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."
[Illustration: SEIZURE OF THE BETTYS.]
"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."