Suddenly, through the clear stillness of an autumn morning rung out the
three rapid reports of an alarm-gun, which had been agreed upon by the
three frontier forts defending the valley of the Schoharie, as a signal
of danger. The faint flush in the eastern sky was as yet not strong
enough to tinge the white frost glittering over leaf and grass; the deep
repose of earliest dawn rested over all things in that beautiful vale;
but as the thunder of that alarm-gun rolled sullenly along the air,
every eye unclosed, every heart awoke from the even pulse of sleep to
the hurried beat of fear and excitement.
Not even the inhabitants of Gettysburg, nor the plundered, misused
people of East Tennessee, can imagine the appalling terrors which beset
our ancestors during those "days which tried men's souls," when they
fought for the liberties which now we are bound to defend in all their
sanctity against foes at home or abroad. When we recall the price paid
for our present position in the van of progress and free government,
well may our hearts burn with inextinguishable resolve never to give up
what was so nobly purchased.
Pardon the reflection, which has nothing to do with the story we have to
tell of TIMOTHY MURPHY, THE CELEBRATED RIFLEMAN OF MORGAN'S CORPS. Only
this we _must_ say: our English neighbors, who are so much shocked at
the way we have managed our civil war, ought to turn back to that
disgraceful page of their history whereon is written the hideous record
of Indian barbarities which they employed against us—_against our women
and children, our firesides, our innocent babes_!
The signal was fired by the upper fort; but when those of the middle
fort sprung to the ramparts to ascertain the cause of alarm, they found
their own walls completely invested. A combined force of British troops,
Hessian hirelings and tories, with a body of Indians of the Six Nations,
under their war-chief, Joseph Brant—the whole under the command of Sir
John Johnson—passing the first fort unobserved, had entered the valley.
After the usual manner of their warfare, the work of destruction upon
peaceable inhabitants immediately commenced. Farm-houses were in flames;
women and children, who ran from them, found refuge only in the tortures
of the savages waiting without; barns, filled with the plenty of autumn,
blazed up a few moments with the wild brightness of ruin, and then sunk
back, a smoldering heap, to tell of poverty and famine. While this cruel
work was progressing, a column of the enemy, with two small mortars and
a field-piece called a "grasshopper,"—from being mounted upon legs
instead of wheels—was sent to occupy a height which commanded the middle
fort. This, with its little garrison of about two hundred men, was
surrounded, and lay completely under the enemy's fire.
Under these circumstances the men turned to their commander for
instructions. Unfortunately, Major Woolsey was a fallen star amid that
glorious galaxy to which we look back with such pride—he was that
pitiable object at which women blush—a _coward in epaulettes_! Where was
he in the emergency which ought to have called forth all his powers?
"Among the women and children in a house of the fort!" says the
historian, but the narrator does not inform us whether or not the Major
absolutely begged the shelter of their skirts! And, "when driven out by
the ridicule of his associates, he crawled around the intrenchments upon
his hands and knees." There was one way in which this incident was of
service to the troops who awaited the orders of their commander. The
Major's cowardice was so utterly ridiculous that the jeers and laughter
it called forth restored courage to the men, who had been so suddenly
surprised as to be at first disheartened.
Among those who shook with mingled wrath and laughter at sight of the
impotence of their leader was Murphy. At the first note of danger he had
sprung to the ramparts, his unerring rifle in hand, his bright eye
flashing fire. _He_ should have been in the Major's place. It is men
like him who electrify their comrades with the thrilling enthusiasm and
reliance of their own courage—men who know not fear, who think nothing
of themselves and all of their cause—cool, prompt, ready for any
emergency. _He_ should have been the leader: but he was only a
militiaman, whose term of service had expired at that, and who was
"fighting on his own account." But he could not brook the disgrace of
such leadership; when the commander of the fort went creeping about on
his hands, the militiaman felt that it was time to take the reins in his
own grasp, and he did it. Implicit obedience from the soldier to the
officer is a necessity; but there are exceptions to all rules, and this
was one of them; to be mutinous then was to be true to duty and to
honor. Deeming the fort their own, the enemy sent out an officer with a
flag of truce. As soon as he came in sight, the relieved Major got off
his knees, commanding his men to cease all firing. Now it was that this
justifiable mutiny ensued. Murphy, from his position on the ramparts,
answered to the flag, warning it away, threatening in event of its
closer approach to _fire upon it_. This remarkable assumption of
authority confounded all within the fort. He was ordered by the officers
of the regular troops to forbear, but the militiamen, whose hero he was,
cheered him, and swore he should have his way. Thus supported, as soon
as the flag of truce came within range, he fired purposely missing the
messenger who bore it, when the flag quickly retired. This "outrage" at
once closed all avenues to a peaceful surrender. The enemy's artillery
opened upon the fort. A continual fusillade was kept up by the mortars,
the grasshopper, and the rifles of the Indians, fortunately with little
effect. Many an Indian, who considered himself at a prudent distance,
bit the dust, as the smoke cleared away from the busy rifle of Timothy
Murphy. Hour after hour the attack continued. A number of shells were
thrown, but only two of them fell inside the walls; one of these pierced
the house within the palisades, and descending to the first story,
smothered itself in a feather-bed, without doing any fatal injury. The
gallant Major commanding should have been ensconced for safety in those
feathers! The other shell set fire to the roof, which was saved from
destruction by a pail of water carried by the intrepid Philip Graft, the
sentinel who had first discovered the approach of the British troops.
Many exciting events occurred during that long forenoon. A large barn,
filled with grain, and surrounded by several stacks of wheat, stood a
few hundred feet from the fort. It was several times set on fire. As it
was important to save its contents, Lieutenant Spencer, with his band of
forty men, sallied out on each occasion, and extinguished the flames.
This heroic party also made sorties, whenever the enemy approached too
near the fort, which could not be properly protected, owing to a short
supply of ammunition.
Now it was, also, that the courage of women—which the annals of the
Revolution set forth in such noble luster—shone resplendent above the
craven fear of the commander. Some of the women armed themselves,
avowing their determination to aid in the defense, should the attack
reach the walls. The supply of water threatening to give out, a soldier
was ordered to bring some from a well outside the works. He turned pale
and stood trembling in his shoes, between the double danger of
disobedience and exposure to the enemy's fire.
"Give the bucket to me!" cried a girl, not over nineteen years of age,
her red lip curling slightly with scorn, as she took the bucket from his
yielding hand, and went forth after the much-needed necessary of life.
A shout of enthusiasm broke from the spectators. With a smile on her
face and a clear luster in her eyes, inspiriting to see, she went out on
her dangerous journey. Without the least appearance of trepidation, she
filled her bucket and returned, passing within range of the enemy's
fire. This errand she performed several times in safety.
All this time the rifle of Murphy was doing its appointed work. In the
course of the forenoon he saw a second flag approaching to demand the
surrender of the fort. Seeing him preparing to salute it as he had the
former, Major Woolsey ordered the independent rifleman from the
ramparts.
"I shan't come down," said the sturdy patriot. "I'm going to fire on
that white rag."
"Then I shall be obliged to kill you on the spot," said the Major,
drawing his sword, and making a flourish.
Murphy only took one eye from the advancing flag; his weapon was
sighted; he was not sufficiently alarmed by this threat to lose its
position.
"Kill away, Major, if you think best. It won't better _your_ situation
much. I know you, and what you will do. _You will surrender this fort._
Yes, sir; in the hopes of saving your miserable skin, you'll surrender!
But you won't even save your own carcass. You can believe what I tell
you. I know them troops out thar, and their way of fightin'. You won't
make nothing by surrendering to _them_, and Tim Murphy, for one, ain't
going to surrender. _No, sir!_"
Again the gallant militiamen applauded his sentiments, which were no
sooner uttered than the rifleman discharged his piece at the approaching
officer, missing him, as before, purposely. Of course, at this,
hostilities were renewed; but, as the rifleman said, he knew which of
two dangers was most to be dreaded; and, if he must perish, he preferred
to die in defense of what had been intrusted to them rather than to be
smote down after the humiliation of a surrender by murderers who
respected none of the laws of war. It is true, that, to fire upon a flag
of truce, was a breach of military usage, and, in almost any
circumstances, inexcusable; but not so now, when the garrison would only
meet with the most fatal treachery as the result of any interview. The
officers of the regulars, however, did not so regard the affair. Brought
up under the stern discipline of military rule, they took sides with the
Major, and expostulated with Murphy upon his unwarrantable violation of
the laws of war.
"Don't talk," he cried, impatiently. "Jest come up here and take a look
at the smoke arising from the homes of defenseless citizens. Take a look
at the red-skins dancing around 'em, like devils around the fires of
hell. Hear the screams of them women and children they are murderin' in
cold blood. By the God above, if I could get at them fiends, I'd stop
that music!" His teeth were firmly set; his face hardened; his eyes
shone like two coals of fire; and, disdaining to argue his point at a
moment like that, he settled his weapon for the next victim who should
venture within range.
The garrison could indeed hear, in the intervals of the cannon's
silence, the shrieks of helpless families smote down by the tomahawk.
"Do you hear it?" he cried again, as the shrill cry of a female voice
pierced the air. "That's the kind of enemy you've got to deal with, and
there you stand, balancing yourselves on a _p'int of law_! If you open
your gates and lay down your arms, you, nor your wives and children,
won't meet any better fate. If you want to be tortured by red-skins, and
your families given up to their devilment, let 'em in, let 'em in! _I_
shan't have a hand in it."
The signs of a final charge about to be given allowed no time for
farther argument. Sir John, drawing up his regular troops in the rear of
a frame building standing near the fort, prepared for an assault, while
the garrison within made what readiness they could to repel it. The
women, knowing how little they had to expect if the place fell, grasped
the weapons they had solicited and took their stations near the men,
resolved to deal such blows as they could in self-defense. With pale
cheeks, but hearts that had outgrown their natural timidity, they
awaited the expected blow.
At this moment of peril and suspense, for the third time a flag of truce
was seen approaching Fort Hunter. Again the undaunted Murphy prepared to
fire upon it; but this time, made desperate by his very cowardice, Major
Woolsey commanded his soldiers to arrest the disobedient rifleman. The
militia, however, gathered around their hero, threatening any and all
who should molest him; they had confidence that the judgment of one so
brave was superior to that of the officer who had shown himself so unfit
for his position. In the mean time, precious time was being lost. In a
moment more Murphy would enrage the foe by again insulting their flag.
The commander ordered a white flag to be shown. A handkerchief was
placed on a staff and a soldier ordered to display it.
"The man who dares attempt it will be shot down by my own rifle,"
thundered the inexorable militiaman, who thus braved the regular
authority. The men knew that he meant what he said, and not one was
found to attempt to execute the order of Woolsey.
"Who commands here, you or I?" shouted the enraged Major.
"I reckon _I_ do, as far as not givin' up goes," was the cool answer.
At this crisis, Captain Reghtmeyer, of the militia, feeling that their
commander was about to betray them all, took up his station by the
rifleman and ordered him to fire.
Exasperated by such contumacy, Woolsey drew his sword upon the Captain,
threatening to cut him down unless his orders were obeyed. It was a
strange time for persons associated in such imminent peril to fall out
among themselves; but the brave and unflinching were not disposed to
yield their fate into the hands of the weak and vacillating. Captain
Reghtmeyer, in answer to this threat, clubbed his gun, and awaited the
attack of the Major, resolved to dash out his brains if he assaulted
him; whereupon that officer, thinking in this, as in other cases, that
discretion was the better part of valor, subsided into silence.
The flag-officer of the enemy, as soon as he came within range, seeing
Murphy bring his rifle to his shoulder, immediately turned and ran back;
he had no mind to encounter the sharp warning which had been given his
predecessors.
Then followed a moment of suspense. The little garrison expected nothing
better than an angry and overwhelming assault; the men breathed heavily,
grasping their muskets sternly, while the women's faces grew like those
of their fathers and husbands, settling into the firm lines of resolve.
Moment after moment crept away; a half-hour sped, and yet the roar of
artillery and the nearer shouts of the expected assailants were not
heard.
"You needn't give yourself no further oneasiness, Major," at length
spoke the gallant Murphy, contempt mingling with relief and joy in his
voice. He had kept his gaze fixed upon the movements of the enemy, and
now perceived that they were retiring. "The red-coats and red-skins are
takin' themselves off. It's jest as I told you—the spunk we've shown
makes 'em think us stronger than we are, and they've made up their minds
to back out."
And so, indeed, it proved! "The spunk _we've_ shown" Murphy modestly
said; which was really the spunk _he_ had shown. His courage and
persistence saved Fort Hunter. The British officers naturally supposed
their flag of truce would not be three times fired upon unless that fort
was to be defended to the death. They therefore decided to withdraw, and
to abandon the attempt for its capture.
[Illustration:
Murphy Saving the Fort—_Page_ 22.
]
Thus was the fort, with all its precious lives, preserved by the tact as
well as the determination of a single man. However chagrined the
"gallant" Major may have been at the flagrant disobedience of an
inferior, the results were such as to nullify the consequences of his
anger. The fact _that the fort was saved_ was the mutineer's
justification.
This affair occurred in 1780. It was not the first gallant exploit of
our hero—nor the last. He had already made himself famous by deeds both
of daring, dashing boldness, and deliberate courage.
Three years before the attack on Fort Hunter, at the battle of
Stillwater in 1777, he had killed the British General, Frazer, by a ball
from his unerring rifle. This is the first record we have of him; but
after that many instances were noted of his extraordinary prowess, and
many more, doubtless, of equal interest, never have received a
chronicle. He had a peculiar hatred of the Indians, called forth by the
many proofs of their treachery and cruelty. He was a valuable
acquisition to any party of scouts who might be out after the red-skins;
and many were the marvelous escapes he had.
As an instance of that _obstinacy_ of his character exhibited in his
conduct at the attack upon Fort Hunter, we must give the reader an
account of another and quite different circumstance, in which he
displayed the same determination to _have his own way_—and in which he
had it! This little episode in the life of the celebrated rifleman is
not only interesting in itself, but also as showing under what
difficulties the little GOD OF LOVE will struggle and triumph.
"Love rules the court, the camp, the grove:"
and not the fiery sword of Mars himself can frighten him from his
universal throne.
After the attack upon Fort Hunter, Murphy, although his period of
enlistment had expired, still remained with the garrison. It was not
long after this that something besides duty to his country began to bind
him to the valley of the Schoharie. The heart which had never quailed
before an Indian or red-coat, was brought low by a shaft from the bright
eyes of a maiden of sixteen!
Not far from the fort dwelt a family by the name of Feeck, whose home
had escaped destruction from the advent of the enemy. Their daughter
Margaret was a spirited and handsome girl, in whose dark blue eyes
laughed mischief and tenderness combined; her auburn hair shaded cheeks
rosy with health; her form was just rounding into the fullness of
maidenhood, with a grace all its own, acquired from the fresh air and
bountiful exercise to which she was accustomed. The historian does not
tell us how the first meeting occurred, but certain it is that the
indomitable heart of the rifleman was conquered at last. Murphy was then
twenty-eight years of age and Margaret but sixteen. There is something
in the nature of a woman which does homage to bravery in a man. The man
who has the reputation of cowardice may be handsome and elegant, but
_she_ will despise him; he alone who is famous for courage commands
woman's full respect and _love_. When the invincible rifleman, whose
iron nerves shrunk from no exposure, and whose energy was daunted by no
difficulties, betrayed to the young girl, by his faltering manner in her
presence, that _she_ could do what armies could not—confuse and master
him—her breast thrilled with pride and delight. The disparity of their
ages was nothing to her; she felt honored at being the choice of a brave
man; her timid glance, usually so mischievous, encouraged him to speak,
and when he did he was not rejected.
Whether it was that Margaret's parents thought her too young, or that
there was too great a discrepancy in their ages, or that they had some
prejudice against Murphy, we are not advised; but they strenuously
opposed the intimacy, forbidding the lover to enter their house. Then it
was that he again questioned the authority of the ruling powers. It was
not in his nature to submit to this arbitrary decree. As once before he
had "had his own way" in defiance of superiors, he was resolved to have
it now. He loved the maiden and she him; there was none who should keep
them apart. When he made a resolution it might be considered as carried
out. Margaret, drooping about the house, doing her work listlessly,
instead of with joyous singing, received a communication which brought
back the roses to her cheeks in fuller bloom than ever. A faithful
friend of Murphy, living not far from the Feeck family, on the Schoharie
creek, was the person who wrought this change in the young girl. During
a visit to the parents, he contrived to arrange a meeting at his own
house with her lover. Thither she went one day on a pretended errand,
and found her lover awaiting her. During the interview a plan was
arranged for eluding the vigilance of her parents and consummating their
happiness by marriage.
There was some difficulty about this, for her father and mother had
instituted a close surveillance over all the "coming and going."
Margaret herself, though willing, was timid, shrinking from the danger
of detection and the anger of her parents.
"Pshaw!" said Murphy, squeezing the hand he held in his own broad palm,
"it's likely I can't take care of _you_, Maggie! I've trailed too many
Injuns, and dodged too many bullets, to think much of carrying off my
girl when I want her. Jest you be on the spot, and leave the rest to
me."
She promised, and they separated to wait impatiently for the appointed
evening. When it came, Margaret, under pretense of going to milk, some
distance from the house, stole away from home to meet her intended
husband. She dared not make the least change in her apparel, lest
suspicion should be excited; and when she made her appearance at the
appointed spot, she presented but little of the usual semblance of an
expectant _bride_. She was barefoot and bareheaded, and wore the short
gown and petticoat, so much the vogue among females of that day as a
morning or working-dress; but beneath the humble garb beat a true and
ingenuous heart, worth more than outward trappings to any man. The form,
arrayed in homespun, was of a blooming and substantial beauty, which
needed not the "foreign aid of ornament."
She was first at the place of rendezvous, where she waited with fear and
impatience for her lover, but no lover came. Twilight was fast fading
into darkness, and yet he came not. From her little nook of concealment,
behind a clump of alders which grew on a bend of the stream, out of
sight of her home, she strained her eyes to look for the approaching
form, which still came not. The pink tinge which flushed the silver
water died off into the gray of evening; every moment she expected to
hear the stern voice of her father calling her. What should she do? It
would not answer to return home, for she already had been gone too long.
The cow had not been milked, and if she went back now, her unusual
absence must excite suspicions, which would prevent a future meeting
with her lover. This was her greatest dread. She had dwelt on their
union too fondly to endure the return now to a hopeless separation.
Margaret was not long in making up her mind what course to pursue. Since
Murphy had not come to her she would go to him! She knew him brave and
honorable, and that some important matter must have kept him from the
tryst. In order to reach the fort she was obliged to ford the stream.
About this she had no squeamishness, as she had performed the feat one
hundred times before; the stream was shallow and not very wide.
Evidently she was fortunate in not being troubled with shoes and
stockings in the present emergency; it did not trouble her much to hold
up her short skirts from the water into which she waded; and, as her
little feet felt their cautious way across the creek, no doubt she
looked as pretty to her lover, in her attitudes of unconscious grace, as
other brides have done under more fortunate circumstances; for Murphy
saw the whole proceeding with a pleased eye, taking her advance as a
proof both of her love for, and faith in, himself. He had been detained
at the fort by some provoking duties, and had ridden up to the brook
just as Margaret began to cross.
Although in her heart she felt inwardly relieved to find him there, the
maiden began to pout at his tardiness, and to regret that she had taken
a step beyond the trysting-place to meet a lover who would not take the
trouble to be punctual to an appointment like this.
"I shall go home again, Tim," she cried, concealing her blushes under a
frown, which, though pretty, was not at all frightful.
"Not to-night, Maggie," he said, as, lifting her up behind him, he sped
away to the fort.
Murphy was a general favorite among the garrison; not an individual
there who would not willingly have aided and assisted him in his nuptial
enterprise. His plans were well known; and, as the happy couple rode in
at the gate, lighted by the last lingering gleam of sunset in the west,
they were received with three hearty cheers. The circumstances were such
as to call forth the warmest interest of the female part of the
population. The young maiden was taken in charge by them. As there was
no minister to perform the ceremony of marriage, the couple would be
obliged to take a trip to Schenectady, twenty-five miles distant. The
evening was spent in preparation. Various choice articles of apparel and
ornament, some of which, doubtless, had served a similar purpose on
former occasions, were brought forth; all went to work with a will to
fit out this impromptu bridal _trousseau_. By morning every thing was in
readiness except the proper dress. This, Murphy decided to procure in
Schenectady.
As time was precious they started at dawn, and made the whole distance
in four hours. A handsome silk dress was here purchased and placed in
the hands of a dressmaker and some friends, who performed wonders which
would astonish a _modiste_ of to-day: they completed the dress in the
course of the afternoon! The couple stopped at the house of friends, who
did all they could to assist in the pleasant project. Before dark the
bride was arrayed in a manner becoming the important occasion. A gay
company, composed of some of their acquaintances, accompanied the happy
pair to the residence of the Rev. Mr. Johnson, where the solemn ceremony
which united their lives in one was performed; after which they returned
to the house of their friends to spend the wedding-night.
We are afraid if some of the dainty belles of the present day had to
accomplish as much in one day as had been done by this bride, before
they could find themselves safely wedded to the object of their choice,
they would shrink away dismayed, and settle down into old maids. To run
away from home barefoot; to wade a creek; to ride into a fort behind her
lover; to ride twenty-five miles; to buy and make a wedding-dress, and
attire herself for the ceremony; to go to the minister and get married,
all in twenty-four hours, showed an energy worthy of the times. Such
kind of women were fit wives for the men who bore the perils of the
Revolution, and whose strength of mind and heart, whose unconquerable
love of liberty, secured to us our inheritance.
On their return to Schoharie, the parents of the bride were exceedingly
wroth at the disobedience of their daughter, and at the presumption of
the daring rifleman. For a time they refused to be reconciled; but,
reflecting that no opposition could alter or recall the act, they at
length concluded to overlook all and receive the couple to their love.
The brave rifleman made a true husband. Margaret, who lived with him
happily for nearly thirty years, had no reason to regret the hour when
she forded Schoharie creek in search of her tardy lover.
Despite of the eventful perils into which he was always flinging
himself, Murphy lived to see years of peace, dying of cancer in the
throat, in 1818, at the age of sixty-eight. He was an uneducated man;
but, possessed of a strong will and an amiable disposition, he exerted
an unbounded influence over the minds of a certain class of men, who,
like himself, were schooled in trial. His power was that of originality,
independence and courage—qualities which will make any man a leader of
the people among whom he moves. Men of his stamp were a necessity of the
times in which they lived; they seemed to spring up in the hour of need,
having patience, perseverance, endurance and boldness to cope with the
stealthy and murderous foes who hung upon the path of our civilization.
They deserve to be embalmed in the annals of the country in whose guard
they fought.