\ 
 
 TALES; 
 
 AND REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 BY MRS. C. R. WILLIAMS, 
 
 Author of " Religion at Home," " Original Poem*," &c. 
 
 Perhaps in this inglorious spot is laid 
 A heart once pregnant with celestial fire, 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway d, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his Country s blood." 
 
 H. H. BROWN. ...PRINTER, 
 
 No. If,, Market Squaw. . 
 
 1830. 
 
RHODE-ISLAND DISTRICT, so. 
 
 [L. S.] Be it remembered, That on the 9th day 
 of July, 130, and in the fifty fifth year of the Independ 
 ence of the United States of America, CATHARINE R. 
 WILLIAMS, of said District, deposited in this Office the 
 title of a book, whereof she claims as author, in the 
 following words, viz. " Tales National and Revolu 
 tionary. By Mrs. C. R. Williams, author of " Religion 
 at Home," " Original Poerns," &c. 
 
 " Perhaps in this inglorious spot is laid 
 " A heart once pregnant with celestial fire, 
 Hands that the rod of empire xnight.have swayed, 
 " Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." 
 
 * ^ * * , . * * * 
 
 * * > * - * * * 
 
 " Some mure, inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 
 " Some Cromwell, guiltless of his Country s blood^." 
 
 In conformity to an act of Congress of the United States, 
 entitled " An Act for the encouragement of learning, by 
 securing the copies of maps, charts and books to the au 
 thors and proprietors of such copies, during the time 
 therein mentioned, and also to an Act entitled " An Act 
 supplementary to an Act entitled an Act for the encour 
 agement of learning, by securing the cjpies of maps, 
 charts and books to the authors and proprietors of 
 such copies, during the times therein mentioned, and 
 extending the benefit thereof to the art of designing, em- 
 graving and etching historical or other prints. " 
 Witness, 
 
 BENJAMIN COWELL, 
 Clerk of the Rhode-Island District. 
 
?$: 
 
 If 33 
 
 M 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 I AM persuaded that no other apology is needed, 
 in presenting this humble Volume to the notice of an 
 enlightened public, than what its Title affords. To 
 most persons, and to all who love their country 
 every thing, however remotely connected with the 
 history of that war which terminated in our National 
 Independence, will be interesting. 
 
 It is true that the public events worthy to be re 
 corded, are generally found detailed with truth and 
 accuracy on the pages of history; but there are many 
 of a minor nature, which had great influence in the 
 destiny of our Country, as yet "unsung," the total 
 recollection of which, is fast fading from the memory 
 of man. The last generation are passing from the 
 stage of action. A few, and but a very few, heroes 
 of the Revolution still linger, and they linger upon 
 the threshhold of eternity. Before another half cen 
 tury shall have elapsed, the names the very names 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 of many of our bravest countrymen shall have perish 
 ed from the face of the earth. Yes, the existence of 
 many who have gloriously fought and bled for the 
 liberties we are enjoying, the blessings we are now 
 in possession of, will have been forgotten. 
 
 There is in our truly republican country such a 
 disdain of all hereditary distinction, (and long may 
 it be so,) as greatly to accelerate the event to 
 which I allude. It was not without some truth that 
 an English writer asserted, " there were many in 
 America who could not remember the names of their 
 grand-fathers." Yet, setting aside the vain preten 
 sions of those who lay claim to public favor on ac 
 count of their descent, there is a pleasure in contem 
 plating the descendants of the good and there is 
 also a use, a holy use, in retracing the history of our 
 progenitors, and marking the hand of God, the won 
 der-working Providence of an Almighty Being, in 
 conducting their elevation or their downfall; and 
 perhaps of their alternate exaltation and abasement. 
 Aside from this, there will be a charm to posterity, 
 in the history of even the most humble of our an 
 cestors, who lived in the times that " tried men s 
 souls." To them it will probably one day be as great 
 a wonder, as it has been to other nations of the earth, 
 that a people unskilled in war, trained only to the 
 arts of peace, and the great mass to that most peace- 
 
PREFACE. T 
 
 ful of all employments, agriculture, should have 
 been able to cope with a great and warlike nation, 
 and be successful in throwing off the yoke of power. 
 
 And there will be another wonder, too and that, 
 that after being trained in a camp, and inured to the 
 horrors of all-destroying war, each citizen could 
 again cheerfully return to his fireside, to the shades 
 of private life, and beating swords into plow-shares 
 and spears into pruning-hooks, set down content 
 in obscurity, unmindful of or disregarding the 
 honor and emoluments which in all other countries 
 are considered as the reward of the brave; and form 
 in reality, the laurels of victory. Their characters 
 will then have acquired a due estimate, and every 
 thing relating to the private history of even the most 
 obscure individual among them, will become intense 
 ly interesting. 
 
 And why not of private individuals! It is to the 
 common soldier and sailor that our country is indebt 
 ed for its freedom, as all its great Generals have 
 been willing to acknowledge. We have seen proof 
 of this in the present day, when, (to name one in 
 stance out of a hundred,) what would have become 
 of New-Orleans, if it had not been for the common 
 soldier] Vain would have been the skill of their 
 Commander. Yes, all in vain would the energies of 
 his powerful and fearless spirit have exerted them- 
 
\ l PREFACE. 
 
 selves, if his brave volunteers had not stood by him. 
 Useless the foresight and the firmness which had 
 detected and destroyed the combination of foes with 
 out and treachery within, without their prompt co 
 operation and dauntless resolution in the day of bat 
 tle. And the greatest General of our age himself 
 affirmed it. 
 
 Every account, too, of the heroism of our fair 
 countrywomen, cannot fail at all times of accept 
 ance. We know that in the period of the Revolu 
 tion, one spirit actuated all classes and both sexes 
 and though we were not driven to the extremity of 
 having women take the field yet we may be assur 
 ed, that the encouragement which the language and 
 manners of females held out to perseverance in those 
 times of trial, had a great influence on society; and 
 had occasion called for it, we should have seen them 
 rivalling the females of antiquity, and exhibiting the 
 same spirit that characterized the women of France, 
 during the reign of terror, and of still more suffering 
 Greece. 
 
 The history of a humble and obscure individual 
 may serve for an exemplification. The first story in 
 this book was penned from a relation given by an 
 aged woman, whose adventures had often been spo 
 ken of as furnishing a wonderful page in the romance 
 of real life. She was seventy-six years old when it 
 
PREFACE. Vil 
 
 was taken, in the year 1823. Since this time her 
 statement has been confirmed by many communica 
 tions to the Author, and by a packet of papers which 
 has fallen into her hands. Some of the facts, how 
 ever, the writer was previously acquainted with, and 
 several things in the life of the Narrator had been 
 particularly described many years since, by some of 
 those who have long been inhabitants of the eternal 
 world. She herself has now been dead several years; 
 her plain, unvarnished Story lies before me, and it 
 would be quite a curiosity to give it in the language 
 of olden time, with all the quaint and curious re 
 marks which her truly original mind suggested. 
 But as her story is somewhat broken, and the blanks 
 have been filled up by other persons, I shall not at 
 tempt to introduce it in her style. 
 

 
TALE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF ROSANNA EDDY. 
 
 " Ob Solitude, where are the charms 
 
 " Which sages have seen in Uiy lace? 
 " Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
 
 " Thau to reigu in this horrible place." 
 
 ABOUT one hundred years ago, there resided in 
 the town of Warwick, (R. I.) a poor but honest 
 man, of the name of Hicks. He was the owner of a 
 small farm, which constituted all his worldly posses 
 sions, if we except an industrious wife and two small 
 children. The farm, if such it could be called, be 
 ing a very small plat of land, with industry and econ 
 omy, in that simple age, would have comfortably 
 supported them, if it had not been for the near 
 neighborhood of the tribe of Narragansett Indians, 
 whose continual though petty depredations was a 
 source of endless vexation and impoverishment, to 
 those who had the misfortune to be nearest to them. 
 It was true the voice of war was no longer heard on 
 their borders. The Pequods and Narragansetts had 
 glutted themselves with blood, to the almost total ex 
 termination of one tribe, a general peace reigned at 
 this time, and the bloody tomahawk and deadly hatch 
 et seemed buried forever. Yet the inhabitants could 
 
10l TAf-ES NATIONAL 
 
 n<>t forg?e what had be^n, and the aggressions of the 
 Narraganseits were therefore winked at. No one 
 seemed inclined to arouse the latent spirit of revenge. 
 When therefore any of them chose to walk into a 
 potato plat or cornfield, and load themselves with 
 the produce, the general method used to be to keep 
 out of sight; for as none of the white inhabitants 
 could look upon and tolerate such thieving, and they 
 dared not punish it, the only way was not to know 
 it. There were some, however, upon whom these 
 depredations fell hard, and poor Mr. Hicks was one, 
 and he had for some time resolved upon removing. 
 There was but one thing that caused him to hesitate, 
 and that was that all his wife s connections resided 
 in their vicinity. Many of them had been very kind 
 to him, and particularly a farmer who had married 
 his wife s sister, by name Oliver Read. This man 
 was poor like himself, though not like him the 
 son of a gentleman, Mr. Read s father having emi 
 grated from England many years before, with a con 
 siderable fortune, which he had wantonly dissipated 
 in luxury and extravagance. I think he closed his 
 career in Newport, (R. I.) but in what year I have 
 forgotten, leaving three sons, Eleazer, John and 
 Oliver, pennyless, to be brought up as chance should 
 direct, or as the vulgar saying is, " to scramble for 
 themselves." The three boys proved to be indus 
 trious, prudent and thriving young men, and many 
 of their descendants are now Jiving about the State, 
 and are among its most respectable inhabitants. 
 
 Mr. Read resolved upon removing to Newport, 
 and persuaded Mr. Hicks to accompany him; but he 
 hearing there w r as at this time a proclamation made 
 by one Mr. Ludlow for settlers on Cape May, 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 11 
 
 offering the liberal recompense of two thirds of all 
 land cleared and reduced to a state of cultivation, 
 resolved to go thither. Accordingly, somewhere 
 between the years 1730 and 40, after stirring up a 
 number of families in Warwick to embark with him 
 in the enterprise, they set sail. 
 
 The Cape was indeed a wilderness, and although 
 Mr. Ludlow himself had a large house, and a con 
 siderable number of slaves, they had made but little 
 improvement in the lands, except in his immediate 
 vicinity. The new emigrants found themselves in 
 troduced into the midst of a cedar swamp, where 
 they reared log huts and commenced clearing the land. 
 The most perfect solitude reigned throughout the 
 tract which the settlers now disturbed for the first 
 time with the sound of the axe and the hammer. 
 They soon found they had more formidable foes to 
 encounter than even the fierce Narragansetts. The 
 swamp was infested by bears, wolves and cata 
 mounts, who, although they did not disturb them 
 much in the day, never failed to prowl round their 
 dwellings by night, disturbing their slumbers by their 
 terrific howls, and vain attempts to enter. Besides 
 this, the place was beset with hosts of musketoes, 
 which obliged them to keep up a continual smoke 
 round the house. Every night each settler lighted a 
 pile of brush wood to keep off the wild beasts, and 
 serve as an additional protection to other modes of 
 defence. But adopt what expedients they might, 
 the nightly serenade long continued to disturb them; 
 and often they were awakened too, by the crawling 
 lizard, dragging its cold, slimy body over their faces 
 or hands several times. When awakened in this 
 manner, they discovered to their infinite terror, a 
 
12 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 wolf or some other wild animal looking down the 
 chimney hole; and the repetition of this alarm, at 
 length convinced them there must be some secret 
 instinct, that caused this little animal to warn them 
 on the approach of danger.* 
 
 The several families that emigrated from Warwick 
 refused to place their huts remote from each other; 
 they therefore erected them within short distances, 
 and formed in the centre of the little settlement a 
 common enclosure for their cattle. Sometimes they 
 were let out to graze, and they could not but observe 
 with admiration the instinct of these creatures, in 
 making for the burning pile, (which was never suf 
 fered to go out, night or day,) when pursued by wild 
 beasts. On one occasion, as some of the emigrants 
 were sitting in the door of their hut in the cool of the 
 day, they were alarmed by the approach of the cat 
 tle; the whole came flying past, followed by an ox 
 with a catamount on his back; his talons were fas 
 tened in the flesh, and he was gnawing off the ox s 
 tail, which he had nearly devoured. The tormented 
 animal sprung into the burning brush, when the cat 
 amount fled. 
 
 Mr. Ludlow occasionally gave great assistance toi 
 the new settlers, but the difficulties were so great as 
 to dishearten many. The plague of most new coun 
 tries, the fever and ague, soon made its appearance 
 among them; several died with it, and others linger 
 ing, came off in search of health. In about three 
 years, two or three families discouraged, moved back 
 
 * They were probably right in supposing it. There 
 have been instances of the sagacity of this little creature 
 related by settlers in our Western wilds, that ccrtainlj 
 challenge belief. They called them Swifts. 
 
*ND REVOLUTIONARY. 13 
 
 again to Warwick; but their places were soon filled 
 by others, and emigrants from different States soon 
 began to settle in their vicinity. Still their lonely 
 and isolated situation subjected them to many diffi 
 culties. By a singular providence, however, the fam 
 ily of Mr. Hicks were the only ones who entirely es 
 caped the^fever arid ague; and this was extraordi 
 nary, as the^ were more exposed- Jp" the damp of 
 night than most of their neighboggri.f--Mrs. Hicks be 
 ing one of those kind, bene^pnt women who are 
 always ready to attend the sicK and afflicted, she was 
 frequently summoned from her bed in the dead of the 
 night, to minister to the diseased. On one occasion 
 she was sent for to visit a sick child in the middle of 
 the night, at a residence a mile off. They had to 
 cross the swamp upon a kind of bridge of brush 
 wood piled several feet high, and to pick their way 
 with lighted pitch knots, which served the double 
 purpose of a guide and defence from wilo^ animals. 
 With all the dispatch they could use, the child was 
 dead long before they got there, and the afflicted 
 mother, who was entirely alone with it, despairing 
 of human help, had laid it out with her own hands. 
 In after life, Mrs. Hicks used frequently to speak 
 of the instances of fortitude and presence of mind 
 whic.h she witnessed during her residence at the 
 Cape, and to relate this anecdote. 
 
 During their residence there, which I think was 
 about ten years, the settlers had brought a large 
 tract of land into a state of cultivation, built many 
 very decent houses, and seen the neighborhood 
 grow up and flourish. But many of them, and Mr. 
 Hicks among the number, had failed to get attach - 
 d to the place, and was determined not to spend 
 
14 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 his days there. He therefore resolved to remove 
 and induced by the persuasions of Mr. Read, 
 who had now been several years settled in New 
 port, he resolved upon removing thither. 
 
 With some difficulty he disposed of his house 
 and land for a very moderate compensation, and 
 expended the sum in the purchase of a small brig 
 at New-York, which he loaded with cedar lumber 
 at the Cape, and proceeded with his family, and 
 one or two others, who went as passengers, to 
 Newport. 
 
 Before the little vessel had been out twenty-four 
 hours, a storm overtook her, in which they were 
 drifted about at the mercy of the winds and waves, 
 the vessel having parted her cables and lost her 
 anchor: their lumber too was obliged to be all 
 thrown overboard. But at length they arrived at 
 Newport, pennyless, and in a most shattered con 
 dition. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 1 Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
 " Such claim compassion in a night like this, 
 " And have a frieud in every feeling heart." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 WORN out with terror, exposure, and bodily suf 
 fering, the wife of Mr. Hicks, attended with a young 
 family of children, presented themselves in the dusk 
 of the evening at the hospitable door of Mr. Read, 
 and were received with that cheering welcome, and 
 frank hospitality so characteristic of the times. Mr. 
 Hicks had become almost discouraged, but his 
 friends in Newport continued to soothe him, and 
 teach him to look for better days. The family of 
 Mr. Read inhabited a small one story house, which 
 might well be called a cottage, near the first beach in 
 R. Island, and close to a windmill; which is still stand 
 ing, though the cottage has long since disappeared. 
 There was very little room in the building for the 
 accommodation of guests, but no apologies or com 
 plaints of hard fare were ever heard from the lips of 
 its inmates. The family of Mr. Hicks with their 
 brood of little children were carefully stowed away, 
 and beneath their hospitable roof Rosanna their 
 youngest child, and the narrator of this story was 
 born in a few days after their landing. 
 
 With the greatest tenderness Mrs. Read nursed 
 and attended her sick sister, and her family until her 
 restoration to health, and the settlement of her hus- 
 
16 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 band, who made out to dispose of the dismasted brig, 
 and finding a tenement in the neighborhood, procur 
 ed such work as he could do. At the birth of little 
 Rosanna, Mrs. Read, who named her after herself, 
 adopted her as her own, and agreed to receive her as 
 soon as she should be old enough to take her from 
 her mother, as an inmate of her family, and to bring 
 her up with her own daughter Amey. Accordingly 
 she received her from her mother, in the course of a 
 few years, and tho 1 they were poor, Mr. Read then sub 
 sisting by tending the mill which he had hired, they 
 never had cause to repent of it. They were amply 
 rewarded by her faithful services and the attachment 
 afterwards manifested towards every branch of their 
 family. 
 
 The oldest daughter of Mr. Hicks was taken by 
 a relation in Warwick, where she was soon married 
 to an excellent young man; she there became a mem 
 ber of what was called the English Church, and "dur 
 ing the few years she lived, exhibited an example of 
 piety which seemed much above this world and it 
 undoubtedly was, as she was suddenly summoned to 
 a better, just after the birth of her first child. Her 
 descendants by that child, a daughter, still live in the 
 town of Warwick. Several of their friends and, 
 connections continued their kindness to Mr. Hicks 
 and family during the past years of their life, but 
 the hardships and losses of the early part of it dis 
 couraged him, and he continued a poor man to the 
 end of his days. 
 
 Rosa in the mean time grew up under the hos 
 pitable roof of her aunt Read. She was, though 
 treated with much kindness, always obliged to work 
 hard; they sometimes had a large family, having sev- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 17 
 
 tral times attempted to take boarders, and their 
 daughter, who always had delicate health, was of but 
 little assistance to her mother in the domestic way. 
 The first real trouble of Rosa, was the loss of her 
 kind protector and second father, Mr. Read, who 
 was suddenly called from time to eternity, a few 
 years after her residence in the family. 
 
 Previous to this event, Rosa had been addressed 
 by a young man in the neighborhood, whose preten 
 sions Mr. Read warmly opposed, and finally forbid 
 Rosa admitting him to the house ; she accordingly 
 desired the young man to stay away and aTowed her 
 determination to conform to the wishes of her guard 
 ian with respect to choosing a husband. Soon after 
 this Mr. Read was one day affected with a slight in 
 disposition, and leaving some one to take his place 
 at the mill, remained sitting by the fireside. Rosa 
 had been preparing some broth for him, when after 
 drinking it, he began to question her with respect to 
 the admission of her lover to the house the night be 
 fore. Rosa protested her innocence of all clandes 
 tine interviews, and particularly of the indecency of 
 admitting him into the house in the middle of the 
 night. Mr. Read then said " it was strange, he had 
 heard some one twice walk heavily across the great 
 room floor during the night, and he was sure no one 
 could get in unless they had been admitted by some 
 of the family" which was then small containing only 
 himself, wife and daughter, with Rosa. Resenting 
 the suspicion which she saw had fastened itself on 
 his mind, Rosa then turned hastily round, and was 
 walking away, when she heard the spoon drop, and 
 looking round, saw he had fallen back in his chair.^- 
 She flew to him, but death had done his work at a 
 
18 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 blow, life was entirely gone, and all the efforts of 
 his distressed family to recover him were ineffectual. 
 A physician was immediately called, who declared 
 human help was vain, and pronounced his death to 
 have been occasioned by the rising of the lights. 
 
 There now was an opportunity for Rosa to man 
 ifest her gratitude in efforts to console and support 
 her afflicted aunt, and they were not wanting. Mrs. 
 Read had a son Oliver Read who followed the seas, 
 and who avowed his determination to support the 
 family, and never to part with his mother. And her 
 daughter Amey was soon married to Mr. George 
 Brown, of Providence, and removed thither; about 
 the same time Oliver married a poor, but very beau 
 tiful girl by the name of Mary Sherman, and took 
 his mother into his family. Mrs. Brown insisted 
 upon taking Rosa with her. Previous however, to the 
 marriage of Capt. Read, Rosa had the happiness of 
 saving his life (to speak after the manner of men.) 
 
 Capt. Read was seized with a violent fever, which 
 soon arrived at the crisis. The physicians, as was 
 the custom in those days, forbid his having a drop 
 of cold water, and protested it would be almost in 
 stant death. On the day that the fever had got to 
 its height, he lay apparently dying ; his parched lips 
 and swollen tongue were nearly black; and as he had 
 become speechless, Mrs. Read and;,her daughter un 
 able to endure the sight of his last agonies, had re 
 tired to an inner room and consigned him to the 
 care of Rosa. She then thinking him dying, resolved 
 to try an experiment, which her own excellent judg 
 ment had suggested before, but it was forbidden ; 
 hastily snatching a pitcher, she ran to a spring a lit 
 tle distance from the house and filled it, then care- 
 
AiVU REVOLUTIONARY. 19 
 
 fully wetting his lips, she poured in a few drops from 
 a tea-spoon, successively, until with great difficulty 
 he swallowed it ; she persevered in her efforts until 
 he was enabled to articulate the word "more" in a 
 faint whisper; when gently raising his head, she held 
 a tumhler to his lips, and to her inexpressible de 
 light he swallowed the whole of it; in a few mo 
 ments he asked for more ; and Rosa gave him freely 
 as much as he wanted ; but she was terribly fright 
 ened after, as for a minute or two he appeared en 
 tirely gcme; and Rosa putting her hand to see if 
 his heart beat, perceived he was in an intense per 
 spiration. She called in Mrs. Read and her daugh 
 ter, when he soon began to revive, and was able 
 to speak, " Rosa has saved my life" were the 
 first words. The physician happened just then to 
 call in, who pronounced the fever broke, and the 
 patient in a fairway of recovery. They then found 
 out what she had done, and the Doctor was candid 
 enough to say, it undoubtedly had been the means 
 of saving the patient. 
 
20 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NARRATIVE CONTINUED. 
 
 L.IFE OP CAPTAIN OLIVER READ. 
 
 " I look d, and clad in early light, 
 "The spires of Boston rose to sight: 
 "While morn o er eastern hills afar, 
 " Illum d the varying scenes of war ; 
 " Each summit far as eye commands, 
 " Shone peopled with rebellious bands." 
 
 Trumbull. 
 
 THE narrative of Rosa has so connected the his 
 tory of Capt. Read and family with her own event 
 ful life, that I know not how to separate them. 
 Yet most of the succeeding chapters relate to the af 
 fairs of her brave and heroic relative, and the suffer 
 ings of his family. 
 
 After Capt. Read s marriage, Rosa departed with 
 Mrs. Brown to Providence. There she continued 
 to reside, with occasional visits to her aunt and cous 
 in in Newport. Capt. Read continued to occupy the 
 small cottage near the mill, which belonged to his 
 mother, and successfully to follow the seas, until the 
 commencement of the revolutionary war : that event 
 found him in the bosom of a happy family, consist 
 ing of his venerable mother,his wife and four children; 
 but there was now an end to tranquillity. Capt. 
 Read had long foreseen the approaching contest, and 
 such were his sentiments respecting the existing dif- 
 
AM) REVOLUTIONARY. 21 
 
 <~erence between the two countries, and his hatred 
 of every thing like oppression, that it might almost 
 be said he "burned for the fight." Let it not be 
 supposed from this that he was not a peaceable man, 
 for that was eminently the case in private life ; al 
 though a man of great spirit and undaunted resolu 
 tion, he was in general very forbearing. It was only 
 towards the foes of his country that he discovered 
 any tiling like an uncompromising spirit, and as his 
 anxious family had foreboded, the first call to arms 
 found him ready. The mustering of the army at 
 Roxbury, was the signal for him to be off. 
 
 By various hindrances of a domestic nature, Capt. 
 Read was prevented from sitting out for head quar 
 ters until within a few days oi the battle of Bunker 
 Hill. The delay cost him much vexation : and 
 news which arrived from day to day continued to 
 increase it. The account of the two skirmishes on 
 Noodle s Isl nd, and of Fettkk s and Deer s Island 
 a few days after, inflamed his patriotism to the high 
 est pitch, particularly as every oi.e felt persuaded it 
 was only the prelude to a greater effort. At length 
 it was rumored that the British designed to force the 
 intrenchments at Roxbury and proceed up the coun 
 try. This alarming intelligence hastened his de 
 parture, and like the war horse that smells the bat 
 tle from afar, "he could be restrained no longer, 
 but decided immediately to set out. As he drew 
 near the scene of action, the roads were lined with pa 
 triotic spirits, who learning the danger, had set out 
 like himself as volunteers in the reat cause, though 
 not like himself had left the peaceable employments 
 of agriculture, to defend the soil of which they 
 were proprietors. With "leathern apron, and rusty 
 
22 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 gun," many of these rural warriors looked like any 
 thing except soldiers. However their appearance 
 might strike, the veteran seaman as he occasionally 
 joined their company, he found they were not lacking 
 in spirit, and knowledge of the rights they were de 
 fending ; for 
 
 " Patriotism with torch addrest, 
 
 Had fired with zeal each loyal breast." 
 
 Unambitious of any distinction save that of fight 
 ing in his country s cause, Capt. Read had set out 
 to offer himself as a volunteer ; but among the num 
 bers of those who were now offering in the same 
 way from various places, a company was hastily 
 formed, and he appointed an officer in it, what the 
 office was, the writer has forgotten. The events of 
 the campaign are of more importance. 
 
 Whether it was because the British discovered 
 the Americans were apprised of the contemplated 
 attack on their intrenchments at Roxbury, or from 
 some other circumstance, Gen. Gage thought fit to 
 remain two days longer in statu quo, and during 
 this time, the Americans failed not to take advantage 
 of the delay, and strengthen their intrenchments. 
 They also concentrated their artillery and reinforced 
 this part of the army with all the militia of the adja 
 cent country. Had not this inaction of two days on 
 the part of the enemy here given time to strengthen 
 the forces in this quarter, the battle of Bunker Hill 
 would never have been fought. For they immedi 
 ately abandoned all thoughts of an attack in this 
 quarter and directed their views towards the penin 
 sula and neck of Charlestown. Orders were there 
 fore given to Col. William Prcscott to fortify the 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 23 
 
 heights of Bunkers Hill, which commanded the en 
 trance of the peninsula. 
 
 By some unaccountable mistake, Col. Prescott se 
 lected Breeds Hill, farther out in the peninsula, and 
 much nearer to Boston, and so near their garrison as 
 to reduce the two parties to the necessity of coming 
 to action immediately. Various opinions have been 
 hazarded as to the consequences of this mistake. 
 Some have urged that the coolness of the Americans 
 on taking a position so near the enemy was of great 
 er advantage to them than the superior security of 
 their position would have been on Bunkers Hill. 
 Others consider it as a great error. The intrepid 
 ity of our gallant countrymen was however display 
 ed in the greatest possible light in such a desperate 
 undertaking. It is known that they succeeded 
 by the greatest activity in constructing a fortification 
 capable of affording them shelter, during the night, 
 and that the labor was conducted with such silence, 
 that the enemy were not apprised of it until morning. 
 It was first discovered by the Capt. of an English 
 man of war, lying near the entrance of the harbor. 
 The report aroused the inhabitants of Boston, and 
 displayed to their astonished eyes the near neighbor 
 hood of the Provincials. It was from the guns of this 
 ship that the first American was killed: his name was 
 Gustavus Mumford of Greenwich (R. I.) He was, I 
 believe, an Ensign, and had been followed to the 
 camp the night before, by a most affectionate wife, 
 who was willing to brave all dangers in order to be 
 near her husband in the day of battle, and in case he 
 should be wounded, to succor him, and nurse him 
 with such care and tenderness as she judged no 
 other person could. The poor creature was destined 
 
24 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 to receive to her arms his headless trunk, even the 
 day before the battle. He was looking over the par 
 apet when his head was shot off by one of the guns of 
 the enemy. It is not our business to give a particu 
 lar history of the battle of Bunker Hill (as it will 
 always be called,) but of Breed s Hill in reality. 
 The "courage of the Provincials, as they were then 
 called ; and their fortitude in continuing their labors 
 on the fortification through the whole of that peril 
 ous day, placed immediately as they were, under the 
 artillery of the enemy, who rained down upon them 
 a tempest of bombs and balls, is too well known to 
 need description here. 
 
 The attack upon Breed s Hill it is known, was 
 commenced upon the 17th of June, between 12 and 
 1 o clock, in a tremendously hot day nevertheless 
 every person capable of leaving their houses, even 
 the most delicate females, were out the " hills from 
 whence the dread arena could be viewed, were cov 
 ered with swarms of spectators ; the Bostonians, and 
 the soldiers not in actual service were mounted upon 
 the spires, the roofs, and the heights," to view the 
 dreadful conflict. And when after the retreat of the 
 Americans, from the peninsula of Charlestown, who 
 left finding they were liable to be cut off from the rest 
 of the army, had given place to the British who 
 immediately fired it was discovered one universal 
 wail was heared from roof to roof, and house to 
 house, among the imprisoned inhabitants of Bos 
 ton. 
 
 This wanton act of barbarity of the English, which 
 was of no use to them, as the wind turned the smoke 
 and flames in a contrary direction, served but to 
 exasperate the Provincials to the highest pitch of 
 rage. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONAHT. 25 
 
 The gradual advance of the enemy and the ex 
 treme clearness of the air enabled the Provincials 
 to level their muskets with much effect ; they how 
 ever permitted them to approach quite near, and 
 waited the assault in profound tranquillity. But 
 now a severe and bloody engagement commenced ; 
 the Americans having all the advantage of position, 
 mowed down the ranks of the enemy until the 
 field of battle was covered with the bodies of their 
 slain ; and they retired in disorder to the landing. 
 In the mean while the wind continued to rise until 
 it blew furiously, and the flames of Charlestown 
 rose to a great height, and spread each moment 
 more and more. The wailing which the dreadful 
 scene occasioned was soon succeeded by shouts, 
 from every roof and height in Boston, on observ 
 ing the retreat of the foe. Twice were they repuls 
 ed with great slaughter, and retreated tow ards the 
 river, notwithstanding the precautions, and even 
 menaces of their officers; and at each time the accla 
 mations of captive patriots of Boston might be heard 
 even mingled with the cries of the wounded, the 
 groans of the dying and the continual roar of ar 
 tillery. White handkerchiefs were seen waving in 
 every direction, and when the retreat of the foe 
 was observed the second time, so great was the 
 rejoicing, that females many of them tore the hand 
 kerchiefs from their necks, and even fragments of 
 drapery from their white dresses to wave them in 
 the air in honor of the victors. (Could the Eng 
 lish have witnessed this patriotism of the females ; 
 of women who govern the world after all; and 
 ever have supposed that America could be con 
 quered! ) 
 
26 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 From the summit of Copps Hill, Clinton beheld 
 this ebullition of patriotism on the one hand, and 
 the retreat of the King s army on the other, and 
 fired with rage and shame, he immediately descend 
 ed and flew to " the rescue." Animated by his 
 persuasion and example, and the fresh succors which 
 he brought to the field, they once more renewed 
 the attack. The exhaustion of their ammunition alone 
 caused the retreat of the Americans; they had not 
 even bayonets to defend themselves with, neverthe 
 less they continued to defend themse Ives, with the 
 butt end of their muskets, and showering down 
 dirt and stones upon the heads of the assailants un 
 til the redoubt was nearly full of men, when their 
 General was obliged to give the signal of retreat. 
 The right wing of the army still continued to fight 
 upon the bank of the Mystic river, nor lost an 
 inch of ground until the redoubt and upper part 
 of the trench were in the power of the enemy. Their 
 prolonging the fight prevented the British from at 
 tacking the main body in the rear, when they must 
 inevitably either have been cut off or taken pris 
 oners. Their retreat was conducted with perfect 
 order, and though obliged to pass through a raking 
 fire from an English ship and two floating batte 
 ries, they made good their retreat from the Isth 
 mus of Charlestown, without any considerable loss 
 of life, and with the main body of the army 
 marched to Prospect Hill, where they entrenched 
 themselves. The British taking up their quarters 
 on Bunker Hill, both parties, for the present sus- 
 pen^iing further movements. The loss of the British 
 in men, must have been very great. The loss of the 
 brave Gen. Warren, of many worthy men also that 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 27 
 
 fell, the burning of Charlestown, and the loss of field 
 pieces, &c. obliged to be left on Breed s Hill, al 
 together tended greatly to exasperate the Americans, 
 and none more than Capt. Read, who now march 
 ed to Roxbury, to assist in strengthening the works 
 there there they worked under the continual fire of 
 the British from the garrison of Boston: several were 
 carried away dead each day from the works, yet 
 they continued to labor until the fortifications were 
 brought to the desired state. This with the idea of 
 their suffering countrymen within the city, many of 
 whom were literally perishing with hunger, and who 
 yet were not permitted to come out, was exceeding 
 ly trying to the feelings of the besiegers, but as there 
 was a necessity of starving out the garrison, they 
 still continued to harrass them in skirmishes when 
 ever they attempted to come out for forage or pro 
 visions ; and frequent were the rencounters between 
 parties of each army on occasions of this kind. 
 Among many of those, the subject of this present 
 memoir distinguished himself. But we must look 
 back to Newport. 
 
ft TALBi NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 K I ee in gloom s tempestuous stand, 
 " The clouds descending o er the land. 
 " I hear the din of battle fray, 
 " The trump of horror marks its way." 
 
 PERHAPS there is no place in our country, that 
 presented so delightful a prospect to the eye of the 
 traveller as Newport, at the commencement of the 
 war. Its situation, every one knows, is unrivalled. 
 Travellers have styled it the " Eden of America," 
 and we have reason to suppose, that in its then 
 flourishing state, it must have deserved the appel 
 lation. Every person of note, who visited the 
 country, failed not to judge for himself; and New 
 port owed much to the strangers of wealth and 
 distinction, who made it their temporary abode. 
 The streets resounded with the hum of business, 
 and the sails of many nations whitened the capa 
 cious harbor, from which one of the most en 
 chanting prospects presented itself. The land ris 
 ing in a gentle ascent from the sea, naturally 
 fertile, and abounding with beautiful seats and 
 grounds, laid out in English style, where the hand 
 of taste and cultivation had exerted itself to the 
 utmost, to embellish what nature had done much 
 for. The residences of the great, many of them 
 more resembling palaces, than ordinary habita 
 tions and their dazzling equipages, were al 
 ternately seen through the foliage, or sweep- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 29 
 
 ing through the streets, in all the vain parade of 
 earthly and evanescent splendor. How changed 
 the scene in a few short years ! Who that has 
 stood beside the mouldering pillar and seen the 
 fretted roof falling piece by piece, unheeded who 
 that has visited the desolate apartments where once 
 the song of mirth and joy went round, and seen the 
 rank grass growing on the lofty step, and the fine 
 ly wrought ballustrade corroding with rust and 
 neglect but has dropped a tear to the memory of 
 fallen greatness, of buried splendor 1* But to re 
 turn from the state of society, it will be easy to 
 imagine, that the friends of royalty in Newport 
 were very numerous at the commencement of the 
 war, and although from its naturally exposed sit 
 uation, and the entire destitution of every means 
 of defence ; the warmest friends of liberty could have 
 nothing to hope for; yet it may be questioned if Jack- 
 son,and all his brave associates had been there to guard 
 it, it could have been rescued he would probably 
 have found it harder work to put down treason 
 here, than even among the motley population of 
 
 * The traces of their manners are yet discernible. 
 There is no place in our country where so much aris 
 tocracy still prevails. It would be an amusing employ 
 ment (if one had no better business,) to observe the pride 
 of pedigree that exists beneath many a roof that scarcely 
 serves as a shelter to its inmates. But there is one re 
 deeming point in their character worthy of notice, and 
 that is, the very little respect which the mere possession 
 of property alone procures here. It is extremely difficult 
 for persons of yesterday, as the phrase is, " with all the 
 pomp and circumstance of riches, to worm themselves 
 into what is called good society. 
 
80 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 New-Orleans. Many had the honor to avow their 
 sentiments openly, and not a few left the country, 
 and their property to confiscation. But treason 
 still lurked behind, and informers were not wanting 
 here, as in many places, to give notice to the ene- 
 iny, " when and where to strike. 33 Peace to their 
 ashes ! Doubtless they lived long enough to be con 
 vinced of their folly. The history of some of 
 them is written in blood. 
 
 When Capt. Read first expressed the resolution 
 to join the army at Roxbury, his wife and many 
 of his friends remonstrated with him, and urged 
 his remaining at Newport, as the danger of an at 
 tack there was greater than at almost any other 
 place. But he argued the resistance of the few 
 who would attempt resistance, would be unavail 
 ing; and counselling his family, in case of alarm, 
 to depart immediately for Providence, and giving 
 them some general directions with regard to their 
 safety, in those perilous times, he departed. 
 
 Of course there were not many days passed with 
 out successive alarms,* and at length Wallace and 
 his ships made their appearance off the harbor. The 
 bustle of alarm was universal; but Mrs. Read, who 
 was a woman of singular courage, had determined 
 upon remaining, even in case of the capture of the 
 town, although their house was in one of the most 
 exposed situations. She appeared to feel no fear, 
 and resolutely kept her ground, in a remote, although 
 exposed place, with no other inhabitants in the 
 building with her, except four young children and an 
 old man, a relative of the family, who happened to 
 
 41 Admiral Grave commanded. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 31 
 
 be a lodger with them, quite superannuated. The 
 entreaties and remonstrances of her friends and ac 
 quaintance, who had for some time been daily de 
 parting from the Island, availed nothing. 
 
 It is known that nothing was effected by the block 
 ade of Wallace, except creating confusion. This he 
 accomplished in an eminent degree, parading his 
 ships around the harbor, and daily sending threaten 
 ing messages to the inhabitants of the town; the 
 most usual of which was, that " He was going to 
 burn the town next day." At length, taking his 
 station on the west side of Conannicut Island, and 
 dispersing his squadron in such a manner as com 
 pletely to blockade the harbor, he seemed to be in a 
 state of indecision, either as was supposed waiting 
 for some further orders, or contemplating the best 
 means of attack. Families still continued to flock 
 to Providence, through means of passports; but it 
 began tOL grow very difficult to procure them. It 
 was in this state of things that Mrs. Brown began to 
 be seriously alarmed for her brother s family, and 
 particularly on account of her aged mother. But 
 her husband being away, and having no male friend 
 whom she could send to their relief, she despair 
 ed of affording them any assistance. Rosanna 
 Hicks offered to go for them, and determined to take 
 passage in a row galley, commanded by Capt. Elea- 
 zer Hill, of Greenwich, which was then about to go 
 down the river, and attempt a private communication 
 with Rhode-Island, and also to escape the squadron 
 and pass out of the harbor in the night. Mrs. Brown 
 objected, thinking their undertaking too hazardous 
 to be accompanied by a female, and expressed the 
 dreadful feelings she should have on reflection, if 
 
3 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 she permitted her to go in a vessel which would pro 
 bably be " blown to the bottom before she reached 
 there." But Rosa was not to be daunted, and em 
 barked that day on board the galley. 
 
 They proceeded to Greenwich, where they were 
 to take part of their complement of men. Here 
 also they were beset by a female, who wished to 
 take passage to Newport. Soon after their leaving 
 Greenwich, a vessel of much superior force hove in 
 sight, which Capt. Hill pronounced to be English. 
 It was evident that the stranger, whoever she was, 
 would soon reach them, having the wind in her fa 
 vor, and being to appearance a very swift sailer. A 
 hasty council was therefore called, as to what was 
 best to be done. The words " Fight her, fight Irer!" 
 were reiterated on every side, and Capt. Hill, 
 charmed by the intrepidity of his little band, imme 
 diately commenced clearing for action. There was 
 one dissentient voice, however: The female from 
 Greenwich besought and implored, and offered to go 
 on her knees, " that there might not be any fight 
 ing." Not so Rosa; her voice was loud for war. 
 The woman from Greenwich finally retired into the 
 cock-pit, where she hid herself among some pots and 
 kettles ; her screams being only stopped by the sai 
 lors protesting " they would throw her overboard." 
 In the mean time, the strange vessel had eome with 
 in hail, but did not choose to declare her quality. 
 Rosa entreated to have some employment, and upon 
 Capt. Hill s saying there was nothing she could do, 
 she -asked if "she could not be powder-monkey] " 
 The Captain then putting a basket on her arm, plac 
 ed her in office. Preparations were then made for 
 firing, and just as they were about to apply the 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 33 
 
 matches, she hoisted American colors, and announc 
 ed herself as a prize to Capt Munroe, of Providence. 
 The only daughter of Mrs. Brown had lately mar 
 ried a Mr. Larchar, of Providence, and the prize- 
 master that now came alongside, was one of that 
 family, and intimately acquainted with Rosa. They 
 fired him a salute, and he declared when he came 
 alongside, " he was never more diverted than when 
 he descried Rosa standing between two guns, clap 
 ping her hands and joining the cheers of the crew." 
 Favored by the darkness of the preceding night, Mr. 
 Larchar had got through the East passage.* 
 
 After conferring with Mr. Larchar, Capt. Hill 
 proceeded on his way, and after various manoeuvres, 
 contrived to reach the place of appointment during 
 the night, take in his men, and land his female pas 
 sengers, and immediately departed. The female 
 who accompanied Rosa was obliged to be left near 
 the shore; she had been dragged out of the cock-pit 
 after the interview with the prize-master, in a woful 
 state, and for the remainder of the passage appeared 
 more dead than alive. The poor creature really 
 thought, when she heard the salutes fired, she felt 
 the "shock of battle," and lay expecting every mo 
 ment to hear the galley blow up, or at least to be 
 
 * Tins was often done during the war, and while R. 
 Island was in possession of the British. There was one 
 circumstance which I wish I was acquainted with the 
 particulars of. I allude to Com. Whipple s running past 
 them in the day time, by going between thorn and the 
 shore, in a depth of water in which they could not ven 
 ture, and getting out to sea without injury. It was in a 
 vessel called the Providence, and was considered as a 
 very complete manoeuvre. 
 
34 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 killed herself; and she exhibited an instance of the 
 complete stupor which fear can produce. Rosa had 
 therefore to travel a considerable distance alone, 
 before she reached the town, having been landed on 
 the north side, and then to cross it to gain the, resi 
 dence of Capt. Read, near the first beach, which 
 she accomplished by day -break, and the rising of the 
 sun saw her an inmate of their dwelling. Here she 
 was delighted to find Capt. Read himself, who had 
 procured a furlough for some days, in order to assist 
 in the removal of his family. Mrs. Read however 
 still persisted in remaining where she was, and 
 spurned at the idea of danger from the imbecile 
 Wallace. She however concurred in the opinion it 
 was best to remove their aged mother, and gladly 
 accepted the offer of Rosa to take charge of their 
 oldest child, a daughter whom Rosa was exceeding 
 ly attached to, and it was agreed they should come 
 off together. 
 
 On -the morning of this day, the inhabitants of 
 Newport were in a state of the utmost inquietude 
 and confusion. Wallace had just sent them a for 
 mal notice that he should burn the town the ensuing 
 evening, at eight o clock. It made no difference in 
 the arrangements of the party -for they were among 
 the number of the incredulous. However, Capt. 
 Read procured a pass to carry his mother to Taun- 
 ton in a small sail-boat. Wallace would not then 
 give any more passports to Providence. 
 
 There were at this time two American officers on 
 the Island, who had made several unsuccessful efforts 
 to leave it: they were narrowly watched, and refus 
 ed a passport. To these gentlemen Capt. Read 
 sent private intelligence of his departure, instructing 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 3d 
 
 them to watch for him at a place called Corrington s 
 Cove, on the North passage, and he would bring 
 them away. Then packing in the few things speci 
 fied in the passport, which they were allowed to 
 bring away, they set sail. Mrs. Read had determin 
 ed to come up and return in the boat, both on ac 
 count of seeing their old mother and her child up 
 safe, and because she considered the passage might 
 be attended with some peril to her husband, and was 
 determined to share it. She therefore left her three 
 youngest children in the care of a friend, and em 
 barked in their frail conveyance. 
 
 The party were obliged to go far out of their 
 course, to prevent suspicion, as their passport was 
 only for Taunton. They passed one English ship, 
 within hail, the Captain of which insulted them with 
 very low language, telling them " it was well they 
 were going to Taunton, for if they were going to the 
 Hornet s nest, (meaning Providence) he would blow 
 them all to the bottom/ with several abusive threats 
 and execrations, which Capt. Read did not think 
 proper to answer. His hour was not yet come. There 
 was no indignity offered him which he did not after 
 wards visit upon them with ten-fold vengeance. 
 
 They proceeded to the place of rendezvous, and 
 the well-known signals were answered by the sign 
 agreed upon, and the two officers, who had been 
 concealed, ventured out and got safely aboard. Af 
 ter proceeding as far in the direction of the ferry, as 
 they judged safe, they suddenly changed their course, 
 and made for Providence. They had not proceeded 
 far up the bay, when they found themselves chased 
 by a cutter. They had no doubt it belonged to the 
 enemy, and Capt. Read considered all as lost, as 
 
36 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 there was evidently no chance of escaping them; 
 and the bringing away the officers, he was persuad 
 ed, would cause much trouble. But the females, 
 Rosa and his wife, were no ways daunted. They 
 urged him to make all sail, while they hid the men 
 in the bottom of the boat, jambing them down and 
 covering them up with their things completely. The 
 dreaded boat approached, and Capt. Read deeming 
 their fate inevitable, refused to attempt escape, as 
 they were now proceeding at the manifest danger 
 of their lives. The tide being against them, they 
 were completely drenched by the spray, and their 
 bowsprit part of the time under water, besides which, 
 they had come near going down once or twice, by a 
 flaw of wind, which careened the boat so suddenly, 
 that they had lost out most of their things, and only 
 saved themselves, by holding on with all their 
 strength.* They accordingly slackened sail, and 
 suffered the cutter to come up, when to their great 
 joy it proved to belong to an American vessel. 
 There was much sport about concealing the officers. 
 They were dragged forth amidst the shouts and jokes 
 and hearty cheers of the cutter, who, as Rosa ex 
 pressed it, "left them after their wit had run out." 
 At 8 o clock that evening, the party arrived in 
 
 * I have no light upon this affair, except the narrative 
 of Rosa, whose veracity was unquestionable, but whose 
 memory of names sometimes failed her. The first time 
 she related this circumstance, she could not possibly re 
 member their names, and I dismissed the question; but 
 another time, some months after, I suddenly asked the 
 question, What were those officers named, that you help 
 ed run away with from Wallace ?" She answered with 
 out hesitation, Francis Machausen and Peter Bassett 
 
AND REVOLUTIONART. 
 
 Providence, and were received with transport by 
 Mrs. Brown. After being an hour or two on shore, 
 Capt. Read and his fearless helpmate prepared to 
 return, and arrived safe next day at Newport. They 
 found all safe, as they expected, and themselves un 
 suspected of having been any where but to Taunton. 
 Although Wallace had in this as in all his former 
 threats, failed of fulfilling them, yet it was not with 
 out some apprehension of evil, that Capt. Read 
 again left his family in their unprotected state. But 
 there was no way of avoiding it, as his leave of ab 
 sence had expired, and he therefore once more tak 
 ing an affectionate leave of them, prepared to 
 rejoin the army. 
 
38 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "L where our mighty Navy bringi 
 
 Destruction on her canvass wingi, 
 
 " While through the deep her potent founder 
 
 " Shall sound the alarm to rob and j under." 
 
 IT is not our design to write a history of the war 
 in Rhode- Island; we shall therefore pass over the 
 public events of this interesting period, to the time 
 when the harrassed inhabitants of Newport, after a 
 short breathing-spell, were again menaced by a Bri 
 tish fleet, the one which conveyed Gen. Prescott and 
 his forces to its ill-fated shores. 
 
 Mrs. Read, who lived in a situation to discover 
 every thing going on near the harbor, was in the 
 habit of going to the top of her house with a spy 
 glass, many times through the day, and roconnoiter- 
 ing; and it was said that often of a moon-light night 
 she spent great part of the night in this employment. 
 It was not strange she should be one of the first who 
 discovered the approach of the fleet, and the first 
 who descried the dispatch sent to reconnoitre the 
 town. Nor was this anxiety any reflection upon 
 her courage; peculiar circumstances combined at 
 this period to render her more helpless than former 
 ly. Her mother Read, whose advice she was in the 
 habit of taking at all times, was now away; and her 
 oldest child, the only one old enough to be of any 
 assistance to her, was also gone, and her health was 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 3$ 
 
 somewhat impaired. Besides which, the general 
 desertion of her immediate friends and connections, 
 and those of her husband, served to deepen the gloom 
 that surrounded her ; and when she saw the nu 
 merous force approaching, which she felt would carry 
 the town, and looked around upon her helpless house 
 hold, of one old man, and three little children, and 
 herself about to give birth to another; who can 
 wonder her spirits sunk in the prospect 1 It may be 
 recollected by many old persons now living, al 
 though I believe the circumstance is no where men 
 tioned, that in the articles of capitulation, the Brit 
 ish were not to land at Newport, but at a place call 
 ed Brown s shore, several miles from the town, in a 
 south-east direction, where they encamped until 
 next day. From an eminence about half a mile 
 distant from her habitation, Mrs. Read holding her 
 little ones by the hand, witnessed the debarkation of 
 the British troops, and pointed out to them the uni 
 form of the foes of their country. One of them only 
 five years old ever afterwards retained a most perfect 
 recollection of the scene, and the powerful emo 
 tion which the sight of a red coat ever afterwards 
 occasioned, was a proof that none of them forgot it. 
 The grandeur of the scene was however one calcu 
 lated to make an impression upon such n mind as 
 Mrs, Read s, who loyal as she might be, in her coun 
 try s cause, could not but contemplate it with a feel 
 ing of admiration for which she felt reproved. The 
 perfect order and regularity which governed the 
 movements of the enemy in their debarkation and 
 encampment, went far to allay the fears of many 
 who witnessed their movements ; and Mrs. Read ro- 
 
40 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 turned to her habitation with something like a feeling 
 of restored confidence.* 
 
 That day, as may be conjectured, was one of the 
 greatest confusion, among the retreating inhabitants, 
 thronging to Bristol Ferry, and to get passages up 
 the river. And alas there was another class with 
 whom it was a day of joyful preparation. 
 
 On the next day, the troops entered the town, led 
 by their overbearing and pompous commander. 
 The desire to see every thing new, soon dis 
 persed them in every direction, and even the har 
 dy spirit of Mrs. Read, was tried when she found 
 her house beset by strolling parties of English and 
 Hession soldiers, who though they dared not 
 offer her any real injury, would frequently stop 
 
 and stare at her, and tell her " how d d handsome 
 
 she was," and sometimes stalk into the house upon 
 some frivolous excuse, and even without an excuse. 
 
 It had been the intention of Mrs. Read, to stay 
 and guard their little property and brave the worst, 
 for well did she guess that the deserted possessions 
 of such a flaming patriot as her husband, would 
 meet with but little mercy from the enemy; and al 
 though their house was nothing but a cottage ; yet 
 it was their all of this world s goods, and was there 
 fore as valuable to them as a palace would have been: 
 besides, its humble roof had sheltered their parents 
 before them, and from many circumstances had be 
 come an endeared home to its present possessors. 
 A circumstance however, soon occurred which 
 
 * The same scene has been described to me by some of 
 the aged inhabitants, who witnessed it from Tammany 
 (called Tomony) Hill. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 41 
 
 changed her resolution, and made her as desirous 
 to leave it as she had been before to remain. 
 
 Among the various parties who daily passed the 
 house, was a Hessian officer, who always found 
 some excuse for stopping, generally demanding a 
 glass of water. He was a fellow of most formida 
 ble aspect, as well as of unceremonious deportment, 
 and his confident stare had more than once, cover 
 ed the person whom he doubtless thought honored 
 with his glance, with confusion. 
 
 Mrs. Read had no fear of molestation after sun 
 down, as the soldiers were all beat to quarters at 
 an early hour. She had therefore, though much an 
 noyed during the day, reposed at night in feelings of 
 perfect security. It was therefore without any feel 
 ing of fear that she opened the door one evening to 
 the knock of one of the neighbors, as she supposed ; 
 but to her inexpressible astonishment discovered her 
 guest to be the Hession officer. The black whis 
 kered fellow, whose stare had so much terrified and, 
 confused her, without any ceremony seated him 
 self on one side of the fire place, next to the chair 
 of the old gentleman, who had fallen fast asleep. 
 Mrs. Read with assumed composure seated her 
 self in the opposite corner, and affected to be bus 
 ied with the fire, while she politely inquired of the 
 stranger his business. Had he got lost in his day s 
 rambles 1 Could she direct him the nearest way to 
 his quarters 1 &c. All this time the fellow sat with 
 his eyes fastened on her, without uttering a word. 
 But the time she had taken to ask her questions, 
 had answered her purpose ; in her pretended busi 
 ness about the fire, she had contrived to heat the po 
 ker red hot, and now springing with the fierceness of 
 
42 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 a tigress -, she attempted to beat him out of the 
 house; he attempted to disarm her, and in the at 
 tempt burnt his hand badly. In the contest, the fel 
 low had retreated towards the door, which opening 
 on the outside, gave way as he staggered against it ; 
 when she pushed him out and succeeded in fastening 
 it. Of course he swore and stormed, and vowed re- 
 vengf, swearing " he would have ample vengeance 
 though heaven and earth stood in his way." 
 
 Several persons waited upon the Gen. on the day 
 after the circumstance just alluded to, complaining of 
 the unofficer-like conduct of the Hessian, and re 
 questing a passport for Mrs. Read and family to 
 quit the Island. 
 
 The Gen. said "he would provide for Mrs. Read s 
 safety, by stationing a sentinel near her house, but 
 as to the passport, she could not have it." 
 
 The prompt refusal was conveyed to Mrs. Read, 
 whose terror had now got the upper hand of reason, 
 and again and again she beset him through the me 
 dium of her friends, for a passport. At length he 
 sent her word "it was in vain, for he had deter 
 mined upon keeping her there as a bait to catch her 
 husband."* 
 
 * Such paltry tyranny seems too little for a General to 
 practice; but it was true, as well as a thousand other in 
 stances which might be mentioned of the littleness of 
 Gon. Prescott, from the anecdotes of whom, tis difficult 
 to believe he could have been more than halfwitted. 
 Whenever he saw a number of the citizens conversing 
 together in the streets, during his daily promenades, he 
 used to shake his cane at them and say " disperse ye 
 rebels !" On several occasions he held some conversa 
 tion with the Quakers, and not being able to make them 
 
AtfD REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 43 
 
 Mrs. Read was not a person to give up a point 
 when she had once set upon it; and although she very 
 much disliked the idea of an interview with Gen. 
 Prescott, yet as all other attempts had failed, she re 
 solved upon presenting herself in person, to argue 
 the point. She therefore accepted of the polite offer 
 of one ol the most respectable and influential men in 
 the place, to drive her to the General s quarters. 
 The time she chose was certainly a favorable one, 
 since it is wisely said, that " a man is never so ready 
 to grant a request, as immediately after a full din- 
 take their hats off, he would order a servant to take their 
 hats off while they addressed him. The habitations of the 
 absent whigs met with no mercy at his hands ; some of 
 their dwellings were torn down to make fire-wood of, 
 others converted into barracks, or otherwise wantonly de 
 faced. Shame upon those who joyfully acted as inform 
 ers to point out such. The transfer of private property 
 which he sometimes made, and the plunder of^personal 
 property which he authorised, weie unprecedented by 
 any one actmg in just such a capacity, and restricted as 
 he professed to be by the laws of honor, " to respect the 
 private property of every citizen." One of the first ob 
 jects of his vengeance, was a Printer by the name of 
 ;Southwick, a warm advocate for the liberties of the peo 
 ple, and who it was said had published and circulated a 
 very spirited remonstrance, in a hand-bill, against open 
 ing the Port to the British troops. The printing estab- 
 lisliment he immediately ordered to be demolished, and 
 the types he presented to a Capt Howe, who upon their 
 evacuation of the town, carried them to New-Brunswick, 
 After the war, however, Capt. Howe returned them with 
 a very polite letter to Mr. Southwick ; and in 1813 the 
 types were still in Newport. Mr. Southwick was the 
 father of Solomon Southwick, Esq. of Albany. 
 
44 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 tier." Upon asking for Gen. Prescott, Mrs. Read 
 was shewn into the mess-room, where the General 
 and a number of his officers were merrily carousing, 
 and pledging one another in "deep potations." The 
 " wassal roar" was hushed at the entrance of the 
 lady, whose confusion at thus becoming the object of 
 attention to so many young men at once, must have 
 been great. Scarce knowing where she was, and 
 unable to distinguish the General among the number 
 of glittering uniforms, she gladly accepted of one of 
 the numerous offers of a chair from one of the com 
 pany. The General now advanced, and was intro 
 duced by her companion. Mrs. Read then preferred 
 her request for a passport. The old objection was 
 made by the General, that " he had determined upon 
 keeping her there, to catch her husband." 
 
 "That," said Mrs. Read, "you will never do 
 alive. I shall take care that he does not come here 
 on my account." The name of her husband had 
 aroused the fearless spirit of the wife, and rising, she 
 walked to the upper end of the apartment, where 
 the General had retreated, and vehemently urged 
 the immediate attention to her request. It was finally 
 complied with, and she received it from the hand of 
 the General, who raising himself to his full height, 
 as he presented it, said, " If you go to Providence 
 to get out of my way, Mrs. Read, you will lose your 
 labor, as I shall be there almost as soon as you 
 will." 
 
 The gentleman who conducted her owned he 
 trembled from head to foot, when he saw the fire of 
 indignation lighten her glance, and heard the spirited 
 answer she returned. The exact words I have for- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 45 
 
 gotten, but it was something like this, that " he 
 might coine too soon/ 
 
 It appears to the writer of this narrative, as though 
 she now beheld her, and though the stately form and 
 perfect features have long since mouldered into dust, 
 yet is every lineament deeply engraven on the tablet 
 of memory. Her figure was somewhat above the 
 middling height, of perfect symmetry : Jier raven 
 locks shaded a forehead of dazzling whiteness, finely 
 contrasted by the beautiful bloom of her complexion, 
 even at the age of 48, w r hen I first remember her. 
 Her beauty was striking; she had a remarkably hand 
 some mouth and regular teeth, and I recollect that 
 her fine black eyes, when cast down, had an expres 
 sion of much sweetness; but when raised, especially 
 in anger, there was a look of fierceness in them, not 
 quite agreeable. There was besides, a dignity, and 
 fearlessness of deportment in her, (probably occa 
 sioned by familiarity with scenes of danger,) very 
 different from most of those born in her sphere. 
 How calculated her character was to please those 
 who delight to dwell on the gentler graces, we will 
 not say; out she was certainly qualified for the age 
 in which she lived. I hope this long digression 
 may be pardoned; it will not, fortunately, be in the 
 writer s power to describe many persons of that day. 
 
 As the General aided Mrs. Read from the room, 
 he again repeated the taunting remark, that " he 
 should be in Providence almost as soon as she 
 would;" to which she gaily answered, " she doubted 
 not he would have a warm welcome," and in high 
 good spirits she returned home, to prepare for her 
 departure. But another difficulty now arose. There 
 was no way to get off; all who" proposed to come 
 
46 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 away had come, and no conveyance could be thought 
 of. All one day had been consumed by her friends, 
 in trying to contrive some way to get her off, but in 
 vain. Night closed in upon her without a ray of 
 hope, and she retired again to watch and weep. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 47 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Would I had fall n upon tbow happier dayi 
 "That Poets celebrate." 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 " ALAS," said Mrs. Read, as she rose from a dis 
 turbed slumber, where she had just snatched a few 
 moments of repose beside her sleeping babes. 
 " What a cruel situation is mine. I am just mocked 
 with the prospect of escape, to render my captivity 
 more irksome. My husband cannot come to me; 
 my connections are all at a distance, and I, fool that 
 I was to remain alone. But they are all well and 
 safe, and have forgotten me." For the first time, 
 she gave way to a passion of tears when suddenly, 
 a gentle rap was heard at the door beneath. She 
 listened in breathless fear it was repeated and she 
 at length ventured to open her little casement to ask 
 "Who s therel" when the well known accents of 
 Rosanna Hicks met her ear. " It is I, Mary, who 
 have come for you." 
 
 Trembling with joy, she flew down and opened 
 the door, and found herself folded in the arms of 
 faithful Rosa. But to account for her presenting 
 herself in that manner, we must go back a little in 
 the story. 
 
 It is a saying that every thing magnifies by travel 
 ling. The accounts which continued from time to 
 time to reach Providence, respecting the situation 
 of families in the conquered town, were greatly ex- 
 
48 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 aggerated; and Mrs. Brown became truly alarmed 
 respecting her brother s family. Her mother too 
 could have no peace until she was assured of the 
 safety of her daughter and the children. It was at 
 length agreed that Rosa should go after them. She 
 had no protector to go with her, as the war had taken 
 off all the men of the family. But it was proposed 
 to go in a boat which was just going down to carry 
 some supplies to the American encampment, on the 
 south side of Bristol Ferry, where Gen. (then Col.) 
 Barton commanded, and trust to the known kindness 
 of that gentleman, for some suitable protector to 
 accompany her to Newport. 
 
 Rosa took passage in the boat with a number of 
 gentlemen, entire strangers to her, but who treated 
 her with the greatest civility. The boat was hailed 
 as she approached the fort. As soon as she reached 
 the shore, Col. Barton, with several gentlemen, came 
 on board. He knew Rosa well, as she had lived 
 next door to him. 
 
 " In the name of heaven, Rosa," said he, " how 
 came you herel" Rosa explained in a few words 
 the state of Capt. Read s family, and her intention 
 to get them off, if possible; and finally requested the 
 Colonel to furnish her with some trusty soldier, to 
 accompany her. The Colonel told her to choose 
 any one, and he should accompany her. She named 
 a Mr. Larchar, one of the family before mentioned 
 in this narrative. One of the gentlemen present of 
 fered the loan of his chaise, provided the soldier 
 would immediately return with it, when he had left 
 Rosa at the place of destination. He then gave 
 them particular directions about proceeding to head 
 quarters and procuring a passport. Upon their arri- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 49 
 
 val at Newport, they proceeded according to direc 
 tions, and arrived at the beach, thirteen miles from 
 the ferry, about twelve o clock at night, when Mr. 
 Larchar set Rosa down and returned immediately 
 to Taunton. 
 
 The joy of Mrs. Read and her little family may 
 easily be conceived, at the prospect of release from 
 their very unpleasant situation. They immediately 
 commenced packing up such necessaries as they 
 thought it practicable to carry away, and it was set 
 tled to obtain two chaise, if possible, from a neighbor 
 who kept a livery stable, and get him to send one 
 ahead with Rosa and the children, his boy and him 
 self to drive Mrs. Read slowly after. They thought 
 if Rosa could only get to the ferry, she could stop 
 the boat for the company, until Mrs. Read came up. 
 In the dead of the night, therefore, Rosa went over 
 to Mr. Dilleby s, the person who owned the chaise, 
 and agreed with him to come for them an hour before 
 light. She was challenged by the sentinel again, but 
 having the watch-word of the night, was suffered to 
 pass without molestation. 
 
 With all their diligence, it was not possible to get 
 away before light, and then the trouble of getting a 
 pass for their conductor, &c. detained them so that 
 they did not reach the American encampment until 
 after the boat had gone. Rosa was sadly perplexed. 
 The boat had been the bearer of dispatches from the 
 encampment, therefore could not wait for them. 
 Col. Barton endeavored to console her, by saying 
 there would be another going in a day or two, and 
 advised them to wait as near as possible, and he 
 would give them the earliest information. 
 
 Rosa went up to a Mrs. Irish s, who with her 
 
50 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 family had fled from Newport when the British land 
 ed, and taken a room in a small house about a mile 
 from the shore, intending to await there the re 
 capture or evacuation of the town. Here she stopt 
 until the other chaise came up. As there was no 
 alternative, it was agreed to remain there until ano 
 ther opportunity offered for Providence. 
 
 They had provisions with them for several days 
 consumption; but still they felt distressed at thus 
 intruding upon the hospitality of the Irish s, whose 
 family, consisting of several little children, had no 
 room but the one they were in, and a small loft 
 above. That kind family were, however, no wise 
 disturbed at the occurrence, and even expressed much 
 satisfaction at the " opportunity of accommodating 
 the wife of a brave soldier," and begged them to 
 stay while it suited their convenience, and partake of 
 such accommodation as the troubles of the times had 
 left them. 
 
 The boat in which they were to take passage was 
 hourly expected from Providence; but the next day 
 passed, and no boat came. But the morning after, 
 a gentleman who was coming up by land hearing 
 from Col. Barton their situation, called and offered 
 to bring one of the ladies in his chaise. Mrs. Read, 
 already very much exhausted by her ride from New 
 port, and the anxiety she had suffered, did not feel 
 able to ride to Providence, and Rosa could not think 
 of leaving her. What was to be done] Reluctant 
 as they were, they were obliged to remain in their 
 present situation for the boat. Impatiently they 
 watched for it the live-long day. But no one came, 
 except a messenger from Col. Barton, to say the 
 boat would certainly be there next day. Delighted 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 51 
 
 with this assurance, they set down to supper. Six 
 little children, laughing and chatting (three of each 
 family,) surrounded the table, and the kind Mrs. 
 Irish endeavoring by every thing in her power to 
 keep up the spirits of the party; when Rosa, happen 
 ing to look at Mrs. Read, saw, as she said, " by the 
 flashing of her bright black eyes," that she was sud 
 denly ill. She made an effort to be calm, evidently, 
 but her varying color convinced her it was a great 
 exertion. >She sprang from the table and led her 
 into an adjoining closet, saying, -as she closed the 
 door, " Mary, you are ill." 
 
 " Yes," (said Mrs. Read, sinking upon a seat 
 and bursting into a passion of tears) " my last hour 
 has come. I shall die here! die in this place." Poor 
 Rosa endeavored to soothe her, though almost as 
 much distressed as herself. Mrs* Irish coming in, 
 said every thing that kindness could suggest. She 
 dispatched her oldest children for help, and sent the 
 youngest with Mrs. Read s little ones, to the nearest 
 neighbor s, for the night. 
 
 The calamities of the times seemed to have open 
 ed every one s heart to his neighbor. The confused 
 story and message of the children, persuaded the 
 people that it was some poor destitute wanderer that 
 Mrs. Irish had taken in, and they determined there 
 fore to contribute their share to her comforts, al 
 though no demand had been made on their charity. 
 They felt ashamed Mrs. Irish should have all the 
 expense and trouble of the poor creature they 
 supposed she had received under her roof. When 
 they arrived, therefore, they came loaded. One was 
 sweating under a pile o bed-clothes; another brought. 
 a cheese; and, in short, none came empty-handed. 
 
52 TALKS NATIONAL 
 
 The kind creatures exerted themselves very much 
 to comfort the sick stranger. There was no physi 
 cian nearer than Newport; but they were physicians, 
 nurses aud every thing, and in a few hours presented 
 Mrs. Read with a son. 
 
 But it was in vain every effort was made to com 
 fort the mother; she still persisted she should die. 
 In vain Rosa commended the beauty of the little 
 healthy looking boy. She protested she should soon 
 be called to part from him. Knowing the power of 
 imagination, under such circumstances, they became 
 seriously alarmed for her, and several of them, tho 
 obliged to appear cheerful, could not restrain their 
 tears. At this moment the door opened, and Col. 
 Barton made his appearance. Astonished at their 
 looks, he inquired what was the matter ; when 
 Rosa told him " that Mrs. Read believed herself 
 dying; but that terror from the dreadful scenes she 
 had gone through, had so disordered her, she could 
 not understand her own situation, and that if she 
 could only be re-assured, she did not see why she 
 might not do well." This was said aside. The Colo 
 nel walked right up to the bed, and in the kindest 
 and gentlest manner endeavored to compose her. 
 He offered to send immediately, and get leave for 
 her husband to come to her, and assured her there 
 was no comfort or assistance she might need, but 
 should be immediately procured; that he would or 
 der every sentinel, as they changed guard, to stop 
 and inquire how she was; and should she be any 
 worse, medical aid should be immediately procured. 
 He exhorted her to be composed, and not, after 
 braving so many real dangers, suffer herself to bs 
 killed by imaginary ones. 
 
*ND REVOLUTIONARY. 53 
 
 This had the desired effect. The Colonel had 
 come to tell them the boat would be there at an 
 early hour next day, and bade them prepare, should 
 it have to return immediately, to go in her. The 
 boat made its appearance accordingly, but did not 
 go back to Providence until three days after. Mrs. 
 Read had by this time in a great measure recovered 
 her former spirits, and Rosa proposed going up in 
 the boat and carrying the children to the care ot 
 their grand-mother, and returning immediately, as 
 the boat was only to remain a few hours in Provi 
 dence. A Mrs. Lawrence offered to take care of the 
 patient, so Rosa departed with the children. They 
 were all that day and part of the night in getting to 
 Providence. There was a company of strange men 
 on board; but they were very kind, and helped hold the 
 little sleepy children. They stopped at the lower 
 wharf, and one of them carried the youngest, a little 
 girl, in his arms; another the next; and Rosa led 
 the oldest to the house of Mrs. Brown. 
 
 The family, after putting the children to bed, 
 employed themselves in packing up a bundle of all 
 the little comforts they could think of for Rosa to 
 carry back, and making a cup of tea for her; but be 
 fore she could drink it, she was summoned by one 
 of the gentlemen to return to the boat. She caught 
 up her bundle and embarked with another company 
 of strange men, in an open boat, in the middle of the 
 night. The passengers appeared to know the story 
 of her voyage, and sympathized with much delicacy 
 in the situation of her afflicted friend. One of them, 
 a Clergyman of the English church (as they called 
 it then,) lamented the " boy had not been born at 
 his house, as he would have given him a name and 
 a present." E* 
 
54 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 The boat was all next day and until after dark 
 the next night, getting to the encampment; and poor 
 Rosa, leaving her bundle at the house where the offi 
 cers were quartered, hastened home to .bed, com 
 pletely exhausted. The reason of such long voyages 
 from Providence to Tiverton, and sailing so much in 
 the night, will at once be seen, when it is recollect 
 ed that there was a British station on Conannicut 
 and Prudence, and that their boats were continually 
 circumnavigating the bay. They were probably 
 obliged to watch their chances to stand out from 
 shore ; and there were many instances during the 
 war, where boats were a whole week in effecting 
 the passage. 
 
 Early on the following morning, Rosa, availing 
 herself of the attendance of Mrs. Lawrence, who 
 was about to return to her family, went down for 
 her bundles. The Colonel, who was at breakfast in 
 the mess-room, sent for her. She was very loth to 
 go, but the orders of the Colonel were peremptory, 
 saying that her presence was indispensable, as they 
 wanted to take her evidence. Rosa, though in hum 
 ble life, was no stranger to the world; and finding 
 herself thus compelled, made a virtue of necessity 
 and presented herself. She was told that it could 
 net be taken until after breakfast; and a seat being 
 provided for her between the Colonel and the Cler 
 gyman, above mentioned, she sat down to breakfast. 
 It was the first regular meal she had made for two 
 days; and she used often to speak, in after life, of 
 the mess, as the best breakfast she ever made. But 
 as soon as it was over, she desired to have her evi 
 dence taken. 
 
 " Well, then," said the Colonel, I want you 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 55 
 
 to tell these gentlemen whether or not I am a 
 married man." 
 
 " Certainly you are," said Rosa, " and by the 
 way, your wife called to me coming to the boat, 
 desiring me to tell you they were all well." 
 
 " Well, that is all," said the Colonel. Rosa 
 could not comprehend the business at first. The 
 officers she saw were stifling with laughter one 
 moment, and looked very grave the next. For an 
 instant, she thought it was some joke to herself; 
 but happening to cast her eyes across the room, 
 she saw a female glide out of it, pale as ashes, 
 and upon inquiring afterwards, she discovered that, 
 some of the officers had been practising upon the 
 credulity of this simple and susceptible country 
 maiden, until the Colonel himself could not con 
 vince her he was married. Rosa used to make the 
 remark, when relating this anecdote, that if " he 
 was the greatest General who conquered himself," 
 the Colonel deserved that name in more respects 
 than one. 
 
 In ten days from the time of Mrs. Read s arri 
 val at Tiverton, her husband arrived; and a pack 
 et being engaged to go to Pawtuxet, he determin 
 ed upon bringing her away. The morning was 
 cold and drizzly, but as his furlough was only 
 for a few days, there was no time to be lost. 
 They therefore took Mrs. Read and her infant, 
 and carried them on board. They had a most 
 boisterous and uncomfortable passage; but the wind 
 fcemg in their favor, after a somewhat circuitous 
 route, they arrived at Pawtuxet about dark. They 
 had occasion on the passage to think of the hos 
 pitable little dwelling of Mrs, Irish, whom they 
 
56 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 had left with feelings of gratitude never to be effac 
 ed. There was no fire on board, and it rained 
 very fast on their arrival. Capt. Read had engag 
 ed the packet to bring his family up the river. 
 But no persuasion could induce the Captain to 
 come any further that night, and they sent word 
 of their arrival to Mr. Benoni Lockwood, a very 
 particular friend of the family, who had married a 
 cousin of Capt. Read s, of their arrival, and of the 
 situation of the family. Mr. Lockwood s chaise 
 was in the back part of his barn, completely hedg 
 ed in by loads of corn; but they contrived a way, 
 nevertheless, by tackling an ox team, laying on a 
 bed, blankets, &c. and went immediately to the 
 packet, where they placed the family in and drove 
 to the house. Mrs. Lockwood gave them a most 
 affectionate reception. They were just preparing 
 for a husking; but every thing was arranged for 
 the comfort of their guests. As soon as they knew 
 of their arrival, they had a large fire made in their 
 parlor, moved in a bed, and arranged every thing 
 for their comfort, and the accommodation of the 
 invalid. The next day proved rainy, but Mr. 
 Lockwood employed himself in getting out the 
 chaise, seeing their anxiety to go. But as the air 
 was very damp on the succeeding day, the females 
 of the family would in no wise consent to Mrs. 
 Read s being removed, and Capt. Read proceeded 
 alone to Providence, being obliged to make great 
 dispatch with hi business before the expiration of 
 his furlough, and Mr. Lockwood was to bring on 
 the family next day. 
 
 "I do now see," said Mrs. Read, upon taking 
 leave of her kind friend, Mrs. Lockwood, " that every 
 
AISD REVOLUTI051Rr. 57 
 
 creature is given strength according to their day. 
 I never felt so well at such a time in my life, and 
 have taken no cold through all the exposure of 
 my removal." She was affected even to tears, 
 upon taking leave of her kind hostess.* 
 
 * This lady \vas afterwards the wife of Moses Brown, 
 of Providence. 
 
TILES NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " There see how fate great Malcolm cried, 
 " Strikes with its bolts, the towers of pride." 
 
 IT was not long after Mrs. Read was settled in 
 Providence, before the prediction," (as she call 
 ed it) of Gen. Prescott, was accomplished. He 
 did indeed come to Providence, as he had threat 
 ened; and got there almost as soon as she did. It 
 happened to be a few months after, however. The 
 capture of Gen. Prescott was not the rash and 
 headlong adventure (though an exploit sufficiently 
 hazardous) that some attempted to make it ap 
 pear. It was planned and executed with consum 
 mate prudence; and had been for some time the 
 subject of reflection and calculation in the mind of 
 Gen. (then Col.) Barton. It maybe recollected that 
 Gen. Lee had been captured by surprise in the pre 
 ceding November, at Baskinbridge in New-Jersey, 
 by Col. Harcourt, who learning he was lodged in a 
 remote country house, while he was scouring the 
 country with his cavalry, appeared suddenly before 
 him, and securing the sentinels, mounted him on a 
 swift horse and conveyed him to New-York. There 
 was no one in the country who felt more on this oc 
 casion than Col. Barton, and from the moment that 
 the circumstance was made known to him, he resolv 
 ed, if ever an opportunity offered, to surprise some 
 Major General of the British army, in order to pro 
 cure his release. That opportunity offered; in the 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 69 
 
 month of June, 1777, a Mr. Coffin made his escape 
 from the enemy on Rhode-Island, and was brought 
 to his quarters. From this person he learnt that the 
 General was quartered at the house of a Mr. Over- 
 ing, on the west side of the Island, describing it par 
 ticularly. He was followed by a deserter the next 
 day, who gave the same intelligence. 
 
 The troops stationed at Tiverton were not inured 
 to service, nor Col. Barton either; and this circum 
 stance alone caused him to debate a few days before 
 he communicated the project of surprising Gen. Pres- 
 cott to any one. He first communicated it to Col. 
 Stanton, and received his advice and ready concur 
 rence. He then selected several officers, whose 
 ability and secrecy he judged from personal ac 
 quaintance he could confide in, and asked them if 
 they were willing to go with him on an enterprise, 
 the particular object of which he could not then in 
 form them of. They all consented at once. Their 
 names and rank were as follow: Ebenezer Adams, 
 Captain of artillery ; Samuel Phillips, Captain ; 
 James Potter, Lieutenant; Joshua Babcock, Lieuten 
 ant ; Andrew Stanton, Ensign; and John Willcocks. 
 
 The next step to be taken was to procure boats, a 
 thing attended with some difficulty, as there were but 
 two at the station. However, in a few days they 
 obtained five whale boats and had them fitted in the 
 best possible manner. All was now ready except 
 the men, who had not been engaged, for fear it would 
 create suspicion. As Col. Barton wished to have 
 them all volunteers, the regiment was ordered to 
 .be paraded. He then addressed them, telling them 
 he was about undertaking an enterprise against the 
 enemy, and wished to have forty volunteers ; desiring 
 
60 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 those who were willing to risk their lives with him, 
 to advance two paces in front. At this the whole 
 regiment advanced. After thanking them for their 
 willingness, he selected forty whom he knew un 
 derstood rowing, and upon who he might de 
 pend. With this company they embarked for Bris 
 tol first, on the fourth of July, but a heavy storm of 
 thunder and rain, when they got into Mount Hope 
 Bay, obliged them to separate, and Col. Barton lost 
 sight of all the boats but one ; those two kept togeth 
 er and arrived at Bristol at ten o clock at night on the 
 fifth, thus being two days on the voyage across the 
 ferry. Proceeding to the commanding officer s quar 
 ters, he there found another deserter from the Brit 
 ish camp, who gave him considerable misinformation 
 upon being questioned. However, at eight o clock 
 the other boats arrived, and the General took the 
 officers with him to Hog Island, from which they 
 had a distinct view of the British encampment and 
 shipping, and there he first unfolded his plan to them. 
 They appeared surprised, but after his telling them 
 the situation of the house where Gen. Prescott lodg 
 ed, and the part he wished each to act in the intend 
 ed enterprise, they consented, and promised not 
 to give k the least hint of it. They then returned to 
 Bristol/ and staid until about nine at night of the 
 sixth, when they re-embarked and crossed over to 
 Warwick Neck, from whence they meant to take 
 their departure for the Island. On the seventh, the 
 wind changed to the E. N. E. and brought on a 
 storm, some obstacles intervened on the eighth and 
 they did not take their departure until nine o clock 
 on the ninth. 
 Before the departure of the boats, the Colonel num- 
 
A.ND REVOLUTIONARY. 61 
 
 bered them all, and appointed each his place. To 
 every boat, there was one commissioned officer, ex 
 clusive of Col. Barton. The party consisted of for 
 ty-one men, officers included. Before their departure, 
 tKe Colonel collected them in a circle and addressed 
 them, acquainting them with the object of the enter 
 prise, and the hazard attending it, and pledging them 
 to take ihe lead and share every danger, whatever 
 it might be, equally with his soldiers, intreating them 
 to preserve the strictest order, and not to have the 
 least idea of plunder; to preserve profound silence, 
 and ordering them, if any had been so imprudent 
 as to furnish himself with any spirituous liquors, 
 to leave it. After commending them to the great 
 Disposer of events, they proceeded to the shore. 
 
 The commanding officer at Warwick Neck was 
 directed to keep a sharp look out, and if he should 
 hear the report of three distinct muskets, to come 
 on to the north end of Prudence to take them off; 
 for they had reasons to fear the British men of war 
 might send their boats out, and cut them off from 
 the main. 
 
 In the forward boat Col. Barton posted himself 
 with a pole ten feet long and a handkerchief tied to 
 the end of it, so that his boat might be known from 
 the others, and that none might go before it. They 
 went between the Islands of Prudence and Patience, 
 in order that the shipping which lay against Hope 
 Island, might not discover them, and rowed under 
 the west side of Prudence till they came to the south 
 end, when they heard the enemy on board their 
 ships cry out "All s well." When they were \\ith- 
 in about three quarters of a mile of Rhode-Island, 
 they heard a great noise like the running of horses. 
 
02 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 This threw a consternation over the whole party ; 
 but none spoke. They slackened for a moment, 
 but the Colonel concluding it was only the accident 
 al running of horses, as they often do when let loose, 
 concluded to push on, and they gained the shore. 
 There was then a man left to each boat to keep 
 them ready for a push, for fear the enemy might try 
 to impede their retreat. The party were then march 
 ed in five divisions to the house, which was just 
 one mile from the shore, preserving the strictest 
 silence. 
 
 The entrance to the house where Gen. Prescott 
 had taken his quarters, was by three doors on the 
 south, east and west; three of the five divisions 
 were to attack each a door. The fourth to guard 
 the road, the fifth to act on emergencies. They left 
 the guard house on the left, on the right was a house 
 where a party of light horse were quartered in order 
 to carry orders from Gen. Prescott, to any part of 
 the Island. When they opened the gate of the front 
 yard, the sentinel who stood about twenty-five yards 
 from them hailed " Who comes there 1" They gave 
 no answer, but continued inarching on. There be 
 ing a row of trees between them, he could not so 
 \vell distinguish their number. He again hailed, and 
 they answered "friends." " Advance and give the 
 countersign." To which Gen. Barton answered, as 
 in a great passion, " We have no countersign, but 
 have you seen any deserters to night 1" This had 
 been contrived as a decoy, and it had the effect, for 
 before he suspected them to be enemies, they had 
 seized his musket and made him prisoner, telling 
 him if he made the least noise, he should be put to 
 death. They asked him "if Gen. Prescott was in 
 the house 1" He was so frierhtened at first he could 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 63 
 
 not speak ; but at length, waving his hand towards 
 the house, he said "yes." By this time each divis 
 ion had got its station, and the doors were burst in. 
 They first went into the chamber of Mr. Overing, 
 the General was not there ; then into the one Mr. 
 Overing s son lodged in ; he said the General was 
 not there. Col. Barton then went to the head of the 
 stairs and called to the soldiers without " to set the 
 house on fire, as he was determined to have Gen. 
 Prescott, either dead or alive." On this they heard 
 a voice below calling " What is the matter 1" Col. 
 Barton entered the room below from whence it came, 
 and saw a man just rising out of bed, and clapping 
 him on the shoulder asked him if he was Gen. Pres 
 cott 1 He answered "Yes, Sir!" The Colonel then 
 told him he was his prisoner: he rejoined, " I ac 
 knowledge it, Sir." The Colonel then desired him 
 to hurry. He requested leave to put on his clothes; 
 the Colonel told him " very few, for their business 
 required haste." In the mean time, Major Barring- 
 ton, the General s aid-de-camp, finding the house 
 was attacked, leaped out of the window, and was 
 immediately made prisoner. After the General had 
 got on a few clothes, they marched away for the 
 shore. In order to make the General keep up with 
 them, Col. Barton made him put one arm over his 
 shoulder and the other over another officer s, and in 
 this manner with Major Barrington and the sentinel 
 in the middle of the party, they arrived at the boats, 
 where they put the General s coat on him and seat 
 ed him in No. 1. The General seeing the five small 
 boats and knowing where the shipping lay, appeared 
 much confused, and asked Col. Barton if he com 
 manded the parly 1 Upon being answered in the af- 
 
64 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 firmative, he said, " / hope you will not hurt me." 
 Col. Barton assured him " while in his power he 
 should not be injured." 
 
 After they had got a short distance from the shore, 
 they heard the alarm, three cannons, and saw three 
 sky-rockets. It was fortunate for them that the en 
 emy on board the shipping could not know the occa 
 sion of it, as they might with ease have cut off their 
 communication with the mam.* 
 
 They rowed at no small rate, for upon landing at 
 Warwick Neck at day-light, the place from whence 
 they started, they discovered they had been gone 
 from there but just six hours and a half. The Gen 
 eral as he landed turned to Col. Barton and said, 
 
 " Sir, you have made a d d bold push to-night." 
 
 He replied "we have been fortunate." The Gene 
 ral and his aid were then permitted to retire for rest, 
 while Col. Barton sent to Warwick town for a horse 
 and chaise, and orders for the best breakfast that 
 could be procured. An express was then sent to 
 Major Gen. Spencer at Providence, who immediately 
 sent a coach to conduct the General prisoner to 
 Providence.f 
 
 It was on the morning of the tenth of July, that 
 Capt. William Brown, a connection of the Read fam 
 ily, who had often laughed at the pomposity of Pres- 
 cott, exhibited during his dialogue with Mrs. Read, 
 
 * It has been erroneously stated that the party of light 
 horse stationed at some distance from the house, rushed 
 down upon them, just as they pushed from the shore. 
 
 t Gen. Prescott was afterwards exchanged for Gen. Lee. 
 There was certainly no parallel between the captures 
 of the two Generals ; as Lee was quartered full twenty 
 miles from his army, with only a handful of attendants 
 near him. Prescott in sight of a body of light horse and 
 in view of his shipping. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 65 
 
 came running into her house without any cereraony. 
 " My dear madam," said he, out of breath, "your 
 old persecutor, General Prescott is coming, and will 
 be here to-day." 
 
 " What!" said Mrs. Read, "there is no alarm." 
 But the words were no sooner out of her mouth, 
 than the guns fired, and all without was uproar and 
 confusion. 
 
 " Don t be alarmed, cousin Mary," said he, he 
 is a prisoner, to Col. Barton, and will shortly pass 
 your door." Here he related the confused account 
 of the capture which he had hastily collected, and 
 " Now, Mary," said Capt. Brown, "lam going to give 
 you an obligation under my hand, that if you will 
 stand in your door and welcome the General to Prov 
 idence, I will pay you fifty dollars. He cannot have 
 forgotten his own words, nor your looks," (he might 
 well say so, for no one that ever saw her speaking 
 countenance could ever have forgotten it.) 
 
 "It is a bargain," said Mrs /Read, "I will give 
 him the promised welcome." Accordingly, when 
 the carriage came past, she threw open the front 
 door, and presented her majestic figure. 
 
 Seated in an open hack and bare-headed,, beside 
 his brave captor, sat the once arrogant, but now 
 completely mortified General. Gone was the look 
 of hauteur the air of command the mein of defi 
 ance thatbut a few days before characterized Gen. 
 Prescott. Mrs. Read could distinguish nothing of 
 the look with which he threatened to follow her to 
 Providence. It seemed, she said, as though he had 
 seen ten years at least, since that period ; and as he 
 raised his eyes and encountered her scrutinizing 
 glance, his fell in undissembled confusion. He 
 
66 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 doubtless thought she was going to speak to him, and 
 she was, but the woman overcame the heroine, and 
 she stepped back and closed the door, unable to 
 triumph over the fallen. The loud huzzas and shouts 
 that greeted the victor who sat by his side, had not 
 yet ceased to echo through the streets, when the vig 
 ilant Captain made his appearance to know if Mary 
 could claim the promised reward, and great was his 
 chagrin and disappointment that he had not got to 
 pay it. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. , 
 
 " When lo ! where ocean s bounds extend, 
 " I saw the Gallic sails ascend, 
 " With favoring breezes stem their way, 
 " -And ciowd with ships the spacious bay." 
 
 THE inactive business of guarding the harbor of 
 Boston, was one entirely unsuited to the genius of 
 Capt. Read. He therefore got released in order to 
 act, once more, upon his favorite element, the sea, 
 and here there is an interregnum, a kind of blank, 
 in his history, which we wish it were in our power 
 satisfactorily to fill up. We only know that he first 
 sailed from Boston and was taken, got exchanged 
 immediately, and went again master of another pri 
 vateer ; was again taken and made his escape : got 
 back to Providence, and according to the certificate 
 of Capt. Charles Sheldon, at the end of this book, 
 he sailed from this port in a small sloop, called the 
 "Modesty," in which he was for a time eminently 
 successful. But previous to this, his family had to 
 suffer incredible hardships. During his misfortunes, 
 their difficulties and privations were very great. 
 His wife had the care of four children. Mrs. Brown, 
 his sister, had the care of the oldest and of their 
 mother ; and Rosa subsisted by the humble occupa 
 tion of nursing the sick. It would fill a volume to 
 relate their various trials. On one occasion, Mrs. 
 Read used to relate, that she had no bread in the 
 house, nor money to purchase ; that she forbore to 
 trouble her friends, who she judged had been kind to 
 
68 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 her according to their abilities, and for a short time 
 she sat down in utter helplessness, not knowing 
 which way to look for relief. She was aroused by a 
 proclamation made in the streets of a load of meal to 
 be distributed in the market to the poor; only re 
 quiring them to send in the number of their family. 
 (It had been taken from a countryman who was 
 selling it by false measures.) She immediately sent 
 the oldest of her children and received a peck. She 
 used often to speak of this in after years as a remark 
 able providence in her favor. The writer of this nar 
 rative has heard her many years after, relate this to 
 a circle of children, as a lesson never to distrust the 
 providence of God. 
 
 The good fortune of Capt. Read was but of short 
 duration. He was taken again and again, and finally 
 for the ninth time ; but he always had the good fort 
 une to get exchanged soon, or get a chance to run 
 away. The latter he effected several times, and es 
 caped his foes at the hazard of his life, in an almost 
 miraculous manner. There was one reason why he 
 was so fortunate in getting exchanged ; he had many 
 warm friends, in every seaport, who had pledged 
 themselves to exert every nerve, to obtain his ex 
 change, whenever he should be taken. Such had 
 been the strict honesty of his dealings, his undevi- 
 atmg integrity in all commercial transactions, and 
 these had already been quite extensive, that he had 
 powerful friends among the merchants in particular. 
 After being prisoner for the ninth time he was once 
 more exchanged and sent to Boston. At several 
 periods while in the hands of the enemy, he had en 
 dured some pretty rigorous treatment, and personal 
 resentment was now added to the flame of patriot- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 69 
 
 isin, and he protested "if he once more had the com 
 mand of a vessel he would retrieve his former losses, 
 or perish in the attempt." Misfortune however, had 
 seemed so linked to his fate, that he doubted now 
 whether any would be forward to entrust him with a 
 vessel. He was however, agreeably disappointed in 
 this, as a number of gentleman (in that truly liberal 
 minded place that has ever been justly celebrated 
 for its public spirit and beneficence,) immediately 
 stepped forward and offered him the command of a 
 vessel. One of them was named " Topham," the 
 writer regrets she was not made acquainted with the 
 names of the others. They purchased a new and 
 finely built brig, which they called " The Rocham- 
 beau." In this he embarked with a picked crew. 
 She was an excellent sailer, and remarkably fortu 
 nate in her first cruises, and the old adage used often 
 to be cited with respect to her Captain, "That it is 
 a long lane that never turns." He fought like a 
 dragon, and the owners had occasion to felicitate 
 themselves in the fortunate choice they had made. 
 They must have accumulated an immense sum by 
 her prizes. Capt. Read himself made a fortune in 
 her, and the affection of all her sailors and the ready 
 zeal which they always testified to follow him to the 
 cannon s mouth, proved the exact justice which he 
 awarded to them. It was not lessened by the dig 
 nity of his deportment. He was a strict disciplina 
 rian. Yet there never was any complaint made of 
 him on that score. 
 
 The effect of this reverse of fortune upon the fam 
 ily of Capt. Read, may be better imagined, than I 
 can describe it. Rosa used to relate with much ap 
 parent triumph, how often during that season, the 
 
70 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 guns fired at the news of a prize to Capt. Read. 
 She said in those days, " the females generally used 
 to run into the street when a gun was fired, to know 
 what it meant, and many were the needless alarms 
 from the fear that the British were coming." It is 
 related at one time five prizes were announced in 
 three days to Capt. Read. 
 
 But if they had been elated with this cheering 
 circumstance on the one hand, they had suffered a 
 corresponding depression on another. Every one 
 knows the aggravation of being mocked with a 
 promise of any blessing to which we have set_our 
 hearts ; and the exiled inhabitants of Newport 
 looked forward to the moment of their return to 
 their terrestrial Paradise, with as much impatience as 
 ever the Israelites looked to the promised land. 
 
 The arrival of the brave and gallant D Estaing in 
 the harbor of Newport, had convinced every one of 
 them that the hour of restoration was at hand ; and 
 so great was the rejoicing among its inhabitants in 
 the neighboring towns, that they rushed tumultuous- 
 ly together, to exchange gratulations upon the ap 
 proaching event. What then must have been their 
 disappointment, when he withdrew his fleet in the 
 vain pursuit of Lord Howe ; when he forsook a post 
 which he might have filled with real advantage, for 
 a chimerical project! Doubtless, they all exclaimed 
 "had he kept his station, he would soon have starv 
 ed out the enemy, and compelled the reduction of 
 the garrison," but all in vain was the reproach ; he 
 had taken the whim to go ; and Frenchman like, he 
 was off in a moment. However, he was the cause at 
 a later period of the final evacuation of Newport by 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 71 
 
 the British.* After the attempt to take Savannah, 
 by D Estaing, in 1779, lie continued for some days 
 upon the coast of Georgia, and the British Generals 
 fearing he might make a sudden descent upon R. 
 Island, made their retreat from Newport, with so 
 much precipitation, that they left behind them all 
 their heavy artillery, and a considerable quantity of 
 stores. "Thus Rhode-Island, which had fallen 
 peaceably into the hands of the Royalists, returned 
 quietly into their possession." It was taken and re 
 taken without the shedding of blood. The Republic 
 ans after the evacuation of Newport had the wit to 
 keep the "British colors flying for some days on 
 the ramparts, by which means they decoyed into 
 their power many of the King s vessels that" came to 
 surrender themselves at Newport. Rhode-Island 
 returned into the possession of the Americans the 
 twenty-fifth of Oct. 1779." 
 
 The triumph which this event occasioned to the 
 patriotic feelings of Mrs. Read and her family was 
 allayed by the occurrence of a mournful catastro 
 phe, which drowned their rejoicings in tears. As 
 soon as the movement to evacuate Newport was 
 known, ves sels from various quarters were on the 
 alert to catch some of the stragglers. Among the 
 rest, a vessel called the Hazard, of Boston, comman 
 ded by a Capt. Johnson, which was then cruising 
 off the coast, was one. Another called the Black 
 
 * D Estaing seemed fated to make some compensa 
 tion to the inhabitants of Newport, besides being ulti 
 mately the cause of the removal of the British. He v\as 
 . the Captor of Wallace, in the Experiment of 50 guns, off 
 the coast of Georgia, Sept. 1st, 1779, about 7 weeks be 
 fore the evacuation of Newport. 
 
72 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 Snake, from Wickford, commanded by Capt. Isaac 
 Carr, went out on purpose. In the latter went 
 George Brown ; he was not a seaman, but the ex 
 citement of the occasion carried him with a number 
 of others who knew nothing of naval affairs. Un 
 fortunately, those two vessels descried one another, 
 just out the harbor of Newport, and each believing 
 the other to belong to the enemy, prepared for ac 
 tion. The Hazard bore down upon the other, and 
 they encountered just off Block Island. The dark 
 ness , for it was in the night, prevented their distin 
 guishing American colors. Neither was inclined to 
 yield ; and grappling, they fought with the fury of ti 
 gers, and each was in the act of boarding the other, 
 a circumstance almost unprecedented, before they 
 discovered their mistake. Several were very badly 
 wounded, and one killed, and that one the unfortu 
 nate George Brown. Intending to go upon this en 
 terprise, on the preceding Sabbath he appeared at 
 Church and put up prayers for a safe return, after 
 which he immediately embarked, and was returned 
 on Tuesday evening a corpse.* This shocking 
 event was more than a counterpoise to the pleasure 
 of returning to Newport. Mr. Brown was a peaceable, 
 industrious and patriotic citizen. He left but one 
 child, a daughter, who was married to a Mr. Larch- 
 er, and whose descendants are now residents in 
 Ohio, and the Western part of New-York. 
 
 The widow of George Brown, and Rosa, conclu 
 ded to reside at Providence, but Capt. Read hasten- 
 
 *The particulars of this unfortunate affair, I had from 
 an aged citizen of this place, who was in the Hazard at 
 the time, Capt. Turpin Smith. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 ed upon the first news of the retreat of the army to 
 remove his family to Newport. They were accom- 
 pained by Rosa, and here a scene of destruction and 
 desolation presented itself new to them, but proba 
 bly parallelled in most captured towns. Their lit 
 tle cottage at the beach, was nearly ruined, and I 
 think suffered to fall to decay without being tenant 
 ed again. 
 
 Many of the finest houses, which were only left 
 standing for convenience, were yet completely ruin 
 ed by having been made barracks off. Wood split 
 on the best floors, and superb mantle-pieces and 
 doors torn off to burn, as occasion required, and 
 every other act of wanton spoliation that could be 
 conceived of. Capt. Read purchased and refitted a 
 house in Broad-street, where they removed, which 
 is still designated by the cyphers O. R. inserted in 
 the pavement in front,, though it has long ceased to 
 be the property of his unfortunate family. 
 
 The Rochambeau still continued her successful 
 cruises, and one or two of her prizes were said to 
 be taken on the coast of England. She was such 
 a swift sailer, as to bid defiance in a chase, and this 
 induced a feeling of security that proved disastrous 
 in the end. Her Captain, of course, was rarely on 
 shore. He would frequently convoy a prize into 
 port, and just stop for refreshment or to recruit, and 
 be immediately off again. 
 
 The depredations of the Rochambeau had become 
 so notorious at length, as to excite considerable at 
 tention, and various expedients were devised by the 
 enemy to get her into their power. Several English 
 vessels were watching for her upon the coast, and one 
 had for some time been on the look-out near LittleEgg 
 Harbor. This place had long been a famous resort 
 
74 TALES NATIONAT, 
 
 for ships of both nations. It had once been in 
 possession of the British, at the time they nearly 
 overrun New-Jersey. But although the army un 
 der Lord Clinton still continued their predatory 
 excursions in the State, this place had never since 
 been molested. 
 
 But we must look back a few moments to the 
 evacuation of Newport. At the time the army left 
 it, there were also a number of loyalists, who had 
 rendered themselves so justly obnoxious to the 
 country, as to make it prudent to retreat likewise. 
 Among them was a person by the name of Cran- 
 dall, who warmly espoused the cause of the Eng 
 lish, and who had been the occasion of much 
 persecution to some of the suffering inhabitants oi 
 Newport, and the cause of much wanton destruc 
 tion of property. He had once been an acquaint 
 ance of Capt. Read s, an old school-fellow of his, 
 and always professed great friendship for him. 
 This man was now heading a party without the 
 harbor, who were endeavoring to secure him by 
 stratagem. He had somehow obtained intelligence 
 of Capt. Read s sailing from New-London, where 
 he had just convoyed a prize, and waylaid him at 
 Egg Harbor. The ship to which Crandall be 
 longed was securely anchored in a little creek at 
 a considerable distance ; while the Rochambeau 
 cast hers at the mouth of the harbor, and her 
 boat proceeded to the shore with the water casks. 
 They landed and proceeded to the spring where 
 they generally took in water, and their enemies 
 were directed to the spot by a woman in their 
 employ. The boat s crew, taken by surprise, were 
 immediately made prisoners. After dark, they 
 
AND FJBTOLVTIONARY. 75 
 
 loaded the boat with men, and cautiously pro 
 ceeded alongside. They waited until they judged 
 the officers and crew had turned in. The senti 
 nels on deck demanded the watch-word, which 
 was promptly given, " Cahoone and the water." 
 How they became possessed of it was not known, 
 since the brave Cahoone himself would sooner 
 have perished than revealed it. This man, Capt. 
 Isaiah Cahoone, of Providence, who was an offi 
 cer on board, was now secured with his associates, 
 Mr. John Tower, afterwards Capt. Tower, of Provi 
 dence, and six others, at the harbor. Upon giving 
 the countersign, they were received, and immediately 
 secured the sentinels on deck, while their companions 
 leaped on board, and proceeded to fasten down the 
 hatchways. Capt. Reed himself was asleep, and 
 was awakened only to know he was prisoner again, 
 for the tenth time, to an enemy from whom he now 
 expected to receive no mercy. 
 
 The prisoners being broug ht from the shore, they 
 jet sail from New-York, from whence they were 
 immediately transferred to the Jersey prison ship, 
 that place of horror and despair, where death, array 
 ed in move than mortal terror, stood ready to reiv 
 hif victims. 
 
7 6 TALEI NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "Arouud all stained with rebel blood, 
 " Like Milton s lazar bouse it stood. 
 "Where grim Despair attended nurse, 
 "And Death was governor of the house." 
 
 IT is not necessary, in this place, to give a parti 
 cular description of the Jersey prison ship, since a 
 very accurate and complete description of that place 
 of horrors, that " floating hell," as it has been signi 
 ficantly called, has so recently been given by one who 
 made a long stay within her loathsome walls.* 
 He judged it an impossibility to escape from her. 
 But at a later day, some daring souls have been found 
 who were willing to attempt it, preferring death it 
 self to a captivity so appalling. 
 
 Capt. Read had the privilege of being with two of 
 the officers of his vessel in the room where he was 
 confined, i. e. officers room. At the time they be 
 came prisoners on board the Jersey, their privileges 
 were circumscribed within even narrower bounds 
 than they had been ; and death, occasioned by the 
 effluvia from so many bodies, so closely packed, was 
 making rapid strides among them. 
 
 They were closely watched, but amidst difficulties 
 deemed insurmountable by others, Capt. Reed had 
 several times made his escape from the enemy, and 
 he was now fully determined to accomplish it, or per 
 ish in the attempt. He communicated his plan to a 
 
 *Capt. Dring, of Providence, 
 
AND RETOLUTIONART. 
 
 few daring spirits, like himself, who willingly agreed 
 to engage in any enterprise of which he was the head. 
 Among the foremost of these was Capt. Isaiah Ca- 
 hoone, who with Capt. John Tower, were all the 
 ones of his own little band with whom it was possi 
 ble to confer; and they, with two or three others, 
 agreed, as there was no chance to effect their escape 
 privately, to attempt it by a coup de main. Accord 
 ingly, they watched a chance when the boat which 
 used to bring provisions from the shore should be 
 unloaded, to jump in before it should be hauled up, 
 push the last man in it overboard, cutting the ropes 
 and pushing her off under the guns of the vessel. My 
 account says, there were five in the plot besides Capt. 
 Read; but I cannot find but four who succeeded in 
 getting off besides, viz. Capt. Isaiah Cahoone, Capt. 
 
 John Tower, Capt. Cooke, and Capt. 
 
 Hopkins, all of Providence except Capt. Read. 
 
 After waiting some days in vain for a suitable op 
 portunity, of which they were to judge by a concert 
 ed signal from Capt. Read, the favorable moment at 
 length presented itself. The season, though very 
 inclement, could not have been better adapted to 
 their purpose. It was one of the shortest days in 
 December, dark and cloudy, and evidently threaten 
 ing a severe snow-storm. Now and then a few flakes 
 would fall on the deck, while the thickness of the 
 atmosphere on land, gave notice that it had already 
 commenced falling in abundance at a few miles dis 
 tance. It was near night, when the boat returned 
 from the shore, and unloaded her provisions. The 
 conspirators kept as near as possible without exciting 
 suspicion; when, at the signal given by the Captain 
 of the Re hambeau, each sprung forward and leaped 
 
78 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 after him into the boat, where he had already freed 
 himself from the last man., having hoisted him over 
 board. The ropes were cut in a trice, and the boat 
 off. The alarm was instantly given, the guns of the 
 sentinels fired into the boat one shot went through 
 her the remaining prisoners were secured below, 
 and efforts made to pursue the boat; but Providence 
 favored their attempt. The storm, which had been so 
 long threatening, now set in with such violence, and 
 the snow fell so thick and fast, that it was deemed 
 inexpedient to pursue them. Capt. Read thought 
 himself too well acquainted with the shores of Long 
 Island to lose his way, even in a snow storm; and 
 he happily effected a landing of his company in a 
 remote part, during the night. Here they agreed to 
 separate, and each to take a different route, in order 
 the better to effect his escape. After a travel of 
 much suffering, they all got safe off the island. Capt. 
 Read got home first; but the particulars of his escape 
 from the island we are unacquainted with. Capt. 
 Cahoone was some time getting home, likewise Capt. 
 Tower. The former met with some humorous ad 
 ventures, as well as painful ones; he suffered ex 
 ceedingly from the want of food, and by other priva 
 tions; but finally made his escape. Capt. Cahoone, 
 the third day after his arrival on the island, seized a 
 boat and pilotted himself along the Connecticut 
 shore, after crossing the sound to Saybrook (Con.) 
 from whence he got on to Providence by land. 
 
 Capt. Read made his escape to Newport with a 
 heart as full of wrath against his captors, as it was 
 possible to feel. The anecdote of his parting from 
 Crandall, when released from him to go on board the 
 Jewey priion ship, is too remarkable to be omitted 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 79 
 
 here. His last words to that infamous fellow, after 
 venting every reproach he could think of, were " A 
 short life to one of us. If we meet again, and meet 
 again we shall, one of us dies." His rage was 
 boundless, and it had not abated upon his return. 
 
 The disastrous news of the capture of the Ro- 
 chambeau reached Newport before the escape of her 
 Captain, and much sympathy was excited on the 
 occasion. Without giving himself any time to re 
 cover from the fatigue, exposure and starvation 
 attending his perilous escape, Capt. Read set about 
 procuring another vessel of equal force, and went in 
 pursuit of the Rochambeau. Three times he return 
 ed with a prize to Newport, without discovering any 
 tidings of her. She had been carried to New-York 
 and re-painted, and her present owners had likewise 
 given her a new name; but upon the fourth cruise, he 
 discovered her. No vessel, he used to say, ever sat 
 upon the water like her, and no disguise of names or 
 colors could possibly deceive him. But the difficul 
 ty was to get up with her; she was such a complete 
 sailer that there was no chance in a fair chase. It 
 was not until after many hours of maneuvering, that 
 they succeeded in getting up with her. Crandall 
 was now her Captain. He seemed to have an in 
 stinctive dread of his pursuer, although he could have 
 had no suspicion of her commander, who he probably 
 judged to be safe in the hold of the Jersey; for upon 
 her coming near, he hoisted American colors; and 
 on being hailed, answered, An American privateer. 
 Who commands ! Capt. Read, of Newport." They 
 were answered by a broadside from Capt. Read s ves 
 sel, as he displayed himself to his astonished antago 
 nist, and he was compelled to prepare for action. It 
 
80 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 was the intention of Capt. Read to have grappled 
 with her, and fought man to man; but in this, Cran- 
 dall, favored by the wind, was successful in foiling 
 him. They came so near, however, as to distinctly 
 hear the voice of Crandall commanding his men " to 
 kill the Captain, if possible, the first fire." This 
 was only wanting to elevate the feelings of the Re 
 publican crew to the highest pitch of resentment. 
 A battle commenced, in which each party was de 
 termined to give up only with life. The refugee 
 Captain had a sailing-master on board, as ferocious 
 as himself, and a number of marines; and their de 
 termination seemed to be to sink the American ves 
 sel, if they could not take her. But Capt. Read ji 
 was to take the Rochambeau at all hazards. The 
 combat raged for several hours with the greatest fury. 
 The American crew seemed nerved to frenzy. They 
 had missed the Captain of the enemy s vessel, and 
 they were persuaded he had fallen; and this circum 
 stance convinced them that the battle would finally 
 be theirs. Things have been related of the despe 
 rate valor and ferocious courage displayed in this 
 encounter, almost too much to believe; and one cir 
 cumstance out of many may be selected, as a speci 
 men of their frantic courage, which a certificate at 
 the end of this tale will confirm the truth of, which 
 proves that it approached almost to madness. A 
 young lad on board the American, named Benjamin 
 Cornell, attached to Capt. Read, while in the heat 
 of the battle, bared his bosom and defied the English 
 to kill him! He was then on the rigging, and a fatal 
 shot the next instant laid him dead upon the deck. 
 At length the firing from the Rochambeau ceased, 
 and a flaw of wind blowing aside the dense smoke 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. , 81 
 
 in which she was involved, discovered the red crosi 
 prostrate. 
 
 However sweet revenge may be in anticipation, 
 the writer of this narrative is led to believe it cannot 
 be so in retrospection. It was not, at any rate, to 
 one of Capt. Read s naturally refined and benevolent 
 feelings. He could never, to the end of his days, 
 speak of the scene that presented itself upon step 
 ping on board of the Rochambeau, without a feeling 
 of pain. " The blood upon her decks," he said, 
 " was nearly over shoes." There lay the head of 
 the treacherous and ferocious Crandall in one place, 
 and his body in another. He had been killed in the 
 early part of the contest; and the latter part of it 
 had been so fatal to the Rochambeau, that I think 
 there was but one man lelt to take down the col 
 ors. 
 
 Several brave fellows fell in the Republican vessel, 
 a source of great regret to her Captain; yet the day 
 that saw him enter his native port triumphant from 
 the fight, and accompanied by his favorite brig, was 
 one of great exultation, 
 
 About this time Rosa returned to the house of 
 Mrs. Brown, in Providence. She said the courage 
 of Mary (Mrs. Read) had still to support her through 
 many trials. One anecdote related of her courage at 
 this time, deserves record. In one of the cruises of 
 her husband, he had taken a vessel with a quantity 
 of specie on board. The thing was much talked of 
 at the time, being such a rich prize, and it was known 
 that a box of it was deposited at his house. There 
 were no persons lodged at the house except Mrs. 
 Read and her children ; the night succeeding her 
 husband s departure, she had some apprehension on 
 
82 TALE* NATIONAL 
 
 account ot the property which was confided to her 
 care, and took the precaution to have it placed under 
 her bed. On the table, at the bed s head, she kept 
 a lamp burning, and a hanger laid beside it, and she 
 herself went quietly to sleep. Her oldest daughter 
 felt very timid, and could not sleep. About mid 
 night, she went to her mother s room, and told her 
 there was some one trying to pry open the cellar 
 kitchen window. Mrs. Read hastily arose, and tak 
 ing the lamp in one hand, and the hanger in the other, 
 resolutely but softly stole down stairs. A man had 
 just got his head and shoulders through the window, 
 and ere he could draw himself back, she pitched at 
 him with the hanger. Two men immediately ran 
 from the house, and upon examining the window, it 
 was discovered from a few drops of blood, that one 
 of them had been wounded. She took precautions, 
 however, to remove the specie next day to a place 
 of deposit. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 35 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Amnz d, the Briton s startled pride 
 " Sees ruin wake on every side ; 
 " Not Cadmus views with more turpris* 
 " From earth embattled armies rise." 
 
 AFTER the Rochambeau had been completely re 
 fitted, her adventurous Captain once more set sail in 
 her. She continued to cruise with great success dur 
 ing the war, although every exertion was made to get 
 possession of her by the enemy. Taught by bitter 
 experience the necessity of extreme caution, her Cap 
 tain and crew were never found off their guard again. 
 It was in the autumn of the year 1782, that in one of 
 her cruises a little off Sandy Hook, she learnt 
 the capture of the brig Spy, a valuable vessel be 
 longing to Clarke & Nightingale, of Providence. She 
 was bound to North-Carolina, and was taken in lat. 
 32, and sent into New -York. She was taken by his 
 Britannic Majesty s ship of war Lion, of 64 guns. 
 This ship, it may be recollected, was in the battle of 
 Grenada, attached to the fleet of Com. Byron, 
 when that Island was taken by the French, under 
 Count D Estaing; when completely dismantled and 
 almost a wreck, she escaped to Jamaica. Afterwards, 
 in 1780, she fought a very obstinate battle, in which 
 she sustained great injury, off Cape Francois, in 
 company with three others, under command of Com. 
 Cornwallis, against the Arubal and Diomede, com 
 manded by the Chevalier de la Motte Piquet. She 
 
84 TAI.ES NATIONAL 
 
 was now cruising off the coasts of North-Carolina 
 and Georgia. The Spy was a valuable brig, having 
 a commission from government, and was commanded 
 by Capt. Samuel Godfrey, of Providence, and had on 
 board 500 bushels of salt, 5 hhds. of molasses, 7 of 
 Taffia rum, besides a quantity of sugar and coffee. 
 The Captain and a part of the crew were taken out, 
 and the remainder, with the brig and her cargo, sent 
 to New-York, under command of the first Midship 
 man, as prize-master, with a number of English sai 
 lors. 
 
 Capt. Read having moored his vessel in a secure 
 place, was on the look-out, near Sandy Hook, when 
 the Spy came up under English colors. She dropped 
 anchor off the Hook, waiting for a Pilot. Placing 
 himself in a small boat, with only a few stout men 
 for rowers, the Capt. of the Rochambeau boldly went 
 alongside, and offered his services to pilot her to 
 New -York. The bargain was soon struck, and the 
 new Pilot at the helm. Going as near to New-York 
 as safety would permit, he continued to amuse them 
 for some time, with the belief that they approached 
 the end of their voyage. But the wind being fair for 
 Newport, he suddenly put her before it; and crowd 
 ing all sail, was far on her course before the enemy 
 were aware of it: and when they did discover it, it 
 appears the design was not suspected; but rather that 
 the Pilot had mistook their destination; for calling 
 out at last, the prize-master said, " Sir, we are going 
 to New- York!" 
 
 "No, Sir," said the Pilot, turning to him with a 
 low bow, and then recovering himself with an air of 
 dignity and command peculiarly his own, and which 
 was always successful in ensuring obedience and 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 85 
 
 distancing familiarity; " No, Sir; we are going to 
 Newport." The commander saw e.t once they were 
 taken, and yielded the victory without bloodshed. 
 This may appear extraordinary ?nd \i is so. It is 
 neverthless true. They were taken so by surprise 
 the cool and resolute courage of the Pilot his entire 
 self-possession, and the presence o*" his few but firm 
 friends, who had leaped up from the boat, and now 
 stood at his elbow and above all, the certainty that 
 no one would have engaged in such an undertaking as 
 that of the Pilot s, without being armed at all points, 
 and resolved to defend themselves at all hazards it 
 is probable influenced them to yield the prize a 
 bloodless victory. At any rate, they did thus yield 
 it, and the Pilot carried her into Newport in triumph. 
 
 It was not much less a triumph to Capt. Godfrey, 
 who was a prisoner on parole in the city of New- 
 York, when the prize-master and his company re 
 turned there, bearing the news of the re-capture of 
 his vessel. The enemy had taken nothing out of 
 her; the cargo was therefore entire, and the brig 
 itself was soon afterwards sold in Newport for 
 1150 sterling. 
 
 The port of Newport had been strongly fortified, 
 it may be recollected, immediately after its evacua 
 tion, by the Americans and French. Once only 
 since that period, have the English made a descent 
 upon it, when they came no further than Hunting- 
 ton, in the Sound. From thence their vessels dis 
 patched to reconnoitre, had returned with such an 
 account of the state of the fortifications, and the 
 force of the garrison of French and American sol 
 diers, that it was not judged prudent to attack it. 
 
86 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 From that time they remainednmmolested by the 
 enemy, and their harbor had been the great depot of 
 American cruisers a vast deal of British property 
 had been brought in and condemned at Newport. 
 The brig Spy, whose case has been just related, it 
 is believed was one of the last. For the account, the 
 writer is indebted to our venerable townsman, Capt. 
 Samuel Godfrey, who was himself her commander. 
 Capt. Read only brought in one prize after this, an 
 English merchantman of very considerable value, 
 and immediately departed in pursuit of another, 
 which he was within an hour s chase of, when the 
 express sent out from Newport to recall him, pre 
 vented his proceeding. Peace had been proclaimed, 
 and the news arrrived at Newport even before his 
 last prize could be condemned. So the merchant 
 man escaped. 
 
 There was a part of the inhabitants of Newport, to 
 whom the news was not over welcome, and who 
 thought they had not yet taken sufficient revenge for 
 the injuries that they in a peculiar manner had sus 
 tained. But the great majority welcomed the news 
 with transport. 
 

 AMD REVOLUTIOXARY. 87 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AH flesh is grass, and all its glory fades, 
 " Like the fair flower dishevell d in the wind. 
 " Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dref 
 " The man we celebrate must find a tomb." 
 
 CAPT. Read had now made a fortune, which if he 
 had been content to have set down and enjoyed, 
 would have been abundantly sufficient. But this the 
 activity of his spirit forbade. His family were very 
 averse to his going long voyages, and to please them 
 in this, he built a large and elegant packet, to go to 
 the Southern ports, which in compliment to his he 
 roic wife, he called "the Mary." Many of his 
 friends strenuously urged him to give himself repose 
 for the remainder of his days. But the sea was his 
 element, and he had a family besides, who lived at 
 great expense. Not that they took much interest in 
 the pomps and vanities of life; no person could be 
 more averse to this than Mrs. Read. But she had 
 suffered so severely in their state of poverty, in the 
 early part of the war, that from that period, the poor 
 were all considered as her brethren and sisters; their 
 claims were indiscriminately allowed, and numerous 
 were the distressed families whom her bounty made 
 comfortable. This system of charity could not ex 
 ist without expense. Her husband too was extremely 
 benevolent, and if ever he complained of the ex 
 penses of his family, he was silenced at once, by 
 being reminded of his duty to the poor. 4$ut to re 
 turn to " the Mary." 
 
88 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 She continued for some time to make voyages to 
 Southern ports, until her Captain was induced by 
 the pressing solicitations of some gentlemen in New- 
 York, to take some ladies to St. John s (N. B.) 
 He was not acquainted with the coast, but after en 
 gaging two Pilots, who professed to be acquainted 
 with it, he concluded to go. It was stipulated by 
 the Pilots, that they should be paid before they sail 
 ed, which was done: But they proved to be arrant 
 rogues, entirely unacquainted with the place they 
 were going to. The consequence was, they were 
 wrecked upon that dangerous coast. The Pilots 
 quickly made shift for themselves, as well as every 
 hand on board, on the night of the shipwreck; and 
 the ladies, four in number, were saved with a ser 
 vant girl, through the intrepidity of their Capiain 
 alone; who, at the imminent hazard of his own life, 
 got them one at a time upon a rock, where they all 
 waited until morning. " The Mary" went to pieces. 
 
 This was one of the severest mortifications, Capt. 
 Read affirmed, he ever experienced. The ladies 
 were the wives of refugees, who had fled to St. 
 John s in the beginning of the war. They saved 
 nothing but their lives, and his chagrin upon en 
 tering St. John s next day, with the ladies, was 
 extreme. However, it seemed that even a refugee 
 may be possessed of gratitude. His reception from 
 their husbands, and the general sympathy expressed 
 for his loss, tended in some measure to relieve him. 
 The brave, although an enemy, are sure of admira 
 tion from the English. The character and exploits 
 of Capt. Read were not unknown at St. John s, and 
 the attentions lavished upon him, during his short 
 stay among them, were such as he had never receiv- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 89 
 
 ed before; and it is not in human nature not to be 
 pleased with the admiration, which we feel we de 
 serve. The person in question often declared in 
 after years, that the few weeks he spent at St. John s, 
 was one of the pleasantest seasons of his life. He 
 was followed by the regrets of those whom he had so 
 lately made his friends, and loaded with many valu 
 able presents to his family. By the friends too 
 at New-York, who had persuaded him to undertake 
 toe voyage, he was liberally remembered; neverthe 
 less the loss of " the Mary" was a great blow to 
 him, and besides, his fortune from that day seemed 
 reversed. 
 
 Domestic affliction also had its share in breaking 
 the spirit of this intrepid friend of his country. He 
 had a daughter, his youngest, whose singularly am 
 iable temper had endeared her in a particular man 
 ner to her father. She was besides in every respect 
 a desirable child. She was but 18, when attacked 
 by a fatal disease; and notwithstanding every effort 
 to save her, his beloved Catharine was in a few 
 months borne to the grave. Although he had three 
 other children, his hopes now seemed to centre in 
 his youngest son, a beautiful and interesting youth, 
 who it was mentioned in the former part of this book, 
 was born at Bristol ferry. He as well as his oldest 
 brother, chose the sea. He was absent with a friend 
 in New- York, a gentleman of fortune, who having 
 no family, was exceedingly attached to young Oli 
 ver, and had determined upon making him his heir. 
 He was then going upon what he called his last voyage, 
 with this gentleman to Batavia. On their return, 
 they were to settle at New-York. In the unhealthy 
 
90 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 climate of Java, Oliver Read fell a victim to an ep 
 idemic fever, in the bloom of opening manhood.* 
 His adopted father hung over him in agony, and af 
 ter his death, refused to be comforted. He went into 
 a deep melancholy and followed his favorite to the 
 grave in a few weeks, with no malady as the physicians 
 declared,but grief. Oliver s death almost overwhelmed 
 his father. In declining years he was, however, sup 
 ported by the consolations of religion, and he made 
 an effort to shake off the cares of business, and set 
 down in the enjoyment of domestic peace. Alas, 
 peace in this world was not his portion ; but the new 
 afflictions he was called to experience, destroyed this 
 hope, and by increasing his expenses, obliged him 
 once more to resume his laborious profession. 
 
 His affections were bound up in his children: once 
 his country had been his idol ; now his God claimed 
 a heart where he would permit no rivals. One by 
 one, they were torn from him by death or misfortune, 
 or what was worse,compelled to seek the asylum of his 
 house again, as the only refuge from domestic ty 
 ranny and constant inquietude. One of his sons-in- 
 law was lost in the Irish Channel, supposed to be 
 
 *I am loth to introduce any thing in this volume which 
 may appear like superstition; but as the circumstance re 
 lated to me by Mrs. Read many years since, was remark 
 able, I cannot forbear. Mrs. Read told me, on the 
 night young Oliver died, she Was awakened by a noise 
 of knocking at the door, like his knock. She started from 
 bed, exclaiming, "Oliver, my son, is it you?" A voice, 
 answered " Yes, mother, it is I." She trembled so that sh& 
 could not unclose the door, and her husband came to 
 help her ; but no son was there. The news arrived too 
 soon of his death, which occurred the very night. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 91 
 
 run down by one of the convoy, and his destitute 
 widow and child had become the inmates of her fa 
 ther s house. Capt. Read at the age of 60, took 
 command of a vessel to Point Petre, (Guadaloupe) 
 where he caught the yellow fever, and died soon 
 after he arrived. His oldest son about the same time 
 arrived there from a distant port, and upon taking 
 the fever, was conveyed to. the house, where he 
 learned the shocking intelligence that his father 
 was dying under the same roof. He was unable to 
 see him, except as he caught a glimpse of him, as 
 they carried him past his room to the hearse. Af 
 ter his recovery, he got released from the vessel he 
 came in as mate, and brought his father s vessel 
 back to Newport. 
 
 Thus terminated the adventurous and laborious life 
 of Capt. Oliver Read, of whom it may with pro 
 priety be said, there never was a warmer patriot, nor 
 braver man. His moral character too, was irre 
 proachable his habits strictly temperate and his 
 affection for his family and friends, ardent and sin 
 cere. An instance of his feelings for the former, I 
 cannot forbear mentioning the circumstance of his 
 fainting at a coffee-house in Charleston, upon re 
 cognizing a gold watch and chain, which had belong 
 ed to his beloved son Oliver. It was many years after 
 his death, and had doubtless been purloined at the 
 time of his decease, by this very stranger, who upon 
 Capt. Read s recovery had made his escape. If it 
 can be called a fault, we may say that his implaca 
 ble resentment towards the foes of his country was 
 one. His motto was, never to allow treason any 
 quarter. 
 
 The society of Free Masons, of \vhich he was a 
 
92 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 member, held him in the highest respect, and al 
 though he did not meet with that body for many of 
 the last years of his life, because his bowed down 
 spirit, " could not (as he said) endure festivity" 
 yet they testified their sincere regret at his depart 
 ure, in their respectful condolements with his afflict 
 ed family. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great efforts of Capt. Read, 
 to secure an independence for his family, he left them 
 but little property, in comparison to the fortune he 
 had obtained. His widow, overcome with the do 
 mestic afflctions, which had for many years continu 
 ed to visit her devoted family, was totally unable to 
 sustain this blow, followed immediately as it was by 
 the death of her oldest daughter. Her high spirit and 
 great resolution were but illy calculated to support 
 her, where the arm of Omnipotence alone can sus 
 tain. A stranger to that heavenly peace, which amidst 
 his manifold trials, had supported her husband through 
 the last years of his life, and smoothed his entrance 
 to the dark valley, her reason sunk under the blow, 
 and she was soon reduced to a state of imbecility 
 resembling childhood. Yes, it is with a pang of 
 heart the writer of this narrative records, that she has 
 seen the mind which laughed at the threats of Wal 
 lace, and scorned the arrogance of Prescott, in ruins. 
 
 * * * " * f ,]:* 
 
 We will now follow for a few years, the venerable 
 narrator of this story, even to the end of her event 
 ful pilgrimage. The affection of Rosa for her cous 
 in s family never knew abatement. Their oldest 
 daughter had been the adopted of her heart for her 
 she would have braved a world in arms for her she 
 did brave many and great dangers. The object ** 
 
AiN,D REVOLUTIONARY^ 93 
 
 her warmest wishes had been to have her marry and 
 settle near her; that wish had been accomplished 
 when her protegee was not more than seventeen years 
 of age. She had seen her prosperously married, (as 
 the phrase of the world is, who judge from outward 
 circumstances alone.) There was one care then off 
 her mind. To increase her satisfaction, the widow 
 of George Brown, with whom she continued to live, 
 was married to Mr. Daniel Eddy of Johnston (R. I.) 
 He had a brother, Thomas Eddy, who was very de 
 sirous to marry Rosa, but being her senior by about 
 twenty years, Rosa hesitated. The good character 
 of the man on the one hand, together with the pros 
 pect of a competency, formed a strong inducement. 
 His age, on the other hand, operated the other way. 
 Rosa hesitated in this state of indecision, the old 
 gentleman secured her acquiescence by a manoeuvre 
 that one would have supposed would nave been the 
 last to influence such a spirit as hers. He caus 
 ed the banns of marriage to be proclaimed between 
 him and Rosanna Hicks; and Rosa who might before 
 this, have been considered as bullet proof, surrender 
 ed at discretion; that is, she married him without any 
 longer time for consideration. "But," said she (when 
 relating this circumstance,) "I don t know as ever I 
 repented it; he was one of the kindest of hus 
 bands." Mrs. Daniel Eddy again became a widow, 
 and resided with Rosa until the end of her days, with 
 her mother also, a very aged woman. These three 
 all died very near together, within a short time of 
 each other. Rosa closed the eyes of her aged aunt 
 Read, and her daughter, the widow of Daniel Eddy, 
 who both departed in the triumphs of faith, and then 
 of her husband, Thomas Eddy. 
 
94 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 Mr. Eddy left all his property to Rosa. He left a 
 nephew about Rosa s age, to \vhom she was married 
 within a year after her first husband s death. Strange 
 to say, this marriage was a very happy one. Mr. 
 Eddy was one of the pleasantest men living, 
 and they harmonized in every thing. They lived on 
 a little farm about seven miles from Providence, and 
 the writer of this narrative has scarcely ever thought 
 of happiness without thinking of them. One only 
 thing seemed at times to throw a gloom over the 
 habitation of Rosa ; and that was the number of 
 deaths that had occurred there. This gloom was 
 destined to be increased by an event more afflictive 
 to her, than all the rest put together ; her beloved 
 Amey closed her unfortunate life at her house ere 
 she had attained its meridian. She died while on a 
 visit to Rosa, in the thirty-sixth year of her age. 
 Rosa never could enjoy her house after, declaring 
 "it looked like a tomb;" and upon her husband 
 proposing to remove to the Western part of New- 
 York State, where the land was easier of cultiva 
 tion, she readily and joyfully consented. 
 
 Strangers to the country and to the manners of the 
 inhabitants, the aged emigrants took up their resi 
 dence in Kinderhook, a flourishing town North of 
 Albany. Here they easily became dupes to the im 
 positions so generally practised upon strangers. 
 They lost their property by little and little. Mr. 
 Eddy had a son with him, excessively dissipated ; 
 he married and brought his wife to reside with them. 
 But things went so bad, they concluded upon remov 
 ing back to their old town, and for this purpose, 
 Mr. Eddy sold the farm. Before he could remove 
 he was attacked with a lingering complaint which in 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 95 
 
 a few months put a period to his existence. His 
 sickness was very severe, and his wife endured in 
 credible fatigue ; but ere she had time to rest, the 
 wife of young Eddy, was taken ill and died with her 
 infant. Young Eddy himself followed her in a few 
 weeks. His illness, which was a sudden cold taken 
 in the water, was but of short duration; but attend 
 ed with such horrors of conscience, as were dread 
 ful to witness. Rosa, who constantly and affection 
 ately attended him, though he had been her greatest 
 trial, now closed his eyes, and alone prepared to re 
 turn to Rhode-Island. TJieir property was dread 
 fully encumbered, and she left the settlement of it in 
 the hands of an agent, with orders to pay every debt 
 and remit the remainder to her; but never could 
 get any account of him, except word that there " was 
 nothing left." She came to Rhode-Island, and 
 spent the last years of her life in the family cff a 
 sister of her first husband, the widow of Laban 
 Waterman, Johnston, who kindly received her un 
 der her roof in her old age. 
 
 It was edifying to see the unmurmuring disposition 
 with which she bore this last sad reverse of fortune, 
 and the gratitude she evinced for every little atten 
 tion. She whose hospitable doors were ever open, 
 not only to her friends, but to all the afflicted, and 
 whose whole life was spent in zealous and courag 
 eous efforts to serve her fellow creatures. 
 
 But Rosa thought she had no right to murmur, 
 since enjoying life and liberty. " Here am I," she 
 would often say, wfaen looking back upon her adven 
 turous life, and retracing the scenes delineated here. 
 " Here am I, while so many of my former friends 
 sure in the world of spirits. ^Capt. Read, and his 
 
96 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 once flourishing family sleep in the dust, the useful 
 and the good are taken ; I alone spared." Still she 
 would hope it might be for some good, and would of 
 ten say " she must be continued here for some par 
 ticular purpose, which in the order of God s provi 
 dence she had got to perform." 
 
 Had Rosa been a woman of education, she would 
 doubtless have made a shining character ; but born 
 and educated as she was in poverty, and with but 
 little opportunity for instruction, which in those 
 days was dispensed to females particularly, in a very 
 limited manner, the natural energies of her genius 
 were cramped, and the exuberance of imagination 
 checked. How much happier she might have been 
 made by mental improvement, is a question ; if she 
 was destined to move in just the sphere she did 
 move in, it certainly would not have added to her 
 happiness. In the ordinary aifairs of life, she was 
 certainly a woman of most excellent judgment, 
 and her memory unencumbered by the sallies of imag 
 ination, was perfect witness the minute relation of 
 this narrative, in her 76th year. It is also worthy of 
 remark too, that through all the singular adventures 
 that she was called to participate in, her character 
 escaped unceiisured ; the envious breath of scandal 
 never breathed on her reputation ; in the eamp or 
 the cottage, Rosa appeared equally safe. Possibly 
 her want of personal charms, being quite plain in ap 
 pearance, served in a great measure for protection. 
 
 She survived the widow of Capt. Read, and his 
 last daughter for many years ; she was not a profes 
 sor of religion, but the writer of this can witness 
 that she was a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ and 
 relied upon his sacrifice for salvation. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 97 
 
 Rosanna Eddy departed this life in September, 
 1827, at the house of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Lab an 
 Waterman, in Johnston, where she had resided for the 
 last years of her life. She died after a fortnight s 
 illness, at the age of 79. 
 
 In writing this Story, I have availed myself of the 
 narrative of Rosa, and other information collected 
 in Providence. Various hindrances have prevented 
 my visiting Newport, to obtain information there, 
 and it is a circumstance of great regret, as doubtless 
 much additional information of Capt. Read s public 
 life might have been collected. 
 
TALES NATIONAL 
 
 CERTIFICATES. 
 
 I certify that I knew Capt. Oliver Read, of Newport, 
 and that he commanded several privateers during the 
 Revolutionary war, fought several severe actions, and 
 that he was generally victorious, even when he had 
 to encounter a superior force. I recollect hearing at the 
 time his re-capturing the brig Spy, a letter of marque 
 previously commanded by Capt. Samuel Godfrey, of 
 Providence. I also recollect his commamiing the priva 
 teer Modesty, fitted from Providence, in which vessel he 
 was very successful. 
 
 According to the best ofmy recollection, Capt. Read was 
 a man of a fine commanding appearance, about 5 feet 
 9 or 10 inches in height. He was considered as brave 
 and intrepid a Commander, as any out of the United 
 States. CHARLES SHELDON. 
 
 Providence, July 27, 1830. 
 
 I certify, that I have often heard from the mouth of 
 my brother-in-law, Capt. Isaiah Cahoone, the story of 
 the capture of the Rochambeau, as related in the forgo 
 ing narrative. The vessel was, according to his state 
 ment, commanded by Capt. Oliver Read, of Newport, 
 sailed last from the port of New-London, and was cajr= 
 tured by stratagem at Egg Harbor. Capt. Cahoone 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 99 
 
 was an officer on board, and shortly after escaped from 
 the Jersey Prison Ship, whither they had been conveyed. 
 I never heard him mention but four others engaged in 
 the enterprise, and conclude there were but five of them 
 that escaped, namely, Capt. Oliver Read, of Newport; 
 
 Capt. Cahoone, Capt. John Tower, Capt. Cuoke, 
 
 and a Capt. Hopkins, all of Providence. Capt. Cahoone, 
 (now deceased) has often related in my hearing, his pro 
 vidential escape afterwards from Long Island, in the 
 depth of winter; his sufferings were very great, for a few 
 days, and his adventures singular. He finally conveyed 
 himself away in a small beat, which he discovered near 
 the shore, and got safely into Saybrook (Con.,) 
 
 JOSEPH RAWSON. 
 Providence, July, 1830. 
 
 Certificate of JOHN HUUBARD, formerly of Newport, the 
 venerable father-in-law of Messrs. Townsend & Grant, 
 of this town. 
 
 I certify that I knew the family of Capt. Oliver Read, 
 of Newport, was well acquainted with his father, Oliver 
 Read, and recollect the circumstance of his sudden death. 
 I knew Capt. Oliver Read as a brave and resolute man, 
 and actively engaged during the Revolutionary War. I 
 also was knowing to his being Commander of the" Ro- 
 chambeau," which was eminently successful in capturing 
 
TALES NATIONAL 
 
 the enemy s property, and to the eircumstanee of Lsr 
 being taken, and retaken again by Capt. Read, at which 
 time there was a most desperate battle fought. I had & 
 kinsman, who lost his life in the service of Capt. Read at 
 the time, by name Benjamin Cornell. Such was the state 
 of exasperation with which they fought, that my unhap 
 py kinsman in the heat of the battle bared his breast and 
 dared the enemy. They took sure aim, and an unerring 
 shot immediately dispatched him. 
 
 I knew Rosanna Hicks well, and first knew her as a 
 resident in the family of Oliver Read, sen. and from her 
 Jong residence and connection with the family (Mrs. 
 Read being her aunt) should think her competent to give 
 any information respecting their history. Capt. Oliver 
 Read married Mary Sherman, a remarkably fine looking 
 woman, by whom he had a family of children, and during 
 the war, they removed to Providence, until after the 
 evacuation of Newport by the British troops, when they 
 returned and resided in Broad-street. I recollec t that 
 just before the close of the war, Capt. Read brought into 
 the port of Newport a large and valuable brig, with her 
 cargo; but before she could be condemned, peace was 
 declared, and she got off. 
 
 JOHN HUBBARD. 
 Providence, June, 1830. 
 
TALE SECOND. 
 
 THE BLIND SISTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE family whose hereditary misfortunes furnish 
 es the foundation of the following story, were some 
 years previous to the commencement of the Revo 
 lutionary war, inhabitants of the State of Pennsyl 
 vania whither they had formerly emigrated from 
 New-York. A part of them, to whom the singular 
 misfortune of hereditary blindness seemed bequeath 
 ed in an especial manner, had lived on Long-Island, 
 and there is an elaborate account of their case drawn 
 up by the physicians of the city of New -York, now 
 extant. But the name of the medical work which 
 contains it, I have forgotten. I recollect, however, 
 that none of the family were born blind, thougli 
 many of them lost their sight upon attaining the age 
 of manhood, and that it was spoken of as a case un 
 paralleled, and entirely beyond the reach of medicine. 
 Rosanna, the narrator of this story, remarked that 
 the ignorance of the physicians respecting the nat 
 ure of the disease, was owing to the compara- 
 
102 
 
 tive darkness of that age ; as similar cases had since 
 been cured, and even among the descendants of this 
 very family. She related this story to the writer 
 many years before she gave the narrative contained 
 in the first part of this book, and as there were no 
 notes of the story preserved, the writer is indebted 
 to memory alone for the particulars, many interest 
 ing ones of which, from the lapse of years, she has 
 forgotten, and what is of more consequence, the 
 family names of the parties have entirely escaped 
 her recollection. There would be no possible mo 
 tive for concealing them at this remote period, and 
 it is a subject of great regret, not only because the 
 individuals could thus be identified, but because the 
 real names give an interest to a story that nothing 
 can make up for the want of. Their Christian 
 names, however, from being so often repeated in the 
 story, I believe I recollect. 
 
 David , a farmer of Pennsylvania, removed 
 
 a few years before the war to the neighborhood of 
 New-York, whither his ancestors had emigrated 
 from. He had been the father of six children, three 
 of whom he had buried a few years before; they 
 died near each other, and had fallen victims to an 
 epidemic raging in the neighborhood. Their deaths 
 however did not occur before the family misfortune 
 had overtaken them; they were blind, and a fourth 
 son of David was threatened with the same com 
 plaint before their removal. Report had spoken fa 
 vorably of the skill of the physicians in the city of 
 New- York, and this formed the only motive for the 
 removal of the family. They thought it possible 
 omething might be devieed to prevent or retard the 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 103 
 
 complaint in their remaining son, and possibly to 
 preserve their two young and beautiful girls from so 
 dreadful a calamity. Among his father s family, 
 David and six others escaped out of a family of ten 
 children ; there was therefore a possibility that his 
 girls might be spared. His son gave but too many 
 symptoms of the approaching disease before they 
 settled at New -York. David took a journey to New- 
 England to visit some of his relations in that quar 
 ter. The mother of Rosanna was a distant relation, 
 and it was there at Rhode-Island that she saw for 
 the first time the two girls, whose romantic advent 
 ures, form the subject of this tale. 
 
 Marianne the eldest of these girls was remarkably 
 fair, and gave promise of great beauty. Alice the 
 youngest was rather darker complexioned, with dark 
 hair and eyes, but possessing a look of intelligence 
 rarely equalled. Both as they grew up had fine 
 persons, and at the time of their settlement near 
 New -York, were two very interesting little girls. 
 
 David knew no business but farming, ^but as he 
 wished to reside near the city, he was fortunate in 
 obtaining a place at some little distance from it. He 
 had the care of a gentleman s farm on the Island of 
 New-York, not far from the famous strait of 
 Hell-Gate, from whence he was in the habit of trans 
 porting the product of his grounds to New -York in 
 a boat. Before the family arrived at this little para 
 dise, the remaining son entirely lost his sight. Da 
 vid passed several years here in the patient pursuits 
 of agriculture. After taking his blind son up to the 
 city with him, and submitting him to every remedy 
 which appeared to give the faintest prospect of re 
 moving hii malady, but in vain; the physicians could 
 
104 TALE* NATIONAL 
 
 not discover the cause of it, nor devise a remedy; 
 though they gave David great hopes that his daugh 
 ters might escape, telling him it was probable the 
 complaint would not visit the female part of the fam 
 ily; and further, that if they discovered any symp 
 toms of it, it was highly probable they might arrest 
 the disease before it eventuated in entire loss of 
 sight. 
 
AND REVOLVTIO^ARY 105 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DAVID and his wife were truly pious people, and 
 they tried to be submissive to the will of their heav 
 enly Father, though their eyes would often fill with 
 tears as they listened to the lively and artless prat 
 tle of their interesting little daughters. Dorothea 
 the mother would sometimes talk to them of 
 the family misfortune, and try to prepare their 
 minds for the affliction to themselves, should it 
 please the Almighty to visit them with it. Some 
 times the beautiful sisters would appear thoughtful 
 and cast down, but again the natural gaiety of their 
 tempers would get the better of their fears. Mean 
 while the reputation of their exceeding beauty spread 
 itself far and wide; though they had but just ap 
 proached the age of womanhood, the rustic beaux 
 in the neighborhood were all looking out with anx 
 iety to see who they would give a preference to, and 
 it was not long before it became decided, that the 
 lovely Marianne had bestowed her heart upon the 
 son of a gentleman farmer in the neighborhood. 
 The father of this young man was at first opposed to 
 the match, from motives of family pride; but at 
 length he was induced to give his consent from ne 
 cessity, as his son avowed a determination to go to 
 sea, in case of his father s refusal; and the old gen 
 tleman could not endure to lose this only remaining 
 prop of his declining age, for he was the last sur 
 viving offspring of a marriage contracted late in 
 life, and the only heir of a handsome property, 
 both bv father i and mother i lide. 
 
106 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 David pondered long upon the propriety of ap 
 prising the young man of the misfortune which 
 threatened, as he believed, his whole race; but at 
 length, influenced by the entreaties of his wife, he 
 consented to say nothing about it. A dreadful con 
 sciousness of duplicity would sometimes, however, 
 visit him, particularly when he reflected upon the 
 probability of the marriage being procrastinated 
 several years, on account of the youth of the parties. 
 About one year from this time, Alice, the youngest 
 daughter, who was scarce fifteen, was addressed by 
 a young farmer in the neighborhood, of good pros 
 pects and respectable character; and to him the in 
 teresting Alice, all life and intelligence, surrendered 
 her youthful affections. Often on a summer s after 
 noon, the venerable parents would seat themselves 
 in the little alcove at the foot of their garden, while 
 the light-hearted girls were sailing round the little 
 promontories and among the delightful islands in the 
 neighborhood. And sometimes too the young men, 
 Edwin and James, would shoot their little skiff 
 through all the perilous passes of Hell Gate , just to 
 shew their skill to the old couple, and exhibit the 
 pretty fears of Marianne and Alice, who always pro 
 tested against their feats of dexterity, but in vain. 
 
 It was on one of those delightful afternoons in the 
 month of June, so peculiar to this latitude, that the 
 youthful couple prepared to take a sail. Edwin had 
 just discovered a landing in a retired and beautiful 
 creek, where a grove of lofty trees, and a charm 
 ing rivulet which murmured through it, bordered by 
 flowers, seemed to give one an idea of paradise, and 
 Paradise they called it. After going in the morning 
 and spreading a repast in the grove, where they left 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 107 
 
 two sisters, and a young lad they prepared to sur 
 prise the girls, and their parents, whom they insisted 
 should accompany them together with their son, who 
 though blind, always appeared gratified by new 
 ; scenes, which he would cause his sisters to describe 
 | to him. They sat out in high spirits, and were delight- 
 ! ed upon their arrival, to find some of their young com- 
 i panions, and a table spread with all the delicacies of 
 | the season. Another boat load soon appeared in 
 I sight, with the parents of Edwin, and James and two 
 | or three of their married friends. The feast was 
 1 prolonged, and the laugh and joke, and song, went 
 round, until the approach of twilight warned them of 
 i the necessity of returning. 
 
 During their sail home, Edwin called upon the 
 
 I company to admire some fishes that were sporting by 
 
 the side of the boat, far beneath the surface of the 
 
 water. Their extreme beauty and playful gambols, 
 
 I were much admired by the party generally but Ma- 
 
 rianne declared she could not see them, and a few 
 
 moments after, complained of a pain in her eyes. 
 
 Dorothea felt that dreadful sinking of hearty, which 
 
 a certain foreboding of evil to a beloved object never 
 
 fails to give ; and David was observed to smite his 
 
 I breast and raise his eyes to Heaven. Edwin, en- 
 
 ! tirely unconscious, begged Marianne to lean her head 
 
 ! against him, while he gently placed his hand on her 
 
 eyes, and in this manner they reached home. How- 
 
 1 ever, upon entering the house, she said it was gone, 
 
 j and the circumstance appeared forgotten. It was 
 
 | not forgotten, however, by David and his wife; 
 
 I and early the next morning he sat out for New- 
 
 | York, without saying any thing to the rest of 
 
 the family. The mother of Marianne was in 
 
108 TALKS NATIONAL 
 
 great perplexity how to break the matter to her 
 daughter, who appeared to have forgotten the doom 
 that seemed to hang over them. By degrees, how 
 ever, she made known her fears, and by the time the 
 father returned, accompanied by a physician, she had 
 become quite calm for she was excessively agitated 
 at first. The physician examined her eyes, there 
 was nothing visible, except the traces of tears; felt 
 ner pulse; it was perfectly regular, and bespoke a 
 confirmed state of good health. There was noth 
 ing to cause the slightest apprehension except the 
 pain complained of, the evening before, and he tried 
 to persuade them that it was occasioned by looking 
 at the water so much during the day, whiqh when 
 illuminated by the rays of a summer sun, is known 
 to be exceedingly hurtful, and endeavored to per 
 suade Marianne and her sisler, to give up their aqua 
 tic excursions, unless in the evening. He was pre 
 paring to depart after completely quieting the fears of 
 the family, when his lovely patient was visited by a 
 return of the same dull, heavy pain, accompanied 
 by dimness of sight. The alarmed parents desired 
 him to remain, and if possible endeavor to ascertain 
 the cause. He did, but could discover nothing. 
 The pain continued for a season and then left her, 
 apparently well as before. Convinced from the ac 
 count of the other members of this unfortunate fam 
 ily, that the same calamity was about to overtake 
 this lovely young woman, the benevolent physic 
 ian now felt the utmost concern. He took some 
 blood from her arm, which appeared to afford relief; 
 and recommending a course 01 diet which he thought 
 might be of service, and taking particular care to 
 keep the room partially darkened, departed. Hi 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 109 
 
 directions were carefully attended to, and for many 
 months Marianne never went out until after sunset, 
 \vhen she would walk in the garden, and sit in the 
 little alcove. 
 
 One of the greatest amusements of poor Marianne, 
 was to have Alice read to her, and the Bible was now 
 her favorite book. At the commencement of her 
 disease, she used fervently to pray that she might re 
 tain her sight ; but at length she was enabled to say, 
 " Thy will be done." A sweet serenity of soul 
 was visible in her deportment, and her beauty seem 
 ed "to have acquired something almost celestial." 
 The peace of God reigned in her heart ; and the calm 
 of her manner prevented those bursts oi grief in her 
 presence, which every member of the family could 
 not but sometimes give way to. She would often 
 talk to Alice, and beg her to make herself acquaint 
 ed with the word of God, while she had the blessing 
 of sight, hinting her fears, " that she also, might be 
 called to part with it." Poor Alice was over 
 whelmed with grief: hours and hours she would 
 hang on her sister s neck, kissing her and begging 
 heaven to spare her sight. During this time, Edwin 
 was all attention. He had now, for the first time, 
 been made acquainted with the extent of the family 
 misfortune, and the danger there was, that his heart s 
 idol was about to become a participator of it. 
 Marianne tried to console him to meet such a calam 
 ity, with becoming fortitude. For her sake, he tried 
 to suppress his feelings before her ; but it was evi 
 dent that he underwent a most violent struggle. 
 
 At length the time came when the light of day 
 was forever shut out from the eyes of Marianne; 
 every thing had been tried by a variety of Physi- 
 
110 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 cians, but in vain the word had gone forth, and she 
 was never more to behold the day. Total darkness 
 came upon her suddenly, although her sight had been 
 gradually growing dim. She was sitting with Alice 
 in the little alcove. She could still discern some 
 features of the landscape, and said to her sister, " If 
 I should be entirely blind, I should never forget this 
 beautiful place." Suddenly, she caught her sister s 
 arm, saying, " I am blind. O Alice, it is total dark 
 ness my sister! my sister ! Merciful God! Shall I 
 never see again!" The shrieks of Alice soon brought 
 David and his wife to the spot. Edwin, too, who 
 happened to come in just at the moment, was a par 
 ticipator of the scene, and it was one ol indescriba 
 ble wretchedness. The mother hung over her be 
 reaved child, uttering the loudest cries and lamenta 
 tions. Alice wrung her hands, calling to Heaven to 
 have mercy; while Edwin clasped her in his arms, 
 bathing her beautiful face with his tears, and kissing 
 those now rayless eyes. David, pious but heart 
 broken David, gazed upon the scene with unutterable 
 woe, for some time. At length he articulated, " The 
 Lord hath given, and the Lord hath taken away" 
 and Marianne, finishing the sentence, added, "Bles 
 sed be the name of the Lord." And from that mo 
 ment she seemed to recover her composure. 
 
 Nothing could have exhibited the power of divine 
 grace over the human mind, more than the sacrifice 
 which Marianne was preparing to make. She re 
 flected upon the utter helplessness of her situation, 
 and her inability to discharge the duties of a wife, 
 especially to a man who had a great ambition that his 
 should make a figure in the world ; and she thought 
 it her duty to persuade, and did persuade Edwin, to 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. Ill 
 
 give up all thoughts of marrying her. At first the 
 voung man resented all attempts to persuade him. 
 He would not hear his father on the subject 
 at all. But their united remonstrances began to 
 have some effect on his mind at last ; and the dread 
 ful apprehension of entailing such a calamity 
 upon his whole posterity, at length determined him. 
 But at the same time, he inwardly determined never 
 to marry, and to devote himself to Marianne as an 
 affectionate brother; he consequently continued to 
 visit her, and to fan the flame that he felt was con 
 suming him. 
 
 The parents of young James, the lover of Alice, 
 in the mean time began to take the alarm, and to try 
 by every art they could devise, to draw their son 
 from the object of his attachment, but in vain. The 
 two young men were not sorry when the commence 
 ment of hostilities between this country and Great 
 Britain, gave them an opportunity to resist for a time 
 the importunities of their respective families. They 
 were therefore among: the first who took up arms in 
 that quarter, and enrolling themselves in a regiment, 
 then raising in Connecticut, they departed to face 
 the foes of their country, and prepared to shed their 
 blood if necessary in defence of its liberties, and in 
 procuring its independence. We shall pass over the 
 parting between Alice and her lover, and Mari 
 anne and him whom she now called " brother." 
 Nor shall we dwell upon the conduct of the 
 two young soldiers; they were brothers in affec 
 tion in affliction likewise, and they fought side by 
 side, one of them was twice wounded, but I have 
 forgotten which. During the first year of the cam 
 paign, the father of Edwin died ; his son did not see 
 
112 
 
 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 him after his entering the army, but the old gentle 
 man, who was very patriotic, left him his blessing, 
 with his request " never to lay down his arms un 
 til his country was free." But to return to the fam 
 ily of David, whose trials were certainly not lessened 
 by the absence of the two young soldiers, and their 
 continual anxiety respecting their fates. But alas, 
 troubles never come alone, and during the first two 
 years of the war, Alice began to feel the dull heavy 
 pain in her eyes that formerly announced to Marianne 
 the dreadful calamity of blindness. She had never 
 doubted it would finally be her case, from the time 
 of her sister s misfortune. She was only a year 
 younger than Marianne; she had then retained her 
 sight one year longer than her beloved sister. 
 She had not the same resigned will, yet her natur 
 al strength of mind was very great, and she forbore 
 all vain regrets, would not suffer herself to use any 
 preventatives, believing them of no use, and a fruit 
 less expense, she sat about preparing herself for the 
 time when she should be deprived of sight, not sparing 
 her eyes in the least, she devoted herself to making 
 and mending whatever was necessary for the family, 
 in order to lighten her mother s task when she could 
 no longer assist her in sewing. Whether it was ow 
 ing to this or some other cause her blindness came on 
 much more rapidly than her sister s, and so admirable 
 was the fortitude of this amiable girl, that she for 
 bore to tell day by day, how her sight failed her, or 
 to complain of the pain she endured, and when the 
 last gleam of day faded from her sight, she managed 
 so as not to let the family know she was totally blind, 
 for many days. An elderly woman who had been 
 left a \yidow in indigent circumstances, and had found 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 113 
 
 a shelter recently in David s house, was the first 
 that discovered her situation; and her affection for 
 Alice was so increased by this display of fortitude, 
 that she never left her to the end of her life, and for 
 more than twenty years after, was her unfailing at 
 tendant, leaving the mother to attend more particu 
 larly to Marianne, 
 
 The first visit James made to his native town was 
 not until after a long absence. It was a short and 
 stolen one; New-York was then in possession of the 
 British, and the visit was attended with some risk. 
 Alice, his beloved Alice, was then totally blind. 
 
 What the trials of David and his wife were, during 
 the period of the war, may be easily imagined, know 
 ing how perfectly defenceless they were. The 
 house was alternately the quarters of American and 
 British soldiers. During this period, the two beauti 
 ful and defenceless daughters were kept entirely 
 secluded, literally imprisoned, for the few days they 
 remained; and through the whole time of the near 
 neighborhood of the enemy, they were obliged to 
 keep secluded. This, to be sure, in their situation, 
 was not much of a deprivation, as their misfortune 
 seemed of itself, to cut them off in a great measure 
 from the pleasures of social intercourse. 
 
 The owner of the place where David resided was 
 a lory, and it was probably owing to this circum 
 stance, that the family of David remained so little 
 disturbed, although the peaceable deportment of the 
 occupant himself, and his poor blind son, ought to 
 have been respected any where. Sometimes poor 
 David, more than usually oppressed by his fears, 
 would exclaim, " Oh that Edwin and James were 
 here." " Rather rejoice, father (his daughters 
 
1 14 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 would answer) that they are not. Even ii they 
 could remain here safe, it would heighten our dis 
 tresses to know they were partakers of the same 
 privations." 
 
 One circumstance in a particular manner for some 
 time gave the distressed family great additional un 
 easiness, and that was the attentions of a certain 
 British officer, who happened on his first call to 
 encounter Marianne, and struck with her beauty, he 
 repeated his visit again and again, inquiring the par 
 ticulars of her case, and lamenting that so beautiful 
 a person should labor under such a privation. On 
 one of those occasions he said, " As soon as we have 
 conquered this country, I shall return to England, 
 and then if you will let me, I will take this girl over 
 and have her cured. I doubt not our English faculty 
 can do something for her." David forbore (pru 
 dently) to express the feelings this speech gave him, 
 and only calmly answered, " We will talk of it as 
 soon as the country is conquered." 
 
 But however the proposition of the young officer 
 might alarm the family, David could not get over the 
 thought that the English physicians might possibly 
 help his daughters; and contrary to the advice of his 
 wife and the entreaties of the two girls, he departed 
 on the morrow for the quarters of Gen. Clinton, 
 where it was said the first physician and surgeon of 
 the regiment then was. 
 
 As usual in such cases, the physician applied to, 
 proposed to have the opinion of several more, by 
 which means they contrived to spunge poor old Da 
 vid out of a great deal of his hard earnings, and as 
 the saying is, "play into one another s pockets." 
 
 Dorothea, finding the thing irretrievable, ha d ar- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 1 15 
 
 rayed her daughters in a neat and simple, but yet 
 tasteful manner, for the inspection of the company, 
 among whom many very significant looks were ex 
 changed, indicative of astonishment, at the discovery 
 of so much beauty. Those looks were perceptible 
 to the quick eye of Dorothea, though entirely unob 
 served by her husband. They spent a long time in 
 examining the eyes of the two girls, which exhibited 
 nothing uncommon, to give an intimation of the nat 
 ure of the disease. Their pulse was regular, their 
 health perfect, and finally, after a good deal of fum 
 bling, and technical jargon, they departed, acknow 
 ledging they could do nothing now, and lamenting, 
 as the faculty generally do, when the case is beyond 
 their skill, that they had not been sent for sooner. 
 
 At a little distance from the house, the company 
 halted, and after some consultation, they all came 
 back, averring that they had concluded the disease 
 was occasioned by a humor, and that it might avail 
 to try a certain bath, the preparation for which they 
 had in the city, but could not conveniently apply it, 
 without the two girls could be placed there under 
 their care, for a few days. To this the two girls 
 and their mother made violent opposition, though 
 David, in the simplicity oi his heart, was for adopt 
 ing the experiment at once. This was but a very 
 short time before the evacuation of New-York, and 
 the bustle that succeeded that joyful event, together 
 with the arrival of their two young friends, complete 
 ly drove it out of their heads. 
 
 And it was not until after the conclusion of this 
 story, that the circumstance happened to cross the 
 mind of David, who suddenly exclaimed, when he 
 remembered it; " Well, now I don t believe but what 
 
116 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 it was some stratagem of them doctors to bring our 
 gals to their sight, whether they would or not, and 
 after all we need not have been so frightened." 
 
 Marianne had slightly mentioned the circumstance 
 to Edwin, who, upon hearing the soliloque of David, 
 suddenly sprang from his chair, exclaiming, "Yes, 
 hang their benevolence; the mystery, in my opinion, 
 is now out." 
 
 " Yes," said James, and had they trusted them 
 selves in our care, we would have shown them a 
 bath at the bottom of Hell Gate." 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 117 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT the time New-York was evacuated by the 
 British, our young soldiers were discharged, their 
 term of service having expired; and akhough the 
 father of Edwin had desired him not to lay down his 
 arms until his country was free, yet as the young 
 soldier had seen very hard service, and felt great need 
 of rest to a shattered constitution, he very properly 
 disregarded the request, and resolved for a time to 
 retreat to his paternal residence. 
 
 He and James arrived together, and taking a night s 
 repose, went over in the morning to see David s 
 family. They arrived the day after the evacuation 
 of the British, and found Dorothea as usual engaged 
 in her domestic avocations, assisted by the widow 
 before mentioned. The girls, she said, were in their 
 own room, at work. Edwin could not resist the 
 desire to steal upon them unawares. He softly ap 
 proached the door, which was partly opened, and 
 saw his beloved Marianne sitting with some knitting 
 work in her hand, while Alice was standing behind 
 her, combing her beautiful hair, which she platted 
 and put up with much taste, being guided by the 
 sense of feeling alone. She then parted the curls on 
 the fair forehead of Marianne, confining them with a 
 small comb; then stooping down, she kissed her 
 affectionately, saying, " I doubt not, my sweet sis 
 ter, you now look as beautiful as ever; if there ever 
 is a time when I feel ready to repine, it is when I 
 long once again to see your sweet face." Marianne 
 
118 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 returned her sister s caress, dropping a tear upon her 
 cheek as she strained her to her bosom; but her heart 
 was too full to speak. Edwin could contain himself 
 no longer, but rushing forward, he folded the two 
 lovely unfortunates together in his arms, and ming 
 ling his tears with theirs, called them his " two dear 
 sisters, his only remaining treasures upon earth." 
 James now came forward, and claimed his share of 
 recognition. 
 
 What must have been the feelings of these two 
 young men, in presence of those unfortunate and 
 still fondly loved beings 1 There was a pensive sad 
 ness seated upon the brow of each, in place of the 
 ever smiling gaiety which once revelled there; and 
 the complexion of Marianne, in particular, Edwin 
 could see, was much paler than it used to be. His 
 heart died within him, as seated by her and holding 
 his hand affectionately between hers, she inquired 
 in her usual sweet accents, of his health, and spoke 
 of his trials and hardships; and then she would lift 
 up her eyes to his face, as though she could still see 
 him, and he knew she could not. Yet those beau 
 tiful eyes had not yet lost their expression : their 
 appearance was very little different from what it for 
 merly was. As to Alice, she was in appearance 
 altered for the better; she had now put on the look 
 of womanhood, and it became her. Her finely 
 rounded form had acquired a degree of fulness, in 
 place of the extreme slightness it once exhibited, 
 much more to the lover s taste; and the look of se- 
 dateness, and even sadness, which she wore, James 
 thought more fascinating than her former appear 
 ance of childish gaiety. Nothing could surpass the 
 dazzling complexion which she retained, and whoso 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 119 
 
 bloom was now heightened by consciousness. Yet 
 beautiful as she was, she was still inferior to Mari 
 anne, in whose face and form and manner there was 
 a touching something, that caused every chord to 
 vibrate in the beholder. Their uncommon beauty, 
 combined with utter helplessness, had caused some 
 tormenting fears in the breast of David, during those 
 lawless times, and upon the capture of New-York, 
 he had planned an immediate remove; but finding at 
 length that he was safe where he was, if he did not 
 attempt crossing the sound, he concluded to remain, 
 trusting that their terrific and troublesome neighbors 
 would ere long take their departure; for David was 
 one of those, who, in the worst of times, never doubt 
 ed the final success oi the cause of liberty. 
 
 It was with a pang which they could ill suppress, 
 that the two lovers at length tore themselves away, 
 promising to call again in a day or two. " I know, 
 sister," said Alice, " that we are only treasuring up 
 sorrow for them as well as ourselves, by continuing 
 this intimacy. But Oh dear, sister, it was I that 
 invited them to come again; but I have not your 
 fortitude and self-denial. I cannot refuse myself 
 the dear delight of knowing that James is near me, 
 though reason tells me I cannot now be his wife, 
 poor helpless being that I aiu" and again the sis 
 ters mingled their tears. 
 
 Edwin and James stopped a few moments in the 
 garden, to linger in the arbor that had so often been 
 the scene of mutual vows when Dorothea hastily 
 passing them, whispered, " Don t go yet I have 
 something to say, at the same time laying her hand 
 on her lips, to motion silence. The two young men 
 were lost in wonder, particularly as they found them- 
 
120 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 selves left alone for half an hour. At length, after 
 seeing David depart to his work, they perceived 
 Dorothea approaching. After looking carefully 
 around, she began, " I dare not let my husband 
 know my fears, he is already so timid; but I feel as 
 though some great calamity threatened us. Last 
 evening I came to call the girls to supper, as usual, 
 from tins place, where they usually spend an hour or 
 two towards night, and as I happened to come up to 
 the arbor by a side path, I discovered a man looking 
 through the foliage, and gazing attentively at Mari 
 anne, as I thought. I made a little noise, when he 
 drew back and hid himself in the bushes, from 
 my view T I hurried the girls in, and knowing that 
 the hours they spent here was all the comfort they 
 enjoyed, I did not tell them of the circumstance. 
 My husband was out, and as I had no one to search 
 but my poor blind son, I never knew what became 
 of him, or whether he was friend or foe." 
 
 James made very light of her communication; but 
 Edwin advised her not to trust the girls in the arbor 
 again at twilight, telling her the times were so law 
 less, and the enemy so lately in their neighborhood, 
 it was not safe. For some days the story made him 
 uneasy, but at length the recollection of it pretty 
 much faded from their minds. 
 
 Edwin and James had many consultations respect 
 ing their visits to the sisters, and at length they both 
 agreed it was cruel to keep alive an affection on both 
 sides, that could only be productive of mutual un- 
 happiness; for the additional misfortune of Alice 
 losing her sight at about the same time of life, had 
 impressed it upon their minds that it was a family 
 misfortune and one that would be transmitted to future 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 121 
 
 generations. Though David himself had escaped, yet 
 he could not deny that it had afflicted some of the fam 
 ily before, and as every body assured them it would 
 prove hereditary, they firmly believed it. There 
 were times when affection nearly conquered their 
 reluctance to lead about a blind wife; and had not 
 a dread of something further intervened, it is proba 
 ble every present disadvantage would have been 
 waived. However, they at length came to the con 
 clusion, painful as it was, to refrain from visiting 
 them, except once in a long time, and that in a for 
 mal manner. Although it is a saying that the reso 
 lutions of people in love do not amount to much, 
 yet on this occasion the persons in question perse 
 vered manfully, until one evening the two young 
 men had strolled down to the shore, and being invit 
 ed by the beauty of the evening, they concluded to 
 take a little sail. 
 
 " Where shall we go!" asked Edwin. 
 
 " Why suppose we row up to David s, just for 
 once!" said James. " We need not stay long, you 
 know." 
 
 The request was too agreeable to Edwin to be 
 resisted; they therefore keeping close along the shore, 
 began to pull up towards David s farm. They pro 
 ceeded however in silence, each fully taken up with 
 his own reflections, when just as they had nearly 
 completed their voyage, and were about to round a 
 little promontory that hid the farm from their view, 
 a piercing shriek reached them from that direction, 
 followed by the report of a pistol, and immediately a 
 barge shot past them like lightning. It was rowed 
 by a number of oarsmen, and in its stern they dis 
 covered by her white drapery a female figure, in the 
 
122 TALE* NATIONAL 
 
 grasp of two men; it was starlight, but Edwin had 
 no difficulty in detecting the character of the ravish- 
 ers. Instantly they turned the boat s head and fol 
 lowed in her wake. It was evident they were seen; 
 but as the barge probably thought they were indiffer 
 ent persons, and only two men, they excited but 
 little attention. With all their efforts, it was im 
 possible to keep up with the barge, who for all they 
 knew might lead them to sudden destruction. Nev 
 ertheless they strained every nerve to reach them. 
 They could hear voices, for some time, on the shore, 
 and see lights moving, and at length they descried 
 two or three boats put off, in several directions. It 
 was with feelings which can never be described, 
 that they saw the barge about to pass Hell Gate, a 
 place of which they knew British seamen to be pro 
 foundly ignorant, and of their being British they had 
 no doubt. Yet she must have passed it once before, at 
 least; but it was now night. Presently they saw 
 her stop for a few moments, probably to hold a con 
 sultation. 
 
 The two adventurous young men now gained cour 
 age. They knew themselves to be possessed of all 
 the information which the most experienced Pilot 
 could desire, respecting this terrific place. Twice 
 they saw the barge stop and recede a few paces. 
 By this time the skiff had gained perceptibly upon 
 them. Once they halted, apparently waiting for the 
 boat to Qome up; then urged by some motive or oth 
 er, they proceeded onward with increased velocity. 
 But ignorant of the crooks and turns, and unable on 
 account of the darkness to see the circles distinctly, 
 they missed their track, and just as Edwin was 
 within a few rods of her, the head of the barge had 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 1 
 
 entered the circle of one of the whirls; the two men 
 in the stern left their hold of the female, and sprang 
 to their oars; and Edwin, impressed with the idea 
 that it was Marianne, shouted " Throw yourself 
 overboard, and I will save you." 
 
 The voice of love now reached her ear there was 
 not a man probably who heard him in the barge, 
 although he shouted to the top of his voice. But 
 Marianne heard the well-known voice, and quicker 
 than thought, she leaped overboard, and Edwin had 
 only time to utter one word more, that was " bal- 
 lance," before she was hauled into the boat. Then 
 availing himself of a narrow pass, close along, in an 
 opposite direction of the barge, he bore away, and 
 was soon out of danger, while the hoarse shouts of 
 the barge s crew, who had now got fairly into the 
 whirl, pursued them for some distance.* Marianne, 
 
 *It has been said to be improperly called Hell-Gate, 
 and many have insfsted, that its proper name was Hurl- 
 Gate, (possibly thinking, as a certain modern preacher 
 did, that the former word, " is one that must not be nam 
 ed to polite ears.") But for my own part, I should think 
 the former one the most appropriate that could be found; 
 since the witchery of the scene must forcibly remind 
 one of the flowery descent to the kingdom of darkness. 
 Few scenes in nature indeed can surpass that which dis 
 closes itself on every side of this strait. Every thing to 
 make the landscape charm is here exhibited beautiful 
 farms in the highest state of cultivation gentlemen s 
 seats which unite architectural beauty with rural ele 
 gance verdant lawns, blooming orchards and gardens 
 with all the et cetera of pavilions, arbors, grottos, &c. 
 with here and there a ^grove of venerable trees and 
 most enchanting little islands. 
 
124 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 in the mean time, laying flat in the bottom of the 
 boat, they did not know whether she was dead or 
 alive. The barge, they discovered, finally succeed- 
 
 The land so near on each side, for it is not in some 
 parts more than half a mile broad, seems to give a feeling 
 of security as you enter the pass, which in itself exhib 
 its only a smooth sheet of water, where nothing is heard 
 in good weather but the gentle rippling of the tide ; 
 the treacherous whirlpools only exhibiting circles on 
 the surface, which except that they occupy a large circum 
 ference ( being expanded in proportion to the depth of 
 water above the rocks,) resemble those made by playing 
 duck and drake. " Can this be a place of terror ?" ex 
 claims the spectator, who finds himself in the strait for 
 the first time. " No," say the Captain and all hands, 
 " there is no kind of danger here whatever." But let him 
 watch the anxious eye of the Pilot, that surer index 
 than the cloud in heaven is of the threatening storm. 
 Observe his deportment and in the restless and fidgeting 
 anxiety that he betrays until the fatal spot is past in 
 safety, you have an affirmative. I remember that 
 I thought it no joke myself once, at being swung round 
 two or three times stern foremost, in one of those magic 
 circles. 
 
 It was a very blustering day and we had come down 
 the sound at a great rate before the wind, when from some 
 unskilfulness in the management of the vessel, or from 
 the sudden subsiding of a gust in the very worst part of 
 the strait, the sails became perfectly useless, and the 
 sloop which was heavily loaded with lime, from careen, 
 ing far on one side, now suddenly righted, and her mast 
 stood upright. It would have been a curious scene for 
 a philosopher, if one could philosophize at such a mo 
 ment, to observe the different countenances on board. 
 The Captain, though he made very light of the danger 
 when it was past, was pale as marble; still he com 
 manded silence and gave his orders with great promp- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 125 
 
 ed -in getting out of the whirl, and it was believed 
 safely weathered the strait; but whether it was the 
 danger they had just escaped, or the idea that the 
 affrighted maiden had thrown herself into the sea, 
 and was drowned no one knew but they did not 
 attempt to turn back again. As soon as they got 
 through the pass, Edwin raised poor Marianne in his 
 arms, and discovered that she was alive; terror only 
 had kept her silent. No persuasion could induce 
 her to sit up, and she lay there until they reached the 
 shore, accompanied part of the way by poor old Da 
 vid and two other boats from the neighborhood, who 
 had kindly volunteered to go in pursuit of his daugh- 
 
 titude and presence of mind. At one end of the cabin knelt 
 an invalid girl supplicating for life, who looked as though 
 she could not live three months, with the best of care. 
 Beside her a Quaker lady sat wringing her hands, while 
 in an opposite state room lay a mother pressing her in 
 fant to her bosom in convulsive agony. The rest of the 
 female passengers stood gazing at each other in stupid 
 amazement, with the exception of one beautiful and in 
 teresting young creature, whose agony and distress ex 
 ceeded description; she was the daughter of pious and 
 respectable parents, in the city of Philadelphia, and had 
 about a year before eloped with a gambler by profession, 
 with whom she had travelled and shared strange vicissi 
 tudes of fortune, until sick of her wandering and unset 
 tled life, she was returning to throw herself upon the 
 mercy of her parents. It really seemed as though the 
 gambler felt some touch of pity and remorse, while he 
 gazed ugon the wreck he had made, and for a few mo 
 ment 8 to lose the savage in the man. However, the 
 danger was soon over, for as soon as the topsail was 
 hoisted, a merciful squall struck us and sent us through 
 the foaming waters with the fleetness cf the wind, liter 
 ally. L* 
 
126 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 ter, armed with pistols and cutlasses. The wretch 
 ed mother of Marianne was almost too happy, on 
 receiving her daughter again to her bosom, and Alice 
 was perfectly frantic with joy. A good number of 
 the young men agreed to stay that night and keep 
 guard around the house and garden, from the latter 
 of which Marianne had been forcibly seized. While 
 the family were putting her to bed, and using re 
 storatives to revive her from the torpid state into 
 which terror and extreme exhaustion had brought 
 her, Edwin drew James aside, into a retired walk in 
 the garden, to communicate his feelings. 
 
 "James," said he, "the events of this night have 
 determined me to marry Marianne, at all events." 
 
 " I will marry her sister if you do," said James. 
 " My brother," said Edwin, " my brother forever; 
 give me your hand, and let us solemnly swear never 
 to leave these two defenceless girls, but to marry 
 them immediately, and convey them to a place of 
 safety." The oath was reciprocally given, and 
 when on the morrow, the pale but still lovely Mari 
 anne was dressed, and led out by her mother to thank 
 her deliverer, Edwin folded her to his bosom and 
 claimed the promise given to him five years before. 
 It was in vain the blushing Marianne urged the self- 
 denial, and sacrifice he would make he persisted 
 the sacrifice would be to renounce her. " And where, 
 oh where, Marianne," said he, " could I find love 
 like yours 1 The woman, who at my request, 
 would throw herself into the sea ; conscience ! The 
 next generation would not believe such a thing pos 
 sible." 
 
 " Why you forget, dear Edwin," said she, " that 
 death was before me to remain where I was; and an 
 unknown, and dreadful doom if I got safely past it." 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 127 
 
 " Come, you shall not allay the triumph of my van 
 ity," said Edwin. " I will leave it to all present, if the 
 woman who jumps into the sea for a man, can reason 
 ably refuse to marry him!" Alice shed tears of joy 
 at the idea of her sister s happiness; and it was not 
 until some hours after, that she knew of the mutual 
 promise of James and Edwin. We need not add 
 that she was prevailed on to give her hand to James, 
 on the same day that saw her sister united to Ed 
 win. 
 
 The whole family soon after removed to one of 
 our Western States, where Edwin possessed a large 
 tract of land. Rosa further informed me that she 
 had twice heard from them in a lapse of years, 
 and that the complaint of the eyes, which there had 
 been so many fears, would prove hereditary, had 
 never ended in total blindness, with any of their de 
 scendants. The probability is, that the complaint 
 was not then understood by the physicians, and that 
 it can now be cured in the earliest stages of it. She 
 said the sisters made excellent wives, and sustained 
 a high character for piety, and that the brother 
 whom the reader will also recollect was blind, mar 
 ried somewhere in that country, but she was igno 
 rant of the circumstances attending it, and presumes 
 they were not of so romantic a character as those at 
 tending the marriage of the daughters. 
 
TALE THIRD. 
 
 THE KING S SHIP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Now hoist the sail and let the streamers float 
 "Upon the wanton breeze. Strew the deck 
 " With lavender and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
 " That no rude savor maritime invade 
 " The nose of nice nobility." 
 
 IN the year 1776, when a British squadron, com 
 manded by Wallace, and attached to the fleet 
 
 of Admiral Graves, lay just without the harbor of 
 Newport, every one at all acquainted with the his 
 tory of Rhode-Island, during the Revolutionary war, 
 may recollect the state of excitement, the inhabitants 
 of Newport were kept in, during that memorable pe 
 riod. There was a strict blockade, and the frequent 
 alarms caused by the vaunting threats, and puerile 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 129 
 
 l 
 
 efforts of that blustering hero, whom Trumbull hu 
 morously styles the " Pop-gun Wallace," although 
 they did no essential mischief, certainly prevented 
 people from feeling comfortable. 
 
 It was during one of those sultry lazy days, when 
 feelings of inertness and inactivity inevitably beset 
 even the most active, (and the spirit so intimately 
 connected with the body, suffers a corresponding de 
 pression) that my story commences. The wind what 
 little there was of it, blew from the land, i. e. north- 
 
 direction, yawning and complaining of the intolera 
 ble heat of the atmosphere. 
 
 Two gentlemen, the one a Captain of militia, and 
 the other a merchant of the place, were lounging 
 near where the Redwood Library now stands, might 
 then for aught I know on the hill in order to catch 
 every breath of air, from whatever quarter it might 
 come. It was near the hour of noon, when one of 
 them happening to direct his gaze southwardly, saw 
 one of the King s ships stationed near the mouth of 
 the harbor, swung off in an easterly direction. Af 
 ter watching her for some time, he turned to the 
 Captain, "Yon ship," said he, "manoeuvres very 
 strangely," and putting a spy-glass in hiscompanions 
 hand, " do you see" said he " how near the shore she 
 approaches 1" Her motions had not been unobserv 
 ed from the town ; she had been closely watched; 
 some thought there was an attack upon Portsmouth 
 contemplated. Some thought one thing, and some 
 another, while watching her jibing and tacking, and 
 many strange and contradictory manoauvres. But one 
 
130 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 thing they all agreed in, that she was managed in the 
 most awkward, bungling manner possible ; and not 
 a few expressed the belief, that any of their fisher 
 men, that could manage his own little boat, would 
 have done better. At length some of the long heads 
 were convinced, mischief was intended, and that 
 the apparent awkwardness of the pilot was finesse. 
 But to return to our two gentlemen, " I think" said 
 the Captain, after coolly examining the ship through 
 the spy-glass, " I think it probable, I shall be called 
 out before night at the head of my company." 
 
 " Before night," re-echoed his companion, " why 
 good God, look there !" The Captain directed his 
 glance towards Tower-Hill, but ere he descried the 
 beacon the alarm gun, from the opposite fort, shook 
 the ground whereon they were standing ; throwing 
 down his glass without any ceremony, he then di 
 rected his flying steps towards the alarm post, where 
 he knew his company would probably be gathered, 
 before he could join them. As to Mr. Lawton the 
 merchant, he kept his station, resolved to be on the 
 spot, when the Captain, and his company should pass 
 towards the beach, for in that direction the ship was 
 now moving, and to witness the battle, should there 
 be one, if battle it could be called, where all the 
 blows would probably be on one side. 
 
 Meanwhile, the alarm had rapidly spread, and 
 many a leather apron had turned out, and shoulder 
 ing some antiquated gun, that perhaps, had neither 
 lock nor barrel, repaired to the scene of action, and 
 volunteered to accompany the few militia, who 
 were about to march to the beach. One old field- 
 piece was mustered, and exultingly and ostentatious 
 ly dragged after them, with colors flying, drums 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 131 
 
 beating, &c. At their head the puissant Captain 
 stepped off in style ; a few, though, who had com 
 menced their march with great glee and resolution, 
 when they came in sight of the ship, and began to 
 count her teeth, felt their courage cool a little, and 
 preferred lingering behind with Lawton and being 
 spectators oi the battle. Several crept into the stone 
 mill, and slyly looking through the port- holes, saw 
 their companions pass by; but to do them justice, 
 there were but very few cowards among them, and 
 it is very possible, those who hid in the mill, might 
 have be en quite as courageous, though not as rash, as 
 those who resolved to place themselves directly in 
 the fire of the ship, without the smallest possibility, 
 had such been the event, of doing any good. How 
 ever, the company kept on, and soon arrived at the 
 beach, in front of which the " King s ship," now dis 
 played her broad pennon, within grape shot of the 
 heroic Yankees. For a moment they stopped and 
 gazed in admiration, they had never had as near a 
 view of so large a ship before, and the novelty of the 
 sight almost took from them, the recollection of the 
 business they came upon. She had come to an 
 chor, and as she lay her side towards the shore, her 
 long tier of guns distinctly visible, and her white sails 
 relaxed and gently undulating in the breeze, the sold 
 iers thought they had never seen any thing half so 
 beautiful, but a kind of queer feeling seemed to come 
 over them, upon observing the employment of the 
 crew. The boats were all got out and great prepa 
 rations made for fishing. In fact so completely ab 
 sorbed were the jolly crew in their employment, 
 that it was found impossible to attract their obser 
 vation, and make them sensible of the near neighbor- 
 
132 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 hood of the gallant company, who had turned out to 
 do them honor, notwithstanding the frequent march 
 ing to and fro the waving of colors the flourish 
 ing of drums, and over and above all, the playing of 
 Yankee doodle; that tune of all tunes, the most ob 
 noxious to British ears, they could not manage to 
 make themselves recognized. 
 
 Now and then an obstreperous burst of laughter 
 would feach the shore, borne on the tops of the waves, 
 whose roar, as the tide was now receding, and the 
 wind northwardly was less than usual. By the help 
 of a spy-glass, they could discern that the can was 
 pretty freely circulating among them, so freely that 
 they were at length forced to the conclusion that 
 nothing but a fishing frolic was intended, and that no 
 attack could be contemplated with a drunken crew. 
 Satisfied of this, they at length, after some hours, 
 marched slowly back to the to wn,not heeding the gibes 
 of every wag on the way, and particularly of Lawton 
 and his company, who demanded if they were 
 cc marching back with the honors of war?" &c. &c. 
 As they were leaving, a few old women ran out, and 
 begged they would leave the field piece, " as some of 
 those drunken fellows might molest them in the 
 night;" how they expected to use it, is not known. 
 But the gallant Captain appeared to sympathize with 
 them, and left the gun to keep guard. 
 
 On the eastern side of the beach, where the land 
 runs out in a southeasterly direction> there is a most 
 beautiful tract of country; several excellent farms are 
 scattered here and there highly embellished by the 
 hand of cultivation although the land is in reality so 
 fertile as almost to afford spontaneous growth. 
 About these, indeed, and about all the farms in the 
 
A\ RETOI.UTIOXARY 133 
 
 neighborhood, there was an air of comfort and even of 
 opulence singularly contrasted by the appearanc 
 of a lone rude cottage, standing in a bleak, and al 
 most isolated spot, quite near the rugged coast, with 
 no attendant comfort except a small patch of ground 
 rudely fenced in, by a few straggling rails. In short, 
 I have never seen a spot, I should have so little in 
 clination to inhabit, unless it was Johnny Groat s 
 house. This cottage was the residence of a pious wid 
 ow, whose husband a fisherman, had been drowned 
 a few years before ; she lived entirely alone ; her on 
 ly child a daughter, was married, and the mother of 
 a young family, and she and honest Joshua, her hus 
 band, resided within the town of Newport, where he 
 labored in a rope walk. " Nurse Elspeth," as she 
 was usually called, was a singularly useful woman ; 
 though poor, she was greatly beloved ; her faculties 
 in a sick room had in a particular manner endeared 
 her to all the afflicted, and none of her country 
 neighbors seemed to think it possible for them to re 
 cover from illness, unless she ministered to them. 
 Her fame extended for many a mile around, and she 
 was never known to resist the call of humanity, even 
 to leave her bed during the cold, and stormy nights 
 of winter. In fact, she was esteemed a physician of 
 no ordinary talents, and as there was none of the 
 faculty nearer than the town of Newport, she was 
 accustomed to be called upon for every service that 
 suffering humanity required. For these services, 
 Elspeth never accepted any thing ; but the gratitude 
 of the people contrived to make her remuneration 
 by affording her support, and a comfortable subsist 
 ence too. The interior of her cabin was not so dis- 
 pisable as one might b led to suppose from th 
 
 M 
 
134 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 outside. Her neighbors would have had her remove 
 from the lonely and bleak spot, but this she refused, 
 as the cottage had been built to accommodate her 
 late beloved husband, >md ass he had past many hap 
 py years there she continued to tenant it. 
 
 But kindness and humanity were not the only 
 virtues of Elspeth; she was the daughter of a brave 
 sea Captain, and in listening to his adventures, she 
 had caught much of his spirit ; had she been a man, 
 her brave and fearless bearing, might have won for 
 her immortal honor in the field of battle, or borne 
 through pathless waves, her country s flag, and taught 
 the tyrants of the sea, to respect her country s rights. 
 As it was, her courage was often put to the test, 
 and was never known to fail her. 
 
 Elspeth in person, was rather repulsive, of a strong 
 athletic make, her figure was taller than her sex in 
 general ; in youth, she had by the help of a good set 
 of teeth, bright black eyes, and a profusion of raven 
 hair, passed for a tolerable hands unie woman; but 
 years of exposure, of poverty and affliction, had 
 quenched the light of her eyes, and turned her hair 
 to grey, and her tall grenadier figure had now con 
 tracted a slight stoop, her skin was exceedingly swar 
 thy, and her voice rough and masculine : Such was 
 Elspeth, who on this day had been an anxious ob 
 server of the ship, w r hose near neighborhood had 
 caused such alarm in her vicinity. She was alone in 
 her little hut, and although there was nothing there 
 to tempt avarice, and allure the plunderer, yet, even 
 she could not escape altogether the contagion of fear, I 
 which had spread itself through the neighborhood. 
 Before she retired to rest, she took a small pair of 
 pistols which had been her husband s and loading 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 135 
 
 them, placed them near her pillow. She was not un 
 acquainted with their use; and had often fired one of a 
 dark evening, to direct the homeward bound boat of 
 her husband, and though she had never been called 
 upon to use them in sell-defence, yet she did not fear 
 to, if occasion demanded. A tear, however, dropped 
 upon them, as she ascended the step ladder, that led 
 to her sleeping apartment, she thought of him who 
 had often followed the report of them, to his own 
 cheerful fireside, and for a few moments the hardy 
 and courageous Elspeth was a weak woman; how 
 ever, she soon composed herself, and retired to her 
 humble bed, where the sounding waves with their 
 never ceasing roar, soon lulled her to sleep. 
 
TALE! IVATIOIflJj 
 
 CHAPTER. II, 
 
 "Ob for a lodge in tome vast wildernes*, 
 
 " Some boundlesi contiguity of ihade, 
 
 " Where rumor of oppression and deceit, 
 
 " Of unsuccessful or successful wan 
 
 Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, 
 
 * My soul ii sick with every day s repoit 
 
 " Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is filled. 1 
 
 How long nurse Elspeth had yielded to the 
 drowsy god she could not tell; but she was aroused 
 by a gentle tap at her door, and hastily rising she put 
 her head out of the little window ot the loft, and in 
 quired the stranger s business. " I wish to see you 
 immediately, good woman," said a gentleman, 
 "pray admit me, I am alone, and come to solicit 
 your assistance." Elspeth descended the little lad 
 der, and unclosed the door. The gentleman walk 
 ed in, and opening a dark lantern, discovered to the 
 astonished eyes of Elspeth, the naval uniform of a 
 British officer. 
 
 " Have no fears," said he, perceiving she eyed him 
 with a look of distrust, " I come to carry you, if 
 possible, to the assistance of a suffering female in 
 yonder ship ; make haste, I entreat you, for her 
 life is at stake. Your reward shall be great, and 
 we will safely put you on shore again; here is an 
 earnest," said he throwing down a well-filled purse. 
 "Make haste." 
 
 Elspeth hesitated no longer, but taking a light, re 
 turned up the ladder to array herself for the voyage. 
 First depositing the purse in a place of safety, she 
 proceeded to put on her best garment, then pausing 
 a moment if, said she mentally, this should be some 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 137 
 
 trick, I will at any rate be prepared, and sell my 
 life dearly ; so saying she shoved a pistol into each 
 pockst, (she always carried a large one on either 
 hip, and rejoined the officer. 
 
 They proceeded in silence to the place where the 
 boat was moored, and two strong rowers, who had 
 waited in the boat, soon brought them to the side of 
 the ship. Here the officer blinded Elspeth, and 
 conveyed her on board: she was led past two or 
 three sentinels, and heard the watch-word, which 
 was Darkness, demanded and given, and in spite 
 of her courage, a shudder passed over her several 
 times, before she gained the steps, which descending 
 perpendicularly, conducted her to the place of her 
 destination. She halted for a moment, until reas 
 sured by the voice of her conductor, who in a whis 
 per, said, " No harm is intended you, good woman; 
 you are in honorable hands;" when she ventured to 
 proceed. Upon removing the handkerchief, she 
 found herself in an elegant state-room. The offi 
 cer pointed to a birth, from which some half-stifled 
 sobs proceeded, and withdrew. Elspeth approach- 
 ek, and raising the damask curtain, beheld a beauti 
 ful female, whose hands were clasped in agony, and 
 whose pale cheek was bathed in tears. Bending over 
 her, the benevolent woman sought to comfort the 
 youthful sufferer. " Well, now, how sad it is to see 
 such a pretty creature in such distress; if there is 
 any thing that a poor woman like me can do, speak, 
 Lady; there is nothing I would not do to serve you." 
 Elspeth had spoken from the genuine feelings of her 
 heart, for the countenance of the youthful sufferer 
 had created an immediate interest in her favor. 
 " There is but one way in which you can relieve 
 
138 TALli NATIONAL 
 
 me, good woman," said the lady. " If you would 
 solemnly promise me one thing, it would ease me 
 of a heavy load," and she grasped the hands of 
 the kind-hearted nurse in hers. 
 
 " If it is in my power, I will grant your re 
 quest," said Elspeth, " even at the risk of my 
 life." 
 
 " Excellent woman!" said the sufferer. The 
 boon I ask of you is to preserve my child, if it 
 lives, and keep it with you until I can claim it, 
 safe from my tyrant brother; it may be years be 
 fore I can reclaim it ; but never, never part with 
 it until I or its father appear. I consider myself 
 as his wife, though united by a Catholic priest; 
 that you know will not answer the laws of our 
 country, yet in the sight of Heaven it can make 
 no difference." 
 
 Elspeth promised, and in a few hours the lady 
 gave birth to^a son, and the nurse prepared to 
 depart. Before she left, however, the lady, whom 
 her brother called Olivia, told her she had been 
 brought away by stratagem, by her brother, who 
 was her guardian; and that there was but one, a 
 favorite servant of his, who knew she was on board. 
 She gave some valuable trinkets to Elspeth, and a 
 small sum of money, together with a ring, which she 
 desired her to send back to her as a token, if she 
 got the child safe ashore. The wretched mother 
 strained her infant to her bosom, at parting, and 
 bedewed its little face with agonizing tears ; but 
 her brother hurried the nurse to the boat. 
 
 " This good woman," said Olivia, is willing to 
 take care of the child." 
 
 "Very well," said he, gruffly, and again blind- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 139 
 
 ing Elspeth, who carried the child under her cloak, 
 he hurried her to the boat. 
 
 There was a slight breeze stirring and a sail 
 hoisted. No one got in but a black fellow, who 
 it seemed did not understand a word of English, 
 and the officer, who motioned Elspeth to be seat 
 ed near him; but she stepped to the other end of 
 the boat and seated herself in silence. Day was 
 beginning to blush in the eastern horizon, and El 
 speth would have been delighted to observe the 
 beautiful appearance o er land and sea, while fac 
 ing one of the finest harbors in the world; but 
 subjects of momentous importance occupied her 
 attention. The officer was in a very ill humor. 
 
 " Curse the light," said he, " we shall be dis 
 covered." Then addressing the black in French, 
 he tried to hurry the motions of the boat. After 
 they had got about half way, he said to Elspeth, 
 
 " Now woman, mark me ; no noise and no re 
 sistance; I must take your burden." He rose, but 
 quicker than thought, the stately form of Elspeth, 
 with a cocked pistol in her hand .stood erect before him. 
 c Touch not this child for your life," said she, 
 e Step but oae step towards me, and you are a 
 dead man. I can shoot further than the length ot 
 your sword," said she, seeing him lay his hand 
 upon the weapon. The officer told her to be 
 seated, and himself set the example. 
 
 " Fool that I was," said he " not to bring any 
 thing but a sword. But let me reason with you, 
 woman, this purse full of gold shall be yours (hold 
 ing it up) if you will only deliver the brat peaceably, 
 you are not responsible for what I shall do with it 
 it i a child of sin and I I" he stopped. 
 
140 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 "Wish to destroy it," said Elspeth, finishing? the 
 sentence; " but you have got to kill me first, and 
 Elspeth Brown dies not unavenged." He tried to 
 bribe, threaten and persuade, all without effect. 
 At length he said 
 
 " On one condition you may keep it peaceably, but 
 should you ever violate that condition, the whole 
 race of yankees shall not protect you from my ven 
 geance." 
 
 " Name it," said Elspeth. 
 
 " Why you must swear to tell that the child was 
 left at your house by some strolling beggar, and that 
 you have adopted it out of pity." 
 
 " Well (said Elspeth) I swear to do so, if that will 
 satisfy you:" but however he might appear to be satis 
 fied, Elspeth was not a moment off her guard. It 
 grew lighter every moment, and her courage propor- 
 tionably increased, yet she kept the pistol cocked in 
 her hand, and her eye never for a moment wandered 
 from the face of the officer. As they approached 
 the shore, and were turning the boat round to land 
 the officer first ; she watched her opportunity, and 
 springing upon the rock with the agility of a fawn, 
 was at the top in a moment, then firing the pistol 
 in the air, " now (said she) be off or you are surroun 
 ded without the possibility of escape." The officer 
 who had one foot on shore prudently drew it back 
 again, while Elspeth shouted to the retreating boat, 
 " That handkerchief contains a ring that slipped 
 from her finger, I did not mean to steal it, return it 
 to her." The officer drew his sword and shook it 
 at her in a menacing manner, which Elspeth ans 
 wered by the discharge of the other pistol, then 
 slowly turning round sought her cabin. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 141 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " The sound of war 
 
 " Has lost its terrors ; ere it reaches ni 
 " Grieves but alarms me not." 
 
 THE streak of day in the Eastern horizon, had 
 now given place to one wide sheet of light, and the 
 purple blush glowed upon the ocean and rested upon 
 the beautiful upland scenery rising from the beach. 
 Elspeth paused;" shall I venture to stay at my cot 
 tage with this precious charge 1" she said, " had I 
 not better take another path and go immediately 
 into the town 1" She stopped irresolute. 
 
 The boat was fast receding and the child begin 
 ning to grow uneasy determined her; "poor little 
 stranger," said she, "I will take care of you first," so 
 saying she entered the cottage, and having secured 
 the door, proceeded to get some nourishment for 
 Hie infant. Then wrapping it up carefully, and se 
 curing the purse of gold about her person, she once 
 more took it under her cloak, and proceeded tow 
 ards Newport. The sun was just rising as she gained 
 the brow of the hill, and her red broadcloth cloak 
 became somewhat uncomfortable, for a kind of indis 
 tinct fear had increased her naturally quick step al 
 most to a run. Looking about her, Elspeth was 
 deliberating which way to go to arrive at her daugh 
 ter s house in the least time, and exposed to least 
 observation, when she perceived a man turn 
 close by her, and eye her with what to her appeared 
 a suspicious glance; quickening her pace she passed 
 
142 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 through several lanes successfully, until she readied 
 the Jew s synagogue, near which there was an out 
 let by which she could gain a private passage to the 
 fields, which she determined to cross in her way to 
 Broad-street, a little north of which her daughter re 
 sided. But her evil genius did -not permit her to 
 gain it undiscovered; just as she past the synagogue, 
 the identical man stood at her elbow, and laying his 
 hand on her shoulder, accosted her with "good morn 
 ing, nurse, has the King s ship sent you a broad*ide 
 to drive you out so early in the morning 1" Elspeth 
 started, and turned so deadly pale that the gentle 
 man (who was no other than our friend Lawton, 
 who had just walked up with his spy-glass in hand 
 to see what had become of the ship, for to say the 
 truth he had many misgivings in his mind about the 
 fishing frolic and began to fear there was something 
 wrong. 
 
 " By heavens, woman," said he, " I fear there 
 is treason ahead, what have you under your cloak 1" 
 Elspeth who had at length recognised him, felt re 
 lieved from part of her terror, but still unresolvdl 
 what to do. At length mustering resolution, she 
 answered, " Mr. Lawton, I know you are a man of 
 honor, say nothing but meet me at my son-in-law 
 Joshua s house within an hour, and I will tell you a 
 story that will make your hair rise, but leave me, 
 leave me now." Lawton knowing the character of 
 Elspeth for integrity and veracity, readily released 
 her, and promised to be punctual to his appointment. 
 
 The child now began to be uneasy again, and the 
 recent alarm had caused almost the whole town t 
 turn out much earlier than usual, so that if Elspel^ 
 had not had the precaution to go by the way of th e 
 fields, she would probably have been discovered . 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 143 
 
 but by dint of manoeuvring after she past them, 
 threading narrow lanes, and striking out of every 
 public spot, she managed to reach her daughter s 
 house undiscovered. 
 
 In a few words Joshua and his wife were made ac 
 quainted with her night s adventure, and sworn to 
 secrecy, and Hannah her daughter, who had a most 
 compassionate heart, readily took the poor little 
 stranger and put it to her breast, resolving to divide 
 the nourishment which nature had provided for her 
 own child, with the little outcast. In about an hour 
 Lawton called, and after being duly sworn, for no 
 persuasion would induce Elspeth to confide in any 
 one without swearing, he was made acquainted 
 with the secret, and shewn the bundle that Elspeth 
 carried under her cloak It was well they swore him, 
 otherwise his indignation wonld have betrayed them. 
 He stormed and swore tremendously. " The cold 
 
 blooded scoundrel! the d d villain, murder an 
 
 infant a sister s child, some of his own blood, for 
 pride. Oh that the whole country might be made 
 acquainted with it, it was enough to nerve every 
 man s hand against the enemy. 5 With some diffi 
 culty Elspeth succeeded in persuading him to si 
 lence, and finally it was agreed on all hands that it 
 would be best to pass off the child as one that had 
 been left there at Joshua s in the course of the night 
 and directed to their protection. Lawton now 
 desired a particular description of the person of the 
 officer, and of all Elspeth noticed on board the ship; 
 to ascertain if possible, what degree of rank he 
 held. To this, Elspeth could say but little. 
 Her reception on board was marked by the most 
 profound silence, except the challenge of the senti 
 nel and the giving of the watch-word darkness. 
 
144 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 " Darkness indeed," said Lawton ; the deed he 
 contemplated was dark enough. 
 
 Elspeth supposed the crew generally were sound 
 asleep after the debauch which had been contriv 
 ed on purpose ; however they had little hesitation in 
 believing that the unknown was the commander of 
 the ship. In the course of the day Joshua removed 
 his mother s things from the cottage, and gave it up 
 to the owners, saying, " it was not safe for his moth 
 er to live there in such perilous times." The sight 
 of the infant and the story of its being left, &c exci 
 ted some interest at the time, but people were then 
 in such a continual state of alarm that the circum 
 stance was but little talked off. 
 
 At this time Newport began to be deserted ; fam 
 ilies from all quarters of the town, were flocking up 
 the river, generally to Providence. Still Joshua and 
 his family hung back. Between the towns of New 
 port and Providence there had always existed since 
 the first settlement of them, that kind of rivalship 
 that is often to be found between the two parts of a 
 town, each striving to take the precedence. How of 
 ten we see this spirit even in children, who will 
 sometimes distinguish themselves as the up-town 
 boys and the down-town boys, or the inhabi 
 tants of old town and new town. The case was a 
 little more serious between the two towns, and it 
 became quite fashionable when speaking of New 
 port, for the inhabitants of the rival town, to call it 
 the land of fog; Sac. &c. while they in their turn 
 Avould distinguish Providence by the title of the 
 sand bank. The British used to call it in derision 
 "the hornet s nest." But by whatever name it 
 might be called, it certainly offered a secure retreat 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 145 
 
 for the distressed inhabitants of Newport and other 
 exposed places during that memorable period. As 
 to the people of Newport, they like other inhabitants 
 of Islands, were greatly attached to their home, and 
 it must have been apprehension of great danger alone 
 that could have driven them through Narraganset 
 Bay, to look for safety. Though something more 
 than danger to themselves intimidated the family of 
 Joshua, yet still they lingered, afraid to go and afraid 
 to stay, and it was not until the very day that Gen. 
 Prescott landed, that they set out. 
 
 Lawton had never called but once, since he had 
 become the possessor of Elspeth s secret, and they 
 had almost forgotten his knowledge of it, but on the 
 morning of that day he drove his chaise to the door, 
 and throwing down the reins, ran into the house ; the 
 first salutation was 
 
 " Why, Elspcth, what do you do herel Off 
 woman, if you expect to save the life of that child ; 
 do you know that I rode past the beach yesterday 
 and saw a boat near your old hut, and several men 
 that I knew in a moment to be Englishmen, ransack 
 ing it 1" 
 
 The affrighted woman entreated to know what 
 they should do, and how they could get off; Law- 
 ton paused a moment; at length, said he, 
 
 " I can get you a passage take a few necessary 
 articles of clothing, and bundle up your boy, and 
 jump in. Hannah, you and Joshua can follow at your 
 leisure; I will tell your where to find the old wo 
 man." He then wrote a direction to a cousin of 
 his in Providence, and taking Elspeth and the babe, 
 hastened towards Bristol ferry ; within two miles of 
 the town he overtook a family that he knew, remov 
 ing in a wagon, and after a short debate, he bar- 
 
146 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 gained with them to take in Elspeth and her charge, 
 and giving her a line to the officer stationed at 
 Bristol Ferry, to expedite her journey, he whis 
 pered, " Pass the boy as your grand-child," and 
 departed. 
 
 Elspeth had named the boy as his mother had 
 directed, " George;" but as she had no clue to a 
 sirname, she had called him George Beach, after 
 the neighborhood where she had first landed him. 
 The beauty of the child attracted universal atten 
 tion, wherever he was seen, and as usual the ques 
 tion was now asked, "Whose beautiful child is if?" 
 Elspeth answered as directed, her daughter s. 
 Some of them looked at her with rather a doubt 
 ful gaze; but Elspeth, who had taught the lisper 
 to call her granny, bore it out. They passed 
 Bristol Ferry without molestation, and arrived 
 safely in Providence, where Elspeth found a wel 
 come with Mr. Lawton s cousin, until Joshua and 
 his fam ily arrived. 
 
 Joshua procured a place in a rope-walk, and as 
 the family were settled in comfortable quarters, 
 peace seemed for a time to dawn upon their hum 
 ble abode, though war was still without. But it 
 was fated to be of short continuance; the health of 
 Joshua, which had begun to decline before they 
 left Newport, now suddenly failed him entirely, 
 and he was at once laid up by a lingering fever. 
 They had five children, besides the little stranger, 
 and poverty began to stare them in the face. 
 
 The gold which Elspeth had received with her 
 charge, they had resolved to keep for his future 
 use; but it was now impossible, and upon this they 
 subsisted, for the most part, for two or three 
 years ; for although Joshua was restored in some 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 147 
 
 months to a state of convalescence, yet his health 
 did not continue good. Frequent attacks of a 
 rheumatic complaint obliged him to discontinue his 
 exertions for the support of his family; but at 
 length his health seemed restored, and they began 
 at the close of the war, to look up again. 
 
 About this time Joshua resolved upon removing 
 to New- York, where the wages, he was informed, 
 were much higher, and work in his line in greater 
 demand. Hither then they removed. 
 
 It cost the whole family many pangs to go so 
 far from Rhode-Island ; but the thing looked so 
 promising, it was not to be given up: and beside, 
 prudence whispered it would be best, on account of 
 the safety of the child, whose tyrant uncle Elspeth 
 feared much more, than she expected friends to claim 
 him. Of his mother s fate, Elspeth had many gloomy 
 presages. She thought it more than doubtful whether 
 she saw England alive again, even if her brother had 
 permitted her to live, which Elspeth some doubted. 
 Yet considering her delicate frame, her distress of 
 mind, and the want of many comforts which she must 
 necessarily experience on ship-board, particularly of 
 rest and quiet, Elspeth thought it more than probable 
 she might be dead. Yet there had always been a 
 full persuasion in her mind that the boy would finally 
 be claimed, if she could contrive to keep him secret 
 ed for a time; and this reconciled her to go from 
 Rhode-Island. She sent, however, to Lavvton, an 
 account of their removal, with a direction how to 
 procure information of her in New-York, should any 
 inquiries be made of him, which he judged from a 
 friendly quarter. 
 
 As they passed out of the harbor of Newport, 
 poor old Elspeth strained her tearful eyes in vain, to 
 
143 
 
 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 catch a distant view of her old habitation, which she 
 felt persuaded she could see; because there was not 
 a ship that entered the harbor of Newport, but what 
 they could see from the hut. Alas! she looked in 
 vain ! Even in the brief period which had intervened, 
 it had been levelled with the dust, and not the slight 
 est vestige of a human habitation was discoverable 
 on the spot. This Joshua discovered by means of 
 a spy-glass; his mother dropped a few tears, which 
 she hastily wiped away with the corner of her blue 
 checked apron, then smoothing it down, with a smile 
 of exultation she said, " Well, the Captain will look 
 in vain for it, if he should come again; that is one 
 comfort." 
 
 After their arrival in New- York, for a time, busi 
 ness went on, and " the world," as Elspeth express 
 ed it, " went well with them." But a season of suf 
 fering again returned. Joshua was visited with his 
 old complaint, a lingering fever; his wife and Elspeth 
 made great exertions to support the family, by taking 
 in washing, ironing, &c. and they had the precaution 
 to remove to a cheaper tenement, and one more cen 
 tral for their business. But a cellar tenement El 
 speth found disagreed with her, and she was laid up 
 with the rheumatism. Poor Hannah had now to 
 struggle through alone, with no other help but that 
 of her children, the oldest of whom worked in the 
 rope-walk, and from his wages they derived a little 
 help; and those who were large enough, drew water, 
 folded clothes, went of errands, and assisted in cook 
 ing their food. To conceal their poverty, if possible, 
 was a most desirable thing; for had the extent of it 
 been known, they must have been sent back to New 
 port as paupers; and this their decent pride revolted 
 at the thought of. Besides which, they must in th<\ 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 149 
 
 case, inevitably have parted with their children, and 
 little George beside, whom Elspeth had solemnly 
 promised to keep with her during life, unless claim 
 ed by his parents. He was now a fine boy ol seven 
 years. They had managed to keep him to school 
 ever since he was old enough to profit by instruc 
 tion; he was a forward boy to learn, and though 
 trained in poverty, there was something in the looks 
 of the child, and in his deportment, young as he was, 
 that seemed like inherent greatness. He was in 
 truth a noble-minded little fellow, and often during 
 this their extremity, would insist upon having his por 
 tion of bread and milk divided among the younger 
 children, and going supperless to bed. But this, nei 
 ther his aunt Hannah, as he called her, nor his 
 grandmother, \vould permit. 
 
 Elspeth, who found herself daily declining, feared 
 it might prove her last sickness; arid come what 
 would, she resolved to trust the child with the cir 
 cumstances of his birth. How to make him com 
 prehend all she wished him to know, was rather a 
 difficulty; but at length she concluded upon the man 
 ner of her disclosure. Calling the little fellow to 
 her, in the absence of the other children, she be 
 gan 
 
 " My dear little George, I have something to tell 
 you, which you must always remember. I am not 
 your grandmother, (George put up his lip) don t cry, 
 darling, I love you, but, I am not related to you. 
 Your mother was an English lady, and your father 
 an officer in the naval service of Great Britain. Do 
 you understand me!" "Yes, granny, you have told 
 me so much about the war, that I know who the 
 British are." " Well, George, you was born on 
 .board of one of the King s ships, off Newport, and 
 
 N* 
 
150 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 you had a wicked Uncle that wanted to kill you and 
 I brought you away and have kept you ever since, 
 and if ever you are a man, you must go to England 
 and try to find out your family; their names I do not 
 know, but I have a locket which your mother put 
 round your neck, with her Christian name engraved 
 on it, and if I die, Hannah will give it to you," 
 
 Here little George fell a crying, for fear his gran 
 ny would die, but she quieted him, telling him " if 
 she died, she should go to heaven, and he must be a 
 good boy and then they should meet again, where all 
 tears would be forever wiped away." " Cheer up, 
 then, my poor little fellow, (said Elspeth) and try to 
 assist us to-day, I have been making some matches 
 for you and James to carry out; you must cry them 
 along street, and if you get a few half-pence every 
 day it will assist us; but one thing you must promise, 
 not to go out of this street." The little fellow read 
 ily promised and as he had just notions about 
 keeping his word, Elspeth had no fears of his getting 
 lost; the street he was perfectly acquainted with, he 
 had accompanied the children so often in their er 
 rands. He and little James succeeded to admiration, 
 as well as for many succeeding days, but poor Elspeth 
 was no better and little George would feel his eyes 
 fill with tears almost always when he looked at her. 
 Don t cry, dear, said Elspeth; I believe you have 
 a mother better than I. " Will I never see her!" 
 said the child, bursting into a passion of tears. " I 
 hope you may," said Elspeth; she said she should 
 come to claim you some time, and at parting I whis 
 pered the name of a gentleman in Newport who could 
 always tell where I was to be found; so if she should 
 come to (seek you, he would direct her here." The 
 poor ehild mused upon the story, but he had been 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 151 
 
 forbidden to mention it to the other children, and 
 therefore kept it to himself, but on this day it was 
 observed he went forth with a heavy heart, and much 
 did it grieve good Elspeth to put him to an employ 
 ment which she conceived so much beneath his birth.* 
 However, there was no help, and he cried the match 
 es up and down the street as usual, though not with 
 his usual success; until fatigued and desponding, he 
 seated himself upon the steps of a large house at the 
 end of the street, and began to cry bitterly. 
 
 * A very foolish notion, by the way, since there is no 
 honest employment disgraceful to any one; but republi 
 canism was new then, and the people of this country had 
 not entirely given up what they called the distinctions of 
 blood. 
 
152 TALES NATION A L 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Oh lives there, Heaven, beneath thy clear expanse, 
 "One hopeless, dark idolater of chance?" 
 
 WE must now shift the scene to the interior of an 
 elegant dwelling, where a mirror that extended from 
 the floor to the ceiling, revealed the person of a ferhale 
 lovely as the fabled Houris; she was walking the 
 room apparently in great distress, her glossy brown 
 hair hung neglected on her shoulders; and her fair 
 hands were clasped upon her bosom. With unsteady 
 steps she continued traversing the apartment, and 
 ever and anon stopping to listen, as though to coming 
 footsteps. Hour after hour the fair being watched in 
 vain; at length throwing up the sash and looking 
 down into the street, she softly exclaimed, " he is 
 coming; thank heaven I have not lost him, too; but 
 oh, must I leave these shores thus, the object of my 
 voyage unaccomplishedl my poor, poor little darling 
 unfound, perhaps at this very moment suffering the 
 greatest misery and degradation. My God!" she 
 exclaimed, "if ever prayer ascended to thy throne, 
 answer mine; oh, suffer me not, not to go from this 
 place, until I have found my child." 
 
 The window was left open, and attracted by the 
 sound of her husband s voice, she looked out just as 
 he accosted the sobbing child, who had seated him 
 self on the door stone. " My poor little fellow," said 
 the gentleman, " what is the matter!" Said George, 
 " I have cried matches all day and only got two half 
 pence to carry to poor sick granny." " Poor soul," 
 
 
AN!) REVOLUTIONARY. 153 
 
 said the gentleman ; well, I will give you some 
 change, and an orange too, if you will follow me up 
 stairs." The child followed, and as he received the 
 embrace of his beautiful wife he said, " Olivia," give 
 this child some of your fresh oranges, he says he has 
 a poor sick grandmother at home." While she was 
 looking for the oranges he turned to the lad and said, 
 " has your grandmother no one but you to help her, 
 poor child!" "Oh yes," said George, "Aunt Hannah 
 washes all the time, and Billy and Johnny draw wa 
 ter, and James and me carry matches. Granny says 
 we must do something for bread." 
 
 "Do you love your grandmother]" said the lady, 
 handing him the oranges. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said the child, "she has taken 
 care of me ever since I was born." 
 
 " Then you have no mother," said the lady, sigh 
 ing deeply, but George answered not. The gentle 
 man repeated the question, but George still refused to 
 answer, and he then asked " where were you born, 
 child, will you tell us that!" "I don t like to," 
 said the child; " but if you won t tell, I will tell you." 
 "Well," said the gentleman, laughing, "we will 
 promise not to tell." " Well then," said George, 
 looking all round the room, to ascertain that no one 
 else heard him, and coming quite close to the gentle 
 man, "I was born in a King s ship." 
 
 The lady gave a loud shriek, and springing towards 
 him, raised the clusters of brown curls that nearly 
 hid his fine blue eyes, and shaded his little pale 
 cheek; then clasping him to her bosom, she exclaim 
 ed, "It is, it is, my child, oh George, why did I not 
 see your likeness before]" " And why did I not see 
 yours, Olivia," said the husband and father folding 
 
154 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 them both in his arms, while his wife was offering 
 thanksgiving to the Hearer of Prayer. The amazed 
 child now began to comprehend; he beheld his pa 
 rents, and looking from one to the other, he burst in 
 to tears. " What is your grandmother s name," ask 
 ed Olivia, "Elspeth," said the boy. "The same; 
 and what has she told you beside!"*" Why, said he, 
 that I had a mother who would come and take me if 
 she lived, and get the locket, that she tied round my 
 neck, and are you my mother, (said George,) and will 
 little George have a Papa, tool Oh, how glad I shall 
 be. But granny will think George is lost, and cry, 
 I must go back." " That is a good boy," said his 
 father, (( and we will go with you, my precious 
 child," said Olivia, "how merciful the Lord has 
 been in sending you to us this day, to-morrow would 
 have been too late; we have been in this country a 
 year, looking for my child, and none could tell what 
 had become of Elspeth." Calling a servant, the gen 
 tleman directed him to come to the cellar where El 
 speth resided, with a basket of provisions, for he 
 gained from George an account of their situation. 
 Then taking a carriage they sought her habitation di 
 rected by their little son, who always kept in mind 
 the No. of the house. They concluded not to an 
 nounce themselves until they had gained the story 
 from Elspeth. 
 
 When George s new found parents led him in to 
 the abode of Joshua, a scene of poverty and wretch 
 edness presented itself, which they had never seen 
 equalled before. It must in truth have been appall 
 ing to any of the sons and daughters of affluence to 
 have visited the interior of their abode. In a small 
 bed room that opened into the outer cellar room lay 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 155 
 
 Joshua pined almost to a skeleton, and in a little re 
 cess in the outside room stood a small bed, where 
 poor old Elspeth lay bolstered up upon pillows, en 
 deavoring to still the half famished cries of an infant, 
 while two little children on the floor were crying for 
 supper. Their mother was washing, and over the 
 fire were a few potatoes, and before it an Indian cake. 
 "Oh dear, kind people," exclaimed Hannali as they 
 entered, "you have brought our lost child; AVC have 
 been frightened to death, and three of the children 
 are now in pursuit of him." The gentleman walked 
 up to Elspeth and gave an account of his interview 
 with the boy, and added, "he is such an interesting 
 child I really want him, can you part with him, good 
 womanl" " Alas," said Elspeth, " I promised his 
 mother never to part with him, unless she or his fa 
 ther claimed him, and yet it wrings my heart to have 
 him endure the poverty we all have to suffer, but if 
 I should die, I would secure one friend for him, and 
 you perhaps might assist to find his parents; sit down, 
 if you please, and I will relate to you a strange sto 
 ry." She then in a few words gave the history of 
 his birth, concluding with an account of their suffer 
 ings since, and her reluctance to appropriate the con 
 tents of the purse to the necessities of the family, 
 and calling for a box, she displayed a small locket 
 which was about his neck, which she was determined 
 to keep; "though the sale of it," said she, "would 
 have saved us from famine." The gentleman hand 
 ed it to Olivia. It was set with brilliants, and con 
 tained a lock of her mother s hair with her name, 
 which she inherited. 
 
 "And now good woman," said the gentleman, 
 " don t let the surprise agitate you, I AM HIS FA 
 THER!" 
 
156 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 Elspeth sprung up in bed, quick as though 
 she felt no sickness, though she had not turned her 
 self without help for some time. " His father," 
 said she, and gasping for breath, "where is his moth- 
 erl" 
 
 " Here," said Olivia, unable to contain her 
 self any longer, but throwing herself on the bed and 
 clasping the emaciated form of Elspeth in her arms, 
 " here I am, righteous widow, who kept your prom 
 ise to a distracted mother, at the hazard of your life. 
 God will at length reward your kindness to my help 
 less child. Oh, Elspeth, you have saved him, and I 
 can never reward you, but as far as the comforts of 
 life can make you happy, you shall be so. You shall 
 partake, you and yours of the bountiful fortune which 
 an indulgent God has blest us with; but with which 
 we must have been miserable without our child." 
 
 Elspeth raised her withered hands in thanksgiving, 
 and Hannah threw herself on her knees to thank the 
 Supreme Being. 
 
 " But," said Olivia, " we are hindering your sup 
 per. To-morrow we will return and have you all re 
 moved to comfortable apartments, and see if we can 
 not cure you, and then we will tell you our story. 
 This dear child must return with us, I can never lose 
 sight of him again." The child looked at his grand 
 mother; ec go," said she, " it is that dear mother you 
 cried to see the other day." The servant now en 
 tered with a basket of provisions from a neighboring 
 cook shop, and some wine for the sick. Little George 
 begged to stay and eat supper with them, and his 
 mother to gratify him stayed until they had supped, 
 and the sweet Olivia busied herself in waiting upon 
 the sick, compelling Hannah to sit down and attend 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARr. 157 
 
 to helping the children. They, poor little creatures, 
 could not restrain their joy at sight of the provisions 
 with which their tahle was so bountifully covered. 
 The poor invalid Joshua, whose stomach had rejected 
 the portion of Indian cake and black tea just offered 
 him, now greedily accepted of a slice of boiled ham 
 and nice white-bread, and drank plentifully of the 
 
 good coffee setbefore him. Capt. H , the father 
 
 of little George, put a small sum into Hannah s hand 
 at parting, and said they would soon take measures 
 for their permanent relief. "And I entreat you, 
 Hannah, don t wash any more, but devote every 
 moment to your sick mother and husband." 
 
158 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "A home awaits them, happier far, 
 
 " Than grandeur s most magnificent saloon." 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Hannah ran to pay 
 her quarter s rent which was just due, and also a 
 few little debts due in the neighborhood and it may 
 well be imagined their hearts were now lightened of 
 
 a heavy load. The next forenoon Capt. H and 
 
 his wife returned with little George, dressed so fine 
 they scarcely knew him. They had procured a com 
 fortable lodging for the family, and in the course of 
 the day they were all settled in their new quarters. 
 A physician was called to Elspeth and Joshua, and 
 by judicious treatment, they were both restored in a 
 few weeks, so as to be able to travel. They had in 
 formed Olivia, of their desire respecting their future 
 place of abode, and to see them settled to their hearts 
 content was all that now detained that amiable wo 
 man and her husband in America. 
 
 " Here, Elspeth," said Olivia, one day as she en 
 tered the room of the invalid, " here is the ring you 
 sent me back; I have lived by looking at that ring. 
 That inhuman brother of mine died a penitent, and 
 left a large fortune to my child, if found." She then 
 told Elspeth that she had been sent to different 
 places to prevent a re-union with her husband; once 
 he had discovered the place of her retreat, and was 
 taking measures for her release, when she was sent 
 into Spain. From thence she had been summoned 
 to attend the dying bed of her tyrant, who gave her 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 159 
 
 his property, except the- fortune which he willed to 
 the child, it found." " My brother," said Olivia, 
 " was a great admirer of female heroism, and he 
 dwelt upon your courage in defending the life of 
 my child with enthusiasm, although he confessed he 
 had employed emissaries to search you out, in order 
 to destroy" it." " Oh Elspcth," said she, "no one 
 can tell all I have suffered; the agonies of suspense 
 about my child have almost destroyed me at times; 
 my husband returned to England from a cruise soon 
 alter my brother s death, and we were married ac 
 cording to law, when we immediately proceeded to 
 
 this country to look for our child. Mr. W to 
 
 whom you directed me to apply, had removed to the 
 western country, and Mr. Lawton was dead and 
 we have sought him and you in vain for a whole 
 twelvemonth, until Providence conducted our child 
 to our arms." 
 
 Elspcth and Hannah had been consulted, with re 
 spect to their future place of abode, and informed 
 that they designed to purchase a place for them 
 whereon* they chose to settle, and now the worthy 
 Joshua and his family felt all their prejudice for their 
 dear native Island return. 
 
 " If we could only have a little something to help 
 live, the country around Newport would be my 
 choice," saidElspeth. It was finally settled to pur 
 chase a farm on the Island, and the Capt. and his 
 wife accompanied the happy family back to their na 
 tive state. A nice comfortable little farm was se 
 lected, not a great way from their former residence, 
 where the descendants of Joshua and Hannah now 
 reside. They saw the family settled in it, ere their 
 departure for the land of their fathers, but alas! poor 
 
160 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 Elspeth, although she enjoyed her situation highly, 
 could find few of her former intimates; death had cut 
 off the older ones, and the younger ones had remov 
 ed to different places. 
 
 Before they left, Olivia and her husband visited 
 the site of Elspeth s cottage, not a trace of which 
 was now left, yet Elspeth knew the spot, and point 
 ed out to them the place where the King s ship la) 
 on that memorable night and " by the time the 
 sun had risen next day," said she, " she had hauled 
 round and resumed her station in the fleet as though 
 nothing had happened. 
 
 Capt. H could not be quite easy to leave poor 
 
 old Elspeth without making her comfortable in eve 
 ry respect. The parting between her and her family 
 and Olivia and little George was a most affecting one. 
 Before they left New-York, Capt. H had a mag 
 istrate called in and Elspeth sworn to every circum 
 stance of George s birth. This was necessary, to prore 
 his title to the fortune left him by his uncle; after 
 this they deposited a sum of money with the good 
 old nurse, begging her to deny herself nothing that 
 would in any way make her latter days easy. Those 
 days were long upon the earth. Elspeth continued 
 to enjoy her faculties to an extreme old age. She 
 stated that she was fifty years old the day that Gen. 
 Prescott entered Newport; and she always recollec 
 ted when speaking of this, that the Gen. entered just 
 three hours after her flight with the child. It was a 
 great draw-back, though to her comfort, that the be 
 nevolent Lawton did not live to witness the prosper 
 ity of herself and family. He had paid the debt of 
 nature before their return to the Island, and there 
 was no one to talk about dear little George except 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 161 
 
 Hunnah, or none who could sympathize with her 
 and in fact there was either a feeling of modesty in 
 the family generally, which forbade them to speak of 
 what was calculated to exalt themselves, or they had 
 some other reasons for keeping the story from the 
 public. 
 
 For some years the family of Joshua continued to 
 hear from their friends in England, when all at once 
 they ceased to communicate. Elspeth had comple 
 ted her eightieth year, and although she was bed-rid 
 den, the faculties of her mind were but slightly im 
 paired. The promise to the righteous that " their light 
 shall not go out in obscurity," seemed fulfilled to her. 
 On that day, just thirty years since, she fled from her 
 native town, in order to save the life of a stranger 
 babe. The children of Hannah, some of whom had 
 married and settled in different parts of the Island, 
 were assembled to commemorate the birth day of 
 their aged relative; her withered hands were laid on 
 many a little head with granny s blessing, while mirth 
 and good humor was preparing the humble feast of 
 her birth night supper. Suddenly, a splendid equi 
 page was seen to drive up to the door, and a gentle 
 man alighted, handing out two ladies and a little boy. 
 They enquired for Elspeth and hastened to her bed 
 side. Kneeling by it the gentleman said, " Behold 
 my dear, dear preserver, the child of your adoption. 
 I am George, little George Beach, whom you preserv 
 ed in infancy and supported through so many trials 
 here is my sister Olivia, my wife and little George 
 my son, just the same age as I was when you last 
 saw me, and they say looking as I did." Elspeth 
 raised her head and surveyed the group. " Blessings, 
 blessings, on you my child, on you sweet Olivia, liv- 
 
16 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 ing image of your mother, and on you, sweet boy,* 
 said Elspeth, folding them separately to her bosom; 
 " I never expected to see this day; but God has 
 answered my prayer, nevertheless, and permitted me 
 to see your sweet face once more, and your mother! 
 
 " lives, and loves you still," said George 
 
 "she is surrounded now by a numerous family." 
 " God bless her," said Elspeth, fervently, and you 
 too, my son, who have taken so much pains to visit 
 your poor old nurse. God bless, bless you all," 
 she repeated, laying her hand upon the head of 
 George, then lifting up her eyes, while a celes 
 tial smile stole over her countenance. " Arid now 
 Lord, let thy servant depart, since mine eyes have 
 seen thy salvation." The hand dropped lifeless and her 
 lips closed forever. " Thou hast escaped to heaven," 
 said George, (rising arid laying his hand on the pale 
 forehead) " thou hast become the possessor of an 
 eternal habitation, and on that day when the wrinkles 
 of age shall be exchanged for unfading and en 
 during beauty, I shall behold thee again till then, 
 
 farewell." 
 
 * # * * - # * * # 
 
 Here ends the story of Rosa, who for many years 
 previous to the Revolutionary war was a neighbor of 
 Elspeth, and personally acquainted with her. The 
 story of George Beach was not generally known, but 
 it was communicated by the family to Rosa, who al 
 ways enjoyed their confidence, and at various times 
 was enabled to befriend them in their day of distress, 
 while in Providence. Rosa supposed George Beach 
 to have been the person who came to this country in 
 the year 17 charged with a commission from the 
 Court of the Sovereign. Whether this supposition 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 163 
 
 be true or not, we cannot ascertain with certainty at 
 this day; but if true, the date of his visit, viz. thirty 
 vears after the capture of Newport by Prescott, is 
 nighly incorrect, as it was many years before, that 
 the character in question visited this country, and it 
 is scarcely probable that a commission of such im 
 portance was borne by a young man of two or three 
 and twenty. However, it is very possible, and high 
 ly probable too, that he -might have been some per 
 son attached to the Suite. 
 
 Rosa admitted there must have been some uncom 
 mon motive for the general silence of the families of 
 Elspeth, with respect to the story oi George, as the 
 relations and their few acquaintance always suppos 
 ed the property they possessed was acquired by in 
 dustry in New -York, and never troubled themselves 
 to reflect (if they knew) how very little time they 
 resided there to accumulate such a property. How 
 ever, as they were only one among the numerous in 
 stances of persons who were very poor before the 
 war, starting up at its close with great estates, this 
 was probably the last circumstance that would cre 
 ate surprise. Perhaps they had a pride in being 
 thought to have accumulated their property by in 
 dustry and perhaps as they had once passed the child 
 off as a beggar, and finally as their own, they might 
 shrink from the idea of being exposed in so many 
 prevarications, even in a good cause. Or what is 
 still more likely, they might have been requested by 
 the parents themselves, either to screen the charac 
 ter of their departed brother, or on account 
 of the lady s fame, to say nothing about it. 
 Whatever the motive was, there evidently was 
 one, as upon being questioned by a person in 
 who had known them in Providence, " What be 
 
164 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 came of that youngest boy you brought to Provi 
 dence!" She heard the answer hastily given, " we 
 lost him at New- York" and the subject was then 
 dropped. 
 
 This story was narrated to the writer about eight 
 years since; the real names were then mentioned, 
 but never having known any of the family, and not 
 then having the slightest idea of making the story 
 known to the public, she has taken no pains to re - 
 member them. The name therefore, of Elspeth 
 Brown, is not the real one. I am not sure that I 
 have accurately described the cottage, but through 
 out the story have endeavored to keep as near the 
 truth as related, as possible. 
 
TALE FOURTH. 
 
 PROVIDENTIAL, ESCAPE. 
 
 How sweet it is to dwell on the memory of depar 
 ted days ; to recall the recollection of scenes long 
 past ; of friends long lost. Perhaps there is no facul 
 ty to which we are indebted for so much of our hap 
 piness, as to that of memory. It is true that the 
 recollections of blessings we can no longer enjoy of 
 friends we shall no more see of scenes in which we 
 shall no more participate are sometimes sad ones ; 
 but the melancholy may truly be called a pleasing 
 one, and the sadness is generally that kind by which 
 the heart is made better. 
 
 It is peculiarly useful, too, to trace the leadings of 
 Divine Providence in the lives of our friends, as well 
 as in our own. Few persons who have been at the 
 trouble of remembering such histories, will hesitate 
 to confess, too, that the " romance of real Jife" ex 
 ceeds by far, all that poets ever dreamed, or fiction 
 ever painted. 
 
 Of all the scenes through which we have ever pas- 
 ed, those of our youth generally make the most pasting 
 and vivid impressions; and of all our friends those of 
 our earlier years, arc generally the most affectionately 
 
166 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 remembered. These reflections have been involun 
 tarily excited on the present occasion, by the recol 
 lection of a story related to me many years since, by 
 one who has long been an inhabitant of other worlds . 
 The look, the manner of the venerable narrator is 
 yet present, and though years have past the scenes 
 so eloquently depicted, are still vivid to my imagina 
 tion; few persons possessed the happy art of giving 
 interest to a story in such a degree as the subject of 
 the following narrative. The colloquial powers of 
 Dr. Willard were not less the subject of panegyric, 
 than his professional skill and none, who ever list 
 ened to the flow of eloquence, which always accom 
 panied the relation of even trifling anecdotes, can 
 possibly have forgotten the rapt attention of the list 
 eners. 
 
 The following extraordinary train of incidents in 
 the life of this remarkable man, had often been rela 
 ted to the writer of this, before she procured a relation 
 from his own lips. No attempt can be made to give 
 it in the language of Dr. Willard, whose modesty 
 must necessarily have suppresed many interesting 
 particulars gained from other sources. In relating 
 the story in question, the writer has thought it neces 
 sary to give a brief outline of the life of Dr. Willard, 
 in order that the story may be understood ; and she 
 regrets that she is not possessed of sufficient informa 
 tion to give to the world the history of a man who, 
 during his short pilgrimage, was so eminently useful 
 to his fellow beings, so distinguished by kindness 
 of heart, and urbanity of manners. But to at 
 tempt a biography, is not the object of the following 
 narrative, which is merely to relate an occurrence 
 which proves in an extraordinary manner the super 
 
AN D REVOLUTIONARY. 167 
 
 intending Providence of a God, who watches over all 
 his creatures, and will not by any means suffer the 
 machinations of the wicked finally to triumph, and 
 who will eventually bring the secret workers of ini 
 quity to light. 
 
 EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE. 
 A few years before the revolutionary war, Dr. 
 Samuel Willard, of Worcester, a young physician of 
 amiable manners, and rising reputation, took up his 
 residence in Uxbridge, one of the inland towns of 
 Massachusetts. He was poor, and he commenced 
 Jife with the resolution of achieving his own fortune, 
 and seeking by diligence and faithfulness alone 
 to recommend himself to the people among whom he 
 commenced his professional career. His first attempt 
 in his practice, happily gave promise of great success, 
 while the winning softness of his mariners & suavity of 
 his deportment could not fail of making many friends. 
 To the sick, in a particular manner, he became at 
 once endeared from the kindness of heart he discov 
 ered, and the sensibility, which he often found it im 
 possible to restrain. While exercised for years in a 
 profession proverbial for hardening the heart, on ac 
 count of the constant display of human misery, which 
 the physician is obliged to contemplate, it was evi 
 dent his had never become calloused ; the patronage, 
 therefore, which his skill had first procured, was ir 
 revocably secured by a course of manners peculiarly 
 pleasing to the people of the village and town where 
 he resided, and by degrees his practice became exten 
 ded to the neighboring towns also ; and in every diffi 
 cult case, people seemed to think there was a moral 
 impossibility of getting along without his opinion. 
 
168 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 In the comparative simplicity of that period, it was 
 no offence to call in the advice of a physician in doubt 
 ful cases, if the afflicted person, or his family chose, 
 without the trouble of consulting the regularly attend 
 ing physician, or running the risk of offending him, 
 unless indeed, he happened to be a most unreasonable 
 man. That the life of a human being was at stake, 
 was then deemed a sufficient apology for calling in 
 whom one pleased ; and that the life of a fellow be 
 ing was at issue, was deemed sufficient excuse for 
 that physician, whenever he happened to be for ex 
 ercising his own independent judgment, whether it 
 happened to clash with the prescriptions of his pre 
 decessor or not. In those days society was untram 
 melled b y the ten thousand ridiculous customs and 
 restrictions, that now prevent almost every one from 
 daring to say, as the old phrase goes, his soul is his 
 own, and it may be added, or his body either. It did 
 not therefore require a particular manner of consulting 
 a new physician, nor was the patient obliged to wait 
 until such a one had conferred with the old one, and 
 agreed to say that every thing had been done 
 perfectly right ; or at least we conclude that was not 
 the case, as the person in question very frequently did 
 find fault with the course pursued with the sick, 
 previous to his visit, not unfrequently throwing their 
 medicines out of the window, and expressing in no 
 moderate terms, his indignation at the injudicious 
 treatment previously pursued, &c. &c. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that this course 
 could be followed, without giving offence. Among his 
 host of attached friends, who would at any time have 
 risked their lives for his service, the Doctor had 
 some bitter enemies. But, however, they might hate 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 169 
 
 him in secret, they dared not attack him openly. He 
 had beside given much umbrage on account of his 
 political principles, as like many persons of great 
 genius and mental endowments, he was irritable; 
 and although his resentment would sometimes vent 
 itself for a few moments, yet it was always succeeded 
 by the display of dispositions so peculiarly amiable, 
 that there were many who really appeared to love him 
 more on account of this human failing. 
 
 Dr. W. was distinguished by a truly liberal and 
 benevolent spirit ; he loved to see others happy, and 
 it was his study to make them so. He lived in an el 
 egant mansion, which he had taken great pains to 
 adorn, where a continual influx of company serv 
 ed to enliven the scene, and his residence was 
 the very mansion of hospitality, where taste, elegance 
 and refinement presided. Strangers from all quar 
 ters, attracted by the local scenery of the place, the 
 variety of company to be found there, and above 
 all, by the charms of his conversation, enlivened as it 
 was, by a fund of ever ready wit and humor con 
 tinually flocked to the village, as well as to the hos 
 pitable mansion of Dr. W. Even the old village 
 physician, who looked very blank upon his first set 
 ting up in the place, was glad to lay by all enmity in 
 appearance, and to join the group of happy guests 
 
 assembled there. Old Dr W , who had once 
 
 hoped to monopolize all the practice in the place, 
 had certainly seen with very bitter feelings the ad 
 vancing prosperity and rising fame of his rival ; and 
 it cost him many a groan before he could give up to 
 ccept of the overtures of hospitality and neighborly 
 kindness of his powerful competitor. But at 
 
170 TALE S N AT I ON A L 
 
 length he was obliged to turn with the tide, and fol 
 low in the wake of his more popular successor. This 
 seemed to be reversing the order of things, but there 
 was no help for it. 
 
 Old Dr. W was not without friends and 
 
 partisans; but they were few ; his manners were not 
 prepossessing, a misfortune certainly, to those who 
 profess the healing art. I have often thought, that 
 the manners of a physician in a sick room, had a 
 great effect on the patient, and no one whose misfor 
 tune it is to be cold, repulsive and forbidding, is 
 very likely to become popular, let his professional 
 abilities be what they may. Sick people nearly re 
 semble children, and they love to be addressed in the 
 language of tenderness. Dr. Willard was one who 
 fully realized the necessity as well as duty of tender 
 ness to the sick. He rarely addressed any of his 
 patients without the epithet of " my kind neighbor," 
 "my good friend," or " my dear child." 
 
 Nor let it be supposed there was any hypocrisy in 
 this ; the feelings of his heart were kind towards the 
 whole human race. He was peculiarly successful in 
 curing that most afflictive of all human diseases, mad 
 ness, and constantly had a number of those diseased 
 persons under his care. He was sometimes accused 
 of using rough methods with them, and doubtless it 
 was so, since no other way, it was then thought, 
 would answer, when they became outrageous. The 
 writer of this narrative is enabled to say, not only 
 from information, but from actual observation, while 
 residm " in the very near neighborhood of one of the 
 most celebrated asylums in our country that his 
 methods were such as others have been in the habit 
 of using, until very lately that the Quakers and others 
 have been successful in combatting the opinion, that 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY . 
 
 171 
 
 force and unnecessary restraint are useful. Be 
 that as it may, Dr. Willard was very successful with 
 patients of this description. 
 
 Though enjoy ing a princely income, he never refus 
 ed, at any period of his life, to turn out in the cold 
 est and most inclement season, day or night, for 
 even the poorest and most despised of the human 
 family. It was not a question with him whether he 
 should ever be paid. If his services were needed, 
 either for rich or poor, for friends or foes, he was 
 ever ready. It was however previous to this great 
 success, and while his reputation was yet on the rise, 
 that the following circumstance occured. 
 
 It was on a dark night, and I think in cold weather, 
 that a horseman rode up to the dwelling of the 
 Doctor, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
 and rapping loudly at the door, demanded if Doc 
 tor W. was at home. Upon being answered in the 
 affirmative, he requested him to accompany him, to 
 see a patient, in a case of great emergency, stating 
 that he feared that she might not live without help, 
 until they got there, unless they made great haste ; 
 the distance he stated, and gave the name of the per 
 son, and the Doctor hastened to accompany him. 
 For about three miles they kept the great road, and 
 here the going was passable, but upon entering the 
 back road, as it was called, leading through a part 
 of what is now Burrillville, the way became more 
 rough and uneven ; still the Doctor being famil 
 iar with it, kept on at good speed and traversed it 
 up hill and down, now over a broken bridge, com 
 posed of a few loose rails, where a deep river foamed 
 and roared and sparkled beneath, and now striding, 
 nils deep enough to upset an ordinary carriage, and 
 
172 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 highly dangerous as it was. His horse, accustomed 
 to the road at all hours, instinctively avoided all 
 entanglement, and kept steadily on his course, while 
 the one upon which the stranger was mounted, snort 
 ed and reared, and threatened often to dismount the 
 person who rode him. After proceeding in this road 
 about two miles, where they had only passed one 
 house, they suddenly halted before a gate, leading to a 
 
 large old fashioned mansion belonging to the A 
 
 family. This ancient building, with its spacious row 
 of out-houses, lay buried in profound darkness, and 
 profound silence too, except as the baying of a 
 watch- dog alone disturbed the deep repose. This 
 had often been the stopping place of the Doctor in 
 his midnight excursions ; here he was sure, at any 
 hour, of a cordial welcome and the best of enter 
 tainment, and what was of more consequence to him, 
 the conversation of the ancient mistress of the man 
 sion, who having now lived beyond the common 
 term of human life, was a living chronicle of olden 
 times, and would often entertain the Doctor with 
 her antideluvian stories, until he would fain forget 
 where he was ; and I have heard that once upon a 
 time, she kept him there a day and a half telling a 
 story, which she had not completed, when the people 
 finding vhere he was, began to flock after him from 
 all quarters. This was pretty likely exaggerated] 
 however, he did always listen to the relations and 
 ancient stories of marme, as he called her, with great 
 attention. It Avas not surprising that the horse 
 should draw up to the arched gateway, and insist 
 upon entering, but when informed that he must go 
 further, it was strange indeed that he should per 
 tinaciously refuse to obey ; he would not stir one 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 173 
 
 step without what was a very uncommon infliction 
 to him, several severe blows. The stranger became 
 alarmed the watch dog barked loudly, and he ventur 
 ed to hurry the Doctor once more, by the sugges 
 tion, that the " patient might die before they got 
 there." The appeal to his humanity was never lost, 
 and instantly and forcibly turning his horse s head, he 
 W 7 as again on his journey. 
 
 The road now became perceptibly worse for half a 
 mile, where one solitary and unfinished house, was 
 the only habitation in sight, and at the end of this half 
 mile, they ascended a steep and winding hill, and en 
 tered a thick gloomy wood, about two miles long, 
 where the tall trees met at top, so as totally to ex 
 clude the sun in the day time, of course the road, if 
 it deserved that name, was little better than a swamp. 
 Few persons could traverse that road in the day time 
 without a sensation of awe . Superstition had peopled 
 its dark retreats with ideal personages. There was 
 no such thing as seeing the way, the only means there 
 fore, was to give the horse the reins and let him find 
 the way through the best he could. They had 
 proceeded about midway, when entering a hollow, 
 which deepened on one side into a dark valley, thick 
 er wooded the stranger suddenly stopped, uttering 
 an exclamation of distress, saying his horse had 
 thrown him it was impossible to distinguish either 
 him or the horse, but guided by the sound, the Doctor 
 was instantly at his side, and in the act of dismount 
 ing, with one foot on the ground, when a shrill whis 
 tle from his companion, and a quick rustling in the 
 neighboring bushes, induced him to withdraw it. The 
 sagacious animal sprang to the other side of the road, 
 and fled carrying him swiftly from his pursuers. wHn 
 
174 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 he fancied for a time had mounted and were straining 
 every nerve to overtake him. Mounting, he spurned 
 the ground, and notwithstanding the roughness of the 
 way, soon distanced his pursuers ; emerging from the 
 wood, he descended a hill winding to the left and 
 passing through another, but smaller wood, he gained 
 the deep valley beside the river where his master for 
 the first time could see to rein him. No sound 
 except the murmuring of the beautiful river, over 
 its pebbly bed the song of the whippoorwill, the 
 hooting of the owl, and the flitting bat, disturbed the 
 deep repose where now the hum of business is heard ar 
 ound the spacious manufactories & populous village of 
 Slatersville not a single habitation then marked the 
 spot where nature seemed to reign in primeval gran 
 deur. Its unbroken and awful solitude struck upon 
 the traveller s heart, with that sickening sense of 
 dread that the scene under such circumstances, was 
 calculated to inspire. " Where should he fly for 
 safety 1" The interrogation lasted only an instant; 
 still keeping the left he urged the generous animal 
 to ascend the tremendous hill that now forms the 
 centre of the village, and fled towards the high road. 
 This once gained soon conducted him to the residence 
 of a family of Quakers, in Smithfield, his warm and 
 assured friends, and hither it was his design to have 
 gone; but by some mistake, he did not gain the great 
 road, and got into one with which he was unacquaint 
 ed here, however, he soon came to a small unfinish 
 ed house, and knocking, demanded admittance. The 
 thought that this might be the residence of the thieves, 
 or whatever they were that attacked him, caused him 
 for a moment to hesitate, even after the inmates bade 
 him enter; but at length, with the courage of despe- 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 175 
 
 ration, he resolved to brave it. The woman called 
 to him to be careful if he came in, in creeping over the 
 naked timbers of the house, as there was no floor in 
 the room he would have to pass through. He enter 
 ed the back door and secured it on the inside, then 
 sought the sleeping room of his host and wife, to whom 
 he related his perilous adventure, and providential 
 escape. They were in utter amazement they knew 
 him by report, and could not suppose he had any such 
 enemies. 
 
 The whole family were in the utmost consterna 
 tion ; they arose and struck a light and by the dawn 
 ing of day, a number of the neighbors were in readi 
 ness to search for the conspirators, but in vain; none 
 of them could be found, and the fruitless pursuit was 
 at length relinquished. The whole country was in a 
 state of excitement about it for some time, but at 
 length, it wore off; and by degrees ceased to be talked 
 of.* 
 
 Years rolled on and the prosperity of Dr. Willard 
 knew no change. The circumstances of the adven 
 ture in Surrillville woods, or Glocester woods, as 
 they then were, had almost been forgotten, and he 
 himself had almost ceased to think of it, except when 
 passing the gloomy spot where it occurred after dark. 
 In that portion of the country, such a thing as crime 
 was very rare, and many had adopted the belief that 
 the fears of the Doctor were greater than the occasion 
 
 * Upon reaching the place where the outrage was at 
 tempted, several large clubs were found, which the 
 assassins had thrown down in their haste to escape, which 
 proved the fact that the barbarous method of dispatch was 
 to have been by clubbing him to death. 
 
176 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 called for, although of the existence of a plot no one 
 could doubt, since they had at first ascertained that 
 no such persons as the stranger named had sent for 
 him. 
 
 About this time there was a fellow taken up in 
 Smithfield, by the name of Wilson, accused of some 
 high crime, for which he was condemned to death, 
 and the day of his execution which was to take place 
 in^ Providence, about 25 miles distant, appointed. So 
 rare a speclacle, called together many from the neigh 
 boring towns, some drawn by that strange passion for 
 seeing sights of horror so common to mankind some 
 from having a knowledge of the man, and feeling a 
 degree of interest in his fate. Among the rest, Dr. 
 Willard detei mined to go feeling some strange in 
 terest in the fate of the wretched being, whom he only 
 knew by report, and desirous perhaps as physicians 
 generally are to witness death in its every form. He 
 set off late in the day preceding that appointed 
 for the execution, and calling on Dr. W- , pre 
 vailed on him to bear him company. It was late in 
 the evening when the two physicians arrived in town; 
 but notwithstanding, the streets were alive with peo 
 ple hastening to procure lodgings for the night, in or 
 der to be early on the ground the following morning. 
 Our travellers proceeded to the house situated at the 
 fork of the street on the top of Constitution hill, (where 
 engine No. 2, now stands) kept by Major Thayer, 
 at the sign of the Indian Queen. This house, of 
 which there is not a vestige now remaining, was then 
 one of the most celebrated places of resort in Provi 
 dence. It was kept by an old and respectable officer 
 of the Revolution, and it was almost esteemed a want 
 of patriotism not to prefer his house to any other ; 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY 177 
 
 besides the company of mine host, who was a very 
 conversable man, always full of wit and anecdotes, 
 was a most desirable acquisition, and probably drew 
 more customers than the accommodations of the 
 house, which even in those days, must have been rath 
 er antiquated. The strange and uncouth form of the 
 building is yet present to memory. The rooms were 
 mostly so low studded, as to endanger the head of a 
 tall man. The little low chambers where one had to 
 stoop to enter, with fire places more resembling port 
 holes than any thing else, being deeper than they 
 were long or broad the windows containing four 
 by sixes, or six by eights, just as the case might be ; 
 for no two of them scarcely, were mates, many of 
 them being constructed at different periods the 
 long, dark, cheerless gallery with its ample row of 
 beds, and the dark beams which projecting far from 
 the ceiling continually threatened the brains of the 
 unlucky lodgers, together with the constant trouble of 
 stepping up a step or down a step, as you proceeded 
 from room to room, taken altogether, furnished a 
 house that in these days woukl be considered as a per 
 fect curiosity. It was kept though by the Major, and 
 the two travellers always made it a point of duty to 
 put up there. On the present occasion it was a place 
 of great confusion, parties arriving every hour, and 
 vociferating for this or that accommodation. The 
 bar-room was full, some of the company appeared 
 quite merry a party had gathered around the land 
 lord, who appeared unusually full of his jokes "Well," 
 said Dr. Willard, " I have heard that hanging is no 
 laughing matter, but these people seem to think it 
 is. However, we will go in here and get a good 
 sling, after our long ride." 
 
178 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 Giving the horses to the care of the hostler, the 
 two gentlemen proceeded to the bar-room. The Ma 
 jor caught a glimpse of Dr. Willard as he edged his 
 way to the bar, and extending his hand, shouted 
 aloud, 
 
 " Dr. Willard, by all the powers, you are come in 
 a good time have you heard of the confession of 
 Wilson 1" 
 
 " No, " answered the Doctor," but give us a good 
 glass of rninzy sling this raw night, and then tell us 
 your story." 
 
 " That I will, my good friend," responded the 
 hearty Major, (proceeding tobusmess") but " while I 
 am making it I must tell you that Wilson has con 
 fessed he was the person hired to murder you in 
 Burrillville woods, not many years ago." 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed the Doctor, (staggering 
 against one of the bar posts for support,) " and who 
 employed him 1 " 
 
 "Why, who do you" think 1 ?" answered the Major, 
 " but old Dr. W -, your neighbor." 
 
 The Dr. raised his eyes and threw a searching 
 glance around the room for his companion. The 
 first thing that suggested itself to the mind of this gen 
 erous man, was to give his enemy a signal to fly. He 
 was not, however, in the room. 
 
 " Where is the gentleman who came with me," he 
 inquired in accents of alarm. 
 
 " Gone to look after his horse, I suspect," said a 
 bystander. 
 
 Without stopping to comment upon the story, the 
 Doctor hastened to the stable, where the hostler in 
 formed him, his companion had just been, and 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 179 
 
 mounting his horse, had rode off like lightning. 
 " Thank God !" exclaimed the Doctor, relieved of a 
 heavy burden. Meanwhile the strange manner in 
 which the Doctor had received the news., had excit 
 ed considerable attention, and the truth at once 
 suggested itself. It was confirmed in a moment by 
 
 a person exclaiming, " Where is W = , he came 
 
 with Doctor Willardl" Instantly the whole house 
 was in confusion, and "where is hel where is he!" 
 was vociferated from all quarters, followed by the 
 words "seize him! pursue him !" &c. &c. As the 
 alarm extended through the house, travellers came 
 pouring from their rooms in every direction, running 
 against one another, and stumbling about in the dark 
 passages of the mansion. Some thought that Wilson 
 had broke out of jail, and was in the house, others 
 that somebody had just been murdered; in fact there 
 was no one, except those who stood near the barn, that 
 knew the cause of the uproar, but as the crowd 
 seemed to settle towards the barn yard, each one 
 endeavored to press on in that direction. Here a 
 strange scene was exhibited, several men were in the 
 act of mounting their horses, others loudly calling for 
 theirs, while the Doctor, in the midst of the crowd, 
 was haranguing them, and urging them to desist 
 from pursuit. As to the Major, he was almost foam 
 ing at the mouth and urging them on with all the 
 energy he was capable of. The Doctor was per 
 suading them to forbear and leave him to the stings 
 of a guilty conscience. Many heard to him and dis 
 mounted, others actually followed in the direction 
 they supposed he had taken, (the very last way he 
 probably would have taken) until they ascertained 
 
180 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 they were not in his track, and ignorant which way 
 to pursue in the dark, and fearful of losing the next 
 day s sport, -returned again to the inn. 
 
 The guilty cause of all this uproar, in the mean 
 time, made good his escape, and cleared out that 
 very night foi the new countries, nor did he stop his 
 flight till far beyond the Mohawk, where he ventured 
 to settle down in obscurity, hiding himself until he 
 ascertained there was no danger of pursuit ; he then 
 sent and removed his family, where they passed their 
 days. 
 
 It was indeed true that the unfortunate being that 
 expiated his offences against human law, on, the suc 
 ceeding day, although he protested his innocence of 
 the crime for which he suffered, acknowledged the 
 justice of his punishment, because he had once been 
 bribed to shed human blood. He gave a circum 
 stantial account of the contract between himself and 
 
 old Doctor , who instructed him " to take a 
 
 solemn oath of Doctor Willard to quit that part of 
 the country, and in case of refusal to murder him." 
 
 Doctor Willard resolved to see Wilson himself, 
 on the succeeding day, previous to his execution. 
 But the small remnant of time left the unhappy 
 culprit, was fully occupied, and he found it impossi 
 ble, unless he crowded the subject between him 
 and eternity, and he concluded to desist. 
 
 It has been said that Wilson was innocent of the 
 crime for which he died ; but be that as it may, he 
 was certainly guilty of murder in intention, and he 
 in view of that, acknowledged his sentence to be just. 
 
 Old Doctor W lived many years in the 
 
 Western country, a most unhappy man, and was at 
 
A.VD REVOLUTIONARY. 181 
 
 length found dead in his bed, leaving his friends, (if 
 he had any) in utter ignorance of his state of prepara 
 tion for an exchange of worlds. 
 
 Doctor Willard also lived many years after this 
 event, and never mentioned this story, without ex 
 pressing his perfect forgiveness of th author of this 
 horrid conspiracy, and his agents, one of whom has 
 since corroborated the story of Wilson, and made 
 full confession of his own share in the premeditated 
 guilt. This man has now found a refuge among the 
 Shakers, and it is hoped is a sincere penitent. 
 
 The old Thayer Tavern, as it was called, where 
 a part of the scenes here delineated took place, con 
 tinued to stand many years, and even long after 
 it ceased to be inhabited ; and often has the passing 
 traveller, as he viewed the skeleton of a house, depri 
 ved of doors and windows, and exhibiting an inside 
 of black beams, low rooms, broad chimnies, clumsy 
 stairways, &c. &c. arranged with most ingenious con 
 fusion, pointed to the once famed head quarters of 
 good cheer, and related the scene of distraction that 
 took place there, on the eve of an execution. All 
 traces of a place which called up such an interesting 
 association are now vanished, to the credit of the 
 town; the dismantled habitation, which so long 
 seemed to bid defiance to the exterminating spirit of 
 improvement, has been levelled with the dust, and the 
 spot where so many fierce fires have been kindled, 
 is now by way of contrast occupied by a Fir 
 Engine Company. 
 
TALE FIFTH. 
 
 L.OYAL.TY.* 
 
 " And are there in this free born land 
 " Among ourselves a venial band, 
 " A dastard race who long have sold, 
 " Their souls and consciences for gold? - 
 "Whom following down the stream of fate, 
 " Contempts ineffable await ; 
 " And public infamy forlorn, 
 "Dread hate and everlasting scorn." 
 
 AMONG the patriotic spirits of 76 who risked their 
 lives and fortunes in defence of their country, we now 
 and then stumble upon a character so diametrically 
 opposite to those brave and daring defenders of the 
 soil, as to cause a blush for human nature. Mixed 
 up together as was the heterogeneous population of the 
 States, it was difficult at first to distinguish the friends 
 and foes of liberty. When the trumpet of freedom 
 first proclaimed that these United States were and of 
 right ought to be " free, sovereign and independent," 
 though the shrill blast was heard throughout the vast 
 
 * The principal facts of this story were communicated 
 to the Author by a native of the Island of Barbadoes. 
 
JLND REVOLUTION ARV. 183 
 
 extent of our country, it was not all the friends of lib 
 erty that rallied at the sound. Alas ! among the har 
 dy band who pressed foremost in the race, there were 
 some who were actuated by the vilest passions and 
 motives, that human beings can be governed by ; and 
 who, disappointed in the ambition of their souls, even 
 after putting their hands to the plow, looked back 
 with regret, and improved the first favorable oppor 
 tunity to throw off their allegiance to the best of 
 causes, and inflict one more wound on their bleeding 
 country. 
 
 That the spirit discovered by the refuges, was 
 even more hostile than that of the natural born sub 
 jects of Great Britain, has, I believe, never been dis 
 puted. Nothing could equal their zeal in the cause 
 of loyalty, of cruelty and revenge, except the bar 
 barous spirit of the northern and western tribes of 
 native Indians, their friends and allies. Witness the 
 dreadful slaughter of the villages of Wyoming, which 
 the bard who sung the sorrows of Gertrude so pa 
 thetically deplores, and which has in many countries 
 been considered as apathetic fiction; Avhile in reality, 
 the tale of woe of wrongs and sorrow, was but half 
 told ; half do I say, the twentieth part was not told; 
 and may it still remain so ; the person who could 
 bring himself to gaze unmoved for a moment upon 
 the exterminating war carried on in those villages by 
 the horde of savage barbarians, leagued with a com 
 pany of refugees, disguised as Indians the person 
 who even can endure to look calmly into such a his 
 tory, is in danger of becoming a worse man. 
 
 The same spirit, though not exercised in the same 
 degree, displayed itself in Boston, Newport, New- 
 York, Charleston and Savannah. The wretch, who 
 is the subject of the present memoir, was a native of 
 
184 
 
 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 the former place. His parents were English his 
 
 name , it ought to be given, but the circumstance 
 
 of some of his descendants being now living in this 
 country, and even in this vicinity, prevents. His name 
 was one which he often boasted ranked high in the 
 book of heraldry. At the time Boston was in pos 
 session of the British, this man feigned himself a pat- 
 riot, though his motives and principles were well 
 known to the enemy. He had contrived to make 
 known to some of the American army, the situation 
 of many of the distressed families of Boston, and had 
 agreed upon a method of receiving provisions from 
 some without, for their friends within. For a long 
 time it was supposed these families were supplied, 
 until it was at length discovered by a deserter from 
 the British camp, that the provisions were regularly 
 conveyed to the quarters of the General, and furnish 
 ed a standing joke to that would-be wit, who used to 
 compare his table, to that in the "Arabian Nights 
 Entertainment," where a blow from the foot would 
 call up a host of waiters and provisions, from some 
 unknown region. 
 
 It seems that Major , for that was his title, by 
 
 some means or other discovered he was unmasked, 
 and warned by what had already taken place, resolv 
 ed upon the pulling up of stakes, to quit the ground. 
 He accordingly departed with the British, leaving a 
 handsome estate in Boston to his injured countrymen, 
 after having demolished every thing about it of an or 
 namental kind. He went to Halifax, but afterwards 
 returned to New-York, in order, as was supposed, to 
 mend his fortune by another effort to pillage his coun 
 trymen. 
 
 The oldest daughter of the Major was distinguish 
 ed by the superior beauty of her person, and a spirit 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 185 
 
 and temper of great vivacity. Notwithstanding the 
 ambitious views of her father, of which she was fully 
 aware, she had bestowed her regards upon a young 
 mechanic in the neighborhood. This young man, a 
 carpenter, had first seen Alicia, while employed 
 about her father s house. His remarkable fine person 
 had often attracted her attention, while observing him, 
 from her window, and merely from curiosity to see 
 whether his mind was equal to his person, she and 
 her sister Sarah, used to stroll through the rooms 
 where he was at work, and stop and chat with him. 
 Hour after hour used to be spent in this manner, 
 without any one ever dreaming of her danger, except 
 Sarah, who with all the romantic fervor of youth, 
 protested if she were Alicia she would love whom she 
 pleased. 
 
 The mother-in-law of these young ladies, was a 
 woman of dissipated habits. Young, gay and beau 
 tiful, she left her daughters almost entirely to the 
 care of attendants, while she herself was engaged in 
 a round of pleasures, rather choosing to keep them in 
 the back ground. 
 
 The attachment of Alicia to the young mechanic 
 commenced in Boston just before the war, and as soon 
 as discovered by her father, was violently opposed. 
 But being influenced by her artful mother-in-la^ , 
 who wished to get rid of her, he at length dropped 
 his opposition, and although the carpenter did not 
 visit in the family openly, yet a correspondence was 
 silently carried on, and preparations making for thfc 
 nuptials, at the breaking out of the war. That everu 
 decided the fate of his unfortunate daughter. Th*, 
 father was a loyalist, though he did not reveal his 
 sentiments openly, until the evacuation of Boston 
 Previous to that event, however, the character of the 
 Q* 
 
186 TALES NATION At 
 
 Major s young wife had become so notorious, in con 
 sequence of her flirtations with some of the British 
 officers, as to make the daughters more unhappy. 
 The Major apparently, would give no credit to the 
 reports of his wife s gallantries but there was in 
 reality, no question of his belief in their truth, and 
 the gossip of that day, did not hesitate to-charge hin> 
 with being a party to his own dishonor. That he 
 would sell his soul for gain, no one doubted. Sto 
 ries have been told of the enormities of this man, 
 that would challenge belief, were there not facts of 
 equal enormity publicly known of him at the period 
 ot which we are speaking. A complete description 
 of his character exceeds the writer s powers, but if 
 the reader will turn to the history of Anthony Foster 
 in Kennelworth, they will there have a perfect de 
 scription of him, drawn by a master s hand. 
 
 The young carpenter, whom we shall call Charles 
 James, that being not very far from his real name, 
 was a patriot in his country s cause. Love had shut 
 him up in-Boston, when he ought to have been in the 
 field. Alas ! his care of the beloved object was un 
 availing. The father of Alicia had decreed to tear 
 her from her lover s arms, and make her the compan 
 ion of his voyage. The political opinions of Charles 
 were the cause alleged ; but in reality, his daughter 
 had excited Ihe admiration of one of the British offi 
 cers, who had made proposals for her hand. Charles 
 was not apprized of that circumstance, for obvious 
 reasons ; but his distraction at finding his affianced 
 wife about to be torn from him, may be imagined. 
 The loyalists were already debarking, when he suc 
 ceeded in passing the lines, and finding the way to 
 the commanding officer without, but little persuasion 
 was necessary to obtain a permit to stop his betroth- 
 
AND REVOLUTION ART. 187 
 
 ed wife. The order for her detention stated, that 
 " no person would be permittsd to be forced away." 
 The lover hastened back, but the object of his solici 
 tude, was not to be found. Distracted, he flew from 
 place to place. The transport, destined for the con 
 veyance of her father s family, had no such person on 
 board. The live long day, and all that night was 
 spent in fruitless endeavors to discover the place of 
 her concealment. The transport sailed in the 
 course of that day, where Alicia was smuggled on 
 board; and on the next the American army marched 
 into the town. On that day, Charles was insensible 
 to passing events, being seized with a violent fever, 
 and perfectly delirious. 
 
 The friends of Charles James, endeavored to make 
 him forget his loss, in zeal for his suffering country, 
 as they judged Alicia lost to him forever. They for 
 bore upon his recovery, to mention her, and by de 
 grees the lover became calm, and finally enlisted un 
 der the standard of freedom. He was an inferior 
 officer in our army, and his single arm alone perform 
 ed wonders. Fear was a stranger to him, and re 
 venge nerved him to double daring. 
 
 In the mean time, the family of the Major safely 
 sped their way to Halifax; ftom this place, they at 
 length were summoned to New -York, then in pos 
 session of the British, by the officer attached to 
 Alicia, who was obliged to be at t^at station, and de 
 sirous to consummate the marriage. The Major 
 removed with his family, and safely arrived with some 
 troops, sent to the relief of that place, carrying with 
 him the unsuspecting Alicia. In New-York, a scene 
 awaited that gentle girl, distressing beyond descrip 
 tion. Captain was a constant visitor al 
 most an inmate in the family ; and had assumed 
 
188 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 towards her a bold and libertine air, disgusting and ter 
 rifying in the extreme. The mother-in-law of Alicia 
 and Sarah, still continued her gallantries, even under 
 the eyes of her -distressed daughters. Their father 
 was absent a great deal, being busily engaged in aid 
 ing the scouting parties who were harrassing and pil 
 laging the miserable inhabitants of New-Jersey. 
 Plunder was his aim, and his business and it was 
 believed that he was successful beyond most of his 
 compeers. 
 
 Alicia had thrown herself with desperate resolu 
 tion upon the mercy of Capt. . She had even 
 
 knelt to him, and entreated him to resign her, frankly 
 avowing her preference to another, and that other so 
 vastly inferior in point of station and education, that 
 she judged his pride would be aroused to renounce 
 her. Alas ! the love that he felt, was not at all les 
 sened by the knowledge, that her affections were pos 
 sessed by another ; he laughed at her pretty reluc 
 tance, as he was pleased to call it, and the romantic 
 notion of love in a cottage, and persevered in his suit, 
 with a boldness and assurance that proclaimed his 
 determination of success. 
 
 In the midst of Alicia s distress, occasioned by the 
 failure of her application to her lover s sense of hon 
 or, the Major returned from one of his predatory ex 
 cursions in New-Jersey. He had not been as suc 
 cessful on this occasion as usual, and the disappoint 
 ment had added to his ever fierce and vindictive 
 temper. The hapless Alicia was a fit subject for 
 the indulgence of it. He had found her in tears 
 and that was sufficient to kindle his wrath. But 
 when his miserable child informed him of the cause 
 of it and conjured him on her knees not to insist 
 upon her ratifying the contract he had made with 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 189 
 
 Capt. ; his wrath knew no bounds. He re 
 proached her with being ungrateful to her father, who 
 was daily risking his life for the support of his chil 
 dren, and swore that she should become the wife of 
 
 Capt. , within four and twenty hours, or he 
 
 would burn up his house that night with himself and 
 all his family in it. The dreadful conflagration which 
 had consumed nearly one fourth of the city had just 
 occurred, and Alicia shuddered with horror, when she 
 recollected it. She sunk into a chair, in a state of 
 mind little short of distraction. Capt. en 
 tered at that moment. Turning to him, the Major 
 asked him if he would like to have his nuptials sol 
 emnized that evening. Nothing could have pleased 
 the Captain better ; his pride and resentment both 
 urged him to revenge himself upon the hapless vic 
 tim of a father s cupidity. Joyfully he assented, and 
 the wretched Alicia was sternly commanded to make 
 herself ready for the celebration. The Chaplain was 
 sent for, and Alicia led forth in triumph by her 
 worthless father. Stunned by the blow which mur 
 dered all her hopes, the miserable girl had perforce 
 dropt all opposition; and seeing no way of escape, 
 was now endeavoring to support her part with calm 
 ness. Poor Alicia! despair had paralized her facul 
 ties of mind, or she might have seen there was even 
 now one chance of escape. 
 
 The venerable Chaplain was a most benevolent 
 and amiable being and had she, when the searching 
 interrogatory in the service of the Church of England 
 was read, "if either of you know of any just cause or 
 reason why you should not be joined together in holy 
 matrimony," &c. had she resolutely declared herob 
 jections, and her abhorrence of the match, the man ol 
 God v.ould never have united them; more than that-, 
 
190 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 he would have rescued her; but to seek a refuge by 
 clinging " to the horns of the altar," was something 
 that never entered her head. In fact, she listened to 
 the service from the lips of the holy man, with a de 
 gree of apathy, which could only have been the effect 
 of perfect despair. 
 
 The clergyman, who knew the character of the 
 mother, had formed rather an unfavorable opinion of 
 the females of the family. He did not therefore, be 
 stow much observation upon the youthful bride, and 
 resisted all invitation to stay after the service and 
 partake of the customary refreshment. 
 
 The Captain immediately removed his wife to his 
 quarters where the society of the officers and their 
 wives he thought would have a tendency to draw her 
 from the deep melancholly that clouded her beautiful 
 features. The Captain was proud of his wife s beau 
 ty, and took care she should be seen dressed in a 
 style which displayed her charms to advantage. He 
 was not such a savage after all, as to be insensible to 
 the gentle virtues of his bride ; she strove to be cheer 
 ful, to be submissive ; in short, to perform all the du 
 ties which Providence seemed now to lay upon her. 
 But she could not love her husband; she could not 
 but despise him, and there was another pang too, at 
 tending her situation, which added materially to her 
 misery; the hand that so often clasped hers, was 
 stained with the blood of her countrymen ; the deli 
 cacies that loaded her table, she knew were torn from 
 the sui&ring families around, who, for aught she 
 knew, might be famishing now for those very com 
 forts. Her ears were daily shocked with conversa 
 tion, that caused her blood to curdle with horror. 
 She was often compelled to hear plans discussed, to 
 surprise, plunder and murder those for whom she 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 191 
 
 could nor lift a finger whom she would have given 
 worlds to have apprized of their danger and be 
 tween the planning and the acting of those dreadful 
 scenes, which were daily taking place in New-Jersey 
 and its neighborhood, her mind would often be in i 
 state little short of delirium. 
 
 The scandalous conduct of her mother-in-law was 
 frequently discussed over before her, and the tor 
 menting thought of the danger to which poor Sarah 
 would now be exposed, was not without its share in 
 giving her uneasiness. That dear sister was permit 
 ted to visit her but seldom, her father alleging that an 
 officer s quarters were not a suitable place for so young 
 a girl. 
 
 The feelings of Alicia were at length, in a measure 
 turned into another channel by the birth of a little 
 daughter. This event was at first very pleasing to 
 her husband, but at length, he became wearied of the 
 dull monotony of his house, where his wife now de 
 voted herself exclusively to her child. He was how 
 ever, very fond of the infant, which was a beautiful 
 and interesting child. The happiness derived from 
 the society of her darling babe, was however, destined 
 to sutler interruption when it was about one year 
 old. 
 
 A party of American prisoners had been brought 
 to New- York, and stationed for a few days in a neigh 
 boring barrack, from whence, they were to be re 
 moved to the prison-ship of the hated "Jersey." 
 On the morning of their arrival, her husband inform 
 ed her that there was one among the prisoners he 
 should detain, being in want of a carpenter to make 
 some alterations and repairs in their dwelling ; at the 
 same time telling her he meant to open his house for 
 company again in new style, and she must direct the 
 
19.2 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 young man about constructing an elegant drawing 
 room. This Alicia promised, heaving a sigh to think 
 she was about to be dragged into the world again 
 but upon going down to see the young man some 
 hours after the departure of her husband, Alicia dis 
 covered her long-lost Charles. Fortunately no wit 
 nesses were by, and the overpowering emotions of 
 the distressed couple, thus meeting by surprise, were 
 unseen. 
 
 The long tale of outrage and oppression was poured 
 into the lover s ears, and of course found all sympathy 
 in his still devoted heart. 
 
 We dare not follow the young couple through the 
 conversation of that and many succeeding days. The 
 arguments by which he established his theory in her 
 mind, we do not wish to repeat. Suffice it to say, 
 that Charles James prevailed on Alicia to consider 
 her marriage with the father of her child as illegal in 
 the sight of Heaven that he persuaded her to elope 
 with him in order to become his wife, offering to 
 rear her child as his own, and become a second fa 
 ther to it and that ere the return of her husband, he 
 had secured a boat at a neighboring wharf, under the 
 pretence of conveying lumber in it and in short, that 
 all the measures were concerted between them fen a 
 speedy removal. 
 
 The gradation from the theory to the practice of 
 vice is easy. It will not therefore, surprise us, that 
 the conduct of these young persons should correspond 
 with their resolutions. By what sophistry the mind 
 of the noble and intelligent Alicia could have been 
 thus warped, we cannot tell. She was ignorant then 
 of that religion, whose seat is in the heart ; she did 
 not once reflect, that if she would wait patiently, 
 Providence might open a way for her, or render her 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 19 
 
 Chains more easy. Blinded by passion, exasperated 
 by oppression, and enervated by the contamination of 
 the loose company who were generally, and necessari 
 ly her associates, since her marriage, she yielded to 
 the arguments of a passionate young man of five and 
 twenty, almost without a struggle. 
 
 The time of flight was to be on the next day, when 
 the husband was again to be absent. He had return 
 ed the day before, and was preparing to depart on 
 another excursion but the struggle in the mind of 
 his wife had communicated a something of confusion 
 to her manner ; he saw that something was wrong, 
 and instead therefore of going, he only affected to go 
 and concealed himself in the house. Here he was 
 the witness to a conversation that solved all doubts 
 and rushing from the place of his concealment, he 
 stood before the guilty pair, just as Charles was wip 
 ing the tears from the cheek of Alicia, and kissing 
 away their traces. Alas! she was destined to shed 
 more bitter tears than these. 
 
 The first motion that Capt. , made, was to 
 
 snatch the child from the cradle, saying, 
 
 " Madam, you behold this babe for the last time;" 
 then turning to a servant who just entered the room, 
 he exclaimed, "see that you keep these people pris 
 oners until my return;" he darted out of the house 
 with the child. 
 
 " Permit me to lead her out to the air," said 
 Charles, in a voice of anguish, as he lifted the hap 
 less mother from the floor, where she had sunk down in 
 a swoon. The servants, though forbid to let them es 
 cape, made no resistance, while he raised her and 
 bore her to the garden but turned, and some run one 
 way and some another for restoratives while Charlei 
 bore the unconscious Alicia to the foot of the garden, 
 
 * 
 
194 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 where the boat was moored, concealed by a willow, 
 whose pendant branches hung far into the water he 
 hastily concealed Alicia, who now began to shew 
 signs of life, and clapping on an old flapped hat, and 
 over-coat, which he had purposely concealed, he quick 
 ly pushed for the next garden, which terminated in a 
 kind of wharf. In the mean time, the two old ser 
 vants of the house had got to the foot of the garden, 
 loaded with restoratives of all sorts, and behold, the 
 couple had vanished. The thought immediately 
 struck them that they were both drowned, and for 
 the first time, they seemed to understand ^something 
 of the case ; and concluded, the young man had jump 
 ed into the river with Alicia in his arms. Shrieking, 
 they ran back to the house, and meeting their master 
 at the head of the stairs, they communicated the 
 intelligence that they had both jumped into the 
 river. 
 
 The Captain fell back into the arms of one of the 
 attendants, while the shrieks of the terrified domes 
 tics raised the inhabitants of the neighboring houses 
 The river was dragged, but as the current ran very 
 strong in that place, there was no doubt in the mind 
 of any one that they had floated down the stream. 
 
 In the mean time, favored by this supposition, 
 Charles was enabled to arrive safe at Long Island, 
 where he had a friend even among the royalists, who 
 he felt assured would succour them. From there, 
 they escaped to Connecticut, and were in a short 
 time settled in New-London, in a comfortable 
 house. 
 
 And was Alicia happy now 1 we naturally ask. 
 Alas, she was most wretched ; her child, her beloved 
 little girl, was forever separated from her, and sepa 
 rated by her mother s guilt. It was in vain, that her 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 195 
 
 lover sought lo comfort her her soul yearned for her 
 child, and she found the truth of the assertion, that no 
 love is like that of a mother to her offspring. Miser 
 able as this state was, it was felicity to what she 
 was destined to endure. 
 
 The atrocities committed on the hapless town of 
 New London by the British, under the direction of 
 the infamous Benedict Arnold are well remember 
 ed. Upon the first alarm, a few brave souls had put 
 themselves under the conduct of Charles, resolved to 
 stand by their hearths and Charles wife would not 
 leave the place when he, whom she now considered 
 as her husband, was exposed. Alas ! the gang who 
 committed the most shocking enormities, were head 
 ed by the Major in person, and it was to shield her 
 beloved Charles from the sword of her father, that 
 the wretched Alicia threw herself before him. In 
 vain, the shield of her arms in vain her feeble voice, 
 although her father had for some time thought her 
 dead. The sight of her living, only served to exas 
 perate him, and plunging his sword repeatedly in 
 Charles bosom, he vented the most shocking epithets 
 he could think of. 
 
 The conflagration raged around Alicia saw it 
 not the clash of arms was loud in the street below ; 
 she heard it not, nor the shrieks and wailing of the 
 distressed, bereaved and insulted females, who in 
 this scene of confusion and death, were hunted from 
 house to house. Beneath the dead body of her 
 Charles, whose spirit had fled to other regions she 
 remained insensible to all around but safe at least 
 from insult. Several had looked into the room, and 
 beholding her pale countenance, and clothes drench 
 ed with blood, thought her dead until upon the re 
 treat of the enemy, some of her neighbor* had ventur- 
 
196 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 ed to look into the house, creeping from their hiding 
 places and observing the house had caught fire, by 
 some sparks lighting on the roof, although it was not 
 very near the burning buildings these persons, two 
 men, just, looked into the house to see if any thing re 
 mained worth saving, and seeing the condition of the 
 lovers, lifted them up, and discovered that Alicia 
 breathed, though the other was cold and stiff. They 
 dragged her out, and conveyed her to a place of safe 
 ty ; just as they got to the outside door, the unfortu 
 nate woman came to her recollection and asked if 
 the body of Charles remained behind"? She was 
 answered in the affirmative, she begged he might be 
 taken out but the flames progressed so rapidly, it 
 was impossible, and she had the anguish of seeing 
 the house consumed with the body in it. 
 
 The morning soon saw the return of the destitute 
 inhabitants to their ruined abodes the voice of wail 
 ing and lamentation was heard on every side. There 
 was one who could sympathize with tnem, but had 
 none to comfort her. She was now deprived of her 
 all, and knew not which way to turn, even for bread; 
 for some weeks she subsisted upon the charity of her 
 neighbors at length, feeling some exertion necessa 
 ry, she determined upon going to Cambridge, Mass, 
 where she had an aunt still living, as she believed, 
 who had always loved her with tender affection. 
 
 Long and dismal was the journey supported as 
 she was all the way by charity ; sometimes slighted 
 as a person who could not be much, travelling thus 
 alone, and sometimes pitied for her youth, ill-health, 
 and the look of resigned anguish her countenance 
 expressed. Arrived at Cambridge, her aunt was dead, 
 she left no children, her property was gone to a dis 
 tant relative. What should she do 7 "I will go, at 
 
REVOLUTIONARY. 197 
 
 length," said she, " to the parents of my beloved 
 Charles, I will confess my errors and throw myself 
 upon their protection." 
 
 The resolution was a wise one : she found the wor 
 thy old couple, at their former humble place of 
 abode, and was received as a long-lost child ; if 
 prayers or kindest attentions could have saved the 
 life of Alicia, her days would have been prolonged 
 under that hospitable roof ; but it was not to be 
 she lived only a few months after her arrival ; her 
 death was a happy one to herself. The parents of 
 Charles were truly pious, though humble persons, 
 and the religion of the Gospel was the support of 
 Alicia in her dying moments. 
 
 The old couple buried her as their son s wife, 
 and as her parents had once had a place of interment 
 near the Stone Chapel, the remains of Alicia were 
 
 admitted there. 
 
 *#*### 
 
 In the year 1815, a beautiful woman, leaning 
 on the arm of an English gentleman, whom she 
 called her husband, alighted near the Chapel, of a 
 Sunday morning, and calling the sexton, desired 
 
 to be shewn the place where the L family 
 
 were intered. She was shewn a tomb, then closed up, 
 before which she knelt apparently in supplication, 
 then rising, she exclaimed, " Oh my beloved mother, 
 your own Alicia has at length been permitted to 
 tisit your grave; for this she has traversed land 
 and seas. My mother, Oh my mother!" As she 
 ascended the carriage, turning back with tearful 
 yes, she attracted the attention of an aged man, 
 stood near the door of the Chapel, leaning on his staff. 
 " That .voman/ said the venerable looking old man, 
 must be a descendant of the L family, jus 
 
198 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 their step, just their look, who can she be that calls 
 up the remembrance of that exiled race 1 " 
 
 Would that the story of that unfortunate family 
 that has come to our knowledge, could end here ; 
 could we say that the ruin of one daughter, the 
 destruction of one child, could have sufficed the 
 parent, who doomed his household to be all included 
 as victims on the altar of avarice, or as he said, of 
 " Loyalty." 
 
 Sarah, the lovely warm-hearted Sarah, was mar 
 ried by her father s command, before the family left 
 New York, to a man old enough to be her father, 
 disagreeable in person, and in manners rough, austere 
 and disagreeable. It was in vain that she supplicated 
 her inexorable parent ; in vain young Edward, her 
 brother, implored his father not to sacrifice his whole 
 race; the savage parent, who always flew into a 
 passion when the slightest allusion was made to the 
 lost Alicia, took the remonstrance of his son as an 
 insult, and would have no arguments. Sarah was 
 accordingly married, and moved to the West Indies 
 with her husband to a plantation. To the same 
 Island went the father and his family, when New 
 York was evacuated by the British. He had made 
 property by the spoils of his countrymen, and he too 
 purchased a plantation, and oversaw it himself ; 
 having at last found an employment agreeable to 
 his taste ; had he been born a negro driver, it might 
 have been well for his children ; as it was, the situa 
 tion of the family was hateful to his generous minded 
 son, and the cruelty, to which he was a daily wit 
 ness, shocking to his feelings. 
 
 It chanced that a neighboring planter died, im 
 mensely rich, a few years after the Major settled 
 
ANJ> REVOLUTIONARY. 199 
 
 there, and left the settlement of his business, in the 
 hands of the thriving and prudent Major, his daughter 
 sole heiress to his vast possessions, was recommended 
 to his care likewise. She was far from being young, 
 very dark in complexion and immensely fat, yet the 
 Major made no hesitation in trying to reserve her 
 for his young son. That young man, who was as dif 
 ferent from his father as possible, had formed an 
 attachment to a young orphan in the neighborhood, 
 whose only portion was beauty and sweetness of dis 
 position. The arts practiced to wean his affections 
 from this deserving object, were resorted to in vain, 
 until it was planned, to infuse the deadly portion of 
 jealousy into his mind. This his artful mother-in-law 
 was fully equal to ; the poison took, and in a moment 
 of madness the young man consented to marry the 
 wealthy heiress, who united to a mind of almost per 
 fect imbecility, a person disagieeable in the extreme, 
 and was nearly twice his age. 
 
 It was not long after the knot was tied, that young 
 Edward discovered the imposition that had been 
 practiced upon him, and his disgust to his father was 
 so great, that he determined to separate himself for 
 ever from his society. This resolution was perhaps 
 strengthened by the circumstance of Amanda s re 
 moval to England, being carried hither by an uncle 
 and aunt, who went to pass the remainder of their 
 days on a small property which had fallen to them in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Edward L sold his wife s estate and after 
 
 trying various places, uneasy and unhappy in mind, 
 at length located himself in the city of New York, 
 in the year 1800. Boston would have been his choice, 
 bnt there he would have been constantly reminded of 
 the treason of his father, and the misfortunes of his 
 
200 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 family. In New York these circumstances were not 
 known as having taken place in his family ; he had no 
 connections there. That was his privilege, but he 
 soon formed a circle of agreeable intimates, and his 
 house was the seat of elegant hospitality; his wife, 
 though a weak, was a perfectly inoffensive character, 
 and could he have forgotten old associations he 
 might have been happy ; but that was impossible. 
 Besides he had no children, no one to inherit his vast 
 possessions, and that was a continual thorn in his 
 side ; Providence had however designed him a relief, 
 which he did not foresee, in the sudden death of his 
 \vife, who expired in a fit of apoplexy ; this was not 
 until ten years after their residence in New York. 
 She was no sooner committed decently to the earth, 
 than Edward embarked for England ; borne on the 
 wings of love and hope, he arrived there after a 
 favorable voyage and proceeded to Yorkshire. 
 
 Fancy painted the lovely Amanda as still in the 
 bloom and beauty of youth. Edward did not recollect 
 that more than twenty years had elapsed, since he had 
 seen her, and that she must now be forty years old, an 
 age at which few women retain their beauty, and few 
 single ones their temper. It is uue however to the 
 person in question, to say that she was one of those 
 few. The misfortunes of her early life had been 
 sanctified to her in a remarkable manner; the peace 
 of God had succeeded the tumults of passion, and 
 she had succeded in rescuing her happiness from the 
 grave of blighted hopes. 
 
 Edward unhappily was incapable of estimating the 
 worth of Amanda s character, and when he beheld 
 the alteration which time had made in her person, 
 when he viewed her pale cheek and attenuated form, 
 instead of feeling a devotional tenderness for her. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 201 
 
 spite of himself he felt a coldness almost amounting 
 to disgust. In mind however, she still shone, and 
 Edward was beginning to entertain different and 
 more agreeable feelings, when his host, most inoppor 
 tunely led in his beautiful grand- daughter, and intro 
 duced her. That grand-daughter was a striking like 
 ness of what Amanda had once been, though far 
 more beautiful. 
 
 The introduction was decisive; Edward was fairly 
 captivated. Amanda saw it, and far from disapprov 
 ing, she beheld it with pleasure, and willingly lent 
 herself to promote the match, she felt her own health 
 declining, and wanted no more ties to the world. 
 
 The youthful bride of Edward only became so, 
 upon condition of "his remaining in England; this he 
 was obliged to conform to, though much against his 
 will, having long determined to breathe his last in 
 the air of freedom. The city of London was at 
 length fixed upon for their residence, and hither they 
 removed. But many years before, an event happened 
 of great importance to this story, which we have 
 omitted to mention, because we wished to give what 
 we knew of the life of Edward in a connected story. 
 
 It was but a very short time after the removal of 
 Edward to New York, before his father followed 
 him; he had once been exposed to an insurrection of 
 his slaves, alter which he never enjoyed himself a 
 moment ; his wife was now dead ; his daughter Sarah 
 a resident with her disagreeable husband in the 
 Island of Jamaica, and the old man, disposing of his 
 property, shipped himself and the proceeds of it to 
 New York. Old and infirm, his son could not refuse 
 him an asylum, although the inheritance of his great 
 wealth seemed to him scarce an equivalent for the 
 pain of seeing him. However he was expected and 
 
TALES NATIONAL 
 
 preparations made for his arrival. The vessel in 
 which he embarked was supposed to have foundered, 
 as she never arrived. 
 
 More than fifteen years elapsed before the fate of 
 that vessel was ever known. A gang of Pirates 
 were executed in one of the British West India 
 Islands, whose confessions were published. Among 
 other enormities perpetrated, of which they gave the 
 history, the account of the murder of the crew of 
 this ship was one. The Captain of the gang, who 
 affirmed he had been engaged twenty years in this 
 nefarious business himself gave the history, and it 
 runs nearly as follows.* 
 
 " Among the dreadful deeds which now haunt my 
 imagination, and for which I am soon to suffer, there 
 is none that distresses me more than the murder of 
 
 an old man, whom we took in the year 18 in a 
 
 vessel from the Island of , bound to New York. 
 
 This man, a wealthy planter, had endeavored to 
 secrete his money, while all the rest readily gave up 
 theirs. Furious with rage, I ordered him before me ; 
 he fell on his knees, beseeching me for life, his an 
 guished countenance, and 1 gray hairs streaming in the 
 breeze, while his withered hands were clasped in 
 supplication, are yet before me. I was inexorable, 
 and toH him he must die ; he entreated for another 
 day to live, only another day, and finally for an hour 
 to make his peace with God. " For oh, I too," said 
 he, " am a man of blood. You may hereafter need the 
 mercy, you deny to me. You are sending me to 
 eternity with the blood of hundreds on my head, 
 of my own brethren. Oh gold, cursed gold has 
 
 * The writer of this story has endeavored to transcribe 
 from memory, from an old newspaper. 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 203 
 
 been the ruin of my soul ! for this I have sacrificed my 
 children, and doomed my soul to hell. Oh Captain, 
 if you knew what a wretch I am, you would allow 
 me an hour to repent. I have murdered men, 
 women, and children, and one even in my daughter s 
 arms." 
 
 " If that is the case" said I, interrupting him, " you 
 richly deserve your death. Ahoy there, string him 
 up to the yard arm." And in a moment the poor 
 struggling wretch was swinging in the air. I had 
 designed to put the crew on shore, but after the 
 execution of the planter, was obliged t dispatch 
 them for safety." 
 
 Here ends the confession of the Pirate. What 
 effect it had on the mind of his son, we know not. 
 Sarah the youngest daughter has long been dead, 
 having as was believed, put an end to her own exist 
 ence in a state of meutal derangement. 
 
TALE SIXTH. 
 
 It has been the request of a number of subscribers 
 to this volume, that the Tale of " Scott s Pond Thirty 
 Years ago," might be inserted, if there was room 
 in the volume, and as there is in the conclusion just 
 about sufficient space, I have complied with the re 
 quest. The story of Scott s Pond, was once pub 
 lished in the Evening Gazette a paper edited by 
 Mr. Samuel M. Fowler, and continued for a short 
 time in this town. By mistake or negligence, the 
 words "thirty years ago," were omitted in -the title, 
 and some cavilling respecting the description of 
 the place, was occasioned by that omission although 
 common sense might have suggested that the picture 
 was drawn for the era in which the scene was 
 transacted. 
 
 No person, it is true, would be able to recognise 
 Scott s Pond at this day, by the description of it 
 thirty years ago nor would they be able to recog 
 nise Pawtucket Falls, or Woonsoket or the beau 
 tiful scenery of Fall River or a thousand other 
 places where the hand of improvement has effaced 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 205 
 
 almost every feature with which nature had adorn 
 ed it. 
 
 It was pardonable however, since it is the privilege 
 of dulness to find fault with every thing which does 
 not originate in its own territory. 
 
 Although the scenes upon which this story is found 
 ed are mentioned as having been transacted thirty 
 years ago, it has now been ascertained that they 
 occurred nearly fifty years since. In mentioning 
 the tragical scenes which had been witnessed there, 
 it will be seen there is an inversion in the order of 
 time, as all except one of the transactions alluded to 
 in the description of the place, took place many 
 years since the date of the story. 
 
 For the information of those who are fond of ex 
 amining every thing to the bottom, we will state that 
 the team which passed through the pond, belonged 
 to a gentleman in the south part of the county of 
 Worcester, by the name of Tillinghast and the 
 story connected with the circumstance, was related 
 rcJ a P erson residing in that part ot the country many 
 Vears since, in the hearing of the writer. 
 
 More than thirty years since, this person was ad 
 miring the shape and size of a pair of oxen grazing 
 before the window of an Inn, in said town, and upon, 
 making some remark oi that sort, was answered 
 
2CX5 TALKS NATIONAL 
 
 " yes, they have been famous oxen in their day for 
 they once swam across Scott s Pond, and brought a 
 heavy cart through, to which they were yoked 
 safely." 
 
 " Yes," said a bystander, "and that accident was 
 the occasion of a love match," the facts upon which 
 tfce following story is founded, were then re 
 lated. 
 
 SCOTT S POND THIRTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 IN the northeasterly part of the town of Smithfield, 
 near the great road leading from Providence to Wor 
 cester, and about five miles from the former place. 
 there is a large reservoir of water, known by the f 
 name of Scott s Pond. As you travel westward, at 1 
 the turning of a sharp angle after traversing a plain 
 of about two miles in extent, you descend a precipi 
 tous hill, by an exceedingly narrow and sandy path, 
 whose right just borders on the dizzy edge of the 
 frightful and perpendicular steep, hanging over the 
 
REVOLUTIONARY. 207 
 
 black abyss below. No traveller passes this gpot ait 
 unconcerned spectator of its gloomy scenery. It 
 would be impossible for apathy itself to slumber 
 here. Even the sons and daughters of indolence, 
 who leaning on their silken cushions, are gently 
 transported from place to place, to kill time, or pre 
 vent a total stagnation of the blood, roused from a 
 state of inanity by the sudden careening of the car 
 riage, involuntarily lay hold of something for support, 
 and as involuntarily look out to see what region they 
 are descending to. Impressed with a feeling of 
 fear and awe, as the dark expanse beneath meets 
 their view, they instantly gather their garments about 
 them, and grasping the carriage door, watch with 
 breathless attention the slow and cautious descent of 
 the horses, prepared at the least symptom ot restive- 
 ness to make a spring for life, nor freely breathe un 
 til passed the foot of the hill, and gained the rise of 
 the neighboring one. Here, for the first time, the 
 traveller has leisure to gaze with a critical eye upon 
 the surrounding landscape, where the genius of deso 
 lation seemed to have fixed his abode. 
 
 At the period when my tale commences, there was 
 t>ut one house in sight, and that was a small and 
 rude Inn, perched like some rook s nest, upon the . 
 very top of the hill, but which, small as it was, was of 
 great use, especially of a dark night, when the light 
 from its windows gleamed across the water, and like 
 the beacon on the hill -top, or the far off watch-tow 
 er, served to warn the approaching traveller of dan 
 ger or of death or to cheer his way-worn steps by 
 the assurance of the contiguity of man. 
 
 On all sides save one, the dark mass of water was 
 surrounded by hills covered .to their summits by 
 rtunted forest trees or shrub-oak, (the liveiy em- 
 
208 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 blem and sure accompaniment of sterility,) where 
 the screech owl and other ill-omened birds, had 
 from generation to generation, held their possessions 
 in undisturbed and undisputed sovereignty. Here 
 might the misanthrope have fixed his gloomy habita 
 tion, secure from the hated footsteps of his fellow 
 men ; here in one of the little creeks that indented 
 its western extremity, he might have moored a little 
 barque as secure from observation, as it would have 
 been in the lake of the Dismal Swamp. 
 
 It was not the natural horrors of the place alone 
 that caused the sensation, with which it was usually 
 approached. Tradition had heightened the scene by 
 her embellishments, and the famed "Tarpean Rock" 
 was scarcely an object of more dread, than the de 
 clivity that overhung this singular looking place. Not 
 that it was a place of execution, or supposed the re 
 sort of hobgoblins, or the scene of midnight murder 
 or incantation. No its dark and fathomless abyss 
 inspired other terrors. It was thought fatal to the 
 unfortunate being who should venture to step be 
 yond a certain bound, marked by the sand as a nar 
 row shoal. Here the pebbly bottom was distinctly 
 visible, and beyond this it was said no bottom could 
 be found, and the sudden and dark depth that suc 
 ceeded, black as the " Tartarian Gulf," seemed to 
 confirm the assertion. Besides, it had been the vol 
 untary grave of many, oppressed with the woes, or 
 tired of the cares of life. The ruined debtor, and 
 the remorseless creditor, had both lound a resting 
 place beneath its dark waters ; its waves, (for waves 
 it sometimes has, though a pond,) had engulfed 
 the young and the lovely. The graceful lover and his 
 blooming fair, had there sunk together, and the 
 IVenzied mother with her unconscious babes, had 
 
AXD REVOLUTIONARY. 
 
 there sought and found their last home. It is not 
 then, a matter of wonder, that those particularly, 
 who were acquainted with these stories, should pause 
 to survey the place and the adjacent landscape with 
 feelings of peculiar interest. 
 
 It was towards the close of a summer s day, that a 
 pedestrian, from one of the neighboring towns, 
 stopped near the little Inn, and leaning on a post, 
 inserted on the extreme edge of the precipitous 
 bank afore described, was musing upon the events 
 connected with the scenery around him. He had not 
 stood long before he observed one of those heavy 
 bulky conveyances, (an apology for a carriage) pe 
 culiar to the western country, stop at the Inn door. 
 A fine portly looking man, of middle age, and of 
 highly respectable appearance, handed out a female 
 of about the same age, who evidently possessed the 
 remains of uncommon beauty. The lady seemed at 
 once absorbed by the terrific features of the land 
 scape, upon which she fastened her eyes, where the 
 tears were fast gathering, as her husband, for such 
 he proved to be, pointed to a particular spot on the 
 shore, and whispered something in her ear. Two 
 quite young ladies and three children next alighted, 
 and all took their way into the Inn. Our pedestrian 
 feeling himself drawn towards them by some secret 
 sympathy, undcfinable to himself, immediately fol 
 lowed; of course, politeness kept him to another 
 room, but he watched the party closely from the 
 window, and soon saw the matron leading her chil 
 dren, and followed by the two young ladies, descend 
 the steep path, that winding round the base of the 
 hill, was soon lost in the thick wood beyond. He 
 felt an uncontrollable desire to follow, but then 
 would they not resent such intrusion T Still, tome- 
 
210 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 thing impelled him on, and at length the dreadful 
 suggestion rose to his mind that the lovely family he 
 had seen, might be oppressed with some unknown 
 griefs, and were now about to end their sorrows and 
 their lives at this fated place ; he deliberated no lon 
 ger, but hastily pushed down the path, and keeping 
 himself as near the wood as possible, to elude obser 
 vation, carefully gained the neighborhood of the lit 
 tle recess they had chosen. 
 
 Edwin M- , the person of whom we are speak 
 ing, was a young man of exquisite sensibility. He 
 had lately come into possession of an ample fortune, 
 but disdaining a life of idleness, continued to divide 
 his time between the counting-room, and the other 
 pursuits of business ; he had made this a day of re 
 laxation, tempted by the uncommon pleasantness of 
 the day, and mildness of the air, resolved upon along 
 walk, and was now just returning to town. There was 
 in his character, a certain degree of enterprise, and 
 love of adventure, highly excited on the present oc 
 casion. Seating himself unobserved among the 
 bushes, without any scruples whatever, about listen 
 ing to the conversation, he overheard the matron 
 accost her eldest daughter. " Can you guess, dear 
 Ellen, why I have chosen this place to relate the 
 story I have so long promised youl" "Indeed,! 
 cannot," said a beautiful girl, apparently about 
 eighteen, who now turning suddenly round, displayed 
 to Edwin for the first time a lace of exquisite beauty, 
 while carelessly throwing back the chesnut curls 
 that shaded her fair brow, she archly added, " unless 
 dear mother, your story contains something horrible, 
 which you wish to impress upon our minds by the 
 rarest scene of desolation, which has yet been pre 
 sented to our eyes; surely there is nothing on the 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 211 
 
 sunny sides of our beautiful lakes, resembling 
 this scene of dreary loneliness. 1 am afraid your story 
 will turn us all to stone." "Oh Ellen," said her 
 mother, "you will not be disposed, I trust, to make 
 light of my tale, when it is told ; at the period whence 
 I shall commence it, I was as gay and as thoughtless 
 as you are, and had all that disposition to coquetry 
 which to my great regret you seem to possess. 
 
 " I was the daughter of a wealthy farmer, who re 
 sided not many miles from this place, and courted 
 and followed by many of the first young men for 
 miles around. Vain, silly, and coquetish/I had yet 
 sufficient sense left to discover the merits of a young 
 man, the destitute orphan of a poor laborer on my 
 father s land. This person, whom I shall call Lubin, 
 was working in my father s employ, at the time our 
 attachment commenced. Poor as he was, his edu 
 cation was much above the generality of those with 
 whom I was in the habit of associating. His thirst 
 for knowledge was insatiable, and most of his little 
 earnings were spent in procuring books, and other 
 means of instruction. There was not then,- that dis 
 tinction between the rich and the poor, particularly 
 in rural life, that there now is, and I knew my father 
 would make no objection to my choosing a poor 
 man provided he was sober, prudent and industri 
 ous I therefore, felt easy on that head. I also 
 knew I was beloved by Lubin, with an affection ar 
 dent and disinterested. But spoiled by the flattery I 
 had received; the love of power had become my rul 
 ing passion, and I hesitated in avowing a mutual re 
 gard for my lover, for no other reason, but the pleas 
 ure of tormenting him. Were I to tell you all the 
 pranks I played, and the various ways in which I con 
 tinued to give him pain, it would take till to-morrow, 
 
212 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 and be, I am afraid, the means of instructing you in a 
 dangerous art. I hasten then over two years of my 
 life, which I can never think of without shame and 
 remorse, to the final catastrophe which occurred at 
 this place. 
 
 I was proceeding to the neighboring town, as was 
 then customary, on horseback, and alone; just at the 
 foot of yonder hill I met rny faithful Lubin returning 
 with an empty team. Stopping it, he flew to my 
 side, and accosting me in language of the most ar 
 dent affection, informed me he had now the chance 
 of some business that would enable him to support a 
 family, and trusted I would no longer hold out un 
 kind and repulsive, but confer the long desired bles 
 sing he had sought, in becoming his wife. His per 
 suasive manner, and animated countenance, at that 
 moment, are still present to my recollection and I 
 am in amazement to reflect, that a heart could have 
 been so hardened by vanity, as to resist such persua 
 sion ; but mine was : and though I meant nothing 
 less than what I said, I plumply and positively refus 
 ed him. He uttered an expresssion of anguish, and 
 added, as he turned from me, " that life was a bur 
 den," which caused me to reply, " here then is a 
 good place to end it I recommend you to take a 
 lover s leap." Instantly he sprang into the cart, and 
 drove to the edge of the water. The creatures here 
 stopped to slake their thirst, but an uneasy sensation 
 rivited my eyes to Ihe spot. Observing me to stop, 
 he turned his back to the cattle, and directed his sad 
 gaze to the spot where I had halted. His agitation 
 prevented his observing the creatures were slowly 
 creeping forward, until a loud shriek from me, an 
 nounced that they had lost their footing ; instantly, 
 the cart followed, and ^Yith Lubin, was lost to my 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 213 
 
 view." She stopped, overcome with emotion, and 
 hiding her face with her hands, sobbed audibly. 
 
 " Mother, dearest mother," cried Ellen, throwing 
 herself on her parent s neck and weeping bitterly, 
 " I shall never be vain again ! Oh, how much you 
 must have suffered, poor Lubin ! I wish he could 
 have been my father." " He is your father," said 
 the joyful mother, clasping the lovely Ellen to her 
 bosom, and smiling through her tears " he is your 
 father guilty as I was, heaven spared me the great 
 est of punishments. But to return to my story. 
 Something seemed to crack in my brain, a deafening 
 noise, louder than the heaviest thunder assailed me. 
 I sprang upon the ground, and almost incredible to 
 relate, safely and instantly descended the steep de 
 clivity. I saw my Lubin again arise with the 
 cart, which borne up by the cattle, sustained him, and 
 though sometimes only his head was above water, 
 yet they swam on. I knew he could not swim, and 
 kneeling at the water s edge, I was agonizing in 
 prayer, in his behalf. Suddenly they halted, I 
 thought then it was all over; but no ! with all the sa 
 gacity of animal instinct, they were choosing a land 
 ing place, and turning to the right, they safely gained 
 the shore just before us. I saw the mighty struggle 
 to climb it, and to land their burden; the interven 
 ing bushes then hid them from my view; but I flew 
 with the speed of the wind, and tearing away bushes 
 and briars, as they intercepted my progress, I soon 
 reached this spot, where my exhausted lover lay 
 stretched upon the ground, while his dumb compan 
 ions, stood panting and blowing by bis side. 
 
 Throwing myself on his bosom, I accused myself 
 of being the death of the only man I had ever leved, 
 oftorturiug the best, the kindest, and the gentlest 
 
214 TALES NATIONAL 
 
 heart that ever beat within a human bosom. It was 
 in vain, that he pressed his feeble arms around me 
 and assured me he was alive, and should soon be 
 well. I still persisted he was dead, and when found 
 by some persons from the Inn, who conveyed us both 
 thither, I was uttering the most distracted exclam 
 ations. The physician called, pronounced me to 
 be in a brain fever. For many days I was destitute 
 of reason, and lay hovering between life and death, 
 continually accusing myself of being the murderer 
 of Lubin. I shall never forget the evening when 
 awaking from a lethargy, in which I had lain two 
 days, I recognised my father, and hiding my face, 
 begged him to keep me from the light, for I was a 
 murderer. "Who have you murdered 1" said he. 
 " Oh, father," I exclaimed, " I am not distracted 
 now, for I clearly remember the death of Lubin, 
 and its cause." " That is impossible, Emma," said 
 he, "for he is not dead." "Don t, don t deceive 
 me," I exclaimed. " Why," said my father, " if 
 you don t believe me, I will call him ; I gues he can 
 tell whether he is dead or not. He was not drown 
 ed, but got safely over, only you were frightened out 
 of your senses but compose yourself, and you shall 
 see him." He then left the room, beckoning my sis 
 ter out, and Lubin advanced from the opposite side. 
 I Avill not attempt to describe the raptures of that 
 meeting, nor the mutual professions of unalterable 
 love exchanged between us. I recovered rapidly, 
 and in one month, became the wife of your beloved 
 father we soon removed to the western country, 
 vhere his talents and virtues have been justly appre 
 ciated and fortune has unvaryingly showered her 
 gifts upon us. I have availed myself of the opportu 
 nity of visiting my aged parent/ to see this terrific 
 
AND REVOLUTIONARY. 215 
 
 pot once more, the scene of the greatest suffering I 
 have ever endured, and procurer of the greatest bles 
 sing." " And I too, have wished to view this place 
 once more," paid the happy husband, who now join 
 ing them, had overheard the last sentence. " But 
 my love, we must return to the Inn, the people there 
 jegm to look rather suspiciously at your long visit 
 to this gloomy shore." 
 
 Edwin now found his vicinity would soon be dis 
 covered, as they were about to pass him on their re- 
 ,urn, so making a virtue of necessity, he discovered 
 limself, snd apologized by candidly telling the whole 
 ;ruth. The kindness 01 his motive pleaded pow 
 erfully, for his want of politeness, and he was for 
 given. At the Inn, he received permission to sup at 
 Jhe same tables and upon his departure was warmly 
 invited to visit them at the house of their venerable 
 parent. 
 
 We are happy to add in the sequel, that Edwin 
 made such good use of the time during this visit, thai 
 at the conclusion of it, about three months from the 
 Commencement of this story, the beautiful and fascin 
 ating Ellen, warned by the tale so lately heard 
 against giving a lover unnecessary pain, consented 
 to leave her dear parents, for the arms of a more 
 youthful protector, and to take up her residence in 
 the neighborhood of Scott s Pond. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 NARRATIVE OF ROSANNA HICKS, 
 
 LIFE OF CAPT. OLIVER READ, 
 
 THE BLIND SISTERS, 
 
 THE KING S SHIP, 
 
 PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE, 
 
 LiOYALTT, 
 
 SCOTT S POND THIRTY YEARS AGO, 
 
 
 
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 COH1011S31