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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33334-8.txt b/33334-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..44185d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/33334-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5930 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. Prichard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Only Woman in the Town + And Other Tales of the American Revolution + +Author: Sarah J. Prichard + +Release Date: August 3, 2010 [EBook #33334] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Darleen Dove, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + The Only Woman in the Town + + And Other Tales of the American Revolution + + BY + SARAH J. PRICHARD + + Author of the History of Waterbury, 1674-1783 + + + PUBLISHED BY + MELICENT PORTER CHAPTER + Daughters of the American Revolution + Waterbury, Conn. + 1898 + + Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898 + By the MELICENT PORTER CHAPTER + Daughters of the American Revolution, + In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington + + +[Illustration: THE OLD PORTER HOUSE. In it were sheltered and cared for +many soldiers in the War of the Revolution] + + + + +PREFACE + + +The celebration of the Centennial Anniversary of the United States at +the city of Philadelphia in 1876, and the exhibit there made of that +nation's wonderful growth and progress, gave a new and remarkable +impulse to the germs of patriotism in American life. The following +tales of the American Revolution--with the exception of the last--were +written twenty-two years ago, and are the outcome of an interest then +awakened. They all appeared in magazines and other publications of +that period, from which they have been gathered into this volume, in +the hope that thereby patriotism may grow stronger in the children of +to-day. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + The Only Woman in the Town 9 + A Windham Lamb in Boston Town 38 + How One Boy Helped the British Troops Out of Boston in 1776 47 + Pussy Dean's Beacon Fire 67 + David Bushnell and His American Turtle 75 + The Birthday of Our Nation 117 + The Overthrow of the Statue of King George 127 + Sleet and Snow 135 + Patty Rutter: The Quaker Doll who slept in Independence Hall 151 + Becca Blackstone's Turkeys at Valley Forge 159 + How Two Little Stockings Saved Fort Safety 169 + A Day and a Night in the Old Porter House 181 + + + + +THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN. + + +One hundred years and one ago, in Boston, at ten of the clock one +April night, a church steeple had been climbed and a lantern hung +out. + +At ten, the same night, in mid-river of the Charles, oarsmen two, with +passenger silent and grim, had seen the signal light out-swung, and +rowed with speed for the Charlestown shore. + +At eleven, the moon was risen, and the grim passenger, Paul Revere, +had ridden up the Neck, encountered a foe, who opposed his ride into +the country, and, after a brief delay, had gone on, leaving a British +officer lying in a clay pit. + +At midnight, a hundred ears had heard the flying horseman cry, "Up and +arm. The Regulars are coming out!" + +You know the story well. You have heard how the wild alarm ran from +voice to voice and echoed beneath every roof, until the men of +Lexington and Concord were stirred and aroused with patriotic fear for +the safety of the public stores that had been committed to their +keeping. + +You know how, long ere the chill April day began to dawn, they had +drawn, by horse power and by hand power, the cherished stores into +safe hiding-places in the depth of friendly forest-coverts. + +There is one thing about that day that you have _not_ heard and I will +tell you now. It is, how one little woman staid in the town of +Concord, whence all the women save her had fled. + +All the houses that were standing then, are very old-fashioned now, +but there was one dwelling-place on Concord Common that was +old-fashioned even then! It was the abode of Martha Moulton and "Uncle +John." Just who "Uncle John" was, is not known to the writer, but he +was probably Martha Moulton's uncle. The uncle, it appears by record, +was eighty-five years old; while the niece was _only_ three-score and +eleven. + +Once and again that morning, a friendly hand had pulled the +latch-string at Martha Moulton's kitchen entrance and offered to +convey herself and treasures away, but, to either proffer, she had +said: "No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the cricks out of his +back, if all the British soldiers in the land march into town." + +At last, came Joe Devins, a lad of fifteen years--Joe's two astonished +eyes peered for a moment into Martha Moulton's kitchen, and then eyes +and owner dashed into the room, to learn what the sight he there saw +could mean. + +"Whew! Mother Moulton, what are you doing?" + +"I'm getting Uncle John his breakfast to be sure, Joe," she answered. +"Have _you_ seen so many sights this morning that you don't know +breakfast, when you see it? Have a care there, for hot fat _will_ +burn," as she deftly poured the contents of a pan, fresh from the +fire, into a dish. + +Hungry Joe had been astir since the first drum had beat to arms at two +of the clock. He gave one glance at the boiling cream and the slices +of crisp pork swimming in it, as he gasped forth the words, "Getting +breakfast in Concord _this_ morning! _Mother Moulton_, you _must_ be +crazy." + +"So they tell me," she said, serenely. "There comes Uncle John!" she +added, as the clatter of a staff on the stone steps of the stairway +outrang, for an instant, the cries of hurrying and confusion that +filled the air of the street. + +"Don't you know, Mother Moulton," Joe went on to say, "that every +single woman and child have been carried off, where the Britishers +won't find 'em?" + +"I don't believe the king's troops have stirred out of Boston," she +replied, going to the door leading to the stone staircase, to open it +for Uncle John. + +"Don't believe it?" and Joe looked, as he echoed the words, as though +only a boy could feel sufficient disgust at such a want of common +sense, in full view of the fact, that Reuben Brown had just brought +the news that eight men had been killed by the king's Red Coats in +Lexington, which fact he made haste to impart. + +"I won't believe a word of it," she said, stoutly, "until I see the +soldiers coming." + +"Ah! Hear that!" cried Joe, tossing back his hair and swinging his +arms triumphantly at an airy foe. "You won't have to wait long. _That +signal_ is for the minute men. They are going to march out to meet the +Red Coats. Wish I was a minute man, this minute." + +Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down the steps of the stairway, +with many a grimace and groan. As he touched the floor, Joe, his face +beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, sprang to place a chair for +him at the table, saying, "Good morning," at the same moment. + +"May be," groaned Uncle John, "youngsters _like you may_ think it is a +good morning, but _I don't_. Such a din and clatter as the fools have +kept up all night long. If I had the power" (and now the poor old man +fairly groaned with rage), "I'd make 'em quiet long enough to let an +old man get a wink of sleep, when the rheumatism lets go." + +"I'm real sorry for you," said Joe, "but you don't know the news. The +king's troops, from camp, in Boston, are marching right down here, to +carry off all our arms that they can find." + +"Are they?" was the sarcastic rejoinder. "It's the best news I've +heard in a long while. Wish they had my arms, this minute. They +wouldn't carry them a step further than they could help, I know. Run +and tell them that mine are ready, Joe." + +"But, Uncle John, wait until after breakfast, you'll want to use them +once more," said Martha Moulton, trying to help him into a chair that +Joe had placed on the white sanded floor. + +Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the sounds that penetrated the +kitchen from out of doors, and he had eyes for the slices of +well-browned pork and the golden-hued Johnny-cake lying before the +glowing coals on the broad hearth. + +As the little woman bent to take up the breakfast, Joe, intent on +doing some kindness for her in the way of saving treasures, asked, +"Sha'n't I help you, Mother Moulton?" + +"I reckon I am not so old that I can't lift a mite of corn-bread," she +replied with chilling severity. + +"Oh, I didn't mean to lift _that thing_," he made haste to explain, +"but to carry off things and hide 'em away, as everybody else has been +doing half the night. I know a first-rate place up in the woods. Used +to be a honey tree, you know, and it's just as hollow as anything. +Silver spoons and things would be just as safe in it--" but Joe's +words were interrupted by unusual tumult on the street and he ran off +to learn the news, intending to return and get the breakfast that had +been offered to him. + +Presently he rushed back to the house with cheeks aflame and eyes +ablaze with excitement. "They're coming!" he cried. "They're in sight +down by the rocks. They see 'em marching, the men on the hill do!" + +"You don't mean that it's really true that the soldiers are coming +here, _right into our town_!" cried Martha Moulton, rising in haste +and bringing together, with rapid flourishes to right and to left, +every fragment of silver on it. Divining her intent, Uncle John strove +to hold fast his individual spoon, but she twitched it without +ceremony out from his rheumatic old fingers, and ran next to the +parlor cupboard, wherein lay her movable treasures. + +"What in the world shall I do with them?" she cried, returning with +her apron well filled, and borne down by the weight thereof. + +"Give 'em to me," cried Joe. "Here's a basket. Drop 'em in, and I'll +run like a brush-fire through the town and across the old bridge, and +hide 'em as safe as a weasel's nap." + +Joe's fingers were creamy; his mouth was half filled with Johnny-cake, +and his pocket on the right bulged to its utmost capacity with the +same, as he held forth the basket; but the little woman was afraid to +trust him, as she had been afraid to trust her neighbors. + +"No! No!" she replied, to his repeated offers. "I know what I'll do. +You, Joe Devins, stay right where you are until I come back, and, +don't you even _look_ out of the window." + +"Dear, dear me!" she cried, flushed and anxious when she was out of +sight of Uncle John and Joe. "I _wish_ I'd given 'em to Colonel +Barrett when he was here before daylight, only, I _was_ afraid I +should never get sight of them again." + +She drew off one of her stockings, filled it, tied the opening at the +top with a string--plunged stocking and all into a pail full of water +and proceeded to pour the contents into the well. + +Just as the dark circle had closed over the blue stocking, Joe Devins' +face peered down the depths by her side, and his voice sounded out the +words: "O Mother Moulton, the British will search the wells the _very_ +first thing. Of course, they _expect_ to find things in wells!" + +"Why didn't you tell me before, Joe? but now it is too late." + +"I would, if I had known what you was going to do; they'd been a sight +safer in the honey tree." + +"Yes, and what a fool I've been--flung _my watch_ into the well with +the spoons!" + +"Well, well! Don't stand there, looking!" as she hovered over the high +curb, with her hand on the bucket. "Everybody will know, if you do." + +"Martha! Martha!" shrieked Uncle John's quavering voice from the house +door. + +"Bless my heart!" she exclaimed, hurrying back over the stones. + +"What's the matter with your heart?" questioned Joe. + +"Nothing. I was thinking of Uncle John's money," she answered. + +"Has he got money?" cried Joe. "I thought he was poor, and you took +care of him because you were so good!" + +Not one word that Joe uttered did the little woman hear. She was +already by Uncle John's side and asking him for the key to his strong +box. + +Uncle John's rheumatism was terribly exasperating. "No, I won't give +it to you!" he cried, "and nobody shall have it as long as I am above +ground." + +"Then the soldiers will carry it off," she said. + +"Let 'em!" was his reply, grasping his staff firmly with both hands +and gleaming defiance out of his wide, pale eyes. "_You_ won't get the +key, even if they do." + +At this instant, a voice at the doorway shouted the words, "Hide, hide +away somewhere, Mother Moulton, for the Red Coats are in sight this +minute!" + +She heard the warning, and giving one glance at Uncle John, which look +was answered by another "No, you won't have it," she grasped Joe +Devins by the collar of his jacket and thrust him before her up the +staircase so quickly that the boy had no chance to speak, until she +released her hold, on the second floor, at the entrance to Uncle +John's room. + +The idea of being taken a prisoner in such a manner, and by a woman, +too, was too much for the lad's endurance. "Let me go!" he cried, the +instant he could recover his breath. "I won't hide away in your +garret, like a woman, I won't. I want to see the militia and the +minute men fight the troops, I do." + +"Help me first, Joe. Here, quick now! Let's get this box out and up +garret. We'll hide it under the corn and it'll be safe," she coaxed. + +The box was under Uncle John's bed. + +"What's in the old thing anyhow?" questioned Joe, pulling with all his +strength at it. + +The box, or chest, was painted red, and was bound about by massive +iron bands. + +"I've never seen the inside of it," said Mother Moulton. "It holds the +poor old soul's sole treasure, and I _do_ want to save it for him if I +can." + +They had drawn it with much hard endeavor as far as the garret stairs, +but their united strength failed to lift it. "Heave it, now!" cried +Joe, and lo! it was up two steps. So they turned it over and over with +many a thudding thump;--every one of which thumps Uncle John heard and +believed to be strokes upon the box itself to burst it asunder--until +it was fairly shelved on the garret floor. + +In the very midst of the overturnings, a voice from below had been +heard crying out, "Let my box alone! Don't you break it open! If you +do, I'll--I'll--" but, whatever the poor man _meant_ to threaten as a +penalty, he could not think of anything half severe enough to say, so +left it uncertain as to the punishment that might be looked for. + +"Poor old soul!" ejaculated the little woman, her soft white curls in +disorder and the pink color rising from her cheeks to her fair +forehead, as she bent to help Joe drag the box beneath the rafter's +edge. + +"Now, Joe," she said, "we'll heap nubbins over it, and if the soldiers +want corn they'll take good ears and never think of touching poor +nubbins." So they fell to work throwing corn over the red chest, until +it was completely concealed from view. + +Then Joe sprang to the high-up-window ledge in the point of the roof +and took one glance out. "Oh, I see them, the Red Coats! 'Strue's I +live, there go our militia _up the hill_. I thought they was going to +stand and defend. Shame on 'em, I say!" Jumping down and crying back +to Mother Moulton, "I'm going to stand by the minute men," he went +down, three steps at a leap, and nearly overturned Uncle John on the +stairs, who, with many groans, was trying to get to the defense of his +strong box. + +"What did you help her for, you scamp?" he demanded of Joe, +flourishing his staff unpleasantly near the lad's head. + +"'Cause she asked me to, and couldn't do it alone," returned Joe, +dodging the stick and disappearing from the scene at the very moment +Martha Moulton encountered Uncle John. + +"Your strong box is safe under nubbins in the garret, unless the house +burns down, and now that you are up here, you had better stay," she +added soothingly, as she hastened by him to reach the kitchen below. + +Once there, she paused a second or two to take resolution regarding +her next act. She knew full well that there was not one second to +spare, and yet she stood looking, apparently, into the glowing embers +on the hearth. She was flushed and excited, both by the unwonted toil +and the coming events. Cobwebs from the rafters had fallen on her hair +and homespun dress, and would readily have betrayed her late +occupation to any discerning soldier of the king. + +A smile broke suddenly over her fair face, displacing for a brief +second every trace of care. "It's my old weapon, and I must use it," +she said, making a stately courtesy to an imaginary guest, and +straightway disappeared within an adjoining room. With buttoned door +and dropped curtains the little woman made haste to array herself in +her finest raiment. In five minutes she reappeared in the kitchen, a +picture pleasant to look at. In all New England, there could not be a +more beautiful little old lady than Martha Moulton was that day. Her +hair was guiltless now of cobwebs, but haloed her face with fluffy +little curls of silvery whiteness, above which, like a crown, was a +little cap of dotted muslin, pure as snow. Her erect figure, not a +particle of the hard-working-day in it now, carried well the folds of +a sheeny, black silk gown, over which she had tied an apron as +spotless as the cap. + +As she fastened back her gown and hurried away the signs of the +breakfast she had not eaten, the clear pink tints seemed to come out +with added beauty of coloring in her cheeks, while her hair seemed +fairer and whiter than at any moment in her three-score and eleven +years. + +Once more, Joe Devins looked in. As he caught a glimpse of the picture +she made, he paused to cry out: "All dressed up to meet the robbers! +My, how fine you do look! I wouldn't. I'd go and hide behind the +nubbins. They'll be here in less than five minutes now," he cried, +"and I'm going over the North Bridge to see what's going on there." + +"O Joe, stay, won't you?" she urged, but the lad was gone, and she was +left alone to meet the foe, comforting herself with the thought, +"They'll treat me with more respect if I _look_ respectable, and if I +_must_ die, I'll die good-looking in my best clothes, anyhow." + +She threw a few sticks of hickory-wood on the embers and then drew out +the little round stand, on which the family Bible was always lying. +Recollecting that the British soldiers probably belonged to the Church +of England, she hurried away to fetch Uncle John's "prayer book." + +"They'll have respect to me, if they find me reading that, I know," +she thought. Having drawn the round stand within sight of the well, +and where she could also command a view of the staircase, she sat and +waited for coming events. + +Uncle John was keeping watch of the advancing troops from an upper +window. "Martha," he called, "you'd better come up. They're close by, +now." To tell the truth, Uncle John himself was a little afraid; that +is to say, he hadn't quite courage enough to go down and, perhaps, +encounter his own rheumatism and the king's soldiers on the same +stairway, and yet, he felt that he must defend Martha as well as he +could. + +The rap of a musket, quick and ringing, on the front door, startled +the little woman from her apparent devotions. She did not move at the +call of anything so profane. It was the custom of the time to have the +front door divided into two parts, the lower half and the upper half. +The former was closed and made fast, the upper could be swung open at +will. + +The soldier getting no reply, and doubtless thinking that the house +was deserted, leaped over the chained lower half of the door. + +At the clang of his bayonet against the brass trimmings, Martha +Moulton groaned in spirit, for, if there was any one thing that she +deemed essential to her comfort in this life, it was to keep spotless, +speckless and in every way unharmed, the great knocker on her front +door. + +"Good, sound English metal, too," she thought, "that an English +soldier ought to know how to respect." + +As she heard the tramp of coming feet she only bent the closer over +the Book of Prayer that lay open on her knee. Not one word did she +read or see; she was inwardly trembling and outwardly watching the +well and the staircase. But now, above all other sounds, broke the +noise of Uncle John's staff thrashing the upper step of the staircase, +and the shrill, tremulous cry of the old man, defiant, doing his +utmost for the defense of his castle. + +The fingers that lay beneath the book tingled with desire to box the +old man's ears, for the policy he was pursuing would be fatal to the +treasure in garret and in well; but she was forced to silence and +inactivity. + +As the king's troops, Major Pitcairn at their head, reached the open +door and saw the old lady, they paused. What could they do but look, +for a moment, at the unexpected sight that met their view: a placid +old lady in black silk and dotted muslin, with all the sweet solemnity +of morning devotion hovering about the tidy apartment and seeming to +centre at the round stand by which she sat,--this pretty woman, with +pink and white face surmounted with fleecy little curls and crinkles +and wisps of floating whiteness, who looked up to meet their gaze with +such innocent, prayer-suffused eyes. + +"Good morning, Mother," said Major Pitcairn, raising his hat. + +"Good morning, gentlemen and soldiers," returned Martha Moulton. "You +will pardon my not meeting you at the door, when you see that I was +occupied in rendering service to the Lord of all." She reverently +closed the book, laid it on the table, and arose, with a stately +bearing, to demand their wishes. + +"We're hungry, good woman," spoke the commander, "and your hearth is +the only hospitable one we've seen since we left Boston. With your +good leave I'll take a bit of this," and he stooped to lift up the +Johnny-cake that had been all this while on the hearth. + +"I wish I had something better to offer you," she said, making haste +to fetch plates and knives from the corner-cupboard, and all the while +she was keeping eye-guard over the well. "I'm afraid the Concorders +haven't left much for you to-day," she added, with a soft sigh of +regret, as though she really felt sorry that such brave men and good +soldiers had fallen on hard times in the ancient town. At the moment +she had brought forth bread and baked beans, and was putting them on +the table, a voice rang into the room, causing every eye to turn +toward Uncle John. He had gotten down the stairs without uttering one +audible groan, and was standing, one step above the floor of the room, +brandishing and whirling his staff about in a manner to cause even +rheumatism to flee the place, while at the top of his voice he cried +out: + +"Martha Moulton, how _dare_ you _feed_ these--these--monsters--in +human form?" + +"Don't mind him, gentlemen, _please_ don't," she made haste to say; +"he's old, _very_ old; eighty-five, his last birthday, and--a little +hoity-toity at times," pointing deftly with her finger in the region +of the reasoning powers in her own shapely head. + +Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a dish of beans, she contrived +to say, under cover of it: + +"You see, sir, I couldn't go away and leave him; he is almost +distracted with rheumatism, and this excitement to-day will kill him, +I'm afraid." + +Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front, Major +Pitcairn said to Uncle John: + +"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless." + +"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the +reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed off +and down three military hats. + +Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton, adroitly stooping, +as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had rolled to her +feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a resounding bang, +and followed up that achievement with a swift turn of two large wooden +buttons, one high up, and the other low down, on the door. + +"There!" she said, "he is safe out of mischief for a while, and your +heads are safe as well. Pardon a poor old man, who does not know what +he is about." + +"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer. + +Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle John's wrath knew no bounds. +In his frantic endeavors to burst the fastenings of the wooden +buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried the day, leaving him +out of the battle. + +Meanwhile, a company of soldiers clustered about the door. The king's +horses were fed within five feet of the great brass knocker, +while, within the house, the beautiful little old woman, in her +Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal honors of the day to the +foes of her country. Watching her, one would have thought she was +entertaining heroes returned from the achievement of valiant +deeds, whereas, in her own heart, she knew full well that she was +giving a little, to save much. + +Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity with which she fetched water +from the well for the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn gallantly +ordered his men to do the service, the little soul was in alarm; she +was so afraid that "somehow, in some way or another, the blue stocking +would get hitched on to the bucket." She knew that she must to its +rescue, and so she bravely acknowledged herself to have taken a vow +(when, she did not say), to draw all the water that was taken from +that well. + +"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing. + +"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded. + +"If you do," replied Major Pitcairn, "I admire New England witches, +and never would condemn one to be hung, or burned, or--smothered." + +Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color on her aged cheeks as +at that moment. She felt bitter shame at the ruse she had attempted, +but silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the smile that went +around at Major Pitcairn's words, she was only too glad to go again to +the well and dip slowly the high, over-hanging sweep into the cool, +clear, dark depth below. + +During this time the cold, frosty morning spent itself into the +brilliant, shining noon. + +You know what happened at Concord on that 19th of April in the year +1775. You have been told the story--how the men of Acton met and +resisted the king's troops at the old North Bridge; how brave Captain +Davis and minute-man Hosmer fell; how the sound of their falling +struck down to the very heart of mother earth, and caused her to send +forth her brave sons to cry "Liberty, or Death!" + +And the rest of the story; the sixty or more barrels of flour that the +king's troops found and struck the heads from, leaving the flour in +condition to be gathered again at nightfall, the arms and powder that +they destroyed, the houses they burned; all these, are they not +recorded in every child's history in the land? + +While these things were going on, for a brief while, at mid-day, +Martha Moulton found her home deserted. She had not forgotten poor, +suffering, irate Uncle John in the regions above, and so, the very +minute she had the chance, she made a strong cup of catnip tea (the +real tea, you know, was brewing in Boston harbor). + +She turned the buttons, and, with a bit of trembling at her heart, +such as she had not felt all day, she ventured up the stairs, bearing +the steaming peace-offering before her. + +Uncle John was writhing under the sharp thorns and twinges of his old +enemy, and in no frame of mind to receive any overtures in the shape +of catnip tea; nevertheless, he was watching, as well as he was able, +the motions of the enemy. As she drew near, he cried out: + +"Look out this window, and see! Much _good_ all your scheming will do +_you_!" + +She obeyed his command to look, and the sight she then saw caused her +to let fall the cup of catnip tea and rush down the stairs, wringing +her hands as she went, and crying out: + +"Oh, dear! what shall I do? The house will burn and the box up garret. +Everything's lost!" + +Major Pitcairn, at that moment, was on the green in front of her door, +giving orders. + +Forgetting the dignified part she intended to play; forgetting +everything but the supreme danger that was hovering in mid-air over +her home--the old house wherein she had been born, and the only home +she had ever known--she rushed out upon the green, amid the troops and +surrounded by cavalry, and made her way to Major Pitcairn. + +"The court-house is on fire!" she cried, laying her hand upon the +commander's arm. + +He turned and looked at her. Major Pitcairn had recently learned that +the task he had been set to do in the provincial towns that day was +not an easy one; that, when hard pressed and trodden down, the +despised rustics, in homespun dress, could sting even English +soldiers; and thus it happened that, when he felt the touch of Mother +Moulton's plump little old fingers on his military sleeve, he was not +in the pleasant humor that he had been when the same hand had +ministered to his hunger in the early morning. + +"Well, what of it? _Let it burn!_ We won't hurt _you_, if you go in +the house and stay there!" + +She turned and glanced up at the court-house. Already flames were +issuing from it. "Go in the house and let it burn, _indeed_!" thought +she. "He knows _me_, don't he? Oh, sir! for the love of Heaven won't +you stop it?" she said, entreatingly. + +"Run in the house, good mother. That is a wise woman," he advised. + +Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of lip and brain she wanted +to say, "You needn't 'mother' me, you murderous rascals!" but, +remembering everything that was at stake, she crushed her wrath and +buttoned it in as closely as she had Uncle John behind the door in the +morning, and again, with swift gentleness, laid her hand on his arm. + +He turned and looked at her. Vexed at her persistence, and extremely +annoyed at intelligence that had just reached him from the North +Bridge, he said, imperiously, "Get away! or you'll be trodden down by +the horses!" + +"I _can't_ go!" she cried, clasping his arm, and fairly clinging to it +in her frenzy of excitement. "Oh, stop the fire, quick, quick! or my +house will burn!" + +"I have no time to put out your fires," he said, carelessly, shaking +loose from her hold and turning to meet a messenger with news. + +Poor little woman! What could she do? The wind was rising, and the +fire grew. Flame was creeping out in a little blue curl in a new +place, under the rafter's edge, _and nobody cared_. That was what +increased the pressing misery of it all. It was so unlike a common +country alarm, where everybody rushed up and down the streets, crying +"Fire! fire! f-i-r-e!" and went hurrying to and fro for pails of water +to help put it out. + +Until that moment the little woman did not know how utterly deserted +she was. + +In very despair, she ran to her house, seized two pails, filled them +with greater haste than she had ever drawn water before, and, +regardless of Uncle John's imprecations, carried them forth, one in +either hand, the water dripping carelessly down the side breadths of +her fair silk gown, her silvery curls tossed and tumbled in white +confusion, her pleasant face aflame with eagerness, and her clear eyes +suffused with tears. + +Thus equipped with facts and feeling, she once more appeared to Major +Pitcairn. + +"Have you a mother in old England?" she cried. "If so, for her sake, +stop this fire." + +Her words touched his heart. + +"And if I do--?" he answered. + +"_Then your johnny-cake on my hearth won't burn up_," she said, with a +quick little smile, adjusting her cap. + +Major Pitcairn laughed, and two soldiers, at his command, seized the +pails and made haste to the court-house, followed by many more. + +For awhile the fire seemed victorious, but, by brave effort, it was +finally overcome, and the court-house saved. + +At a distance Joe Devins had noticed the smoke hovering like a little +cloud, then sailing away still more like a cloud over the town; and he +had made haste to the scene, arriving in time to venture on the roof, +and do good service there. + +After the fire was extinguished, he thought of Martha Moulton, and he +could not help feeling a bit guilty at the consciousness that he had +gone off and left her alone. + +Going to the house he found her entertaining the king's troopers with +the best food her humble store afforded. + +She was so charmed with herself, and so utterly well pleased with the +success of her pleading, that the little woman's nerves fairly +quivered with jubilation; and best of all, the blue stocking was +still safe in the well, for had she not watched with her own eyes +every time the bucket was dipped to fetch up water for the fire, +having, somehow, got rid of the vow she had taken regarding the +drawing of the water. + +As she saw the lad looking, with surprised countenance, into the room +where the feast was going on, a fear crept up her own face and darted +out from her eyes. It was, lest Joe Devins should spoil it all by +ill-timed words. + +She made haste to meet him, basket in hand. + +"Here, Joe," she said, "fetch me some small wood, there's a good +boy." + +As she gave him the basket she was just in time to stop the rejoinder +that was issuing from his lips. + +In time to intercept his return she was at the wood-pile. + +"Joe," she said, half-abashed before the truth that shone in the boy's +eyes--"Joe," she repeated, "you know Major Pitcairn ordered the fire +put out, _to please me_, because I begged him so, and, in return, what +_can_ I do but give them something to eat? Come and help me." + +"I won't," responded he. "Their hands are red with blood. They've +killed two men at the bridge." + +"Who's killed?" she asked, trembling, but Joe would not tell her. He +demanded to know what had been done with Uncle John. + +"He's quiet enough, up-stairs," she replied, with a sudden spasm of +feeling that she _had_ neglected Uncle John shamefully; still, with +the day, and the fire and everything, how could she help it? but, +really, it did seem strange that he made no noise, with a hundred +armed men coming and going through the house. + +At least, that was what Joe thought, and, having deposited the basket +of wood on the threshold of the kitchen door, he departed around the +corner of the house. Presently he had climbed a pear tree, dropped +from one of its overhanging branches on the lean-to, raised a sash and +crept into the window. + +Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring mud, he proceeded to search +for Uncle John. He was not in his own room; he was not in the +guest-chamber; he was not in any one of the rooms. + +On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking out upon the green, +he found the broken cup and saucer that Martha Moulton had let fall. +Having made a second round, in which he investigated every closet and +penetrated into the spaces under beds, Joe thought of the garret. + +Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the sanded floors below, drowning +every possible sound from above; nevertheless, as the lad opened the +door leading into the garret, he whispered cautiously: "Uncle John! +Uncle John!" + +All was silent above. Joe went up, and was startled by a groan. He had +to stand a few seconds, to let the darkness grow into light, ere he +could see; and, when he could discern outlines in the dimness, there +was given to him the picture of Uncle John, lying helpless amid and +upon the nubbins that had been piled over his strong box. + +"Why, Uncle John, are you dead?" asked Joe, climbing over to his +side. + +"Is the house afire?" was the response. + +"House afire? No! The confounded Red Coats up and put it out." + +"I thought they was going to let me burn to death up here!" groaned +Uncle John. + +"Can I help you up?" and Joe proffered two strong hands, rather black +with toil and smoke. + +"No, no! You can't help me. If the house isn't afire, I'll stand it +till the fellows are gone, and then, Joe, you fetch the doctor as +quick as you can." + +"_You_ can't get a doctor for love nor money this night, Uncle John. +There's too much work to be done in Lexington and Concord to-night for +wounded and dying men; and there'll be more of 'em too afore a single +Red Coat sees Boston again. They'll be hunted down every step of the +way. They've killed Captain Davis, from Acton." + +"You don't say so!" + +"Yes, they have, and--" + +"I say, Joe Devins, go down and do--do something. There's _my niece_ +a-feeding the murderers! I'll disown her. She shan't have a penny of +my pounds, she shan't!" + +Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to remain in inaction, while +below, the weary little woman acted the kind hostess to His Majesty's +troops. + +But now the feast was spent, and the soldiers were summoned to begin +their painful march. Assembled on the green, all was ready, when Major +Pitcairn, remembering the little woman who had ministered to his +wants, returned to the house to say farewell. + +'Twas but a step to her door, and but a moment since he had left it, +but he found her crying; crying with joy, in the very chair where he +had found her at prayers in the morning. + +"I would like to say good-by," he said; "you've been very kind to me +to-day." + +With a quick dash or two of the dotted white apron (spotless no +longer) to her eye, she arose. Major Pitcairn extended his hand, but +she folded her own closely together, and said: + +"I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, sir." + +"Will you not shake hands with me before I go?" + +"I can feed the enemy of my country, but shake hands with him, +_never_!" + +For the first time that day the little woman's love of country seemed +to rise triumphant within her, and drown every impulse to selfishness; +or, was it the nearness to safety that she felt? Human conduct is the +result of so many motives that it is sometimes impossible to name the +compound, although on that occasion Martha Moulton labelled it +"Patriotism." + +"And yet I put out the fire for you," he said. + +"For your mother's sake, in old England, it was, you remember, sir." + +"I remember," said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, as he turned away. + +"And for _her_ sake I will shake hands with you," said Martha +Moulton. + +So he turned back, and, across the threshold, in presence of the +waiting troops, the commander of the expedition to Concord and the +only woman in the town shook hands at parting. + +Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his horse; heard the order +given for the march to begin--the march of which you all have heard. +You know what a sorry time the Red Coats had of it in getting back to +Boston; how they were fought at every inch of the way, and waylaid +from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and shot at from tree-tops, +and aimed at from upper windows, and besieged from behind stone walls, +and, in short, made so miserable and harassed and overworn, that at +last their depleted ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and +hanging, were fain to lie down by the road-side and take what came +next, even though it might be death. And then _the dead_ they left +behind them! + +Ah! there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until long, +long after it is over and the earth has had time to hide the blood, +and send forth its sweet blooms of Liberty. + +The men of that day are long dead. The same soil holds regulars and +minute-men. England, which over-ruled, and the provinces, that put out +brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends to-day, and have +shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty thought and kind deed +since that time. + +The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of the +Revolution planted it well, and surely, God himself _hath_ given it +increase. So we gather to-day, in this our story, a forget-me-not +more, from the old town of Concord. + +When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid aside +her silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and immediately began to +think of getting Uncle John down-stairs again into his easy chair; but +it required more aid than she could give, to lift the fallen man. At +last, Joe Devins summoned returning neighbors, who came to the rescue, +and the poor nubbins were left to the rats once more. + +Joe climbed down the well and rescued the blue stocking, with its +treasures unharmed, even to the precious watch, which watch was Martha +Moulton's chief treasure, and one of the very few in the town. + +Martha Moulton was the heroine of the day. The house was besieged by +admiring men and women that night and for two or three days +thereafter; but when, years later, she being older, and poorer, even +to want, petitioned the General Court for a reward for the service she +rendered in persuading Major Pitcairn to save the court-house from +burning, there was granted to her only fifteen dollars, a poor little +grant, it is true, but _just enough_ to carry her story down the +years, whereas, but for that, it might never have been wafted up and +down the land, on the wings of this story. + + + + +A WINDHAM LAMB IN BOSTON TOWN. + + +It was one hundred and one years ago in this very month of June, that +nine men of the old town of Windham--which lies near the northeast +corner of Connecticut--met at the meeting-house door. There was no +service that day; the doors were shut, and the bell in the steeple +gave no sound. + +The town of Windham had appointed the nine men a committee to ask the +inhabitants to give from their flocks of sheep as many as they could +for the hungry men and women of Boston. Each man of the committee was +told at the meeting-house door the district in which he was to gather +sheep. + +On his stout grey pony sat Ebenezer Devotion. As soon as he heard the +eastern portion of the town assigned to him, he gave the signal to his +horse, and in five minutes was out of sight over the high hill. In ten +minutes he was near the famous Frog pond. As he was passing it by, a +voice from the marsh along its bank cried out: + +"Where now, so fast, this fine morning, Mr. Devotion?" + +"The same to you, Goodwife Elderkin. I know your voice, though I can't +see your face." + +Presently a hand parted the thicket and a woman's face appeared. + +"I'm getting flag-root. It gives a twang to root beer that nothing +else will, and the flag hereabout is the twangiest I know of. Stop at +the house as you go along and get some beer, won't you? Mary Ann's to +home." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Devotion, with a stiff bow. "It's a little early +for beer this morning. I'll stop as I come this way again. How are +your sheep and lambs this year?" + +"First rate. Never better." + +"Have you any to part with?" + +"Who wants to buy?" and Goodwife Elderkin came out from the thicket to +the road-side, eager for gain. + +"We don't sell sheep in Windham this year," said Mr. Devotion. + +"Why, what's the matter with the man?" thought Mrs. Elderkin, for +Ebenezer Devotion liked to drive a good bargain as well as any one of +his neighbors. Before she had time to give expression to her surprise, +he said with a sharp inclination of his head toward the sun, "We've +neighbors over yonder, good and true, who wouldn't sell sheep if we +were shut in by ships of war, and hungry, too." + +"What! any news from Boston town?" + +"It's twenty-four days, to-day, since the port was shut up." + +Goodwife Elderkin laughed. Ebenezer Devotion looked grim enough to +smother every bit of laughter in New England. + +"'Pears as if king and Parliament really believed that tea was cast +away by the men of Boston, now don't it? 'stead of every man, woman +and child in the country havin' a hand in it," said Mrs. Elderkin. + +"About the sheep!" replied Mr. Devotion, jerking up his horse's head +from the sweet, pure grass, greening all the road-side. + +"Let your pony feed while he can," she replied. "What about the +sheep?" + +"How many will you give?" + +"How many are you going to give yourself?" + +"Twice as many as you will." + +"Do you mean it?" + +"I do." + +"Then I'll give every sheep I own." + +"And how many is that?" + +"A couple of dozen or so." + +"Better keep some of them for another time." + +Mrs. Elderkin laughed again. "I'll say half a dozen then, if a dozen +is all you want to give yourself." + +Ebenezer Devotion drew from his wallet a slip of paper and headed his +list of names with "Six sheep, from Goodwife Elderkin." + +"Thank you in the name of God Almighty and the country," he said, +solemnly, as he jerked his pony's head from the grass and rode on. + +Mrs. Elderkin watched him as he wound along the pond-side and was +lost to sight; then she, chuckling forth the words, "I knew well +enough my sheep were safe," went back to the marsh after flag-root. + +When every neighbor feels it a duty to carry intelligence from the +last speaker he has met to the next hearer he may meet, news flies +fast, so Goodwife Elderkin was prepared for the accost of Mr. +Devotion. She did not linger long in the swamp, but, washing her hands +free from mud in the water of the pond, walked swiftly home. By the +time she reached her house, the gray pony and his rider were two miles +away on the road to Canterbury. The cry of hunger and possible +starvation in the town of Boston was spreading from village to village +and from house to house. + +Do you know how Boston is situated? It would be an island but for the +narrow neck of land on the south side. On the east, west and north are +the waters of Massachusetts Bay and Charles River. Just north from it, +and divided only by the same river, is another almost island, with its +neck stretched toward the north; and this latter place is Charlestown +and contains Bunker's Hill. Not far from the two towns, in the bay, +are many islands. Noddle's Island, Hog, Snake, Deer, Apple, Bird and +Spectacle Islands are of the number. On these islands were many sheep +and cattle, likewise hay and wood, all of which the inhabitants of +Boston needed for daily use, but by the Boston port bill, which went +into operation on the first day of June, no person was permitted to +land anything at either Boston or Charlestown; and so the neck of +Charlestown reached out to the north for food and help, and the neck +of Boston pleaded with the south for sustenance, and it was in answer +to this cry that our nine men of Windham went sheep-gathering. + +The work went on for four days, and at the end of that time 257 sheep +had been freely given. The owners drove them, on the evening of the +27th day of the month, to the appointed place, and, very early in the +morning of the 28th, many of the inhabitants were come together to see +the flock start on its long march. Two men and two boys went with the +gift. Good wife Elderkin was early on the highway. She wanted to make +certain just how many sheep bore the mark of Ebenezer Devotion's +ownership; but the driven sheep went past too quickly for her, and she +never had the satisfaction of finding out how many he gave. Following +the flock up the hill, she saw in the distance a sight that made her +heart beat fast. On the stone wall, under a great tree, sat Mary +Robbins, a little girl. She was dressed in a pink calico frock, and +she was holding in her arms a snow-white lamb, around whose neck she +had tied a strip of the calico of which her own gown was fashioned. + +"Now if I ever saw the beat of that!" cried Good wife Elderkin, +walking almost at a run up the hill, and so coming to the place where +the child sat, before the sheep got there. + +"Mary Robbins!" she cried, breathless from her haste. "What have you +got that lamb for?" + +Mary blushed under her little sun-bonnet, hugged the lamb, and said +not a word. At the moment up came the flock, panting and warm. Down +sprang Mary Robbins from the wall, the lamb in her arms. Johnny +Manning, aged fifteen years, was one of the two lads in care of the +sheep. To him Mary ran, saying: + +"Johnny, Johnny, won't you take my lamb, too?" + +"What for?" + +"Why, for some poor little girl in the town where there isn't anything +to eat," urged Mary, her sun-bonnet falling unheeded into the dust, as +she held up her offering to the cause of liberty. + +"Why, it can't walk to Boston," said the boy, running back to recover +a stray sheep. + +"You can carry it in your arms," she urged. + +"Give it to me, then." + +She gave it, saying: + +"Be good to it, Johnny, and give him some milk to drink to-night. It +don't eat much grass, yet." + +And so Johnny Manning marched away, over and down and out of sight, +with Mary's lamb in his arms. As for Mary herself, little woman that +she was, having made her sacrifice, she would have dropped on the +grass, after picking up her sun-bonnet, and had a good cry over her +loss, had it not been for Goodwife Elderkin standing there in the +road, waiting for her. + +With a sharp look at the child, the woman left the highway to go to +her own house, and Mary went home, hoping that no one would ask her +about the lamb. + +The flock of sheep marched until the noontide, when a halt was +ordered. After that they went onward over hill and river, with rest at +night and at noon, until the town of Roxbury was reached. At this +place the sheep were left to be taken to Boston, when opportunity +could be had. + +With Mary's lamb in his arms, Johnny Manning accompanied the messenger +who went up Boston Neck to carry a letter to the "Selectmen of the +Town." That letter has been preserved and is carefully kept among the +treasured documents of the Massachusetts Historical Society. It is too +long to be given here, but, after begging Boston to suffer and be +strong, remembering what had been done for the country by its +founders, it closes in these words: "We know you suffer, and feel for +you. As a testimony of our commiseration of your misfortunes, we have +procured a small flock of sheep, which at this season are not so good +as we could wish, but are the best we had. This small present, +gentlemen, we beg you would accept and apply to the relief of those +honest, industrious poor, who are most oppressed by the late +oppressive acts." + +Then, after a promise of future help in case of need, the letter is +signed by Samuel Grey, Ebenezer Devotion, and seven other names, +ending with that of Hezekiah Manning. + +[Illustration: "Give me the lamb, and I'll feed three hungry little girls +every day as long as Boston is shut up."] + +A British officer, seeing the lamb in Johnny's arms, offered to buy +it, bribing him with a bit of gold; but Johnny said "there wasn't any +gold in the land that he would exchange it for," and so the lamb +reached Boston in safety before the sheep got there. As Johnny walked +along the streets he was busy looking out for some poor little girl to +give it to, according to Mary's request. + +"I must wait," he thought, "until I find some one who is almost +starved." + +On the Common side he met a little girl who cried "Oh! see! see! A +lamb! A live lamb in Boston Town!" + +The child's eyes rested on the little white creature, which accosted +her with a plaintive bleat. Johnny Manning's eyes were riveted on the +little girl. What he thought, he never said. "Do you want it?" he +asked. + +"O yes! yes! Where did you get it?" + +"I've brought it from Roxbury in my arms. Mary Robbins gave it, in +Windham, for some poor little girl who was hungry in Boston. Are you +hungry?" + +"No," said the child, hesitatingly. + +"Are you poor?" + +"My father is"--a sudden thought stopped the words she was about to +speak. "Give me the lamb," she said, "and I'll feed three hungry +little girls every day as long as Boston is shut up. I will! I will! +and Mary's lamb shall live until I'm a hungry little girl myself, and +I will keep it until I am starved clear almost to death." + +Johnny put Mary's little lamb on the walk. "See if it will follow +you," he said. + +"Come lamb! lamb! come with Catharine," and it went bleating after her +along the Common side. + +"It's used to a girl," ejaculated the boy, "and it hasn't been a bit +happy with me. Give it grass and milk," he called after Catharine, who +turned and bowed her head. + +"A pretty story I shall have to tell Mary Robbins," thought Johnny. +"Here I have given her lamb to be kept and coddled, and it's likely +never eaten at all--but I know that little girl will keep her word. +She looks it--and she said she would feed three little girls as long +as Boston is shut up, and that is more than the lamb could do. I must +recollect the very words, to tell Mary." + +When the _Boston Gazette_ of July 4th, 1774, reached the village of +Windham, its inhabitants were surprised at the following announcement, +more particularly as not one of them knew where the _last sheep_ came +from: + + "Last week, were driven to the neighboring town of Roxbury two + hundred and fifty-eight sheep, a generous contribution of our + sympathizing brethren of the town of Windham, in the colony of + Connecticut; to be distributed for the employment or relief of + those who may be sufferers by means of the act of Parliament, + called the Boston Port Bill." + +Johnny Manning, when he returned to Windham, privately explained the +matter to Mary Robbins, by telling her that when the sheep were +numbered at Roxbury he counted in her lamb. + + + + +HOW ONE BOY HELPED THE BRITISH TROOPS OUT OF BOSTON IN 1776. + + +It was Commander-in-chief Washington's birthday, and it was Jeremy +Jagger's birthday. + +General Washington was forty-four years old that birthday, a hundred +years ago. Jeremy Jagger was fourteen, and early in the morning of the +22d of February, 1776, the General and the lad were looking upon the +same bit of country, but from different positions. General George +Washington was reviewing his precious little army for the thousandth +time; the lad Jeremy was looking from a hill upon the camp at +Cambridge, and from thence across the River Charles over into Boston, +which city had, for many months, been held by the British soldiers. + +At last Jeremy exclaimed: "I say, it's too chestnut-bur bad; it is." + +"Did you step on one?" questioned a tall, hard-handed, earnest-faced +man, who at the instant had come up to the stone-wall on which Jeremy +stood, surveying the camp and its surroundings. + +"No, I didn't," retorted the lad; "but I wish Boston was _paved_ all +over with chestnut-burs, and that every pesky British officer in it +had to walk barefoot from end to end fourteen times a day, I do; and +the fourteenth time I'd order two or three Colony generals to take a +turn with 'em. General Gates for one." + +"Come along, Jeremy," called his companion, who had strode across the +wall and gone on, regardless of the boy's words. + +When Jeremy had ended his expressed wishes, he gathered up his +hatchet, dinner-basket, and coil of stout cord, and plunged through +the snow after his leader. + +When he had overtaken him, the impulsive lad's heart burst out at the +lips with the words: "_We_ could take Boston _now_, just as easy as +anything--without wasting a jot of powder either. Skip across the ice, +don't you see, and be right in there before daylight. A big army lying +still for months and months, and just doing nothing but wait for folks +in Boston to starve out! I _say_ it's shameful; now, too, when the ice +has come that General Washington has been waiting all winter for." + +"You won't help your country one bit by scolding about it, Jeremy. +You'd better save your strength for cutting willow-rods to-day." + +"I'd cut like a hurricane if the rods were only going to whip the +enemy with. But just for sixpence a day--pshaw! I say, it don't pay." + +"Look here, lad, can you keep a secret?" + +"Trust me for that," returned Jeremy. Turning suddenly upon his +questioner, he faced him to listen to a supposed bit of information. + +"Then why on earth are you talking to _me_ in that manner, boy?" +questioned the man. + +"Why you _know_ all about it, just as well as I do; and a fellow +_must_ speak out in the woods or _somewhere_. Why, I get so mad and +hot sometimes that it seems as if every thought in me would burn right +out on my face, when I think about my poor mother over there," +pointing backward to the three-hilled city. + +The two were standing at the moment midway of a corn-field. The +February wind was lifting and rustling and shaking rudely the withered +corn-stalks, with their dried leaves. To the northward lay the +Cambridge camp, across the Charles River. To the south and east, just +over Muddy River and Stony Brook, lay the right wing of the American +Army, with here a fort and there a redoubt stretching at intervals all +the distance between the camp at Cambridge and Dorchester Neck, on the +southeast side of Boston. Behind them, to the westward, lay Cedar +Swamp, while not more than half a mile to the front there was a +four-gun battery and Brookline Fort, on the Charles, near by. + +While Jeremy Jagger was pouring forth his words with vociferous +violence, the man by his side glanced eagerly about the wide field; +but, satisfying himself that no one was within hearing, he said, +resting his hatchet on the lad's shoulder while speaking: "See here, +my boy. The brave man never boasts of his bravery nor the trustworthy +man of his trustworthiness. How you learned what you know of the plans +of General Washington I do not care to ask; but to-day and all days +keep quiet and show yourself worthy of being trusted." + +"I'll try as hard as I can," promised Jeremy. + +"No one can have tried his best without accomplishing something that +it was grand to do, though not always _just what_ he was trying to +do," responded the man, glancing kindly down upon the fresh, eager +lad, tramping through the snow, at his side. "Don't forget. 'Silence +is golden,' in war always. Not a word, mind, when you get home, about +the work of to-day." + +They were come now to a spot where the marsh seemed to be filled with +sounds of wood-cutting. As they plunged into Cedar Swamp, the sounds +grew nearer and multiplied. It was like the rapid firing of muskets. + +Running through the swamp there was a trout-brook, that bore along its +borders a dense growth of water-willows. + +And now they advanced within sight of at least two hundred men and +boys, every one of whom worked away as though his life depended on +cutting a certain amount of willow-boughs in a given time. + +"What does it all mean?" questioned Jeremy. + +"It means," replied his companion, "work for your country to-day with +all your might and main." + +"But, pray tell me," persisted Jeremy, "what under the sun the things +are for, anyway. They're good for nothing for fire-wood, green." + +Mr. Wooster turned and looked at the lad and said: "A good soldier +asks no questions and marches, without knowing whither. He also cuts, +without knowing for what. Now, to work!" and, at the instant they +mingled with the workmen. + +In less than a minute Jeremy's dinner-basket was swinging on a +willow-bough, his coat was hanging protectingly over it (you must +remember that it contained Jeremy Jagger's birthday cake), and the +lad's own arms were working away to the musical sounds of a hatchet +beating on a vast amount of "whistle-stuff," until mid-day and hunger +arrived in company. + +At the signal for noon Jeremy Jagger began his birthday feast. He +perched himself on a stout willow-branch, hanging the basket on a +conveniently growing peg at his right hand, and, by frequent +examination of the store within, was able to solace two or three lads, +less fortunate than himself, who were taking the mid-day rest, +refreshed by plain bread and cheese, seated on a branch, lower down on +the same tree. + +"It isn't _every_ day that a fellow eats his birthday dinner in the +woods," he exclaimed, by way of apology for the dainties he tossed +down to them in the shape of sugar-cake and "spice pie." "Aunt Hannah +was pretty liberal with me this morning. I wonder if she knew +anything, for she said: 'I'd find plenty of squirrels to help eat it.' +Where do you live, anyway?" he questioned, after he had fed them. + +"We live in Brookline," answered the elder. + +"Well, do you know what under the sun we are cutting such bundles of +fagots for to-day?" he slyly questioned, being beyond the hearing of +the ears of his friend, and so safe from censure. + +"I asked father this morning," spoke up the younger lad (of not more +than nine years), "and he told me he guessed General Washington was +going to take Boston on the ice, and every soldier was going to take a +bundle of fagots along, so as to keep from sinking if the ice broke +through." + +This bit of military news was received with shouts of laughter, that +echoed from tree to tree along the brook, and then the noon-day rest +was over. The wind began to blow in cooler and faster from the sea, +and busy hands were obliged to work fast to keep from stiffening under +the power of the growing frost. + +When the new moon hung low in the west and the sun was gone, the +brookside, the cart-path, even the swamp fell back into its accustomed +silence, for the workers, in groups of eight or ten, had from minute +to minute gone homeward, leaving huge piles of fagots near the log +bridge. + +Jeremy went early to bed that night. His right arm was weary and his +left arm ached; nevertheless, he went straightway to dreaming that +both arms were dragging his beloved mother forth from Boston. + +At midnight his companion of the morning came and stood under his +chamber window, and tapped lightly with a bean-pole against the glass +to awaken him. + +Jeremy heard the sound, but in his dream thought it was a gun fired +from one of the ships in the harbor at his mother, and himself, and +Boston. + +"Jeremy, get up!" said somebody, touching his shoulder. + +"Come, mother!" ejaculated Jeremy, clutching at the air and uttering +the words under tremendous pressure. + +"Come yourself, lad," said somebody, shaking him a little roughly; +whereupon Jeremy awoke. "Get up, Jeremy Jagger. Hitch the oxen to the +cart. Put on the hay-rigging. Stay, I must help you to do that; but +hurry." + +Jeremy rubbed his eyes, wondered what had become of his mother, and +how Mr. Wooster found his way into the house in the night, and lastly, +what was to be done. Furthermore, he dressed with speed, and awakened +the oxen by vigorous touches and moving words. + +"Get up! get up!" he importuned, "and work for your country, and may +be you won't be killed and eaten for your country when you are old." +The large, patient eyes of the oxen slowly opened into the night, and +after awhile the vigorous strokes and voiceful "get ups" of their +master had due effect. + +Mr. Wooster helped to adjust the hay-rigging, and then the large-wheeled +cart rolled grindingly over the frozen ground of the highway, until it +turned into the path leading into the swamp, over which the snow lay in +unbroken surface. Jeremy Jagger's was but the pioneer cart that night. +A half-dozen rolled and tumbled and reeled over the uneven surface behind +him, to the log bridge. It was cold and still. As the topmost fagot +was tossed on the pile in his cart he drew off a mitten, thrust his +benumbed fingers between his parted lips, and when he removed them +said: "I hope General Washington has had a better birthday than mine." + +"I know one thing, my lad." + +Jeremy turned quickly, for he did not recognize the voice. Even then +he could not discern the face; but he knew instantly that it was no +common person who had spoken. Nevertheless, with that sturdy, +good-as-anybody air that made the men of April 19th and June 17th +fight so gloriously, he demanded: + +"What do you know?" + +"That General Washington would gladly change places with you to-night, +if you are the honest lad you seem to be." + +"Go and see him in his comfortable bed over there in Cambridge," was +Jeremy's response, uttered in the same breath with the word to his +oxen to move on. They moved on. The fagots reeled and swayed, the cart +rumbled over the logs of the bridge, and boy, oxen and cart were soon +lost to sight and hearing in the cedar thickets of the swamp. + +Through the next two hours they toiled on, Jeremy on foot, and often +ready to lie down with the healthy sleep that would not leave its hold +on his weary brain. + +It was day-dawn when the fagots had been duly delivered at the +appointed place and Jeremy reached home. + +He had been cautiously bidden to see that the cart was not left +outside with its tell-tale rigging. He obeyed the injunction, shut the +oxen in, gave them double allowance of hay, and was startled by Aunt +Hannah's cheery call of: "Jerry, my boy, come to breakfast." + +"Breakfast ready?" said Jeremy. + +"Why, yes. I was up early this morning, and thought of you." And that +was the only allusion Aunt Hannah made to his night's work. He longed +to tell her and chat about it all at the table; but, remembering his +promise in the swamp, he said not a word. + +Six nights out of seven Jeremy and his oxen worked all night and slept +nearly all day. + +The brook in Cedar Swamp was robbed of its willows, and many another +bit of land and watercourse suffered in a like manner. + +Then came the order to make the fagots into fascines. Two thousand +soldiers were got to work to effect this. Jeremy Jagger began to +understand what was going on behind the lines at Roxbury. He was the +happiest lad in existence during the ensuing days. He forgot to eat, +even, when the fascines were in making. Perceiving the manner in which +they were formed he volunteered to help, and soon found he could drive +the cross supports into the ground, lay the saplings upon them, and +even aid in twisting the green withes about them, as well as any +soldier of them all. + +Bales of "screwed" hay began to appear in great numbers within the +lines, and empty barrels by the hundreds sprang up from somewhere. + +And all this time, guess as every man might and did--the coming event +was known only to the commander-in-chief and to the six generals +forming the council of war. + +Monday night, before sundown, Jeremy Jagger received an order. It +was: + + March 4th. + + JEREMY JAGGER: + + With oxen and cart (hay-rigging on), be at the Roxbury lines by + moon-rise to-night. Take a pocketful of gingerbread along. + + WOOSTER. + +With manly pride the boy set forth. He longed to put the note in his +aunt's hand ere he went; but she (long ago it seemed, though only a +few days had passed) seemed to take no note of his frequent absences. +He had scarcely gone a rod ere the cannon-balls began their march into +Boston from all the fortifications of the Americans; and in return +from Boston, flying north and south and west, came shot and shells. + +Undaunted and excited by the mere possibility of being hit, Jeremy +went onward. When he arrived in Roxbury he found everybody and +everything astir. His cart was seized, filled with bundles of +"screwed" hay, and, ere he knew it, he was in line with two hundred +and ninety-nine other carts, marching forward to fortify Dorchester +Heights. Before him went twelve hundred troops, under the command of +General Thomas; before the troops trundled an unknown number of carts, +filled with intrenching tools; before the tools were eight hundred +men. Not a word was spoken. In silence and with utmost care they trod +the way. At eight of the clock the covering party of eight hundred +reached the Height and divided--one-half going toward the point +nearest Boston, the other to the point nearest Castle William, on +Castle Island, held by the British. + +Then the working party began their labor with enthusiasm unbounded, +wondering what the British general would think when he should behold +their work in the morning. They toiled in silence by the light of the +moon and the home music of 144 shot and 13 shell going into Boston, +and unnumbered shot and shell coming out of Boston. Gridley, whose +quick night work at Breed's Hill on the sixteenth of June had startled +the world, headed the intrenching party as engineer. + +Poor Jeremy was not allowed to go farther than Dorchester Neck with +his first load. The bundles of hay were tumbled out and laid in line, +to protect the supplying party, in case the work going on on the hill +beyond should be found out. + +The next time, to his extreme delight, he found that fascines were to +go in his cart. When he reached Dorchester Height quick work was made +of unloading his freight, and, without a word spoken, he was ordered +back with a move of the hand. + +Four times the lad and the oxen went up Dorchester Hill that night. +The fourth time, as no order was given to return, Jeremy thought he +might as well stay and see the battle that would begin with the dawn. + +He left the oxen behind an embankment with a big bundle of hay to the +front of them; and after five minutes devoted to gingerbread he went +to work. Morning would come long before they were ready to have it +unveil the growing forts to the eyes of Admiral Shuldham, with his +ships of war lying in the harbor; or to the sentinels at Castle +William, on Castle Island, to the right of them; or to General Howe, +with his vigilant thousands of Englishmen safe and snug in Boston, to +the north of them. + +Jeremy was rolling barrels to the brow of the hill they were +fortifying, and tumbling into them with haste shovelful after +shovelful of good solid earth, that they might hit hard when rolled +down on the foe that should dare to mount the height, when a cautious +voice at his side uttered the one word "Look!" accompanied with a +motion of the hand toward Dorchester Neck. + +In the moonlight, past the bales of hay, two thousand Americans were +filing in silent haste to the relief of the men who had toiled all +night to build forts they meant to defend on the morrow. + +It was four o'clock in the morning when they came. Jeremy was tired +and sleepy too. His eyelids would drop over his eyes, shutting out +everything he so longed to keep in sight. + +"You've worked like a hero," said a kind voice to the lad. "It will be +hot work here by sunrise--no place for boys, when the battle begins." + +"I can fight," stoutly persisted Jeremy, nodding as he spoke; and, had +anybody thought of the lad at all after that, he might have been found +in the ox-cart, carelessly strewn over with hay, taking a nap. + +Meanwhile on came the morning. A friendly fog hung lovingly around the +new hills on the old hills, that the Yankees had built in a night. + +Admiral Shuldham was called in haste from his bed by frightened men, +who wondered what had happened on Dorchester Height. Castle William +stood aghast with astonishment. Messengers went up the bay to tell the +army the news. + +General Howe marched out to take a look through the fog at the old +familiar hills he had known so long, and didn't like the looks of the +new hats they wore. He wondered how in the world the thing had been +done without discovery; but there it was, larger a good deal than +life, seen through the fog, and he knew also why it was that the +cannon had been playing on Boston through the hours of three or four +nights. He was angry, astonished, perplexed. He had a little talk with +Admiral Shuldham; and they agreed to do something. Yes, they _would_ +walk up and demand back the hills looking over into Boston. Transports +came hurrying to pier and wharf, and soldiers went bravely down and +gave themselves to the work of a short sea voyage. + +Meanwhile Jeremy Jagger's nap was broken by a number of trenching +tools thrown carelessly over his back, as he lay asleep in his cart. + +"Halloo there!" he shouted, striving to rise from the not very +comfortable blanket that dropped in twain to the left and the right, +as he shook off the tools and returned from the land of sleep to +Dorchester Heights and the 5th of March. He was just in time to hear a +voice like a clarion cry out: "Remember it is the 5th of March, and +avenge the death of your brethren." + +It was the very voice that had said in the swamp in the night that +"General Washington would gladly change places with Jeremy Jagger." +It was the voice of General Washington animating the troops for the +coming battle. + +Meanwhile a new and unexpected force arrived on the field of action. +It came in from sea--a great and mighty wind, that tossed and tumbled +the transports to and fro on the waves and would not let them land +anywhere save at the place they came from. So they went peacefully +back to Boston, and the Liberty Men over on the hills went on all day +and all night, in the rain and the wind, building up, strengthening, +fortifying, in fact getting ready, as Jeremy told his aunt, when he +reached home on the morning of the sixth of March, "for a visit from +King George and all his army." + +The next day General Howe doubted and did little. The next and the +next went on and then on the morning of the 17th of March something +new had happened. There was one little hill, so near to Boston that it +was almost in it; and lo! in the night it had been visited by the +Americans, and a Liberty Cap perched above its head. + +General Howe said: "We must get away from here in haste." + +"Take us with you," said a thousand Royalists of the town; and he took +them, bag and baggage, to wander up and down the earth. + +Over on Bunker Breed's Hill wooden sentinels did duty when the British +soldiers left and for full two hours after; and then two brave +Yankees guessed the men were wooden, and marched in to take +possession just nine months from the day they bade it good-by, because +they had no powder with which to "tune" their guns. + +Over on Cambridge Common marched, impatient as ever, General Putnam, +with his four thousand followers, ready to cross the River Charles and +walk once more the city streets of the good old town. On all the hills +were gathered men, women and children to see the British troops +depart. + +Jeremy Jagger was up before the dawn on that sweetest of Sunday +mornings in March, and he reached the Roxbury lines just as General +Ward was ready to put his arms about Boston's Neck. The lad took his +place with the five hundred men and walked by Ensign Richards' side, +as he proudly bore the standard up to the gates, which Ebenezer +Learned "unbarred and opened." Once within the lines, Jeremy, +unmindful of the crow's feet strewn over the way, made haste through +lane and street to his old home on Beacon Hill. "Could that be his +mother looking out at him through the window-pane?" he thought, as he +drew near. + +She saw him. She knew him. But what could it mean that she did not +open the door to let him in; that she waved him away? It could not be +that she, his own mother, had turned Tory, that her face was grown so +red and angry at the sight of her son. + +Jeremy banged away at the door. There was no answer. + +At last he heard the lifting of a sash, a head, muffled carefully, +appeared from the highest window in the house, and a voice (the lad +knew whose it was) said: "Go, Jeremy! Go away out of Boston as fast as +you can. I'll come to you as soon as it is safe." + +"Why, mother, what's the matter?" cried the boy. + +"Small pox! I've had it. Everybody has it. Go!" + +"Good-by," cried Jeremy, running out of Boston as fast as any British +soldier of them all and a good deal more frightened. He burst into +Aunt Hannah's house with the news that he had been to Boston, that the +soldiers were all gone, that he had seen his mother, that she had the +small-pox and sent him off in a hurry. + +"Tut! tut!" she cried. "It's wicked to tell lies, Jeremy Jagger." + +"I'm not telling lies. Every word is true. Please give me something to +eat." + +But Aunt Hannah did not wait to give the lad food, nor even to speak +the prayer of thanksgiving that went like incense from her heart. She +went into the barn-yard and threw corn on the barn-floor, to which the +hens and turkeys made haste. Closing the door, she summoned Jeremy to +kill the largest and best of them. + +That Sunday afternoon the brick oven glowed with fervent heat, the +white, fat offerings went in, and the golden-brown turkeys and +chickens came out; and as each, in turn, was pronounced "done," Aunt +Hannah repeated the words: "Hungry! hungry! hungry! Hungry all +winter!" + +The big clothes-basket was full of lint for wounds that now never +should be made. Gladly she tossed out the fluffy mass, and packed +within it every dainty the house contained. + +It was nearly sunset when Aunt Hannah and Jeremy started forth, with +the basket between them, to Mr. Wooster's house, hoping that he would +carry it in his wagon up to Boston. He was not at home. + +"Get out the cart," said Aunt Hannah to Jeremy, when they learned no +help was to be obtained. She sat by the roadside watching the basket +until the cart arrived. + +"I'm going with you," she said, after the basket was in; she climbed +to the seat beside the lad, and off they started for Boston. + +It was dark when they reached the lines, and no passes granted, the +officers said, to go in that night. + +"But I've food for the hungry," said Aunt Hannah, in her sweetest +voice, from the darkness of the cart, "and folks are hungry in the +night as well as in the day." + +She deftly threw aside the cover from the basket and took out a +chicken, which she held forth to the man, saying: "Take it. It's +good." + +He hesitated a moment, then seized it eagerly. + +"I know you," spoke up Jeremy, at this juncture. "You went up the Neck +with us this morning. I saw you." + +"Then you are the boy who got first into Boston this morning, are you, +sir?" + +"I believe I did, sir." + +"Go on." + +The oxen went on. + +"Now, Jeremy, down with you and wait here for me. You haven't had +small-pox," said Aunt Hannah. + +"But the oxen won't mind you," said Jeremy. + +Aunt Hannah was troubled. She never had driven oxen. + +At the moment who should appear but Mr. Wooster. He gladly offered to +take the basket and deliver it at Mrs. Jagger's door. + +"Don't go in, mind! Mother's had small-pox," called Jeremy, as he +started. + +"I'm tired," gasped Aunt Hannah, who had done baking enough for a +small army that day, as she sat down to rest on the broad seat of the +cart, and the two started for home. The soldier at the gate scarcely +heeded them as they went out, for roasted chicken "tasted so good." + +"I'm so glad the British are out of Boston," said Aunt Hannah, as she +touched home soil again and went wearily up the walk to the little +dark house. + +"And so am I," said Jeremy to the oxen, as he turned them in for the +night; "only if I'd had my way, they wouldn't have gone without one +good fair fight. You've done your duty, anyhow," he added, soothingly, +with a parting stroke to the honest laborer who went in last, "and you +deserve well of your country, too, for like Gen. Washington, you have +served without hope of reward. The thing I like best about the man is +that he don't work for money. I don't want my sixpence a day for +cutting willows; and--I won't--take it." And he didn't take it, +consoling himself with the reflection "that he would be like Gen. +Washington in one thing, anyhow." + + + + +PUSSY DEAN'S BEACON FIRE. + +March 17, 1776. + + +A hundred years ago the winds of March were blowing. + +To-day the same winds rush by the stone memorials and sweep across the +low mounds that securely cover the men and the women that then were +alive to chill blast and stirring event. Even the lads who gathered at +sound of drum and fife on village green, wishing, as they saw the +troopers march, that they were men, and the little girls who hung +about father's neck because he was going off to war, who watched the +post-riders on their course, wishing that they knew the news he +carried, are no longer with us. + +For nearly two years Boston had been the lost town of the people. It +had been taken from the children by an unkind father and given to +strangers. You have been told how British ships came and closed her +harbor, so that food and raiment could not enter. You know how grandly +the younger sister towns behaved toward stately, hungry Boston; how +they marched up the narrow neck of land that holds back the town from +the sea, each and every one bearing gifts to the beloved town, until +there came the sad and fatal day wherein British military lines turned +back the tide of offerings and closed the gate of entrance. + +Then it was that friends began to gather across the rivers that wound +their waters around Boston. Presently an army grew up and stationed +itself with leaders and banners and forts. + +Summer came. The army waited through all the long warm days. The +summer went; the leaves fell; the chill winds and the cold sea-fogs +wound into and out of the poor little tents and struck the brave men +who, having no tents, tried to be strong and endure. + +Every child knows, or ought to know, the story of that winter; how day +by day, all over New England, men were striving to gather firearms and +powder wherewith to take back from the foe poor Boston. But, alas, +there was not powder enough in all the land to do it. + +The long, wearying winter had done its worst for the prisoned +inhabitants within the town; and, truly, it had tried and pinched the +waiting friends who stood at the gates. + +At last, in March, in the night, the brave helpers climbed the hills, +built on them smaller hills, and by the light of the morning were able +to look over into the town--at which the patriots were glad and the +British commander frightened. + +A little after nine of the clock on Sunday morning, the 17th of +March, 1776, three Narragansett ponies stood before General +Washington's headquarters at Cambridge. + +"Go with all possible speed to Governor Trumbull," said Washington, +delivering despatches to a well-known and trusted messenger, who +instantly mounted one of the ponies in waiting--Sweeping Wind by +name--and rode away, with many a sharp and inquiring glance back at +city and river and camp. + +It was four of the clock in the afternoon, and the messenger had not +paused since he set forth, longer than to give Sweeping Wind water to +drink, when, on the highway in the distance, he saw a red cloak +fluttering and flying before him. + +It was Pussy Dean who wore the cloak. She was fifteen, fair and +lovely, brave and patriotic as any soldier in the land. + +At first she was angry at the law by which she was denied a new cloak +that winter, made of English fabric, but when wrapped in the coveted +broadcloth of scarlet belonging to her mother she was more than +reconciled. + +On this Sunday Pussy had been at the meeting-house on the hill, two +miles from home, at both morning and afternoon service, and afterward +had lingered a little to gather up bits of news from camp and town to +take home to her mother, and so it had happened that she was quite +alone on the highway. + +Pussy chanced to look back to the summit of the hill down which she +had walked, and she saw the express coming. + +"Now," she thought, "if I could only stop him! I wonder if I can't. +I'll try, and then," swinging her silken bag, "I shall have news to +carry home, the very latest, too." + +As she swung the bag she suddenly remembered that she had something +within it to offer the rider. + +"Of course I can," she went on saying to herself. "Post-riders are +always hungry, and it's lucky for him that I didn't have to eat my +dinner myself, to-day. Now, if I only had a basketful of clover heads +or roses for that pony, I'd find out all about Boston while it was +eating." + +The only roses within sight were blooming on Pussy Dean's two cheeks +as Sweeping Wind came clattering his shoes against the frozen ground. +He would have gone straight on had a scarlet cloak not been planted, +like a fluttering standard, full in his pathway. + +The rider gave the pony the slightest possible check, since he felt +sure that no red-coated soldier lurked behind the red cloak. + +"Take something to eat, won't you?" accosted Pussy, rather glowing in +feature and agitated in voice by her own daring. + +Meanwhile the rider had given Sweeping Wind a second intimation to +stand, which he obeyed, and sniffed at Pussy's cloak and cheeks and +silken bag as she held it forth to the rider, saying naively, "I went +to meeting and was invited to luncheon, and so didn't eat mine." She +spoke swiftly, as though she knew she must not detain him. + +He answered with a smile and a "Thank you," took the bag, and rewarded +her by saying, "The British are getting out of Boston, bag and +baggage." + +"And where are you going?" demanded Pussy, determined not to go home +with but half the story if she could help it. + +"To Governor Trumbull with the good news and a demand for two thousand +men to save New York," he cried back, having gone on. His words were +entangled with a mouthful of gingerbread or mince-pie to such an +extent that it was a full minute before Pussy understood their import, +and then she could only say over and over to herself, as she hastened +on, "Father will be here, father will come home, and we'll have the +good old times back again." + +But notwithstanding her hope and a country's wish, the good old times +were not at hand. + +Pussy reached home and told the story. Baby went down plump into the +wooden cradle at the first note of it, and set up a tune of rejoicing +in his own fashion which no one regarded. Brother Benjamin, aged +thirteen, whistled furiously, regardless of the honors of the day. +Sammy, who was ten, clapped his hands and knocked his heels together, +first in joy, and then began to fear lest the war should be over +before he grew big enough to be in it. + +"Mother," said Pussy, a few minutes later, "let Benny come with me to +tell Mr. Gale about it; may he?" + +Pussy laid aside her Sunday bonnet, tied a straw hat over her ears +with a silk kerchief to keep out the wind, and in three minutes got +Benny into the highway. + +"See here, Ben, I'm going to light a fire on Baldhead to tell all the +folks together about it, and I want you to help me; quick, before it +gets dark." + +"You can't gather fagots," responded Ben. + +Yes, she could, and would, and did, while Benny went to the house +nearest to Baldhead to ask for some fire in a kettle. + +The two worked with such vigor and will that the first gathering of +darkness saw the light of the beacon-flame burst forth, and the great +March wind blew it into fiercest glow. Every eye that saw the fire +there knew that it had been kindled with a purpose, and many feet from +house and hamlet set forth to learn the cause. + +While Pussy and Ben were yet adding fagots to the fire, they heard a +voice crying out: "The young rascals shall be punished soundly for +this," and ere Pussy had time to explain or expostulate, a strong man +had Ben in his grasp. + +"Stop that, sir!" cried the girl, rushing to the rescue with a burning +fagot that she had seized from the fire, and shaking it full in the +assailant's face. + +By the light of it, the man saw Pussy and she saw him; and then both +began to laugh, while Ben rubbed his ears and wondered whether they +were both on his head. + +"It means," spoke the girl, waving the still flaming brand toward +the east, "that the British left Boston this morning, and that +General"--(just here a dozen men were at the fire. Pussy raised +her voice and continued)--"Washington wants you all, every one of +you, to march straight to Governor Trumbull, and he'll tell you +what to do next." + +"If that's the case," said the responsible man of the constantly-increasing +group after questioning Pussy, "we'd better summon the militia by the +ringing of the bell," and off they went in the direction of the village, +while Pussy and Ben went home. + +The next day saw fifty men, well armed, and provisioned for three +days, on the road to Lebanon. They marched into town and into the now +famous war-office of Governor Trumbull, to his pleased surprise. + +"Who sent you?" asked the governor, for it was not yet six hours since +the demand on the nearest town had been made. + +"Who sent us?" echoed the lieutenant, looking confused and at a loss +to explain, and finally answering truthfully, he said: "It was a +young girl, your excellency. She lit a beacon fire on a hill and gave +the command that we report to you." + +A laugh ran around the sides of the old war-office. The messenger who +had ridden from Cambridge sat upon the counter pressing his spurs into +the wood and heard it all. + +"And who commissioned the girl as a recruiting officer?" questioned +the governor. + +"I'm afraid," said the messenger, "I am the guilty party. I met a +young patriot in scarlet cloak who asked my news, and, I told her." + +"Where is the girl's father?" demanded Governor Trumbull. + +"He is with the army, at Cambridge," was the response. + +"And his name?" + +"Reuben Dean." + +A scratch or two of the quill pen was heard on the open paper. It was +folded, sealed, and handed to the ready horseman, with the words: +"Reuben Dean; he is mentioned for promotion." + +The words, as they were spoken by Governor Trumbull, were caught up +and gathered into a mighty cheer, for every man of their number knew +that Reuben Dean was worthy of promotion, even had his daughter not +gained it for him by her services as recruiting officer. + + + + +DAVID BUSHNELL AND HIS AMERICAN TURTLE. + +THE FIRST SUBMARINE BOAT INVENTED. + + +"David!" cried a voice stern and commanding, from a house-door one +morning, as the young man who owned the name was taking a short cut +"across lots" in the direction of Pautapoug. + +"Sir!" cried the youth in response to the call, and pausing as nearly +as he could, and at the same time keep his feet from sinking into the +marshy soil. + +"Where are you going?" was the response. + +"To Pautapoug, to see Uriah Hayden, sir." + +"You'd better hire out at ship-building with him. Your college +learning's of no earthly use in these days," said the father of David +Bushnell, returning from the door, and sinking slowly down into his +high-backed chair. + +Then spoke up a sweet-voiced woman from the kitchen fire-side, where +she had that moment been hanging an iron pot on the crane: + +"Have a little patience, father (Mrs. Bushnell always called her +husband, father), David is only looking about to see what to do. It's +hardly four weeks since he was graduated." + +"True enough; but where can you find an idle man in all Saybrook +town? and you know as well as I do that it makes men despise +college-learning to see folks idle. I'd rather, for my part, David +_did_ go to work on the ship Uriah Hayden is building. I wish I +knew what he's gone over there for to-day." + +A funny smile crept into the curves of Mrs. Bushnell's lips, but her +husband did not notice it. + +Mr. Bushnell moved uneasily in his chair, as he sat leaning forward, +both hands clasped about a hickory stick, and his chin resting on the +knob at its top. Presently he said: + +"Anna, I fear David is getting into bad habits. He used to talk a good +deal. Now he sits with his eyes on the floor, and his forehead in +wrinkles, and I'm _sure_ I've heard him moving about more than one +night lately, after all honest folks were in bed." + +"Father, you must remember that you've been very sick, and fever gives +one queer notions sometimes. I shouldn't wonder one bit if you dreamed +you heard something, when 'twas only the rats behind the wainscot." + +"Rats don't step like a grown man in his stocking-feet, nor make the +rafters creak, either." + +Madam Bushnell appeared to be investigating the contents of the pot +hanging on the crane, and perhaps the heat of the blazing wood was +sufficient to account for the burning of her cheeks. She cooled them +a moment later by going down cellar after cider, a mug of which she +offered to her husband, proposing the while that he should have his +chair out of doors, and sit under the sycamore tree by the river-bank. +When he assented, and she had seen him safely in the chair, she made +haste to David's bed-room. + +Since Mr. Bushnell's illness began, no one had ascended to the chamber +except herself and her son. + +On two shelves hanging against the wall were the books that he had +brought home with him from Yale College, just four weeks ago. + +A table was drawn near to the one window in the room. On it were bits +of wood, with iron scraps, fragments of glass and copper. In fact, the +same thing to-day would suggest boat-building to the mother of any lad +finding them among her boy's playthings. To this mother they suggested +nothing beyond the fact that David was engaged in something which he +wished to keep a profound secret. + +He had not told her so. It had not been necessary. She had divined it +and kept silence, having all a mother's confidence in, and hope of, +her son's success in life. + +As she surveyed the place, she thought: + +"There is nothing here, even if he (meaning her husband) should take +it into his head to come up and look about." + +Meanwhile young David had crossed the Pochaug River, and was half the +way to Pautapoug. + +All this happened more than a thousand moons ago, when all the land +was aroused and astir, and David Bushnell was not in the least +surprised to meet, at the ship-yard of Uriah Hayden, Jonathan +Trumbull, Governor of Connecticut. + +This man was everywhere, seeing to everything, in that year. Whatever +his country needed, or Commander-in-chief Washington ordered from the +camp at Cambridge, was forthcoming. + +A ship had been demanded of Connecticut, and so Governor Trumbull had +come down from Lebanon to look with his own eyes at the huge ribs of +oak, thereafter to sail the seas as "The Oliver Cromwell." + +The self-same oaken ribs had intense interest for young David +Bushnell. Uriah Hayden had promised to sell to him all the pieces of +ship-timber that should be left, and while the governor and the +builder planned, he went about gathering together fragments. + +"Better take enough to build a boat that will carry a seine. 'T won't +cost you a mite more, and might serve you a good turn to have a +sizable craft in a heavy sea some day," said Mr. Hayden. + +Now David Bushnell had been wishing that he had some good and +sufficient reason to give Mr. Hayden for wanting the stuff at all, and +here he had given it to him. + +"That's true," spoke up David, "but how am I to get all this over to +Pochaug?" + +"Don't get it over at all, until it's ready to row down the +Connecticut, and around the Sound. You're welcome to build your boat +at the yard, and, now and then, there will be odd minutes that the men +can help you on with it." + +David thanked Mr. Hayden, grew cheerful of heart over the prospect of +owning a boat of his own, and went merrily back to the village of +Pochaug. + +Two weeks later David's boat was ready for sea. It was launched into +the Connecticut from the ways on which the "Oliver Cromwell" grew, was +named Lady Fenwick, and, when water-tight, was rowed down the river, +past Saybrook and Tomb Hill, and so into the Long Island Sound. + +When its owner and navigator went by Tomb Hill, he removed his hat, +and bowed reverently. He thought with respect and admiration of the +occupant of the sandstone tomb on its height, the Lady Fenwick who had +slept there one hundred and thirty years. + +With blistered palms and burning fingers David Bushnell pushed his +boat with pride up the Pochaug River, and tied it to a stake at the +bridge just beyond the sycamore tree, near his father's door. + +"I'll fetch father and mother out to see it," he thought, "when the +moon gets up a little higher." + +With boyish pride he looked down at the work of his hands from the +river-bank, and went in to get his supper. + +"David!" called Mr. Bushnell, having heard his steps in the +entry-way. + +"Here I am, father," returned the young man, appearing within the +room, and speaking in a cheerful tone. + +"Don't you think you have wasted about time enough?" + +The voice was high-wrought and nervous in the extreme. He, poor man, +had been that afternoon thinking the matter over in a convalescent's +weak manner of looking upon the act of another man. + +David Bushnell, smiling still, and taking out a large silver watch +from his waistcoat pocket, and looking at it, replied: + +"I haven't wasted one moment, father. The tide was against me, but +I've rowed around from Pautapoug ship-yard to the sycamore tree out +here since two o'clock." + +"_You_ row a boat!" cried Mr. Bushnell, with lofty disdain. + +"Why, father, you have not a very good opinion of your son, have you?" +questioned the son. "Come, though, and see what he has been doing. +Come, mother," as Mrs. Bushnell entered, bearing David's supper in her +hands. + +She put it down. Mr. Bushnell pulled himself upright with a groan or +two, and suffered David to assist him by the support of his arm as +they went out. + +"Why, you tremble as though you had the palsy," said the father. + +"It's nothing. I'm not used to pulling so long at the oar," said the +son. + +When they came to the bank, the full moon shone athwart the little +boat rocking on the stream. + +"What's that?" exclaimed both parents. + +"That is the Lady Fenwick. I've been building the boat myself. You +advised me, father, to go to ship-building one morning--do you +remember? I took your advice, and began at the bottom of the ladder." + +"_You_ built that boat with your own hands, you say?" + +"With my own hands, sir." + +"In two weeks' time?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And rowed it all the way down the river, and up the Pochaug?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Good boy! You may go in and have your supper," said Mr. Bushnell, +patting him on the back, just as he had done when he returned from +college with his first award. + +As for Madam Bushnell, she smiled down upon Lady Fenwick and did her +great reverence in her heart, while she said to the boat-builder: + +"David, dear, wait a few minutes, and I'll give you something nice +and warm for your supper. Your father, Ezra and I had ours long ago." + +That night Mr. Bushnell did not lie awake to listen for the stealthy +stepping in the upper room. He slept all the sounder, because he had +at last seen one stroke of honest work, as he called it, as the result +of his endeavors to help David on in life. + +As for David himself, he went to sleep, saying in his heart: "It is a +good stepping-stone at least;" which conclusion grew into form in +sleep, and shaped itself into a mighty monster, that bored itself +under mountains, and, after taking a nap, roused and shook itself so +mightily that the mountain flew into fragments high in air. + +If you go, to-day, into the Connecticut River from Long Island Sound, +you will see on its left bank the old town of Saybrook, on its right +the slightly younger town of Lyme, and you will have passed by, +without having been very much interested in it, an island lying just +within the shelter of either bank. + +In the summer of 1774 a band of fishermen put up a reel upon the +island, on which to wind their seine. Over the reel they built a roof +to protect it from the rains. With the exception of the reel, there +was no building upon the island. A large portion of the land was +submerged at the highest tides, and in the spring freshets, and was +covered with a generous growth of salt grass, in which a small army +might readily find concealment. + +The little fishing band was now sadly broken and lessened by one of +the Washingtonian demands upon Brother Jonathan. For reasons that he +did not choose to give, David Bushnell joined this band of fishermen +in the summer of 1775. Gradually he made himself, by purchase, the +owner of the larger part of the reel and seine. In a few weeks' time +he had induced his brother Ezra to become as much of a fisherman as he +himself was. + +As the days went by, the brothers fairly haunted this island. They +gave it a name for their own use, and, early in the day-dawn of many a +morning, they pulled the Lady Fenwick wearily up the Pochaug, to +snatch a few winks of sleep at home, before the sun should fairly rise +and call them to their daily tasks, for David assumed to help Ezra on +the farm, even as Ezra helped him on the island. + +The two brothers owned the reel and the seine before the end of the +month of August in 1775. As soon as they became the sole owners, they +procured lumber and enclosed the reel, and very seldom took down the +seine from its great round perch; they used it just often enough to +allay any suspicion as to their real object in becoming owners of the +fishing implements. + +About that time a story grew into general belief that the tomb of Lady +Fenwick was haunted. Boatmen, passing in the stillness of the solemn +night hours, asserted that they heard strange noises issuing from the +hill, just where the lady slept in her lonely burial-place. The sounds +seemed to emerge from the earth, and timid men passed up the river +with every inch of sail set to catch the breeze, lest the solemn thud +should sound, that a hundred persons were willing to testify had been +heard by each and every one of them, at some hour of the night, coming +from the tomb. + +One evening in late September, the two brothers started forth as +usual, nominally to "go fishing." As they stepped down the bank, Mr. +Bushnell followed them. + +"Boys," said he, "it's an uncommon fine night on the water. I believe +I'll take a seat in your boat, with your permission. I used to like +fishing myself when I was young and spry." + +"And leave mother alone!" objected David. + +"She's been out with me many a night on the Sound. She's brave, and +won't mind a good south-west wind, such as I dare say breaks in on the +shore this minute. Go and call her." + +And so the family started forth to go fishing. + +This was a night the two brothers had been looking forward to during +weeks of earnest labor, and now--well, it could not be helped, and +there was not a moment in which to hold counsel. + +Mr. Bushnell had planned this surprise early in the day, but had not +told his wife until evening. Then he announced his determination to +"learn what all these midnight and all-night absences did mean." + +As the Lady Fenwick came out from the Pochaug River into the Sound, +the south-west wind brought crested waves to shore. The wind was +increasing, and, to the great relief of David and Ezra, Mr. Bushnell +gave the order to turn back into the river. + +The next day David Bushnell asked his mother whether or not she knew +the reason his father had proposed to go out with them the night +before. + +"Yes, David," was the reply, "I do." + +"Will you tell me?" + +"He does not believe that you and Ezra go fishing at all." + +"What do you believe about it, mother?" + +"I believe in _you_, David, and that when you have anything to tell to +me, I shall be glad to listen." + +"And father does not trust me yet; I am sorry," said David, turning +away. And then, as by a sudden impulse, he returned and said: + +"If you can trust _me_ so entirely, mother, _we_ can trust _you_. +To-day, two gentlemen will be here. You will please be ready to go out +in the boat with us whenever they come." + +"Where to?" + +"To my fishing ground, mother." + +The strangers arrived, and were presented to Mrs. Bushnell as Dr. Gale +and his friend, Mr. Franklin. + +At three of the clock the little family set off in the row-boat. Down +at Pochaug harbor, there was Mr. Bushnell hallooing to them to be +taken on board. + +"I saw my family starting on an unknown voyage," he remarked, as the +boat approached the shore as nearly as it could, while he waded out to +meet it. + +"Ah, Friend Gale, is that you?" he said, as with dripping feet he +stepped in. "And whither bound?" he added, dropping into a seat. + +"For the far and distant land of the unknown, Mr. Bushnell. Permit me +to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Franklin." + +"Franklin! Franklin!" exclaimed Mr. Bushnell, eyeing the stranger a +little rudely. "_Doctor Benjamin Franklin_, _if you please_, Benjamin +Gale!" he corrected, to the utter amazement of the party. + +The oars missed the stroke, caught it again, and, for a minute, poor +Dr. Franklin was confused by the sudden announcement that he existed +at all, and, in particular, in that small boat on the sea. + +"Yes, sir, even so," responded Dr. Gale, cheerfully adding, "and we're +going down to see the new fishing tackle your son is going to catch +the enemy's ships with." + +"Fishing tackle! Enemy's ships! Why, David _is_ the laziest man in all +Saybrook town. He does nothing with his first summer but fish, fish +all night long! The only stroke of honest work I've _ever_ known him +to do was to build this boat we're in." + +During this time the brothers were pulling with a will for the +island. + +Arrived there, the boat was drawn up on the sand, the seine-house +unlocked, and, when the light of day had been let into it, fishing-reel +and seine had disappeared, and, in the language of Doctor Benjamin Gale, +this is what they found therein: + + THE AMERICAN TURTLE. + + "The body, when standing upright, in the position in which it is + navigated, has the nearest resemblance to the two upper shells of + the tortoise, joined together. It is seven and a half feet long, + and six feet high. The person who navigates it enters at the top. + It has a brass top or cover which receives the person's head, as + he sits on a seat, and is fastened on the inside by screws. + + "On this brass head are fixed eight glasses, viz: two before, two + on each side, one behind, and one to look out upwards. On the same + brass head are fixed two brass tubes to admit fresh air when + requisite, and a ventilator at the side, to free the machine from + the air rendered unfit for respiration. + + "On the inside is fixed a barometer, by which he can tell the + depth he is under water; a compass by which he knows the course he + steers. In the barometer, and on the needles of the compass, is + fixed fox-fire--that is, wood that gives light in the dark. His + ballast consists of about nine hundred-weight of lead, which he + carries at the bottom and on the outside of the machine, part of + which is so fixed as he can let run down to the bottom, and serves + as an anchor by which he can ride _ad libitum_. + + "He has a sounding lead fixed at the bow, by which he can take the + depth of water under him, and a forcing-pump by which he can free + the machine at pleasure, and can rise above water, and again + immerge, as occasion requires. + + "In the bow he has a pair of oars fixed like the two opposite arms + of a windmill, with which he can row forward, and, turning them + the opposite way, row the machine backward; another pair, fixed + upon the same model, with which he can row the machine round, + either to the right or left; and a third by which he can row the + machine either up or down; all of which are turned by foot, like a + spinning wheel. The rudder by which he steers he manages by hand, + within-board. + + "All these shafts which pass through the machine are so curiously + fixed as not to admit any water. + + "The magazine for the powder is carried on the hinder part of the + machine, without-board, and so contrived that, when he comes under + the side of a ship, he rubs down the side until he comes to the + keel, and a hook so fixed as that when it touches the keel it + raises a spring which frees the magazine from the machine, and + fastens it to the side of the ship; at the same time it draws a + pin, which sets the watch-work a-going, which, at a given time, + springs the lock, and an explosion ensues." + +Thus wrote Dr. Benjamin Gale to Silas Deane, member of Congress at +Philadelphia. His letter bears the date November 9, 1775, and, after +describing the wonderful machine, he adds: + + "I well know the man. Lately he has conducted matters with the + greatest secrecy, both for the personal safety of the navigator, + and to produce the greater astonishment to those against whom it + is designed; and, you may call me a visionary, an enthusiast, or + what you please, I do insist upon it that I believe the + inspiration of the Almighty has given him understanding for this + very purpose and design." + +When the seine-house door had been fastened open, when Dr. Franklin +and Dr. Gale had gone within, followed by the two brothers, Mr. +Bushnell and his wife stood without looking in, and wondering in +their hearts what the sight they saw could mean; for, of the +intent or purpose of the curious, oaken, iron-bound, many-paddled, +brass-headed, window-lighted thing, they, it must be remembered, knew +nothing. It must mean something extraordinary, of course, or Doctor +Franklin would never have thought it worth his while to come out of +his way to behold it. + +"Father," whispered Mrs. Bushnell, "it's the _fish_ David has been all +summer catching." + +"Fish!" ejaculated Mr. Bushnell, "it's more like a turtle." + +"That's good!" spoke up Dr. Gale, from within. "Turtle it shall be." + +"It is the first _submarine_ boat ever made--a grand idea, wrought +into substance," slowly pronounced Dr. Franklin; "let us have it forth +into the river." + +"And run the risk of discovery?" suggested David, pleased that his +work approved itself to the man of science. + +"We meant to try it last night, but failed," said Ezra Bushnell. + +"There, now, father, don't you wish we had staid at home?" whispered +Mrs. Bushnell. + +"No!" growled the father. "They would have killed themselves getting +it down alone." + +He stepped within and laid his hand on the machine, saying: + +"Anna, you keep watch, and, if any boat heaves in sight, let us know. +Does the Turtle snap, David?" he questioned, putting forth his hand +and laying it cautiously upon the animal. + +"Never, until the word is given," replied the son, and then ten strong +hands applied the strength within them to lift the curious piece of +mechanism and carry it without. + +The seine-house was close to the river-bank, and in a half-hour's time +the American Turtle was in its native element. + +Madam Anna Bushnell kept strict watch over the shores and the river, +but not a sail slid into sight, not an oar troubled the waters of the +tide, as it tossed back the tumble of the down-flowing river. + +It was a hard duty for the mother to perform; for, at a glance toward +the bank, she saw David step into the machine, and the brass cover +close down over his head. She felt suffocating fears for him, as, at +last, the thing began to move into the stream. She saw it go out, she +saw it slowly sinking, going down out of sight, until even the brass +head was submerged. + +Then she forsook her post, and hastened to the bank to keep watch with +the rest. + +One, two, three minutes went by. The men looked at the surface of the +waters, at each other, grew thoughtful, pale; the mother gasped and +dropped on the salt grass, fainting; the brother gave to Lady Fenwick +a running push, bounded on board, and clutched the oars to row swiftly +to the spot where David went down. + +Mr. Bushnell filled his hat with water, and sprinkled the pale face in +the sedge. + +"_There! there!_" cried Dr. Franklin, with distended eyes and eager +outlook. + +"_Where? where?_" ejaculated Dr. Gale, striving to take into vision +the whole surface of the river, at a glance. + +"It's all right! He's coming up _plump_!" shouted Ezra, from his boat, +as he rowed with speed for the spot where a brass tube was rising, +sun-burnished, from the Connecticut. + +Presently the brass head, with its very small windows, emerged, even +the oaken sides were rising,--and Mr. Bushnell was greeting the +returning consciousness of his wife with the words: + +"It's all right, mother. David is safe." + +"Don't let him know," were the first words she spoke, "that his own +mother was so faithless as to doubt!" + +And now, paddle, paddle, toward the river-bank came the Turtle, David +Bushnell's head rising out of its shell, proud confidence shining +forth from his eyes, as feet and hands busied themselves in navigating +the boat that had lived for months in his brain, and now was living, +in very substance, under his control. + +As he neared the bank a shout of acclamation greeted him. + +He reached the island, was fairly dragged forth from his seat, and +carried up to the spot where his mother sat, trying to overcome every +trace of past doubt and fear. + +"Now," said Dr. Gale, "let us give thanks unto Him who hath given +this youth understanding to do this great work." + +With bared heads and devout hearts the thanksgiving went upward, and +thereafter a perfect shower of questions pelted David Bushnell +concerning his device to blow up ships: _how_ he came to think of it +at all--_where_ he got this idea and that as to its construction--to +all of which he simply said: + +"_You'll find your answer in the prayer you've just offered!_" + +"But," said practical Mr. Bushnell, "the Lord did not send you money +to buy oak and iron and brass, did he?" + +"Yes," returned David, "by the hand of my good friend, Dr. Gale. To +him belongs half the victory." + +"Pshaw! pshaw!" impatiently uttered the doctor. "I tell you it is _no +such thing_! I only advanced My Lady here," turning to Madam Bushnell, +"a little money, on her promise to pay me at some future time. I'm +mightily ashamed _now_ that I took the promise at all. Madam Bushnell, +I'll never take a penny of it back again, _never_, as long as I live. +I _will_ have a little of the credit of this achievement, and no one +shall hinder me." + +"How is that, mother?" questioned Mr. Bushnell. "_You_ borrow money +and not tell me!" and David and Ezra looked at her. + +"I--I--" stammered forth the woman, "I only _guessed_ that David was +doing something that he wanted money for, and told Dr. Gale if he +gave it to him I would repay it. Do you _care_, father?" + +Before he had a chance to get an answer in, David Bushnell stepped +forward, and, taking the little figure of his mother in his arms, +kissed her sharply, and walked away, to give some imaginary attention +to the Turtle at the bank. + +"It is a fair land to work for!" spoke up Doctor Franklin, looking +about upon river and earth and sea; "worthy it is of our highest +efforts; of our lives, even, if need be. God give us strength as our +need _shall_ be." + +With many a tug and pull and hearty heave-ho, the Turtle was hoisted +up the bank and safely drawn into the seine-house. The door was +locked, and Lady Fenwick's tomb gave forth no sound that night. + +Doctor Franklin went his way to Boston. Doctor Gale returned to +Killingworth and his waiting patients, and the Bushnells, father, +mother and sons, having put the two gentlemen on the Saybrook shore, +went down the river into the Sound, along its edge, and up the small +Pochaug to their own home by the sycamore tree. + +Mr. Bushnell and Ezra did the rowing that night. David's white hands +had, somehow, a new radiance in them for his father's eyes, and did +not seem exactly fitted for rowing just a common boat and every-day +oars. + +The young man sat in the stern, beside his mother, one arm around her +waist, and the other clasped closely between her little palms, while, +now and then, her finding eyes would penetrate his consciousness with +a glance that seemed to say, "I always believed in you, David." + + * * * * * + +If you go to-day and stand upon the site of the old fort, built at the +mouth of the Connecticut River, in the year 1635, by Lion Gardiner, +once engineer in the service of the Prince of Orange, and search the +waters up and down for the island on which David Bushnell built the +American Turtle in 1775, you will not find it. + +If you seek the oldest inhabitant of Saybrook, and ask him to point +out its locality, he will say, with boyhood's fondness for olden +play-grounds in his tone: + +"Ah, yes! It is _Poverty_ Island that you mean. It used to be there, +but spring freshets and beating storms have washed it away." + +The unexpected visit of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, to see the machine +David Bushnell was building, gave new force to that young gentleman's +confidence in his own powers of invention. + +He worked with increased energy and hope to perfect boat and magazine, +that he might do good service with them before winter should fall on +the waters of the Massachusetts Bay, where the hostile ships were +lying. + +At last came the day wherein the final trial-trip should be made. The +pumps built by Mr. Doolittle, but not according to order, had failed +once, but new ones had been supplied, and everything seemed +propitious. David and Ezra, with their mother in the boat, rowed once +more to Poverty Island. "On the morrow the great venture should +begin," they said. + +The time was mid-October. The forests had wrapped the cooling coast in +warmth of coloring that was soft and many-hued as the shawls of +Cashmere, while the sun-made fringe of goldenrod fell along the shores +of river and island and sea. + +Mrs. Bushnell's heart beat proudly above the fond affection that could +not suppress a shiver, as the Turtle was pushed into the stream. She +could not help seeing that David made a line fast from the seine-house +to his boat ere he went down. They watched many minutes to see him +rise to the surface, but he did not. + +"Mother," said Ezra, "the pump for forcing water out when he wants to +rise don't work, and we must pull him in. He feared it." + +As he spoke the words he laid hold on the line, and began gently to +draw on it. + +"Hurry! hurry! _do!_" cried Mrs. Bushnell, seizing the same line close +to the water's edge, and drawing on it with all her strength. She was +vexed that Ezra had not told her the danger in the beginning, and she +"knew _very_ well that SHE would not have stood there and let David +die of suffocation, in that horrid, brass-topped coffin!" + +"Hold, mother!" cried Ezra; "pull gently, or the line may part on some +barnacled rock if it gets caught." + +Nevertheless, Mrs. Bushnell pulled in as fast as she could. + +The tide was sweeping up the river, and a shark, in hard chase after a +school of menhaden, swam steadily up, with fin out of water. + +Just as the shark reached the place, he made a dive, and the rope +parted! + +Mrs. Bushnell screamed a word or two of the terror that had seized +her. Ezra looked up, amazed to find the rope coming in so readily, +hand over hand. He cast it down, sprang to the boat, and pushed off to +the possible rescue, only to find that the Turtle was making for the +river-bank instead of the island. + +He rowed to the spot. His brother, for the first time in his life, was +overcome with disappointment and disinclined to talk. + +"I--I," said David, wiping his forehead. "I grew tired, and made for +shore. The tide was taking me up fast." + +"Did you let go the line?" questioned Ezra. + +"Yes." + +"The pump works all right, then?" + +"Yes." + +"You've frightened mother terribly." + +"Have I? I never thought. I _forgot_ she was here. Let us get back, +then;" and the two brothers, without speaking a word, rowed down +against the sweep of tide, the great Turtle in tow. + +The three went home, still keeping a silence broken only by briefest +possible question and answer. + +The golden October night fell upon the old town. Pochaug River, its +lone line of silver gathered in many a stretch of interval into which +the moon looked calmly down, lay on the land for many a mile. + +Again and again, during the evening, David Bushnell went out from the +house and stood silently on the rough bridge that crossed the river by +the door. + +"Let David alone, mother," urged Ezra, as she was about to follow him +on one occasion. "He is thinking out something, and is better alone." + +That which the young man was thinking at the moment was, that he +wished the moon would hurry and go down. He longed for darkness. + +The night was growing cold. Frost was in the air. + +As he stood on the rough logs, a post-rider, hurrying by with letters, +came up. + +"Holloa there!" he called aloud, not liking the looks of the man on +the bridge. + +"It's I,--David Bushnell, Joe Downs! You can ride by in safety," he +responded, ringing out one of his merriest chimes of laughter at the +very idea of being taken for a highwayman. + +"I've news," said Joe; "want it?" + +"Yes." + +Joe Downs opened his pocket, and, by the light of the moon, found the +letter he had referred to. + +"Dr. Gale told me not to fail to put this into your hands as I came +by. I should kind o' judge, by the way he _spoke_, that the continent +couldn't get along very well _'thout you_, if I hadn't known a thing +or two. Howsomever, here's the letter, and I've to jog on to Guilford +afore the moon goes down. So good-night." + +"Good night, Joe. Thank you for stopping," said David, going into the +house. + +"Were you expecting that letter, David?" questioned Mr. Bushnell, when +it had been read. + +"No, sir. It is from Dr. Gale. He asks me to hasten matters as far as +possible, but a new contrivance will have to go in before I am +ready." + +"There! _That's_ what troubles him," thought both Mrs. Bushnell and +Ezra, and they exchanged glances of sympathy and satisfaction--and the +little household went to sleep, quite care-free that night. + +At two of the clock, with nearly noiseless tread, David Bushnell left +the house. + +As the door closed his mother moved uneasily in her sleep, and awoke +with the sudden consciousness that something uncanny had happened. She +looked from a window and saw, by the light of a low-lying moon, that +David had gone out. + +Without awakening her husband she protected herself with needful +clothing, and, wrapped about in one of the curious plaid blankets of +mingled blue and white, adorned with white fringe, that are yet to be +found in the land, she followed into the night. + +Save for the sleepy tinkle of the water over the stones in the Pochaug +River, and an occasional cry of a night-bird still lingering by the +sea, the air was very still. + +With light tread across the bridge she ran a little way, and then +ventured a timid cry of her own into the night: + +"David! David!" + +Now David Bushnell hoped to escape without awakening his mother. He +was lingering near, to learn whether his going had disturbed anyone, +and he was quite prepared for the call. + +Turning back to meet her he thought: "_What_ a mother _mine_ is." And +he said, "Well, mother, what is it? I was afraid I might disturb +you." + +"O David!" was all that she could utter in response. + +"And so _you_ are troubled about me, are you? I'm only going to chase +the will-o'-the-wisp a little while, and I could not do it, you know, +until moon-down." + +"_O_ David!" and this time with emphatic pressure on his arm, "David, +come home. _I_ can't let you go off alone." + +"Come with me, then. You're well blanketed, I see. I'd much rather +have some one with me, only Ezra was tired and sleepy." + +He said this with so much of his accustomed manner that Mrs. Bushnell +put her hand within his arm and went on, quite content now, and +willing that he should speak when it pleased him to do so, and it +pleased him very soon. + +"Little mother," he said, "I am afraid you are losing faith in me." + +"Never! David; only--I _was_ a little afraid that you were losing your +own head, or faith in yourself." + +"No; but I _am_ afraid I've lost my faith in something else. I showed +you the two bits of fox-fire that were crossed on one end of the +needle in the compass, and the one bit made fast to the other? Well, +to-day, when I went to the bottom of the river, the fox-fire gave no +light, and the compass was useless. Can you understand how bad that +would be under an enemy's ship, not to know in which direction to +navigate?" + +"You must have fresh fire, then." + +"_That_ is just what I am out for to-night. I had to wait till the +moon was gone." + +"Oh! is _that_ all? How foolish I have been! but you ought to tell me +some things, sometimes, David." + +"And so I will. I tell you now that it will be well for you to go home +and go to sleep. I may have to go deep into the woods to find the fire +I want." + +But his mother only walked by his side a little faster than before, +and on they went to a place where a bit of woodland had grown up above +fallen trees. + +They searched in places wherein both had seen the fire of decaying +wood a hundred times, but not one gleam of phosphorescence could be +found anywhere. At last they turned to go homeward. + +"What will you do, David? Go and search in the Killingworth woods +to-morrow night?" she asked, as they drew near home. + +"It is of no use," he said, with a sigh. "It _must_ be that the frost +destroys the fox-fire. Unless Dr. Franklin knows of a light that will +not eat up the air, everything must be put off until spring." + +The next day David Bushnell went to Killingworth, to tell the story to +Dr. Gale, and Dr. Gale wrote to Silas Deane (Conn. Historical Col., +Vol. 2), begging him to inquire of Dr. Franklin concerning the +possibility of using the Philosopher's Lantern, but no light was +found, and the poor Turtle was housed in the seine-house on Poverty +Island during the long winter, which proved to be one of great +mildness from late December to mid-February. + +In February we find David Bushnell before Governor Jonathan Trumbull +and his Council at Lebanon, to tell about and illustrate the marvels +of his wonderful machine. + +During this time the whole affair had been kept a profound secret +from all but the faithful few surrounding the inventor. And now, if +ever, the time was drawing near wherein the labor and outlay must +either repay laborer and lender, or give to both great trouble and +distress. + +I cannot tell you with what trepidation the young man walked into the +War Office at Lebanon, with a very small Turtle under his arm. + +You will please remember the situation of the colonists at that +moment. On the land they feared not to contend with Englishmen. Love +of liberty in the Provincials was strong enough, when united with a +trusty musket and a fair supply of powder, to encounter red-coated +regulars of the British army; but on the ocean, and in every bay, +harbor and river, they were powerless. The enemy's ships had kept +Boston in siege for nearly two years, the Americans having no opposing +force to contend with them. + +Could this little Turtle, which David Bushnell carried under his arm, +do the work he wished it to, why, every ship of the line could be +blown into the air! + +The inventor had faith in his invention, but he feared, when he looked +into the faces of the grave Governor and his Council of War, that he +could _never_ impart his own belief to them. + +I cannot tell you with what trust of heart and faith of soul Mrs. +Bushnell kept the February day in the house by the bridge at Pochaug. +Even the strong-minded, sturdy-nerved Mr. Bushnell looked often up +the road by which David and Ezra would approach from Lebanon, with a +keen interest in his eyes; but he would not let any word escape him, +until darkness had fallen and they were not come. + +"He said he would be here at eight, at the very latest," said the +mother at length, and she went to the fire and placed before the +burning coals two chickens to broil. + +"I'm afraid David won't have much appetite, unless his model _should_ +be approved, and money is too precious to spend on _experiments_," +said Mr. Bushnell, as she returned to his side. + +"Do you mean to tell me you _doubt_?" + +"Of course I doubt. Jonathan Trumbull is a man not at all likely to +give his consent to anything that does not commend itself to common +sense." + +Mr. Bushnell was saved the pain of saying his thought, that he was +afraid, if David's plan was a good one, _somebody_ would have thought +of it long ago, for vigorous knuckles were at work upon the +winter-door. + +As soon as it was opened the genial form of good Dr. Gale stood +revealed. + +"Are the boys back yet?" he asked, stepping within. + +"No, but we expect them every minute," said Mr. Bushnell. + +"Well, friends, I had a patient within three miles of you to visit, +and I thought I'd come on and hear the news." + +Ere he was fully made welcome to hearth and home, in walked David, +with the little Turtle under his arm. Without ado he went up to his +mother and said: + +"Madam, I present this to you, with Governor Trumbull's compliments. +He has ordered your boy money, men, metals and powder without stint to +work with. _Wish me joy, won't you?_" + +I do not anywhere find a record of the words in which the joy was +wished, on that 2nd of February, a hundred years ago, but it is easy +to imagine the very tones in which the good, God-loving Dr. Gale gave +thanks for the new blessing that had that day fallen on his friend's +house. + +It is impossible to follow David Bushnell in his many journeys to the +iron furnaces of Salisbury, in the spring and early summer of 1776, +during which time the entire country was aroused and astir from the +removal of the American army from Boston to New York; and our friends +at Saybrook were busy as bees from morning till night, in getting +ready perfect machines for duty. + +David Bushnell's strength proved insufficient to navigate one of his +Turtles in the tidal waters of the Sound, and his brother Ezra learned +to do it most perfectly. + +In the latter end of June, the British fleet, which had sailed out of +Boston harbor so ingloriously on the 17th of March, for Halifax, there +to await re-inforcements, appeared in waters adjacent to New York. + +The signal of their approach was gladly hailed by the inventor and by +the navigator of the American Turtle. + +A whale-boat from New London, her seamen sworn to inviolable secrecy, +was ordered to be in the river at a given point, on a given night, for +a service of which the men were utterly ignorant. + +On the evening previous, Ezra Bushnell, overworn by many attempts at +navigating the machine, was taken seriously ill. At midnight he was +delirious--at day-dawn Dr. Gale was sent for. + +When night fell he was in a raging fever, with no prospect of rapid +recovery. + +David set off alone, and with a heavy heart, to meet the boatmen. In +the seine-house on Poverty Island the brothers had stored provisions +for a cruise of several days. To this spot David Bushnell went alone, +and with a saddened heart, for he knew that it must be many days ere +he could learn of his brother's condition. + +The New London boatmen were promptly at the appointed place of +meeting. + +When they saw the curious thing they were told to take in tow, their +curiosity knew no bounds; and it was only when assured that it was +dangerous to examine it, that they desisted from their determination +to know all about it, and consented to obey orders. + +When, at last, a departure was made, the hour was midnight, the tide +served, and no ill-timed discovery was made of the deed. + +The strong-armed boatmen rowed well and long, and, as daylight dawned, +they were directed to keep a look-out for Faulkner's Island, a small +bit of land in the Sound, nearly five miles from the Connecticut +shore. + +The flashing light that illumines the waters at night for us, did not +gleam on them, but nevertheless, the high brown bank and the little +slope of land looked inviting to weary men, as they cautiously rowed +near to it, not knowing whom they might meet there. + +They landed, made a fire, cooked their food, ate of it, and lay down +to sleep until night should come again. + +They set out early in the ensuing twilight, and rowed westward all +night, in the face of a gentle wind. + +"If there were only another Faulkner's Island to flee to," said Mr. +Bushnell, as morning drew near. "Do you know (to one of the men) a +safe place to hide in on this coast?" + +They were then off Merwin's Point, and between West Haven and +Milford. + +"There's Poquahaug," was the reply, with a momentary catch of the oar, +and incline of the head toward the south-west. + +"_What_ is Poquahaug?" + +"A little island, pretty well in, close to shore, as it were, and, +maybe, deserted." + +After deliberate council had been held it was resolved to examine the +locality. + +A few years after New Haven and Milford churches were formed under the +oak-tree at New Haven, this little island, to which they were fleeing +to hide the Turtle from daylight, was "granted to Charles Deal for a +tobacco plantation, provided that he would not trade with the Dutch or +Indians;" but now Indians, Dutch and Charles Deal alike had left it, +the latter with a rude, sheltering building in place of Ansantawae's +big summer wigwam that used to adorn its crest. + +To this spot, bright with grass, and green with full-foliaged trees of +oak on its eastern shore, the weary boatmen, who had had a long, hard +pull of twenty miles to make, came, just as the longest day's sun was +at its rising. + +They were so glad and relieved _and_ satisfied to find no one on it. + +The Turtle was left at anchor near the shore; the whale-boat gave up +of its provisions, and presently the little camp was in the enjoyment +of a long day of rest and refreshment. + +Should anyone approach from the seaward or from the mainland, it was +determined that the party should resolve itself into a band of +fishermen, fishing for striped bass, for which the locality was well +known. + +As the day wore on, and the falling tide revealed a line of stones +that gradually increased, as the water fell, to a bar a hundred feet +wide, stretching from the island to the sands of the Connecticut +shore, David Bushnell perceived that the locality was just the proper +place in which to learn and teach the art of navigating the Turtle. He +examined the region well, and then called the men together. + +They were staunch, good-hearted fellows, accustomed to long pulls in +northern seas after whales, and that they were patriotic he fully +believed. The Turtle was drawn up under the grassy bank, where the +long sedge half hid, and bushels of rock-weed and sea-drift wholly +concealed it, and then, in a few carefully-chosen words, David +Bushnell entrusted it to the watch and care of the boatmen. + +"I am going to leave it here, and you with it, until I return," he +said. "Guard it with your lives if need be. If you handle it, it will +be at the risk of life. If you keep it _well_, Congress will reward +you." + +The mystery of the whole affair enchanted the men. They made faithful +promises, and, in the glorious twilight of the evening, rowed David +Bushnell across the beautiful stretch of Sound that to-day separates +Charles Island from the comely old town of Milford. + +As the whale-boat went up the harbor, a sailing vessel was getting +ready to depart. + +Finding that it was bound to New York, David Bushnell took passage in +it the same night. + +Two days later, with a letter from Governor Trumbull to General +Washington as his introduction, the young man, by command of the +latter, sought out General Parsons, and "requested him to furnish him +with two or three men to learn the navigation of his new machine. +General Parsons immediately sent for Ezra Lee, then a sergeant, and +two others, who had _offered_ their services to go on board a +fireship; and, on Bushnell's request being made known to them, they +enlisted themselves under him for this novel piece of service." + +Returning to Poquahaug (the Indian name of Charles Island), the +American Turtle was found safe and sound. Here the little party spent +many days in experimenting with it in the waters about the island; and +in the Housatonic River. + +During this time the enemy had got possession of a portion of Long +Island, and of Governor's Island in the harbor--thus preventing the +approach to New York by the East River. + +When the appalling news of the battle of Long Island reached David +Bushnell, he resolved, cost what it might of danger to himself, or +hazard to the Turtle, to get it to New York with all speed. + +To that end he had it conveyed by water to New Rochelle, there landed +and carried across the country to the Hudson River, and presently we +hear of it as being on a certain night, late in August, ready to start +on its perilous enterprise. + +If you will go to-day and stand where the Turtle floated that night +(for the land has since that time grown outward into the sea), on your +right hand across the Hudson River, you will see New Jersey. At your +left, across the East River, Long Island begins, with the beautiful +Governor's Island in the bay just before you, and, looking to the +southward, in the distance, you will discern Staten Island. + +Let us go back to that day and hour. + +The precise date of the Turtle's voyage down the bay is not given, but +the time must have been on the night of either the thirtieth or +thirty-first of August. We will choose the thirtieth, and imagine +ourselves standing in the crowd by the side of Generals Washington and +Putnam, to see the machine start. + +Remember, now, where we stand. It is only _last_ night that _our_ +army, defeated, dispirited, exhausted by battle, lay across the river +on Brooklyn Heights. Behind it, busy with pickaxe and shovel, the +victorious troops of Mother England were making ready to "finish" the +Americans on the morrow. + +There were supposed to be twenty-four thousand of the enemy, only nine +thousand Continentals; and, just ready to enter East River and cut +them off from New York, lay the British fleet to the north of Staten +Island. + +As happened at Boston in March, so happened it last night in New York, +a friendly fog held the heights of Brooklyn in its grasp, while at New +York all was clear. + +Under cover of this fog General Washington withdrew across the river, +a mile or more in width, _nine thousand men_, with all their +"baggage, stores, provisions, horses, and munitions of war," and not a +man of the enemy knew that they were gone until the fog lifted. + +Now, as we stand, Long Island, Governor's Island, Staten Island, one +and all are under the control of Britons. + +David Bushnell is in a whale-boat, down close to the Turtle, giving +some last important words of direction to brave Ezra Lee, who has +stepped within it. David Bushnell could not help wishing, as he did +so, that he could take his place and guide the spirit of the child of +his own creation, in its first great encounter with the world. + +The word is given. The brass top of the Turtle is shut down. Watchful +eyes and swift rowers belonging to the enemy are keeping guard on +Governor's Island, by which Ezra Lee must row, and it is safer to go +under water. How crowded this little pier would be, did the +inhabitants but know what is going on! + +The whale-boats start out, David Bushnell in one of them. They mean to +take the Turtle in tow the minute it is safe to do so and save Ezra +Lee the labor of rowing it until the last minute. + +It is eleven o'clock. All silently they dip the oars, and hear the +sentinels cry from camp and shore. + +Past the island, in safety, at last. They look for the Turtle. Up it +comes, a distant watch-light gleaming across its brass head disclosing +its presence. Once more it is in tow, and Lee is in the whale-boat. + +Down the bay they go, until the lights from the fleet grow dangerously +near. + +On the wide, wind-stirred waters of New York Bay, Ezra Lee gets into +the Turtle, and is cast off, and left alone, for the whale-boats +return to New York. + +With the rudder in his hand, and his _feet_ upon the oars, he pursues +his way. The strong ebb tide flows fast, and, before he is aware of +it, it has drifted him down past the men-of-war. + +However, he immediately _gets the machine about_, and, "by hard labor +at the crank for the space of five glasses by the ships' bells, or two +and a half hours, he arrives under the stern of one of the ships at +about slack water." + +Day is now beginning to dawn. He can see the people on board, and hear +them talk. + +The moment has come for diving. He closes up quickly overhead, lets in +the water, and goes down under the ship's bottom. + +He now applies the screw and does all in his power to make it enter, +but in vain; it will not pierce the ship's copper. Undaunted, he +paddles along to a different part, hoping to find a softer place; but, +in doing this, in his hurry and excitement, he manages the mechanism +so that the Turtle instantly arises to the surface on the east side of +the ship, and is at once exposed to the piercing light of day. + +Again he goes under, hoping that he has not been seen. + +This time his courage fails. It is getting to be day. If the ship's +boats are sent after him his escape will be very difficult, well-nigh +impossible, and, if he saves himself at all, it must be by rowing more +than four miles. + +He gives up the enterprise with reluctance, and starts for New York. + +Governor's Island _must_ be passed by. He draws near to it, as near as +he can venture, and then submerges the Turtle. Alas! something has +befallen the compass. It will not guide the rowing under the sea. + +Every few minutes he is compelled to rise to the surface to look out +from the top of the machine to guide his course, and his track grows +very zig-zag through the waters. + +Ah! the soldiers at Governor's Island see the Turtle! Hundreds are +gathering upon the parapet to watch its motions, such a curious boat +as it is, with turret of brass bobbing up and down, sinking, +disappearing--coming to the surface again in a manner _wholly_ +unaccountable. + +Brave Lee knows his danger, and paddles away for dear life and love of +family up in Lyme, eating breakfast quietly now he remembers, not +knowing his peril. + +Once more he goes up to take a lookout, to see where White-hall slip +lies. + +A glance at Governor's Island, and he sees a barge shove off laden +with his enemies. + +Down again, and up, and he sees it making for him. _There is no +escape!_ What _can_ he do! + +"If I must die," he thinks, "they shall die with me!" and he lets go +the magazine. + +Nearer and nearer--the barge is _very_ close. "If they pick me up they +will pick that up," thinks Lee, "and we shall all be blown to atoms +together!" + +They are now within a hundred and fifty feet of the Turtle and they +see the magazine that he has detached. + +"Some horrible Yankee trick!" cries a British soldier. "_Beware!_" And +they do beware by turning and rowing with all speed for the island +whence they came. + +Poor Lee looks out with amazement to see them go. He is well-nigh +exhausted, _and the magazine, with its dreadful clock-work going on +within it, and its hundred and fifty pounds of powder, ready to go off +at a given moment_, is floating on behind him, borne by the tide. + +He strains every muscle to near New York. He signals the shore. + +Since daylight Putnam has been there keeping watch. David Bushnell has +paced up and down all night, in keen anxiety. + +The friendly whale-boats put out to meet him. + +Meanwhile, slowly borne by the coming tide, the magazine floats into +the East River. + +"It will blow up in five minutes now," says Bushnell, looking at his +watch, and he goes to welcome Ezra Lee. + +The five minutes go by. + +Suddenly, with tremendous voice, and awful uproar of the sea, the +magazine explodes. + +Columns of water toss high in air, mingled with the oaken ribs that +held the powder but a minute ago. + +Consternation seizes British troops on Long Island. The brave soldiers +on the parapet at Governor's Island quake with fear. All New York +rushes to the river-side to find out what it can mean. Nothing, on all +the face of the earth, _ever_ happened like it before, one and all +declare. + +Opinion varies concerning it, from bomb to earthquake, from meteor to +water-spout, and settles down on neither. + +Poor Ezra Lee feels that he _meant_ well, but did not act wisely. +David Bushnell praises the sergeant, and takes all the want of success +to himself, in not going to do his own work. + +Meanwhile, with astonishment, Generals Washington and Putnam and David +Bushnell himself behold, as did the Provincials, _after_ the battle of +_Bunker-Breed's_ Hill, _victory in defeat_, for lo! no British ship +sails up the East River, or appears to bombard New York. + +Silently they weigh anchor and drop down the bay. The little American +Turtle gained a bloodless victory that day. + + + NOTE.--The writer has carefully followed, in the account of the + Turtle's attempt upon the Eagle, the statement of Ezra Lee, made + to Mr. Charles Griswold of Lyme, more than forty years after the + occurrence, and by him communicated to the _American Journal of + Science and Arts_ in 1820. For the description of the wonderful + mechanism of the machine, the account given _at the time_ by Dr. + Gale in his letters to Silas Deane has been chosen, as probably + more accurate than one made from memory after forty years had + passed. + + * * * * * + +David Bushnell was appointed from civil life Captain-Lieutenant of a +Corps of Sappers and Miners--recommended for the position by Governor +Trumbull, General Parsons and others. June 8, 1781, he was promoted +full Captain. He was present at the siege of Yorktown and commanded +the Corps in 1783. + +He was also a member of the Society of the Cincinnati. + + + + +THE BIRTHDAY OF OUR NATION. + + +Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were hurrying up Chestnut street; the +man carried a large key, the boy a new broom. + +It was a very warm morning in a very warm month of a very warm year; +in fact it may as well be stated at once that it was the Fourth day of +July, 1776, and that Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were in haste to +make ready the State House of Pennsylvania for the birth of the United +States of America. No wonder they were in a hurry. + +In fact, everybody seemed in a hurry that day; for before Bellman Grey +had whisked that new broom over the floor of Congress Hall, in walked, +arm-in-arm, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. + +"Good morning, gentlemen," said Bellman Grey. "You'll find the dust +settled in the committee-room. I'm cleaning house a little extra +to-day for the expected visitor." + +"For the coming heir?" said Mr. Adams. + +"When Liberty comes, She comes to stay," said Mr. Jefferson, +half-suffocated with the dust; and the two retreated to the +committee-room. + +Blue-Eyed Boy was polishing with his silken duster the red morocco of +a chair as the gentlemen opened the door. He heard one of them say, +"If Cæsar Rodney gets here, it will be done." + +"If it's done," said the boy, "won't you, please, Mr. Adams, won't +you, please, Mr. Jefferson, let me carry the news to General +Washington?" + +The two gentlemen looked either at the other, and both at the lad, in +smiling wonder. + +"If what is done?" asked Mr. Adams. + +"If the thing is voted and signed and made sure," (just here Blue-Eyed +Boy waved his duster of a flag and stood himself as erect as a +flagpole;) "if the tree's transplanted, if the ship gets off the ways, +if we run clear away from King George, sir; so far away that he'll +never catch us." + +"And why do you, my lad, wish to carry the news to General Washington?" +asked Mr. Jefferson. + +"Because," said the boy, "why--wouldn't you? It'll be jolly work for +the soldiers when they know they can fight for themselves." + +Just here Bellman Grey shouted for Blue-Eyed Boy, bidding him come +quick and be spry with his dusting, too. + +Before the hall was cleared of the accumulated dust of State-rooms +above and Congress-rooms below, in came members of the Congress, +one-by-one and two-by-two, and in groups. The doors were locked, and +the solemn deliberations began. Within that room, now known as +Independence Hall, sat, in solemn conclave, half a hundred men, each +and every one of whom knew full well that the deed about to be done +would endanger his own life. + +On a table lay a paper, awaiting signatures. A silver ink-stand held +the ink that trembled and wavered to the sound and stir of John +Adams's voice, as he stated once more the why and the wherefore of the +step America was about to take. + +This final statement was made for the especial enlightenment of three +gentlemen, new members of the Congress from New Jersey, and in reply +to the reasons given by Mr. Dickinson why the Declaration of +Independence should _not_ be made. + +In the meantime Bellman Grey was up in the steeple, "seeing what he +could see," and Blue-Eyed Boy was answering knocks at the entrance +doors; then running up the stairs to tell the scraps of news that he +had gleaned through open door, or crack, or key-hole. + +The day wore on; outside a great and greater crowd surged every moment +against the walls; but the walls of the State House were thick, and +the crowd was hushed to silence, with intense longing to hear what was +going on inside. + +From his high-up place in the belfry, where he had been on watch, +Bellman Grey espied a figure on horseback, hurrying toward the scene; +the horse was white with heat and hurry; the rider's "face was no +bigger than an apple," but it was a face of importance that day. + +"Run!" shouted Bellman Grey from the belfry. "Run and tell them that +Mr. Rodney comes." + +The boy descended the staircase with a bound and a leap and a thump +against the door, and announced Cæsar Rodney's approach. + +In he came, weary with his eighty miles in the saddle, through heat +and hunger and dust, for Delaware had sent her son in haste to the +scene. + +The door closed behind him and all was as still and solemn as before. + +Up in the belfry the old man stroked fondly the tongue of the bell, +and softly said under his breath again and again as the hours went: +"They will never do it; they will never do it." + +The boy sat on the lowest step of the staircase, alternately peeping +through the key-hole with eye to see and with ear to hear. At last, +came a stir within the room. He peeped again. He saw Mr. Hancock, with +white and solemn face, bend over the paper on the table, stretch forth +his hand, and dip the pen in the ink. He watched that hand and arm +curve the pen to and fro over the paper, and then he was away up the +stairs like a cat. + +Breathless with haste, he cried up the belfry: "_He's a doing it, he +is!_ I saw him through the key-hole. Mr. Hancock has put his name to +that big paper on the table." + +"Go back! go back! you young fool, and keep watch, and tell me quick +when to ring!" cried down the voice of Bellman Grey, as he wiped for +the hundredth time the damp heat from his forehead and the dust from +the iron tongue beside him. + +Blue-Eyed Boy went back and peeped again just in time to see Mr. +Samuel Adams in the chair, pen in hand. + +One by one, in "solemn silence all," the members wrote their names, +each one knowing full well, that unless the Colonists could fight +longer and stronger than Great Britain, that signature would prove his +own death-warrant. + +It was fitting that the men who wrote their names that day should +write with solemn deliberation. + +Blue-Eyed Boy peeped again. "I hope they're almost done," he sighed; +"and I reckon they are, for Mr. Rodney has the pen now. My! how tired +and hot his face looks! I don't believe he has had any more dinner +to-day than I have, and I feel most awful empty. It's almost night by +this time, too." + +At length the long list was complete. Every man then present had +signed the Declaration of Independence, except Mr. Dickinson of +Pennsylvania. + +And now came the moment wherein the news should begin its journey +around the world. The Speaker, Mr. Thompson, arose and made the +announcement to the very men who already knew it. + +Blue-Eyed Boy peeped with his ear and heard the words through the +key-hole. + +With a shout and a cry of "Ring! ring!" and a clapping of hands, he +rushed upward to the belfry. The words, springing from his lips like +arrows, sped their way into the ears and hands of Bellman Grey. +Grasping the iron tongue of the old bell, backward and forward he +hurled it a hundred times, its loud voice proclaiming to all the +people that down in Independence Hall a new nation was born to the +earth that day. + +When the members heard its tones swinging out the joyous notes they +marvelled, because no one had authorized the announcement. When the +key was turned from within, and the door opened, there stood the +mystery facing them, in the person of Blue-Eyed Boy. + +"I told him to ring; I heard the news!" he shouted, and opened the +State House doors to let the Congress out and all the world in. + +You know the rest; the acclamation of the multitude, the common peals +(they forgot to be careful of powder that night in the staid old +city), the big bonfires, and the illuminations that rang and roared +and boomed and burned from Delaware to Schuylkill. + +In the waning light of the latest bonfire, up from the city of Penn, +rode our Blue-Eyed Boy--true to his purpose to be the first to carry +the glad news to General Washington. + +"It will be like meeting an old friend," he thought; for had he not +seen the commander-in-chief every day going in and out of the Congress +Hall during his visit to Philadelphia only a month ago? + +The self-appointed courier never deemed other evidence of the truth of +his news needful than his own "word of mouth." He rode a strong young +horse, which, early in the year, had been left in his care by a +southern officer when on his way to the camp at Cambridge; and that no +one might worry about him, he had taken the precaution to intrust his +secret to a neighbor lad to tell at the home-door in the light of +early day. + +The journey was long, too long to write of here. Suffice it to say, +that on Sunday morning Blue-Eyed Boy reached the ferry at the Hudson +river. The old ferryman hesitated to cross with the lad. + +"Wait at my house until the cool of the evening," he urged. + +But Blue-Eyed Boy said, "No, I must cross this morning, and my pony: +I'll pay for two if you'll take me." + +The ferryman crossed the river with the boy, who, on the other side, +inquired his way to the headquarters of the general. + +Warm, tired, hungry, and dusty, he urged his pony forward to the +place, only to find that he whom he sought had gone to divine service +at St. Paul's church. + +Blue-Eyed Boy rode to St. Paul's. In the Fields (now City Hall Park) +he tied his faithful horse, and went his way to the church. + +Gently and with reverent mien, he entered the open door, and listened +to the closing words of the sermon. At length the service was over and +the congregation turned toward the entrance where stood the young +traveler, his heart beating with exultant pride at the glorious news +he had to tell to the glorious commander. + +How grand the General looked to the boy, as, with stately step, he +trod slowly the church aisle accompanied by his officers. + +Now he was come to the vestibule. It was Blue-Eyed Boy's chance at +last. The great, dancing, gleeful eyes, that have outlived in fame the +very name of the lad, were fixed on Washington, as he stepped forward +to accost him. + +"Out of the way!" exclaimed a guard, and thrust him aside. + +"I _will_ speak! General Washington!" screamed Blue-Eyed Boy, in +sudden excitement. The idea of anybody who had seen, even through a +key-hole, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, being thrust +aside thus! + +General Washington stayed his steps and ordered, "Let the lad come to +me." + +"I've good news for you," said the youth. + +"What news?" + +Officers stood around--even the congregation paused, having heard the +cry. + +"It's for you alone, General Washington." + +The lad's eyes were ablaze now. All the light of Philadelphia's late +illuminations burned in them. General Washington bade the youth follow +him. + +"But my pony is tied yonder," said he, "and he's hungry and tired too. +I can't leave him." + +"Come hither, then," and the Commander-in-chief withdrew with the lad +within the sacred edifice. + +"General Washington," said Blue-Eyed Boy, "on Thursday Congress +declared _us_ free and independent." + +"Where are your dispatches?" leaped from the General's lips, his face +shining. + +"Why--why, I haven't any, but it's all true, sir," faltered the boy. + +"How did you find it out?" + +"I was right there, sir. Don't you remember me? I help Bellman Grey +take care of the State House at Philadelphia, and I run on errands for +the Congress folks, too, sometimes." + +"Did Congress send you on this errand?" + +"No, General Washington; I can't tell a lie, I came myself." + +"How did you know me?" + +Blue-Eyed Boy was ready to cry now. To be sure he was sturdy and +strong, and nearly fourteen, too; but to be doubted, after all his +long, tiresome journey, was hard. However, he winked once or twice +violently, and then he looked his very soul into the General's face, +and said: "Why, I saw you every day you went to Congress, only a +month ago, I did." + +"I believe you, my lad. Get your horse and follow me." + +Blue-Eyed Boy followed on, and waited in camp until the tardy +despatches came in on Tuesday morning, confirming every word that he +had spoken. + +The same evening all the brigades in and around New York were ordered +to their respective parade-grounds. + +Blue-Eyed Boy was admitted within the hollow square formed by the +brigades on the spot where stands the City Hall. Within the same +square was General Washington, sitting on horseback, and the great +Declaration was read by one of his aids. + +It is needless to tell how it was received by the eager men who +listened to the mighty truths with reverent, uncovered heads. +Henceforth every man felt that he had a banner under which to fight, +as broad as the sky above him, as sheltering as the homely roof of +home. + + + + +THE OVERTHROW OF THE STATUE OF KING GEORGE. + + +If, on the evening of July 9, 1876, at six of the clock, you go and +stand where the shadow of the steeple of St. Paul's church in New York +is falling, you will occupy the space General Washington occupied, +just one hundred years ago, when with uncovered head and reverent +mien, he, in the presence of and surrounded by a brigade of noble +soldiers, listened to the reading of the Declaration of Independence. + +You will remember that at the church door on Sunday, Blue-Eyed Boy +brought to him, by word of mouth, the great news that a nation was +born on Thursday. + +This news was now, for the first time, announced to the men of New +York and New England. + +No wonder that their military caps came off on Tuesday, that their +arms swung in the air, and their voices burst forth into one loud +acclaim that might have been heard by the British foe then landing on +Staten Island. + +As you stand there, and the shadow of old St. Paul swings around and +covers you, shut your eyes and listen. Something of the olden music, +of the loud acclaim, may swing around with the shadow and fall on your +ears, since no motion is ever spent, no sound ever still. + +On that night, when the grand burst of enthusiasm had arisen, +Blue-Eyed Boy said to General Washington: "I am afraid, sir, if +Congress had known, they never would have done it, never! It seemed +easy to do it in Philadelphia, where everything is just as it used to +be; but here, with all the British ships riding in, full of soldiers, +and guns enough in them to smash the old State House where they did +it! If they'd only known about the ships!--" + +Ah! Blue-Eyed Boy. You didn't keep your eye very close to Congress +Hall in the morning of last Thursday, or you would have heard Mr. +Hancock or Mr. Thompson read to Congress a letter from General +Washington, announcing the arrival of General Howe at Sandy Hook with +one hundred and ten ships of war. + +No, no! Blue-Eyed Boy and every other boy; the men who dared to say, +and sign their names to the assertion, "A nation is born to-day," did +not do it under the rosy flush of glorious victory, but in the +fast-coming shadow of mighty Britain, strong in all the power and +radiant with all the pomp of war. + +And what had a few little colonies to meet them with? They had, it is +true, a new name, that of "States"; but cannon and camp-kettles alike +were wanting; the small powder mills in the Connecticut hive could +yield them only a fragment of the black honey General Washington cried +for, day and night, from Cambridge to New York; the houses of the +inhabitants, diligently searched for fragments of lead, gave them not +enough; and you know how every homestead in New England was besieged +for the last yard of homespun cloth, that the country's soldiers might +not go coatless by day and tentless at night. + +Brave men and women good! + +Let us hurrah for them all, if it is a hundred years too late for them +to hear. The men of a hundred years to come will remember our huzzas +of this year, and grow, it may be, the braver and the better for them +all. + +But now General Washington has ridden away to his home at Number One +in the Broadway; the brigade has moved on, and even Blue-Eyed Boy is +hastening after General Washington, intent on taking a farewell +glance, from the rampart of Fort George, at the far-away English +ships. + +To-morrow he will begin his homeward journey through the Jerseys. His +pass is in his pocket, and as he quickens his steps, he sees groups +gathering here and there, and knows that some excitement is astir in +the public mind, but thinks it is all about the great Declaration. + +He reaches Wall street, and the sun is at its going down. Up from the +East river come the sounds of orderly drummers drumming, of +regimental fifers fifing. He stays his steps, and stands listening: he +sees a brigade marching the "grand parade" at sunset. + +Up it comes from Wall street to Smith street; (I am sure I do not know +what Smith street is lost into now, but the orderly-book of Major +Phineas Porter of Waterbury, one hundred years old to-morrow morning, +has it "Smith street"); from the upper end of Smith street back to +Wall street, and the young Philadelphian follows it, marching to sound +of fife and drum. + +As it turns towards the East river, he remembers whither he was bound +and starts off with speed for the Grand Battery. + +As he goes, glancing backward, he sees that all the town is at his +heels. + +He begins to run. All the town begins to run. He runs faster: the +crowd runs faster. It is shouting now. He tries to listen; but his +feet are flying, his head is bobbing, his hat is falling, and this is +what he thinks he hears in the midst of all: "Down with him! Down with +the Tory!" It is "tyrant" that they cry, but he hears it as "tory," +and he knows full well how Governor Franklin of New Jersey and Mayor +Matthews of New York have just been sent off to Connecticut for safer +keeping, and he does not care to go into New England just now, so he +flies faster than ever, fully believing that the crowd pursues him, as +a Royalist. + +Just before him opens the Bowling Green. Into it he darts, hoping to +find covert, but there is none at hand. + +Right in the midst of the enclosure stands an equestrian statue of +King George the Third. + +It is high; it looks safe. Blue-Eyed Boy makes for it, utterly +ignorant of what it is. + +The crowd surges on. It is now at the gate. The young martyr makes a +spring at the leg and tail of the horse; he swings himself aloft, he +catches and clutches and climbs, and in the midst of ringing shouts of +"Down with him! Down with horse and king!" Blue-Eyed Boy gets over +King George and clings to the up-reared neck of the leaden horse; +thence he turns his wild-eyed face to the throng below. "Down with +him! He don't hear! He won't hear!" cry the populace. + +"I do hear!" in wild afright, shrieks Blue-Eyed Boy, "and I'm not a +Tory." + +Shut your eyes again, and see the picture as it stands there in the +waning light of the ninth of July, 1776. + +Four years ago, over the ocean, borne by loyal subjects to a loyal +colony, it came, this statue, that you shall see. It is a noble horse, +though made of lead, that stands there, poised on its hinder legs, its +neck in air. King George sits erect, the crown of Great Britain on his +head, a sword in his left hand, his right grasping the bridle-lines, +and over all, a sheen of gold, for horse and king were gilded. + +King George faces the bay, and looks vainly down. All his brave ships +and eight thousand Red Coats, yesterday landed on yonder island, +cannot save him now. Had he listened to the petitions of his children +it might have been, but he would not hear their just plaints, and now +his statue, standing so firm against storm, wind and time, trembles +before the sea of wrath surging at its base. + +"Come down, come down, you young rascal!" cries a strong voice to +Blue-Eyed Boy, but his hands grasped at either ear of the horse, and +he clings with all his strength to resist the pull of a dozen hands at +his feet. + +"Come down, you rogue, or we'll topple you over with his majesty, King +George," greets the lad's ears, and opens them to his situation. + +"King George!" cried Blue-Eyed Boy with a sudden sense of his +ridiculous fear and panic, and he yields to the stronger influence +exerted on his right leg, and so comes to earth with emotions of +relief and mortification curiously mingled in his young mind. + +To think that he had had the vanity to imagine the crowd pursued him, +and so has flown from his own friends to the statue of King George for +safety! + +"I won't tell," thinks the lad, "a word about this to anyone at home," +and then he falls to pushing the men who are pushing the statue, and +over it topples, horse and rider, down upon the sod of the little +United States, just five days old. + +How they hew it! How they hack it! How they saw at it with saw and +penknife! Blue-Eyed Boy himself cuts off the king's ear, that will not +hear the petitions of people or Congress, proudly pockets it, and +walks off, thankful because he carries his own on his head. + +Would you like to know what General Washington thought about the +overthrow of the statue in Bowling Green? + +We will turn to Phineas Porter's orderly-book, and copy from the +general orders for July 10, 1776, what he said to the soldiers about +it: + +"The General doubts not the persons who pulled down and mutilated the +statue in the Broad-way last night were actuated by zeal in the public +cause, yet it has so much the appearance of riot and want of order in +the army, that he disapproves the manner and directs that in future +such things shall be avoided by the soldiers, and be left to be +executed by proper authority." + +The same morning, the heavy ear of the king in his pocket, Blue-Eyed +Boy, once more on his pony, sets off to cross the ferry on his way to +Philadelphia. We leave him caught in the mazes of the Flying Camp +gathering at Amboy; whither by day and by night have been ferried over +from Staten Island, all the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle that +could be gotten away--lest the hungry men in red coats, coming up the +bay, seize upon and destroy them. + +Ah! what days, what days and nights too were those for the young +United States to pass through! + +To-day, we echo what somebody wrote somewhere, even then, amid all the +darkness--words we would gladly see on our banner's top-most fold: + +"The United States! Bounded by the ocean and backed by the forest. +Whom hath she to fear but her God?" + + + + +SLEET AND SNOW. + + +Fourth of July, 1776.--Troublous times, that day? Valentine Kull +thought so, as he stood in a barn-yard, with a portion of his mother's +clothes line tied as tightly as he dared to tie it around the neck of +a calf. He was waiting for the bars to be let down by his sister. Anna +Kull thought the times decidedly troublous, as she pulled and pushed +and lifted to get the bars down. + +"I can't do it, Valentine," she cried, her half-child face thrust +between the rails. + +"Try again!" + +She tried. Result as before. + +"Come over, then, and hold Snow." + +Anna went over, rending gown and apron on the roughnesses of rails and +haste. Never mind. She was over, and could, she thought, hold the +calf. + +Barn-yard, cow (I forgot to mention that there was a cow); calf, and +children, one and all, were on Staten Island in the Bay and Province +of New York. Beside these, there was a house. It was so small, so +queer, so old-fashioned, so Amsterdam Dutchy, that, for all that I +know to the contrary, Achter Kull may have built it as a play-house +for his children when first he came to America and took up his abode +by the Kill van Kull. The Kill van Kull is that curious little slice +of sea pinched in by a finger of New Jersey thrust hard against Staten +Island, as though trying its best to push the island off to sea. +However it may have been, there was the house, and from the very roof +of it arose a head, neck, two shoulders and one arm; the same being +the property of the mother of Valentine and Anna. The said mother was +keeping watch from the scuttle. + +"Be quick, my children," she cried. "The Continentals are now driving +off Abraham Rycker's cattle and the boat isn't full yet. They'll be +_here_ next." + +Anna seized the clothes line; Valentine made for the bars. Down they +came, the one after the other, and out over the lower one went calf, +Anna and cow. Valentine made a dive for Snow's leading string. He +missed it. Away went the calf, poor Anna clutching at the rope, into +green lane, through tall grass, tangle and thicket. She caught her +foot in her torn gown and was falling, when a sudden holding up of the +rope assisted by Valentine's clutch at her arm set her on her feet +again. During this slight respite from the chase, the cow (Sleet, by +name, because not quite so white as Snow) took a bite of grass and +wondered what all this unaccustomed fuss did mean. + +"Snow has pulled my arm out of joint," said Anna, holding fast to her +shoulder. + +"Never mind your arm, _now_," returned Valentine. "We must get to the +marsh. It's the only place. You get a switch, and if Sleet won't +follow Snow in, you drive her. I _wish_ the critters wasn't white; +they show up so; but Washington sha'n't have this calf and cow, +_anyhow_." + +From Newark Bay to Old Blazing Star Ferry stretched the marsh, deep, +dense, well-nigh impassable. Under the orders of General Washington, +supported by the approval of the Provincial Congress in session at +White Plains, the live stock was being driven from the island, and +ferried across Staten Island Sound to New Jersey. At the same moment +the grand fleet of armed ships from Halifax, England, and elsewhere, +was sailing in with General Howe on board and Red Coats enough to eat, +at a supper and a dinner, all the live stock on a five-by-seventeen +mile island. + +Now the Commander-in-chief of the Continental forces at New York did +not wish to afford the aid and comfort to the enemy of furnishing +horses to draw cannon, or fresh meat wherewith to satisfy the hunger +of British soldier and sailor. Oh no! On Manhattan Island were +braves--for freedom toiling day and night; building earthwork, redoubt +and battery with never a luxury from morning to morning, except the +luxury of fighting for Liberty. Soldiers from camp, light-horse and +militia from New Jersey, had gathered on the island, and had been at +work a day and a night when the news came to the Kull cottage that in +a few minutes its cow and calf would be called for. Hence the sudden +watch from the roof, and the escapade from the barn-yard. + +The Kull father, I regret to write, because it seems highly +unpatriotic, had gone forth to catch fish that day, hugging up the +thought close to his pocket of a heart, that the English fleet would +pay well for fresh fish. + +Now Sleet and Snow were treasures untold to Valentine and Anna Kull. +Anna's pocket-money, stored up to be spent once-a-year in New York, +came to her hands by the sale of butter to oystermen; and the calf, +Snow, was the exclusive property of her brother Valentine. No wonder +they were striving to save their possessions--ignorant, children as +they were, of every good which they could not see and feel. + +Cow and calf, or rather calf and cow, never before were given such a +race. Highways were ignored. There were not many beaten tracks at that +time on Staten Island. Daisied and clovered fields the calf was +dragged through; young corn and potato lots suffered alike by the +pressure of hoof and foot. Anna nearly forgot her out-of-joint arm +when the four reached the marsh. Its friendly-looking shelter was +hailed with delight. + +Said Valentine, tugging the tired calf, to Anna, switching forward the +anxious cow: "I should like to see the riflemen from Pennsylvania and +the _Yankeys_ from Doodle or Dandy either, chase Sleet and Snow +through _this_ marsh." + +"It's been _awful_ work though to get 'em here," said Anna, wiping her +face with a pink handkerchief suddenly detached for use from her +gown. + +In plunged the boy and up s-s-cissed a cloud of mosquitoes, humming at +the sound of the new-come feast; fresh flesh and blood from the +uplands was desirable. + +The grass was green, _very_ green--lovely, bright, _light_ green; the +July sun shone down untiringly; the tide rushing up from Raritan Bay +met the tide rolling over from Newark Bay, and the cool, sweet swash +of water snaked along the stout sedge, making it sway and bend as +though the wind were sweeping its tops. + +When within the queer infolding, boy, cow, and calf had disappeared, +Anna called: "I'll run now and keep watch and tell you when the +soldiers are gone." + +"No, _you won't_!" shrieked back her brother; "you'll stay _here_, and +help me, or the skeeters will kill the critters. Bring me the biggest +bush you can find, and fetch one for yourself." + +Anna always obeyed Valentine. It was a way she had. He liked it, and, +generally speaking, she didn't greatly dislike it, but her dress was +thinner than his coat, and the happy mosquitoes knew she was fairer +and sweeter than her Dutch brother, and didn't mind telling her so in +the most insinuating fashion possible. On this occasion, as she had in +so many other unlike instances, she acceded to his request; toiling +backward up the ascent and fetching thence an armful of the stoutest +boughs she could twist from branches. + +She neared the marsh on her return. All that she could discern was a +straw hat bobbing hither and thither; the horns of a cow tossing to +and fro; the tail of a cow lashing the air. + +A voice she heard, shouting forth in impatient bursts of sound, "Anna, +Anna Kull!" + +"_Here!_ I'm coming," she responded. + +"Hurry up! I'm eaten alive. Snow's crazy and Sleet's a lunatic," +shouted her brother, jerking the words forth between the vain dives +his hand made into the cloud of wings in the air. + +"Sakes alive!" said poor Anna, toiling from sedge bog to sedge bog +with her burden of "bushes" and striving to hide her face from the +mosquitoes as she went. + +It was nearly noon-day then, and the Fourth of July too, but neither +Valentine nor Anna thought of the day of the month. Why should they? +The Nation wasn't born yet whose hundredth birthday we keep this +year. + +The solemn assembly of earnest men--debating the to be or not to be of +the United States--was over there at work in Congress Hall in the old +State House. They were heated with sun and brick and argument; a +hundred and ten British ships of war were anchoring and at anchor over +on the ocean side of Staten Island. Up the bay, seven or eight +thousand troops in "ragged regimentals" were working to make ready for +battle; but not one of them all suffered more from sun and toil and +anxiety and greed of blood than did the lad and the lass in the +marsh. + +They fought it out, with many a sting and smart, another hour, and +then declaring that "cow or no cow they couldn't stay another minute," +they strove to work their way out of the beautiful green of the +sedge. + +On the meadow-land stood their mother. She had brought dinner for her +hungry children,--moreover, she had brought news. + +The Yankee troops--the Jersey militia--had gone, but the British +soldiers had arrived and demanded beef--beef raw, beef roasted, beef +in any form. + +The tears that the fiercest mosquito had failed to extort from Anna +came now. "I wish I'd let her go," she cried, fondly stroking Sleet. +"At least she wouldn't have been killed, and we'd had her again +sometime, maybe; but now--I say, Valentine, are _you_ going to give up +Snow?" + +"No, I _ain't_," stoutly persisted the lad, slapping with his broad +palm the panting side of the calf, where mosquitoes still clung. + +"But, my poor children," said Mother Kull, "you will _have_ to. It +_can't_ be helped. If we refuse them, don't you know, they will burn +our house down." + +"_If they do, I'll kill them!_" The words shot out from the gunpowdery +temper of Anna Kull. Poor innocent girl of thirteen! She never in her +life had seen an act of cruelty greater than the taking of a fish or +the death of a chicken; but the impotent impulse of revenge arose +within her at the bare idea of having her pet, her pretty Sleet, taken +from her and eaten by soldiers. + +"You'd better keep still, Anna Kull," said Valentine. "Mother, don't +you think we might hide the animals somewhere?" + +"Where?" echoed the poor woman, looking up and looking down. + +Truly there seemed to be no place. Already six thousand British +soldiers had landed and taken possession of the island. Hills and +forests were not high enough nor deep enough; and now the very marsh +had cast them out by its army of winged stingers--more dreadful than +human foe. + +"I just wish," ejaculated the poor sunburned, mosquito-tortured, +hungry girl, who stood between marsh and meadow,--"I _wish_ I had 'em +every one tied hand and foot and dumped into the sedge where we've +been. Mother, I wouldn't use Sleet's milk to-night, not a drop of +it,--it's crazy milk, I know: she's been tortured so. Poor cow! poor +creature! poor, dear, nice, honest Sleet!" And Anna patted the cow +with loving stroke and laid her head on its neck. + +"Well, children, eat something, and then we'll all go home together,--if +they haven't carried off our cot already," said the mother. + +They sat down under a tree and ate with the eager, wholesome appetite +of children. Mrs. Kull kept watch that the cow did not wander far +from the place. + +As they were eating, Valentine said to Anna, nodding his head in the +direction of his mother: "I've thought of something. We must manage to +send _her_ home without us." + +"_I've_ thought of something," responded Anna. "Yes, we _must_ +manage." + +"I should like to know _what_ you could think of, sister." + +"Should you? Why, think of saving the cow and calf, of course; though, +if you're _very_ particular, you can leave the calf here." + +"And what will you do with the cow?" + +"Put her in the boat--" + +"Whew!" interrupted Valentine. + +"And ferry her over the sound," continued Anna. + +"Who?" + +"You and me." + +"Do you think we could?" + +"We can try." + +"That's brave! How's your arm?" + +"All right! I jerked it back, slapping mosquitoes." + +"Give us another hunkey piece of bread and butter. Honey's good +to-day. I wonder mother thought about it." + +"I s'pose," said Anna, "she'd as leave we had it as soldiers. Wouldn't +it be jolly if we could make 'em steal the bees?" + +The wind blew east. Up came martial sounds mingled with the break and +the roar of the ocean. + +"Oh, dear! They're a coming," gasped Mrs. Kull, running to the spot. +"They're coming, and your father is not here." + +"Hide, hide, my children! Never mind the cow now," she almost +shrieked; her mind was running wild with all the scenes of terror she +had ever heard of. + +"Pshaw! pshaw! Mother Kull," said her boy, assuringly. "They won't +come down here. Somebody's guiding them around who knows just where +every house is. You and Anna get into that thicket yonder and keep, +whatever happens, as still as mice." + +"What'll _you_ do, bub?" questioned Anna, her sunburned face +brown-pale with affright. + +"Oh, I'll take care of myself. Boys always do." + +As soon as Mrs. Kull and her daughter were well concealed in the +thicket, the sounds began to die away. They waited half an hour. All +was still. They crept out, gazing the country over. No soldier in +sight. Down in the marsh again were boy and cow. + +"I'll run home now," said Mrs. Kull. "I dare say 'twas all a trick of +my ears." + +"But I heard it, too, Mother Kull." + +"Your ears serve you tricks, too, Anna. You wait and help Valentine +home with the animals." + +Anna was glad to have her mother gone. She sped to the marsh. She +threaded it, until by sundry signs she found the trio and summoned +them forth. + +The old Blazing Star Ferry was seldom used. A boat lay there. It was +staunch. The tide with them, they _might_ get it across. Had they been +older, wiser, they would never have made the attempt. + +A fresh water stream ran down to the sea. They passed it on their way +thither. In it Sleet drank deep, and soothed for a moment the bites +that tormented her; the children kneeled on the grassy bank, and drank +from their palms; the calf frolicked in it, till driven out. An hour +went by. They reached the ferry. It was deserted. Somebody had used +the boat that day. It was at the shore. Grass was yet in it. + +"Come along, Snow," said Valentine, urging with the rope. "Go along, +Snow," said Anna, helping it on with a stout twig she had picked up. +The calf pranced and ran, and before it knew its whereabouts was in +the broad-bottomed boat. Sleet stood on the shore, and saw her baby +tied fast. One poor cry the calf uttered. It went home to the motherly +heart of the dumb creature. She went down the sand, over the side, and +began, in her own way, to comfort Snow. + +"Now we are all right!" cried Valentine, delighted with the success of +his ruse; for he had slyly, lest Anna should see the deed, thrust a +pin in Snow to call forth the cry and win the cow over to his side. + +"Take an oar quick!" commanded the young captain. + +His mate obeyed. They pushed the boat out, unfastened it from the +pier. Before anybody concerned had time to realize the situation the +boat was adrift, and they were whirling in the tide. + +"Now, sis," said Valentine, a big lump in his throat, "we're in for +it. It is sink or swim. It's not much use to row. You steer and I'll +paddle." + +Sleet looked wildly around. She tossed her head, sniffed the salt, +oystery air, and seemed about to plunge overboard. + +Anna screamed. Valentine threw down his paddle and dashed himself on +the boat's outermost edge just in time to save it from overturning. +Mistress Sleet, disgusted with Fourth of July, had made up her mind to +lie down and take a nap. The boat righted and they were safe. Staten +Island Sound at this point was narrow, scarcely more than a quarter of +a mile in width, and the tide was fast bearing them out. + +"Such uncommon good sense in Sleet," exclaimed the boy. "_That_ cow is +worth saving." + +At that moment a dozen Red Coats were at the ferry they had just left. +The imperious gentlemen were in a fine frenzy at finding the boat +gone. + +They shouted to the children to return. + +"Steady, steady now," cried the young captain. His mate was steady at +the helm until a musket ball or two ran past them. + +"Let go!" shouted the captain. "Swing your bonnet. Let them know +you're a woman and they won't fire on _you_." + +The little mate stood erect. She waved her pink flag of a sun-bonnet. +Distinctly the soldiers saw the pink frock of Anna Kull; they saw her +long hair as the sea breeze lifted it when she shook her pink banner. + +A second, two, three went by as the girl stood there, and then a flash +was seen on the bank, a musket-ball ran through the bonnet of the +little mate, and the waves of air rattled along the shore. + +The bonnet was in the sea; Anna had dropped to her seat and caught the +helm in her left hand. + +"Cowards!" cried Valentine, for want of a stronger word, and then he +fell to working the boat on its way. The tide helped them now; it +swung the boat over toward the Jersey shore. + +The firing from Staten Island called out the inhabitants on the Jersey +coast. They watched the approaching boat with interest. Everything +depended now on the cow's lying still, on the boy's strength, on the +meeting of the tides. If he could reach there before the tide came up +all would be well; otherwise it would sweep him off again toward the +island. + +"Can't you row?" asked Valentine, at length. + +"Bub, I can't," said Anna, her voice shaking out the words. It was the +first time she had spoken since she sat down. + +"Are you hurt?" he questioned. + +"I tremble so," she answered, and turned her face away. + +"I reckon we'd better help that boy in," said a Jersey fisherman as he +watched, and he put off in a small boat. + +"Don't come near! Keep off! keep off!" called Valentine, as he saw him +approach. "I've a cow in here." + +The fisherman threw him a rope, and that rope saved them. The dewy +smell of the grassy banks had aroused the cow. She was stirring. + +The land was very near now; close at hand. "Hurry! hurry!" urged the +lad, as they were drawing him in. Before the cow had time to rise, the +boat touched land. + +"You'd better look after that girl," said the fisherman, who had towed +the boat. The poor child was holding, fast wrapped in the remnants of +her pink frock, her bleeding hand. The musket ball that shot away her +bonnet grazed her wrist. + +"Never mind me," she said, when they were pitying her. "The cow is +safe." + +The same evening, while, in Philadelphia, bonfires were blazing, bells +ringing, cannon booming, because, that day, a new nation was born; +over Staten Island Sound, by the light of the moon, strong-armed men +were ferrying home the girl and the boy, who that day _had_ fought a +good fight and gained the victory. + +At home, in the Kull cottage, the mother waited long for the +coming of the children. She said; "Poor young things! _Mine own +children_--they _shall_ have a nice supper." She made it ready and +they were not come. + +Farmer Rycker's wife and daughter came over to tell and hear the news, +and yet they were not come. + +Sundown. No children. The Kull father came up from his fishing and +heard the story. + +"The Red Coats have taken them," he said, and down came the +musket from against the wall, and out the father marched and made +straightway for the headquarters of General Howe, over at the +present "Quarantine." + +Then the mother, left alone in the soft summer gloaming, fell on her +knees and told her story in her own plain speech to her good Father in +Heaven. + +It was a long story. She had much to say to Heaven that night. The +mothers and wives of 1776 in our land spake often unto God. This +mother listened and prayed, and prayed and listened. + +The fishermen had left Valentine and Anna on the shore and gone home. +Tired, but happy, the brother and sister went up, over sand and field +and slope, and so came at length within sight of the trees that +towered near home. + +"Whistle now!" whispered Anna, afraid yet to speak aloud. "Mother will +hear and answer." + +Valentine whistled. + +Up jumped the mother Kull. She ran to the door and tried to answer. +There was no whistle in her lips. Joy choked it. + +"Mother, are you _there_?" cried the children. + +"No! I'm _here_," was the answer, and she had them safe in her arms. + + + + +PATTY RUTTER: THE QUAKER DOLL WHO SLEPT IN INDEPENDENCE HALL. + + +Patty Rutter had fallen asleep with her bonnet on, and had been lying +there, fast asleep, nobody knew just how long; for, somehow--it +happened so--there was nobody in particular to awaken her; that is to +say, no one had seemed to care though she slept on all day and all +night, without ever waking up at all. + +But then, there never had been another life quite like Patty Rutter's +life. In the first place, it had a curious reason for beginning at +all; and nearly everything about it had been as unlike your life and +mine as possible. + +In her very baby days, before she walked or talked, she had been sent +away to live with strangers, and no real, warm kiss of true love had +ever fallen on her little lips. + +It all came about in this way: Mrs. Sarah Rutter, a lady living in +Philadelphia--exactly what relation she bore to Patty it is a little +difficult to determine--decided to send the little one to live with a +certain Mrs. Adams, at Quincy, in Massachusetts, and she particularly +desired that the child should go dressed in a style fitting an +inhabitant of the proud city of Philadelphia. + +Now, at that time Philadelphia was very much elated because of several +things that had happened to her; but the biggest pride of all was, +that once upon a time the Continental Congress had met there, and--and +most wonderful thing--had made a Nation! + +Well, to be sure, that _was_ something to be proud of; though Patty +didn't understand, a bit more than you do, what it meant. However, the +glory of it all was talked about so much that she couldn't help +knowing that, when this nation, with its fifty-six Fathers, and +thirteen Mothers, was born one day in July, 1776, at Philadelphia, all +the city rang with a sweet jangle, and called to all the people, +through the tongue of its Liberty bell, to come up and greet the +newcomer with a great shout of welcome. + +But that had been long ago, before Mrs. Sarah Rutter was grown up, or +Patty Rutter began to be dressed for her trip to Quincy. + +As I wrote, Mrs. Rutter wished that Patty should go attired in a +manner to do honor to the city of Philadelphia; therefore she was not +permitted to depart in her baby clothes, but her little figure was +arrayed in a long, prim gown of soft drab silk, while a kerchief of +purest mull was crossed upon her breast; and, depending from her +waist, like the fashion of to-day, were pincushion and watch. Upon her +youthful head was a bonnet, crowned and trimmed in true Quaker +fashion; and her infantile feet were securely tied within shapely +slippers of kid. Thus equipped, Miss Patty was sent forth upon her +journey. + +Ah! that journey began a long time ago--fifty-eight, yes, fifty-nine +years have gone by, and Patty Rutter is quite an aged little lady now, +as she lies asleep, with her bonnet on. + +"It is time," says somebody, "to close." + +No one seems to take notice that Patty Rutter does not get up and +depart with the rest of the visitors, that she only stirs her eyelids +and turns her head on the silken "quilt" where she is lying. + +The little woman who keeps house in the Hall locks it up and goes +away, and there is little Patty Rutter shut in for the night. As the +key turns in the old-time lock, the Lady Rutter winks hard and sits +up. + +"Well, I've been patient, anyhow, and Mrs. Samuel Adams herself +couldn't wish me to do more," she said, with a comforting yawn +and a delightful stretch, and then she began to stare in blank +bewilderment. + +"I _should_ like to know what this all means," she whispered, "and +_where_ I am. I've heard enough to-day to turn my head. How very queer +folks are, and they talk such jargon now-a-days. Centennial and +Corliss Engine; Woman's Pavilion and Memorial Hall; Main Building and +the Trois Freres; Hydraulic Annex, railroads and what-nots. + +"_I_ never heard of such things. I don't think it is proper to speak +of them, or the Adamses would have told me. No more intelligent folks +in the land than the Adamses, and I guess _they_ know what belongs to +good society and polite conversation. I declare I blushed so in my +sleep that I was quite ashamed. I'll get up and look about now. I'm +sure this isn't any one of the houses where we visit, or folks +wouldn't talk so." + +Patty Rutter straightened her bonnet on her head, smoothed down her +robe of silken drab, adjusted her kerchief, looked at her watch to +learn how long she had been sleeping, and found, to her surprise, that +it had run down. Right over her head hung two watches. + +"Why, how thoughtful folks are in this house," she exclaimed in a +timid voice, reaching up and taking one of the two time-pieces in her +hand. "Why, here's a name; let me see." + +Reading slowly, she announced that the watch belonged to "Wil-liam +Wil-liams--worn when he signed the Declaration of Independence." "Ah!" +she cried, with pathetic tone, "this watch is run down _too_, at four +minutes after five. I remember! _This_ William Williams was one of the +fifty-six Fathers. I guess I must be in Lebanon--he lived there and +his folks would have his watch of course. Here's another," taking down +a watch and reading, "Colonel John Trumbull. _Run down, too!_ and at +twenty-three minutes after six. _He_ was the son of Brother Jonathan, +Governor of one of the Mothers, when the Nation was born. Yes, yes, I +must be in Lebanon. Well, it's a comfort, at least, to know that I'm +in company the Adamses would approve of, though _how_ I came here is a +mystery." + +She hung the watches in place, stepped out of the glass room, in which +she had slept, into a hall, and with a slight exclamation of delicious +approval, stopped short before a number of chairs, and clasped her +little fingers tightly together. + +You must remember that Patty Rutter was a Friend, a Quaker, perhaps a +descendant of William Penn, but then, in her baby days, having been +transplanted to the rugged soil and outspoken ways of Massachusetts, +she could not keep silence altogether, in view of that which greeted +her vision. + +She was in the very midst of old friends. Chairs in which she had sat +in her young days stood about the grand hall. On the walls hung +portraits of the ancestor kings of the nation born at Philadelphia in +1776. + +In royal robes and with careless grace, lounged King George III., the +nation's grandfather, angry no longer at his thirteen daughters who +strayed from home with the Sons of Liberty. + +Her feet made haste and her eyes opened wider, as her swift hands +seized relic after relic. She sat in chairs that Washington had rested +in; she caught up camp-kettles used on every field where warriors of +the Revolution had tarried; she patted softly La Fayette's camp +bedstead; and wondered at the taste that had put into the hall two +old, time-worn, battered doors, but soon found out that they had gone +through all the storm of balls that fell upon the Chew House during +the battle of Germantown. + +She read the wonderful prayer that once was prayed in Carpenter's +Hall, and about which every member of Congress wrote home to his +wife. + +On a small "stand," encased in glass, she came upon a portrait of +Washington, painted during the time he waited for powder at Cambridge. +Patty Rutter had seen it often, with its halo of the General's own +hair about it. She turned from it, and beheld (why, yes, surely she +_had_ seen _that_, but not here; it was, why long ago, in her baby +days in Philadelphia, that Mrs. Rutter had taken her up into a tower +to see it), a bell--Liberty Bell, that rang above the heads of the +Fathers when the Nation was born. + +Poor little Patty began to cry. Where could she be? She reached out +her hand, and climbed the huge beams that encased the bell, and tried +to touch the tongue. She wanted to hear it ring again, but could not +reach it. + +"It's curious, curious," she sobbed, wiping her eyes and turning them +with a thrill of delight upon a beloved name that greeted her vision. +It was growing dark, and she _might_ be wrong. But no, it was the +dear name of Adams; and she saw, in a basket, a little pile of baby +raiment. There were dainty caps and tiny shirts of cambric, whose +linen was like a gossamer web, and whose delicate lines of hem-stitch +were scarcely discernible; there were small dresses, yellow with the +sun color that time had poured over them, and they hung with pathetic +crease and tender fold over the sides of the basket. + +The little woman paused and peered to read these words, "Baby-clothes, +made by Mrs. John Adams for her son, John Quincy Adams." + +"Little John Quincy!" she cried, "A baby so long ago!" She took the +little caps in her hands, she pulled out the crumpled lace that edged +them. She said, through the swift-falling tears: + +"Oh, I remember when he was brought home _dead_, and how, in the +Independence Hall of the State House at Philadelphia, he lay in state, +that the inhabitants who knew his deeds, and those of his father, +John, and his uncle, Samuel, might see his face. I love the Adamses +every one," and she softly pressed the baby-caps that had been wrought +by a mother, ere the country began, to her small Quaker lips, with +real New England fervor for its very own. Tenderly she laid them down, +to see, while the light was fading, a huge picture on the wall. She +studied it long, trying to discern the faces, with their savage +beauty; the sturdy right-doing men who stood before them; and then +her eyes began to glisten, and gather light from the picture; her lips +parted, her breath quickened; for Patty Rutter had gone beyond her +life associations in Massachusetts, back to the times in which her +Quaker ancestors had make treaty with the native Indians. + +"It is!" she cried with a shout; "It is Penn's treaty!" Patty gazed at +it until she could see no longer. "I'm glad it is the last thing my +eyes will remember," she said sorrowfully, when in the gloom she +turned away, went down the hall, and entered her glass chamber. + +"Never mind my watch," she said softly. "When I waken it will be +daylight, and I need not wind it. It will be so sweet to lie here +through the night in such grand and goodly company. I only wish Mrs. +Samuel Adams could come and kiss me good night." + +With these words, Patty Rutter laid herself to rest upon the silken +quilt from Gardiner's Island; and if you look within the Relic Room, +opposite to Independence Hall, in the old State House at Philadelphia, +in this Centennial summer, you will find her there, still taking her +long nap, _fully indorsed by Miss Adams_, and in Independence Hall, +across the passage way, you will see the portraits of more than fifty +of the Fathers of the nation, but the Mothers abide at home. + + + + +BECCA BLACKSTONE'S TURKEYS AT VALLEY FORGE. + + +Turkeys, little girl and apple-tree lived in Pennsylvania, a hundred +years ago. The turkeys--eleven of them--went to bed in the apple-tree, +one night in December. + +After it was dark, the little girl stood under the tree and peered up +through the boughs and began to count. She numbered them from one up +to eleven. Addressing the turkeys, she said: "You're all up there, I +see, and if you only knew enough; if you weren't the dear, old, wise, +stupid things that you are, I'll tell you what you would do. After I'm +gone in the house, and the door is shut, and nobody here to see, you'd +get right down, and you'd fly off in a hurry to the deepest part of +the wood to spent your Thanksgiving, you would. The cold of the woods +isn't half as bad for you as the fire of the oven will be." + +Becca finished her speech; the turkeys rustled in their feathers and +doubtless wondered what it all meant, while she stood thinking. One +poor fellow lost his balance and came fluttering down to the ground, +just as she had decided what to do. As soon as he was safely reset on +his perch, Becca made a second little speech to her audience, in +which she declared that "they, the dear turkeys, were her own; that +she had a right to do with them just as she pleased, and that it was +her good pleasure that not one single one of the eleven should make a +part of anybody's Thanksgiving dinner." + +"Heigh-ho," whistles Jack, Becca's ten-year-old brother: "that you, +Bec? High time you were in the house." + +"S'pose I frightened you," said Becca. "Where have you been gone all +the afternoon, I'd like to know? stealin' home too, across lots." + +"I'll tell, if you won't let on a mite." + +"Do I ever, Jack?" reproachfully. + +He did not deign to answer, but in confidential whispers breathed it +into her ears that "he had been down to the Forge. Down to the Valley +Forge, where General Washington was going to fetch down lots and lots +of soldiers, and build log huts, and stay all Winter." He ended his +breathless narration with an allusion that made Becca jump as though +she had seen a snake. He said: "It will be bad for your turkeys." + +"Why, Jack? General Washington won't steal them." + +"Soldiers eat turkey whenever they can get it; and, Bec, this +apple-tree isn't above three miles from the Forge. You'd better have +'em all killed for Thanksgiving. Come, I'm hungry as a bear." + +"But," said Becca, grasping his jacket sleeve as they went, "I've just +promised 'em that they shall not be touched." + +Jack's laugh set every turkey into motion, until the tree was all in a +flutter of excitement. He laughed again and again, before he could say +"What a little goose you are! Just as if turkeys understood a word you +said." + +"But I understood if they didn't, and I should be telling my own self +a lie. No, not a turkey shall die. They shall all have a real good +Thanksgiving once in their lives." + +Two days later, on the 18th of December, Thanksgiving Day came, the +turkeys were yet alive, and Becca Blackstone was happy. + +The next day General Washington's eleven thousand men marched into +Valley Forge, and went out upon the cold, bleak hillsides, carrying +with them almost three thousand poor fellows, too ill to march, too +ill to build log huts, ill enough to lie down and die. Such a busy +time as there was for days and days. Farmer Blackstone felt a little +toryish in his thoughts, but the chance to sell logs and split slabs +so near home as Valley Forge was not likely to happen again, and he +worked away with strong good will to furnish building material. Jack +went every day to the encampment, and grew quite learned in the ways +of warlike men. + +Becca staid at home with her mother, but secretly wished to see what +the great army looked like. + +At last the final load of chestnut and walnut and oaken logs went up +to the hills from Mr. Blackstone's farm, and a great white snow fell +down over all Pennsylvania, covering the mountains and hills, the +soldiers' log huts, and the turkeys in the apple-tree. January came +and went, and every day affairs at the camp grew worse. Men were dying +of hunger and cold and disease. Stories of the sufferings of the men +grew strangely familiar to the inhabitants. Affairs that Winter would +not have been quite so hard at Valley Forge if the neighbors for miles +around had not been Tories. Now Becca Blackstone's mother was a New +England women, and in secret she bestowed many a comfort upon one +after another of her countrymen at the encampment. Her husband was +willing to sell logs and slabs and clay from his pits, but not a +farthing or a splinter of wood had he to bestow on the rebels. + +At last, one January day, when Mr. Blackstone had gone to Philadelphia, +permission was given to Becca to accompany her mother and Jack to the +village. Into the rear of the sleigh a big basket was packed. Becca +was told that she must not ask any questions nor peep, so she +neither questioned nor looked in, but found out, after all, for when +they were come to the camp, she saw her mother take out loaves of rye +bread and a jug, into which she knew nothing but milk ever was put, and +carry them into a hut which had the sign of a hospital over it. Every +third cabin was a hospital, and each and every one held within it +men that were always hungry and in suffering. + +In all her life Becca had never seen so much to make her feel +sorry, as she saw when she followed her mother to the door of the +log-hospital, into which she was forbidden to enter. + +There large-eyed, hungry men lay on the cold ground, with only poor, +wretched blankets to cover them. She caught a glimpse of a youth--he +did not seem much older than her own Jack--with light, fair hair, such +big blue eyes, and the thinnest, whitest hands, reaching up for the +mug of milk her mother was offering to him. + +Then, when Jack came to her, he was wiping his eyes on his jacket +sleeve. He said "If I was a soldier, and my country didn't care any +more for me than Congress does, I'd go home and leave the Red Coats to +carry off Congress. It's too bad, and he's a jolly good fellow. Wish +we could take him home and get him well." + +"Who is he, Jack?" + +"O, a soldier-boy from one of the New England colonies. He's got a +brother with him--that's good." + +The drive home, over the crisp snow, was a very silent one. More than +one tear froze on Mrs. Blackstone's cheek, as she remembered the +misery her eyes had beheld, and her hands could do so little to +lighten. + +The next day Mr. Blackstone reached home from Philadelphia. He had +seen the Britons in all the glory and pomp of plenty and red +regimentals in a prosperous city. He returned a confirmed Tory, and +wished--never mind what he did wish, since his unkind wish never came +to pass--but this is that which he did, he forbade Mrs. Blackstone +to give anything that belonged to him to a soldier of General +Washington's army. + +"What will you do now, mamma, with all the stockings and mittens you +are knitting?" questioned Becca. + +"Don't ask me, child," was the tearful answer that mother made, for +her whole heart was with her countrymen in their brave struggle. + +Three nights after that time Mr. Blackstone entered his house, +saying: + +"I caught a ragged, bare-footed tatterdemalion hanging around, and I +warned him off; told him he'd better go home, if he'd got one +anywhere, and if not to join the army, of his king at Philadelphia." + +"What did he say, pa?" asked Jack. + +"O some tomfoolery or other about the man having nothing to eat but +hay for two days, and his brother dying over at the Forge. I didn't +stop to listen to the fellow, but sent him flying." + +Jack touched his mother's toe in passing, and gave Becca a mysterious +nod of the head, as much as to say: + +"He's the soldier from our hospital over there," but nobody made +answer to Mr. Blackstone. + +Becca's eyes filled with tears as she sat down at the tea-table, and +sturdy Jack staid away until the last minute, taking all the time he +could at washing his hands, that he might get as many looks as +possible through the window in the hope that the bare-footed soldier +might be lingering about, but he gained no glimpse of him. + +Farmer Blackstone had the rheumatism sometimes, and that night he had +it worse than ever, so that an hour after tea-time he was quite ready +to go to bed, and his wife was quite ready to have him go, also to +give him the soothing, quieting remedies he called for. + +Becca was to sit up that night until eight-of-the-clock, if she made +no noise to disturb her father. + +While her mother was busied in getting her father comfortable, she +thought, as it was such bright moonlight, she would go out to give her +turkeys a count, it having been two or three nights since she had +counted them. + +Slipping a shawl of her mother's over her head, she opened softly the +kitchen door to steal out. The lowest possible whistle from Jack +accosted her at the house corner. That lad intercepted her course, +drew her back into the shadow, and bade her "Look!" + +She looked across the snow, over the garden wall, into the orchard, +and there, beneath her apple-tree, stood something between a man and a +scarecrow, and it appeared to be looking up at the sleeping turkeys. +Both arms were uplifted. + +"O dear! what shall we do?" whispered Becca, all in a shiver of cold +and excitement. + +"Let's go and speak to him. Maybe it is our hospital man," said Jack, +with a great appearance of courage. + +The two children started, hand in hand, and approached the soldier so +quietly that he did not hear the sound of their coming. + +As they went, Becca squeezed her brother's fingers and pointing to the +snow over which they walked, whispered the word "Blood!" + +"From his feet," responded Jack, shutting his teeth tightly together. + +Yes, there it lay in bright drops on the glistening snow, showing +where the feet of the patriot had trod. The children stood still when +they were come near to the tree. At the instant their mother appeared +in the kitchen doorway and called "Jack!" + +The ragged soldier of the United American States lost his courage at +the instant and began to retire in confusion; but Becca summoned him +to "Wait a minute!" He waited. + +"Did you want one of my turkeys?" she asked. + +"I was going to _steal_ one, to save my brother's life," he answered. + +"Is he only a boy, and has he light hair and blue eyes, and does he +lie on the wet ground?" + +"That's Joseph," he groaned. + +"Then take a good, big, fat turkey--that one there, if you can get +him," said Becca. "They are all mine." + +The turkey was quietly secured. + +"Now take one for yourself," said Becca. + +Number two came down from the perch. + +"How many men are there in your hospital?" asked Jack, who had +responded to his mother's summons, and was holding a pair of warm +stockings in his hand. + +"Twelve." + +"Give him another, Bec--there's a good girl; three turkeys ain't a +bone too many for twelve hungry men," prompted Jack. + +"Take three!" said Becca. "My pa never counts my turkeys." + +The third turkey joined his fellows. + +"Better put these stockings on before you start, or father will track +you to the camp," said Jack. "And pa told ma never to give you +anything of his any more." + +Never was weighty burden more cheerfully borne than the bag Jack +helped to hoist over the soldier's shoulder as soon as the stockings +had been drawn over the bleeding feet. + +"Now I'm going. Thank you, and good night. If you, little girl, would +give me a kiss, I'd take it--as from my little Bessy in Connecticut." + +"That's for Bessy in Connecticut," said the little girl, giving him +one kiss, "and now I'll give you one for Becca in Pennsylvania. Hurry +home and roast the turkeys quick." + +They watched him go over the hill. + +"Jack," said Becca, "if I'd told a lie to the turkeys where would they +have been to-night, and Joseph? There are eight more. I wish I'd told +him to come again. Pa's rheumatism came just right to-night, didn't +it?" + +"I reckon next year you won't have all the turkeys to give away to the +soldiers," said Jack, adding quite loftily, "I shall go to raising +turkeys in the Spring myself, and when Winter comes we shall see." + +"Now, Jacky," said Becca, half-crying, "there are eight left, and you +take half." + +"No, I won't," rejoined Jack. "I'd just like to walk over to Valley +Forge and see the soldiers enjoy turkey. Won't they have a feast! I +shouldn't wonder if they'd eat one raw." + +"O, Jack!" + +"Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes," he assured her with a +lofty air. And then they went into the house, and the door was shut. + +The next year there was not a soldier left above the sod at Valley +Forge. + +Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the little girl has passed +away, the apple-tree is dead, and only the hills at Valley Forge are +left to tell the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with praise, +of the men who had a hundred years ago toiled for Freedom there, and +are gone home to God. + + + + +HOW TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS SAVED FORT SAFETY. + + +"A story, children; so soon after Christmas, too! Let me think, what +shall it be?" + +"O yes, mamma," uttered three children in chorus. + +Mrs. Livingston sat looking into the fire that flamed on the broad +hearth so long, that Carl said, by way of reminder that time was +passing: "An uncommon story." + +Then up spoke Bessie: "Mamma, something, please, out of the real old +time before much of anybody 'round here was born." + +"As long off as the Indians," assisted young Dot. + +"Ah yes; that will do, children. I will tell you a story that happened +in this very house almost a hundred years ago. It was told to me by my +grandmother when she was very old." + +There was a grand old lady, Mrs. Livingston, at the head of this house +then. She loved her country very much indeed, and was willing to do +anything she could to help it, in the time of great trouble, during +the war for independence. My grandmother was a little girl, not so +old as you, Bessie. Her name was Lorinda Grey, and her home was in +Boston. The year before, when British soldiers kept close watch to see +that nothing to eat, or wear, or burn, was carried into Boston, Mr. +Grey contrived to get his family out of the city, and Lorinda, with +her brother Otis, was sent here. Afterward, when Boston was free +again, the two children were left because the father was too busy to +make the long journey after them. + +Altogether, more than a dozen children belonging in some way to the +Livingstons had been sent to the old house. The family friends and +relatives gave the place the name "Fort Safety," because it lay far +away from the enemy's ships, and quite out of the line where the +soldiers of either army marched or camped. + +The year had been very full of sorrow and care and trouble and hard +work; but when the time for Christmas drew near, this grand old Mrs. +Livingston said it should be the happiest Christmas that the old house +had ever known. She would make the children happy once, whatever might +come afterward, and so she set about it quite early in the fall. One +day the children (there were more than a dozen of them in the house at +the time) found out that the great room at the end of the hall was +locked. They asked Mrs. Livingston many times when it meant, and at +last she told them that one night after they were in bed and asleep, +Santa Claus appeared at her door and asked if he might occupy that +room until the night before Christmas. She told him he might, and he +had locked the door himself, and said "if any child so much as looked +through a crack in the door that child would find nothing but chestnut +burs in his stocking." Well, the children knew that Santa Claus meant +what he said, always, so they used to run past the door every day as +fast as they could go and keep their eyes the other way, lest +something should be seen that ought not to. Before the day came every +wide chimney in the house was swept bright and clean for Santa Claus. + +Aunt Elise, a sweet young lady, lived here then. She was old Mrs. +Livingston's daughter, and she told the children that she had seen +Santa Claus with her own eyes when he locked the door, and he said +that every room must be made as fine as fine could be. + +After that Tom and Richard and Will and Philip worked away as hard as +they could. They gathered bushels and bushels of ivy, and a mile or +two of ground-pine, and eight or ten pecks of bitter-sweet, and stored +them all in the corn granary, and waited for the day. Then, when Aunt +Elise set to work to adorn the house, she had twenty-four willing +hands to help, beside her own two. + +When all was made ready, and it was getting near to night in the +afternoon before Christmas, Mrs. Livingston sent a messenger for +three men from the farm. When they were come, she called in three +African servants, and she said to the six men, "Saddle horses and ride +away, each one of you in a different direction, and go to every house +within five miles of here, and ask: 'Are any children in this +habitation?' Then say that you are sent to fetch the children's +stockings, that Santa Claus wants them, and take special care to bring +me _two_ stockings from each child, whose father or brother is away +fighting for his country." + +So the six men set forth on their queer errand, after stockings, and +they rode up hill and down, and to the great river's bank, and +wherever the message was given at a house door, if a child was within +hearing, off flew a stocking, and sometimes two, as the case might be +about father and brother. + +Now, in a deep little dell, about five miles away, there was a small, +old brown house, and in it lived Mixie Brownson with her mother and +brother, but this night Mixie was all alone. When one of the six +horsemen rode up to the door, and without getting down from his horse, +thumped away on it with his riding-whip handle, Mixie thought, "Like +as not it is an Indian," but she straightway lifted the wooden latch +and opened the door. + +"There's one child here, I see," said the black man. "Any more?" + +"I'm all alone," trembled forth poor Mixie. + +"More's the pity," said the man. "I want one of your stockings; two of +'em, if you're a soldier's little girl. I'm taking stockings to Santa +Claus." + +"O take both mine, then, please," said Mixie with delight, and she +drew off two warm woolen stockings and made them into a little bundle, +which he thrust into a bag, and off he rode. Mixie's father was a +Royalist, fighting with the Indians for the British, but then Mrs. +Livingston knew nothing about that. + +It was nearly midnight when the stockings reached Fort Safety. It was +in this very room that Mrs. Livingston and Aunt Elise received them. +Some were sweet and clean, and some were not; some were new and some +were old. So they looked them over, and made two little piles, the one +to be filled, the other to be washed. + +About this time Santa Claus came down from his locked-up room, with +pack after pack, and began to fill stockings. There were ninety-seven +of them, beside sixteen more that were hung on a line stretched across +the fire-place by the children before they went to bed, so as to be +very handy for Santa Claus when he should enter by the chimney. + +"What an awful rich lady my fine old Grandmother Livingston must have +been, to have goodies enough to fill 113 stockings!" said Carl, his +red hair fairly glistening with interest and pride; while Bessie and +Dot looked eagerly at the fire-place and around the room, to see if +any fragment of a stocking might, by any chance, be about anywhere. + +Well, at last the stockings were full. I cannot tell you exactly what +was in them. I remember that my grandmother said, that in every +stocking went, first of all, a nice, pretty pair of new ones, just the +size of the old ones; and next, a pair of mittens to fit hands +belonging with feet that could wear the stockings. I know there were +oranges and some kind of candy, too. + +At last the stockings were all hung on a line extending along two +sides of the room, and Mrs. Livingston and Aunt Elise locked the room, +and being very tired, went to bed. The next morning, bright and early, +there was a great pattering of bare feet and a flitting of night-gowns +down the staircase, past the evergreen trees in the hall, and a little +host of twelve children stood at that door, trying to get in; but it +was all of no use, and they had to march back to bed again. + +As for Otis Grey, he was a real Boston boy, full of the spirit of a +Liberty Rebel. He dressed himself slyly, slipped down on the great +stair-rail, so as to make no noise, opened softly the hall-door, went +outside, climbed up, and looked into the room. When he peeped, he was +so frightened at the long line of fat stockings that he made haste +down, and never said a word to anybody, except my grandmother (Lorinda +Grey, his sister); and they two kept the secret. + +Breakfast time came, and not a child of the dozen had heard a word +from Santa Claus that morning. + +Mrs. Livingston said a very long grace, and after that she said to the +children: "I have disappointed you this morning, but you will all have +your stockings as soon as a little company I have invited to spend the +day with you, is come." + +"Bless me!" whispered Otis Grey to his sister, "are all them stockings +a-coming?" + +"Otis," said Mrs. Livingston, "you may leave the table." + +Otis obeyed silently, and lost his Christmas breakfast for the time. +Mrs. Livingston had strict laws in her house, and punishment always +followed disobedience. + +The morning was long to the children, but it was a busy time in the +winter kitchen, and even the summer kitchen was alive with cookery; +and at just mid-day Philip cried out "Company's come, grandma!" + +A dozen or more of the stocking-owners were at the door. In they +trooped, bright and laughing and happy. Before they were fairly +inside, more came, and more, and still more, until full sixty boys and +girls were gathered up and down the great hall and parlors. Mixie +Brownson came on the last sled-load. Now Mrs. Livingston did not know, +even by name, more than one-half of the young folks she had undertaken +to make happy that day; but that made no manner of difference, and +the children had not the least idea that Santa Claus had their +stockings all hung up in this room, until suddenly the doors were +opened, and there was the great hickory-wood fire, and the sunlight +streaming in, and the stockings, fat and bulging, hanging in rows. +Some were red, and some were blue, and some were white, and some were +mixed. Grand old Mrs. Livingston stood within the room, her white +curls shining and her stiff brocade trailing. + +"Come in, children," she said, and in they trooped, silent with awe +and wonder at the sight they saw. The lady arranged them side by side, +in lines, on the two sides of the room where the stockings were not, +and then she said: + +"Santa Claus, come forth!" + +In yonder corner there began a motion in the branches of the evergreen +tree, and such a Santa Claus as crept forth was never seen before. He +was bulgy with furs from crown to foot, but he made a low curve over +toward Mrs. Livingston, and then nodded his head about the lines of +children. + +"Good day to you, this Christmas," he said. + +"Wish you Merry Christmas, Santa Claus," said Philip, with a bow. + +"Here's business," said Santa Claus. "Stockings, let me see. Whoever +owns the stocking that I take down from the line, will step forward +and take it." + +Every single one of the children knew his or her own property, at a +glance. Santa Claus had a busy time of it handing down stockings, and +a few minutes later he escaped without notice, and was seen no more +that year, in Fort Safety. + +After the stockings came dinner, and such a dinner as it was! Whatever +there was not, I remember that it was told to me that there was great +abundance of English plum-pudding. After dinner came games and more +happiness, and after the last game, came time to go home. The sweet +clear afternoon suddenly became dark with clouds, and it began to snow +soon after the first load set off. One or two followed, and by the +time the last one was ready to start, Mrs. Livingston looked forth and +said "not another child should leave her roof that night in such a +blinding storm." + +Eight little hands clapped their new mittens together in token of joy, +but poor little Mixie Brownson began to cry. She had never in her life +been away from the brown house. + +Tea was served, and Mixie was comforted for a short time. After that +came games again, until all were weary with play; and Otis Grey begged +Mrs. Livingston for a story. + +Mixie was tearful still, and she crept shyly to the lady's side and +sobbed forth: "I wish you was my grandma and would take me in your +lap." + +Mrs. Livingston stooped and kissed Mixie's cheek, then lifted her on +her knees and began to tell the children a story. It must have been a +very pretty picture that the old, blowing snowstorm looked in upon +that night, in this very room: twenty or more children seated around +the fire-circle, with stately Mrs. Livingston and pretty Aunt Elise in +their midst. + +Whilst all this was going on within, outside a band of Indians, led by +a white man, was approaching Fort Safety to burn it down. + +Step by step, the savages crept nearer and nearer, until they were +standing in the very light that streamed out from the Christmas +windows. + +The white man who led them was in the service of the English, and knew +every step of the way, and just who lived in the great house. + +He ordered them to stand back while he looked in. Creeping closer and +closer, he climbed, as Otis Grey had done, and put his face to the +window-pane. He saw Mrs. Livingston and Miss Elise, and the great +circle of eager, interested faces, all looking at the story-teller, +and he wiped his eyes in order to get one more good look, for he could +not believe the story they told to him: that his own poor little Mixie +was in there, sitting in proud Mrs. Livingston's lap, looking happier +than he had ever seen her. He stayed so long, peering in, that the +savages grew impatient. One or two of their chief men crept up and put +their swarthy faces beside his own. + +It so happened that at that moment Aunt Elise glanced toward the +window. She did not scream, she uttered no word; but she fell from her +chair to the floor. + +[Illustration: "His own poor little Mixie was there, sitting in proud +Mrs. Livingston's lap."] + +Mixie's father, for it was he who led the savages, saw what was +happening within, and ordered the Indians to march away and leave the +big house unhurt. They grunted and grumbled, and refused to go until +they had been told that the little girl on the lady's knee was his +little girl. + +"He not going to burn his own papoose," explained the Indian chief to +his red men; and then the evil band went groping away through the +storm. + +The story to the children was not finished that night, for on the +floor lay pretty Aunt Elise, as white as white could be; and it was a +long time before she was able to speak. As soon as she could sit up, +she wished to get out into the open air. + +Mrs. Livingston went with her, and when she was told what had been +seen at the window, they together examined the freshly fallen snow and +found traces of moccasined feet. + +With fear and trembling, the two ladies entered the house. Not a word +of what had been seen was spoken to servant or child. Aunt Elise from +an upper window kept watch during the time that Mrs. Livingston +returned thanks to God for the happy day the children had passed, and +asked His love and protecting care during the silent hours of sleep. + +Then the sleepy, happy throng climbed the wide staircase to the rooms +above, went to bed and slept until morning. + +Not a red face approached Fort Safety that night. The two ladies, +letting the Christmas fires go down, kept watch from the windows until +the day dawned. + +"I'm so glad," exclaimed Carl, "that my fine, old, greatest of +grandmothers thought of having that good time at Christmas." + +"Dear me!" sighed Bessie, "if she hadn't, we wouldn't have this nice +home to-day." + +"Mamma," said Dot, "let's have a good stocking-time next Christmas; +just like that one, all but the Indians." + +"O, mamma, _will you_?" cried Bessie, jumping with glee. + +"Where _would_ we get the soldiers' children, though," questioned +Carl. + +"Lots of 'em in Russia and Turkey, if we only lived there," observed +Bessie. "But there's _always_ plenty of children that _want_ a good +time and never get it, just as much as the soldiers' children did. +Will you, mamma?" + +"When Christmas comes again, I will try to make just as many little +folks happy as I can," said Mrs. Livingston. + +"And we'll begin _now_," said Carl, "so as to be all ready. I shall +saw all summer, so as to make lots of pretty brackets and things." + +"And I s'pose I shall have to dress about five hundred dolls to go +'round," sighed Bessie, "there are so many children now-a-days." + + + + +A DAY AND A NIGHT IN THE OLD PORTER HOUSE. + + +Monday morning, July 5th, 1779, was oppressively warm and sultry in +the Naugatuck Valley. Great Hill, that rises so grandly to the +northward of Union City, and at whose base the red house still nestles +that was built either by Daniel Porter or his son Thomas before or as +early as 1735, was bathed in the full sunlight, for it was past eight +of the clock. Up the hill had just passed a herd of cows owned by Mr. +Thomas Porter and driven by his son Ethel, a lad of fourteen, and +Ethel's sister Polly, aged twelve years. + +"It's awful hot to-day!" said Ethel, as he threw himself on the grass +at the hill-top--the cows having been duly cared for. + +[Illustration: The Old Porter House] + +"You'd better not lose time lying here," said Polly. "There's +altogether too much going on uptown to-day, and there's lots to do +before we go up to celebrate." + +"One thing at a time," replied Ethel, "and this is my time to rest. I +never knew a hill to grow so much in one night before." + +"Well! you can rest, but I'm going to find out what that fellow is +riding his poor horse so fast for this hot morning--somebody must be +dying! Just see that line of dust a mile away!" and Polly started down +Great Hill to meet the rider. + +The horseman stayed his horse at Fulling Mill Brook to give him a +drink, and Polly reached the brook just at the instant the horse +buried his nose in the cool stream. + +"Do you live near here?" questioned the rider. + +"My father, Mr. Thomas Porter, keeps the inn yonder," said Polly. + +"I can't stop," said the horseman, "though I've ridden from New Haven +without breakfast, and I must get up to the Center; but you tell your +father the _British_ are landing at West Haven. They have more that +forty vessels! The new president was on the tower of the College when +I came by, watching with his spy-glass, and he shouted down that he +could see them, landing." + +At that instant, Ethel reached the brook. "What's going on?" he +questioned. + +"You're a likely looking boy--you'll do!" said the horseman, with a +glance at Ethel, cutting off at the same instant the draught his horse +was enjoying, by a sudden pull at the bridle lines. "You go tell the +news! Get out the militia! Don't lose a minute." + +"What news? What for?" asked Ethel, but the rider was flying onward. + +"A pretty time we'll have celebrating to-day," said Polly, to herself, +dipping the corner of her apron into the brook and wiping her heated +face with it, as she hurried to the house. Meanwhile, her brother was +running and shouting after the man who had ridden off in such haste. + +As Polly entered the house the big brick oven stood wide open, and it +was filled to the door with a roaring fire. On the long table stood +loaves of bread almost ready for the oven. Her sister Sybil was +putting apple pies on the same table. Sybil was a beautiful girl of +twenty years, much admired and greatly beloved in the region. + +"What is Ethel about so long this morning, that I have his work to do, +I wonder!" exclaimed Mr. Thomas Porter, as he lifted himself from the +capacious fire-place in which he had been piling birch-wood under the +crane--from which hung in a row three big iron pots. + +"It is a pretty hot morning, and the sun is powerful on the hill, +father," said Mrs. Mehitable Porter in reply--not seeing Polly, who +stood panting and glowing with all the importance of having great news +to tell. + +"Father," cried Polly, "where is Truman and the men? Send 'em! send +'em everywhere!" + +"What's the matter? what's the matter, child?" exclaimed Mr. Porter, +while his wife and Sybil stood in alarm. + +At that instant Ethel sprang in, crying out, "The militia! The +militia! They want the militia." + +"What for, and _who_ wants the men?" asked his father. + +"I don't know. He didn't stop to tell. He said: 'Get out the militia! +Don't lose a minute!' and then rode on." + +"Father, _I know_," said Polly. "He told _me_. The British ships, more +than forty of them, are landing soldiers at New Haven. President +Stiles saw them at daybreak from the college tower with his +spy-glass." + +Before Polly had ceased to speak, Ethel was off. Within the next ten +minutes six horses had set forth from the Porter house--each rider for +a special destination. + +"I'll give the alarm to the Hopkinses," cried back Polly from her +pony, as she disappeared in the direction of Hopkins Hill. + +"And I'll stir up Deacon Gideon and all the Hotchkisses from the +Captain over and down," said ten-year-old Stephen, as he mounted. + +"You'd better make sure that Sergeant Calkins and Roswell hear the +news. Tell Captain Terrell to get out his Ring-bone company, and don't +forget Captain John and Abraham Lewis, Lieutenant Beebe, and all the +rest. It isn't much use to go over the river--not much help _we'd_ +get, however much the British might, on that side," advised Mr. +Porter, as the fourth messenger departed. + +When the last courier had set forth, leaving only Mr. and Mrs. Porter, +Sybil and two servants in the house, Mr. Porter said to his wife: "I +believe, mother, that I'll go up town and see what I can do for +Colonel Baldwin and Phineas." Major Phineas Porter was his brother, +who six months earlier had married Melicent, daughter of Colonel +Baldwin and widow of Isaac Booth Lewis (the lady whose name has been +chosen for the Waterbury, Connecticut, Chapter of Daughters of the +American Revolution). + +After Mr. Porter's departure Mrs. Porter said to Sybil, "You remember +how it was two years ago at the Danbury alarm, how we were left +without a crumb in the house and fairly went hungry to bed. I think +I'd better stir up a few extra loaves of rye bread and make some more +cake. You'd better call up Phyllis and Nancy and tell them to let the +washing go and help me." + +Phyllis and Nancy were filled with astonishment and awe at the command +to leave the washing and bake, for, during their twenty years' service +in the house, nothing had ever been allowed to stay the progress of +Monday's washing. + +Before mid-day another messenger came tearing up the New Haven road +and demanded a fresh horse in order to continue the journey to arouse +help and demand haste. He brought the half-past nine news from New +Haven that fifteen hundred men were marching from West Haven Green to +the bridge, that women and children were escaping to the northward and +westward with all the treasure that they could carry, or bury on the +way, because every horse in the town had been taken for the defence. + +He had not finished his story, when from the northward the hastily +equipped militia came hurrying down the road. It was reported that +messengers had been posted from Waterbury Centre to Westbury and to +Northbury; to West Farms and to Farmingbury--all parts of ancient +Waterbury--and soon The City, as it was called in 1779, now Union +City, would be filled with militiamen. + +The messenger from New Haven grew impatient for the fresh horse he had +asked for. While he waited on the porch, Cato, son of Phyllis, whose +duty it was to make ready his steed, sought Mrs. Porter in the +kitchen. + +"Where that New Haven fellow," he asked, "get Massa's horse. He say he +come from New Haven, and he got the horse Ethel went away on." + +"Are you sure, Cato?" + +"Sure's I know Cato," said the boy, "and the horse he knew me--be a +fool if he didn't." + +Mrs. Porter immediately summoned the rider to her presence and learned +from him that about four miles down the road his pony had given out +under haste and heat; that he had met a boy who, pitying its +condition, had offered an exchange of animals, provided the courier +would promise to leave his pony at the Porter Inn and get a fresh +horse there. + +"Just like Ethel!" said Polly. "He'll dally all day now, while that +horse gets rested and fed, or else he'll go on foot. I wonder if I +couldn't catch him!" + +"Polly," said Mrs. Porter, "don't you leave this house to-day without +my permission." + +Poor Mrs. Porter! Truman, her eldest son, had gone. He was sixteen and +had been a "trained" soldier for more than six months; that, the +mother expected; but Ethel, only fourteen, and full of daring and +boyish zeal! Stephen also, the youngest, and the baby, being but ten +years old--he had not yet returned from "stirring up the Hotchkisses." +Had he followed Captain Gideon? + +"Ethel is too far ahead," sighed Polly. "I couldn't catch him now, +even if mother would let me; but here comes Uncle Phineas in his +regimentals, and Aunt Melicent and Polly and little Melicent, and O! +what a crowd! I can't see for the dust! It's better than the +celebration. It's so _real_, so 'strue as you live and breathe and +everything." + +Polly ran to the front door. At that day it opened upon a porch that +extended across the house front. This porch was supported by a line of +white pillars, and a rail along its front had rings inserted in it to +which a horseman could, after dismounting beneath its shelter, secure +his steed. Long ago, this porch was removed and the house itself was +taken from the roadside on the plain below, because of a great +freshet, and removed to its present location. The history of that +porch, of the men and women who dismounted beneath its shelter, or +who, footsore and weary, mounted its steps, would be the history of +the country for more than a century, for the men of Waterbury were in +every enterprise in which the colonies were engaged; but this is the +record of a single day in its eventful life, and we must return to the +porch, where Polly is welcoming Mrs. Melicent Porter with the words: +"Mother will be so glad you have come, Aunt Melicent, for Ethel has +gone off to New Haven and he's miles ahead of catching, and Stephen +hasn't got back yet from 'rousing the Alarm company. Mother wouldn't +_say_ a word, but she has got her mouth fixed and I know she's afraid +he's gone, too. I don't know what father will do when he finds it +out." + +"You go, now," said Mrs. Porter, "and tell your mother that your +father staid to go to the mill. He will not be here for some time." + +While Polly went to the kitchen with the message, Mrs. Melicent +alighted from her horse and, assisting her little daughter Melicent +from the saddle, said: "You are heavier to-day, Milly, than you were +when I threw you to the bank from my horse when it was floating down +the river. I couldn't do it now." + +The instant Major Porter had set little Polly Lewis on the porch Mrs. +Porter was beside him, begging that he would look for Ethel and care +for the boy if he found him. The promise was given, and looking well +despite the uncommon heat, the Major, in all the glory of his military +equipment, set forth. + +From that moment all was noise and call and confusion without. Men +went by singly, in groups, in squads, in companies, mounted and on +foot. It is a matter of public record that twelve militia companies, +with their respective captains, went from Waterbury alone to assist +New Haven in the day of its peril. It is no marvel that they set off +with speed, for the horrors of the Danbury burning was yet fresh in +memory. + +In the long kitchen, as the heated hours went by, the brick oven was +fired again and again until the very stones of the chimney expanded +with glowing heat, and the last swallow forsook its ancient nest in +despair. The sun was in the west when Mr. Porter, with a bag of wheat +on one side of the saddle and a bag of rye on the other, appeared at +the kitchen entrance and summoned help to unload, but his accustomed +helpers were gone. Even Cato, the reliable, was missing. Phyllis and +Nancy received the wheat and the rye. + +"Mother," said Mr. Porter, "I had to do the grinding myself--couldn't +find a man to do it, and I knew it couldn't be done here to-day, +water's too low. Where are the boys?" he questioned, as he entered and +looked around. When informed, his sole ejaculation was, "I ought to +have known that boys always have gone and always will go after +soldiers." + +"Don't worry, mother," he added to his wife, as she stood looking +wistfully down the road. + +There were tears in her eyes as she said: "Not a boy left." + +"Why yes, mother, here comes Stephen and Stiles Hotchkiss up the road. +My! how tired and hot the boys and the horses do look!" exclaimed +Polly. + +Stephen waited for no reprimand. He forestalled it by saying: "Captain +Hotchkiss let Stiles and me go far enough to _see_ the British +troops--way off, ever so far--but we saw 'em, we did, didn't we, +Stiles?" + +"Come! come!" said Mr. Porter, while the lad's mother stood with her +hand on his head. "Stephen, tell us all about it!" + +"Captain Hotchkiss said he was a boy once, and if we'd promise him to +go home the minute he told us to, he'd take us along. Well! we kept +meeting folks running away from New Haven, with everything on 'em but +their heads. One woman was lugging a lot of salt pork, 'because she +couldn't bear to have the Britishers eat it all up;' and another woman +was carrying away a lot of candles hanging by a string, and the sun +had melted the last drop of tallow, leaving the wicks dangling against +the tallow on her dress, but she didn't know it; and mother, would +you believe it--Mr. Timothy Atwater told Captain Hotchkiss that he +met a woman whom he knew hurrying out of town with a cat in her arms. +When he asked her where her children were, she said, 'Why, at home I +suppose.' 'Well,' said Mr. Atwater, 'hadn't you better leave the cat +and go back and get them?' And she said, 'Perhaps she had,' and went +back for 'em." + +"What became of the cat?" asked Mrs. Melicent Porter. + +"Why, Aunt Melicent, how nice!" cried Stephen, running back to the +porch and returning with a cat in his arms. + +"I've fetched her to you. I _knew_ you loved cats so! Here she is, +black as ink, and she stuck to the saddle every step of the way like a +true soldier's cat. I was afraid she'd run away when I took her off +the saddle, and I hid her. You know mother don't like cats around +under her feet." + +In a minute pussy was on the floor, and the last drop of milk in the +house was set before her by little Polly Lewis. Little Melicent +cooed softly to her, while Stephen and Stiles went on with their +story,--from which it was learned that the boys had gone within a +mile of Hotchkisstown (now Westville), where, from a height, they +had a view of the British troops. The lads were filled with +admiration of the marching, "as though it was all one motion," of +the "mingling colors of the uniforms worn, as the bright red of the +English Foot Guards blended with the graver hues of the dress worn +by the German mercenaries," and of "the waving line of glittering +bayonets." + +"We didn't see," said Stephen, "but just one flash of musketry, +because Stiles's father said we must start that instant for home, and +he told Stiles to stay here until morning, and we haven't had a +mouthful to eat since breakfast, and its been the hottest day that +ever was, and I'm tired to death." + +"And the cows are on the hill and nobody here to fetch them down," +sighed Mr. Porter. + +"Such a lot of captains waiting to see you, father!" announced Polly. +"There's Captain Woodruff and Captain Castle and Captain Richards and +a Fenn captain and a Garnsey captain. I forget the rest." The captains +invaded the kitchen itself, declaring that it being Monday in the +week, every householder had been short of provisions for the +emergency--that every inn on the way and many a private house had been +unable to provide enough for so many men, and what could they have at +the Porter Inn? + +Polly disappeared. Before her father had considered the matter she +had, assisted by her Aunt Melicent and Polly Lewis, seized from the +pantry shelves all that they could carry, and going by a rear way, had +hidden on the garret stairs a big roast of veal, one of lamb, and +enough bread and pies for family requirements, and still the pantry +shelves seemed amply filled. "I'm not going to have Ethel come home in +the night and find nothing left for him I know, and the hungry boys +fast asleep and tired out on the kitchen settle will come to life +ravenous. Wonder if I hadn't better be missing just now and go fetch +the cows down. Father would have asthma all night if he tried it," +said Polly to her aunt; and up the hill Polly went accompanied by +little Polly--while Mrs. Porter stood by and saw the fruits of her +hard day's work vanish out of sight. + +"Pray leave something for your own household," she ventured to +intercede at last. "Don't forget that we have four guests of our own +for the night;" but Mr. Porter, rather proud to show that, however +remiss others had been, the Porter Inn was prepared for emergencies, +had already bidden Nancy and Phyllis fetch forth the last loaf. + +"Like one for supper," ventured Nancy, as her master carefully +examined the empty larder, hoping to find something more. As the last +captain from Northbury started on the night journey for New Haven, Mr. +Porter faced his wife. "Now Thomas Porter," she said, "you can go +hungry to bed, but what can I do for my guests and the children and +the rest of the household?" + +Mr. Porter scratched his head--a habit when profoundly in doubt--and +said: "I must fetch the cows! It's most dark now," and set forth, to +find that Polly had them all safely in the cattle yard. + +"I suppose, father," said Polly, "that we've got to live on milk +to-night. I thought so when I heard you parleying with the captains. +So I thought I'd get the cows down." As Polly entered the house, she +saw a lady and two girls of about her own age, to whom her mother was +saying: "We will give you shelter, gladly, but my husband has just let +the militia you met just below have the last morsel of cooked food in +our house, and we've nothing left for ourselves but milk for supper." + +"Mother," said Polly, stepping to the front; "we have plenty! I looked +out for you before father got to the pantry. I made journeys to the +garret stairs, several of them, and Aunt Melicent and Polly Lewis +helped me. It is all right for the lady to stay." + +The lady in question was Mrs. Thankful Punderson and her twin +daughters, girls of twelve years, who had escaped from New Haven just +as the British troops reached Broadway, and the riot and plunder and +killing began. "I hoped," she said, "to reach the house of my +husband's sister, Mrs. Zachariah Thompson, in Westbury, but Anna and +Thankful are too tired to walk further to-night, and the horse can +carry but two. It is getting late, and I am so thankful to stay." + +As Mr. Porter stood on the porch looking down the road for the next +arrival, hoping to learn some later news and perhaps to hear Ethel's +cheery call in the distance, Polly said: "Father, will you let me be +innkeeper to-night?" + +"Gladly, Polly, with nothing to keep and not a room to spare," was his +reply. + +"Then I'll invite you to supper, and mind, if the ministers themselves +come, they can't have a bite to-night, for I'm the keeper." + +"I suppose you've made us some hasty pudding while the milking was +going on," he said, as Polly, preceding her father for once, went +before, and opened the door upon a table abundantly supplied, and laid +for twelve. + +At the table Mr. Porter told, for the benefit of Mrs. Melicent Porter +and Mrs. Punderson, some of the events, both pathetic and tragic, +that had occurred in the old house during his boyhood and youth, and +Mrs. Melicent Porter told again the events of the day in June--only +a year before--wherein the battle of Monmouth had been fought near +her New Jersey home, and she had spent the day in doing what she +could to relieve the sufferings of men so spent with battle and heat +and wounds that they panted to her door with tongues hanging from +their mouths; also of her perilous journey from New Jersey to +Connecticut on horseback, accompanied by Lieutenant-Colonel +Baldwin, her father--during which journey it was, that she had +thrown her daughter Melicent in safety from her horse to the bank +of the river they were fording, while the animal, having lost its +footing, was going down the current. + +While these things had been in the telling, Polly had slipped from the +table unnoticed, and had lighted every lamp that could brighten the +house front and serve to guide to its porch. The last lamp was just +alight when Polly's guests began to arrive. She half expected +soldiers, and refugees came. It seemed to her that every family in New +Haven must be related to every family in Waterbury--so many women and +children came in to rest themselves before continuing the journey and +"to wait until the moon should rise," for the evening was very dark, +and oh! the stories that each fresh arrival brought! They filled the +group that came in to listen with fear and agony. New Haven was very +near to Waterbury in that day. The inhabitants there were closely +connected with the inhabitants here, and their peril and distress was +a common woe. Little Stiles Hotchkiss cried himself to sleep that +night, fearing that one of the three Hotchkisses, reported killed, +might be his father. + +Polly acted well her part. To the children she gave fresh milk; to +their elders she explained that the militia had taken their supplies, +while she made place to receive two or three invalids who could go no +further, by giving up her own room. + +"You'll let me lie on the floor in your room, Aunt Melicent, I know," +she said, "for the poor lady is so old and so feeble; I'm most sure +she is a hundred. She came in a chaise and wanted to get up to Parson +Leavenworth's, but she just can't. She can't hold up her head." + +It was near midnight when the refugees set forth for the Center, Mr. +Porter himself acting as guide. After that time, the sleepy boys and +the entire household having taken themselves to bed, the old house was +left to the night, with its silence and its chill dampness that always +comes up from the river, that goes on "singing to us the same bonny +nonsense," despite our cheer or our sorrow. Again, and yet again +through the night, doors opened and two mothers stepped out in the +moonlight to listen, hoping--hoping to hear sound of the coming of the +boys, but only the lone cry of the whippoorwill was borne on the air. + +"'Pears like," said Phyllis to Mrs. Porter in the morning, "the +whippoorwills had lots to say last night; talked all night so's you +couldn't hear nothing 'tall." + +"Phyllis," said Mrs. Porter, "there was nothing else to hear, but we +shall know soon." + +Polly came down, bringing her checked linen apron full of eggs for +breakfast. "I thought, mother," she said, "that you'd leave yourself +without an egg yesterday, so I looked out. Isn't it handy to have them +in the house? Haven't heard a single cackle this morning yet, but +yesterday was a remarkable day everyway. I believe the hens knew the +British were coming. Did you ever see such eggs? Wonder if my old lady +is awake yet! Guess I'll carry up some hot water for her and find +out." + +Polly poured the water deftly from the big iron tea-kettle hanging +from the crane and hurried away with it, only to return with such +haste that she tripped on the threshold, broke the pitcher and sent +the water over everything it could reach. "Mother," she said, +recovering herself, "Parson Leavenworth will be here to breakfast. +He's coming down the road with father. My old lady will feel honored, +won't she? I know he's come for her. Phyllis, any more hot water to +spare? It's so good to take out wrinkles; she'll miss it, I know." + +The sun had not climbed over Great Hill when breakfast was over, and +the last guest of the night had gone. Mrs. Punderson's daughter Anna +rode behind the Rev. Mark Leavenworth on his horse, Thankful with Mrs. +Punderson, the old lady in the chaise, and even Stiles had galloped +away toward the east, and yet not a traveler on the road had brought +tidings from New Haven. The group on the porch watching the departure +had not dispersed when Polly's ears caught a strain floating up the +river valley. She listened. She ran. She clasped her mother in her +arms. She kissed her. She whispered in her ear, "I hear him! He's +coming! Ethel is; and Cato is with him!" she cried out, embracing +Phyllis in her joy. The two mothers--the one white, the other black; +the one free, the other in bonds--went to listen. They stood side by +side on the porch; tears fell from their eyes, tears that through all +the years science has failed to distinguish, the one from the other. +Ethel's cheery call rang clear and clearer. Cato's wild cadence grew +near and nearer, but when the boys rode up beside the porch, Mrs. +Porter was on her knees in the little bed-room off the parlor, and +Phyllis was in the kitchen. New England mothers, both of them! Their +sorrows they could bear; their joys they hid from sight. + +WATERBURY, CONN., September, 1898. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Incorrect quotes and a few obvious typos (hugh/huge, fireams/firearms, +and ziz/zig) have been fixed. + +Otherwise, the author's original spelling has been preserved; e.g. +Yankeys, afright and affright, and the incorrect usage of 'its'. + +Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. 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Prichard, a Project Gutenberg eBook</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + .center, .center p {text-align: center;} + .larger {font-size: large;} + .padtop {margin-top: 2em;} + .sig2 {display: block; padding-right: 5em; text-align: right;} + .smaller {font-size: small;} + .trnote {background-color: #EEE; color: inherit; margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: small; padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; border: dotted 1px gray;} + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 90%;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + ins {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + pre {font-size: 0.7em; clear: both;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center; font-weight: bold;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .chsub {font-size: .8em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .smcaplc {text-transform: lowercase; font-variant: small-caps;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. Prichard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Only Woman in the Town + And Other Tales of the American Revolution + +Author: Sarah J. Prichard + +Release Date: August 3, 2010 [EBook #33334] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Darleen Dove, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='Book Cover' title='Daughters of the Revolution symbol' width='291' height='229' /> +<br /> +</div> +<div class='center'> +<h1>The Only Woman in the Town</h1> +<p class='larger'><b>And Other Tales of the<br /> American Revolution</b></p> +<p class='padtop'><span class='smcaplc'>BY</span><br /> +<span class='larger'>SARAH J. PRICHARD</span></p> +<p><i>Author of the History of Waterbury, 1674-1783</i></p> +<p class='padtop'>PUBLISHED BY<br /> +MELICENT PORTER CHAPTER<br /> +<span class='smcap'>Daughters of the American Revolution<br /> +Waterbury, Conn.<br /> +1898</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='smaller'>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898<br /> +By the <span class='smcap'>Melicent Porter Chapter</span><br /> +Daughters of the American Revolution,<br /> +In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' width='456' height='423' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +THE OLD PORTER HOUSE<br /> +<br /> +In it were sheltered and cared for many soldiers in the War of the Revolution<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='PREFACE' id='PREFACE'></a> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +</div> +<p>The celebration of the Centennial Anniversary of +the United States at the city of Philadelphia in 1876, +and the exhibit there made of that nation’s wonderful +growth and progress, gave a new and remarkable +impulse to the germs of patriotism in American life. +The following tales of the American Revolution—with +the exception of the last—were written twenty-two +years ago, and are the outcome of an interest +then awakened. They all appeared in magazines +and other publications of that period, from which +they have been gathered into this volume, in the +hope that thereby patriotism may grow stronger in +the children of to-day.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp' style='padding-top:0'> +<a name='CONTENTS' id='CONTENTS'></a> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +</div> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td /> + <td valign='top' align='right'><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Only Woman in the Town</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_ONLY_WOMAN_IN_THE_TOWN'>9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Windham Lamb in Boston Town</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_WINDHAM_LAMB_IN_BOSTON_TOWN'>38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>How One Boy Helped the British Troops Out of Boston in 1776</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#HOW_ONE_BOY_HELPED_THE_BRITISH_TROOPS_OUT_OF_BOSTON_IN_1776'>47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Pussy Dean’s Beacon Fire</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#PUSSY_DEANS_BEACON_FIRE_MARCH_17_1776'>67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>David Bushnell and His American Turtle</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#DAVID_BUSHNELL_AND_HIS_AMERICAN_TURTLE_THE_FIRST_SUBMARINE_BOAT_INVENTED'>75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Birthday of Our Nation</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_BIRTHDAY_OF_OUR_NATION'>117</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Overthrow of the Statue of King George</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_OVERTHROW_OF_THE_STATUE_OF_KING_GEORGE'>127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Sleet and Snow</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#SLEET_AND_SNOW'>135</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Patty Rutter: The Quaker Doll who slept in Independence Hall</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#PATTY_RUTTER_THE_QUAKER_DOLL_WHO_SLEPT_IN_INDEPENDENCE_HALL'>151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Becca Blackstone’s Turkeys at Valley Forge</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BECCA_BLACKSTONES_TURKEYS_AT_VALLEY_FORGE'>159</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>How Two Little Stockings Saved Fort Safety</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#HOW_TWO_LITTLE_STOCKINGS_SAVED_FORT_SAFETY'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Day and a Night in the Old Porter House</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_DAY_AND_A_NIGHT_IN_THE_OLD_PORTER_HOUSE'>181</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_ONLY_WOMAN_IN_THE_TOWN' id='THE_ONLY_WOMAN_IN_THE_TOWN'></a> +<h2>THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN.</h2> +</div> +<p>One hundred years and one ago, in +Boston, at ten of the clock one April +night, a church steeple had been +climbed and a lantern hung out.</p> +<p>At ten, the same night, in mid-river of the +Charles, oarsmen two, with passenger silent and +grim, had seen the signal light out-swung, and +rowed with speed for the Charlestown shore.</p> +<p>At eleven, the moon was risen, and the grim +passenger, Paul Revere, had ridden up the Neck, +encountered a foe, who opposed his ride into the +country, and, after a brief delay, had gone on, +leaving a British officer lying in a clay pit.</p> +<p>At midnight, a hundred ears had heard the +flying horseman cry, “Up and arm. The Regulars +are coming out!”</p> +<p>You know the story well. You have heard +how the wild alarm ran from voice to voice and +echoed beneath every roof, until the men of Lexington +and Concord were stirred and aroused +with patriotic fear for the safety of the public +stores that had been committed to their keeping.</p> +<p>You know how, long ere the chill April day +began to dawn, they had drawn, by horse power +and by hand power, the cherished stores into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +safe hiding-places in the depth of friendly forest-coverts.</p> +<p>There is one thing about that day that you +have <i>not</i> heard and I will tell you now. It is, +how one little woman staid in the town of Concord, +whence all the women save her had fled.</p> +<p>All the houses that were standing then, are +very old-fashioned now, but there was one dwelling-place +on Concord Common that was old-fashioned +even then! It was the abode of Martha +Moulton and “Uncle John.” Just who “Uncle +John” was, is not known to the writer, but he +was probably Martha Moulton’s uncle. The +uncle, it appears by record, was eighty-five years +old; while the niece was <i>only</i> three-score and +eleven.</p> +<p>Once and again that morning, a friendly hand +had pulled the latch-string at Martha Moulton’s +kitchen entrance and offered to convey herself +and treasures away, but, to either proffer, she had +said: “No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the +cricks out of his back, if all the British soldiers in +the land march into town.”</p> +<p>At last, came Joe Devins, a lad of fifteen years—Joe’s +two astonished eyes peered for a moment +into Martha Moulton’s kitchen, and then eyes and +owner dashed into the room, to learn what the +sight he there saw could mean.</p> +<p>“Whew! Mother Moulton, what are you +doing?”</p> +<p>“I’m getting Uncle John his breakfast to be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +sure, Joe,” she answered. “Have <i>you</i> seen so +many sights this morning that you don’t know +breakfast, when you see it? Have a care there, +for hot fat <i>will</i> burn,” as she deftly poured the +contents of a pan, fresh from the fire, into a dish.</p> +<p>Hungry Joe had been astir since the first drum +had beat to arms at two of the clock. He gave +one glance at the boiling cream and the slices of +crisp pork swimming in it, as he gasped forth the +words, “Getting breakfast in Concord <i>this</i> morning! +<i>Mother Moulton</i>, you <i>must</i> be crazy.”</p> +<p>“So they tell me,” she said, serenely. “There +comes Uncle John!” she added, as the clatter of +a staff on the stone steps of the stairway outrang, +for an instant, the cries of hurrying and confusion +that filled the air of the street.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know, Mother Moulton,” Joe went +on to say, “that every single woman and child +have been carried off, where the Britishers won’t +find ’em?”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe the king’s troops have stirred +out of Boston,” she replied, going to the door +leading to the stone staircase, to open it for Uncle +John.</p> +<p>“Don’t believe it?” and Joe looked, as he +echoed the words, as though only a boy could +feel sufficient disgust at such a want of common +sense, in full view of the fact, that Reuben Brown +had just brought the news that eight men had +been killed by the king’s Red Coats in Lexington, +which fact he made haste to impart.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></div> +<p>“I won’t believe a word of it,” she said, stoutly, +“until I see the soldiers coming.”</p> +<p>“Ah! Hear that!” cried Joe, tossing back his +hair and swinging his arms triumphantly at an +airy foe. “You won’t have to wait long. <i>That +signal</i> is for the minute men. They are going to +march out to meet the Red Coats. Wish I was a +minute man, this minute.”</p> +<p>Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down +the steps of the stairway, with many a grimace +and groan. As he touched the floor, Joe, his face +beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, sprang +to place a chair for him at the table, saying, +“Good morning,” at the same moment.</p> +<p>“May be,” groaned Uncle John, “youngsters +<i>like you may</i> think it is a good morning, but <i>I don’t</i>. +Such a din and clatter as the fools have kept up all +night long. If I had the power” (and now the +poor old man fairly groaned with rage), “I’d make +’em quiet long enough to let an old man get a wink +of sleep, when the rheumatism lets go.”</p> +<p>“I’m real sorry for you,” said Joe, “but you +don’t know the news. The king’s troops, from +camp, in Boston, are marching right down here, +to carry off all our arms that they can find.”</p> +<p>“Are they?” was the sarcastic rejoinder. “It’s +the best news I’ve heard in a long while. Wish +they had my arms, this minute. They wouldn’t +carry them a step further than they could help, I +know. Run and tell them that mine are ready, +Joe.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>“But, Uncle John, wait until after breakfast, +you’ll want to use them once more,” said Martha +Moulton, trying to help him into a chair that Joe +had placed on the white sanded floor.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the +sounds that penetrated the kitchen from out of +doors, and he had eyes for the slices of well-browned +pork and the golden-hued Johnny-cake lying +before the glowing coals on the broad hearth.</p> +<p>As the little woman bent to take up the breakfast, +Joe, intent on doing some kindness for her in +the way of saving treasures, asked, “Sha’n’t I help +you, Mother Moulton?”</p> +<p>“I reckon I am not so old that I can’t lift a mite +of corn-bread,” she replied with chilling severity.</p> +<p>“Oh, I didn’t mean to lift <i>that thing</i>,” he made +haste to explain, “but to carry off things and hide +’em away, as everybody else has been doing half +the night. I know a first-rate place up in the +woods. Used to be a honey tree, you know, and +it’s just as hollow as anything. Silver spoons and +things would be just as safe in it—” but Joe’s +words were interrupted by unusual tumult on the +street and he ran off to learn the news, intending +to return and get the breakfast that had been +offered to him.</p> +<p>Presently he rushed back to the house with +cheeks aflame and eyes ablaze with excitement. +“They’re coming!” he cried. “They’re in sight +down by the rocks. They see ’em marching, the +men on the hill do!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div> +<p>“You don’t mean that it’s really true that the +soldiers are coming here, <i>right into our town</i>!” +cried Martha Moulton, rising in haste and bringing +together, with rapid flourishes to right and to +left, every fragment of silver on it. Divining her +intent, Uncle John strove to hold fast his individual +spoon, but she twitched it without ceremony +out from his rheumatic old fingers, and ran +next to the parlor cupboard, wherein lay her +movable treasures.</p> +<p>“What in the world shall I do with them?” she +cried, returning with her apron well filled, and +borne down by the weight thereof.</p> +<p>“Give ’em to me,” cried Joe. “Here’s a basket. +Drop ’em in, and I’ll run like a brush-fire +through the town and across the old bridge, and +hide ’em as safe as a weasel’s nap.”</p> +<p>Joe’s fingers were creamy; his mouth was half +filled with Johnny-cake, and his pocket on the +right bulged to its utmost capacity with the same, +as he held forth the basket; but the little woman +was afraid to trust him, as she had been afraid to +trust her neighbors.</p> +<p>“No! No!” she replied, to his repeated offers. +“I know what I’ll do. You, Joe Devins, stay +right where you are until I come back, and, don’t +you even <i>look</i> out of the window.”</p> +<p>“Dear, dear me!” she cried, flushed and +anxious when she was out of sight of Uncle +John and Joe. “I <i>wish</i> I’d given ’em to Colonel +Barrett when he was here before daylight, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +only, I <i>was</i> afraid I should never get sight of +them again.”</p> +<p>She drew off one of her stockings, filled it, tied +the opening at the top with a string—plunged +stocking and all into a pail full of water and proceeded +to pour the contents into the well.</p> +<p>Just as the dark circle had closed over the blue +stocking, Joe Devins’ face peered down the depths +by her side, and his voice sounded out the words: +“O Mother Moulton, the British will search the +wells the <i>very</i> first thing. Of course, they <i>expect</i> +to find things in wells!”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me before, Joe? but now +it is too late.”</p> +<p>“I would, if I had known what you was going +to do; they’d been a sight safer in the honey +tree.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and what a fool I’ve been—flung <i>my watch</i> +into the well with the spoons!”</p> +<p>“Well, well! Don’t stand there, looking!” as +she hovered over the high curb, with her hand on +the bucket. “Everybody will know, if you do.”</p> +<p>“Martha! Martha!” shrieked Uncle John’s +quavering voice from the house door.</p> +<p>“Bless my heart!” she exclaimed, hurrying +back over the stones.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with your heart?” questioned +Joe.</p> +<p>“Nothing. I was thinking of Uncle John’s +money,” she answered.</p> +<p>“Has he got money?” cried Joe. “I thought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +he was poor, and you took care of him because +you were so good!”</p> +<p>Not one word that Joe uttered did the little +woman hear. She was already by Uncle John’s +side and asking him for the key to his strong box.</p> +<p>Uncle John’s rheumatism was terribly exasperating. +“No, I won’t give it to you!” he cried, +“and nobody shall have it as long as I am above +ground.”</p> +<p>“Then the soldiers will carry it off,” she said.</p> +<p>“Let ’em!” was his reply, grasping his staff +firmly with both hands and gleaming defiance out +of his wide, pale eyes. “<i>You</i> won’t get the key, +even if they do.”</p> +<p>At this instant, a voice at the doorway shouted +the words, “Hide, hide away somewhere, Mother +Moulton, for the Red Coats are in sight this minute!”</p> +<p>She heard the warning, and giving one glance +at Uncle John, which look was answered by +another “No, you won’t have it,” she grasped +Joe Devins by the collar of his jacket and thrust +him before her up the staircase so quickly that +the boy had no chance to speak, until she released +her hold, on the second floor, at the entrance to +Uncle John’s room.</p> +<p>The idea of being taken a prisoner in such a +manner, and by a woman, too, was too much for +the lad’s endurance. “Let me go!” he cried, +the instant he could recover his breath. “I won’t +hide away in your garret, like a woman, I won’t. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +I want to see the militia and the minute men fight +the troops, I do.”</p> +<p>“Help me first, Joe. Here, quick now! Let’s +get this box out and up garret. We’ll hide it +under the corn and it’ll be safe,” she coaxed.</p> +<p>The box was under Uncle John’s bed.</p> +<p>“What’s in the old thing anyhow?” questioned +Joe, pulling with all his strength at it.</p> +<p>The box, or chest, was painted red, and was +bound about by massive iron bands.</p> +<p>“I’ve never seen the inside of it,” said Mother +Moulton. “It holds the poor old soul’s sole +treasure, and I <i>do</i> want to save it for him if I can.”</p> +<p>They had drawn it with much hard endeavor as +far as the garret stairs, but their united strength +failed to lift it. “Heave it, now!” cried Joe, and +lo! it was up two steps. So they turned it over +and over with many a thudding thump;—every one +of which thumps Uncle John heard and believed +to be strokes upon the box itself to burst it asunder—until +it was fairly shelved on the garret floor.</p> +<p>In the very midst of the overturnings, a voice +from below had been heard crying out, “Let my +box alone! Don’t you break it open! If you do, +I’ll—I’ll—” but, whatever the poor man <i>meant</i> to +threaten as a penalty, he could not think of anything +half severe enough to say, so left it uncertain +as to the punishment that might be looked for.</p> +<p>“Poor old soul!” ejaculated the little woman, +her soft white curls in disorder and the pink color +rising from her cheeks to her fair forehead, as she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +bent to help Joe drag the box beneath the rafter’s +edge.</p> +<p>“Now, Joe,” she said, “we’ll heap nubbins +over it, and if the soldiers want corn they’ll take +good ears and never think of touching poor +nubbins.” So they fell to work throwing corn over +the red chest, until it was completely concealed +from view.</p> +<p>Then Joe sprang to the high-up-window ledge in +the point of the roof and took one glance out. +“Oh, I see them, the Red Coats! ’Strue’s I live, +there go our militia <i>up the hill</i>. I thought they +was going to stand and defend. Shame on ’em, I +say!” Jumping down and crying back to Mother +Moulton, “I’m going to stand by the minute +men,” he went down, three steps at a leap, and +nearly overturned Uncle John on the stairs, who, +with many groans, was trying to get to the defense +of his strong box.</p> +<p>“What did you help her for, you scamp?” he +demanded of Joe, flourishing his staff unpleasantly +near the lad’s head.</p> +<p>“’Cause she asked me to, and couldn’t do it +alone,” returned Joe, dodging the stick and +disappearing from the scene at the very moment +Martha Moulton encountered Uncle John.</p> +<p>“Your strong box is safe under nubbins in the +garret, unless the house burns down, and now that +you are up here, you had better stay,” she added +soothingly, as she hastened by him to reach the +kitchen below.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></div> +<p>Once there, she paused a second or two to take +resolution regarding her next act. She knew full +well that there was not one second to spare, and +yet she stood looking, apparently, into the glowing +embers on the hearth. She was flushed and +excited, both by the unwonted toil and the +coming events. Cobwebs from the rafters had +fallen on her hair and homespun dress, and would +readily have betrayed her late occupation to any +discerning soldier of the king.</p> +<p>A smile broke suddenly over her fair face, +displacing for a brief second every trace of care. +“It’s my old weapon, and I must use it,” she said, +making a stately courtesy to an imaginary guest, +and straightway disappeared within an adjoining +room. With buttoned door and dropped curtains +the little woman made haste to array herself in her +finest raiment. In five minutes she reappeared in +the kitchen, a picture pleasant to look at. In all +New England, there could not be a more beautiful +little old lady than Martha Moulton was that day. +Her hair was guiltless now of cobwebs, but haloed +her face with fluffy little curls of silvery whiteness, +above which, like a crown, was a little cap of +dotted muslin, pure as snow. Her erect figure, +not a particle of the hard-working-day in it now, +carried well the folds of a sheeny, black silk gown, +over which she had tied an apron as spotless as +the cap.</p> +<p>As she fastened back her gown and hurried +away the signs of the breakfast she had not eaten, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +the clear pink tints seemed to come out with +added beauty of coloring in her cheeks, while her +hair seemed fairer and whiter than at any moment +in her three-score and eleven years.</p> +<p>Once more, Joe Devins looked in. As he caught +a glimpse of the picture she made, he paused to +cry out: “All dressed up to meet the robbers! +My, how fine you do look! I wouldn’t. I’d go +and hide behind the nubbins. They’ll be here in +less than five minutes now,” he cried, “and I’m +going over the North Bridge to see what’s going +on there.”</p> +<p>“O Joe, stay, won’t you?” she urged, but the +lad was gone, and she was left alone to meet the +foe, comforting herself with the thought, “They’ll +treat me with more respect if I <i>look</i> respectable, +and if I <i>must</i> die, I’ll die good-looking in my best +clothes, anyhow.”</p> +<p>She threw a few sticks of hickory-wood on the +embers and then drew out the little round stand, +on which the family Bible was always lying. +Recollecting that the British soldiers probably +belonged to the Church of England, she hurried +away to fetch Uncle John’s “prayer book.”</p> +<p>“They’ll have respect to me, if they find me +reading that, I know,” she thought. Having +drawn the round stand within sight of the well, +and where she could also command a view of the +staircase, she sat and waited for coming events.</p> +<p>Uncle John was keeping watch of the advancing +troops from an upper window. “Martha,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +called, “you’d better come up. They’re close +by, now.” To tell the truth, Uncle John himself +was a little afraid; that is to say, he hadn’t quite +courage enough to go down and, perhaps, encounter +his own rheumatism and the king’s soldiers on +the same stairway, and yet, he felt that he must +defend Martha as well as he could.</p> +<p>The rap of a musket, quick and ringing, on the +front door, startled the little woman from her +apparent devotions. She did not move at the +call of anything so profane. It was the custom of +the time to have the front door divided into two +parts, the lower half and the upper half. The former +was closed and made fast, the upper could be +swung open at will.</p> +<p>The soldier getting no reply, and doubtless +thinking that the house was deserted, leaped over +the chained lower half of the door.</p> +<p>At the clang of his bayonet against the brass +trimmings, Martha Moulton groaned in spirit, for, +if there was any one thing that she deemed essential +to her comfort in this life, it was to keep spotless, +speckless and in every way unharmed, the +great knocker on her front door.</p> +<p>“Good, sound English metal, too,” she thought, +“that an English soldier ought to know how to +respect.”</p> +<p>As she heard the tramp of coming feet she only +bent the closer over the Book of Prayer that lay +open on her knee. Not one word did she read or +see; she was inwardly trembling and outwardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +watching the well and the staircase. But now, +above all other sounds, broke the noise of Uncle +John’s staff thrashing the upper step of the staircase, +and the shrill, tremulous cry of the old man, +defiant, doing his utmost for the defense of his +castle.</p> +<p>The fingers that lay beneath the book tingled +with desire to box the old man’s ears, for the policy +he was pursuing would be fatal to the treasure +in garret and in well; but she was forced to +silence and inactivity.</p> +<p>As the king’s troops, Major Pitcairn at their +head, reached the open door and saw the old lady, +they paused. What could they do but look, for a +moment, at the unexpected sight that met their +view: a placid old lady in black silk and dotted +muslin, with all the sweet solemnity of morning +devotion hovering about the tidy apartment and +seeming to centre at the round stand by which she +sat,—this pretty woman, with pink and white face +surmounted with fleecy little curls and crinkles +and wisps of floating whiteness, who looked up to +meet their gaze with such innocent, prayer-suffused +eyes.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Mother,” said Major Pitcairn, +raising his hat.</p> +<p>“Good morning, gentlemen and soldiers,” returned +Martha Moulton. “You will pardon my +not meeting you at the door, when you see that I +was occupied in rendering service to the Lord of +all.” She reverently closed the book, laid it on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +the table, and arose, with a stately bearing, to +demand their wishes.</p> +<p>“We’re hungry, good woman,” spoke the commander, +“and your hearth is the only hospitable +one we’ve seen since we left Boston. With your +good leave I’ll take a bit of this,” and he stooped +to lift up the Johnny-cake that had been all this +while on the hearth.</p> +<p>“I wish I had something better to offer you,” +she said, making haste to fetch plates and knives +from the corner-cupboard, and all the while she +was keeping eye-guard over the well. “I’m +afraid the Concorders haven’t left much for you +to-day,” she added, with a soft sigh of regret, as +though she really felt sorry that such brave men +and good soldiers had fallen on hard times in the +ancient town. At the moment she had brought +forth bread and baked beans, and was putting +them on the table, a voice rang into the room, +causing every eye to turn toward Uncle John. +He had gotten down the stairs without uttering +one audible groan, and was standing, one step +above the floor of the room, brandishing and +whirling his staff about in a manner to cause +even rheumatism to flee the place, while at the +top of his voice he cried out:</p> +<p>“Martha Moulton, how <i>dare</i> you <i>feed</i> these—these—monsters—in +human form?”</p> +<p>“Don’t mind him, gentlemen, <i>please</i> don’t,” +she made haste to say; “he’s old, <i>very</i> old; +eighty-five, his last birthday, and—a little hoity-toity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +at times,” pointing deftly with her finger +in the region of the reasoning powers in her +own shapely head.</p> +<p>Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a +dish of beans, she contrived to say, under cover +of it:</p> +<p>“You see, sir, I couldn’t go away and leave him; +he is almost distracted with rheumatism, and +this excitement to-day will kill him, I’m afraid.”</p> +<p>Advancing toward the staircase with bold and +soldierly front, Major Pitcairn said to Uncle John:</p> +<p>“Stand aside, old man, and we’ll hold you +harmless.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you will, you red-trimmed +trooper, you,” was the reply; and, with a dexterous +swing of the wooden staff, he mowed off and +down three military hats.</p> +<p>Before any one had time to speak, Martha +Moulton, adroitly stooping, as though to recover +Major Pitcairn’s hat, which had rolled to her feet, +swung the stairway-door into its place with a +resounding bang, and followed up that achievement +with a swift turn of two large wooden +buttons, one high up, and the other low down, on +the door.</p> +<p>“There!” she said, “he is safe out of mischief +for a while, and your heads are safe as well. Pardon +a poor old man, who does not know what he +is about.”</p> +<p>“He seems to know remarkably well,” exclaimed +an officer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle +John’s wrath knew no bounds. In his frantic +endeavors to burst the fastenings of the wooden +buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried +the day, leaving him out of the battle.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, a company of soldiers clustered +about the door. The king’s horses were fed within +five feet of the great brass knocker, while, +within the house, the beautiful little old woman, +in her Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal +honors of the day to the foes of her country. +Watching her, one would have thought she was +entertaining heroes returned from the achievement +of valiant deeds, whereas, in her own heart, +she knew full well that she was giving a little, to +save much.</p> +<p>Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity +with which she fetched water from the well for +the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn gallantly +ordered his men to do the service, the little soul +was in alarm; she was so afraid that “somehow, +in some way or another, the blue stocking would +get hitched on to the bucket.” She knew that +she must to its rescue, and so she bravely +acknowledged herself to have taken a vow (when, +she did not say), to draw all the water that was +taken from that well.</p> +<p>“A remnant of witchcraft!” remarked a soldier +within hearing.</p> +<p>“Do I look like a witch?” she demanded.</p> +<p>“If you do,” replied Major Pitcairn, “I admire +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +New England witches, and never would condemn +one to be hung, or burned, or—smothered.”</p> +<p>Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color +on her aged cheeks as at that moment. She felt +bitter shame at the ruse she had attempted, but +silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the +smile that went around at Major Pitcairn’s words, +she was only too glad to go again to the well and +dip slowly the high, over-hanging sweep into the +cool, clear, dark depth below.</p> +<p>During this time the cold, frosty morning +spent itself into the brilliant, shining noon.</p> +<p>You know what happened at Concord on that +19th of April in the year 1775. You have been +told the story—how the men of Acton met and +resisted the king’s troops at the old North Bridge; +how brave Captain Davis and minute-man Hosmer +fell; how the sound of their falling struck down +to the very heart of mother earth, and caused her +to send forth her brave sons to cry “Liberty, or +Death!”</p> +<p>And the rest of the story; the sixty or more +barrels of flour that the king’s troops found and +struck the heads from, leaving the flour in condition +to be gathered again at nightfall, the arms +and powder that they destroyed, the houses they +burned; all these, are they not recorded in every +child’s history in the land?</p> +<p>While these things were going on, for a brief +while, at mid-day, Martha Moulton found her +home deserted. She had not forgotten poor, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +suffering, irate Uncle John in the regions above, +and so, the very minute she had the chance, she +made a strong cup of catnip tea (the real tea, you +know, was brewing in Boston harbor).</p> +<p>She turned the buttons, and, with a bit of +trembling at her heart, such as she had not felt +all day, she ventured up the stairs, bearing +the steaming peace-offering before her.</p> +<p>Uncle John was writhing under the sharp +thorns and twinges of his old enemy, and in no +frame of mind to receive any overtures in the +shape of catnip tea; nevertheless, he was watching, +as well as he was able, the motions of the enemy. +As she drew near, he cried out:</p> +<p>“Look out this window, and see! Much <i>good</i> +all your scheming will do <i>you</i>!”</p> +<p>She obeyed his command to look, and the sight +she then saw caused her to let fall the cup of +catnip tea and rush down the stairs, wringing her +hands as she went, and crying out:</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! what shall I do? The house will +burn and the box up garret. Everything’s lost!”</p> +<p>Major Pitcairn, at that moment, was on the +green in front of her door, giving orders.</p> +<p>Forgetting the dignified part she intended to +play; forgetting everything but the supreme danger +that was hovering in mid-air over her home—the +old house wherein she had been born, and the +only home she had ever known—she rushed out +upon the green, amid the troops and surrounded +by cavalry, and made her way to Major Pitcairn.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></div> +<p>“The court-house is on fire!” she cried, laying +her hand upon the commander’s arm.</p> +<p>He turned and looked at her. Major Pitcairn +had recently learned that the task he had been +set to do in the provincial towns that day was not +an easy one; that, when hard pressed and trodden +down, the despised rustics, in homespun +dress, could sting even English soldiers; and thus +it happened that, when he felt the touch of +Mother Moulton’s plump little old fingers on his +military sleeve, he was not in the pleasant humor +that he had been when the same hand had ministered +to his hunger in the early morning.</p> +<p>“Well, what of it? <i>Let it burn!</i> We won’t +hurt <i>you</i>, if you go in the house and stay there!”</p> +<p>She turned and glanced up at the court-house. +Already flames were issuing from it. “Go in the +house and let it burn, <i>indeed</i>!” thought she. +“He knows <i>me</i>, don’t he? Oh, sir! for the love +of Heaven won’t you stop it?” she said, entreatingly.</p> +<p>“Run in the house, good mother. That is a +wise woman,” he advised.</p> +<p>Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of +lip and brain she wanted to say, “You needn’t +‘mother’ me, you murderous rascals!” but, remembering +everything that was at stake, she +crushed her wrath and buttoned it in as closely as +she had Uncle John behind the door in the morning, +and again, with swift gentleness, laid her +hand on his arm.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>He turned and looked at her. Vexed at her +persistence, and extremely annoyed at intelligence +that had just reached him from the North Bridge, +he said, imperiously, “Get away! or you’ll be +trodden down by the horses!”</p> +<p>“I <i>can’t</i> go!” she cried, clasping his arm, and +fairly clinging to it in her frenzy of excitement. +“Oh, stop the fire, quick, quick! or my house will +burn!”</p> +<p>“I have no time to put out your fires,” he said, +carelessly, shaking loose from her hold and turning +to meet a messenger with news.</p> +<p>Poor little woman! What could she do? The +wind was rising, and the fire grew. Flame was +creeping out in a little blue curl in a new place, +under the rafter’s edge, <i>and nobody cared</i>. That +was what increased the pressing misery of it all. +It was so unlike a common country alarm, where +everybody rushed up and down the streets, crying +“Fire! fire! f-i-r-e!” and went hurrying to +and fro for pails of water to help put it out.</p> +<p>Until that moment the little woman did not +know how utterly deserted she was.</p> +<p>In very despair, she ran to her house, seized +two pails, filled them with greater haste than she +had ever drawn water before, and, regardless of +Uncle John’s imprecations, carried them forth, +one in either hand, the water dripping carelessly +down the side breadths of her fair silk gown, her +silvery curls tossed and tumbled in white confusion, +her pleasant face aflame with eagerness, and +her clear eyes suffused with tears.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></div> +<p>Thus equipped with facts and feeling, she once +more appeared to Major Pitcairn.</p> +<p>“Have you a mother in old England?” she +cried. “If so, for her sake, stop this fire.”</p> +<p>Her words touched his heart.</p> +<p>“And if I do—?” he answered.</p> +<p>“<i>Then your johnny-cake on my hearth won’t burn +up</i>,” she said, with a quick little smile, adjusting +her cap.</p> +<p>Major Pitcairn laughed, and two soldiers, at his +command, seized the pails and made haste to the +court-house, followed by many more.</p> +<p>For awhile the fire seemed victorious, but, by +brave effort, it was finally overcome, and the +court-house saved.</p> +<p>At a distance Joe Devins had noticed the smoke +hovering like a little cloud, then sailing away still +more like a cloud over the town; and he had +made haste to the scene, arriving in time to venture +on the roof, and do good service there.</p> +<p>After the fire was extinguished, he thought of +Martha Moulton, and he could not help feeling a +bit guilty at the consciousness that he had gone +off and left her alone.</p> +<p>Going to the house he found her entertaining +the king’s troopers with the best food her humble +store afforded.</p> +<p>She was so charmed with herself, and so utterly +well pleased with the success of her pleading, +that the little woman’s nerves fairly quivered +with jubilation; and best of all, the blue stocking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +was still safe in the well, for had she not watched +with her own eyes every time the bucket was +dipped to fetch up water for the fire, having, +somehow, got rid of the vow she had taken regarding +the drawing of the water.</p> +<p>As she saw the lad looking, with surprised +countenance, into the room where the feast was +going on, a fear crept up her own face and darted +out from her eyes. It was, lest Joe Devins should +spoil it all by ill-timed words.</p> +<p>She made haste to meet him, basket in hand.</p> +<p>“Here, Joe,” she said, “fetch me some small +wood, there’s a good boy.”</p> +<p>As she gave him the basket she was just in +time to stop the rejoinder that was issuing from +his lips.</p> +<p>In time to intercept his return she was at the +wood-pile.</p> +<p>“Joe,” she said, half-abashed before the truth +that shone in the boy’s eyes—“Joe,” she repeated, +“you know Major Pitcairn ordered the fire put +out, <i>to please me</i>, because I begged him so, and, in +return, what <i>can</i> I do but give them something to +eat? Come and help me.”</p> +<p>“I won’t,” responded he. “Their hands are +red with blood. They’ve killed two men at the +bridge.”</p> +<p>“Who’s killed?” she asked, trembling, but Joe +would not tell her. He demanded to know what +had been done with Uncle John.</p> +<p>“He’s quiet enough, up-stairs,” she replied, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +with a sudden spasm of feeling that she <i>had</i> neglected +Uncle John shamefully; still, with the day, +and the fire and everything, how could she help +it? but, really, it did seem strange that he made +no noise, with a hundred armed men coming and +going through the house.</p> +<p>At least, that was what Joe thought, and, having +deposited the basket of wood on the threshold +of the kitchen door, he departed around the corner +of the house. Presently he had climbed a pear +tree, dropped from one of its overhanging +branches on the lean-to, raised a sash and crept +into the window.</p> +<p>Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring mud, +he proceeded to search for Uncle John. He was +not in his own room; he was not in the guest-chamber; +he was not in any one of the rooms.</p> +<p>On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking +out upon the green, he found the broken cup +and saucer that Martha Moulton had let fall. +Having made a second round, in which he investigated +every closet and penetrated into the +spaces under beds, Joe thought of the garret.</p> +<p>Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the +sanded floors below, drowning every possible +sound from above; nevertheless, as the lad opened +the door leading into the garret, he whispered +cautiously: “Uncle John! Uncle John!”</p> +<p>All was silent above. Joe went up, and was +startled by a groan. He had to stand a few +seconds, to let the darkness grow into light, ere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +he could see; and, when he could discern outlines +in the dimness, there was given to him the +picture of Uncle John, lying helpless amid and +upon the nubbins that had been piled over his +strong box.</p> +<p>“Why, Uncle John, are you dead?” asked Joe, +climbing over to his side.</p> +<p>“Is the house afire?” was the response.</p> +<p>“House afire? No! The confounded Red +Coats up and put it out.”</p> +<p>“I thought they was going to let me burn to +death up here!” groaned Uncle John.</p> +<p>“Can I help you up?” and Joe proffered two +strong hands, rather black with toil and smoke.</p> +<p>“No, no! You can’t help me. If the house +isn’t afire, I’ll stand it till the fellows are gone, +and then, Joe, you fetch the doctor as quick as +you can.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> can’t get a doctor for love nor money this +night, Uncle John. There’s too much work to be +done in Lexington and Concord to-night for +wounded and dying men; and there’ll be more of +’em too afore a single Red Coat sees Boston again. +They’ll be hunted down every step of the way. +They’ve killed Captain Davis, from Acton.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say so!”</p> +<p>“Yes, they have, and—”</p> +<p>“I say, Joe Devins, go down and do—do something. +There’s <i>my niece</i> a-feeding the murderers! +I’ll disown her. She shan’t have a penny of my +pounds, she shan’t!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></div> +<p>Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to +remain in inaction, while below, the weary little +woman acted the kind hostess to His Majesty’s +troops.</p> +<p>But now the feast was spent, and the soldiers +were summoned to begin their painful march. +Assembled on the green, all was ready, when +Major Pitcairn, remembering the little woman +who had ministered to his wants, returned to the +house to say farewell.</p> +<p>’Twas but a step to her door, and but a moment +since he had left it, but he found her crying; crying +with joy, in the very chair where he had +found her at prayers in the morning.</p> +<p>“I would like to say good-by,” he said; “you’ve +been very kind to me to-day.”</p> +<p>With a quick dash or two of the dotted white +apron (spotless no longer) to her eye, she arose. +Major Pitcairn extended his hand, but she folded +her own closely together, and said:</p> +<p>“I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, +sir.”</p> +<p>“Will you not shake hands with me before I +go?”</p> +<p>“I can feed the enemy of my country, but +shake hands with him, <i>never</i>!”</p> +<p>For the first time that day the little woman’s +love of country seemed to rise triumphant within +her, and drown every impulse to selfishness; or, +was it the nearness to safety that she felt? +Human conduct is the result of so many motives +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +that it is sometimes impossible to name the compound, +although on that occasion Martha Moulton +labelled it “Patriotism.”</p> +<p>“And yet I put out the fire for you,” he said.</p> +<p>“For your mother’s sake, in old England, it +was, you remember, sir.”</p> +<p>“I remember,” said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, +as he turned away.</p> +<p>“And for <i>her</i> sake I will shake hands with +you,” said Martha Moulton.</p> +<p>So he turned back, and, across the threshold, in +presence of the waiting troops, the commander of +the expedition to Concord and the only woman +in the town shook hands at parting.</p> +<p>Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his +horse; heard the order given for the march to +begin—the march of which you all have heard. +You know what a sorry time the Red Coats had of +it in getting back to Boston; how they were +fought at every inch of the way, and waylaid +from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and shot +at from tree-tops, and aimed at from upper windows, +and besieged from behind stone walls, and, +in short, made so miserable and harassed and +overworn, that at last their depleted ranks, with +the tongues of the men parched and hanging, +were fain to lie down by the road-side and take +what came next, even though it might be death. +And then <i>the dead</i> they left behind them!</p> +<p>Ah! there’s nothing wholesome to mind or +body about war, until long, long after it is over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +and the earth has had time to hide the blood, and +send forth its sweet blooms of Liberty.</p> +<p>The men of that day are long dead. The same +soil holds regulars and minute-men. England, +which over-ruled, and the provinces, that put out +brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends +to-day, and have shaken hands over many a +threshold of hearty thought and kind deed since +that time.</p> +<p>The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, +for the men of the Revolution planted it well, and +surely, God himself <i>hath</i> given it increase. So we +gather to-day, in this our story, a forget-me-not +more, from the old town of Concord.</p> +<p>When the troops had marched away, the weary +little woman laid aside her silken gown, resumed +her homespun dress, and immediately began to +think of getting Uncle John down-stairs again +into his easy chair; but it required more aid than +she could give, to lift the fallen man. At last, Joe +Devins summoned returning neighbors, who came +to the rescue, and the poor nubbins were left to +the rats once more.</p> +<p>Joe climbed down the well and rescued the +blue stocking, with its treasures unharmed, even +to the precious watch, which watch was Martha +Moulton’s chief treasure, and one of the very few +in the town.</p> +<p>Martha Moulton was the heroine of the day. +The house was besieged by admiring men and +women that night and for two or three days thereafter; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +but when, years later, she being older, and +poorer, even to want, petitioned the General +Court for a reward for the service she rendered +in persuading Major Pitcairn to save the court-house +from burning, there was granted to her +only fifteen dollars, a poor little grant, it is true, +but <i>just enough</i> to carry her story down the years, +whereas, but for that, it might never have been +wafted up and down the land, on the wings of this +story.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +<a name='A_WINDHAM_LAMB_IN_BOSTON_TOWN' id='A_WINDHAM_LAMB_IN_BOSTON_TOWN'></a> +<h2>A WINDHAM LAMB IN BOSTON TOWN.</h2> +</div> +<p>It was one hundred and one years ago +in this very month of June, that nine +men of the old town of Windham—which +lies near the northeast corner +of Connecticut—met at the meeting-house door. +There was no service that day; the doors were +shut, and the bell in the steeple gave no sound.</p> +<p>The town of Windham had appointed the nine +men a committee to ask the inhabitants to give +from their flocks of sheep as many as they could +for the hungry men and women of Boston. Each +man of the committee was told at the meeting-house +door the district in which he was to gather +sheep.</p> +<p>On his stout grey pony sat Ebenezer Devotion. +As soon as he heard the eastern portion of the +town assigned to him, he gave the signal to his +horse, and in five minutes was out of sight over +the high hill. In ten minutes he was near the +famous Frog pond. As he was passing it by, a +voice from the marsh along its bank cried out:</p> +<p>“Where now, so fast, this fine morning, Mr. +Devotion?”</p> +<p>“The same to you, Goodwife Elderkin. I know +your voice, though I can’t see your face.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></div> +<p>Presently a hand parted the thicket and a +woman’s face appeared.</p> +<p>“I’m getting flag-root. It gives a twang to +root beer that nothing else will, and the flag hereabout +is the twangiest I know of. Stop at the +house as you go along and get some beer, won’t +you? Mary Ann’s to home.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Mr. Devotion, with a stiff +bow. “It’s a little early for beer this morning. +I’ll stop as I come this way again. How are your +sheep and lambs this year?”</p> +<p>“First rate. Never better.”</p> +<p>“Have you any to part with?”</p> +<p>“Who wants to buy?” and Goodwife Elderkin +came out from the thicket to the road-side, eager +for gain.</p> +<p>“We don’t sell sheep in Windham this year,” +said Mr. Devotion.</p> +<p>“Why, what’s the matter with the man?” +thought Mrs. Elderkin, for Ebenezer Devotion +liked to drive a good bargain as well as any one +of his neighbors. Before she had time to give +expression to her surprise, he said with a sharp +inclination of his head toward the sun, “We’ve +neighbors over yonder, good and true, who +wouldn’t sell sheep if we were shut in by ships of +war, and hungry, too.”</p> +<p>“What! any news from Boston town?”</p> +<p>“It’s twenty-four days, to-day, since the port +was shut up.”</p> +<p>Goodwife Elderkin laughed. Ebenezer Devotion +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +looked grim enough to smother every bit of +laughter in New England.</p> +<p>“’Pears as if king and Parliament really believed +that tea was cast away by the men of Boston, now +don’t it? ’stead of every man, woman and child +in the country havin’ a hand in it,” said Mrs. Elderkin.</p> +<p>“About the sheep!” replied Mr. Devotion, jerking +up his horse’s head from the sweet, pure grass, +greening all the road-side.</p> +<p>“Let your pony feed while he can,” she replied. +“What about the sheep?”</p> +<p>“How many will you give?”</p> +<p>“How many are you going to give yourself?”</p> +<p>“Twice as many as you will.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean it?”</p> +<p>“I do.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll give every sheep I own.”</p> +<p>“And how many is that?”</p> +<p>“A couple of dozen or so.”</p> +<p>“Better keep some of them for another time.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Elderkin laughed again. “I’ll say half a +dozen then, if a dozen is all you want to give +yourself.”</p> +<p>Ebenezer Devotion drew from his wallet a slip +of paper and headed his list of names with “Six +sheep, from Goodwife Elderkin.”</p> +<p>“Thank you in the name of God Almighty and +the country,” he said, solemnly, as he jerked his +pony’s head from the grass and rode on.</p> +<p>Mrs. Elderkin watched him as he wound along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +the pond-side and was lost to sight; then she, +chuckling forth the words, “I knew well enough +my sheep were safe,” went back to the marsh after +flag-root.</p> +<p>When every neighbor feels it a duty to carry +intelligence from the last speaker he has met to +the next hearer he may meet, news flies fast, so +Goodwife Elderkin was prepared for the accost +of Mr. Devotion. She did not linger long in the +swamp, but, washing her hands free from mud in +the water of the pond, walked swiftly home. By +the time she reached her house, the gray pony +and his rider were two miles away on the road +to Canterbury. The cry of hunger and possible +starvation in the town of Boston was spreading +from village to village and from house to +house.</p> +<p>Do you know how Boston is situated? It +would be an island but for the narrow neck of +land on the south side. On the east, west and +north are the waters of Massachusetts Bay and +Charles River. Just north from it, and divided +only by the same river, is another almost island, +with its neck stretched toward the north; and +this latter place is Charlestown and contains +Bunker’s Hill. Not far from the two towns, in the +bay, are many islands. Noddle’s Island, Hog, +Snake, Deer, Apple, Bird and Spectacle Islands +are of the number. On these islands were many +sheep and cattle, likewise hay and wood, all of +which the inhabitants of Boston needed for daily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +use, but by the Boston port bill, which went into +operation on the first day of June, no person was +permitted to land anything at either Boston or +Charlestown; and so the neck of Charlestown +reached out to the north for food and help, and +the neck of Boston pleaded with the south for +sustenance, and it was in answer to this cry that +our nine men of Windham went sheep-gathering.</p> +<p>The work went on for four days, and at the end +of that time 257 sheep had been freely given. The +owners drove them, on the evening of the 27th +day of the month, to the appointed place, and, +very early in the morning of the 28th, many of +the inhabitants were come together to see the +flock start on its long march. Two men and two +boys went with the gift. Good wife Elderkin was +early on the highway. She wanted to make certain +just how many sheep bore the mark of Ebenezer +Devotion’s ownership; but the driven sheep +went past too quickly for her, and she never had +the satisfaction of finding out how many he gave. +Following the flock up the hill, she saw in the +distance a sight that made her heart beat fast. +On the stone wall, under a great tree, sat Mary +Robbins, a little girl. She was dressed in a pink +calico frock, and she was holding in her arms a +snow-white lamb, around whose neck she had tied +a strip of the calico of which her own gown was +fashioned.</p> +<p>“Now if I ever saw the beat of that!” cried +Good wife Elderkin, walking almost at a run up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +the hill, and so coming to the place where the +child sat, before the sheep got there.</p> +<p>“Mary Robbins!” she cried, breathless from her +haste. “What have you got that lamb for?”</p> +<p>Mary blushed under her little sun-bonnet, +hugged the lamb, and said not a word. At the +moment up came the flock, panting and warm. +Down sprang Mary Robbins from the wall, the +lamb in her arms. Johnny Manning, aged fifteen +years, was one of the two lads in care of the sheep. +To him Mary ran, saying:</p> +<p>“Johnny, Johnny, won’t you take my lamb, too?”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>“Why, for some poor little girl in the town +where there isn’t anything to eat,” urged Mary, +her sun-bonnet falling unheeded into the dust, as +she held up her offering to the cause of liberty.</p> +<p>“Why, it can’t walk to Boston,” said the boy, +running back to recover a stray sheep.</p> +<p>“You can carry it in your arms,” she urged.</p> +<p>“Give it to me, then.”</p> +<p>She gave it, saying:</p> +<p>“Be good to it, Johnny, and give him some milk +to drink to-night. It don’t eat much grass, yet.”</p> +<p>And so Johnny Manning marched away, over +and down and out of sight, with Mary’s lamb +in his arms. As for Mary herself, little woman +that she was, having made her sacrifice, she would +have dropped on the grass, after picking up her +sun-bonnet, and had a good cry over her loss, had +it not been for Goodwife Elderkin standing there +in the road, waiting for her.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div> +<p>With a sharp look at the child, the woman left +the highway to go to her own house, and Mary +went home, hoping that no one would ask her +about the lamb.</p> +<p>The flock of sheep marched until the noontide, +when a halt was ordered. After that they went +onward over hill and river, with rest at night and +at noon, until the town of Roxbury was reached. +At this place the sheep were left to be taken to +Boston, when opportunity could be had.</p> +<p>With Mary’s lamb in his arms, Johnny Manning +accompanied the messenger who went up Boston +Neck to carry a letter to the “Selectmen of the +Town.” That letter has been preserved and is +carefully kept among the treasured documents of +the Massachusetts Historical Society. It is too +long to be given here, but, after begging Boston +to suffer and be strong, remembering what had +been done for the country by its founders, it +closes in these words: “We know you suffer, and +feel for you. As a testimony of our commiseration +of your misfortunes, we have procured a +small flock of sheep, which at this season are not +so good as we could wish, but are the best we +had. This small present, gentlemen, we beg you +would accept and apply to the relief of those honest, +industrious poor, who are most oppressed by the +late oppressive acts.”</p> +<p>Then, after a promise of future help in case of +need, the letter is signed by Samuel Grey, +Ebenezer Devotion, and seven other names, ending +with that of Hezekiah Manning.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-045.jpg' alt='' title='' width='334' height='410' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +“Give me the lamb, and I’ll feed three hungry little girls every day as long as Boston is shut up.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></div> +<p>A British officer, seeing the lamb in Johnny’s +arms, offered to buy it, bribing him with a bit of +gold; but Johnny said “there wasn’t any gold in +the land that he would exchange it for,” and so the +lamb reached Boston in safety before the sheep +got there. As Johnny walked along the streets +he was busy looking out for some poor little girl +to give it to, according to Mary’s request.</p> +<p>“I must wait,” he thought, “until I find some +one who is almost starved.”</p> +<p>On the Common side he met a little girl who +cried “Oh! see! see! A lamb! A live lamb in +Boston Town!”</p> +<p>The child’s eyes rested on the little white +creature, which accosted her with a plaintive bleat. +Johnny Manning’s eyes were riveted on the little +girl. What he thought, he never said. “Do you +want it?” he asked.</p> +<p>“O yes! yes! Where did you get it?”</p> +<p>“I’ve brought it from Roxbury in my arms. +Mary Robbins gave it, in Windham, for some +poor little girl who was hungry in Boston. +Are you hungry?”</p> +<p>“No,” said the child, hesitatingly.</p> +<p>“Are you poor?”</p> +<p>“My father is”—a sudden thought stopped the +words she was about to speak. “Give me the +lamb,” she said, “and I’ll feed three hungry little +girls every day as long as Boston is shut up. I +will! I will! and Mary’s lamb shall live until I’m +a hungry little girl myself, and I will keep it +until I am starved clear almost to death.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></div> +<p>Johnny put Mary’s little lamb on the walk. +“See if it will follow you,” he said.</p> +<p>“Come lamb! lamb! come with Catharine,” +and it went bleating after her along the Common +side.</p> +<p>“It’s used to a girl,” ejaculated the boy, “and +it hasn’t been a bit happy with me. Give it grass +and milk,” he called after Catharine, who turned +and bowed her head.</p> +<p>“A pretty story I shall have to tell Mary +Robbins,” thought Johnny. “Here I have given +her lamb to be kept and coddled, and it’s likely +never eaten at all—but I know that little girl will +keep her word. She looks it—and she said she +would feed three little girls as long as Boston is +shut up, and that is more than the lamb could do. +I must recollect the very words, to tell Mary.”</p> +<p>When the <i>Boston Gazette</i> of July 4th, 1774, +reached the village of Windham, its inhabitants +were surprised at the following announcement, +more particularly as not one of them knew +where the <i>last sheep</i> came from:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“Last week, were driven to the neighboring town of Roxbury +two hundred and fifty-eight sheep, a generous contribution of our +sympathizing brethren of the town of Windham, in the colony of +Connecticut; to be distributed for the employment or relief of +those who may be sufferers by means of the act of Parliament, +called the Boston Port Bill.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Johnny Manning, when he returned to Windham, +privately explained the matter to Mary +Robbins, by telling her that when the sheep were +numbered at Roxbury he counted in her lamb.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +<a name='HOW_ONE_BOY_HELPED_THE_BRITISH_TROOPS_OUT_OF_BOSTON_IN_1776' id='HOW_ONE_BOY_HELPED_THE_BRITISH_TROOPS_OUT_OF_BOSTON_IN_1776'></a> +<h2>HOW ONE BOY HELPED THE BRITISH TROOPS OUT OF BOSTON IN 1776.</h2> +</div> +<p>It was Commander-in-chief Washington’s +birthday, and it was Jeremy Jagger’s +birthday.</p> +<p>General Washington was forty-four +years old that birthday, a hundred years ago. +Jeremy Jagger was fourteen, and early in the +morning of the 22d of February, 1776, the General +and the lad were looking upon the same bit +of country, but from different positions. General +George Washington was reviewing his precious +little army for the thousandth time; the lad +Jeremy was looking from a hill upon the camp at +Cambridge, and from thence across the River +Charles over into Boston, which city had, for +many months, been held by the British soldiers.</p> +<p>At last Jeremy exclaimed: “I say, it’s too +chestnut-bur bad; it is.”</p> +<p>“Did you step on one?” questioned a tall, hard-handed, +earnest-faced man, who at the instant had +come up to the stone-wall on which Jeremy stood, +surveying the camp and its surroundings.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t,” retorted the lad; “but I wish +Boston was <i>paved</i> all over with chestnut-burs, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +that every pesky British officer in it had to walk +barefoot from end to end fourteen times a day, I +do; and the fourteenth time I’d order two or +three Colony generals to take a turn with ’em. +General Gates for one.”</p> +<p>“Come along, Jeremy,” called his companion, +who had strode across the wall and gone on, +regardless of the boy’s words.</p> +<p>When Jeremy had ended his expressed wishes, +he gathered up his hatchet, dinner-basket, and +coil of stout cord, and plunged through the snow +after his leader.</p> +<p>When he had overtaken him, the impulsive lad’s +heart burst out at the lips with the words: +“<i>We</i> could take Boston <i>now</i>, just as easy as anything—without +wasting a jot of powder either. +Skip across the ice, don’t you see, and be right in +there before daylight. A big army lying still for +months and months, and just doing nothing but +wait for folks in Boston to starve out! I <i>say</i> it’s +shameful; now, too, when the ice has come that +General Washington has been waiting all winter +for.”</p> +<p>“You won’t help your country one bit by +scolding about it, Jeremy. You’d better save +your strength for cutting willow-rods to-day.”</p> +<p>“I’d cut like a hurricane if the rods were only +going to whip the enemy with. But just for sixpence +a day—pshaw! I say, it don’t pay.”</p> +<p>“Look here, lad, can you keep a secret?”</p> +<p>“Trust me for that,” returned Jeremy. Turning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +suddenly upon his questioner, he faced him +to listen to a supposed bit of information.</p> +<p>“Then why on earth are you talking to <i>me</i> in +that manner, boy?” questioned the man.</p> +<p>“Why you <i>know</i> all about it, just as well as I +do; and a fellow <i>must</i> speak out in the woods or +<i>somewhere</i>. Why, I get so mad and hot sometimes +that it seems as if every thought in me would +burn right out on my face, when I think about +my poor mother over there,” pointing backward +to the three-hilled city.</p> +<p>The two were standing at the moment midway +of a corn-field. The February wind was lifting +and rustling and shaking rudely the withered +corn-stalks, with their dried leaves. To the +northward lay the Cambridge camp, across the +Charles River. To the south and east, just over +Muddy River and Stony Brook, lay the right +wing of the American Army, with here a fort and +there a redoubt stretching at intervals all the +distance between the camp at Cambridge and +Dorchester Neck, on the southeast side of Boston. +Behind them, to the westward, lay Cedar Swamp, +while not more than half a mile to the front there +was a four-gun battery and Brookline Fort, on +the Charles, near by.</p> +<p>While Jeremy Jagger was pouring forth his +words with vociferous violence, the man by his +side glanced eagerly about the wide field; but, +satisfying himself that no one was within hearing, +he said, resting his hatchet on the lad’s shoulder +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +while speaking: “See here, my boy. The brave +man never boasts of his bravery nor the trustworthy +man of his trustworthiness. How you +learned what you know of the plans of General +Washington I do not care to ask; but to-day and +all days keep quiet and show yourself worthy of +being trusted.”</p> +<p>“I’ll try as hard as I can,” promised Jeremy.</p> +<p>“No one can have tried his best without +accomplishing something that it was grand to do, +though not always <i>just what</i> he was trying to do,” +responded the man, glancing kindly down upon +the fresh, eager lad, tramping through the snow, +at his side. “Don’t forget. ‘Silence is golden,’ +in war always. Not a word, mind, when you get +home, about the work of to-day.”</p> +<p>They were come now to a spot where the +marsh seemed to be filled with sounds of wood-cutting. +As they plunged into Cedar Swamp, +the sounds grew nearer and multiplied. It was +like the rapid firing of muskets.</p> +<p>Running through the swamp there was a trout-brook, +that bore along its borders a dense growth +of water-willows.</p> +<p>And now they advanced within sight of at least +two hundred men and boys, every one of whom +worked away as though his life depended on +cutting a certain amount of willow-boughs in a +given time.</p> +<p>“What does it all mean?” questioned Jeremy.</p> +<p>“It means,” replied his companion, “work for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +your country to-day with all your might and +main.”</p> +<p>“But, pray tell me,” persisted Jeremy, “what +under the sun the things are for, anyway. +They’re good for nothing for fire-wood, green.”</p> +<p>Mr. Wooster turned and looked at the lad and +said: “A good soldier asks no questions and +marches, without knowing whither. He also cuts, +without knowing for what. Now, to work!” and, +at the instant they mingled with the workmen.</p> +<p>In less than a minute Jeremy’s dinner-basket +was swinging on a willow-bough, his coat was +hanging protectingly over it (you must remember +that it contained Jeremy Jagger’s birthday cake), +and the lad’s own arms were working away to +the musical sounds of a hatchet beating on a vast +amount of “whistle-stuff,” until mid-day and +hunger arrived in company.</p> +<p>At the signal for noon Jeremy Jagger began +his birthday feast. He perched himself on a +stout willow-branch, hanging the basket on a +conveniently growing peg at his right hand, and, +by frequent examination of the store within, was +able to solace two or three lads, less fortunate +than himself, who were taking the mid-day rest, +refreshed by plain bread and cheese, seated on a +branch, lower down on the same tree.</p> +<p>“It isn’t <i>every</i> day that a fellow eats his birthday +dinner in the woods,” he exclaimed, by way +of apology for the dainties he tossed down to +them in the shape of sugar-cake and “spice pie.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +“Aunt Hannah was pretty liberal with me this +morning. I wonder if she knew anything, for she +said: ‘I’d find plenty of squirrels to help eat it.’ +Where do you live, anyway?” he questioned, +after he had fed them.</p> +<p>“We live in Brookline,” answered the elder.</p> +<p>“Well, do you know what under the sun we +are cutting such bundles of fagots for to-day?” +he slyly questioned, being beyond the hearing of +the ears of his friend, and so safe from censure.</p> +<p>“I asked father this morning,” spoke up the +younger lad (of not more than nine years), “and +he told me he guessed General Washington was +going to take Boston on the ice, and every soldier +was going to take a bundle of fagots along, so as +to keep from sinking if the ice broke through.”</p> +<p>This bit of military news was received with +shouts of laughter, that echoed from tree to tree +along the brook, and then the noon-day rest was +over. The wind began to blow in cooler and +faster from the sea, and busy hands were obliged +to work fast to keep from stiffening under the +power of the growing frost.</p> +<p>When the new moon hung low in the west and +the sun was gone, the brookside, the cart-path, +even the swamp fell back into its accustomed +silence, for the workers, in groups of eight or ten, +had from minute to minute gone homeward, leaving +<ins title='Was hugh'>huge</ins> piles of fagots near the log bridge.</p> +<p>Jeremy went early to bed that night. His +right arm was weary and his left arm ached; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +nevertheless, he went straightway to dreaming +that both arms were dragging his beloved mother +forth from Boston.</p> +<p>At midnight his companion of the morning +came and stood under his chamber window, and +tapped lightly with a bean-pole against the glass +to awaken him.</p> +<p>Jeremy heard the sound, but in his dream +thought it was a gun fired from one of the ships +in the harbor at his mother, and himself, and +Boston.</p> +<p>“Jeremy, get up!” said somebody, touching +his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Come, mother!” ejaculated Jeremy, clutching +at the air and uttering the words under tremendous +pressure.</p> +<p>“Come yourself, lad,” said somebody, shaking +him a little roughly; whereupon Jeremy awoke. +“Get up, Jeremy Jagger. Hitch the oxen to the +cart. Put on the hay-rigging. Stay, I must help +you to do that; but hurry.”</p> +<p>Jeremy rubbed his eyes, wondered what had +become of his mother, and how Mr. Wooster +found his way into the house in the night, and +lastly, what was to be done. Furthermore, he +dressed with speed, and awakened the oxen by +vigorous touches and moving words.</p> +<p>“Get up! get up!” he importuned, “and work +for your country, and may be you won’t be +killed and eaten for your country when you are +old.” The large, patient eyes of the oxen slowly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +opened into the night, and after awhile the vigorous +strokes and voiceful “get ups” of their +master had due effect.</p> +<p>Mr. Wooster helped to adjust the hay-rigging, +and then the large-wheeled cart rolled grindingly +over the frozen ground of the highway, until it +turned into the path leading into the swamp, over +which the snow lay in unbroken surface. Jeremy +Jagger’s was but the pioneer cart that night. A +half-dozen rolled and tumbled and reeled over +the uneven surface behind him, to the log bridge. +It was cold and still. As the topmost fagot was +tossed on the pile in his cart he drew off a mitten, +thrust his benumbed fingers between his parted +lips, and when he removed them said: “I hope +General Washington has had a better birthday +than mine.”</p> +<p>“I know one thing, my lad.”</p> +<p>Jeremy turned quickly, for he did not recognize +the voice. Even then he could not discern +the face; but he knew instantly that it was no +common person who had spoken. Nevertheless, +with that sturdy, good-as-anybody air that made +the men of April 19th and June 17th fight so +gloriously, he demanded:</p> +<p>“What do you know?”</p> +<p>“That General Washington would gladly +change places with you to-night, if you are the +honest lad you seem to be.”</p> +<p>“Go and see him in his comfortable bed over +there in Cambridge,” was Jeremy’s response, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +uttered in the same breath with the word to his +oxen to move on. They moved on. The fagots +reeled and swayed, the cart rumbled over the +logs of the bridge, and boy, oxen and cart were +soon lost to sight and hearing in the cedar +thickets of the swamp.</p> +<p>Through the next two hours they toiled on, +Jeremy on foot, and often ready to lie down with +the healthy sleep that would not leave its hold on +his weary brain.</p> +<p>It was day-dawn when the fagots had been +duly delivered at the appointed place and Jeremy +reached home.</p> +<p>He had been cautiously bidden to see that the +cart was not left outside with its tell-tale rigging. +He obeyed the injunction, shut the oxen in, gave +them double allowance of hay, and was startled +by Aunt Hannah’s cheery call of: “Jerry, my +boy, come to breakfast.”</p> +<p>“Breakfast ready?” said Jeremy.</p> +<p>“Why, yes. I was up early this morning, and +thought of you.” And that was the only allusion +Aunt Hannah made to his night’s work. He +longed to tell her and chat about it all at the +table; but, remembering his promise in the +swamp, he said not a word.</p> +<p>Six nights out of seven Jeremy and his oxen +worked all night and slept nearly all day.</p> +<p>The brook in Cedar Swamp was robbed of its +willows, and many another bit of land and watercourse +suffered in a like manner.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></div> +<p>Then came the order to make the fagots into +fascines. Two thousand soldiers were got to +work to effect this. Jeremy Jagger began to +understand what was going on behind the lines +at Roxbury. He was the happiest lad in existence +during the ensuing days. He forgot to eat, +even, when the fascines were in making. Perceiving +the manner in which they were formed +he volunteered to help, and soon found he could +drive the cross supports into the ground, lay the +saplings upon them, and even aid in twisting the +green withes about them, as well as any soldier +of them all.</p> +<p>Bales of “screwed” hay began to appear in +great numbers within the lines, and empty barrels +by the hundreds sprang up from somewhere.</p> +<p>And all this time, guess as every man might +and did—the coming event was known only to +the commander-in-chief and to the six generals +forming the council of war.</p> +<p>Monday night, before sundown, Jeremy Jagger +received an order. It was:</p> +<blockquote> +<p class='sig2'><span class='smcap'>March 4th.</span></p> +<p><span class='smcap'>Jeremy Jagger</span>:</p> +<p>With oxen and cart (hay-rigging on), be at the +Roxbury lines by moon-rise to-night. Take a +pocketful of gingerbread along.</p> +<p class='sig2'><span class='smcap'>Wooster.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p>With manly pride the boy set forth. He +longed to put the note in his aunt’s hand ere he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +went; but she (long ago it seemed, though only a +few days had passed) seemed to take no note of +his frequent absences. He had scarcely gone a +rod ere the cannon-balls began their march into +Boston from all the fortifications of the Americans; +and in return from Boston, flying north +and south and west, came shot and shells.</p> +<p>Undaunted and excited by the mere possibility +of being hit, Jeremy went onward. When he +arrived in Roxbury he found everybody and +everything astir. His cart was seized, filled with +bundles of “screwed” hay, and, ere he knew it, +he was in line with two hundred and ninety-nine +other carts, marching forward to fortify Dorchester +Heights. Before him went twelve hundred +troops, under the command of General Thomas; +before the troops trundled an unknown number +of carts, filled with intrenching tools; before the +tools were eight hundred men. Not a word was +spoken. In silence and with utmost care they +trod the way. At eight of the clock the covering +party of eight hundred reached the Height and +divided—one-half going toward the point nearest +Boston, the other to the point nearest Castle William, +on Castle Island, held by the British.</p> +<p>Then the working party began their labor with +enthusiasm unbounded, wondering what the British +general would think when he should behold +their work in the morning. They toiled in silence +by the light of the moon and the home music of +144 shot and 13 shell going into Boston, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +unnumbered shot and shell coming out of Boston. +Gridley, whose quick night work at Breed’s Hill +on the sixteenth of June had startled the world, +headed the intrenching party as engineer.</p> +<p>Poor Jeremy was not allowed to go farther +than Dorchester Neck with his first load. The +bundles of hay were tumbled out and laid in line, +to protect the supplying party, in case the work +going on on the hill beyond should be found out.</p> +<p>The next time, to his extreme delight, he found +that fascines were to go in his cart. When he +reached Dorchester Height quick work was made +of unloading his freight, and, without a word +spoken, he was ordered back with a move of the +hand.</p> +<p>Four times the lad and the oxen went up Dorchester +Hill that night. The fourth time, as no +order was given to return, Jeremy thought he +might as well stay and see the battle that would +begin with the dawn.</p> +<p>He left the oxen behind an embankment with a +big bundle of hay to the front of them; and after +five minutes devoted to gingerbread he went to +work. Morning would come long before they +were ready to have it unveil the growing forts to +the eyes of Admiral Shuldham, with his ships of +war lying in the harbor; or to the sentinels at +Castle William, on Castle Island, to the right of +them; or to General Howe, with his vigilant +thousands of Englishmen safe and snug in Boston, +to the north of them.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span></div> +<p>Jeremy was rolling barrels to the brow of the +hill they were fortifying, and tumbling into them +with haste shovelful after shovelful of good solid +earth, that they might hit hard when rolled down +on the foe that should dare to mount the height, +when a cautious voice at his side uttered the one +word “Look!” accompanied with a motion of +the hand toward Dorchester Neck.</p> +<p>In the moonlight, past the bales of hay, two +thousand Americans were filing in silent haste +to the relief of the men who had toiled all night +to build forts they meant to defend on the morrow.</p> +<p>It was four o’clock in the morning when they +came. Jeremy was tired and sleepy too. His +eyelids would drop over his eyes, shutting out +everything he so longed to keep in sight.</p> +<p>“You’ve worked like a hero,” said a kind voice +to the lad. “It will be hot work here by sunrise—no +place for boys, when the battle begins.”</p> +<p>“I can fight,” stoutly persisted Jeremy, nodding +as he spoke; and, had anybody thought of +the lad at all after that, he might have been found +in the ox-cart, carelessly strewn over with hay, +taking a nap.</p> +<p>Meanwhile on came the morning. A friendly +fog hung lovingly around the new hills on the old +hills, that the Yankees had built in a night.</p> +<p>Admiral Shuldham was called in haste from his +bed by frightened men, who wondered what had +happened on Dorchester Height. Castle William +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +stood aghast with astonishment. Messengers +went up the bay to tell the army the news.</p> +<p>General Howe marched out to take a look +through the fog at the old familiar hills he had +known so long, and didn’t like the looks of the +new hats they wore. He wondered how in the +world the thing had been done without discovery; +but there it was, larger a good deal than life, seen +through the fog, and he knew also why it was that +the cannon had been playing on Boston through +the hours of three or four nights. He was angry, +astonished, perplexed. He had a little talk with +Admiral Shuldham; and they agreed to do something. +Yes, they <i>would</i> walk up and demand back +the hills looking over into Boston. Transports +came hurrying to pier and wharf, and soldiers +went bravely down and gave themselves to the +work of a short sea voyage.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Jeremy Jagger’s nap was broken by +a number of trenching tools thrown carelessly +over his back, as he lay asleep in his cart.</p> +<p>“Halloo there!” he shouted, striving to rise +from the not very comfortable blanket that dropped +in twain to the left and the right, as he shook +off the tools and returned from the land of sleep +to Dorchester Heights and the 5th of March. +He was just in time to hear a voice like a clarion +cry out: “Remember it is the 5th of March, and +avenge the death of your brethren.”</p> +<p>It was the very voice that had said in the +swamp in the night that “General Washington +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +would gladly change places with Jeremy Jagger.” +It was the voice of General Washington animating +the troops for the coming battle.</p> +<p>Meanwhile a new and unexpected force arrived +on the field of action. It came in from sea—a +great and mighty wind, that tossed and tumbled +the transports to and fro on the waves and would +not let them land anywhere save at the place they +came from. So they went peacefully back to +Boston, and the Liberty Men over on the hills +went on all day and all night, in the rain and the +wind, building up, strengthening, fortifying, in +fact getting ready, as Jeremy told his aunt, when +he reached home on the morning of the sixth of +March, “for a visit from King George and all +his army.”</p> +<p>The next day General Howe doubted and did +little. The next and the next went on and then +on the morning of the 17th of March something +new had happened. There was one little hill, so +near to Boston that it was almost in it; and lo! +in the night it had been visited by the Americans, +and a Liberty Cap perched above its head.</p> +<p>General Howe said: “We must get away from +here in haste.”</p> +<p>“Take us with you,” said a thousand Royalists +of the town; and he took them, bag and baggage, +to wander up and down the earth.</p> +<p>Over on Bunker Breed’s Hill wooden sentinels +did duty when the British soldiers left and for full +two hours after; and then two brave Yankees +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +guessed the men were wooden, and marched in +to take possession just nine months from the day +they bade it good-by, because they had no powder +with which to “tune” their guns.</p> +<p>Over on Cambridge Common marched, impatient +as ever, General Putnam, with his four +thousand followers, ready to cross the River +Charles and walk once more the city streets of +the good old town. On all the hills were +gathered men, women and children to see the +British troops depart.</p> +<p>Jeremy Jagger was up before the dawn on that +sweetest of Sunday mornings in March, and he +reached the Roxbury lines just as General Ward +was ready to put his arms about Boston’s Neck. +The lad took his place with the five hundred men +and walked by Ensign Richards’ side, as he +proudly bore the standard up to the gates, which +Ebenezer Learned “unbarred and opened.” Once +within the lines, Jeremy, unmindful of the crow’s +feet strewn over the way, made haste through +lane and street to his old home on Beacon Hill. +“Could that be his mother looking out at him +through the window-pane?” he thought, as he +drew near.</p> +<p>She saw him. She knew him. But what could +it mean that she did not open the door to let him +in; that she waved him away? It could not be +that she, his own mother, had turned Tory, that +her face was grown so red and angry at the sight +of her son.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></div> +<p>Jeremy banged away at the door. There was +no answer.</p> +<p>At last he heard the lifting of a sash, a head, +muffled carefully, appeared from the highest window +in the house, and a voice (the lad knew whose +it was) said: “Go, Jeremy! Go away out of Boston +as fast as you can. I’ll come to you as soon +as it is safe.”</p> +<p>“Why, mother, what’s the matter?” cried the +boy.</p> +<p>“Small pox! I’ve had it. Everybody has it. +Go!”</p> +<p>“Good-by,” cried Jeremy, running out of Boston +as fast as any British soldier of them all and +a good deal more frightened. He burst into +Aunt Hannah’s house with the news that he had +been to Boston, that the soldiers were all gone, +that he had seen his mother, that she had the +small-pox and sent him off in a hurry.</p> +<p>“Tut! tut!” she cried. “It’s wicked to tell +lies, Jeremy Jagger.”</p> +<p>“I’m not telling lies. Every word is true. +Please give me something to eat.”</p> +<p>But Aunt Hannah did not wait to give the lad +food, nor even to speak the prayer of thanksgiving +that went like incense from her heart. She +went into the barn-yard and threw corn on the +barn-floor, to which the hens and turkeys made +haste. Closing the door, she summoned Jeremy +to kill the largest and best of them.</p> +<p>That Sunday afternoon the brick oven glowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +with fervent heat, the white, fat offerings went in, +and the golden-brown turkeys and chickens came +out; and as each, in turn, was pronounced “done,” +Aunt Hannah repeated the words: “Hungry! +hungry! hungry! Hungry all winter!”</p> +<p>The big clothes-basket was full of lint for +wounds that now never should be made. Gladly +she tossed out the fluffy mass, and packed within +it every dainty the house contained.</p> +<p>It was nearly sunset when Aunt Hannah and +Jeremy started forth, with the basket between +them, to Mr. Wooster’s house, hoping that he +would carry it in his wagon up to Boston. He +was not at home.</p> +<p>“Get out the cart,” said Aunt Hannah to +Jeremy, when they learned no help was to be +obtained. She sat by the roadside watching the +basket until the cart arrived.</p> +<p>“I’m going with you,” she said, after the basket +was in; she climbed to the seat beside the lad, +and off they started for Boston.</p> +<p>It was dark when they reached the lines, and +no passes granted, the officers said, to go in that +night.</p> +<p>“But I’ve food for the hungry,” said Aunt +Hannah, in her sweetest voice, from the darkness +of the cart, “and folks are hungry in the night as +well as in the day.”</p> +<p>She deftly threw aside the cover from the +basket and took out a chicken, which she held +forth to the man, saying: “Take it. It’s good.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>He hesitated a moment, then seized it eagerly.</p> +<p>“I know you,” spoke up Jeremy, at this juncture. +“You went up the Neck with us this morning. +I saw you.”</p> +<p>“Then you are the boy who got first into +Boston this morning, are you, sir?”</p> +<p>“I believe I did, sir.”</p> +<p>“Go on.”</p> +<p>The oxen went on.</p> +<p>“Now, Jeremy, down with you and wait here +for me. You haven’t had small-pox,” said Aunt +Hannah.</p> +<p>“But the oxen won’t mind you,” said Jeremy.</p> +<p>Aunt Hannah was troubled. She never had +driven oxen.</p> +<p>At the moment who should appear but Mr. +Wooster. He gladly offered to take the basket +and deliver it at Mrs. Jagger’s door.</p> +<p>“Don’t go in, mind! Mother’s had small-pox,” +called Jeremy, as he started.</p> +<p>“I’m tired,” gasped Aunt Hannah, who had +done baking enough for a small army that day, +as she sat down to rest on the broad seat of the +cart, and the two started for home. The soldier +at the gate scarcely heeded them as they went +out, for roasted chicken “tasted so good.”</p> +<p>“I’m so glad the British are out of Boston,” +said Aunt Hannah, as she touched home soil +again and went wearily up the walk to the little +dark house.</p> +<p>“And so am I,” said Jeremy to the oxen, as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +turned them in for the night; “only if I’d had +my way, they wouldn’t have gone without one +good fair fight. You’ve done your duty, anyhow,” +he added, soothingly, with a parting stroke +to the honest laborer who went in last, “and you +deserve well of your country, too, for like Gen. +Washington, you have served without hope of +reward. The thing I like best about the man is +that he don’t work for money. I don’t want my +sixpence a day for cutting willows; and—I won’t—take +it.” And he didn’t take it, consoling +himself with the reflection “that he would be like +Gen. Washington in one thing, anyhow.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +<a name='PUSSY_DEANS_BEACON_FIRE_MARCH_17_1776' id='PUSSY_DEANS_BEACON_FIRE_MARCH_17_1776'></a> +<h2>PUSSY DEAN’S BEACON FIRE. +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br /><span class='smcap'>March 17, 1776.</span></span></h2> +</div> +<p>A hundred years ago the winds of +March were blowing.</p> +<p>To-day the same winds rush by the +stone memorials and sweep across the +low mounds that securely cover the men and the +women that then were alive to chill blast and +stirring event. Even the lads who gathered at +sound of drum and fife on village green, wishing, +as they saw the troopers march, that they were +men, and the little girls who hung about father’s +neck because he was going off to war, who +watched the post-riders on their course, wishing +that they knew the news he carried, are no longer +with us.</p> +<p>For nearly two years Boston had been the lost +town of the people. It had been taken from the +children by an unkind father and given to +strangers. You have been told how British ships +came and closed her harbor, so that food and +raiment could not enter. You know how grandly +the younger sister towns behaved toward stately, +hungry Boston; how they marched up the narrow +neck of land that holds back the town from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +the sea, each and every one bearing gifts to the +beloved town, until there came the sad and fatal +day wherein British military lines turned back +the tide of offerings and closed the gate of +entrance.</p> +<p>Then it was that friends began to gather across +the rivers that wound their waters around Boston. +Presently an army grew up and stationed +itself with leaders and banners and forts.</p> +<p>Summer came. The army waited through all +the long warm days. The summer went; the +leaves fell; the chill winds and the cold sea-fogs +wound into and out of the poor little tents and +struck the brave men who, having no tents, tried +to be strong and endure.</p> +<p>Every child knows, or ought to know, the story +of that winter; how day by day, all over New +England, men were striving to gather <ins title='Was fireams'>firearms</ins> and +powder wherewith to take back from the foe poor +Boston. But, alas, there was not powder enough +in all the land to do it.</p> +<p>The long, wearying winter had done its worst +for the prisoned inhabitants within the town; and, +truly, it had tried and pinched the waiting friends +who stood at the gates.</p> +<p>At last, in March, in the night, the brave +helpers climbed the hills, built on them smaller +hills, and by the light of the morning were able +to look over into the town—at which the patriots +were glad and the British commander frightened.</p> +<p>A little after nine of the clock on Sunday morning, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +the 17th of March, 1776, three Narragansett +ponies stood before General Washington’s headquarters +at Cambridge.</p> +<p>“Go with all possible speed to Governor +Trumbull,” said Washington, delivering despatches +to a well-known and trusted messenger, +who instantly mounted one of the ponies in waiting—Sweeping +Wind by name—and rode away, +with many a sharp and inquiring glance back at +city and river and camp.</p> +<p>It was four of the clock in the afternoon, and +the messenger had not paused since he set forth, +longer than to give Sweeping Wind water to +drink, when, on the highway in the distance, he +saw a red cloak fluttering and flying before him.</p> +<p>It was Pussy Dean who wore the cloak. She +was fifteen, fair and lovely, brave and patriotic as +any soldier in the land.</p> +<p>At first she was angry at the law by which she +was denied a new cloak that winter, made of +English fabric, but when wrapped in the coveted +broadcloth of scarlet belonging to her mother she +was more than reconciled.</p> +<p>On this Sunday Pussy had been at the meeting-house +on the hill, two miles from home, at both +morning and afternoon service, and afterward had +lingered a little to gather up bits of news from +camp and town to take home to her mother, and +so it had happened that she was quite alone on +the highway.</p> +<p>Pussy chanced to look back to the summit of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +the hill down which she had walked, and she saw +the express coming.</p> +<p>“Now,” she thought, “if I could only stop +him! I wonder if I can’t. I’ll try, and then,” +swinging her silken bag, “I shall have news to +carry home, the very latest, too.”</p> +<p>As she swung the bag she suddenly remembered +that she had something within it to offer +the rider.</p> +<p>“Of course I can,” she went on saying to herself. +“Post-riders are always hungry, and it’s +lucky for him that I didn’t have to eat my dinner +myself, to-day. Now, if I only had a basketful of +clover heads or roses for that pony, I’d find out +all about Boston while it was eating.”</p> +<p>The only roses within sight were blooming on +Pussy Dean’s two cheeks as Sweeping Wind +came clattering his shoes against the frozen +ground. He would have gone straight on had a +scarlet cloak not been planted, like a fluttering +standard, full in his pathway.</p> +<p>The rider gave the pony the slightest possible +check, since he felt sure that no red-coated soldier +lurked behind the red cloak.</p> +<p>“Take something to eat, won’t you?” accosted +Pussy, rather glowing in feature and agitated in +voice by her own daring.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the rider had given Sweeping Wind +a second intimation to stand, which he obeyed, +and sniffed at Pussy’s cloak and cheeks and silken +bag as she held it forth to the rider, saying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +naively, “I went to meeting and was invited to +luncheon, and so didn’t eat mine.” She spoke +swiftly, as though she knew she must not detain +him.</p> +<p>He answered with a smile and a “Thank you,” +took the bag, and rewarded her by saying, “The +British are getting out of Boston, bag and baggage.”</p> +<p>“And where are you going?” demanded Pussy, +determined not to go home with but half the +story if she could help it.</p> +<p>“To Governor Trumbull with the good news +and a demand for two thousand men to save New +York,” he cried back, having gone on. His +words were entangled with a mouthful of gingerbread +or mince-pie to such an extent that it was +a full minute before Pussy understood their import, +and then she could only say over and over +to herself, as she hastened on, “Father will be +here, father will come home, and we’ll have the +good old times back again.”</p> +<p>But notwithstanding her hope and a country’s +wish, the good old times were not at hand.</p> +<p>Pussy reached home and told the story. Baby +went down plump into the wooden cradle at the +first note of it, and set up a tune of rejoicing in +his own fashion which no one regarded. Brother +Benjamin, aged thirteen, whistled furiously, regardless +of the honors of the day. Sammy, who +was ten, clapped his hands and knocked his heels +together, first in joy, and then began to fear lest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +the war should be over before he grew big +enough to be in it.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Pussy, a few minutes later, “let +Benny come with me to tell Mr. Gale about it; +may he?”</p> +<p>Pussy laid aside her Sunday bonnet, tied a +straw hat over her ears with a silk kerchief to +keep out the wind, and in three minutes got +Benny into the highway.</p> +<p>“See here, Ben, I’m going to light a fire on +Baldhead to tell all the folks together about it, +and I want you to help me; quick, before it gets +dark.”</p> +<p>“You can’t gather fagots,” responded Ben.</p> +<p>Yes, she could, and would, and did, while +Benny went to the house nearest to Baldhead to +ask for some fire in a kettle.</p> +<p>The two worked with such vigor and will that +the first gathering of darkness saw the light of +the beacon-flame burst forth, and the great March +wind blew it into fiercest glow. Every eye that +saw the fire there knew that it had been kindled +with a purpose, and many feet from house and +hamlet set forth to learn the cause.</p> +<p>While Pussy and Ben were yet adding fagots +to the fire, they heard a voice crying out: “The +young rascals shall be punished soundly for this,” +and ere Pussy had time to explain or expostulate, +a strong man had Ben in his grasp.</p> +<p>“Stop that, sir!” cried the girl, rushing to the +rescue with a burning fagot that she had seized +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +from the fire, and shaking it full in the assailant’s +face.</p> +<p>By the light of it, the man saw Pussy and she +saw him; and then both began to laugh, while +Ben rubbed his ears and wondered whether they +were both on his head.</p> +<p>“It means,” spoke the girl, waving the still +flaming brand toward the east, “that the British +left Boston this morning, and that General”—(just +here a dozen men were at the fire. Pussy +raised her voice and continued)—“Washington +wants you all, every one of you, to march straight +to Governor Trumbull, and he’ll tell you what to +do next.”</p> +<p>“If that’s the case,” said the responsible man +of the constantly-increasing group after questioning +Pussy, “we’d better summon the militia by +the ringing of the bell,” and off they went in the +direction of the village, while Pussy and Ben +went home.</p> +<p>The next day saw fifty men, well armed, and +provisioned for three days, on the road to Lebanon. +They marched into town and into the +now famous war-office of Governor Trumbull, to +his pleased surprise.</p> +<p>“Who sent you?” asked the governor, for it +was not yet six hours since the demand on the +nearest town had been made.</p> +<p>“Who sent us?” echoed the lieutenant, looking +confused and at a loss to explain, and finally +answering truthfully, he said: “It was a young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +girl, your excellency. She lit a beacon fire on +a hill and gave the command that we report to +you.”</p> +<p>A laugh ran around the sides of the old war-office. +The messenger who had ridden from +Cambridge sat upon the counter pressing his +spurs into the wood and heard it all.</p> +<p>“And who commissioned the girl as a recruiting +officer?” questioned the governor.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid,” said the messenger, “I am the +guilty party. I met a young patriot in scarlet +cloak who asked my news, and, I told her.”</p> +<p>“Where is the girl’s father?” demanded +Governor Trumbull.</p> +<p>“He is with the army, at Cambridge,” was +the response.</p> +<p>“And his name?”</p> +<p>“Reuben Dean.”</p> +<p>A scratch or two of the quill pen was heard on +the open paper. It was folded, sealed, and +handed to the ready horseman, with the words: +“Reuben Dean; he is mentioned for promotion.”</p> +<p>The words, as they were spoken by Governor +Trumbull, were caught up and gathered into a +mighty cheer, for every man of their number +knew that Reuben Dean was worthy of promotion, +even had his daughter not gained it for him +by her services as recruiting officer.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +<a name='DAVID_BUSHNELL_AND_HIS_AMERICAN_TURTLE_THE_FIRST_SUBMARINE_BOAT_INVENTED' id='DAVID_BUSHNELL_AND_HIS_AMERICAN_TURTLE_THE_FIRST_SUBMARINE_BOAT_INVENTED'></a> +<h2>DAVID BUSHNELL AND HIS AMERICAN TURTLE. +<span class='chsub'> <br /><br />THE FIRST SUBMARINE BOAT INVENTED.</span></h2> +</div> +<p>“David!” cried a voice stern and commanding, +from a house-door one +morning, as the young man who +owned the name was taking a short +cut “across lots” in the direction of Pautapoug.</p> +<p>“Sir!” cried the youth in response to the call, +and pausing as nearly as he could, and at the +same time keep his feet from sinking into the +marshy soil.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” was the response.</p> +<p>“To Pautapoug, to see Uriah Hayden, sir.”</p> +<p>“You’d better hire out at ship-building with +him. Your college learning’s of no earthly use +in these days,” said the father of David Bushnell, +returning from the door, and sinking slowly down +into his high-backed chair.</p> +<p>Then spoke up a sweet-voiced woman from the +kitchen fire-side, where she had that moment been +hanging an iron pot on the crane:</p> +<p>“Have a little patience, father (Mrs. Bushnell +always called her husband, father), David is only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +looking about to see what to do. It’s hardly +four weeks since he was graduated.”</p> +<p>“True enough; but where can you find an idle +man in all Saybrook town? and you know as +well as I do that it makes men despise college-learning +to see folks idle. I’d rather, for my +part, David <i>did</i> go to work on the ship Uriah +Hayden is building. I wish I knew what he’s +gone over there for to-day.”</p> +<p>A funny smile crept into the curves of Mrs. +Bushnell’s lips, but her husband did not notice it.</p> +<p>Mr. Bushnell moved uneasily in his chair, as he +sat leaning forward, both hands clasped about a +hickory stick, and his chin resting on the knob at +its top. Presently he said:</p> +<p>“Anna, I fear David is getting into bad habits. +He used to talk a good deal. Now he sits with +his eyes on the floor, and his forehead in wrinkles, +and I’m <i>sure</i> I’ve heard him moving about more +than one night lately, after all honest folks were +in bed.”</p> +<p>“Father, you must remember that you’ve been +very sick, and fever gives one queer notions +sometimes. I shouldn’t wonder one bit if you +dreamed you heard something, when ’twas only +the rats behind the wainscot.”</p> +<p>“Rats don’t step like a grown man in his +stocking-feet, nor make the rafters creak, either.”</p> +<p>Madam Bushnell appeared to be investigating +the contents of the pot hanging on the crane, and +perhaps the heat of the blazing wood was sufficient +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +to account for the burning of her cheeks. +She cooled them a moment later by going down +cellar after cider, a mug of which she offered to +her husband, proposing the while that he should +have his chair out of doors, and sit under the +sycamore tree by the river-bank. When he +assented, and she had seen him safely in the chair, +she made haste to David’s bed-room.</p> +<p>Since Mr. Bushnell’s illness began, no one had +ascended to the chamber except herself and her +son.</p> +<p>On two shelves hanging against the wall were +the books that he had brought home with him +from Yale College, just four weeks ago.</p> +<p>A table was drawn near to the one window in +the room. On it were bits of wood, with iron +scraps, fragments of glass and copper. In fact, +the same thing to-day would suggest boat-building +to the mother of any lad finding them among her +boy’s playthings. To this mother they suggested +nothing beyond the fact that David was engaged +in something which he wished to keep a profound +secret.</p> +<p>He had not told her so. It had not been +necessary. She had divined it and kept silence, +having all a mother’s confidence in, and hope of, +her son’s success in life.</p> +<p>As she surveyed the place, she thought:</p> +<p>“There is nothing here, even if he (meaning +her husband) should take it into his head to come +up and look about.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></div> +<p>Meanwhile young David had crossed the +Pochaug River, and was half the way to +Pautapoug.</p> +<p>All this happened more than a thousand moons +ago, when all the land was aroused and astir, and +David Bushnell was not in the least surprised to +meet, at the ship-yard of Uriah Hayden, Jonathan +Trumbull, Governor of Connecticut.</p> +<p>This man was everywhere, seeing to everything, +in that year. Whatever his country needed, or +Commander-in-chief Washington ordered from +the camp at Cambridge, was forthcoming.</p> +<p>A ship had been demanded of Connecticut, and +so Governor Trumbull had come down from +Lebanon to look with his own eyes at the huge +ribs of oak, thereafter to sail the seas as “The +Oliver Cromwell.”</p> +<p>The self-same oaken ribs had intense interest +for young David Bushnell. Uriah Hayden had +promised to sell to him all the pieces of ship-timber +that should be left, and while the governor and +the builder planned, he went about gathering +together fragments.</p> +<p>“Better take enough to build a boat that will +carry a seine. ’T won’t cost you a mite more, and +might serve you a good turn to have a sizable +craft in a heavy sea some day,” said Mr. Hayden.</p> +<p>Now David Bushnell had been wishing that he +had some good and sufficient reason to give Mr. +Hayden for wanting the stuff at all, and here he +had given it to him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>“That’s true,” spoke up David, “but how am I +to get all this over to Pochaug?”</p> +<p>“Don’t get it over at all, until it’s ready to row +down the Connecticut, and around the Sound. +You’re welcome to build your boat at the yard, +and, now and then, there will be odd minutes that +the men can help you on with it.”</p> +<p>David thanked Mr. Hayden, grew cheerful of +heart over the prospect of owning a boat of his +own, and went merrily back to the village of +Pochaug.</p> +<p>Two weeks later David’s boat was ready for +sea. It was launched into the Connecticut from +the ways on which the “Oliver Cromwell” +grew, was named Lady Fenwick, and, when +water-tight, was rowed down the river, past Saybrook +and Tomb Hill, and so into the Long +Island Sound.</p> +<p>When its owner and navigator went by Tomb +Hill, he removed his hat, and bowed reverently. +He thought with respect and admiration of the +occupant of the sandstone tomb on its height, the +Lady Fenwick who had slept there one hundred +and thirty years.</p> +<p>With blistered palms and burning fingers David +Bushnell pushed his boat with pride up the +Pochaug River, and tied it to a stake at the +bridge just beyond the sycamore tree, near his +father’s door.</p> +<p>“I’ll fetch father and mother out to see it,” he +thought, “when the moon gets up a little higher.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></div> +<p>With boyish pride he looked down at the work +of his hands from the river-bank, and went in to +get his supper.</p> +<p>“David!” called Mr. Bushnell, having heard +his steps in the entry-way.</p> +<p>“Here I am, father,” returned the young man, +appearing within the room, and speaking in a +cheerful tone.</p> +<p>“Don’t you think you have wasted about time +enough?”</p> +<p>The voice was high-wrought and nervous in +the extreme. He, poor man, had been that afternoon +thinking the matter over in a convalescent’s +weak manner of looking upon the act of another +man.</p> +<p>David Bushnell, smiling still, and taking out a +large silver watch from his waistcoat pocket, and +looking at it, replied:</p> +<p>“I haven’t wasted one moment, father. The +tide was against me, but I’ve rowed around from +Pautapoug ship-yard to the sycamore tree out +here since two o’clock.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> row a boat!” cried Mr. Bushnell, with +lofty disdain.</p> +<p>“Why, father, you have not a very good opinion +of your son, have you?” questioned the son. +“Come, though, and see what he has been doing. +Come, mother,” as Mrs. Bushnell entered, bearing +David’s supper in her hands.</p> +<p>She put it down. Mr. Bushnell pulled himself +upright with a groan or two, and suffered David +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +to assist him by the support of his arm as they +went out.</p> +<p>“Why, you tremble as though you had the +palsy,” said the father.</p> +<p>“It’s nothing. I’m not used to pulling so long +at the oar,” said the son.</p> +<p>When they came to the bank, the full moon +shone athwart the little boat rocking on the +stream.</p> +<p>“What’s that?” exclaimed both parents.</p> +<p>“That is the Lady Fenwick. I’ve been building +the boat myself. You advised me, father, to +go to ship-building one morning—do you remember? +I took your advice, and began at the bottom +of the ladder.”</p> +<p>“<i>You</i> built that boat with your own hands, you +say?”</p> +<p>“With my own hands, sir.”</p> +<p>“In two weeks’ time?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“And rowed it all the way down the river, and +up the Pochaug?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Good boy! You may go in and have your +supper,” said Mr. Bushnell, patting him on the +back, just as he had done when he returned from +college with his first award.</p> +<p>As for Madam Bushnell, she smiled down upon +Lady Fenwick and did her great reverence in her +heart, while she said to the boat-builder:</p> +<p>“David, dear, wait a few minutes, and I’ll give +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +you something nice and warm for your supper. +Your father, Ezra and I had ours long ago.”</p> +<p>That night Mr. Bushnell did not lie awake to +listen for the stealthy stepping in the upper room. +He slept all the sounder, because he had at last +seen one stroke of honest work, as he called it, as +the result of his endeavors to help David on in +life.</p> +<p>As for David himself, he went to sleep, saying +in his heart: “It is a good stepping-stone at +least;” which conclusion grew into form in sleep, +and shaped itself into a mighty monster, that +bored itself under mountains, and, after taking a +nap, roused and shook itself so mightily that the +mountain flew into fragments high in air.</p> +<p>If you go, to-day, into the Connecticut River +from Long Island Sound, you will see on its left +bank the old town of Saybrook, on its right the +slightly younger town of Lyme, and you will +have passed by, without having been very much +interested in it, an island lying just within the +shelter of either bank.</p> +<p>In the summer of 1774 a band of fishermen put +up a reel upon the island, on which to wind their +seine. Over the reel they built a roof to protect +it from the rains. With the exception of the reel, +there was no building upon the island. A large +portion of the land was submerged at the highest +tides, and in the spring freshets, and was covered +with a generous growth of salt grass, in which a +small army might readily find concealment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span></div> +<p>The little fishing band was now sadly broken +and lessened by one of the Washingtonian demands +upon Brother Jonathan. For reasons that +he did not choose to give, David Bushnell joined +this band of fishermen in the summer of 1775. +Gradually he made himself, by purchase, the +owner of the larger part of the reel and seine. +In a few weeks’ time he had induced his brother +Ezra to become as much of a fisherman as he +himself was.</p> +<p>As the days went by, the brothers fairly haunted +this island. They gave it a name for their own +use, and, early in the day-dawn of many a morning, +they pulled the Lady Fenwick wearily up +the Pochaug, to snatch a few winks of sleep at +home, before the sun should fairly rise and call +them to their daily tasks, for David assumed to +help Ezra on the farm, even as Ezra helped him +on the island.</p> +<p>The two brothers owned the reel and the seine +before the end of the month of August in 1775. +As soon as they became the sole owners, they +procured lumber and enclosed the reel, and very +seldom took down the seine from its great round +perch; they used it just often enough to allay +any suspicion as to their real object in becoming +owners of the fishing implements.</p> +<p>About that time a story grew into general belief +that the tomb of Lady Fenwick was haunted. +Boatmen, passing in the stillness of the solemn +night hours, asserted that they heard strange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +noises issuing from the hill, just where the lady +slept in her lonely burial-place. The sounds +seemed to emerge from the earth, and timid men +passed up the river with every inch of sail set to +catch the breeze, lest the solemn thud should +sound, that a hundred persons were willing to testify +had been heard by each and every one of them, +at some hour of the night, coming from the tomb.</p> +<p>One evening in late September, the two +brothers started forth as usual, nominally to “go +fishing.” As they stepped down the bank, Mr. +Bushnell followed them.</p> +<p>“Boys,” said he, “it’s an uncommon fine night +on the water. I believe I’ll take a seat in your +boat, with your permission. I used to like fishing +myself when I was young and spry.”</p> +<p>“And leave mother alone!” objected David.</p> +<p>“She’s been out with me many a night on the +Sound. She’s brave, and won’t mind a good +south-west wind, such as I dare say breaks in on +the shore this minute. Go and call her.”</p> +<p>And so the family started forth to go fishing.</p> +<p>This was a night the two brothers had been +looking forward to during weeks of earnest labor, +and now—well, it could not be helped, and there +was not a moment in which to hold counsel.</p> +<p>Mr. Bushnell had planned this surprise early in +the day, but had not told his wife until evening. +Then he announced his determination to “learn +what all these midnight and all-night absences +did mean.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></div> +<p>As the Lady Fenwick came out from the +Pochaug River into the Sound, the south-west +wind brought crested waves to shore. The wind +was increasing, and, to the great relief of David +and Ezra, Mr. Bushnell gave the order to turn +back into the river.</p> +<p>The next day David Bushnell asked his mother +whether or not she knew the reason his father +had proposed to go out with them the night +before.</p> +<p>“Yes, David,” was the reply, “I do.”</p> +<p>“Will you tell me?”</p> +<p>“He does not believe that you and Ezra go +fishing at all.”</p> +<p>“What do you believe about it, mother?”</p> +<p>“I believe in <i>you</i>, David, and that when you +have anything to tell to me, I shall be glad to +listen.”</p> +<p>“And father does not trust me yet; I am sorry,” +said David, turning away. And then, as by a +sudden impulse, he returned and said:</p> +<p>“If you can trust <i>me</i> so entirely, mother, <i>we</i> can +trust <i>you</i>. To-day, two gentlemen will be here. +You will please be ready to go out in the boat +with us whenever they come.”</p> +<p>“Where to?”</p> +<p>“To my fishing ground, mother.”</p> +<p>The strangers arrived, and were presented to +Mrs. Bushnell as Dr. Gale and his friend, Mr. +Franklin.</p> +<p>At three of the clock the little family set off in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +the row-boat. Down at Pochaug harbor, there +was Mr. Bushnell hallooing to them to be taken +on board.</p> +<p>“I saw my family starting on an unknown +voyage,” he remarked, as the boat approached +the shore as nearly as it could, while he waded +out to meet it.</p> +<p>“Ah, Friend Gale, is that you?” he said, as +with dripping feet he stepped in. “And whither +bound?” he added, dropping into a seat.</p> +<p>“For the far and distant land of the unknown, +Mr. Bushnell. Permit me to introduce you to +my friend, Mr. Franklin.”</p> +<p>“Franklin! Franklin!” exclaimed Mr. Bushnell, +eyeing the stranger a little rudely. “<i>Doctor +Benjamin Franklin</i>, <i>if you please</i>, Benjamin Gale!” +he corrected, to the utter amazement of the +party.</p> +<p>The oars missed the stroke, caught it again, +and, for a minute, poor Dr. Franklin was confused +by the sudden announcement that he existed at +all, and, in particular, in that small boat on the +sea.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, even so,” responded Dr. Gale, cheerfully +adding, “and we’re going down to see the +new fishing tackle your son is going to catch the +enemy’s ships with.”</p> +<p>“Fishing tackle! Enemy’s ships! Why, David +<i>is</i> the laziest man in all Saybrook town. He does +nothing with his first summer but fish, fish all +night long! The only stroke of honest work I’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<i>ever</i> known him to do was to build this boat we’re +in.”</p> +<p>During this time the brothers were pulling with +a will for the island.</p> +<p>Arrived there, the boat was drawn up on the +sand, the seine-house unlocked, and, when the +light of day had been let into it, fishing-reel and +seine had disappeared, and, in the language of +Doctor Benjamin Gale, this is what they found +therein:</p> +<blockquote> +<h3><span class='smcap'>The American Turtle.</span></h3> +<p>“The body, when standing upright, in the position in which it +is navigated, has the nearest resemblance to the two upper shells +of the tortoise, joined together. It is seven and a half feet long, +and six feet high. The person who navigates it enters at the +top. It has a brass top or cover which receives the person’s +head, as he sits on a seat, and is fastened on the inside by +screws.</p> +<p>“On this brass head are fixed eight glasses, viz: two before, two +on each side, one behind, and one to look out upwards. On the +same brass head are fixed two brass tubes to admit fresh air when +requisite, and a ventilator at the side, to free the machine from +the air rendered unfit for respiration.</p> +<p>“On the inside is fixed a barometer, by which he can tell the +depth he is under water; a compass by which he knows the +course he steers. In the barometer, and on the needles of the +compass, is fixed fox-fire—that is, wood that gives light in the +dark. His ballast consists of about nine hundred-weight of lead, +which he carries at the bottom and on the outside of the machine, +part of which is so fixed as he can let run down to the bottom, +and serves as an anchor by which he can ride <i>ad libitum</i>.</p> +<p>“He has a sounding lead fixed at the bow, by which he can take +the depth of water under him, and a forcing-pump by which he +can free the machine at pleasure, and can rise above water, and +again immerge, as occasion requires.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></div> +<p>“In the bow he has a pair of oars fixed like the two opposite +arms of a windmill, with which he can row forward, and, turning +them the opposite way, row the machine backward; another pair, +fixed upon the same model, with which he can row the machine +round, either to the right or left; and a third by which he can row +the machine either up or down; all of which are turned by foot, +like a spinning wheel. The rudder by which he steers he manages +by hand, within-board.</p> +<p>“All these shafts which pass through the machine are so curiously +fixed as not to admit any water.</p> +<p>“The magazine for the powder is carried on the hinder part of +the machine, without-board, and so contrived that, when he comes +under the side of a ship, he rubs down the side until he comes to +the keel, and a hook so fixed as that when it touches the keel it +raises a spring which frees the magazine from the machine, and +fastens it to the side of the ship; at the same time it draws a pin, +which sets the watch-work a-going, which, at a given time, +springs the lock, and an explosion ensues.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Thus wrote Dr. Benjamin Gale to Silas Deane, +member of Congress at Philadelphia. His letter +bears the date November 9, 1775, and, after +describing the wonderful machine, he adds:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>“I well know the man. Lately he has conducted matters with +the greatest secrecy, both for the personal safety of the navigator, +and to produce the greater astonishment to those against whom +it is designed; and, you may call me a visionary, an enthusiast, +or what you please, I do insist upon it that I believe the inspiration +of the Almighty has given him understanding for this very +purpose and design.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When the seine-house door had been fastened +open, when Dr. Franklin and Dr. Gale had gone +within, followed by the two brothers, Mr. Bushnell +and his wife stood without looking in, and +wondering in their hearts what the sight they +saw could mean; for, of the intent or purpose of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +the curious, oaken, iron-bound, many-paddled, +brass-headed, window-lighted thing, they, it must +be remembered, knew nothing. It must mean +something extraordinary, of course, or Doctor +Franklin would never have thought it worth his +while to come out of his way to behold it.</p> +<p>“Father,” whispered Mrs. Bushnell, “it’s the +<i>fish</i> David has been all summer catching.”</p> +<p>“Fish!” ejaculated Mr. Bushnell, “it’s more +like a turtle.”</p> +<p>“That’s good!” spoke up Dr. Gale, from within. +“Turtle it shall be.”</p> +<p>“It is the first <i>submarine</i> boat ever made—a +grand idea, wrought into substance,” slowly pronounced +Dr. Franklin; “let us have it forth into +the river.”</p> +<p>“And run the risk of discovery?” suggested +David, pleased that his work approved itself to +the man of science.</p> +<p>“We meant to try it last night, but failed,” said +Ezra Bushnell.</p> +<p>“There, now, father, don’t you wish we had +staid at home?” whispered Mrs. Bushnell.</p> +<p>“No!” growled the father. “They would +have killed themselves getting it down alone.”</p> +<p>He stepped within and laid his hand on the +machine, saying:</p> +<p>“Anna, you keep watch, and, if any boat heaves +in sight, let us know. Does the Turtle snap, +David?” he questioned, putting forth his hand +and laying it cautiously upon the animal.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></div> +<p>“Never, until the word is given,” replied the +son, and then ten strong hands applied the +strength within them to lift the curious piece of +mechanism and carry it without.</p> +<p>The seine-house was close to the river-bank, +and in a half-hour’s time the American Turtle +was in its native element.</p> +<p>Madam Anna Bushnell kept strict watch over +the shores and the river, but not a sail slid into +sight, not an oar troubled the waters of the tide, +as it tossed back the tumble of the down-flowing +river.</p> +<p>It was a hard duty for the mother to perform; +for, at a glance toward the bank, she saw David +step into the machine, and the brass cover close +down over his head. She felt suffocating fears +for him, as, at last, the thing began to move into +the stream. She saw it go out, she saw it slowly +sinking, going down out of sight, until even the +brass head was submerged.</p> +<p>Then she forsook her post, and hastened to the +bank to keep watch with the rest.</p> +<p>One, two, three minutes went by. The men +looked at the surface of the waters, at each other, +grew thoughtful, pale; the mother gasped and +dropped on the salt grass, fainting; the brother +gave to Lady Fenwick a running push, bounded +on board, and clutched the oars to row swiftly to +the spot where David went down.</p> +<p>Mr. Bushnell filled his hat with water, and +sprinkled the pale face in the sedge.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></div> +<p>“<i>There! there!</i>” cried Dr. Franklin, with distended +eyes and eager outlook.</p> +<p>“<i>Where? where?</i>” ejaculated Dr. Gale, striving +to take into vision the whole surface of the river, +at a glance.</p> +<p>“It’s all right! He’s coming up <i>plump</i>!” +shouted Ezra, from his boat, as he rowed with +speed for the spot where a brass tube was rising, +sun-burnished, from the Connecticut.</p> +<p>Presently the brass head, with its very small +windows, emerged, even the oaken sides were +rising,—and Mr. Bushnell was greeting the returning +consciousness of his wife with the words:</p> +<p>“It’s all right, mother. David is safe.”</p> +<p>“Don’t let him know,” were the first words she +spoke, “that his own mother was so faithless as +to doubt!”</p> +<p>And now, paddle, paddle, toward the river-bank +came the Turtle, David Bushnell’s head rising +out of its shell, proud confidence shining forth +from his eyes, as feet and hands busied themselves +in navigating the boat that had lived for months +in his brain, and now was living, in very substance, +under his control.</p> +<p>As he neared the bank a shout of acclamation +greeted him.</p> +<p>He reached the island, was fairly dragged forth +from his seat, and carried up to the spot where +his mother sat, trying to overcome every trace of +past doubt and fear.</p> +<p>“Now,” said Dr. Gale, “let us give thanks unto +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +Him who hath given this youth understanding to +do this great work.”</p> +<p>With bared heads and devout hearts the thanksgiving +went upward, and thereafter a perfect +shower of questions pelted David Bushnell concerning +his device to blow up ships: <i>how</i> he came +to think of it at all—<i>where</i> he got this idea and +that as to its construction—to all of which he +simply said:</p> +<p>“<i>You’ll find your answer in the prayer you’ve just +offered!</i>”</p> +<p>“But,” said practical Mr. Bushnell, “the Lord +did not send you money to buy oak and iron and +brass, did he?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” returned David, “by the hand of my +good friend, Dr. Gale. To him belongs half the +victory.”</p> +<p>“Pshaw! pshaw!” impatiently uttered the +doctor. “I tell you it is <i>no such thing</i>! I only +advanced My Lady here,” turning to Madam +Bushnell, “a little money, on her promise to pay +me at some future time. I’m mightily ashamed +<i>now</i> that I took the promise at all. Madam Bushnell, +I’ll never take a penny of it back again, <i>never</i>, +as long as I live. I <i>will</i> have a little of the credit +of this achievement, and no one shall hinder me.”</p> +<p>“How is that, mother?” questioned Mr. Bushnell. +“<i>You</i> borrow money and not tell me!” and +David and Ezra looked at her.</p> +<p>“I—I—” stammered forth the woman, “I only +<i>guessed</i> that David was doing something that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +wanted money for, and told Dr. Gale if he gave +it to him I would repay it. Do you <i>care</i>, father?”</p> +<p>Before he had a chance to get an answer in, +David Bushnell stepped forward, and, taking the +little figure of his mother in his arms, kissed her +sharply, and walked away, to give some imaginary +attention to the Turtle at the bank.</p> +<p>“It is a fair land to work for!” spoke up Doctor +Franklin, looking about upon river and earth and +sea; “worthy it is of our highest efforts; of our +lives, even, if need be. God give us strength as +our need <i>shall</i> be.”</p> +<p>With many a tug and pull and hearty heave-ho, +the Turtle was hoisted up the bank and safely +drawn into the seine-house. The door was locked, +and Lady Fenwick’s tomb gave forth no sound +that night.</p> +<p>Doctor Franklin went his way to Boston. Doctor +Gale returned to Killingworth and his waiting +patients, and the Bushnells, father, mother and +sons, having put the two gentlemen on the Saybrook +shore, went down the river into the +Sound, along its edge, and up the small Pochaug +to their own home by the sycamore tree.</p> +<p>Mr. Bushnell and Ezra did the rowing that +night. David’s white hands had, somehow, a +new radiance in them for his father’s eyes, and +did not seem exactly fitted for rowing just a common +boat and every-day oars.</p> +<p>The young man sat in the stern, beside his +mother, one arm around her waist, and the other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +clasped closely between her little palms, while, +now and then, her finding eyes would penetrate +his consciousness with a glance that seemed to +say, “I always believed in you, David.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>If you go to-day and stand upon the site of the +old fort, built at the mouth of the Connecticut +River, in the year 1635, by Lion Gardiner, once +engineer in the service of the Prince of Orange, +and search the waters up and down for the island +on which David Bushnell built the American +Turtle in 1775, you will not find it.</p> +<p>If you seek the oldest inhabitant of Saybrook, +and ask him to point out its locality, he will say, +with boyhood’s fondness for olden play-grounds +in his tone:</p> +<p>“Ah, yes! It is <i>Poverty</i> Island that you mean. +It used to be there, but spring freshets and beating +storms have washed it away.”</p> +<p>The unexpected visit of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, +to see the machine David Bushnell was building, +gave new force to that young gentleman’s confidence +in his own powers of invention.</p> +<p>He worked with increased energy and hope to +perfect boat and magazine, that he might do good +service with them before winter should fall on +the waters of the Massachusetts Bay, where the +hostile ships were lying.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>At last came the day wherein the final trial-trip +should be made. The pumps built by Mr. Doolittle, +but not according to order, had failed once, +but new ones had been supplied, and everything +seemed propitious. David and Ezra, with their +mother in the boat, rowed once more to Poverty +Island. “On the morrow the great venture +should begin,” they said.</p> +<p>The time was mid-October. The forests had +wrapped the cooling coast in warmth of coloring +that was soft and many-hued as the shawls of +Cashmere, while the sun-made fringe of goldenrod +fell along the shores of river and island and +sea.</p> +<p>Mrs. Bushnell’s heart beat proudly above the +fond affection that could not suppress a shiver, as +the Turtle was pushed into the stream. She +could not help seeing that David made a line fast +from the seine-house to his boat ere he went +down. They watched many minutes to see him +rise to the surface, but he did not.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Ezra, “the pump for forcing +water out when he wants to rise don’t work, and +we must pull him in. He feared it.”</p> +<p>As he spoke the words he laid hold on the line, +and began gently to draw on it.</p> +<p>“Hurry! hurry! <i>do!</i>” cried Mrs. Bushnell, +seizing the same line close to the water’s edge, +and drawing on it with all her strength. She +was vexed that Ezra had not told her the danger +in the beginning, and she “knew <i>very</i> well that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +<span class='smcaplc'>SHE</span> would not have stood there and let David +die of suffocation, in that horrid, brass-topped +coffin!”</p> +<p>“Hold, mother!” cried Ezra; “pull gently, or +the line may part on some barnacled rock if it +gets caught.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless, Mrs. Bushnell pulled in as fast as +she could.</p> +<p>The tide was sweeping up the river, and a +shark, in hard chase after a school of menhaden, +swam steadily up, with fin out of water.</p> +<p>Just as the shark reached the place, he made a +dive, and the rope parted!</p> +<p>Mrs. Bushnell screamed a word or two of the +terror that had seized her. Ezra looked up, +amazed to find the rope coming in so readily, +hand over hand. He cast it down, sprang to the +boat, and pushed off to the possible rescue, only +to find that the Turtle was making for the river-bank +instead of the island.</p> +<p>He rowed to the spot. His brother, for the +first time in his life, was overcome with disappointment +and disinclined to talk.</p> +<p>“I—I,” said David, wiping his forehead. “I +grew tired, and made for shore. The tide was +taking me up fast.”</p> +<p>“Did you let go the line?” questioned Ezra.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The pump works all right, then?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You’ve frightened mother terribly.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></div> +<p>“Have I? I never thought. I <i>forgot</i> she was +here. Let us get back, then;” and the two +brothers, without speaking a word, rowed down +against the sweep of tide, the great Turtle in tow.</p> +<p>The three went home, still keeping a silence +broken only by briefest possible question and +answer.</p> +<p>The golden October night fell upon the old +town. Pochaug River, its lone line of silver +gathered in many a stretch of interval into which +the moon looked calmly down, lay on the land +for many a mile.</p> +<p>Again and again, during the evening, David +Bushnell went out from the house and stood +silently on the rough bridge that crossed the +river by the door.</p> +<p>“Let David alone, mother,” urged Ezra, as she +was about to follow him on one occasion. “He +is thinking out something, and is better alone.”</p> +<p>That which the young man was thinking at the +moment was, that he wished the moon would +hurry and go down. He longed for darkness.</p> +<p>The night was growing cold. Frost was in the air.</p> +<p>As he stood on the rough logs, a post-rider, +hurrying by with letters, came up.</p> +<p>“Holloa there!” he called aloud, not liking the +looks of the man on the bridge.</p> +<p>“It’s I,—David Bushnell, Joe Downs! You can +ride by in safety,” he responded, ringing out one +of his merriest chimes of laughter at the very +idea of being taken for a highwayman.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></div> +<p>“I’ve news,” said Joe; “want it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Joe Downs opened his pocket, and, by the light +of the moon, found the letter he had referred to.</p> +<p>“Dr. Gale told me not to fail to put this into +your hands as I came by. I should kind o’ judge, +by the way he <i>spoke</i>, that the continent couldn’t +get along very well <i>’thout you</i>, if I hadn’t known +a thing or two. Howsomever, here’s the letter, +and I’ve to jog on to Guilford afore the moon +goes down. So good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good night, Joe. Thank you for stopping,” +said David, going into the house.</p> +<p>“Were you expecting that letter, David?” +questioned Mr. Bushnell, when it had been read.</p> +<p>“No, sir. It is from Dr. Gale. He asks me to +hasten matters as far as possible, but a new contrivance +will have to go in before I am ready.”</p> +<p>“There! <i>That’s</i> what troubles him,” thought +both Mrs. Bushnell and Ezra, and they exchanged +glances of sympathy and satisfaction—and the +little household went to sleep, quite care-free +that night.</p> +<p>At two of the clock, with nearly noiseless +tread, David Bushnell left the house.</p> +<p>As the door closed his mother moved uneasily +in her sleep, and awoke with the sudden consciousness +that something uncanny had happened. +She looked from a window and saw, by the +light of a low-lying moon, that David had gone +out.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div> +<p>Without awakening her husband she protected +herself with needful clothing, and, wrapped about +in one of the curious plaid blankets of mingled +blue and white, adorned with white fringe, that +are yet to be found in the land, she followed into +the night.</p> +<p>Save for the sleepy tinkle of the water over the +stones in the Pochaug River, and an occasional +cry of a night-bird still lingering by the sea, the +air was very still.</p> +<p>With light tread across the bridge she ran a +little way, and then ventured a timid cry of her +own into the night:</p> +<p>“David! David!”</p> +<p>Now David Bushnell hoped to escape without +awakening his mother. He was lingering near, +to learn whether his going had disturbed anyone, +and he was quite prepared for the call.</p> +<p>Turning back to meet her he thought: “<i>What</i> +a mother <i>mine</i> is.” And he said, “Well, mother, +what is it? I was afraid I might disturb you.”</p> +<p>“O David!” was all that she could utter in +response.</p> +<p>“And so <i>you</i> are troubled about me, are you? +I’m only going to chase the will-o’-the-wisp a +little while, and I could not do it, you know, +until moon-down.”</p> +<p>“<i>O</i> David!” and this time with emphatic pressure +on his arm, “David, come home. <i>I</i> can’t +let you go off alone.”</p> +<p>“Come with me, then. You’re well blanketed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +I see. I’d much rather have some one with me, +only Ezra was tired and sleepy.”</p> +<p>He said this with so much of his accustomed +manner that Mrs. Bushnell put her hand within +his arm and went on, quite content now, and willing +that he should speak when it pleased him to +do so, and it pleased him very soon.</p> +<p>“Little mother,” he said, “I am afraid you are +losing faith in me.”</p> +<p>“Never! David; only—I <i>was</i> a little afraid that +you were losing your own head, or faith in yourself.”</p> +<p>“No; but I <i>am</i> afraid I’ve lost my faith in +something else. I showed you the two bits of +fox-fire that were crossed on one end of the +needle in the compass, and the one bit made fast +to the other? Well, to-day, when I went to the +bottom of the river, the fox-fire gave no light, and +the compass was useless. Can you understand +how bad that would be under an enemy’s ship, +not to know in which direction to navigate?”</p> +<p>“You must have fresh fire, then.”</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> is just what I am out for to-night. I +had to wait till the moon was gone.”</p> +<p>“Oh! is <i>that</i> all? How foolish I have been! +but you ought to tell me some things, sometimes, +David.”</p> +<p>“And so I will. I tell you now that it will be +well for you to go home and go to sleep. I may +have to go deep into the woods to find the fire I +want.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p>But his mother only walked by his side a little +faster than before, and on they went to a place +where a bit of woodland had grown up above +fallen trees.</p> +<p>They searched in places wherein both had seen +the fire of decaying wood a hundred times, but +not one gleam of phosphorescence could be found +anywhere. At last they turned to go homeward.</p> +<p>“What will you do, David? Go and search in +the Killingworth woods to-morrow night?” she +asked, as they drew near home.</p> +<p>“It is of no use,” he said, with a sigh. “It +<i>must</i> be that the frost destroys the fox-fire. Unless +Dr. Franklin knows of a light that will not +eat up the air, everything must be put off until +spring.”</p> +<p>The next day David Bushnell went to Killingworth, +to tell the story to Dr. Gale, and Dr. Gale +wrote to Silas Deane (Conn. Historical Col., Vol. +2), begging him to inquire of Dr. Franklin concerning +the possibility of using the Philosopher’s +Lantern, but no light was found, and the poor +Turtle was housed in the seine-house on Poverty +Island during the long winter, which proved to +be one of great mildness from late December to +mid-February.</p> +<p>In February we find David Bushnell before +Governor Jonathan Trumbull and his Council at +Lebanon, to tell about and illustrate the marvels +of his wonderful machine.</p> +<p>During this time the whole affair had been kept +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +a profound secret from all but the faithful few +surrounding the inventor. And now, if ever, the +time was drawing near wherein the labor and +outlay must either repay laborer and lender, or +give to both great trouble and distress.</p> +<p>I cannot tell you with what trepidation the +young man walked into the War Office at Lebanon, +with a very small Turtle under his arm.</p> +<p>You will please remember the situation of the +colonists at that moment. On the land they +feared not to contend with Englishmen. Love of +liberty in the Provincials was strong enough, +when united with a trusty musket and a fair +supply of powder, to encounter red-coated regulars +of the British army; but on the ocean, and +in every bay, harbor and river, they were powerless. +The enemy’s ships had kept Boston in +siege for nearly two years, the Americans having +no opposing force to contend with them.</p> +<p>Could this little Turtle, which David Bushnell +carried under his arm, do the work he wished it +to, why, every ship of the line could be blown +into the air!</p> +<p>The inventor had faith in his invention, but he +feared, when he looked into the faces of the +grave Governor and his Council of War, that he +could <i>never</i> impart his own belief to them.</p> +<p>I cannot tell you with what trust of heart and +faith of soul Mrs. Bushnell kept the February +day in the house by the bridge at Pochaug. +Even the strong-minded, sturdy-nerved Mr. Bushnell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +looked often up the road by which David +and Ezra would approach from Lebanon, with a +keen interest in his eyes; but he would not let +any word escape him, until darkness had fallen +and they were not come.</p> +<p>“He said he would be here at eight, at the +very latest,” said the mother at length, and she +went to the fire and placed before the burning +coals two chickens to broil.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid David won’t have much appetite, +unless his model <i>should</i> be approved, and money +is too precious to spend on <i>experiments</i>,” said Mr. +Bushnell, as she returned to his side.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to tell me you <i>doubt</i>?”</p> +<p>“Of course I doubt. Jonathan Trumbull is a +man not at all likely to give his consent to anything +that does not commend itself to common sense.”</p> +<p>Mr. Bushnell was saved the pain of saying his +thought, that he was afraid, if David’s plan was a +good one, <i>somebody</i> would have thought of it long +ago, for vigorous knuckles were at work upon +the winter-door.</p> +<p>As soon as it was opened the genial form of +good Dr. Gale stood revealed.</p> +<p>“Are the boys back yet?” he asked, stepping +within.</p> +<p>“No, but we expect them every minute,” said +Mr. Bushnell.</p> +<p>“Well, friends, I had a patient within three +miles of you to visit, and I thought I’d come on +and hear the news.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span></div> +<p>Ere he was fully made welcome to hearth and +home, in walked David, with the little Turtle +under his arm. Without ado he went up to his +mother and said:</p> +<p>“Madam, I present this to you, with Governor +Trumbull’s compliments. He has ordered your +boy money, men, metals and powder without stint +to work with. <i>Wish me joy, won’t you?</i>”</p> +<p>I do not anywhere find a record of the words +in which the joy was wished, on that 2nd of February, +a hundred years ago, but it is easy to +imagine the very tones in which the good, God-loving +Dr. Gale gave thanks for the new blessing +that had that day fallen on his friend’s house.</p> +<p>It is impossible to follow David Bushnell in his +many journeys to the iron furnaces of Salisbury, +in the spring and early summer of 1776, during +which time the entire country was aroused and +astir from the removal of the American army from +Boston to New York; and our friends at Saybrook +were busy as bees from morning till night, +in getting ready perfect machines for duty.</p> +<p>David Bushnell’s strength proved insufficient +to navigate one of his Turtles in the tidal waters +of the Sound, and his brother Ezra learned to do +it most perfectly.</p> +<p>In the latter end of June, the British fleet, +which had sailed out of Boston harbor so ingloriously +on the 17th of March, for Halifax, there to +await re-inforcements, appeared in waters adjacent +to New York.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></div> +<p>The signal of their approach was gladly hailed +by the inventor and by the navigator of the +American Turtle.</p> +<p>A whale-boat from New London, her seamen +sworn to inviolable secrecy, was ordered to be in +the river at a given point, on a given night, for a +service of which the men were utterly ignorant.</p> +<p>On the evening previous, Ezra Bushnell, overworn +by many attempts at navigating the +machine, was taken seriously ill. At midnight he +was delirious—at day-dawn Dr. Gale was sent for.</p> +<p>When night fell he was in a raging fever, with +no prospect of rapid recovery.</p> +<p>David set off alone, and with a heavy heart, to +meet the boatmen. In the seine-house on Poverty +Island the brothers had stored provisions for a +cruise of several days. To this spot David Bushnell +went alone, and with a saddened heart, for +he knew that it must be many days ere he could +learn of his brother’s condition.</p> +<p>The New London boatmen were promptly at +the appointed place of meeting.</p> +<p>When they saw the curious thing they were +told to take in tow, their curiosity knew no +bounds; and it was only when assured that it was +dangerous to examine it, that they desisted from +their determination to know all about it, and consented +to obey orders.</p> +<p>When, at last, a departure was made, the hour +was midnight, the tide served, and no ill-timed +discovery was made of the deed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></div> +<p>The strong-armed boatmen rowed well and +long, and, as daylight dawned, they were directed +to keep a look-out for Faulkner’s Island, a small +bit of land in the Sound, nearly five miles from +the Connecticut shore.</p> +<p>The flashing light that illumines the waters at +night for us, did not gleam on them, but nevertheless, +the high brown bank and the little slope +of land looked inviting to weary men, as they +cautiously rowed near to it, not knowing whom +they might meet there.</p> +<p>They landed, made a fire, cooked their food, ate +of it, and lay down to sleep until night should +come again.</p> +<p>They set out early in the ensuing twilight, and +rowed westward all night, in the face of a gentle +wind.</p> +<p>“If there were only another Faulkner’s Island +to flee to,” said Mr. Bushnell, as morning drew +near. “Do you know (to one of the men) a safe +place to hide in on this coast?”</p> +<p>They were then off Merwin’s Point, and between +West Haven and Milford.</p> +<p>“There’s Poquahaug,” was the reply, with a +momentary catch of the oar, and incline of the +head toward the south-west.</p> +<p>“<i>What</i> is Poquahaug?”</p> +<p>“A little island, pretty well in, close to shore, +as it were, and, maybe, deserted.”</p> +<p>After deliberate council had been held it was +resolved to examine the locality.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></div> +<p>A few years after New Haven and Milford +churches were formed under the oak-tree at New +Haven, this little island, to which they were +fleeing to hide the Turtle from daylight, was +“granted to Charles Deal for a tobacco plantation, +provided that he would not trade with the +Dutch or Indians;” but now Indians, Dutch and +Charles Deal alike had left it, the latter with a +rude, sheltering building in place of Ansantawae’s +big summer wigwam that used to adorn its crest.</p> +<p>To this spot, bright with grass, and green with +full-foliaged trees of oak on its eastern shore, the +weary boatmen, who had had a long, hard pull of +twenty miles to make, came, just as the longest +day’s sun was at its rising.</p> +<p>They were so glad and relieved <i>and</i> satisfied to +find no one on it.</p> +<p>The Turtle was left at anchor near the shore; +the whale-boat gave up of its provisions, and +presently the little camp was in the enjoyment of +a long day of rest and refreshment.</p> +<p>Should anyone approach from the seaward or +from the mainland, it was determined that the +party should resolve itself into a band of fishermen, +fishing for striped bass, for which the +locality was well known.</p> +<p>As the day wore on, and the falling tide revealed +a line of stones that gradually increased, +as the water fell, to a bar a hundred feet wide, +stretching from the island to the sands of the +Connecticut shore, David Bushnell perceived +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +that the locality was just the proper place in +which to learn and teach the art of navigating the +Turtle. He examined the region well, and then +called the men together.</p> +<p>They were staunch, good-hearted fellows, +accustomed to long pulls in northern seas after +whales, and that they were patriotic he fully believed. +The Turtle was drawn up under the +grassy bank, where the long sedge half hid, and +bushels of rock-weed and sea-drift wholly concealed +it, and then, in a few carefully-chosen +words, David Bushnell entrusted it to the watch +and care of the boatmen.</p> +<p>“I am going to leave it here, and you with it, +until I return,” he said. “Guard it with your +lives if need be. If you handle it, it will be at +the risk of life. If you keep it <i>well</i>, Congress will +reward you.”</p> +<p>The mystery of the whole affair enchanted the +men. They made faithful promises, and, in the +glorious twilight of the evening, rowed David +Bushnell across the beautiful stretch of Sound +that to-day separates Charles Island from the +comely old town of Milford.</p> +<p>As the whale-boat went up the harbor, a sailing +vessel was getting ready to depart.</p> +<p>Finding that it was bound to New York, David +Bushnell took passage in it the same night.</p> +<p>Two days later, with a letter from Governor +Trumbull to General Washington as his introduction, +the young man, by command of the latter, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +sought out General Parsons, and “requested him +to furnish him with two or three men to learn the +navigation of his new machine. General Parsons +immediately sent for Ezra Lee, then a sergeant, +and two others, who had <i>offered</i> their services to +go on board a fireship; and, on Bushnell’s request +being made known to them, they enlisted themselves +under him for this novel piece of service.”</p> +<p>Returning to Poquahaug (the Indian name of +Charles Island), the American Turtle was found +safe and sound. Here the little party spent many +days in experimenting with it in the waters about +the island; and in the Housatonic River.</p> +<p>During this time the enemy had got possession +of a portion of Long Island, and of Governor’s +Island in the harbor—thus preventing the approach +to New York by the East River.</p> +<p>When the appalling news of the battle of Long +Island reached David Bushnell, he resolved, cost +what it might of danger to himself, or hazard +to the Turtle, to get it to New York with all +speed.</p> +<p>To that end he had it conveyed by water to +New Rochelle, there landed and carried across +the country to the Hudson River, and presently +we hear of it as being on a certain night, late in +August, ready to start on its perilous enterprise.</p> +<p>If you will go to-day and stand where the Turtle +floated that night (for the land has since that +time grown outward into the sea), on your right +hand across the Hudson River, you will see New +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +Jersey. At your left, across the East River, +Long Island begins, with the beautiful Governor’s +Island in the bay just before you, and, looking +to the southward, in the distance, you will +discern Staten Island.</p> +<p>Let us go back to that day and hour.</p> +<p>The precise date of the Turtle’s voyage down +the bay is not given, but the time must have been +on the night of either the thirtieth or thirty-first +of August. We will choose the thirtieth, and +imagine ourselves standing in the crowd by the +side of Generals Washington and Putnam, to see +the machine start.</p> +<p>Remember, now, where we stand. It is only +<i>last</i> night that <i>our</i> army, defeated, dispirited, +exhausted by battle, lay across the river on +Brooklyn Heights. Behind it, busy with pickaxe +and shovel, the victorious troops of Mother +England were making ready to “finish” the +Americans on the morrow.</p> +<p>There were supposed to be twenty-four +thousand of the enemy, only nine thousand +Continentals; and, just ready to enter East River +and cut them off from New York, lay the British +fleet to the north of Staten Island.</p> +<p>As happened at Boston in March, so happened +it last night in New York, a friendly fog held the +heights of Brooklyn in its grasp, while at New +York all was clear.</p> +<p>Under cover of this fog General Washington +withdrew across the river, a mile or more in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +width, <i>nine thousand men</i>, with all their “baggage, +stores, provisions, horses, and munitions of war,” +and not a man of the enemy knew that they were +gone until the fog lifted.</p> +<p>Now, as we stand, Long Island, Governor’s +Island, Staten Island, one and all are under the +control of Britons.</p> +<p>David Bushnell is in a whale-boat, down close +to the Turtle, giving some last important words +of direction to brave Ezra Lee, who has stepped +within it. David Bushnell could not help wishing, +as he did so, that he could take his place and +guide the spirit of the child of his own creation, +in its first great encounter with the world.</p> +<p>The word is given. The brass top of the Turtle +is shut down. Watchful eyes and swift rowers +belonging to the enemy are keeping guard on +Governor’s Island, by which Ezra Lee must row, +and it is safer to go under water. How crowded +this little pier would be, did the inhabitants but +know what is going on!</p> +<p>The whale-boats start out, David Bushnell in +one of them. They mean to take the Turtle in +tow the minute it is safe to do so and save Ezra +Lee the labor of rowing it until the last minute.</p> +<p>It is eleven o’clock. All silently they dip the +oars, and hear the sentinels cry from camp and +shore.</p> +<p>Past the island, in safety, at last. They look +for the Turtle. Up it comes, a distant watch-light +gleaming across its brass head disclosing its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +presence. Once more it is in tow, and Lee is in +the whale-boat.</p> +<p>Down the bay they go, until the lights from the +fleet grow dangerously near.</p> +<p>On the wide, wind-stirred waters of New York +Bay, Ezra Lee gets into the Turtle, and is cast off, +and left alone, for the whale-boats return to New +York.</p> +<p>With the rudder in his hand, and his <i>feet</i> upon +the oars, he pursues his way. The strong ebb +tide flows fast, and, before he is aware of it, it has +drifted him down past the men-of-war.</p> +<p>However, he immediately <i>gets the machine about</i>, +and, “by hard labor at the crank for the space of +five glasses by the ships’ bells, or two and a half +hours, he arrives under the stern of one of the +ships at about slack water.”</p> +<p>Day is now beginning to dawn. He can see +the people on board, and hear them talk.</p> +<p>The moment has come for diving. He closes +up quickly overhead, lets in the water, and goes +down under the ship’s bottom.</p> +<p>He now applies the screw and does all in his +power to make it enter, but in vain; it will not +pierce the ship’s copper. Undaunted, he paddles +along to a different part, hoping to find a softer +place; but, in doing this, in his hurry and excitement, +he manages the mechanism so that the +Turtle instantly arises to the surface on the east +side of the ship, and is at once exposed to the +piercing light of day.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span></div> +<p>Again he goes under, hoping that he has not +been seen.</p> +<p>This time his courage fails. It is getting to be +day. If the ship’s boats are sent after him his +escape will be very difficult, well-nigh impossible, +and, if he saves himself at all, it must be by rowing +more than four miles.</p> +<p>He gives up the enterprise with reluctance, and +starts for New York.</p> +<p>Governor’s Island <i>must</i> be passed by. He +draws near to it, as near as he can venture, and +then submerges the Turtle. Alas! something +has befallen the compass. It will not guide the +rowing under the sea.</p> +<p>Every few minutes he is compelled to rise to +the surface to look out from the top of the +machine to guide his course, and his track grows +very <ins title='Was ziz'>zig</ins>-zag through the waters.</p> +<p>Ah! the soldiers at Governor’s Island see the +Turtle! Hundreds are gathering upon the +parapet to watch its motions, such a curious boat +as it is, with turret of brass bobbing up and down, +sinking, disappearing—coming to the surface +again in a manner <i>wholly</i> unaccountable.</p> +<p>Brave Lee knows his danger, and paddles away +for dear life and love of family up in Lyme, +eating breakfast quietly now he remembers, not +knowing his peril.</p> +<p>Once more he goes up to take a lookout, to see +where White-hall slip lies.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></div> +<p>A glance at Governor’s Island, and he sees a +barge shove off laden with his enemies.</p> +<p>Down again, and up, and he sees it making for +him. <i>There is no escape!</i> What <i>can</i> he do!</p> +<p>“If I must die,” he thinks, “they shall die with +me!” and he lets go the magazine.</p> +<p>Nearer and nearer—the barge is <i>very</i> close. +“If they pick me up they will pick that up,” +thinks Lee, “and we shall all be blown to atoms +together!”</p> +<p>They are now within a hundred and fifty feet +of the Turtle and they see the magazine that he +has detached.</p> +<p>“Some horrible Yankee trick!” cries a British +soldier. “<i>Beware!</i>” And they do beware by +turning and rowing with all speed for the island +whence they came.</p> +<p>Poor Lee looks out with amazement to see them +go. He is well-nigh exhausted, <i>and the magazine, +with its dreadful clock-work going on within it, and +its hundred and fifty pounds of powder, ready to go +off at a given moment</i>, is floating on behind him, +borne by the tide.</p> +<p>He strains every muscle to near New York. +He signals the shore.</p> +<p>Since daylight Putnam has been there keeping +watch. David Bushnell has paced up and down +all night, in keen anxiety.</p> +<p>The friendly whale-boats put out to meet him.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, slowly borne by the coming tide, +the magazine floats into the East River.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></div> +<p>“It will blow up in five minutes now,” says +Bushnell, looking at his watch, and he goes to +welcome Ezra Lee.</p> +<p>The five minutes go by.</p> +<p>Suddenly, with tremendous voice, and awful +uproar of the sea, the magazine explodes.</p> +<p>Columns of water toss high in air, mingled +with the oaken ribs that held the powder but a +minute ago.</p> +<p>Consternation seizes British troops on Long +Island. The brave soldiers on the parapet at +Governor’s Island quake with fear. All New +York rushes to the river-side to find out what it +can mean. Nothing, on all the face of the earth, +<i>ever</i> happened like it before, one and all declare.</p> +<p>Opinion varies concerning it, from bomb to +earthquake, from meteor to water-spout, and +settles down on neither.</p> +<p>Poor Ezra Lee feels that he <i>meant</i> well, but did +not act wisely. David Bushnell praises the +sergeant, and takes all the want of success to himself, +in not going to do his own work.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, with astonishment, Generals Washington +and Putnam and David Bushnell himself +behold, as did the Provincials, <i>after</i> the battle of +<i>Bunker-Breed’s</i> Hill, <i>victory in defeat</i>, for lo! no +British ship sails up the East River, or appears +to bombard New York.</p> +<p>Silently they weigh anchor and drop down the +bay. The little American Turtle gained a +bloodless victory that day.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<blockquote> +<p><span class='smcap'>Note.</span>—The writer has carefully followed, in the account of the Turtle’s +attempt upon the Eagle, the statement of Ezra Lee, made to Mr. Charles +Griswold of Lyme, more than forty years after the occurrence, and by him +communicated to the <i>American Journal of Science and Arts</i> in 1820. For +the description of the wonderful mechanism of the machine, the account +given <i>at the time</i> by Dr. Gale in his letters to Silas Deane has been chosen, +as probably more accurate than one made from memory after forty years +had passed.</p> +</blockquote> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>David Bushnell was appointed from civil life Captain-Lieutenant +of a Corps of Sappers and Miners—recommended for the +position by Governor Trumbull, General Parsons and others. +June 8, 1781, he was promoted full Captain. He was present at +the siege of Yorktown and commanded the Corps in 1783.</p> +<p>He was also a member of the Society of the Cincinnati.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +<a name='THE_BIRTHDAY_OF_OUR_NATION' id='THE_BIRTHDAY_OF_OUR_NATION'></a> +<h2>THE BIRTHDAY OF OUR NATION.</h2> +</div> +<p>Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy +were hurrying up Chestnut street; +the man carried a large key, the boy a +new broom.</p> +<p>It was a very warm morning in a very warm +month of a very warm year; in fact it may as +well be stated at once that it was the Fourth day +of July, 1776, and that Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed +Boy were in haste to make ready the State +House of Pennsylvania for the birth of the United +States of America. No wonder they were in a +hurry.</p> +<p>In fact, everybody seemed in a hurry that day; +for before Bellman Grey had whisked that new +broom over the floor of Congress Hall, in walked, +arm-in-arm, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams.</p> +<p>“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Bellman +Grey. “You’ll find the dust settled in the committee-room. +I’m cleaning house a little extra +to-day for the expected visitor.”</p> +<p>“For the coming heir?” said Mr. Adams.</p> +<p>“When Liberty comes, She comes to stay,” +said Mr. Jefferson, half-suffocated with the dust; +and the two retreated to the committee-room.</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy was polishing with his silken +duster the red morocco of a chair as the gentlemen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +opened the door. He heard one of them +say, “If Cæsar Rodney gets here, it will be +done.”</p> +<p>“If it’s done,” said the boy, “won’t you, please, +Mr. Adams, won’t you, please, Mr. Jefferson, let +me carry the news to General Washington?”</p> +<p>The two gentlemen looked either at the other, +and both at the lad, in smiling wonder.</p> +<p>“If what is done?” asked Mr. Adams.</p> +<p>“If the thing is voted and signed and made +sure,” (just here Blue-Eyed Boy waved his duster +of a flag and stood himself as erect as a flagpole;) +“if the tree’s transplanted, if the ship gets +off the ways, if we run clear away from King +George, sir; so far away that he’ll never catch +us.”</p> +<p>“And why do you, my lad, wish to carry the +news to General Washington?” asked Mr. Jefferson.</p> +<p>“Because,” said the boy, “why—wouldn’t you? +It’ll be jolly work for the soldiers when they +know they can fight for themselves.”</p> +<p>Just here Bellman Grey shouted for Blue-Eyed +Boy, bidding him come quick and be spry with +his dusting, too.</p> +<p>Before the hall was cleared of the accumulated +dust of State-rooms above and Congress-rooms +below, in came members of the Congress, one-by-one +and two-by-two, and in groups. The doors +were locked, and the solemn deliberations began. +Within that room, now known as Independence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +Hall, sat, in solemn conclave, half a hundred men, +each and every one of whom knew full well that +the deed about to be done would endanger his +own life.</p> +<p>On a table lay a paper, awaiting signatures. A +silver ink-stand held the ink that trembled and +wavered to the sound and stir of John Adams’s +voice, as he stated once more the why and the +wherefore of the step America was about to take.</p> +<p>This final statement was made for the especial +enlightenment of three gentlemen, new members +of the Congress from New Jersey, and in reply to +the reasons given by Mr. Dickinson why the +Declaration of Independence should <i>not</i> be made.</p> +<p>In the meantime Bellman Grey was up in the +steeple, “seeing what he could see,” and Blue-Eyed +Boy was answering knocks at the entrance +doors; then running up the stairs to tell the +scraps of news that he had gleaned through open +door, or crack, or key-hole.</p> +<p>The day wore on; outside a great and greater +crowd surged every moment against the walls; +but the walls of the State House were thick, and +the crowd was hushed to silence, with intense +longing to hear what was going on inside.</p> +<p>From his high-up place in the belfry, where he +had been on watch, Bellman Grey espied a figure +on horseback, hurrying toward the scene; the +horse was white with heat and hurry; the rider’s +“face was no bigger than an apple,” but it was a +face of importance that day.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></div> +<p>“Run!” shouted Bellman Grey from the belfry. +“Run and tell them that Mr. Rodney +comes.”</p> +<p>The boy descended the staircase with a bound +and a leap and a thump against the door, and +announced Cæsar Rodney’s approach.</p> +<p>In he came, weary with his eighty miles in the +saddle, through heat and hunger and dust, for +Delaware had sent her son in haste to the scene.</p> +<p>The door closed behind him and all was as still +and solemn as before.</p> +<p>Up in the belfry the old man stroked fondly the +tongue of the bell, and softly said under his breath +again and again as the hours went: “They will +never do it; they will never do it.”</p> +<p>The boy sat on the lowest step of the staircase, +alternately peeping through the key-hole with +eye to see and with ear to hear. At last, came a +stir within the room. He peeped again. He saw +Mr. Hancock, with white and solemn face, bend +over the paper on the table, stretch forth his +hand, and dip the pen in the ink. He watched +that hand and arm curve the pen to and fro over +the paper, and then he was away up the stairs +like a cat.</p> +<p>Breathless with haste, he cried up the belfry: +“<i>He’s a doing it, he is!</i> I saw him through the +key-hole. Mr. Hancock has put his name to that +big paper on the table.”</p> +<p>“Go back! go back! you young fool, and keep +watch, and tell me quick when to ring!” cried +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +down the voice of Bellman Grey, as he wiped for +the hundredth time the damp heat from his forehead +and the dust from the iron tongue beside +him.</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy went back and peeped again +just in time to see Mr. Samuel Adams in the +chair, pen in hand.</p> +<p>One by one, in “solemn silence all,” the members +wrote their names, each one knowing full +well, that unless the Colonists could fight longer +and stronger than Great Britain, that signature +would prove his own death-warrant.</p> +<p>It was fitting that the men who wrote their +names that day should write with solemn deliberation.</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy peeped again. “I hope they’re +almost done,” he sighed; “and I reckon they +are, for Mr. Rodney has the pen now. My! how +tired and hot his face looks! I don’t believe he +has had any more dinner to-day than I have, and +I feel most awful empty. It’s almost night by +this time, too.”</p> +<p>At length the long list was complete. Every +man then present had signed the Declaration of +Independence, except Mr. Dickinson of Pennsylvania.</p> +<p>And now came the moment wherein the news +should begin its journey around the world. The +Speaker, Mr. Thompson, arose and made the +announcement to the very men who already +knew it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy peeped with his ear and heard +the words through the key-hole.</p> +<p>With a shout and a cry of “Ring! ring!” and +a clapping of hands, he rushed upward to the +belfry. The words, springing from his lips like +arrows, sped their way into the ears and hands of +Bellman Grey. Grasping the iron tongue of the +old bell, backward and forward he hurled it a +hundred times, its loud voice proclaiming to all +the people that down in Independence Hall a +new nation was born to the earth that day.</p> +<p>When the members heard its tones swinging +out the joyous notes they marvelled, because no +one had authorized the announcement. When +the key was turned from within, and the door +opened, there stood the mystery facing them, in +the person of Blue-Eyed Boy.</p> +<p>“I told him to ring; I heard the news!” he +shouted, and opened the State House doors to let +the Congress out and all the world in.</p> +<p>You know the rest; the acclamation of the +multitude, the common peals (they forgot to be +careful of powder that night in the staid old city), +the big bonfires, and the illuminations that rang +and roared and boomed and burned from Delaware +to Schuylkill.</p> +<p>In the waning light of the latest bonfire, up +from the city of Penn, rode our Blue-Eyed Boy—true +to his purpose to be the first to carry the +glad news to General Washington.</p> +<p>“It will be like meeting an old friend,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +thought; for had he not seen the commander-in-chief +every day going in and out of the Congress +Hall during his visit to Philadelphia only a month +ago?</p> +<p>The self-appointed courier never deemed other +evidence of the truth of his news needful than +his own “word of mouth.” He rode a strong +young horse, which, early in the year, had been +left in his care by a southern officer when on his +way to the camp at Cambridge; and that no one +might worry about him, he had taken the precaution +to intrust his secret to a neighbor lad to tell +at the home-door in the light of early day.</p> +<p>The journey was long, too long to write of here. +Suffice it to say, that on Sunday morning Blue-Eyed +Boy reached the ferry at the Hudson river. +The old ferryman hesitated to cross with the +lad.</p> +<p>“Wait at my house until the cool of the evening,” +he urged.</p> +<p>But Blue-Eyed Boy said, “No, I must cross +this morning, and my pony: I’ll pay for two if +you’ll take me.”</p> +<p>The ferryman crossed the river with the boy, +who, on the other side, inquired his way to the +headquarters of the general.</p> +<p>Warm, tired, hungry, and dusty, he urged his +pony forward to the place, only to find that he +whom he sought had gone to divine service at +St. Paul’s church.</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy rode to St. Paul’s. In the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +Fields (now City Hall Park) he tied his faithful +horse, and went his way to the church.</p> +<p>Gently and with reverent mien, he entered the +open door, and listened to the closing words of +the sermon. At length the service was over and +the congregation turned toward the entrance +where stood the young traveler, his heart beating +with exultant pride at the glorious news he +had to tell to the glorious commander.</p> +<p>How grand the General looked to the boy, as, +with stately step, he trod slowly the church aisle +accompanied by his officers.</p> +<p>Now he was come to the vestibule. It was +Blue-Eyed Boy’s chance at last. The great, +dancing, gleeful eyes, that have outlived in fame +the very name of the lad, were fixed on Washington, +as he stepped forward to accost him.</p> +<p>“Out of the way!” exclaimed a guard, and +thrust him aside.</p> +<p>“I <i>will</i> speak! General Washington!” screamed +Blue-Eyed Boy, in sudden excitement. The idea +of anybody who had seen, even through a key-hole, +the signing of the Declaration of Independence, +being thrust aside thus!</p> +<p>General Washington stayed his steps and +ordered, “Let the lad come to me.”</p> +<p>“I’ve good news for you,” said the youth.</p> +<p>“What news?”</p> +<p>Officers stood around—even the congregation +paused, having heard the cry.</p> +<p>“It’s for you alone, General Washington.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>The lad’s eyes were ablaze now. All the light +of Philadelphia’s late illuminations burned in +them. General Washington bade the youth follow him.</p> +<p>“But my pony is tied yonder,” said he, “and +he’s hungry and tired too. I can’t leave him.”</p> +<p>“Come hither, then,” and the Commander-in-chief +withdrew with the lad within the sacred +edifice.</p> +<p>“General Washington,” said Blue-Eyed Boy, +“on Thursday Congress declared <i>us</i> free and +independent.”</p> +<p>“Where are your dispatches?” leaped from +the General’s lips, his face shining.</p> +<p>“Why—why, I haven’t any, but it’s all true, +sir,” faltered the boy.</p> +<p>“How did you find it out?”</p> +<p>“I was right there, sir. Don’t you remember +me? I help Bellman Grey take care of the State +House at Philadelphia, and I run on errands for +the Congress folks, too, sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Did Congress send you on this errand?”</p> +<p>“No, General Washington; I can’t tell a lie, I +came myself.”</p> +<p>“How did you know me?”</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy was ready to cry now. To be +sure he was sturdy and strong, and nearly fourteen, +too; but to be doubted, after all his long, +tiresome journey, was hard. However, he winked +once or twice violently, and then he looked his +very soul into the General’s face, and said: “Why, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +I saw you every day you went to Congress, only +a month ago, I did.”</p> +<p>“I believe you, my lad. Get your horse and +follow me.”</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy followed on, and waited in camp +until the tardy despatches came in on Tuesday +morning, confirming every word that he had +spoken.</p> +<p>The same evening all the brigades in and +around New York were ordered to their respective +parade-grounds.</p> +<p>Blue-Eyed Boy was admitted within the hollow +square formed by the brigades on the spot +where stands the City Hall. Within the same +square was General Washington, sitting on horseback, +and the great Declaration was read by one +of his aids.</p> +<p>It is needless to tell how it was received by the +eager men who listened to the mighty truths +with reverent, uncovered heads. Henceforth +every man felt that he had a banner under which +to fight, as broad as the sky above him, as sheltering +as the homely roof of home.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +<a name='THE_OVERTHROW_OF_THE_STATUE_OF_KING_GEORGE' id='THE_OVERTHROW_OF_THE_STATUE_OF_KING_GEORGE'></a> +<h2>THE OVERTHROW OF THE STATUE OF KING GEORGE.</h2> +</div> +<p>If, on the evening of July 9, 1876, at six +of the clock, you go and stand where +the shadow of the steeple of St. Paul’s +church in New York is falling, you +will occupy the space General Washington occupied, +just one hundred years ago, when with uncovered +head and reverent mien, he, in the presence +of and surrounded by a brigade of noble +soldiers, listened to the reading of the Declaration +of Independence.</p> +<p>You will remember that at the church door on +Sunday, Blue-Eyed Boy brought to him, by word +of mouth, the great news that a nation was born +on Thursday.</p> +<p>This news was now, for the first time, announced +to the men of New York and New +England.</p> +<p>No wonder that their military caps came off on +Tuesday, that their arms swung in the air, and +their voices burst forth into one loud acclaim +that might have been heard by the British foe +then landing on Staten Island.</p> +<p>As you stand there, and the shadow of old St. +Paul swings around and covers you, shut your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +eyes and listen. Something of the olden music, +of the loud acclaim, may swing around with the +shadow and fall on your ears, since no motion is +ever spent, no sound ever still.</p> +<p>On that night, when the grand burst of enthusiasm +had arisen, Blue-Eyed Boy said to General +Washington: “I am afraid, sir, if Congress had +known, they never would have done it, never! +It seemed easy to do it in Philadelphia, where +everything is just as it used to be; but here, with +all the British ships riding in, full of soldiers, and +guns enough in them to smash the old State +House where they did it! If they’d only known +about the ships!—”</p> +<p>Ah! Blue-Eyed Boy. You didn’t keep your +eye very close to Congress Hall in the morning +of last Thursday, or you would have heard Mr. +Hancock or Mr. Thompson read to Congress a +letter from General Washington, announcing the +arrival of General Howe at Sandy Hook with +one hundred and ten ships of war.</p> +<p>No, no! Blue-Eyed Boy and every other boy; +the men who dared to say, and sign their names +to the assertion, “A nation is born to-day,” did +not do it under the rosy flush of glorious victory, +but in the fast-coming shadow of mighty Britain, +strong in all the power and radiant with all the +pomp of war.</p> +<p>And what had a few little colonies to meet +them with? They had, it is true, a new name, +that of “States”; but cannon and camp-kettles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +alike were wanting; the small powder mills in +the Connecticut hive could yield them only a +fragment of the black honey General Washington +cried for, day and night, from Cambridge to +New York; the houses of the inhabitants, diligently +searched for fragments of lead, gave them +not enough; and you know how every homestead +in New England was besieged for the last +yard of homespun cloth, that the country’s soldiers +might not go coatless by day and tentless +at night.</p> +<p>Brave men and women good!</p> +<p>Let us hurrah for them all, if it is a hundred +years too late for them to hear. The men of a +hundred years to come will remember our huzzas +of this year, and grow, it may be, the braver and +the better for them all.</p> +<p>But now General Washington has ridden away +to his home at Number One in the Broadway; +the brigade has moved on, and even Blue-Eyed +Boy is hastening after General Washington, intent +on taking a farewell glance, from the rampart +of Fort George, at the far-away English ships.</p> +<p>To-morrow he will begin his homeward journey +through the Jerseys. His pass is in his pocket, +and as he quickens his steps, he sees groups +gathering here and there, and knows that some +excitement is astir in the public mind, but thinks +it is all about the great Declaration.</p> +<p>He reaches Wall street, and the sun is at its +going down. Up from the East river come the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +sounds of orderly drummers drumming, of regimental +fifers fifing. He stays his steps, and +stands listening: he sees a brigade marching the +“grand parade” at sunset.</p> +<p>Up it comes from Wall street to Smith street; +(I am sure I do not know what Smith street is +lost into now, but the orderly-book of Major +Phineas Porter of Waterbury, one hundred years +old to-morrow morning, has it “Smith street”); +from the upper end of Smith street back to Wall +street, and the young Philadelphian follows it, +marching to sound of fife and drum.</p> +<p>As it turns towards the East river, he remembers +whither he was bound and starts off with +speed for the Grand Battery.</p> +<p>As he goes, glancing backward, he sees that all +the town is at his heels.</p> +<p>He begins to run. All the town begins to run. +He runs faster: the crowd runs faster. It is +shouting now. He tries to listen; but his feet are +flying, his head is bobbing, his hat is falling, and +this is what he thinks he hears in the midst of +all: “Down with him! Down with the Tory!” +It is “tyrant” that they cry, but he hears it as +“tory,” and he knows full well how Governor +Franklin of New Jersey and Mayor Matthews of +New York have just been sent off to Connecticut +for safer keeping, and he does not care to go into +New England just now, so he flies faster than +ever, fully believing that the crowd pursues him, +as a Royalist.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></div> +<p>Just before him opens the Bowling Green. +Into it he darts, hoping to find covert, but there +is none at hand.</p> +<p>Right in the midst of the enclosure stands an +equestrian statue of King George the Third.</p> +<p>It is high; it looks safe. Blue-Eyed Boy makes +for it, utterly ignorant of what it is.</p> +<p>The crowd surges on. It is now at the gate. +The young martyr makes a spring at the leg and +tail of the horse; he swings himself aloft, he +catches and clutches and climbs, and in the midst +of ringing shouts of “Down with him! Down +with horse and king!” Blue-Eyed Boy gets over +King George and clings to the up-reared neck of +the leaden horse; thence he turns his wild-eyed +face to the throng below. “Down with him! He +don’t hear! He won’t hear!” cry the populace.</p> +<p>“I do hear!” in wild afright, shrieks Blue-Eyed +Boy, “and I’m not a Tory.”</p> +<p>Shut your eyes again, and see the picture as it +stands there in the waning light of the ninth of +July, 1776.</p> +<p>Four years ago, over the ocean, borne by loyal +subjects to a loyal colony, it came, this statue, +that you shall see. It is a noble horse, though +made of lead, that stands there, poised on its +hinder legs, its neck in air. King George sits +erect, the crown of Great Britain on his head, a +sword in his left hand, his right grasping the +bridle-lines, and over all, a sheen of gold, for +horse and king were gilded.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></div> +<p>King George faces the bay, and looks vainly +down. All his brave ships and eight thousand +Red Coats, yesterday landed on yonder island, +cannot save him now. Had he listened to the +petitions of his children it might have been, but +he would not hear their just plaints, and now his +statue, standing so firm against storm, wind and +time, trembles before the sea of wrath surging at +its base.</p> +<p>“Come down, come down, you young rascal!” +cries a strong voice to Blue-Eyed Boy, but his +hands grasped at either ear of the horse, and he +clings with all his strength to resist the pull of a +dozen hands at his feet.</p> +<p>“Come down, you rogue, or we’ll topple you +over with his majesty, King George,” greets the +lad’s ears, and opens them to his situation.</p> +<p>“King George!” cried Blue-Eyed Boy with a +sudden sense of his ridiculous fear and panic, and +he yields to the stronger influence exerted on his +right leg, and so comes to earth with emotions of +relief and mortification curiously mingled in his +young mind.</p> +<p>To think that he had had the vanity to imagine +the crowd pursued him, and so has flown from +his own friends to the statue of King George for +safety!</p> +<p>“I won’t tell,” thinks the lad, “a word about +this to anyone at home,” and then he falls to +pushing the men who are pushing the statue, +and over it topples, horse and rider, down upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +the sod of the little United States, just five days +old.</p> +<p>How they hew it! How they hack it! How +they saw at it with saw and penknife! Blue-Eyed +Boy himself cuts off the king’s ear, that will not +hear the petitions of people or Congress, proudly +pockets it, and walks off, thankful because he carries +his own on his head.</p> +<p>Would you like to know what General Washington +thought about the overthrow of the statue +in Bowling Green?</p> +<p>We will turn to Phineas Porter’s orderly-book, +and copy from the general orders for July 10, +1776, what he said to the soldiers about it:</p> +<p>“The General doubts not the persons who +pulled down and mutilated the statue in the +Broad-way last night were actuated by zeal in +the public cause, yet it has so much the appearance +of riot and want of order in the army, that +he disapproves the manner and directs that in +future such things shall be avoided by the soldiers, +and be left to be executed by proper +authority.”</p> +<p>The same morning, the heavy ear of the king +in his pocket, Blue-Eyed Boy, once more on his +pony, sets off to cross the ferry on his way +to Philadelphia. We leave him caught in the +mazes of the Flying Camp gathering at Amboy; +whither by day and by night have been ferried +over from Staten Island, all the flocks of sheep +and herds of cattle that could be gotten away—lest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +the hungry men in red coats, coming up the +bay, seize upon and destroy them.</p> +<p>Ah! what days, what days and nights too were +those for the young United States to pass +through!</p> +<p>To-day, we echo what somebody wrote somewhere, +even then, amid all the darkness—words +we would gladly see on our banner’s top-most +fold:</p> +<p>“The United States! Bounded by the ocean +and backed by the forest. Whom hath she to +fear but her God?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +<a name='SLEET_AND_SNOW' id='SLEET_AND_SNOW'></a> +<h2>SLEET AND SNOW.</h2> +</div> +<p>Fourth of July, 1776.—Troublous +times, that day? Valentine Kull thought +so, as he stood in a barn-yard, with a +portion of his mother’s clothes line tied +as tightly as he dared to tie it around the neck of a +calf. He was waiting for the bars to be let down +by his sister. Anna Kull thought the times decidedly +troublous, as she pulled and pushed and +lifted to get the bars down.</p> +<p>“I can’t do it, Valentine,” she cried, her half-child +face thrust between the rails.</p> +<p>“Try again!”</p> +<p>She tried. Result as before.</p> +<p>“Come over, then, and hold Snow.”</p> +<p>Anna went over, rending gown and apron on +the roughnesses of rails and haste. Never mind. +She was over, and could, she thought, hold the +calf.</p> +<p>Barn-yard, cow (I forgot to mention that there +was a cow); calf, and children, one and all, were +on Staten Island in the Bay and Province of New +York. Beside these, there was a house. It was +so small, so queer, so old-fashioned, so Amsterdam +Dutchy, that, for all that I know to the contrary, +Achter Kull may have built it as a play-house +for his children when first he came to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +America and took up his abode by the Kill van +Kull. The Kill van Kull is that curious little +slice of sea pinched in by a finger of New Jersey +thrust hard against Staten Island, as though trying +its best to push the island off to sea. However +it may have been, there was the house, and +from the very roof of it arose a head, neck, two +shoulders and one arm; the same being the +property of the mother of Valentine and Anna. +The said mother was keeping watch from the +scuttle.</p> +<p>“Be quick, my children,” she cried. “The +Continentals are now driving off Abraham <ins title="Was Ryker's">Rycker’s</ins> +cattle and the boat isn’t full yet. They’ll be <i>here</i> +next.”</p> +<p>Anna seized the clothes line; Valentine made +for the bars. Down they came, the one after the +other, and out over the lower one went calf, Anna +and cow. Valentine made a dive for Snow’s leading +string. He missed it. Away went the calf, +poor Anna clutching at the rope, into green lane, +through tall grass, tangle and thicket. She caught +her foot in her torn gown and was falling, when a +sudden holding up of the rope assisted by Valentine’s +clutch at her arm set her on her feet again. +During this slight respite from the chase, the cow +(Sleet, by name, because not quite so white as +Snow) took a bite of grass and wondered what +all this unaccustomed fuss did mean.</p> +<p>“Snow has pulled my arm out of joint,” said +Anna, holding fast to her shoulder.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></div> +<p>“Never mind your arm, <i>now</i>,” returned Valentine. +“We must get to the marsh. It’s the only +place. You get a switch, and if Sleet won’t follow +Snow in, you drive her. I <i>wish</i> the critters +wasn’t white; they show up so; but Washington +sha’n’t have this calf and cow, <i>anyhow</i>.”</p> +<p>From Newark Bay to Old Blazing Star Ferry +stretched the marsh, deep, dense, well-nigh impassable. +Under the orders of General Washington, +supported by the approval of the Provincial +Congress in session at White Plains, the live stock +was being driven from the island, and ferried +across Staten Island Sound to New Jersey. At +the same moment the grand fleet of armed ships +from Halifax, England, and elsewhere, was sailing +in with General Howe on board and Red Coats +enough to eat, at a supper and a dinner, all the +live stock on a five-by-seventeen mile island.</p> +<p>Now the Commander-in-chief of the Continental +forces at New York did not wish to afford the aid +and comfort to the enemy of furnishing horses to +draw cannon, or fresh meat wherewith to satisfy +the hunger of British soldier and sailor. Oh no! +On Manhattan Island were braves—for freedom +toiling day and night; building earthwork, redoubt +and battery with never a luxury from +morning to morning, except the luxury of fighting +for Liberty. Soldiers from camp, light-horse and +militia from New Jersey, had gathered on the +island, and had been at work a day and a night +when the news came to the Kull cottage that in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +few minutes its cow and calf would be called for. +Hence the sudden watch from the roof, and the +escapade from the barn-yard.</p> +<p>The Kull father, I regret to write, because it +seems highly unpatriotic, had gone forth to catch +fish that day, hugging up the thought close to his +pocket of a heart, that the English fleet would +pay well for fresh fish.</p> +<p>Now Sleet and Snow were treasures untold to +Valentine and Anna Kull. Anna’s pocket-money, +stored up to be spent once-a-year in New York, +came to her hands by the sale of butter to oystermen; +and the calf, Snow, was the exclusive +property of her brother Valentine. No wonder +they were striving to save their possessions—ignorant, +children as they were, of every good +which they could not see and feel.</p> +<p>Cow and calf, or rather calf and cow, never +before were given such a race. Highways were +ignored. There were not many beaten tracks at +that time on Staten Island. Daisied and clovered +fields the calf was dragged through; young corn +and potato lots suffered alike by the pressure of +hoof and foot. Anna nearly forgot her out-of-joint +arm when the four reached the marsh. Its +friendly-looking shelter was hailed with delight.</p> +<p>Said Valentine, tugging the tired calf, to Anna, +switching forward the anxious cow: “I should +like to see the riflemen from Pennsylvania and +the <i>Yankeys</i> from Doodle or Dandy either, chase +Sleet and Snow through <i>this</i> marsh.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></div> +<p>“It’s been <i>awful</i> work though to get ’em here,” +said Anna, wiping her face with a pink handkerchief +suddenly detached for use from her gown.</p> +<p>In plunged the boy and up s-s-cissed a cloud of +mosquitoes, humming at the sound of the new-come +feast; fresh flesh and blood from the uplands +was desirable.</p> +<p>The grass was green, <i>very</i> green—lovely, bright, +<i>light</i> green; the July sun shone down untiringly; +the tide rushing up from Raritan Bay met the +tide rolling over from Newark Bay, and the cool, +sweet swash of water snaked along the stout +sedge, making it sway and bend as though the +wind were sweeping its tops.</p> +<p>When within the queer infolding, boy, cow, and +calf had disappeared, Anna called: “I’ll run now +and keep watch and tell you when the soldiers +are gone.”</p> +<p>“No, <i>you won’t</i>!” shrieked back her brother; +“you’ll stay <i>here</i>, and help me, or the skeeters +will kill the critters. Bring me the biggest bush +you can find, and fetch one for yourself.”</p> +<p>Anna always obeyed Valentine. It was a way +she had. He liked it, and, generally speaking, +she didn’t greatly dislike it, but her dress was +thinner than his coat, and the happy mosquitoes +knew she was fairer and sweeter than her Dutch +brother, and didn’t mind telling her so in the +most insinuating fashion possible. On this occasion, +as she had in so many other unlike instances, +she acceded to his request; toiling backward up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +the ascent and fetching thence an armful of the +stoutest boughs she could twist from branches.</p> +<p>She neared the marsh on her return. All that +she could discern was a straw hat bobbing hither +and thither; the horns of a cow tossing to and +fro; the tail of a cow lashing the air.</p> +<p>A voice she heard, shouting forth in impatient +bursts of sound, “Anna, Anna Kull!”</p> +<p>“<i>Here!</i> I’m coming,” she responded.</p> +<p>“Hurry up! I’m eaten alive. Snow’s crazy and +Sleet’s a lunatic,” shouted her brother, jerking +the words forth between the vain dives his hand +made into the cloud of wings in the air.</p> +<p>“Sakes alive!” said poor Anna, toiling from +sedge bog to sedge bog with her burden of +“bushes” and striving to hide her face from the +mosquitoes as she went.</p> +<p>It was nearly noon-day then, and the Fourth of +July too, but neither Valentine nor Anna thought +of the day of the month. Why should they? +The Nation wasn’t born yet whose hundredth +birthday we keep this year.</p> +<p>The solemn assembly of earnest men—debating +the to be or not to be of the United States—was +over there at work in Congress Hall in the old +State House. They were heated with sun and +brick and argument; a hundred and ten British +ships of war were anchoring and at anchor over +on the ocean side of Staten Island. Up the bay, +seven or eight thousand troops in “ragged regimentals” +were working to make ready for battle; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +but not one of them all suffered more from sun +and toil and anxiety and greed of blood than did +the lad and the lass in the marsh.</p> +<p>They fought it out, with many a sting and smart, +another hour, and then declaring that “cow <ins title='Was of'>or</ins> no +cow they couldn’t stay another minute,” they +strove to work their way out of the beautiful +green of the sedge.</p> +<p>On the meadow-land stood their mother. She +had brought dinner for her hungry children,—moreover, +she had brought news.</p> +<p>The Yankee troops—the Jersey militia—had +gone, but the British soldiers had arrived and +demanded beef—beef raw, beef roasted, beef in +any form.</p> +<p>The tears that the fiercest mosquito had failed +to extort from Anna came now. “I wish I’d let +her go,” she cried, fondly stroking Sleet. “At +least she wouldn’t have been killed, and we’d had +her again sometime, maybe; but now—I say, +Valentine, are <i>you</i> going to give up Snow?”</p> +<p>“No, I <i>ain’t</i>,” stoutly persisted the lad, slapping +with his broad palm the panting side of the +calf, where mosquitoes still clung.</p> +<p>“But, my poor children,” said Mother Kull, +“you will <i>have</i> to. It <i>can’t</i> be helped. If we +refuse them, don’t you know, they will burn our +house down.”</p> +<p>“<i>If they do, I’ll kill them!</i>” The words shot out +from the gunpowdery temper of Anna Kull. +Poor innocent girl of thirteen! She never in her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +life had seen an act of cruelty greater than the +taking of a fish or the death of a chicken; but the +impotent impulse of revenge arose within her at +the bare idea of having her pet, her pretty Sleet, +taken from her and eaten by soldiers.</p> +<p>“You’d better keep still, Anna Kull,” said +Valentine. “Mother, don’t you think we might +hide the animals somewhere?”</p> +<p>“Where?” echoed the poor woman, looking +up and looking down.</p> +<p>Truly there seemed to be no place. Already +six thousand British soldiers had landed and taken +possession of the island. Hills and forests were +not high enough nor deep enough; and now the +very marsh had cast them out by its army of +winged stingers—more dreadful than human foe.</p> +<p>“I just wish,” ejaculated the poor sunburned, +mosquito-tortured, hungry girl, who stood between +marsh and meadow,—“I <i>wish</i> I had ’em +every one tied hand and foot and dumped into +the sedge where we’ve been. Mother, I wouldn’t +use Sleet’s milk to-night, not a drop of it,—it’s +crazy milk, I know: she’s been tortured so. Poor +cow! poor creature! poor, dear, nice, honest +Sleet!” And Anna patted the cow with loving +stroke and laid her head on its neck.</p> +<p>“Well, children, eat something, and then we’ll +all go home together,—if they haven’t carried off +our cot already,” said the mother.</p> +<p>They sat down under a tree and ate with the +eager, wholesome appetite of children. Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +Kull kept watch that the cow did not wander +far from the place.</p> +<p>As they were eating, Valentine said to Anna, +nodding his head in the direction of his mother: +“I’ve thought of something. We must manage +to send <i>her</i> home without us.”</p> +<p>“<i>I’ve</i> thought of something,” responded Anna. +“Yes, we <i>must</i> manage.”</p> +<p>“I should like to know <i>what</i> you could think +of, sister.”</p> +<p>“Should you? Why, think of saving the cow +and calf, of course; though, if you’re <i>very</i> +particular, you can leave the calf here.”</p> +<p>“And what will you do with the cow?”</p> +<p>“Put her in the boat—”</p> +<p>“Whew!” interrupted Valentine.</p> +<p>“And ferry her over the sound,” continued +Anna.</p> +<p>“Who?”</p> +<p>“You and me.”</p> +<p>“Do you think we could?”</p> +<p>“We can try.”</p> +<p>“That’s brave! How’s your arm?”</p> +<p>“All right! I jerked it back, slapping +mosquitoes.”</p> +<p>“Give us another hunkey piece of bread and +butter. Honey’s good to-day. I wonder mother +thought about it.”</p> +<p>“I s’pose,” said Anna, “she’d as leave we had +it as soldiers. Wouldn’t it be jolly if we could +make ’em steal the bees?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span></div> +<p>The wind blew east. Up came martial sounds +mingled with the break and the roar of the ocean.</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! They’re a coming,” gasped Mrs. +Kull, running to the spot. “They’re coming, and +your father is not here.”</p> +<p>“Hide, hide, my children! Never mind the +cow now,” she almost shrieked; her mind was +running wild with all the scenes of terror she had +ever heard of.</p> +<p>“Pshaw! pshaw! Mother Kull,” said her boy, +assuringly. “They won’t come down here. +Somebody’s guiding them around who knows +just where every house is. You and Anna get +into that thicket yonder and keep, whatever +happens, as still as mice.”</p> +<p>“What’ll <i>you</i> do, bub?” questioned Anna, her +sunburned face brown-pale with affright.</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll take care of myself. Boys always do.”</p> +<p>As soon as Mrs. Kull and her daughter were +well concealed in the thicket, the sounds began +to die away. They waited half an hour. All was +still. They crept out, gazing the country over. +No soldier in sight. Down in the marsh again +were boy and cow.</p> +<p>“I’ll run home now,” said Mrs. Kull. “I dare +say ’twas all a trick of my ears.”</p> +<p>“But I heard it, too, Mother Kull.”</p> +<p>“Your ears serve you tricks, too, Anna. You +wait and help Valentine home with the animals.”</p> +<p>Anna was glad to have her mother gone. She +sped to the marsh. She threaded it, until by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +sundry signs she found the trio and summoned +them forth.</p> +<p>The old Blazing Star Ferry was seldom used. +A boat lay there. It was staunch. The tide with +them, they <i>might</i> get it across. Had they been +older, wiser, they would never have made the +attempt.</p> +<p>A fresh water stream ran down to the sea. +They passed it on their way thither. In it Sleet +drank deep, and soothed for a moment the bites +that tormented her; the children kneeled on the +grassy bank, and drank from their palms; the +calf frolicked in it, till driven out. An hour went +by. They reached the ferry. It was deserted. +Somebody had used the boat that day. It was at +the shore. Grass was yet in it.</p> +<p>“Come along, Snow,” said Valentine, urging +with the rope. “Go along, Snow,” said Anna, +helping it on with a stout twig she had picked up. +The calf pranced and ran, and before it knew its +whereabouts was in the broad-bottomed boat. +Sleet stood on the shore, and saw her baby tied +fast. One poor cry the calf uttered. It went +home to the motherly heart of the dumb creature. +She went down the sand, over the side, and +began, in her own way, to comfort Snow.</p> +<p>“Now we are all right!” cried Valentine, +delighted with the success of his ruse; for he had +slyly, lest Anna should see the deed, thrust a pin +in Snow to call forth the cry and win the cow +over to his side.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></div> +<p>“Take an oar quick!” commanded the young +captain.</p> +<p>His mate obeyed. They pushed the boat out, +unfastened it from the pier. Before anybody +concerned had time to realize the situation the +boat was adrift, and they were whirling in the tide.</p> +<p>“Now, sis,” said Valentine, a big lump in his +throat, “we’re in for it. It is sink or swim. It’s +not much use to row. You steer and I’ll paddle.”</p> +<p>Sleet looked wildly around. She tossed her +head, sniffed the salt, oystery air, and seemed +about to plunge overboard.</p> +<p>Anna screamed. Valentine threw down his +paddle and dashed himself on the boat’s outermost +edge just in time to save it from overturning. +Mistress Sleet, disgusted with Fourth of July, had +made up her mind to lie down and take a nap. +The boat righted and they were safe. Staten +Island Sound at this point was narrow, scarcely +more than a quarter of a mile in width, and the +tide was fast bearing them out.</p> +<p>“Such uncommon good sense in Sleet,” exclaimed +the boy. “<i>That</i> cow is worth saving.”</p> +<p>At that moment a dozen Red Coats were at the +ferry they had just left. The imperious gentlemen +were in a fine frenzy at finding the boat gone.</p> +<p>They shouted to the children to return.</p> +<p>“Steady, steady now,” cried the young captain. +His mate was steady at the helm until a musket +ball or two ran past them.</p> +<p>“Let go!” shouted the captain. “Swing your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +bonnet. Let them know you’re a woman and +they won’t fire on <i>you</i>.”</p> +<p>The little mate stood erect. She waved her +pink flag of a sun-bonnet. Distinctly the soldiers +saw the pink frock of Anna Kull; they saw her +long hair as the sea breeze lifted it when she +shook her pink banner.</p> +<p>A second, two, three went by as the girl stood +there, and then a flash was seen on the bank, a +musket-ball ran through the bonnet of the little +mate, and the waves of air rattled along the +shore.</p> +<p>The bonnet was in the sea; Anna had dropped +to her seat and caught the helm in her left hand.</p> +<p>“Cowards!” cried Valentine, for want of a +stronger word, and then he fell to working the +boat on its way. The tide helped them now; it +swung the boat over toward the Jersey shore.</p> +<p>The firing from Staten Island called out the +inhabitants on the Jersey coast. They watched +the approaching boat with interest. Everything +depended now on the cow’s lying still, on the +boy’s strength, on the meeting of the tides. If he +could reach there before the tide came up all +would be well; otherwise it would sweep him +off again toward the island.</p> +<p>“Can’t you row?” asked Valentine, at length.</p> +<p>“Bub, I can’t,” said Anna, her voice shaking +out the words. It was the first time she had +spoken since she sat down.</p> +<p>“Are you hurt?” he questioned.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div> +<p>“I tremble so,” she answered, and turned her +face away.</p> +<p>“I reckon we’d better help that boy in,” said a +Jersey fisherman as he watched, and he put off +in a small boat.</p> +<p>“Don’t come near! Keep off! keep off!” +called Valentine, as he saw him approach. “I’ve +a cow in here.”</p> +<p>The fisherman threw him a rope, and that rope +saved them. The dewy smell of the grassy banks +had aroused the cow. She was stirring.</p> +<p>The land was very near now; close at hand. +“Hurry! hurry!” urged the lad, as they were +drawing him in. Before the cow had time to +rise, the boat touched land.</p> +<p>“You’d better look after that girl,” said the +fisherman, who had towed the boat. The poor +child was holding, fast wrapped in the remnants +of her pink frock, her bleeding hand. The +musket ball that shot away her bonnet grazed +her wrist.</p> +<p>“Never mind me,” she said, when they were +pitying her. “The cow is safe.”</p> +<p>The same evening, while, in Philadelphia, +bonfires were blazing, bells ringing, cannon +booming, because, that day, a new nation was +born; over Staten Island Sound, by the light of +the moon, strong-armed men were ferrying home +the girl and the boy, who that day <i>had</i> fought a +good fight and gained the victory.</p> +<p>At home, in the Kull cottage, the mother +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +waited long for the coming of the children. She +said; “Poor young things! <i>Mine own children</i>—they +<i>shall</i> have a nice supper.” She made it +ready and they were not come.</p> +<p>Farmer Rycker’s wife and daughter came over +to tell and hear the news, and yet they were not +come.</p> +<p>Sundown. No children. The Kull father came +up from his fishing and heard the story.</p> +<p>“The Red Coats have taken them,” he said, and +down came the musket from against the wall, and +out the father marched and made straightway for +the headquarters of General Howe, over at the +present “Quarantine.”</p> +<p>Then the mother, left alone in the soft summer +gloaming, fell on her knees and told her story in +her own plain speech to her good Father in +Heaven.</p> +<p>It was a long story. She had much to say to +Heaven that night. The mothers and wives of +1776 in our land spake often unto God. This +mother listened and prayed, and prayed and +listened.</p> +<p>The fishermen had left Valentine and Anna on +the shore and gone home. Tired, but happy, the +brother and sister went up, over sand and field +and slope, and so came at length within sight +of the trees that towered near home.</p> +<p>“Whistle now!” whispered Anna, afraid yet to +speak aloud. “Mother will hear and answer.”</p> +<p>Valentine whistled.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<p>Up jumped the mother Kull. She ran to the +door and tried to answer. There was no whistle +in her lips. Joy choked it.</p> +<p>“Mother, are you <i>there</i>?” cried the children.</p> +<p>“No! I’m <i>here</i>,” was the answer, and she had +them safe in her arms.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +<a name='PATTY_RUTTER_THE_QUAKER_DOLL_WHO_SLEPT_IN_INDEPENDENCE_HALL' id='PATTY_RUTTER_THE_QUAKER_DOLL_WHO_SLEPT_IN_INDEPENDENCE_HALL'></a> +<h2>PATTY RUTTER: THE QUAKER DOLL WHO SLEPT IN INDEPENDENCE HALL.</h2> +</div> +<p>Patty Rutter had fallen asleep with +her bonnet on, and had been lying +there, fast asleep, nobody knew just +how long; for, somehow—it happened +so—there was nobody in particular to awaken +her; that is to say, no one had seemed to care +though she slept on all day and all night, without +ever waking up at all.</p> +<p>But then, there never had been another life +quite like Patty Rutter’s life. In the first place, +it had a curious reason for beginning at all; and +nearly everything about it had been as unlike +your life and mine as possible.</p> +<p>In her very baby days, before she walked or +talked, she had been sent away to live with +strangers, and no real, warm kiss of true love +had ever fallen on her little lips.</p> +<p>It all came about in this way: Mrs. Sarah +Rutter, a lady living in Philadelphia—exactly +what relation she bore to Patty it is a little difficult +to determine—decided to send the little one +to live with a certain Mrs. Adams, at Quincy, in +Massachusetts, and she particularly desired that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +the child should go dressed in a style fitting an +inhabitant of the proud city of Philadelphia.</p> +<p>Now, at that time Philadelphia was very much +elated because of several things that had happened +to her; but the biggest pride of all was, +that once upon a time the Continental Congress +had met there, and—and most wonderful thing—had +made a Nation!</p> +<p>Well, to be sure, that <i>was</i> something to be +proud of; though Patty didn’t understand, a bit +more than you do, what it meant. However, the +glory of it all was talked about so much that she +couldn’t help knowing that, when this nation, +with its fifty-six Fathers, and thirteen Mothers, +was born one day in July, 1776, at Philadelphia, +all the city rang with a sweet jangle, and called +to all the people, through the tongue of its +Liberty bell, to come up and greet the newcomer +with a great shout of welcome.</p> +<p>But that had been long ago, before Mrs. Sarah +Rutter was grown up, or Patty Rutter began +to be dressed for her trip to Quincy.</p> +<p>As I wrote, Mrs. Rutter wished that Patty +should go attired in a manner to do honor to the +city of Philadelphia; therefore she was not permitted +to depart in her baby clothes, but her +little figure was arrayed in a long, prim gown of +soft drab silk, while a kerchief of purest mull was +crossed upon her breast; and, depending from +her waist, like the fashion of to-day, were pincushion +and watch. Upon her youthful head +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +was a bonnet, crowned and trimmed in true +Quaker fashion; and her infantile feet were +securely tied within shapely slippers of kid. +Thus equipped, Miss Patty was sent forth upon +her journey.</p> +<p>Ah! that journey began a long time ago—fifty-eight, +yes, fifty-nine years have gone by, and +Patty Rutter is quite an aged little lady now, as +she lies asleep, with her bonnet on.</p> +<p>“It is time,” says somebody, “to close.”</p> +<p>No one seems to take notice that Patty Rutter +does not get up and depart with the rest of the +visitors, that she only stirs her eyelids and turns +her head on the silken “quilt” where she is +lying.</p> +<p>The little woman who keeps house in the Hall +locks it up and goes away, and there is little +Patty Rutter shut in for the night. As the key +turns in the old-time lock, the Lady Rutter winks +hard and sits up.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve been patient, anyhow, and Mrs. +Samuel Adams herself couldn’t wish me to do +more,” she said, with a comforting yawn and a +delightful stretch, and then she began to stare in +blank bewilderment.</p> +<p>“I <i>should</i> like to know what this all means,” she +whispered, “and <i>where</i> I am. I’ve heard enough +to-day to turn my head. How very queer folks +are, and they talk such jargon now-a-days. Centennial +and Corliss Engine; Woman’s Pavilion +and Memorial Hall; Main Building and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +Trois Freres; Hydraulic Annex, railroads and +what-nots.</p> +<p>“<i>I</i> never heard of such things. I don’t think +it is proper to speak of them, or the Adamses +would have told me. No more intelligent folks in +the land than the Adamses, and I guess <i>they</i> +know what belongs to good society and polite +conversation. I declare I blushed so in my sleep +that I was quite ashamed. I’ll get up and look +about now. I’m sure this isn’t any one of the +houses where we visit, or folks wouldn’t talk so.”</p> +<p>Patty Rutter straightened her bonnet on her +head, smoothed down her robe of silken drab, +adjusted her kerchief, looked at her watch to +learn how long she had been sleeping, and found, +to her surprise, that it had run down. Right +over her head hung two watches.</p> +<p>“Why, how thoughtful folks are in this house,” +she exclaimed in a timid voice, reaching up and +taking one of the two time-pieces in her hand. +“Why, here’s a name; let me see.”</p> +<p>Reading slowly, she announced that the watch +belonged to “Wil-liam Wil-liams—worn when he +signed the Declaration of Independence.” “Ah!” +she cried, with pathetic tone, “this watch is run +down <i>too</i>, at four minutes after five. I remember! +<i>This</i> William Williams was one of the fifty-six +Fathers. I guess I must be in Lebanon—he lived +there and his folks would have his watch of +course. Here’s another,” taking down a watch +and reading, “Colonel John Trumbull. <i>Run +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +down, too!</i> and at twenty-three minutes after six. +<i>He</i> was the son of Brother Jonathan, Governor +of one of the Mothers, when the Nation was born. +Yes, yes, I must be in Lebanon. Well, it’s a comfort, +at least, to know that I’m in company the +Adamses would approve of, though <i>how</i> I came +here is a mystery.”</p> +<p>She hung the watches in place, stepped out of +the glass room, in which she had slept, into a hall, +and with a slight exclamation of delicious approval, +stopped short before a number of chairs, +and clasped her little fingers tightly together.</p> +<p>You must remember that Patty Rutter was a +Friend, a Quaker, perhaps a descendant of William +Penn, but then, in her baby days, having +been transplanted to the rugged soil and outspoken +ways of Massachusetts, she could not +keep silence altogether, in view of that which +greeted her vision.</p> +<p>She was in the very midst of old friends. +Chairs in which she had sat in her young days +stood about the grand hall. On the walls hung +portraits of the ancestor kings of the nation born +at Philadelphia in 1776.</p> +<p>In royal robes and with careless grace, lounged +King George III., the nation’s grandfather, angry +no longer at his thirteen daughters who strayed +from home with the Sons of Liberty.</p> +<p>Her feet made haste and her eyes opened +wider, as her swift hands seized relic after relic. +She sat in chairs that Washington had rested <ins title='Added ;'>in;</ins> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +she caught up camp-kettles used on every field +where warriors of the Revolution had tarried; +she patted softly La Fayette’s camp bedstead; +and wondered at the taste that had put into the +hall two old, time-worn, battered doors, but soon +found out that they had gone through all the +storm of balls that fell upon the Chew House +during the battle of Germantown.</p> +<p>She read the wonderful prayer that once was +prayed in Carpenter’s Hall, and about which +every member of Congress wrote home to his +wife.</p> +<p>On a small “stand,” encased in glass, she came +upon a portrait of Washington, painted during +the time he waited for powder at Cambridge. +Patty Rutter had seen it often, with its halo of +the General’s own hair about it. She turned +from it, and beheld (why, yes, surely she <i>had</i> seen +<i>that</i>, but not here; it was, why long ago, in her +baby days in Philadelphia, that Mrs. Rutter had +taken her up into a tower to see <ins title='Guessing at end of parenthesis'>it)</ins>, a bell—Liberty +Bell, that rang above the heads of the +Fathers when the Nation was born.</p> +<p>Poor little Patty began to cry. Where could +she be? She reached out her hand, and climbed +the huge beams that encased the bell, and tried +to touch the tongue. She wanted to hear it ring +again, but could not reach it.</p> +<p>“It’s curious, curious,” she sobbed, wiping her +eyes and turning them with a thrill of delight +upon a beloved name that greeted her vision. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +was growing dark, and she <i>might</i> be wrong. But +no, it was the dear name of Adams; and she saw, +in a basket, a little pile of baby raiment. There +were dainty caps and tiny shirts of cambric, +whose linen was like a gossamer web, and whose +delicate lines of hem-stitch were scarcely discernible; +there were small dresses, yellow with +the sun color that time had poured over them, +and they hung with pathetic crease and tender +fold over the sides of the basket.</p> +<p>The little woman paused and peered to read +these words, “Baby-clothes, made by Mrs. John +Adams for her son, John Quincy Adams.”</p> +<p>“Little John Quincy!” she cried, “A baby so +long ago!” She took the little caps in her hands, +she pulled out the crumpled lace that edged +them. She said, through the swift-falling tears:</p> +<p>“Oh, I remember when he was brought home +<i>dead</i>, and how, in the Independence Hall of the +State House at Philadelphia, he lay in state, that +the inhabitants who knew his deeds, and those of +his father, John, and his uncle, Samuel, might +see his face. I love the Adamses every one,” and +she softly pressed the baby-caps that had been +wrought by a mother, ere the country began, to +her small Quaker lips, with real New England +fervor for its very own. Tenderly she laid them +down, to see, while the light was fading, a huge +picture on the wall. She studied it long, trying +to discern the faces, with their savage beauty; +the sturdy right-doing men who stood before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +them; and then her eyes began to glisten, and +gather light from the picture; her lips parted, +her breath quickened; for Patty Rutter had gone +beyond her life associations in Massachusetts, +back to the times in which her Quaker ancestors +had make treaty with the native Indians.</p> +<p>“It is!” she cried with a shout; “It is Penn’s +treaty!” Patty gazed at it until she could see no +longer. “I’m glad it is the last thing my eyes +will remember,” she said sorrowfully, when in +the gloom she turned away, went down the hall, +and entered her glass chamber.</p> +<p>“Never mind my watch,” she said softly. +“When I waken it will be daylight, and I need +not wind it. It will be so sweet to lie here +through the night in such grand and goodly company. +I only wish Mrs. Samuel Adams could +come and kiss me good night.”</p> +<p>With these words, Patty Rutter laid herself to +rest upon the silken quilt from Gardiner’s Island; +and if you look within the Relic Room, opposite +to Independence Hall, in the old State House at +Philadelphia, in this Centennial summer, you will +find her there, still taking her long nap, <i>fully +indorsed by Miss Adams</i>, and in Independence +Hall, across the passage way, you will see the +portraits of more than fifty of the Fathers of the +nation, but the Mothers abide at home.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +<a name='BECCA_BLACKSTONES_TURKEYS_AT_VALLEY_FORGE' id='BECCA_BLACKSTONES_TURKEYS_AT_VALLEY_FORGE'></a> +<h2>BECCA BLACKSTONE’S TURKEYS AT VALLEY FORGE.</h2> +</div> +<p>Turkeys, little girl and apple-tree lived +in Pennsylvania, a hundred years ago. +The turkeys—eleven of them—went +to bed in the apple-tree, one night in +December.</p> +<p>After it was dark, the little girl stood under the +tree and peered up through the boughs and +began to count. She numbered them from one +up to eleven. Addressing the turkeys, she said: +“You’re all up there, I see, and if you only knew +enough; if you weren’t the dear, old, wise, stupid +things that you are, I’ll tell you what you would +do. After I’m gone in the house, and the door is +shut, and nobody here to see, you’d get right +down, and you’d fly off in a hurry to the deepest +part of the wood to spent your Thanksgiving, +you would. The cold of the woods isn’t half as +bad for you as the fire of the oven will be.”</p> +<p>Becca finished her speech; the turkeys rustled +in their feathers and doubtless wondered what it +all meant, while she stood thinking. One poor +fellow lost his balance and came fluttering down +to the ground, just as she had decided what to do. +As soon as he was safely reset on his perch, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +Becca made a second little speech to her audience, +in which she declared that “they, the dear turkeys, +were her own; that she had a right to do +with them just as she pleased, and that it was her +good pleasure that not one single one of the +eleven should make a part of anybody’s Thanksgiving +dinner.”</p> +<p>“Heigh-ho,” whistles Jack, Becca’s ten-year-old +brother: “that you, Bec? High time you were +in the house.”</p> +<p>“S’pose I frightened you,” said Becca. “Where +have you been gone all the afternoon, I’d like to +know? stealin’ home too, across lots.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell, if you won’t let on a mite.”</p> +<p>“Do I ever, Jack?” reproachfully.</p> +<p>He did not deign to answer, but in confidential +whispers breathed it into her ears that “he had +been down to the Forge. Down to the Valley +Forge, where General Washington was going to +fetch down lots and lots of soldiers, and build log +huts, and stay all Winter.” He ended his breathless +narration with an allusion that made Becca +jump as though she had seen a snake. He said: +“It will be bad for your turkeys.”</p> +<p>“Why, Jack? General Washington won’t steal +them.”</p> +<p>“Soldiers eat turkey whenever they can get it; +and, Bec, this apple-tree isn’t above three miles +from the Forge. You’d better have ’em all killed +for Thanksgiving. Come, I’m hungry as a bear.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></div> +<p>“But,” said Becca, grasping his jacket sleeve as +they went, “I’ve just promised ’em that they shall +not be touched.”</p> +<p>Jack’s laugh set every turkey into motion, until +the tree was all in a flutter of excitement. He +laughed again and again, before he could say +“What a little goose you are! Just as if turkeys +understood a word you said.”</p> +<p>“But I understood if they didn’t, and I should +be telling my own self a lie. No, not a turkey +shall die. They shall all have a real good Thanksgiving +once in their lives.”</p> +<p>Two days later, on the 18th of December, +Thanksgiving Day came, the turkeys were yet +alive, and Becca Blackstone was happy.</p> +<p>The next day General Washington’s eleven +thousand men marched into Valley Forge, and +went out upon the cold, bleak hillsides, carrying +with them almost three thousand poor fellows, +too ill to march, too ill to build log huts, ill +enough to lie down and die. Such a busy time +as there was for days and days. Farmer Blackstone +felt a little toryish in his thoughts, but the +chance to sell logs and split slabs so near home as +Valley Forge was not likely to happen again, and +he worked away with strong good will to furnish +building material. Jack went every day to the +encampment, and grew quite learned in the ways +of warlike men.</p> +<p>Becca staid at home with her mother, but +secretly wished to see what the great army +looked like.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>At last the final load of chestnut and walnut +and oaken logs went up to the hills from Mr. +Blackstone’s farm, and a great white snow fell +down over all Pennsylvania, covering the mountains +and hills, the soldiers’ log huts, and the turkeys +in the apple-tree. January came and went, +and every day affairs at the camp grew worse. +Men were dying of hunger and cold and disease. +Stories of the sufferings of the men grew strangely +familiar to the inhabitants. Affairs that Winter +would not have been quite so hard at Valley +Forge if the neighbors for miles around had not +been Tories. Now Becca Blackstone’s mother +was a New England women, and in secret she bestowed +many a comfort upon one after another of +her countrymen at the encampment. Her husband +was willing to sell logs and slabs and clay +from his pits, but not a farthing or a splinter of +wood had he to bestow on the rebels.</p> +<p>At last, one January day, when Mr. Blackstone +had gone to Philadelphia, permission was given +to Becca to accompany her mother and Jack to +the village. Into the rear of the sleigh a big basket +was packed. Becca was told that she must +not ask any questions nor peep, so she neither +questioned nor looked in, but found out, after all, +for when they were come to the camp, she saw +her mother take out loaves of rye bread and a +jug, into which she knew nothing but milk ever +was put, and carry them into a hut which had the +sign of a hospital over it. Every third cabin was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +a hospital, and each and every one held within it +men that were always hungry and in suffering.</p> +<p>In all her life Becca had never seen so much to +make her feel sorry, as she saw when she followed +her mother to the door of the log-hospital, into +which she was forbidden to enter.</p> +<p>There large-eyed, hungry men lay on the cold +ground, with only poor, wretched blankets to +cover them. She caught a glimpse of a youth—he +did not seem much older than her own Jack—with +light, fair hair, such big blue eyes, and the +thinnest, whitest hands, reaching up for the mug +of milk her mother was offering to him.</p> +<p>Then, when Jack came to her, he was wiping +his eyes on his jacket sleeve. He said “If I was a +soldier, and my country didn’t care any more for +me than Congress does, I’d go home and leave +the Red Coats to carry off Congress. It’s too +bad, and he’s a jolly good fellow. Wish we +could take him home and get him well.”</p> +<p>“Who is he, Jack?”</p> +<p>“O, a soldier-boy from one of the New England +colonies. He’s got a brother with him—that’s +good.”</p> +<p>The drive home, over the crisp snow, was a +very silent one. More than one tear froze on +Mrs. Blackstone’s cheek, as she remembered the +misery her eyes had beheld, and her hands could +do so little to lighten.</p> +<p>The next day Mr. Blackstone reached home +from Philadelphia. He had seen the Britons in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +all the glory and pomp of plenty and red regimentals +in a prosperous city. He returned a +confirmed Tory, and wished—never mind what +he did wish, since his unkind wish never came to +pass—but this is that which he did, he forbade +Mrs. Blackstone to give anything that belonged +to him to a soldier of General Washington’s army.</p> +<p>“What will you do now, mamma, with all the +stockings and mittens you are knitting?” questioned +Becca.</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me, child,” was the tearful answer +that mother made, for her whole heart was with +her countrymen in their brave struggle.</p> +<p>Three nights after that time Mr. Blackstone +entered his house, saying:</p> +<p>“I caught a ragged, bare-footed tatterdemalion +hanging around, and I warned him off; told him +he’d better go home, if he’d got one anywhere, +and if not to join the army, of his king at Philadelphia.”</p> +<p>“What did he say, pa?” asked Jack.</p> +<p>“O some tomfoolery or other about the man +having nothing to eat but hay for two days, and +his brother dying over at the Forge. I didn’t +stop to listen to the fellow, but sent him flying.”</p> +<p>Jack touched his mother’s toe in passing, and +gave Becca a mysterious nod of the head, as much +as to say:</p> +<p>“He’s the soldier from our hospital over there,” +but nobody made answer to Mr. Blackstone.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></div> +<p>Becca’s eyes filled with tears as she sat down at +the tea-table, and sturdy Jack staid away until +the last minute, taking all the time he could at +washing his hands, that he might get as many +looks as possible through the window in the hope +that the bare-footed soldier might be lingering +about, but he gained no glimpse of him.</p> +<p>Farmer Blackstone had the rheumatism sometimes, +and that night he had it worse than ever, +so that an hour after tea-time he was quite ready +to go to bed, and his wife was quite ready to +have him go, also to give him the soothing, quieting +remedies he called for.</p> +<p>Becca was to sit up that night until eight-of-the-clock, +if she made no noise to disturb her +father.</p> +<p>While her mother was busied in getting her +father comfortable, she thought, as it was such +bright moonlight, she would go out to give her +turkeys a count, it having been two or three +nights since she had counted them.</p> +<p>Slipping a shawl of her mother’s over her head, +she opened softly the kitchen door to steal out. +The lowest possible whistle from Jack accosted +her at the house corner. That lad intercepted +her course, drew her back into the shadow, and +bade her “Look!”</p> +<p>She looked across the snow, over the garden +wall, into the orchard, and there, beneath her +apple-tree, stood something between a man and a +scarecrow, and it appeared to be looking up at +the sleeping turkeys. Both arms were uplifted.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span></div> +<p>“O dear! what shall we do?” whispered +Becca, all in a shiver of cold and excitement.</p> +<p>“Let’s go and speak to him. Maybe it is our +hospital man,” said Jack, with a great appearance +of courage.</p> +<p>The two children started, hand in hand, and +approached the soldier so quietly that he did not +hear the sound of their coming.</p> +<p>As they went, Becca squeezed her brother’s +fingers and pointing to the snow over which they +walked, whispered the word “Blood!”</p> +<p>“From his feet,” responded Jack, shutting his +teeth tightly together.</p> +<p>Yes, there it lay in bright drops on the glistening +snow, showing where the feet of the patriot +had trod. The children stood still when they were +come near to the tree. At the instant their mother +appeared in the kitchen doorway and called +“Jack!”</p> +<p>The ragged soldier of the United American +States lost his courage at the instant and began +to retire in confusion; but Becca summoned him +to “Wait a minute!” He waited.</p> +<p>“Did you want one of my turkeys?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I was going to <i>steal</i> one, to save my brother’s +life,” he answered.</p> +<p>“Is he only a boy, and has he light hair and +blue eyes, and does he lie on the wet ground?”</p> +<p>“That’s Joseph,” he groaned.</p> +<p>“Then take a good, big, fat turkey—that one +there, if you can get him,” said Becca. “They are +all mine.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>The turkey was quietly secured.</p> +<p>“Now take one for yourself,” said Becca.</p> +<p>Number two came down from the perch.</p> +<p>“How many men are there in your hospital?” +asked Jack, who had responded to his mother’s +summons, and was holding a pair of warm stockings +in his hand.</p> +<p>“Twelve.”</p> +<p>“Give him another, Bec—there’s a good girl; +three turkeys ain’t a bone too many for twelve +hungry men,” prompted Jack.</p> +<p>“Take three!” said Becca. “My pa never +counts my turkeys.”</p> +<p>The third turkey joined his fellows.</p> +<p>“Better put these stockings on before you start, +or father will track you to the camp,” said Jack. +“And pa told ma never to give you anything of +his any more.”</p> +<p>Never was weighty burden more cheerfully +borne than the bag Jack helped to hoist over the +soldier’s shoulder as soon as the stockings had +been drawn over the bleeding feet.</p> +<p>“Now I’m going. Thank you, and good night. +If you, little girl, would give me a kiss, I’d take +it—as from my little Bessy in Connecticut.”</p> +<p>“That’s for Bessy in Connecticut,” said the +little girl, giving him one kiss, “and now I’ll give +you one for Becca in Pennsylvania. Hurry home +and roast the turkeys quick.”</p> +<p>They watched him go over the hill.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div> +<p>“Jack,” said Becca, “if I’d told a lie to the turkeys +where would they have been to-night, and +Joseph? There are eight more. I wish I’d told +him to come again. Pa’s rheumatism came just +right to-night, didn’t it?”</p> +<p>“I reckon next year you won’t have all the +turkeys to give away to the soldiers,” said Jack, +adding quite loftily, “I shall go to raising turkeys +in the Spring myself, and when Winter comes we +shall see.”</p> +<p>“Now, Jacky,” said Becca, half-crying, “there +are eight left, and you take half.”</p> +<p>“No, I won’t,” rejoined Jack. “I’d just like to +walk over to Valley Forge and see the soldiers +enjoy turkey. Won’t they have a feast! I +shouldn’t wonder if they’d eat one raw.”</p> +<p>“O, Jack!”</p> +<p>“Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes,” +he assured her with a lofty air. And then they +went into the house, and the door was shut.</p> +<p>The next year there was not a soldier left above +the sod at Valley Forge.</p> +<p>Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the +little girl has passed away, the apple-tree is dead, +and only the hills at Valley Forge are left to tell +the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with +praise, of the men who had a hundred years ago +toiled for Freedom there, and are gone home to +God.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<a name='HOW_TWO_LITTLE_STOCKINGS_SAVED_FORT_SAFETY' id='HOW_TWO_LITTLE_STOCKINGS_SAVED_FORT_SAFETY'></a> +<h2>HOW TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS SAVED FORT SAFETY.</h2> +</div> +<p>“A story, children; so soon after +Christmas, too! Let me think, what +shall it be?”</p> +<p>“O yes, mamma,” uttered three +children in chorus.</p> +<p>Mrs. Livingston sat looking into the fire that +flamed on the broad hearth so long, that Carl +said, by way of reminder that time was passing: +“An uncommon story.”</p> +<p>Then up spoke Bessie: “Mamma, something, +please, out of the real old time before much of +anybody ’round here was born.”</p> +<p>“As long off as the Indians,” assisted young +Dot.</p> +<p>“Ah yes; that will do, children. I will tell +you a story that happened in this very house +almost a hundred years ago. It was told to me +by my grandmother when she was very old.”</p> +<p>There was a grand old lady, Mrs. Livingston, +at the head of this house then. She loved her +country very much indeed, and was willing to do +anything she could to help it, in the time of great +trouble, during the war for independence. My +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +grandmother was a little girl, not so old as you, +Bessie. Her name was Lorinda Grey, and her +home was in Boston. The year before, when +British soldiers kept close watch to see that nothing +to eat, or wear, or burn, was carried into Boston, +Mr. Grey contrived to get his family out of +the city, and Lorinda, with her brother Otis, was +sent here. Afterward, when Boston was free +again, the two children were left because the +father was too busy to make the long journey +after them.</p> +<p>Altogether, more than a dozen children belonging +in some way to the Livingstons had been sent +to the old house. The family friends and relatives +gave the place the name “Fort Safety,” +because it lay far away from the enemy’s ships, +and quite out of the line where the soldiers of +either army marched or camped.</p> +<p>The year had been very full of sorrow and care +and trouble and hard work; but when the time +for Christmas drew near, this grand old Mrs. Livingston +said it should be the happiest Christmas +that the old house had ever known. She would +make the children happy once, whatever might +come afterward, and so she set about it quite +early in the fall. One day the children (there +were more than a dozen of them in the house at +the time) found out that the great room at the +end of the hall was locked. They asked Mrs. +Livingston many times when it meant, and at last +she told them that one night after they were in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +bed and asleep, Santa Claus appeared at her door +and asked if he might occupy that room until the +night before Christmas. She told him he might, +and he had locked the door himself, and said “if +any child so much as looked through a crack in +the door that child would find nothing but chestnut +burs in his stocking.” Well, the children +knew that Santa Claus meant what he said, +always, so they used to run past the door every +day as fast as they could go and keep their eyes +the other way, lest something should be seen that +ought not to. Before the day came every wide +chimney in the house was swept bright and clean +for Santa Claus.</p> +<p>Aunt Elise, a sweet young lady, lived here +then. She was old Mrs. Livingston’s daughter, +and she told the children that she had seen Santa +Claus with her own eyes when he locked the +door, and he said that every room must be made +as fine as fine could be.</p> +<p>After that Tom and Richard and Will and +Philip worked away as hard as they could. They +gathered bushels and bushels of ivy, and a mile +or two of ground-pine, and eight or ten pecks of +bitter-sweet, and stored them all in the corn +granary, and waited for the day. Then, when +Aunt Elise set to work to adorn the house, she +had twenty-four willing hands to help, beside her +own two.</p> +<p>When all was made ready, and it was getting +near to night in the afternoon before Christmas, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +Mrs. Livingston sent a messenger for three men +from the farm. When they were come, she +called in three African servants, and she said to +the six men, “Saddle horses and ride away, each +one of you in a different direction, and go to +every house within five miles of here, and ask: +‘Are any children in this habitation?’ Then +say that you are sent to fetch the children’s +stockings, that Santa Claus wants them, and take +special care to bring me <i>two</i> stockings from each +child, whose father or brother is away fighting for +his country.”</p> +<p>So the six men set forth on their queer errand, +after stockings, and they rode up hill and down, +and to the great river’s bank, and wherever the +message was given at a house door, if a child was +within hearing, off flew a stocking, and sometimes +two, as the case might be about father and +brother.</p> +<p>Now, in a deep little dell, about five miles +away, there was a small, old brown house, and in +it lived Mixie Brownson with her mother and +brother, but this night Mixie was all alone. +When one of the six horsemen rode up to the +door, and without getting down from his horse, +thumped away on it with his riding-whip handle, +Mixie thought, “Like as not it is an Indian,” but +she straightway lifted the wooden latch and +opened the door.</p> +<p>“There’s one child here, I see,” said the black +man. “Any more?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></div> +<p>“I’m all alone,” trembled forth poor Mixie.</p> +<p>“More’s the pity,” said the man. “I want one +of your stockings; two of ’em, if you’re a soldier’s +little girl. I’m taking stockings to Santa Claus.”</p> +<p>“O take both mine, then, please,” said Mixie +with delight, and she drew off two warm woolen +stockings and made them into a little bundle, which +he thrust into a bag, and off he rode. Mixie’s +father was a Royalist, fighting with the Indians +for the British, but then Mrs. Livingston knew +nothing about that.</p> +<p>It was nearly midnight when the stockings +reached Fort Safety. It was in this very room +that Mrs. Livingston and Aunt Elise received +them. Some were sweet and clean, and some +were not; some were new and some were old. +So they looked them over, and made two little +piles, the one to be filled, the other to be washed.</p> +<p>About this time Santa Claus came down from +his locked-up room, with pack after pack, and +began to fill stockings. There were ninety-seven +of them, beside sixteen more that were hung on +a line stretched across the fire-place by the children +before they went to bed, so as to be very +handy for Santa Claus when he should enter by +the chimney.</p> +<p>“What an awful rich lady my fine old Grandmother +Livingston must have been, to have +goodies enough to fill 113 stockings!” said Carl, +his red hair fairly glistening with interest and +pride; while Bessie and Dot looked eagerly at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +the fire-place and around the room, to see if any +fragment of a stocking might, by any chance, be +about anywhere.</p> +<p>Well, at last the stockings were full. I cannot +tell you exactly what was in them. I remember +that my grandmother said, that in every stocking +went, first of all, a nice, pretty pair of new ones, +just the size of the old ones; and next, a pair of +mittens to fit hands belonging with feet that +could wear the stockings. I know there were +oranges and some kind of candy, too.</p> +<p>At last the stockings were all hung on a line +extending along two sides of the room, and Mrs. +Livingston and Aunt Elise locked the room, and +being very tired, went to bed. The next morning, +bright and early, there was a great pattering +of bare feet and a flitting of night-gowns down +the staircase, past the evergreen trees in the hall, +and a little host of twelve children stood at that +door, trying to get in; but it was all of no use, +and they had to march back to bed again.</p> +<p>As for Otis Grey, he was a real Boston boy, +full of the spirit of a Liberty Rebel. He dressed +himself slyly, slipped down on the great stair-rail, +so as to make no noise, opened softly the +hall-door, went outside, climbed up, and looked +into the room. When he peeped, he was so +frightened at the long line of fat stockings that +he made haste down, and never said a word to +anybody, except my grandmother (Lorinda Grey, +his sister); and they two kept the secret.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span></div> +<p>Breakfast time came, and not a child of the +dozen had heard a word from Santa Claus that +morning.</p> +<p>Mrs. Livingston said a very long grace, and +after that she said to the children: “I have disappointed +you this morning, but you will all have +your stockings as soon as a little company I have +invited to spend the day with you, is come.”</p> +<p>“Bless me!” whispered Otis Grey to his sister, +“are all them stockings a-coming?”</p> +<p>“Otis,” said Mrs. Livingston, “you may leave +the table.”</p> +<p>Otis obeyed silently, and lost his Christmas +breakfast for the time. Mrs. Livingston had +strict laws in her house, and punishment always +followed disobedience.</p> +<p>The morning was long to the children, but it +was a busy time in the winter kitchen, and even +the summer kitchen was alive with cookery; and +at just mid-day Philip cried out “Company’s +come, grandma!”</p> +<p>A dozen or more of the stocking-owners were +at the door. In they trooped, bright and laughing +and happy. Before they were fairly inside, +more came, and more, and still more, until full +sixty boys and girls were gathered up and down +the great hall and parlors. Mixie Brownson +came on the last sled-load. Now Mrs. Livingston +did not know, even by name, more than one-half +of the young folks she had undertaken to +make happy that day; but that made no manner +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +of difference, and the children had not the least +idea that Santa Claus had their stockings all +hung up in this room, until suddenly the doors +were opened, and there was the great hickory-wood +fire, and the sunlight streaming in, and the +stockings, fat and bulging, hanging in rows. +Some were red, and some were blue, and some +were white, and some were mixed. Grand old +Mrs. Livingston stood within the room, her +white curls shining and her stiff brocade trailing.</p> +<p>“Come in, children,” she said, and in they +trooped, silent with awe and wonder at the sight +they saw. The lady arranged them side by side, +in lines, on the two sides of the room where the +stockings were not, and then she said:</p> +<p>“Santa Claus, come forth!”</p> +<p>In yonder corner there began a motion in the +branches of the evergreen tree, and such a Santa +Claus as crept forth was never seen before. He +was bulgy with furs from crown to foot, but he +made a low curve over toward Mrs. Livingston, +and then nodded his head about the lines of +children.</p> +<p>“Good day to you, this Christmas,” he said.</p> +<p>“Wish you Merry Christmas, Santa Claus,” +said Philip, with a bow.</p> +<p>“Here’s business,” said Santa Claus. “Stockings, +let me see. Whoever owns the stocking +that I take down from the line, will step forward +and take it.”</p> +<p>Every single one of the children knew his or +her own property, at a glance. Santa Claus had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +a busy time of it handing down stockings, and a +few minutes later he escaped without notice, and +was seen no more that year, in Fort Safety.</p> +<p>After the stockings came dinner, and such a +dinner as it was! Whatever there was not, I +remember that it was told to me that there was +great abundance of English plum-pudding. After +dinner came games and more happiness, and +after the last game, came time to go home. The +sweet clear afternoon suddenly became dark with +clouds, and it began to snow soon after the first +load set off. One or two followed, and by the +time the last one was ready to start, Mrs. Livingston +looked forth and said “not another child +should leave her roof that night in such a blinding +storm.”</p> +<p>Eight little hands clapped their new mittens +together in token of joy, but poor little Mixie +Brownson began to cry. She had never in her +life been away from the brown house.</p> +<p>Tea was served, and Mixie was comforted for +a short time. After that came games again, until +all were weary with play; and Otis Grey begged +Mrs. Livingston for a story.</p> +<p>Mixie was tearful still, and she crept shyly to +the lady’s side and sobbed forth: “I wish you was +my grandma and would take me in your lap.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Livingston stooped and kissed Mixie’s +cheek, then lifted her on her knees and began to +tell the children a story. It must have been a +very pretty picture that the old, blowing snowstorm +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +looked in upon that night, in this very +room: twenty or more children seated around +the fire-circle, with stately Mrs. Livingston and +pretty Aunt Elise in their midst.</p> +<p>Whilst all this was going on within, outside a +band of Indians, led by a white man, was approaching +Fort Safety to burn it down.</p> +<p>Step by step, the savages crept nearer and +nearer, until they were standing in the very light +that streamed out from the Christmas windows.</p> +<p>The white man who led them was in the service +of the English, and knew every step of the +way, and just who lived in the great house.</p> +<p>He ordered them to stand back while he +looked in. Creeping closer and closer, he +climbed, as Otis Grey had done, and put his face +to the window-pane. He saw Mrs. Livingston +and Miss Elise, and the great circle of eager, interested +faces, all looking at the story-teller, and +he wiped his eyes in order to get one more good +look, for he could not believe the story they told +to him: that his own poor little Mixie was in +there, sitting in proud Mrs. Livingston’s lap, +looking happier than he had ever seen her. He +stayed so long, peering in, that the savages grew +impatient. One or two of their chief men crept +up and put their swarthy faces beside his own.</p> +<p>It so happened that at that moment Aunt Elise +glanced toward the window. She did not scream, +she uttered no word; but she fell from her chair +to the floor.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-178.jpg' alt='' title='' width='558' height='434' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +“His own poor little Mixie was there, sitting in proud Mrs. Livingston’s lap.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div> +<p>Mixie’s father, for it was he who led the savages, +saw what was happening within, and +ordered the Indians to march away and leave the +big house unhurt. They grunted and grumbled, +and refused to go until they had been told that the +little girl on the lady’s knee was his little girl.</p> +<p>“He not going to burn his own papoose,” explained +the Indian chief to his red men; and +then the evil band went groping away through +the storm.</p> +<p>The story to the children was not finished that +night, for on the floor lay pretty Aunt Elise, as +white as white could be; and it was a long time +before she was able to speak. As soon as she +could sit up, she wished to get out into the open +air.</p> +<p>Mrs. Livingston went with her, and when she +was told what had been seen at the window, they +together examined the freshly fallen snow and +found traces of moccasined feet.</p> +<p>With fear and trembling, the two ladies entered +the house. Not a word of what had been +seen was spoken to servant or child. Aunt Elise +from an upper window kept watch during the +time that Mrs. Livingston returned thanks to +God for the happy day the children had passed, +and asked His love and protecting care during +the silent hours of sleep.</p> +<p>Then the sleepy, happy throng climbed the +wide staircase to the rooms above, went to bed +and slept until morning.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span></div> +<p>Not a red face approached Fort Safety that +night. The two ladies, letting the Christmas +fires go down, kept watch from the windows +until the day dawned.</p> +<p>“I’m so glad,” exclaimed Carl, “that my fine, +old, greatest of grandmothers thought of having +that good time at Christmas.”</p> +<p>“Dear me!” sighed Bessie, “if she hadn’t, we +wouldn’t have this nice home to-day.”</p> +<p>“Mamma,” said Dot, “let’s have a good stocking-time +next Christmas; just like that one, all +but the Indians.”</p> +<p>“O, mamma, <i>will you</i>?” cried Bessie, jumping +with glee.</p> +<p>“Where <i>would</i> we get the soldiers’ children, +though,” questioned Carl.</p> +<p>“Lots of ’em in Russia and Turkey, if we only +lived there,” observed Bessie. “But there’s +<i>always</i> plenty of children that <i>want</i> a good time +and never get it, just as much as the soldiers’ +children did. Will you, mamma?”</p> +<p>“When Christmas comes again, I will try to +make just as many little folks happy as I can,” +said Mrs. Livingston.</p> +<p>“And we’ll begin <i>now</i>,” said Carl, “so as to be +all ready. I shall saw all summer, so as to make +lots of pretty brackets and things.”</p> +<p>“And I s’pose I shall have to dress about five +hundred dolls to go ’round,” sighed Bessie, +“there are so many children now-a-days.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +<a name='A_DAY_AND_A_NIGHT_IN_THE_OLD_PORTER_HOUSE' id='A_DAY_AND_A_NIGHT_IN_THE_OLD_PORTER_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>A DAY AND A NIGHT IN THE OLD PORTER HOUSE.</h2> +</div> +<p>Monday morning, July 5th, 1779, was +oppressively warm and sultry in the +Naugatuck Valley. Great Hill, that +rises so grandly to the northward of +Union City, and at whose base the red house still +nestles that was built either by Daniel Porter or +his son Thomas before or as early as 1735, was +bathed in the full sunlight, for it was past eight of +the clock. Up the hill had just passed a herd of +cows owned by Mr. Thomas Porter and driven +by his son Ethel, a lad of fourteen, and Ethel’s +sister Polly, aged twelve years.</p> +<p>“It’s awful hot to-day!” said Ethel, as he +threw himself on the grass at the hill-top—the +cows having been duly cared for.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +</div> +<img src='images/illus-181.jpg' alt='' title='' width='496' height='356' /> +<br /> +<p class='caption'> +The Old Porter House<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>“You’d better not lose time lying here,” said +Polly. “There’s altogether too much going on +uptown to-day, and there’s lots to do before we +go up to celebrate.”</p> +<p>“One thing at a time,” replied Ethel, “and this +is my time to rest. I never knew a hill to grow +so much in one night before.”</p> +<p>“Well! you can rest, but I’m going to find out +what that fellow is riding his poor horse so fast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +for this hot morning—somebody must be dying! +Just see that line of dust a mile away!” and Polly +started down Great Hill to meet the rider.</p> +<p>The horseman stayed his horse at Fulling Mill +Brook to give him a drink, and Polly reached the +brook just at the instant the horse buried his nose +in the cool stream.</p> +<p>“Do you live near here?” questioned the +rider.</p> +<p>“My father, Mr. Thomas Porter, keeps the inn +yonder,” said Polly.</p> +<p>“I can’t stop,” said the horseman, “though I’ve +ridden from New Haven without breakfast, and I +must get up to the Center; but you tell your +father the <i>British</i> are landing at West Haven. +They have more that forty vessels! The new +president was on the tower of the College when +I came by, watching with his spy-glass, and he +shouted down that he could see them, landing.”</p> +<p>At that instant, Ethel reached the brook. +“What’s going on?” he questioned.</p> +<p>“You’re a likely looking boy—you’ll do!” said +the horseman, with a glance at Ethel, cutting off +at the same instant the draught his horse was +enjoying, by a sudden pull at the bridle lines. +“You go tell the news! Get out the militia! +Don’t lose a minute.”</p> +<p>“What news? What for?” asked Ethel, but +the rider was flying onward.</p> +<p>“A pretty time we’ll have celebrating to-day,” +said Polly, to herself, dipping the corner of her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +apron into the brook and wiping her heated face +with it, as she hurried to the house. Meanwhile, +her brother was running and shouting after the +man who had ridden off in such haste.</p> +<p>As Polly entered the house the big brick oven +stood wide open, and it was filled to the door +with a roaring fire. On the long table stood +loaves of bread almost ready for the oven. Her +sister Sybil was putting apple pies on the same +table. Sybil was a beautiful girl of twenty years, +much admired and greatly beloved in the region.</p> +<p>“What is Ethel about so long this morning, +that I have his work to do, I wonder!” exclaimed +Mr. Thomas Porter, as he lifted himself from the +capacious fire-place in which he had been piling +birch-wood under the crane—from which hung in +a row three big iron pots.</p> +<p>“It is a pretty hot morning, and the sun is +powerful on the hill, father,” said Mrs. Mehitable +Porter in reply—not seeing Polly, who stood panting +and glowing with all the importance of having +great news to tell.</p> +<p>“Father,” cried Polly, “where is Truman and +the men? Send ’em! send ’em everywhere!”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter? what’s the matter, child?” +exclaimed Mr. Porter, while his wife and Sybil +stood in alarm.</p> +<p>At that instant Ethel sprang in, crying out, +“The militia! The militia! They want the +militia.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></div> +<p>“What for, and <i>who</i> wants the men?” asked +his father.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. He didn’t stop to tell. He +said: ‘Get out the militia! Don’t lose a minute!’ +and then rode on.”</p> +<p>“Father, <i>I know</i>,” said Polly. “He told <i>me</i>. +The British ships, more than forty of them, are +landing soldiers at New Haven. President Stiles +saw them at daybreak from the college tower +with his spy-glass.”</p> +<p>Before Polly had ceased to speak, Ethel was off. +Within the next ten minutes six horses had set +forth from the Porter house—each rider for a +special destination.</p> +<p>“I’ll give the alarm to the Hopkinses,” cried +back Polly from her pony, as she disappeared in +the direction of Hopkins Hill.</p> +<p>“And I’ll stir up Deacon Gideon and all the +Hotchkisses from the Captain over and down,” +said ten-year-old Stephen, as he mounted.</p> +<p>“You’d better make sure that Sergeant Calkins +and Roswell hear the news. Tell Captain Terrell +to get out his Ring-bone company, and don’t +forget Captain John and Abraham Lewis, Lieutenant +Beebe, and all the rest. It isn’t much use +to go over the river—not much help <i>we’d</i> get, +however much the British might, on that side,” +advised Mr. Porter, as the fourth messenger +departed.</p> +<p>When the last courier had set forth, leaving +only Mr. and Mrs. Porter, Sybil and two servants +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +in the house, Mr. Porter said to his wife: “I +believe, mother, that I’ll go up town and see +what I can do for Colonel Baldwin and Phineas.” +Major Phineas Porter was his brother, who six +months earlier had married Melicent, daughter of +Colonel Baldwin and widow of Isaac Booth Lewis +(the lady whose name has been chosen for the +Waterbury, Connecticut, Chapter of Daughters +of the American Revolution).</p> +<p>After Mr. Porter’s departure Mrs. Porter said +to Sybil, “You remember how it was two years +ago at the Danbury alarm, how we were left +without a crumb in the house and fairly went +hungry to bed. I think I’d better stir up a few +extra loaves of rye bread and make some more +cake. You’d better call up Phyllis and Nancy +and tell them to let the washing go and help me.”</p> +<p>Phyllis and Nancy were filled with astonishment +and awe at the command to leave the washing +and bake, for, during their twenty years’ service +in the house, nothing had ever been allowed +to stay the progress of Monday’s washing.</p> +<p>Before mid-day another messenger came tearing +up the New Haven road and demanded a +fresh horse in order to continue the journey to +arouse help and demand haste. He brought the +half-past nine news from New Haven that fifteen +hundred men were marching from West Haven +Green to the bridge, that women and children +were escaping to the northward and westward +with all the treasure that they could carry, or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +bury on the way, because every horse in the town +had been taken for the defence.</p> +<p>He had not finished his story, when from the +northward the hastily equipped militia came hurrying +down the road. It was reported that messengers +had been posted from Waterbury Centre +to Westbury and to Northbury; to West Farms +and to Farmingbury—all parts of ancient Waterbury—and +soon The City, as it was called in +1779, now Union City, would be filled with militiamen.</p> +<p>The messenger from New Haven grew impatient +for the fresh horse he had asked for. While +he waited on the porch, Cato, son of Phyllis, +whose duty it was to make ready his steed, sought +Mrs. Porter in the kitchen.</p> +<p>“Where that New Haven fellow,” he asked, +“get Massa’s horse. He say he come from New +Haven, and he got the horse Ethel went away +on.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure, Cato?”</p> +<p>“Sure’s I know Cato,” said the boy, “and the +horse he knew me—be a fool if he didn’t.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Porter immediately summoned the rider +to her presence and learned from him that about +four miles down the road his pony had given out +under haste and heat; that he had met a boy who, +pitying its condition, had offered an exchange of +animals, provided the courier would promise to +leave his pony at the Porter Inn and get a fresh +horse there.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span></div> +<p>“Just like Ethel!” said Polly. “He’ll dally +all day now, while that horse gets rested and fed, +or else he’ll go on foot. I wonder if I couldn’t +catch him!”</p> +<p>“Polly,” said Mrs. Porter, “don’t you leave +this house to-day without my permission.”</p> +<p>Poor Mrs. Porter! Truman, her eldest son, +had gone. He was sixteen and had been a +“trained” soldier for more than six months; +that, the mother expected; but Ethel, only fourteen, +and full of daring and boyish zeal! Stephen +also, the youngest, and the baby, being but ten +years old—he had not yet returned from “stirring +up the Hotchkisses.” Had he followed +Captain Gideon?</p> +<p>“Ethel is too far ahead,” sighed Polly. “I +couldn’t catch him now, even if mother would let +me; but here comes Uncle Phineas in his regimentals, +and Aunt Melicent and Polly and little +Melicent, and O! what a crowd! I can’t see for +the dust! It’s better than the celebration. It’s +so <i>real</i>, so ’strue as you live and breathe and +everything.”</p> +<p>Polly ran to the front door. At that day it +opened upon a porch that extended across the +house front. This porch was supported by a line +of white pillars, and a rail along its front had +rings inserted in it to which a horseman could, +after dismounting beneath its shelter, secure his +steed. Long ago, this porch was removed and +the house itself was taken from the roadside on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +the plain below, because of a great freshet, and +removed to its present location. The history of +that porch, of the men and women who dismounted +beneath its shelter, or who, footsore and +weary, mounted its steps, would be the history of +the country for more than a century, for the men +of Waterbury were in every enterprise in which +the colonies were engaged; but this is the record +of a single day in its eventful life, and we must +return to the porch, where Polly is welcoming +Mrs. Melicent Porter with the words: “Mother +will be so glad you have come, Aunt Melicent, +for Ethel has gone off to New Haven and he’s +miles ahead of catching, and Stephen hasn’t got +back yet from ’rousing the Alarm company. +Mother wouldn’t <i>say</i> a word, but she has got her +mouth fixed and I know she’s afraid he’s gone, +too. I don’t know what father will do when he +finds it out.”</p> +<p>“You go, now,” said Mrs. Porter, “and tell +your mother that your father staid to go to the +mill. He will not be here for some time.”</p> +<p>While Polly went to the kitchen with the message, +Mrs. Melicent alighted from her horse and, +assisting her little daughter Melicent from the +saddle, said: “You are heavier to-day, Milly, +than you were when I threw you to the bank +from my horse when it was floating down the +river. I couldn’t do it now.”</p> +<p>The instant Major Porter had set little Polly +Lewis on the porch Mrs. Porter was beside him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +begging that he would look for Ethel and care for +the boy if he found him. The promise was given, +and looking well despite the uncommon heat, the +Major, in all the glory of his military equipment, +set forth.</p> +<p>From that moment all was noise and call and +confusion without. Men went by singly, in +groups, in squads, in companies, mounted and on +foot. It is a matter of public record that twelve +militia companies, with their respective captains, +went from Waterbury alone to assist New Haven +in the day of its peril. It is no marvel that they +set off with speed, for the horrors of the Danbury +burning was yet fresh in memory.</p> +<p>In the long kitchen, as the heated hours went +by, the brick oven was fired again and again until +the very stones of the chimney expanded with +glowing heat, and the last swallow forsook its +ancient nest in despair. The sun was in the west +when Mr. Porter, with a bag of wheat on one side +of the saddle and a bag of rye on the other, +appeared at the kitchen entrance and summoned +help to unload, but his accustomed helpers were +gone. Even Cato, the reliable, was missing. +Phyllis and Nancy received the wheat and the +rye.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Mr. Porter, “I had to do the +grinding myself—couldn’t find a man to do it, and +I knew it couldn’t be done here to-day, water’s +too low. Where are the boys?” he questioned, +as he entered and looked around. When informed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +his sole ejaculation was, “I ought to +have known that boys always have gone and +always will go after soldiers.”</p> +<p>“Don’t worry, mother,” he added to his wife, +as she stood looking wistfully down the road.</p> +<p>There were tears in her eyes as she said: “Not +a boy left.”</p> +<p>“Why yes, mother, here comes Stephen and +Stiles Hotchkiss up the road. My! how tired +and hot the boys and the horses do look!” exclaimed +Polly.</p> +<p>Stephen waited for no reprimand. He forestalled +it by saying: “Captain Hotchkiss let +Stiles and me go far enough to <i>see</i> the British +troops—way off, ever so far—but we saw ’em, we +did, didn’t we, Stiles?”</p> +<p>“Come! come!” said Mr. Porter, while the +lad’s mother stood with her hand on his head. +“Stephen, tell us all about it!”</p> +<p>“Captain Hotchkiss said he was a boy once, +and if we’d promise him to go home the minute +he told us to, he’d take us along. Well! we kept +meeting folks running away from New Haven, +with everything on ’em but their heads. One +woman was lugging a lot of salt pork, ‘because +she couldn’t bear to have the Britishers eat it all +up;’ and another woman was carrying away a +lot of candles hanging by a string, and the sun +had melted the last drop of tallow, leaving the +wicks dangling against the tallow on her dress, +but she didn’t know it; and mother, would you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +believe it—Mr. Timothy Atwater told Captain +Hotchkiss that he met a woman whom he knew +hurrying out of town with a cat in her arms. +When he asked her where her children were, she +said, ‘Why, at home I suppose.’ ‘Well,’ said Mr. +Atwater, ‘hadn’t you better leave the cat and go +back and get them?’ And she said, ‘Perhaps +she had,’ and went back for ’em.”</p> +<p>“What became of the cat?” asked Mrs. Melicent +Porter.</p> +<p>“Why, Aunt Melicent, how nice!” cried +Stephen, running back to the porch and returning +with a cat in his arms.</p> +<p>“I’ve fetched her to you. I <i>knew</i> you loved +cats so! Here she is, black as ink, and she stuck +to the saddle every step of the way like a true +soldier’s cat. I was afraid she’d run away when +I took her off the saddle, and I hid her. You +know mother don’t like cats around under her +feet.”</p> +<p>In a minute pussy was on the floor, and the last +drop of milk in the house was set before her by +little Polly Lewis. Little Melicent cooed softly +to her, while Stephen and Stiles went on with +their story,—from which it was learned that the +boys had gone within a mile of Hotchkisstown +(now Westville), where, from a height, they had +a view of the British troops. The lads were +filled with admiration of the marching, “as +though it was all one motion,” of the “mingling +colors of the uniforms worn, as the bright red of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +the English Foot Guards blended with the graver +hues of the dress worn by the German mercenaries,” +and of “the waving line of glittering +bayonets.”</p> +<p>“We didn’t see,” said Stephen, “but just one +flash of musketry, because Stiles’s father said we +must start that instant for home, and he told +Stiles to stay here until morning, and we haven’t +had a mouthful to eat since breakfast, and its been +the hottest day that ever was, and I’m tired to +death.”</p> +<p>“And the cows are on the hill and nobody here +to fetch them down,” sighed Mr. Porter.</p> +<p>“Such a lot of captains waiting to see you, +father!” announced Polly. “There’s Captain +Woodruff and Captain Castle and Captain Richards +and a Fenn captain and a Garnsey captain. +I forget the rest.” The captains invaded the +kitchen itself, declaring that it being Monday in +the week, every householder had been short of +provisions for the emergency—that every inn on +the way and many a private house had been +unable to provide enough for so many men, and +what could they have at the Porter Inn?</p> +<p>Polly disappeared. Before her father had considered +the matter she had, assisted by her Aunt +Melicent and Polly Lewis, seized from the pantry +shelves all that they could carry, and going by a +rear way, had hidden on the garret stairs a big +roast of veal, one of lamb, and enough bread and +pies for family requirements, and still the pantry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +shelves seemed amply filled. “I’m not going to +have Ethel come home in the night and find nothing +left for him I know, and the hungry boys fast +asleep and tired out on the kitchen settle will +come to life ravenous. Wonder if I hadn’t better +be missing just now and go fetch the cows down. +Father would have asthma all night if he tried +it,” said Polly to her aunt; and up the hill Polly +went accompanied by little Polly—while Mrs. +Porter stood by and saw the fruits of her hard +day’s work vanish out of sight.</p> +<p>“Pray leave something for your own household,” +she ventured to intercede at last. “Don’t +forget that we have four guests of our own for +the night;” but Mr. Porter, rather proud to show +that, however remiss others had been, the Porter +Inn was prepared for emergencies, had already +bidden Nancy and Phyllis fetch forth the last +loaf.</p> +<p>“Like one for supper,” ventured Nancy, as her +master carefully examined the empty larder, hoping +to find something more. As the last captain +from Northbury started on the night journey for +New Haven, Mr. Porter faced his wife. “Now +Thomas Porter,” she said, “you can go hungry +to bed, but what can I do for my guests and the +children and the rest of the household?”</p> +<p>Mr. Porter scratched his head—a habit when +profoundly in doubt—and said: “I must fetch the +cows! It’s most dark now,” and set forth, to find +that Polly had them all safely in the cattle yard.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></div> +<p>“I suppose, father,” said Polly, “that we’ve +got to live on milk to-night. I thought so when +I heard you parleying with the captains. So I +thought I’d get the cows down.” As Polly entered +the house, she saw a lady and two girls of about +her own age, to whom her mother was saying: +“We will give you shelter, gladly, but my husband +has just let the militia you met just below +have the last morsel of cooked food in our house, +and we’ve nothing left for ourselves but milk for +supper.”</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Polly, stepping to the front; +“we have plenty! I looked out for you before +father got to the pantry. I made journeys to the +garret stairs, several of them, and Aunt Melicent +and Polly Lewis helped me. It is all right for +the lady to stay.”</p> +<p>The lady in question was Mrs. Thankful Punderson +and her twin daughters, girls of twelve +years, who had escaped from New Haven just as +the British troops reached Broadway, and the +riot and plunder and killing began. “I hoped,” +she said, “to reach the house of my husband’s +sister, Mrs. Zachariah Thompson, in Westbury, +but Anna and Thankful are too tired to walk +further to-night, and the horse can carry but two. +It is getting late, and I am so thankful to stay.”</p> +<p>As Mr. Porter stood on the porch looking down +the road for the next arrival, hoping to learn +some later news and perhaps to hear Ethel’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +cheery call in the distance, Polly said: “Father, +will you let me be innkeeper to-night?”</p> +<p>“Gladly, Polly, with nothing to keep and not a +room to spare,” was his reply.</p> +<p>“Then I’ll invite you to supper, and mind, if the +ministers themselves come, they can’t have a bite +to-night, for I’m the keeper.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you’ve made us some hasty pudding +while the milking was going on,” he said, as +Polly, preceding her father for once, went before, +and opened the door upon a table abundantly +supplied, and laid for twelve.</p> +<p>At the table Mr. Porter told, for the benefit of +Mrs. Melicent Porter and Mrs. Punderson, some +of the events, both pathetic and tragic, that had +occurred in the old house during his boyhood +and youth, and Mrs. Melicent Porter told again +the events of the day in June—only a year before—wherein +the battle of Monmouth had been +fought near her New Jersey home, and she had +spent the day in doing what she could to relieve +the sufferings of men so spent with battle and +heat and wounds that they panted to her door +with tongues hanging from their mouths; also of +her perilous journey from New Jersey to Connecticut +on horseback, accompanied by Lieutenant-Colonel +Baldwin, her father—during which +journey it was, that she had thrown her daughter +Melicent in safety from her horse to the bank of +the river they were fording, while the animal, +having lost its footing, was going down the current.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></div> +<p>While these things had been in the telling, +Polly had slipped from the table unnoticed, and +had lighted every lamp that could brighten the +house front and serve to guide to its porch. The +last lamp was just alight when Polly’s guests +began to arrive. She half expected soldiers, and +refugees came. It seemed to her that every +family in New Haven must be related to every +family in Waterbury—so many women and children +came in to rest themselves before continuing +the journey and “to wait until the moon +should rise,” for the evening was very dark, and +oh! the stories that each fresh arrival brought! +They filled the group that came in to listen with +fear and agony. New Haven was very near to +Waterbury in that day. The inhabitants there +were closely connected with the inhabitants here, +and their peril and distress was a common woe. +Little Stiles Hotchkiss cried himself to sleep that +night, fearing that one of the three Hotchkisses, +reported killed, might be his father.</p> +<p>Polly acted well her part. To the children she +gave fresh milk; to their elders she explained that +the militia had taken their supplies, while she +made place to receive two or three invalids who +could go no further, by giving up her own room.</p> +<p>“You’ll let me lie on the floor in your room, +Aunt Melicent, I know,” she said, “for the poor +lady is so old and so feeble; I’m most sure she is +a hundred. She came in a chaise and wanted to +get up to Parson Leavenworth’s, but she just +can’t. She can’t hold up her head.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></div> +<p>It was near midnight when the refugees set +forth for the Center, Mr. Porter himself acting as +guide. After that time, the sleepy boys and the +entire household having taken themselves to bed, +the old house was left to the night, with its silence +and its chill dampness that always comes up from +the river, that goes on “singing to us the same +bonny nonsense,” despite our cheer or our +sorrow. Again, and yet again through the night, +doors opened and two mothers stepped out in the +moonlight to listen, hoping—hoping to hear sound +of the coming of the boys, but only the lone cry +of the whippoorwill was borne on the air.</p> +<p>“’Pears like,” said Phyllis to Mrs. Porter in the +morning, “the whippoorwills had lots to say last +night; talked all night so’s you couldn’t hear +nothing ’tall.”</p> +<p>“Phyllis,” said Mrs. Porter, “there was nothing +else to hear, but we shall know soon.”</p> +<p>Polly came down, bringing her checked linen +apron full of eggs for breakfast. “I thought, +mother,” she said, “that you’d leave yourself +without an egg yesterday, so I looked out. Isn’t +it handy to have them in the house? Haven’t +heard a single cackle this morning yet, but yesterday +was a remarkable day everyway. I believe +the hens knew the British were coming. +Did you ever see such eggs? Wonder if my old +lady is awake yet! Guess I’ll carry up some hot +water for her and find out.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>Polly poured the water deftly from the big iron +tea-kettle hanging from the crane and hurried +away with it, only to return with such haste that +she tripped on the threshold, broke the pitcher +and sent the water over everything it could reach. +“Mother,” she said, recovering herself, “Parson +Leavenworth will be here to breakfast. He’s +coming down the road with father. My old lady +will feel honored, won’t she? I know he’s come +for her. Phyllis, any more hot water to spare? +It’s so good to take out wrinkles; she’ll miss it, I +know.”</p> +<p>The sun had not climbed over Great Hill when +breakfast was over, and the last guest of the +night had gone. Mrs. Punderson’s daughter +Anna rode behind the Rev. Mark Leavenworth +on his horse, Thankful with Mrs. Punderson, the +old lady in the chaise, and even Stiles had galloped +away toward the east, and yet not a +traveler on the road had brought tidings from +New Haven. The group on the porch watching +the departure had not dispersed when Polly’s ears +caught a strain floating up the river valley. She +listened. She ran. She clasped her mother in +her arms. She kissed her. She whispered in +her ear, “I hear him! He’s coming! Ethel is; +and Cato is with him!” she cried out, embracing +Phyllis in her joy. The two mothers—the one +white, the other black; the one free, the other in +bonds—went to listen. They stood side by side +on the porch; tears fell from their eyes, tears that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +through all the years science has failed to distinguish, +the one from the other. Ethel’s cheery +call rang clear and clearer. Cato’s wild cadence +grew near and nearer, but when the boys rode up +beside the porch, Mrs. Porter was on her knees in +the little bed-room off the parlor, and Phyllis was +in the kitchen. New England mothers, both of +them! Their sorrows they could bear; their joys +they hid from sight.</p> +<p class='sig2'><span class='smcap'>Waterbury, Conn.</span>,<br /> +September, 1898.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class="trnote"> +<p><b>Transcriber’s Notes</b></p> +<p>Incorrect quotes and a few obvious typos (hugh/huge, fireams/firearms, and ziz/zig) have been fixed.</p> +<p>Otherwise, the author’s original spelling has been preserved; e.g. Yankeys, afright and affright, and the incorrect usage of ‘its’.</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.21k3 --> +<!-- timestamp: 2010-08-02 16:42:11 -0500 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. 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Prichard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Only Woman in the Town + And Other Tales of the American Revolution + +Author: Sarah J. Prichard + +Release Date: August 3, 2010 [EBook #33334] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Darleen Dove, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + The Only Woman in the Town + + And Other Tales of the American Revolution + + BY + SARAH J. PRICHARD + + Author of the History of Waterbury, 1674-1783 + + + PUBLISHED BY + MELICENT PORTER CHAPTER + Daughters of the American Revolution + Waterbury, Conn. + 1898 + + Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898 + By the MELICENT PORTER CHAPTER + Daughters of the American Revolution, + In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington + + +[Illustration: THE OLD PORTER HOUSE. In it were sheltered and cared for +many soldiers in the War of the Revolution] + + + + +PREFACE + + +The celebration of the Centennial Anniversary of the United States at +the city of Philadelphia in 1876, and the exhibit there made of that +nation's wonderful growth and progress, gave a new and remarkable +impulse to the germs of patriotism in American life. The following +tales of the American Revolution--with the exception of the last--were +written twenty-two years ago, and are the outcome of an interest then +awakened. They all appeared in magazines and other publications of +that period, from which they have been gathered into this volume, in +the hope that thereby patriotism may grow stronger in the children of +to-day. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + The Only Woman in the Town 9 + A Windham Lamb in Boston Town 38 + How One Boy Helped the British Troops Out of Boston in 1776 47 + Pussy Dean's Beacon Fire 67 + David Bushnell and His American Turtle 75 + The Birthday of Our Nation 117 + The Overthrow of the Statue of King George 127 + Sleet and Snow 135 + Patty Rutter: The Quaker Doll who slept in Independence Hall 151 + Becca Blackstone's Turkeys at Valley Forge 159 + How Two Little Stockings Saved Fort Safety 169 + A Day and a Night in the Old Porter House 181 + + + + +THE ONLY WOMAN IN THE TOWN. + + +One hundred years and one ago, in Boston, at ten of the clock one +April night, a church steeple had been climbed and a lantern hung +out. + +At ten, the same night, in mid-river of the Charles, oarsmen two, with +passenger silent and grim, had seen the signal light out-swung, and +rowed with speed for the Charlestown shore. + +At eleven, the moon was risen, and the grim passenger, Paul Revere, +had ridden up the Neck, encountered a foe, who opposed his ride into +the country, and, after a brief delay, had gone on, leaving a British +officer lying in a clay pit. + +At midnight, a hundred ears had heard the flying horseman cry, "Up and +arm. The Regulars are coming out!" + +You know the story well. You have heard how the wild alarm ran from +voice to voice and echoed beneath every roof, until the men of +Lexington and Concord were stirred and aroused with patriotic fear for +the safety of the public stores that had been committed to their +keeping. + +You know how, long ere the chill April day began to dawn, they had +drawn, by horse power and by hand power, the cherished stores into +safe hiding-places in the depth of friendly forest-coverts. + +There is one thing about that day that you have _not_ heard and I will +tell you now. It is, how one little woman staid in the town of +Concord, whence all the women save her had fled. + +All the houses that were standing then, are very old-fashioned now, +but there was one dwelling-place on Concord Common that was +old-fashioned even then! It was the abode of Martha Moulton and "Uncle +John." Just who "Uncle John" was, is not known to the writer, but he +was probably Martha Moulton's uncle. The uncle, it appears by record, +was eighty-five years old; while the niece was _only_ three-score and +eleven. + +Once and again that morning, a friendly hand had pulled the +latch-string at Martha Moulton's kitchen entrance and offered to +convey herself and treasures away, but, to either proffer, she had +said: "No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the cricks out of his +back, if all the British soldiers in the land march into town." + +At last, came Joe Devins, a lad of fifteen years--Joe's two astonished +eyes peered for a moment into Martha Moulton's kitchen, and then eyes +and owner dashed into the room, to learn what the sight he there saw +could mean. + +"Whew! Mother Moulton, what are you doing?" + +"I'm getting Uncle John his breakfast to be sure, Joe," she answered. +"Have _you_ seen so many sights this morning that you don't know +breakfast, when you see it? Have a care there, for hot fat _will_ +burn," as she deftly poured the contents of a pan, fresh from the +fire, into a dish. + +Hungry Joe had been astir since the first drum had beat to arms at two +of the clock. He gave one glance at the boiling cream and the slices +of crisp pork swimming in it, as he gasped forth the words, "Getting +breakfast in Concord _this_ morning! _Mother Moulton_, you _must_ be +crazy." + +"So they tell me," she said, serenely. "There comes Uncle John!" she +added, as the clatter of a staff on the stone steps of the stairway +outrang, for an instant, the cries of hurrying and confusion that +filled the air of the street. + +"Don't you know, Mother Moulton," Joe went on to say, "that every +single woman and child have been carried off, where the Britishers +won't find 'em?" + +"I don't believe the king's troops have stirred out of Boston," she +replied, going to the door leading to the stone staircase, to open it +for Uncle John. + +"Don't believe it?" and Joe looked, as he echoed the words, as though +only a boy could feel sufficient disgust at such a want of common +sense, in full view of the fact, that Reuben Brown had just brought +the news that eight men had been killed by the king's Red Coats in +Lexington, which fact he made haste to impart. + +"I won't believe a word of it," she said, stoutly, "until I see the +soldiers coming." + +"Ah! Hear that!" cried Joe, tossing back his hair and swinging his +arms triumphantly at an airy foe. "You won't have to wait long. _That +signal_ is for the minute men. They are going to march out to meet the +Red Coats. Wish I was a minute man, this minute." + +Meanwhile, poor Uncle John was getting down the steps of the stairway, +with many a grimace and groan. As he touched the floor, Joe, his face +beaming with excitement and enthusiasm, sprang to place a chair for +him at the table, saying, "Good morning," at the same moment. + +"May be," groaned Uncle John, "youngsters _like you may_ think it is a +good morning, but _I don't_. Such a din and clatter as the fools have +kept up all night long. If I had the power" (and now the poor old man +fairly groaned with rage), "I'd make 'em quiet long enough to let an +old man get a wink of sleep, when the rheumatism lets go." + +"I'm real sorry for you," said Joe, "but you don't know the news. The +king's troops, from camp, in Boston, are marching right down here, to +carry off all our arms that they can find." + +"Are they?" was the sarcastic rejoinder. "It's the best news I've +heard in a long while. Wish they had my arms, this minute. They +wouldn't carry them a step further than they could help, I know. Run +and tell them that mine are ready, Joe." + +"But, Uncle John, wait until after breakfast, you'll want to use them +once more," said Martha Moulton, trying to help him into a chair that +Joe had placed on the white sanded floor. + +Meanwhile, Joe Devins had ears for all the sounds that penetrated the +kitchen from out of doors, and he had eyes for the slices of +well-browned pork and the golden-hued Johnny-cake lying before the +glowing coals on the broad hearth. + +As the little woman bent to take up the breakfast, Joe, intent on +doing some kindness for her in the way of saving treasures, asked, +"Sha'n't I help you, Mother Moulton?" + +"I reckon I am not so old that I can't lift a mite of corn-bread," she +replied with chilling severity. + +"Oh, I didn't mean to lift _that thing_," he made haste to explain, +"but to carry off things and hide 'em away, as everybody else has been +doing half the night. I know a first-rate place up in the woods. Used +to be a honey tree, you know, and it's just as hollow as anything. +Silver spoons and things would be just as safe in it--" but Joe's +words were interrupted by unusual tumult on the street and he ran off +to learn the news, intending to return and get the breakfast that had +been offered to him. + +Presently he rushed back to the house with cheeks aflame and eyes +ablaze with excitement. "They're coming!" he cried. "They're in sight +down by the rocks. They see 'em marching, the men on the hill do!" + +"You don't mean that it's really true that the soldiers are coming +here, _right into our town_!" cried Martha Moulton, rising in haste +and bringing together, with rapid flourishes to right and to left, +every fragment of silver on it. Divining her intent, Uncle John strove +to hold fast his individual spoon, but she twitched it without +ceremony out from his rheumatic old fingers, and ran next to the +parlor cupboard, wherein lay her movable treasures. + +"What in the world shall I do with them?" she cried, returning with +her apron well filled, and borne down by the weight thereof. + +"Give 'em to me," cried Joe. "Here's a basket. Drop 'em in, and I'll +run like a brush-fire through the town and across the old bridge, and +hide 'em as safe as a weasel's nap." + +Joe's fingers were creamy; his mouth was half filled with Johnny-cake, +and his pocket on the right bulged to its utmost capacity with the +same, as he held forth the basket; but the little woman was afraid to +trust him, as she had been afraid to trust her neighbors. + +"No! No!" she replied, to his repeated offers. "I know what I'll do. +You, Joe Devins, stay right where you are until I come back, and, +don't you even _look_ out of the window." + +"Dear, dear me!" she cried, flushed and anxious when she was out of +sight of Uncle John and Joe. "I _wish_ I'd given 'em to Colonel +Barrett when he was here before daylight, only, I _was_ afraid I +should never get sight of them again." + +She drew off one of her stockings, filled it, tied the opening at the +top with a string--plunged stocking and all into a pail full of water +and proceeded to pour the contents into the well. + +Just as the dark circle had closed over the blue stocking, Joe Devins' +face peered down the depths by her side, and his voice sounded out the +words: "O Mother Moulton, the British will search the wells the _very_ +first thing. Of course, they _expect_ to find things in wells!" + +"Why didn't you tell me before, Joe? but now it is too late." + +"I would, if I had known what you was going to do; they'd been a sight +safer in the honey tree." + +"Yes, and what a fool I've been--flung _my watch_ into the well with +the spoons!" + +"Well, well! Don't stand there, looking!" as she hovered over the high +curb, with her hand on the bucket. "Everybody will know, if you do." + +"Martha! Martha!" shrieked Uncle John's quavering voice from the house +door. + +"Bless my heart!" she exclaimed, hurrying back over the stones. + +"What's the matter with your heart?" questioned Joe. + +"Nothing. I was thinking of Uncle John's money," she answered. + +"Has he got money?" cried Joe. "I thought he was poor, and you took +care of him because you were so good!" + +Not one word that Joe uttered did the little woman hear. She was +already by Uncle John's side and asking him for the key to his strong +box. + +Uncle John's rheumatism was terribly exasperating. "No, I won't give +it to you!" he cried, "and nobody shall have it as long as I am above +ground." + +"Then the soldiers will carry it off," she said. + +"Let 'em!" was his reply, grasping his staff firmly with both hands +and gleaming defiance out of his wide, pale eyes. "_You_ won't get the +key, even if they do." + +At this instant, a voice at the doorway shouted the words, "Hide, hide +away somewhere, Mother Moulton, for the Red Coats are in sight this +minute!" + +She heard the warning, and giving one glance at Uncle John, which look +was answered by another "No, you won't have it," she grasped Joe +Devins by the collar of his jacket and thrust him before her up the +staircase so quickly that the boy had no chance to speak, until she +released her hold, on the second floor, at the entrance to Uncle +John's room. + +The idea of being taken a prisoner in such a manner, and by a woman, +too, was too much for the lad's endurance. "Let me go!" he cried, the +instant he could recover his breath. "I won't hide away in your +garret, like a woman, I won't. I want to see the militia and the +minute men fight the troops, I do." + +"Help me first, Joe. Here, quick now! Let's get this box out and up +garret. We'll hide it under the corn and it'll be safe," she coaxed. + +The box was under Uncle John's bed. + +"What's in the old thing anyhow?" questioned Joe, pulling with all his +strength at it. + +The box, or chest, was painted red, and was bound about by massive +iron bands. + +"I've never seen the inside of it," said Mother Moulton. "It holds the +poor old soul's sole treasure, and I _do_ want to save it for him if I +can." + +They had drawn it with much hard endeavor as far as the garret stairs, +but their united strength failed to lift it. "Heave it, now!" cried +Joe, and lo! it was up two steps. So they turned it over and over with +many a thudding thump;--every one of which thumps Uncle John heard and +believed to be strokes upon the box itself to burst it asunder--until +it was fairly shelved on the garret floor. + +In the very midst of the overturnings, a voice from below had been +heard crying out, "Let my box alone! Don't you break it open! If you +do, I'll--I'll--" but, whatever the poor man _meant_ to threaten as a +penalty, he could not think of anything half severe enough to say, so +left it uncertain as to the punishment that might be looked for. + +"Poor old soul!" ejaculated the little woman, her soft white curls in +disorder and the pink color rising from her cheeks to her fair +forehead, as she bent to help Joe drag the box beneath the rafter's +edge. + +"Now, Joe," she said, "we'll heap nubbins over it, and if the soldiers +want corn they'll take good ears and never think of touching poor +nubbins." So they fell to work throwing corn over the red chest, until +it was completely concealed from view. + +Then Joe sprang to the high-up-window ledge in the point of the roof +and took one glance out. "Oh, I see them, the Red Coats! 'Strue's I +live, there go our militia _up the hill_. I thought they was going to +stand and defend. Shame on 'em, I say!" Jumping down and crying back +to Mother Moulton, "I'm going to stand by the minute men," he went +down, three steps at a leap, and nearly overturned Uncle John on the +stairs, who, with many groans, was trying to get to the defense of his +strong box. + +"What did you help her for, you scamp?" he demanded of Joe, +flourishing his staff unpleasantly near the lad's head. + +"'Cause she asked me to, and couldn't do it alone," returned Joe, +dodging the stick and disappearing from the scene at the very moment +Martha Moulton encountered Uncle John. + +"Your strong box is safe under nubbins in the garret, unless the house +burns down, and now that you are up here, you had better stay," she +added soothingly, as she hastened by him to reach the kitchen below. + +Once there, she paused a second or two to take resolution regarding +her next act. She knew full well that there was not one second to +spare, and yet she stood looking, apparently, into the glowing embers +on the hearth. She was flushed and excited, both by the unwonted toil +and the coming events. Cobwebs from the rafters had fallen on her hair +and homespun dress, and would readily have betrayed her late +occupation to any discerning soldier of the king. + +A smile broke suddenly over her fair face, displacing for a brief +second every trace of care. "It's my old weapon, and I must use it," +she said, making a stately courtesy to an imaginary guest, and +straightway disappeared within an adjoining room. With buttoned door +and dropped curtains the little woman made haste to array herself in +her finest raiment. In five minutes she reappeared in the kitchen, a +picture pleasant to look at. In all New England, there could not be a +more beautiful little old lady than Martha Moulton was that day. Her +hair was guiltless now of cobwebs, but haloed her face with fluffy +little curls of silvery whiteness, above which, like a crown, was a +little cap of dotted muslin, pure as snow. Her erect figure, not a +particle of the hard-working-day in it now, carried well the folds of +a sheeny, black silk gown, over which she had tied an apron as +spotless as the cap. + +As she fastened back her gown and hurried away the signs of the +breakfast she had not eaten, the clear pink tints seemed to come out +with added beauty of coloring in her cheeks, while her hair seemed +fairer and whiter than at any moment in her three-score and eleven +years. + +Once more, Joe Devins looked in. As he caught a glimpse of the picture +she made, he paused to cry out: "All dressed up to meet the robbers! +My, how fine you do look! I wouldn't. I'd go and hide behind the +nubbins. They'll be here in less than five minutes now," he cried, +"and I'm going over the North Bridge to see what's going on there." + +"O Joe, stay, won't you?" she urged, but the lad was gone, and she was +left alone to meet the foe, comforting herself with the thought, +"They'll treat me with more respect if I _look_ respectable, and if I +_must_ die, I'll die good-looking in my best clothes, anyhow." + +She threw a few sticks of hickory-wood on the embers and then drew out +the little round stand, on which the family Bible was always lying. +Recollecting that the British soldiers probably belonged to the Church +of England, she hurried away to fetch Uncle John's "prayer book." + +"They'll have respect to me, if they find me reading that, I know," +she thought. Having drawn the round stand within sight of the well, +and where she could also command a view of the staircase, she sat and +waited for coming events. + +Uncle John was keeping watch of the advancing troops from an upper +window. "Martha," he called, "you'd better come up. They're close by, +now." To tell the truth, Uncle John himself was a little afraid; that +is to say, he hadn't quite courage enough to go down and, perhaps, +encounter his own rheumatism and the king's soldiers on the same +stairway, and yet, he felt that he must defend Martha as well as he +could. + +The rap of a musket, quick and ringing, on the front door, startled +the little woman from her apparent devotions. She did not move at the +call of anything so profane. It was the custom of the time to have the +front door divided into two parts, the lower half and the upper half. +The former was closed and made fast, the upper could be swung open at +will. + +The soldier getting no reply, and doubtless thinking that the house +was deserted, leaped over the chained lower half of the door. + +At the clang of his bayonet against the brass trimmings, Martha +Moulton groaned in spirit, for, if there was any one thing that she +deemed essential to her comfort in this life, it was to keep spotless, +speckless and in every way unharmed, the great knocker on her front +door. + +"Good, sound English metal, too," she thought, "that an English +soldier ought to know how to respect." + +As she heard the tramp of coming feet she only bent the closer over +the Book of Prayer that lay open on her knee. Not one word did she +read or see; she was inwardly trembling and outwardly watching the +well and the staircase. But now, above all other sounds, broke the +noise of Uncle John's staff thrashing the upper step of the staircase, +and the shrill, tremulous cry of the old man, defiant, doing his +utmost for the defense of his castle. + +The fingers that lay beneath the book tingled with desire to box the +old man's ears, for the policy he was pursuing would be fatal to the +treasure in garret and in well; but she was forced to silence and +inactivity. + +As the king's troops, Major Pitcairn at their head, reached the open +door and saw the old lady, they paused. What could they do but look, +for a moment, at the unexpected sight that met their view: a placid +old lady in black silk and dotted muslin, with all the sweet solemnity +of morning devotion hovering about the tidy apartment and seeming to +centre at the round stand by which she sat,--this pretty woman, with +pink and white face surmounted with fleecy little curls and crinkles +and wisps of floating whiteness, who looked up to meet their gaze with +such innocent, prayer-suffused eyes. + +"Good morning, Mother," said Major Pitcairn, raising his hat. + +"Good morning, gentlemen and soldiers," returned Martha Moulton. "You +will pardon my not meeting you at the door, when you see that I was +occupied in rendering service to the Lord of all." She reverently +closed the book, laid it on the table, and arose, with a stately +bearing, to demand their wishes. + +"We're hungry, good woman," spoke the commander, "and your hearth is +the only hospitable one we've seen since we left Boston. With your +good leave I'll take a bit of this," and he stooped to lift up the +Johnny-cake that had been all this while on the hearth. + +"I wish I had something better to offer you," she said, making haste +to fetch plates and knives from the corner-cupboard, and all the while +she was keeping eye-guard over the well. "I'm afraid the Concorders +haven't left much for you to-day," she added, with a soft sigh of +regret, as though she really felt sorry that such brave men and good +soldiers had fallen on hard times in the ancient town. At the moment +she had brought forth bread and baked beans, and was putting them on +the table, a voice rang into the room, causing every eye to turn +toward Uncle John. He had gotten down the stairs without uttering one +audible groan, and was standing, one step above the floor of the room, +brandishing and whirling his staff about in a manner to cause even +rheumatism to flee the place, while at the top of his voice he cried +out: + +"Martha Moulton, how _dare_ you _feed_ these--these--monsters--in +human form?" + +"Don't mind him, gentlemen, _please_ don't," she made haste to say; +"he's old, _very_ old; eighty-five, his last birthday, and--a little +hoity-toity at times," pointing deftly with her finger in the region +of the reasoning powers in her own shapely head. + +Summoning Major Pitcairn by an offer of a dish of beans, she contrived +to say, under cover of it: + +"You see, sir, I couldn't go away and leave him; he is almost +distracted with rheumatism, and this excitement to-day will kill him, +I'm afraid." + +Advancing toward the staircase with bold and soldierly front, Major +Pitcairn said to Uncle John: + +"Stand aside, old man, and we'll hold you harmless." + +"I don't believe you will, you red-trimmed trooper, you," was the +reply; and, with a dexterous swing of the wooden staff, he mowed off +and down three military hats. + +Before any one had time to speak, Martha Moulton, adroitly stooping, +as though to recover Major Pitcairn's hat, which had rolled to her +feet, swung the stairway-door into its place with a resounding bang, +and followed up that achievement with a swift turn of two large wooden +buttons, one high up, and the other low down, on the door. + +"There!" she said, "he is safe out of mischief for a while, and your +heads are safe as well. Pardon a poor old man, who does not know what +he is about." + +"He seems to know remarkably well," exclaimed an officer. + +Meanwhile, behind the strong door, Uncle John's wrath knew no bounds. +In his frantic endeavors to burst the fastenings of the wooden +buttons, rheumatic cramps seized him and carried the day, leaving him +out of the battle. + +Meanwhile, a company of soldiers clustered about the door. The king's +horses were fed within five feet of the great brass knocker, +while, within the house, the beautiful little old woman, in her +Sunday-best-raiment, tried to do the dismal honors of the day to the +foes of her country. Watching her, one would have thought she was +entertaining heroes returned from the achievement of valiant +deeds, whereas, in her own heart, she knew full well that she was +giving a little, to save much. + +Nothing could exceed the seeming alacrity with which she fetched water +from the well for the officers: and, when Major Pitcairn gallantly +ordered his men to do the service, the little soul was in alarm; she +was so afraid that "somehow, in some way or another, the blue stocking +would get hitched on to the bucket." She knew that she must to its +rescue, and so she bravely acknowledged herself to have taken a vow +(when, she did not say), to draw all the water that was taken from +that well. + +"A remnant of witchcraft!" remarked a soldier within hearing. + +"Do I look like a witch?" she demanded. + +"If you do," replied Major Pitcairn, "I admire New England witches, +and never would condemn one to be hung, or burned, or--smothered." + +Martha Moulton never wore so brilliant a color on her aged cheeks as +at that moment. She felt bitter shame at the ruse she had attempted, +but silver spoons were precious, and, to escape the smile that went +around at Major Pitcairn's words, she was only too glad to go again to +the well and dip slowly the high, over-hanging sweep into the cool, +clear, dark depth below. + +During this time the cold, frosty morning spent itself into the +brilliant, shining noon. + +You know what happened at Concord on that 19th of April in the year +1775. You have been told the story--how the men of Acton met and +resisted the king's troops at the old North Bridge; how brave Captain +Davis and minute-man Hosmer fell; how the sound of their falling +struck down to the very heart of mother earth, and caused her to send +forth her brave sons to cry "Liberty, or Death!" + +And the rest of the story; the sixty or more barrels of flour that the +king's troops found and struck the heads from, leaving the flour in +condition to be gathered again at nightfall, the arms and powder that +they destroyed, the houses they burned; all these, are they not +recorded in every child's history in the land? + +While these things were going on, for a brief while, at mid-day, +Martha Moulton found her home deserted. She had not forgotten poor, +suffering, irate Uncle John in the regions above, and so, the very +minute she had the chance, she made a strong cup of catnip tea (the +real tea, you know, was brewing in Boston harbor). + +She turned the buttons, and, with a bit of trembling at her heart, +such as she had not felt all day, she ventured up the stairs, bearing +the steaming peace-offering before her. + +Uncle John was writhing under the sharp thorns and twinges of his old +enemy, and in no frame of mind to receive any overtures in the shape +of catnip tea; nevertheless, he was watching, as well as he was able, +the motions of the enemy. As she drew near, he cried out: + +"Look out this window, and see! Much _good_ all your scheming will do +_you_!" + +She obeyed his command to look, and the sight she then saw caused her +to let fall the cup of catnip tea and rush down the stairs, wringing +her hands as she went, and crying out: + +"Oh, dear! what shall I do? The house will burn and the box up garret. +Everything's lost!" + +Major Pitcairn, at that moment, was on the green in front of her door, +giving orders. + +Forgetting the dignified part she intended to play; forgetting +everything but the supreme danger that was hovering in mid-air over +her home--the old house wherein she had been born, and the only home +she had ever known--she rushed out upon the green, amid the troops and +surrounded by cavalry, and made her way to Major Pitcairn. + +"The court-house is on fire!" she cried, laying her hand upon the +commander's arm. + +He turned and looked at her. Major Pitcairn had recently learned that +the task he had been set to do in the provincial towns that day was +not an easy one; that, when hard pressed and trodden down, the +despised rustics, in homespun dress, could sting even English +soldiers; and thus it happened that, when he felt the touch of Mother +Moulton's plump little old fingers on his military sleeve, he was not +in the pleasant humor that he had been when the same hand had +ministered to his hunger in the early morning. + +"Well, what of it? _Let it burn!_ We won't hurt _you_, if you go in +the house and stay there!" + +She turned and glanced up at the court-house. Already flames were +issuing from it. "Go in the house and let it burn, _indeed_!" thought +she. "He knows _me_, don't he? Oh, sir! for the love of Heaven won't +you stop it?" she said, entreatingly. + +"Run in the house, good mother. That is a wise woman," he advised. + +Down in her heart, and as the very outcome of lip and brain she wanted +to say, "You needn't 'mother' me, you murderous rascals!" but, +remembering everything that was at stake, she crushed her wrath and +buttoned it in as closely as she had Uncle John behind the door in the +morning, and again, with swift gentleness, laid her hand on his arm. + +He turned and looked at her. Vexed at her persistence, and extremely +annoyed at intelligence that had just reached him from the North +Bridge, he said, imperiously, "Get away! or you'll be trodden down by +the horses!" + +"I _can't_ go!" she cried, clasping his arm, and fairly clinging to it +in her frenzy of excitement. "Oh, stop the fire, quick, quick! or my +house will burn!" + +"I have no time to put out your fires," he said, carelessly, shaking +loose from her hold and turning to meet a messenger with news. + +Poor little woman! What could she do? The wind was rising, and the +fire grew. Flame was creeping out in a little blue curl in a new +place, under the rafter's edge, _and nobody cared_. That was what +increased the pressing misery of it all. It was so unlike a common +country alarm, where everybody rushed up and down the streets, crying +"Fire! fire! f-i-r-e!" and went hurrying to and fro for pails of water +to help put it out. + +Until that moment the little woman did not know how utterly deserted +she was. + +In very despair, she ran to her house, seized two pails, filled them +with greater haste than she had ever drawn water before, and, +regardless of Uncle John's imprecations, carried them forth, one in +either hand, the water dripping carelessly down the side breadths of +her fair silk gown, her silvery curls tossed and tumbled in white +confusion, her pleasant face aflame with eagerness, and her clear eyes +suffused with tears. + +Thus equipped with facts and feeling, she once more appeared to Major +Pitcairn. + +"Have you a mother in old England?" she cried. "If so, for her sake, +stop this fire." + +Her words touched his heart. + +"And if I do--?" he answered. + +"_Then your johnny-cake on my hearth won't burn up_," she said, with a +quick little smile, adjusting her cap. + +Major Pitcairn laughed, and two soldiers, at his command, seized the +pails and made haste to the court-house, followed by many more. + +For awhile the fire seemed victorious, but, by brave effort, it was +finally overcome, and the court-house saved. + +At a distance Joe Devins had noticed the smoke hovering like a little +cloud, then sailing away still more like a cloud over the town; and he +had made haste to the scene, arriving in time to venture on the roof, +and do good service there. + +After the fire was extinguished, he thought of Martha Moulton, and he +could not help feeling a bit guilty at the consciousness that he had +gone off and left her alone. + +Going to the house he found her entertaining the king's troopers with +the best food her humble store afforded. + +She was so charmed with herself, and so utterly well pleased with the +success of her pleading, that the little woman's nerves fairly +quivered with jubilation; and best of all, the blue stocking was +still safe in the well, for had she not watched with her own eyes +every time the bucket was dipped to fetch up water for the fire, +having, somehow, got rid of the vow she had taken regarding the +drawing of the water. + +As she saw the lad looking, with surprised countenance, into the room +where the feast was going on, a fear crept up her own face and darted +out from her eyes. It was, lest Joe Devins should spoil it all by +ill-timed words. + +She made haste to meet him, basket in hand. + +"Here, Joe," she said, "fetch me some small wood, there's a good +boy." + +As she gave him the basket she was just in time to stop the rejoinder +that was issuing from his lips. + +In time to intercept his return she was at the wood-pile. + +"Joe," she said, half-abashed before the truth that shone in the boy's +eyes--"Joe," she repeated, "you know Major Pitcairn ordered the fire +put out, _to please me_, because I begged him so, and, in return, what +_can_ I do but give them something to eat? Come and help me." + +"I won't," responded he. "Their hands are red with blood. They've +killed two men at the bridge." + +"Who's killed?" she asked, trembling, but Joe would not tell her. He +demanded to know what had been done with Uncle John. + +"He's quiet enough, up-stairs," she replied, with a sudden spasm of +feeling that she _had_ neglected Uncle John shamefully; still, with +the day, and the fire and everything, how could she help it? but, +really, it did seem strange that he made no noise, with a hundred +armed men coming and going through the house. + +At least, that was what Joe thought, and, having deposited the basket +of wood on the threshold of the kitchen door, he departed around the +corner of the house. Presently he had climbed a pear tree, dropped +from one of its overhanging branches on the lean-to, raised a sash and +crept into the window. + +Slipping off his shoes, heavy with spring mud, he proceeded to search +for Uncle John. He was not in his own room; he was not in the +guest-chamber; he was not in any one of the rooms. + +On the floor, by the window in the hall, looking out upon the green, +he found the broken cup and saucer that Martha Moulton had let fall. +Having made a second round, in which he investigated every closet and +penetrated into the spaces under beds, Joe thought of the garret. + +Tramp, tramp went the heavy feet on the sanded floors below, drowning +every possible sound from above; nevertheless, as the lad opened the +door leading into the garret, he whispered cautiously: "Uncle John! +Uncle John!" + +All was silent above. Joe went up, and was startled by a groan. He had +to stand a few seconds, to let the darkness grow into light, ere he +could see; and, when he could discern outlines in the dimness, there +was given to him the picture of Uncle John, lying helpless amid and +upon the nubbins that had been piled over his strong box. + +"Why, Uncle John, are you dead?" asked Joe, climbing over to his +side. + +"Is the house afire?" was the response. + +"House afire? No! The confounded Red Coats up and put it out." + +"I thought they was going to let me burn to death up here!" groaned +Uncle John. + +"Can I help you up?" and Joe proffered two strong hands, rather black +with toil and smoke. + +"No, no! You can't help me. If the house isn't afire, I'll stand it +till the fellows are gone, and then, Joe, you fetch the doctor as +quick as you can." + +"_You_ can't get a doctor for love nor money this night, Uncle John. +There's too much work to be done in Lexington and Concord to-night for +wounded and dying men; and there'll be more of 'em too afore a single +Red Coat sees Boston again. They'll be hunted down every step of the +way. They've killed Captain Davis, from Acton." + +"You don't say so!" + +"Yes, they have, and--" + +"I say, Joe Devins, go down and do--do something. There's _my niece_ +a-feeding the murderers! I'll disown her. She shan't have a penny of +my pounds, she shan't!" + +Both Joe and Uncle John were compelled to remain in inaction, while +below, the weary little woman acted the kind hostess to His Majesty's +troops. + +But now the feast was spent, and the soldiers were summoned to begin +their painful march. Assembled on the green, all was ready, when Major +Pitcairn, remembering the little woman who had ministered to his +wants, returned to the house to say farewell. + +'Twas but a step to her door, and but a moment since he had left it, +but he found her crying; crying with joy, in the very chair where he +had found her at prayers in the morning. + +"I would like to say good-by," he said; "you've been very kind to me +to-day." + +With a quick dash or two of the dotted white apron (spotless no +longer) to her eye, she arose. Major Pitcairn extended his hand, but +she folded her own closely together, and said: + +"I wish you a pleasant journey back to Boston, sir." + +"Will you not shake hands with me before I go?" + +"I can feed the enemy of my country, but shake hands with him, +_never_!" + +For the first time that day the little woman's love of country seemed +to rise triumphant within her, and drown every impulse to selfishness; +or, was it the nearness to safety that she felt? Human conduct is the +result of so many motives that it is sometimes impossible to name the +compound, although on that occasion Martha Moulton labelled it +"Patriotism." + +"And yet I put out the fire for you," he said. + +"For your mother's sake, in old England, it was, you remember, sir." + +"I remember," said Major Pitcairn, with a sigh, as he turned away. + +"And for _her_ sake I will shake hands with you," said Martha +Moulton. + +So he turned back, and, across the threshold, in presence of the +waiting troops, the commander of the expedition to Concord and the +only woman in the town shook hands at parting. + +Martha Moulton saw Major Pitcairn mount his horse; heard the order +given for the march to begin--the march of which you all have heard. +You know what a sorry time the Red Coats had of it in getting back to +Boston; how they were fought at every inch of the way, and waylaid +from behind every convenient tree-trunk, and shot at from tree-tops, +and aimed at from upper windows, and besieged from behind stone walls, +and, in short, made so miserable and harassed and overworn, that at +last their depleted ranks, with the tongues of the men parched and +hanging, were fain to lie down by the road-side and take what came +next, even though it might be death. And then _the dead_ they left +behind them! + +Ah! there's nothing wholesome to mind or body about war, until long, +long after it is over and the earth has had time to hide the blood, +and send forth its sweet blooms of Liberty. + +The men of that day are long dead. The same soil holds regulars and +minute-men. England, which over-ruled, and the provinces, that put out +brave hands to seize their rights, are good friends to-day, and have +shaken hands over many a threshold of hearty thought and kind deed +since that time. + +The tree of Liberty grows yet, stately and fair, for the men of the +Revolution planted it well, and surely, God himself _hath_ given it +increase. So we gather to-day, in this our story, a forget-me-not +more, from the old town of Concord. + +When the troops had marched away, the weary little woman laid aside +her silken gown, resumed her homespun dress, and immediately began to +think of getting Uncle John down-stairs again into his easy chair; but +it required more aid than she could give, to lift the fallen man. At +last, Joe Devins summoned returning neighbors, who came to the rescue, +and the poor nubbins were left to the rats once more. + +Joe climbed down the well and rescued the blue stocking, with its +treasures unharmed, even to the precious watch, which watch was Martha +Moulton's chief treasure, and one of the very few in the town. + +Martha Moulton was the heroine of the day. The house was besieged by +admiring men and women that night and for two or three days +thereafter; but when, years later, she being older, and poorer, even +to want, petitioned the General Court for a reward for the service she +rendered in persuading Major Pitcairn to save the court-house from +burning, there was granted to her only fifteen dollars, a poor little +grant, it is true, but _just enough_ to carry her story down the +years, whereas, but for that, it might never have been wafted up and +down the land, on the wings of this story. + + + + +A WINDHAM LAMB IN BOSTON TOWN. + + +It was one hundred and one years ago in this very month of June, that +nine men of the old town of Windham--which lies near the northeast +corner of Connecticut--met at the meeting-house door. There was no +service that day; the doors were shut, and the bell in the steeple +gave no sound. + +The town of Windham had appointed the nine men a committee to ask the +inhabitants to give from their flocks of sheep as many as they could +for the hungry men and women of Boston. Each man of the committee was +told at the meeting-house door the district in which he was to gather +sheep. + +On his stout grey pony sat Ebenezer Devotion. As soon as he heard the +eastern portion of the town assigned to him, he gave the signal to his +horse, and in five minutes was out of sight over the high hill. In ten +minutes he was near the famous Frog pond. As he was passing it by, a +voice from the marsh along its bank cried out: + +"Where now, so fast, this fine morning, Mr. Devotion?" + +"The same to you, Goodwife Elderkin. I know your voice, though I can't +see your face." + +Presently a hand parted the thicket and a woman's face appeared. + +"I'm getting flag-root. It gives a twang to root beer that nothing +else will, and the flag hereabout is the twangiest I know of. Stop at +the house as you go along and get some beer, won't you? Mary Ann's to +home." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Devotion, with a stiff bow. "It's a little early +for beer this morning. I'll stop as I come this way again. How are +your sheep and lambs this year?" + +"First rate. Never better." + +"Have you any to part with?" + +"Who wants to buy?" and Goodwife Elderkin came out from the thicket to +the road-side, eager for gain. + +"We don't sell sheep in Windham this year," said Mr. Devotion. + +"Why, what's the matter with the man?" thought Mrs. Elderkin, for +Ebenezer Devotion liked to drive a good bargain as well as any one of +his neighbors. Before she had time to give expression to her surprise, +he said with a sharp inclination of his head toward the sun, "We've +neighbors over yonder, good and true, who wouldn't sell sheep if we +were shut in by ships of war, and hungry, too." + +"What! any news from Boston town?" + +"It's twenty-four days, to-day, since the port was shut up." + +Goodwife Elderkin laughed. Ebenezer Devotion looked grim enough to +smother every bit of laughter in New England. + +"'Pears as if king and Parliament really believed that tea was cast +away by the men of Boston, now don't it? 'stead of every man, woman +and child in the country havin' a hand in it," said Mrs. Elderkin. + +"About the sheep!" replied Mr. Devotion, jerking up his horse's head +from the sweet, pure grass, greening all the road-side. + +"Let your pony feed while he can," she replied. "What about the +sheep?" + +"How many will you give?" + +"How many are you going to give yourself?" + +"Twice as many as you will." + +"Do you mean it?" + +"I do." + +"Then I'll give every sheep I own." + +"And how many is that?" + +"A couple of dozen or so." + +"Better keep some of them for another time." + +Mrs. Elderkin laughed again. "I'll say half a dozen then, if a dozen +is all you want to give yourself." + +Ebenezer Devotion drew from his wallet a slip of paper and headed his +list of names with "Six sheep, from Goodwife Elderkin." + +"Thank you in the name of God Almighty and the country," he said, +solemnly, as he jerked his pony's head from the grass and rode on. + +Mrs. Elderkin watched him as he wound along the pond-side and was +lost to sight; then she, chuckling forth the words, "I knew well +enough my sheep were safe," went back to the marsh after flag-root. + +When every neighbor feels it a duty to carry intelligence from the +last speaker he has met to the next hearer he may meet, news flies +fast, so Goodwife Elderkin was prepared for the accost of Mr. +Devotion. She did not linger long in the swamp, but, washing her hands +free from mud in the water of the pond, walked swiftly home. By the +time she reached her house, the gray pony and his rider were two miles +away on the road to Canterbury. The cry of hunger and possible +starvation in the town of Boston was spreading from village to village +and from house to house. + +Do you know how Boston is situated? It would be an island but for the +narrow neck of land on the south side. On the east, west and north are +the waters of Massachusetts Bay and Charles River. Just north from it, +and divided only by the same river, is another almost island, with its +neck stretched toward the north; and this latter place is Charlestown +and contains Bunker's Hill. Not far from the two towns, in the bay, +are many islands. Noddle's Island, Hog, Snake, Deer, Apple, Bird and +Spectacle Islands are of the number. On these islands were many sheep +and cattle, likewise hay and wood, all of which the inhabitants of +Boston needed for daily use, but by the Boston port bill, which went +into operation on the first day of June, no person was permitted to +land anything at either Boston or Charlestown; and so the neck of +Charlestown reached out to the north for food and help, and the neck +of Boston pleaded with the south for sustenance, and it was in answer +to this cry that our nine men of Windham went sheep-gathering. + +The work went on for four days, and at the end of that time 257 sheep +had been freely given. The owners drove them, on the evening of the +27th day of the month, to the appointed place, and, very early in the +morning of the 28th, many of the inhabitants were come together to see +the flock start on its long march. Two men and two boys went with the +gift. Good wife Elderkin was early on the highway. She wanted to make +certain just how many sheep bore the mark of Ebenezer Devotion's +ownership; but the driven sheep went past too quickly for her, and she +never had the satisfaction of finding out how many he gave. Following +the flock up the hill, she saw in the distance a sight that made her +heart beat fast. On the stone wall, under a great tree, sat Mary +Robbins, a little girl. She was dressed in a pink calico frock, and +she was holding in her arms a snow-white lamb, around whose neck she +had tied a strip of the calico of which her own gown was fashioned. + +"Now if I ever saw the beat of that!" cried Good wife Elderkin, +walking almost at a run up the hill, and so coming to the place where +the child sat, before the sheep got there. + +"Mary Robbins!" she cried, breathless from her haste. "What have you +got that lamb for?" + +Mary blushed under her little sun-bonnet, hugged the lamb, and said +not a word. At the moment up came the flock, panting and warm. Down +sprang Mary Robbins from the wall, the lamb in her arms. Johnny +Manning, aged fifteen years, was one of the two lads in care of the +sheep. To him Mary ran, saying: + +"Johnny, Johnny, won't you take my lamb, too?" + +"What for?" + +"Why, for some poor little girl in the town where there isn't anything +to eat," urged Mary, her sun-bonnet falling unheeded into the dust, as +she held up her offering to the cause of liberty. + +"Why, it can't walk to Boston," said the boy, running back to recover +a stray sheep. + +"You can carry it in your arms," she urged. + +"Give it to me, then." + +She gave it, saying: + +"Be good to it, Johnny, and give him some milk to drink to-night. It +don't eat much grass, yet." + +And so Johnny Manning marched away, over and down and out of sight, +with Mary's lamb in his arms. As for Mary herself, little woman that +she was, having made her sacrifice, she would have dropped on the +grass, after picking up her sun-bonnet, and had a good cry over her +loss, had it not been for Goodwife Elderkin standing there in the +road, waiting for her. + +With a sharp look at the child, the woman left the highway to go to +her own house, and Mary went home, hoping that no one would ask her +about the lamb. + +The flock of sheep marched until the noontide, when a halt was +ordered. After that they went onward over hill and river, with rest at +night and at noon, until the town of Roxbury was reached. At this +place the sheep were left to be taken to Boston, when opportunity +could be had. + +With Mary's lamb in his arms, Johnny Manning accompanied the messenger +who went up Boston Neck to carry a letter to the "Selectmen of the +Town." That letter has been preserved and is carefully kept among the +treasured documents of the Massachusetts Historical Society. It is too +long to be given here, but, after begging Boston to suffer and be +strong, remembering what had been done for the country by its +founders, it closes in these words: "We know you suffer, and feel for +you. As a testimony of our commiseration of your misfortunes, we have +procured a small flock of sheep, which at this season are not so good +as we could wish, but are the best we had. This small present, +gentlemen, we beg you would accept and apply to the relief of those +honest, industrious poor, who are most oppressed by the late +oppressive acts." + +Then, after a promise of future help in case of need, the letter is +signed by Samuel Grey, Ebenezer Devotion, and seven other names, +ending with that of Hezekiah Manning. + +[Illustration: "Give me the lamb, and I'll feed three hungry little girls +every day as long as Boston is shut up."] + +A British officer, seeing the lamb in Johnny's arms, offered to buy +it, bribing him with a bit of gold; but Johnny said "there wasn't any +gold in the land that he would exchange it for," and so the lamb +reached Boston in safety before the sheep got there. As Johnny walked +along the streets he was busy looking out for some poor little girl to +give it to, according to Mary's request. + +"I must wait," he thought, "until I find some one who is almost +starved." + +On the Common side he met a little girl who cried "Oh! see! see! A +lamb! A live lamb in Boston Town!" + +The child's eyes rested on the little white creature, which accosted +her with a plaintive bleat. Johnny Manning's eyes were riveted on the +little girl. What he thought, he never said. "Do you want it?" he +asked. + +"O yes! yes! Where did you get it?" + +"I've brought it from Roxbury in my arms. Mary Robbins gave it, in +Windham, for some poor little girl who was hungry in Boston. Are you +hungry?" + +"No," said the child, hesitatingly. + +"Are you poor?" + +"My father is"--a sudden thought stopped the words she was about to +speak. "Give me the lamb," she said, "and I'll feed three hungry +little girls every day as long as Boston is shut up. I will! I will! +and Mary's lamb shall live until I'm a hungry little girl myself, and +I will keep it until I am starved clear almost to death." + +Johnny put Mary's little lamb on the walk. "See if it will follow +you," he said. + +"Come lamb! lamb! come with Catharine," and it went bleating after her +along the Common side. + +"It's used to a girl," ejaculated the boy, "and it hasn't been a bit +happy with me. Give it grass and milk," he called after Catharine, who +turned and bowed her head. + +"A pretty story I shall have to tell Mary Robbins," thought Johnny. +"Here I have given her lamb to be kept and coddled, and it's likely +never eaten at all--but I know that little girl will keep her word. +She looks it--and she said she would feed three little girls as long +as Boston is shut up, and that is more than the lamb could do. I must +recollect the very words, to tell Mary." + +When the _Boston Gazette_ of July 4th, 1774, reached the village of +Windham, its inhabitants were surprised at the following announcement, +more particularly as not one of them knew where the _last sheep_ came +from: + + "Last week, were driven to the neighboring town of Roxbury two + hundred and fifty-eight sheep, a generous contribution of our + sympathizing brethren of the town of Windham, in the colony of + Connecticut; to be distributed for the employment or relief of + those who may be sufferers by means of the act of Parliament, + called the Boston Port Bill." + +Johnny Manning, when he returned to Windham, privately explained the +matter to Mary Robbins, by telling her that when the sheep were +numbered at Roxbury he counted in her lamb. + + + + +HOW ONE BOY HELPED THE BRITISH TROOPS OUT OF BOSTON IN 1776. + + +It was Commander-in-chief Washington's birthday, and it was Jeremy +Jagger's birthday. + +General Washington was forty-four years old that birthday, a hundred +years ago. Jeremy Jagger was fourteen, and early in the morning of the +22d of February, 1776, the General and the lad were looking upon the +same bit of country, but from different positions. General George +Washington was reviewing his precious little army for the thousandth +time; the lad Jeremy was looking from a hill upon the camp at +Cambridge, and from thence across the River Charles over into Boston, +which city had, for many months, been held by the British soldiers. + +At last Jeremy exclaimed: "I say, it's too chestnut-bur bad; it is." + +"Did you step on one?" questioned a tall, hard-handed, earnest-faced +man, who at the instant had come up to the stone-wall on which Jeremy +stood, surveying the camp and its surroundings. + +"No, I didn't," retorted the lad; "but I wish Boston was _paved_ all +over with chestnut-burs, and that every pesky British officer in it +had to walk barefoot from end to end fourteen times a day, I do; and +the fourteenth time I'd order two or three Colony generals to take a +turn with 'em. General Gates for one." + +"Come along, Jeremy," called his companion, who had strode across the +wall and gone on, regardless of the boy's words. + +When Jeremy had ended his expressed wishes, he gathered up his +hatchet, dinner-basket, and coil of stout cord, and plunged through +the snow after his leader. + +When he had overtaken him, the impulsive lad's heart burst out at the +lips with the words: "_We_ could take Boston _now_, just as easy as +anything--without wasting a jot of powder either. Skip across the ice, +don't you see, and be right in there before daylight. A big army lying +still for months and months, and just doing nothing but wait for folks +in Boston to starve out! I _say_ it's shameful; now, too, when the ice +has come that General Washington has been waiting all winter for." + +"You won't help your country one bit by scolding about it, Jeremy. +You'd better save your strength for cutting willow-rods to-day." + +"I'd cut like a hurricane if the rods were only going to whip the +enemy with. But just for sixpence a day--pshaw! I say, it don't pay." + +"Look here, lad, can you keep a secret?" + +"Trust me for that," returned Jeremy. Turning suddenly upon his +questioner, he faced him to listen to a supposed bit of information. + +"Then why on earth are you talking to _me_ in that manner, boy?" +questioned the man. + +"Why you _know_ all about it, just as well as I do; and a fellow +_must_ speak out in the woods or _somewhere_. Why, I get so mad and +hot sometimes that it seems as if every thought in me would burn right +out on my face, when I think about my poor mother over there," +pointing backward to the three-hilled city. + +The two were standing at the moment midway of a corn-field. The +February wind was lifting and rustling and shaking rudely the withered +corn-stalks, with their dried leaves. To the northward lay the +Cambridge camp, across the Charles River. To the south and east, just +over Muddy River and Stony Brook, lay the right wing of the American +Army, with here a fort and there a redoubt stretching at intervals all +the distance between the camp at Cambridge and Dorchester Neck, on the +southeast side of Boston. Behind them, to the westward, lay Cedar +Swamp, while not more than half a mile to the front there was a +four-gun battery and Brookline Fort, on the Charles, near by. + +While Jeremy Jagger was pouring forth his words with vociferous +violence, the man by his side glanced eagerly about the wide field; +but, satisfying himself that no one was within hearing, he said, +resting his hatchet on the lad's shoulder while speaking: "See here, +my boy. The brave man never boasts of his bravery nor the trustworthy +man of his trustworthiness. How you learned what you know of the plans +of General Washington I do not care to ask; but to-day and all days +keep quiet and show yourself worthy of being trusted." + +"I'll try as hard as I can," promised Jeremy. + +"No one can have tried his best without accomplishing something that +it was grand to do, though not always _just what_ he was trying to +do," responded the man, glancing kindly down upon the fresh, eager +lad, tramping through the snow, at his side. "Don't forget. 'Silence +is golden,' in war always. Not a word, mind, when you get home, about +the work of to-day." + +They were come now to a spot where the marsh seemed to be filled with +sounds of wood-cutting. As they plunged into Cedar Swamp, the sounds +grew nearer and multiplied. It was like the rapid firing of muskets. + +Running through the swamp there was a trout-brook, that bore along its +borders a dense growth of water-willows. + +And now they advanced within sight of at least two hundred men and +boys, every one of whom worked away as though his life depended on +cutting a certain amount of willow-boughs in a given time. + +"What does it all mean?" questioned Jeremy. + +"It means," replied his companion, "work for your country to-day with +all your might and main." + +"But, pray tell me," persisted Jeremy, "what under the sun the things +are for, anyway. They're good for nothing for fire-wood, green." + +Mr. Wooster turned and looked at the lad and said: "A good soldier +asks no questions and marches, without knowing whither. He also cuts, +without knowing for what. Now, to work!" and, at the instant they +mingled with the workmen. + +In less than a minute Jeremy's dinner-basket was swinging on a +willow-bough, his coat was hanging protectingly over it (you must +remember that it contained Jeremy Jagger's birthday cake), and the +lad's own arms were working away to the musical sounds of a hatchet +beating on a vast amount of "whistle-stuff," until mid-day and hunger +arrived in company. + +At the signal for noon Jeremy Jagger began his birthday feast. He +perched himself on a stout willow-branch, hanging the basket on a +conveniently growing peg at his right hand, and, by frequent +examination of the store within, was able to solace two or three lads, +less fortunate than himself, who were taking the mid-day rest, +refreshed by plain bread and cheese, seated on a branch, lower down on +the same tree. + +"It isn't _every_ day that a fellow eats his birthday dinner in the +woods," he exclaimed, by way of apology for the dainties he tossed +down to them in the shape of sugar-cake and "spice pie." "Aunt Hannah +was pretty liberal with me this morning. I wonder if she knew +anything, for she said: 'I'd find plenty of squirrels to help eat it.' +Where do you live, anyway?" he questioned, after he had fed them. + +"We live in Brookline," answered the elder. + +"Well, do you know what under the sun we are cutting such bundles of +fagots for to-day?" he slyly questioned, being beyond the hearing of +the ears of his friend, and so safe from censure. + +"I asked father this morning," spoke up the younger lad (of not more +than nine years), "and he told me he guessed General Washington was +going to take Boston on the ice, and every soldier was going to take a +bundle of fagots along, so as to keep from sinking if the ice broke +through." + +This bit of military news was received with shouts of laughter, that +echoed from tree to tree along the brook, and then the noon-day rest +was over. The wind began to blow in cooler and faster from the sea, +and busy hands were obliged to work fast to keep from stiffening under +the power of the growing frost. + +When the new moon hung low in the west and the sun was gone, the +brookside, the cart-path, even the swamp fell back into its accustomed +silence, for the workers, in groups of eight or ten, had from minute +to minute gone homeward, leaving huge piles of fagots near the log +bridge. + +Jeremy went early to bed that night. His right arm was weary and his +left arm ached; nevertheless, he went straightway to dreaming that +both arms were dragging his beloved mother forth from Boston. + +At midnight his companion of the morning came and stood under his +chamber window, and tapped lightly with a bean-pole against the glass +to awaken him. + +Jeremy heard the sound, but in his dream thought it was a gun fired +from one of the ships in the harbor at his mother, and himself, and +Boston. + +"Jeremy, get up!" said somebody, touching his shoulder. + +"Come, mother!" ejaculated Jeremy, clutching at the air and uttering +the words under tremendous pressure. + +"Come yourself, lad," said somebody, shaking him a little roughly; +whereupon Jeremy awoke. "Get up, Jeremy Jagger. Hitch the oxen to the +cart. Put on the hay-rigging. Stay, I must help you to do that; but +hurry." + +Jeremy rubbed his eyes, wondered what had become of his mother, and +how Mr. Wooster found his way into the house in the night, and lastly, +what was to be done. Furthermore, he dressed with speed, and awakened +the oxen by vigorous touches and moving words. + +"Get up! get up!" he importuned, "and work for your country, and may +be you won't be killed and eaten for your country when you are old." +The large, patient eyes of the oxen slowly opened into the night, and +after awhile the vigorous strokes and voiceful "get ups" of their +master had due effect. + +Mr. Wooster helped to adjust the hay-rigging, and then the large-wheeled +cart rolled grindingly over the frozen ground of the highway, until it +turned into the path leading into the swamp, over which the snow lay in +unbroken surface. Jeremy Jagger's was but the pioneer cart that night. +A half-dozen rolled and tumbled and reeled over the uneven surface behind +him, to the log bridge. It was cold and still. As the topmost fagot +was tossed on the pile in his cart he drew off a mitten, thrust his +benumbed fingers between his parted lips, and when he removed them +said: "I hope General Washington has had a better birthday than mine." + +"I know one thing, my lad." + +Jeremy turned quickly, for he did not recognize the voice. Even then +he could not discern the face; but he knew instantly that it was no +common person who had spoken. Nevertheless, with that sturdy, +good-as-anybody air that made the men of April 19th and June 17th +fight so gloriously, he demanded: + +"What do you know?" + +"That General Washington would gladly change places with you to-night, +if you are the honest lad you seem to be." + +"Go and see him in his comfortable bed over there in Cambridge," was +Jeremy's response, uttered in the same breath with the word to his +oxen to move on. They moved on. The fagots reeled and swayed, the cart +rumbled over the logs of the bridge, and boy, oxen and cart were soon +lost to sight and hearing in the cedar thickets of the swamp. + +Through the next two hours they toiled on, Jeremy on foot, and often +ready to lie down with the healthy sleep that would not leave its hold +on his weary brain. + +It was day-dawn when the fagots had been duly delivered at the +appointed place and Jeremy reached home. + +He had been cautiously bidden to see that the cart was not left +outside with its tell-tale rigging. He obeyed the injunction, shut the +oxen in, gave them double allowance of hay, and was startled by Aunt +Hannah's cheery call of: "Jerry, my boy, come to breakfast." + +"Breakfast ready?" said Jeremy. + +"Why, yes. I was up early this morning, and thought of you." And that +was the only allusion Aunt Hannah made to his night's work. He longed +to tell her and chat about it all at the table; but, remembering his +promise in the swamp, he said not a word. + +Six nights out of seven Jeremy and his oxen worked all night and slept +nearly all day. + +The brook in Cedar Swamp was robbed of its willows, and many another +bit of land and watercourse suffered in a like manner. + +Then came the order to make the fagots into fascines. Two thousand +soldiers were got to work to effect this. Jeremy Jagger began to +understand what was going on behind the lines at Roxbury. He was the +happiest lad in existence during the ensuing days. He forgot to eat, +even, when the fascines were in making. Perceiving the manner in which +they were formed he volunteered to help, and soon found he could drive +the cross supports into the ground, lay the saplings upon them, and +even aid in twisting the green withes about them, as well as any +soldier of them all. + +Bales of "screwed" hay began to appear in great numbers within the +lines, and empty barrels by the hundreds sprang up from somewhere. + +And all this time, guess as every man might and did--the coming event +was known only to the commander-in-chief and to the six generals +forming the council of war. + +Monday night, before sundown, Jeremy Jagger received an order. It +was: + + March 4th. + + JEREMY JAGGER: + + With oxen and cart (hay-rigging on), be at the Roxbury lines by + moon-rise to-night. Take a pocketful of gingerbread along. + + WOOSTER. + +With manly pride the boy set forth. He longed to put the note in his +aunt's hand ere he went; but she (long ago it seemed, though only a +few days had passed) seemed to take no note of his frequent absences. +He had scarcely gone a rod ere the cannon-balls began their march into +Boston from all the fortifications of the Americans; and in return +from Boston, flying north and south and west, came shot and shells. + +Undaunted and excited by the mere possibility of being hit, Jeremy +went onward. When he arrived in Roxbury he found everybody and +everything astir. His cart was seized, filled with bundles of +"screwed" hay, and, ere he knew it, he was in line with two hundred +and ninety-nine other carts, marching forward to fortify Dorchester +Heights. Before him went twelve hundred troops, under the command of +General Thomas; before the troops trundled an unknown number of carts, +filled with intrenching tools; before the tools were eight hundred +men. Not a word was spoken. In silence and with utmost care they trod +the way. At eight of the clock the covering party of eight hundred +reached the Height and divided--one-half going toward the point +nearest Boston, the other to the point nearest Castle William, on +Castle Island, held by the British. + +Then the working party began their labor with enthusiasm unbounded, +wondering what the British general would think when he should behold +their work in the morning. They toiled in silence by the light of the +moon and the home music of 144 shot and 13 shell going into Boston, +and unnumbered shot and shell coming out of Boston. Gridley, whose +quick night work at Breed's Hill on the sixteenth of June had startled +the world, headed the intrenching party as engineer. + +Poor Jeremy was not allowed to go farther than Dorchester Neck with +his first load. The bundles of hay were tumbled out and laid in line, +to protect the supplying party, in case the work going on on the hill +beyond should be found out. + +The next time, to his extreme delight, he found that fascines were to +go in his cart. When he reached Dorchester Height quick work was made +of unloading his freight, and, without a word spoken, he was ordered +back with a move of the hand. + +Four times the lad and the oxen went up Dorchester Hill that night. +The fourth time, as no order was given to return, Jeremy thought he +might as well stay and see the battle that would begin with the dawn. + +He left the oxen behind an embankment with a big bundle of hay to the +front of them; and after five minutes devoted to gingerbread he went +to work. Morning would come long before they were ready to have it +unveil the growing forts to the eyes of Admiral Shuldham, with his +ships of war lying in the harbor; or to the sentinels at Castle +William, on Castle Island, to the right of them; or to General Howe, +with his vigilant thousands of Englishmen safe and snug in Boston, to +the north of them. + +Jeremy was rolling barrels to the brow of the hill they were +fortifying, and tumbling into them with haste shovelful after +shovelful of good solid earth, that they might hit hard when rolled +down on the foe that should dare to mount the height, when a cautious +voice at his side uttered the one word "Look!" accompanied with a +motion of the hand toward Dorchester Neck. + +In the moonlight, past the bales of hay, two thousand Americans were +filing in silent haste to the relief of the men who had toiled all +night to build forts they meant to defend on the morrow. + +It was four o'clock in the morning when they came. Jeremy was tired +and sleepy too. His eyelids would drop over his eyes, shutting out +everything he so longed to keep in sight. + +"You've worked like a hero," said a kind voice to the lad. "It will be +hot work here by sunrise--no place for boys, when the battle begins." + +"I can fight," stoutly persisted Jeremy, nodding as he spoke; and, had +anybody thought of the lad at all after that, he might have been found +in the ox-cart, carelessly strewn over with hay, taking a nap. + +Meanwhile on came the morning. A friendly fog hung lovingly around the +new hills on the old hills, that the Yankees had built in a night. + +Admiral Shuldham was called in haste from his bed by frightened men, +who wondered what had happened on Dorchester Height. Castle William +stood aghast with astonishment. Messengers went up the bay to tell the +army the news. + +General Howe marched out to take a look through the fog at the old +familiar hills he had known so long, and didn't like the looks of the +new hats they wore. He wondered how in the world the thing had been +done without discovery; but there it was, larger a good deal than +life, seen through the fog, and he knew also why it was that the +cannon had been playing on Boston through the hours of three or four +nights. He was angry, astonished, perplexed. He had a little talk with +Admiral Shuldham; and they agreed to do something. Yes, they _would_ +walk up and demand back the hills looking over into Boston. Transports +came hurrying to pier and wharf, and soldiers went bravely down and +gave themselves to the work of a short sea voyage. + +Meanwhile Jeremy Jagger's nap was broken by a number of trenching +tools thrown carelessly over his back, as he lay asleep in his cart. + +"Halloo there!" he shouted, striving to rise from the not very +comfortable blanket that dropped in twain to the left and the right, +as he shook off the tools and returned from the land of sleep to +Dorchester Heights and the 5th of March. He was just in time to hear a +voice like a clarion cry out: "Remember it is the 5th of March, and +avenge the death of your brethren." + +It was the very voice that had said in the swamp in the night that +"General Washington would gladly change places with Jeremy Jagger." +It was the voice of General Washington animating the troops for the +coming battle. + +Meanwhile a new and unexpected force arrived on the field of action. +It came in from sea--a great and mighty wind, that tossed and tumbled +the transports to and fro on the waves and would not let them land +anywhere save at the place they came from. So they went peacefully +back to Boston, and the Liberty Men over on the hills went on all day +and all night, in the rain and the wind, building up, strengthening, +fortifying, in fact getting ready, as Jeremy told his aunt, when he +reached home on the morning of the sixth of March, "for a visit from +King George and all his army." + +The next day General Howe doubted and did little. The next and the +next went on and then on the morning of the 17th of March something +new had happened. There was one little hill, so near to Boston that it +was almost in it; and lo! in the night it had been visited by the +Americans, and a Liberty Cap perched above its head. + +General Howe said: "We must get away from here in haste." + +"Take us with you," said a thousand Royalists of the town; and he took +them, bag and baggage, to wander up and down the earth. + +Over on Bunker Breed's Hill wooden sentinels did duty when the British +soldiers left and for full two hours after; and then two brave +Yankees guessed the men were wooden, and marched in to take +possession just nine months from the day they bade it good-by, because +they had no powder with which to "tune" their guns. + +Over on Cambridge Common marched, impatient as ever, General Putnam, +with his four thousand followers, ready to cross the River Charles and +walk once more the city streets of the good old town. On all the hills +were gathered men, women and children to see the British troops +depart. + +Jeremy Jagger was up before the dawn on that sweetest of Sunday +mornings in March, and he reached the Roxbury lines just as General +Ward was ready to put his arms about Boston's Neck. The lad took his +place with the five hundred men and walked by Ensign Richards' side, +as he proudly bore the standard up to the gates, which Ebenezer +Learned "unbarred and opened." Once within the lines, Jeremy, +unmindful of the crow's feet strewn over the way, made haste through +lane and street to his old home on Beacon Hill. "Could that be his +mother looking out at him through the window-pane?" he thought, as he +drew near. + +She saw him. She knew him. But what could it mean that she did not +open the door to let him in; that she waved him away? It could not be +that she, his own mother, had turned Tory, that her face was grown so +red and angry at the sight of her son. + +Jeremy banged away at the door. There was no answer. + +At last he heard the lifting of a sash, a head, muffled carefully, +appeared from the highest window in the house, and a voice (the lad +knew whose it was) said: "Go, Jeremy! Go away out of Boston as fast as +you can. I'll come to you as soon as it is safe." + +"Why, mother, what's the matter?" cried the boy. + +"Small pox! I've had it. Everybody has it. Go!" + +"Good-by," cried Jeremy, running out of Boston as fast as any British +soldier of them all and a good deal more frightened. He burst into +Aunt Hannah's house with the news that he had been to Boston, that the +soldiers were all gone, that he had seen his mother, that she had the +small-pox and sent him off in a hurry. + +"Tut! tut!" she cried. "It's wicked to tell lies, Jeremy Jagger." + +"I'm not telling lies. Every word is true. Please give me something to +eat." + +But Aunt Hannah did not wait to give the lad food, nor even to speak +the prayer of thanksgiving that went like incense from her heart. She +went into the barn-yard and threw corn on the barn-floor, to which the +hens and turkeys made haste. Closing the door, she summoned Jeremy to +kill the largest and best of them. + +That Sunday afternoon the brick oven glowed with fervent heat, the +white, fat offerings went in, and the golden-brown turkeys and +chickens came out; and as each, in turn, was pronounced "done," Aunt +Hannah repeated the words: "Hungry! hungry! hungry! Hungry all +winter!" + +The big clothes-basket was full of lint for wounds that now never +should be made. Gladly she tossed out the fluffy mass, and packed +within it every dainty the house contained. + +It was nearly sunset when Aunt Hannah and Jeremy started forth, with +the basket between them, to Mr. Wooster's house, hoping that he would +carry it in his wagon up to Boston. He was not at home. + +"Get out the cart," said Aunt Hannah to Jeremy, when they learned no +help was to be obtained. She sat by the roadside watching the basket +until the cart arrived. + +"I'm going with you," she said, after the basket was in; she climbed +to the seat beside the lad, and off they started for Boston. + +It was dark when they reached the lines, and no passes granted, the +officers said, to go in that night. + +"But I've food for the hungry," said Aunt Hannah, in her sweetest +voice, from the darkness of the cart, "and folks are hungry in the +night as well as in the day." + +She deftly threw aside the cover from the basket and took out a +chicken, which she held forth to the man, saying: "Take it. It's +good." + +He hesitated a moment, then seized it eagerly. + +"I know you," spoke up Jeremy, at this juncture. "You went up the Neck +with us this morning. I saw you." + +"Then you are the boy who got first into Boston this morning, are you, +sir?" + +"I believe I did, sir." + +"Go on." + +The oxen went on. + +"Now, Jeremy, down with you and wait here for me. You haven't had +small-pox," said Aunt Hannah. + +"But the oxen won't mind you," said Jeremy. + +Aunt Hannah was troubled. She never had driven oxen. + +At the moment who should appear but Mr. Wooster. He gladly offered to +take the basket and deliver it at Mrs. Jagger's door. + +"Don't go in, mind! Mother's had small-pox," called Jeremy, as he +started. + +"I'm tired," gasped Aunt Hannah, who had done baking enough for a +small army that day, as she sat down to rest on the broad seat of the +cart, and the two started for home. The soldier at the gate scarcely +heeded them as they went out, for roasted chicken "tasted so good." + +"I'm so glad the British are out of Boston," said Aunt Hannah, as she +touched home soil again and went wearily up the walk to the little +dark house. + +"And so am I," said Jeremy to the oxen, as he turned them in for the +night; "only if I'd had my way, they wouldn't have gone without one +good fair fight. You've done your duty, anyhow," he added, soothingly, +with a parting stroke to the honest laborer who went in last, "and you +deserve well of your country, too, for like Gen. Washington, you have +served without hope of reward. The thing I like best about the man is +that he don't work for money. I don't want my sixpence a day for +cutting willows; and--I won't--take it." And he didn't take it, +consoling himself with the reflection "that he would be like Gen. +Washington in one thing, anyhow." + + + + +PUSSY DEAN'S BEACON FIRE. + +March 17, 1776. + + +A hundred years ago the winds of March were blowing. + +To-day the same winds rush by the stone memorials and sweep across the +low mounds that securely cover the men and the women that then were +alive to chill blast and stirring event. Even the lads who gathered at +sound of drum and fife on village green, wishing, as they saw the +troopers march, that they were men, and the little girls who hung +about father's neck because he was going off to war, who watched the +post-riders on their course, wishing that they knew the news he +carried, are no longer with us. + +For nearly two years Boston had been the lost town of the people. It +had been taken from the children by an unkind father and given to +strangers. You have been told how British ships came and closed her +harbor, so that food and raiment could not enter. You know how grandly +the younger sister towns behaved toward stately, hungry Boston; how +they marched up the narrow neck of land that holds back the town from +the sea, each and every one bearing gifts to the beloved town, until +there came the sad and fatal day wherein British military lines turned +back the tide of offerings and closed the gate of entrance. + +Then it was that friends began to gather across the rivers that wound +their waters around Boston. Presently an army grew up and stationed +itself with leaders and banners and forts. + +Summer came. The army waited through all the long warm days. The +summer went; the leaves fell; the chill winds and the cold sea-fogs +wound into and out of the poor little tents and struck the brave men +who, having no tents, tried to be strong and endure. + +Every child knows, or ought to know, the story of that winter; how day +by day, all over New England, men were striving to gather firearms and +powder wherewith to take back from the foe poor Boston. But, alas, +there was not powder enough in all the land to do it. + +The long, wearying winter had done its worst for the prisoned +inhabitants within the town; and, truly, it had tried and pinched the +waiting friends who stood at the gates. + +At last, in March, in the night, the brave helpers climbed the hills, +built on them smaller hills, and by the light of the morning were able +to look over into the town--at which the patriots were glad and the +British commander frightened. + +A little after nine of the clock on Sunday morning, the 17th of +March, 1776, three Narragansett ponies stood before General +Washington's headquarters at Cambridge. + +"Go with all possible speed to Governor Trumbull," said Washington, +delivering despatches to a well-known and trusted messenger, who +instantly mounted one of the ponies in waiting--Sweeping Wind by +name--and rode away, with many a sharp and inquiring glance back at +city and river and camp. + +It was four of the clock in the afternoon, and the messenger had not +paused since he set forth, longer than to give Sweeping Wind water to +drink, when, on the highway in the distance, he saw a red cloak +fluttering and flying before him. + +It was Pussy Dean who wore the cloak. She was fifteen, fair and +lovely, brave and patriotic as any soldier in the land. + +At first she was angry at the law by which she was denied a new cloak +that winter, made of English fabric, but when wrapped in the coveted +broadcloth of scarlet belonging to her mother she was more than +reconciled. + +On this Sunday Pussy had been at the meeting-house on the hill, two +miles from home, at both morning and afternoon service, and afterward +had lingered a little to gather up bits of news from camp and town to +take home to her mother, and so it had happened that she was quite +alone on the highway. + +Pussy chanced to look back to the summit of the hill down which she +had walked, and she saw the express coming. + +"Now," she thought, "if I could only stop him! I wonder if I can't. +I'll try, and then," swinging her silken bag, "I shall have news to +carry home, the very latest, too." + +As she swung the bag she suddenly remembered that she had something +within it to offer the rider. + +"Of course I can," she went on saying to herself. "Post-riders are +always hungry, and it's lucky for him that I didn't have to eat my +dinner myself, to-day. Now, if I only had a basketful of clover heads +or roses for that pony, I'd find out all about Boston while it was +eating." + +The only roses within sight were blooming on Pussy Dean's two cheeks +as Sweeping Wind came clattering his shoes against the frozen ground. +He would have gone straight on had a scarlet cloak not been planted, +like a fluttering standard, full in his pathway. + +The rider gave the pony the slightest possible check, since he felt +sure that no red-coated soldier lurked behind the red cloak. + +"Take something to eat, won't you?" accosted Pussy, rather glowing in +feature and agitated in voice by her own daring. + +Meanwhile the rider had given Sweeping Wind a second intimation to +stand, which he obeyed, and sniffed at Pussy's cloak and cheeks and +silken bag as she held it forth to the rider, saying naively, "I went +to meeting and was invited to luncheon, and so didn't eat mine." She +spoke swiftly, as though she knew she must not detain him. + +He answered with a smile and a "Thank you," took the bag, and rewarded +her by saying, "The British are getting out of Boston, bag and +baggage." + +"And where are you going?" demanded Pussy, determined not to go home +with but half the story if she could help it. + +"To Governor Trumbull with the good news and a demand for two thousand +men to save New York," he cried back, having gone on. His words were +entangled with a mouthful of gingerbread or mince-pie to such an +extent that it was a full minute before Pussy understood their import, +and then she could only say over and over to herself, as she hastened +on, "Father will be here, father will come home, and we'll have the +good old times back again." + +But notwithstanding her hope and a country's wish, the good old times +were not at hand. + +Pussy reached home and told the story. Baby went down plump into the +wooden cradle at the first note of it, and set up a tune of rejoicing +in his own fashion which no one regarded. Brother Benjamin, aged +thirteen, whistled furiously, regardless of the honors of the day. +Sammy, who was ten, clapped his hands and knocked his heels together, +first in joy, and then began to fear lest the war should be over +before he grew big enough to be in it. + +"Mother," said Pussy, a few minutes later, "let Benny come with me to +tell Mr. Gale about it; may he?" + +Pussy laid aside her Sunday bonnet, tied a straw hat over her ears +with a silk kerchief to keep out the wind, and in three minutes got +Benny into the highway. + +"See here, Ben, I'm going to light a fire on Baldhead to tell all the +folks together about it, and I want you to help me; quick, before it +gets dark." + +"You can't gather fagots," responded Ben. + +Yes, she could, and would, and did, while Benny went to the house +nearest to Baldhead to ask for some fire in a kettle. + +The two worked with such vigor and will that the first gathering of +darkness saw the light of the beacon-flame burst forth, and the great +March wind blew it into fiercest glow. Every eye that saw the fire +there knew that it had been kindled with a purpose, and many feet from +house and hamlet set forth to learn the cause. + +While Pussy and Ben were yet adding fagots to the fire, they heard a +voice crying out: "The young rascals shall be punished soundly for +this," and ere Pussy had time to explain or expostulate, a strong man +had Ben in his grasp. + +"Stop that, sir!" cried the girl, rushing to the rescue with a burning +fagot that she had seized from the fire, and shaking it full in the +assailant's face. + +By the light of it, the man saw Pussy and she saw him; and then both +began to laugh, while Ben rubbed his ears and wondered whether they +were both on his head. + +"It means," spoke the girl, waving the still flaming brand toward +the east, "that the British left Boston this morning, and that +General"--(just here a dozen men were at the fire. Pussy raised +her voice and continued)--"Washington wants you all, every one of +you, to march straight to Governor Trumbull, and he'll tell you +what to do next." + +"If that's the case," said the responsible man of the constantly-increasing +group after questioning Pussy, "we'd better summon the militia by the +ringing of the bell," and off they went in the direction of the village, +while Pussy and Ben went home. + +The next day saw fifty men, well armed, and provisioned for three +days, on the road to Lebanon. They marched into town and into the now +famous war-office of Governor Trumbull, to his pleased surprise. + +"Who sent you?" asked the governor, for it was not yet six hours since +the demand on the nearest town had been made. + +"Who sent us?" echoed the lieutenant, looking confused and at a loss +to explain, and finally answering truthfully, he said: "It was a +young girl, your excellency. She lit a beacon fire on a hill and gave +the command that we report to you." + +A laugh ran around the sides of the old war-office. The messenger who +had ridden from Cambridge sat upon the counter pressing his spurs into +the wood and heard it all. + +"And who commissioned the girl as a recruiting officer?" questioned +the governor. + +"I'm afraid," said the messenger, "I am the guilty party. I met a +young patriot in scarlet cloak who asked my news, and, I told her." + +"Where is the girl's father?" demanded Governor Trumbull. + +"He is with the army, at Cambridge," was the response. + +"And his name?" + +"Reuben Dean." + +A scratch or two of the quill pen was heard on the open paper. It was +folded, sealed, and handed to the ready horseman, with the words: +"Reuben Dean; he is mentioned for promotion." + +The words, as they were spoken by Governor Trumbull, were caught up +and gathered into a mighty cheer, for every man of their number knew +that Reuben Dean was worthy of promotion, even had his daughter not +gained it for him by her services as recruiting officer. + + + + +DAVID BUSHNELL AND HIS AMERICAN TURTLE. + +THE FIRST SUBMARINE BOAT INVENTED. + + +"David!" cried a voice stern and commanding, from a house-door one +morning, as the young man who owned the name was taking a short cut +"across lots" in the direction of Pautapoug. + +"Sir!" cried the youth in response to the call, and pausing as nearly +as he could, and at the same time keep his feet from sinking into the +marshy soil. + +"Where are you going?" was the response. + +"To Pautapoug, to see Uriah Hayden, sir." + +"You'd better hire out at ship-building with him. Your college +learning's of no earthly use in these days," said the father of David +Bushnell, returning from the door, and sinking slowly down into his +high-backed chair. + +Then spoke up a sweet-voiced woman from the kitchen fire-side, where +she had that moment been hanging an iron pot on the crane: + +"Have a little patience, father (Mrs. Bushnell always called her +husband, father), David is only looking about to see what to do. It's +hardly four weeks since he was graduated." + +"True enough; but where can you find an idle man in all Saybrook +town? and you know as well as I do that it makes men despise +college-learning to see folks idle. I'd rather, for my part, David +_did_ go to work on the ship Uriah Hayden is building. I wish I +knew what he's gone over there for to-day." + +A funny smile crept into the curves of Mrs. Bushnell's lips, but her +husband did not notice it. + +Mr. Bushnell moved uneasily in his chair, as he sat leaning forward, +both hands clasped about a hickory stick, and his chin resting on the +knob at its top. Presently he said: + +"Anna, I fear David is getting into bad habits. He used to talk a good +deal. Now he sits with his eyes on the floor, and his forehead in +wrinkles, and I'm _sure_ I've heard him moving about more than one +night lately, after all honest folks were in bed." + +"Father, you must remember that you've been very sick, and fever gives +one queer notions sometimes. I shouldn't wonder one bit if you dreamed +you heard something, when 'twas only the rats behind the wainscot." + +"Rats don't step like a grown man in his stocking-feet, nor make the +rafters creak, either." + +Madam Bushnell appeared to be investigating the contents of the pot +hanging on the crane, and perhaps the heat of the blazing wood was +sufficient to account for the burning of her cheeks. She cooled them +a moment later by going down cellar after cider, a mug of which she +offered to her husband, proposing the while that he should have his +chair out of doors, and sit under the sycamore tree by the river-bank. +When he assented, and she had seen him safely in the chair, she made +haste to David's bed-room. + +Since Mr. Bushnell's illness began, no one had ascended to the chamber +except herself and her son. + +On two shelves hanging against the wall were the books that he had +brought home with him from Yale College, just four weeks ago. + +A table was drawn near to the one window in the room. On it were bits +of wood, with iron scraps, fragments of glass and copper. In fact, the +same thing to-day would suggest boat-building to the mother of any lad +finding them among her boy's playthings. To this mother they suggested +nothing beyond the fact that David was engaged in something which he +wished to keep a profound secret. + +He had not told her so. It had not been necessary. She had divined it +and kept silence, having all a mother's confidence in, and hope of, +her son's success in life. + +As she surveyed the place, she thought: + +"There is nothing here, even if he (meaning her husband) should take +it into his head to come up and look about." + +Meanwhile young David had crossed the Pochaug River, and was half the +way to Pautapoug. + +All this happened more than a thousand moons ago, when all the land +was aroused and astir, and David Bushnell was not in the least +surprised to meet, at the ship-yard of Uriah Hayden, Jonathan +Trumbull, Governor of Connecticut. + +This man was everywhere, seeing to everything, in that year. Whatever +his country needed, or Commander-in-chief Washington ordered from the +camp at Cambridge, was forthcoming. + +A ship had been demanded of Connecticut, and so Governor Trumbull had +come down from Lebanon to look with his own eyes at the huge ribs of +oak, thereafter to sail the seas as "The Oliver Cromwell." + +The self-same oaken ribs had intense interest for young David +Bushnell. Uriah Hayden had promised to sell to him all the pieces of +ship-timber that should be left, and while the governor and the +builder planned, he went about gathering together fragments. + +"Better take enough to build a boat that will carry a seine. 'T won't +cost you a mite more, and might serve you a good turn to have a +sizable craft in a heavy sea some day," said Mr. Hayden. + +Now David Bushnell had been wishing that he had some good and +sufficient reason to give Mr. Hayden for wanting the stuff at all, and +here he had given it to him. + +"That's true," spoke up David, "but how am I to get all this over to +Pochaug?" + +"Don't get it over at all, until it's ready to row down the +Connecticut, and around the Sound. You're welcome to build your boat +at the yard, and, now and then, there will be odd minutes that the men +can help you on with it." + +David thanked Mr. Hayden, grew cheerful of heart over the prospect of +owning a boat of his own, and went merrily back to the village of +Pochaug. + +Two weeks later David's boat was ready for sea. It was launched into +the Connecticut from the ways on which the "Oliver Cromwell" grew, was +named Lady Fenwick, and, when water-tight, was rowed down the river, +past Saybrook and Tomb Hill, and so into the Long Island Sound. + +When its owner and navigator went by Tomb Hill, he removed his hat, +and bowed reverently. He thought with respect and admiration of the +occupant of the sandstone tomb on its height, the Lady Fenwick who had +slept there one hundred and thirty years. + +With blistered palms and burning fingers David Bushnell pushed his +boat with pride up the Pochaug River, and tied it to a stake at the +bridge just beyond the sycamore tree, near his father's door. + +"I'll fetch father and mother out to see it," he thought, "when the +moon gets up a little higher." + +With boyish pride he looked down at the work of his hands from the +river-bank, and went in to get his supper. + +"David!" called Mr. Bushnell, having heard his steps in the +entry-way. + +"Here I am, father," returned the young man, appearing within the +room, and speaking in a cheerful tone. + +"Don't you think you have wasted about time enough?" + +The voice was high-wrought and nervous in the extreme. He, poor man, +had been that afternoon thinking the matter over in a convalescent's +weak manner of looking upon the act of another man. + +David Bushnell, smiling still, and taking out a large silver watch +from his waistcoat pocket, and looking at it, replied: + +"I haven't wasted one moment, father. The tide was against me, but +I've rowed around from Pautapoug ship-yard to the sycamore tree out +here since two o'clock." + +"_You_ row a boat!" cried Mr. Bushnell, with lofty disdain. + +"Why, father, you have not a very good opinion of your son, have you?" +questioned the son. "Come, though, and see what he has been doing. +Come, mother," as Mrs. Bushnell entered, bearing David's supper in her +hands. + +She put it down. Mr. Bushnell pulled himself upright with a groan or +two, and suffered David to assist him by the support of his arm as +they went out. + +"Why, you tremble as though you had the palsy," said the father. + +"It's nothing. I'm not used to pulling so long at the oar," said the +son. + +When they came to the bank, the full moon shone athwart the little +boat rocking on the stream. + +"What's that?" exclaimed both parents. + +"That is the Lady Fenwick. I've been building the boat myself. You +advised me, father, to go to ship-building one morning--do you +remember? I took your advice, and began at the bottom of the ladder." + +"_You_ built that boat with your own hands, you say?" + +"With my own hands, sir." + +"In two weeks' time?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And rowed it all the way down the river, and up the Pochaug?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Good boy! You may go in and have your supper," said Mr. Bushnell, +patting him on the back, just as he had done when he returned from +college with his first award. + +As for Madam Bushnell, she smiled down upon Lady Fenwick and did her +great reverence in her heart, while she said to the boat-builder: + +"David, dear, wait a few minutes, and I'll give you something nice +and warm for your supper. Your father, Ezra and I had ours long ago." + +That night Mr. Bushnell did not lie awake to listen for the stealthy +stepping in the upper room. He slept all the sounder, because he had +at last seen one stroke of honest work, as he called it, as the result +of his endeavors to help David on in life. + +As for David himself, he went to sleep, saying in his heart: "It is a +good stepping-stone at least;" which conclusion grew into form in +sleep, and shaped itself into a mighty monster, that bored itself +under mountains, and, after taking a nap, roused and shook itself so +mightily that the mountain flew into fragments high in air. + +If you go, to-day, into the Connecticut River from Long Island Sound, +you will see on its left bank the old town of Saybrook, on its right +the slightly younger town of Lyme, and you will have passed by, +without having been very much interested in it, an island lying just +within the shelter of either bank. + +In the summer of 1774 a band of fishermen put up a reel upon the +island, on which to wind their seine. Over the reel they built a roof +to protect it from the rains. With the exception of the reel, there +was no building upon the island. A large portion of the land was +submerged at the highest tides, and in the spring freshets, and was +covered with a generous growth of salt grass, in which a small army +might readily find concealment. + +The little fishing band was now sadly broken and lessened by one of +the Washingtonian demands upon Brother Jonathan. For reasons that he +did not choose to give, David Bushnell joined this band of fishermen +in the summer of 1775. Gradually he made himself, by purchase, the +owner of the larger part of the reel and seine. In a few weeks' time +he had induced his brother Ezra to become as much of a fisherman as he +himself was. + +As the days went by, the brothers fairly haunted this island. They +gave it a name for their own use, and, early in the day-dawn of many a +morning, they pulled the Lady Fenwick wearily up the Pochaug, to +snatch a few winks of sleep at home, before the sun should fairly rise +and call them to their daily tasks, for David assumed to help Ezra on +the farm, even as Ezra helped him on the island. + +The two brothers owned the reel and the seine before the end of the +month of August in 1775. As soon as they became the sole owners, they +procured lumber and enclosed the reel, and very seldom took down the +seine from its great round perch; they used it just often enough to +allay any suspicion as to their real object in becoming owners of the +fishing implements. + +About that time a story grew into general belief that the tomb of Lady +Fenwick was haunted. Boatmen, passing in the stillness of the solemn +night hours, asserted that they heard strange noises issuing from the +hill, just where the lady slept in her lonely burial-place. The sounds +seemed to emerge from the earth, and timid men passed up the river +with every inch of sail set to catch the breeze, lest the solemn thud +should sound, that a hundred persons were willing to testify had been +heard by each and every one of them, at some hour of the night, coming +from the tomb. + +One evening in late September, the two brothers started forth as +usual, nominally to "go fishing." As they stepped down the bank, Mr. +Bushnell followed them. + +"Boys," said he, "it's an uncommon fine night on the water. I believe +I'll take a seat in your boat, with your permission. I used to like +fishing myself when I was young and spry." + +"And leave mother alone!" objected David. + +"She's been out with me many a night on the Sound. She's brave, and +won't mind a good south-west wind, such as I dare say breaks in on the +shore this minute. Go and call her." + +And so the family started forth to go fishing. + +This was a night the two brothers had been looking forward to during +weeks of earnest labor, and now--well, it could not be helped, and +there was not a moment in which to hold counsel. + +Mr. Bushnell had planned this surprise early in the day, but had not +told his wife until evening. Then he announced his determination to +"learn what all these midnight and all-night absences did mean." + +As the Lady Fenwick came out from the Pochaug River into the Sound, +the south-west wind brought crested waves to shore. The wind was +increasing, and, to the great relief of David and Ezra, Mr. Bushnell +gave the order to turn back into the river. + +The next day David Bushnell asked his mother whether or not she knew +the reason his father had proposed to go out with them the night +before. + +"Yes, David," was the reply, "I do." + +"Will you tell me?" + +"He does not believe that you and Ezra go fishing at all." + +"What do you believe about it, mother?" + +"I believe in _you_, David, and that when you have anything to tell to +me, I shall be glad to listen." + +"And father does not trust me yet; I am sorry," said David, turning +away. And then, as by a sudden impulse, he returned and said: + +"If you can trust _me_ so entirely, mother, _we_ can trust _you_. +To-day, two gentlemen will be here. You will please be ready to go out +in the boat with us whenever they come." + +"Where to?" + +"To my fishing ground, mother." + +The strangers arrived, and were presented to Mrs. Bushnell as Dr. Gale +and his friend, Mr. Franklin. + +At three of the clock the little family set off in the row-boat. Down +at Pochaug harbor, there was Mr. Bushnell hallooing to them to be +taken on board. + +"I saw my family starting on an unknown voyage," he remarked, as the +boat approached the shore as nearly as it could, while he waded out to +meet it. + +"Ah, Friend Gale, is that you?" he said, as with dripping feet he +stepped in. "And whither bound?" he added, dropping into a seat. + +"For the far and distant land of the unknown, Mr. Bushnell. Permit me +to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Franklin." + +"Franklin! Franklin!" exclaimed Mr. Bushnell, eyeing the stranger a +little rudely. "_Doctor Benjamin Franklin_, _if you please_, Benjamin +Gale!" he corrected, to the utter amazement of the party. + +The oars missed the stroke, caught it again, and, for a minute, poor +Dr. Franklin was confused by the sudden announcement that he existed +at all, and, in particular, in that small boat on the sea. + +"Yes, sir, even so," responded Dr. Gale, cheerfully adding, "and we're +going down to see the new fishing tackle your son is going to catch +the enemy's ships with." + +"Fishing tackle! Enemy's ships! Why, David _is_ the laziest man in all +Saybrook town. He does nothing with his first summer but fish, fish +all night long! The only stroke of honest work I've _ever_ known him +to do was to build this boat we're in." + +During this time the brothers were pulling with a will for the +island. + +Arrived there, the boat was drawn up on the sand, the seine-house +unlocked, and, when the light of day had been let into it, fishing-reel +and seine had disappeared, and, in the language of Doctor Benjamin Gale, +this is what they found therein: + + THE AMERICAN TURTLE. + + "The body, when standing upright, in the position in which it is + navigated, has the nearest resemblance to the two upper shells of + the tortoise, joined together. It is seven and a half feet long, + and six feet high. The person who navigates it enters at the top. + It has a brass top or cover which receives the person's head, as + he sits on a seat, and is fastened on the inside by screws. + + "On this brass head are fixed eight glasses, viz: two before, two + on each side, one behind, and one to look out upwards. On the same + brass head are fixed two brass tubes to admit fresh air when + requisite, and a ventilator at the side, to free the machine from + the air rendered unfit for respiration. + + "On the inside is fixed a barometer, by which he can tell the + depth he is under water; a compass by which he knows the course he + steers. In the barometer, and on the needles of the compass, is + fixed fox-fire--that is, wood that gives light in the dark. His + ballast consists of about nine hundred-weight of lead, which he + carries at the bottom and on the outside of the machine, part of + which is so fixed as he can let run down to the bottom, and serves + as an anchor by which he can ride _ad libitum_. + + "He has a sounding lead fixed at the bow, by which he can take the + depth of water under him, and a forcing-pump by which he can free + the machine at pleasure, and can rise above water, and again + immerge, as occasion requires. + + "In the bow he has a pair of oars fixed like the two opposite arms + of a windmill, with which he can row forward, and, turning them + the opposite way, row the machine backward; another pair, fixed + upon the same model, with which he can row the machine round, + either to the right or left; and a third by which he can row the + machine either up or down; all of which are turned by foot, like a + spinning wheel. The rudder by which he steers he manages by hand, + within-board. + + "All these shafts which pass through the machine are so curiously + fixed as not to admit any water. + + "The magazine for the powder is carried on the hinder part of the + machine, without-board, and so contrived that, when he comes under + the side of a ship, he rubs down the side until he comes to the + keel, and a hook so fixed as that when it touches the keel it + raises a spring which frees the magazine from the machine, and + fastens it to the side of the ship; at the same time it draws a + pin, which sets the watch-work a-going, which, at a given time, + springs the lock, and an explosion ensues." + +Thus wrote Dr. Benjamin Gale to Silas Deane, member of Congress at +Philadelphia. His letter bears the date November 9, 1775, and, after +describing the wonderful machine, he adds: + + "I well know the man. Lately he has conducted matters with the + greatest secrecy, both for the personal safety of the navigator, + and to produce the greater astonishment to those against whom it + is designed; and, you may call me a visionary, an enthusiast, or + what you please, I do insist upon it that I believe the + inspiration of the Almighty has given him understanding for this + very purpose and design." + +When the seine-house door had been fastened open, when Dr. Franklin +and Dr. Gale had gone within, followed by the two brothers, Mr. +Bushnell and his wife stood without looking in, and wondering in +their hearts what the sight they saw could mean; for, of the +intent or purpose of the curious, oaken, iron-bound, many-paddled, +brass-headed, window-lighted thing, they, it must be remembered, knew +nothing. It must mean something extraordinary, of course, or Doctor +Franklin would never have thought it worth his while to come out of +his way to behold it. + +"Father," whispered Mrs. Bushnell, "it's the _fish_ David has been all +summer catching." + +"Fish!" ejaculated Mr. Bushnell, "it's more like a turtle." + +"That's good!" spoke up Dr. Gale, from within. "Turtle it shall be." + +"It is the first _submarine_ boat ever made--a grand idea, wrought +into substance," slowly pronounced Dr. Franklin; "let us have it forth +into the river." + +"And run the risk of discovery?" suggested David, pleased that his +work approved itself to the man of science. + +"We meant to try it last night, but failed," said Ezra Bushnell. + +"There, now, father, don't you wish we had staid at home?" whispered +Mrs. Bushnell. + +"No!" growled the father. "They would have killed themselves getting +it down alone." + +He stepped within and laid his hand on the machine, saying: + +"Anna, you keep watch, and, if any boat heaves in sight, let us know. +Does the Turtle snap, David?" he questioned, putting forth his hand +and laying it cautiously upon the animal. + +"Never, until the word is given," replied the son, and then ten strong +hands applied the strength within them to lift the curious piece of +mechanism and carry it without. + +The seine-house was close to the river-bank, and in a half-hour's time +the American Turtle was in its native element. + +Madam Anna Bushnell kept strict watch over the shores and the river, +but not a sail slid into sight, not an oar troubled the waters of the +tide, as it tossed back the tumble of the down-flowing river. + +It was a hard duty for the mother to perform; for, at a glance toward +the bank, she saw David step into the machine, and the brass cover +close down over his head. She felt suffocating fears for him, as, at +last, the thing began to move into the stream. She saw it go out, she +saw it slowly sinking, going down out of sight, until even the brass +head was submerged. + +Then she forsook her post, and hastened to the bank to keep watch with +the rest. + +One, two, three minutes went by. The men looked at the surface of the +waters, at each other, grew thoughtful, pale; the mother gasped and +dropped on the salt grass, fainting; the brother gave to Lady Fenwick +a running push, bounded on board, and clutched the oars to row swiftly +to the spot where David went down. + +Mr. Bushnell filled his hat with water, and sprinkled the pale face in +the sedge. + +"_There! there!_" cried Dr. Franklin, with distended eyes and eager +outlook. + +"_Where? where?_" ejaculated Dr. Gale, striving to take into vision +the whole surface of the river, at a glance. + +"It's all right! He's coming up _plump_!" shouted Ezra, from his boat, +as he rowed with speed for the spot where a brass tube was rising, +sun-burnished, from the Connecticut. + +Presently the brass head, with its very small windows, emerged, even +the oaken sides were rising,--and Mr. Bushnell was greeting the +returning consciousness of his wife with the words: + +"It's all right, mother. David is safe." + +"Don't let him know," were the first words she spoke, "that his own +mother was so faithless as to doubt!" + +And now, paddle, paddle, toward the river-bank came the Turtle, David +Bushnell's head rising out of its shell, proud confidence shining +forth from his eyes, as feet and hands busied themselves in navigating +the boat that had lived for months in his brain, and now was living, +in very substance, under his control. + +As he neared the bank a shout of acclamation greeted him. + +He reached the island, was fairly dragged forth from his seat, and +carried up to the spot where his mother sat, trying to overcome every +trace of past doubt and fear. + +"Now," said Dr. Gale, "let us give thanks unto Him who hath given +this youth understanding to do this great work." + +With bared heads and devout hearts the thanksgiving went upward, and +thereafter a perfect shower of questions pelted David Bushnell +concerning his device to blow up ships: _how_ he came to think of it +at all--_where_ he got this idea and that as to its construction--to +all of which he simply said: + +"_You'll find your answer in the prayer you've just offered!_" + +"But," said practical Mr. Bushnell, "the Lord did not send you money +to buy oak and iron and brass, did he?" + +"Yes," returned David, "by the hand of my good friend, Dr. Gale. To +him belongs half the victory." + +"Pshaw! pshaw!" impatiently uttered the doctor. "I tell you it is _no +such thing_! I only advanced My Lady here," turning to Madam Bushnell, +"a little money, on her promise to pay me at some future time. I'm +mightily ashamed _now_ that I took the promise at all. Madam Bushnell, +I'll never take a penny of it back again, _never_, as long as I live. +I _will_ have a little of the credit of this achievement, and no one +shall hinder me." + +"How is that, mother?" questioned Mr. Bushnell. "_You_ borrow money +and not tell me!" and David and Ezra looked at her. + +"I--I--" stammered forth the woman, "I only _guessed_ that David was +doing something that he wanted money for, and told Dr. Gale if he +gave it to him I would repay it. Do you _care_, father?" + +Before he had a chance to get an answer in, David Bushnell stepped +forward, and, taking the little figure of his mother in his arms, +kissed her sharply, and walked away, to give some imaginary attention +to the Turtle at the bank. + +"It is a fair land to work for!" spoke up Doctor Franklin, looking +about upon river and earth and sea; "worthy it is of our highest +efforts; of our lives, even, if need be. God give us strength as our +need _shall_ be." + +With many a tug and pull and hearty heave-ho, the Turtle was hoisted +up the bank and safely drawn into the seine-house. The door was +locked, and Lady Fenwick's tomb gave forth no sound that night. + +Doctor Franklin went his way to Boston. Doctor Gale returned to +Killingworth and his waiting patients, and the Bushnells, father, +mother and sons, having put the two gentlemen on the Saybrook shore, +went down the river into the Sound, along its edge, and up the small +Pochaug to their own home by the sycamore tree. + +Mr. Bushnell and Ezra did the rowing that night. David's white hands +had, somehow, a new radiance in them for his father's eyes, and did +not seem exactly fitted for rowing just a common boat and every-day +oars. + +The young man sat in the stern, beside his mother, one arm around her +waist, and the other clasped closely between her little palms, while, +now and then, her finding eyes would penetrate his consciousness with +a glance that seemed to say, "I always believed in you, David." + + * * * * * + +If you go to-day and stand upon the site of the old fort, built at the +mouth of the Connecticut River, in the year 1635, by Lion Gardiner, +once engineer in the service of the Prince of Orange, and search the +waters up and down for the island on which David Bushnell built the +American Turtle in 1775, you will not find it. + +If you seek the oldest inhabitant of Saybrook, and ask him to point +out its locality, he will say, with boyhood's fondness for olden +play-grounds in his tone: + +"Ah, yes! It is _Poverty_ Island that you mean. It used to be there, +but spring freshets and beating storms have washed it away." + +The unexpected visit of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, to see the machine +David Bushnell was building, gave new force to that young gentleman's +confidence in his own powers of invention. + +He worked with increased energy and hope to perfect boat and magazine, +that he might do good service with them before winter should fall on +the waters of the Massachusetts Bay, where the hostile ships were +lying. + +At last came the day wherein the final trial-trip should be made. The +pumps built by Mr. Doolittle, but not according to order, had failed +once, but new ones had been supplied, and everything seemed +propitious. David and Ezra, with their mother in the boat, rowed once +more to Poverty Island. "On the morrow the great venture should +begin," they said. + +The time was mid-October. The forests had wrapped the cooling coast in +warmth of coloring that was soft and many-hued as the shawls of +Cashmere, while the sun-made fringe of goldenrod fell along the shores +of river and island and sea. + +Mrs. Bushnell's heart beat proudly above the fond affection that could +not suppress a shiver, as the Turtle was pushed into the stream. She +could not help seeing that David made a line fast from the seine-house +to his boat ere he went down. They watched many minutes to see him +rise to the surface, but he did not. + +"Mother," said Ezra, "the pump for forcing water out when he wants to +rise don't work, and we must pull him in. He feared it." + +As he spoke the words he laid hold on the line, and began gently to +draw on it. + +"Hurry! hurry! _do!_" cried Mrs. Bushnell, seizing the same line close +to the water's edge, and drawing on it with all her strength. She was +vexed that Ezra had not told her the danger in the beginning, and she +"knew _very_ well that SHE would not have stood there and let David +die of suffocation, in that horrid, brass-topped coffin!" + +"Hold, mother!" cried Ezra; "pull gently, or the line may part on some +barnacled rock if it gets caught." + +Nevertheless, Mrs. Bushnell pulled in as fast as she could. + +The tide was sweeping up the river, and a shark, in hard chase after a +school of menhaden, swam steadily up, with fin out of water. + +Just as the shark reached the place, he made a dive, and the rope +parted! + +Mrs. Bushnell screamed a word or two of the terror that had seized +her. Ezra looked up, amazed to find the rope coming in so readily, +hand over hand. He cast it down, sprang to the boat, and pushed off to +the possible rescue, only to find that the Turtle was making for the +river-bank instead of the island. + +He rowed to the spot. His brother, for the first time in his life, was +overcome with disappointment and disinclined to talk. + +"I--I," said David, wiping his forehead. "I grew tired, and made for +shore. The tide was taking me up fast." + +"Did you let go the line?" questioned Ezra. + +"Yes." + +"The pump works all right, then?" + +"Yes." + +"You've frightened mother terribly." + +"Have I? I never thought. I _forgot_ she was here. Let us get back, +then;" and the two brothers, without speaking a word, rowed down +against the sweep of tide, the great Turtle in tow. + +The three went home, still keeping a silence broken only by briefest +possible question and answer. + +The golden October night fell upon the old town. Pochaug River, its +lone line of silver gathered in many a stretch of interval into which +the moon looked calmly down, lay on the land for many a mile. + +Again and again, during the evening, David Bushnell went out from the +house and stood silently on the rough bridge that crossed the river by +the door. + +"Let David alone, mother," urged Ezra, as she was about to follow him +on one occasion. "He is thinking out something, and is better alone." + +That which the young man was thinking at the moment was, that he +wished the moon would hurry and go down. He longed for darkness. + +The night was growing cold. Frost was in the air. + +As he stood on the rough logs, a post-rider, hurrying by with letters, +came up. + +"Holloa there!" he called aloud, not liking the looks of the man on +the bridge. + +"It's I,--David Bushnell, Joe Downs! You can ride by in safety," he +responded, ringing out one of his merriest chimes of laughter at the +very idea of being taken for a highwayman. + +"I've news," said Joe; "want it?" + +"Yes." + +Joe Downs opened his pocket, and, by the light of the moon, found the +letter he had referred to. + +"Dr. Gale told me not to fail to put this into your hands as I came +by. I should kind o' judge, by the way he _spoke_, that the continent +couldn't get along very well _'thout you_, if I hadn't known a thing +or two. Howsomever, here's the letter, and I've to jog on to Guilford +afore the moon goes down. So good-night." + +"Good night, Joe. Thank you for stopping," said David, going into the +house. + +"Were you expecting that letter, David?" questioned Mr. Bushnell, when +it had been read. + +"No, sir. It is from Dr. Gale. He asks me to hasten matters as far as +possible, but a new contrivance will have to go in before I am +ready." + +"There! _That's_ what troubles him," thought both Mrs. Bushnell and +Ezra, and they exchanged glances of sympathy and satisfaction--and the +little household went to sleep, quite care-free that night. + +At two of the clock, with nearly noiseless tread, David Bushnell left +the house. + +As the door closed his mother moved uneasily in her sleep, and awoke +with the sudden consciousness that something uncanny had happened. She +looked from a window and saw, by the light of a low-lying moon, that +David had gone out. + +Without awakening her husband she protected herself with needful +clothing, and, wrapped about in one of the curious plaid blankets of +mingled blue and white, adorned with white fringe, that are yet to be +found in the land, she followed into the night. + +Save for the sleepy tinkle of the water over the stones in the Pochaug +River, and an occasional cry of a night-bird still lingering by the +sea, the air was very still. + +With light tread across the bridge she ran a little way, and then +ventured a timid cry of her own into the night: + +"David! David!" + +Now David Bushnell hoped to escape without awakening his mother. He +was lingering near, to learn whether his going had disturbed anyone, +and he was quite prepared for the call. + +Turning back to meet her he thought: "_What_ a mother _mine_ is." And +he said, "Well, mother, what is it? I was afraid I might disturb +you." + +"O David!" was all that she could utter in response. + +"And so _you_ are troubled about me, are you? I'm only going to chase +the will-o'-the-wisp a little while, and I could not do it, you know, +until moon-down." + +"_O_ David!" and this time with emphatic pressure on his arm, "David, +come home. _I_ can't let you go off alone." + +"Come with me, then. You're well blanketed, I see. I'd much rather +have some one with me, only Ezra was tired and sleepy." + +He said this with so much of his accustomed manner that Mrs. Bushnell +put her hand within his arm and went on, quite content now, and +willing that he should speak when it pleased him to do so, and it +pleased him very soon. + +"Little mother," he said, "I am afraid you are losing faith in me." + +"Never! David; only--I _was_ a little afraid that you were losing your +own head, or faith in yourself." + +"No; but I _am_ afraid I've lost my faith in something else. I showed +you the two bits of fox-fire that were crossed on one end of the +needle in the compass, and the one bit made fast to the other? Well, +to-day, when I went to the bottom of the river, the fox-fire gave no +light, and the compass was useless. Can you understand how bad that +would be under an enemy's ship, not to know in which direction to +navigate?" + +"You must have fresh fire, then." + +"_That_ is just what I am out for to-night. I had to wait till the +moon was gone." + +"Oh! is _that_ all? How foolish I have been! but you ought to tell me +some things, sometimes, David." + +"And so I will. I tell you now that it will be well for you to go home +and go to sleep. I may have to go deep into the woods to find the fire +I want." + +But his mother only walked by his side a little faster than before, +and on they went to a place where a bit of woodland had grown up above +fallen trees. + +They searched in places wherein both had seen the fire of decaying +wood a hundred times, but not one gleam of phosphorescence could be +found anywhere. At last they turned to go homeward. + +"What will you do, David? Go and search in the Killingworth woods +to-morrow night?" she asked, as they drew near home. + +"It is of no use," he said, with a sigh. "It _must_ be that the frost +destroys the fox-fire. Unless Dr. Franklin knows of a light that will +not eat up the air, everything must be put off until spring." + +The next day David Bushnell went to Killingworth, to tell the story to +Dr. Gale, and Dr. Gale wrote to Silas Deane (Conn. Historical Col., +Vol. 2), begging him to inquire of Dr. Franklin concerning the +possibility of using the Philosopher's Lantern, but no light was +found, and the poor Turtle was housed in the seine-house on Poverty +Island during the long winter, which proved to be one of great +mildness from late December to mid-February. + +In February we find David Bushnell before Governor Jonathan Trumbull +and his Council at Lebanon, to tell about and illustrate the marvels +of his wonderful machine. + +During this time the whole affair had been kept a profound secret +from all but the faithful few surrounding the inventor. And now, if +ever, the time was drawing near wherein the labor and outlay must +either repay laborer and lender, or give to both great trouble and +distress. + +I cannot tell you with what trepidation the young man walked into the +War Office at Lebanon, with a very small Turtle under his arm. + +You will please remember the situation of the colonists at that +moment. On the land they feared not to contend with Englishmen. Love +of liberty in the Provincials was strong enough, when united with a +trusty musket and a fair supply of powder, to encounter red-coated +regulars of the British army; but on the ocean, and in every bay, +harbor and river, they were powerless. The enemy's ships had kept +Boston in siege for nearly two years, the Americans having no opposing +force to contend with them. + +Could this little Turtle, which David Bushnell carried under his arm, +do the work he wished it to, why, every ship of the line could be +blown into the air! + +The inventor had faith in his invention, but he feared, when he looked +into the faces of the grave Governor and his Council of War, that he +could _never_ impart his own belief to them. + +I cannot tell you with what trust of heart and faith of soul Mrs. +Bushnell kept the February day in the house by the bridge at Pochaug. +Even the strong-minded, sturdy-nerved Mr. Bushnell looked often up +the road by which David and Ezra would approach from Lebanon, with a +keen interest in his eyes; but he would not let any word escape him, +until darkness had fallen and they were not come. + +"He said he would be here at eight, at the very latest," said the +mother at length, and she went to the fire and placed before the +burning coals two chickens to broil. + +"I'm afraid David won't have much appetite, unless his model _should_ +be approved, and money is too precious to spend on _experiments_," +said Mr. Bushnell, as she returned to his side. + +"Do you mean to tell me you _doubt_?" + +"Of course I doubt. Jonathan Trumbull is a man not at all likely to +give his consent to anything that does not commend itself to common +sense." + +Mr. Bushnell was saved the pain of saying his thought, that he was +afraid, if David's plan was a good one, _somebody_ would have thought +of it long ago, for vigorous knuckles were at work upon the +winter-door. + +As soon as it was opened the genial form of good Dr. Gale stood +revealed. + +"Are the boys back yet?" he asked, stepping within. + +"No, but we expect them every minute," said Mr. Bushnell. + +"Well, friends, I had a patient within three miles of you to visit, +and I thought I'd come on and hear the news." + +Ere he was fully made welcome to hearth and home, in walked David, +with the little Turtle under his arm. Without ado he went up to his +mother and said: + +"Madam, I present this to you, with Governor Trumbull's compliments. +He has ordered your boy money, men, metals and powder without stint to +work with. _Wish me joy, won't you?_" + +I do not anywhere find a record of the words in which the joy was +wished, on that 2nd of February, a hundred years ago, but it is easy +to imagine the very tones in which the good, God-loving Dr. Gale gave +thanks for the new blessing that had that day fallen on his friend's +house. + +It is impossible to follow David Bushnell in his many journeys to the +iron furnaces of Salisbury, in the spring and early summer of 1776, +during which time the entire country was aroused and astir from the +removal of the American army from Boston to New York; and our friends +at Saybrook were busy as bees from morning till night, in getting +ready perfect machines for duty. + +David Bushnell's strength proved insufficient to navigate one of his +Turtles in the tidal waters of the Sound, and his brother Ezra learned +to do it most perfectly. + +In the latter end of June, the British fleet, which had sailed out of +Boston harbor so ingloriously on the 17th of March, for Halifax, there +to await re-inforcements, appeared in waters adjacent to New York. + +The signal of their approach was gladly hailed by the inventor and by +the navigator of the American Turtle. + +A whale-boat from New London, her seamen sworn to inviolable secrecy, +was ordered to be in the river at a given point, on a given night, for +a service of which the men were utterly ignorant. + +On the evening previous, Ezra Bushnell, overworn by many attempts at +navigating the machine, was taken seriously ill. At midnight he was +delirious--at day-dawn Dr. Gale was sent for. + +When night fell he was in a raging fever, with no prospect of rapid +recovery. + +David set off alone, and with a heavy heart, to meet the boatmen. In +the seine-house on Poverty Island the brothers had stored provisions +for a cruise of several days. To this spot David Bushnell went alone, +and with a saddened heart, for he knew that it must be many days ere +he could learn of his brother's condition. + +The New London boatmen were promptly at the appointed place of +meeting. + +When they saw the curious thing they were told to take in tow, their +curiosity knew no bounds; and it was only when assured that it was +dangerous to examine it, that they desisted from their determination +to know all about it, and consented to obey orders. + +When, at last, a departure was made, the hour was midnight, the tide +served, and no ill-timed discovery was made of the deed. + +The strong-armed boatmen rowed well and long, and, as daylight dawned, +they were directed to keep a look-out for Faulkner's Island, a small +bit of land in the Sound, nearly five miles from the Connecticut +shore. + +The flashing light that illumines the waters at night for us, did not +gleam on them, but nevertheless, the high brown bank and the little +slope of land looked inviting to weary men, as they cautiously rowed +near to it, not knowing whom they might meet there. + +They landed, made a fire, cooked their food, ate of it, and lay down +to sleep until night should come again. + +They set out early in the ensuing twilight, and rowed westward all +night, in the face of a gentle wind. + +"If there were only another Faulkner's Island to flee to," said Mr. +Bushnell, as morning drew near. "Do you know (to one of the men) a +safe place to hide in on this coast?" + +They were then off Merwin's Point, and between West Haven and +Milford. + +"There's Poquahaug," was the reply, with a momentary catch of the oar, +and incline of the head toward the south-west. + +"_What_ is Poquahaug?" + +"A little island, pretty well in, close to shore, as it were, and, +maybe, deserted." + +After deliberate council had been held it was resolved to examine the +locality. + +A few years after New Haven and Milford churches were formed under the +oak-tree at New Haven, this little island, to which they were fleeing +to hide the Turtle from daylight, was "granted to Charles Deal for a +tobacco plantation, provided that he would not trade with the Dutch or +Indians;" but now Indians, Dutch and Charles Deal alike had left it, +the latter with a rude, sheltering building in place of Ansantawae's +big summer wigwam that used to adorn its crest. + +To this spot, bright with grass, and green with full-foliaged trees of +oak on its eastern shore, the weary boatmen, who had had a long, hard +pull of twenty miles to make, came, just as the longest day's sun was +at its rising. + +They were so glad and relieved _and_ satisfied to find no one on it. + +The Turtle was left at anchor near the shore; the whale-boat gave up +of its provisions, and presently the little camp was in the enjoyment +of a long day of rest and refreshment. + +Should anyone approach from the seaward or from the mainland, it was +determined that the party should resolve itself into a band of +fishermen, fishing for striped bass, for which the locality was well +known. + +As the day wore on, and the falling tide revealed a line of stones +that gradually increased, as the water fell, to a bar a hundred feet +wide, stretching from the island to the sands of the Connecticut +shore, David Bushnell perceived that the locality was just the proper +place in which to learn and teach the art of navigating the Turtle. He +examined the region well, and then called the men together. + +They were staunch, good-hearted fellows, accustomed to long pulls in +northern seas after whales, and that they were patriotic he fully +believed. The Turtle was drawn up under the grassy bank, where the +long sedge half hid, and bushels of rock-weed and sea-drift wholly +concealed it, and then, in a few carefully-chosen words, David +Bushnell entrusted it to the watch and care of the boatmen. + +"I am going to leave it here, and you with it, until I return," he +said. "Guard it with your lives if need be. If you handle it, it will +be at the risk of life. If you keep it _well_, Congress will reward +you." + +The mystery of the whole affair enchanted the men. They made faithful +promises, and, in the glorious twilight of the evening, rowed David +Bushnell across the beautiful stretch of Sound that to-day separates +Charles Island from the comely old town of Milford. + +As the whale-boat went up the harbor, a sailing vessel was getting +ready to depart. + +Finding that it was bound to New York, David Bushnell took passage in +it the same night. + +Two days later, with a letter from Governor Trumbull to General +Washington as his introduction, the young man, by command of the +latter, sought out General Parsons, and "requested him to furnish him +with two or three men to learn the navigation of his new machine. +General Parsons immediately sent for Ezra Lee, then a sergeant, and +two others, who had _offered_ their services to go on board a +fireship; and, on Bushnell's request being made known to them, they +enlisted themselves under him for this novel piece of service." + +Returning to Poquahaug (the Indian name of Charles Island), the +American Turtle was found safe and sound. Here the little party spent +many days in experimenting with it in the waters about the island; and +in the Housatonic River. + +During this time the enemy had got possession of a portion of Long +Island, and of Governor's Island in the harbor--thus preventing the +approach to New York by the East River. + +When the appalling news of the battle of Long Island reached David +Bushnell, he resolved, cost what it might of danger to himself, or +hazard to the Turtle, to get it to New York with all speed. + +To that end he had it conveyed by water to New Rochelle, there landed +and carried across the country to the Hudson River, and presently we +hear of it as being on a certain night, late in August, ready to start +on its perilous enterprise. + +If you will go to-day and stand where the Turtle floated that night +(for the land has since that time grown outward into the sea), on your +right hand across the Hudson River, you will see New Jersey. At your +left, across the East River, Long Island begins, with the beautiful +Governor's Island in the bay just before you, and, looking to the +southward, in the distance, you will discern Staten Island. + +Let us go back to that day and hour. + +The precise date of the Turtle's voyage down the bay is not given, but +the time must have been on the night of either the thirtieth or +thirty-first of August. We will choose the thirtieth, and imagine +ourselves standing in the crowd by the side of Generals Washington and +Putnam, to see the machine start. + +Remember, now, where we stand. It is only _last_ night that _our_ +army, defeated, dispirited, exhausted by battle, lay across the river +on Brooklyn Heights. Behind it, busy with pickaxe and shovel, the +victorious troops of Mother England were making ready to "finish" the +Americans on the morrow. + +There were supposed to be twenty-four thousand of the enemy, only nine +thousand Continentals; and, just ready to enter East River and cut +them off from New York, lay the British fleet to the north of Staten +Island. + +As happened at Boston in March, so happened it last night in New York, +a friendly fog held the heights of Brooklyn in its grasp, while at New +York all was clear. + +Under cover of this fog General Washington withdrew across the river, +a mile or more in width, _nine thousand men_, with all their +"baggage, stores, provisions, horses, and munitions of war," and not a +man of the enemy knew that they were gone until the fog lifted. + +Now, as we stand, Long Island, Governor's Island, Staten Island, one +and all are under the control of Britons. + +David Bushnell is in a whale-boat, down close to the Turtle, giving +some last important words of direction to brave Ezra Lee, who has +stepped within it. David Bushnell could not help wishing, as he did +so, that he could take his place and guide the spirit of the child of +his own creation, in its first great encounter with the world. + +The word is given. The brass top of the Turtle is shut down. Watchful +eyes and swift rowers belonging to the enemy are keeping guard on +Governor's Island, by which Ezra Lee must row, and it is safer to go +under water. How crowded this little pier would be, did the +inhabitants but know what is going on! + +The whale-boats start out, David Bushnell in one of them. They mean to +take the Turtle in tow the minute it is safe to do so and save Ezra +Lee the labor of rowing it until the last minute. + +It is eleven o'clock. All silently they dip the oars, and hear the +sentinels cry from camp and shore. + +Past the island, in safety, at last. They look for the Turtle. Up it +comes, a distant watch-light gleaming across its brass head disclosing +its presence. Once more it is in tow, and Lee is in the whale-boat. + +Down the bay they go, until the lights from the fleet grow dangerously +near. + +On the wide, wind-stirred waters of New York Bay, Ezra Lee gets into +the Turtle, and is cast off, and left alone, for the whale-boats +return to New York. + +With the rudder in his hand, and his _feet_ upon the oars, he pursues +his way. The strong ebb tide flows fast, and, before he is aware of +it, it has drifted him down past the men-of-war. + +However, he immediately _gets the machine about_, and, "by hard labor +at the crank for the space of five glasses by the ships' bells, or two +and a half hours, he arrives under the stern of one of the ships at +about slack water." + +Day is now beginning to dawn. He can see the people on board, and hear +them talk. + +The moment has come for diving. He closes up quickly overhead, lets in +the water, and goes down under the ship's bottom. + +He now applies the screw and does all in his power to make it enter, +but in vain; it will not pierce the ship's copper. Undaunted, he +paddles along to a different part, hoping to find a softer place; but, +in doing this, in his hurry and excitement, he manages the mechanism +so that the Turtle instantly arises to the surface on the east side of +the ship, and is at once exposed to the piercing light of day. + +Again he goes under, hoping that he has not been seen. + +This time his courage fails. It is getting to be day. If the ship's +boats are sent after him his escape will be very difficult, well-nigh +impossible, and, if he saves himself at all, it must be by rowing more +than four miles. + +He gives up the enterprise with reluctance, and starts for New York. + +Governor's Island _must_ be passed by. He draws near to it, as near as +he can venture, and then submerges the Turtle. Alas! something has +befallen the compass. It will not guide the rowing under the sea. + +Every few minutes he is compelled to rise to the surface to look out +from the top of the machine to guide his course, and his track grows +very zig-zag through the waters. + +Ah! the soldiers at Governor's Island see the Turtle! Hundreds are +gathering upon the parapet to watch its motions, such a curious boat +as it is, with turret of brass bobbing up and down, sinking, +disappearing--coming to the surface again in a manner _wholly_ +unaccountable. + +Brave Lee knows his danger, and paddles away for dear life and love of +family up in Lyme, eating breakfast quietly now he remembers, not +knowing his peril. + +Once more he goes up to take a lookout, to see where White-hall slip +lies. + +A glance at Governor's Island, and he sees a barge shove off laden +with his enemies. + +Down again, and up, and he sees it making for him. _There is no +escape!_ What _can_ he do! + +"If I must die," he thinks, "they shall die with me!" and he lets go +the magazine. + +Nearer and nearer--the barge is _very_ close. "If they pick me up they +will pick that up," thinks Lee, "and we shall all be blown to atoms +together!" + +They are now within a hundred and fifty feet of the Turtle and they +see the magazine that he has detached. + +"Some horrible Yankee trick!" cries a British soldier. "_Beware!_" And +they do beware by turning and rowing with all speed for the island +whence they came. + +Poor Lee looks out with amazement to see them go. He is well-nigh +exhausted, _and the magazine, with its dreadful clock-work going on +within it, and its hundred and fifty pounds of powder, ready to go off +at a given moment_, is floating on behind him, borne by the tide. + +He strains every muscle to near New York. He signals the shore. + +Since daylight Putnam has been there keeping watch. David Bushnell has +paced up and down all night, in keen anxiety. + +The friendly whale-boats put out to meet him. + +Meanwhile, slowly borne by the coming tide, the magazine floats into +the East River. + +"It will blow up in five minutes now," says Bushnell, looking at his +watch, and he goes to welcome Ezra Lee. + +The five minutes go by. + +Suddenly, with tremendous voice, and awful uproar of the sea, the +magazine explodes. + +Columns of water toss high in air, mingled with the oaken ribs that +held the powder but a minute ago. + +Consternation seizes British troops on Long Island. The brave soldiers +on the parapet at Governor's Island quake with fear. All New York +rushes to the river-side to find out what it can mean. Nothing, on all +the face of the earth, _ever_ happened like it before, one and all +declare. + +Opinion varies concerning it, from bomb to earthquake, from meteor to +water-spout, and settles down on neither. + +Poor Ezra Lee feels that he _meant_ well, but did not act wisely. +David Bushnell praises the sergeant, and takes all the want of success +to himself, in not going to do his own work. + +Meanwhile, with astonishment, Generals Washington and Putnam and David +Bushnell himself behold, as did the Provincials, _after_ the battle of +_Bunker-Breed's_ Hill, _victory in defeat_, for lo! no British ship +sails up the East River, or appears to bombard New York. + +Silently they weigh anchor and drop down the bay. The little American +Turtle gained a bloodless victory that day. + + + NOTE.--The writer has carefully followed, in the account of the + Turtle's attempt upon the Eagle, the statement of Ezra Lee, made + to Mr. Charles Griswold of Lyme, more than forty years after the + occurrence, and by him communicated to the _American Journal of + Science and Arts_ in 1820. For the description of the wonderful + mechanism of the machine, the account given _at the time_ by Dr. + Gale in his letters to Silas Deane has been chosen, as probably + more accurate than one made from memory after forty years had + passed. + + * * * * * + +David Bushnell was appointed from civil life Captain-Lieutenant of a +Corps of Sappers and Miners--recommended for the position by Governor +Trumbull, General Parsons and others. June 8, 1781, he was promoted +full Captain. He was present at the siege of Yorktown and commanded +the Corps in 1783. + +He was also a member of the Society of the Cincinnati. + + + + +THE BIRTHDAY OF OUR NATION. + + +Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were hurrying up Chestnut street; the +man carried a large key, the boy a new broom. + +It was a very warm morning in a very warm month of a very warm year; +in fact it may as well be stated at once that it was the Fourth day of +July, 1776, and that Bellman Grey and Blue-Eyed Boy were in haste to +make ready the State House of Pennsylvania for the birth of the United +States of America. No wonder they were in a hurry. + +In fact, everybody seemed in a hurry that day; for before Bellman Grey +had whisked that new broom over the floor of Congress Hall, in walked, +arm-in-arm, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. + +"Good morning, gentlemen," said Bellman Grey. "You'll find the dust +settled in the committee-room. I'm cleaning house a little extra +to-day for the expected visitor." + +"For the coming heir?" said Mr. Adams. + +"When Liberty comes, She comes to stay," said Mr. Jefferson, +half-suffocated with the dust; and the two retreated to the +committee-room. + +Blue-Eyed Boy was polishing with his silken duster the red morocco of +a chair as the gentlemen opened the door. He heard one of them say, +"If Caesar Rodney gets here, it will be done." + +"If it's done," said the boy, "won't you, please, Mr. Adams, won't +you, please, Mr. Jefferson, let me carry the news to General +Washington?" + +The two gentlemen looked either at the other, and both at the lad, in +smiling wonder. + +"If what is done?" asked Mr. Adams. + +"If the thing is voted and signed and made sure," (just here Blue-Eyed +Boy waved his duster of a flag and stood himself as erect as a +flagpole;) "if the tree's transplanted, if the ship gets off the ways, +if we run clear away from King George, sir; so far away that he'll +never catch us." + +"And why do you, my lad, wish to carry the news to General Washington?" +asked Mr. Jefferson. + +"Because," said the boy, "why--wouldn't you? It'll be jolly work for +the soldiers when they know they can fight for themselves." + +Just here Bellman Grey shouted for Blue-Eyed Boy, bidding him come +quick and be spry with his dusting, too. + +Before the hall was cleared of the accumulated dust of State-rooms +above and Congress-rooms below, in came members of the Congress, +one-by-one and two-by-two, and in groups. The doors were locked, and +the solemn deliberations began. Within that room, now known as +Independence Hall, sat, in solemn conclave, half a hundred men, each +and every one of whom knew full well that the deed about to be done +would endanger his own life. + +On a table lay a paper, awaiting signatures. A silver ink-stand held +the ink that trembled and wavered to the sound and stir of John +Adams's voice, as he stated once more the why and the wherefore of the +step America was about to take. + +This final statement was made for the especial enlightenment of three +gentlemen, new members of the Congress from New Jersey, and in reply +to the reasons given by Mr. Dickinson why the Declaration of +Independence should _not_ be made. + +In the meantime Bellman Grey was up in the steeple, "seeing what he +could see," and Blue-Eyed Boy was answering knocks at the entrance +doors; then running up the stairs to tell the scraps of news that he +had gleaned through open door, or crack, or key-hole. + +The day wore on; outside a great and greater crowd surged every moment +against the walls; but the walls of the State House were thick, and +the crowd was hushed to silence, with intense longing to hear what was +going on inside. + +From his high-up place in the belfry, where he had been on watch, +Bellman Grey espied a figure on horseback, hurrying toward the scene; +the horse was white with heat and hurry; the rider's "face was no +bigger than an apple," but it was a face of importance that day. + +"Run!" shouted Bellman Grey from the belfry. "Run and tell them that +Mr. Rodney comes." + +The boy descended the staircase with a bound and a leap and a thump +against the door, and announced Caesar Rodney's approach. + +In he came, weary with his eighty miles in the saddle, through heat +and hunger and dust, for Delaware had sent her son in haste to the +scene. + +The door closed behind him and all was as still and solemn as before. + +Up in the belfry the old man stroked fondly the tongue of the bell, +and softly said under his breath again and again as the hours went: +"They will never do it; they will never do it." + +The boy sat on the lowest step of the staircase, alternately peeping +through the key-hole with eye to see and with ear to hear. At last, +came a stir within the room. He peeped again. He saw Mr. Hancock, with +white and solemn face, bend over the paper on the table, stretch forth +his hand, and dip the pen in the ink. He watched that hand and arm +curve the pen to and fro over the paper, and then he was away up the +stairs like a cat. + +Breathless with haste, he cried up the belfry: "_He's a doing it, he +is!_ I saw him through the key-hole. Mr. Hancock has put his name to +that big paper on the table." + +"Go back! go back! you young fool, and keep watch, and tell me quick +when to ring!" cried down the voice of Bellman Grey, as he wiped for +the hundredth time the damp heat from his forehead and the dust from +the iron tongue beside him. + +Blue-Eyed Boy went back and peeped again just in time to see Mr. +Samuel Adams in the chair, pen in hand. + +One by one, in "solemn silence all," the members wrote their names, +each one knowing full well, that unless the Colonists could fight +longer and stronger than Great Britain, that signature would prove his +own death-warrant. + +It was fitting that the men who wrote their names that day should +write with solemn deliberation. + +Blue-Eyed Boy peeped again. "I hope they're almost done," he sighed; +"and I reckon they are, for Mr. Rodney has the pen now. My! how tired +and hot his face looks! I don't believe he has had any more dinner +to-day than I have, and I feel most awful empty. It's almost night by +this time, too." + +At length the long list was complete. Every man then present had +signed the Declaration of Independence, except Mr. Dickinson of +Pennsylvania. + +And now came the moment wherein the news should begin its journey +around the world. The Speaker, Mr. Thompson, arose and made the +announcement to the very men who already knew it. + +Blue-Eyed Boy peeped with his ear and heard the words through the +key-hole. + +With a shout and a cry of "Ring! ring!" and a clapping of hands, he +rushed upward to the belfry. The words, springing from his lips like +arrows, sped their way into the ears and hands of Bellman Grey. +Grasping the iron tongue of the old bell, backward and forward he +hurled it a hundred times, its loud voice proclaiming to all the +people that down in Independence Hall a new nation was born to the +earth that day. + +When the members heard its tones swinging out the joyous notes they +marvelled, because no one had authorized the announcement. When the +key was turned from within, and the door opened, there stood the +mystery facing them, in the person of Blue-Eyed Boy. + +"I told him to ring; I heard the news!" he shouted, and opened the +State House doors to let the Congress out and all the world in. + +You know the rest; the acclamation of the multitude, the common peals +(they forgot to be careful of powder that night in the staid old +city), the big bonfires, and the illuminations that rang and roared +and boomed and burned from Delaware to Schuylkill. + +In the waning light of the latest bonfire, up from the city of Penn, +rode our Blue-Eyed Boy--true to his purpose to be the first to carry +the glad news to General Washington. + +"It will be like meeting an old friend," he thought; for had he not +seen the commander-in-chief every day going in and out of the Congress +Hall during his visit to Philadelphia only a month ago? + +The self-appointed courier never deemed other evidence of the truth of +his news needful than his own "word of mouth." He rode a strong young +horse, which, early in the year, had been left in his care by a +southern officer when on his way to the camp at Cambridge; and that no +one might worry about him, he had taken the precaution to intrust his +secret to a neighbor lad to tell at the home-door in the light of +early day. + +The journey was long, too long to write of here. Suffice it to say, +that on Sunday morning Blue-Eyed Boy reached the ferry at the Hudson +river. The old ferryman hesitated to cross with the lad. + +"Wait at my house until the cool of the evening," he urged. + +But Blue-Eyed Boy said, "No, I must cross this morning, and my pony: +I'll pay for two if you'll take me." + +The ferryman crossed the river with the boy, who, on the other side, +inquired his way to the headquarters of the general. + +Warm, tired, hungry, and dusty, he urged his pony forward to the +place, only to find that he whom he sought had gone to divine service +at St. Paul's church. + +Blue-Eyed Boy rode to St. Paul's. In the Fields (now City Hall Park) +he tied his faithful horse, and went his way to the church. + +Gently and with reverent mien, he entered the open door, and listened +to the closing words of the sermon. At length the service was over and +the congregation turned toward the entrance where stood the young +traveler, his heart beating with exultant pride at the glorious news +he had to tell to the glorious commander. + +How grand the General looked to the boy, as, with stately step, he +trod slowly the church aisle accompanied by his officers. + +Now he was come to the vestibule. It was Blue-Eyed Boy's chance at +last. The great, dancing, gleeful eyes, that have outlived in fame the +very name of the lad, were fixed on Washington, as he stepped forward +to accost him. + +"Out of the way!" exclaimed a guard, and thrust him aside. + +"I _will_ speak! General Washington!" screamed Blue-Eyed Boy, in +sudden excitement. The idea of anybody who had seen, even through a +key-hole, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, being thrust +aside thus! + +General Washington stayed his steps and ordered, "Let the lad come to +me." + +"I've good news for you," said the youth. + +"What news?" + +Officers stood around--even the congregation paused, having heard the +cry. + +"It's for you alone, General Washington." + +The lad's eyes were ablaze now. All the light of Philadelphia's late +illuminations burned in them. General Washington bade the youth follow +him. + +"But my pony is tied yonder," said he, "and he's hungry and tired too. +I can't leave him." + +"Come hither, then," and the Commander-in-chief withdrew with the lad +within the sacred edifice. + +"General Washington," said Blue-Eyed Boy, "on Thursday Congress +declared _us_ free and independent." + +"Where are your dispatches?" leaped from the General's lips, his face +shining. + +"Why--why, I haven't any, but it's all true, sir," faltered the boy. + +"How did you find it out?" + +"I was right there, sir. Don't you remember me? I help Bellman Grey +take care of the State House at Philadelphia, and I run on errands for +the Congress folks, too, sometimes." + +"Did Congress send you on this errand?" + +"No, General Washington; I can't tell a lie, I came myself." + +"How did you know me?" + +Blue-Eyed Boy was ready to cry now. To be sure he was sturdy and +strong, and nearly fourteen, too; but to be doubted, after all his +long, tiresome journey, was hard. However, he winked once or twice +violently, and then he looked his very soul into the General's face, +and said: "Why, I saw you every day you went to Congress, only a +month ago, I did." + +"I believe you, my lad. Get your horse and follow me." + +Blue-Eyed Boy followed on, and waited in camp until the tardy +despatches came in on Tuesday morning, confirming every word that he +had spoken. + +The same evening all the brigades in and around New York were ordered +to their respective parade-grounds. + +Blue-Eyed Boy was admitted within the hollow square formed by the +brigades on the spot where stands the City Hall. Within the same +square was General Washington, sitting on horseback, and the great +Declaration was read by one of his aids. + +It is needless to tell how it was received by the eager men who +listened to the mighty truths with reverent, uncovered heads. +Henceforth every man felt that he had a banner under which to fight, +as broad as the sky above him, as sheltering as the homely roof of +home. + + + + +THE OVERTHROW OF THE STATUE OF KING GEORGE. + + +If, on the evening of July 9, 1876, at six of the clock, you go and +stand where the shadow of the steeple of St. Paul's church in New York +is falling, you will occupy the space General Washington occupied, +just one hundred years ago, when with uncovered head and reverent +mien, he, in the presence of and surrounded by a brigade of noble +soldiers, listened to the reading of the Declaration of Independence. + +You will remember that at the church door on Sunday, Blue-Eyed Boy +brought to him, by word of mouth, the great news that a nation was +born on Thursday. + +This news was now, for the first time, announced to the men of New +York and New England. + +No wonder that their military caps came off on Tuesday, that their +arms swung in the air, and their voices burst forth into one loud +acclaim that might have been heard by the British foe then landing on +Staten Island. + +As you stand there, and the shadow of old St. Paul swings around and +covers you, shut your eyes and listen. Something of the olden music, +of the loud acclaim, may swing around with the shadow and fall on your +ears, since no motion is ever spent, no sound ever still. + +On that night, when the grand burst of enthusiasm had arisen, +Blue-Eyed Boy said to General Washington: "I am afraid, sir, if +Congress had known, they never would have done it, never! It seemed +easy to do it in Philadelphia, where everything is just as it used to +be; but here, with all the British ships riding in, full of soldiers, +and guns enough in them to smash the old State House where they did +it! If they'd only known about the ships!--" + +Ah! Blue-Eyed Boy. You didn't keep your eye very close to Congress +Hall in the morning of last Thursday, or you would have heard Mr. +Hancock or Mr. Thompson read to Congress a letter from General +Washington, announcing the arrival of General Howe at Sandy Hook with +one hundred and ten ships of war. + +No, no! Blue-Eyed Boy and every other boy; the men who dared to say, +and sign their names to the assertion, "A nation is born to-day," did +not do it under the rosy flush of glorious victory, but in the +fast-coming shadow of mighty Britain, strong in all the power and +radiant with all the pomp of war. + +And what had a few little colonies to meet them with? They had, it is +true, a new name, that of "States"; but cannon and camp-kettles alike +were wanting; the small powder mills in the Connecticut hive could +yield them only a fragment of the black honey General Washington cried +for, day and night, from Cambridge to New York; the houses of the +inhabitants, diligently searched for fragments of lead, gave them not +enough; and you know how every homestead in New England was besieged +for the last yard of homespun cloth, that the country's soldiers might +not go coatless by day and tentless at night. + +Brave men and women good! + +Let us hurrah for them all, if it is a hundred years too late for them +to hear. The men of a hundred years to come will remember our huzzas +of this year, and grow, it may be, the braver and the better for them +all. + +But now General Washington has ridden away to his home at Number One +in the Broadway; the brigade has moved on, and even Blue-Eyed Boy is +hastening after General Washington, intent on taking a farewell +glance, from the rampart of Fort George, at the far-away English +ships. + +To-morrow he will begin his homeward journey through the Jerseys. His +pass is in his pocket, and as he quickens his steps, he sees groups +gathering here and there, and knows that some excitement is astir in +the public mind, but thinks it is all about the great Declaration. + +He reaches Wall street, and the sun is at its going down. Up from the +East river come the sounds of orderly drummers drumming, of +regimental fifers fifing. He stays his steps, and stands listening: he +sees a brigade marching the "grand parade" at sunset. + +Up it comes from Wall street to Smith street; (I am sure I do not know +what Smith street is lost into now, but the orderly-book of Major +Phineas Porter of Waterbury, one hundred years old to-morrow morning, +has it "Smith street"); from the upper end of Smith street back to +Wall street, and the young Philadelphian follows it, marching to sound +of fife and drum. + +As it turns towards the East river, he remembers whither he was bound +and starts off with speed for the Grand Battery. + +As he goes, glancing backward, he sees that all the town is at his +heels. + +He begins to run. All the town begins to run. He runs faster: the +crowd runs faster. It is shouting now. He tries to listen; but his +feet are flying, his head is bobbing, his hat is falling, and this is +what he thinks he hears in the midst of all: "Down with him! Down with +the Tory!" It is "tyrant" that they cry, but he hears it as "tory," +and he knows full well how Governor Franklin of New Jersey and Mayor +Matthews of New York have just been sent off to Connecticut for safer +keeping, and he does not care to go into New England just now, so he +flies faster than ever, fully believing that the crowd pursues him, as +a Royalist. + +Just before him opens the Bowling Green. Into it he darts, hoping to +find covert, but there is none at hand. + +Right in the midst of the enclosure stands an equestrian statue of +King George the Third. + +It is high; it looks safe. Blue-Eyed Boy makes for it, utterly +ignorant of what it is. + +The crowd surges on. It is now at the gate. The young martyr makes a +spring at the leg and tail of the horse; he swings himself aloft, he +catches and clutches and climbs, and in the midst of ringing shouts of +"Down with him! Down with horse and king!" Blue-Eyed Boy gets over +King George and clings to the up-reared neck of the leaden horse; +thence he turns his wild-eyed face to the throng below. "Down with +him! He don't hear! He won't hear!" cry the populace. + +"I do hear!" in wild afright, shrieks Blue-Eyed Boy, "and I'm not a +Tory." + +Shut your eyes again, and see the picture as it stands there in the +waning light of the ninth of July, 1776. + +Four years ago, over the ocean, borne by loyal subjects to a loyal +colony, it came, this statue, that you shall see. It is a noble horse, +though made of lead, that stands there, poised on its hinder legs, its +neck in air. King George sits erect, the crown of Great Britain on his +head, a sword in his left hand, his right grasping the bridle-lines, +and over all, a sheen of gold, for horse and king were gilded. + +King George faces the bay, and looks vainly down. All his brave ships +and eight thousand Red Coats, yesterday landed on yonder island, +cannot save him now. Had he listened to the petitions of his children +it might have been, but he would not hear their just plaints, and now +his statue, standing so firm against storm, wind and time, trembles +before the sea of wrath surging at its base. + +"Come down, come down, you young rascal!" cries a strong voice to +Blue-Eyed Boy, but his hands grasped at either ear of the horse, and +he clings with all his strength to resist the pull of a dozen hands at +his feet. + +"Come down, you rogue, or we'll topple you over with his majesty, King +George," greets the lad's ears, and opens them to his situation. + +"King George!" cried Blue-Eyed Boy with a sudden sense of his +ridiculous fear and panic, and he yields to the stronger influence +exerted on his right leg, and so comes to earth with emotions of +relief and mortification curiously mingled in his young mind. + +To think that he had had the vanity to imagine the crowd pursued him, +and so has flown from his own friends to the statue of King George for +safety! + +"I won't tell," thinks the lad, "a word about this to anyone at home," +and then he falls to pushing the men who are pushing the statue, and +over it topples, horse and rider, down upon the sod of the little +United States, just five days old. + +How they hew it! How they hack it! How they saw at it with saw and +penknife! Blue-Eyed Boy himself cuts off the king's ear, that will not +hear the petitions of people or Congress, proudly pockets it, and +walks off, thankful because he carries his own on his head. + +Would you like to know what General Washington thought about the +overthrow of the statue in Bowling Green? + +We will turn to Phineas Porter's orderly-book, and copy from the +general orders for July 10, 1776, what he said to the soldiers about +it: + +"The General doubts not the persons who pulled down and mutilated the +statue in the Broad-way last night were actuated by zeal in the public +cause, yet it has so much the appearance of riot and want of order in +the army, that he disapproves the manner and directs that in future +such things shall be avoided by the soldiers, and be left to be +executed by proper authority." + +The same morning, the heavy ear of the king in his pocket, Blue-Eyed +Boy, once more on his pony, sets off to cross the ferry on his way to +Philadelphia. We leave him caught in the mazes of the Flying Camp +gathering at Amboy; whither by day and by night have been ferried over +from Staten Island, all the flocks of sheep and herds of cattle that +could be gotten away--lest the hungry men in red coats, coming up the +bay, seize upon and destroy them. + +Ah! what days, what days and nights too were those for the young +United States to pass through! + +To-day, we echo what somebody wrote somewhere, even then, amid all the +darkness--words we would gladly see on our banner's top-most fold: + +"The United States! Bounded by the ocean and backed by the forest. +Whom hath she to fear but her God?" + + + + +SLEET AND SNOW. + + +Fourth of July, 1776.--Troublous times, that day? Valentine Kull +thought so, as he stood in a barn-yard, with a portion of his mother's +clothes line tied as tightly as he dared to tie it around the neck of +a calf. He was waiting for the bars to be let down by his sister. Anna +Kull thought the times decidedly troublous, as she pulled and pushed +and lifted to get the bars down. + +"I can't do it, Valentine," she cried, her half-child face thrust +between the rails. + +"Try again!" + +She tried. Result as before. + +"Come over, then, and hold Snow." + +Anna went over, rending gown and apron on the roughnesses of rails and +haste. Never mind. She was over, and could, she thought, hold the +calf. + +Barn-yard, cow (I forgot to mention that there was a cow); calf, and +children, one and all, were on Staten Island in the Bay and Province +of New York. Beside these, there was a house. It was so small, so +queer, so old-fashioned, so Amsterdam Dutchy, that, for all that I +know to the contrary, Achter Kull may have built it as a play-house +for his children when first he came to America and took up his abode +by the Kill van Kull. The Kill van Kull is that curious little slice +of sea pinched in by a finger of New Jersey thrust hard against Staten +Island, as though trying its best to push the island off to sea. +However it may have been, there was the house, and from the very roof +of it arose a head, neck, two shoulders and one arm; the same being +the property of the mother of Valentine and Anna. The said mother was +keeping watch from the scuttle. + +"Be quick, my children," she cried. "The Continentals are now driving +off Abraham Rycker's cattle and the boat isn't full yet. They'll be +_here_ next." + +Anna seized the clothes line; Valentine made for the bars. Down they +came, the one after the other, and out over the lower one went calf, +Anna and cow. Valentine made a dive for Snow's leading string. He +missed it. Away went the calf, poor Anna clutching at the rope, into +green lane, through tall grass, tangle and thicket. She caught her +foot in her torn gown and was falling, when a sudden holding up of the +rope assisted by Valentine's clutch at her arm set her on her feet +again. During this slight respite from the chase, the cow (Sleet, by +name, because not quite so white as Snow) took a bite of grass and +wondered what all this unaccustomed fuss did mean. + +"Snow has pulled my arm out of joint," said Anna, holding fast to her +shoulder. + +"Never mind your arm, _now_," returned Valentine. "We must get to the +marsh. It's the only place. You get a switch, and if Sleet won't +follow Snow in, you drive her. I _wish_ the critters wasn't white; +they show up so; but Washington sha'n't have this calf and cow, +_anyhow_." + +From Newark Bay to Old Blazing Star Ferry stretched the marsh, deep, +dense, well-nigh impassable. Under the orders of General Washington, +supported by the approval of the Provincial Congress in session at +White Plains, the live stock was being driven from the island, and +ferried across Staten Island Sound to New Jersey. At the same moment +the grand fleet of armed ships from Halifax, England, and elsewhere, +was sailing in with General Howe on board and Red Coats enough to eat, +at a supper and a dinner, all the live stock on a five-by-seventeen +mile island. + +Now the Commander-in-chief of the Continental forces at New York did +not wish to afford the aid and comfort to the enemy of furnishing +horses to draw cannon, or fresh meat wherewith to satisfy the hunger +of British soldier and sailor. Oh no! On Manhattan Island were +braves--for freedom toiling day and night; building earthwork, redoubt +and battery with never a luxury from morning to morning, except the +luxury of fighting for Liberty. Soldiers from camp, light-horse and +militia from New Jersey, had gathered on the island, and had been at +work a day and a night when the news came to the Kull cottage that in +a few minutes its cow and calf would be called for. Hence the sudden +watch from the roof, and the escapade from the barn-yard. + +The Kull father, I regret to write, because it seems highly +unpatriotic, had gone forth to catch fish that day, hugging up the +thought close to his pocket of a heart, that the English fleet would +pay well for fresh fish. + +Now Sleet and Snow were treasures untold to Valentine and Anna Kull. +Anna's pocket-money, stored up to be spent once-a-year in New York, +came to her hands by the sale of butter to oystermen; and the calf, +Snow, was the exclusive property of her brother Valentine. No wonder +they were striving to save their possessions--ignorant, children as +they were, of every good which they could not see and feel. + +Cow and calf, or rather calf and cow, never before were given such a +race. Highways were ignored. There were not many beaten tracks at that +time on Staten Island. Daisied and clovered fields the calf was +dragged through; young corn and potato lots suffered alike by the +pressure of hoof and foot. Anna nearly forgot her out-of-joint arm +when the four reached the marsh. Its friendly-looking shelter was +hailed with delight. + +Said Valentine, tugging the tired calf, to Anna, switching forward the +anxious cow: "I should like to see the riflemen from Pennsylvania and +the _Yankeys_ from Doodle or Dandy either, chase Sleet and Snow +through _this_ marsh." + +"It's been _awful_ work though to get 'em here," said Anna, wiping her +face with a pink handkerchief suddenly detached for use from her +gown. + +In plunged the boy and up s-s-cissed a cloud of mosquitoes, humming at +the sound of the new-come feast; fresh flesh and blood from the +uplands was desirable. + +The grass was green, _very_ green--lovely, bright, _light_ green; the +July sun shone down untiringly; the tide rushing up from Raritan Bay +met the tide rolling over from Newark Bay, and the cool, sweet swash +of water snaked along the stout sedge, making it sway and bend as +though the wind were sweeping its tops. + +When within the queer infolding, boy, cow, and calf had disappeared, +Anna called: "I'll run now and keep watch and tell you when the +soldiers are gone." + +"No, _you won't_!" shrieked back her brother; "you'll stay _here_, and +help me, or the skeeters will kill the critters. Bring me the biggest +bush you can find, and fetch one for yourself." + +Anna always obeyed Valentine. It was a way she had. He liked it, and, +generally speaking, she didn't greatly dislike it, but her dress was +thinner than his coat, and the happy mosquitoes knew she was fairer +and sweeter than her Dutch brother, and didn't mind telling her so in +the most insinuating fashion possible. On this occasion, as she had in +so many other unlike instances, she acceded to his request; toiling +backward up the ascent and fetching thence an armful of the stoutest +boughs she could twist from branches. + +She neared the marsh on her return. All that she could discern was a +straw hat bobbing hither and thither; the horns of a cow tossing to +and fro; the tail of a cow lashing the air. + +A voice she heard, shouting forth in impatient bursts of sound, "Anna, +Anna Kull!" + +"_Here!_ I'm coming," she responded. + +"Hurry up! I'm eaten alive. Snow's crazy and Sleet's a lunatic," +shouted her brother, jerking the words forth between the vain dives +his hand made into the cloud of wings in the air. + +"Sakes alive!" said poor Anna, toiling from sedge bog to sedge bog +with her burden of "bushes" and striving to hide her face from the +mosquitoes as she went. + +It was nearly noon-day then, and the Fourth of July too, but neither +Valentine nor Anna thought of the day of the month. Why should they? +The Nation wasn't born yet whose hundredth birthday we keep this +year. + +The solemn assembly of earnest men--debating the to be or not to be of +the United States--was over there at work in Congress Hall in the old +State House. They were heated with sun and brick and argument; a +hundred and ten British ships of war were anchoring and at anchor over +on the ocean side of Staten Island. Up the bay, seven or eight +thousand troops in "ragged regimentals" were working to make ready for +battle; but not one of them all suffered more from sun and toil and +anxiety and greed of blood than did the lad and the lass in the +marsh. + +They fought it out, with many a sting and smart, another hour, and +then declaring that "cow or no cow they couldn't stay another minute," +they strove to work their way out of the beautiful green of the +sedge. + +On the meadow-land stood their mother. She had brought dinner for her +hungry children,--moreover, she had brought news. + +The Yankee troops--the Jersey militia--had gone, but the British +soldiers had arrived and demanded beef--beef raw, beef roasted, beef +in any form. + +The tears that the fiercest mosquito had failed to extort from Anna +came now. "I wish I'd let her go," she cried, fondly stroking Sleet. +"At least she wouldn't have been killed, and we'd had her again +sometime, maybe; but now--I say, Valentine, are _you_ going to give up +Snow?" + +"No, I _ain't_," stoutly persisted the lad, slapping with his broad +palm the panting side of the calf, where mosquitoes still clung. + +"But, my poor children," said Mother Kull, "you will _have_ to. It +_can't_ be helped. If we refuse them, don't you know, they will burn +our house down." + +"_If they do, I'll kill them!_" The words shot out from the gunpowdery +temper of Anna Kull. Poor innocent girl of thirteen! She never in her +life had seen an act of cruelty greater than the taking of a fish or +the death of a chicken; but the impotent impulse of revenge arose +within her at the bare idea of having her pet, her pretty Sleet, taken +from her and eaten by soldiers. + +"You'd better keep still, Anna Kull," said Valentine. "Mother, don't +you think we might hide the animals somewhere?" + +"Where?" echoed the poor woman, looking up and looking down. + +Truly there seemed to be no place. Already six thousand British +soldiers had landed and taken possession of the island. Hills and +forests were not high enough nor deep enough; and now the very marsh +had cast them out by its army of winged stingers--more dreadful than +human foe. + +"I just wish," ejaculated the poor sunburned, mosquito-tortured, +hungry girl, who stood between marsh and meadow,--"I _wish_ I had 'em +every one tied hand and foot and dumped into the sedge where we've +been. Mother, I wouldn't use Sleet's milk to-night, not a drop of +it,--it's crazy milk, I know: she's been tortured so. Poor cow! poor +creature! poor, dear, nice, honest Sleet!" And Anna patted the cow +with loving stroke and laid her head on its neck. + +"Well, children, eat something, and then we'll all go home together,--if +they haven't carried off our cot already," said the mother. + +They sat down under a tree and ate with the eager, wholesome appetite +of children. Mrs. Kull kept watch that the cow did not wander far +from the place. + +As they were eating, Valentine said to Anna, nodding his head in the +direction of his mother: "I've thought of something. We must manage to +send _her_ home without us." + +"_I've_ thought of something," responded Anna. "Yes, we _must_ +manage." + +"I should like to know _what_ you could think of, sister." + +"Should you? Why, think of saving the cow and calf, of course; though, +if you're _very_ particular, you can leave the calf here." + +"And what will you do with the cow?" + +"Put her in the boat--" + +"Whew!" interrupted Valentine. + +"And ferry her over the sound," continued Anna. + +"Who?" + +"You and me." + +"Do you think we could?" + +"We can try." + +"That's brave! How's your arm?" + +"All right! I jerked it back, slapping mosquitoes." + +"Give us another hunkey piece of bread and butter. Honey's good +to-day. I wonder mother thought about it." + +"I s'pose," said Anna, "she'd as leave we had it as soldiers. Wouldn't +it be jolly if we could make 'em steal the bees?" + +The wind blew east. Up came martial sounds mingled with the break and +the roar of the ocean. + +"Oh, dear! They're a coming," gasped Mrs. Kull, running to the spot. +"They're coming, and your father is not here." + +"Hide, hide, my children! Never mind the cow now," she almost +shrieked; her mind was running wild with all the scenes of terror she +had ever heard of. + +"Pshaw! pshaw! Mother Kull," said her boy, assuringly. "They won't +come down here. Somebody's guiding them around who knows just where +every house is. You and Anna get into that thicket yonder and keep, +whatever happens, as still as mice." + +"What'll _you_ do, bub?" questioned Anna, her sunburned face +brown-pale with affright. + +"Oh, I'll take care of myself. Boys always do." + +As soon as Mrs. Kull and her daughter were well concealed in the +thicket, the sounds began to die away. They waited half an hour. All +was still. They crept out, gazing the country over. No soldier in +sight. Down in the marsh again were boy and cow. + +"I'll run home now," said Mrs. Kull. "I dare say 'twas all a trick of +my ears." + +"But I heard it, too, Mother Kull." + +"Your ears serve you tricks, too, Anna. You wait and help Valentine +home with the animals." + +Anna was glad to have her mother gone. She sped to the marsh. She +threaded it, until by sundry signs she found the trio and summoned +them forth. + +The old Blazing Star Ferry was seldom used. A boat lay there. It was +staunch. The tide with them, they _might_ get it across. Had they been +older, wiser, they would never have made the attempt. + +A fresh water stream ran down to the sea. They passed it on their way +thither. In it Sleet drank deep, and soothed for a moment the bites +that tormented her; the children kneeled on the grassy bank, and drank +from their palms; the calf frolicked in it, till driven out. An hour +went by. They reached the ferry. It was deserted. Somebody had used +the boat that day. It was at the shore. Grass was yet in it. + +"Come along, Snow," said Valentine, urging with the rope. "Go along, +Snow," said Anna, helping it on with a stout twig she had picked up. +The calf pranced and ran, and before it knew its whereabouts was in +the broad-bottomed boat. Sleet stood on the shore, and saw her baby +tied fast. One poor cry the calf uttered. It went home to the motherly +heart of the dumb creature. She went down the sand, over the side, and +began, in her own way, to comfort Snow. + +"Now we are all right!" cried Valentine, delighted with the success of +his ruse; for he had slyly, lest Anna should see the deed, thrust a +pin in Snow to call forth the cry and win the cow over to his side. + +"Take an oar quick!" commanded the young captain. + +His mate obeyed. They pushed the boat out, unfastened it from the +pier. Before anybody concerned had time to realize the situation the +boat was adrift, and they were whirling in the tide. + +"Now, sis," said Valentine, a big lump in his throat, "we're in for +it. It is sink or swim. It's not much use to row. You steer and I'll +paddle." + +Sleet looked wildly around. She tossed her head, sniffed the salt, +oystery air, and seemed about to plunge overboard. + +Anna screamed. Valentine threw down his paddle and dashed himself on +the boat's outermost edge just in time to save it from overturning. +Mistress Sleet, disgusted with Fourth of July, had made up her mind to +lie down and take a nap. The boat righted and they were safe. Staten +Island Sound at this point was narrow, scarcely more than a quarter of +a mile in width, and the tide was fast bearing them out. + +"Such uncommon good sense in Sleet," exclaimed the boy. "_That_ cow is +worth saving." + +At that moment a dozen Red Coats were at the ferry they had just left. +The imperious gentlemen were in a fine frenzy at finding the boat +gone. + +They shouted to the children to return. + +"Steady, steady now," cried the young captain. His mate was steady at +the helm until a musket ball or two ran past them. + +"Let go!" shouted the captain. "Swing your bonnet. Let them know +you're a woman and they won't fire on _you_." + +The little mate stood erect. She waved her pink flag of a sun-bonnet. +Distinctly the soldiers saw the pink frock of Anna Kull; they saw her +long hair as the sea breeze lifted it when she shook her pink banner. + +A second, two, three went by as the girl stood there, and then a flash +was seen on the bank, a musket-ball ran through the bonnet of the +little mate, and the waves of air rattled along the shore. + +The bonnet was in the sea; Anna had dropped to her seat and caught the +helm in her left hand. + +"Cowards!" cried Valentine, for want of a stronger word, and then he +fell to working the boat on its way. The tide helped them now; it +swung the boat over toward the Jersey shore. + +The firing from Staten Island called out the inhabitants on the Jersey +coast. They watched the approaching boat with interest. Everything +depended now on the cow's lying still, on the boy's strength, on the +meeting of the tides. If he could reach there before the tide came up +all would be well; otherwise it would sweep him off again toward the +island. + +"Can't you row?" asked Valentine, at length. + +"Bub, I can't," said Anna, her voice shaking out the words. It was the +first time she had spoken since she sat down. + +"Are you hurt?" he questioned. + +"I tremble so," she answered, and turned her face away. + +"I reckon we'd better help that boy in," said a Jersey fisherman as he +watched, and he put off in a small boat. + +"Don't come near! Keep off! keep off!" called Valentine, as he saw him +approach. "I've a cow in here." + +The fisherman threw him a rope, and that rope saved them. The dewy +smell of the grassy banks had aroused the cow. She was stirring. + +The land was very near now; close at hand. "Hurry! hurry!" urged the +lad, as they were drawing him in. Before the cow had time to rise, the +boat touched land. + +"You'd better look after that girl," said the fisherman, who had towed +the boat. The poor child was holding, fast wrapped in the remnants of +her pink frock, her bleeding hand. The musket ball that shot away her +bonnet grazed her wrist. + +"Never mind me," she said, when they were pitying her. "The cow is +safe." + +The same evening, while, in Philadelphia, bonfires were blazing, bells +ringing, cannon booming, because, that day, a new nation was born; +over Staten Island Sound, by the light of the moon, strong-armed men +were ferrying home the girl and the boy, who that day _had_ fought a +good fight and gained the victory. + +At home, in the Kull cottage, the mother waited long for the +coming of the children. She said; "Poor young things! _Mine own +children_--they _shall_ have a nice supper." She made it ready and +they were not come. + +Farmer Rycker's wife and daughter came over to tell and hear the news, +and yet they were not come. + +Sundown. No children. The Kull father came up from his fishing and +heard the story. + +"The Red Coats have taken them," he said, and down came the +musket from against the wall, and out the father marched and made +straightway for the headquarters of General Howe, over at the +present "Quarantine." + +Then the mother, left alone in the soft summer gloaming, fell on her +knees and told her story in her own plain speech to her good Father in +Heaven. + +It was a long story. She had much to say to Heaven that night. The +mothers and wives of 1776 in our land spake often unto God. This +mother listened and prayed, and prayed and listened. + +The fishermen had left Valentine and Anna on the shore and gone home. +Tired, but happy, the brother and sister went up, over sand and field +and slope, and so came at length within sight of the trees that +towered near home. + +"Whistle now!" whispered Anna, afraid yet to speak aloud. "Mother will +hear and answer." + +Valentine whistled. + +Up jumped the mother Kull. She ran to the door and tried to answer. +There was no whistle in her lips. Joy choked it. + +"Mother, are you _there_?" cried the children. + +"No! I'm _here_," was the answer, and she had them safe in her arms. + + + + +PATTY RUTTER: THE QUAKER DOLL WHO SLEPT IN INDEPENDENCE HALL. + + +Patty Rutter had fallen asleep with her bonnet on, and had been lying +there, fast asleep, nobody knew just how long; for, somehow--it +happened so--there was nobody in particular to awaken her; that is to +say, no one had seemed to care though she slept on all day and all +night, without ever waking up at all. + +But then, there never had been another life quite like Patty Rutter's +life. In the first place, it had a curious reason for beginning at +all; and nearly everything about it had been as unlike your life and +mine as possible. + +In her very baby days, before she walked or talked, she had been sent +away to live with strangers, and no real, warm kiss of true love had +ever fallen on her little lips. + +It all came about in this way: Mrs. Sarah Rutter, a lady living in +Philadelphia--exactly what relation she bore to Patty it is a little +difficult to determine--decided to send the little one to live with a +certain Mrs. Adams, at Quincy, in Massachusetts, and she particularly +desired that the child should go dressed in a style fitting an +inhabitant of the proud city of Philadelphia. + +Now, at that time Philadelphia was very much elated because of several +things that had happened to her; but the biggest pride of all was, +that once upon a time the Continental Congress had met there, and--and +most wonderful thing--had made a Nation! + +Well, to be sure, that _was_ something to be proud of; though Patty +didn't understand, a bit more than you do, what it meant. However, the +glory of it all was talked about so much that she couldn't help +knowing that, when this nation, with its fifty-six Fathers, and +thirteen Mothers, was born one day in July, 1776, at Philadelphia, all +the city rang with a sweet jangle, and called to all the people, +through the tongue of its Liberty bell, to come up and greet the +newcomer with a great shout of welcome. + +But that had been long ago, before Mrs. Sarah Rutter was grown up, or +Patty Rutter began to be dressed for her trip to Quincy. + +As I wrote, Mrs. Rutter wished that Patty should go attired in a +manner to do honor to the city of Philadelphia; therefore she was not +permitted to depart in her baby clothes, but her little figure was +arrayed in a long, prim gown of soft drab silk, while a kerchief of +purest mull was crossed upon her breast; and, depending from her +waist, like the fashion of to-day, were pincushion and watch. Upon her +youthful head was a bonnet, crowned and trimmed in true Quaker +fashion; and her infantile feet were securely tied within shapely +slippers of kid. Thus equipped, Miss Patty was sent forth upon her +journey. + +Ah! that journey began a long time ago--fifty-eight, yes, fifty-nine +years have gone by, and Patty Rutter is quite an aged little lady now, +as she lies asleep, with her bonnet on. + +"It is time," says somebody, "to close." + +No one seems to take notice that Patty Rutter does not get up and +depart with the rest of the visitors, that she only stirs her eyelids +and turns her head on the silken "quilt" where she is lying. + +The little woman who keeps house in the Hall locks it up and goes +away, and there is little Patty Rutter shut in for the night. As the +key turns in the old-time lock, the Lady Rutter winks hard and sits +up. + +"Well, I've been patient, anyhow, and Mrs. Samuel Adams herself +couldn't wish me to do more," she said, with a comforting yawn +and a delightful stretch, and then she began to stare in blank +bewilderment. + +"I _should_ like to know what this all means," she whispered, "and +_where_ I am. I've heard enough to-day to turn my head. How very queer +folks are, and they talk such jargon now-a-days. Centennial and +Corliss Engine; Woman's Pavilion and Memorial Hall; Main Building and +the Trois Freres; Hydraulic Annex, railroads and what-nots. + +"_I_ never heard of such things. I don't think it is proper to speak +of them, or the Adamses would have told me. No more intelligent folks +in the land than the Adamses, and I guess _they_ know what belongs to +good society and polite conversation. I declare I blushed so in my +sleep that I was quite ashamed. I'll get up and look about now. I'm +sure this isn't any one of the houses where we visit, or folks +wouldn't talk so." + +Patty Rutter straightened her bonnet on her head, smoothed down her +robe of silken drab, adjusted her kerchief, looked at her watch to +learn how long she had been sleeping, and found, to her surprise, that +it had run down. Right over her head hung two watches. + +"Why, how thoughtful folks are in this house," she exclaimed in a +timid voice, reaching up and taking one of the two time-pieces in her +hand. "Why, here's a name; let me see." + +Reading slowly, she announced that the watch belonged to "Wil-liam +Wil-liams--worn when he signed the Declaration of Independence." "Ah!" +she cried, with pathetic tone, "this watch is run down _too_, at four +minutes after five. I remember! _This_ William Williams was one of the +fifty-six Fathers. I guess I must be in Lebanon--he lived there and +his folks would have his watch of course. Here's another," taking down +a watch and reading, "Colonel John Trumbull. _Run down, too!_ and at +twenty-three minutes after six. _He_ was the son of Brother Jonathan, +Governor of one of the Mothers, when the Nation was born. Yes, yes, I +must be in Lebanon. Well, it's a comfort, at least, to know that I'm +in company the Adamses would approve of, though _how_ I came here is a +mystery." + +She hung the watches in place, stepped out of the glass room, in which +she had slept, into a hall, and with a slight exclamation of delicious +approval, stopped short before a number of chairs, and clasped her +little fingers tightly together. + +You must remember that Patty Rutter was a Friend, a Quaker, perhaps a +descendant of William Penn, but then, in her baby days, having been +transplanted to the rugged soil and outspoken ways of Massachusetts, +she could not keep silence altogether, in view of that which greeted +her vision. + +She was in the very midst of old friends. Chairs in which she had sat +in her young days stood about the grand hall. On the walls hung +portraits of the ancestor kings of the nation born at Philadelphia in +1776. + +In royal robes and with careless grace, lounged King George III., the +nation's grandfather, angry no longer at his thirteen daughters who +strayed from home with the Sons of Liberty. + +Her feet made haste and her eyes opened wider, as her swift hands +seized relic after relic. She sat in chairs that Washington had rested +in; she caught up camp-kettles used on every field where warriors of +the Revolution had tarried; she patted softly La Fayette's camp +bedstead; and wondered at the taste that had put into the hall two +old, time-worn, battered doors, but soon found out that they had gone +through all the storm of balls that fell upon the Chew House during +the battle of Germantown. + +She read the wonderful prayer that once was prayed in Carpenter's +Hall, and about which every member of Congress wrote home to his +wife. + +On a small "stand," encased in glass, she came upon a portrait of +Washington, painted during the time he waited for powder at Cambridge. +Patty Rutter had seen it often, with its halo of the General's own +hair about it. She turned from it, and beheld (why, yes, surely she +_had_ seen _that_, but not here; it was, why long ago, in her baby +days in Philadelphia, that Mrs. Rutter had taken her up into a tower +to see it), a bell--Liberty Bell, that rang above the heads of the +Fathers when the Nation was born. + +Poor little Patty began to cry. Where could she be? She reached out +her hand, and climbed the huge beams that encased the bell, and tried +to touch the tongue. She wanted to hear it ring again, but could not +reach it. + +"It's curious, curious," she sobbed, wiping her eyes and turning them +with a thrill of delight upon a beloved name that greeted her vision. +It was growing dark, and she _might_ be wrong. But no, it was the +dear name of Adams; and she saw, in a basket, a little pile of baby +raiment. There were dainty caps and tiny shirts of cambric, whose +linen was like a gossamer web, and whose delicate lines of hem-stitch +were scarcely discernible; there were small dresses, yellow with the +sun color that time had poured over them, and they hung with pathetic +crease and tender fold over the sides of the basket. + +The little woman paused and peered to read these words, "Baby-clothes, +made by Mrs. John Adams for her son, John Quincy Adams." + +"Little John Quincy!" she cried, "A baby so long ago!" She took the +little caps in her hands, she pulled out the crumpled lace that edged +them. She said, through the swift-falling tears: + +"Oh, I remember when he was brought home _dead_, and how, in the +Independence Hall of the State House at Philadelphia, he lay in state, +that the inhabitants who knew his deeds, and those of his father, +John, and his uncle, Samuel, might see his face. I love the Adamses +every one," and she softly pressed the baby-caps that had been wrought +by a mother, ere the country began, to her small Quaker lips, with +real New England fervor for its very own. Tenderly she laid them down, +to see, while the light was fading, a huge picture on the wall. She +studied it long, trying to discern the faces, with their savage +beauty; the sturdy right-doing men who stood before them; and then +her eyes began to glisten, and gather light from the picture; her lips +parted, her breath quickened; for Patty Rutter had gone beyond her +life associations in Massachusetts, back to the times in which her +Quaker ancestors had make treaty with the native Indians. + +"It is!" she cried with a shout; "It is Penn's treaty!" Patty gazed at +it until she could see no longer. "I'm glad it is the last thing my +eyes will remember," she said sorrowfully, when in the gloom she +turned away, went down the hall, and entered her glass chamber. + +"Never mind my watch," she said softly. "When I waken it will be +daylight, and I need not wind it. It will be so sweet to lie here +through the night in such grand and goodly company. I only wish Mrs. +Samuel Adams could come and kiss me good night." + +With these words, Patty Rutter laid herself to rest upon the silken +quilt from Gardiner's Island; and if you look within the Relic Room, +opposite to Independence Hall, in the old State House at Philadelphia, +in this Centennial summer, you will find her there, still taking her +long nap, _fully indorsed by Miss Adams_, and in Independence Hall, +across the passage way, you will see the portraits of more than fifty +of the Fathers of the nation, but the Mothers abide at home. + + + + +BECCA BLACKSTONE'S TURKEYS AT VALLEY FORGE. + + +Turkeys, little girl and apple-tree lived in Pennsylvania, a hundred +years ago. The turkeys--eleven of them--went to bed in the apple-tree, +one night in December. + +After it was dark, the little girl stood under the tree and peered up +through the boughs and began to count. She numbered them from one up +to eleven. Addressing the turkeys, she said: "You're all up there, I +see, and if you only knew enough; if you weren't the dear, old, wise, +stupid things that you are, I'll tell you what you would do. After I'm +gone in the house, and the door is shut, and nobody here to see, you'd +get right down, and you'd fly off in a hurry to the deepest part of +the wood to spent your Thanksgiving, you would. The cold of the woods +isn't half as bad for you as the fire of the oven will be." + +Becca finished her speech; the turkeys rustled in their feathers and +doubtless wondered what it all meant, while she stood thinking. One +poor fellow lost his balance and came fluttering down to the ground, +just as she had decided what to do. As soon as he was safely reset on +his perch, Becca made a second little speech to her audience, in +which she declared that "they, the dear turkeys, were her own; that +she had a right to do with them just as she pleased, and that it was +her good pleasure that not one single one of the eleven should make a +part of anybody's Thanksgiving dinner." + +"Heigh-ho," whistles Jack, Becca's ten-year-old brother: "that you, +Bec? High time you were in the house." + +"S'pose I frightened you," said Becca. "Where have you been gone all +the afternoon, I'd like to know? stealin' home too, across lots." + +"I'll tell, if you won't let on a mite." + +"Do I ever, Jack?" reproachfully. + +He did not deign to answer, but in confidential whispers breathed it +into her ears that "he had been down to the Forge. Down to the Valley +Forge, where General Washington was going to fetch down lots and lots +of soldiers, and build log huts, and stay all Winter." He ended his +breathless narration with an allusion that made Becca jump as though +she had seen a snake. He said: "It will be bad for your turkeys." + +"Why, Jack? General Washington won't steal them." + +"Soldiers eat turkey whenever they can get it; and, Bec, this +apple-tree isn't above three miles from the Forge. You'd better have +'em all killed for Thanksgiving. Come, I'm hungry as a bear." + +"But," said Becca, grasping his jacket sleeve as they went, "I've just +promised 'em that they shall not be touched." + +Jack's laugh set every turkey into motion, until the tree was all in a +flutter of excitement. He laughed again and again, before he could say +"What a little goose you are! Just as if turkeys understood a word you +said." + +"But I understood if they didn't, and I should be telling my own self +a lie. No, not a turkey shall die. They shall all have a real good +Thanksgiving once in their lives." + +Two days later, on the 18th of December, Thanksgiving Day came, the +turkeys were yet alive, and Becca Blackstone was happy. + +The next day General Washington's eleven thousand men marched into +Valley Forge, and went out upon the cold, bleak hillsides, carrying +with them almost three thousand poor fellows, too ill to march, too +ill to build log huts, ill enough to lie down and die. Such a busy +time as there was for days and days. Farmer Blackstone felt a little +toryish in his thoughts, but the chance to sell logs and split slabs +so near home as Valley Forge was not likely to happen again, and he +worked away with strong good will to furnish building material. Jack +went every day to the encampment, and grew quite learned in the ways +of warlike men. + +Becca staid at home with her mother, but secretly wished to see what +the great army looked like. + +At last the final load of chestnut and walnut and oaken logs went up +to the hills from Mr. Blackstone's farm, and a great white snow fell +down over all Pennsylvania, covering the mountains and hills, the +soldiers' log huts, and the turkeys in the apple-tree. January came +and went, and every day affairs at the camp grew worse. Men were dying +of hunger and cold and disease. Stories of the sufferings of the men +grew strangely familiar to the inhabitants. Affairs that Winter would +not have been quite so hard at Valley Forge if the neighbors for miles +around had not been Tories. Now Becca Blackstone's mother was a New +England women, and in secret she bestowed many a comfort upon one +after another of her countrymen at the encampment. Her husband was +willing to sell logs and slabs and clay from his pits, but not a +farthing or a splinter of wood had he to bestow on the rebels. + +At last, one January day, when Mr. Blackstone had gone to Philadelphia, +permission was given to Becca to accompany her mother and Jack to the +village. Into the rear of the sleigh a big basket was packed. Becca +was told that she must not ask any questions nor peep, so she +neither questioned nor looked in, but found out, after all, for when +they were come to the camp, she saw her mother take out loaves of rye +bread and a jug, into which she knew nothing but milk ever was put, and +carry them into a hut which had the sign of a hospital over it. Every +third cabin was a hospital, and each and every one held within it +men that were always hungry and in suffering. + +In all her life Becca had never seen so much to make her feel +sorry, as she saw when she followed her mother to the door of the +log-hospital, into which she was forbidden to enter. + +There large-eyed, hungry men lay on the cold ground, with only poor, +wretched blankets to cover them. She caught a glimpse of a youth--he +did not seem much older than her own Jack--with light, fair hair, such +big blue eyes, and the thinnest, whitest hands, reaching up for the +mug of milk her mother was offering to him. + +Then, when Jack came to her, he was wiping his eyes on his jacket +sleeve. He said "If I was a soldier, and my country didn't care any +more for me than Congress does, I'd go home and leave the Red Coats to +carry off Congress. It's too bad, and he's a jolly good fellow. Wish +we could take him home and get him well." + +"Who is he, Jack?" + +"O, a soldier-boy from one of the New England colonies. He's got a +brother with him--that's good." + +The drive home, over the crisp snow, was a very silent one. More than +one tear froze on Mrs. Blackstone's cheek, as she remembered the +misery her eyes had beheld, and her hands could do so little to +lighten. + +The next day Mr. Blackstone reached home from Philadelphia. He had +seen the Britons in all the glory and pomp of plenty and red +regimentals in a prosperous city. He returned a confirmed Tory, and +wished--never mind what he did wish, since his unkind wish never came +to pass--but this is that which he did, he forbade Mrs. Blackstone +to give anything that belonged to him to a soldier of General +Washington's army. + +"What will you do now, mamma, with all the stockings and mittens you +are knitting?" questioned Becca. + +"Don't ask me, child," was the tearful answer that mother made, for +her whole heart was with her countrymen in their brave struggle. + +Three nights after that time Mr. Blackstone entered his house, +saying: + +"I caught a ragged, bare-footed tatterdemalion hanging around, and I +warned him off; told him he'd better go home, if he'd got one +anywhere, and if not to join the army, of his king at Philadelphia." + +"What did he say, pa?" asked Jack. + +"O some tomfoolery or other about the man having nothing to eat but +hay for two days, and his brother dying over at the Forge. I didn't +stop to listen to the fellow, but sent him flying." + +Jack touched his mother's toe in passing, and gave Becca a mysterious +nod of the head, as much as to say: + +"He's the soldier from our hospital over there," but nobody made +answer to Mr. Blackstone. + +Becca's eyes filled with tears as she sat down at the tea-table, and +sturdy Jack staid away until the last minute, taking all the time he +could at washing his hands, that he might get as many looks as +possible through the window in the hope that the bare-footed soldier +might be lingering about, but he gained no glimpse of him. + +Farmer Blackstone had the rheumatism sometimes, and that night he had +it worse than ever, so that an hour after tea-time he was quite ready +to go to bed, and his wife was quite ready to have him go, also to +give him the soothing, quieting remedies he called for. + +Becca was to sit up that night until eight-of-the-clock, if she made +no noise to disturb her father. + +While her mother was busied in getting her father comfortable, she +thought, as it was such bright moonlight, she would go out to give her +turkeys a count, it having been two or three nights since she had +counted them. + +Slipping a shawl of her mother's over her head, she opened softly the +kitchen door to steal out. The lowest possible whistle from Jack +accosted her at the house corner. That lad intercepted her course, +drew her back into the shadow, and bade her "Look!" + +She looked across the snow, over the garden wall, into the orchard, +and there, beneath her apple-tree, stood something between a man and a +scarecrow, and it appeared to be looking up at the sleeping turkeys. +Both arms were uplifted. + +"O dear! what shall we do?" whispered Becca, all in a shiver of cold +and excitement. + +"Let's go and speak to him. Maybe it is our hospital man," said Jack, +with a great appearance of courage. + +The two children started, hand in hand, and approached the soldier so +quietly that he did not hear the sound of their coming. + +As they went, Becca squeezed her brother's fingers and pointing to the +snow over which they walked, whispered the word "Blood!" + +"From his feet," responded Jack, shutting his teeth tightly together. + +Yes, there it lay in bright drops on the glistening snow, showing +where the feet of the patriot had trod. The children stood still when +they were come near to the tree. At the instant their mother appeared +in the kitchen doorway and called "Jack!" + +The ragged soldier of the United American States lost his courage at +the instant and began to retire in confusion; but Becca summoned him +to "Wait a minute!" He waited. + +"Did you want one of my turkeys?" she asked. + +"I was going to _steal_ one, to save my brother's life," he answered. + +"Is he only a boy, and has he light hair and blue eyes, and does he +lie on the wet ground?" + +"That's Joseph," he groaned. + +"Then take a good, big, fat turkey--that one there, if you can get +him," said Becca. "They are all mine." + +The turkey was quietly secured. + +"Now take one for yourself," said Becca. + +Number two came down from the perch. + +"How many men are there in your hospital?" asked Jack, who had +responded to his mother's summons, and was holding a pair of warm +stockings in his hand. + +"Twelve." + +"Give him another, Bec--there's a good girl; three turkeys ain't a +bone too many for twelve hungry men," prompted Jack. + +"Take three!" said Becca. "My pa never counts my turkeys." + +The third turkey joined his fellows. + +"Better put these stockings on before you start, or father will track +you to the camp," said Jack. "And pa told ma never to give you +anything of his any more." + +Never was weighty burden more cheerfully borne than the bag Jack +helped to hoist over the soldier's shoulder as soon as the stockings +had been drawn over the bleeding feet. + +"Now I'm going. Thank you, and good night. If you, little girl, would +give me a kiss, I'd take it--as from my little Bessy in Connecticut." + +"That's for Bessy in Connecticut," said the little girl, giving him +one kiss, "and now I'll give you one for Becca in Pennsylvania. Hurry +home and roast the turkeys quick." + +They watched him go over the hill. + +"Jack," said Becca, "if I'd told a lie to the turkeys where would they +have been to-night, and Joseph? There are eight more. I wish I'd told +him to come again. Pa's rheumatism came just right to-night, didn't +it?" + +"I reckon next year you won't have all the turkeys to give away to the +soldiers," said Jack, adding quite loftily, "I shall go to raising +turkeys in the Spring myself, and when Winter comes we shall see." + +"Now, Jacky," said Becca, half-crying, "there are eight left, and you +take half." + +"No, I won't," rejoined Jack. "I'd just like to walk over to Valley +Forge and see the soldiers enjoy turkey. Won't they have a feast! I +shouldn't wonder if they'd eat one raw." + +"O, Jack!" + +"Soldiers do eat dreadful things sometimes," he assured her with a +lofty air. And then they went into the house, and the door was shut. + +The next year there was not a soldier left above the sod at Valley +Forge. + +Now the soldiers are gone, the camp is not, the little girl has passed +away, the apple-tree is dead, and only the hills at Valley Forge are +left to tell the story, bitter with suffering, eloquent with praise, +of the men who had a hundred years ago toiled for Freedom there, and +are gone home to God. + + + + +HOW TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS SAVED FORT SAFETY. + + +"A story, children; so soon after Christmas, too! Let me think, what +shall it be?" + +"O yes, mamma," uttered three children in chorus. + +Mrs. Livingston sat looking into the fire that flamed on the broad +hearth so long, that Carl said, by way of reminder that time was +passing: "An uncommon story." + +Then up spoke Bessie: "Mamma, something, please, out of the real old +time before much of anybody 'round here was born." + +"As long off as the Indians," assisted young Dot. + +"Ah yes; that will do, children. I will tell you a story that happened +in this very house almost a hundred years ago. It was told to me by my +grandmother when she was very old." + +There was a grand old lady, Mrs. Livingston, at the head of this house +then. She loved her country very much indeed, and was willing to do +anything she could to help it, in the time of great trouble, during +the war for independence. My grandmother was a little girl, not so +old as you, Bessie. Her name was Lorinda Grey, and her home was in +Boston. The year before, when British soldiers kept close watch to see +that nothing to eat, or wear, or burn, was carried into Boston, Mr. +Grey contrived to get his family out of the city, and Lorinda, with +her brother Otis, was sent here. Afterward, when Boston was free +again, the two children were left because the father was too busy to +make the long journey after them. + +Altogether, more than a dozen children belonging in some way to the +Livingstons had been sent to the old house. The family friends and +relatives gave the place the name "Fort Safety," because it lay far +away from the enemy's ships, and quite out of the line where the +soldiers of either army marched or camped. + +The year had been very full of sorrow and care and trouble and hard +work; but when the time for Christmas drew near, this grand old Mrs. +Livingston said it should be the happiest Christmas that the old house +had ever known. She would make the children happy once, whatever might +come afterward, and so she set about it quite early in the fall. One +day the children (there were more than a dozen of them in the house at +the time) found out that the great room at the end of the hall was +locked. They asked Mrs. Livingston many times when it meant, and at +last she told them that one night after they were in bed and asleep, +Santa Claus appeared at her door and asked if he might occupy that +room until the night before Christmas. She told him he might, and he +had locked the door himself, and said "if any child so much as looked +through a crack in the door that child would find nothing but chestnut +burs in his stocking." Well, the children knew that Santa Claus meant +what he said, always, so they used to run past the door every day as +fast as they could go and keep their eyes the other way, lest +something should be seen that ought not to. Before the day came every +wide chimney in the house was swept bright and clean for Santa Claus. + +Aunt Elise, a sweet young lady, lived here then. She was old Mrs. +Livingston's daughter, and she told the children that she had seen +Santa Claus with her own eyes when he locked the door, and he said +that every room must be made as fine as fine could be. + +After that Tom and Richard and Will and Philip worked away as hard as +they could. They gathered bushels and bushels of ivy, and a mile or +two of ground-pine, and eight or ten pecks of bitter-sweet, and stored +them all in the corn granary, and waited for the day. Then, when Aunt +Elise set to work to adorn the house, she had twenty-four willing +hands to help, beside her own two. + +When all was made ready, and it was getting near to night in the +afternoon before Christmas, Mrs. Livingston sent a messenger for +three men from the farm. When they were come, she called in three +African servants, and she said to the six men, "Saddle horses and ride +away, each one of you in a different direction, and go to every house +within five miles of here, and ask: 'Are any children in this +habitation?' Then say that you are sent to fetch the children's +stockings, that Santa Claus wants them, and take special care to bring +me _two_ stockings from each child, whose father or brother is away +fighting for his country." + +So the six men set forth on their queer errand, after stockings, and +they rode up hill and down, and to the great river's bank, and +wherever the message was given at a house door, if a child was within +hearing, off flew a stocking, and sometimes two, as the case might be +about father and brother. + +Now, in a deep little dell, about five miles away, there was a small, +old brown house, and in it lived Mixie Brownson with her mother and +brother, but this night Mixie was all alone. When one of the six +horsemen rode up to the door, and without getting down from his horse, +thumped away on it with his riding-whip handle, Mixie thought, "Like +as not it is an Indian," but she straightway lifted the wooden latch +and opened the door. + +"There's one child here, I see," said the black man. "Any more?" + +"I'm all alone," trembled forth poor Mixie. + +"More's the pity," said the man. "I want one of your stockings; two of +'em, if you're a soldier's little girl. I'm taking stockings to Santa +Claus." + +"O take both mine, then, please," said Mixie with delight, and she +drew off two warm woolen stockings and made them into a little bundle, +which he thrust into a bag, and off he rode. Mixie's father was a +Royalist, fighting with the Indians for the British, but then Mrs. +Livingston knew nothing about that. + +It was nearly midnight when the stockings reached Fort Safety. It was +in this very room that Mrs. Livingston and Aunt Elise received them. +Some were sweet and clean, and some were not; some were new and some +were old. So they looked them over, and made two little piles, the one +to be filled, the other to be washed. + +About this time Santa Claus came down from his locked-up room, with +pack after pack, and began to fill stockings. There were ninety-seven +of them, beside sixteen more that were hung on a line stretched across +the fire-place by the children before they went to bed, so as to be +very handy for Santa Claus when he should enter by the chimney. + +"What an awful rich lady my fine old Grandmother Livingston must have +been, to have goodies enough to fill 113 stockings!" said Carl, his +red hair fairly glistening with interest and pride; while Bessie and +Dot looked eagerly at the fire-place and around the room, to see if +any fragment of a stocking might, by any chance, be about anywhere. + +Well, at last the stockings were full. I cannot tell you exactly what +was in them. I remember that my grandmother said, that in every +stocking went, first of all, a nice, pretty pair of new ones, just the +size of the old ones; and next, a pair of mittens to fit hands +belonging with feet that could wear the stockings. I know there were +oranges and some kind of candy, too. + +At last the stockings were all hung on a line extending along two +sides of the room, and Mrs. Livingston and Aunt Elise locked the room, +and being very tired, went to bed. The next morning, bright and early, +there was a great pattering of bare feet and a flitting of night-gowns +down the staircase, past the evergreen trees in the hall, and a little +host of twelve children stood at that door, trying to get in; but it +was all of no use, and they had to march back to bed again. + +As for Otis Grey, he was a real Boston boy, full of the spirit of a +Liberty Rebel. He dressed himself slyly, slipped down on the great +stair-rail, so as to make no noise, opened softly the hall-door, went +outside, climbed up, and looked into the room. When he peeped, he was +so frightened at the long line of fat stockings that he made haste +down, and never said a word to anybody, except my grandmother (Lorinda +Grey, his sister); and they two kept the secret. + +Breakfast time came, and not a child of the dozen had heard a word +from Santa Claus that morning. + +Mrs. Livingston said a very long grace, and after that she said to the +children: "I have disappointed you this morning, but you will all have +your stockings as soon as a little company I have invited to spend the +day with you, is come." + +"Bless me!" whispered Otis Grey to his sister, "are all them stockings +a-coming?" + +"Otis," said Mrs. Livingston, "you may leave the table." + +Otis obeyed silently, and lost his Christmas breakfast for the time. +Mrs. Livingston had strict laws in her house, and punishment always +followed disobedience. + +The morning was long to the children, but it was a busy time in the +winter kitchen, and even the summer kitchen was alive with cookery; +and at just mid-day Philip cried out "Company's come, grandma!" + +A dozen or more of the stocking-owners were at the door. In they +trooped, bright and laughing and happy. Before they were fairly +inside, more came, and more, and still more, until full sixty boys and +girls were gathered up and down the great hall and parlors. Mixie +Brownson came on the last sled-load. Now Mrs. Livingston did not know, +even by name, more than one-half of the young folks she had undertaken +to make happy that day; but that made no manner of difference, and +the children had not the least idea that Santa Claus had their +stockings all hung up in this room, until suddenly the doors were +opened, and there was the great hickory-wood fire, and the sunlight +streaming in, and the stockings, fat and bulging, hanging in rows. +Some were red, and some were blue, and some were white, and some were +mixed. Grand old Mrs. Livingston stood within the room, her white +curls shining and her stiff brocade trailing. + +"Come in, children," she said, and in they trooped, silent with awe +and wonder at the sight they saw. The lady arranged them side by side, +in lines, on the two sides of the room where the stockings were not, +and then she said: + +"Santa Claus, come forth!" + +In yonder corner there began a motion in the branches of the evergreen +tree, and such a Santa Claus as crept forth was never seen before. He +was bulgy with furs from crown to foot, but he made a low curve over +toward Mrs. Livingston, and then nodded his head about the lines of +children. + +"Good day to you, this Christmas," he said. + +"Wish you Merry Christmas, Santa Claus," said Philip, with a bow. + +"Here's business," said Santa Claus. "Stockings, let me see. Whoever +owns the stocking that I take down from the line, will step forward +and take it." + +Every single one of the children knew his or her own property, at a +glance. Santa Claus had a busy time of it handing down stockings, and +a few minutes later he escaped without notice, and was seen no more +that year, in Fort Safety. + +After the stockings came dinner, and such a dinner as it was! Whatever +there was not, I remember that it was told to me that there was great +abundance of English plum-pudding. After dinner came games and more +happiness, and after the last game, came time to go home. The sweet +clear afternoon suddenly became dark with clouds, and it began to snow +soon after the first load set off. One or two followed, and by the +time the last one was ready to start, Mrs. Livingston looked forth and +said "not another child should leave her roof that night in such a +blinding storm." + +Eight little hands clapped their new mittens together in token of joy, +but poor little Mixie Brownson began to cry. She had never in her life +been away from the brown house. + +Tea was served, and Mixie was comforted for a short time. After that +came games again, until all were weary with play; and Otis Grey begged +Mrs. Livingston for a story. + +Mixie was tearful still, and she crept shyly to the lady's side and +sobbed forth: "I wish you was my grandma and would take me in your +lap." + +Mrs. Livingston stooped and kissed Mixie's cheek, then lifted her on +her knees and began to tell the children a story. It must have been a +very pretty picture that the old, blowing snowstorm looked in upon +that night, in this very room: twenty or more children seated around +the fire-circle, with stately Mrs. Livingston and pretty Aunt Elise in +their midst. + +Whilst all this was going on within, outside a band of Indians, led by +a white man, was approaching Fort Safety to burn it down. + +Step by step, the savages crept nearer and nearer, until they were +standing in the very light that streamed out from the Christmas +windows. + +The white man who led them was in the service of the English, and knew +every step of the way, and just who lived in the great house. + +He ordered them to stand back while he looked in. Creeping closer and +closer, he climbed, as Otis Grey had done, and put his face to the +window-pane. He saw Mrs. Livingston and Miss Elise, and the great +circle of eager, interested faces, all looking at the story-teller, +and he wiped his eyes in order to get one more good look, for he could +not believe the story they told to him: that his own poor little Mixie +was in there, sitting in proud Mrs. Livingston's lap, looking happier +than he had ever seen her. He stayed so long, peering in, that the +savages grew impatient. One or two of their chief men crept up and put +their swarthy faces beside his own. + +It so happened that at that moment Aunt Elise glanced toward the +window. She did not scream, she uttered no word; but she fell from her +chair to the floor. + +[Illustration: "His own poor little Mixie was there, sitting in proud +Mrs. Livingston's lap."] + +Mixie's father, for it was he who led the savages, saw what was +happening within, and ordered the Indians to march away and leave the +big house unhurt. They grunted and grumbled, and refused to go until +they had been told that the little girl on the lady's knee was his +little girl. + +"He not going to burn his own papoose," explained the Indian chief to +his red men; and then the evil band went groping away through the +storm. + +The story to the children was not finished that night, for on the +floor lay pretty Aunt Elise, as white as white could be; and it was a +long time before she was able to speak. As soon as she could sit up, +she wished to get out into the open air. + +Mrs. Livingston went with her, and when she was told what had been +seen at the window, they together examined the freshly fallen snow and +found traces of moccasined feet. + +With fear and trembling, the two ladies entered the house. Not a word +of what had been seen was spoken to servant or child. Aunt Elise from +an upper window kept watch during the time that Mrs. Livingston +returned thanks to God for the happy day the children had passed, and +asked His love and protecting care during the silent hours of sleep. + +Then the sleepy, happy throng climbed the wide staircase to the rooms +above, went to bed and slept until morning. + +Not a red face approached Fort Safety that night. The two ladies, +letting the Christmas fires go down, kept watch from the windows until +the day dawned. + +"I'm so glad," exclaimed Carl, "that my fine, old, greatest of +grandmothers thought of having that good time at Christmas." + +"Dear me!" sighed Bessie, "if she hadn't, we wouldn't have this nice +home to-day." + +"Mamma," said Dot, "let's have a good stocking-time next Christmas; +just like that one, all but the Indians." + +"O, mamma, _will you_?" cried Bessie, jumping with glee. + +"Where _would_ we get the soldiers' children, though," questioned +Carl. + +"Lots of 'em in Russia and Turkey, if we only lived there," observed +Bessie. "But there's _always_ plenty of children that _want_ a good +time and never get it, just as much as the soldiers' children did. +Will you, mamma?" + +"When Christmas comes again, I will try to make just as many little +folks happy as I can," said Mrs. Livingston. + +"And we'll begin _now_," said Carl, "so as to be all ready. I shall +saw all summer, so as to make lots of pretty brackets and things." + +"And I s'pose I shall have to dress about five hundred dolls to go +'round," sighed Bessie, "there are so many children now-a-days." + + + + +A DAY AND A NIGHT IN THE OLD PORTER HOUSE. + + +Monday morning, July 5th, 1779, was oppressively warm and sultry in +the Naugatuck Valley. Great Hill, that rises so grandly to the +northward of Union City, and at whose base the red house still nestles +that was built either by Daniel Porter or his son Thomas before or as +early as 1735, was bathed in the full sunlight, for it was past eight +of the clock. Up the hill had just passed a herd of cows owned by Mr. +Thomas Porter and driven by his son Ethel, a lad of fourteen, and +Ethel's sister Polly, aged twelve years. + +"It's awful hot to-day!" said Ethel, as he threw himself on the grass +at the hill-top--the cows having been duly cared for. + +[Illustration: The Old Porter House] + +"You'd better not lose time lying here," said Polly. "There's +altogether too much going on uptown to-day, and there's lots to do +before we go up to celebrate." + +"One thing at a time," replied Ethel, "and this is my time to rest. I +never knew a hill to grow so much in one night before." + +"Well! you can rest, but I'm going to find out what that fellow is +riding his poor horse so fast for this hot morning--somebody must be +dying! Just see that line of dust a mile away!" and Polly started down +Great Hill to meet the rider. + +The horseman stayed his horse at Fulling Mill Brook to give him a +drink, and Polly reached the brook just at the instant the horse +buried his nose in the cool stream. + +"Do you live near here?" questioned the rider. + +"My father, Mr. Thomas Porter, keeps the inn yonder," said Polly. + +"I can't stop," said the horseman, "though I've ridden from New Haven +without breakfast, and I must get up to the Center; but you tell your +father the _British_ are landing at West Haven. They have more that +forty vessels! The new president was on the tower of the College when +I came by, watching with his spy-glass, and he shouted down that he +could see them, landing." + +At that instant, Ethel reached the brook. "What's going on?" he +questioned. + +"You're a likely looking boy--you'll do!" said the horseman, with a +glance at Ethel, cutting off at the same instant the draught his horse +was enjoying, by a sudden pull at the bridle lines. "You go tell the +news! Get out the militia! Don't lose a minute." + +"What news? What for?" asked Ethel, but the rider was flying onward. + +"A pretty time we'll have celebrating to-day," said Polly, to herself, +dipping the corner of her apron into the brook and wiping her heated +face with it, as she hurried to the house. Meanwhile, her brother was +running and shouting after the man who had ridden off in such haste. + +As Polly entered the house the big brick oven stood wide open, and it +was filled to the door with a roaring fire. On the long table stood +loaves of bread almost ready for the oven. Her sister Sybil was +putting apple pies on the same table. Sybil was a beautiful girl of +twenty years, much admired and greatly beloved in the region. + +"What is Ethel about so long this morning, that I have his work to do, +I wonder!" exclaimed Mr. Thomas Porter, as he lifted himself from the +capacious fire-place in which he had been piling birch-wood under the +crane--from which hung in a row three big iron pots. + +"It is a pretty hot morning, and the sun is powerful on the hill, +father," said Mrs. Mehitable Porter in reply--not seeing Polly, who +stood panting and glowing with all the importance of having great news +to tell. + +"Father," cried Polly, "where is Truman and the men? Send 'em! send +'em everywhere!" + +"What's the matter? what's the matter, child?" exclaimed Mr. Porter, +while his wife and Sybil stood in alarm. + +At that instant Ethel sprang in, crying out, "The militia! The +militia! They want the militia." + +"What for, and _who_ wants the men?" asked his father. + +"I don't know. He didn't stop to tell. He said: 'Get out the militia! +Don't lose a minute!' and then rode on." + +"Father, _I know_," said Polly. "He told _me_. The British ships, more +than forty of them, are landing soldiers at New Haven. President +Stiles saw them at daybreak from the college tower with his +spy-glass." + +Before Polly had ceased to speak, Ethel was off. Within the next ten +minutes six horses had set forth from the Porter house--each rider for +a special destination. + +"I'll give the alarm to the Hopkinses," cried back Polly from her +pony, as she disappeared in the direction of Hopkins Hill. + +"And I'll stir up Deacon Gideon and all the Hotchkisses from the +Captain over and down," said ten-year-old Stephen, as he mounted. + +"You'd better make sure that Sergeant Calkins and Roswell hear the +news. Tell Captain Terrell to get out his Ring-bone company, and don't +forget Captain John and Abraham Lewis, Lieutenant Beebe, and all the +rest. It isn't much use to go over the river--not much help _we'd_ +get, however much the British might, on that side," advised Mr. +Porter, as the fourth messenger departed. + +When the last courier had set forth, leaving only Mr. and Mrs. Porter, +Sybil and two servants in the house, Mr. Porter said to his wife: "I +believe, mother, that I'll go up town and see what I can do for +Colonel Baldwin and Phineas." Major Phineas Porter was his brother, +who six months earlier had married Melicent, daughter of Colonel +Baldwin and widow of Isaac Booth Lewis (the lady whose name has been +chosen for the Waterbury, Connecticut, Chapter of Daughters of the +American Revolution). + +After Mr. Porter's departure Mrs. Porter said to Sybil, "You remember +how it was two years ago at the Danbury alarm, how we were left +without a crumb in the house and fairly went hungry to bed. I think +I'd better stir up a few extra loaves of rye bread and make some more +cake. You'd better call up Phyllis and Nancy and tell them to let the +washing go and help me." + +Phyllis and Nancy were filled with astonishment and awe at the command +to leave the washing and bake, for, during their twenty years' service +in the house, nothing had ever been allowed to stay the progress of +Monday's washing. + +Before mid-day another messenger came tearing up the New Haven road +and demanded a fresh horse in order to continue the journey to arouse +help and demand haste. He brought the half-past nine news from New +Haven that fifteen hundred men were marching from West Haven Green to +the bridge, that women and children were escaping to the northward and +westward with all the treasure that they could carry, or bury on the +way, because every horse in the town had been taken for the defence. + +He had not finished his story, when from the northward the hastily +equipped militia came hurrying down the road. It was reported that +messengers had been posted from Waterbury Centre to Westbury and to +Northbury; to West Farms and to Farmingbury--all parts of ancient +Waterbury--and soon The City, as it was called in 1779, now Union +City, would be filled with militiamen. + +The messenger from New Haven grew impatient for the fresh horse he had +asked for. While he waited on the porch, Cato, son of Phyllis, whose +duty it was to make ready his steed, sought Mrs. Porter in the +kitchen. + +"Where that New Haven fellow," he asked, "get Massa's horse. He say he +come from New Haven, and he got the horse Ethel went away on." + +"Are you sure, Cato?" + +"Sure's I know Cato," said the boy, "and the horse he knew me--be a +fool if he didn't." + +Mrs. Porter immediately summoned the rider to her presence and learned +from him that about four miles down the road his pony had given out +under haste and heat; that he had met a boy who, pitying its +condition, had offered an exchange of animals, provided the courier +would promise to leave his pony at the Porter Inn and get a fresh +horse there. + +"Just like Ethel!" said Polly. "He'll dally all day now, while that +horse gets rested and fed, or else he'll go on foot. I wonder if I +couldn't catch him!" + +"Polly," said Mrs. Porter, "don't you leave this house to-day without +my permission." + +Poor Mrs. Porter! Truman, her eldest son, had gone. He was sixteen and +had been a "trained" soldier for more than six months; that, the +mother expected; but Ethel, only fourteen, and full of daring and +boyish zeal! Stephen also, the youngest, and the baby, being but ten +years old--he had not yet returned from "stirring up the Hotchkisses." +Had he followed Captain Gideon? + +"Ethel is too far ahead," sighed Polly. "I couldn't catch him now, +even if mother would let me; but here comes Uncle Phineas in his +regimentals, and Aunt Melicent and Polly and little Melicent, and O! +what a crowd! I can't see for the dust! It's better than the +celebration. It's so _real_, so 'strue as you live and breathe and +everything." + +Polly ran to the front door. At that day it opened upon a porch that +extended across the house front. This porch was supported by a line of +white pillars, and a rail along its front had rings inserted in it to +which a horseman could, after dismounting beneath its shelter, secure +his steed. Long ago, this porch was removed and the house itself was +taken from the roadside on the plain below, because of a great +freshet, and removed to its present location. The history of that +porch, of the men and women who dismounted beneath its shelter, or +who, footsore and weary, mounted its steps, would be the history of +the country for more than a century, for the men of Waterbury were in +every enterprise in which the colonies were engaged; but this is the +record of a single day in its eventful life, and we must return to the +porch, where Polly is welcoming Mrs. Melicent Porter with the words: +"Mother will be so glad you have come, Aunt Melicent, for Ethel has +gone off to New Haven and he's miles ahead of catching, and Stephen +hasn't got back yet from 'rousing the Alarm company. Mother wouldn't +_say_ a word, but she has got her mouth fixed and I know she's afraid +he's gone, too. I don't know what father will do when he finds it +out." + +"You go, now," said Mrs. Porter, "and tell your mother that your +father staid to go to the mill. He will not be here for some time." + +While Polly went to the kitchen with the message, Mrs. Melicent +alighted from her horse and, assisting her little daughter Melicent +from the saddle, said: "You are heavier to-day, Milly, than you were +when I threw you to the bank from my horse when it was floating down +the river. I couldn't do it now." + +The instant Major Porter had set little Polly Lewis on the porch Mrs. +Porter was beside him, begging that he would look for Ethel and care +for the boy if he found him. The promise was given, and looking well +despite the uncommon heat, the Major, in all the glory of his military +equipment, set forth. + +From that moment all was noise and call and confusion without. Men +went by singly, in groups, in squads, in companies, mounted and on +foot. It is a matter of public record that twelve militia companies, +with their respective captains, went from Waterbury alone to assist +New Haven in the day of its peril. It is no marvel that they set off +with speed, for the horrors of the Danbury burning was yet fresh in +memory. + +In the long kitchen, as the heated hours went by, the brick oven was +fired again and again until the very stones of the chimney expanded +with glowing heat, and the last swallow forsook its ancient nest in +despair. The sun was in the west when Mr. Porter, with a bag of wheat +on one side of the saddle and a bag of rye on the other, appeared at +the kitchen entrance and summoned help to unload, but his accustomed +helpers were gone. Even Cato, the reliable, was missing. Phyllis and +Nancy received the wheat and the rye. + +"Mother," said Mr. Porter, "I had to do the grinding myself--couldn't +find a man to do it, and I knew it couldn't be done here to-day, +water's too low. Where are the boys?" he questioned, as he entered and +looked around. When informed, his sole ejaculation was, "I ought to +have known that boys always have gone and always will go after +soldiers." + +"Don't worry, mother," he added to his wife, as she stood looking +wistfully down the road. + +There were tears in her eyes as she said: "Not a boy left." + +"Why yes, mother, here comes Stephen and Stiles Hotchkiss up the road. +My! how tired and hot the boys and the horses do look!" exclaimed +Polly. + +Stephen waited for no reprimand. He forestalled it by saying: "Captain +Hotchkiss let Stiles and me go far enough to _see_ the British +troops--way off, ever so far--but we saw 'em, we did, didn't we, +Stiles?" + +"Come! come!" said Mr. Porter, while the lad's mother stood with her +hand on his head. "Stephen, tell us all about it!" + +"Captain Hotchkiss said he was a boy once, and if we'd promise him to +go home the minute he told us to, he'd take us along. Well! we kept +meeting folks running away from New Haven, with everything on 'em but +their heads. One woman was lugging a lot of salt pork, 'because she +couldn't bear to have the Britishers eat it all up;' and another woman +was carrying away a lot of candles hanging by a string, and the sun +had melted the last drop of tallow, leaving the wicks dangling against +the tallow on her dress, but she didn't know it; and mother, would +you believe it--Mr. Timothy Atwater told Captain Hotchkiss that he +met a woman whom he knew hurrying out of town with a cat in her arms. +When he asked her where her children were, she said, 'Why, at home I +suppose.' 'Well,' said Mr. Atwater, 'hadn't you better leave the cat +and go back and get them?' And she said, 'Perhaps she had,' and went +back for 'em." + +"What became of the cat?" asked Mrs. Melicent Porter. + +"Why, Aunt Melicent, how nice!" cried Stephen, running back to the +porch and returning with a cat in his arms. + +"I've fetched her to you. I _knew_ you loved cats so! Here she is, +black as ink, and she stuck to the saddle every step of the way like a +true soldier's cat. I was afraid she'd run away when I took her off +the saddle, and I hid her. You know mother don't like cats around +under her feet." + +In a minute pussy was on the floor, and the last drop of milk in the +house was set before her by little Polly Lewis. Little Melicent +cooed softly to her, while Stephen and Stiles went on with their +story,--from which it was learned that the boys had gone within a +mile of Hotchkisstown (now Westville), where, from a height, they +had a view of the British troops. The lads were filled with +admiration of the marching, "as though it was all one motion," of +the "mingling colors of the uniforms worn, as the bright red of the +English Foot Guards blended with the graver hues of the dress worn +by the German mercenaries," and of "the waving line of glittering +bayonets." + +"We didn't see," said Stephen, "but just one flash of musketry, +because Stiles's father said we must start that instant for home, and +he told Stiles to stay here until morning, and we haven't had a +mouthful to eat since breakfast, and its been the hottest day that +ever was, and I'm tired to death." + +"And the cows are on the hill and nobody here to fetch them down," +sighed Mr. Porter. + +"Such a lot of captains waiting to see you, father!" announced Polly. +"There's Captain Woodruff and Captain Castle and Captain Richards and +a Fenn captain and a Garnsey captain. I forget the rest." The captains +invaded the kitchen itself, declaring that it being Monday in the +week, every householder had been short of provisions for the +emergency--that every inn on the way and many a private house had been +unable to provide enough for so many men, and what could they have at +the Porter Inn? + +Polly disappeared. Before her father had considered the matter she +had, assisted by her Aunt Melicent and Polly Lewis, seized from the +pantry shelves all that they could carry, and going by a rear way, had +hidden on the garret stairs a big roast of veal, one of lamb, and +enough bread and pies for family requirements, and still the pantry +shelves seemed amply filled. "I'm not going to have Ethel come home in +the night and find nothing left for him I know, and the hungry boys +fast asleep and tired out on the kitchen settle will come to life +ravenous. Wonder if I hadn't better be missing just now and go fetch +the cows down. Father would have asthma all night if he tried it," +said Polly to her aunt; and up the hill Polly went accompanied by +little Polly--while Mrs. Porter stood by and saw the fruits of her +hard day's work vanish out of sight. + +"Pray leave something for your own household," she ventured to +intercede at last. "Don't forget that we have four guests of our own +for the night;" but Mr. Porter, rather proud to show that, however +remiss others had been, the Porter Inn was prepared for emergencies, +had already bidden Nancy and Phyllis fetch forth the last loaf. + +"Like one for supper," ventured Nancy, as her master carefully +examined the empty larder, hoping to find something more. As the last +captain from Northbury started on the night journey for New Haven, Mr. +Porter faced his wife. "Now Thomas Porter," she said, "you can go +hungry to bed, but what can I do for my guests and the children and +the rest of the household?" + +Mr. Porter scratched his head--a habit when profoundly in doubt--and +said: "I must fetch the cows! It's most dark now," and set forth, to +find that Polly had them all safely in the cattle yard. + +"I suppose, father," said Polly, "that we've got to live on milk +to-night. I thought so when I heard you parleying with the captains. +So I thought I'd get the cows down." As Polly entered the house, she +saw a lady and two girls of about her own age, to whom her mother was +saying: "We will give you shelter, gladly, but my husband has just let +the militia you met just below have the last morsel of cooked food in +our house, and we've nothing left for ourselves but milk for supper." + +"Mother," said Polly, stepping to the front; "we have plenty! I looked +out for you before father got to the pantry. I made journeys to the +garret stairs, several of them, and Aunt Melicent and Polly Lewis +helped me. It is all right for the lady to stay." + +The lady in question was Mrs. Thankful Punderson and her twin +daughters, girls of twelve years, who had escaped from New Haven just +as the British troops reached Broadway, and the riot and plunder and +killing began. "I hoped," she said, "to reach the house of my +husband's sister, Mrs. Zachariah Thompson, in Westbury, but Anna and +Thankful are too tired to walk further to-night, and the horse can +carry but two. It is getting late, and I am so thankful to stay." + +As Mr. Porter stood on the porch looking down the road for the next +arrival, hoping to learn some later news and perhaps to hear Ethel's +cheery call in the distance, Polly said: "Father, will you let me be +innkeeper to-night?" + +"Gladly, Polly, with nothing to keep and not a room to spare," was his +reply. + +"Then I'll invite you to supper, and mind, if the ministers themselves +come, they can't have a bite to-night, for I'm the keeper." + +"I suppose you've made us some hasty pudding while the milking was +going on," he said, as Polly, preceding her father for once, went +before, and opened the door upon a table abundantly supplied, and laid +for twelve. + +At the table Mr. Porter told, for the benefit of Mrs. Melicent Porter +and Mrs. Punderson, some of the events, both pathetic and tragic, +that had occurred in the old house during his boyhood and youth, and +Mrs. Melicent Porter told again the events of the day in June--only +a year before--wherein the battle of Monmouth had been fought near +her New Jersey home, and she had spent the day in doing what she +could to relieve the sufferings of men so spent with battle and heat +and wounds that they panted to her door with tongues hanging from +their mouths; also of her perilous journey from New Jersey to +Connecticut on horseback, accompanied by Lieutenant-Colonel +Baldwin, her father--during which journey it was, that she had +thrown her daughter Melicent in safety from her horse to the bank +of the river they were fording, while the animal, having lost its +footing, was going down the current. + +While these things had been in the telling, Polly had slipped from the +table unnoticed, and had lighted every lamp that could brighten the +house front and serve to guide to its porch. The last lamp was just +alight when Polly's guests began to arrive. She half expected +soldiers, and refugees came. It seemed to her that every family in New +Haven must be related to every family in Waterbury--so many women and +children came in to rest themselves before continuing the journey and +"to wait until the moon should rise," for the evening was very dark, +and oh! the stories that each fresh arrival brought! They filled the +group that came in to listen with fear and agony. New Haven was very +near to Waterbury in that day. The inhabitants there were closely +connected with the inhabitants here, and their peril and distress was +a common woe. Little Stiles Hotchkiss cried himself to sleep that +night, fearing that one of the three Hotchkisses, reported killed, +might be his father. + +Polly acted well her part. To the children she gave fresh milk; to +their elders she explained that the militia had taken their supplies, +while she made place to receive two or three invalids who could go no +further, by giving up her own room. + +"You'll let me lie on the floor in your room, Aunt Melicent, I know," +she said, "for the poor lady is so old and so feeble; I'm most sure +she is a hundred. She came in a chaise and wanted to get up to Parson +Leavenworth's, but she just can't. She can't hold up her head." + +It was near midnight when the refugees set forth for the Center, Mr. +Porter himself acting as guide. After that time, the sleepy boys and +the entire household having taken themselves to bed, the old house was +left to the night, with its silence and its chill dampness that always +comes up from the river, that goes on "singing to us the same bonny +nonsense," despite our cheer or our sorrow. Again, and yet again +through the night, doors opened and two mothers stepped out in the +moonlight to listen, hoping--hoping to hear sound of the coming of the +boys, but only the lone cry of the whippoorwill was borne on the air. + +"'Pears like," said Phyllis to Mrs. Porter in the morning, "the +whippoorwills had lots to say last night; talked all night so's you +couldn't hear nothing 'tall." + +"Phyllis," said Mrs. Porter, "there was nothing else to hear, but we +shall know soon." + +Polly came down, bringing her checked linen apron full of eggs for +breakfast. "I thought, mother," she said, "that you'd leave yourself +without an egg yesterday, so I looked out. Isn't it handy to have them +in the house? Haven't heard a single cackle this morning yet, but +yesterday was a remarkable day everyway. I believe the hens knew the +British were coming. Did you ever see such eggs? Wonder if my old lady +is awake yet! Guess I'll carry up some hot water for her and find +out." + +Polly poured the water deftly from the big iron tea-kettle hanging +from the crane and hurried away with it, only to return with such +haste that she tripped on the threshold, broke the pitcher and sent +the water over everything it could reach. "Mother," she said, +recovering herself, "Parson Leavenworth will be here to breakfast. +He's coming down the road with father. My old lady will feel honored, +won't she? I know he's come for her. Phyllis, any more hot water to +spare? It's so good to take out wrinkles; she'll miss it, I know." + +The sun had not climbed over Great Hill when breakfast was over, and +the last guest of the night had gone. Mrs. Punderson's daughter Anna +rode behind the Rev. Mark Leavenworth on his horse, Thankful with Mrs. +Punderson, the old lady in the chaise, and even Stiles had galloped +away toward the east, and yet not a traveler on the road had brought +tidings from New Haven. The group on the porch watching the departure +had not dispersed when Polly's ears caught a strain floating up the +river valley. She listened. She ran. She clasped her mother in her +arms. She kissed her. She whispered in her ear, "I hear him! He's +coming! Ethel is; and Cato is with him!" she cried out, embracing +Phyllis in her joy. The two mothers--the one white, the other black; +the one free, the other in bonds--went to listen. They stood side by +side on the porch; tears fell from their eyes, tears that through all +the years science has failed to distinguish, the one from the other. +Ethel's cheery call rang clear and clearer. Cato's wild cadence grew +near and nearer, but when the boys rode up beside the porch, Mrs. +Porter was on her knees in the little bed-room off the parlor, and +Phyllis was in the kitchen. New England mothers, both of them! Their +sorrows they could bear; their joys they hid from sight. + +WATERBURY, CONN., September, 1898. + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes + +Incorrect quotes and a few obvious typos (hugh/huge, fireams/firearms, +and ziz/zig) have been fixed. + +Otherwise, the author's original spelling has been preserved; e.g. +Yankeys, afright and affright, and the incorrect usage of 'its'. + +Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. 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