A MAN WHO COVETED WASHINGTON'S SHOES.


The person whose story we are now about to tell was not a Jerseyman;
but, as most of the incidents which make him interesting to us occurred
in this State, we will give him the benefit of a few years' residence
here.

This was General Charles Lee, who might well have been called a soldier
of fortune. He was born in England, but the British Isles were entirely
too small to satisfy his wild ambitions and his roving disposition.
There are few heroes of romance who have had such a wide and varied
experience, and who have engaged in so many strange enterprises. He was
a brave man and very able, but he had a fault which prevented him from
being a high-class soldier; and that fault was, that he could not bear
restraint, and was always restive under command of another, and, while
always ready to tell other people what they ought to do, was never
willing to be told what he ought to do.

He joined the British army when he was a young man; and he first came to
this country in 1757, when General Abercrombie brought over an army to
fight the French. For three years, Lee was engaged in the wilds and
forests, doing battle with the Indians and the French, and no doubt he
had all the adventures an ordinary person would desire. But this
experience was far from satisfactory.

When he left America, he went to Portugal with another British army, and
there he fought the Spanish with as much impetuosity as he had fought
the French and Indians.

Life was absolutely tasteless to Lee without a very strong sprinkle of
variety. Consequently he now tried fighting in an entirely different
field, and went into politics. He became a Liberal, and with his voice
fought the government for whom he had been previously fighting with his
sword.

But a few years of this satisfied him; and then he went to Poland, where
he became a member of the king's staff, and as a Polish officer
disported himself for two years.

It is very likely that in Turkey a high-spirited man would find more
opportunities for lively adventure than even in Poland. At any rate,
Charles Lee thought so; and to Turkey he went, and entered into the
service of the Sultan. Here he distinguished himself in a company of
Turks who were guarding a great treasure in its transportation from
Moldavia to Constantinople. No doubt he wore a turban and baggy
trousers, and carried a great scimiter, for a man of that sort is not
likely to do things by halves when he does them at all.

Having had such peculiar experiences in various armies and various parts
of the world, Lee thought himself qualified to occupy a position of rank
in the British army, and, coming back to England, he endeavored to
obtain military promotion. But the government there did not seem to
think he had learned enough in Poland and Turkey to enable him to take
precedence of English officers accustomed to command English troops, and
it declined to put him above such officers, and to give him the place he
desired. Lee was not a man of mild temper. He became very angry at the
treatment he received, and, abandoning his native country again, he went
to Russia, where the Czar gave him the command of a company of wild
Cossacks. But he did not remain long with the Cossacks. Perhaps they
were not wild and daring enough to suit his fancy, although there are
very few fancies which would not be satisfied with the reckless and
furious demeanor generally attributed to these savage horsemen.

He threw up his command and went to Hungary, and there he did some
fighting in an entirely different fashion. Not having any opportunity to
distinguish himself upon a battlefield, he engaged in a duel; and of
course, as he was acting the part of a hero of romance, he killed his
man.

Hungary was not a suitable residence for him after the duel, and he went
back to England, and there he found the country in a state of excitement
in regard to the American Colonies. Now, if there was anything that Lee
liked, it was a state of excitement, and in the midst of this political
hubbub he felt as much at home as if he had been charging the ranks of
an enemy. Of course, he took part against the government, for, as far as
we know, he had always been against it, and he became a violent
supporter of the rights of the colonists.

He was so much in earnest in this matter, that in 1773 he came to
America to see for himself how matters stood. When he got over here, he
became more strongly in favor of the colonists than he had been at home,
and everywhere proclaimed that the Americans were right in resisting the
unjust taxation claims of Great Britain. As he had always been ready to
lay aside his British birthright and become some sort of a foreigner, he
now determined to become an American; and to show that he was in
earnest, he went down to Virginia and bought a farm there.

Lee soon became acquainted with people in high places in American
politics; and when the first Congress assembled, he was ready to talk
with its members, urging them to stand up for their rights, and draw
their swords and load their guns in defense of independence. It was
quite natural, that, when the Revolution really began, a man who was so
strongly in favor of the patriots, and had had so much military
experience in so many different lands, should be allowed to take part in
the war, and Charles Lee was appointed major general.

This was a high military position,--much higher, in fact, than he could
ever have obtained in his own country,--but it did not satisfy him. The
position he wanted was that of commander in chief of the American army;
and he was surprised and angry that it was not offered to him, and that
a man of his ability should be passed over, and that high place given to
a person like George Washington, who knew but little of war, and had no
idea whatever how the thing was done in Portugal, Poland, Russia, and
Turkey, and who was, in fact, no more than a country gentleman.

All this showed that these Americans were fools, who did not understand
their best interests. But as there was a good chance for a fight, and,
in fact, a good many fights, and as a major-generalship was not to be
sneered at, he accepted it, and resigned the commission which he held in
the English army.

He was doubtless in earnest in his desire to assist the Americans to
obtain their independence, for he was always in earnest when he was
doing anything that he was inclined to do. But he did not propose to
sacrifice his own interests to the cause he had undertaken; and as, by
entering the American army, he risked the loss of his estate in England,
he arranged with Congress for compensation for such loss.

But, although General Lee was now a very ardent American soldier, he
could not forgive Mr. Washington for taking command above him. If that
Virginia gentleman had had the courtesy and good sense which were
generally attributed to him, he would have resigned the supreme command,
and, modestly stepping aside, would have asked General Lee to accept it.
At least, that was the opinion of General Charles Lee.

As this high and mighty soldier was so unwilling to submit to the orders
of incompetent people, he never liked to be under the direct command of
Washington, and, if it were possible to do so, he managed to be
concerned in operations not under the immediate eye of the commander in
chief. In fact, he was very jealous indeed of Washington, and did not
hesitate to express his opinion about him whenever he had a chance.

The American army was not very successful in Long Island, and there was
a time when it fared very badly in New Jersey; and Lee was not slow to
declare that these misfortunes were owing entirely to the ignorance of
the man who was in command. Moreover, if there was any one who wanted to
know if there was another man in the Colonies who could command the army
better, and lead it more certainly and speedily to victory, General Lee
was always ready to mention an experienced soldier who would be able to
perform that duty most admirably.

If it had not been for this unfortunate and jealous disposition, Charles
Lee--a very different man from "Light Horse Harry" Lee--would have been
one of the most useful officers in the American army. But he had such a
jealousy of Washington, and hoped so continually that something would
happen which would give him the place then occupied by the Virginia
country gentleman, that, although he was at heart an honest patriot, he
allowed himself to do things which were not at all patriotic. He wanted
to see the Americans successful in the country, but he did not want to
see all that happen under the leadership of Washington; and if he could
put an obstacle in the way of that incompetent person, he would do it,
and be glad to see him stumble over it.

In the winter of 1776, when the American army was making its way across
New Jersey, towards the Delaware River, with Cornwallis in pursuit,
Washington was anxiously looking for the troops, under the command of
General Lee, who had been ordered to come to his assistance; and if ever
assistance was needed, it was needed then. But Lee liked to do his own
ordering, and, instead of hurrying to help Washington, he thought it
would be a great deal better to do something on his own account; and so
he endeavored to get into the rear of Cornwallis's army, thinking, that,
if he should attack the enemy in that way, he might possibly win a
startling victory, which would cover him with glory, and show how much
better a soldier he was than that poor Washington who was retreating
across the country, instead of boldly turning and showing fight.

If Lee had been a true soldier, and had conscientiously obeyed the
commands of his superior, he would have joined Washington and his army
without delay, and a short time afterward would have had an opportunity
of taking part in the battle of Trenton, in which the Virginia country
gentleman defeated the British, and gained one of the most important
victories of the war.

Lee pressed slowly onward--ready to strike a great blow for himself, and
unwilling to help anybody else strike a blow--until he came to
Morristown; and, after staying there one night, he proceeded in the
direction of Basking Ridge, a pretty village not far away. Lee left his
army at Bernardsville, which was then known as Vealtown, and rode on to
Basking Ridge, accompanied only by a small guard. There he took lodgings
at an inn, and made himself comfortable. The next morning he did not go
and put himself at the head of his army and move on, because there were
various affairs which occupied his attention.

Several of his guard wished to speak to him, some of them being men from
Connecticut, who appeared before him in full-bottomed wigs, showing
plainly that they considered themselves people who were important enough
to have their complaints attended to. One of them wanted his horse shod,
another asked for some money on account of his pay, and a third had
something to say about rations. But General Lee cut them all off very
shortly with, "You want a great deal, but you have not mentioned what
you want most. You want to go home, and I should be glad to let you go,
for you are no good here." Then his adjutant general asked to see him;
and he had a visit from a Major Wilkinson, who arrived that morning with
a letter from General Gates.

All these things occupied him very much, and he did not sit down to
breakfast till ten o'clock. Shortly after they had finished their meal,
and Lee was writing a letter to General Gates, in which he expressed a
very contemptible opinion of General Washington, Major Wilkinson saw, at
the end of the lane which led from the house down to the main road, a
party of British cavalry, who dashed round the corner toward the house.
The major immediately called out to General Lee that the Redcoats were
coming; but Lee, who was a man not to be frightened by sudden reports,
finished signing the letter, and then jumped up to see what was the
matter.

By this time the dragoons had surrounded the house; and when he
perceived this, General Lee naturally wanted to know where the guards
were, and why they did not fire on these fellows. But there was no
firing, and apparently there were no guards; and when Wilkinson went to
look for them, he found their arms in the room which had been their
quarters, but the men were gone. These private soldiers had evidently
been quite as free and easy, and as bent upon making themselves
comfortable, as had been the general, and they had had no thought that
such a thing as a British soldier was anywhere in the neighborhood. When
Wilkinson looked out of the door, he saw the guards running in every
direction, with dragoons chasing them.

What all this meant, nobody knew at first; and Wilkinson supposed that
it was merely a band of marauders of the British army, who were making
a raid into the country to get what they could in the way of plunder.
It was not long before this was found to be a great mistake; for the
officer in command of the dragoons called from the outside, and demanded
that General Lee should surrender himself, and that, if he did not do so
in five minutes, the house would be set on fire.

Now, it was plain to everybody that the British had heard of the
leisurely advance of this American general, and that he had left his
command and come to Basking Ridge to take his ease at an inn, and so
they had sent a detachment to capture him. Soon the women of the house
came to General Lee, and urged him to hide himself under a feather bed.
They declared that they would cover him up so that nobody would suspect
that he was in the bed; then they would tell the soldiers that he was
not there, and that they might come and search the house if they chose.

But although Lee was a jealous man and a hasty man, he had a soul above
such behavior as this, and would not hide himself in a feather bed; but,
as there was no honorable way of escape, he boldly came forward and
surrendered himself.

The British gave him no time to make any preparations for departure.
They did not know but that his army might be on the way to Basking
Ridge; and the sooner they were off, the better. So they made him jump
on Major Wilkinson's horse, which was tied by the door; and in his
slippers and dressing gown, and without a hat, this bold soldier of
wide experience, who thought he should be commander in chief of the
American army, was hurried away at full gallop. He was taken to New
York, where he was put into prison. It is said that Lee plotted against
America during his imprisonment; but General Washington did not know
that, and used every exertion to have him exchanged, so that his
aspiring rival soon again joined the American army.

But his misfortune had no good effect upon General Charles Lee, who came
back to his command with as high an opinion of himself, and as low an
opinion of certain other people, as he had had when he involuntarily
left it. It was some time after this, at the battle of Monmouth Court
House, that Charles Lee showed what sort of a man he really was. He had
now become so jealous that he positively determined that he would not
obey orders, and would act as he thought best. He had command of a body
of troops numbering five thousand, a good-sized army for those days, and
he was ordered to advance to Monmouth Court House and attack the enemy
who were there, while Washington, with another force, would hasten to
his assistance as rapidly as possible.

Washington carried out his part of the plan; but when he had nearly
reached Monmouth, he found, to his amazement, that Lee had gone there,
but had done no fighting at all, and was now actually retreating, and
coming in his direction. As it would be demoralizing in the highest
degree to his own command, if Lee's armed forces in full retreat should
come upon them, Washington hurried forward to prevent anything of the
sort, and soon met Lee. When the latter was asked what was the meaning
of this strange proceeding, he could give no good reason, except that he
thought it better not to risk an engagement at that time.

Then the Virginia country gentleman blazed out at the soldier of
fortune, and it is said that no one ever heard George Washington speak
to any other man as he spoke to General Lee on that day. He was told to
go back to his command and to obey orders, and together the American
forces moved on. In the battle which followed, the enemy was repulsed;
but the victory was not so complete as it should have been, for the
British departed in the night and went where they intended to go,
without being cut off by the American army, as would have been the case
if Lee had obeyed the orders which were given him.

General Lee was very angry at the charges which Washington had made
against him, and demanded that he should be tried by court-martial. His
wish was granted. He was tried, and found guilty of every charge made
against him, and in consequence was suspended from the army for one
year.

But Charles Lee never went back into the American army. Perhaps he had
had enough of it. In any event, it had had enough of him; and seven
years afterwards, when he died of a fever, his ambition to stand in
Washington's shoes died with him. While he lived on his Virginia farm,
he was as impetuous and eccentric as when he had been in the army, and
he must have been a very unpleasant neighbor. In fact, the people there
thought he was crazy. This opinion was not changed when his will was
read, for in that document he said,--

"I desire most earnestly that I may not be buried in any church or
churchyard, or within a mile of any Presbyterian or Anabaptist
meetinghouse; for since I have resided in this country I have kept so
much bad company when living, that I do not choose to continue it when
dead."




THE MAN IN THE "AUGER HOLE."


When we consider the American Revolution, we are apt to think of it as a
great war in which all the inhabitants of the Colonies rose up against
Great Britain, determined, no matter what might be the hardships and
privations, no matter what the cost in blood and money, to achieve their
independence and the right to govern themselves.

But this was not the case. A great majority of the people of the
Colonies were ardently in favor of independence; but there were also a
great many people, and we have no right to say that some of them were
not very good people, who were as well satisfied that their country
should be a colony of Great Britain as the Canadians are now satisfied
with that state of things, and who were earnestly and honestly opposed
to any separation from the mother country.

This difference of opinion was the cause of great trouble and bloodshed
among the colonists themselves, and the contests between the Tories and
the Whigs were nowhere more bitter than in New Jersey. In some parts of
the Colony, families were divided against themselves; and not only did
this result in quarrels and separations, but fathers and sons, and
brothers and brothers, fought against each other. At one time the
Tories, or, as they came to be called, "refugees," were in such numbers
that they took possession of the town of Freehold, and held it for more
than a week; and when at last the town was retaken by the patriotic
forces, most of them being neighbors and friends of the refugees,
several prominent Tories were hanged, and many others sent to prison.

The feeling between the Americans of the two different parties was more
violent than that between the patriots and the British troops, and
before long it became entirely unsafe for any Tory to remain in his own
home in New Jersey. Many of them went to New York, where the patriotic
feeling was not so strong at that time, and there they formed themselves
into a regular military company called the "Associated Loyalists;" and
this company was commanded by William Temple Franklin, son of the great
Benjamin Franklin, who had been appointed governor of New Jersey by the
British Crown. He was now regarded with great hatred by the patriots of
New Jersey, because he was a strong Tory. This difference of opinion
between William Franklin and his father was the most noted instance of
this state of feeling which occurred in those days.

It will be interesting to look upon this great contest from a different
point of view than that from which we are accustomed to regard it; and
some extracts from the journal of a New Jersey lady who was a decided
Tory, will give us an idea of the feeling and condition of the people
who were opposed to the Revolution.

This lady was Mrs. Margaret Hill Morris, who lived in Burlington. She
was a Quaker lady, and must have been a person of considerable wealth;
for she had purchased the house on Green Bank, one of the prettiest
parts of Burlington, overlooking the river, in which Governor Franklin
had formerly resided. This was a fine house, and contained the room
which afterwards became celebrated under the name of the "Auger Hole."
This had been built, for what reason is not known, as a place of
concealment. It was a small room, entirely dark, but said to be
otherwise quite comfortable, which could be approached only through a
linen closet. In order to get at it, the linen had to be taken from the
shelves, the shelves drawn out, and a small door opened at the back of
the closet, quite low down, so that the dark room could only be entered
by stooping.

In this "auger hole," Mrs. Morris, who was a strong Tory, but a very
good woman, had concealed a refugee who at the time was sought for by
the adherents of the patriotic side, and who probably would have had a
hard time of it if he had been caught, for he was a person of
considerable importance.

The name of the refugee was Jonathan Odell, and he was rector of St.
Mary's Church in Burlington. He was a learned man, being a doctor as
well as a clergyman, and a very strong Tory. He had been of much service
to the people of Burlington; for when the Hessians had attacked the
town, he had come forward and interceded with their commander, and had
done his work so well that the soldiers were forbidden to pillage the
town. But when the Hessians left, the American authorities began a
vigorous search for Tories; and Parson Odell was obliged to conceal
himself in good Mrs. Morris's "auger hole."

Mrs. Morris was apparently a widow who lived alone with her two boys,
and, having this refugee in her house, she was naturally very nervous
about the movements of the American troops and the actions of her
neighbors of the opposite party.

She kept a journal of the things that happened about her in those
eventful days, and from this we will give some extracts. It must be
understood that in writing her journal, the people designated as the
"enemy" were the soldiers under Washington, and that "gondolas" were
American gunboats.

     "From the 13th to the 16th we had various reports of the advancing
     and retiring of the enemy; parties of armed men rudely entered the
     town and diligent search was made for tories. Some of the gondola
     gentry broke into and pillaged Rd Smith's house on the bank. About
     noon this day [16th] a very terrible account of thousands coming
     into the town, and now actually to be seen on Gallows Hill: my
     incautious son caught up the spyglass, and was running towards the
     mill to look at them. I told him it would be liable to
     misconstruction."

The journal states that the boy went out with the spyglass, but could
get no good place from which he could see Gallows Hill, or any troops
upon it, and so went down to the river, and thought he would take a view
of the boats in which were the American troops. He rested his spyglass
on the low limb of a tree, and with a boyish curiosity inspected the
various boats of the little fleet, not suspecting that any one would
object to such a harmless proceeding.

But the people on the boats saw him, and did object very much; and the
consequence was, that, not long after he reached his mother's house, a
small boat from one of the vessels came to shore. A party of men went to
the front door of the house in which they had seen the boy enter, and
began loudly to knock upon it. Poor Mrs. Morris was half frightened to
death, and she made as much delay as possible in order to compose her
features and act as if she had never heard of a refugee who wished to
hide himself from his pursuers. In the mild manner in which Quaker women
are always supposed to speak, she asked them what they wanted. They
quickly told her that they had heard that there was a refugee, to whom
they applied some very strong language, who was hiding somewhere about
here, and that they had seen him spying at them with a glass from behind
a tree, and afterwards watched him as he entered this house.

Mrs. Morris declared that they were entirely mistaken; that the person
they had seen was no one but her son, who had gone out to look at them
as any boy might do, and who was perfectly innocent of any designs
against them. The men may have been satisfied with this explanation in
regard to her son; but they asserted that they knew that there was a
refugee concealed somewhere in that neighborhood, and they believed that
he was in an empty house near by, of which they were told she had the
key. Mrs. Morris, who had given a signal, previously agreed upon, to the
man in the "auger hole," to keep very quiet, wished to gain as much time
as possible, and exclaimed,

"Bless me! I hope you are not Hessians."

"Do we look like Hessians?" asked one of them rudely.

"Indeed, I don't know."

"Did you ever see a Hessian?"

"No, never in my life; but they are men, and you are men, and may be
Hessians, for anything I know. But I will go with you into Colonel Cox's
house, though indeed it was my son at the mill; he is but a boy, and
meant no harm; he wanted to see the troops."

So she took the key of the empty house referred to, and went in ahead of
the men, who searched the place thoroughly, and, after finding no place
where anybody could be, they searched one or two of the houses
adjoining; but for some reason they did not think it worth while to go
through Mrs. Morris's own house. Had they done so, it is not probable
that the good lady could have retained her composure, especially if they
had entered the room in which was the linen closet; for, even had they
been completely deceived by the piles of sheets and pillowcases, there
is no knowing but that the unfortunate man in the "auger hole" might
have been inclined to sneeze.

But although she was a brave woman, and very humanely inclined, Mrs.
Morris felt she could not any longer take the risk of a refugee in her
house. And so that night, after dark, she went up to the parson in the
"auger hole," and made him come out; and she took him into the town,
where he was concealed by some of the Tory citizens, who were better
adapted to take care of the refugee than this lone Quaker woman with her
two inquisitive boys. It is believed that soon after this he took refuge
in New York, which was then in the hands of the British.

Further on in the journal, Mrs. Morris indulges in some moral
reflections in regard to the war in which her countrymen were engaged,
and no one of right feeling will object to her sentiments.

     "Jan. 14. I hear Gen. Howe sent a request to Washington desiring
     three days cessation of arms to take care of the wounded and bury
     the dead, which was refused: what a woeful tendency war has to
     harden the human heart against the tender feelings of humanity.
     Well may it be called a _horrid art_ thus to change the nature of
     man. I thought that even barbarous nations had a sort of religious
     regard for their dead."

After this the journal contains many references to warlike scenes on the
river and warlike sounds from the country around. Numbers of gondolas
filled with soldiers went up and down the river, at times cannon from
distant points firing alarums. At other times the roaring of great guns
from a distance, showing that a battle was going on, kept the people of
Burlington in a continual excitement; and Mrs. Morris, who was entirely
cut off from her relatives and friends, several of whom were living in
Philadelphia, was naturally very anxious and disturbed in regard to
events, of which she heard but little, and perhaps understood less.

One day she saw a number of gunboats, with flags flying and drums
beating, that were going, she was told, to attend a court-martial at
which a number of refugees, men of her party, were to be tried by
General Putnam; and it was believed that if they were found guilty they
would be executed.

After a time, Mrs. Morris found an opportunity of showing, that,
although in principle she might be a Tory, she was at heart a good, kind
Quaker lady, ready to give help to suffering people, no matter whether
they belonged to the side she favored or to that which she opposed.

Some of the people who came up the river in the gunboats--and in many
cases the soldiers brought their wives with them, probably as
cooks--were taken sick during that summer; and some of these invalids
stopped at Burlington, being unable to proceed farther.

Here, to their surprise, they found no doctors; for all the patriots of
that profession had gone to the army, and the Tory physicians had
departed to the British lines. But, as has been said before, the women
in the early days of New Jersey were often obliged to be physicians; and
among the good housewives of Burlington, who knew all about herb teas,
homemade plasters, and potions, Mrs. Morris held a high position. The
sick Continentals were told that she was just as good as a doctor, and,
besides, was a very kind woman, always ready to help the sick and
suffering.

So some of the sick soldiers came to her; and from what Mrs. Morris
wrote, one or two of them must have been the same men who had previously
come to her house and threatened the life of her boy, who had been
looking at them with a spyglass. But now they very meekly and humbly
asked her to come and attend their poor comrades who were unable to
move. At first Mrs. Morris thought this was some sort of a trick, and
that they wanted to get her on board of one of the gunboats, and carry
her away. But when she found that the sick people were in a house in the
town, she consented to go and do what she could. So she took her bottles
with her, and her boxes and her herbs, and visited the sick people,
several of whom she found were women.

They were all afflicted with some sort of a fever, probably of a
malarial kind, contracted from living day and night on board of boats
without proper protection; and, knowing just what to do in such cases,
she, to use her own expression, "treated them according to art," and it
was not long before they all recovered.

What happened in consequence of this hospital work for those whom she
considered her enemies, is thus related by Mrs. Morris:--

     "I thought I had received all my pay when they thankfully
     acknowledged all my kindness, but lo! in a short time afterwards, a
     very rough, ill-looking man came to the door and asked for me. When
     I went to him, he drew me aside and asked me if I had any friends
     in Philadelphia. The question alarmed me, supposing that there was
     some mischief meditated against that poor city; however, I calmly
     said, 'I have an ancient father-in-law, some sisters, and other
     near friends there.' 'Well,' said the man, 'do you wish to hear
     from them, or send anything by way of refreshment to them? If you
     do, I will take charge of it and bring you back anything you may
     send for.' I was very much surprised, to be sure, and thought he
     only wanted to get provisions to take to the gondolas, when he told
     me his wife was one I had given medicine to, and this was the only
     thing he could do to pay me for my kindness. My heart leaped for
     joy, and I set about preparing something for my dear absent
     friends. A quarter of beef, some veal, fowls, and flour, were soon
     put up, and about midnight the man came and took them away in his
     boat."

Mrs. Morris was not mistaken in trusting to the good intentions of this
grateful Continental soldier, for, as she says, two nights later there
came a loud knocking at the door:--

     "Opening the chamber window, we heard a man's voice saying, 'Come
     down softly and open the door, but bring no light.' There was
     something mysterious in such a call, and we concluded to go down
     and set the candle in the kitchen. When we got to the front door we
     asked, 'Who are you?' The man replied, 'A friend; open quickly:'
     so the door was opened, and who should it be but our honest gondola
     man with a letter, a bushel of salt, a jug of molasses, a bag of
     rice, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and some cloth for a coat for my
     poor boys--all sent by my kind sisters. How did our hearts and eyes
     overflow with love to them and thanks to our Heavenly Father for
     such seasonable supplies. May we never forget it. Being now so
     rich, we thought it our duty to hand out a little to the poor
     around us, who were mourning for want of salt, so we divided the
     bushel and gave a pint to every poor person who came for it, and
     had a great plenty for our own use."

As the war drew to its close and it became plain to every one that the
cause of the patriots must triumph, the feeling between the two parties
of Americans became less bitter; and the Tories, in many cases, saw that
it would be wise for them to accept the situation, and become loyal
citizens of the United States of America, as before they had been loyal
subjects of Great Britain.

When peace was at last proclaimed, those Tories who were prisoners were
released, and almost all of them who had owned farms or estates had them
returned to them, and Mrs. Morris could visit her "ancient
father-in-law" and her sisters in Philadelphia, or they could come up
the river and visit her in her house on the beautiful Green Bank at
Burlington, without fear or thought of those fellow-countrymen who had
been their bitter enemies.




THE STORY OF TWO CAPTAINS.


During the Revolution, New Jersey had a very hard time, harder in some
ways than many of her sister States. This may be accounted for by the
fact that much of her territory lay between the two important cities of
Philadelphia and New York, and that it was therefore liable to be the
scene of frequent battles and marches. In fact, it often happens that
the march of an enemy through a quiet country is almost as bad as a
disastrous battle.

Country people and farmers, especially those of fruitful and prosperous
countries, are generally much more opposed to war than people in cities;
and so it happened in New Jersey. When the Revolution began, there were
a good many people who did not care particularly about taxation, who had
been happy and comfortable all their days, without any thought of
independence, and who saw no reason why they should not continue to be
so; and these did not immediately spring to arms when the first guns of
the war were fired. There were no large cities in New Jersey. It was a
rural community, a country of peaceable people.

When the British troops first entered New Jersey, and before any battles
had been fought, the commander in chief took advantage of this state of
feeling, and endeavored as far as possible to make the people think that
the Redcoats were in reality good friends, and intended them no harm. He
protested, whenever he had a chance, that when these disturbances were
over, any complaints that the people had to make in regard to the laws
made by their English rulers, should be carefully attended to, and their
grievances redressed as soon as possible.

As has been said before, a great many of the people of the Colony were
in favor of continuance of the British rule, and from these arose that
Tory party which afterwards caused so much bitterness of feeling and
bloody contention. But there were also others, who, although they were
not Tories, were not in favor of fighting if it could be helped, and
these the British commander most wished to conciliate. He issued a great
many printed papers of protection, which he gave to those who had not
yet taken sides against the Crown. The people who received these were
assured, that, so long as they had them to show, no Redcoat soldier
would in any way disturb them or their property.

But when the English army actually spread itself over the country, and
the soldiers began to forage about to see what they could find to eat
and drink better than their rations, the Jersey farmers frequently
discovered that these papers of protection were of no use at all. If
shown to one of the Hessians, who were more dreaded than the other
soldiers of the British army, the German could not read a word of it,
and paid no attention to it. He wanted ducks and geese, and took them.
And after a time the English soldiers determined that the Hessians
should not take all they wanted while they stood by and had nothing, and
so they began to pillage, without regard to the little printed papers
which the angry farmers showed them.

This state of things had a very good effect upon the rural population of
New Jersey; and as the conduct of the British soldiers became more
lawless, so did the determination to resist such outrageous actions
become stronger and stronger in the hearts of the people of the country,
and they readily listened to the calls to arms which were made by
Washington and by Congress. The people who were in favor of the
Revolution and independence stood together and formed themselves on one
side, while those who were still loyal to the King formed themselves on
the other. And thus, with both the Tories and the British against them,
the citizens of New Jersey began in good earnest to fight for their
liberties.

In the war which was now waged in New Jersey, it very often happened
that the British soldiers had no part whatever; and although the battles
and skirmishes between the Tories and the Whigs were generally small and
of no great importance, they were always violent and bloody. Sometimes
the forces on each side were considerable enough to entitle the affair
to be called a battle. The forces of the Whigs or patriots in these
encounters were almost always composed of the militiamen of the State,
who had not joined the regular army, but who had enlisted for the
purpose of defending their own homes and farms. In various parts of the
country there were men who, some on one side and some on the other, had
distinguished themselves as soldiers.

One of the most prominent of these was a Captain Huddy of Monmouth
County. He had command of a company of militiamen, and he made himself
very formidable to the bodies of Tories who had formed themselves in the
country, and his name and fame as a great fighter began to spread over
that part of the State. He lived in a good-sized house, for that time,
in the village of Colt's Neck, and in this house he generally kept part
of his command.

But one evening he happened to be at home without any one with him
except a servant, a negro girl about twenty years old. His men had all
gone away on some errand, and the fact that the captain was at home by
himself became known to some Tories in the neighborhood. These, led by a
mulatto named Tye, made an attack upon his house.

But although Captain Huddy's men were all away, they had left their guns
behind; and so the brave Huddy, instead of surrendering to the force of
fifty or sixty Tories who were outside, determined to fight them, with
no garrison but himself and the negro girl, and he made ready to hold
his house as long as he could. The girl loaded the guns; and Huddy,
running from one window to another, fired at the Tories so rapidly and
with such good effect, that they believed that there were a number of
men in the house, and so did not dare to rush forward and break in the
doors, as they certainly would have done if they had known that they
were fighting two persons only, and one of them a girl.

Several of the attacking party were wounded, and they found at last that
there was little chance of capturing this fortress, so well defended: so
they concluded to burn the house, and thus force the garrison to come
out. While they were at work setting fire to the wooden building, Huddy
shot the mulatto in the arm; but, finding that he could not prevent
them from carrying out their purpose, he shouted to them that if they
would put out the fire, he would surrender.

When the fort had capitulated and the enemy marched in, the Tories were
so angry to find that they had been fighting no one but a man and a
negro girl, that many of them were inclined to fall upon these
unfortunates, and butcher them on the spot; but they were restrained. As
it was known that Huddy's men would probably soon return,--for the noise
of the firing had aroused the neighborhood,--the enemy seized the
captain and hurried him away, leaving the rest of the garrison behind.

It may be said here that this girl, whose name was Lucretia Emmons,
afterwards married a man named Chambers, and, like all other Jersey
women who were of benefit to their State, lived to a good old age, and
had a large posterity.

Captain Huddy was hurried away to the boats in which the Tories had
arrived; but the militiamen were in hot pursuit, and a running fight
took place between them and the Tories, in which six of the latter were
killed. The Tories, with their prisoner, got on board their boats; but
they had not pushed very far from the shore, before the militiamen were
firing at them again. During the hubbub which ensued, Captain Huddy made
a bold dash for liberty. He sprang to his feet, plunged into the water,
and began to swim to the shore. In so doing, unfortunately, he received
a shot in the thigh from his own friends; but he raised his hands above
his head and shouted, "I am Huddy, I am Huddy!" and so, with one leg and
two arms, he continued to strike out for the shore, which he reached in
safety. His wound could not have been very severe, for it was not long
before he was again engaged in fighting the Tories.

Two years after this, Captain Huddy was once more obliged to hold a fort
against a superior body of Tories,--this time a rude structure of logs,
or blockhouse, near Tom's River, close to the coast. His garrison
consisted of twenty-five men. Here he was attacked by a number of
refugees, some of them from New York, and some from the neighborhood.
They gathered from various quarters during the night, and early on a
Sunday morning they made a united attack on the blockhouse. Huddy and
his men fought bravely; but when their ammunition was gone, and seven or
eight of them were killed, he was obliged to surrender.

Now, there was no one to rescue him, and he was marched away, put in
irons, and confined in the hold of a prison ship anchored off the coast.
The state of feeling at the time is shown by the way in which the
commander of this expedition speaks of the village of Tom's River; for
he says, "The Town, as it is called, consists of about a dozen houses,
in which none but a piratical set of banditti reside."

What afterwards happened to the captain was the result of a chain of
events which could only have occurred in a country where neighbors and
former friends were arrayed in bloody conflict against each other. A
prominent Tory of that neighborhood, named White, had been captured by
the patriots, and it happened that the father of one of White's guards
had been murdered by a party of Tories of whom White was a member. White
was shot soon after his capture; and it was generally believed that he
had been killed by this guard, who wished to avenge his father's death.

Thus one murder led to another, but the bloody business had not yet gone
far enough. The friends of White were determined to avenge his death,
and could think of no better way of doing it than by killing Captain
Huddy. The Tories wished to get rid of him anyway, and here was a reason
which was considered good enough in those days of furious animosity
between fellow-countrymen. It was not long, therefore, before Huddy was
taken from his prison, and, without even a show of a trial, was
condemned to death. It was said that he assisted in the killing of
White; and although he asserted boldly that this was an absurd charge,
as he was in prison at the time White was shot, the Tories would not
listen to any such plea. They were determined to kill him, and die he
must.

He was taken on shore at Sandy Hook, and on the beach a rude gallows was
constructed of three fence rails, and there he was hung. Before he died,
he wrote his will, resting the paper on the top of a flour barrel; and
it is said that his handwriting was as firm and legible as if he had
been sitting at a table in his own house.

This inhuman and lawless execution of a man so well known and of such
good reputation as Captain Huddy, created great indignation in the
patriotic party all over the country, and there was a general demand
that the British army should deliver up a man named Lippencot, who had
been the leader of the party which had hung Huddy; but the British did
not consent to this. They did make a show of investigating the matter;
and Lippencot, who was an officer of a refugee regiment regularly
enlisted in the British service, was tried by court-martial. But he was
acquitted; and no satisfaction was offered to the Americans for this
crime, which had been committed in open defiance of the laws of war.

But the British commander in chief, who arrived about this time, was a
man of honor and good sense, and he openly condemned the action of
Lippencot and his men, and assured the Americans that he would do what
he could to further investigate the matter.

This, however, did not satisfy the country, and from every side there
came demands that some one of the officers who were then prisoners in
the American lines should be executed in retaliation for Huddy's murder,
unless Lippencot were delivered up to the Americans. Here, then, opened
the fourth act of this bloody play of progression, and we will tell the
story of the other captain.

It is a horrible thing to deliberately execute an innocent man because
some one else has committed a crime; but war is horrible, and we must
expect that horrible things will continually spring from it. As no
satisfaction could be obtained from the British for this acknowledged
outrage and murder,--for in acquitting Lippencot the British authorities
virtually took upon themselves the responsibility of Huddy's
execution,--the Americans, being at war and acting in accordance with
the bloody rules of war, determined to select an officer from among the
English prisoners in the American lines, who should be executed in
retaliation for Huddy's death.

As soon as this order had been issued, thirteen British officers, who
were at liberty on parole in the American lines, were ordered to report
at Lancaster, Penn., in order that one of them might be selected to be
the victim of retaliation.

These officers were assembled in a room of the Black Bear Tavern with
several American officers, who conducted the proceedings, and a guard of
mounted dragoons was stationed outside.

The question was to be decided by lot according to the following plan:
the thirteen names of the officers were written each upon a little slip
of paper, and these were put into a hat. Then in another hat were placed
thirteen other slips of the same size, all of them blank excepting one,
on which was written the word "unfortunate." Two drummer boys were
called in to draw out the slips, one from one hat, the other from the
other. As one boy drew out the piece of paper and read the name of the
officer written upon it, the other boy at the same time drew a slip from
the other hat. After several drawings, in which the slips from the
second hat had all been blank, one of the boys drew, and read upon the
little piece of paper the name of Captain Asgill, and at the same time
the other boy drew out a slip, and read the word "unfortunate." This
decided the matter; and the American officer in command turned to the
leader of the dragoons and said to him, "This gentleman, sir, is your
prisoner."

Now this most tragical meeting broke up, and we are told that every man
in that room, except Captain Asgill himself, was in tears. The truly
unfortunate man who had been chosen by this most doleful chance was a
handsome young gentleman, scarcely more than a boy. He was beloved by
every one who knew him, and he would have been the last man to have
consented to any such deed as that for which he was to pay the penalty.
When it became known that he had been selected by fate to be executed in
retaliation, every one who knew anything about him, either in the
British army or the American, deeply deplored the fact that the doom
should have fallen on one who so little deserved it. Captain Asgill was
taken to Philadelphia, and after a while was carried to New Jersey,
where in Chatham, Morris County, he was held to await his end.

Washington himself was greatly affected by this event; and he wrote to
the colonel who had charge of Captain Asgill, to treat the unfortunate
young man with all tenderness and respect while he should be in his
hands, and to do everything for him that was consistent with propriety
under the circumstances.

Now, there came from many parts of this country, as well as from the
English, all sorts of communications and memorials addressed to the
government and the commander of the army, urging clemency in the case of
this unfortunate young man; and it was no doubt in consequence of these,
that his punishment was delayed from time to time.

Captain Asgill's mother was a lady of good position in England, and,
overwhelmed with grief at the impending fate of her son, she spared no
efforts to save him. She wrote to every man of influence whom she knew;
and among others she wrote to the Count de Vergennes, who was in this
country as the representative of the court of France.