stopped at the house of a settler. There were about thirty of them in
their war-paint, and one of them had a fresh scalp hanging at his belt.
This indicated that they had recently been at war with their enemies, of
whom at least one had been killed. The Indians were given some liquor,
in return for which they danced their war-dance before the boys. For
music one of them drummed on a deer-skin which he stretched over an iron
pot, and another rattled a gourd containing some shot and ornamented
with a horse's tail. The others danced with wild whoops and yells around
a large fire they had built. Altogether the spectacle was a singular and
exciting one on which the boys looked with much interest.
While they had no serious adventures, their life in the forest was not a
very luxurious one. In many ways they had to rough it. At times they
were drenched by downpours of rain. They slept anywhere, now and then in
houses, but most often in the open air. On one occasion some straw on
which they lay asleep caught fire and they woke just in time to escape
being scorched by the flames.
"I have not slept above three or four nights in a bed," wrote George to
a friend, "but after walking a good deal all the day I have lain down
before the fire on a little straw or fodder, or a bear-skin, whatever
was to be had, with man, wife, and children, like dogs and cats; and
happy is he who gets the berth nearest the fire."
Their cooking was often done by impaling the meat on sharp sticks and
holding it over the fire, while chips cut with their hatchet took the
place of dishes. But to them all this was enjoyment, their appetites
were hearty, and anything having the spice of adventure was gladly
welcomed. It was the event of their young lives.
It was still April when they returned from their long river ride to
Greenway Court, and here enjoyed for some time the comforts of
civilization, so far as they had penetrated that frontier scene. Spring
was still upon the land, though summer was near by, when George and his
friend rode back across the Blue Ridge and returned to Belvoir with the
report of what they had done. Lord Fairfax was highly pleased with the
report, and liked George more than ever for the faithful and intelligent
manner in which he had carried out his task. He paid the young surveyor
at the rate of seven dollars a day for the time he was actually at work,
and half this amount for the remaining time. This was worth a good deal
more then than the same sum of money would be now, and was very good pay
for a boy of sixteen. No doubt the lad felt rich with the first money he
had ever earned in his pocket.
As for Lord Fairfax, he was in high glee to learn what a valuable
property he had across the hills, and especially how fine a country it
was for hunting. He soon left Belvoir and made his home at Greenway
Court, where he spent the remainder of his life. It was a very different
life from that of his early days in the bustle of fashionable life in
London, but it seemed to suit him as well or better.
One thing more we have to say about him. He was still living at Greenway
Court when the Revolutionary War came on. A loyalist in grain, he
bitterly opposed the rebellion of the colonists. By the year 1781 he had
grown very old and feeble. One day he was in Winchester, a town which
had grown up not far from Greenway, when he heard loud shouts and cheers
in the street.
"What is all that noise about?" he asked his old servant.
"Dey say dat Gin'ral Washington has took Lord Cornwallis an' all his
army prisoners. Yorktown is surrendered, an' de wa' is ovah."
"Take me to bed, Joe," groaned the old lord; "it is time for me to die."
Five years after his surveying excursion George Washington had a far
more famous adventure in the wilderness, when the governor of Virginia
sent him through the great forest to visit the French forts near Lake
Erie. The story of this journey is one of the most exciting and romantic
events in American history, yet it is one with which most readers of
history are familiar, so we have told the tale of his earlier adventures
instead. His forest experience on the Shenandoah had much to do with
making Governor Dinwiddie choose him as his envoy to the French forts,
so that it was, in a way, the beginning of his wonderful career.
_PATRICK HENRY, THE HERALD OF THE REVOLUTION._
There was a day in the history of the Old Dominion when a great lawsuit
was to be tried,--a great one, that is, to the people of Hanover County,
where it was heard, and to the colony of Virginia, though not to the
country at large. The Church of England was the legal church in
Virginia, whose people were expected to support it. This the members of
other churches did not like to do, and the people of Hanover County
would not pay the clergymen for their preaching. This question of paying
the preachers spread far and wide. It came to the House of Burgesses,
which body decided that the people need not pay them. It crossed the
ocean and reached the king of England, who decided that the people must
pay them. As the king's voice was stronger than that of the burgesses,
the clergy felt that they had an excellent case, and they brought a
lawsuit to recover their claims. By the old law each clergyman was to be
paid his salary in tobacco, one hundred and sixty thousand pounds weight
a year.
There seemed to be nothing to do but pay them, either in cash or
tobacco. All the old lawyers who looked into the question gave it up at
once, saying that the people had no standing against the king and the
clergy. But while men were saying that the case for the county would be
passed without a trial and a verdict rendered for the clergy, an amusing
rumor began to spread around. It was said that young Patrick Henry was
going to conduct the case for the people.
[Illustration: Copyright, 1906, by R. A. Lancaster, Jr.
HOME OF PATRICK HENRY DURING HIS LAST TWO TERMS AS GOVERNOR OF
VIRGINIA.]
We call this amusing, and so it was to those who knew Patrick Henry. He
was a lawyer, to be sure, but one who knew almost nothing about the law
and had never made a public speech in his life. He was only twenty-seven
years of age, and those years had gone over him mainly in idleness. In
his boyhood days he had spent his time in fishing, hunting, dancing, and
playing the fiddle, instead of working on his father's farm. As he grew
older he liked sport too much and work too little to make a living. He
tried store-keeping and failed through neglect of his business. He
married a wife whose father gave him a farm, but he failed with this,
too, fishing and fiddling when he should have been working, and in two
years the farm was sold. Then he went back to store-keeping, and with
the same result. The trouble was his love for the fiddle and the
fishing-line, which stood very much in the way of business. He was too
lazy and fond of good company and a good time to make a living for
himself and his wife.
The easy-going fellow was now in a critical situation. He had to do
something if he did not want to starve, so he borrowed some old
law-books and began to read law. Six weeks later he applied to an old
judge for a license to practise in the courts. The judge questioned him
and found that he knew nothing about the law; but young Henry pleaded
with him so ardently, and promised so faithfully to keep on studying,
that the judge gave him the license and he hung out his shingle as a
lawyer.
Whatever else Patrick Henry might be good for, people thought that to
call himself a lawyer was a mere laughing matter. An awkward, stooping,
ungainly fellow, dressed roughly in leather breeches and yarn stockings,
and not knowing even how to pronounce the king's English correctly, how
could he ever succeed in a learned profession? As a specimen of his
manner of speech at that time we are told that once, when denying the
advantages of education, he clinched the argument by exclaiming,
"Nait'ral parts are better than all the larnin' on airth."
As for the law, he did not know enough about it to draw up the simplest
law-paper. As a result, he got no business, and was forced, as a last
resort, to help keep a tavern which his father-in-law possessed at
Hanover Court-House. And so he went on for two or three years, till
1763, when the celebrated case came up. Those who knew him might well
look on it as a joke when the word went round that Patrick Henry was
going to "plead against the parsons." That so ignorant a lawyer should
undertake to handle a case which all the old lawyers had refused might
well be held as worthy only of ridicule. They did not know Patrick
Henry. It is not quite sure that he knew himself. His father sat on the
bench as judge, but what he thought of his son's audacity history does
not say.
When the day for the trial came there was a great crowd at Hanover
Court-House, for the people were much interested in the case. On the
opening of the court the young lawyer crossed the street from the tavern
and took his seat behind the bar. What he saw was enough to dismay and
confuse a much older man. The court-room was crowded, and every man in
it seemed to have his eyes fixed on the daring young counsel, many of
them with covert smiles on their faces. The twelve men of the jury were
chosen. There were present a large number of the clergy waiting
triumphantly for the verdict, which they were sure would be in their
favor, and looking in disdain at the young lawyer. On the bench as judge
sat John Henry, doubtless feeling that he had a double duty to perform,
to judge at once the case and his son.
The aspiring advocate, so little learned in the law and so poorly
dressed and ungainly in appearance, looked as if he would have given
much just then to be out of the court and clear of the case. But the die
was cast; he was in for it now.
The counsel for the clergymen opened the case. He dwelt much on the law
of the matter, whose exact meaning he declared was beyond question. The
courts had already decided on that subject, and so had his sacred
majesty, the king of England. There was nothing for the jury to do, he
asserted, but to decide how much money his clients were entitled to
under the law. The matter seemed so clear that he made but a brief
address and sat down with a look of complete satisfaction. As he did so
Patrick Henry rose.
This, as may well be imagined, was a critical moment in the young
lawyer's life. He rose very awkwardly and seemed thoroughly frightened.
Every eye was fixed on him and not a sound was heard. Henry was in a
state of painful embarrassment. When he began to speak, his voice was so
low that he could hardly be heard, and he faltered so sadly that his
friends felt that all was at an end.
But, as he himself had once said, "Nait'ral parts are better than all
the larnin' on airth;" and he had these "nait'ral parts," as he was
about to prove. As he went on a change in his aspect took place. His
form became erect, his head uplifted, his voice clearer and firmer. He
soon began to make it appear that he had thought deeply on the people's
cause and was prepared to handle it strongly. His eyes began to flash,
his voice to grow resonant and fill the room; in the words of William
Wirt, his biographer, "As his mind rolled along and began to glow from
its own action, all the exuviae of the clown seemed to shed themselves
spontaneously."
The audience listened in surprise, the clergy in consternation. Was this
the Patrick Henry they had known? It was very evident that the young
advocate knew just what he was talking about, and he went on with a
forcible and burning eloquence that fairly carried away every listener.
There was no thought now of his clothes and his uncouthness. The _man_
stood revealed before them, a man with a gift of eloquence such as
Virginia had never before known. He said very little on the law of the
case, knowing that to be against him, but he addressed himself to the
jury on the rights of the people and of the colony, and told them it was
their duty to decide between the House of Burgesses and the king of
England. The Burgesses, he said, were their own people, men of their own
choice, who had decided in their favor; the king was a stranger to them,
and had no right to order them what to do.
Here he was interrupted by the old counsel for the clergy, who rose in
great indignation and exclaimed, "The gentleman has spoken treason."
We do not know just what words Henry used in reply. We have no record of
that famous speech. But he was not the man to be frightened by the word
"treason," and did not hesitate to repeat his words more vigorously than
before. As for the parsons, he declared, their case was worthless. Men
who led such lives as they were known to have done had no right to
demand money from the people. So bitterly did he denounce them that all
those in the room rose and left the court in a body.
By the time the young advocate had reached the end of his speech the
whole audience was in a state of intense excitement. They had been
treated to the sensation of their lives, and looked with utter
astonishment at the marvellous orator, who had risen from obscurity to
fame in that brief hour. Breathless was the interest with which the
jury's verdict was awaited. The judge charged that the law was in favor
of the parsons and that the king's order must be obeyed, but they had
the right to decide on the amount of damages. They were not long in
deciding, and their verdict was the astounding one of _one penny
damages_.
The crowd was now beyond control. A shout of delight and approbation
broke out. Uproar and confusion followed the late decorous quiet. The
parsons' lawyer cried out that the verdict was illegal and asked the
judge to send the jury back. But his voice was lost in the acclamations
of the multitude. Gathering round Patrick Henry, they picked him up
bodily, lifted him to their shoulders, and bore him out, carrying him in
triumph through the town, which rang loudly with their cries and cheers.
Thus it was that the young lawyer of Hanover rose to fame.
Two years after that memorable day Patrick Henry found himself in a
different situation. He was now a member of the dignified House of
Burgesses, the oldest legislative body in America. An aristocratic body
it was, made up mostly of wealthy landholders, dressed in courtly attire
and sitting in proud array. There were few poor men among them, and
perhaps no other plain countryman to compare with the new member from
Hanover County, who had changed but little in dress and appearance from
his former aspect.
A great question was before the House. The Stamp Act had been passed in
England and the people of the colonies were in a high state of
indignation. They rose in riotous mobs and vowed they would never pay a
penny of the tax. As for the Burgesses, they proposed to act with more
loyalty and moderation. They would petition the king to do them justice.
It was as good as rebellion to refuse to obey him.
The member from Hanover listened to their debate, and said to himself
that it was weak and its purpose futile. He felt sure that the action
they proposed would do no good, and when they had fairly exhausted
themselves he rose to offer his views on the question at issue.
Very likely some of the fine gentlemen there looked at him with surprise
and indignation. Who was this presumptuous new member who proposed to
tell the older members what to do? Some of them may have known him and
been familiar with that scene in Hanover Court-House. Others perhaps
mentally deplored the indignity of sending common fellows like this to
sit in their midst.
But Patrick Henry now knew his powers, and cared not a whit for their
_respectable_ sentiments. He had something to say and proposed to say
it. Beginning in a quiet voice, he told them that the Stamp Act was
illegal, as ignoring the right of the House to make the laws for the
colony. It was not only illegal, but it was oppressive, and he moved
that the House of Burgesses should pass a series of resolutions which he
would read.
These resolutions were respectful in tone, but very decided in meaning.
The last of them declared that nobody but the Burgesses had the right to
tax Virginians. This statement roused the house. It sounded like
rebellion against the king. Several speakers rose together and all of
them denounced the resolutions as injudicious and impertinent. The
excitement of the loyalists grew as they proceeded, but they subsided
into silence when the man who had offered the resolutions rose to defend
them.
Patrick Henry was aroused. As he spoke his figure grew straight and
erect, his voice loud and resonant, his eye flashed, the very sweep of
his hand was full of force and power. He for one was not prepared to
become a slave to England and her king. He denounced the islanders who
proposed to rob Americans of their vested rights. In what way was an
Englishman better than a Virginian? he asked. Were they not of one blood
and born with the same right to liberty and justice? What right had the
Parliament to act the tyrant to the colonies? Then, referring to the
king, he bade him in thundering tones to beware of the consequences of
his acts.
"Caesar had his Brutus," he exclaimed, in tones of thrilling force,
"Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third----"
"Treason! Treason!" came from a dozen excited voices, but Henry did not
flinch.
"May profit by their example." Then, in a quieter tone, he added: "If
this be treason, make the most of it!"
[Illustration: ST. JOHN'S CHURCH.]
He took his seat. He had said his words. These words still roll down the
tide of American history as resonantly as when they were spoken. As for
the House of Burgesses, it was carried away by the strength of this
wonderful speech. When the resolutions came to a vote it was seen that
Henry had won. They were carried, even the last and most daring of them,
by one vote majority. As the Burgesses tumultuously adjourned, one
member rushed out in great excitement, declaring that he would have
given five hundred guineas for one vote to defeat the treasonable
resolutions. But the people with delight heard of what had passed, and
as Henry passed through the crowd a plain countryman clapped him on the
shoulder, exclaiming,--
"Stick to us, old fellow, or we are gone."
Ten years later, in the old church of St. John's, at Richmond, Virginia,
standing not far from the spot where the old Indian emperor, Powhatan,
once resided, a convention was assembled to decide on the state of the
country. Rebellion was in the air. In a month more the first shots of
the Revolution were to be fired at Lexington. Patrick Henry, still the
same daring patriot as of old, rose and moved that Virginia "be
immediately put in a state of defence."
This raised almost as much opposition as his former resolutions in the
House of Burgesses, and his blood was boiling as he rose to speak. It
was the first speech of his that has been preserved, and it was one that
still remains unsurpassed in the annals of American eloquence. We give
its concluding words. He exclaimed, in tones of thunder,--
"There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are
forged, their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is
inevitable; and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! It is in
vain to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 'Peace, peace,' but
there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps
from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our
brethren are already in the field. What is it that gentlemen wish? What
would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased
at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not
what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me
death!"
His motion was passed, and Virginia told the world that she was ready to
fight. A month later there came from the north "the clash of resounding
arms;" the American Revolution was launched.
"It is not easy to say what we would have done without Patrick Henry,"
says Thomas Jefferson. "His eloquence was peculiar; if, indeed, it
should be called eloquence, for it was impressive and sublime beyond
what can be imagined. After all, it must be allowed that he was our
leader. He left us all far behind."
_GOVERNOR TRYON AND THE CAROLINA REGULATORS._
The first blood shed by "rebels" in America, in those critical years
when the tide of events was setting strong towards war and revolution,
was by the settlers on the upper waters of the Cape Fear River in North
Carolina. A hardy people these were, of that Highland Scotch stock whose
fathers had fought against oppression for many generations. Coming to
America for peace and liberty, they found bitter oppression still, and
fought against it as their ancestors had done at home. It is the story
of these sturdy "Regulators" that we have here to tell.
It was not the tyranny of king or parliament with which these
liberty-lovers had to deal, but that of Governor Tryon, the king's
representative in this colony, and one of the worst of all the royal
governors. Bancroft has well described his character. "The Cherokee
chiefs, who knew well the cruelty and craft of the most pernicious beast
of prey in the mountains, ceremoniously distinguished the governor by
the name of the Great Wolf." It was this Great Wolf who was placed in
command over the settlers of North Carolina, and whose lawless acts
drove them to rebellion.
Under Governor Tryon the condition of the colony of North Carolina was
worse than that of a great city under the rule of a political "Boss."
The people were frightfully overtaxed, illegal fees were charged for
every service, juries were packed, and costs of suits at law made
exorbitant. The officers of the law were insolent and arbitrary, and by
trickery and extortion managed to rob many settlers of their property.
And this was the more hateful to the people from the fact that much of
the money raised was known to go into the pockets of officials and much
of it was used by Governor Tryon in building himself a costly and showy
"palace." Such was the state of affairs which led to the "rebellion" in
North Carolina.
Many of the people of the mountain districts organized under the name of
"Regulators," binding themselves to fight against illegal taxes and
fees, and not to pay them unless forced to do so. The first outbreak
took place in 1768 when a Regulator rode into Hillsborough, and Colonel
Fanning wantonly seized his horse for his tax. It was quickly rescued by
a mob armed with clubs and muskets, some of which were fired at
Fanning's house.
This brought matters to a head. Supported by the governor, Fanning
denounced the Regulators as rebels, threatened to call out the militia,
and sent out a secret party who arrested two of the settlers. One of
these, Herman Husbands, had never joined the Regulators or been
concerned in any tumult, and was seized while quietly at home on his
own land. But he was bound, insulted, hurried to prison, and threatened
with the gallows. He escaped only by the payment of money and the threat
of the Regulators to take him by force from the jail.
The next step was taken after Governor Tryon had promised to hear the
complaints of the people and punish the men guilty of extortion. Under
this promise Husbands brought suit against Fanning for unjust
imprisonment. At once the governor showed his real sentiment. He
demanded the complete submission of the Regulators, called out fifteen
hundred armed men, and was said to intend to rouse the Indians to cut
off the men of Orange County as rebels.
In spite of this threatening attitude of the governor, Husbands was
acquitted on every charge, and Fanning was found guilty on six separate
indictments. There was also a verdict given against three Regulators.
This was the decision of the jury alone. That of the judges showed a
different spirit. They punished Fanning by fining him one penny on each
charge, while the Regulators were each sentenced to fifty pounds fine
and six months' imprisonment. To support this one-sided justice Tryon
threatened the Regulators with fire and sword, and they remained quietly
at home, brooding moodily over their failure but hesitating to act.
We must now go on to the year 1770. The old troubles had
continued,--illegal fees and taxes, peculation and robbery. The
sheriffs and tax-collectors were known to have embezzled over fifty
thousand pounds. The costs of suits at law had so increased that justice
lay beyond the reach of the poor. And back of all this reigned Governor
Tryon in his palace, supporting the spoilers of the people. So incensed
did they become that at the September court, finding that their cases
were to be ignored, they seized Fanning and another lawyer and beat them
soundly with cowhide whips, ending by a destructive raid on Fanning's
house.