watching from its windows the movements of the British, indulged when
opportunity offered in the social pleasures of the other American
officers. Rough and unattractive in appearance,--he seems to have been a
kind of Cyrano de Bergerac, "a tall man, lank and thin, with a huge
nose,"--he had, when he chose, a certain amount of social grace, and was
often extremely entertaining.
Mrs. John Adams, who first met General Lee at an evening party at Major
Mifflin's house in Cambridge, describes him as looking like a "careless,
hardy veteran," who brought to her mind his namesake, Charles XII. "The
elegance of his pen far exceeds that of his person," commented this
acute lady. In further describing this evening spent at Major Mifflin's
home, in the Brattle mansion, Mrs. Adams writes: "General Lee was very
urgent for me to tarry in town, and dine with him and the ladies
present, but I excused myself. The general was determined that I should
not only be acquainted with him, but with his companions, too, and
therefore placed a chair before me, into which he ordered Mr. Spada (his
dog) to mount, and present his paw to me for better acquaintance."[2]
Lee was very fond indeed of dogs, and was constantly attended by one or
more of them, this Spada being a great, shaggy Pomeranian, described by
unbiased critics as looking more like a bear than a harmless canine. In
this connection, it is interesting to know that Lee has expressed
himself very strongly in regard to the affection of men as compared with
the affection of dogs.
This love for dogs was, however, one of the more ornamental of General
Lee's traits. His carelessness in regard to his personal appearance was
famous, and not a few amusing stories are told of the awkward situations
in which this officer's slovenliness involved him. On one of
Washington's journeys, in which Lee accompanied him, the major-general,
upon arriving at the house where they were to dine, went straight to the
kitchen and demanded something to eat. The cook, taking him for a
servant, told him that she would give him some victuals directly, but
that he must first help her off with the pot--a request with which he
readily complied. He was then told to take a bucket and go to the well
for water, and was actually engaged in drawing it when found by an aide
whom Washington had despatched in quest of him. The cook was in despair
when she heard her assistant addressed by the title of "General." The
mug fell from her hands, and dropping on her knees, she began crying
for pardon, when Lee, who was ever ready to see the impropriety of his
own conduct, but never willing to change it, gave her a crown, and,
turning to the aid-de-camp, observed: "You see, young man, the advantage
of a fine coat; the man of consequence is indebted to it for respect;
neither virtue nor ability, without it, will make you look like a
gentleman."[3]
Perhaps the most remarkable episode in all Lee's social career, was that
connected with Sir William Howe's famous entertainment at Philadelphia,
the Mischianza. This was just after the affair at Monmouth, in the
course of which Washington swore, and Lee was taken prisoner. Yet though
a prisoner, the eccentric general was treated with the greatest
courtesy, and seems even to have received a card for the famous ball.
But, never too careful of his personal appearance, he must on this
occasion have looked particularly uncouth. Certainly the beautiful Miss
Franks, one of the Philadelphia belles, thought him far from ornamental,
and, with the keen wit for which she was celebrated, spread abroad a
report that General Lee came to the ball clad in green breeches, patched
with leather. To prove to her that entire accuracy had not been used in
describing his garb at the ball, the general sent the young lady the
very articles of clothing which she had criticised! Naturally, neither
the ladies nor their escorts thought any better of Lee's manners after
this bit of horse-play, and it is safe to say he was not soon again
invited to an evening party. Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Mercy Warren both
call Lee "a crabbed man." The latter described him in a letter to
Samuel Adams as "plain in his person to a degree of ugliness; careless
even to impoliteness; his garb ordinary; his voice rough; his manners
rather morose; yet sensible, learned, judicious, and penetrating."
Toward the end of his life, Lee took refuge in an estate which he had
purchased in Berkeley County, Virginia. Here he lived, more like a
hermit than a citizen of the world, or a member of a civilised
community. His house was little more than a shell, without partitions,
and it lacked even such articles of furniture as were necessary for the
most common uses. To a gentleman who visited him in this forlorn
retreat, where he found a kitchen in one corner, a bed in another, books
in a third, saddles and harness in a fourth, Lee said: "Sir, it is the
most convenient and economical establishment in the world. The lines of
chalk which you see on the floor mark the divisions of the apartments,
and I can sit in a corner and give orders and overlook the whole without
moving from my chair."[4]
General Lee died in an obscure inn in Philadelphia, October 2, 1782. His
will was characteristic: "I desire most earnestly that I may not be
buried in any church or churchyard, or within a mile of any Presbyterian
or Baptist meeting-house; for since I have resided in this country I
have kept so much bad company that I do not choose to continue it when
dead." In this will, our singular hero paid a tribute of affectionate
remembrance to several of his intimate friends, and of grateful
generosity to the humble dependents who had adhered to him and
ministered to his wants in his retirement. The bulk of his
property--for he was a man of no small means--was bequeathed to his only
sister, Sydney Lee, to whom he was ever devotedly attached.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: Drake's "Historic Fields and Mansions of Middlesex."
Little, Brown & Co., publishers.]
[Footnote 3: Drake's "Historic Fields and Mansions of Middlesex."]
[Footnote 4: Sparks's "Life of Charles Lee." Little, Brown & Co.]
THE MESSAGE OF THE LANTERNS
[Illustration: CHRIST CHURCH--PAUL REVERE HOUSE, BOSTON, MASS.]
There are many points of view from which this tale of Paul Revere may be
told, but to the generality of people the interest of the poem, and of
the historical event itself, will always centre around Christ Church, on
Salem Street, in the North End of Boston--the church where the lanterns
were hung out on the night before the battles of Lexington and Concord.
At nearly every hour of the day some one may be seen in the now
unfrequented street looking up at the edifice's lofty spire with an
expression full of reverence and satisfaction. There upon the
venerable structure, imbedded in the solid masonry of the tower front,
one reads upon a tablet:
THE SIGNAL LANTERNS OF
PAUL REVERE
DISPLAYED IN THE STEEPLE
OF THIS CHURCH,
APRIL 18, 1775,
WARNED THE COUNTRY OF
THE MARCH OF THE
BRITISH TROOPS TO LEXINGTON
AND CONCORD.
If the pilgrim wishes to get into the very spirit of old Christ Church
and its historical associations, he can even climb the tower----
"By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startle the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him make
Masses and moving shapes of shade"----
to look down as sexton Robert Newman did that eventful night on----
"The graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still."
The first time I ever climbed the tower I confess that I was seized with
an overpowering sense of the weirdness and mystery of those same
spectral graves, seen thus from above. It was dark and gloomy going up
the stairs, and if Robert Newman had thought of the prospect, rather
than of his errand, I venture to say he must have been frightened for
all his bravery, in that gloomy tower at midnight.
But, of course, his mind was intent on the work he had to do, and on the
signals which would tell how the British were to proceed on their march
to seize the rebel stores at Concord. The signals agreed upon were two
lanterns if the troops went by way of water, one if they were to go by
land. In Longfellow's story we learn that Newman----
"Through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore."
It had been decided that the journey should be made by sea!
The Province of Massachusetts, it must be understood, was at this time
on the eve of open revolt. It had formed an army, commissioned its
officers, and promulgated orders as if there were no such person as
George III. It was collecting stores in anticipation of the moment when
its army should take the field. It had, moreover, given General
Gage--whom the king had sent to Boston to put down the rebellion
there--to understand that the first movement made by the royal troops
into the country would be considered as an act of hostility, and treated
as such. Gage had up to this time hesitated to act. At length his
resolution to strike a crippling blow, and, if possible, to do it
without bloodshed, was taken. Spies had informed him that the patriots'
depot of ammunition was at Concord, and he had determined to send a
secret expedition to destroy those stores. Meanwhile, however, the
patriots were in great doubt as to the time when the definite movement
was to be made.
Fully appreciating the importance of secrecy, General Gage quietly got
ready eight hundred picked troops, which he meant to convey under cover
of night across the West Bay, and to land on the Cambridge side, thus
baffling the vigilance of the townspeople, and at the same time
considerably shortening the distance his troops would have to march. So
much pains were taken to keep the actual destination of these troops a
profound secret, that even the officer who was selected for the command
only received an order notifying him to hold himself in readiness.
"The guards in the town were doubled," writes Mr. Drake, "and in order
to intercept any couriers who might slip through them, at the proper
moment mounted patrols were sent out on the roads leading to Concord.
Having done what he could to prevent intelligence from reaching the
country, and to keep the town quiet, the British general gave his orders
for the embarkation; and at between ten and eleven of the night of April
18, the troops destined for this service were taken across the bay in
boats to the Cambridge side of the river. At this hour, Gage's pickets
were guarding the deserted roads leading into the country, and up to
this moment no patriot courier had gone out."
[Illustration: ROBERT NEWMAN HOUSE, BOSTON, MASS.]
Newman with his signals and Paul Revere on his swift horse were able,
however, to baffle successfully the plans of the British general. The
redcoats had scarcely gotten into their boats, when Dawes and Paul
Revere started by different roads to warn Hancock and Adams, and the
people of the country-side, that the regulars were out. Revere rode by
way of Charlestown, and Dawes by the great highroad over the Neck.
Revere had hardly got clear of Charlestown when he discovered that he
had ridden headlong into the middle of the British patrol! Being the
better mounted, however, he soon distanced his pursuers, and entered
Medford, shouting like mad, "Up and arm! Up and arm! The regulars are
out! The regulars are out!"
Longfellow has best described the awakening of the country-side:
"A hurry of hoofs in the village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in its flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat."
The Porter house in Medford, at which Revere stopped long enough to
rouse the captain of the Guards, and warn him of the approach of the
regulars, is now no longer standing, but the Clark place, in Lexington,
where the proscribed fellow-patriots, Hancock and Adams, were lodging
that night, is still in a good state of preservation.
The room occupied by "King" Hancock and "Citizen" Adams is the one on
the lower floor, at the left of the entrance. Hancock was at this time
visiting this particular house because "Dorothy Q," his fiancée, was
just then a guest of the place, and martial pride, coupled, perhaps,
with the feeling that he must show himself in the presence of his
lady-love a soldier worthy of her favour, inclined him to show fight
when he heard from Revere that the regulars were expected. His widow
related, in after years, that it was with great difficulty that she and
the colonel's aunt kept him from facing the British on the day following
the midnight ride. While the bell in the green was sounding the alarm,
Hancock was cleaning his sword and his fusee, and putting his
accoutrements in order. He is said to have been a trifle of a dandy in
his military garb, and his points, sword-knot, and lace, were always of
the newest fashion. Perhaps it was the desire to show himself in all his
war-paint that made him resist so long the importunities of the ladies,
and the urgency of other friends! The astute Adams, it is recounted, was
a little annoyed at his friend's obstinacy, and, clapping him on the
shoulder, exclaimed, as he looked significantly at the weapons, "That is
not our business; we belong to the cabinet."[5]
It was Adams who threw light on the whole situation. Half an hour after
Revere reached the house, the other express arrived, and the two rebel
leaders, being now fully convinced that it was Concord which was the
threatened point, hurried the messengers on to the next town, after
allowing them barely time to swallow a few mouthfuls of food. Adams did
not believe that Gage would send an army merely to take two men
prisoners. To him, the true object of the expedition was very clear.
Revere, Dawes, and young Doctor Prescott, of Concord, who had joined
them, had got over half the distance to the next town, when, at a sudden
turning, they came upon the second redcoat patrol. Prescott leaped his
horse over the roadside wall, and so escaped across the fields to
Concord. Revere and Dawes, at the point of the pistol, gave themselves
up. Their business on the road at that hour was demanded by the officer,
who was told in return to listen. Then, through the still morning air,
the distant booming of the alarm bell's peal on peal was borne to their
ears.
It was the British who were now uneasy. Ordering the prisoners to follow
them, the troop rode off at a gallop toward Lexington, and when they
were at the edge of the village, Revere was told to dismount, and was
left to shift for himself. He then ran as fast as his legs could carry
him across the pastures back to the Clark parsonage, to report his
misadventure, while the patrol galloped off toward Boston to announce
theirs. But by this time, the Minute Men of Lexington had rallied to
oppose the march of the troops. Thanks to the intrepidity of Paul
Revere, the North End coppersmith, the redcoats, instead of surprising
the rebels in their beds, found them marshalled on Lexington Green, and
at Concord Bridge, in front, flank, and rear, armed and ready to dispute
their march to the bitter end.
"You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British regulars fired and fled--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
"So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm----
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night wind of the past,
Through all our history, to the last,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere."[6]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 5: Drake's "Historic Fields and Mansions of Middlesex."
Little, Brown & Co., publishers.]
[Footnote 6: "Paul Revere's Ride:" Longfellow's Poems. Houghton, Mifflin
& Co., publishers.]
HANCOCK'S DOROTHY Q.
The Dorothy Q. of our present interest is not the little maiden of
Holmes's charming poem--
"Grandmother's mother; her age I guess,
Thirteen summers, or something less;
Girlish bust, but womanly air;
Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair,
Lips that lover has never kissed;
Taper fingers and slender wrist;
Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade;
So they painted the little maid.
On her hand a parrot green
Sits unmoving and broods serene."
but her niece, the Dorothy Q. whom John Hancock loved, and was visiting
at Lexington, when Paul Revere warned him of the redcoats' approach.
This Dorothy happened to be staying just then with the Reverend Jonas
Clark, under the protection of Madam Lydia Hancock, the governor's aunt.
And it was to meet her, his fiancée, that Hancock went, on the eve of
the 19th of April, to the house made famous by his visit.
One imaginative writer has sketched for us the notable group gathered
that April night about the time-honoured hearthstone in the modest
Lexington parsonage: "The last rays of the setting sun have left the
dampness of the meadows to gather about the home; and each guest and
family occupant has gladly taken seats within the house, while Mrs.
Jonas Clark has closed the shutters, added a new forelog, and fanned the
embers to a cheerful flame. The young couple whom Madam Hancock has
studiously brought together exchange sympathetic glances as they take
part in the conversation. The hours wear away, and the candles are
snuffed again and again. Then the guests retire, not, to be sure,
without apprehensions of approaching trouble, but with little thought
that the king's strong arm of military authority is already extended
toward their very roof."[7]
[Illustration: CLARK HOUSE, LEXINGTON, MASS.]
Early the next morning, as we know, the lovers were forced to part in
great haste. And for a time John Hancock and his companion, Samuel
Adams, remained in seclusion, that they might not be seized by General
Gage, who was bent on their arrest, and intended to have them sent to
England for trial.
The first word we are able to find concerning Hancock's whereabouts
during the interim between his escape from Lexington, and his arrival at
the Continental Congress, appointed to convene at Philadelphia, May 10,
1775, is contained in a long letter to Miss Quincy. This letter, which
gives a rather elaborate account of the dangers and triumphs of the
patriot's journey, concludes: "Pray let me hear from you by every Post.
God bless you, my dear girl, and believe me most Sincerely, Yours most
Affectionately, John Hancock."
A month later, June 10, 1775, we find the charming Dorothy Q., now the
guest at Fairfield, Connecticut, of Thaddeus Burr, receiving this letter
from her lover:
* * * * *
"MY DEAR DOLLY:--I am almost prevail'd on to think that my letters to my
Aunt & you are not read, for I cannot obtain a reply, I have ask'd
million questions & not an answer to one, I beg'd you to let me know
what things my Aunt wanted & you and many other matters I wanted to know
but not one word in answer. I Really Take it extreme unkind, pray, my
dear, use not so much Ceremony & Reservedness, why can't you use freedom
in writing, be not afraid of me, I want long Letters. I am glad the
little things I sent you were agreeable. Why did you not write me of the
top of the Umbrella. I am sorry it was spoiled, but I will send you
another by my Express which will go in a few days. How did my Aunt like
her gown, & let me know if the Stockings suited her; she had better send
a pattern shoe & stocking, I warrant I will suit her.... I Beg, my dear
Dolly, you will write me often and long Letters, I will forgive the past
if you will mend in future. Do ask my Aunt to make me up and send me a
Watch String, and do you make up another and send me, I wear them out
fast. I want some little thing of your doing. Remember me to all my
Friends with you, as if named. I am Call'd upon and must obey.
"I have sent you by Doctor Church in a paper Box Directed to you, the
following things, for your acceptance, & which I do insist you wear, if
you do not I shall think the Donor is the objection:
2 pair white silk } which stockings
4 pair white thread } I think will fit you
1 pair black satin } Shoes, the other,
1 pair Calem Co. } Shall be sent when done.
1 very pretty light hat
1 neat airy summer Cloak
2 caps
1 Fann
"I wish these may please you, I shall be gratified if they do, pray
write me, I will attend to all your Commands.
"Adieu, my dear Girl, and believe me with great Esteem & affection,
"Yours without reserve,
"JOHN HANCOCK."[8]
[Illustration: DOROTHY Q. HOUSE, QUINCY, MASS.]
It is interesting to know that while Miss Quincy was a guest in
Fairfield, Aaron Burr, the nephew of her host, came to the house, and
that his magnetic influence soon had an effect upon the beautiful young
lady. But watchful Aunt Lydia prevented the charmer from thwarting the
Hancock family plans, and on the 28th day of the following August there
was a great wedding at Fairfield. John Hancock, president of the
Continental Congress, and Miss Dorothy Quincy were joined in marriage in
style befitting the family situations.
The noted couple went at once to Philadelphia, where the patriot lived
at intervals during the remainder of the session. Mrs. Hancock seems to
have been much of the time in Boston, however, and occasionally, in the
course of the next few years, we catch delightful glimpses through her
husband's letters of his great affection for her, and for their little
one.
Under date of Philadelphia, March 10, 1777, we read: "I shall make out
as well as I can, but I assure you, my Dear Soul, I long to have you
here, & I know you will be as expeditious as you can in coming. When I
part from you again it must be a very extraordinary occasion. I have
sent everywhere to get a gold or silver rattle for the child with a
coral to send, but cannot get one. I will have one if possible on your
coming. I have sent a sash for her & two little papers of pins for you.
If you do not want them you can give them away.
"... May every blessing of an Indulgent Providence attend you. I most
sincerely wish you a good journey & hope I shall soon have the happiness
of seeing you with the utmost affection and Love. My dear Dolly, I am
yours forever,
"JOHN HANCOCK."
After two years and a half of enforced absence, the President of the
Continental Congress returned home to that beautiful house on Beacon
Street, which was unfortunately destroyed in 1863, to make room for a
more modern building. Here the united couple lived very happily with
their two children, Lydia and Washington.
Judging by descriptions that have come down to us, and by the World's
Fair reproduction of the Hancock House, their mansion must have been a
very sumptuous one. It was built of stone, after the manner favoured by
Bostonians who could afford it, with massive walls, and a balcony
projecting over the entrance door, upon which a large second-story
window opened. Braintree stone ornamented the corners and window-places,
and the tiled roof was surrounded by a balustrade. From the roof, dormer
windows provided a beautiful view of the surrounding country. The
grounds were enclosed by a low stone wall, on which was placed a light
wooden fence. The house itself was a little distance back from the
street, and the approach was by means of a dozen stone steps and a
carefully paved walk.
At the right of the entrance was a reception-room of spacious
dimensions, provided with furniture of bird's-eye maple, covered with
rich damask. Out of this opened the dining-room, sixty feet in length,
in which Hancock was wont to entertain. Opposite was a smaller
apartment, the usual dining-room of the family. Next adjoining were the
china-room and offices, while behind were to be found the coach-house
and barn of the estate.