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,
Hash, Chilion and the dog, 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 front of the church, when
prayer, as usual, was offered by Parson Welles, standing
on the steps. “O Lord God,” 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 bent over his
ivory-headed cane. Some of the people were moved to
tears.

The soldiers were then drawn into a line for inspection.
Their equipment 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 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 the 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 mountainlaurel
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; 1759
found him 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 attack 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 ginger-bread,
pitching coppers, watching the drill and following the steps
of the soldiers; or fail 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 glistened 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. At the word Fire!” continued he, “you will pull
the trigger briskly, then return to the priming position, the
muzzle of your firelock 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 across the Green.

There came also to the training Master Elliman, who,
exempt by his profession from arms, and rated always 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 liked
better, 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, ἂξιοῖ πϱεσϐῦτεϱοι ἐϰϰλησῖαζ τοῦ ϑεοῦ ϰαὶϰΛίϋιγγστὸν
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; sister Margaret?” said the latter.

“A Pond gal!” poh'd Deacon Hadlock.

“What on arth is the Master doing with that little critter?”
laughed Deacon Ramsdill. “Larnin' the young
pup new tricks?”

“The dog that trots about will find a bone,” quoth 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 Scripture fulfilled. Soft words
turn away wrath,” remarked 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 the fines,” responded the Quaker.
“Ruth and I were stripped of most we had, to support the
troops.”

“See how God has blessed you! What an army he is
raising for our defence,” exclaimed 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 ruther 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,” answered Deacon
Hadlock. “It is our enemies that we expect to kill.”

“Who?” asked Margaret.

“Our enemies, I say.”

“Who are our enemies?”

“Those that 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 a dancing.”

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

“O, Brother Ramsdill,” sighed 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,” sneered
the Master, directing attention to the soldiers. A difficulty
had arisen. The Captain was seen running towards the
rear of the company.

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 to the extent of
striking his superior on the march; an offence that Joseph
sought to punish by a blow in return. Obed, also, who was

this 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 a fine of
twenty shillings; the latter to twenty-nine lashes at the
whipping-post.

The culprits were immediately taken to their respective
dooms, followed by the populace. Margaret, not comprehending
precisely the nature of events, lingered on the
steps of the crowd. The screams of Obed aroused her,
and she dashed through the press of people, as she would
through a field of bushes, to the point whence they proceeded.
A half dozen blows of the formidable cat had
sufficed to fetch blood on the naked back of the youth.
Margaret flew toward her suffering friend and folded her
arms about him, as it were, in the way at once of pity and
protection. 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, her face and clothes dabbled with
blood. She went with Isabel to the brook and washed;
Isabel going into her house, which was near by, brought a
towel to wipe her, 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 close upon
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. This person sat in silence, muffled like an owl,
in his black beard, tangled hair, 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 fetch him 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 Jailor presently entered, and ordered Margaret
to leave. She went to the Horse-sheds, where her
father was selling liquors. Seating her on a cider barrel,
he gave her more gingerbread and cheese, which she ate
with a relish.

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 as
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.

The sun went down, clouds gloomed in the sky, and

heavy vapors drifted over the town. Solomon Smith, son
of the Tavern-keeper from No. 4, erected pine torches in
his booth. Lights burst forth from wheelbarrows and
carts throughout the Green. But an 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 troops to the Tavern. Ex-Corporal Whiston
with his friends sallied from the store well sprung, and
encountering their enemies at all points, a medley of brawls
ensued. The Horse-shed becoming scenes of varied disorder,
Margaret was compelled to retreat.

It had begun to rain, the clouds emptying themselves in
bulk 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;
Solomon Smith, leaving his own now deserted and useless
stand, discovering her standing in the rain, kindly took her
with him into the house to the kitchen; where was a parcel
of persons, including boys and girls, some drying themselves
by the fire, some waiting for the rain to hold up,
others singing, laughing and drinking. Here also was
Tony with his fiddle playing to a company of dancers;
and Pluck, sitting on the hearth, 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 take something. It's training day, and that 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 pinkeyposy,
it is as good for your wet clothes, as the Widder's
horse-raddish for dropsy. Ha! ha!”

As he proffered 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
flashed 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.

They ascended the West Street, crossed the pasture, and
entered the woods. The clouds hung low, and their floating
skirts seemed to be pierced and hetcheled 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 groped along its banks,
and arrived at the Tree Bridge. 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 trees dripped on her head, the grass was wet underneath
her, and her clothes were drenched. 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, and 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 and rough 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! Ho! a star rolling
on its five points! 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. Ho! Molly,
Molly, help!” He leaped from the ground, Margaret clung
to the skirt of his coat. Breaking from the arm that
detained him, he cried, “The Tree Bridge,” and ran
towards that slippery structure, as if he could thereby
escape his invisible pursuers.

Ere the child had time to exclaim against this rashness,
or interpose any obstacle to the peril upon which the old
man rushed, a plash in the water announced his fall, while
the darkness and the swollen state of the stream appalled
her with the feeling of his certain destruction. Then
Margaret, for the first time in her life, experienced, what is
often overwhelming in the onset and is not wont to sit
lightly on the memory, a sense of danger.—What could
be done? She hurried down the ravine, was enabled to
seize an arm of the struggling man, and assist him to regain
the bank. In silence, sickness and weariness, she toiled
homewards; in darkest dead of night she went to her bed,
when that good angel, sleep, came and comforted her.