REVOLUTIONARY DAYS
Though the present chapter in its title purports to tell of the days of
the war for independence, in reality this is but an arbitrary heading,
for we shall approach those days from the distance of a quarter of a
century. Not that there were at the beginning of this period any
distinct limits of demarcation from the days immediately preceding it:
the contrary was the case. But it is needful for the chronicler that he
have some point of departure in each of his progressive steps toward the
goal of to-day. The opening period of this chapter, therefore, is about
the year 1750. There are reasons for this, apart from the arbitrary whim
of the historian. Though not exactly in the year dividing the century,
yet about that time there began to be manifested a spirit of American
nationality such as had never before been shown. For the first time the
country began to appear to itself in the aspect of something more than
an aggregation of colonies, and to examine itself whether it were not in
truth a nation. From the Canadas to the Carolinas there began to be a
feeling of cohesion, a tardy and half-awake recognition of unity of
interests and race. There had come about a much-fractured and thinly
stretched chain of communication and continuity from north to south, and
this was having the effect of binding together the scattered settlements
in a feeling of union, which was in a way effectual in the shaping of
the history of women in America.
There were still--there ever must be--differences of manners and customs
and even of thought imposed by the geographical dwellings of the women
of the various sections; but there was withal a certain continuity and
persistence of type, and this was gathering strength to survive the
coming days of storm. During years of stress, in the face of treason to
itself at the hands of its own daughters as well as of foreign foes, it
did so survive and became the American woman of the early days of the
republic; but there was much of vicissitude to be borne
first--vicissitude not always recognized by the chroniclers of those
days, for it was rather of manner than of contest. It was the old
question of the survival of the fittest, with European complexity and
American simplicity contending for the prize; and the battle, though won
for the best, was not without compromise.
Before, however, fastening our gaze upon those yet distant days, let us
look at the woman of America as she appeared in the period preceding
that of storm. We have spoken of American simplicity, and, with all the
coming of luxury during the later years of the southern colonies, this
was still an attribute of the American woman; but it hardly applied to
her dress or outer guise in any respect. In the very year, 1750, with
which we have begun oir steps into the period of the Revolution, we find
in the _Pennsylvania Gazette_ an advertisement that is of present
interest to us as suggestive of the style of dress affected by the
household of one of the most typical Americans of his day:
"Whereas on Saturday night last the house of Benjamin Franklin of this
city, Printer, was broken open, and the following things feloniously
taken away, viz, a double necklace of gold beads, a womans long scarlet
cloak almost new, with a double cape, a womans gown, of printed cotton
of the sort called brocade print, very remarkable, the ground dark, with
large red roses, and other large and yellow flowers, with blue in some
of the flowers, with many green leaves; a pair of womens stays covered
with white tabby before, and dove colour'd tabby behind, with two large
steel hooks, and sundry other goods, etc."
It is evident that the family of Benjamin Franklin himself were somewhat
addicted to gauds and fripperies. About this same date, George
Washington is found writing to England for certain articles of dress for
his stepdaughter, Miss Custis, then but four years of age; and for this
miniature bit of humanity he orders such things as packthread stays,
stiff coats of silk, masks for her face, caps, bonnets, ruffles,
necklaces, fans, silk and calamanco shoes, and leather pumps, while for
her small hands were ordered eight pairs of kid mitts and four pairs of
gloves. We are told on excellent authority that at this time the
"Southern dames, especially of Annapolis, Baltimore, and Charleston,
were said to have the richest brocades and damasks that could be bought
in London." Small simplicity here; and the goodwives of New York and New
England were learning to follow their leaders in the fashions.
Yet in manners there was in the North still a leaven of the old Puritan
sternness. The Rev. Mr. Burnaby, who published a book called _Travels in
America in 1759_, records therein that when the captain of a British
man-of-war, who had left his wife at Boston while he was on a cruise,
was met by his spouse on his return, he very naturally kissed her in the
sight of all men, the meeting taking place on the public wharf. But this
act was against the statute which forbade kissing on the street as a
great indecency, and the reprobate captain was promptly haled before the
magistrates. It will hardly be believed that these gentlemen actually
sentenced the Englishman to be whipped and had the sentence executed;
and though to be whipped was not then considered a greater disgrace than
now to incur a fine, it is nevertheless pleasant to a modern to read
that the captain, when later he had become most popular in Boston,
invited his judges to a dinner on board his ship and there had them
triced up to the rigging and to each meted out the Scriptural forty
stripes save one. But the incident shows us the moral atmosphere of New
England at least in some of its parts; for it is unfortunately
undeniable that in Connecticut the abominable practice of "bundling" was
at the height of prevalence and popularity about 1750. The inevitable
reaction came a little later, however, and the fulminations of Jonathan
Edwards and his fellows at last came to have their effect; and by the
end of the Revolution the custom was no longer recognized by any
respectable community, with one or two marked exceptions, and these
exceptions ceased to be such before the coming of the new century. Yet
as late as 1775 we find the diary of Abigail Foote--from which we shall
later make a more edifying extract--recording as a matter of course the
fact of Ellen Foote, sister to the writer, bundling with a young man
"till sun about 3 hours high." It is pleasant to read that a few weeks
later the pair were "cried" and married.
Such were the curious contradictions of customs and morals found among
our Puritan forefathers: a man might not kiss his wife in the street,
but an unmarried woman might, if clothed, spend the night in bed with
her lover. There were many other contradictions of manners. For
instance, what could be more suggestive of utter simplicity than the
diary of Abigail Foote, to which reference has just been made? I will
quote an extract from it as an example of the life spent by young girls
of her time. Abigail wrote in 1775, and she lived in Colchester,
Connecticut. Here is a record of one of her days:
"Fix'd Gown for Prude Just to clear my teeth,--Mend Mother's
Riding-hood,--Ague in my face,--Ellen was spark'd last night,--Mother
spun short thread,--Fix'd two Gowns for Welch's girls,--Carded tow--spun
linen--worked on Cheese Basket,--Hatchel'd Flax with Hannah and we did
51 lb a piece,--Pleated and ironed,--Read a sermon of
Dodridge's,--Spooled a piece--milked the cows--spun linen and did 50
knots--made a broom of Guinea wheat straw,--Spun thread to whiten,--Went
to Mr. Otis's and made them a swinging visit,--Israel said I might ride
his jade,--Set a red Dye,--Prude stayed at home and learned Eve's Dream
by heart,--Had two scholars from Mrs. Taylor's--I carded two pounds of
whole wool and felt Nationly,--Spun harness twine,--Scoured the Pewter."
The information concerning Ellen is to us more suggestive than
interesting, and why to card two pounds of wool should make anyone feel
"Nationly" is not clear; but we can gather from the candid diary of
young Mistress Foote a fair idea of the life of the young lady of that
day. Varying with section in customs and application, it was yet typical
in its way and speaks volumes of the simple and admirable training of
the women of the period. But, being on the search for contradictions at
this time, look upon this picture of the elaborate headdresses worn at
that period, found in a letter from Anna Green Winslow:
"I had my heddus roll on. Aunt Storer said it ought to be made less,
Aunt Deming said it ought not to be made at all. It makes my head ach
and burn and itch like anything Mama. This famous Roll is not made
wholly of a Red-Cow Tail but is a mixture of that & horsehair very
coarse & and a little human hair of a yellow hue that I suppose was
taken out of the back part of an old wig. But D. made it, all carded
together and twisted up. When it first came home, Aunt put it on, and my
new cap upon it; she then took up her apron and measured me & from the
roots of my hair on my forehead to the top of my notions I measured
above an inch longer than I did downward from the roots of my hair to
the end of my chin. Nothing renders a young person more amiable than
Virtue and Modesty without the help of fals hair, Red-Cow Tail or D. the
barber."
In this letter, written in 1771, Mistress Winslow treats the matter
jocularly and even wittily; but it was a grave enough affair, that of
the "heddus," to the average dame of the day. We are told that "the
front hair was pulled up over a stuffed cushion or roll, and mixed with
powder and grease; the back hair was strained up in loops or short
curls, surrounded and surmounted with ribbons, pompons, aigrettes,
jewels, gauze, and flowers and feathers, till the structure was half a
yard in height." Fashion in this wise had gone to even greater extremes
in other lands; but there was not much of colonial simplicity about this
sort of thing. We are not told directly whether Abigail Foote, the
spinner and carder, wore such a monstrosity as that described when she
went to pay her "swinging visit" to the Otis family; but even if she
personally avoided such extremes, yet these flagrant contradictions were
in constant evidence in the life and garb of the New England woman of
that day, nor were her more southern sisters far behind her in their
disregard of consistency, even though they manifested it in variant
ways. In good and evil projections, all these things have survived and
combined in the American woman of the present, though not in their old
aspects.
It was about the beginning of the named period that there happened in
Virginia a charming incident in which is displayed a feminine trait
worthy of chronicle, even if universal in nationality. At the famous
college of William and Mary there lived a bachelor professor by the name
of John Camm. He had reached the period of life that we euphemistically
call "middle age" when there came the end of his bachelorhood in this
wise: Among those who listened to his exhortations--for he was preacher
as well as professor--was Miss Betsy Hansford, of the family of the
Hansford of "Bacon's Rebellion," known as rebel or martyr according to
the sympathies of the speaker. She was a pretty maiden, and she was
besieged with offers from the youth of the neighborhood, among others,
from one who, having himself unsuccessfully pleaded his suit, bethought
him of obtaining the services of the gifted divine as intermediary. The
latter was willing to undertake the somewhat delicate part assigned to
him, and he proceeded to show to the obdurate maiden that matrimony was
a holy and much-to-be-desired state, fortifying his position with
citations from the Bible. When it came to the quotation of texts,
however, Miss Betsy proved herself an adept by telling Mr. Camm that her
reason for refusing her young suitor might be discovered by an
examination of II. Samuel, xii, 7. Home fared Mr. Camm in search of a
Bible, for the young lady refused to lend him one, and there he found
that the text read: "And Nathan said unto David, Thou art the man."
Stronger hint could hardly be given and was not needed; for the Rev.
John Camm and Betsy Hansford, spinster, were shortly afterward married.
The Virginia Betsy thus fairly rivalled the Puritan Priscilla, and
perhaps surpassed her in the delicacy of her hint.
But darker days were coming, when there was to be but little thought of
marrying and giving in marriage; and already the shadow of those days
was felt by womanhood throughout our land. If the women did not as yet
feel the actual presence of the storm, they saw their husbands and
brothers and fathers go heavily for the fear of the days to come, and
they saw the land becoming divided into two hostile camps. The time was
fast nearing when the women of the country would be called upon to show
that they knew as well as any man of them all the meaning of patriotism,
when they would become the very nerves, as the men were the sinews, of
the land in its distress. Darker grew the days and more serious became
the bearing of the women as well as the men. Nor would the former be
excluded from the counsels of their country; though they might not take
place in the public meetings, they inspired the thoughts of the men who
there poured forth a flood of patriotism that could not be stayed. It
was the gaze of his wife, as she sat in an 'agony of suspense among the
audience, that roused Patrick Henry to the splendid effort that lost the
"Parsons" their case and gave him that fame which culminated in the
House of Burgesses when there was question between patriotism and
prudence; and doubtless it was the home council that sent him forth to
do his duty that day and kindle the fire that was to sweep over the land
until British misrule had been "burnt and purged away." That is
speculation, not history; but we know by record the spirit of the women
when there came the days of proof.
Before, however, embarking upon the subject of the women of the
Revolution proper, there may be described the personalities of two
remarkable women who flourished during the period which is being
considered, but whose lives were spent in the conflict of religious
discussion and not that of arms. For some reason,--possibly because of
national liberty of opinions and speech,--America has always been
preeminently the nursery of the female religious fanatic. The eighteenth
century, in its latter half, gave to the world two remarkable examples
of the female apostle; and though but few vital memories of either
survive, yet these women are worthy of place in this record for their
singular, though limited and temporary, influence, and for the
resemblance in certain ways, at least of one of them, to one of the most
prominent feminine leaders in our own day.
About 1770, the influence and power of a woman named Anne Lee became
acknowledged among a strange community, the Shakers. We are told that
through her at this time "the present testimony of salvation and eternal
life was fully opened, according to the special gift and revelation of
God,"--words that are not unfamiliar to us of the present day in
application to another woman,--and that she was received by the Society
as their "spiritual Mother." Later we find that from "the light and
power of God which attended her ministry, she was received and
acknowledged as the first _Mother_ or spiritual parent, in the line
female; and the second heir in the Covenant of Life, according to the
present display of the Gospel." Even to this day, she is called by her
few remaining followers "The Mother;" but she herself always claimed a
yet higher and, to sober thought, blasphemous title, saying of herself
on many occasions, "I am Anne, _the Word._" She was not an American by
birth, but came to this country in 1774, attended by a few followers who
believed in her pretensions,--her husband, Abraham Stanley, being among
them, and on our shore attained fame and following.
On the voyage, the ship as we are told with much gravity, though the
tale is hardly original--sprang a leak and was in grave peril of
sinking; but the "Mother" put her own hands to the pumps, and under her
supernatural force the water was soon ejected. Anne remained in New York
about two years and then went to Nisqueuna; where she spent the
remainder of her life amid her worshippers, save that, in 1781, she made
a progress through several parts of the country, particularly New
England, and was received with scorn by some and worship by others. She
died at Nisqueuna in 1784, having in her brief residence in our country
attained a notoriety which remained, in its way, unequalled for more
than a century. The estimate in which she was held may best be judged
from the concluding stanza of a "poem," written by one of her
enthusiastic followers:
"How much they are mistaken who think that Mother's dead,
When through her ministrations so many souls are fed!
In union with the Father, she is the second Eve,
Dispensing full salvation to all who do believe."
Thus, in almost all ways,--in her title, in her assumption of a nature,
but little, if at all, lower than that of the Deity, and in the devotion
with which she inspired her followers,--Anne Lee was the prototype of
the most notable woman of our day in America. But Anne Lee is now, a
brief century after her death, held in memory only by a few
uninfluential and rapidly lessening people; and in this also she may
prove the true prototype.
The second and less noted of the two women religious leaders who will
find record in this chapter was Jemima Wilkinson, who was born in Rhode
Island in 1753, thus being a native American. When she was about
twenty-three years old she was taken seriously ill, and during the
illness suffered from suspended animation. Of this circumstance she took
advantage by giving out that she had been dead, and that during her
absence from the world she had been invested with divine attributes and
authority to instruct mankind in religion. By virtue of her delegated
powers she professed to be able to foretell the future, to discern the
secrets of the heart, and to have the power to cure any disease; and, as
is generally the case with such impostors, failure to heal was accounted
for by want of faith in the uncured individual. All these pretensions
have a familiar sound, and the present century cannot boast a great--or
at least universal--advance in such matters beyond its predecessors; but
Jemima made a dangerous innovation, not adopted by her rivals ancient
and modern, when she professed to be able to work miracles and offered
to demonstrate her powers in this respect by walking upon water. A frame
was constructed on the banks of Seneca Lake, and a crowd assembled to
see the test; but the matter ended in absurdity, for the prophetess, on
driving up in an elegant carriage, descended to the shore and entered
the lake to the depth of her ankles; then, turning to the assembled
people, she inquired if they had faith that she could accomplish the
miracle, since without that faith she could do nothing of herself. She
received unanimous answer in the affirmative; whereupon, rather
logically than effectively, she replied that in that case there was no
need for her to perform the miracle, and incontinently returned to her
carriage and drove away! This was ingenious, but hardly convincing, one
would think; yet Jemima lost little, if any, of her prestige by this
fiasco. She was called by her followers "The Universal Friend," perhaps
with double meaning, since she was educated by the Friends, and in some
ways professed the tenets of their sect,--and in 1790 led a small but
enthusiastic band of worshippers to a tract in western New York, near
Penn Van, where, at a place called Jerusalem, the inspired prophetess
and thaumaturgist died in 1819. As late as 1850 some of her credulous
followers still existed, but they are now practically extinct.
Though neither of these women exercised any formative effect upon the
American woman of the present, they were typical of a certain class of
perverted femininity, and remarkable in their resemblance to later idols
of their kind, and are thus worthy of chronicle. They are well cleared
from our way, however, and we may turn to more pleasant themes in the
story of the truer representatives of American womanhood of the
mid-eighteenth century.
The name of one--the first in many ways--of these representatives will
involuntarily rise to the thought, if not to the lips, of every reader
of this book,--the name of Mary Washington, the mother of him who is
still generally regarded as the greatest of Americans. It may be that
the fame of Mary Washington is vicarious, that it rests entirely upon
the character and exploits of her great son; but this, as with most of
the verdicts of history, is not well deserved. The greatness of George
Washington may not be called in question; but it is no treason to
assert--he would have been the first to acknowledge--that the
foundations of that greatness, both of character and achievement, were
the handiwork of his mother. She was herself great in all the qualities
that make for grandeur in womanhood. Here is what is said of her by one
of her biographers:
"She was remarkable for vigor of intellect, strength of resolution, and
inflexible firmness wherever principle was concerned. Devoted to the
education of her children, her parental government and guidance have
been described by those who knew her as admirably adapted to train the
youthful mind to wisdom and virtue. With her, affection was regulated by
a calm and just judgment. She was distinguished, moreover, by that well
marked quality of genius, a power of acquiring and maintaining influence
over those with whom she associated. Without inquiring into the
philosophy of this mysterious ascendancy, she was content to employ it
for the noblest ends. It contributed, no doubt, to deepen the effect of
her instructions."
This is critical rather than enthusiastic praise, and therefore the more
worthy to be trusted. Nor are all Mrs. Washington's virtues here set
down. She was a woman of exemplary piety of the good old quietist
school; she was religious without being theological. She was a notable
housewife and manager, and she earned the fine old title of "lady" by
being indeed an almsgiver, though her lack of wealth limited her power
in this respect. Her already quoted biographer, in her somewhat stilted
but earnest language, says: "Her charity to the poor was well known; and
having not wealth to distribute, it was necessary that what her
benevolence dispensed should be supplied by domestic economy and
industry. How peculiar a grace," adds our biographer, with well
modulated enthusiasm, "does this impart to the benefits flowing from a
sympathizing heart!"
La Fayette said of Madam Washington that she belonged to the times of
Sparta and ancient Rome rather than to those of his own day; and Mrs.
Sigourney, whose fame as a poet has now failed, but who once was held in
high esteem, thus wrote on the occasion of laying the cornerstone for
the monument erected at Fredericksburg:
"Methinks we see thee, as in olden times,
Simple in garb, majestic and serene,
Unawed by 'pomp and circumstance' in truth
Inflexible and with a Spartan zeal
Repressing vice and making folly grave.
Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste
Life in inglorious sloth, to sport awhile
Amid the flowers, or on the summer wave,
Then fleet like the ephemeron away,
Building no temple in her children's hearts,
Save to the vanity and pride of life
Which she had worshipped."
Better sentiment than poetry, perhaps; but serving to show concerning
Mary Washington the thought of a day nearer to her, and therefore truer
in judgment than our own.
Withal, Madam Washington was a woman of the most perfect simplicity of
bearing and of character. When her illustrious son returned to her after
leading the armies of his country to their final victory, she talked
with him of his perils and privations, of old friends, of her home and
affairs; but said no word of the glory which he had won. To her he was
still her son, and not the great general or even the beloved patriot. At
the ball given that night in his honor she appeared "arrayed in the very
plain, yet becoming garb worn by the Virginia lady of the olden time.
Her address, always dignified and imposing, was courteous, though
reserved. She received the complimentary attentions which were profusely
paid her, without evincing the slightest elevation; and at an early
hour, wishing the company much enjoyment of their pleasures, and
observing that it was time for old people to be at home, retired,
leaning, as before, on the arm of her son."
When La Fayette, exuberant Frenchman that he was, in her presence
eulogized to the skies the prowess and deeds of his chief, the mother of
that chief replied, with a simplicity admirably contrasting with the
high-flown encomiums of the marquis: "I am not surprised at what George
has done, for he was always a very good boy." Goodness and greatness
were undisseverable in her mind. She was the Madame Mere of this country
in station and the gift of a hero to the world; but greater contrast
than that existing between the two women in all other respects--save
perhaps in strength of will and purpose--could hardly be conceived; and
the world will surely always accord the palm for true greatness to Madam
Washington rather than to the mother of Napoleon.
It was in character and gift to the nation only, and not in incident,
that the life of Madam Washington deserves chronicle; and others now
demand notice in this chapter. Though the wife of Washington will be
spoken of in an ensuing chapter, as being the first of the "first ladies
of the land," mention must not be omitted of one whose very existence
has been well-nigh forgotten--the sister of Washington. Of her, it is
true, there is little to be gathered; but we are told that "she was a
most majestic woman, and so strikingly like the brother that it was a
matter of frolic to throw a cloak around her and place a military hat
upon her head; and such was the perfect resemblance that had she
appeared on her brother's steed, battalions would have presented arms
and senates risen to do homage to the chief." Further she was not noted,
and she lived her life in quiet, hardly coming within the radiance cast
around by the deeds done by her illustrious brother. Only for his sake
does she deserve notice here.
Hardly to that brother did the country owe greater debt than to the
women whom it had nurtured. Patriotic as were the majority of American
men, ready to suffer as well as to die in the cause of country, they
were less patriotic, and their endurance was less splendid, than that
shown by the women of our land. The patriotism evinced itself in many
different ways; sometimes in mere sallies of wit, as with the famous
Miss Franks, the daughter of a Jewish merchant. Rebecca Franks was
celebrated for her wit and accomplishments. She was a loyalist at heart,
and afterward married Sir Henry Johnson, an English general; but her
keen jests at the expense of the British did not impress them with her
devotion to their cause. When, at a ball in New York, Sir Henry Clinton,
then holding on with rapidly relaxing grasp to English dominance in
America, called to the musicians to play _Britons, strike home!_ Miss
Franks remarked that what he should have said was "Britons, go home!"
Other ironies are credited to her; but none, probably, having such keen
point as the repartee of a South Carolina maiden, in whose presence
Colonel Tarleton spoke sneeringly of Colonel Washington and wished he
"could see this paragon!" "Had you looked behind you at the battle of
the Cowpens, Colonel Tarleton," replied the young lady, "you would have
had that pleasure!" Whereat the hard-fighting dragoon, who on that day
had run harder than he had fought, was much discomfited.
This was the spirit of the American patriot woman; but it often evinced
itself in ways more serviceable to the cause of freedom. When Washington
was encamped at White Marsh a surprise was planned against him; and it
would undoubtedly have proved exceedingly disastrous had not the plan
been overheard by Lydia Darrah, who lived in the house on Second Street,
Philadelphia, opposite the mansion occupied by General Howe, where the
plan was discussed, the family being supposed to be in bed. Lydia
returned to her room after her espionage and had the nerve to remain
quiet, as if asleep, when one of the officers knocked on her door to
inform her that the conclave was over. Then, with quick ingenuity, she
told her husband, a loyalist, that there was need of flour and that she
must go to Frankford to procure it; and, having on this pretext secured
egress from the British lines, she hastened to White Marsh. On her way
she met Colonel Craig, of the light horse, and to him confided her
secret; then, with lightened heart, she hastened back and managed to
return unsuspected. The surprise consequently failed; but the part
played by the demure little Quakeress was never guessed, though the
British knew that some one had betrayed their plan to the American
general. Had they suspected, it must have gone hard with Lydia; but she
escaped the consequences of her brave act, which might have been death,
while her country reaped the benefits thereof.
Not so marked by the evidence of personal courage, yet splendid in its
patriotic self-sacrifice, was the spirit shown by Rebecca Motte when her
house was occupied by the British soldiery under McPherson and besieged
by Marion and Lee. McPherson's position was apparently impregnable; and
he was holding out in anticipation of the coming of Lord Rawdon with a
large force. Mrs. Motte was a firm friend of the American cause and had
often bestowed generous hospitality upon the American officers,
including Lee himself. To burn the house seemed to be the sole means of
dislodging McPherson; but how could the friends of liberty destroy the
property of one so devoted to the cause as Mrs. Motte, a widow, and one
who had often nursed back to life some stricken Continental soldier? But
Mrs. Motte overheard the discussion, and she assured the leaders that
she "was gratified with the opportunity of contributing to the good of
her country and should view the approaching scene with delight."
Moreover, when the generals had reluctantly determined upon the measure,
she gave them a bow and arrows, which had been imported from India, that
by this means the flaming combustibles might be shot upon her roof. The
plan was carried out and McPherson forced to surrender, while the house
was burned to the ground. Mrs. Motte contemplated the destruction of her
home with an unmoved smile, and busied herself in succoring and caring
for the wounded--Tory as well as Whig, for suffering annihilates such
distinctions--with a heart apparently as free from care and rejoicing in
victory as if she had gained rather than lost by the day's work.
Another daughter of South Carolina, which State claimed Mrs. Motte as
its own, displayed on more than one occasion qualities that fell nothing
short of heroism. Martha Bratton was the wife of a revolutionary
colonel, and she lived in a spot in York District that was exposed to
all the storm of war that swept over the devoted State. Her husband was
peculiarly obnoxious to the Tories, and Captain Huck or--Huyck, as it is
spelled in the order of his commanding officer--was dispatched, after a
severe defeat inflicted upon the loyal forces by troops under Colonel
Bratton, to compel by force the wife to betray the husband into British
hands. A soldier under Huck's command actually placed a reaping-hook at
Mrs. Bratton's throat when she refused to reveal the whereabouts of her
husband, and Huck did not interfere; but his second in command, with
more decency, even if with a suspicion of insubordination, interposed in
the lady's behalf, though not until she had looked death in the face for
a time and had not recoiled. Threats were of no avail, and finally Huck
abandoned his purpose as impracticable. The next day brought vengeance
upon him for his brutality, for he was attacked by Colonel Bratton with
a far smaller force, himself killed, and his troops utterly routed. The
officer who had interfered in behalf of Mrs. Bratton was taken prisoner
and might have been hanged by the enraged Whigs had not the lady
fortunately recognized him in time to preserve his life by her story of
debt to him. Another anecdote of Mrs. Bratton attests her heroic
firmness of character. Ammunition was very scarce with both patriots and
Tories, and a portion of that sent by Governor Rutledge to the former
had been confided to the care of Colonel Bratton and by him placed in an
outhouse on his place. News of this came to some loyalists, who at once,
in the absence of Colonel Bratton, organized a foray to seize the
powder. But Mrs. Bratton was warned in time, and she immediately laid a
train of powder to the outhouse, took her stand at the end of the train,
and when the enemy appeared set fire to the train and blew up the
outhouse with its valuable contents. The officer in command of the
forayers was furious at being thus outwitted and demanded to know the
perpetrator of the deed. Mrs. Bratton did not flinch. "It was I who did
it," she replied. "Let the consequence be what it will, I glory in
having prevented the mischief contemplated by the cruel enemies of my
country." One hardly knows whether the more to admire the gallant
bearing of the lady or the coolness which led her to await the actual
coming of the enemy and not to destroy such valuable property until the
necessity for doing so became immediate.
These were but types, though pronounced ones, of the spirit that was
almost universal among the patriot women of America during those stormy
and fateful days. It was to be found dominant throughout the land, from
New England to the Carolinas, though of course it was more evident, and
possibly more fervent, in those districts where the war actually set its
foot. In feeling at least, women, when once aroused, are more intensely
militant than men, as they are more patient and constant under
suffering; and it was to the women quite as much as to the men that our
country owed its escape from the British yoke. The display of the
feeling varied in its manifestations; but that feeling was ever present
in the hearts of the American women of the revolutionary times. The
ladies of Boston who abandoned, in the days of oppression, their cup of
tea that the abhorrent taxes might not be enforced showed the same true
patriotism, only needing opportunity to call it to higher pitch, as did
their sisters who bore the insults and outrages of a brutal soldiery
when Tarleton rode across stricken South Carolina and planted a hatred
that bore fruit in the ambush and the night attack. The women of New
England bound upon the backs of husbands and sons and even fathers the
old knapsack and placed in their hands the old musket and sent them
forth, ready to go, yet full of fears for those left behind, to
Lexington and Bunker Hill.
It must not, however, be supposed that all the enthusiasm, all the depth
of feeling, all the patriotism even, was in the camp, feminine or
masculine, of the Continentals. Among the Tories, or Loyalists, as they
liked best to call themselves, there were many hearts which beat with
true devotion to their country, yet which believed that country's best
duty, because its highest, was to be found in loyalty to the king.
Especially was this the case in New York and Philadelphia, which were
the strongholds of British possession. It is true that there were many,
women as well as men, even more of the former, whose loyalty was but
lip-service, who cherished in their hearts a devotion to the cause of
freedom to which they dared not give utterance for fear of oppression;
but there were also many who loved the flag of England as the banner of
all that was truest and best, and who looked upon the resisters of
British authority as rebels of the baser sort. They were as honest as
were their opponents, and they were as fanatical; and they are entitled
to the same respect for their devotion to a losing cause as are their
rivals for their loyalty to one that was victorious.
In 1778 there was held in the staid city of Philadelphia a certain
entertainment given by the officers of Sir William Howe to their
general, which was to pass into history under the name of the
Meschianza, or the Medley. It was a most gorgeous pageant, wherein were
tournament and feat and dance; and to it came most of the belles of
Philadelphia, forgetful of or uncaring for the army of their brethren,
ragged and barefooted, and still suffering from their winter of starving
amid the snows of Valley Forge. The loyalist ladies were in full
feather, more literally than would now be the case, the nodding plume
then adorning the head of the dame as frequently as it did the helmet of
the soldier. Present are such famous toasts as Miss Becky Franks, Miss
Peggy Chew, Miss Nancy White, Miss Becky Bond, and others. The Misses
Shippen, equal to any in beauty and wit, do not grace the occasion by
their charms; they have fully intended to be present, and have even
ordered Turkish dresses for the occasion, 'since fancy costumes are _en
règle_; but there has been issued a parental ukase to the contrary, Mr.
Edward Shippen at the last moment declining to allow his daughters to
make merry with the foes of his country, or it may be that the
appearance of the Turkish dresses in the eyes of his Quaker neighbors
has influenced his decision, for Mr. Shippen is not a patriot. But there
are enough without these ladies, and the merriment is unalloyed. It is a
typical scene, this of the Meschianza, even though never before has the
revel been of such ornate character; for the belles of New York and
Philadelphia and the macaronis of the army often forget the perils of
war in the delights of the social function, unmindful of the waxing or
waning of the patriot or the royal cause.
Of those present at the Meschianza there was one whose romance merits
note in these pages, Miss Peggy Chew. Among the officers who on that day
and night tilted and danced with the best was one Major John Andre, and
his motto of "No Rival" was carried out at least in his connection with
Miss Chew. That they were betrothed was the general belief; that they
were lovers may be set down as certain. But a little more than two years
later Major Andre, technically if not actually guilty of being a spy,
was led beneath the fatal tree at Tappan, and poor Peggy Chew's romance
was over forever. If we could leave her in her sorrow to weep for her
lover and the overthrown cause of her king, she might pass down as one
of the ideal heroines of sad romance; but fact somewhat hampers our
sympathy with the lady, for some seven years after the death of Andre,
Miss Chew married General John Eager Howard, the staunch fighter of the
Cowpens; and the general, as was but natural, always denied, even with
strange oaths, that his wife had ever cared for one who to him was but a
common spy.
So the belle of the Meschianza changed her political faith with her love
loyalty; but another who has been named in connection with that
entertainment shamed many a woman in faith of another kind. With her
sisters, Miss Peggy Shippen had been held from the revel; but she had
been toasted there. Yet she became, but a short time afterward, the wife
of one of the most gallant soldiers that ever drew sword for the cause
of America, Benedict Arnold. Had he been as true as he was brave he
might have left an honored name; and, even as it was, though history has
not yet done justice in this wise, Arnold's bitter resentment toward the
ungrateful Continental Congress was not without reason and excuse;
nevertheless, his action resulting therefrom was unpardonable. In his
treason, as was but natural, his splendid services were forgotten by his
countrymen; but his wife was true to him in his degradation as in his
glory. In an interview with Washington at West Point she even went so
far as to accuse the commander-in-chief of conspiring to murder her
infant as well as to degrade her husband; and we can forgive, as did
Washington, even this to the tortured woman. During his residence in
England after the Revolution, Arnold said to an Englishman who had met
him casually and, being unaware of his personality, knowing only his
nationality, asked him for some letters of introduction to be used in a
purposed trip to America: "Sir, I am the only American in the world
whose introduction would do you more harm than good; I am Benedict
Arnold." There was here more than the bitterness of ostracism; but that
bitterness, which made all his life a torment, never repelled his wife
or caused her faith and love to swerve. She was loyal with even a higher
loyalty than that given by her sisters of America to the cause of her
country, for she was faithful in heart as in deed to one who had in all
ways proved unworthy of faith.
It was this same Arnold who was mentioned in the diary of another belle
of Philadelphia, Miss Sally Wister, when she wrote: "Our brave, our
heroic General Washington was escorted by fifty of the Life Guard, with
drawn swords. Each day he acquires an addition to his goodness. We have
been very anxious to know how the inhabitants of Philadelphia have
fared. I understand that General Arnold, who bears a good character, has
the command of the city." She was writing from the Foulks estate, in
Montgomery County, where she was staying for a time, and her diary,
which concludes with the above quoted entry, is full of such warm
expressions of patriotism that none can doubt that Miss Sally, who died
a spinster, placed the cause of America even before the attractions of
such men as Major Stoddert and Captain Dandridge, who vainly attempted
to influence her to "change her condition," as the quaint old phrase
puts it.
The days of the Revolution were full of romance as well as of sterner
history, and while the women of Massachusetts and the Carolinas, as well
as those of interior Pennsylvania and rural New York, proved themselves
made of sterner stuff than is the custom to expect from their sex, the
belles of the great cities--great only for their times--of New York and
Philadelphia flirted and danced and jested and made themselves in all
ways agreeable to the red-clad soldiers of England. It may be that these
last ladies unwittingly and against their will served the cause of their
country by enervating the soldiers of the king and keeping them from the
sterner training which was making hardy veterans of the Continentals.
But romance and the stern aspects of war were not infrequently blended
in strange fashion, as in the case of Mary Piper--better known as Polly
Piper--of Boston, who was loved by a British soldier named Samuel Lee.
Before the beginning of the struggle the Pipers moved to Concord; and
when the "regulars" marched upon that place to secure the ammunition
which was reported to General Gage as being stored there, Lee went with
his regiment. But his heart was not in his work: love had taught him
something, and he no longer, as at first, looked upon all Americans as
benighted savages and their cause as flat treason. Miss Polly had
scorned his suit as that of a British soldier, and this fact had worked
a result. In the "running fight" at Concord he did not fire his musket;
but he was shot as he ran from the field and was carried, severely
wounded, into a house where the stricken were being cared for. A woman
bent over him; and he opened his eyes to meet those of Polly Piper. He
recovered, but not to serve again as a soldier of England; he returned
no more to the red flag, but married Miss Polly and lived quietly in
Concord until his death in 1790. Thus love won from the enemies of
America at least one sword, and thus was romance justified of its works.
The patriotic spirit which flamed throughout the land burned with no
steadier or more brilliant glow than among the women. All are familiar
with the famous picture entitled _The Spirit of '76_; but that picture
is incomplete. The octogenarian and the boy should be waved upon their
march by the wife and the mother, sending husband and son forth to peril
or death, while they themselves turn with a smile to the bearing of
privation or actual starvation. Not more strongly and nobly did the
"spirit of '76" flourish in the hearts of the sons of the oppressed
country than in those of its daughters, nor was the response more
splendid.
There was no distinction of high and low. The stately dame, lapped in
luxury all her days and a stranger to hardship or even anxiety, gave up
to her country's cause her dearest joys, and not only sent husband or
son to the forefront of the battle, but herself, if she was in the path
of war, bore unflinchingly the outrages of an incensed soldiery and saw
her home given to the flames and the very lives of herself and her
children threatened, and yet thought it not too great a price to pay for
her country's liberty. The wife of the humble tiller of the soil, with
perhaps even more complete, though hardly as recognized, surrender of
self, sent forth with cheery words the breadwinner, the support of
herself and her children, and turned with grand courage to keep them and
herself from hunger, while her goodman was fighting for the rescue of
his native land from oppression. Each bore her part, and all with no
reserve of gift.
The ebullition of the feminine spirit of those days was often little
less than fanatical in nature. Women do nothing by halves; they are
faithful lovers and enthusiastic haters, and they are not always
governed in either feeling by the monitions of unbiased justice or even
judgment. In a letter from Mrs. Hannah Winthrop, of Cambridge, we find a
reference to the fight at Lexington, which, in all its stiltedness of
language, shows the fiery and bitter hatred that was held by patriot
women for the enemies of their country: "Nor can she ever forget, nor
will old Time ever erase, the horrors of that midnight cry, preceding
the bloody massacre at Lexington, when we were roused from the benign
slumbers of the season by beat of drum and ringing of bells, with the
dire alarm that a thousand of the troops of George the Third had gone
forth to murder the peaceful inhabitants of the surrounding villages. A
few hours, with the dawning day, convinced us the bloody purpose was
executing; the platoon firing assured us that the rising sun must
witness the bloody carnage. Not knowing what the event would be at
Cambridge, at the return of these bloody ruffians, and seeing another
brigade dispatched to the assistance of the former, looking with the
ferocity of barbarians, it seemed necessary to retire to some place of
safety, till the calamity was passed."
The lady is evidently overfond of a certain epithet of sanguinary
denotation, nor can she be complimented upon her high-flown style; but
it is evident that behind the affectation of phrase there is an intense
earnestness of hatred that stands as typical of its sexual source. To
the patriot women of America the British were "ruffians" and
"barbarians" and the most bloody-minded of human beings just as to the
Loyalists the Continentals were "rebels" and "traitors," for whom
hanging would have been a punishment so mild as to suggest weakness in
the administrator. To the patriot woman poor old George III. was the
very incarnation of all evil and malice, just as to the Tory lady
another George was the vilest of ingrates to lead the armies of the
rebels against the authority of so gracious a king as he of England.
Both were honest in their extremes of fanaticism and so may well be
pardoned, and even admired, for those extremes, with their resultant
enthusiasm in the cause of freedom or loyalty.
Meanwhile there existed, though hardly flourished, the gentler arts
among the women of America; and Mercy Warren, wife of James Warren and
daughter of James Otis, she to whom Mrs. Winthrop's letter was
addressed, wielded a more refined and therefore more effective pen than
that of her friend, being the one female writer of her day who may be
called notable. She was hardly less enthusiastic than Mrs. Winthrop in
the cause of liberty, and she was possessed of a very respectable gift
of satire which made her writings a power in their way. When there was
discussed among the colonists the plan of suspending all commerce with
Great Britain because of the vexed matter of the taxes, Mrs. Warren
wrote a long poetic effusion which exemplifies her gift of satire, of
which the best lines are these:
"'Tis true, we love the courtly mien and air,
The pride of dress, and all the debonair:
Yet Clara quits the more dressed negligé,
And substitutes the careless polancé;
Until some fair one from Britannia's court
Some jaunty dress, or newer taste, import;
This sweet temptation could not be withstood,
Though for the purchase paid her father's blood,
Though loss of freedom were the costly price,
Or flaming comets sweep the angry skies,
Or earthquakes rattle, or volcanoes roar;
Indulge this trifle, and she asks no more.
Can the stern patriot Clara's suit deny?
'Tis beauty asks, and reason must comply."
This is very fair satire, though it would have been better had the
comets and earthquakes and volcanoes, which clearly would not be
influenced by Clara's folly, been omitted from the lines; but, though
doubtless the rebuke was merited by a few of the irresponsible and
thoughtless girls of the day who made of fashion their one object of
worship, the poem is a libel if applied to the majority of American
women of the day, who sacrificed more than the whims of fashion in their
devotion to the needs of their native land.
Mrs. Warren, however, did better work than that which has been cited.
Her history of the Revolution was much admired and for years remained
one of the standard works upon the subject, though it might be difficult
to find a dozen copies of the book at the present time. It was rather
personal in some of its political references, and its portrait of Adams
brought about a rupture in the friendship that had long existed between
the Warrens and the Adamses; but this was but for a time. Mrs. Warren's
style was tainted with the affectation so prevalent in that day, and she
was profuse in classical allusion, as were the majority of the authors
of her period. She writes thus to Mr. Adams at the time of the calling
together of the first Continental Congress: "Though you have
condescended to ask my sentiments, in conjunction with those of a
gentleman qualified both by his judgment and his integrity, as well as
his attachment to the interest of his country, to advise at this
important crisis, yet I shall not be so presumptuous as to offer
anything but my fervent wishes that the enemies of America may hereafter
for ever tremble at the wisdom and firmness, the prudence and justice of
the delegates deputed from our cities, as much as did the Phocians of
old at the power of the Amphictyons of Greece. But if the Locrians
should in time appear among you, I advise you to beware of choosing an
ambitious Philip as your leader. Such a one might subvert the principles
on which your institution is founded, abolish your order, and build up a
monarchy on the ruins of the happy institution."
This extract shows not only the style of the writer, but the esteem in
which she was held by some of the foremost men of the day; for Adams
would not have "asked the sentiments" of one for whose judgment he had
not profound respect.
Dramatist, poet, historian, and correspondent of some of the most noted
men of her day, Mercy Warren stands as the foremost woman representative
of American letters in Revolutionary days. It is true that her
activities were by no means confined to this period, for she was born in
1728 and died in 1814, having thus passed eighty-seven years of
well-filled life; but she is as much the woman writer of the Revolution
as Freneau is its male poet. Perhaps neither name is familiar to the
present generation; but Mercy Warren and Philip Freneau, if not of the
highest order of their calling, did notable work in the cause of
American letters, and the former is well worthy of being included in any
work that purports to tell, however incompletely, the history of
American womanhood.
The shadow passed at length, leaving the country maimed, bleeding, but
still lusty with vigor and with the waxing strength of youth. The
passing of the shadow found the women of America for the most part shorn
of the gauds that women love, destitute of the lesser things of life,
but filled with a proud sense of new birth with their country. To the
triumphant result of the years of strife and struggle they had
contributed in full measure; and they were ready, however they might be
hampered by present conditions, to reap the fruit of the period of
contest no less than the men, though in different fashion.
Moreover, though in hidden methods, they had asserted themselves and the
power of their womanhood as never before. They had turned from the
sporadic and eccentric attempts of some of their sex to win fame by
religious leadership or other such manifestations of restless ambition;
they had shown their power of concentrated and universal consecration to
a cause when it was found worthy thereof, and they had evidenced their
intensity of devotion to that which was of the best. The period of
formation was over; the battle-filled days of the Revolution saw the
birth of the American woman as an individual entity.
There is yet another name which must be recorded here, less for the
merit of the work done than for the sentiment which attaches to that
work. There still stands on Arch Street, Philadelphia, the little house
where Betsy Ross made the first American flag that was given to the
breeze of battle and conquest. Not perhaps the very first American flag,
since Paul Jones's rattlesnake flag might fitly claim that honor, but
the first to be recognized as in any way national and to survive, and
therefore honored as truly the first of its kind. It is not Betsy Ross,
but the birth of the flag of our country, of which we think when we look
at that little house and remember why it is honored. But it is fitting
that the maker of that flag which is the symbol of our country should
find mention here, even though she had no other claim to be remembered
among the notable women of our land.
And her fate is happier than that of her sisters of the Revolution, for
the outward evidence of her work remains while that of the rest has
passed away and is forgotten. Yet their work, regarded as done by the
women of our country in general, was greater than hers, for she but
furnished the symbol of that which they, by their courage and endurance
of hardness and enthusiasm and faith, made a living thing. Nor must
there be forgotten another contribution of the women to the cause of
their native land,--their prayers. It is a scoffing age, but there still
remain some who believe that prayer is of avail, that "more things are
wrought by prayer than this world dreams of," and these will not doubt
that the petitions which went up from the length and breadth of the land
for the success of the beloved cause were effectual in result. There
were many women who, from lack of opportunity or power, had nothing else
to give than their prayers for their country; and these they gave in
full measure and with a fervency that doubtless helped to win the answer
that they sought.