strangeness surpass fiction. The doctor had a young and lovely niece, an
heiress to considerable property, whose compassionate feelings led her
to join her uncle in bestowing kindness on the friendless youth. Many
censured the uncle's imprudence in permitting them to be so much in each
other's society, and to take drives so frequently together. The doctor
laughed to himself at the warnings and hints he received, and thought
how foolish the censorious would feel when the truth should come out.
His knowledge, meanwhile, was buried in his own bosom, nor shared even
with the members of his family. The niece was allowed to be as much with
the invalid as suited her pleasure. Her gentle heart was touched by the
misfortunes she had contributed to alleviate; the pale and melancholy
soldier, for whose fate no one seemed to care, who had no possession in
the world save his sword, who had suffered so much in the cause of
liberty, became dear to her. She saw his gratitude for the benefits and
kindness received, yet knew by intuition that he would never dare aspire
to the hand of one so gifted by fortune. In the confiding abandonment of
woman's love, the fair girl made known her attachment, and offered to
provide for the education of its object before marriage. Deborah often
declared that the moment in which she learned that she had unwittingly
gained the love of a being so guileless, was fraught with the keenest
anguish she ever experienced. In return for the hospitality and tender
care that had been lavished upon her, she had inflicted pain upon one
she would have died to shield. Her former entanglement had caused no
uneasiness, but this was a heart of a different mould; no way of amends
seemed open, except confession of her real character, and to that,
though impelled by remorse and self-reproach, she could not bring
herself. She merely said to the generous girl, that they would meet
again; and, though ardently desiring the possession of an education,
that she could not avail herself of the noble offer. Before her
departure, the young lady pressed on her acceptance several articles of
needful clothing, such as in those times many of the soldiers received
from fair hands. All these were afterwards lost by the upsetting of a
boat, except the shirt and vest Robert had on at the time, which are
still preserved as relics in the family.
Her health being now nearly restored, the physician had a long
conference with the commanding officer of the company in which Robert
had served, and this was followed by an order to the youth to carry a
letter to General Washington.
Her worst fears were now confirmed. From the time of her removal into
the doctor's family, she had cherished a misgiving which sometimes
amounted almost to a certainty, that he had discovered her deception. In
conversation with him she anxiously watched his countenance, but not a
word or look indicated suspicion, and she had again flattered herself
that she was safe from detection. When the order came for her to deliver
a letter into the hands of the Commander-in-chief, she could no longer
deceive herself.
There remained no course but simple obedience. When she presented
herself for admission at the head-quarters of Washington, she trembled
as she had never done before the enemy's fire. Her heart sunk within
her: she strove in vain to collect and compose herself, and, overpowered
with dread and uncertainty, was ushered into the presence of the Chief.
He noticed her extreme agitation, and, supposing it to proceed from
diffidence, kindly endeavored to re-assure her. He then bade her retire
with an attendant, who was directed to offer her some refreshment, while
he read the communication of which she had been the bearer.
Within a short time she was again summoned into the presence of
Washington. He said not a word, but handed her in silence a discharge
from the service, putting into her hand at the same time a note
containing a few brief words of advice, and a sum of money sufficient to
bear her expenses to some place where she might find a home. The
delicacy and forbearance thus observed affected her sensibly. "How
thankful," she has often said, "was I to that great and good man who so
kindly spared my feelings! He saw me ready to sink with shame; one word
from him at that moment would have crushed me to the earth. But he spoke
no word--and I blessed him for it."
After the termination of the war, she married Benjamin Gannett, of
Sharon. When Washington was President, she received a letter inviting
Robert Shirtliffe, or rather Mrs. Gannett, to visit the seat of
government. Congress was then in session, and during her stay at the
capital, a bill was passed granting her a pension in addition to certain
lands, which she was to receive as an acknowledgment for her services to
the country in a military capacity. She was invited to the houses of
several of the officers, and to parties given in the city; attentions
which manifested the high estimation in which she was there held.
HOSPITALITY OF ELIZABETH BRANT.
Stranger, whoe'er thou art, securely rest
Affianced in my faith, a friendly guest.
POPE.
At the close of the last war, John and Elizabeth Brant, children of the
celebrated warrior, took possession of their father's mansion at the
head of lake Ontario, and dispensed his "ancient hospitalities." While
making the tour of Canada West with two of his daughters, in 1819, James
Buchanan, Esq., British consul for the port of New York, visited the
"Brant House," and afterwards published the following interesting
account in a small volume of Indian sketches:
"After stopping more than a week under the truly hospitable roof of the
Honorable Colonel Clarke, at the Falls of Niagara, I determined to
proceed by land, round lake Ontario, to York; and Mrs. Clarke offered to
give my daughters a letter of introduction to a Miss Brant, advising us
to arrange our time so as to sleep and stop a day or two in the house of
that lady, as she was certain we should be much pleased with her and her
brother. Our friend did not intimate, still less did we suspect, that
the introduction was to an Indian prince and princess. Had we been in
the least aware of this, our previous arrangements would all have given
way, as there was nothing I was more anxious to obtain than an
opportunity such as this was so well calculated to afford, of seeing in
what degree the Indian character would be modified by a conformity to
the habits and comforts of civilized life.
"Proceeding on our journey, we stopped at an inn, romantically situated,
where I determined to remain all night. Among other things, I inquired
of the landlord if he knew the distance to Miss Brant's house, and from
him I learned that it was about twenty miles farther. He added, that
young Mr. Brant had passed that way in the forenoon, and would, no
doubt, be returning in the evening, and that, if I wished it, he would
be on the lookout for him. This I desired the landlord to do, as it
would enable me to intimate our introduction to his sister, and
intention of waiting on her the next morning.
"At dusk Mr. Brant returned, and, being introduced into our room, we
were unable to distinguish his complexion, and conversed with him,
believing him to be a young Canadian gentleman. We did not, however,
fail to observe a certain degree of hesitation and reserve in the manner
of his speech. He certainly expressed a wish that we would do his sister
and himself the favor of spending a few days with them, in order to
refresh ourselves and our horses: but we thought his style more laconic
than hospitable. Before candles were brought in our new friend departed,
leaving us still in error as to his nation.
"By four o'clock in the morning we resumed our journey. On arriving at
the magnificent shores of lake Ontario, the driver of our carriage
pointed out, at the distance of five miles, the house of Miss Brant,
which had a very noble and commanding aspect; and we anticipated much
pleasure in our visit. Young Mr. Brant, it appeared, unaware that with
our carriage we could have reached his house so soon, had not arrived
before us; so that our approach was not announced, and we drove up to
the door under the full persuasion that the family would be apprised of
our coming. The outer door, leading to a spacious hall, was open. We
entered and remained a few minutes, when, seeing no person about, we
proceeded into the parlor, which, like the hall, was for the moment
unoccupied. We therefore had an opportunity of looking about us at our
leisure. It was a room well furnished, with a carpet, pier and chimney
glasses, mahogany tables, fashionable chairs, a guitar, a neat hanging
bookcase, in which, among other volumes, we perceived a Church of
England Prayer Book, translated into the Mohawk tongue. Having sent our
note of introduction in by the coachman, and still no person waiting on
us, we began to suspect (more especially in the hungry state we were in)
that some delay or difficulty about breakfast stood in the way of the
young lady's appearance. I can assure my readers that a keen morning's
ride on the shores of an American lake is an exercise of all others
calculated to make the appetite clamorous, if not insolent. We had
already penetrated into the parlor, and were beginning to meditate a
farther exploration in search of the pantry, when, to our unspeakable
astonishment, in walked a charming, noble-looking Indian girl, dressed
partly in the native and partly in the English costume. Her hair was
confined on the head in a silk net, but the lower tresses, escaping from
thence, flowed down on her shoulders. Under a tunic or morning dress of
black silk was a petticoat of the same material and color, which reached
very little below the knee. Her silk stockings and kid shoes were, like
the rest of her dress, black. The grace and dignity of her movement, the
style of her dress and manner, so new, so unexpected, filled us all with
astonishment. With great ease, yet by no means in that commonplace mode
so generally prevalent on such occasions, she inquired how we found the
roads, accommodations, etc. No flutter was at all apparent on account of
the delay in getting breakfast; no fidgeting and fuss-making, no running
in and out, no idle expressions of regret, such as 'Oh! dear me! had I
known of your coming, you would not have been kept in this way!' but,
with perfect ease she maintained conversation, until a squaw, wearing a
man's hat, brought in a tray with preparations for breakfast. A
table-cloth of fine white damask being laid, we were regaled with tea,
coffee, hot rolls, butter in water and ice-coolers, eggs, smoked beef,
ham, broiled chickens, etc., all served in a truly neat and comfortable
style. The delay, we afterwards discovered, arose from the desire of our
hostess to supply us with hot rolls, which were actually baked while we
were waiting. I have been thus minute in my description of these
comforts, as they were so little to be expected in the house of an
Indian.
"After breakfast Miss Brant took my daughters out to walk, and look at
the picturesque scenery of the country. She and her brother had
previously expressed a hope that we would stay all day; but, though I
wished of all things to do so, and had determined, in the event of their
pressing their invitation, to accept it, yet I declined the proposal at
first, and thus forfeited a pleasure which we all of us longed in our
hearts to enjoy; for, as I afterward learned, it is not the custom of
any uncorrupted Indian to repeat a request if once rejected. They
believe that those to whom they offer any mark of friendship, and who
give a reason for refusing it, do so in perfect sincerity, and that it
would be rudeness to require them to alter their determination or break
their word. And as the Indian never makes a show of civility but when
prompted by a genuine feeling, so he thinks others are actuated by a
similar candor. I really feel ashamed when I consider how severe a
rebuke this carries with it to us who boast of civilization, but who are
so much carried away by the general insincerity of expression pervading
all ranks, that few, indeed, are to be found who speak just what they
wish or know. This duplicity is the effect of what is termed a high
state of refinement. We are taught so to conduct our language that
others cannot discover our real views or intentions. The Indians are not
only free from this deceitfulness, but surpass us in another instance of
good breeding and decorum, namely, of never interrupting those who
converse with them until they have done speaking; and then they reply in
the hope of not being themselves interrupted. This was perfectly
exemplified by Miss Brant and her brother; and I hope the lesson my
daughters were so forcibly taught by the natural politeness of their
hostess will never be forgotten by them, and that I also may profit by
the example."
Elizabeth was the youngest daughter of Joseph Brant. She was married to
William Johnson Kerr, a gentleman who bore a commission in the last war,
and fought against the Americans on the Niagara frontier. He is a
grandson of Sir William Johnson. The author of American Border Wars,
wrote in 1843, as follows: "Mrs. Kerr, as the reader must infer from
what has been previously said respecting her, was educated with great
care, as well in regard to her mental culture as her personal
accomplishments. With her husband and little family, she now occupies
the old mansion of her father, at the head of lake Ontario; a noble
situation, as the author can certify from personal observation."
BRIEF ANECDOTES.
The worthy acts of women to repeat.
MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES.
Immediately after the dreadful massacre of Virginia colonists, on the
twenty-second of March, 1622, Governor Wyat issued an order for the
remainder of the people to "draw together" into a "narrow compass;"[91]
and most of the eighty plantations were forthwith abandoned. Among the
persons who remained at their homes, was Mrs. Proctor, whom Dr. Belknap
calls "a gentlewoman of an heroic spirit."[92] She defended her
plantation against the Indians a full month, and would not have
abandoned it even then, had not the officers of the colony obliged her
to do so.
[91] Belknap.
[92] American Biography, vol. 2, p. 182.
One of the best women of her times was Experience West, wife of the Rev.
Dr. West, who was pastor of a church in New Bedford, Massachusetts, for
nearly half a century. Her life abounded in praiseworthy, though
unrecorded, deeds. The Doctor was aware of the worth of his
"help-meet," and had a punning way of praising her which must have
sounded odd in a Puritan divine a hundred years ago. She was unusually
tall, and he sometimes remarked to intimate friends, that he had found,
by _long Experience_, that it is good to be married.
* * * * *
The Rev. Dr. Mather Byles, of Boston, a tory of considerable notoriety,
paid unsuccessful addresses to a young lady who subsequently gave her
hand to a gentleman of the name of Quincy. Meeting her one day, the
Doctor remarked: "So, madam, it appears that you prefer a Quincy to
Byles." "Yes," she replied, "for if there had been any thing worse than
_biles_, God would have afflicted Job with them."[93]
[93] A Sabine's American Loyalist. The loyal divine was himself a wicked
punster. "Near his house, in wet weather, was a very bad slough. It
happened that two of the selectmen who had the care of the streets,
driving in a chaise, stuck fast in this hole, and were obliged to get
out in the mud to extricate their vehicle. Doctor Byles came out, and
making them a respectful bow, said; 'Gentlemen, I have often complained
to you of this nuisance without any attention being paid to it, and I am
very glad to see you stirring in the matter now.' On the celebrated dark
day in 1780, a lady who lived near the Doctor, sent her young son with
her compliments, to know if he could account for the uncommon
appearance. His answer was: 'My dear, you will give my compliments to
your mamma, and tell her that I am as much in the dark as she is.'"
* * * * *
A married Shawnee woman was once asked by a man who met her in the
woods, to look upon and love him: "Oulman, my husband, who is forever
before my eyes, hinders me from seeing you or any other person."
* * * * *
While the husband of Mrs. Dissosway, of Staten island, was in the hands
of the British, her brother Nathaniel Randolph, a Captain in the
American army, repeatedly and greatly annoyed the tories; and they were
anxious to be freed from his incursions. Accordingly, one of their
colonels promised Mrs. Dissosway to procure her husband's release, if
she would prevail upon her brother to leave the army. She scornfully
replied: "And if I could act so dastardly a part, think you that General
Washington has but one Captain Randolph in his army?"
* * * * *
When, by permission of the British authorities, the wife of Daniel Hall
was once going to John's island, near Charleston, to see her mother, one
of the king's officers stopped her and ordered her to surrender the key
of her trunk. On her asking him what he wished to look for, he replied,
"For treason, madam." "Then," said she, "you may be saved the trouble of
search, for you may find enough of it at my tongue's end."[94]
[94] Major Garden.
* * * * *
When a party of Revolutionary patriots left Pleasant River settlement,
in Maine, on an expedition, one of the number forgot his powder horn,
and his wife, knowing he would greatly need it, ran twenty miles through
the woods before she overtook him.
* * * * *
When the village of Buffalo was burnt during the last war, only one
dwelling-house was suffered to stand. Its owner, Mrs. St. John, was a
woman of wonderful courage and self-possession; and when the Indians
came to fire it, and destroy its inmates, she ordered them away in such
a dignified, resolute and commanding, yet conciliatory, manner, that
they seemed to be awed in her presence, and were kept at bay until some
British officers rode up and ordered them to desist from the work of
destruction. Saved by her presence of mind and heroic bravery, she who
saw her neighbors butchered at their doors and the young village laid in
ashes, lived to see a new village spring up, phoenix-like, and expand
into a city of thirty-five thousand inhabitants.
* * * * *
Mrs. Beckham, who resided in the neighborhood of Pacolet river, South
Carolina, was a true friend of freedom, and a great sufferer on that
account. Tarleton, after sharing in her hospitality, pillaged her house,
and then ordered its destruction. Her eloquent remonstrance, however,
caused him to recall the order. Concealing a guinea in her braided hair,
she once went eighty miles to Granby, purchased a bag of salt, and
safely returned with it on the saddle under her.[95]
[95] Vide Women of the Revolution, vol. I, p. 296.
* * * * *
The house of Captain Charles Sims, who resided on Tyger river, South
Carolina, was often plundered by tories; and on one of these occasions,
when his wife was alone and all the robbers had departed but one, she
ordered _him_ away, and he disobeying, she broke his arm with a stick,
and drove him from the house.
Several years ago, a family, residing on the Colorado, in Texas, were
attacked by a party of Camanche Indians, who first fell upon two workmen
in the fields and slew them. Seeing one of them fall, the proprietor of
the establishment, who was standing near his house, caught two guns and
ran towards the field. A daughter hastily put on her brother's hat and
surtout, and followed her father. She soon overtook him, and persuaded
him to return to the house. She bravely assisted in guarding it until
the Indians, tired of the assault, departed.
* * * * *
In the year 1777, when General Burgoyne entered the valley of the
Hudson, the wife of General Schuyler hastened to Saratoga, her husband's
country seat, to secure her furniture. "Her carriage," writes the
biographer of Brant, "was attended by only a single armed man on
horseback. When within two miles of her house, she encountered a crowd
of panic-stricken people, who recited to her the tragic fate of Miss
M'Crea,[96] and, representing to her the danger of proceeding farther in
the face of the enemy, urged her to return. She had yet to pass through
a dense forest within which even then some of the savage troops might
be lurking for prey. But to these prudential counsels she would not
listen. 'The General's wife,' said she, 'must not be afraid!' and,
pushing forward, she accomplished her purpose."
[96] The circumstances in regard to the murder of Jane M'Crea, have been
variously stated. The following version of the cruel story is probably
correct: "Miss M'Crea belonged to a family of loyalists, and had engaged
her hand in marriage to a young refugee named David Jones, a subordinate
officer in the British service, who was advancing with Burgoyne. Anxious
to possess himself of his bride, he dispatched a small party of Indians
to bring her to the British camp. Her family and friends were strongly
opposed to her going with such an escort; but her affection overcame her
prudence, and she determined upon the hazardous adventure. She set
forward with her dusky attendants on horseback. The family resided at
the village of Fort Edward, whence they had not proceeded half a mile
before her conductors stopped to drink at a spring. Meantime, the
impatient lover, who deserved not her embrace for confiding her
protection to such hands, instead of going himself, had dispatched a
second party of Indians upon the same errand. The Indians met at the
spring; and before the march was resumed, they were attacked by a party
of the Provincials. At the close of the skirmish, the body of Miss
M'Crea was found among the slain, tomahawked, scalped, and tied to a
pine-tree, yet standing by the side of the spring, as a monument of the
bloody transaction. The ascertained cause of the murder was this: The
promised reward for bringing her in safety to her betrothed was a barrel
of rum. The chiefs of the two parties sent for her by Mr. Jones
quarreled respecting the anticipated compensation. Each claimed it; and,
in a moment of passion, to end the controversy, one of them struck her
down with his hatchet."
* * * * *
While Thomas Crittenden, the first Governor of Vermont, was discharging
the functions of an executive, he was waited upon one day, in an
official capacity, by several gentlemen from Albany. The visitors were
of the higher class, and accompanied by their aristocratic wives. At
noon the hostess summoned the workmen from the fields, and seated them
at the table with her fashionable visitors. When the females had retired
from the dinner table to an apartment by themselves, one of the visitors
said to the lady of the house, "You do not usually have your hired
laborers sit down at the first table do you?" "Why yes, madam," Mrs.
Crittenden replied, "we have thus far done so, but are now thinking of
making a different arrangement. The Governor and myself have been
talking the matter over a little, lately, and come to the conclusion
that the men, who do nearly all the hard work, ought to have the first
table,--and that he and I, who do so little, should be content with the
second. But, in compliment to you, I thought I would have you sit down
with them, to-day, at the first table."[97]
[97] We find the substance of this anecdote in a copy of the Green
Mountain Freeman published in March, 1851. The paper is edited by Daniel
P. Thompson, Esq., who prefaces the article with the remark that the
anecdote was related to him "by the late Mrs. Timothy Hubbard, of
Montpelier, who, while a girl, was intimate with the Governor's family,
and knowing to the amusing incident at the time of its occurrence."
* * * * *
At the Fair held in Castle Garden, in the autumn of 1850, was exhibited
a large Gothic arm-chair, backed and cushioned with beautifully wrought
needle work in worsted. The needle work was from the hands of Mrs.
Millard Fillmore. It was setting a noble example for the wife of a
President to present her handiwork at an industrial exhibition; and, if
the decision of the three Roman banqueters in regard to their wives, was
correct--they preferring the one who was found with her maidens
preparing loom-work,--Mrs. Fillmore must be ranked among the best of
wives.
* * * * *