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GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
Vol. XXX. May, 1847. No. 5.
Table of Contents
Fiction, Literature and Articles
The Loyalist’s Daughter
The Irish Match-Maker
Margaret’s Well: A Tale of the Great Civil War
Mandan Indians—Lover’s Leap
Frank Beverly
The Islets of the Gulf
A Dream
Game-Birds of America.—No. VI
Review of New Books
Poetry
Sonnet
The Stolen Child
Night
Settlement of the Genesee
To Mrs. P——, of Chestnut Street
Sea-Side Musings
“Are They Not All Ministering Spirits?”
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Drawn by J. Smillie from a sketch by T. Addison Richards.
Graham’s Magazine, 1844.
Engraved by Rawdon, Wright and Hatch & Smillie.
LOVER’S LEAP.
CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER]
* * * * *
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
Vol. XXX. PHILADELPHIA, May, 1847. No. 5.
* * * * *
THE LOYALIST’S DAUGHTER.
A TALE OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
BY P. HAMILTON MEYERS.
CHAPTER I.
The world-renowned city of Paris, always gay, was, perhaps, never more
so than in the autumn of the year 1776. Most prominent among the
exciting topics of its excitable populace, at that period, was the
American war. Possessed of an innate love of liberty, and a generous
sympathy for its oppressed supporters, and acting, doubtless, in part,
under the influence of an habitual opposition to the British government,
the citizens of Paris, and, to a less extent those of all France, had
watched with anxiety the growing rupture between the colonies and their
parent country, and now hailed with unconcealed delight the prospect of
their final separation. Each item of intelligence which gave token of
the spirit of the republicans, or the prospect of their success was
sought with avidity, and discussed with animation. Not a city in the
colonies themselves could boast of a populace so united in their
opinion, or more enthusiastic in their anticipations on this engrossing
subject. Whatever mistaken ideas of loyalty there might be in America,
to arrest the cause of popular freedom, no such obstacle existed in
France. They at least owed no fealty to the House of Hanover.
The feeling upon this subject at Paris had been brought to its height by
the appearance of Franklin in that capital. Never, perhaps, had an
untitled foreigner attracted so much attention, or been received with
such distinction. In addition to the cause of his country, his personal
reputation as a philosopher, his venerable years, his singular costume
and manners, combined to throw around him that charm of novelty so
seducing to the multitude. Wherever he appeared in public, crowds
gathered to admire. The hotels and club-rooms resounded with the name;
the gazettes were filled with his aphorisms and _bon-mots_; and in every
place of public resort, conspicuous among the embellishments the
portrait of the American envoy, with grave and sage-like countenance,
arrested attention.
That the presence of so decided a _lion_ should be eagerly sought for at
the fashionable parties and _levees_ was quite a matter of course. Nor
was the American backward in availing himself of all legitimate means to
increase the popularity of his cause.
The _clairvoyance_ of imagination, more potent than that of Mesmerism,
shall unroof for our benefit the marble and pillared mansion of the
Countess De Berne, and give to us a bird’s-eye view of its interior, on
the evening of one of her most brilliant _fêtes_. A flood of light, a
blaze of beauty meets the eye. Sitting, standing, promenading, the
votaries of fashion, in numberless brilliant groups, are seen. Eminent
among this throng for his personal appearance, and his graceful and
agreeable manners, was Mr. Francis Gansevoort. American by birth, he had
been spending several years in travel on the eastern continent, and only
for a few weeks past had been a sojourner in the French metropolis,
where he had gained, not without desert, ready access to the first
circles of society. The son of a distinguished and wealthy loyalist of
New York, he had left his home before the commencement of hostilities,
and until his arrival in Paris, had heard but little to awaken his
sympathies in behalf of his native land. He had for the last year been
traveling in the eastern states of Europe, ignorant of the great events
which had taken place at home, and unconscious of the rapid development
of those great political principles for which his country was
contending. The state of feeling which he found existing in Paris on
this subject, the enthusiasm, the ardor with which every thing American
was spoken of, operated with an electric effect upon his mind. If any
thing were wanting to fan his emotions into a flame, a letter, which he
at this juncture received from a much loved sister at home, was that
_desideratum_. It had been written many months before, and although its
general intelligence was not new, its details were full of the most
exciting interest.
Standing beside Mr. Gansevoort, and engaged in animated discussion with
him, was a French gentleman of about his own age, who had been the
companion of his more recent travels. Their acquaintance had commenced
at Paris, about a year previous to the time now spoken of, and had
ripened into a warm friendship. Louis De Zeng was a count of the French
empire, and a gentleman of the most unsullied reputation. Like
Gansevoort he was a tall and commanding person, and possessed of that
rare grace of manner which compels admiration.
Central amid another group, beheld with reverence, addressed with
respect, listened to with the most profound attention, numbering the
highest nobility among his admirers, was Benjamin Franklin. The winters
of more than seventy years had left their frosts upon his brow, without
impairing the strength of his intellect. Conspicuous among those who
thronged about the philosopher, was a youth of about nineteen years,
himself the object of no inconsiderable degree of respect. Evidently of
exalted rank, his fascinating manners and address were well calculated
to adorn his elevated station. None listened with more earnest and
polite attention to the envoy, none asked more minute and pertinent
questions than the young Marquis de La Fayette. It is needless to say
that the struggles of the revolutionists, their exploits, and their
prospect of success were the principal topics of conversation. The
circle was soon joined by De Zeng and Gansevoort, both of whom hastened
to pay their respects to the American minister, and afterward to the
marquis, with the latter of whom each appeared to be upon terms of
considerable intimacy.
“Our friend, the marquis, calls this the American camp, Mr. Gansevoort,”
said Dr. Franklin; “I am happy to see that you are disposed to join it.”
This was no random remark. The speaker had been made acquainted, in a
few words, with the peculiar history of his young countryman, and
designed to sound his views. The friends of Gansevoort, all of whom were
in equal doubt as to his intentions, listened eagerly for his reply.
“I fear the points of resemblance between this brilliant assemblage and
the American camp are but few,” was the answer. “I design, however, that
a few months shall enable me better to institute a comparison.”
A thrill of pleasure pervaded the breasts of the listeners at this
remark; and the venerable patriot did not hesitate openly to express his
delight, and promise his personal influence with the American
commander-in-chief in his young friend’s behalf.
“You are of those who ‘forsake father and mother’ to follow the good
cause,” he said; “May your reward be proportionate.”
Count De Zeng came to the relief of his friend, by remarking that if the
latter forsook father and mother, there was one at least whom he was not
required to forsake, but who was herself among the pioneers of liberty.
He then spoke enthusiastically of the letter of Miss Gansevoort, which
he had been allowed to see, and begged a similar favor for Dr. Franklin.
This having been granted, the latter, after perusing a few lines, asked
the privilege of reading a portion of it aloud. The request was so
earnest, and so heartily seconded by the bystanders, that it would have
been uncourteous to refuse. The best educated classes of France, it is
well known, fully understand the English language when spoken, although
but few can converse in it with precision or elegance. The part selected
for perusal was a brief description of the battle of Bunker Hill, of
which Miss Gansevoort had had the extraordinary fortune to be a witness,
while on a visit at Boston.
The crowd thickened around the majestic form of the ambassador, as with
distinct but slightly trembling voice, amidst a general silence he read
the following extract from Miss Gansevoort’s letter:
“The British army, under Gen. Howe, crossed the Firth about noon, in a
multitude of sloops and boats. Every house-top in the northern part of
the city, every steeple, and dome, and hill, was crowded with
spectators. The anxiety of all classes was most intense, and especially
of those who, like myself, sympathized with the patriots. It seemed as
if on the passing hour hung the final destiny of our land. It was the
first real struggle, and its issue was to animate or forever dampen the
hopes of her gallant defenders.
“The attacking army had formed on the opposite side, and advanced in
solid column toward the American redoubt. How breathlessly I awaited the
shock! I was in the midst of my loyalist friends, and on every side I
heard nothing but confident predictions of an immediate rout of the
Americans.
“‘Now, now,’ were the whispered words, ‘in a moment you’ll see them
fly.’ I could not reply—my voice was choked. I could only send up
silent prayers to the Throne of Power; and I firmly believe that tens of
thousands of petitions were at that moment ascending simultaneously to
Heaven in behalf of our army.
“The British approached nearer and nearer to the cloud-like cluster
which hung upon the summit of the hill, without an opposing gun being
fired. A death-like silence prevailed in the American camp. ‘They’ll
surrender without a blow!’ exclaimed one. ‘They _have_ surrendered,’
said another. In the midst of these remarks, a flash of lightning seemed
to pour down the sides of the hill; one long, continuous, rapid roll of
musketry was heard, while shouts, and charging cheers rose wildly on the
air. Ceaseless, unremitting, deadly, was that fearful discharge of
musketry from the camp. The ranks of the assailants were decimated at a
breath. Appalled at this unexpected reception, they wavered, and
rallied, and wavered again. Still downward poured the iron hail. Vain
was their valor. No human courage could have withstood the shock. The
British army retreated rapidly down the hill, and one wild shout of
triumph rent the sky. From every roof, from every dome and height, those
thrilling cheers went up. So great was the consternation of the
retreating army that many fled precipitately to their boats. But their
officers, with indomitable skill and courage, succeeded in rallying them
at length to a second attack. In the mean time the flames of Charlestown
were illuminating the heavens. A detachment of the British had fired
that beautiful town, and its pillars of flame and smoke, ‘volumed and
vast,’ formed a terrific background to the tragedy enacting on the hill.
The charge was renewed with increased ardor. Heedless of their galling
fire, the Americans, as before, silently awaited the near approach of
the enemy, and again greeted them with the same resistless deluge of
balls. Completely broken and routed, the British a second time fled to
the shore. Their dauntless general, Sir William Howe, remained for some
time alone on the field of battle—all the other officers being either
killed or wounded.
“But the contest was not yet decided. The well-disciplined troops of Sir
William were rallied to a third attack, and by the aid of Gen. Clinton,
who, witnessing from the city their imminent peril, had crossed rapidly
to their relief another and more judicious assault was planned. There is
little reason to doubt that even this, although made with tremendous
force, might have been successfully sustained, but for a most
unfortunate and unforeseen event. The ammunition of the patriots began
to fail. They were also unprovided with bayonets; and, after a brief
resistance, they abandoned the works, and retired with but little loss.
“That the Americans were virtually victorious in this contest is allowed
even by many of their enemies; but however that may be, the effect of
the battle upon the people is quite the same as that of a victory. It
has inspired them with the fullest confidence in their powers, and will
lead, beyond doubt, to still nobler achievements. The whole country
rings with the tidings.”
A murmur of approbation succeeded the silence which had prevailed during
the reading of this epistle. Conversation at once became animated, and
the compliments, which were showered with a lavish hand, were divided
between the American army and its fair encomiast.
“When do you embark?” inquired De Zeng of his friend.
“Within a few weeks,” said the other.
“I will go with you,” was the sententious reply.
He who had watched the excited bearing of the young marquis at this
moment, and the proud flashing of his eye, would not have doubted that
in his breast also was forming that lofty resolution which was
subsequently carried to so glorious a fulfillment.