Mrs. Margaret Morris, of Burlington, New Jersey, kept a journal during the Revolution, for the amus.e.m.e.nt, it is said, of a sister, the wife of Dr. Charles Moore, of Philadelphia. A few copies were printed several years ago, for private circulation, supplying friends with a mirror which reflects the image of expanded benevolence and exalted piety.

Belonging to the Society of Friends, she was not partial to

"The shot, the shout, the groan of war;"

yet her principles were patriotic, and she no doubt rejoiced over all the victories and in the final and complete success of the "rebel" army.

She became a widow at an early age, and died at Burlington, in 1816, aged seventy-nine years.

A single extract from her journal will ill.u.s.trate the most prominent feature of her character:

"June 14th, 1777. By a person from Bordentown, we hear twelve expresses came in there to-day from camp. Some of the gondola-men and their wives being sick, and no doctor in town to apply to, they were told Mrs.

Morris was a skillful woman, and kept medicines to give to the poor; and notwithstanding their late attempts to shoot my poor boy, they ventured to come to me, and in a very humble manner begged me to come and do something for them. At first I thought they designed to put a trick on me, get me aboard their gondola, and then pillage my house, as they had done some others; but on asking where the sick folks were, I was told they were lodged in the Governor's house. So I went to see them; there were several, both men and women, very ill with fever; some said, the camp or putrid fever. They were broken out in blotches; and on close examination, it appeared to be the itch fever. I treated them according to art, and they all got well. I thought I had received all my pay when they thankfully acknowledged my kindness; but lo! in a short time afterwards a very rough, ill-looking man came to the door and asked for me. When I went to him he drew me aside, and asked if I had any friends in Philadelphia. The question alarmed me, supposing there was some mischief meditated against that poor city; however, I calmly said--'I have an ancient father, some sisters, and other near friends there.'

"'Well,' said the man, 'do you wish to hear from them, or send any thing by way of refreshment to them? If you do, I will take charge of it, and bring you back any thing you may send for.'

"I was very much surprised, and thought, to be sure, he only wanted to get provisions to take to the gondolas; but when he told me his wife was one of those I had given medicine to, and this was the only thing he could do to pay me for my kindness, my heart leaped with joy, and I set about preparing something for my dear, absent friends. A quarter of beef, some veal, fowls and flour, were soon put up; and about midnight the man called and took them aboard his boat. He left them at Robert Hopkins'--at the point--whence my beloved friends took them to town.

"Two nights afterwards, a loud knocking at our front door greatly alarmed us, and opening the chamber window, we heard a man's voice, saying, 'Come down softly and open the door, but bring no light.'

"There was something mysterious in such a call; but we concluded to go down and set the candle in the kitchen.

"When we got to the front door, we asked, 'Who are you?'

"The man replied, 'A friend; open quickly.' So the door was opened; and who should it be but our honest gondola-man, with a letter, a bushel of salt, a jug of mola.s.ses, a bag of rice, some tea, coffee, and sugar, and some cloth for a coat for my poor boys; all sent by my kind sisters!

"How did our hearts and eyes overflow with love to them, and thanks to our Heavenly Father for such seasonable supplies! May we never forget it! Being now so rich, we thought it our duty to hand out a little to the poor around us, who were mourning for want of salt; so we divided the bushel, and gave a pint to every poor person who came for it--having abundance left for our own use. Indeed, it seemed to us as if our little store was increased by distribution, like the bread broken by our Saviour to the mult.i.tude."

n.o.bLE EXAMPLE OF PIONEERS.

In every rank, or great or small, 'Tis industry supports us all.

GAY.

Count life by virtues--these will last When life's lame-footed race is o'er.

MRS. HALE.

In the year 1843, the Hon. Samuel Wilkeson, of Buffalo--since deceased--communicated to the American Pioneer, a series of papers ent.i.tled "Early Recollections of the West." They present a graphic, yet painful picture of the perils, hardships and sufferings attendant on back-woods life in the midst of the aboriginal foresters. His father's family was one of twenty that removed from Carlisle and the adjacent towns, to the western part of Pennsylvania, in the spring of 1784. He pays the following tribute to the industry, perseverance and pious efforts of the mothers of the band:

The labor of all the settlers was greatly interrupted by the Indian war.

Although the older settlers had some sheep, yet their increase was slow, as the country abounded in wolves. It was therefore the work of time to secure a supply of wool. Deerskin was a subst.i.tute for cloth for men and boys, but not for women and girls, although they were sometimes compelled to resort to it. The women spun, and generally wove all the cloth for their families, and when the wife was feeble, and had a large family, her utmost efforts could not enable her to provide them with anything like comfortable clothing. The wonder is, and I shall never cease to wonder, that they did not sink under their burthens. Their patient endurance of these acc.u.mulated hardships did not arise from a slavish servility, or insensibility to their rights and comforts. They justly appreciated their situation, and n.o.bly encountered the difficulties which could not be avoided.

Possessing all the affections of the wife, the tenderness of the mother, and the sympathies of the woman, their tears flowed freely for others'

griefs, while they bore their own with a fort.i.tude which none but a woman could exercise. The entire education of her children devolved on the mother, and notwithstanding the difficulties to be encountered, she did not allow them to grow up wholly without instruction; but amidst all her numerous cares taught them to read, and instructed them in the principles of Christianity. To accomplish this, under the circ.u.mstances, was no easy task. The exciting influences which surrounded them, made the boys restless under restraint. Familiarized as they were to hardships from the cradle, and daily listening to stories of Indian ma.s.sacres and depredations, and to the heroic exploits of some neighboring pioneer, who had taken an Indian scalp, or by some daring effort saved his own, ignorant of the sports and toys with which children in other circ.u.mstances are wont to be amused, no wonder they desired to emulate the soldier, or engage in the scarcely less exciting adventures of the hunter. Yet even many of these boys were subdued by the faithfulness of the mother, who labored to bring them up in the fear of G.o.d.

ANECDOTE OF MRS. SLOc.u.mB.

Our country yet remains: By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live--with her to die!

CAMPBELL.

One of the spiciest specimens of colloquial sparring, _vis-a-vis_, in our Revolutionary annals, was between Colonel Tarleton and the wife of Lieutenant Sloc.u.mb, of Wayne county, North Carolina.[55] The Attic wit and Spartan boldness of the latter, exhibit original powers of mind, strength of will, and a degree of self-possession truly grand and enn.o.bling. But the character of the heroine of "Pleasant Green," is most luminous in her conduct at the battle of Moore's Creek, which occurred on the twenty-seventh of February, 1776. She tells the story of her adventures on that b.l.o.o.d.y occasion, as follows:

[55] _Vide_ Women of the Revolution, vol. 1. pp. 306-7, etc.

"The men all left on Sunday morning. More than eighty went from this house with my husband; I looked at them well, and I could see that every man had mischief in him. I know a coward as soon as I set my eyes upon him. The tories more than once tried to frighten me, but they always showed coward at the bare insinuation that our troops were about.

"Well, they got off in high spirits, every man stepping high and light.

And I slept soundly and quietly that night, and worked hard all the next day; but I kept thinking where they had got to--how far; where and how many of the regulars and tories they would meet; and I could not keep myself from the study. I went to bed at the usual time, but still continued to study. As I lay--whether waking or sleeping I know not--I had a dream; yet it was not all a dream. (She used the words, unconsciously, of the poet who was not then in being.) I saw distinctly a body wrapped in my husband's guard-cloak--b.l.o.o.d.y--dead; and others dead and wounded on the ground about him. I saw them plainly and distinctly. I uttered a cry, and sprang to my feet on the floor; and so strong was the impression on my mind, that I rushed in the direction the vision appeared, and came up against the side of the house. The fire in the room gave little light, and I gazed in every direction to catch another glimpse of the scene. I raised the light; every thing was still and quiet. My child was sleeping, but my woman was awakened by my crying out or jumping on the floor. If ever I felt fear it was at that moment.

Seated on the bed, I reflected a few moments--and said aloud: 'I must go to him.' I told the woman I could not sleep, and would ride down the road. She appeared in great alarm; but I merely told her to lock the door after me, and look after the child. I went to the stable, saddled my mare--as fleet and easy a nag as ever traveled; and in one minute we were tearing down the road at full speed. The cool night seemed after a mile or two's gallop to bring reflection with it; and I asked myself where I was going, and for what purpose. Again and again, I was tempted to turn back; but I was soon ten miles from home, and my mind became stronger every mile I rode. I should find my husband dead or dying--was as firmly my presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When day broke I was some thirty miles from home. I knew the general route our little army expected to take, and had followed them without hesitation. About sunrise I came upon a group of women and children, standing and sitting by the road-side, each one of them showing the same anxiety of mind I felt. Stopping a few minutes I inquired if the battle had been fought. They knew nothing, but were a.s.sembled on the road-side to catch intelligence. They thought Caswell had taken the right of the Wilmington road, and gone towards the north-west (cape Fear). Again was I skimming over the ground through a country thinly settled, and very poor and swampy; but neither my own spirits nor my beautiful nag's failed in the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the troops.

"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when I heard a sound like thunder, which I knew must be cannon. It was the first time I ever heard a cannon. I stopped still; when presently the cannon thundered again. The battle was then fighting. What a fool! my husband could not be dead last night, and the battle only fighting now! Still, as I am so near, I will go on and see how they come out. So away we went again, faster than ever; and I soon found, by the noise of the guns, that I was near the fight. Again I stopped. I could hear muskets, I could hear rifles, and I could hear shouting. I spoke to my mare and dashed on in the direction of the firing and the shouts, now louder than ever. The blind path I had been following brought me into the Wilmington road leading to Moore's creek bridge, a few hundred yards below the bridge. A few yards from the road, under a cl.u.s.ter of trees were lying perhaps twenty men. They were the wounded. I knew the spot; the very trees; and the position of the men I knew as if I had seen it a thousand times. I had seen it all night! I saw all at once; but in an instant my whole soul was centered in one spot; for there, wrapped in his b.l.o.o.d.y guard-cloak, was my husband's body! How I pa.s.sed the few yards from my saddle to the place I never knew. I remember uncovering his head and seeing a face clothed with gore from a dreadful wound across the temple.

I put my hand on the b.l.o.o.d.y face; 'twas warm; and an _unknown voice_ begged for water. A small camp-kettle was lying near, and a stream of water was close by. I brought it; poured some in his mouth; washed his face; and behold--it was Frank Cogdell. He soon revived and could speak.

I was washing the wound in his head. Said he 'It is not that; it is that hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of blood was standing on the ground about his feet. I took his knife, cut away his trowsers and stockings, and found the blood came from a shot hole through and through the fleshy part of the leg. I looked about and could see nothing that looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but some heart-leaves. I gathered a handful and bound them tight to the holes; and the bleeding stopped. I then went to the others; and--Doctor! I dressed the wounds of many a brave fellow who did good fighting long after that day! I had not inquired for my husband; but while I was busy Caswell came up. He appeared very much surprised to see me; and was with his hat in hand about to pay some compliment: but I interrupted him by asking--'Where is my husband?'

"'Where he ought to be, madam; in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,' said he, 'how came you here?'

"'Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as soldiers.

See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows; and here is one'--going to Frank and lifting him up with my arm under his head so that he could drink some more water--'would have died before any of you men could have helped him.'

"'I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up, and my husband, as b.l.o.o.d.y as a butcher, and as muddy as a ditcher,[56] stood before me.

[56] It was his company that forded the creek, and, penetrating the swamp, made the furious charge on the British left and rear which decided the fate of the day.--[Mrs. Ellet.

"'Why, Mary!' he exclaimed, 'What are you doing there? Hugging Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'

"'I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and a true friend to Congress.'

"'True, true! every word of it!' said Caswell. 'You are right, madam,'

with the lowest possible bow.

"I would not tell my husband what brought me there. I was so happy; and so were all! It was a glorious victory; I came just at the height of the enjoyment. I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see he was not displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some very obnoxious; but the worst of the tories were not taken prisoners. They were, for the most part, left in the woods and swamps wherever they were overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell readily told me none should be hurt but such as had been guilty of murder and house-burning. In the middle of the night I again mounted my mare and started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till next morning, and they would send a party with me; but no! I wanted to see my child, and I told them they could send no party who could keep up with me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran to meet me!"[57]

[57] Mrs. Sloc.u.mb was a dignified and generous matron, a kind and liberal neighbor, and a Christian of indomitable fort.i.tude and inexhaustible patience. After four or five years' extreme bodily suffering, resulting from a complication of diseases, she died, on the sixth of March, 1836, aged seventy-six years.

CAPTAIN RICHARDSON SAVED BY HIS WIFE.