Part 10

"I heard since, that it was nine hundred and thirty-four men, including killed, wounded, and prisoners," replied Ransom. "I recollect we buried two hundred and seven of them. Our own loss was one hundred killed, and about the same number wounded. Besides the prisoners, we took four pieces of brass cannon, more than two hundred and fifty swords, several hundred muskets, several brass drums, and four ammunition wagons. So you see, we had plenty of plunder."

"I suppose the men were not allowed to take any thing but the swords and muskets," said Kinnison.

"Yes, the baggage fell to us," said Ransom, "and all the fixins of the German camp; the cannon, drums, wagons and standards were not taken away."

"I guess that was one of the completest victories ever gained," said Kinnison. "Only to think of militia flogging regulars in that style. What could the enemy expect from our regulars?"

"There's as much credit due to General Stark for that victory, as was ever given to him or as we could give to a general," said Ransom. "If he had not taken command of the troops, there would have been very little resistance to Baum's advance. The plan of attack was formed with great skill, and the general went into the battle with the determination to win it or leave his body on the field. Such a man as John Stark would make soldiers out of cowards."

Mr. Hand here proposed three cheers for General Stark and his Green Mountain Boys, and they were given with a hearty will. One of the young men then announced that he had a song, which had been sung at an anniversary of the battle of Bennington, and which he would now sing, if the company wished it. Of course, the company did wish it, and the young gentleman sang the following words:--

Remember the glories of patriots brave, Though the days of the heroes are o'er; Long lost to their country and cold in their grave, They return to their kindred no more, The stars of the field, which in victory pour'd Their beams on the battle are set, But enough of their glory remains on each sword To light us to victory yet.

Walloomsack! when nature embellished the tint Of thy fields and mountains so fair, Did she ever intend a tyrant should print The footsteps of slavery there! No! Freedom, whose smiles we shall never resign, Told those who invaded our plains, That 't is sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Than to sleep for a moment in chains.

Forget not the chieftain of Hampshire, who stood In the day of distress by our side; Nor the heroes who nourished the fields with their blood, Nor the rights they secured as they died. The sun that now blesses our eyes with his light, Saw the martyrs of liberty slain; O, let him not blush when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain!

Brown and Hanson had prepared their instruments during the singing, and immediately followed it with Washington's march, to which knives and forks kept time.

"An incident occurred just after the battle of Bennington, which showed the spirit of the people of the neighbourhood," said Ransom, when the musicians had concluded. "Old Zedekiah Bleeker, who lived in Bennington, sent five bold sons to join our little army, just before the battle. One of them--Sam. Bleeker--was killed; and one of the old man's neighbours came to tell him about it--'Mr. Bleeker,' said the neighbour, 'your son has been unfortunate.' 'What!' said the old man, 'has he misbehaved? Did he desert his post or shrink from the charge?' 'Worse than that,' replied the neighbour; 'he was slain, but he was fighting nobly.' 'Then I am satisfied,' said the old man; 'bring him to me.' Sam's body was brought home. The old man wiped the blood from the wound, and while a tear stood in his eye, said it was the happiest day of his life, to know that he had five sons fighting for freedom and one slain for the same cause. There was a spirit of patriotism for you."

"I can tell you of an instance quite as good," said old John Warner. "Perhaps it is better; for in this instance, a woman displayed the like spirit. A good lady in 1775, lived on the sea-board, about a day's march from Boston, where the British army then was. By some unaccountable accident, a rumour was spread, in town and country, in and about there, that the Regulars were on a full march for the place, and would probably arrive in three hours at farthest. This was after the battle of Lexington, and all, as might be well supposed, was in sad confusion--some were boiling with rage and full of fight, some with fear and confusion, some hiding their treasures, and others flying for life. In this wild moment, when most people in some way or other, were frightened from their propriety, our heroine, who had two sons, one about nineteen years of age, and the other about sixteen, was seen preparing them to discharge their duty. The eldest she was able to equip in fine style--she took her husband's fowling-piece, 'made for duck or plover,' (the good man being absent on a coasting voyage to Virginia) and with it the powder-horn and shot-bag; but the lad thinking the duck and goose shot not quite the size to kill regulars, his mother took a chisel, cut up her pewter spoons, and hammered them into slugs, and put them into his bag, and he set off in great earnest, but thought he would call one moment and see the parson, who said, well done, my brave boy--God preserve you--and on he went in the way of his duty. The youngest was importunate for his equipments, but his mother could find nothing to arm him with but an old rusty sword; the boy seemed rather unwilling to risk himself with this alone, but lingered in the street, in a state of hesitation, when his mother thus upbraided him. 'You John Haines, what will your father say if he hears that a child of his is afraid to meet the British: go along; beg or borrow a gun, or you will find one, child--some coward, I dare say, will be running away, then take his gun and march forward, and if you come back and I hear you have not behaved like a man, I shall carry the blush of shame on my face to the grave.' She then shut the door, wiped the tear from her eye, and waited the issue; the boy joined the march. Such a woman could not have cowards for her sons."

"I heard of many such instances," said Kinnison; "such a spirit was common at the time, not only in New England, but throughout the States. Look at the noble conduct of some of the people of New Jersey, during Washington's retreat, and afterwards. The women did all they could to lessen the sufferings of the men, and many an old man wanted to join the army, knowing how much he would have to endure."

THE CAPTURE OF GENERAL SULLIVAN.

"The women were all right during the Revolution," said Pitts. "I can tell you of an instance in which a woman displayed both patriotism and wisdom, though it may be rather a long story."

"Oh! the longer the better," said Hand.

"Very well," said Pitts, "I'll tell you about it, as near as I can recollect. One night, while the British army was encamped on Long Island, a party of the redcoats, galled by the death of Major Andre, formed a plan to cross over to the Connecticut side and capture General Sullivan, who commanded some of the Americans stationed there, and hold him in revenge for Andre's death.

"It was a hazardous project, but four bold men pledged themselves to undertake it. John Hartwell, a brave young officer was selected as their leader.

"Soon as arranged they proceeded to a boat, and made the best progress they could across the river; on gaining the shore, they made for a small clump of underwood, where they lay concealed, until they noted what direction it was best to take.

"Here too may be seen the tents where repose the brave men who have sworn to protect their homes and country, or die in its defence against the invaders, who seek to control their free rights. Near may be seen a spacious farm house, the abode of General Sullivan--the brave soldier and faithful friend--who now slept, unconscious of danger. Through some neglect, the sentinels on duty had wandered from their posts, never dreaming it possible that any one would risk a landing, or could pass the tents unobserved. By a circuitous route they gained the house, and here the faithful watch-dog gave the alarm; a blow soon silenced him; and ascending the piazza, Captain Hartwell opened the casement, and followed by his men, stepped lightly into the sitting-room of the family.

"They now struck a light, and with caution proceeded on their search--they passed through several apartments, while, strange to relate, the inmates slept on, unconscious of this deed of darkness.

"They at length reached the General's room--two of the men remained outside, while Captain Hartwell, with another officer, entered, and stood in silence, musing on the scene before them.

"A night-lamp burnt in the room, dimly revealing the face of the sleepers--whose unprotected situation could not but awake a feeling of pity even in their callous hearts.

"'Jack,' whispered his companion, 'by heaven I wish this part of the business had been entrusted to some one else--I could meet this man face to face, life for life, in the field of battle--but this savors too much of cowardice.'

"'Hold your craven tongue, Low,' answered Captain Hartwell, 'perform your part of the play, or let some one else take your place--you forget the scrape we are in at the least alarm. We might happen to salute the rising sun from one of the tallest trees on the General's farm--an idea far from pleasing.'

"'For my part, I could wish myself back on Long Island--but our general expects every man to do his duty--let yours be to prevent that female from screaming, while I secure her husband.'

"The ear of woman is quick, and from their entering the room, not a word had escaped Mrs. Sullivan. At first she could scarce refrain from calling out, but her uncommon strength of mind enabled her to master her fear--she scarce knew what to think: her husband's life, herself and family, were at stake, and her courage rose in proportion as her sense of danger increased.

"She scarcely dared to breathe, and even the infant at her breast seemed to partake of its mother's anxiety, and nestled closer to her bosom.