The Old Bell of Independence Or Philadelphia in 1776 Part 6

"Grandfather," said Thomas Jefferson Harmar, "wont you tell us something about Mad Anthony Wayne?"

"Who learnt you to call him Mad Anthony Wayne?" inquired Higgins.

"That's what grandfather calls him," replied the boy.

"Yes," said old Harmar; "we always called him Mad Anthony--he was such a dare-devil. I don't believe, if that man, when alone, had been surrounded by foes, they could really have made him afraid."

"He was a bold and skilful general," remarked Morton. "He was equal to Arnold in those qualities, and superior to him in all others."

"I think I can see him now, at Morristown, in the midst of the mutineers, with his c.o.c.ked pistol in his hand, attempting to enforce orders--an action that no other man would have thought of doing under such circ.u.mstances." "He did his duty," said Wilson; "but the men cannot be censured for their conduct. They had received no pay for many months, were without sufficient clothing to protect them from the weather, and sometimes without food. If they had not been fighting for freedom and their country's rights, they never could have stood it out."

"One of the best things Wayne ever did," said Smith, "was that manoeuvre of his in Virginia, where the British thought they had him surely in a net."

"What manoeuvre was that?" inquired Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"Why, you see, General Lafayette was endeavoring to avoid a general action with Cornwallis, and yet to hara.s.s him. Early in July, 1781, the British army marched from Williamsburg, and encamped on the banks of the James River, so as to cover a ford leading to the island of Jamestown.

Soon after, the baggage and some of the troops pa.s.sed the ford, but the main army kept its ground. Lafayette then moved from his encampment, crossed the Chichahominy, pushed his light troops near the British position, and advanced with the continentals to make an attempt on the British rear, after the main body had pa.s.sed the river. The next day, the Marquis was told that the main body of the British had crossed the ford, and that a rear-guard only remained behind. This was what the British general wanted him to believe, and he posted his troops ready to receive our men. Well, General Wayne, with eight hundred men, chiefly of the Pennsylvania line, (including Mr. Harmar, Mr. Higgins, Mr. Wilson, and myself,) was ordered to advance against the enemy. Now, Wayne thought he had to fight a rear-guard only, and so he moved forward boldly and rapidly; but, in a short time, he found himself directly in front of the whole British army, drawn up to receive him. Retreat was impracticable, as the enemy then might have had a fair chance to kill or capture the whole detachment. Wayne thought that the best plan was to put on a bold face, and so he commenced the attack at once. A fierce and b.l.o.o.d.y struggle followed, and I'm not sure but we were gaining the advantage, when General Lafayette discovered the mistake and ordered a retreat, and we were compelled to fall back, leaving two cannon in the hands of the enemy. By General Wayne's presence of mind and courage, you see, we got off with but the loss of one hundred men. The British lost the same number."

"The Marquis was, of course, right in ordering a retreat," remarked young Harmar.

"I suppose so," replied Smith. "Our detachment might have made considerable havoc among the British, and, perhaps, if promptly supported, have maintained a long and doubtful battle. But General Lafayette wanted to save his men until a more certain contest could be brought about. He was a very young general--younger than Napoleon when he took command of the army of Italy; but all his movements about that time indicated that he was as skilful and vigilant as he was brave."

"Americans should ever be grateful to the memory of such a man as Lafayette," said old Harmar. "He was a true lover of liberty, and a staunch friend to this land when it most needed friends."

"And that reminds me," added young Harmar, "that I've a song here, which I wrote for one of the papers, in relation to Lafayette. It is arranged in the measure of the feeling melody of 'Auld Lang Syne.'"

"Sing it," said Mr. Smith; and the request was echoed by the rest.

Mr. Jackson Harmar, therefore, after sundry excuses in the usual routine--that he had a cold, &c.--sang the following words in a very emphatic manner, with an occasional break in the high notes, and huskiness in the low ones.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot And never brought to mind?

The friend that's true, remember'd not, And days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear, We never can forget; When dangers press'd, and foes drew near, Our friend was Lafayette.

When first our fathers bravely drew 'Gainst tyrants and their laws, On wings of generous zeal he flew To aid the holy cause.

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

He stemm'd the broad Atlantic wave; He vow'd they should be free; He led the bravest of the brave To death or victory.

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

Let Brandywine his glory tell, And Monmouth loud proclaim; Let York in triumph proudly swell The measure of his fame.

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

Shall sons of freedom e'er forget, Till time shall cease to move, The debt they owe to Lafayette Of grat.i.tude and love?

For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.

The song was listened to with considerable pleasure by the company, and there was an occasional attempt, on the part of the veterans, to join in the chorus, which, however, ended in a slight cough and shaking of the head, as if the attempt was hopeless.

"There's good sentiment in that song," remarked Smith. "It stirs the heart."

"Mr. Harmar, did you say the piece was your own composition?" inquired Morton.

"It is one of my humble efforts," modestly replied Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"I'm very glad there are some young men left who can write something else besides the love trash that's so popular," said Mr. Higgins. Old men generally have a strong aversion or lofty contempt for everything relating to the love matters of youth.

"Everything has its time," was the sage remark of Mr. Jackson Harmar; "or, in the more popular phrase of Mr. Shakespeare, 'Every dog will have his day!'"

"I should like to see patriotic songs more popular," remarked Morton; and it is highly probable the conversation would have continued on this subject, but Mrs. Harmar and the children kept up a constant clamor for more stories, and old Harmar consented to amuse them and the rest of the company with a story which, he said, he had seen in several papers, and told in several different ways, none of which were correct. The true circ.u.mstances he would then relate in order that his son might make a story of it for his forthcoming work,--"Legends of the Times that tried Men's Souls."

STORY OF THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES.

"In the fall and winter of 1776," began Mr. Harmar, "the people of New Jersey experienced their full share of the miseries of civil war. During no period of the Revolutionary contest did the enemy's troops act more cruelly or more unlike civilized men. As they marched through the Jerseys, driving our poor 'rebel' army before them, they committed all kinds of outrages on helpless women and old men; but this conduct was destined to recoil upon the heads of the foe. The people were roused to resist the invaders, and the militia was organised throughout the State--silently but surely. Our victories at Trenton and Princeton were received as the signals for action. As the enemy retired on Brunswick, they were followed by the exasperated farmers, and hara.s.sed terribly.

But, at the time when my story commences, the red-coats were in quiet possession of New Jersey, from Burlington to New York. General Washington had come over on this side of the Delaware.

"It was late in December. The weather was bitter cold, and the enemy seldom stirred from their quarters to visit the interior of the State.

This respite would have been refreshing to the hara.s.sed farmer, if the withdrawal of the regular troops had not left free play for the more desperate servants of King George, or others who pretended to be such.

One of these pretenders was named f.a.gan. He was the leader of about twenty ruffians as free from any particle of human feeling as himself.

There was no romance about the black character of f.a.gan; he was a perfect wretch; he robbed for gain, and murdered to conceal the robbery.

The hiding-place of the band was in the pine barrens of New Jersey, and they thence received the name of 'the pine robbers' from the people of the country. Their violence and cruelty towards women and even children had made them the terror of all cla.s.ses. The whigs charged their doings on the tories and refugees; but the robbers were against both parties.

They plundered a tory in the name of the continentals, and were true to the Crown when a whig chanced to be in their power.

"Well, I'm going to tell you about one of their exploits. Not many miles from Trenton, on the road to Bordentown, was the farm-house of Nathaniel Collins, a Quaker, but who was not strict enough for his sect. He was disowned by them on account of encouraging his two sons to join the continental army, and for showing a disposition to do the same himself.

He was about sixty years old at the time of which I speak, but still a large, powerful man, with the glow of health on his cheek and intelligence in his eye. Though disowned by the Quaker sect, Nathaniel Collins retained their dress, manners, and habits, and always defended them from the attacks of their enemies.

"One night, the old Quaker, his wife Hannah, cousin Rachel, and daughter Amy, were sitting up till a very late hour. They expected Nathan's sons home from the Continental army. These sons had chosen the night to cross the river, to avoid the notice of the Hessians at Trenton. Well, the family waited till the clock struck one, but the sons did not appear, and Nathan was getting impatient. At last footsteps were heard on the road.

"'There they are at last!' eagerly exclaimed Amy.

"'Let me see,' said Nathan, as, with the placid manner characteristic of a Friend, he moved to a window which commanded a view of the kitchen door, at which a knocking had commenced. He could distinguish six men, armed and equipped like militia, and another, whose pinioned arms proclaimed him a prisoner. His sons were not of the party; and as the persons of the strangers were unknown, and the guise of a militia-man was often a.s.sumed by f.a.gan, our friend was not 'easy in his mind how to act.' His first idea was to feign deafness; but a second knock, loud enough to wake all but the dead, changed his intention--he raised the window and hailed the men:

"'Friends, what's your will?'

'A little refreshment of fire and food, if you please; we have been far on duty, and are half frozen and quite starved.' 'We don't entertain them who go to war.'

'Yes; but you will not refuse a little refreshment to poor fellows like us, this cold night; that would be as much against the principles of your society as war.'

'Thee's from Trenton?'

'No, I thank you; Nathaniel Collins is too well known as a friend to the country, and an honest man, to aid a refugee--we know that.'

'Soap the old fox well,' whispered one of the band.

'Come, friend, make haste and let us in, we are almost perished, and have far to go before sunrise, or we may change places with our prisoner here before sunset.'

'But what does the party here, this side of the river, right under the Hessians' nose, if--'

'Oh, we are minute-men, sent from within by Captain Smallcross, to seize this deserter--don't you mean to let us in?'

"Nathaniel closed the window and said, 'I don't know what to make of these men. Amy, call the boys; tell them to make haste and bring their guns, but keep them out of sight, where they will be handy.'