Thenext day was the Sabbath, and all who were not needed in the sick room attended church in the morning. In the afternoon, according to their old custom, they assembled together as a Bible class, the captain—as the oldest—being the leader. The subject was the New Jerusalem, its beauties, its delights, and the character and bliss of its inhabitants. “They will be very happy there,” said the captain. “In Isaiah we read, ‘Behold, my servants shall sing for joy of heart.... Behold, I create new heavens and a new earth: and the former shall not be remembered nor come into mind. But be ye glad and rejoice in that which I create: for behold, I create Jerusalem a rejoicing and her people a joy. And I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and joy in my people: and the voice of weeping shall be no more heard in her, nor the voice of crying.’Mother, can you give us a text from the New Testament teaching that there is no weeping in heaven?”
“Yes,” replied Grandma Elsie; “in the twenty-first chapter and fourth verse of Revelation we read: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away.’ It was sin,” she said, “that brought sorrow, pain, sickness and death into the world: there will be none of any of them in the New Jerusalem.”
“Will some one give us a Bible description of the New Jerusalem?” asked the captain.
“I will read it, father,” said Grace. “‘And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God; and her light was like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal; and had a wall great and high, and had twelve gates, and at the gates twelveangels, and names written thereon, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel: On the east three gates; on the north three gates; on the south three gates; and on the west three gates. And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb. And he that talked with me had a golden reed to measure the city, and the gates thereof, and the wall thereof. And the city lieth four square, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal. And he measured the wall thereof, an hundred and forty and four cubits, according to the measure of a man, that is, of the angel. And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass. And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones. The first foundation was jasper; the second, sapphire; the third, a chalcedony; the fourth, an emerald; the fifth,sardonyx; the sixth, sardius; the seventh, chrysolyte; the eighth, beryl; the ninth, a topaz; the tenth, a chrysoprasus; the eleventh, a jacinth; the twelfth, an amethyst. And the twelve gates were twelve pearls; every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass. And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it: and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it. And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day: for there shall be no night there. And they shall bring the glory and honour of the nations into it. And there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but they which are written in the Lamb’s book of life.’”
“What a beautiful, glorious city it will be!” she exclaimed, when she had finished.
“Yes,” said her father, “God grant we may all be numbered among its citizens.”
“‘Looking for that blessed hope and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour, Jesus Christ,’” quoted Mr. Leland. “We may well look for it with joyful longing. May the goodness and love of God lead us all to repentance, make us all His devoted, faithful servants.”
“And He will be the same Jesus who gave His life for us,” said Grandma Elsie, in a voice tremulous with emotion. “The angels said to those who were gazing up after Him as He was taken up into heaven and a cloud received Him out of their sight, ‘Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? This same Jesus which is taken up from you into heaven shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go into heaven.’”
“Yes,” said Harold, “and we are told in Thessalonians, the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven; in Revelation, ‘Behold,He cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see Him.’ And Matthew tells us, ‘The Son of Man shall come in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him.’”
“And we shall see Him, know Him and be conformed to His image,” said Mrs. Travilla in joyous tones. “‘It doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as He is.’”
“What a delightful thought!” exclaimed her daughter, Mrs. Leland. “Oh, it is strange that we can ever be so taken up as we are with worldly matters. Do you think, captain, that His second coming is near?”
“There are many things which make that seem probable,” replied Captain Raymond. “Don’t you think that we should try to live as if it might be any day—or indeed at any moment?”
“I certainly do,” she answered; “especially as death may take us into His presence at any moment.”
“Yes, that is true,” he answered; “and weshould all strive to live as when death comes we shall wish we had. Live near to Him—to His honor and glory—that whenever He shall come we may be found ready. He tells us, ‘Watch, therefore, for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come.... Be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh.’ That warning word ‘watch’ is repeated again and again. ‘Watch, therefore; for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh.’”
“‘Be ye also ready,’” repeated little Elsie reflectively. “Papa, please tell us just how to get ready—just what we must do.”
“Give ourselves to the Lord Jesus who says, ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.’ ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.’”
“Doesn’t everybody believe that it’s all true about Him, papa?” asked Ned.
“It is not enough to believe simply thatJesus lived in this world years ago, and died the cruel death of crucifixion; we must believe also that He was God as well as man; for otherwise He could not save us; had He been only a man His death would not have atoned for the sins of the world—or of all in it who have believed or will believe on Him. But the Bible tells us these things as plainly as words can speak. In the first chapter of John’s Gospel we are told, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made.’ And Jesus Himself said, ‘I and my father are one.’”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Leland, “it is incomprehensible to me how any one can profess to believe the Bible to be the Word of God and yet deny the divinity of Christ—so plainly is that taught in it again and again.”
Thedays glided by very pleasantly to the little company at Crag Cottage, the greater part of them passed by the children in the open air, far enough from the house to make them feel sure of not disturbing Evelyn, even if they indulged in rather loud chat and laughter.
In the evening, if it were not too cool, they usually gathered upon the porch overlooking the river, and were very apt to be entertained with a story from either Grandma Elsie or Captain Raymond.
“I’m right glad to be where I can see this grand old Hudson River,” remarked Edward Leland one evening as they sat there. “It is a beautiful stream, and so much happened on it in early days.”
“What in particular are you thinking of now?” asked his mother.
“Something I read not so very long ago in Lossing’s Field Book of the Revolution. He tells of things that happened to Putnam nearly twenty years before that war. He was lying in a bateau on the east side of the river above the rapids, when he was suddenly surprised by a party of Indians. He couldn’t cross the river quickly enough to escape the danger from their rifles; so the only way to save himself from being killed or taken prisoner—which I suppose would have amounted to the same thing—was to go over those dangerous rapids. It took Putnam but an instant to decide; he steered directly down the current, between whirling eddies and over shelving rocks, cleared them all in a few moments, and was gliding along the smooth current below, far out of the reach of the Indians’ weapons. They would never have dared to go over those falls as he did, so thought he must have been favored by the Great Spirit, and that if they should try to kill him with powder and ball, that Great Spirit would consider it an affront to him.
“Putnam was certainly a very brave man,” continued the lad; “Lossing tells of a brave deed of his at Fort Edward. He says that in the winter of 1756 the barracks took fire, and the magazine, which contained three hundred barrels of gunpowder, was only twelve feet distant from the blaze. Men attempted to knock down those barracks with heavy cannon, but failed.
“Putnam, who was stationed on Roger’s Island, in the Hudson, opposite the fort, must have seen the fire. He hurried over there, took his station on the roof of the barracks, and ordered a line of soldiers to hand him water. He did his best, but could not put the fire out; it drew nearer and nearer to the magazine. Colonel Haviland, seeing his danger, ordered him down, but he was too brave and persevering to obey that order; he worked on and would not leave his post until the building began to totter as if just ready to fall. Then he jumped to the ground and put himself between it—the falling barrack—and the magazine, and poured on water with allhis might. The outside planks of the magazine were already burned so that there was only a thin partition between the fire and the powder; but he did succeed in extinguishing the flames and saving the powder.”
“But wasn’t he dreadfully burned?” asked Elsie.
“Yes, his hands and face were,” replied Edward, “and his whole body more or less blistered; so that it was several weeks before he recovered from the bad effects of that fight.”
“He must have been a very brave man,” cried Ned Raymond.
“He was,” said Grandma Elsie. “Would you all like to hear something more about him and his doings?”
“Yes, indeed, grandma, if you will be pleased to tell it,” answered several young voices, and at once she began:
“He was a Massachusetts man; had a fine, large farm, where he paid particular attention to the raising of fruits and of sheep. There had been a good many wild beasts inthat region, but in 1735 all seemed to have been killed except an old female wolf that for some seasons went on visiting the farm yards and killing the fowls. Her lair was near Putnam’s farm, and one night she killed sixty or seventy of his fine sheep. Of course, a company was promptly raised to search for and kill her. They tracked her to her lair in a cave. It was dark and narrow, but Putnam pursued her into it, shot her at short range and dragged her out in triumph.
“Twenty years after that, 1755, troops were raised to defend the country against the French, and Putnam was given the rank of captain. He became a leading member of the band of Rangers that did much to annoy and embarrass the enemy during the next two years. In 1757 he was promoted to the rank of major, and after that occurred the two events Edward has just given us.
“In August, 1758, he was taken prisoner by the Indians, after a sharp skirmish, near Wood Creek. The Indians tortured him, and then decided to burn him alive. Theystripped him, bound him to a tree and kindled a fire about him. The flames were searing his flesh when Captain Molang, a French officer, came rushing through the crowd, scattered the firebrands, cuffed and upbraided the Indians, and released poor Putnam.”
“Then did he get away from the Indians?” asked Elsie.
“He was taken to Montreal and soon afterward exchanged,” replied her grandma. “Afterward he was promoted to a lieutenant-colonelcy and given command of a regiment.
“The next year he was with General Amherst in his march from Oswego to Montreal. When going down the St. Lawrence River they found it desirable to dislodge the French from Fort Oswegatchie; but the approach to it was guarded by two schooners, the larger one having twelve guns, which could have done serious damage to the English boats. Thinking of that danger, General Amherst said: ‘I wish there were some way of taking that schooner.’ ‘All right,’ said Putnam;‘just give me some wedges and a mallet, and half a dozen men of my own choosing, and I’ll soon take her for you.’
“The British general smiled incredulously, evidently not believing the thing could be done; but he consented to Putnam’s making the proposed attempt, and in the night Putnam and his little party got into a light boat and, with muffled oars, rode under the schooner’s stern and drove the wedges between the rudder and the stern-post so firmly as to render the helm unmanageable. They then went around under the bow, cut the vessel’s cable, then rowed quietly away. All that, of course, made the vessel unmanageable. She drifted ashore before morning and struck her colors; then the other French vessels surrendered and the English captured the fort.
“But I shall not attempt to tell the story of the services of Putnam’s whole life,” continued Grandma Elsie. “I suppose what you all care particularly to hear is of what he did and suffered in and after the Revolution.”
“Yes, grandma—yes, indeed!” replied several voices, and she continued her story.
“In August, 1774, before General Gage had quite shut up the approaches to Boston, Putnam rode over the Neck with one hundred sheep as a gift from the parish of Brooklyn. While there he was the guest of Dr. Warren. On the twentieth of the next April came the news of the fight at Concord.”
“Ah! news didn’t fly so fast then as it does now,” remarked Eric.
“No, not by any means,” assented his grandma. “Putnam was in the field ploughing when it reached him. So great was his excitement on hearing it that he left his plough in the furrow, and without waiting to put on his uniform, mounted a horse and rode toward Cambridge, reaching there at sunrise of the next morning. Later in the same day he was at Concord; but he was soon summoned to Hartford to consult with the Connecticut Legislature. He returned from there with the chief command of the forces of that colony, and the rank of brigadier.”
“He was one of the officers at the battle of Bunker Hill, wasn’t he, grandma?” asked Eric.
“Yes, he is spoken of as the ranking officer, and it was he who had the earthworks thrown up on the crest of Bunker Hill in the rear, and who, toward the close of the day, conducted the retreat and directed the fortifying of Prospect Hill.”
“And his rank was soon made still higher by Congress, was it not, grandma?” asked Edward.
“Yes; in June, 1775, Congress appointed Washington to the chief command and made Ward, Lee, Schuyler and Putnam major-generals. Putnam was in command for a time in New York, in Philadelphia and Princeton; afterward he had charge of the defence of the highlands of the Hudson River, with headquarters at Peekskill.
“There took place an occurrence that will no doubt interest you all. A man named Edmund Palmer was caught lurking in theAmerican camp and condemned to death as a spy.
“The British considered American spies worthy of death, but that those in the king’s service were not; so Sir Henry Clinton sent up a flag of truce from New York and a threat to Putnam of signal vengeance should he dare to injure the person of the king’s liege subject, Edmund Palmer.
“The old general’s reply was brief and to the point. I think I can recall it word for word:
“‘Headquarters, 7th of August, 1777.“‘Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy’s service, was taken as a spy lurking within our lines. He has been tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the flag is ordered to depart immediately.Israel Putnam.“‘P. S.—He has accordingly been executed.’”
“‘Headquarters, 7th of August, 1777.
“‘Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy’s service, was taken as a spy lurking within our lines. He has been tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the flag is ordered to depart immediately.Israel Putnam.
“‘P. S.—He has accordingly been executed.’”
“I daresay Sir Henry Clinton was veryangry when he read that note?” remarked Eric.
“Yes,” said his brother, “but no doubt it was well for Putnam that Sir Henry never had power to carry out his threat of vengeance upon him.”
“Is that all of the story about him, grandma?” asked Ned Raymond.
“Yes,” she replied, “except that there is a story of a remarkable escape of his from General Tryon’s troops by riding down a flight of stone steps at Horseneck, or West Greenwich, in the town of Greenwich, Conn. He was visiting his outposts there, staying at the house of General Mead. It was the 26th of March, early in the morning, and he was standing before a looking-glass shaving, when he saw in the glass the reflection of a body of red-coats marching up the road from the westward. Though only half shaven, he dropped his razor, buckled on his sword, and, hurrying out, mounted his horse and hastened to prepare his handful of men to oppose the approaching enemy. There were nearly fifteenhundred of the British regulars and Hessians, under Governor Tryon. Putnam had with him only one hundred and fifty men. He arranged them upon the brow of the hill near a church in the village. There he planted a battery composed of two old iron field-pieces, and waited for the coming of the enemy.
“They came up in a solid column, until almost within musket shot; then detachments were broken off and tried to gain the Americans’ flanks. At the same time the British dragoons and some infantry made ready to charge. Perceiving that and noting the overwhelming numbers of the enemy, Putnam ordered a retreat—after some volleys of musketry and a few discharges of the field-pieces. But the enemy was so near that the retreat of the Americans became a rout. The soldiers broke and fled singly to the adjacent swamps, and the general, putting spurs to his horse, hastened toward Stamford, pursued by several of the dragoons.
“About a quarter of a mile distant fromPutnam’s starting on that ride is a steep declivity; on the brow of that the road turned northward, and passed, in a broad sweep, round the hill. Putnam, seeing that his pursuers were gaining on him, took a desperate resolve, left the road, and wheeled his horse, while on a gallop, down the rocky height, making a zigzag course to the bottom, and reaching the road again in safety.”
“And did the dragoons follow him, grandma?” asked Ned.
“No,” she said; “it was too perilous for them. They did not dare attempt it. They fired their pistols at Putnam, but did not succeed in wounding him. He rode on in safety to Stamford.”
“Was Putnam good to his soldiers, grandma?” asked Elsie.
“I think he was,” Mrs. Travilla answered; “he felt for them in their sore privations and tried to get them help. Lossing tells us that in a letter to Washington, January, 1778, he gives a picture of the terrible suffering his soldiers in the highlands were enduring.He said: ‘Very few have either a shoe or a shirt, and most of them have neither stockings, breeches, nor overalls. Several companies of enlisted artificers are in the same situation, and unable to work in the field.’ Lossing tells us of something similar that occurred at Reading, in Connecticut, the next year—in 1779. The troops, poor fellows, were badly fed and clothed and worse paid, for their small pittance when it came was in the form of Continental money, which was depreciating rapidly. Brooding over their hard lot, and talking the matter over among themselves, they resolved to march to Hartford and demand of the assembly there a redress of their grievances. The second brigade had assembled under arms with that intention, when Putnam learned what was going on. He at once galloped to the encampment, and earnestly addressed them:
“‘My brave lads, where are you going?’ he asked. ‘Do you intend to desert your officers, and to invite the enemy to follow you into the country? Whose cause have youbeen fighting and suffering so long for? Is it not your own? Have you no property, no parents, wives, or children? You have behaved like men so far; all the world is full of your praise, and posterity will stand astonished at your deeds, but not if you spoil all at last. Don’t you consider how much the country is distressed by the war, and that your officers have not been better paid than yourselves? But we all expect better times and that the country will do us ample justice. Let us all stand by one another, then, and fight it out like brave soldiers. Think what a shame it would be for Connecticut men to run away from their officers.’ That was Putnam’s little speech, and when he had finished the discontented regiments cheered him loudly, then returned to their quarters in good humor, resolved still to suffer and fight for the cause of their country.”
“Poor fellows!” sighed Elsie.
“Did Putnam live till the Revolutionary War was over, grandma?” asked Eric.
“Yes,” she replied; “he died on the 29thof May, 1790, aged seventy-two years. There is an inscription on the marble slab over his grave which says that he was ever tenderly attentive to the lives and happiness of his men and that he dared to lead where any dared to follow. It speaks of how much the country owes to his disinterested and gallant exertions. It speaks of his generosity as singular, his honesty as proverbial, and says that he was one who, with small advantages, slender education, and no powerful friends, raised himself to universal esteem, and to offices of eminent distinction by personal worth and the diligent services of a useful life.”
“Thankyou for telling us about Putnam, grandma,” said Elsie. “I think he was an American to be proud of. Now if you are not too tired, won’t you tell us the story of Jane McCrea? I know a little of it, and would like to know more.”
“I am very willing to tell you the little I know about her,” replied Mrs. Travilla, in her kindly, pleasant tones. “She was the daughter of a Scotch Presbyterian minister, of Jersey City, opposite New York. In that city—New York—lived a family of the name of Campbell. A daughter of theirs and Jennie had become very intimate. Mr. Campbell died at sea and his widow married a Mr. McNeil. He, too, was lost at sea, and she removed with her family to an estate owned by him at Fort Edward. Jane had a brotherliving near there. Mr. McCrea, the father, was a widower, and when he died she went to live with her brother, and, being so near the McNeils, the intimacy was renewed and she spent much of her time in Mrs. McNeil’s house. Mrs. Jones, a widow with six sons, lived near the McCreas, and one of them, named David, became Jennie’s lover. When the war broke out he and his brothers became Tories, and in the autumn of 1776 David and his brother, Jonathan, went to Canada, and when Burgoyne collected his forces at St. Johns, at the foot of Lake Champlain, David and Jonathan Jones were among them. Jonathan was made captain and David a lieutenant in the division under General Fraser, and at the time we are speaking of they were with the British army near Sandy Hill. Jennie’s brother was a Whig, and prepared to remove to Albany; but Mrs. McNeil was a staunch Loyalist, a cousin of General Fraser, and intended to remain at Fort Edward. Jennie was at Mrs. McNeil’s, and lingered there even after it was known that the Britishwere near, and her brother had sent her repeatedly urgent requests to join him where he was—five miles farther down the river, and be ready to flee when necessity should compel. But she lingered, probably with the faint hope of seeing her lover again. At last her brother sent a peremptory order for her to join him, and she promised to go down to the spot where he was in a large bateau, which was expected to leave with several families the next day.
“But Jennie had waited too long. Early the next morning a black servant boy belonging to Mrs. McNeil espied some Indians stealthily approaching the house, and, giving the alarm, he fled to the fort, about eight rods distant.
“Jennie’s young friend, Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, was away from home at the time, and the family there just then consisted of only Mrs. McNeil, Jennie, two small children and a black female servant.
“The kitchen stood a few feet from the house, and when the alarm was given the coloredwoman snatched up the children, fled with them to the kitchen, and from there, through a trap-door, into the cellar.
“Mrs. McNeil and Jennie followed. Jennie, young and able to move briskly, reached the trap-door first; but Mrs. McNeil, being old and corpulent, could not move rapidly, and before she could get down into the cellar the Indians were in the house, and a powerful savage seized her by the hair and dragged her up. Another went into the cellar and brought out Jennie, but the darkness of the cellar favored the colored woman and the children. It would seem the Indians did not see them, so left them in their hiding place unharmed.
“The Indians started off on the road to Sandy Hill, taking Mrs. McNeil and Jennie with them; that was the road to Burgoyne’s camp.
“When they came to the foot of a hill, where the road forked, they caught two horses that were grazing, and tried to mount their prisoners upon them. Mrs. McNeil was tooheavy to be lifted on the horse easily, so told the Indians by signs that she could not ride. Then two stout ones of them took her by the arms and hurried her up the road over the hill, while the others, with Jennie on the horse, went along the road running west of a tree.
“The negro boy who ran to the fort gave the alarm, and a small detachment was immediately sent out for the rescue of the captured ones. They fired several volleys at the Indians without hitting them. Lossing, whose version of the sad story I am giving you, goes on to tell that Mrs. McNeil said that the Indians who were hurrying her up the hill seemed to watch the flash of the guns, and several times threw her upon her face, at the same time falling down themselves, and she distinctly heard the balls whistle above them. The firing ceased when they had got to the second hill from the village. They stopped there and stripped her of all her garments except her chemise; then they led her, in that plight, into the British camp. Her cousin,General Fraser, was there, and she reproached him bitterly for sending his ‘scoundrel Indians’ after her. He said he did not know of her being away from New York City, and he took every pains to make her comfortable. She was so large that not a woman in the camp had a gown big enough for her, so Fraser lent her his camp coat for a garment, and a pocket handkerchief to take the place of her stolen cap.
“Very soon after she was taken into the camp, two parties of Indians came in with fresh scalps, one of which Mrs. McNeil at once recognized by the long glossy hair as that of Jennie McCrea. She was horror struck and boldly charged them with the murder of the poor girl. They, however, stoutly denied it. They said that while hurrying her along the road, on horseback, near the spring west of the pine-tree, a bullet intended for them from one of the American guns mortally wounded the poor girl, and she fell from the horse. They had lost a prisoner for whom they had expected a reward, and the next bestthing was to take her scalp and bear it in triumph to the camp and get the promised reward for such trophies.
“Mrs. McNeil always believed their story to be true, as she knew they had been fired upon by the detachment from the fort, and that it was far more to their interest to take a prisoner to the British camp than a scalp, as they would get the larger price for the former. Burgoyne had told the Indians they should be paid for prisoners whom they took, but called to account for scalps.”
“So it seems Burgoyne wasn’t all bad,” commented Eric. “And I think it must have been a good deal more trouble to get that big fat old woman into the camp alive than it would have been to get the young girl there without killing her.”
“Was her lover there in that camp, grandma?” asked Elsie.
“No; Lieutenant Jones was not there, but it was known that she was betrothed to him, and the story got about that he had sent the Indians for her, that they quarrelled on theway concerning the reward he had offered, and murdered her to settle the dispute.
“The story grew in horror as it passed from one to another, and produced a deep and widespread indignation, increased by a published letter from Gates to Burgoyne charging him with allowing the Indians to butcher with impunity defenceless women and children.
“Burgoyne denied it, declaring that the case of Jane McCrea was the only one act of Indian cruelty he had heard of. That assertion is hard to believe, for the savages murdered a whole family—a man, his wife, three children, a sister-in-law and three negroes, near Fort Edward on the same day that Jennie lost her life. And they were Tories; but, afraid of the savages, were getting ready to flee to Albany. On that fatal morning a younger daughter of Mr. Gilmer went to help Mrs. Allen with her preparations to move, and, staying longer than had been expected, her father sent a negro boy down for her. He soon came back screaming, ‘They are all dead—father, mother, young missus and all.’And it was too true. That morning, while they were at breakfast, the Indians had burst in upon them and killed every one.”
“And what did the Gilmers do about it, grandma?” asked Ned.
“Hurried away to Fort Edward, going very cautiously for fear of meeting Indians. And they did see some of the party who had plundered Mrs. McNeil’s house in the morning. They had emptied the straw from the beds and filled the ticks with various things which they had stolen. And Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, who was with the Gilmers, saw her mother’s looking-glass tied upon the back of one of the Indians.”
“And did those folks get safely to Fort Edward, grandma?” asked Ned.
“They did,” replied Mrs. Travilla, then went on with her story. “The story of Jennie McCrea’s massacre became known all over the civilized part of this land and in Europe. Burke, says Lossing, used it with powerful effect in the British House of Commons. Burgoyne summoned the Indians to council,and demanded the surrender of the one who bore off the scalp of Jennie McCrea, to be punished as a murderer; but from policy he pardoned him, lest the Indians should be so offended if he punished him that they would cease to help the British in their efforts to conquer the Americans.
“It had been said that Lieutenant Jones had sent his Jennie a letter by the Indians, and them as an escort to take her to the British camp. But he denied it all, and indeed he had no need to send for her, as the Americans were retreating, leaving only a small guard at Fort Edward, and in a day or two the British would have full possession of the fort, so that he and his Jennie might have had a safe personal interview.”
“Is there anything more known about Lieutenant Jones, grandma?” asked Elsie.
“Lossing tells us that he had an interview with some connections of his family, and learned from them that he lived in Canada, to be an old man, and died there. The death of his Jennie was a dreadful blow to him,and he never recovered from it. He had been gay and very talkative when quite young, but after that sad event he was melancholy and taciturn. He never married, and went into society as little as he could without neglecting business. Every year he kept the anniversary of Jennie’s death—he would shut himself in his room and refuse to see any one. His friends felt for him and were careful not to speak of the Revolution in his presence. He bought Jennie’s scalp and kept it as a cherished possession.”
“Grandma, was Jennie buried? And if so, is it known where?” asked Elsie.
“Yes; Lossing tells that a picket-guard of one hundred men, under Lieutenant Van Vechten, was stationed on the hill a little north of the pine-tree on that day that we have been talking about, and at the moment when the house of Mrs. McNeil was attacked and plundered, and she and Jennie were carried off, other parties of Indians, belonging to the same expedition, came rushing throughthe woods from different points and fell upon the Americans. Several were killed and their scalps borne off. The party that went out from the fort in pursuit found their bodies. Jennie and the officer were found lying near together, close by the spring, and only a few feet from the pine-tree. They were stripped of clothing. They were carried immediately to the fort—the Americans at once evacuated it—and the body of Jennie was sent down the river in the bateau in which she was to have gone to her brother. It seems that he was very fond of her, and took charge of her mutilated corpse with the deepest grief. It was buried at the same time and place with that of the lieutenant, on the west bank of the Hudson, near the mouth of a small creek about three miles below Fort Edward.”
“Did the Indians kill Mrs. McNeil, grandma?” asked Ned.
“No; she lived a good many years, and her grave can be seen in the village cemetery near the ruins of the fort. Lossing says that inthe summer of 1826 the remains of Jennie were taken up and put in the same grave with her. A plain white marble slab, with only the name Jane McCrea on it, marks the spot.”
Thechildren’s bedtime had come and they had gone to their sleeping quarters for the night. Grandma Elsie was holding the new baby while having a bit of chat with its mother; most of the other grown people were enjoying themselves together in the parlor, but Lucilla and her father were pacing the front porch, as they so often did, while Mamma Vi put the younger ones to bed.
“Have you had a pleasant time to-day, daughter?” asked the captain.
“Oh, yes, sir,” she replied. “I paid Eva a visit and enjoyed holding and looking at the darling little newcomer—Baby Mary. I like the name; don’t you, father?”
“Yes, both the name and the one who bears it. What else have you been doing?”
“Sitting out here with a bit of needlework while Grandma Elsie gave us some interestingpassages from the history of our country in Revolutionary days—of Putnam and his services, and the sad story of poor Jane McCrea. I have been thinking, father, that you could give us interesting facts concerning other actors in the thrilling scenes and experiences of those dark days for our country.”
“Perhaps so,” he answered, “though I doubt if I should equal mother as a narrator.”
“A doubt I don’t in the least share, father,” laughed Lucilla. “You always speak the truth, but are a good story teller for all that.”
“That is in the judgment of my very partial daughter,” the captain responded, with an amused look and smile. “There are other Revolutionary heroes,” he continued, “the facts concerning whom would make very interesting tales—Morgan and Schuyler, for instance.”
“And you will tell them to us, father? Oh, that will be fine.”
“And I shall be glad indeed if I can add to the information and enjoyment of my own young people and the others,” he returned.“Evelyn has quite a library here, collected by her father, in which are a number of encyclopædias and historical works—those of Lossing and others. I shall refresh my memory in regard to Morgan and Schuyler, and perhaps tell you something of one or both to-morrow evening, should mother feel indisposed for such work.”
It was settled at the tea table the next day that the captain was to be the narrator for the little company for that evening, Grandma Elsie saying she would greatly prefer being a listener. All gathered about him on the front porch directly upon leaving the table, and he began the story at once.
“Daniel Morgan was born in New Jersey about 1737. There is little or nothing known of his parents except that he had a pious mother and that he was of Welsh extraction. When about seventeen years old he went to Virginia, where he worked as a farmer for some years. Early in 1754 he removed to Charlestown, Va., and the next year he began his military career, going with Braddock’sarmy in the expedition against Fort du Quesne.
“He seems to have been a teamster, and in the rout did good service in bringing away the wounded after the defeat. Washington, you will remember, was there as aid-de-camp to Braddock, and doubtless he and Morgan became acquainted then.
“It is said that Morgan was unjustly punished with five hundred lashes for knocking down a British officer who struck him with the flat of his sword.
“Afterward he was attached to the quartermaster’s department, and his duty was to haul supplies to the military posts along the frontier.
“About that time, at the head of a few backwoodsmen, he defeated a small force of Frenchmen and Indians, and received from Governor Dinwiddie an ensign’s commission.
“Afterward, while on his way to Winchester with despatches, he and others engaged in a fierce woodland fight with the Indians, in which nearly all Morgan’s companions werekilled and he was severely wounded, being shot through the neck with a musket ball. At the moment he supposed the wound to be fatal—he was almost fainting—but resolved not to leave his scalp in the hands of the Indians. He fell forward with his arms tightly clasped about the neck of his horse, and though mists were gathering before his eyes, he spurred away through the forest paths, until his foremost Indian pursuer, finding it impossible to come up with him, hurled his tomahawk after him with a yell of baffled rage and gave up the chase. That was the only wound he ever received.”
“And it didn’t hinder him from doing great service to his country in the Revolutionary War,” remarked Eric Leland.
“Some few years later,” continued the captain, “Morgan obtained a grant of land, took to farming and stock-raising, and married a farmer’s daughter, Abigail Bailey, who is said to have been a woman of rare beauty and lofty character. He named his home the ‘Soldier’s Rest,’ but was soon called awayfrom it by Pontiac’s war. In that he served as a lieutenant. He prospered with his farming and acquired considerable property. But the calls to war were frequent. In 1771 he was commissioned captain of the militia of Frederick County, and two years later he served in Lord Dunmore’s war on the frontier.”
“InJune, 1775, Congress called for ten companies of riflemen from Pennsylvania, Virginia and Maryland to join the Continental army besieging Boston,” continued the captain. “Morgan was chosen captain of one of the Virginia companies, consisting of ninety-six men, and with it he reached Cambridge about the middle of July.
“A month later eleven hundred hardy men were detached from the army for the service of Arnold in his expedition against Canada, and its riflemen were commanded by Captain Daniel Morgan. We will not now go over the story of that toilsome, perilous and unfortunate expedition. The journey through the wilderness was a terrible one; but our brave men persevered and reached Canada. Morgan and his men were the first to cross the St. Lawrence and reconnoitre the approaches toQuebec, which was too strongly defended to be attacked with any hope of success. But a great attack was made on New Year’s morning, 1776, in which Montgomery was killed and Arnold disabled. Morgan stormed the battery opposed to him, but not being supported, he and his detachment were surrounded and taken prisoners. But General Carleton, admiring Morgan for his bravery, released him on parole and he went home to Virginia.
“Washington earnestly recommended him to Congress as worthy of promotion, and in November they gave him a colonel’s commission. He was duly exchanged and released from parole. He raised a regiment of riflemen and joined the army at Morristown, New Jersey, late in March.
“Morgan’s services in reconnoitring were very great in the skilful campaign of the following June, in which Washington prevented Howe from crossing New Jersey.
“In the following July Burgoyne’s descent into northern New York made it desirable toconcentrate as large a body of troops there as possible to oppose him, and on the 16th of August Morgan was sent with his regiment to join the army near Stillwater, of which Gates had lately taken command. His force was five hundred picked riflemen, of whom Washington said that he expected the most eminent service from them; nor was he disappointed. And it is said that when Burgoyne was introduced to Morgan after the battle of Saratoga, he seized him by the hand and exclaimed: ‘My dear sir, you command the finest regiment in the world!’ It was no wonder that Burgoyne thought highly of their skill; for Morgan and his men had played a principal part in the bloody battle of Freeman’s farm, in which Arnold frustrated Burgoyne’s attempt to dislodge the American left wing from Bemis Heights, and their services were quite as great in the final conflict of October 7th, in which the British army was wrecked.”
“Wasn’t it in the battle of Bemis Heights that General Fraser was killed, papa?” asked Elsie.
“Yes,” replied her father. “Morgan’s men were skilful riflemen and one of them shot Fraser. Morgan, seeing that by directing and cheering on the British troops Fraser was doing more than any one else to defeat and slay the Americans, perceived that much of the fate of the battle rested upon him, and that to bring victory to the Americans, who were fighting for freedom, it was necessary that Fraser should be taken away. So, calling a file of his best men around him, he pointed toward the British right and said: ‘That gallant officer is General Fraser. I admire and honor him, but it is necessary that he should die; victory for the enemy depends upon him. Take your station in that clump of bushes and do your duty.’
“Lossing says, ‘Within five minutes Fraser fell mortally wounded, and was carried to the camp by two grenadiers. Shortly before that two rifle balls had struck very near him, one cutting the crupper of his horse, and the other passing through his mane, a little back of his ears. Seeing all that, Fraser’s aid beggedhim to retire from that place. But Fraser replied, ‘My duty forbids me to fly from danger,’ and the next moment came the shot that killed him.”
“Oh, papa, it was a sad, sad thing to do; a sad thing to order!” exclaimed Elsie. “I don’t see how Morgan could do it.”
“It was a sad thing. War is always dreadful and a great and fearful wrong—often on both sides, sometimes right on one, as I think it was in our War of the Revolution; very wicked on the side of King George and his ministers, right and praiseworthy on the part of the Americans who were fighting for freedom for themselves and their posterity. I cannot see why it should be thought any more sinful to kill Fraser than any one of the privates under him and whom he was ordering to shoot our men; and no doubt his death at that time saved many—probably hundreds of the lives of Americans who were fighting for life, liberty, home, wives and children.
“And the mortal wounding of Fraser had a good effect—a panic spread along the Britishline. Burgoyne, who now took the command, could not keep up the sinking courage of his men. The whole line gave way and fled hastily to their camp.
“But I shall not go farther into the account of that battle at present; in the one which followed on the 7th of October, and in which the British army was wrecked, Morgan’s services were equally great and important.
“After the victory Gates was unwilling to send Morgan and his regiment back to Washington at Whitemarsh, and it was only with some difficulty and by sending Colonel Hamilton with a special message that the sorely tried commander-in-chief succeeded in obtaining him.
“Washington was at Whitemarsh, near Philadelphia, and on the 18th of November, 1777, Morgan joined him there; in time to take part in the fight early in December of that year.
“On Sunday, the 8th, they advanced, and flanking parties were warmly attacked byColonel Morgan and his rifle corps, and Colonel Gist, with the Maryland militia. The battle was quite severe. Twenty-seven men in Morgan’s corps were killed and wounded, beside Major Morris, a brave and gallant officer, who was badly maimed. Sixteen or seventeen of the Maryland militia were wounded.
“The enemy’s loss, too, was considerable. The movements of the British seemed to indicate an intention to immediately attack the Americans, so that Washington was presently surprised to perceive that instead of advancing they were marching precipitately, in two divisions, toward Philadelphia. As their adjutant remarked to Mrs. Lydia Darrah, whose story you have all heard before, they had been on a fool’s errand and accomplished nothing.
“On the 25th of August, 1777, Washington, with several divisions of his troops, Morgan and his rifle corps among them, left Philadelphia and encamped at Red Clay Creek, a few miles below Wilmington, thenext day. Washington established his headquarters at Wilmington, and at once made preparations to oppose the march of the enemy, scouts having brought him news of their arrival at the head of Elk.
“In September, Washington broke up his camp and crossed the Brandywine at Chadd’s Ford, at about two o’clock on the morning of the 9th. The 11th of September was the day of the battle of Brandywine.”
“Which was a defeat for us, wasn’t it, uncle?” asked Eric.
“Yes, though our troops fought very bravely,” replied Captain Raymond. “There were but eleven thousand of them and the British force was probably not less than seventeen thousand men. Lossing tells us that had not conflicting intelligence perplexed and thwarted him in his plans, it is probable that victory would have attended Washington and the American army. He was not dispirited.
“But to go back to Morgan. When in June, 1778, Sir Henry Clinton evacuated Philadelphiaand set out for New York by way of New Jersey, the news presently reached Washington, and he at once broke up his encampment at Valley Forge, and with almost his whole army started in pursuit.
“Morgan was in that army with six hundred men. This was on June 20. I will not go over the whole story. The battle of Monmouth was not fought until the next Sunday, which was the 28th, and an exceedingly hot day. I shall not go into the particulars in regard to it just now, but only remark that Morgan was most unaccountably kept out of the conflict—he and his brave riflemen at a distance from the field. For hours he was at Richmond Mills, three miles from Monmouth Court House, awaiting orders in an agony of desire to engage in the battle, for he was within sound of its fearful tumult. He strode to and fro, uncertain what course to pursue, and, like a hound on the leash, panting to be away to action. It is not known why he was not permitted to take part in that conflict. It seems altogether likely that had he fallenupon the British rear with his fresh troops at the close of the day, Sir Henry Clinton and his army might have shared the fate of Burgoyne and his at Saratoga.
“After the battle, Morgan joined in the pursuit of the enemy and took many prisoners.
“About a year later, finding his health seriously impaired, and, like many other officers, feeling much dissatisfaction with the doings of Congress, especially with regard to promotion, Morgan sent in his resignation and went home to Winchester.
“About a year after that, when Gates took command of the southern army, Morgan was urged to return to the service; but he refused to serve as a colonel, because if he did he would be outranked by so many commanders of state militia that his movements would be seriously hampered and his usefulness impaired. As Congress declined to promote him, he remained at home; but after the great disaster at Camden he declared that it was no time to let personal considerations haveany weight, and he promptly joined Gates at Hillsborough.
“That was in September; in October he received promotion, being made a brigadier-general, and Congress soon had reason to rejoice over the fact that it had done that act of justice, since it had resulted in placing Morgan where his great powers could be made of the uttermost service to the country.
“It was in December that Greene took command of the southern army, and he then sent Morgan, with nine hundred men, to threaten the important inland posts of Augusta and Ninety-six, and to co-operate with the mountain militia. In order to protect those posts and his communication with them, Cornwallis sent the redoubtable Tarleton with eleven hundred men to dispose of Morgan. As they drew near, Morgan retreated to the grazing ground known as the Cowpens,[A]where, on a long rising slope, heawaited Tarleton’s attack. His men were drawn up in two lines, the militia, under Pickens, in front, and the Continentals, under Howard, one hundred and fifty yards behind. Some distance behind these waited Colonel William Washington, with his admirable cavalry.
“When the British attacked Pickens’ line, after a brief resistance, the militia broke into two parts and retired behind Howard’s line of Continentals. As the British advanced to attack this line it retreated slowly, so as to give Pickens time to reform his militia. Presently Pickens swept forward in a great semicircle around Howard’s right, and attacked the British in their left flank. At the same moment Colonel Washington swept around Howard’s left and charged upon the enemy’s right flank while Howard’s line, after a few deadly volleys at thirty yards, rushed forward with levelled bayonets.
“Thus terribly entrapped, most of the British threw down their arms and surrendered,while the rest scattered and fled. They lost heavily, in killed, wounded and prisoners, besides two field-pieces and one thousand stand of arms. Only two hundred and seventy escaped, among them Tarleton, who barely saved himself in a furious single combat with Colonel Washington.
“The loss of the Americans in this astonishing action was twelve killed and sixty-one wounded. It is said that in point of tactics it was the most brilliant battle of the Revolutionary War. And it is brilliant even compared with the work of the greatest masters of the military art.
“That victory of the Americans was a crippling blow to Cornwallis, because it deprived him of his most effective light infantry.
“Cornwallis was nearer than Morgan to the fords of the Catawba which Morgan must cross to rejoin Greene, but by a superb march Morgan gained the river first, crossed it and kept on into North Carolina.
“There was a masterly series of movements there, after Greene’s arrival, which ended inthe battle of Guilford and Cornwallis’s retreat into Virginia.
“But before the campaign was ended Morgan was suffering so severely with rheumatism that he was compelled to quit active work and go home.
“That was in February, 1781. By the following June he had so far recovered that he was able to command troops to suppress a Loyalist insurrection in the Shenandoah Valley.
“He then reported to Lafayette at his headquarters near Jamestown, and was put in command of all the light troops and cavalry in the marquis’s army. But in August a return of his rheumatism again obliged him to go home.
“For the next thirteen years he had a quiet life upon his estate. He grew wealthy, and entertained many eminent and interesting guests. His native qualities of mind were such as to make his conversation instructive and charming, in spite of the defect of his early education.
“In 1795, with the rank of major-general, he held a command in the large army that, by its mere presence in Western Pennsylvania, put an end to the whiskey insurrection. The next year he was elected by the Federalists to Congress. But failing health again called him home before the end of his term, and from this time until his death he seldom left his fireside. He died on the 6th of July, 1802, in the sixty-seventh year of his age.”
“Was he a Christian man, papa?” asked Elsie.
“I think he was,” her father said in reply. “He had a pious mother and it seems never forgot her teachings. In his later years he became a member of the Presbyterian church in Winchester. ‘Ah,’ he would often exclaim, when talking of the past, ‘people said old Morgan never feared—they thought old Morgan never prayed—they did not know old Morgan was miserably afraid.’ He said he trembled at Quebec, and in the gloom of early morning, when approaching the battery at Cape Diamond, he knelt in the snow andprayed; and before the battle at the Cowpens, he went into the woods, ascended a tree, and there poured out his soul in prayer for protection.
“Morgan was large and strong. He was six feet in height and very muscular, and weighed more than two hundred pounds. His strength and endurance were remarkable; and he was a very handsome man—said to be equalled by but few men of his time in beauty of feature and expression. His manners were quiet and refined, his bearing was noble and his temper sweet, though his wrath was easily aroused by the sight of injustice.”
“No wonder, then, that he took up arms against King George,” remarked Lucilla.
“A natural result of having such a disposition, I think,” returned her father, and went on with his story.
“Morgan was noted for truthfulness and candor, and throughout life his conduct was regulated by the most rigid code of honor. He was also, as I have said, a devout Christian.”
“Oh, I am so glad of that!” exclaimed little Elsie; “and I hope we will all meet him in heaven—the dear, brave, good man.”
“I hope we will, daughter,” responded the captain heartily, while several of his other listeners looked as if they shared the feelings of love and admiration for the brave patriot, Daniel Morgan.