CHAPTER XVIII

In this year, 1743, Admiral George Clinton was sent by King George II. of England to take the place of George Clarke as Governor. Then Clarke packed up his riches and went to England and enjoyed the rest of his life far from the little colony that he had governed so much to his own profit.

Admiral Clinton was the son of an English earl.

When he had been Governor not yet a year, there came a man whose influence was soon felt. He was Commodore Peter Warren, of the British Navy, who in later years became an admiral. Before he had been in New York long, he married Susannah De Lancey, a sister of the Chief-Justice. They went to live in a new house in the country, in the district which was then and is now known as Greenwich.

England was again at war with France at this time. There were tribes of Indians who sided with the French, and there were other tribes who sided with the English, and the result was a series of bloody border wars. Two years after the coming of Governor Clinton, New York, with the other English colonies, gathered troops to attack the French, and a great force was sent against a city called Louisburg. This city was on Cape Breton Island, which is close by the coast of Nova Scotia and was a fortress of such great strength, that it was called the Gibraltar of America. Commodore Warren led the English fleet, and the combined forces by sea and land captured the fortress.

You will remember James De Lancey, who was still Chief-Justice. He was very rich, and as he showed at all times that he considered the interests of the citizens above all things, they naturally thought a great deal of him. For a time he acted as adviser to Governor Clinton, but the two had a falling out.

For the ten years that Clinton remained Governor he had great trouble with the people, who sided with De Lancey. At the end of that time Governor Clinton, finding that his power grew less and less, and that De Lancey became more and more popular, resigned his office. A few months went by, and then came Sir Danvers Osborne to be Governor. On the third day after reaching the city he walked out of the fort at the head of the other officials, with Clinton by his side, to go to the City Hall, where he was to take the oath of office. The people, all gathered in the streets, shouted when they saw the new Governor. But at the sight of Clinton, whom they hated, they hissed and shook their fists and yelled, until Clinton became alarmed and hurried back to the fort, leaving the new Governor to go on without him. And Sir Danvers Osborne was much surprised and a little frightened.

"I expect," said he to Clinton that same day, "I expect the same treatment before I leave the province,"

For all the shaking fists and for all the angry shouts, the new Governor was well entertained that day. The church-bells rang, cannon boomed, and at night the town was illuminated. But the citizens did not do this so much for the new Governor as they did for De Lancey, who had now been made Lieutenant-Governor.

Two days after Sir Danvers took the oath of office he called his council before him and told them that the King had said he was to have the permanent revenue about which there had been so much trouble with the other governors. And the council members told him, as they had told others, that this command would never be obeyed. On hearing this Sir Danvers became sad and gloomy. He covered his face with his hands.

"Then what am I come here for?" he cried.

The very next morning there was an uproar in the city. The Governor had been found dead, hanging from the garden-wall of his house. Then the people learned that his mind had been unsettled for a long time, and that he had accepted the governorship hoping to be cured by a change of scene. But the knowledge that his rule would be one of constant struggling to gain his ends had doubtless proven too much for his wrecked brain. So he killed himself, and the government of New York was left in the hands of James De Lancey, and you will see how he still further won the hearts of those around him.

Two years James De Lancey acted as Governor, and the citizens were really sorry when Admiral Sir Charles Hardy was sent to take his place.

Sir Charles was not slow to see and to admit that while he was a good sailor, he did not make a good Governor, so after a year he resigned, and the province was once more left to the care of De Lancey.

At this time there was much being said about the need for schools, and for many years plans had been under way for building a college in the city.

Money had been raised by means of lotteries—which were popular and lawful then—and finally the college was established. It was called King's College. It is still in existence, but is now Columbia University. A tablet at West Broadway and Murray Street tells that the college once stood close by.

It was near this time that William Walton, a very rich merchant, built the finest house that the city had yet known. This was in Queen Street, not a great way from the Stadt Huys, and the furniture and fittings were in keeping with the elegance of the exterior. It was so fine that the fame of it spread to England, where it was spoken of as a proof that the colonists were very, very rich indeed. This house stood for 129 years. When it was torn down it had become a tenement that showed scarcely a trace of its early grandeur. Queen Street is now Pearl Street and the building numbered 326 is on the site of the famous old house.

There was another war with the French now, and four expeditions were sent out against them. On one of these a young officer with the troops from Virginia distinguished himself. He was cool and daring in the midst of battle. The soldiers, who were themselves fearless fighters, strove to be as brave as he. This officer was only twenty-three years old, and his name was George Washington. He had a glorious career before him.

There came from England in the year following this a burly, blustering man, who had been appointed commander-in-chief of the British forces in America. This Lord Loudoun very soon proved to everybody's satisfaction except his own that he was not fit to be a commander. The people of New York detested him heartily, and were glad when after three years he was recalled because he was not successful in the war against the French. The new commander-in-chief did better. He was General Jeffrey Amherst, and under him the English were gradually successful. Town after town held by the French fell, until the capture of Montreal, in 1760, secured to the English the conquest of Canada, and so ended a conflict which had for many years drained the energies of the colonists.

Soon after this Lieutenant-Governor James De Lancey was found dead in his library-chair at his country home (now a closely built-up part of the city at Delancey Street, near the Bowery). In a few days his body was taken from there, followed by a great concourse of people, and buried under the centre aisle of Trinity Church. Up to the last day of his life De Lancey remained much beloved.

Trinity Church, 1760

The death of De Lancey left the care of the colony to Cadwallader Colden, whom you will remember as the friend of Governor Hunter. He had been so long concerned in public affairs that he knew how to please. Before the year was ended England's King, George II., died. When the news reached New York, the city was draped with mourning. But in another week all signs of sadness had disappeared in honor of the new King, George III.

Then General Robert Monckton, who had been in command of the English forces on Staten Island, was made Governor. He was a young man, somewhat careless, but, as was the case with all the new governors, he was welcomed with glad shouts of approval.

England at this time needed men in her navy, and the captains of war-ships were in the habit of boarding any vessel that sailed from the colonies in America and taking sailors by force to serve on the English ships. This increased a bitter feeling that the colonists were beginning to have against England. The city had now 14,000 inhabitants and was in quite a flourishing condition.

After two years Monckton tired of the cares of government, and sailed away to England, with never a thought of the wild scenes that were to take place in the land he left behind.

The colonists were becoming more and more dissatisfied, not only in New York, but in all of the thirteen English colonies in America. For they strongly objected to the way in which money was being taken from them in the form of taxes. The English had spent much money in the wars which led up to the conquest of Canada, and thought that it should be returned to them. So they taxed the colonists in every possible way. Protest was made against these taxes, but in vain. Matters became worse and worse. After two years, when it had come to be the year 1765, the British Parliament passed what was called the Stamp Act. This compelled the people to buy stamps and put them on every sort of legal paper. No one could be married, no newspaper could be printed, nothing could be bought, nothing could be sold, no business of any sort could be carried on without these stamps. No one could evade the use of them, and in this way all would have to contribute directly to the King.

More than any other form of tax, more than anything the British Government had done, the people opposed this Stamp Act. The colonists had no one to represent them in the British Parliament, no one to present their side, no one to plead for them and tell what a drain this tax was, so they declared that they would not use a single stamp, unless they were allowed to have someone to represent them; and they set up the cry, "No Taxation Without Representation."

Very soon a company of men called the Sons of Liberty began to be heard of throughout all the thirteen colonies. They were foremost in opposing the Stamp Act. In many towns they held meetings, and it was not long before the people were aroused from one end of the country to the other.

Not many months had passed before men were sent from each of the colonies and met in the City Hall at New York. This meeting was called a Colonial Congress. For three weeks these men conferred, and during that time decided that in good truth the Stamp Act was unjust, and that everything in their power should be done to prevent it.

Coffee-House opposite Bowling Green, Head-Quarters of the Sons of Liberty

In this same year the house which Stephen De Lancey had built close by Trinity Church, and which James De Lancey had lived in until his death, had become a hotel. It was called Burns's Coffee-House. It was a solid structure, with high beams, great fireplaces, and wide halls. If you go now to look for the spot where it stood, you will find a crowded business section; but in those days there were open spaces all about, and a handsome lawn swept away to the river. One October night the merchants of the city gathered in this coffee-house, and here, late at night, they signed a paper which bound them one and all to buy no goods from England so long as the English King should compel them to use the stamps. By this agreement people could, of course, only wear clothing that was made in the colonies, and even the wealthy refused to buy silk and broadcloth that were sent from England. Tea and coffee, being imports, were not drunk, and in their place were used preparations made from fragrant wild herbs of the American soil.

The merchants who had assembled in the coffee-house were called the Non-Importation Association, branches of which spread throughout all the colonies. The paper they signed was the non-importation agreement. Next day, which was the first on which the stamps were to be distributed, the city seemed to sleep. The shops were closed and the citizens remained indoors. The flags were hung at half-mast and the bells tolled dismally.

But at night the silence changed to noise. The citizens gathered in numbers. They broke into the stable of Lieutenant-Governor Cadwallader Golden and dragged out his coach of state. In it they put a figure made of sticks and rags to represent the owner. They marched the streets, shouting as they went, and finally surrounded the fort. The soldiers were drawn up on the ramparts with cannon and gun directed toward the Bowling Green. But no shots were fired. The rioters being denied admission to the fort, into which they were anxious to get because the stamps were stored there, tore down the wooden railing around the Bowling Green, and, kindling a huge fire, burned the coach and the figure in it.

As the flames blazed high, the fury of the mob increased. They rushed away toward Vauxhall on the outskirts of the town (where Greenwich and Warren Streets now cross). Vauxhall at this time was occupied by a major of the British army named James. He had said that the stamps ought to be crammed down the throats of the people with the point of a sword. In revenge for this his house was broken into, his handsome furniture, his pictures and treasures of every sort dragged out, and kindled into a bonfire around which the mob danced and howled.

The people were quite determined to take the law into their own hands and destroy every trace of the hated stamps. You shall know presently what prevented them.

On the morning after the night of rioting—dark and dreary day that was quite in keeping with the gloomy feelings of the people—Cadwallader Colden, the Lieutenant-Governor, decided that he would do away with the stamps that had caused so much trouble. So he had them delivered to the Mayor, who was in accord with the citizens, and the Mayor put them in the City Hall amid many cheers. A few days after this Sir Henry Moore (who had been appointed Governor of the province) arrived from England, and immediately won the hearts of the citizens by saying that he would have nothing to do with the stamps. During the next few months excitement in New York and in the other colonies increased, and efforts to keep the stamps in use caused riots everywhere.

When the King saw that he could not enforce the Stamp Act, and that serious trouble was likely to occur from every attempt to do so, he repealed the act, the year after it had become a law.

The people were overjoyed at this.

The King's birthday coming soon after, there was in his honor a great celebration, and a liberty pole was planted on the Common, which in after years played an important part in the history of New York; and a marble statue of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, was erected. This William Pitt had done more than any other man in England to secure the repeal of the Stamp Act, and had time and time again spoken strongly against it. His statue was set up in Wall Street, and at the same time a statue of King George III., seated upon a horse, was erected on the Bowling Green. It fared ill with these statues later, as you will see.

There was no longer a stamp act, but there was another act quite as disagreeable. It was called the Mutiny Bill, and it required that food and drink and sleeping-quarters be given to all the British soldiers. Now the Mutiny Bill fell hardest upon New York, for New York was the head-quarters of the British army in America. The people refused to comply with this law, because they feared that it was the first step toward compelling them to support a great army in America.

So the soldiers and citizens were again continually at odds.

Four years after the Stamp Act was repealed, during which time affairs were in a most unsettled state and the bitter feeling between the colonists and England was growing stronger with each passing day, the English Parliament declared that no tax was to be put on anything except tea. Tea was to be taxed, not so much for the money that would thus go to the King, but to show that he had the right to tax the colonists. This did not settle matters in the least. The colonists had sworn to resist all taxes, and to have a tax on one article was as bad, to their minds, as having taxes on all. But the merchants were not prospering, for, not importing goods from England, they had none to sell. So a committee of 100 men was appointed to see what could be done. This committee decided that it would be right for the merchants to import everything they needed except tea. And the merchants welcomed this decision and agreed to it.

But the fiery Sons of Liberty refused to listen to any such compromise. They insisted on keeping the non-importation agreement until the duty on tea, as well as all other duties, should be done away with once and for all. So they determined to maintain it until the end, and they did maintain it well. Day by day the soldiers of King George III. and the citizens became greater enemies. Although the soldiers tried many times to drag down the liberty pole, it was well defended, and it stood until one night in January, 1770, when they tore it down and chopped it into pieces. This act led to the battle of Golden Hill, which was the first real battle of the American Revolution.

A bit of rising ground, not a great way from the Common, was called Golden Hill. Here there was an inn. To this day the elevation of ground can be seen (where John Street crosses William), and the inn still stands. While the thought of the wrecked liberty pole was still fresh in mind, some of the Sons of Liberty came suddenly upon a number of soldiers close by this inn. There was a running fight, the soldiers using their guns and cutlasses and the others beating them back with staves and sticks. More soldiers came and the fight grew in fury. Already one man had received his death-blow and a dozen had been injured, when several officers came galloping up the road and the soldiers were ordered back to their barracks. This was the battle of Golden Hill.

Very often after this the soldiers and the citizens clashed and sometimes came to blows, and progress was at a standstill because of the turbulence of the times. Public improvements were neglected and very little business was carried on.

In the third year after the battle of Golden Hill, the British Government decided to make the colonists buy tea whether they wanted to or not. So the price was put down until tea could be bought in New York cheaper than it could be bought in England. This did no good, for though the tea was cheap the tax was on it and it was the tax and not the price of which the people complained. The Sons of Liberty, when they heard that ships loaded with cheap tea were on the way from England, said they would not even permit it to be landed. The first ship in port was under the command of a captain named Lockyer, who, when he learned of the strong efforts made to prevent the landing of the tea, determined to return to England with his cargo. He anchored his ship in the bay and came in a small boat to the city. The people, joyful over his decision, decided to give him a public leave-taking.

Within a few days another ship sailed into the bay, commanded by Captain Chambers, who insisted that he had no tea on board. When told that his vessel would be searched, he admitted that he had a few chests. That same night the citizens who had all day thronged the wharf, suddenly swarmed aboard the vessel. The hatches were ripped up, and the eighteen chests of tea hauled on deck. There they were torn into pieces and the contents scattered into the river. Having done this the crowds dispersed and all was quiet again.

Next day came the public leave-taking of Captain Lockyer. He had spent the night at the coffee-house in Wall Street, and here, early in the morning, there was a great assembly. The bells of the city chimed merrily; flags floated from the houses, and the ships in the bay were decorated with gay colors.

From the balcony of the coffee-house the Captain bowed while the crowds cheered him. Finally a committee escorted him to the foot of Wall Street, where he embarked in a pilot-boat which took him to his ship. Another committee, with far less ceremony, escorted Captain Chambers to the same boat, and the two captains sailed away.

Ferry-House on East River, 1746, from an Old Print

Even before this had happened in New York, the citizens of Boston had dumped a cargo of tea into their harbor, and the British Parliament had closed the port of Boston; which meant that no ships were permitted to sail in or out of it. By this it was hoped to stop all business in Boston, and really it did put an end to a great part of it. And General Thomas Gage, who now had charge of the British troops in America, undertook to see that the orders of the King were properly enforced.

This closing of the port of Boston aroused the thirteen British colonies in America. After a great deal of letter-writing it was decided to have men from each of these colonies meet and talk matters over. In September of this year (1774) they met in Philadelphia. At this meeting, which was called the First Continental Congress, it was decided that laws were made in England that were unjust to America, that the colonists objected to taxes that were fixed by Parliament and would buy no more goods from England while a tax was upon them; and that they objected to the support of a large British army in the colonies.

And this First Continental Congress sent a petition to King George III., saying that the unjust laws should be done away with.

How the King received this petition is soon told.

Now in New York almost everybody was anxious to carry out the decision of this First Continental Congress.

But the Assembly said that the Congress had not been a lawful gathering and must not be obeyed. The colonists replied that they would do as they thought best, no matter what the King's Assembly ordered.

You must know that some of the people supported the royal cause and were called Royalists or Tories. The others were called Patriots or Whigs. The English called the patriots rebels.

It had now come to be the year 1775, and matters in Boston where the port had been closed were growing worse and worse. In the month of April some British soldiers passing through Lexington shot down a number of patriots. Messengers on horseback sped through the colonies carrying news of this massacre. It was the first serious encounter of the Revolution and the colonists realized that they were now at war with the British. Men rushed to arms. Farmers left their homes. Professional men hurried from the towns. Within a few days an army surrounded Boston and penned in the British troops there.

When the messenger reached New York with the news of the Lexington massacre, a Provisional Assembly was formed which was to look after the city without regard to the Assembly which already existed. And this is the way it came about that there was a king's government and a people's government. Shops were closed and armed citizens paraded the streets. Matters went on in this fashion for a month, when a Second Continental Congress met at Philadelphia.

As it was now seen that there was to be a serious conflict with Great Britain, the army gathered about Boston was adopted as the beginning of the forces to be assembled and was termed the Continental Army, and George Washington was appointed commander-in-chief.

East River Shore, 1750, from an Old Print

Knowing that they would soon need guns and powder, the Sons of Liberty seized those held by the royal troops in New York. There was quite a quantity in a storehouse at Turtle Bay, a quiet little cove three miles above the town, that curved into a wild and rocky part of the East River shore. Nowadays the city extends for miles and miles above it. If you go to Forty-ninth Street and the East River you will see all that remains of it. Although the houses are built thick about it, there is still an air of seclusion. Everywhere else along the shore are piers and bath-houses and wharves and ships and shipping.

So at this Turtle Bay, far from the town, the royal troops had a storehouse for their arms. A small band of the Sons of Liberty, one dark night, floated down the river, guided their vessel into the bay, overpowered the guards before they were fairly aroused, and loaded their boat with the enemy's powder and guns. Then they made off, and before the morning dawned had placed the stores safe in the hands of the patriots.

Then the War of the Revolution broke in full fury.

In this month of June, in the year 1775, there were quite a number of British soldiers in the city, and many of the patriots believed that they should be made prisoners. But the Provisional Assembly decreed that the orders of the Second Continental Congress must be obeyed. And these orders were not to molest the soldiers as long as they did not try to build fortifications or remove powder and guns from the city.

But early in this month of June it was learned that the soldiers were about to go to Boston. More than that, it was known that there was a secret order under which they were to take guns and powder with them.

The Sons of Liberty were hastily called to a meeting. One of them, Marinus Willett, was hurrying through Broad Street toward the Coffee-House where the meeting was to be held, when he came upon the soldiers moving silently along with five carts loaded with chests of arms. Alone, and without an instant's hesitation, Willett clutched at the bridle of the first horse. The company stopped. There was an angry parley, the officers claiming the right to leave the city with the arms, and making an effort to do so without raising a general alarm. But friends of Willett came to his assistance. The five carts were driven away by the patriots and the soldiers went on but without the arms. Long years afterward a bronze tablet was placed on a house in Broad Street close by Beaver (and is there now), to mark the spot where the brave Willett stopped the ammunition wagons.

In this same month a battle was fought between the British army in Boston and the Continental army which was encamped outside of Boston. It was fought on a bit of high ground near the city, and was called the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Just at this time word came that General George Washington, the newly appointed commander-in-chief, was on his way from Philadelphia to the Continental army, and would pass through New York City. Washington with his aides and a company of soldiers were hurrying across New Jersey on horseback, and when they reached the city they were met by a committee from the Provisional Assembly, with a number of patriot soldiers.

The next morning Washington set out for Boston. He had not yet left the town when a ship appeared in the bay having on board Governor William Tryon, who had been visiting in England for nearly a year. Governor Tryon did not remain long in the city though, as it was not a comfortable place for a royal Governor just then. He hurriedly left one night and went aboard one of the British ships in the bay.

At the close of this year Washington was still before Boston with the Continental army. Another section of the army was in the North, fighting against the British in Canada. This last branch was encamped about the walls of Quebec in the last month of the year. It was under the command of General Richard Montgomery, of New York, a brilliant soldier who had fought in the French and Indian wars. Quebec was stormed, but was too strong to be taken. Montgomery fell crying, "Men of New York, you will not fear to follow where your general leads." He was buried with military honors in Quebec, for the British honored him as a brave man. Forty-three years later his remains were removed to New York, and placed beneath the portico of St. Paul's Chapel, where his tomb may now be seen.

Fighting by the side of Montgomery when he fell was a youth who was singled out for his bravery. His name was Aaron Burr. You are to hear more of him, for many and many a time in after years the eyes of the entire country were turned upon him.

And now, early in the next spring, George Washington came again to New York, having at last forced the British troops from Boston. The city, which was under the control of the patriots, was in a state of excitement, as it seemed probable that this was to be the next point of attack. Every person who favored the cause of the King, or who was suspected of favoring it, was looked upon with distrust. One-third of the citizens had fled. The soldiers of the Continental army were arriving daily. Women and children were rarely seen upon the streets. Many of the royalists' houses, which had been closed when their owners fled, were broken open to give sleeping quarters to the soldiers.

At the outbreak of the war the people's grievance had been simply taxation without representation, but by this time the desire for complete independence had taken fast hold of them. This feeling swept through the colonies, and when the Continental Congress met in June of this year, it voted that the united colonies should be free and independent States and have no further political connection with Great Britain. A declaration of independence was adopted on July 4th, and the British colonies became the United States of America.

A horseman brought the news to New York, and there was great rejoicing. The soldiers of the new Union then in the city were ordered to the Common, and there, early in the evening, standing in a hollow square—close by where the City Hall is now—and surrounded by a great concourse of people, Washington read the address that proclaimed the birth of a free and independent nation.

Following the reading the great throng applauded and then, filled with enthusiasm, rushed away. At the City Hall in Wall Street they tore down the painting of King George III. and trampled it under foot. On again they went to the Bowling Green, and there they dragged down the statue of the same royal person which had been erected only a few years before. The scattered fragments of the leaden statue were afterward gathered up and moulded into bullets.

This same month General William Howe, commander of the British army, had landed on Staten Island, with his brother, Admiral Howe of the British navy, and with the soldiers and sailors of their commands, made up a fine, well-drilled army of 35,000 men, who had come to fight a force of 20,000 recruits; men not at all well-versed in war, and nearly half of whom were ill and not able to be on duty.

But Washington calmly watched the British on Staten Island, and the British ships, more than 400 of them, in the bay, and was not at all dismayed. Once General Howe wrote to Washington suggesting measures that would lead to peace, but nothing came of it.

Late in the month of August the fighting commenced. General Howe led his forces to Long Island—led 21,000 men, for he thought that the best way to capture New York was to first vanquish the army on Long Island by an overwhelming force. Then the subduing of the city across the river would be easy.

Washington hurried what men he could across to Long Island to assist those already there. But even then the Americans were outnumbered as two to one. The patriots fought long and well, but they were defeated. Two hundred or more were killed, and three times as many, including three generals, were made prisoners. But more than 300 of the British were also killed.

The day after the battle, the American army was in Brooklyn, penned in on the land side by the British troops and on the other by the wide, swift-running river. It was raining in torrents. Washington was there. He planned a retreat that was to save his army. All the boats to be found along the shores of the Island of Manhattan were taken to Brooklyn in the dead of night. Silently the soldiers were put aboard, so silently that, although the British were almost within speaking distance, no sound of the departing army reached them. The point where they embarked was close by where the East River Bridge now touches the Brooklyn shore. It was daylight before the last of the troops got aboard, but a heavy fog shielded them as well as had the darkness.

When the sun swept the fog away, General Howe gazed in wonder at the spot where the American forces had been the night before. But they were gone, with the swiftness and silence of magic! The magician was Washington, who had not slept from the hour of defeat until his men were safe again in New York. But they were not to remain there long, as more exciting work was before them.

Miles and miles above the little city of New York, on a road which led up through the Island of Manhattan, there was a stately house in a stretch of country and forest land overlooking the Hudson River. This was the house of Charles Ward Apthorpe and was known as the Apthorpe mansion. Here General Washington went after the retreat from Long Island, to devise a plan for the battles that were to come.

The city was well fortified, but Washington understood full well that it could not be held long against a British attack. For the British soldiers were already on the islands of the East River, and the British ships held possession of the harbor and of both rivers. So Washington sent the main body of his army to Harlem Heights at the northern end of the Island of Manhattan, and left only a force of 4,000 men, under General Putnam, in New York.

Washington desiring to learn the plans of the enemy, called for someone who would be willing to go into the British lines. This was a dangerous undertaking, for capture meant certain death. But there was a young officer who was anxious to undertake the mission, and the arrangements were made. This was Nathan Hale. In disguise he made his way, learned the number of the enemy, and learned, too, all about the plan of attack. With this information he was hurrying back to General Washington, when he was recognized as belonging to the American army, and was arrested. In a few days, when he was tried, he freely admitted that he had acted as Washington's spy. He died as he had lived—bravely. A moment before he was hanged he was asked if he wished to say any word. "Yes," he answered; and looking firmly into the faces of those who stood about him, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country," No wonder that the memory of the Martyr Spy has lived through the passing years!

Sixteen days after Washington and his men retreated from Long Island, the British sailed up the East River and anchored opposite a little inlet called Kip's Bay (at the foot of what is now Thirty-sixth Street). They fired upon those who defended the bay, and under cover of this fire landed; and the American soldiers scurried away up the island toward the north.

General Howe led his men on for half a mile, until they reached a large country house. This was the home, and all about it was the farm, of a family named Murray (who gave their name to Murray Hill). These Murrays were friendly to the patriots, but they were also well acquainted with Governor Tryon, who was with the British army. So the army rested close by the house, and Howe, Tryon, and the other officers were given a fine dinner by Mrs. Murray.

Mrs. Murray's Dinner to British Officers

Now although the Americans had retreated north up the island from Kip's Bay, and were safely on their way to the main army on Harlem Heights, you must remember there were 4,000 soldiers still in the city. So the British were in the centre of the island with a very large force; the main body of the Americans was to the north; while to the south was this little band of 4,000, far away from their army and in a position to be trapped by the British. Had the British officers at once decided to stretch their men across the island, the 4,000 would have been penned up on the lower part and would have been made prisoners. It therefore seemed to Putnam's men that there was but one way for them to escape capture, and that was by slipping past the British who rested at Murray house and joining the main army on Harlem Heights.

The Murrays understood the condition of affairs, so they were particularly cordial to their British guests and detained them as long as they could at dinner. They were still feasting when General Putnam started his 4,000 men marching toward the north.

Howe's Head-Quarters, Beekman House

He galloped far in advance, for the country was rough and his soldiers could walk but slowly. He galloped north, and Washington, hanging to the rear of the retreating troops from Kip's Bay, the generals met where two roads crossed, close by where Broadway now crosses Forty-third Street. Washington instructed Putnam to hurry his 4,000 on before they were irretrievably cut off from the main army. They did hurry on. They drew near the Murray house; they formed a line two miles long that moved silently over the road that led them to within half a mile of where the British soldiers were feasting. The line passed this point. Scarcely had the last man gone by when the British were on the move, half an hour too late for the capture of 4,000 prisoners.

Now the American forces were all together in a solid mass, moving toward the upper end of the island; plodding through pouring rain, almost dropping from the exhaustion of their long march—but safe.

This same night a division of the British soldiers occupied New York. The others, close on the heels of the American army, waited for the morning.

When the sun rose next morning (it was September 16th), the American army and the British army lay encamped each on a highland close beside one another separated by a valley.

The ground occupied by the British soldiers was then Vandewater Heights. Much of this high ground still remains and is now called Columbia Heights, and Columbia University and Grant's Tomb are upon it. The American forces were scattered over what was then Harlem Heights, as far as Washington's head-quarters in the country mansion overlooking the Harlem River above Harlem Plains. It was the house of Roger Morris, a royalist who had fled at the approach of the American soldiers, and it still stands at 160th Street close by St. Nicholas Avenue. On the heights and in the valley a battle was fought, beginning with a light engagement quite early in the day, with more and more men of both armies gradually joining in until there were 5,000 Americans against 6,000 British, with several thousand of each side held in reserve.

Map of Manhattan Island in 1776, Showing the American Defences

The battle ended in the afternoon with the defeat of the British, who lost 200 of their number.

This was a great victory for the Americans, who fought against superior numbers—great because the men had lost heart after the defeat on Long Island, and the forced retreat from the city. There was sorrow for the dead, for even victories have a sad side. Every one of the 100 American soldiers who were killed that day were brave men, and though all their names are not written in history, the manner of their death urged on their companions in the days that followed.

On the fourth day after the battle of Harlem Heights the soldiers of England were making themselves comfortable in New York when a great fire broke out. It swept over the city and 500 houses crumbled and fell in ashes before it was controlled. Almost the entire western part of the city was consumed, St. Paul's Chapel being the only building of importance that was saved. Almost all who favored the American cause had fled. But a few remained, and there was a hint that these had started the fire. The British soldiers were angered when they saw the city they had just entered burning, and while the flames roared and the houses fell they rushed about and in their rage dashed out the brains of the citizens who sought to beat back the flames from their homes. But it was afterward learned that the fire had started in quite an accidental manner.

A little while after this General Howe moved with the greater part of the British army up the East River, and sailing on past the Island of Manhattan, landed on the mainland beyond in Westchester. In this way the British were in the rear of the Americans, and within a few days the two armies coming together a battle was fought, in which the Americans were defeated. Washington and his men then retreated into New Jersey.

General Howe next attacked Fort Washington, a high and rocky point on the banks of the Hudson River (on a line with the present 178th Street). There were 3,000 men here, all the American soldiers who were now on the island, and they held such a high and well-fortified position that they thought themselves quite safe. They doubtless would have been had not one of their number, William Demont, turned traitor. He told the British just how many men there were, and just how the fortress should be attacked. And the British stormed the fort as the traitor directed, and took it, and every one of the soldiers who had not been killed was made prisoner. This ended the actual fight for liberty in New York.

Back to Index Next