 17 On the track of a traitor. While Major Andre was dying the death of a spy, General Arnold, his tempter and betrayer, was living the life of a cherished traitor in the midst of the British army at New York. This was a state of affairs far from satisfactory to the American authorities. The tool had suffered, the schemer had escaped. Could Arnold be captured and made to pay the penalty of his treason, it would be a sharp lesson of retribution to any who might feel disposed to follow his base example. Washington had sent his secret correspondents in New York, and from them had learned that Arnold was living in quarters adjoining those of Sir Henry Clinton, at but a short distance from the river, and apparently with no thought of or precaution against danger. It might be possible to seize him and carry him away bodily from the midst of his new friends. Sending for Major Henry Lee a brave and shrewd cavalry leader, Washington broached to him this important matter, and submitted a plan of action which seemed to him to promise success. It is a delicate and dangerous project, he said. Which depends on our finding an ancient fit for such hazardous work. You may have the man in your core. Whoever volunteers for this duty will lay me under the greatest personal obligation, and may expect an ample reward, but no time is to be lost. He must proceed if possible to-night. Not only courage and daring, but very peculiar talent are needed for such an enterprise, said Lee. I have plenty of brave men, but can think of only one whom I can recommend for such a duty as this. His name is John Champ. His rank Sergeant Major, but there is one serious obstacle in the way. He must appear to desert, and I fear that Champ has too high a sense of military honor for that. Try him, said Washington. The service he will do to his country far outweighs anything he can do in the ranks. Rumor says that other officers of high rank are ready to follow Arnold's example. If we can punish this traitor, he will have no imitators. I can try, answered Lee. I may succeed. Champ is not without ambition, and the object to be attained is a great one. I may safely promise him the promotion which he ardently desires. That will be but part of his reward, said Washington. Lee sent for Champ. There entered in response a young man, large and muscular of build, sadder-nine of countenance, a grave, thoughtful, silent person, safe to trust with a secret, for his words were few, his sense of honor high. In all the army there was not his superior, in courage and persistence, in anything he should undertake. It was no agreeable surprise to the worthy fellow to learn what he was desired to do. The plan was an admirable one, he admitted. It promised the best results. He did not care for the peril, and was ready to venture on anything that would not involve his honor, but to desert from his core to win the scorn and detestation of his fellows to seem to play the traitor to his country. These were serious obstacles. He begged to be excused. Lee combated his objections. Success promised honor to himself and to his core, the gratitude of his country, the greatest service to his beloved commander-in-chief. Desertion for such a purpose carried with it no dishonor, and any stain upon his character would vanish when the truth became known. The conference was a long one. In the end Lee's arguments proved efficacious, champ-yielded, and promised to undertake the mission. The necessary instructions had already been prepared by Washington himself. The chosen agent was to deliver letters to two persons in New York who were in Washington's confidence and who would lend him their assistance. He was to use his own judgment in procuring aid for the capture of Arnold, and to lay such plans as circumstances should suggest, and he was strictly enjoined not to kill the traitor under any circumstances. All this settled, the question of the difficulties in the way arose. Between the American camp and the British outpost were many pickets and patrols. Parties of marauding patriots like those that had seized Andre might be in the way. Against these Lee could offer no aid. The desertion must seem a real one. All he could do would be to delay pursuit. For the rest, champ must trust to his own skill and daring. Eleven o'clock was the hour fixed. At that hour the worthy sergeant, taking his cloak, valise, and orderly book, and with three guineas in his pocket which Lee had given him, secretly mounted his horse and slipped quietly from the camp. Lee immediately went to bed, and seemingly to sleep, though he had never been more wide awake. A half hour passed, then a heavy tread was heard outside the major's quarters, and a loud knock came upon his door. It was some time before he could be aroused. "'Who's there?' he asked, in sleepy tones. "'It is I, Captain Carnes,' was the reply. I am here for orders. One of our patrols has just fallen in with a dragoon, who put spurs to his horse on being challenged and fled at full speed. He is a deserter, and must be pursued.' Lee still seemed half asleep. He questioned the officer in a drowsy way, effecting not to understand him. When at length the captain's purpose was made clear to his seemingly drowsy wits, Lee ridiculed the idea that one of his men had deserted. Such a thing had happened but once during the whole war he could not believe it possible. "'It has happened now,' persisted Captain Carnes. The fellow is a deserter, and must be pursued. Lee still effected incredulity, and was with difficulty brought to order that the whole squadron should be mustered to see if any of them were missing. This done there was no longer room for doubt or delay. Champ the sergeant-major was gone, and with him his arms, baggage, and orderly book. Captain Carnes ordered that pursuit should be made at once. Here, too, Lee made such delay as he could without arousing suspicion, and when the pursuing party was ready he changed its command, giving it to Lieutenant Middleton, a tender-hearted young man whom he could trust to treat Champ mercifully if he should be overtaken. These various delays had the desired effect. By the time the party started Champ had been an hour on the road. It was past twelve o'clock of a starry night when Middleton and his men took the horse and galloped away on the track of the deserter. It was a plain track, unluckily, a trail that a child might have followed. There had been a shower at sunset sharp enough to wash out all previous hoof marks from the road. The footprints of a single horse were all that now appeared. In addition to this, the horseshoes of Lee's Legion had a private mark by which they could be readily recognized. There could be no question those footprints were made by the horse of the deserter. Here was a contingency unlooked for by Lee. The pursuit could be pushed on at full speed. At every fork or crossroad a trooper sprang quickly from his horse and examined the trail. It needed but a glance to discover what road had been taken. On they went with scarce a moment's loss of time and with sure knowledge that they were on the fugitive's track. At sunrise the pursuing party found themselves at the top of a ridge in the road, near the three pigeons, a roadside tavern several miles north of the village of Bergen. Looking ahead their eyes fell on the form of the deserter. He was but half a mile in advance. They had gained on him greatly during the night. At the same moment champ perceived them. Both parties spurred their horses to greater speed and away went fugitive and pursuers at a rattling pace. The roads in that vicinity were well known to them all. There was a shortcut through the woods from near the three pigeons to the bridge below Bergen. Middleton sent part of his men by this route to cut off the fugitive while he followed the main road with the rest. He felt sure now that he had the deserter, for he could not reach the British outposts without crossing the bridge. They went. No long time elapsed before the two divisions met at the bridge, but champ was not between them. The trap had been sprung, but had failed to catch its game. He had in some strange manner disappeared. What was to be done? How had he eluded them? Middleton rode hastily back to Bergen and inquired if a dragoon had passed through the village that morning. Yes, and not long ago. Which way did he go? That we cannot say. No one took notice. Middleton examined the road. Other horses had been out that morning, and the lee-core footprint was no longer to be seen. But at a short distance from the village the trail again became legible and the pursuit was resumed. In a few minutes champ was discovered. He had reached a point near the water's edge and was making signals to certain British galleys which lay in the stream. The truth was that the fugitive knew of the shortcut quite as well as his pursuers and had shrewdly judged that they would take it and endeavour to cut him off before he could reach the enemy's lines at Paulus Hook. He knew besides that two of the king's galleys lay in the bay, a mile from Bergen, and in front of the small settlement of Communipaw. Hither he directed his course, lashing his valise as he went upon his back. Champ now found himself in imminent peril of capture. There had been no response from the galleys to his signals. The pursuers were close at hand and pushing forward with shouts of triumph. Soon they were about a few hundred yards away. There was but one hope left. Champ sprang from his horse, flung away the scabbard of his sword, and with the naked blade in his hand, ran across the marshy ground before him, leaped into the waters of the bay, and swam lustily for the galleys, calling loudly for help. A boat had just before left the side of the nearest galley. As the pursuers reigned up their horses by the side of the marsh, the fugitive was hauled in and was swiftly rode back to the ship. Middleton, disappointed in his main object, took the horse, cloak, and scabbard of the fugitive and returned with them to camp. He has not been killed, asked Lee hastily on seeing these articles. No, the rascal gave us the slip. He is safely on a British galley, and this is all we have to show. A few days afterwards, Lee received a letter from Champ in a disguised hand and without a signature, transmitted through a secret channel which had been arranged, telling of his success up to this point and what he proposed to do. As it appeared, the seeming deserter had been well received in New York. The sharpness of the pursuit and the orderly book which he bore seemed satisfactory proofs of his sincerity of purpose. The captain of the galley sent him to New York with a letter to Sir Henry Clinton. Clinton was glad to see him. For a deserter to come to him from a legion so faithful to the rebel cause as that of Major Lee, seemed in evidence that the American side was rapidly weakening. He questioned Champ closely. The taciturn deserter answered him briefly but with such a show of sincerity as to win his confidence. The interview ended in Clinton's giving him a couple of guineas and bidding him to call on General Arnold, who was forming a corps of loyalists and deserters, and who would be glad to have his name on his rolls. This suggestion hit Champ's views exactly. He was what had been calculated upon by Washington in advance. The seeming deserter called upon Arnold, who received him courteously and gave him quarters among his recruiting sergeants. He asked him to join his legion, but Champ declined, saying that if caught by the rebels in this corps, he was sure to be hanged. A few days suffice the secret agent to lay his plans. He delivered the letters which had been given him, and made arrangements with one of the parties written to for aid in the proposed abduction of Arnold. This done, he went to Arnold, told him that he had changed his mind, and agreed to enlist in his legion. His purpose now was to gain free intercourse with him, that he might learn all that was possible about his habits. Arnold's quarters were at number three Broadway. Back of the house was a garden which extended towards the water's edge. Champ soon learned that it was Arnold's habit to seek his quarters about midnight, and that before going to bed he always visited the garden. Adjoining this garden was a dark alley which led to the street. In short, all the surroundings and circumstances were adapted to the design, and seemed to promise success. The plan was well laid. Two patriotic accomplices were found. One of them was to have a boat in readiness by the Riverside. On the night fixed upon, they were to conceal themselves in Arnold's garden at midnight, seize and gag him when he came out for his nightly walk, and take him by way of the alley, and of unfrequented streets in the vicinity, to the adjoining Riverside. In case of meeting any one and being questioned, it was a strange that they should profess to be carrying a drunken soldier to the guardhouse. Once in the boat, Hoboken could quickly be reached. Here, assistance from Lee's corps had been arranged for. The plot was a promising one. Champ prepared for it by removing some of the palings between the garden and the alley. These he replaced in such a way that they could be taken out again without noise. All being arranged, he wrote to Lee and told him that on the third night from that date, if all went well, the trader would be delivered upon the Jersey shore. He must be present at an appointed place in the woods at Hoboken to receive him. This information gave Lee the greatest satisfaction. On the nighting question, he left camp with a small party, taking with him three lead horses for the prisoner and his captors, and at midnight sought the appointed spot. Here he waited with slowly declining hope. Hour after hour passed, the gray light of dawn appeared in the east. The sun rose over the waters, yet Champ and his prisoner failed to appear. Deeply disappointed, Lee led his party back to camp. The cause of the failure may be told in a few words. It was a simple one. The nearest chance saved Arnold from the fate which he so richly merited. This was that on the very day which Champ had fixed for the execution of his plot, Arnold changed his quarters, his purpose being to attend to the embarkation of an expedition to the south, which was to be under his command. In a few days, Lee received a letter from his agent telling the cause of failure and saying that at present success was hopeless. In fact, Champ found himself unexpectedly in an awkward situation. Arnold's American legion was to form part of this expedition. Champ had enlisted in it. He was caught in a trap of his own setting. Instead of crossing the Hudson that night with Arnold's prisoner, he found himself on board a British transport with Arnold as his commander. He was in for the war on the British side, forced to face his fellow countrymen in the field. We need not tell the story of Arnold's expedition to Virginia with the brutal incidents which history relates concerning it. It will suffice to say that Champ formed part of it, all his efforts to desert proving fruitless. It may safely be said that no bullet from his musket reached the American ranks, but he was forced to brave death from the hands of those with whom alone he was in sympathy. Not until Arnold's corps had reached Cornwallis at Petersburg did its unwilling recruits succeed in escaping. Taking to the mountains he made his way into North Carolina and was not long in finding himself among friends. His old corps was in that state, taking part in the pursuit of Lord Rodden. It had just passed the Congruy in this pursuit, when greatly to the surprise of his old comrades the deserter appeared in their ranks. Their surprise was redoubled when they saw Major Lee receive him with the utmost cordiality. A few minutes suffice to change their surprise to admiration. There was no longer occasion for secrecy. Champ's story was told and was received with the utmost enthusiasm by his old comrades. So this was the man they had pursued so closely, this man who had been seeking to put the arch-trader within their hands. John Champ, they declared, was a comrade to be proud of, and his promotion to a higher rank was the plain duty of the military authorities. Washington knew too well, however, what would be the fate of his late agent, if taken by the enemy, to subject him to this peril. He would have been immediately hanged. Champ was therefore discharged from the service after having been richly rewarded by the commander-in-chief. When Washington, seventeen years afterwards, was preparing against the threatened war with the French, he sent to Lee for information about Champ, whom he desired to make a captain of infantry. He was too late. The gallant sergeant-major had joined a higher corps. He had enlisted in the grand army of the dead. CHAPTER XVIII. Our story takes us back to the summer of 1780. A summer of war, suffering, and outrage in the states of the south. General Gates, at the head of the army of the south, was marching towards Camden, South Carolina, filled with inflated hopes of meeting and defeating Cornwallis. How this hopeful general was himself defeated, and how in consequence the whole country south of Virginia fell under British control, history relates. We are not here concerned with it. Gates's army had crossed the Petty River and was pushing southward. During its march, a circumstance occurred which gave great amusement to the trimmed soldiery. They joined the army, a volunteer detachment of about 20 men, such a heterogeneous and woe-begon corps that Falstaff himself might have hesitated before enlisting them. They were a mosaic of whites and blacks, men and boys, their clothes, tatters, their equipment's burlesques on military array, their horses, for they were all mounted, parodies on the noble war-charger. At the head of this motley array was a small-sized, thin-faced, modest-looking man. His uniform's superior to that of his men, but no model of neatness, yet with a flashing spirit in his eye that admonished the amused soldiers not to laugh at his men in his presence. Behind his back they laughed enough. The Petty volunteers were a source of ridicule to the well-clad Continentals that might have caused trouble had not the officers used every effort to repress it. As for Gates, he offered no welcome to this ragged squad. The leader modestly offered him some advice about the military condition of the south, but the general in command was clothed in too dense an armor of conceit to be opened to advise from any quarter, certainly not from the leader of such a false staffee and company, and he was glad enough to get rid of him by sending him on a scouting expedition in advance of the army to watch the enemy and report his movements. This service precisely suited him to whom it was given, for this small, non-intrusive personage was no less a man than Francis Marion, then but little known, but destined to become the Robin Hood of partisan warriors, the celebrated swamp fox of historical romance and romantic history. Marion had appeared with the title of Colonel. He left the army with the rank of general. Governor Rutledge, who was present, knew him and his worth, gave him a Brigadier's commission, and authorized him to enlist a brigade for guerrilla work in the swamps and forests of the state. Thus, raised in rank, Marion marched away with his motley crew of followers. They doubtless greatly elevated indignity to feel that they had a general at their head. The army indulged in a broad laugh after they had gone at Marion's miniature brigade of Scarecrows. They laughed at the wrong man, for after their proud array was broken and scattered to the winds, and the region they had marched to relieve had become the prey of the enemy, that modest partisan alone was to keep alive the fire of liberty in South Carolina, and so annoy the victors that in the end they hardly dared show their faces out of the forts. The swamp fox was to pave the way for the reconquest of the south by the brave general Green. No long time elapsed before Marion increased his disreputable score to a brigade of more respectable proportions, with which he struck such quick and telling blows from all sides on the British Entorys that no nest of hornets could have more dismay than a rotting party of boys. The swamps of the petty were his headquarters. In their interminable and thicket hidden depths he found hiding places in abundance, and from them he made rapid darts north, south, east, and west, making his presence felt wherever he appeared, and flying back to shelter before his pursuers could overtake him. His core was constantly changing, now swelling, now shrinking, now little larger than his original ragged score, now grown to a company of a hundred or more in dimensions. It was always small. The swamps could not furnish shelter and food for any large body of men. Marion's headquarters were at Snow's Island, at the point where Lynch's Creek joins the petty river. There was a region of high river swamp, thickly forested and abundantly supplied with game. The camp was on dry land, but around it spread broad reaches of wet thicket and cane break, whose paths were known only to the partisans, and their secrets sedulously preserved. As regards the mode of life here of Marion and his men, there is an anecdote which will picture it better than pages of description. A young British officer was sent from Georgetown to treat with Marion for an exchange of prisoners. The swamp fox fully approved of the interview, being ready enough to rid himself of his captives, who were a burden on his hands. But he was too shrewd to lay bare the ways that led to his camp. The officer was blindfolded and led by devious paths through cane break, thicket, and forest to the hidden camp. On the removal of the bandage from his eyes, he looked about him with admiration and surprise. He found himself in a scene worthy of Robin Hood's Woodland Band. Above him spread the boughs of magnificent trees laden with drooping moss, and hardly letting a ray of sunlight through their crowding foliage. Around him rose their massive trunks like the columns of some vast cathedral. On the grassy or moss-clad ground sat or lay groups of hearty-looking men, no two of them dressed alike and with none of the neat appearance of the uniformed soldiers. More remote were their horses, cropping the short herbage in equine contentment. It looked like a camp of forest outlaws, jovial tenants of the Mary Greenwood. The surprise of the officer was not lessened when his eyes fell on Marion, whom he had never seen before. It may be that he expected to gaze on a burly giant. As it was, he could scarcely believe that this diminutive, quiet-looking man and this handful of ill-dressed and lounging followers were the celebrated band who had thrown the whole British power in the South into alarm. Marion addressed him, and a conference ensued in which their business was quickly arranged to their mutual satisfaction. And now, my dear sir, said Marion, I should be glad to have you dying with me. You have fasted during your journey and will be the better for a woodland repast. With pleasure, replied the officer, it will be a new and pleasant experience. He looked around him. Where was the dining-room? Where, at least, was the table on which their midday repast was to be spread? Where were the dishes and the other paraphernalia which civilization demands as the essentials of a modern dinner? Where? His eyes found no answer to this mental question. Marion looked at him with a smile. We dine here in simple style, Captain. He remarked, Pray, be seated. He took his seat on a mossy log and pointed to an opposite one for the officer. A minute or two afterwards the camp purveyor made his appearance, bearing a large piece of bark on which smoked some roasted sweet potatoes. They came from a fire of brushwood, blazing at a distance. Help yourself, Captain, said Marion, taking a swollen and brown-coated potato from the impromptu platter, breaking it in half and beginning to eat with a forest appetite. The officer looked at the vions and at his host with eyes of wonder. Surely, General, he exclaimed, this cannot be your ordinary fare. Indeed it is, said Marion, and we are fortunate on this occasion having company to entertain to have more than our usual allowance. The officer had little more to say. He helped himself to the rural vions which he ate with thought for salt. On returning to Georgetown he gave in his report and then tendered his commission to his superior officer, saying that a people who could fight on routes for fare could not be and ought not to be subdued and that he for one would not serve against them. Of the exploits of Marion we can but speak briefly. They were too many to be given in detail. His blows were so sharply dealt in such quick succession and at such remote points that his foes were puzzled and could hardly believe that a single band was giving them all this trouble. Their annoyance culminated in their sending one of their best cavalry leaders, Colonel Weymous, to surprise and crush the swamp fox, then far from his hiding place. Weymous got on Marion's trail and pursued him with impetuous haste, but the wary patriot was not to be easily surprised, nor would he fight where he had no chance to win. North would he swiftly made his way through swamps and across deep streams into North Carolina. Weymous lost his trail, found it, lost it again, and finally discouraged and revengeful turned back and desolated the country from which he had driven its active defender and which was looked on as the hotbed of rebellion. Marion, who had but sixty men in his band, halted the moment pursuit ceased, sent out scouts for information, and in a very short time was back in the desolated district. The people rushed with horse and rifle to his ranks. Swiftly he sped to the black mingo below Georgetown and here fell at midnight on a large body of Tories with such vigor and success that the foe were almost annihilated, while Marion lost but a single man. The devoted band now had a short period of rest, the British being discouraged and depressed. Then Tarleton, the celebrated hard-riding marauder, took upon himself the difficult task of crushing the swamp fox. He scoured the country spreading ruin as he went, but all of his skill and impetuosity were useless in the effort to overtake Marion. The patriot leader was not even to be driven from his chosen region of operations, and he managed to give his pursuer some unwelcome reminders of his presence. At times Tarleton would be within a few miles of him and full of hope of overtaking him before the next day is dawn, but while he was thus lulled to security, Marion would be watching him from the shadows of some dark morass, and at midnight the British rear or flank would feel the sharp bite of the swamp fox's teeth. In the comforted from the pursuit, with more hard words against this fellow who would not fight like a gentleman or a Christian, then he had ever been able to give him hard blows. Tarleton withdrawn, Marion resumed all his old activity, his audacity reaching the extent of making an attack on the British garrison at Georgetown. This was performed in conjunction with Major Lee, who had been sent by General Green to Marion's aid. Lee had no trouble to find him. The active partisan was so constantly moving about, now in deep swamps, now far from his lurking places, that friend and foe alike were puzzled to trace his movements. They met at last, however, and made a midnight attack on Georgetown, unsuccessful as it proved, yet sufficient to redouble the alarm of the enemy. In the spring of 1780 we find Colonel Watson, with a force of five hundred men, engaged in the difficult task of crushing Marion. He found him, unlike the predecessors, but as it proved to his own cost. Marion was now at Snow's Island, whence he emerged to strike a quick succession of blows at such different points that he appeared to be ubiquitous. His force met that of Watson unexpectedly, and a fight ensued. Watson had the advantage of field pieces, and Marion was obliged to fall back. Reaching a bridge over the Black River, he checked his pursuers with telling volleys long enough to burn the bridge. Then a peculiar contest took place. The two forces marched down the stream, one on each side, for ten miles, skirmishing across the water, all the way. Darkness ended the fight. The two camps were pitched near together. For ten days Watson remained there, not able to get at Marion, and so annoyed by the constant raids of his active foe, that in the end he made a midnight flight to escape destruction in detail. Marion pursued and did him no small damage in the flight. Watson's only solace was the remark already quoted, that his troublesome foe would not fight like a gentleman or a Christian. Major Lee tells an amusing story of an incident that happened to himself on his march in search of Marion. He had encamped for the night on drowning creek, a branch of the petty. As morning approached, word was brought to the officer of the day that noises were heard in front of the pickets, in the direction of the creek. They seemed like the stealthy movements of men. Now a sentinel fired. The bugle sounded for the horse patrols to come in, and the whole force was quickly got ready for the coming enemy. But no enemy appeared. Soon after another sentinel fired, and word came that an unseen foe was moving in the swamp. The troops faced in this direction and waited anxiously for the coming of dawn. Suddenly the line of sentinels in their rear fire in succession. The enemy had undoubtedly gained the road behind them, and were marching on them from that direction. The line again faced round. Lee went along it, telling his men that there was nothing left but to fight, and bidding them to sustain the high reputation which they had long since won. The cavalry were ordered not to pursue a flying force, for the country was well suited for concealment, and they might be tempted into an ambuscade. When day broke, the whole column advanced with great caution, infantry in front, baggage in center, cavalry in rear. Where was the foe? None appeared. The van officer carefully examined the road for an enemy's trail. To his surprise and amusement he found only the tracks of a large pack of wolves. These animals had been attempting to pass the camp at point after point, turned from each point by the fire of the sentinels, and trying the line on all sides. Great merriment followed, in which Pickett's patrols and the officer of the day were made the butt of the ridicule of the whole force. We shall close with one interesting story in which Marion played the leading part, but which is distinguished by an example of womanly patriotism worthy of the highest praise. The mansion of Mrs. Rebecca Mott, a rich widow of South Carolina, had been taken possession of by the British authorities, she being obliged to take up her residence in a farmhouse on her lands. The large mansion was converted into a fort and surrounded by a deep ditch and a high parapet. A garrison of one hundred and fifty men under Captain McPherson was stationed here, the place being renamed Fort Mott. This stronghold was attacked in May 1781 by Marion and Lee, then in conjunction. Lee took position at the farmhouse and posted his men on the declivity of the plane on which the fort stood. Marion cast up a mound, placed on at the six pounder they had brought with them, and prepared to assail the parapet while Lee made his approaches. McPherson had no artillery. Their approaches were made by a trench from an adjacent ravine. In a few days they were near enough to be justified in demanding a surrender. McPherson refused. The same evening word reached the Americans that Lord Rodden was approaching. On the following night the light of his campfires could be seen on the neighboring hills of the Santis. The garrison saw them as well as the assailants and were filled with renewed hope. What was to be done? The besiegers must succeed quickly or retreat. Lee was not long in devising an expedient. The mansion of Mrs. Mott was shingled and the shingles very dry. There had been no rain for several days and the sun had poured its rays warmly upon them. They might be set on fire. Lee suggested this to Mrs. Mott, with much dread as to how she would receive it. Her acquiescence was so cheerful that his mind was relieved. The patriotic woman expressed herself as ready to make any sacrifice for her country. Lee told his plan to Marion, who warmly approved it. It was proposed to do the work by means of arrows carrying flaming combustibles. As it proved, however, the only bows and arrows they could find in the camp were very inferior articles. They will never do, said Mrs. Mott. I can provide you with much better. I have in the house an excellent bow and bundle of arrows which came from the East Indies. They are at your service. She hastened from the room and quickly returned with the weapons which she handed to Lee as cheerfully as though she looked for some special benefit to herself from their use. Word was sent to McPherson of what was intended and that Rodden had not yet crossed the sand-tea. Immediate surrender would save many lives. The bold commandant still refused. At midday from the shelter of the ditch, Nathan Savage, one of Marion's men, shot several flaming arrows at the roof. Two of them struck the dry shingles. Almost instantly these were in a flame. The fire crept along the roof. Soldiers were sent up to extinguish it, but a shot or two from the field piece drove them down. There was no longer hope for McPherson. He must surrender or have his men burned in the fort, or decimated if they should leave it. He hung out the white flag of surrender. The firing ceased, the flames were extinguished. At one o'clock the garrison yielded themselves prisoners. An hour afterwards the victorious and the captive officers were seated and an ample repast at Mrs. Mott's table, presided over by that lady with as much urbanity and grace as though these guests were her special friends. Since that day Mrs. Mott has been classed among the most patriotic heroines of the revolution. This is perhaps enough in prose, but the fame of Marian and his men has been fitly enshrined in poetry, and it will not be a mist to quote a verse or two, in conclusion, from Bryant's stirring poem entitled Song of Marian's Men. Our band is few, but true and tried, our leader, Frank and Bold. The British soldier trembles when Marian's name is told. Our fortress is the good green wood, our tent, the cypress tree. We know the forest round us, as seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marian leads, the glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds, to his life to guide the fiery barb across the moonlit plain, to his life to feel the night wind that lifts his tossing mane, a moment in the British camp, a moment and away, back to the pathless forest before the people of day. Grave men they are by broad sandy, grave men with hoary hairs, their hearts are all with Marian, for Marian are their prayers, and lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, with smiles like those of summer and tears like those of spring, for them we wear these trusty arms and lay them down no more till we have driven the Britain for ever from our shore. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of Historical Tales Volume 1 American This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Historical Tales Volume 1 American by Charles Morris Chapter 19 The Fate of the Philadelphia It was a mild evening on the Mediterranean, the wind light, the sea smooth, the temperature, though the season was that of midwinter, summer-like in its geniality. Into the harbor of Tripoli slowly glided a small, two-masted vessel, all her sails set and moderately well-filled by the wind, yet moving with the tardiness of a very slow sailor. A broad bay lay before her. It surfaced silvered by the young moon whose crescent glowed in the western sky. Far inward could be dimly seen the masts and hull of a large vessel, its furled sails white in the moonlight. Beyond it were visible distant lights and a white luster as of minaret tops touched by the moonbeams. These were the lights and spires of Tripoli, a Moorish town then best known as a haunt and stronghold of the Pirates of the Mediterranean. All was silence, all seemingly peaceful. The vessel, the catch, to give it its nautical name, moved onward with what seemed exasperating slowness, scarcely ruffling the polished waters of the bay. The hours passed on, the miles lagged tardily behind, the wind fell, the time crept towards midnight. The only life visible in the wide landscape was that of the gliding catch. But anyone who could have gained a bird's eye view of the vessel would have seen sufficient to excite his distrust of that innocent seeming craft. From the waterside only 10 or 12 men could be seen, but on looking downward the decks would have been perceived to be crowded with men, lying down so as to be hidden behind the bulwarks and other objects upon the deck, and so thick that the sailors who were working the vessel had barely room to move. This appeared suspicious. Not less suspicious was the fact that the water behind the vessel was ruffled by dragging objects of various kinds, which seemed to have something to do with her slowness of motion. As the wind grew lighter and the speed of the vessel fell until it was moving at barely at two knots rate, these objects were drawn in and proved to be buckets, spars, and other drags which had been towed a stern to reduce the vessel's speed. Her tardiness of motion was evidently the work of design. It was now about ten o'clock. The moon hovered on the western horizon near its hour of setting. The wind was nearly east and favorable to the vessel's course, but was growing lighter every moment. The speed of the catch diminished until it seemed almost to have come to rest. It had now reached the eastern entrance to the bay, the passage here being narrowed by rocks on the one hand and a shoal on the other. Through this passage it stole onward like a ghost for nearly an hour, all around being tranquil, nothing anywhere to arouse distrust. The craft seemed a coaster delayed by the light winds in making harbor. The gliding catch had now come so near to the large vessel in front that the latter had lost its dimness of outline and was much more plainly visible. It was evidently no moreish craft, its large hull, its lofty masts, its tracery of spars and rigging being rather those of an English or American frigate than a product of Tripolitan dockyards. Its great bulk and sweeping spars arose in striking contrast to the low decked vessels which could be seen here and there huddled about the inner sides of the harbor. A half hour more passed. The catch was now close aboard the frigate light craft, steering directly towards it. Despite the seeming security of the harbor there were sentries posted on the frigate and officers moving about its deck. From one of these now came a loud hail in the Tripolitan tongue. What craft is that? The mastico from Malta came the answer in the same language. Keep off! Do you want to run a foul of us? We would like to ride beside you for the night came the answer. We have lost our anchors in a gale. The conversation continued in the Tripolitan language as the catch crept slowly up an officer of the frigate and the pilot of the smaller vessel being the spokesman. A number of Moorish sailors were looking with mild curiosity over the frigate's rails without a moment's suspicion that anything was wrong. The moon still dimly lit up the waters of the bay but not with light enough to make any object very distinct. As the catch came close a boat was lowered with a line and was rode towards the frigate to whose four chains the end was made fast. At the same time the officer of the large vessel willing to aid the seemingly disabled coaster ordered some of his men to lower a boat and take a line from the stern to the catch. As the boat of the latter returned it met the frigate's boat took the line from the hands of its crew and passed it on to the smaller vessel. The catch was now fast to the frigate bow and stern. The lines were passed to the men lying on the deck none of whom were visible from the frigate's rail and were slowly passed from hand to hand by the men the coaster thus being cautiously drawn closer to the obliging Moorish craft. All this took time. Foot by foot the catch drew nearer her motion being almost imperceptible. The Moorish looked lazily over their bulwark fancying that it was but the set of the current that was bringing the vessels together. But suddenly there was a change. The officer of the frigate had discovered that the catch was still provided with anchors despite the story that her anchors had been lost in a gale. What is this? he cried sternly. You have your anchors you who lie to me keep off cut those fasts there. A moment afterwards the cry of Americanos was raised in the ship and a number of the night watch drew their knives and hastened four and aft to cut the fasts. The crew of the Mastico or the Intrepid to give it its proper name were still Moor alert. At the first signal of alarm their cautious pull on the ropes was changed to a vigorous effort which sent the catch surging through the water to the side of the frigate where she was instantly secured by grappling irons hurled by strong hands. Up to this moment not a movement or whisper had betrayed the presence of the men crouched on the deck. The 10 or 12 who were visible seemed to constitute the whole crew of the craft but now there came a sudden change. The stirring cry of borders away was raised in stentorian tones and in an instant the deck of the Intrepid seemed alive. The astonished Moors gazed with startled eyes at a dense crowd of men who had appeared as suddenly as if they had come from the air. The order to board had been given by an officer who sprang at the same moment for the frigates chain plates. Two active young men followed him and in an instant the whole crew were at their heels some boarding the frigate by the ports others over the rail swarming upon her deck like so many bees while the Moors fell back in panic fright. The surprise was perfect. The men on the frigates deck ran to the starboard side as their assailants poured in on the larboard and constant plunges into the water told they were hastily leaping overboard in their fright. Hardly a blow had been struck. The deck was cleared in almost a minute after the order to board. The only struggle took place below but this lasted little longer. In less than ten minutes from the time of boarding all resistance was at an end and the craft was an undisputed prize to the intrepid's crew and now to learn the meaning of this midnight assault. The vessel which had been so skillfully captured was the frigate Philadelphia of the American Navy which had fallen into the hands of the Tripolitans some time before. For years the Moorish powers of Africa had been praying upon the commerce of the Mediterranean until the weaker nations of Europe were obliged to pay an annual tribute for the security of their commerce. The United States did the same for some time but the thing were so annoying that war was at length declared against Tripoli the boldest of these peratical powers. In 1803 Commodore Preble was sent with a fleet to the Mediterranean He forced Morocco to respect American commerce and then proceeded to Tripoli outside whose harbor his fleet congregated with a view of blockading the port. On October 31st Captain Bainbridge of the Philadelphia while cruising about saw a vessel inshore and to Windward standing for Tripoli. Sail was made to cut her off. The chase continued for several hours. The lead being kept constantly going to avoid danger of shoals. When about a league distance from Tripoli it became evident that the fugitive craft could not be overtaken and the frigate wore round to haul off into deeper waters. But to the alarm of the officers they found the water in their front rapidly shoaling. It having quickly decreased in depth from eight to six and a half fathoms. A hasty effort was now made to wear the ship but it was too late. The next instant she struck on a reef with such force that she was lifted on between five and six feet. This was an appalling accident. No other cruiser was near. The enemy was close at hand. Gunboats were visible near the town. The moment it was discovered that the frigate was in trouble these dogs of war would be out. Captain Bainbridge gave orders to lighten the ship with all speed. All but a few of her guns were thrown overboard. The anchors were cut from the boughs. The water casks in the hold were started and the water pumped out. All heavy articles were thrown overboard. And finally the floor mass was cut away. But all proved in vain. The ships still lay immovable on the rocks. The gunboats of the enemy now surrounded her and were growing bolder every minute. There was nothing for it but surrender. Resistance could only end in the death of all on board. But before hauling down his flag Captain Bainbridge had the magazine drowned. Holes bored in the ship's bottom. The pumps choked and every measure taken to ensure her sinking. Then the colors were lowered and the gunboats took possession. Three hundred and fifteen prisoners being captured. The officers were well treated by the Bashaw of Tripoli. But an enormous ransom was demanded for them. At all signs of an inclination to peace disappeared. Captain Bainbridge's efforts to sink the Philadelphia proved ineffectual. During a high wind the prize was gut off her reef. Her leaks stopped and she taken in triumph to the city. Her guns, anchors, and other articles were raised from the reef. The ship was moored about a quarter of a mile from the Bashaw's castle and her injuries repaired. It being the intention to fit her for sea as a Tripolitan cruiser. These were the events that preceded the daring attempt we have detailed. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur had volunteered to make an effort to destroy the vessel with the aid of a recently captured catch called the Mastico. This, renamed the Intrepid, manned with a crew of seventy-six men had entered the harbor on the evening of February the third 1804. What followed to the capture of the frigate has been told. The succeeding events remained to be detailed. Doubtless, Lieutenant Decatur would have attempted to carry off the prize had it been possible. His orders, however, were to destroy it and the fact that there was not a sail bent or a yard crossed left him no alternative. The command was therefore at once given to pass up the combustibles from the catch. There was no time to be lost. The swimming fugitives would quickly be in the town and the alarm given. Every moment now was of value for the place where they were was commanded by the guns of the forts and of several armed vessels anchored at no great distance and they might look for an assault the instant their character was determined. With all haste then officers and men were to work. They had been divided into squads each with its own duty to perform and they acted with the utmost promptitude and disciplined exactness. The men who descended with combustibles to the cockpit and after storerooms had need to haste for fires were lighted over their heads before they were through with their task. So rapidly did the flames catch and spread that some of those on board had to make their escape from between decks by the forward ladders the after part of the ship being already filled with smoke. In 20 minutes from the time the Americans had taken possession of the ship they were driven out of her by flames so rapidly had they spread. The vessel had become so dry under those tropical suns that she burned like pine. By the time the party which had been engaged in the storerooms reached the deck most of the others were on board the intrepid. They joined them and the order to cast off was given. It was not an instant too soon for the daring party were just then in the most risky situation that they had been in that night. The fire in fact had spread with such unexpected rapidity that flames were already shooting from the portholes. The head fast was cast off and the catch fell a stern. But the stern fast became jammed and the boom fowl while the ammunition of the party covered only with a tarpaulin was within easy reach of the increasing flames. There was no time to look for an axe and the rope was severed with sword blows while a vigorous shove sent the intrepid clear of the frigate and free from the danger which had threatened her. As she swung clear the flames reached the rigging up which they shot in hissing lines the ropes being saturated with tar which had oozed out through the heat of the sun. The intrepid did not depend on her sails alone for escape. She was provided with sweeps and these were now got out and manned with haste. A few vigorous strokes sending the vessel safely away from the flaming frigate. This done the crew as with one impulse dropped their oars and gave three rousing cheers for their signal victory. Their shouts of triumph appeared to rouse the moors from their lethargy. So rapid and unlooked for had been the affair that the vessel was in full flame before the town and the harbor were awake to the situation. There were batteries on shore and two corsairs and a galley were anchored at no great distance from the Philadelphia. And from these now the boom of cannon began. But their fire was too hasty and nervous to do much harm and the man of the intrepid seized their sweeps again and bowled merrily down the harbor their progress aided by a light breeze in their sails. The spectacle that followed is described as of a beauty that approached sublimity. The ship aflame from hull to peak presented a magnificent appearance. The entire bay was illuminated and the flash and roar of cannon were constant. The guns of the Philadelphia going off as they became heated and added to the uproar. She lay so that one of her broadsides was directed towards the town thus returning the enemy's fire while the other sent its balls far out into the harbor. The most singular effect of the conflagration was on board the ship for the flames having run up the rigging and mass collected under the tops and fell over giving the whole the appearance of glowing columns and fiery capitals. The intrepid moved on down the harbor none the worse for the cannon balls that were sent after her and continued her course until she reached her consort the siren which awaited her outside the harbor. Joining company they proceeded to Syracuse where the fleet then lay. The exploit we have here described was one of the most notable in the annals of the American navy. It was one that needed the utmost daring combined with the most exact attention to details and in both these respects there was nothing wanting to ensure the success of the enterprise. The hour was well chosen as that in which the foe would most likely be off their guard and to this we must describe the slowness of their assault on the Americans and the uncertainty of their aim. The mode of approach to the frigate the skill with which the catch was laid alongside without exciting suspicion and the rapidity and completeness with which the destruction of the prize was prepared for were all worthy of high commendation. As for the boldness of the enterprise one has but to consider what would have been the fate of the Americans had the attack failed. Directly under the frigates guns and in a harbor filled with gun boats and armed cruisers and surrounded by forts and batteries escape would have been impossible and every man in the intrepid must have perished. The greatest courage coolness and self-possession and the most exact discipline alone could have yielded success in the daring project and these qualities seem to have been possessed to a high degree. The success of this exploit gave Lieutenant Decatur a reputation for gallantry which had its share in his subsequent elevation to the highest rank in the Navy. The country generally applauded the feat and the Navy long considered it one of its most brilliant achievements. It being deemed a high honor among sailors and officers to have been one of the intrepid's crew. The writer of these pages may add that it is to him a matter of some interest that the first man to reach the deck of the Philadelphia on that memorable night was a namesake of his own, Midshipman Charles Morris. For the credit of the name he is also glad to say that Mr. Morris in time became a Commodore in the Navy and attained a high reputation as an officer both in war and peace. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of Historical Tales Volume 1 American This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Historical Tales Volume 1 American by Charles Morris Chapter 20 The Victim of a Trader On the Ohio River fourteen miles below Marietta lies a beautiful island which became in the early part of this century the scene of a singular romance. At that time it was a wild and forest-clad domain except for a few acres of clearing near its upper extremity on which stood a large and handsome mansion with spacious outbuildings and surrounding grounds which were laid out with the finest taste. The great elms and gigantic sycamore of the west gave grandeur to the surrounding woodland and afforded shelter to grazing flocks and herds. Huge water willows dipped their drooping branches into the waves of the Ohio as they ran swiftly by. In front of the mansion were several acres of well-kept lawn. In its rear were two acres of flower garden planted with native and exotic shrubs. Vine covered arbors and grottoes rose here and there. On one side of the house was the kitchen garden stocked with choice fruit trees. Through the forest trees an opening had been cut which afforded an attractive view of the river for several miles of its course. On the whole it was a paradise in the wilderness a remarkable scene for that outlying region for not far from the mansion still stood a large block house which had not many years before been used as a place of refuge in the desolating Indian wars. Here dwelt Harman Blenner Hassett and his lovely wife. He a man of scientific attainments she a woman of fine education and charming manners. He was of Irish origin wealthy, amply educated with friends among the highest nobility but he had imbibed republican principles and failed to find himself comfortable in royalist society. He had therefore sought America heard of the beautiful islands of the Ohio and built himself a home on one of the most charming of them all. We have described the exterior of the mansion Interiorly it was richly ornamented and splendidly furnished. The drawing room was of noble proportions and admirable adornment. The library was well filled with choice books. The proprietor was fond of chemistry and had an excellent laboratory. He enjoyed astronomy and possessed a powerful telescope. He had a passion for music had composed many heirs and played well on several instruments. He was in his way a universal genius courteous in manners benevolent in disposition yet of that genial and unsuspicious nature which laid him open to the wiles of those shrewd enough to make use of his weak points. Mrs. Blenner has a love society and was none too well pleased that her husband should bury himself and her in the wilderness and waste his fine powers on undeveloped nature. Such guests of culture as could be obtained were hospitably welcomed at their island mansion. Few boats passed up and down the river without stopping at the island and cultured and noble persons from England and France not infrequently found their way to the far off home of the Blenner hasits. Yet with all the intervals between the visits of cultivated guests were long. Ohio was rapidly filling up with population but culture was a rare exotic in that pioneer region and the inmates of the Blenner hasit mansion must have greatly lacked visits from their own social equals. One day in the spring of 1805 a traveler landed on the island as if merely lured thither by the beauty of the grounds as seen from the river. Mr. Blenner hasit was in his study where the reservant came to tell him that a gentlemanly stranger had landed and was observing the lawn. The servant was at once bitten to invite the stranger in his master's name to enter the house. The traveler courteously declined. He could not think of intruding begged to be excused for landing on the grounds and sent in his card. Mr. Blenner hasit read the card and his eyes lighted up with interest for what he saw was the name of a former vice president of the United States. He at once hastened to the lawn and with polite insistence declared that Mr. Burr must enter and partake of the hospitality of his house. It was like inviting Satan into Eden. Aaron Burr, for it was he, readily complied. He had made the journey thither for that sole purpose. The story of Mr. Blenner has its wealth had reached the east and the astute schemer hoped to enlist his aid in certain questionable projects he then entertained. But no hint of an ulterior purpose was suffered to appear. Burr was noted for the fascination of his manners and his host and hostess were charmed with him. He was unusually well informed, eloquent in speech, familiar with all social arts, and could mask the deepest designs with the most artless effectation of simplicity. All the secrets of American political movements were familiar to him and he conversed fluently of the prospects of war with Spain, the ease with which the Mexicans might throw off their foreign yoke and the possibilities of splendid pecuniary results from land speculations within the Spanish territory on the Red River. This seed sown, the arch deceiver went his way. His first step had been taken. Blenner Hassett was patriotically devoted to the United States, but the grand scheme which had been portrayed to him seemed to have nothing to do with the questions of state. It was a land speculation open to private wealth. Burr kept his interests alive by letters. The Blenner Hassett spent the next winter in New York and Philadelphia, and there met Ehrenber again. Not unlikely they came with that purpose for the hopes of new wealth easily to be made were alluring and exciting. During that winter it is probable that a sort of land speculation partnership was formed. Very rich lands lay on the Washiida River within Spanish territory, said Burr, which could be bought for a small sum. Then, by encouraging immigration thither, they might be sold at enormous profit. This was the Burr scheme as Blenner Hassett heard it. The dupe did not dream of the treasonable projects resting within the mind of his dangerous associate. These were to provoke revolt of the people of Mexico and the northern Spanish provinces, annexed the western United States region, and establish a great empire in which Burr should be the leading potentate. Mr. Blenner Hassett, once enlisted in the land speculation project, supplied the funds to buy the lands on the Washiida and engaged in operations on a large scale for sending settlers to the purchased domain. Colonel Burr came to Marietta and took an active part in these operations. Fifteen large flat boats were built to convey the immigrants, their furniture, and such arms as they might need for repelling Indians. Five hundred men were fixed as the number for the first colony, and this number Burr succeeded in enlisting. Each was to have one hundred acres of land. This was not in itself any great inducement where land was so plentiful as in Ohio, but Burr did not hesitate to hint at future possibilities. The lands to be colonized had been peacefully purchased, but the Mexicans were eager to throw off the Spanish yoke. War between the United States and Spain might break out at any moment. Mexico would be invaded by an army, set free, and the new pioneers would have splendid opportunities in the formation of a new and great republic of the west and south. Burr went further than this. He had articles inserted in a Marietta newspaper signed by an assumed name in which was advocated the secession of the states west of the Alleghenies. These articles were strongly replied to by a writer who signed himself Regulus, and with whose views the community at large sympathized. His articles were copied by Eastern papers. They spoke of the armed expedition which Colonel Burr was preparing, and declared that its purpose was the invasion of Mexico. Jefferson, then in the presidential chair, knew Burr too well to ignore these warnings. He sent a secret agent to Marietta to discover what was going on, and at the same time asked the Governor of Ohio to seize the boats and suppress the expedition. Mr. Blenner has assured the secret agent, Mr. Graham, that no thought was entertained of invading Mexico. The project, he said, was an eminently peaceful one, but the public was of a different opinion. Rumor, once started, grew with its usual rapidity. Burr was organizing an army to seize New Orleans, rob the banks, capture the artillery, and set up an empire or republic of his own in the valley of the lower Mississippi. Blenner has it was his accomplice, and as deep in the scheme as himself. The Ohio legislature, roused to energetic action by the rumors which were everywhere afloat, passed an act that all armed expeditions should be suppressed, and empowered the Governor to call out the militia, seize Burr's boats, and hold the crews for trial. Public attention had been earnestly and hostilely directed to the questionable project, and Burr's hopes were at an end. The militia were mustered at Marietta, a six-pounder was planted on the riverbank, orders were given to stop and examine all descending boats, and sentries were placed to watch the stream by day and night. While these events were proceeding, Mr. Blenner has it had gone to the Muskingum to superintend the departure of the boats that were to start from that stream. While there, the boats were seized by order of the Governor. The suspicions of the people and government were for the first time made clear to him. Greatly disturbed and disposed to abandon the whole project, costly as it had been to him, he hastened back to his island home. There he found a flotilla of four boats with a crew of about thirty men, which had passed Marietta before the mustering of the militia. They were commanded by a Mr. Tyler. Mr. Blenner has its judgment was in favor of abandoning the scheme. Mrs. Blenner has it, who was very ambitious, argued strongly on the other side. She was eager to see her husband assume a position fitting to his great talents. Mr. Tyler joined her in her arguments. Blenner has it gave way. It was a fatal compliance, one destined to destroy his happiness and peace for the remainder of his life, and to expose his wife to the most frightful scenes of outrage and barbarity. The frontier contained hosts of lawless men, men to whom loyalty meant license. Three days after the conversation described, word was brought to the island that a party of the Wood County militia made up of the lowest and most brutal men in the community would land on the island that very night, seize the boats, arrest all the men they found, and probably burn the house. The danger was imminent. Blenner has it, and all the men with him took to the boats to escape arrest and possibly murder from these exasperated frontiersmen. Mrs. Blenner has it, and her children were left in the mansion with the expectation that their presence would restrain the brutality of the militia and preserve the house and its valuable contents from destruction. It proved a fallacious hope. Colonel Phelps, the commander of the militia, pursued Blenner has it. In his absence his men behaved like savages. They took possession of the house, became brutally drunk from the liquors they found in the cellar, rioted through its elegantly furnished rooms, burned its fences for bonfires, and for seven days made life a pandemonium of horrors for the helpless woman and frightened children who had been left in their midst. The experience of those seven days was frightful. There was no escape. Mrs. Blenner has it was compelled to witness the ruthless destruction of all she held most dear and to listen to the brutal ribaldry and insults of the rioting savages. Not until the end of time named did relief come. Then Mr. Putnam, a friend from the neighboring town of Belpray, ventured on the island. He provided a boat in which the unhappy lady was enabled to save a few articles of furniture and some choice books. In this boat, with her two sons, six and eight years old, and with two young men from Belpray, she started down the river to join her husband. Two or three Negro servants accompanied her. It was a journey of great hardships. The weather was cold. The river filled with floating ice. The boat devoid of any comforts. A rude cabin open in the front afforded the only shelter from wind and rain. Half frozen in her flight, the poor woman made her way down the stream and at length joined her husband at the mouth of the Cumberland River, which he had reached with his companions, having distanced pursuit. Their flight was continued down the Mississippi as far as Natchae. No sooner had Mrs. Blenner has it left the island than the slight restraint which her presence had exercised upon the militia disappeared. The mansion was ransacked. Whatever they did not carry away was destroyed. Books, pictures, rich furniture were used to feed bonfires. Doors were torn from their hinges, windows dashed in, costly mirrors broken with hammers. Destruction swept the island, all its improvements being ruthlessly destroyed. For months the mansion stood an eyesore of desolation, until some hand, moved by the last impulse of savagery, set it on fire, and it was burned to the ground. What followed may be briefly told. So great was the indignation against Burr that he was forced to abandon his project. His adherents were left in destitution. Some of them were a thousand miles and more from their homes and were forced to make their way back as best they could. Burr and Blenner has it were both arrested for treason. The latter escaped. There was no criminating evidence against him. As for Burr, he had been far too shrewd to leave himself open to the hand of the law. His trial resulted in an acquittal. Though no doubt was felt of his guilt, no evidence could be found to establish it. He was, per force, set free. If he had done nothing more, he had, by his detestable arts, broken up one of the happiest homes in America and ruined his guileless victim. Blenner hasn't bought a cotton plantation at Natche. His wife, who had the energy he lacked, managed it. They dwelled there for ten years, favorites with the neighboring planters. Then came war with England, and the plantation ceased to afford them a living. The ruined man returned to his native land, utterly worn out and discouraged, and died there in poverty in 1831. Mrs. Blenner has it became a charge on the charity of her friends. After several years she returned to the United States, where she sought to obtain remuneration from Congress for her destroyed property. She would probably have succeeded, but for her sudden death. She was buried at the expense of a society of Irish ladies in the city of New York, and thus ended the career of two of the victims of Aaron Burr. They had listened to the siren voice of the tempter, and ruin and despair were their rewards. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Of Historical Tales, Volume 1, American This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Historical Tales, Volume 1, American by Charles Morris Chapter 21 How the Electric Telegraph Was Invented The year 1832 was only sixty years ago in time. Yet since then there has been a striking development of conveniences, rapidity of travel, and arrangements for the diffusion of intelligence. People then still travelled in great part by aid of horses, the railroad having just begun its marvellous career. News which now fly over continents and under oceans at lightning speed, then jogged on at stagecoach rates of progress, creeping where they now fly. On the ocean steam was beginning to battle with wind and wave, but the ocean racer was yet a far off dream, and mariners still put their trust in sails much more than in the newborn contrivances, which were preparing to revolutionize travel. But the wand of the enchanter had been waived, steam had come, and with it the new era of progress had dawned. And another great agent in the development of civilization was about to come. Electricity, which during all the previous time had laughed at bonds, was soon to become man's slave, and to be made his purveyor of news. It is the story of this chaining of the lightning and forcing it to become the swift conveyor of man's sayings and doings that we have here to tell. In the far remote period named, if we measure time by deeds not by years, a package ship, the Sully, was making its deliberate way across the Atlantic from Avra to New York. Its passenger list was not large. The ocean had not yet become a busy highway of the continents, but among them were some persons in whom we are interested. One of these was a Boston doctor, Charles T. Jackson by name. A second was a New York artist named Samuel F. B. Morse. The last name, gentlemen, had been a student at Yale, where he became greatly interested in chemistry and some other sciences. He had studied the art of painting under Benjamin West in London, had practiced it in New York, had long been president of the National Academy of the Arts of Design, and was now on his way home after a second period of residence in Europe as a student of art. An interesting conversation took place one day in the cabin of the Sully. Dr. Jackson spoke of Emperor's experiments with the electromagnet, of how Franklin had sent electricity through several miles of wire, finding no loss of time between the touch at one end and the spark at the other, and how, in a recent experiment at Paris, a great length of wire had been carried in circles around the walls of a large apartment, an electromagnet connected with one end, and electric current manifested at the other, having passed through the wire so quickly as to seem instantaneous. Mr. Morse's taste for science had not died out during his years of devotion to art. He listened with the most earnest attention to the doctor's narrative, and while he did so, a large and promising idea came into being in his brain. Why, he exclaimed, with much ardor of manner, if that is so, and the presence of electricity can be made visible in any desired part of the circuit, I see no reason why intelligence should not be transmitted instantaneously by electricity. How convenient it would be if we could send news in that manner, chimed in one of the passengers. Why can't we exclaimed Morse? Why not indeed? The idea probably died in the minds of most of the persons present within five minutes, but Samuel Morse was not one of the men who let ideas die. This one haunted him day and night. He thought of it and dreamed of it. In those days of deliberate travel, time hung heavily on the hands of transatlantic passengers, despite the partial diversions of eating and sleeping. The ocean grew monotonous, the vessel monotonous, the passengers monotonous, everything monotonous, except that idea, and that grew and spread till its fibers filled every nook and cranny of the inventive brain that had taken it in to bed and board. Morse had abundance of the Native Yankee Faculty of Invention. To do had been plain enough from the start. How to do was the question to be solved. But before the sully steamed into New York Harbor, the solution had been reached. In the mind of the inventor, and in graphic words and drawings on paper, were laid down the leading features of that telegraphic method, which is used today in the great majority of the telegraph lines of the world. An alphabet of dots and marks, a revolving ribbon of paper to receive this alphabet, a method of enclosing the wires in tubes which were to be buried underground, were the leading features of the device as first thought of. The last conception was quickly followed by that of supporting the wires in the air, but Morse clung to his original fancy for burying them, a fancy which it may be here said, is coming again into vogue in these latter days so far as cities are concerned. It is not meant to be implied that the idea of sending news by electricity was original with Morse. Others had had it before him. More than half a century before, Dr. Franklin and some friends had stretched a wire across the Shulkill River and killed a turkey on the other side by electricity. As they ate this turkey, it is quite possible that they imbibed with it the idea of making this marvelous agent do other work than killing fowl for dinner. And from that time on, it is likely that many had speculated on the possibility of sending intelligence by wire. Some experiments had been made and with a certain degree of success, but time still waited for the hour and the man, and the hour and the man met in that fertile October day in the cabin of the Sully. If it can go ten miles without stopping, I can make it go round the world, said Morse to his fellow passengers, his imagination expanding in the ardor of his new idea. Well, Captain, he said with a laugh on leaving the ship, should you hear of the telegraph one of these days as the wonder of the world, remember that the discovery was made on board the good ship Sully. The inventor indeed was possessed with his new conceptions, mad with an idea, as we may say, and glad to set foot once more on shore that he might put his plans into practice. This proved no easy task. He was none too well provided with funds, and the need of making a living was the first necessity that presented itself to him. He experimented as much as he was able, but three years passed before his efforts yielded a satisfactory result. Then, with a circuit of 1700 feet of wire and a wooden clock adapted by himself to suit his purpose, he managed to send a message from end to end of this wire. It was not very legible. He could make some sense of it, his friends could not, but all were much interested in the experiment. Many persons witnessed these results, as shown in a large room of the New York University in 1837. They seemed wonderful, much was said about them, but nobody seemed to believe that the apparatus was more than a curious and unprofitable toy, and capitalists buttoned their pockets when the question of backing up this wild inventor's fancy with money was broached. But by this time, Mr. Morse was a complete captive to his idea. Body and soul, he was its slave. The question of daily fare became secondary, that of driving his idea over and through all obstacles became primary. His business as an artist was neglected. He fell into want, into almost abject poverty. For 24 hours he went without food, but not for a moment did he lose faith in his invention or remit his efforts to find a capitalist with sufficient confidence in him to risk his money in it. Failing with the private rich, he tried to obtain public support, went to Washington in 1838, exhibited his apparatus to interest congressmen, and petitioned for enough money from the public purse to build a line from Baltimore to Washington, 40 miles only. It is traditionally slow work in getting a bill through Congress. Weary with waiting, Morse went to Europe to try his new seed in that old soil. It failed to germinate abroad as it had at home. Men with money acknowledged that the idea was a scientific success, but could not believe that it might be made a business success. What would people care for instantaneous news, they said? Some might, it is true, but the great mass would be content to wait for their news in the good old way. To lay miles of wire in the earth is to bury a large treasure in money. We cannot see our way clear to getting it back again out of the pockets of the public. Your wires work, Mr. Morse, but from a business point of view, there's more cost than profit in the idea. It may be that these exact words were not spoken, but the answer of Europe was near enough to this to send the inventor home disappointed. He began again his weary waiting on the slowly revolving wheels of the congressional machinery. March 3, 1843 came. It was the last day of the session. With the stroke of midnight on that day, the existing congress would die and a new one be born, with which the weary work of the education of congressmen would have to be gone over again. The inventor had been given half a loaf. His bill had been passed on February 23 in the house. All day of March 3 he hung about the Senate chamber petitioning where possible for the other half of his loaf, faithfully hoping that in the last will and testament of the expiring Congress, some small legacy might be left for him. Evening came. The clock hands circled rapidly round. Pressure of bills and confusion of legislation grew greater minute by minute. The floodgates of the deluge are lifted upon congress in its last hours, and business pours onward in such an overwhelming fashion that small private petitioners can scarcely hope that the doors of the Ark of Safety will be open to their petty claims. Morse hung about the chamber until the midnight hour was almost ready to strike. Every moment confusion seemed to grow worse confounded. The work of a month of easygoing legislation was being compressed into an hour of haste and excitement. The inventor at last left the Capitol, a saddened and disappointed man, and made his way home. The last shreds of hope seeming to drop from him as he went. He was almost ready to give up the fight and devote himself for the future solely to brush and pencil. He slept but poorly that night, and rose the next morning still depressed and gloomy. He appeared at the breakfast table with a face from which the very color of ambition seemed to have been washed out. As he entered the room he was met by a young lady, Miss Annie G. Ellsworth, daughter of the Commissioner of Patents. The smile on her beaming face was in striking contrast to the gloom on his downcast countenance. I have come to congratulate you, Mr. Morse, she said cheerily. For what, my dear friend? For the passage of your bill. What? he gazed at her amazement. Could she be attempting a foolish and cruel jest? The passage of my bill, he faltered. Yes, do you not know of it? No. Then you came home too early last night, and I am happy in being the first to bring you the good news. Congress has granted your claim. It was true. He had been remembered in the will of the expiring Congress. In the last hour of the Senate amid the roar of the deluge of public business, his small demand had floated into sight, and thirty thousand dollars had been voted him for the construction of an experimental telegraph line. You have given me new life, Miss Ellsworth, he said. As a reward for your good tidings, I promise you that when my telegraph line is completed, you shall have the honour of choosing the first message to be sent over it. The inventor was highly elated, and not without reason. Since the morning of the conversation on the ship Sully, eleven and a half years had passed. They had been years of such struggle against poverty and discouragement as only a man who is the slave of an idea has the hardy-hood to endure. The annals of invention contain many such instances. More, perhaps, than can be found in any other channel of human effort. To complete our story, we have to bring another inventor upon the stage. This was Ezra Cornell, memorable today as the founder of Cornell University, a man at that time unknown but filled with inventive ideas and ready to undertake any task that might offer itself, from digging a well to boring a mountain tunnel. One day Mr. Cornell, who was at that time occupying the humble position of traveling agent for a patent plow, called at the office of an agricultural newspaper in Portland, Maine. He found the editor on his knees, a piece of chalk in his hand, and parts of a plow by his side, making drawings on the floor, and trying to explain something to a plowmaker beside him. The editor looked up at his visitor, and an expression of relief replaced the perplexity on his face. Cornell, he cried, you're the very man I wanted to see. I want a scraper made, and I can't make Robinson here see into my idea. You can understand it and make it for me too. What is your scraper to do? asked Cornell. Mr. Smith, the editor, rose from his knees and explained. A line of telegraph was to be built from Baltimore to Washington. Congress had granted the money. He had taken the contract from Professor Morse to lay the tube in which the wire was to be placed. He had made a bad bargain, he feared. The job was going to cost more than he had calculated on. He was trying to invent something that would dig the ditch and fill in the dirt again after the pipe was laid. Cornell listened to him, questioned him, found out the size of the pipe and the depth of the ditch, then sat down and passed some minutes in hard thinking. Finally, he said, you were on the wrong tack. You don't want either a ditch or a scraper. He took a pencil, and in a few minutes outlined a machine which he said would cut a trench two feet deep, lay the pipe at its bottom, and cover the earth in behind it. The motive power need be only a team of oxen or mules. These creatures had but to trudge slowly onward. The machine would do its work faithfully behind them. Come, come, this is impossible, cried Editor Smith. I'll wager my head it can be done, and I can do it, replied inventor Cornell. He laid a large premium on his confidence in his idea, promising that if his machine would not work he would ask no money for it. But if it succeeded he was to be well paid. Smith agreed to these terms and Cornell went to work. In ten days the machine was built and ready for trial. A yoke of oxen was attached to it, three men managed it, and in the first five minutes it had laid 100 feet of pipe and covered it with earth. It was a decided success. Mr. Smith had contracted to lay the pipe for $100 a mile. A short calculation proved to him that with the aid of Ezra Cornell's machine, $90 of this would be profit. But the shrewd Editor did not feel like risking Cornell's machine in any hands but those of the inventor. He made him a profitable offer if he would go to Baltimore and take charge of the job himself. It would pay better than selling patent plows. Cornell agreed to go. Reaching Baltimore he met Professor Morse. They had never met before. Their future lives were to be closely associated. In the conversation that ensued, Morse explained what he proposed to do. An electric wire might either be laid underground or carried through the air. He had decided on the underground system, the wire being coated by an insulating compound and drawn through a pipe. Cornell questioned him closely, got a clear idea of the scheme, saw the pipe that was to be used, and expressed doubts of its working. It will work, for it has worked, said Morse. While I have been fighting Congress, inventors in Europe have been experimenting with the telegraphic idea. Short lines have been laid in England and elsewhere in which the wire is carried in buried pipes. They had been successful. What can be done in Europe can be done in America. What Morse said was a fact. While he had been pushing his telegraph conception in America, it had been tried successfully in Europe. But the system adopted there, of vibrating needle signals, was so greatly inferior to the Morse system that it was destined in the future to be almost or quite set aside by the letter. Today the Morse system and alphabet are used in much the greater number of the telegraph offices of the world. But to return to our story, Cornell went to work, and the pipe with its interior wire was laid with much rapidity. Not many days had elapsed before ten miles were underground, the pipe being neatly covered as laid. It reached from Baltimore nearly to the relay house. Here it stopped, for something had gone wrong. Morse tested his wire, it would not work. No trace of an electric current could be got through it. The insulation was evidently imperfect. What was to be done? He would be charged with wasting the public money on an impracticable experiment. Yet if he stopped, he might expect a roar of newspaper disapprobation on his whole scheme. He was in a serious dilemma. How should he escape? He sought Cornell and told him of the failure of his experiments. The work must be stopped. He must try other kinds of pipe and new methods of insulation. But if the public should suspect failure, there would be vials of wrath poured on their devoted heads. The public should not suspect failure. Leave it to me, said Cornell. He turned to his men. The machine was slowly moving forward, drawn by a team of eight mules, depositing pipe as it went. A section had just been laid. Night was at hand. Hurry up, boys, cried Cornell cheerily. We must lay another length before we quit. He grasped the handles of his plow-like machine. The drivers stirred at the mules to a lively pace. The contrivance went merrily forward. But the cunning pilot knew what he was about. He steered the buried point of the machine against a rock that just protruded from the earth. In an instant there was a shock, a sound of rending wood and iron, a noise of shouting and trampling, and then the line of mules came to a halt. But behind them were only the ruins of a machine. That moment's work had converted the pipe-laying contrivance into kindling wood and scrap iron. The public condoled with the inventor. It was so unlucky that his promising progress should be stopped by such an accident. As for Morse and his cunning associate, they smiled quietly to themselves as they went on with their experiments. Another kind of pipe was stride. Still the current would not go through. A year passed by. Experiment after experiment had been made. All had proved failures. Twenty-three thousand dollars of the money had been spent. Only seven thousand remained. The inventor was on the verge of despair. I am afraid it will never work, said Cornell. It looks bad for the pipe plan. Then let us try the others, said Morse. If the current won't go underground, it may be coaxed to go above ground. The plan suggested was to string the wire upon poles, insulating it from the wood by some non-conductor. A suitable insulator was needed. Cornell devised one. Another inventor produced another. Morse approved of the latter, started for New York with it to make arrangements for its manufacture, and on his way met Professor Henry, who knew more about electricity than any other man in the country. Morse showed him the models of the two insulators and indicated the one he had chosen. Mr. Henry examined them closely. You are mistaken, he said. That one won't work. This is the insulator you need. He pointed to Cornell's device. In a few words he gave his reasons. Morse saw that he was right. The Cornell insulator was chosen, and now the work went forward with great rapidity. The planting of poles and stringing of wires over a glass insulator at their tops was an easy and rapid process, and more encouraging still the thing worked to a charm. There was no trouble now in obtaining signals from the wire. The first public proof of the system was made on May 11th, 1844. On that day, the Whig National Convention, then in session at Baltimore, had nominated Henry Clay for the presidency. The telegraph was being built from the Washington end and was yet miles distance from Baltimore. The first railroad train from Baltimore carried passengers who were eager to tell the tidings to their Washington friends, but it carried also an agent of Professor Morse, who brought the news to the inventor at the unfinished end of the telegraph. From that point he sent it over the wire to Washington. It was successfully received at the Washington end, and never were human beings more surprised than were the train passengers on a lighting at the capital city to find that they brought stale news and that Clay's nomination was already known throughout Washington. It was the first public proof in America of the powers of the telegraph and certainly a vital and convincing one. Before the 24th of May, the telegraph line to Baltimore was completed, the tests successfully made, and all was ready for the public exhibition of its marvelous powers, which had been fixed for that day. Miss Ellsworth, in compliance with the inventor's promise, made her more than a year before, was given the privilege of choosing the first message to go over the magic wires. She selected the appropriate message from scriptures. What hath God wrought? With these significant words began the reign of that marvelous invention, which has wrought so wonderfully in binding the ends of the earth together and making one family of mankind. There were difficulties still in the way of the inventor, severe ones. His afterlife lay in no bed of roses. His patents were violated, his honor was questioned, even his integrity was assailed. Rival companies stole his business and lawsuits made his life a burden. He won at last, but failed to have the success of his associate, Mr. Cornell, who grew in time very wealthy from his telegraphic enterprises. As regards the Morse system of telegraphy, it may be said in conclusion that over one hundred devices have been invented to supersede it, but that it holds its own triumphant over them all. The inventor wrought with his brain to good purpose in those days and nights of mental discipline above the Atlantic waves and on board the good ship Sully. Two ironclad ships met in battle. The occasion was a memorable one and its story is well worthy of being retold in our cycle of historic events. For centuries, for thousands of years in truth, wooden vessels had been struggling for the mastery of the seas. With the first shot fired from the turret of the monitor at the roof-like sides of the Merrimack in the early morning of the day named, the long reign of wooden war vessels ended, that of iron monarchs of the deep began. England could no more trust to her wooden walls for safety, and all the nations of Europe, when the echo of that shot reached their ears, felt that the ancient era of naval construction was at an end, and that the future navies of the world must ride the waves clad in massive armor of steel. On the 8th of March, indeed, this had been shown. On that day, the Merrimack steamed down from Norfolk Harbour into Hampton Roads, where lay a fleet of wooden men of war. Some of them, the largest sailing frigates then in the American Navy. On shore, soldiers were encamped, here Union, there Confederate, and the inmates of the camps, the garrison of Fortress Monroe, the crews of the ships at anchor under its guns, all gazed with eager eyes over the open waters of the bay, their interest in the coming contest as intense as Roman audience ever displayed for the life and death struggle in the gladiatorial arena. Before them lay a mightier amphitheater than that of the Colosseum, and before them was to be fought more notable struggle for life and death than ever took place within the walls of mighty Rome. It was in the afternoon of the 8th, about one o'clock, that the long roll sounded in the camps on shore, and the cry resounded from camp to camp. The Merrimack is coming. For several weeks she had been looked for and preparations made for her reception. The frigates bore a powerful armament of heavy guns ready to batter her iron-clad sides, and strong hopes were entertained that this modern leviathan would soon cease to treble the deep. The lesson fixed by fate for that day had not yet been learned. Down the bay she came, looking at a distance like a flood-borne house, its sides drowned, only its sloping roof visible. The strange appearing craft moved slowly, accompanied by two small gunboats as tenders. As she came near, no signs of life were visible, while her iron sides displayed no evidence of guns. Yet within that threatening monster was a crew of three hundred men, and her armament embraced ten heavy cannon. Hinged lids closed the gun-ports, raised only when the guns were thrust forward for firing. As for the men, they were hidden somewhere under that iron roof, to be felt but not seen. What followed has been told in song and story. It need be repeated here but in epitome. The first assault of the Merrimack was upon the Cumberland, a thirty-gun frigate. Again and again the thirty heavy balls of the frigate rattled upon the impenetrable sides of the iron-clad monster, and bounded off uselessly into the deep. The Merrimack came on at full speed, as heedless of this fuselage as though she was being fired at with peas. As she approached, two heavy balls from her guns tore through the timbers of the Cumberland. They were followed by a stunning blow from her iron beak that opened a gaping wound in the defenseless side of her victim. Then she drew off, leaving her broken beak sticking in the ship's side, and began firing broad sides into the helpless frigate, raking her fore and aft with shell and grape, despite the fact that she had already got her deathblow and was rapidly filling with water. Never a ship was fought more nobly than the doomed Cumberland. With the decks sinking under their feet, the men fought with unflinching courage. When the bow guns were under water, the rear guns were made to do double duty. The captain was called on to surrender. He sternly refused. The last shot was fired from a gun on a level with the waves. Then, with sail spread and flags flying, the Cumberland went down, carrying with her nearly one hundred of her crew, the remainder swimming ashore. The water was deep, but the top mass of the doomed vessel still rose above the surface, with its penant waving in the wind. For months afterwards that old flag continued to fly, as if to say, the Cumberland sinks, but never surrenders. The Congress, a fifty-gun frigate, was next attacked, and handled so severely that her commander ran her ashore, and soon after hoisted the white flag, destruction appearing inevitable. Boats were sent by the enemy to take possession, but a sharp fire from the shore drove them off. Is this in accordance with military law, asked one of the officers in the camp, since the ship has surrendered, has not the enemy the right to take possession of her? This legal knot was quickly indecisively cut by General Mansfield in an unanswerable decision. I know the damned ship has surrendered, he said, but we haven't. And the firing continued. The Merrimack, not being able to seize her prize, opened fire with hot shot on the Congress, and quickly set her on fire. Night was now at hand, and the conquering ironclad drew off. The Congress continued to burn, her loaded guns roaring her requiem one after another, as the fire spread along her decks. About one o'clock her magazine was reached, and she blew up with a tremendous explosion, the shock being so great as to prostrate many of those on the shore. So ended that momentous day. It had shown one thing conclusively, that wooden walls could no longer rule the wave. Iron had proved its superiority in naval construction. The next day was to behold another novel sight, the struggle of iron with iron. Morning came, the atmosphere was hazy. Only as the mist slowly lifted, were the gladiators of that liquid arena successively made visible. Here, just above the water, defiantly floated the flag of the sunken Cumberland. There smoked the still burning hull of the Congress. Here, up the bay, steamed the Merrimack with two attendants, the Yorktown and the Patrick Henry. Yonder lay the great hull of the steam frigate Minnesota, which had taken some part in the battle of the day before, but had unfortunately gone ashore on a mud bank, from which the utmost efforts failed to force her off. Other Union naval vessels were visible in the distance. The Merrimack made her way towards the Minnesota, as towards a certain prey. Her commander felt confident that an hour or two would enable him to reduce this great vessel to the condition of her recent companions. Yet an odd sight met his vision. Alongside the Minnesota floated the strangest-looking craft that human eye had ever gazed upon. An insignificant affair it appeared. A cheese-box on a raft, it was irreverently designated. The deck, a level expanse of iron, came scarcely above the surface. Above it rose a circular turret, capable of being revolved, and with portholes for two great guns, among the largest up to that time used in naval warfare. How this odd contrivance came there so opportunity may be briefly told. It was the conception of John Ericsson, the eminent Swedish engineer, and was being rapidly built in New York while the Merrimack was being plated with thick iron bars in Norfolk. A contest for time took place between these two unlike craft. Spies were in both places to report progress. Fortunately, the monitor was finished a day or two before her competitor. Immediately she steamed away for Hampton Roads. The passage was a severe one. Three days were consumed, during which the seas swept repeatedly over the low deck, the men being often half suffocated in their confined quarters, the turret alone standing above the water. As they approached Fortress Monroe, the sound of cannonating was heard. Terrying but a few minutes at the fort, the monitor, as this odd vessel had been named, approached the Minnesota and reached her side at a late hour of the night. And now, with the new day, back to the fray came the Merrimack, looking like a giant in comparison with this dwarfish antagonist. As she approached, the little craft glided swiftly in front of her grounded consort, like a new David offering battle to a modern Goliath. As if in disdain of this puny antagonist, the Merrimack began an attack on the Minnesota. But when the two 11-inch guns of the monitor opened fire, hurling solid balls of 168 pounds weight against the iron sides of her great opponent, it became at once evident that a new move had opened in the game, and that the Merrimack had no longer the best of the play. The fight that followed was an extraordinary one, and was gazed on with intense interest by the throng of spectators who crowded the shores of the bay. The Merrimack had no solid shot, as she had expected only wooden antagonists. Her shells were hurled upon the monitor, but most of them missed their mark, and those that struck failed to do any injury. So small was the object fired at that the great shells as a rule whirled uselessly by, and plunged hissing into the waves. The massive solid balls of the monitor were far more effective. Nearly every one struck the broad sides of the Merrimack, breaking her armor in several places, and shattering the wood backing behind it. Many times the Merrimack tried to ram her small antagonist, and thus to rid herself of this teasing tormentor, but the active cheese-box slipped agilely out of her way. The monitor in turn tried to disable the screw of her opponent, but without success. Unable to do any harm to her doorfish foe, the Merrimack now, as if in disdain, turned her attention to the Minnesota, hurling shells through her side. In return the frigate poured into her a whole broadside at close range. It was enough, said the captain of the frigate afterwards, to have blown out of the water, and he wouldn't ship in the world. It was wasted on the ironclad foe. This change of action did not please the captain of the monitor. He thrust his vessel quickly between the two combatants, and assailed so sharply that the Merrimack steamed away. The monitor followed. Suddenly the fugitive vessel turned, and like an animal moved by an impulsive fury, rushed head-on upon her tormentor. Her beak struck the flat iron deck so sharply as to be wrenched by the blow. The great hull seemed for the moment as if it would crowd the low-lying vessel bodily beneath the waves. But no such result followed. The monitor glided away unharmed. As she went she sent a ball against the Merrimack that seemed to crush in her armored sides. At ten o'clock the monitor steamed away as if in flight. The Merrimack now prepared to pay attention again to the Minnesota, her captain deeming that he had silenced his tormenting foe. He was mistaken. In half an hour the monitor, having hoisted a new supply of balls into her turret, was back again, and for two hours more the strange battle continued. Then it came to an end. The Merrimack turned and ran away. She had need to. Those on shore saw that she was sagging down at the stern. The battle was over. The turreted iron clad had driven her a great antagonist from the field and won the victory, and thus ended one of the strangest and most notable naval combats in history. During the fight the monitor had fired 41 shots and been struck 22 times. Her greatest injury was the shattering of her pilot house. Her commander, Lieutenant Warden, was knocked senseless and temporarily blinded by the shock. On board the Merrimack two men were killed and 19 wounded. Her iron prow was gone. Her armor broken and damaged. Her steam pipe and smoke stock riddled. The muzzles of two of her guns shot away, while water made its way into her through more than one crevice. Back to Norfolk went the injured Merrimack. Here she was put into the dry dock and hastily repaired. After that had been done, she steamed down to the old fighting ground on two or three occasions and challenged her small antagonist. The monitor did not accept the challenge. If any accident had happened to her, the rest of the fleet would have been lost, and it was deemed wisest to hold her back for emergencies. On the 10th of May the Confederates marched out of Norfolk. On the 11th the Merrimack was blown up, and only her disabled hull remained as a trophy to the victors. As to her condition and fighting power is one of the engineers who had charge of the repairs upon her said. A shot from the monitor entered one of her ports, lodged in the backing of the other side, and so shivered her timbers that she never afterwards could be made sea-worthy. She could not have been kept afloat for twelve hours, and her officers knew it when they went out and dared the monitor to fight her. It was a case of pure bluff. We didn't hold a single pair. The combat we have recorded was perhaps the most important in the history of naval warfare. It marked a turning point in the construction of the monarchs of the deep by proving that the future battles of the sea must be fought behind iron walls. End of Chapter 22