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diff --git a/33334-h/33334-h.htm b/33334-h/33334-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5f31d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/33334-h/33334-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6579 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Only Woman in the Town, by Sarah J. 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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