The French, who had been the faithful friends of the Americans
throughout the struggle, were as willing to assist their allies to be
merciful and forgiving as they were to help them fight their battles.
The ambassador addressed a strong letter to Congress, urging that young
Captain Asgill might be spared, and sending a copy of the letter
written by the heartbroken mother.

Still war is war; and one of its laws is, that, if a prisoner is
unjustly killed by an enemy, one of the enemy's men held as prisoner
shall be killed in retaliation, the object being, of course, to put a
stop to unjust executions. With this law in view, Congress did not
consent to countermand the young man's execution.

Captain Asgill had another friend, a powerful one, who did all that he
could to save him from his impending fate. This was General Washington,
who from the first had pitied the young man on account of his youth and
general character; but he had also objected to the selection for the
reason that he had been among the officers who surrendered with Lord
Cornwallis, who had been promised that they should not be dealt with as
hostages. There were other prisoners who might have been more justly
taken as subjects of retaliation, but for some reason the thirteen
officers who had been summoned to this trial by lot were not among those
who were justly liable in the case. Washington felt that the selection
of Asgill was a breach of good faith, and he did all that he could to
induce the secretary of war to act justly and honorably in the matter.
At all events, the efforts in behalf of the young officer had the effect
of delaying the execution; and three months after his fatal lot had been
drawn, he was allowed to go to Morristown and remain there a prisoner on
parole.

Not long after this, another reason arose for the pardon of Captain
Asgill, which was used with effect by his friends. Peace was now
approaching, and there was no need of the execution of hostages in order
to prevent further outrages on the part of the enemy; and so the members
of Congress began to feel that after this long delay, and the
approaching general rejoicing in the success of American independence,
it would seem like murder to execute this young man. Therefore a law was
passed by Congress, directing that Captain Asgill should be set at
liberty and allowed to return to his family.

Dreadful months of suspense and fearful anticipation had darkened the
souls of this young soldier, his family, and his friends; but they had
probably produced a better effect upon the minds of the lawless bands of
Tory refugees than would have resulted had the execution taken place;
for, had Captain Asgill been hung, there is no doubt that an American
prisoner would have suffered in his place; and how many more steps in
the bloody business of retaliation would have taken place, no man can
tell. So, if we look at the matter philosophically, it may have been a
very good thing that the British officer selected to atone for the death
of Captain Huddy happened to be a young man whom nobody wished to kill,
for the merciful delay exercised in his case was the probable cause of
the cessation of retaliation during the last months of the Revolution.




THE STORY OF TEMPE WICK.


There are so many curious and unexpected things which may happen in time
of war, especially to people who live in parts of a country where the
enemy may be expected to come, or where the friendly army is already
encamped, that it is impossible to guard against unpleasant occurrences;
and it often happens that the only thing to be depended upon when an
emergency arises, is presence of mind, and quickness of wit.

In these qualities, New Jersey girls have never shown themselves behind
their sisters of other parts of the country, and a very good proof of
this is shown by an incident which took place near Morristown during the
time that the American army was quartered in that neighborhood.

Not far from the town was a farm then known as Wick's farm, situated in
a beautiful wooded country. The daughter of Mr. Wick, named Tempe
(probably short for Temperance), was the owner of a very fine horse, and
on this beautiful animal it was her delight to ride over the roads and
through the woods of the surrounding country. She had been accustomed
to horses since she was a child, and was not afraid to ride anywhere by
herself.

When she first began to canter over these hills and dales, it had been
in times of peace, when there was nothing in this quiet country of which
any one might be afraid; and now, although these were days of war, she
felt no fear. There were soldiers not far away, but these she looked
upon as her friends and protectors; for Washington and his army had
encamped in that region to defend the country against the approach of
the enemy. If any straggling Redcoats should feel a desire to come along
the hills, they would be very apt to restrain their inclinations so long
as they knew that that brave American army was encamped near by.

So Miss Tempe Wick, fearing nothing, rode far and wide, as she had been
in the habit of doing, and every day she and her good steed became
better and better acquainted with each other.

One fine afternoon, as Tempe was slowly riding homeward, within a mile
of her house, she met half a dozen soldiers in Continental uniform, and
two of them, stepping in front of her, called upon her to stop. When she
had done so, one of them seized her bridle. She did not know the men;
but still, as they belonged to Washington's army, who were her
countrymen and friends, she saw no reason to be afraid, and asked them
what they wanted.

At first she received no answer, for they were very busily occupied in
looking at her horse and expressing their satisfaction at the fine
points of the animal. Tempe had had her horse praised before; but these
men were looking at him, and talking about him, very much as if he were
for sale and they were thinking of buying. Presently one of the men said
to her that this was a very excellent horse that she was riding, and
they wanted it. To this Tempe exclaimed, in great amazement, that it was
her own horse, that she wanted him herself, and had no wish to dispose
of him. Some of the soldiers laughed, and one of them told her that the
troops were about to move, and that good horses were greatly needed, and
that they had orders to levy upon the surrounding country and take
horses wherever they could find them.

Now was Tempe astonished beyond measure. If half a dozen British
soldiers had surrounded her, and had declared that they intended to rob
her of her horse, she would not have wondered at it, for they would have
taken it as the property of an enemy. But that the soldiers of her own
country, the men on whom she and all her friends and neighbors depended
for protection and safety, should turn on her and rob her, as if they
had been a set of marauding Hessians, was something she could scarcely
comprehend.

But it did not take her long to understand, that no matter who they were
or what they were,--whether they thought they had a right to do what
they threatened, or whether they had no regard for right and
justice,--they were in earnest, and intended to take her horse. When
this conviction flashed into the mind of Tempe Wick, there also flashed
into it a determination to show these men that a Jersey girl had a will
of her own, and that if they wanted her property, they would have to do
a great deal more than simply to come to her and ask her to hand it over
to them.

After a little parley, during which the man who held her bridle let go
of it, supposing she was about to dismount, she suddenly gave her
spirited horse a sharp cut with the whip, dashed between two of the
soldiers, and, before they could comprehend what had happened, she was
off and away.

As fast as they could run, the soldiers followed her, one or two of them
firing their guns in the air, thinking to frighten her and make her
stop; but, as though she had been a deer and her pursuers ordinary
hunters, she swiftly sped away from them.

But they did not give up the chase. Some of them knew where this girl
lived, and were confident that when they reached her house, they would
have the horse. If they had known it was such a fine animal, they would
have come after it before. According to their belief, good horses should
go into the army, and people who staid at home, and expected other
people to fight for them, ought to be willing to do what they could to
help in the good cause, and at least give their horses to the army.

As Tempe sat upon her bounding steed, she knew very well that the
soldiers could never catch her; but her heart sank within her as she
thought of what would happen when they came to the farm and demanded her
horse. Running away from them was only postponing her trouble for a
little while, for there was no one about the place who could prevent
those men from going to the barn and taking away the animal.

It would be of no use to pass her house and ride on and on. Where should
she go? She must come back some time, and all the soldiers would have to
do would be to halt at the farm, and wait until she returned. And even
if she should take her horse into the Wood and tie him to a tree, they
would know by her coming back on foot that she had left him at no great
distance, and they would be sure to follow his tracks and find him.

As Tempe rode swiftly on, her thoughts galloped as fast as her horse,
and before she reached the house she had come to a conclusion as to the
best thing to be done. She did not ride towards the barn, but dashed
through the gateway of the large yard, and sprang from her steed. As she
turned in, she looked down the road; but the men were not in sight. What
she was going to do was something which people never did, but it was the
only thing she could think of, and she was a girl whose actions were as
quick as her ideas were original. Without stopping an instant, she took
her horse to the back door, and led him boldly into the house.

This was not the sort of stable to which Tempe's horse or any other
American horse was accustomed; but this animal knew his mistress, and
where she led, he was willing to follow. If one of the farm hands had
attempted to take the creature into the house, there would probably have
been some rearing and plunging; but nothing of this kind happened as our
Jersey girl, with her hand on her horse's bridle, led him quickly inside
and closed the door behind him. As the story goes, she took him through
the kitchen, and then into the parlor, without the slightest regard to
the injury his shoes might do to the well-kept floor; and from the
parlor she led him into a bedroom on the lower floor, which was usually
used as a guest chamber, but which never before had such a guest as
this.

This room had but a single window, the shutters of which were kept
closed when it was not in use, and there was no entrance to it except
through the door which opened from the parlor. The door was quickly
closed, and Tempe stood with her horse in the darkness.

When the soldiers reached the farm, they went to the barn. They examined
the outhouses, visited the pasture fields, and made a thorough search,
high and low, near and far; but no sign of a horse could they find. Of
course, the notion that the animal was concealed in the house did not
enter their minds, and the only way in which they could account for the
total disappearance of the horse was, that Tempe had ridden off with
him--where they knew not. We do not know how long they waited for the
sight of a hungry horse coming home to his supper, but we do know that
while there was the slightest danger of her dear horse being taken away
from her, that animal remained a carefully attended guest in the spare
room of the Wick house; and the tradition is, that he staid there three
weeks. There Tempe waited on him as if he had been a visitor of high
degree; and if she was afraid to go to the barn to bring him hay and
oats, she doubtless gave him biscuit and soft bread,--dainties of which
a horse is very fond, especially when they are brought to him by such a
kind mistress as Tempe.

When the cavalry moved away from their camp near Morristown, no one of
them rode on that fine horse on which they had seen a girl gayly
cantering, and which, when they had been about to put their hands upon
it, had flown away, like a butterfly from under the straw hat of a
schoolboy. When the troops were gone, the horse came out of the guest
chamber and went back to his stall in the stable; and that room in which
he passed so many quiet days, and the door through which the horse
timidly stepped under the shadow of that hospitable roof, are still to
be seen at the old Wick house, which stands now, as it stood then, with
its shaded yard and the great willow tree behind it, on the pleasant
country road by which we may drive from Morristown to Mendham by the way
of Washington Corner.




THE STORY OF FORT NONSENSE.


During three years of the Revolution the American army, under General
Washington, wintered in New Jersey. Of course, we understand, that, when
an army goes into winter quarters, it does so because the weather
prevents operations in the field; and although Washington did not in the
least object to fighting in the cold weather if a good opportunity
showed itself, as we know from the fact that he fought the battle of
Trenton on Christmas Day, still the winters in New Jersey were for the
most part periods of inactivity.

Histories give us full accounts of the important battles and marches
which took place in New Jersey; but the life of the army in the long,
cold months in which fighting and marching were almost impossible, is
something with which we are not so well acquainted; and when we
understand what the men of our army were obliged to suffer and to
endure, and the responsibilities and anxieties which were so
conscientiously borne by Washington and his officers, we are compelled
to give as much credit to the soldiers of the Revolution for their
heroism in their winter camps as for their courage upon the
battlefield.

This winter life in New Jersey, of men and officers from New England,
the Middle States, Virginia, and the South, appears to us now as very
interesting, and in many ways a curious life. Into a quiet country
neighborhood there came an entirely novel element,--an army which had
not come there to fight, but to live.

Washington's first winter in New Jersey was spent in Morristown in 1777.
This place was chosen because it was a productive country, and well
situated for sudden expeditions against the enemy in that part of the
State. Although there was no fighting done in Morristown, so many small
detachments of troops went out from the place, and so many sudden
attacks were made upon the outposts of the enemy in the country round
about, that by the end of the winter the British had no hold in New
Jersey except at Perth Amboy and New Brunswick.

But, as has been said before, it is not with the military operations
that we are concerned, but with the winter life of the army in the camp.
The first thing that has to be done when an army arrives to settle and
make itself a home in and about a country town, is to provide a good
house for the commander in chief and officers, and a suitable camping
place for the men. Washington went to Arnold's Tavern, a large house on
the corner of the Green; and the army encamped in the valley of the
Loantika, a beautiful place in summer, but not particularly attractive
in cold weather. Here they built themselves huts of logs, and here they
tried to keep themselves warm and to be satisfied with what they had;
for the government was poor, and found it hard to keep an army. There
was plenty to eat and drink in the surrounding country, but there was
very little money with which to buy it.

It was a great thing for the Morristown people to see the tavern
surrounded night and day by a guard of twenty-six soldiers, and to have
their streets and roads made lively by soldiers on foot, clad in the
various uniforms worn by the men from different States,--some with
cocked hats, some with round hats with feathers stuck in them; some with
green coats, some with blue; some with buckskin breeches, others with
black,--while Washington, with the officers of his staff, galloped here
and there, dressed in the regular Continental uniforms of blue and buff.

Among the most conspicuous uniforms of the American army was that of the
Jersey Blues. This was a volunteer organization formed in Essex County;
and the first uniforms of these soldiers were furnished by the patriotic
women of that region. They were not able to afford anything handsome or
costly: so each soldier was provided with a frock coat and trousers made
of tow cloth, which was dyed a bright blue by the same women who made it
into soldiers' clothes. These Jersey Blues, although they must have
presented a very peculiar appearance in the field, became famous
soldiers, and were known throughout the war, and occupied high positions
in the Continental army. The Jersey Blues were never disorganized, and
still remain prominent among the citizen soldiers of the State.

It was Washington's habit during the war, as soon as he had settled
himself in his winter quarters, to send for Mrs. Washington to join him;
and accordingly she came to Morristown very soon after his first arrival
there. Men and officers were always delighted when the wife of the
commander in chief came down to live among them, and they welcomed the
sight of the carriage drawn by four horses, with the postilions and
grooms dressed in Washington's own livery of scarlet and white. On this
occasion, Washington went some distance to meet his wife, and waited in
a little village until she should arrive. When the lady at the house
where he was stopping saw the grand carriage drive up, she was prepared
to behold an illustrious personage alight from it, and she was somewhat
surprised when she saw a very plainly dressed, quiet lady step down from
the high coach. She thought there surely must be some mistake; but when
she saw the courteous affection with which the grand gentleman in the
fine uniform and cocked hat greeted this plainly dressed lady, she knew
that she had made no mistake.

There was no ostentation or superciliousness about Mrs. Washington. She
was hospitable and kind, and she put on no airs because she was a great
lady from Virginia, and because she was the wife of the commander in
chief of the army. The story is told, that, soon after her arrival, some
ladies of the town went to pay their respects to her, and as they were
going to visit the first lady of the land, they thought that they should
dress themselves in their finest clothes. Arrayed in silks, satins, and
ruffles, they were shown into the presence of Mrs. Washington, and were
utterly amazed to find her wearing a striped homespun apron, and busily
engaged in knitting stockings. She received them, however, with as much
dignity and courtesy as if she had had a crown on her head and a scepter
in her hand; and in the course of conversation she said that it was the
duty of every one to try to do without the things which they were
obliged to buy from foreign countries, and to make for themselves, as
far as possible, what they needed; and that, while their husbands and
brothers were fighting in the field, she thought that they should do
what they could at home to help the great cause.

Mrs. Washington entertained the ladies with accounts of her life at
home. She said that in her house there were always sixteen spinning
wheels at work. She showed them two morning dresses which had been made
in her house from ravelings of old satin chair covers. But Mrs.
Washington was not at all averse to cheerfulness and good company, and
in that year there were many dances and parties in Morristown, which
kept the place quite gay.

Two years afterwards, Washington and his army wintered at Middlebrook,
in Somerset County. Here the army had a comparatively comfortable time,
for the weather was mild, without much snow or frost; and this, after
the terrible sufferings which they had had at Valley Forge the winter
before, was very well calculated to put men as well as officers in a
cheerful state of mind. It is true that the difficulties of obtaining
provisions were in some ways greater than they had been before; for the
Continental money, with which all supplies were paid for, was
depreciating so rapidly that now thirty or forty dollars of it were
barely equal to one silver dollar, and the country people very much
disliked to take it. But the army had just achieved some important
victories, and there was a feeling in many circles that it would not be
long before the war would end; and with this belief in the minds of
many, and with the general satisfaction in the mild and pleasant
weather, it is no wonder that there were some good times in the army
during that winter at Middlebrook.

General Washington always liked to have company at dinner, for he was
very hospitable, and, besides this, he considered it his duty to become
acquainted with his officers and with the people of the neighborhood;
and sometimes as many as thirty persons sat down at the table. Even if
the various articles of food were not of the finest quality, they were
well cooked and well served. While in Middlebrook, Washington desired a
dinner service of white queen's-ware, and he wrote to Philadelphia to
obtain it. Among the articles he mentioned in his order were eight dozen
shallow plates and three dozen soup plates, which gives an idea of the
size of his dinner parties. But, although Philadelphia was searched from
one end to the other, no queen's-ware of the kind could be found, and at
last Washington was told that he could get what he wanted in New
Brunswick, and there he bought his queen's-ware.

Among other things which he ordered at that time were "six tolerably
genteel but not expensive candle-sticks;" and he also wrote for a new
hat, stating, "I do not wish by any means to be in the extreme of
fashion, either in the size or manner of cocking it."

At these dinners there was a good deal of state and ceremony, although
the heads of the family were very courteous and attentive to their
guests. As this was a military establishment, everything was done
promptly and according to rule. Washington never waited longer than five
minutes for any guest who was late. When such a person did arrive after
the company had seated themselves at the table, he would always try to
put him at his ease by some pleasant remark, sometimes saying that he
had a cook "who never asks whether the company has come, but whether the
hour has come."

During this winter a great entertainment was given by General Knox and
some other officers, and it was said to be the finest thing of the kind
ever seen in that part of the State. It may be thought, and probably
there were people who thought it then, that at a time when money was so
much needed, and provisions were so hard to get, a great and expensive
festival like this was extravagant and out of place; but it is likely
that the gayety of that great day had a good and encouraging effect upon
the army as well as the people of the country. They knew why the day had
been celebrated, and because of the general rejoicings they believed
there was reason to rejoice; and when people believe that there is a
good thing coming, they are much more ready to fight for it than if they
had no such belief.

But it is not of these two winters that our story has to deal: it is
with the second encampment at Morristown, during the cold, the snow, and
the icy frosts of 1779-80. At this time, General and Mrs. Washington
lived in the handsome house which is now known as "Washington's
Headquarters," and has been preserved in the same condition as it was in
those Revolutionary days. In this fine old mansion, General Washington
and his wife kept up their hospitable customs; and at their table were
seen such men as Alexander Hamilton, General Greene, Baron Steuben,
Kosciusko, Pulaski, "Light Horse Harry" Lee, Israel Putnam, "Mad
Anthony" Wayne, and Benedict Arnold. There also came to Morristown the
minister from France (the Chevalier de la Luzerne) and an envoy from
Spain (Don Juan de Mirailles). These two distinguished foreigners were
received with great honor. An escort was sent out to meet them; there
was a grand review of the troops, in which Washington and his generals,
together with the Frenchman and the Spaniard, appeared on the field,
splendidly mounted; while on the grand reviewing stand was the governor
of the State and a great many citizens and distinguished people. After a
salute of thirteen cannon, the parading army went through its
evolutions, and in the evening there was a grand ball.

But one of the guests to whom these honors were given did not appear at
the ball. The Spanish envoy was taken sick, and a few days afterwards
died at the headquarters. He was buried with great pomp and ceremony.
The funeral procession was a mile long, and attended by Washington and
all his officers. Minute guns boomed as the procession passed from the
headquarters to the graveyard at the back of the First Presbyterian
Church, and people came from all parts of the surrounding country to
view the great procession.

The funeral services were conducted by a Spanish priest with the
impressive rites of the Catholic Church; and after a military salute had
been fired over the grave, sentinels were placed to guard it, for the
Spanish nobleman was buried in full regalia. A gold watch studded with
diamonds was in his pocket; diamonds were on his fingers; and valuable
seals were attached to his watchguard.

There was not so much fear at this time of an attack from the enemy as
there had been during the previous winter, when Washington was at
Morristown. Now, there were only four guards at the headquarters,--two
at the front of the house, and two at the back. But the most careful
preparations were made in case the enemy should show itself, and now and
then a false alarm showed the perfection of the discipline which was
maintained.

On such occasions a shot would be heard from one of the most distant
outposts, then a sentinel near the town would fire, and so on until a
report would be heard by the sentinels at the headquarters, who would
fire their guns; then there were the guns in Morristown, and so on out
to the camp, and very soon a detachment would hurry into the town at a
quickstep. But before they reached the place, the life guard encamped
near the headquarters would rush to the house, enter the lower story,
and barricade the doors; and five men at each window, with muskets
loaded and ready to fire, would await the approach of the enemy.

But although no British soldiers ever reached Morristown, there was good
reason for all the precautions taken. Besides the frequent attempts
which were made by large bodies of the Redcoats to penetrate to the
region occupied by Washington's army, there were small expeditions even
more dangerous. One of these consisted of a party of picked British
cavalrymen, who started from their camp near New York, by way of
Elizabethtown, for the express purpose of capturing General Washington.
They advanced in the direction of Morristown until they reached Chatham,
about six miles distant, and there--being overtaken by a terrible storm,
and finding so many difficulties ahead of them--they gave up their
project.

Outside of Morristown, on a high hill which stretches away to the
southwest, the American army was encamped during this winter. Among
these men we can scarcely believe there were many festivities or
merrymakings. In fact, the sufferings and privations of the common
soldiers at this time were very great, and even the table of the
commander in chief was sometimes furnished with the plainest of food.
In a letter written by Washington at this time, he says,--

     "We have had the virtue and patience of the army put to the
     severest trial. Sometimes it has been five or six days together
     without bread; at other times as many days without meat; and once
     or twice, two or three days without either. I hardly thought it
     possible, at one period, that we should be able to keep it
     together, nor could it have been done, but for the exertions of the
     magistrates in the several counties of this state [Jersey], on whom
     I was obliged to call, expose our situation to them, and in plain
     terms declare that we were reduced to the alternative of disbanding
     or catering for ourselves, unless the inhabitants would afford us
     their aid. I allotted to each county a certain proportion of flour
     or grain, and a certain number of cattle, to be delivered on
     certain days; and for the honor of the magistrates, and the good
     disposition of the people, I must add that my requisitions were
     punctually complied with, and in many counties exceeded. Nothing
     but this great exertion could have saved the army from dissolution
     or starving, as we were bereft of every hope from the commissaries.
     At one time the soldiers ate every kind of horse food but hay.
     Buckwheat, common wheat, rye, and Indian corn composed the meal
     which made their bread. As an army, they bore it with the most
     heroic patience; but sufferings like these, accompanied by the want
     of clothes, blankets, etc., will produce frequent desertions in all
     armies; and so it happened with us, though it did not excite a
     single mutiny."

At this time, various circulars and printed bills were sent to the
American army from the British, urging the men to fly from all their
hardships and miseries, and join the English force, where they would be
received, and furnished with every comfort. In this condition of things
it was very important to keep the American soldiers, cold, hungry, and
idle, from thinking too much of their troubles. Washington could not
give them balls, nor invite them to dine; but he wisely considered that
the best thing he could give them was occupation,--a most wonderful
medicine for discontent. He therefore determined to build a fort upon
the summit of the hill where the camp was situated.

His engineers therefore planned a large fortification made up of
earthworks; and on this the men were put to work, as if it had been
expected that the enemy would soon arrive, and take the place. The
desire to put their camp in a condition of defense, and the animation of
steady labor, were of as much advantage to the spirits of the soldiers
as bread and meat would be to their bodies; and, from sitting in idle
groups about their camp fires and huts, they worked on the new
intrenchments, ramparts, and redoubts with cheerful energy.

Everything was done exactly as if the new fort were soon to be called
upon to protect the town, which stretched itself beneath the hill; and
the engineers and officers were as careful in making plans and giving
directions as if they had been building a fort at the entrance of New
York Bay.

It was never expected that the fort would be attacked, and it was never
supposed, that, if the British should come this way, the battle would be
fought in or about the town; but the building of the fort was honestly
intended for the defense and protection of the troops, not against
muskets, cannon, and bayonets, but against discontent and
despair,--enemies far more formidable to the suffering army of that day
than British troops and Hessians.

The result was a good one: Washington's army at Morristown stood by him
as long as he staid there; and when they marched away, they left upon
the top of that hill a monument to the wisdom, the kindness, and the
knowledge of human nature, displayed by their great commander in chief
in those hazardous days.

We do not know what this earthwork was first called; but in time it came
to be known as Fort Nonsense, simply because it appeared to the ordinary
man as a great piece of work undertaken without any good purpose. But
never was a name more inapplicable. If it had been called Fort Good
Sense, it would have been much more suitable.

The remains of this fort are still to be seen on the hill beyond
Morristown; and a monumental stone has been set up there to mark its
site, and explain its nature and purpose. Most of its ramparts and
redoubts have been washed away by the storms of more than a century, and
we can still perceive many of its outlines; but those skilled in the art
of military fortification know that it was a good fortress, while
students of human nature and of the influence of great minds upon the
welfare of their fellow-beings, know that it acted an important part in
the defense of our liberties and the establishment of our government.

It may be remarked that in this story we have said a good deal about
other things, and very little about Fort Nonsense. But there is very
little of Fort Nonsense, and not much to say about it; and what has been
told was the story of the camp life of Washington and his army in New
Jersey, the most permanent and suggestive point of which is the
earthwork called Fort Nonsense.




AN AMERICAN LORD.


Among the principal men of colonial days and of Revolutionary times,
there were many whose social positions were much the same as the station
of the ordinary European aristocrat. From their ancestors the colonists
had inherited the disposition to recognize differences in rank; and men
of wealth and high position in the colonial government were regarded to
a certain extent as members of the nobility are regarded in England.
Before the Declaration of Independence, it was not even assumed in this
country that all men are born equal.

But, although there were native-born personages in the Colonies who
might well be termed aristocrats, their titles were political or
military; and an American lord was, as he would be now, something
entirely out of the common.

But in those days there was an American lord; and a very good American
he was, in spite of his being a lord. This was William Alexander, known
as Lord Stirling. He was born in New York, of Scotch parents. When he
was quite a young man, he went into military life, and served in the
British colonial army in the French War. In the campaigns in which he
served, he gained the military education which was afterwards of the
greatest advantage, not only to him, but to the country.

There was no British heir to the earldom of Stirling, a Scotch peerage;
and, as he believed that he was a direct descendant of the last Lord
Stirling, the young man went to England, and laid claim to the estate
and title. He was successful in proving his direct descent from the
earls of Stirling; but the House of Lords, who gave the final decision
in the case, would not allow his claim. Even if the law had permitted
his claim, it is not likely that the British House of Lords would have
been anxious to welcome into the peerage an American-born person.

But although he got nothing more, he really obtained his title, and he
was known then, as he is known in history, as Lord Stirling. He was a
man of wealth, and must have had a very good time in England, for he
studied well the manners and customs of the nobility; and as his own
habits and tastes were those which he observed in the great houses of
England, he here received a social education which had a great effect
upon his future career.

He was also the means of educating some of the inhabitants of Great
Britain, and the way in which he did it is shown by a little incident
which occurred when he was visiting Scotland. He was invited to dine at
the house of a gentleman, who informed his wife that an American was
coming to take dinner with them. It is to be presumed that this
announcement had about the same effect upon her as would now be
produced if an American gentleman should inform his family that a chief
from Madagascar was to dine with them.

The Scotch lady, no doubt, expected to see a copper-colored brave, in
war paint and feathers, with tomahawk, and bows and arrows, and perhaps
a few scalps hanging from his belt. Probably she had busied herself
devising a dinner which would suit a savage who was a native of that
far-away land of America, and hoped she might give him something which
would compensated him for the loss of a cannibal repast; but when she
beheld the handsome young gentleman who came into the house with her
husband, she could not repress her astonishment, and exclaimed, "Bless
my soul! The animal is white." Ignorance of foreign countries was at
that time not uncommon in Great Britain.

Although born in New York, Lord Stirling established himself in New
Jersey, and it was in connection with this State that he was afterwards
generally known. His father had owned a large tract of land at Basking
Ridge, a beautifully situated town not far from Morristown; and here
Lord Stirling built himself a stately mansion with fine gardens, and a
great park in which were herds of deer. It was built in the fashion of
the lordly country seats of England, around a courtyard paved with
flagstones, and contained grand halls and stately apartments beautifully
ornamented and furnished. The barns and outbuildings were grand, like
the mansion itself, with cupolas and gilded vanes, and altogether the
establishment was imposing and beautiful.

This young man had brought with him from England servants, butlers,
valets, hairdressers, and a great many fine horses, and carriages with
arms emblazoned upon their panels. He lived in grand state, and his
house was generally filled with guests; for the best people of the
country were glad to visit this beautiful home, where the best of
company and the freest hospitality were always to be found. The lord of
the manor was an affable and courteous gentleman, and the writers of
those days have given glowing accounts of the gracious Lady Stirling and
her charming daughter, Lady Kitty.

But notwithstanding the fact that he felt as a lord and lived as a lord,
this grand gentleman never forgot that he was not only a lord, but an
American; and when the Colonies began to assert their claim to
independence, Lord Stirling promptly showed his colors on the patriotic
side. He commanded the first body of troops raised in New Jersey in the
colonial days; and he very soon became one of the most prominent
officers in the Revolutionary army.

After he was made general, he distinguished himself at the battle of
Long Island, where he performed some daring feats. The odds were greatly
against the Americans on that occasion, and, in order to secure the
retreat of the main part of his command, Lord Stirling took four hundred
men, and made a bold attack upon a house that was occupied by the
British general, Cornwallis. During the desperate fight which followed,
in which his little force was far outnumbered by the enemy, his command
made a successful retreat, but he himself was captured, and afterwards
imprisoned on a war ship.

But he did not stay there long. Washington could not do without the
services of this man, who was not only a most earnest patriot, but an
educated and efficient soldier; and, as the Americans held several
English officers as prisoners of war, one of them was exchanged, with
the least possible delay, for Lord Stirling.

One of the earliest and most daring exploits of this brave soldier was
the capture, by an infantry force, of an armed British ship which was on
its way to Boston with stores and supplies for the English army there.

This vessel, which was called the "Blue Mountain Valley," had met with
rough weather, and, having been badly damaged, was lying off Sandy Hook,
waiting for assistance from two British men-of-war then in New York
Harbor.

But Lord Stirling, who was stationed not far from the coast, and to whom
the situation of the vessel became known, determined that, if possible,
he would get to this valuable storeship before the enemy's men-of-war
could reach her. So, with a number of the regular soldiers under his
command, and some volunteers from the neighborhood, he put out to sea in
some small craft, one of them a pilot boat. The English vessel had for
her defense six guns, and was what is called an armed transport, but
Stirling's men carried only ordinary muskets. However, they boldly
attacked the vessel, and bearing down upon her as if she had been a
column of infantry, in spite of the cannon and guns of the crew,
captured her.

As soon as this victory had been won, Lord Stirling had all sails set;
and the "Blue Mountain Valley" waited no longer for the men-of-war to
come to her assistance, but sailed away for Perth Amboy, which was in
possession of the Americans. Here she was found to be a most valuable
prize, although Lord Stirling was sorry, as he afterwards stated when he
made his report to Congress, that her cargo was not arms, instead of
coal and provisions.

Lord Stirling fought well in the battles of New Jersey. At Monmouth he
especially distinguished himself by the way in which he managed the
artillery which was under his command; and it is said that the enemy
were amazed to find batteries so splendidly handled in the ranks of the
Americans, who were not supposed by most British officers to be
possessed of great military ability, although the erroneousness of this
supposition was gradually impressed upon their minds as the war went on.

Our nobleman, however, had given another proof of his ability to adapt
himself to military circumstances. When Washington and his army were
wintered at Morristown, there was an evident desire among the British
commanders to attack him at that place, and there was constant danger of
an advance from the forces about New York. Lord Stirling was with the
troops under General Greene, defending the principal approaches to
Morristown on the east, and he very often had fights and skirmishes with
British detachments sent out to reconnoiter the country, or to break
into the American lines.

At one time a very large force, led by Clinton, advanced towards
Morristown; and this was believed to be a serious and determined attempt
to attack Washington, whose army was in a pretty bad plight, and not at
all prepared to fight large bodies of well-appointed troops. Lord
Stirling, with the other officers of the regular army, aided by forces
of militiamen greatly excited by atrocities which had been committed by
the British troops in the neighborhood, made a determined stand in the
region of the "Short Hills," and a battle was fought near Springfield.
Although the American forces were not able to defeat the British, they
so harassed them, placing themselves in all the passes through which it
was necessary to advance, that at last the Redcoats gave up the attempt
to reach Morristown, and retired to Elizabeth.

Throughout the war, this gentleman with the grand house, the park, the
deer, the splendid carriages, the butlers, and the hairdressers, fought
as earnestly and as patriotically as if he had been a sturdy farmer who
had left his cornfield for the battlefield, with an old blunderbuss over
his shoulder. Not only was he a good soldier, but he was a trustworthy
friend to the cause of the Colonies and to General Washington; and it is
said that it was through his means that the conspiracy among some of the
officers of the army against General Washington, of whom they were
jealous, was discovered and broken up.

Officers of the army were frequently quartered at his house at Basking
Ridge, where they found most delightful company; and in every way our
American lord did what he could for the cause and the people who were
defending it. His title was generally recognized; and Washington, who
was very particular in regard to matters of rank and social propriety,
always called him "my lord." He was said to be a fine-looking man; in
fact, he and Washington were of more imposing and dignified appearance
than any other officers of the American army.

Of course, as he was a very notable person among the Continental
officers, the British were very anxious to capture him. In 1781, when he
was in command of the Northern Department at Albany, this design of the
enemy came very near being carried out, but was frustrated by the
faithful services of one of those good women who were continually
turning up in colonial history. A servant girl in the family of a house
near Albany, where Lord Stirling was staying, had been visiting her
parents during the day, and had there heard a plot of the Tories of the
neighborhood to capture Lord Stirling. Being of a patriotic disposition,
she told her mistress of the plot as soon as she got home; and when in
the night a large body of the enemy came to the house, they were met
with a surprise.

Lord Stirling had not gone out of town without taking with him a guard
of dragoons; and these men, instead of being quartered at a distance, as
the Tories evidently supposed they would be, had all been brought into
the house; and when the attack was made in the night, the bullets and
pistol balls which whizzed and whistled from that ordinarily peaceful
mansion astonished the Tories, who fled.

But although Lord Stirling did so much for American independence, he did
not live to enjoy the fruits of it, for he died in Albany, while still
in command of the Northern Department. After his death, the estate at
Basking Ridge was sold, and payment for it was made in Continental
money, which afterwards became of almost no value; so that for this fine
property, it might be said, his family received nothing but a pile of
badly printed paper. The mansion and the deer park and the emblazoned
carriages are gone and forgotten; but the brave soldier, who gave up all
the pleasures of a lordly position for his country, will live in
history.




MOLLY PITCHER.


At the battle of Monmouth, where Lord Stirling so distinguished himself
for the management of the artillery, another person of an entirely
different station in life, of different nationality, and even different
sex, played a very notable part in the working of the American cannon on
that eventful day.

This was a young Irishwoman, wife of an artilleryman. She was of a
different disposition from ordinary women, who are glad enough to hide
themselves in places of safety, if there is any fighting going on in
their neighborhood. Molly was born with the soul of a soldier, and,
although she did not belong to the army, she much preferred going to war
to staying at home and attending to domestic affairs. She was in the
habit of following her husband on his various marches, and on the day
of the Monmouth battle she was with him on the field.

The day was very hot. The rays of the sun came down with such force that
many of the soldiers were taken sick and some died; and the constant
discharges of musketry and artillery did not make the air any cooler.
Molly devoted herself to keeping her husband as comfortable as possible,
and she made frequent trips to a spring not far away to bring him water;
and on this account he was one of the freshest and coolest artillerymen
on the ground. In fact, there was no man belonging to the battery who
was able to manage one of these great guns better than Pitcher.

Returning from one of her trips to the spring, Molly had almost reached
the place where her husband was stationed, when a bullet from the enemy
struck the poor man and stretched him dead, so that Molly had no sooner
caught sight of her husband than she saw him fall. She ran to the gun,
but scarcely had reached it before she heard one of the officers order
the cannon to be wheeled back out of the way, saying that there was no
one there who could serve it as it had been served.

Now Molly's eyes flashed fire. One might have thought that she would
have been prostrated with grief at the loss of her husband, but, as we
have said, she had within her the soul of a soldier. She had seen her
husband, who was the same to her as a comrade, fall, and she was filled
with an intense desire to avenge his death. She cried out to the officer
not to send the gun away, but to let her serve it; and, scarcely
waiting to hear what he would say, she sprang to the cannon, and began
to load it and fire it. She had so often attended her husband, and even
helped him in his work, that she knew all about this sort of thing, and
her gun was managed well and rapidly.

It might be supposed that it would be a very strange thing to see a
woman on the battlefield firing a cannon; but even if the enemy had
watched Molly with a spyglass, they would not have noticed anything to
excite their surprise. She wore an ordinary skirt, like other women of
the time; but over this was an artilleryman's coat, and on her head was
a cocked hat with some jaunty feathers stuck in it, so that she looked
almost as much like a man as the rest of the soldiers of the battery.

During the rest of the battle, Molly bravely served her gun; and if she
did as much execution in the ranks of the Redcoats as she wanted to do,
the loss in the regiments in front of her must have been very great. Of
course, all the men in the battery knew Molly Pitcher, and they watched
her with the greatest interest and admiration. She would not allow any
one to take her place, but kept on loading and firing until the work of
the day was done. Then the officers and men crowded about her with
congratulations and praise.

The next day General Greene went to Molly,--whom he found in very much
the condition in which she had left the battlefield, stained with dirt
and powder, with her fine feathers gone and her cocked hat
dilapidated,--and conducted her, just as she was, to General
Washington. When the commander in chief heard what she had done, he gave
her warm words of praise. He determined to bestow upon her a substantial
reward; for any one who was brave enough and able enough to step in and
fill an important place, as Molly had filled her husband's place,
certainly deserved a reward. It was not according to the rules of war to
give a commission to a woman; but, as Molly had acted the part of a man,
Washington considered it right to pay her for her services as if she had
been a man. He therefore gave her the commission of a sergeant, and
recommended that her name be placed on the list of half-pay officers for
life.