General Washington, at the head of about six thousand men, hurried by
Old Tennent. That morning he had been at Englishtown where the sound of
cannon told him his advance forces under General Lee were battling with
the British. Washington was about one hundred yards beyond the church
door when he met the first straggler who told him that Lee had
retreated before the British. A little further on the Commander-in-chief
met Lee. After rebuking him sharply he hastened forward, and rallied
the retreating Continentals. The renewed battle continued until
evening when the British were driven back to a defensive position.
During the night they retired, to the surprise of Washington, who
hoped to renew the battle in the morning. The victory snatched from
defeat in this, one of the most stubbornly contested and longest
battles of the war, gave new courage to the Colonies.
During the battle wounded soldiers were carried to the church, where
members of the congregation tended them, in what could not have been a
very secure refuge, since musket balls pierced the walls. An exhausted
American soldier, while trying to make his way to the building, sat
for rest on the grave of Sarah Mattison. While he was there a cannon
ball wounded him and broke off a piece of the headstone. Watchers
carried him into the church where he was laid on one of the pews. The
stains of blood are still to be seen on the board seat, while the
marks of his hands were visible on the book-rest of the pew until the
wood was grained.
A tablet has been placed on the front wall of the church with this
message:
1778-1901
In Grateful Remembrance
of Patriots Who, on Sabbath June 28, 1778,
Gained the Victory Which Was the Turning Point
Of the War for Independence,
And to Mark a Memorable Spot on
The Battlefield of Monmouth,
This Tablet is placed by Monmouth Chapter
Daughters of the American Revolution
September 26, 1901.
Not far from the church is the monument commemorating the battle
itself. Spirited bronze reliefs on this tell the story of some of the
picturesque incidents of the memorable struggle.
XXVII
THE FORD MANSION, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY
FROM WHICH ALEXANDER HAMILTON WENT COURTING
New Jersey, which was the scene of so many battles during the
Revolution, was also the scene of what was perhaps Washington's
pleasantest winter during the war. From December, 1799, to June, 1780,
the Commander-in-chief lived at the Ford Mansion with his "family," as
he was fond of calling Mrs. Washington and his aides.
During these months he was busily engaged in making plans for the
later successful conduct of the war, yet he took time for those social
relaxations which were a needed relief from the anxious strain of the
long conflict.
Among those who helped to make that winter memorable were Surgeon
General John Cochrane and Mrs. Cochrane, who occupied the Campfield
House close by, and General and Mrs. Philip Schuyler, who had come
down from Albany for a season at headquarters. Mrs. Schuyler and Mrs.
Cochrane were sisters. Elizabeth Schuyler had come in advance of her
parents, and for a time was a guest at the Campfield House.
Visitors from France were arriving from time to time, bringing word of
the alliance that was to mean so much to the Colonies, and conferring
as to methods of cooperation.
In one wing of the Ford Mansion lived Mrs. Ford and her son Timothy.
In the rooms set apart for the use of Washington's family eighteen
people were crowded. Two of these were Alexander Hamilton and Tench
Tilghman, both members of the General's staff.
Though Mrs. Washington delighted to put on style, on occasion, she
could also be plain and simple. There had been times during the war
when she was not ashamed to drive to headquarters in a coach and four.
But sometimes at Morristown she was in a different mood--as, for
instance, one day when a number of the ladies of the neighborhood,
dressed in their best, called to pay their respects to her. To their
surprise they found her sitting in a speckled apron, knitting
stockings. If they were ill at ease at first, their state of mind can
be imagined when their hostess began to talk to them of the need of
care in their expenditures for their country's sake. After telling
them of a dress she had made out of the carefully unravelled
upholstery of a set of chairs, she completed their consternation by
saying:
"American ladies should be patterns of industry to their
countrywomen, because the separation from the mother-country
will dry up the source whence many of our comforts have been
derived. We must become independent by our determination to
do without what we cannot make ourselves. While our husbands
and brothers are examples of patriotism, we must be examples
of thrift and economy."
The coming of Elizabeth Schuyler to the Campfield House was the signal
for a spirited contest for her favor between two of Washington's
aides. Both Hamilton and Tilghman had met her at her father's house in
Albany, and both called on her. But Hamilton soon distanced his
comrade in the race for her favor. It was not long until everybody was
watching developments. Both of the young people were favorites. It is
related that even a young soldier on sentry duty late one night was
persuaded to a breach of military rules by his interest in Hamilton's
courtship. That night the lover was on his way home after spending an
evening with his Betsey. Evidently the young man had been thinking of
anything but the countersign, for when he was halted and asked to give
the countersign words he cudgelled his brain in vain. Then he
whispered to the sentry, "Tell me!" And the sentry did tell. Whereupon
Hamilton drew himself up before the soldier, gravely gave the
countersign, and passed on to his quarters.
There was no time for long courtship in those days of quick movements
in military circles. So, before long, Hamilton was writing to
Elizabeth Schuyler such cheering letters as the following:
"I would not have you imagine, Miss, that I write you so
often to gratify your wishes or please your vanity, but
merely to indulge myself, and to comply with that restless
property of my mind which will not be happy unless I am doing
something, in which you are concerned. This may seem a very
idle disposition in a philosopher and a soldier; but I can
plead illustrious examples in my justification. Achilles
liked to have sacrificed Greece and his glory for a female
captive; and Anthony lost the world for a woman. I am very
sorry times are so changed as to oblige me to go to antiquity
for my apology, but I confess to the disgrace of the present
that I have not been able to find as many who are as far gone
as myself in their laudable zeal of the fair sex. I suspect,
however, that if others knew the charms of my sweetheart as
well as I do, I should have a great number of competitors. I
wish I could give you an idea of her. You have no conception
of how sweet a girl she is. It is only in my heart that her
image is truly drawn. She has a comely form, and a mind still
more lovely; she is all goodness, the gentlest, the dearest,
the tenderest of her sex. Oh, Betsey, how I love her!"
Who could withstand such a lover? Elizabeth Schuyler did not, and her
father commended her judgment. For he wrote to Hamilton:
"You cannot, my dear sir, be more happy at the connexion you
have made with my family than I am. Until the child of a
parent has made a judicious choice, his heart is in critical
anxiety; but this anxiety was removed the moment I discovered
on whom she had placed her affection. I am pleased with every
instance of delicacy in those who are dear to me; and I think
I read your soul on that occasion you mention. I shall
therefore only entreat you to consider me as one who wishes
in every way to promote your happiness, and I shall."
The young people were married at the Schuyler homestead in Albany on
December 14, 1780.
To-day the Ford Mansion where Hamilton dreamed of a conquest in which
the British had no part is owned by the Washington Association of New
Jersey, and is open to visitors. The Campfield House is to be found on
a side street; it has been moved from its original site.
[Illustration: NASSAU HALL AND THE FIRST PRESIDENT'S HOUSE,
_Photo by R. H. Rose and Son, Princeton_ PRINCETON, N. J.
See page 130]
XXVIII
NASSAU HALL, PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY
WHERE THE CONGRESS OF 1783 MET FOR FIVE MONTHS
Where the College of New Jersey, as Princeton University was
officially known until 1896, erected its first building at Princeton,
the far-sighted trustees arranged what was long ago the largest stone
structure in the Colonies. The records of early travellers on the road
between Philadelphia and New York tell of their amazement at the
wonderful building.
In 1756 the college abandoned its rooms in the First Presbyterian
Church of Newark, New Jersey, and occupied the ambitious quarters in
Princeton, which had cost about L2,900.
Originally the halls extended from end to end of Nassau Hall, a
distance of one hundred and seventy-five feet. These long, brick-paved
halls afforded students inclined to mischief wonderful opportunity to
make life miserable for the tutors who were charged with their
oversight. "Rolling heated cannon balls, to tempt zealous but unwary
tutors, was a perennial joy," writes Varnum Lansing Collins, in his
book, "Princeton." Then he adds the statement that at a later epoch
there were wild scenes, "when a jackass or a calf was dragged
rebelliously up the narrow iron staircase, to be pitted in frenzied
races with the model locomotive purloined from the college museum."
There was no provision for lighting the long halls, so the rollicking
students were accustomed to fix candles to the walls with handfuls of
mud. When a tutor was heard approaching, the candles would be blown
out and he would be foiled in his attempt to identify the offenders.
Sometimes barricades of cordwood were built hastily on the stairs or
across the entrance to one of the halls.
In vain the authorities tried to correct these abuses by the passage
of strict regulations. "No jumping or hollowing or any boisterous
Noise shall be suffered, nor walking in the gallery in the time of
Study," was a regulation which could be made known far more easily
than it could be enforced. Lest there be breaches of decorum inside
the rooms, tutors were directed to make at least three trips a day to
the quarters of the students, to see that they were "diligent at the
proper Business." They were to announce their coming to a room "by a
stamp, which signal no scholar shall imitate on penalty of five
shillings." Should the occupant of the room refuse to open the door,
the tutor had authority to break in. At a later date, students in
Nassau Hall liked to have double doors to their rooms, so that the
obnoxious tutor might be hindered in his efforts to force an entrance,
long enough to give them opportunity to hide all evidence of
wrongdoing.
In 1760 a code of "orders and customs" was issued by the authority of
President Aaron Burr. One of the most astounding directions in this
code was that "Every Freshman sent on an errand shall go and do it
faithfully and make quick return." Other rules, as indicated in Mr.
Collins' book, concerned deportment, and demanded constant deference
to superiors. "Students are to keep their hats off 'about ten rods to
the President and about five to the tutors;' they must 'rise up and
make obeisance' when the President enters or leaves the prayer hall,
and when he mounts into the pulpit on Sundays. When walking with a
superior, an inferior 'shall give him the highest place.' When first
coming into the presence of a superior, or speaking to him, inferiors
'shall respect by pulling their Hats;' if overtaking or meeting a
superior on the stairs, he 'shall stop, giving him the banister side;'
when entering a superior's, 'or even an equal's' room, they must
knock; if called or spoken to by a superior, they must 'give a direct,
pertinent answer concluding with sir;' they are to treat strangers and
townspeople 'with all proper complaisance and good manners;' and they
are forbidden to address any one by a nickname."
Evidently rules like these helped to make good patriots, for Princeton
students were among the most sturdy adherents of the Colonists' cause.
In September, 1770, the entire graduating class wore American cloth,
as a protest against Great Britain's unjust taxation measures.
In January, 1774, the students broke into the college storeroom and
carried the winter's supply of tea to a bonfire in front of Nassau
Hall. While the tea burned the college bell tolled and the
students--in the words written home to a parent by one of them--made
"many spirited resolves."
The spirited students were jubilant on the evening of July 9, 1776,
when the news of the Declaration of Independence was read in
Princeton. Nassau Hall was illuminated and the whole town rejoiced
that President Witherspoon, as a member of the Continental Congress,
had been a signer of the document.
In November, 1776, the students who had not enlisted in the army were
sent from the town just in time to escape the British, who took
possession of the building and used it as barracks and hospital. Early
in the morning of January 3, 1777, the British held the building.
After the battle Washington's troops took possession, but abandoned it
almost at once. At evening the British were once more in control. Soon
they hurried on to New Brunswick. The next occupants were the soldiers
of General Putnam, who found room here for a hospital, a barracks, and
a military prison. They found that during the battle of Princeton a
round shot had struck the portrait of George II in the prayer hall.
After the British left Princeton College classes were continued in the
President's house, and it was 1782 before a serious attempt was made
to reoccupy Nassau Hall, which was found to be "mostly bare partition
walls and heaps of fallen plaster."
A year later, when temporary repairs had been made, the Continental
Congress, which had been besieged by a company of troops who were
insistent in their demands for overdue pay, made its way to Princeton.
From June to November the sessions were held in Nassau Hall.
Commencement day came during the sessions and Congress sat, with
Washington, on the platform. On that occasion Washington gave fifty
pounds to the college. This sum was paid to Charles Wilson Peale for a
portrait of the donor, which was placed in the frame from which the
portrait of George II had been shot more than seven years before.
Congress was still in session at Nassau Hall when, in October, the
first authentic news came of the signing of the Definitive Treaty of
Peace with Great Britain.
A few weeks later the college was left to its sedate ways. Never
since then has it witnessed such stirring events. But the experiences
of the years from 1776 to 1784 had made Nassau Hall one of the
nation's picturesque monuments.
[Illustration: MORVEN, PRINCETON, N. J.
_Photo by R. H. Rose and Son, Princeton_
See page 134]
XXIX
THREE HISTORIC HOUSES AT PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY
MORVEN, THE MERCER HOUSE, AND WASHINGTON'S ROCKY HILL HEADQUARTERS
"Sollemnity & Distress appeared almost on every countenance,
several students that had come 5 & 600 miles & just got
letters in college were now obliged under every disadvantage
to retire with their effects, or leave them behind, which
several through the impossibility of getting a carriage at so
Confused a time were glad to do, & lose them all, as all
hopes of continuing longer in peace at Nassau were now taken
away I began to look out for some place where I might pursue
my studies & as Mr. G. Johnson had spoke to me to teach his
son I accordingly went there & agreed to stay with him till
spring."
So wrote John Clark, one of the students at the College of New Jersey,
who, in 1776, was dismayed by the threatened approach of Cornwallis
and his army. He was able to remove his effects in ample time, for he
had only a "Trunk & Desk." But there were others in the peaceful
village who were not so fortunate. One of them was Mrs. Richard
Stockton of Morven, a beautiful home still standing not far from the
college campus. The activity of her husband in the interests of the
Colonies had angered the British, and they were not slow to take
advantage of the absence of the family by pillaging the mansion and
destroying many things it contained. Fortunately Mrs. Stockton, before
leaving hurriedly for Freehold, had buried the family silver, and this
was not discovered, though Cornwallis and his officers occupied the
house as headquarters.
Probably, while they were here, they talked gleefully of what they
called the collapse of the war. They felt so sure that the war was
over that Cornwallis was already planning to return to England.
Then came the surprise at Trenton, when nearly a thousand Hessians of
a total force of twelve hundred were captured.
Immediately Cornwallis, who had returned to New York, hastened back to
Princeton, where he left three regiments and a company of cavalry.
Then he hurried on to Trenton. On the way he was harassed by
Washington's outposts, and the main force of the General delayed his
entrance into the town until nightfall. He expected to renew the
attack next morning, but during the night Washington stole away toward
Princeton. Within two miles of Princeton the force of General Mercer
encountered the reserve troops of Cornwallis, which were on their way
to their commander's assistance. Washington, hearing the sound of the
conflict that followed, hastened to the field in time to rally the
forces of Mercer, who had been wounded. The day was saved, but General
Mercer was lost; he died in the farmhouse on the battle field to which
he was carried. To this day visitors are shown the stain made on the
floor by the blood of the dying man. Those who express doubt as to
the stain are not welcomed.
Alfred Noyes has written of this conflict which meant more to the
struggling Colonies than some historians have indicated. The reference
in the first line of the second stanza is to the tigers that crouch at
the entrance of Nassau Hall in Princeton:
_"Here Freedom stood by slaughtered friend and foe,
And, ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,
Looked through the ages; then, with eyes aglow,
Laid them to wait that future, side by side._
* * * * *
"The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side
Where redcoats used to pass;
And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died,
And violets dusk the grass,
By Stony Brook that ran so red of old,
But sings of friendship now,
To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold
The green earth takes the plow.
"Through this May night, if one great ghost should stray
With deep remembering eyes,
Where that old meadow of battle smiles away
Its blood-stained memories,
If Washington should walk, where friend and foe
Sleep and forget the past,
Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know
Their souls are linked at last."
After the battle came happier days for Princeton. Morven was restored,
and Washington was frequently an honored guest within the walls, as
have been many of his successors in the White House.
More than six years after the memorable battle of Princeton, another
house in the neighborhood received him. When Congress convened in
Nassau Hall, it rented for Washington the Rocky Hill House, five miles
from the village, which was occupied by John Berrian, Associate
Justice of the Supreme Court of New Jersey. This house, which was
suitably furnished for the General, was the last headquarters of the
Revolution.
While at the Berrian house, Washington sat to William Dunlap for his
portrait. In his "Arts of Design" the artist, who at the time of which
he wrote was eighteen years old, said:
"My visits are now frequent to headquarters. The only
military in the neighborhood were the general's suite and a
corporal's guard whose tents were on the green before the
Berrian House, and the captain's marquee nearly in front. The
soldiers were New England yeomen's sons, none older than
twenty.... I was quite at home in every respect at
headquarters; to breakfast and dine day after day with the
general and Mrs. Washington and members of Congress."
It was Washington's custom to ride to Princeton, mounted on a small
roan horse. The saddle was "old and crooked, with a short deep blue
saddle cloth flowered, with buff cloth at the edge, buckskin seat, the
cloth most below the skirt of the saddle at the side, double skirts,
crupper, surcingle, and breast straps, double belted steel bridle and
plated stirrup."
The real closing scene in the Revolution was Washington's farewell
address to the army, which he wrote in the southwest room of the
second story. On Sunday, November 2, from the second-story balcony, he
read this to the soldiers. Two days later orders of discharge were
issued to most of them.
Fortunately the Berrian House has become the property of "The
Washington Headquarters Association of Rocky Hill," and is open to the
patriotic pilgrim.
XXX
THE SPRINGFIELD MEETING HOUSE, NEW JERSEY
WHOSE PSALM BOOKS FURNISHED WADDING FOR THE CONTINENTAL GUNS
"One pint of spring water when demanded on the premises" was the
strange payment stipulated by the donor of one hundred acres of land
given in 1751 to the trustees of the First Presbyterian Church in
Springfield, New Jersey, to be for the use of the minister of the
parish. The church records do not state that the rent has been paid
regularly, but they do state that the woodland enabled them for many
years to furnish the free firewood that was a part of the support
promised to every one of the early pastors.
The first building occupied by the church was completed in 1746.
Fifteen years later the second building was first occupied, and it
continued to be the centre of the community's religious life until
November, 1778, when it was needed for military stores. The church was
gladly given up to the army, and services were held in the garret of
the parsonage.
The British under General Knyphausen, determined to drive Washington
and his men from the New Jersey hills and to destroy his supplies,
marched from Elizabeth Town on June 23, 1780. There were five thousand
men, with fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery, in the expedition. A
few miles away, near Springfield, was a small company of patriots,
poorly equipped but ready to die in the defence of their country.
Warning of the approach of the enemy was given to the Continentals by
the firing of the eighteen-pounder signal gun on Prospect Hill; twelve
Continentals stationed at the Cross Roads, after firing on the enemy,
had hurried to the hill. After firing the gun they lighted the tar
barrel on the signal pole.
Instantly the members of the militia dropped their scythes, seized
their muskets, and hurried to quarters. "There were no feathers in
their caps, no gilt buttons on their home-spun coats, nor flashing
bayonets on their old fowling pieces," the pastor of Springfield
church said in 1880, on the one hundredth anniversary of the skirmish
that followed, "but there was in their hearts the resolute purpose to
defend their homes and their liberty at the price of their lives."
The sturdy farmers joined forces with the regular soldiers. For a time
the battle was fierce. The enemy were soon compelled to retreat, but
not before they had burned the village, including the church. Chaplain
James Caldwell was in the hottest of the fight. "Seeing the fire of
one of the companies slacking for want of wadding, he galloped to the
Presbyterian meeting house nearby, and rushing in, ran from pew to
pew, filling his arms with hymn books," wrote Headley, in "Chaplains
and Clergy of the Revolution." "Hastening back with them into the
battle, he scattered them about in every direction, saying as he
pitched one here and another there, 'Now put Watts into them, boys.'
With a laugh and a cheer they pulled out the leaves, and ramming home
the charge did give the British Watts with a will."
The story has been attractively told by Bret Harte:
"... Stay one moment; you've heard
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the Word
Down at Springfield? What, no? Come--that's bad; why, he had
All the Jerseys aflame! And they gave him the name
Of the 'rebel high priest.' He stuck in their gorge,
For he loved the Lord God--and he hated King George!