A Revolutionary Story.CHAPTERII.[Continued frompage 16.]
[Continued frompage 16.]
Itis not our design to detail the proceedings of the regiment raised in Saybrook, and commanded by Colonel Joinly. It is sufficient to say that it marched toward New York, and crossing over the Sound to Long Island, for the purpose of executing some plan against a detachment of British troops stationed there, they were attacked by a superior force, and after some brave fighting, were driven back. A small portion of them, including the colonel, being separated from the rest, were surrounded and captured. The rest were dispersed and returned to their homes.
New York had now fallen into the hands of the British, and General Clinton, the British commander, had established his head-quarters there. The citizens, for the most part, remained at home, though many families had departed for other portions of the country. Those who remained were not disturbed in their ordinary business, though they were carefully watched by the British officers.
The city of New York at this period seemed almost like a British town. The soldiers of King George, dressed in their red coats, and bearing the British flag, were seen parading the streets every day and filling the city with the sounds of the fife and drum. Sir Henry Clinton had a fine house, where he might often be seen, surrounded by British officers gayly decked in gold lace, rich epaulettes, and cocked hats ornamented with plumes.
Though the business of these men was war, they seemed, while in New York, to be chiefly occupied with amusement. It is true, that, during the day, they rode forth on fine horses to review the troops, examine the fortifications, or inspect military stores. Sometimes they assembled together for counsel, when they might be seen carefully inspecting maps, reading despatches, and forming deep schemes to defeat General Washington and conquer our country.
But although a portion of their time was thus occupied, still these officers seemed to live as if amusement engrossed their attention. They were often seen gallanting gay ladies through the streets, and almost every evening wasdevoted to pleasure. Frequent levees were held at the general’s house, where music, dancing and revelry seemed to fill the hearts of all who were present. There were several American families in New York, who were friendly to the British and opposed to the cause of liberty; they were called tories. These paid their court to General Clinton, and did everything in their power to please, amuse, and gratify his officers.
Thus things went gayly on in the city, while war raged in all parts of the country. Towns and villages were attacked, the houses plundered and burned, the inhabitants slain or driven in poverty and desolation from their houses. Even where these scenes of violence had not occurred, and in places remote from battle and bloodshed, there was sorrow and gloom hanging over many a family and many a village. To form an idea of this, let us turn our attention a moment to Saybrook and the home of Colonel Joinly. He had now been absent about two years, being detained in captivity at New York. He had left behind him a wife and family of six children.
Before his departure, they had lived in the enjoyment of wealth and prosperity. Their house stood upon the bank of the Connecticut river, commanding a view of the noble bay, which spreads out at the point where that stream mingles with the ocean. The edifice was of the olden fashion, of two stories, with a steep roof and heavy cornices. It was of ample dimensions, with several out-houses and two large barns; the latter showing that a liberal farm was connected with the domain.
Several lofty elms stood around, and two in front, with their vast spreading branches, especially, indicated the full century which had elapsed since the house was reared. In the present instance, they might have been emblematic of the two heads of the house. It seldom happens that two nobler spirits are united than in the alliance of Captain Joinly and his wife.
He was distinguished alike for manly beauty, fine intellect, and true nobleness of soul. Eminent in his profession, he had acquired wealth, which had been used to embellish his home, bestow the advantages of education upon his family, and dispense charity around him. His wife was in every respect his equal.
I remember her well, for she lived to the age of threescore and ten, and when I was a boy, and sat upon her knee, she told me the tales which I am now telling. In her old age, her tall form was erect, her eye black and piercing, and as she walked upon her high-heeled shoes, she seemed the very image of dignity. She was still scrupulous as to her toilette; and though she had the long waist, the tall cap, the frizzed gray hair, the rich, stiff, black silk of the olden time, there was a graciousness of manner, a heavenly sanctity of countenance about her, which rendered her, as my memory has preserved her portrait, one of the most beautiful beings I have ever beheld. There is surely no extravagance in conceiving that the two noble elms that stood before the old mansion, were emblematic of the master and mistress who presided over it.
For a series of years, an unbroken tide of prosperity had seemed to attend the Joinly family. In the enjoyment of wealth and respectability, they also possessed the confidence and good will of all around. They might, perhaps, be considered a little aristocratic, and there was doubtless something of family pride in their hearts.
But these things were common in that day; the English custom of dividing society into different ranks was prevalent in the country. Where there was wealth, talent, and good character, a certain degreeof superiority was assumed. It did not then, as in our day, give offence, for such was the practice of the people; and especially in the case of the Joinlys, was the rank assumed on the one hand, and accorded on the other, without provoking unpleasant feelings. In the dignity they maintained, there was nothing of strutting, of haughtiness, or pride; and such was their reputation for kindness, hospitality and charity to all, that envy was disarmed and scandal silenced.
Such was the state of things when the hospital on Duck Island was destroyed. This was a serious disaster; for the amount of property that was lost was considerable. It was, however, followed by other calamities. Colonel Joinly expended a large sum of money in preparing his own outfit and that of the regiment, all of which was speedily dissipated. Beside this, the unfortunate result of his expedition, though in no respect occasioned by want of skill or courage, had impaired the reputation of the colonel, and served in no small degree to mortify the feelings of the family.
But more than all, his prolonged captivity, and the circumstances which attended it, served to harass both himself and those who were nearest and dearest to his heart. He was detained at the western extremity of Long Island, contiguous to New York, where a large number of American prisoners were kept. Some of these were in barracks, and others in the hulks of large vessels, which were moored near the shore of the present town of Brooklyn.
Crowded closely together in these dismal apartments, with unwholesome and scanty food, surrounded with a putrid atmosphere, and deprived of every comfort, the poor wretches suffered everything that humanity could endure. Many of them fell victims to these miseries, as well as to diseases engendered by destitution, famine, and an infectious atmosphere.—Colonel Joinly, from his rank, was spared these miseries; but he was a physician, and seeing the sufferings of these poor wretches, his generous heart was touched with pity, and, from the first, he devoted himself to their alleviation as far as was in his power. He expended the little money he possessed in the purchase of medicines, and when this was exhausted, he sent home to his family, begging them to forward him all the money in their power to be employed in this pressing charity.
Though already impoverished, and struggling under many difficulties, his wife despatched all the money she could collect, and added several articles of jewelry. All this was soon expended, and still there was a demand for more. The colonel, at length, exchanged his gold watch and his gold sleeve buckles for medicines; and finally he proceeded to some of the merchants in New York, and ran in debt to a considerable amount for the same object.
From the earliest dawn, till late at night, he was devoted to the poor, suffering soldiers. Sometimes an hundred of them were prostrate with disease, and he was the only physician. Naturally of a kind and sympathizing nature, he felt the sorrows of these poor creatures as if they were his own. He not only administered to them as a physician, but he alleviated their sorrows in every way that his ingenuity could suggest.
The soldiers looked upon him as their only friend, and they regarded him with an affection almost bordering upon idolatry. In a multitude of cases, he was called by the dying soldiers to communicate their last words to their friends, and a large part of his time was taken up in writing letters of this nature. Nothing could exceed the patience, the gentleness, the sympathy, with which he would sit by the bedside of the dying,soothing their agonies of body and softening their mental sorrows.
While thus, for two long years, Colonel Joinly was occupied in his career of charity, his family at home had been subjected to many privations. Everything that could be done by a woman was achieved by the energy, skill, and devotion of his wife. But they had been completely impoverished by the draining of their resources, and nothing was left to the support of a large and expensive family but the farm. From this, the absolute necessaries of life were indeed procured, but nothing more.
The situation of Mrs. Joinly was, in many respects, distressing. Her husband was in captivity, and in circumstances which led her to feel that his life must soon be sacrificed to exposure, care and anxiety. She knew the depth of his feelings, and foresaw that unless he were soon released from his present condition, he would speedily wear out his life from mere sympathy with the distress around him. She had several sons, now approaching manhood, who needed the guidance of a father; and she had daughters, who were deprived of advantages which they once possessed, and which a father’s presence alone could restore.
With all her care, she felt too that stern poverty was creeping upon them. The old family carriage had been laid aside, the sleek horses were gone, and the plough-horse alone remained in their stead. The ample flock of sheep had dwindled down to some half dozen ewes. Nothing remained of the noble dairy, but two lean cows. The fences of the farm were going to decay, and everything around seemed to wear an aspect of ruin and dilapidation.
Hitherto, Mrs. Joinly had supported her adversities with firmness, or if she had moments of weakness, they were hidden from the view of all around, and the tears which were shed, fell in secrecy and silence. But at last, she wrote a letter to her husband, setting forth her anxieties, and begging him earnestly to adopt some means by which he would be able to return.
When this letter reached Colonel Joinly, his heart was wrung with anguish. It seemed impossible that he should leave the prisoners to their fate, and yet, the call of his family appeared imperative. With a view of discharging his duty to all, he proceeded to General Clinton, and in moving terms set before him the distresses of the prisoners, and the necessity of provision, of medicines, medical attendants and other comforts. This earnestness and eloquence extorted a promise of compliance with these reasonable requests; but the event proved that it was promise alone.
Colonel Joinly also wrote to General Washington, entreating him to provide for his immediate exchange. He set before him his great sacrifices, his broken constitution, his ruined fortunes, his distressed family. The reply received from the commander-in-chief was full of kindly sympathy, but it still expressed a belief that Colonel Joinly’s presence with the distressed prisoners was indispensable, and that his leaving them would be but a dereliction of duty.
In a state almost bordering on despair, his nerves already shaken by impaired health, the colonel proceeded to General Clinton, and besought him to grant him leave of absence for a month, upon parole. The request seemed to startle the general at first, but great virtues make their way through all hearts. Colonel Joinly’s devotion to the prisoners had become the theme of praise even with the enemy, and had reached the ears of the British commander. He therefore, after a little hesitation, granted the request of Colonel Joinly, taking only his word of honor as the pledge for his return.
The war-worn soldier now made preparations to depart for his home, but, owing to some caprice in the British commander, or other circumstances, which we cannot explain, at the moment Colonel Joinly was about to depart, his leave of absence was revoked, and sick at heart, he was obliged to submit to the disappointment which this event occasioned.
(To be continued.)