armies, and the Jerseys, overrun by their victorious generals, opposed
but a feeble resistance to their overwhelming power, Lord Cornwallis,
commanding a large division of their troops, stationed at Bordentown,
addressing Mrs. Borden, who resided on her estate in a mansion of
superior elegance, demanded in an authoritative tone, 'Where, Madam, is
your rebel husband--where your rebel son?' 'Doing their duty to their
country, under the orders of General Washington,' was the prompt reply.
'We are well apprized,' rejoined that officer, of 'the influence you
possess over the political creed of your family, and that to them your
opinion is law. Be wise, then, in time, and while mercy is tendered to
you, fail not to accept it. Bid them quit the standard of rebellion, and
cordially unite with us, in bringing his Majesty's deluded subjects to
submission, and a proper sense of their errors and ingratitude, to the
best of kings. Your property will then be protected, and remain without
injury in your possession. But, should you hesitate to profit by our
clemency, the wasting of your estate and destruction of your mansion
will inevitably follow.' 'Begin, then, the havoc which you threaten,'
replied the heroic lady: 'the sight of my house in flames, would be to
me a treat, for, I have seen enough of you to know, that you never
injure, what it is possible for you to keep and enjoy. The application
of a torch to it I should regard as a signal for your departure, and
consider the retreat of the spoiler an ample compensation for the loss
of my property.'
"This was one of those threats which the British never failed to carry
into execution. The house was burnt, and the whole property consigned to
waste and desolation. But, as had been foreseen, the perpetrator of the
ruthless deed retreated, to return no more."
"Just like Cornwallis and his red-coats," said Kinnison, "burning
people's houses and wasting their lands was a way of making converts,
which they discovered and practised with a vengeance. Mrs. Borden was a
strong-minded woman to have endured all this."
THE ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN PLUNKETT.
"Yes," said Warner, "Mrs. Borden was a heroine as wouldn't have
disgraced the Romans. But what would you think of a mere girl, whose
family was opposed to our cause, exerting herself to procure the freedom
of one of our officers, who had been taken by the British?"
"I should say it's what young girls in love have done many a time," said
Kinnison.
"Not under such circumstances," said Warner. "But I'll tell you about it
as it was told to me. Captain Plunkett was a bold-spirited Irishman, who
held a commission in our army. In some way or other--it may have been at
the battle of Brandywine--Plunkett was taken by the enemy, and soon
after placed in a prison in Philadelphia. Previous to that, he had made
many friends among the Quakers of that city--and, indeed, his manners
made him a general favourite, wherever he went. Plunkett suffered much
in prison, and his friends pitied him; but dared not attempt his
release. However, there was a young girl of great beauty and strength of
mind, who resolved to release the suffering soldier, at all hazards. It
accidentally happened, that the uniform of Captain Plunkett's regiment
bore a striking resemblance to that of a British corps, which was
frequently set as a guard over the prison in which he was confined. A
new suit of regimentals was in consequence procured and conveyed,
without suspicion of sinister design, to the Captain. On the judicious
use of these rested the hopes of the fair Friend to give him freedom. It
frequently happened that officers of inferior grade, while their
superiors affected to shun all intercourse with the rebels, would enter
the apartments of the prisoners, and converse with them with kindness
and familiarity, and then at their pleasure retire. Two sentinels
constantly walked the rounds without, and the practice of seeing their
officers walking in and out of the interior prison, became so familiar,
as scarcely to attract notice, and constantly caused them to give way
without hesitation, as often as an officer showed a disposition to
retire. Captain Plunkett took the advantage of this circumstance, and
putting on his new coat, at the moment that the relief of the guard was
taking place, sallied forth, twirling a switch carelessly about and
ordering the exterior door of the prison to be opened, walked without
opposition into the street. Repairing without delay to the habitation of
his fair friend, he was received with kindness, and for some days
secreted and cherished with every manifestation of affectionate regard.
To elude the vigilance of the British Guards, if he attempted to pass
into the country, in his present dress was deemed impossible. Woman's
wit, however, is never at a loss for contrivances, while swayed by the
influences of love or benevolence. Both, in this instance, may have
aided invention. Plunkett had three strong claims in his favour: he was
a handsome man--a soldier--and an Irishman. The general propensity of
the Quakers, in favor of the Royal cause, exempted the sect in a great
measure from suspicion, in so great a degree indeed, that the barriers
of the city were generally entrusted to the care of their members, as
the best judges of the characters of those persons who might be allowed
to pass them, without injury to the British interests. A female Friend,
of low origin, officiating as a servant in a farm near the city, was in
the family, on a visit to a relative. A pretext was formed to present
her with a new suit of clothes, in order to possess that which she wore
when she entered the city. Captain Plunkett was immediately disguised as
a woman, and appeared at the barrier accompanied by his anxious
deliverer. 'Friend Roberts,' said the enterprising girl, 'may this
damsel and myself pass to visit a friend at a neighbouring farm?'
'Certainly,' said Roberts, 'go forward.' The city was speedily left
behind, and Captain Plunkett found himself safe under the protection of
Colonel Allen M'Lean, a particular friend of his. Whether Captain
Plunkett ever married the young girl who had rendered him such service,
I cannot say; but you may fancy he did, and it will make a pretty
story."
"Well, now we have had enough of the women," said Kinnison.
"Yes," said Hand, "and now we must have something more of the men of the
Revolution. Come, which of you will tell something about George
Washington--the Father of his Country?"
"I can tell you of an important incident in the career of Washington,
which was told to me by a man who witnessed a part of it, and heard the
rest," said Colson.
"Then strike up, old boy," said Kinnison, familiarly.
THE TREASON OF RUGSDALE.
"What I am now about to tell you occurred in the fall of 1782," began
Colson. "General Washington was then at West Point. One evening he was
invited to a party given at the house of one Rugsdale, an old friend.
Several other officers were invited to accompany him. The general seldom
engaged in festivities at the period, but in respect to an old
acquaintance, and, it is whispered, the solicitations of the daughter of
Rugsdale, he consented to honour the company with his presence. He
started from West Point in a barge, with some officers and men. As the
barge gained the opposite bank, one of the rowers leaped on shore, and
made it fast to the root of a willow which hung its broad branches over
the river. The rest of the party then landed, and uncovering, saluted
their commander, who returned their courtesy.
"'By ten o'clock you may expect me,' said Washington. 'Be cautious; look
well that you are not surprised. These are no times for trifling.'
"'Depend on us,' replied one of the party.
"'I do,' he responded; and bidding them farewell, departed along the
bank of the river.
"After continuing his path some distance along the river's side he
struck off into a narrow road, bordered thickly with brushwood, tinged
with a thousand dyes of departed summer; here and there a grey crag
peeped out from the foliage, over which the green ivy and the scarlet
woodbine hung in wreathy dalliance; at other places the arms of the
chestnut and mountain ash met in lofty fondness, casting a gloom deep
almost as night. Suddenly a crashing among the trees was heard, and like
a deer an Indian girl bounded into the path, and stood full in his
presence. He started back with surprise, laid his hand upon his
sword--but the Indian only fell upon her knee, placed her finger on her
lips, and by a sign with her hand forbade him to proceed.
"'What seek you, my wild flower,' said the General.
"She started to her feet, drew a small tomahawk from her belt of wampum,
and imitated the act of scalping the enemy; then again waving her hand
as forbidding him to advance, she darted into the bushes, leaving him
lost in amazement.
"There is danger," said he to himself, after a short pause, and
recovering from his surprise. "That Indian's manner betokens no good,
but my trust is in God; he has never deserted me!" and, resuming the
path, he shortly reached the mansion of Rufus Rugsdale.
"His appearance was the signal of joy among the party assembled, each of
whom vied with the other to do him honour. Although grave in council,
and bold in war, yet in the bosom of domestic bliss no one knew better
how to render himself agreeable. The old were cheered by his consolatory
word; the young by his mirthful manner; nor even in gallantry was he
wanting, when it added to the cheerful spirit of the hour. The
protestations of friendship and welcome were warmly tendered to him by
his host. Fast and thick the guests were assembling; the laugh and
mingling music rose joyously around. The twilight was fast emerging into
night; but a thousand sparkling lamps of beauty gave a brilliancy of day
to the scene; all was happiness; bright eyes and blooming aces were
every where beaming; but alas! a serpent was lurking among the flowers.
"In the midst of the hilarity, the sound of a cannon burst upon the ear,
startling the guests and suspending the dance. Washington and the
officers looked at each other with surprise, but their fears were
quickly dispelled by Rugsdale, who assured him it was only a discharge
of ordnance in honour of his distinguished visitors. The joy of the
moment was again resumed, but the gloom of suspicion had fallen upon the
spirit of Washington, who sat in moody silence apart from the happy
throng.
"A silent tap upon the shoulder aroused him from his abstraction, and
looking up he perceived the person of the Indian standing in the shadow
of a myrtle bush close to his side.
"'Ha! again here!' he exclaimed with astonishment; but she motioned him
to be silent, and kneeling at his feet, presented him with a bouquet of
flowers. Washington received it, and was about to place it in his
breast, when she grasped him firmly by the arm, and pointing to it, said
in a whisper '_Snake! Snake!_' and the next moment mingled with the
company, who appeared to recognise and welcome her as one well-known and
esteemed.
"Washington regarded the bouquet with wonder; her words and singular
appearance had, however, sunk deeper into his heart, and looking closer
upon the nosegay, to his surprise he saw a small piece of paper in the
midst of the flowers. Hastily he drew it forth, and confounded and
horror-stricken, read, '_Beware! you are betrayed_!' It was now apparent
that he was within the den of the tiger; but to quit abruptly, might
only draw the consummation of treachery the speedier upon his head. He
resolved therefore that he would disguise his feelings, and trust to
that Power which had never forsaken him. The festivities were again
renewed, but almost momentarily interrupted by a second sound of the
cannon. The guests now began to regard each other with distrust, while
many and moody were the glances cast upon Rugsdale, whose countenance
began to show symptoms of uneasiness, while ever and anon he looked from
the window out upon the broad green lawn which extended to the river's
edge, as if in expectation of some one's arrival.
"'What can detain them?' he muttered to himself. 'Can they have deceived
me? Why answer they not the signal?' At that moment a bright flame rose
from the river, illuminating, for a moment, the surrounding scenery,
and showing a small boat filled with persons making rapidly towards the
shore. 'All's well,' he continued; 'in three minutes I shall be the
possessor of a coronet, and the cause of the Republic be no more.'
"Then gaily turning to Washington, he said, 'Come, General, pledge me to
the success of your arms.' The eye of Rugsdale at that moment
encountered the scrutinizing look of Washington, and sunk to the ground;
his hand trembled violently, even to so great a degree as to partly
spill the contents of the goblet. With difficulty he conveyed it to his
lips--then retiring to the window, he waved his hand, which action was
immediately responded to by a third sound of the cannon, at the same
moment the English anthem of 'God save the King,' burst in full volume
upon the ear, and a band of men attired in British uniform, with their
faces hidden by masks, entered the apartment. The American officers drew
their swords, but Washington, cool and collected, stood with his arms
folded upon his breast, and quietly remarked to them, 'Be calm,
gentlemen--this is an honour we did not anticipate.' Then, turning to
Rugsdale, he said, 'Speak, sir, what does this mean?'
"'It means,' replied the traitor, (placing his hand upon the shoulder of
Washington,) 'that you are my prisoner. In the name of King George, I
arrest you.'
"'Never,' exclaimed the General. 'We may be cut to pieces, but surrender
we will not. Therefore give way,' and he waved his sword to the guard
who stood with their muskets levelled, as ready to fire, should they
attempt to escape. In an instant were their weapons reversed, and,
dropping their masks, to the horror of Rugsdale, and the agreeable
surprise of Washington, his own brave party, whom he had left in charge
of the barge, stood revealed before him.
"'Seize that traitor!' exclaimed the commander. 'In ten minutes from
this moment let him be a spectacle between the heavens and the earth.'
The wife and daughter clung to his knees in supplication, but an
irrevocable oath had passed his lips that never should treason receive
his forgiveness after that of the miscreant Arnold. 'For my own life,'
he said, while tears rolled down his noble countenance at the agony of
the wife and daughter: 'For my own life I heed not; but the liberty of
my native land--the welfare of millions demand this sacrifice. For the
sake of humanity, I pity him; but my oath is recorded, and now in the
presence of Heaven, I swear I will not forgive him.'
"Like a thunderbolt fell these words upon the wife and daughter. They
sank lifeless into the hands of the domestics, and when they had
recovered to consciousness, Rugsdale had atoned for his treason by the
sacrifice of his life.
"It appears that the Indian girl, who was an especial favourite and
domesticated in the family, had overheard the intentions of Rugsdale to
betray the American General, and other valuable officers, that evening,
into the hands of the British, for which purpose they had been invited
to this 'feast of Judas.' Hating, in her heart, the enemies of America,
who had driven her tribe from their native forests, she resolved to
frustrate the design, and consequently waylaid the steps of Washington,
as we have described, but failing in her noble purpose, she had recourse
to the party left in possession of the boat.
"Scarcely had she given the information, and night closed round, when a
company of British soldiers were discovered making their way rapidly
towards the banks of the Hudson, within a short distance of the spot
where the American party was waiting the return of their commander. Bold
in the cause of liberty, and knowing that immediate action alone could
preserve him, they rushed upon and overpowered them, bound them hand and
foot, placed them with their companions, and sent them to the American
camp at West Point. Having disguised themselves in the habiliments of
the enemy, they proceeded to the house of Rugsdale, where, at the
appointed time and sign made known by the Indian, they opportunely
arrived to the relief of Washington, and the confusion of the traitor."
"Who told you that story?" enquired Kinnison.
"An old friend of mine, named Buckram; he was one of the men who
disguised themselves," replied Colson.
"I'm inclined to believe it's a tough yarn," said Kinnison. "It's true
enough to the character of Washington. He never let his feelings swerve
him from the strict line of duty. But all that stuff about the Indian
girl is somebody's invention, or the most extraordinary thing of the
kind I've heard tell of. I don't doubt your friend's veracity, but it's
a tough yarn."
"Probable enough," remarked Hand.
"It's a very pretty story," said Ransom, "and I'm inclined to swallow it
as truth."
"I'm satisfied of its truth," said Colson. "But I wouldn't ask any of
you to believe it, if there's anything in it staggers you."
"I think Rugsdale was served as all such traitors in such times should
be served," said Hanson. "Hurra! for Gineral Washington."
"Three cheers for General Washington!" suggested Hand, and the three
cheers were given. A song was called for by several voices, and a young
man volunteered to favour the company with "Liberty and Washington," the
song which follows:--
When Freedom, from her starry home,
Look'd down upon the drooping world,
She saw a land of fairy bloom,
Where Ocean's sparkling billows curl'd;
The sunbeams kiss'd its mighty floods,
And verdure clad its boundless plains--
But floods and fields and leafy woods,
All wore alike a despot's chains!
"Be free!" she cried, "land of my choice;
Arise! and put thy buckler on;
Let every patriot raise his voice
For Liberty and Washington!"
The word went forth from hill to vale,
Each patriot heart leapt at the sound;
Proud Freedom's banner flapp'd the gale,
And Britain's chains fell to the ground.
Man stood erect in majesty,
The proud defender of his rights:
For where is he would not be free
From stern oppression's deadening blights!
Be free--be free then, happy land!
Forever beam the light that shone
Upon the firm and dauntless band,
Who fought beside our Washington!
Lo! where the forest's children rove
Midst woody hill and rocky glen,
Wild as the dark retreats they loved--
What now are towns were deserts then.
The world has marked her onward way,
Beneath the smile of Liberty;
And Fame records the glorious day
Which made the western empire free.
Be free--be free then, glorious land!
In union be thy millions one;
Be strong in friendship's holy band,
Thy brightest star--our Washington!
This song and the applause which succeeded wakened the sleeping fifer,
Brown, who looked around him as if wondering where he was.
"Hallo, old boy," said Kinnison, "you look frightened. What's the matter
with you?"
"I was dreaming," replied Brown. "I thought I was at the battle of
Lexington, and the roar of the British guns was in my ears. But I find
it is only the roar of your voices. Liberty and Washington was our
war-cry on many a field, and I thought I heard it again."
"It was our peace cry," said Hand.
Some of the young men, we regret to say, were not members of any of the
temperance societies; and as they had partaken freely of the stimulating
beverages which had been called for, they were getting very noisy and
losing much of that bashfulness which had hitherto kept them silent. In
this state of things, Mr. Hand was forced to entreat one of the veterans
to amuse them with some interesting incidents of the Revolution.
"There was a British officer, whose career has often interested me,"
said Hand, "and that was Colonel Tarleton. He was a daring, fiery
soldier, according to the accounts of him; but a savage man."
THE CRUELTY OF TARLETON.
"Tarleton was a regular blood-hound," said Pitts, "A savage, though
among civilized men. I always admired his fiery spirit and daring
courage, but never could regard him as a civilized warrior. I'll tell
you of an instance in which Tarleton displayed his character in full. I
had a Tory relative in North Carolina, who died not long ago. When
Colonel Tarleton was encamped west of the Haw River, Cornwallis received
information that Lee's fiery Legion had recrossed the Dan, cut up
several detachments of Tories, and was scouring the neighbouring country
in search of parties of the enemy. The British general immediately sent
information to Colonel Tarleton, to warn him to guard against surprise.
My Tory relative was the messenger, and he told me about what he saw at
Tarleton's camp.
"As soon (says the old Tory) as I came in view of the British lines, I
hastened to deliver myself up to the nearest patrol, informing him that
I was the bearer of important despatches from Lord Cornwallis to
Colonel Tarleton. The guard was immediately called out, the commander of
which taking me in charge, carried me at once to Tarleton's marquee. A
servant informed him of my arrival, and returned immediately with the
answer that his master would see me after a while, and that in the mean
time I was to await his pleasure where I then was. The servant was a
grave and sedate looking Englishman, between 50 and 60 years of age, and
informed me that he had known Colonel Tarleton from his earliest youth,
having lived for many years in the family of his father, a worthy
clergyman, at whose particular request he had followed the Colonel to
this country, with the view that, if overtaken by disease and suffering
in his headlong career, he might have some one near him who had known
him ere the pranksome mischief of the boy had hardened into the sterner
vices of the man. 'He was always a wild blade, friend,' (said the old
man) 'and many a heart-ache has he given us all, but he'll mend in time,
I hope." Just then my attention was arrested by the violent plungings of
a horse, which two stout grooms, one on each side, were endeavouring to
lead to the spot where we were standing. He was a large and powerful
brute, beautifully formed, and black as a crow, with an eye that seemed
actually to blaze with rage, at the restraint which was put upon him.
His progress was one continued bound, at times swinging the grooms clear
from the earth, as lightly as though they were but tassels hung on to
the huge Spanish bit, so that with difficulty they escaped being
trampled under foot. I asked the meaning of the scene, and was informed
that the horse was one that Tarleton had heard of as being a magnificent
animal, but one altogether unmanageable; and so delighted was he with
the description, that he sent all the way down into Moore County where
his owner resided, and purchased him at the extravagant price of one
hundred guineas; and that moreover, he was about to ride him that
morning. 'Ride him?' said I, 'why one had as well try to back a streak
of lightning!--the mad brute will certainly be the death of him.' 'Never
fear for him,' said my companion; 'never fear for him, his time has not
come yet.' By this time the horse had been brought up to where we were;
the curtain of the marquee was pushed aside and my attention was drawn
from the savage stud, to rivet itself upon his dauntless rider. And a
picture of a man he was. Rather below the middle height, and with a face
almost femininely beautiful, Tarleton possessed a form that was a model
of manly strength and vigor. Without a particle of superfluous flesh,
his rounded limbs and full broad chest seemed moulded from iron, yet at
the same time displaying all the elasticity which usually accompanies
elegance of proportion. His dress (strange as it may appear) was a
jacket and breeches of white linen, fitted to his form with the utmost
exactness. Boots of Russet leather were half-way up the leg, the broad
tops of which were turned down, and the heels garnished with spurs of an
immense size and length of rowel. On his head was a low-crowned hat
curiously formed from the snow white-feathers of the swan; and in his
hand he carried a heavy scourge, with shot well twisted into its knotted
lash. After looking round for a moment or two, as though to command the
attention of all, he advanced to the side of the horse, and disdaining
the use of the stirrup, with one bound threw himself into the saddle, at
the same time calling on the grooms to let him go. For an instant the
animal seemed paralyzed; then, with a perfect yell of rage, bounded into
the air like a stricken deer.