Williamson's home, and this fearless woman not only witnessed the
conflicts, but sometimes participated in them. Her husband was twice
wounded and to him she gave the care of a devoted wife, nursing him
back to health and to the service of his country.
Year after year during this long struggle Sarah Williamson bravely
assumed the part of both the man and the woman. Under her excellent
management the plantation was cultivated, supplies were furnished the
army, and spinning wheels were kept busy making clothes for husband,
children and slaves. Thus she toiled in the face of ever-present
danger, threatened always with hostile Indians, cruel Tories and
British soldiers.
Finally, one day the dreaded Tories, incensed at her husband's activity
in the cause of the colonies, made a raid on the home and after taking
all they wanted, destroyed by fire every building on the plantation,
and their fiendish hearts not being yet satisfied with the suffering of
this loyal woman, they hung her eldest son, a handsome youth, in the
presence of his mother.
Her courage undaunted by this great calamity, Sarah Williamson had the
faithful slaves gather up the remaining live stock running at large
in the woods, and with her entire household went as a refugee to the
mountains of North Carolina, where they remained until the close of the
war, when they returned to the plantation.
A few years later the family moved to Washington, Georgia. Here again
it became necessary for her to manage for the family when her husband
was commissioned Major-General of Georgia troops and led an army
against the hostile Cherokee Indians. Peace was made, however, before a
battle was fought.
Now Sarah Williamson began to reap the reward her love, sacrifice,
energy and labor had won. Her five sons grew to be successful men, her
six daughters to be refined, educated and beautiful women, who became
the wives of prominent men. One daughter married John Clarke who became
Governor of Georgia.
To this Georgia mother belongs the distinguished honor of being the
first American woman to furnish from her descendants two Justices of
the Supreme Court of the United States; Justice John A. Campbell of
Alabama was her grandson, and Justice L. Q. C. Lamar of Georgia and
Mississippi was her great grandson.--RUBY FELDER RAY, _State Historian,
D. A. R._
A COLONIAL HIDING PLACE.
In sailing up the Hudson River, about one hundred miles above New York,
you will discover on the west side a rather broad estuary, named by the
old Dutch settlers, the Katterskill Creek.
This creek flows through a cleft in the mountains, known in the quaint
language of the Dutch as the Katterskill Clove.
This clove, nature's pass through the mountains, was well known,
and used by the tribes of the Six Nations, and especially by the
vindictive, and blood thirsty Mohawks, as an easy trail by which they
would descend upon the peace-loving and thrifty Dutch settlers; kill
all the men who had not fled for refuge to the strong stone houses
which were specially built for defence; capture the women and children,
and kill all the live stock.
On the peninsula between the river and the creek, the latter being wide
and deep enough to float the magnificent steamers which ply between
Albany and New York, stood the colonial mansion to which your attention
is called.
This mansion, for it was a splendid structure for those days, and the
term would not be a misnomer in these, was built in 1763 by a Madam
Dies, a Dutch matron, who afterwards married an English army officer.
This man was so infatuated with his Dutch "vrow," and her wealth, that
he deserted the colors, and would hide from search parties in the place
to be hereinafter described.
The house was built of the gray sand stone found in that region, and
was two stories high, with a capacious cellar, and an immense garret.
The walls were nearly three feet thick, set in cement, which became so
hard that when the day of destruction came a few years ago, the workmen
were unable to tear the walls apart, but had to blow them down with
dynamite. One hundred and fifty years had that cement been setting, and
it was as hard as the stone itself.
In the cellar was a well to provide water in case of siege by the
Indians, and heat was obtained by huge fire places in each of the
eight large rooms, the smoke from which was carried off by two giant
chimneys, and on one of these chimneys hangs the tale which is the
excuse for this article.
Madam Dies, true to her name, was gathered to her fathers, and her
craven husband went to the place prepared for those who desert their
colors.
Leaving no direct heirs, the house with its ten acres of grounds, and
known from its elegance and size as "Dies Folly" passed into other
hands, and finally, early in the nineteenth century, was purchased by
Major Ephriam Beach, and remained in the family for nearly one hundred
years, until destroyed by the exigencies of business.
The huge chimneys reared their massive proportions in the center of
each side of the house, and Major Beach, wishing to rearrange the
interior of his dwelling, tore down the one on the north side. As it
was being taken down, brick by brick, they came to where it passed
through the garret, and there the workmen discovered a secret recess
capable of holding several people.
It was cunningly conceived with the entrance so arranged as to exactly
resemble the brick composing the chimney, and an enemy might hunt for
days and fail to discover the secret hiding place. It was evidently
intended as a concealed refuge in case the house should be captured by
the Indians, but so far as known was never used for that purpose, the
village never being attacked after the house was built. Some dishes
and a water jar which were found in the hidden chamber, served to
prove that the husband of Madam Dies used it to conceal himself from
the British soldiers when they were hunting him, but apart from that
undignified proceeding it was never used.
[Illustration: THE OLD LIBERTY BELL.
"Proclaim liberty throughout all the land, unto all the inhabitants
thereof."]
The house was well known to be haunted, and there are many well
authenticated ghost stories told in connection with it; but the spooks
were a decent and well behaved lot, and never disturbed the writer,
who spent many years within its substantial walls.
The daughter of the writer was the last of my children born therein,
and she never saw even a fairy Godmother, although both of her
grandmothers hovered around her cradle.
The writer, Edward Cunningham Beach, is a grandson of Major Ephriam
Beach, herein mentioned and the baby daughter in aforesaid is Mrs.
Barrett Cothran, of Atlanta, Georgia.--_Council Safety Chapter, D.
A. R._
A HERO OF THE REVOLUTION.
The descendants of Grace (Pittman) McArthur still tell to their
children the story of Philip Pittman, her father, as it has been handed
down from father to son.
Philip was born July 7, 1765. He was one of eleven children of John
and Mary Pittman. His father served in the Revolution, as Matross in
Capt. Harman Davis' Company, 4th Artillery Regiment of South Carolina,
commanded by Col. Barnard Beckman.
Though too young, probably, to enlist, the revolutionary fires burned
so brightly in the young patriot's breast that he was ready to give his
life to his country even though he might not carry sabre or musket.
As the story goes, Philip was overtaken by Tories at one time while he
was making his way over the country with provisions for his father John
and some comrades.
Thinking this an easy way to find out the whereabouts of the Patriot
army the Tories commanded the boy to tell where his father was, but
they reckoned without their host.
The boy stoutly refused to tell, and even though strung up and hung to
a near by limb until almost too near dead to talk, he still refused.
Whereupon the officer, moved perhaps by the extreme youth of the boy,
ripped out an oath and ordered him cut down, remarking that the ----
rascal would die before he would tell.
Philip did not die, but lived to grow to manhood, enlisted in the war
and served as one of Georgia's soldiers line in the Revolutionary War.
He was three times married, raised a large family of children whose
allegiance to their country was only equaled by that of their father.
Philip died in south-west Georgia, July 14, 1849.--MRS. J. D. TWEEDY,
(Lula McArthur), Dawson, Ga., Dorothy Walton Chapter, D. A. R.
JOHN PAUL JONES.
What American or French girl or boy does not like to hear of that
"wizard" of the sea,--John Paul Jones! That "Pirate," as he was called
by the English minister in Holland, when Jones took his captured prizes
there, but he was no more a Pirate than you or I. The word Pirate means
one who is at war with mankind, and John Paul was holding an honest
position in an honorable service and fighting only the enemies of his
adopted country--America.
He was born July 6th, 1747, at Arbigland, Scotland, of poor and obscure
parents, his father being a gardener, but the right material was in
him to make a great man and he won for himself a world-wide fame as a
leading figure in the American Navy. The only conquerer to whom he ever
lowered his colors was death.
At twelve years of age he was apprenticed, then went to sea on the
"Friendship" to visit his brother William Paul, in Virginia. While in
North Carolina, in 1773, he changed his surname to Jones for the love
he bore to a family of that name living there. To show what one can
do when he tries and has faith in himself, I will tell you that Jones
was a poor sailor at twelve, officer at seventeen, Naval Lieutenant
at twenty-eight, Captain at twenty-nine, Commodore at thirty-two, at
forty-one a Vice-Admiral in the Imperial Navy of Russia, at forty-three
a prominent figure in the French Revolution, and died at the age of
forty-five, deeply deplored by Napoleon, who expected to do great
things in conjunction with him.
Jones loved France and France loved him, and with him and France we
were able to gain our liberty from the British yoke. He loved America
because he loved liberty, and he put all his grand titles aside when
making his last will and testament to sign himself, "I, John Paul
Jones, an American citizen." Such men as Washington, Franklin, Hamilton
and LaFayette, were his staunch friends. Kings and Queens delighted to
do him favor. Louis XVI knighted him and presented him with a sword of
honor. Catherine, of Russia, made him an Admiral and loaded him with
honors. These are only a few of his distinguished friends.
In personal appearance he was slender and swarthy, with black hair and
eyes; always well dressed, graceful and courtly. He was as much at home
at the most aristocratic courts of Europe as when treading the deck of
a man-of-war. He was grave by nature, but quite witty.
A kinder heart never beat in the breast of any man.
He hoisted the first American Flag that ever flew from an American
war vessel, on his ship, the "Ranger," and at the same time Congress
decided to accept the present form of the flag, it made him Captain of
the "Ranger," hence his remark: "The flag and I are twins; born at the
same hour, from the same womb of destiny; we cannot be parted in life
or death."
February 14th, 1778, the French naval commander, Lea Motte Piquet,
saluted for the first time from a foreign power the Stars and
Stripes,--gave thirteen and received nine guns.
Just a word right here about the flag, so dear to us:
When Betsy Ross made our flag, she objected to the six pointed stars
that General Washington wanted, because the English used it, but told
him it would be more appropriate to use the five pointed star that the
French and Dutch used, as they were friendly to the colonies; and she
had her way.
I haven't space to tell of the many victories of Jones, but one of the
greatest was when he captured the "Serapis" from the British, September
23, 1779. His own little weak vessel, the "Bonhomme Richard" went down
with the flag flying, but just before it sank, his antagonist thought
he was about to give up the fight, and asked him "if he had struck his
flag?" He answered, "I've just begun to fight." So he won the battle
and captured the prize.
Jones died July 18, 1792, in Paris, of dropsy of the chest. He was
buried in the old St. Louis cemetery, in the northeastern part of
Paris, and lay there one hundred and thirteen years before he was
brought back to the United States. General Horace Porter is the man
who, after six long years of search, finally found his body in the old
cemetery, which by this time was the dumping ground for horses and dogs.
The body had been put in a leaden coffin, carefully packed with straw
and hay, and then filled with alcohol to preserve it. Rear Admiral C.
D. Sigsbee, was sent to France to bring the remains of the hero home.
Knowing Jones' love for our flag, the Daughters of the American
Revolution Society presented Admiral Sigsbee with a beautiful silk
flag, June 15th, 1905, to be used in connection with the return of
Jones' remains. Afterward it was hung in Continental Hall, Washington,
D. C.
On July 25, 1915, the body of Jones was placed in a brick vault, Naval
Academy grounds, Annapolis, with religious and military ceremonies. On
April 29, 1906, commemorative ceremonies were held in the Armory of the
Naval Academy, Annapolis, and then the casket was put in Bancroft Hall.
Here all that is mortal of the conquerer of the "Serapis" lies, and
in the battles of life when the odds seem against us, may we be able
to exclaim with him, "I've just begun to fight."--MRS. W. E. WIMPY,
Piedmont Continental Chapter, D. A. R.
THE REAL GEORGIA CRACKER.
There was a man named Oglethorpe,
Who didn't like old England's laws;
So he got into his little ship,
And sailed it straight across.
He swung around Carolina's point
And landed at a Bluff;
And when he found the soil so rich,
He said--"tis good enough."
He named the place Savannah,
And then laid off a town,
You ought to seed the taters,
That grew thar in the ground.
He planted cotton, rice and corn,
And then a patch of backer:
That was the first beginning,
Of the Real Georgia Cracker.
Then he got some mules and plows,
And sat the boys to hoeing;
Ever since they stirred the soil,
The Georgia Cracker has been growing.
But now--where once those taters grew,
Mount twenty tall church steeples;
And the place he named Savannah,
Dwell nigh a hundred thousand people.
Will stand a living factor;
While angels guard it overhead,
God bless the Georgia Cracker.
In Chippewa his monument,
Jesup, Ga.
--_L. G. Lucas._
THE DYING SOLDIER WHO GAVE HIS WIFE FOR HIS FRIEND.
Many years ago there lived in Virginia a little boy whose name was John
Davenport. His father was a farmer who planted and raised large crops
of tobacco in the fields about his home. His parents were good and wise
people, and carefully brought up and trained their children. John was
a good boy. He was honest, truthful, obedient, bold and strong. If he
had any thing to do, either in work or play, he did it well. He grew
up like other boys of his day. He went to school and made many friends
among his playmates by his manly conduct.
There lived in the same county in Virginia another little boy of strong
and sterling character whose name was Harry Burnley. These two little
boys were near neighbors and great friends, and they played and hunted
and fished together all during their early boyhood days.
When John Davenport was quite a young man he met and married Lucy
Barksdale, a girl of great merit and beauty who was just sixteen years
old at the time of their marriage in 1772.
This couple spent many happy days together; children came to gladden
their home; and life looked rosy and bright before them. As these
peaceful and happy days were gliding by in their Virginia home a
tempest was gathering--a great war cloud--which was destined to bring
much sorrow to this happy pair.
England, the mother country, who at first dealt kindly and justly with
the colonists, had begun to be unkind to them and to tax them unjustly.
These oppressive and burdensome taxes the colonists refused to pay.
England sent over trained soldiers to the American colonies to enforce
obedience to her unjust laws. The colonists were weak, and had no
trained soldiers; but they raised an army and determined to fight for
their liberties. So war began.
After the Declaration of Independence by the patriots on July 4th,
1776, John Davenport, ever true to his country and his convictions
of right and wrong, though regretting to leave his beautiful young
wife and his happy children, took up arms to fight for liberty. Harry
Burnley went with him to fight for the same noble cause. They were
both brave soldiers and fought in most of the prominent battles of the
Revolutionary war. They were mess-mates and bunk-mates throughout the
war.
On the night of March 14th, 1781, while the two opposing armies were
encamped near Greensboro, at Guilford Court House, North Carolina, and
stood ready to join in bloody battle the next day, these two devoted
friends were sitting by their camp fire, talking of the coming battle
and thinking of their loved ones at home. John Davenport seemed sad
and much depressed. Harry Burnley noticed his depression and asked him
why he was no downcast. He said, "Harry, somehow I feel that I will be
killed in battle tomorrow. I almost know it." Harry Burnley tried to
dissipate his gloomy forebodings and cheer him up, by laughing at him
and by making light of presentiments and by tusseling with him, but all
without success. Determined to cheer up his friend, Harry finally said,
"John, if you are killed tomorrow, I am going back home and marry your
widow," Harry being an unmarried man.
On the next day the cruel battle was fought. The ground was covered
with dead and dying men, soldiers on both sides, covered with blood and
dust. One of these soldiers was John Davenport. He had been wounded and
would die; and he was suffering from both pain and thirst. When the
battle was over, his devoted friend hurried to his side and found him
mortally wounded. When he found him, skulkers were stripping him of the
silver buckles which he wore.[2]
He was tenderly nursed by his life-long friend during the few hours
that he lived. Realizing that the end was near, John Davenport said to
his friend, "Harry, I am dying; and you remember last night you said to
me in jest that if I lost my life today, that you were going home and
marry Lucy. You have been my best friend, you are a noble and good man,
and I now ask you in earnest to do as you said you would in jest--go
back home after the war is over, marry my wife, and take care of her
and my five little children."
About one year after the death of John Davenport, Harry Burnley and
Mrs. Lucy Davenport were married. Several years later they moved to
Warren County, Georgia, where they lived and died and were buried. Mrs.
Lucy Davenport Burnley was the mother of fourteen children, five by
her first marriage and nine by her second. Among her descendants are
to be found very many noble men and women in America--distinguished
as writers, lawyers and educators, and in every walk of life. Many
of her sons and grandsons have sacrificed their lives for their
country.--MRS. ANNIE DAVIDSON HOWELL.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] These skulkers in their hurry to get away left five silver buckles
and epaulettes which were exhibited at the Exposition in New Orleans
some years ago.
WHEN BEN FRANKLIN SCORED.
Long after the victories of Washington over the French and the English
had made his name familiar to all Europe, Benjamin Franklin was a guest
at a dinner given in honor of the French and English Ambassadors. The
Ambassador from England arose and drank a toast to his native land: "To
England--the sun whose bright beams enlighten and fructify the remotest
corners of the earth."
The French Ambassador, filled with his own national pride, but too
polite to dispute the previous toast, offered the following: "To
France--the moon whose mild, steady, and cheering rays are the delight
of all nations, consoling them in darkness and making their dreariness
beautiful."
Then arose "Old Ben Franklin," and said in his slow but dignified way:
"To George Washington--the Joshua who commanded the sun and the moon to
stand still, and they obeyed him."
A REVOLUTIONARY BAPTIZING.
After the cold winter at Valley Forge, Captain Charles Cameron was sent
home to Augusta County, Virginia, to recruit his Company. On his way
back to the Continental Army, he and his men captured a Tory on the
right bank of the Potomac River and decided to convert him, by baptism,
into a loyal Patriot. Taking him down to the river bank they plunged
him in.
Once--"Hurrah for King George!" came from the struggling Tory as he
arose from the water.
Twice--"Hurrah for King George! Long live King George!" The Tory was
again on top.
Three times--"Hurrah for King George! Long live King George! King
George forever!"
The men looked helplessly at their Captain. "Loose him," were the
orders, "and let him go. He is unconvertible."
GEORGE WALTON.
The youngest of the three signers of the Declaration of Independence,
from Georgia, was George Walton, who was born in Prince Edward County,
Virginia, in 1749. He became an orphan when quite young and his
guardian did not care to be burdened with his education, so he was
given to a carpenter as an apprentice and put to hard work. After his
days work he would light a fire of fat pine and study until the wee
small hours of the night, thus gaining an education most boys would let
go by. The good carpenter, seeing him so industriously inclined and
anxious for an education, allowed him to keep the money he earned and
helped him all he could and at last relieved him of his apprenticeship,
and he then decided to come to Georgia. At twenty years of age he went
(by private conveyance) to Savannah, which was then a small town of
only a few thousand people. He studied law in the office of Henry Young
and was soon admitted to the bar.
In June, 1775, a call signed by George Walton, Noble W. Jones,
Archibald Bullock and John Houston, was issued asking people to meet at
Liberty Pole to take measures to bring about a union of Georgia with
her sister colonies in the cause of freedom. The meeting was a success,
a council of Safety Chapter organized, of which George Walton was a
member, the Union Flag was raised at the Liberty Pole, and patriotic
speeches were made.
In July, 1775, a Congress of Representatives from all over Georgia
was held in Savannah. This Congress has been called "Georgia's first
Secession Convention" for it declared the colony was no longer
bound by the acts of England, since the mother country was acting
unjustly and oppressively. George Walton was present and though only
twenty-six years old, he was recognized as one of the most influential
representatives of the convention.
In December, 1775, George Walton became President of the Council of
Safety and practically had charge of the colony. He was sent as a
delegate to the Continental Congress in Philadelphia in 1776. The
war had begun and the country was much excited. It was decided that
Independence was the only proper course, so July 4th, 1776, the
Declaration of Independence was signed by all delegates.