Chapter IV: Part 4

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

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

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

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

"Bucephalus," said Hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LEE'S LEGION.

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

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

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

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

"It served them just right," said Davenport.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very agreeable," said Hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE ATTACK ON GENERAL WAYNE.

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

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

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

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

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

THE MUTINY AT MORRISTOWN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are too gloomy," said Kinnison.

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

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

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

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

THE TREASON OF BETTYS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL.

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

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

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

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

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

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