University of Virginia Library

SARAH TO JULIET.

You have often wished, dear Juliet, that my imperturbable
nature, as you have called it, might meet with something
to agitate it. Your wish is accomplished. I am
agitated, cruelly agitated; not with the passion of love,
that to which you seemed to look, with most assurance,
for the desired effect; but with a strange, inexplicable inquietude—intensely
painful and distressing, at times;—
and yet, so pleasant withal, that I would not entirely
forego it.

You will be startled when you know the fact. I have
been pursued—haunted—for the last two months, by a
deaf-and-dumb man. Who he is, or what is his object, I
cannot conjecture; but he is, incessantly, about my path,
besetting me at every turn, and occupying my thought,
and all my dreaming. At times, I feel no little terrour
about him; and then, my compassion for one so helpless and
heroick, for there is really something heroick in his manner,
entirely overcomes my terrour,—and I only wish,
while the tears fall from my eyes, that I were his sister,
or some friend, and authorized to administer that consolation,
which one so desolate and dark, must require.—
He has just saved my life. (Here followed an account of
the transaction, exactly as it is related in the preceding
letter, as to the facts; but the comments were more feeling
and animated.)

I promised to keep a sort of journal, you know;—and
I was as good as my promise, until I had been so disturbed,
by the frequent recurrence of this poor creature
to my thought, that I abandoned it. The last part of it,
that is intelligible, even to me, I find, is that, which describes

a visit to the battle-ground, near the Falls of
Niagara. I send it to you, just as it is. It was written
with a trembling hand, you perceive; but a still more
trembling heart, I can assure you.

May 14th.—Went to the battle-ground, in company
with an officer, who was in the action, and under the
command of colonel Millar. There is no hill, such as I
expected to see, where the British artillery was posted;
and several material errours, that my father had fallen
into, from reading the account by Maj. —, were
corrected. After the Americans had obtained possession
of the battery, they never lost it. The British, it is
true, made several desperate charges; but were always
unsuccessful. The notion that prevails, generally, is,
that it was lost and won, several times. But, let me tell
the whole, as nearly as I can, in the words of the officer.
He was young, handsome, and modest; and, while he led
us over the ground, he pointed out the particular spot,
where any transaction of interest had occurred;—showed
us where he had stood—where Millar was, when he was
asked, if he could “carry that battery?” and replied, with
more soldier-like pith than any Spartan ever did—“I'll
try.”

“The order came, to storm the battery,” said the officer.
“I was in front of my company. I had never been
closely engaged before:—a few skirmishes, only, had
been the whole of my experience. My feelings were not
the most creditable to a soldier. I could have turned,
and run, with a good heart, had not all the eyes of my
men been upon me. We pushed on, at double quick time.
I was near enough to see the faces of the men at their
guns. Just at that moment, I saw one of my lads gradually
sinking to the ground, with a face so horribly pale
and ghastly, that I forgot my own terrour, instantly. I
struck him with my sword;—it was like electricity. He
stood erect; and I gave immediate orders, in a loud voice,
to bayonet the first man that lagged. The sound of my
own voice gave me new heart. Colonel Millar, too, was
just in the rear, walking leisurely, backward and forward,
with an enormous quid of tobacco in his mouth,
which, all who saw him, could see. You would not easily

guess the effect of such a trivial matter. But I have
known that kind of unconcern, more effectual, in giving
life to the soldiers, than the sternest and steadiest countenance.
It turns the current of their thought from danger.
A stern visage. on the contrary, teaches them that
there is something to be feared; else, why such preparation?
Nay, I once saw General Ripley, when the shot
was raining in upon us, address an officer, near me, thus:
“A pinch of your snuff, if you please, lieutenant.” Sir,
we could have stormed—I beg your pardon, madam.
I forgot, then, that you were so near. Well, we reserved
our fire. The battery opened upon us—but they fired
over our heads. We were about four hundred, and they
were many times as numerous. We had been waiting,
impatiently, for the word. It came. Fire! We took deliberate
aim, and poured in our balls, like hail, upon the
men at the pieces. Every shot told. We saw them tumbling
about their guns, in dozens. When we carried the
battery, we turned it, immediately, upon them. We continued
to be reinforced; and the enemy, we soon saw,
meditated an attack, in turn. Then was the time of trial.
All about us, there was a dead silence. We could hear
the heavy roll of Niagara, however; and, now and then,
a straggling shot, fired in the trepidation of some soldier.
The moon was bright and beautiful; and the black clouds
that were driven across it, by a strong wind, presented
every variety of shadow and light. At one time, in the
darkness, the enemy had approached so near, that we
thought him a part of our troops. It was about eleven
o'clock, at night.”

There, dear Juliet, I have given it to you, nearly in
his own words.