[Illustration: The Old State House Bell]
THE YOUNG AMERICAN'S LIBRARY.
THE OLD BELL OF INDEPENDENCE;
OR,
PHILADELPHIA IN 1776.
BY HENRY C. WATSON,
AUTHOR OF "THE CAMP-FIRES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION," "THE YANKEE
TEA-PARTY, OR BOSTON IN 1773," ETC. ETC.
With Illustrations.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by LINDSAY AND
BLAKISTON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE.
To awaken in the minds of all Americans that veneration of the patriots
and heroes of the War of Independence, and that emulation of their noble
example which is so necessary to the maintenance of our liberties, are
the objects of this little work. Every day's developments illustrate
the importance of these objects. In the enjoyment of the freedom and
prosperity of our country, we are apt to under-rate the means by which
that enjoyment was secured to us, and to forget the men who worked for
that end. A knowledge of the toils and sufferings of the noble-hearted
fathers of the Revolution is the best preventative, or curative, for
this "falling off." War, clothed as it is, with horrors, is to be
condemned, and the spirit which leads to it should be driven from the
breasts of men. But generous devotion, strength of resolution, and
far-reaching skill, are things to be commended and imitated wherever
displayed. In these pages, will be found stories of the chief men of the
Revolution, so connected, by the manner in which they are narrated, as
to give a general interest to them--"The Old Bell of Independence" being
the rallying point of the veteran story-tellers.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION
STORY OF GENERAL WASHINGTON
THE SPY'S FATE
STORY OF THE SERMON
STORY OF THE PRAYER
STORY OF LYDIA DARRAGH
THE DEAD MAN'S LAKE
THE HALF-BREED
DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE
MURDER OF MISS McCREA
DEFENCE OF SHELL'S BLOCK-HOUSE
BATES'S REVENGE
STORY OF GENERAL WAYNE
THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES
THE TORY'S CONVERSION
THE TIMELY RESCUE
THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN
THE BATTLE OF THE KEGS
ARNOLD'S TREASON
CAPTURE OF GENERAL PRESCOTT
JONATHAN RILEY AND FRANK LILLY
MASSACRE OF WYOMING
STORY OF THE DAUPHIN'S BIRTHDAY
THE OLD BELL OF INDEPENDENCE.
INTRODUCTION.
It was a season of unparalleled enthusiasm and rejoicing, when General
Lafayette, the friend and supporter of American Independence, responded
to the wishes of the people of the United States, and came to see their
prosperity, and to hear their expressions of gratitude. The national
heart beat joyfully in anticipation; and one long, loud, and free shout
of welcome was heard throughout the land.
Arriving at New York in August, 1824, General Lafayette journeyed
through the Eastern States, receiving such tokens of affection as the
people had extended to no other man except Washington, and then returned
southward. On the 28th of September, he entered Philadelphia, the
birth-place of the Declaration of Independence, the greater part of the
population coming out to receive and welcome him. A large procession was
formed, and thirteen triumphal arches erected in the principal streets
through which the procession passed.
After General Lafayette himself, the most remarkable objects in the
procession were four large open cars, resembling tents, each containing
forty veterans of the struggle for independence. No one could, without
emotion, behold these winter-locked patriots, whose eyes, dimmed by age,
poured forth tears of joy at their unexpected happiness in once more
meeting an old commander, and joining in the expressions of gratitude to
him.
After passing through the principal streets, General Lafayette was
conducted into the hall of the State-House, where the old Continental
Congress had assembled, and where the immortal Declaration of
Independence was signed. Here the nation's guest was received formally
on behalf of the citizens by the mayor, and then the people were
admitted to take him by the hand. At night there was a splendid
illumination; and crowds of people traversed the streets, singing and
celebrating the exploits of the champion of liberty and the friend of
America.
On one of the days succeeding Lafayette's grand entry into the city,
he received, in the Hall of Independence, the veteran soldiers of the
Revolution who had come to the city, and those who were residents. One
by one these feeble old men came up and took the General by the hand,
and to each he had some reminiscence to recall, or some congratulation
to offer. Heroes of Brandy wine, Germantown, Trenton, Princeton,
Monmouth, and other fields, were there; some with scars to show, and all
much suffering to relate. The old patriotic fire was kindled in their
breasts, and beamed from their furrowed countenances, as memory flew
back to the time that proved their truth and love of liberty. One had
been under the command of the fiery Wayne, and shared his dangers with
a spirit as dauntless; another had served with the cool and skilful
Greene, and loved to recall some exploit in which the Quaker general
had displayed his genius; another had followed the lead of Lafayette
himself, when a mere youth, at Brandywine: everything conspired to
render this interview of the General and the veteran soldiers as
touching and as interesting as any recorded by history, or invented by
fiction.
After the reception of the veterans, one of them proposed to go up into
the belfry, and see the old bell which proclaimed liberty "to all the
land, and to all the nations thereof." Lafayette and a few others
accompanied the proposal by expressing a wish to see that interesting
relic. With great difficulty, some of the old men were conducted up to
the belfry, and there they beheld the bell still swinging. Lafayette was
much gratified at the sight, as it awakened his old enthusiasm to think
of the period when John Adams and his bold brother patriots dared to
assert the principles of civil liberty, and to proclaim the independence
of their country. Old John Harmar, one of the veteran soldiers who had
been in Philadelphia when the Declaration was proclaimed, and who again
shook hands with his old brothers in arms, gave vent to his thoughts and
feelings as he stood looking at the bell.
"Ah! that's the trumpet that told the Britishers a tale of vengeance! My
memory's not so bad but I can recollect the day that old bell was rung
for independence! This city presented a very different appearance in
those days. It was a small town. Every body was expectin' that the
king's troops would be comin' here soon, and would sack and burn the
place: but the largest number of us were patriots, and knew the king was
a tyrant; and so we didn't care much whether they came or not. How the
people did crowd around this State-House on the day the Declaration was
proclaimed! Bells were ringing all over town, and guns were fired; but
above 'em all could be heard the heavy, deep sound of this old bell,
that rang as if it meant something! Ah! them was great times."
As old Harmar concluded these remarks, the old men standing near the
bell nodded approvingly, and some echoed, "Them _was_ great times!" in
a tone which indicated that memory was endeavoring to conjure back the
time of which they spoke. They then slowly turned to descend. Lafayette
had preceded them with his few friends. "Stop!" said old Harmar;
"Wilson, Morton, Smith, and you, Higgins, my son wants you to come home
with me, and take dinner at his house. Come; I want to have some chat
with you over old doings. I may never see you again after you leave
Philadelphia."
The invitation, cordially given, was cordially accepted, and the party
of old friends descended the stairs, and, arriving at the door, were
assisted by the cheering crowd to get into their carriage, which then
drove towards the residence of old Harmar's son. At that place we shall
consider them as having arrived, and, after much welcoming, introducing,
and other preparatory ceremonies, as seated at a long, well-supplied
table, set in a large and pleasant dining-hall. Young Harmar, his wife,
and the four children, were also accommodated at the same table, and a
scene of conviviality and pleasure was presented such as is not often
witnessed. The old men were very communicative and good-humored; and
young Harmar and his family were free of questions concerning the great
scenes through which they had passed. But we will let the company speak
for themselves.
STORY OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
"GRANDFATHER," said Thomas Jefferson Harmar, "won't you tell us
something about General Washington?"
"I could tell you many a thing about that man, my child," replied old
Harmar, "but I suppose people know everything concerning him by this
time. You see, these history writers go about hunting up every incident
relating to the war, now, and after a while they'll know more about
it--or say they do--than the men who were actors in it."
"That's not improbable," said young Harmar. "These historians may not
know as much of the real spirit of the people at that period, but that
they should be better acquainted with the mass of facts relating to
battles and to political affairs is perfectly natural." The old man
demurred, however, and mumbled over, that nobody could know the real
state of things who was not living among them at the time.
"But the little boy wants to hear a story about Washington," said
Wilson. "Can't you tell him something about _the_ man? I think I could.
Any one who wants to appreciate the character of Washington, and the
extent of his services during the Revolution, should know the history of
the campaign of 1776, when every body was desponding, and thinking
of giving up the good cause. I tell you, if Washington had not been
superior to all other men, that cause must have sunk into darkness."
"You say well," said Smith. "We, who were at Valley Forge, know
something of his character."
"I remember an incident," said Wilson, "that will give you some idea,
Mrs. Harmar, of the heart George Washington had in his bosom. I suppose
Mr. Harmar has told you something of the sufferings of our men during
the winter we lay at Valley Forge. It was a terrible season. It's hard
to give a faint idea of it in words; but you may imagine a party of
men, with ragged clothes and no shoes, huddled around a fire in a log
hut--the snow about two feet deep on the ground, and the wind driving
fierce and bitter through the chinks of the rude hovel. Many of the men
had their feet frost-bitten, and there were no remedies to be had, like
there is now-a-days. The sentinels suffered terribly, and looked more
like ghosts than men, as they paced up and down before the lines of
huts."
"I wonder the men didn't all desert," remarked Mrs. Harmar. "They must
have been uncommon men."
"They were uncommon men, or, at least, they suffered in an uncommon
cause," replied Wilson. "But about General Washington. He saw how the
men were situated, and, I really believe, his heart bled for them. He
would write to Congress of the state of affairs, and entreat that body
to procure supplies; but, you see, Congress hadn't the power to comply.
All it could do was to call on the States, and await the action of their
Assemblies.
"Washington's head-quarters was near the camp, and he often came over to
see the poor fellows, and to try to soothe and comfort them; and, I tell
you, the men loved that man as if he had been their father, and would
rather have died with him than have lived in luxury with the red-coat
general.
"I recollect a scene I beheld in the next hut to the one in which I
messed. An old friend, named Josiah Jones, was dying. He was lying on a
scant straw bed, with nothing but rags to cover him. He had been sick
for several days, but wouldn't go under the doctor's hands, as he always
said it was like going into battle, certain of being killed. One day,
when we had no notion of anything of the kind, Josiah called out to us,
as we sat talking near his bed, that he was dying, and wanted us to pray
for him. We were all anxious to do anything for the man, for we loved
him as a brother; but as for praying, we didn't exactly know how to go
about it. To get clear of the service, I ran to obtain the poor fellow a
drink of water to moisten his parched lips.
"While the rest were standing about, not knowing what to do, some one
heard the voice of General Washington in the next hut, where he was
comforting some poor wretches who had their feet almost frozen off.
Directly, he came to our door, and one of the men went and told him the
state of things. Now, you see, a commander-in-chief might have been
justified in being angry that the regulations for the sick had been
disobeyed, and have turned away; but he was a nobler sort of man than
could do that. He entered the hut, and went up to poor Josiah, and asked
him how he was. Josiah told him that he felt as if he was dying, and
wanted some one to pray for him. Washington saw that a doctor could do
the man no good, and he knelt on the ground by him and prayed. We all
knelt down too; we couldn't help it. An old comrade was dying, away from
his home and friends, and there was our general kneeling by him, with
his face turned towards heaven, looking, I thought, like an angel's.
Well, he prayed for Heaven to have mercy on the dying man's soul; to
pardon his sins; and to take him to Himself: and then he prayed for us
all. Before the prayer was concluded, Josiah's spirit had fled, and his
body was cold and stiff. Washington felt the brow of the poor fellow,
and, seeing that his life was out, gave the men directions how to
dispose of the corpse, and then left us to visit the other parts of the
camp."
"That was, indeed, noble conduct," said young Harmar. "Did he ever speak
to you afterwards about violating the regulations of the army?"
"No," replied Wilson. "He knew that strict discipline could not be, and
should not have been maintained in that camp. He was satisfied if we
were true to the cause amid all our sufferings."
[ Illustration: WASHINGTON'S PRAYER
FOR THE DYING SOLDIER.]
"Praying at the death-bed of a private," mused Smith aloud. "Well, I
might have conjectured what he would do in such a case, from what I saw
of him. I wonder if history ever spoke of a greater and better man?"
Young Mr. Harmar here felt inclined to launch out into an elaborate
panegyric on the character of Washington, but reflected that it might be
out of place, and therefore contented himself with remarking, "We shall
ne'er look upon his like again."
"He was a dear, good man," remarked Mrs. Harmar.
"Yes," said old Harmar, "General Washington was the main pillar of the
Revolution. As a general, he was vigilant and skilful; but if he had
not been anything more, we might have been defeated and crushed by the
enemy. He had the love and confidence of the men, on account of his
character as a man, and that enabled him to remain firm and full of hope
when his countrymen saw nothing but a gloomy prospect."
THE SPY'S FATE
"Now I'll tell you a story that I have just called to mind," said old
Harmar. "It's of a very different character, though, from the story of
Washington. It's about a spy's fate."
"Where was the scene of it?" inquired Mrs. Harmar.
"Out here on the Schuylkill's banks, just after the British took
possession of this city," replied old Harmar. "There was a man named
James Sykes, who had a lime-kiln on the east bank of the river, and was
manufacturing lime pretty extensively when the enemy came to this city.
While Congress was sitting here, Sykes always professed to be a warm
friend to the colonial cause; but there was always something suspicious
about his movements, and his friends and neighbours did not put much
faith in his professions. He would occasionally be out very late at
night, and sometimes be gone from home for a week, and give very vague
accounts of the business which had occupied him during his absence. Some
of his neighbours suspected that he was acting as one of Sir William
Howe's spies, but they could never get any positive proof of their
suspicions.
"At length the enemy took possession of this city, and then Sykes began
to show that he was not such a very warm friend of the right side. He
went to the head-quarters of the British general frequently, and seemed
to be on the best terms with the enemy. Well, it happened that one of
his old neighbors, named Jones, was the captain of one of the companies
of our line; and he, somehow or other, obtained proof that Sykes was
acting as a spy for the enemy. He informed General Wayne of the fact,
and immediately proposed that he should be allowed to attempt his
capture. Wayne consented, and Captain Jones set about preparing for the
enterprise. Sykes was usually out at his lime-kiln, with some of his
men, during the morning, and, as the guilty are ever suspicious, he
increased the number of his assistants, to ensure himself against
attack. Captain Jones took only twenty men from his company, and left
our camp just before dark. The business was full of danger. The place
where Jones expected to capture the spy was within a mile of a British
out-post; and the greatest secrecy and rapidity of movement was
necessary to prevent surprise by the enemy's scouting parties.
"About daylight, Jones and his party reached the wood near Sykes'
lime-kiln, and halted to reconnoitre. Sykes and four of his men were at
work at that early hour. The lime was burning, and some of the men were
engaged in loading and unloading two carts which stood near the kiln.
Captain Jones' plan was quickly formed. He sent one half his party
around to cut off the escape of Sykes towards the city, and when he
thought they had reached a favorable position sallied out towards the
kiln. When he was about half-way to it, Sykes discovered the party,
and, shouting to his men to follow, ran along the bank of the river
to escape; but the other party cut off retreat, and Jones coming up
rapidly, Sykes and his men were taken. Jones did not intend to detain
the workmen any longer than till he got out of the reach of the British,
when he would not have cared for their giving the alarm. Sykes seemed to
be very anxious to know why he was arrested in that manner; but Jones
simply told him he would know when they got him to the American camp;
and that, if Sykes had not thought of a reason for his arrest, he
would not have attempted to run away. Well, the Americans hurried the
prisoners towards the wood, but Jones soon descried a large party of
British coming over a neighboring hill, and knew that his chance was
a desperate one. Sykes also discovered the party of red-coats, and
struggled hard to make his escape from the Americans. Jones wanted to
bring him alive to the American camp, or he would have shot him down at
once. Suddenly, Sykes broke away from his captors, and ran towards the
lime-kiln. Several muskets were discharged, but all missed him. Then
one of the privates, named Janvers, a daring fellow, rushed after the
prisoner, and caught him just as he reached the kiln. There a fierce
struggle ensued; but Sykes was cut in the shoulder, and, in attempting
to throw his antagonist into the hot lime and fire, was hurled into it
himself. Then Janvers hurried to the woods after his brave comrades. The
British party was near enough to see the struggle at the limekiln, and
came on rapidly in pursuit of our men. A few of the red-coats were
ordered to examine the lime-kiln, to see if Sykes was alive and
concealed; and they found his body burned almost to a crisp."
"Horrible!" exclaimed Mrs. Harmar.
"Well," continued Old Harmar, "there was a long and doubtful race
between the two parties; but Jones succeeded in getting within the lines
of the Americans without losing a man, and with his four prisoners in
safe custody. These fellows were examined, but no evidence of their
being spies and confidants of Sykes could be produced, and they were
discharged with the promise of a terrible punishment if they were
detected tampering with the enemy."
"Captain Jones was a daring fellow to venture so near the British lines,
and with such a small party," observed Morton.
"In such an attempt, a small party was preferable. Its success depended
upon secrecy and quickness of movements," said Wilson.
"It was a horrible death," remarked young Harmar. "Sykes, however,
courted it by treachery to his countrymen."
STORY OF THE SERMON.
"I believe this is the first time I've seen you since the disbanding of
the army, Morton," said Wilson. "Time has been rather severe on us both
since that time."
"Oh, we can't complain," replied Morton. "We can't complain. I never
grumble at my age."
"Some men would have considered themselves fortunate to have seen what
you have seen," said young Harmar. "I think I could bear your years, to
have your experience."
"So do I," added Mrs. Harmar. She always agreed with her husband in
whatever he asserted.
"Let me see," said old Harmar; "where did I first meet you, Higgins?
Oh! wasn't it just before the battle of Brandywine you joined the
Pennsylvania line?"
"No," answered Smith for Higgins, who, just then, was endeavoring to
make up for his want of teeth by the vigorous exertions of his jaws. "He
joined at the same time I did, before the battle of Germantown."
"Yes, just before the battle of Germantown," added Higgins. "I was not
at Brandywine."
"You wasn't? Then you missed seeing us retreat," said old Harraar. "But
we did considerable fightin', howsomever. Mad Anthony was there, and he
used to fight, you know--at least the enemy thought so. I shall never
forget the night before that battle."
"Why?" asked Higgins. "Was you on the watch?"
"No, not on that account; something very different. There was a sermon
preached on the evenin' before that battle, such as can only be heard
once."
"A sermon?" enquired Wilson.
"Yes; a sermon preached for our side by the Rev. Joab Prout. I told my
son there about it, and he wrote it into a beautiful sketch for one of
the papers. He's got a knack of words, and can tell about it much better
than I can. Tell them about it, Jackson, just as you wrote it," said old
Harmar.
"Certainly," replied young Harmar. "If I can recall it."
"Do," said Mrs. Harmer; and "Oh! do," added the children; and Mr.
Jackson Harmar did--as follows:--"All day long, on the tenth of
September, 1777, both armies were in the vicinity of each other, and
frequent and desperate skirmishes took place between advanced parties,
without bringing on a general action. At length, as the day closed,
both armies encamped within sight of each other, anxiously awaiting the
morrow, to decide the fate of the devoted city.
"The Americans lay behind Chadd's Ford, with the shallow waters of the
Brandywine between them and their opponents; the line extending two
miles along that stream.
"The sun was just sinking behind the dark hills of the west, gilding the
fading heavens with an autumnal brightness, and shedding a lurid glare
upon the already drooping and discolored foliage of the surrounding
forests. It was an hour of solemn calm. The cool evening breezes stole
softly through the air, as if unwilling to disturb the repose of all
around. The crystal waters of the creek murmured gently in their narrow
bed, and the national standard flapped lazily from the tall flag-staff
on its banks.
"In the American camp, interspersed between groups of tents and stacks
of arms, might be seen little knots of weary soldiers seated on the
ground, resting from the fatigues of the day, and talking in a low but
animated tone of the coming contest.
"Suddenly the tattoo sounded,--not loud and shrill, as on ordinary
occasions, but in a subdued and cautious manner, as if fearful of being
heard by the British, whose white tents might be seen in the distance.
Obedient to the signal, the greater part of the soldiers assembled
in front of the marquee of the commander, near the centre of the
encampment.
"All was hushed in expectation: soon the tall form of Washington,
wrapped in his military cloak, and attended by a large body of officers,
was seen advancing in their midst. All present respectfully saluted
them, to which they bowed courteously, and then took their seats upon
camp-stools set for them by a servant. The venerable Joab Prout,
chaplain of the Pennsylvania line, then stood upon the stump of a tree,
and commanded silence--for it was the hour of prayer.
"Here was a scene of moral grandeur unsurpassed by anything in the
annals of war. There, on that still, cool evening, when the sky was
darkening into night, were assembled some eight thousand men; very many
of whom would never look upon the glorious sunset again. From the humble
cottages in the quiet valley of the Connecticut--from the statelier
mansions of the sunny South--at the call of liberty, they had rushed to
the tented field; and now, on the eve of battle, as brethren in heart
and deed, had met together to implore the God of battles to smile upon
their noble cause.
"Oh! it was a thrilling and an august sight! The mild and dignified
Washington looked around him with proud emotion, and turned enquiringly
to the fair young stranger, Lafayette, beside him, as if to ask, 'Can
such men as these be vanquished?'
"The bold and fearless Wayne was there; the undaunted Pulaski, and the
whole-hearted Kosciusko; and they bowed their heads in reverence to Him
in whose presence they were worshipping.
"Never beneath the vaulted dome of the stately temple--never from the
lips of the eloquent divine--was seen such a congregation, or was heard
such a discourse, as on that September evening, from that humble old
man, with his grey locks streaming in the wind.
"With a firm, clear voice, that re-echoed to the distant hills, he
announced his text:--
_'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_
Then, straightening himself to his full height, and his eye beaming with
a holy feeling inspired by the time and place, he commenced:--
"'_They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_
'Soldiers and Countrymen:
We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared
the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the
retreat--alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the
internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night
after, night, beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers'
fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us
to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy
sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his
pillow.
'And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley,
on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder
heights--the sunlight that, to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of
blood. We have met, amid the whitening tents of our encampment,--in
times of terror and of gloom have we gathered together--God grant it may
not be for the last time!
'It is a solemn moment. Brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature
seem to echo the sympathies of the hour? The flag of our country droops
heavily from yonder staff; the breeze has died away along the green
plain of Chadd's Ford--the plain that spreads before us, glistening
in the sunlight; the heights of the Brandywine arise gloomy and grand
beyond the waters of yonder stream, and all nature holds a pause of
solemn silence, on the eve of the uproar and bloodshed and strife of
to-morrow.'
"The propriety of this language was manifest. Breathless attention was
pictured upon every countenance, and the smallest whisper could be
distinctly heard. Pausing a moment, as if running back, in his mind's
eye, over the eventful past, he again repeated his text:--
"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'
'And have they not taken the sword?
'Let the desolated plain, the blood-soddened valley, the burnt
farm-house, blackening in the sun, the sacked village, and the ravaged
town, answer; let the whitening bones of the butchered farmer, strewn
along the fields of his homestead, answer; let the starving mother, with
the babe clinging to the withered breast, that can afford no sustenance,
let her answer; with the death-rattle mingling with the murmuring tones
that mark the last struggle for life--let the dying mother and her babe
answer!
'It was but a day past and our land slept in peace. War was not
here--wrong was not here. Fraud, and woe, and misery, and want, dwelt not
among us. From the eternal solitude of the green woods arose the blue
smoke of the settler's cabin, and golden fields of corn looked forth
from amid the waste of the wilderness, and the glad music of human
voices awoke the silence of the forest.
'Now! God of mercy, behold the change! Under the shadow of a
pretext--under the sanctity of the name of God--invoking the Redeemer to
their aid, do these foreign hirelings slay our people! They throng our
towns; they darken our plains; and now they encompass our posts on the
lonely plain of Chadd's Ford.
"The effect was electric. The keen eye of the in-trepid Wayne flashed
fire. The neighboring sentinels, who had paused to listen, quickened
their pace, with a proud tread and a nervous feeling, impatient for
vengeance on the vandal foe.
"Gathering strength once more, he checked the choking sensations his own
recital had caused, and continued:
"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'
"Brethren, think me not unworthy of belief, when I tell you that the
doom of the Britisher is near! Think me not vain, when I tell you that
beyond the cloud that now enshrouds us, I see gathering, thick and fast,
the darker cloud and the blacker storm of a Divine retribution!
'They may conquer us on the morrow! Might and wrong may prevail, and we
may be driven from this field--but the hour of God's own vengeance will
surely come!
'Ay, if in the vast solitudes of eternal space, if in the heart of the
boundless universe, there throbs the being of an awful God, quick
to avenge, and sure to punish guilt, then will the man, George of
Brunswick, called king, feel in his brain and in his heart the vengeance
of the Eternal Jehovah! A blight will be upon his life--a withered
brain, an accurst intellect; a blight will be upon his children, and on
his people. Great God! how dread the punishment!
'A crowded populace, peopling the dense towns where the man of money
thrives, while the labourer starves; want striding among the people
in all its forms of terror; an ignorant and God-defying priesthood
chuckling over the miseries of millions; a proud and merciless nobility
adding wrong to wrong, and heaping insult upon robbery and fraud;
royalty corrupt to the very heart; aristocracy rotten to the core; crime
and want linked hand in hand, and tempting men to deeds of woe and
death--these are a part of the doom and the retribution that shall come
upon the English throne and the English people!'
"This was pronounced with a voice of such power, that its tones might
have reached almost to the Briton's camp, and struck upon the ear of
Howe as the prophetic inspiration of one whose keen eye had read from
the dark tablets of futurity.
"Looking around upon the officers, he perceived that Washington and
Lafayette had half risen from their seats, and were gazing spell-bound
at him, as if to drink in every word he uttered.
"Taking advantage of the pervading feeling, he went on:--
"'Soldiers--I look around upon your familiar faces with a strange
interest! To-morrow morning we will all go forth to battle--for need I
tell you that your unworthy minister will march with you, invoking God's
aid in the fight?--we will march forth to battle! Need I exhort you to
fight the good fight, to fight for your homesteads, and for your wives
and children?
'My friends, I might urge you to fight, by the galling memories of
British wrong! Walton--I might tell you of your father butchered in the
silence of midnight on the plains of Trenton; I might picture his grey
hairs dabbled in blood; I might ring his death-shriek in your ears.
Shelmire--I might tell you of a mother butchered, and a sister
outraged--the lonely farm-house, the night assault, the roof in flames,
the shouts of the troopers, as they despatch their victim, the cries
for mercy, the pleadings of innocence for pity. I might paint this all
again, in the terrible colors of the vivid reality, if I thought your
courage needed such wild excitement.
'But I know you are strong in the might of the Lord. You will forth to
battle on the morrow with light hearts and determined spirits, though
the solemn duty--the duty of avenging the dead--may rest heavy on your
souls.
'And in the hour of battle, when all around is darkness, lit by the
lurid cannon glare and the piercing musket flash--when the wounded strew
the ground, and the dead litter your path--then remember, soldiers, that
God is with you. The eternal God fights for you--He rides on the battle
cloud, He sweeps onward with the march of the hurricane charge--God, the
Awful and the Infinite, fights for you, and you will triumph.'
"Roused by this manly and pathetic appeal, a low murmur ran from man
to man, as a heartfelt response; and the chieftains who were near the
speaker, felt proud and happy in the command of such true hearts and
tried blades. But darkness was enveloping all, and he hastened to
conclude.
"'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'
'You have taken the sword, but not in the spirit of wrong and ravage.
You have taken the sword for your homes, for your wives, for your little
ones. You have taken the sword for truth, for justice and right, and to
you the promise is, Be of good cheer, for your foes have taken the sword
in defiance of all that man holds dear, in blasphemy of God--they shall
_perish by the sword_.
'And now, brethren and soldiers, I bid you all farewell. Many of us may
fall in the fight of to-morrow--God rest the souls of the fallen; many
of us may live to tell the story of the fight of to-morrow; and, in
the memory of all, will ever rest and linger the quiet scene of this
autumnal night.
'Solemn twilight advances over the valley; the woods on the opposite
heights fling their long shadows over the green of the meadow; around
us are the tents of the continental host, the suppressed bustle of the
camp, the hurried tramp of the soldiers to and fro among the tents, the
stillness and silence that marks the eve of battle.
'When we meet again, may the long shadows of twilight be flung over a
peaceful land.
'God in heaven grant it.'
"And now the last ray of lingering light had departed, and they were
left in darkness. Presuming it proper to dismiss his auditors, he
proposed a parting prayer, and immediately every head was uncovered and
bowed in reverence, while, with outstretched hands, that sincere old man
in the homespun garb thus addressed the throne of grace.
"'Great Father, we bow before thee. We invoke thy blessing, we deprecate
thy wrath, we return thee thanks for the past, we ask thy aid for the
future. For we are in times of trouble, oh, Lord! and sore beset by
foes, merciless and unpitying; the sword gleams over our land, and
the dust of the soil is dampened with the blood of our neighbors and
friends.
'Oh! God of mercy, we pray thy blessing on the American arms. Make the
man of our hearts strong in thy wisdom; bless, we beseech, with renewed
life and strength, our hope and thy instrument, even GEORGE WASHINGTON.
Shower thy counsels on the honorable, the Continental Congress.
Visit the tents of our host; comfort the soldier in his wounds and
afflictions; nerve him for the hour of fight; prepare him for the hour
of death.
'And in the hour of defeat, oh, God of Hosts, do thou be our stay; and
in the hour of triumph be thou our guide.
'Teach us to be merciful. Though the memory of galling wrongs be at our
hearts, knocking for admittance, that they may fill us with desires for
revenge, yet let us, oh, Lord, spare the vanquished, though they never
spared us in their hour of butchery and bloodshed. And, in the hour of
death, do thou guide us into the abode prepared for the blest; so shall
we return thanks unto thee, through Christ, our Redeemer.--GOD PROSPER
THE CAUSE.--_Amen_"
During the recital of this interesting and thrilling incident of the
Revolution, the veterans--even Higgins, too--laid down their knives
and forks, and listened as if carried back to the memorable eve of the
battle of Brandywine, and filled with the hopes and fears of the period.
At its conclusion, they expressed their approbation of the manner of the
recital, and the beauty of the sermon.
"That minister was one of the kind that I like," said Wilson. "He could
preach peace as long as peace was wise, and buckle on his armor and
fight when it became his duty."
"Mr. Harmer handles his pen well," remarked Morton, "but such an
incident would make any pen write well of itself. There's fire in it."
"Yes, a whole heap of fire," put in Mrs. Harmar, who thought she must
make a remark, as she had been quieting the children while the latter
part of the sermon and the remarks upon it were listened to by the
others.
"But the Lord didn't assist us much in that next day's battle," said old
Harmar. "We had hard fighting, and then were compelled to retreat."
"It was all for the best," said Wilson. "We shouldn't have known our
enemies nor ourselves without losing that battle. The harder the
struggle for liberty, the more we enjoy it when won."
"That's true," said young Harmar, "The freedom dearest bought is highest
prized, and Americans have learned the value of that inestimable gem."
The dinner was, by this time, pretty well disposed of, and the party
adjourned to the large parlor, where they were soon comfortable seated.
Mrs. Harmar would make one of the company, and the children would force
their way in to see and hear the "sogers." The windows were up, and the
gentle breeze of summer blew softly through the parlor, thus relieving
the otherwise oppressive atmosphere.
But we must introduce the company to the reader. Old Hannar was seated
on one end of the sofa, with one of the small children on his knee. He
was a stout, hearty-looking man of about seventy, with silvery hair,
and a face much embrowned by exposure and furrowed by time. The general
expression of his features was a hearty good humor, as if perfectly
satisfied with things around. On the other end of the sofa sat Mr.
Higgins, a thin, small-featured, bald-headed man, looking much older
than old Mr. Harmar. On the opposite sofa sat Mr. Morton and Mr. Wilson.
The first was a large-bodied, full-faced man, slightly bald, with a scar
across his forehead, from the right eye to the left side of his head.
His appearance bespoke an active life, and a strong constitution; and
his eye yet beamed with intelligence. Mr. Wilson was evidently about
seventy-five, with a long, lank face, tall figure, and head scantily
covered with grey hair. Mr. Smith sat in an easy arm-chair. His
appearance was much the same as that of Mr. Higgins, though his face
expressed more intelligence. He had a troublesome cough, and was
evidently very weak. Mr. Jackson Harmar sat on a chair next to his
father. He was about thirty-five, rather short and thin, with long brown
hair, wild, blue eyes, in a "fine frenzy rolling," and a very literary
appearance generally. Mrs. Harraar sat near her husband, with two very
mischievous little boys, apparently about six and eight years of age, by
her side. She had a childish face, but might have been thought pretty by
a loving and indulgent husband.
STORY OF THE PRAYER.
"There is only one other scene during the struggle for our country's
right," said young Harmar, "which I would compare with the one I have
just narrated; and that is the scene in Congress--the old Continental
Congress--during the first prayer by the Rev. Mr. Duche."
"I've heard something of that prayer," said Morton, "since the
Revolution, but nothing that I could depend on."
"An account of the scene is given by John Adams, who was a chief actor
in it," said young Harmar.
"Old John Adams?" enquired Higgins. "He was the man! He was the
Washington of our politics during the war. He was the man!" and Higgins
rubbed his hands together.
"Thomas Jefferson, take your foot off your brother's, and quit pinching
him," interrupted Mrs. Harmar.
"I have Mr. Adams' account of that first prayer and its effects," said
young Harmar, "and here it is." So saying, he pulled from his pocket a
paper into which the account had been copied, and read:--
"'When the Congress met, Mr. Gushing made a motion that it should be
opened with prayer. It was opposed by Mr. Jay, of New York, and Mr.
Rutledge, of South Carolina, because we were so divided in our religious
sentiments, some Episcopalians, some Quakers, some Anabaptists, some
Presbyterians, and some Congregationalists, that we could not join in
the same act of worship. Mr. Samuel Adams arose and said, 'that he was
no bigot, and could hear a prayer from any gentleman of piety, and who
was, at the same time, a friend of his country. He was a stranger in
Philadelphia, but had heard that Mr. Duche (Dushay they pronounced it)
deserved that character, and therefore he moved that Mr. Duche, an
Episcopal clergyman, might be desired to read prayers to the Congress
to-morrow morning.' The motion was seconded, and passed in the
affirmative.--Mr. Randolph, our President, waited on Mr. Duche, and
received for answer, that if his health would permit he certainly would.
Accordingly, next morning he appeared with his clerk, and, in his
pontificals, read several prayers in the established form, and then read
the collect for the seventh day of September, which was the thirty-fifth
psalm. You must remember, this was the next morning after we had heard
the rumor of the horrible cannonade of Boston. _It seemed as if Heaven
had ordained that psalm to be read on that morning_.
"'After this, Mr. Duche, unexpectedly to every body, struck out into an
extemporary prayer which filled the bosom of every man present. I must
confess I never heard a better prayer, or one so well pronounced.
Episcopalian as he is, Dr. Cooper himself never prayed with such fervor,
such correctness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime, for
America, for Congress, for the province of Massachusetts Bay, especially
the town of Boston. It has had an excellent effect upon every body here.
I must beg you to read that psalm. If there is any faith in the sortes
Virgilianæ, or sortes Homericæ, or especially the sortes Biblicæ, it
would be thought providential.'
"The thirty-fifth psalm was indeed appropriate to the news received, and
the exigencies of the times. It commences:--
"'Plead my cause, O Lord, with them that fight against me.
'Take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for my help.
'Draw out also the spear, and stop the way against them that persecute
me: say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.'
"What a subject for contemplation does this picture present. The
forty-four members of the first Congress, in their Hall, all bent before
the mercy-seat, and asking Him that their enemies 'might be as chaff
before the wind.' WASHINGTON was kneeling there; and Henry and Randolph,
and Rutledge, and Lee, and Jay; and by their side there stood, bowed in
reverence, the Puritan patriots of New England, who, at that moment,
had reason to believe that an armed soldiery was wasting their humble
households. It was believed that Boston had been bombarded and
destroyed. They prayed fervently 'for America, for the Congress, for the
province of Massachusetts Bay, and especially for the town of Boston;'
and who can realize the emotion with which they turned imploringly to
Heaven for divine interposition and aid? 'It was enough to melt a heart
of stone. I saw the tears gush into the eyes of the old, grave Quakers
of Philadelphia.'"
"Yes," said Wilson, when young Harmar had concluded, "that was a scene
equal, at least, to the one on the eve of Brandywine: how finely old
John Adams speaks about it!"
"That Dr. Duche forgot his connexion with the Church of England, and
only thought of his country," remarked Morton. "He was a good man."
"Yes; and he prayed in the presence of as good a set of men as was ever
assembled together," added Smith. "Them was men--those Congressmen. They
didn't get eight dollars a day for making speeches."
"No," put in Higgins, "but they earned a great deal more. Some of 'em
lost all the property they had, during the war."
"The spirit which animated our countrymen at that period was the noblest
which could prompt the deeds of men," said young Harmar, growing quite
eloquent. "From the men who emptied the tea into Boston harbor, to the
statesman of the Continental Congress, all were filled with patriotism,
and that's the most unselfish of human motives."
STORY OF LYDIA DARRAGH.
"Mrs. Harmar, your sex nobly maintained their reputation for devotion
and patriotism during the Revolution," said Wilson. "Did you ever hear
how a Quaker lady, named Lydia Darragh, saved the army under Washington
from being surprised?"
"No, never," replied Mrs. Harmar.
"No! Then, as a Philadelphia lady, you should know about it," said
Wilson.