University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
RETURNS TO MARGARET, WHO ADVANCES IN CHILDHOOD AND
KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD.

Military Trainings we have alluded to as a sort of New
England Holiday. Pluck, taking with him Margaret and Hash,
Chilion and Bull, went down to the village at an early hour.
The Green flowed with people, soldiers, men, women and children.
Portions of the horse-sheds were converted into booths
for the sale of liquors, fruits and bread; wheelbarrows and
carts were converted to the same use. An angle of the Meeting-house,
Mr. Smith, the Tavern Keeper at No. 4, appropriated
for his peculiar calling. Pluck engaged himself as tapster
in one of the horse-sheds. Margaret, having orders not to
go home, till her father returned at night, sat with Bull on the
grass near the Meeting-house by the side of some other boys
and girls, who all moved away when she approached. Tony's
beat of the troop was the signal for the soldiers to assemble.
They were first marched to the south front of the church,
when prayer, as usual, was offered by Parson Welles, standing
on the steps. “O Lord God,” for thus he prayed, “we thank
thee that thou hast raised up a defence to Israel, whereby thou
hast cut off the mighty men of valor, and the leaders and captains
in the camp of the king of Assyria. We humbly beseech
that thou wouldst send prosperity, that thou wouldst be an
enemy to our enemies, and destroy all them that afflict our
soul. Let the gates be lifted up, and the Lord, the Lord strong
and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle, come in. And now O
God, we fall down upon our knees before thee, for and in behalf
of thy cause, name, people and interest, that in this day
are so deeply designed against by the serpent and his seed, and
from this black cloud of tumult and confusion among the nations,
wilt thou bring forth the accomplishment of those promises
thy people are so earnestly looking after and waiting for.”

The old man was fervid and earnest. His massive white
wig fluttered in the wind, his venerable form was bent over
his ivory-headed cane. Some of the people were moved to
tears.

The soldiers were then drawn into a line for inspection. The

Captain was Jonas Hoag; 1st. Lieutenant, Eliashib Tuck, from
the Mill; Corporal, Joseph Whiston, a Breakneck; Chilion
Hart, fifer; and Tony Washington, drummer. Their equipments
presented hardly so uniform and symmetrical an aspect as
appears in the militia of our day. There had been, however,
a gradual improvement from the primitive array of Colonial
times; when the troops were made up of pikemen, bowmen,
and musketeers with match-locks. Miles Standish, and his
puritan coadjutors, was dressed in a coat of mail, on his left
arm he bore a target, in his right a rapier or broadsword, iron
gloves shielded his hands, an iron helmet with a visor covered
his head and face, his breast was plated with iron. In this
Livingston Company many wore three-cornered hats, shad-bellied
coats, shoe and knee buckles. Some retained the identical
dress of the late war. The children who may read this
memoir, and we hope there are many such, do not fancy that
our Revolution was fought in cocked-hats and small-clothes!

Among the spectators, seated on the grass under the eaves
of the Meeting-house, were several, whose wounds and infirmities,
contracted during the war, rendered them muster-free.
There were six or eight of this description; one had lost a
leg, another an arm, one had survived a shot through the groin,
one had pined away on insults, blows, hunger and cold in the
Jersey prison-ships, and bringing home his stark skeleton, became
a town pauper. Another one, whose name was Alexis
Robinson, having the side of his face shot away, and with one
eye and ear, losing a moiety of his senses, and failing besides
in his earnings, the certificates of which he always carried, by
the depreciation of the currency, was also provided for by the
town. These severally had hobbled out to see the training.

To these must be added certain soldiers of an earlier date.
Prominent among whom, was lame Deacon Ramsdill, leaning
with his left hand on a smooth crooked mountain-laurel cane, and
having his right folded over his narrow wrinkled face, perpetually
endeavoring to suppress a good-natured but somewhat undiaconal
smile, a risible labitur et labetur, that spirted out like
water between his fingers, and ran through the channels of his
cheeks, all around his eyes, and even back to his ears. At the
age of sixteen, in 1755, he was engaged in what is known as
the expulsion of the Acadians, or French neutrals, from Nova
Scotia; in 1757 he was at the surrender of Fort William Henry;
and in 1759 was with Gen. Wolfe at the battle on the Plains of
Abraham, where he received a wound in his leg. There was
also his brother Deacon, Hadlock, of a more Pythagorean temper,

who was engaged in the Spanish war, and served under
General Wentworth in the atttack on Carthagena, 1740, and
afterwards was in the defeat of General Braddock, 1755.

Nor would one forget to notice the children on this occasion
whose chief business consisted in buying gingerbread,
pitching coppers, watching the exercises and following
the steps of the soldiers; or to be reminded of a difference in
their habits between this and “good old Colony times,” when
the Legislature conceiving “that the training up of youth to
the art and practice of arms will be of great use; do therefore
order that all youths within this jurisdiction, from ten years
old to the age of sixteen years, shall be instructed by some
one of the officers of the band, upon the usual training days,
in the exercise of arms, as small guns, half pikes, bows and
arrows.”

Captain Hoag was an accomplished disciplinarian, esteemed
such at least by his contemporaries. His hair was powdered,
his coat faced with blue, on his hat appeared a large white
cockade, his waist was ornamented with a scarlet sash, his
shoulder rounded off with a silver epaulette, and silver lacings
graced his yellow buck-skin breeches. But what more peculiarly
distinguished him was the badge of the order of the
Cincinnati, a gold medal with the spread eagle, and blue
ribbon hanging from his coat buttons. “Attention! At this
word,” said he, giving instructions designed for the younger
members of the company, “you must be silent, moving neither
hand nor foot. To the Left, Dress! You will turn your
heads briskly to the left, so as to bring your right eye in the
direction of your waistcoat buttons.” “Handle Cartridge!”—
“Prime!” — “Shut Pan!” — “Draw Rammer!” — “Ram
down Cartridge!” — “Return Rammer!” — “Cock Firelock!”
— “Take aim!” — “Fire!” “At this word, Fire,”
continued he, “you will pull the trigger briskly, then return
to the priming position, the muzzle of your fire-lock directly
in front, the left hand just forward of the feather-spring, seize
the cock with the thumb and forefinger of the right hand.”
After the inspection and manual drill, the soldiers were
marched and countermarched over the Green.

There came also to the training, Master Elliman, who exempt
by his profession from arms, and had always ranked as a
Tory, nevertheless made it a point to appear at these times, as
it would seem to air his antipathies. If he encountered
Pluck, well; but this morning he saw one whom he more
fancied, Margaret, sitting with her dog.

“How do you enjoy it?” said he.

“Very well,” was the reply. “I love to see them.”

“Sævit toto Mars impius orbe.”

“I do not understand that.”

“I know you do not. You will by and by.”

“Chilion plays so on his fife, and Tony drums so well,—it
is almost as good as dancing; only the girls and women don't
go with them. See how they follow Chilion round just like
the dancers! Why don't they dance? How slow they
step!”

“It is not Chilion they follow,” replied the Master, “it is
that little laced android with a long knife in his hand, and a
lackered bunch on his shoulder. But here are Deacons
Ramsdill and Hadlock, αξιοι πρεσδυτεροι εχχλησιας του εου χαι
Livingston, and our broad-brimmed nay nay and yea yea android,
Anthony Wharfield. Salvete, Deacons; God bless thee,
Friend Anthony. Miss Margaret Hart, Friend Anthony.”

“How does thee do? sister Margaret;” said the latter.

“A Pond gal!” said Deacon Hadlock.

“What on arth are you doing with that little critter?” said
Deacon Ramsdill. “Larnin the young pup new tricks?”

“The dog that trots about will find a bone,” said Deacon
Hadlock.

“Qui vult cædere canem, facile invenit fustem,” responded
the Master.

Bull, whether that his name was used too freely, or from an
old habit in the presence of strangers, began to growl.

“Lie still,” said Margaret.

“There, you see the Scripter fulfilled. Soft words turn
away wrath,” said Deacon Ramsdill, with his right hand on
his mouth striving in vain to curb his laughter.

“So Friend Anthony gets rid of the wars, and trainings,
by his soft answers, I suppose,” said the Master.

“Not of paying,” responded the Quaker. “Ruth and I
were stripped of most we had, to support the troops.”

“See how God has blest you! What an army he is raising
for our defence,” said Deacon Hadlock, pointing to the
soldiers.

“What is that little man, with a long knife, doing to the
men?” asked Margaret.

“He is preparing them for war; he will prove a Joshua to
us,” said Deacon Hadlock, not so much, however, in reply to
Margaret, as to illustrate sentiments which he feared did not
sufficiently prevail with his friends.

“I rather guess he's larnin them bagonets and hatchets to
make pretty free work with our legs,” said Deacon Ramsdill,
pressing down upon his cane.

“He is teaching the science of puppetry,” said the Master.

“He is teaching them to break the commandments of
Christ,” said the Quaker.

“What is it for? what for!” exclaimed Margaret, starting
up with some surprise.

“I can tell you all,” said Deacon Hadlock. “It is under
God, the defence of our lives, liberties and fortunes.”

“How many of our people were killed in the French war,
and in the last war!” said Deacon Ramsdill.

“How many of us were shut in the Jail yonder,” said the
Master.

“How many farms in this town were ruined,” said the
Quaker.

“What blunders are ye all making!” exclaimed Deacon
Hadlock. “It is our enemies that we expect to kill.”

“Who?” asked Margaret.

“Our enemies, I say.”

“Who are our enemies?”

“Those who injure us.”

“What, kill them?” said Margaret. “Now I wish Chilion
would bring his violin and make them dance. They wouldn't
kill one another then. Why don't he play Chorus Jig, and
set them to dancing.”

“Clear nater,” said Deacon Ramsdill; “I make no doubt
the gal feels just so.”

“Oh, Brother Ramsdill,” exclaimed Deacon Hadlock,
“how can you! What are we coming to! I was informed
you countenanced mixed dancing; that you told Bethia
Weeks, a church-member, there was no harm in it if she
didn't carry it too far. Here you are encouraging that sinful
amusement and opposing our military preparations! I do believe
the Lord has forsaken us indeed.”

“Behold your defenders, pro aris et focis,” exclaimed the
Master, directing attention to the soldiers. A difficulty had
evidently arisen. The Captain was seen running towards the
rear.

It will be remembered that Hash, the brother of Margaret,
had a difference with Zenas Joy, a Breakneck, at the Turkey
Shoot. We would also state that Zenas was engaged to
Delinda Hoag, a daughter of the Captain. On the parade
this morning, Hash's conduct had been very unmannerly towards

Zenas, so much so as to offend Captain Hoag, both officially
and personally; and he changed Hash's place, transferring
him to a platoon under command of Corporal Joseph
Whiston, also a Breakneck. Hash could not brook this, and
carried his resentment so far, as to strike his Corporal on the
march; an offence that Joseph sought to punish by a blow in
return. Obed, also, who was that day doing his first military
duty, became somehow involved in the affray. The music
ceased; order was lost. Several voices called for Deacon
Hadlock to interfere in his capacity as Justice of the Peace.
The soldiers speedily resolved themselves into a civil tribunal,
and Hash and Obed were equitably tried and sentenced, the
former, to twenty-four hours imprisonment in the Jail, and to
pay a fine of twenty shillings; the latter, to receive twenty-nine
lashes at the whipping-post. The culprits were immediately
taken to their respective dooms, followed by crowds
of people. Margaret, probably not understanding exactly the
nature of events, went slowly after. She heard the shrieks of
Obed, she forced herself through the large ring that was
formed about him. He was stripped to his skin, the blood
was running in red lines down his back, four or five blows
only had been inflicted; she ran forward and threw herself
about the culprit. The constable tried to wrench her off, she
clung with an almost preternatural grasp. He threatened to
lay the lash upon her. She told him he should not whip
Obed. Judah Weeks, brother of Isabel, set up a cry “For
shame!” Isabel herself, who was playing near by, began to
utter a loud lament, all the children raised piteous moans, the
older people became confused; in fine Deacon Hadlock himself,
hearing Obed's entreaties, consented to remit the balance
of the penalty. Margaret walked through the people, who
drew off on either side as she passed, her face and clothes
dabbled with blood. She went with Isabel to the brook and
washed herself; Isabel going into her house, which was near
by, fetched a towel to wipe her with, and asked her to walk in
and see her mother. Margaret said she must go back to her
brother Hash. The Jail-yard, constructed of high posts, was,
as we have said, on a line with the street, and when Margaret
returned she found boys and girls looking through the crevices;
an example that she imitated. Deacon Ramsdill approaching,
asked her if she wanted to go in; she replied that
she did. After considerable parleying, the Deacon was able
to obtain of the Jailer, Mr. Shooks, permission for her to
enter, with Bull, whom it was not an easy matter to keep out.
She found Hash in a small, dimly lighted cell, rolling and
blubbering on the floor. She aroused him, and he took her
in one arm, and held the head of the dog by the other, and
seemed very much pleased to have them with him. She said
she would stay all night, but he told her that would not be allowed.
She saw another man in the cell, who, Hash whispered
to her, was a murderer. She saw him sitting, muffled
like an owl, in his long, black beard, long tangled hair, dark
begrimed face, and ragged clothes. She went to him, he took
her in his lap, pressed her hard to his breast, and stroked her
hair. She called Bull, and he patted the dog's head. He said
he had a little boy about as old as she was, whom he had not
seen for a long time, and never expected to see again. She
gave him some gingerbread which she had in her pocket, and
he munched it greedily. Hash offered him a quid of tobacco,
whereat he seemed greatly delighted, and tears ran down his
cheeks. Margaret said she would bring some flowers the next
time she came to the village. He thanked her and said he
should be glad to see them, that he had not seen a flower for two
years. The door was opened, the Jailor entered, and Margaret
was ordered to leave. She crossed the Green to the Horse
sheds, where her father was employed selling liquors. He
seated her on a cider barrel, and gave her another piece of
gingerbread and cheese, which she ate with a good appetite,
as she had hardly eaten anything since morning. The day
approached its close, and the soldiers drew up to ballot for
officers, Captain Hoag's term of service having expired. In
the result, Lieutenant Eliashib Tuck was chosen Captain, and
all the subaltern officers advanced their respective grades, excepting
Corporal Joseph Whiston, whose name, for some reason,
disappeared from the canvass. Captain Tuck replied as
follows: “Fellow soldiers, I lack words to express my sense
of the honor conferred upon me, as unexpected as it is undeserved.
We live in a glorious era, one that eclipses all past time,
and will be a model for future ages. The close of the eighteenth
century is sublime as its meridian was grand. It were an
honor for a man to be born in this period, how much more so
to be honored by it! My brave compatriots! Military life is
the path to distinction, and the means of usefulness. An
immortal crown awaits the head of the hero! The Lion of
Britain we have bound, and the Unicorn of France shall ere
long bite the dust! Livingstonians! my blood is aroused,
my ambition fired to be at the head of such a corps! Your
fame has spread from Bunker Hill to Saratoga, from Genessee
to King's Mountain. I will lead wherever you will follow, I
will dare all dangers with your support.”

Agreeably to custom, he then announced a treat. The
company was marched to the Crown and Bowl, and dismissed.
The citizens, old and young, thronged to the scene. Pluck,
leaving Margaret and his tapstership, joined in the general
exhilaration. Pails of toddy were brought from the bar-room.
The men drank freely, gave huzzas, and sang patriotic songs.
Ex-Corporal Whiston, however, and his particular friends, dignifiedly
indignant, withdrew, and went to the Store for their
entertainment. The old men drank, and the young men; boys
crept under the legs of the soldiers, and lifting the pails,
tugged at the slops; little children on their bellies lapped
the gutters, and sucked the grass, where the liquor fell.

The sun went down, clouds darkened the sky, and in swollen
masses drifted over the town. Solomon Smith, son of the
Tavern-keeper from No. 4, set a pine-torch in his stand, and
with knap-sack, shoulder-straps, and dangling priming wire
and brush, called around him as many as he could, while his
father went after the little boys whose coppers he exchanged
for rum. Lights broke out from the wheel-barrows and carts,
all over the Green, which rung with shouts and song, and the
tramping of feet. At the Store they drank and sung. But
the excessive use of alcoholic stimulants aggravates the ordinary
symptoms of good cheer, and produces effects which the most
considerate do not always foresee. Intoxication supervenes,
accompanied by a paralysis of the physical, or an inflammation
of the nervous system. Captain Tuck was borne dead-drunk
by his reeling soldiers, and laid on the floor of the bar-room.
Ex-Corporal Whiston with his friends sallied from the Store; a
brawl ensued between the two parties, and Deacon Hadlock,
interposing to quell the fray, was knocked to the ground.
Some were seized with nausea, and repaired for relief to the
Horse-sheds. Margaret was driven from her seat by Delinda
Hoag, who bore thither her espoused Zenas Joy. She went in
pursuit of her father. She stumbled over a little boy that lay
helpless on the grass. This was Aurelius Orff, whom his sister
Beulah Ann, and Grace Joy, who had been making a visit
to Hester, niece of Deacon Penrose, were looking after;
whereupon Grace called her a hoddy-doddy guzzletail, and
Beulah Ann gave her a smart push, as if to test her condition;
whereby she was brought in involuntary contact with Paulina
Whiston, who having grasped her brother, the ex-Corporal, by
the collar, was punching and twitching him to the shed where

their horse was tied. She had also slung over her shoulders
a pair of saddle-bags, filled with articles for which she had
been bartering at the Store. She helped her brother mount,
but he was too weak to retain his seat, and before she gained
the pillion, he fell to the ground. Margaret seized the horse's
bridle, and curbed the animal, while Paulina recovered her
brother. Lights blinked and glowed from booth to booth.
The black shadows of men showed unearthly, like demons in
a pit. Boys yelled their excitement, Indian-like, across the
Green. Horses breaking loose, plunged madly through the
crowd. Corporal Whiston's horse was frightened and tore
away. It began to rain, the clouds emptied themselves in torrents,
as it might seem to animate and refreshen the people,
but really to superadd a burthen on such as already had more
than they could carry, and bury those who were fallen deeper
in the soil. Margaret hurried she knew not where; she
slunk from the rain under a cart, but was thrust away by its
drunken owner and his drunken customers. She ran towards
the Tavern, that was full of men. A thick darkness had come
on, the lights on the Green were extinguished. The faint
glare from the Tavern discovered her standing out in the rain.
Solomon Smith, leaving his own now deserted and useless
stand, coming along, kindly took her with him into the house.
Men in various stages of intoxication, stood, sat, and lay in
the stoop, and in the bar-room. Through these Solomon led
her into the kitchen. Here was a parcel of men and women,
boys and girls, some drying themselves by the fire, some waiting
for the rain to hold up, some singing, laughing and drinking.
Here also was Tony with his fiddle playing to a company
of dancers; and Pluck, sitting on his hams near the fire,
with his full-orbed cabbage-head, swaying to and fro, beating
time with his arms and legs, and balancing in one hand a mug
of flip. “Ha! my little lady!” said he, catching Margaret
with a bounce into his lap, and holding her near the fire,
“won't you drink a little, now do drink a little. See how it
creams; don't be snuffy, Molly, none of your mulligrubs.
Here's blood now, Obed's blood on your pinafore. A brave
deed that; you must have something to take. It's training
day, and they don't come only four times a year. There's
Beulah Ann, she loves it as well as a calf likes to be licked.
Sweet pinkey-posy, it is as good for your wet clothes, as the
Widder's horse-radish for dropsy, ha! ha!” Whereat as he
was pressing the mug to Margaret's lips, Tony, reaching over
with his fiddle-bow, struck it from his hand into the fire. The
blue blaze whirred up the chimney and darted into the room.
There was a cry of fire, and Mr. Stillwater, summoning himself,
lifted Pluck to his feet, and shoved him into the street. The
old toper anticipating some such issue of the day, agreeably
to custom, had taken Margaret with him to the village to be
conducted home by her at night. Margaret leading the way,
they ascended the hill, crossed the Pasture, and entered the
woods. The clouds hung low, and their floating skirts seemed
to be pierced and hetchelled by the trees. The rain had
thinned into a fine close mist. The path, to inexperienced
eyes, would have been absolutely indistinguishable. They had
threaded it before in similar darkness. They came to the
Brook, which, increased by the rain, flowed with a dismal
sound. They entered the ravine, that brought them now on a
level with the Brook, whose hissing waters rolled over their
feet. They attained the summit above, where the Tree-Bridge
lay. Pluck seemed terrified, and hesitated to cross. He sat
down, then extended his length on the grass, and ere long fell
asleep. Margaret would have been unwilling that her father
should go over, and was not sorry to have him stop; though
it was night, and rainy, and they were alone, and still a mile
from home. The rain-drops from the trees showered on her
head and lap, the grass was wet underneath her, and her
clothes were drenched with water. But of this she hardly
thought; what she more feared was the ways of her father in
his drunken sleep, his mysterious sufferings, his frenzied utterance,
his spasmodic agitation. This, and for this she feared;
she looked for it, and it came. She tried to quiet him, and
as she rubbed his arm he said she was a dove feeding him with
milk; and then he scratched and tore at his breast, which she
soothed with her hand, hot, rough, and hairy as it was; then
he said he was boiling in the still, and Solomon Smith was
holding the cap on; he shrieked and yelled till his roar exceeded
that of the Brook. Then he began to laugh wildly.
“Old Nick is turning the North Pole. There comes out of
the sea a whale walking on his tail; Parson Welles has got
astride of his gills with a riding stick, ha! ha! There
comes a star rolling on its five points, and next comes old
Suwarrow in his boots. Grind away, old fellow. Round, round
they go over the mountains, splash, splash across rivers. Can't
you hear the pismires laugh? There's St. Paul with a cat-o'nine-tails,
and Deacon Hadlock going to take me to the whipping
post. I'll be poxed, if you do. Hoa, Molly, Molly! help.”
He leaped from the ground, Margaret clung to the skirt of his
coat. He broke away. “The Bridge! the Bridge!” he exclaimed.
“They can't catch me then!”

“Father! father!” she screamed in uttermost agony,
“you'll fall, you'll fall!” He slipped from the uncertain tree;
he struck the sides of the chasm, and dashed into the stream.
Aroused by the shock of the fall, and the stimulus of the
water, he called aloud for aid, as he was borne on by the dark,
invisible rush of the stream. Margaret then, for the first
time in her life, felt the shuddering, appalling sense of danger.
What could be done? She ran down the ravine, she seized
the struggling arm of her father, and detained him till by his
own efforts he was able to bring himself to his feet. In silence,
and sickness, and weariness, she fagged homewards; in darkest
dead of night she went to her bed as to her grave.