bearing arms--indeed my seventh son, Zaccheus, who is only fifteen years
old, I yesterday assisted to get ready to go and join his brothers in
Sumter's army. Now, sooner than see one of my family turn back from the
glorious enterprise, I would take these boys--pointing to three or four
small sons--and with them would myself enlist, under Sumter's standard,
and show my husband and sons how to fight, and, if necessary, to die for
their country!"
Colonel Tarleton was one of the listeners to this colloquy, and when
Mrs. Wilson had finished her reply, he said to Cornwallis: "Ah! General!
I think you've got into a hornet's nest! Never mind, when we get to
Camden, I'll take good care that old Robin Wilson never comes back
again!" We may add that Tarleton's threat was never executed. Mr. Wilson
and his worthy companion lived to old age, and died at Steel creek just
before the war of 1812.
BENEVOLENCE OF A COLORED WOMAN.
Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing good.
ROWE.
The following anecdote is obtained from a reliable source. Did the
spirit which pervaded the heart of its subject, thoroughly permeate the
churches, the great work of carrying the Gospel to every nation, would
soon be accomplished.
"In one of the eastern counties of New York lived a colored female, who
was born a slave, but she was made free by the act gradually abolishing
slavery in that state. She had no resources except such as she obtained
by her own labor. On one occasion she carried to her pastor _forty
dollars_: she told him that she wished him, with two dollars of this sum
to procure for her a seat in his church; eighteen dollars she desired to
be given to the American Board; and the remaining twenty dollars she
requested him to divide among other benevolent societies according to
his discretion."
REBECCA EDWARDS.
Honor being then above life, dishonor must
Be worse than death; for fate can strike but one.
Reproach doth reach whole families.
CARTWRIGHT'S SIEGE.
At the celebration of our national Independence, in 1797, the orator of
the society of the Cincinnati of South Carolina, paid the following
tribute to the magnanimity of Mrs. Rebecca Edwards:--"The Spartan
mother, on delivering his shield to her son departing for the army,
nobly bade him 'return with it or on it.' The sentiment was highly
patriotic, but surely not superior to that which animated the bosom of
the distinguished female of our own state, who, when the British officer
presented the mandate which arrested her sons as objects of retaliation,
less sensible of private affection than attached to her honor and the
interest of her country, stifled the tender feelings of the mother, and
heroically bade them despise the threats of their enemies, and
steadfastly persist to support the glorious cause in which they had
engaged--that if the threatened sacrifice should follow, they would
carry a parent's blessing, and the good opinion of every virtuous
citizen along with them to the grave: but if from the frailty of human
nature--of the possibility of which she would not suffer an idea to
enter her mind--they were disposed to temporize, and exchange their
liberty for safety, they must forget her as a mother, nor subject her to
the misery of ever beholding them again."[53]
[53] American Anecdotes, vol. 2, p. 11.
"THE BEAUTIFUL REBEL."
Trembling and fear
Are to her unknown.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
The maiden name of Mrs. Lewis Morris was Ann Elliott. She was born at
Maccabee, in 1762, and died in New York, in 1848. She was a firm and
fearless patriot, and when the city of Charleston, South Carolina, was
in possession of the red coats, she wore thirteen small plumes in her
bonnet. She had so fair a face, so graceful a form and so patriotic a
spirit, as to be called "the beautiful rebel." An English officer fell
in love with her and offered to join the Americans, if she would favor
his proposals. She ordered the friend who interceded for him to say to
him, "that to her former want of esteem, was added scorn for a man
capable of betraying his sovereign for selfish interest."
While she was engaged to Colonel Morris and he was on a visit one time
at Maccabee, the house was suddenly surrounded by Black Dragoons. They
were in pursuit of the Colonel, and it was impossible for him to escape
by flight. What to do he knew not, but, quick as thought, she ran to the
window, opened it, and, fearlessly putting her head out, in a composed
yet firm manner, demanded what was wanted. The reply was, "We want the
---- rebel." "Then go," said she, "and look for him in the American
army," adding "How dare you disturb a family under the protection of
both armies!" She was so cool, self-possessed, firm and resolute as to
triumph over the dragoons, who left without entering the house.
HARRIET B. STEWART.
Men sacrifice others--women themselves.
MRS. S. C. HALL.
Harriet Bradford Tiffany, afterwards the wife of the Rev. Charles S.
Stewart, was born near Stamford, Connecticut, on the fourth of June,
1798. She lost her father when she was a small child, and till 1815,
passed most of her time with an uncle, in Albany. At this date, an older
sister married and settled in Cooperstown, and consequently Harriet took
up her abode in that place. She became the subject of renewing grace in
the summer of 1819; was married on the third of June, 1822, and sailed
with her husband and nearly thirty other missionaries, all bound to the
same field, on the nineteenth of November following. This little, heroic
band, that, by the help of God, have since been mainly instrumental in
making the Sandwich islands blossom like a rose, arrived at Honolulu, in
Oahu, on the twenty-seventh of April, 1823.
Mrs. Stewart left a beautiful town in a thriving part of the Empire
State; tempting luxuries; a brilliant circle, and many endearing
friends; but she had embarked in a glorious enterprise for Christ's
sake, and, hence, she settled down in a little log hut, in the town of
Lahaiua, three days' sail from Oahu, contented and happy. On the first
day of January, 1824, she wrote as follows: "It is now fifteen months
since I bade adieu to the dear valley which contains much, very much,
that is most dear to me; but since the day I parted from it, my spirits
have been uniformly good. Sometimes, it is true, a cloud of tender
recollections passes over me, obscuring, for a moment, my mental vision,
and threatening a day of darkness; but it is seldom. And as the
returning sun, after a summer shower, spreads his beams over the
retiring gloom of the heavens, and stretches abroad the shining arch of
promise to cheer the face of nature, so, at such times, do the rays of
the Sun of Righteousness speedily illumine the hopes of my soul, and
fill my bosom with joy and peace."
A few months after the above date, writing to a friend, she says: "We
are most contented and most happy, and rejoice that God has seen fit to
honor and bless us by permitting us to be the bearers of his light and
truth to this dark corner of the earth. Could you feel the same gladness
that often fills our bosoms, in witnessing the happy influence of the
Gospel on the minds and hearts of many of these interesting creatures,
you would be satisfied, yes more than satisfied, that we should be _what
we are, and where we are, poor missionaries in the distant islands of
the sea_."
In these brief extracts from her letters, shines, in its serenest
lustre, the character of the Christian heroine:[54] and it would be an
easy task to compile a volume of letters written on the field of moral
conflict by American female missionaries, breathing a spirit equally as
unselfish, cheerful and brave. All pioneer women in this enterprise are
heroines, and if the conflicts and sublime victories of all claiming
American citizenship, are not herein recorded, it is because, in a work
of unambitious pretensions as it regards size, a few characters must
stand as representatives of a class.
[54] For a full account of the life of Mrs. Stewart, we refer the reader
to an interesting Memoir, by her husband.
So pernicious was the influence of a tropical climate that, in the
spring of 1825, the health of Mrs. Stewart began to fail; and at the end
of a year, she was forced to leave the country. She sailed, with her
husband, for London; and after tarrying three months in England, they
embarked for home. They reached the valley of the Otsego in September,
1826. For three or four years, it was the prayer of Mrs. Stewart that
she might be restored to health and permitted to return to the mission
station; but in January, 1830, she was laid on a bed of declension and
suffering, and in the following autumn, fully ripe, was gathered into
the heavenly garner.
A KIND AND BENEVOLENT WOMAN.
Ah! woman--in this world of ours,
What gift can be compared to thee.
GEORGE P. MORRIS.
Mrs. Margaret Morris, of Burlington, New Jersey, kept a journal during
the Revolution, for the amusement, it is said, of a sister, the wife of
Dr. Charles Moore, of Philadelphia. A few copies were printed several
years ago, for private circulation, supplying friends with a mirror
which reflects the image of expanded benevolence and exalted piety.
Belonging to the Society of Friends, she was not partial to
"The shot, the shout, the groan of war;"
yet her principles were patriotic, and she no doubt rejoiced over all
the victories and in the final and complete success of the "rebel" army.
She became a widow at an early age, and died at Burlington, in 1816,
aged seventy-nine years.
A single extract from her journal will illustrate the most prominent
feature of her character:
"June 14th, 1777. By a person from Bordentown, we hear twelve expresses
came in there to-day from camp. Some of the gondola-men and their wives
being sick, and no doctor in town to apply to, they were told Mrs.
Morris was a skillful woman, and kept medicines to give to the poor; and
notwithstanding their late attempts to shoot my poor boy, they ventured
to come to me, and in a very humble manner begged me to come and do
something for them. At first I thought they designed to put a trick on
me, get me aboard their gondola, and then pillage my house, as they had
done some others; but on asking where the sick folks were, I was told
they were lodged in the Governor's house. So I went to see them; there
were several, both men and women, very ill with fever; some said, the
camp or putrid fever. They were broken out in blotches; and on close
examination, it appeared to be the itch fever. I treated them according
to art, and they all got well. I thought I had received all my pay when
they thankfully acknowledged my kindness; but lo! in a short time
afterwards a very rough, ill-looking man came to the door and asked for
me. When I went to him he drew me aside, and asked if I had any friends
in Philadelphia. The question alarmed me, supposing there was some
mischief meditated against that poor city; however, I calmly said--'I
have an ancient father, some sisters, and other near friends there.'
"'Well,' said the man, 'do you wish to hear from them, or send any thing
by way of refreshment to them? If you do, I will take charge of it, and
bring you back any thing you may send for.'
"I was very much surprised, and thought, to be sure, he only wanted to
get provisions to take to the gondolas; but when he told me his wife was
one of those I had given medicine to, and this was the only thing he
could do to pay me for my kindness, my heart leaped with joy, and I set
about preparing something for my dear, absent friends. A quarter of
beef, some veal, fowls and flour, were soon put up; and about midnight
the man called and took them aboard his boat. He left them at Robert
Hopkins'--at the point--whence my beloved friends took them to town.
"Two nights afterwards, a loud knocking at our front door greatly
alarmed us, and opening the chamber window, we heard a man's voice,
saying, 'Come down softly and open the door, but bring no light.'
"There was something mysterious in such a call; but we concluded to go
down and set the candle in the kitchen.
"When we got to the front door, we asked, 'Who are you?'
"The man replied, 'A friend; open quickly.' So the door was opened; and
who should it be but our honest gondola-man, with a letter, a bushel of
salt, a jug of molasses, a bag of rice, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and
some cloth for a coat for my poor boys; all sent by my kind sisters!
"How did our hearts and eyes overflow with love to them, and thanks to
our Heavenly Father for such seasonable supplies! May we never forget
it! Being now so rich, we thought it our duty to hand out a little to
the poor around us, who were mourning for want of salt; so we divided
the bushel, and gave a pint to every poor person who came for it--having
abundance left for our own use. Indeed, it seemed to us as if our little
store was increased by distribution, like the bread broken by our
Saviour to the multitude."
NOBLE EXAMPLE OF PIONEERS.
In every rank, or great or small,
'Tis industry supports us all.
GAY.
Count life by virtues--these will last
When life's lame-footed race is o'er.
MRS. HALE.
In the year 1843, the Hon. Samuel Wilkeson, of Buffalo--since
deceased--communicated to the American Pioneer, a series of papers
entitled "Early Recollections of the West." They present a graphic, yet
painful picture of the perils, hardships and sufferings attendant on
back-woods life in the midst of the aboriginal foresters. His father's
family was one of twenty that removed from Carlisle and the adjacent
towns, to the western part of Pennsylvania, in the spring of 1784. He
pays the following tribute to the industry, perseverance and pious
efforts of the mothers of the band:
The labor of all the settlers was greatly interrupted by the Indian war.
Although the older settlers had some sheep, yet their increase was slow,
as the country abounded in wolves. It was therefore the work of time to
secure a supply of wool. Deerskin was a substitute for cloth for men and
boys, but not for women and girls, although they were sometimes
compelled to resort to it. The women spun, and generally wove all the
cloth for their families, and when the wife was feeble, and had a large
family, her utmost efforts could not enable her to provide them with
anything like comfortable clothing. The wonder is, and I shall never
cease to wonder, that they did not sink under their burthens. Their
patient endurance of these accumulated hardships did not arise from a
slavish servility, or insensibility to their rights and comforts. They
justly appreciated their situation, and nobly encountered the
difficulties which could not be avoided.
Possessing all the affections of the wife, the tenderness of the mother,
and the sympathies of the woman, their tears flowed freely for others'
griefs, while they bore their own with a fortitude which none but a
woman could exercise. The entire education of her children devolved on
the mother, and notwithstanding the difficulties to be encountered, she
did not allow them to grow up wholly without instruction; but amidst all
her numerous cares taught them to read, and instructed them in the
principles of Christianity. To accomplish this, under the circumstances,
was no easy task. The exciting influences which surrounded them, made
the boys restless under restraint. Familiarized as they were to
hardships from the cradle, and daily listening to stories of Indian
massacres and depredations, and to the heroic exploits of some
neighboring pioneer, who had taken an Indian scalp, or by some daring
effort saved his own, ignorant of the sports and toys with which
children in other circumstances are wont to be amused, no wonder they
desired to emulate the soldier, or engage in the scarcely less exciting
adventures of the hunter. Yet even many of these boys were subdued by
the faithfulness of the mother, who labored to bring them up in the fear
of God.
ANECDOTE OF MRS. SLOCUMB.
Our country yet remains:
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
And swear for her to live--with her to die!
CAMPBELL.
One of the spiciest specimens of colloquial sparring, _vis-a-vis_, in
our Revolutionary annals, was between Colonel Tarleton and the wife of
Lieutenant Slocumb, of Wayne county, North Carolina.[55] The Attic wit
and Spartan boldness of the latter, exhibit original powers of mind,
strength of will, and a degree of self-possession truly grand and
ennobling. But the character of the heroine of "Pleasant Green," is most
luminous in her conduct at the battle of Moore's Creek, which occurred
on the twenty-seventh of February, 1776. She tells the story of her
adventures on that bloody occasion, as follows:
[55] _Vide_ Women of the Revolution, vol. 1. pp. 306-7, etc.
"The men all left on Sunday morning. More than eighty went from this
house with my husband; I looked at them well, and I could see that every
man had mischief in him. I know a coward as soon as I set my eyes upon
him. The tories more than once tried to frighten me, but they always
showed coward at the bare insinuation that our troops were about.
"Well, they got off in high spirits, every man stepping high and light.
And I slept soundly and quietly that night, 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
myself from the study. I went to bed at the usual time, but still
continued to study. As I lay--whether waking or sleeping I know not--I
had a dream; yet it was not all a dream. (She used the words,
unconsciously, of the poet who was not then in being.) I saw distinctly
a body wrapped in my husband's guard-cloak--bloody--dead; and others
dead and wounded on the ground about him. I saw them plainly and
distinctly. I uttered a cry, and sprang to my feet on the floor; and so
strong was the impression on my mind, that I rushed in the direction the
vision appeared, and came up against the side of the house. The fire in
the room gave little light, and I gazed in every direction to catch
another glimpse of the scene. I raised the light; every thing was still
and quiet. My child was sleeping, but my woman was awakened by my crying
out or jumping on the floor. If ever I felt fear it was at that moment.
Seated on the bed, I reflected a few moments--and said aloud: 'I must
go to him.' I told the woman I could not sleep, and would ride down the
road. She appeared in great alarm; but I merely told her to lock the
door after me, and look after the child. I went to the stable, saddled
my mare--as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled; and in one minute we
were tearing down the road at full speed. The cool night seemed after a
mile or two's gallop to bring reflection with it; and I asked myself
where I was going, and for what purpose. Again and again, I was tempted
to turn back; but I was soon ten miles from home, and my mind became
stronger every mile I rode. I should find my husband dead or dying--was
as firmly my presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When
day broke I was some thirty miles from home. I knew the general route
our little army expected to take, and had followed them without
hesitation. About sunrise I came upon a group of women and children,
standing and sitting by the road-side, each one of them showing the same
anxiety of mind I felt. Stopping a few minutes I inquired if the battle
had been fought. They knew nothing, but were assembled on the road-side
to catch intelligence. They thought Caswell had taken the right of the
Wilmington road, and gone towards the north-west (cape Fear). Again was
I skimming over the ground through a country thinly settled, and very
poor and swampy; but neither my own spirits nor my beautiful nag's
failed in the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the troops.
"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when I heard
a sound like thunder, which I knew must be cannon. It was the first time
I ever heard a cannon. I stopped still; when presently the cannon
thundered again. The battle was then fighting. What a fool! my husband
could not be dead last night, and the battle only fighting now! Still,
as I am so near, I will go on and see how they come out. So away we went
again, faster than ever; and I soon found, by the noise of the guns,
that I was near the fight. Again I stopped. I could hear muskets, I
could hear rifles, and I could hear shouting. I spoke to my mare and
dashed on in the direction of the firing and the shouts, now louder than
ever. The blind path I had been following brought me into the Wilmington
road leading to Moore's creek bridge, a few hundred yards below the
bridge. A few yards from the road, under a cluster of trees were lying
perhaps twenty men. They were the wounded. I knew the spot; the very
trees; and the position of the men I knew as if I had seen it a thousand
times. I had seen it all night! I saw all at once; but in an instant my
whole soul was centered in one spot; for there, wrapped in his bloody
guard-cloak, was my husband's body! How I passed the few yards from my
saddle to the place I never knew. I remember uncovering his head and
seeing a face clothed with gore from a dreadful wound across the temple.
I put my hand on the bloody face; 'twas warm; and an _unknown voice_
begged for water. A small camp-kettle was lying near, and a stream of
water was close by. I brought it; poured some in his mouth; washed his
face; and behold--it was Frank Cogdell. He soon revived and could speak.
I was washing the wound in his head. Said he 'It is not that; it is that
hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of blood was standing on
the ground about his feet. I took his knife, cut away his trowsers and
stockings, and found the blood came from a shot hole through and through
the fleshy part of the leg. I looked about and could see nothing that
looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but some heart-leaves. I
gathered a handful and bound them tight to the holes; and the bleeding
stopped. I then went to the others; and--Doctor! I dressed the wounds of
many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day! I had not
inquired for my husband; but while I was busy Caswell came up. He
appeared very much surprised to see me; and was with his hat in hand
about to pay some compliment: but I interrupted him by asking--'Where is
my husband?'
"'Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,' said
he, 'how came you here?'
"'Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as soldiers.
See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows; and here is
one'--going to Frank and lifting him up with my arm under his head so
that he could drink some more water--'would have died before any of you
men could have helped him.'
"'I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my husband, as
bloody as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher,[56] stood before me.
[56] It was his company that forded the creek, and, penetrating the
swamp, made the furious charge on the British left and rear which
decided the fate of the day.--[Mrs. Ellet.
"'Why, Mary!' he exclaimed, 'What are you doing there? Hugging Frank
Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'
"'I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and
a true friend to Congress.'
"'True, true! every word of it!' said Caswell. 'You are right, madam,'
with the lowest possible bow.
"I would not tell my husband what brought me there. I was so happy; 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 he was not
displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all
subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some very
obnoxious; but the worst of the tories were not taken prisoners. They
were, for the most part, left in the woods and swamps wherever they were
overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell readily
told me none should be hurt but such as had been guilty of murder and
house-burning. In the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and
started for 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 I told them they could send no party who 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!"[57]