Project Gutenberg's Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War, by Martha Finley This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War Author: Martha Finley Release Date: July 4, 2014 [EBook #46188] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELSIE'S YOUNG FOLKS IN PEACE *** Produced by David Edwards, Chris Whitehead and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Cover for Elsie's Young Folks In Peace and War The cover image was restored by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain. Title page Copyright, 1900. BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY. ELSIE'S YOUNG FOLKS. CHAPTER I. It was a lovely summer day, bright and clear, but the heat so tempered—there on the coast of Maine—by the delicious sea breeze that it was delightful and exhilarating. The owner and passengers of the Dolphin had forsaken her more than a fortnight ago, and since spent their days and nights at a lovely villa on shore there in Bar Harbor; but now no longer able to resist the attractions of the beautiful sea, the most of them had come aboard, and were sitting, standing, or roaming about the deck. "Oh, I'm so glad to be in our own dear sea home again!" cried Elsie Raymond. "Aren't you, Ned?" "Yes; though we have been having a splendid time on shore in Bar Harbor." "Yes, so we have; but as we expect to be back again in a few days, we needn't fret at all about leaving it." "No, nor we needn't if we were just going back to Woodburn, our own beautiful home—certainly a better place than this in fall and winter, anyhow." "But I'm glad to have a sail again," said Elsie. "Brother Max says we'll soon see some places where they had sea fights in our two wars with England," remarked Ned, with satisfaction. "Oh, does he? I mean to ask papa or grandma to tell us about them," exclaimed Elsie, in tones of excitement. "Oh, yes, let's!" cried Ned. "But the men are taking up the anchor," he added hastily, "and I must see that first. Come," catching his sister's hand and hurrying her along to a good position from which to view the operation. That duly attended to, they sought out their grandma, who happened to be at the moment sitting a little apart from the others, and made their request. She smilingly consented to tell them all she could recall on the subject that would be interesting to them, and bidding them seat themselves close beside her she began. "Your father has told me that we are now going out to the extreme eastern point of the State—and of our country—the United States. West Quoddy Head is its name now, but in very early times it was called Nurumbega. In 1580 John Walken, in the service of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, conducted an expedition to its shores, and reached the Penobscot River. In 1603 two vessels, the Speedwell and the Discoverer, entered the Penobscot Bay and the mouth of a river— probably the Saco. About three years after that two French Jesuits, with several families, settled on Mount Desert Island. A few years later some twenty-five French colonists landed on Mount Desert and founded a settlement called St. Saviour. But not long afterward they were driven away by some English under command of Captain Argal, who considered them trespassers upon English soil. That, I think, is enough of the very early history of Maine, for to-day, at least." "Oh, yes, grandma! but won't you please tell about Revolutionary times and the war of 1812-14?" pleaded Elsie. "Maine was one of the thirteen colonies, wasn't she?" "No, dear; she was considered a part of Massachusetts at that time, and did not become a separate State until 1820." "Oh, didn't the people there care about the Revolution and help in it?" asked Elsie in a tone of disappointment. "Yes, dear, they did. In a county convention in 1774 Sheriff William Tyng declared his intention to obey province law and not that of parliament. He advised a firm and persevering opposition to every design, dark or open, framed to abridge our English liberties." "English!" exclaimed Ned, in a half scornful tone, at which his grandma smiled, and stroking his curls caressingly, said, "Yes, Neddie, at that time—before the Revolutionary War—our people liked to call themselves English." "But we don't now, grandma; we're Americans." "Yes; that is the name we have given ourselves in these days; but we consider the English our relations—a sort of cousins." "Well, then I hope we and they will never fight any more," said Elsie. "But, please, grandma, tell us something more of what has happened along this coast." "In 1775," continued her grandma, "the British kept the coast of New England from Falmouth (now called Portland) to New London in continual alarm; they were out in every direction plundering the people to supply their camp with provisions." "In this State, grandma?" asked Ned. "Yes; and in Connecticut and Massachusetts. They bombarded Stonington, in Connecticut, shattered houses and killed two men. That was in August or September. In October Mowatt was sent to Falmouth in Maine to get a supply of provisions from the people there, and to demand a surrender of their arms. They refused and defied him; then—after [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] giving time for the women and children to leave the town—he bombarded and set it on fire. More than four hundred houses were destroyed—nearly all the town of about five hundred buildings." "What a cruel thing!" exclaimed Elsie; "I suppose they had to give up then?" "No," said Mrs. Travilla; "so brave and determined were they that they repulsed the marauders and would not let them land." "Grandma," asked Elsie, "didn't Arnold go through Maine with an army to attack Canada about that time?" "Yes; about the middle of August a committee of Congress visited Washington in his camp, and together they formed a plan to send a force into Canada by way of the Kennebec River to co-operate with General Schuyler, who was preparing to invade that province by way of the Northern lakes. Arnold was well known to be brave. He had been complaining of being ill-used upon Lake Champlain. Washington desired to silence his complaints, and knowing that this expedition was suited to his talents he appointed him to command, and gave him the commission of colonel in the Continental army. "The force under his command consisted of eleven hundred hardy men—ten companies of musketeers from New England, and three companies of riflemen from Virginia and Pennsylvania. Those riflemen were commanded by Captain Daniel Morgan, who afterward did such good work for our country in her hard struggle for liberty. Arnold and his troops marched from Cambridge to Newburyport, where they embarked on transports which carried them to the mouth of the Kennebec. They went up that river in bateaux and rendezvoused at Fort Western, opposite the present town of Augusta. Now they had come to the edge of a vast and almost uninhabited wilderness." "And had to go through it, grandma?" asked Ned. "Yes; they were very brave men, ready to encounter difficulties and dangers for the sake of securing their country's freedom. Two small parties were sent on in advance to reconnoitre, and the rest moved forward in four divisions, Morgan with his riflemen in the van. Arnold, who was the last, passed up the river in a canoe." "Hadn't they a very hard time going through that wilderness, grandma?" asked Elsie. "Yes, very hard indeed; over craggy knolls, deep ravines, through creeks and ponds and deep morasses; sometimes paddling along a stream in their canoes—sometimes carrying them around a fall on their shoulders. Suddenly, at length, they came to a mountain covered with snow. At its foot they encamped for three days. Then they went on again, but a heavy rain set in, sending down such torrents from the hills that the river rose eight feet in one night. The water came roaring down the valley where our soldiers were, so unexpectedly and powerfully that they had scarcely time to retreat and get into their bateaux before the whole plain was flooded with water. Seven boats were overturned and the provisions in them lost. Many of them were made sick, too, by the storm and exposure, and so grew sad and discouraged. Some gave up and went back to their homes, while Arnold went on with the rest. The rain changed to snow, and there was ice in the water in which the poor fellows had to wade to push their bateaux along through ponds and marshes near the sources of the Dead River. "At last they reached Lake Megantic. They encamped on its eastern shore, and the next morning Arnold, with a party of fifty-five men on shore with Captain Nanchet and thirteen with himself in five bateaux and a birch canoe, pushed on down the river to a French settlement to get provisions to send back to his almost starving men. They passed seventeen falls, marching through snow two inches deep, then reached the Highlands which separate the waters of New England from Canada. But as it is of the history of Maine I am telling you, and Arnold and his band have now passed out of it, we will leave the rest of his story for another time." "He did a good deal more for his country before he turned traitor, didn't he, grandma?" asked Elsie. "Yes; he fought bravely again and again. The great victory at Saratoga was largely due to him; in a less degree to Morgan." "Daniel Morgan who commanded at the battle of the Cowpens?" asked Elsie. "The very same," replied Mrs. Travilla. "Didn't some other things happen along this coast, grandma?" asked Ned. "Yes, indeed; several things. In the war of 1812-14 there occurred a naval battle near Portland, between the American ship Enterprise and the English brig Boxer. On the morning of the 1st of September, 1813, the Enterprise sailed from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and on the morning of the 3d chased a schooner suspected of being a British privateer, into Portland harbor. The next day she left that harbor and steered eastward looking for British cruisers. On the 5th they discovered in a bay what Captain Burrows supposed to be a vessel of war getting under way. She was a British brig, and on sighting the Enterprise she displayed four British ensigns, fired several guns as signals to boats that had been sent ashore to return, and crowding canvas, bore down gallantly for the Enterprise. "Seeing that, Burrows cleared his ship for action, sailed out a proper distance from land to have plenty of sea room for the fight, then shortened sail and edged toward the Boxer. That was at three o'clock in the afternoon. Twenty minutes later the two brigs closed within half pistol shot, and both opened fire at the same time. The sea was almost quiet, there was but little wind, and that condition of things made the cannonading very destructive. Ten minutes after the firing began the Enterprise ranged ahead of the Boxer, steered across her bows and delivered her fire with such precision and destructive energy that at four o'clock the British officer in command shouted through his trumpet that he had [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] surrendered, but his flag being nailed to the mast, could not be lowered until the Enterprise should cease firing." "And did she, grandma?" asked Ned. "Yes; I do not think our men ever fired on a foe whom they believed to be ready to surrender. Captain Blyth of the Boxer was already dead, having been nearly cut in two by an eighteen-pound ball, and Captain Burrows was mortally wounded. He had been helping the men to run out a carronade, and while doing so a shot, supposed to be a canister ball, struck his thigh, causing a fatal wound. He lived eight hours, and must have suffered terrible agony. He refused to be carried below until the sword of the commander of the Boxer should be brought to him. He took it eagerly when brought, saying, 'Now I am satisfied; I die contented.'" "What did they do for a commander after their captain was so dreadfully injured?" asked Elsie. "Lieutenant Edward R. M'Call took command of the Enterprise and showed great skill and courage," replied Grandma Elsie. "On the morning of the 7th he took both vessels into Portland Harbor, and the next day the bodies of the two commanders were buried side by side in the same cemetery, and with all the honors to which their rank and powers entitled them." "Were the ships quite spoiled, grandma?" asked Ned. "The Enterprise was not, but the Boxer was much cut up in both hull and rigging," she replied. "The battle showed that the Americans exceeded the English in both nautical skill and marksmanship. Lossing tells us that a London paper, speaking of the battle, said, 'The fact seems to be but too clearly established that the Americans have some superior mode of firing, and we cannot be too anxiously employed in discovering to what circumstances that superiority is owing.'" "I think the man who wrote that was feeling mortified that one of their vessels had been whipped by one of ours," remarked Ned sagely. "Yes," said Grandma Elsie, "I think the nailing of their flag to the mast showed that they felt confident of victory. Cooper tells in his history that when the Enterprise hailed to know if the Boxer had struck—as she kept her flag flying—one of the officers of the British vessel leaped upon a gun, shook both fists at the Americans, and shouted 'No, no, no!' adding some opprobrious epithets." "Oh, didn't that make our fellows angry?" asked Ned. "I think not," replied Grandma Elsie; "it seems to have amused them, as they saw that he was ordered down by his superiors." "Was it a long fight, grandma?" asked Elsie. "It had lasted only thirty-five minutes when the Boxer surrendered." "Had a great many of her men been killed?" asked Ned. "I don't know," replied his grandma, "but on the Enterprise there was but one besides Burrows; Midshipman Kervin Waters, who had been mortally wounded, died a few weeks later. He was buried by the side of his gallant leader— Burrows." "Oh, dear!" sighed little Elsie, "war is so dreadful!" "It is indeed," said her grandma, "and it was made especially dreadful at that time to the people of this country by reason of our being so much weaker than England in men, money, and ships." "But it was a blessing that our seamen were so much more skilful than hers, Grandma Elsie," said Max, who had drawn near in time to hear the last few sentences. "Our little navy did good work in that war, small as she was in comparison with the enemy's. We had but twenty ships to her thousand, yet showed ourselves strong enough to put an end to her tyrannical conduct toward our poor sailors. She has never interfered again in that way with them." "And never will, I think," added Grandma Elsie. "The two Anglo-Saxon nations are good friends now, and I trust always will be." "I hope so indeed," said Max. "We must be prepared for war, but I hope may be long able to maintain peace with all other nations." "A hope in which we can all join, I think," said Mrs. Travilla, glancing around upon the circle of interested faces; for all the Dolphin's passengers had by this time gathered about them. "You were talking of the war of 1812, were you, mother?" asked Captain Raymond. "Yes; I was telling the children of the fight between the Boxer and the Enterprise," replied Mrs. Travilla. "And oh, won't you tell us some more, grandma?" entreated Ned. "I think your father could do it better," she said, looking persuasively at the captain. "I am not at all sure of that," he said; "but if you wish it I will tell what I can remember of such occurrences at the points along the coast which we are about to visit. But first let me beg that every one will feel free to leave the vicinity should my story seem to them dull and prosy," he added, with a smiling glance about upon the little company. There was a moment's pause; then Violet said laughingly, "That was very kind and thoughtful my dear, and I for one [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] shall not hesitate to go should I feel inclined." The captain responded with a bow and smile; then, after a moment's pause, began upon the chosen theme. CHAPTER II. "Eastport—which we will presently visit," began Captain Raymond, "is on Moose Island, in Passamaquoddy Bay. At the time of our last war with them the English claimed it as belonging to New Brunswick, under the treaty of 1783. Early in July, 1814, Sir Thomas Hardy sailed secretly from Halifax for that place, with quite a force of men for land and sea service. On the 11th the squadron entered Passamaquoddy Bay and anchored off Fort Sullivan, at Eastport. Major Perley Putnam was in command of the fort, with a garrison of fifty men and six pieces of artillery. Hardy demanded an instant surrender, and gave only five minutes' time for consideration. Putnam promptly refused to surrender—but the inhabitants of the island were greatly alarmed and not disposed to resist, so entreated him to yield, which he did on condition that private property should be respected. "When the agreement was signed, the British took possession of the fort, the town of Eastport, and all the islands and villages in and around Passamaquoddy Bay, landing a thousand armed men, with women and children, fifty or sixty pieces of cannon, and a battalion of artillery." "And did they stay there, papa?" asked Elsie. "Oh, I hope they are not there now!" "I have no doubt that nearly, if not all of them, are in their graves by this time, daughter," replied the captain; then went on: "The British made declaration that these islands were in their permanent possession, and ordered all the inhabitants to take an oath of allegiance within seven days, or leave the territory." "Allegiance to the King of England, papa?" asked Elsie; "and did any of them do it?" "Yes, that is what was meant, and about two-thirds of the people took it. They, the English, took all the public property from the custom-house, and tried to force the collector to sign unfinished treasury notes to the value of nine thousand dollars. But he refused, saying, 'Hanging will be no compulsion.'" "Did that mean that he wouldn't do it even if he knew they would hang him if he refused?" asked Elsie. "Yes, that was just it," said her father. "Having accomplished what he wished to do at Eastport—securing it to his country, as he thought—leaving eight hundred troops to hold it, Hardy sailed away along the coast of Maine and Massachusetts, spreading alarm as he went. But the people prepared to meet his expected attack—manning their forts and arming them. When Sherbrook and Griffith sailed, they intended to stop at Machias and take possession of it; but falling in with the brig Rifleman, and being told by its commander that the United States corvette John Adams had gone up the Penobscot, they made haste to the mouth of that river to blockade her. They passed up the Green Island channel and entered the fine harbor of Castine on the morning of the 1st of September. On the edge of the water south of the village was the half moon redoubt called Fort Porter, armed with four twenty-pounders and two fieldpieces, and manned by about forty men under Lieutenant Lewis, of the United States army. At sunrise Lewis was called upon to surrender. He saw that resistance would be impossible, so resolved to flee. He gave the enemy a volley from his twenty-pounders, then spiked them, blew up the redoubt, and with the fieldpieces he and the garrison fled over the high peninsula to its neck and escaped up the Penobscot. Then the British took possession of the town and control of the bay. "The John Adams had just come home from a successful cruise, and coming into Penobscot Bay in a thick fog had struck a rock and received so much injury that it was found necessary to lay her up for repairs. They did their best to take her out of harm's way, but it was with difficulty they could keep her afloat until she reached Hampden, a few miles below Bangor. Some of her crew were disabled by sickness, and so she was almost helpless. "Sherbrook, the commanding officer of the British vessels, was told all this as soon as he landed at Castine, and he and Griffith, commander of the fleet, at once sent a land and naval force to seize and destroy the John Adams. The expedition sailed in the afternoon of the day of the arrival at Castine. The people along the Penobscot were not at all inclined to submit to the British if they could possibly escape doing so. On the day the British sailed up the river word was sent by express to Captain Morris, and he at once communicated with Brigadier-General John Blake, at his home in Brower, opposite Bangor, asking him to call out the militia immediately. Blake lost no time in assembling the tenth Massachusetts division, of which he was commander. That evening he rode down to Hampden, where he found Captain Morris busy with his preparations for defence. He had taken the heavy guns of his ship to the high right bank of the Soadabscook, fifty rods from the wharf, and placed them in battery there so as to command the river approaches from below. "The next morning he and Blake held a consultation on the best methods of defence, citizens of Bangor and Hampden taking part in it. Captain Morris had little confidence in the militia, but expressed his intention to meet the enemy at their landing-place, wherever that might be, and also his resolution to destroy the Adams rather than allow it to fall into their hands. "Belfast was taken the next morning by General Gosselin, at the head of six hundred troops. At the same time another detachment marched up the western side of the Penobscot unmolested, and reached Bald Hill Cove at five o'clock in [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] the evening. The troops and eighty marines bivouacked there that night in a drenching rain. During that day about six hundred raw militia, who had never seen anything more like war than their own annual parade, had gathered at Hampden and been posted by General Blake in an admirable position on the brow of a hill. Lieutenant Lewis and the forty men who had fled from Castine had joined him. The artillery company of Blake's brigade was there also, with two brass three-pounders, and an iron eighteen-pound carronade from the Adams was placed in battery in the road near the meeting-house in charge of Mr. Bent of the artillery. Many of the militia were without weapons or ammunition, but Captain Morris supplied them as far as he could. "While these arrangements were being made Captain Morris had mounted nine short eighteen-pounders from the Adams upon the high bank over Crosby's wharf, and placed them in charge of his first lieutenant, assisted by the other two. With the rest of his guns he took his position on the wharf, with about two hundred seamen and marines and twenty invalids, ready to defend his crippled ship to the last extremity. "The next morning all that region was covered by a dense fog. The different British detachments joined together, and by five o'clock were moving on toward Hampden—moving cautiously in the mist, with a vanguard of riflemen, and on the flanks detachments of sailors and marines with a six-pound cannon, a six and a half inch howitzer, and a rocket apparatus. The British vessels at the same time moved slowly up the river within supporting distance. "Blake had sent out two flank companies to watch and annoy the approaching foe, and between seven and eight o'clock they reported them as coming up the hill to attack the Americans. The fog was so thick that they could not be seen, but Blake pointed his eighteen-pounder in that direction, his fieldpieces also, and fired away with a good deal of effect, as he learned afterward; but the fog was too thick for him to see it at the time. His plan was to reserve his musket firing until the enemy should be near enough to be seriously hurt; but his men, being raw militia and without the protection of a breastwork in front, lost courage while standing there awaiting the approach of the enemy, and when it came suddenly into view, marching at double-quick and firing volleys in rapid succession, they were panic-stricken, broke ranks, and fled in every direction, leaving Blake and his officers alone. Lieutenant Wadsworth saw it all from the upper battery where he was, and sent word immediately to Morris, who was on the wharf. "The flight of the militia had left Morris' rear and flank exposed, and he saw that it would be impossible to defend himself against such a force as was about to attack him. He therefore ordered Wadsworth to spike his guns and retreat with his men across the bridge over the Soadabscook, while it was yet open, for the stream was fordable only at low water, and the tide was rising. "Wadsworth obeyed, his rear gallantly covered by Lieutenant Watson with some marines. At the same time the guns on the wharf were spiked, the John Adams was set on fire, and Morris' men retreated across the Soadabscook, he being the last man to leave the wharf. Before he reached the bridge the British were on the bank above him; but he dashed across the stream, armpit deep in the water, and under a galling fire from their muskets, unhurt, joined his friends on the other side—Blake and his officers and a mere remnant of his command among them—and all retreated to Bangor. Morris did not stay there, however, but soon made his way overland to Portland." "Did the British harm the people in that town, papa?" asked Elsie. "They took possession, and there was no further resistance," replied the captain. "Then they sent some vessels, with about five hundred men, to Bangor. A mile from the town they were met by a flag of truce from the magistrates, who asked terms of capitulation. The answer was that private property would be respected. It was about ten o'clock when they reached the town, and Commodore Barrie gave notice that if the people would cheerfully send in the required supplies they should not be harmed in person or property. But he had hardly done so before he gave his sailors to understand that they might plunder as much as they pleased." "And did they, papa?" asked Elsie. "Yes," he said, "history tells us that almost every store on the western side of the creek, which there empties into the Penobscot, was robbed of all valuable property. Colonel John, however, did all he could to protect the inhabitants. The British forced the people to surrender all their arms, military stores, and public property of every kind, and to report themselves prisoners of war for parole, with a promise that they would not take up arms against the British. "Having robbed the people of property worth twenty-three thousand dollars, destroyed, by burning, fourteen vessels, and stolen six, which they carried away with them, they left Bangor for Hampden, which they treated in the same way. There they desolated the church—tearing up the Bible and psalm-books, and demolishing the pulpit and pews. Lossing tells us that the total loss of property at Hampden, exclusive of the cargo of the Commodore Decatur, was estimated at forty-four thousand dollars. And in a note he adds that Williamson's 'History of Maine' says, 'In the midst of the rapine a committee waited on Barrie, and told him that the people expected at his hands the common safeguards of humanity, if nothing more; to which the brutal officer replied, "I have none for you. My business is to burn, sink, and destroy. Your town is taken by storm, and by the rules of war we ought to both lay your village in ashes and put its inhabitants to the sword. But I will spare your lives, though I don't mean to spare your houses."'" "Oh, what a cruel wretch!" said Evelyn. "A perfect savage, I should call him!" exclaimed Lucilla hotly. "I entirely agree with you, ladies," said Mr. Lilburn, "and am sorry indeed to have to own him as a countryman of mine." "Well, Cousin Ronald," returned Mrs. Travilla pleasantly, "there are plenty of Americans of such character that I should [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] be loth indeed to own them as relatives." "And there were plenty such in the days of our two wars with England, as any one must acknowledge, remembering the lawless bands of marauders called Cowboys and Skinners," said Violet; "they were more detestable than the British themselves—even such as that Barrie, Tarleton, and others too numerous to mention." "Will they ever come here again, papa?" asked Ned. "I think not, son," replied the captain; "most, if not all of them, are now dead." "Yes, it must have been a long, long while ago," remarked the little lad reflectively. "We are going now to Passamaquoddy Bay, aren't we, papa?" asked Elsie. "Yes," he said, "and hope to reach there early this afternoon." "And I hope we will see all that Lossing tells about," said Grace. "I think you may feel reasonably certain of that," her father responded, in his kindly, pleasant tones. "We pass Machias on the way to Passamaquoddy Bay, don't we, father?" asked Grace. "Yes," he replied, "we are nearing it now." "Oh, I remember something about what occurred there in the Revolution; but won't you please tell us the story again?" she exclaimed. "I will," he said. "We had then an exposed coast many miles in extent, and not a single armed vessel to protect it, while Britain was the first naval power of the world. A few of our planters and merchants had been trained in the royal navy, and so had a good many American seamen, to some extent, in helping England in her wars with the French in the twenty years preceding our Revolution; but our wise men who were directing public affairs could see no material for organizing a marine force, so devoted themselves to the business of raising an army. Immediately after the battle of Lexington the British began depredations along the New England coast, and soon private vessels were gotten out by patriot volunteers, who armed them as well as they could, and did their best to defend the coast. "You know news did not fly so fast in those days as it does now, but when at length the people of Machias heard of the affair at Lexington it of course caused great excitement, and a desire to defend their country against the foe. There in their own harbor lay a British armed schooner called the Margaretta. She had two sloops with her, and the three were busied in getting lumber for the British army in Boston. A party of the young men of the town determined to try to capture her while her officers were at church on shore. They seized one of the sloops, chased the schooner out of the harbor, and after a severe fight compelled her to surrender. "It was the first naval engagement of the Revolution. There were forty of the Americans, commanded by Jeremiah O'Brien, and about twenty of them, and as many of the British, were killed in the fight. The captain of the cutter was one of the mortally wounded. Soon afterward O'Brien captured two small English cruisers, making their crews prisoners, and carrying them to Watertown, where the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts was in session. That body then took measures to establish a coast marine to intercept English transports bringing supplies for the British troops, and gave O'Brien employment in that service, with a captain's commission. "The British force under Sherwood and Griffiths, after their raid up the Penobscot, went back to Machias. They landed at Buck's Harbor, three miles below the town, and marched against the fort, which the garrison deserted and blew up." "Are we going to Machias now, papa?" asked Ned. "No," said his father, "we are nearing Passamaquoddy Bay now. We will spend a little time there, then turn and go back to the Penobscot, to visit historical scenes along its course. You perhaps remember that the British went there shortly after having taken Eastport and Fort Sullivan on Moose Island in Passamaquoddy Bay. They were taken on the 11th of July, 1812; Castine on September 1 of the same year." "And about a year after came the fight between the Enterprise and the Boxer, which occurred September 5, 1813," observed Max. "Yes," said his father, with a smile, "and of course you remember the notable victory vouchsafed us by Providence five days later on Lake Erie?" "Perry's victory, sir? Yes, indeed! Also Macdonough's on Lake Champlain, which was given him on the 11th of the next September, 1814." But they were now entering the bay, and historical reminiscence gave place to talk of the beauty of the scenery, Captain Raymond, who had been there before, pointing out and naming the different islands and villages. They did not land, but steamed slowly about the bay, finding so much to interest them that they lingered there until nightfall. They then steamed out into the ocean, taking a westward course. It was a beautiful moonlight evening, and all gathering together on deck, passed the time in cheerful chat concerning the scenes just visited and those they expected to visit in the near future. At length there was a pause in the conversation, presently broken by little Ned. "Oh, dear!" he sighed, "I'm just hungry for a little fun. I don't see what's the use of having ventriloquists along, if they don't make some fun for us once in a while." "Now, Master Ned, do you call that a polite speech?" asked a strange voice that seemed to come from a short distance [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] in his rear. Ned sprang to his feet and turned toward it. "I—I didn't mean to be rude, Cousin Ronald or Brother Max, whichever you are; but I am ever so hungry for a bit of fun." "And you consider that a healthful appetite, do you?" queried the voice. "Yes, sir; for 'Laugh and grow fat' is an old saying, so I've heard." "Well, well, well! I have understood that you rather objected to being considered fat," laughed the invisible speaker. "Oh, well, I don't believe a bit of fun once in a while would do much harm in that way," returned the little fellow. "At any rate, I'm more than willing to try it." "Well, suppose we try it with the understanding that if you get too fat you are to be reduced to your present suitable size by a low and spare diet?" "No, indeed!" cried Ned. "I won't consent to that. Don't you know that boys need to eat plenty, if they are to grow up into big, strong men?" "Enough, but not too much, Neddie," laughed his cousin, Dr. Percival, sitting near. "Uncle Harold, you know all about it, for you're a good doctor," said Ned, appealing to Dr. Travilla; "oughtn't little boys to have plenty to eat?" "Yes, Ned; plenty, but not too much." "Well, that's just what I want," laughed Ned. "Oh, what was that?" as a cry, "Help! help, or I shall drown!" came from the water not far from the side of the vessel. Cousin Ronald and Max exchanged inquiring glances, and the latter rose hastily to his feet. "Throw him a rope, my men!" he called to a group of sailors at the farther end of the vessel. The words had hardly left his lips ere the order was obeyed, and the next moment the dripping figure of a young lad in a bathing suit was drawn up and landed upon the deck. "Thanks, thanks, gentlemen," he panted; "you've helped me to a narrow escape from a watery grave. I ventured out too far—alone in the moonlight and——" "Don't try to talk, my man; you are too much exhausted," interrupted Dr. Travilla, for he, Captain Raymond, Max, Mr. Lilburn, Chester, and Dr. Percival had all hurried to the spot to see and assist the rescued stranger. "Thanks! I'll do," he said, "if you'll kindly help me to rub down, and lend me some things till these can be made dry." "Certainly," replied Captain Raymond, and at once gave directions that the stranger be taken to a comfortably warm stateroom, provided with everything needful, and his wet garments dried and returned to him as quickly as possible. Then turning to his brother-in-law, "I leave the rest to your care, Harold," he said. "Oh, Brother Max," cried Ned, as the gentlemen rejoined the ladies and children, "I thought it was you or Cousin Ronald calling for help just for fun, and it was a real drowning man, after all." "A mere lad, Ned, and I am very glad we were able to give him help in season." The incident had created quite a little excitement, and all eagerly awaited Harold's report. He rejoined them in a few minutes, looking so undisturbed that they at once felt that his new patient was in no danger. "He will be all right presently," he said, in answer to their eagerly inquiring looks and questions. "When we heard his cry for help he had hardly more than just realized his danger. He is somewhat ashamed of his venturesomeness, and anxious to get back to his friends without letting them know of the peril he was in." Turning to Captain Raymond, "He will be very glad and grateful if you will go a little out of your way and land him at the spot where he entered the water, so that he may be able to steal up to the house of his friends without arousing their suspicions concerning the danger he has been in." "I think we may do that," the captain said, in his kindly tones. "It will probably not delay us more than an hour or so, and we are not so hurried for time that we need decline to submit to that." Max at once gave the necessary orders, the course of the vessel was changed, and ere long the young stranger was landed at the spot where he had entered the water. Then the Dolphin proceeded on her westward way, and when her passengers awoke in the morning they were nearing Penobscot Bay. CHAPTER III. All were eager to visit the historical places immediately upon their arrival. As they entered the harbor of Castine Mrs. Travilla remarked that it was quite as picturesque as she expected from Lossing's description. [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] "Ah, I entirely agree with you, Cousin Elsie," responded Mr. Lilburn; "it is so bonny a place that I do not wonder it was coveted by the enemy." The whole party presently landed, a guide was found who promised to conduct them to all the points of historical interest, and they set out upon their search. They very much admired the situation of the town, and the view from it of the bay, with its picturesque islands. They visited old Fort George, built by the British in 1779, in the centre of the peninsula, and repaired, fraised, and armed by them in 1814. It was only a ruin now, but interesting because of what it had been in those earlier days. The view from its banks, which were about eighteen feet high from the bottom of the six feet deep ditch, was very interesting. Looking northwestward from the fort they could see on the right the entrance to the canal cut by the British across Castine Neck, turning the peninsula into an island. It was about eighty rods long and twelve feet deep, and now had a bridge across it. Between the promontory and an island could be seen the mouth of the Penobscot River. On the extreme left they could see the town of Belfast, thirteen miles distant. Leaving that point they visited the remains of several other forts built by the British, after which they returned to the yacht for the evening meal and the night's rest. The Dolphin was allowed to remain stationary until all her passengers were on deck again the next morning; then the anchor was lifted, and she steamed up the river. Favored with delightful weather they greatly enjoyed the trip up the beautiful, winding stream. They had taken on board a man well acquainted with the river and every point of interest upon its banks, and who pointed out each one as they neared it. As they entered Marsh Bay the young people were told that the British squadron lay there one night on their way toward Hampden. Elsie and Ned showed keen interest when told of it, and in hearing from their father of the cannon-ball of the British that lodged in a storehouse there in 1814. "Do you remember the story Lossing tells about a Norway pine somewhere in this region?" asked Mrs. Travilla, addressing Captain Raymond. "Something of it," he said, with an amused smile, and the children at once begged to hear it. "Will you gratify them, mother?" asked the captain. "You probably have a better recollection of his story than I." "I will do my best," she said, and began at once. "Lossing says the tree was about a mile above here, and the only one of its kind in that region—a round, compact tree, its short trunk looking as if composed of a group of smaller ones, and the limbs growing so near the ground that it was difficult to get under it. At the time that the British landed at Frankford some man who had a large quantity of bacon, being afraid they would rob him of it, carried it to that tree and hung the pieces in among the branches to hide them from the foe; and though the British passed along the road only a short distance from the tree, they did not notice its peculiar fruit, so did not meddle with it, and his bacon was saved; always afterward that Norway pine was called the Bacon Tree." "Thank you, grandma; that was a nice story," said Elsie. "Haven't you another little story for us, grandma?" asked Ned, in coaxing tones. "I do always like your stories ever so much." At that Grandma Elsie laughed a pleasant little laugh, then went on: "Lossing tells us quite an interesting little story of a remarkable black man whom he visited somewhere near here. His name was Henry Van Meter, and he was then ninety-five years old. During the Revolution he was a slave to Governor Nelson of Virginia. After that he became a seaman, and was one of the crew of the privateer Lawrence, which sailed from Baltimore in 1814. I suppose Lossing questioned him about his long life, and heard his story of it. He remembered having seen Washington many times. The estate of Governor Nelson, his first master, was sold after the war, to pay his debts, and Henry was bought by a planter beyond the Blue Ridge. The new master wanted him to marry one of his slave girls, and told him if he did he would order in his will that he should be made a free man at his (the master's) death. In telling of it Henry said, 'I didn't like the gals, and didn't want to wait for dead men's shoes. So master sold me to a man near Lexington, Kentucky, and there was only one log house in that town when I went there.' "He was soon sold to another man, who treated him shamefully, and one night he mounted one of his master's horses and fled to the Kentucky River, where he turned the horse loose, and told him to go home if he had a mind to, as he didn't want to steal him. Some kind white people helped Henry over the river into Ohio, and at Cincinnati he then took the name of Van Meter—the family name of some of the Shenandoah Valley people who had been kind to him. "Afterward Henry became the servant of an officer in the army of General St. Clair, and served with our troops in the Northwest under General Wayne. After that he lived in Chillicothe, then came East to Philadelphia. There some Quaker sent him to school, and he learned to read and write. He became a sailor, went to Europe several times in that capacity, and when the war broke out he shipped as such on board the privateer Lawrence. It was taken by the British, and he was thrown into Dartmoor Prison, and saw the massacre there in 1815." "Oh, what was that, grandma?" asked Ned, in tones of excitement. "I didn't think I ever heard about it." "Lossing tells us," replied his grandmother, "that Dartmoor was a depot for prisoners in England; that it was situated in a desolate region, was built in 1809 for a place in which to confine French prisoners. At the time the treaty of peace was made with us there were six thousand American prisoners in it—two thousand five hundred of them American seamen, put there for refusing to fight in the British Navy against their countrymen. They were there when the war began in 1812. For some unknown reason there was great delay in setting those prisoners free after the treaty of peace was made. It [41] [42] [43] [44] [45] [46] was nearly three months before they were allowed to know that the treaty had been signed. From the time they first heard of it they were every day expecting to be set at liberty, and naturally grew very impatient over the delay. On the 4th of April they demanded bread instead of hard biscuit, which they refused to eat. On the evening of the 6th they showed great unwillingness to obey the order to retire to their quarters, and some of them not only refused to do that, but went beyond their prescribed limits. Then Captain Shortland, who had charge of the military guard, ordered them to fire on the Americans, which they did. The soldiers, I believe, fired a second time. Five prisoners were killed and thirty- three wounded." "Why, that was just murder, wasn't it, grandma?" asked Ned. "And didn't they hang those soldiers for doing it?" "No; the British authorities called it 'justifiable homicide,' which meant it was all right enough." "In which decision I, for one, am far from agreeing," remarked Mr. Lilburn emphatically. "It created intense indignation in this country at the time," said the captain; "but is now seldom remembered, and the two nations are, and I hope always will be, good friends." The Dolphin ascended the river only as far as Bangor, and returned by moonlight to Castine, where they anchored for some hours; then at an early hour in the morning they steamed out into the ocean again, and pursued a westward course until they reached Portland. There they landed and paid a visit to the cemetery where lay the remains of the brave captains of the Enterprise and the Boxer; also those of Midshipman Kervin Waters. "They are buried side by side, as if they were brothers, instead of enemies who were killed fighting each other," said little Elsie softly. "But perhaps they were good Christian men, each fighting for what he thought was the right of his own country. Papa, can you tell us about the funeral? I suppose they had one?" "Yes, daughter, a solemn and imposing one. The two battered vessels were lying at the end of Union Wharf. A civil and military procession had been formed at the court-house at nine in the morning of the 9th of September. The coffins were brought from the vessels in barges of ten oars each, rowed by minute strokes of ship-masters and mates, most of the barges and boats in the harbor accompanying them. When the barges began to move, and while the procession was passing through the streets to the church, minute guns were fired by artillery companies. Also while the procession marched from the church to the cemetery here, which is about a mile distant from the church. "The chief mourners who followed the corpse of Captain Burrows were Dr. Washington, Captain Hull, and officers of the Enterprise. Those who followed Captain Blyth's were the officers of the Boxer, on parole. Both were followed by naval and military officers in the United States service, the crews of the two vessels, civil officers of the State and city, military companies, and a large concourse of citizens. Only a few weeks before Captain Blyth was one of the pall- bearers at the funeral of our Lawrence, the gallant commander of the Chesapeake, at Halifax." "That dear brave man that said, 'Don't give up the ship,' papa?" asked Elsie. "Yes, daughter. Now let us read the inscription on his tombstone: 'In memory of Captain Samuel Blyth, late Commander of his Britannic Majesty's brig Boxer. He nobly fell on the 5th day of September, 1813, in action with the United States brig Enterprise. In life honorable; in death glorious. His country will long deplore one of her bravest sons, his friends long lament one of the best of men. Æ. 29. The surviving officers of his crew offer this feeble tribute of admiration and respect.'" "It sounds as though they had respected and loved him," said the little girl. "That next grave is where Burrows lies, isn't it, papa? and won't you please read its inscription?" They drew nearer and the captain read aloud: "'Beneath this stone moulders the body of William Burrows, late commander of the United States brig Enterprise, who was mortally wounded on the 5th of September, 1813, in an action which contributed to increase the fame of American valor, by capturing his Britannic Majesty's brig Boxer, after a severe contest of forty-five minutes. Æ. 28. A passing stranger has erected this memento of respect to the manes of a patriot, who, in the hour of peril, obeyed the loud summons of an injured country, and who gallantly met, fought, and conquered the foeman.'" "And that one on the pillars, papa—whose is it?" Elsie asked, as her father paused with a slight sigh. "That is the tomb of Midshipman Waters," he said. "We will go nearer and read its inscription: 'Beneath this marble, by the side of his gallant commander, rest the remains of Lieutenant Kervin Waters, a native of Georgetown, District of Columbia, who received a mortal wound, September 5, 1813, while a midshipman on board the United States brig Enterprise, in an action with his Britannic Majesty's brig Boxer, which terminated in the capture of the latter. He languished in severe pain, which he endured with fortitude, until September 25, 1813, when he died with Christian calmness and resignation, aged eighteen. The young men of Portland erect this stone as a testimony of their respect for his valor and virtues.'" "Twenty days to suffer so," sighed Elsie. "Oh, it was dreadful!" Max and Evelyn stood near, side by side. "Dreadful indeed!" Evelyn sighed, in low quivering tones as they turned away. "Oh, Max! I wish you did not belong to the navy!" "Why, dearest?" he asked in tender tones. "It is not only in the navy that men die suddenly and of injuries; and many a naval officer has lived to old age and died at home in his bed. And we are under the same Protecting Care on the sea as [47] [48] [49]...