The Boy's Book of Battle-lyrics

Hernando de Soto was of good Spanish family, and started early upon a career of adventure. He was with Francisco Pizarro, and took a prominent part in the conquest of Peru. Some account of his actions while with the Pizarros will be found in Helps’s “Spanish Conquest in America.” He particularly distinguished himself in the battle which resulted in the conquest of Cuzco, and desired to be the lieutenant of Almagro in the invasion of Chili; but in this he was disappointed. Returning to Spain with much wealth, he married into the Bobadilla family, and became a favorite with the king. Here he conceived the notion of conquering Florida, which he believed to abound in gold and precious stones. Offering to do this at his own expense, the king gave him permission, and at the same time appointed him governor of Cuba. De Soto set sail from Spain in April, 1538, but remained in Cuba some time fitting out his expedition, which did not arrive at Florida until the following year, when it landed at Tampa Bay. His force consisted of twelve hundred men, with four hundred horses, and he took with him a number of domestic animals. In quest of gold, he penetrated the territory now known as the States of Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, and Mississippi, finally striking the Mississippi River, which he called the Rio Grande, at or near the Lower Chickasaw Bluffs. He found the inhabitants to be quite unlike the Peruvians. He met with a fierce resistance from the natives, and by severe hardships and bloody conflicts found his army very much reduced in numbers. In 1542 De Soto died of a fever. To prevent the mutilation of his body, it was enclosed in a coffin hollowed from the trunk of a tree, and sunk at midnight in the great river. The command then devolved on Moscoso, who escaped with his comrades by way of the river, and reached Mexico in a miserable condition.

It was during this raid, on the 18th of October, 1539, that the battle with the Mobilians was fought. The incidents, so far as they have been gathered from all sources, are faithfully given in the ballad, with one exception. The speech of Tuscaloosa was in the shape of a message, and was delivered by one of his men after the chief had escaped and found refuge in his “palace,” which was probably a hut more commodious than the others in the town. The Spaniards, in spite of their superiority of weapons, had much the worst of the affair at one time, and might have been disastrously defeated but for the opportune arrival of Moscoso with the reserve of four hundred fresh men. After that the battle changed to a mere massacre.

The “singing women” described in the text must have been picked Amazons, for the women in general, and children, had been previously sent to a place of refuge by the Mobilians in anticipation of a fight. The slaughter of the poorly armed natives was very great, but the invaders suffered severely. Not only were eighty-two killed, including the nephew and nephew-in-law of the Adelantado (as De Soto was styled), but none of the Spaniards escaped severe wounds. To add to their sufferings, the medicines and surgical appliances, having been placed in the town previous to the breaking out of the conflict, were burned, and all the surgeons but one were killed. De Soto himself received an arrow in his thigh. The missile was not extracted until after the battle, and he was forced to continue the fight standing in his stirrups.

The place of the battle is supposed to be what is now known as Choctaw Bluff, in Clarke County, Alabama.

Not an hour’s ride from Williamsburg, the seat of the venerable William and Mary College, lie the ruins of Jamestown—part of the tower of the old brick church, piles of bricks, and a number of tombstones with quaint inscriptions, all half overgrown by copse and brambles, being all that remains of the first town of Virginia. At the time of its destruction it could not have been a considerable place. It had the church, a state-house, and a few dwellings built of imported bricks, not more than eighteen in number, if so many. The other houses were probably framed, with some log-huts. Our accounts of the place are meagre, and derived from different sources.

Nor have we a very full account of the circumstances attending its destruction. So far as they are gathered they amount to this: Sir William Berkeley, who at the outset of his administration had been a good governor, was displaced during the troubles at home, and when he returned, had been soured, and proved to be exacting and tyrannical. Refusing to allow a force to be led against the Indian enemy, the people took it in their own hands. Berkeley had a show of right in the matter. Indian chiefs had come to John Washington, the great-grandfather of George Washington, to treat of peace. Washington was colonel of Westmoreland County, and he had these messengers killed. Berkeley was indignant. “They came in peace,” said he, “and I would have sent them in peace if they had killed my father and mother.” The bloody act aroused the vengeance of the Indians, and they fell on the frontier and massacred men, women, and children. The governor considered it a just retribution, and refused authority for reprisals. The people, who had no notion that innocent parties should suffer for one man’s barbarous-deed, organized. They chose Nathaniel Bacon, who was a popular young lawyer, for their leader, and asked Berkeley to confirm him. This request was refused. When some new murders by the Indians occurred, Bacon marched against the enemy, and the governor proclaimed him and his men rebels. When Bacon returned in triumph he was elected a member of the assembly from Henrico County, and that assembly passed laws of such a popular nature that Berkeley, in alarm, left Jamestown. Bacon raised a force of five hundred men, and Berkeley, who possessed high personal courage, met them alone. He uncovered his breast and said, “A fair mark. Shoot!” But when Bacon explained that he merely asked a commission, the people being in peril from the enemy, this was granted; but no sooner had Bacon departed to attack the Indians than Berkeley withdrew to the Eastern Shore, where he collected a force of a thousand men from Accomac, to whom he offered pay and plunder. With these he returned to Jamestown, and proclaimed Bacon and his adherents rebels and traitors.

Bacon, having severely chastised the Indians, returned; but only a few of his followers remained. This was in September, 1676. He laid regular siege to Jamestown; but, as his force was so weak, he feared a sortie by overwhelming numbers. To avert this, and gain time to complete his works, he resorted to stratagem. By means of a picked party, sent at night, he captured the wives of the leading inhabitants. These, the next day, he placed on the summit of a small work in sight of the town, and kept them thus exposed until he had completed his lines, when he released them. Berkeley sallied out, and was repulsed. He could not depend on his own men, and that night he retired in his vessels. Bacon entered the town next morning, and after consultation, it was agreed to destroy the place. At seven o’clock in the evening, the torch was applied, and in the morning the tower of the church and a few chimneys were all that were left standing.

A number of Berkeley’s men now joined Bacon, who was undisputed master of the colony; but dying shortly after, his party dispersed. Berkeley, reinstated, took signal vengeance and executed about twenty of the most prominent of Bacon’s friends. He was only stopped by the positive orders of the King, by whom he was removed, and Lord Culpepper, almost as great a tyrant, sent in his room.

In 1703, Colonel Johannis Schuyler, grandfather of the Revolutionary general, Philip Schuyler, and uncle of the still more famous Peter Schuyler, so distinguished in the Franco-Canadian war, was mayor of Albany. From some Indians trading there he obtained information that an attack on Deerfield was planned from Canada. He sent word to the villagers, who prepared to meet it. The design not having been carried out that summer, the people of Deerfield supposed it to have been abandoned, and dismissed their fears. The next year Vaudreuil, the governor of Canada, despatched a force of three hundred French and Indians against the place. The expedition was under the command of Hertel de Rouville, the son of an almost equally famous partisan officer. With him were four of his brothers. The raiders came by way of Lake Champlain to the Onion River—then called the French—up which they advanced, and passed on, marching on the ice, until they were near Deerfield. The minister of the place, the Rev. Mr. Williams, unlike the rest of the townsmen, had feared an attack for some time, and on his application the provincial government had sent a guard of twenty men. There were two or three block-houses, and around these some palisades. De Rouville came near the town before daylight on the 29th of February, and learned by his spies the condition of the place. Finding that the sentinels had gone to sleep two hours before dawn, and that the snow had drifted in one place so as to cover the palisades, he led a rush, and then dispersed his men in small parties through the town to make a simultaneous attack. The place was carried, with the exception of one garrison-house which held out successfully. Forty-seven of the inhabitants were killed, and nearly all the rest captured. The enemy, failing to reduce the single block-house, retreated with their prisoners, taking up their march for Canada. A band of colonists was hurriedly raised, and pursued De Rouville; but they were beaten off after a sharp fight. A hundred and twelve prisoners were carried away. A few were killed on the march; the greater part were ransomed, and returned in about two years.

Among the prisoners was the Rev. Mr. Williams. His wife, unable to keep up with the party, was killed on the second day by her captor. Two of his children had been killed during the sack. One of his daughters, Eunice, while in captivity was converted to the Catholic religion, and married with an Indian. She entirely adopted Indian habits, and was pleased with her life. Afterwards she occasionally visited her friends in New England, but no persuasion would induce her to remain there. A chronicler states, with a comical mixture of surprise and indignation, “She uniformly persisted in wearing her blankets and counting her beads.” One of her descendants was a highly respected clergyman, the Rev. Eleazer Williams, who died a few years since, and who during life became the subject of controversy. Mr. Hansen wrote an article, and finally a book, “The Lost Prince,” to prove that Mr. Williams was really the missing Dauphin, Louis the Sixteenth. A look at the clergyman’s portrait shows the half-breed features quite distinctly, though the claim was plausibly put, and for a time had its ardent supporters.

The Lewis family seem to have occupied a position as prominent, and to have been as much identified with the local history of the Colony of Virginia, as the Schuyler family with New York and New Jersey. The John Lewis who is the hero of the ballad, though less known than Andrew, who overcame Cornstalk at Point Pleasant, and who was thought of before Washington for command of the Continental army, was nevertheless a remarkable man. He was of that Scotch-Irish race which settled the western part of Pennsylvania and Virginia, and spread into North Carolina, Kentucky, and Tennessee, making a people distinct in dialect and character, and preserving a number of North of Ireland customs to this day. John was a famous Indian fighter in his youth. At the time of the defence described in the ballad he had grown quite old. His wife, who came of a fighting family, aided him to drive off the enemy, who would have endured almost any loss to have secured him as a prisoner. They hated him intensely, and with just cause. When red clover was introduced in that section, the savages believed that it was the white clover, dyed in the blood of the Indians killed by the Lewises.

The Provincial Congress of South Carolina, in 1775, appointed a Committee of Safety to sit during its own recess, and to this it delegated full power. The Committee fitted out a vessel, which captured an English sloop, laden with powder, lying at St. Augustine. The royal governor of the State sent couriers to intercept the vessel, but they failed. The powder was brought to Charleston, and part of it was used by Arnold in the siege of Quebec. Later in the year Colonel Moultrie took possession of a small fort standing on Sullivan’s Island, in Charleston Harbor. The governor fled to the frigate Tamar, and the Committee of Safety took charge of affairs. Fort Johnson, on James’s Island, was seized and armed. Guns were mounted on Haddrell’s Point, and a fascine battery made on Sullivan’s Island. Between these two the Tamar and her consort were obliged to leave the harbor. Colonel Moultrie was now ordered to build a strong fort on Sullivan’s Island, and over three hundred guns were mounted on the various fortifications. Colonel Gadsden was placed in command, and every preparation made for a vigorous defence.

The Continental Congress knew that a combined naval and land attack would be made on Charleston; and in April Brigadier-general Armstrong was sent there to take command, but was superseded, on the fourth of June, by Major-general Charles Lee, who had been sent by Washington. He worked hard for the defence of the city, and was supported with ardor and enthusiasm by the people. Troops flocked in until there were between five and six thousand men in arms, including the Northern troops that had come with Armstrong and Lee. They were disposed at Fort Johnson, on James’s Island, under Gadsden; a battery on Sullivan’s Island, under Thomson; in the fort on the same island, under Moultrie; and at Haddrell’s Point, under Lee.

The British arrived on the fourth of June, but it was not until the twenty-eighth that they were ready to attack. During the interval they had constructed batteries on Long Island, to silence that of Thomson on Sullivan’s Island and cover the landing of the storming-party of Clinton’s troops.

On the morning of the twenty-eighth of June the attack began. The incidents are faithfully given in the ballad, and to that the reader is referred.

During the latter part of 1776, affairs looked gloomy for the new Confederacy of the States. The affair at White Plains, the fall of Fort Washington, and the evacuation of Fort Lee, followed by the retreat across New Jersey, had reduced the forces of Washington to less than three thousand men. The enemy occupied Newark, New Brunswick, Princeton, Trenton, and Bordentown. They were thus scattered in detachments on a long line. When Washington crossed the river Delaware—which he did after securing every available boat on the shore—his force had dwindled to twenty-two hundred men; and this number was still further reduced by the expiration of the term of enlistment of a large portion. Congress had fled to Baltimore, and Cornwallis was about to seize Philadelphia.

Congress now ordered increased pay to the troops, with liberal bounties, and by indefatigable exertions the ranks began to fill again. On the twenty-fourth of December, Washington’s army amounted to over ten thousand men, of which about half were effective. With these he determined to make a simultaneous attack upon the detached British posts on the New Jersey side. The main force, led by Washington in person, was to cross at M’Conkey’s Ferry, and fall upon the Hessians, under Rahl, at Trenton. Cadwallader was to cross near Bristol, and Ewing below Trenton Falls, to attack Mount Holly, Black Horse, Bordentown, and Burlington. He was aided unexpectedly by General Putnam, who commanded at Philadelphia. Learning of the design to attack Trenton, Putnam sent a small body of militia, under Colonel Griffin, to Mount Holly, where he was not to fight, but to retreat before the enemy. Count Donop, at Bordentown, fell into the trap, followed Griffin, and was not at hand to support Rahl at the critical moment. Neither Ewing nor Cadwallader could effect a crossing. The latter got a battalion of foot over the river, but not being able to cross the artillery, these had to return.

The incidents of the surprise are correctly given in the ballad. The loss of the Americans was only four—two frozen to death and two killed in battle. The loss of the Hessians amounted to six officers and over twenty men killed, and twenty-three officers and eight hundred and eighty-six privates made prisoners. Six brass field-pieces, four colors, and a thousand stand of arms were also taken.

The effect of this movement was inspiriting, and gave great hope and encouragement to the Americans. The English commander, who had thought the war was at an end, now learned that his task had begun again. Numbers of Americans whose term of service had expired re-enlisted, and the militia were eager to turn out whenever their services were demanded.

Scene.—A Pennsylvania farm-house on the Delaware. Time.—December 25, 1836. Reuben Comfort loquitur.

The affair on which this lyric is founded is entirely different from the attack on the fort at Schoharie by Johnson and Brant. It was a raid by a party of loyalists and Indians, led by a Tory partisan, Donald M’Donald. He was an active and relentless leader; but not so bloody as Walter Butler. He should not be confounded with the loyalist general of the same name in North Carolina. He commanded part of the loyalists in the fight near Conewawah during Sullivan’s expedition.

M’Donald died from wounds received in a very singular conflict. A German, named Schell—the name usually spelled Shell—had founded a little settlement about five miles north of Herkimer, which was known as Shell’s Bush. Here he built a block-house, the upper-story projecting all around. One August afternoon, while the people were at work out-of-doors, M’Donald, with sixty men, made a descent on the Bush. The inhabitants generally fled to Fort Dayton. Schell saw the enemy almost too late, but managed to escape to the block-house, with two of his sons—two others were taken. With the aid of Mrs. Schell, who loaded the guns, the little garrison made a vigorous defence. M’Donald, failing in an attempt to burn the block-house, tried to open the door with a crow-bar. A shot from Schell wounded him in the leg, and he was unable to stand. Schell opened the door, dragged in M’Donald, and closed it. Then he stripped his prisoner of all the cartridges he had. Schell felt he had an insurance against fire while his prisoner was inside. But the enemy, enraged at the loss of some of their number, made a rush to the house, and five of them put the ends of their pieces through the loop-holes. Mrs. Schell bent the barrels with the blows of an axe, and Schell and his sons fired down on them. At dusk Schell called to his wife from the second story, and told her that Captain Small was coming from Fort Dayton. Presently he gave directions loudly to imaginary troops, and the enemy taking fright ran away. M’Donald’s leg was taken off next day at Fort Dayton, but he died soon after the operation.

When Burgoyne was making the descent from Canada which ended in his capture, he began to fall short of provisions. Having learned that the colonists had a store of cattle, he despatched Lieutenant-colonel Baum, with a force of Hessians, loyalists, and savages, to capture the stock and drive it into camp. There were other ostensible objects, such as feeling the opinion of the country and recruiting the corps of loyalists; but the main object was the capture of the cattle. Baum received a sort of roving commission. He was ordered “to scour the country from Rockingham to Otter Creek,” to go down the Connecticut to Brattleborough, return by the Albany road, and rejoin Burgoyne, and to impress people with the belief that his force was the advance guard of Burgoyne’s army on its way to Boston. He was to arrest all officers or men of the enemy who were found to live off the country, and to impress all the horses in the way, “with as many saddles and bridles as can be found.” There were to be thirteen hundred horses, at least, taken, tied in tens for convenience. In short, Baum was to plunder.

The command marched, and on the next day, the 14th of August, 1777, they arrived at the mill on Walloomscoick, after a little skirmish with some Americans who were guarding cattle at Cambridge. Here Baum began to find that his march would not be a holiday parade.

People were uncertain as to the real destination of Burgoyne. He had partially succeeded in convincing many that he meant to march on Boston. The Green Mountain men sent word to Exeter imploring aid. The Provincial Assembly of New Hampshire was called hastily together, and its speaker, John Langdon, offered a subsidy of several thousand dollars in hard money to raise and equip troops, and suggested that John Stark should take command. Langdon’s words aroused his hearers. Two brigades were raised, one under Whipple and the other under Stark. The latter was then at home. He had distinguished himself at Trenton and Princeton, and had been sent home to direct recruiting. While there, Congress promoted several junior officers, and left his name off. He resigned, but kept up active efforts in behalf of the cause. He accepted the command offered, with the stipulation that he should act at his own discretion; and a part of the brigade raised for him, and a part of Whipple’s, was at once placed under his separate command. Men flocked to his support, and at Manchester, twenty miles north of Bennington, he was joined by Colonel Warner, with the remnant of the Vermont men from the disastrous field of Hubbardton. At the same time General Lincoln, who had been ordered to conduct these new forces to the Hudson River, made his appearance. But Stark refused to yield the command, notwithstanding Congress had passed a resolution that the agreement made between him and New Hampshire was “highly prejudicial to the common cause.” He held his position. Hearing of the skirmish at Cambridge, he sent a detachment to meet them. Learning of Baum’s advance, he collected all the additional forces possible, and on the morning of the 14th he set forward to support the advance detachment. He soon met the retreating advance under Gregg, and found the enemy posted upon high ground near the Walloomscoick, where they were throwing up hasty intrenchments. Stark fell back to wait for support and plan his action; and Baum, alarmed at the number of the Americans, sent an express to Burgoyne asking for reinforcements. It resulted in Brayman being sent with five hundred men; but they came too late to be of use.

The next day there was a heavy rain, and both sides merely made ready for the fight. The main part of Baum’s forces were posted on the high ground, and intrenched as we have stated; but a strong party, principally of Rangers, guarded the ford where the Bennington road crossed. The loyalists, under Peters, had a breastwork on the south side of the river, and a few chasseurs at the mouth of a small water-course. Stark’s main body was encamped on the Bennington road.

There had been skirmishing on the 15th, but the rain prevented any active movement. The next morning was clear and bright, and Stark at once proceeded with his plan. It involved a simultaneous attack of various parties on the intrenchments of the enemy, while the main body under Stark drove the Tories upon the fortified Hessians, and the latter out of their fortified hold. The battle lasted two hours, and in spite of the obstinate bravery of Reidesel’s dragoons, led by Baum in person, was won by the Americans. But as soon as this was done, the undisciplined troops began to disperse in search of plunder. Brayman came up with his fresh men, rallied Baum’s flying troops, and renewed battle, with every prospect of retrieving the fortunes of the day; but Colonel Warner’s small force coming up and meeting the enemy, with the assistance of the scattered forces Stark was enabled to bring into action, the tide changed again. At sunset the victory was complete. The loss of the Americans was less than two hundred killed and wounded; of the British, in killed, wounded, and prisoners, nine hundred and thirty-five. Among the spoils were four brass cannon, several hundred stands of arms, two hundred and fifty dragoon swords, and four ammunition wagons.

The way for the operations which resulted in the capture of Burgoyne and his forces was mainly prepared by General Schuyler, who was unjustly replaced by Gates. The battles at Stillwater rendered the result a certainty. The surrender of Burgoyne and his forces, by showing the probability of success, secured the French alliance. The value of that consisted in the fact that it gave Great Britain more to do, and prevented her from crushing the new States, which had declared their independence from “the State of Great Britain.” Up to that time Louis the Sixteenth had only given us covert assistance. Then he, unwisely for himself, declared war against England, leading to a train of events which crystallized the memory of long years of oppression of the French people into revolution. The king did not foresee the consequences. Joseph the Second of Austria was more shrewd. When urged to join the alliance against Great Britain he said—“I am a sovereign, and will not aid to injure my own trade.” The material assistance afforded by France was slight, and at Savannah injurious. The French were at Yorktown, but Cornwallis would have fallen without their aid. Afterwards they not only claimed the laurels, but affected to consider us as a French dependency, and carried it so far as to provoke us to war. We owe France nothing; but we owe much to the memory of the Marquis de la Fayette, who generously placed at our disposal his life and fortune; who was our disinterested friend at a critical period and throughout; and who will be remembered with gratitude so long as the Union remains.

Whether Arnold distinguished himself at the first battle of Stillwater may be a moot question. That he was a moving spirit in the second battle is undoubted. The victory was very much due to his exertions. Up to the time of his treason, despite his rapacity and extravagance at Philadelphia, he merited praise for his dash, bravery, and unflinching devotion to the cause of Independence. That he was treated badly by the Congress is true; but that is scarcely a palliation of his infamous conduct in revenge. The Congress seems to have had a faculty for injustice. As it acted towards Arnold, so it did to Paul Jones, John Stark, and Philip Schuyler. But none of the last named revenged themselves by treason. The contrast between the conduct of Arnold and Schuyler is particularly notable. The latter had managed affairs with dexterity, and it was to his prudence, decision, and skill that the surrender of Burgoyne was mainly due. At the last moment he was superseded by Gates, under circumstances calculated to arouse his resentment. Schuyler, unlike Arnold, was not merely a patriot, but a man of honor. He was ready to submit to wrong rather than betray the cause. The conduct of Arnold was the baser from the fact that Washington, who felt that the man had been wronged, labored to do him right, and had placed him in the responsible command of West Point, to pave the way to that distinction his services on the battle-field deserved. Arnold, therefore, added ingratitude and breach of confidence to treason. He seems to have had the courage of a bull-dog, but to have been totally lacking in moral principle.

When I was a boy I met an old Revolutionary soldier who had served under Arnold. He would praise him for his bravery in one minute, and denounce his treachery the next, rarely speaking of him without tears. Hence the idea of the ballad.

In 1771, a stockade fort was erected at the mouth of Wheeling Creek, in what was then the district of West Augusta, in Virginia, to protect the settlers against a threatened invasion of the savages. It was called Fort Fincastle, and is said to have been planned by George Rogers Clarke. The original garrison was twenty-five men; but though this was afterwards ordered to be doubled, it is doubtful if the command were ever obeyed. In 1776, when the colonists rebelled against the crown, and West Augusta was divided into the counties of Ohio, Youghiogheny, and Monongahela, the name was changed to Fort Henry, in honor of Patrick Henry, then governor of Virginia.

The organization of Ohio County at this time was essentially military, every able-bodied man being enrolled; and this enrollment was a list of taxables, and formed the basis of the county revenue. David Shepherd, the colonel commanding the county militia, was also the presiding justice of the county court. Besides this the county had to raise two companies as a part of the Continental Army. These were commanded respectively by Captains John Lemmon and Silas Zane; but as they appear never to have enlisted more than twenty men, the project was probably abandoned.

Fort Henry was the only fortified place capable of a protracted defence, though there were block-houses in the settlements at Peach Bottom, Grave Creek, Short Creek, and Cross Creek. It stood on high ground a short distance above the mouth of Wheeling Creek, and near it were twenty or thirty log-houses, the beginning of what is now the flourishing city of Wheeling. The famous attack upon it was made in September, 1777. During the spring of that year frequent aggressions had been made upon the white settlements by thieving bands of Indians, and these attacks had been either repulsed or the marauders followed up and chastised. During the summer these increased, and the result was a cessation of ordinary occupations, and an understood placing of the country under martial law. At the beginning of September it was learned that Simon Girty, a notorious white renegade, was raising a strong band of Wyandots, Mingoes, and Shawanock—mainly of the former. So well did their leader manage, however, that he brought his band, from four to five hundred in number, to the walls of Fort Henry before his real points of attack were known.

On the night of the 26th of September, a small scouting party discovered smoke arising at the south of Wheeling Creek. Captain Ogle, one of these, thought it came from the burning of the block-house at Grave Creek; and Colonel Shepherd sent out to ascertain the truth, and caused the families living around to take refuge in the fort. The next morning his scouts sent to warn neighboring settlements were fired on, and one of them killed, by six lurking Indians. A party of fifteen, sent to dislodge these, encountered the main force, and all but three were killed. A party sent to their aid, lost two-thirds of their number. These losses cut down the garrison to twelve men and boys. The assailing force, which now closely invested the garrison, was never estimated at less than three hundred and eighty, but was probably much more.

During the whole of the day the fight was maintained with great vigor. The Indians at one time made an impromptu cannon of a huge log, winding it around with chains from the blacksmith’s shop in the village, loading it with round stones, and directing it against the gate of the fort. It exploded, and killed and wounded several of the besiegers. The next morning, relief came in the shape of forty men, under M’Culloch, from Short Creek, and fourteen more from Cross Creek. The enemy burned the houses around, carried off the cattle, and, bearing their dead, moved away.

During the fight, the defenders grew short of powder. There was a keg in Ebenezer Zane’s house about sixty yards away, and this was obtained by the sister of Ebenezer, a young woman, in the way described in the ballad.

There is scarcely a native of Bergen County, in New Jersey, who has not heard of Jack, the Regular, and by the older residents there are still told a number of stories of his cruelty and rapacity. That there was such a person, that he was an active loyalist during the Revolutionary war, and that he was finally killed by the Van Valens, and his lifeless body brought into Hackensack in a wagon, there seems to be no doubt. But with all my industrious endeavor I have never been able to get particulars as to his family, the date of his birth, or when he was killed. I find that his real name was John Berry, and that he managed to gain rank as a captain—probably of loyalists. His nickname arose from a boast he made that he was no marauder, but held a regular commission from his Gracious Majesty. Hence those who sided with the Americans called him Jack, the Regular, and he was scarcely ever known by another name.

So far as I can learn he was killed on the slope of the Palisade ridge, not far from what is known as the Ridgefield station, on the Northern Railroad, and by a long shot. It was merely fired in vexation by Van Valen, who was astonished when the partisan fell, and hesitated for some time to verify the fact of his death. Jack’s band at that time had been broken up, or he was in some disgrace; for he had had apparently no command for some time before he was killed, and was with but one companion at the time.

After his disaster at Camden, Gates was superseded in the command of the Southern Departments by Greene, to whom he turned over the remnant of his army, about two thousand men in all. Of these a force of a thousand, or less, were placed in Union District, near the junction of the Broad and Pacolet rivers, nearly fifty miles to the left of Greene’s position. Lord Cornwallis at once determined to attack and destroy this detachment, and sent. Tarleton, with eleven hundred men, including his own cavalry and two field-pieces, for that purpose. Morgan’s forces, outside of Howard’s Continentals and Washington’s dragoons, were raw militia, some of whom had never seen battle, had had little drill, and were devoid of discipline. The task was supposed to be easy, and Tarleton began his march in high spirits. In consequence of bad roads he was much delayed on the march, and it was not until the 15th of January, 1781, four days after starting, that he drew near the Pacolet. Morgan, finding his forces not sufficient to stop the enemy at the river, retreated and took post on the north side of Thickety Mountain, near the Cowpens. Tarleton at once pushed on in pursuit, leaving his baggage behind, riding all night, and at eight o’clock of the morning of the 17th came in sight of the American patrol. Fearing they might escape he ordered an immediate attack. To his surprise he found Morgan prepared to give battle.

It is unnecessary to expand this note further, since the movements in the battle are given with accuracy in the ballad. The pursuit of the British was not relinquished until they reached the open wood near or about the point where the fight first began. The remnant of Tarleton’s force, by the next morning, reached Cornwallis’s camp. The American loss was twelve killed and about forty-eight wounded. Cornwallis’s report to Sir Henry Clinton gives the British loss at one hundred killed and five hundred and twenty-three prisoners. The Americans captured the two field-pieces, two standards, eight hundred muskets, thirty-five baggage-wagons, and one hundred dragoon horses. The battle was not so important itself but in its consequences. It contributed very much towards the capture of Cornwallis.

The massacre at Cherry Valley, New York, was notably cruel and bloody. In November, 1778, Walter Butler, with two hundred loyalists, and Joseph Brant, with five hundred Indians, swept down on the place, and commenced an indiscriminate slaughter. The very loyalists among the inhabitants were not spared. John Wells was well affected to the crown, yet he and his family, with the exception of his son John, who happened to be in Schenectady, were killed. Jane Wells was very much esteemed for her kindness and other good qualities. The elder Wells was a particular friend of Colonel John Butler, Walter’s father, who said, when he heard of his death, “I would have gone miles on my hands and knees to have saved that family, and why my son did not do it God only knows.” One loyalist, Peter Smith, who had formerly been a servant in the family, tried to save Miss Jenny, but the Indian who had seized her struck her on the head with his tomahawk and killed her. One man by the name of Mitchell was at a distance, saw the savages approaching, and finding that he could not rejoin his family, escaped into the woods. On his return he found his house burning, and near it lay the bodies of his wife and four children. One of these, a little girl, was still living, when he saw a party approach. He dropped the child, and secreted himself behind a tree. One of the new-comers saw the child to be alive yet, and stooping, brained her with a hatchet. The wretch was not an Indian, but a white loyalist savage named Newbery, who was afterwards hanged as a spy by General James Clinton. Brant saved a number of prisoners, and would have spared the women and children, but Walter Butler denied all appeals for mercy.

Butler’s time was to come. On the 22d of August, 1781, Colonel Willet attacked a force of five hundred loyalists and Indians at Johnstown, and defeated them. They were commanded by Major Ross and Walter Butler. The remnant of the enemy retreated all that night, and could not be overtaken. It was during that retreat that Butler was killed in the manner related in the ballad. Skenando, the Oneida chief, who is supposed to have been his slayer, was about seventy-four years old at the time. He lived many years after, dying at the age of one hundred and ten, on March 19, 1816. His burial was attended by a large number of citizens. A short time before his death he said to a visitor, who made some inquiries about his age, “I am an old hemlock. The winds of a hundred winters have whistled through my top. The generation to which I belonged has gone and left me. Pray to my Jesus that I may have patience to wait for my appointed time to die.”

From the narrative of a survivor of the gallant men who participated in the fight at King’s Mountain I wrote the ballad, and aimed to give it the simple style of the narrator. But the old man, perfectly truthful in intent, fell into some errors. He omits all mention of the M’Dowells. Colonel M’Dowell was not in the battle. He objected to fighting a battle without a general officer, and he was despatched in search of one. While gone, the rest elected Colonel Campbell to command, and got to work. Major M’Dowell however remained, and commanded the regiments. He calls Shelby, Evan Shelby. But Evan Shelby, who was Isaac’s father, and who distinguished himself at Point Pleasant, was not at King’s Mountain.

The official account of the battle transmitted to Gates, and probably the correct one, is as follows:

“On receiving intelligence that Major Ferguson had advanced up as high as Gilbert Town, in Rutherford County, and threatened to cross the mountains to the Western waters, Colonel William Campbell, with four hundred men, of Washington County, of Virginia, Colonel Isaac Shelby, with two hundred and forty men from Sullivan County, of North Carolina, and Lieutenant-colonel Sevier, with two hundred and forty men, of Washington County, of North Carolina, assembled at Watauga, on the twenty-fifth day of September, where they were joined by Colonel Charles M’Dowell, with one hundred and sixty men, from the counties of Burke and Rutherford, who had fled before the enemy to the Western waters. We began our march on the twenty-sixth, and on the thirtieth we were joined by Colonel Cleaveland, on the Catawba River, with three hundred men, from the counties of Wilkes and Surrey. No one officer having properly the right to the command-in-chief, on the first of October we despatched an express to Major-general Gates, informing him of our situation, and requested him to send a general officer to take command of the whole. In the mean time, Colonel Campbell was chosen to act as commandant, till such general officer should arrive. We marched to the Cowpens, on Broad River, in South Carolina, where we were joined by Colonel James Williams, with four hundred men, on the evening of the sixth of October, who informed us that the enemy lay encamped somewhere near the Cherokee Ford, off Broad River, about thirty miles distant from us. By a council of principal officers, it was then thought advisable to pursue the enemy that night with nine hundred of the best horsemen, and have the weak horse and foot men to follow us as fast as possible. We began our march with nine hundred of the best men about eight o’clock the same evening, and, marching all night, came up with the enemy about three o’clock P.M. of the seventh, who lay encamped on the top of King’s Mountain, twelve miles north of the Cherokee Ford, in the confidence that they could not be forced from so advantageous a post. Previous to the attack on our march, the following disposition was made: Colonel Shelby’s regiment formed a column in the centre on the left; Colonel Campbell’s regiment another on the right, with part of Colonel Cleaveland’s regiment, headed in front by Major Joseph Winston; and Colonel Sevier’s formed a large column on the right wing. The other part of Cleaveland’s regiment, headed by Colonel Cleaveland himself, and Colonel Williams’s regiment, composed the left wing. In this order we advanced, and got within a quarter of a mile of the enemy before we were discovered. Colonel Shelby’s and Colonel Campbell’s regiments began the attack, and kept up a fire on the enemy, while the right and left wings were advancing to surround them, which was done in about five minutes, when the fire became general all around. The engagement lasted an hour and five minutes, the greater part of which a heavy and incessant fire was kept up on both sides. Our men, in some parts where the regulars fought, were obliged to give way a distance, two or three times, but rallied and returned with additional ardor to the attack. The troops upon the right having gained the summit of the eminence, obliged the enemy to retreat along the summit of the ridge to where Colonel Cleaveland commanded, and were there stopped by his brave men. A flag was immediately hoisted by Captain Depeyster, the commanding officer (Major Ferguson having been killed a little before), for a surrender. Our fire immediately ceased, and the enemy laid down their arms (the greater part of them charged) and surrendered themselves prisoners at discretion. It appears from their own provision returns for that day, found in their camp, that their whole force consisted of eleven hundred and twenty-five men, out of which they sustained the following loss:

“Of the regulars, one major, one captain, two sergeants, and fifteen privates killed; thirty-five privates wounded, left on the ground not able to march; two captains, four lieutenants, three ensigns, one surgeon, five sergeants, three corporals, one drummer, and forty-nine privates taken prisoners.

“Loss of the Tories: two colonels, three captains, and two hundred and one killed; one major and one hundred and twenty-seven privates wounded, and left on the ground not able to march. One colonel, twelve captains, eleven lieutenants, two ensigns, one quartermaster, one adjutant, two commissaries, eighteen sergeants, and six hundred privates taken prisoners.

“Total loss of the enemy, eleven hundred and five men at King’s Mountain.

“Given under our hands at camp.

“Benja. Cleaveland,
Isaac Shelby,
Wm. Campbell.”

The event which forms the subject of the ballad occurred in Nelson County, Kentucky, during the summer of 1787. About midnight, the approach of a hostile party was made known to John Merrill and his wife, by the barking of their house-dog. At first, Merrill supposed it to be some travellers seeking shelter, and opened the door. He received the fire of a half-dozen rifles, which broke an arm and a thigh. He fell, and his wife, at his call, closed the door. The Indians broke open the door, but Mrs. Merrill, who was a very large and powerful woman, killed four of them with an axe, and they gave that up. They next climbed the roof to effect an entrance by the broad chimney. There was a fire smouldering on the hearth, and on this Mrs. Merrill threw the feathers of the bed, which she had ripped open. The smoke caused two of the remaining three Indians to fall insensible. Braining these, she ran to the open door where the last surviving savage was entering. He was too close for her to strike, but she cut his cheek with the keen blade of the axe. He gave a yell of affright and despair, and fled, spreading a terrible story of the strength and courage of his female antagonist. A similar instance of female courage is that of Mrs. Dustan, in New England; but in the latter case the victims were asleep.

There is no event in American history which seems to be so misunderstood, especially in details, as the battle fought in New Orleans after the close of the war of 1812. The commander of the Americans at that notable repulse became afterwards a prominent politician, or, rather, resumed his political career, and was twice elected President of the United States by the Democratic party, which his course in office aided to disintegrate. The contest during the three times he was a candidate was extremely bitter, and while he was lauded by his friends as a hero, patriot, and statesman, he was denounced by his foes as an illiterate ruffian, ignorant alike of military science and state-craft. The battle upon which his fame mainly rested, was said to have been won entirely by the folly of the British, who stupidly marched upon impregnable works, and were shot down easily by expert marksmen intrenched behind cotton-bales. This last error is amusing, and nothing will ever correct it. The embankment behind which most of the militia lay was formed of swamp-mud mainly, the best material possible for earthworks. A few cotton-bales had been used at one point, but one of them being fired, the dense smoke made it an annoyance, and it was speedily removed. That my readers may comprehend the affair, I give a brief account of the operations leading up to the fight.

The proclamations of Lieutenant-colonel Nichols at Pensacola, which, in violation of Spanish neutrality, he occupied with a British force, and the attempt of the enemy to obtain the aid and co-operation of Lafitte, the head of the Baratarian outlaws, had aroused the attention of Jackson, who acted with his usual promptness and decision, without awaiting orders from the War Department. He had been satisfied of these designs before, through information obtained by means of his agents, and waited an opportunity to strike a blow at the combined British and Spanish enemy. He knew that New Orleans was to be the objective point of an expedition, and prepared for its defence. Recruiting went on slowly; the Southern Indians were openly or covertly hostile; but the failure of a naval and land attack on Fort Bowyer, repulsed with slaughter, and the loss of the flag-ship, disengaged most of the savages from alliance with Nichols, and brought in large numbers of volunteers. Jackson marched against Pensacola, where the British were intrenched, and proposed to the governor to occupy two of the forts with American garrisons until the Spanish government could send enough troops to make its neutrality respected. This the governor refused, when Jackson at once attacked the town, and after storming a battery, most of the forts were surrendered. Fort Barrancas was in the hands of the British, but before Jackson could attack it, the enemy abandoned and blew it up, and with the Spanish governor and troops embarked on the squadron and left the harbor. The American government gave a cold support, almost amounting to censure, for this necessary and justifiable action; but public opinion in the South and West sustained the commander of the Seventh Department.

Jackson, who had gone to Mobile before this to look after its defence, received from Governor Claiborne the letter of Lafitte, giving the British propositions and their rejection, and learned that the citizens of New Orleans, under the lead of Edward Livingston, had organized a Defence Committee. He soon after left for New Orleans, where he arrived on the 2d of December. He found the people alarmed and discordant—the masses blaming the Legislature, the Legislature the governor, and the governor both. There was a lack of money, arms, ammunition, and men. It is true there were two militia regiments and a slender volunteer battalion, commanded by Major Planché, a brave creole officer;[1] but these were not sufficient to guard the city, which contained a large amount of property, and had but meagre fortifications to protect its approaches. Jackson went actively to work to improve the condition of things by strengthening the forts, erecting new ones, obstructing the bayous, and establishing discipline.

On the 9th of December the British squadron, having on board over seven thousand troops, made their appearance and anchored near the entrance to Lake Borgne. Here they prepared to land. They were not aware of the revelations of Lafitte, and hoped to take the place by surprise. They soon learned their error. The late commodore (then lieutenant) Ap Catesby Jones was in command of our flotilla, and had sent out two gun-boats, under command of Lieutenant M’Keever and sailing-master Ulrick, to watch their approach. These reported the fleet to Jones on the 10th, and Jones made for Pass Christian, where the astounded enemy saw his flotilla at anchor on the 13th. As it was impossible to land troops under these circumstances, Admiral Cochrane manned sixty barges, each armed with a carronade and filled with men, to capture the tiny squadron, which was manned by one hundred and eighty-three men. He succeeded in this, with the loss of three hundred killed and wounded, after an hour’s fight. The American loss was only six killed and thirty-five wounded. This partly cleared the way for the enemy, who also discovered the passage through the Bayou Bienvenu. On the 22d, as many of the invaders as could find transportation embarked, and landing at the Fisherman’s Village, at the mouth of the bayou, captured most of the picket-guard. The men taken so represented the numbers of Jackson’s force that the invaders proceeded with more caution. They moved slowly up the bayou, and at Villeré’s plantation surrounded the house, and took Major Villeré, the commander of the pickets. He escaped, however, and carried the news to Jackson.

The American general in the mean while had not been idle. He had proclaimed martial law in the city, brought the troops to a state of discipline, infused his heroic spirit into the population, and sent messengers to Coffee, Carroll, and Thomas, urging them to move forward their commands as soon as possible. On the 22d, Carroll’s troops of Tennessee levies, all skilled riflemen, landed in New Orleans, and Coffee’s brigade of mounted rifles were encamped five miles above the city. As soon as the news of the enemy’s presence was brought to Jackson he determined to attack on the night of the 23d, both to check the enemy and to familiarize his raw troops with their work. In the mean time the schooner Carolina was directed to drop down the river in the darkness, and open fire on the enemy’s camp. That fire would drive them upon the land-forces.

The affair was carefully managed and brilliantly carried out. The British were driven under the levee, and the troops, excited and triumphant, returned to the city in perfect order and with full confidence in their commander.

The events of the night had somewhat depressed the spirits of the enemy, and on Christmas-day, which was cold and disagreeable, a gloom pervaded the British encampment. That day, however, their spirits were lifted by the arrival of Sir Edward Pakenham, “the hero of Salamanca.” Sir Edward was then in the prime of manhood, thirty-three years of age, brave, upright, and honorable, and altogether undeserving of the obloquy that so long hung over his memory as the reputed author of the asserted watchword—“beauty and booty.” He was among old friends, most of the troops there having fought with him in the Spanish Peninsula. He gave renewed life to the force. A battery of twelve and eighteen pounders and a howitzer was planted so as to command the Carolina, and by means of hot shot, on the night of the 27th, she was set on fire and destroyed. The Louisiana, the only remaining American vessel, escaped with difficulty. Pakenham arranged his army in two columns, one under Keane and the other under Gibbs, and moved forward, driving in the American outposts, and then encamped during the night, where the riflemen annoyed them and prevented them from much sleep. The next morning at dawn they moved to the attack, two to one in numbers and confident of success. But they met with an unexpected resistance. The Baratarians and the crew of the Carolina came up, and opened on them with twenty-four pounders, while the fire of the Louisiana from the river enfiladed their line, doing terrible damage. On the right, Gibbs was not more successful, though less terribly punished, and Pakenham was compelled to order a retreat, which on the left became disorderly. The comparative loss was remarkable—the Americans had seventeen killed and wounded, and the British about one hundred and fifty—owing, doubtless, to the terrible oblique fire of the Louisiana.

At the council of war called that evening, it was determined to land heavy siege guns from the ships, to throw up redoubts, and prepare for a regular and concerted attack. During the next few days this was carried out, and several attempts were made to break the American line. The fighting went on, until Sir Edward, finding he could make no impression, concluded to hazard all in a stroke and carry the works by storm.

Jackson during all this time was energetically at work strengthening his position. On the 4th of January his forces were increased by the arrival of General Thomas, with two thousand drafted men from Kentucky, raw and undisciplined, but for defensive work useful, being cool, brave, and good marksmen. His intrenchments were carried into the swamp to prevent being flanked, and batteries were placed in proper positions on the lines on both sides of the river. Behind the levee on Jourdan’s plantation, Commander Patterson had placed a battery of heavy guns from his schooner, and manned them with seamen. This battery commanding the front of the American lines, drove the enemy from Chalmette’s plantation to a point between Bienvenu and De la Ronde’s.

On the 7th Major-general Lambert arrived with reinforcements, among the rest Sir Edward’s own regiment, the 7th Fusileers, bringing his force up to ten thousand men, the very flower of the British army. This was divided into three brigades, commanded by Generals Lambert, Gibbs, and Keane, and on the following morning an attack was to be made on both sides of the Mississippi. Thornton was to cross the river, and fall upon the Americans on that side before dawn. His guns were to be the signal for the main attack. He was detained, however, in the river, and the main attack was not made until daylight. Thornton was quite successful, but retreated when he learned of the terrible repulse on the other side of the river.

The incidents of the main attack and the results will be found in the ballad.

The story that follows is, as the old magazines used to say of their tales, “founded on fact.” The foundation is rather slender. Similar incidents have occurred in all wars, ancient and modern; and nothing delights the old soldier more, when peace comes, than to meet a former antagonist, who, as in this instance, has “proved worthy of his steel.”

The incident which gave rise to the following poem happened about 1861, in Western Virginia, somewhere in the Gauley River region. The story may be correct, or not. I do not vouch for its accuracy. At all events, I have considered it to be si non e vero, e ben trovato, as the Italian proverb has it. If it be not true, it is well feigned.

The following is an attempt to add one more to the few patriotic songs of the country. Whatever may be said of the words, the melody and the music are undoubtedly marked by spirit and vigor.

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