consultations on all subjects of importance at the house of William and
Lydia Darragh, members of the Society of Friends, immediately opposite
to the quarters of the commander-in-chief, in Second street. It was
in December, in the year that they occupied the city, that the
adjutant-general of the army desired Lydia to have an apartment prepared
for himself and friends, and to order her family early to bed; adding,
when ready to depart, 'Notice shall be given to you to let us out, and
to extinguish the fire and candles.' The manner of delivering this
order, especially that part of it which commanded the early retirement
of her family, strongly excited Lydia's curiosity, and determined her,
if possible, to discover the mystery of their meeting. Approaching
without shoes the room in which the conference was held, and placing her
ear to the keyhole, she heard the order read for the troops to quit the
city on the night of the 4th, to attack the American army encamped at
White Marsh. Returning immediately to her room, she laid herself down,
but, in a little while, a loud knocking at the door, which for some time
she pretended not to hear, proclaimed the intention of the party to
retire. Having let them out, she again sought her bed, but not to sleep;
the agitation of her mind prevented it. She thought only of the dangers
that threatened the lives of thousands of her countrymen, and believing
it to be in her power to avert the evil, determined, at all hazards, to
apprize General Washington of his danger. Telling her husband, at early
dawn, that flour was wanting for domestic purposes, and that she should
go to Frankford to obtain it, she repaired to headquarters, got access
to General Howe, and obtained permission to pass the British lines.
Leaving her bag at the mill, Lydia now pressed forward towards the
American army, and meeting Captain Allen M'Lean, an officer, from his
superior intelligence and activity, selected by General Washington to
gain intelligence, discovered to him the important secret, obtaining
his promise not to jeopardize her safety by telling from whom he
had obtained it. Captain M'Lean, with all speed, informed the
commander-in-chief of his danger, who, of course, took every necessary
step to baffle the contemplated enterprize, and to show the enemy that
he was prepared to receive them. Lydia returned home with her flour,
secretly watched the movements of the British, and saw them depart. Her
anxiety during their absence was excessive, nor was it lessened when, on
their return, the adjutant-general, summoning her to his apartment and
locking the door with an air of mystery, demanded 'Whether any of the
family were up on the night that he had received company at her house?'
She told him, that, without an exception, they had all retired at eight
o'clock. 'You, I know, Lydia, were asleep, for I knocked at your door
three times before you heard me, yet, although I am at a loss to
conceive who gave the information of our intended attack to General
Washington, it is certain we were betrayed; for, on arriving near his
encampment, we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, and at
every point so perfectly prepared to receive us, that we were compelled,
like fools, to make a retrograde movement, without inflicting on our
enemy any manner of injury whatever.'"
"Ha! ha! a neat stratagem, and a patriotic woman," exclaimed young
Harmar.
"Talking of the services of the women during the war," said Higgins,
"reminds me of Molly Macauly, or Sergeant Macauly, as we knew her while
in the army. She was a Pennsylvanian, and was so enthusiastic in her
patriotism, that she donned a man's dress, and joined the army, when she
became a sergeant, and fought bravely in several battles and skirmishes.
Nobody suspected that she was not what she seemed to be; for she was
tall, stout, and rough-looking, and associated with men very freely.
Molly had a custom of swinging her sabre over her head, and hurraing for
Mad Anthony, as she called General Wayne. She was wounded at Brandywine,
and, her sex being discovered, returned home."
"She was not the only woman in disguise in the army," said old Harmar.
"There was Elizabeth Canning, who was at Fort Washington, and, when her
husband was killed, took his place at the gun, loading, priming, and
firing with good effect, till she was wounded in the breast by a
grape-shot. While our army lay at Valley Forge, several Pennsylvania
women were detected in disguise, enduring all kinds of want, and with
less murmuring than the men themselves. Oh, yes! the women were all
right in those days, however they may have degenerated since."
"Come, no slander on the women of the present day," said Mrs. Harmar.
"I've no doubt, take them all in all; they will not suffer in comparison
with those of any age."
"Bravo! Mrs. Harmar," exclaimed Wilson.
"Women, now, are ready enough with disguises," remarked young Harmar.
"To be sure!" replied his wife, "and always were."
THE DEAD MAN'S LAKE.
"Mr. Smith, can't we have a leaf from your experience in those trying
times?" said old Harmar.
"Ah! sir, I would have much to tell if I had time to collect my
memory--much to tell, sir. But though I saw a great deal in the
Revolution, I heard much more."
"Tell us anything to pass time," said young Harmar. "I've heard my
father speak of some bold exploits up in the vicinity of New York. The
history of the Cowboys and Skinners always interested me."
"Ah! I've heard many a story of them," replied Smith. "I'll tell you of
one old Jack Hanson told me--you recollect old Jack, don't you, Harmar?
He was with us at Valley Forge."
"That I do," replied old Harmer. "He gave me a piece of his blanket, and
an old shoe, when I believe I was freezing to death."
"Yes, he was ever a good-hearted fellow--Jack Hanson was. He's been dead
now about ten years. Well, as I was saying, he told me a story about
those Cowboys and Skinners which will bear telling again."
"It happened when the British were in possession of the city of New
York. Many brave men did all that could be done to destroy the power and
comfort of the king's representatives, and alarm them for their personal
safety; and, to the greater part of them, the neighboring county of West
Chester furnished both the home, and a theatre of action. Their system
of warfare partook of the semi-savage and partisan predatory character,
and many fierce and desperate encounters took place between them and the
outlawed hordes of desperadoes in the pay of the British.
"The refugees, banded together for the purpose of preying upon
the patriots, and then retreating behind the shelter of the royal
fortifications, were composed of the vilest miscreants that could be
gathered from the dregs of any community, and were generally known by
the slang name of 'Skinners.'
"To oppose these desperadoes, and protect their lives and property from
insult, many of the whigs had united in small parties, and were styled
by the Skinners, in derision, the 'Cow-boys.' One of the most active and
energetic of these bands, ever ready for any species of patriotic duty,
was led by Nicholas Odell. Nick, as he was familiarly termed, though
entirely uneducated, was one of the shrewdest men to be found; for
Nature had gifted him where cultivation was wanting, and he became, in
consequence, a most formidable and dangerous enemy in the service he had
chosen. But fifty men composed his entire force, and with these he did
his country much service, and the enemy no little mischief.
"The line of the Bronx River was the route always kept in view by Nick
and his men; and, at six several points, places of rendezvous were
established, at which they were generally to be found when off duty,
which was, indeed, seldom the case.
"One of these places was on the banks of that stream, where the water
was so wide and deep as to render it perilous for any but an expert and
experienced swimmer to attempt its passage, and always placid, with a
sort of oily surface looking like the backed waters of a mill-pond. The
banks were covered with a thick undergrowth of vines, saplings, and
trees in abundance, so that autumn did not, by taking away the leaves,
expose the spot to the observation of the passer-by. Here a rude board
shanty had been knocked up in a hurry, and was used to shelter the men
from the intense cold of the winter nights. This episode in the stream
Nick had named 'Dead Man's Lake,' in consequence of finding on its
banks the body of a man who had been murdered and mutilated by his old
enemies, the Skinners.
"One evening, in the depth of winter, Nick, who had been a long distance
above White Plains, hastened back to the lake in order to intercept
a body of Skinners, on their way from Connecticut to the city, with
considerable booty taken from the inhabitants in the vicinity of the
Sound. They numbered about eighty, under the control of a petty Scotch
officer named McPherson. Nick had contrived to gain intelligence of
their movements and access to their party, by means of John Valentine,
one of his own scouts, who, by his direction, had met and joined the
tories with a specious tale, and promised to lead them through the
country so securely that none of the prowling rebels should encounter
them.
"Previous to John's starting on his perilous adventure, it was agreed
that Nick, with all his men, should remain the whole night in question
concealed at the lake, without entering the hut. John was then to bring
the refugees to the spot, shelter them in the hut, and, at a favorable
moment, he would sing out, 'Hurrah for Gin'ral Washington, and down with
the red-coats!' when the Cow-boys were to rush in, and take them by
surprise.
"Having reached the lake about nine o'clock in the evening, Nick
proceeded to devise a plan for concealment, for he expected to wait
several hours. The cold was intense, and, like all the servants
of Congress, Nick and his men were but ill prepared to resist the
inclemency of the weather.
"Nick was in perplexity; no plan could be devised with satisfaction to
the majority, and they stood in absolute danger of perishing with cold.
The debate on the subject was still in progress, when heavy flakes
of snow began to fall briskly, with promising appearances of a long
continuance. 'Good!' said Nick, half in soliloquy, as he viewed the
feathery element, and a new idea seemed to strike him, 'I have hit it at
last. Boys, no grumblin' or skulkin' now, for I won't have it. You must
do as I am goin' to order, or we part company.'
"So saying, he directed the whole of his men to enter a swamp meadow
which was behind the shanty, and had been rendered hard and porous by
the weather. Here he directed them to spread their blankets, and lie
down with the locks of their muskets between their knees, and the muzzle
protected by a wooden stopper kept for the purpose. Nick enforced this
command with an explanation of its advantages: the snow being dry, and
not subject to drift, would soon cover them, keeping them quite warm,
and would also conceal them at their ease. The porous quality of the
ground would enable them to distinguish the distant approach of the
enemy, and therefore they could snatch a few moments sleep in the snow.
To prevent its being fatal or injurious, he made each man, previous to
lying down, drink freely of rye whiskey. Four long hours elapsed, by
which time the hardy patriots were completely under the snow, being
covered with nearly eight inches of it.
"The keenest eye, or acutest cunning, could not have detected in those
undulating hillocks aught but the natural irregularities of swampy
ground.
"At length, about two o'clock in the morning, John arrived with his
_devoted_ followers. They were right thankful for the shelter of the
shanty, and McPherson swore he would report John's generous conduct at
head-quarters, and procure him a deserved reward.
"'Wait,' said John; '_I have not done the half that I intend to do for
you_.'
"Nick, whose _bed_ was nearest the hovel, now arose, and placed himself
against it, that he might be ready to act when John's signal was given.
He first, however, awoke his men, without permitting them to rise, by
the summary process of slightly pricking each one with the sharp point
of a bayonet.
"The tories, stowed like sheep in the little hut, soon began to drink,
and, as they did so, became very valorous and boastful. McPherson,
singularly communicative to John, detailed his atrocities on the route
with savage exultation. He feared no assault--not he! He was strong
enough to repel any handful of half-starved, skulking outlaws. If he
caught any of the Cow-boys he would hang them to their own trees, and
manure the soil with the blood of their women.
"John had crept to the door by degrees, and now stood with his hand upon
the raised latchet. He applauded the officer's remarks, and was willing,
he said, to aid him in the deed he contemplated. He then proposed
a toast, and, filling a tin-cup with liquor, said in a loud voice,
'_Hurrah for Ginral Washington, and down with the red-coats_!' The
liquor was dashed in McPherson's face, and John vanished from the hut.
Nick immediately summoned his men by a repetition of the toast, and the
fifty hillocks of snow were suddenly changed, as if by magic, into as
many armed and furious 'rebels.' Before the Skinners could recover from
the momentary surprise into which this curious incident had thrown them,
a volley of powder and shot had been fired into their midst. Dashing
like a frightened hare through the open door, McPherson beheld his
assailants. His fears magnified their numbers, and, conceiving there was
no hope in _fight_, he summoned his men to follow him in _flight_.
"They madly rushed after him, and forcing their way through the dry
limbs of brush that stuck up on the banks of the lake, gained the frozen
surface. More than one half their number had taken this course, while
the rest had either fallen victims to the first fire, or taken to their
heels towards the main road. Suddenly a terrible crash was heard,
accompanied by a splash, and a hubbub of unearthly screams. The ice
had broken, and 'Dead Man's Lake' was accomplishing a victory for the
handful of American patriots who stood upon its banks.
"The result was, that over twenty of the Skinners were taken prisoners.
Only half-a-dozen were killed by fire-arms. The lake was examined at
sunrise, and fifteen bodies were drawn from its remorseless bosom. The
remainder, McPherson among them, escaped."
"That Nick Odell was nearly equal to old Nick himself in stratagems,"
said Wilson, when Smith had concluded.
"It's a wonder the men didn't freeze to death under the snow," said
Morton. "I think I should have been opposed to trying such a way of
disposing of myself."
"Oh! there 's no doubt about its keeping you warm," said old Harmar.
"How can cold snow keep men warm?" enquired Thomas Jefferson Harmar.
"I suppose," answered Higgins, "that it's much like blowing your warm
breath on anything hot to cool it."
As nobody seemed disposed to contradict this explanation, old Higgins
took it for granted that he was correct; and Thomas Jefferson was
satisfied.
[Illustration: DEFEAT OF THE SKINNERS AT DEADMAN'S LAKE.]
[Illustration: THE STORY OF THE HALF-BREED.]
STORY OF THE HALF-BREED.
"Now," said young Harmar, who, as a literary gentleman, was anxious to
collect as many incidents of the Revolution as he could from these old
men; "now, Mr. Higgins, you must oblige us by recalling something of
your experience."
"Ah!" replied Higgins, "if I could tell in words a small part of what I
know of the war, I'm sure I could interest you."
"We are not critical," said old Harmar. "Jackson may think of his
bookish notions sometimes; but he knows what kind of old men we are.
Narrate anything that comes uppermost."
"Well," commenced Higgins, "I'll tell you about an adventure of a
friend of mine, named Humphries, with a half-breed--that's horribly
interesting--if I can only recollect it." And, after a short pause, to
let his old memory bring up the incidents from the far past, Higgins
told the following story of revenge.
"In the country around Saratoga, when General Gates lay encamped there,
lived a half-breed Indian, called Blonay. He was well known in the
neighborhood as a fierce and outlawed character, who wandered and
skulked from place to place, sometimes pretending to be for the
Americans, and, at others, for the tories. He went anywhere, and did
everything to serve his own ends; but his whole life, and all his
actions, seemed centred in one darling object, and that was revenge.
He had deeply and fearfully sworn never to rest until he had drawn the
heart's blood of Humphries, a member of Morgan's corps, and his greatest
enemy. They had been mortal foes from boyhood, and a blow Humphries had
given Blonay had fixed their hatred for life. He had pursued him from
place to place with untiring vigilance, and had watched, day after day,
and month after month, for an opportunity to glut his revenge, but none
offered.
"One morning, Humphries and a comrade named Davis, with a negro servant
belonging to Marion's band, were standing on a small hill near the
encampment, when a strange dog suddenly appeared through the bushes, at
the sight of which Humphries seized his rifle, and raised it to his eye,
as if about to fire. The black was about to express his surprise at this
sudden ferocity of manner, when, noticing that the dog was quiet, he
lowered the weapon, and, pointing to the animal, asked Davis if he knew
it. 'I do; but can't say where I've seen him,' replied the other. 'And
what do you say, Tom?' he asked of the black, in tones that startled
him. 'Don't _you_ know that dog?' 'He face berry familiar, massa, but I
loss to recollect.' 'That's the cur of Blonay, and the bear-eyed rascal
must be in the neighborhood.' 'Do you think so?' inquired Davis. 'Think
so! I know so; and why should he be here if his master was not?' 'Tom,'
he continued, 'hit the critter a smart blow with your stick--hard enough
to scare him off, but not to hurt him; and do you move to the edge of
the creek, Davis, as soon as the dog runs off, for his master must be in
that direction, and I want to see him.'
"Thus ordering, he called two of the riflemen that were near, and sent
them on the path directly opposite to that taken by Davis. He himself
prepared to strike the creek at a point between these two. He then made
a signal, and Tom gave the dog a heavy blow, which sent him howling into
the swamp, taking, as they had expected, the very path he came. Blonay,
however, was not to be caught napping. He left the point from which
he was watching the camp, and running in a line for some fifty yards,
turned suddenly about for the point at which he had entered the swamp.
But he could not but have some doubts as to the adequacy of his
concealment. He cursed the keen scent of the dog, which he feared would
too quickly discover him to his pursuers. He hurried on, therefore,
taking the water at every chance, to leave as small a trail as possible;
but, from place to place, the cur kept after him, giving forth an
occasional yelp. 'Aroint the pup! there's no losin' him. If I had my
hand on him, I should knife him as my best caution,' exclaimed the
half-breed, as the bark of the dog, in making a new trail, showed the
success with which he pursued him. Exasperated, he rose upon a stump,
and saw the head of Humphries, who was still pressing on, led by the
cries of the dog.
"'I can hit him now,' muttered Blonay. 'It's not two hundred yards, and
I've hit a smaller mark than that at a greater distance, before now.'
"He raised the rifle and brought the sight to his eye, and would have
fired, but the next minute Humphries was covered by a tree. The dog came
on, and Blonay heard the voices of his pursuers behind; and just then
the dog reached him.
"The faithful animal, little knowing the danger into which he had
brought his master, leaped fondly upon him, testifying his joy by
yelping with his greatest vocal powers.
"With a hearty curse, Blonay grasped the dog by the back of the neck,
and, drawing the skin tightly across the throat, quickly passed the keen
edge of his knife but once over it, and then thrust the body from him.
Sheathing the knife and seizing his rifle, he again set forward, and did
not stop till he gained a small but thick under-brush. His pursuers
now came up to the dead body of the dog; seeing which, they considered
further pursuit hopeless.
"At this moment, sounds of a trumpet came from the camp, as the signal
to return. Humphries told the others to obey its summons, but avowed his
determination of pursuing Blonay until he or the other had fallen. After
they had left him, he again set forward, and walked very fast in the
direction he supposed his enemy had taken, and had not proceeded far ere
he saw his track in the mud, which he followed until it was lost among
the leaves. Darkness coming on, he gave up the chase until the next
morning. That night both slept in the swamp, not more than two hundred
yards apart, but unconscious of each other's locality. In the morning,
Humphries was the first to awake. Descending from the tree where he had
slept, he carefully looked around, thinking what he should do next.
While he thus stood, a slight noise reached his ears, sounding like
the friction of bark; a repetition of it showed where it came from. He
glanced at an old cypress which stood in the water near him, and saw
that its trunk was hollow, but did not look as if it would hold a man.
On a sudden, something prompted him to look upward, and, in the quick
glance he gave, the glare of a wild and well-known eye, peeping out upon
him from its woody retreat, met his gaze. With a howl of delight, he
raised his rifle, and the drop of the deadly instrument fell upon the
aperture; but before he could draw the trigger the object was gone. It
was Blonay, who, the moment he perceived the aim of Humphries' piece,
sank into the body of the tree.
"'Come out and meet your enemy like a man!' exclaimed Humphries, 'and
don't crawl, like a snake, into a hollow tree, and wait for his heel.
Come out, you skunk! You shall have fair fight, and your own distance.
It shall be the quickest fire that shall make the difference of chances
between us. Come out, if you're a man!' Thus he raved at him; but a
fiendish laugh was the only answer he got. He next tried to cut his legs
with his knife, by piercing the bark; but a bend of the tree, on which
Blonay rested, prevented him. He then selected from some fallen limbs
one of the largest, which he carried to the tree and thrust into the
hollow, trying to wedge it between the inner knobs on which the feet of
the half-breed evidently were placed. But Blonay soon became aware of
his design, and opposed it with a desperate effort. Baffled for a long
time by his enemy, Humphries became enraged, and, seizing upon a jagged
knot of light wood, he thrust it against one of the legs of Blonay.
Using another heavy knot as a mallet, he drove the wedge forward against
the yielding flesh, which became awfully torn and lacerated by the sharp
edges of the wood. Under the severe pain, the feet were drawn up, and
Humphries was suffered to proceed with his original design. The poor
wretch, thus doomed to be buried alive, was now willing to come to any
terms, and agreed to accept the offer to fight; but Humphries refused
him, exclaiming, 'No, you don't, you cowardly skunk! you shall die in
your hole, like a varmint as you are; and the tree which has been your
house shall be your coffin. There you shall stay, if hard chunks and
solid wood can keep you, until your yellow flesh rots away from your
bones. You shall stay there until the lightning rips open your coffin,
or the autumn winds tumble you into the swamp.' So saying, he left him,
and went back to the camp--left him to die in the old woods, where
no help could ever come; and in this wild and awful manner--buried
alive--perished the savage half-breed."
"That was an awful death, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Harmar. "That
Humphries must have been a very disagreeable fellow."
"And why so?" enquired Higgins. "The men in those parts of the country
were forced to be as fierce as their foes. Humphries was one of the
cleverest fellows I ever knew."
"A man after your own heart," remarked Smith. "A warm friend and a warm
foe. I know you, Higgins."
"You should know me, Smith, or no man should," replied Higgins,
evidently profoundly satisfied with himself.
"Many a time have we messed together," added Smith; "ay, and many a time
have we hunted in company for the food we made a mess of."
"Those times are gone," said old Harmar mournfully. "Those times are
gone."
"I wonder where?" put in Mrs. Harmar's youngest, looking up in her face
for an answer. She smoothed his hair, and shook her head.
STORY OF THE DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE.
"Speaking of awful deaths," said Morton, "reminds me of a scene I
witnessed at Saratoga, which I may as well tell you about, as young
Mr. Harmar seems anxious to hear anything relating to the war of
independence. You know there was an unconscionable number of tories up
there in New York State about the time of Burgoyne's invasion. Some of
them were honest, good sort of men, who didn't happen to think just as
we did: they kept at home, and did not lift their arms against us during
the war, though some of them were pretty hardly used by their whig
neighbors. Another set of the tories, however, acted upon the maxim that
'might makes right.' They were whigs when the royal power was weak, and
tories when they found it strong. Though raised in the same neighborhood
with the staunch whigs, these men turned robbers and murderers, and lost
all virtuous and manly feelings. Colonel Tom Lovelace was one of this
class: He was born and raised in the Saratoga district, and yet his old
neighbors dreaded him almost as much as if he had been one of the fierce
Senecas. When the war commenced, Lovelace went to Canada, and there
confederated with five men from his own district, to come down to
Saratoga, and kill, rob, or betray his old neighbors and friends.
There's no denying Lovelace was a bold, wary, and cunning fellow, and
he made the worst use of his qualities. He fixed his quarters in a
large swamp, about five miles from the residence of Colonel Van Vechten,
at Dovegat, and very cunningly concealed them.