UC-NRLF 
 
 

 ^^Hu&V--/ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Estate of 
 Ernst and Eleanor 
 van Loben Sels 
 
LANG SYNE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WARDS OF MOUNT VERNON 
 
 A TALE OF THE REVOLUTIONARY ERA 
 
 BY 
 
 MAEY STUART SMITH. 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 UNIVERSITY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1890 
 
Copyright, 1889, 
 ft 
 
 MARY STUART SMITH. 
 
 ±Qm stack 
 'GIFT 
 
> 
 
 9^5 
 
 
 '^ "^ 'to^z^r ? ' hc4^^7~~c> ri^^^_ 
 
 
 i 
 
 . Dedicated with Loving Reverence 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON 
 
 AND 
 
 TO AMERICAN WOMANHOOD 
 
 BY 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 344 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I. Introduction, ... 7 
 
 II. In which the Ball Opens, - 10 
 
 III. A Philosopher at Home, 32 
 
 IV. In which Tears and Smiles Mingle, 50 
 V. The Soldier's Dream, - - 59 
 
 YI. The Tug of War, - M 
 
 VII. The Battle of Monmouth, - - TO 
 
 YIII. Light Beyond, ... 75 
 
 IX. Conclusion, - - - 88 
 
 The Women of the Revolution, - 97 
 
Note. — This book -was especially prepared as a trib- 
 ute to Washington on the occasion of the Centennial 
 Celebration of April 30th, 1889. Hence the anticipa- 
 tory allusions of the introductory chapter. 
 
 M. S. S. 
 
LANG SYNE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE WARDS OF MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 When a people whose watchword is Progress, 
 consent to stand still, and pausing in their 
 career, not only look backward, but devote 
 their time and their energies to enthusiastic 
 commemoration of the deeds of the past, it is 
 a speaking tribute to the hold which that past 
 has upon their affections, and to the power 
 which it may yet wield in moulding the char- 
 acter of their future. Such an exhibition of 
 patriotism, we are again looking forward to on 
 April 30th, 1889, as was given by the people of 
 these United States the memorable year which 
 marked the completion of our republic's first 
 century of existence. 
 
 What an electric thrill that was which shot 
 through the length and breadth of this mighty 
 land, when the solemn stroke of the midnight 
 bell, tolling the requiem of 1875, changed its 
 tone into one of glad rejoicing, as it rang forth 
 the advent of the infant year, which ushered in 
 the second century of our existence as a nation. 
 
8 Lang Syne. 
 
 That was a typical scene which was enacted, 
 at the same hour, in the heart of the greatest 
 thoroughfare of the greatest city in America, 
 when, from the lofty spire of old Trinity 
 Church, chimed forth a glad welcome to that 
 significant New Year, and thousands of human 
 tongues gave back harmonious response, as they 
 thundered forth the most familiar but sublimest 
 of doxologies to the immortal melody of " Old 
 Hundred." Typical was this scene of the 
 feelings cherished by a whole people although 
 not everybody had the opportunity of giving 
 such dramatic expression to the emotions of 
 thankfulness welling up within his soul. 
 
 Thirteen years have elapsed since that enthusi- 
 astic assembly of representatives from all the 
 States of the Union, convened at Philadelphia, 
 as the fountain head of our independence, and 
 in that noble Centennial Exposition demon- 
 strated the glory to which we had attained as a 
 republic. And yet the impulses of that occa- 
 sion are a power in the land and we hope 
 speedily, in the scenes that shall be witnessed 
 in New York, upon occasion of the festivities 
 that are to celebrate the Centennial of the inaug- 
 uration of Gen. Washington as the first Presi- 
 dent of the United States, we shall have ocular 
 demonstration, that the citizens of to-day are 
 not a whit behind their fore-fathors in deep, 
 fervent love for their country. Such reunions 
 
Introduction. 9 
 
 cannot be in vain. No ! every season of retro- 
 spect, wherein we pay homage to the founders 
 of our republic, must be fraught with immense 
 good. It is in the nature of a steadfast con- 
 templation of virtue to produce a reflection of 
 the same. And when from the past we evoke 
 the living presence of the great and noble, can 
 we fail to be ourselves ennobled by the very 
 effort, which brings us near to them in spirit ? 
 Especially when we remember that these 
 patriots and noblemen in nature's mould were 
 linked to us by ties of consanguinity as well as 
 country, who shall be content to sit clown in 
 degeneracy and contempt, when, by the grace 
 of God, we may so live as to add yet other 
 laurels to the crowns which already wreathe 
 the brows of our revolutionary sires ? 
 
 But the present writer comes not with intent 
 to make preachment or pronounce eulogy, but 
 with timid and reverential hand, to lift the cur- 
 tain which has hitherto veiled certain pictures 
 of revolutionary scenes, and to invite others to 
 join in their contemplation. Happy will she be 
 to find sharers in the pleasing impression made 
 upon her own mind by the coming of these 
 visitants from a bygone day, seen, tho' they may 
 have been, through the imperfect medium of the 
 imagination. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN WHICH THE BALL OPENS. 
 
 " Shall aukl acquaintance be forgot, 
 And never brought to mind ? " 
 
 On the 4th of July, 1776, the City of Broth- 
 erly Love was the scene of unwonted bustle 
 and commotion. Despite a burning sun and 
 heated atmosphere, that, towards the afternoon 
 became unmistakably sultry, there was a per- 
 petual moving to and fro, not onl}^ of business 
 men, but delicate women and gentlemen, who 
 through their age or dignity of station would 
 naturally have been exempt from necessity for 
 such exertion. This state of affairs was the 
 more remarkable, at the period of the year, 
 when, if at any time, nature demanded a season 
 of quiet and repose. Anxiety was depicted 
 upon every face, and, as the day waxed warmer, 
 and watching more weary, the signs by which 
 it betrayed itself assumed more and more the 
 hue of impatience. It was evident that a crisis 
 was at hand, touching very nearly the interests 
 of the multitudes thronging the streets and 
 gathered together here and there in excited 
 groups. Even the tranquil Quakers, then so 
 numerous in Philadelphia, seemed to be thawed 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 11 
 
 out of their wonted calmness and rigid self 
 control. 
 
 " Friend," said an aged Quakeress, lightly 
 touching, with admonitory gesture, the arm of 
 a young man walking at her side, whose heav- 
 ing chest and speaking eye betokened the 
 strength of the storm raging within his breast : 
 " Friend, dost thou forget that in quietness of 
 spirit is found the anchor of a storm-tossed 
 soul?" 
 
 The young man humbly bowed his acquies- 
 cence in the pious sentiment, but the next 
 minute bade his adviser adieu, and turning 
 upon his heel with a quick step moved off in 
 the direction of the State House, where Con- 
 gress had been convened since early morning. 
 
 Dense was the crowd, and silent through 
 intensity of anxious expectation, that thronged 
 about the hall where sat in earnest debate 
 within closed door the representatives of Great 
 Britain's thirteen revolted colonies. To-day 
 public expectation awaited the official an- 
 nouncement of that independence, which was 
 already felt to exist de facto, nor was it destined 
 to be disappointed. At last, just as the clock 
 upon the face of the State House struck two, a 
 shout was heard, and immediately afterwards, 
 from its lofty station on high, Liberty Bell rang 
 forth one peal after another, proclaiming to ears 
 intent that decisive action had been taken ; yea, 
 
12 Lang Syne. 
 
 that another nation had been born to take its 
 place among the peoples of the earth. Liberty ! 
 Liberty ! ! was felt to be the burden of the 
 refrain. For well the citizens remembered now 
 the inscription which encircled the crown of 
 that swinging bell — the largest, most massive one 
 then in the country, viz : " Let there be liberty 
 throughout all the land, unto all the inhabitants 
 thereof." Hitherto these words had partaken 
 of the mystery of prophecy, now they rang forth 
 in all the clearness and sweetness of a revela- 
 tion, joyful and distinct. To-day that voice of 
 prophecy was felt to have been fulfilled, and 
 while friend in congratulation grasped the hand 
 of friend, there was mingled with sympathy's 
 tenderness of pressure, the firmness of resolve ; 
 for well our forefathers knew that " it becometh 
 not the man who buckleth on his armor, to boast 
 himself as he who layeth it aside."' 
 
 But the shades of evening fall upon the 
 longest, brightest day, and after the fevered 
 excitements of this eventful fourth of July, the 
 cool breezes that towards evening began to steal 
 citywards from both the Schuylkill and Dela- 
 ware, were more than usually grateful. 
 
 Few, however, were in a state of mind to 
 note such secondary causes for being cheerful, 
 and darkness had hardly closed in before the 
 elite of the City were busy at their toilets, 
 preparing to honor with their presence, a ball 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 13 
 
 given at the splendid suburban residence of 
 General Cadwallader. 
 
 Primitive were the hours for the gathering 
 together of such assemblies, and punctilious 
 those Revolutionary beaux and belles in pre- 
 senting themselves at the precise hour named 
 upon the cards of invitation. It had happened 
 quite accidentally that this ball had fallen upon 
 a day so remarkable in our historical annals. 
 But since it was even so, the chronicler cannot 
 deem it unworthy his attention, and those who 
 enjoy entree into the most select circles will 
 find themselves interested spectators, if they 
 will consent, unobserved, to take their places 
 near the mistress of festivities, and note s-ome 
 of the celebrities as they are presented, and pay 
 the customary compliments to their dignified 
 but gracious hostess. Beneath a brilliantly 
 lighted chandelier she takes position, in the en- 
 trance hall near to spacious parlors opening to 
 the right and left, through folding doors, where 
 she can conveniently welcome the new comers ; 
 while already, the merry sound of violins within, 
 invites the young and gay to lose no time in 
 choosing their partners, and taking their places 
 upon the floor. Mrs. Cadwallader was dressed 
 in a silk velvet of richest violet hue, with trim- 
 ming of point lace, while a* coronet of diamonds 
 blazed upon her brow, showing to the greatest 
 advantage, as the dark color of her raven tresses 
 
14 Lang Syne. 
 
 was but ill-concealed by the powder, laid on 
 albeit with the hair dresser's most skilful art. 
 Just now she opens a note handed her by a 
 liveried valet (alas ! for republican consistency), 
 and as she excuses herself to the gentlemen 
 around, let us also share its contents. It is 
 from the Commander-in-chief himself.* 
 
 Dear Madam — Mrs. Washington and n^self 
 have been honored with your polite invitation 
 to your assembly, and thank you for your polite 
 attention. But alas ! engagements of a differ- 
 ent and graver sort at present chain us to New 
 York. We wish you however, as well as your 
 young people, a pleasant evening in the exer- 
 cise of so agreeable and innocent amusement as 
 the dance will afford them, and remain, madam, 
 Your most obedient and obliged humble servant, 
 George Washington." 
 
 With a gratified smile the lady folded up the 
 missive, which, by the by, consisted of a single 
 sheet of paper, folded in square shape and 
 sealed w^ith a signet ring. At the same time 
 she expressed her regrets at being deprived of 
 the gratification of entertaining the General, to a 
 tall, graceful gentleman standing near, who was 
 none other than Francis Hopkinson, not only 
 one of the signers of the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence, but already recognized as a poet of 
 
 (*Compnre with note of Gen'l Washington's, preserved in 
 Museum at Alexandria, Va.—Lossing's Field Book of Revolution.) 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 15 
 
 no mean genius ; although hearts had not yet 
 been thrilled by the spirit-stirring strains of 
 " Hail Columbia, " nor the laugh gone round at 
 the recital of his " Battle of the Kegs." 
 
 But now advances the hero of the day, 
 Thomas Jefferson, who was even then known 
 to have drawn up our Declaration of Independ- 
 ence in such masterly style as was already the 
 theme of praise for every patriot's tongue. 
 Who is there that needs more than his bare 
 name to suggest his personal appearance, 
 familiar as it has been made by the art of 
 painter, sculptor and biographer. On his arm 
 leaned his wife, still in the fresh bloom of 
 womanhood, although she was a widow when he 
 had married her about two years before. Al- 
 though not strictly beautiful, Mrs. Jefferson 
 possessed one of those bright, animated faces 
 that wins its way to all hearts, and if her man- 
 ners had the polish imparted by high culture, 
 they had not at all the effect of what is artifi- 
 cial, but rather seemed the genuine emanation 
 of a sweet nature, peculiarly gentle and femi- 
 nine. She was arrayed in a stiff brocade of white 
 silk, embroidered with bunches of gay flowers, 
 while the coiffure was an erection of natural hair 
 whose complications defy description, but whose 
 tout ensemble was artistic, and bore the impress 
 of Parisian taste. 
 
 Another couple who claim particular atten- 
 
16 Lang Syne. 
 
 tion, bore the relation of father and daughter. 
 Dr. Franklin and his daughter, Mrs. Bache, 
 bore a strong personal resemblance to each 
 other, and were none the less welcome if appear- 
 ing in a simplicity of garb, that in others would 
 have been accounted outre, but in them was 
 rather admired than criticised. 
 
 Many more there were whose presence 
 deserves notice, but we can not forget that the 
 hour was one particularly devoted to amusement, 
 and hasten with the now assembled guests 
 to witness the opening of the ball, wliich was led 
 off b}^ the host and hostess, with their most dis- 
 tinguished guests. Nor let us suppose that there 
 was any want of dignity implied by this act 
 on the part of the gravest personage there, for 
 the slow measured movements of the minuet, 
 while well fitted to display grace, were yet 
 most decorous, and so slow that age itself had 
 no cause to unbend in performing its stately 
 evolutions. It was a beautiful sight to watch 
 the many couples of fair women and handsome 
 men, whose courtesies and reverential bows, as 
 prescribed by the figure, were expressive of a 
 mutual, distant respect that would be difficult 
 to simulate in a modern ball room. Yet, as we 
 shall presently see, the power of woman was 
 exercised quite as despotically as 'twould be 
 now, were the most violent asserters of woman's 
 rights allowed to have their way. But see! 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 17 
 
 the figure has changed to the more sprightly 
 Contredance, and many of the elders have 
 retired from the circle of the dance to become 
 lookers on or to take a hand at the card tables, 
 which were set out in another room. 
 
 Who are those now gliding past us? That 
 tall, girlish form which fascinates our gaze, the 
 airy folds of whose delicate India muslin gown 
 lend to her figure an almost etherial grace, and 
 seem to envelope her in an atmosphere too 
 transparent for earth's belongings, is none other 
 than Lady Alice Germaine, daughter of the 
 quondam British Governor of New York, who 
 had strangely enough been left behind when 
 her father took his hasty departure from the 
 unquiet Colony, where his abode had been any- 
 thing but pleasant; the existence of a step- 
 mother in the case may explain much. 
 
 For months Lady Alice had been an honored 
 guest in the house of her friend, Mrs. Cadwal- 
 lader, and despite the constant agitation of 
 political questions, which were so openly dis- 
 cussed in all circles, every pains had been taken 
 to spare the young English girl's feelings. Even 
 now when the infant nation was in its first 
 intoxication of delight at dropping its leading- 
 strings and standing up alone, so great was the 
 consideration shown for the } T oung lady, and so 
 carefully were politics eschewed in her presence, 
 that her situation was as little painful as was 
 2 
 
18 Lang Syne. 
 
 possible under the circumstances. Her part- 
 ner's uniform showed him to belong to the 
 Commander-in-Chiefs Life Guard. He wore a 
 blue coat with white facings, white vest and 
 knee breeches, black half-gaiters, with an Officer's 
 sash and sword. The cocked hat with blue and 
 white feather needed to complete the outfit 
 had of course been laid aside on this occasion. 
 This young gentleman was of commanding 
 height, and while not possessed of very regular 
 features, had a countenance singularly interest- 
 ing and attractive: he was a nephew of 
 General Washington, said to be a favorite one, 
 Lieutenant Reginald Lewis. In the order of 
 the dance, next came his comrade-in-arms, 
 Oswald Caperton, who, with a handsome face, 
 had an equally elegant bearing; while his part- 
 ner, Miss Attaway Lewis, Reginald's sister, was 
 of such striking beauty that she never appeared 
 in public without exciting so much admiration 
 as was often painful to one of her modestly 
 shrinking nature. It took no acute observer to 
 perceive that each of these two pairs of young 
 people felt a deeper interest in one another than 
 a casual partnership in a dance is wont to 
 inspire. But just now the cotillion is over, and 
 the band strikes up a march which is the signal 
 for the company to adjourn to the supper-room. 
 Our two pairs of lovers would willingly have 
 remained undivided, but Lady Alice's hand was 
 
In Winch the Ball Opens. 19 
 
 suddenly claimed by Dr. Franklin, who pleaded 
 an engagement of long standing, and playfully 
 led her off in triumph, much to the chagrin of 
 young Lewis, who still hovered about the 
 neighborhood, near enough to join every now 
 and then in the bantering that was being 
 exchanged between the oddly assorted couple. 
 Attaway Lewis and Alice Germain were 
 devoted friends and slyly contrived to keep 
 near each other as they took their places in the 
 dining-hall, now ablaze with a hundred wax 
 lights, and displaying a table that elicited as 
 audible signs of admiration as were deemed 
 admissable in circles swayed by the etiquette of 
 old-fashioned good breeding. 
 
 As a ball supper in those days was not 
 ordered precisely as in our time, perhaps it will 
 not be o,ut of place to describe it briefly, The 
 massive oak table was draped in line and snowy 
 damask. Rare exotics and luscious fruits vied 
 with each other in lending beauty to the repast. 
 At one end of the table, as its principal dish, 
 stood a superbly roasted pig, holding an orange 
 in his mouth, while at the other end was equally 
 conspicuous the traditional boar's head gar- 
 nished with herbs, yet preserving a smack of 
 savagery still. Roast duck — fried chicken — 
 stewed terrapin — sandwiches with Virginia 
 ham were among the viands of which there was 
 a lordly array; while on the same table were 
 
20 Lang Syne. 
 
 arranged floating islands, a wonderful bird's 
 nest of blanc-mange and shredded lemon rind, 
 etc. The centre ornament consisted of a mar- 
 vellous pyramid of spun candy and candied 
 oranges. 
 
 Now the description would be incomplete, if 
 it were not mentioned that the dishes on which 
 the meats were served were of silver, while the 
 delicate India and Sevres China and cut glass, 
 on which the dessert was served, would have 
 been regarded as unsurpassed, even by a mod- 
 ern connoisseur in ceramics. 
 
 "Lady Alice," said Dr. Franklin, as any 
 other mortal might have done, "what may I 
 help you to ? " 
 
 "Oh, to some of the barley-cream if you 
 please, or a cup of orgeat would be refreshing/' 
 
 " What ! nothing more substantial," exclaimed 
 the doctor; " but why should I expect so ethereal 
 a being as yourself to feed on aught but fancy 
 food? Would not a drop of dew in a rose-leaf 
 cup be better, eh? But be it as you will." 
 And he moved away to do her bidding. The 
 young ladies, however, did not tarry long in 
 the supper-room, not seeming to relish overmuch 
 even their light diet of sweets, ambrosial though 
 they were, and soon requested their escorts to 
 lead them up-stairs into the balcony, where they 
 promised to await the return of the gentlemen, 
 who remained in the supper-room some time 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 21 
 
 after the ladies departed, as was also the fashion 
 of the day. 
 
 The whole company of ladies was dispersed 
 about the deserted ball-room and parlors, ap- 
 parently enjoying the unceremoniousness of the 
 house, the servants applied fresh wax to the 
 floor, and our two heroines were left to enjoy 
 themselves on the balcony as they listed. 
 
 A leafy curtain of woodbine and roses ran 
 along the whole length of the portico, but it 
 could not keep out the play of glancing moon- 
 beams, and ever and anon as they walked to 
 and fro, they gazed entranced upon the gliding 
 Delaware, that like a silver mirror shone in the 
 immediate neighborhood and. reflected, with a 
 poetic radiance, the images of moon and stars 
 and castellated walls. A singular gravity 
 rested upon the brow of the Lady Alice, ill- 
 befitting, it would seem, the place and hour. 
 
 " Attaway," said she, tightening the clasp in 
 which she held imprisoned her companion's 
 hand, " I am thankful to have this opportunity 
 of opening my heart to you, my dearest friend." 
 
 " Say not dearest,' 7 interrupted Attaway, " or 
 I shall be jealous of myself, even for the sake 
 of one whose interests are dearer to me than 
 my own." 
 
 " Speak not of so hateful a thing as jealousy, 
 even in jest, sweet friend," returned Lady 
 Alice, a smile crossing her face that was pain- 
 
22 Lang Syne. 
 
 ful in its sadness. " The time has come when 
 we must part. Plain speech and candor should 
 mark the hours that yet remain of intercourse 
 between friends so near and true as you and I 
 have been." 
 
 " Yes, darling, I too shall use sincerity with 
 one, who so well deserves it. For months I 
 have felt as if a wall of separation were being- 
 built between us, but not because of any 
 diminution of love on either side. I shall not 
 affect to be surprised by the news you break to 
 me, painful as it is. I heard Mrs. Cadwallader 
 tell cousin Maria Dandridge, in our parlor at 
 the hotel, that your father had at last sent to 
 demand passports for you from the Commander- 
 in-chief, and that she had resolved to accom- 
 pany you herself to New York, where it was 
 arranged that you should set sail. Oh ! Alice, 
 my heart bleeds for Reginald. I know not 
 whether he has declared his love for you, but I 
 see it in his every act and word, and from me 
 he has kept it no secret, for Oh ! this long 
 time." 
 
 " Little does it matter to speak of that at this 
 time, Attaway, although I acknowledge that 
 your noble brother has won too high a place in 
 my affections for my own peace of mind. For, 
 oh, Attaway ! my heart is heavy ; beyond expres- 
 sion, heavy ! Think of the short time that must 
 intervene, before the broad Atlantic will roll 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 23 
 
 between us, and alas, the yet more threatening 
 waves of cruel war. Think not that I have 
 been deceived by the considerate kindness of 
 you all. Well do I know the issues which are 
 at stake. This very day the Rubicon was 
 crossed. Oh! how my heart has been wrung, 
 the more keenly, because compelled to stifle its 
 emotions, and simulate a calmness it did not 
 feel. I part from you, dear friends, and Amer- 
 ica the home of my adoption, and for what ? To 
 go to a father estranged from me. and so bitter 
 in his political aversions and resentment, that 
 it rings the death knell to all hopes of his con- 
 senting to my union with one whom he would 
 call a rebel, whom I would call " — murmured she 
 in low tones, almost exultant — "a patriot soldier, 
 with the stamp of hero on his brow." 
 
 " Bless you for that admission, dearest," said 
 Attaway, warmly kissing the enthusiastic girl, 
 who had evidently been no impassive recipient 
 of those sentiments of resistance to tyranny, 
 which were rife in the land, however unbecom- 
 ing she might hitherto have deemed it for the 
 daughter of Lord George Germaine, to express 
 them openly. "But why take so gloomy a view 
 of the matter? Your father must relent when 
 he finds your happiness involved. Or say, why 
 return to him at all? Give Reginald that 
 higher claim to your duty and affection, which 
 
24 Lang Syne. 
 
 no Christian can gainsay. We must leave father 
 and mother, you know," added she archly. 
 
 Sadly the Lady Alice shook her head. " Play 
 not the part of the tempter, pretty one, nor 
 mock at the strange mood which has come over 
 your poor friend. I want you to accept a token 
 of my love, which you must ever wear near 
 your heart. If it is also a token of my cow- 
 ardice, forgive the weakness and wear it still. 
 Nor scorn it if I say it will be a talisman 'gainst 
 dangers and disaster." 
 
 "Why Alice, I must confers I am curious as 
 to the manner of gift with which yon would so 
 mysteriously endow me. Nov*- I admit that I 
 I am not without a silly girl's hankering after 
 gew-gaw,; and jewelry of all sorts, so if it be 
 pretty, fear not that I shall reject your talis- 
 man, however the tinge of superstition may 
 attach to its mode of presentation." 
 
 "Well, darling," said Alice, blushing, as she 
 took from her own neck a triple row of seed 
 pearls, upon which was strung a handsome seal- 
 ring. " Here is my talisman. If the fortunes of 
 war should go against you — be not angry " — for 
 instinctively the proud young republican had 
 drawn herself up to her full height, and rather 
 shrank from contact with even so small a thing, 
 said to emanate from British power. " No 
 Loyalist will ever refuse to aid to his utmost the 
 wearer of this ring." As Attaway still hesi- 
 
la Which the Ball Op 
 
 ens. 
 
 tated, Alice's features began to quiver with 
 agitation. " Oh ! refuse me not this last request, 
 'twill comfort my aching heart to reflect that I 
 have at least tried to provide a shield for my 
 dear friend, against unexpected misfortune ? " 
 
 Attawaj r suddenly drew nearer — "No, for I 
 can refuse nothing to you, you sweet creature ; 
 these fair pearls shall be cherished as lovingly 
 as you desire. As to the ring, for your sake 
 only I shall keep it, but I hope to return it, 
 when time shall have proved to you that we 
 need'no protection from England, whatsoever.'' 
 
 Just now a hum of eager voices was heard, 
 seeking for the two, who could not willingly be 
 spared from the scene or* revelry. Strains of 
 violin music, too, invited to the dance, but the 
 air adapted for the quadrille was " Joys That 
 WeVe Tasted," and somehow struck home with 
 overpowering effect, to the hearts of these two 
 simple girls. 
 
 Alice could scarcely find voice wherewith to 
 beg Attaway to excuse her to Mrs. Cadwalla- 
 der, as she felt too unwell to rejoin the com- 
 pany, and gratefully accepted the arm of Regi- 
 nald Lewis, who had hurried to her side, per- 
 ceiving with a lover's quicksightedness that 
 something was amiss with her. She begged 
 him to lead her, without delay, to a staircase 
 at the other end of the house, whence she 
 could, unobserved gain access to her own apart- 
 
26 Lang Syne. 
 
 merits. Walking the whole shaded length of 
 the portico, the poor girl escaped that atten- 
 tion, which her drooping head and tear-stained 
 countenance must otherwise have excited. 
 Reginald was deeply moved at the sight of her 
 emotion, and never had he had so stern a con- 
 flict to maintain with his feelings as at this 
 moment, when inclination prompted him to 
 break through his forced reserve, tell her how 
 devotedly he loved her, and through the 
 strength of that devotion, plead for the privi- 
 lege of being her comforter. 
 
 But ere he had sufficiently mastered himself 
 to speak the first word, their short walk was 
 over, for they had reached the foot of the stairs, 
 and he ventured only to press Lady Alice's 
 gloved hand, in silent token of sympathy in 
 her evident distress. Long after she had dis- 
 appeared, did he stand gazing upon the spot 
 where he had last caught sight of her fluttering 
 robe and tiny foot. Then he slowly turned and 
 stepped forth into the moonlight, uncovered, 
 feeling that the glare of the ball-room, and 
 restraints of company would be unbearable, 
 and that he must have the indulgence of a few 
 moments, communing with himself, and think- 
 ing of Alice, if he could no longer enjoy her 
 presence. 
 
 Long did he stroll, buried in thought, beneath 
 the trees of the Elm avenue, that for several 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 27 
 
 miles skirted the river, as it wound through 
 the magnificent estate of General Cadwallader. 
 Strongly had love been pleading within the 
 young man's heart for many weeks, urging him 
 to a plain declaration of his sentiments, but a 
 high sense of honor had ever withheld him. 
 Lady Alice was of high rank, an heiress to 
 great wealth in her own right, and the daugh- 
 ter of a man he must account an enemy, seeing 
 that he was his country's open foe. It was by 
 no means consonant witli these ideas of pro- 
 priety in which he had been reared, that he 
 should iuduce a daughter to come short of pay- 
 ing to her parent all filial respect, especially 
 when separated from him. 
 
 Nevertheless that freemasonry which uncon- 
 sciously passes the sign of recognition between 
 lovers, had done its electric work for these two, 
 and bade Reginald not despair of winning the 
 lady's heart; and if so, youth and enthusiasm 
 whispered all would yet be well. Truly war 
 was an appalling chasm to see yawning before 
 him, with his love upon the other side. But 
 what obstacle seems unsurmountable to the 
 genuine lover? Surely fortune could not be 
 unpropitious to one who with high hearted 
 endeavor sought to win for himself so fair a 
 name, that when peace should come, as come it 
 would, even stern Lord George Germaine could 
 have no excuse for withholding a blessing upon 
 
28 Lang Syne. 
 
 their union. And time to him would seem but 
 short if at the end of any probation, however 
 long, he could at last claim Alice for his own. 
 
 Reginald and Attaway Lewis were orphans, 
 and to him as the eldest had descended a vast 
 plantation in lower Virginia, on the banks of the 
 Potomac. In times of peace even Lord George 
 Germaiue might not have disdained the suit of 
 the wealthy young Virginian. But in war all 
 was different, the estate was left to the tender 
 mercies of an overseer, subject to war's disas- 
 ters ; while the young master had enlisted first 
 as a simple private, in the ardor of a noble self, 
 forgetting patriotism. It had been by no seek- 
 ing of his own, but by nomination that he bad 
 been promoted to a lieutenancy in General 
 Washington's Life Guard, a Corps consisting of 
 picked men, selected for their prominence in 
 physical as well as moral force. This had been 
 to Reginald a peculiarly acceptable post, as it 
 not only gave him ample opportunity of dis- 
 tinguishing himself, but kept him near the per- 
 son of that beloved Uncle, who, holding the 
 relationship of guardian to him during his 
 orphaned boyhood, had ever held in his heart a 
 father's place. But the soldier was speedily 
 aroused from his reverie by hearing his own 
 name called. He had reached the front 
 entrance without observing whither he directed 
 his steps. Just within the portals of the gate- 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 29 
 
 way was stationed a mounted orderly of his 
 own company, who, from the jaded appearance 
 of his horse, had ridden far and long that day. 
 The man vaulted from his saddle, bowed low 
 and handed a bundle of dispatches to the young 
 officer, who, after inquiring if all sped well at 
 camp, and receiving an affirmative reply, pro- 
 ceeded hastily to examine the missives by the 
 light of the moon, which now shone brilliantly. 
 He must have discovered something demanding 
 urgent attention, for he made no delay, but 
 hurried up the broad walk leading to the house, 
 though despite his preoccupation, not wholly 
 unmindful of the delicious fragrance exhaling 
 from beds of pinks, lavender and mignonette 
 on either side, that gave forth double-distilled 
 sweetness under the influence of the soft night 
 air. Arrived at the house, he called for his 
 horse, hastily buckled on his sword, drew on 
 his plumed hat, and was soon galloping over 
 the road that led to Philadelphia, followed 
 closeh r by the attendant orderly. 
 
 But let us return to the balcony. With a 
 woman's ready instinct, Attaway's first impulse 
 was to cover her friend's retreat. Advancing 
 some steps she greeted the party who had come 
 in search of them, and, although she was in 
 reality little better fitted for resuming her place 
 in the ball-room than the Lady Alice, she made 
 a vigorous effort to throw off sad thoughts, and 
 
30 Larg Syne. 
 
 to a superficial observer was the gayest of the 
 gay. Leaning on the arm of Oswald Caper- 
 ton, who now proposed a promenade, she came 
 suddenly upon Dr. Franklin, who stood in an 
 alcove a little apart, in company with another 
 elderly gentleman, no doubt discussing some 
 grave question of politics or science. 
 
 " Oh ! Doctor," said the livety girl, " when 
 will you redeem your promise of letting us see 
 and hear the wonders of the new musical instru- 
 ment you have invented — the Armonica, I 
 think you call it." 
 
 "As soon as you please, my dear young lady; 
 but where have you left my blooming pet i 
 How pale she was to-night. I shall not soon for- 
 give you for allowing her to be spirited away in 
 my absence. She will be of the party, will she 
 not — our English nightingale ? I do believe my 
 Armonica would give forth its sweetest notes 
 beneath the potent spell of the Lady Alice's 
 presence." 
 
 " Well, Doctor, if you will make an appoint- 
 ment for to-morrow, not later, I think I may 
 engage to secure for you the inspiration you 
 say it needs. But," added she, pretending to 
 pout, "old gentlemen I see can flatter as well 
 as young ones — but in case of the absent, vaut 
 il la chandelle, think you? From all accounts 
 your musical bells need no further inspira- 
 tion than has been supplied by the deft fin- 
 gers of Miss Davies. Is she here to-night ? 
 
In Which the Ball Opens. 31 
 
 Will you introduce me, and Mr. Caperton as 
 well?" 
 
 "With pleasure," replied the Philosopher, lead- 
 ing them up to a sofa where sat, ensconced 
 between two drowsy matrons, a little lady, 
 no longer young, who returned their saluta- 
 tions with a painfully diffident air. But her 
 sweet, quiet face grew almost lively when her 
 eyes lighted up with a sudden glow, as soon as 
 Dr. Franklin began to speak to her of music, 
 and especially of performance upon the Armon- 
 ica, which had already become a passion with 
 her. She graciously,, though timidly, yielded 
 assent to their united request that she would, 
 the next evening at Dr. Franklin's house, favor 
 them with an exhibition of her skill. 
 
 Livelier and livelier waxed the scene in the 
 ball-room after supper. The spirits of some of 
 the gentlemen even grew so exuberant, as to 
 find vent in the artistic " cutting of the pigeon 
 wing." And when at last dawn began to 
 break in the Eastern sky, and the old Virginia 
 reel was called for, in compliment to the many 
 Virginians present, and in allusion to their cus- 
 tom of thus winding up a ball, voices were 
 heard exclaiming against breaking up so early. 
 Thus night was fast being merged in day-light, 
 when the attendants on that first Fourth of 
 July ball dispersed to seek that repose, which 
 most of them so much needed. 
 
 And here the chapter ends, 
 
CHAPTER TIL 
 
 A PHILOSOPHER AT HOME.. 
 
 " Ah! would that ever green might prove 
 The sweet springtime of youthful love." 
 
 Schiller's Song of the Bell. 
 
 Before they parted for the night, Mrs. Cad- 
 wallader had arranged with Attaway Lewis to 
 call for her the next afternoon in her carriage, 
 bringing Lady Alice Germaine, of course, if she 
 should be sufficiently recovered from her indispo- 
 sition. 
 
 Much curiosity had been elicited by the new 
 musical invention, and it was esteemed quite a 
 privilege to be allowed the entree into Doctor 
 Franklin's sanctum, for the sage was quite of 
 Jonathan Oldbuck's opinion as to the intrusion 
 of womankind upon his premises. Knowing that 
 this was to be her last day of home-life among her 
 old friends, Alice had risen early in the morn- 
 ing, despite the vigils of a wakeful night, and 
 sat at her window drinking in the varied 
 beauty of lawn, shrubbery and flower-garden as 
 they lay bathed in sunshine and sparkling dew. 
 
 But presently, springing to her feet with a 
 sudden strength of resolve, she turned to the 
 duty of the chry, which was to prepare for the 
 32 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 33 
 
 coming journey, upon which she was to set out 
 on the morrow. 
 
 And so, when her maid came two hours later, 
 expecting to find her mistress asleep, as would 
 naturally have been the case, her pretty cham- 
 ber was already despoiled of most of those orna- 
 ments of the toilet, that are nothing in them- 
 selves, but which ladies so much prize. Things 
 that make a room look habitable and speak in 
 telling manner of the tastes and refinement of 
 its occupant. The trunk stood there packed, 
 the dressing case lay ready open, so that little 
 was left wherewith the chagrined waiting- 
 maid might busy herself. 
 
 " Yes, Madge," said Lady Alice in reply to 
 the girl's involuntary exclamation of surprise — 
 " The summons has come for me to join my 
 father, and 1 have made haste to get rid of this 
 troublesome luggage, that I might sit down 
 quietly and compose mj^self before the last sad 
 leave-takings must be gone through with. Do 
 you go with me, Madge ? Not that I would 
 try to persuade you." 
 
 " Och, and I shall though, mi leddie, I'd go 
 through fire and water, ye mind, before I'd 
 leave the likes o' you to cross the sea without a 
 woman friend — a poor, humble crathur, though 
 she be ; and that's just what Madge saj-s, mi led- 
 die. If parting's to be done, 'tis yourself must 
 speak the words, in troth— not Madge, ye see." 
 3 
 
34 Lang Syne. 
 
 Moved to tears by the poor girl's devotion, 
 Alice could but warmly thank her in return. 
 In sooth she did fee] as if a load were lifted 
 from her heart by the knowledge that she 
 would have the companionship of even a faith- 
 ful, affectionate servant upon her lonety voyage. 
 
 After some slight refreshment which she had 
 requested to have sent to her room, as she did 
 not feel equal to appearing at the breakfast 
 table, she threw herself upon a couch and for 
 some hours slept the deep sleep of exhaustion. 
 When she awoke, finding the watchful Madge 
 still playing the sentinel at her bedside, fan- 
 ning her and warding off the approach of fly 
 or mosquito, lest it should disturb her slum- 
 bers, it was with a feeling of relief and a smile 
 upon her lips that she started from her recum- 
 bent position. But this first pleasurable emo- 
 tion had been succeeded by an agonizing sense 
 of pain, when she realized with the lightning- 
 like rapidity of a return to full consciousness, 
 the realities of her situation. Again the 
 though tf ulness of Madge came to her relief, for 
 in a trice she had left the room and returned 
 bringing upon a silver tray a delicate draught of 
 iced lemonade, and, moreover, several notes. 
 At the superscription of one, a faint blush suf- 
 used her cheek, for although it had already been 
 opened and was directed to Mrs. Cadwallader, 
 well she recognized the handwriting of Reginald 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 35 
 
 Lewis. There also came to her aid (call it not 
 folly) that enviable faculty of youth, which ena- 
 bles it to be so obliviously happy in the sunshine 
 of the present, as to have no ear for the mutter- 
 ing thunder that portends the coming of a storm. 
 
 The note informed her that Reginald Lewis 
 had been appointed to take charge of the escort 
 which was to conduct Lady Alice Germaine to 
 New York. The writer asked — since he had 
 heard of her intention to accompany her young 
 charge to New York — that she would kindly 
 notify him if the ladies would be ready for 
 departure at day-light the following morning, 
 viz : July 6th. This exertion seemed necessary 
 because on account of the heat, it was desirable 
 to travel during the early and late hours of the 
 day, resting at noon. Mrs. Cadwallader had 
 endorsed the note with a request to know if 
 Lady Alice was equal to undertaking a journey 
 at so early a date. Alice deemed it more 
 respectful to give her answer in person, and 
 repaired to that lady's room, where the two sat 
 so long in consultation over their plans, that, ere 
 they were aware of it, dinner was announced. 
 After that meal had been discussed not much 
 opportunity was left for repose ere it was time 
 to prepare for the afternoon appointment. 
 
 At 5 o'clock the carriage was at the door. 
 The Cadwallader family coach was a stylish 
 one, according to the standard of the day, hav- 
 
36 Lang Syne. 
 
 ing been freshly imported from England. 
 High swung, it was painted in dark green with 
 coat-of-arms emblazoned upon the panels of the 
 door : inside it was lined and wadded in most 
 luxurious style, although we do not pretend 
 that for a summer afternoon-drive it compared 
 in comfort with one of our modern landaus or 
 open phaetons. The horses, four-in-hand, were 
 cream-colored, the trappings plain but neat and 
 substantial, while the driver, footman and pos- 
 tillion were as black as the ace of spades, and 
 rejoiced in the splendor of dark crimson livery 
 with buff facings. 
 
 Soon the ladies were ready, and rapidly the 
 splendid horses drew them through the long, 
 shady avenue that formed the approach to the 
 mansion. The drive into the city over smooth, 
 finely-graded roads, occupied only about half 
 an hour, and Avas further beguiled by the deli- 
 cious odor of the wild grape and crab-apple-tree 
 blossoms now in full perfection of bloom, as 
 they passed along between the hedges dividing 
 the road from the rich fields of grain and 
 nuadowland beyond. 
 
 When they drove up to the " Indian Queen," 
 the first hotel of the city, which was in Third 
 Street, then the most fashionable neighborhood, 
 the ladies alighted and repaired to the hotel- 
 parlors, there to await Miss Lewis' descent. 
 Hardly had they entered the room when their 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 37 
 
 attention was attracted by the sound of military 
 music in the street, to which the Philadelphians 
 had not yet grown so accustomed as not to be 
 moved and excited whenever it was heard. 
 Both ladies, therefore, took their station at the 
 window, too much interested to remember that 
 they themselves might attract the gaze of the 
 curious. Closer drew the music and louder the 
 tramp of horses and infantry. There had been 
 this afternoon a grand parade in front of the 
 State House, not only of new recruits, but sev- 
 eral fine corps of volunteers, who had been for 
 several months stationed near the city. Full 
 of fire and glowing enthusiasm, they were now 
 returning to camp to the animating sound of 
 hautboy, fife and drum. Upon the same occa- 
 sion, Lieutenant Lewis, on behalf of the Com- 
 mander-in-Chiefs Life Guard, had received 
 from the hands of a special deputation, a banner 
 woven for the presentation by the Moravian 
 Sisters of Bethlehem, as an especial compliment 
 from the Sisterhood to the body-guard of " our 
 good General, whose life, gentlemen, may 
 Heaven and your valor preserve." And now 
 the banner was borne aloft in the van, and on 
 all sides were heard the shouts and huzzas of a 
 rejoicing people. The standard was of pure 
 white silk on which was painted this device — 
 " one of the guards is in the act of receiving a 
 flag from the Genius of Liberty, who is person- 
 
38 Lang Syne'. 
 
 fied as a woman leaning upon the Union shield, 
 near which is the American eagle." The motto 
 of the Corps was inscribed upon a ribbon in 
 gold letters. It was " Conquer or Die." 
 
 In breathless interest the ladies gazed, uncon- 
 scious of the picture they formed, for which the 
 embrasure of the window served as a frame. 
 Lady Alice wore a dress of spotless white cam- 
 bric, which gave to her beauty the effect of 
 infantine innocence and grace. Her hat was 
 of dainty white lace, wreathed with blue forget- 
 me-nots, while a scarf of soft blue taffeta cov- 
 ered, although it did not conceal, the charming 
 contour of her exquisitely moulded neck, shoul- 
 ders and arms. Her fair hair fell in ringlets 
 that received a golden hue as they were seen 
 in the light of the departing sunset rays. That 
 vision of angelic loveliness returned to many 
 who that evening gazed upon her for the first and 
 last time, but how shall we describe the feelings 
 of him who had long loved her, and whose pas- 
 sion was now intensified by the terrible con- 
 sciousness that she was so soon to be torn from 
 his gaze. As the troops defiled along the 
 streets, he passed close beneath the window 
 where she stood, and could not refrain from look- 
 ing up and giving a soldier's salute, apparently to 
 two ladies, but to the soul's eye there was but 
 o:ie. Just at this moment her eye had caught 
 th j stern device gleaming upon the gaily float- 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 39 
 
 ing banner. Her dilated eye became fixed, and 
 her cheek grew pale. At the same time, from 
 her loosened hold, fell right upon her lover's 
 arm, a pale sweet rose that she had been clasp- 
 ing, but now forgot in total abstraction of 
 mind. It was one of those accidents to which 
 love only knows how -to attach value and sig- 
 nificance. Oh ! what a treasure -trove was that 
 rose to Reginald — how often was it pressed to 
 his lips and to his heart, who shall say ? 
 
 But in another moment the procession had 
 passed. Attaway Lewis was standing beside 
 her friends, all affection and eagerness to be off, 
 with a young girl's impatience to witness what 
 is novel and rare. 
 
 " But where are your squires, dear Mrs. Cad= 
 wallader; are we to set forth like two errant 
 damosels, with never a knight to challenge a 
 wind-mill in our service ? " 
 
 " Some gentlemen have promised to join us 
 later, Miss Attaway, and so, meanwhile, you 
 must content yourself with being under an old 
 lady's wing." 
 
 "And no hardship, either, permit me to sa}% 
 especially since you are to guide us to the man- 
 sion of our dear old philosopher, whose conver- 
 sation is worth that of a store of beaux." After 
 they were seated in the carriage again, of course 
 the events of last night's entertainment had to 
 be discussed, and so, in an imperceptibly short 
 
40 Lang Syne. 
 
 time, they reached the point of their destina- 
 tion. 
 
 Dr. Franklin's house was upon Market Street, 
 between Fifth and Sixth Streets, separated, 
 however, from the street by a court, and furn- 
 ished with the luxury of a large yard. A 
 young grandson of the doctor, a lad of about 
 seventeen years of age, a pleasing youth, 
 handed them out of their carriage, and they 
 were conducted without further ceremony into 
 the library, which we must pause here to 
 describe. It was a large, airy apartment, filled 
 with books from floor to ceiling, although for 
 the same purpose there was the additional space 
 of four alcoves, extending two-thirds the length 
 of the room. On the top of the book-shelves 
 and mantlepiece were arranged the busts of 
 various distinguished men. In a conspicuous 
 place hung the portrait of Mrs. Franklin, who 
 had now been dead some two years. Curiosi- 
 ties of various sorts were stowed away in a 
 large glass case, which yet gave a full view of 
 them. Conspicuous among the objects of inter- 
 est were the Copley gold medal, and a minia- 
 ture of the King of France, set in 408 dia- 
 monds and presented to Franklin by his Majesty 
 himself. This w r as the same miniature which 
 he afterwards willed to his daughter, on condi- 
 tion that neither she nor her daughters would 
 ever wear the jewels for the adornment of their 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 41 
 
 persons; considering it unbecoming in repub- 
 licans to deck themselves with such " vain, use- 
 less and expensive " ornaments. 
 
 Besides philosophical apparatus, several mu- 
 sical instruments were in view. A spinet 
 stood at one end of the room, upon which a 
 note-book lay open, while a flute, violin and 
 bass viol lying near at hand, seemed to vouch 
 for the musical taste of the family. But the 
 central and most conspicuous part of the room 
 was given to the instrument, a trial of the pow- 
 ers of which was to furnish the entertainment 
 of the evening. 
 
 The idea of the Harmonica was suggested to 
 Franklin by seeing a set of musical glasses in 
 London, and was a great improvement upon the 
 original.* His glasses were made in the shape 
 of a hemisphere with an open mouth or socket 
 in the middle, for the purpose of being fixed on 
 an iron spindle : the largest at one end gradu- 
 ally diminishing to the smallest at the other 
 end. The tones depended upon the size of the 
 glasses. The spindle with its sides of glasses, 
 was fixed horizontally in a case, and turned by 
 a wheel, attached to its larger end upon the 
 principle of a common spinning-wheel. The 
 performer sat in front of the instrument, and 
 its tones were brought out by applying a wet 
 finger to the exterior surface of the glasses as 
 
 * See Spark's Life o£ Benjamin Franklin, page 26. 
 
42 Lang Syne. 
 
 they turned around. He called it the Harmonica, 
 in honor of the musical language of the Italians. 
 The instruments were afterwards manufactured 
 in London, and sold at the price of forty 
 guineas each. 
 
 Our party, however, were not long left in the 
 quiet contemplation of the objects of interest 
 around them, for very quickly Mrs. Bache 
 made her appearance, coming forward with out- 
 stretched hand and beaming smile to welcome 
 her father's friends. Miss Davies was immedi- 
 ately afterwards announced, and in a few 
 moments Dr. Franklin himself entered, fol- 
 lowed by two interesting looking children, who 
 were presented to the ladies as the son and 
 daughter of Mrs. Bache. They were only 
 admitted to the parlor on this occasion, because 
 .the party was so small, and both their mother 
 and grandfather were anxious for them to lose 
 no opportunity for hearing music and cultivat- 
 ing their ears. The old gentleman and they 
 were evidently upon the easiest terms, and to 
 their ingenuous minds the sage was evidently 
 lost sight of in the charms of the tender, lov- 
 ing companion. Nowhere did Dr. Franklin 
 appear to greater advantage than in the bosom 
 of his own family, for there his wit sparkled 
 and flowed in unrestrained gaiety, and yet was 
 tempered and softened by an undertone of deep 
 and cordial affection, that was transparent even 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 43 
 
 in a studiously plain and simple manner. On this 
 occasion his long, straight-cut Quaker coat was 
 relieved by a shirt-front of snowy linen, that 
 was trimmed with ruffles, as were likewise the 
 white cuffs that were plainly visible beneath 
 his coat-sleeve. A full wig adorned his temples, 
 and nothing could have been more impressive 
 than his benignant and yet dignified manner of 
 welcoming beneath his roof such honored and 
 such gentle guests. The usual salutations, 
 however, had hardly been exchanged before, 
 with the straightforward directness of his prac- 
 tical nature, as well as with the eager enthusi- 
 asm of a triumphant inventor, he called Miss 
 Davies to her place of performer and exhibitor. 
 That lady responded to his call promptly, and 
 with no affectation whatever, she speedily 
 became so absorbed in her task as to evoke a 
 succession of such sweet and harmonious 
 strains that her audience was spell-bound and 
 completely entranced. Wonder and awe were 
 mingled with the delight that they felt, such as 
 Ave experience even now, when beholding and 
 listening to the inspiring melodies of the Swiss 
 Bell-Ringers, produced somewhat by the same 
 process, upon similar principles. More than an 
 hour, then, had been given to this sweet music, 
 and discussion evoked by it, when Mrs. Bache 
 invited the little company to repair to the 
 court-yard, where beneath the shade of a huge, 
 
44 Lang Syne. 
 
 overshadowing mulberry tree a charming little 
 banquet had been spread. Mrs. Bache took 
 the head of the table, to pour out tea, and after 
 the guests were all seated, the children pro- 
 ceeded to wait upon them in the most simple 
 and engaging manner. Sweetly they urged 
 their acceptance of crackers, cakes and bon-bons, 
 which the young ladies especially declared had 
 never tasted so delicioushy as from the hands of 
 such waiters. There was indeed something 
 exceptionally pleasing to the romantic mind in 
 thus taking tea in rural style, beneath a leafy 
 bower, and under any other circumstances 
 Alice Germaine would have been in raptures; 
 but now, how could she enjoy any pleasure, 
 even the one most congenial to her taste, when 
 on the eve of bidding farewell to the friends 
 and scenes which she had loved so well. 
 
 When Mrs. Cadwallader, at length, spoke of 
 ordering her carriage, Dr. Franklin said that he 
 could not let them go until Lady Alice had 
 favored the company with one of her sweet 
 songs; for besides being gifted by nature 
 with an uncommonly fine voice, she was a 
 trained and skilled musician. With a sad 
 smile she gave consent, and to the accompani- 
 ment of a guitar, which had been fetched to 
 her, she improvised the following song : 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 45 
 
 SONG. 
 
 What means the sad moan of the billows, 
 As they break on the resonant strand? 
 
 Bear they tidings of heart-rending sorrow 
 To some stricken soul on the land? 
 
 Tell me why thou art drooping, sweet lily, — 
 
 But this morning erect on thy stem ? 
 Woe is me ! Thou art withered and faded, 
 
 And my garden despoiled of its gem. 
 
 See yon fluttering sparrow affrighted, 
 
 In terror hang over its nest ; 
 Can there be for such innocence danger ? 
 
 Little homeless one, wherefore distressed ? 
 
 Naught there is that the earth brings of gladness, 
 
 But there folio weth quickly a sigh, 
 E'en when merriment sparkles must brightly, 
 
 We know that dark shadows stalk nigh. 
 
 What meaneth this weight on the spirit 
 
 That whispers of evil to come ? 
 Why should billow, breeze, birdling and blossom, 
 
 Such message bear only to some ? 
 
 Hear'st thou the sad song of the night-w r ind 
 That fills thy poor friend with distress ? 
 
 It fears me that trouble is brewing, 
 E'en while thy dear hand I may press. 
 
46 Lang Syne. 
 
 But while Alice sang her audience was 
 increased without her knowledge. Reginald 
 Lewis and Oswald Caperton had come silently 
 up without her perceiving their approach since 
 her face was turned from the direction of the 
 house, whence they came. There they stood, 
 entranced by the sweetness of the melody, and 
 one of them, thrilled by the tone of deep 
 melancholy pervading the strains that fell upon 
 his ears. 
 
 When the son? was ended and the gentle- 
 men came forward to present themselves, she 
 arose with a blush that enhanced her beauty, 
 ordinarily rather too statuesque to appeal to the 
 softer emotions of the heart. 
 
 Dr. Franklin exclaimed against her breaking 
 off at that point when so sad an impression 
 was left upon their minds. 
 
 " We thought to hear a nightingale, and have 
 listened to a stricken dove. When the soul of 
 melody turns into a cup of sorrow at the very 
 fountain of youth, to what spring can old age 
 turn whence to obtain a draught of gladness 
 and good cheer?" 
 
 "The maiden craves the old man's pardon, 
 but not so the minstrel of the sage. Music has 
 tasted, mayhap, of the intoxicating cup of 
 liberty, and will not be held responsible for the 
 fit-fulness of mood. What say you to that 
 solution, Doctor?" 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 47 
 
 " Maybe so, Mistress Alice, but prithee, bring 
 the muse to reason, and sing us a song that will 
 make us as merry as that ditty has made us 
 sorry. Then her power will be proven beyond 
 dispute." 
 
 " The minstrel may not mend her mood 
 to-night, and so lays aside the wand of power, 
 hoping that some mighty hand may take it up 
 and make glad every heart in this house, which 
 she has deemed the very abode of cheerfulness 
 and content. Forgive the discord she did not 
 mean to make." 
 
 " A trace to bandying words at this time," 
 interrupted Mrs. Cadwallader, looking at her 
 watch ; " these cavaliers, it seems, came but to 
 see the winding up of our pleasant meeting, not 
 to enjoy the feast of music with which we have 
 been favored. Young ladies, we must be on 
 our way, or else my good man will be made 
 more low-spirited than you yourself profess to 
 be, Doctor." 
 
 " Good bye, pretty minstrel. When next we 
 meet, remember you owe your old friend a 
 lively song." 
 
 "If I were to sing one embodying all the 
 gratitude I owe him, it would be lively and 
 sweet enough. To have been privileged to call 
 Dr. Franklin friend, will ever be held by me to 
 have been one of the prizes that life has cast 
 into my portion," rejoined Alice, more moved at 
 
48 Lang Syne. 
 
 saying farewell, than she was willing to let 
 appear. 
 
 With many mutual compliments the company 
 dispersed, the young gentlemen escorting the 
 ladies home, although they could not enter the 
 house on account of having to report at camp 
 at an early hour. 
 
 Attaway agreed to spend this last night with 
 Alice, but we shall not intrude upon their con- 
 fidences, hoping for them that sweet repose so 
 much needed. 
 
 Morning speedily came with its bustle of 
 preparation, hasty breakfast, sad good-byes and 
 early departure. Alice had nerved herself for 
 the duties of the hour, and did not give way for 
 a single moment. General Cadwallader 
 bestowed upon her a blessing, paternal in its 
 tenderness, for the loveliness of her character 
 had made a deep impression upon him during 
 her sojourn under his roof, and it was with sin- 
 cere regret that he saw her depart. No stronger 
 proof of regard and consideration could he 
 have bestowed upon her than to give up his 
 wife, in her behalf, even for a short period. 
 The old gentleman and Attaway stood upon the 
 front portico waving farewells with their hand- 
 kerchiefs, until a bend in the road hid the car- 
 riage and the occupants from view. 
 
 Arrangements had been made for relays of 
 horses along the route, that the journey might 
 
A Philosopher at Home. 49 
 
 be made with all possible speed, for, without the 
 knowledge of the rest of the party, one of their 
 number was acting as private courier, bearing 
 Government dispatches from Congress to Gen- 
 eral Washington. 
 
 And so, not until Reginald Lewis arrived 
 would the official announcement be made to the 
 army of the Declaration of Independence. We 
 must remember that those were not the days of 
 railroad and telegraph. 
 4 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IX WHICH TEARS AND SMILES MINGLE. 
 
 " Acli das scheiden giebt uns well." Abt. 
 
 But "Hours that are sweetest 
 Are ever the fleetest." 
 
 And so it was with the two clay's journey to 
 New York, which the lovers would fain have 
 indefinitely prolonged. Speedily, speedily it 
 came to a close. Mrs. Cadwallader sent imme- 
 diately to notify General Washington of the 
 arrival of herself and charge, and by return 
 courier he made haste to place a house at the 
 disposal of the ladies, adjacent to head-quarters, 
 at that time No. 1 Broadway, near the Battery, 
 where the broad expanse of New York Bay is 
 seen to the best advantage. It was dark eve- 
 ning ere the ladies were safely housed, and 
 worn out with the fatigue of the unwonted 
 journey both slept soundly. 
 
 Early next morning they were awakened 
 from sleep by the booming of cannon, ringing 
 of bells, tramping of horses and every sound 
 betokening a popular rejoicing. The cause was 
 soon explained. The announcement of the 
 Declaration of Independence had just been 
 made public in New York, and at 9 o'clock A. 
 50 
 
In Which Tears and Smiles Mingle. 51 
 
 M. was to be read aloud by Washington him- 
 self, to the troops who were all to be mustered 
 and drawn up in line for the purpose, and it 
 was plain that the enthusiasm called forth was 
 deep and genuine. In the midst of all his 
 pressing duties, however, Washington did not 
 forget to provide for the comfort of the help- 
 less young creature, who had been so strangely 
 thrown upon his care. 
 
 By flag of truce he had notified Lord Howe 
 that Lord George Germaine's daughter, and pre- 
 sumptive heiress, awaited an escort to enter the 
 British lines, that she might rejoin her father 
 in England. Alas, for Alice ! How her heart 
 sank within her when she found that the very 
 friendship of her powerful protector led him to 
 display such eagerness — thinking to release her 
 from a painful position — in perfecting arrange- 
 ments whereby no time should be lost in 
 delivering her into the hands of her so-called 
 friends. 
 
 The day after their arrival, General Washing- 
 ton, with all his habitual courtesy, sent to ask 
 if he might be permitted to pay his respects to 
 the ladies in person, and they were only too 
 glad to have this opportunity of meeting him 
 who was already the idol of his countrymen. 
 Attended by his nephew, Reginald Lewis, both 
 as a previous friend to the ladies and his own 
 aide-de-camp, he made his appearance. 
 
52 Lang Syne. 
 
 Save bis general's uniform and the imposing 
 dignity of his carriage, there was nothing in 
 the manners or address of the quiet, modest 
 gentleman before them, to inform them that 
 they were in the presence of a popular military 
 hero. He regretted that Mrs. Washington had 
 not yet arrived, as he hoped she would at no 
 very distant day, that she might have aided him 
 in giving the ladies a more suitable reception. 
 
 Just as he was about to take leave, a courier 
 arrived, bringing the intelligence that the 
 British escort demanded for Lady Alice Ger- 
 maine had arrived under flag of truce, and that 
 they had orders to gain the lady's consent to an 
 immediate transfer of herself and baggage to 
 the boat, which was now riding at anchor in the 
 bay. Although she knew the summons must 
 come, and come speedily, Lady Alice was 
 almost overwhelmed by the announcement, that 
 at last seemed to come upon her with all of the 
 suddenness of an unexpected blow. Yet she 
 recovered her self-command ere any one but 
 Reginald perceived the deadly pallor of her 
 countenance and the trembling of the delicate 
 fingers that grasped the arm of a chair for sup- 
 port. To both it was one of those moments of 
 supreme emotion, which fortunately can not 
 repeat itself often in the space of human life. 
 The heart at such times seems to assert its 
 supremacy over all minor considerations of 
 
In Which Tears and Smiles Mingle. 53 
 
 etiquette and ordinary routine. Disguise seems 
 to sink into its native littleness, and the dread 
 of what people may think and say, to be wholly 
 lost in the instinct that compels the noble mind 
 to be true to itself, and the promptings of dis- 
 interested affection. 
 
 General Washington, with instinctive deli- 
 cacy, bade adieu in as few yet kind and fatherly 
 words as possible. Lieutenant Lewis, he said, 
 would see the lady safely aboard ship, while he 
 would himself attend to the proper conduct of 
 whatever other steps might be taken for her 
 comfort. 
 
 Mrs. Cadwallader declared that everything 
 was in readiness to depart at a moment's warn- 
 ing, and craved the Lieutenant's pardon for 
 leaving the room, to give necessary orders to 
 the servants. This lady was herself deeply dis- 
 tressed at the sad necessity which was to sepa- 
 rate her from her beloved }*oung charge. Not 
 wishing to add to the pain of parting, she was 
 glad to escape observation for a few minutes, 
 and iai private shed the tears, from whose indul- 
 gence her motherly tenderness could no longer 
 refrain. Alice she requested to remain in the 
 parlor as Madge could just as well bring down 
 her wrappings, and save her the fatigue of 
 ascending a long flight of stairs. Left alone 
 with the idol of his heart, Reginald could not 
 forbear giving vent to his long pent-up feelings 
 
54 Lany Syne. 
 
 of love, devoted love to her, from whom to be 
 thus parted, he now declared was bitterness 
 itself. He only desisted when he perceived the 
 fearful struggle which was going on in the 
 poor girl's breast, and felt that they both must 
 indeed summon all the self-control they could 
 command, to enable them to go through the 
 last trying scene of separation. 
 
 " Only one word do I ask from yoxxv lips, 
 dearest lady," said he, " to sustain me during 
 the long, long days when I may no more be 
 gladdened by the sunshine of your countenance. 
 Only say that you are not wholly indifferent 
 to me, for I have the conviction that such a 
 sweet assurance will be as a talisman against 
 doubt, yes, even against despair." 
 
 With a gesture of grief, heart-rending to 
 behold, and yet smiling through her tears, Alice 
 extended her hand, took from her finger a 
 slender and curiously wrought gold ring, and 
 tremblingly placed it in the palm of his hand, 
 which was not slow to clasp that of the donor 
 and imprint upon it a deferential kiss of. grat- 
 itude and devotion. With a flash of her 
 wonted brightness breaking through the gloom 
 that environed her, she drew back, as if fright- 
 ened at the concession she had made and said 
 half playfully: " So much may not be denied 
 to the faithful knight of the damsel errant. 
 Let him know that while that ring remains 
 
In Which Tears and Smiles Mingle. 55 
 
 intact, the heart of the donor beats and beats 
 for him." 
 
 " Oh ! the cruel fate, replied he in the same 
 strain, that prevents the knight from rather 
 encircling the finger of his lady-love with a 
 gay gold ring, which were fitter. But is there 
 no token which he may leave with her as a 
 guage of true love?" 
 
 " A lock of your hair, Sir Knight, is all that 
 the lady asks," and holding out a pair of small 
 shining pocket scissors, she bade him bow his 
 head and cut with her own hand a curl of his 
 dark brown hair, and had hardly concealed it 
 within her watch-case ere Mrs. Cadwallader 
 returned, followed by her maid laden with wrap- 
 pings, in which they soon enveloped her, ami 
 then there was no longer any excuse for delay 
 in proceeding to the wharf. At the door they 
 met Oswald Caperton who was hurrying in to 
 bid Lady Alice good-bye. Finding that they 
 were just about to depart, he asked leave to 
 accompany them, and offering his arm to Mrs. 
 Cadwallader, they led the w T ay and thus 
 afforded Reginald and Alice an opportunity to 
 exchange a few more words. 
 
 " You will surely w T rite to Attaway, will you 
 not ?" imploringly asked he. " I shall at least 
 in that way have the happiness of hearing of 
 your welfare?" 
 
 " Dear Attaway ! You may depend upon my 
 
56 Lang Syne. 
 
 writing to her, as surely as if she were my own 
 sister, for so true a friend has she ever proved 
 herself to be, that upon our correspondence 
 rests the only gleam of hope that shines upon 
 the darkness of this hour." 
 
 " Say not that, I pray you. Why should not 
 your, let me say our horizon be all aglow in the 
 bright radiance of hope ? You have called me 
 your knight; think you that Sir Galahad set 
 forth on his quest of the Holy Grail with 
 greater ardor than shall your knight, unworthy 
 as he is to win your hand. Be happy. Let me 
 ever think of you as radiant and joyous. Trust 
 me, we shall conquer destiny and all will yet 
 be well." 
 
 " Thank you for your words of cheer. They 
 give your poor friend an added motive for try- 
 ing to bear up." 
 
 But they had now reached the busy wharf. A 
 curious crowd were gazing and gaping, with 
 unfriendly eyes enough upon the trim govern- 
 ment pinnace, that, under shelter of the flag of 
 truce, was so confidently riding at anchor. The 
 broad bosom of the bay — how calm and beautiful 
 that summer evening. The rich crimson and 
 gold tints of the brillant sunset clouds were 
 reflected from the mirror-like surface of the 
 water with a warmth of color that seemed 
 insensibly to breathe somewhat of brightness and 
 tranquillity into the mournful hearts of the 
 
In Which Tears and Smiles Mingle. 57 
 
 group, who stood there bidding good-bye. " It 
 may be for years, or it may be forever." 
 
 But why linger over the scene. Who shall 
 portray the bitterness of those young hearts, 
 then, first to taste of so deep a cup of sorrow.? 
 
 Shall it be drunk to the dregs ? Or through 
 its very bitterness be transmuted into a draught 
 of joy, purer and sweeter than earth-born mortal 
 ever quaffed before ! 
 
 A gentle pressure of the hand, a long, fond 
 look exchanged, a God bless you, and all is 
 over. 
 
 Lightly the bark rides over the waves. Mary 
 Stuart was hardly so sad as she gazed upon the 
 retreating shores of her beloved France, as was 
 our sweet Alice. For had not she a kingdom 
 to look forward to, kneeling courtiers and flat- 
 tering friends ; but this poor child had left her 
 all behind, and as she watched the forms of her 
 friends as long as she could see them, she felt a 
 sense of desolation that almost deprived her of 
 consciousness, and made her sit upon deck, 
 motionless and silent as a statue, until Madge, 
 her faithful servant who stood by weeping, not 
 daring to utter words of consolation but filled 
 with deepest sympathy, finally drew her away 
 with gentle force, and prevailed upon her to lie 
 down and rest her over-tried and weary frame. 
 
 Oh ! to lift the veil of the future. How the 
 
58 Lang Syne. 
 
 unsolved mysteries of coming life prey upon 
 the spirit, and lead it with yearning to cry out. 
 Oh ! to know what is laid up for me in that 
 store-house of the future. Hope whispers : 
 You shall have the desire of your heart in 
 fullest measure. But while the smile still plays 
 upon our features, in view of the pleasing pros- 
 pect, lo! a phantom has appeared, and holds 
 his finger up and hints — we know not what — 
 but grim fear takes hold upon us and we are 
 too glad to Ml back and catch at the skirts of 
 doubt — anything in short — save the horrible 
 certainty of coming evil. 
 
 Thank God that we may not lift the curtain 
 from the future. 
 
CHAPTER V, 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 
 
 To some rare souls it hath been given, 
 
 To hear at once, the word from heaven, 
 
 Which felled some absent loved one at a stroke. 
 
 By quick sharp sense of lo?s the lover knows 
 
 The very instant, when his twin soul goes 
 
 Into the limits of a higher sphere, 
 
 And leaves its fellow, stricken— mourning here. 
 
 I question, but his heart such message broke 
 
 But things like this have been, and may be yet again. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 Reginald was doubtless wretched enough 
 after Alice's departure, but the duties of his 
 responsible post were too wholesomely engross- 
 ing to admit of an over indulgence of senti- 
 ment. 
 
 No one, to look at the elasticity of step with 
 which the young soldier moved to obey the 
 orders of a superior officer, the kindling of 
 enthusiasm in his eye when deputed to perform 
 some difficult or perilous undertaking, would 
 have dreamed that his spirit was oppressed by 
 a secret sorrow. The consciousness of being 
 loved seemed to endue him with energies and 
 strength of resolve hitherto lying dormant. 
 Nothing seemed to daunt— nothing to dishearten 
 him. Privations of which there were plenty, 
 anxieties that were not few, seemed to have no 
 power to quench the ardor or the hope of his 
 59 
 
60 Lang Syne. 
 
 spirit. Nearly related to Washington as he was, 
 he seemed to partake in peculiar measure of 
 the qualities of his mind — the same power of 
 self control — the same rigid adherence to the 
 requirements of duty, and the same un parallelled 
 modesty. 
 
 Oswald Caperton had ever been his insepa- 
 rable friend in boyhood, and now as brothers in 
 arms, their attachment seemed to deepen. 
 They occupied a tent with two other officers, 
 and managed to lighten each other's cares and 
 perplexities in many and comfortable ways. 
 
 More than three months had elapsed, since 
 Lady Alice had been sent to Staten Island 
 within the British lines, and yet not a word had 
 been heard of her further progress. Letters 
 came from Mrs. Cadwallader and Attaway. 
 expressing the keenest anxiety to get some news 
 of the dear friend, about whose welfare they 
 could not help feeling the deepest solicitude. 
 
 It was one dark October night, the camp 
 fires burnt low, or rather had been wholly 
 extinguished by the driving rain which for 
 hours had been falling in torrents, while every 
 now and then a fierce gust of wind seemed to 
 threaten to tear up every tent, and lay them 
 flat on the ground. Still the soldiers foi the 
 most part slept heavily, wrapped up head and 
 ears in their dusky blankets. 
 
 Suddenly Oswald Caperton was awakened by 
 
The Soldier s Bream. 61 
 
 hearing Reginald breathing very heavily, then 
 with a suppressed groan he saw him wringing 
 his hands as though in an agony of grief, and 
 upon going to his side, he perceived that he was 
 fully awake, but his countenance so fearfully 
 altered that in the course of a few moments, he 
 seemed to have gone through the sufferings of a 
 lifetime. Stooping down by his side, he whis- 
 pered, in order not to awaken their sleeping 
 companions : 
 
 " Dear, dear Reginald, what is the matter? 
 Tell your friend; tell your brother/' 
 
 " Not here ! Not here ! "-he cried, hastily rising 
 and casting about him his soldier's cloak. " It 
 is stifling here ? Come out into the forest ; I'll 
 tell you there/' 
 
 " But it is raining dreadfully. You must be 
 ill. It will be the death of you." 
 
 " Come ! Only come ! " He was trembling 
 violently, and when he looked down at his hand 
 and saw that his ring was gone, a fresh expres- 
 sion of horror escaped his lips. 
 
 " ^Sly ring, Oswald, Oh ! where is my ring? " 
 
 Groping on the floor, aided by the faint 
 glimmer of the flickering candle which burnt 
 low in its socket, Oswald at last discovered the 
 ring, rather its fragments, for alas, it had 
 snapped in twain. Convulsively Reginald 
 seized the pieces, tried vainly to see if they 
 would reunite, and again groaned heavily. 
 
62 Lang Syne. 
 
 Seeing one of the sleepers begin to move rest- 
 lessly, Oswald no longer resisted his friend's 
 importunity, but followed him, as with disor- 
 dered steps he bent his way towards the forest, 
 which lay within a few hundred yards of the 
 camping ground. One solitary sentinel only 
 challenged them as he trod his lonely beat 
 despite the opposition of the warring elements. 
 Giving the countersign Oswald passed him how- 
 ever, without more than eliciting an ejaculation 
 of surprise, as he saw two officers abroad on 
 such a night and in such guise. 
 
 Under the shelter of an overarching oak, 
 where a great flat rock furnished a natural 
 resting place, Reginald at last paused. He 
 bared his head and breast and seemed to gasp for 
 breath, nor was it until some little time had 
 elapsed that he could articulate; even then, 
 doubtless, he was aided too by the soothing con- 
 sciousness, that he had at his side a friend who 
 deeply sympathized with him in every feeling. 
 At last he broke silence : 
 
 "It cannot — Oh ! it cannot be true !" 
 
 " What ? Can what be true ? " 
 
 " Oh ! that vision, that terrible vision of the 
 night ! " 
 
 " As the wind howled and whistled around 
 us, ere I fell asleep — so it seemed to do in 
 my dream. At last I was uplifted and borne 
 upon the breath of the fierce north wind, into 
 
The Soldiers Dream. 63 
 
 what seemed the very cave of iEolus, where 
 warring elements were in angry contention, 
 and where I seemed but the mere unnoted play- 
 thing of tempest, storm and rushing whirl- 
 wind. But I seemed to be devoid of feeling on 
 my own account — bereft of sensibility to the 
 horrible nature of my surroundings. All my 
 faculties were absorbed by one dread anxiety ; 
 for beneath me I saw a ship bravely battling 
 with her destiny. A mountain- shaped iceberg 
 was plowing its steerless course right across 
 her track. In letters of living fire I saw the 
 name of the vessel inscribed upon its side : 
 " The Amphrite." I recognized it at once as 
 the vessel on which, Lord Howe had stated in 
 his dispatch, that Lady Alice should take pas- 
 sage. In breathless suspense — chained down 
 myself by powers invisible — I awaited the col- 
 lision — and oh, horrors ! it did come, witlr such 
 a crash, such grinding, groans, and shrieks and 
 screams. But amid all the din I distinguished 
 the form, and heard the voice of my own sweet 
 girl. But it was in the low solemn voice of 
 prayer in which she spoke. She stood upon 
 the deck, all robed in white — her fair hair flow- 
 ing down her back, her feet bare — and at her 
 feet crouched poor Madge, the faithful girl who 
 would never be parted from her mistress. Even 
 in that moment of supreme anguish, the lovely 
 vision thrilled me with, a painful rapture of 
 
64 Lang Syne. 
 
 delight. Oh ! 'twas heaven just to gaze upon 
 that angelic form ! I heard — Oh ! I heard her 
 breathe my own name, too, in accents so fond 
 and despairing. But then a cloud came in 
 between us — then rifted — and last of all I saw 
 her face lit up with such a smile of hope and 
 love as I never saw before on human counte- 
 nance, not even hers. She beckoned to me 
 with a smile of seraphic sweetness, and radiant 
 welcome. And lo ! the vision faded and was 
 gone. Darkness, tumult and despair again 
 held sway ; and then I awoke. Oh ! Oswald, 
 Oswald, you know the rest ! " 
 
 " Dear Reginald, why mind the vagaries of a 
 dream? Your Alice may have long ere this 
 been safely landed in England. Do not give 
 way in this unmanly fashion. Do you think it 
 becomes a soldier — a nephew of Washington — 
 to shake like an aspen leaf before the unreal 
 fantasies of a dreaming brain ? It is not like 
 my own Reginald — my true soldier boy." 
 
 Reginald only shook his head and buried it 
 in his hands. 
 
 " Dear friend, I cannot shake off the impres- 
 sion; I tell you, my Alice is no more. This 
 message has been sent me ; whether in mercy or 
 wrath, God only knows. But you speak well 
 Oswald, I must remember my calling. I must 
 endure since I can no longer hope. You need 
 rest yourself, dear boy. We must to our places 
 
The Soldier $ Dream. 65 
 
 again. Forgive me for so selfishly out-pouring 
 my griefs in your ear; you have your own 
 tender-heartedness to blame for it only — for I 
 know, you feel for me — however you may 
 blame my weakness." 
 5 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE TUG OF WAR. 
 
 In Duty's thorny ways lie trod: 
 Not loudly talked of love to God, 
 But meekly did his will. 
 
 From that night a change — inexplicable, save 
 to a very few — seemed to have been wrought 
 in young Lewis' whole nature. 
 
 From having been most social in his disposi- 
 tion, he grew taciturn and seemed altogether to 
 shrink within himself, shunning conviviality of 
 every sort. 
 
 A settled gloom sat upon his brow, and many 
 feared lest he should siuk into a hopeless 
 melancholy. All that seemed to save him from 
 such a fate was the activity of a soldier's life, 
 which insensibly kept him from being wholly 
 given up to his own melancholy reflections. 
 We shall not detain the reader with an account 
 of his participation in campaignings whose his- 
 tory is but the history of the Revolution, with 
 whose incidents we should all be familiar. 
 Suffice it to say that this young soldier allowed 
 no private grief to interfere with the perform- 
 ance of his public duty. 
 
 During the long winter at Valley Forge, 
 66 
 
The Tug of War. 67 
 
 which so tested and proved the mettle of the 
 American soldiery, few equalled and none sur- 
 passed Lieutenant Lewis in the fortitude dis- 
 played under circumstances disheartening to 
 the bravest souls. Beautiful was the patience 
 with which he, and the men generally, endured 
 the soul-trying inactivity of that terrible season, 
 the cold of which was so unprecedentedly 
 severe, even in that bleak Northern climate. 
 
 Touching was the sight of that youthful face, 
 so stern in its sadness, and yet more touching 
 the readiness with which he was still wont to 
 administer consolation to others wherever he 
 saw it was needed. Never did his features 
 relax into a smile unless when endeavoring to 
 rally the broken spirit of some homesick com- 
 rade, he was enabled through self-forgetfulness 
 to assume a cheerfulness that was now a 
 stranger to his heart. 
 
 In ministering to the distresses of others, he 
 found the only solace, that could even for a 
 moment cheat him out of a sense of his own 
 bitter misery and desolation. Blessings were 
 breathed upon his name by many a poor dying 
 soldier, that he had aided in extremity, and 
 many a valuable life was saved to the country 
 through the instrumentality of his tender, skil- 
 ful nursing. The history of that winter's strug- 
 gles and triumphs will be read and appreciated, 
 while there is one heart left that glows with 
 
68 Lang Syne. 
 
 responsive warmth at the recital of deeds of 
 patriotism and self-denial. 
 
 The presence of woman, too, did, who knows 
 how much towards keeping alive that religious 
 fervor of devotion to country, that nerved the 
 poor half-starved, ill-clad soldiers to such endur- 
 ance of cold, hunger and lack of all home com- 
 forts. 
 
 Mrs. Washington, Lady Sterling, and Mrs. 
 Knox were some of the ladies whose presence 
 cheered and sustained the often sinking spirits 
 of those brave men, upon whom depended the 
 fate of the embryo United States. 
 
 Filled with concern at the unhappy state in 
 which he beheld his beloved nephew, General 
 Washington had advised his wife to bring 
 Attaway with her to Valley Forge, that Regi- 
 nald might have the comfort of his sister's 
 sympathy and counsel in this time of distress. 
 
 Meanwhile a stray English paper had found 
 its way into camp somehow detailing the 
 account of the shipwreck of " The Amphrite," 
 and moreover mentioning among the names of 
 passengers lost, those of Lady Alice Germaine 
 and her maid. 
 
 So poor Alice's fate was no longer conjec- 
 tural, and what was passing strange, the date 
 tallied exactly with the night and hour when 
 Reginald Lewis had been first pierced with the 
 conviction, that she, whom he had adored as liv- 
 ingr, must now be mourned as dead. 
 
The Tuff of War. G9 
 
 Let the skeptic mock — the fact stands firm — 
 the historian but chronicles incidents that 
 have truly come to pass — leaving it to the phi- 
 losopher to account for phenomena, whose 
 primal causes lie far beyond our ken. 
 
 Attaway's appearance in camp was indeed a 
 boon to more than her afflicted brother. To 
 what shall we liken the effect produced by the 
 appearance of a modest girl amid such an 
 environment as was hers in this case? If we 
 say to a solitary rose amid a wilderness of 
 thorns, we would not overdraw the mark. 
 
 Oswald Caperton felt it to be no unfavorable 
 time to press his suit, sanctioned as it was by her 
 brother as well as uncle. The hours of social 
 communion were sweetened by the rareness of 
 their coming. And when the camp was broken 
 up in spring, upon report of the British evacu- 
 ation of Philadelphia, it seemed as if the pang 
 of setting out for the wars was renewed on 
 either side. 
 
 Under Mrs. Washington's protection Atta- 
 way still remained, and the place chosen for 
 their summer retreat was a delightful New Jer- 
 sey farm house, selected as a point where they 
 could probably, better than elsewhere, be kept 
 informed as to the movements of the army — 
 necessarily so uncertain — as well from its appar- 
 ent security of position, as regarded invasion 
 by the enemy. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH. 
 
 War drives her bloody chariot on. 
 Who heeds the victims trampled on, 
 Or pauses till the day is won ? 
 
 On the 28th of June, 1778, occurred the battle 
 of Monmouth, one of the most brilliant pas- 
 sages at arms that was recorded during the 
 war, and one wherein the valor of both armies 
 was fully illustrated. 
 
 Like so many engagements of the sort, it 
 took place on the Sabbath day. The quiet of 
 those sacred hours set apart for rest and re- 
 freshment of soul and body was broken before 
 the dawn of that summer morning by notes of 
 warlike preparation, ill at harmony with the 
 spirit of the scene and hour. 
 
 Alas ! for the message borne heavenward by 
 the lark, w r ho, scared from his happy home, 
 amid the grass of the hitherto pleasant plains 
 of Monmouth, fled with affrighted cry before 
 the dreadful wrath of warring man. 
 
 Never before that day had Washington so 
 plainly asserted himself as one born to com- 
 mand. When through the apparent miscon- 
 duct of Lee, the American forces were in full 
 70 
 
The Battle of Monmouth. 71 
 
 retreat before an exultant foe, with the strength 
 of his own mighty will, by the force of his own 
 resistless energy, he executed that most difficult 
 of all military achievements, viz : made a fleeing 
 host stand still — then turn — and go back with 
 tenfold fury to withstand the force before 
 which they had just cowered, wavered, and re- 
 treated. Lafayette as well as others, attests 
 the fact that Washington was terrible in his 
 wrath that day, and that all yielded like wax 
 to the plastic skill of his formative hand, as 
 with incredible rapidity, quick insight and com- 
 prehensive genius, he wheeled the troops about, 
 and led them on himself to victory and 
 triumph. 
 
 Late in the afternoon when both armies 
 were well nigh spent with the sultriness and 
 overpowering heat of the clay, as well as, in 
 many cases, by a fast unbroken since the night 
 before, the British lines were seen to be giving 
 way on all sides, and now was felt to be the 
 critical moment for deciding the fortunes of the 
 day. Victory inclined so plainly to the side of 
 the Americans, that it was felt, that it but needed 
 a brisk and general charge of Morgan's cavalry, 
 to turn what was a check into a complete dis- 
 aster to British arms. 
 
 Washington's quick eye was the first to see 
 the necessity of the move, and calling Reginald 
 Lewis to his side, as he was his bravest and 
 
72 Lang Syne. 
 
 most trusted aide-de-camp, he bade him speed 
 to General Morgan, and order him to advance 
 to the charge, without losing a moment. 
 
 To be ordered was with Reginald to obey. 
 
 His splendid bay charger that had borne him 
 in every engagement during the war, at the 
 gentlest touch of rein and spur, bounded off 
 at full gallop. For, a veritable war horse, 
 the crackling sound of the rifles, and Avar of 
 musketry and cannon, seemed to animate him 
 with excitement, uncontrollable, save by a yet 
 stronger devotedness and submission to the will 
 of the master whose weight he so loved to sus- 
 tain. 
 
 How swiftly sped the horse and rider! 
 
 Like a flash of lightning they darted along 
 the darkening line of troops across the morass 
 — past Freehold church — but alas ! alas ! they 
 but sped into the jaws of death. 
 
 A British sharp-shooter had descried this 
 young officer, and with cruel perspicacity con- 
 ceived that his errand must be one involving 
 mightily the rebels' interest and so, malignly 
 fired, with true, sure aim. 
 
 Reginald fell, shot through the breast, his 
 faithful horse, a self-appointed sentinel, stand- 
 ing over his body — in woe that seemed hardly 
 speechless ; for, fondly he touched first the soft, 
 silky curls, that lay unheeded across the marble 
 brow — then the hand, and again, lifting his 
 
The Battle of Monmouth. 73 
 
 head on high, tossed his mane, and whinnied, as 
 if to call for help. 
 
 And how fared it with the message ? 
 
 In vain Washington waited for the appear- 
 ance of Morgan's brave men. 
 
 In vain Morgan waited for the summons he 
 panted to hear. It never came. 
 
 With that priceless young life, its heart's 
 blood now oozing slowly out, by the roadside, 
 in the dark grass of the gloomy marsh, perished 
 Washington's hope of this time gaining a com- 
 plete victory over his vaunting, even now, 
 baffled foe. 
 
 Well Washington knew the reliability of his 
 aide-de-camp. As soon as it was evident that 
 no more fighting was to be done that night, he 
 sent out an especial party to search for his 
 nephew, as well as to provide for the wants of 
 other wounded. Terrible was his anxiety — and 
 sad the fulfillment of his worst apprehension. 
 
 Oswald Caperton headed the reconnoitering 
 party, and when he came near the fatal spot, he 
 needed no human tongue to tell him the brief, 
 sad tale of his friend's calamity, for when he 
 saw Barbet, Reginald's well-known horse stand- 
 ing as we have described, all flashed upon him 
 in an instant, and putting spurs to his own jaded 
 steed, he was soon bending over the prostrate 
 form of him, whom he never knew before how 
 dearly he loved — chafing his cold hands, and 
 
74 Lang Syne. 
 
 endeavoring to staunch the blood, that was yet 
 flowing. 
 
 In this he succeeded, but Reginald was in a 
 swoon, and, for some time gave no sign of return- 
 ing animation, much less recognition. Not 
 even a stretcher was to be procured at this dis- 
 tance from camp, so that the men could only make 
 shift to extemporize one, hastily constructed out 
 of two strong poles, covered with interlacing 
 branches of trees, over which one or two gener- 
 ous fellows laid their own coats to soften if pos- 
 sible this rough and hard couch, so ill fitted to 
 conduce to the repose of their wounded com- 
 rade. 
 
 Slowly the sad procession moved, and bitter 
 they felt would be the tidings to their chief, 
 whose cares were already so heavy and oppres- 
 sive, that observers said he never smiled. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIGHT BEYOND. 
 
 There is no death— the stars go down 
 
 To rise upon some fairer shore. 
 And bright in Heavens jewelled crown 
 They shine forever more. 
 
 Bulwer. 
 
 Oswald's first thought had been of Attaway, 
 and he determined to get her word that very 
 night, of her brother's sad condition, that she 
 might, if possible, get .to him and see him ere he 
 died, if die he must — but at that thought he was 
 perfectly unmanned and could not refrain from 
 bowing his head and weeping bitterly. 
 
 As the whole army, Washington included, 
 slept upon their arms, expecting to renew the 
 fight next day, the best provision that could be 
 made for Reginald's accommodation was in the 
 bare hastily erected field hospital, where already 
 some score of poor fellows were paying forced 
 tribute to Moloch in the shape of gaping 
 wounds, groans, and sufferings intense. 
 
 Leave was instantly granted Oswald to wait 
 upon his friend, and more than once that night 
 Washington himself bent over him in silent 
 prayer, and no pains of surgeons' skill or nurses' 
 
 75 
 
76 Lang Syne. 
 
 art was spared to restore him to consciousness 
 and life. 
 
 For some time all efforts were vain, but at 
 last, with a slight convulsion of the frame, he 
 opened his eyas, and touching his lips, seemed 
 to ask for water. When a little had been given 
 him, he was evidently revived, and pressed 
 Oswald's hand several times without, however, 
 being able to speak. 
 
 And thus watching eagerly the flickering of 
 the feeble flame burning low — Oh ! so low in 
 the lamp of life — Oswald passed the weary 
 hours of that wretched night. 
 
 A swift courier had been dispatched to the 
 country house where Mrs. Washington and 
 Attaway were even then probably anxiously 
 waiting news from the dear ones in the army. 
 For less than thirty miles distant, rumors of 
 the battle would certainly reach them, even if 
 the cannonading had not spoken for itself 
 from the reverberating hills. Attaway bore 
 the tidings like a brave girl and true sister as she 
 was. Although torn by grief, she was up and 
 dressed in a travelling suit before her wonder- 
 ing attendants could believe she had really com- 
 prehended the nature of the dread summons, 
 which had been communicated to her with 
 hardly an effort to prepare her mind. 
 
 Mrs. Washington longed to go with her 
 niece, but dared not leave her present quarters, 
 
Light Beyond. 77 
 
 without express directions from the General. 
 She consoled herself by making up a large bun- 
 dle of lint, entrusted to the courier's care a case 
 of medicine and fine old French brandy, in- 
 sisted upon sparing her own faithful servants 
 Caesar and his wife, Chaney, to attend Miss 
 Attaway, and with the tenderest solicitude pro- 
 vided for every probable want. Her own car- 
 riage, too, was put at her service, and so in one 
 hour after the news reached them, Attaway 
 Lewis was on her way to see, perhaps for the 
 last time, that elder brother who had from 
 childhood up, been her pride, closest friend, and 
 ever ready protector. 
 
 ' Not until left quietly to her own reflections, 
 as they drove rapidly on through the night, did 
 she realize his and her own situation. In the 
 midst of her agony she could not forbear breath- 
 ing a prayer of thankfulness that at least her 
 uncle and Oswald were yet spared to her 
 unharmed. 
 
 But what is this ? 
 
 As they enter a deep ravine, passing through 
 a dark pine forest, the horses stop — the postil- 
 lion shouts — the driver curses, and the small 
 escort of two soldiers were called for by the 
 startled girl, but all in vain. They had been 
 seized and forcibly detained in the rear, before 
 they had time to fire a shot in self defense. 
 
 Dark muffled figures were seen to flit to and 
 
78 Lang Syne. 
 
 fro. Torches gleamed and distinctly she heard 
 a gruff voice bid the driver " Fork over every 
 cent of money he and his cursed baggage car- 
 ried, or," with a horrible oath he swore they 
 should " never leave that spot alive." 
 
 Suddenly roused in this disagreeable manner 
 from grief so absorbing as to almost amount to 
 stupor, Attaway was at first only conscious of 
 one pang of terror ; quickly succeeded by that 
 lire of indignation, and impulse of resistance to 
 unlawful power, which is instinctive with heroic 
 souls. 
 
 In a moment it flashed upon her — what she 
 had forgotten totally before— through the all 
 absorbing anxieties of the hour — viz : that she 
 was passing through Monmouth Pine Forest, 
 the very district infested by the "Pine Rob- 
 bers, " a band of Tories, who had thought it 
 virtue to waylay, rob, and even murder unwary, 
 patriot travellers. 
 
 Rapidly going over in her mind all the valu- 
 ables in her possession, she remembered the sig- 
 net ring, which poor Lady Alice had given her, 
 as possessing talismanic power over any British 
 subject. 
 
 With feminine tact as well as heroism, she 
 let down the glass window of the coach, only 
 to have a pistol pointed at her head. Her 
 spirit roused rather than intimidated by the 
 
Light Beyond. 79 
 
 insult, she demanded in firm tone to see the 
 captain. 
 
 "Hold!" cried she. "You know not to 
 whom you offer indignity ! Is it thus brave 
 men meet friends?" 
 
 " No lies to me, young woman ! " said a huge 
 black-bearded ruffian, coming so close as to 
 make Attaway shudder. "Jack Fenton calls 
 no rebel friend." 
 
 " Do you resist this sign of authority ? " said 
 she, feeling her courage fast dissipating, and 
 only sustained in her poor attempt at dissimula- 
 tion, by the agonizing desire, at all hazards, to 
 pursue her journey and get to her suffering 
 brother. She held up the ring before him, and 
 when he had examined it b} r the light of a 
 flaming torch, and recognized the device of the 
 seal, with the name of the British Governor 
 engraved inside, he evidently began to waver in 
 his evil purpose, and with sulky ungracious- 
 ness, returned it to the lady. 
 
 Calling to several of his men by name, they 
 withdrew a little way, and seemed to be in 
 angry conference. At last Fenton, who had 
 spoken first, came back to the carriage door 
 and said : 
 
 " You have given us a sign of authority that 
 we gladly yield to. If a rough man like myself 
 may not intrude upon a lady's secret, yet I can 
 not see anyone plainly so high in Lord George 
 
SO Lang Syne. 
 
 Germaine's favor travel through this unquiet 
 country without an escort. If you are truly 
 England's friend — pardon the doubt — but two 
 rebel soldiers rode in your company (and here 
 he gave a scowl that was hideous to behold in 
 the lurid glare of the torch light) ; we must ride 
 with you at least until you get beyond the 
 rebel encampment, which is not far distant. 
 For how could a friend of our Governor hold 
 fellowship with his enemies ? " 
 
 To this implied questioning of her good faith, 
 Attaway vouchsafed no reply. But what could 
 she do? 
 
 If she refused their escort, it was to betray 
 herself; if she accepted it, who could foretell 
 the consequences. The latter course she 
 adopted, and why? Because her woman's 
 instinct bade her congratulate herself upon 
 every mile that brought her nearer Reginald, 
 and she trusted that some unforeseen oppor- 
 tunity would occur of ridding herself of such 
 abhorred companionship. 
 
 In silence only broken by the gruff voices of 
 the men, as every now and then, they uttered 
 an imprecation on the bad roads — bad luck of 
 the night — or some thing so, the queer caval- 
 cade rode on. Csesar, Chanej^, the driver and 
 postilion strangely enough kept their counsel ; 
 concealing the fact that they had in charge 
 
Light Beyond. 81 
 
 " Marse Washington's niece," more through fear 
 we apprehend, than any prudence of wisdom. 
 
 Just as the gray twilight of dawn began to 
 show a pinkish flush, betokening the approach 
 of day, they reached the outposts of the Ameri- 
 can lines, around which the robbers hoped to 
 skirt, and thus effectually prevent any attempt 
 at treasonable correspondence on the part of 
 their fair charge. 
 
 But soon the firing of guns all along the 
 advanced lines of pickets, showed them that 
 the approach of their party had not been unob- 
 served, and that the army was upon the alert 
 against any surprise. 
 
 While Fenton conferred as to the next move- 
 nient of his troop, before they had come to any 
 conclusion, the road seemed suddenly alive with 
 men. 
 
 The only recourse was in instant flight, for 
 which there was no opportunity given, but by 
 striking into a long stretch of woods to the 
 right. Like most ruffians they were cowardly, 
 and without a moment's remorse deserted their 
 defenceless charge, with as much dastardliness 
 as they had shown effrontery in its assump- 
 tion. 
 
 A cannon was pointed at the fugitives, and 
 an enfilading shot fired, with what execution 
 none could say. 
 
 Caesar, Chaney, driver and the whole crew 
 6 
 
82 Lang Syne. 
 
 found their tongues immediately, screaming 
 with all their might to the troops for God's 
 sake not to fire upon them, and strike their 
 own General in the person of his family. 
 
 A strange form was in the van, looking yet 
 more strange in the wan light of early morning. 
 From the soldier's cap, officer's sword, and mas- 
 culine way of bestriding a horse, you would 
 have believed you saw a man and soldier, but 
 then the lower part of the form was draped in 
 petticoats, and evidently belonged to a woman. 
 She seemed to lead the party, which was soon 
 explained to belong % to Livingston's Regim.ent, 
 2nd Corps of Artillery, U. S. A., and the 
 anomalous individual at the head to be no 
 other than Captain Molly, who had so dis- 
 tinguished herself, and that under such trying 
 circumstances, as to win for herself not only 
 the merited praise of the whole army, but 
 Washington's word of approval, besides his 
 bestowal upon her of a sergeant's commission, 
 as a substantial testimony to her singular gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 The brave creature had seen her husband 
 shot down as he stood at his gun, preparing to 
 fire. Instead of yielding to womanly grief, she 
 rushed forward herself and took his vacant 
 post, and managed her piece with such dex- 
 terity and skill, as to elicit the wonder and 
 admiration of all that witnessed her well-aimed, 
 
Light Beyond. S3 
 
 if untutored efforts to turn the scale of victory 
 against her foes. When the fighting was over 
 for the day, and she retired to her lonely tent, 
 the rights of nature asserted themselves, and 
 she threw herself on the ground weeping and 
 wailing, with all the abandon of a warm-hearted 
 daughter of Erin. The excitement of the day 
 had been too much for even her stalwart frame, 
 and steady nerves, and unable to sleep, she had 
 been among the first to hear the sentinel's alarm 
 shot, and, in a trice was upon the field of 
 action. After the robbers were put to flight, 
 she rode up to the carriage door to see who its 
 occupants might be, and what further was to be 
 done. When it had been explained that this 
 was the sister of Lieutenant Lewis hurrying to 
 his bedside, nothing could exceed the alacrity 
 with which Captain Molly proposed to be their 
 guide to the very spot, which was now not 
 more than one mile distant. 
 
 So great was the prejudice, at that time, 
 against woman's assumption of any of the 
 so-called rights of man, that Attaway felt a 
 greater indisposition to confide in this anoma- 
 lous creature, on account of her belonging to 
 the same sex. 
 
 The color of Molly's naturally florid com- 
 plexion was further heightened by the fever of 
 grief and excitement, through which she had 
 just passed. Her short red curly hair looked 
 
84 Lang Syne. 
 
 very mannish beneath her soldier's cap, her coat 
 was the common blue uniform of our army, and 
 the rather short stout petticoat was bedraggled 
 with blood and mire of yesterday's conflict. 
 
 It was almost with a shudder of disgust that 
 the refined Attaway felt disposed to turn from 
 this new volunteer protector. But the first 
 word Captain Molly spoke disarmed her preju- 
 dice, and touched a chord of sympathy in her 
 tender nature. 
 
 " Och lady ! and is it that the likes of you 
 must be after going through saynes that rend 
 the soul of a poor rough body like myself? 
 And belave it, I saw my own brave man struck 
 down yesterday jist forninst me. But God for- 
 give me many a Britisher fell in his tracks 
 before Mike's gun." 
 
 "An' is it your brother, lady, that is lying 
 low?" 
 
 " Alas, yes, good woman ; " replied Attawnv, 
 " and, if you please, lose no time in leading me 
 to his tent. It misgives me, that he may already 
 be no more. Oh ! the bitter agony of this sus- 
 pense ! " 
 
 " God bless your ladyship ; An' not a mo- 
 ment will Molly lose in guiding ye to the place. 
 I know the sight of ye will do the sick man 
 good." And she bowed her head down to the 
 saddle bow and wrung her hands in a sudden 
 fit of anguish, as she remembered her own 
 
Light Beyond. 85 
 
 desolate state, and that poor Mike had reached 
 that bourne where the voice of wife and sister 
 could neither soothe or comfort more. 
 
 " Poor woman ! " said Attaway vainly trying 
 to console her, " Remember that your husband 
 has died a patriot's death. And you by taking 
 his place so nobly, you yourself will share in the 
 gratitude which we all feel to him ; yes, must 
 feel to whomsoever gives his blood for our 
 country." 
 
 44 Arrah its cold comfort ! as ye know yeself 
 lady, but as the praste tills me, 4 God's will be 
 done.' But," added she, without a moment's 
 pause her bright eye kindling, " Bad 'cess to 
 all traitors ! 'an its this arrum that'll never 
 lay down its musket until Molly lies low or 
 sees our blissed Gineral conquer, and ivrey 
 wretch driven beyant the seas, as would chain 
 us to proud England's skirts." 
 
 And now as they drew near to the hospital 
 tent, marked by the yellow flag flying from its 
 pinnacle, Attaway's agony of suspense became 
 too great to admit of her exchanging a word 
 with her strange companion. She feared that 
 all mio^ht now be over. 
 
 The carriage was now halted a few yards 
 from the entrance, and when Oswald came 
 out to assist her in alighting, she almost fell 
 fainting in his arms. 
 
 He only pressed her hand, and whispered, 
 
86 Lang Syne. 
 
 "Oh! How thankful he will be that you have 
 come ! Bless you for making the effort." 
 
 These few words lifted a weight of woe from 
 her heart, and buoyed up by the faint glimmer 
 of hope thus given her,* as well as by the near- 
 ness of that other friend, she walked bravely 
 into the room already hallowed by the brood- 
 ing presence of the angel of death. 
 
 Reginald lay on a low couch, supported by 
 extempore cushions, such as the scanty supplies 
 of the Continental Army afforded. Yet his eye 
 shone with a serene and brilliant lustre, and a 
 smile lit up his features unearthly in its 
 radiance. 
 
 " God bless you, little sister," he murmured. 
 "You're just in time to say good-bye and let me 
 have my last earthly wish gratified. Let the 
 clergyman be called ; he is not far off. Just kneel 
 down both of you, and let me place Attaway's 
 hand in yours Oswald— then I shall depart with- 
 out a care, for I shall know that she will want 
 for no earthly source of happiness. Take care 
 of Barbet, Oswald. He is yours." 
 
 All this was spoken slowly and with effort. 
 
 Meanwhile the summoned clergyman had 
 come. In deepest emotion the two knelt on 
 either side of the humble couch, and felt that their 
 union would acquire a double sacredness from 
 their vows having been exchanged in Reginald's 
 presence, and at his desire. 
 
Light Beyond. 87 
 
 When the short, beautiful marriage service 
 was ended, Reginald drew a deep breath of 
 contentment. 
 
 " I am tired now. I think I will go to sleep. 
 But no," he added in an altered tone, I am 
 going where there is no night, no sleep." Once 
 more he cast a long, fond look upon the dear 
 ones at his side, and waved his hand to them in 
 token of farewell, then, as if he had beheld some 
 lovely vision, stretched both hands upwards 
 and with a face actually luminous with joy, fell 
 back and expired. 
 
 The faithful friends who laid out the loved 
 form of their comrade, found in a large gold 
 locket next his heart, a faded rose — a broken 
 ring. We know what they knew not, the sig- 
 nificance of these tokens. Bat they were 
 reverentially preserved, and with the addition 
 of a curl of his own beautiful hair handed to 
 Attaway, who we may well believe watered 
 them with her tears. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 Peace, blessed peace rings in her voice. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Seldom does it fall to the lot of man, to have 
 his cup of joy so full as was that of Washing- 
 ton, upon his return to Mount Vernon, at the 
 close of the war, which happy event took place 
 on Christmas Eve, 1783. For more than seven 
 years he had been a stranger to the home he 
 loved so well, and no one who saw the serenity 
 of contentment which sat upon his brow, so 
 soon as he turned his face homewards, could, for 
 a moment doubt that he had been perfectly 
 sincere in his oft-repeated statement that he 
 much preferred the quiet pursuits of the country 
 gentleman to the heavy burdens of public life, 
 however gilded. 
 
 Oftentimes attacked by the calumnies of the 
 envious, his pure motives impugned — the wis- 
 dom of his actions called in question — he had 
 borne all patiently, unmurmuringly. He had 
 submitted to live in the constant turmoil of war 
 and politics for his dear country's sake, but in 
 his heart of hearts, next after that conscious- 
 ness of rectitude which furnished his soul with 
 88 
 
Conclusion. 89 
 
 so firm a stay against the assaults of his enemies, 
 he found the surest refuge from troublous 
 thoughts in forgetting the trying scenes by 
 which he was surrounded and looking forward 
 to Mount Vernon — his dear Virginia home — as 
 a haven of repose, a very paradise of content. 
 And now that long hoped-for day was come. 
 
 The Government boat which had been placed 
 at his Excellency's service in New York to con- 
 vey him home by sea, seemed to bear him but 
 slowly to the long-wished for goal. Others on 
 board besides himself were impatient to reach 
 that hallowed spot. 
 
 Oswald Caperton, now a colonel in the army, 
 stood by his side on deck, yet more eager to 
 catch a glimpse of one, who he. well knew 
 would also be there to give him, too, a welcome 
 home. 
 
 So well known was Washington's dislike to 
 all parade and display, that the people all 
 around, with genuine delicacy had agreed to 
 give him no public reception, just at first, but 
 allow their beloved General in privacy and 
 quiet to receive his first welcome in the bosom 
 of his own family. 
 
 Alread}^ from the landing, the gentlemen 
 could see the familiar expanse of green lawn, 
 dotted with many an evergreen planted by the 
 master's own hand, then the house came in 
 view, and on the portico overlooking the river 
 
90 Lang Syne. 
 
 a family group awaited them, whose central 
 point of interest was of course two tall and 
 graceful female forms. 
 
 The carriage and four stood ready on the 
 wharf — Old Csesar grinned from ear to ear, as 
 he bowed and scraped his humble greeting, the 
 while caressing the splendid carriage- horses at 
 whose heads he stood, finding it hard in his 
 childish vanity to refrain from calling the Gen- 
 eral's attention, the very first thing to the fine 
 order in which he had kept those same horses 
 " jes for Marser's sake ; he do set such store by 
 dumb critters," he used to say. And keeping 
 them fat and sleek, the old fellow had overcome 
 laziness enough — heaven knows. 
 
 But when Oswald caught sight of Barbet, 
 standing saddled and bridled on the shore, held 
 by a groom in livery, he could no longer 
 restrain his impatience, which was, however, 
 mingled with emotions of the saddest nature. 
 Jumping ashore, even before the boat was made 
 fast to her moorings, he ran up the bank to 
 greet poor Reginald's pet. One would almost 
 have believed the recognition was mutual, as 
 the horse stood there with arched neck and 
 pawing hoof, looking more intelligent and beau- 
 tiful than ever. Tenderly Oswald stroked the 
 flowing mane, nor felt ashamed of the tears that 
 filled his eyes at the memories evoked. Leap- 
 ing into the saddle, the General's smiling per- 
 
Conclusion. 91 
 
 mission having been extended, he galloped on 
 and was soon receiving the warmest of wel- 
 comes from his wife and aunt. 
 
 When General Washington arrived Oswald 
 was in place to assist him to alight, and proudly 
 presented his fair young wife, whom he now for 
 the first time, felt to be his very own. 
 
 Mrs. Washington's exterior was calm, and 
 yet there was a light in her eye and a benig- 
 nant smile irradiating her countenance that 
 betokened a heart overflowing with bliss. 
 
 A host of colored people of all ages were 
 assembled on either side of the carriage-way, 
 bowing and smiling and giving every possible 
 demonstration of delight upon the return home 
 of a master whom they loved as much as they 
 reverenced. Well they knew that each one 
 would get his Christmas gift on the morrow, 
 besides plenty of good things at the holiday 
 feast which was always spread for every creature 
 upon the plantation, on the day that commem- 
 orated our Savior's birth. Following this would 
 come a whole week's respite from work, and 
 after that New Year's Day when many a bright 
 silver piece would fall into the hands of all 
 those who had rendered such service as could 
 not be dispensed with. Assuredly without the 
 setting of their dusky faces as a background, 
 there would have been lacking a distinct ele- 
 ment in what constituted a perfect picture of 
 
92 Lang Syne. 
 
 home life, whose absence must have been 
 missed regretfully by Washington himself. 
 For strong was the tie of affection that linked 
 together the served and servant in those old and 
 well nigh forgotten days. 
 
 The head dining-room servant, who was him- 
 self a most awe inspiring individual, allowed no 
 one but himself to take charge of his master's 
 cloak and travelling packages, waving back in 
 a most dignified manner, the younger servants 
 who ventured to propose sharing the privilege. 
 
 The columns on the portico, overlooking the 
 river were wreathed in evergreens, and over the 
 front door had been erected an arch of holly, 
 the word " Welcome " being distinctly traced 
 in its bright berries, that gleamed like coral 
 amid the glistening green of the foliage that 
 formed its background. 
 
 Through the open hall doors was to be seen 
 the yule log blazing on the hearth within, the 
 polished floors shone like mirrors, and as the 
 family disappear, hidden from view by the clos- 
 ing leaves of the hitherto wide open doorway, 
 we, too, like their country neighbors, shrink from 
 further intrusion, and reverentially turn away 
 without essaying to cross the threshold. 
 
 But since it needs be that we close now these 
 revolutionary reminiscences how pleasant to let 
 the curtain drop upon a scene of smiling peace! 
 And if to-day the same glad light sheds lustre 
 
Conclusion. 93 
 
 upon our land, do not we feel that its glory is 
 reflected from that which went before ? 
 
 If so, let us see to it that the virtues whence 
 grew up so fair a shaft, be cherished and fos- 
 tered, until the last days be more glorious than 
 the first ; as it were, the rich fruition of precious 
 seed sown in the blessed days of " Auld Lang 
 Syne." 
 
 THE EI-TD. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
THE WOMEN OF THE 
 REVOLUTION. 
 
 A thankworthy task it should assuredly be 
 deemed, to preserve from oblivion the many 
 deeds of woman's heroism and devotion to 
 country, which illustrated the early days of our 
 Republic ; and, from diverse and obscure 
 sources, to garner them here in such convenient 
 and portable shape as fits them for ready trans- 
 mission to future generations. The historian 
 must indeed be superficial, who, in making a 
 philosophical estimate of the units which 
 together constitute the individuality of any 
 age, ignores its domestic relations, as an 
 important factor in the great sum whose mys- 
 teries he is endeavoring to solve. Eliminate 
 from the life of any one man all those actions 
 to which he has been prompted by the desire to 
 please the woman who stands closest to his 
 heart, be it mother, sister, or wife, and it were 
 indeed strange if some of the fairest achieve- 
 ments of his life are not lost. And what is the 
 history of any period of the world, but a record 
 of human life in the aggregate ? — an aggregate 
 made up of individuals, whose incentives for 
 
 97 
 
98 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 action, in the mass, must be sought in precisely 
 the same sources as when they stood alone, sep- 
 arate and distinct; whose inspiration will be 
 ever found in the character of those whom they 
 love. Unwise, then, would be the student of 
 Revolutionary lore, who should pass by as 
 unworthy of his attention, the record of the 
 lives of women who were, to say the least, 
 companions of heroes, and who, although there 
 might have been nothing about them to attract 
 notice, if they had been allowed to pursue the 
 even tenor of their ordinarily quiet lives, were 
 yet found equal to the occasion, when through 
 the cruel emergency of the hour, they were 
 called upon to confront danger, surmount diffi- 
 culties, and endure tortures both physical and 
 mental. 
 
 As fact is ever more forcible than theory, and 
 particular incidents more interesting than gen- 
 eral statements, we shall doubtless be readily 
 pardoned, in this article, for recalling some of 
 the striking and lovely portraits drawn for us 
 by Mrs. Ellet's truthful pencil. 
 
 First in the group must, of course, stand 
 Mary Ball, the mother of Washington. The 
 popular belief, that in the character of the 
 mother may be read the future of her son, is, of 
 course, an exaggeration of the truth; but 
 Washington is no exception to the general 
 truth, that a son's mind is moulded after the 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 99 
 
 pattern of his mother's, and his character per- 
 fected, in large measure, by the principles 
 instilled into him in childhood at her knee. 
 We hear of this lady first as a beautiful young 
 girl, daughter of Colonel Ball, of Westmore- 
 land, Virginia, and the beile of the Northern 
 Neck. In person she was tall, graceful and 
 dignified, clothed with more than an ordinary 
 share of womanly modesty, and yet endowed 
 with a faculty for controlling others, most 
 unusual in one of her sex and years. After- 
 wards, as a mistress and mother, she maintained 
 her authority inviolate ; not through any out- 
 ward demonstration of power, except, perhaps, 
 the sudden kindling of the eye when provoked, 
 but through that indefinable, but felt, force of 
 will, that enabled her, almost without effort, to 
 bring all about her to submit without question 
 to her orders. In her own family, therefore, 
 she reigned supreme ; and yet her firmness was 
 so tempered with considerate kindness, that her 
 children idolized as well as feared her. Her 
 husband, Augustine Washington, was a 
 widower when she married him ; and the diffi- 
 cult part of a stepmother she performed with- 
 out reproach. She became, herself, the mother 
 of four sons and two daughters, one of whom 
 died in infancy. Her oldest child, George, was 
 eleven years old when she became a widow; 
 and upon her devolved the entire charge of her 
 
100 The Women of the Revolution, 
 
 husband's many plantations, besides the con- 
 duct of her children's education. Her talents 
 for management were then brought into full 
 requisition. How well she performed her task 
 in the rearing of her oldest son, without the 
 aid of a father's stronger arm, America grate- 
 fully acknowledges, in the homage paid to his 
 virtues. Irving writes : — " Tradition gives an 
 interesting picture of the widow with her little 
 flock gathered round her, as was her daily wont, 
 reading to them lessons of religion and morality 
 out of some standard work. Her favorite 
 volume was Sir Matthew Hale's Contempla- 
 tions, moral and divine. The admirable 
 maxims therein contained, for outward action 
 as well as self-government, sank deep into the 
 mind of George, and doubtless had a great 
 influence in forming his character. They cer- 
 tainly were exemplified in his conduct through- 
 out life. This mother's manual, bearing his 
 mother's name, Mary Washington, written with 
 her own hand, was ever preserved by him with 
 filial care, and ma}* still be seen in the archives 
 of Mount Vernon. A precious document ! 
 Let those who wish to know the moral founda- 
 tion of his character, consult its pages." 
 
 During the whole of his career, General 
 Washington was accustomed to pay the most 
 unaffected and unusual deference to his mother ; 
 and his meeting with her after the victory of 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 101 
 
 Yorktown, which decided the independence of 
 the struggling colonies, is so remarkable and 
 touchingly beautiful, that we transcribe it at 
 second hand from Mr. Custis's narrative : 
 
 " After an absence of nearly seven years, it 
 was at length, on the return of the combined 
 armies from Yorktown, permitted to the mother 
 again to see and embrace her illustrious son. 
 So soon as he had dismounted, in the midst of a 
 brilliant suite, he sent to apprise her of his 
 arrival, and to know when it would be her 
 pleasure to receive him. She was alone, her 
 aged hands employed in works of domestic 
 industry, when the good news was announced, 
 and it was further told that the victorious chief 
 was in waiting at the threshold. She welcomed 
 him with a warm embrace, and by the well- 
 rembered and endearing names of his child- 
 hood. Inquiring as to his health, she remarked 
 the lines which mighty cares and many trials 
 had made on his manly countenance ; spoke 
 much of old times and old friends ; but of his 
 glory, not one ivord ! Meantime, in the village 
 of Fredericksburg, all was joy and revelry. 
 The town was crowded with officers of the 
 French and American armies, and with gentle- 
 men from all the country around, who hastened 
 to welcome the conquerors of Cornwallis. 
 The citizens made arrangements for a splendid 
 ball, to which the mother of Washington was 
 
102 The 'Women of the Revolution. 
 
 specially invited. She observed, that though 
 her dancing days were pretty well over, she should 
 feel happy in contributing to the general fes- 
 tivity, and consented to attend. The foreign 
 officers were anxious to see the mother of their 
 chief. They had heard indistinct rumors 
 respecting her remarkable life and character; 
 but forming their judgment from European exam- 
 ples, they were prepared to expect in her that 
 glare and show which would have been attached 
 to the parents of the great in the Old World. 
 How were they surprised when the matron, 
 leaning on the arm of her son, entered the 
 room ! She was arrayed in the very plain, yet 
 becoming garb worn by the Virginia lady of the 
 olden time. Her address, always dignified and 
 imposing, was courteous, though reserved. She 
 received the complimentary attentions which 
 were profusely paid her, without evincing the 
 slightest elevation; and at an early hour, wish- 
 ing the company much enjoyment of their plea- 
 sures, and observing that it was time for old 
 people to be at home, retired, leaning as before 
 on the arm of her son." 
 
 In the mysterious ordering of Providence, 
 this noble lady was permitted to languish for 
 years, and then die from the effects of cancer, 
 that most humiliating of the diseases with 
 which humanity is scourged. But even under 
 this sore trial she maintained the integrity of 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 103 
 
 her religious faith, possessed her soul in 
 patience, and was finally laid to rest in a beau- 
 tiful rural spot of her own selection. It is situated 
 on a high bluff near Fredericksburg, overlook- 
 ing the Rappahannock river, and the site of the 
 home where she had passed the brief, happy 
 years of her married life. An unfinished white 
 marble monument marks the spot where repose 
 the remains of " Mary, the Mother of Washing- 
 ton," and many are the pilgrims who there turn 
 aside to do her memory homage, and bow, we 
 trust, with renewed purpose of soul, to emulate 
 the virtues of truth, piety and benevolence, 
 which shone so brightly in her life. 
 
 The last interview Washington ever had with 
 his mother occurred just after he had been 
 elected President, and before Ins departure for 
 New York to take the oath of office. It was 
 deeply affecting. Bowed down by the weight 
 of fourscore and five years, and worn by the 
 ravages of her fatal disease, the honored matron 
 felt that she was bidding her beloved son a last 
 farewell, and showed the strongest emotion 
 during the interview. Washington said : — 
 " Madam, the people have been pleased, with 
 the most flattering unanimity, to elect me to 
 the chief magistracy of the United States ; but 
 before I can assume the functions of that office, 
 I have come to bid you an affectionate fare- 
 well. So soon as the public business, which 
 
104 The Women of the Revolution, 
 
 must necessarily be encountered in arranging a 
 new government, can be disposed of, I shall 
 hasten to Virginia, and — " Here the mother 
 interrupted him with, "You will see me no 
 more. My great age, and the disease which is 
 fast approaching my vitals, warn me that I shall 
 not be long in this world. I trust to God I am 
 somewhat prepared for a better. But go, 
 George, fulfil the destiny which Heaven 
 appears to assign you; go, my son, and may 
 Heaven's and your mother's blessing be with 
 you always." Washington wept ; the great man 
 was again a little child, as he kissed the fur- 
 rowed cheek of his mother with all the the ten- 
 der affection and simplicity of a loving boy. 
 With a full heart he went forth to "fulfil the 
 destiny '' which Heaven assigned him, and he 
 saw his mother no more. 
 
 As early as 1833, Andrew Jackson, the then 
 President of the United States, repaired to 
 Fredericksburg, in all the pomp of civic and 
 military parade, to lay the corner-stone of the 
 monument to be erected to Washington's 
 mother ; and still the tomb is incomplete ; the 
 noble obelisk, which was meant to crown its 
 base, lying mutilated and neglected on the 
 ground. Wild flowers and graceful vines, it is 
 said, have sprung spontaneously around, as 
 though to conceal the negligence of man. May 
 it not be for long that this sad monument shall 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 105 
 
 remain to that spirit of procrastination and lack 
 of enterprise which exist, to too great an extent, 
 within the borders of the blessed, but not fault- 
 less, Old Dominion. Happy, indeed, must we 
 count the land which can furnish to its 
 daughters the example of a character so sym- 
 metrical as that which we have just described. 
 If Washington were blessed in a mother so 
 fully qualified to guide his youthful footsteps 
 into paths of rectitude and honor, he was equally 
 so in finding a wife meet for the companionship 
 of his maturer years. That the beginning of so 
 fortunate a union was in accordance with the 
 most approved modes of procedure in the 
 school of romance, is pleasing enough to those 
 wdio acknowledge the authority of its somewhat 
 antiquated code. In his twenty-seventh year, 
 Washington was already Colonel in the English 
 army, and had seen abundance of active service 
 in the border warfare with the French and their 
 savage allies. In the spring of 1758, the 
 Indians were making hostile demonstrations to 
 an alarming extent in many unprotected por- 
 tions of Virginia, and the terrified inhabitants 
 appealed urgently to the military for defence. 
 In response to this call, large forces of militia 
 gathered together, in addition to the regular 
 troops already in the field, preparing for an 
 expedition against Fort Duquesne. All of 
 these men were in desperate need of clothes, 
 
106 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 arms, indeed everything that constitutes the 
 soldier's outfit. Washington, after repeatedly 
 soliciting relief for their necessities, but without 
 avail, at last received the welcome order from 
 Sir John St. Clair, quartermaster-general of the 
 forces under the Commander-in-Chief, Forbes, to 
 repair to Williamsburg, where the Council was 
 in session, and there represent the pressing 
 nature of the case. With alacrity the young offi- 
 cer obeyed the order, and set forth on horseback 
 from Winchester, attended by Bishop, a faithful 
 military valet. As he crossed the Pamunkey in 
 a ferry-boat, he fell in company with Mr. Cham- 
 berlayne, a neighboring planter, who urged him 
 to stop and partake of his hospitality ; in short, 
 he would take no denial. Washington objected 
 much to the delay, but finally yielded, on con- 
 dition that he might be allowed to depart imme- 
 diately after dinner. Among a large com] any 
 of 'guests already assembled in Mr. Chamber- 
 layne's parlor, he was introduced to a young 
 widow, Mrs. Martha Custis, whose maiden 
 name, Dandridge, proved her to belong to a 
 family of distinction. She is represented as 
 possessing a fine figure, although rather below 
 medium height, dark hazel eyes, chestnut brown 
 hair, a winning countenance, and manners at 
 once frank and engaging. There must indeed 
 have been something peculiarly fascinating 
 i in the conversation, which could make Washing- 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 107 
 
 ton loiter in the path of duty, as was the case 
 at this time. Bishop, punctual as the clock, 
 brought out his horses at the hour named, but 
 in dumb amazement heard them remanded 
 to the stable. His master had allowed himself 
 to be persuaded to tarry awile longer, nor got 
 his own consent to leave his charming new 
 acquaintance until the following morning. The 
 impression made that afternoon was not effaced, 
 for, as Mrs. Custis's residence was not far from 
 Williamsburg, the young soldier improved the' 
 opportunity for prosecuting his courtship, and 
 was successful, despite the rivalship of many 
 another suitor. Amid the pressing and con- 
 flicting duties of an ardent campaign, he made 
 his way into the fair widow's affections; and 
 before he was recalled to headquarters at Win- 
 chester, they became engaged, and appointed 
 the marriage to take place so soon as Fort 
 Duquesne should have fallen. Accordingly, 
 we find that the wedding did take place, at the 
 bride's residence, White House, New Kent 
 County, January 6th, 1759, where the nuptials 
 were solemnized in old Virginia style, amid a 
 large circle of friends, and with general merry- 
 making. 
 
 Washington now resigned all connection 
 with the army, supposed his military career had 
 drawn to a close, and, in good faith and con- 
 tentment, proposed to himself henceforward to 
 
108 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 lead the life of a retired country-gentleman. 
 In view of the brilliant future that we know 
 was before him, how strange seems the follow- 
 ing sentence, penned at Mount Vernon a few 
 months after his marriage : — " I am now, I 
 believe, fixed in this seat, with an agreeable 
 partner for life, and I hope to find more happi- 
 ness in retirement than I ever experienced in 
 the wide and bustling world." So little do 
 even those who are Heaven's choicest instru- 
 ments for good to their fellow-men, know of the 
 path which is appointed for them to follow. 
 The pursuits of agriculture and the pleasures 
 of country life never lost their charm for 
 Washington. Again and again we see him 
 return to his beloved Mount Vernon, ardently 
 longing to remain there ; and again and again 
 lie is called forth to serve his country, a call to 
 which no selfish gratification could ever make 
 him deaf. 
 
 Mrs. Washington seems to have been one of 
 those women who shine equally in domestic 
 and social circles, so that it is hardly matter for 
 surprise if her husband found his home so 
 attractive as to have no need for seeking his 
 happiness elsewhere. Doubtless, the secret of 
 her charm lay in her piet}^ which was deep and 
 sincere. In that long struggle which lasted 
 with changing success for so many years, and 
 whose issue trembled so often in the balance, 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 109 
 
 she showed that equanimity of spirit and 
 temper which is a very tower of strength to its 
 possessor, and a beacon of hope to all who 
 come within reach of its blessed influences. 
 In the dark days at Valley Forge, not to speak 
 of many another dreary winter, the cheering 
 effects of the presence of ladies in camp, more 
 especially that of Lady Washington, is spoken 
 of gratefully, in many a soldier's letter ; and 
 many a page of history, that would have been 
 otherwise a dreary record of gloom, hardship, 
 and disaster, is thus softened and brightened. 
 Nor are we left without a description of this 
 lady's mode of dress, which is worthy of note, 
 as, doubtless, true daughters of the Republic 
 will wish to imitate it. An old soldier tells the 
 story of how there was much stir in the bar- 
 racks, when it was bruited abroad that so grand 
 a lady was coining to visit the camp as Lady 
 Washington — one of those aristocratic Virgin- 
 ians whose pride was even then the subject of 
 comment, and one who, at all events, as the 
 wife of their Commander-in-Chief, might be 
 expected to appear in elegant attire. Man}*- 
 flocked as near as they dared, to see her alight 
 from her coach, and could hardly believe at 
 first that the plainly dressed person whom they 
 saw, with her only neck-dress a neatly folded 
 kerchief, was the expected lady. But they 
 were soon convinced of her identity when they 
 
110 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 observed the manner of General Washington's 
 welcome, and saw the deference paid her by all 
 in attendance. Simplicity, with neatness, were 
 marked characteristics of Mrs. Washington's 
 attire, qualities which many of her sex in those 
 days were not slow to imitate, led by so august 
 an example. Since the funds which would 
 ordinarily have gone for the adornment of their 
 persons were now, in most instances, poured 
 into the common treasury, this moderation on 
 the part of the women of the day must have 
 contributed in no small degree to the support 
 of the ill-fed, ragged Continental troops, in 
 whom, nevertheless, was centred every hope of 
 coming freedom. 
 
 Who knows how much of that outward 
 imperturbable serenity for which Washington 
 has been so much admired, resulted from his 
 possessing domestic peace — a wife at home in 
 whom his heart could safely trust. The genuine 
 hospitality of this pair is evinced by the cheer- 
 fulness with which it was dispensed, amid 
 the discomforts and mean accommodations of 
 camp-life, as well as when they were at home, 
 surrounded by all the accessories of wealth, 
 wherewith to provide comfort and good cheer 
 for their visitors. The Marquis de Chastellux 
 speaks feelingly of the warm reception he 
 experienced at their hands, when the only 
 chamber they had to offer him at night was a 
 
The Women of the Revolution. Ill 
 
 small room, which during the day served quite 
 a large company as a sitting-room. The trouble 
 and inconvenience to which General and Mrs. 
 Washington put themselves to entertain him, 
 could not fail to call forth the gratitude of this 
 impressible young Frenchman, and made him 
 apprehensive, he says, lest M. Rochambeau 
 might arrive the same day. He well knew that 
 the expansiveness of their benevolence would 
 not allow them to consider their own ease, 
 where the accommodation of a guest was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 An old veteran, many years afterwards, 
 related an anecdote illustrative of Mrs. Wash- 
 ington's condescending kindness towards those 
 in the humblest walks of life. He told how 
 himself and several other young carpenters had 
 been called upon by General Washington to 
 make a buffet, to put up shelves, and some 
 other little contrivances for the comfort of his 
 wife, who was daily expected at headquarters. 
 The lady arrived before the arrangements were 
 complete, and hastened to impart her own 
 instructions. While busied in her service, she 
 so encouraged the workmen by her amiable 
 manners, and by herself daily mounting the 
 stairs with some refreshment for them, that 
 they worked with a will, and all their life long 
 treasured her parting words of approval, as 
 something beyond price. When they called 
 
112 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 her to inspect the completed task, their spokes- 
 man said, " Madam, we have endeavored to do 
 the best we could ; I hope we have suited you." 
 She replied, smiling : — "*I am not only satisfied, 
 but highly gratified with what you have done 
 for my comfort." Simple words truly ; but 
 were the poor men wrong to prize them, com- 
 ing as they did from such a source ? 
 
 In the darkest hours of the war, Mrs. Wash- 
 ington's cheerful deportment infused spirit into 
 the despondent, and her patient endurance of 
 hardship made many ashamed to complain of 
 their own trials, who would otherwise have 
 used no such self-restraint ; and when prosperity 
 came, that severest of tests, it was her modest, 
 yet noble demeanor, together with that of her 
 husband, which lent dignity to a new and 
 untried form of government. Their stately 
 simplicity of manner taught the world that 
 republican institutions did not necessitate the 
 abrogation of conventionality , and their purity 
 and moderation of life proved that the noblest 
 patriotism might exist in union with great 
 power, provided its seat la}' in the hearts of the 
 people ruled. 
 
 But it was not only in the circles of the rich 
 and the great that woman's influence was felt 
 in Revolutionary days. The same instinct of 
 self-abnegation, and devotion to the cause of 
 freedom, seemed to pervade all classes, and 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 113 
 
 shine with equal lustre among young and old, 
 high and low ; and that in all sections of the 
 country. Time would fail to tell of all the 
 expedients devised by female ingenuity, and 
 all the sacrifices made in behalf of the infant 
 republic. A letter from a Philadelphia lady to 
 a British officer in Boston gives an idea of the 
 pervading sentiment which filled them all : 
 
 " My only brother I have sent to the camp, with 
 my prayers and blessings. I hope he will not 
 disgrace me. I am confident he will behave with 
 honor, and emulate the great examples he has 
 before him ; and had I twenty sons and brothers, 
 they should go. I have retrenched every super- 
 fluous expense in my table and family ; tea I 
 have not drunk since last Christmas, nor bought 
 a new cap or gown since your defeat at Lexing- 
 ton ; and, what I never did before, have learned 
 to knit, and am now making stockings of 
 American wool for my servants ; and this way 
 elo I throw in my mite to the public good. I 
 have the pleasure to assure you that these are 
 the sentiments of all my sister Americans. 
 They have sacrificed assemblies, parties of 
 pleasure, tea-drinking and finery, to that great 
 spirit of patriotism that actuates all elegrees of 
 people throughout this extensive continent." 
 
 One lady in Ulster County, N. Y., studied 
 medicine, that, in the absence of physicians in 
 the army, she might attend upon the sick in her 
 
114 The Women of the Revolotion. 
 
 own neighborhood. Some stripped themselves 
 of necessaries to contribute to yet more press- 
 ing public needs, and gave not only of their own 
 property, but solicited aid for the suffering 
 soldiery from door to door. Silk banners were 
 embroidered by delicate fingers, and presented 
 to favored regiments, with a charge never to 
 desert them. One brave fellow in New Jersey 
 had already bidden farewell and set out for the 
 army, with rifle across his shoulder, when, hear- 
 ing his wife call to him from the window; he 
 turned to receive her last words, which were 
 briefly these ; — " Remember to do your duty ! I 
 would rather hear that you were left a corpse 
 on the field than that you had played the part 
 of a coward." At that very instant her own 
 hands were employed in scraping lint for the 
 u^e of the wounded, for which purpose every 
 particle of linen in the house had been torn into 
 shreds. Some melted their pewter plates and 
 spoons to convert them into bullets, cut up their 
 own flannel garments, their blankets and sheets, 
 to make clothes of them for the soldiers. In 
 short, nothing could damp their enthusiasm, and 
 no difficulty proved too great for their ardor to 
 overcome. 
 
 Mrs. General Greene resigned her beautiful 
 Rhode Island mansion, that it might do service 
 as a small-pox hospital ; and a young English 
 girl, who afterwards turned out 10 be acting the 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 115 
 
 part of spy upon her kind entertainers, in giving 
 expression to her own ennui, unwittingly sup- 
 plies this testimony to the patriotic employments 
 in which General Putnam's family were 
 employed : — " My amusements were few ; the 
 good Mrs. Putnam employed me and her daugh- 
 ters constantly to spin flax for shirts for the 
 American soldiery, indolence in America being 
 totally discouraged." 
 
 The women of the Southern States were not 
 behind their Northern sisters in devotion to the 
 cause. They joined together in formal societies, 
 pledging themselves to renounce tea and other 
 foreign luxuries, and to wear clothing spun and 
 woven by their own hands. In Rowan and 
 Mecklenburg counties, North Carolina, young 
 ladies of the best families signed a compact, 
 binding themselves to accept no suitors who 
 had refused to do military service for their 
 country. 
 
 Nor was this feeling ephemeral, but as endur- 
 ing as the occasion which called it forth. In 
 1779, the ladies of Philadelphia formed an asso- 
 ciation which contributed inestimably to the 
 support of the then exhausted country. All 
 contributed of their money or of their jewels, 
 from the Marchioness de Lafayette down to 
 Phillis, the humble colored woman, each accord- 
 ing to the measure of her ability. General 
 Washington, in a note to a committee of ladies 
 
116 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 acknowledging contributions to the comfort of 
 his men, writes : " The army ought not to 
 regret its sacrifices, when they meet with so flat- 
 tering a reward as in the sympathy of your sex." 
 The Marquis de Chastellux thus reports a visit 
 paid to Mrs. Bache, daughter of Benjamin 
 Franklin : — " She conducted us into a room filled 
 with work lately finished by the ladies of Phila- 
 delphia. This work consisted neither of 
 embroidered tambour waistcoats, nor of net- 
 work edging, nor of gold and silver brocade. 
 It was a quantity of shirts for the soldiers of 
 Pennsylvania. The ladies bought linen from 
 their private purses, and took a ] Measure in cut- 
 ting them out and sewing them. On each shirt 
 was the name of the married or unmarried lady 
 who made it, and they amounted to twenty-two 
 hundred/ ' 
 
 Mrs. Motte, of South Carolina, gave a notable 
 example of high-minded patriotism, which we 
 cannot forebear quoting. It seems that her 
 large, newly built mansion had become the 
 centre of works which the British had converted 
 into a fort. Opposite, and on a high hill, was a 
 smaller and older farmhouse, to which Mrs. 
 Motte had retired upon the intrusion of the 
 enemy. Here Lee and Marion took position 
 with their forces, and invested the fort, hoping 
 to force it to surrender before succor could come 
 to its relief. Lord Rawdon's near approach 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 117 
 
 made it necessary to hasten operations, and 
 regretfully the two American commanders 
 agreed that the only way to compel a surrender 
 would be to fire the fort, which necessarily 
 involved the destruction of Mrs. Motte's elegant 
 residence. Hesitatingly they informed the lady 
 of the painful duty incumbent upon them of 
 destroying her property. " Mrs. Motte not only 
 assented, but declared that she was 'gratified 
 with the opportunity of contributing to the 
 good of her country, and should view the 
 approaching scene with delight.' Shortly after 
 she sent for Lee, and presenting him with a 
 bow and arrows which had been imported from 
 India, requested that they might be used to 
 convey combustible matter to the house." Mrs. 
 Ellet adds, after giving an animated account of 
 the affair : — " If ever a situation in real life 
 afforded a fit subject for poetry, by filling the 
 mind with a sense of moral grandeur, it was 
 that of Mrs. Motte contemplating the spectacle 
 of her home in flames, and rejoicing in the 
 triumph secured to her countrymen, the bene- 
 fit to her native land, by her surrender of her 
 own interest to the public service." 
 
 But it was not always woman's active 
 cooperation and approval that lent force to the 
 blows with which the American sought 
 to drive back the invader of his country's 
 rights. Her very helplessness, and the cruel 
 
118 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 persecutions to which her innocence was 
 exposed, did more than aught else to convince 
 the patriots of the stern necessity that lay 
 upon them to conquer, if they would ever 
 taste again the blessedness of security and 
 peace. In 1780 occurred the Caldwell Tragedy, 
 which, says one of the journals of the day, 
 " has raised the resolution of the country to the 
 highest pitch." Rev. James Caldwell was the 
 pastor of the Presttyterian congregation at 
 Elizabethtown. His church had been 1 turned 
 by a band of British and Tories, and he was 
 forced to find a temporary home at Connecticut 
 Flats. One morning the report came that a 
 large company of the enemy were approaching, 
 and the minister, knowing to what an extent 
 he had incurred their hostility, in haste har- 
 nessed horses to a large baggage- wagon, and 
 besought his wife to make her escape, with him- 
 self and their six children, while it was yet 
 possible to make the attempt. Secure in a con- 
 viction of her own inoffensive conduct, and 
 believing that no man could be cruel enough to 
 harm a woman in the discharge of her maternal 
 duties, she refused to abandon her home to 
 plunder, and quietly resumed her place in 
 the nursery, after expediting the flight of 
 her husband and three older children. When 
 the soldiery came up, she had just handed 
 the infant to its nurse ; a ruffian approached 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 119 
 
 close to the window, and taking deliber- 
 ate aim at the mother, fired off his gun 
 and instantly killed her. Even her lifeless 
 remains were not left undisturbed, but her 
 dress was cut open, and her pockets rifled of 
 their contents. Strange to say, this barbarous 
 and cold-blooded murder was not the work of 
 savages, but of men calling themselves Chris- 
 tians and civilized. At all events it had a mar- 
 vellous effect in arousing the public mind to a 
 full sense of the cruel nature of the warfare 
 being waged against them, and went far 
 towards nerving them to meet bravely the 
 issues of the contest in which they were 
 engaged. But it was undeniable that the policy 
 of the British Government had enlisted in its 
 cause hordes of veritable savages, restrained by 
 no motives such as move even the nominal 
 Christian, and the war-whoop of the Indian was 
 heard in all the frontier settlements, sending 
 thrills of horror to the most stout-hearted, and 
 how much more to the helpless women and 
 children. The murder of Miss Jane McCrea 
 had occurred the spring before, and created a 
 sensation in Europe as ivell as America. The 
 vision of the beautiful young creature, held by 
 her long fair hair at arm's length, and murdered 
 by a painted savage, long haunted the imagina- 
 tion of other than the children who heard it 
 first from their nurse's lips. The simple faith 
 
120 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 with which the poor girl had entrusted herself 
 to the hands of such a guide, believing him to 
 be the envoy of her lover, added pathos to the 
 tale, which was repeated with deepest feeling 
 far and near; and, in sooth, the reproach of 
 employing such allies has never yet been wiped 
 from England's escutcheon. For seven years 
 the lovely Mohawk Valley continued to be but 
 a bloody battle-field, and its peacefully inclined 
 citizens could not lie down to sleep with any 
 assurance that their rest would not be broken 
 by the wild cry of the savage, and their eyes 
 greeted by the flames of their own barns and 
 dwelling houses. The massacres of Wyoming 
 and Cherry Valley have not had greater pub- 
 licity than their horrors deserved, yet the story 
 is too painful and too complicated to enter upon 
 in this place. 
 
 Out of many incidents told in illustration of 
 the high-hearted courage shown by women of 
 the period, we select one or two examples of 
 peculiar interest and beauty. " One young girl, 
 Miss Langston, residing in Laurens District, 
 South Carolina, having heard by accident that 
 the ' Bloody Scout ' were about to visit the 
 Elder settlement where her brother and some 
 friends were living, determined at all hazards 
 to give them warning. She was obliged to 
 leave her home alone, by stealth, and at the 
 dead hour of night. Many miles were to be 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 121 
 
 traversed, and the road lay through woods, and 
 over marshes and creeks where the conveniences 
 of bridges and foot-logs were wanting. She 
 walked rapidly on, heedless of slight difficulties ; 
 but her heart almost failed her when she came 
 to the banks of the Tyger — a deep and rapid 
 stream, rendered more dangerous by the rains 
 that had lately fallen. But the thought of 
 personal danger weighed lightly with her ; she 
 resolved to accomplish her purpose or perish in 
 the attempt. She entered the water ; but when 
 in the middle of the ford, became bewildered 
 and doubtful which direction to take. The 
 hoarse rush of the waters, which were up to her 
 neck, the blackness of the night, the utter soli- 
 tude around her, the uncertainty lest the next 
 step would engulf her past help, confused her, 
 and she wandered some time in the channel 
 without knowing whither to turn her steps. 
 But the energy of a resolute will, under the 
 care of Providence, sustained her. Having 
 with difficulty reached the other side, she lost 
 no time in hastening to her brother, informed 
 him and his friends of the preparations made to 
 surprise and destroy them, and urged him to 
 send his men instantly in different directions to 
 arouse and warn the neighborhood. The 
 soldiers had just returned from a fatiguing 
 excursion, and complained that they were faint 
 from want of food. The noble girl, not satis- 
 
122 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 fled with what she had done, was ready to help 
 them still further, by providing food and 
 refreshment immediately. Though wearied, 
 wet, and shivering with cold, she at once set 
 about her preparations. A few boards were 
 taken from the roof of the house, a fire was 
 kindled with them, and in a few minutes, a hoe- 
 cake, partly baked, was broken into pieces, and 
 thrust into the shot-pouches of the men. Thus 
 provisioned, the little company hastened to give 
 the alarm to their neighbors, and did so in time 
 for all to make their escape. At a later period, 
 the father of Miss Langston incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of the loyalists in consequence of the 
 active services of his sons in their country's 
 cause. A party came to his house with the 
 desperate design of putting to death all the 
 me.: of the family. The sous were absent, but 
 the feeble old man was in their power. One of 
 the company drew a pistol and deliberately 
 levelled it at his breast. Suddenly a shriek was 
 heard, and his young daughter sprang between 
 her aged parent and the fatal weapon. The 
 brutal soldier roughly ordered her to get out of 
 the way, or the contents of the pistol would be 
 instantly lodged in her own heart. She did 
 not heed the threat, but clasping her arms 
 tightly around the old man's neck, declared 
 that her own body should first receive the ball 
 aimed at his heart. There are few human 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 123 
 
 beings, even of the most depraved, entirel} r 
 insensible to all generous impulses. On this 
 occasion, the conduct of the daughter, so 
 determined to shield her father's life by the 
 sacrifice of her own, touched the heart even of 
 a member of the ' Bloody Scout,' and Langston 
 was spared." 
 
 Our second example is that of Mrs. Van 
 Alstine, a matron of Canajoharie, New York. 
 Her family having been robbed by the Indians 
 of all winter supplies of food and clothing, 
 besides the farm-stock, she courageously ven- 
 tured to the Indian settlement, attended only 
 by her son, a boy of sixteen years, and demanded 
 the restitution of her property. The squaws 
 alone being at home, she succeeded by means 
 of stratagem and intimidation together.* " The 
 mother and son now drove back as fast as pos- 
 sible. They reached home late in the evening, 
 and passed a sleepless night, dreading instant 
 pursuit and a night-attack from the irritated 
 savages. Soon after daylight the alarm was 
 given that the Indians were within view and 
 coming towards the house. Van Alstine saw 
 no course to escape from their vengeance but to 
 give up whatever they wished to take back ; 
 but his intrepid wife was determined on an 
 effort at least to retain her property. As they 
 came near, she begged her husband not to show 
 
 * Domestic History of the Revolution, p. 247. 
 
124 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 himself, for she knew they would immediately 
 fall upon him, but to leave the matter in her 
 hands. The intruders took their course first to 
 the stables, and bidding all the rest remain 
 within doors, the matron went out alone, fol- 
 lowed to the door by all her family, weeping, 
 and entreating her not to expose herself. Going 
 to the stable, she inquired in the Indian language 
 what the men wanted. The reply was 'our 
 horses.' She said boldly, i They are ours. 
 You came and took them without right. They 
 are ours, and we mean to keep them.' The 
 chief now came forward theateningly, and 
 approached 1 lie door, Mrs. Van Alstine placed 
 herself against it, telling him she would not 
 give up the animals they had raised. He suc- 
 ceeded in pulling her from the door, and drew 
 out the plug which fastened it, which she 
 snatched from his hand, pushing him away. 
 He then stepped back and presented his rifle, 
 threatening to shoot her if she did not move ; 
 but she kept her position, opening her neck- 
 handkerchief and bidding him shoot if he dared. 
 It might be that the Indian feared punishment 
 from his allies for any such act of violence, or 
 that he was moved with admiration of her 
 intrepidity. He hesitated, looked at her for a 
 moment, and then slowly dropped his gun, 
 uttering in his native language expressions 
 implying his conviction that the evil one must 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 125 
 
 help her, and saying to his companions that she 
 was a brave woman and they would not molest 
 her. Giving a shout, by way of expressing 
 their approbation, they departed from the 
 premises. On their way they called at the 
 house of Colonel Frey, and related their 
 adventure, saying that the white woman's 
 courage had saved her and her property, and 
 were there fifty such brave women as the wife 
 of 4 Big Tree,' the Indians would never have 
 troubled the inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley." 
 That faculty called woman-wit was often 
 exercised with the best practical results. After 
 the battle of Long Island, when the British 
 were enclosing New York, and it had been 
 decided that the American troops had best 
 make good their retreat, General Putnam was 
 the last to depart. It is said that he would 
 certainly have been intercepted and cut off, but 
 for the finesse of Mrs. Murray, an accomplished 
 lady, who managed to detain the pursuers by 
 means of a collation and lively chat, until the 
 object of their pursuit had safely escaped. 
 The same device had equal success on occasion 
 of Colonel Tarleton's raid upon Charlottesville 
 and Monticello, Virginia, for the purpose of 
 capturing Jefferson, the Governor of Virginia, 
 and the Legislature there assembled. At the 
 house of Colonel Walker, twelve miles from 
 the town, and on their direct route, the raiders 
 
126 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 paused, taking prisoner several legislators who 
 were visiting the family. Several others, how- 
 ever, escaped, and the British officer was easily 
 beguiled into partaking of a feast such as the 
 Virginia ladies well know how to spread, until 
 intelligence had been conveyed to the intended 
 victims, and the boastful Tarleton had naught 
 to do but to return baffled to his superior 
 officer, thoroughly chagrined at the inglorious 
 report he was compelled to make of his adven- 
 ture. 
 
 Both prudence and presence of mind gave 
 point to the intrepid action of the heroine of 
 "Green Spring," which we quote from Mrs. 
 Ellet's statement. "About two hundred men, 
 commanded by Colonel Clarke, of the Georgia 
 Volunteers, having received intelligence that a 
 larger body of Tory militia was recruiting for 
 the horse service, under the command of Fer- 
 guson, determined to attempt to rout them. 
 The Americans stopped for refreshment at the 
 house of Captain Dillard, who was with them 
 as a volunteer, and were entertained with milk 
 and potatoes. They marched on hearing that 
 a scouting party was in advance of Ferguson's 
 station, and encamped for the night at Green 
 Spring. The same evening, Ferguson, with a 
 party, arrived at Dillard's and made inquiries 
 respecting Clarke and his men. Mrs. Dillard 
 replied that they had been gone a long time, 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 127 
 
 and at the bidding of the officers prepared sup- 
 per. Going to and from the kitchen, she over- 
 heard much of their conversation, and ascer- 
 tained that they knew where Clarke was en- 
 camped, and were to pursue him, with a view 
 to a surprise, as soon as they had taken their 
 meal. No time was to be lost. She hurried 
 the supper, and as soon as the officers had sat 
 down, slipped out by a back door. Late and 
 dark as it was, her determination was to go her- 
 self and apprise Clarke of his danger, in the 
 hope of being in time for him to make a safe 
 retreat ; for she believed that the enemy were 
 too numerous to justify a battle. She went to 
 the stable, bridled a young horse, and, without 
 saddle, mounted and rode with all possible 
 speed to the place described. It was about 
 half an hour before day when she came, in full 
 gallop, to one of the videttes, by whom she was 
 immediately conducted to Colonel Clarke. She 
 called to the Colonel, breathless with eagerness 
 and haste : " Be in readiness either to fight or 
 run ; the enemy will be upon you immediately, 
 and they are strong ! " In an instant every 
 man was up, and no moments were lost in pre- 
 paring for action. The intelligence came just 
 in time to put the Whigs in readiness. Fergu- 
 son had detached Dunlap, with two hundred 
 picked mounted men, to engage Clarke and 
 keep him employed till his arrival. These 
 
128 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 rushed in full charge into the American camp ; 
 but the surprise was on their part. They were 
 met hand to hand, with a firmness they had not 
 anticipated. Their confusion was increased by 
 the darkness, which rendered it hard to distin- 
 tuish friend from foe. The battle was warm 
 for fifteen or twenty minutes, when the Tories 
 gave way." 
 
 The account of Mrs. Thomas's heroism is 
 very similar, but so spirited that we indulge in 
 its recital. "The wife of Colonel Thomas, who 
 was a prisoner at Ninety-six, went to visit him 
 and her two sons, his companions in rigorous 
 captivity. By chance she heard a Tory woman 
 say to some others : " To-morrow night the loy- 
 alists intend to surprise the rebels at Cedar 
 Spring." She was thrilled with alarm at this 
 intelligence ; the Cedar Spring was within a 
 few miles of her house ; the Whigs were posted 
 there, and among them were some of her own 
 children. Her resolution was taken at once ; 
 she determined to apprise them of the enemy's 
 intention, before the blow could be struck. 
 Bidding a hasty adieu to her husband and sons, 
 she was upon the road as quickly as possible ; 
 rode the intervening distance of nearly sixty 
 miles the next day, and arrived in time to bring 
 information to her friends of the impending 
 danger. The moment they knew what was to 
 be expected, a brief consultation was held, and 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 129 
 
 measures were immediately taken for defence. 
 The soldiers withdrew a short distance from 
 their camp-fires, which were prepared to burn 
 as brightly as possible. The men selected suit- 
 able positions in the surrounding woods. Their 
 preparations were just completed, when they 
 heard in the distance, amid the silence of the 
 night, the cautious advance of the foe. Slowly 
 and warily they came on, until they were 
 already within the glare of the blazing fires § 
 they supposed the intended victims wrapt in 
 heavy slumber ; they heard but the crackling 
 of the flames, and the hoarse murmur of the 
 wind as it swept through the pine-trees. Giv- 
 ing the signal for the onset, they rushed toward 
 the fires, eager for slaughter ; but suddenly the 
 flashes and shrill reports of rifles revealed the 
 hidden patriots. To their consternation, they 
 found themselves assailed in the rear by the 
 party they had expected to strike unawares. 
 Thrown into utter confusion by this unexpected 
 reception, overwhelming defeat was the conse- 
 quence to the loyalists." 
 
 Such depth of enthusiasm as the women of 
 America manifested is almost sure to appear 
 somewhere in exaggerated form ; and so, in a 
 few cases, women were seen to lay aside the 
 delicacy of their se"x, and assume the functions 
 of man in a fashion, whose only excuse can be 
 found in the genuine patriotism which induced 
 
130 TJie Women of the Revolution, 
 
 them thus to forget themselves. Deborah 
 Sampson is a most remarkable example of a 
 woman, who, for three years, discharged all the 
 duties of a soldier, without betraying herself by 
 any sign of weakness or inefficiency. Her sex 
 was never discovered, until upon occasion of a 
 severe spell of illness, when her secret became 
 known to the surgeon who attended her. This, 
 however, he did not betray until after her per- 
 fect restoration to health. Without consulta- 
 tion, he then sent her, with a note explaining 
 the circumstances, to General Washington him- 
 self. By this time, fully aware of the predica- 
 ment into which she was thrown, the poor girl 
 was overwhelmed with confusion, and said that 
 if the revered chieftain had spoken one word in 
 reproach she would have fallen senseless at his 
 feet. But he forbore to speak the dreaded 
 word, and with her discharge a sufficient sum of 
 money was enclosed to defray her expenses until 
 she should be able to obtain some more suitable 
 means of livelihood. Afterwards she received 
 a pension as a Revolutionary soldier, but mar- 
 ried, and demeaned herself always as a modest, 
 sober matron, in no wise reminding her neigh- 
 bors, by her manners, of the eccentricities of 
 her youth. Several romantic episodes are con- 
 nected with her military career, one of which 
 is the fact that a wealthy young lady having 
 fallen in love with the handsome soldier, offered 
 
TJie Women of the Revolution, 131 
 
 to bestow upon hini her fortune as well as hand. 
 Although lamenting the awkwardness of the 
 adventure, not even gratitude could wrest from 
 the resolute girl her treasured secret ; but mak- 
 ing the best excuse she could, she managed to 
 slip away from her admirer, and took refuge in 
 a } r et more rigid performance of soldierly duty. 
 But amid all the facts preserved which invest 
 the women of that day with piety, patriotism, 
 and every attribute of noble character, ever 
 and anon crops forth, even from the midst of 
 gravest disquisition, some little stroke of 
 feminine wit; the record of some word 
 spoken, as words will be spoken when a 
 woman's soul is stirred, and she uses her 
 tongue, the only weapon she feels to be pecu- 
 liarly her own, with freedom ; then we smile, 
 perhaps not approvingly, but pleasantly withal ; 
 for the stroke of nature hits, we feel its force, 
 and henceforth are at home, our sympathies 
 being touched. When women seem endowed 
 with qualities of so lofty a nature, it is almost 
 a relief to see them guilt} 7 of little imprudences 
 or follies born of warm-hearted impulse. We 
 like these small failings that prove their kinship 
 to erring humanity, and show that these very 
 heroines of history were women to the core. 
 How enjoyable for instance, is the repartee of 
 of the Carolinian lady, who, in reply to a sar- 
 castic remark from Colonel Tarleton that he 
 9 
 
132 The Women of the Revolution. 
 
 would like to see her heroic friend, Colonel 
 Washington, said : " If you had looked behind, 
 you, Colonel Tarleton, at the Battle of the Cow- 
 pens, you would have had that pleasure." Of a 
 different kind, but equally pointed, was the 
 retort of Mrs. Dissosway, of Staten Island, to the 
 British officer who tried to bribe her into persuad- 
 ing her brother, Captain Randolph (a redoubted 
 soldier), to retire from the army, by promising, 
 on that condition, to release her imprisoned 
 husband. She replied with a look of scorn ; 
 and drawing up her tall figure, added, " And if 
 I could, think you that General Washington 
 has but one Captain Randolph in his army?'* 
 
 When a foraging officer demanded the corn- 
 house key from a farmer's wife, and, upon her 
 refusal, brandished his sword, in reply she flour- 
 ished an oven-peel, and asked, scornfully, " If 
 he drew his sword upon women." The discom- 
 fited warrior could but smile and disappear. 
 
 Again, in North Carolina, after Gage's defeat, 
 when Green had come to them as a deliverer, 
 the dear creatures pleased themselves, if they 
 did not better the cause, by decking their per- 
 sons in everything green that could be found. 
 Ribbons and feathers of that color became the 
 fashion of the day ; and during the absence of 
 their protectors, the Whig ladies frequently 
 wore mourning, or at least a badge of crape. 
 One young girl, on hearing of a success 
 
The Women of the Revolution. 133 
 
 achieved by the arms of the patriots, and being 
 yet surrounded by enemies, could not contain 
 her joy, but put her mouth to the chimney, and 
 shouted her exultation up the flue, in default of 
 sympathizing ears. Silly, nonsensical, the act 
 was, but natural and girlish none the less. 
 
 Pleasant would it be to tarry longer among 
 these Revolutionary scenes, but enough has 
 surely been said to designate the type of woman 
 to which our female ancestors belonged, if even 
 so much were needed ; for, is not the record of 
 their virtues yet green in the remembrance of 
 every native-born American ? Is not the tra- 
 dition of the large-hearted hospitality, unaf- 
 fected cordiality, and simple honesty of our Revo- 
 lutionary mothers yet cherished among us as a 
 precious legacy? 
 
 And now at the opening of a second century 
 after the inauguration of the first president of 
 our Republic, shall we not set forth anew to 
 emulate their sturdy virtues ? Let us see to it 
 that we eschew softness and love of pleasure, 
 seeking through paths of virtue and self-denial 
 to attain moral rectitude and vigor for ourselves 
 and ours. If so, we may yet live to proclaim 
 joyfully, " that the lines are fallen unto us in 
 pleasant places;" in nothing rejoicing so much 
 as to see that the rising generation is no whit 
 likely to become degenerate, and dishonor the 
 relationship which many of them so proudly 
 trace to the Women of the Revolution.