The Old Bell of Independence; Or, Philadelphia in 1776

STORY OF THE DEFENCE OF SHELL'S BLOCK-HOUSE

"I suppose," said young Harmar, "that, while you were up in New York, you heard of many bloody affairs with the Indians and tories."

"Many a one," replied Morton. "Many a one, sir. I could interest you for days in recounting all I saw and heard. The poor whigs suffered a great deal from the rascals—they did. Those in Tryon county, especially, were always exposed to the attacks of the savages. I recollect an affair that occurred at a settlement called Shell's Bush, about five miles from Herkimer village.

"A wealthy German, named John Shell, had built a block-house of his own. It was two stories high, and built so as to let those inside fire straight down on the assailants. One afternoon in August, while the people of the settlement were generally in the fields at work, a Scotchman named M'Donald, with about sixty Indians and tories, made an attack on Shell's Bush. Most of the people fled to Fort Dayton, but Shell and his family took refuge in the block-house. The father and two sons were at work in the field when the alarm was given. The sons were captured, but the father succeeded in reaching the block-house, which was then besieged. Old Shell had six sons with him, and his wife loaded the muskets, which were discharged with sure aim. This little garrison kept their foes at a distance. M'Donald tried to burn the block-house, but did not succeed. Furious at the prospect of being disappointed of his expected prey, he seized a crowbar, ran up to the door, and attempted to force it; but old Shell fired and shot him in the leg, and then instantly opened the door and made him a prisoner. M'Donald was well supplied with cartridges, and these he was compelled to surrender to the garrison. The battle was now hushed for a time; and Shell, knowing that the enemy would not attempt to burn the house while their captain was in it, went into the second story, and began to sing the favorite hymn of Martin Luther, when surrounded with the perils he encountered in his controversy with the Pope."

"That was cool," remarked Higgins.

"Bravely cool," added old Harmar.

"Oh, it was necessary to be cool and brave in those times," said Morton. "But to go on with my story; the respite was very short. The tories and Indians were exasperated at the successful resistance of the garrison, and rushed up to the block-house. Five of them thrust the muzzles of their pieces through the loop-holes; but Mrs. Shell seized an axe, and, with well-directed blows, ruined every musket by bending the barrels. At the same time, Shell and his sons kept up a brisk fire, and drove the enemy off. About twilight, the old man went up stairs, and called out in a loud voice to his wife, that Captain Small was approaching from Fort Dayton, with succor. In a few minutes, he exclaimed, 'Captain Small, march your company round on this side of the house. Captain Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up on that side.' This, you see, was a stratagem. The enemy were deceived, took to their heels, and fled through the woods, leaving eleven men killed and six wounded. M'Donald was taken to Fort Dayton the next day, where his leg was amputated; but the blood flowed so freely that he died in a few hours. On his person was found a silver-mounted tomahawk, which had thirty-two scalp notches on the handle, to show how he had imitated the savages."

"But what became of the two sons who were captured by the tories and Indians?" inquired young Harmar.

"They were carried to Canada," replied Morton. "They afterwards asserted that nine of the wounded tories died on the way. But some of the Indians were resolved to have revenge for their defeat, and they lurked in the woods near Shell's house. One day they found the wished-for opportunity, and fired upon Shell and his boys while they were at work in the field. One of the boys was killed, and Shell so badly wounded that he died soon after, at Fort Dayton."

"Revenge seems a part of an Indian's nature," remarked young Harmar.

"Yes," said Higgins, "they will pursue one who has injured them in any way until he has paid for it."

"Our people suffered much from them during the Revolution," added Higgins, "and they want no instruction in regard to their character."

STORY OF BATE'S BEVENGE

"I recollect," said old Harmar, "after our line went south, under General Wayne, just after the surrender of Cornwallis, I met some of the men who had passed through Green's campaign. They were the bitterest kind of whigs—men who had seen their houses burnt over their heads, and who could have killed and eaten all the tories they should meet. They told me many wild stories of the black doings of those traitorous rascals."

"Tell us one of them, won't you?" entreated Mrs. Harmar.

"Come, father, spin us one of those yarns, as the sailors say," added her husband. The children also became clamorous for 'a story,' and the old veteran was compelled to comply.

"Well, you shall hear. A man named Joe Bates told me how he had been used by the enemy, and how he had been revenged. He joined the southern army when Greene first took command of it, leaving his wife and two children at his farm on the banks of the Santee River. His brother, John Bates, promised to take care of the family and the farm. You see, John used to help Marion's band whenever he could spare the time—he was so anxious to do something for the good of his country, and he didn't know how else he could do it than by going off on an occasional expedition with Marion. Well, some how or other, Major Wernyss, the commander of the royalists in the neighborhood, got wind of John's freaks, and also of those of some other whig farmers, and he said he would put a stop to them. So he sent a detachment of about twenty-five men to burn the houses of the people who were suspected of being the friends of Marion. John Bates heard of their coming, and collected about ten or a dozen whigs to defend his house. He hadn't time to send the wife of Joe and his children away to a safer place, or else he thought there was no better place. However it was, they remained there. The house was barred up, and everything fixed to give the red-coats a warm reception, should they attempt to carry out their intention. The time they chose for it was a moonlight night. The neighbors could see their houses burning from the upper windows of the one where they were posted, and they kept muttering curses and threats of vengeance all the time."

"Why didn't each man stay at home, and take care of his own house?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Of what use would that have been?" returned old Harmar. "By so doing, they could not have saved any house, and would have lost the chance of punishing the red-coats for their outrages. I forgot to tell you, though, that some of the farmers had brought their wives and children to Bates', and these were all put up-stairs out of the way. The little garrison had made loop-holes on all sides of the house, and each man had his rifle and knife ready to guard the post at which he was stationed. John Bates was the captain, because he knew most about such fightin' matters; he learned it of Marion. Well, at last the garrison caught sight of the Britishers coming up steadily, the leader a little in advance. They didn't seem to suspect that any body was in the house, for they had found all the rest deserted. Still they thought it wise to be careful. They surrounded the house at their leader's command, and were getting their things ready to set fire to it, when the garrison, who had kept still as death all the time, blazed away at them from all sides. This staggered the whole party; four or five of their number were shot dead, and as many more wounded. They rallied, however, and poured a volley into the house. The garrison, under John's command, returned the fire, and seemed to have decidedly the best of the matter. Joe's wife couldn't content herself up-stairs with the women and children. She wanted to be of some use in defending her own house. She would come down and load the guns for John, while he kept a look-out on the movements of the British party. Well, she had just loaded the gun, and was handing it to John, when a bullet whizzed past him, struck her in the breast, and she fell dead. John Bates looked through the loop-hole, and caught sight of one of the red-coats running back from the house, and fired at him but missed. He saw the man's face, though, and remembered it. John then bore the corpse up-stairs. The women and children shrieked at the sight, and thus discovered to the cowardly foe where they were placed. A volley was sent through the upper part of the house, which killed one of Joe's children and wounded the wife of a neighbor. But the enemy were losing men too fast to continue the attack. I think Joe said they had lost half their party in killed and wounded, while in the house only one man was wounded. The red-coats that were left began to move off, dragging some of their wounded with them. Then the farmers threw open the doors and windows, and, giving a shout of triumph, sent a volley after them that must have done some damage."

"Didn't they start a pursuit?" inquired Higgins.

"No: John thought his party was not strong enough, and that the glory of defeating such a party of regulars was enough for once. But several of the wounded red-coats were taken. Some of the farmers wanted to kill them right off, but John wouldn't let them. He said there had been blood enough shed already, and set them at work to bury the dead. Soon after, John went to the army, and told Joe of the attack, and of the death of his wife and child. Joe swore, by the most sacred oaths, to have revenge; and made John describe the appearance of the man whom he had seen running away from the house after firing the shot that had killed Mrs. Bates. The man had peculiar features, and could not be mistaken.

"At the great Battle of Eutaw Springs, Joe was among the troops who charged with trailed arms. He came upon a man who answered the description given by John, and rushed upon him with such force that he pinned him to the ground with his bayonet, and he then drew a knife across his throat to make sure work of it. He told me that he stopped, amid a tremendous storm of grape and musketry, to take a look at the Britisher, and to be sure that he had no life in him."

"What bloody creatures war can make men," remarked young Harmar. "That man was not sure he had killed the murderer of his wife."

"It made no difference to him," replied old Harmar. "He hated the whole set, and he had no mercy on any of them. Joe Bates was a clever fellow—as warm a friend and as quiet a companion as you would wish to meet in time of peace; but he hated like he loved—with all his heart, and would go through fire and death to get at a foe."

"I believe Joe Bates' conduct was a fair specimen of that of the whole people of those parts, at that time," said Wilson. "I've been told that the whigs and tories had no mercy on each other."

"Not a bit," added old Harmar. "It seems to me that the fighting up here in the North was child's play in comparison with that in the South. Every man on the American side that went into the battle of Eutaw Springs, was so full of courage and the desire of revenge that he was equal to two common men. Greene had difficulty in restraining their ardor within the limits of prudence. I heard of Colonel Henry Lee and his legion coming up with a body of tories who were assembled to march to the British camp, and his men would slaughter them without mercy, in spite of his efforts to restrain them."

"It was a bloody time," remarked Smith.

"God grant that we may never see its like again," added Morton.

"Up this way," said Wilson, "the tories were quite peaceable and respectable; and some of them were badly treated without any reason for it. They were honest men, and differed in opinion with those who judged the Declaration of Independence and the assumption of arms, necessary measures."

"Yes," replied Higgins; "its all very well for men to differ in opinion—nobody finds fault with that; its taking up arms against their own countrymen, and opposing their country's cause, that we grumble at. We should all adopt Commodore Decatur's motto; 'Our country—right or wrong.' If she be right, our support cannot be refused; if wrong, we should endeavor to set her right, and not, by refusing our support, or by taking up arms against her, see her fall."

"Bravo!" cried Mr. Jackson Harmar. "There's the true patriotic sentiment for you. Allow me, Mr. Higgins, to shake hands with you over that sentiment."

The veteran patriot extended his hand, and received the hearty shake of the patriot of another generation.

STORY OF GENERAL WAYNE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, you see, General Lafayette was endeavoring to avoid a general action with Cornwallis, and yet to harass him. Early in July, 1781, the British army marched from Williamsburg, and encamped on the banks of the James River, so as to cover a ford leading to the island of Jamestown. Soon after, the baggage and some of the troops passed the ford, but the main army kept its ground. Lafayette then moved from his encampment, crossed the Chichahominy, pushed his light troops near the British position, and advanced with the continentals to make an attempt on the British rear, after the main body had passed the river. The next day, the Marquis was told that the main body of the British had crossed the ford, and that a rear-guard only remained behind. This was what the British general wanted him to believe, and he posted his troops ready to receive our men. Well, General Wayne, with eight hundred men, chiefly of the Pennsylvania line, (including Mr. Harmar, Mr. Higgins, Mr. Wilson, and myself,) was ordered to advance against the enemy. Now, Wayne thought he had to fight a rear-guard only, and so he moved forward boldly and rapidly; but, in a short time, he found himself directly in front of the whole British army, drawn up to receive him. Retreat was impracticable, as the enemy then might have had a fair chance to kill or capture the whole detachment. Wayne thought that the best plan was to put on a bold face, and so he commenced the attack at once. A fierce and bloody struggle followed, and I'm not sure but we were gaining the advantage, when General Lafayette discovered the mistake and ordered a retreat, and we were compelled to fall back, leaving two cannon in the hands of the enemy. By General Wayne's presence of mind and courage, you see, we got off with but the loss of one hundred men. The British lost the same number."

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

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

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

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

"Sing it," said Mr. Smith; and the request was echoed by the rest. Mr. Jackson Harmar, therefore, after sundry excuses in the usual routine—that he had a cold, &c.—sang the following words in a very emphatic manner, with an occasional break in the high notes, and huskiness in the low ones.

 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
The friend that's true, remember'd not,
And days of auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
We never can forget;
When dangers press'd, and foes drew near,
Our friend was Lafayette.
 
 
When first our fathers bravely drew
'Gainst tyrants and their laws,
On wings of generous zeal he flew
To aid the holy cause.
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.
 
 
He stemm'd the broad Atlantic wave;
He vow'd they should be free;
He led the bravest of the brave
To death or victory.
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.
Let Brandywine his glory tell,
And Monmouth loud proclaim;
Let York in triumph proudly swell
The measure of his fame.
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.
 
 
Shall sons of freedom e'er forget,
Till time shall cease to move,
The debt they owe to Lafayette
Of gratitude and love?
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c.
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STORY OF THE OUTLAW OF THE PINES

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

"It was late in December. The weather was bitter cold, and the enemy seldom stirred from their quarters to visit the interior of the State. This respite would have been refreshing to the harassed farmer, if the withdrawal of the regular troops had not left free play for the more desperate servants of King George, or others who pretended to be such. One of these pretenders was named Fagan. He was the leader of about twenty ruffians as free from any particle of human feeling as himself. There was no romance about the black character of Fagan; he was a perfect wretch; he robbed for gain, and murdered to conceal the robbery. The hiding-place of the band was in the pine barrens of New Jersey, and they thence received the name of 'the pine robbers' from the people of the country. Their violence and cruelty towards women and even children had made them the terror of all classes. The whigs charged their doings on the tories and refugees; but the robbers were against both parties. They plundered a tory in the name of the continentals, and were true to the Crown when a whig chanced to be in their power.

"Well, I'm going to tell you about one of their exploits. Not many miles from Trenton, on the road to Bordentown, was the farm-house of Nathaniel Collins, a Quaker, but who was not strict enough for his sect. He was disowned by them on account of encouraging his two sons to join the continental army, and for showing a disposition to do the same himself. He was about sixty years old at the time of which I speak, but still a large, powerful man, with the glow of health on his cheek and intelligence in his eye. Though disowned by the Quaker sect, Nathaniel Collins retained their dress, manners, and habits, and always defended them from the attacks of their enemies.

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

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

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

"'Friends, what's your will?'

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

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

'Thee's from Trenton?'

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As the command was obeyed, and the three young men, laborers on the farm, appeared and placed their guns behind the inner, their master unbolted the outer door and admitted five of the armed men—the prisoner and one of his captors remaining without. Nathaniel thought this unnecessary of so cold a night, and a little suspicious—'Will not thy companions enter also?'

"'No, thank you; he guards the prisoner.'

'But why may not the prisoner, too?' 'Pshaw! he's nothing but a deserter. The cold will be good for him.'

"'I must say,' quote Nathan, 'exercised,' as he afterwards owned, past endurance, 'thy conduct neither becomes thy nature as a man, or thy calling, which should teach thee more feeling—I'll take the poor fellow something to eat myself.'

"The old man had reached the door on his merciful errand, meaning it is true, to satisfy his curiosity at the same time, when he who had acted as leader of the party sprang from his chair, and, placing his hand on his host's breast, pushed him rudely back. 'Stand back—back, I say, and mind your own business, if you are a Quaker.'

"There was a momentary struggle in Nathan's mind, whether to knock the fellow down, as from appearances he easily might, or to yield, in obedience to his principles. 'It was strongly on his mind,' he confessed, to pursue the former course, but prudence conquered, and he quietly withdrew to the upper end of the apartment, where his men lounged on a bench, apparently half asleep, and indistinctly visible in the light of the fire and one small candle, which burned near the strangers. In the interim, the old cook had been summoned, and had arranged some cold provisions on the table. 'Old Annie,' the cook, was the child of Indian and mulatto parents, but possessed none of the features of her darker relation, except a capacious mouth and lips to match. She refused to associate with either negroes or Indians, considering herself as belonging to neither, and indulging a sovereign contempt for both. Her favorite term of reproach was 'Injin' and 'nigger,' and when they failed separately to express her feelings, she put the two together, a compliment always paid the Hessians, when she had occasion to mention them. A party of these marauders had, on a visit to her master's house, stolen her fall's store of sausages; thenceforth she vowed eternal hatred to the race—a vow she never forgot to the day of her death.

"The strangers ate their repast, showing anything but confidence in their entertainer, and ate, each man with his gun resting on his shoulder. During the whole meal, he who called himself their captain was uneasy and restless. For some time, he appeared to be engaged in a very close scrutiny of the household, who occupied the other end of the kitchen—a scrutiny which, owing to the darkness, could not yield him much satisfaction. He then whispered anxiously and angrily with his men, who answered in a dogged, obstinate fashion, that evidently displeased him; till, finally, rising from his seat, he bade them follow, and scarcely taking time to thank Nathan for his food and fire, passed out of the door and made from the house.

"'Well, now, that beats me!' said Elnathan, as he and his comrades looked at each other in astonishment at the abrupt departure and singular conduct of their guests.

"'That are a queer lark, any how!' responded John; 'it beats all natur'.'

''The Injins,' said Ann. 'If that is not Fagan or some of his gang, never trust me!—why did you not give them a shot, the 'tarnal thieves?'

"But our household troop were too glad to get rid of their visitors to interrupt their retreat. The house was secured again, the men had thrown themselves down, and some of them were already asleep, when another knock at the same door brought them as one man to their feet. On opening the door, a laborer attached to a neighboring farm presented himself, breathless from haste, and almost dead with fear. When he so far recovered his speech as to be able to tell his story, he proved to be the man whom the pretended militia-men had brought with them as a prisoner, and his captors were found to be no less than Fagan and a portion of his band. They had that night robbed five different houses before they attempted our Friend's. Aware that his sons were from home, they expected to find the old man unsupported, but having gained admission into the house, they were surprised at the appearance of three additional men. Fagan, however, was bent upon completing his enterprise in spite of all opposition; but his followers obstinately refused. At the foot of the avenue a bitter quarrel ensued, Fagan taxing his men with cowardice; but the fear of pursuit silenced them at length. The next question was, how to dispose of their prisoner, whom they had seized in one of their 'affairs,' and, for want of some means of securing him, brought with them. Fagan, as the shortest way, proposed, as he had before, to cut his throat; but the proposal was overruled as unnecessary. He was unbound, and, upon his solemn promise to return without giving the alarm, one of the band returned him his silver and a little money they had abstracted from his chest. In consideration whereof he made to the nearest house and gave the alarm, impelled by instinct more than anything else.

"Suddenly, the man's narrative was interrupted by an explosion of fire-arms, which broke upon the clear, frosty night, and startled even Nathan. Another and another followed before a word was uttered.