"Well, you may talk as much as you please about Henry Lee and Marion, and your other men in the south," said Ransom, "but John Stark or Ethan Allen was worth as much as either of them."

"My favourite leader was Mad Anthony Wayne," said Colson. "A better soldier or a more wide-awake general was not to be found in the army during the revolution."

"I know General Wayne was a whole soldier," observed Davenport.

"Did any of you ever hear or read an account of the night-attack on General Wayne, near Savannah, just before the close of the war?" enquired Colson.

"I have read something about it, and know it was a warm struggle," said Kinnison.



THE ATTACK ON GENERAL WAYNE.

"One of Parker's Light Infantry told me all about it," said Colson. "He says that General Wayne, with eight hundred men—infantry, artillery and dragoons—were encamped at Gibbons' Plantation, about five miles from Savannah, where the British were posted. It was the early part of February. General Wayne had no idea that an enemy was nearer than Savannah. But the brave Creeks had been taken into the pay of the British, and their chief, Gurestessego, formed a plan to surprise the Continentals. Never was an attack better planned; our men were sleeping with a feeling of security, when, about midnight, the Creeks fell upon the camp. The sentinels were captured and the Indians entered the camp, and secured the cannon; but while they were trying to make the cannon serviceable, instead of following up their success, Wayne and his men recovered from their surprise and were soon in order for battle. Parker's Infantry charged with the bayonet and after a short struggle recovered the cannon. Gunn, with his dragoons, followed up the charge, and the Creeks were forced to give way. General Wayne encountered the chief Gurestessego in hand-to-hand combat—the General with sword and pistols, and the chief with musket, tomahawk and knife. The struggle was fierce but short. The chief was killed, and Wayne escaped without any serious injury. Seventeen of the Creeks fell and the rest escaped in the darkness, leaving their packhorses and a considerable quantity of peltry in the hands of the victors. Wayne conjectured at once that the Indians would not have dared to make an attack, without being assured of the approach of the British or Tories to support them, and a rumour spread that Colonel Browne was marching towards the camp for that purpose. In the fight, Wayne had captured twelve young warriors, whom he doomed to death to prevent them joining the enemy. This was a rash act. The rumour of Browne's approach was false; but the young warriors had been sacrificed before this was known. General Wayne felt many a pang for this rash command, as he was a man who never would shed blood without it was necessary in the performance of his duty."

"Why didn't he send the Indians to Greene's camp, or some other American post?" enquired Hand.

"There was no time or men to spare if the rumour had been true," said Colson. "Most commanders would have acted as Wayne did, under the circumstances. Though I think the execution of the order might have been delayed until the enemy came in sight."

"The General no doubt had good reason for his course," said Kinnison. "He believed it to be his duty to do everything for the safety of the men he commanded, and expecting to be assailed by a much larger force than his own, he did right to destroy the foes he had in camp. I know it must have shocked his feelings to give the order, but he was a man who couldn't shrink or be driven from the plain line of duty. Now, there was that affair with the Pennsylvania line, at Morristown. I've heard several men who were at Morristown at the time, say that Wayne was wrong in daring to oppose the mutineers—that their demands were just and reasonable, and he ought rather to have led, than opposed them. But every man who knows anything of the duty of a general and a patriot must applaud Wayne."

"Can't you give us an account of that mutiny at Morristown?" enquired Hand.



THE MUTINY AT MORRISTOWN.

"I can tell you what was told me by men who engaged in it," said Kinnison. "For myself, I was at that time, with the Massachusetts troops at Middlebrook. The Pennsylvania line, numbering about two thousand men, was stationed at the old camp ground at Morristown. Most of these men believed that their term of service expired at the end of the year 1779, though Congress and some of the generals thought otherwise, or that the men were enlisted to serve until the end of the war. This difficulty about the term of enlistment was the seed of the mutiny. But there were many other things that would have roused any other men to revolt. The Pennsylvanians had not received any pay for twelve months, and during the severest part of the fall, they suffered for the want of food and clothing. To expect men to bear such treatment and remain in the army when there was the slightest pretext for leaving, it was building on a sandy foundation. Patriotism and starvation were not as agreeable to common soldiers as they were to some members of Congress. Even some of the officers—men who depended upon their pay to support their families while fighting for liberty—grumbled at the conduct of those who should have supplied them. This gave the men courage, and they determined to act boldly. They appointed a serjeant-major their major-general, and at a given signal on the morning of the 1st of January, the whole line, except a part of three regiments, paraded under arms, and without their regular officers, marched to the magazines, supplied themselves with provisions and ammunition, and secured six field-pieces, to which they attached horses from General Wayne's stables. The regular officers collected those who had not joined the mutineers, and tried to restore order; but some of the mutineers fired, killed Captain Billings, and, I believe, wounded several of his men. They then ordered those who remained with the officers to join them or meet death by the bayonet, and they obeyed. Then General Wayne appeared, and, by threats and offers of better treatment, endeavoured to put an end to the revolt. The men all idolized Wayne; they would have followed him almost anywhere, but they would not listen to his remonstrances on this occasion. Wayne then cocked his pistol as if he meant to frighten them back to duty; but they placed their bayonets to his breast, and told him that, although they loved and respected him, if he fired his pistols or attempted to enforce his commands, they would put him to death. General Wayne then saw their determination, and didn't fire; but he appealed to their patriotism, and they spoke of the impositions of Congress. He told them that their conduct would strengthen the enemy. But ragged clothes and skeleton forms were arguments much stronger than any Wayne could bring against them. The men declared their intention to march to Congress at Philadelphia, and demand a redress of grievances. Wayne then changed his policy and resolved to go with the current and guide it. He supplied the men with provisions to prevent them from committing depredations on the people of the country, and marched with them to Princeton, where a committee of serjeants drew up a list of demands. They wanted those men to be discharged whose term of service had expired, and the whole line to receive their pay and clothing. General Wayne had no power to agree to these demands, and he referred further negociation to the government of Pennsylvania, and a committee to be appointed by Congress. But the cream of the matter is to come. The news of the revolt reached General Washington and Sir Henry Clinton on the same day. Washington ordered a thousand men to be ready to march from the Highlands of the Hudson to quell the revolt, and called a council of war to decide on further measures. This council sanctioned general Wayne's course, and decided to leave the matter to the settlement of the government of Pennsylvania and Congress. You see, General Washington had long been worried by the sleepy way Congress did business, and he thought this affair would wake them up to go to work in earnest. The British commander-in-chief thought he could gain great advantage by the revolt, and so he very promptly sent two emissaries—one a British serjeant and the other a Tory named Ogden—to the mutineers, offering them pardon for past offences, full pay for their past service, and the protection of the British government, if they would lay down their arms and march to New York. So certain was Clinton that his offers would be accepted, that he crossed over to Staten Island with a large body of troops, to act as circumstances might require. But he was as ignorant of the character of our men as King George himself. They wanted to be fed and clothed, and wanted their families provided for; but they were not soldiers fighting merely for pay. Every man of them knew what freedom was, and had taken the field to secure it for his country. You may judge how such men received Clinton's proposals. They said they were not Arnolds, and that America had no truer friends than themselves; and then seized the emissaries and their papers and handed them over to Wayne and the mercy of a court-martial. The men were tried as spies, found guilty and executed. A reward which had been offered for their apprehension was tendered to the mutineers who had seized them. But they refused it. One of them said that necessity had wrung from them the act demanding justice from Congress, but they wanted no reward for doing their duty to their bleeding country. Congress appointed a commissioner to meet the mutineers at Princeton, and soon after their demands were satisfied. A large part of the Line was disbanded for the winter, and the remainder was well supplied with provisions and clothing. About the middle of January, the greater part of the New Jersey line, which was encamped near Pompton, followed the example of the Pennsylvanians, and revolted; but different measures were taken to quell them. General Washington ordered General Robert Howe to march with five hundred men, and reduce the rebels to submission. Howe marched four days through a deep snow, and reached the encampment of the Jersey troops on the 27th of January. His men were paraded in line, and he then ordered the mutineers to appear unarmed in front of their huts, within five minutes. They hesitated, but on a second order, they obeyed. Three of the chief movers in the revolt were tried and sentenced to be shot. Two of them suffered, and the third was pardoned as being less to blame. The two who were shot fell by the hands of twelve of the most guilty of the mutineers. That, I think, was piling it on rather too thick. General Howe then addressed them by platoons, and ordered their officers to resume their commands. Clinton had again sent an emissary to make offers to the mutineers; but the man heard of the fate of the Tory and the British serjeant, and he took his papers to General Howe instead of the men. These Jersey mutineers were reduced to submission, without much difficulty. But the Pennsylvanians displayed a determination to fight if their demands were not satisfied, and so they gained their point."

"Perhaps," said Hand, "the Jersey troops had not as much reason to revolt as the Pennsylvanians."

"I know they hadn't as much reason," said Kinnison. "They had suffered as much for want of food and clothing, but their term of service was more certainly known."

"How nobly the men treated the offers of Sir Henry Clinton!" said Hand. "I should think the British government might have learned from that affair, the spirit of the Americans, and the futility of efforts to conquer men with such motives and sentiments."

"They might have learned it if they had wished to learn," said Pitts. "They might have learned the same thing from the Boston tea-party. But they determined that they had a right to act towards us just as they pleased, and their pride was blind to consequences."

"One may look through Greek and Roman history in vain to find men holding such noble and patriotic sentiments, while harassed with want of every kind," said Hand, growing eloquent.

"Ah! those were times to try the metal men were made of," said Colson. "The men who took up the sword and gun for freedom were resolved to win their country's safety or die in the attempt, and such men will not be bought at any price. Arnold was a mere soldier—never a patriot."

"I might combat that last remark," said Davenport, "but I'll let it go."

"Come, Brown, more music," exclaimed Warner. "The dinner and the dull conversation makes some of us drowsy. Stir us up, man!"

"There's nothing like the fife and drum for rousing men," said Kinnison. "I hate these finnicking, soft and love-sick instruments, such as pianos, guitars and some others they play on now-a-days. There's no manliness about them."

Brown and Hanson, having produced their old martial instruments, then struck up "The Star-Spangled Banner," the best of the national anthems of America. Soon after the last roll of the fife had ended, Hand, without invitation, struck up the anthem itself, and sang the words with great force, the whole company joining in the two last lines of every verse. The music and the anthem thoroughly roused the old as well as the young members of the company, and, at its conclusion, three cheers were lustily given for the stars and stripes. One of the young men then said that he had a song to sing, which would be new to the company; but still was not an original composition. The music was stirring and appropriate. The words were as follows:—

Freemen! arise, and keep your vow! The foe are on our shore, And we must win our freedom now, Or yield forevermore.

The share will make a goodly glaive— Then tear it from the plough! Lingers there here a crouching slave! Depart, a recreant thou!

Depart, and leave the field to those Determined to be free, Who burn to meet their vaunting foes And strike for liberty.

Why did the pilgrim cross the wave? Say, was he not your sire? And shall the liberty he gave Upon his grave expire!

The stormy wave could not appal; Nor where the savage trod; He braved them all, and conquer'd all, For freedom and for God.

We fight for fireside and for home, For heritage, for altar; And, by the God of yon blue dome, Not one of us shall falter!

We'll guard them, though the foeman stood Like sand-grains on our shore, And raise our angry battle-flood, And whelm the despots o'er.

We've drawn the sword, and shrined the sheath Upon our father's tomb; And when the foe shall sleep in death, We'll sheath it o'er their doom.

Firm be your step, steady your file, Unbroken your array; The spirits of the blest shall smile Upon our deeds to-day.

Unfurl the banner of the free Amidst the battle's cloud; Its folds shall wave to Liberty, Or be to us a shroud.

O'er those who fall, a soldier's tear Exulting shall be shed; We'll bear them upon honour's bier, To sleep in honour's bed.

The maiden, with her hurried breath And rapture-beaming eye, Shall all forget the field of death To bless the victory.

The child, O! he will bless his sire, The mother bless her son, And God, He will not frown in ire, When such a field is won.

"Good!" exclaimed Kinnison, when the song was done. "That is a war-song of '76, I know."

"It is," replied the singer; "and judging from what I have heard you say, it expresses in it the feeling of the period."

"A truce to songs and music," said Davenport. "I never was fond of any kind of music but that of the fife and drum, and I never needed that to put me in a condition to stand fire."

"You are too gloomy," said Kinnison.

"I have had cause enough for gloominess," said Davenport.

"But I wanted to talk to you about something—and that was my reason for checking you. You talk so much about the treason of Arnold, and say that he never was a patriot, that I wanted to tell you of another man's treason, not to excuse Arnold, but to show you that he wasn't alone in preferring the British side of the question, and that there were bolder patriots than Paulding, Williams, and Van Wert, the captors of Andre.

"We know there were plenty of traitors and patriots in the country without a showing," said Kinnison, "but go on with your narrative."

"But this will prove that all censure should not be heaped upon Arnold's head, nor all the praise on the militia-men of Tarry-town," observed Davenport.



THE TREASON OF BETTYS.

"When the Revolutionary War broke out," said Davenport, beginning his narrative, "there was a man named Joseph Bettys, who lived in Ballston, New York, remarkable for his courage, strength and intelligence. Colonel Ball of the Continental forces saw that Bettys might be of great service to our cause, and succeeded in enlisting him as a serjeant. But he was soon afterwards reduced to the ranks, on account of his insolence to an officer, who, he said, had abused him without cause. Colonel Ball was not acquainted with the facts of the affair, but being unwilling to lose so active and courageous a man, he procured him the rank of a serjeant in the fleet commanded by General Arnold, on Lake Champlain. Bettys was as skilful a seaman as could be found in the service, and during the desperate fight between the fleets which occurred in the latter part of 1776, he rendered more service than any other man except Arnold himself. He fought until every commissioned officer on board of his vessel was either killed or wounded, then took command himself, and fought with such reckless and desperate spirit, that General Waterbury seeing the vessel was about to sink, ordered Bettys and the remnant of his crew to come on board his vessel. Waterbury then stationed Bettys on his quarter-deck, and gave orders through him until his vessel was crippled, and the crew mostly killed or wounded, when the colours were struck to the enemy. After that action Bettys went to Canada, and, turning traitor, received an ensign's commission in the British army. He then became a spy, and one of the most subtle enemies of our cause. But our men were wide awake. Bettys was arrested, tried and condemned to be hung at West Point. His old parents and many influential Whigs entreated that he should be pardoned, promising that he would mend his life. General Washington, you know, never took life where it could be spared, and so he granted the pardon. But it was generosity thrown away; Bettys hated the Americans the more because they had it in their power to pardon him, and resolved to make them feel he could not be humbled and led in that way. The Whigs regretted the mercy that had spared the traitor. Bettys recruited soldiers for the enemy in the very heart of the country; captured and carried of the most zealous patriots, and subjected them to great suffering. Those against whom he had the most hatred, had their houses burned, and often lost their lives. The British commander paid him well, for he was one of the best spies and most faithful messenger that could be found. His courage and determination overcame every obstacle and encountered every danger that would have appalled weaker men. He proclaimed himself to be a man who carried his life in his hand, and was as reckless of it as he would be of that of any who should attempt to catch him. It was well understood that Bettys meant precisely what he said, and that he always had a band of refugees ready to support him in any rascality he might conceive. Still, there were some bold men, who had suffered from Bettys' depredations, and who determined to catch him at every hazard. Many attempts were made, but he eluded his pursuers by his stratagems and knowledge of the country, until early in January, 1782, when he was seen in the neighbourhood of Ballston, armed, and with snow-shoes on. Three men, named Cory, Fulmer, and Perkins, armed themselves and proceeded in pursuit. They traced Bettys by a round-about track to the house of a well-known Tory. They consulted a few minutes, and one of them reconnoitred to see the exact position of Bettys. The traitor was at his meal, with his pistols lying on the table and his rifle resting on his arm, prepared for an attack though not suspecting foes were near. The three men, by a sudden effort, burst open the door, rushed upon Bettys, and seized him in such a manner that he could make no resistance. He was then pinioned so firmly that to escape was impossible; and so the desperado, in spite of all his threats, was a tame and quiet prisoner, and no one hurt in taking him. Bettys then asked leave to smoke, which was granted; and he took out his tobacco, with something else which he threw into the fire. Cory saw this movement, and snatched it out, with a handful of coals. It was a small leaden box, about an eighth of an inch in thickness, containing a paper, written in cypher, which the men could not read. It was afterwards found to be a despatch to the British commander at New York, with an order upon the Mayor of that city for thirty pounds, if the despatch was safely delivered. Bettys knew that this paper alone would be evidence enough to hang him, and he offered the men gold to let him burn it. But they refused his highest offers. He had a considerable quantity of gold about him, and he offered them not only that but much more if they would allow him to escape; but their patriotism could stand gold as well as the gold could stand fire. They took Bettys to Albany, where he was tried as a spy and hung. The only reward that the three men ever received was the rifle and pistols of Bettys. The men who captured Andre were patriotic enough, but their work was easy compared with that of Cory, Fulmer and Perkins. Yet the names of these heroes are scarcely ever mentioned, and the story of their daring exploit is not generally known."



"Did this affair happen before that of Andre's?" enquired Hand. "If so, these men only imitated the noble example of Paulding, Williams and Van Wert."

"It did occur after the capture of Andre," replied Davenport. "But that takes nothing from the danger of the attempt, or the amount of the temptation resisted."

"That's true," replied Hand; "but the capture of Andre, and the favour with which our countrymen regarded his captors, may have stimulated many to patriotic exertions, and thereby have made such deeds so common as not to receive special notice. I've no doubt the researches of historians will yet bring to light many such deeds."

"How the conduct of such men as Arnold and Bettys contrasts with that of Samuel Adams and his fellow-patriots!" remarked Warner. "When the first resistance was made to quartering the British troops in Boston, Samuel Adams was the leader and mouth-piece of the patriots, and the royal rulers of Massachusetts tried every way to induce him to abandon the cause he had espoused. In the first place, they threatened him with severe punishment. But they couldn't scare him from his chosen course. Then they flattered and caressed him, but it was of no effect. At last, Governor Gage resolved to try whether bribes wouldn't work a change. So, he sent Col. Fenton to him, as a confidential messenger. The Colonel visited Adams, and stated his business at length, concluding with a representation that by complying, Adams would make his peace with the king. The stern patriot heard him through, and then asked him if he would deliver his reply to Governor Gage as it should be given. The Colonel said he would. Then Adams assumed a determined manner, and replied, 'I trust I have long since made my peace with the King of kings. No personal consideration shall induce me to abandon the righteous cause of my country. Tell Governor Gage, it is the advice of Samuel Adams to him, no longer to insult the feelings of an exasperated people.' There was the highest reach of patriotic resolution."

"Aye, Samuel Adams was whole-souled and high-souled," said Davenport. "No one will dispute that, who knows any thing of his history."

"New England had a host of patriots at the same period," observed Kinnison. "Many of them did not possess the talents and energy of Samuel Adams, but the heart was all right."



THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL.

"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Hand, "there is a most important matter, which you have omitted. You have told us nothing of Bunker Hill's memorable fight, in which, as Bostonians and friends of liberty, we feel the deepest interest. Which of you can oblige us by giving us your recollections of our first great struggle?"

"Mr. Warner was one of Col. Starke's men. He can tell you all about it," said Colson.

"Aye, if memory serves me yet," said Warner, "I can tell you much of that day's struggle. I joined Col. Starke's regiment shortly before the battle. I always admired Starke, and preferred to serve under him. I suppose you are acquainted with the general features of the battle, and therefore I will not detain you long, with reciting them.

"On the sixteenth of June, 1775, it was determined that a fortified post should be established at or near Bunker's Hill.

"A detachment of the army was ordered to advance early in the evening of that day, and commence the erection of a strong work on the heights in the rear of Charlestown, at that time called Breed's Hill, but from its proximity to Bunker Hill, the battle has taken its name from the latter eminence, which overlooks it.

"The work was commenced and carried on under the direction of such engineers as we were able to procure at that time. It was a square redoubt, the curtains of which were about sixty or seventy feet in extent, with an entrenchment, or breast-work, extending fifty or sixty feet from the northern angle, towards Mystic river.

"In the course of the night, the ramparts had been raised to the height of six or seven feet, with a small ditch at their base, but it was yet in a rude and very imperfect state. Being in full view from the northern heights of Boston, it was discovered by the enemy, as soon as daylight appeared; and a determination was immediately formed by General Gage, for dislodging our troops from this new and alarming position. Arrangements were promptly made for effecting this important object. The movements of the British troops, indicating an attack, were soon discovered; in consequence of which orders were immediately issued for the march of a considerable part of our army to reinforce the detachment at the redoubts on Breed's Hill; but such was the imperfect state of discipline, the want of knowledge in military science, and the deficiency of the materials of war, that the movement of the troops was extremely irregular and devoid of every thing like concert—each regiment advancing according to the opinions, feelings, or caprice, of its commander.

"Colonel Stark's regiment was quartered in Medford, distant about four miles from the point of anticipated attack. It then consisted of thirteen companies, and was probably the largest regiment in the army. About ten o'clock in the morning, he received orders to march. The regiment being destitute of ammunition, it was formed in front of a house occupied as an arsenal, where each man received a gill-cup full of powder, fifteen balls, and one flint.

"The several captains were then ordered to march their companies to their respective quarters, and make up their powder and ball into cartridges, with the greatest possible despatch. As there were scarcely two muskets in a company of equal calibre, it was necessary to reduce the size of the balls for many of them; and as but a small proportion of the men had cartridge-boxes, the remainder made use of powder-horns and ball-pouches.

"After completing the necessary preparations for action, the regiment formed, and marched about one o'clock. When it reached Charlestown Neck, we found two regiments halted, in consequence of a heavy enfilading fire thrown across it, of round, bar, and chain shot, from the Lively frigate, and floating batteries anchored in Charles river, and a floating battery laying in the river Mystic. Major M'Clary went forward, and observed to the commanders, if they did not intend to move on, he wished them to open and let our regiment pass: the latter was immediately done.

"Soon after, the enemy were discovered to have landed on the shore of Morton's Point, in front of Breed's Hill, under cover of a tremendous fire of shot and shells from a battery on Copp's Hill, in Boston, which had opened on the redoubt at day-break.

"Major-general Howe and Brigadier-general Pigot, were the commanders of the British forces which first landed, consisting of four battalions of infantry, ten companies of grenadiers, and ten of light infantry, with a train of field-artillery. They formed as they disembarked, but remained in that position until they were reinforced by another detachment.

"At this moment, the veteran and gallant Colonel Stark harangued his regiment, in a short, but animated address; then directed them to give three cheers, and make a rapid movement to the rail-fence which ran to from the left, and about forty yards in the rear of the redoubt, towards Mystic river. Part of the grass, having been recently cut, lay in winnows and cocks on the field. Another fence was taken up—the rails run through the one in front, and the hay, mown in the vicinity, suspended upon them, from the bottom to the top, which had the appearance of a breast-work, but was, in fact, no real cover to the men; it, however, served as a deception on the enemy. This wag done by the direction of the 'Committee of Safety,' as I afterwards heard. That committee exerted itself nobly.

"At the moment our regiment was formed in the rear of the rail-fence, with one other small regiment from New Hampshire, under the command of Colonel Reid, the fire commenced between the left wing of the British army, commanded by General Howe, and the troops in the redoubt, under Colonel Prescott; while a column of the enemy was advancing on our left, on the shore of Mystic river, with an evident intention of turning our left wing, and that veteran and most excellent regiment of Welsh fusileers, so distinguished for its gallant conduct in the battle of Minden, advanced in column directly on the rail-fence; when within eighty or an hundred yards, displayed into line, with the precision and firmness of troops on parade, and opened a brisk, but regular fire by platoons, which was returned by a well-directed, rapid, and fatal discharge from our whole line.

"The action soon became general, and very heavy from right to left In the course of ten or fifteen minutes, the enemy gave way at all points, and retreated in great disorder; leaving a large number of dead and wounded on the field.

"The firing ceased for a short time, until the enemy again formed, advanced, and recommenced a spirited fire from his whole line. Several attempts were again made to turn our left; but the troops, having thrown up a slight stone-wall on the bank of the river, and laying down behind it, gave such a deadly fire, as cut down almost every man of the party opposed to them; while the fire from the redoubt and rail-fence was so well directed and so fatal, especially to the British officers, that the whole army was compelled a second time to retreat with precipitation and great confusion. At this time, the ground occupied by the enemy was covered with his dead and wounded. Only a few small detached parties again advanced, which kept up a distant, ineffectual, scattering fire, until a strong reinforcement arrived from Boston, which advanced on the southern declivity of the hill, In the rear of Charlestown. When this column arrived opposite that angle of the redoubt which faced Charlestown, it wheeled by platoons to the right, and advanced directly upon the redoubt without firing a gun. By this time, our ammunition was exhausted. A few men only had a charge left.

"The advancing column made an attempt to carry the redoubt by assault, but at the first onset every man that mounted the parapet was cut down, by the troops within, who had formed on the opposite side, not being prepared with bayonets to meet the charge.

"The column wavered for a moment, but soon formed again; when a forward movement was made with such spirit and intrepidity as to render the feeble efforts of a handful of men, without the means of defence, unavailing; and they fled through an open space, in the rear of the redoubt, which had been left for a gateway. At this moment, the rear of the British column advanced round the angle of the redoubt, and threw in a galling flank-fire upon our troops, as they rushed from it, which killed and wounded a greater number than had fallen before during the action. The whole of our line immediately after gave away, and retreated with rapidity and disorder towards Bunker's Hill; carrying off as many of the wounded as possible, so that only thirty-six or seven fell into the hands of the enemy, among whom were Lt. Col. Parker and two or three other officers, who fell in or near the redoubt.

"The whole of the troops now descended the north-western declivity of Bunker's Hill, and recrossed the neck. Those of the New Hampshire line retired towards Winter Hill, and the others on to Prospect Hill.

"Some slight works were thrown up in the course of the evening,—strong advance pickets were posted on the roads leading to Charlestown, and the troops, anticipating an attack, rested on their arms.

"It is a most extraordinary fact that the British did not make a single charge during the battle, which, if attempted, would have been decisive, and fatal to the Americans, as they did not carry into the field fifty bayonets. In my company there was not one.

"Soon after the commencement of the action, a detachment from the British forces in Boston was landed in Charlestown, and within a few moments the whole town appeared in a blaze. A dense column of smoke rose to a great height, and there being a gentle breeze from the southwest, it hung like a thunder-cloud over the contending armies. A very few houses escaped the dreadful conflagration of this devoted town."



EXPLOITS OF PETER FRANCISCO.

"I say, men, the story of Bunker Hill is old enough, and the events of that day have caused enough dispute already. We know that we taught the red-coats a good, round lesson, and we shouldn't fight about particulars. Now, young men, I'll tell you a story about a real hero," said Pitts.

"Who was he?" enquired Hand.

"His name was Peter Francisco, and he was a trooper in our army," replied Pitts. "Now, I'll tell you what he did.

"While the British troops were spreading havoc and desolation all around them, by their plundering and burnings in Virginia, in 1781, Peter Francisco had been reconnoitring, and whilst stopping at the house of a Mr. Wand, in Amelia county, nine of Tarleton's cavalry coming up with three negroes, told him he was a prisoner. Seeing himself overpowered by numbers, he made no resistance; and believing him to be very peaceable they all went into the house, leaving the paymaster and Francisco together. He demanded his watch, money, &c., which being delivered to him, in order to secure his plunder, he put his sword under his arm, with the hilt behind him. While in the act of putting a silver buckle into his pocket, Francisco, finding so favourable an opportunity to recover his liberty, stepped one pace in his rear, drew the sword with force under his arm and instantly gave him a blow across the skull. His enemy was brave, and though severely wounded, drew a pistol, and, in the same moment that he pulled the trigger, Francisco cut his hand nearly off. The bullet grazed his side. Ben Wand (the man of the house) very ungenerously brought out a musket, and gave it to one of the British soldiers, and told him to make use of that. He mounted the only horse they could get, and presented it at his breast. It missed fire. Francisco rushed on the muzzle of the gun. A short struggle ensued, in which the British soldier was disarmed and wounded. Tarleton's troop of four hundred men were in sight. All was hurry and confusion, which Francisco increased by repeatedly hallooing, as loud as he could, 'Come on, my brave boys! now's your time! we will soon despatch these few, and then attack the main body!' The wounded man flew to the troop; the others were panic-struck, and fled. Francisco seized Wand, and would have despatched him, but the poor wretch begged for his life; he was not only an object of contempt, but pity. The eight horses that were left behind, he gave him to conceal. Discovering Tarleton had despatched ten more in pursuit of him, Francisco then made off, and evaded their vigilance. They stopped to refresh themselves, and he, like an old fox, doubled, and fell on their rear. He went the next day to Wand for his horses; Wand demanded two for his trouble and generous intentions. Finding his situation dangerous, and surrounded by enemies where he ought to have found friends, Francisco went off with his six horses. He intended to have avenged himself on Wand at a future day, but Providence ordained he should not be his executioner, for he broke his neck by a fall from of the very horses."

"Francisco displayed great courage, daring and presence of mind in that scrape," observed Kinnison. "But I have heard of several encounters quite equal to it."

"Yes, Francisco displayed great presence of mind, and that's the most valuable quality of a soldier—it will save him when courage and strength are palsied. Francisco performed many singular exploits down South, and had a high reputation. He had much of the dare-devil in his nature, and it seemed as if dangerous adventures agreed with him better than easy success. He fought bravely in several battles, and was known to many of the enemy as a man to be shunned. There wasn't a man among the red-coats stout-hearted and strong-limbed enough to dare to meet him. But you said you had heard of several encounters equal to the one I just narrated," said Pitts.

"I did," replied Kinnison. "Have you ever seen a painting of the fight between Colonel Allan M'Lean and some British troops? It used to be a common thing in Boston."

"I have seen the picture," said Hand, "and I should like to hear the story of the affair. It must have been a desperate fight."

"It was," replied Kinnison. "A man who was intimately acquainted with McLean, and heard the account from his own lips, told me of it. You may boast of Francisco's exploits, but here was a man who united the most daring courage and strength with a very intelligent and quick-working mind."



THE EXPLOIT OF COL. ALLAN M'LEAN.

"While the British occupied Philadelphia," said Kinnison, "Col. M'Lean was constantly scouring the upper end of Bucks and Montgomery counties, to cut off scouting parties of the enemy and intercept their supplies of provisions."

"Having agreed, for some purpose, to rendezvous near Shoemakertown, Col. M'Lean ordered his little band of troopers to follow at some distance, and commanded two of them to precede the main body, but also to keep in his rear; and if they discovered an enemy, to ride up to his side and inform him of it, without speaking aloud. While leisurely approaching the place of rendezvous in this order, in the early gray of the morning, the two men directly in his rear, forgetting their orders, suddenly called out, 'Colonel, the British!' faced about, and putting spurs to their horses, were soon out of sight. The colonel, looking around, discovered that he was in the centre of a powerful ambuscade, into which the enemy had silently allowed him to pass, without his observing them. They lined both sides of the road, and had been stationed there to pick up any straggling party of the Americans that might chance to pass. Immediately on finding they were discovered, a file of soldiers rose from the side of the highway, and fired at the colonel, but without effect; and as he put spurs to his horse, and mounted the road-side into the woods, the other part of the detachment also fired. The colonel miraculously escaped; but a shot striking his horse upon the flank, he dashed through the woods, and in a few minutes reached a parallel road upon the opposite side of the forest. Being familiar with the country, he feared to turn to the left, as that course led to the city, and he might be intercepted by another ambuscade. Turning, therefore, to the right, his frightened horse carried him swiftly beyond the reach of those who had fired upon him. All at once, however, on emerging from a piece of woods, he observed several British troopers stationed near the road-side, and directly in sight ahead, a farm-house, around which he observed a whole troop of the enemy's cavalry drawn up. He dashed by the troopers near him without being molested, they believing he was on his way to the main body to surrender himself. The farm-house was situated at the intersection of two roads, presenting but a few avenues by which he could escape Nothing daunted by the formidable array before him, he galloped up to the cross-roads, on reaching which, he spurred his active horse, turned suddenly to the right, and was soon fairly out of reach of their pistols, though as he turned he heard them call loudly to surrender or die! A dozen were instantly in pursuit; but in a short time they all gave up the chase except two. Colonel M'Lean's horse, scared by the first wound he had ever received, and being a chosen animal, kept ahead for several miles, while his two pursuers followed with unwearied eagerness. The pursuit at length waxed so hot, as the colonel's horse stepped out of a small brook which crossed the road, his pursuers entered it at the opposite margin. In ascending a little hill, the horses of the three were greatly exhausted, so much so that neither could be urged faster than a walk. Occasionally, as one of the troopers pursued on a little in advance of his companion, the colonel slackened his pace, anxious to be attacked by one of the two; but no sooner was his willingness discovered, than the other fell back to his station. They at length approached so near, that a conversation took place between them; the troopers calling out, 'Surrender, you damn'd rebel, or we'll cut you in pieces!' Suddenly one of them rode up on the right side of the colonel, and, without drawing his sword, laid hold of the colonel's collar. The latter, to use his own words, 'had pistols which he knew he could depend upon.' Drawing one from the holster, he placed it to the heart of his antagonist, fired, and tumbled him dead on the ground. Instantly the other came on his left, with his sword drawn, and also seized the colonel by the collar of his coat. A fierce and deadly struggle here ensued, in the course of which Col. M'Lean was desperately wounded in the back of his left hand, the sword of his antagonist cutting asunder the veins and tendons. Seizing a favourable opportunity, he drew his other pistol, and with a steadiness of purpose which appeared even in his recital of the incident, placed it directly between the eyes of his adversary, pulled the trigger, and scattered his brains on every side of the road! Fearing that others were in pursuit, he abandoned his horse in the highway: and apprehensive, from his extreme weakness, that he might die from loss of blood, he crawled into an adjacent mill-pond, entirely naked, and at length succeeded in stopping the profuse flow of blood occasioned by his wound. Soon after, his men came to his relief. Now, I think, Mr. Pitts, your hero was at least equalled in Col. M'Lean."



"Beaten, beaten!" exclaimed Pitts. "I admit that, in resolution and daring, Francisco was surpassed by M'Lean. He was a hero!"

"Major Garden, in his Anecdotes of the Revolution, eulogizes McLean's courage and enterprise," said Hand.

"If courage and resolution make up the hero, our country didn't hunger for 'em during the Revolution," said Davenport.

"Yes, it's a difficult and nice matter to say who bears away the palm. But I do not believe that Col. M'Lean was surpassed," said Kinnison. "Col. Henry Lee was a man of the same mould," added Colson.

"Aye, he was; and that reminds me of an adventure of his which displays his courage and resolution," replied Kinnison.



THE ADVENTURE OF MAJOR LEE.

"In the Revolution, a prison was erected at Lancaster, Pennsylvania, for those red-coats who fell into our hands. The prisoners were confined in barracks, enclosed with a stockade and vigilantly guarded; but in spite of all precautions, they often disappeared in an unaccountable manner, and nothing was heard of them until they resumed their places in the British army. It was presumed that they were aided by American tories, but where suspicion should fall, no one could conjecture. Gen. Hazen had charge of the post. He devised a stratagem for detecting the culprits, and selected Capt. Lee, afterwards Maj. Lee, a distinguished partisan officer, to carry out his plan. It was given out that Lee had left the post on furlough. He, however, having disguised himself as a British prisoner, was thrown into the prison with the others. So complete was the disguise, that even the intendant, familiar with him from long daily intercourse, did not penetrate it. Had his fellow-prisoners detected him, his history might have been embraced in the proverb, 'Dead men tell no tales.'

"For many days he remained in this situation, making no discoveries whatever. He thought he perceived at times signs of intelligence between the prisoners and an old woman who was allowed to bring fruit for sale within the enclosure: She was known to be deaf and half-witted, and was therefore no object of suspicion. It was known that her son had been disgraced and punished in the American army, but she had never betrayed any malice on that account, and no one dreamed that she could have the power to do injury if she possessed the will. Lee matched her closely, but saw nothing to confirm his suspicions. Her dwelling was about a mile distant, in a wild retreat, where she shared her miserable quarters with a dog and cat.

"One dark stormy night in autumn, Lee was lying awake at midnight. All at once the door was gently opened, and a figure moved silently into the room. It was too dark to observe its motions narrowly, but he could see that it stooped towards one of the sleepers, who immediately rose. Next it approached and touched him on the shoulder. Lee immediately started up. The figure then allowed a slight gleam from a dark lantern to pass over his face, and as it did so whispered, impatiently, 'Not the man—but come!' It then occurred to Lee that it was the opportunity he desired. The unknown whispered to him to keep his place till another man was called; but just at that moment something disturbed him, and making a signal to Lee to follow, he moved silently out of the room. They found the door of the house unbarred, and a small part of the fence removed, where they passed out without molestation. The sentry had retired to a shelter, where he thought he could guard his post without suffering from the rain; but Lee saw his conductors put themselves in preparation to silence him if he should happen to address them. Just without the fence appeared a stooping figure, wrapped in a red cloak, and supporting itself with a large stick, which Lee at once perceived could be no other than the old fruit-woman. But the most profound silence was observed: a man came out from a thicket at a little distance and joined them, and the whole party moved onward by the guidance of the old woman. At first they frequently stopped to listen, but having heard the sentinel cry, 'All's well!' they seemed reassured, and moved with more confidence than before.

"They soon came to her cottage. A table was spread with some coarse provisions upon it, and a large jug, which one of the soldiers was about to seize, when the man who conducted them withheld him. 'No,' said he, 'we must first proceed to business.'

"The conductor, a middle-aged, harsh-looking man, was here about to require all present, before he could conduct them farther, to swear upon the Scriptures not to make the least attempt at escape, and never to reveal the circumstances or agents in the proceeding, whatever might befal them. But before they had time to take the oath, their practised ears detected the sound of the alarm-gun; and the conductor, directing the party to follow him in close order, immediately left the house, taking with him a dark lantern. Lee's reflections were not now the most agreeable. If he were to be compelled to accompany his party to the British lines in New York, he would be detected and hanged as a spy; and he saw that the conductor had prepared arms for them, which they were to use in taking the life of any one who should attempt to escape. They went on with great despatch, but not without difficulty. Lee might now have deserted, in this hurry and alarm; but he had made no discovery, and he could not bear to confess that he had not nerve enough to carry him through. They went on, and were concealed in a barn the whole of the next day. Provisions were brought, and low whistles and other signs showed that the owner of the barn was in collusion with his secret guests. The barn was attached to a small farm-house. Lee was so near the house that he could overhear the conversation which was carried on about the door. The morning rose clear, and it was evident from the inquiries of horsemen, who occasionally galloped up to the door, that the country was alarmed. The farmer gave short and surly replies, as if unwilling to be taken off from his labour; but the other inmates of the house were eager in their questions; and, from the answers, Lee gathered that the means by which he and his companions had escaped were as mysterious as ever. The next night, when all was quiet, they resumed their march, and explained to Lee that, as he was not with them in their conspiracy, and was accidentally associated with them in their escape, they should take the precaution to keep him before them, just behind the guide. He submitted without opposition, though the arrangement considerably lessened his chances of escape.

"For several nights they went on in this manner, being delivered over to different persons from time to time; and, as Lee could gather from their whispering conversations, they were regularly employed on occasions like the present, and well rewarded by the British for their services. Their employment was full of danger; and though they seemed like desperate men, he could observe that they never remitted their precautions. They were concealed days in barns, cellars, caves made for the purpose, and similar retreats; and one day was passed in a tomb, the dimensions of which had been enlarged, and the inmates, if there had been any, banished to make room for the living. The burying-grounds were a favourite retreat, and on more occasions than one they were obliged to resort to superstitious alarms to remove intruders upon their path. Their success fully justified the experiment; and unpleasantly situated as he was, in the prospect of soon being a ghost himself, he could not avoid laughing at the expedition with which old and young fled from the fancied apparitions.

"Though the distance of the Delaware was not great, they had now been twelve days on the road, and such was the vigilance and suspicion prevailing throughout the country, that they almost despaired of effecting their object. The conductor grew impatient, and Lee's companions, at least one of them, became ferocious. There was, as we have said, something unpleasant to him in the glances of this fellow towards him, which became more and more fierce as they went on; but it did not appear whether it was owing to circumstances, or actual suspicion. It so happened that, on the twelfth night, Lee was placed in a barn, while the rest of the party sheltered themselves in the cellar of a little stone church, where they could talk and act with more freedom; both because the solitude of the church was not often disturbed even on the Sabbath, and because even the proprietors did not know that illegal hands had added a cellar to the conveniences of the building.

"Here they were smoking pipes with great diligence, and, at intervals not distant, applying a huge canteen to their mouths, from which they drank with upturned faces, expressive of solemn satisfaction. While they were thus engaged, the short soldier asked them, in a careless way, if they knew whom they had in their party. The others started, and took their pipes from their mouths to ask him what he meant. 'I mean,' said he, 'that we are honoured with the company of Capt. Lee, of the rebel army. The rascal once punished me, and I never mistook my man when I had a debt of that kind to pay.'

"The others expressed their disgust at his ferocity, saying that if, as he said, their companion was an American officer, all they had to do was to watch him closely. As he had come among them uninvited, he must go with them to New York, and take the consequences; but meantime it was their interest not to seem to suspect him, otherwise he might give an alarm—whereas it was evidently his intention to go with them till they were ready to embark for New York. The other person persisted in saying that he would have his revenge with his own hand; upon which the conductor, drawing a pistol, declared to him that if he saw the least attempt to injure Capt. Lee, or any conduct which would lead him to suspect that his disguise was discovered, he would that moment shoot him through the head. The soldier put his hand upon his knife, with an ominous scowl upon his conductor; but he restrained himself.

"The next night they went on as usual, but the manner of their conductor showed that there was more danger than before; in fact, he explained to the party that they were now not far from the Delaware, and hoped to reach it before midnight. They occasionally heard the report of a musket, which seemed to indicate that some movement was going on in the country.

"When they came to the bank there were no traces of a boat on the waters. Their conductor stood still for a moment in dismay; but, recollecting himself, he said it was possible it might have been secured lower down the stream; and forgetting every thing else, he directed the larger soldier to accompany him. Giving a pistol to the other, he whispered, 'If the rebel officer attempts to betray us, shoot him; if not, you will not, for your own sake, make any noise to show where we are.' In the same instant they departed, and Lee was left alone with the ruffian.

"He had before suspected that the fellow knew him, and now doubts were changed to certainty at once. Dark as it was, it seemed as if fire flashed from his eye, now he felt that revenge was within his power. Lee was as brave as any officer in the army; but he was unarmed; and though he was strong, his adversary was still more powerful. While he stood, uncertain what to do, the fellow seemed enjoying the prospect of revenge, as he looked on him with a steady eye. Though the officer stood to appearance unmoved, the sweat rolled in heavy drops from his brow. Lee soon took his resolution, and sprang upon his adversary with the intention of wresting the pistol from his hand; but the other was upon his guard, and aimed with such precision that, had the pistol been charged with a bullet, that moment would have been his last. But it seemed that the conductor had trusted to the sight of his weapons to render them unnecessary, and had therefore only loaded them with powder. As it was, the shock threw Lee to the ground; but fortunately, as the fellow dropped the pistol, it fell where Lee reached it; and as his adversary stooped, and was drawing his knife from his bosom, Lee was able to give him a stunning blow. He immediately threw himself upon the assassin, and a long and bloody struggle began. They were so nearly matched in strength and advantage, that neither dared unclench his hold for the sake of grasping the knife. The blood gushed from their mouths, and the combat would have probably ended in favour of the assassin—when steps and voices were heard advancing, and they found themselves in the hands of a party of countrymen, who were armed for the occasion, and were scouring the banks of the river. They were forcibly torn apart, but so exhausted and breathless that neither could make an explanation; and they submitted quietly to their captors.

"The party of the armed countrymen, though they had succeeded in their attempt, and were sufficiently triumphant on the occasion, were sorely perplexed how to dispose of their prisoners. After some discussion, one of them proposed to throw the decision upon the wisdom of the nearest magistrate. They accordingly proceeded with their prisoners to his mansion, about two miles distant, and called upon him to rise and attend to business. A window was hastily thrown up, and the justice put forth his night-capped head, and with more wrath than became his dignity, ordered them off; and in requital for their calling him out of bed in the cold, generously wished them in the warmest place. However, resistance was vain: he was compelled to rise; and as soon as the prisoners were brought before him, he ordered them to be taken in irons to the prison at Philadelphia. Lee improved the opportunity to take the old gentleman aside, and told him who he was, and why he was thus disguised. The justice only interrupted him with the occasional inquiry, 'Most done?' When he had finished, the magistrate told him that his story was very well made, and told in a manner very creditable to his address; and that he should give it all the weight it seemed to require. And Lee's remonstrances were unavailing.

"As soon as they were fairly lodged in the prison, Lee prevailed on the jailor to carry a note to Gen. Lincoln, informing him of his condition. The general received it as he was dressing in the morning, and immediately sent one of his aids to the jail. That officer could not believe his eyes that he saw Capt. Lee. His uniform, worn-out when he assumed it, was now hanging in rags about him; and he had not been shaved for a fortnight. He wished, very naturally, to improve his appearance before presenting himself before the secretary of war; but the orders were peremptory to bring him as he was. The general loved a joke full well: his laughter was hardly exceeded by the report of his own cannon; and long and loud did he laugh that day.

"When Capt. Lee returned to Lancaster, he immediately attempted to retrace the ground; and so accurate, under all the unfavourable circumstances, had been his investigation, that he brought to justice fifteen persons who had aided the escape of British prisoners. It is hardly necessary to say, to you who know the fate of revolutionary officers, that he received, for his hazardous and effectual service, no reward whatever."

"A perilous adventure," observed Warner, as Kinnison concluded his narrative.

"It was," replied Davenport. "It seems rather strange how Capt. Lee could so disguise himself and impose upon the enemy. But he knew a thing or two more than common men, and I shouldn't wonder."

"The British had many useful friends in every part of the country, during the war, and were enabled to do many such deeds," remarked Colson.

"Fill up, my friends, another glass of ale, and drink the health of Capt. Lee!" added Hand, rising. The company filled their glasses and drank the toast. The veterans were not as deep drinkers as their young and vigorous friends, and therefore they merely sipped their ale and sat it aside.



GENERAL DANIEL MORGAN.

"Speaking of brave men," observed Colson, "I suppose there is not one of the company who will doubt the bravery of Gen. Morgan, the hero of so many fields."

"The man who does doubt it knows not what courage is," remarked Ransom, taking another sip of the ale.

"Well, I'm going to tell you something about his bravery," said Colson. "Men have different ideas of that particular thing."

"This 'thunderbolt of war,' this 'brave Morgan, who never knew fear,' was, in camp, often wicked and very profane, but never a disbeliever in religion. He testified that himself. In his latter years General Morgan professed religion, and united himself with the Presbyterian church in Winchester, Va., under the pastoral care of the Rev. Dr. Hill, who preached in that house some forty years, and may now be occasionally heard on Loudon Street, Winchester. His last days were passed in that town; and while sinking to the grave, he related to his minister the experience of his soul. 'People thought,' said he, 'that Daniel Morgan never prayed;'—'People said old Morgan never was afraid;'—'People did not know.' He then proceeded to relate in his blunt manner, among many other things, that the night they stormed Quebec, while waiting in the darkness and storm, with his men paraded, for the word 'to advance,' he felt unhappy; the enterprise appeared more than perilous; it seemed to him that nothing less than a miracle could bring them off safe from an encounter at such an amazing disadvantage. He stepped aside and kneeled by the side of a cannon—and then most fervently prayed that the Lord God Almighty would be his shield and defence, for nothing less than an almighty arm could protect him. He continued on his knees till the word passed along the line. He fully believed that his safety during that night of peril was from the interposition of God. Again, he said, about the battle of the Cowpens, which covered him with so much glory as a leader and a soldier—he had felt afraid to fight Tarleton with his numerous army flushed with success—and that he retreated as long as he could—till his men complained—and he could go no further. Drawing up his army in three lines, on the hill side; contemplating the scene—in the distance the glitter of the advancing enemy—he trembled for the fate of the day. Going to the woods in the rear, he kneeled in an old tree-top, and poured out a prayer to God for his army, and for himself, and for his country. With relieved spirits he returned to the lines, and in his rough manner cheered them for the fight; as he passed along, they answered him bravely. The terrible carnage that followed the deadly aim of his lines decided the victory. In a few moments Tarleton fled. 'Ah,' said he, 'people said old Morgan never feared;'—'they thought Morgan never prayed; they did not know;'—'old Morgan was often miserably afraid.' And if he had not been, in the circumstances of amazing responsibility in which he was placed, how could he have been brave?"



"We seldom hear of a man admitting that he was ever afraid," observed Hand. "But the man who never knew fear must be possessed of a small degree of intelligence and no sense of responsibility; neither of which are creditable. Great generals, and soldiers, in all ages, have boasted of their freedom from dread under all circumstances. But it is a mere boast. Fear is natural and useful, and I have ever observed that the man of most fear is the man of most prudence and forecast."

"Do you mean to say that the coward is the wisest man?" enquired Kinnison, in astonishment.

"Oh, no. A coward is one who will not grapple with danger when he meets it, but shrinks and flies. A man who is conscious of dangers to be met, and feels a distrust of his own power to meet them, is a different sort of person," replied Hand.

"Well, that's a very nice distinction," remarked one of the young men.

"There's truth in what he says, however," said Ranson. "I have felt a fear of consequences many a time, yet I know that I am not a coward; for my conduct in the time of battle, and when death was hailing around me, proves it."

"I can't see any distinction between a coward and a man of many fears," remarked Davenport; "though, of course, I don't know enough of words to argue the point."

"To make it clearer," replied Hand, "I will assert that Washington was a man fearful of consequences, and some of those who refused to go to the aid of the heroes of Bunker Hill were cowards."

"It's all plain enough to me," observed Colson. But the rest of the company, by shakes of the head and meditative looks, indicated that the distinction was not perceptible to their mental vision.



THE BATTLE OF ORISKANY.

"Well now, my friends, I can tell you of a brave man who was not fearful enough to be prudent," observed Colson. "I allude to Gen. Herkimer. No man can dispute his courage; and it is clear that if he had possessed more fear of Indian wiles, he would not have fallen into an ambuscade."

"Will you tell us about the battle in which he fell?" enquired Hand.

"I was about to do so," replied Colson. "Brig. Gen. Herkimer was the commander of the militia of Tryon County, N.Y., when news was received that St. Leger, with about 2,000 men, had invested Fort Schuyler. The General immediately issued a proclamation, calling out all the able-bodied men in the county, and appointed a place for their rendezvous and a time for them to be ready for marching to the relief of Fort Schuyler.

"Learning that Gen. Herkimer was approaching to the relief of the garrison, and not being disposed to receive him in his camp, St. Leger detached a body of Indians and tories, under Brant and Col. Butler, to watch his approach, and to intercept, if possible, his march. The surrounding country afforded every facility for the practice of the Indian mode of warfare. In the deep recesses of its forests they were secure from observation, and to them they could retreat in case they were defeated. Finding that the militia approached in a very careless manner, Butler determined to attack them by surprise. He selected a place well fitted for such an attack. A few miles from the fort there was a deep ravine sweeping toward the east in a semicircular form, and having a northern and southern direction. The bottom of this ravine was marshy, and the road along which the militia were marching crossed it by means of a log causeway. The ground thus partly enclosed by the ravine was elevated and level. Along the road, on each side of this height of land, Butler disposed his men.

"About ten o'clock on the morning of the 6th of August, 1777, the Tryon County militia arrived at this place without any suspicions of danger. The dark foliage of the forest trees, with a thick growth of underbrush, entirely concealed the enemy from their view. The advanced guard, with about two-thirds of the whole force, had gained the elevated ground, the baggage-wagons had descended into the ravine—Col. Fisher's regiment was still on the east side—when the Indians arose, and with a dreadful yell poured a destructive fire upon them. The advanced guard was entirely cut off. Those who survived the first fire were immediately cut down with the tomahawk. The horror of the scene was increased by the personal appearance of the savages, who were almost naked and painted in a most hideous manner. They ran down each side, keeping up a constant fire, and united at the causeway; thus dividing the militia into two bodies. The rear regiment, after a feeble resistance, fled in confusion, and were pursued by the Indians. They suffered more severely than they would have done had they stood their ground, or advanced to the support of the main body in front.

"The latter course would have been attended with great loss, but might probably have been effected. The forward division had no alternative but to fight. Facing out in every direction, they sought shelter behind the trees and returned the fire of the enemy with spirit. In the beginning of the battle, the Indians, whenever they saw that a gun was fired from behind a tree, rushed up and tomahawked the person thus firing before he had time to reload his gun. To counteract this, two men were ordered to station themselves behind one tree, the one reserving his fire until the Indian ran up. In this way the Indians were made to suffer severely in return. The fighting had continued for some time, and the Indians had begun to give way, when Major Watson, a brother-in-law of Sir John Johnson, brought up a reinforcement, consisting of a detachment of Johnson's Greens. The blood of the Germans boiled with indignation at the sight of these men. Many of the Greens were personally known to them. They had fled their country, and were now returned in arms to subdue it. Their presence under any circumstances would have kindled up the resentment of these militia; but coming up as they now did, in aid of a retreating foe, called into exercise the most bitter feelings of hostility. They fired upon them as they advanced, and then rushing from behind their covers, attacked them with their bayonets, and those who had none, with the butt end of their muskets. This contest was maintained, hand to hand, for nearly half an hour. The Greens made a manful resistance, but were finally obliged to give way before the dreadful fury of their assailants, with the loss of thirty killed upon the spot where they first entered. Major Watson was wounded and taken prisoner, though afterwards left upon the field.

"In this assault Col. Cox is said to have been killed; possessing an athletic frame, with a daring spirit, he mingled in the thickest of the fight. His voice could be distinctly heard, as he cheered on his men or issued his orders, amid the clashing of arms and the yells of the contending savages.

"About one o'clock, Adam Helmer, who had been sent by Gen. Herkimer with a letter to Col. Gansevoort, announcing his approach, arrived at the fort. At two o'clock, Lieut. Col. Willet, with 207 men, sallied from the fort for the purpose of making a diversion in favour Gen. Herkimer, and attacked the camp of the enemy. This engagement lasted about an hour, when the enemy were driven off with considerable loss. Col. Willet having thrown out flanking parties, and ascertained that the retreat was not feigned, ordered his men to take as much of the spoil as they could remove, and to destroy the remainder. On their return to the fort, above the landing, and near where the old French fort stood, a party of 200 regular troops appeared, and prepared to give battle. A smart fire of musketry, aided by the cannon from the fort, soon obliged them to retreat, when Willet returned into the fort with his spoil, and without the loss of a single man. A part of that spoil was placed upon the walls of the fortress, where it waved in triumph in sight of the vanquished enemy.

"This timely and well-conducted sally was attended with complete success. A shower of rain had already caused the enemy to slacken their fire, when finding by reports that their camp was attacked and taken, they withdrew and left the militia in possession of the field.

"The Americans lost in killed nearly 200, and about as many wounded and prisoners; they carried off between 40 and 50 of their wounded. They encamped the first night upon the ground where old Fort Schuyler was built.

"Among the wounded was Gen. Herkimer. Early in the action his leg was fractured by a musket-ball. The leg was amputated a few days after, but in consequence of the unfavourable state of the weather, and want of skill in his surgeons, mortification ensued, and occasioned his death. On receiving his wound, his horse having been killed, he directed his saddle to be placed upon a little hillock of earth and rested himself upon it. Being advised to choose a place where he would be less exposed, he replied, 'I will face the enemy.' Surrounded by a few men he continued to issue his orders with firmness. In this situation, and in the heat of the battle, he very deliberately took from his pocket his tinder-box and lit his pipe, which he smoked with great composure. He was certainly to blame for not using greater caution on his march, but the coolness and intrepidity which he exhibited when he found himself ambuscaded, aided materially in restoring order and in inspiring his men with courage. His loss was deeply lamented by his friends and by the inhabitants of Tryon County. The Continental Congress, in October following, directed that a monument should be erected to his memory, of the value of five hundred dollars. But no monument was ever erected."

"I will face the enemy," said Kinnison, repeating the words of the brave Herkimer.

"Heroic words. But the General should have possessed more prudence. He had lived long enough in the neighbourhood of the Indians to know their mode of warfare, and he should have sent out rangers to reconnoitre his route," remarked Colson.

"However," observed Kinnison, "the enemy didn't get off whole-skinned. I have heard that they had more than 200 killed. It was a hard-fought battle, and considering all circumstances, no men could have behaved better than our militia did. You see, young men, after they recovered from the confusion of the first attack, they found they had no ammunition save what they had in their cartouch-boxes. Their baggage-wagons were in possession of the enemy, and they could get no water, which was in great demand in such warm weather. To fight five or six hours under such circumstances was certainly noble conduct."

"Another point is to be taken into consideration. The enemy were much superior in numbers," said Colson.

"Of course; that's very important," replied Ranson.

"I suppose there was little mercy shown by either party. There was too much hateful fury," said Hand.

"You're right," remarked Colson. "Few tories received quarters from the militia, and fewer of the militia asked it of the tories."

"Herkimer should have been more cautious. Though a brave soldier, we cannot consider him a good commander," said Pitts.

"Nay, I think he was a good commander, friend Pitts," replied Hanson. "He was cool-headed and skilful in the hottest battle; and because he neglected sending out scouts on one occasion, you should not conclude that imprudence was part of his character."

"But a commander, acquainted with Indian warfare, as Herkimer was, must be considered imprudent if he neglects such a common precaution as sending out scouts," observed Kinnison.



CONCLUSION.

"Well, we won't argue the matter now. It's getting late, and we had better break our company," said Warner.

"But first we'll have a toast and a song," replied Hand. "Fill your glasses, friends. Heaven knows if we may ever meet again; and your company has been too amusing and instructive for us to part suddenly."

"The ale has made me feel very drowsy," said Kinnison.

"But you may sip our toast. Gentlemen, this is the Fourth of July; and surely it becomes us, as Americans, to toast the memory of the men who, on this day, pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honors for the support of our independence. I therefore propose, 'The memory of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence. May the brightness of their fame endure as long as patriotism and the love of freedom burn in the breasts of mankind!'" exclaimed Hand. This was drunk standing, and a short silence ensued.

Hand now proposed that they should have a song, and remarked that he knew one appropriate to the occasion, which he would sing, if the old soldiers were not too weary to listen. Of course, they expressed it to be their pleasure that he should sing it, and he proceeded. "The song," said he, "is called 'The Last Revolutionary.'" The words were as follows:—

O! where are they—those iron men, Who braved the battle's storm of fire, When war's wild halo fill'd the glen, And lit each humble village spire; When hill sent back the sound to hill, When might was right, and law was will!

O! where are they, whose manly breasts Beat back the pride of England's might; Whose stalwart arm laid low the crests Of many an old and valiant knight; When evening came with murderous flame, And liberty was but a name?

I see them, in the distance, form Like spectres on a misty shore; Before them rolls the dreadful storm, And hills send forth their rills of gore; Around them death with lightning breath Is twining an immortal wreath.

They conquer! God of glory, thanks! They conquer! Freedom's banner waves Above Oppression's broken ranks, And withers o'er her children's graves; And loud and long the pealing song Of Jubilee is borne along.

'Tis evening, and December's sun Goes swiftly down behind the wave, And there I see a gray-haired one, A special courier to the grave; He looks around on vale and mound, Then falls upon his battle-ground.

Beneath him rests the hallow'd earth, Now changed like him, and still and cold; The blood that gave young freedom birth No longer warms the warrior old; He waves his hand with stern command, Then dies, the last of Glory's band.

"A very good song, but a very mournful subject," observed Kinnison. "And now, friends, we'll part."

"The carriages are at the door," said one of the young men, as the party arose and prepared to descend. The kindest and best wishes were exchanged between the old and young men; and over and over again were promises made to meet the next year, if possible. At length, the veterans were assisted to descend the stairs. When they reached the door, they found a crowd collected round it. The sound of the fife and drum had drawn these people there, and hearing that the survivors of the Tea-party were in the house, they had become very anxious to see them. As soon as the old men appeared, they jostled around them, and it was with much difficulty that they were safely placed in the carriages by their young friends. Hand and his comrades at last bade the veterans an affectionate farewell, and the carriages drove away amid cheers given by the crowd for "The Boston Tea-party."

THE END