 Preface of the Women of the American Revolution, Vol. 1 In offering this work to the public it is due to the reader no less than the writer to say something of the extreme difficulty which has been found in obtaining material sufficiently reliable for a record design to be strictly authentic. Three-quarters of a century have necessarily effaced all recollection of many imposing domestic scenes of the revolution and cast over many a veil of obscurity through which it is hard to distinguish their features. Whatever has not been preserved by contemporaneous written testimony or derived at an early period from immediate actors in the scenes is liable to the suspicion of being distorted or discolored by the imperfect knowledge, the prejudices or the fancy of its narrators. It is necessary always to distrust and very often to reject traditionary information. Much of this character has been received from various sources but I have refrained from using it in all cases where it is not supported by responsible personal testimony or where it was found to conflict in any of its details with established historical facts. In as much as political history says but little, and that vaguely and incidentally, of the women who bore their part in the revolution, the materials for a work treating of them and their actions and sufferings must be derived in great part from private sources. The apparent dearth of information was at first almost disheartening. Except the letters of Mrs. Adams no fair exponent of the feelings and trials of the women of the revolution had been given to the public, for the letters of Mrs. Wilkinson afford but a limited view of a short period of the war. Of the southern women Mrs. Mott was the only one generally remembered in her own state for the act of magnanimity recorded in history, and a few fragmentary anecdotes of female heroism to be found in Garden's collection and some historical works, completed the amount of published information on the subject. Letters of friendship and affection, those most faithful transcripts of the heart and mind of individuals, have been earnestly sought and examined wherever they could be obtained. But a letter writing was far less usual among our ancestors than it is at the present day, and the uncertainty and sometimes the danger attendant upon the transmission of letters were not only an impediment to frequent correspondence, but excluded from that which did exist much discussion of the all-absorbing subjects of the time. Of the little that was written to how small a portion remains in this, as it has been truly called, manuscript destroying generation. But while much that might have illustrated the influence of women and the domestic character and feeling of those days had been lost or obscured by time, it appeared yet possible by persevering effort to recover something worthy of an enduring record. With the view of eliciting information for this purpose, application was made severally to the surviving relatives of women remarkable for position or influence, or who Zeal, personal sacrifices or heroic acts, had contributed to promote the establishment of American independence. My success in these applications has not been such as to enable me to fill out entirely my own idea of the work I wish to present to the reader. Some of the sketches are necessarily brief and meager, and perhaps few of them do full justice to their subjects. There is also inherent difficulty in delineating female character, which impresses itself on the memory of those who have known the individual by delicate traits that may be felt but not described. The actions of men stand out in prominent relief and are a safe guide in forming a judgment of them. A woman's fear on the other hand is secluded, and in very few instances does her personal history, even though she may feel a conspicuous position, afford sufficient incident to throw a strong light upon her character. This want of salient points for description must be felt by all who have attempted a faithful portraiture of some beloved female relative. How much is the difficulty increased when a stranger assays a tribute to those who are no longer among the living and whose existence was passed for the most part in a quiet round of domestic duties? It needs scarcely be said that the deficiency of material has in no case been supplied by fanciful embellishment. These memoirs are a simple and homely narrative of real occurrences. Wherever details were wanting to fill out the picture, it has been left in outline for some more fortunate limner. No labor of research, no pains in investigation, and none but those who have been similarly engaged can estimate the labor have been spared in establishing the truth of the statements. It can hardly be expected that inaccuracies have been altogether avoided in a work where the facts have to be drawn from numerous and sometimes conflicting authorities, but errors if discovered may be hereafter corrected. The sketches contained in the first volume illustrating progressive stages of the war are arranged with some observance of chronological order, while those in the second do not admit of such a distribution. Many authorities, including nearly all the books upon the revolution have been consulted and reference is made to those to which I am under special obligations. For the memoir of Mrs. Bash, I am indebted to the pen of Mr. William Duane of Philadelphia, and for that of Mrs. Allen to Mr. Henry R. Schoolcraft of Washington. My grateful acknowledgments are due also to Mr. Jacob B. Moore, librarian of the New York Historical Society for valuable advice and for facilities afforded me in examining the books and manuscripts under his charge, and to Dr. Joseph Johnson, the Reverend James H. Say and the Honorable Judge O'Neill of South Carolina who have obligingly aided me in the collection of authentic particulars connected with the war in that state. Others have rendered valuable assistance in the same way and in affording me an opportunity of examining family papers in their possession. To them all and to those numerous friends who have encouraged me by their sympathy and kind wishes in this arduous but interesting task I offer my most heartfelt thanks. If the work whose progress they have cherished should be deemed a useful contribution to American history they will be no less gratified than myself that its design has been accomplished. E-F-E. The Women of the Revolution All Americans are accustomed to view with interest and admiration the events of the revolution. Its scenes are vivid in their memory and its prominent actors are regarded with the deepest veneration. But while the leading spirits are thus honored, attention should be directed to the source whence their power was derived, to the sentiment pervading the mass of the people. The force of this sentiment working in the public heart cannot be measured because, amidst the abundance of materials for the history of action, there is little for that of the feeling of those times. And as years pass on, the investigation becomes more and more difficult. Yet it is both interesting and important to trace its operation. It gave statesmen their influence and armed heroes for victory. What could they have done but for the home sentiment to which they appealed and which sustained them in the hour of trial and success? They were thus aided to the eminence they gained through toils and perils. Others may claim a share in the merit if not the fame of their illustrious deeds. The unfading laurels that read their brows had their root in the hearts of the people and were nourished with their life blood. The feeling which wrought thus powerfully in the community depended in great part upon the women. It is always thus in times of popular excitement. Who can estimate more over the controlling influence of early culture? During the years of the progress of British encroachment and colonial discontent, when the sagacious politician could discern the pretentious shadow of events yet far distant, there was no time for the nurture in the domestic sanctuary of that love of civil liberty which afterwards kindled into a flame and shed light on the world. The talk of matrons in American homes was of the people's wrongs and the tyranny that oppressed them till the sons who had grown to manhood with strengthened aspirations towards a better state of things and views enlarged to comprehend their invaded rights stood up prepared to defend them to the utmost. Patriotic mothers nursed the infancy of freedom. Their councils and their prayers mingled with the deliberations that resulted in a nation's assertion of its independence. They animated the courage and confirmed the self-devotion of those who ventured all in the common cause. They frowned upon instances of coldness or backwardness, and in the period of deepest gloom cheered and urged onward the desponding. They willingly shared inevitable dangers and privations, relinquished without regret, prospects of advantage to themselves, and parted with those they loved better than life, not knowing when they were to meet again. It is almost impossible now to appreciate the vast influence of women's patriotism upon the destinies of the infant Republic. We have no means of showing the important part she bore in maintaining the struggle and in laying the foundations on which so mighty and majestic a structure has arisen. History can do it no justice, for history deals with the workings of the head rather than the heart. And the knowledge received by tradition of the domestic manners and social character of the times is too imperfect to furnish a sure index. We can only dwell upon individual instances of magnanimity, fortitude, self-sacrifice, and heroism bearing the impress of the feeling of revolutionary days indicative of the spirit which animated all and to which, in its various and multi-form exhibitions, we are not less indebted for national freedom than to the swords of the patriots who poured out their blood. Tis true, Cleander, says a writer in one of the papers of the day, asterisk. New Jersey Gazette, October 11, 1780. Return to text. No means spirit will accrue to him who shall justly celebrate the virtues of our ladies. Shall not their generous contributions to relieve the wants of the defenders of our country supply a column to emulate the Roman women stripped of their jewels when the public necessity demanded them? Such tributes were often called forth by the voluntary exertions of American women. Their patriotic sacrifices were made with an enthusiasm that showed the earnest spirit ready on every occasion to appear in generous acts. Some gave their own property and went from house to house to solicit contributions for the army. Colors were embroidered by fair hands and presented with the charge never to desert them, and arms and ammunition were provided by their same liberal zeal. They formed themselves into associations renouncing the use of teas and other imported luxuries, and engaging to card, spin, and weave their own clothing. In Mecklenburg and Rowan County's North Carolina, young ladies of the most respectable families pledged themselves not to receive the addresses of any suitors who had not obeyed the country's call for military service. The needy shared the fruit of their industry and economy. They visited hospitals daily, sought the dungeons of the provost, and the crowded holds of prison ships. And provisions were carried from their stores to the captives whose only means of recompense was the blessing of those who were ready to perish. Many raised grain, gathered it, made bread, and carried it to their relatives in the army or in prisons, accompanying the supply with exhortations never to abandon the cause of their country. The burial of friends slain in battle or chance encounters often devolved upon them, and even enemies would not have received sepulcher without the service of their hands. When the resources of the country scarcely allowed the scantiest supply of clothing and provisions, and British cruisers on the coast destroyed every hope of aid for merchant vessels, when, to the distressed troops, their cup of fortune seemed full to overflowing, and there appeared no prospect of relief except from the benevolence of their fellow citizens. When even the ability of these was almost exhausted by repeated applications, then it was that the women of Pennsylvania and New Jersey, by their zealous exertions and willing sacrifices, accomplished what had been thought impossible. Not only was the pressure of want removed, but the sympathy and favor of the fair daughters of America, says one of the journals, operated like a charm on the soldier's heart, gave vigor to exertion, confidence to his hopes of success, and the ultimate certainty of victory and peace. General Washington, in his letter of acknowledgement to the Committee of Ladies, says, The army ought not to regret its sacrifices or its sufferings when they meet with so flattering a reward as in the sympathy of your sex, nor can it fear that its interests will be neglected when espoused by advocates as powerful as they are amiable. An officer in camp writes in June 1780, The patriotism of the women of your city is a subject of conversation with the army. Had I, poetical genius, I would sit down and write an ode in praise of it. Burgoyne, who on his first coming to America boasted that he would dance with the ladies and coax the men to submission, must now have a better understanding of the good sense and public spirit of our females, as he has already heard of the fortitude and inflexible temper of our men. Another observes. We cannot appeal in vain for what is good to that sanctuary where all that is good has its proper home, the female bosom. How the influence of women was estimated by John Adams appears from one of his letters to his wife. I think I have sometimes observed to you in conversation that upon examining the biography of illustrious men, you will generally find some female about them in the relation of mother or wife or sister, to whose instigation a great part of their merit is to be ascribed. You will find a curious example of this in the case of Aspecia, the wife of Pericles. She was a woman of the greatest beauty and the first genius. She taught him, it is said, his refined maxims of policy, his lofty imperial eloquence, nay, even composed the speeches on which so great a share of his reputation was founded. I wish some of our great men had such wives. By the account in your last letter, it seems the women in Boston begin to think themselves able to serve their country. What a pity it is that our generals in the Northern Districts had not Aspecia to their wives. I believe the two Howes have not very great women for wives. If they had, we should suffer more from their exertions than we do. This is our good fortune. A smart wife would have put Howe in possession of Philadelphia long time ago. The venerable major spaulding of Georgia writes in reply to an application to him for information respecting the revolutionary woman of his state. I am a very old man and have read as much as any one I know, yet I have never known and never read of one—no, not one—who did not owe high standing or a great name to his mother's blood or his mother's training. My friend Randolph said he owed everything to his mother. Mr. Jefferson's mother was a Randolph, and he acknowledged that he owed everything to her rearing. General Washington, we all know, attributed everything to his mother. Lord Bacon attributed much to his mother's training. And will anyone doubt that even Alexander believed he owed more to the blood and lofty ambition of Olympia than the wisdom or cunning of Philip? The sentiments of the women towards the brave defenders of their native land were expressed in an address widely circulated at the time, and read in the Churches of Virginia. We know, it says, that at a distance from the theater of war if we enjoy any tranquility, it is the fruit of your watchings, your labors, your dangers. And shall we hesitate to invent to you our gratitude? Shall we hesitate to wear clothing more simple and dress less elegant, while at the price of this small privation we shall deserve your benedictions? The same spirit appears in a letter found among some papers belonging to a lady of Philadelphia. It was addressed to a British officer in Boston and written before the Declaration of Independence. The following extract will show its character. I will tell you what I have done. My only brother I have sent to the camp with my prayers and blessings. I hope he will not disgrace me. I am confident he will behave with honor and emulate the great examples he has before him, and had I twenty sons and brothers they should go. I have retrenched every superfluous expanse in my table and family. Tea I have not drunk since last Christmas, nor bought a new cap or gown since your defeat at Lexington. And what I never did before have learned to knit, and am now making stockings of American wool for my servants. And this way do I throw in my might to the public good. I know this, that as free I can die but once, but as a slave I shall not be worthy of life. I have the pleasure to assure you that these are the sentiments of all my sister-Americans. They have sacrificed assemblies, parties of pleasure, tea-drinking and finery, to that great spirit of patriotism that actuates all degrees of people throughout this extensive continent. If these are the sentiments of females, what must glow in the breast of our husbands, brothers and sons? They are, as with one heart, determined to die or be free. It is not a quibble in politics, a science which few understand, that we are contending for. It is this plain truth which the most ignorant peasant knows and is clear to the weakest capacity, that no man has a right to take their money without their consent. You say you are no politician. Oh, sir, it requires no Machiavellian head to discover this tyranny and oppression. It is written with a sunbeam. Everyone will see and know it, because it will make everyone feel, and we shall be unworthy of the blessings of heaven if we ever submit to it. Heaven seems to smile on us, for in the memory of man never were known such quantities of flax and sheep without number. We are making powder fast and do not want for ammunition. From all portions of the country thus arose the expression of woman's ardent zeal. Under accumulated evils the manly spirit that alone could secure success might have sunk but for the firmness and intrepidity of the weaker sex. It supplied every persuasion that could animate to perseverance and secure fidelity. The noble deeds in which this irrepressible spirit breathed itself were not unrewarded by persecution. The case of the Quakeress Deborah Franklin who was banished from New York by the British commandant for her liberality in relieving the sufferings of the American prisoners was one among many. In our days of tranquility and luxury imagination can scarcely compass the extent of severity of the trials endured, and it is proportionately difficult to estimate the magnanimity that bore all, not only with uncomplaining patience, but with a cheerful forgetfulness of suffering in view of the desired object. The alarms of war, the roar of the strife itself, could not silence the voice of woman, lifted an encouragement or in prayer. The horrors of battle or massacre could not drive her from the post of duty. The effect of this devotion cannot be questioned, though it may not now be traced in particular instances. These were, for the most part, known only to those who were themselves actors in the scenes or who lived in the midst of them. The heroism of the revolutionary women has passed from remembrance with the generation who witnessed it, or is seen only by fate and occasional glimpses through the gathering obscurity of tradition. To render a measure of justice, inadequate it must be to a few of the American matrons whose names deserve to live in remembrance, and to exhibit something of the domestic side of the revolutionary picture is the object of this work. As we recede from the realities of that struggle, it is regarded with increasing interest by those who enjoy its results, while the elements which were its life-giving principle too subtle to be retained by the grave historian are fleeting fast from apprehension. Yet, without some conception of them, the revolution cannot be appreciated. We must enter into the spirit as well as master the letter. While attempting to pay a tribute but too long withheld to the memory of women who did and endured so much in the cause of liberty, we should not be insensible to the virtues exhibited by another class belonging equally to the history of the period. These had their share of reverse and suffering. Many saw their children and relatives espousing opposite sides, and with ardent feelings of loyalty in their hearts, were forced to weep over the miseries of their families and neighbors. Many were driven from their homes, despoiled of property, and finally compelled to cast their law in desolate wilds and ungenial climate. Asterisk. The ancient Acadia comprising Nova Scotia and New Brunswick was settled by many of the refugee loyalists from the United States. Return to text. And while their heroism, fortitude, and spirit of self-sacrifice were not less brightly displayed, their hard lot was unpitted and they met with no reward. In the library of William H. Prescott, at his residence in Boston, are two swords crossed above the arch of an alcove. One belonged to his grandfather Colonel William Prescott, who commanded the American troops in the Redoubt at Bunker Hill. The other was the sword of Captain Lindsay, of the Royal Navy who commanded the British Slope of War, the Falcon then lying in the Mystic, from which the American troops were fired upon as they crossed to Bunker Hill. Captain Lindsay was the grandfather of Mrs. Prescott. The swords of those two gallant soldiers who fought on different sides upon that memorable day, now in the possession of their United Descendants and crossed, an emblem of peace in the library of the great American historian, are emblematic of the spirit in which our history should be written. Such be the spirit in which we view the loyalists of those days. CHAPTER 1 MARRY WASHINGTON THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON There needs no eulogy to awaken the associations which cling around that sacred name. Our hearts do willing homage to the venerated parent of the chief, who mid his elements of being wrought with no uncertain aim, nursing the germs of God-like virtue in his infant mind. The contemplation of Washington's character naturally directs attention to her, whose maternal care guided and guarded his early years. What she did, and the blessing of a world that follows her, teach impressively, while showing the power, the duty of those who mold the characters of the age to come. The principles and conduct of this illustrious matron were closely interwoven with the destinies of her son. Washington ever acknowledged that he owed everything to his mother in the education and habits of his early life. His high moral principle, his perfect self-possession, his clear and sound judgment, his inflexible resolution and untiring application were developed by her training and example. A believer in the truths of religion, she inculcated a strict obedience to its injunctions. She planted the seed and cherished the growth which bore such rich and glorious fruit. Lafayette observed that she belonged rather to the age of Sparta or Rome than to modern times. She was a mother formed on the ancient model, and by her elevation of character and matchless discipline, fitted to lay the foundation of the greatness of him who towered beyond all Greek, beyond all Roman fame. The course of Mrs. Washington's life, exhibiting her qualities of mind and heart, proved her fitness for the high trust committed to her hands. She was remarkable for vigor of intellect, strength of resolution, and inflexible firmness wherever principle was concerned. Devoted to the education of her children, her parental government and guidance have been described by those who knew her as admirably adapted to train the youthful mind to wisdom and virtue. With her, affection was regulated by a calm and just judgment. She was distinguished, moreover, by that well-marked quality of genius, a power of acquiring and maintaining influence over those with whom she associated. Without inquiring into the philosophy of this mysterious ascendancy, she was content to employ it for the noblest ends. It contributed, no doubt, to deepen the effect of her instructions. The life of Mrs. Washington, so useful in the domestic sphere, did not abound in incident. She passed through the trials common to those who lived amid the scenes of the revolutionary era. She saw the son whom she had taught to be good, whom she had reared in the principles of true honor, walking the perilous path of duty with firm step, leading his country to independence and crowned with his reward, a nation's gratitude. Yet, in all these changes, her simple, earnest nature remained the same. She loved to speak in her latter days of her boy's merits in his early life and of his filial affection and duty, but never dwelt on the glory he had won as the deliverer of his country the chief magistrate of a great republic. This was because her ambition was too high for the pride that inspires and rewards common souls. The greatness she discerned and acknowledged in the object of her solicitous tenderness was beyond that which this world most esteems. The only memoir of the mother of Washington extant is the one written by George W. P. Custis, the grandson of Martha Washington, and published more than twenty years ago in his recollections in the National Gazette. These reminiscences were collected by him in the course of many years, and to them we are indebted for all that is known of the life and actions of this matron. According to these, she was descended from the respectable family of Ball, who came to this country and settled on the banks of the Potomac. In the old days of Virginia, women were taught habits of industry and self-reliance, and in these Mrs. Washington was nurtured. The early death of her husband involved her in the cares of a young family with limited resources, which rendered prudence and economy necessary to provide for and educate her children. Thus circumstance it was left to her unassisted efforts to form in her son's mind those essential qualities which gave tone and character to his subsequent life. George was only twelve years old at his father's death and retained merely the remembrance of his person and his parental fondness. Two years after this event he obtained a Midshipman's warrant, but his mother opposed the plan and the idea of entering the naval service was relinquished. The home in which Mrs. Washington presided was a sanctuary of the domestic virtues. The levity of youth was there tempered by a well-regulated restraint and the enjoyment's rational and proper for that age were indulged in with moderation. The future chief was taught the duty of obedience and was thus prepared to command. The mother's authority never departed from her even when her son had attained the height of his renown, for she ruled by the affection which had controlled his spirit when he needed a guardian, and she claimed a reverence next to that due to his creator. This claim he admitted mingling the deepest respect with enthusiastic attachment and yielding to her will the most implicit obedience even to the latest hours of her life. One of the associates of his juvenile years, Lawrence Washington of Chotang, thus speaks of his home. I was often there with George his playmate, schoolmate, and young man's companion. Of the mother I was ten times more afraid than I ever was of my own parents. She awed me in the midst of her kindness, for she was indeed truly kind. And even now, when time has whitened my locks, and I am the grandparent of a second generation, I could not behold that majestic woman without feelings it is impossible to describe. Whoever has seen that awe-inspiring air and manner so characteristic of the father of his country will remember the matron as she appeared, the presiding genius of her well-ordered household, commanding and being obeyed. Educated under such influences it is not to be wondered at that Washington's deportment towards his mother at all times, testified his appreciation of her elevated character and the excellence of her lessons. On his appointment to the command-in-chief of the American armies, says Mr. Custis, previously to his joining the forces of Cambridge, he removed his mother from her country residence to the village of Fredericksburg, a situation remote from danger and contiguous to her friends and relatives. There she remained during nearly the whole of the trying period of the revolution. Directly in the way of the news as it passed from north to south, one courier would bring intelligence of success to our arms, another swiftly coursing at his heels, the saddening reverse of disaster and defeat. While thus ebbed and flowed the fortunes of our cause, the mother trusting to the wisdom and protection of divine providence preserved the even tenor of her life, affording an example to those matrons whose sons were alike engaged in the arduous contest and showing that unavailing anxieties, however belonging to nature, were unworthy of mothers whose sons were combating for the inestimable rights of man and the freedom and happiness of the world. When news arrived of the passage of the Delaware in December 1776, the mother received calmly the patriots who came with congratulations, and while expressing pleasure at the intelligence, disclaimed for her son the praises in the letters from which extracts were read. When informed by express of the surrender of Cornwallis, she lifted her hands in gratitude towards heaven and exclaimed, Thank God, war will now be ended, and peace, independence, and happiness bless our country. Her housewifery, industry, and care in the management of her domestic concerns were not intermitted during the war. She looketh well to the ways of her household and worketh willingly with her hands, said the wise man in describing a virtuous woman, and it was the pride of the exemplary woman of that day to fail the station of mistress with usefulness as well as dignity. Mrs. Washington was remarkable for a simplicity which modern refinement might call severe, but which became her not less when her fortunes were clouded than when the son of Gloria rose upon her house. Some of the aged inhabitants of Fredericksburg long remembered the matron, as seated in an old-fashioned open chaise she was in the habitat visiting almost daily her little farm in the vicinity of the town. When there she would ride about her fields giving her orders and seeing that they were obeyed, when on one occasion an agent departed from his instructions she reproved him for exercising his own judgment in the matter. I command you, she said. There is nothing left for you but to obey. Her charity to the poor was well known, and having not wealth to distribute, it was necessary that what her benevolence dispensed should be supplied by domestic economy and industry. How peculiar a grace does this impart to the benefits flowing from a sympathizing heart. It is thus that she has been pictured in the imagination of one of our most gifted poets. Asterisk. Mrs. Sigourney, in her poetical tribute on the occasion of laying the cornerstone for the monument, me thinks we see thee as an olden time, simple in garb, majestic and serene, unawed by pop and circumstances, in truth inflexible, and with a Spartan zeal repressing vice and making folly grave. Thou didst not deem it woman's part to waste life in inglorious sloth, to sport a while amid the flowers or on the summer wave, then fleet like the ephemeron away, building no temple in her children's hearts, save to the vanity and pride of life which she had worshipped. Return to text. Mr. Castus states that she was continually visited and solaced in the retirement of her declining years by her children and numerous grandchildren. Her daughter, Mrs. Lewis, repeatedly and earnestly solicited her to remove to her house and there past the remainder of her days. Her son pressingly entreated her that she would make Mount Vernon the home of her age. But, the matron's answer was, I thank you for your affectionate and dutiful offers, but my wads are few in this world, and I feel perfectly competent to take care of myself. To the proposition of her son-in-law Colonel Lewis, to relieve her by taking the direction of her concerns, she replied, Do you, Fielding, keep my books in order, for your eyesight is better than mine, but leave the executive management to me. Such worthy energy and independence she preserved to an age beyond that usually allotted to mortals, and till within three years of her death, when the disease under which she suffered, cancer of the breast, prevented exertion. Her meeting with Washington after the victory which decided the fortune of America illustrates her character too strikingly to be omitted. After an absence of nearly seven years it was at length on the return of the combined armies from Yorktown, permitted to the mother again to see and embrace her illustrious son. So soon as he had dismounted in the midst of a numerous and brilliant suite, he sent to apprise her of his arrival and to know when it would be her pleasure to receive him. And now, mark the force of early education and habits and the superiority of the Spartan over the Persian schools in this interview of the great Washington with his admirable parent and instructor. No pageantry of war proclaimed his coming, no trumpets sounded, no banners waved. Alone and on foot, the Marshal of France, the General-In-Chief of the Combined Armies of France and America, the Deliverer of his country, the Hero of the Age, repaired to pay his humble duty to her whom he venerated as the author of his being, the founder of his fortune, and his fame. For full well he knew that the matron was made of sternest stuff than to be moved by all the pride that glory ever gave or by all the pomp and circumstance of power. The Lady was alone. Her aged hands employed in the works of domestic industry when the good news was announced, and it was further told that the Victor Chief was in waiting at the threshold. She welcomed him with a warm embrace and by the well remembered and endearing names of his childhood. Inquiring as to his health, she remarked the lines which mighty cares and many trials had made on his manly countenance, spoke much of old times and old friends, but of his glory not one word. Meantime in the village of Fredericksburg all was joy and revelry. The town was crowded with the officers of the French and American armies and with gentlemen from all the country around who hastened to welcome the conquerors of Cornwallis. The citizens made arrangements for a splendid ball to which the Mother of Washington was specially invited. She observed that although her dancing days were pretty well over, she should feel happy in contributing to the general festivity and consented to attend. The foreign officers were anxious to see the Mother of their Chief. They had heard indistinct rumors respecting her remarkable life and character, but forming their judgment from European examples they were prepared to expect in the Mother that glare and show which would have been attached to the parents of the great in the old world. How were they surprised when the matron leaning on the arm of her son entered the room? She was arrayed in the very plain yet becoming garb worn by the Virginia lady of the olden time. Her address, always dignified and imposing, was courteous though reserved. She received the complimentary attentions which were propusely paid her without evincing the slightest elevation and at an early hour wishing the company much enjoyment of their pleasures and observing that it was time for old people to be at home, retired, leaning as before, on the arm of her son. To this picture may be added another. The Marquis de Lafayette repaired to Fredericksburg previous to his departure for Europe in the fall of 1784 to pay his parting respects to the Mother and to ask her blessing. Conducted by one of the grandsons he approached the house when the young gentleman observed, There, sir, is my grandmother. Lafayette beheld, working in the garden, clad in domestic made clothes, and her gray head covered with a plain straw hat, the mother of, his hero, his friend, and a country's preserver. The lady saluted him kindly observing, Ah, Marquis, you see an old woman, but come, I can make you welcome to my poor dwelling without the parade of changing my dress. To the encomiums lavished by the Marquis on his chief, the mother replied, I am not surprised at what George has done, for he was always a very good boy. So simple in her true greatness of soul was this remarkable woman. Her piety was ardent, and she associated devotion with the grand and beautiful in nature. She was in the habit of repairing every day for prayer to a secluded spot, formed by rocks and trees near her dwelling. After the organization of the government, Washington repaired to Fredericksburg to announce to his mother his election to the chief magistrate, and bid her farewell before assuming the duties of his office. Her aged frame was bowed down by disease, and she felt that they were parting to meet no more in this world. But she bade him go with heaven's blessing and her own to fulfill the high destinies to which he had been called. Washington was deeply affected and whipped at the parting. The person of Mrs. Washington is described as being of the medium height and well proportioned. Her features pleasing, though strongly marked. There were few painters in the colonies in those days, and no portrait of her is in existence. Her biographer saw her but with infant eyes, but well remembers the sister of the chief. Of her we are told nothing except that she was a most majestic woman and so strikingly like the brother, that it was a matter of frolic to throw a cloak around her and place a military hat upon her head, and such was the perfect resemblance that had she appeared on her brother's steed battalions would have presented arms and sonnets risen to do homage to the chief. Mrs. Washington died at the age of 85, rejoicing in the consciousness of a life well spent in the hope of a blessed immortality. Her ashes repose at Fredericksburg where a splendid monument has been erected to her memory. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of the Women of the American Revolution Volume 1 by Elizabeth F. Ellett This Libovox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 2 Esther Reed Esther Debert was born in the city of London on the 22nd of October 1746 and died at Philadelphia on the 18th of September 1780. Her 34 years of life were adorned by no adventurous heroism, but were thickly studded with the brighter beauties of feminine endurance and complaining self-sacrifice and familiar virtue under trials too of which civil war is so fruitful. She was an only daughter. Her father, Dennis Debert, was a British merchant, largely interested in colonial trade. He was a man of high character. Descented from the Huguenots or French Flemings who came to England on the revocation of the Edict of Knot, Mr. Debert's pure and rather austere religious sentiments and practice were worthy of the source whence they came. His family were educated according to the strictest rule of the evangelical piety of their day, the day when devotion, frozen out of high places, found refuge in humble, dissenting chapels, the day of Wesley and of Whitfield. Mr. Debert's youth was trained religiously and she was, to the end of life, true to the principles of her education. This simple devotion she had learned from an aged father's lips alleviated the trials of youth and brightened around her early grave. Mr. Debert's house in London, owing to his business relations with the colonies, was the home of many young Americans who at that time were attracted by pleasure or duty to the imperial metropolis. Among these visitors in or about the year 1763 was Joseph Reed of New Jersey who had come to London to finish his professional studies, such being the fashion of the times at the temple. Mr. Reed was in the twenty-third year of his age, a man of education, intelligence and accomplishment. The intimacy thus accidentally begun soon produced its natural fruits and an engagement at first secret and afterwards avowed was formed between the young English girl and the American stranger. Parental discouragement so wise that even youthful impetuosity could find no fault with it was entirely inadequate to break a connection thus formed. They loved long and faithfully. How faithfully, the reader will best judge when he learns that a separation of five years of deferred hope with the Atlantic between them never gave rise to a wandering wish or hope or thought. Mr. Reed, having finished his studies, returned to America in the early part of 1765 and began the practice of law in his native village of Trenton. His success was immediate and great. But there was a distracting element at work in his heart which prevented him from looking on success with complacency and one plan after another was suggested by which he might be enabled to return and settle in Great Britain. That his young and gentle mistress should follow him to America was a vision too wild even for a sanguine lover. Every hope was directed back to England and the correspondence, the love letters of five long years are filled with plans by which these cherished but delusive wishes were to be consummated. How dimly was the future seen? Miss Debert's engagement with her American lover was coincident with that dreary period of British history when a monarch and his ministers were laboring hard to tear from its socket and cast away forever the brightest jewel of the imperial crown. American Colonial Power It was the interval when Shatham's voice was powerless to arouse the nation and make parliament pause when Pennywise politicians in the happy phrase of the day teased America into resistance and the varied vexations of stamp acts and revenue bills and tea duties, the congenial fruits of poor statesmanship were the means by which a great catastrophe was hurried onward. Mr. Debert's relations with the government were, in some respects, direct and intimate. His house was a place of counsel for those who sought by moderate and constitutional means to stay the hand of misgovernment and oppression. He was the agent of the Stamp Act Congress first in of the colonies of Delaware and Massachusetts afterwards. And most gallantly did the brave old man discharge the duty which his American constituents confided to him. His heart was in his trust, and we may well imagine the alternations of feeling which throbbed in the bosom of his daughter as she shared in the consultation of this almost American household. And, according to the fitful changes of time and opinion, counted the chances of discord that might be fatal to her peace or of honorable specification which should bring her lover home to her. Mr. Debert's letters, now in the possession of her descendants, are full of allusions to this varying state of things and are remarkable for the sagacious good sense which they develop. She is, from first to last, a stout American. Describing a visit to the House of Commons in April 1766, her enthusiasm for Mr. Pitt is unbounded, while she does not disguise her repugnance to George Grenville and Wetterburn, whom she says she cannot bear because they are such enemies to America. So it is throughout in every line she writes in every word she utters, and thus was she unconsciously receiving that training which in the end was to fit her for an American Patriot's wife. Onward, however, step by step, the monarch and his ministry, he, if possible, more infatuated than they, advanced in the career of tyrannical folly. Remonstrance was vain. They could not be persuaded that it would ever become resistance. In 1769 and 1770 the crisis was almost reached. Five years of folly had done it all. In the former of these years the lovers were reunited, Mr. Reed returning on an uncertain visit to England. He found everything but her faithful affection changed. Political disturbance had had its usual train of commercial disaster, and Mr. De Burt had not only become bankrupt, but unable to rally on such a reverse in old age had sunk into his grave. All was ruin and confusion, and on the 31st of May 1770, Esther De Burt became an American wife, the wedding being privately solemnized at St. Luke's Church in the city of London. In October the young couple sailed for America, arriving at Philadelphia in November 1770. Mr. Reed immediately changed his residence from Trenton to Philadelphia where he continued to live. Mrs. Reed's correspondence with her brother and friends in England during the next five years has not been preserved. It would have been interesting as showing the impressions made on an intelligent mind by the primitive state of society and modes of life in these wild colonies, some eighty years ago, when Philadelphia was but a large village, when the best people lived in Front Street or on the water side, and an Indian frontier was within one hundred miles of the schoolkill. They are, however, all lost. The influence of Mrs. Reed's foreign connection can be traced only in the interesting correspondence between her husband and Lord Dartmouth during the years 1774 and 1775, which has been recently given to the public and which narrates in the most genuine and trustworthy form the progress of colonial discontent in the period immediately anterior to actual revolution. In all the initial measures of peaceful resistance, Mr. Reed, as is well known, took a large and active share, and in all he did he had his young wife's ardent sympathy. The English girl had grown at once into the American matron. Philadelphia was then the heart of the nation. It beat generously and boldly when the news of Lexington and Bunker Hill startled the whole land. Volunteer troops were raised. Money in large sums was remitted much through Mr. Reed's direct agency for the relief of the sufferers in New England. At last a new and controlling incident here occurred. It was in Philadelphia that, walking in the State House yard, John Adams first suggested Washington as the National Commander-in-Chief, and from Philadelphia that in June 1775 Washington set out, accompanied by the best citizens of the liberal party, to enter on his duties. Asterisk. As this memoir was in preparation, the writer's eye was attracted by a notice of the Philadelphia obsequies of John Q. Adams in March 1848. It is from the New York Courier and Enquirer. Asterisk. That part of the ceremonial which was most striking, more impressive than anything I have ever seen, was the approach through the old State House yard to Independence Hall. I have stood by Napoleon's dramatic mausoleum in the Envalide and mused over the more simple tomb of Nelson lying by the side of Collingwood in the crept of St. Paul's, but no impression was made like that of yesterday. The multitude, for the crowd had grown into one, being strictly excluded from the square, failed the surrounding streets and houses and gazed silently on the simple ceremonial before them. It was sunset or nearly so, a calm, bright spring evening. There was no cheering, no disturbance, no display of banners, no rude sound of drum. The old trees were leafless and no one's free vision was disappointed. The funeral escort proper, consisting of the clergy comprising representatives of nearly all denominations, the Committee of Congress and the city authorities, in all not exceeding a hundred with the body and fall-bearers alone were admitted. They walked slowly up the middle path from the south gate, no sound being heard at the point from which I saw it, but the distant and gentle music of one military band near the hall and the deep tones of our ancient bell that rang when independence was proclaimed. The military escort, the Company of Washington Grays, whose duty it was to guard the body during the night, presented arms as the coffin went by. And as the procession approached the hall, the clergy and all others uncovered themselves, and if odd, by the genius of the place, approached reverently and solemnly. This simple and natural act of respect or rather reverence was most touching. It was a thing never to be forgotten. This part of the ceremonial was what I should like a foreigner to see. It was genuine and simple. Asterisk. And throughout, remember, illusion had nothing to do with it. These were simple, actual realities that thus stirred the heart. It was no empty memorial coffin. But here was the actual honored remains of one who was part of our history, the present, the recent, and a remote past. And who could avoid thinking, if any spark of consciousness remained in the old man's heart, it might have brightened as he was born along by the best men of Philadelphia on this classic path in the shadow of this building and to the sound of this bell. The last of the days of Washington was going by, and it was traversing the very spot where, 70 years ago, John Adams had first suggested Washington as Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Revolution. It reposed last night in Independence Hall. Return to text. Mr. Reed accompanied him as his family supposed, and as he probably intended only as part of an escort for a short distance. From New York he wrote to his wife that, yielding to the general's solicitations, he had become a soldier and joined the staff as aide and military secretary. The young mother, for she was then watching by the cradle of two infant children, neither repined nor murmured. She knew that it was no restless freak or transient appetite for excitement that took away her husband. For no one was more conscious than she how dear his cheerful home was and what sweet companionship there was in the mother and her babes. It was not difficult to be satisfied that a high sense of duty was his controlling influence and that hers it was to love and be silent. At Philadelphia she remained during Mr. Reed's first tour of duty at Cambridge, and afterwards in 1776, when being appointed Adjutant General, he rejoined the army at New York. In the summer of that year she took her little family to Burlington, and in the winter on the approach of the British invading forces took deeper refuge at a little farmhouse near Evesham and at no great distance from the edge of the pines. We, contented citizens of a peaceful land, can form little conception of the horrors and desolation of those ancient times of trial. The terrors of invasion are things which nowadays imagination can scarcely compass. But then it was rugged reality. The unbridled passions of a mercenary soldiery compounded not only of the brutal element that forms the vigor of every army, but of the ferocity of Hessians hired and paid for violence and drapeine were let loose on the land. The German troops as if to inspire a special terror were sent in advance and occupied in December 1776, a chain of post extending from Trenton to Mount Holly, Raul commanding at the first and Donup at the other. General Howe and his main army were rapidly advancing by the Great Route to the Delaware. On the other hand the river was filled with American gondolas whose crews landing from time to time on the Jersey shore by their lawlessness and threats of retaliation kept the Pacific inhabitants in continual alarm. The American army, if it deserved the name, was literally scattered along the right bank of the Delaware, Mr. Reed being with the small detachment of Philadelphia volunteers under Cadwallader at Bristol. Family tradition has described the anxious hours passed by the souring group at Evesham. It consisted of Mrs. Reed who had recently been confined and was in feeble health, her three children, an aged mother and a female friend, also a soldier's wife, the only male attendant being a boy of fourteen or fifteen years of age. If the enemy were to make a sudden advance they would be entirely cut off from the ordinary avenues of escape and precautions were taken to avoid this risk. The wagon was ready to be driven by the boy we have spoken of and the plan was matured if they failed to get over the river at Dunks or Cooper's Ferry to cross lower down near Salem and push on to the westward settlements. The wives and children of American Patriot soldiers thought themselves safer on the perilous edge of an Indian wilderness than in the neighborhood of the soldiers who commanded by noblemen, by men of honor and cavaliers, for such, according to all heraldry, were the house and Cornwallises, the purses and rodents of that day, were sent by a gracious monarch to lay waste this land. The English campaigning of our revolution, and no part of it more so than this, is the darkest among the dark stains that disfigure the history of the eighteenth century, and if ever there be a ground for hereditary animosity we have it in the fresh record of the outrages which the military arm of Great Britain committed on this soil. The transplanted sentimentalism which nowadays calls George III a wise and great monarch, is absolute treason to America. There was in the one colony of New Jersey, and in a single year, blood enough shed and misery enough produced, to outweigh all the spurious merits which his admirers can pretend to claim, and let such forever be the judgment of American history. It is worth a moment's meditation to pause and think of the sharp contrast in our heroine's life. The short interval of less than six years had changed her not merely to womanhood, but to womanhood with extraordinary trials. Her youth was passed in scenes of peaceful prosperity, with no greater anxiety than for a distant lover, and with all the comforts which independence and social position could supply. She had crossed the ocean abroad, content to follow the fortunes of her young husband, though she little dreamed what they were to be. She had become a mother, and while watching by the cradle of her infants, had seen her household broken up by war in its worst form, the internecine conflict of brothers and arms against each other. Her husband called away to scenes of bloody peril, and forced herself to seek uncertain refuge in a wilderness. She, too, let it be remembered, was a native born English woman, with all the loyal sentiments that beat by instinct in an English woman's heart, reverence for the throne, the monarch, and for all the complex institutions which hedge that mysterious or regular thing called the British Constitution. God save the king was neither then nor is it now a formal prayer on the lips of a British maiden. Coming to America all this was changed. Loyalty was a badge of crime. The king's friends were her husbands and her new country's worst enemies. That which, in the parks of London or at the horse guards she had admired as the holiday pageantry of war, had become the fearful apparatus of savage hostility. She, an English woman, was a fugitive from the brutality of English soldiers. Her destiny, her fortunes, and more than all her thoughts and hopes and wishes were changed. And happy was it for her husband that they were changed completely unthorily and that her faith to household loyalty was exclusive. Hers it was renouncing all other allegiance. In war or peace, in sickness or in health, in trouble and in danger and distress, through time and through eternity, to love. I have received, she writes in June 1777 to her husband, both my friend's letters. They have contributed to raise my spirits which though low enough are better than when you parted with me. The reflection how much I pain you by my want of resolution and the double distress I occasion you when I ought to make your duty as light as possible would tend to depress my spirits did I not consider that the best and only amends is to endeavour to resume my cheerfulness and regain my usual spirits. I wish you to know, my dearest friend, that I have done this as much as possible and beg you to free your mind from every care on this head. But to return to the narrative interrupted naturally by thoughts like these. The reverses which the British army met at Trenton and Princeton, with the details of which everyone is presumed to be familiar, saved that part of New Jersey where Mrs. Reed and her family resided from further danger, and on the retreat of the enemy and the consequent relief of Philadelphia from further alarm she returned to her home. She returned there with pride as well as contentment, for her husband, inexperienced soldier that he was, had earned military fame of no slight eminence. He had been in nearly every action and always distinguished. Washington had on all occasions and at last in a special manner peculiarly honoured him. The patriots of Philadelphia hailed him back among them, and the wife's smile of welcome was not less bright because she looked with pride upon her husband. Brief, however, was the new period of repose. The English generals, deeply mortified at their discomfiture in New Jersey, resolved on a new and more elaborate attempt on Philadelphia, and in July 1777 set sail with the most complete equipment they had yet been able to prepare for the capes of the Chesapeake. On the landing of the British army at the head of Elk and during the military movements that followed, Mrs. Reed was at Norristown, and there remained her husband having again joined the army till after the battle of Brandywine when she and her children were removed first to Burlington and thence to Flemington. Mr. Reed's hurried letters show the imminent danger that even women and children ran in those days of confusion. It is quite uncertain, he writes on 14 September 1777, which way the progress of the British army may point. Upon their usual plan of movement they will cross or endeavour to cross the school keel somewhere near my house, in which case I shall be very dangerously situated. If you could possibly spare Cato with your light wagon to be with me to assist in getting off it there should be necessity, I shall be very glad. I have but few things beside the women and children, but yet upon a push, one wagon and two horses would be too little. Mrs. Reed's letters show her agonized condition alarmed as she was at the continual and peculiar risk her husband was running. A little later, in February 1778, Mrs. Reed says in writing to a dear female friend, this season which used to be so long and tedious has to me been swift and no sooner come than nearly gone. Not from the pleasures it has brought, but the fears of what is to come, and indeed on many accounts winter has become the only season of peace and safety. Returning spring will, I fear, bring a return of bloodshed and destruction to our country. That it must do so to this part of it seems unavoidable, and how much of the distress we may feel before we are able to move from it I am unable to say. I sometimes fear a great deal. It has already become too dangerous for Mr. Reed to be at home more than one day at a time, and that seldom and uncertain. Indeed, I am easiest when he is from home, as his being here brings danger with it. There are so many disaffected to the cause of their country that they lie in wait for those who are active, but I trust that the same kind presiding power which has preserved him from the hands of his enemies will still do it. Nor were her fears unreasonable. The neighborhood of Philadelphia after it fell into the hands of the enemy was infested by gangs of armed loyalists who threatened the safety of every patriot whom they encountered, tempted by the hard money which the British promised them they dared any danger and were willing to commit any enormity. It was these very ruffians and their wily abetters for whom afterwards so much false sympathy was invoked. Mr. Reed and his family, though much exposed, happily escaped these dangers. During the military operations of the autumn of 1777, Mr. Reed was again attached as a volunteer to Washington's staff and during the winter that followed, the worst that America's soldiers saw. He was at or in the immediate neighborhood of Valley Forge as one of a committee of Congress of which body he had some time before been chosen a member. Mrs. Reed with her mother and her little family took refuge at Flemington in the upper part of New Jersey. She remained there till after the evacuation of Philadelphia and the Battle of Monmouth in June 1778. While thus separated from her husband and residing at Flemington, new domestic misfortune fell on her in the death of one of her children by smallpox. How like an affectionate heart-stricken mother is the following passage from a letter written at that time. Though it has no peculiar beauty of style, there is a touching genuineness which every reader, at least those who know a mother's heart under such affliction, will appreciate. Surely, says she, my affliction has had its aggravation and I cannot help reflecting on my neglect of my dear lost child. For thoughtful and attentive to my own situation, I did not take the necessary precaution to prevent that fatal disorder when it was in my power. Surely I ought to take blame to myself. I would not do it to aggravate my sorrow but to learn a lesson of humility and more caution and prudence in future. Would, to God, I could learn every lesson intended by the stroke. I think sometimes of my loss with composure, acknowledging the wisdom, right and even the kindness of the dispensation. Again I feel it overcome me and strike the very bottom of my heart and tell me the work is not yet finished. Nor was it finished, though in a sense different from what she apprehended. Her children were spared, but her own short span of life was nearly run. Trial and perplexity and separation from home and husband were doing their work. Mrs. Reed returned to Philadelphia, the seat of actual warfare being forever removed to apparent comfort and high social position. In the fall of 1778, Mr. Reed was elected president, or in the language of our day, governor of Pennsylvania. His administration, its difficulties and ultimate success belonged to the history of the country and have been elsewhere illustrated. It was from first to last a period of intense political excitement and Mr. Reed was the high target at which the sharp and venomous shafts of party virulence were chiefly shot. The suppressed poison of loyalism mingled with the ferocity of ordinary political animosity and the scene was in every respect discreditable to all concerned. Slander of every sort was freely propagated. Personal violence was threatened. Gentlemen went armed in the streets of Philadelphia. Folly on one hand and fanaticism on the other put in jeopardy the lives of many distinguished citizens in October 1779 and Mr. Reed by his energy and discretion saved them. There is extant a letter from his wife written to a friend on the day of what is well known in Philadelphia as the Fort Wilson riot dated at Germantown, which shows her fears for her husband's safety were not less reasonable when he was exposed to the fury of an excited populace than to the legitimate hostility of an enemy on the field of battle. Dear sir, I would not take a moment of your time to tell you the distress and anxiety I feel but only to beg you to let me know in what state things are and what is likely to be the consequence. I write not to Mr. Reed because I know he is not in a situation to attend to me. I conjure you by the friendship you have for Mr. Reed. Don't leave him. He are. And throughout this scene of varied perplexity when the heart of the statesman was oppressed by trouble without disappointment in gratitude all that makes a politician's life so wretched he was sure to find his home happy his wife smiling and contented with no visible sorrow to impair her welcome and no murmur to break the melody of domestic joy. It sustained him to the end. This was humble, homely heroism but it did its good work in cheering and sustaining a spirit that might have otherwise been broken. Let those disparage it who have never had the solace which such companionship affords or who never have known the bitter sorrow of its loss. In May 1780 Mrs. Reed's youngest son was born. It was of him that Washington a month later wrote, I warmly thank you for calling the young Christian by my name and it was he who more than 30 years afterwards died in the service of his country not less gloriously because he was not a death of triumph. Ask to risk. George Washington Reed a commander in the U.S. Navy died a prisoner of war in Jamaica in 1813. He refused a parole because unwilling to leave his crew in a pestilential climate and himself perished. Return to text. It was in the fall of this year that the ladies of Philadelphia united in their remarkable and generous contribution for the relief of the suffering soldiers by supplying them with clothing. Mrs. Reed was placed by their united suffrage at the head of this association. The French Secretary of Legation, Monsieur de Malbois in a letter that has been published tells her she is called to the office as the best patriot the most zealous and active and the most attached to the interests of her country. Notwithstanding the feeble state of her health Mrs. Reed entered upon her duties with great automation. The work was congenial to her feelings. It was charity in its genuine form and from its purest source the voluntary outpouring from the heart. It was not stimulated by the excitement of our day neither fancy fairs nor bazaars but the American woman met and seeing the necessity that asked interposition relieved it. They solicited money and other contributions directly and for a precise and avowed object. They labored with their needles and sacrificed their trinkets and jewelry. The result was very remarkable. The aggregate amount of contributions in the city and county of Philadelphia was not less than $7,500 species. Much of it too paid in hard money at a time of the greatest appreciation. All ranks of society says President Reed's biographer seemed to have joined in the liberal effort from Phyllis the colored woman with her humble seven shillings and six pence to the Marchionese de Lafayette who contributed 100 guineas in specie and the Countess de Lusanne who gave $6,000 in continental paper. Lafayette's gentlemanly letter to Mrs. Reed is worth preserving. Headquarters June the 25th 1780 Madam, in admiring the new resolution in which the fair ones of Philadelphia have taken the lead I am induced to feel for those American ladies who being out of the continent cannot participate in this patriotic measure. I know of one who heartily wishing for a personal acquaintance with the ladies of America would feel particularly happy to be admitted among them on the present occasion. Without presuming to break in upon the rules of your respected association may I most humbly present myself as her ambassador to the Confederate ladies and solicit in her name that Mrs. President be pleased to accept of her offering. With the highest respect I have the honor to be, Madam, your most obedient servant, Lafayette. Mrs. Reed's correspondence with the Commander-in-Chief on the subject of the mode of administering relief to the poor soldiers has been already published and is very creditable to both parties. Asterisk, life and correspondence of President Reed. Return to text. Her letters are marked by business-like intelligence and sound feminine common sense on subjects of which as a secluded woman she could have personally no previous knowledge and Washington as has been truly observed writes as judiciously on the humble topic of soldiers' shirts as on the plan of a campaign on the subsistence of an army. All this time it must be borne in mind it was a feeble, delicate woman who was thus writing and laboring her husband again away from her with the army and her family cares and anxieties daily multiplying. She writes from her country residence on the banks of Schoolkill as late as the 22nd of August 1780. I am most anxious to get to town because here I can do little for the soldiers. But the body and the heroic spirit were alike overtast and in the early part of the next month alarming disease developed itself and soon ran its fatal course. On the 18th of September 1780 her aged mother, her husband and little children, the oldest ten years old mourning around her, she breathed her last at the early age of thirty-four. There was deep and honest sorrow in Philadelphia when the news was circulated that Mrs. Reed was dead. It stilled for a moment the violence of party spirit. All classes united in a hard attribute to her memory. Nor is it inappropriate in closing this brief memoir to notice a coincidence in local history, a contrast in the career and fate of two women of these times which is strongly picturesque. It was on the 25th of September 1780, seven days after Mrs. Reed was carried to her honoured grave and followed thither by crowds of her own and her husband's friends, that the wife of Benedict Arnold, a native born Philadelphia woman, was stunned by the news of her husband's detected treachery and dishonour. Let those who doubt the paramount duty of every man and every woman too to their country and the sure destiny of all who are false to it meditate on this contrast. Mrs. Arnold had been a leader of what is called fashion in her native city belonging to the spurious aristocracy of a provincial town, a woman of beauty and accomplishment and rank. Her connections were all thorough and sincere loyalists, and Arnold had won his way into a circle generally exclusive and intolerant by his known disaffection and especially his insolent opposition to the local authorities and to Mr. Reed as the chief executive magistrate. The aristocratic beauty smiled kindly on a lover who felt the same antipathies she had been taught to cherish. While Mrs. Reed and her friends were toiling to relieve the wants of the suffering soldiers, in June, July and August 1780 Mrs. Arnold was communing with her husband, not in plans of treason but in all his hatreds and discontents. He probably did not trust her with a whole of the perilous stuff that was fermenting in his heart, for it was neither necessary nor safe to do so. But he knew her nature and habits of thought well enough to be sure that if success crowned his plan of treason and if honors and rewards were earned his wife would not frown or reject them because they had been won by treachery. And he played his game out boldly, resolutely, confidently. The patriot woman of Philadelphia sank into her grave honored and lamented by those among whom so recently she had come a stranger. Her tomb, alongside of that of her husband, still stands on the soil of her country. The fugitive wife of an American traitor fled forever from her home and native soil and died abroad unnoticed and by her husband's crime dishonored. She was lost in a traitor's ignominy. Such was then and such ever will be the fate of all who betray a public and a patriot trust. The name of Philip Skyler adds another to the list of distinguished men indebted largely to maternal guidance. To his mother, a woman of strong and cultivated mind, he owed his early education and habits of business with that steadfast integrity which never faltered nor forsook him. His wife, the beloved companion of his mature years, cherished his social virtues and added lustre to his fame. Those who shared his generous hospitality or felt the charm of his polished manners were ready to testify to the excellence of her whose gentle influence was always apparent. A brief notice of her is all that can hear be offered. Catherine Skyler was the only daughter of John Van Rensselier called Patroen of Greenbush, a patriot in the revolutionary struggle and noted for his hospitality and for his kindness and forbearance towards the tenets of his vast estates during the war. It cannot be doubted that the recent anti-Rens struggles which have almost convulsed the state of New York can be traced to the amiable but injudicious indulgence of this great landowner and his immediate heirs. The qualities which in some cases shown in remarkable acts were constantly exercised by Mrs. Skyler in the domestic sphere. At the head of a large family her management was so perfect that the regularity with which all went on appeared spontaneous. Her life was devoted to the care of her children yet her friendships were warm and constant and she found time for dispensing charities to the poor. Many families in poverty remember with gratitude the aid received from her. Sometimes in the shape of a Milch cow or other article of use she possessed great self-control and as a mistress of a household her prudence was blended with unvarying kindness. Her chief pleasure was in diffusing happiness in her home. The house in which the family resided near Albany was built by Mrs. Skyler while her husband was in England in 1760 and 1761. It had probably been commenced previously. The ancient family mansion large and highly ornamented in the Dutch taste stood on the corner of Stade and Washington streets in the city. It was taken down about the year 1800. It was a place of resort for British officers and travelers of note in the French War. Fourteen French gentlemen some of them officers who had been captured in 1758 were here entertained as prisoners on parole. They found it most agreeable to be in Skyler's house as he could converse with them in French and his kindness made them friends. In 1801 when Mrs. Skyler and some of her family visited Montreal and Quebec they were received with grateful attention by the descendants of those gentlemen. Near Saratoga the scene of General Skyler's triumph he had an elegant country seat which was destroyed by General Burgoyne. It was one of the most picturesque incidents of the war that the captain of British general with his suite should be received and entertained after the surrender at Saratoga by those whose property he had wantonly laid waste. The courtesy and kindness shown by General and Mrs. Skyler to the late enemy and their general forgetfulness of their own losses were sensibly felt and acknowledged. Madame de Redezo says their reception was not like that of enemies but of intimate friends. All their actions proved that at sight of the misfortunes of others they quickly forgot their own. This delicacy and generosity drew from Burgoyne the observation to General Skyler. You are too kind to me who have done so much injury to you. The reply was characteristic of the noble hearted victor. Such is the fate of war, let us not dwell on the subject. The Marquis de Chastelieu mentions that just previous to this visit General Skyler being detained at Saratoga where he had seen the ruins of his beautiful villa wrote then to his wife to make every preparation for giving the best reception to Burgoyne and his suite. The British commander was well received by Mrs. Skyler and lodged in the best apartment in the house. An excellent supper was served him in the evening, the honors of which were done was so much grace that he was affected even to tears and said with a deep sigh. Indeed this is doing too much for the man who has ravaged their lands and burned their dwellings. The next morning he was reminded of his misfortunes by an incident that would have amused anyone else. His bed was prepared in a large room, but as he had a numerous suite or family several mattresses were spread on the floor for some officers to sleep near him. Skyler's second son, a little fellow about seven years old, very arch and forward but very amiable, was running all the morning about the house. Opening the door of the saloon he burst out laughing on seeing all the English collected and shut it after him exclaiming, You are all my prisoners. This innocent cruelty rendered them more melancholy than before. Thus were even the miseries of war softened by Mrs. Skyler's graceful courtesy, while the military renown won by her husband's illustrious services was associated with remembrances of disinterested kindness bestowed in requital for injury. In reverse her resolution and courage had been proved equal to the emergency. When the continental army was retreating from Fort Edward before burgoing, Mrs. Skyler went up herself in her chariot from Albany to Saratoga to see to the removal of her furniture. While there she received directions from the general to set fire with her own hand to his extensive fields of wheat and to request his tenants and others to do the same rather than suffer them to be reaped by the enemy. The injunction shows the soldier's confidence in her spirit, firmness and patriotism. Many of the women of this family appear to have been remarkable for strong intellect and clear judgment. The Mrs. Skyler described in Mrs. Grant's Memoirs was a venerated relative of the general. He lost his admirable wife in eighteen hundred three. Her departure left his last years desolate and saddened many hearts in which yet lives the memory of her bright virtues. One of her daughters, Mrs. Alexander Hamilton, now resides in Washington D.C. and another at Oswego. CHAPTER IV CATHERINE GREEN Catherine Littlefield, the eldest daughter of John Littlefield and Phoebe Ray, was born in New Shoreham on Block Island, 1753. When very young she came with her sister to reside in the family of Governor Green of Warwick, a lineal descendant of the founder of the family whose wife was her aunt. The house in which they lived, twelve or fourteen miles south of Providence, is still standing. It is situated on a hill which commands a view of the whole of Narragansett Bay with its islands. Mount Hope, associated with King Philip and the Indian traditions, fills the background rising slightly above the line of the horizon. It was here that Miss Littlefield's happy girlhood was passed. And it was here also that she first knew Nathanael Green. She often went on a visit to her family at Block Island. Nathanael would come there to see her, and the time was spent by the young people in amusements, particularly in riding and dancing, of which the future general was remarkably fond, notwithstanding his father's efforts to whip out of him such idle propensities. He was not discouraged by the example of his fair companion from any of these outbreaks of youthful gaiety, for the tradition of the country around and the recollections of all who knew her testify that there never lived a more joyous, frolicsome creature than Kate Littlefield. In person she was singularly lovely. Her figure was of the medium height and light and graceful at this period, though an after year she was inclined to en bon point. Her eyes were gray and her complexion fair, her features regular and animated. The facilities for female education being very limited at that period, Miss Littlefield enjoyed few advantages of early cultivation. She was not particularly fond of study, though she read the books that came in her way and profited by what she read. She possessed moreover a marvelous quickness of perception, and the faculty of comprehending a subject with surprising readiness. Thus in conversation she seemed to appreciate everything said on almost any topic, and frequently would astonish others by the ease with which her mind took hold of the ideas presented. She was at all times an intelligent listener. On one occasion when the conversation turned on botany, she looked over the books and collection of a Swedish botanist, making remarks from time to time which much interested him and showed her an observer of no common intelligence. This extraordinary activity of mind and tact in seizing on points so as to apprehend almost intuitively distinguished her through life. It enabled her without apparent mental effort to apply the instruction conveyed in the books she read to the practical affairs of life and to admit your varied conversation with the knowledge gained from them and her observation of the world. This power of rendering available her intellectual stores combined with a retentative memory, a lively imagination, and great fluency in speech rendered her one of the most brilliant and entertaining of women. When to these gifts was added the charm of rare beauty, it cannot excite wonder that the possessor of such attractions should fascinate all who approached her. How, when, or by what course of wooing, the youthful lover won the bright, volatile, coquettish maiden cannot be ascertained. But it is probable that attachment grew in the approving eyes of their relatives, and met with no obstacle till sealed by the matrimonial bow. The marriage took place July 20, 1774, and the young couple removed to coventry. Little, it is likely, did the fair Catherine dream of her future destiny as a soldier's wife, or that the broad brimmed hat of her young husband covered brows that should one day be wreathed with the living laurels won by genius and patriotism. We have no means of knowing with how much interest she watched the overcrowding of the political horizon, or the dire advance of the necessity that drove the colonies to armed resistance. But when her husband's decision was made, and he stood forth a determined patriot, separating himself from the community in which he had been born and reared, by embracing a military profession, his spirited wife did her part to aid and encourage him. The papers of the day frequently notice her presence among other ladies at headquarters. Like Mrs. Washington, she passed the active season of the campaign at home. Hers was a new establishment at Coventry, a village in Rhode Island, where her husband had erected a forge and built himself what then passed for a princely house on the banks of one of those small streams which formed so beautiful a feature in Rhode Island scenery. When the army before Boston was inoculated for the smallpox, she gave up her house for a hospital. She was there during the attack on Rhode Island, and every cannon on the hard-fought day which closed that memorable enterprise must have awakened the echoes of those quiet hails. When the army went into winter quarters, she always set out to rejoin her husband, sharing cheerfully the narrow quarters and hard fare of a camp. She partook of the privations of the dreary winter at Valley Forge in that darkest hour of the revolution, and it appears that as at home her gay spirit shed light around her even in such scenes, softening and enlivening the gloom which might have weighed many a bold heart into despondency. There are, extant, some interesting little notes of Kosciuszko in very imperfect English which show her kindness to her husband's friends and the pleasure she took in alleviating their sufferings. How much her society was prized by General Green and how impatiently he bore separation from her may be seen in his letters. Asterisk. The letters quoted or referred to in this sketch are from the manuscript correspondence of General Green in the possession of his grandson, Professor George W. Green of Providence, Rhode Island, late consul at Rome. Return to text. When about to start for the South in October 1780, he waits for her arrival to join him expecting she will overtake him at camp or in Philadelphia, and expresses the greatest anxiety that she should avoid the dangerous route by peak skill. His fear for her safety at last impel him to request her not to encounter the risk. Mr. Hughes, who knows the feelings of the anxious wife, detains the letters and afterwards confessing the unwarrantable liberty for which he deserved to appear before a court-martial, says, But if I do, I will plead, Mrs. General Green. Again he writes, Give me leave to say that your lady if possible without injury to herself must see you. My God, she will suffer a thousand times as much by a disappointment as she can by going ten times the distance. Notwithstanding her ardent wish to accompany the general, it seems that Mrs. Green was prevented from doing so. Mrs. Washington writes to her from Mount Vernon to say that General Green was well and had spent the evening at Mount Vernon on his way to Richmond. General Whedon in a letter to her announces that the general had stopped for the night at his house in Richmond and invites Mrs. Green if she should come as far as Virginia to quarter under his roof. A letter from the commander-in-chief written from New Windsor on the 15th of December encloses Mrs. Green a letter from her husband and offers to forward hers. Mrs. Washington, he says, who has just arrived at these my quarters, joins me in most cordial wishes for your every felicity and regrets the want of your company. Remember me to my namesake. Not, I suppose, can handle a musket. The namesake alluded to was the eldest son who was afterwards drowned in the Savannah River. His mother never recovered her spirits after this shock. Mrs. Green joined her husband in the south after the close of the active campaign of 1781 and remained with him till the end of the war, residing on the islands during the heats of summer and the rest of the time at headquarters. In the spring of 1783, she returned to the north where she remained till the general had completed his arrangements for removing to the south. They then established themselves at Mulberry Grove on a plantation which had been presented to Green by the state of Georgia. Mrs. Green's first impressions of Southern life and manners are painted in lively colors in her letters to Northern friends. The following passage is from one to Miss Flag. If you expect to be an inhabitant of this country, you must not think to sit down with your netting pins, but on the contrary employ half your time at the toilet, one quarter to paying and receiving visits. The other quarter to scolding servants with a heart thump every now and then over the head, or singing, dancing, reading, writing, or saying your prayers. The latter here is quite a phenomenon, but you need not tell how you employ your time. The letters of General Green to his wife breathe the most entire confidence and affection. His respect for her judgment and good sense is shown in the freedom with which he expresses his thoughts and unfolds his hopes and plans. He evidently looked to her for support and sympathy in all his cares and troubles. His lighter hours, even in absence, were shared with her. Sometimes his youthful gait he breaks forth in his descriptions of adventures and persons encountered in his travels. And regard for his interests was plainly above every other thought in the mind of his wife. After his death she writes to Mr. Wadsworth, his executor, September 19th, 1788, I consider, blank, blank, blank, debts of honor and would star rather than they should not be paid. I am a woman unaccustomed to anything but the trifling business of a family, yet my exertions may affect something. If they do not, and if I sacrifice my life in the cause of my children, I shall but do my duty and follow the example of my illustrious husband. It was while on a visit to Savannah with his wife the General Green was seized with the disease which in a few days closed his brilliant career. They were then preparing to return and pass the summer at the north. The weight of care that fell on Mrs. Green in consequence of this event would have crushed an ordinary mind, but she struggled nobly through it all. Some years afterwards, thinking that some lands she owned on Cumberland Island offered greater advantages than Mulberry Grove, she removed there with her family, dividing her time between the household duties in the cares of an extensive hospitality, occasionally visiting the north in the summer but continuing to look upon the south as her home. It was while she lived at Mulberry Grove that she became instrumental in introducing to the world an invention which has covered with wealth the fields of the south. Late in 1792 her sympathies were enlisted in behalf of a young man, a native of Massachusetts, who having come to Georgia to take the place of private teacher in the gentleman's family had been disappointed in obtaining the situation and found himself without friends or resources in a strange land. Mrs. Green and her family treated him with great kindness. He was invited to make his home in her house while he pursued the study of the law to which he had determined to devote himself. According to the account of some, his attention was attracted to the cotton plant growing in the garden and to Mr. Miller's observation that cotton of that sort could be cultivated as a staple provided some method could be found of cleaning it from the seed. According to others, a party of gentleman on a visit to the family spoke of the want of an effective machine for separating the cotton from the seed without which it was allowed there could be no profitable cultivation of this more productive species. Mrs. Green spoke of the mechanical genius of a young protégé, introduced him to the company and showed little specimens of his skill in tambour frames and articles for the children. Eli Whitney, for that was the name of the young student, was strongly impressed with the conversation. He examined the cotton and communicated his plants to Mrs. Green and Mr. Miller, who gave him warm encouragement. A basement room into which no one else was admitted was appropriated for his work. He labored day after day making the necessary tools and persevering with unwearied industry. By spring, the cotton gin was completed and exhibited to the wonder and delight of planters invited from different parts of Georgia to witness its successful operation. Mr. Phineas Miller entered into an agreement with Whitney to bear the expense of maturing the invention and to divide the future profits. He was a man of remarkably active and cultivated mind. Mrs. Green married him sometime after the death of General Green. She survived him several years, dying just before the close of the late war in England. Her remains rest in the family burial ground at Cumberland Island, where but a few years afterwards the body of one of her husband's best officers and warmest friends, the gallant Lee, was brought to Mulder by her side. She left four children by her first marriage, three daughters and one son, at home the son and second daughter are still living. Mrs. Miller, related to a lady residing in New York, the incident of Colonel Aaron Burr's requesting permission to stop at her house when he came south, after his fatal duel with General Hamilton. She would not refuse the demand upon her hospitality, but his victim had been her friend and she could not receive as a guest one whose hands were crimsoned with his blood. She gave Burr permission to remain, but at the same time ordered her carriage and quitted her house, returning as soon as he had taken his departure. This little anecdote is strongly illustrative of her impulsive and generous character. The lady who mentioned it to me had herself experienced in time of the illness of one dear to her, Mrs. Miller's sympathy and act of kindness, and described her manners as gentle, frank, and winning. Her praise were I at liberty to mention her name would do the highest honor to its object. The descendants of Mrs. Green regard her with affectionate reverence. She was a loved and honored wife and a tender yet judicious mother. Her discipline was remarkably strict, and none of her children ever thought of disobeying her. Yet she would sometimes join with childlike merriment in their sports. A lady now living in Providence states that one day, after the close of the war, passing General Green's house in Newport, she saw both him and his wife playing puss in the corner with the children. She loved a jest and sometimes do a hearty laugh upon her friends. On one occasion, while living at Newport after the close of the war, she disguised herself like an old beggar woman so effectually that she was not recognized even by her brother in law. In this dress she went round to the houses of her friends to ask charity, telling a piteous tale of losses and sufferings. At one house they were at the card table and one of her most intimate friends as she ordered her off desired their servant to look well as she went out and see that she did not steal something from the entry. At another, the master of the house was just sitting down to supper and though an old acquaintance and a shrewd man was not only deceived, but so moved by her story that he gave her the loaf he was on the point of cutting for himself. When she had sufficiently amused herself with this practical test of her friend's charity, she took off her disguise and indulged her merriment at their expense, reminding them that with the exception of the loaf she had been turned away without any experience of their liberality. Mrs. Green's power of fascination described as absolutely irresistible may be illustrated by a little anecdote. A lady who is still living had heard much of her and resolved, as young ladies sometimes will, when they hear too much about a person, that she would not like her. One day she chanced to be on a visit at the late Colonel Ward's in New York where she saw a lady, dressed completely in black, even to the headdress which was drawn close under the throat, who from her seat on the sofa was holding the whole company in breathless attention to the lively anecdotes of the war and the brilliant sketches of character which she was drawing so skillfully and in a tone so winning that it was impossible not to listen to her. Still the young girl's resolution was not shaken. She might be compelled to admire, but the liking depended on herself, and she took a seat at the opposite side of the room. How long she remained there she was never able to tell, but her first consciousness was of being seated on a stool at the old lady's feet, leaning upon her knee and looking up in her face as confidingly as if she had been her own mother. End of chapters 3 and 4