YOUTH
VOLUME 1 NUMBER 7
1902
SEPTEMBER
_An_ ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY JOURNAL _for_ BOYS & GIRLS
The Penn Publishing Company Philadelphia
[Illustration: CONTENTS FOR SEPTEMBER]
FRONTISPIECE (The Penn Cottage) PAGE
THE PENN COTTAGE Allen Biddle 237
WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE (Serial) W. Bert Foster 239
Illustrated by F. A. Carter
IN THE FLORIDA EVERGLADES William A. Stimpson 246
AUDUBON AT BIRD ROCK 249
A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST (Serial) Evelyn Raymond 250
Illustrated by Ida Waugh
THE FLOWERLESS PLANTS Julia McNair Wright 257
Illustrated by Nina G. Barlow
WHIP-POOR-WILL Geo. E. Winkler 259
LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS (Serial) Elizabeth Lincoln Gould 260
WOOD-FOLK TALK J. Allison Atwood 268
WITH THE EDITOR 270
EVENT AND COMMENT 271
OUT OF DOORS 272
THE OLD TRUNK (Puzzles) 273
IN-DOORS (Parlor Magic, Paper VII) Ellis Stanyon 274
WITH THE PUBLISHER 275
ADVERTISEMENTS 276
YOUTH
_An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys and Girls_
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[Illustration: THE PENN COTTAGE.]
YOUTH
VOL. I SEPTEMBER 1902 No. 7
THE PENN COTTAGE
BY ALLEN BIDDLE
“Pitch upon the very middle of the plat where the town or line of
houses is to be laid or run, facing the harbor of the great river, for
the situation of my house; ... the distance of each house from the
creek or harbor should be, in my judgment, a measured quarter of a
mile; or, at least, two hundred paces, because of building hereafter
streets down to the harbor.” Such were the instructions which William
Penn, founder of Philadelphia, gave to his commissioners, William
Crispin, John Bezar, and Nathaniel Allen, for the building of what is
now known as Penn’s Cottage.
It was in 1681 that the great Quaker completed the negotiations for
the grant of Pennsylvania, and in the next year the first work of the
building of the Proprietary House was begun. The plat chosen for its
site was the one bounded by Front, Chestnut, Letitia, and High streets,
the last now being named Market. In the place of the little cottage and
its surrounding yard there is, to-day, one of the most thickly-built
portions of Philadelphia. But the true centre of the city, at one time
radiating from this point, has now, owing to the growth of two hundred
years, moved a mile to the westward.
According to one tradition, the Penn or Letitia House was the first
brick building erected in Philadelphia; to another, it was the first
house to have a cellar. The name, “Letitia,” was given to it by Penn
himself, as the house was intended eventually to be the portion of his
daughter, Letitia. It is from this source, too, that Letitia Street
gets its name.
One of the most interesting stories of this little structure is that
the bricks and most of the finer building materials used in its
construction were brought over from England. More recently doubt has
been thrown upon this statement by the discovery that even at that time
quite as excellent a quality of brick was being made in Philadelphia.
Despite its diminutive size, the cottage required what, to-day, would
be an unusual time in its building, and it was well into the year
1683 before it was ready for the house-warming. Quaint, angular,
and comfortable in appearance, it faithfully reflects the spirit
of Philadelphia’s early people. True to the founder’s ideal in the
laying-out of the city, the house, too, is characterized by economy
of space and absence of mere ornament. Doors, windows, sills, and
sashes--everything, in fact, except the gabled roof, is plain and
rectangular.
From the front door, we enter its largest room, serving, perhaps, at
one time as dining hall, sitting-room, kitchen, and library. On its
plain, bare walls we now see collections of old wood cuts, illustrating
events which occurred in the time of the founder, including
reproductions of Benjamin West’s painting of that famous treaty with
the Indians which “was not signed and never broken.” Above the door
hangs an old print of the wampum belt which was presented to Penn by
the Indians upon that occasion. Near by are facsimiles of the charter
of the Province of Pennsylvania, granted by Charles II, and also the
first charter of the city of Philadelphia, granted in 1691. In the
further corner to the left is an ample fireplace before whose glow we
can readily recall to our imagination the serene features of the great
founder surrounded by his family.
From this room, extending to the rear of the building, is a short
hallway, on either side of which is a room so small that we wonder what
could have been their function in the Penn household. Quaint and cozy
as is the little mansion, we can scarce believe it to have been the
home of one who owned our whole great State of Pennsylvania.
In the year 1684, after a stay of twenty-one months, Penn was forced
to return to England to protect his proprietary interests, as they
were at that time threatened by the plans of Lord Baltimore. In
his absence, the proprietorship fell upon his cousin, Markham, the
Lieutenant-Governor, who then took up his abode in the Letitia House.
Later, according to the wish of Penn, who desired that his house be
devoted to public service, it became the State House. It is hard to
imagine such a dignified body as was undoubtedly the provincial council
meeting in the tiny brick cottage. What a contrast it makes with
Independence Hall, or the great capitol now at Harrisburg!
In after years, when other houses had grown up on all sides, the little
cottage fell into obscurity. At one time, even, it was thrown open as a
public inn, and the little room which at one time held the Penn family
circle now became the haunt of the wayfarer and the chronic idler.
But, recently, folks of the great State have come to think more of the
little house and to recognize gratefully the part which it played in
their history. They have lifted it from its late dingy surroundings
and, as if to put before it the city’s best, have placed it on the west
bank of the Schuylkill, overlooking Fairmount Park. Here, far away from
the city’s centre, with its face toward the broad, green valley of the
river, the little mansion rests patiently, as if waiting until the city
shall again closely encircle it in its westward growth.
As would have been the wish of the great Quaker, the door is still left
hospitably open, and citizen and stranger alike may freely enter the
house of him who founded their State. Here, daily, come many pilgrims.
The Schuylkill, too, winding placidly down from its hills, loiters
gently in its course through the picturesque valley, as if to catch a
momentary glimpse of the quaint old house.
[Illustration]
WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE
By W. Bert Foster
CHAPTER XVI
From Germantown to Valley Forge
SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS
The story opens in the year 1777, during one of the most
critical periods of the Revolution. Hadley Morris, our hero,
is in the employ of Jonas Benson, the host of the Three
Oaks, a well-known inn on the road between Philadelphia and
New York. Like most of his neighbors, Hadley is an ardent
sympathizer with the American cause. When, therefore, he is
intrusted with a message to be forwarded to the American
headquarters, the boy gives up, for the time, his duties at
the Three Oaks and sets out for the army. Here he remains
until after the fateful Battle of Brandywine. On the return
journey he discovers a party of Tories who have concealed
themselves in a woods in the neighborhood of his home. By
approaching cautiously to the group around the fire, Hadley
overhears their plan to attack his uncle for the sake of the
gold which he is supposed to have concealed in his house.
With the assistance of Colonel Knowles, who, although a
British officer, seems to have taken a liking to Hadley,
our hero successfully thwarts the Tory raid. No sooner is
the uncle rescued, however, than he ungratefully shuts the
door upon his nephew. Thereupon Hadley immediately returns
to the American army and joins the forces under that dashing
officer, “Mad Anthony” Wayne. In the disastrous night
engagement at Paoli our hero is left upon the battlefield
wounded. In this condition he is found by his old friend,
Lafe Holdness, the American scout, who treats the wound so
skillfully that our hero is enabled to return home. But not
for long. No sooner is he strong enough to ride than he
again sets out for the army, which is just then preparing
for that terrible winter at Valley Forge.
Hadley slept that night at a friendly farmer’s, some miles to the north
of Germantown. A large force of British were quartered about where
Washington’s army lay the first day the boy had crossed the river
and made his way to the Commander-in-Chief’s headquarters with the
dispatches so nearly lost by the wounded courier. As far as he could
learn, the Americans still rested at Skippack Creek, to which locality
they had retired after the enemy entered Philadelphia.
He made a long detour the next morning to avoid the Germantown
outposts, but fell in with a foraging party of Continentals before
noon, and was near to losing his horse. But he was not so afraid of
these marauders now as he had been the night he was halted on the
Germantown road and his dispatches seized. So, after an argument with
these fellows and the mention of Colonel Cadwalader’s name, he got
away, with directions regarding the shortest path to headquarters. He
was halted a good many times before he found the Pennsylvania troops;
but the pickets saw that he was a recruit and let him through without
trouble.
He found John Cadwalader with General Wayne, and was able to obtain
speech with him without dismounting from his horse, as the officers
were about starting on a tour of inspection through the camp. “And you
want to see more fighting, do you, my lad--and your wound not healed
yet?” said the colonel. “What good d’ye think a wounded man will be to
us?”
“But I’m all right on horseback, and I’ve brought my horse,” Hadley
declared.
“I wish we had more such fellows--and as eager to fight, Colonel,” said
General Wayne. “He’s but a boy, too!”
“And how about the promise to your mother, Master Morris?” queried the
other officer.
“My uncle has cast me off for carrying dispatches, and for being in
the Paoli fight, where I got wounded,” the boy said, sadly. “I can do
nothing for him now. So I have come to do what I can.”
“Well, well. I will speak to His Excellency about you. There is a
certain long-legged Yankee hereabout who, if I mistake not, has been
inquiring for you through the camp.”
“Lafe Holdness!” exclaimed Hadley.
“The same. He said he knew you had got away from Philadelphia; but
where you had gone was another matter, and one of which he was not
cognizant. Now, Master Morris, you will find your friend, Captain
Prentice, somewhere to the west of here. Keep near him and then you
will be near me. When the propitious moment comes to present you to the
Commander-in-Chief, I shall want you in a hurry.”
The officers rode on, and Hadley sought out Captain Prentice. “My
faith, Hadley!” was the captain’s exclamation, “but we’re a pretty pair
of winged birds.” His own arm was still in a sling, but he had taken
active command of his company again.
“You can scarcely call me winged,” said Hadley, “for the ball went
through my leg.” He climbed down from Molly and allowed a soldier to
take her away. He could scarcely walk, having been so many hours in the
saddle; but Captain Prentice made him welcome and saw to it that he had
a bed for a few hours, where he slept away much of his weariness.
At this time Washington’s forces lay about twenty miles from
Philadelphia and fourteen from Germantown. For some days the
Continentals had been resting after the arduous campaign which had
followed the landing of the British troops. The officers were planning
some important move; but the army was kept in ignorance of its nature
until the night of the 3d of October. Then the columns were put into
motion quickly and took the road to Germantown. It was to be a night
march to surprise the enemy, and never did Hadley Morris forget it.
He and his friend, Captain Prentice, were both mounted--the latter
on a sorry nag which his orderly had picked up somewhere--and there
might have been some ill-feeling expressed among the other officers
of the infantry over Prentice’s riding had he not been wounded. But
those fourteen miles were hard enough for both the captain and Hadley,
despite the fact that they were not obliged to tramp through the heavy
roads.
Before the head of the column was half way to Germantown, the night
fog began to gather, and before daylight it was so thick that it was
almost impossible to clearly distinguish figures moving a rod ahead.
Just at daybreak, however, despite the fog which had enveloped the
whole territory, sharp firing broke out ahead. The troops were rushed
forward, and the British, who at first had supposed the firing to be
but a skirmish between outposts, were quickly being driven back by a
solid phalanx of Americans.
After the first surprise the enemy formed and stood their ground; but
the attack of the Americans was so desperate that they would surely
have been overwhelmed in a short time had it not been for two things.
Howe, hearing early of the battle, rushed forward reinforcements and
came in person to encourage his soldiery. And the other thing which
stayed the Americans, beside the smother of fog, was the imposing
mansion belonging to Master Chew, which, occupied by the British, was a
veritable fort, and withstood every effort of the attacking force.
It was a stone building, and with its doors and lower windows
barricaded, and a strong force of the enemy using the upper casements
to fire from, it soon became the pivotal point on the battlefield. The
British kept up a destructive fire upon the American lines from the
house, and, in spite of the fog, the casualties were considerable.
Attempts again and again were made to capture it. The American lines
could not go past, and it guarded the way to the British front.
And, with the long delay occasioned by the obstinate defence of the
Chew house, the elements themselves seemed to be arrayed against
the Americans. The fog became so dense that the men could not see
each other a few paces apart, and only the spurts of red flame ahead
betrayed the whereabouts of the enemy. The Continental troops grew
bewildered; aids were unable to find the officers to whom they were
sent with messages from the commanders. There were shoutings and
reiterated commands in the fog, but the files did not know where their
officers stood and became bewildered and unmanageable.
General Washington’s plans were disarranged. The Americans had fought
bravely and, without doubt, were on the eve of a decisive victory.
But an alarm was created--the tramp of a regiment of American troops
brought up from the rear was thought to be the approach of a flanking
force--and the men who had fought so tenaciously during the day
retreated in disorderly confusion.
Added to the general depression caused by this defeat was the fact that
half the Maryland militia was reported to have deserted before the
battle. It was the beginning of that awful winter when naught but the
extraordinary virtues of George Washington himself kept the semblance
of an army together. The American forces were rapidly becoming a
disorganized mob, and the fault lay with Congress, which numbered in
its group few of the really great and unselfish men who had once met in
Philadelphia to approve of and sign the second greatest document in our
history.
The period had now arrived when men of the second rank had come
to the front in charge of the uncertain affairs of the struggling
Colonies. Dr. Franklin was in Paris and John Adams joined him during
the winter, for the purpose of watching Silas Deane, who was a bitter
foe of Washington, and had sent over the infamous Conway to hamper and
embitter the great man’s very existence. Jay, Rutledge, Livingston,
Patrick Henry, and Thomas Jefferson were employed at home, and Hancock
had resigned from the governing house. Samuel Adams was at home in New
England for most of that winter; and men much the inferior of these
had taken their places--men who lacked foresight and that loftiness of
purpose and love of country which had, earlier in the war, kept private
jealousies and quarrels in check.
Without an organized quartermaster’s department, the soldiers could
not be properly clothed or fed, and the warnings of Washington were
utterly disregarded by Congress. The troops began to need clothing
soon after Brandywine, and by November they were still in unsheltered
camps without sufficient clothing, blankets, or tents. Hadley Morris,
suffering with the rank and file, saw them lying out o’ nights at
Whitemarsh, half clad and without protection from either the frozen
ground or the desperate chill of the night air. Forts Mercer and
Mifflin had fallen, and there was little cheer brought to these poor
fellows by the news that Burgoyne had actually surrendered to General
Gates and that the British army of invasion which had started so
confidently from Canada was utterly crushed.
December came, and snow followed frost. The British were snug and warm
in the “rebel capital.” Well fed, well clothed, spending the time in
idleness and amusement, the invaders were secure of any attack from
the starving, half-clothed men who, with Washington at their head,
crawled slowly over the Chester hills toward the little hollow on the
bank of the Schuylkill. There was gold in plenty at the command of
General Howe, and for this gold the farmers about Philadelphia were
glad to sell their grain. And who can blame them for preferring the
good English gold to the badly-printed, worthless currency issued by
the American Congress?
The ten redoubts from Fairmount to Cohocksink were stout and well
manned. There was little danger of the Continentals attacking them, for
the hills were already whitening with the coverlet of winter. The river
was open, supplies and reinforcements were on the way from across the
ocean, and the British had nothing to fear. So they gave themselves up
to ease and merriment. And fortunate for the cause, then trembling in
the balance, that they did so, for had they then conducted the campaign
against Washington’s starving troops with vigor, the “rebellion” would
never have risen in history to the dignity of a “revolution”!