Noble Deeds of American Women
by unknown · English · Gutenberg #39079 · 605,712 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Noble Deeds of American Women
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Noble Deeds of American Women
Editor: J. Clement
Release date: March 8, 2012 [eBook #39079]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39079
Credits: E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Neufeld, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBLE DEEDS OF AMERICAN WOMEN ***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Neufeld, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39079-h.htm or 39079-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/39079/pg39079-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/39079/39079-h.zip)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The carat character (^) in Eng^d indicates that the following
letter ("d") is superscripted.
[Illustration: Eng^d by J.C. Buttre.
MARTHA WASHINGTON.
FROM STUART'S PICTURE]
SIXTEENTH THOUSAND.
NOBLE DEEDS OF AMERICAN WOMEN;
With Biographical Sketches of Some of the More Prominent.
Edited by
J. CLEMENT.,
With an introduction by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.
Such examples should be set before them as patterns for their daily
imitation.
LOCKE
New Edition Revised.
New York:
Miller, Orton & Co.,
25 PARK ROW.
1857.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
Geo. H. Derby & Co.,
In the Clerk's Office of the Northern District of New York.
Editor's Preface.
This work was suggested by one of a similar character, entitled "Noble
Deeds of Woman," an English work, which contains but three references to
American Women, two of which are of but very little importance. Only one
article is the same in both works, and that is the letter written by
Mrs. Sigourney to the women of Greece, in 1828, in behalf of the ladies
of Hartford.
This failure to do justice to American women, may have been an
oversight; be that as it may, a work of the kind here presented, seemed
to be needed, and we regret that its preparation had not been assigned
to an abler pen. Multitudes of works have been consulted, and such
anecdotes gleaned as it is thought will have a salutary influence on
the mind and heart. Should the records of female courage and virtue
herein presented to the daughters of the land, encourage, even in the
slightest degree, a laudable spirit of emulation, our humble labors will
not have been put forth in vain.
Facts are more sublime than fictions; and American women have actually
performed all the good, and grand, and glorious deeds which the honest
and judicious novelist dares ascribe to the female sex; hence we have
found no occasion, in striving to make this work interesting, to deviate
from the path of historical truth.
The sources whence our materials have been derived, are largely
indicated in the body of the work. Possibly, however, we may have
failed, in some instances, to indicate our indebtedness to historians
and biographers where such reference was justly demanded; suffice it to
say, therefore, once for all, that, although something like two hundred
of these pages are in our own language, we deserve but little credit for
originality, and would prefer to be regarded as an unpretending
compiler, rather than as an aspirant to the title of author.
J. C.
NOTE TO THE REVISED EDITION.
The fact that eight thousand copies of this work have been
published in less than a year after its appearance, indicates a
degree of popularity which was not anticipated. In this edition we
have thrown out a few pages of the old matter, and substituted, in
most instances, fresher anecdotes; and this revision, with the
illustrations which the liberal-minded publishers have added, will,
it is hoped, render the work still more acceptable.
J. C.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
INTRODUCTION 13
Mother of Washington 25
Wife of Washington 33
Wife of John Adams 39
Ann H. Judson 52
A Christian Woman in the Hour of Danger 66
Humanity of Hartford Ladies 69
Mother Bailey 73
Elizabeth Heard 76
Ladies of Philadelphia in 1780 78
Wife of President Reed 80
Completion of Bunker Hill Monument 85
Lydia Darrah 89
Widow Storey 93
Mrs. Hendee 95
Patriotic Women of Old Middlesex 97
The Cacique's Noble Daughter 99
Humane Spirit of a Forest Maid 104
Hannah Dustin 108
The Heroines of Bryant's Station 111
Mrs. Daviess 114
A Kentucky Amazon 118
Heroism at Innis Settlement 120
Bold Exploit at Tampico 124
Dicey Langston 125
Rebecca Motte 129
Another Sacrifice for Freedom 132
A Patriotic Donation 133
The Little Black-eyed Rebel 134
The Benevolent Quakeress 136
A Pioneer in Sunday Schools 140
The Women of Wyoming 142
Mary Gould 143
The Mother of President Polk 145
Trials of a Patriot 146
Intrepidity of Mrs. Israel 164
Incident in Missionary Life 166
A Kind-hearted Chippewa 169
Humanity of a Cherokee 170
Self-sacrificing Spirit of the Missionary 171
Daring Exploit of Two Rebels 176
Elizabeth Martin 178
The Mother's Effectual Petition 180
Noteworthy Integrity 182
A Faithful Mother 184
Mrs. Spaulding 186
Wife of Colonel Thomas 188
Exemplary Piety 190
Adventure of a Patriotic Girl 192
Mrs. Caldwell and the Tories 195
Mother of Randolph 198
Cornelia Beekman 199
Mother of West 202
Heroic Endurance 204
Maternal Heroism 211
A Modern Dorcas 213
Sarah Hoffman 218
Heroism of Schoharie Women 221
A Sterling Patriot 223
Heroic Conduct at Monmouth 237
Courage of a Country Girl 239
The Ledyards at Fort Griswold 241
Seneca Heroines 244
Martha Bratton 246
A Poor Woman's Offering 250
Mother of Jackson 251
Heroine of Fort Henry 253
A Benevolent Widow 256
Anne Fitzhugh 258
Esther Gaston 261
Remarkable Presence of Mind 263
Wife of Governor Griswold 265
Bold Exploit of a Young Girl 266
Susanna Wright 268
Patriotism of 1770 270
Mrs. Spalding 272
Mrs. Dillard 275
Phoebe Phillips 277
Example of a Poor Widow 279
Elizabeth Estaugh 284
Kate Moore, 297
Captivity of Mrs. Rowlandson 299
Mrs. Bozarth 303
Heroine of Steel Creek 305
Benevolence of a Colored Woman 308
Rebecca Edwards 309
The Beautiful Rebel 311
Harriet B. Stewart 313
A Kind and Benevolent Woman 316
Noble Example of Pioneers 320
Mrs. Slocumb 323
Wife of Captain Richardson 330
Striking Instance of Patience 331
Susannah Elliott 336
Anna Elliott 338
Patriotic Stratagem 340
Influence of a Faithful Teacher 341
Wife of Thomas Heyward 343
Noble Decision 345
A Tennessee Heroine 346
Mrs. M'Kay 352
Heroic Conduct of a Daughter 354
Heroic Decision 356
Daughter of Aaron Burr 358
Female Intrepidity 361
Wife of Richard Shubrick 362
Retort of Mrs. Ashe 365
Wife of a Drunkard 366
Mother of Dr. Dwight 370
Happy Results of Maternal Fidelity 373
Mrs. Scott 375
Success of Boldness 378
Mary Knight 380
Wife of William Gray 381
Mrs. Huntington 383
Mrs. Biddle 385
Kindness of Convicts 387
Margaret Prior 388
Noble Acts of Kindness 395
Wife of Dr. Ramsay 398
Margaret Schuyler 400
Noble Treatment of Enemies 402
Humanity Rewarded 403
Margaret Winthrop 404
A Pioneer Settler's Adventure 408
Mrs. McKenny 410
The Fisherman's Heroic Wife 416
Mrs. James K. Polk 418
Widow Jenkins 421
Faithful Little Girl 423
Hospitality of California Women 424
Sarah Lanman Smith 425
Brother saved by his Sister 429
Mrs. Borden 431
Margaret Corbin 432
Mrs. Channing 433
Commendable Courage 434
Heroine of Shell's Bush 435
Father Taylor's Widowed Friend 437
Revolutionary Mother 440
Successful Daring 443
Worthy Example of Forgiveness 444
Crookshanks saved by a Female 445
Patriotic Artist 446
Mohawk Women 448
Female in the Revolutionary Army 450
Elizabeth Brant 459
Brief Anecdotes 465
Miss D. L. Dix 474
INTRODUCTION.
The advantages of Biography are obvious and great. To the weight of
precept, it adds the force and efficacy of example. It presents correct
and beautiful models, and awakens the impulse to imitate what we admire.
Other sciences strengthen the intellect, this influences and amends the
heart. Other subjects interest the imagination, this modifies conduct
and character. By the recorded actions of the great and good, we
regulate our own course, and steer, star-guided, over life's trackless
ocean.
In remote ages, the department of Female Biography was almost a void.
Here and there on the pages of the Sacred Volume, a lineament, or a
form, is sketched with graphic power, either as a warning, or bright
with the hues of heaven. Yet uninspired history, though she continued to
utter "her dark sayings upon the harp," was wont to relapse into silence
at the name of woman. Classic antiquity scarcely presents aught that
might be cited as a sustained example. In the annals of ancient Greece,
the wife of one of its philosophers has obtained a place, but only
through the varied trials, by which she contributed to perfect his
patience. Rome but slightly lifts the household veil from the mother of
the Gracchi, as she exultingly exhibits her heart's jewels. Cleopatra,
with her royal barge, casts a dazzling gleam over the Cydnus, but her
fame is like the poison of the reptile that destroyed her. Boadicea
rushes for a moment in her rude chariot over the battle field, but the
fasces and the chains of Rome close the scene.
Modern Paganism disclosed a still deeper abyss of degradation for woman.
The aboriginal lord of the American forests lays the burden on the
shoulder of his weaker companion, and stalks on in unbowed majesty, with
his quiver and his tomahawk. Beneath the sultry skies of Africa, she
crouches to drink the poison water before her judges, having no better
test of her innocence than the deliverer, Death. In India, we see her
plunging into the Ganges her female infants, that they may escape her
lot of misery, or wrapped in the flames of the burning pile, turn into
ashes with the corpse of her husband. Under the sway of the Moslem, her
highest condition is a life-long incarceration, her best treatment, that
of a gilded toy--a soulless slave. Throughout the whole heathen world,
woman may be characterized, as Humanity, in Central Asia has been, by an
elegant French writer, as "always remaining anonymous,--indifferent to
herself,--not believing in her liberty, having none,--and leaving no
trace of her passage upon earth."
Christianity has changed the scene. Wherever her pure and pitying spirit
prevails, the sway of brute force is softened, and the "weaker vessel"
upheld. Bearing in her hand the blessed Gospel, "a light to lighten the
Gentiles, and the glory of the people Israel," she adds to the
literature of the world a new volume, the History of Woman. She spreads
a page, for which the long, slow ages had neither looked, nor
inquired,--neither waited for, nor imagined, the page of female
biography.
So liberal have been our own immediate times in supplying fitting
materials, that an extensive and valuable library might readily be
selected in this department alone. Since knowledge has shed her baptism
upon the head of woman, her legitimate sphere of duty has become
extended, and enriched by incident. We see her not only brought forward
as a teacher, but entering unrebuked the fields of science and
literature; we see her amid the hardships of colonial life, displaying a
martyr's courage, or ascending the deck of the mission ship to take her
part in "perils among the heathen."
The venerable moralist of Barley Wood, who so perseveringly encouraged
her sex to reflect, to discriminate, to choose the good and refuse the
evil, who, after attaining the age of sixty years, presented them with
eleven new and instructive volumes, has not long laid down her pen, for
the rest and reward of the righteous. That high souled apostle of
erring, suffering humanity, to whose dauntless benevolence crowned heads
did honor, whose melodious voice I almost fancy that I again hear, as in
the plain garb of her order, she stood as a tutelary being among the
convicts at Newgate,--she has but recently arisen to that congenial
society of the just made perfect, who rejoice over "one sinner that
repenteth."
And the harp of that tuneful one, so recently exchanged for a purer
harmony, still breathes upon our hearts the echoes of her varied lay, as
when touched by her hand it warbled--
"Fame hath a voice, whose thrilling tone
Can bid the life pulse beat,
As when a trumpet's note hath blown,
Warning the hosts to meet;
But ah! let mine, a woman's breast,
With words of home-born love be bless'd."
She, too, who sleeps beneath the hopia-tree in Burmah, whose courage and
constancy no hero has transcended, how rapidly has she been followed in
the same self denying path, by others who "counted not their lives dear
unto them," if they might bear to the perishing heathen the name and
love of a Redeemer.
And one still lives, the wonderful Scandinavian maiden, whose melody now
holds our own land in enchantment, and who exhibits, on a scale hitherto
unknown in the world's history, rare endowments, boundless liberality,
and deep humility; God's grace held in subservience to the good of her
fellow creatures. Through the power of song, which, as the compeer of
the nightingale, she possesses, and with a singular freedom from vanity
and selfishness, she charms and elevates, while with the harvest of her
toils she feeds the hungry, clothes the naked, comforts the desolate,
aids the hallowed temple to uplift its spire, and the school to spread
its brooding wing over the children of future generations.
One there lives, who doth inherit
Angel gifts with angel spirit,
Bidding streams of gladness flow
Through the realms of want and woe,
'Mid lone age and misery's lot,
Kindling pleasures long forgot,
Seeking minds oppress'd with night,
And on darkness shedding light;
She the seraph's speech doth know,
She hath learn'd their deeds below
So, when o'er this misty strand,
She shall clasp their waiting hand,
They will fold her to their breast,
More a sister than a guest.
If all true greatness should be estimated by its tendencies, and by the
good it performs, it is peculiarly desirable that woman's claims to
distinction should be thus judged and awarded. In this young western
world, especially in New England, her agency has been admitted, and her
capacity tested, of mingling a healthful leaven with the elements of a
nation's character. Here, her presence has been acknowledged, and her
aid faithfully rendered, from the beginning. There is a beautiful
tradition, that the first foot which pressed the snow clad rock of
Plymouth was that of Mary Chilton, a fair young maiden, and that the
last survivor of those heroic pioneers was Mary Allerton, who lived to
see the planting of twelve out of the thirteen colonies, which formed
the nucleus of these United States.
In the May Flower, eighteen wives accompanied their husbands to a waste
land and uninhabited, save by the wily and vengeful savage. On the
unfloored hut, she who had been nurtured amid the rich carpets and
curtains of the mother land, rocked her new born babe, and complained
not. She, who in the home of her youth had arranged the gorgeous shades
of embroidery, or, perchance, had compounded the rich venison pasty as
her share in the housekeeping, now pounded the coarse Indian corn for
her children's bread, and bade them ask God's blessing, ere they took
their scanty portion. When the snows sifted through their miserable
roof-trees upon her little ones, she gathered them closer to her bosom;
she taught them the Bible, and the catechism, and the holy hymn, though
the war-whoop of the Indian rang through the wild. Amid the untold
hardships of colonial life, she infused new strength into her husband by
her firmness, and solaced his weary hours by her love. She was to him,
"An undergoing spirit, to bear up
Against whate'er ensued."
During the struggle of our Revolution, the privations sustained, and the
efforts made by women, were neither few nor of short duration. Many of
them are delineated in the present volume, and in other interesting ones
of the same class, which have found favor with the public.
Yet innumerable instances of faithful toil, and patient endurance, must
have been covered with oblivion. In how many a lone home, whence the
father was long sundered by a soldier's destiny, did the Mother labor to
perform to their little ones both his duties and her own, having no
witness of the extent of her heavy burdens, and sleepless anxieties,
save the Hearer of Prayer.
A good and hoary headed man, who had passed the limits of fourscore,
once said to me, "my father was in the army during the whole eight years
of the Revolutionary war, at first as a common soldier, afterwards as an
officer. My mother had the sole charge of us, four little ones. Our
house was a poor one, and far from neighbors. I have a keen remembrance
of the terrible cold of some of these winters. The snow lay so deep and
long, that it was difficult to cut or draw fuel from the woods, and to
get our corn to mill, when we had any. My mother was the possessor of a
coffee mill. In that she ground wheat, and made coarse bread, which we
ate, and were thankful. It was not always that we could be allowed as
much, even of this, as our keen appetites craved. Many is the time that
we have gone to bed, with only a drink of water for our supper, in
which a little molasses had been mingled. We patiently received it, for
we knew our mother did as well for us as she could, and hoped to have
something better in the morning. She was never heard to repine; and
young as we were, we tried to make her loving spirit and heavenly trust,
our example.
"When my father was permitted to come home, his stay was short, and he
had not much to leave us, for the pay of those who achieved our
liberties was slight, and irregularly rendered. Yet when he went, my
mother ever bade him farewell with a cheerful face, and not to be
anxious about his children, for she would watch over them night and day,
and God would take care of the families of those who went forth to
defend the righteous cause of their country. Sometimes we wondered that
she did not mention the cold weather, or our short meals, or her hard
work, that we little ones might be clothed, and fed, and taught. But she
would not weaken his hands, or sadden his heart, for she said a
soldier's lot was harder than all. We saw that she never complained, but
always kept in her heart a sweet hope, like a well of living water.
Every night ere we slept, and every morning when we arose, we lifted our
little hands for God's blessing on our absent father, and our endangered
country."
How deeply the prayers from such solitary homes, and faithful hearts,
were mingled with the infant liberties of our dear native land, we may
not know until we enter where we see no more "through a glass darkly,
but face to face."
Incidents repeatedly occurred during this contest of eight years,
between the feeble colonies and the strong motherland, of a courage
that ancient Sparta would have applauded.
In a thinly settled part of Virginia, the quiet of the Sabbath eve was
once broken by the loud, hurried roll of the drum. Volunteers were
invoked to go forth and prevent the British troops, under the pitiless
Tarleton, from forcing their way through an important mountain pass. In
an old fort resided a family, all of whose elder sons were absent with
our army, which at the North opposed the foe. The father lay enfeebled
and sick. Around his bedside the Mother called their three sons, of the
ages of thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen.
"Go forth, children," said she, "to the defence of your native clime.
Go, each and all of you. I spare not my youngest, my fair-haired boy,
the light of my declining years.
"Go forth, my sons. Repel the foot of the invader, or see my face no
more."
It has been recorded in the annals of other climes, as well as our own,
that Woman, under the pressure of unusual circumstances, has revealed
unwonted and unexpected energies. It is fitting that she should prove
herself equal to every emergency, nor shrink from any duty that dangers
or reverses may impose.
Still, her best happiness and true glory are doubtless found in her own
peculiar sphere. Rescued, as she has been, from long darkness, by the
precepts of the religion of Jesus, brought forth into the broad sunlight
of knowledge and responsibility, she is naturally anxious to know how to
discharge her debt to the age, and to her own land. Her patriotism is,
to labor in the sanctuary of home, and in every allotted department of
education, to form and train a race that shall bless their country, and
serve their God.
There has been sometimes claimed for her, under the name of "_rights_,"
a wider participation in the pursuits, exposures, and honors
appertaining to men. Were these somewhat indefinite claims conceded,
would the change promote her welfare? Would she be a gainer by any added
power or sounding title, which should require the sacrifice of that
delicacy which is the life-blood of her sex?
Would it be better for man to have no exercise for those energies, which
the state of a gentle, trustful being calls forth; those protecting
energies which reveal his peculiar strength, and liken him to a god-like
nature? Would it add either to her attractions or his happiness, to
confront her in the arena of political strife, or enable her to bear her
part in fierce collision with the bold and unprincipled? Might it not
endanger or obliterate that enthusiasm of love, which she so much
prizes, to meet the tutelary spirit of his home delights, on the steep
unsheltered heights of ambition, as a competitor or a rival?
Would it be as well for the rising generation, who are given into the
arms of Woman for their earliest guidance, that the ardor of her nature
should be drawn into different and contradictory channels? When a
traveler in those lands where she goes forth to manual toil in the
fields, I have mourned to see her neglected little ones, deprived of
maternal care, unsoftened by the blandishments of its tenderness,
growing up like animals, groveling, unimpressible, unconscientious.
Whatever detaches her thoughts or divides her heart from home duties and
affections, is especially a loss to the young plants that depend on her
nurture and supervision.
If, therefore, the proposed change should profit neither man, woman, nor
the rising race, how can it benefit the world at large? Is it not the
province of true wisdom to select such measures as promote the greatest
good of the greatest number?
A moralist has well said, that "in contentions for power, both the
philosophy and poetry of life are dropped and trodden down." A still
heavier loss would accrue to domestic happiness, and the interests of
well balanced society, should the innate delicacy and prerogative of
woman, _as woman_, be sacrificed or transmuted.
"I have given her as a help-meet," said the Voice that cannot err, when
it spake unto Adam "in the cool of the day," amid the trees of Paradise.
Not as a slave, a clog, a toy, a wrestler, a prize-fighter, a ruler. No.
A _helper_, such as was meet for man to desire, and for her to become.
If the unerring Creator has assigned different spheres of action to the
sexes, it is to be presumed that some adaptation exists to their
respective sphere, that there is work enough in each to employ them, and
that the faithful performance of that work will be for the welfare of
both. If He hath constituted one as the priestess of the "inner temple,"
committing to her charge its veiled shrine and sacred harmonies, why
should she covet to rage amid the warfare at its gates, or to ride on
the whirlwind that may rock its turrets? Rushing, uncalled, to the
strife, or the tumult, or the conflict, will there not linger in her
heart the upbraiding question, "with whom didst thou leave thy few sheep
in the wilderness?" Why need she be again tempted by pride, or
curiosity, or glozing words, to forfeit her own Eden?
The true nobility of Woman is to keep her own sphere, and adorn it, not
as the comet, daunting and perplexing other systems, but like the star,
which is the first to light the day and the last to leave it. If she win
not the laurel of the conqueror and the blood-shedder, her noble deeds
may leave "footprints on the sands of time," and her good works, "such
as become those that profess godliness," find record in the Book of
Life.
Sisters, are not our rights sufficiently comprehensive, the sanctuary of
home, the throne of the heart, the moulding of the whole mass of mind,
in its first formation? Have we not power enough in all realms of sorrow
and suffering, over all forms of want and ignorance, amid all ministries
of love, from the cradle-dream to the sealing of the sepulchre?
Let us be content and faithful, aye, more,--grateful and joyful,--making
this brief life a hymn of praise, until admitted to that choir which
knows no discord, and where melody is eternal.
L. HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY.
HARTFORD, CONN.
[Illustration: Woman with plaque "Noble Deeds"]
THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON
As the "mother" of our nation's "chief," it seems appropriate that Mary
Washington should stand at the head of American females whose deeds are
herein recorded. Her life was one unbroken series of praiseworthy
actions--a drama of many scenes, none blood-chilling, none tragic, but
all noble, all inspiring, and many even magnanimous. She was uniformly
so gentle, so amiable, so dignified, that it is difficult to fix the eye
on any one act more strikingly grand than the rest. Stretching the eye
along a series of mountain peaks, all, seemingly, of the same height, a
solitary one cannot be singled out and called more sublime than the
others.
It is impossible to contemplate any one trait of her character without
admiration. In republican simplicity, as her life will show, she was a
model; and her piety was of such an exalted nature that the daughters of
the land might make it their study. Though proud of her son, as we may
suppose she must have been, she was sensible enough not to be betrayed
into weakness and folly on that account. The honors that clustered
around her name as associated with his, only humbled her and made her
apparently more devout. She never forgot that she was a Christian
mother, and that her son, herself, and, in perilous times especially,
her country, needed her prayers. She was wholly destitute of
aristocratic feelings, which are degrading to human beings; and never
believed that sounding titles and high honors could confer lasting
distinctions, without moral worth. The greatness which Byron, with so
much justness and beauty, ascribes to Washington, was one portion of the
inestimable riches which the son inherited from the mother:
"Where may the weary eye repose,
When gazing on the great,
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes, one--the first--the last--the best--
The Cincinnatus of the West,
Whom envy dared not hate--
Bequeathed the name of Washington,
To make men blush there was but one."
Moulding, as she did, to a large extent, the character of the great
Hero, Statesman and Sage of the Western World; instilling into his young
heart the virtues that warmed her own, and fitting him to become the man
of unbending integrity and heroic courage, and the father of a great and
expanding republic, she may well claim the veneration, not of the lovers
of freedom merely, but of all who can appreciate moral beauty and
thereby estimate the true wealth of woman's heart. A few data and
incidents of such a person's life should be treasured in every American
mind.
The maiden name of Mrs. Washington was Mary Bell. She was born in the
Colony of Virginia, which is fertile in great names, towards the close
of the year 1706. She became the second wife of Mr. Augustine
Washington, a planter of the "Old Dominion," on the sixth of March,
1730. He was at that time a resident of Westmoreland county. There, two
years after this union, George, their oldest child, was born. While the
"father of his country" was an infant, the parents removed to Stafford
county, on the Rappahannock river, opposite Fredericksburg.
Mrs. Washington had five more children, and lost the youngest in its
infancy. Soon after this affliction, she was visited, in 1743, with a
greater--the death of her husband. Thus, at the age of thirty-seven,
Mrs. Washington became a widow, with five small children. Fortunately,
her husband left a valuable property for their maintenance. It was
mostly in land, and each son inherited a plantation. The one daughter
was also suitably provided for. "It was thus," writes Mr. Sparks, "that
Augustine Washington, although suddenly cut off in the vigor of manhood,
left all his children in a state of comparative independence. Confiding
in the prudence of the mother, he directed that the proceeds of all the
property of her children should be at her disposal, till they should
respectively come of age."
The same writer adds that, "this weighty charge of five young children,
the eldest of whom was eleven years old, the superintendence of their
education, and the management of complicated affairs, demanded no common
share of resolution, resource of mind, and strength of character. In
these important duties Mrs. Washington acquitted herself with fidelity
to her trust, and with entire success. Her good sense, assiduity,
tenderness and vigilance, overcame every obstacle; and, as the richest
reward of a mother's solicitude and toil, she had the happiness of
seeing all her children come forward with a fair promise into life,
filling the sphere allotted to them in a manner equally honorable to
themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their
principles, conduct and habits. She lived to witness the noble career of
her eldest son, till, by his own rare merits, he was raised to the head
of a nation, and applauded and revered by the whole world."
Two years after the death of his father, George Washington obtained a
midshipman's warrant, and had not his mother opposed the plan, he would
have entered the naval service, been removed from her influence, acted
a different part on the theatre of life, and possibly changed the
subsequent aspect of American affairs.
Just before Washington's departure to the north, to assume the command
of the American army, he persuaded his mother to leave her country
residence, and assisted in effecting her removal to Fredericksburg.
There she took up a permanent abode, and there died of a lingering and
painful disease, a cancer in the breast, on the twenty-fifth of August,
1789.
A few of the many lovely traits of Mrs. Washington's character, are
happily exhibited in two or three incidents in her long, but not
remarkably eventful life.
She who looked to God in hours of darkness for light, in her country's
peril, for Divine succor, was equally as ready to acknowledge the hand
and to see the smiles of the "God of battles" in the victories that
crowned our arms; hence, when she was informed of the surrender of
Cornwallis, her heart instantly filled with gratitude, and raising her
hands, with reverence and pious fervor, she exclaimed: "Thank God! war
will now be ended, and peace, independence and happiness bless our
country!"
When she received the news of her son's successful passage of the
Delaware--December 7th, 1776--with much self-possession she expressed
her joy that the prospects of the country were brightening; but when she
came to those portions of the dispatches which were panegyrical of her
son, she modestly and coolly observed to the bearers of the good
tidings, that "George appeared to have deserved well of his country for
such signal services. But, my good sirs," she added, "here is too much
flattery!--Still, _George will not forget the lessons I have taught
him_--he will not forget _himself_, though he is the subject of so much
praise."
In like manner, when, on the return of the combined armies from
Yorktown, Washington visited her at Fredericksburg, she inquired after
his health and talked long and with much warmth of feeling of the scenes
of former years, of early and mutual friends, of all, in short, that the
past hallows; but to the theme of the ransomed millions of the land, the
theme that for three quarters of a century has, in all lands, prompted
the highest flights of eloquence, and awakened the noblest strains of
song, to the deathless fame of her son, she made not the slightest
allusion.
In the fall of 1784, just before returning to his native land, General
Lafayette went to Fredericksburg, "to pay his parting respects" to Mrs.
Washington. "Conducted by one of her grandsons, he approached the house,
when the young gentleman observed: 'There, sir, is my grandmother!'
Lafayette beheld--working in the garden, clad in domestic-made clothes,
and her gray head covered with a plain straw hat--the mother of 'his
hero, his friend and a country's preserver!' The lady saluted him
kindly, observing: 'Ah, Marquis! you see an old woman; but come, I can
make you welcome to my poor dwelling without the parade of changing my
dress.'" During the interview, Lafayette, referring to her son, could
not withhold his encomiums, which drew from the mother this beautifully
simple remark: "I am not surprised at what George has done, for he was
always a good boy."
The remains of Mrs. Washington were interred at Fredericksburg. On the
seventh of May, 1833, the corner-stone of a monument to her memory was
laid under the direction of a Committee who represented the citizens of
Virginia. General Jackson, then President of the United States, very
appropriately took the leading and most honorable part in the ceremony.
With the following extracts from the closing part of his chaste and
elegant Address, our humble sketch may fittingly close:
"In tracing the few recollections which can be gathered, of her
principles and conduct, it is impossible to avoid the conviction, that
these were closely interwoven with the destiny of her son. The great
points of his character are before the world. He who runs may read them
in his whole career, as a citizen, a soldier, a magistrate. He possessed
unerring judgment, if that term can be applied to human nature; great
probity of purpose, high moral principles, perfect self-possession,
untiring application, and an inquiring mind, seeking information from
every quarter, and arriving at its conclusions with a full knowledge of
the subject; and he added to these an inflexibility of resolution, which
nothing could change but a conviction of error. Look back at the life
and conduct of his mother, and at her domestic government, as they have
this day been delineated by the Chairman of the Monumental Committee,
and as they were known to her contemporaries, and have been described
by them, and they will be found admirably adapted to form and develop,
the elements of such a character. The power of greatness was there; but
had it not been guided and directed by maternal solicitude and judgment,
its possessor, instead of presenting to the world examples of virtue,
patriotism and wisdom, which will be precious in all succeeding ages,
might have added to the number of those master-spirits, whose fame rests
upon the faculties they have abused, and the injuries they have
committed....
"Fellow citizens, at your request, and in your name, I now deposit this
plate in the spot destined for it; and when the American pilgrim shall,
in after ages, come up to this high and holy place, and lay his hand
upon this sacred column, may he recall the virtues of her who sleeps
beneath, and depart with his affections purified, and his piety
strengthened, while he invokes blessings upon the Mother of
Washington."
THE WIFE OF WASHINGTON.
A woman's noblest station is retreat:
Her fairest virtues fly from public sight;
Domestic worth--that shuns too strong a light.
LORD LYTTLETON.
The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.
BYRON.
Woman may possess an equal share of the elements of greatness with man,
but she has not an equal opportunity to display them in such a manner as
to call forth the admiration and applause of the world. She was not made
to pour the tide of eloquence in the Senate chamber, or lead on to
victory the brave and heroic spirits of the land. Her course leads
mainly through the quiet valley of domestic retirement, where the stream
can rarely leap from dizzy heights with a thundering plunge, whose
echoes shall go booming on to fill the ear of coming generations: her
movements and influence are more like those of springs, which, flowing
noiselessly and unseen, are widely scattered, and every where diffuse
incalculable blessings.
The wife of Washington could not be the hero of a seven-years' war, or
the chief magistrate of a republic; but, as the companion of such a man,
she could shine, in her own proper sphere, with a lustre as mild, as
steady, as serene, as his. And thus she did. Prompt to obey the calls of
duty, when the voice of humanity beckoned her to the camp, she hastened
away, at the sacrifice of ease and comfort, to relieve the wants of the
suffering; and when forced to leave her "paradise" at Mount Vernon, to
preside, as the matron of the nation, at the President's house, she did
it with a dignity and propriety perhaps never equalled, certainly never
excelled. But let us not anticipate.
Martha Dandridge was born in New Kent county, Virginia, in May, 1732.
She was endowed with good sense, a strong mind, sound ideas of feminine
proprieties, and correct views of woman's practical duties: and these
had to answer measurably as a substitute for the discipline of female
seminaries, which were rare in the "Old Dominion," and in the Colonies
generally, in her younger days. The advantages to be derived from
domestic instruction, she enjoyed, and those only. They, however, were
cut off at the age of seventeen, by her union in marriage with Colonel
Daniel P. Custis, a gentleman of many excellent parts. They settled on
his plantation in her native county. Beautiful, lovely in disposition,
and fascinating in manners, the young wife was warmly admired by her
neighbors and all with whom she came in contact; and her residence,
known as the "_White House_," was the centre of strong attractions, and
the scene of much genuine or--which is the same thing--_Virginian_,
hospitality. Colonel Custis became the father of three children, and
then died. Previous to this solemn event, however, the White House had
been veiled in weeds for the loss of his oldest child.
With two small children, a son and daughter, Mrs. Custis early found
herself a widow, with the disposition and management of all pecuniary
interests left by her confiding husband, at her control. As sole
executrix, it is said that she "managed the extensive landed and
pecuniary concerns of the estate with surprising ability, making loans
on mortgages, of money, and through her stewards and agents, conducting
the sales or exportation of the crops to the best possible advantage."
But from the cares of an extensive estate she was shortly relieved. On
the sixth of January, 1759, she gave her hand, with upwards of a hundred
thousand dollars, to Colonel George Washington, another planter of her
native Colony. At the same time, she relinquished into his hands the
guardianship of her children--the son six, and the daughter four years
old--together with the care of their property. From the White House,
Mrs. Washington now removed to Mount Vernon, which remained her home
till her death, and became the final resting place of her remains.
In her new home, as in the White House, she superintended the affairs of
the household, exercising continual control over all culinary matters;
carefully educating her offspring, and aiming to rear them up for
usefulness. These duties she discharged with the utmost assiduity and
faithfulness, in spite of the many social obligations which a woman in
her position must necessarily encounter.[1] Nor did the demands of
courtesy and of her family debar her from habitual and systematic
charities, dispensed in her neighborhood, or from those most important
of all daily duties, the calls of the "closet." In the language of Miss
Conkling, in her Memoir: "It is recorded of this devout Christian, that
never during her life, whether in prosperity or in adversity, did she
omit that daily self-communion and self-examination, and those private
devotional exercises, which would best prepare her for the self-control
and self-denial by which she was, for more than half a century, so
eminently distinguished. It was her habit to retire to her own apartment
every morning after breakfast, there to devote an hour to solitary
prayer and meditation."
[1] We have the authority of Mr. Sparks for asserting that while
Washington's pursuits were those of a retired planter, he seldom passed
a day when at home without the company of friends or strangers,
frequently persons of great celebrity, and demanding much attention from
the lady of the house.
In 1770, she lost a child of many prayers, of bright hopes, and of much
promise, her blooming daughter. She looked upon this affliction as a
visitation from Him who doeth all things well, and bore it with becoming
resignation, which the Christian only is prepared to do.
During the Revolution, Mrs. Washington was accustomed to pass the
winters with her husband at the head quarters of the army and the
summers at Mount Vernon; and it was in the camp that she shone with the
lustre of the true woman. "She was at Valley Forge in that dreadful
winter of 1777-8, her presence and submission to privation strengthening
the fortitude of those who might have complained, and giving hope and
confidence to the desponding. She soothed the distresses of many
sufferers, seeking out the poor and afflicted with benevolent kindness,
extending relief wherever it was in her power, and with graceful
deportment presiding in the Chief's humble dwelling."[2]
[2] Mrs. Washington, in writing to Mrs. Warren, says, "The General's
apartment is very small; he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which
has made our quarters more tolerable than at first."
In 1781, she lost her last surviving child, John Custis, aged twenty
seven. Her widowed daughter-in-law and the four children, she took to
her own home, and thenceforward they were the objects of her untiring
solicitude.
The life of Mrs. Washington, after her husband took the Presidential
chair, was marked by no striking incidents, and affords scanty material
of the nature marked out for this work. During the eight years that he
was Chief Magistrate, she presided in his mansion with the same
unaffected ease, equanimity and dignified simplicity that had marked her
previous course in more retired circles. Visitors were received on all
days _except the Sabbath_, and, irrespective of rank, shared in her
courtesies and hospitalities. A portion of each summer, at that period,
was passed in the quiet and seclusion of Mount Vernon, she rarely, if
ever, accompanying her husband on his tours through the land. She
expressed regret when he was chosen President, because she preferred
"to grow old" with him "in solitude and tranquillity;" hence it is not
surprising that she found a luxury in retiring for a season from the
scenes of public life, and in attending to the education of her
grand-children and to other self-imposed tasks and important duties, in
the performance of which she could bless her friends and honor God.
After the death of her illustrious companion, which occurred in
December, 1799, she remained at Mount Vernon; where she spent seventeen
months mourning her loss; receiving the visits of the great from all
parts of our land, and from various parts of the earth; attending, as
heretofore, to her domestic concerns; perfecting in the Christian
graces, and ripening for the joys of a holier state of being. On the
twenty-second of May, 1801, she who, while on earth, could be placed in
no station which she did not dignify and honor, was welcomed to the
glories of another world.
THE WIFE OF JOHN ADAMS.
The mother in her office holds the key
Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin
Of character, and makes the being who would be a savage,
But for her gentle cares, a Christian man.
OLD PLAY.
----O we will walk this world,
Yoked in all exercise of noble aim.
TENNYSON.
Abigail Smith was a daughter of the Rev. William Smith, a Congregational
minister of Weymouth, Massachusetts, where she was born on the eleventh
of November, 1744, O. S. "It was fashionable to ridicule female
learning," in her day; and she says of herself in one of her letters, "I
was never sent to any school." She adds, "I was always sick. Female
education, in the best families, went no further than writing and
arithmetic." But notwithstanding her educational disadvantages, she read
and studied in private, and kept up a brisk correspondence with
relatives, and by these means expanded and fed her mind, and cultivated
an easy and graceful style of writing.
On the twenty-fifth of October, 1764, Miss Smith became the wife of John
Adams, a lawyer of Braintree.[3]
[3] The part of the town in which he lived was afterwards called Quincy
in honor of Mrs. Adams's maternal grandfather.
Her grandson, Charles Francis Adams, to whose Memoir of her we are
indebted for these statistics, says, that "the ten years immediately
following, present little that is worth recording."
Prior to 1778, Mr. and Mrs. Adams had been separated at sundry times, in
all, more than three years, which was a severe trial to her fortitude.
The strength of her conjugal affection may be gathered from an extract
from one of her letters: "I very well remember," she writes, "when the
eastern circuits of the courts, which lasted a month, were thought an
age, and an absence of three months, intolerable; but we are carried
from step to step, and from one degree to another, to endure that which
at first we think impossible." Thus she was schooled for separation from
her husband, when, in 1778, he went to France as a joint commissioner.
While he was absent from his country on that occasion, faithful to the
calls of duty, she remained at home, and managed, as she had done
before, the affairs of the household and farm. And _there_ let the
reader look at her and see a picture of a true mother of the Revolution.
"She is a farmer cultivating the land, and discussing the weather and
crops; a merchant reporting prices-current and the rates of exchange,
and directing the making up of invoices; a politician, speculating upon
the probabilities of peace or war; and a mother, writing the most
exalted sentiments to her son."
What nobler deed could the mother, thus situated, do with her son, John
Quincy Adams, in a foreign land, than to write to him in a tone like
that of the extracts which follow, and which are taken from letters
dated 1778-80:
"'Tis almost four months since you left your native land, and embarked
upon the mighty waters, in quest of a foreign country. Although I have
not particularly written to you since, yet you may be assured you have
constantly been upon my heart and mind.
"It is a very difficult task, my dear son, for a tender parent to bring
her mind to part with a child of your years going to a distant land; nor
could I have acquiesced in such a separation under any other care than
that of the most excellent parent and guardian who accompanied you. You
have arrived at years capable of improving under the advantages you will
be likely to have, if you do but properly attend to them. They are
talents put into your hands, of which an account will be required of you
hereafter; and being possessed of one, two, or four, see to it that you
double your numbers.
"The most amiable and most useful disposition in a young mind is
diffidence of itself; and this should lead you to seek advice and
instruction from him, who is your natural guardian, and will always
counsel and direct you in the best manner, both for your present and
future happiness. You are in possession of a natural good understanding,
and of spirits unbroken by adversity and untamed with care. Improve your
understanding by acquiring useful knowledge and virtue, such as will
render you an ornament to society, an honor to your country, and a
blessing to your parents. Great learning and superior abilities, should
you ever possess them, will be of little value and small estimation,
unless virtue, honor, truth, and integrity are added to them. Adhere to
those religious sentiments and principles which were early instilled
into your mind, and remember that you are accountable to your Maker for
all your words and actions.
"Let me enjoin it upon you to attend constantly and steadfastly to the
precepts and instructions of your father, as you value the happiness of
your mother and your own welfare. His care and attention to you render
many things unnecessary for me to write, which I might otherwise do; but
the inadvertency and heedlessness of youth require line upon line and
precept upon precept, and, when enforced by the joint efforts of both
parents, will, I hope, have a due influence upon your conduct; for, dear
as you are to me, I would much rather you should have found your grave
in the ocean you have crossed, or that any untimely death crop you in
your infant years, than see you an immoral, profligate, or graceless
child.
"You have entered early in life upon the great theatre of the world,
which is full of temptations and vice of every kind. You are not wholly
unacquainted with history, in which you have read of crimes which your
inexperienced mind could scarcely believe credible. You have been taught
to think of them with horror, and to view vice as
'a monster of so frightful mien,
That, to be hated, needs but to be seen.'
"Yet you must keep a strict guard upon yourself, or the odious monster
will soon lose its terror by becoming familiar to you. The modern
history of our own times, furnishes as black a list of crimes, as can be
paralleled in ancient times, even if we go back to Nero, Caligula, or
Caesar Borgia. Young as you are, the cruel war into which we have been
compelled by the haughty tyrant of Britain and the bloody emissaries of
his vengeance, may stamp upon your mind this certain truth, that the
welfare and prosperity of all countries, communities, and, I may add,
individuals, depend upon their morals. That nation to which we were once
united, as it has departed from justice, eluded and subverted the wise
laws which formerly governed it, and suffered the worst of crimes to go
unpunished, has lost its valor, wisdom and humanity, and, from being the
dread and terror of Europe, has sunk into derision and infamy....
"Some author, that I have met with, compares a judicious traveler to a
river, that increases its stream the further it flows from its source;
or to certain springs, which, running through rich veins of minerals,
improve their qualities as they pass along. It will be expected of you,
my son, that, as you are favored with superior advantages under the
instructive eye of a tender parent, your improvement should bear some
proportion to your advantages. Nothing is wanting with you but
attention, diligence, and steady application. Nature has not been
deficient.
"These are times in which a genius would wish to live. It is not in the
still calm of life, or the repose of a pacific station, that great
characters are formed. Would Cicero have shone so distinguished an
orator if he had not been roused, kindled, and inflamed by the tyranny
of Catiline, Verres, and Mark Anthony? The habits of a vigorous mind are
formed in contending with difficulties. All history will convince you of
this, and that wisdom and penetration are the fruit of experience, not
the lessons of retirement and leisure. Great necessities call out great
virtues. When a mind is raised and animated by scenes that engage the
heart, then those qualities, which would otherwise lie dormant, wake
into life and form the character of the hero and the statesman. War,
tyranny, and desolation are the scourges of the Almighty, and ought no
doubt to be deprecated. Yet it is your lot, my son, to be an eye witness
of these calamities in your own native land, and, at the same time, to
owe your existence among a people who have made a glorious defence of
their invaded liberties, and who, aided by a generous and powerful ally,
with the blessing of Heaven, will transmit this inheritance to ages yet
unborn.
"Nor ought it to be one of the least of your incitements towards
exerting every power and faculty of your mind, that you have a parent
who has taken so large and active a share in this contest, and
discharged the trust reposed in him with so much satisfaction as to be
honored with the important embassy which at present calls him abroad.
"The strict and inviolable regard you have ever paid to truth, gives me
pleasing hopes that you will not swerve from her dictates, but add
justice, fortitude, and every manly virtue which can adorn a good
citizen, do honor to your country, and render your parents supremely
happy, particularly your ever affectionate mother.
... "The only sure and permanent foundation of virtue is religion. Let
this important truth be engraven upon your heart. And also, that the
foundation of religion is the belief of the one only God, and a just
sense of his attributes, as a being infinitely wise, just, and good, to
whom you owe the highest reverence, gratitude, and adoration; who
superintends and governs all nature, even to clothing the lilies of the
field, and hearing the young ravens when they cry; but more particularly
regards man, whom he created after his own image, and breathed into him
an immortal spirit, capable of a happiness beyond the grave; for the
attainment of which he is bound to the performance of certain duties,
which all tend to the happiness and welfare of society, and are
comprised in one short sentence, expressive of universal benevolence,
'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'...
"Justice, humanity, and benevolence, are the duties you owe to society
in general. To your country the same duties are incumbent upon you, with
the additional obligation of sacrificing ease, pleasure, wealth, and
life itself for its defence and security. To your parents you owe love,
reverence, and obedience to all just and equitable commands. To
yourself,--here, indeed, is a wide field to expatiate upon. To become
what you ought to be, and what a fond mother wishes to see you, attend
to some precepts and instructions from the pen of one, who can have no
motive but your welfare and happiness, and who wishes in this way to
supply to you the personal watchfulness and care, which a separation
from you deprived you of at a period of life, when habits are easiest
acquired and fixed; and though the advice may not be new, yet suffer it
to obtain a place in your memory, for occasions may offer, and perhaps
some concurring circumstances unite, to give it weight and force.
"Suffer me to recommend to you one of the most useful lessons of life,
the knowledge and study of yourself. There you run the greatest hazard
of being deceived. Self-love and partiality cast a mist before the eyes,
and there is no knowledge so hard to be acquired, nor of more benefit
when once thoroughly understood. Ungoverned passions have aptly been
compared to the boisterous ocean, which is known to produce the most
terrible effects. 'Passions are the elements of life,' but elements
which are subject to the control of reason. Whoever will candidly
examine themselves, will find some degree of passion, peevishness, or
obstinacy in their natural tempers. You will seldom find these
disagreeable ingredients all united in one; but the uncontrolled
indulgence of either is sufficient to render the possessor unhappy in
himself, and disagreeable to all who are so unhappy as to be witnesses
of it, or suffer from its effects.
"You, my dear son, are formed with a constitution feelingly alive; your
passions are strong and impetuous; and, though I have sometimes seen
them hurry you into excesses, yet with pleasure I have observed a
frankness and generosity accompany your efforts to govern and subdue
them. Few persons are so subject to passion, but that they can command
themselves, when they have a motive sufficiently strong; and those who
are most apt to transgress will restrain themselves through respect and
reverence to superiors, and even, where they wish to recommend
themselves, to their equals. The due government of the passions, has
been considered in all ages as a most valuable acquisition. Hence an
inspired writer observes, 'He that is slow to anger is better than the
mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.' This
passion, cooperating with power, and unrestrained by reason, has
produced the subversion of cities, the desolation of countries, the
massacre of nations, and filled the world with injustice and oppression.
Behold your own country, your native land, suffering from the effects of
lawless power and malignant passions, and learn betimes, from your own
observation and experience, to govern and control yourself. Having once
obtained this self-government, you will find a foundation laid for
happiness to yourself and usefulness to mankind. 'Virtue alone is
happiness below;' and consists in cultivating and improving every good
inclination, and in checking and subduing every propensity to evil. I
have been particular upon the passion of anger, as it is generally the
most predominant passion at your age, the soonest excited, and the least
pains are taken to subdue it;
----'what composes man, can man destroy.'"
With such a mother to counsel him, one is led to ask, how could John
Quincy Adams _help_ becoming a noble-minded and great man? Who wonders
that, with good natural endowments and his excellent privileges, coupled
with maternal training, he fitted himself to fill the highest office in
the gift of a free people?
In June, 1784, Mrs. Adams sailed for London to join her husband, who was
then our Minister at the Court of St. James. While absent, she visited
France and Netherlands; resided for a time in the former country; and
returned with her knowledge of human nature, of men, manners, &c.,
enlarged; disgusted with the splendor and sophistications of royalty,
and well prepared to appreciate the republican simplicity and frankness
of which she was herself a model. While Mr. Adams was Vice-President and
President, she never laid aside her singleness of heart, and that
sincerity and unaffected dignity which had won for her many friends
before her elevation, and which, in spite of national animosity,
conquered the prejudices and gained the hearts of the aristocracy of
Great Britain. But her crowning virtue was her Christian humility, which
is beautifully exemplified in a letter which she wrote to Mr. Adams, on
the 8th of February, 1797, "the day on which the votes for President
were counted, and Mr. Adams, as Vice-President, was required by law to
announce himself the President elect for the ensuing term:"
"'The sun is dressed in brightest beams,
To give thy honors to the day.'
"And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each ensuing season. You
have this day to declare yourself head of a nation. 'And now, O Lord, my
God, thou hast made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto him an
understanding heart, that he may know how to go out and come in before
this great people; that he may discern between good and bad. For who is
able to judge this thy so great a people?' were the words of a royal
sovereign; and not less applicable to him who is invested with the chief
magistracy of a nation, though he wear not a crown, nor the robes of
royalty.
"My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though personally absent;
and my petitions to Heaven are, that 'the things which make for peace
may not be hidden from your eyes.' My feelings are not those of pride or
ostentation, upon the occasion. They are solemnized by a sense of the
obligations, the important trusts, and numerous duties connected with
it. That you may be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself,
with justice and impartiality to your country, and with satisfaction to
this great people, shall be the daily prayer of your
"A. A."
From her husband's retirement from the Presidency, in 1801, to the close
of her life, in 1818, Mrs. Adams remained constantly at Quincy.
Cheerful, contented, and happy, she devoted her last years, in that
rural seclusion, to the reciprocities of friendship and love, to offices
of kindness and charity, and, in short, to all those duties which tend
to ripen the Christian for an exchange of worlds.
But it would be doing injustice to her character and leaving one of her
noblest deeds unrecorded, to close without mentioning the influence for
good which she exerted over Mr. Adams, and her part in the work of
making him what he was. That he was sensible of the benignant influence
of wives, may be gathered from the following letter which was addressed
to Mrs. Adams from Philadelphia, on the eleventh of August, 1777:
"I think I have some times observed to you in conversation, that upon
examining the biography of illustrious men, you will generally find some
female about them, in the relation of mother, or wife, or sister, to
whose instigation a great part of their merit is to be ascribed. You
will find a curious example of this in the case of Aspasia, the wife of
Pericles. She was a woman of the greatest beauty, and the first genius.
She taught him, it is said, his refined maxims of policy, his lofty
imperial eloquence, nay, even composed the speeches on which so great a
share of his reputation was founded.
"I wish some of our great men had such wives. By the account in your
last letter, it seems the women in Boston begin to think themselves able
to serve their country. What a pity it is that our generals in the
northern districts had not Aspasias to their wives.
"I believe the two Howes have not very great women to their wives. If
they had, we should suffer more from their exertions than we do. This is
our good fortune. A smart wife would have put Howe in possession of
Philadelphia a long time ago."
While Mr. Adams was wishing that some of our great men had such wives as
Aspasia, he had such a wife, was himself such a man, and owed half his
greatness to _his_ Aspasia. The exalted patriotism and the cheerful
piety infused into the letters she addressed to him during the long
night of political uncertainty that hung over these Colonies,
strengthened his courage, fired his nobler feelings, nerved his higher
purposes and, doubtless, greatly contributed to make him the right hand
man of Washington.
The diligent and faithful Andromaches, the gifted and patriotic
_Aspasias_ of the Revolution, did their portion of the great work
silently and unseen. Secretly they urged their husbands and sons to the
battle-field, secretly spoke to them by letter in the camp or
convention, and secretly prayed for wisdom to guide our statesmen and
victory to crown our arms. Thus privately acting, how little of their
labor or their worth is known. How few of their names are treasured in
our annals. With rare exceptions, like the builders of the pyramids,
their initials are lost. Then, while we have the name and the noble
example of Mrs. Adams, with a few of her patriotic compeers, let us
pledge our unswerving devotion to Freedom over the _unknown_ names of
the wives and mothers who secretly assisted in nerving the arm that
broke the sceptre of British dominion on these shores, and gave the
eagle of Liberty a safe and abiding home on our mountain tops.
ANN H. JUDSON.
God has a bright example made of thee,
To show that womankind may be
Above that sex which her superior seems.
COWLEY.
About the commencement of the present century, a new field was opened
for the display of Christian heroism. The despairing wail of the pagan
millions of the East, had reached the ears of a few of the most devoted
people of God on these Western shores, and the question arisen, Who
shall lead the way to heathen realms, who among us first encounter the
perils of an attempt to plant the standard of the Cross beside the
pagodas of Buddhism? He who would then go forth, must leave his native
land with the parting benediction of but few friends; must be
accompanied with few and faint prayers; must make his own path through
the tiger-haunted jungles, and face alone the untried dangers of a
dubious assault on the strong-holds of pagan superstition. But,
notwithstanding the discouragements inwoven with the contemplation of
the undertaking, and the great peril that must attend its completion, it
was magnanimous and sublime, and there were hearts in the land
philanthropic enough to embark in it and brave enough to face its
terrors without fainting.
Among the foremost Americans who offered their services in this work,
were the Rev. Adoniram Judson and his wife. They embarked from Salem,
Massachusetts, for Calcutta, with Samuel Newell and lady, on the
nineteenth of February, 1812: and five days afterwards Messrs. Hall and
Nott, with their wives, and Mr. Rice, sailed from Philadelphia for the
same place. The names of these pioneer missionaries are sacred to the
memory of all living Christians, and, being embodied in the history of
the grandest enterprise of the age, are to be handed down to all future
generations.
While all the female portion of this little band, exhibited many
excellent traits of character, and worked well while their day lasted,
no other one endured so many and so great hardships and trials,
encountered such fearful perils, and had such an opportunity to test the
strength of the higher virtues, as Mrs. Judson.
Ann Hasseltine was born at Bradford, in Essex county, Massachusetts, on
the twenty-second day of December, 1789. She was an active and
enthusiastic child; of a gay disposition, yet thoughtful at times; and
before she was seventeen, gave religion that attention which its
importance demands.
She became acquainted with Mr. Judson in 1810. He was then a student in
the Andover Theological Seminary, preparing for the work of foreign
missions. A mutual and strong attachment sprang up, and they were
married in February, 1812, two weeks before their embarkation for India.
Mr. and Mrs. Judson first halted at Serampore. There, soon after their
arrival, they were immersed by an English missionary, having changed
their views of the ordinance of baptism on the long voyage across the
Atlantic and Indian oceans. From that place they were soon driven by the
Directors and Agents of the British East India Company, who were at that
time opposed to the introduction of the Christian religion into those
parts. They sailed from Madras for Rangoon, on the twenty-second of
June, 1813, and settled at the latter place.
From the commencement of missionary toil, Mrs. Judson had many
inconveniences to encounter, but they were met with patience and served
to strengthen that energy which, it will be seen, was afterwards so much
needed and so strikingly displayed. Four or five years after settling at
Rangoon, Mr. Judson went to Chittagong, in a neighboring province, to
secure help, some Arracanese converts being there, who spoke the Burman
language. He expected to return within three months. "At the expiration
of this period, however, when his return was daily expected, a vessel
from Chittagong arrived at Rangoon, bringing the distressing
intelligence that neither he nor the vessel in which he had embarked had
been heard of at that port. Similar tidings were also contained in
letters which Mrs. Judson received from Bengal.
"While the missionaries were in this state of fearful suspense, an
incident occurred which was well calculated to increase the perplexity
and dismay in which they were plunged. Mr. Hough,[4] who had continued
quietly studying the language, at the mission house, was suddenly
summoned to appear immediately at the court house, and it was rumored
among the affrighted domestics and neighbors who followed the officers
that came for Mr. Hough, that the king had issued a decree for the
banishment of all the foreign teachers. It was late in the afternoon
when he made his appearance before the despotic tribunal that was
charged with the execution of the imperial decree, and he was merely
required to give security for his appearance the following morning;
when, as the unfeeling magistrates declared, 'if he did not tell all the
truth relative to his situation in the country, they would write with
his heart's blood.' Mr. Hough was detained from day to day on the most
flimsy pretences, himself unable to speak the language, and with no one
near him who would attempt to explain his situation or vindicate his
objects and his conduct. The viceroy whom Mr. and Mrs. Judson had known,
had recently been recalled to Ava, and he who now held the reins of the
government was a stranger, and, as his family were not with him, Mrs.
Judson, according to the etiquette of the court, could not be admitted
to his presence. The order which had led to the arrest was found to
relate to some Portuguese priests whom the king had banished, and Mr.
Hough was at first summoned to give assurance that he was not one of the
number, and then detained by the officers in order to extort money for
his ransom. He was at length released by order of the viceroy, to whom
Mrs. Judson boldly carried the cause and presented a petition which she
had caused her teacher to draw up for the purpose.
[4] Mr. Hough was a printer in the employment of the Baptist Board.
AUTHOR.
"The anxiety occasioned by this arrest and its train of petty
annoyances, and still more by the protracted and mysterious absence of
Mr. Judson, was at this time greatly increased by rumors which reached
Rangoon, of an impending war between the English and the Burman
governments. There were but few English vessels lying in the river, and
the English traders who were in the country were closing their business
and preparing to hasten away, at any new indications of hostilities that
should be presented. The condition of the missionaries was rendered
still more distressing by the ravages of the cholera, which now, for the
first time made its appearance in Burmah, and was sending its terrors
throughout the empire. The poor people of Rangoon fell in hundreds
before its frightful progress. The dismal death-drum continually gave
forth its warning sound as new names were added to the melancholy list
of victims to the desolating malady. In these gloomy circumstances, they
saw ship after ship leave the river, bearing away all the foreigners who
were in the province, until at length the only one remaining was on the
eve of sailing. Harassed with doubts concerning the uncertain fate of
Mr. Judson, and surrounded with perils, they saw before them what
appeared the last opportunity of leaving the country, before the
threatened hostilities should begin, and they should be exposed to all
the merciless cruelties of barbarian-warfare.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hough decided to go on board and escape to Bengal, while
escape was still in their power, and they urged Mrs. Judson to accompany
them. She at length reluctantly yielded to their advice, and with a
heart burdened with sorrows she embarked with her companions, on the
fifth of July, in the only ship that remained to carry them from the
country. The ship, however, was delayed for several days in the river,
and was likely to be subjected to still further detention. Mrs. Judson,
who had gone on board rather in obedience to the entreaties of her
associates, and the dictates of prudence, than from the suggestions of
that truer instinct which often serves to guide the noblest natures in
great emergencies, now decided to leave the ship and return alone to the
mission house, there to await either the return of her husband, or the
confirmation of her worst fears respecting his fate. It was a noble
exhibition of heroic courage, and gave assurance of all the
distinguished qualities which, at a later period and amid dangers still
more appalling, shone with unfailing brightness around the character of
this remarkable woman. The event justified her determination; and,
within a week after her decision was taken, Mr. Judson arrived at
Rangoon, having been driven from place to place by contrary winds, and
having entirely failed of the object for which he undertook the
voyage."[5]
[5] Gammell's History of American Baptist Missions.
In the summer of 1820, Mrs. Judson's health had become so far undermined
by the deleterious influences of the climate, that it was deemed
necessary that she should go to Calcutta for medical advice, better
physicians being located there than in Rangoon. She was so feeble that
her husband was obliged to accompany her. She was soon removed to
Serampore, where were eminently skillful physicians and a purer
atmosphere. Her health so improved in six months that she returned with
her husband to Rangoon. The malady which had afflicted her was the
chronic liver complaint. It was not entirely removed at Serampore, and a
few months after her return, it began to distress her more than ever. It
was now thought that nothing but a visit to her native land could save
her. Accordingly, on the twenty-first of August, 1821, she started for
Calcutta, where, after some delay, she found a ship bound to England, by
which route she returned, reaching New York on the twenty-fifth of
September, 1822.
She remained in this country nine months. During that short period,
aside from paying a visit to her relations, she attended the Triennial
Convention at Washington, held in May, 1823; visited the larger cities
North and South; attended numerous meetings of female associations; and
prepared a history of the Burman mission which was so ably written that
even the London Quarterly Review, and, if we mistake not, other English
periodicals of high critical character, noticed it in commendatory
terms.
The following extracts from letters written to Dr. Wayland while in this
country, show the interest she took in the affairs of Burmah while
absent from that land of her adoption. Under date of "Baltimore, January
twenty-second, 1823," she says, "I want the Baptists throughout the
United States to feel, that Burmah _must be converted_ through their
instrumentality. They must do more than they have ever yet done. They
must _pray_ more, they must _give_ more, and make greater efforts to
prevent the Missionary flame from becoming extinct. Every Christian in
the United States should feel as deeply impressed with the importance of
making continual efforts for the salvation of the heathen, as though
their conversion depended solely on himself. Every individual Christian
should feel himself guilty if he has not done and does not continue to
do _all_ in his power for the spread of the gospel and the enlightening
of the heathen world. But I need not write thus to you. You see, you
feel the misery of the heathen world. Try to awaken Christians around
you. Preach frequently on the subject of Missions. I have remarked it to
be the case, when a minister feels _much_ engaged for the heathen, his
people generally partake of his spirit."
Writing from Washington in the following March, she says, "I long to be
in Rangoon, and am anxiously hoping to get away in the spring. Do make
inquiries relative to the sailing of ships from Boston and Salem. I must
not miss one good opportunity."
With her health much improved though not fully restored, she sailed for
her Burman home on the twenty-second of June, 1823, and reached Rangoon
on the fifth of the following December. She found the work of the
mission prospering. The next year, however, a war broke out between the
Burman government and the English in Bengal, and, not only suspended the
operations of the missionaries, but jeopardised their lives. They were
supposed to be spies employed by the English government. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson, with Dr. Price, another of the missionaries, were at that time
at Ava, where the imperial government of the Burman Empire had just been
removed.
"It was on the eighth of June, 1824, that a company of Burmans, headed
by an officer, and attended by a 'spotted-faced son of the prison,' came
to the mission house, and, in the presence of Mrs. Judson seized her
husband and Dr. Price, and after binding them tight with cords, drove
them away to the court house. From this place they were hurried, by
order of the king, without examination, to a loathsome dungeon, known as
'the death prison,' where along with the other foreigners they were
confined, each loaded with three pairs of fetters and fastened to a long
pole, so as to be incapable of moving. Meanwhile, Mrs. Judson was shut
up in her house, deprived of her furniture and of most of her articles
of property, and watched for several days by an unfeeling guard, to
whose rapacious extortions and brutal annoyances she was constantly
exposed, without being able to make any exertion for the liberation of
the prisoners, or the mitigation of their cruel sentence. She however,
at length succeeded in addressing a petition to the governor of the
city, who had the prisoners in charge. By a present of one hundred
dollars to his subordinate officer, their condition was somewhat
meliorated, and by the unwearied perseverance of Mrs. Judson, and her
affecting appeals to the sympathies of the governor, he was induced to
grant her occasional permission to go to the prison, and at length to
build for herself a bamboo shed in the prison yard, where she took up
her abode, in order that she might prepare food for the prisoners, and
otherwise minister to their necessities.
"At the end of nine months they were suddenly removed from Ava to
Amarapura, and thence to a wretched place several miles beyond, called
Oung-pen-la, where it was arranged that they should be put to death in
presence of the pakah-woon, as a kind of sacrifice in honor of his
taking command of a new army of fifty thousand men about to march
against the English. This sanguinary chief had been raised from a low
condition to the rank of woongyee; but in the height of his power, just
as he was about to march at the head of the army he had mustered, he
fell into disgrace, was charged with treason, and executed, at an hour's
notice, with the unqualified approbation of all classes of people at
Ava. His timely execution saved the missionaries from the fate which
hung over them, and they were left uncared for in the miserable cells of
Oung-pen-la, till the near approach of the English to the capitol
induced the king to send for Mr. Judson, to accompany the embassy that
was about to start for the English camp, for the purpose of averting the
destruction that now threatened the Golden City.
"During this period of a year and a half Mrs. Judson followed them from
prison to prison, beneath the darkness of night and the burning sun of
noon-day, bearing in her arms her infant daughter,--the child of sorrow
and misfortune, who was born after the imprisonment of its
father,--procuring for them food which Burman policy never supplies to
prisoners, and perpetually interceding for them with their successive
keepers, with the governor of the city, with the kinsmen of the monarch,
and the members of the royal household. More than once the queen's
brother gave orders that they should be privately put to death; but such
was the influence which Mrs. Judson possessed over the mind of the
governor, that he evaded the order each time it was given, and assured
her that for her sake he would not execute her husband, even though he
was obliged to execute all the others. And when at last they were to be
taken from his jurisdiction and driven to the horrid prison-house of
Oung-pen-la, at the command of the pakah-woon, the old man humanely
summoned Mrs. Judson from the prison where he had permitted her to go
and sit with her husband, in order that she might be spared the pangs
of a separation which he had not the power to prevent. Her own pen has
traced, in lines that will never be forgotten by those who read them,
the affecting history of the dismal days and nights of her husband's
captivity. We follow her alike with admiration and the deepest sympathy
as she takes her solitary way from Ava, at first in a boat upon the
river, and then in a Burman cart, in search of the unknown place to
which the prisoners have been carried. At length, overcome with fatigue,
with exposure, and the bitter pangs of hope deferred, we see her in a
comfortless cabin, prostrate with disease and brought to the very gates
of death,--while her infant is carried about the village by its father
in the hours of his occasional liberation, to be nourished by such
Burman mothers as might have compassion on its helpless necessities.
"Such is a single scene from this melancholy record of missionary
suffering. History has not recorded; poetry itself has seldom portrayed,
a more affecting exhibition of Christian fortitude, of female heroism,
and all the noble and generous qualities which constitute the dignity
and glory of woman. In the midst of sickness and danger, and every
calamity which can crush the human heart, she presented a character
equal to the sternest trial, and an address and fertility of resources
which gave her an ascendency over the minds of her most cruel enemies,
and alone saved the missionaries and their fellow captives from the
terrible doom which constantly awaited them. Day after day and amid the
lonely hours of night was she employed in conciliating the favor of
their keepers, and in devising plans for their release, or the
alleviation of their captivity. Sometimes, she confesses, her thoughts
would wander for a brief interval to America and the beloved friends of
her better days; 'but for nearly a year and a half, so entirely
engrossed was every thought with present scenes and sufferings, that she
seldom reflected on a single occurrence of her former life, or
recollected that she had a friend in existence out of Ava.'"[6]
[6] Gammell.
When peace was declared between the two powers, by the terms of
negotiation, the European prisoners were all released; and thus closed
the long and brutal incarceration of the missionaries. Mr. and Mrs.
Judson immediately departed for Rangoon. They soon removed to Amherst, a
new town on the Salwen or Martaban river. After having established a
mission there, Mr. Judson had occasion to visit Ava. He started on the
fifth of July, 1826, leaving his wife and infant daughter in the care of
kind friends. He was detained at the Capital longer than he had
anticipated; and before he returned he received the painful intelligence
that his wife was dead. "A remittent fever had settled on her
constitution, already enfeebled by suffering and disease, and she died
on the twenty-fourth of October, 1826, amid the universal sorrow, alike
of the English residents at Amherst and of the native Christians who
had gathered around her at her new home. Her infant daughter died a few
weeks afterwards, and side by side they were laid to rest, under a large
hopia tree a few rods from the house where she had resided. Two marble
stones, procured by the contributions of several female friends in her
native land, are the humble memorial that marks the spot where sleeps
one whose "name will be remembered in the churches of Burmah, in future
times, when the pagodas of Gaudama shall have fallen; when the spires of
Christian temples shall gleam along the waters of the Irrawaddy and the
Salwen: and when the 'Golden City' shall have lifted up her gates to let
the King of Glory in."
A CHRISTIAN WOMAN IN THE HOUR OF DANGER.
O rainbow of the battle-storm!
Methinks thou'rt gleaming on my sight;
I see thy fair and fragile form
Amid the thick cloud of the fight.
SARA J. CLARKE.
One grain of incense with devotion offered,
Is beyond all perfumes or Sabaean spices.
MASSINGER.
The following incident, we are informed by Mrs. Ellet, was communicated
to a minister--Rev. J. H. Saye--by two officers in the Revolutionary
war. One of them was in the skirmish referred to; the other lived near
the scene of action; hence, it may be relied on as authentic. The name
of the heroine is unknown, which is greatly to be regretted:
"Early in the war, the inhabitants on the frontier of Burke county,
North Carolina, being apprehensive of an attack by the Indians, it was
determined to seek protection in a fort in a more densely populated
neighborhood in an interior settlement. A party of soldiers was sent to
protect them on their retreat. The families assembled, the line of
march was taken towards their place of destination, and they proceeded
some miles unmolested--the soldiers marching in a hollow square, with
the refugee families in the centre. The Indians who had watched these
movements, had laid a plan for their destruction. The road to be
traveled lay through a dense forest in the fork of a river, where the
Indians concealed themselves, and waited till the travelers were in the
desired spot. Suddenly the war-whoop sounded in front, and on either
side; a large body of painted warriors rushed in, filling the gap by
which the whites had entered, and an appalling crash of fire-arms
followed. The soldiers, however, were prepared; such as chanced to be
near the trees darted behind them, and began to ply the deadly rifle;
the others prostrated themselves upon the earth, among the tall grass,
and crawled to trees. The families screened themselves as best they
could. The onset was long and fiercely urged; ever and anon amid the din
and smoke, the warriors would rush, tomahawk in hand, towards the
centre; but they were repulsed by the cool intrepidity of the back-woods
riflemen. Still they fought on, determined on the destruction of the
victims who offered such desperate resistance. All at once an appalling
sound greeted the ears of the women and children in the centre; it was a
cry from their defenders--a cry for powder! 'Our powder is giving out,'
they exclaimed. 'Have you any? Bring us some, or we can fight no
longer!' A woman of the party had a good supply. She spread her apron on
the ground, poured her powder into it, and going round, from soldier to
soldier, as they stood behind the trees, bade each who needed powder put
down his hat, and poured a quantity upon it. Thus she went round the
line of defence, till her whole stock, and all she could obtain from
others, was distributed. At last the savages gave way, and, pressed by
their foes, were driven off the ground. The victorious whites returned
to those for whose safety they had ventured into the wilderness.
Inquiries were made as to who had been killed, and one running up,
cried, 'Where is the woman that gave us the powder? I want to see her!'
'Yes!--yes!--let us see her!' responded another and another; 'without
her we should have been all lost!' The soldiers ran about among the
women and children, looking for her and making inquiries. Directly came
in others from the pursuit, one of whom observing the commotion, asked
the cause, and was told. 'You are looking in the wrong place,' he
replied. 'Is she killed? Ah, we were afraid of that!' exclaimed many
voices. 'Not when I saw her,' answered the soldier. 'When the Indians
ran off, she was on _her knees in prayer_ at the root of yonder tree,
and there I left her.' There was a simultaneous rush to the tree--and
there, to their great joy, they found the woman safe, and still on her
knees in prayer. Thinking not of herself, she received their applause
without manifesting any other feeling than gratitude to Heaven for their
great deliverance."
HUMANITY OF HARTFORD LADIES.
As the rivers farthest flowing,
In the highest hills have birth;
As the banyan broadest growing,
Oftenest bows its head to earth,
So the noblest minds press onward,
Channels far of good to trace;
So the largest hearts bend downward,
Circling all the human race.
MRS. HALE.
The sympathies of a free people are always aroused when a nation is
struggling for freedom. Hence the war between the Turks and Greeks not
only called forth the eloquence of American orators, but the mothers and
daughters of the land, reminded of the long struggle of their husbands
and fathers for liberty, were alive to the interests, and prayed much
for the ransom of the latter people. Nor was this all; the sufferings to
which the war reduced the Greeks, so much moved the hearts of females
that, in one instance at least, they made a demonstration of their
sympathy worthy of record. The ladies of Hartford, Connecticut, sent out
a ship to the women of Greece, containing money, and articles of wearing
apparel, wrought by themselves expressly for an offering to suffering
humanity. Mrs. Sigourney, the Secretary of the Ladies' Committee, wrote
the following letter to accompany the contribution:
"_United States of America, March 12th, 1828._
_The Ladies of Hartford, in Connecticut, to the
Ladies of Greece._
"SISTERS AND FRIENDS,--From the years of childhood your native clime has
been the theme of our admiration: together with our brothers and our
husbands, we early learned to love the country of Homer, of Aristides,
of Solon, and of Socrates. That enthusiasm which the glory of ancient
Greece enkindled in our bosoms, has preserved a fervent friendship for
her descendants: we have beheld with deep sympathy the horrors of
Turkish domination, and the struggles so long and nobly sustained by
them for existence and for liberty.
"The communications of Dr. Howe, since his return from your land, have
made us more intimately acquainted with your personal sufferings. He has
presented many of you to us in his vivid descriptions, as seeking refuge
in caves, and, under the branches of olive trees, listening for the
footsteps of the destroyer, and mourning over your dearest ones slain in
battle.
"Sisters and friends, our hearts bleed for you. Deprived of your
protectors by the fortune of war, and continually in fear of evils worse
than death, our prayers are with you, in all your wanderings, your wants
and your griefs. In this vessel (which may God send in safety to your
shores!) you will receive a portion of that bounty wherewith He hath
blessed us. The poor among us have given according to their ability, and
our little children have cheerfully aided, that some of you and your
children might have bread to eat and raiment to put on. Could you but
behold the faces of our little ones brighten, and their eyes sparkle
with joy, while they give up their holidays, that they might work with
their needles for Greece; could you see those females who earn a
subsistence by labor, gladly casting their mite into our treasury, and
taking hours from their repose that an additional garment might be
furnished for you; could you witness the active spirit that pervades all
classes of our community, it would cheer for a moment the darkness and
misery of your lot.
"We are the inhabitants of a part of one of the smallest of the United
States, and our donations must therefore, of necessity, be more limited
than those from the larger and more wealthy cities; yet such as we have,
we give in the name of our dear Saviour, with our blessings and our
prayers.
"We know the value of sympathy--how it arms the heart to endure--how it
plucks the sting from sorrow--therefore we have written these few lines
to assure you, that in the remoter parts of our country, as well as in
her high places, you are remembered with pity and with affection.
"Sisters and friends, we extend across the ocean our hands to you in the
fellowship of Christ. We pray that His Cross and the banner of your
land may rise together over the Crescent and the Minaret--that your sons
may hail the freedom of ancient Greece restored, and build again the
waste places which the oppressor hath trodden down; and that you,
admitted once more to the felicities of home, may gather from past
perils and adversities a brighter wreath for the kingdom of Heaven.
"LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY,
"_Secretary of the Greek Committee of
Hartford, Connecticut._"
"MOTHER BAILEY."
No braver dames had Sparta,
No nobler matrons Rome.
W. D. GALLAGHER.
Anna Warner was born in Groton, Connecticut, on the eleventh of October,
1758, and married Captain Elijah Bailey of the same town, in 1774. He
participated in the hardships and dangers, and she in the trials of the
struggle for Independence. He is dead; she is still living.[7]
[7] We are informed by the Postmaster of Groton, in a letter dated the
tenth of December, 1850, that Mrs. B. is still living, and that her mind
is somewhat impaired. She is now in her ninety-third year.
She was a witness of the terrible massacre at Fort Griswold, in Groton,
on the sixth of September; and the following morning she hurried off to
the scene of carnage, a distance of three miles, to search for an uncle
who was among the brave defenders. She found him among the fatally
wounded: at his request that he might see his wife and child before he
died, she ran home, caught and saddled a horse for the feeble mother,
and taking the child in her arms, carried it the whole distance, that it
might receive the kisses and benediction of its dying father!
In the month of July, 1813 a blockading fleet appeared off the harbor of
New London; and on the thirteenth, demonstrations were noticed of an
intention to attack the place. Intense excitement now prevailed not only
in New London, but in all the adjacent towns. Fort Griswold was once
more occupied; small cannon--all to be had--were planted, and every
preparation possible was made for a vigorous defence. The greatest
deficiency was in flannel for cartridges; and in the emergency a
messenger was dispatched to the village to consult with Mrs. Bailey on
the most expeditious method of obtaining a supply. She promptly offered
to see that each family was visited, and the wants of the soldiery made
known. This was done, and each individual in the neighborhood cheerfully
presented her and her co-laborers whatever of the desired articles could
be spared, some in garments and some in the raw material. When these
were delivered to the messenger, and there was still found a deficiency,
she slyly slipped an under garment from her own person and charged him
to give _that_ to the British. As the enemy did not deem it expedient to
make an attack, it is difficult to tell what aid that garment rendered;
nor does it matter: its patriotic surrender showed the noble spirit
which has always actuated "mother Bailey," and was an appropriation for
her country which never caused her a blush.[8]
[8] The editor of the Democratic Review, to whom we are indebted for a
portion of these facts, visited the heroine of Groton in the fall of
1846, in the number of his periodical for the January following spoke of
her as a remarkable woman, physically, as well as mentally and
patriotically. She was then eighty-eight years old, yet as agile as a
girl of eighteen, and neither sight nor hearing had began to fail. "Such
then," he adds, "is Mother Bailey. Had she lived in the palmy days of
ancient Roman glory, no matron of the mighty empire would have been more
highly honored." In the same article Mrs. B. is spoken of as the
Postmistress of Groton, an office, which the present Postmaster assures
us, she never held.
Since the above was originally stereotyped, Mrs. Bailey has died. Her
demise occurred in the winter of 1850-1.
ELIZABETH HEARD.
Kindness has resistless charms.
ROCHESTER.
Why should'st thou faint? Heaven smiles above,
Though storm and vapor intervene.
PARK BENJAMIN.
Mrs. Elizabeth Heard, "a widow of good estate, a mother of many children
and a daughter of Mr. Hull, a revered minister formerly living at
Pisquataqua," was among the sufferers from captivity by the Indians in
the latter part of the seventeenth century. She was taken at the
destruction of Major Waldron's garrison in Dover, New Hampshire, about
1689. She was permitted to escape on account of a favor which she had
shown a young Indian thirteen years before--she having secreted him in
her house on the "calamitous day," in 1676, when four hundred savages
were surprised in Dover.[9]
[9] Drake's Indian Captivities.
Having been suffered to escape, writes the Rev. John Pike, minister at
Dover, to Dr. Cotton Mather, "she soon after safely arrived at Captain
Gerish's garrison, where she found a refuge from the storm. Here she
also had the satisfaction to understand that her own garrison, though
one of the first that was assaulted, had been bravely defended and
successfully maintained against the enemy. This gentlewoman's garrison
was on the most extreme frontier of the province, and more obnoxious
than any other, and therefore incapable of being relieved. Nevertheless,
by her presence and courage it held out all the war, even for ten years
together; and the persons in it have enjoyed very eminent preservations.
It would have been deserted if she had accepted offers that were made
her by her friends to abandon it and retire to Portsmouth among them,
which would have been a damage to the town and land."
THE LADIES OF PHILADELPHIA IN 1780.
I have not shut mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays.
SHAKSPEARE.
During the long war which resulted in the Independence of the American
Colonies, the women all over the land were warmly interested in the
condition of the soldiers, and prompt to relieve their wants when
suffering. There was, at times, a sad deficiency of wearing apparel; and
many are the instances in which a noble sacrifice of ease and a liberal
expenditure of time and strength, were made by the ladies that this
comfort might be restored to the self-sacrificing soldiers.
In 1780, the ladies of Philadelphia city and county, learning that the
soldiers were in great need of clothing, sold their jewelry and
converted _other_ trinkets into something more serviceable; collected by
solicitation large sums of money; purchased the raw material, plied the
needle "with all diligence;" and in a short time the aggregate amount of
their contributions was $7,500.[10]
[10] This sum was raised in and immediately around Philadelphia. The
efforts of the ladies were not, however, limited to their own
neighborhood. They addressed circulars to the adjoining counties and
states, and the response of New Jersey and Maryland was truly generous.
The number of shirts made by the ladies of Philadelphia during that
patriotic movement, was twenty-two hundred! These were cut out at the
house of Mrs. Sarah Bache, daughter of Dr. Franklin. This lady writing
to a Mrs. Meredith, of Trenton, New Jersey, at that time, says, "I am
happy to have it in my power to tell you that the sums given by the good
women of Philadelphia for the benefit of the army, have been much
greater than could be expected, and given with so much cheerfulness and
so many blessings, that it was rather a pleasing than a painful task to
call for them. I write to claim you as a Philadelphian, and shall think
myself honored in your donation."
THE WIFE OF PRESIDENT REED.[11]
Mightier far
Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
And though his favorite seat be feeble woman's breast.
WORDSWORTH.
Undaunted by the tempest, wild and chill,
That pours its restless and disastrous roll,
O'er all that blooms below.
SANDS' YAMOYDEN.
Prominent among the ladies of Philadelphia who, in the summer and fall
of 1780, were active in assisting the sufferers in the American army,
was Esther Reed, the wife of President Reed. She stood at the head of
the Association till her death, which occurred on the eighteenth of
September of that year. She was succeeded by Mrs. Sarah Bache, Mrs.
Francis, Mrs. Clarkson, Mrs. Blair and Mrs. Hillegas, who were
constituted an Executive Committee.
[11] The facts embodied in this notice of Mrs. Reed, are mainly obtained
from the Life and Correspondence of President Reed. _Vide_ volume II.,
chapter XII.
The maiden name of Mrs. Reed was De Berdt. She was born in London on the
twenty-second of October, 1746. There, about the year 1763, she became
acquainted with Mr. Joseph Reed, of New Jersey, then a student at the
Temple. She had fond parents and lived in affluence, but from these she
at length turned, and, being married in May, 1770, "followed the lover
of her youth to these wild Colonies." Philadelphia became the home of
the happy couple. The wife of an American, she imbibed the sentiments
and manifested the spirit of an American, and to the day of her death
showed herself worthy to be the wife of an American soldier. "During
five years of war, more than half the time her family was broken up, and
for a long period the young wife, with her little children and an aged
mother, was driven to seek a distant and precarious refuge." Her husband
was an Adjutant-General, and was in the camp much of the time, till he
was chosen President--or, as we now say, Governor--of Pennsylvania, in
1778. Her letters written to him, breathe a patriotic and submissive
spirit, and a cheerful trust in that "presiding Power" from whom all
solace is derived in seasons of danger, disappointment and affliction.
She was placed at the head of the voluntary association of Philadelphia
ladies at its formation in May, and as early as the twentieth of the
following month, it will be seen, by an extract from a letter written by
Mr. Reed to General Washington, the business of the society was
progressing admirably: "The ladies have caught the happy contagion, and
in a few days Mrs. Reed will have the honor of writing to you on the
subject. It is expected she will have a sum equal to L100,000, to be
laid out according to your Excellency's direction, in such a way as may
be thought most honorable and gratifying to the brave old soldiers who
have borne so great a share of the burden of this war. I thought it best
to mention it in this way to your Excellency for your consideration, as
it may tend to forward the benevolent scheme of the donors with
dispatch. I must observe that the ladies have excepted such articles of
necessity, as clothing, which the states are bound to provide."
The following letter, written the next month, explains itself:
"ESTHER REED TO WASHINGTON.
"Philadelphia, July 4th, 1780.
"SIR,--The subscription set on foot by the ladies of this city for the
use of the soldiery, is so far completed as to induce me to transmit to
your Excellency an account of the money I have received, and which,
although it has answered our expectations, does not equal our wishes,
but I am persuaded will be received as a proof of our zeal for the great
cause of America, and our esteem and gratitude for those who so bravely
defend it.
"The amount of the subscription is 200,580 dollars, and L625 6_s._ 8_d._
in specie, which makes in the whole, in paper money, 300,634 dollars.
"The ladies are anxious for the soldiers to receive the benefit of it,
and wait your directions how it can best be disposed of. We expect some
considerable addition from the country, and have also wrote to the other
States in hopes the ladies there will adopt similar plans, to render it
more general and beneficial.
"With the utmost pleasure I offer any further attention and care in my
power to complete the execution of the design, and shall be happy to
accomplish it agreeable to the intention of the donors and your wishes
on the subject.
"The ladies of my family join me in their respectful compliments and
sincerest prayer for your health, safety, and success.
"I have the honor to be,
"With the highest respect,
"Your obedient humble servant,
"E. REED."
During the months of July and August, though in feeble health, Mrs. Reed
held frequent correspondence with General Washington on the best mode of
administering relief to the destitute soldiers. Her desire to make
herself useful may be inferred from the tone of a letter addressed to
her husband from the banks of the Schuylkill, on the twenty-second of
August. Among other things, she says, "I received this morning a letter
from the General, and he still continues his opinion that the money in
my hands should be laid out in linen; he says, no supplies he has at
present or has a prospect of are any way adequate to the wants of the
army. His letter is, I think, a little formal, as if he was hurt by our
asking his opinion a second time, and our not following his directions,
after desiring him to give them. The letter is very complaisant, and I
shall now endeavor to get the shirts made as soon as possible. _This is
another circumstance to urge my return to town, as I can do little
towards it here._"
The responsible and onerous duties of Mrs. Reed during the summer of
1780, were no doubt injurious to her already poor health, and hastened
the approach of death. Early in September she was laid upon a bed of
fatal illness, and before the month had closed, as before mentioned, she
was in the "mysterious realm." The Council and Assembly adjourned to pay
their last respect to her exalted virtues. Her remains were deposited in
the Presbyterian burying-ground in Arch Street, and the following
epitaph was inscribed on her tomb:
"In memory of ESTHER, the beloved wife of Joseph Reed,
President of this State, who departed this life
On the 18th of September, A. D. 1780, aged 34 years.
Reader! If the possession of those virtues of the heart
Which make life valuable, or those personal endowments which
Command esteem and love, may claim respectful and affectionate
Remembrance, venerate the ashes here entombed.
If to have the cup of temporal blessings dashed
In the period and station of life in which temporal blessings
May be best enjoyed, demands our sorrow, drop a tear, and
Think how slender is that thread on which the joys
And hopes of life depend."
COMPLETION OF BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
The tardy pile, slow rising there,
With tongueless eloquence shall tell
Of them who for their country fell.
SPRAGUE.
Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built _you_.
SHAKSPEARE.
The Bunker Hill Monument Association was incorporated in June, 1823.
Nothing further was done that year. At the second annual meeting, which
was held on the seventeenth of June, efficient plans were devised to
carry forward the enterprise; and at the end of another year, just half
a century after the battle, the corner stone was laid. General Lafayette
was then on a visit to the United States, and was appropriately chosen
to take a leading part in this interesting ceremony. The monument did
not get fairly under way till the spring of 1827. This apparent
tardiness was owing to the circumstance that the material was to be
brought from a granite quarry in Quincy, and a rail road--the first in
the United States--had to be built from the quarry to the wharf in
Quincy to convey the stone.
In 1828, the funds were exhausted, and the work was not resumed till
1834. Within a year the work was again suspended for the same cause.
Nothing further was done, and but little said, till 1839, when it was
announced that two gentlemen--Amos Lawrence, Esq., of Boston, and Judah
Truro, Esq., of New Orleans--would give ten thousand each, provided a
sum sufficient to complete the monument could be raised. This liberal
offer caused some momentary stimulation; but no proposal immediately
made was deemed expedient.
The affairs of the Association now wore, as they had done once or twice
before, a gloomy aspect. In the annual report, made on the seventeenth
of June, 1840, doubts were expressed whether the present generation
would see the monument completed. The same discouraging remark was made
soon after, in one of the sewing circles of Boston, when, instead of
depressing the spirits, it raised the ambition and quickened the
thoughts of the ladies, and several of them proposed to get up a Fair.
It was a happy suggestion; was forthwith sanctioned by the board of
directors; prompted the issuing of a circular by a sub-committee of the
same; raised the stentorian voice of a free and patriotic press, and met
with immediate favor all over the land.
The ladies had moved in the matter--_had taken the work into their own
hands_--and all doubts in regard to its speedy completion seemed to
vanish. The Fair was announced to be held in Quincy Hall, Boston, to
commence on the fifth of September, 1840 Every female in the land was
invited to contribute some article of her own hands' production, to the
exhibition. The patriotic spirit of the _mothers_ of the Revolution was
now warm in the hearts of their _daughters_, and ten thousand hands,
engaged in the work of preparation, were "plying the needle with
exquisite art."
The ladies were to have the complete management of the Fair; and, all
things in readiness, it commenced. The product of so much industry and
ingenuity, dispensed at the hands of the ladies, presented a scene to
the thousands who gathered around the numerous well-stored tables, that
is described by a writer--doubtless an eye-witness--as "brilliant and
inspiring."[12]
[12] Frothingham's Siege of Boston.
The Fair continued till the fifteenth of the month. Its success was
chronicled from day to day in a journal called "The Monument," printed
in the Hall. It was the grandest movement of the kind ever made in the
country; was conducted throughout in the most admirable manner, and
wound up in triumph. Its net proceeds were $30,035 50. To this sum and
the $20,000 pledged by the two gentlemen before mentioned, was soon
added enough, from other sources, to make the fund $55,153 27; and the
work went on to its completion.[13] Thus, at length, a "duty had been
performed;" this imperishable offering to Freedom, "which had its
commencement in manly patriotism," was "crowned by garlands of grace and
beauty."
[13] The last stone was raised on the morning of the twenty-third of
July, 1842; the government of the Association and a multitude of other
people were present on the occasion. Just before this act took place, a
cannon was raised to the apex and discharged--a morning salute to call
the people together to engage in the matins of Freedom. Edward Carnes,
Jr., of Charlestown, accompanied the stone in its ascent, waving the
American flag as he went up, and the Charlestown Artillery were
meanwhile firing salutes to announce to the surrounding country the
interesting event.
LYDIA DARRAH.
The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
JOANNA BAILLIE.
We find the following anecdote of the amiable and heroic Quakeress,
Lydia Darrah, in the first number of the American Quarterly Review:
When the British army held possession of Philadelphia, General Howe's
head quarters were in Second street, the fourth door below Spruce, in a
house which was before occupied by General Cadwalader. Directly
opposite, resided William and Lydia Darrah, members of the Society of
Friends. A superior officer of the British army, believed to be the
Adjutant General, fixed upon one of their chambers, a back room, for
private conference; and two of them frequently met there, with fire and
candles, in close consultation. About the second of December, the
Adjutant General told Lydia that they would be in the room at seven
o'clock, and remain late; and that they wished the family to retire
early to bed; adding, that when they were going away, they would call
her to let them out, and extinguish their fire and candles. She
accordingly sent all the family to bed; but, as the officer had been so
particular, her curiosity was excited. She took off her shoes, and put
her ear to the key-hole of the conclave. She overheard an order read for
all the British troops to march out, late in the evening of the fourth,
and attack General Washington's army, then encamped at White Marsh. On
hearing this, she returned to her chamber and laid herself down. Soon
after, the officers knocked at her door, but she rose only at the third
summons, having feigned to be asleep. Her mind was so much agitated
that, from this moment, she could neither eat nor sleep; supposing it to
be in her power to save the lives of thousands of her countrymen; but
not knowing how she was to convey the necessary information to General
Washington, nor daring to confide it even to her husband. The time left,
was, however, short; she quickly determined to make her way, as soon as
possible, to the American outposts. She informed her family, that, as
they were in want of flour, she would go to Frankfort for some; her
husband insisted that she should take with her the servant maid; but, to
his surprise, she positively refused. She got access to General Howe,
and solicited--what he readily granted,--a pass through the British
troops on the lines. Leaving her bag at the mill, she hastened towards
the American lines, and encountered on her way an American, Lieutenant
Colonel Craig, of the light horse, who, with some of his men, was on the
look-out for information. He knew her, and inquired whither she was
going. She answered, in quest of her son, an officer in the American
army; and prayed the Colonel to alight and walk with her. He did so,
ordering his troops to keep in sight. To him she disclosed her momentous
secret, after having obtained from him the most solemn promise never to
betray her individually, since her life might be at stake, with the
British. He conducted her to a house near at hand, directed a female in
it to give her something to eat, and he speeded for head quarters, where
he brought General Washington acquainted with what he had heard.
Washington made, of course, all preparation for baffling the meditated
surprise. Lydia returned home with her flour; sat up alone to watch the
movement of the British troops; heard their footsteps; but when they
returned, in a few days after, did not dare to ask a question, though
solicitous to learn the event. The next evening, the Adjutant General
came in, and requested her to walk up to his room, as he wished to put
some questions. She followed him in terror; and when he locked the door,
and begged her, with an air of mystery to be seated, she was sure that
she was either suspected, or had been betrayed. He inquired earnestly
whether any of her family were up the last night he and the other
officer met:--she told him that they all retired at eight o'clock. He
observed--"I know _you_ were asleep, for I knocked at your chamber door
three times before you heard me;--I am entirely at a loss to imagine who
gave General Washington information of our intended attack, unless the
walls of the house could speak. When we arrived near White Marsh, we
found all their cannon mounted, and the troops prepared to receive us;
and we have marched back like a parcel of fools."
WIDOW STOREY.[14]
Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip,
But only crow-bars loose the bull-dog's lip;
Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields,
Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields.
HOLMES.
The first man who commenced a settlement in the town of Salisbury,
Vermont, on the Otter creek, was Amos Storey, who, in making an opening
in the heart of the wilderness on the right of land to which the first
settler was entitled, was killed by the fall of a tree. His widow, who
had been left in Connecticut, immediately resolved to push into the
wilderness, with her ten small children, to take his place and preserve
and clear up his farm. And this bold resolution she carried out to the
letter, in spite of every difficulty, hardship and danger which for
years constantly beset her in her solitary location in the woods. Acre
after acre of the dense and dark forest melted away before her axe,
which she handled with the dexterity of the most experienced chopper.
The logs and bushes were piled and burnt by her own strong and untiring
hand: crops were raised, by which, with the fruits of her fishing and
unerring rifle, she supported herself and her hardy brood of children.
As a place of refuge from the assaults of Indians or dangerous wild
beasts, she dug out an underground room, into which, through a small
entrance made to open under an overhanging thicket in the bank of the
stream, she nightly retreated with her children. And here she continued
to reside, thus living and thus laboring, unassisted, till, by her own
hand and the help which her boys soon began to afford her, she cleared
up a valuable farm and placed herself in independent circumstances in
life.
[14] For this anecdote and that of Mrs. Hendee, we are indebted to the
Hon. Daniel P. Thompson, of Montpelier, author of "The Green Mountain
Boys," "Locke Amsden," &c. In a note to the author, in a letter which
contained these anecdotes, he appropriately observes that "the women of
the Green Mountains deserve as much credit for their various displays of
courage, endurance and patriotism, in the early settlement of their
State, as was ever awarded to their sex for similar exhibitions in any
part of the world. In the controversy with New York and New Hampshire,
which took the form of war in many instances; in the predatory Indian
incursions, and in the war of the Revolution, they often displayed a
capacity for labor and endurance, a spirit and firmness in the hour of
danger, and a resolution and hardihood in defending their families, and
their threatened land against all enemies, whether domestic or foreign,
that would have done honor to the dames of Sparta."
MRS. HENDEE.
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them.
SHAKSPEARE.
On the burning of Royalton, Vermont, by the Indians, in 1776, Mrs.
Hendee, of that place, exhibited a praiseworthy and heroic character.
The attack was sudden, and her husband being absent in the Vermont
regiment, and she being in the field, the Indians seized her children,
carried them across White river, at that place perhaps an hundred yards
wide and quite deep for fording, and placed them under the keepers
having the other persons they had collected, thirty or forty in number,
in charge. On discovering the fate of her children, Mrs. Hendee
resolutely dashed into the river, waded through, and fearlessly entering
the Indian camp, regardless of their tomahawks menacingly flourished
round her head, boldly demanded the release of her little ones, and
persevered in her alternate upbraidings and supplications, till her
request was granted. She then carried her children back through the
river and landed them in safety on the other bank. But not content with
what she had done, like a patriot, as she was, she immediately
returned, begged for the release of the children of others; again was
rewarded with success, and brought two or three more away; again
returned and again succeeded, till she had rescued the whole fifteen of
her neighbors' children who had been thus snatched away from their
distracted parents. On her last return to the camp of the enemy, the
Indians were so struck with her conduct that one of them declared that
so brave a squaw deserved to be carried across the river, and offered to
take her on his back and carry her over. She, in the same spirit,
accepted the offer, mounted the back of the gallant savage, was carried
to the opposite bank, where she collected her rescued troop of children,
and hastened away to restore them to their over-joyed parents.
PATRIOTIC WOMEN OF OLD MIDDLESEX.
In the radiant front superior shines
That first paternal virtue, public zeal,
Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey,
And, ever musing on the common weal,
Still labors glorious with some great design.
THOMSON.
"Old Middlesex" being our native county, with peculiar pleasure and some
local pride, we record the following anecdote. Should the historical
ploughshare be driven through the other towns in the county, and the
towns generally of Massachusetts, it would turn up similar gems in
abundance, "of purest ray serene." We quote from Butler's History of
Groton:
"After the departure of Colonel Prescott's regiment of 'minute-men,'
Mrs. David Wright, of Pepperell, Mrs. Job Shattuck, of Groton, and the
neighboring women, collected at what is now Jewett's Bridge, over the
Nashua, between Pepperell and Groton, clothed in their absent husbands'
apparel, and armed with muskets, pitchforks, and such other weapons as
they could find; and having elected Mrs. Wright their commander,
resolutely determined that no foe to freedom, foreign or domestic,
should pass that bridge. For rumors were rife, that the regulars were
approaching and frightful stories of slaughter flew rapidly from place
to place, and from house to house.
"Soon there appeared one[15] on horseback, supposed to be treasonably
engaged in conveying intelligence to the enemy. By the implicit command
of Sergeant Wright, he is immediately arrested, unhorsed, searched, and
the treasonable correspondence found concealed in his boots. He was
detained prisoner, and sent to Oliver Prescott, Esq., of Groton, and his
dispatches were sent to the Committee of Safety."
[15] Captain Leonard Whiting, of Hollis, N. H., a noted tory, who was
the bearer of dispatches from Canada to the British in Boston.
THE CACIQUE'S NOBLE DAUGHTER.
I think of thee, sweet lady, as of one
Too pure to mix with others, like some star,
Shining in pensive beauty all alone,
Kindred with those around, yet brighter far.
MRS. WELBY.
In his history of the Conquest of Florida, Mr. Theodore Irving repeats,
very interestingly, the story of Juan Ortiz who, with three other
Spaniards, fell into the hands of the Indians by stratagem. The four
captives were taken to the village of Hirrihigua, the cacique, who
ordered them to be executed on a day of religious festival. Three were
shot with arrows; and then "Juan Ortiz, a youth, scarce eighteen years
of age, of a noble family of Seville, was the fourth victim. As they
were leading him forth, his extreme youth touched with compassion the
hearts of the wife and daughters of the cacique, who interceded in his
favor.
"The cacique listened to their importunities, and granted for the
present the life of Ortiz;--but a wretched life did he lead. From
morning until evening he was employed in bringing wood and water, and
was allowed but little sleep and scanty food. Not a day passed that he
was not beaten. On festivals he was an object of barbarous amusement to
the cacique, who would oblige him to run, from sunrise until sunset, in
the public square of the village, where his companions had met their
untimely end, Indians being stationed with bows and arrows, to shoot
him, should he halt one moment. When the day was spent, the unfortunate
youth lay stretched on the hard floor of the hut, more dead than alive.
At such times the wife and daughters of the cacique would come to him
privately with food and clothing, and by their kind treatment his life
was preserved.
"At length the cacique, determining to put an end to his victim's
existence, ordered that he should be bound down upon a wooden frame, in
the form of a huge gridiron, placed in the public square, over a bed of
live coals, and roasted alive.
"The cries and shrieks of the poor youth reached his female protectors,
and their entreaties were once more successful with the cacique. They
unbound Ortiz, dragged him from the fire, and took him to their
dwelling, where they bathed him with the juice of herbs, and tended him
with assiduous care. After many days he recovered from his wounds,
though marked with many a scar.
"His employment was now to guard the cemetery of the village. This was
in a lonely field in the bosom of a forest. The bodies of the dead were
deposited in wooden boxes, covered with boards, without any fastening
except a stone or a log of wood laid upon the top; so that the bodies
were often carried away by wild beasts.
"In this cemetery was Ortiz stationed, with a bow and arrows, to watch
day and night, and was told that should a single body be carried away,
he would be burnt alive. He returned thanks to God for having freed him
from the dreaded presence of the cacique, hoping to lead a better life
with the dead than he had done with the living.
"While watching thus one long wearisome night, sleep overpowered him
towards morning. He was awakened by the falling lid of one of the
chests, and running to it, found it empty. It had contained the body of
an infant recently deceased, the child of an Indian of great note.
"Ortiz doubted not some animal had dragged it away, and immediately set
out in pursuit. After wandering for some time, he heard, at a short
distance within the woods, a noise like that of a dog gnawing bones.
Warily drawing near to the spot, he dimly perceived an animal among the
bushes, and invoking succor from on high, let fly an arrow at it. The
thick and tangled underwood prevented his seeing the effect of his shot,
but as the animal did not stir, he flattered himself that it had been
fatal: with this hope he waited until the day dawned, when he beheld his
victim, a huge animal of the panther kind, lying dead, the arrow having
passed through his entrails and cleft his heart.
"Gathering together the mangled remains of the infant, and replacing
them in the coffin, Ortiz dragged his victim in triumph to the village,
with the arrow still in his body. The exploit gained him credit with the
old hunters, and for some time softened even the ferocity of the
cacique. The resentment of the latter, however, from the wrongs he had
suffered from white men, was too bitter to be appeased. Some time after,
his eldest daughter came to Ortiz, and warned him that her father had
determined to sacrifice him at the next festival, which was just at
hand, and that the influence of her mother, her sisters, and herself
would no longer avail him. She wished him, therefore, to take refuge
with a neighboring cacique named Mucozo, who loved her and sought her in
marriage, and who, for her sake, would befriend him. 'This very night at
midnight,' said the kind-hearted maiden, 'at the northern extremity of
the village you will find a trusty friend who will guide you to a
bridge, about two leagues hence; on arriving there, you must send him
back, that he may reach home before the morning dawn, to avoid
suspicion--for well he knows that this bold act, in daring to assist
you, may bring down destruction upon us both. Six leagues further on,
you will come to the village of Mucozo--tell him I have sent you, and
expect him to befriend you in your extremity--I know he will do it--go,
and may your God protect you!' Ortiz threw himself at the feet of his
generous protectress, and poured out his acknowledgments for the
kindness she had always shown him. The Indian guide was at the place
appointed, and they left the village without alarming the warlike
savages. When they came to the bridge, Ortiz sent back the guide, in
obedience to the injunction of his mistress, and, continuing his flight,
found himself, by break of day, on the banks of a small stream near the
village of Mucozo.
"Looking cautiously around, he espied two Indians fishing. As he was
unacquainted with their language, and could not explain the cause of his
coming, he was in dread lest they should take him for an enemy and kill
him. He, therefore, ran to the place where they had deposited their
weapons and seized upon them. The savages fled to the village without
heeding his assurances of friendly intention. The inhabitants sallied
out with bows and arrows, as though they would attack him. Ortiz fixed
an arrow in his bow, but cried out at the same moment, that he came not
as an enemy but as an ambassador from a female cacique to their chief.
Fortunately one present understood him, and interpreted his words. On
this the Indians unbent their bows, and returning with him to their
village, presented him to Mucozo. The latter, a youthful chieftain, of a
graceful form and handsome countenance, received Ortiz kindly for the
sake of her who had sent him; but, on further acquaintance, became
attached to him for his own merits, treating him with the affection of a
brother."
HUMANE SPIRIT OF A FOREST MAID.
"Beneath the gloom
Of overshadowing forests, sweetly springs
The unexpected flower."
Some of the noblest attributes of humanity are sometimes exhibited by
the wild children of the forest. These attributes, in such cases, seem,
like trees in the remotest wilderness, to have gained, by their
spontaneous growth, surprising height, symmetry and beauty.
A lovelier character than Pocahontas, daughter of Powhatan, king of the
country where the first white settlement in Virginia was made, is rarely
found among any people. She was lovely in the broadest as well as
noblest sense of that word--lovely in features, lovely in disposition,
lovely in the highest adornments of Christian grace. She was, in 1607,
"a girl of ten or twelve years of age, who, not only for feature,
countenance and expression, much exceeded any of the rest of her people,
but for wit and spirit was the only nonpareil of the country." Such was
Pocahontas, as described by the first white man, probably, who ever saw
her, and in whose behalf, at the above date, she displayed the
tenderness and true grandeur of her nature.
The colonists, writes Mr. Hildreth, in his new History of the United
States, "were specially instructed to seek for a passage to the South
Sea; and it was thought that possibly the Chickahoming might lead
thither. Having ascended as high as he could in his barge, Captain Smith
followed up the stream in a canoe, with two colonists and two Indians
for companions; and when the canoe would float no longer, he left the
two colonists to guard it, and struck inland with a single Indian as a
guide. Set upon unexpectedly by a large party of natives, who had
already surprised and killed the two men left to guard the canoe, Smith
bound his Indian guide to his arm as a buckler, and made a vigorous
defence, killing three of the assailants; but as he retreated backward,
he presently sank into a miry swamp, and was taken prisoner. His captors
would have killed him, but he amused them with a pocket compass. Carried
in a sort of triumph through several villages, he was taken before
Powhatan, the same chief whom he had visited in company with Newport. An
attempt was made to engage his services--at least so Smith understood
it--in surprising the colonists at Jamestown. Having failed in this,
after much consultation, it was resolved to put him to death. He was
dragged to the ground and his head placed upon a stone; Powhatan raised
a club to dash out his brains"--and now view the highly dramatic scene
which follows, as pictured by Mrs. Sigourney in a few lines of masterly
coloring:
The sentenced captive see--his brow how white!
Stretched on the turf, his manly form lies low,
The war club poises for its fatal blow,
The death-mist swims before his darkened sight;
Forth springs the child, in tearful pity bold,
Her head on his reclines, her arms his neck enfold,
"The child! what madness fires her? Hence! Depart!
Fly, daughter, fly! before the death-stroke rings;
Divide her, warriors! from that English heart."
In vain, for with convulsive grasp she clings:
She claims a pardon from her frowning sire;
Her pleading tones subdue his gathered ire,
And so, uplifting high his feathery dart,
That doting father gave the child her will,
And bade the victim live and be his servant still.
After Smith had been an inmate of Powhatan's wigwam awhile, he was
permitted to leave the Indians. Sometime after this the savages,
becoming alarmed by witnessing Smith's wonderful feats, "laid a plan to
get him into their power under the pretence of wishing an interview with
him in their territory. But Pocahontas, knowing the desire of the
warriors, left the wigwam after her father had gone to sleep, and ran
more than nine miles through the woods to inform her friend Captain
Smith of the danger that awaited him, either by stratagem or attack."
Subsequently the colony at Jamestown was threatened with famine, when,
accompanied by a few companions, she was accustomed to go to the fort
every day or two with baskets of corn, and thus her
----"generous hand vouchsafed its tireless aid
To guard a nation's germ."
At the age of seventeen or eighteen, Pocahontas married a pious young
English officer, named Thomas Rolfe, and went with him to England, where
she was baptized and called Rebecca, and where she soon died. Well may
it be said of her, in the language of the poet, slightly altered,
It is not meet such names should moulder in the grave.
HANNAH DUSTIN.
Experience teaches us
That resolution 's a sole help at need;
And this, my lord, our honor teacheth us,
That we be bold in every enterprise.
SHAKSPEARE.
On the fifteenth of March, 1697, a band of Indian prowlers broke into
the house of Mr. Dustin, of Haverhill, Massachusetts, and captured his
wife, her nurse,[16] and a babe about one week old. The last was killed
before leaving the town. The other two were marched through the
wilderness for several days till they came to a halt on an island in the
Merrimac river about six miles above Concord, New Hampshire. There they
were placed in a wigwam occupied by two men, three women, seven children
of theirs, and an English boy who had been captured about a year
previous at Worcester, Massachusetts. The captives remained there till
the thirtieth of that month before they planned escape. On that day the
boy was requested by Mrs. Dustin to ask his master where to strike "to
kill instantly;" and the savage was simple enough to tell, and also
instructed him in the art of scalping. "At night," to use the concise
language of Mr. Bancroft, "while the household slumbers, the captives,
each with a tomahawk, strike vigorously, and fleetly, and with division
of labor,--and of the twelve sleepers, ten lie dead; of one squaw the
wound was not mortal; one child was spared from design. The love of
glory next asserted its power; and the gun and tomahawk of the murderer
of her infant, and a bag heaped full of scalps were choicely kept as
trophies of the heroine.--The streams are the guides which God has set
for the stranger in the wilderness: in a bark canoe, the three descend
the Merrimac to the English settlements, astonishing their friends by
their escape, and filling the land with wonder at their successful
daring."
[16] Mrs. Mary Neff.
Mrs. Dustin had the happiness of meeting her husband and seven children,
who had escaped from the house before the savages entered, and the honor
of a very handsome present from Colonel Nicholson, governor of Maryland,
as a reward for her heroism.[17]
[17] Eleven years after the capture of Mrs. Dustin, a party of French
and Indians from Canada made an attack upon the inhabitants of
Haverhill, and killed and captured about forty persons. Several women
exhibited on the occasion a remarkable degree of sagacity, courage and
presence of mind. We condense from Mirick's History of Haverhill.
Ann Whittaker escaped the tomahawk by hiding in an apple chest under the
stairs.--A negro servant, named Hagar, covered a couple of children with
tubs in the cellar and then concealed herself behind some meat barrels.
The Indians trod on a foot of one of the children and took meat from the
barrel behind which Hagar had hidden, without discovering any of
them.--The wife of Thomas Hartshorn, took all her children except the
babe--which she was afraid would cry--through a trap-door into the
cellar. The enemy entered and plundered the house, but did not find the
way into the cellar. They took the infant from its bed in the garret and
threw it out of the window. Strange to say, though stunned, it lived and
grew to rugged manhood.--The wife of Captain Simon Wainwright, after the
enemy had killed her husband, let them into the house and treated them
kindly. They at length demanded money, when she went out, as she
pretended, to get it. They soon ascertained--though too late to find
her--that she had fled with all her children but one, who was taken
captive.
THE HEROINES OF BRYANT'S STATION.
The brave example cannot perish
Of courage.
HOSMER.
Nor could the boldest of our youth have dared
To pass our outworks.
POPE'S HOMER.
At the siege of Bryant's station near Lexington, Kentucky, in August,
1782, the water in the fort was exhausted; and as the nearest place to
obtain a supply was a spring several rods off, it would require no small
risk and, consequently, no common intrepidity to undertake to bring it.
A body of Indians in plain sight, were trying to entice the soldiers to
attack them without the walls, while another party was concealed near
the spring, waiting, it was supposed, to storm one of the gates, should
the besieged venture out. It was thought probable that the Indians in
ambush would remain so until they saw indications that the other party
had succeeded in enticing the soldiers to open engagement.
The position of things was explained to the women, and they were invited
to each take a bucket and march to the spring in a body. "Some, as was
natural, had no relish for the undertaking, and asked why the men could
not bring water as well as themselves, observing that they were not
bullet-proof, and the Indians made no distinction between male and
female scalps. To this it was answered, that the women were in the habit
of bringing water every morning to the fort; and that if the Indians saw
them engaged as usual, it would induce them to think that their
ambuscade was undiscovered; and that they would not unmask themselves
for the sake of firing at a few women, when they hoped, by remaining
concealed a few moments longer, to obtain complete possession of the
fort: that if men should go down to the spring, the Indians would
immediately suspect something was wrong, would despair of succeeding by
ambuscade, and would instantly rush upon them, follow them into the
fort, or shoot them down at the spring.
"The decision was soon made. A few of the boldest declared their
readiness to brave the danger, and the younger and more timid rallying
in the rear of these veterans, they all marched down in a body to the
spring, within point blank shot of more than five hundred Indian
warriors! Some of the girls could not help betraying symptoms of terror;
but the married women, in general, moved with a steadiness and composure
that completely deceived the Indians. Not a shot was fired. The party
were permitted to fill their buckets, one after another, without
interruption; and although their steps became quicker and quicker, on
their return, and when near the fort, degenerated into a rather
unmilitary celerity, with some little crowding in passing the gate, yet
not more than one-fifth of the water was spilled, and the eyes of the
youngest had not dilated to more than double their ordinary size."[18]
[18] M'Clung's Sketches of Western Adventure.
MRS. DAVIESS.
'Tis late before
The brave despair.
THOMSON.
Samuel Daviess was an early settler at a place called Gilmer's Lick, in
Lincoln county, Kentucky. In the month of August, 1782, while a few rods
from his house, he was attacked early one morning by an Indian; and
attempting to get within doors, he found that his house was already
occupied by other Indians. Pursued by his foe, he ran into a cornfield
and lay concealed till the savage gave up the chase and returned to the
house. He then ran to his brother's station, five miles off, gave the
alarm, and was soon returning with five stout, well armed men.
[Illustration: THE INDIAN HORSE THIEF.]
Meanwhile the Indians--four in number--who had entered the house while
the fifth was in pursuit of Mr. Daviess, routed Mrs. Daviess and the
children from their beds, and they soon understood that they must take
up a line of march--they knew not whither. As soon as she was dressed,
Mrs. Daviess "commenced showing the Indians one article of clothing and
then another, which pleased them very much; and in that way delayed them
at the house nearly two hours. In the mean time, the Indian who had
been in pursuit of her husband returned, with his hands stained with
poke berries, which he held up, and with some violent gestures and
waving of his tomahawk, attempted to induce the belief, that the stain
on his hands was the blood of her husband, and that he had killed him.
She was enabled at once to discover the deception, and instead of
producing any alarm on her part, she was satisfied that her husband had
escaped uninjured.
"After the savages had plundered the house of every thing that they
could conveniently carry off with them, they started, taking Mrs.
Daviess and her children--seven in number--as prisoners, along with
them. Some of the children were too young to travel as fast as the
Indians wished, and discovering, as she believed, their intention to
kill such of them as could not conveniently travel, she made the two
oldest boys carry them on their backs. The Indians, in starting from the
house, were very careful to leave no signs of the direction they had
taken, not even permitting the children to break a twig or weed as they
passed along. They had not gone far before an Indian drew his knife and
cut off a few inches of Mrs. Daviess' dress, so that she would not be
interrupted in traveling.
"Mrs. Daviess was a woman of cool, deliberate courage, and accustomed to
handle the gun, so that she could shoot well, as many of the women were
in the habit of doing in those days. She had contemplated, as a last
resort, that if not rescued in the course of the day, when night came on
and the Indians had fallen asleep, she would deliver herself and
children by killing as many of the Indians as she could--thinking that
in a night attack as many of them as remained would most probably run
off."[19]
[19] Collins's Historical Sketches of Kentucky.
Mr. Daviess and his comrades reaching the house and finding it empty,
hastened on in pursuit of the Indians. They had gone but a few miles
before they overtook the retreating party. Two Indian spies in the rear,
first discovered the pursuers, and running on, overtook the three
others, with the prisoners, and knocked down and scalped, though they
did not kill, the oldest boy. At that moment the pursuers fired at the
Indians, but missed. The latter were now alarmed and confused, and Mrs.
Daviess, taking advantage of this circumstance, jumped into a sink hole
with her infant in her arms; and the Indians fleeing, every child was
saved.
"Kentucky, in its early days, like most new countries, was occasionally
troubled by men of abandoned character, who lived by stealing the
property of others, and, after committing their depredations, retired to
their hiding places, thereby eluding the operation of the law. One of
these marauders, a man of desperate character, who had committed
extensive thefts from Mr. Daviess, as well as from his neighbors, was
pursued by Daviess and a party whose property he had taken, in order to
bring him to justice. While the party were in pursuit, the suspected
individual, not knowing any one was pursuing him, came to the house of
Daviess, armed with his gun and tomahawk--no person being at home but
Mrs. Daviess and her children. After he had stepped into the house, Mrs.
Daviess asked him if he would drink something--and having set a bottle
of whiskey upon the table, requested him to help himself. The fellow,
not suspecting any danger, set his gun up by the door, and while
drinking, Mrs. Daviess picked up his gun, and placing herself in the
door, had the gun cocked and leveled upon him by the time he turned
around, and in a peremptory manner ordered him to take a seat, or she
would shoot him. Struck with terror and alarm, he asked what he had
done. She told him he had stolen her husband's property and that she
intended to take care of him herself. In that condition she held him a
prisoner, until the party of men returned and took him into their
possession."[20]
[20] Collins.
A KENTUCKY AMAZON.
This is true courage.
WHITEHEAD'S ROMAN FATHER.
During the summer of 1787, writes Mr. McClung, in his Sketches of
Western Adventure, "The house of Mr. John Merrill, of Nelson county,
Kentucky, was attacked by the Indians, and defended with singular
address and good fortune. Merrill was alarmed by the barking of a dog
about midnight, and upon opening the door in order to ascertain the
cause of the disturbance, he received the fire of six or seven Indians,
by which one arm and one thigh were broken. He instantly sank upon the
floor, and called upon his wife to close the door. This had scarcely
been done when it was violently assailed by the tomahawks of the enemy,
and a large breach soon effected. Mrs. Merrill, however, being a perfect
amazon, both in strength and courage, guarded it with an axe, and
successively killed or badly wounded four of the enemy as they attempted
to force their way into the cabin.
"The Indians ascended the roof, and attempted to enter by way of the
chimney; but here again they were met by the same determined enemy.
Mrs. Merrill seized the only feather bed which the cabin afforded, and
hastily ripping it open, poured its contents upon the fire. A furious
blaze and stifling smoke instantly ascended the chimney, and brought
down two of the enemy, who lay for a few moments at the mercy of the
lady. Seizing the axe, she quickly dispatched them, and was instantly
afterwards summoned to the door, where the only remaining savage now
appeared, endeavoring to effect an entrance, while Mrs. Merrill was
engaged at the chimney. He soon received a gash in the cheek, which
compelled him, with a loud yell, to relinquish his purpose, and return
hastily to Chillicothe, where, from the report of a prisoner, he gave an
exaggerated account of the fierceness, strength, and courage of the
'long knife squaw!'"
HEROISM AT INNIS SETTLEMENT.
Courage alone can save us.
SOUTHEY.
The account of the Indians' attack on the Innis settlement, near
Frankfort, Kentucky, in April, 1792, has been differently related by
different writers. The most reliable account is doubtless that given by
the Rev. Abraham Cook, a minister of the Baptist denomination and the
brother of Jesse and Hosea Cook, whose wives were the heroines of the
settlement. The attack was made on the twenty-eighth of the month, by
about one hundred Indians, and at three points almost simultaneously.
The first onset was upon the Cooks who lived in cabins close together,
and where was displayed a degree of intrepidity rarely matched.
"The brothers were near their cabins, one engaged in shearing sheep, the
other looking on. The sharp crack of rifles was the first intimation of
the proximity of the Indians; and that fire was fatal to the
brothers--the elder fell dead, and the younger was mortally wounded, but
enabled to reach the cabin. The two Mrs. Cook, with three children--two
whites and one black--were instantly collected in the house, and the
door, a very strong one, made secure. The Indians, unable to enter,
discharged their rifles at the door, but without injury, as the balls
did not penetrate through the thick boards of which it was constructed.
They then attempted to cut it down with their tomahawks, but with no
better success. While these things occurred without, there was deep
sorrow, mingled with fearless determination and high resolve within. The
younger Cook, mortally wounded, immediately the door was barred, sank
down on the floor, and breathed his last; and the two Mrs. Cook were
left the sole defenders of the cabin, with the three children. There was
a rifle in the house, but no balls could be found. In this extremity,
one of the women got hold of a musket ball, and placing it between her
teeth, actually bit it into two pieces. With one she instantly loaded
the rifle. The Indians, failing in their attempts to cut down the door,
had retired a few paces in front, doubtless to consult upon their future
operations. One seated himself upon a log, apparently apprehending no
danger from within. Observing him, Mrs. Cook took aim from a narrow
aperture and fired, when the Indian gave a loud yell, bounded high in
the air, and fell dead. This infuriated the savages, who threatened--for
they could speak English--to burn the house and all the inmates. Several
speedily climbed to the top of the cabin, and kindled a fire on the
boards of the roof. The devouring element began to take effect, and
with less determined and resolute courage within, the certain
destruction of the cabin and the death of the inmates, must have been
the consequence. But the self possession and intrepidity of these
Spartan females were equal to the occasion. One of them instantly
ascended to the loft, and the other handed her water, with which she
extinguished the fire. Again and again the roof was fired, and as often
extinguished. The water failing, the undaunted women called for some
eggs, which were broken and the contents thrown upon the fire, for a
time holding the flames at bay. Their next resource was the bloody
waistcoat of the husband and brother-in-law, who lay dead upon the
floor. The blood with which this was profusely saturated, checked the
progress of the flames--but, as they appeared speedily to be gathering
strength, another, and the last expedient ... proved successful. The
savage foe yielded, and the fruitful expedients of female courage
triumphed. One Indian, in bitter disappointment, fired at his unseen
enemy through the boards, but did not injure her, when the whole
immediately descended from the roof.
"About the time the attack commenced, a young man named McAndre, escaped
on horseback, in view of the Indians, who, it was supposed, would give
the alarm to the older neighboring settlements. As soon as they
descended from the house top, a few climbed some contiguous trees, and
instituted a sharp look out. While in the trees, one of them fired a
second ball into the loft of the cabin, which cut to pieces a bundle of
yarn hanging near the head of Mrs. Cook, but without doing further
injury. Soon after, they threw the body of the dead Indian into the
adjacent creek, and precipitately fled."
BOLD EXPLOIT AT TAMPICO.
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom;
Advance our standards.
SHAKSPEARE.
Rocks have been shaken from their solid base;
But what shall move a dauntless soul?
JOANNA BAILLIE.
At the capture of Tampico, which took place on the fourteenth of
November, 1846, a noteworthy act was performed by a lady, whose
patriotism and daring should not be forgotten. She not only gave
Commodore Connor full information in regard to the defence of the place,
with a plan of the harbor, town and forts, but when the squadron was
approaching, though opposed by the city council and even menaced, she
hoisted the American flag and persisted in waving it beneath the very
eye of the _ayuntamiento_! This intrepid woman was Mrs. Ann Chase, wife
of the American Consul.
[Illustration: THE COLONEL AND HIS DAUGHTER.]
DICEY LANGSTON.
Thou soul of love and bravery!
MOORE.
Dicey Langston was the daughter of Solomon Langston, of Laurens
district, South Carolina. She possessed an intrepid spirit, which is
highly serviceable in times of emergency, and which, as she lived in the
days of the Revolution, she had more than one opportunity to display.
Situated in the midst of tories, and being patriotically inquisitive,
she often learned by accident, or discovered by strategy, the plottings
so common in those days, against the whigs. Such intelligence she was
accustomed to communicate to the friends of freedom on the opposite side
of the Ennoree river.
Learning one time that a band of loyalists--known in those parts as the
"Bloody scout"--were about to fall upon the "Elder settlement," a place
where a brother of hers and other friends were residing, she resolved to
warn them of their danger. To do this she must hazard her own life. But
off she started, alone, in the darkness of the night; traveled several
miles through the woods, and over marshes and across creeks, through a
country where foot-logs and bridges were then unknown; came to the
Tyger, a rapid and deep stream, into which she plunged and waded till
the water was up to her neck; she then became bewildered, and zigzagged
the channel for some time; reached the opposite shore at length--for a
helping Hand was beneath, a kind Providence guiding her:--hastened on;
reached the settlement, and her brother and the whole community were
safe!
She was returning one day from another settlement of whigs--in the
Spartanburg district, when a company of tories met her and questioned
her in regard to the neighborhood she had just left; but she refused to
communicate the desired information. The leader of the band then held a
pistol to her breast, and threatened to shoot her if she did not make
the wished for disclosure. "Shoot me if you dare! I will not tell you!"
was her dauntless reply, as she opened a long handkerchief that covered
her neck and bosom, thus manifesting a willingness to receive the
contents of the pistol, if the officer insisted on disclosures or life.
The dastard, enraged at her defying movement, was in the act of firing,
at which moment one of the soldiers threw up the hand holding the
weapon, and the cowerless heart of the girl was permitted to beat on.
The brothers of Dicey were no less patriotic than she; and they having,
by their active services on the side of freedom, greatly displeased the
loyalists, these latter were determined to be revenged. A desperate
band accordingly went to the house of their father, and finding the sons
absent, they were about to wreak their vengeance on the old man, whom
they hated for the sons' sake. With this intent one of the party drew a
pistol; but just as it was aimed at the breast of her aged and infirm
father, Dicey rushed between the two, and though the ruffian bade her
get out of his way or receive in her own breast the contents of the
pistol, she regarded not his threats, but flung her arms around her
father's neck and declared she would receive the ball first, if the
weapon must be discharged. Such fearlessness and willingness to offer
her own life for the sake of her parent, softened the heart of the
"bloody scout," and Mr. Langston lived to see his noble daughter perform
other heroic deeds.
One time her brother James, in his absence, sent to the house for a gun
which he had left in her care, with orders for her to deliver it to no
one except by his direction. On reaching the house one of the company
who where directed to call for it, made known their errand, whereupon
she brought and was about to deliver the weapon. At this moment it
occurred to her that she had not demanded the countersign agreed on
between herself and brother. With the gun still in her hand, she looked
the company sternly in the face, and remarking that they wore a
suspicious look, called for the countersign. Hereupon one of them, in
jest, told her she was too tardy in her requirements; that both the gun
and its holder were in their possession. "Do you think so," she boldly
asked, as she cocked the disputed weapon and aimed it at the speaker.
"If the gun is in your possession," she added, "take charge of it!" Her
appearance indicated that she was in earnest, and the countersign was
given without further delay. A hearty laugh on the part of the "liberty
men," ended the ceremony.
REBECCA MOTTE.
We can make our lives sublime.
LONGFELLOW.
During the Revolutionary war, while Fort Motte, situated on Congaree
river, in South Carolina, was in the hands of the British, in order to
effect its surrender, it became necessary to burn a large mansion
standing near the centre of the trench. The house was the property of
Mrs. Motte. Lieut. Colonel Lee communicated to her the contemplated work
of destruction with painful reluctance, but her smiles, half
anticipating his proposal, showed, at once, that she was willing to
sacrifice her property if she could thereby aid in the least degree
towards the expulsion of the enemy and the salvation of the land. The
reply she made to the proposal was that she was "gratified with the
opportunity of contributing to the good of her country, and should view
the approaching scene with delight!"[21]
[21] MRS. BREWTON,--since Foster--one of the most amiable and
enlightened of the whig ladies, was an inmate of Mrs. Motte's family at
the time of the destruction of her house. Meeting with her shortly after
the signing of the preliminary articles of peace at Philadelphia, I
inquired--"How it had happened, that she, a helpless, unprotected widow,
without any charge of improper conduct, had so far incurred the enmity
of the British commanders, as to have been arrested without ceremony,
and hurried unprepared, into exile." She answered--"That she knew no act
of hers which had merited such ungentlemanly and inhuman treatment."
Entering, however, into conversation relative to the siege and surrender
of Fort Motte, she gave at once a clue to the transaction. While the
American forces were at a distance, Major M'Pherson, the commander of
the post, suffered Mrs. Motte and her family to remain, and an apartment
was allowed for their accommodation. But when the post at Thompson's,
but a little removed from him, was attacked and carried, anticipating
the fate which awaited him, immediate removal was not only advised, but
insisted on. At the moment of departure, Mrs. Brewton seeing a quiver of
arrows, which had been presented to Mr. Motte by a favorite African,
said to her friend, "I will take these with me, to prevent their
destruction by the soldiers." With the quiver in her hands, she was
passing the gate, when Major M'Pherson, drawing forth a shaft, and
applying the point to his finger, said, "what have you here, Mrs.
Brewton?" "For God's sake be careful," she replied "these arrows are
poisoned." The ladies immediately passed on to the out-house, which they
were now to inhabit. In the siege which directly followed, when the
destruction of the house was determined upon, and missiles eagerly
sought for by Lieutenant Colonel Lee for conveying the fire to the
shingles, these arrows being remembered, were presented by Mrs. Motte,
with a wish for the happy accomplishment of the end proposed. It was
afterwards known, that the first arrow missed its aim, and fell at the
feet of the commander, who taking, it up, with strong expressions of
anger, exclaimed, "I thank you, Mrs. Brewton." The second arrow took
effect, and set fire to the roof, when the brisk discharge of a six
pounder being maintained by Captain Finley, in the direction of the
stair-case, every effort to extinguish it proved fruitless, until, from
the apprehension of the roof falling in, the garrison were compelled to
surrender at discretion. General Greene arriving soon after, paid to
Major M'Pherson the tribute of applause due to his excellent defence,
declaring, "that such gallantry could not fail to procure for him a high
increase of reputation." This compliment, however, does not appear to
have soothed the mortified soldier; for, walking immediately up to Mrs.
Brewton, he said, "to _you_ madam, I owe this disgrace; it would have
been more charitable to have allowed me to perish by poison, than to be
thus compelled to surrender my post to the enemy." This speech alone,
accounts for the enmity against Mrs. Brewton.--[Knapp's American
Anecdotes.
The husband of this noble-hearted widow had so involved himself by
securities for friends, that after the struggle for Independence was
over, it was impossible for her to immediately meet all demands against
the estate. She, however, resolved that they should some day be
liquidated--that, life and health being continued long enough, all
obligations of her husband's contracting should be good against herself.
She purchased a large tract of rice land on credit, and by industry and
economy was able, in a short time, to pay the old demands, and lived to
accumulate a handsome property. She reminds us of Solomon's picture of
the virtuous woman: "She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the
fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard."... "She looketh well to the
ways of her household, and eateth not of the bread of idleness."
ANOTHER SACRIFICE FOR FREEDOM.
A patriot's birth-right thou may'st claim.
SHELLEY.
The subject of the following anecdote was a sister of General Woodhull,
and was born at Brookhaven, Long Island, in December, 1740. Her husband
was a member of the Provincial Convention which met in May, 1775, and of
the Convention which was called two years after, to frame the first
state constitution.
While Judge William Smith was in the Provincial Congress, his lady was
met, at a place called Middle Island, by Major Benjamin Tallmadge, who
was then on his march across Long Island. He told her he was on his way
to her house to capture the force then possessing Fort St. George, and
that he might be obliged to burn or otherwise destroy her dwelling-house
and other buildings in accomplishing this object. Ready to make any
sacrifice for the good of her bleeding country, she promptly assured the
Major that the buildings were at his disposal, to destroy or not, as
efforts to dislodge the enemy might require.
A PATRIOTIC DONATION.
Large charity doth never soil,
But only whitens soft white hands.--LOWELL.
When General Greene was retreating through the Carolinas, after the
battle of the Cowpens, and while at Salisbury, North Carolina, he put up
at a hotel, the landlady of which was Mrs. Elizabeth Steele. A
detachment of Americans had just had a skirmish with the British under
Cornwallis at the Catawba ford, and were defeated and dispersed; and
when the wounded were brought to the hotel, the General no doubt felt
somewhat discouraged, for the fate of the south and perhaps of the
country seemed to hang on the result of this memorable retreat. Added to
his other troubles was that of being penniless; and Mrs. Steele,
learning this fact by accident, and ready to do any thing in her power
to further the cause of freedom, took him aside and drew from under her
apron two bags of specie. Presenting them to him she generously said,
"Take these, for you will want them, and I can do without them."[22]
[22] Never did relief come at a more propitious moment; nor would it be
straining conjecture to suppose that he resumed his journey with his
spirits cheered and brightened by this touching proof of woman's
devotion to the cause of her country. [Greene's Life of Nathaniel
Greene.
"THE LITTLE BLACK-EYED REBEL."
Some there are
By their good deeds exalted
WORDSWORTH.
Mary Redmond, the daughter of a patriot of Philadelphia of some local
distinction, had many relatives who were loyalists. These were
accustomed to call her "the little black-eyed rebel," so ready was she
to assist women whose husbands were fighting for freedom, in procuring
intelligence. "The dispatches were usually sent from their friends by a
boy who carried them stitched in the back of his coat. He came into the
city bringing provisions to market. One morning when there was some
reason to fear he was suspected, and his movements were watched by the
enemy, Mary undertook to get the papers from him in safety. She went, as
usual, to the market, and in a pretended game of romps, threw her shawl
over the boy's head and secured the prize. She hastened with the papers
to her anxious friends, who read them by stealth, after the windows had
been carefully closed."
When the whig women in her neighborhood heard of Burgoyne's surrender,
and were exulting in secret, the cunning little "rebel," prudently
refraining from any open demonstration of joy, "put her head up the
chimney and gave a shout for Gates!"
A BENEVOLENT QUAKERESS.[23]
How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity!
ROWE.
Charity Rodman was born in Newport, Rhode Island, in the year 1765. Her
father was a sea-captain, and died at Honduras while she was in infancy.
She married Thomas Rotch, of Nantucket, Massachusetts, on the sixth of
June, 1790. Soon afterwards the Rotch family removed to New Bedford,
where they have since distinguished themselves by their energy and
uprightness of character, and their success in the mercantile business,
being extensively engaged in the whale-fishery. Of some of them, as
traffickers, it may be said, as it was of the merchants of Tyre in the
days of her glory: "they are among the honorable of the earth."
[23] Some of the facts embodied in this article were gathered by the
author while on a visit to Massillon, Ohio, in the summer of 1847, and
were communicated to the public at that time through the columns of the
Western Literary Messenger; others were lately and very obligingly
furnished by Dr. William Bowen, of that place.
About the year 1801, Mrs. Rotch removed with her husband to Hartford,
Connecticut, where she remained till 1811. She then, in a feeble state
of health, and for its improvement, accompanied her husband on a journey
through Ohio, and other parts of the West. The mildness of the winter
was favorable to her constitution, and, restored to comfortable health,
she returned to Hartford in the early part of the next summer. The
following November she removed to Kendol, in Stark county, Ohio, near
the site of the present village of Massillon.
There the mind of Mrs. Rotch, cooperating with the long-cherished wishes
of her heart, originated and matured plans for the establishment of a
"school for orphan and destitute children." Having traveled much, she
had made extensive observations; and with an eye always open to the
condition and wants of human kind, she early and often felt the force of
a remark once made to her by an English friend: "That there were a great
many children _wasted_ in this country"--a painful truth, but no less
applicable to Great Britain than to the United States.
Her husband died in 1823, and bequeathed to her, during life, his large
and entire estate. His personal property was left in her hands to be
disposed of as her philanthropic heart might dictate. This formed the
basis of the school-fund which she left, and which, four or five years
after her death, which occurred on the sixth of August, 1824, amounted
to twenty thousand dollars. The interest of this sum has since purchased
a farm of one hundred and eighty-five acres, one and a half miles from
the village of Massillon, and erected, at a cost of five thousand
dollars, a large brick edifice for educational and dwelling purposes,
which has been open seven years and which sustains forty pupils. The
real and personal estate of the institution, is now estimated at
thirty-five thousand dollars.
A class of ten pupils enter annually and remain four years. The school
is established on the manual labor plan; and the boys are thoroughly
instructed in the art of husbandry, and the girls in culinary duties and
the manufacture of their own wearing apparel. Children enter between the
ages of ten and fourteen, hence the youngest leave as advanced in life
as their fifteenth year, a period when their habits of industry and
their moral principles usually become too well established to be easily
changed.
This school, founded by the benevolence of a single individual--a
devout, yet modest and quiet member of the Society of Friends--is
destined to become a source of inestimable blessings. Every half
century, five hundred otherwise neglected plants in the garden of
humanity, will there be pruned and nurtured, and strengthened for the
storms of life; and many of them will doubtless be fitted to bear fruit
here to the glory of God, and be finally transplanted to bloom in
eternal youth in the gardens above.
The offspring of Christian philanthropy, the school will stand as a
lasting memorial of woman's worth. The highest ambition of its founder
was to be a blessing to those who should come after her; and it may be
said that while she did not live in vain, neither did she die in vain.
Her death threw a legacy into the lap of orphanage, the benignant
influence of which will long be felt.
The grave of Mrs. Rotch is overlooked by the monument of her
munificence, but no marble nor enduring object marks the spot. Virtues
like hers neither crave nor need _chiseled_ words of praise; they are
engraved on the hearts of the succored, to be remembered while those
hearts continue to beat; and the feet of befriended children will keep a
path open to the grave of their foster-mother, for ages.
A PIONEER IN SUNDAY SCHOOLS.[24]
--Doubtless unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In such great offices as suit
The full-grown energies of heaven.
TENNYSON'S IN MEMORIAM.
The Ohio Company, which was organized in Boston in the year 1787, built
a stockade fort during the next two years, at Marietta, and named it
_Campus Martius_. The year it was completed, the Rev. Daniel Storey, a
preacher at Worcester, Massachusetts, was sent out as a chaplain. He
acted as an evangelist till 1797, when he became the pastor of a
Congregational church which he had been instrumental in collecting in
Marietta and the adjoining towns, and which was organized the preceding
year. He held that relation till the spring of 1804. Probably he was the
first Protestant minister whose voice was heard in the vast wilderness
lying to the north-west of the Ohio river.
[24] The facts contained in this article we find in a series of papers,
by S. P. Hildreth, Esq., published in "The American Pioneer," in 1842.
In the garrison at Marietta was witnessed the formation and successful
operation of one of the first Sunday schools in the United States. Its
originator, superintendent and sole teacher, was Mrs. Andrew Lake, an
estimable lady from New York. Every Sabbath, after "Parson Storey" had
finished his public services, she collected as many of the children at
her house as would attend, and heard them recite verses from the
Scriptures, and taught them the Westminster catechism. Simple in her
manner of teaching and affable and kind in her disposition, she was able
to interest her pupils--usually about twenty in number--and to win their
affections to herself, to the school, and, subsequently, in some
instances, to the Saviour. A few, at least, of the little children that
used to sit on rude benches, low stools and the tops of meal bags, and
listen to her sacred instructions and earnest admonitions, have
doubtless ere this became pupils, with her, in the "school of Christ"
above.
THE WOMEN OF WYOMING.
The guardians of the land.
HOLMES.
Justice and gratitude, writes Miner,[25] "demand a tribute to the
praiseworthy spirit of the wives and daughters of Wyoming. While their
husbands and fathers were on public duty, they cheerfully assumed a
large portion of the labor which females could do. They assisted to
plant, made hay, husked and garnered the corn. As the settlement was
mainly dependent on its own resources for powder, Mr. Hollenback caused
to be brought up the river a pounder; and the women took up their
floors, dug out the earth, put it in casks, and run water through
it,--as ashes are bleached:--then took ashes, in another cask, and made
ley--mixed the water from the earth with weak ley, boiled it, set it to
cool, and the saltpetre rose to the top. Charcoal and sulphur were then
used, and powder was produced for the public defence."
[25] History of Wyoming, page 212.
MARY GOULD.
Far rung the groves and gleamed the midnight grass,
With flambeau, javelin and naked arm;
As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass,
Sprung from the woods a bold athletic mass,
Whom virtue fires and liberty combines.
CAMPBELL.
Such is the power of mighty love.
DRYDEN.
Early in the evening of the third day of July, 1778--the date of the
memorable Wyoming massacre--Mrs. Mary Gould, wife of James Gould, with
the other females remaining in the village of Wyoming, sought safety in
the fort. In the haste and confusion attending this act, she left a boy
of hers about four years old, behind. Obeying the instincts of a mother,
and turning a deaf ear to the admonitions of friends, she started off on
a perilous search for the missing one. It was dark; she was alone, and
the foe was lurking around; but the agonies of death could not exceed
her agonies of suspense; so she hastened on. She traversed the fields
which, but a few hours before,
"Were trampled by the hurrying crowd;"
where
"--fiery hearts and armed hands
Encountered in the battle cloud,"
and where unarmed hands were now resting on cold and motionless hearts.
After a search of between one and two hours, she found her child on the
bank of the river, sporting with a little band of playmates. Clasping
the jewel in her arms, she hurried back and reached the fort in safety.
THE MOTHER OF PRESIDENT POLK.
Holy as heaven a mother's tender love!
The love of many prayers, and many tears,
Which changes not with dim, declining years.
MRS. NORTON.
The late President Folk's mother, who died at Columbia, Tennessee, in
the winter of 1851-2, was a member of the Presbyterian church, a highly
exemplary Christian, and a faithful mother. The lessons which she taught
her son in youth, were not forgotten when he had arrived at manhood, and
risen to the highest office in the gift of a free and sovereign people.
A single anecdote will show the abiding recollection and influence of
her teachings.
A gentleman, who once visited Mr. Polk at the White House, remarked to
him that his respect for the Sabbath was highly gratifying to the
religious sentiment of the country; whereupon he made the following
reply: "I was taught by a pious mother to fear God, and keep his
commandments, and I trust that no cares of a government of my own, will
ever tempt me to forget what I owe to the government of God."
TRIALS OF A PATRIOT.
Press on! if fortune play thee false
To-day, to-morrow she 'll be true.
PARK BENJAMIN.
During the latter part of the Revolution, Thomas McCalla lived in
Chester district, South Carolina. He removed thither from Pennsylvania,
with his young wife, in 1778. He was a whole-hearted whig; served in the
American army before moving to the south, and again enlisted soon after
reaching his new home. He was in all the engagements attending Sumter's
operations against the enemy, till the seventeenth of August, 1780,
when, by permission, he went to visit his family. A short time
afterwards he again joined the fighting men, but was almost immediately
taken prisoner, sent to Camden, thrown into jail and threatened daily
with hanging. The persevering and heroic endeavors of his affectionate
and patriotic wife, to obtain his release, are detailed in the following
interesting manner by the author of the Women of the Revolution:
While this brave man was languishing in prison, expecting death from day
to day, his wife remained in the most unhappy state of suspense. For
about a month she was unable to obtain any tidings of him. The rumor of
Sumter's surprise, and that of Steel, came to her ears; she visited the
places where those disasters had occurred, and sought for some trace of
him, but without success. She inquired, in an agony of anxiety, of the
women who had been to Charlotte for the purpose of carrying clothes or
provisions to their husbands, brothers, or fathers, not knowing but that
he had gone thither with the soldiers; but none could give her the least
information. Imagination may depict the harrowing scenes that must have
passed, when females returning to their homes and children after
carrying aid to the soldiers, were met by such inquiries from those who
were uncertain as to the fate of their kindred. To these hapless
sufferers no consolation availed, and too often was their suspense
terminated by more afflicting certainty.
In the midst of Mrs. McCalla's distress, and before she had gained any
information, she was called to another claim on her anxiety; her
children took the small-pox. John was very ill for nine days with the
disease, and his mother thought every day would be his last. During this
terrible season of alarm, while her mind was distracted by cares, she
had to depend altogether upon herself, for she saw but one among her
neighbors. All the families in the vicinity were visited with the
disease, and to many it proved fatal. As soon as her child was so far
recovered as to be considered out of danger, Mrs. McCalla made
preparations to go to Camden. She felt convinced that it was her duty to
do so, for she clung to the hope that she might there learn something
of her husband, or even find him among the prisoners.
With her to resolve was to act, and having set her house in order, she
was in the saddle long before day, taking the old Charleston road
leading down on the west side of the Catawba river. The mountain gap on
Wateree creek was passed ere the sun rose, and by two o'clock she had
crossed the river, passing the guard there stationed, and entered
Camden. Pressing on with fearless determination, she passed the guard,
and desiring to be conducted to the presence of Lord Rawdon, was
escorted by Major Doyle to the head-quarters of that commander. His
Lordship then occupied a large, ancient looking house on the east side
of the main street. The old site of the town is now in part deserted,
and that building left standing alone some four hundred yards from any
other, as if the memories associated with it had rendered the
neighborhood undesirable. It was here that haughty and luxurious
nobleman fixed his temporary residence, "sitting as a monarch," while so
many true-hearted unfortunates, whose fate hung on his will, were
languishing out their lives in prison, or atoning for their patriotism
on the scaffold.
Into the presence of this august personage Mrs. McCalla was conducted by
the British major. Her impression at first sight was favorable; he was a
fine looking young man, with a countenance not unprepossessing, which we
may suppose was eagerly searched for the traces of human sympathy by one
who felt that all her hopes depended on him. His aspect gave her some
encouragement, and being desired to explain the object of her visit, she
pleaded her cause with the eloquence of nature and feeling; making known
the distressed situation of her family at home, the fearful anxiety of
mind she had suffered on account of the prolonged absence of her husband
and her ignorance of his fate, and her children's urgent need of his
care and protection. From Major Doyle she had at length learned that he
was held a prisoner by his lordship's orders. She had come, therefore,
to entreat mercy for him; to pray that he might be released and
permitted to go home with her. This appeal to compassion she made with
all the address in her power, nor was the untaught language of distress
wanting in power to excite pity in any feeling heart.
Lord Rawdon heard her to the end. His reply was characteristic. "I would
rather hang such ---- rebels than eat my breakfast." This insulting
speech was addressed to his suppliant while her eyes were fixed on him
in the agony of her entreaty, and the tears were streaming down her
cheeks. His words dried up the fountain at once, and the spirit of the
American matron was roused. "Would you?" was her answer, while she
turned on him a look of the deepest scorn. A moment after, with a
struggle to control her feelings, for she well knew how much depended on
that--she said, "I crave of your lordship permission to see my husband."
The haughty chief felt the look of scorn his cruel language had called
up in her face, for his own conscience bore testimony against him, but
pride forbade his yielding to the dictates of better feeling. "You
should consider, madam," he answered, "in whose presence you now stand.
Your husband is a rebel----"
Mrs. McCalla was about to reply--but her companion, the Major, gave her
a look warning her to be silent, and in truth the words that sprang to
her lips would have ill pleased the Briton. Doyle now interposed, and
requested his lordship to step aside with him for a moment. They left
the apartment, and shortly afterwards returned. Rawdon then said to his
visitor, with a stately coldness that precluded all hope of softening
his determination: "Major Doyle, madam, has my permission to let you go
into the prison. You may continue in the prison _ten minutes only_.
Major, you have my orders." So saying, he bowed politely both to her and
the officer, as intimating that the business was ended, and they were
dismissed. They accordingly quitted the room.
* * * * *
The sight of the prison-pen almost overcame the fortitude of the
resolute wife. An enclosure like that constructed for animals, guarded
by soldiers, was the habitation of the unfortunate prisoners, who sate
within on the bare earth, many of them suffering with the prevalent
distemper, and stretched helpless on the ground, with no shelter from
the burning sun of September. "Is it possible," cried the matron,
turning to Doyle, "that you shut up men in this manner, as you would a
parcel of hogs!" She was then admitted into the jail, and welcome indeed
was the sight of her familiar face to McCalla. The time allotted for the
interview was too short to be wasted in condolement or complaint; she
told him she must depart in a few minutes, informed him of the state of
his family--inquired carefully what were his wants, and promised speedy
relief. When the ten minutes had expired, she again shook hands with
him, assuring him she would shortly return with clothes for his use, and
what provisions she could bring, then turning walked away with a firm
step, stopping to shake hands with young John Adair and the other
captives with whom she was acquainted. The word of encouragement was not
wanting, and as she bade the prisoners adieu, she said: "Have no fear;
the women are doing their part of the service." "I admire your spirit,
madam," Doyle observed to her, "but must request you to be a little more
cautious."
Mrs. McCalla was furnished by the Major with a pass, which she showed to
the officer on duty as she passed the guard on her return, and to the
officer at the ferry. She rode with all speed, and was at home before
midnight; having had less than twenty-four hours for the accomplishment
of her whole enterprise; in that time riding one hundred miles, crossing
the river twice, and passing the guard four times--visiting her husband,
and having the interview with Lord Rawdon, in which probably for the
first time in his life he felt uneasiness from a woman's rebuke. It
convinced him that even in the breast of woman a spirit of independence
might dwell, which no oppression could subdue, and before which brute
force must quail, as something of superior nature. How must the
unexpected outbreaking of this spirit, from time to time, have dismayed
those who imagined it was crushed forever throughout the conquered
province!
It is proper to say that Mrs. McCalla met with kinder treatment from the
other British officers to whom she had occasion to apply at this time,
for they were favorably impressed by the courage and strength of
affection evinced by her. Even the soldiers, as she passed them, paid
her marks of respect. The tories alone showed no sympathy nor pity for
her trials; it being constantly observed that there was deeper hostility
towards the whigs on the part of their countrymen of different politics,
than those of English birth.
Mrs. McCalla began her work immediately after her arrival at home;
making new clothes, altering and mending others, and preparing
provisions. Her preparations being completed, she again set out for
Camden. This time she had the company of one of her neighbors, Mrs. Mary
Nixon. Each of the women drove before her a pack-horse, laden with the
articles provided for the use of their suffering friends. They were
again admitted to the presence of Lord Rawdon to petition for leave to
visit the prisoners, but nothing particular occurred at the interview.
His lordship treated the matron who had offended him with much
haughtiness, and she on her part felt for him a contempt not the less
strong that it was not openly expressed. From this time she made her
journeys about once a month to Camden, carrying clean clothes and
provisions; being often accompanied by other women bound on similar
errands, and conveying articles of food and clothing to their captive
fathers, husbands, or brothers. They rode without escort, fearless of
peril by the way, and regardless of fatigue, though the journey was
usually performed in haste, and under the pressure of anxiety for those
at home as well as those to whose relief they were going. On one
occasion, when Mrs. McCalla was just about setting off alone upon her
journey, news of a glorious event was brought to her; the news of the
battle of King's Mountain, which took place on the seventh of October.
She did not stop to rejoice in the victory of her countrymen, but went
on with a lightened heart, longing, no doubt, to share the joy with him
who might hope, from the changed aspect of affairs, some mitigation of
his imprisonment.
... About the first of December, Mrs. McCalla went again to Camden. On
the preceding trip she had met with Lord Cornwallis, by whom she was
treated with kindness. Whatever hopes she had grounded on this, however,
were doomed to disappointment; he was this time reserved and silent. She
was afterwards informed by the Major that a considerable reverse had
befallen his majesty's troops at Clermont, and the annoyance felt on
this account--Doyle said--was the cause of his not showing as much
courtesy as he usually did to ladies. "You must excuse him," observed
the good-natured officer, who seems to have always acted the part of a
peacemaker on these occasions; and he added that Cornwallis had never
approved of the cruelties heretofore practised.
Towards the last of December the indefatigable wife again performed the
weary journey to Camden. McCalla's health had been impaired for some
months, and was now declining; it was therefore necessary to make a
strenuous effort to move the compassion of his enemies, and procure his
release. Rawdon was in command, and she once more applied to him to
obtain permission for her husband to go home with her. As might have
been anticipated, her petition was refused: his lordship informed her
that he could do nothing in the premises; but that if she would go to
Winnsboro' and present her request to Lord Cornwallis, he might possibly
be induced to give her an order for the liberation of the prisoner.
To Winnsboro', accordingly, she made her way, determined to lose no time
in presenting her application. It was on New Year's morning that she
entered the village. The troops were under parade, and his lordship was
engaged in reviewing them; there could be no admission, therefore, to
his presence for some time, and she had nothing to do but remain a
silent spectator of the imposing scene. A woman less energetic, and less
desirous of improving every opportunity for the good of others, might
have sought rest after the fatigues of her journey, during the hours her
business had to wait; Sarah McCalla was one of heroic stamp, whose
private troubles never caused her to forget what she might do for her
country. She passed the time in noticing particularly every thing she
saw, not knowing but that her report might do service. After the lapse
of several hours, the interview she craved with Cornwallis was granted.
He received her with courtesy and kindness, listened attentively to all
she had to say, and appeared to feel pity for her distresses. But his
polished expression of sympathy, to which her hopes clung with
desperation, was accompanied with regret that he could not, consistently
with the duties of his Majesty's service, comply unconditionally with
her request. He expressed, nevertheless, entire willingness to enter
into an exchange with General Sumter, releasing McCalla for any prisoner
he had in his possession. Or he would accept the pledge of General
Sumter that McCalla should not again serve until exchanged, and would
liberate him on that security. "But, madam," he added, "it is Sumter
himself who must stand pledged for the keeping of the parole. We have
been too lenient heretofore, and have let men go who immediately made
use of their liberty to take up arms against us."
With this the long-tried wife was forced to be content, and she now saw
the way clear to the accomplishment of her enterprise. She lost no time
in returning home, and immediately set out for Charlotte to seek aid
from the American general. She found Sumter at this place, nearly
recovered of the wounds he had received in the action at Blackstock's,
in November. Her appeal to him was at once favorably received. He gave
her a few lines, stating that he would stand pledged for McCalla's
continuance at home peaceably until he should be regularly exchanged.
This paper was more precious than gold to the matron whose perseverance
had obtained it; but it was destined to do her little good. She now made
the best of her way homeward. After crossing the Catawba, she
encountered the army of General Morgan, was stopped, being suspected to
be a tory, and taken into his presence for examination. The idea that
she could be thus suspected afforded her no little amusement, and she
permitted the mistake to continue for some time, before she produced the
paper in Sumter's hand-writing which she well knew would remove every
difficulty. She then informed the General of her visit to Winnsboro' on
the first of January, and her sight of the review of the troops. Morgan
thanked her for the information and dismissed her, and without further
adventure she arrived at her own house.
A few days after her return, the British army, being on its march from
Winnsboro', encamped on the plantation of John Service, in Chester
district, and afterwards at Turkey creek. Mrs. McCalla went to one of
those camps in the hope of seeing Lord Cornwallis. She succeeded in
obtaining this privilege; his lordship recognised her as soon as she
entered the camp, and greeted her courteously, questioning her as to her
movements, and making many inquiries about Sumter and Morgan. On this
last point she was on her guard, communicating no more information than
she felt certain could give the enemy no manner of advantage, nor
subject her friends to inconvenience. At length she presented to the
noble Briton the paper which she imagined would secure her husband's
freedom. What was her disappointment when he referred her to Lord
Rawdon, as the proper person to take cognizance of the affair! The very
name was a death-blow to her hopes, for she well knew she could expect
nothing from his clemency. Remonstrance and entreaty were alike in vain;
Cornwallis was a courteous man, but he knew how, with a bland smile and
well-turned phrase of compliment, to refuse compliance even with a
request that appealed so strongly to every feeling of humanity, as that
of an anxious wife pleading for the suffering and imprisoned father of
her children. She must submit, however, to the will of those in power;
there was no resource but another journey to Camden, in worse than doubt
of the success she had fancied just within her reach.
It was a day or two after the battle of the Cowpens that she crossed the
ferry on her way to Camden. She had not yet heard of that bloody action,
but, observing that the guard was doubled at the ferry, concluded that
something unusual had occurred. As she entered the village, she met her
old friend Major Doyle, who stopped to speak to her. His first inquiry
was if she had heard the news; and when she answered in the negative, he
told her of the "melancholy affair" that had occurred at the Cowpens.
The time, he observed, was most inauspicious for the business on which
he knew she had come. "I fear, madam," he said, "that his lordship will
not treat you well."
"I have no hope," was her answer, "that he will let Thomas go home; but,
sir, it is my duty to make efforts to save my husband. I will thank you
to go with me to Lord Rawdon's quarters."
Her reception was such as she had expected. As soon as Rawdon saw her,
he cried angrily, "You here again, madam! Well--you want your husband--I
dare say! Do you not know what the ----
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/39079