Once Upon a Time in Delaware

How Once Upon A Time
Washington Came
To Delaware.

AT ONE time Washington had his headquarters in Wilmington. It was late in the summer of 1777 and just before the Battle of Brandywine.

A few weeks earlier the British fleet had sailed out of New York harbor and had turned toward the south, with all the British army on board. No one knew where the fleet was going; no one knew where the army would land and make their next attack, and there was great anxiety.

General Washington and his army were at this time camped in Bucks county, north of Philadelphia. It was on August twenty-second that a hot and dusty messenger galloped into camp with news for the General that the British fleet had been seen in Chesapeake Bay.

As soon as Washington heard this news, orders were given to the army to break camp, and he marched with them down to Delaware, to be ready to meet the enemy, and to keep them from attacking Philadelphia, for that was then the capital of the colonies.

Wilmington at that time was still a small town. It had a few shops, a market house, and a fire engine company called the “Friendship.” A new ship-building company had just built and launched their first boat, which was named the “Wilmington.” But the most important of all the manufactories were the Brandywine flour mills, which stood on the Brandywine, some little distance above where it flows into the Christiana.[1] Washington had the “runners” (or upper stones) taken from these mills and hauled up into Chester County for fear they might be seized and used by the British.

Wilmington is very hilly. It has been said of it that it is “as full of lumps as a napkin thrown over a blackberry bush.”

The steep part of West Street that slopes up from Front to Fourth was called “Quaker Hill,” for almost all the houses that were there were owned by Quakers. The houses were built in a prim, plain fashion, but within they were full of comfort. Furniture, linen, food, were simple but of the best quality for the Friends knew how to live comfortably, in spite of their plain ways.

It was in one of these houses that Washington made his headquarters. The house is still standing, on the west side of the street, between Third and Fourth Streets.

A little beyond Quaker Hill was an old apple orchard, and still beyond that were the open country and the wooded hills of the Brandywine.

It was near the Brandywine that the army encamped. In the next few days soldiers might often be seen kneeling on the edge of the stream to wash their pieces of clothing. Their voices echoed through the woods in loud jokes and laughter. Sometimes a trooper in buff and blue brought a dozen clattering horses down to the water to drink.

Washington was busy sending and receiving dispatches, riding out to explore the country, and deciding where the best points were upon which to place his army.

By September the second, our army had been moved to the high lands near Newport, a few miles from Wilmington. In the afternoon of that day orders were given to cook provisions and to be ready to march at any time. The enemy were then near Newark, Delaware, but Washington had not yet been able to learn how many there were of them, nor where they meant to attack. However he sent a light corps (of about seven hundred and twenty men) down in their direction. These men were to hide in the woods and hollows, and to act as outposts in case the British marched toward Newark.

It was the next day, September the third, that the British began to advance toward White Clay creek,—a creek which lay between them and the Americans. For some miles above Newark the road was open, with fields and meadows on either hand, and the British marched along it undisturbed. But when the road dipped into the woods, the bullets began to sing about their ears like bees. Several of the British were wounded, for the American riflemen had hidden in the thickets and hollows of the woods and were shooting at them. The Americans were so well hidden that the British scarcely knew where to turn their fire. Some of the British companies left the road to look for them but got lost in a swamp, and had difficulty in finding their way back to firm ground.

For some miles this fire continued, but by the time the British had reached the Christiana creek, near Cooch’s Mill, the shots had almost stopped.

The bridge across the stream lay still and peaceful in the sunlight. There was no sound but the ripple of the water against the rocks, and a cow lowing in the distance.

The first company of the English had hardly set foot on the bridge however, when a hot fire of bullets poured out at them from the thickets beside the stream. A company of American riflemen had been lying there in ambush, and waiting for them. A moment later the Americans sprang out into the road with cheers, and charged upon them.

A sharp skirmish followed, but the British were too strong, and our men were driven back leaving several killed and wounded. The British, too, had their losses, though their loss was not as heavy as that of the Americans.

This skirmish at Cooch’s Bridge was the first warning Washington had that the British had advanced their army.

Knowing the British were only a few miles from him, Washington now expected an attack at any time, and decided to move his army to a high rise in the ground near Red Clay creek, which was a better position.

Mr. Caleb Byrnes, a miller, had a house on this high ground. Very early on the morning of September the seventh, he was awakened by the tramp of marching feet, the sound of loud voices shouting orders, and the clatter and rumble of gun wagons.

He slipped from bed and crossed to the window and looked out. There below, he saw long lines and companies of soldiers in buff and blue. Their bayonets glittered in the sunlight. Sweating horses were pulling cannon up the slope in front of the house.

Mrs. Byrnes slipped from bed and came over to look from the window, too. She was shivering with excitement.

“It’s the whole American army,” said Byrnes. He told his wife to waken the children and then he dressed as quickly as he could and hurried downstairs and out of the house.

An officer on horseback was there giving orders. The cannon had now been placed all along the high ground “for half a mile as thick as they could stand.”[2]

As soon as the officer saw Mr. Byrnes, he rode over to him and said, “You’d better get out of here as soon as you can. When the battle begins this house will be shot down and torn to pieces by cannon.”

“And my mill?” asked Mr. Byrnes, pointing to the mill, which stood about three-quarters of a mile down the road.

“That will probably go, too,” said the officer.

Mrs. Byrnes had now come to the door and stood listening. “Well, I’d rather stay right here,” she said. “If there’s a battle we’ll take the children and get under the big arch that is under the chimney in the cellar; there couldn’t anything hurt us there, anyway.”

Mr. Byrnes agreed with his wife that they had better stay; and in spite of the warnings of the officers they refused to move. Mr. Byrnes’ brother, who lived near the mill, also refused to leave his house. But the other neighbors packed up their furniture and took their families further up in the country, where they might be safe from the cannon. As it happened, they were no safer than the Byrnes after all, for on September the ninth, Washington found that the enemy were circling around him toward the north in the direction of Philadelphia, and he decided to move on and meet the British at Chadd’s Ford, and force a battle there.

Marching orders were given, and a few hours later the entire American army was gone from Delaware.

So ended Washington’s first stay in our state.

But there was another time when Washington was in Delaware. This second time he was no longer commander-in-chief of a struggling army but the President of the United States.

The war was over. Liberty was won, and the English had left our shores.

It was December of 1783, and Washington was to pass through Wilmington on his way from Philadelphia to Mount Vernon, where he was to eat his Christmas dinner.

People lined the road watching for his coach, and at the top of the hill children climbed into the trees of the apple orchard so as to see the better.

At last, from far up the road, came a sound of cheering; the coach was in sight. Nearer and nearer it came.

In it sat President Washington with his calm, noble face, and his powdered hair tied in a queue behind. His hat was off, and he bowed this way and that as the people waved and cheered him.

The Burgess and Council of Wilmington had prepared an address which was read to him and which he answered. It was only for a few hours that Washington was here this second time. A long ride was still before him, and soon he was in his coach again and rolling on his way.

For a while after the President’s coach had started, the little boys raced along beside him, then the horses broke into a trot that left the boys behind. The turn of the road was reached, the coach swung around it, and Washington’s last visit to Delaware was over.

NOTES

How Once Upon A Time
Mary Vining Ruled
All Hearts.

CHIEF JUSTICE VINING’S house faced “the Green” at Dover.

The Green is a long, open square with grass and trees. On either side of it are handsome houses and pleasant shady gardens with box trees and tall, old-fashioned flowers.

It was on the Green, and in these gardens, that the little Vinings and Rodneys and Ridgelys and other little Dover children of long ago played.

On this Green in 1776, the citizens and Revolutionary soldiers gathered to build a great bonfire, and burn the portrait of George the Third, no longer their King.

Along the King’s Road, which runs through it, Caesar Rodney galloped, on his long ride to Philadelphia, and the brave regiments of Delaware militia marched away to war.

Among the boys and girls who played on the Green in those days were the children of the Chief Justice, John and Mary Vining. They were beautiful children, with curly brown hair, rosy cheeks, and large clear grey eyes. Their mother had died while they were very young, but their aunt, Mrs. Ridgely, loved them dearly, and her house was as much home to them as their own. The year that Mary was fourteen, Chief Justice Vining also died, and left a large fortune to be divided between his two children.

Mr. Ridgely had charge of this fortune, and such good care did he take of it that when John and Mary grew up they were among the richest people in Delaware. But they were not only rich;—they were handsome and witty as well. John was such a favorite with everyone, that he was called “The Pet of Delaware,” and his sister was the belle of the whole colony. Louis Philippe, Duc d’Orleans, visited her when he was in America, and Lafayette admired her greatly. The fame of her beauty was even carried to foreign countries, so that when Jefferson visited the French queen, Marie Antoinette, one of the first questions she asked him was whether Miss Vining of Delaware was really as lovely as she was said to be.

Mary Vining spent as much of her time in Philadelphia as at Dover. In the winter of 1777, Lord Howe and his English troops were quartered there, and many of the British officers lost their hearts to the Delaware belle.

One day, one of her young cousins was studying his Latin in the drawing room when the door opened and Mary Vining swept in. She went over to the mirror and stood for some time looking at herself with admiration. She was in full dress, and her beautiful arms and neck were bare. After a while she turned from the mirror, and then she saw her young cousin sitting there and watching her. She smiled and held out her hand to him. “Come here, you little rogue,” she said “and you may kiss my hand.”

The little boy shook his head shyly and drew back.

Miss Vining laughed. “You might well be glad to,” she said, “‘Princes have lipped it’.”[1]

Afterward, when the little boy had grown to be a man he often told this story, and always added, “All the while I thought her the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.”

Some of Mary’s friends wondered that she did not marry. “To tell the truth,” she answered them frankly, “I have grown so used to the admiration of many men that I do not think I could be content with that of one.”

Indeed, she had become rather spoiled by so much admiration. She loved her own way and was determined to have it. She felt she was so beautiful and rich that she could do whatever she chose. It was one of her fancies never to walk in the street; she always rode in her coach or went on horseback, however short the distance, and she always covered her face with a veil so that people could not stare at her.

At one time General Washington was quartered in Wilmington, and while he was there many of his officers found time to ride down to Dover to see Miss Vining. There was one of Washington’s officers whom she had never met, but she had heard a great deal about him;—that was General Anthony Wayne. He was at this time a married man, though his wife died before the close of the war. He seemed to Miss Vining to be the most brilliant officer in the whole army, and she was never tired of hearing of his wild exploits. “Mad Anthony Wayne,” they called him. His fellow officers said he was vain[2] and a boaster; but he was so brave, and so ready to carry out his boasts that no one dared to laugh at him.

General Washington trusted him so much that he asked his opinion about almost every important move in the war, and he was the one whom Washington chose to lead the attack on Stony Point. The storming of Stony Point was the most daring act of the whole war.

Stony Point is a steep bluff on the Hudson. On three sides of it are water and on the fourth a deep swamp. The English held it with a garrison of over five hundred soldiers, and their cannon were set so as to guard every road to it.

It was the night of July the fifteenth, at half past eleven that Wayne and his brave company of soldiers set out. They moved in silence, with not a word spoken, except now and then a whispered command. Orders had been given that if any soldier left the ranks, no matter for what reason, he should be instantly killed.[3] This was in order that no deserter might have a chance to carry news of the surprise to the British.

To reach the rise of Stony Point, Wayne and his company were obliged to wade through water two feet deep. Then came the climb up the hill, over rocks and sharp stones. At last they were near enough to the fort to hear the call of the sentries. When the signal was given, the Americans attacked the fort from all sides at once.

The garrison was taken by surprise, and fired wildly; they had no time to aim their canon. A musket ball struck General Wayne, and made a long wound in his scalp. He was stunned and fell to the ground, but a moment later he rose on one knee and waved his sword, “Forward, my brave fellows! Forward,” he shouted.

His wound was not serious, but his soldiers, when they saw him fall, were filled with fury. They charged into the fort with their bayonets, climbing over walls and killing those who tried to stop them. Not a shot was fired by the Americans except at the very first, and then only to draw the attention of the British in the wrong direction.

This capture of Stony Point made General Wayne famous. He was said to be the most brilliant officer in the army. Praises were showered on him,[4] and later on he was made General-in-Chief of the army.

Years slipped by and the war came to an end. The American colonies were free, and the English left our shores and sailed back to their own country.

General Wayne was by this time a widower, and Mary Vining was no longer young. But though she was not young she was as beautiful, and witty and charming as ever.

She was almost forty when news came to her cousins in Dover that she was engaged to be married to General Wayne. At first they could not believe it. General Wayne was a brave soldier, he was handsome, generous and honest, but he had been brought up on a farm, and he had none of the elegance of the foreign officers, who had been her friends.

But Mary Vining loved him, and was determined to marry him. The time for the wedding was set. It was to be in January, and Miss Vining began to make ready for it. Her house was already handsome, but she refurnished it, from top to bottom. General Wayne gave her a set of India china, and she bought a new service of silver.

In December, Wayne was sent west by the government, to make a treaty with the Maumee Indians. He had fought with them and defeated them the year before, and they would be more ready to treat with him than with any one else. He was to return to Delaware by the first of January.

But the brave soldier never returned. At the first of the year, on New Year’s Day, word was brought to Miss Vining that he had died at Presque Isle, on Lake Erie.

Miss Vining immediately put on mourning for General Wayne, and this mourning she never laid aside again as long as she lived.

Soon after Wayne’s death, her brother, “The Pet of Delaware,” died too. It was found that he had spent, not only all his own fortune, but his sister’s as well. She was now a poor woman. Nothing was left her but a little house in Wilmington called “The Willows,” which stood where the du Pont building now stands, and which had once belonged to her mother. She was obliged to sell her coach and horses, and she sent away her servants.

Her brother had left four children, and she made these her care for the rest of her life. She brought them up and educated them.

The china that had been General Wayne’s last gift to her, was never used, but was kept by her as her most precious treasure.

She saw almost no one at “The Willows,” but the few who were allowed to visit her, found her always in black, and with her beautiful hair hidden under a widow’s cap. But she was still, even in old age, as gracious, as witty and charming as when she had been the wealthy and courted Belle of Delaware.[5]

NOTES

How Once Upon A Time
MacDonough Sailed
The Sea.

COMMODORE THOMAS MACDONOUGH was sometimes called “the Boy Commodore,” for he was the youngest Commodore in the American navy.

He was born December, thirty-first, 1783, on a farm in New Castle county where his father and grandfather had lived before him.

When he was seventeen he joined the navy as a Midshipman, and made his first cruise on the ship “Ganges.”

He was a tall, thin, shy youth. He was never strong, but he was so brave that he was ready for any dangers or hardships. Cooper called him “the modest but lion-hearted MacDonough.”

At the time MacDonough joined the navy, the United States was at war with France, and his first cruise was against the French in the West Indies. The “Ganges” captured three of the enemy’s vessels, and sent them home as prizes. Then the yellow fever broke out on board the “Ganges.” MacDonough was one of the men who had it. He and the other sick men were carried on shore to a miserable dirty Spanish hospital at Havana. Here, for many weeks, he lay ill.

When he was able to get up and go about again he found that the “Ganges” had sailed away, and that he was left, poor, alone, and almost without clothing, in a strange land. All the Americans who had been brought to the hospital had died except himself and two others. These two were in as much distress as himself. The American agent at Havana gave them some shirts and other pieces of clothing, and they got back to the United States on a sailing vessel.

MacDonough landed at Norfolk, Virginia, and worked his way back to Delaware. He had been away from home a year, and his family had never expected to see him again; they had been told he had the yellow fever at Havana, and was either dying or already dead. They could hardly believe it was he when he walked in among them, thin, pale and weak-looking, but still alive. The whole house was filled with rejoicings. He was still dressed as he had been when he left Havana, in worn out clothes, a straw hat and canvas shoes.

As soon as he was able, he went back to the “Ganges,” and was with her until he was ordered to the Mediterranean on the frigate “Philadelphia.”

We were then at war with Tripoli. Soon after the “Philadelphia” reached the Mediterranean, they captured a Moorish vessel, and MacDonough was sent on board of her to take her to Gibraltar.

It was a very lucky thing for MacDonough that he was ordered on to this other vessel, for very soon after he left the “Philadelphia” she ran aground, and was captured by the enemy. All the men and officers on board of her were taken prisoner.

After the “Philadelphia” was taken by the enemy, the Americans were very anxious to destroy it, for now the enemy had the ship and might use it as a war vessel. But it seemed as though it would be almost impossible to destroy the “Philadelphia.” It lay in the harbor of Tripoli, close under the fortress, and above it were the black mouths of the cannon. If the Tripoli gunners had seen any American ship come into the harbor, they would have blown it to pieces rather than let it come near their prize.

The only way to get to the vessel would be by using some trick.

Stephen Decatur, then a young commander, was very anxious to try it. It would mean the risk of his life, and of the lives of all who went with him; but every sailor on his vessel was as eager to try as he himself. From among them all he chose sixty-two to go with him, and MacDonough was one of those chosen.

They set sail for the bay of Tripoli, in a ketch, (a sort of small merchant vessel) which they named “Intrepid.” Almost all the Americans hid down in the lower part of the ketch. Only a few stayed on deck. Those on deck darkened their faces, and dressed themselves as Maltese sailors, with red fezzes and round jackets. The inside of the ketch was filled with powder and everything else necessary for blowing up the “Philadelphia,” if they could only get to her.

Boldly the little ketch with these brave men on board sailed into the enemy’s harbor.

The Tripolitans, looking from their forts, saw nothing but what seemed to be a Maltese merchant ship, sailing into the harbor to shelter there for the night,—for the daylight was already fading from the sky and the moon was rising.

The “Intrepid” sailed slowly across the harbor to where the “Philadelphia” lay under the fortress. Aboard of her were the Tripoli officers on the watch.

When the ketch was near enough to the “Philadelphia,” an American officer hailed her, speaking in the Maltese language. He said they had lost their anchors at sea, and asked whether they might fasten their boat to the “Philadelphia” for the night.

The Tripoli officer hesitated a moment. “That is a very unusual thing to ask,” he said. However, he agreed that they might, and a hawser rope was flung over to the ketch for them to fasten by.

Just then the “Intrepid” swung out from under the shadow of the “Philadelphia,” and the moon shone down on her deck. There on her deck, in the full light, lay the anchors that the officer said had been lost at sea.

Immediately the Tripoli men knew that a trick had been played upon them. “Americanos! Americanos!” they shouted. But they had found it out too late. The ketch was already fastened to the side of the larger vessel. The Americans swarmed over the sides of the “Philadelphia,” and the Tripolitans found themselves fighting for their lives. MacDonough was the third man to spring aboard of the ship. In a short time all the Tripolitans were killed or driven overboard, the powder was hastily carried from the ketch to the “Philadelphia,” and she was set on fire. Then the Americans returned to their own boat. They cut loose and rowed at full speed away from the “Philadelphia” and across the harbor.

The men in the fortress near by, had seen that strange things were happening on board the “Philadelphia,” but in the uncertain moonlight they could not tell just what the matter was. It was not until they saw the ketch well across the harbor, and flames and smoke pouring from the “Philadelphia” that they realized what had happened. Then their cannon roared, but the balls fell short. The men on the “Intrepid” rose to their feet, waved their caps, and in the red light of the burning ship, gave three rousing American cheers. Then they again fell to their oars, and rowed out of the harbor to where the “Siren,” an American war vessel, was waiting for them outside.

This burning of the “Philadelphia” was said by Admiral Nelson, to be “the most bold and daring act of the age.”

MacDonough had shown such bravery in this action that he was made a lieutenant.

It was while MacDonough was still on this Mediterranean cruise that he had an adventure with three cut-throats.

The commander had given him leave to go on shore one day, and toward evening, as he was coming back to his boat, three cut-throats set upon him in a lonely place. Instead of trying to escape, MacDonough turned upon them and fought so fiercely that he soon wounded two of them, and the third took to his heels and ran. MacDonough ran after him. He chased the man for some distance, and then they came to a low building; into this building the man dashed, and up the stairs, with MacDonough still after him. When he reached the roof he looked behind him. There still was the terrible Americano. Then the man ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off, for he felt he would rather run the risk of breaking his neck than fight with MacDonough.

When MacDonough came down stairs again, he looked all around for the man, but he could not see him, so he quietly returned to his boat and rowed back to the ship.

In 1806, MacDonough was first lieutenant on the “Siren,” with Captain Smith in command.

They were lying just off Gibraltar at one time, and at some distance from them were anchored two other vessels. One was an American merchant ship, and the other a British frigate.

One day Captain Smith had gone on shore and MacDonough was in charge of the “Siren.” In the afternoon he saw a boat put off from the frigate and row over to the merchant ship. It lay there for a while, and then when it started to return to the frigate he saw that there was one more man in her than there had been before.

MacDonough knew that the captains of English warships sometimes kidnapped American sailors, and made them serve on board the British vessels, and he suspected that this extra man was an American who was being stolen from the crew of the merchant ship.

He immediately sent over to the ship to ask whether this were so.

The captain told him “Yes;”—that the British had come on board, and taken one of his sailors. The captain had been afraid to resist them, for the frigate had guns and he had none.

As soon as MacDonough heard this, he had a cutter lowered, and set out in chase of the British boat. The Englishmen were rowing in a very leisurely manner, for they never dreamed that any one would dare to interfere with their prize.

MacDonough caught up to them just as they reached the frigate. The prisoner was sitting in the stem of the boat. MacDonough’s men drove the cutter so close that the two boats grated together. One of the Englishmen shouted to them to keep off, but instead MacDonough reached over, and catching hold of the prisoner dragged him, bodily, into his own boat. Then his rowers gave way, and before the Englishmen could recover from their surprise, he was on his way back to the “Siren,” the rescued man with him.

The British captain had seen the whole affair from the deck of the frigate, and he was in a fury. He got into a boat and had himself rowed over to the “Siren.” When he came on board, he saw MacDonough walking quietly up and down the deck, with his hands clasped behind him.

The captain marched up to him insolently. “Where is that man you took? I must have him back,” he cried.

“I will not give him up,” answered MacDonough quietly.

“You dare to tell me that? Why you are not even the captain of this vessel, and you dare to say you will not let me have the man?”

“I will answer to it to my captain,” said MacDonough, “and I will not give him up.”

The captain raged and threatened to turn the frigate’s guns against the “Siren” and blow it out of the water.

“You can do it, no doubt, if you choose,” answered MacDonough, “but as long as this boat is afloat I will never give that man up.”

The captain finding he could gain nothing, got into his boat again and had himself rowed over toward the merchant vessel.

MacDonough feared he might try to kidnap another man, so he entered the cutter and followed close after the British boat. The Englishmen rowed about for some time and then finding they could not shake him off they returned to the frigate. Then, and not till then, MacDonough went back to the “Siren.”

The English officers one and all admired MacDonough’s conduct in this affair, and always afterward spoke of him with great admiration.

But it was in the battle of Lake Champlain that MacDonough won his greatest fame.

Our troubles with England had finally ended in a war with her. MacDonough was put in command of the naval forces on Lake Champlain. He was then a little over thirty years old.

The battle was fought on a clear, bright September morning, in 1814.

Before the battle began the Commodore (as MacDonough was then called) knelt on the deck of the “Saratoga,” and with his officers and crew about him, he prayed for success in the conflict.

When a little later they were clearing the decks of the “Saratoga” for action, they let out some chickens that were in coops, and threw the coops overboard. One of the cocks flew up on the rigging and flapped his wings and crowed loud and long. It was as if he recognized in the Commodore one of the “Blue Hen’s Chickens,” and was greeting him.

The sailors took his crowing as a sign of victory, and cheered in answer to him.

The American ships were scarcely set in battle order, before the British squadron came sailing proudly around a wooded point of land. The red flags at their mast-heads fluttered gaily in the sunlight.

MacDonough himself fired the first shot from the “Saratoga.” The gun was aimed at the British flagship “Confidence,” and the shot killed and wounded several of her men, and carried away her wheel. Again and again, through the battle, MacDonough, with his own hands, helped to work the guns. Three times he was struck by splinters and thrown across the decks. Once a heavy spar fell over him and knocked him senseless. Once a shot blew off the head of a gunner, and threw it against him with such force that he was again knocked across the deck and into the scuppers. But he was not seriously hurt, though every other officer on the “Saratoga” was either killed or wounded.

By mid-day the battle was over and the Americans had won. So fierce had been the broadsides that not a single mast was left standing on the vessel of either of the opposing squadrons.

After the battle was ended the American officers all gathered on the deck of the “Saratoga” and the British officers came to give up their swords to MacDonough.

Instead of taking them, however, MacDonough said, “Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you the more worthy to wear your swords;” and he bade them put them back in their scabbards and keep them.

Every care was now given to the wounded on both sides, and MacDonough himself visited every ship in his squadron, and thanked the officers and men for their bravery.

News of the American victory was received with joy all over the country. Congress offered a vote of thanks to MacDonough, and many states and towns gave him presents. But through it all he was still the modest MacDonough. Often tears came into his eyes when he was speaking of all the country had done for him.

This was almost his last battle. Soon after it, peace was declared, and he left Lake Champlain and went back to the ocean.

In 1825 he was Commander of the “Constitution,” in the Mediterranean. But his health failed and he determined to go home. He never reached his country, however. On November tenth, he died, leaving behind him an undying name—a brave officer, a great seaman, and a Christian gentleman. In memory of MacDonough, the place near which he was born has been named after him, and in the great warship “Delaware,” the largest in the present American navy, his portrait (presented by the Colonial Dames of the State) is hung with those of Admiral Jones and Admiral du Pont, to commemorate the naval heroes of Delaware.

How Once Upon A Time
Delaware Welcomed
Lafayette.

WHEN Lafayette was in America, helping us fight for liberty, he made many friends among the Delaware people. Caesar Rodney was then President of Delaware, and Lafayette was often entertained at his house. It was there that he met the beautiful Miss Vining. He and she became great friends, and for a great many years they used to write to each other.

When Washington had his headquarters in Wilmington, Lafayette came with him. He staid at the house of a Quaker, Mr. Joseph Tatnall, in Brandywine Village, just across the stream from Wilmington. General Wayne and other of Washington’s officers, were stationed at Mr. Tatnall’s house, too.

Brandywine Village was then a separate place, and not a part of Wilmington as it is now. There was no bridge across the Brandywine, and people who wished to go from one place to the other, were ferried across the stream.[1] Lafayette often crossed the Brandywine in this way. He would ride his horse on to the great clumsy boat and sit quietly while it was ferried over; then he would ride clattering off on the Wilmington side, and up the hilly streets to join Washington at his headquarters.

Often General Washington himself would cross in the ferry to Brandywine Village, and come to the Tatnall house to discuss plans of battle with Lafayette, and the other officers. These meetings were held in the back parlor; there was a large round table in the middle of the room, and on this they spread out their maps and plans. Washington kept other important papers at the Tatnall house, too. It was a safer place than his headquarters in Wilmington.

Lafayette was at this time a very gay and dashing young officer, and the Tatnall children, who were shy little Quakers, were rather afraid of him. After he had been out riding he used to come marching into the house, snapping his riding whip, and glancing about him with keen, bright eyes; his spurs jingled as he walked. The children generally ran and hid when they heard him coming,—that is all but the youngest, a pretty little girl of two or three. She never felt the least fear of the Frenchman. She would run to meet him, holding up her little bare dimpled arms for him to take her. Then Lafayette would swing her up on his shoulder, and march with her through the house. He called her “his little sweetheart.”

But one morning Lafayette and the other officers said good-bye, and went down to the ferry for the last time. His “little sweetheart” never saw him again. He had gone with Washington and his army to meet the British further north, and to fight in the battle of Brandywine.

After the Revolution was over, and the colonies were free, Lafayette went back to France, and it was almost forty years before he visited America again. In that time, there were many changes. Washington died and was buried at his beloved home, Mount Vernon. Lafayette himself had changed from a gay, dashing officer to a stately, grey-haired man of sixty-seven.

He landed at New York on August, sixteenth, 1824, and was welcomed with great honor as “the nation’s guest.” Flowers were strewn before him. In many places the horses were taken from his carriage, and it was drawn through the streets by the people themselves.

There were at that time, twenty-four states in the Union, and Lafayette wished to visit each one of them. He planned to come to Wilmington on October, sixth, so as to attend the wedding of Mr. Charles I. du Pont and Miss VanDyke, the daughter of U. S. Senator, Nicholas VanDyke, at New Castle in the evening of that day. Lafayette had known Mr. du Pont’s father in France, for they were of a French family.

Great preparations were made by all the people of Wilmington and its vicinity, (indeed from all parts of the State) to welcome Lafayette.

The day of his arrival dawned clear and bright. As early as seven o’clock in the morning all the town was astir. Fifes were sounded, drums were beaten. The Wilmington City Troop was to march up the Philadelphia pike and meet the General at the state line, between Pennsylvania and Delaware. This City Troop had been named the “Lafayette Guard,” in honor of their visitor. With the troop were to ride about two hundred of the young men of Wilmington. These young men were all dressed alike, in white trousers, blue or black coats, and high black stocks. They all wore Revolutionary cockades, and Lafayette badges. A number of the older men of Wilmington rode out with them, too, in carriages.

At the boundary line in Brandywine Hundred, near the Practical Farmer, a magnificent floral arch had been erected with the American eagle suspended in the centre, a United States flag, with a portrait of Washington underneath of it and the words:—

“DELAWARE WELCOMES LAFAYETTE.”

Advancing into the city of Wilmington, his reception was overwhelming. Flowers were strewn in his pathway; arches of evergreens, decorated with flags, had been built across Market Street at different points. From one of the arches hung a model of the ship “Brandywine,” and above it were the words, “In honor of Lafayette, the friend of Civil Liberty.”

The ladies of the town had decorated Brandywine bridge so that it was almost hidden by wreaths and flowers. It was over this bridge that Lafayette would enter the town.

It was eight o’clock when the procession set out from Wilmington and marched up the Philadelphia pike to meet the distinguished guest.

At about ten o’clock word was brought that General Lafayette was then in sight. The procession drew up in order, and as soon as Lafayette appeared the men burst into a loud shout of “Long live Lafayette!”

Lafayette rose and bowed in answer. He was riding in a barouche, and with him was his son, George Washington Lafayette. He was escorted by the First City Troop of Philadelphia, and a number of well known men.

As soon as Lafayette reached the State line where the Wilmington procession was waiting, he stepped from the barouche down into the road.

The Honorable Louis McLane came forward to meet him, and made a speech of welcome. Lafayette answered him, and in his answer he spoke of the war for liberty, in which he had fought, and of the great bravery of the Delaware regiment in that war.

Mr. McLane then asked to introduce to the General, three men who had fought in the Delaware regiment,—three of the Blue Hen’s Chickens. They were, Major Peter Jaquet, Captain Caleb P. Bennett and Colonel Allen McLane. Colonel McLane, an old man of eighty-three years, was dressed in the Colonial uniform he had worn in the war.

Other prominent citizens of Delaware were introduced, and then Lafayette stepped into the carriage that had been brought for him, and to the music of the band, the procession moved on toward Wilmington.

As they reached the top of Shellpot hill, just outside of the city, the dull boom of a cannon sounded across the sunny fields. Again it boomed, and still again, till thirteen shots had been fired, one shot for each of the thirteen original colonies. It was a salute to Lafayette.

The General was very anxious to stop in Brandywine Village, at the Tatnall house. His old friend, Joseph Tatnall, had died many years before, but his son was still living in a stone house close by.

He was standing in the doorway when Lafayette’s carriage stopped before the house. He hurried down to the street to welcome the General. He had his little son in his arms, and at a whispered word from his father, the little fellow held out a beautiful basket of Washington pears.

Lafayette took it with a smile, and thanked the child. “You were not so many years older than this little fellow, when I was here before,” said the General to the father.

“And my little sweetheart?” added the General. “What has become of her? Shall I see her?”

But the little sweetheart was dead. Years before, she had grown up and married, and then had died, leaving a daughter. Lafayette wished to see this daughter, but she was away at boarding school. Mr. Tatnall had asked the mistress of the school to allow his niece to come to him for that day, but the mistress had refused; she was so strict that she would not allow the young girl to be absent for a day, even to meet General Lafayette.

Just beyond the bridge, a great crowd of people had gathered. They cheered wildly as Lafayette’s carriage rolled across the bridge. At the same time, all the bells in the city began to ring, and so with shouts and music, and the pealing of bells, General Lafayette was welcomed back to Delaware.

The procession paraded through the streets and under the arches, and at last drew up before the City Hall, where a great feast had been made ready. About two hundred people were at the banquet.

Just as the feast was ended, an old woman pushed her way into the hall, and came to where Mr. McLane was standing. Mr. McLane knew who she was very well. Her name was Belle McClosky, and she earned her living by selling cakes and pies about the town. Wherever she went, she always carried an old musket ball in her pocket. Often she took out this ball and showed it to her customers, and boasted that she had taken it out of General Lafayette’s wound with a pair of scissors when he was wounded at the Battle of Brandywine.

Now, as soon as she reached Mr. McLane’s side, she said, “Mr. McLane, I want you to introduce me to General Lafayette.”

Mr. McLane hesitated a moment; then he said “Very well, Belle, I will do it. I know you are a true patriot, and I believe you saved many a poor soldier’s life at the time of the war.”

He then led Belle over to General Lafayette. The General spoke to her pleasantly, but he had not the least idea who she was.

“General,” said Belle, “do you remember being wounded at the Battle of Brandywine, and the young woman who took out the ball with a pair of scissors?”

“I remember very well,” answered Lafayette. “She saved me several hours of suffering. I would like to see her again, that I might thank her.”

Belle took the ball from her pocket, and held it out to him in her hand. “This is the ball,” said she, “and I am the woman who took it out, though I am so old now it is no wonder that you do not know me.”

Lafayette was amazed. He thanked her warmly, and then took the ball and looked at it. “So you have kept it all these years,” he said. “That is very curious.”

Then he gave the ball back to her, and Belle went out from the hall that day a very proud and happy woman.

Lafayette paid only one visit in Wilmington, and that was to Mrs. Connel. She was the wife of Mr. John Connel who had been very kind to some French soldiers at the time of the war between France and Russia.[2]

Later in the afternoon, the General set out for New Castle, to attend the wedding there.

New Castle had prepared to welcome him with a military salute. There were two six pound cannons in the old arsenal at New Castle, that were named the “Wasp” and the “Hornet.”

They had been moved to the northeast end of the town, near the site of old Fort Casimir, ready for use. As the procession passed Rogers’ Woods, and came in sight of New Castle, the gunners began. The cannons boomed and boomed incessantly until Lafayette had entered the house of George Read, 2nd, on Water St., where he was received, and where guards were placed at the front door to keep back the crowd.

In the evening Lafayette attended the wedding. At this wedding, he was, of course, the guest of honor. The chair where he was to sit was raised so as to be higher than any others in the room, and was wreathed about with flowers.

A great crowd gathered before the house to see General Lafayette.

Senator VanDyke, the father of the bride, gave orders that the door and windows should be left open, so that the people outside could see the General and also the wedding party.

Afterward, he went to take supper and spend the night, with George Read, 2nd, the son of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. The next morning, he was driven over to Frenchtown, Maryland, on the Elk river, where he was met and welcomed by the Marylanders.

So Lafayette passed through Delaware, on his tour through the States, and so the Delaware people welcomed him. It was a beautiful greeting, and Delaware may well be proud of the day when Lafayette was here.

NOTES