The Yankee Tea-party
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"Very agreeable," said Hand.
"The kind of stories I like to hear," said another of the young men.
"Well, you shall hear, if I can recollect aright," said Kinnison. "The intrigues and efforts of Lord Cornwallis, to excite insurrection, backed by a very formidable force, had produced among the Highland emigrants a spirit of revolt, which it required all the energies of General Greene to counteract, before it could be matured. The zeal and activity of Lieutenant Colonel Lee, united to his acuteness and happy talent of obtaining intelligence of every movement, and of the most secret intentions of the enemy, pointed him out as the fittest man for this important service. He was accordingly selected with orders to impede the intercourse of Lord Cornwallis with the disaffected; to repress every symptom of revolt, and promptly to cut off every party that should take up arms for Britain. Constantly on the alert, he was equally anxious to give security to his own command, while he harassed the enemy. A secure position was, on one occasion, taken near a forked road, one division of which led directly to Lord Cornwallis' camp, about six miles distant. The ground was chosen in the dusk of evening; and to prevent surprise, patrols of cavalry were kept out on each fork during the night. An order for a movement before day had been communicated to every individual, and was executed with so little noise and confusion, that Lieutenant Manning waking at early dawn, found himself, excepting one soldier, left alone. Stephen Green, the attendant of Captain Carns, lay near him, resting on the portmanteau of his superior, and buried in profound sleep. Being awakened he was ordered to mount and follow, while Manning, hastening towards the fork, hoped to fall upon the track, and speedily rejoin his regiment. Much rain had fallen during the night, so that, finding both roads equally cut up, Manning chose at hazard, and took the wrong one. He had not proceeded far, before he saw at the door of a log-house, a rifleman leaning on his gun, and apparently placed as a sentinel. Galloping up to him, he inquired if a regiment of horse and body of infantry had passed that way? 'Oh, ho,' cried the man, (whistling loudly, which brought out a dozen others completely armed, and carrying each a red rag in his hat,) 'you, I suppose, are one of Greene's men.' The badge which they bore, marked their principles. Without the slightest indication of alarm, or even hesitation, Manning pointed to the portmanteau carried by Green, and exclaimed—'Hush, my good fellow—no clamour for God's sake—I have there what will ruin Greene—point out the road to Lord Cornwallis' army, for all depends upon early intelligence of its contents.' 'You are an honest fellow (was the general cry), and have left the rebels just in time, for the whole settlement are in arms to join Colonel Pyle tomorrow (naming the place of rendezvous), where Colonel Tarleton will meet and conduct us to camp.' 'Come,' said the man, to whom he had first spoken, 'take a drink—Here's confusion to Greene, and success to the King and his friends. This is the right road, and you will soon reach the army; or rather let me conduct you to it myself.' 'Not for the world, my dear fellow,' replied Manning; 'your direction is plain and I can follow it. I will never-consent that a faithful subject of his Majesty should be subjected to the dangers of captivity or death on my account. If we should fall in with a party of rebels, and we cannot say they are not in the neighbourhood now, we should both lose our lives. I should be hanged for desertion, and you for aiding me to reach the British army.' This speech produced the effect he desired. The libation concluded, Manning rode off amid the cheers of the company, and when out of sight, crossed to the other road, and urging his horse to full speed, in a short time overtook and communicated the interesting intelligence to his commander. Lee was then meditating an attack upon Tarleton, who had crossed the Haw River to support the insurgents; but, perceiving the vast importance of crushing the revolt in the bud, he informed General Greene of his plan by a confidential messenger, and hastened to the point of rendezvous, where Pyle, with upwards of four hundred men, had already arrived. You have heard of the bloody work that ensued. Pyle and his Tories believed to the last that the soldiers of the Legion were Tarleton's men, and were therefore easily surprised About three hundred of them were killed—the rest fled or were made prisoners. I don't want to justify such butchery; but our men ought to be excused, according to the laws of war, when we consider that these same Tories and their red-coat friends never gave the Whigs quarter in case of a surprise, and that some such slaughter was necessary to make them feel that they couldn't murder without paying for it."
"We've already argued that question," said Davenport, "and in my mind, it is a settled point that Lee was right." Nobody seemed disposed to revive the argument, and Kinnison continued.
"In this instance you see how ready Manning was to break a net or weave one. I can tell you of another instance in which he showed his daring courage, and quickness of resource in time of danger. At the battle of Eutaw, after the British line had been broken, and the Old Buffs, a regiment that had boasted of the extraordinary feats that they were to perform, were running from the field, Manning, sprang forward in pursuit, directing the platoon which he commanded, to follow him. He did not cast an eye behind him until he found himself near a large brick house, into which the York Volunteers, commanded by Cruger, were retiring. The British were on all sides of him, and not an American soldier nearer than one hundred and fifty or two hundred yards. He did not hesitate a moment, but springing at an officer who was near him, seized him by the collar, and exclaiming in a harsh tone of voice—'Damn you, sir, you are my prisoner,' wrested his sword from his grasp, dragged him by force from the house, and keeping his body as a shield of defence from the heavy fire sustained from the windows, carried him off without receiving any injury. Manning has often related, that at the moment when he expected that his prisoner would have made an effort for his liberty, he, with great solemnity, commenced an enumeration of his titles—I am, Sir Henry Barry, Deputy Adjutant General of the British Army, Captain in the 52d Regiment, Secretary to the Commandant of Charleston.' 'Enough, enough, sir,' said Manning, 'you are just the man I was looking for; fear nothing for your life, you shall screen me from danger, and I will take special care of you.' He had retired in this manner some distance from the brick house, when he saw Captain Robert Joiett of the Virginia line, engaged in single combat with a British officer. They had selected each other for battle a little before, the American armed with a broad-sword, the Briton with a musket and bayonet. As they came together, a thrust was made at Joiett, which he parried, and both dropping their artificial weapons, being too much in contact to use them with effect, resorted to those with which they had been furnished by nature. They were both men of great bulk and vigour, and while struggling each anxious to bring the other to the ground, a grenadier who saw the contest, ran to the assistance of his officer, made a longe with his bayonet, missed Joiett's body, but drove it beyond the curve into his coat. In attempting to withdraw the entangled weapon, he threw both combatants to the ground; when getting it free, he raised it deliberately, determined not to fail again in his purpose, but to transfix Joiett. It was at this moment that Manning approached—not near enough, however, to reach the grenadier with his arm. In order to gain time, and to arrest the stroke, he exclaimed in an angry and authoritative tone—'You damn'd brute, will you murder the gentleman?' The soldier, supposing himself addressed by one of his own officers, suspended the blow, and looked around to see the person who had thus spoken to him. Before he could recover from the surprise into which he had been thrown, Manning, now sufficiently near, struck him with his sword across the eyes, and felled him to the ground; while Joiett disengaged himself from his opponent, and snatching up the musket, as he attempted to rise, laid him dead by a blow from the butt-end of it. Manning was of inferior size, but strong, and remarkably well formed. Joiett was almost a giant. This, probably, led Barry, who could not have wished the particulars of his capture to be commented on, to reply, when asked by his brother officers, how he came to be taken, 'I was overpowered by a huge Virginian.'"
"Manning was a cool and ready soldier," observed Pitts. "I saw him once in Philadelphia, before his Legion went south. He had a most determined look in spite of the good-humoured leer of his eye. He was one of the last men I should have wished to provoke; he was a complete Irishman—blunders and all. I heard of his telling a black servant who was walking barefoot on the snow to put on a pair of stockings the next time he went barefoot."
"Great things were done by the soldiers, as well as by the officers of that Legion," said Kinnison. "At the siege of the Stockade Fort at Ninety-Six, Colonel Lee, who had charge of all the operations of the siege, thought that the Fort might be destroyed by fire. Accordingly, Sergeant Whaling, a non-commissioned officer whose term of service was about to expire, with twelve privates, was detached to perform the service. Whaling saw that he was moving to certain death; as the approach to the Fort was to be made in open day, and over clear, level ground, which offered no cover. But he was a brave man, and had served from the commencement of the war. It was his greatest pride never to shrink from his duty. He dressed himself neatly—took an affectionate but cheerful leave of his comrades, swung his musket over his shoulder, and with a bundle of blazing pine torches in his hand, sprang forward, followed by his little band. They reached the Stockade before the enemy fired a shot. But a deliberate aim killed Whaling and all his men except one, who escaped unhurt. It was the opinion of most of the officers of the Legion that Whaling's life was sacrificed in attempting to carry out a rash idea. But we oughtn't to judge Colonel Lee without being more certain of the facts."
"But we know enough to say it was a very wild idea to send men up to a fort in open day, and over ground where they could have no cover," remarked Ransom. "I know General John Stark would never have sacrificed his men in that way."
"Perhaps," said Hand, coming to the rescue of his hero, "a desperate measure was necessary. I've heard that at the time, Lord Rawdon was marching very rapidly to relieve the garrison, and Colonel Lee thought that every means should be tried to reduce the Fort ere the siege was abandoned."
"You say well," said Kinnison. "As I said before, we should never judge commanders without knowing the facts of the case. Never say a man has committed a fault, unless it sticks out plain to the eye. Harry Lee was as a common thing very sparing of the lives of his men, and he never made any military movement without very strong driving from reason, as General Greene himself would have told you. Whaling was a brave man and a strict soldier, or he would never have dared to approach the fort in such a way. But as I said before, they were all daring men that belonged to Lee's Legion. There were two soldiers of the cavalry, named Bulkley and Newman, who had been the warmest and the closest friends from infancy. They had both joined the army at the same time—that is, at the commencement of the war; and through the greater part of the southern campaign, they fought side by side, and each one strove to lighten the sufferings of the other. Brothers could not have been more attached to each other. In the fight at Quimby, where Captain Armstrong made a famous dragoon charge upon the 19th British regiment, the friends were among the foremost. The dragoons had to pass a bridge in which the enemy had made a large gap. Captain Armstrong led the way, but not more than a dozen men followed, to support him. At the head of this little band, Armstrong cut his way through the entire British regiment. But then a well-aimed fire brought down several of the dragoons. Bulkley and Newman were mortally wounded at the same fire, and fell, locked in each other's arms."
"A kind of Damon and Pythias friendship," observed Hand.
"Yes, I believe they would have died for each other," said Kinnison. "A friend told me that they were never separated, in camp or field. If one was sick, the other watched by his side. I had a comrade of the same kind during the greater part of my life; his name was Williams, and he was one of the best-hearted men I ever knew. We fought through the Revolution together, and both entered the army in 1812. But I lost him during the attack on Fort Erie. Poor Williams was killed by a shell. It has been a long while since then, but I still feel as if I had lost a part of my heart when he fell. Poor Williams!" and Kinnison appeared to be busy with the mournful recollections of the "friends of his better days."
"Well, you may talk as much as you please about Henry Lee and Marion, and your other men in the south," said Ransom, "but John Stark or Ethan Allen was worth as much as either of them."
"My favourite leader was Mad Anthony Wayne," said Colson. "A better soldier or a more wide-awake general was not to be found in the army during the revolution."
"I know General Wayne was a whole soldier," observed Davenport.
"Did any of you ever hear or read an account of the night-attack on General Wayne, near Savannah, just before the close of the war?" enquired Colson.
"I have read something about it, and know it was a warm struggle," said Kinnison.
THE ATTACK ON GENERAL WAYNE
"One of Parker's Light Infantry told me all about it," said Colson. "He says that General Wayne, with eight hundred men—infantry, artillery and dragoons—were encamped at Gibbons' Plantation, about five miles from Savannah, where the British were posted. It was the early part of February. General Wayne had no idea that an enemy was nearer than Savannah. But the brave Creeks had been taken into the pay of the British, and their chief, Gurestessego, formed a plan to surprise the Continentals. Never was an attack better planned; our men were sleeping with a feeling of security, when, about midnight, the Creeks fell upon the camp. The sentinels were captured and the Indians entered the camp, and secured the cannon; but while they were trying to make the cannon serviceable, instead of following up their success, Wayne and his men recovered from their surprise and were soon in order for battle. Parker's Infantry charged with the bayonet and after a short struggle recovered the cannon. Gunn, with his dragoons, followed up the charge, and the Creeks were forced to give way. General Wayne encountered the chief Gurestessego in hand-to-hand combat—the General with sword and pistols, and the chief with musket, tomahawk and knife. The struggle was fierce but short. The chief was killed, and Wayne escaped without any serious injury. Seventeen of the Creeks fell and the rest escaped in the darkness, leaving their packhorses and a considerable quantity of peltry in the hands of the victors. Wayne conjectured at once that the Indians would not have dared to make an attack, without being assured of the approach of the British or Tories to support them, and a rumour spread that Colonel Browne was marching towards the camp for that purpose. In the fight, Wayne had captured twelve young warriors, whom he doomed to death to prevent them joining the enemy. This was a rash act. The rumour of Browne's approach was false; but the young warriors had been sacrificed before this was known. General Wayne felt many a pang for this rash command, as he was a man who never would shed blood without it was necessary in the performance of his duty."
"Why didn't he send the Indians to Greene's camp, or some other American post?" enquired Hand.
"There was no time or men to spare if the rumour had been true," said Colson. "Most commanders would have acted as Wayne did, under the circumstances. Though I think the execution of the order might have been delayed until the enemy came in sight."
"The General no doubt had good reason for his course," said Kinnison. "He believed it to be his duty to do everything for the safety of the men he commanded, and expecting to be assailed by a much larger force than his own, he did right to destroy the foes he had in camp. I know it must have shocked his feelings to give the order, but he was a man who couldn't shrink or be driven from the plain line of duty. Now, there was that affair with the Pennsylvania line, at Morristown. I've heard several men who were at Morristown at the time, say that Wayne was wrong in daring to oppose the mutineers—that their demands were just and reasonable, and he ought rather to have led, than opposed them. But every man who knows anything of the duty of a general and a patriot must applaud Wayne."
"Can't you give us an account of that mutiny at Morristown?" enquired Hand.
THE MUTINY AT MORRISTOWN
"I can tell you what was told me by men who engaged in it," said Kinnison. "For myself, I was at that time, with the Massachusetts troops at Middlebrook. The Pennsylvania line, numbering about two thousand men, was stationed at the old camp ground at Morristown. Most of these men believed that their term of service expired at the end of the year 1779, though Congress and some of the generals thought otherwise, or that the men were enlisted to serve until the end of the war. This difficulty about the term of enlistment was the seed of the mutiny. But there were many other things that would have roused any other men to revolt. The Pennsylvanians had not received any pay for twelve months, and during the severest part of the fall, they suffered for the want of food and clothing. To expect men to bear such treatment and remain in the army when there was the slightest pretext for leaving, it was building on a sandy foundation. Patriotism and starvation were not as agreeable to common soldiers as they were to some members of Congress. Even some of the officers—men who depended upon their pay to support their families while fighting for liberty—grumbled at the conduct of those who should have supplied them. This gave the men courage, and they determined to act boldly. They appointed a serjeant-major their major-general, and at a given signal on the morning of the 1st of January, the whole line, except a part of three regiments, paraded under arms, and without their regular officers, marched to the magazines, supplied themselves with provisions and ammunition, and secured six field-pieces, to which they attached horses from General Wayne's stables. The regular officers collected those who had not joined the mutineers, and tried to restore order; but some of the mutineers fired, killed Captain Billings, and, I believe, wounded several of his men. They then ordered those who remained with the officers to join them or meet death by the bayonet, and they obeyed. Then General Wayne appeared, and, by threats and offers of better treatment, endeavoured to put an end to the revolt. The men all idolized Wayne; they would have followed him almost anywhere, but they would not listen to his remonstrances on this occasion. Wayne then cocked his pistol as if he meant to frighten them back to duty; but they placed their bayonets to his breast, and told him that, although they loved and respected him, if he fired his pistols or attempted to enforce his commands, they would put him to death. General Wayne then saw their determination, and didn't fire; but he appealed to their patriotism, and they spoke of the impositions of Congress. He told them that their conduct would strengthen the enemy. But ragged clothes and skeleton forms were arguments much stronger than any Wayne could bring against them. The men declared their intention to march to Congress at Philadelphia, and demand a redress of grievances. Wayne then changed his policy and resolved to go with the current and guide it. He supplied the men with provisions to prevent them from committing depredations on the people of the country, and marched with them to Princeton, where a committee of serjeants drew up a list of demands. They wanted those men to be discharged whose term of service had expired, and the whole line to receive their pay and clothing. General Wayne had no power to agree to these demands, and he referred further negociation to the government of Pennsylvania, and a committee to be appointed by Congress. But the cream of the matter is to come. The news of the revolt reached General Washington and Sir Henry Clinton on the same day. Washington ordered a thousand men to be ready to march from the Highlands of the Hudson to quell the revolt, and called a council of war to decide on further measures. This council sanctioned general Wayne's course, and decided to leave the matter to the settlement of the government of Pennsylvania and Congress. You see, General Washington had long been worried by the sleepy way Congress did business, and he thought this affair would wake them up to go to work in earnest. The British commander-in-chief thought he could gain great advantage by the revolt, and so he very promptly sent two emissaries—one a British serjeant and the other a Tory named Ogden—to the mutineers, offering them pardon for past offences, full pay for their past service, and the protection of the British government, if they would lay down their arms and march to New York. So certain was Clinton that his offers would be accepted, that he crossed over to Staten Island with a large body of troops, to act as circumstances might require. But he was as ignorant of the character of our men as King George himself. They wanted to be fed and clothed, and wanted their families provided for; but they were not soldiers fighting merely for pay. Every man of them knew what freedom was, and had taken the field to secure it for his country. You may judge how such men received Clinton's proposals. They said they were not Arnolds, and that America had no truer friends than themselves; and then seized the emissaries and their papers and handed them over to Wayne and the mercy of a court-martial. The men were tried as spies, found guilty and executed. A reward which had been offered for their apprehension was tendered to the mutineers who had seized them. But they refused it. One of them said that necessity had wrung from them the act demanding justice from Congress, but they wanted no reward for doing their duty to their bleeding country. Congress appointed a commissioner to meet the mutineers at Princeton, and soon after their demands were satisfied. A large part of the Line was disbanded for the winter, and the remainder was well supplied with provisions and clothing. About the middle of January, the greater part of the New Jersey line, which was encamped near Pompton, followed the example of the Pennsylvanians, and revolted; but different measures were taken to quell them. General Washington ordered General Robert Howe to march with five hundred men, and reduce the rebels to submission. Howe marched four days through a deep snow, and reached the encampment of the Jersey troops on the 27th of January. His men were paraded in line, and he then ordered the mutineers to appear unarmed in front of their huts, within five minutes. They hesitated, but on a second order, they obeyed. Three of the chief movers in the revolt were tried and sentenced to be shot. Two of them suffered, and the third was pardoned as being less to blame. The two who were shot fell by the hands of twelve of the most guilty of the mutineers. That, I think, was piling it on rather too thick. General Howe then addressed them by platoons, and ordered their officers to resume their commands. Clinton had again sent an emissary to make offers to the mutineers; but the man heard of the fate of the Tory and the British serjeant, and he took his papers to General Howe instead of the men. These Jersey mutineers were reduced to submission, without much difficulty. But the Pennsylvanians displayed a determination to fight if their demands were not satisfied, and so they gained their point."
"Perhaps," said Hand, "the Jersey troops had not as much reason to revolt as the Pennsylvanians."