Chapter XCI: The Wadsworth Longfellow House, Portland, Maine 400 (4)

The interior of the building was plain. The pulpit, "about the size of a hogshead," was built on a single pillar, against the wall; above this was a sounding board. The windows had neither blinds nor curtains, and nothing was painted but the pulpit. The backs of the pews were exactly perpendicular. Provision was made regularly for the purchase of sand to freshen the floors. This building was burned in 1872.

The first pastor, Rev. Stephen Grover, received as salary one hundred and fifty dollars a year, though this sum was to be increased ten dollars a year until the total was two hundred and fifty dollars. Of course the use of the parsonage and land was given in addition.

Mr. Grover was pastor for forty-six years, and his successor was Rev. Richard F. Cleveland, to whose son, born in the old manse at Caldwell,--which was purchased in 1912 by the Grover Cleveland Birthplace Memorial Association,--was given the name Stephen Grover, in memory of the first pastor of the church. Forty-seven years later Stephen Grover Cleveland became President of the United States.

For the first ten months of its history the Caldwell church was Presbyterian, then it became Congregational, but since 1831 it has been a Presbyterian body.

XXVI

OLD TENNENT CHURCH, FREEHOLD, NEW JERSEY

ON THE BATTLE FIELD OF MONMOUTH

One of the bas-reliefs on the monument commemorating the decisive Battle of Monmouth, which has been called the turning-point of the War for Independence, represents the famous Molly Pitcher as she took the place at the gun of her disabled husband. In the background of the relief is the roof and steeple of Old Tennent, the church near which the battle raged all day long.

Tennent Presbyterian Church was organized about 1692. The first building was probably built of logs. The second structure, more ambitious, was planned in 1730. Twenty years later a third structure was demanded by the growing congregation. This building, which was twenty-seven years old at the time of the battle of Monmouth, is still standing.

The plan called for a building sixty feet long and forty feet wide. The present pastor of the church, Rev. Frank R. Symmes, in his story of the church, says of the building:

"The sides were sheathed with long cedar shingles, and
fastened with nails patiently wrought out on an anvil, and
the interior was finished with beaded and panelled Jersey
pine.... The pulpit ... is placed on the north side of the
room, against the wall, with narrow stairs leading up to it,
closed in with a door. The Bible desk is nine feet above the
audience floor, with a great sounding board overhanging the
whole.... Below the main pulpit a second desk or sub-pulpit
is built, where the precentor used to stand.... The galleries
extend along three sides of the room."

Among the early pastors of the church were Rev. John Tennent and his brother, Rev. William Tennent, members of a family famous in the early history of the Presbyterian Church in New Jersey. In consequence of their forty-seven years of service the church became known as "Old Tennent."

The story of the marriage of Rev. William Tennent is a tradition in the congregation. In spite of his salary of about one hundred pounds, and the use of the parsonage farm, he became financially embarrassed. A friend from New York who visited him when he was thirty-three years old told him he ought to marry and suggested a widow of his acquaintance. Mr. Tennent agreed to the proposition that he go to New York in company with his friend, and see if matters could not be arranged. So, before noon next day, he was introduced to Mrs. Noble. "He was much pleased with her appearance," the story goes on, "and when left alone with her, abruptly told her that he supposed her brother had informed her of his errand; that neither his time nor his inclination would suffer him to use much ceremony, but that if she approved ... he would return on Monday, be married, and immediately take her home." Thus in one week she found herself mistress of his house. She proved a most invaluable treasure to him.

The year after the death of Mr. Tennent, on Sunday, June 28, 1778, General Washington, at the head of about six thousand men, hurried by Old Tennent. That morning he had been at Englishtown where the sound of cannon told him his advance forces under General Lee were battling with the British. Washington was about one hundred yards beyond the church door when he met the first straggler who told him that Lee had retreated before the British. A little further on the Commander-in-chief met Lee. After rebuking him sharply he hastened forward, and rallied the retreating Continentals. The renewed battle continued until evening when the British were driven back to a defensive position. During the night they retired, to the surprise of Washington, who hoped to renew the battle in the morning. The victory snatched from defeat in this, one of the most stubbornly contested and longest battles of the war, gave new courage to the Colonies.

During the battle wounded soldiers were carried to the church, where members of the congregation tended them, in what could not have been a very secure refuge, since musket balls pierced the walls. An exhausted American soldier, while trying to make his way to the building, sat for rest on the grave of Sarah Mattison. While he was there a cannon ball wounded him and broke off a piece of the headstone. Watchers carried him into the church where he was laid on one of the pews. The stains of blood are still to be seen on the board seat, while the marks of his hands were visible on the book-rest of the pew until the wood was grained.

A tablet has been placed on the front wall of the church with this message:

1778-1901
In Grateful Remembrance
of Patriots Who, on Sabbath June 28, 1778,
Gained the Victory Which Was the Turning Point
Of the War for Independence,
And to Mark a Memorable Spot on
The Battlefield of Monmouth,
This Tablet is placed by Monmouth Chapter
Daughters of the American Revolution
September 26, 1901.

Not far from the church is the monument commemorating the battle itself. Spirited bronze reliefs on this tell the story of some of the picturesque incidents of the memorable struggle.

XXVII

THE FORD MANSION, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY

FROM WHICH ALEXANDER HAMILTON WENT COURTING

New Jersey, which was the scene of so many battles during the Revolution, was also the scene of what was perhaps Washington's pleasantest winter during the war. From December, 1799, to June, 1780, the Commander-in-chief lived at the Ford Mansion with his "family," as he was fond of calling Mrs. Washington and his aides.

During these months he was busily engaged in making plans for the later successful conduct of the war, yet he took time for those social relaxations which were a needed relief from the anxious strain of the long conflict.

Among those who helped to make that winter memorable were Surgeon General John Cochrane and Mrs. Cochrane, who occupied the Campfield House close by, and General and Mrs. Philip Schuyler, who had come down from Albany for a season at headquarters. Mrs. Schuyler and Mrs. Cochrane were sisters. Elizabeth Schuyler had come in advance of her parents, and for a time was a guest at the Campfield House.

Visitors from France were arriving from time to time, bringing word of the alliance that was to mean so much to the Colonies, and conferring as to methods of cooperation.

In one wing of the Ford Mansion lived Mrs. Ford and her son Timothy. In the rooms set apart for the use of Washington's family eighteen people were crowded. Two of these were Alexander Hamilton and Tench Tilghman, both members of the General's staff.

Though Mrs. Washington delighted to put on style, on occasion, she could also be plain and simple. There had been times during the war when she was not ashamed to drive to headquarters in a coach and four. But sometimes at Morristown she was in a different mood--as, for instance, one day when a number of the ladies of the neighborhood, dressed in their best, called to pay their respects to her. To their surprise they found her sitting in a speckled apron, knitting stockings. If they were ill at ease at first, their state of mind can be imagined when their hostess began to talk to them of the need of care in their expenditures for their country's sake. After telling them of a dress she had made out of the carefully unravelled upholstery of a set of chairs, she completed their consternation by saying:

"American ladies should be patterns of industry to their
countrywomen, because the separation from the mother-country
will dry up the source whence many of our comforts have been
derived. We must become independent by our determination to
do without what we cannot make ourselves. While our husbands
and brothers are examples of patriotism, we must be examples
of thrift and economy."

The coming of Elizabeth Schuyler to the Campfield House was the signal for a spirited contest for her favor between two of Washington's aides. Both Hamilton and Tilghman had met her at her father's house in Albany, and both called on her. But Hamilton soon distanced his comrade in the race for her favor. It was not long until everybody was watching developments. Both of the young people were favorites. It is related that even a young soldier on sentry duty late one night was persuaded to a breach of military rules by his interest in Hamilton's courtship. That night the lover was on his way home after spending an evening with his Betsey. Evidently the young man had been thinking of anything but the countersign, for when he was halted and asked to give the countersign words he cudgelled his brain in vain. Then he whispered to the sentry, "Tell me!" And the sentry did tell. Whereupon Hamilton drew himself up before the soldier, gravely gave the countersign, and passed on to his quarters.

There was no time for long courtship in those days of quick movements in military circles. So, before long, Hamilton was writing to Elizabeth Schuyler such cheering letters as the following:

"I would not have you imagine, Miss, that I write you so
often to gratify your wishes or please your vanity, but
merely to indulge myself, and to comply with that restless
property of my mind which will not be happy unless I am doing
something, in which you are concerned. This may seem a very
idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can
plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles
liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory for a female
captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am very
sorry times are so changed as to oblige me to go to antiquity
for my apology, but I confess to the disgrace of the present
that I have not been able to find as many who are as far gone
as myself in their laudable zeal of the fair sex. I suspect,
however, that if others knew the charms of my sweetheart as
well as I do, I should have a great number of competitors. I
wish I could give you an idea of her. You have no conception
of how sweet a girl she is. It is only in my heart that her
image is truly drawn. She has a comely form, and a mind still
more lovely; she is all goodness, the gentlest, the dearest,
the tenderest of her sex. Oh, Betsey, how I love her!"

Who could withstand such a lover? Elizabeth Schuyler did not, and her father commended her judgment. For he wrote to Hamilton:

"You cannot, my dear sir, be more happy at the connexion you
have made with my family than I am. Until the child of a
parent has made a judicious choice, his heart is in critical
anxiety; but this anxiety was removed the moment I discovered
on whom she had placed her affection. I am pleased with every
instance of delicacy in those who are dear to me; and I think
I read your soul on that occasion you mention. I shall
therefore only entreat you to consider me as one who wishes
in every way to promote your happiness, and I shall."

The young people were married at the Schuyler homestead in Albany on December 14, 1780.

To-day the Ford Mansion where Hamilton dreamed of a conquest in which the British had no part is owned by the Washington Association of New Jersey, and is open to visitors. The Campfield House is to be found on a side street; it has been moved from its original site.

XXVIII

NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY

WHERE THE CONGRESS OF 1783 MET FOR FIVE MONTHS

Where the College of New Jersey, as Princeton University was officially known until 1896, erected its first building at Princeton, the far-sighted trustees arranged what was long ago the largest stone structure in the Colonies. The records of early travellers on the road between Philadelphia and New York tell of their amazement at the wonderful building.

In 1756 the college abandoned its rooms in the First Presbyterian Church of Newark, New Jersey, and occupied the ambitious quarters in Princeton, which had cost about L2,900.

Originally the halls extended from end to end of Nassau Hall, a distance of one hundred and seventy-five feet. These long, brick-paved halls afforded students inclined to mischief wonderful opportunity to make life miserable for the tutors who were charged with their oversight. "Rolling heated cannon balls, to tempt zealous but unwary tutors, was a perennial joy," writes Varnum Lansing Collins, in his book, "Princeton." Then he adds the statement that at a later epoch there were wild scenes, "when a jackass or a calf was dragged rebelliously up the narrow iron staircase, to be pitted in frenzied races with the model locomotive purloined from the college museum."

There was no provision for lighting the long halls, so the rollicking students were accustomed to fix candles to the walls with handfuls of mud. When a tutor was heard approaching, the candles would be blown out and he would be foiled in his attempt to identify the offenders. Sometimes barricades of cordwood were built hastily on the stairs or across the entrance to one of the halls.

In vain the authorities tried to correct these abuses by the passage of strict regulations. "No jumping or hollowing or any boisterous Noise shall be suffered, nor walking in the gallery in the time of Study," was a regulation which could be made known far more easily than it could be enforced. Lest there be breaches of decorum inside the rooms, tutors were directed to make at least three trips a day to the quarters of the students, to see that they were "diligent at the proper Business." They were to announce their coming to a room "by a stamp, which signal no scholar shall imitate on penalty of five shillings." Should the occupant of the room refuse to open the door, the tutor had authority to break in. At a later date, students in Nassau Hall liked to have double doors to their rooms, so that the obnoxious tutor might be hindered in his efforts to force an entrance, long enough to give them opportunity to hide all evidence of wrongdoing.

In 1760 a code of "orders and customs" was issued by the authority of President Aaron Burr. One of the most astounding directions in this code was that "Every Freshman sent on an errand shall go and do it faithfully and make quick return." Other rules, as indicated in Mr. Collins' book, concerned deportment, and demanded constant deference to superiors. "Students are to keep their hats off 'about ten rods to the President and about five to the tutors;' they must 'rise up and make obeisance' when the President enters or leaves the prayer hall, and when he mounts into the pulpit on Sundays. When walking with a superior, an inferior 'shall give him the highest place.' When first coming into the presence of a superior, or speaking to him, inferiors 'shall respect by pulling their Hats;' if overtaking or meeting a superior on the stairs, he 'shall stop, giving him the banister side;' when entering a superior's, 'or even an equal's' room, they must knock; if called or spoken to by a superior, they must 'give a direct, pertinent answer concluding with sir;' they are to treat strangers and townspeople 'with all proper complaisance and good manners;' and they are forbidden to address any one by a nickname."

Evidently rules like these helped to make good patriots, for Princeton students were among the most sturdy adherents of the Colonists' cause. In September, 1770, the entire graduating class wore American cloth, as a protest against Great Britain's unjust taxation measures.

In January, 1774, the students broke into the college storeroom and carried the winter's supply of tea to a bonfire in front of Nassau Hall. While the tea burned the college bell tolled and the students--in the words written home to a parent by one of them--made "many spirited resolves."

The spirited students were jubilant on the evening of July 9, 1776, when the news of the Declaration of Independence was read in Princeton. Nassau Hall was illuminated and the whole town rejoiced that President Witherspoon, as a member of the Continental Congress, had been a signer of the document.

In November, 1776, the students who had not enlisted in the army were sent from the town just in time to escape the British, who took possession of the building and used it as barracks and hospital. Early in the morning of January 3, 1777, the British held the building. After the battle Washington's troops took possession, but abandoned it almost at once. At evening the British were once more in control. Soon they hurried on to New Brunswick. The next occupants were the soldiers of General Putnam, who found room here for a hospital, a barracks, and a military prison. They found that during the battle of Princeton a round shot had struck the portrait of George II in the prayer hall.

After the British left Princeton College classes were continued in the President's house, and it was 1782 before a serious attempt was made to reoccupy Nassau Hall, which was found to be "mostly bare partition walls and heaps of fallen plaster."

A year later, when temporary repairs had been made, the Continental Congress, which had been besieged by a company of troops who were insistent in their demands for overdue pay, made its way to Princeton. From June to November the sessions were held in Nassau Hall. Commencement day came during the sessions and Congress sat, with Washington, on the platform. On that occasion Washington gave fifty pounds to the college. This sum was paid to Charles Wilson Peale for a portrait of the donor, which was placed in the frame from which the portrait of George II had been shot more than seven years before.

Congress was still in session at Nassau Hall when, in October, the first authentic news came of the signing of the Definitive Treaty of Peace with Great Britain.

A few weeks later the college was left to its sedate ways. Never since then has it witnessed such stirring events. But the experiences of the years from 1776 to 1784 had made Nassau Hall one of the nation's picturesque monuments.

XXIX

THREE HISTORIC HOUSES AT PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY

MORVEN, THE MERCER HOUSE, AND WASHINGTON'S ROCKY HILL HEADQUARTERS

"Sollemnity & Distress appeared almost on every countenance,
several students that had come 5 & 600 miles & just got
letters in college were now obliged under every disadvantage
to retire with their effects, or leave them behind, which
several through the impossibility of getting a carriage at so
Confused a time were glad to do, & lose them all, as all
hopes of continuing longer in peace at Nassau were now taken
away I began to look out for some place where I might pursue
my studies & as Mr. G. Johnson had spoke to me to teach his
son I accordingly went there & agreed to stay with him till
spring."

So wrote John Clark, one of the students at the College of New Jersey, who, in 1776, was dismayed by the threatened approach of Cornwallis and his army. He was able to remove his effects in ample time, for he had only a "Trunk & Desk." But there were others in the peaceful village who were not so fortunate. One of them was Mrs. Richard Stockton of Morven, a beautiful home still standing not far from the college campus. The activity of her husband in the interests of the Colonies had angered the British, and they were not slow to take advantage of the absence of the family by pillaging the mansion and destroying many things it contained. Fortunately Mrs. Stockton, before leaving hurriedly for Freehold, had buried the family silver, and this was not discovered, though Cornwallis and his officers occupied the house as headquarters.

Probably, while they were here, they talked gleefully of what they called the collapse of the war. They felt so sure that the war was over that Cornwallis was already planning to return to England.

Then came the surprise at Trenton, when nearly a thousand Hessians of a total force of twelve hundred were captured.

Immediately Cornwallis, who had returned to New York, hastened back to Princeton, where he left three regiments and a company of cavalry. Then he hurried on to Trenton. On the way he was harassed by Washington's outposts, and the main force of the General delayed his entrance into the town until nightfall. He expected to renew the attack next morning, but during the night Washington stole away toward Princeton. Within two miles of Princeton the force of General Mercer encountered the reserve troops of Cornwallis, which were on their way to their commander's assistance. Washington, hearing the sound of the conflict that followed, hastened to the field in time to rally the forces of Mercer, who had been wounded. The day was saved, but General Mercer was lost; he died in the farmhouse on the battle field to which he was carried. To this day visitors are shown the stain made on the floor by the blood of the dying man. Those who express doubt as to the stain are not welcomed.

Alfred Noyes has written of this conflict which meant more to the struggling Colonies than some historians have indicated. The reference in the first line of the second stanza is to the tigers that crouch at the entrance of Nassau Hall in Princeton:

_"Here Freedom stood by slaughtered friend and foe,
And, ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,
Looked through the ages; then, with eyes aglow,
Laid them to wait that future, side by side._

* * * * *

"The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side
Where redcoats used to pass;
And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died,
And violets dusk the grass,
By Stony Brook that ran so red of old,
But sings of friendship now,
To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold
The green earth takes the plow.

"Through this May night, if one great ghost should stray
With deep remembering eyes,
Where that old meadow of battle smiles away
Its blood-stained memories,
If Washington should walk, where friend and foe
Sleep and forget the past,
Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know
Their souls are linked at last."

After the battle came happier days for Princeton. Morven was restored, and Washington was frequently an honored guest within the walls, as have been many of his successors in the White House.

More than six years after the memorable battle of Princeton, another house in the neighborhood received him. When Congress convened in Nassau Hall, it rented for Washington the Rocky Hill House, five miles from the village, which was occupied by John Berrian, Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of New Jersey. This house, which was suitably furnished for the General, was the last headquarters of the Revolution.

While at the Berrian house, Washington sat to William Dunlap for his portrait. In his "Arts of Design" the artist, who at the time of which he wrote was eighteen years old, said:

"My visits are now frequent to headquarters. The only
military in the neighborhood were the general's suite and a
corporal's guard whose tents were on the green before the
Berrian House, and the captain's marquee nearly in front. The
soldiers were New England yeomen's sons, none older than
twenty.... I was quite at home in every respect at
headquarters; to breakfast and dine day after day with the
general and Mrs. Washington and members of Congress."

It was Washington's custom to ride to Princeton, mounted on a small roan horse. The saddle was "old and crooked, with a short deep blue saddle cloth flowered, with buff cloth at the edge, buckskin seat, the cloth most below the skirt of the saddle at the side, double skirts, crupper, surcingle, and breast straps, double belted steel bridle and plated stirrup."

The real closing scene in the Revolution was Washington's farewell address to the army, which he wrote in the southwest room of the second story. On Sunday, November 2, from the second-story balcony, he read this to the soldiers. Two days later orders of discharge were issued to most of them.

Fortunately the Berrian House has become the property of "The Washington Headquarters Association of Rocky Hill," and is open to the patriotic pilgrim.

XXX

THE SPRINGFIELD MEETING HOUSE, NEW JERSEY

WHOSE PSALM BOOKS FURNISHED WADDING FOR THE CONTINENTAL GUNS

"One pint of spring water when demanded on the premises" was the strange payment stipulated by the donor of one hundred acres of land given in 1751 to the trustees of the First Presbyterian Church in Springfield, New Jersey, to be for the use of the minister of the parish. The church records do not state that the rent has been paid regularly, but they do state that the woodland enabled them for many years to furnish the free firewood that was a part of the support promised to every one of the early pastors.

The first building occupied by the church was completed in 1746. Fifteen years later the second building was first occupied, and it continued to be the centre of the community's religious life until November, 1778, when it was needed for military stores. The church was gladly given up to the army, and services were held in the garret of the parsonage.

The British under General Knyphausen, determined to drive Washington and his men from the New Jersey hills and to destroy his supplies, marched from Elizabeth Town on June 23, 1780. There were five thousand men, with fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery, in the expedition. A few miles away, near Springfield, was a small company of patriots, poorly equipped but ready to die in the defence of their country.

Warning of the approach of the enemy was given to the Continentals by the firing of the eighteen-pounder signal gun on Prospect Hill; twelve Continentals stationed at the Cross Roads, after firing on the enemy, had hurried to the hill. After firing the gun they lighted the tar barrel on the signal pole.

Instantly the members of the militia dropped their scythes, seized their muskets, and hurried to quarters. "There were no feathers in their caps, no gilt buttons on their home-spun coats, nor flashing bayonets on their old fowling pieces," the pastor of Springfield church said in 1880, on the one hundredth anniversary of the skirmish that followed, "but there was in their hearts the resolute purpose to defend their homes and their liberty at the price of their lives."

The sturdy farmers joined forces with the regular soldiers. For a time the battle was fierce. The enemy were soon compelled to retreat, but not before they had burned the village, including the church. Chaplain James Caldwell was in the hottest of the fight. "Seeing the fire of one of the companies slacking for want of wadding, he galloped to the Presbyterian meeting house nearby, and rushing in, ran from pew to pew, filling his arms with hymn books," wrote Headley, in "Chaplains and Clergy of the Revolution." "Hastening back with them into the battle, he scattered them about in every direction, saying as he pitched one here and another there, 'Now put Watts into them, boys.' With a laugh and a cheer they pulled out the leaves, and ramming home the charge did give the British Watts with a will."

The story has been attractively told by Bret Harte:

"... Stay one moment; you've heard
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the Word
Down at Springfield? What, no? Come--that's bad; why, he had
All the Jerseys aflame! And they gave him the name
Of the 'rebel high priest.' He stuck in their gorge,
For he loved the Lord God--and he hated King George!

"He had cause, you might say! When the Hessians that day
Marched up with Knyphausen, they stopped on their way
At the 'farm,' where his wife, with a child in her arms,
Sat alone in the house. How it happened none knew
But God--and that one of the hireling crew
Who fired the shot! Enough!--there she lay,
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away!

"Did he preach--did he pray? Think of him as you stand
By the old church to-day--think of him and his band
Of military ploughboys! See the smoke and the heat
Of that reckless advance, of that straggling retreat!
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your view--
And what could you, what should you, what would you do?

"Why, just what he did! They were left in the lurch
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church,
Broke down the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in the road
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down his load
At their feet! Then above all the shouting and shots
Rang his voice, 'Put Watts into 'em! Boys, give 'em
Watts.'

"And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers blow
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago.
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball--
But not always a hero like this--and that's all."

The battle of Springfield is not named among the important battles of the Revolution, but it had a special meaning to the people of all that region, for it taught them that the enemy, who had been harassing them for months, was not invulnerable. From that day they took fresh courage, and their courage increased when they realized that the British would not come again to trouble them.

After the burning of the Springfield church, the pastor, Rev. Jacob Vanarsdal, gathered his people in the barn of the parsonage. Later the building was ceiled and galleries were built.

For ten years the barn was the home of the congregation, but in 1791 the building was erected which is in use to-day.

FOUR: RAMBLES ABOUT THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE

_In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters,
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the apostle,
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded.
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty,
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest,
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested.
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile,
Finding among the children of Penn a home and a country.
There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed,
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants.
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of the city,
Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger;
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers,
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country,
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters._

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

FOUR: RAMBLES ABOUT THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE

XXXI

THE LETITIA PENN HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA

WILLIAM PENN'S FIRST AMERICAN HOME

When William Penn, English Quaker, met Guli Springett, he fell in love with her at once. In 1672 they were married.

Ten years later when, as Proprietor of Pennsylvania, Penn was about to sail in the _Welcome_ for America, he wrote a letter of which the following is a portion:

"My dear wife and children, my love, which neither sea, nor
land, nor death itself, can extinguish or lessen toward you,
most tenderly visits you with eternal embraces and will abide
with you for ever.... My dear wife, remember thou wast the
love of my youth and the joy of my life, the most beloved as
well as the most worthy of all my earthly comfort, and the
reason of that love were more thy inward than thy outward
excellencies, which were yet many. God knows, and thou
knowest it, that it was a match of Providence's making, and
God's image in us both was the first thing and the most
amiable and engaging ornament in our eyes. Now I am to leave
thee, and that without knowing whether I shall ever see thee
more in this world."

Penn landed at New Castle, Delaware, in October, 1682. He had already sent forward the plot of his new country village; his cousin, Lieutenant Governor Markham, had come to America in 1681, bringing with him instructions for the beginning of the settlement. On this plot there was evidence of his thought for his wife and his daughter Letitia; two lots were set apart for the family, on one of which he planned to build, while the other he designed for Letitia.

When he reached America, he found that, by some mistake, Letitia's lot had been given to the Friends for a meeting house. He was vexed, but nothing could be done. So he decided that the lot reserved for his own use should be made over to her. He did not carry out his purpose for some time, however.

For a time Penn remained at Upland (now Chester), but in 1684, he went to Philadelphia to oversee the erection of the houses for the settlers. His own house he built on a large plot facing the Delaware River and south of what is now Market Street. The house was of brick, which was probably made nearby, though many of the interior fittings had been brought from England in the _John and Sarah_ in 1681. It was the first brick house in the new settlement, the first house which had a cellar, and was built in accordance with the request the Proprietor had made:

"Let every house be placed, if the person pleases, in the
middle of the plat, as to breadth way of it, that so there
may be ground on each side for garden or orchard, or fields,
that it may be a green country town, which will never be
burnt and always wholesome."

For a few months the Quaker kept bachelor's hall in his new house. Then he went to England, intending to return before long. Before his departure he arranged that the house should be used in the public service. Probably it was the gathering place for the Provincial Council for many years. Thus it was the first state house of Pennsylvania.

During the fourteen years' stay in England many misfortunes came to Penn. He was accused of treason, and his title to the American lands was taken away from him. Later he was acquitted, and his lands were returned.

In 1692 Guli Penn died, and in 1696 Penn married Hannah Callowhill. In 1699, when he returned to America, he brought with him his wife and Letitia, who was then about twenty-five years old.

Evidently the old house was not good enough for the ladies of the family. At any rate they occupied for a time the "slate-roof house," one of the most pretentious buildings in the Colony. When the manor, Pennsbury, twenty miles up the Delaware, was completed, the family was taken there. Great style was maintained at the country estate in the woods. The house had cost L5,000, and was "the most imposing house between the Hudson and Potomac rivers."

The Philadelphia house was transferred to Letitia on "the 29th of the 1st month 1701." At once extravagant Letitia tried to dispose of it. She succeeded in selling a portion of the generous lot, but it was some years before she was able to sell the whole.

In the meantime the Proprietor felt that he must return to England because of the threat of Parliament to change the government of the American Colonies. Mrs. Penn and Letitia, who did not like America, pleaded to go with him. He thought he would be returning soon, and he urged them to remain. They insisted. In a letter to James Logan he wrote: "I cannot prevail on my wife to stay, and still less with _Tish_. I know not what to do." Later he wrote: "The going of my wife and Tish will add greatly to the expense.... But they will not be denied."

In 1702 Letitia married William Aubrey, who had all of Penn's keenness and none of his genial qualities. Almost from the day of the marriage both husband and wife pestered Penn for money. Aubrey insisted on a prompt payment of his wife's marriage portion. His father-in-law was already beginning to feel the grip of financial embarrassment that later brought him to the verge of bankruptcy, but, on this occasion as well as later, he felt compelled to yield to the insistent demands of the grasping Aubrey.

The only members of the Penn family who ever returned to America were the children of the second wife, to whom most of the property descended.

The Letitia Penn House, as it came to be known, fell on evil days. It was an eating house in 1800, and in 1824 it was the Rising Sun Inn. Later it was called the Woolpack Hotel.

In 1882 funds were raised by public subscription, and the venerable house was taken down and rebuilt in Fairmount Park. Visitors who enter the city by the Pennsylvania Railroad from New York City may easily see it from a right-hand car window, for it is the only house in the corner of the park on the west side of the river.

XXXII

CARPENTERS' HALL, PHILADELPHIA

CALLED BY BENSON J. LOSSING "THE TEMPLE OF FREEDOM"

Philadelphia was but forty-two years old when a number of builders in the growing town decided to have a guild like the journeymen's guilds of London. Accordingly they formed, in 1724, "The Carpenters' Company of the City and County of Philadelphia," whose object should be "to obtain instruction in the science of architecture; to assist such of the members, or the widows and children of members, as should be by accident in need of support," as well as "the adoption of such a system of measurements and prices that every one concerned in a building may have the value of his money, and every workman the worth of his labor."

At first the meetings were held here and there, probably in taverns. In 1768 the Company decided to build a home. A lot was secured on Chestnut Street, between Third and Fourth streets, for which an annual ground rent of "176 Spanish milled pieces of eight" was to be paid. The sum of three hundred pounds necessary to begin operations was subscribed in about a week.

The Company's annual meeting of January 21, 1771, was held within the walls, though the building was not entirely completed until 1792.

Three years after the opening of the hall came the first event that linked the building with the history of America. A general meeting of the people of Philadelphia was held here to protest against the failure of Governor Penn to convene the Assembly of the Colony. A committee of three was appointed to wait on the Speaker and ask him for "a positive answer as to whether he would call the Assembly together or not."

The Assembly was then called to meet on the "18th day of the 6th month." Three days before the time fixed, another meeting was held in Carpenters' Hall to consider what measures for the welfare of the Colony should be proposed to the Assembly. At this meeting the necessity of holding "a general Congress of delegates from all the Colonies" was voiced. Later the Assembly approved of the idea of such a conference, and a call was issued.

On September 5, 1774, the delegates from eleven provinces met in the City Tavern. Learning that the Carpenters' Company had offered the hall for the use of the Continental Congress, the delegates voted to inspect the accommodations. John Adams, one of their number, said after the visit: "They took a view of the room and of the chamber, where there is an excellent library. There is also a long entry, where gentlemen may walk, and also a convenient chamber opposite to the library. The general cry was that this was a good room."

When this First Continental Congress met, it was decided that the session of the second day should be opened with prayer. Rev. Jacob Duche of Christ Church and St. Peter's was asked to be present and conduct an opening service. This historic account of the service was written by John Adams:

"Next morning he appeared with his clerk and having on his
pontificals, and read several prayers in the established
form, and then read the Psalter for the seventh day of
September, which was the thirty-fifth Psalm. You must
remember that this was the next morning after we had heard of
the horrible cannonade of Boston (the account proved to be an
error). It seemed as if heaven had ordered that Psalm to be
read on that morning. After this, Mr. Duche, unexpectedly to
everybody, struck out into extemporary prayer, which filled
the bosom of every man present. I must confess, I never heard
a better prayer, or one so well pronounced."

In part, this prayer was as follows:

"Be thou present, O God of wisdom! And direct the councils of
this honorable assembly, enable them to settle things on the
best and surest foundation, that the scene of blood may be
speedily closed, that order, harmony, and peace may be
effectually restored, and truth and justice, religion and
piety, prevail and flourish amongst Thy people."

On October 26 the Congress was dissolved. The second Congress was called to meet on May 10, 1775, at the State House, later known as Independence Hall.

When the British took possession of the city in 1777, a portion of the army was quartered in the building. Officers and men alike borrowed books from the Library Company of Philadelphia, which had quarters here, invariably making deposits and paying for the use of volumes taken in strict accordance with the rules.

In 1778 the United States Commissary of Military Stores began to occupy the lower story and cellar of the building. From 1791 to 1821 various public organizations sought quarters here, including the Bank of the United States, the Bank of Pennsylvania, the United States Land Office, and the United States Custom House. The Carpenters' Company therefore, in 1791, erected a second building on this lot, which they occupied until 1857.

When Benson J. Lossing visited the historic hall, on November 27, 1848, he wrote of his great disappointment because the banner of an auctioneer was on the front of the building. He said:

"I tried hard to perceive the apparition ... to be a classic
frieze, with rich historic trigliphs, but it would not do....
What a desecration! Covering the facade of the very Temple of
Freedom with the placards of grovelling Mammon! If
sensibility is shocked with this outward pollution, it is
overwhelmed with indignant shame on entering the hall where
that august Assembly of men--the godfathers of our
Republic--convened to stand as sponsors at the baptism of
infant American liberty--to find it filled with every species
of merchandise, and the walls which once echoed the eloquent
words of Henry, Lee, and the Adamses, reverberating with the
clatter of the auctioneer's voice and hammer. Is there not
patriotism strong enough in Philadelphia to enter the temple,
and 'cast out all them that buy and sell, and overthrow the
tables of the money-changers?'"

At length the Carpenters' Company decided that the time had come to do what the historian pleaded for. In 1857 they returned to the building, and since then they have held their meetings within the walls consecrated by the heroes of Revolutionary days. The rooms were restored to their original condition, and relics and mementoes of early days were put in place. The Hall has ever since been open to visitors "who may wish to visit the spot where Henry, Hancock, and Adams inspired the delegates of the Colonies with nerve and the sinew for the toils of war."

XXXIII

ST. PETER'S CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA

WHOSE BUILDING IS PRACTICALLY UNCHANGED AFTER MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS

There were but fifteen thousand people in Philadelphia when, on March 19, 1753, the suggestion was made to the vestry of Christ Church that a new church or Chapel of Ease of Christ Church be built for the accommodation of the people in the southern part of the city. Thomas and Richard Penn gave a site for the building of the new church, and on September 21, 1758, the corner stone was laid. In 1761 the church was opened, though it was not completed until March, 1763. To the new organization was given the name St. Peter's, and it was ordered by the vestry of Christ Church, "that the said church ... in every respect whatever shall be upon an equal footing with Christ Church, and be under the same government with it."

At the same time, in view of the gift of the site, it was ordered that "the first and best pew in the said Church shall be set apart forever for the accommodation of the Honorable Proprietary's family."

When the building was completed the building committee reported that the cost was L4,765, 19 s. 6-1/2 d. Added to this report were statements that sound quite modern. "The sudden rise in the prices of materials and labor," and "the inability of some subscribers to meet their engagements," had added to the burdens of the committee.

From the beginning prayers were read in the church for the king and all the royal family, but on July 4, 1776, the vestry ordered that patriotic prayers be substituted. While the British were in Philadelphia the prayers for the king were renewed by order of Dr. Duche, rector of Christ Church and St. Peter's. The official history of St. Peter's refers to Dr. Duche, who ordered this, in the following sentences:

"From an advocate of the Colonies, he became an advocate of
the King, and on the Sunday following the occupation of
Philadelphia by the British, he restored the prayers for the
King to the Liturgy. This compromise with conditions availed
him nothing, and he was arrested for serving as chaplain to
Congress after the adoption of the Declaration of
Independence. The influence of his loyalist friends secured
his speedy release.... Not long afterward he went to England,
where he remained practically an exile for twelve years,
returning to Philadelphia several years before his death,
when, it is said, no truer American could have been found in
the City. He ... was buried in St. Peter's Churchyard."

During the occupation of the church by British troops in 1777 the pews were burned for fuel, but the building was never closed for lack of fuel or for any other reason, until the late winter of 1917-18, when coal could not be secured.

The wooden fence that surrounded the property originally was burned by the British for fuel, and the brick wall that is now in place was built in 1784.

Washington frequently occupied a pew in St. Peter's, and many other men who were prominent in the early history of the country worshipped here. The building is practically as it was when they lived. "It is the same church to which the colonists in their knee-breeches and rich coats came to attend the first service in 1761," a member of the vestry said in 1891. "The pulpit, reading desk, and chancel rails were built in 1764, and the present organ loft was put up over the chancel in 1789. In all other respects the plain, austere interior of this old church ... remains unchanged, the only relic in Pennsylvania, and one of the very few in the country at large, of the church in colonial days. Bishop De Lancey, in his centennial sermon, preached September 4, 1861, said: 'We enter by the same doors--we tread the same aisles--we kneel where they knelt--we sit where they sat; the voice of prayer, instruction, and praise ascends from the same desk from which it reached their ears, in the privacy and seclusion of the same high, strait unostentatious pews.'"

In the crowded churchyard are the graves of many colonial worthies as well as many leaders in the early history of America. Stephen Decatur is buried here, and Charles Wilson Peale, who painted a famous portrait of Washington.

The _Pennsylvania Evening Post_ of January 18, 1777, told of the burial of one of the patriots whose bodies were laid here:

"Yesterday the remains of Captain William Shippen, who was
killed at Princeton the third instant, gloriously fighting
for the liberty of his country, were interred in St. Peter's
Churchyard. His funeral was attended by the Council of
Safety, the members of Assembly, officers of the army, a
troop of Virginia light horse, and a great number of
inhabitants. This brave and unfortunate man was in his
twenty-seventh year, and has left a widow and three children
to lament the death of an affectionate husband and a tender
parent, his servants a kind master, and his neighbors a
sincere and obliging friend."

Captain Shippen, before joining Washington's army, was captain of the privateer _Hancock_, which, between July 1 and November 1, 1776, sent to American ports ten prizes captured at sea.

XXXIV

CLIVEDEN, GERMANTOWN, PHILADELPHIA

ON THE FIELD OF THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN

In the days before the Revolution there were many residents of Philadelphia who had, in addition to a sumptuous town house, a country house, to which they could resort in the summer or at other times when they wished relief from the cares of daily life. Germantown, the straggling village five miles from the town of William Penn, was one of the popular places for such establishments.

Samuel Chew's town house was at Front and Dock streets when he built Cliveden at Germantown in 1761. At that time he was Attorney-General of Pennsylvania, though in 1774 he became Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania.

Both in Philadelphia and in Germantown he maintained the hospitable traditions he had learned at Maidstone, near Annapolis, where he was born, in 1722, of a family whose first American ancestor, John Chew, came to Virginia a century earlier.

During the days of the Continental Congress Judge Chew seemed to sympathize with the colonists in their protests against the aggression of Great Britain, but when independence was proposed, he let it be known that he was unwilling to act with the patriots. Accordingly he was arrested by order of Congress, together with John Penn, and when he refused to sign a parole, he was banished from the State.

During his absence the battle of Germantown was fought. On October 3, 1777, the British forces were disposed on nearly all sides of the Chew mansion. Washington planned to attack these scattered forces by four columns, which were to advance from as many directions. General Wayne's column successfully opened the attack at daybreak October 4, driving before him the enemy encountered at Mount Airy. Colonel Musgrave checked the retreat of the soldiers at Cliveden. With six companies he took possession of the mansion, prepared to defend themselves behind hastily barricaded doors and windows. Wayne and the leaders who were with him pushed on past the house, continuing the pursuit of that portion of the enemy which had continued its retreat; he did not know that he was leaving an enemy in his rear. When Washington came to Cliveden, he was surprised by the fire of the entrenched enemy. After a hasty conference with others, it was decided not to pass on, leaving a fortress behind. Cannon were planted so as to command the door, but they were fired without much effect.

The next attempt was made by a young Frenchman who asked others to carry hay from the barn and set fire to the front door. Thinking they were doing as he asked, he forced open a window and climbed on the sill. From this position he was driven back, and he found that he had not been supported by those on whom he had counted.

In the meantime the artillery fire continued, but with little effect. General Wilkinson, who was present, afterward wrote: