Chapter XII: Prologue (7)

As our society is for the purpose of advancing the cause of patriotism, no effort on the part of its members would do more to bring this about than for some of them situated in different parts of our country to unite in collecting material for a new reader for the use of schools in which the deeds of these revolutionary patriots would be once more revived and made conspicuous to those who should ever hold them in grateful veneration.

This thought is one that might advantageously engage the attention of some national publisher who might employ compilers from different localities of our country for this purpose.

Among the "Readers" alluded to, was a tribute to Gen. Marion and his men, which was at the same time a graphic account of their lives and services. It was written by one of our favorable national poets, William Cullen Bryant, and was a favorite selection for declamation among American juvenile orators many years ago. It has disappeared from the modern editions of "Readers," but would fitly embellish a new "American Speaker," a book which would be popular throughout our land in these days of Sons and Daughters of the Revolution.

This suggestion will be enhanced by the reproduction of the ringing lines with which this article will close:

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good green wood,
Our tent the cypress tree;
We know the forest 'round us,
As Seamen know the sea;
We know its wall of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass;
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the British soldiery,
That little dread us near;
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again,
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release
From dangers and from toil;
We talk the battle over
And share the battle spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldiers' cup.
With merry sounds we mock the wind
That in the pine top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon,
The band that Marion leads;
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb,
Across the moonlit plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp,
A moment and away;
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs.
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers;
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And with tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms
And lay them down no more,
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.

--_Mrs. F. H. Orme, Atlanta Chapter, D. A. R._

"LIGHT HORSE HARRY."

The Lee family was illustrious both in England and America. They clearly trace their ancestry to the Norman Conquest, Launcelot Lee being the founder of the family. The Lees were prominent in English history down to the colonization of this country. Robert E. Lee is descended from Richard Lee, a younger son of the Earl of Litchfield, who was sent to this country in 1641 during the reign of Charles I. He came as colonial secretary under Sir William Berkeley. He was loyal to the royal party during the struggle between the Cavaliers and Roundheads. Richard Lee, second son of the Richard mentioned above, was born in Virginia in 1646 and educated in England and studied law. He took an active part in colonial legislation. His son, Thomas, was the first to establish himself in Westmoreland County. He was very prominent in the early history of the state. The fine mansion of Stratford was built for him by the East India company, and several of the prominent Lees were born in that home. Henry Lee, the son of Richard Lee, filled no prominent place in colonial history. He married a Miss Bland and had three children, the second son being Henry, who married a Miss Grymes in 1753. He left six sons and five daughters, the third son being Henry, the ancestor of R. E. Lee. He went to Princeton and was preparing to study law when hostilities with England changed his plans. When quite young he raised a company of cavalry and soon after the battle of Lexington joined Washington's forces. He soon became noted as an able leader and was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel and had command of "Lee's Legion," consisting of infantry and cavalry. He was actively engaged in the service to the close of the war and was conspicuous in this state for some time. Owing to his rapid movements he was known as "Light Horse Harry." About 1781 he married his cousin, a daughter of Colonel Philip Ludwell Lee, of Stratford. Four children were born to them, all of whom died except one son. The wife died in 1790. He was elected to congress and afterwards was governor of Virginia. He next married Miss Anne Hill Carter, daughter of Charles Carter, of Shirley. He again entered political life and was elected to the general assembly. The children of his second marriage were Charles Carter, Sidney Smith, Robert E., Anne and Mildred. Robert Edward Lee was born in the Stratford mansion in which two signers of the Declaration of Independence were born. In 1811 Henry Lee moved to Alexandria to educate his children. Here he was made major-general during the war of 1812. He was the author of "First in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen," when pronouncing a eulogy on Washington. His health failed in 1817 and he was induced to make a trip to the West Indies, but finding that he was not benefited, he returned and landed on the coast of Georgia, where he enjoyed the hospitality of a daughter of his old friend, General Nathaniel Greene, who was living in the family residence on Cumberland Island. After lingering a short time he died and was buried there, March 25, 1818.

General A. C. Long wrote the memoirs of R. E. Lee. He publishes an incident which occurred in 1862, when Lee was sent to this state to examine our lines and means of defense. General Long accompanied him. When they reached Savannah General Lee secured a vessel and went to Cumberland Island. He had the boat anchored and the two went on shore. They entered the old Greene mansion, which was in bad condition. Going through that to the rear, General Lee went alone to an old neglected cemetery. After that he returned with a flower in his hand, but never spoke a word about the visit to his father's grave. In silence he showed his reverence; with his usual modesty he refrained from speaking about it. From that old cemetery on Cumberland Island the body of "Light Horse Harry" Lee, ninety-five years after his death, was carried back to his old Virginia home and laid in its final resting place.

OUR LEGACY.

Our brave Forefathers: give them place
In Hall of Fame--the Nation's heart;
They met the foe, aye face to face:
Each man a hero, did his part--
Invincible to fear, and wrought
For us and ours, beyond his thought.

O fair Republic: pride and boast
Of children who cannot forget--
From lake to gulf, from coast to coast
Where waves the Flag with colors set
In patriot blood, which ne'er shall fade--
That _Flag_ is _ours_, its price they paid.

We, daughters of a loyal line,
Would weave their deathless deeds in song,
With memory's fairest flowers entwine
Sweet garlands which shall linger long,
Who die for God and Country share
Immortal honors other-where.

--_Hannah A. Foster in American Monthly Magazine._

THE RIDE OF MARY SLOCUMB.

In the prologue to "The Princess," Tennyson makes one of the group of collegemates assembled during the holiday season at Vivian Place find in an old chronicle the story of a brave woman whom a wild king besieged. But she armed

"Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate,
Had beat her foes with slaughter from the walls."

When this story was read to the ladies present, one of the men asked: "Where lives there such a woman now?" To which

"Quick answer'd Lilia 'There are thousands now
Such women, but convention beats them down.'"

On the first day of February, 1776, General McDonald, chief of the McDonald clan in the Cape Fear region, issued a proclamation, calling upon all true and loyal Highlanders to join his standard at Cross Creek, now Fayetteville, and prepare to assist General Clinton and Governor Martin in maintaining the king's authority in the province of North Carolina. About fifteen or sixteen hundred of them obeyed the summons. From Cross Creek they marched down the Cape Fear River until they came to Moore's creek, where they were met on February 27th by a Whig force about a thousand strong under the command of Richard Caswell, The following from a letter from Caswell to Cornelius Harnett shows the result of the meeting:

"I have the pleasure to acquaint you that we had an engagement with
the Tories, at Widow Moore's creek bridge, on the 27th current.
Our army was about one thousand strong, consisting of the Newbern
Battalion of Minute Men, the militia from Craven, Johnston, Dobbs
and Wake, and a detachment of the Wilmington Battalion of Minute
Men, which we found encamped at Moore's Creek the night before the
battle, under the command of Colonel Lillington. The Tories by
common report were three thousand, but General MacDonald, whom we
have prisoner, says there were about fifteen or sixteen hundred;
he was unwell that day and not in the battle. Captain McLeod, who
seemed to be principal commander, and Captain John Campbell, are
among the slain."

This was the first pitched battle of the Revolution won by the Whigs; the only victories of an earlier date being the capture of Forts Ticonderoga and Crown Point on May 10, 1775. It would be difficult to overestimate the importance of the victory. Besides the capture of about 900 prisoners and 2,000 stands of arms of which the Americans stood in great need, the crushing of the Tory spirit and the corresponding rise of the Whig spirit, meant untold strength to the cause of freedom.

But it is not the political nor the military result of this battle with which this story is to deal. With the foregoing as an introduction, it is interesting now to turn to the story of the heroine of Moore's creek, Mary Slocumb.

Mary Slocumb was the young wife of Ezekiel Slocumb, of Wayne County. He afterwards became a prominent member of the house of commons, serving in the session of 1812 to 1818. She was but yet a girl when her husband rode away from home to join Caswell in crushing McDonald and the enemies of liberty. The men of that section, more than eighty strong, rode away one calm Sunday morning, under the lead of Slocumb. Before the long ride was begun, his young wife went out with the colonel to inspect the men. She says that she looked at them well, and could see that every man meant mischief. No doubt it was a sturdy, stern and determined band that rode away that day to battle for their rights. These men rode away in high spirits, some to a glorious death, some to a glorious victory; none to defeat or dishonor.

It is easy to imagine what a long, lonely day the young wife had at home that quiet Sabbath day; it is easy to imagine where her thoughts were; it is easy to imagine how she concealed the anxiety of her heart under the assumed cheerfulness of her face. "I slept soundly and quietly that night," she says, "and worked hard all the next day; but I kept thinking where they had got to, how far, where and how many of the regulars and Tories they would meet; and I could not keep from that study."

Going to bed in this anxious state of mind, her sleep was disturbed by a terrible dream. She seemed to see lying on the ground, surrounded by the dead and wounded, a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. With a cry of alarm she sprang to her feet into the middle of the room. So vivid was the impression that it remained with her even after she awakened from sleep and in rushing forward to the place where the vision appeared, she ran into the side of the house. The light was dim; all around was quiet and peaceful, but her heart kept up a great commotion. "If ever I felt fear," she says, "it was at that moment." The more she reflected on the vision the more vivid and more fearful it became, until at last she could bear the suspense no longer and starting up she said aloud:

"I must go to him."

In the stable was her favorite and own particular horse, "as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled." In an instant, leaving her baby and the house in the care of the nurse, she rushed out to the barn, saddled her mare, and in less time than it takes to tell it, was flying down the road at full speed.

The night air was cool; the spirit of the race was in the nag; and mile after mile was quickly left behind, as the sound of her rapidly falling hoofs fell clear and distinct in the quiet night air. All alone, urged onward by love and fear, this brave little woman swept on through the dark night, dashing over bridges, whirling through dark woods, flashing past farm houses, until when the sun began to appear in the east thirty miles lay between her and her quiet home. Shortly after sunrise she passed a group of women and children anxiously awaiting news from the troops. From these she learned the exact route taken by Caswell and with only a few minutes' stop she was again skimming over the ground. There was no flagging in her spirits, nor those of the mare. On the contrary, the excitement became more and more intense the nearer they got to the end of their journey. It seemed as if the woman had infused her spirits into the horse.

The sun was well up when a new excitement was added to the race--she heard a sound like thunder rolling and rumbling in the distance. She pulled her mare up suddenly. What was it? Though she had never heard the sound before, she knew it must be the roar of the cannon; and as she thought of what it meant, the blood coursed more rapidly than ever through her veins; she was more than ever impatient to be on the scene, and away she dashed again. But then a thought rushed into her mind that for a moment made her feel very foolish to be here so far away from home and child, on what might after all be but a fool's errand.

"What a fool I am," she thought. "My husband could not be dead last night, if the battle is only fighting now."

But she had come too far now to turn back and so she pressed on faster than before. As she drew nearer, she could hear the roar of the deadly muskets, the fatal rifles, and the triumphant shouts of the victors. But from which side did they come? Did those shouts mean the defeat of her husband; or did they mean his triumph? This was the most trying moment of all--this terrible suspense. If it was his victory, then he would rejoice to have her share his glory; if his defeat, then he would need her to soothe his sufferings; so on she pressed to share with him weal or woe. Crossing the Wilmington road a few hundred yards below the bridge, she saw a clump of trees under which were lying perhaps twenty wounded men. What was this she saw? Her blood froze in her veins; her heart leapt to her mouth, for there was the vision realized. The scene before her--she knew it as well as if she had seen it a thousand times; the spot, the trees, the position of the men, the groans of the wounded, and her sight fell upon a body lying in the midst of the group, her brain became dizzy, and the world seemed whirling around her at the rate of ten thousand miles a second--there lay a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. Her whole soul became centered in that one spot. "How I passed from my saddle to this place I never knew," she said afterwards; but in some way she succeeded in reaching the body, and mechanically uncovered the head. She saw before her an unrecognizable face crusted with dust and blood from a gash across the temple. What a relief to her aching heart was the strange voice which begged her for a drink of water! Her senses came back to her at once so she was able to minister to the sufferer's wants. She gave him a swallow as she held the drooping head in her lap; and with what remained of the water, bathed the dirt and gore from the face. From the ghastly crust came the pale face of one of her neighbors, Frank Cogdell. Under the gentle care of his nurse, he revived enough to speak, and when she attempted to dress the wound on the head, he managed to gasp out:

"It's not that; it's the hole in my leg that's killing me."

Lifting the wounded leg from the puddle of blood in which it lay she gently cut away the trousers and stockings and found a shot hole through the fleshy part of the limb. What nerve it must have taken for this young girl, unused to such work, alone, without help or advice, to go through with the painful ordeal. But she was of the stuff of which North Carolina moulds her heroes, and she did not flinch from her duty. Gathering a handful of heart leaves, the only thing in sight suitable for binding the wound, she tied these tight to the hole and the bleeding stopped. No sooner had she completed this pressing duty, than she turned to others of the unfortunate men who lay in pain and need and, as she says, "dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day." During all this time, the first anxiety for her husband relieved, she had not had time to make inquiries after him, but with true heroism devoted herself to the more pressing duties of the moment. While she was busily engaged in bringing home to these poor fellows the blessings of a woman's care, General Caswell rode up. With great surprise at seeing Mrs. Slocumb, he raised his hat and was about to address her with a compliment, when she interrupted him with the question:

"Where is my husband?"

"Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray, how came you here?"

"Oh," she replied, carelessly, "I thought you would need nurses as well as soldiers. See! I have dressed many of these good fellows." Then pointing to Frank Cogdell, she continued, "Here is one who would have died before any of you men could have helped him." As she spoke she lifted Frank's head in her arms and gave him a drink of water. When she raised her head, there before her stood her astonished husband, "as bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher."

"Why, Mary," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there, hugging Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?"

"I don't care," she cried. "Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier and a true friend of congress."

"True, true, every word of it," exclaimed Caswell, who stood by much amused at the scene. "You are right, madam," with a bow that would have shamed Chesterfield himself.

Mrs. Slocumb says she could not tell her husband what had brought her there. "I was so happy," she says, "and so were all. It was a glorious victory; I came just at the height of the enjoyment. I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see that he was not displeased with me."

It was of course long into the night before the excitement subsided. The news spread like wild fire, and the Whigs all over the country heard it with rejoicing and thanksgiving; and everywhere the news of the victory was heard, went also the story of the heroine, her brave ride, her heaven-sent aid, her soothing care of the wounded and suffering. Many a soldier breathed a prayer of thanks for the vision which came to her and for her courageous response. But the prettiest side of the story is the simple and unaffected way in which she looked upon her act. Nothing of force or beauty can be added to her own simple and touching words about her return home. After staying in camp long enough to offer intercession in behalf of the unfortunate prisoners and to receive assurance from Caswell that they would be well treated, she prepared to start home. "In the middle of the night," she says simply, without thinking apparently of her course, "I again mounted my mare, and started home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next morning and they would send a party with me, but no! I wanted to see my child, and told them they could send no party that could keep up with me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran to meet me!"

This is a story full of meaning and significance to him who loves his state; who admires her noble women, and brave men; who glories in her heroic deeds and great achievements. As long as the old North State can produce such women as Mary Slocumb, she need entertain no fears as to what her men will be.--R. D. W. CONNOR, Wilmington, N. C., _in American Monthly Magazine_.

THE HOBSON SISTERS.

"Come in girls, I'll find her. She just knows everything about everybody's grand parents. Oh, Grandmother!" called Agnes, as she ushered the bevy of girls about her own age into the cherry sitting room, one October afternoon, and ran to tell her grandmother of her visitors.

It did not require a second call for Mrs. Martin to respond, and in her quaint way she cordially greeted her youthful quests, well known to her and her grand-daughter's friends, "Elizabeth," "Mary" and "Lucy Kent."

When the customary salutations and courteous inquiries had been exchanged, Lucy Kent, anxious to make known the object of their visit, explained:

"Agnes said you knew everything about everybody's ancestors, and our teacher told us today that we must bring in tomorrow our lines of descent, as far back as we could trace; also tell any family tradition or any incident in the lives of our ancestors in connection with the war of the Revolution, especially, she said, anything the women did."

"I don't see how the women could have done anything, when it was all fighting," added Mary, as if in apology.

And I said, "Grandmother, you could tell us, because I had heard you go over it all, way back to Adam," said Agnes reassuringly.

"Not quite so far back, my dear, yet I can give each of you some interesting accounts of your ancestors, but the story would have to be a long one and you might weary of it," said Mrs. Martin hesitatingly.

"Oh do, Grandmother," pleaded Agnes.

"But Wednesday is my day for darning the stockings, and"--

"Oh, we'll darn the stockings, so do begin," exclaimed several voices in chorus, and a rush was made for the sewing basket, and then the little girls sat demurely, waiting to hear the promised story, industriously plying the needle, and filling the holes with the thread.

"This portrait that you see here on the wall," began Mrs. Martin, pointing to the one in front of them, "is the grandmother of my grandmother. She is one of the Hobson sisters and you, Agnes, are seventh in direct line of descent from her through the Bacons and Carrs and Wares. It is a singular coincidence that you and your little friends here, all come from this same family of Hobson. 'Birds of a feather flocking together,'" chuckled the old lady, evidently pleased to see the friendship existing between the children in this generation, who were representatives of one of the best Georgia families and of the staunchest and truest supporters of the cause of American Independence.

"These Hobsons," continued she, "were daughters and sons of Nicholas Hobson, of Lunenburg County, Virginia, son of Matthew Hobson, of Henrico. As you already know, Georgia was largely settled by colonists from Virginia. It is not surprising to find the younger members of the Hobson family removing later to Georgia, for young folks are always looking for the best place to locate, and this is what the husbands and wives in the Hobson family did, moved to Georgia and located at Augusta."

"But you were telling about the portrait," interposed Mary. "Is she Agnes Hobson?"

"Yes, Agnes Hobson, born July 4th, 1740, and wife of William Bacon, born January 29, 1732, who was a Revolutionary soldier, and a member of the Provincial Congress 1775, as was also his brother John Bacon. Agnes had sisters Elizabeth, Sarah, Obedience, Mary and Margaret, and brothers Matthew, William, Nicholas and John Hobson. Ten children in the Hobson family, in the home in Lunenburg County, Virginia. My! what fine men and women, with the love of country, and the sacredness of the cause of freedom instilled in their hearts from infancy."

"Well, what did Agnes Hobson do?" questioned Mary.

"I was just about to tell you Mary, men and women are great and are heroic when they can rise to meet the occasion which necessity presents. So at this particular crisis in the affairs during the war of the Revolution, it became necessary to convey a message from Colonel Clark, in Georgia, to General Nathaniel Greene, who was then in South Carolina. In 1781, the British being in possession of Augusta, General Greene determined to march into South Carolina, and Colonel Clark and McCall proceeded to co-operate by annoying the British posts in Georgia. General Clark determined in May to attack. This information must be conveyed to General Greene at once. As the enemy's line would have to be crossed, it would not be possible to send the despatch by a man with the hope that he would ever reach General Greene alive. He would not only be held as a prisoner, but searched and probably hung. In those days petticoats were flags of truce. So, here was a woman's opportunity. But what woman would? In those days the country's affairs were freely and intelligently discussed by men and women, and there were no braver women than the Hobsons. Nothing daunted, Agnes volunteered to convey the despatch. Her brother-in-law, Nathaniel Bacon, had gone to South Carolina to assist Colonel Pickens who was maneuvering between Augusta and Ninety Six. Nathaniel was a Captain in Pickens' Brigade. She would reach him and through him convey this message to General Greene's headquarters. With the papers safely folded in her bosom she plunged into the swollen current of the Savannah River, and borne by her trusty horse, reached the Carolina shore in safety. Reaching her destination and fulfilling her mission, she recrossed the enemy's line, performing the act of a courier, swimming on horse back the Savannah River, and riding many, many miles unattended, because a woman's service was needed at this crisis in the war for American Independence."

"Did you say one of these Hobson sisters was my ancestor, and did she do anything heroic?" asked Mary inspired by this recital.

"Oh, yes" answered Mrs. Martin, "This was Elizabeth, the wife of Capt. Sherwood Bugg. There is a love story there."

"A love story" inquired Lucy Kent, "How interesting it grows! Please tell us this one."

Grandmother, pleased at her interested audience, continued her story of the Hobson sisters.

"Elizabeth Hobson, wife of Capt. Sherwood Bugg, (Legionary Corps, Jackson Legion) came with her husband and her brothers John and Matthew Hobson to Richmond County, Georgia, 1765-67. John died soon after his arrival in Georgia. Matthew married Miss Burke. He also lived in Augusta, was a Revolutionary soldier and an ardent patriot. It was at his house that the Executive Council met after the capture of Savannah by the British. It is said that General Washington was the guest of Matthew Hobson during his stay in Augusta, while on his triumphant tour through Georgia and the South."

"Elizabeth Hobson was no less a heroine than was her sister Agnes, nor less a patriot than were her brothers Matthew, William and Nicholas. Her house on her plantation, near Augusta, Beech Island, she converted into a refuge and hospital for the patriots and Continental Soldiers, where they were cared for and nursed back to health. Among these patriots were Colonels Clark and McCall, and Major Carter, who in spite of the care bestowed upon him died there from his wounds. Another, Colonel John Jones, of Burke County, received the tenderest treatment at the home of Mrs. Bugg. Colonel Jones had received eight sabre cuts on the head and was desperately wounded at Earle Fort, on the Pacolet River, during the night attack by the British and Tories. During his illness at Beech Island, his brother Abraham Jones and sister Sallie Jones came to visit him. The acquaintance thus brought about between the Jones and Bugg families, culminated later in the marriage of two couples. Sarah Ann Jones married young Sherwood Bugg, and following their example Abram Jones married Sally Bugg. From these descended the Phinizys and Hamiltons and Jones and Lamars, from whom you, Elizabeth and Mary and Lucy Kent are descended."

"You said, grandmother, that 'Ned Brace' of 'The Georgia Scenes,' came from the Hobson sisters," reminded Agnes, anxious that nothing be left untold.

"So he did; 'Ned Brace,' who was Edmund Bacon, was a grandson of Obedience Hobson, who married John Bacon. I spoke of him in the beginning as the brother of William Bacon, who married Agnes Hobson, and there is a sweet story tradition which tells of Obedience. On one occasion she was approached by a British officer, who had reason to believe that Obedience knew the whereabouts of her husband, John Bacon. 'Do you know where he is?' sternly demanded the officer as he leveled his gun at her head. 'Yes,' replied Obedience, not daring to tell a lie."

"'Where?' thundered the officer. Gaining strength at each stage of their interview, Obedience lifted her head and replied defiantly:

"I have hid him--in my heart and you will have to kill me to find him."

"Then, there was another sister, Sarah, who married William Fox. The old people used to speak of them as 'Sister Bacon' and 'Sister Bugg' and 'Sister Fox.' Margaret married a Telfair and Mary Married William Bilbo. Nicholas Hobson married Miss de Graffenried and William,--well, my memory fails me now,--but I suppose I have given you tradition and incident sufficient for tomorrow's lesson, so far as you are personally interested."

"Oh, yes, and thank you so much" exclaimed each of the circle of friends, and with affectionate goodbyes their pleasant interview ended.--SALLIE MARSHALL MARTIN HARRISON, Oglethorpe Chapter, Columbus, Ga.

WASHINGTON'S MARCH THROUGH SOMERSET COUNTY, NEW JERSEY.

ADELINE W. VOORHEES STILLWELL.

The battle of Trenton thoroughly aroused General Howe, who at once collected 7,000 men at Princeton. Washington had but 5,000 men. On January 3 the battle of Princeton took place and the Americans were again victorious, but the men were so completely exhausted that Washington was forced reluctantly to abandon his project of capturing the stores at New Brunswick and to seek the hill country, where his men might obtain the rest and refreshment they so much needed.

Reforming his columns, the General passed along the King's Highway to Van-Tillburgh's Inn, at Kingston, which was standing not many years ago. Here, turning to the left on the narrow Rocky Hill road, he marched his way-worn men down the valley of the Millstone.

Arrayed in the Continental blue and buff as he sat on his horse with all that martial dignity peculiar to himself, Washington came as a conqueror, welcomed by the enthusiastic populace.

Much of interest appertaining to this march to Morristown is to be learned from the manuscript diary of Captain Thomas Rodney of the Dover Light Infantry, which is preserved by his descendants.

When the van of the American army reached the bridge which spanned the Millstone in front of the residence of Christopher Hoagland, near Griggstown, the British cavalry appeared in considerable force on the opposite bank. The condition of Washington's men was such that he desired neither to pursue nor be pursued, so he ordered the bridge broken up. This being done the enemy was forced to retire, which would lead one to suppose that the depth of the river was much greater then than now. Commissaries were sent forward to notify the inhabitants of the approach of the troops and to direct that food be prepared for their refreshment. The home of Abraham Van Doren, like many others, was the scene of great excitement and special activity that day. I quote from a paper read before the Somerset County Historical Society several years ago by his great-grandson, Rev. Wm. H. Van Doren: "Abraham Van Doren was a most prosperous and prominent member of the community. He owned the grist mill which did a large business between Trenton and New Brunswick. Besides the mill he owned the store (ruins of which are still standing), a feed mill, a saw mill, a carding mill and power loom, a cider mill and distillery, a cooperage, a work and wagon shop, two blacksmith shops and a lath mill, besides six or seven hundred acres of land. The mills and store houses were filled with flour, grain, whiskey and lumber, awaiting a favorable opportunity of shipment to New York. The general 'killing,' as it was called, had just been finished. The beeves and hogs and other animals designed for the next year's use had just been laid down, so that, what had never before occurred in the history of the settlement, there was now a whole year's labor stored up, a Providential supply for a great necessity which no human wisdom could have foreseen. Before noon the whole hamlet of Millville, as Griggstown was then called, was ablaze with excitement and activity. Soon the old Dutch ovens were roaring hot and bread and pone, shortcake, mince and other pies, beef, ham and pork, sausage and poultry, were cooking and roasting to feed the General and his staff. Not the officers alone, but the whole rank and file of the army was coming and right royally they feasted." There are many interesting traditions which are cherished in the Van Doren family relating to this visit of Washington and his army.

As soon as the troops had been fed and had an hour or two of rest, Washington found that Cornwallis, enraged that he had been so tricked as to allow his foe to escape while he slept, and fearing for his military stores at New Brunswick, had put his whole army in motion. So hurriedly calling his men to "fall in," Washington hastened with them to Somerset Court House, now Millstone. It was about dusk and here they encamped for the night. Washington and some of his staff quartered at the residence of John Van Doren, which is this house. Here also still stands the old barn where the General's horse was stabled. Until recently the house was occupied by a great-grandson of the man who was the proud host for one night of the Father of our Country. This family, too, have many interesting traditions of this memorable visit. We note that two men by the name of Van Doren, within twenty-four hours, were honored by being permitted to entertain the commander-in-chief of the Continental army.

The main body of the army encamped for the night near the present Dutch Church parsonage, in close proximity to the Court House, which was afterward burned. Early the following morning the column was again pushing northward, crossing the Raritan at Van Veghten's bridge, now Finderne. Not far from this bridge stood the old First Dutch Church of the Raritan on the ground donated by Michael Van Veghten, whose tombstone is still standing in the little "God's Acre," which surrounded the edifice. This building, like the Court House, was burned with all the priceless records by General Simcoe's men.

Rodney states that Washington was again tempted to march to New Brunswick, still having in mind the rich stores there which would be of such inestimable value to him. However, again out of consideration for his troops, he abandoned the project. After crossing at Finderne they marched up the river to the old road turning west, just north of Bernard Meyers' house to Tunison's Tavern, now the "Somerset" in Somerville, field to the right, passed up Grove Street and continued over the hills to Pluckemin. The sick and wounded were cared for in the village while the Lutheran Church was used as a temporary prison for the captured men.

It was at this time that Leslie, the young British officer who had been wounded and so tenderly cared for by Dr. Rush of Philadelphia, having died, was laid to rest with full military honors. Many of us have seen the stone in the church yard at Pluckemin which marks his resting place.

Sunday, January 5, 1777, was a great day for Pluckemin. News of Washington's presence, and that of his army, quickly spread throughout the surrounding country, and we can well imagine the eagerness with which the people flocked in to get the latest news of the war and perchance of their loved ones. The Mathew Lane house is said to be the house where the General was quartered.

Early on the morning of January 6 Pluckemin lost, suddenly as it had gained, the distinction of being the headquarters of the army.

Rested and refreshed, it was probably the most peaceful and satisfactory march experienced since leaving Hackensack three months before with Cornwallis at their heels.

Secure now from pursuit the little army in good heart travelled slowly along the narrow road called the Great Road from Inman's Ferry, New Brunswick, passing Bedminster Church to Bedminster. Some authorities say they then crossed the north branch of the Raritan at Van der Veer's Mills, but Mr. Joshua Doughty, of Somerville, who seldom makes an assertion which he cannot prove by the records, tells me that they did not cross the river at that point, but filed to the right, going through "Muggy Hollow," the road which Lord Sterling used in going from his place to the sea shore at Amboy; then passing through Liberty Corner and Basking Ridge, with frequent halts, they climbed the Bernards hills to Vealtown, Bernardsville, and on to New Vernon, and just as the sun was sinking in the west reached Morristown. After a weary pilgrimage they were for the time being safe in winter quarters.--_American Monthly Magazine._

HANNA ARNETT.

BY MRS. MARY LOCKWOOD.

The days were dark and hopeless, the hearts of our forefathers were heavy and cast down. Deep, dark despondency had settled upon them. Defeat after defeat had followed our army until it was demoralized, and despair had taken possession of them. Lord Cornwallis, after his victory at Fort Lee, had marched his army to Elizabethtown, New Jersey, and there encamped. This was in that memorable December, 1776. The Howe brothers had already issued their celebrated proclamation, that offered protection to all that would seek refuge under the British flag within sixty days and declare themselves British subjects, and take an oath binding themselves to not take up arms against the mother country or induce others to do so.

In one of the many spacious homes of the town, there had assembled a goodly number of the foremost men of the time to discuss the feasibility of accepting the proffered proclamation. We are much inclined to the belief that enthusiasm, bravery, indomitable courage and patriotism were attributes that took possession of our forefathers and held on to them until they became canonized beatitudes, upon which the sires alone had a corner, but we find on close scrutiny that there were times when manly hearts wavered, and to courage was added a prefix, and this was one of them.

For hours the council went on, the arguments were sincere, grave but faltering. Some thought that the time had fully come to accept the clemency offered--others shook their heads, but the talk went on until every soul in the room had become of one mind, courage, bravery, patriotism, hope, honor, all were swept away by the flood-tide of disaster.

There was one listener from whom the council had not heard. In an adjoining room sat Hannah Arnett, the wife of the host. She had listened to the debate, and when the final vote was reached she could no longer constrain herself. She sprang to her feet and, throwing open the parlor door, in her majesty confronted that group of counsels.

Picture a large room with a low ceiling, furnished with the heavily-carved furniture of those days, dimly lighted by wax candles, and a fire in the huge fire-place. Around a table sat a group of anxious disheartened-looking men. Before them stood the fair dame in the antique costume of the day. Imagination will picture her stately bearing as she entered into their august presence. The indignant scorn upon her lips, the flash of her blue eyes, her commanding figure and dignified presence brought every man to his feet.

Consternation and amazement for the moment ruled supreme. The husband advanced toward her, shocked and chagrined that his wife had so forgotten herself; that she should come into the midst of a meeting where politics and the questions of the hour were being discussed. He would shield her now. The reproof he would give later on, and so he was quickly at her side, and whispering, said to her:

"Hannah! Hannah! this is no place for you. We do not want you here just now."

He would have led her from the room.

She was a mild, amiable woman, and was never known to do aught against her husband's wishes, but if she saw him now she made no sign, but turned upon the astonished group:

"Have you made your decision, gentlemen?" she asked. "I stand before you to know; have you chosen the part of men or traitors?"

It was a direct question, but the answer was full of sophistry, explanation, and excuse.

"The case was hopeless, the army was starving, half clothed and undisciplined, repulses everywhere. We are ruined and can stand out no longer against England and her unlimited resources."

Mrs. Arnett, in dignified silence, listened until they had finished, and then she asked: "But what if we should live after all?"

"Hannah! Hannah!" said her husband in distress. "Do you not see that these are no questions for you? We are doing what is best for you--for all. Women have no share in these topics. Go to your spinning-wheel and leave us to settle affairs. My good little wife, you are making yourself ridiculous. Do not expose yourself in this way before our friends."

Every word he uttered was to her as naught. Not a word had she heard; not a quiver of the lip or tremor of an eyelash. But in the same strangely sweet voice she asked: "Can you tell me if, after all, God does not let the right perish, if America should win in the conflict, after you had thrown yourself on British clemency, where will you be then?"

"Then," said one, "we should have to leave the country. But that is too absurd to think of in the condition our country and our army are."

"Brother," said Mrs. Arnett, "you have forgotten one thing which England has not, and which we have--one thing which outweighs all England's treasures, and that is the right. God is on our side, and every volly of our muskets is an echo of His voice. We are poor, and weak, and few, but God is fighting for us; we entered into this struggle with pure hearts and prayerful lips; we had counted the cost and were willing to pay the price, were it in our own heart's blood. And now because for a time the day is going against us, you would give up all, and sneak back like cravens to kiss the feet that have trampled upon us. And you call yourselves men--the sons of those who gave up home and fortune and fatherland to make for themselves and for dear liberty a resting place in the wilderness? Oh, shame upon you cowards!"

"Gentlemen," said Arnett, with an anxious look on his face. "I beg you to excuse this most unseemly interruption to our council. My wife is beside herself, I think. You all know her, and know it is not her wont to meddle in politics, or to bawl and bluster. Tomorrow she will see her folly, but now I pray your patience."

Her words had already begun to leaven the little manhood remaining in their bosoms, but not a word was spoken. She had turned the light of her soul upon them, and in the reflection they saw photographed their own littleness of purpose or want of manly resolve.

She still talked on: "Take your protection if you will; proclaim yourselves traitors and cowards, false to your God! but horrible will be the judgment you will bring upon your heads and the heads of those that love you. I tell you that England will never conquer. I know it, and feel it in every fibre of my heart. Has God led us so far to desert now? Will He who led our fathers across the stormy, wintry sea forsake their children, who have put their trust in Him? For me, I stay with my country, and my hand shall never touch the hand nor my heart cleave to the heart of him who shames her."

While these words were falling from her lips she stood before them like a tower of strength, and, turning toward her husband, she gave him a withering look that sent a shock through every fibre of his body. Continuing, she said: "Isaac, we have lived together for twenty years, and through all of them I have been to you a true and loving wife; but I am the child of God and my country, and if you do this shameful thing I will never own you again as my husband."

"My dear wife!" answered Isaac, excitedly, "you do not know what you are saying. Leave me for such a thing as this!"

"For such a thing as this?"

"What greater cause could there be?" answered the injured wife. "I married a good man and true, a faithful friend, and it needs no divorce to sever me from a traitor and a coward. If you take your protection you lose your wife, and I--I lose my husband and my home."

The scornful words, uttered in such earnestness; the pathetic tones in which these last words were spoken; the tears that dimmed her sad blue eyes, appealed to the heart of every man before her. They were not cowards all through, but the panic sweeping over the land had caught them also.

The leaven of courage, manliness and resolution had begun its work. Before these men left the home of Hannah Arnett that night every man had resolved to spurn the offered amnesty, and had taken a solemn oath to stand by their country through good days and bad, until freedom was written over the face of this fair land.

There are names of men who fought for their country and won distinction afterward, who were in this secret council, but the name of Hannah Arnett figures on no roll of honor.

Where will the "Sons and Daughters of the Revolution" place Hannah Arnett?--_American Monthly Magazine._

BUTTON GWINNETT.

Georgia was the youngest of the thirteen original colonies. At the Provincial Congress which convened in Savannah, January 20, 1776, there were elected five delegates to the Continental Congress, namely: Dr. Lyman Hall, Button Gwinnett, George Walton, Archibald Bulloch, and John Houston. Of these Button Gwinnett, Dr. Lyman Hall, and George Walton were present at the session of the National Assembly, which convened in Philadelphia on May 20th, and pledged Georgia with the United Colonies on July 4, 1776, by affixing their signatures to the Declaration of Independence.

Button Gwinnett, the subject of this sketch, was said to have been born in England about 1732. He was a merchant in Bristol, England, from which place he emigrated to America in 1770, located in Charleston, S. C., and in 1772 moved to Savannah, Georgia, at which time he bought a large part of St. Catharine's Island, and engaged in farming. He died tragically on May 27, 1777, as a result of a pistol shot wound in a duel with General Lachlan McIntosh, near Savannah on the morning of May 16, 1777.

The records give only limited information, and from careful investigation, at times it appears that the statements do not bear out the correct facts with regard to the biography of Button Gwinnett. In Harper's "Cyclopaedia of United States History," Page 190, Vol. 4, the statement is made that Gwinnett was "cautious and doubtful, and took no part in political affairs until after the Revolutionary War was begun." Also that McIntosh challenged Gwinnett for a duel. Subsequent acts would not indicate that the first statement conforms to his real temperament, and it appears from the best obtainable data that Gwinnett issued the challenge to McIntosh. It is true that having been a resident of America only a few years, he was in some doubt at first as to whether he would support the colonies, or throw his influence against them, but he was a man of strong convictions, ambitious, and possessed of great force of character, and his brief political career was meteoric. Unfortunately his strong prejudices and desire for political preferment led to the tragedy of his premature death.

He located in Georgia in 1772, was elected a delegate to the Provincial Congress, which convened in Savannah, January 20, 1776, and by this congress was made a delegate to the Continental Congress, which convened in Philadelphia, May 20, 1776. July 4, 1776, he signed the Declaration of Independence. He became a member of the Council of Safety, and was an important factor in framing the first Constitution of Georgia.

Archibald Bulloch, who was the first President and Commander-in-Chief of Georgia, died suddenly in Feb. 1777. Button Gwinnett, on March 4th, was elected to fill this vacancy until a Governor could be duly elected. Col. Lachlan McIntosh had been promoted to the rank of Brigadier-General, and was placed in charge of the Militia of Georgia. Button Gwinnett was envious of this promotion of General McIntosh, and through jealousy and revenge he so interfered with the military affairs as to seriously jeopardize discipline, and create insubordination towards General McIntosh as Commander-in-Chief. Personally ambitious, Gwinnett planned an expedition against Florida, and further humiliated and insulted General McIntosh by ignoring him as Ranking Military Officer of Georgia, and took command of the expedition himself. It is a matter of historical record that the expedition was a complete failure.

John Adams Treutland was elected Governor over Gwinnett. McIntosh had become a warm supporter of Treutland, and openly denounced Button Gwinnett as a scoundrel. As a result, Gwinnett challenged McIntosh for a duel, which was promptly accepted, and fought with pistols at a distance of eight feet, near Savannah, May 16, 1777. At the first shot both were wounded, Gwinnett's leg being broken and he fell. It is said he asked his seconds to raise him that he might shoot again, but his request was denied, and he was taken from the field. The weather was very warm, and septic fever soon developed, which proved fatal on the 27th of May following.

Thus ended the meteoric life of Button Gwinnett, who, within the short space of less than two years, sprang from obscurity into prominence, and whose life was brought to a sudden and tragic end at the hands of another, and whose grave today is in some obscure and unknown spot.

"FORCED BY PIRATES TO WALK THE PLANK."

Theodosia Burr, wife of Governor Alston of South Carolina, was considered a beautiful and unusually brave woman of Revolutionary days. It is of her that this legend is told.