University of Virginia Library

62. CHAPTER LXII.
A DEVELOPMENT OF FACTS.

During our hero's unfortunate connection
with Sophia, in her two characters, she had drawn
much more largely on his confidence than he himself
was aware of. What he had withheld from
Reuben, had been obtained by the artful Sophia;
and that which it was improper to tell Sophia,
had been previously communicated to Reuben.
She knew the whole history of his attachment for
Catharine, his former connextion with Sandford,

and the cause of their present enmity. No sooner,
therefore, was she dismissed by Willoughby,
than she determined to make Sandford the instrument
of her revenge; and accordingly repaired
immediately to his quarters, told her story, and
proposed an alliance, offensive and defensive,
which was immediately agreed to and ratified.
Sandford was soon afterwards ordered to Fort
Niagara, in the neighborhood of which he took
genteel lodgings for Sophia, who resumed the
habiliments of her sex, and unblushingly avowed
herself the mistress of Sandford.

But Sophia's favors were not exclusively bestowed
on her nominal protector; officers of superior
rank, whose reputation the breath of suspicion
never sullied, secretly enjoyed her caresses,
and the mighty Achilles of the day, was often
the melting Paris of the evening. Proud of
her conquests, and more ambitious of subduing
rank than of attracting beauty, she aspired to assail
some of the most elevated objects within the
sphere of her fascinations, nor aspired in vain.
Revolutionary laurels were cast at her feet, while
age and infirmity reposed on her ambitious bosom.

Sandford was too well versed in the character
of fallen woman, to expect constancy in a mistress.
Feeling no affection for Sophia, he winked
at her incontinence, and only retained her as
an apt instrument for which he hoped soon to find
employment in the schemes of vengeance he was
meditating against captain Willoughby. But
though it was the principal study of both to discharge
the debt of hatred they owed our hero,
still no opportunity occurred of bringing any of
their diabolical plans to maturity; and the object
of their malice was daily rising in the estimation

of all, except such wretches as were concerting his
ruin.

The destination of the northern army remained
a secret to the nation—but by some means or
other, this secret (among many others) found its
way to the bosom of Sophia, and was by her imparted
to Sandford. The town of Kingston was
to be attacked, and in its then present state of
defence, must certainly fall before the American
arms. The object of Sandford's hatred would
here again signalize himself, and rise still higher
above him in reputation—perhaps in rank. He
knew of no way to prevent the success of the expedition,
and could only vent his spleen in
curses.

The mother of Sandford was a native of Kingston,
and all his maternal relatives were still British
subjects. His uncle Morris, with whom he
had been in the habit of corresponding previous
to the war, owned a very valuable farm on the
peninsula, a few miles from Newark, near the
lake shore, on which he still resided. This man
had, more than once, since the commencement of
hostilities, solicited his nephew to abandon the
American cause, and embrace that in which all
his maternal kinsmen were engaged. To these
solicitations Sandford paid little attention, until
they were renewed with a promise, on the part
of his uncle, to make him his heir, as he had no
child of his own.

He now began to reflect seriously on the subject,
and finally signified his resolution to comply,
as soon as he could sell his estates in Massachusetts,
and by some bold act of treachery render
his desertion of service to the British. The estates
were soon sold by his agent, and the money

vested according to his directions. He now only
awaited a favorable opportunity of putting the
more hazardous part of his scheme into execution.

Ever ripe for mischief, Sophia readily entered
into the plan, and proposed such amendments
and improvements as filled Sandford with admiration
at her ready invention and deep discerning
subtilty. She had recently and suddenly
conceived a most mortal hatred against some
military character, which at that time stood high
in public estimation, and she determined, if possible,
to blast his prospects of approaching glory.
A consultation was held on the subject, and Sandford
instantly perceived that the same weapon
which was to pierce a general, might also wound
a captain.

During a temporary absence of Leonard,
Sandford had command of the garrison at Niagara,
and in the following night dispatched a
boat on a short but secret expedition up the lake.
Reuben was a young officer who had volunteered
his services to enter the British camp as a spy,
and as not only his life, but also the success of
the American arms depended on secrecy, the
boatmen were charged to that effect. Their instructions
were to proceed with muffled oars
about ten miles towards the head of the lake,
land the officer, and return with as much expedition
as possible. Having the necessary directions,
Reuben proceeded from the shore to the
house of Morris, which was about two miles
from the head-quarters of De Rottenberg, and
announced himself as the messenger of Sandford.
He was of course received with a cordial welcome,
and on the following day, the interview
took place which was witnessed by Willoughby

and Cummins, as recorded in the fifty-sixth chapter
of this history. Agreeably to instructions, Reuben
tarried with Morris, until joined by Sandford
himself, which event did not take place until the
morning of the nineteenth of December, when
Fort Niagara was betrayed to the enemy. With
the subsequent events on that frontier, the reader
is already acquainted.

So disastrous a termination of the campaign,
filled every patriot bosom with surprise and indignation.
The representatives of the people
immediately demanded of the president the causes
of these disgraceful effects; and, in obedience
to this demand, the records of the war-department
were submitted to public inspection.

But little light, however, was thrown upon the
subject from that quarter, and it still remained
enveloped in the gloom of doubt and uncertainty.
This cloud is finally removed—a flash of inspiration
from the historic muse, has at length
dissipated the illusive vapors of conjecture, and
the reader can now trace the whole concatenation
of disasters to the black eyes, and still blacker
heart of Sophia.

To repair the misfortunes and redeem the
honor of the American arms, was the grand object
on which the congregated wisdom of the nation
was now exercised; the first step to the attainment
of this desirable end, was the abandonment
of that system of favoritism to which the
recent disasters were thought to be attributable.
The materials of the army had now been effectually
analyzed in a crucible well calculated to
separate the gold from the dross, and it only required
the exercise of common discernment to
profit by the experiment. To borrow the lan

guage of an elegant writer on the same subject—
“The rude northern gales of the frontier had
swept away the painted insects which rise and
spread their glittering wings in the summer's
sun, but had served only to rouse and invigorate
those eagle spirits who, during the calm, cower
undisturbed in solitude and silence, but as
the tempest pises, burst from their obscurity, and
stem the storm, and sport themselves in the
gale.”[1]

Brown, Scott, Ripley, Gaines, Swift, Miller,
and some others of well-tried talents and courage,
now stood forth as the bulwark of their
country—the real CHAMPIONS OF FREEDOM. Each
of them commanded the confidence of their country;
but, as commander in chief, the eyes of
every unprejudiced freeman were directed to
Brown, and government confirmed their choice
by elevating that hero to the rank of major-general.
Being thus selected by his admiring countrymen
as their military chief on the Niagara
frontier, he lost no time in concentrating and organizing
his army, determined to drive the British
from the peninsula, and regain possession of the
fortresses on both sides the river.

Captain Willoughby being destitute of a command,
volunteered his services as aid to the general,
who gladly accepted the assistance of an
officer in whose talents and courage he possessed
such implicit confidence. Fort Erie was to be
the first object of attack, and on the morning of
the second of July, the commander in chief
authorised the generals of brigades, to inform the
commandants of corps, that the army would cross

the strait on the following night, so as to invest
that fortress as the next day dawned.

Every bosom now beat high with anticipated
glory, and all were anxious for the coming night.
Before the night came, however, the following letter
was delivered to captain Willoughby.

“Catharine dying!” exclaimed George, before
he had finished the second line. “Catharine
dying!—and I not with her! My horse! Albert—
Where's my horse?”

“Ready for embarkation,” replied his man,
with those of the general's staff.”

“Ah! we cross to-night,” replied George with
a sigh—and after gazing a moment on the ground,
resumed the perusal of his letter.

A severe struggle now took place in his bosom—a
contest far more dreadful than any which
could await him on the peninsula. On one hand
Duty, Patriotism, Honor, urged their imperious
claims—on the other stood weeping Love and
meek-eyed Pity, pointing in expressive silence to
the dying Catharine. To ask leave of absence at
that moment was worse than death—to lose his
Catharine without one parting look, was worse
than a thousand deaths. Another glance at the
letter decided the contest.

Nature triumphed—and the rising sun which
beheld the banner of Freedom waving triumphantly
on the walls of Fort Erie, saw captain
Willoughby outflying the wind, with his back
turned on the scene of glory. He had obtained
leave of absence, and entered the village of Ithaca,
just twelve hours after Catharine had left it.

In the mean time the capture of Fort Erie was
followed by a complete and decisive victory over
a division of the British army, consisting of two
thousand men, under the command of major-general
Riall; and this victory was obtained by
one American brigade of twelve hundred men,
under the gallant Scott, who put the enemy to
flight before the main body of the army was
brought on the field. In this brilliant affair,

(which took place on the plains of Chippewa, the
fifth of July) the British loss was one hundred and
forty-eight killed, three hundred and twenty
wounded, and forty-six made prisoners. The
American loss was sixty killed, two hundred and
forty-nine wounded, and nineteen missing.

Scott's brigade covered itself with glory; and
Brown declared that its gallant leader was entitled
to the highest praise his country could bestow.
Generals Ripley and Porter conducted on
this occasion as became officers of their exalted
reputation. Colonel Campbell was wounded
early in the action, while gallantly leading on his
regiment. Colonel Gardner and major Jones, of
the general's staff, yielded to none in honorable
zeal, courage, intelligence, and attention to duty.
Captains Austin and Spencer, who were aids to
the commander in chief, received his public acknowledgments
for their bravery and active zeal.
Captain Willoughby, from whom he expected
much, was not present to share in the glory of the
day.

Majors Jessup, Camp, Leavenworth, Wood,
Hindman, and M`Niel; captains Towson, Daliba,
Harrison, King, and Read; lieutenants Palmer,
Barron, De Witt, Patchim, and Brimhall, (the
eight last of whom were wounded—some of them
severely) all rendered themselves conspicuous by
their heroic conduct; as did likewise captains
Treat,[1] Ritchie, Ketcham, Crooker, Harris, and

Riddle. Lieutenants Worth, and Watts, who
were aids to Scott, together with Smith, M`Donald
and Hall, signalized themselves by the cool
intrepidity with which they discharged their various
duties in the field.