That little dread us near;
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again,
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
From dangers and from toil;
We talk the battle over
And share the battle spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldiers' cup.
With merry sounds we mock the wind
That in the pine top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon,
The band that Marion leads;
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb,
Across the moonlit plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp,
A moment and away;
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs.
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers;
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And with tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms
And lay them down no more,
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.
--_Mrs. F. H. Orme, Atlanta Chapter, D. A. R._
"LIGHT HORSE HARRY."
The Lee family was illustrious both in England and America. They
clearly trace their ancestry to the Norman Conquest, Launcelot Lee
being the founder of the family. The Lees were prominent in English
history down to the colonization of this country. Robert E. Lee is
descended from Richard Lee, a younger son of the Earl of Litchfield,
who was sent to this country in 1641 during the reign of Charles I. He
came as colonial secretary under Sir William Berkeley. He was loyal
to the royal party during the struggle between the Cavaliers and
Roundheads. Richard Lee, second son of the Richard mentioned above,
was born in Virginia in 1646 and educated in England and studied law.
He took an active part in colonial legislation. His son, Thomas, was
the first to establish himself in Westmoreland County. He was very
prominent in the early history of the state. The fine mansion of
Stratford was built for him by the East India company, and several
of the prominent Lees were born in that home. Henry Lee, the son of
Richard Lee, filled no prominent place in colonial history. He married
a Miss Bland and had three children, the second son being Henry, who
married a Miss Grymes in 1753. He left six sons and five daughters,
the third son being Henry, the ancestor of R. E. Lee. He went to
Princeton and was preparing to study law when hostilities with England
changed his plans. When quite young he raised a company of cavalry
and soon after the battle of Lexington joined Washington's forces.
He soon became noted as an able leader and was promoted to the rank
of lieutenant-colonel and had command of "Lee's Legion," consisting
of infantry and cavalry. He was actively engaged in the service to
the close of the war and was conspicuous in this state for some time.
Owing to his rapid movements he was known as "Light Horse Harry."
About 1781 he married his cousin, a daughter of Colonel Philip Ludwell
Lee, of Stratford. Four children were born to them, all of whom died
except one son. The wife died in 1790. He was elected to congress
and afterwards was governor of Virginia. He next married Miss Anne
Hill Carter, daughter of Charles Carter, of Shirley. He again entered
political life and was elected to the general assembly. The children
of his second marriage were Charles Carter, Sidney Smith, Robert E.,
Anne and Mildred. Robert Edward Lee was born in the Stratford mansion
in which two signers of the Declaration of Independence were born. In
1811 Henry Lee moved to Alexandria to educate his children. Here he was
made major-general during the war of 1812. He was the author of "First
in war, first in peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen," when
pronouncing a eulogy on Washington. His health failed in 1817 and he
was induced to make a trip to the West Indies, but finding that he was
not benefited, he returned and landed on the coast of Georgia, where
he enjoyed the hospitality of a daughter of his old friend, General
Nathaniel Greene, who was living in the family residence on Cumberland
Island. After lingering a short time he died and was buried there,
March 25, 1818.
General A. C. Long wrote the memoirs of R. E. Lee. He publishes an
incident which occurred in 1862, when Lee was sent to this state to
examine our lines and means of defense. General Long accompanied him.
When they reached Savannah General Lee secured a vessel and went to
Cumberland Island. He had the boat anchored and the two went on shore.
They entered the old Greene mansion, which was in bad condition. Going
through that to the rear, General Lee went alone to an old neglected
cemetery. After that he returned with a flower in his hand, but never
spoke a word about the visit to his father's grave. In silence he
showed his reverence; with his usual modesty he refrained from speaking
about it. From that old cemetery on Cumberland Island the body of
"Light Horse Harry" Lee, ninety-five years after his death, was carried
back to his old Virginia home and laid in its final resting place.
OUR LEGACY.
Our brave Forefathers: give them place
In Hall of Fame--the Nation's heart;
They met the foe, aye face to face:
Each man a hero, did his part--
Invincible to fear, and wrought
For us and ours, beyond his thought.
O fair Republic: pride and boast
Of children who cannot forget--
From lake to gulf, from coast to coast
Where waves the Flag with colors set
In patriot blood, which ne'er shall fade--
That _Flag_ is _ours_, its price they paid.
We, daughters of a loyal line,
Would weave their deathless deeds in song,
With memory's fairest flowers entwine
Sweet garlands which shall linger long,
Who die for God and Country share
Immortal honors other-where.
--_Hannah A. Foster in American Monthly Magazine._
THE RIDE OF MARY SLOCUMB.
In the prologue to "The Princess," Tennyson makes one of the group
of collegemates assembled during the holiday season at Vivian Place
find in an old chronicle the story of a brave woman whom a wild king
besieged. But she armed
"Her own fair head, and sallying through the gate,
Had beat her foes with slaughter from the walls."
When this story was read to the ladies present, one of the men asked:
"Where lives there such a woman now?" To which
"Quick answer'd Lilia 'There are thousands now
Such women, but convention beats them down.'"
On the first day of February, 1776, General McDonald, chief of the
McDonald clan in the Cape Fear region, issued a proclamation, calling
upon all true and loyal Highlanders to join his standard at Cross
Creek, now Fayetteville, and prepare to assist General Clinton and
Governor Martin in maintaining the king's authority in the province
of North Carolina. About fifteen or sixteen hundred of them obeyed
the summons. From Cross Creek they marched down the Cape Fear River
until they came to Moore's creek, where they were met on February 27th
by a Whig force about a thousand strong under the command of Richard
Caswell, The following from a letter from Caswell to Cornelius Harnett
shows the result of the meeting:
"I have the pleasure to acquaint you that we had an engagement with
the Tories, at Widow Moore's creek bridge, on the 27th current.
Our army was about one thousand strong, consisting of the Newbern
Battalion of Minute Men, the militia from Craven, Johnston, Dobbs
and Wake, and a detachment of the Wilmington Battalion of Minute
Men, which we found encamped at Moore's Creek the night before the
battle, under the command of Colonel Lillington. The Tories by
common report were three thousand, but General MacDonald, whom we
have prisoner, says there were about fifteen or sixteen hundred;
he was unwell that day and not in the battle. Captain McLeod, who
seemed to be principal commander, and Captain John Campbell, are
among the slain."
This was the first pitched battle of the Revolution won by the
Whigs; the only victories of an earlier date being the capture of
Forts Ticonderoga and Crown Point on May 10, 1775. It would be
difficult to overestimate the importance of the victory. Besides the
capture of about 900 prisoners and 2,000 stands of arms of which the
Americans stood in great need, the crushing of the Tory spirit and the
corresponding rise of the Whig spirit, meant untold strength to the
cause of freedom.
But it is not the political nor the military result of this battle with
which this story is to deal. With the foregoing as an introduction,
it is interesting now to turn to the story of the heroine of Moore's
creek, Mary Slocumb.
Mary Slocumb was the young wife of Ezekiel Slocumb, of Wayne County. He
afterwards became a prominent member of the house of commons, serving
in the session of 1812 to 1818. She was but yet a girl when her husband
rode away from home to join Caswell in crushing McDonald and the
enemies of liberty. The men of that section, more than eighty strong,
rode away one calm Sunday morning, under the lead of Slocumb. Before
the long ride was begun, his young wife went out with the colonel to
inspect the men. She says that she looked at them well, and could see
that every man meant mischief. No doubt it was a sturdy, stern and
determined band that rode away that day to battle for their rights.
These men rode away in high spirits, some to a glorious death, some to
a glorious victory; none to defeat or dishonor.
It is easy to imagine what a long, lonely day the young wife had at
home that quiet Sabbath day; it is easy to imagine where her thoughts
were; it is easy to imagine how she concealed the anxiety of her heart
under the assumed cheerfulness of her face. "I slept soundly and
quietly that night," she says, "and worked hard all the next day; but
I kept thinking where they had got to, how far, where and how many of
the regulars and Tories they would meet; and I could not keep from that
study."
Going to bed in this anxious state of mind, her sleep was disturbed by
a terrible dream. She seemed to see lying on the ground, surrounded by
the dead and wounded, a body, motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in
her husband's cloak. With a cry of alarm she sprang to her feet into
the middle of the room. So vivid was the impression that it remained
with her even after she awakened from sleep and in rushing forward
to the place where the vision appeared, she ran into the side of the
house. The light was dim; all around was quiet and peaceful, but her
heart kept up a great commotion. "If ever I felt fear," she says, "it
was at that moment." The more she reflected on the vision the more
vivid and more fearful it became, until at last she could bear the
suspense no longer and starting up she said aloud:
"I must go to him."
In the stable was her favorite and own particular horse, "as fleet and
easy a nag as ever traveled." In an instant, leaving her baby and the
house in the care of the nurse, she rushed out to the barn, saddled her
mare, and in less time than it takes to tell it, was flying down the
road at full speed.
The night air was cool; the spirit of the race was in the nag; and mile
after mile was quickly left behind, as the sound of her rapidly falling
hoofs fell clear and distinct in the quiet night air. All alone, urged
onward by love and fear, this brave little woman swept on through the
dark night, dashing over bridges, whirling through dark woods, flashing
past farm houses, until when the sun began to appear in the east thirty
miles lay between her and her quiet home. Shortly after sunrise she
passed a group of women and children anxiously awaiting news from the
troops. From these she learned the exact route taken by Caswell and
with only a few minutes' stop she was again skimming over the ground.
There was no flagging in her spirits, nor those of the mare. On the
contrary, the excitement became more and more intense the nearer they
got to the end of their journey. It seemed as if the woman had infused
her spirits into the horse.
The sun was well up when a new excitement was added to the race--she
heard a sound like thunder rolling and rumbling in the distance. She
pulled her mare up suddenly. What was it? Though she had never heard
the sound before, she knew it must be the roar of the cannon; and as
she thought of what it meant, the blood coursed more rapidly than ever
through her veins; she was more than ever impatient to be on the scene,
and away she dashed again. But then a thought rushed into her mind that
for a moment made her feel very foolish to be here so far away from
home and child, on what might after all be but a fool's errand.
"What a fool I am," she thought. "My husband could not be dead last
night, if the battle is only fighting now."
But she had come too far now to turn back and so she pressed on faster
than before. As she drew nearer, she could hear the roar of the deadly
muskets, the fatal rifles, and the triumphant shouts of the victors.
But from which side did they come? Did those shouts mean the defeat of
her husband; or did they mean his triumph? This was the most trying
moment of all--this terrible suspense. If it was his victory, then he
would rejoice to have her share his glory; if his defeat, then he would
need her to soothe his sufferings; so on she pressed to share with him
weal or woe. Crossing the Wilmington road a few hundred yards below the
bridge, she saw a clump of trees under which were lying perhaps twenty
wounded men. What was this she saw? Her blood froze in her veins;
her heart leapt to her mouth, for there was the vision realized. The
scene before her--she knew it as well as if she had seen it a thousand
times; the spot, the trees, the position of the men, the groans of the
wounded, and her sight fell upon a body lying in the midst of the
group, her brain became dizzy, and the world seemed whirling around
her at the rate of ten thousand miles a second--there lay a body,
motionless, bloody, ghostly, wrapped in her husband's cloak. Her whole
soul became centered in that one spot. "How I passed from my saddle
to this place I never knew," she said afterwards; but in some way she
succeeded in reaching the body, and mechanically uncovered the head.
She saw before her an unrecognizable face crusted with dust and blood
from a gash across the temple. What a relief to her aching heart was
the strange voice which begged her for a drink of water! Her senses
came back to her at once so she was able to minister to the sufferer's
wants. She gave him a swallow as she held the drooping head in her
lap; and with what remained of the water, bathed the dirt and gore
from the face. From the ghastly crust came the pale face of one of
her neighbors, Frank Cogdell. Under the gentle care of his nurse, he
revived enough to speak, and when she attempted to dress the wound on
the head, he managed to gasp out:
"It's not that; it's the hole in my leg that's killing me."
Lifting the wounded leg from the puddle of blood in which it lay she
gently cut away the trousers and stockings and found a shot hole
through the fleshy part of the limb. What nerve it must have taken for
this young girl, unused to such work, alone, without help or advice,
to go through with the painful ordeal. But she was of the stuff of
which North Carolina moulds her heroes, and she did not flinch from
her duty. Gathering a handful of heart leaves, the only thing in sight
suitable for binding the wound, she tied these tight to the hole and
the bleeding stopped. No sooner had she completed this pressing duty,
than she turned to others of the unfortunate men who lay in pain and
need and, as she says, "dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who
did good fighting long after that day." During all this time, the
first anxiety for her husband relieved, she had not had time to make
inquiries after him, but with true heroism devoted herself to the
more pressing duties of the moment. While she was busily engaged in
bringing home to these poor fellows the blessings of a woman's care,
General Caswell rode up. With great surprise at seeing Mrs. Slocumb, he
raised his hat and was about to address her with a compliment, when she
interrupted him with the question:
"Where is my husband?"
"Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray, how
came you here?"
"Oh," she replied, carelessly, "I thought you would need nurses as well
as soldiers. See! I have dressed many of these good fellows." Then
pointing to Frank Cogdell, she continued, "Here is one who would have
died before any of you men could have helped him." As she spoke she
lifted Frank's head in her arms and gave him a drink of water. When she
raised her head, there before her stood her astonished husband, "as
bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher."
"Why, Mary," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there, hugging Frank
Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?"
"I don't care," she cried. "Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier and
a true friend of congress."
"True, true, every word of it," exclaimed Caswell, who stood by much
amused at the scene. "You are right, madam," with a bow that would have
shamed Chesterfield himself.
Mrs. Slocumb says she could not tell her husband what had brought her
there. "I was so happy," she says, "and so were all. It was a glorious
victory; I came just at the height of the enjoyment. I knew my husband
was surprised, but I could see that he was not displeased with me."
It was of course long into the night before the excitement subsided.
The news spread like wild fire, and the Whigs all over the country
heard it with rejoicing and thanksgiving; and everywhere the news
of the victory was heard, went also the story of the heroine, her
brave ride, her heaven-sent aid, her soothing care of the wounded and
suffering. Many a soldier breathed a prayer of thanks for the vision
which came to her and for her courageous response. But the prettiest
side of the story is the simple and unaffected way in which she looked
upon her act. Nothing of force or beauty can be added to her own simple
and touching words about her return home. After staying in camp long
enough to offer intercession in behalf of the unfortunate prisoners and
to receive assurance from Caswell that they would be well treated, she
prepared to start home. "In the middle of the night," she says simply,
without thinking apparently of her course, "I again mounted my mare,
and started home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next
morning and they would send a party with me, but no! I wanted to see my
child, and told them they could send no party that could keep up with
me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace my
child as he ran to meet me!"
This is a story full of meaning and significance to him who loves his
state; who admires her noble women, and brave men; who glories in her
heroic deeds and great achievements. As long as the old North State can
produce such women as Mary Slocumb, she need entertain no fears as to
what her men will be.--R. D. W. CONNOR, Wilmington, N. C., _in American
Monthly Magazine_.
THE HOBSON SISTERS.
"Come in girls, I'll find her. She just knows everything about
everybody's grand parents. Oh, Grandmother!" called Agnes, as she
ushered the bevy of girls about her own age into the cherry sitting
room, one October afternoon, and ran to tell her grandmother of her
visitors.
It did not require a second call for Mrs. Martin to respond, and in her
quaint way she cordially greeted her youthful quests, well known to her
and her grand-daughter's friends, "Elizabeth," "Mary" and "Lucy Kent."
When the customary salutations and courteous inquiries had been
exchanged, Lucy Kent, anxious to make known the object of their visit,
explained:
"Agnes said you knew everything about everybody's ancestors, and our
teacher told us today that we must bring in tomorrow our lines of
descent, as far back as we could trace; also tell any family tradition
or any incident in the lives of our ancestors in connection with the
war of the Revolution, especially, she said, anything the women did."
"I don't see how the women could have done anything, when it was all
fighting," added Mary, as if in apology.
And I said, "Grandmother, you could tell us, because I had heard you go
over it all, way back to Adam," said Agnes reassuringly.
"Not quite so far back, my dear, yet I can give each of you some
interesting accounts of your ancestors, but the story would have to be
a long one and you might weary of it," said Mrs. Martin hesitatingly.
"Oh do, Grandmother," pleaded Agnes.
"But Wednesday is my day for darning the stockings, and"--
"Oh, we'll darn the stockings, so do begin," exclaimed several voices
in chorus, and a rush was made for the sewing basket, and then the
little girls sat demurely, waiting to hear the promised story,
industriously plying the needle, and filling the holes with the thread.
"This portrait that you see here on the wall," began Mrs. Martin,
pointing to the one in front of them, "is the grandmother of my
grandmother. She is one of the Hobson sisters and you, Agnes, are
seventh in direct line of descent from her through the Bacons and
Carrs and Wares. It is a singular coincidence that you and your little
friends here, all come from this same family of Hobson. 'Birds of a
feather flocking together,'" chuckled the old lady, evidently pleased
to see the friendship existing between the children in this generation,
who were representatives of one of the best Georgia families and of the
staunchest and truest supporters of the cause of American Independence.
"These Hobsons," continued she, "were daughters and sons of Nicholas
Hobson, of Lunenburg County, Virginia, son of Matthew Hobson, of
Henrico. As you already know, Georgia was largely settled by colonists
from Virginia. It is not surprising to find the younger members of the
Hobson family removing later to Georgia, for young folks are always
looking for the best place to locate, and this is what the husbands
and wives in the Hobson family did, moved to Georgia and located at
Augusta."
"But you were telling about the portrait," interposed Mary. "Is she
Agnes Hobson?"
"Yes, Agnes Hobson, born July 4th, 1740, and wife of William Bacon,
born January 29, 1732, who was a Revolutionary soldier, and a member
of the Provincial Congress 1775, as was also his brother John Bacon.
Agnes had sisters Elizabeth, Sarah, Obedience, Mary and Margaret, and
brothers Matthew, William, Nicholas and John Hobson. Ten children in
the Hobson family, in the home in Lunenburg County, Virginia. My! what
fine men and women, with the love of country, and the sacredness of the
cause of freedom instilled in their hearts from infancy."
"Well, what did Agnes Hobson do?" questioned Mary.