"That ride was but one of a whole life of such deeds," said Kinnison. "There never was a man who dared more than Putnam. In the old French War, he astonished the boldest savages and rangers by his feats, often throwing himself into the arms of death, as it were, and escaping without any serious hurt."

"It was a great pity," said Colson, "that Putnam was not a younger man when the revolutionary war broke out. He had spent his best years in fighting for the old country, against the French and Indians."

"Perhaps it was better as it was," said Davenport. "I think there were brave men enough in our army." It was clear that Davenport was disposed to argue the respective merits of the generals of the revolution. Hand thought argument might check the flow of good-feeling, and therefore suggested that they should have more drum and fife music. Brown and Hanson agreed, and upon request struck up the "White Cockade." This was spirit-stirring, and called forth much applause. Another song was called for, and one of the young men sang the following song, written for the occasion, but which his modesty had hitherto held back. The music was that of "Rule, Brittania!"

When our great sires this land explored, A shelter from tyrannic wrong! Led on by heaven's Almighty Lord, They sung—and acted well the song, Rise united! dare be freed! Our sons shall vindicate the deed.

In vain the region they would gain Was distant, dreary, undisclosed; In vain the Atlantic roar'd between; And hosts of savages opposed; They rush'd undaunted, Heaven decreed Their sons should vindicate the deed.

'Twas Freedom led the veterans forth, And manly fortitude to bear; They toil'd, they vanquished I such high worth Is always Heaven's peculiar care. Their great example still inspires, Nor dare we act beneath our sires.

'Tis ours undaunted to defend The dear-bought, rich inheritance; And spite of each invading hand, We'll fight, bleed, die, in its defence! Pursue our fathers' paths of fame, And emulate their glorious flame.

As the proud oak inglorious stands, Till storms and thunder root it fast, So stood our new unpractised bands, Till Britain roar'd her stormy blast; Then, see, they vanquish'd! fierce led on By Freedom and great Washington.

The song had very little poetry and less music in it; but patriotism applauded its spirit. Mr. Hand again directed the conversation in such a manner as to glean as much information from the veteran patriots as possible, and enquired if any of them had seen the hero of Bennington—General John Stark.

"Oh! yes," replied Timothy Ransom, "There was very few of the right-side-up men in Vermont, that I didn't see and know too. See General Stark! I guess I did; and seen a leetle of him at Bennington, too."

"I thought General Stark belonged to New Hampshire," said Hand.

"So he did," replied Ransom. "The country that now makes the states of Varmount and New Hampshire was then called the New Hampshire Grants, and was governed by one assembly and one council."

"What sort of a looking man was Stark?" enquired Pitts.

"Well, he weren't much to look at," said Ransom. "He was about the middle height, and strongly built. He had a firm look about the face, and you might have been sure of his doing what he said he would do, just from hearing him talk. Blunt and downright, he was—and didn't stop to pick words. He had seen a tougher life than any of his neighbours—fighting as a ranger and regular soldier—and you might suppose there was no nice affectation in his dress and manners like you find in some of our generals. He was a man made for service."

"That's the man exactly as I saw him at Saratoga," said Kinnison.

"Did you say you was with General Stark, at Bennington?" enquired Hand.

"Ay, and did my share of that day's work," replied Ransom. "That was a battle, my boys. If you had seen the way that the militia walked up to the enemy's cannon, and fought with regulars, you'd have said at once, there was no use of Great Britain trying to subdue such men."

"Not having had the pleasure of seeing it," replied Hand, "I should like to hear what you saw of it. Tell us about the affair, and how you won such a victory."



THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON.

"You shall hear about the battle of Bennington," said Ransom. "At the time Burgoyne was advancing towards the Hudson, the people of Massachusetts and the New Hampshire Grants were alarmed, and feared that Burgoyne would march towards Boston. The whole frontier was uncovered. But the people began to feel the necessity of taking measures to check the advance of the enemy. General Stark was then at home, angry with Congress on account of his rank not being equal to his services. He had resigned his commission in the regular army. I was then at my farm, having gone home after serving with Colonel Allen. I expected to be called into service again, but didn't intend to fight under any other orders than those of John Stark; because I knew the man had been badly treated, and I and most of the militia felt for him. The New Hampshire Assembly met, and began to adopt measures for the defence of the country. The militia was formed into two brigades. General Whipple was appointed to command the first, and General Stark the second. Stark refused to accept the appointment. But finding that his name was a host, he was induced to yield his private griefs for the public good. He said he would assume the command of the troops, if he was not desired to join the main army, and was made accountable to no authority but that of New Hampshire. His conditions were accepted, and he went to Charlestown to meet the Committee of Safety. As soon as I heard that General Stark was in the field, I hurried off to Charlestown to join the militia, I knew would assemble there. I found the men were coming in from all directions, and all were in high spirits. Stark sent us off to Manchester, twenty miles from Bennington, to join Colonel Warner's regiment. You know after that skrimmage at Hubbardton, Warner could scarcely muster more than two hundred men, and we who were sent from Charlestown were to fill out his regiment. I found most of the men had been in service since the war began, and knew what fighting was; and I thought they were a match for twice their number; but I had some near neighbours in the regiment of Colonel Nichols at Bennington: I went and joined him. As our regiment was filling up, General Stark arrived at Manchester, where he met General Lincoln, who had come to conduct the militia across the Hudson to General Schuyler; but Stark told him that the men were called together to protect their homes in New Hampshire, and could not be taken out of that part of the country. I heard afterwards that General Lincoln informed Congress of the state of things in our neighbourhood, and that Congress censured General Stark; but he didn't care for that. He knew he was right in staying in New Hampshire, and that the men who censured him knew nothing about the state of things there. Well, we were called upon to meet the enemy sooner than we expected, for it appeared that Baum, with his Germans and Indians, was on his march towards Bennington. Soon after, I arrived at Manchester. About four hundred men had collected at Bennington, when General Stark arrived there, and more were coming in constantly. I guess it was on the 13th of August when we received information that some of Baum's Indians had been seen near Cambridge—that's about twelve miles from Bennington. Then there was a stir among the men, and all sorts of preparation for a desperate battle. We all knew that we were going to fight for our homes, and that made us eager to meet the enemy. All the men of Bennington who could bear arms joined us, and the old men and women and boys did all they could to get us information, and to supply our wants. General Stark sent Lieutenant-Colonel Gregg, with two hundred men, to check the enemy. In the course of the night we were informed that the Indians were supported by a large body of regulars, with a train of artillery; and that the whole force of the enemy were in full march for Bennington. General Stark immediately called out all the militia, and sent word to Colonel Warner to bring his regiment from Manchester. Before daylight on the morning of the 14th of August, General Stark had about eight hundred men under his command, including Colonel Gregg's detachment. We then moved forward to support Gregg. About four or five miles from Bennington, we met our detachment in full retreat, and the enemy within a mile of it. Stark ordered us to halt, and we were then drawn up in order of battle. Baum saw we were prepared to make fight, and halted, instead of coming up to the work like a man. A small party of our men were forced to abandon Van Shaick's mill, where they had been posted, but not before they had killed a few of the enemy. Stark found that the enemy were busy entrenching themselves, and he tried to draw them from their position by sending out small parties to skirmish; but it was of no use, they wouldn't come out and fight; so Stark fell back a mile, leaving a part of our regiment to skirmish. Now you know that's a kind of fighting in which the Green Mountain Boys were always first best. Before we fell back to the main body, we had killed and wounded more than thirty of the enemy, including two Indian chiefs, without losing a man."

"The battle should have been all skirmishes," said Kinnison. "You might have cut the enemy up piece-meal."

"We tried it next day," said Ransom. "It was rainy, and Stark thought it best not to attempt anything more than skirmishing. Our light parties appeared in the woods on every side of the enemy, and picked off the men so fast that the Indians became disheartened, and began to desert Baum. The rain, which prevented our troops from attacking the enemy, enabled them to complete their entrenchments, and send to General Burgoyne for reinforcements; but on the morning of the 16th of August, we found that General Stark and a council of war had agreed upon a plan of attack, and intended to execute it that day. I don't think there was a man among our troops who was not anxious for a fight. Our skirmishes had put us in the humour for it. I can't exactly give you an idea of the position of the enemy, and of the real amount of skill General Stark displayed in his plan of attack. But I'll try to do the best I can. The Germans were posted on a rising ground near a bend in Wallomsac Creek, which is a branch of the Hoosic River. The ground on both sides of the creek is rolling, and the position of the Germans was on the highest of the small hills. Peter's corps of Tories were entrenched on the other side of the creek, nearly in front of the German battery, and on lower ground. During the night of the 15th, Colonel Symonds with about one hundred Berkshire militia, arrived in camp. Parson Allen, who, you may have heard, was such a zealous whig, was with the Berkshire men, and he wanted to fight right off. But General Stark told him if the next day was clear, there would be fighting enough. Well, when the morning of the 16th of August came; it was clear and bright. Both armies seemed to know that day was to decide between them. General Stark had given his orders to all the colonels of his regiments. Colonel Nichols, with our corps of about two hundred men, marched up the little creek just above the bridge, to attack the rear of the enemy's left; while Colonel Herrick, with three hundred men, marched to attack the rear of the right, with orders to join our party before the assault was made. Colonels Hubbard and Stickney were ordered to march down the Wallomsac, with three hundred men, near the Tories, so as to turn Baum's attention to that point. We started about noon, and marched through the thick woods and up from the valley towards the enemy's entrenchments. Our march was rapid and silent, and the enemy didn't see us until we were near. We gave the first volley, and rushed upon them. I saw through the smoke, Colonel Herrick was coming up. We had the Indians between us, and you should have heard them yell, and whoop, and ring their cow-bells, but they wouldn't stand; they fled through our detachments and left the Hessians to shift for themselves. Soon after we commenced the attack, General Stark made that short address you have heard so much about. Josiah Wemyss, one of my old friends, was near the General when he spoke. He told me Stark raised himself in his stirrups, and said: 'See there, men! there are the red-coats; before night they are ours, or Molly Stark will he a widow! Forward!' and they did forward and rush upon the Tories with such force that they drove 'em across the stream, upon the Germans, who were then forced from their breastworks on the heights. Then the battle became general. Such a tremendous fire I never saw before, and never expect to see again. Colonel Baum and his dragoons fought like brave men, and for a long time could not be broken. We attacked them on one side, and Stark on the other, but they stood their ground, and when their powder gave out, Colonel Baum led them to the charge with the sword. But it couldn't last: our men were fighting like mad, and our firelocks brought down the enemy at a tremendous rate. Many of us had no bagonets—I among them, yet we marched up to the Germans just the same as if we had the best arms. At last, the Germans gave way and fled, leaving their artillery and baggage on the field. Our men didn't pursue. You see, General Stark, in order to give the men every inducement to do their best on the field, promised them all the plunder that could be taken from the enemy; and as the Germans fled, we all scattered to seize on what they had left. I had the good luck to get a sword and one of the heavy hats which the dragoons wore. I didn't care much about the value of the things in regard to the money they'd bring, but I thought they'd be somewhat to keep in the family, and make them remember that battle. While I was looking for more things, I caught sight of a man riding at a furious rate towards General Stark. He called out, 'Rally! rally! more Germans! rally!' and sure enough, we saw a large body of the enemy coming out of the woods, in good order. It was the reinforcement Baum had sent for. General Stark had collected a small body of men, when I hurried to join a few of our regiment that Colonel Nichols had rallied. I thought that our victory was about to be snatched from us; but just then Colonel Warner's regiment arrived from Manchester, fresh and well-armed. They attacked the Germans at once, while Stark, with about two hundred of us, pushed forward to aid them. Then began an obstinate struggle, not like the other fight with the Germans and Tories; but a running fight on the hills and plains, just the kind of skrimmage in which a hundred Green Mountain Boys were worth double their number of redcoats. About sunset, the greater part of our men were engaged, and the enemy was beaten in every part of the field. We drove them from the hills down towards Van Shaick's, killing, wounding, and taking prisoners all the time. At Van Shaick's mill they made their last stand. They had placed a small party of Tories in the building, and a party of Germans rallied in front of it. But it was no use, the Germans were driven away and the men in the house forced to surrender. Our men pursued the enemy to the Hoosick, and captured the greater part of 'em. I really believe, if night hadn't come on, we would have taken every man of 'em. But General Stark ordered the men to return, for fear they would fire upon each other in the gloom. Before I came back, however, I caught a Tory lurking near the edge of the woods. Now I hated Tories worse than the Britishers or Germans, and I had a strong notion to shoot him, and I told him so; but he begged hard for his life, and said he never intended to take up arms against his countrymen again: I took him back to our troops and put him with the other prisoners."

"What was the loss of the enemy that day?" enquired Pitts.

"I heard since, that it was nine hundred and thirty-four men, including killed, wounded, and prisoners," replied Ransom. "I recollect we buried two hundred and seven of them. Our own loss was one hundred killed, and about the same number wounded. Besides the prisoners, we took four pieces of brass cannon, more than two hundred and fifty swords, several hundred muskets, several brass drums, and four ammunition wagons. So you see, we had plenty of plunder."

"I suppose the men were not allowed to take any thing but the swords and muskets," said Kinnison.

"Yes, the baggage fell to us," said Ransom, "and all the fixins of the German camp; the cannon, drums, wagons and standards were not taken away."

"I guess that was one of the completest victories ever gained," said Kinnison. "Only to think of militia flogging regulars in that style. What could the enemy expect from our regulars?"

"There's as much credit due to General Stark for that victory, as was ever given to him or as we could give to a general," said Ransom. "If he had not taken command of the troops, there would have been very little resistance to Baum's advance. The plan of attack was formed with great skill, and the general went into the battle with the determination to win it or leave his body on the field. Such a man as John Stark would make soldiers out of cowards."

Mr. Hand here proposed three cheers for General Stark and his Green Mountain Boys, and they were given with a hearty will. One of the young men then announced that he had a song, which had been sung at an anniversary of the battle of Bennington, and which he would now sing, if the company wished it. Of course, the company did wish it, and the young gentleman sang the following words:—

Remember the glories of patriots brave, Though the days of the heroes are o'er; Long lost to their country and cold in their grave, They return to their kindred no more, The stars of the field, which in victory pour'd Their beams on the battle are set, But enough of their glory remains on each sword To light us to victory yet.

Walloomsack! when nature embellished the tint Of thy fields and mountains so fair, Did she ever intend a tyrant should print The footsteps of slavery there! No! Freedom, whose smiles we shall never resign, Told those who invaded our plains, That 't is sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Than to sleep for a moment in chains.

Forget not the chieftain of Hampshire, who stood In the day of distress by our side; Nor the heroes who nourished the fields with their blood, Nor the rights they secured as they died. The sun that now blesses our eyes with his light, Saw the martyrs of liberty slain; O, let him not blush when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain!

Brown and Hanson had prepared their instruments during the singing, and immediately followed it with Washington's march, to which knives and forks kept time.



"An incident occurred just after the battle of Bennington, which showed the spirit of the people of the neighbourhood," said Ransom, when the musicians had concluded. "Old Zedekiah Bleeker, who lived in Bennington, sent five bold sons to join our little army, just before the battle. One of them—Sam. Bleeker—was killed; and one of the old man's neighbours came to tell him about it—'Mr. Bleeker,' said the neighbour, 'your son has been unfortunate.' 'What!' said the old man, 'has he misbehaved? Did he desert his post or shrink from the charge?' 'Worse than that,' replied the neighbour; 'he was slain, but he was fighting nobly.' 'Then I am satisfied,' said the old man; 'bring him to me.' Sam's body was brought home. The old man wiped the blood from the wound, and while a tear stood in his eye, said it was the happiest day of his life, to know that he had five sons fighting for freedom and one slain for the same cause. There was a spirit of patriotism for you."

"I can tell you of an instance quite as good," said old John Warner. "Perhaps it is better; for in this instance, a woman displayed the like spirit. A good lady in 1775, lived on the sea-board, about a day's march from Boston, where the British army then was. By some unaccountable accident, a rumour was spread, in town and country, in and about there, that the Regulars were on a full march for the place, and would probably arrive in three hours at farthest. This was after the battle of Lexington, and all, as might be well supposed, was in sad confusion—some were boiling with rage and full of fight, some with fear and confusion, some hiding their treasures, and others flying for life. In this wild moment, when most people in some way or other, were frightened from their propriety, our heroine, who had two sons, one about nineteen years of age, and the other about sixteen, was seen preparing them to discharge their duty. The eldest she was able to equip in fine style—she took her husband's fowling-piece, 'made for duck or plover,' (the good man being absent on a coasting voyage to Virginia) and with it the powder-horn and shot-bag; but the lad thinking the duck and goose shot not quite the size to kill regulars, his mother took a chisel, cut up her pewter spoons, and hammered them into slugs, and put them into his bag, and he set off in great earnest, but thought he would call one moment and see the parson, who said, well done, my brave boy—God preserve you—and on he went in the way of his duty. The youngest was importunate for his equipments, but his mother could find nothing to arm him with but an old rusty sword; the boy seemed rather unwilling to risk himself with this alone, but lingered in the street, in a state of hesitation, when his mother thus upbraided him. 'You John Haines, what will your father say if he hears that a child of his is afraid to meet the British: go along; beg or borrow a gun, or you will find one, child—some coward, I dare say, will be running away, then take his gun and march forward, and if you come back and I hear you have not behaved like a man, I shall carry the blush of shame on my face to the grave.' She then shut the door, wiped the tear from her eye, and waited the issue; the boy joined the march. Such a woman could not have cowards for her sons."

"I heard of many such instances," said Kinnison; "such a spirit was common at the time, not only in New England, but throughout the States. Look at the noble conduct of some of the people of New Jersey, during Washington's retreat, and afterwards. The women did all they could to lessen the sufferings of the men, and many an old man wanted to join the army, knowing how much he would have to endure."



THE CAPTURE OF GENERAL SULLIVAN.

"The women were all right during the Revolution," said Pitts. "I can tell you of an instance in which a woman displayed both patriotism and wisdom, though it may be rather a long story."

"Oh! the longer the better," said Hand.

"Very well," said Pitts, "I'll tell you about it, as near as I can recollect. One night, while the British army was encamped on Long Island, a party of the redcoats, galled by the death of Major Andre, formed a plan to cross over to the Connecticut side and capture General Sullivan, who commanded some of the Americans stationed there, and hold him in revenge for Andre's death.

"It was a hazardous project, but four bold men pledged themselves to undertake it. John Hartwell, a brave young officer was selected as their leader.

"Soon as arranged they proceeded to a boat, and made the best progress they could across the river; on gaining the shore, they made for a small clump of underwood, where they lay concealed, until they noted what direction it was best to take.

"Here too may be seen the tents where repose the brave men who have sworn to protect their homes and country, or die in its defence against the invaders, who seek to control their free rights. Near may be seen a spacious farm house, the abode of General Sullivan—the brave soldier and faithful friend—who now slept, unconscious of danger. Through some neglect, the sentinels on duty had wandered from their posts, never dreaming it possible that any one would risk a landing, or could pass the tents unobserved. By a circuitous route they gained the house, and here the faithful watch-dog gave the alarm; a blow soon silenced him; and ascending the piazza, Captain Hartwell opened the casement, and followed by his men, stepped lightly into the sitting-room of the family.

"They now struck a light, and with caution proceeded on their search—they passed through several apartments, while, strange to relate, the inmates slept on, unconscious of this deed of darkness.

"They at length reached the General's room—two of the men remained outside, while Captain Hartwell, with another officer, entered, and stood in silence, musing on the scene before them.

"A night-lamp burnt in the room, dimly revealing the face of the sleepers—whose unprotected situation could not but awake a feeling of pity even in their callous hearts.

"'Jack,' whispered his companion, 'by heaven I wish this part of the business had been entrusted to some one else—I could meet this man face to face, life for life, in the field of battle—but this savors too much of cowardice.'

"'Hold your craven tongue, Low,' answered Captain Hartwell, 'perform your part of the play, or let some one else take your place—you forget the scrape we are in at the least alarm. We might happen to salute the rising sun from one of the tallest trees on the General's farm—an idea far from pleasing.'

"'For my part, I could wish myself back on Long Island—but our general expects every man to do his duty—let yours be to prevent that female from screaming, while I secure her husband.'

"The ear of woman is quick, and from their entering the room, not a word had escaped Mrs. Sullivan. At first she could scarce refrain from calling out, but her uncommon strength of mind enabled her to master her fear—she scarce knew what to think: her husband's life, herself and family, were at stake, and her courage rose in proportion as her sense of danger increased.

"She scarcely dared to breathe, and even the infant at her breast seemed to partake of its mother's anxiety, and nestled closer to her bosom.

"The curtains partly shaded where she lay, and breathing a prayer to Heaven for protection, she silently stepped from the bed, scarce knowing how to proceed.

"Her woman's tact led her to appeal to their sympathies, if sympathies they had—if she died, she but risked her life for one dearer than herself whose existence to his country was invaluable—and perhaps by this means enable him to escape. In an instant she was before them, her infant at their feet, her pale beseeching face imploring what speech refused to utter.

"The officers started—this sight was unexpected—the least hesitation, and all would be lost.

"Captain Hartwell threw aside his heavy watch-cloak and said—

"'Madam, let this uniform be the warrant for our honour—our object is to take your husband alive, if possible—that depends, however, on your silence.'

"At this moment General Sullivan awoke, and finding his wife in the hands of men whose calling he knew not, his good sword was soon in his hand, but a strong arm wrested it from him—handcuffs were placed on his wrists, and he stood their prisoner.

"He enquired by what right they entered his house! 'Our object, sir,' replied the officer, 'is to convey you to Long Island—the least expression of alarm from you, that moment you breathe your last—if peaceable, no violence will be offered.' Mrs. Sullivan threw herself before them, and entreaties for mercy gushed from her agonized heart. 'Oh! spare him—take what money is here, but leave me my husband, the father of my children. Think, if you have wives or families, what their sense of bereavement would be to see some murderous band tear you from their arms, and they left in horrid uncertainty as to your fate. Take all that we have, but leave him.' A sneer of scorn curled the officer's lip, as he coolly replied—

"'Madam, we are neither robbers nor assassins—the compliment on our part is quite undeserved. We are British officers.'

"'Then, sir,' exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan starting to her feet—her eyes flashing, her proud form trembling, as her own wrongs were forgot in those of her country—'Shame on the cause that sanctions such a deed as this—in the silence of night to enter a peaceful dwelling and take an unoffending man from the arms of his wife and family—Truly, such an act as this would well need the covering of darkness. You may call yourselves servants of Britain—that is your fit appellation. Take him—another victim is required for my country. But the vengeance of Heaven is abroad, and, ere long, the men who war for the price of blood, will find the arm of him who fights for his fireside and liberty, nerved by a stronger consciousness of right.'

"'Madam,' interrupted the officer, awed by the stern majesty of her manner, 'I came not here to interchange words with a woman, or, I might speak about warring against our lawful king.—But you know, Tom,' turning to his companion, 'I never was good at preaching.' 'Not to a woman, certainly,' said Tom, laughing, 'or rather you could never bring one to your way of thinking.'

"A slight noise warned them of the impropriety of their longer remaining. The General having completed dressing, took an affectionate farewell of his wife, assuring her he would soon be enabled to return. They left the house—but to gain the shore was a matter of some difficulty. The general was rendered incapable of making the slightest noise if he had wished to, and they had tied Mrs. Sullivan, and bound her mouth to prevent her giving any alarm. But the tents were not so easily passed. The morning was fast approaching, and the route they came would occupy too much time to retrace it—their only plan now was to make as straight a line as possible to the shore. Already had they passed one tent, when the cry 'who goes there' was heard. In a moment they gained the shadow of an adjoining tent, when a man suddenly stept before them and demanded their business. No time could be lost—the two officers proceeded on to the boat with the general, while the remainder overpowered the sentinel and joined their companions as the dawn was faintly perceptible in the east. By the time an alarm was given, they were far beyond the reach of pursuit.

"Their prisoner was borne triumph to their commander, who intended waiting superior orders as to the disposal of him.

"In the meanwhile, Mrs. Sullivan was not idle. A council was called, and every plan was proposed that could tend to liberate her husband.

"The womanly wit of Mrs. Sullivan suggested that they should cross the river in the same manner as the British had done, and seize the person of one of their influential men, and hold him as an hostage until terms could be agreed upon for the exchange of prisoners. It was a risk, and if discovered, no mercy could be expected.

"The nephew of the general, a young officer of merit, and several others, volunteered their services. The following night was arranged for the purpose.

"The difficulty, when the time arrived, was to procure some mode of getting over. A whale-boat was at length found, into which the adventurers got, disguised as fishermen. They soon arrived at Long Island and proceeded to the residence of Judge Jones.

"With some difficulty they secured that worthy functionary, and notwithstanding his assurance as to being a good patriot, which they assured him they did not in the least question, conveyed the good man to the boat, in spite of his wish to finish his sleep out, and embarked pleased with their success. On reaching the house of Mrs. Sullivan they introduced their prisoner. Mrs. Sullivan courteously apologized for the necessity they had been under for requesting his society without due time for preparation; a suring him that the house and all in it were at his service while he honoured it as his abode.

"The Judge was taken quite at a loss. At any time he was a man of a few words, but the sudden transition had quite bewildered his faculties. At times he doubted whether the good old cogniac, of which he had taken a plentiful supply before retiring to rest, had not turned his head.

"He stood in the centre of the apartment gazing listlessly around him, until the voice of Mrs. Sullivan, politely inquiring if her guest stood in need of any refreshment, recalled his fleeting thoughts. The tempting repast set before him did wonders in restoring his good humor, his sail having given him quite an appetite, and at any time a lover of the good things of life, and knowing arguments could produce no alteration in his fate, he submitted with as much good grace as possible, a little alleviated by the reflection that a woman's care was not the worst he could have fallen into. By a singular coincidence, Mrs. Sullivan learnt that her husband was an inmate in the house of the Judge, an assurance in every way relieving, having been placed in his charge until conveyed from Flatbush.

"Letters were soon interchanged, the Americans refusing to yield their prisoner without the British doing the same. Terms were accordingly entered into, and the Judge prepared to take leave of his fair hostess at the same time her husband was taking leave of the Judge's wife.—The Judge had been highly pleased with the manners of Mrs. Sullivan, who did every thing in her power to make his stay agreeable.

"The two boats with their respective prisoners at length set sail, and meeting on the river, they had an opportunity of congratulating each other on the happy termination of their imprisonment, which, thanks to woman's wit, so fertile in expedients, had saved them from what might have been a tragedy. With assurances of friendship they parted, the wives soon having the pleasure of embracing their husbands. Subsequently letters couched in terms of the warmest gratitude were exchanged between the two ladies, for the attention paid to their respective husbands."

"That Mrs. Sullivan was a remarkable woman," remarked Colson. "But so were most of the women of our side at that time; and the fact is, such a cause as ours would have made heroes and heroines out of the weakest. Besides, what won't a woman do to save her husband, at all times?"

"A good stratagem—that of Mrs. Sullivan's," said Hand.

"Equal to some of Washington's generalship," remarked Kinnison. Each one of the party had some remark to make upon the courage and resource of Mrs. Sullivan, except Brown, the fifer, who was enjoying the dreams of Morpheus, and therefore deaf to the narrative.



THE PATRIOTISM OF MRS. BORDEN.

"I heard of an instance in which a woman was still more heroic than Mrs. Sullivan," said Ransom, "Because, in this case, the lady suffered for maintaining the cause of her country.

"When New York and Rhode Island were quietly possessed by the British armies, and the Jerseys, overrun by their victorious generals, opposed but a feeble resistance to their overwhelming power, Lord Cornwallis, commanding a large division of their troops, stationed at Bordentown, addressing Mrs. Borden, who resided on her estate in a mansion of superior elegance, demanded in an authoritative tone, 'Where, Madam, is your rebel husband—where your rebel son?' 'Doing their duty to their country, under the orders of General Washington,' was the prompt reply. 'We are well apprized,' rejoined that officer, of 'the influence you possess over the political creed of your family, and that to them your opinion is law. Be wise, then, in time, and while mercy is tendered to you, fail not to accept it. Bid them quit the standard of rebellion, and cordially unite with us, in bringing his Majesty's deluded subjects to submission, and a proper sense of their errors and ingratitude, to the best of kings. Your property will then be protected, and remain without injury in your possession. But, should you hesitate to profit by our clemency, the wasting of your estate and destruction of your mansion will inevitably follow.' 'Begin, then, the havoc which you threaten,' replied the heroic lady: 'the sight of my house in flames, would be to me a treat, for, I have seen enough of you to know, that you never injure, what it is possible for you to keep and enjoy. The application of a torch to it I should regard as a signal for your departure, and consider the retreat of the spoiler an ample compensation for the loss of my property.'

"This was one of those threats which the British never failed to carry into execution. The house was burnt, and the whole property consigned to waste and desolation. But, as had been foreseen, the perpetrator of the ruthless deed retreated, to return no more."

"Just like Cornwallis and his red-coats," said Kinnison, "burning people's houses and wasting their lands was a way of making converts, which they discovered and practised with a vengeance. Mrs. Borden was a strong-minded woman to have endured all this."



THE ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN PLUNKETT.

"Yes," said Warner, "Mrs. Borden was a heroine as wouldn't have disgraced the Romans. But what would you think of a mere girl, whose family was opposed to our cause, exerting herself to procure the freedom of one of our officers, who had been taken by the British?"

"I should say it's what young girls in love have done many a time," said Kinnison.

"Not under such circumstances," said Warner. "But I'll tell you about it as it was told to me. Captain Plunkett was a bold-spirited Irishman, who held a commission in our army. In some way or other—it may have been at the battle of Brandywine—Plunkett was taken by the enemy, and soon after placed in a prison in Philadelphia. Previous to that, he had made many friends among the Quakers of that city—and, indeed, his manners made him a general favourite, wherever he went. Plunkett suffered much in prison, and his friends pitied him; but dared not attempt his release. However, there was a young girl of great beauty and strength of mind, who resolved to release the suffering soldier, at all hazards. It accidentally happened, that the uniform of Captain Plunkett's regiment bore a striking resemblance to that of a British corps, which was frequently set as a guard over the prison in which he was confined. A new suit of regimentals was in consequence procured and conveyed, without suspicion of sinister design, to the Captain. On the judicious use of these rested the hopes of the fair Friend to give him freedom. It frequently happened that officers of inferior grade, while their superiors affected to shun all intercourse with the rebels, would enter the apartments of the prisoners, and converse with them with kindness and familiarity, and then at their pleasure retire. Two sentinels constantly walked the rounds without, and the practice of seeing their officers walking in and out of the interior prison, became so familiar, as scarcely to attract notice, and constantly caused them to give way without hesitation, as often as an officer showed a disposition to retire. Captain Plunkett took the advantage of this circumstance, and putting on his new coat, at the moment that the relief of the guard was taking place, sallied forth, twirling a switch carelessly about and ordering the exterior door of the prison to be opened, walked without opposition into the street. Repairing without delay to the habitation of his fair friend, he was received with kindness, and for some days secreted and cherished with every manifestation of affectionate regard. To elude the vigilance of the British Guards, if he attempted to pass into the country, in his present dress was deemed impossible. Woman's wit, however, is never at a loss for contrivances, while swayed by the influences of love or benevolence. Both, in this instance, may have aided invention. Plunkett had three strong claims in his favour: he was a handsome man—a soldier—and an Irishman. The general propensity of the Quakers, in favor of the Royal cause, exempted the sect in a great measure from suspicion, in so great a degree indeed, that the barriers of the city were generally entrusted to the care of their members, as the best judges of the characters of those persons who might be allowed to pass them, without injury to the British interests. A female Friend, of low origin, officiating as a servant in a farm near the city, was in the family, on a visit to a relative. A pretext was formed to present her with a new suit of clothes, in order to possess that which she wore when she entered the city. Captain Plunkett was immediately disguised as a woman, and appeared at the barrier accompanied by his anxious deliverer. 'Friend Roberts,' said the enterprising girl, 'may this damsel and myself pass to visit a friend at a neighbouring farm?' 'Certainly,' said Roberts, 'go forward.' The city was speedily left behind, and Captain Plunkett found himself safe under the protection of Colonel Allen M'Lean, a particular friend of his. Whether Captain Plunkett ever married the young girl who had rendered him such service, I cannot say; but you may fancy he did, and it will make a pretty story."

"Well, now we have had enough of the women," said Kinnison.

"Yes," said Hand, "and now we must have something more of the men of the Revolution. Come, which of you will tell something about George Washington—the Father of his Country?"

"I can tell you of an important incident in the career of Washington, which was told to me by a man who witnessed a part of it, and heard the rest," said Colson.

"Then strike up, old boy," said Kinnison, familiarly.



THE TREASON OF RUGSDALE.

"What I am now about to tell you occurred in the fall of 1782," began Colson. "General Washington was then at West Point. One evening he was invited to a party given at the house of one Rugsdale, an old friend. Several other officers were invited to accompany him. The general seldom engaged in festivities at the period, but in respect to an old acquaintance, and, it is whispered, the solicitations of the daughter of Rugsdale, he consented to honour the company with his presence. He started from West Point in a barge, with some officers and men. As the barge gained the opposite bank, one of the rowers leaped on shore, and made it fast to the root of a willow which hung its broad branches over the river. The rest of the party then landed, and uncovering, saluted their commander, who returned their courtesy.

"'By ten o'clock you may expect me,' said Washington. 'Be cautious; look well that you are not surprised. These are no times for trifling.'

"'Depend on us,' replied one of the party.

"'I do,' he responded; and bidding them farewell, departed along the bank of the river.

"After continuing his path some distance along the river's side he struck off into a narrow road, bordered thickly with brushwood, tinged with a thousand dyes of departed summer; here and there a grey crag peeped out from the foliage, over which the green ivy and the scarlet woodbine hung in wreathy dalliance; at other places the arms of the chestnut and mountain ash met in lofty fondness, casting a gloom deep almost as night. Suddenly a crashing among the trees was heard, and like a deer an Indian girl bounded into the path, and stood full in his presence. He started back with surprise, laid his hand upon his sword—but the Indian only fell upon her knee, placed her finger on her lips, and by a sign with her hand forbade him to proceed.

"'What seek you, my wild flower,' said the General.

"She started to her feet, drew a small tomahawk from her belt of wampum, and imitated the act of scalping the enemy; then again waving her hand as forbidding him to advance, she darted into the bushes, leaving him lost in amazement.

"There is danger," said he to himself, after a short pause, and recovering from his surprise. "That Indian's manner betokens no good, but my trust is in God; he has never deserted me!" and, resuming the path, he shortly reached the mansion of Rufus Rugsdale.

"His appearance was the signal of joy among the party assembled, each of whom vied with the other to do him honour. Although grave in council, and bold in war, yet in the bosom of domestic bliss no one knew better how to render himself agreeable. The old were cheered by his consolatory word; the young by his mirthful manner; nor even in gallantry was he wanting, when it added to the cheerful spirit of the hour. The protestations of friendship and welcome were warmly tendered to him by his host. Fast and thick the guests were assembling; the laugh and mingling music rose joyously around. The twilight was fast emerging into night; but a thousand sparkling lamps of beauty gave a brilliancy of day to the scene; all was happiness; bright eyes and blooming aces were every where beaming; but alas! a serpent was lurking among the flowers.

"In the midst of the hilarity, the sound of a cannon burst upon the ear, startling the guests and suspending the dance. Washington and the officers looked at each other with surprise, but their fears were quickly dispelled by Rugsdale, who assured him it was only a discharge of ordnance in honour of his distinguished visitors. The joy of the moment was again resumed, but the gloom of suspicion had fallen upon the spirit of Washington, who sat in moody silence apart from the happy throng.

"A silent tap upon the shoulder aroused him from his abstraction, and looking up he perceived the person of the Indian standing in the shadow of a myrtle bush close to his side.

"'Ha! again here!' he exclaimed with astonishment; but she motioned him to be silent, and kneeling at his feet, presented him with a bouquet of flowers. Washington received it, and was about to place it in his breast, when she grasped him firmly by the arm, and pointing to it, said in a whisper 'Snake! Snake!' and the next moment mingled with the company, who appeared to recognise and welcome her as one well-known and esteemed.

"Washington regarded the bouquet with wonder; her words and singular appearance had, however, sunk deeper into his heart, and looking closer upon the nosegay, to his surprise he saw a small piece of paper in the midst of the flowers. Hastily he drew it forth, and confounded and horror-stricken, read, 'Beware! you are betrayed!' It was now apparent that he was within the den of the tiger; but to quit abruptly, might only draw the consummation of treachery the speedier upon his head. He resolved therefore that he would disguise his feelings, and trust to that Power which had never forsaken him. The festivities were again renewed, but almost momentarily interrupted by a second sound of the cannon. The guests now began to regard each other with distrust, while many and moody were the glances cast upon Rugsdale, whose countenance began to show symptoms of uneasiness, while ever and anon he looked from the window out upon the broad green lawn which extended to the river's edge, as if in expectation of some one's arrival.

"'What can detain them?' he muttered to himself. 'Can they have deceived me? Why answer they not the signal?' At that moment a bright flame rose from the river, illuminating, for a moment, the surrounding scenery, and showing a small boat filled with persons making rapidly towards the shore. 'All's well,' he continued; 'in three minutes I shall be the possessor of a coronet, and the cause of the Republic be no more.'

"Then gaily turning to Washington, he said, 'Come, General, pledge me to the success of your arms.' The eye of Rugsdale at that moment encountered the scrutinizing look of Washington, and sunk to the ground; his hand trembled violently, even to so great a degree as to partly spill the contents of the goblet. With difficulty he conveyed it to his lips—then retiring to the window, he waved his hand, which action was immediately responded to by a third sound of the cannon, at the same moment the English anthem of 'God save the King,' burst in full volume upon the ear, and a band of men attired in British uniform, with their faces hidden by masks, entered the apartment. The American officers drew their swords, but Washington, cool and collected, stood with his arms folded upon his breast, and quietly remarked to them, 'Be calm, gentlemen—this is an honour we did not anticipate.' Then, turning to Rugsdale, he said, 'Speak, sir, what does this mean?'

"'It means,' replied the traitor, (placing his hand upon the shoulder of Washington,) 'that you are my prisoner. In the name of King George, I arrest you.'

"'Never,' exclaimed the General. 'We may be cut to pieces, but surrender we will not. Therefore give way,' and he waved his sword to the guard who stood with their muskets levelled, as ready to fire, should they attempt to escape. In an instant were their weapons reversed, and, dropping their masks, to the horror of Rugsdale, and the agreeable surprise of Washington, his own brave party, whom he had left in charge of the barge, stood revealed before him.

"'Seize that traitor!' exclaimed the commander. 'In ten minutes from this moment let him be a spectacle between the heavens and the earth.' The wife and daughter clung to his knees in supplication, but an irrevocable oath had passed his lips that never should treason receive his forgiveness after that of the miscreant Arnold. 'For my own life,' he said, while tears rolled down his noble countenance at the agony of the wife and daughter: 'For my own life I heed not; but the liberty of my native land—the welfare of millions demand this sacrifice. For the sake of humanity, I pity him; but my oath is recorded, and now in the presence of Heaven, I swear I will not forgive him.'

"Like a thunderbolt fell these words upon the wife and daughter. They sank lifeless into the hands of the domestics, and when they had recovered to consciousness, Rugsdale had atoned for his treason by the sacrifice of his life.

"It appears that the Indian girl, who was an especial favourite and domesticated in the family, had overheard the intentions of Rugsdale to betray the American General, and other valuable officers, that evening, into the hands of the British, for which purpose they had been invited to this 'feast of Judas.' Hating, in her heart, the enemies of America, who had driven her tribe from their native forests, she resolved to frustrate the design, and consequently waylaid the steps of Washington, as we have described, but failing in her noble purpose, she had recourse to the party left in possession of the boat.

"Scarcely had she given the information, and night closed round, when a company of British soldiers were discovered making their way rapidly towards the banks of the Hudson, within a short distance of the spot where the American party was waiting the return of their commander. Bold in the cause of liberty, and knowing that immediate action alone could preserve him, they rushed upon and overpowered them, bound them hand and foot, placed them with their companions, and sent them to the American camp at West Point. Having disguised themselves in the habiliments of the enemy, they proceeded to the house of Rugsdale, where, at the appointed time and sign made known by the Indian, they opportunely arrived to the relief of Washington, and the confusion of the traitor."

"Who told you that story?" enquired Kinnison.

"An old friend of mine, named Buckram; he was one of the men who disguised themselves," replied Colson.

"I'm inclined to believe it's a tough yarn," said Kinnison. "It's true enough to the character of Washington. He never let his feelings swerve him from the strict line of duty. But all that stuff about the Indian girl is somebody's invention, or the most extraordinary thing of the kind I've heard tell of. I don't doubt your friend's veracity, but it's a tough yarn."

"Probable enough," remarked Hand.

"It's a very pretty story," said Ransom, "and I'm inclined to swallow it as truth."

"I'm satisfied of its truth," said Colson. "But I wouldn't ask any of you to believe it, if there's anything in it staggers you."

"I think Rugsdale was served as all such traitors in such times should be served," said Hanson. "Hurra! for Gineral Washington."

"Three cheers for General Washington!" suggested Hand, and the three cheers were given. A song was called for by several voices, and a young man volunteered to favour the company with "Liberty and Washington," the song which follows:—

When Freedom, from her starry home, Look'd down upon the drooping world, She saw a land of fairy bloom, Where Ocean's sparkling billows curl'd; The sunbeams kiss'd its mighty floods, And verdure clad its boundless plains— But floods and fields and leafy woods, All wore alike a despot's chains! "Be free!" she cried, "land of my choice; Arise! and put thy buckler on; Let every patriot raise his voice For Liberty and Washington!"

The word went forth from hill to vale, Each patriot heart leapt at the sound; Proud Freedom's banner flapp'd the gale, And Britain's chains fell to the ground. Man stood erect in majesty, The proud defender of his rights: For where is he would not be free From stern oppression's deadening blights! Be free—be free then, happy land! Forever beam the light that shone Upon the firm and dauntless band, Who fought beside our Washington!

Lo! where the forest's children rove Midst woody hill and rocky glen, Wild as the dark retreats they loved— What now are towns were deserts then. The world has marked her onward way, Beneath the smile of Liberty; And Fame records the glorious day Which made the western empire free. Be free—be free then, glorious land! In union be thy millions one; Be strong in friendship's holy band, Thy brightest star—our Washington!

This song and the applause which succeeded wakened the sleeping fifer, Brown, who looked around him as if wondering where he was.

"Hallo, old boy," said Kinnison, "you look frightened. What's the matter with you?"

"I was dreaming," replied Brown. "I thought I was at the battle of Lexington, and the roar of the British guns was in my ears. But I find it is only the roar of your voices. Liberty and Washington was our war-cry on many a field, and I thought I heard it again."

"It was our peace cry," said Hand.

Some of the young men, we regret to say, were not members of any of the temperance societies; and as they had partaken freely of the stimulating beverages which had been called for, they were getting very noisy and losing much of that bashfulness which had hitherto kept them silent. In this state of things, Mr. Hand was forced to entreat one of the veterans to amuse them with some interesting incidents of the Revolution.

"There was a British officer, whose career has often interested me," said Hand, "and that was Colonel Tarleton. He was a daring, fiery soldier, according to the accounts of him; but a savage man."



THE CRUELTY OF TARLETON.

"Tarleton was a regular blood-hound," said Pitts, "A savage, though among civilized men. I always admired his fiery spirit and daring courage, but never could regard him as a civilized warrior. I'll tell you of an instance in which Tarleton displayed his character in full. I had a Tory relative in North Carolina, who died not long ago. When Colonel Tarleton was encamped west of the Haw River, Cornwallis received information that Lee's fiery Legion had recrossed the Dan, cut up several detachments of Tories, and was scouring the neighbouring country in search of parties of the enemy. The British general immediately sent information to Colonel Tarleton, to warn him to guard against surprise. My Tory relative was the messenger, and he told me about what he saw at Tarleton's camp.

"As soon (says the old Tory) as I came in view of the British lines, I hastened to deliver myself up to the nearest patrol, informing him that I was the bearer of important despatches from Lord Cornwallis to Colonel Tarleton. The guard was immediately called out, the commander of which taking me in charge, carried me at once to Tarleton's marquee. A servant informed him of my arrival, and returned immediately with the answer that his master would see me after a while, and that in the mean time I was to await his pleasure where I then was. The servant was a grave and sedate looking Englishman, between 50 and 60 years of age, and informed me that he had known Colonel Tarleton from his earliest youth, having lived for many years in the family of his father, a worthy clergyman, at whose particular request he had followed the Colonel to this country, with the view that, if overtaken by disease and suffering in his headlong career, he might have some one near him who had known him ere the pranksome mischief of the boy had hardened into the sterner vices of the man. 'He was always a wild blade, friend,' (said the old man) 'and many a heart-ache has he given us all, but he'll mend in time, I hope." Just then my attention was arrested by the violent plungings of a horse, which two stout grooms, one on each side, were endeavouring to lead to the spot where we were standing. He was a large and powerful brute, beautifully formed, and black as a crow, with an eye that seemed actually to blaze with rage, at the restraint which was put upon him. His progress was one continued bound, at times swinging the grooms clear from the earth, as lightly as though they were but tassels hung on to the huge Spanish bit, so that with difficulty they escaped being trampled under foot. I asked the meaning of the scene, and was informed that the horse was one that Tarleton had heard of as being a magnificent animal, but one altogether unmanageable; and so delighted was he with the description, that he sent all the way down into Moore County where his owner resided, and purchased him at the extravagant price of one hundred guineas; and that moreover, he was about to ride him that morning. 'Ride him?' said I, 'why one had as well try to back a streak of lightning!—the mad brute will certainly be the death of him.' 'Never fear for him,' said my companion; 'never fear for him, his time has not come yet.' By this time the horse had been brought up to where we were; the curtain of the marquee was pushed aside and my attention was drawn from the savage stud, to rivet itself upon his dauntless rider. And a picture of a man he was. Rather below the middle height, and with a face almost femininely beautiful, Tarleton possessed a form that was a model of manly strength and vigor. Without a particle of superfluous flesh, his rounded limbs and full broad chest seemed moulded from iron, yet at the same time displaying all the elasticity which usually accompanies elegance of proportion. His dress (strange as it may appear) was a jacket and breeches of white linen, fitted to his form with the utmost exactness. Boots of Russet leather were half-way up the leg, the broad tops of which were turned down, and the heels garnished with spurs of an immense size and length of rowel. On his head was a low-crowned hat curiously formed from the snow white-feathers of the swan; and in his hand he carried a heavy scourge, with shot well twisted into its knotted lash. After looking round for a moment or two, as though to command the attention of all, he advanced to the side of the horse, and disdaining the use of the stirrup, with one bound threw himself into the saddle, at the same time calling on the grooms to let him go. For an instant the animal seemed paralyzed; then, with a perfect yell of rage, bounded into the air like a stricken deer.

"The struggle for the mastery had commenced—bound succeeded bound with the rapidity of thought; every device which its animal instinct could teach, was resorted to by the maddened brute to shake off its unwelcome burthen—but in vain. Its ruthless rider proved irresistible—and, clinging like fate itself, plied the scourge and rowel like a fiend. The punishment was too severe to be long withstood, and at length, after a succession of frantic efforts, the tortured animal, with a scream of agony, leaped forth upon the plain and flew across it with the speed of an arrow. The ground upon which Tarleton had pitched his camp was an almost perfectly level plain, something more than half a mile in circumference.

"Around this, after getting him under way, he continued to urge his furious steed, amid the raptures and shouts of the admiring soldiery, plying the whip and spur at every leap, until wearied and worn down with its prodigious efforts, the tired creature discontinued all exertion, save that to which it was urged by its merciless rider.



"At length, exhausted from the conflict, Tarleton drew up before his tent and threw himself from his saddle. The horse was completely subdued, and at the word of command followed him like a dog. The victory was complete. His eye of fire was dim and lustreless—drops of agony fell from his drooping front, while from his labouring and mangled sides the mingled blood and foam poured in a thick and clotted stream. Tarleton himself was pale as death, and as soon as he was satisfied with his success, retired and threw himself on his couch. In a short time I was called into his presence and delivered my despatches. Immediate orders were issued to make preparation for a return to Hillsborough, so soon as all the scouts had come in; and the next morning early found us again beyond the Haw River—and in good time, too, for as the last files were emerging from the stream, the advance of Lee's Legion appeared on the opposite bank, and, with a shout of disappointed rage, poured a volley into the ranks of the retreating columns.

"I have witnessed many stirring scenes," said the old man, "both during the Revolution and since, but I never saw one half so exciting as the strife between that savage man and savage horse."

"It was almost equal to Alexander and Buce—Buce—Alexander the Great, and that wild horse you know he tamed when a boy—what was its name?" said Kinnison.

"Bucephalus," said Hand.

"That's the name," said Kinnison. "Tarleton was more savage, however, than even that conqueror."

"The same relative told me of several other instances in which Tarleton displayed his savage and merciless nature," said Pitts. "After the fall of Charleston, a young man named Stroud, who had taken a British protection, resumed arms in defence of his country. Shortly after, Tarleton captured him, and without any shadow of a trial, hung him up by the public road, with a label attached to his back, announcing that such should be the fate of the man who presumed to cut him down. The body was exposed in that manner for more than three weeks, when the sister of the young man ventured out, cut the body down and gave it decent burial. At another time, a young man named Wade, who had been induced to join Tarleton's Legion, deserted, to unite with his countrymen. He was taken, tried and sentenced to receive a thousand lashes. Of course the poor fellow died under the punishment."

"The wretch!" said Hand. "I suppose if he had fallen into the hands of our men, they would have strung him up without mercy."

"He never would have fallen alive into the hands of our men," replied Pitts. "Such men know that they must expect vengeance. He came near losing his life in various battles. At Cowpens, Colonel Washington cut him with his sabre, and would have killed him, if be had turned and fought like a man; at the Waxhaws, Captain Adam Wallace made a thrust at Tarleton that would have done for him, if a British trooper had not struck Wallace to the earth just at the time."

"There were many Tarletons among the enemy," said Colson, as "far as cruelty is considered, but most of them lacked his activity, and were therefore less formidable."

"It seemed," said Pitts, "as if Tarleton never aimed to win merely, but to destroy. He said that severity alone could establish the regal authority in America. If a party of Americans were surprised, they were not made prisoners, but slaughtered while asking for quarter. He was a tiger that was never satisfied until he had mangled and devoured his enemy." And so the veterans went on, talking of the cruelties of Tarleton, giving his character no more quarter than he had given his unfortunate prisoners.

"There was another British officer, up in these parts, who was nearly equal to Tarleton," said Davenport. "I mean General Grey—the man who massacred our men at Paoli and Tappan. Both these were night-attacks, it is true, and we always expect bloody work on such an occasion. But it is known that our men were bayoneted while calling for quarter, which can't be justified. Did Wayne slaughter the enemy at Stony Point? No; he spared them, although they were the men who had acted otherwise at Paoli."

"Grey was known as the no-quarter General, I believe," said Hand.

"Yes," said Davenport; "and he was always selected to do the bloodiest work—the hangman of the enemy, as we might say."

"Hang Tarleton and Grey," said Hand. "Tell us something of our own men. Did either of you ever see Henry Lee? he was always one of my favourite heroes."



LEE'S LEGION.

"Oh! yes," said Kinnison, "I frequently saw Lee, before he went south with his Legion. He was a noble-looking young man, with the judgment of a skilful general, and the fire of a natural soldier. I knew several of his men, who were with him through the whole campaign, under General Greene. You may have heard what Greene said of him. Speaking of the principal officers under him, he said Colonel Lee was the eye of the army, and Colonel Washington its arm; and he afterwards said that he was more indebted to Lee's judgment and activity for success, than to the qualities of any other officer. It was Lee who advised Greene to recross the Dan, and pursue Cornwallis in North Carolina. Even Tarleton was very careful to keep out of the Legion's reach, when numbers were anything like equal."

"I always liked Henry Lee," said Warner. "But he was too severe sometimes. See how he slaughtered the Tories with Colonel Pyle at their head."

"Yes, he cut the poor rascals to pieces," said Pitts. "I heard that about three hundred out of four hundred men were butchered on that occasion."

"It's a fact," said Kinnison; "but I can't think Lee was too cruel there. You see, it's often necessary to strike a heavy blow to effect an object; and Lee wanted to put an end to the movements of the tories, who were collecting in great numbers to join Cornwallis. There was no better way than the summary one he adopted, of making them feel the consequence of being traitors to their country and to freedom."

"It served them just right," said Davenport.

"I don't wish to defend the tories," said Hand; "but I think in many instances, great injustice was done to them. Many of them were honest, true-hearted men, who didn't think as the Whigs did, or whose thinking did not lead them to the same conclusion. I scarcely think such men could be called traitors to their country."

"No; you talk very well," said Davenport; "but if you had suffered from them, you would have hated the tories just as much as we did."

"Well, don't dispute about it," said Kinnison. "We were talking of Colonel Henry Lee, and his brave Legion. Cornwallis said he never felt secure while Lee was anywhere in his neighbourhood; and that he knew how to seek the weak points of an enemy and strike a blow as well as any partisan officer he ever knew. He feared Lee as much as Tarleton feared the night-attacks of the Swamp-Fox, Marion. My friends in the Legion told me that Lee had as daring and enterprising officers under his command as the service could boast. Captains Rudolph, Armstrong, and O'Neil, and many others were the boldest kind of partisans. Rudolph was a very small-sized man, but one of that sleepless, open-eyed and determined kind that seems born for enterprise and command. He led the forlorn hope in the attack on Paulus Hook, and at the sieges of the many forts in Georgia and the Carolinas; and he it was, who led the famous charge with the bayonet at Eutaw Springs."

"I saw him soon after he joined the Legion," said Hanson. "Colonel Lee considered him his best officer, I believe."

"Yes," said Kinnison, "he was one of the best officers in the army—conducting sieges as well as he did partisan movements. Not long before the British evacuated Charleston, Captain Rudolph performed two remarkable exploits that tell the character of the man better than words can. The left of the British line was at a place called the Quarter House, near Charleston, on what is called the Neck. To protect this post on the water-side, the enemy had a large armed galley, well manned and equipped. Captain Rudolph, gaining a knowledge of the exact position of the galley and her force, formed a plan to capture, or least destroy her. He chose only sixteen men—the most daring and enterprising in the Legion, and informed them of his scheme. They were eager for such enterprises, and everything was soon arranged. A night was fixed upon, and boats prepared. There was no moon upon that night, which made it favourable to secrecy. At the appointed time, Rudolph and his men rowed with muffled oars and ready weapons towards the place where the galley was anchored. They had to pass very near the British sentinels on the Neck, but were not discovered; and they reached the side of the galley before any of the British were aware that the enterprise was afoot. Twenty-six men who were aboard the galley were made prisoners with scarcely any resistance, so sudden was the attack. These prisoners were hurried into the boats; and then Captain Rudolph, seeing that he couldn't get the galley away from the place in time to get out of the enemy's reach, set fire to her. The party then gave a shout and pulled away towards the shore from which they had started. The enemy were alarmed by the firing of the sentinels, the glare of the burning galley and the shout of the daring band, and fired some of their artillery after Rudolph. But it was too late; the Americans escaped, and the galley was burned to the water's edge."

"That was equal to Decatur's burning of the Philadelphia," said Hand.

"It was," replied Kinnison. "Rudolph was very much of a Decatur in spirit. Soon after the enterprise I've just mentioned. Captain Rudolph attacked a party of black dragoons who were out foraging for the British. The blacks were defeated, and many of them taken. In the course of the fight, Rudolph engaged one of the largest-sized and boldest of the black dragoons in a regular hand-to-hand combat; and in a very short time dismounted and captured him."

"The war in the Southern States had more of romance and daring enterprise connected with it than the war in the North," said Hand; "though it must be owned, that the movements of the Northern armies were of more consequence in the long run."

"Yes, there was more that most young men like to read about in the Southern war," said Warner; "plenty of dare-devil movements, but no Canadian expedition, nor Saratoga."

"It's a pity there are no soldiers of the Southern army here to reply to your sneers," said Kinnison. "I know from what I've heard, there never were better soldiers than the men who fought under Lee and Morgan, and I scarcely think that George Washington himself was a better general than Nathaniel Greene. But I was going to tell you of some other officers of Lee's Legion; there was Lieutenant Manning, an Irishman, who was very much of a favourite among his brother officers on account of his good-humour in company, and his coolness and bravery in battle. Many anecdotes are told of him which speak his parts, and if agreeable, I'll tell some of them to you as they were told to me."

"Very agreeable," said Hand.

"The kind of stories I like to hear," said another of the young men.

"Well, you shall hear, if I can recollect aright," said Kinnison. "The intrigues and efforts of Lord Cornwallis, to excite insurrection, backed by a very formidable force, had produced among the Highland emigrants a spirit of revolt, which it required all the energies of General Greene to counteract, before it could be matured. The zeal and activity of Lieutenant Colonel Lee, united to his acuteness and happy talent of obtaining intelligence of every movement, and of the most secret intentions of the enemy, pointed him out as the fittest man for this important service. He was accordingly selected with orders to impede the intercourse of Lord Cornwallis with the disaffected; to repress every symptom of revolt, and promptly to cut off every party that should take up arms for Britain. Constantly on the alert, he was equally anxious to give security to his own command, while he harassed the enemy. A secure position was, on one occasion, taken near a forked road, one division of which led directly to Lord Cornwallis' camp, about six miles distant. The ground was chosen in the dusk of evening; and to prevent surprise, patrols of cavalry were kept out on each fork during the night. An order for a movement before day had been communicated to every individual, and was executed with so little noise and confusion, that Lieutenant Manning waking at early dawn, found himself, excepting one soldier, left alone. Stephen Green, the attendant of Captain Carns, lay near him, resting on the portmanteau of his superior, and buried in profound sleep. Being awakened he was ordered to mount and follow, while Manning, hastening towards the fork, hoped to fall upon the track, and speedily rejoin his regiment. Much rain had fallen during the night, so that, finding both roads equally cut up, Manning chose at hazard, and took the wrong one. He had not proceeded far, before he saw at the door of a log-house, a rifleman leaning on his gun, and apparently placed as a sentinel. Galloping up to him, he inquired if a regiment of horse and body of infantry had passed that way? 'Oh, ho,' cried the man, (whistling loudly, which brought out a dozen others completely armed, and carrying each a red rag in his hat,) 'you, I suppose, are one of Greene's men.' The badge which they bore, marked their principles. Without the slightest indication of alarm, or even hesitation, Manning pointed to the portmanteau carried by Green, and exclaimed—'Hush, my good fellow—no clamour for God's sake—I have there what will ruin Greene—point out the road to Lord Cornwallis' army, for all depends upon early intelligence of its contents.' 'You are an honest fellow (was the general cry), and have left the rebels just in time, for the whole settlement are in arms to join Colonel Pyle tomorrow (naming the place of rendezvous), where Colonel Tarleton will meet and conduct us to camp.' 'Come,' said the man, to whom he had first spoken, 'take a drink—Here's confusion to Greene, and success to the King and his friends. This is the right road, and you will soon reach the army; or rather let me conduct you to it myself.' 'Not for the world, my dear fellow,' replied Manning; 'your direction is plain and I can follow it. I will never-consent that a faithful subject of his Majesty should be subjected to the dangers of captivity or death on my account. If we should fall in with a party of rebels, and we cannot say they are not in the neighbourhood now, we should both lose our lives. I should be hanged for desertion, and you for aiding me to reach the British army.' This speech produced the effect he desired. The libation concluded, Manning rode off amid the cheers of the company, and when out of sight, crossed to the other road, and urging his horse to full speed, in a short time overtook and communicated the interesting intelligence to his commander. Lee was then meditating an attack upon Tarleton, who had crossed the Haw River to support the insurgents; but, perceiving the vast importance of crushing the revolt in the bud, he informed General Greene of his plan by a confidential messenger, and hastened to the point of rendezvous, where Pyle, with upwards of four hundred men, had already arrived. You have heard of the bloody work that ensued. Pyle and his Tories believed to the last that the soldiers of the Legion were Tarleton's men, and were therefore easily surprised About three hundred of them were killed—the rest fled or were made prisoners. I don't want to justify such butchery; but our men ought to be excused, according to the laws of war, when we consider that these same Tories and their red-coat friends never gave the Whigs quarter in case of a surprise, and that some such slaughter was necessary to make them feel that they couldn't murder without paying for it."



"We've already argued that question," said Davenport, "and in my mind, it is a settled point that Lee was right." Nobody seemed disposed to revive the argument, and Kinnison continued.

"In this instance you see how ready Manning was to break a net or weave one. I can tell you of another instance in which he showed his daring courage, and quickness of resource in time of danger. At the battle of Eutaw, after the British line had been broken, and the Old Buffs, a regiment that had boasted of the extraordinary feats that they were to perform, were running from the field, Manning, sprang forward in pursuit, directing the platoon which he commanded, to follow him. He did not cast an eye behind him until he found himself near a large brick house, into which the York Volunteers, commanded by Cruger, were retiring. The British were on all sides of him, and not an American soldier nearer than one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards. He did not hesitate a moment, but springing at an officer who was near him, seized him by the collar, and exclaiming in a harsh tone of voice—'Damn you, sir, you are my prisoner,' wrested his sword from his grasp, dragged him by force from the house, and keeping his body as a shield of defence from the heavy fire sustained from the windows, carried him off without receiving any injury. Manning has often related, that at the moment when he expected that his prisoner would have made an effort for his liberty, he, with great solemnity, commenced an enumeration of his titles—I am, Sir Henry Barry, Deputy Adjutant General of the British Army, Captain in the 52d Regiment, Secretary to the Commandant of Charleston.' 'Enough, enough, sir,' said Manning, 'you are just the man I was looking for; fear nothing for your life, you shall screen me from danger, and I will take special care of you.' He had retired in this manner some distance from the brick house, when he saw Captain Robert Joiett of the Virginia line, engaged in single combat with a British officer. They had selected each other for battle a little before, the American armed with a broad-sword, the Briton with a musket and bayonet. As they came together, a thrust was made at Joiett, which he parried, and both dropping their artificial weapons, being too much in contact to use them with effect, resorted to those with which they had been furnished by nature. They were both men of great bulk and vigour, and while struggling each anxious to bring the other to the ground, a grenadier who saw the contest, ran to the assistance of his officer, made a longe with his bayonet, missed Joiett's body, but drove it beyond the curve into his coat. In attempting to withdraw the entangled weapon, he threw both combatants to the ground; when getting it free, he raised it deliberately, determined not to fail again in his purpose, but to transfix Joiett. It was at this moment that Manning approached—not near enough, however, to reach the grenadier with his arm. In order to gain time, and to arrest the stroke, he exclaimed in an angry and authoritative tone—'You damn'd brute, will you murder the gentleman?' The soldier, supposing himself addressed by one of his own officers, suspended the blow, and looked around to see the person who had thus spoken to him. Before he could recover from the surprise into which he had been thrown, Manning, now sufficiently near, struck him with his sword across the eyes, and felled him to the ground; while Joiett disengaged himself from his opponent, and snatching up the musket, as he attempted to rise, laid him dead by a blow from the butt-end of it. Manning was of inferior size, but strong, and remarkably well formed. Joiett was almost a giant. This, probably, led Barry, who could not have wished the particulars of his capture to be commented on, to reply, when asked by his brother officers, how he came to be taken, 'I was overpowered by a huge Virginian.'"

"Manning was a cool and ready soldier," observed Pitts. "I saw him once in Philadelphia, before his Legion went south. He had a most determined look in spite of the good-humoured leer of his eye. He was one of the last men I should have wished to provoke; he was a complete Irishman—blunders and all. I heard of his telling a black servant who was walking barefoot on the snow to put on a pair of stockings the next time he went barefoot."

"Great things were done by the soldiers, as well as by the officers of that Legion," said Kinnison. "At the siege of the Stockade Fort at Ninety-Six, Colonel Lee, who had charge of all the operations of the siege, thought that the Fort might be destroyed by fire. Accordingly, Sergeant Whaling, a non-commissioned officer whose term of service was about to expire, with twelve privates, was detached to perform the service. Whaling saw that he was moving to certain death; as the approach to the Fort was to be made in open day, and over clear, level ground, which offered no cover. But he was a brave man, and had served from the commencement of the war. It was his greatest pride never to shrink from his duty. He dressed himself neatly—took an affectionate but cheerful leave of his comrades, swung his musket over his shoulder, and with a bundle of blazing pine torches in his hand, sprang forward, followed by his little band. They reached the Stockade before the enemy fired a shot. But a deliberate aim killed Whaling and all his men except one, who escaped unhurt. It was the opinion of most of the officers of the Legion that Whaling's life was sacrificed in attempting to carry out a rash idea. But we oughtn't to judge Colonel Lee without being more certain of the facts."

"But we know enough to say it was a very wild idea to send men up to a fort in open day, and over ground where they could have no cover," remarked Ransom. "I know General John Stark would never have sacrificed his men in that way."

"Perhaps," said Hand, coming to the rescue of his hero, "a desperate measure was necessary. I've heard that at the time, Lord Rawdon was marching very rapidly to relieve the garrison, and Colonel Lee thought that every means should be tried to reduce the Fort ere the siege was abandoned."

"You say well," said Kinnison. "As I said before, we should never judge commanders without knowing the facts of the case. Never say a man has committed a fault, unless it sticks out plain to the eye. Harry Lee was as a common thing very sparing of the lives of his men, and he never made any military movement without very strong driving from reason, as General Greene himself would have told you. Whaling was a brave man and a strict soldier, or he would never have dared to approach the fort in such a way. But as I said before, they were all daring men that belonged to Lee's Legion. There were two soldiers of the cavalry, named Bulkley and Newman, who had been the warmest and the closest friends from infancy. They had both joined the army at the same time—that is, at the commencement of the war; and through the greater part of the southern campaign, they fought side by side, and each one strove to lighten the sufferings of the other. Brothers could not have been more attached to each other. In the fight at Quimby, where Captain Armstrong made a famous dragoon charge upon the 19th British regiment, the friends were among the foremost. The dragoons had to pass a bridge in which the enemy had made a large gap. Captain Armstrong led the way, but not more than a dozen men followed, to support him. At the head of this little band, Armstrong cut his way through the entire British regiment. But then a well-aimed fire brought down several of the dragoons. Bulkley and Newman were mortally wounded at the same fire, and fell, locked in each other's arms."

"A kind of Damon and Pythias friendship," observed Hand.

"Yes, I believe they would have died for each other," said Kinnison. "A friend told me that they were never separated, in camp or field. If one was sick, the other watched by his side. I had a comrade of the same kind during the greater part of my life; his name was Williams, and he was one of the best-hearted men I ever knew. We fought through the Revolution together, and both entered the army in 1812. But I lost him during the attack on Fort Erie. Poor Williams was killed by a shell. It has been a long while since then, but I still feel as if I had lost a part of my heart when he fell. Poor Williams!" and Kinnison appeared to be busy with the mournful recollections of the "friends of his better days."