."
I think Judith had some ado to keep from laughing,
but she said:
"Well, the lad is a good lad, but the years bring many
changes, and none so great as in ourselves."
The night after Thomas departed, Hester was crying
after we were gone to bed; therefore I asked what ailed
her, and she replied that she feared Thomas would be
(4
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
229
be heroes? Was there any thing more heroic in Alex-
ander, who fought for conquest, or in Hannibal, who
fought for vengeance, than in this man, who gives him-
self, and sacrifices his dearest comforts for a principle?
No. This, as my uncle says, is not a sowing of human
passions or of earthly pride, but some of Luther's seed-
a growth divine.
An
This Isaiah Hooper must be a man of iron, for after
wounds and privations enough to kill ten men, he is
growing stronger every day, and by the middle of May
hopes to return to the army as well as ever he was in his
life. He will go well fitted out by my uncle's purse and
our needles, with all that he can carry to make camp life
more hopeful or a soldier more efficient.
MAY 28, 1777.
While Isaiah Hooper was yet with us, who should ap-
pear but Mr. Bowdoin. Indeed, I think that he took oc-
casion of the letter about Isaiah to put in practice a long-
la plan, and, setting forth to join the army under Wash-
ington, he came, bringing letters and remembrances from
Mistress Hooper to her husband, and so was at our house,
where he could hear of Bessie. Oh! the extent of this
good man's infatuation; and oh! the equal extent of my
own idiocy; I NEVER do the right thing at the right time.
My uncle asked Mr. Bowdoin to stop with us until, in two
or three days' time, he might set off with Isaiah Hooper
to join General Washington's army. The first day was
naturally spent with Mr. Hooper, telling all the news of
the home and the neighborhood—and indeed his presence
was to our friend as an angel's visit. The next day Mr.
230
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Bowdoin was about the city with my uncle, but in the
afternoon he managed to come upon me where I was
writing, by a window by my grandfather's desk, and, sit-
ting down, he presently led the talk to Bessie. He asked
about her, and I told him what I knew-only I did not
dare say all I knew about her gay life for fear he would
think me malicious or exaggerating, for I remembered all
that he had thought and said about that in Plymouth.
He asked me did Bessie speak of him, and I said she did.
He looked vexed at my reticence, and asked me what she
said:
"She meant to write you," I replied, hesitatingly.
He caught at that straw.
66
Aye; and doubtless her letter miscarried. I would I
might see what she wrote you, Miss Abbey."
I
Now there lay Bessie's letter, as yet unanswered.
could give it him, and I suddenly thought I would give
it, and so, with her frivolity and her "two strings to her
bow," end the good man's infatuation. I caught it up;
then suddenly came another thought: would this be just
to Bessie? was it what she expected in writing freely to
me?—and, as I felt truly she would not like my betrayal of
my folly, in my own most miserable style of doing every-
thing I took the letter-which I had half held out to him
—and tossed it in the fire burning on the hearth near me
-for the weather was cold for the season, and my uncle
kept a fire. As I flung the letter into the blaze Mr. Bow-
doin sprung up as one mortified, angry and disgusted; he
gave me a very sharp, upbraiding look and left the room
hastily. Still following my impulses, without any reason,
J
231
only feeling that I could not see Mr. Bowdoin again, I
rushed to Judith and begged permission to go and stay
two or three days with Mistress Seaforth. Go I must, and
Judith consented. I saw none of our family but Susan-
nah during the next day, and I busied myself reading to
Mistress Seaforth and working lace for her. The day fol-
lowing Isaiah Hooper came in, hearty and cheerful, to say
"good-by" to the Seaforths and me, as he set off to join
the camp at Boundbrook, under Lincoln. Shortly after
Mr. Hooper went out I looked from the door and saw him
with Mr. Bowdoin, departing; and so I knew that Mr.
Bowdoin had gone away in anger at me; and the feeling
of sorrow-but truly more of wrath-at being misjudged
so overwhelmed me that, having carefully concealed thus
far my vexations from Mistress Seaforth, I fled to her for
comfort now, and, laying my face in her lap, I sobbed
with all my might, and told her how undecided I had
been, and how Mr. Bowdoin was sure now that I was Bes-
sie's enemy and envier, and that I loved to thwart him
and hurt his feelings. Mistress Seaforth said very little
beyond that "it would all come out right by and by," and
yet she comforted me greatly, and by supper time I went
home quite cheerful,
While I was at Mistress Seaforth's I met Mr. Duché.
He has been thought a very good man and good Patriot,
and gave his salary as Chaplain of the Congress for the
ise of soldiers orphans; but I thought I discerned in him
little of a change that is creeping over the good city of
Philadelphia-a change that comes as the British draw
nearer and as expectations of their occupying our town
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

PATRIOT AND TORY:
232
are stronger; the change is a veering toward Royalism.
I should think people would be ashamed to change! I
would be one thing or the other, and hold to it, and die
for it, if need were, and not be a turn-coat! Even if the
enemy do occupy Philadelphia, as they have New York,
that will not be to conquer the whole country; they may
be obliged to leave, as they left Boston; and a city is less
to gain than a State; and Washington is driving them
out of the Jerseys, and we hear from Charles that the
army is on a better footing, and the men are in better
spirits now than ever before. Still, I will admit that in
this city Toryism is looking up. I do not mean in such
men as Mr. Seaforth-they are always the same; but peo-
•ple who, from fear or policy, have concealed their senti-
ments, now dare come out and show them. Last Sabbath
a clergyman here publicly read prayers for the ing-and
that in this city, where, less than one year ago inde-
pendence was so enthusiastically asserted.

JULY 20, 1777.
The British have evacuated New Jersey, and General
Prescott, the commander of the British in Rhode Island,
has been captured. My uncle says that if he is exchanged
for General Lee it will be the worst capture that ever
army made. The 4th of July was celebrated with great
rejoicings here. The bells rung, cannon were fired, our
new flag floated from ships and houses, the captured band
of Hessians played for us, and there was a dinner for of
ficers and members of Congress; also, at night there were
bonfires, and illuminations, and fireworks. Nervey made
one hundred candles to illuminate our house, and we girls
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
237
scalped by those dreadful Indians, and that if I cared for
him I would cry too. I told her I did care for him
some-but not enough to make me fancy he would be
scalped by Indians, when as yet he had not got out of
Jersey. Then Susannah put in her word, namely, that
"if Thomas is so brave as he boasts there is not a living
Indian would venture to scalp him;" so we laughed at
that. But, oh, I wish the war, and the thought of scalp-
ing and killing, were over, and all were safe at home.
OCTOBER 5, 1777.
Dark days indeed since I wrote! General Sullivan has,
by poor management,
lost several hundred

of our best troops,
and now when I hear
of "killed, wounded,
and prisoners," I think
of Isaiah Hooper as
he was the day I
found him in Our
street, and I think
one fate is as evil as
the other.
ALKOTTAY
GENERAL SULLIVAN,
Late in July there
came from France a
young Marquis, named
Lafayette, and with him the Baron De Kalb, two who
bring their swords to our cause, desirous of no pay, and
eager to fight for the common cause of human liberty,
yet my uncle says Congress at first treated them scurvily
i
238
PATRIOT AND TORY:
and ungratefully enough. But though they were younger
men than he, my uncle would take off his hat and stand
bareheaded as they passed, as thus paying all his tribute
to highest hu-
man worth. I
met them twice
or thrice in the
streets and in-
deed I could
only think of
that Scripture:
"Greater love
hath no man
than this, that a
man should lay
down his life for
his friend."
However, the
two heroes-as
surely they are
-are now with Washington, and he knows how to honor
worth. When I saw them I could only wonder what
would be their fates in this war in the New World.

GENERAL LAFAYETTE.
dig
On the 24th of August I had another opportunity of
seeing General Washington. He marched his army
through our city on his way to Wilmington. Mr. Sea-
forth's house was kept closed, both doors and windows;
but we opened all, and hung out our flag and streamers,
and set forth flowers, and Susannah and Hester made a
bouquet, and flung it right at the General, just as he came
÷
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
239
up
the street; but for me he seemed too great a man to
throw flowers to.
Daily the British forces crept closer to our city, and
some said they would enter, and some said not. On the
18th of September my uncle was obliged to go to the
army on some business. He was carrying some money,
and also some medical stores, and he had business with
the General. I understand that my uncle is pledging his
estates in New Jersey for the support of the army. Hav-
ing gone, he was unable to return when he would, and on
the 25th of September, Lord Howe's army encamped at
Germantown, and on the next morning Cornwallis with
the grenadiers

marched into Phila-
delphia and took
possession. So here
were we, our enemies
in the city, the air
full of tales of their
rapacity. Uncle John
and Charles away,
and what seemed
worst of all, now no
longer would we be
able to get news of
ur Charles, nor of
army at Saratoga,
e daily a battle with General Burgoyne is expected.
loud sound of martial music, the shouts and yells
pulace, and the tramp of many feet, told us that
M
LORD CORNWALLIS.
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THE DEPTH AN
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:
240
PATRIOT AND TORY:
we were in the enemy's hands. From every Royalist's
door floated British flags and colors, and appeared flowers.
Do I complain of that? So we greeted our chief when
he came; alas, that he went so soon! Thus Mistress Sea-
forth's house was gay; but we closed ours, door and win-
dows, like a tomb. And Hester, unknown to any, tied
four yards of black crape to the knocker. Peter had been
back on our hands for a week, and he and Pompey fled
howling to the cellar; Nervey being braver, tarried-at
the top of the cellar stairs. Judith and we three girls
dressed in deep black, and sat in our darkened parlor,
waiting what might come.
CHAPTER X.
Govind
OCTOBER 20, 1777.
I
WAS interrupted in describing the day when the
British took possession of Philadelphia. The bells
rung, many people shouted welcome, and there was a hurry
and bustle in all the city as the conquerors were seeking
quarters. After an hour there was a furious knocking at
our door. At the sound Nervey screamed and dashed
into the cellar, but the younger maid rallied courage to
open the hall-door; then, seeing a British officer, she
screamed and fled, leaving our visitor to do as he ple
As he pleased to come in he appeared at the parlo
and Judith rose-Susannah clinging to her arr

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
241
side and Hester standing quite independently on the other,
while I was a bit in advance. The intruder was a captain,
who gave a rude stare; but something in Judith's look
daunted him, for he uncapped and asked civilly:
"Where are the gentlemen of this house?"
"Sir," said Judith, every word falling clear and cold,
"they are in the army with General Washington."
He looked a bit rebuffed, then said:
"Is there a corpse in the house?—I notice a crape on
the door."
None knowing of this but Hester, she took it on
herself to reply:
"'Tis for our cause-slain here in this city, but we look
for a speedy resurrection."
The air and tone of the damsel were so cunning that he
was inclined to laugh, and he said:
"The weed is immense!"
"So is our woe," retorted Hester, sharply.
He turned to Judith:
"Madam, we shall be obliged to use this mansion as
quarters for our colonel. We must have a dinner. Doubt-
less you have provisions in the house, and you will kindly
set your servants at the cooking. I will also look through
the apartments and select quarters for our colonel and his
staff."

His air was impudence itself. Judith said, quietly:
We are unable to defend ourselves."
called in a lieutenant and a corporal who were
on the portico, and the three were soon ranging
at their pleasure; but I will say that they did not
t
242
PATRIOT AND TORY:
touch any thing. They returned to the parlor, and the
captain said, coolly:
"We shall want all but the attic. You might remove
all your clothing, and so forth, there. But I do not see
any servants. Have you none?”
"We have four," said Judith.
"Are they in the house?" he demanded, loudly.
"They are negroes, and afraid," said Judith, quietly,
"and they have taken refuge in the cellar."
"He turned to the corporal and bid him: "Hunt them
out." The corporal took one of the big silver candle-
sticks with a wax candle, lighted it in the kitchen, went
to the cellar, found the negroes hidden in an empty wine
vault, and drove them up by pricking them with his bay-
onct. They scrambled up howling, expecting instant death.
I at once went to them and bid the corporal let them
alone, as I would be answerable for their good behavior.
Seeing me unterrified they stopped roaring, and I bid
them go about getting a good dinner. I then hurried to
the parlor, and heard Judith asking when the colonel
would come, and how large the party would be. The
captain told her politely, and then withdrew.
As soon as we were left alone I asked Judith what she
intended to do. She replied that she should stay in her
house, hoping thus to keep her property from injury.
She bade Susannah and Hester hasten to remove o
clothing and small treasures to the garret, and to hid
uncle's papers and his writing-desk in the garret chi
She bade me strip the closets and parlor of wh
would not be missed and hide it in the mouth

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
243
oven in the cellar. She bade us also be ready to sit at
table with her, and to be calm, grave, and yet fearless.
Then, as we hastened to obey, she went to quiet the serv-
ants and forward preparations for dinner. I finished the
work set me, and then laid the dinner-table. After that
I went into the parlor to Judith. In a few moments in
came several as if they owned the house, and the captain
whom we had seen threw open the parlor door, crying:
"This way, Colonel!"
The colonel entered, but seeing Judith standing queenly
before the hearth, he bowed low, with all due reverence,
and the captain said:
"Colonel Nelson, M—”
"Miss," said Judith.
"Miss Temple," he continued.
The Colonel-a very handsome man-said a few words
about "sorry to incommode-fortunes of war-glad of
ladies' society," etc.
(6
Sir," said Judith, "I could truly wish that you had
chosen other house than mine for your quarters. I am
here without a protector, and have no married relative to
remain with this family, being myself sole chaperon of
three young damsels whom the presence of your staff will
greatly discompose."
“I will endeavor to maintain good order among my fol-
lowers," he replied, and was about to say more when the
the door opened and in came our Susannah, but stood,
startled like a fawn, in the doorway, for she had not ex-
pected to see strangers there so soon. At the sight of Su-
sannah, Colonel Nelson stood for an instant like a man
244
PATRIOT AND TORY:
·
who had seen a supernatural vision; then he gave a low
bow, and stepped forward, handing a chair.
"Tis my sister," said Judith; "one of the maidens I
spoke of," and she beckoned Susannah to her, who came,
keeping as far from the colonel as possible.
Just then we heard a voice welcome as a sound out of
heaven, and in hurried Mr. Seaforth. He shook hands
with Colonel Nelson, and, stepping to Judith's side, said:
"These ladies are not in a situation to receive strangers,
Colonel. I trust you can find other quarters."
"Our orders are to quarter in rebel houses," said the
colonel, looking puzzled, "and this house was pointed out
as foremost.”
"I will see Lord Cornwallis about it," said Mr. Seaforth.
"The father of these ladies is my particular friend, and
this lady (and he drew Judith's arm in his) is engaged to
be married to my son."
"There must be some mistake, then, made by the cap-
tain," said the colonel; if so, I sincerely beg pardon. Are
these Royalists ? "
66
My friend Temple and I have agreed to disagree about
politics," said Mr. Seaforth, quietly. "I will be respon-
sible for your finding quarters just as good, and, on some
accounts, more suitable. I have sent a note to the Gen-
eral-."
*
Just then Mr. Seaforth's servant lad came in and gave
him a note, which he handed to Colonel Nelson.
"I regret having alarmed or incommoded these ladies,”
said the colonel, glancing at the note, "and will at once
withdraw."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
245
"Sir," said Judith, with her stately courtesy, "I have
already ordered a dinner for you and your staff; pray, re-
main and eat it as our guests. We shall be glad to have
you occupy our house until evening, when, perhaps, your
other quarters will be in readiness. Believe me, you are
cordially welcome to dinner and supper."
At this every one seemed pleased. Mr. Seaforth was
obliged to go home, as he had guests to dinner; but he
left us all in a complacent frame of mind.
Peter showed the officers to rooms where they might
arrange their dress, and they re-appeared with splendid
ruffles and powdered hair. Hester dressed the dinner-
table in flowers, and it looked truly elegant; and though we
did not lay aside the black which we had donned, we put
on lace, powder, and pearls, and tried to play the hostesses
in a suitable manner. As for the colonel, he was from
the first instant so enraptured with Susannah that he had
neither eyes nor ears for any thing else; but Susannah
was entirely unconscious thereof.
After dinner, which passed off very nicely-although I
had expected Pompey and Peter, from very fear, to drop
every dish which they touched-we left the table, Judith
having ordered wine for the guests. The wine being fin-
ished, the officers went upon the back verandah to pace
up and down, smoking; and as I was less alarmed than
Susannah, and less belligerent than Hester, Judith sent
me to say to the gentlemen that they were to order any
thing which they desired from Pompey; also that she
would give them supper at 7 o'clock. Colonel Nelson
said to me, very cautiously:
M
246
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"We drank your fair-haired sister's health, but had
not the pleasure of knowing her name."
"She is my cousin, and her name is Susannah," I replied.
He made answer:
"She is very beautiful. She would be considered beau-
tiful even in London."*
It angered me in a moment. "Even in London!"
As if we Colonists had no right to be beautiful! And
quick I said:
22
"She is esteemed beautiful even in Philadelphia!'
Thereat he only bowed; but the others smiled broadly.
When I returned to Judith-who, with the other girls,
had retreated up stairs, that part of the house now being
secure from the intrusion of our guests-she asked me to
sit on the verandah above that where the officers were
walking, that, thus being in sight of the servants, who
were working in the kitchen, they might be more com-
posed, and that while I was within hearing of the mo-
tions of the officers Susannah might feel less nervous and
affrighted. Taking my seat there I could not avoid hear-
ing this talk from the colonel and the captain. The col-
onel remarked:
"I had not expected to meet such a bevy of beauties.
Zounds! I would I had on my best uniform: I look but a
lout in these shabby clothes. Truly, if the Colonies are
full of such maidens as we have seen here, I for one will
be loath to fight with their fathers and brothers. We had
better seek peace, and make love instead of war."
"Certes," said the captain, "I came in here this morn-
*See Frontispiece.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
247
-
ing bold as brass, and feeling somewhat lofty toward
rebels, who had occasioned our coming over seas and ex-
periencing so many disasters. When, entering yon par-
lor, such a picture met my eyes as I had never expected
to see. The eldest Miss Temple stood facing me, with a
lofty, questioning look-standing, beautiful and grand,
sole guardian of the other three, and appearing not un-
worthy of her office. On one side of her was that tall,
gold-haired, lily-faced maiden, clinging to her sister; on
the other, the piquant, black-eyed, dark-browed little de-
mon, whom I would fear to have pass by me were I,
like Sisera, asleep in a tent; and, a little way in advance
of the three, that other Miss Temple, with gray eyes and
innocent brow-a face like an accusing angel-whom I
would dread to meet at the gate of Paradise, did I go
thither laden with any serious crime."
I think he was horrid to speak so of Hester, just be-
cause she is brave.
ma
It was nine o'clock before the British left our house.
The colonel apologized to Judith for the trouble he had
given her, and further, begged that while remaining in
the city he might be permitted to call upon us.
He said,
also, that he trusted the troops would not inconvenience.
the citizens, but that the officers would add to the social
pleasures of the coming winter. After the colonel and
his staff had departed, Mr. Seaforth came in to see that
we were comfortable for the night. He told Judith that
he could almost positively assure her that we should suffer
no additional molestation, and that the peace and order
of the city would be preserved; and he said that he
248
PATRIOT AND TORY:
trusted in a short time to get a permit for Uncle John,
who is now shut out of the city, to return home.
Before the British entered the city we had heard of a
battle on the 19th of September-fought at Freeman's
Farm, on the Hudson, in which the Americans were vic-
torious. Cook's Connecticut militia were engaged, and,
as I think Deborah Samson belongs to that, I have been
wondering about her fate. My heart also follows the for-
tunes of my old friends-the Danas, and of Isaiah Hooper,
and Mr. Bowdoin. And I think often of what Dame
Warren told me when I wished for more stirring times:
that when one was out on the bay in a storm one would
sigh for the calm of the summer mill-pond.
We kept much within-doors, and, except one call from
Colonel Nelson, we saw no one until the evening of the
19th of October, when Uncle John-furnished by Mr.
Seaforth with a permit from General Howe―returned
home, to our great joy. Supper was prepared at once,
while our traveler refreshed himself with a bath. Then
uncle came down to the dining-room, and Judith must
sit beside him while she made his coffee, and Susannah
brought her seat so close on the other side that he could
hardly move his arm, while Hester hung on the back of
the chair, and kept up a running fire of questions; and I,
posted opposite them, had also my claims, and allowed no
break in the narrative. Meantime all the servants gath-
ered at the doorway to hear what was to be told, and to
mutter between times that they "nebber, nebber look
to see Massa Temple home no more." So much was
to be told on both sides that we never retired until
A
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
249
midnight, and we forced Uncle John to give us his story
first.
At all events we have had a victory that shall go far
to pay us for the loss of Philadelphia. On the 7th of

October the army un-
der Gates and Lin-
coln joined battle
with Burgoyne.
Neither Gates nor
Lincoln were on the
field, but Arnold was
there, without a com-
mand. The battle was
very hot, and victory
remained with our
Patriots. Of the
K
British, many officers
were killed, and
VIE
Memperch
PLA
GENERAL FRASER,
among others, Fraser,
the Scotchman. I am very sorry he was killed; all say
he was honest, brave, and kind; and then he had a wife
and little children. Oh, I do wish he had stopped at
home, in his own land of mountains, and lakes, and
heather, and noble memories!
After this battle General Burgoyne retreated, and the
next night he abandoned his sick, and wounded, and the
hospital. I dare say the poor souls were frightened then;
but I am sure our men will treat them kindly. If I
thought they would not, for the sake of their friends at
home, I would like to go up and nurse them myself.
250
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Stark, with two thousand men from New Hampshire,
now broke up the British posts at Fishkill, and took all
their boats and stores. Gates followed close on Bur-
goyne's rear, and on the 12th, the British were entirely
surrounded by the Americans; therefore, next day Bur-
goyne asked for terms of surrender. My uncle says that
General Gates's fault is want of firmness. If he had been
อ !.
"OF
BURGOYNE'S ENCAMPMENT.
GUISHY
G

a little more resolute he could have had the whole of
Burgoyne's army as prisoners of war. Burgoyne, how-
ever, was sharp enough, and he got a passage for his
army from Boston to Britain, on condition of serving no
more in America. So our Americans marched into the
British camp playing "Yankee Doodle," and the British
laid down their arms and marched out, and the Ameri-
cans served rations of flour to the British, who had
neither bread nor flour left. So here, uncle says, we
PATRIOT AND TORY:
251
have made way with ten thousand of our enemy, and
have got forty-two brass field-pieces and forty-six hun-
dred good muskets.
For my part I do not care much about empty honors,
and prisoners of war, and all that; what I want is peace.
I am glad these ten thousand are gone; and I wish all
the rest would go, and that across the big, wide water we

SCENE OF BURGOYNE'S SURRENDER.
could all shake hands and be comfortable, as neighbors
even distant, and relations so near, ought to be.
My uncle says that this victory gives him more courage
than any thing since the war began-not so much for
hat has been done as because of who did it. A great
eral gained for us the battle of Trenton; but great
als are scarce, and can not be on hand to gain all
tories. The conquerors at Saratoga were not great
but yeomen-farmers, fighting in unison in regi-

252
· PATRIOT AND TORY:
ments; countrymen, almost fresh from the fields—brave,
and true, and calm. The husbandmen of Virginia, and
New York, and New England, fighting as one man for
one cause, gained that day. This shows us what Ameri-
can unity can do.
Uncle says report is that the negroes, of whom there
are some (mostly as servants) in every regiment, fought
as bravely as any one. He said this looking at Pompey;
but Pompey only laughed, and mumbled something about
"a whole skin.”
I asked uncle if he had any news of Robert Shirtliffe,
and he said that Charles understood that Robert suffered
from a sword cut in the head at Saratoga.
After uncle's story was done we told ours; and we all
felt what the firm friendship of Mr. Seaforth is now worth
It is through him that we have our home in quiet;
that uncle is come back; that uncle's property and ware-
houses are unmolested. We had also to tell uncle of war
to us.
affairs near us.
On the 27th of September an American frigate care-
lessly got aground here at ebb tide and surrendered; and
on October 2d, Colonel Nelson went over and captured
the works at Billingsport. The garrison there spiked the
guns and fled. On the morning of the 4th of October,
we in Philadelphia were awakened by the sound of can-
non at Germantown. Almost as soon as the echoes
the guns rolled over the city we heard Cornwallis's gre
diers and Hessians marching in haste from the town.,
all rose, and spent a dreadful day. Doubtless,
and Henry Seaforth were engaged in opposite ar

C
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
253
battle might sweep into Philadelphia, and by night the
city might be in the hands of our Americans, or we
might see our beloved general brought in captive, and
all our cause lost. It was only a little after daylight
when we were all assembled in the parlor. Judith had
worship much earlier than usual-she always leads wor-
ship when uncle is gone, but commonly after breakfast.
As for breakfast, neither that nor dinner was wanted by
any of us that day. At night we learned from Mr. Sea-
forth that the Americans, after a partial success, had been
defeated. (Uncle tells us since that it was because of the
failure of General Greene to support Washington.) The
next morning Mr. Seaforth told us that Henry had not
been in the battle, and that the Americans had withdrawn
in good order. Later, he found from a prisoner that
Charles's regiment had not been in action. Some of the
wounded prisoners were brought into the city, and,
through Mr. Seaforth, we got five to take care of, Mr.
Seaforth becoming responsible on our parts that they
should not escape. We put them in the attic, and in-
stalled Pompey as head nurse.
C
NOVEMBER 1, 1777.
On the morning of the 21st the company of which
Henry Seaforth is captain came into the city. Mrs. Sea-
forth's joy was so great as partly to console us who love
r, for the disasters that brought a British company into
rters here. As for Judith, her heart was divided. Un-
tedly she was infinitely glad once more to see Henry,
he loves passionately; but as an ardent patriot, she
It the disaster to her cause, which had been the

S
254
PATRIOT AND TORY:
means of bringing him. My uncle's counsel to her was
clear common sense: "You, my daughter, had no share
in those chances of war that put our city in an enemy's
hands. Accept, then cheerfully and without hesitation or
self-upbraiding, what happiness has been provided for
you in Henry's society. While he is here, forget in the
lover the British officer. His following of his convic-
tions of duty is as honorable to him as yours to you.
Be happy, my child, while you may, that the future may
bring you no cause to regret coldness, or conflict, or neg-
lect." Colonel Nelson had only called upon us once thus
far; I think he showed himself the gentleman by remain-
ing away, so long as we had no protector in our house,
and he had no one to recommend him personally to our
society. However, he had known Henry well in New
York, and when both my uncle and Henry had been at
home some days, Colonel Nelson had Henry bring him to
visit us, and say a good word for him to my uncle. I
say
"to visit us," but the truth is, he comes only to see
Susannah, as is evident to all-but her. We have had
more fighting; on the twenty-second of October, Colonel
Donop was ordered to carry Redbank by assault. It was
a day of hard fighting; the Americans being intrenched,
were comparatively safe, but the poor Hessians were
mowed down like grain in the fields, and Donop was
terribly wounded; the unhappy man is since dead, a
we heard from Colonel Nelson that he said as he d
"I die a victim of my ambition and the avarice
king." I think it so wicked for those petty F
sovereigns to sell their men to be sent here to f

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
255
Colonel Nelson frankly said here the other evening, that
the whole system of hiring mercenaries was a disgrace to
humanity, and a scandalous perversion of the rights and
duties of kings.
ļi
After this battle we added to our hospital in the attic
one inmate, or, rather, one of the Americans was so well
as to leave, and we took in a poor Hessian who had
crawled, wounded, into the woods after the Redbank affair,
and then somehow reached the city half dead. My uncle
got hold of him, and volunteered to cure him, so he got
the spare pallet in the attic. He was delirious with fever
when he got to us, but uncle put him to bed, had his
wound dressed, and gave him an opiate. Next morning,
while Judith and I had gone up to see the patients, and
do various good offices for them, this Hessian awoke in his
right mind, but very feeble. Judith bent over him, ask-
ing, in German, how he felt, and the poor fellow thought
first that he was in heaven, and then that he was at home,
and presently burst into tears. Judith sat down by him,
and consoled him with hopes of recovering and getting
home to his children; and then she repeated the twenty-
third psalm in German, while I fed him his breakfast.
He is doing nicely now, and he has told Judith how he
and his fellows hated to cenie away from home to fight
and die in a cause for whi
nothing, and how
some of them tried to run aw cerewere driven on ship-
board at the point of the bayset. I do pity these Hes-
sians; they could not help coming here, nor could the
other mercenaries.


A letter from Charles has been smuggled into the city,
17
256
PATRIOT AND TORY:
and he tells us of the brave and lovely Baroness Riedesel,
who was with her two children and husband taken pris-
oner at Saratoga, and has since been sent here and there,
waiting exchange or something, and has often been scur-
vily treated by country folk, just because she is an enemy.
They should sink the enemy in the prisoner, but Charles
says General Schuyler behaved nobly to her, and to all
the captives, as becomes such a gentleman and scholar as
the General is said to be. After Donop's defeat at Red-
bank, two British ships got aground in the river, the “Au-
gusta," of sixty-four guns-and next day the Americans
destroyed her by firing hot shot into her powder maga-
zine-and the frigate "Merlin," which was abandoned and
burned. My uncle, who from having been in the army
lately knows how things are going on, says that Washing-
ton could retake Philadelphia if the militia of Pennsyl-
vania would only rise; but they are discouraged, and very
largely disaffected, and also there are cabals formed
against our good General in Congress, and the other Gen-
erals, as Greene and Gates, do not work harmoniously
with him and properly obey orders. To-day, while I am
writing, the attack on Redbank is renewed, and I shiver
to think that every moment is death or pain to some hu-
man being not far from me.
NOVEMBER 28, 1777.
The winter here is a of great gaiety: the British
officers and the townspeople-now very many-who are
in favor of the British, give balls and parties; there are
dances and card-playing and theaters, and one would think,
from what goes on, that war and pain and death were un-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
257
}
known in this world. My uncle is very much distressed
at such follies during these sad times, and though we are
all invited by the officers to attend some of the merry-
makings, we go to none. Also, there is a deal of Sunday
visiting and concert giving, but my uncle resolutely shuts
his doors on that day; even Henry Seaforth stays away
from us Sabbath, for fear of setting others example to
come. Mr. Seaforth has given some dinners and one or
two tea-parties by way of showing hospitality, but he does
not fancy the masquerades and revellings and routs any
more than my uncle does; besides, Annie is very sad and
anxious about Charles, and does not care to take part in
many amusements. Meantime, Colonel Nelson comes to
our house continually on one excuse or on another, and
he brings Susannah flowers and books, and has shown
her pictures of his mother, a widow, and of his young sis-
Even Susannah sees now his devotion to her. Hes-
ter said to her one day, "To think, Susannah, that you
should have a British officer for a lover!"
ter.
66
'He shall never be lover of mine so long as he is an
enemy to my country," replied Susannah, with spirit.
66
Perhaps you can cause him to come over to our side,"
suggested Hester.
"Were he so changeable I should like him worse than
ever," said she.
"And do you like him, then?" I asked.
Susannah laughed and blushed. "Were he a patriot I
would tell you." One day the colonel brought to our
house a captain just from New York, Captain Banks. We
none of us liked him. I wondered if it were the same
258
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Captain Banks of whom Bessie had spoken, but I would
not ask him. Well, it was only a week after Captain
Banks came that I was called down to the parlor where
were Uncle John, Henry Seaforth and Judith.
I ran
down the stairs and briskly in at the parlor door, when a
figure all flowers and veil, satin, lace, furbelows and gen-
eral splendors flew to meet me, and there was Bessie
clasping me and kissing me and calling me "darling Ab-
bey, ""dearest love," and what not. Still I was glad to
see her, and I thought she looked very pretty, prettier
than ever, though a bit too much of a fine lady. But
hardly had Bessie done embracing me than Mr. Warley
pounced at me, kissed my cheek, pressed my hand, shed a
few tears, and vowed that he was rejoiced to see me, and
was proud indeed that I was so improved. Then he
made me take a seat by him on the sofa, and told my
uncle that he felt a relationship with all his family on ac-
count of my residence with them, for he regarded me
quite as another daughter, as a younger sister of his Bes-
sie. Daughter, indeed! His parental zeal for Bessie has
led him to teach her to have two strings to her bow-and
he never taught me any thing! My uncle was not very
cordial to Mr. Warley, but he was kind to Bessie, and bid
her come to us often. Bessie and her father reached town
the day before they called on us. I know Mr. Warley
never says or does any thing that has not self-interest at
the bottom of it, and I wonder what is his object in being
friendly to us. I told Judith that it seemed to me that our
Colonial prospects must look even more favorable to the
eyes of the British than to ours; and Mr. Warley, aware
{
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
259
thereof, has now two strings to his bow, one of them being
the Temple family.
Mr. Warley's business in the city kept him much from
his lodgings; indeed, when he did not have business I
think he was haunting the faro-tables, and truly some
hinted that he was a secret partner in one of these, where
many British officers, even young lads under twenty, were
robbed of all that they had. Bessie being left much to her-
self, and being also one of those who are unable to sustain
their own society, came frequently to visit us, and Judith
took her into our home life. I think she hoped to show
her some better way of living than any she had known.
She had Bessie bring her sewing and knitting, and work
with us, and she kept on with our readings and improving
conversations, also with our daily Scripture readings.
Bessie listened, and took part with that readiness with
which she lends herself to whatever is passing.
Bessie invited herself to stay a night with me, and took
· occasion to tell me of her life in New York, and all the
attentions she had had there. She still came back to
Captain Banks, and said he was expecting to be made
major, and she said she liked him vastly, and had about
made up her mind to marry him.
(6
What, has he asked you?" I said.
"No, but he will," said Bessie. "I expect his proposals
any day."
"And what will your father say?" I asked.
"To do as I please, if I can not do any better,” said
she, laughing.
"Oh, Bessie,” I remonstrated, "you promised to marry
260
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Mr. Bowdoin, and he truly loves you. He did not pass
months in your company with you 'expecting his propo-
sals any day,' and he not making them; that seems shame-
ful to me. Do, Bessie, give up this Captain Banks, and
write Mr. Bowdoin. He would be glad to marry you and
go home to Plymouth; and think what an innocent and
safe life you might live in that dear old place."
"Dear old place, indeed!" cried Bessie. "I promised
to marry him just for fun, and really I did like him when
I was with him; he is very good looking. But what! do
you thing I can tie myself up on a farm, a preacher's wife,
wearing my good gown but twice or thrice a year, spin-
ning, weaving, knitting, going to church twice of a Sunday,
keeping fast days, visiting old women, and coddling all
the babies in the congregation? Not I! Captain Banks
may be colonel or general yet!"
Then Bessie turned off to our affairs.
-
"Judith," she said, "was doing well for herself." She
had heard that Mr. Seaforth was rich as a Jew. And, of
all things, Susannah's luck was most marvelous. Susannah
was pretty, but made no show; went nowhere; dressed
like a child; was prim as a Quaker, and gave no encour-
agement to Colonel Nelson-and all the world said he
was wild about her. Colonel Nelson was heir of an es-
tate and a title-what was Susannah thinking of that she
did not jump at such a chance? And she had heard that
Colonel Nelson had given up wine, and did not even
drink a health, because he had heard Susannah express
an opinion against such things.
I find Bessie changed for the worse, and I cried about
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
261

""
WOMEN
What, has he asked you?" I said. "No, but he will," said Bessie.
262
PATRIOT AND TORY:
it after she had finally fallen asleep. Then a bright
thought came to me. Mistress Seaforth is rich, an Eng-
lish woman, a perfect lady, a Royalist-all these things
would give her influence with Bessie and Mr. Warley. I
would introduce Bessie to her-she had already expressed
kind pity for her-and perhaps this dear lady would take
a mother's place, and guide the poor girl right. So next
day I took Bessie to our dear friend; and not only did
that best of ladies understand my motive at once, but she
took kindly to Bessie, and Bessie was charmed with her,
and Mr. Warley was much delighted with the acquaint-
ance; and so I hope poor Bessie has now a guide and a
friend who will help her keep out of danger and wrong-
doing.
As for our city of Philadelphia, provisions are dear and
fuel scarce; but of this we do not complain, for it is ow-
ing to the close investment of the city by our dear general,
and we can think that every load of provisions that fails to
reach us goes to his brave and suffering army. I daresay
we are almost the only family of means living without
officers and soldiers quartered upon us. I suspect dear
Mr. Seaforth purchased our exemption and his own at a
great price. Then, we doubtless owe much to the influ-
ence of Captain Seaforth and Colonel Nelson. I was about
to write that these two are the only decent officers in town,
but that would be a foul injustice; there are a number
of educated gentlemen among them. There are also ras-
cals of the deepest dye. These invaders live in the best
houses and are served with the best, without offering com-
pensation. Our quiet city is outraged by the grossest
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
263
vices of a camp. Gaming, theaters, dances are the order
of the day, and drinking in shameless excess is a common
occurrence.
Colonel Nelson has introduced to us some very pleasant
guests; among others
Captain André, a gen-
tlemanly and amiable
young man though over
fond of gay life. He
has painted the scenes
and curtains for the the-
aters of the officers; in-
deed he can act, dance,
sing, read well, paint,
ANDRE
keep a party merry-in
fact, do any thing that he chooses; and withal, Colonel
Nelson says that he can fight like a hero.
One of the disappointments that I have felt this win-
ter was from the conduct of Mr. Duché. He is such an
agreeable man, and I thought him both saint and Patriot;
and now he has gone over to the other side! I would
not mind if he had been there always, for conscience' sake;
but this cowardly turning I do hate-it is hypocrisy; at
least I thought so, and said as much to Mr. Seaforth. He
told me I judged harshly: "People, on mature reflection,
might see cause to change their minds-cause in sound
reason."

THE ADRESSERETETTE. WHEE
"But," said I "'tis a suspicious turning that moves ever
to the winning side. When patriotism was first in power
Mr. Duché was a Patriot."
264
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"Well, my child," said Mr. Seaforth, "Mr. Duché is a
good man, and honest, though perhaps he is not firm.
When he was a Patriot he was really a Patriot; and now
that he is a Royalist he is really a Royalist. You know
the vane, when it points east, points there firmly; and
when it points west, it is clearly west. True, it got there
by the wind, and it will change with the wind; but that
is the nature of a weathercock. Mr. Duché feels now that
all indications are that God is favoring the Royal cause,
and that the best interests of America lie in rescinding
the Declaration of Independence and submitting to His
Majesty. And he has written an ardent letter to Mr.
Washington to that effect."
"General Washington will not heed him," I cried,
warmly.
"No, my child, I do not think that he will. Firmness
of purpose is a distinguishing characteristic of that gen-
tleman. Perhaps it would be better for his country if he
were less resolute in face of all difficulties."
"I don't think so. I think Washington is just right
every way."
-
FEBRUARY 20, 1778.
On the night of the 30th of November my winter ad-
ventures began. Hester was at Mistress Seaforth's. Ju-
dith and Susannah had guests in the parlor. It was just
after dark that I went down stairs with a candle in my
hand, and going through the passage to the kitchen I
passed a closet under the stairs. The passage is narrow,
and as I paused to open the door some one reached out
of the closet, laid a hand over my mouth, blew out my
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
265
light and drew me into the closet all in a moment, or
rather second, and a voice said in my ear:
"Don't scream, I am Richard Reid!"
The voice did sound familiar; but there was I, so sin-
gularly dragged into the closet, and, trembling, yet silent, I
put up my hand to feel the intruder; and the height and
something in the face seemed like Mr. Reid, though the
garments felt odd; and again he whispered, to reassure me:
"It is truly I, Abbey Temple. I slipped in here to es-
cape capture but now; and indeed I will out again, for I
must not endanger your uncle's family by my hiding here."
I softly pushed shut the door.
"What are you in the city for?"
"General Washington must have information by one
who is capable of giving it and making it available. I
came here disguised to-day."
"As a spy?" I said, trembling more than ever. Oh,
Mr. Reid!"
"My country needed it," he said. I came as a farming
man, with produce, and meant to leave this evening, but
found myself suspected, followed. Pursuit changed my
motions to flight. I recognized the house and recalled
this rear passage door, and instinctively I took refuge here
to escape. Once in, I considered the danger I might bring
to your uncle, and was going out when you came by, and
impulse bade me make myself known."
“Mr. Reid,” I said, "suppose you are caught?”
He replied, in an agitated voice :
"I am willing to die as a soldier, on the field—but then
I must hang as a spy."
266
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"I must save you!" I cried-and a whole plan darted
into my mind like light.
"No, let me go out-I will try flight,” he said.
danger your uncle.”
"He shall not know it," I replied. "No one shall
know but me, and they can not harm me if they discover
me. They dare not kill a girl-and I have friends.
Only do as I tell you. Take off your shoes and carry
them. I shall go up stairs, and put out the hall light as
I pass. Do you then follow me swiftly to the second
story."
""
I ran up stairs, blew out the candles on the hall table,
and hurried up to my room. Mr. Reid was at my elbow
as I reached it. A candle was burning on the table. I
thrust him into a closet, took the candle and a bottle from
the table and ran on to the attic. Now we had there five
patients of prisoners. One (Williams) was a little worse
that day, but one was cured, and had an order to report
at the barracks. His name was Grey. He was a good
man, who would do any thing for me because I had sent
letters for him to his wife. I tarried a moment at the
attic door, listening. All the patients seemed asleep. The
bottle I had seized from my table happened to be rose-
water, but I resolved to give our sickest patient a dose of
it, by way of excuse, if any one of them awoke at my en-
trance. Grey's pallet was nearest the door, and as I dared
not speak I stepped to it, put my hand on his head and
pulled it a little. I had left my light in the hall. At
the second pull he lifted his head, and I said:
"Dress quickly and come into the hall."
"I en-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
267
In a few minutes he stood by me in the entry, wearing
the complete new suit of fustian which Judith had had
prepared for him and had placed by his bedside. I whis-
pered:
"Mr. Grey, you are well. I want you to slip out of
the house as quickly as possible, and do the best you can
until morning. I will give you an overcoat of my
cousin's; and perhaps you can get into Mr. Seaforth's
I
woodshed—not in ours, for any thing. Don't be seen.
have an American officer to save from death, and I shall
try and hide him in your bed."
ness.
He seemed to comprehend at once; said it was all right,
he could do admirably until morning. So I got Charles's
old coat from the closet; he took his shoes in his hand,
and I hurried softly to open the street door. He must
have come down stairs by leaps, but silently, for as soon
as I had the door open he rushed by me into the dark-
Back I ran to Richard Reid, in the closet, and led
him up to the attic and stood him by Grey's empty pallet.
So I bid him undress and get in quickly and quietly, and,
of all things, to put on Grey's night-cap, which I slipped
into his hand. Away then for Judith's keys and to her
closet for another suit of fustian; and by the time I took
it to the attic Richard Reid was in Grey's pallet. I said:
"Seem to sleep, whatever happens," and laid the fustian
on a chair, and carried off what clothes he had left on the
floor. What to do with them and the shoes I hardly knew,
but then, running to my room, I stuffed them into the
straw tick which lay under my feather-bed, and, making
all smooth, I flew down to the kitchen. It had been the
268
PATRIOT AND TORY:
busiest twenty minutes or thereabout that I had ever spent.
As I expected, soon came a pounding at our kitchen door,
and Pompey opened it, trembling. A pair of British sol-
diers stood there, and one said, roughly :
"We want the strange man that ran in here but now!"
Then I stepped forward, sharp and bold:
"What are you talking about, sirrah! A strange man!
There is no strange man here, unless you mean Colonel
Nelson, sitting above in our parlor."
"He was seen to come in here," said the other man.
"Who-the Colonel? Truly, he comes often; and will
not thank you for your watching of his motions, I can tell
you."
"Oh, miss, if you please," said the soldier, respectfully,
"we mean one suspected for a spy, who darted off the
street and must have got in here. I saw him myself, and
went for a comrade and an order to search-and-I have
both!"
Blessed be Nervey. Here she tore off her turban, frantic
with fright, and yelled:
"Robbers! robbers in the house!"
"If robbers are in, by these good men's help we will
soon get them out," I said, catching at that idea. Then to
the men, very stately: "You say you have orders, but I
do not know you, nor your orders. Will one of you stop
here, and the other come with me to speak to Colonel
Nelson, to question your orders or go through the house
with you, or will you both stop here until I go for him
myself?"
They said that one would go with me; so, with my sol-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
269
"
dier at my elbow, I went up and opened the parlor door.
Uncle sat by the center-table, reading; on one side of the
room Susannah was at the harpsichord, playing softly,
and beside her stood Colonel Nelson, with his violin, and
they were singing a song that he had taught her—
"Say, Myra, why is gentle love
A stranger to thy mind?"
On the other side of the room Judith sat on the sofa, and
Henry Seaforth, in a chair near her, was bending forward
to speak to her. Henry, with his fair, ruddy English
face and golden hair, is such a contrast to Judith's dark,
splendid beauty. The music and the earnest talk going
on in the parlor had prevented their hearing my various
maneuvers. As I opened the door I spoke out clearly to
the Colonel:
"Colonel Nelson, here is a soldier who says he has
authority to search our house for a spy, whom he says ran
in here."
All sprang to their feet. Colonel Nelson came forward
and questioned the man sharply, at first declaring him
drunk, then giving him more credit. Then I spoke out.
with tart scorn:
"I suppose it never entered your head that your spy
could get over the back fence more easily than rush
through a locked door!"
At these words my uncle gave me a keen look; sud-
denly he grew a little paler, and then, turning to the
hearth, stirred the fire, as if he had no further interest in
the matter.
photo
270
PATRIOT AND TQRY:
"There is no spy in this house," cried Colonel Nelson,
angrily, seeing Susannah lokiong frightened.
66
Pray, let him see for himself," I cried. "Why should
we be suspected? Pray, Colonel, come with this man and
I will show you all over the house; only, I must ask you
to come to the attic, and not let him blunder there with
his noise, for we have a very sick man there to-night,
and he might be made worse by a fright."
Judith, looking surprised at my unusual manners, said,
"I had better go over the house with the Colonel."
I managed, unobserved, to squeeze her hand, and said:
"No, you have company. I am disengaged; so come,
Colonel, we will be through with this business at once.”
The Colonel took a candle, I led the way beside him,
and the soldier, with a pistol cocked in his hand, came
behind. I was very particular, and insisted on a com-
plete search, saying, "Suppose some one did come in?
suppose there is a robber in the house?" So we searched
every place below and above, until the attic was reached.
Then I said softly, "Now, Colonel, for our sick man. T
will hold the light, and you just count the heads; you
were here yesterday, and know that we have five. You
must send us another when Grey's bed is empty, to-mor-
row.". I held the candle with elaborate goodwill, but
managed to cast Grey's night-capped head somewhat into
the shadow. "All right," said the Colonel. "Poor fel-
lows; this is war; you have been angels of mercy in this
house to sick and wounded, and have saved lives, while
my bitter trade is to sacrifice them." Then, going down
stairs, he said to the soldier, "If a spy or any other did
Qual
1
+
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
271
enter this yard, you see he has escaped by the rear fence, as
Miss Temple suggested." I went to the kitchen and dis-
missed the soldiers, with a fair ration of bread and con-
serves, to sweeten their dispositions and dissipate suspicion.
Then I ran to my room and wrote this note to Judith:
“Trust me. When I ask for leave to go to Mistress Lo-
gan's, support me; and say I must take her a cook for her
dinner." I sealed this properly, and walking into the
parlor, as if the note had just come in at the door, I tossed
it to Judith, saying, "Another invitation?”
Now, I do not often talk to Colonel Nelson; but he is
very courteous to me, as to all Susannah's relations; so
he met my kindness readily when I sat near him, and
began chatting freely. Finally, after properly leading the
way, I said: "Colonel, I do wish you could get me leave
to go out of the city to-morrow to Mistress Logan's; I
have wanted to see her this long while." "Aye, do, Colo-
nel,” cried Judith; "I can send Abbey in company there;
for Mistress Logan must have a cook for her dinner
party." "Are you going to the dinner, Colonel?" I said;
perhaps my cousin will give me leave to stay until it is
over; being from the country, I never have seen such fine
doings. See that I get leave to go, Colonel."
"And take the cook along, Abbey," cried Judith.
"By all means the cook, a black woman that can do
culinary wonders; you are interested in that, Colonel.
If the cook does not get there you may have no dinner
fit to eat on Thursday," said I.
"If you must go, Abbey," said Henry Seaforth, "I
will ride out with you."
66
*
18
272
PATRIOT AND TORY:
No indeed," I said, "all the sport is in riding alone."
"I wanted you to go with me to-morrow. Abbey can
go with the black," said Judith, who supported me won-
drous well. Then Colonel Nelson took up the theme,
and vowed he would ride out to the Logan House with
me. I protested; but go he would.
-
"There is no danger," I said, "and I shall start before
you are up. Only send me by seven o'clock a pass out
of the city to go so far."
Still he persisted; he would gladly rise at five.
"You force me to be rude," I said, laughing. "I am
a hot 'rebel,' and I want to boast when the war is over
that I never went any whither with a British officer."
He looked vexed, and said softly to Susannah, "I trust
you do not take such a position as your cousin."
"I was paying little attention to her nonsense,” said
Susannah, blushing. That blush so enraptured the Colo-
nel, that he forgave me my impudence, withdrew his
offer of escort, and promised me the pass I asked, which
he would send by seven in the morning. He even
brought his visit to an carly close, that he might attend
to this, and Henry Seaforth went with him. Susannah
at once went up stairs. My uncle turned to me: "Abbey,
have you heard any thing of your Cousin Charles?" he
asked in a low voice.
I looked boldly at him, saying, "No, uncle, not a
word." "I thought I feared you had,” he said, and pres-
ently he took his candle and went to his room. Judith
and I locked up the house in silence. I saw that I must
take Judith into my secret. We went up stairs and I
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
273
C
pulled her into my room; then I said: "Judith, I have
sent Grey off, and Richard Reid is up in the attic in
Grey's bed, and if he is not got out of the town to-mor-
row, he will be caught and hanged as a spy. There is
but one chance for him. I must get him to Mistress Lo-
gan's as a black cook, and he must get from there to
White Marsh." So then, Judith and I planned for our
'spy's" escape. Early in the morning Judith would
darken the attic window, making it so dim that the pa-
tients would not discern the change of Grey for Richard
Reid. She would send Pompey to the warehouse with my
uncle; set the chambermaid to watch by our sick Wil-
liams, and dispatch Nervey to call for Hester, and go in
her company to market. Meanwhile she would have the
roan which I ride saddled, and a pillion put on for riding
double, and we would dress Richard like a black cook,
and so we would get him out of town, riding behind me.
"If," I said, "the great long creature can manage to
double himself up, and sit like a frightened old black
woman!"
(6
•
-
Well, in the morning we carried this out. Judith and
I had mixed oil and burnt cork, and therewith Judith
fairly soaked Richard's head, and neck, and hands, and
his light, close-curled hair. Then we put iron-bowed
spectacles on him, and a big turban close over his fore-
head, and a huge bonnet on that. Then he got on a
gown and splay shoes, and I humped his shoulders a bit,
and put a big netted scarf at his neck, and mittens on him,
and a grand check apron, and a shawl; also, I prepared
him a bundle to hold in his lap, and I said:
274
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"Now, Richard, all-your life and my safety-depends
on your sitting perched on that pillion as awkwardly, like
an old negress, as you can.
Draw yourself up—'
""
"Never fear," says Richard, groaning, "I can but be
awkward, sitting on a pillion in this homespun gown."
"And hold your bundle close, and hold fast to me."
"Never fear," said Richard, so cordially that we all
laughed.
Then I dressed myself in goodly fashion, to overawe all
impertinent gazers at me and my servant-woman. And,
lastly, I took a good pistol, left us by our Hessian when
he went, and I handed it to Richard, saying:
"Hide that in your bosom. When there is nothing else
to be done, fight!"
Thereupon Judith had us down stairs, it being eight
o'clock and the coast clear, and I mounted my horse by
her help; and by her help also for the benefit of all
neighbors who might be peeping-Richard Reid lumbered
upon his pillion in awkward style, and crouched, cling-
ing to me and to his bundle; and Judith said: "All
right-good morning "-which meant a great deal just
then. And so I rode forth out of the side yard, and went
up the street as briskly as I dared. I said:
"Mr. Reid, are you like to hold your seat?"
"Aye," he said; "but I feel awkward enough, trussed
up sideways in this fashion.”
"All the better," I said. "Hold your head down a bit.
I will go as fast as I can without exciting suspicion.”
So on I went. And I showed my permit to three sol-
diers; but it was early and cold, and they were sleepy,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
275
so they took little heed of my "cook;" and when I was
out of sight of soldiers I rattled on at a brave pace.
Thus by half-past nine I got to the gate of the Logan
House, and I sent to ask Mistress Logan to come out
She came, with a shawl over her head, to the
gate, and I said:
to me.
"My Cousin Judith sends you a servant, if it may
chance suit you."
""
Thereupon Mistress Logan boxed the ears of a boy
who stood listening, and bid him go feed the fowls.
Then I added, softly:
Mistress Logan, 'tis life or death.'
So she bid us alight, and said loudly to me, that truly
she was glad to see me, and was much obliged to Miss
Judith Temple; and saying sharply to my cook: "Come
in, Dinah," she bid a servant take away the horse, and
had us in by the front door and up to her own room,
where I told her my story. She looked at my Dinah,
laughing. ""Tis well done," she said; and said also that
until night this Dinah must sit in a small anteroom, as if
sewing. So there we put Richard; and I taught him how
to hold a needle, and gave him a sheet to be hemmed;
and betimes Mistress Logan and I took a few stitches for
him, in event of any of the family taking notice of the
work; and Mistress Logan said in her kitchen that Miss
Judith Temple had made a mistake in sending out a black
who could neither sew swiftly nor make a marmalade, and
who must go back to the city that evening.
After dark we took the Dinah out to the gate and dis-
missed her, and then coming in with secrecy, Mistress
""
1
276
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Logan took Richard to the cellar, to the entrance of the
famous "subterranean passage," and put him in there,
where she had stored food, lights, soap, water, and
clothes. There he remained until the next evening-the
evening of December 2d. Then Mistress Logan and I
went down to the subterranean passage to dismiss Richard
to go to White Marsh. He was now properly dressed.
He thanked Mistress Logan, and kissed her hand; he
then took my hand, but I slipped it away as fast as pos-
sible and put it behind me. He looked curiously at me,
then said:
"I put my life in your hands, and you have saved me.
Will you add yet to your goodness by giving me one lit-
tle lock of hair-a memento of the wit and bravery that
preserved me from a disgraceful death?”
Now when I gave Thomas Otis a lock of my hair he
said he would never carry any other, and I said I would
never give a lock to any one else; besides, to me it would
seem like a coquette to give a lock of hair to two folks,
so I drew back, saying, with more than needful earnest-
ness:
"No, no-I could not think of such a thing."
Mr. Reid looked hurt and turned away. Presently he
renewed his thanks. I begged him to feel no obligation;
I would have done as much for any man in the Patriot
army-and the strange creature liked this saying even less
than the other.
Come," quoth Mistress Logan, "let there be an end
of compliments."
So she led the way with a taper, and Richard and I
66
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
277
followed her through the long, dark underground way,
that was like a tomb. At last we made a turn; the low
roof of the passage dripped moisture, and a chill breath
of night air swept along it, and there on a bowlder, in the
light of Mistress

Logan's taper, sat
an Indian, motion-
less as a statue. I
stopped and held
my breath at sight
of the grim face.
Mistress Logan
stepped on one
side. The Indian
rose, saying:
"Follow me
to Washington."
Richard Reid hesi-
tated. The Indian
pushed his toma-
hawk in his belt,
gathered closer his
powder-horn and
musket, and repeated: "Let a white man trust Logan,
the white man's friend. Follow Logan to Washington."
All in a moment the two were gone, and Mistress Logan
and I stood alone in the passage by the little light of our
taper, and far off I thought I saw shining through some
opening a single star.
h
Berli
STEP
TA-GA-JUTE LOGAN, THE WHITE MAN'S FRIEND.
278
PATRIOT AND TORY:
CHAPTER XI.
FEBRUARY 27, 1778.
MY
Y last entry in this diary was made at various times,
and I now continue the account of my adventures.
Cousin Judith had promised that Captain Seaforth
would ride out to Mistress Logan's, and bring me home
on the 3d. But on that day no Henry appeared, and I
made myself contented with our good friend, with whom
my previous acquaintance had been slight; she had been
a great friend of my Uncle John's wife.
Logan House is one of the finest houses that I have ever
been in. The walls and walks are of bricks, brought from
England by the confidential secretary of William Penn.
Around two of the fire-places are blue and white tiles,
with Scripture pictures upon them; and the other fire-
places have plain white tiles. These all came from Hol-
land. The furniture is solid oak and mahogany, and, with
the carpets, was all brought from the mother country.
The rooms are mostly wainscoted to the ceiling, and
these shining oaken panels came from over seas. The
linen, china, and silver are also very splendid; and I had
opportunity to see all, as Mistress Logan was preparing
for her dinner-party on the 4th. I made sure I would
be sent for on that morning, but no one came. Mistress
Logan said to me:
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
279
"Be content; there is sure to be some good in it. I
have learned to take each day as it comes, and make the
best of it."
"But my uncle does not favor our having to do with any
gayeties in these sad times," I replied, in a flutter.
"If he leaves you here you must e'en see and take part
-and may get some good to yourself and others," said
she. "Wine loosens some people's tongues wondrously."
Well, as no one came to fetch me, and the hour for the
dinner drew nigh, Mistress Logan sent her maid to dress
me in some of Miss Logan's clothes; and I submitted to
be arrayed as she ordered. Accordingly she rolled my
hair in a fine tower, and made two long curls behind, so
that I burst out laughing, and repeated to Mistress Logan
the words of Mr. Pope:
"This nymph, for the destruction of mankind,
Cherished two locks, which, graceful, fell behind."
The maid then put upon me a petticoat of peach-colored
satin, and a trained gown of pearl-colored brocade cut
square at the neck, and thereunder a tucker of white
lace. My sleeves were close to the elbow, and there
fell open, with a filling of white lace. I had on long
embroidered gloves, a bouquet at my belt, high-heeled
slippers, and clock stockings. I had never been so
fine in my life, and I wondered how my uncle would
stare to see me. Mistress Logan gave me a French fan of
much size and beauty, and she said to me:
"There is nothing equal to a fan for concealing embar-
rassment, hiding a thought, or covering a design. You
can distract all a gentleman's attention to the motions of
280
PATRIOT AND TORY:
your fan while you may be laying a plan to make use
of his apparently idle observations. Regard this dinner-
party as a part of the history of the country. There
have been less patriotic deeds than Mistress Logan's
dinners."
Now I saw that there was much meaning in her speech,
and I set myself to ponder it. Presently I said:
"Mistress Logan, the maid while she dressed me enter-
tained me with a long tale of how this house is haunted,
and she says none of the servants dare go about it at
night alone."
66
“'Tis an idea I cultivate," says she, clasping her brace-
lets; and, rising her voice as a servant passed: "'tis cer-
tainly haunted," then lower, to me: ""Tis needful for
a house to be haunted when there is a secret passage
therein;" and, taking a key from her escritoire, she hung
it by her dressing-table, remarking: "Abbey, 'tis the key
of the door we went in at the other evening-could you
find it alone, do you think?"
"Both key and door," I replied, promptly.
"I do not mind telling you how the place is haunted—
you saw the spirit last night: Ta-ga-jute Logan, son of
Shikellimus. He is there when news is to be carried."
I looked from the window to the hill-side under which
is the vault where the Logan dead are laid, and where
Shikellimus, the Cayuga chief, is buried, and understood
why the servants think he haunts the ground.
The guests began to arrive, in full uniform: huge
wigs, powder, jewels, stars, ribbons-a grand assemblage;
among them Colonel Nelson, who was most attentive to
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
281
me, and said casually that all the family were well, and
that Cousin Judith hoped I was enjoying myself. He
asked also if the cook was satisfactory, and I replied that
he must judge of that by the dinner.
Indeed it was a magnificent dinner, and most heartily
eaten; and then wines and other liquors were brought on,
and a health-"The Philadelphia Ladies"-was drunk
all around, though Colonel Nelson and I only put our
glasses to our lips. Then Mistress Logan was handed to
the door by General Knyphausen, and we ladies followed
her. When at last a number of the gentlemen joined us
it was evident that they had taken a deal of wine, for
they were flushed, and talked loudly. Colonel Nelson
had come to the drawing-room soon after us ladies, and
frequently looked at his watch, saying they must be in
the city early. He also went back to the dining-room, I
dare say to urge his friends to limit their potations. One
light-brained Captain, placing himself in a wide window-
seat by Miss Logan, vowed that he would be merry while
he might; 'twas bad enough to go out and be killed when
the time came. Then catching sight of Colonel Nelson,
he swore that the Colonel was in such a hurry for them
to go out and catch Washington that he could scarce eat
his dinner; and again, would bet a ring to a bracelet that
before noon next day the rebels at White Marsh would
be done for. Colonel Nelson caught some of these
maudlin speeches, and the manner in which he took
them to heart and managed to check them, told to Mis-
tress Logan and me, who were alert for revelations, that
attack on our army was intended. We looked swiftly at
282
PATRIOT AND TORY:
each other, but gave no sign. In a few moments Mis-
tress Logan sailed by me as I was talking, so glibly as I
might, with the Colonel and another, and said she:
66
Abbey, would you believe that I left the key to the
silver closet hanging by my dressing table?"
"Eh," said I, "what a fearful piece of carelessness,
with so many strange servants about the house "—and I
flirted my fan and looked indifferent. So she spoke a
compliment or two to this one or that one, and lent her
fan to General Knyphausen to hold, and showed her
bracelet to Colonel Nelson, and said carelessly to me:
“Do, child, go and look about that key. Suppose my
spoons should be stolen!"
"Get these officers to remember you when next they
take up a collection in the Jerseys," said I, boldly;
whereat all laughed but Colonel Nelson, who looked
mortified.
“Do go, child,” urged Mistress Logan.
"Hold my fan and my kerchief, Colonel," said I, put-
ting on Bessie as well as I knew how, "while I go look
after the spoons."
So off I went, throwing a jest here and there as I
passed, and sailed along until I reached the stair-top,
when I darted for the key, tossed my train over my arm
and ran down the back way. I seized a second to spring
into a closet, where a hidden door led to a small cellar,
and going down thither I felt for the door of the pas-
sage, and turned the key in the lock. When I had drawn
shut the door after me I found myself all in the dark,
but I concluded to venture on, as the passage had no
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
283
ways leading into it, and when I ran a few steps I came
to a little lamp burning on a ledge of rock. I took the
lamp and sped along, made the turn and came, as the day
before, upon an Indian seated, with his rifle leaning
against his knee. Nei-
ther his eyes nor his
body moved as I came
up. Truly I do not
marvel that those who
have seen this one
stalking around the
grounds or sitting in
a shadow, have called
this place haunted.

"How long does it
take you to go to Wash-
ington?" I asked.
He opened and shut
his mouth once or
twice, without a sound.
I saw that few words
were best words, so I
said:
P
امانا
TWI
"Subterranean Passage under the Logan House."
"Go quickly. Tell the Americans that they will be
attacked to-night. Let there be wings to your feet!"
The Indian slowly rose up, replying:
"But one hour to sunset; this night is near; Logan's
news is late.”
"Too late?" I cried, in anguish at the thought.
The Indian looked back encouragingly.
284
PATRIOT AND TORY:
66
'Logan is not the only news-bearer. Washington is a
chief of many eyes."
He vanished in the darkness and I turned to hurry
back. I had ruined my slippers in the damp passage,
but I took some others from Mistress Logan's dressing-
room and hastened down to the parlor. The yard was
full of horses and servants; our guests were departing.
In a great bustle they hurried away, and—the officers did
not ride toward Philadelphia, but to Germantown. Later
in the evening we heard the hollow, rushing sound that
once would have seemed to me the rolling of waves on
Plymouth coast, but now is known as the tramp of march-
ing battalions.
The 5th, the 6th and the 7th of December passed, and
no news from the city, no one coming for me. On the
night of the 6th General Howe marched back on German-
town, as we found from a servant stationed there to gather
news. On the 7th he returned upon the Americans. All
this argued well for our side, who must have been fore-
warned and holding their own. On the 8th, about three
o'clock, we had news that General Howe was returning.
We went to the attic and looked out through the trap-door
on the roof, and sure enough, before dark we saw detached
companies, and then whole regiments, marching toward
Philadelphia. Whatever else they had done, they had not
carried General Washington captive. Presently we saw a
squad of ten men leave the 'road and come toward the
Logan House. Mistress Logan rushed down stairs, sent
her boy to bid them in for a hot supper, and having had
them conducted to a room in the long line of offices
Pag
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
285
stretching behind the house, where was burning the laun-
dry fire, she set the servants to carrying in huge platters
of bread, beef and cheese, and herself made a kettle of
punch-luckily more hot than strong. She graciously dis-
pensed this herself, and between her welcome and her
questions she got information that General Howe had ac-
complished nothing; the Americans had been prepared at
every point, and, having been twice baffled, Howe was re-
turning, with loss of over one hundred men.
On the 9th I was restless, and desired Mistress Logan
to send me to town, but she refused. On the 10th I res-
olutely spun and read all day until three o'clock, when
chancing to look out of the window, I saw Pompey riding
up to the gate. I flew to speak with him. He handed me
a letter and a large parcel, and said he must ride home
quickly, before dark.
"But can I not go with you, Pompey?" I cried.
"Missey Judith remarked you was goin' to lib here a
while," replied Pompey, gathering up his reins. Then he
added: "Good-bye, Miss Abbey, ef I nebber see you no
more. So many sogers lyin' roun', Pomp mos' likely neb-
ber git home libe."
note.
When Pompey had hastened away I opened Judith's
She merely said that she was glad that I was en-
joying myself, and that she had sent me some clothes. I
could not tell what she meant; but Mistress Logan as-
sured me that doubtless she intended much more than she
said, as I would one day discover. Wise people put
little in letters that may be read at the head of an enemy's
brigade.
286
·
PATRIOT AND TORY:
FF.
There was no reason why I should not enjoy myself at
Mistress Logan's. She was very kind, and I read and
sewed, and we often had officers come out from the city
to call upon us. On Christmas Day we dressed the
house in green, and put a big Yule-log in the fire-place,
and Mistress Logan had a little pig roasted, with a lemon
in his mouth, lying on a bed of parsley, and a wreath of
שירות
"C
urto
MONIKATUENTRA CERI
ALEV
anten.
Maaze
'Bringing in the Yule-log at Logan House."
holly on his head. Captain André rode out from town
with Captain Banks and ate dinner with us. We heard,
incidentally, that General Washington had removed all his
army from White Marsh on the 12th, and that on the 19th
he had reached Valley Forge: and Indian Logan told
Mistress Logan that the General had built log cabins and
made a town in the woods, but that the soldiers were very
poor, worse off than Indians " This news of the suffer-
ings of our Patriots filled me with grief. I could scarcely
66
M
F

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
287
bear to be warm and well fed while I knew that our sol-
diers were shivering and hungry.
I was becoming quite homesick and greatly uneasy con-
cerning my uncle's family, when, about three o'clock on the
31st, I chanced to look out of the gate, and saw there my
Uncle John and Captain Seaforth, just dismounting. Harry
only remained a few minutes; then he shook hands with
uncle and wished him a safe return, and so galloped down
the road. When he was gone uncle turned to me, saying:
"Abbey, we are going to Valley Forge to see Charles."
Now I must say that on the morning when I carried
Mr. Reid out of Philadelphia in the guise of a black cook
we had had him early in a little room up stairs, where
Judith and I had served him a notable breakfast, and as
he ate he told us a terrible tale of the sufferings of our
army, destitute of stores and shelter for winter, of their
bare feet and nearly naked bodies; of their hunger, cold
and sickness; of the lack even of straw to keep their
tired bodies from the wet winter earth; of their heroic
patience, courage and faith; and as he told us, Judith and
I wept for sympathy. But when I was fairly gone, and
the second day had passed, and the inquiry for the sup-
posed “spy” had ceased, Judith told Uncle John the story,
and of the miseries of Charles's men, and maybe Charles
himself suffered. So my uncle resolved to go to the camp
on a visit, and communicated his desire to get out of the city
to Mr. Seaforth, and he told him, under pledge of secresy,
of the attack to be made by Howe, and that he must not
think of leaving until the event of that was known.
After that he waited until news of encampment came.
19
288
PATRIOT AND TORY:
As my uncle did not like to implicate Mr. Seaforth too
deeply in our troubles, the family concluded that Susan-
nah should ask Colonel Nelson to get her father and me
a pass through the lines to visit his son. It went hard
with both my uncle and Susannah to ask the favor, but
for Charles's sake it was done, and getting his pass by
noon on the 31st of December, he was thus far on his way.
After my uncle had finished his story I, yet pondering
why I was to go with him, said suddenly,
"Uncle, how stout you have grown in these few days
by past!"
"Stout!" cried he, "Prithee, Mistress Logan, lend me
a room, where I may dress myself anew, for I have on at
this moment no less than four flannel shirts and two waist-
coats of duffel gray, and I am like to choke."
"Truly they will keep some poor Patriots warm this
winter," said Mistress Logan, bidding a servant have my
uncle to a bed-chamber. When he had gone she said to
me:
"Your uncle carries under his saddle a marvelous good
horse-blanket, which he will doubtless leave at camp. So
shall you have a blanket to carry; and as it is cold
weather one can dress warmly, and I doubt not I can dis-
pose of some flannels on you that will not come amiss at
Valley Forge."
After supper my uncle said:
"Mistress Logan, after I am out of British lines I shall
ride around to my farm and get a horse and load it with
clothes, bacon and blankets that I have in hiding under
my barn; and Abbey and I will fill our saddle-bags with
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
289
}
things for the hospital; but, 'money answereth all things,'
is a word of truth, and if you can hide upon Abbey some
three hundred Spanish dollars of that I intrusted to you
last summer, it will be well."
"No doubt it can be quilted into a petticoat," said she.
So Mistress Logan bid me come with a candle, and we
two went to the subterranean passage again, and she,
picking a brick from the wall, revealed a place where
money was hidden.
"This is your uncle's," said she; "safe from fire or
thief;" and she counted out the hard, bright dollars, and
we took them, tied in her apron, to her room.
Then we
said good-night below and shut her room, and Mistress
Logan ripped up most part of a petticoat of blue damask,
and, stretching it on a frame, she and I, with busy fingers,
quilted the money into it, and it was a weighty petticoat
indeed. However, I was to ride, and my roan could
carry me and my rich garment. So I perceived that I
was to go with my uncle as his unsuspected money-purse!
Next day, before light, we had our breakfast, and the
horses were brought round in good order, and a blanket
was put on mine under the saddle, and warmly wrapped
as when I went to Trenton, I rode off with my uncle, and
after we were out of the British lines with General Howe's
pass, we directed our steps to my uncle's farm below
Swede's Ford. When we got out of the British lines my
uncle provided himself with a permanent pass from Gen-
eral Washington, which he ripped out of the cuff of his
coat. We went along at our best speed and did not delay,
except once to water the beasts, until we reached my
290
PATRIOT AND TORY:
uncle's farm. This farm is rented to a man of scrupulous
honesty and singular selfishness. He is so honest that he
would die before he touched or betrayed the store that
my uncle hath hidden under the great barn; yet he is so
selfish that he cares for neither party in this war, merely
to save what he hath and owe nothing to either side; the
consequence is that he is fleeced by all. We found him in
great turmoil of spirit because General Washington hath
been forced to levy a contribution on the vicinage, and
the foragers had carried from him a pig, a load of hay,
and some bushels of corn. My uncle said to him,
haps they thought you were a Tory."
"Per-
"But when the British last came by," said he, "they
drove off from me a good plow horse, a fine young steer,
and burnt my biggest straw stack in the field."
"Doubtless they thought you were a Whig," said my
uncle.
"I am neither Whig nor Tory. All I am anxious for
is to be my own man and save my own property. I don't
care whether George Third reigns or Washington is Dic-
tator. All I want is good crops and leave to sell them,
and keep the money."
"But there is a principle at stake!" I cried.
66
'I don't care for principles, only for money," said he,
doggedly.
My uncle paid him for a load of straw and a beef,
which he was to bring to camp next day. My uncle
then had a horse loaded with clothing and blankets, and
what beans and bacon he could gather. He also filled
my saddle-bags and his own with various small stores for
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
291
*
the sick. Finally, he asked if there were any fowls, that
we might take Charles his Christmas dinner. The farmer
said every feathered thing had been carried off -save a
cock and a turkey gobbler, both aged and wary, which

SUPPLIES FOR ARMY AT VALLEY FORGE.
neither Whig or Tory had been able to catch. My uncle,
however, beguiled these veteran birds with corn and
caught them. Having killed them, he hung them across
our pack-horse, and we set forth again on our travels, my
uncle leading the laden horse, and what with his saddle-
bags and mine being roundly stuffed, and he having a
bundle of my clothes behind him, we looked like a pair
of peddlers. We came shortly to Swede's Ford and found
the ferryman in readiness, so without difficulty crossed
the Schuylkill. When the man found we were going
to the camp he would not take any pay for ferriage, and
292
he shed tears of joy at thought of even a little help going
to the soldiers. He said if he had not been old and lame
he would be in the army himself. By the time we reached
the "King of Prussia Tavern " we were very hungry, for
we had not stopped to eat at
the farm lest we might have
delays at the ferry and need
all our time. We now tar-
ried to get a good dinner.
After dinner we hastened on
and soon came to the camp.
The genius of our General
has changed this piece of forest to a frontier town; the huts
are made of logs, they are of size fourteen by sixteen feet;
the roofs are split slabs; the chimneys are clay-covered ;
the height of the walls are six and a half feet; the doors
are of slabs, some few boards; the huts for the officers are
in a line in the rear of the troops. Our arrival was
greeted with some curiosity, but there was a general court-
esy and kindness shown in every face. A young sergeant
undertook to lead us to the hut where Charles lives with
a number of other officers. He told us that the General
had been living in a marquee, but that now the camp was
completed he had moved his quarters to the adjacent
farm-house of Isaac Potts. We heard a great bustle in
Charles's cabin, and found that the officers within were at
carpenter work trying to make themselves a table and
some stools, and Charles and another were busy putting
additional clay plaster on their chimney. Being called he
came forth, his hands and clothes bedaubed with clay, in
Artificer
Schuylkill
Guard
ashington's
Ha.Qrs
Mc.ID
Mashingt
Marquee
Valley C.
Tax w/oket
doubt
In
Conway
Redoubt
lge
Picket
Scott
Varnum
Knox'sArtillery
PATRIOT AND TORY:

Picket
River
Picket
Paterson
Glover
Learned
11 Weedon
Muhlenberg
Picket
ENCAMPMENT AT VALLEY FORGE.
Redoubt
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
293
↑
spite of which he kissed us right heartily. I was helped
from my horse and given a seat in the cabin, the seat
being only the end of a log with a square of slab nailed
to the top thereof. My uncle gave Charles the blanket
which he carried, Charles acknowledging that he had none,
as he had wrapped his about Robert Shirtliffe, who had
been wounded in the attack on White Marsh. My uncle
also gave the inmates of this cabin, who were the com-
missioned officers of two companies, the veteran gobbler
and a portion of beans and bacon for their New Year's
dinner, which I volunteered to cook for them, if they
would find me a kettle. My uncle promised these gen-
tlemen the beef which he had ordered over for next
morning as a dinner for their two companies, and as many
more men as it would reach unto. They advised him to
give the straw that was to come, and the other blankets
to the sick in hospital, and Charles asked one of his
friends to convey what presents we had brought for the
hospital at once to the nurse. My cousin said that he
thought he could get lodging for me with Mistress Isaac
Potts, at whose house the General was in quarters. So,
leaving our remaining provisions in his cabin, he con-
ducted us thither. N. B.-We had sent the cock to the
hospital for a soup.
At Isaac Potts' my uncle called upon the General, and
I, getting a place by myself in the attic, made it my first
business to rip the dollars out of my petticoat; never had
money been so incommodious to me. It was dark night
by the time I was done, indeed I had a candle of Mis-
tress Potts for an hour to finish making the petticoat
294
PATRIOT AND TORY:
wearable, and after that I went to bed. My uncle re-
turned with Charles to his cabin. Early next day my
uncle came for me, and as I had had my breakfast I went
with him to the camp, and directed my way to the hos-
pital, wondering much how poor Robert Shirtliffe had
fared. I read the riddle in a moment, for a nurse was
stooping over a patient, and that nurse was-Hannah
Dana. But, oh, how changed is Hannah! Her face is
worn, her hair is gray, she looks twenty years older; and
as I clasped her hard, rough hand, and felt what she had
done and suffered for our cause, tears of very shame rolled
over my cheeks; for I had all this while done nothing.
Only a few of the sick are in this hospital, for it is too
small for a tenth part of those who need. Hannah said
she had carried the blanket that my uncle sent her to a
sick man lying on the earth in a cabin, and that she
should make the broth go as far as she could. I set
about helping her care for her patients, put her hospital
in order, and prepare their food. While we were busy
Richard Reid came in. Said Hannah, "I would have
died of very despair and heart-ache here had it not been
for this good friend. He labors for the sick night and
day, contrives beds for them, robs himself to feed them,
and reads and prays with them.'
""
After we had done what was possible in the hospital,
Richard and Hannah went off to see other sick soldiers,
and I went to Robert Shirtliffe, whom before I had not
dared approach. "Deborah," I said, "how fare you?"
"Safe yet, thanks to Hannah," said Deborah. “When
first I felt the ball go through my shoulder, all else was
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
295

[1]}}
SHO
HANNAH DANA.
{{{
296,
PATRIOT AND TORY:
lost in the horrible thought that now I should be dis-
covered. I prayed God to have mercy on me, and let
me die at once. But I was picked up and carried to one
side, and in an hour or two, during which I suffered the
agonies of death from apprehension, some one stopped
by me crying, "What, Bob! wounded? Cheer up, now;
we will save you." And it was your cousin. He had
his blanket wrapped around me, and I was carried back
of the encampments. I was nearly senseless from terror
when I was put down, and Captain Temple went off to find
help for me. He came back at last, saying, "Cure Bob; I
owe my life to him." I opened my eyes to beg to be let
alone, and there stood Hannah Dana! She did not rec-
ognize me until, as she bent down, I whispered, "Keep
my secret, or let me die." By Hannah's nursing I am
now nearly well, and as long as she stays near us, I feel
safe. Hardly had Deborah finished whispering her story
to me than Thomas Otis came rushing into the tent. He
is now lieutenant. Of course I was very glad to see
Thomas, and he was begging me to eat my New Year's
dinner with him, when he stopped short, recalling that he
had nothing to eat. I divined the cause of his trouble,
and begged him to make up a party of Mr. Reid, Joseph
Dana and Hannah, and I would eat dinner with them,
and, indeed, provide the viands myself. Just here Mr.
Bowdoin came into the hospital, and he must needs be
invited to join our feast. While I was arranging with
Thomas to find me some flour, my uncle bustled up aglow
with charitable feelings, as he had a whole load of straw
to bestow on the needy. He told me the beef was already
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
297
butchered, and as many poor fellows as it would suffice
for were to have a dinner therefrom. Poor men, some
of them in this bitter weather have not tasted meat for
four days. Hannah Dana came running at full speed to
direct how the straw was to be distributed to the sick for
beds, and hearing of beef, she called to Mr. Bowdoin to
run and beg the big bones to make soup for her patients.
་
Then I remembered that I must go and cook the dinner
for Charles's mess. Charles brought a black boy to help ·
me, and he dressed the turkey and replenished the fire in
the chimney; but it smoked sadly, the wood being green.
I pinned up my sleeves and skirt, and covered myself
with a check apron that had been in my bundle. Charles
brought me some flour, and the black boy found two
kettles. I hung these over the fire, and set the turkey to
boil in one, as it was too tough for roasting, and I put
the beans in the other. For want of kettles I boiled the
bacon with the beans; and I made some dumplings of a
singular variety to boil with the turkey. By the time I
had so prepared the dinner that the black boy could
serve it, and had made the hut tidy, decorated it with
green, and laid the table, it was time for me to go and
cook the other feast. Charles and his friends implored
me to stay, but they had uncle, and I had promised my
other friends; so Charles escorted me to the hut behind
the hospital, where Hannah cooks. Thomas Otis had
prepared a table, and had made a bright fire, and a green
bower. I had sent over some beans to Hannah, and they
were already boiling; so I made a pudding with some
dried fruit that my uncle had brought, and I cooked
•
298
PATRIOT AND TORY:
some bacon to a turn. This was our feast. Mistress Lo-
gan and Cousin Judith would have pitied us, but we were
all hungry, and happy to see each other, and so we en-
joyed our dinner amazingly. Mr. Bowdoin was kind,
but restrained; he did not mention Bessie until I said
that she was in Philadelphia, and well, when he replied
that he would trouble my uncle with a letter to her.
Isaiah Hooper had been absent from camp, but he re-
turned before we had finished dinner, and sat down to eat
with us. My uncle gave the shirts and waistcoats which
he had brought, to the most needy men; he also, under the
general's advice, made the best use possible of his three
hundred dollars.
We had intended to return home by the 6th of Jan-
uary, but on the day before we would have set out, dear
Charles was taken with a raging fever. By great good
fortune we got leave to take Charles to the attic of Mr.
Potts' house. They picked a hole in the chimney, and
put in the attic a Franklin stove, for which alike I
blessed the owner and the philosopher. Mr. Potts and
my uncle made a pallet for Charles by canvas nailed on
sticks. They also made a screen to shelter him from
draughts, and Mrs. Potts lent me a curtain from her bed
to cover it. My uncle went to the farm and got me
three sheets and a blanket, also a cup or two. The attic
was very chill, but I kept hot bricks in Charles's bed, and
so prevented his taking cold. My uncle delayed a week,
torn between anguish at leaving Charles, and a desire to
go to the three maidens whom he had left alone in the
city. As there was no prospect of a speedy recovery of
G
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
299
our patient, my uncle at last left him in my hands, and
me in the care of Mistress Potts, and set out for home.
Mistress Logan thrice sent me presents by the Indian,
a pillow-case, and two shirts, a parcel of rice, one of
sugar, and a packet of tea, also some jelly. The Indian
was so much my friend in need,' that as a token of my
gratitude, I gave him a ring with a turquoise set therein;
as he could not get it on a finger, I hung it to his neck
by a silken string.
While I was constantly occupied in nursing Charles I
often saw Hannah Dana. Mr. Bowdoin, Joseph Dana,
Thomas Otis, and Mr. Reid also came by turns to sit up
with my patient at night. Robert Shirtliffe being recov-
ered also was useful. During the day I kept warm by
wearing my fur cloak, unless I was obliged to add it to
Charles's bed-clothes. My heart ached for my poor cousin
when I saw him lying in that bare attic, and contrasted
it with the luxurious home to which he had always been
accustomed.
The destitution here is deplorable; men are almost
naked, the well fall ill from want of food and clothing,
and the sick die by scores for want of beds and proper
diet. I have much ado to keep Charles provided with
food fit for his case, but Mistress Potts allows me to cook
whatever I can for him in her kitchen. In February,
while I was yet watching by Charles, Lady Washington
came to the camp. I had longed much to see one so
famous for her goodness, courage, and fine manners. She
was very kind to me when she met me; she often sent
food to Charles, and she inquired after him every day;
300
PATRIOT AND TORY:
she wrote to Dame Warren while I was in the house, and
allowed me to send a line with hers. After she came the
General built a log cabin for a dining-room, which made
their quarters more comfortable. I was asked to dine
with them one day, and as
Mistress Logan had sent
me some clothes by the
Indian, I was able to make
a decent appearance. The
dinner was only bacon,
greens, a beef pie, and an
apple pie; but it was served
with all ceremony, as if it
had been a royal feast, and
Captain Henry Lee, the
General's favorite, whom
they call "Light Horse Harry," and who is always doing
brave, dashing things, handed me in to dinner. I was
so overawed at being at the same table with General and
Lady Washington, persons whom my fancy has set among
the gods rather than among human beings, that I could
hardly eat a mouthful, and Lady Washington said my
nursing the sick had ruined my appetite. After dinner
she led me to speak of my Plymonth home, and of Dame
Mercy, and my grandfather, and she wiped her eyes sev-
eral times when I told her of grandmother's dying of a
broken heart. She also talked with me about spinning
and weaving, and said 'twas a pity such useful arts were
going out of fashion with young women.
One day while I was in the kitchen making a gruel,

LADY WASHINGTON.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO..
301
Isaac Potts came in, and seating himself nigh the fire-
place, covered his face with his hands, seeming deeply
moved. His wife and I were alone in the kitchen, and
she said, "Speak, what ails thee, Isaac?"
He then told us that he strolled up the creek, looking
to the affairs of his farm, when he heard a solemn voice
in the woods, not far from the mill-dam. Anxious lest
some spy, or treachery, might be on foot, he drew thither,
when he saw the General's horse tied to a sapling. Still
pressing quietly on he saw the General on his knees under
a tree, tears pouring over his cheeks, his hands held up
busy in prayer for his soldiers. At this sight Isaac Potts
hastened to withdraw, and as he told us thereof, he wept.
Then rising, he said to his wife, "I tell thee, if there is
any one living on this earth whom God will hear, it is
George Washington, and I feel an assurance that under
such a commander there can be no doubt of our eventu-
ally establishing our independence, and that God in his
providence has so willed it." But this good General
is sorely tried by enemies, by a dilatory Congress, by
envy, and by the remissness of commissary, quarter-
master, and paymasters, who leave upon him the whole
burden of this horrible destitution.
After Logan had come several times to me with parcels
he appeared one evening with a letter. He was partially
intoxicated, and I noticed that my talisman was not on
his neck. I asked, "Logan, where is my ring?"
He replied, solemnly, "Logan's heart is black; he has
drunk the fire-water, and the maiden's ring is gone."
I said, "Logan, it is most wicked to drink fire-water;
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1
some day it may lead you to evil deeds, or to your own
death."
•
He replied, with drunken gravity, "Logan is the white
man's friend; fire-water is white man's evil gift. The
Great Spirit is angry with him who drinks fire-water."
"Since you know that, drink it no more," I said. ·
He answered, "Who now cares for Logan, the chief
of the empty cabin? Let him die of fire-water. White
maiden, Logan is the white man's friend; he sat in his
cabin while the braves went by to war. But Captain
Cresap killed all the family of Logan. Since then the
war-path has known the foot of Ta-ga-jute, and his
hatchet has been red."
"Logan," I said, "perhaps it was not Captain Cresap,
and if it had been, leave God to avenge; it is wicked to
avenge yourself."
He replied: "The Great Spirit is busy enough avenging ·
the white man; the Indian will attend to his own affairs.
Cornstalk took the war-path, many Indians went with.
Dunmore, but Logan is lonely in heart and cabin.”
"But, Logan, if you will leave fire-water and revenge,
you will be happier, and the love of the Great Spirit will
follow you." He turned the conversation adroitly, tipsy
as he was.
"Is the young man better?"
“Much better thank you, Ta-ga-jute.”
"And the Captain I led from the passage?"
"He also is well."
"And the beardless young officer, who talked by the
gate?"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
303
That meant Thomas Otis. I replied, "All are well.”
Then with a grin that made me feel guilty of being a
coquette, which surely I have neither wish nor opportunity
to be, he said: "The white maiden has many to love her,
Logan not one. Ta-ga-jute will go now to the broad
waters of the Northwest, and to the river that runs toward
the sunset. Peace shall beam, but not for Logan. Ta-
ga-jute will die, and the birds shall sing over his grave,
which will be bare of flowers, because no one has watered
it with tears; but in the land of the Great Spirit, doubt-
less, the soul of Logan will look back and remember the
maiden."
Having said this he hurried off. Lady Washington had
been passing the kitchen door, and looking in had seen
me talking to the Indian, and had heard his last words.
She said: "Is that Logan, the Mingo chief? His speech
to Dunmore was printed in the Virginia Gazette of '75,
and was such a fine specimen of natural eloquence that I
preserved it."
I would have been glad to tell her of Ta-ga-jute's
friendships and errands of late, but that is Mistress Lo-
gan's secret, and though she had not bidden me be silent,
yet she had given me no leave to speak of it.
My Cousin Charles improved rapidly when he began
to amend, and by the middle of February he was well
enough for me to leave him; but I was obliged to remain
until the end of the month, as no way offered for me to
get into Philadelphia. After Charles was in no need of
nursing, time hung heavily upon my hands, for I had no
work with me, and it was not proper for me to be much in
20
301
PATRIOT AND TORY:
✓
the camp. I helped Mistress Potts in her house, and sew-
ing, and Lady Washington was very good to me, and
often had me sit with her for an hour, and also lent me
some reading. I got of her some paper, and also pen and
ink, and note in this, my journal, at odd times in the attic,
but only a little, leaving gaps to be filled, lest it be
looked over by some enemy as I go home. Thomas Otis
came often to see me, and wanted me to walk with him,
but I did not go beyond the house yard, as it was against
the opinion of Mistress Potts. Richard Reid came also
to visit me, but there was no place for me to see any one
but by Mistress Potts' kitchen fire, the General's family
taking up the whole house. Still, my visitors were kind
enough to seem as pleased as they would have done in
my Cousin Judith's parlor.
In many a wakeful night hour I, who have been this
winter in both armies, contrast the two. In Philadelphia
all is riot and pleasure, feasting, love, and wine. A
great army, well officered, well armed, well equipped,
hearty and brave, lies in that city, kept in siege by this
army at Valley Forge. And what an army is this!
Naked, cold, hungry, unpaid, sick, their whole effective
force, as I know, to be often but half the number of
those who delay in Philadelphia, they are kept together
by one man, inspired by his hope, preserved by his genius.
Surely it is the mighty power of God who restrains Gen-
eral Howe from rushing hither some night and routing
this whole encampment.
Mr. Bryan Fairfax, from Virginia, the rich and notable
royalist, visited the General this month; he desired to go
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
305
to England, but returned from New York, having failed
in his purpose. The General was very loving to him;
he says Bryan Fairfax is a true and noble man, a royalist
for conscience' sake, and far be it from him.to condemn a
man for following his honest convictions of duty.
But the most important event of this, February, was
the arrival of the Baron Steuben, aid-de-camp of Frederick
the Great, Grand Marshal of Hohenzollern, Soldier of
Fortune, and I know not what else. Covered with all
the honors which Germany can heap upon a valiant offi-
cer, he has come here, at forty-eight years of age, to help
us Americans in our fight for liberty. I heard General
Washington say that the baron was in himself worth an
army, so great is his knowledge of military matters, and
so thoroughly can he drill an army. Richard Reid tells
me that if General Greene is now made quartermaster,
there will be great prospect of our success.
General Steuben had been appointed Inspector-General
of the army, and General Washington was looking anx-
iously for him, when one morning he clattered up to the
door, with a small retinue. I was up in my sole place of
retreat, that beautiful attic, and I thrust my head out of
the little round window, to see what was to be seen.
The baron is said to be forty-eight, but is gray and looks
older; his uniform was very fine, his manners were nearly
as grand as our General's. Mr. Reid told me after, that
the baron is a warm admirer of our General, and is a
man free from arrogance or pretension; he made the
kindest allowances for the shocking state of our army.
The baron set about drilling the men at once; he does
S
C
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
all in the most thorough manner. He speaks English
but poorly, and the first day he was in despair because he
could not find English enough for his multitudinous or-
ders, and the men could not guess at the meaning of his
French and German. The militia are quite untrained,
and probably are fearfully stupid and awkward in the
eyes of a soldier of Frederick the Great. In the midst
of the baron's helpless horror, as he stood wordless, and
the men gaping, Captain Walker, of a New York regi-
ment, stepped forward, and in very elegant French offered
his services as interpreter. The baron received him with
enthusiasm, embraced him, made him his aid on the spot,
and vowed that "he had not been half so happy had he
seen an angel stepping straight out of heaven." He calls
the Captain "mon Valker," "mein frien," and will not let
him leave him. After the drill had been going on for a
week, Richard Reid took me to see it. The baron is al-
ready much loved, because he is a sincere friend of the
men; but his temper is hot, his patience very limited, his
amazement at Yankee blunders excessive; he relieves his
feelings by swearing furiously in French, German and
English. The baron visits the men's huts, looks to their
food and clothing and cleanliness, goes to the hospital,
examines the doctor's reports, is up early, and busy all
day; dawn finds him stirring; he is very particular in his
dress. The day I watched the drill, I had a good station
under a tree, and saw the troops come straggling up.
They were in all sorts of clothes, ragged, soiled, thin, but
better than a month ago. They came up irregularly, and
stood every which way, holding their muskets in all
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
307
fashions, some nearly poking their bayonets in their
His uni-
neighbor's eyes. Presently up rode the baron.
form was spotlessly neat. The Order of Fidelity and the
Star of Knighthood glittered on his breast. His sword
and epaulettes shone like gold. His hair was dressed as
elegantly as for a ball-room. He began giving orders to
form the men in a line, and after much commanding,
pushing, awkwardness, bungling and blundering, they
were in a long, long row. Next order was, "Shoulder
arms," and a world of work it was to get the arms in the
right position, and every officer in his proper place. The
baron twisted and fumed and grew red in the face. Then
he passed slowly along the line, took every musket into
his own hands to see if it were clean and polished; and
if he saw a tatter that might have been sewn up, shoes
that might have been cleaner, soiled skin or spots on the
clothes that might have been brushed off, he was not
slow to speak. This examination took a long while, but
the baron looked and spoke kindly, and said some witty
things, and all evidently felt grateful to him. Then he
resumed his position and shouted his orders, and the poor
militia-men blundered at every one. They could not un-
derstand, and the more the baron ordered and explained,
and the more Captain Walker interpreted the worse mat-
ters became. The baron grew red, then purple, groaned,
pounded the pommel of his saddle with his fists, and then
broke forth into swearing English, French, and German,
all at once.
After a mad torrent of oaths and expletives
he roared forth to his beloved aid: "Vien mon ami
Valker! vien mon bon ami, vien Sacre, Donder, confound,
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
diable prend, blitzen, ach de gaucherie of dese badants!
je ne puis plus, kommen sie hier! I can curse dem no
more. I am done!”
A wag shouted: "Help him swear, Captain, that is what
he wants!" and a roar of laughter passed along the line,
so contagious and irrepressible that the Baron himself
joined it, and thus recovered his good humor. But in
spite of his disadvantages I am told that under his disci-
pline the army improves every day in health and spirits
and drill.
K
One endeavor after another to get me home had failed,
and I began to think that I would have to be sent to my
Uncle Matthew in Virginia for want of opportunity to
get into Philadelphia, when the necessary arrangements
were made, and I was allowed, on the first day of March,
to return to my uncle. I had left home to stay two days,
and I had been gone three months, and never twenty-five
miles distant from my uncle's roof-such are the fortunes
of war.
I was never so glad of any thing I think, as to
get safe back to dear Judith, and to Uncle John's protection.
I found the city madly gay as before, Colonel Nelson de-
voted to Susannah, and Susannah calm and reticent as ever;
Bessie wildly flirting, and giving Mistress Seaforth worlds
of anxiety, and Annie Seaforth very much secluded, and
only desirous of hearing all I could tell her of every word,
act, look, of our Charles. I brought her a ring, a letter,
and one or two other tokens from him, which made her
very happy. Hester plied me with questions about whom I
had seen, and was very glad of Thomas Otis' promotion,
which was surely good hearted in her. Pompey and
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
309
Nervey looked on me as one rescued from the mouth of
a lion.
CHAPTER XII.
MARCH 20, 1778.
IF
F Dame Mercy Warren ever comes to me, as she said,
for material for her history of these weighty times,
and this young country, she will find cause for condemn-
ing me in my carelessness of dates these three months by
past. But the dame's suggestion was only a joke, and as
this diary is for my own self only, the dates make little
difference, for I shall remember when things happened.
It has been impossible for me to write regularly, or under
fit dates for this some time, and I had to leave great void
spaces to fill when I had my journal safe home. Since I
returned I have been filling up and correcting. Some
day Judith's or Charles's grandchildren may question of
these times, and the journal of their venerable, gray,
spectacled cousin will be a bar of final appeal. Yester-
day after we were done dinner, and Nervey and Pompey
had carried away the cloth, I sat by the window reading,
Judith was sewing, and Hester was pretending to knit;
Susannah looked out the window doing nothing. My
uncle called her: "Daughter Susannah, come to me."
She came slowly. "Daughter Susannah," said my uncle,
polishing his spectacles, "Colonel Nelson has asked my
leave to make proposals of marriage to you. What shall
I answer him?”
Susannah became first redder than a rose, then whiter
•
GARAN
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
than a lily, finally she said, softly, "Tell him no,
father."
My uncle looked closely at her-she is a great favorite
with him, being like her dead mother. "Be candid with
me, with yourself, with the Colonel, daughter. What are
your objections?”
"I can not marry one who is in arms against my
country, father."
"You have received his attentions a long time, Susannah."
“But I did not encourage them," she cried, even tear-
fully. "Say, Judith, have I done other than passively
accept attentions, which he would bestow? Indeed, I told
him that I would never marry my country's enemy."
"You are free from all blame, Susannah," said Judith.
"What did he say when you told him that?" asked my
uncle?
"He said," replied my lovely cousin, blushing again,
"that he was not an enemy to America. He was, he
said, merely fulfilling his oath to his King, and perform-
ing the duty of a subject; and he only wished that with-
out further bloodshed, an honorable solution to these
vexed questions might be found; a solution honorable to
both parties."
66
G
'Well,” cried Hester, "the true solution is for them to
let us alone, and we will let them alone!"
"Why not look at him in the light of his own declara-
tion, my daughter, and accept his addresses?”
"Father!" cried Susannah, reproachfully, "you see the
justice of Judith's not, in these troubled times, marrying
Henry Seaforth, whom she has known and loved for
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
311
years; you see that she must needs delay, because he
loves a cause which she does not love; because her
brother and he are in opposite armies. And am I any
less an American, any less Charles's sister than Judith,
that it would be right for me to marry Colonel Nelson?”
"I only desired you to be sure of yourself, my child,"
replied my uncle. "Have you any objections to the Colo-
nel personally?"
"I wish," said Susannah looking away, "that he had
been an American; or was an Englishman always on our
side, like Lord Stirling!"
"You like the man, I see, better than his cause," said
my uncle.
"I like his cause so little, that I must reject the
replied Susannah, though not very firmly.
"But if the war were ended to-morrow you might
accept the Colonel the day after?" said my uncle inquir-
ingly.
cry.
man,"
"Oh, father," cried Susannah, "you know the war will
not end for many to-morrows.
You must end this for
me-by saying no."
Then Susannah ran out of the room, looking ready to
"Judith," said my uncle, "what shall I do? I have
feared that the girl cares much for her English lover.
She is of a gentle nature, and I am sure she will be un-
happy, after I have said 'no.'"
S
"Still, you must say it," replied Judith; "she would
be much more unhappy to marry, or form an engagement,
the way affairs stand now."
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
"I shall say it," returned my uncle, "but she will fol-
low this man's fortunes, and mourn over his wounds, or
death, as bitterly as if there had been an engagement be-
tween them—and as for the Colonel personally, I do not
know any man whom I should prefer for her husband."
"The Colonel will not take the 'no' for his final
answer if he finds that Susannah's objections are not
against him personally," said Judith. "Ah me, what a
pity that these had not all been little girls, in war times,"
and she looked toward Hester and me, and gave a sigh
to Susannah. I am sure our Hester will never trouble
Judith by breaking her heart for any body, she is too
merry and careless; and as for me I shall never marry.
I am quite firmly resolved.
It was just as Judith said about the Colonel; he pressed
his questions so closely, that my uncle was obliged to tell
him that the war only, so far as he knew, stood in the way
of his happiness. Said the Colonel, "Susannah and I are
both young, and wars do not last for ever; I shall wait
in hope, and offer myself again, as soon as peace is de-
clared."
My uncle, however, bound him not to renew those of-
fers, nor press any love-making, until the war was finally
over; also, more than that, not until the Colonel had had
the full and free consent of his own family; for my uncle
plainly told him that Susannah should not go unwelcome
into any household.
Having pledged himself to observe my uncle's require-
ments, the Colonel wished to continue his visits, and this
matter was referred to Susannah. Her secret wish for his
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
313
society, and her views of what might be prudence, were
in a somewhat long contention; however, she decided at
last-"Let him come."
"Poor Susannah," sighed Judith.
There are rumors afloat that General Howe is to be su-
perseded by General Clinton; also that the British will
not try to hold Philadelphia much longer, but will con-
At
centrate their strength in and about New York.
this news,
"Poor Susannah," said Judith again—but will it not be
"Poor Judith" also, and "poor Henry Seaforth," as he
must then go away?
Bessie Warley is much of her time with Mistress Sea-
forth. I met her there the other day. I told her about
Mr. Bowdoin, and that he seemed so sorrowful, and was
looking pale. Bessie asked me carelessly,
"Did you see much of him?"
"No," I replied; "he is so mistaken as to think me
your enemy, Cousin Bessie, and because of that opinion
he will not be a friend to one who is not your friend."
"How very amusing," said Bessie, lightly.
"Beautiful fidelity," said Mistress Seaforth.
you are despising a most noble affection.”
"Do, Cousin Bessie, consider what a good man he is,"
said I, "and what a safe, happy, and peaceful home you
would have."
"Bessie,
"I don't care for peace so much as for pleasure," said
Bessie, "and Mr. Bowdoin despises my sort of pleasure."
"You managed to content yourself well with what con-
tented him for a long while," I retorted, sharply.
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PATRIOT AND TORY:
66 'It could not have lasted forever-that is, not for the
term of one's natural existence," said Bessie.
"You make a poor exchange, I fear," said Mistress
Seaforth, "giving up this good minister for Captain Banks.
I have watched the Captain narrowly, Bessie, and I am
not confident of his good intentions."
"His intentions are good enough," answered Bessie,
flippantly, "for yesterday he asked my father's leave to
marry me."
"And did you consent?" demanded Mistress Seaforth.
Why," said Bessie, confused, "I asked two days to
consider, and "-she added, as one distressed and striving
to be gay-"you see I am considering by just not con-
sidering at all.”
"Will you tell me why you asked for that delay in
reply?"
"I can not tell, to save my life," responded Bessie.
"All at once I felt as if I could not say 'yes,' and I
would not say 'no,' and I had an irresistible desire for
time before taking the important step. That is all I know
about it."
(6
J
66
My dear child," said Mistress Seaforth, "perhaps some
good guardian angel put this idea of delay in your mind.
If you truly loved this man you would not feel as you
say you do that you could not say 'yes;' and, child, what
will be your married life without love? Besides, Bessie,
what do you know of this man's character, his history,
his private life? He is known to go to the faro-table,
and he has been several times intoxicated."
"But he is an officer in His Majesty's army, and ex-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
315
pects soon to receive his promotion. He will be Major
Banks."
"His Majesty has some proper villains for his officers,"
said Mistress Seaforth, with a degree of heat. "The King
can not be responsible for the personal character of all
who buy commissions. Bessie, you know nothing of Cap-
tain Banks; all that you have seen of him in balls, par-
ties, theaters and calls, may be merely assumed to suit
society; and the real man may be very different, either
better or worse, but more likely worse, than this. Re-
member that you do not marry merely for public occa-
sions, but for private life, and that the man as he is at
home, or in secret, is the man with whom you will have
to do. If he is a deceiver, passionate, selfish, brutal, whaț
will be your future? and how can you be assured that he
is none of these? On the other hand, Mr. Bowdoin is a
man who is well known to you in his private life, his
personal character, and his past history; how much safer
would your future be if you chose him. Besides, you ad-
mit that he is accomplished, agreeable"
"Yes, and very good-looking "-interposed Bessie—
"And Captain Banks is none of these," said Mistress
Seaforth, sharply.
"But Mr. Bowdoin lives a humdrum life, in a humdrum
place," cried Bessie. "I should die of nowhere to go
but to church or a quilting; no fine dressing, no amuse-
ments. I do hate these stupid Colonies, and I want to
marry an Englishman and get to London, where there is
some stir in life."
"I am English, and have lived in London," said Mis-
·
316
!
PATRIOT AND TORY:
tress Seaforth, but I have been very happy in the Colo-
nies; happiness does not consist in London and gay life,
but in mutual love and respect, and unselfishness; in
home comfort and the fear of God, in an orderly, pious
and reasonable living."
"Dear Mistress Seaforth!" cried Bessie, who had been
attentively considering the toes of her shoes, “do you
suppose I could get bridal lace and satin from New York?
and where would I be married, our suite of rooms is so
small, and I am without a chaperon to arrange for me?"
Now this was such an impertinent ignoring of Mistress
Seaforth's advice, and such a bold hint that our dear lady
herself might offer to have the marriage under her own
supervision, that she only gave Bessie a reproving look,
and said no more to her, leaving me to entertain her.
Bessie asked me many questions about the camp at Valley
Forge, but I evaded all. Before I left Mistress Potts'
house Lady Washington herself warned me to tell nothing
that I had heard or seen at winter-quarters, lest, saying
only what seemed to me harmless, I might divulge matter
that would prove important to the enemy and injurious to
the patriots. Lady Washington also did me the honor to
say that I hardly needed the warning, and that I had
much more prudence than was usual to young women.
Not for worlds would I forfeit her good opinion.
When Bessie found it time to go home she suddenly
realized her errors toward Mistress Seaforth, and with one
of those bursts of penitence which are common to her, and
real while they last, she ran and knelt down before that
dear lady, and caressing her hand, cried: “Ah, you will
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
317
not be angry with me. If I had had all my life such a
friend as you are I should have been a better girl. Do
smile at me. I will be good. You shall choose for me.'
66 Suppose I choose Mr. Bowdoin ?" said Mistress Sea-
forth.
""
"Then I must take him; and in six months I will
break his heart, and in six months more I will go mad
from remorse of killing so good a man, and I will com-
mit suicide. That will be a romance of only two chap-
ters; a tragedy in two acts, Mistress Seaforth."
"Romances and tragedies have nearly ruined you,"
sighed Mistress Seaforth. "Suppose I choose Captain
Banks?"
"Oh! I'd take him-and there, would follow reckless-
ness, dissipations, quarrels, an elopement, divorce; a bad
story that, too."
"My dear girl," said Mistress Seaforth, solemnly, "far
be it from me to choose for you between these two men.
My earnest, my last advice to you is, to give them both
up; withdraw from the society and amusements which
you keep; read only solid reading; learn house-keeping
of Judith; be industrious; follow after godliness, make it
your aim to be a good, reputable woman, and think no
more of marriage until you are fit to be a wife, and God
sends you the right husband."
Bessie looked grave, and shook her head.
"I couldn't. I should die of so dull a life. In two
months I should be going up and down distracted, like
Ophelia, and Abbey would be obliged to plant roses over
me before June. Besides, Mistress Seaforth," she added,
318
PATRIOT AND TORY:
in a gayer tone, "my father would be crying: 'War will
not last forever; what will you live on by and by?
Make your hay while the sun shines, daughter Bessie, and
have two strings to your bow.""
Her tone was such an absurd caricature of Mr. War-
ley's, that I burst into a fit of laughter; but Mistress Sea-
forth began:
"Honor thy fa-"
The words died on her tongue. Who could honor
such a father as Mr. Warley? However, Bessie had
patched up a peace with her good friend, and the two
kissed at parting.
That night Bessie came to stay with me. She said she
felt restless and lonely, and could not stay at home. I
strove to lead the conversation toward urging her to take
Mistress Seaforth's advice, but Bessie was in her maddest
mood. She talked all kinds of nonsense; told how she
would appear at court; how she would dress and have her
house furnished, and how she would arrange her wedding.
Then she meddled with Judith's and Susannah's affairs,
and declared Hester might make a sensation by her wit
and brusqueriè if she chose to do so; and finally she in-
formed me that Annie Seaforth had had an offer of mar-
riage from a British officer, and might have had more if
she had not shut herself up, "wearing the willow for
her rebel lover." This angered me, and I retorted:
T
"You will please to remember that that 'rebel lover'
is my Cousin Charles, and stands in place of a brother
to me, and that I think he is worth being constant
to."
1
I
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
335
detriment in coming down; the cook flew after iron pots
to carry them off, as if the fire would seize first on grid-
irons and saucepans; and the gardener began tugging with
all his might at sideboards, too huge to enter the cellar
way, and at great stationary mirrors, built in between the
windows.
I wished to help the maid put the china expeditiously
in the great laundry baskets, bade the cook tie up the
books in table-cloths, so that she could carry them below
speedily, and persuaded the gardener to hurry the elegant
parlor chairs into the cellar and tear up the carpets, and
let the sideboard and mirrors be. Mistress Logan had
flung open the parlor windows, and was pulling down the
silk and lace draperies, gathering up ornaments and mak-
ing the most of her time, while she kept her eyes on the
road. Ten minutes had passed when an officer galloped
up to the front gate. Mistress Logan went out to meet
him—not rushing, screaming, and praying, but calmly, as
if nothing were wrong, and waited for him to speak first.
Well for her that she was so wise. It was Captain Banks,
a little the worse for wine, out after deserters. He bawled
*
out:
"Mistress Logan, are any of our confounded runaways
hiding about here? By Saint George, they think the
king's service is not good enough for them, and they run
off by dozens!"
"Yes," said Mistress Logan, calm and decisive, “you
will now find two meddling about in my barn; pray, be
quick, or the rascals will get the advantage of you!"
I had heard this, as I tied up Mistress Logan's silk
·
22
336
PATRIOT AND TORY:
hangings, and I recognized Captain Banks. So as he
spurred off to the barn by the road I flew there by the
shorter way across the yard, that I might, perhaps, say or
do something for my friend's help. Coming up to the
small barn door at the side, I beheld the tipsy captain
dash up to the great open door, where the sunshine was
falling brightly, and just within which the two soldiers
were preparing barrels, filled with straw and fine shavings,
wherewith to fire the house-several rooms at once. The
captain, full of his errand, and assured by Mistress Lo-
gan that these were deserters, bellowed out:
"Ha, sirrahs! you beastly thieves, I've caught you!
Back to the city; you did n't get far this time. Out with
you!"
"By your leave, captain," said the men, saluting, "we
were sent by General Howe to burn this house."
"None of your lies," roared the captain. "Fall in line
and trot into town at the top of your speed."
1
Perceiving how the affair was likely to go, and being in
a good position for observing unseen, I continued to peep
in at the door. The other soldier said:
"We must execute our order, captain."
"I'll execute you," yelled the captain in a fury, whip-
ping out his sword, "if you don't toddle into town in two
minutes."
The men, alarmed, turned from their work, saying:
"What are we to do?"
"Do as I tell you!" shouted the valorous captain.
"The general's explicit orders-"
"You have my orders!" cried the captain, frantic;
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
337
"and, zounds, if you don't heed 'em, you'll not live to
heed others."
66 we must
"You are our superior," said one of the men;
obey but the general."
"I'll attend to the general, and blast me if I don't
attend to you too," shrieked Captain Banks in a fury,
lunging at the soldiers with his sword, and so nearly
falling headlong from his horse.
The men sprang aside, and saw it best to start for the
city; they therefore set out along the road from the
barn at a keen pace, the captain following them and mak-
ing flourishes and pokes at them with his sword, that
might have harmed them had he not been too tipsy. One
of the men thus running bethought himself of the gen-
eral's written order, which he had in his pocket; therefore
as he went he jerked it forth, and turning, waved it at
the captain, for him to take and read. The captain, how-
ever, regarded this as a fresh insult, and clipped so dex-
terously at the paper with his sword that he sliced it in
two, and it was a mere accident that he did not cut off
the man's hand. Thus the captor and the captured
rushed along past our saved house, and my mind, relieved
of instant fear for that, reverted to the men; and anxious
lest the captain might slay or cut down one of them, I
flew to the garret and looked out from the roof, meaning
to speed with the gardener to the rescue, if one were left
by the wayside. However, I beheld the zeal of the cap-
tain moderate when he was no more opposed, and as he
had some ado to keep his seat, he sheathed his sword and
fell from running to trotting, and then to a reasonable
338
PATRIOT AND TORY:
|
pace, so my fears for the men abated before they were
out of sight; therefore I came down, and picking up the
two halves of the general's order, I committed them to
the kitchen fire.
Mistress Logan had kept on with her work of remov-
ing her goods, and, expecting that the general would
promptly send men to finish the interrupted work, she
continued to dismantle her house, until nearly every thing
was conveyed to the cellar. Anxious not to open the
passage, except as a last resort, she left the goods in the
cellar, which was dry and airy, and herself hid the silver,
money, and jewelry in the secret way. The thirtieth came
without any further disturbance, and that day Henry
Seaforth rode out to bring Hester and me home. He told
us that the fever had turned out other than my uncle had
feared, and that it was safe for us to return. He also
bade Mistress Logan restore her house to order and
fear nothing, for the general's wrath had blown over,
General Knyphausen, Captain André, Colonel Nelson and
others, having interceded to save the property.
As we rode home Captain Seaforth told us that Cap-
tain Banks brought his two innocent prisoners into the
city and locked them up, and for two days they were left
in ward. Then they were called for as deserters on his
charges, and being brought out, it was first discovered
how the General's order had been contravened. The
poor fellows were returned to their company, and a
hearty laugh was enjoyed at Captain, or rather Major,
Banks's expense. The General was enjoying the mollify-
ing effects of this laugh when General Knyphausen and
•
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
339
{
others persuaded him to spare Logan House. On promise
of strict secrecy, lest the laughter might reach Bessie and
mortify her, I told Hester and the captain of the scene
in the barn and on the road; so we were all merry as we
rode home.
Captain Seaforth told us that General Howe is to be
relieved immediately, and that the officers mean to give
him a grand entertainment before he goes; also that Cap-
tain André is preparing the programme for the festivity,
and that all the most beautiful Philadelphia ladies will
be asked to take part in the affair.
On reading this over I feel ashamed that I wrote down
Major Banks's bad words. Two or three years ago I would
not have done so for any thing. I am growing much
worse I fear, in city life.
MAY 16, 1778.
When we reached home we found a great stir of excite-
ment, for General Howe's resignation having been ac-
cepted more promptly than he had desired, he is to leave
presently, and all the army is sorry, for he is a grand
favorite; they are heaping up their regrets into a great
medley, called the mischianza, to be given in his honor,
and the officers and ladies who are to take part are agog
with expectation; it is to come off on the 18th.
But we had our own private excitement besides, for
Bessie had at last fixed on the 12th for her marriage, and
she was to be married in Mr. Duché's church, and have her
wedding party at Mistress Seaforth's. Bessie begged that
Hester and I should be her brides-maids, but Uncle John
would not allow it. He did not wish us to be taking part
340
PATRIOT AND TORY:
↓
in such festivities when Charles and so many of our dear
countrymen may be suffering or dying at that very hour.
Besides, the officers who were to be groomsmen were not
to Uncle's taste. However, we all went to the wedding.
I had never seen an Episcopalian wedding before. The
ceremony is very different from the simple fashion of my
grandfather, who, in the home of the bride or in our own
house, took the vows of both parties, prefacing and con-
cluding with a prayer, and usually giving a few words of
instruction and congratulation.
I must say for Mr. Duché that he performed the cere-
mony very impressively and affectionately: he was in his
robes, and the altar and railing were dressed in flowers.
There was also music, giving away the bride, which Mr.
Warley did very cheerfully, the giving of the ring, the
prayers and much more, which made a long service.
Bessie looked very beautiful—a little paler and more
subdued than usual, and her dress, of white satin, lace,
and orange flowers was truly exquisite. I wonder if
Susannah, who is much more beautiful than Bessie, could
look more lovely when she was being married; if so, I
think she would look just exactly like an angel, and I
would expect to see her fly away.
We went from the church to Mr. Seaforth's. General
Howe had been invited, and came in for half an hour;
he kissed the bride. The only ladies who were intro-
duced to him were Judith and Susannah, and that because
he especially asked it. The General is not a well-behaved
man, in our Puritan opinions, and it did me good to see
that his rank and power could not win from my cousins
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
341
J
any courtesy which they would not show to a poor, ill-
behaved man. Colonel Nelson introduced them when the
General came up, and they each swept him a curtsey,
very magnificent indeed, and then stood stately and cold,
with just the very least little bow to his compliments.
He invited Judith to lead a dance with him, and she
replied:
"Excuse me, General, we are Puritans, and do not
dance. We are only at this wedding because the bride
is in a manner related to our family."
"Eh," said the General, "not dance! How singular.
Would you not dance with Captain Seaforth, Miss Tem-
ple?"
"He knows my opinions, and does not ask me," said
Judith.
"And never dance?" he continued, "why, what will
you do when the Captain takes you to England, and
are presented, and shine at court?”
you
"The only court where I expect to be presented,” said
Judith, serenely, "will be that of General Washington;
and in a republican court we can all obey the dictates
of our own reason.'
General Howe bit his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and
said:
"You republican women are as persistent as the men."
"We are all of one stock, sir," said Judith, and he
passed on.
We left the party soon after supper. Many of the
officers were taking too much wine. Major Banks and
Mr. Warley were especially prominent in over-indulging.
"2
342
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Bessie did not seem to mind it; she danced twice with
the Major, and after that with every body. We have
heard that they danced until the sun was well up. I
fancy Mistress Seaforth and Annie were glad when it
was all over.
Major Banks had arranged a very handsome suite of
rooms for himself and Bessie. They gave a wine-supper
there the second day after the wedding, and have card-
parties every night. Bessie says it is just the style of
life that she likes. She said, a few days after her mar-
riage, that Annie Seaforth and we girls must come and
see her often. We were silent, but Mistress Seaforth
said, plainly:
'No, Bessie; you will be obliged to do all the visit-
ing, for the persons they would meet at your house are
not suitable company for young maidens. I am sorry
you do not take my advice about your associates and en-
tertainments."
-
Bessie laughed, saying:
"But you also bade me please my husband, and these
are the companions the Major likes."
I had forgotten to set down a talk I had with Bessie
two days before she was married. She told me she had
had a letter from Mr. Bowdoin, and had answered it. I
said:
"Then, Bessie, I suppose you told him that you had
changed your mind, and were about to marry Major
Banks?"
"No, I did not," said she. "I never told him a word
of it."
J
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
343
•
"What did you write to him for, then?" I asked,
amazed.
"Because he begged me to, and it was such fun to
smuggle a letter to and from a rebel.”
"Oh, Bessie!" I cried, "you were wicked not to tell
him."
66
Wicked," says she, tossing her head; "'tis wicked to
hurt one's feelings, and do you think I would hurt
his, when he is moiling away in that cold camp, eating
pork and beans? Let him have what consolation he
can."
“And does he trust you yet after all your neglect?"
"He is too fond of me to accuse me of neglect. He
thinks my father over-influences me. As for himself, he
gives me good advice and calls me his dear, charming
Bessie, and hopes for better times. I wish he had been
a Major in the British army instead of a parson. I am
sure Major Banks never calls me half as nice names
and she burst out crying. Oh, poor, wicked, unhappy
Bessie, to marry, feeling this way! and poor Mr. Bowdoin
to trust and be deceived! I wonder will she write to him,
now that she is married? If the British do go away from
the city, as they say, and our army comes in, I shall tell
Mr. Bowdoin of Bessie's marriage. She shall not trifle
with him any longer.
{
ور
MAY 20, 1778.
Well, the mischianza has come off, and what a stir the
city was in about it. 'Twas of Captain André's arrang-
ing, and held at the Wharton mansion, one of the most
elegant places in the city, with lawns and flowers, trees
344
PATRIOT AND TORY:
and shrubbery, and the river winding in front-every thing
to make it lovely.
The fête was a regatta and a tournament; we had tickets
and so had Annie Seaforth, and she and Judith and Su-
sannah were prayed to take part in it, but both Mr. Sea-
forth and my uncle regarded this extravagant display as
most wicked folly. Captain André was at our house and
said to my uncle:
"Surely, Mr. Temple, you will not forbid these ladies
to enjoy so charming a festa?"
"Captain," my uncle replied, "you forget that their
countrymen are suffering and fighting in open field, and
that at any hour they may be called to mourn a brother
and lack even the poor consolation of burying his corpse."
Mr. Seaforth was yet more open in his condemnation.
He said that he could not understand that, either as a
man or as a soldier, General Howe merited the applause
about to be heaped upon him; that he thought nineteen
thousand men could serve their king better than by imi-
tating the absurdities of the tales of chivalry; that, while
the horrid realities of war were close about them, to mock
it in a pantomime was ill-advised; that these officers were,
perchance, dancing on the edge of their open graves; and
that the young women who would, dressed in extravagant
Turkish costume, take part in such a display, were not
wise, prudent, modest or sensitive; and that no daughter
of his should so much as look at the parade.
I saw one of the Scotch officers passing our house on
the morning of the 18th, and some one meeting him
said:
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
345
"
"Do you not think that Washington will seize this day
of festivity as a favorable opportunity for attack?”
He replied:
"If Mr. Washington possesses half the wisdom and
sound policy that I have ever given him credit for, he will
by no means meddle with us at such a time. The ex-
cesses of this day are, to him, equivalent to a victory.”
No expense was spared for this entertainment; rooms
were painted and decorated, refreshments were most mag-
nificent, dresses were in the height of splendor, and orna-
ments and lights for the apartments and pavilions were
begged, borrowed or taken from almost every house;―for
instance, the ball-room had eighty-five mirrors and thirty-
four branches of wax lights. At ten they had fire-works;
at twelve supper, and then they danced until four in the
morning; but doubtless the most absurd folly was in the
day, when seven 'Knights of the Burning Mountain' and
seven 'Knights of the Blended Rose' contended on horse-
back for the favor of fourteen beauties, dressed as Turk-
ish princesses, and sitting in fair view of all beholders.
Lord Howe and Sir William, Sir Henry Clinton, their
suites, many ladies, General Knyphausen and three other
English Generals were present; the noise of the perform-
ance filled the city.
We kept our house closed, as also Mr. Seaforth; here
we were of perfect accord. At morning worship my uncle
read the account of Belshazzar's feast.
During the evening it seemed as if the city were about
to be taken from its riotous possessors, for a company of
patriots came up to the abatis with kettles of combusti-
+
£
346
PATRIOT AND TORY:
bles and fired the whole line. The guard along the abatis
is strong and pursued the attacking party, who withdrew
in safety. The long alarm-roll was beaten, but the ladies
in the ball-room knew nothing of the attack which dis-
turbed the city.
The day after the mischianza General Howe withdrew
to New York, whence he is to sail for England on the
first ship. Sir Henry Clinton took command here on the
11th. He is not very popular.
Preparations for evacuating the city are now going on.
JUNE 16, 1778.
There has been little quiet anywhere around us of late.
Sir Henry Clinton was ordered to evacuate Philadelphia,
and the breaking up of quarters here occasioned great
turmoil. There was a packing up of effects, selling goods
and stores at auction, lading of transports with hay and
horses, shipping of cannon, arms, and ammunition. Not
only this, but a great number of our citizens were wild
with excitement and terror. They were those who had
been Patriots, and had turned Tories when the British
came, or who had taken a virulent part against their
patriot fellow-citizens in denouncing them and helping
to rob them. They now feared that they would suffer
in their turn. These people crowded the ships to go to
England or New York to the number of three thousand,
who took with them so much of their effects as they could
obtain transportation for. Their terrors were groundless,
but a guilty conscience does not pause to reason.
On the contrary, how peaceful and assured is a good
conscience-as Mr. Seaforth's.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
347
Major Banks said to him:
"Are you to leave the city, sir?"
"Should such a man as I flee?" replied Mr. Seaforth,
who is apt in quoting Scripture, though Scripture was
wasted on Major Banks; "I have wronged no man, ac-
cused no man; here is my home, here I expect always
to live." Then he added, laughing, "I shall abide un-
der the palladium of my friend Temple's protection, as
he has lately been abiding under mine."
Mr. Duché is of those who are flying to Europe. Mrs.
Seaforth is very sorry to part with him, she is also very
grieved that she must now lose Henry. When he goes
from her will he ever come back? Bessie is delighted
to go to New York; she says it is nicer than Philadel-
phia. I fancy she finds us some restraint upon her; per-
haps, too, she is ashamed that we know of Major Banks's
drinking and gambling.
Col. Nelson is very sad at leaving Philadelphia; he
hoped much from the arrival of the Peace Commission-
ers, who are-Frederick Howard, Earl of Carlisle; Wil-
liam Eden, and George Johnstone. They arrived on the
6th of June, and were very indignant when they found
that the order to evacuate Philadelphia had been con-
cealed from them. We know why commissions are now
sent. France has made an alliance with us; the news
got to Congress on the 2d of May, and on May 6th they
had a grand rejoicing because of the treaty, at Valley
Forge. We hear that the men had new clothes, abun-
dant rations, a grand parade, fire-works, and at the head of
each brigade the chaplains offered solemn thanksgiving
T
S
-
348
PATRIOT AND TORY:
for this new aid given America in her extremity. The
news was long in getting to us here in the city, but none the
less welcome when it did come; the treaty was concluded
on February 6th; this we owe doubtless to Dr. Franklin,
and uncle says, "See here the influence of the scholarly
and temperate man, hale and venerable in his old age,
commanding universal respect, wise by study, observation,
and experience, able to use in the service of his country
the fruits of a long life."
We get a little more news now; in the stir of depart-
ure people creep in and out of the city more easily. We
learn that the Marquis La Fayette was almost captured
on the 19th of May. Sir Henry Clinton had nearly sur-
rounded him, when, by skillful management, he got away
from White Marsh in safety. They tell us also that
General Lee has been exchanged for General Prescott,
and that Colonel Ethan Allen, after his long captivity in
England, has been exchanged for a British colonel, and
sent home. He went to Valley Forge to visit Washing-
ton. I am glad the sturdy old soldier is back; my
grandfather would have been pleased to hear that.
The Tories welcomed the Commissioners heartily,
trusting that they would end this weary war; the Patriots,
however, feel that these envoys, like the conciliatory
bills, come too late; beside, they are not the right men.
Mr. Seaforth had the Commissioners to tea at his
house, and invited my uncle to meet them.
He says
that Lord Carlisle is a young man of fashion, flippant,
amiable, and indolent, the last man in the world to con-
vince or captivate our sturdy yeomen, our scholarly
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
349
Schuyler, our brilliant Jefferson and Henry, learned With-
erspoon, far-seeing Washington, matter-of-fact Adamses.
Mr. Eden is very bitter against the Americans, and calls
them rebels, traitors, louts, who have been too gingerly
handled. This is unlikely to commend him to our peo-
ple-to enthusiastic Samuel Adams, or veteran Greene,
or ardent Rutledge. Mr. Johnstone is the strongest of
the party; he knows the Pennsylvanians, has stood our
friend in England, and will be regarded with respect
here, even though his mission can not avail any thing.
Mr. Seaforth told the Commissioners that a deal had
been done to embitter the Colonies, and that the conduct
of Cunningham, Provost Marshal here, toward prisoners,
had been enough to enrage a whole nation, and that in
his view the first step toward a reconciliation would be
to hang Cunningham before the two armies. He said
that he spoke this as a warm royalist, intending to
stand by his king to the last dollar and last drop of
blood.
C
Our army of nineteen thousand conquerors of this one
poor city, has gone off piecemeal. Five thousand went
to attack the French in the West Indies; three thousand
went to seize Florida; the cavalry went to New York,
and then ten thousand remained here with General
Clinton.
On the evening of June 17th Colonel Nelson came in
looking very mournful, and told us he had come for his
last visit for the present, as the army would depart next
day. He and Susannah have been learning a song by
Waller "Go, Lovely Rose;" they sang it together.
350
PATRIOT AND TORY:
A
Henry Seaforth also was to leave next day, and he and
Judith went out in the moonlight for a walk in the gar-
den. When it was time to say farewell-as Judith and
Henry had not yet made their appearance-Colonel Nel-
son begged my uncle to bid Judith adieu for him. He
shook hands with me, and with my uncle; then he turned
to Susannah. She made a grand effort to bid him good-
bye with composure; but, as his voice and hand trembled,
she suddenly turned away, laid her arms on the table,
bent her head upon them, and burst into tears. The Colo-
nel at once dropped on his knees beside her and begged
her to change her resolution and promise to be his wife.
Susannah with difficulty controlled her feelings, and, lift-
ing her head, responded that she had chosen the part
which had seemed right to her, and could not alter her
determination.
"If I am living when peace is declared," said the Colo-
nel, "I will at once come to you to ask for the promise
which you now refuse. But when I come then, shall I
find that some one of your compatriots, happier than I,
has now your hand?”
"No," said Susannah; "you will find me just as I am
now."
He laid in her hand a little box, and then, kissing her
on her bowed head, he left the room. Susannah that
night showed me what was in the box-a very excellent
miniature on ivory, of himself, and a ring. She put the
ring in a case with some relics of her mother, but I can
not tell what she did with the picture: I have not seen it
since.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
319
"Eh," said Bessie; "this constancy is a great bore,
anyhow. I'll have none of it!"
The next afternoon she rushed over to tell me that she
had accepted Captain Banks, and that her father, having
had a stroke of good luck somehow, had given her
plenty of money, so that she should send to New York
for her trousseau. After this Bessie went and consulted
Mistress Seaforth as to her dress and behavior, accepted
all her advice, listened tractably when she set before her
her duties and responsibilities, and, in fact, behaved so
well, that at the end of a fortnight our generous friend
offered to have her married at her house. This has made
Bessie quite happy for the nonce, and since that she be-
haves better than ever. As to Captain Banks, he con-
ducts himself with propriety, and seems fond of Bessie.
Indeed, he has just got his promotion, and is now Major
Banks, to Bessie's vast delight; she calls him the major on
all occasions, as if there were but one in the world!
But surely this is any thing but a proper diary in Dame
Warren's understanding thereof, with so much about
Bessie and her love-making.
1
APRIL 19, 1778.
Though there have been hints of the evacuation of this
city by the British, there are as yet no visible prepara-
ions for it, and the officers here conduct themselves as if
they would stay forever. 'Tis said that General Howe
hath not captured Philadelphia, but Philadelphia hath
captured General Howe. The good city of the Quakers
never expected to be so riotous; my uncle says the plays
and displays here going on, will spoil us all for being
21
320
PATRIOT AND TORY:
proper citizens of a republic, for republics, to continue,
should have citizens grave, decent, thrifty, and self-deny-
ing. But our Philadelphians seem generally vying with
the British officers in extravagance. The officers, by a
tax on their pay, have opened a large house for amuse-
ment. Here, in one large room, they hold a weekly ball;
in another is the theater; there are rooms for gaming, for
wine suppers, for reading, and for chess. Captain Sca-
forth and Colonel Nelson go to these last two rooms, and
one day Captain André, meeting Susannah, Hester, and
me out together-and we are seldom upon the streets
nowadays took us to see the curtain which he had
painted for the theater, and prayed us to come to the rep-
resentations which occur thrice a week, but we should
never be allowed. Uncle was quite vexed at our going to
view the curtain with Captain André. Captain André is
quartered in Dr. Franklin's house. Mistress Bache left
the city before the British entered. Poor soul! it was
hard for her to leave so commodious and dear an abode,
filled with her good father's special treasures, and she
had also a babe but four days old when she left. She
carried with her all the books she could get conveyance
for, but my uncle, who has gone several times to call on
Captain André, says that the other books and all the mu-
sical instruments are being carried off. However, as
Captain André is too much the gentleman to have drunken
riots at his abode, the house is being much better pre-
served than many here. The captain vows he will carry
off the doctor's portrait which hangs in the dining-room.
Captain André gave a party last week at his house, and
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
321
he prayed us earnestly to attend, but my uncle would not
permit us to do so. He says we are too gay as it is, with
all the company coming to our house, and which we can
not keep away. To be sure, we are polite to all that
come, and Captain Seaforth and Colonel Nelson natu-
Hester
rally bring their friends with them to visit us.
gives our guests some sharp touches once in a while. No
one cares less for attentions from "our enemies" than
does she. Hester has a harp, and plays very well upon
it, but it has been silent since our city was captured.
Among our visitors is an ensign, a fair little youth, who
sees fit to admire our dark Hester prodigiously. The
other evening he begged hard that Hester would play on
her harp. She replied:
"The strings are broken, and I shall not get them
mended until our enemies are gone from America.”
"And how do you expect them to go?" asked Captain
André, sitting by.
"By the same Gates that Burgoyne went, doubtless,"
returned she.
Captain André looked vexed, but the rest of us had
much ado to keep from laughing. Some one, to be even
with her, asked cuttingly:
"How is that starving army of yours doing up at
Valley Forge?"
But he reckoned without his host who expected to en-
trap Hester. She spoke up quickly:
"Oh, it is all Greene up there now, so they are living
in clover," and good enough, too, for her to say it, for
since General Greene took the commissary our men have
{
322
PATRIOT AND TORY:
had food and clothes.
Hester's wit was in the ascendant
that evening, for when her ensign lover was goaded to
say, "Well, we shall go up there and bag them all some
fine night before long," the girl retorted:
"Once I fancied you would show us Howe that was to
be done, but now I see there is no probability of it.”
Still they come to visit us in spite of such passages-at-
arms as this, and I think Colonel Nelson explained the
reason of it the other evening to Susannah. He said:
“Our officers here are living in riot and festivities because
they are relieved from the restraints of home, and are
tempted by the evil example of a few: yet amid all their
dissipation the memory of their English homes, with inno-
cent sisters and gentle mothers by the hearths, is like a
shrine in their hearts; and here in your house, and at
Mistress Seaforth's and some few other places in this city,
they find all the calmness and refinement and purity which
they themselves have driven out of other houses, and so
they come here for the sake of more innocent days and
honester employments than they have now."
"Ah me!” cried Susannah, "what a pity that they ever
came from their good homes to do wrong and to get
wrong!"
"I am glad that I came," said the Colonel.
"There is Captain André engaged to be married,"
added Susannah; "what a pity that he is here, where he
may go into battle and be killed.”
"What a pity that he is here robbing Doctor Franklin
of his house!" cried Hester.
"But Doctor Franklin is in Paris, and does not need it;
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
323
and the captain is more careful of the place than many
would be," suggested Susannah.
"Thanks to the Cliffords for taking care of it," said
Hester.
Yes, Doctor Franklin is in Paris still, and we are in
hopes to hear very soon that a treaty of alliance has been
entered into with France; then our success would be sure
indeed with such an ally. Even now our ships run into
French ports to refit, to load, to escape pursuit; and we
have had several cargoes of military stores sent over; yet
half the vessels are wrecked or captured on the way; and
So
then we take revenge by capturing a British cruiser.
the war goes on, vexing land and sea.
Yesterday uncle went out to buy some chairs for our
parlor, and took me with him. Of course we went to Mis-
tress Ross, widow, upholsterer, as she is one of our Patri-
ots-indeed, she made our first national flag, General
Washington himself giving her the pattern of it, in 1776.
When we had looked at the chairs the widow said to my
uncle :
"There are some of your way of thinking back in my
parlor, come in and have a crack with them.”
So she led the way to the parlor behind the shop, where,
around the fire, were three gentlemen, who made room for
my uncle in their midst. They offered me a seat by him,
but, not being cold, I sat on the sofa behind them. Mis-
tress Ross presently brought in a tray, with cups of coffee
and a dish of cracknels, and treated her guests. The talk
first ran on what news we were likely to get from France.
All hoped the best from Doctor Franklin's popularity.
PATRIOT AND TORY:
324
The good old sage is a favorite wherever he goes. One
of the gentlemen was sure that we should hear of a treaty
with Spain as early as one was made with France. My
uncle thought not. He said:
66
Romanism in Spain has not merely cut down the plant
Free Thought, but it has rooted it out, sowed the ground
wherein it grew with salt, and burned it with fire. There
is nothing left in Spain for the idea of liberty to take
hold of. In America the idea of political freedom is the
legitimate offspring of religious freedom; in Catholic
Spain there is not one emotion left to beat responsive to
Protestantism, least of all the stern Protestantism of
America."
"But France is also Catholic," urged one of the gen-
tlemen.
"That is true. But the French nation have not yet
felt it a sin to think. Philosophy and science there make
a way for the notion of individual rights, and the idea of
liberty is welcome to noble and peasant, and presses itself
upon the attention of kings. There is opportunity there
of alliance with America, but I doubt it will not be
lasting."
"Once this war is over," said one of the gentlemen,
"we do not want allies. Set apart from the rest of the
world as we are, we should be friendly to all nations,
bound to none."
On the way home I said to my uncle: "Sir, if you find
reason for or against alliances in religious opinions, then
Britain is our legitimate ally, being the only nation truly
akin to us in religious feeling and history."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
325
"That is true," said my uncle, "and once we get all
questions of rights between us fairly settled, I trust Eng-
land and America will be in friendship, a Jonathan and
David among the nations."
As for our affairs here in America, my uncle says that
the independence of the country is, in his opinion, virtu-
ally secured. Only Newport, New York and Philadel-
phia are in British possession. Our cruisers are getting
strength and number on the sea, so that it will make it
more and more difficult for them to get troops and sup-
plies from home; and as our armies continually become
more effective, they will more thoroughly prevent the
British from getting forage or foothold inland. My uncle
always talks of the state of affairs at dinner table. He
desires to keep us informed, and we never have guests at
that meal. My uncle tells us that the British are likely
to gain advantages and territory in our Southern States,
they being more exposed in various ways, but if the Howes
and Clinton could be captured with their armies, or de-
feated like Burgoyne, we could make peace on advanta-
geous terms, and demand the complete evacuation of all the
colonies by the British; and, of course, the war must go
on until every foot of every one of the thirteen colonies
is FREE. My uncle thinks, from what he hears, that the
King of Prussia will succeed in preventing any more mer-
cenaries being hired in Europe, and that will make a vast
difference to the King of England. I shall be glad to
hear that no more men are hired out like brutes to be
killed, and driven at the point of the bayonet from their
homes, and wives, and little children, to come fight in a
326
PATRIOT AND TORY:
war about which they care nothing. We hear, too, that
those vile men-I hate to call them princes, for princes
should mean something noble-had rather have their sol-
diers killed than not, so that they can get more money
from the English. I am sure King George must despise
them, even while he is dealing with them.
Uncle says our two greatest dangers lie-in a weak
government, and in our Continental money. In January,
February and this last March, two millions and a half
have been issued, and it is rumored that now in April six
millions more will be sent out, and this money is worth
nothing, or almost nothing, and the credit of the country
is being ruined. Uncle says that as a consequence of
this worthless money, prices will run up enormously high,
and recklessness, extravagance and bad faith will be the
result. Then, as to our weak government, the States do
not send their best men to Congress; indeed, they do not
insist upon their coming at all, and we learn that this
winter there have been only from nine to seventeen mem-
bers in Congress; and these are supposed to represent
the government of thirteen great colonies! The conse-
quence is, that the different colonies govern themselves,
call out armies, manage their affairs in their own way,
and there is a lack of united action. Besides, the men
who are in Congress are timid and irresolute; if there is
one thing that I hate it is changing one's mind. All our
best men, who made Congress worth something once, are
now scattered abroad. Washington is with the army,
Franklin and Deane are in France, and John Adams is
ordered there: Jay has gone to Spain, Thomas Jefferson
D
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
327
would have been in France but for illness, and is now at
home; Rutledge is defending South Carolina. Still there
are a few of our good statesmen left in the Government,
and uncle says they are doing wonders, all things consid-
ered. Uncle says it is very easy for people in a house.
ashore to look out at the sea in a tempest, and wonder
why the helmsman of some staggering, mastless bark does
thus and so, and why he does not run her safely into port.
We would know better what the difficulties were if we
stood in the helmsman's place. When these times are
long gone by, and independence is secured, then, uncle
says, it will be known what a storm was this, and what
were the rocks and dangers on every hand, and how sorely
bestead the ship was; how maimed and dismantled; how
fearful were the leaks she sprung, and how matchless was
that seamanship that brought us safely through. Uncle
never despairs.
APRIL, 23, 1778.
I was writing just here of a ship, and since then we
have been interested in ships. My uncle Matthew Tem-
ple got pass in here this week, and is now gone again.
His friend, Matthew Ridley, of Baltimore, is at Nantes, in
commission business; and Judith concluded that, as it had
been a long time since we had any good clothes, and it
might be longer ere we should again have opportunity to
get any, we should give an order to Uncle Matthew that
he might get transmitted to Nantes for us, and we would
have a parcel sent from France; good luck if ever it gets
here. Bessie heard of the plan, and begged that she
might send with us; so Judith gave her leave, and Annie
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Seaforth sent also. Our parcels are to come, for greater
safety, by three ships. Bessie sent for a pink silk negligee;
shoes, feathers and ribbons to match; white silk gauze,
six pair silk hose, as many pair kid gloves, five yards blue
velvet, and three pair white embroidered slippers. The
others of us were more moderate. Annie Seaforth ordered
a maize-colored satin petticoat and a lace scarf and an
embroidered fan. Judith is to have a bonnet and a satin
cloak. I do hope the parcels will come safely; it will be
such a treat to see new things.
Bessie is very busy making arrangements to be married.
She has set the day for the eighth of May. She is at Mis-
tress Seaforth's much of the time. The other day she sent
for me to come there and help her make a tucker, as she
was pleased to say that I was handy at such things. Judith
bid me go; so I put on my work-pocket and went. When
Bessie finally laid me out the pattern and the material I
perceived that it was some of my dear grandmother's old
lace; very rich and beautiful it is, and I recalled so clearly
how she used to wear it, and how well it became her when
she put it on upon state occasions. I also remembered
what a wise guardian she had been to my childhood, what
a devoted wife to my grandfather, what a pattern of in-
dustry, patriotism, piety and steadfast friendship; also
what a truthful, loyal, straight-speaking soul was hers.
And thinking of these things I wept. Bessic noticed my
tears, and cried out, "Why, how now, child? Are you
vexed that you did not have that good lace?"
I replied indignantly that I did not desire the lace.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
329
She said: "Why, surely, you can not be crying over your
grandmother after all these years!"
"Indeed I am," I sobbed.
"Oh, how strange to remember so long!" shrieked
Bessie. "Why, I would forget myself in two years' time."
Now I am ashamed to record it, but this amazing dec-
laration of Bessie's set me from crying into a fit of laugh-
ter. Bessie thought she had quite cheered me up. I
made the tucker as well as I could, and Bessie put it on.
She had on a rose-colored gown over a drab petticoat, and
truly the tucker became her well, toning her high color,
and softening the outlines of her face, and serving the
part that the moss does to the rosebud. We all compli-
mented her on her appearance, and for herself, she was
quite satisfied with it. Captain Banks came in the after-
noon and asked Bessie to go for a walk with him. They
wanted Annie Seaforth and me to go with them, and obe-
dient to a sign from Mistress Seaforth we went. She does
not like Bessie's going by herself as she does. As we
went up Market Street we saw General Howe coolly riding
along in Mary Pemberton's coach, drawn by Mary Pem-
berton's horses. As soon as he came to the city he seized
these for his own use, and since then Dame Pemberton
has gone on foot. Just after the General passed we met
an old, long-bearded man, carrying fruit baskets. As my
eye fell on him it flashed upon me that I had seen him
somewhere. I seemed to have a sudden half recognition
of him.
Bessie cried out: "There is the fruit-seller who goes so
often to General Howe."
330
PATRIOT AND TORY:
7
Some half-defined idea moved me to say, "Let us buy
some fruit."
“Oh, yes,” said Bessie, "pray do, it will be so amusing
to buy of the old creature!"
The man was hurrying on, as if preferring not to sell,
but Captain Banks, to oblige us, called him to stop and
let the ladies have a taste of his wares. He therefore
stopped, and while Captain Banks was trading with him,
I ventured to carp a little at the fruit and prices, in order
to have a delay, that I might study the merchant's face.
The board, the wig, various other alterations had made
strange work with the countenance, but at last I knew
my man. Only one thing that saved me from openly chal-
lenging my old neighbor thus: "Why here, and disguised,
Mr. Brown?" The thing that saved me was this-the
reading at worship in the morning from Luke ii. My
uncle remarked to us on the verse, "But Mary kept all
these things and pondered them in her heart": "Mary is
an example of wise reticence; some people speak out
without consideration the instant they see any thing
strange or wonderful; some make public talk of their
private affairs-he loses nothing who ponders events in
his heart before speaking concerning them." So I took
the mother of the Lord for an example of prudence 'in
speech, and only told my uncle privately of my discovery
of Mr. Brown. He had me write a careful description.
of his appearance and give it to him, and he bid me say
nothing of what I had seen.
-
APRIL 25, 1778.
Yesterday three of the prisoners whom we are now
*
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
331
nursing in the attic fell very ill, and uncle feared it was a
contagious fever. He said we girls must leave the house,
lest we all took sick. Susannah only would go so far as
Mistress Seaforth's, so that if uncle or Judith took sick she
might at once be with them. Judith, however, got a pass
through Colonel Nelson, and sent me with Hester to Ma-
dame Logan's, to stay until called for. We were loath to
leave the home friends in danger, but Mistress Seaforth's
house was full, and uncle insisted on us coming hither.
CHAPTER XIII.
MAY 3, 1778.
WE rode out to Mistress Logan's under escort of Cap-
tain Henry Seaforth, and of Pompey, who carried a
satchel of clothes for us. The Captain left us at the
gate, having a review to attend; Mistress Logan received
us kindly, and said half in jest, "that we were welcome
to the shelter of her roof so long as she had any." She
told me privately that she feared she had aroused the
hostility of General Howe. Mistress Logan has been so
hospitable to the British officers, and has made them so
many entertainments, that she has been regarded, gener-
ally, as neutral, or a Tory; still, it has not been possible
for her to give aid and information so often to Patriots,
without being at least suspected; and the other day she en-
dangered her safety by a careless use of her tongue-so
she tells me. The British government, all too late, have
passed "Conciliatory Bills"-bills which, passed five
S
332
PATRIOT AND TORY:
years ago, might have mollified the Colonies, but now
come too late to heal the division that evil counsel has
made. Governor Tryon, of New York, has published
copies of these bills, also of a resolution, to offer pardon
to all insurgents. Governor Tryon had the impudence to
send copies of his bills to General Washington at Valley
Forge, asking him to distribute them among the soldiers!
The General did so, knowing that nothing but recognition
of American Independence would satisfy the Patriots,
and that these bills, in their blind ignoring of that, and
the terrible price of blood already paid toward obtaining
it, would only make his soldiers more resolute to defend
their cause. One of these bills, by some means, got to
66
Logan House," and aroused Mistress Logan's sarcasm,
and she turned it into ridicule before some English of-
ficers, who were calling upon her. She says that not an
officer has been near her house since, and that she has had
hints that General Howe has heard of what she said, and
is angry.
Mistress Logan tells one that these bills have done a
world of harm to the king's cause. Not only have they
awakened the contempt of the Patriot, but they have filled
the Royalists, and the British army, with indignation, be-
cause they show such a falling off in the tone hitherto
used toward the "rebels," and indicate such weakness and
irresolution in the king's government. The Royalists
have been fighting, dying, suffering, exiled, to maintain
rights which the king could, but would not concede at
first, but now, humbly offers, when it is too late. We
hear that there is great displeasure in England toward
*
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
333
General Howe. They say that he is insolent and half-
hearted; that he throws away all his advantages, and has
lost a winter; and that he might have saved Burgoyne
if he had tried to do so. Word is, that he is to be re-
called; but his officers and men are very fond of him,
and will be loath to have him go. The weather was
most lovely when we went to Mistress Logan's. The
trees were coming into leaf; the birds in her beautiful
shrubbery were busy; the myrtle, violets, daffodils, and
primroses were in bloom; the little brook sang on its
way; the bees had begun to work, and all the fields were
green. Hester, Miss Logan, and I could hardly keep in
doors, and we wandered in the garden all the day after
our arrival. Mistress Logan would not suffer us to go
into the fields, there are so many strangers lurking about.
The second day of our stay had nearly been our last.
We were preserved from a great trouble entirely by Mis-
tress Logan's presence of mind. My Cousin Judith
often talks to us about the worth and beauty of this
presence of mind, and condemns that frantic excitement
that can never do the right thing at the right time. Mis-
tress Logan's example will doubtless avail to me and
Hester, as much as a thousand disquisitions on the sub-
ject.
About noon, as we ate our dinner, we were startled by
a loud rapping on the front door. Mistress Logan her-
self answered the summons, and there were two British
soldiers. These men told her gruffly that they had been
sent by General Howe to burn Logan House. Mistress
Logan endeavored to argue the matter, or to get them to
334
PATRIOT AND TORY:
delay while she sent a petition into the city; but they told
her plainly that the right or wrong of the affair was none
of their business; that all their duty was to obey orders,
and to delay would be as much as their lives were worth,
for the General had sworn that the house was a nest of
rebels, and should be in ashes by night. The soldiers
were quite sober and in deep earnest. They warned Mis-
tress Logan to make no delay, but to set herself at once
to save what few valuables she could get out of the
place. Fifteen minutes was the utmost that they could
give her, and this short space they should spend in the
barn preparing combustibles.
By this time the whole household had gathered in the
square entrance hall behind Mistress Logan, and the
maids were shrieking and wringing their hands, and Miss
Logan was weeping. The men turned off to the barn,
and Mistress Logan cried to us all to rush through the
house and gather the silver, linen, and best things in
sheets or baskets, and carry them to the cellar. I com-
prehended at once what she designed-we should carry
down household stuff as long as we might, and then,
while the house was burning above, we could be below
getting these things into the subterranean passage, where
they would be quite safe. Away we flew. Hester, and
Miss Logan, and one of the upper maids worked with
much dispatch and judgment, and I helped them, but was
stopped once or twice to call the other, servants to their
senses. The youngest servant went to flinging china
and earthenware into the cellar, covering thereby the
steps with broken bits, to the ruin of the crockery and our
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
351
Uncle John gave Susannah a little good advice next
day:
"Youth, my daughter, is volatile, and camps do not en-
courage steady habits. I do not doubt that, now, Colonel
Nelson is sincere; also, I know that you are worthy of
any man's utmost fealty. But men change; and it is dan-
gerous to set all our hope and faith on any thing beneath
the skies."
"He WILL NOT change, father," said Susannah, quietly;
then, in a firmer tone: "and if he did, why, it would only
show that the man I cared for was not this Colonel but
an ideal; and I would keep the ideal and let the changeful
real go.
""
I said, merrily:
"Oh, Susannah, do you know that on the day when the
Colonel came here first-to turn us out of our quarters and
send us to the attic, you know-he said that he wished he
had had his good clothes on, so that he would have looked
better to your eyes?"
"He always looks well enough," said Susannah.
“You seemed to think him frightful that day,” said I,
"for you carefully kept the length of the room between
you two."
"It was not the man, but the uniform, that frightened
me," said Susannah.
"And it was the uniform, not the man, that was going
to send us to the attic!" cried Hester.
"Have done, children," cried my uncle. "The Colonel
has paid for his temerity-he came to conquer and was
conquered."
23
352
PATRIOT AND TORY:
+
"May that be a type of affairs between England and
America," exclaimed Hester.
"As Susannah was victorious by beauty, so America
will be by the justice of her claims," said I.
66
66
Nonsense," said Uncle John. "You have driven
that poor child from the room by your tormenting
remarks."
Well, they are gone. The invaders whom the autumn
saw enter our town have departed with the early summer.
I do not know what advantage they gained by coming
here, only to have a pleasant place to spend the winter.
Judith has been happy-in one way at least; and now
that Henry has left us there is in her eyes that look of
patience and apprehension. But that dear little Tory,
Annie Seaforth, in spite of her Royalist principles, looks
happier than she has all winter, for we are expecting
Charles every day.
What a queer overturning tyrant this love is. I am
glad that I am not in love with any body-and I
wouldn't have any one fall in love with me for the
world!
General Washington has sent General Arnold, one of
our bravest officers, to take command of the city. This
General is lame from a wound in the leg received in the
fight at Stillwater last autumn. We were all anxious to
see so famous a man. He is very splendid in his dress
and appearance, and we girls were quite enthusiastic
about him until we asked Uncle John to join our praises,
when he said:
"Undoubtedly he is a great patriot, and I love him for
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
353
his cause; but he has the face of a man bold, haughty,
selfish, unscrupulous; and his history has not been free
from blots of harshness

and dishonesty. As a
man I believe I had
rather General Howe any
day."
How very odd of un-
cle. He is surely mis-
taken this time. Gen-
eral Burgoyne is not to
be allowed to go home
with his army until the
British Government
I
www
3
RNOLD
ratify the terms of surrender. Congress thinks he means
to try and deceive us.
CHAPTER XIV.
:
JULY 24, 1778.
I
WAS so ignorant of military affairs as to suppose that
when General Clinton stole out of our city between
two days, we should see presently General Washington
riding in in state, followed by all his army in holiday
trim. My uncle laughed at the fancy. He says our Gen-
eral has no time for mock heroics or May-day parade;
what engages him is work. So, indeed, it seems that it
is; for while he sent General Arnold with a few troops to
occupy the city, himself remained to get a battle with Sir
354
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Henry Clinton, if he might; but Clinton was too wary.
All he desired was to get off safely, and to cover the re-
treat of General Knyphausen with the baggage. How-
ever, there was a battle at Monmouth on the 28th of June,
and every one says that it might have been a glorious
victory, except for the mistakes-or worse, evil intents-
of General Lee, whom I heartily wish had been kept a
prisoner and not been sent back to bother us.
The day
of the battle of Monmouth was very hot, and many men on
both sides died of sunstroke. In the night General Clin-
ton quietly withdrew. He is now safe in New York. It
is said that during his retreat through the Jerseys, he lost
two thousand men by sun, wounds, and especially deser-
tion. The Hessians desert whenever they get a chance;
and I do not wonder at it, for they know that their king
wants them killed, so that he can get the pay for them;
and that when they are crippled, or on parole, or sick
leave, he will not let them come home, lest they tell
things that will hinder his hiring out any more men for
the war.
As they are thus prevented ever seeing their
families more, I suppose they desert, hoping to have
health and homes and a future in this country.
The commissioners sent to treat with the colonies, as
colonies, have entirely failed to convince any one. Mr.
Morris showed my Uncle John a letter which he had
from Mr. Johnstone, which was an evident but craftily-
worded attempt to bribe General Washington, General
Reed, and a few others-as if such men could be bribed!
General Reed has said some wrong things, and he has
done some weak and timid things, but in the eyes of the
W
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
355
country he has atoned for all these in the reply he made
to an offer of bribe from Johnstone: "I am not worth
purchasing, but such as I am, the King of Great Britain
is not rich enough to do it." I am sure all honest-hearted
Englishmen must respect such patriotism as that, even in
an enemy.
On the eighth of this month a French fleet, sent to help
us in our operations along the coast, and to harass the
British shipping, anchored at the mouth of the Delaware.
What a pity that the weather had detained them so long
on their voyage, else they might have caught Admiral
Howe's fleet here in the river!
In this city we think we have seen something of the
war; and I, who saw the struggle open in Massachusetts,
am apt to relate the wonders of my experience to my
young friends. But how little do we know of war's cruel-
ties and misfortunes in comparison with those who are on
the frontier, where the Indians have been aroused up to
the deeds of violence. We have just heard news that
has stirred all our hearts; the British and Indians have
descended on the beautiful Wyoming Valley, and have
massacred men, women, and children. Most of the able-
bodied men were in the army; four or five of these re-
turned to defend their families, but the militia at Forty
Fort were old men or boys, and these, under Colonel Zebu-
lon Butler, after a brave fight were routed, and almost all
of them butchered. Women, children, invalids, and aged
men fled, without food or horses by night, pursued by
the yelling Indians. Some died of fatigue and hunger on
the road. Oh, the poor women and little ones, whose
356
PATRIOT AND TORY:
husbands, fathers, and brothers were killed!-homeless,
hungry, and beggared, flying through the terrible woods!
We all feel so badly for them, that we can hardly eat or
sleep for thinking of those whom we would gladly help,
but who are past our helping.
I do not see why this war should go on any longer. All
the continental nations think we have virtually gained
our independence. General Howe said when he left, that
all the disposable forces of Britain could not conquer
America. Lord Carlisle says: "Things go ill here, and
will never go better for us." Sir Henry Clinton declares
that "he is not strong enough to enforce the King's
authority." All the British plan now is, to lay waste the
country within reach of their armies. What benefit will
that be, if we succeed in maintaining a sovereign right to
the land? We hear that in England the Commons are
tired of the war, and want their armies home. They say
the sooner peace is made the better. Here, my uncle says,
is the disastrous power of the King. His influence, thrown
against that of the people, can drag the nation into a
course from which their better sense revolts. My great-
grandfather would have said that this is because kings
do not rule in God-fearing and man-loving, and do not
make Christ, the King of kings, their pattern.
JULY 30, 1778.
The breaking up of the army at Valley Forge, and its
scattering for summer operations, has widely separated our
soldier friends. We can not feel too thankful that Charles
is among those who have been detailed to occupy Phila-
delphia. His company arrived so much later than the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
357

46
***** to thankin
iinu
BABYANG KANILA?!!!!
*****nant!!!!
**Ow
...............
lia: 11.
The beautiful Valley of Wyoming."
TTCCCIII
HARE.
358
PATRIOT AND TORY:
major part of the regiments sent hither, that we feared
they had been ordered elsewhere. Charles was at the
battle of Monmouth, and escaped without a scratch.
Henry Seaforth's company was not then engaged, as it
was covering closely the movements of Knyphausen.
Charles came home on the evening of the twelfth.
Annie Seaforth had been visiting us, and Hester had
just called Peter to attend her home. It was after night-
fall, and our front door was open. As Annie was going
out, she turned to speak to me.
While she was drawing
her shawl over her shoulders, and still kept walking back-
ward, so it happened that she walked exactly into Charles's
arms, as he came into the door. She was so surprised and
delighted to find Charles back, after his long, anxious
absence, that she threw her arms about his neck, and
kissed him several times; then, shame-faced at this exhibi-
tion of her feelings, she ran and hid behind Judith, while
the rest of us welcomed with enthusiasm our returned
hero. My uncle said: "Come away, Annie; do not be
ashamed at having given Charles a kind welcome. I am
sure Judith kissed Henry when he came."
“Oh, but it is different to kiss Henry," said Annie,
simply.
“Yes, for you,” said Hester; and we all laughed. Annie
forgot to go home, and we forgot to send word to Mr.
Seaforth, and when it became late-about ten o'clock-he
came over to see what was the matter; then he ran to
bring Mistress Seaforth, and we all talked and enjoyed
our reunion until midnight.
General Putnam, with two brigades, has been stationed
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
359
near West Point-the possession of the forts and passes
of the Hudson Highlands being a main object of the
enemy. In the companies who have thus gone near West
Point are Robert Shirtliffe and Mr. Reid. Thomas Otis,
and Isaiah Hooper,
and Mr. Bowdoin
are with the regi-
ments who are gone
to that most danger-
ous field, continually
ravaged by Indians,
and filled with the
terrors of Brandt, the
Mohawk and Scho-

harie Valleys. Jo-
seph Dana and Han-
nah are with Wayne's
army in the Jerseys.
General Washington
OC
BRANDT.
MINE
is at White Plains, watching for the first movement of
Sir Henry Clinton; and the French fleet and some of
our forces under Greene and Lafayette are now endeavor-
ing to regain possession of Rhode Island. If this can
be accomplished, the British will be restricted to New
York and the Southern coast; and my uncle says that if
Sir Henry Clinton can be beaten in New York, the South-
ern States must be evacuated by the British.
Mr. Reid, Thomas Otis, and Hannah Dana were all at
our house for the first week in July. They were in the
city on different errands. Hannah had altered much
360
PATRIOT AND TORY:
since I left her the 1st of March. She is very thin. She
wears a cap like an old woman, but all her indomitable
spirit shines in her eyes. I told her that she had better
remain in the city for six months at least, to recruit. She
could attend to the sick, wounded, and prisoners here; and
my uncle bade her make his house her home, so long as
she would stay. She replied that the disabled in the
city would fare much better than those in the camp, and
that her place was where there was most danger and suf-
fering. She said that when she first went to the army,
there seemed to be several hinderances in her way, but
that these had been removed. She had thought that she
might not be permitted to follow with the camp, or that
she and Joseph might be separated; but she had been
made welcome, and her services had been well esteemed
by officers and men; also she had been always near her
brother. She had questioned whether, though she was
very strong, her strength would hold out for such work as
she had chosen, but she had been able night and day, in
all weathers and dangers, to attend to her duties; then,
she had apprehended that she might be recalled from her
post by home affairs; her parents might be ill, or her
mother might die; but of these cares she had also been
relieved, for her elder brother's widow and two children
had gone to live at the deacon's, so there was provided
help, society, and family for her old parents, even if she
and Joseph never returned home. "And see," continued
Hannah, "how God has blessed me. I had been very un-
happy, because I had means to do so little, but suddenly
I have been provided with means, hard money, for all I
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
361
want," and then she told me that a bachelor uncle, know-
ing that she would never marry, had made her heir of
his little hoard of money, and that she had come to the
town to buy such things as she had long needed for her
army work.
"But, Hannah," I said, "your uncle meant that money
for your support, if you are ill or grow old."
She replied: "When I have given my country myself,
can I not also give what money falls to me? I believe
that for this use it was given to me." And so here is
Hannah Dana spending her all for the Patriots. My
uncle and Mr. Reid have helped her make her purchases.
She got a covered wagon and a pair of strong young
horses. The wagon is arranged to carry as many sick or
wounded as it will hold, and there are boxes and cases
fastened compactly in it to hold lint, bandages, knives,
scissors, bottles of wine, fruit, jellies, biscuits, and other
things useful to the sick; also two cases of medicines ar-
ranged by Doctor Binney; and strapped along the top of
the wagon are half a dozen good blankets for covering
the wounded in cold nights.
When it comes winter, Judith means to send Hannah
our famous fur cloak. I hope no one will ever capture
Hannah's wagon. What a world of good she will do with
it. She took some of her money with her, sewn in her
clothes, and gave the rest to my uncle, to be sent her, or
laid out as she should order. I marveled much at Han-
nah Dana while she was with us; she is as short of speech
and as silent as formerly, but a new patience, and com-
passionateness, and experience, have grown up in her
362
PATRIOT AND TORY:
heart, and I noticed that every one listened with careful
attention to all that she said, and that she never wasted a
word. I said one afternoon to Mr. Reid, as he chanced
to be sitting near where I was at work: "Has Hannah
Dana changed, or have I altered so much in three years?
She appears to me a very different person from what I
thought her long ago." Said Richard Reid: "Hannah is
one of the noblest natures that God ever made. No one
can know her as well as I do, without feeling for her, not
mercly respect, but reverence. To those who have seen
her as I have, rising from the short sleep of stormy win-
ter nights, to bend over some sick man's pillow, and com-
fort him with words of the future he is winning for his
children, or console him with hopes of heaven; who have
seen her, tender as a mother to some dying boy; who have
beheld her brave as a man, in the face of some fever ma-
niac; who have watched her on the field of battle, when
balls were flying around her, calmly binding up wounds
and giving water to thirsty lips; who have heard her in
the horrors of the night after a conflict, praying for some
expiring patriot on the bloody earth; who have seen her
searching for life in the ghastly faces turned up to the sky:
to these would Hannah Dana always appear glorified as a
saint. Strangers see her a woman prematurely old, weath-
er-beaten, gray, plain, abrupt. To those of us to whom she
has come, an angel of mercy in the midst of war, she
stands in the beauty of self-sacrifice and entire self-for-
getting-made on the pattern of her Master, loving not
her life unto death."
Yes, this is Hannah, the true Hannah; and Richard
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
363
Reid, who holds goodness and duty higher than any
thing else, ought to love and admire her. I sat by my
window in the moonlight thinking of it, thinking of how
much nobler Hannah's life is than mine; and while she
gives all to her country, I do nothing. Judith came in and
asked me why I was crying. I hardly knew that I was cry-
ing until she spoke, but I told her what a difference I saw
between Hannah and myself. Judith said: "Yes; we can
not estimate her work too highly, but remember that God
does not call all people to do the same work. He did not
make you for the exact kind of work that he did her.
God makes in his world oak-trees and rose-trees: oaks to
be strong and useful, rose-trees to be beautiful and sweet;
each speak alike His wisdom and goodness, each are best
in fulfilling His design. There is neither rivalry nor com-
parison, if each grows as he made it, just the best of its
kind, oak or rose."
ARE
"But the world needs oaks more than roses," I said.
"Perhaps not," she replied; "we do not know how much
need the world has of roses. God has made them grow from
the Alpine snows to the warm valleys of Cashmere."
I did not tell Judith that there was a thought in my
heart that men like Richard Reid care most for useful
oaks; and why should I feel sorry for that, if it is so?
Hannah went off as soon as she had completed her pur-
chases. I think the few days here, had done her good,
for she looked brighter and stronger. We loaded her with
all the presents that we could find, suitable for herself and
patients. Forty men were going to join General Wayne.
A surgeon was traveling with them, and Hannah went too.
364
PATRIOT AND TORY:
She drove off in her wagon, looking pleased as a queen,
and Mr. Reid accompanied her for five miles on horse-
back. Thomas Otis was the next to leave. The evening.
before he went we had a long talk about the old home at
Plymouth, and the fishing on the bay, the visits to Dame
Mercy, and all the merry old times when I think there
could have been no trouble in the world. Thomas showed
me the lock of my hair, done up in silver paper, in his
note-book. I am sorry now that I did not tell him that I
thought giving hair was foolish, and that we could remem-
ber each other without that token-I feared it would make
him feel badly if I said that. Thomas is going to a very
dangerous place; I wish he had been sent to West Point.
I felt very sorry when he went away, and so did Hester;
indeed she felt worse than I did. I suppose she must be
more tender-hearted than I am. Why did she cry the
most? Thomas Otis had not been her friend all her life,
catching fish and lobsters with her, and putting up swings
for her, and playing keep-house under the hayrick, or on
the rocks by the shore. I told myself all these things,
and it seemed quite cruel of me not to feel more heart-
broken than I did at his going. I hate to be hard-hearted,
I am sure.
After Thomas Otis was gone, my uncle got a letter
from Mr. Bowdoin, inclosing one to Bessie, and praying
him to see that it reached Miss Warley, wherever she
was. She is in New York, and not Miss Warley: so he
has not heard of her marriage, poor man. How I wish I
had told Thomas Otis, and had bidden him tell Mr. Bow-
doin all about it, not sparing any thing that would arouse
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
365
him from his delusion. But I quite forgot Bessie
and her wedding while our friends were here. What
would Bessie feel if Mr. Bowdoin were killed by the In-
dians?
Ca
Mr. Reid's business in Philadelphia was concluded, and
he went to join General Putnam. He asked me to walk
in the garden the evening before he left, and, my mind
being full of Bowdoin's letter, and the one uncle had
sent on to Bessie, I mentioned Bessie's marriage, but I
thought it dishonorable to repeat her conduct to Mr.
Bowdoin. Mr. Reid said he felt that this war time was
not fit for marrying and giving in marriage. There
would be widows and orphans enough as it was to weep
over dead soldiers. But if he were living when peace
came, he should offer himself to one whom he had loved
since his first meeting her at Plymouth.
Of course I knew that this meant Hannah Dana, so I
said, "I hoped she would accept him." And he replied
that "he hoped so too," but somehow he did not speak
very cordially about it; maybe he thought that I should
have felt sure that she would, and not only hoped.'
Speaking thus, made me think of Judith's remarks, and
connecting them with a rose-bush that we were passing,
I pulled off a cluster, and presently said, impatiently, that
they were useless things, living only in summer and sun-
shine; and as I spoke I tossed them out of my hand.
Mr. Reid caught them, and said that I valued them too
lightly, for that roses spoke of the generous giving of
God, who bestows on us more than the things that are
for use or for need. I do not know why I said tartly.
366
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"This one
"Of course roses are necessary to nobody."
is to me," said Mr. Reid, and he put one bud in his
pocket-book. I stood vexed, divided in my mind
between his having the rose and Thomas the lock of my
hair-but it means nothing in either case.
Before we
went in I begged Mr. Reid to be especially good, if he
had opportunity, to Robert Shirtliffe, who had saved my
cousin's life, and in event of any danger or trouble to
Robert, to write to my uncle. He said that he would do
so, and I hope I have procured another friend for poor
Deborah, who is now parted from Hannah.
And so,
with Mr. Reid's departure, the last of our friends of the
army had gone, and we were able to give our attention
to what passes in the city.
Mrs. Bache has come back, and is now living in Dr.
Franklin's house. She was vexed to find her father's
portrait taken off, but said things were better than she
expected to see them.
We begin to think that uncle was in the right about
General Arnold. His conduct in the city is not giving
satisfaction. He is very extravagant, and has already be-
gun a style of living that does not suit the poverty of the
colonial cause, nor the sorrows of the present time. It is
said that he has shown himself much pleased with Miss
Margaret Shippen, one of the Tory ladies, a great belle
of the mischianza, and a particular friend of Captain
André. The general has his quarters in "William Penn's
house," on the corner of Second Street and Morris Alley,
and he maintains a finer style of living than any one else
in the city. He keeps a coach and four, and servants in
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
367
livery, and has given a splendid banquet already. My
uncle was invited but would not go, as he likes not such
display when our men are barefoot in winter, and our
currency is depreciating to be worth only five cents for
a dollar.
Charles heard it whispered the other day that the gen-
eral had lately desired an exchange into the navy, but
that the matter had dropped.
I just now noted the lessening value of our currency ;
the coming of our army has flooded the city with conti-
nental paper worth almost nothing; prices have risen to
fabulous height. Mistress Bache yesterday declared that
a servant who carried a market basket on one arm, must
carry an equal basket of money on the other to pay for
the filling.
The reason of this light value of the paper is that there
are no taxes; no central government is able to tax all
the colonies, and to be responsible for the redemption of
the money issued. There are hopes of foreign loans, but
Spain is evidently ill disposed; the Duke of Tuscany
hates us; the king of Prussia has not declared himself;
Russia keeps aloof. We get a little money from France,
and Congress can do nothing better than order renewed
issues of bills that are only worth the paper they are
printed upon. It is from this, our financial distress, that
England expects her success.
This morning I went with Judith to the widow Ross,
to see about getting our sideboard mended, and while the
widow was talking with us she said, pulling open a little
square drawer, some four inches deep, "See, once I
24
368
PATRIOT AND TORY:
thought myself doing well if in a day I got the bottom
of this covered with silver and gold; but now behold my
cash drawer!" and she pulled open a great bureau drawer,
with quantities of
paper in it, saying,
""Tis hardly worth
while to lock it up;
no one covets the
stuff.'
"At this rate you
will be ruined," said
Judith.

ސރ
""
"Well," said wid-
ow Ross cheerfully,
66
'our children will
rise to prosperity on
our ruin; we can
afford to be sacrificed
to obtain a grand future for our country. Sorrow before
success.”
GENERAL FRANCIS MARION.
SEPTEMBER 30, 1778.
The chief movement in the North this summer was that
for the re-conquest of Rhode Island; storms and mis-
understandings put the Colonial forces on shore, and the
French fleet at cross purposes. The attempt failed with
loss on our side. The French have gone to the West
Indies. La Fayette has been sent to the Mohawk Valley.
In the South we have indications of an attack upon
Georgia, South Carolina, and Florida. The Southern
delegates have requested that Major-General Lincoln be
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
369
sent to their department. It is said that Count Pulaski,
our brave Polish helper, will go there also. They have
such men as Pinckney, Marion, McIntosh, Pickens, and
James Jackson, and surely in the end such patriots and
heroes must win the day.
In the Jerseys there have been many surprises and
skirmishes accompanied with sad loss of life. Hannah
Dana must have her hands full of work; my uncle once
sent her some stores. I had a letter from Bessie. She
told me a deal about the gayeties of New York, of the
dances, plays, and gaming. She said she was sometimes
very lonely, as there were days when she never saw the
Major or her father; again there were days crowded with
engagements until she was tired to death. She did not feel
very well; wished she could go to England; sometimes
wished she were back in Philadelphia or Boston; wished
she could see Mistress Seaforth and me. Bessie's letters
are all wishes; some more wishes were in the postscript,
which meant more to me than all the rest of her letter.
Bessie said she had received uncle's inclosure from Mr.
Bowdoin. "Why," she said, "did things always happen
wrong; she thought this world very unsatisfactory. She
wished Mr. Bowdoin had been a captain, or major, or
colonel in the British army. Why was he only a parson
on the weaker side? Or, if he must be a rebel, why
was he not a dashing General like Arnold, a Marquis
like La Fayette, a brilliant cavalier like Lighthorse
Harry. She wished things had been different, and she
wished those goods for which she had sent to Nantes.
by Uncle Matthew would arrive." Well, one at least of
370
PATRIOT AND TORY:
unsatisfied Bessie's wishes can be gratified-the parcels
from Nantes came safely, the very day when I received
the letter, and within a week we were able to forward
them to New York. I hope they will cheer her up, she
is evidently unhappy.
This very day I had a curious meeting in the street.
I went with Susannah on an errand toward the upper
end of the city, and saw Dr. Binney's small carriage and
his pretty orphan niece driving it, with an invalid young
man by her side, supported by a pillow. When we
bowed, she drew up near the sidewalk, saying: "My
uncle has brought one of his soldier patients home, and
I am taking him out for a drive." The patient's eyes
were closed as he leaned back on his pillow, his head had
been shaved, and was covered by a close cap of black
velvet, but there was something singularly familiar in the
pale face; and as the eyes unclosed I once more recog-
nized-Deborah Samson! I could not restrain an excla-
mation of astonishment, and to cover it, cried: “What,
Robert! wounded again?" then I added to the lady-
"This is the soldier who, as you may have heard, once
saved the life of my cousin Charles; he also came from
Plymouth." At these words, Susannah rejoiced to see
her brother's preserver, declared that we should have had
the privilege of nursing him. The invalid seemed much
overcome. "Oh, me!" cried the fair nurse, "this is the
first outing, and my uncle will be so angry if our pa-
tient gets worse-I must drive home, he is becoming
excited."
I called out, "Be sure and send me word how soon
`ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
371
Dr. Binney will allow me, an old friend, to call. Do not
forget."
And so promising to send me permission for the visit
they went away. I am in a sad state of anxiety to get to
Deborah, she may need my help. She looked dreadfully.
DECEMBER 25, 1778.
Uncle
This is the Christ-day; the day when angels sang of
peace and good will to men. I wish such a strain would
break over this unhappy land. There are many troubles.
to tell of, but I begin about Deborah Samson. After
several days I had a note from Dr. Binney himself, say-
ing that his soldier, Shirtliffe, had been worse, and that as
soon as he was able to see me I might come.
It was
nearly the last of October before I was sent for.
bade me bring the patient back with me, if the Doctor
thought proper. I saw Robert alone, not looking quite
so pale, and hair grown somewhat. The trouble this time
was brain fever. Many of the men around West Point
were taken with this disease. When Deborah first felt
the symptoms, she suffered beyond expression, most of all
with apprehension of discovery. No Hannah was near
to shield her. She felt tempted to go and throw herself
into the river, as she felt that she would only die at the
most, and by drowning herself she could keep her secret.
She said only the memory of my grandfather's teachings
saved her from suicide.
As she lay under the shelter of a tree, feeling too pros-
trated to do duty, Captain Richard Reid, who had several
times been kind to her, came up, saying: "Why, Bob,
are you also sick?" and then felt her pulse, and inquired
45
372
PATRIOT AND TORY:
{
into her symptoms. He saw that brain fever was ap-
proaching, and having called the doctor, and administered
some remedies, he proposed that "Shirtliffe" should be
sent with some invalids and convalescents, who were that
day to start in a wagon-train for a hospital, within twenty
miles of Philadelphia. This was agreed to, and Robert
was removed with the others. This hospital was under
charge of Doctor Binney. Deborah has not the least
recollection of reaching it, nor of what occurred after she
came there, until, opening her eyes in a return of con-
sciousness, she heard one say: "Here is poor Bob come
to life; we thought he had gone, and he might have been
buried but for the doctor." At these words, flashed into
her mind the strange thought that she was not yet dis-
covered! Presently some nourishment was put into her
mouth, and she thinks she slept soundly all night. What
seemed the next morning came, and she was again given
food and medicine, but treated as one unconscious or
crazed by the nurses who spoke of and not to her, and
she heard one say: "No one but the doctor is to touch
Bob; Bob is his favorite." Finally Doctor Binney came,
spoke kindly, bathed her head, arranged her pillow, and
said that when enough improvement was made "Robert"
should go to his house for nursing.
{
Thus about the 21st of September, Deborah was re-
moved to the doctor's house in Philadelphia, given a
good room, good care, a new suit of clothes; the doctor's
niece made the patient's shirts, read, sung, took Robert
out to ride, and every one accepted her as Robert Shirt-
liffe, soldier. Deborah told me she had watched the doc-
K
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
373
tor's every look, tone, word, to ascertain if he had found
out her deception. She thought he must have done so,
yet he gave no sign. After meeting me and Susannah
she became worse, but was now speedily recovering. She
had said to the doctor: "It is time for me to rejoin my
regiment;" and he had replied, "I must keep you here
until your recovery is perfect."
I told Deborah to wait with patience for further de-
velopments, and if any fresh anxiety or trouble came to
her, to apply to me. I should never whisper her secret to
any one, without her permission; but she might rely on
my uncle's being her good friend in any event. But
again, as often before, I begged her to give up her soldier
life. She replied, never while she might so serve her
country in perfect secret. If a soul suspected her dis-
guise she would fly at once. I have called on her once
since then, accompanied by my cousins, and all remains
the same.
We have had terrible news from Cherry Valley, about
as dreadful as that from Wyoming. The settlement is
entirely destroyed; women and children were murdered,
houses were burned. Colonel Campbell's family have
been carried off, and no one knows where they are, if
they are yet living. Mistress Campbell's mother was aged
and feeble, and the youngest child was but a year and a
half old-no one knows what has become of these cap-
tives. I had a letter from Thomas Otis, and he tells me
that in a skirmish with British and Indians, Isaiah
Hooper was captured, and he fears has been tortured to
death. I have written to Mistress Hooper to soften the
374.
PATRIOT AND TORY:
1
sad story as much as possible, telling her that her hus-
band has been made prisoner in the North, and that I
hope he will escape or be exchanged. It will be a
dreary winter for her, knowing how terribly he suffered

INDIAN MASSACRE IN CHERRY VALLEY.
in his former captivity. General McDougall is now in
command at the Highlands. General Washington has
extended his troops in a strong line from the Sound to
the Delaware, and has established his head-quarters near
Middlebrook in the Jerseys.
FEBRUARY 6, 1779.
Yesterday morning I had a letter from Dame Warren.
She is with Lady Washington in the camp at Middle-
brook; so are Mistress Greene, Mistress Knox, and other
notable ladies. The officers intend to celebrate the first
anniversary of the alliance with France with as much
splendor as possible; but the festivity is put off until the
3
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
375
eighteenth, because of General Washington's absence, he
being here in the city. I would he remained here all the
time, so might he hold General Arnold in check. Ar-
nold is now to be married to Miss Margaret Shippen, and
he is now continually surrounded by her Tory friends.
Not that I dislike honest Tories, they must do as they
think proper, but they are enemies of our cause, and one
of our foremost generals should not be taking them for
friends in preference to Patriots. Indeed, even last
month, people in speaking of him, said that he was a part
Tory, and should be discharged. The tyranny of this
man is worse than that of Lord Howe. He is perfectly
extravagant, and takes shameful means to replenish his
purse. Under pretense of supplying the army, he forbids
the shop-keepers to sell or buy; then he puts all goods at
the disposal of his agents, and they make enormous
profits on them, and share plunder with him. My uncle
being one who would not connive at such doings, his
warehouses are now keeping a sort of Sabbath all the
week. There is nothing doing at them. One thing I can
say for General Arnold, when my uncle went to him for
protection for Mr. Seaforth's family and property, he got
it readily—that was kind.
The people of Pennsylvania and the city of Philadel-
phia are furious at Arnold, and the council will probably
prepare charges against him. My uncle says there may
be some excuse for him, as he has been soured by neg-
lect and unkind treatment, when his great bravery de-
manded high recognition. General Washington felt that
Arnold had not met due kindness; but from what I learn
376
PATRIOT AND TORY:
he must always have been cruel, hasty, selfish, and ex-
travagant. General Washington has had a thousand
times Arnold's provocations, and no one ever heard of
his becoming angry or embittered toward his country by
it. Then Arnold has had a good mother, and his first
wife was a most noble woman; so Dame Warren told me
long ago.
But this brings me back to Dame Warren's letter.
She desired me to come to camp and visit her, and be
present at the fête. She kindly said that she loved me
for my grand-parents' sake, and that she would see me
again, in memory of old Plymouth days; and she added
a postscript to my uncle, begging him to bring her young
country-woman to visit her. My uncle kindly consented,
and to-morrow we are to set forth. My uncle has some
business in camp, and, wonder of wonders, we are to ride
in the general's retinue, as he returns to Middlebrook.
My uncle has to-day had my roan's saddle re-furbished,
and Judith lent me her best riding habit and the new
hat that came from Nantes. Susannah and Hester and I
have been busy to-day, preparing a dress suitable for me
to wear at the festa. I hope to have a grand visit.
MARCH 3, 1779.
So the visit is over, and I am back to write about it.
We set forth in style, Peter riding behind us with our
baggage. We joined the general's troop five miles from
town. Our journey was delightful. My uncle rode by
the general several times, and had some conversation
with him. The general says that the alliance with
France is paralyzing our energies by begetting a false
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
377
feeling of security; dissensions and party feuds in Con-
gress are harming us more than do our foes, and he
thinks the States too busy in local concerns, and too
careless of the Central Government. The best men are
not in Congress, and the land suffers for want of their
guidance. The general most of all deplores the dissipa-
tion and extravagance of the times. He says the revelry
in Philadelphia cut him to the heart when he thought
how the soldiers are unpaid and unprovided, and true
patriots are sinking into ruin. To this country the
general stands as a father, and how is his great heart
burdened when he sees the folly and idleness of some
of his children, the hopeless sufferings of others, and the
approaching financial ruin of the household! He mourns
that we are so lacking in honest republican simplicity.
Would that all the nation followed the example set
them by General and Lady Washington! My uncle did
not wish to intrude upon the general too long. He told
me of all these things when he fell back and rode beside
me in the rear of our cavalcade.
-
378
PATRIOT AND TORY:
CHAPTER XV.
MARCH 5, 1779.
WE
E had remarkably good weather and firm roads for
our journey. The fine weather continued for our fort-
night's absence from home, so that we had only two
stormy days. We left camp on the 20th of February,
and reached home the next day. We found the army
in their winter-quarters, hutted as last year, but the huts
were better, the interstices filled with sod and clay, and
the officer's cabins having separate kitchens. The huts also
had better floors. The camp presented a very good ap-
pearance, like a regular, clean, and compact village.
The soldiers were better clad, better armed, fed, and
drilled than last winter, and they looked healthier and
more cheerful. Baron Steuben had his quarters at Mr.
Staat's house. The Baron is as active and faithful as
last year, and has less trouble, as now the men un-
derstand him better, and see the value of his drill, and
he knows more of our language. The Baron's grand,
dignified manners, his urbane treatment of every one,
and his elegant dress, impress all who meet him, and
all feel the debt we owe to the noted warrior, who left
honors and case to become drill-master for our forlorn
cause. He begins now to see the success that looked
nearly impossible a year ago. At head-quarters I found
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
379
There
Dame Warren as guest of Lady Washington.
were a number of other ladies at camp. My friends
are more scattered than last winter; indeed, none that
I knew were near us. Hannah Dana and Mr. Reid
were at Pluckemin, where the artillery lies. Joseph
Dana was there also.
The second day after our arrival, my uncle, who has
been engaged of late in getting in foreign supplies for
the army, had business with General Washington. They
had nearly concluded, when Uncle John dropped his
glasses and broke them. This left him quite helpless,
and he called for me to read his papers for him, and
make the needful notes on the margins. I am ac-
customed at home to help him in this way, and he
thought no one could do it so well. After about an
hour, some question arose, and finally my uncle and
one of the general's aids said they would step over to
the quartermaster's to settle it. This left me by my
desk in the corner, alone with the general, except for
an attendant, who stood by a window. The general
was writing busily, when a knock came and some one
entered. I stole a look-weary of staring at figures-
and there was Robert Shirtliffe, a promising looking
young soldier, health restored, hair grown! Said Rob-
ert bowed low, and handed a large letter to the gen-
eral, but trembled, flushed, and looked in an agony of
apprehension.
G
Our good general, pitying this excessive embarrassment
in his presence, kindly bid his idle attendant to take the
soldier to the kitchen for refreshment. I saw that some
380
PATRIOT AND TORY:
terrible crisis in Deborah's life had come. I recalled her
fortitude, her sufferings, her lonely, bereft life. If I could
comfort her in trouble, I should do so. I forgot my awe,
and said, after the attendant had conducted her from the
room: "Your Excellency, I know that soldier; may I go
and speak to him?”
The general was just breaking the seal of the letter.
He glanced at me, a little surprised, rather severely, and
bowed.
I found Deborah seated in the general's kitchen-a
cup of coffee and a plate of bread and meat before her.
I whispered, "What is the matter now, Deborah?"
"I do not know, but I think, I fear, that I am dis-
covered."
"Keep up your courage," I said. "I will return where
I was, and will stand your friend." So I ran back to my
uncle's paper, and began a vigorous scratching with my
pen. The general had two letters in his hand and was
reading them with an immovable countenance. At last
he began to write, and after a moment or two of that, I
heard him open a drawer, and handle some money.
I
dared not move my head. And then Deborah-soldier
Robert-came back, saluted, and stood crimson, with
downcast eyes. The general motioned dismissal to the at-
tendant. We three were alone. The room seemed terri-
bly still. The general handed a paper to the trembling
soldier. I heard Deborah choke down a sob as the paper
rustled in her hand. Then she bent her head, and her
eyes overflowed. He then gave her some coins and a let-
ter, in perfect silence, and motioned that she might with-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
381
draw. As she turned I could not refrain from giving
him an imploring look. I saw that he assented to my
speaking with her, and so followed her into the hall.
"Deborah!" I said, catching her arm, "promise me that
you will not serve again!”
"Never," she replied, in a trembling voice.
"And tell me where you will go."
She hesitated, then said:
"To Isaiah Hooper's. If I can not be a soldier, I can
preserve a soldier's family and home. I shall there be
welcomed and unquestioned. Good-bye."
I returned to the desk. The general leaned back in
his arm-chair, in a stern sort of reverie. I felt that at
the bar of his judgment poor Deborah, guiltless of all but
too rash a patriotism, was standing condemned. All her
life she had been desolate and misunderstood, and now he
would judge her severely, and her cause was unheard. I
could not bear the thought. I stood behind my chair,
and looking firmly toward him, I said: "Your Excellency,
I have known this Deborah Samson for many years; and
then forgetting my awe of him—forgetting all things but
my compassion for Deborah-I hastily told him of the
neglected child, painfully gathering up knowledge from
passing children; of the indomitable courage of the young
woman; of the loneliness, self-sacrifice, fearlessness of the
soldier; of my cousin's saved life; of wounds, and escapes,
and of her falling into Dr. Binney's hands. Suddenly, as
I told this story, I became conscious that the general
was regarding me with that paternal, indulgent, approv-
ing look, that my grandfather's face wore long ago when
382
PATRIOT AND TORY:
+
I stood by his study-table in Plymouth saying my les-
sons unusually well. I faltered, blushed-a consciousness
of my temerity rushed upon me. Said the general :
"Would that all who err in head or heart might have so
generous, so earnest an advocate." Then he asked me her
true name, and where she was going; and when I told
him, he made a note in a book. I then returned to my
uncle's papers, and in a few minutes he came in, and
when I had written for him a little longer, he sent me to
Dame Warren. I am glad that Deborah is out of the
army; her being there was truly an error of the head. I
shall never tell my uncle the story, unless it first reaches
him by some other means; lest he esteem Deborah Sam-
son less than Robert Shirtliffe.
V
My uncle took me to Pluckemin for three days to visit
Hannah. She is better off than last year, there are less
unhelped sufferings to tear her heart, but Hannah looks
sadly worn. She said the fur cloak, which Judith sent
her, had been of great use in cold days and nights.
Richard Reid is very devoted to helping her, and she
told me but for him she would have sunk under discour-
agements long ago. Mr. Reid returned with us to head-
quarters, and remained two days. After he had gone,
Mistress Warren told me that if he lives until peace is
. declared and the army disbanded, he means to conclude
his reading for the ministry and take a congregation.
Well, I think Hannah Dana would make a very good
minister's wife. It is what my grandmother said that she
was suited for. Dame Warren said to me, "When that
time comes he will want a wife."
、
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
383
"Yes, surely," said I.
"And he now has one in his mind, whom he will ask,"
said she, "if before then she does not love another.”
"There is no danger," I said, for surely Hannah Dana
would not think of taking one less worthy when she
might have Richard Reid.
"And you fancy that she will have him?" asked the
Dame.
"Oh, I am sure of it," I said.
"Perhaps you do not know who she is," said she.
"Perhaps not, but I think I have a guess," I re-
plied.
"I think you have not," she answered, laughing; but
she does not know how Mr. Reid spoke to me about
Hannah.
The second day of Mr. Reid's visit, I went out to walk
with him at the outer edge of the encampment, and we
saw the soldiers crowding about a small cart where a
man was selling apples. They were poor apples, and he
wanted a continental dollar apiece for them.
66
Apples at a dollar each!" cried Richard Reid, “what
would my father have thought of that, when his orchards
were loaded with fruit?" but my eyes were fixed on the
fruit-seller. I was sure that I had seen him before, in
spite of the changes again made in his dress. I felt con-
vinced that it was Brown, the spy.
I said, "I must go back to my uncle!" Richard ob-
jected, but I insisted. I dared not tell him what I sus-
pected, suppose I should be wrong. And then if this
was indeed Brown, and he should be arrested, what then?
J
Can
25
384
PATRIOT AND TORY:
I shivered at the thought of causing his death, but evi-
dently it was my duty to tell my uncle.
We found Uncle John at last, and when he heard my
news, he hurried off. I went to Dame Mercy Warren,
and sat wishing that I had never seen Brown. When
about two hours after, my uncle came in saying that the
man truly was Brown, and was captured, I felt so badly
that I could not eat my supper nor sleep. Mr. Reid
came to bid me "Good-bye." I said, "Oh, I wish I
could let Brown out, he has a wife and children."
"But consider the harm he might do. It is thought
that he led the party that found Baylor's dragoons, and
slaughtered them.”
"Then he will surely be hung," said I, "and I will
always feel that I caused it. Oh, I wish I had remained
at home in Philadelphia." I meditated begging the gen-
eral to have Brown imprisoned until the end of the war,
or sent to England, and so I tossed about all night in
wretchedness, not repenting that I had done my duty, yet
half wishing I might undo it. I had my trouble for
nothing, for the next morning Brown had escaped, no one
knew how; and then thinking what mischief he might do,
I was sorry that he had gone! What worrying times
war times are. I wish some one would catch Brown, and
I not know any thing about it.
Well, the fête put all these troublesome thoughts from
my mind. The people from far and near came to witness.
the display of fire-works and illuminations. I wish that
the Marquis La Fayette had been here to see, but he has
returned to France to his family. He is coming back if
--
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
385
there is more fighting. The celebration began at four
o'clock in the afternoon, with a discharge of thirteen can-
non. There was then a dinner, for an invited company.
was among the guests, on account of my uncle and Dame
I
Warren, I sup-

pose. Richard
Reid was of the
He
company.
is the one officer
to whom it does
not seem natural
for me to say
Captain, or oth-
erwise give his
title. I suppose
because I first
met him as plain
Mr. Reid. The
ladies at the din-
ner looked very
grand, especially
Lady Washing-
ton, Mrs. Knox
and Dame War-
. ren. I had a blue brocade dress, over a white satin petti-
coat, and I wore my mother's lace and pearls. In the
evening we had displays of illuminated pictures, mottoes,
and fire-works, and after that there was a ball. I stopped
for awhile to see the dancing. The general opened the
FELTER S
BARI WAW
nnnar
RETURN OF LA FAYETTE TO FRANCE.
386
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"
ball with Mrs. Knox. It was very grand, and the music
was delightful.
The day but one after the festival my uncle and I
came home. We found that while we were gone letters
had come from Colonel Nelson and Captain Seaforth,
and that Mrs. Logan had been to visit Judith, and had
taken Hester home with her. Judith and Mrs. Bache
are as usual busy for our soldiers, and especially for the
sick and wounded who are sent into the city. The
Council of Pennsylvania have preferred charges against
General Arnold, and he is to be tried by court-martial.
JULY 20, 1779.
"
Another long break in my journal, but I have been
where I could not carry these papers, and could only jot
down a line or so in my note-book. A dreary time in-
deed has it been to me. I had, about the end of March,
a letter from Bessie, written in very low spirits. She
said that´she was sick and unhappy; that she often saw
neither her father nor husband for days together. The
2d of April I received another letter, feebly and irregu-
larly written, saying that she was very ill, and thought
she was going to die. She had no friends, only careless
servants to attend on her. She had not so much as a
Bible. She begged me to come and stay with her until
she died. To this letter her father added a line, entreat-
ing me to come, saying that he thought Bessie would
drop off in a consumption, as her mother had done, and
inclosing a pass, which Major Banks had procured for
me to enter the city. Mr. Warley said that Bessie was
now in the house of an excellent Quaker lady, who would
Ada
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
387
be very kind to me, and that there were no officers nor
strangers in the house with her. My uncle, after long
deliberation, felt it his duty to allow me to go, and as he
would not have me unattended in the city, he decided
that Nervey was to go with me. A small ship with a
flag of truce had come up the Delaware to exchange
prisoners, and on this I went to New York. We had
fair weather and a quick passage.
The commissioners who came last year from England
were enthusiastic in their praises of this country, its
mighty rivers, and magnificent prospects.
I do not
wonder at this, when they had just sailed up the Del-
aware. The broad river; the fertile, low-lying shores;
the wide plains; the white, peaceful villages; and the
noble forests, offer pictures of unparalleled beauty. As
long as daylight lasted, I remained on deck, watching
the varied scenery of the shores, and the ships, and fish-
ing-boats upon the river, and here and there the dark
mass of a frigate, and I wished the day would be as long
as that wherein Joshua warred with the five kings, that I
might longer enjoy prospects so new and fair. But
though day departed, we almost realized the promise for
the heavenly land-"There shall be no night;" for as the
sun sunk below the horizon, a broad full moon filled the
air with a subdued splendor. The ships and the shores
were still visible, and I was so fascinated with the spectacle
that I would not go below. So poor Nervey, who has no
taste for fine scenery, wrapped her shawl over her head,
and lay down on the deck at my feet to sleep.
Around the deck were scattered groups of exchanged
388
PATRIOT AND TORY:
prisoners. They looked as if they had been well cared
for, which is more than can be said of those who were ex-
changed for them. One of these prisoners was an officer,
and his wife had come to meet him. The two sat at the
bow of the ship, clasping each other's hands, and enjoying
in silence their restored happiness. Another soldier was a
mere boy; his arm was in a sling; his mother had come
for him, and he lay on the deck sleeping, with his head in
her lap, while she, seated on a coil of rope, was too glad
to pass in sleep the hours which assured her of the safety
of her son.
•
We found the noble harbor of New York filled with
English ships, men-of-war, and merchant vessels. Truly
New York is a very wonderful city, as big and noisy as
Boston and Philadelphia put together. I do not know
whether I had most dreaded having Mr. Warley or Major
Banks come and meet me, two men whom I detest; how-
ever, they both came, and truly they were very kind. They
had brought a little carriage, and they put me and Ner-
vey and my trunk therein. They said Bessie was very
poorly, and most anxious to see me.
I was glad to find that the house where she was lodg-
ing was in a quiet, retired street, and the good Quaker
lady, who owns it, welcomed me kindly. Her name was
Mistress White. It seems my fate to be with Quaker
ladies while I wait on the sick. At Trenton, Valley Forge
and New York I have been in their houses. Mistress
White took me into her parlor to lay off my hat and
cloak, while Major Banks went to tell Bessie of my ar-
rival.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
389
Mistress White said: "I am glad thee has come; that
young thing needs a friend to comfort her; young wo-
men, who live on this world's follies, have sore need of
comforters when they are laid by in a sick room. What
is called natural affection is a poor thing without godli-
ness. Thee has the face of one who knows the power
of the world to come; and perhaps thee can teach that
young thing up stairs that when father and husband for-
sake, the Lord can take her up."
4.
Poor Bessie, is she so lonely as to be termed forsaken?
I left Nervey to arrange the little room assigned me,
where a pallet had been made for her at the foot of my
bed, and I followed Mistress White up to see Bessie. The
poor, dear girl looked very ill; her eyes were hollow, her
hands wasted, her cheeks feverish. She also looked
poorly taken care of, her cap and gown were tumbled,
her bed disordered, the light from the window fell broadly
across her eyes. Major Banks was lounging in an easy
chair by the dressing table, drinking brandy from a flask
standing there, and eating bits out of a rich cake, which
lay on a towel upon a chair.
He said to me, "Bessie's maid went off yesterday; she
was such a thief' we could not keep her. The Quaker
woman is too busy to do much, but I'll look up another
maid as soon as I can find one, who only steals small
things, and does not get more than moderately drunk.”
The prospect of having a woman of Major Banks's se-
lection, thievish and drunken, always near me, was so
frightful that I said, "Pray do not get any one until I see
if Nervey and I can not do alone."
390
PATRIOT AND TORY:
He seemed well pleased at the suggestion. Presently
he rose, saying: "Well! glad you've come.
You'll get
better now, Bess; and I sha'n't hear so much about neg-
lect, and lonesome, and all that fol-de-rol."
66
'It did not trouble you," snapped Bessie; "you have
not been here since day before yesterday."
He muttered something about "sickness being a con-
founded bore," "no time," "drill," "peace of life," and
so on; and then telling me, more civilly, that he "hoped
I'd soon bring my patient round, guessed she only had
the megrims," he departed, his sabre and spurs clanking
loudly on the stairs.
66
Bessie clung to my hand and cried, and said I was
too good" to come. She "wanted to die in my arms,"
and that she was "perfectly wretched, and believed that
both her father and the major wanted to get rid of her.”
She was evidently ill of a low fever, aggravated by un-
happiness and no care. I found that she had not been
out of bed nor bathed for three days, and that her morn-
ing's food had been cake and brandy. I only wonder
she was not dead.
I said to her plainly-for I know she needs decided
dealing with "Now, Bessie, I'll stay and nurse you;
cure you if I can, if you will do as I say; but mind, I
rule here, and if you do not let me do as I wish, I shall
leave."
"I'll do any thing to have you stay," said poor Bessie.
I called Nervey to bathe and dress Bessie, make the
bed, and set the room tidy. I cleared out the wine and
brandy, the cake, sweetmeats, and medicine; brought in
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
391
fresh air, shaded the windows, sent for a bouquet, and
borrowed from Mistress White a cage with some pretty
birds in it. Then I comforted Bessie by looking over
her boxes and wardrobes to see what the late "maid”
had left. Poor Bessie, so ill, so unhappy, and yet so fe-
verishly anxious to know how many laces, jewels, and
nick-nacks she had remaining!
·
Among other acts of authority, I refused admission to
all Bessie's acquaintances, allowing only her father and the
major to come to her room. They, for decency's sake,
and, perhaps because the apartment was now less for-
bidding, and Bessie less morbid and querulous, began to
call once a day. I encouraged the good Mistress White
to come and sit with us for half hours, as she had
time, for her converse was wise, pious, and restful; and I
hoped it would do my cousin good. I would not allow
Bessie to talk of her late dissipations, of scenes of ex-
citement, of the delinquencies of her husband; but I
often talked with her of Plymouth, of old times, of my
uncle's family, and our home life. I sung to her a great
deal, usually the hymns which my grandfather had
loved; sometimes, for a change, the songs which I had
caught by hearing Colonel Nelson and Susannah prac-
ticing together.
I had brought a few books with me, and found a few
others in Mistress White's possession, and from these I
read to Bessie each day, beginning with the Bible. I do
not think she cared much for it, but she accepted it
quietly, and seemed to take some consolation in thinking
that "it was the right thing to do." I often puzzle over
392
PATRIOT AND TORY:
the various ways in which people receive the Bible: some
take it as a medicine or as sick diet-tasteless but needful.
Others can say with David, "I have esteemed Thy word
more than my necessary food." Always in that blessed
old home in Plymouth I saw the Book of God the
daily food of my grand-parents-feeding on which their
souls grew, like the child Christ, in wisdom and stature,
and in favor with God and man.
Nervey and I continued to be Bessie's only nurses and
attendants. From the first few days of my visit, the
army surgeon, who called on her, expressed more favor-
able opinions of her case than he had previously done.
He said care, comforting, and nerve-rest were what she
wanted. I did not forget the promises I made to uncle
and Judith, and each day exercised in Dame White's
garden, or went out to walk with her. So with that, and
good food, and early hours, I kept my health.
Captain Seaforth, Colonel Nelson, and Major André
called upon me. Henry was particularly good to me, and
took me out several times, but in the third week of my
visit he was sent South, and I did not see him again.
Colonel Nelson could not hear enough about Susannah.
He is as enthusiastic about her as ever. He brought me
a charming letter from his mother to read; it gave me a
most favorable impression of all his family.
His mother said that she, like the great majority of
the English people, longed only for peace to be made,
that the armies might return home. It was a bitter
thought to her that her only son was absent from her,
exposed to death, and to all the evils of a camp; not for
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
393
winning honorable laurels for his king; not to uphold
justice in the world; but to fight against a kindred peo-
ple, in a cause that, at best, was doubtful. She said he
was doing his bounden duty as a soldier, and she trusted
that he would be brave, honorable, and merciful in war;
but desired that the war might have a speedy termina-
tion. She also prayed God, that if he truly and ardently
loved "his beautiful American," it might be his happi-
ness to return home with her, and that any one that he
loved would be sure to receive the tenderest of welcomes
from his mother.
She added on behalf of his uncle, whose heir he is,
that he was so anxious to have him marry and settle on
the estate, that if he would but sell his commission, and
bring home the wife of his choice, she would, with all
honor, be installed mistress of the mansion. She said
that his sister was sure that if Miss Temple "excelled all
women whomever he had seen," she must be a marvel-
ous paragon, for he had seen many charming ladies, both
at home and abroad.
Indeed, in the whole letter, there was such a tenderness,
simplicity, and sincerity, that I was greatly delighted, and
´exclaimed,
"How pleased my uncle would be with such a letter."
Involuntarily he half returned it to me, then checked
himself, as unwilling to use his mother's letter in his own
behalf, said:
"But you-” and again his delicacy checked him, in
suggesting the conferring of a favor.
I said: "I can tell him about it, with your permission."
394
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"Thank you!" he cried, greatly pleased, and added:
"If Susannah makes me the happiest of mortals, by going
home with me, you must add to our happiness by visiting
us. It will not do for her to think that she would be
quite separated from her friends and family."
This put the idea of parting with my dearest Susan-
nah before me in a painfully clear light, but the sug-
gestion of my ever visiting that glorious and storied
home-land was delightful.
I spoke of Susannah and the colonel to Bessie that
evening. She said, pettishly:
"Yes, Susannah has wondrous luck; what marvel if.
the colonel holds out so well as he has begun!" Then
she told me that Major Banks never seemed to get any
letters from England; never allowed her to see any that
came; never gave her any messages from his friends, and
was angry if she spoke of the possibility of their going
to England. She cried, and declared that she “would not
be surprised if he ran off to England and left her, and
that he cared for nobody."
I tried to calm and comfort her. A day or two after
she happened to tell me that she had answered the letter
from Mr. Bowdoin that my uncle had sent her, and that
she had received another to her father's care, and had an-
swered that.
I cried in amaze: 66
concealed your marriage."
She looked embarrassed-then said: "Why not? He
would not answer me else; and it would be unkind to
hurt his feelings by telling him such news."
Surely, Bessie! you have never
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
395
"And why do you want to hear from him, Bessie?”
"Because-" she faltered-" because it is nice to know
that any one cares for me;" and she began to cry bitterly.
"Oh, Bessie,
Bessie!" I said;
"what a pity that
you were not wise
in time, and that
you did not marry
him."
"I should have
died of Plymouth,
if I had married
him, not knowing
that other things
could be worse."

Aiklia
BESSIE CONVALESCENT.
</
So sighed Bes-
sie, and I recalled
what she had said
to Mistress Sea-
forth, jestingly,
about an elope-
ment, and I was
glad that she had the defense of Mr. Bowdoin's goodness.
When he knows of her marriage he will drop the acquaint-
ance, I thought, and I resolved to write to Thomas Otis
to tell him, as soon as I got home.
I left Philadelphia on the 4th of April; reached New
York on the 7th. Bessie got better steadily after my
coming, and in a month's time could walk about her room,
396
PATRIOT AND TORY:
and was regaining flesh and color. About the 8th of
May, Major Banks was lounging out part of a morning
in Bessie's parlor, when his servant brought him in two
or three letters-an English ship having just come up
the Bay.
He tore open one in terrible haste, turned his back on
us, seemed to read it hurriedly, and broke forth into a
perfect storm of curses.
"For shame, major!-how can you?" cried Bessie.
"Sir, you insult me," said I in anger, rising to leave
the room.
He bounced up, saying: "Beg pardon. Confound my
luck. I'm going. What a world of fools it is." And
crushing on his hat he tore down stairs.
"He has been losing at play," said Bessie, "or has
missed remittances."
She did not seem much disturbed. The major did not
return for three days. Finally he sauntered in, looking
as if he had been drinking a good deal. His visit went
well enough, until Bessie asked when the ship Tempest
was expected. He darted up, and asked, with an oath,
"why she cared?"
"Because, I sent for some gowns by it," said Bessie.
"I would it and all the gowns in it were sunk," said
he, and with little more ado a
away he went.
He did not visit us again for two days, then he came,
looking unusually haggard; and so called each day, until
the 20th, when he said he was off for an expedition, and
would be gone for a month-" perhaps he would be shot;
if so, look for no will, for he had no effects."
MY
锻
​ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
397
All the notice Bessie, who was much stronger, took of
this, was to say after he had gone, "she wondered what
she would have to live on as a widow, and how she would
look in black"
It so disgusted me that I went off to sit with Dame
White. The 22d, the Tempest arrived, a boy was sell-
ing hand-bills with the news printed on them, and I
bought one. Bessie was all elated because of her new
gowns and ribbons; she went to the glass twenty times to
see if her complexion had been harmed by her illness, and
declared that she would be about now when she had
clothes worth wearing. She had been out once for a
drive, and twice to walk a little way.
I now told her that she was well enough to be left,
and that I should go home as soon as Mr. Warley could
get me a pass.. I also gave her an invitation from Mrs.
Seaforth for her to come to her for the summer. Colonel
Nelson had brought me a letter from my friends, sent
under cover to him. The colonel had said farewell when
he brought it; his regiment was ordered to Rhode Island.
Bessie cried, and made such an ado at word of my
going, that I resolved to continue my preparations in
silence. The 23d of May, Mr. Warley brought Bessie
her parcel from the Tempest. She was very well con-
tented that day and the next, in trying on her new dec-
orations and in preparing a fresh bonnet, and a cardinal.
Mr Warley promised to see to my getting home as
speedily as possible.
On the 25th, there was to be a grand military review,
and Bessie had secretly written to Major André for tick-
C
398.
PATRIOT AND TORY:
ets to a stage prepared for viewing it. The major sent a
polite note with the tickets, saying that he was about to
leave the city for a week, or he would offer his escort,
but that he put his servant and carriage at our service..
This was the first that I knew of it. Bessie would go,
and sent for Mr. Warley to attend us; she was wild to
exhibit her new gown; and truly when she put it on she
looked most charming, her illness had not spoiled her
appearance, and she congratulated herself on her costume,
and on having a place to show it.
Well, we arrived at the staging, which commanded a
view of the parade ground near the battery, and as Bessie
came up, I saw some whispering and surprise; no one had ex-
pected her to be able to come, I thought. A strange officer,
struck with her frail appearance and her beauty, gave her a
chair near a young English matron, evidently just arrived,
on whose knee leaned a beautifully dressed and noble-
looking little lad of five. I sat next to Bessie, and did
not wonder at the looks of curiosity and amaze that
rested on her and her neighbor. The two women were
indeed a contrast, one fresh, modest, dignified, matronly;
the other lovely, delicate, girlish, vain.
The two fell into conversation. One said she had just
come from England, the other longed to go there. One
had been more than five years parted from her hus-
band--the other said she had been married only a year.
After awhile Bessie, pleased with the child, gave him a
sweetmeat, and then would have him on her knee, and so
praised his beauty, kissed him, petted him.
A young officer-Hester's ci-devant ensign-came to me
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
399
and said in a husky voice: "Take that child away from
her-take her home-'tis no place for her-it will kill
her—take her away-let me call your carriage."
Why, what do you mean?" I said; "she would come,
but I think it will not harm her seriously." Then, as he
flushed and stammered, my ear caught their talk again.
"My husband is a major," says Bessie.
"Is he? why so is mine, and there he is now. Bobby,
see papa; see, dear, there with a sword, this way, with his
hat off."
66
"Why!” cried Bessie, leaning forward, "there is my
husband, and I thought him gone from the city. There
is my husband with his hat off giving an order. Abbey,
what a husband Major Banks is to come back, and not
let me know!"..
There was a stir and exclaiming around us.
Said the English lady, looking Bessie in the face firmly,
"that auburn-haired major, bareheaded, Major Robert
Banks, is my husband, this boy's father."
Bessie sprang up, looked wildly around, then at the
anxious, honest face before her, shrieked: "Major Banks,
your husband! oh, heaven, he is mine;" and she threw
her arms above her head, and sank down at the English
wife's feet with a great cry.
Several rushed forward. The ensign moaned in my ear,
"I told you this would kill her. 'Tis true, that is Banks's
wife. Take her away."
What should I do to shelter my Bessie, to hide her and
her misery from all these cruel eyes. Mr. Warley was gone.
Several kindly stepped forward and lifting Bessie, who
26
400
PATRIOT AND TORY:
was in a fearful convulsion, carried her toward our car-
riage. I turned as we went, and saw the sweet white face
of that deeply wronged Englishwoman, lying in uncon-
sciousness on a friend's arm, and heard above all the
tumult, the shrill cry of a child.
Beyond this scene, I caught a view of Major Banks,
aware of the excitement on the platform, hurrying from
the parade ground. He would not come near us. His
fearful game has been played to its bitter end; and what
was Bessie to him?
I took her home to Mrs. White's, sent for a surgeon,
and put her to bed. She was raging in a brain fever in
a few hours, and Nervey and Dame White and I stayed
by her all night. Mr. Warley could not be found. Cap-
tain Seaforth, Colonel Nelson, Major André, all were gone,
and in that terrible, hostile city, I stood by my unhappy,
ruined cousin without a friend.
G
About daylight Mr. Warley came. He sent for me to
the parlor. He was partly intoxicated, and greatly ex-
cited. He asked: "Is this true about Bessie? I was off
on some business, and then found that you were gone, and
during the night I heard from some officers who were with
me, this—that Banks had a wife come from England, and
that Bessie met her to-day."
I knew where he had been, and what his business was,
haunting the faro tables in which he has a share.
I said: "It is all true. The wife from England looks
like a good, true lady, and she has with her a child.
Bessie is in a brain fever."
"Why!" cried Mr. Warley, striking his hands together
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
401
violently, "the girl's prospects are ruined! And I
thought the major a fairly good match for her."
“Oh, sir,” I said, "her happiness is ruined. Her life
is in peril."
"Let me see the poor girl," he said, and I took him
to Bessie's room. No doubt, fatherly and pitiful emo-
tions stirred his heart as he saw Bessie lying there at
death's door, and heard her moans and half articulate
ravings. He groaned and wrung his hands, muttered
curses upon Major Banks, and then strode away with a
wild, angry look that frightened me.
Mrs. White brought me some breakfast. She told me
that she had expected some denouement like this, for Major
Banks had seemed to her a very bad man, and very neg-
lectful of his wife.
Scarcely had I taken my breakfast, when I was again
sent for to the parlor. This time the kind little ensign
was waiting for me. He seemed much distressed. He
said that “Major Banks had not been known in England
to any officers of his regiment, he having exchanged into
it just before they left England. Thus, none of them
had suspected that he was a married man. His conduct
was a disgrace to the British army and nation. He
desired to help us in any way that he could. Thought
that Banks should be 'called out,' would do it himself,
only his dying mother had made him take a solemn vow
against dueling. He wished Nelson, Seaforth, André, or
other of my friends were in the city to fight the major."
I told him if a duel would be the result of their pres-
ence, I was glad that they were gone. I thought duels
402
PATRIOT AND.TORY:
Į
i
very wicked, and should grieve that to his other crime
Major Banks could add that of shooting one of my
friends. In short, I told my young friend that he could do
nothing for me, except try and secure me a pass home
when I was able to go.
The ensign then told me that Mrs. Banks, weary of
long separation from her husband, had come to America,
uninvited by him, in company with the colonel of a regi-
ment which came over on the Tempest. This colonel's
wife was with him, and was a friend of Mrs. Banks.
This colonel had noticed that Major Banks had not
seemed glad to see his wife, and had been in haste to
remove her from the city, saying it would be unhealthful
for the child. He had secured lodgings about six miles
from the town, and had insisted on taking her there at
once, until her friend, the colonel, had made some sharp
remarks at his singular endeavor to hide her, and Banks
had agreed to have her remain to a dinner that was to
be given the twenty-fourth, to the review of the twenty-
fifth, and go to the country the day following.
I saw that the major's plan had been to put his real
wife out of town, and hustle Bessie off to Philadelphia
with me; for he had eagerly advocated her going to
Mistress Seaforth.
The ensign further told me that Mrs. Banks was quite
ill from her distress at discovering her husband's iniquitous
conduct; and that the newly arrived colonel was about to
lay the affair before Sir Henry Clinton; he added that
Mr. Warley's conduct had not been such as to render
himself or his daughter greatly esteemed. The ensign,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
403
with further proffers of service, withdrew, and I went
back to my post.
I concluded to
As I watched Bessie, the loneliness of our position in
this city of strangers grew upon me.
Mr. Warley was
rather a hinderance than a help to me.
send for Mr. Seaforth to come to me, and to ask the
ensign to dispatch the letter for me. I sat on the foot of
the bed in the darkened room, my hands on my lap,
thinking what a help and comfort the home friends would
be, until I almost seemed to hear their voices in my ear,
and to feel their hands clasping mine. This impression,
deepened by sleeplessness and sorrow, so hung upon me
that when Mistress White's servant boy looked in, saying
that I was wanted in the parlor, I started up, sure that
some one had come from Philadelphia.
Full of this idea, I rushed down stairs. I only half
saw a group in the hall; did not heed their exclamations,
looks, calls to me. I darted across the passage way, flung
open the door, feeling as if I should spring into my un-
cle's arms. Oh, fearful sight! I stumbled, almost fell
upon a bier set down just within the door; a bier with a
cloak thrown over it, not covering it, but leaving exposed
the set, ghastly, dead face of Mr. Warley, with wide open
eyes staring up at the ceiling, and a hole in the forehead,
and a broad mark where blood had run down. I can see
it still. I think I shall see it so long as I live.
The next thing I saw was sunshine, the snowy curtains
of Mistress White's bed, the kind face of mine hostess
bent over me. It had come upon them suddenly, she
said. They had meant to tell me carefully. The boy in
404
PATRIOT AND TORY:
his excitement had called me to the parlor, and I came
so quickly they could not stop me.
Then she told we how it was. Mr. Warley in a frenzy
had sought the major, and found him in a coffee-house.

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VERPLANCK'S POINT, FROM STONY POINT LIGHT-HOUSE.
He had challenged him, and the major had refused to
fight. Mr. Warley then struck him in his face with his
hand, and then with the butt of a pistol, and had insisted
on fighting then and there. They paced off a short dis-
tance, and Major Banks had seemed to mean to shoot
above his antagonist's head; but his hand and eye were
uncertain from drinking, and the ball passed through his
brain.
They buried Mr. Warley; sealed up his effects, and
sent them to our lodging. The ensign, through the
proper authorities, sent for Mr. Seaforth, and he came.
(
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
405
On the 30th of May, Sir Henry Clinton sent an ex-
pedition up the river to get possession of Stony and Ver-
planck's Points. They succeeded without fighting. Major
Banks was with the expedition. The army encamped
on either side the river, and on the night of the 31st,
a soldier, said to be cleaning his gun, and not knowing it.
to be loaded, shot the major through the heart as he stood
at his tent door. Was it accident, private revenge, or was
this the judgment of Heaven-death for death?
And so in the few weeks of my stay in New York, all
this terrible change came. Bessie slowly rallied. Mr.
Seaforth cared for us like a father, and on the 15th of this
July we were able to return to Philadelphia, bringing
poor Bessie to my uncle's house,.
Before we left New York, I was sent for to see Mrs.
Banks. She was in widow's dress, and is going home to
her father. She questioned me very kindly about Bessie,
and I told her the whole story. It was only justice to
Major Banks to tell how long he had lingered, seemingly
uncertain about proposing marriage, and the fact seemed
to comfort the poor soul a little. She shed tears over
Bessie. Spoke of her beauty and girlishness, and asked
had she friends. I told her my Uncle John's heart and
fortune were large enough for all demands that could be
made on either; and so I left her, wondering how such
an angel could have fallen to Major Banks's share, and
how he could have so lightly esteemed her.
406
PATRIOT AND TORY:
CHAPTER XVI.
SEPTEMBER 21, 1779.
BESSIE'S affairs have drawn my attention away from
public interests, but poor Bessie has now become a
quiet daily care. She is very feeble in health, and much
broken in spirits. She has no pleasure in dress and
gayety which she formerly loved, and has no fondness for
books or good works; no solace in her trouble. But the
tender sympathy of Mrs. Seaforth, the hearty piety of my
uncle, and the strong courage and faith of Judith, must
surely open to my unfortunate cousin a nobler life.
General Arnold is still residing in our city, but not in
command; when charges were preferred against him, and
a court-martial was ordered, he resigned his position here.
Since then, as nobody is now afraid of him, he is reaping
the reward of his arrogance and extortion, for he is as-
sailed with taunts and indignities, and lately he is followed
in the streets by a mob. He asked Congress for an armed
guard, but they declined, not considering him in danger,
nor deserving of honor.
The war has been this summer of a predatory charac-
ter. Sir Henry Clinton has ravaged the shores of Con-
necticut, and has burned, pillaged, and nearly destroyed
the towns of New Haven, East Haven, Fairfield and
Norwalk. Plundering expeditions into New York along
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
407
the Jersey coast, and to Maryland and Virginia, have dis-
tressed our people, but have done little to weaken our
cause,―serving only to arouse greater hostility, and a
more determined

opposition to
Britain.
On the 16th
of July, General
Wayne, called
often "Mad An-
thony," made a
brilliant and suc-
Livi
cessful attack on
Stony Point, los-
ing but fifteen
men, and mak-
GENERAL ANTHONY WAYNE,
ing nearly six
hundred prison-
ers. The coun-
try rings with this exploit, and it is expected to make our
cause stronger in Europe. Major Lee, the popular “Light-
horse Harry," has also his spirited achievement to boast.
He captured the fort at Paulus Hook, on the 19th of
August, carrying off the garrison prisoners, but not
attempting to hold the place, as it is within sight of New
York, and within reach of the guns there.
Speaking of names assigned to various heroes, recalls
that given to our chief-"The American Fabius"—for his
cautious policy. Some complain of this policy, and want
all risked at a blow; but every year justifies the steady
-
TES
408
PATRIOT AND TORY:
self-command, the immovable decision of our Washing-
ton, and my uncle says that future years will yet more
grandly exalt his conduct of this war.
On the ocean, Paul Jones is winning laurels for our
cause, and showing that America is no unworthy child of
the nation, long called "Mistress of the Seas."
General Washington is now at West Point, but has
sent some troops south, as Georgia and South Carolina
are now suffering all the most terrible evils of civil war.
Plantations are ravaged; citizens shot, hung, or chased
into swamps; the houses are burned, or turned into
quarters for the enemy. The slaves are seized, and either
set against their masters, or given to royalists. Laurens
and Hamilton urge the arming of the slaves, and say
that they could raise several brave and effectual reg-
iments.
In Rhode Island the slaves were freed on condition of
serving as soldiers, their masters being promised some
compensation by the State. Uncle says that this was
equitable in every way. If the slaves shed their blood
for a country, they should have equal rights in it. They
should not be slaves, but citizens, where they manfully
risk their lives, and, as the State profits by their freedom,
she should, according to her ability, pay the masters for
the loss of their laborers.
NOVEMBER 18, 1779.
Rhode Island has been evacuated by the British,
Sir Henry Clinton concentrating his northern forces at
New York, and sending what regiments he can to the
South. The war appears to be gradually leaving the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
409
Eastern States, where at first it broke out. When we
were seeing in Massachusetts the desolation of war, it
seemed to me as if the South was an earthly paradise of
beauty, peace, and plenty; where the people were as gen-
erous as the soil and climate, and where no trouble could

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VERDE YO
SUBSCRIPTIONS FOR THE CONTINENTAL ARMY.
ever come; now they are paying their price for freedom,
as we have been doing here. The brave General Pulaski
has been killed, and the French Admiral D'Estaing
wounded. Savannah is in the hands of the British, and
they are likely soon to have Charleston.
Our army is said to be in a more desperate condition
410
PATRIOT AND TORY:
than ever for want of food, clothing and ammunition,
while this winter promises to be bitterly cold. The
soldiers are not regularly paid, and the currency is
worth so little that it is of small use to them when they
get it. Thirty paper dollars to one hard dollar is the
rule now, and it is likely to sink lower than that. Mrs.
Reid, Mrs. Bache, and many others are talking of re-
newed organizations for relieving the wants of the army.
They had a meeting yesterday at Mrs. Reid's, and we
all went but Bessie. She spent the day with Annie Sea-
forth. At the meeting Judith proposed that if funds for
providing clothing failed, the patriot ladies should, give
their jewels and trinkets. She said that she was willing
to give all hers, and that she was ashamed to be wearing
valuable ornaments, while her countrymen in the field
were destitute of shoes, coats and flannels. The other
ladies approved heartily of her remarks, and said that
they would freely make the sacrifice.
When we came home Bessie told me that while she
was at Mrs. Seaforth's, the Misses Shippen, sisters of
Mrs. General Arnold, called. They are very indignant
that the council has dared demand a court-martial for
General Arnold, and say that it is just like the ungrate-
fulness of pretended republics.
A great sorrow came to us this evening. Charles is
ordered to West Point. He has now been in the city for
a long while, and is impatient to be on active duty again;
yet the order for departure came unexpectedly to him, and
the thought of leaving us all, especially Annie, was a se-
vere blow. Our house is thus a house of mourning.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
411
APRIL 3, 1780.
This winter General Washington had his quarters at
Morristown, hutted as before. The cavalry were sent
into Connecticut. Mr. Reid called here before he went
there with his command. I said to him that Hannah
must be very grieved to have him leave her; but hel
replied that the only thing which could trouble her, was
lack of supplies for her suffering army lads. One of
Mr. Reid's company told my uncle that Captain Richard
Reid had taken no pay since the war opened, and that
twice he had disbursed his private funds to the men.
Many of our officers do the same. I know that Charles
does. How our army keeps together is the marvel of
every one who understands the circumstances.
*
Mistress Reid told us yesterday at the ladies' meeting
for soldiers, that General Washington wrote to President
Reid, that the army had never been in such extremity.
Not only do the soldiers have the present need to bear,
but they know that their pay will be worth nothing
when they get it. Continental money is down to sixty
to one, and even Congress reckons it forty to one.
This winter has been terribly cold. The horses in
camp here died from exposure and lack of forage.
Hannah wrote to us that she had lost both hers; but
uncle sent her word, to keep her courage up; she should
have horses or mules in the spring to draw that wagon,
if he had to sell his house to buy them. We have gath-
ered up three loads of stores, and sent them to Hannah for
her sick soldiers; but now when we beg for flannels or
blankets or socks, people tell us their supply is exhausted.
412
PATRIOT AND TORY:
My uncle has been twice to the camp.
camp. He
He says that
the general is deeply distressed at being forced to im-
press supplies from the country to save his army from
starvation. He gives the most earnest and touching
charges to those who go out for corn or fodder, and the
people in the main bear the imposition very well.
Uncle has taken all that he could remove from his farm
for the use of the camp. I told uncle, the other day,
that in fifteen months I should be of age, and then I
should give all my property to the army. He patted my
head, saying: "Poor child, what a drop in this ocean of
need your little heritage would be!" Then he added
more brightly: "Let us hope that the war will be over
by that time. What will Judith and Susannah do, if
peace is not declared, so that their Tory lovers may
return?"
Mr. Morris and my uncle were talking yesterday
about the army, and they said that Jersey could never
be praised enough for what it has done. Drained as it
has been of its wealth, by both parties, it has subsisted
the entire army part of this winter, when deep snows
have prevented provisions coming in from other States.
So cold has it been since December, that New York
Bay was frozen over, and the Hudson River had ice so
thick that the heaviest artillery could be drawn across.
My uncle was in the Jerseys in the coldest time. We
feared greatly for him. He told us, when he returned,
that wherever he went the women were spinning, knit-
ting, weaving, sewing, robbing themselves to furnish out
the soldiers; and that he had been in some houses where
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
413
the fire on the kitchen hearth never went out, and a
great kettle hung over it all the time, with meat, por-
ridge, or vegetables in it, and every passing soldier was
warmed and fed. "Now," said my uncle, "this shows
a fixed principle. We must oppose here the power of
endurance and self-sacrifice to the power of wealth and
warlike equipments, and I am more and more convinced
that a new separate life has awaked in this nation, and
that the only end of this war will be recognized inde-
pendence."
The trial by court-martial of General Arnold has
proceeded, and the sentence was merely for a reprimand
by the commander-in-chief. All who know General
Washington and his regard for the bravery of Arnold,
know that his reprimand will be the lightest and most
courteous that could possibly be given. We hear now
that General Arnold proposes to leave the army, and
establish a colony in north-western New York.
JUNE 2, 1780.
Again I have been from home. My uncle was about
to go to Morristown on the 10th of April, when we had
a letter from Joseph Dana, saying that Hannah was
very ill, and had been removed to a farm-house, and
asking for some needful things to be sent to her. My
uncle concluded to take me to her, and Judith having
prepared various comforts for an invalid, we set out. I
found Hannah more in need of sympathy and nursing
than of medicine, and devoted all my time to her. The
farm-house was a lonely place about two miles from the
camp, its sole inhabitants being an old man and woman,
414
PATRIOT AND TORY:
a little black girl, and an enormous mastiff. The three
sons of the family were in the garrison at West Point.
Joseph Dana got leave, while Hannah was at the worst,
to sleep at the house, but he took his breakfast and went
to the camp at day-break.
I felt the house lonesome after living in the city. The
old lady was deaf and feeble, and spent most of her time
in bed, and my sole consolation was the dog, a fierce brute,
the terror of strangers; but the creature took a great fancy
to me. It was about the 20th of April, when Hannah
had began to amend, and the weather was very fine, when
our farm became the scene of some excitement. Early
one morning old Mr. Ray went off to a distant field;
his wife was in bed, I with Hannah, and the little black
girl was in the kitchen. This girl came to me with a very
gay kerchief, saying that a peddler had given it to her
for a breakfast, which he was then eating in the kitchen.
She was obliged to go to the barn to feed the calves,
and wanted me to go to the kitchen until the stranger
departed. I rebuked her for letting people of this sort
into the house, but seeing no help for the matter now, as
the man was said to be quietly eating, I agreed to go
down.
It seems that he had asked the girl if there were any
men in the house, and she had told him no. Feeling at
ease, therefore, he had left his pack with a pistol laid
upon it in the shed, through which he had entered the
kitchen. I had been sweeping Hannah's room, and went
down with a kerchief tied over my head, a broom in one
hand, and my other hand in the collar of my friend, the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO,
415
mastiff.
Not liking to stand gazing at the traveler, I con-
cluded to behave as one of the household and proceed to
sweep the kitchen, which might also be a hint to him to
depart.
He did not notice me particularly, but as soon as I fixed
my attention on him, I recognized certain peculiarities of
head and neck which belonged to "Spy Brown," and no
other. He had been in the camp, and might be making
off with information which would ruin the few thousands
gathered there. To cover my anxiety as I pondered what
to do, I kept sweeping, the dog close by me; and sweep-
ing along by the door where his pack and pistols were, I
pushed it shut. He turned about from the table and
looked squarely at me, standing with my back against the
door; at that moment I felt no terror. If I had his pistols
in my hand, I would have ordered him to surrender. He
recognized me, and saw that I knew him.
With a great oath he said: "It's parson Temple's girl!"
"I know you, Brown," I said.
He stepped toward me. My dog growled ominously,
his eyes blazed, his fangs showed, and every hair on his
body seemed to bristle up. Brown halted, ran his eye
over the table, only one knife there, and that a dull old
thing. He said:
"See here, girl, I don't mean any harm to you, come
away from that door, and I'll go; but you must go on
your knees and swear that for twenty-four hours you will
not hint of me or my name to a living being."
"I will not swear such a thing," I retorted, slipping
my hand out of my dog's collar.
27
416
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Brown gave another oath. "I believe you were in my
being caught before. I heard some whisper about a girl.
You've got the Temple eye, keen as a razor-it's your
life or mine; if I must throttle you or blow out your
brains, be it on your head."
The length of the room had been between us. He
made a dash toward me, but as he did so, my dog with
a roar rather than a growl, hurled himself into the air,
Brown whirling about to escape those red, gaping
jaws-and leaping forward as he turned, the dog came
upon his bent shoulders, and slipped down his back, his
nails making a tearing along Brown's coat, and his teeth
snapping.
My enemy's coat had a short, stiff pair of tails, for he
was dressed as a jaunty trader, in a blue coat with gilt
buttons. As he had whirled about the tails of his coat
stood straight out with the motion, and upon these tails
my dog's teeth closed as he slid down his foe's back.
Brown is tall and strong, the mastiff grasped the coat with
all his strength; and his paws, searching for a holding,
found it in the seat of Brown's breeches. Brown's turn
had set him facing the front door of the kitchen, and out
of that he tore like a madman, going over the field with
long strides, and still the dog held on. The fences had
mostly been turned into fuel for the camp. I ran to the
door, and as far as I could see, I beheld Brown, hatless,
tearing over the fields, the dog whirled after him on
two legs, sustained by the grip he had on the coat and
breeches.
I dragged the abandoned pack into a closet and locked
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
417
it in. I took the pistol, ran to the barn, and bid the girl
leap on a horse, ride to camp, and bid Joseph Dana and
some other soldier ride out to me in haste. She at once
seized the idea that Hannah was dying, and made that
report to Joseph. I locked up the house, kept the pistol
in hand, and spent my time in going from window to
window to see what was coming. No Mr. Ray, no Joseph,
no dog, no peddler. Finally, a beat of hoofs, and I
opened the door for Joseph; hardly had he got in than
a panting sound was heard, and in bounded the mastiff,
covered with sweat, and laid at my feet-a pair of blue
coat-tails.
Evidently he had returned when the long resisting tails
had given way, and let him down on all fours. He
wagged his tail in triumph over his plunder, and I fell
on my knees and hugged his big ugly head, and kissed
it with all my heart.
I told Joseph the story, so he took the pack and the frag-
ment of coat and hastened back to camp, leaving me with
dog and pistol to defend myself and the house. Scouts
rode off on all hands among the heights to capture the
fugitive, but toward the end of the afternoon Joseph
Dana and two others—one of them on horseback-return-
ing from a bootless search along the edge of a ravine,
found Brown, who had somewhere got a carter's frock
to cover his impromptu jacket. Unhappily he had also
obtained a pistol, and he fired upon his pursuers. The
ball entered Joseph's arm, shattering the bone above the
elbow. Joseph being now helpless, his two companions
undertook to bring their prisoner to camp. Brown unex-
418
PATRIOT AND TORY:
❤
pectedly closed with one of them and flung him down,
and the other seizing him, Brown struck him in the face
with a knife.
}
?
The two soldiers were now furious, and decided to
hang their prisoner on the spot. They took the bridle
from the horse, and having pinioned Brown's arms behind
him with a handkerchief, hung him on a tree over the
steep edge of the ravine. They were in too great haste,
happily or unhappily, for no sooner had they swung the
wretched man off, than the tree limb gave way, and he
went crashing down into the ravine. Down went the
soldiers after him, clambering over the steep sides as well
as they might-but no Brown was to be found, and so a
second time he made his escape from merited death.
Joseph Dana was brought to Mr. Ray's farm, and we
thought his wound not likely to be serious. But one dif-
ficulty after another followed to hinder the healing, and,
when on the 15th of May I came home with my uncle,
Hannah being quite well, we brought Joseph to be put
under Doctor Binney's care. Joseph, once the gay, bold,
vain, generous, hearty young man, the secret pride of the
old deacon's heart, is now a worn, thin, anxious, resolute
soldier; and more than that, alas!-to-day without his
right arm. For Doctor Binney's best efforts failed, and as
the only means of saving life, the amputation was per-
formed this morning. Joseph is here in our house.
Uncle was with him during the operation. His only re-
gret seemed to be that he must leave the army; and so
if he recovers now, his parents will have him back.
Three days before I left Mr. Ray's, the camp was filled
·
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
419
with joy at the return of the Marquis La Fayette. He
came the bearer of good news. French troops and a
French fleet, arms, ammunition, and camp equipage were
coming to us. The Marquis hastened on to Philadelphia,
and when I reached home the city was in a joyous com-
motion, because of his arrival and the good news.
General Arnold was in the city at the same time; his
project about western New York has not succeeded, and
he wanted to rejoin the army.
On the 25th of May, a mutiny broke out in camp-
some of our poor fellows getting desperate with the pri-
vations of their situation. It is not the open field, but
the tortures of camp, with poor food, shelter, clothing,
and no pay, which is wearing out our men.
The general
quelled the disturbance in his masterly manner, and he
wrote to Mr. Reid for instant help. The president,
council, and legislature sent what aid they could, and our
ladies' association came nobly to the rescue. Some of us
brought the last silver in our purses, and many sold
trinkets and jewels.
Our committees went about the city begging whatever
could be turned to use. Hester and I were on one com-
mittee for begging, and we got all manner of articles.
Continental paper, French silver, rings, spoons, overcoats,
sheets, shirts, and towels, blankets, and webs of linen;
the whole city seemed inspired. A black woman, named
Phillis, gave her hard-earned seven and sixpence, and the
Marquis La Fayette, in the name of his wife, brought a
hundred guineas in specie, and the Countess de Luzerne
gave us six thousand paper dollars, equal to one hundred
Ad
420
PATRIOT AND TORY:
in hard money. We prepared twenty-two hundred shirts
-twenty shirts were made at our house-Bessie, Nervey,
and the chambermaid sewing with the rest of us.
JULY 12, 1780.
On the eighth of this month, Joseph Dana was able to
return home to Plymouth. Hannah came from camp and
remained a week with him. I had thought that she
would go home when he did; but no, she says that now
she understands her work, and will not leave it. The day
before Joseph went away, I had a letter from Deborah
Samson. I had not known that there was so much ten-
derness in her nature as this letter showed. She knew
how my heart clings to that old home, and she had
visited the dear spot, and told me exactly how it looked;
what flowers were blooming; what birds haunted it;
where the great-grandfather's oaken chair stood; what
crops throve in what fields; how the neighbors spoke yet
of my grand-parents, and how the graves in the church-
yard were tended; and she sent me some leaves from the
big apple-tree.
She is now at Mistress Hooper's. Isaiah has not been
heard from, but one from that regiment, who returned home,
believed Isaiah to have been captured by the Indians,
and a captive who had escaped, said he fancied he had
been sent to the Shawnees. Mrs. Hooper is heart-broken,
and believes that she could more easily have borne the
news of his death. Indeed, Deborah's description of the
fatherless household is very touching. She said she found
her services greatly needed. No one questioned her
about her absence, only there is a rumor in the neigh-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
421
borhood that she had run away and married an English
soldier. At the close of the letter she said, "I do not
repent of what I did; but it was a terrible hour to me,
when I felt that my course was condemned by such men
as Dr. Binney and by our general. No words can ex-
press my gratitude to him for his silence. I stood before.
him overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and he
spoke not one word to add to my distress; but his letter,
though short, was full of the noblest advice.
It was a
compensation sufficient for my years of service.”
The heat has been very great in the city this summer,
and Judith and Hester have been away for a visit.
They returned on the 9th, and yesterday Susannah and I
came out to Mistress Logan's to spend a week. This even-
ing a little before sunset, I went out by myself, and pass-
ing through the garden to the brow of the hill overlook-
ing the creek, I wandered about the little burial-ground.
This burial-place lies above the Logan vault, and that is
a spot which has a sort of fascination for me, I know not
why.
Going down the steps at the hill-side, I went to the iron
grating door of the vault, and looked into the damp, dark
cavern. It has not been entered for some time; the slabs
which seal up the burial recesses are moldy, and from the
hooks in the arch great chains of cobwebs droop to the
floor. Standing thus, I heard near me a sound like a
sigh, or groan, and turning, I saw an Indian with folded
arms, and rifle laid at his feet, leaning against a great
maple which stood near. His hunting-shirt and leggins
were stained and frayed; the jaunty fringes and the moc-
422
PATRIOT AND TORY:
my
casins were in tatters. The dark, sad face was that of
old friend Ta-ga-jute.
I held out my hand to him, "Welcome, Logan!
He took my hand with a grace which might have be-
come Colonel Nelson.
(6
""
He said, "The word is sweet to a lonely heart."
"You have come from far, Logan," I said.
Logan has no home, and no rest," he replied. "My
people are at Detroit. Cornstalk is with the Shawnees,
at Scioto. The cabin which was plundered is desolate.
Ta-ga-jute has come to look upon the grave of Shikelli-
mus."
His words gave me a good thought.
I said, "When the women and the children were
killed, then the chief knew what it was to be desolate
indeed. But sometimes the women and the children sit
and wait for one who never comes. There is no hand to
bring bread; no arm to protect. The mother and her
babes sit alone, and the Indians keep the father prisoner."
He roused himself and said:
"Is it true? What does the maiden wish? Have
any of those many friends been taken captive?" and he
looked quizzical at the words "many friends."
I told him, then, of Isaiah Hooper in his home.
He remarked, "He was happy; the earth gave him
food; he loved the Great Spirit, and hated firewater."
I continued the story, telling about the departure for
war.
He said, "He was brave; his heart was strong."
I told him of the dismal captivity, the man dying
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
423
and starved, who would not give his word to fight no
more.
He shouldered his rifle in enthusiasm, crying, "He
was true. Where is Logan's white brother?"
I replied, "He is captive in a Shawnee town. No
more can he see his wife; no more bring bread to his
children. Logan knows what it is to have a lonely
cabin. What would Ta-ga-jute do if his squaw or his
child had been taken captive? Now let Logan find his
white brother."
"It is done. The maiden sets me a good work," he
said, "and I will search the Shawnee villages and the
other tribes for the captive before I come again to the
grave of my father. But the way is long. The maiden
must wait many moons before the captive is led back, or
Ta-ga-jute comes to tell her that her friend is gone to the
Great Spirit. Ta-ga-jute goes to-morrow."
I promised him a reward if he brought back Isaiah
Hooper. I described the man to him; impressed his
name upon him; and to keep him in mind, I broke a
little gold chain that I wore, and made him a ring of
part of it. So now I hope that to-morrow help may be
on the way to friend Hooper, if indeed, after so many
trials he is living.
JULY 18, 1780.
My visit at Mrs. Logan's was shorter than I had antic-
ipated. The day after my last writing, Logan set off for
the West, early in the morning. At breakfast Mistress
Logan spoke of some purchase which she wished made
in the city, and I offered to ride in and do the errand
424
PATRIOT AND TORY:
for her. I set off at once, before the day became hot, and
went first to our own house. I was standing in the par-
lor, talking with Judith, when we heard the noise of
wheels, and Susannah, running to the window, announced
Hannah Dana's wagon.
Hannah herself came in immediately. She had come
to the city with four patients, wounded at the battle of
Springfield, June 23d, when Knyphausen last invaded the
Jerseys. The four patients promised to be long ill, and
Hannah, at the request of the surgeon, brought them into
Philadelphia for care at the hospital. But one, she said,
was an old friend of ours, and since my uncle had told
her that our house was always open to the wounded, she
had brought him to us for especial attention, if possibly
we might save his life. We bade her bring her patient in,
and without stopping to ask his name, Judith called for
Pompey and Peter to come and carry him to the bed-room
on the first floor, which she made haste to throw open.
The sufferer was carefully laid in the bed, Hannah re-
marking that moving him had been, in her opinion, a
mistake, for he had grown worse. She then threw aside
the kerchief, which had been over his face, and I saw
that here was Mr. Bowdoin! I resolved not to return to
Mistress Logan's, but to do my part as nurse for our old
friend; and I begged Susannah to do Mistress Logan's
errand, and ride out there to finish my interrupted visit.
Hannah Dana was greatly grieved about Mr. Bowdoin;
so long as they were together in camp, he had done so
much to aid her in work among the wounded, that a strong
friendship had sprung up between them. Having been
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
425
with the army in the Mohawk Valley, he had returned
with a company to West Point, and had been sent thence
to New Jersey, just in time to be present at the battle of
Springfield. His wound had occasioned fever, and the
fever had now attacked his brain. Hannah said it was
at his own urgent request to be brought to my uncle's,
that he had been moved from the neighborhood of Spring-
field.
Mr. Bowdoin remained unconscious until after Han-
nah's departure. Bessie was staying with Mrs. Seaforth.
She is very feeble and unhappy, singularly restless-some-
times we think she is going into a consumption. In the
evening I went over to Mrs. Seaforth's and told her about
Mr. Bowdoin. Nothing would do but she must see him.
As he was insensible, it could do him no harm, and I
took her to his bedside. She stood there crying passion-
ately. I felt deeply pained for her, and tried to comfort
her. She would not return to Mrs. Seaforth.
Mr. Bowdoin continued unconscious until the morning
of the 16th. I was sitting by his bed early in the morn-
ing, when he opened his eyes and called me by name,
adding: “This is kind, to be my nurse." I gave him his
medicine and some nourishment, and that day we hoped
he was improving. Bessie wanted to see him, but we
feared to permit it. In the afternoon he began to speak
to me of Bessic, and to my utter amazement I found that
he had never heard of her marriage, and believed her
still to be with her father in New York. He spoke
fondly of the letters which she had written him from
that city, and of his hope that when the war ended they
426
PATRIOT AND TORY:
would be married. He asked if I thought Mr. Warley
would continue his objection to the marriage. I said
"no," but begged him to be quiet until he was better.
Presently he slept for an hour, and when he woke he
asked me such a question about Mr. Warley, that I was
obliged to say that Mr. Warley was dead.
He said: "Oh, my poor Bessie, what will she do?"
I prayed him to be calm, saying that my uncle had re-
solved to treat her as a daughter, and that she had been
staying with good Christian friends. This composed him.
About eight a change came over him; we sent for the
physician, and he told us plainly that Mr. Bowdoin was
dying. Mr. Bowdoin felt this himself, and beckoning to
me he said softly, that I must take a message "for his
Bessie;" if he could have seen her, he would be content.
Bes-
I said, "Mr. Bowdoin, you can have your wish.
sie has come from her friend to my uncle's. She is here.
I will bring her to you, but she is much changed, she
has been ill."
I then went to Bessie, and told her that Mr. Bowdoin
wanted to see her. I said, "Bessie, he does not know that
you were married. He thinks that you have been true to
him. He is dying. You must control yourself, or you
will hasten his death. Let him die in peace."
Then I took her to the room. Uncle and Judith were
sitting there. Mr. Bowdoin lay with his eyes fixed on
the door; when Bessie entered he smiled joyfully, and
held out his hand. Bessie fell on her knees by the bed,
and, hid her face.
He stroked her hair, saying: "My dear girl, I must
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
427
。
leave you. I had hoped for better things, but God is
good that I may see you at last, and bid you good bye,
and know that you have not forgotten me, my Bessie."
Bessie sobbed wildly, that "she could never, never for-
get him."
"Then let us meet in heaven, my Bessie, where all
these our sorrows and partings will seem like dreams of a
night. I have always trusted you, Bessie. I know you
were true to me."
“Oh,” murmured Bessie, "if I could only be good like
you, and hope to meet you again!
He drew her head toward him, and softly spoke some
words of religious instruction and comfort to her; then
he begged her to be calm, while my uncle should read and
pray with him.
""
Uncle John stood at the bed's foot, and read the four-
teenth chapter of St. John, and then prayed. When the
prayer was ended, Mr. Bowdoin looked around on us
all, and feebly waved his hand as in farewell. Then he
took Bessie's hand in his, and with a last effort, said:
"Good-bye, Bessie." He had died believing in her!
Poor Bessie, when she knew that he was gone, burst
into the most piteous lamentations-"Oh, why was I so
blind, so foolish, so wicked! Oh, but for me, we might
have been happy now, and you might be living! Why
can not I undo it all. If I only had back the past."
And so she raved, clinging to that dead hand, which
living she had despised and rejected. "He believed in
me! he loved me; the only one in all the world who
ever really cared for me!"
428
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Thus she raved, and Judith and I could not quiet her.
Finally we got her to bed, and by day-light she fell
asleep, sobbing in her dreams, and looking so pale and
so pitiful that I only could compassionate her, and forget
her wrong-doing. Surely she has suffered for all the
wrong that ever she did. I went for Mrs. Seaforth, who
always can comfort Bessie better than we can, and she
staid with the unhappy child all next day.
Uncle buried Mr. Bowdoin in our own family cemetery
on the river side, above the city. We laid him there
to-day about sunset. Mr. Bowdoin was a man alone in
the world. He had no relatives, and, being of a reticent
nature, few friends. Without any ambition but to be
good, he would gladly have spent his whole life laboring
among my grandfather's old people. His love and trust
were entirely fixed upon Bessie. I sit now thinking
what a good and peaceful life hers might have been, if,
unallured by worldly follies, she had married him that
pleasant spring-time when he and she were together at
Plymouth. And whose fault is it that Bessie was so
willful, so vain, so false? Surely she learned nothing
else from her father, and the girl was motherless!
I said to Uncle John to-night: "Why must poor Bessie
see so much more trouble than Susannah or I?”
He answered: "The children of the Covenant come to
the Father by a straight and pleasant path. There are
others who, through much tribulation, enter the kingdom
of God. Through all these woes and wanderings, God is,
perhaps, teaching Bessie the insufficiency of the world to
make her happy, and is answering in His way your
grandmother's prayers."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
429
CHAPTER XVII.
OCTOBER 20, 1780.
THE presence of La Fayette in the spring, the arrival of
the Count Rochambeau with troops a little later, and
the promise of further succor, have somewhat revived the
spirits of our people; but still our condition is desperate.
Supplies for the army are wanting; the money is value-
less; much of the summer General Washington has had
but three thousand available troops; Congress and the
general differ about the conduct of the quartermaster's
department, and General Greene has resigned. The
success of the British in Georgia and the Carolinas hast
been most disheartening to us. If they complete the
conquest of the South, and when peace is declared are in
a position to dismember our colonies and retain the
southern land, many will feel as if we had obtained but a
poor price for our long-continued struggle.
General De Kalb was mortally wounded in the battle
of Camden, and on August 16th, Sumter and Gates were
routed. The Tory element is very strong along the
southern seaboard, and the depreciation of the currency
there is fearful, owing, my Uncle Matthew writes, to the
British having found means to throw an enormous quan-
tity of counterfeits of the currency into Virginia. My
Uncle John says that our present weakness is owing to
1
430
PATRIOT AND TORY:
the lack of organized unity between the States; there is
no powerful central government, but really thirteen dis-
tinct bodies, thirteen armies, thirteen ways of raising the
taxes, thirteen governments, thirteen heads-and have we
one, thirteen, or no body politic? This lack of unity has
demoralized and reduced the army, and has been the true
reason why Washington's favorite project of an attack on
New York could not be carried out. Another of the
distresses of the summer has been the ravaging of north-
ern New York by parties from Canada. The counties
whence our general expected supplies of corn, have been
destroyed; Forts Anne and George are captured; villages
are burned; the Indians are out in force.
But by far our saddest loss, our bitterest disappoint-
ment, our greatest danger of this summer, has been one
upon which I have dreaded to touch, even in this journal.
On these pages I have written of much that is patient,
true, self-sacrificing, heroic; now I must set down treason.
We all feel ready to say with our general: "Whom now
can we trust?" America has learned a new word for
traitor; the word is, ARNOLD.
About the beginning of August, Arnold obtained com-
mand of West Point, our most important port. He
pleaded desire to save his country, and inability to walk
or ride because of his wounds. Yet during this time he
was in correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton, bargain-
ing for a high price for the betrayal of his country. The
loss of West Point, its dependencies, its forces, and stores,
would have been the death-blow to our cause, now when
affairs in the South go so badly. Our former acquaint-
-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
431
ance, André, had been made major and adjutant-general
of the British forces. Unhappily André was the officer
chosen to treat with Arnold.
Arnold's quarters were at the Robinson House, Bev-
erly. Arnold agreed to seize a
time when the commander-
in-chief, with the main body
of troops, would be below
King's Bridge to co-operate
with the French in an attack
on New York. Arnold would
surrender his post with almost
no resistance, claiming that he
had not force sufficient to hold
it.

ORG
Ft.Montgome
FiClinton
Ft.Putnam
WestPoint
Haverstraw
AudreLa
Nyack
Tappan
MILES
VerplauksPt
Stony Pt. King's Ferry
201410
Smith House
Haverstraw
Ft. Constitution
Dobb
5
Ft.Independence
Robinson'sHouse
Peekskill
Crom Pond
Teller P
Croton
10
North Castle
Andre Taken
rryTown
Bronx R.
cr.
Pines Bridge
SCENE OF ARNOLD'S TREASON.
Having sent to Washington
for help, Arnold would sur-
render before reinforcements arrived; and the com-
mander-in-chief, drawn from his attack on New York,
must be surprised by his victorious enemy. Arnold had
in a feigned name and hand carried on a correspondence
concerning this treason. His price was to be money and
a brigadier-generalship in the British army. The en-
deavor was to obtain a meeting with André under a flag
of truce, on pretense of business relating to confiscated
property. General Washington would not consent to the
flag, and André came up the river on the ship Vulture,
and effected a meeting with Arnold, as he supposed, with-
out the American lines.
Salem
White Plains
15
18
Qadin
The terms of the treason were agreed upon. When
28
432
PATRIOT AND TORY:
André found that he could not rejoin his ship that night,
next day she was forced to drop down the river, and
André was left on shore, and obliged to seek New York
by land. General Clinton warned André not to disguise

*#{{TTY#*!
THE ARREST OF MAJOR ANDRE.
himself nor carry any papers. He disobeyed both orders
at the instance of Arnold, putting on a disguise over his
uniform, and carrying in his boots papers relating to the
treason.
Arnold charged André to take the inner route to New
York by White Plains. André, about six miles below
Croton, left the road by White Plains, and took the high-
way from Albany near Tarrytown. Here about noon, as
he proceeded to the city, believing himself quite safe, he
was captured by three good Americans, who formed a
?
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
433
self-constituted guard to the highway. He offered one
hundred guineas, or any money they might ask, if they
would send him to New York. The men were incorrup-
tible. On the evidence of the papers and his hidden uni-
form, they recognized him as a spy, and took him to
Colonel Jameson.
He was allowed to send letters to Arnold at the Rob-
inson House. Mistress Arnold and her infant had been.
there from Philadelphia but a few days, and on the
morning of September 24th, General Washington and his
suite were to be there at breakfast. They were late.
Arnold and his family sat down to eat, and as they were
at table, the messenger from André entered. Arnold saw
that he was discovered. He called his wife aside, told
her the story, and leaving her insensible, he fled through
the Highlands, and taking his barge and hanging out a
white flag, reached the British ship Vulture. Another
messenger reached Washington in the afternoon at West
Point. Arnold had escaped, but André was less fortu-
nate. Taken as a spy, but one fate awaited him. He
was executed the 2d of October.
It was a sad day for us when the news came.
We re-
membered with interest our gay and gifted friend; so
young, enthusiastic, and thoughtless. What a fate was
his! We thought of his mother and sisters of whom he
had spoken to us, and we shed many tears for them.
André had not intended to come inside our lines; he had
not intended to assume a disguise, but he had done both.
Court-martials deal not with intentions, but with facts.
No man ever entered an enemy's territory with more
434
PATRIOT AND TORY:
hostile intentions than André. He came, hoping to work
our entire ruin. He desecrated a flag of truce, and told
complicated falsehoods; at the same time he was the un-
happy victim of a most false, cruel, and unscrupulous
man.
Some thought that Mistress Arnold was a party to the
plot, but Charles, from whom, as now stationed at West
Point, we learned all the circumstances of this terrible
business, says that evidently the treason was as much of a
surprise to her as to any one. General Washington sent
her under passport to her father at Philadelphia. As soon
as she arrived here, she concluded upon a separation from
Arnold. Why she desired this is a question. She has
seemed to be fond of him, and he is marvelously devoted
to her. Is the idea of leaving her friends too bitter? Does
she think his prospects are ruined, or does she resent the
death of André, formerly a great friend of hers, and her
knight at the Mischienza.
The executive council here ordered her to leave the
State within fourteen days, and not to return during the
war. She and her father agreed to give pledges to have
no communication with Arnold, if she might stay, but
they insisted upon her leaving, and she is gone to New
York. So pretty Margaret Shippen is gone from Phila-
delphia. But lately we have had a greater loss. Mistress
Reid is dead; many cares and labors destroyed a naturally
delicate frame. She died on the eighteenth of last month,
and all the city mourned at her funeral, for she was
greatly beloved. There has been no purer and more ar-
dent Patriot than this young English woman, only a
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
435
few years a resident in this country; her time, her means,
her affections, all belonging to the land of her adoption.
Bessie went with us to the funeral. It was the first
time she had left the house since Mr. Bowdoin's death.
She seems improving in health this autumn; but there is
a far greater improvement in her spirit. She does not
seem like the same Bessie. I believe that she is growing
like Mrs. Seaforth.
NOVEMBER 10, 1780.
It is a long while since Susannah has heard from
Colonel Nelson. Letters frequently come to the city
from officers in the British army, but for months not a
token from the colonel. My uncle thinks that he has
gone to England, or has forgotten Susannah, or that in
New York his fancy has fixed on some other beauty.
He said to Judith the other day that he wished he had
sent Susannah out of the city as soon as the colonel
began to pay attention to her. Judith, like the rest of
the ladies, seems inclined to put confidence in the
colonel, and says that if he is living she is sure his
silence will be explained. But in war time, if he is liv-
ing means a great deal.
I have been very sad this some time. I am sure
Thomas Otis is dead. It is many months since we heard
from him. Still, that was not so very strange, as he is in
northern New York; but about a week ago, a major,
who had been with General Van Rensselaer, came here;
my uncle brought him home for the evening. He told
us that on the 19th there had been a sharp battle at
Fort Keyser, and more than forty had been killed. He
436
PATRIOT AND TORY:
helped bury the dead the next day, and he described
finding a young man with light curling hair, blue eyes,
and a fair face, lying dead, and in his hand a paper and
a lock of fair hair. Oh, I know, I know, that was Thomas
Otis, and that he died thinking of me.
I was near the door, and when the truth of this ter-
rible story came upon me, I stole out and ran up to
my room and locked myself in, and I cried all night,
thinking of poor Thomas, and the merry days we spent
in Plymouth, and that he is dead, and that there is no
one to mourn for him but me. He had no mother or
sisters; no one cared for him-unless I did-and indeed,
I too was forgetting Thomas. I did not miss him while
he was away. I did not feel anxious for him to come
back, as Judith does for Henry. I was not unhappy at
not hearing from him, as Susannah is about the colonel.
Oh, how cold-hearted and ungrateful I am, while Thomas
was true to me, and died thinking of me, and with my
token in his hand!
I did not tell any one about this. Judith would say
that I was not sure that this was Thomas, and Hester
would talk to me about him, and accuse me of not caring
enough. But I can be true; and a soldier who died for
his country, and thinking of me, shall not be forgotten.
Once, when I was in Plymouth, I liked Thomas more
than any one, except my two grandfathers. I could not
be expected then to like any one more than them; but-well
for a year or two I have not thought so much of Thomas,
and I have had an idea that other people might be nicer,
and that I might possibly like some one else better than
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
437
I did my grandfather-and such a poor patriot I am, that
while Hannah can go into the camp, and give her money
and her very life for her country, and Deborah can take
a musket and fight, I am so selfish that I was forgetting
one who never forgot me, and who was giving his life for
the cause of freedom.
Yes, Thomas was a true hero; he always was; and a
hero shall always be remembered. I can not get this
idea of my dead friend out of my mind; we neither of
us thought of such an ending when we were talking in
the lanes between the clover fields, or rocking in the
boat on Plymouth Bay. Thomas expected to do great
deeds, and rise to be a general, and save the country.
So I suppose many others dreamed. Perhaps Warren
and Montgomery had such thoughts, and yet how soon
they fell.
me.
I have been feeling so sad over these things that I
looked sad, and I could not tell any one why. I felt
it a duty to be sorrowful. It was all the amends I could
make for having thought less of Thomas than he did of
Judith thought I was ill; uncle declared that half
the life of the house was gone, and he began talking-of
all things! of Richard Reid-and it made me angry. I
will never think a thought of Richard Reid again, he
never cared for me as Thomas did; of course he cares
for Hannah, and he ought to, she is much better than I.
True, he asked me for a lock of hair too, but I know he
would have lost it. Thomas kept his, and cared for it,
and held it in his hand when he died.
Hester said that I left her alone to keep the house
438
PATRIOT AND TORY:
bright, and that she would die of doing double duty, but
no wonder she can be gay. Thomas Otis will never
be any thing to her. Well, yesterday, I wanted some-
thing in Susannah's room, and knocked at the door, and
hearing no answer thought that it was empty and that I
might go in. But Susannah was there, only she had not
heard me. She was sitting on the floor crying over
something that lay in her lap. At first I meant to go
away, then I could not bear to leave her alone, and so I
ran and knelt down by her to comfort her. She had in
her lap the colonel's picture and ring.
"Oh, darling Susannah,” I said, putting my arms around
her, "I did not know that you felt so; you keep so cheer-
ful before us all."
"It would be wrong for me to burden the others with
my troubles," said Susannah, "we all have Charles to be
anxious for, and Judith has her care for Henry, and
father is always lonely for my mother, and so I must be
as cheerful as I can, for their sakes."
Her tears was still falling over her treasures. I said:
'Keep up your heart, my darling, he will surely come
back."
(6
"He must be dead, or I would have heard," she sobbed.
66
My uncle says-unless he forgot," I said.
Why, he could not forget me," said Susannah; "could
I forget him? No, he has been killed," she cried, bit-
terly.
Well, I tried my best to comfort Susannah. I told her
that maybe he was wounded, and would come back well;
perhaps he had been taken prisoner or unexpectedly sent
66
4
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
439
home. How was it about Isaiah Hooper coming out of
prison that time, long after his wife believed him dead?
There was always hope, unless there was the fact of death;
and so I comforted Susannah somewhat, and she made me
promise that I would not tell how I had found her griev-
ing. She would not add to the family sorrows, she said.
This rebuked me for my own indulgence in my feel-
ings. I had made a duty and virtue of sorrowing, but
Susannah's example showed me "a more excellent way,"
and I know that Susannah truly is far more unhappy
than I am, for she has thought of her colonel every hour
in the day since he left. Yes, there is a time when
private sorrow must not be made too much of. Uncle
says that we have fallen on evil days, but the evil days
must come, and there must be a generation to suffer in
them, and then all that remains for us is to be firm and
patient, for the world's sake. These times are no harder
than the covenanters saw in Scotland in my great-great-
grandfather's time, nor worse than the days when the
Puritans came from England in those first bitter years of
the colonies, nor indeed are they so bad as the times of
religious persecutions in the valleys of Piedmont, and the
trials of the French Protestants, and the cruel hour of
Saint Bartholomew.
I think of what the apostle says, that "no temptations
have overtaken us but such as are common to men." Uncle
was talking to us about that last Sabbath morning at
prayers. Bessie was with us. She is part of the time here,
and part with Mistress Seaforth; and that morning, as she
listened to uncle, she said:
440
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"But, oh, sir, sometimes your troubles are of your own
making, and then they are harder to bear;" and she leaned
her head on my shoulder and cried.
My uncle said kindly, "Dear child, God will make a
way of escape even from them.”
I remember my grandfather had in his study a motto
of which he was fond, though he told me it came from a
heathen poet, named Virgil, "God will give an end to
these evils also."
JANUARY 21, 1780.
Winter is always the hardest time for our troops and
our cause. The camp breaks more hearts and destroys
more lives than the field. The general has but few troops
with him this winter. He has sent Colonel Lee south
with the best cavalry. General Gates has been severely
judged for his losses in the South, has been removed from
command, and General Greene has charge of the Southern
Department. General Gates has retired to Virginia, where
General (the Baron) Steuben is now in charge.
General Washington has persuaded Congress to send
Colonel Laurens to Paris to ask a loan. Without such
help, Robert Morris says that he does not believe that
we can sustain our cause. General La Fayette said lately,
"Human patience has its limit, no European army would
suffer a tenth part of the cold, hunger, and nakedness
which the Americans endure. It takes citizens to sup-
port toil, neglect, pain, utter want of pay for the sake of
their cause and country.'
"2
Yes, this is so, but the endurance of citizens comes to
an end sometimes, especially if their government treats
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
441
them with stupidity, treachery, or injustice. We have
had a sample of this. The Pennsylvania troops are
again hutted at Morristown. Many of them had not
gotten even a paper dollar for a year, and their rations
were short, poor, or altogether wanting. The term of
their enlistment expired, and Congress, dreading to lose
soldiers of three years' experience, misconstrued, boldly
and wickedly, the terms of enlistment. To crown all, a
quantity of gold, destined for the army, was given, not to
the veterans, long unpaid, but to six months' recruits, to
pay them for enlisting for the war. And after all, as
usual, it was the whisky that did it—that "thief in the
mouth that steals away the brains." Our soldiers, on
New Year's, got too much whisky and too little of every
thing else, and so, between their wrongs and their liquor,
they mutinied.
The Pennsylvania line turned out en masse to march,
under conduct of their sergeants, to Philadelphia, and
demand from Congress decent treatment. General Wayne
is beloved by them, but could not control them. There
was an affray, in which several were wounded and killed
on both sides of these, one captain. Thus, thirteen
hundred strong, with six field-pieces, they set out for
this city. General Wayne sent two officers to warn Con-
gress, and then with two colonels put himself among the
mutineers, and marched with them, a sort of honorable
prisoner. General Washington dared not leave his posi-
tion on the Hudson, lest his troops should mutiny, or
Sir Henry Clinton should rush out of New York and
seize the Highlands. Clinton, by means of his spies,
442
PATRIOT AND TORY:
heard of the mutiny, and sent emissaries to the camp of
the insurgents, offering them any thing and every thing
if they would come over to him. Then he prepared his
troops on Staten Island, ready either to fly at the High-
lands if Washington left, or join arms with the insurgents
if they acceded to his proposals.
In this city we were in a state of horror. All seemed
lost. On went the mutineers to Princeton, and en-
camped. President Reed and a delegation from Congress
spurred off to Trenton, to offer a redress of injuries. As
affairs were in this State, Sir Henry's envoys arrived full
of hope; but they had reckoned without their host. The
mutineers' rage at Congress did not make them in love
with Britain. They were Americans, if they were insur-
gents; so, deeply offended at Sir Henry for thinking they
would all turn "Arnolds," they put his envoys in irons.
Hearing this, President Reed made one of his grand re-
marks, which sometimes come up from the depths of that
quiet and often seemingly timid and irresolute heart: "I
have but one life to lose, and my country has a right to it.'
So off he went to Princeton, sole representative of the
obnoxious government. President Reed was prepared to
make concessions and redress wrongs. He agreed to take
a just view of the enlistments; to furnish clothes and
arms at once; to give certificates of arrears of pay; to
pay as soon as possible; and to give forty days furlough
to all who desired it and would re-enlist. This satisfied
the troops. They agreed to return to duty; and as a sign
of their feelings, they at once hung those two unfortunate
envoys or spies at the cross-roads. I am so sorry for
1
ور
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
443
those men. Probably somebody cared for them, and they
were not fit to be hurried out of life. Oh, me, if they
had only stopped at home!
MARCH 26, 1781.
Robert Morris and his wife have been here to tea with
some other friends. The affairs of the country engrossed
all the conversation. Mr. Morris and my uncle think
our prospects are brighter. They spoke of the French
loan, and say that we are poor just because our resources
are not organized and properly managed. Mr. Morris
says that we are really richer than France, and yet we
borrow of France. Our revenues from cotton, rice, sugar
and tobacco, should be great. We have unlimited wheat
and corn lands. What we need is unity. It is time, said
Robert Morris, to show the world that a monarchy is not
the only sign of unity; that a republic can be a unit;
there can be liberty, law, successful administration, with-
out kings. And now we have hope of all these, for at
last Congress has yielded to Washington, and has ap-
pointed Secretaries of War, State, and Finance.
On the 5th of February, Witherspoon of New Jersey,
and Burke of North Carolina, made proposals for vesting
taxing power in Congress, and this led the way to further
discussion of "Federal union," and on the first day of
March we had a grand historic day indeed, for Maryland,
the last of the thirteen States, signed the Articles of Con-
federation, making our country one forever. But, after all,
my uncle says, confederation is not union, and the States
must move on to such a union as our general urges upon
them, or there will be a lack of strength and stability.
444
PATRIOT AND TORY:
We have had a letter from Uncle Matthew Temple
from his plantation on the James River. That terrible
traitor Arnold has been ravaging Virginia, which is this
winter almost defenceless. Baron Steuben has been
obliged to send off most of his forces to help General
Greene in Carolina, and has only about six hundred men
left, and these are nearly destitute of tents, blankets,
clothes and arms. Uncle Matthew and some other gen-
tlemen have been on an expedition begging supplies for
the camp, and he says what they obtained was pitiably
insufficient to the need. Generals Greene, Gates, and
Steuben have warned the Virginia gentlemen to send
away or sell their horses, or they would serve to mount
the enemy, and furnish him with a formidable cavalry.
Only a few have done so. My uncle is one who has sent
his horses into western Pennsylvania; he says he has now
in his stables only three aged hacks.
·
Arnold captured some vessels and came up the river,
plundering, burning, and destroying every thing. My
uncle and other planters who had tobacco warehouses in
Richmond rode into the city. Arnold sent word that, if
they would peaceably load his ships with tobacco at the
wharves, he would spare the town. He did not know
the high spirits he had to do with. The gentlemen re-
plied, that they would burn wharves and warehouses first;
and so Arnold came up, cleared the town, pillaged the
houses, and burnt the public edifices, shops and ware-
houses with the tobacco.
Uncle says that from the hills about the town, where
the Virginia gentlemen and the militia had retreated,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
445
1
they could hear the drunken orgies of Arnold's soldiers.
Virginia, thus ravaged, must for the present be unhelped,
for the cause demands the army in the Highlands and
the Carolinas; and so the Virginians are coolly sending
their men and stores south, suffering themselves to be
ravaged, and are waiting for the day when they can
avenge themselves in some glorious victory.
There have been two chief battles in the South this
winter; that at Cowpens, on the 17th of January, which
was a victory for us, and the battle of Guilford Court-
house, of which we had news by a special messenger to
the city this very morning, and where we suffered a de-
feat, and the victory of the British was as bad as a
defeat for them. Lord Cornwallis is in command of the
British forces in the South, and it is said that General
Greene has been leading him a fearful and perplexing
chase. Arnold still holds his place around the mouths
of the York and James rivers, doing what harm he can.
There is one comfort, the British do not like him any
better than we do; they detest his mean treachery and
avarice, and the officers do not like to serve under him.
Henry Seaforth wrote to Judith that no honorable
officer of any rank whatsoever was willing to serve
under Arnold, and that his company was every-where
shunned. Henry also tells his mother that he is expect-
ing soon to be made major; and Mr. Seaforth had a letter
from Henry's colonel, speaking most highly of him, and
saying that he was universally popular. I do not wonder
at that, Captain Seaforth has his mother's sweet, gentle,
gracious ways, and his father's honest, brave, unaltering
446
PATRIOT AND TORY:
faithfulness; while in person we girls have decided that he
must be like those goodly Saxon knights of the days of
chivalry. As we sit at our sewing in the mornings, and
by chance talk of our friends, we often become enthusi-
astic about Henry, for he is kind as a brother to all of us.
Judith says nothing, but sits listening with a smiling face.
Henry sent a letter to Judith with the one that came to
his mother. He is heartily sick of the war.
He says to
all intents and purposes the end is clear, and that further
fighting will but be an expenditure of blood and treasure,
and of many brave lives with no visible change in the
result. England can not hold America unless by Amer-
ica's hearty assent.
Well, that is all true; but then Henry looks at some
things in his light and not in ours. He says that the
country north of the lakes and the St. Lawrence must
belong to Britain, because it so prefers. I daresay that
is so.
We can not hold Canada against its consent, any
more than England can hold us. But Henry goes further:
he says that Virginia, and all south thereof, is England's
by conquest. It is in possession of the king's arms, and
must be held by him; and that a peace should be made,
giving the colonies all between Virginia and Canada,
west to the Mississippi, and England taking all the rest,
except what belongs to France and Spain.
That is the way Henry, as a British officer, regards it;
but we Americans will fight longer before we consent to
such a dismemberment. What! give England all our
fruit, rice, sugar, cotton and tobacco lands? Why that
would be to yield the very fairest part of our possessions.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
447
Virginia is our foremost State in point of wealth, com-
merce, population; and a Virginian is at the head of our
armies. And just because Virginia has sent her troops.
North and South, as the best means ultimately of defend-
ing herself, and Arnold has ravaged the country, it is
held to belong to Britain by right of conquest. Evi-
dently the war is not ended yet if the British army
holds such views.
•
MAY 1, 1781.
The 1st of April we had a visit from Captain Richard
Reid. He had been all winter in Connecticut with his
company, which are cavalry, and was on his way to West
Point, where the general is. Hannah Dana is at Morris-
town. Richard told us that there were three great oper-
ations before the commander-in-chief, to succeed in either
of which would go far to finishing the war.
These were,
an attack on New York and its capture; this accomplished
would bring our enemy to terms at once. The seizure
of Arnold and the rout of his forces at Portsmouth; this
would have a most salutary effect in Europe, where they
expect us to conquer our traitor, and it would arouse the
enthusiasm of the army; and lastly, the defeat and capture
of Cornwallis and his army, which would be about as ef-
fectual in closing the war as the conquest of Clinton, for
the defeat of Cornwallis would restore to us the South,
and rob our enemies of nearly half their army.
All these achievements have been attempted. The
failure of the French fleet to combine with our land
forces has hitherto hindered the two former plans, and
the country yet looks to General Greene to combine with
į
29
448
PATRIOT AND TORY:
further northern
reinforcements and effect the last.
Richard Reid said that he followed war from duty, not
from preference; he would that an end would come, that
he might conclude his theological studies and follow the
profession which he had first chosen. He spoke eloquently
of the joys of peace, of the happiness of home life, and of
the honor and reward of pastoral work.
He preferred being with me, which is natural, as we
were old acquaintances; but what is strange, he paid me
very particular attentions sometimes, and said words which
went beyond compliment. He has no right to speak so
to me when Hannah is away, and I have fully made up
my mind to be true to the memory of Thomas Otis,
because he was true to me. I rebuffed Richard right
sharply once or twice, and he was both hurt and offended.
Judith saw it, and she asked me why I so rejected Rich-
ard's attention. I said truly that they belonged to Han-
nah Dana, and that I would not rob her behind her back,
and she in the army. Judith lifted her eyebrows at that,
and remarked that she thought Richard regarded Hannah
as a sister. Now I do not see why that saying of
Judith's was pleasant to me. But it was, and I was so
angry with myself for such a fickleness, that I was hardly
civil to Mr. Reid so long as he remained. I would not
allow myself to be agreeable.
Mr. Reid went away in three days. The spring came
on pleasantly. By the end of the month we had doors
and windows open. Then such a delightful thing hap-
pened only three days ago. We were at tea in our din-
ing-room, which is at the end of the lower hall. Nervey
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
449
had just gone from the room with an empty tray, when
we heard her shriek, and the tray go crashing down into
the basement, and Nervey scuttling pell-mell after it.
We looked, listened. Uncle sprang up. There was a
soft, patting noise in the hall, the dining-room door was
pushed open, the steps had been of moccasined feet, there
stood Ta-ga-jute in a brave's dress-fringes, paint, feathers,
and the broadest kind of a smile; and behind him, in
Indian garb, brown, lean, thin, Isaiah Hooper, come to
life once more!
Ta-ga-jute paused to greet no one, he gripped Isaiah
by the arm, marched him over to me, and, radiant with
pleasure, said:
"Ta-ga-jute has done his errand; see, maiden, my white
brother is before you."
Well, there was a shaking of hands and a congratula-
tion, and Nervey was persuaded to return with more
plates and provisions, and my uncle made Isaiah and
Ta-ga-jute sit down with us, and my Indian would sit
by me, and imitate all that I did.
After tea Ta-ga-jute must away to the Logan House,
where he had not stopped as he came into the city; and
then Isaiah told us his story. He had been wounded
and captured by the Indians, and carried to the Shawnee
towns by a band of Cornstalk's braves. The first idea
was to kill him; then an Indian woman claimed him for
her husband, as her Indian had been killed. Isaiah was
offered his choice between the wife or death, and he
elected to die. But this Indian woman had an enemy, an
old squaw, who was completely delighted at Isaiah's re-
450
PATRIOT AND TORY:
jection of the wife, and she came forward and claimed
him as a son. Isaiah agreed to be her son, and as she
was very old, he had plenty to do to wait on her and
provide for her.
The Indians conceived quite a liking for him, chiefly

THE LOGAN HOUSE.
because he was religious, kept the Sabbath, asked a bless-
ing on his food, and sang hymns. Often he had all the
camp in a circle around him while he sang. Once he
escaped, but was recaptured and threatened with death if
he did so again. He was closely watched, and had de-
spaired of ever getting home, when Ta-ga-jute came to
the Shawnee town, and after a few days had a private
talk with him, found he was his man, and persuaded
Cornstalk to give him up.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
451
་
}
Isaiah had been divided between desire to go home.
for a visit, and to regain the army. Logan would let
him do neither, but brought him straight to me. We
expected that Isaiah would now go home; but no, he
wrote to his wife, refitted at my uncle's expense, and in
two days he set off for West Point, resolved, as he says,
to stand by the cause of the Colonies-or rather of these.
States—until either he dies, or they are completely victori-
ous. He says he gave himself heart and body to the
cause, and he will stick to that cause so long as Wash-
ington does.
When peace is declared he will be the
happiest man alive, will hasten home, and desire never
to go six miles from his own door-stone.
There would be no mutinies if all soldiers were like
Isaiah. He has had no pay; no clothes; starvation
rations; has been a prisoner, dying on New York hulks;
has been several times wounded; has been captive to
the Indians; has not seen his family for six years; and
he scorns the idea of retiring from the service so long as
the country needs one arm raised in its defense. And
once I wondered if heroes were left yet in this world,
and if plain men like Isaiah could be heroic! How hun-
grily he listened to the news of his wife and children
which I read him from Deborah's letter. He has gone
to camp. I wonder if Judith is right, that Richard only
regards Hannah as his sister.
1
!
452
PATRIOT AND TORY:
CHAPTER XVIII.
MAY 28, 1781.
IT
T seems as if I had lived all my life since the last writ-
ing in my journal. I have thought I could not and
would not write down this terrible thing that has come
to pass, but after a long while Judith tells me the pain-
ful impression will wear off, and then I shall be glad that
I have written this out while all was fresh in my mind.
Uncle and the rest say that I am nervous and prostrated
by excitement, and all that, but I will not yield to my
feelings and trouble all the rest. I will be like our
Susannah, of a quiet courage. Well, but this is not my
story; I see that, as is usual with me, I am "writing
around" what is painful.
No sooner had Mr. Reid got to camp than he came
back to the city on some business for the cavalry which
would take him about a week; of course he came here,
as uncle has always bidden him do. Uncle Matthew was
here at the same time, and Uncle Matthew is always
thinking of some pleasure for us. The weather was good
and the roads splendid, and Uncle Matthew had some fine
horses with him which he had brought up from Virginia,
and he proposed that we should have a riding party up
the river where the scenery is very fine. We set out-
Mr. Seaforth and Judith, Uncle John and Hester, Uncle
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
453
Matthew and Susannah, and Mr. Reid and I, about one
o'clock on a fine afternoon.
All went pleasantly. Just as we were about turning our
horses toward home, I saw a drover with several good
cattle near us, and I laughingly pointed them out to
Richard, telling him it was a pity they were not near
camp where meat is always a-wanting, that he might drive
them in. Just then Richard said that he had heard of a
French settler, an excellent saddler, who lived about
two miles further up the river, and that he would com-
bine business and pleasure by going up to speak with
him, and he asked my uncle's leave for me to go with
him. As we parted from the rest, I looked back and
saw that the drover, who had been sulkily regarding us,
put his cattle in a field and struck out for the river. We
rode rapidly to the Frenchman's. Richard engaged him
for some work, and we turned homewards.
Richard said we must go more slowly, and he rode near
me, and began to talk of when the war would be over, and
of Plymouth, and asked me if I never felt that I would
like to be in the old place again. Now he knows per-
fectly well that I prefer that rocky old coast to any spot
in the world, but I would not say so to him, and I felt
vexed with him, as he intends to return there some day;
and I said more sharply than truthfully, that my Uncle
John's house was better by far, and I would be very
foolish ever to think of leaving a place where I had no
trouble, and every thing was done to please me.
Richard remarked, "that however pleasant the early
home was, young maidens sometimes thought it well to
454
PATRIOT AND TORY:
go in a home of their own when some one desired it
very much."
I tossed my head, saying, "Those were the silly girls
who did not know when they were well off; that once
Judith and Susannah were married, if we could but get
Hester to be as foolish, my Uncle John and I would
have the peace of our lives, with ourselves and our
books."
Richard rode along looking here and there as not very
pleased, when all of a sudden he dashed his horse across
the head of mine, pushing mine back with his arm. The
two horses reared, there was the crack of a pistol, a bullet
flew whistling over my head, and Richard fell upon the
road between the horses. I sprang from my horse and
bent over Mr. Reid, striving to lift him, but that I was
quite unable to do. The two horses drew quietly aside-
good beasts-and I tried to tie up with my kerchief a
wound along Richard's head. He looked dead, or just
dying, and I bent over him crying and mourning, and
looking for sign of life, when some one dragged me up
by the waist, and I found myself in the clutches of the
drover-Brown, the spy.
"Curse you," he cried, "that bullet didn't do its work,
but I swore I'd kill you, and I will."
"Let me go!" I screamed, "you have killed him! Let
me go."
"I saw you point me out to him," he said; "you've been
the means of my failing twice before. I'm not safe so
long as you're on the earth. No thanks to you that the
limb broke that they hung me on."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO,
455
He began dragging me through the bushes to the high
cliffs on the river side, crying:
"Water will do it, if the shot missed."
I seized the trees and bushes in my terror, and he tore
me from them, blood streaming from my cut hands. I filled
the air with shrieks. It seemed hours that he was pull-
ing me toward that cliff; and I can see now, when I close
my eyes, all the world as it looked to me then-the broad
sunlight on the road, the horses with heads down, looking
at Richard lying dead in the road, the new summer green
of the woods, the blue skies; and though my heart had
seemed to die when Richard fell from his horse, the
instinct of life was strong, and I screamed for help, and
clutched at the brushwood, so that Brown had all he
could do to drag me backward to the cliff. I felt then,
that my last hope was to clasp him closely. I whirled
round with all my strength in his grasp, and seized
him about the waist, locking my hands behind him. We
were close to the precipice-he cursing, I screaming, and
the struggle engaging all his strength of rage and mine
of despair. I saw nothing, heard nothing, but suddenly
a great bronze arm came over each of my shoulders, and
two huge, dark, wiry hands clutched Brown's throat. At
once the ruffian's grasp loosened from me, and he strove
to work his hands between me and himself.
"Hold his arms, girl!" hissed a voice in my ear.
Helped by the clasp of the yet unseen friend, I got
first one arm and then the other clasped over Brown, who
had evidently striven to get a knife from his bosom. A
horrible moment! I was held between the two combat-
456
PATRIOT AND TORY:
1
ants, and under the grip of those dark, firm hands,
Brown's face grew purple, his eyes and tongue protruded.
The voice cried:
66
Slip from between us, girl!"
I struggled from that grasp of death, and Ta-ga-jute
held Brown on the verge of suffocation. I screamed:
"Let go, let go! you will kill him!"
A dark look swept over the Indian's face like a flash
of lightning, his hands fell from his adversary's throat to
his waist, and before I knew what he meant, he caught
the half senseless Brown from the earth, and hurled him
sheer over the cliff.
I gave a cry of horror, but the deed was done. The
doomed wretch crashed into the dark water. One second
he rose before my horrified eyes, and then the current
bore him down and under, and out of my sight.
"You have killed him," I cried.
"There you would have been," said Ta-ga-jute, pointing
to the river," and there is your brave!" He pointed to
the road. I waited no other word. I dashed back
through the trees and undergrowth, the Indian close be-
hind me.
Richard lay as before, motionless in blood
and dust, but I fancied as I sank on my knees by him
that his eye-lids quivered. Ta-ga-jute took up Richard's
hat, and dashed off toward a small creek that wound
toward the river near us. He was back in a moment,
water streaming from the hat. He went again and again
for water to dash on Richard's face, and after one of his
excursions treated me to a shower also.
Finally Richard opened his eyes, but lay looking at
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
457
me for a long while in an uncertain way. At last, rec-
ollection seemed to return, he said:
"Safe, thank God!"
Then from my excitement I began to cry wildly over
him, and he clasped my hand, saying:
"Poor little girl!" and closed his eyes.
Ta-ga-jute was a rough-and-ready doctor. He shook his
patient out, searching for injuries; ran his finger along
the wound on his head, and said:
"Hoh, won't die.”
His grunt sounded like music to me. Then he set me
on my feet, smoothed my disordered dress, and brushing
off the dust with a kindly touch, said:
"Poor girl-pretty near a kill-pretty much scared."
Then he put me on my horse, bidding me "be brave
awhile," and supported Richard with himself on the other
horse, and so we crept along for a mile to a farm-house.
It was sunset. The people seemed to know Logan,
and knew my uncle's name. They were very kind, and
asked few questions. The farmer got out a cart, laid
hay and a blanket in it, and put Richard on it, and I sat
beside him. The good woman had bound up Richard's
wound, and gave him a little currant wine, and me some
milk and bread. Then Ta-ga-jute took the horse by the
head, left our two horses with the farmer, and in this
fashion we got into the city, and by good fortune it was
dark when we reached the houses.
My uncle's family were all in a great fright about us.
They put their patients to bed and sent for the doctor.
I was quite ill for two or three days. When I got better
458
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Judith told me that Mr. Reid was able to go about his
room, and in a fair way to be soon well. The ball had
passed along the side of his head, cutting the scalp, with-
out penetrating the bone, but producing insensibility.
He had seen the pistol aimed from behind a tree at me—
had dashed before me to save me, and the motion had
deranged the assassin's aim, and the ball had made this
close miss of entering his brain. As soon as Cousin Ju-
dith had told me these things, I began to cry like a great
baby.
"What is the matter?" cried Hester.
"I'm glad, so glad! for poor Hannah Dana's sake, that
he was not killed," I sobbed.
"Tuts," cried Hester. "I'm glad for his own; he is
as much too good to be killed by a spy as Thomas Otis
is to be killed by an Indian. Sure, enough have been
shot this war without them."
There it was. Hester did not know what I did,
that Thomas was dead, and had died thinking of me.
I could not tell them without telling all the story about
that, and I did not want to. To be sure, Richard had
offered his life for mine. Thomas Otis could not do more
than that; but then there is Hannah. I asked after Ta-
ga-jute. He had brought home our horses next day, and
told Judith that he was going to Detroit.
The fate of Brown much oppressed me. It was so
awful to see him die, and he so wicked and unfit, and
then I thought of his family. I shall write to Joseph
Dana, and ask after the family, and tell him that Brown
is dead, and if the wife and children are in need I will
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
459
send some money for them. When I fall asleep, I see at
once Brown strangling in the Indian's hands, or flying
over the cliff to the swift water, or Richard lying in the
road. Somehow I could not get over that scene. Mr.
Reid got well and went away. I did not see him, but he
left kind messages with Judith. Uncle Matthew returned
to Virginia. My Uncle John kept three of his horses
for him, and we are now going near Trenton for the
summer. Bessie wants to stay here with Mistress Sea-
forth. Uncle John thinks I need change after the shock.
of this excitement, and he has hired a house of one of his
friends. It is on the river above Trenton, and we shall
go there quite soon. Uncle says the pure air and out-of-
door life and exercise will do all of us good.
-
JUNE 20, 1781.
This is a charming spot, and we are enjoying our sum-
mer wonderfully, although there are drawbacks to our
happiness. Susannah hears nothing from the colonel.
He was South, we learned long ago, and many have been
killed there in skirmishes and nameless fights, and many
a brave man of either side has been buried in the Southern
swamps. Charles is with General La Fayette-therefore
in a place of danger; and frequently when we are out in
the pleasant fields, along the bright banks of the river, or
seeking flowers and mosses in the bird-haunted woods,
there comes to us a thought of the danger that is about
the only son of the house-a vision of the battle-fields,
and scattered wounded or unburied dead, that checks all
our mirth, and we each know the thought of the other,
although we do not speak. I fancy Judith is quite at
460
PATRIOT AND TORY:
rest about Henry, because he is now in New York, and
there is little prospect of fighting there.
We had a letter from Uncle Matthew. He says that
the persistence of Virginia gentlemen, in keeping their
blood horses in their stables, has accomplished the fore-
warned result. They have been the means of mounting
the enemy so well, that nothing possessed by our army is
a match for them. Greene, Cornwallis, La Fayette,
Tarleton, Morgan, Butler, maneuver, maraud, march,
countermarch, skirmish, advance, retire, and fill the
Southern scene of action with such a stirring and swiftly-
changing picture, that what is done and undone can
hardly be understood. There is talk of peace negotia-
tions, and we have strong hopes of returning home in the
fall with the certainty that there shall be no more fight-
ing on this continent for these present years at least.
AUGUST 10, 1781.
Yes, peace may come, and when that glad news spreads
abroad, I think we, of all others, shall know what it has
/cost! We are once more at home, but have come not as
we went forth, nor as we had hoped to return, with glad-
ness of heart. How well it is, as often my grandfather
said to us, that God hides the future. It was well for us,
when those peaceful days drifted on in golden brightness
and summer gain, that we did not know what was to come
on that pitiful 21st of July. I remember that I was
reading on the porch overlooking the river. Judith and
the other two girls were in the sitting-room, in the back
of the house. My uncle, as was his wont, strolled up and
down by his bee-hives. A horseman-his horse all foam
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
461
and trembling with fatigue-dashed up to the gate, just as
my uncle reached it in his walk, and handed him a note.
Uncle John is one of those prompt men who never
waste a minute, a word, a thought. He threw open the
gate, and as the man sprang from his horse he led it.
briskly toward the stable, crying, "Peter! Pompey!" to
the two who were picking fruit in the garden, and pass-
ing the milk-house pushed open the door, and evidently
ordered the stranger to drink what he would. I leaned
from the porch to watch. In one moment my uncle and
the servants were putting saddle and bridle on one of our
fleet horses. At once he led it out. The messenger had
finished drinking. As he mounted uncle added a line to
the note, returned it to him, pointed down the lane. The
man put spurs to his steed, and was off like the wind, on
the Philadelphia road, in five minutes from his coming.
Peter and Pompey were fiercely busy in the stable, and
my uncle was by me.
"Abbey, Henry is mortally wounded. Get on your
riding-dress."
He passed down the hall, and I followed in a daze of
horror. Hester was reading aloud. Susannah, once our
idle one, but now desperately busy, was sewing. Judith
leaned back in her chair in a sort of happy muse. My
uncle stepped up to her, took her face between his hands,
kissed her forehead, while his tears fell on it, and said:
"God help you, my poor girl!"
She knew all he could tell her, and rose up white and
silent. My uncle said:
"Susannah, get your sister her habit. Hester, make
462
PATRIOT AND TORY:
up a bag for her," and in an instant, in a terrible silence,
we were preparing for our journey. Preparation did not
take many minutes-not ten. The horses were at the
door. Uncle lifted Judith to the saddle. Pompey had
waited on me. Peter held the gate open. Uncle cried,
"Girls, see to the place "--and we three were rushing
madly up the road to Princeton.
It was five o'clock or thereabout when we started.
My uncle had shouted to Pompey to have a horse ready
in the early morning for Mr. Seaforth. At Princeton and
at New Brunswick he gave the same order; and so we
flew on, first through the red sunset light and then in
clear white moonshine, sparing little our good beasts;
and before midnight we were entering Matouchin.
A man stood watching on the highway. He called to
my uncle, "Are you for the British officer?—this way,"
and we followed him up a country road for about half a
mile to a great stone barn. All was silent. The large
doors were open and two lanterns hung within. As my
uncle lifted Judith from her seat I saw a woman sitting
on a truss of hay, and bent to watch a prostrate form.
In a moment we were within. A soldier boy, weary on
his watch, slept with his head on his knees, a wounded
man tossed in an uneasy slumber in a corner.
The sleep-
less watcher was Hannah Dana, and she had spared no
pains to give a look of easy rest to Henry Seaforth, by
whom she sat. Hannah rose up, but did not speak. She
moved away as Judith fell on her knees, and tearless laid
her face against Henry's neck. Hannah had made a
comfortable couch of hay, and covered it with a white
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
463
blanket, borrowed from the farm-house. She had cut off
Henry's coat and boots, placed him in a restful position,
covered him partly with a sheet, and bathed the dust of
battle from his face and hands, and from his beautiful
fair hair. He looked like one "taking of rest in sleep,”
breathing and unconscious. As we stood by him in too
great awe and anguish to speak, Hannah said:
"God is good. He has known no pain-not even
when struck. See the peaceful expression of his face.
The ball is in his brain, and he fell unconscious at once.
Most die 'immediately of such a wound. I believe God
spared him for you to get here.”
66
"Will he live until his father comes?" whispered
Uncle John.
"Perhaps," said Hannah; and then my uncle drew her
away to the door, and we went and stood in the moon-
light, to leave Judith alone with her love and woe, and
to hear from Hannah how this thing had come about.
She told us that as nearly as she could learn from the
wounded prisoner in the corner, Captain Seaforth and his
company had landed from Staten Island at the instance
of some royalists who lived on the Jersey shore, and who
had collected a drove of cattle to send into the city.
Captain Seaforth and his men were to cover the embarka-
tion of this live stock. While it was taking place they
were attacked by a strong party of Jersey militia, and
these being repulsed, retreated, but succeeded in captur-
ing a first lieutenant, a close friend of Henry's. Gallantry
and affection drew Henry in pursuit to regain his friend.
In the skirmish, the lieutenant got back to his company,
30
464
PATRIOT AND TORY:
but Henry was left for dead, one or two wounded. The
militia were reinforced and drove back the British, com-
pelling them to leave their wounded on the field. The
leader of the Americans was the owner of their farm
and was wounded, with several of his men. All the
wounded were gathered with equal care, and carried to-
ward Matouchin. Hannah heard of the skirmish, as she
had been on her way to the vicinity of West Point, and
she had turned aside to care for the wounded, meeting
the returning militia. -
She had recognized Henry, and had him and the other
British removed to this barn, believing it quite as com-
fortable as the small and crowded farm-houses already
receiving the American wounded. Knowing where we
were, she had bribed a messenger to make haste to my uncle's
house, and he had gone off at full speed before noon.
Having told this story, Hannah went to visit her patients,
bathed the head of one, gave another water, arranged a
better pillow for a third. Henry alone needed no care.
She then drew a shawl about her, and throwing herself
back on a pile of hay, was soon asleep. The moonlight
fell over her. She looked so white, and worn, and old,
her cap coming closely about her thin face. And what a
tireless courage; what a full self-sacrifice; what a heart
of sympathy had been in all her speech!
Judith sat by Henry, holding his hand her eyes never
turned from his motionless face. I knelt by her, and
put my arms about her. She only said:
"O Abbey, if he could speak but one word more to
me!"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
465
y
What a night that was. I think if people look back
over their histories, they will wonder how almost every
bitter crisis of their lives, every conflict and victory of
death, every trembling horror, and terrible loss came in
the night. Perhaps this is why we are promised "no
night there," no more this hour and power of darkness
that has been made bitter to our souls.
Hours went by like years. My uncle kept pacing up
and down on the green sod that came to the very door,
sometimes softly coming in, looking tearfully at Henry,
laying his hand on Judith's head, as in prayer and bless-
ing, and going back to his walk, searching the distance
for his friend long before Mr. Seaforth could come. The
moon set, and the stars faded, and great red and primrose
lights ran up the east, and the middle sky shone like that
vision of a sapphire throne. Oh, how can a world be so
lovely that looks on death?
With the light, Hannah rose up, attended to her pa-
tients, went to the farm-house and prepared food for them,
and then, ever thoughtful, brought a tray to us with
coffee and food. My uncle ate a little and so did I, then
he carried a cup of coffee to Judith. She put it by until
he said, "For my sake, daughter," and then she drank it.
There was no change all that morning. It was a hot day.
The birds and the flowers seemed smothered. What little
air stirred, stole through the great open doors of that
barn. The reapers were a-field; we heard now and again
the echo of their voices, or the sound of the whetstone.
Hannah told us the wounded in the houses, all of whom
she had visited, would probably recover. The time
466
PATRIOT AND TORY:
;
seemed so long until Mr. Seaforth should come. My
uncle sent a boy to meet him at the turning. A doctor-
a genial-faced old man-came to see the wounded, and
looked with such compassionate eyes on Judith, that
I blessed him from my heart.
At ten there was some change in Henry; the iron
chain of unconsciousness seemed weakening or relaxing a
little. My uncle looked nervously, first at his watch,
then up the road. Another hour, and we heard the fierce
beat of hoofs, and saw Mr. Seaforth dashing up the lane,
his white hair flying over his shoulders. We knew that
he would come alone, neither Mrs. Seaforth nor Annie
were equal to that hard, long ride. He threw himself
from his horse.
"My poor Harry!" cried my uncle, and those two old
men were weeping, in each other's arms, the ruin of their
dearest mutual hopes.
I could not go inside that place then. Crying and
mourning I stood without. Mr. Seaforth's horse was wet
and trembling, and stood shaking, its head down and its
feet wide apart. I beckoned the boy who had watched.
the road, and had him cover the creature, rub his sides
and legs, throw water on its feet, and prepare it for food.
and drink. It somehow comforted me to care for the
poor beast which had carried its master so nobly. Fi-
nally I stole back to the barn. Henry's head had been
laid on Judith's lap, Hannah stood behind her, and the
two fathers sat at his feet. His state seemed growing
more like sleep than insensibility, and finally, about
noon, he breathed deeper, stirred, his face changed, and
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
467
he looked up. There was no light of reason in the
glance, and softly the lids fell again. This happened
once or twice, and then he roused, a joyous recognition
smiling from his eyes, as he saw Judith's face bent near
his. The soul strove for its departing dominion over the
body-it was full strange to see those fleeting faculties
return at some master summons.
He spoke: "My Judith! dear, I had dreamed of war,
of parting; and it was only a dream. You are here, my
wife-and we two never part. I did not know that on
earth one could feel so glad at heart as I do now."
His face fairly shone with a strange joy, and all at
once he seemed to see through depths of some bright
distance far beyond Judith's face, and as he looked the
light of life seemed not to shrink back toward a failing
heart, as I have marked others die; but in that bright
smile and eager gaze, to pass out and be away, as I have
seen birds lift up from pleasant nooks of earth, and be
lost in sunny spaces.
Then all was silence for a time, until I heard the
voice of my uncle-who prays when he is glad, when he
is sorrowful, when he is at peace, when he is fearful; in
all time of rejoicing, or of woe-in prayer. And then
again there was silence, and we looked at our dead, and
the sobs of those old men rose up painfully, with my
wild crying, who had lost less than any of them; and I
saw Hannah Dana, the silent and usually unmoved, drop
down by Judith, and throwing her arms about her, cry:
"Oh, I can pity you-I know how your heart is break-
ing! This loss was as mine, that has darkened all my life."
+
468
PATRIOT AND TORY:
And this word at last stirred the fountain of Judith's
tears. Her own sorrow had been so deep, so sudden, so
desolating, that she had been dumb and tearless, but at
this cry of Hannah's long pain, the tears flowed.
Another space, and then my uncle and Mr. Seaforth
went out together. Hannah lifted Henry's head from
Judith's lap, pressed close his eyelids, and folded his
hands over his chest, then she drew Judith from her
place, and led her away through the rear door of the
barn, where a brook ran under some willow trees-and I
was left alone standing by that still, restful form, where
a smile yet lay on the face. There was a great silence,
as if all the world had died in that one; there was a glow
and brightness, as if the very possibility of death had been
done away. A broad bar of light streamed through the
open doors, and two pigeons slid down that golden gleam,
winnowing the sunshine with their wide white wings. The
sunshine, the snowy, fearless birds, the fragrance on the
summer air, the murmur of the brook-all this life and
beauty, as a setting to that picture of death, seemed some-
how strangely in accord with the Henry whom we had
known and loved so well. A bright life, gone up through
all this brightness toward those sunny skies, and that
promise of good things to come.
What a tower of strength was Hannah. She found us
a messenger to send to Philadelphia. She cared for us all,
forestalled all our plans, prepared us resting-places, and
while Judith and Mr. Seaforth sat by Henry, Hannah
went with my uncle to find some one to prepare a coffin,
and to find conveyance for it to the city. Henry was
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
469
dressed in his uniform. Hannah took such pains to
make it look bright and nice. "It was a uniform that he
honored as a man and a soldier," said she to me; "had
every man who went to the war been like this man, there
would have been no record of cruelties, or treacheries, or
indignities to write."
Uncle John told me that it was Mr. Seaforth's plan
to bury Henry in the vault at the Logan House. He
thought, as the times were unsettled and Henry had been
for years a British officer, it would be wiser and safer to
bury there at once. Until then it had not occurred to
me that any one could see less cause to weep for Henry or
give less sympathy to his parents because he had been a
British officer; that was his conscience and duty, and
honorably was it performed. For ourselves his loss was
as bitter to us as if it had been Charles-less to Susannah
and me perhaps, and more to Judith.
We left Matouchin at midnight. We had rested for
several hours, and had been served with supper. The peo-
ple at the farm were very good and pitiful to us, and the
farmer's wife gave me choice of lilies and violets and
roses, and I strewed them all over Henry before Judith
took her last look; and I cut off some of his curls. The
coffin was closed and put in a covered wagon. Uncle and
I rode before it, Judith and Mr. Seaforth followed.
We changed horses at Princeton, and we rested there,
also at New Brunswick for a little. When we drew near
Trenton, a carriage joined us with Hester and Susannah
within, and Pompey and Peter on the box. The blacks
wore white napkins pinned above their elbows. Pompey,
470
PATRIOT AND TORY:
honest soul, was full of sympathy. He said to my
uncle:
"Oh, Mass' Temple, I jes done broke up; wish 't was
Pomp; 'n 'ole nigger like me jes as well die as not, but its
hard to spare sech a young man as Mass' Henry." And I
believe the good fellow truly felt it.
Judith went in the carriage with Susannah, and Hester
took her horse. We crossed the river and went down the
Pennsylvania side. When we came to Germantown, the
carriage with Mrs. Seaforth, Annie and Bessie, followed
by the Seaforth servants, joined us. That was a very
bitter hour. I verily thought dear Mrs. Seaforth must
die in losing her son. It was then six o'clock. My un-
cle's messenger had done his part well. As we came near
the Logan House, the Logan family and servants came
out to meet us, and with them the minister who has Mr.
Duché's church. As it was growing late we passed at
once by the carriage way to the foot of the hill, and
then the six black servants carried the coffin into the
vault and set it in the niche prepared for it. Miss Logan
then went in and spread beautiful flowers and wreaths
over it, and the rector read the burial service, Pompey
holding a light at his shoulder. It was growing very
dark under the side of the hill, and in the shadow of the
trees. The rector in his robes stood in the door of the
vault; the blacks were standing inside waiting to close
up the facing, and we gathered about the door. This had
been a very lovely spot to me; very often I had gathered
violets and daffodils under these maples, or come here for
Ky
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
471
autumn leaves, little thinking what a shadow of death
was to fall over the place.
We all went to our home in the city that night. Our
pleasant stay in Trenton had been too rudely broken up
for us to renew it. Hester returned with uncle after &
few days to bring away Nervey and what things we had
left there. The care of the home has for the most part
fallen to me. I am very glad to be able to come between
Judith and many little wearing cares. And yet Judith
does not wish to abandon her duties and her family inter-
ests. She was quite ill from grief and exhaustion for a
few days after our return. Then she came down stairs
and took her place at the head of the table again. She
had put on deep black, not saying any thing about it,
but with the air of one who never expects to put it off.
Mrs. Seaforth is completely prostrated by her loss, and
is not able to leave her room. Annie remains with her
mother, and now Bessie shows strikingly the change that
has come over her. She has quietly taken Mrs. Sea-
forth's place, and cares for the whole house, thinks for
Annie and her mother, directs the servants, and sees
thoroughly to Mr. Seaforth's comfort. It is wonderful
what a blessing she is to them, and how she is repaying
Mrs. Seaforth for all her care, and sympathy, and good
teaching.
Yesterday I found Susannah sitting listlessly by the win-
dow of her room, her hands dropped in her lap, looking out
with a very sad face. I stood by her, not knowing what
word might be comfortable, when she suddenly said to me:
472
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"Judith has one comfort-she saw Henry in his last
hours, she heard his last word, and knows where he is
buried."
I knew what she meant, and also how she was deceiv-
ing herself. I said:
"And you fancy that Colonel Nelson has been killed,
and that you lack that comfort that Judith has had, but
do you not see that you have two comforts that she has
not? She has the certainty of loss, you have a secret
hope against your fears. It is the long silence that pains
you, Susannah, and not the belief that Colonel Nelson is
dead. I know you too well to think that you could keep
up the calm and repression that you do, if you were sure
that he were gone. From hour to hour you have the
hope that this silence will be broken and explained, and
though, as Solomon says, 'hope deferred maketh the
heart sick, yet so long as there is hope the heart is not
broken. And, Susannah, you are a Temple, and you have
another emotion coming to your aid, and that is pride.
You see the possibility-though you will not admit that
you see it—that this man has proved forgetful, and you fight
against grief while there is the bare possibility that you
may mourn one who has lightly relinquished you.”
*
Susannah, half crying, had hidden her face in her
hands, while I was speaking to her. She looked up,
brushing away her tears, her eyes sparkled.
"He is not false, and perhaps he is not dead. I will keep
on fighting to believe the best. How did you come to
be so keen at reading hearts and thoughts, Abbey? Pray,
did you ever read your own?"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
473
Now this was skillfully carrying the war into the enemy's
territory, and coming upon ground where I could not
skirmish to advantage. I had rallied Susannah's spirits,
and that was all that I wanted, so I ran away to take
counsel with Nervey over a pudding.
Last evening we had a flying visit from Charles. He
comes with dispatches from General La Fayette, and is to
receive promotion and remain for the time on the staff
of the commander-in-chief. He was hastening toward
the Hudson, reached here yesterday at five, and was off
this morning at seven. Hester was the first to meet him
as he came in, and she told him of our and the Seaforth's
great loss. Poor Charles! it was a sad story to him, for
he had loved Henry as a brother. He divided his short
visit between us and the Seaforth's, the best that he could.
There is a general feeling of expectation in the country,
that some decisive move is about to be made. Will our
general find an opportunity to seize New York, or will
the victory be in the South, and so secure our thirteen
States intact? We are in sore need of help from some.
quarter. Charles says that General La Fayette is clothing
and providing for his American troops in the most liberal
and remarkable manner; and that he is nearly as much
adored as the commander-in-chief. There is the best feel-
ing between the American and French troops. My uncle
has had a letter from Richard Reid, a beautiful letter, on
our loss. Mr. Reid is very hopeful about affairs.
474
PATRIOT AND TORY:
CHAPTER XIX.
SEPTEMBER 12, 1781.
FOR
OR a long while there have not been very active mili-
tary operations in this part of the country. The
English and American armies, like two strong and well
matched foes, each respecting the other's strength, and un-
willing to move without some manifest advantage opening
on their own side, have held each other at bay, posted
respectively at New York and West Point.
Fleet couriers carried the news on the 25th of August,
that the French and American armies had crossed the
Hudson, and by several lines of march were moving
toward the Jerseys-making, the Americans for Spring-
field, the French for Whippany. Wonder ran high.
Did this mean the siege of New York, or Virginia and
Cornwallis? Uncle said it was a grand piece of general-
ship, which placed our troops on the banks of the Dela-
ware before Sir Henry Clinton knew where they were
going. It was too late then for him to oppose them, and
they arrived here in fine condition. Arnold, the traitor,
attempted a diversion by attacking New London, but it
did not turn the commander-in-chief from his course.
Here we were all in a state of enthusiasm to greet the
most honored of the people. Washington arrived here
about noon on the thirtieth. We all wondered, and ques-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
475
tioned, and imagined, what the new move meant; but we
were sure that it meant something wise and good, if it
came from him, and the streets were filled with a shout-
ing and applauding multitude, and flags, and flowers, and
streamers hung from nearly all the windows. The gen-
eral stayed with Mr. Robert Morris. My uncle learned
from Mr. Morris that the great want, as usual, had been
hard money for the expedition. But they borrowed
twenty thousand pounds from the Count de Rochambeau,
which Mr. Morris pledged himself to repay by the 1st of
October. But almost at once this trouble was relieved,
for Colonel Laurens arrived at Boston, returning from
his mission to the French government, and brought two
and a half millions of livres, cash, and a promise of
three and a half millions of livres more soon.
The general and his suite had preceded the army. The
American troops arrived on September 2d. My uncle
took Hester and me to see them enter the city. Their line
of march extended over two miles. We were on a bal-
cony at the upper part of the town, and every window
and door was filled with spectators. Such a sight as our
army was. The generals and staff officers looked well.
They buy their own uniforms, keep their servants, and
presented a fine appearance. The soldiers, however, were
shabby enough; their clothes and equipments were motley
and patched, poor fellows! and as they kept step to
drum and fife, and marched along in a terrible cloud of
dust-for we had had no rain for a fortnight-I know
they felt vexed at their appearance. We all wished that
we could put every man of them in clothes suitable to
476
PATRIOT AND TORY:
his patriotism and courage, then they would have made a
grand display indeed.
Behind each brigade came field-pieces and ammunition-
wagons. After all the soldiers had passed, came the camp
furniture, wagons of tents, provisions, baggage, hospital
stores, camp followers, carts driven by traders who kept
stores near the camp, and occasionally, perched high on a
load of baggage, or riding double (or even treble) on a
broken-down horse, were soldiers' wives and children.
The clouds of dust made every face dirty, and the coats
of the officers appeared as if they had been in a fine
snow. Captain Reid looked mortified enough as he bowed
He is very particular about his dress, and seemed
conscious of grimy hands and countenance when he
touched his hat. We also saw Isaiah Hooper.
to us.
Next day we went out again to see the French troops
come into the city. Charles was on duty and could not
accompany us, but Mr. Reid came as our escort. The
French were bound to look well. They halted a mile.
from the city, and made their toilets as carefully as a
girl going to her first ball. Every particle of dust was
banished, every hair was brushed smooth, and every
sword, musket, and bayonet burnished to the best. They
wore white uniforms, faced with green, and they had
white cockades. They were accompanied by a splendid
band of music, and thus they came gayly into the city,
where streets, windows, and even roofs were crowded
with a shouting multitude.
"How much better they look than our poor fellows,” said
Captain Reid. "Ours are a set of scarecrows beside them."
F
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
477
"Only to those who can not appreciate heroic self-sac-
rifice-the bravery that for six years can contend for a
principle, suffering daily worse than death for their
cause," I cried. "I had rather see Isaiah Hooper, worn,
and faded, and patched as he appears, than all these gay
troops. It is easy enough for them, well fed, and clad,
and paid, to be soldiers; but men like Isaiah, have only
gotten wounds, and imprisonment, and hunger, and sick-
ness, and rags for their wages; and yet they fight on.
They are true heroes."
"Well," replied Captain Reid, looking well pleased, "we
must not undervalue our allies. I fear we should have been
beaten without French help; and remember, that the lib-
erty they talk about is a plant of our soil and not of theirs."
We had had several visits from Charles while he was
in the city; indeed, he remained with us three days out.
of the week that he was in Philadelphia. Our joy at his
presence was almost balanced by fear and sorrow, as
he was going to a post of great danger; and yet, as my
uncle said, there must be active service to end this war,
and we must make our sacrifice with the rest. Poor
Annie was more distressed than any of us. The loss of
her brother has renewed her apprehensions for Charles.
I shall never forget the scene, when on the evening of
the 4th of September, Charles came in, saying that they
were to leave early next morning. Annie forgot every
thing but her terror at having him go. She flew to him,
and clasping her arms about him, shrieked:
"O, Charles, Charles! must you-why must you go
and be killed like my Henry?"
478
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Neither uncle nor Judith were present to console her.
Charles was completely unmanned, and we girls all burst
into sobs and tears. I had been all day fighting against
giving way to tears and lamentations because they were
going away, and crying now came as a positive relief to
me. Annie continued her plaint:
"You will be killed! you will be killed!"
Bessie was first to recover herself. She went to Annie
and Charles, and, taking Annie's hand, said:
"No, no, my dear girl; he will come home in safety.
God will not take from you both brother and lover. See,
He has left good friends even to me.”
There was such resignation, such self-condemnation,
such sad sweetness in Bessie's tone that it went straight
to my heart. I caught her in my arms.
"Why, you dear, sweet girl, why should you not have
friends left?" I cried.
Just then I heard Richard Reid's step in the hall, and
I fled to the window for the shelter of the curtains.
Charles led Annie away to a sofa in a distant corner, and
Susannah, Hester, and Bessie were left standing in the
middle of the room to greet our guests. Uncle came in
with Mr. Reid.
"Ah," he said, trying to be cheery, "marching orders
have had a sad effect here. Crying? all but Hester!"
"Dear me," said Hester, "I am so happy as not to have
any lover to cry for, and so I can dispense with tears."
"But I am also not parting with a lover," said Susan-
nah, leaning against my uncle's shoulder as he put his
arm about her.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
479
·
"I am sure there is a lover in the business some-
where," said Hester, striving to create a diversion.
"You are doing yourself injustice," said Bessie, "for
you were crying about Major Temple as heartily as the
rest of us."
Uncle led Susannah over to Annie and Charles. He
laid his hand tenderly on Annie's fair head. She is a
childish little creature, and uncle always treats her with
an infinite tenderness.
"Cheer up," he said, "the Scripture hath it: 'He that
goeth forth and weepeth shall surely come again with
rejoicing.' We shall remember this doleful day when
Charles has come home in safety to remain."
Meanwhile Richard Reid made his way to where I had
taken refuge in the curtains. Said he:
"I would I might hope that even one of these tears
was for me."
I replied: "I know my debt to all patriots. I weep
for the whole army. Do you think that I am not grieved
that Isaiah Hooper goes into danger again? He has a
wife waiting for him at home."
""
"And yet," he said, "one would like to be missed
individually, not merely as one of an army. A personal
interest would be more a matter of consolation to me in
lonely days or nights, or on the field of battle."
"Very likely,” I said. "We all feel in that way. I
am sure all your friends will remember you especially.
I know Hannah Dana says there is no one whom she
misses so much when you are in another part of the
army.'
31
D
480
PATRIOT AND TORY:
A little amusement sparkled in his eyes for a moment
at something, then a sad, earnest look followed.
said:
He
"I am glad that you spoke of Hannah. I want you to
be a friend to her. Can you not get her to come here
and rest? I fear she is wearing out with her great toils."
I promised him that I would try to bring her hither.
I daresay he was glad that I reminded him of her. If
he truly cares for Hannah, why did he need to be re-
minded? It is a false sort of heart that needs reminding
of one it loves.
Well, next day they were gone. It seemed as if we
ourselves had gone with them and only our mummies left
behind. Annie and Bessie were back at Mrs. Seaforth's.
Susannah and I brought our work to the parlor, and
were waiting for Judith, who had gone to speak to
Nervey, when in came Hester with a book, singing a
little air, and striving with much bravado to keep her
courage up.
She cried: "Come, girls! Why sit there so dolefully?
Don't meet trouble half way. In the novels the hero
always comes home, crowned with glory. So your heroes
will come home-Colonel Nelson in the paws of the
British lion, and Captain Reid in the claws of the Ameri-
can eagle."
/
It made me completely angry at her, speaking as if
Mr. Reid was as much to me as the colonel to Susannah.
Does she think-well, what does she think?
I cried sharply: "One would think, to hear you, that
soldiers were out on a pleasure party, and sure to come
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
481
✓
home safe. Do you think I forget that Thomas Otis
went, and has never come home at all?”
Hester stared at me, her black eyes opening wide and
her face growing very white.
66
"Why!" she exclaimed, "others who went with him
have not come home, and yet they will-they will!" and
thereupon Hester burst into tears and ran out of the
room-for all the world as I used to do when I got very
angry at Bessie-and left Susannah and me looking our
wonder at each other.
"What has come to Hester now?" said I-"what does
she care?"
What, indeed!" said Susannah. "She is such an odd
girl."
We heard Judith meeting her in the hall, and the two
went off together. By and by Judith came back, but no
Hester. We had our usual morning work and reading.
As Susannah and I were leaving the room to dress for
dinner, Judith took my hand:
"My dear Abbey, please do not tease Hester about
Thomas Otis."
"Certainly not," I said. "I never thought of such a
thing. What was Thomas Otis ever to our Hester?"
Of all the puzzles in the world!-I felt like going
straight to Hester to ask her what she cared about
Thomas. I will be honest in this diary. I felt that I
would like her to say that she felt very badly about him,
for then it seemed as if I should somehow feel relieved
of the burden of being the only one to care.
But I must go to more important matters. Charles
€
Liv
4
PATRIOT AND TORY:
482
told us that the general was leaving Philadelphia in much
anxiety of mind, as he feared some misfortune had over-
taken the Count de Grasse and the fleet of the French,
upon whose co-operation with the land forces the success
of this expedition will depend.
General Washington set off on the morning of the 5th,
to the Head of Elk, going by land along the Chester
road, the Count de Rochambeau going to that place by
water. Some three miles below Chester, an express met
the general, and told him that Count de Grasse was
already in the mouth of the Chesapeake, with twenty-
This so overjoyed the com-
eight ships-of-the-line.
mander-in-chief that he turned about, put spurs to his
horse, and dashed back to Chester to felicitate the Count
de Rochambeau. The count and the general had a very
joyous impromptu dinner together, and in the evening the
general proceeded on his way. Meanwhile, the express
with his good news got a fresh horse and galloped on to
Philadelphia, riding after the fashion of Paul Revere.
GRA
Our Congress, after a review of French troops, had
assembled at a dinner given to the officers by the French
minister, Chevalier de Luzerne. Hardly were they seated
at table, when the express came with the dispatches,
stating that De Grasse had entered the river in safety,
and that St. Simon, with three thousand troops, had
landed and opened communications with the Marquis La
Fayette. All the gentlemen at the banquet leaped up,
shook hands, shouted, and went into a frenzy of rejoic-
ing. The good news got into the streets. Hundreds of
citizens gathered, shouting about the French minister's
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
483
**
door; the bells were rung; every boy in the city flew for
materials for a bonfire, or for a few fireworks; guns were
fired. Every man felt it his duty to huzza for Louis the
Sixteenth; and, indeed, the city was mad with joy.
SEPTEMBER 30, 1781.
-
Dispatches have come up from the army, and we were
so happy as to have a letter from Charles. I also had
one from Mr. Reid. I have never had very many letters
in my life. This one was all about army matters.
Charles told us that
Washington reached
Head of Elk on the
6th, and found
troops and stores al-
ready preparing to
embark. The gen-
eral left General
Heath to lead the
American land
forces, and General
the Baron de Vio-
menil to lead the
French; and him-
self, on the 8th,
pushed on to Baltimore. Charles says a deputation of
citizens, with a congratulatory address, met the general,
and in the evening the city was illuminated. The ladies
brought flowers, and all the officers received invitations
to dinners at various dwellings. On the 9th, the general
and Colonel Humphreys were up at day-break, and leav-

GENERAL HEATH.
484
PATRIOT AND TORY:
ing the rest of the suite to come when they could, those
two spurred on toward Mount Vernon-that dear home
which our general has not seen for six years.
Charles, and the rest of the general's suite, made their
way over the country more leisurely, and reached Mount

Hüdülüümið
MT. VERNON-THE HOME OF WASHINGTON.
Vernon at dinner-time on the 10th. In the evening Count
de Rochambeau arrived, and on the 11th, General
Chastellux and his aids. Charles said the good mansion.
was fairly overflowing with Virginian hospitality; and
Lady Washington was in her element, making her guests
happy. She forgot no one. She even recalled me, and
asked Charles how that little maiden Abbey was, and that
she trusted Philadelphia follies would not spoil me. She
does not know what a careful guardian Uncle John is.
My letter from Mr. Reid told us how nearly all the
plans of this campaign had been frustrated once or
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
485
twice. Unless the fleet in the river co-operates with the
land forces in besieging Lord Cornwallis, no good can be
effected, for his lordship could get off to New York by
sea, or he could get men and provisions by sea, and
so hold out indefinitely, or until British ships enter
the river and bombard the French and American camp.
Admiral Graves, in command of the British fleet
in our waters, had nearly drawn Count de Grasse from
Yorktown, but in a conflict on the 7th of September, the
French had the advantage, and Admiral Graves retired to
New York. On the 22d news of the arrival of Admiral
Digby in New York, with six ships-of-the-line, almost
caused De Grasse to leave the Chesapeake, lest now he
should be caught in the river, and his fleet destroyed.
Washington and La Fayette, however, persuaded him to
remain, and the express to the city was to tell of good
fortune thus far. And so are we left, in mingled hope and
anxiety. Any moment we may learn of a glorious victory
or a terrible defeat.
NOVEMBER 10, 1781.
Our suspense has ended. On the night of the 23d
of October, I was aroused by hearing a horse dashing
past our house in a very unusual manner. I shook
Hester, saying, "I believe there is news from the army.
So we two sat up in bed listening, in a terrible state of
anxiety. It was almost one o'clock. As we listened to
the dying sound of the hoofs, the echo of some other
sound came to us. I rose and put up a window, and
then Hester and I put on our shawls and leaned out of
the window in our impatience. A loud shout came up
""
486
PATRIOT AND TORY:
from the direction of Second Street; then a watchman
dashed into Chestnut Street, roaring "One o'clock and
Cornwallis is taken!" and suddenly windows flew up,
and heads were thrust forth, and all over the city we
heard the watchmen shouting "One o'clock and Corn-
wallis is taken!" I flew down to my uncle, who was
sleeping in the rear of the house, and bursting into his
room without ceremony of knocking, I screamed—
"Uncle John, what are you asleep for! Cornwallis is
surrendered!"
My uncle sat up in bed and cried,
"What do you mean?”
Just then the State House bell began a fearful clangor,
and I repeated,
"Cornwallis is taken!"
My uncle forthwith gave a loud huzza, and for want of
a better way to show his feelings, tore off his night-cap
and threw it at the ceiling. I lit his candle for him at
the lamp burning in the hall, and then, with slippers
clattering loosely on my feet, and my great shawl trailing
behind me, I went up toward the girls' room, for Hester
had run thither, and I heard them all talking at once.
As I came near their room I heard a great clatter on
the attic stairs, and down came Nervey, Pompey, and
Peter, pell-mell, their arms laden with their private
property-clothes, pillows, boots, looking-glass, old hats―
the queerest trio that ever candle shone on they
looked, as I saw them by the light I carried.
"Run, run, Missey Abbey," cried Nervey; "run for your
life; dis house a-fire; hark ye de noise; come 'long, honey!"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
487
"De British, de British, dey hab come!" yelled Peter.
"Come 'long, missey," howled Pompey," "come some
where, but dis chile don know where; come 'long."
I laughed until I cried. The overburdened three ran
into each other, dropped their precious goods. Nervey's
water-pitcher took flight down the front stairs, pursued
by Pompey's top boots-a relic of Charles; and Peter,
tripping at the stair-top on his mother's trailing bed-
quilt, fell head first, but with such a bundle of garments
and pillows in his arms, that he came unharmed upon
them in the lower hall, obstructing the progress of Un-
cle John, who, having arrayed himself with some degree
of splendor, in his best dressing gown, his satin Sunday
breeches, his night-shirt, stocking feet, and a wig, was
coming up to congratulate us preparatory to going out
to congratulate his neighbors!
It was altogether a night of tumult-of great rejoicing
and secret fears. What might we not have paid for vic-
tory? Still no one of us whispered this thought. Uncle
John always bids us rejoice when God sends us a victory,
and not meet despair and loss half way.
The streets of our usually quiet city were crowded with
people from the first cry of the victory. Men and women
alike went out to discuss the tidings, and the house of
Thomas McKean, president of Congress, was besieged
with people. Lieutenant-colonel Tilghman, who brought
the news, was nearly dead with fatigue, but he was obliged
to thrust his head out of his bed-room window again and
again, to say that the victory was complete, Washington
safe, our loss small, and other things of the kind. Lights
488
PATRIOT AND TORY:
moved past the windows until the city seemed illuminated,
and as morning dawned, the booming of cannon was an
added note in the manner of our jubilations.
Uncle says that Colonel Tilghman experienced some of
the changes of human events and popular feeling on that
night of the 23d, he so tore through the streets, and be-
labored President McKean's door to such an extent, that
one of our vigilant watchmen pounced upon him as a dis-
turber of the peace, and proclaimed him arrested. He
was about to drag him off, and the colonel, still shouting
for Mr. McKean, was nearly drawing sword in his own
defense, when the president got awake enough to put his
head out of the window and ask what was going on.
The colonel at once gave his name and his news, when
the lately hostile watchman clasped him in his arms and
almost hugged the breath out of him, and vowed to love
him like a brother to his dying day.
Congress came together early in the morning.
street before the State House was filled with people.
dispatches were read, and Congress resolved to
go in pro-
cession at two o'clock to the Dutch Lutheran Church, to
return thanks to God for his favor. Accordingly they
went, and it was a good and solemn sight; and hundreds
of citizens followed them on foot, and not only was the
church full, but all the street about it. My uncle saw
Colonel Tilghman and learned that Charles was safe.
The
The
NOVEMBER 20, 1781.
A second letter which I received from Mr. Reid, when
Charles's last letter came, gave an account of the siege and
surrender of Yorktown. He says nothing could exceed
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
489
the unanimity of feelings between the American and
French officers, unless it was their bravery. Even the
common soldiers seemed to vie with the commander-in-
chief in courage. The scene at the city must have been
grand and ter-
rible. Shells
crossed each
other in their
way through the
air, leaving in
the night long
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comets; some-
times they fell
into the river,
and as they
burst flung up
great fountains
of foam. There was, on the night of the 14th, an assault
on the redoubts, the Americans being in one party and
the French in another. The loss was heaviest for the
French, but the redoubts were carried. Captain Reid
says
that the men in their zeal tore down the abatis with
their hands, lifted and dragged each other over the para-
pets, flung themselves bodily on the enemy, and such en-
thusiasm for victory he never saw before.
V
Once Lord Cornwallis had arranged to escape in
boats, and might have done so had not a fierce storm risen.
Cornwallis beat for parley on the 17th. On the 19th
terms were sent to him, with word that, if accepted, he
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490
PATRIOT AND TORY:
must march out by two that afternoon. Our officers
were in a desperate hurry, fearing that Admiral Graves
might arrive with ships and re-inforcements and turn
the scale. The land forces agreed to surrender to the
Americans in the person of General Lincoln, who thus
got balm for the mortification he had experienced when
he had been obliged to surrender his own army, on simi-
lar terms, at Charleston. The ships, transports, vessels,
and naval stores surrendered to the Count de Grasse, com-
mander of the French fleet.

1244
Dati
SURRENDER OF LORD CORNWALLIS.
• Mai
Mr. Reid wrote me that the combined army was drawn
up in two lines, each over a mile long, facing each other
on the two sides of the road. The French looked splen-
didly, as they did when here; all in gorgeous uniforms,
well equipped, and with their band of music. Our poor
fellows had only their stalwart valor and endurance to
commend them. Only a part were in uniform, and their
faded and worn clothes bore witness to a long, hard serv-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
491
ice; yet their resolute and soldier-like air made them a
fair match for the finer French. Mr. Reid said that the
crowd of people from the country round was nearly as
great as the military.
The British garrison came forth at two. Lord Corn-
wallis said he was ill, and General O'Hara conducted the
surrender. It is fine to be chief officer, and be able to
make your subordinates do your disagreeable work for
you! The British had on new suits and looked healthy
and soldierly, but chagrined, of course so are we cha-
grined when we get defeated. On the field where they
grounded their arms, some of them flung down their mus-
kets so hard as to break them. I don't know as I won-
der at that; they were brave men, and felt their unpleas-
ant situation. On the very day of the surrender, Sir
Henry Clinton concluded that it was time to go to Corn-
wallis's relief, and sailed from New York with troops.
and ships enough to raise the siege. He reached the
Capes on the 24th, and heard of the capitulation. He
hovered around the mouth of the Chesapeake until the
29th, and then sailed back to New York. I am very
glad that our officers and the French treated the British
with the greatest kindness and courtesy.
After the surrender at Yorktown, General Washington
wanted to go and reduce Charleston, but Count de
Grasse could not co-operate with him there, and so it
was useless for him to go alone. The French fleet had
engagements with the Spaniards, and went off. I would
they had stayed, then this war might have ended by
spring; but, of course, we can not expect our allies to care
PATRIOT AND TORY:
492
as much about it as we do. The Marquis La Fayette
came up here to Philadelphia and got leave to go to
France for a time, as there is no prospect of more fight-
ing at present.
The British prisoners are at Winchester and Fredericks-
town, and Lord Cornwallis and his chief officers are gone
on parole to New York. The French army are going
into quarters at Williamsburg, and our army in Jersey
and along the Hudson as before. Our general has had
great sorrow in the midst of his joy. His step-son, Lady
Washington's only surviving child, died on the fifth of
this month. The general reached Eltham, just as Mr.
Custis was dying.
DECEMBER 16, 1781.
It seems as if there was not much but death to write
about, as one friend after another dies, I feel as if by
and by I would be all alone in the world with no one of
my old-time friends left to speak to or care for. On the
twenty-fifth of last month uncle had a letter from a sol-
dier, written from near Princeton, saying that Hannah
Dana was very ill with a fever. Uncle and Mr. Seaforth
both concluded to go to her, as they felt that her care of
Henry could never be sufficiently recompensed; and they
took me, thinking that the sight of one of the old Plymouth
faces would do her good. But there was no chance to do
poor Hannah good. She had died before we reached the
place where she lay.
Those cruel country people were so afraid of the fever
that they would not take her into their houses, and a tent
had been put up for her in a little bit of woodland. A
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
493
ti
bed was in the tent, and an old colored woman had been
found to nurse her. We all felt that the woman had been
kind and handy, and that Hannah had been made com-
fortable in her last hours. The tent was good and well
sheltered, and a big fire blazed in front of it. The bed
was good, the tent floor strewn with fresh straw, and three
of the soldiers had stayed to wait on their faithful friend.
Hannah had only been dead about half an hour when
we reached the place where she lay. One of the soldiers
sat crying before the fire, and another sat on a milking
stool at the foot of her pallet with a Bible on his knee.
He had been reading to her, and her death had been so
sudden and so quiet that they could hardly realize it, and
sat there as if waiting for her to wake to life again. One
of the soldiers had gone into Princeton to see about a
coffin, and the old colored woman was praying and talk-
ing to herself in a corner.
Hannah's hair, under her cap, had grown perfectly
white, and her hands were thin and wrinkled, but her
face looked younger than ever I had seen it. The sol-
dier said that she had felt from the first that she should
die, but had not wanted any one sent for. She said "it
was not worth while." He had written us without her
knowledge. He asked her if she had any messages to
leave or any thing to give. She said her wagon and
what stores were in it was for the hospital; her money was
all gone. She sent her love to her parents and brother,
and bade them be glad that she been able to help a good
cause.
For the rest, she had only her prayers to leave
for her country.
494
PATRIOT AND TORY:
My uncle looking at her as she lay quiet in that last
sleep, said: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a
man should lay down his life for his friends," and that
verse Mr. Seaforth ordered put on the stone which he is
to have set up by her grave. We buried her next day in
the graveyard at Princeton. We three, the three soldiers,
and the colored woman being the entire attendance at the
funeral. Surely a kinder, nobler, truer or more weary
heart never ceased to beat. My uncle wrote to Mr.
Reid, and I wrote to Deacon Dana.
When we reached home from Princeton we found the city
all bustle and rejoicing because General Washington had
reached here to remain some time. When we drew rein
at our own door, Charles ran out to help us dismount.
So we shall have him home with us for the winter.
Charles tells us that the general is fearful that Con-
gress and the nation will feel that in the capture of Lord
Cornwallis all has been done that need be, and that they
will relax their efforts. He desires the most vigorous
preparations for the next summer's campaign. The Mar-
quis La Fayette was expected to press our cause at the
French Court, and Doctor Franklin, who still remains in
France in good health and great popularity, is desired to
request another loan.
On the tenth of this month the Congress passed resolu-
tions requiring men and money from the several States,
and the general himself wrote to the different governors,
begging them to be active. If all of them were like the
Governor of Virginia, Governor Nelson, there would be
no trouble. Uncle Matthew wrote us, that before the
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO,
495
siege of Yorktown, the State treasury was empty and the
militia likely to disband for lack of pay, and the gov-
ernor pledged all his private property as security on a
loan to pay the soldiers.
At the siege of Yorktown he was in command of a bat-
tery, and bombarded a large stone house, the quarters of
Cornwallis and his staff. This house was the governor's
own, and he preferred its ruin to having it useful to the
enemy. Uncle Matthew says that the governor made
himself mortal enemies by impressing men and stores for
the siege. But posterity will justify him, and show him
as the man who was ready to sacrifice all that he had for
his country. Indeed we have many such men, and our
general is one. No wonder that the people gave him such
an enthusiastic reception when he came here the last of the
month.
-
Although Charles is near us, and our hearts are at rest
about his present safety, our life this winter is very quiet,
and somewhat sad. Judith strives to keep her sorrows to
herself, and takes her place among us as formerly. Susan-
nah is calm, but has too many fits of musing to be a very
lively companion; and I must say for myself, that long ex-
citement and the stronger changes of our life during this
war, have had the effect to make me decidedly cross a good
deal of the time. I often fall into a muse about the
pleasant life at Plymouth, and wish myself back in the
dear old place, among familiar friends there, near the
bright bay. Even the cold long winters have grown
dear in my recollection, and they served to make the
summer brighter by contrast. I like to fancy how the
32
496
PATRIOT AND TORY:
place looks now, and how if I were there I would make
the garden and plant the flowers that my great-grand-
father loved so much, and how in the study I could
almost fancy I saw my grandfather back, he seemed so
inseparable from that place.
Well, such fancies are idle, I can never go back.
Bessie has a tenant on the place now, but the rent is
small, times are very hard, money is amazingly scarce,
except continental, which is worth nothing, and every
thing is dear. Uncle John says that if once we had
peace, and the army were successfully disbanded, we
should become a very prosperous people, on account of
our great resources; but after the peace the army will be
'a cause of anxiety, for so many men, long unused to home-
life or regular occupation, and with no means of support,
will be dangerous to the safety of the community. So
there seems little likelihood of our soon getting out of
our troubles.
This morning we girls turned the parlor into a sort of
pawn-shop exhibition or rag fair, bringing down all our
old clothes. As it was a fearfully stormy day, and no one
was likely to come in, we thought it a fine chance to see
if we could out of the old, find a way to make something
new, for goods are wondrous scarce; and as to price-a
bonnet costs two hundred dollars, and is but moderately
good then. We sent Peter to bring Bessie to us. Judith,
who is all in black, handed her former wardrobe over to
Susannah and Hester, and I had yet one or two of my
mother's dresses. Bessie brought with her the tucker I
had once made her of grandmother's lace, and said I must
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
497
use it for one of my gowns. I begged her to keep it
herself, until she finally said, with tears in her eyes, that
"she fairly hated the sight of it," so I slipped it away.
Judith sat calmly directing and advising us what to do.
Hester ripped spasmodically. Our colored maid smoothed
the pieces on a large press-board. Pompey had made us
a big fire, and Nervey brought us cakes and coffee, yet for
all these ameliorations of our lot, I was decidedly in the
dumps. I got Goldsmith's Deserted Village, and read it
aloud for awhile, then threw it by, and betook myself to
the consideration of an old blue cardinal, which so dis-
gusted me that I began a disquisition on the vanity of
human affairs, and the general disadvantages of living.
Concluding, with my usual sense of the ludicrous coming
to the rescue, I declared that I believed if none of us
had ever been born we should none of us ever had regretted
it. Bessie, who can never see this kind of a joke, looked
curiously at me in my new mood; and then, of all things,
undertook gravely to prove that if none of us had ever
been born we should all of us be very sorry indeed-
which threw Hester and me into such convulsions of
laughter, that even Judith and Susannah were obliged to
join us.
After that laugh we somehow felt better, time did not
seem quite so long, nor the winter day so gloomy, nor the
old gowns so ruinous. Bessie looked from one to the
other of us, as we paused in our fits of laughter, and
said: "Well, I do not see what I have said that was
funny. I leave the witty talk for Hester, but I am glad
if I have made you feel any better; and if Abbey is only
498
PATRIOT AND TORY:
a mind to do half as well as she can do, your clothes
also will speedily look better."
Thus challenged, I stood our beautiful Susannah up in
the middle of the room as a lay figure, surrounded her
with her dry goods, and proceeded to fit her out with
winter costumes, in all of which she kindly looked charm-
ing.
CHAPTER XX.
FEBRUARY 6, 1782.
LADY WASHINGTON has come to stay with the
general for a time. Owing to her recent loss she is
living very quietly, but the ladies of the city are all call-
ing upon her, and this morning, Hester, Susannah, and I
went. We went in state, walking to be sure, but we had
on our best gowns and hats, and Peter in his sole suit of
livery, stalked after us, as attendant, and we sent up our
cards to Lady Washington. She was pleased to see us,
greeted us with kindness, and remembered me.
I ex-
cused Judith's absence to her, telling of that great loss
which had saddened all our hearts. Tears came into
Lady Washington's eyes. She sent her love to Judith,
and bade me tell her that sorrows had taught her deeply
to sympathize with those who mourned the dead.
M
G
3
Lady Washington was knitting, and was very plainly
dressed. She had a basket of work on the table, and asked
us were we doing any thing for the army this winter.
And so I told her about our society work.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
499
,
She seemed much struck with Susannah's appearance,
and asked:
"Had we not had temptations to be very gay while the
British army-and then General Arnold-were here?"
Hester replied: "The temptations make no difference.
Law, in the person of Mr. Temple, is stronger than any
amount of society temptations, and he thinks it is not
right to enter into any gayeties while the country is in
such distress."
"But Susannah, who is truth itself, feared this asser-
tion might make us seem more self-sacrificing than we
were, and remarked, sweetly:
"Not that we were quite out of society-we did not go
abroad, but we were obliged to receive quietly at home.
We could not keep visitors away, they would come, some-
how."
G
"So I should suppose," said Lady Washington, dryly;
and Susannah, seeing whither in her simplicity she had
drifted, blushed up to her eyes. We had a very pleasant
visit. Susannah said it would be a thing to remember
all our lives, that we had made a call on Lady Washing-
ton.
At dinner, we girls did little but talk about our visit.
When we left the table, my uncle said he wanted to see
me in the library. When I went to him he began to
talk about Plymouth. He said that he had a great affec-
tion for the home of his brother, my grandfather, and
that doubtless I had also. He should be sorry to see it
go to strangers. As it was all the fortune Bessie had, it
would be better for her to sell it, as a farm would be to
500
PATRIOT AND TORY:
her the most troublesome and least productive form of
property. He had thought of offering her a fair price
for the place himself, and he would do so, unless I wanted
to be the purchaser. If I liked to buy it I could do it,
and he would see that it was well taken care of for me.
I was so surprised, I cried :
66
'Oh, Uncle John! can I really and truly buy the dear
old home?"
"Certainly, if you wish to," he said.
"And will there be any of my money left to repair it,
and make a nice garden-and oh! to build an arbor? I
always wanted an arbor near the big apple-tree."
Uncle John laughed heartily, but said very likely we
could have an arbor. Then I bethought myself.
"But, Uncle John, I always meant to give all my
money away to the army. I have done nothing for that.
Think how much Hannah Dana did."
،، Well," " said Uncle John, "I have thought it all over,
and as I daresay you are ready to be guided by me in
your business, I really do not think you had better put
your little property into the war. The war is most over.
We shall at its close need good homes and family prop-
erty more than we now need a few pounds more or less in
the treasury. You had better buy the farm. I will settle it
with Bessie; it would be a kindness to your cousin for
you to take it off her hands, and by and by you and I
will go up there and decide on repairs, and put up that
arbor that you want.
Dear mc, to-night I can hardly sleep for thinking how
lovely it will be to own the old home; to visit it; to see
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
501
the study and grandfather's easy chair. I shall almost hear
great-grandfather giving the cry of the covenanters under
the apple-tree, and grandmother, stately and trim, direct-
ing the ways of the household!
AUGUST 12, 1782.
When I have nothing to write, I am anxious enough

#!':
QUILATT)
1125
AREA - WERE A
54
WASHINGTON'S HEAD-QUARTERS AT NEWBURG.
to fill up this diary. When a great deal is going on, I
am so busy and interested that I have no time to write.
After a four months' residence in Philadelphia, General
Washington in March joined the army at Newburg. Of
502
PATRIOT AND TORY:
course that took Charles from us, but we parted with the
less anxiety, as there was not much prospect of heavy
fighting. Early in May, Sir Henry Clinton was relieved
at New York, and Sir Guy Carleton took his place.
Charles wrote us that Sir Carleton wrote to the general
that the disposition
of England was now
for peace, and that
he heartily concurred
in such feeling, and
desired no more
fighting. Charles
said the general re-
marked that no man

SIR GUY CARLETON.
desired peace more
heartily than him-
self, but that he had
observed that the
surest way to obtain
or retain peace was
to be thoroughly prepared for war.
Charles says that there is now great discontent in the
army. The States have not furnished their proportions
of money, and the destitution in camp is great. Officers,
like Charles, who have funds of their own, can do pretty
well, but those who depend on pay that is never forth-
coming, have want, and debt, and anger as their portion.
The army begins to fear being disbanded without the
payment of their claims, and so cast penniless on a com-
munity, paralyzed by poverty and long unused to the arts
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
503
,
and occupations of peace. This state of affairs in the
army cast its gloom over us. When Charles wrote us
that the sole fare officers had to set before their guests
was tough beef and whisky hot from the still — which
reduced Charles's fare to the beef only, for he does not
take whisky-we felt almost condemned for having
any thing comfortable on our own tables, and we repined.
over our blessings in that our army did not share them.
But just here arose such home changes that our
thoughts were quite distracted from the army.
On a
Thursday evening in May, all the family except myself
had gone to church for the lecture. Since the war uncle
always leaves one of the family at home, because the
servants are so excitable that they would not know what
to do or say if a messenger came in haste, or something
should happen. It was a warm evening, and I sat by the
open window looking into the garden-uncle says it is
not proper for us to be sitting looking out of the street
windows-when I heard a step at the parlor door, and,
looking hastily about, there was Colonel Nelson! Upon
my word, taking possession of the house as coolly as he
did the first time! My first impulse was to welcome him
warmly, for I always liked him; then it flashed into my
mind that since he was alive and well, he had been neg-
lecting our Susannah, and I advanced to meet him quite
coldly.
The colonel, however, did not stop to notice my cold-
ness; he grasped my hand, and without ceremony de-
manded,
"Miss Abbey, where is Susannah ?
""
504
}
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"She is at church," said I, curtly.
"Don't be angry with me for coming in as I did,” he
said. "I knocked twice, indeed I did; and I could not
wait another minute. It is so long since I was here."
I stepped into the hall, and bid Peter bring candles, as
it was growing dark. When I returned, the colonel said,
"Miss Temple, you were always a kind friend to me;
tell me, how will Susannah receive me?”
"Well enough, as she does every one, if she has not
forgotten you," I said, for I was ready to take up arms
for Susannah.
"Forgotten me! how could she?" he cried, aghast.
"You have given her ample opportunity," I retorted.
"Miss Temple," he exclaimed, springing up, "what do
you mean?"
66
Exactly what I say," I replied. "Susannah has not
heard from you since you left New York; and if that is
not ample time for forgetting, how long, in your opinion,
might be required?"
66
"Well," he exclaimed, "if I have not been heard from
since then, and you think the silence voluntary on my
part, no wonder that you speak to me as you do. What
a villain I must seem to you if I look guilty of neglect-
ing Susannah," and he paced up and down in great con-
fusion. Then he stopped before me: "And Susannah has
felt deeply offended, and has forgotten me, do you think?”
he asked.
"She could not both forget and be offended at the
same time,” said I, smiling, for I began to think him
blameless.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
505
"I'd rather have her angry than forgetful," he said.
66
She will be neither, if you prove that you are not so
ill deserving as I have suggested," I replied, with a laugh.
,
"Now you seem like yourself," he cried, taking a chair
near me. "Miss Temple, I have been in Charleston, a
place that I hated like a jail. I dare say it is a good
place and in a good country, but for a British officer to
be there, shut up to doing thieves' and hangman's duty,
month after month, was enough to make one quit the
service. I wrote to Susannah five or six times, but get-
ting no reply, I concluded that her father did not think
it consistent for her to be corresponding with the enemy,
and resolved to have patience. As for my letters, I sup-
pose that light-riding Marion, or some other of those
quick Carolina gentlemen, had the pleasure of reading
them, for they seized almost every thing that we sent out.
I wrote once to poor Seaforth, asking him to say a good
word for me, but that letter came back from New York
by one of our ships, the terrible news that Seaforth was
dead, written on the outside."
"And how did you get up here now?" I asked.
"I was sent up to New York with dispatches, as my
last bit of service. The time has come when I can sell
out and leave the army, in a manly way, for we hear that
fighting is nearly ended, and that peace will soon be ar-
ranged for. My uncle and mother are so anxious for me
to come home and settle, that now I will go. By the
way, my sister is married, Miss Temple, and they want
me to marry too."
"I dare say if you go home and assert your intentions.
506
PATRIOT AND TORY:
in that line, that you may easily find a wife among your
fair neighbors," I replied.
"How can you be so cruel?" exclaimed he, in real dis-
tress. "You know that if Susannah will not accept me,
I shall be completely miserable. She is the only woman
in the world that I ever have or can care for."
"Well, I am sure I can not answer for Susannah,” I
returned.
"But you can tell me if-well, if thinking me forgetful,
or knowing me to be unworthy of such a prize as she is---
she has now another suitor!" he said, anxiously.
"Dear, dear; I can not answer for Susannah at all," I
cried; "all I can say is this, that she must not walk in
suddenly, and find you here. See, I shall take a light to
the library, and when the family come home, I will send
my uncle in there."
So I escorted the colonel to the library, and stopped
there talking to him until I heard the family on the
porch. Then I went to the hall, and saying, "Uncle,
there is some one in the library wanting you," I asked
Susannah, "did they have a good lecture."
"Grand," said Susannah, "I pitied you that it was
your turn at home. President Witherspoon, of Princeton,
was down, and spoke."
4
And so President Witherspoon, and his ways and lect-
ure kept us busy for awhile, and I, knowing not exactly
how to tell Susannah who was there, said nothing; and
by and by my uncle came in, looking vastly well
pleased.
66
Why, the visitor is as much yours as mine, Susannah,"
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
507
said he. "Who is there whom you would like well to
see?"
"Charles?" said Susannah, yet starting and flushing.
"Eh? Charles would be for us all," said Uncle John,
"but here is a guest who cares nothing for the rest of
us rebels, if you are at home and inclined to welcome
him." So he put her hand in his arm and led her away,
while I told the others of Colonel Nelson's arrival, and
of what he had said.
Hester was inclined to think the colonel's story needed
a sifting. Hester is the hardest on Tories or British of
any of us; but Judith asserted she had always believed in
Colonel Nelson.
Hester said: "Better be careful. Look at poor Bessie."
"The colonel is a very different man from Major
Banks," replied Judith, "and there is no fear that my
father will not thoroughly satisfy himself about the
person whom he gives Susannah to. He will write to
his old business friends in England, and find out about
everything."
The colonel had leave of absence to return to England,
and he intended to leave the army as soon as he reached
home. Of course, he insisted that peace was now as-
sured; that he ought to be allowed to marry Susannah
and take her home with him at once; and, of course,
my uncle did not look at the affair in that light at all.
As for Susannah, she gave no voice in the matter, but
remained serenely contented, happy in having her anxieties
and doubts removed, and intent on making the colonel's
stay as pleasant as possible.
J
508
PATRIOT AND TORY:
1
Uncle's decision was, that the colonel must go home
alone, get out of the army, and consult the wishes of his
friends in regard to his marriage. He might correspond
with Susannah meanwhile, and Mr. Seaforth, by means
of his friends and relatives in England, would satisfy my
uncle concerning the colonel's family and affairs. Then,
if all went well, as soon as peace was declared, he could
return and marry Susannah.,
The colonel, seeing that my uncle's mind was made up,
and, indeed, that his decision was most reasonable, was
forced to be contented. He remained with us until the
18th of June, and really his visit was very delightful to
us all. Indeed, if for no other reason, we must have
been pleased to see our tranquil Susannah so happy.
Instead of that busy endeavor to banish thought, she
drifted back into her old fashion of sitting content with
her hands in her lap, merely enjoying life. The soft pink
color that had formerly tinted her cheeks came back, and
her deep blue eyes, under the golden beauty of her hair,
made one think of seas and sunshine. Again the harpsi-
chord and the violin were doing duet duty together-the
first music to which our house has wakened since Henry
died. On the 18th of June, the colonel left us for New
York, from whence he expected immediately to sail for
England.
OCTOBER 8, 1782.
This summer has been marked by no great battles.
There have been skirmishes in the South, and a steady
success for the patriot arms. In July, Savannah was
evacuated. On the 26th of August, Colonel Laurens, a
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO
509
brave soldier, a great favorite of General Washington,
and lately our successful envoy to France, was killed in
a skirmish. The fighting in the South has ceased since
then, and we are now looking for the evacuation of
Charleston. The French army went up to Verplanck's
Point about the middle of last month. Charles wrote us
that the allies were warmly welcomed. Our men, being
drawn up in array to greet them, looked better than
usual, as they had received so many arms and clothes
from France, and captured so many at Yorktown.
The two armies are encamped for the winter about ten
miles apart.
The army is to be reduced in January.
About the middle of August-yes, on the 16th of Au-
gust-it was such a surprise as we had! We were seated
at dinner when we heard a knock at the door, and Pom-
pey presently crying out:
"Law! but it do dese ole eyes good to look on 'e ole
Pymouth face! But, sakes, how you has growed! Guess
Missey nor none of 'em knows you dis time."
Who could it be? Pompey pushed the door wider
open, and with much pride and satisfaction ushered in a
brown-bearded, stout young man, and we all gave several
looks before we could be sure that this was no other than
Thomas Otis-Thomas who went away fair, smooth-
faced, slender, and whom I had made sure was dead.
Uncle gave him a hearty greeting, taking both his
hands and shaking them with all his might. Judith and
Susannah were also very cordial. I was so surprised at
seeing Thomas back, after all my certainty of the melan-
choly fashion of his death, that I stood gazing at him
510
PATRIOT AND TORY:
speechless until the other two welcomed him. Then as
I advanced and held out my hand, Thomas cried out
cheerily :
"Here again, Abbey. Did you think I never was
coming back?"
"Yes," I said, soberly, "I thought you were never
coming back."
"Eh? Well, you did n't break your heart about it at
all events," said Thomas, laughing.
"No. Why should I?" I said quickly. "But I
thought you were a great loss to your country, and me,
and every one, all the same."
"Now, Miss Hester, are you not going to say a word
to me?" demanded Thomas of Hester, who had coolly
remained at the dinner-table.
"Why," says Hester, "I thought five welcomes enough
for any one mortal; but I remember now you always
were given to large demands, and so I add my greeting
to the rest;" and then Nervey came with another plate
and seated Thomas between Hester and me. Uncle said
a traveler must not be questioned at the dinner-table, and
so we were not allowed to demand Thomas's history while
he was eating. Thomas asked after Charles; but gay
and careless as he seemed to be, his eye fell on Ju-
dith's deep mourning dress, and he was cautious about
making inquiries on other things than war news from
the South, the facts about Cornwallis, the proceedings of
the Congress, and the prospects of peace. After dinner
we went into the parlor, and at once we girls clamored
for Thomas's history.
R
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
511
"You seem," said Hester, "as ignorant of army and
national affairs as if you had been on a voyage to the
moon."
"Well," said Thomas, "I have been a prisoner and at
Montreal for how long I dare not say. I was carried off

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CAPTURE OF THOMAS OTIS BY THE INDIANS.
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in one of the fights up the Mohawk, by some Indians and
British, and was sent to Montreal to wait exchange-and
such a waiting as it was! I found war different from
what we had imagined it would be, Abbey, when we
33
512
PATRIOT AND TORY:
talked of it, sitting on a hay-mow or rocking on the bay.
Then I thought I should jump into a generalship in one
or two leaps; that the fate of the nation would hang
upon my valor. As to being captured, that never crossed
my mind. If it had, I would have pictured the whole
army rising to reclaim me. Sometimes I fancied dying
covered with glory and destined to immortal fame;
but-"
•
"But on the whole," said Hester, "you preferred living
with a little less of glory and immortal fame."
66
Exactly,'
" said Thomas-"less romance and more
solid comfort for me now. The romance has been some-
what rudely dispelled-kept a long while a prisoner, I
return to find the war nearly ended without my help, and
all of my friends comfortably eating their dinners with-
out me."
--
Thomas told us that, as a prisoner, he had been very
kindly treated in Montreal. The officer who acted as
provost of the city had become a great friend of his, and
had granted him many privileges. Thomas only intended
to stay in the city a short time to refit for camp, and then
he was going to West Point. He was full of life and
spirits, and exactly like the Thomas of the old Plymouth
times.
He remained two or three days with us, and told us a
great many stories of his adventures. Now, of course, I
was very glad that Thomas had not been killed. At the
same time, I was very glad also that I had not told any
one that I had felt it my duty to constitute myself sole
mourner for his premature death. And then sometimes,
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
513
in talking of the old days, Thomas fell into a sentimental
strain with me, and he seemed to think it as much his
duty to treat me gallantly as I had felt it mine to mourn
for him. I wonder if it seemed as burdensome!
Well, there is no one like Judith. I determined to
talk to her, so I followed her to her room one evening,
and closing the door stood against it, and ruffling my
apron on my finger, remarked:
"Judith, I am glad Thomas is back."
"I daresay," replied Judith.
"But I have been gladder about other things, I
think," I added, and as Judith was silent I continued-
"And I had really thought Thomas had been killed, and
I was very sorry, but not quite so sorry as I have been
about other things."
Well," said Judith, quietly, “there was nothing wrong
in that."
"But you see, Cousin Judith," I said, desperately, "a
long while ago I had no playmate or young friend but
Thomas, and Thomas had no sister, and we liked each
other very much, and Thomas talked a deal of nonsense
about being true to each other, and liking nobody but
me, and I thought that was all right. And now, Judith,"
I concluded, desperately, "I do not like such talk, and I
will not have such talk!"
"Not from any body?" asked Judith.
"Well, not from Thomas," I said, "no one else think
of such a thing. I like Thomas, and he likes me, and I
wish he would find some one else to like better than me,
and not feel himself obliged to drag in compliments and
514
PATRIOT AND TORY:
sentiments, and all that sort of thing, as if he were paying
me coppers or half crowns-only that one never sees them
now that he owed me."
Judith laughed. "Well, what else, Abbey?"
"Oh, what else, Judith? you think there is more in
my mind? Well, of all things, I hate changeableness and
altering of one's mind-and I have often said I never
changed—and after all you see I have; for once I liked
Thomas the best, and now I think him very nice, but not-
exactly to my mind.”
"I should be sorry, indeed, to hear that your mind
never changed," said Judith; "our minds in many things
change by growth, and you know that I have told you
girls that here is the danger of too early playing at hav-
ing lovers. You grow, and change, and find yourselves
entangled by ideas and words that are no longer part of
yourselves."
"But, Judith, I never thought of lovers," I protested.
"I know you did not, silly child," said Judith; "you can
not see that you have been playing brothers with Thomas.
How does that suit?"
“Oh, dear me,” I said with a sigh of relief, "it suits
beautifully!"
"The fact is," said Judith, "Thomas was playing lover,
boy-like, and his mind is encumbered with the old idea.
You like Thomas as a friend, but evidently, Abbey, your
mind has outgrown him, as any thing else."
"He is a very nice boy," said I, loftily.
"Would be more pleasing to you if he were ten years
older?" said Judith.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
515
I blushed, and was silent. Judith said:
"It only remains for you to free yourself of a false posi-
tion by letting him know your views.'
"Oh, Judith,” I cried, "I never, never could, unless
he asked me, and I would not have him ask for the
world."
66
'Simply understand yourself, and intend fairly to be
understood, and you will find opportunity to make your
views plain."
رو
66
Judith spoke so calmly and easily about my vexations,
that they began to look smaller to me. This idea that I
had only to understand myself clearly, and desire to be
fairly understood, stripped the situation of a deal of em-
barrassment. Thomas had been my old friend and play-
mate, the nearest a brother that I ever had, and such
I would have him be still, and that clear idea took away
a deal of anxiety and vexation that I had felt in his
society.. And, sure enough, Judith was right. I dare say
every day had offered opportunities for making myself
plain, only I had been too silly to know it. Only the
next day Thomas said to me, when we were alone in the
parlor chatting:
""
"Abbey, I have had a great loss.'
"Dear me, what can it be?" I said, indifferently.
Why, that lock of your hair-but you can make it up
to me."
(
66 Nonsense, to think I would trust another token to
such a careless fellow!" I cried, laughing, and secretly
rejoiced.
"But I was not careless," he protested. "We were
516
PATRIOT AND TORY:
marching in the heat, and all of us piled our coats on a
baggage-wagon, and my note-book with that memento
was in my coat pocket. And all at once some Tories and
Indians opened on us out of an ambuscade, and the end
of it was that they got our baggage, and some of our fel-
lows too. So, you see, I lost my coat, and what was worth
more than the coat. Now, I am sure, you will give another
token."
"Not I," I retorted. "I think giving hair is a great
folly, only fit for boys and girls. I'm glad you lost
mine. No brothers and sisters give locks of hair, as I
know of. Charles does not, for one, and yet we re-
member him no less. And you know, Thomas, you
and I being lonesome sort of children, among the
old people at Plymouth, were a kind of brother and
sister; and if we can't keep each other well enough
in memory without such
without such silly. nonsense as a bit of
hair, we'd better confess at once to having lost our
minds."
I was knitting. Thomas cried out:
"Now, upon my word, Abbey Temple, is that the way
you look at things?"
66
Stay, don't bother me now until I count my stitches,"
said I, cooly; "I always get wrong turning the heel of a
stocking."
Thomas took his head between his hands, began pull-
ing his hair into a great fuzz, the powder flying, and
staring at the floor whistled with all his might. Pres-
ently he began again:
"I say, Abbey Temple, if you have got that heel turned,
:
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
517
and will allow me to speak-you always were about the
queerest girl going."
66
'Four, five, six-thank you, Thomas," said I.
"But I'd have you to understand that I set up for a
romantic young man.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen-I never would have
thought it."
"But I am, and I doat, fairly doat, on locks of hair. I
said I wouldn't take any but yours while I had it, but
that being lost I comforted myself by making a collec-
tion, and here it is."
""
Thomas took out his pocket-book, opened some fold-
ings of silver paper, and displayed, neatly tied with blue
ribbons, a fine store of locks indeed! Says he:
"Here is brown, flax, yellow, white, red, auburn, gold—
every color that I like.”
"Except black," said I, quietly, as Hester came in.
“Black, oh, by jove, black," said Thomas, striving to
get his trophies out of sight, but I prevented him, and
cried :
"Hester, come here, and see how Thomas is emulating
the Indian braves of his acquaintance!"
Poor Thomas, he flushed and looked uneasy, his little
retort on my indifference was going further than he had
expected, but I kept fast hold of the tissue.
"Were the ladies of Montreal so willing to give away
their hair?" demanded Hester, laughing.
"I'll warrant it all came from wigs," said I.
"Young man, no wonder you were not exchanged sooner,
you are very much of a humbug. I see reason to doubt
518
PATRIOT AND TORY:
these trophies. This red hair is from some man's head,
and I doubt the quality of this white."
Here Thomas burst into a roar of laughter, and let-
ting go the paper, he said:
"No wonder it is a proverb in Plymouth, that there is
no deceiving the eye of a Temple!
"Confess at once!" cried Hester.
""
"I'll confess fully, if you will grant a full absolution!"
said Thomas; "the paper is the result of a frolic of our
last day in prison. Our warders had been good jolly fel-
lows, and ten of us vowed to have a memorial of them.
We chased them into a corner, made a cordon, over-
powered them, and each of us ten took a lock of hair as
a trophy, and we made one of the servants go out and
bring us tissue and ribbon to do up these elegant locks.
To have in mind all, without partiality, we took this fine
gold hair from the curls of one of the sergeant's little boys,
and this white-no cheating you Abbey-from the gar-
rison poodle! I'll trade the whole lot to any one who
will give me one good, honest lock."
"There are no offers here," said Hester.
"I'll give it to any one who will take good care of it,
for my sake."
"Dear me," said Hester, "there is no one here will take
the trouble."
"Well, then," said Thomas, restoring it to his pocket,
"I'll keep it, and whoever takes me for better or worse,
will have to take that too.”
"We are warned in time," cried Hester; "and to be
warned is to be wise," and away she went.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
519
A
"And you think I admire black hair?" said Thomas,
looking after her-and he said no more. But somehow
this nonsense put Thomas and me on the old free and
comfortable footing, frank and friendly, neither of us
burdened by any further idea of playing at lovers; and it
was a notable thing to me, that Thomas-doubtless re-
lieved of a burden as much as I was-began to find
Hester remarkably good company.
Thomas, after a short stay in Philadelphia, went to
West Point, where what remains of his company are
gathered. He wrote to us soon after, that in the general
raggedness and shabbiness of the camp, even of general
officers, his new clothes, his powder, ruffles, and other
elegancies, in which he had indulged, were quite out of
fashion. As for fighting, there was at present no more
to do than he had had in Montreal, nor indeed so much,
for there he could occasionally relieve his feelings by a
passage at fisticuffs with his jailers, and his fare was
not nearly so good as he had had in prison in Canada.
He says he agrees with General Washington, that it is
high time for a peace.
Hester has begun quite a flourishing correspondence
with Thomas. His mad-cap style just fits her own, and
she entertains us frequently in our sewing hours by
reading her letters and his to us, and we receive their
nonsense with shouts of applause.
Charles's letters are not so merry; the discontents of
the army, both of privates and officers, make him forebode
trouble even after peace is declared. My uncle is also
greatly anxious lest a sufficiently strong central govern-
520
PATRIOT AND TORY:
I
ment is not guaranteed. Mr. Morris is our only finan-
cier, and many of the people only half trust him because
he is an Englishman. Mr. and Mistress Morris, Mr. Sea-
forth and his family and a few other friends, came to tea
with us only yesterday. Mr. Seaforth has now ceased to
expect a conquest of this country by Britain. He looks
for peace on the ground of the declared independence of
the thirteen colonies. Indeed, it is supposed that our
commissioners, Franklin, Adams, Jay, and Henry Lau-
rens, are now at Paris treating with British commissioners.
for a peace.
This expectation of peace formed the chief subject of
conversation. We none of us said what was first in our
thoughts, why, if peace was to be made thus, could it not
have been made two or three years ago; it would have
saved us Henry Seaforth, and other families many a brave
man. It is expected that the property of loyalists will
now be confiscated. My uncle feels warmly against that,
on account of Mr. Seaforth. He says truly, that the more
busy and prosperous citizens a State has, the more pros-
perous is the State itself; and he can not see that the
country will be benefited by impoverishing those who
would make faithful and law-abiding citizens now, whose
consciences were against taking part in what they regarded
as a rebellion. Mr. Morris said, he had heard it whis-
pered that some of Mr. Seaforth's enemies were even now
moving to get his property seized.
66
'Well, Harry," said Uncle John, "I shall move every
body and every thing that I can to save your estates, just
as you would have done for me had the event of this war
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
521
+
been different; but at the worst, Harry, do you remem-
ber a bit of contract that we signed? That requires you
to become my partner if they do confiscate your prop-
erty."
"Ah, but," said Mr. Seaforth, "you know, John, I did
not sign that expecting it would throw me on your
hands."
66
No," replied my uncle, "but you must keep up to
your contract, like an honest man; you know I have your
signature."
Mr. Robert Morris began speaking of the letter which
it is rumored that Nicola wrote to General Washington,
suggesting that he should be the king of this new nation.
Mr. Morris said here lay our danger, in losing the liber-
ties we had so hardly gained, by endeavoring to set up in
this New World, governments copied from the Old. The
idea of a Republic, he said, had not dawned in its comple-
tion on very many minds. A military despotism, heredi-
tary government, whether we called the man at its head
king, count, serene highness, or emperor, were alike
unfitted to the genius and requirements of this western
hemisphere, and would be alike disastrous.
My Uncle John said that he did not apprehend trouble
from such cause; he thought the republican idea was
pretty thoroughly sown over the land. Uncle says he
fears our great trouble will be, not possessing a simplicity
of manners and style of living suitable to a republican
government. He says that what he has seen of extrava-
gance and folly in this city, even during these terrible
war times, has made him fear that we in this country will
522
PATRIOT AND TORY:
try to ape other lands, not so much in their form of gov-
ernment, as in the wastefulness and fashions of living;
that republican men and women, instead of holding sim-
plicity, sincerity, and learning, as things of highest worth
and most honoring to them, will think dress, entertain-
ments, furniture, and grand equipage, the best object of
their ambition, that they may vie with the courts, and
parades, and nobles of foreign countries.
My uncle continued: "This country, with all its future
to make, with debts to pay, roads and public buildings to
build, the ravages of war to repair, and the people realiz-
ing themselves as all upon an equality, and supporting
the government by revenues raised from among them-
selves and subject to their own voice, will not choose to
give their officials enormous salaries to maintain them in a
style far above that of the people whom they represent.
Our farmers and artisans will not pay heavy taxes to sup-
port secretaries, and congressmen, and presidents in a
magnificence of living which will teach them to despise
those very farmers and artisans as an inferior race. If
with these moderate salaries our public officers, chosen
out of the people, and often men of no private fortunes,
expect to keep establishments similar to those of foreign
nobles of great hereditary property, and to give enter-
tainments like those with which foreign rulers amuse their
courtiers, then public honesty will be at a discount, offi-
cial purity will be unequal to the temptation of the po-
sition, and we shall stand before the world disgraced, the
people robbed by their representatives, brother bribing
and plundering brother, the American government a
C
C
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
523
A
laughing-stock among the nations, as a land of thieves,
a bold banditti crew, flaunting in high places."
How Uncle John, as he spoke, reminded me of great-
grandfather! His whole soul was in what he was say-
ing, for my uncle despises and detests extravagance and
fashionable follies; for he says that these are never, and
can never be indulged, except by robbing God and one's
neighbor.
Mrs. Seaforth said: "Mr. Temple, you have shown a
danger, a very great danger to this country; where is the
remedy?"
"I suppose," replied Uncle John, "that it is the one
old remedy, good for all the evils in this world-god-
liness!"
66
"And," said Mistress Seaforth, "that godliness must
begin at home. This extravagance and fashion which
you, sir, so deprecate, never can spring up and flourish
without the aid of women. Very many men have a pas-
sion for grand style and large expenditures, and yet if
even these men have judicious, honest-minded mothers,
sisters, wives, they will find their follies checked. If you
would stay the extravagance and love of show, which you
deplore as growing up here in America, you must begin
with American women. A public officer, whose wife is
like the virtuous woman in Proverbs, will never be a de-
faulter. When you find women honest enough, and wise
enough, to say of an expense, I can not afford it; women
who will dare limit their expenses by their income, and
who would blush to wear an unpaid for jewel, or a velvet
which had been earned by swindling; women who will
524
PATRIOT AND TORY:
think themselves of worth for what they are in heart and
brain, and not for what they wear, then you will be as-
sured of incorruptible public men.'
""
"You have started my wife on her special hobby,"
said Mr. Seaforth.
"I would," replied Uncle John, "that she would so
talk to these young women every hour in the day;" and
indeed, we girls and Bessie were hanging on her words,
convinced of their truth and value. I think if all women
and girls held views like Mistress Seaforth and Judith,
the future prosperity of this country would be assured.
·
NOVEMBER 3, 1782.
I have had a letter from Dame Warren. She is at home
in Plymouth, and hopes to have me visit her. She told
me of the death of her famous brother, Mr. James Otis.
It happened according to his wish. He was killed on the
23d of last May, at the door of Mr. Osgood's house in
Andover. He had always expressed a desire to die by a
stroke of lightning, and this, indeed, was his end. Dame
Warren sent me a poem written about it, by Honorable
Thomas Dawes-two lines are:
"One chosen, charitable bolt is sped,
And Otis mingles with the glorious dead.”
He was truly as much a martyr to liberty as any who fell
in battle.
A day or two ago I heard of the death of another
friend-the Indian Ta-ga-jute. Mistress Logan was here,
and she said Logan went straight from here to Detroit,
after he rescued me from Brown, and there, near Detroit,
he was killed in a drunken frenzy. Poor, faithful, elo-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
525
quent Ta-ga-jute! Truly, as he said, the fire-water was
the white man's evil gift to him.
He was sending
Uncle Matthew has been visiting us.
to Nantes to his partner for various goods, and Judith
sent for a great quantity of things. Susannah has had
two letters from the colonel, who threatens instant return
to be married, and Mr. Seaforth has had the best accounts
of him from his friends, and uncle has written that he
may come when peace comes. So Judith must be ready
to give our Susannah a suitable trousseau to go to Eng-
land. The lists of fine goods set us girls quite wild with
delight.
CHAPTER XXI.
FEBRUARY 2, 1783.
BY order of Congress, the army was reduced the 1st of
January. Charleston was evacuated on the 14th of
December, and now the only place held by the British is
New York, and Sir Guy Carleton will be ready to leave
there as soon as peace is proclaimed. Richard Reid and
Thomas Otis were in regiments that were disbanded.
They came here before they went to Boston. Mr. Reid
intends now to finish reading theology, and take a con-
gregation. Thomas is going into the India trade; the
gentleman who was his guardian, and formerly his father's
partner, is in that line, and Thomas is going to have a
share in the firm. He talks much of making a big for-
tune. Hester said she did not understand how any one
could prefer so grave a man as Mr. Reid to Thomas
526
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Otis. Well, I never said that I preferred Mr. Reid to
any one.
Thomas is very full of fun, and he dresses most gor-
geously; but Mr. Reid is infinitely the greater scholar,
and knows all about books, still Hester does not care for
books. Thomas Otis said while he was here, one day,
that all the books he cared to see were the Bible and an
account-book.
"Why," says Hester, "you are as catholic in your
taste as I am; all I want of books would be a Bible and
a cook-book.
}
"Well, Hester," said Thomas; "when you and I go to
housekeeping we will have two Bibles, an account-book,
and a cook-book for our entire library-unless we add
Poor Richard's Almanac.”
At this bit of impudence, Hester solemnly rose and
held out her hand to Thomas. He took it meekly. She
led him to the door, handed him into the hall, and
remarking: "Thomas, go and amuse yourself, you
have been here too long." Came back to us and her
sewing.
"What is poor Mr. Otis to do in that cold hall!" said
Bessie.
"I do not care, I am sure; the idea of his taking
things for granted in that way!" retorted Hester.
"Well, but when he asks you properly, what will you
say?" urged Bessie, who has not lost her penchant for
love affairs.
"Oh," replied Hester, sewing diligently, "I shall say
no twice."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
527
"That will be very discouraging to poor Thomas,"
said I.
C
"Not if he is a good grammarian," said Hester.
Susannah and I laughed, but Bessie persisted, "Why?"
"He will understand that two negatives make an af-
firmative."
I suppose that Hester had her opportunity for the two
negatives, for Thomas went off in a very cheerful frame
of mind, with uncle's permission for his coming back in
May, to get Hester. We shall be dreadfully lonely with-
out her.
I got very angry at Thomas the evening before he
left. He is such a mad-cap. We were going out to
spend the evening in a little company. Charles was at
home, and was taking Susannah. Thomas said:
66
Come, Hester, let us two be off, and leave Mr. Reid
for Abbey."
I would not have minded that, but he must go on and
say:
"Goodness! how mad I used to get at Dick Reid for
sitting or walking by you long ago in Plymouth. That
was always one of Dick's failings, Abbey, but now I
do n't mind it."
"One grows wiser with age," I said.
66
"Eh? Well I don't know in this case whether it is
wisdom or compensation," said Thomas, going off with
Hester.
·
However, Mr. Reid paid no more attention to the stu-
pid's remarks than if he had not made them, and I recov-
ered my good humor.
34
528
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Charles went back to camp when the other gentlemen
set off for Boston. We girls are all busy now helping to
prepare for Hester's marriage and Susannah's; for if we
are to judge Colonel Nelson's ways by his words, he will
be here on the ship that brings news of peace. It will
be such a long way for Susannah to go. If England were
only a little nearer, or if there were only some way to
annihilate time and space, so that one could get to the
old country in a few days! But that is impossible.
Charles intends to leave the army this spring and come.
back into uncle's business. I had a letter from Deborah
Samson. She has gone to Shoreham to live. She said
Mrs. Hooper could now get on without her tolerably
well, and the rumor of her own elopement with a British
soldier had never died, and was getting rather wearisome,
as she could not contradict it by telling where she had
spent the time of her absence from Plymouth.
APRIL 30, 1783.
I must set myself to recording matters regularly, and
in a business-like fashion, though I feel like jotting down
my news in any style of confusion. To begin: Charles
went back to camp in January, and we were all wondrous
busy at home. He wrote us of the discontents in the
camp, and the fears of officers and men that their 'claims
would be unheeded. In March anonymous papers began
to be circulated in the army, calling on the officers to
obtain redress for their grievances. Many officers, as
Charles and Mr. Reid and Thomas Otis, do not expect to
take pay for their services; they have means of their
own, and think the country burdened enough already;
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
529
but other men must have their pay or be penniless.
The general does not intend to take compensation for his
long services. The anonymous addresses stirred up the
camp to much indignation. Finally, the general having
memorialized Congress several times concerning the needs,
fears, and rights of the army, announced that he would
meet the conclave that had been called for the 15th of
March. Charles was present. He says that he felt to
thank God as much for the general's wisdom and pru-
dence and patriotism on the eve of peace, as for any thing
in his conduct of war.
The general read an address tending to arouse self-sac-
rificing views, to reconcile the army to Congress, to calm
and elevate all minds, and to give a confidence in the
good faith and success of the country. At the close of
his address he said that he would read a letter from the
Honorable Joseph Jones, a member of Congress, giving
assurance that the army would be fairly dealt with. Tak-
ing the letter, General Washington read one sentence,
paused, took out his spectacles, and begged leave to put
them on, remarking quietly that "as he had grown gray
in their service, he also found himself growing blind."
Charles said the remark was so unaffected, so sincere, so
matter-of-fact, that it went straight to every heart, and
was as convincing as the most splendid burst of Patrick
Henry's oratory could be. This man-intrepid in battle,
patient in persecution, calm in danger, persevering under
misfortune, moderate in victory, humble before adulation,
honest as in God's sight-commanded every heart; and as
he left the room the officers passed resolutions to abide
G
530
PATRIOT AND TORY:
素
​•
by his counsels, and by no distress should they be led to
sully the glory of their eight years of faithful service.
And so, as we have been led through the dangers of war
by this marvelous man, are we by him piloted to safety,
through the dangers of peace; and the evil that threat-
ened the country from the disaffection and disbanding of
the army is likely to pass away.
In Paris, on the 20th of January, a treaty of peace was
signed. An armed ship, the Triumph, belonging to the
French fleet, under Count D'Estaing, arrived from Cadiz
here at Philadelphia, on the 23d of March, bringing a
letter from the Marquis La Fayette, to the President of
Congress, containing this blessed news. We were here as
a people gone mad with joy. After eight weary years the
cloud of war has rolled by. True, this proclamation is
for cessation of hostilities, and many minor points remain
to be settled, but the end is assured. Charles wrote us
that by the 1st of April, Sir Guy Carleton wrote to Gen-
eral Washington, announcing that he had been instructed
to proclaim cessation of hostilities by sea and land. Al-
most immediately a number of officers had leave to ob-
tain their discharge, and Charles was one of the first to
do so.
As the day when, with tears and forebodings we
saw him depart, was doleful, so the day when he returned
to put off his regimentals and settle into quiet business
life, was very joyful.
There was that sad thought of one, who should have
shared and added to the rejoicings of that day; but we
tried to be thankful for the mercies that we had received,
and to take comfort concerning him whom we had lost.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
531
We decked the house with flowers, made a feast, and in-
vited some of our friends, and so celebrated Charles's
home-coming.
Just after Charles came back we had a letter from Isa-
iah Hooper; at last he is going home. Congress, while
retaining its hold on those enlisted for the war, until the
ratification of definitive articles of peace, yet instructed
the general to grant furloughs without stint, and so Isaiah
is out of service virtually. He wrote us that gratitude
urged him to come at once to Philadelphia, and bid fare-
well to us, to whom twice he had owed his life, but the
feelings of a husband and father, who, for eight years had
not seen his wife and children, made every hour's delay
in meeting them seem cruel, and he knew us well enough
to believe that we would bid him at once go home.
How well I remember the day when I helped little
ten-year-old Liza put up her father's luncheon when he
started for the war! We find from Isaiah's letter that he
is likely to get home eight years from the day when he
left. In those eight years he has become an old man ;
his Liza is a young woman engaged to be married. The
boys of four and seven are now sturdy lads managing the
farm. The two-year-old baby has become a prim little
school-girl-and so Isaiah goes home a stranger to his
own children; but that strangeness will soon wear away.
The 1st of April our goods came from Nantes, and we
made a gala day of the unpacking. Mrs. Seaforth had
sent for parcels for Annie, and so in both houses prepara-
tions for the marriages are hurried on, though Uncle
John is holding Colonel Nelson to the letter of his in-
Ma
532
PATRIOT AND TORY:
structions, and will not let Susannah go until the definitive
treaty is concluded. Annie and Charles are to be married
on the same day with Susannah, but Hester on the 15th
of May, and then Uncle John and I will go to Boston
with her, and thence to Plymouth.
Judith, in apportioning her new purchases, laid by as
much for me as for Hester or Susannah, and when I de-
clared upon the folly of so doing, she said we could not
send to Nantes every day, and I should not find her un-
prepared for any demands. Well, Judith is just mistaken,
that is all.
Cas
Plymouth, JUNE 19, 1783.
Here at last in the blessed old home! Sitting once
more under the big apple-tree-house and garden, flowers,
fields, and sunshine, old well with its wet ropes and
rusty chains, birds twittering overhead-all seem as they
did ten years ago, when I sat under this tree beginning
this journal. I might fancy grandmother busy there in
the house; and Uncle John sitting in the doorway looks
just like my grandfather. Hester was married on the
15th of May. The marriage was at the house, at eight in
the morning; then we had a grand breakfast-all our
friends being invited, and at twelve, Thomas and Hester,
Uncle John and I, set off for Boston-Pompey, by a week,
preceded us, going much more slowly, driving a great
wagon of Hester's property.
We were a very merry party. Hester looked as charm-
ing as possible. She wore a brown cloth riding-dress and
jacket, with large white pearl buttons and white satin
facings, quilted closely. She had a brown satin hat, with
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
533
a long white ostrich plume, and a crimson silk scarf
about her neck. She and Thomas were full of their non-
sense. Uncle John indulged our merry humor by turn-
ing boy for the occasion, and as we were all well mounted,
we rattled along at a fine pace. Thomas had furnished a
very pleasant house in Boston, and when our journey was
finished we found ourselves there as Hester's guests.
The house was all ready for us. Thomas's old friend, his
former guardian's wife, had taken charge, hired servants,
and prepared a feast, to which chief friends had been in-
vited. Uncle and I stopped there three days, but I was
eager to be here in Plymouth.
Mr. Reid met us in Boston, and rode to Plymouth with
us. We reached the town near night-fall, and went to
Dame Mercy Warren's.
Next morning we came hither. As we passed Isaiah
Hooper's, we heard a loud shout, and there was Isaiah
a-field with his two sons. His call brought Mistress Hooper
and her elder daughter to the door, and so nothing would
do but we must stop there for awhile. The little girl,
dinner-basket in hand, was starting for school, but she
returned—and, indeed, the family overwhelmed me with
their affection, as the preserver of the father; but I do
not so look at it. If I had not chanced to help Isaiah
twice, some one else would have been found to do so.
Isaiah looks younger already, and is growing stouter.
Yet a little farther on, after we had left Mr. Hooper's,
and another call was heard, and a one-armed man stood
at a lane-gate holding it open-Joseph Dana, sure enough ;
and there we must go in. I wanted to press on, but the
-
534
PATRIOT AND TORY:
thought of that aged woman whose daughter had died for
the cause, turned my steps; and, in fine, we stopped at the
deacon's past dinner-time, the old people listening to all
we could tell them of Hannah. Mrs. Dana said:
"People thought it strange that we could let her go;
but we owed the country all that we could do for it; and
Hannah's only comfort, since Jonas Hooper died, was
doing good to others."
"Yes," said Mr. Reid, "hers was a faithful heart. She
desired only to fill up her time in this world by doing
good, and then to join him whom she had loved so en-
tirely."
"Well," said the deacon, "she wrote us that she went
to camp knowing that she had one brother there, but she
found in you and Mr. Bowdoin two more.'
"We felt honored by her calling us her brothers," said
Richard.
""
With all our haste, it was afternoon before we came
to the old home. I could not wait even to change my
riding-dress until I went about all the house, and into
the garden, and to the barn. Uncle and Mr. Reid sent
away the horses and let me go by myself. Finally, I
was satisfied enough to go to my own old room and dress,
and at five o'clock we had tea in the common room-
uncle, and Mr. Reid and I.
May mg
The days here have been so delightful I was never so
happy in my life. All the neighbors have been to see me.
Uncle and I have decided on the repairs, and the new
fences and the arbor-only uncle is wanting to make it
over-fine for a rented place; but I suppose he knows
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
535

W
////
ABBEY AND RICHARD REID AT PLYMOUTH.
ܫܫ.
536
PATRIOT AND TORY:
best. Mr. Reid and I have had walks and drives all
about, and we have been to the bay, fishing and lobster-
ing, and on Sunday we were at the old church. We
visited those graves which the kind people here have
kept with such care, and we talked of those good and
happy lives that ended before the great troubles of our
war came.
I had yesterday two letters. One was from Deborah,
from Shoreham. She has just married a Mr. Gannett, a
farmer, and says she has a good home and is very happy.
The other letter was from Charles. They have had
trouble in Philadelphia from a mutiny in the army. The
newer soldiers-not the veteran troops-to the number
of some three hundred, besieged the State House, where
Congress was in session, and threatened violence if their
demands were not complied with in twenty minutes.
Congress, in indignation, adjourned to Princeton. Gen-
eral Howe came with fifteen hundred men to quell the
mutiny. Some of the ringleaders were condemned to
death, but Charles expects that after awhile they will be
pardoned. This trouble was all from the new recruits-
not from those men who have borne the burden of the
war.
We are to start for Philadelphia about the 10th of
July. We have had a letter from Hester, declaring
Boston the finest place in the world, and "Thomas quite a
piece of perfection, when he has her at hand to keep him
in order!" Mr. Reid is intending to stay here until we
set out for home. Deacon Dana told me that he expects
this church, which has had no settled pastor since Mr.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
537
Bowdoin left, to invite Mr. Reid to take charge next
year.
NOVEMBER 28, 1783.
Here is a long blank-from Plymouth in lovely June
to Philadelphia in windy November. But a deal has
been said and done since Uncle John and I had our
delightful ride back through the new-mown fields and the
green woodlands from Plymouth to Philadelphia.
The final treaty of peace was so long delayed, that
Charles and Annie concluded not to wait for Susannah,
and they were married the 1st of September. They are
living with Mr. Seaforth, and they are all so fond of
Bessie that she is staying there, too. She just suits Mis-
tress Seaforth now. Bessie has a sweet voice and plays
pleasantly on the harpsichord. She is fond of embroid-
ery and all fancy-work, and she and Mistress Seaforth
pass hours at such employments. They also make many
clothes for the poor, and medicines and lotions and dainty
food for the sick, whom they visit very faithfully. Bessie
is also skilled in making rose-water and lavender-water,
and other perfumes, with which she keeps us all supplied.
She has gained a taste for such reading as Mistress Sea-
forth prefers, and we find the good lady reading Herbert's
poems and Goldsmith's works by the hour to Annie and
Bessie. I think they are all happy in their way: Bessie
by far happier and more contented in her mind than ever
in the old times when she was so wild; Mrs. Seaforth
looking to meeting her son in a better world, and now
come out of the night of her sorrow into some dawn-land
of rest, waiting for an unending day; Annie and Charles
538
PĂTRIOT AND TORY:
entirely happy in each other. The day after the mar-
riage Charles and Annie set off to Virginia to visit Uncle
Matthew Temple. They were gone a month.
On the 18th of September, who should appear among
us but Colonel Nelson-though now he has left
the
army-and his uncle. They had left England the 1st of
August, and had had a very fine passage. The colonel
said that when he left home the signing of the definitive
treaty was daily expected. He thought if he waited for
that the season would grow too late to take Susannah to
England this year, and that his uncle had come with
him, hoping that my uncle would agree to having the
marriage take place at once, the colonel and Susannah to
remain in Philadelphia until the next spring.
}
My uncle, glad to have Susannah at home so long,
gave his consent, and we had the wedding on the 10th
of October. It was much more grand a wedding than
either of the others, on account of Mr. Nelson's uncle.
being here and the style of living which he maintains at
home. The colonel brought Susannah a splendid present
of pearls and diamonds, and his uncle gave her a case of
various articles of jewelry of turquois and pearls, re-
marking as he did so that jewels were given as
improvement in appearance generally, and that in that
light he might well have left his at home, for Susannah
needed no improving nor any addition to her appearance.
He is perfectly delighted with Susannah, and says his
nephew was quite right-there never was any one to be
compared with her. Susannah was dressed in white satin
and white brocade, and Judith gave her all their mother's
an
1
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
539
lace, except one shawl, which had been among her gifts
to Annie.
Mr. Nelson's uncle especially amused us by his ecsta-
sies. He rubbed his hands, walked up and down, and,
admiring the bridal couple immensely, would say to
every one:
"By George, but they are a splendid pair! I'll have
them presented at court. I do not fancy such a couple
have been seen, even in London, this fifty years!"
He was so entirely well pleased, that though he drank
every toast that was given, and gave several himself with
great gusto, he did not resent our greater abstemiousness,
nor the fact that the bridal pair set down their glasses
about as full as when they lifted them. Some one―Mr.
Morris, I think-asked him: Did he allow his nephew
and niece to slight his toasts.
"Oh, by George," said he, "I've made up my mind to
let those two do just as they like, without a question;
and, by George, I've known more people hindered than
helped by taking wine, though it never hurt me."
All in all, Susannah's new uncle is one of the jolliest
and most liberal of men, and we were very sorry when
he left us.
He sailed from New York on the 25th of
this month, when Sir Guy Carleton evacuated that city
and our troops marched in. Mr. Nelson had been an old
friend of Sir Guy, and went home in his ship. The
definitive treaty was signed on the 3d of September, in
Paris, and now all our land is our own, and the last
company of British soldiers are out upon the sea, home-
ward bound. I dare say they were as glad to go as we
540
PATRIOT AND TORY:
were to get rid of them. I hope they will never come
back except as friends, and then let them come as many
and as often as they like. Colonel Nelson and Susannah
expect to sail for England the 1st of June.
A gentleman from New York came here this evening.
He left the day before yesterday morning. He says
amnesty to all loyalists is proclaimed. The British went
off feeling very amiable, and the patriot citizens were wild
with joy at the entrance of General Washington. The
British, when they marched out of Fort George, nailed
the English flag to the top of the staff, and left it flying,
knocking away the cleets and greasing the pole. A sailor
boy of the patriots got new cleets, and went up the pole,
nailing the cleets on as he ascended; and taking down the
flag he nailed the stars and stripes in its place, and the
army saluted it with thirteen guns. Congress is now in
session at Annapolis, and the general goes there in a few
days to resign his command. Bessie is to come here and
keep the house, and uncle with Judith and myself will go
to Annapolis to be present on that important day.
JANUARY 2, 1784.
General Washington, on his way to Annapolis, stopped
here at Philadelphia, to close his accounts with the
Comptroller of the Treasury. Mr. Morris said to my
uncle in an ecstasy of admiration of the general:
1
"He is a man perfect in every thing. He has kept his
accounts from the commencement of the war down to the
thirteenth of this actual month of December, as perfectly
and clearly as if keeping accounts had been the sole busi-
ness of his life."
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
541
PŮL
My uncle said: "How long in the history of this
country will it be able to be said, that her public men
leave their offices without the question of one penny
in the accounts of their expenditures, and without the
shadow of a stain on the entire unselfishness of their
services?"
"At all events," said Mr. Morris, "you can not look
for many duplicates of George Washington."
"Well," said my uncle, "that schedule of Washington's
public account will forever stand before the American
people a touchstone of honesty in office, whereby we can
try the administration of all other men."
As the general went through New Jersey, Pennsylvania,
and Maryland, he was hailed by an enthusiastic people,
and greeted with addresses from civil officers, legislatures,
and learned institutions. The people rose up as one man
to do him honor.
The time of the general's resignation of his command
was fixed for twelve o'clock of the twenty-third of Decem-
ber. Our party of three was among the favored ones
admitted to the floor of the Hall of Congress. Lady
Washington and other ladies were in the gallery.
It was a most impressive scene. The audience listened
breathless when the President-General Mifflin—signified
that the Congress was ready to receive any communication
from the general, and then Washington rose from his chair.
His speech was short and grave, clear and to the point,
resigning his command of the armies, commending the
soldiers to the gratitude and justice of Congress, and the
whole country to God. I think there was not one per-
Ge
G
542
PATRIOT AND TORY:
son in the room who was not weeping, and inwardly
thanking God that he had made such a man as this for
the conduct of our nation in its peril. I shall never
cease to be glad that I was present on such an occasion.
The next day the general left Annapolis with his com-
pany to arrive at Mount Vernon on Christmas eve, and

LINIJA UR-LOOK WIN
TAILE EGARIOL
TE
LOTTERMILIHOIDRUNTI
qamarum
GENERAL WASHINGTON RESIGNING HIS COMMAND.
JMTI/TIT
TURE ITAL
there has the love and gratitude and blessing of his
country followed him.
We were home on New Year's eve. Bessie gave us
two letters, one for me, and one for my uncle, both from
Mr. Reid. Mr. Reid said that he had accepted the request.
of my grandfather's former people to become their pastor
in the spring. He asked me if I could find it in my
heart to come back to the old home as his wife. He said
this had been his dearest wish, since first he had seen me
at Dame Mercy Warren's at Plymouth, but that as I had
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
543
$
seemed so unconscious of his feelings, he had not thought
it right to try and engage my affections when he was in
daily peril of his life in the army. He had, however,
spoken of his hopes to Dame Warren, to Judith, and to
my uncle, and they had approved of his views, and of his
waiting until the country was quiet before speaking of
them. He said he fancied I had believed him very fond
of Hannah, but that of course I must have come to realize
that his feelings for that good and heroic woman had been
those of a brother. Finally, he said, if I consented to
have him come in the spring to bring me to the old place,
I would make all Plymouth glad.
I sat in my room a long while, with the letter in my
hand, very happy, but too bashful to go down stairs. At
last there came a knock at my door, and Uncle John's
voice. I bade him come in.
He said: "Since you would not come to me, little
maid, I have come to you. What shall I say to such a
letter as this? (and he held out Mr. Reid's). Have I not
been plundered enough by Thomas Otis and Colonel
Nelson, that here is a man must demand you for Ply-
mouth? A cold and scraggy bit of country that! unfit for
roses; do you not say so?"
(6
Oh, it is a lovely country, and roses thrive there won-
drous well," I cried, eager in defense of the loved spot.
"Ah, hah! well, evidently it is in your mind to go and
cultivate them there," said my uncle, laughing; and then
in a graver mood he took my hand, and bade God bless
me! and said he knew I would be happy, for “the mercy
of the Lord is on the thousands of generations of those
GAR
4
35
544
PATRIOT AND TORY:
that fear Him;" and he said that he had looked for this,
and that it had been in his mind when he bid me buy
the homestead, and when he ordered the repairs, and
he had told Mr. Reid that if I agreed to come I must
have that home.
So we went down stairs, and Judith, and Susannah, and
Bessie kissed me, and said they hoped I would be as
happy as I always wished to make other people. To-day
I wrote Richard, and my uncle wrote also, and said
that the marriage, should be on the 5th of May, and
that Susannah and Mr. Nelson would see us to Ply-
mouth, and call on Hester at Boston, before they sailed
for England. They have put off leaving America until
July 6th.
Plymouth, JUNE 10, 1784.
Again at the old home, mine now for always, I hope.
After Richard's letter and my answer, we were all busy
indeed getting ready for my coming hither. At the first
news, Nervey began to make her arrangements; but it
seemed wrong to me to take her from Judith, who has
had her this eight years. I said as much to her. I was
in the kitchen with Judith at the time, preparing fruit for
a cake that she was making. Nervey burst into a loud
laugh.
"Jes hear dat chile!" she cried. Then another roar of
laughter-then: "Missey Judith! jes you hark to Missey
Abbey. Why she tinks she kin keep house widout me
an' Peter an' Pompey! Why, Miss Abbey, jes see
hyar;" and Nervey placed her hands on her hips, planted
her feet firmly, threw back her turbanded head, and en-
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
545
tered upon her favorite reminiscences heard often before.
Why, I libbed wid dat chile's mudder when she wa’n't
mor'n eighteen. When my Peter war a baby she cum
right often to my cabin, and had him in her two han's,
and she made he a pink frock; now I'se got dat frock
yit, dis berry minit when I'se speakin'. Ef I didn't tote
Miss Abbey roun' when she was a whole heap too little
to know nottin', I'd like to know who did?" Nervey
paused for contradiction, but no one offered any. "When
dat chile went wid Massa Matthew Temple, to her gran'-
ther, me, an' Peter an' Pompey we went too. Ef her
granmudder, a mos' mighty good woman, what had n't no
'sperience in bringin' up chilun', gib my chile Miss Abbey
too long a lot ob sewin', or knittin', or spinnin' to does,
why who but Nervey did de biggest half ob it, quiet
like? Ef de ole lady would a bin vexed wid her for
tearin' of her gowns, climbin' an' rompin' roun', why, who
but Nervey mended em all up, afore dey was seen?
When dat dere ole good lady see it her duty to hev de
dishes put away when de chile was too late for dinner,
den Nervey see it her duty to a growin' chile to keep a
plenty hot an' nice for her, an' dat young boy what's gone
married to Miss Hester. I see to warmin' her bed of cole
nights. I see to gibbin' her plenty of cake, an' when
she was lef' all alone in dis here ebil worl, an' come here
in de war time, me an' Peter an' Pompey we cum too;
an' I looked arter her, an' when I sees an ebil-minded
soger rolling eyes at her, I said, no such doin's roun' your
granmudder's girl, an' I drove dat soger off."
At this picture of my long-ago meeting with Deborah
66
546
PATRIOT AND TORY:
Samson, I shrieked with laughter. Nervey, unabashed,
continued:
"When dat chile went to New York in war time,
'mong murderin', wicked rapscallions, Nervey was de one
to go and see to her and bring her home safe. When Mr.
Reid tole me he was agoin' to ask my young Missey to
hab him, I said I was 'greeable, an' would go eny time;
an' now, now de chile really tinks she kin keep her house
her ownse'f, an' do n't need me. Hoh! she may leave
Mr. Reid here ef she likes, or she kin stay here her
ownse'f, ef she pleases, but me an' Peter an' Pompey,
we's goin' wid her to de worl's en', or to Plymouth, what
is jes de same, so we is."
And all that harangue is the reason why Nervey is now
supreme in this kitchen, and Pompey is busy in the gar-
den, and Peter is working in the barn, just as they all
were ten years ago. These three came up here in April
to get the place in order, and Hester came down then
from Boston to superintend; and thus it was, when our
party came up here from Philadelphia, all things were in
a beautiful readiness for our reception. Our company was
a large one: Susannah and her husband, Uncle John,
Judith, and Bessie, and Charles and Annie; and here we
found Thomas and Hester, and Dame Mercy, and Mr.
James Warren.
We were stopped at Isaiah Hooper's to rest and dress
for company, because, as they told us, there was a great
assembly at our home to welcome us. So, sure enough,
when we had put on gala array and had come here, we
found nearly the whole people in their best, and Dame
}
ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
547
Warren's taste had prevailed to have much trimming of
flowers, and the tables were spread out of doors, and even
the little children were here with their welcomes and their
flowers, and Dame Mercy had written a poem, which
Thomas read after the feast.
And when we had had many good wishes, and much
cheerful talk and singing, and all had seen the house,
arrayed newly under Hester's care, it was time for the
company to disperse; and first they called on their pas-
tor, Richard, my husband, for some words at parting.
Now the day was the 1st of. June, the tenth anniversary
of the closing of Boston port by the famous Port Bill.
Richard in a few words sketched the events of the last
ten years, of war and peace. He spoke of grandfather
and great-grandfather, and what their views had been,
and he exhorted the people to banish all hostility now
to the mother-country, to let the peace be a heart peace,
and to show their gratitude to God, by making honest
and noble use of their independence. He then called for
the Bible, and after a prayer, he dismissed the people by
reading these verses as a benediction on our country—
and may God fulfill the word unto us:
"And I the Lord will be their God, and my servant
David a prince among them: I the Lord have spoken it.
And I will make with them a covenant of
peace, and
will cause the evil beasts to cease out of the land; and
they shall dwell in the wilderness, and sleep in the woods.
And I will make them, and the places round about my
hill, a blessing; and I will cause the shower to come
down in his season: there shall be showers of blessing.
548
PATRIOT AND TORY:
"And the tree of the field shall yield her fruit, and
the earth shall yield her increase, and they shall be safe
in their land; and they shall know that I am the Lord,
when I have broken the bands of their yoke, and deliv-
ered them out of the hand of those that served themselves
of them.
"And I will raise up for them a plant of renown; and
they shall no more be consumed with hunger in the land,
neither bear the shame of the heathen any more.
"Thus shall they know that I the Lord am with them,
and that they, even the house of Israel, are my people,
saith the Lord God.
"And ye my flock, even the flock of my pasture, are
men; and I am your God, saith the Lord God."

END
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critics declare it to be the most Comprehensive, Accurate,
Brilliant and Fascinating History of our Country ever written.
The name of the Author is in itself a tower of strength. Prof.
Ridpath's History is not the mere compilation of a literary
hack, as are many now claiming the attention of the Public,
but it is the result of a new and careful study of the whole
subject by one of the most talented and highly cultivated
minds of the present Century.
A point of the utmost importance is found in the fact that
the book is offered at such a low price. We offer this book
for $3.00. There has never before been offered so valuable
and costly a work for so little money. All other Histories
are being sold at from $3.75 to $12.00, many of them issued in
pamphlet form, the binding of which will cost the subscriber
more than our book, complete. An intelligent presentation of its
merits will secure its sale in almost every family.
An Agent sold 50 copies in one and a half days. Another
sold 78 in four days. Another sold 74 in six days. Another sold
63 in five days. Another sold 42 in three days. Another sold 80
in six days. Another sold 96 copies in four days. Another
sold 37 copies in one day. Another sold 30 copies in six hours.
For
We offer the most liberal inducements to Agents.
terms and full particulars, address,
JONES BROTHERS & CO., Publishers,
Philadelphia, Pa., Cincinnati, O., Chicago, Ills., Memphis, Tenn., Atlanta, Ga,
`RIDPATH'S
SCHOOL HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES.
I.
Accuracy and Brilliancy of the Narrative. In these pages the
whole history of the country, from its discovery to the present time, is made
alive; every paragraph is freighted with a fresh and living interest, while
every statement of fact has been verified from the latest and most reliable
sources.
The following POINTS OF SUPERIORITY. over all other works of the
kind are distinctly claimed:
1
2. Amount of New and Valuable Matter.-The book is an attrac-
tive departure from the old paths-the result of a new and original study
of the whole subject. The reader and student will not fail to discover in
every paragraph its remarkable originality.
3. Clearness and Elegance of Style.-It is doubtful whether
there is an ambiguous, equivocal or unguarded sentence in the entire work.
Competent critics have declared that in this respect the New History ranks
with the best specimens of English Literature.
4. Unity of Narrative.-Instead of the distracting and perplexing
biographical, chronological and geographical notes which disfigure the
pages of other works, to the perpetual annoyance of the student, we have
here a perfectly clean and pure page, the narrative being so constructed as
to bear along with it all important facts of time, place and person. There
is no other work of the kind in which Historical Unity has been so per-
fectly attained.
5. Objective Presentation. The subject matter has a clear objec-
tive presentation by means of colored chronological charts, picturing to
the eye, in their proper succession, the contemporaneous historical events
in the history of our country, and permanently fixing them in the memory
of the student. These beautiful Charts constitute a marked feature of
the new book, the value of which all teachers of history will recognize at
a glance.
6.
The Illustrations.-These are, I. Maps. The set of Progressive
Maps, as well as the smaller topographical diagrams, will recommend this
History to special favor, and will be found on examination, to be superior
to those of any similar work. II. Portraits of prominent characters, with
which the work is profusely illustrated, made especially for this History by
the best American artists, from the most accurate and authentic likenesses
of the individuals.
7. The General Make-up of the Work.-In type, paper, binding,
and all the minor details of elegance, this New History will be found to
outrank all its competitors. Let every thoughtful teacher examine for himself.
Retail
Price.
PRICE LIST..
$1.75
Academic Edition, 479 pp. Octavo.
Grammar School Edition, 360 pp. 12 mo. $1.25
Introductory Exchange To Educators.
Price. for Examination.
Price.
$1.00
$ .75
$1.15
$.83
$85
$ .62
JONES BROTHERS & CO., Publishers,
Philadelphia, Pa., Cincinnati, O., Chicago, Ills., Memphis, Tenn., Atlanta, Ga.

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