Once Upon a Time in Delaware

How Once Upon A Time
William Penn Landed
In New Castle.

IT WAS in the year 1682, and Delaware had seen many changes since Peter Minuit and his little band of Swedes had landed on her wild shores. During those years the Swedes had been driven out by the Dutch, and the Dutch had afterward surrendered to the English; then the Dutch, growing stronger, had driven out the English; but again the English had taken possession and now owned all of what had once been New Netherlands and New Sweden. New Netherlands was now called New York, and it was the English Directors, (living in the town of New York, formerly New Amsterdam), who made the laws for Delaware.

Only a few English, however, had come to Delaware to live. The people of Wilmington (once Christinaham, or Christina Harbor) and of New Castle, were principally Dutch and Swedes. They were simple farmer people, raising crops and cattle and chickens, and they were very willing to keep the laws that the English at New York made for them. The Indians were still troublesome at times, but the settlers had their block-houses or forts to retreat to and were generally able to protect themselves.

But now it had come to their ears that a new governor was coming out from England to rule over them, and they wondered anxiously what sort of man he would prove to be. Governor Printz had been coarse and violent; Governor Stuyvesant, hot-tempered, ambitious, and overbearing; and terrible tales had been told of the cruelty of Governor Kieft. There had been a long line of governors since Minuit’s time, both in Delaware and in New York; and few of them had seemed to care for the good of the poorer people. And now this new man was coming and, for all they knew, might be the worst of all.

The name of the new Governor was William Penn. The Duke of York had given Delaware to him, and King Charles the Second, had given him a great tract of land farther to the North, which he called Pennsylvania. More than this, the people did not know; but they often talked about the new governor and wondered what he would be like, and when he would come, as they sat around their fires in the early fall evenings.

Then they began to learn more about him; for his cousin, Captain William Markham, came out to America to act as Governor till Penn could come himself. They learned that Penn belonged to the Quakers—a strange, new religious sect; and that it was the rule that Quakers must dress very plainly and say “thee” and “thou” to people instead of “you” and take off their hats to nobody, not even the King himself. That seemed a strange thing indeed to the settlers, and they wondered how the King liked it.

Penn had bought the land from King Charles, and his brother the Duke for an absurd price—a price so small that the poorest farmer among them all might have bought it if he had had the chance.

For all of Pennsylvania, with its wooded hills and fertile valleys and well-stocked streams, he had paid only twelve shillings[1] and, at Michaelmas, was to pay the King five shillings more.

For Delaware, he had paid ten shillings to the Duke of York; and every Michaelmas he was to pay to the Duke, a rose. He was also to pay over one half of the profits he drew from the southern part of Delaware. Yes, any of the honest farmers might have bought the land at that price, but then, the great people most probably would not have sold it at all to anyone but their friend, William Penn.

Captain Markham was buying for Penn, from the Indians such rights as they had in the land, and was paying them well—better than they had ever been paid before—so perhaps the new governor was a generous, fair minded man after all.

So, in talk and wonderings, the days slipped by. September had passed, and October was almost gone, before the governor’s English ship, the Welcome, was sighted coming up the river from the bay. The news of its coming spread from house to house, and from farm to farm, and even back into the country to the villages of the Indians.

All work was laid aside, and the people of New Castle and the country round about gathered down at the shore to watch the approach of the vessel. Captain Markham himself was there, gorgeous in his English uniform, having come down to New Castle to meet his cousin.

Nearer and nearer came the ship, looming up bigger and bigger, stately and slow, its sails spread wide, and the English colors fluttering at its masthead. Then it came about, and the great anchor dropped into the water with a splash. Boats were lowered, and the people of the vessel clambered down into them and were rowed toward the shore. In the very first boat came William Penn himself.

He was a tall, noble looking man, with large, dark, kindly eyes, and hair that fell in loose locks to his shoulders. He was very simply dressed, as were all the men with him. The only way in which his dress differed from theirs was that he wore a light blue silken sash around his waist. He was worn and thin, and some of his companions looked even ill.

This was not to be wondered at, for he told his cousin that soon after they had set sail from England, smallpox had broken out on board the Welcome. Of the one hundred men who had started with him, almost one-third had died on the voyage. The colonists heard afterward of the goodness of William Penn to the sick. He himself had never had smallpox, but everyday during the voyage he went down to the bedsides of the sufferers. He gave them medicines, talked with them and cheered them, and ministered to the dying.

It had indeed been a terrible voyage. Fortunately, the ship had been well stocked with provisions of every kind, and many luxuries.[2] Still, these could ease but little the sufferings of the sick, shut up for two months in that rolling, tossing vessel. A blessed sight the shores and wooded hills of Delaware must have been to those sick and weary voyagers.

As Penn landed, Captain Markham came forward eagerly to greet him. It was a strange and varied crowd that had gathered there to meet their governor—Swedes, Dutch, Germans and Welsh, many of them dressed in their national costumes, and back of them the tall, red skinned Indian, Sachem Taminent, with his party of Leni Lenapes in their paint and feathers.

Penn was escorted by his cousin and the principal men of the village, to the house that had been made ready for him, there to eat and rest after his long journey.

The next day, October 28, 1682, the new governor went to the Courthouse to speak to the people. The room was thronged with those who crowded in to hear him. Before he began, however, two gentlemen, John Moll and Ephraim Herman, performed what is called “livery of seisin;” that is, they gave to Penn earth, water, a piece of turf, and a twig, in token that he was ruler there of land and water and of the fruits of tree and field.

After that, Penn spoke to the people with such kindness, that their simple hearts were filled with joy. He bade them remember that they were “but as little children in the wilderness,” and under the care of one Father. He told them that he wished to found a free and virtuous state in which the people should learn to rule themselves. He promised that every man in his provinces should “enjoy liberty of conscience,” and have a voice in the ruling of the colony.

The people listened to him in deep silence; and when he ended his speech, they had but one thing to beg of him, and that was that he would stay among them at New Castle and rule over them. This he told them he could not do; and then they begged him to join their territory to Pennsylvania, that the white settlers might have one country and one ruler. He promised to consider this, and then he bade them good-bye and returned to the ship.

The sails of the vessel were spread wide like great wings of peace, the wind filled them, and slowly the ship began to move. The colonists upon the shore still lingered there, gazing after her, and straining their eyes to see, as long as they could, the tall man that stood there in the stem with a light blue sash around his waist At last they could see him no longer, and then they turned and went back to their daily toil.

Penn did not forget them or his promise to them. At the first General Assembly held at Chester, it was declared that the two provinces were united, and that the laws that governed one should be for the other too.

In 1701, Penn visited New Castle again and was received with joy by its people.

A few years later he made the town a gift of one thousand acres of land lying to the north of it, to be used as a public commons by its people and to belong to them.

This tract of land still belongs to the town of New Castle, but since 1792 it has been rented out in farms, and is no longer a public commons.

William Penn did much to bring the Indians into truer friendship with the settlers. He treated them justly. He trusted them and went among them unarmed and unprotected. He walked with them, attended their meetings and ate of their hominy and roasted acorns. One time it happened the Indians were showing him how they could hop and jump, and after sitting watching them for a time, the Governor rose up and out-jumped them all.

Penn’s word was trusted by Indians and settlers alike, and they knew their interests were as safe in his hands as in their own.[3]

New Castle has just cause for pride in the fact that William Penn’s first landing in America was made upon her shore.

NOTES

How Once Upon A Time
Caesar Rodney Rode
For Freedom.

YEARS passed, and the Counties on the Delaware,[1] under the wise laws of William Penn,[2] grew and prospered. Dover was laid out and settled; New Castle flourished; Lewes became a town. Instead of the rough buildings of the early settlers, handsome country houses and comfortable farms were to be seen.

The manners and customs of the people were still very plain and simple. Very few foreign articles were used in this part of the country. Clothes were woven, cut and sewed at home. Beef, pork, poultry, milk, butter, cheese, wheat and Indian corn were raised on the farms; the fruit trees yielded freely, and there was a great deal of wild game; the people lived not only comfortably but luxuriously.[3]

The Counties on the Delaware were very fertile, and very little labor was needed to make the land yield all that was required. The people had a great deal of leisure time for visiting and pleasure. They were always gathering together at one house or another, the younger people to dance or frolic, and the older men to amuse themselves with wrestling, running races, jumping, throwing the disc and other rustic and manly exercises.

On Christmas Eve there was a universal firing of guns, and all through the holidays the people traveled from house to house, feasting and eating Twelfth cake, and playing games.[4]

So for years, life slipped pleasantly by in these southern Counties, and then suddenly there came a change. There began to be talk of war with England. News was eagerly watched for. There was no mail at that time. Letters were carried by stage-coach, or by messengers riding on horseback from town to town. In the old days, the people had been content to send their servants for letters. Now, when a messenger, hot and dusty, came galloping into the town, a crowd would be waiting, and would gather round him.

And it was thrilling news that the dusty messengers carried in those days, the days of 1775. England was determined to tax her colonies, and the colonies were rising in rebellion. Boston had thrown whole cargoes of tea into her harbor rather than pay the tax on it.

Then the first shots of the Revolution were fired at Concord and Lexington. At the sound of those shots the Counties on Delaware awoke. Drums were beat, muskets were cleaned, ladies sewed flags for the troops to carry; men enlisted, and the militia drilled. But still it was hoped by many that things would settle back peaceably.

But worse and worse news came from the north. Boston harbor had been shut up by the English. The people were starving. War ships from England had brought over more troops (many of them hired Germans), and had quartered them on the town. All the country was hot with anger over these things. Food and clothing were sent to Boston. General Washington raised troops of a thousand men, at his own expense, and marched north to her relief.

General Caesar Rodney was one of the important men of Dover at that time. He was a tall, pale, strange looking man, with flashing eyes, and a face, as we are told, “no larger than a good sized apple.” He was a general in the militia, and was heart and soul for independence. He rode about the country, calling meetings, speaking to the people, and urging them to enlist, and urging them, too, to raise money to give to the government. He was at this time suffering from a painful disease, but he spared neither strength nor comfort in the cause of freedom.

Mr. George Read of New Castle, was a very important man in the colonies, too. He was a patriot, and belonged to the militia, but he was very anxious not to begin a war. He argued that England had spent a great deal of money on her American colonies, and that she had a right to try to get some of it back by taxing them. He agreed that the time might come when the colonies would have to be free, but he thought that time had not yet come. He hoped that when it did, the colonies might win their freedom peaceably, and not by battle and bloodshed. He was a calm, quiet, learned man, rather slow of speech, and different in many ways from his quick and fiery friend, Rodney.

A third man who was important in Colonial times was Mr. Thomas McKean. He was a lawyer in New Castle, and was a friend of both these men. Like Rodney, he was for freedom at any cost.

In 1776, when the Colonial Congress was called to meet in Philadelphia, these three men, Rodney, Read and McKean, were sent to it as delegates by the Counties on the Delaware.[5]

This meeting of Congress in the summer of 1776 was the most important meeting that had ever been held. From north and south the delegates came riding to it, from all the thirteen colonies; and they met in the Committee Room of the State House in Philadelphia.

Many serious questions were to be decided by these delegates this year. But the most serious of all the questions was whether the Colonies should declare themselves free and independent states. If they did this, it would mean war with England.

While the question was still being argued about in the committee room, Caesar Rodney was sent for to come back to the Counties on the Delaware. Riots and quarrels and disturbances had broken out there, and no one could quiet them as well as Caesar Rodney. He was very glad to go, for it seemed as though it might be a long time before the delegates would decide on anything, and he hoped to be able to raise some money for the government.

He started out early one morning on horseback, cantering easily along through the cool of the day. It was eighty miles from Philadelphia to Dover, and he broke it by stopping over night at New Castle, which was rather more than half way home. The road he took was the old King’s Highroad, which ran on down through the Counties on Delaware, through Wilmington and New Castle and Dover, as far as Lewes.

General Rodney found a great deal to do down in the Counties. The Whigs and Tories had come to blows. One Tory gentleman only just escaped being tarred and feathered, and carried on a rail. Caesar Rodney was the one who had to quiet all the troubles. Beside this he made speeches, raised moneys and helped get together fresh troops of militia.

But busy though he was, he managed to find some time for visiting about among his friends. Especially he found time to visit at the house of a young Quaker widow named Sarah Rowland. Mistress Rowland lived in Lewes. She was a Tory, but she was very beautiful and witty, and Caesar Rodney was said to be in love with her. He might often have been seen, between his busy times, cantering along the road that led to Lewes and to her house. Mistress Rowland, as a Quaker, believed all fighting to be wrong, but she was always friendly with the General. Perhaps she hoped in some way to be able to help the Tories by things the General told her, or by having him at her house. At any rate she always made him welcome.

Now, while General Rodney was still busy down in the Counties on the Delaware, with his work and pleasure, great things were happening in Philadelphia. The Declaration of Independence was finally drawn up and written out.

It was laid on the table before the Colonial Congress, and the delegates were given five days to make up their minds to agree, whether they would sign it or not. They considered and discussed it in secret behind closed doors.

One after another, the delegates from various colonies agreed to sign. At last, only the Counties on the Delaware were needed to carry the agreement. They could not sign the Declaration, for they had now only two delegates present at Congress. Of these, one (McKean) was for it, and one (Mr. Read) was against it, so it was a tie between them, and Rodney, whose vote could have decided the matter, was down in the Counties on Delaware, eighty miles away.

McKean was in despair. He sent message after message, down to Delaware, begging the General to return to Philadelphia and give his deciding vote, but no answer came. The fact was that General Rodney did not receive any of these messages McKean sent. He was visiting Mistress Rowland in Lewes at the time, and she managed to keep the letters back from him. She hoped that he might know nothing about the Declaration until it had been voted on and the whole matter decided. Even if all the other Colonies decided to sign, it would weaken the union very much if the Colonies on the Delaware did not sign.

On the third of July, McKean sent a last message down to Rodney, passionately begging him to come to Philadelphia. The vote of the delegates was to be taken July the fourth, and if the General was not there the vote of the Counties on Delaware could not be cast for the Declaration of Independence, and it might be lost.

On this same day, July the third, 1776, Caesar Rodney was chatting with Mistress Rowland in the parlor of her house at Lewes. It had seemed strange to him that he had not heard from McKean lately, but he felt sure that if anything important was happening at Philadelphia he would receive word at once. So he put his anxieties aside and laughed and talked with the widow.

Suddenly, the parlor door was thrown open and a maid-servant came into the room. She crossed over to where General Rodney was sitting. “There!” she cried. “I’m an honest girl and I won’t keep those back any longer!” and she threw a packet of letters into the General’s lap.

Rodney picked them up and looked at them. They were in Mr. McKean’s hand-writing. Hastily he ran through them. They were the letters Sarah Rowland had been keeping back,—the letters begging and imploring him to hasten north to Philadelphia.

Without a word, General Rodney started to his feet, and ran out to where his horse was standing before the house.[6] Sarah Rowland called to him, but he did not heed her. He sprang to the saddle and gathered up the reins, and a moment later he was galloping madly north toward Dover. It was a long ride, but a longer still was before him. The heat was stifling, and the dust rose in clouds as he thundered along the King’s Highroad.

At Dover, he stopped to change his horse, and here he was met by McKean’s last messenger, with a letter, urging him to haste, haste. Indeed, there was not an hour to waste. Philadelphia was eighty miles away, and the vote was to be taken the next morning.

On went Rodney on his fresh horse. Daylight was gone. The moon sailed slowly up the sky, and the trees were clumps of blackness on either hand as he rode.

At Chester, he again changed horses, but he did not stop for either rest or food. Soon, he was riding on again.

It was in the morning of July fourth, that the rider, exhausted and white with dust, drew rein before the State House door in Philadelphia. McKean was there watching for him.

“Am I in time?” called Rodney as he swung himself from his horse.

“In time, but no more,” answered McKean.

Side by side he and Rodney entered Independence Hall. There sat the delegates in a semi-circle. Rodney and McKean took their places. The Declaration of Independence lay on the table before them. It was being voted on. One after the other the colonies were called on and one after another they gave their votes for it. The Counties on Delaware were called on. Mr. McKean rose and voted for it. Mr. Read was, as usual against it.

Then Caesar Rodney rose in his place. His face looked white and worn under its dust, but he spoke in a clear, firm voice. “I vote for Independence.”

And so the day was won. From the belfry of Independence Hall, the bells pealed out over the Quaker City. Bonfires blazed out, people shouted for joy, and the thirteen American Colonies, strong in union, stood pledged together for liberty.

NOTES

How Once Upon A Time
The Row-Galleys Fought
The Roebuck.

THE little town of Lewes is on Delaware Bay, with rolling dunes of sand between it and the ocean. The winds that blow over it have the smell and taste of salt in them, and in the sky overhead, the grey seagulls soar and hover.

There was a time, long ago, when pirates sailed the Delaware waters. Sometimes they landed there, and drank and plundered and put the people in fear of their lives. There is a story that Captain Kidd buried much treasure somewhere among these dunes.

But that was long before the American colonies went to war with England, and in Revolutionary times it was not pirates that Lewes was afraid of, but English warships.

From Delaware Bay the Delaware River lies, wide and open, all the way to Philadelphia. An enemy’s ship that entered the bay could easily sail on up the bay and river, past New Castle, Wilmington and Chester,—and might bombard Philadelphia from the water-front. This was what the Committee of Safety feared the British would do when the Revolutionary War began, so a guard was set at Henlopen light house.

It was in the last week of March of the year 1776, that the first British war vessel entered Delaware Bay. This vessel was a frigate called “Roebuck.” She came sailing slowly in, the black mouths of her guns threatening the town, and anchored in the bay. Her tender followed her, and she too was armed with guns.

Then all Lewes was in a stir. Messengers were sent riding in hot haste to Philadelphia, and all along the way they spread the news that the British ships had arrived. Colonel John Haslet came marching down to Lewes at the head of the Delaware militia, so as to be ready to protect the town against the English, in case they tried to land.

This, however, the British did not try to do. They cruised up and down in the “Roebuck,” or lay at anchor in the bay.

They managed to capture a pilot boat named the “Alarm,” near Lewes, and they fitted her out as a second tender. A little later they made a prize of an American sloop called the “Plymouth.” All the men from the tender were put on board this new prize except a lieutenant and three soldiers who were still left on the “Alarm,” to take care of her. But that night the helmsman on the “Alarm” fell asleep; the boat drifted on shore, and the lieutenant and his men were taken prisoner by the Americans.

There had as yet been no shots exchanged between the Americans and the English. But one bright, clear Sunday morning in April, word was brought to Colonel Haslet that an American schooner had anchored just off the shore below Cape Henlopen. The captain wished him to send men to help unload her. She carried supplies for the Americans.

Unluckily, news of the schooner reached the British, too, and at the same time that Haslet’s men started by land to help the captain unload, the British tender started by sea.

The Americans made all the haste they could, but they were obliged to cross a creek before they could reach the place where the schooner lay. The country people brought boats and ferried them over, but the soldiers soon saw that the tender was out-racing them.

The captain of the schooner saw this, too, and rather than have his cargo fall into the hands of the British, he set his sails, and ran ashore.

As soon as the American soldiers arrived they began to fire at the tender, but she kept too far away for their bullets to reach her. Seeing this, they laid aside their muskets and set to work to help the sailors unload the schooner.

The tender kept firing at them all the while they were unloading, but her shots fell harmlessly in the sand. Several of the soldiers picked up the balls as they fell, and carried them home to show to their families.

The tender now sent a barge back to summon the “Roebuck,” and presently, the frigate came sailing around the Cape at full speed to help the tender. She swept down toward the schooner like a great bird, but presently she found she was running into shoal water. She was obliged to come to anchor just off the Hen-and-Chicken shoals, but from there she began to fire at the soldiers and the schooner.

The Americans now turned the schooner’s guns on the frigate and tender. They saw a gunner on the frigate throw up his arms and fall. A number of the English were wounded, but not a single American was hurt. Presently, the frigate, finding it a losing game, sailed back around the Cape and out of reach.

No more shots were exchanged between the English and American vessels until May. Early in that month the “Roebuck” was joined by the sloop “Liverpool,” and the two with their tenders sailed straight up the bay and river toward Wilmington. Then they moved to and fro, between Chester and New Castle.

News of their coming went before them. At New Castle, houses were closed, and the people loaded their goods in wagons and carriages and fled back into the country.

At Wilmington, a number of row-galleys (some thirteen in number) were gathered and furnished with guns and ammunition, and were made ready in every way to give battle to the enemy. The galleys were under the command of Captain Houston, of Philadelphia.

It was on the morning of the eighth of May, that the British sails were seen coming up the river. Great crowds of people had gathered on the banks to watch the battle.

It was not until the British vessels were almost opposite Christiana creek that the firing began. The dull boom of the guns echoed and re-echoed from the wooded hills of the Brandywine. Great puffs of grey smoke drifted across the water. Sometimes the vessels were almost hidden.

In the midst of the battle, four Wilmington boys started out from the shore, armed with some old muskets that they had somehow got hold of. They boldly rowed out through the smoke until they were directly under the stern of the “Liverpool,” and then they began to fire at her. Presently, an officer on the sloop saw them.

“Captain,” he called to his commanding officer, “do you see those young rebels? Shall I fire on them?”

The brave old Captain Bellew shook his head. “No, no,” he cried; “don’t hurt the boys. Let them break the cabin windows if they want to.”

That indeed, was about all the damage the young patriots were able to do. When they had used up their ammunition, they rowed back to the shore again unhurt.

While the firing was still at the hottest, a major of artillery came riding at full speed. He threw himself from his horse, and begged a couple of boatmen who were standing with the crowd, to row him out to the galleys; he wished to have a chance to fire a shot at the enemy.

The boatmen refused. They were afraid they might get shot, but when the major promised them a handful of money they changed their minds and agreed to row to the nearest galley.

As soon as the major was on board the boat, he stationed himself at a gun and began to fire it off, and as he proved to be a very good shot he was allowed to stay there. After a while he called for more ammunition, but was told that it had all been used. The gallant officer pulled off his boots, filled them with powder, rammed them into the gun and fired it for the last time. In after life his boast was that he had not only been in the first naval battle of the war, but that he had fired his boots at the enemy.

On all the galleys the officers showed the greatest bravery. The British had at first looked with contempt at the open boats that had come to fight them. It did not take many shots, however, to teach them that these American galleys were not to be despised.

A part of the “Roebuck’s” rigging was shot away and her sides were badly damaged by the balls. Finally, in trying to get nearer to the galleys she ran aground, near the mouth of the Christiana creek. She now keeled over in such a way that she could no longer use her guns. Night came and she still lay there, unable to get off into deep water, or to right herself. The great fear of her men was that the galleys might come to attack her while she lay there helpless, so they sent out three small boats and kept them circling around her all night to watch out for an attack. If the Americans had come, it was the plan of the English to fill the small boats with as many of the “Roebuck’s” men as they could, and send them over to the “Liverpool.” The “Liverpool” was then to retreat down the river. However, the night passed quietly, and at four o’clock in the morning the water had risen so that they were able to get the “Roebuck” off.

In the morning, the row-galleys returned to the attack, though they had been very much damaged the day before. But their men were as determined as ever, and they had a fresh supply of ammunition. One of their shots went clear through the bows of the “Roebuck,” and a number of her men were wounded. One of the officers was killed.

The British now decided to retreat. Very slowly they drew off and drifted down the river. On their way they tried to destroy the little town of Port Penn, but they could not get near enough to the shore; the water was too shallow.

When they reached Lewes they lay there for some time, while the ship’s carpenters mended the holes made by the American shots. They took on fresh water and provisions, and then sailed out from the Delaware waters.

So ended the first naval battle of the Revolution; a battle fought in Delaware waters. One other sea fight was fought there, and it was the last one of the war. It was between the American sloop of war “Hyder Alley,” and the British sloop “General Monk,” and in this, too, the British were defeated. It was not an important battle, but it seemed a curious chance that the first and the last sea-fights of the Revolution should both have been in Delaware waters.

How Once Upon A Time
The Blue Hen’s Chickens
Went To War.

WAR had begun,—war between the United Colonies of America, with their small, poorly armed forces, and England, the richest and most powerful country in the world.

From all the thirteen colonies of America, regiments marched away to join General Washington and the little army he had already gathered together.

Delaware sent her regiment with the rest. It was under the command of Colonel John Haslet.[1] Men had come from all over the state to enlist in it. They carried whatever weapons they could get,—rifles, carbines, muskets or fowling pieces. A few of them had uniforms, but some of them had not even coats, and so came in their shirt sleeves.

The regiment set out from Dover to the sound of fife and drum. Their flag waved gaily over them and the people crowded the streets, and waved and cheered to see them go.

It was a long, hot march from Dover up to New York, where General Washington was encamped. The soldiers soon grew footsore and weary, marching, as they did, from early dawn till night. Sometimes when they passed a stream they broke ranks to kneel on its bank and drink the cool, running water. Sometimes the farmers came out and handed them summer fruits and vegetables as they passed, and as they went through the towns the people cheered and waved their handkerchiefs to them.

At last they reached New York, but they had no sooner arrived than the whole regiment was ordered to cross the river and join General Stirling’s brigade in Brooklyn. Stirling was expecting an attack from the British at any time, and he needed all the troops he could get.

Before the regiment had left Delaware, Colonel Haslet had begun to drill them, and as soon as they were settled in Brooklyn the drill began again. The men were kept at it until their bones ached and they were ready to drop with weariness, but it was this constant drilling that brought the Delaware regiment into shape, and afterward won for it the name of “the picked regiment of the Colonial Army.”

One evening when the men were resting around the fires, one of their comrades came out from a tent carrying two game-cocks by the legs. Somehow he had managed to bring them up from Delaware with him. They were of a bluish grey color, and were of a breed well known in Kent County, and called “Blue Game Chickens.”

When the soldiers saw the two cocks they shouted for joy. “A chicken-fight! A chicken-fight!” they cried. “We’ll have a chicken-fight. Where did you get them Bill?”

Bill threw the cocks into the middle of the ring. For a moment they stood looking about with their bright eyes. Then they lowered their heads and ruffled their feathers. The next moment they flew at each other and fought furiously but before they could injure each other they were separated and shut up in boxes.

“That’s the way we’ve got to fight,” cried Bill. “We’re sons of the old Blue Hen, and we’re game to the end.”

“That’s what we are,” shouted the others. “We’re the Blue Hen’s Chickens, the fighting breed.” And from that night that was the name by which the plucky Delaware regiment went—The Blue Hen’s Chickens.

The Delaware regiment[2] was soon to prove its courage. It was August twenty-seventh, about five days after they had arrived in Brooklyn, that they first went under fire.

On the twenty-sixth, General Stirling had received news that the next morning the British meant to attack his forces. They would begin the attack very early.

It was not yet light when the Delaware regiment, shivering with excitement, was marched out, and stationed near an orchard. In this orchard the Maryland regiment was placed but just where the British troops were they did not know.

It was too dark to see anything at first, but there were sounds that made them know that somewhere there in the darkness, the enemy was moving and marching. Presently, a faint light began to show in the sky. There were shots in the distance. Then they saw through the growing light a great dark moving mass opposite to them. Nearer and nearer it came, and now they could see long lines of the Hessians; the light glittered on the brass fronts of their immense caps.

They were coming!

The Maryland and Delaware regiments opened fire, and here and there they saw a Hessian throw up his arms and fall, but immediately the ranks filled up, and on they came at a steady, quick step. The Delaware regiment had found some shelter behind an old fence.

“Fix bayonets!” There was a rattle and clash as the bayonets of the Delawares slipped into place. “Forward, charge!” Out from their shelter sprang the Delaware soldiers. They charged upon the Hessians, but they were met by such a steady front that for a moment they wavered. Then (we are told) a captain of Smallwood’s company sprang forward and caught the Delaware flag from the flag bearer; he flung it over into the midst of the Hessian regiment.

A long roar followed as the Delaware men flung themselves forward, mad to recover their flag. Before that fierce rush, the Hessians wavered and broke; they tried to recover and then turned and fled, and again the flag of Delaware waved over the heads of the Blue Hen’s Chickens.

The Maryland regiment had also charged, and now they and the Delaware soldiers stood drawn up on a hill. The guns of the enemy were turned upon them, but their colors were flying. Other regiments of the American army had been forced to retreat, but these gallant little bands did not think of quitting their place. At last an express order came from the General commanding them to retreat. Then, and not till then, they fell back. Their flags were almost cut to pieces with shot, but the Delaware regiment retreated in such good order that they lost but few men.[3] The Marylanders were not so lucky, as many of them were taken prisoners or killed.

This victory seemed to satisfy the British for the time. They took up their quarters in Trenton and then they led a merry life, feasting and drinking. They stole as they liked from all the country round, and the poor country people were helpless. If they resisted they were shot down like dogs.

So the autumn and the first part of December passed. Upon the other side of the river from Trenton, the American forces were encamped. December was bitterly cold. Many of our men had no shoes. Food and blankets were scarce. The men kept the fires going day and night.

The day before Christmas, word was passed through the American encampment that on Christmas morning they would cross the river and attack the English. The men cheered when they heard that news.

Christmas day dawned cold and dark and snowy. In the chill morning the men were marched, company after company, down to the flat boats that lay on the river, and were rowed over to the other side. Men and horses huddled together, trying to get some warmth from each other. The bitter wind whistled past their ears, and the sleet cut their faces.

On the Trenton side the troops were landed, and then began a seven miles tramp through the snow. The men struggled through the drifts, blinded by the sleet. Their hands were almost frozen to their muskets.

As they drew near the British encampment they were halted for a rest. They stood there in the snow, panting and leaning on their muskets. They could hear, through the snowy air, the ringing of the bells, and the shouts of the British soldiers. A gun was fired. They almost thought they heard a roar of laughter. The British were making merry at Christmas with no thought that their enemies were so near.

“Silence, and forward!”—the muffled order passed along the line.

The soldiers again shouldered their muskets and marched on. The deep drifts muffled their footsteps and the falling snow hid them like a curtain. Two hundred yards from the British encampment they were formed in line and the order rang out, “Forward, charge!”

Down upon the encampment they swept, running, leaping, stumbling through the drifts.

There was a wild alarm in the British camp, and a scramble for muskets, but the surprise was too sudden for them. They could not escape, and within half an hour the Americans had made one thousand of them prisoners; they had also captured one thousand muskets, and sixteen hundred blankets. Many a poor lad, for the first time in weeks, slept warm that Christmas night in British blankets.

When the cities heard of the great victory their army had won at Trenton, bells were rung and bonfires were lighted; they went mad with joy.

The battle of Princeton, which followed soon after, was an even greater victory for the Americans. But Delaware could not share in the rejoicings that followed, for her brave regiment was almost cut to pieces in that battle. Of the eight hundred men who fought that day barely one hundred were left, and Colonel Haslet was killed by a shot through the head.

Washington now called for more troops, and again Delaware gathered together a regiment and sent it north to join him.

The men under Hall were with Washington in the battle of Brandywine, when his forces were terribly defeated, and also in the battle at Germantown; and they went with him into winter quarters at Valley Forge.

Though the troops had suffered at Trenton the winter before, it was nothing to their sufferings at Valley Forge. They built themselves rough log huts, which gave them some shelter, and they had plenty of wood to burn, but food was scarce. The death of a horse was hailed with joy, for then they could have meat. Their clothing fell into rags, and they had nothing to sleep on but the bare earthen floors of their huts. Washington sent out orders to all the farmers round to thresh out their grain, and let the soldiers have the straw to sleep on.[4]

Almost every day the General went from hut to hut, cheering and encouraging his soldiers as best he could.

One day he saw a soldier tramping barefoot through the snow. His foot prints were marked with blood. Washington unfastened his cloak and held it out to the man, “Here my poor fellow,” he said, “tear this into strips and bind it around your feet.”

The soldier refused the cloak with a laugh. “That’s all right, General,” he said. “I don’t need it. As long as my feet are bleeding I know they’re not frozen.”

Not all of the men could bear the suffering and hunger however. Many died, and still more deserted. In February there were in camp only about five thousand men able to work and carry arms. The regiment of Delaware was among the faithful ones who staid through it all.

It was with joy that the American soldiers saw the coming of spring. On clear days they stretched themselves out in the sun and felt fresh life warming their bodies. Thin, sickly and ragged, they still found strength to joke and laugh.

The British troops, who had spent the winter in Philadelphia, were in fine condition. They had been well fed and housed, and had spent their time in merry making and balls, while our poor men were starving in their huts.

In April 1780,[5] our army was again on the move. The Delaware and Maryland regiments were ordered south under Baron DeKalb, to join General Greene’s army, which was fighting there. It was in this Southern campaign that the Delaware regiment won its greatest glory. The Blue Hen’s Chickens were in many battles and skirmishes, and in all they bore themselves with the greatest bravery.

Then, in August, came the battle of Camden, South Carolina. It was the battle in which the Delaware regiment proved themselves bravest, and the last in which they were to fight as a separate regiment.

Cornwallis had determined to attack our forces early in the morning of the fifteenth.

All that night the two armies lay opposite to each other, waiting for the daylight. The American forces had more men than the British, but many of them were raw recruits, and many were deserters. Cornwallis’s men were in good condition, and were almost all veteran fighters.

Before dawn the British began to take their positions and prepare for an attack, and the Americans made ready to meet them.

In the early dawning the first charge was made. The Americans saw the forces charging down upon them. The Virginia militia were seized with a panic. The order came to fire. Hardly knowing what they did, they fired one shot and then threw down their arms and ran. The North Carolina regiment saw them running, and without even one shot, they, too, threw away their muskets and ran. Only the Delaware men, the Marylanders and one North Carolina regiment were left to bear the brunt of the attack.

DeKalb now gave the order to his men to charge with bayonets. Fiercely the Delaware and Maryland regiments charged upon the enemy,—so fiercely that they broke the British line. But the British guns poured on them volleys of grape and canister. It was more than our men could bear. They were obliged to retreat. Again came the order to charge, and again they threw themselves against those solid ranks of the British, and were driven back. Three times they charged, and then, almost cut to pieces, they were obliged to retreat. Of the brave regiment of Delaware, a mere handful of men was left. Baron DeKalb himself had fallen, with eleven wounds.

So ended the terrible battle of Camden. After it was over, many of the Americans hid themselves in the swamps and woods for a time. The few Delaware soldiers who were left joined the Virginia regiment. They fought with them through the rest of the war, and when peace was declared Virginia offered to each of them one hundred acres of ground if they would settle there. However, they preferred to return to their own state and people.

The prisoners who were taken were sent to Charleston. Among them was Major Patten, a gallant officer. He had taken with him into the war his own body servant, a negro, and had entrusted to him all his clothes. When the battle was over the negro had disappeared and Major Patten never saw him again. He entered Charleston a prisoner, and in rags. There were many loyal ladies there however, and they made him a set of shirts and did for him what they could. He was very handsome and gay, and as he was allowed a great deal of liberty, he became a great favorite. After the war was ended, he returned to his home near Dover and showed with pride some of these shirts which had been made for him by the Charleston ladies.

He was more fortunate than many of the other soldiers. Some of them returned in rags, to find their farms and homesteads fallen almost into ruin. Some had lost their health or were suffering from wounds. But one thing our Delaware men had won,—the glory of having made part of that regiment fittingly called the “picked regiment of the Continental Army.”[6]

NOTES