When Major Henry Knox, then a resident of Boston, was parading the company to the command of which he had just been elected, he was seen, among many who admired the young officer, by Miss Lucy Flucker, the daughter of the Secretary of the Province of Massachusetts. His noble form and martial appearance naturally attracted the attention of the young lady; and on a personal acquaintance, a mutual sentiment of regard grew up and ripened into love. Interruption to its course was threatened by the growing troubles of the times. Thomas Flucker, the father of Lucy, who had long held office under the British government, adhered to the royal side amidst popular discontent. The maiden had adopted her lover's views and feelings. In the gathering storm, the time came when her decision was to be made. It was made with a true woman's faith and self-devotion; and she pledged herself to the fortunes of a soldier's wife. The separation from her family that became necessary, was a painful trial, but submitted to with firmness and resolution. Mr. Flucker and his family removed from the country soon after the battle of Lexington; and Mrs. Knox, with her husband, joined the American army at Cambridge. From this time she adhered to her determination to encounter the perils and hardships incident to a military life. Neither her courage nor her powers of endurance failed. When Boston was occupied by the British, she escaped with her husband; and in their precipitate retreat, it is said that she concealed the sword he wore through the war, by having it quilted within the lining of her cloak.
In various journals we find the presence of Mrs. Knox noticed in camp. Chastellux describes the hut on a small farm where she lived with her children, a short distance from head-quarters at Verplanck's Point.
Whenever her health permitted, she followed the army: and it is represented that her presence and cheerful manners did much to diffuse contentment and enliven dreary scenes. The soldiers could not murmur at privations which she endured without complaint. Sad it is, that no record remains of the ministrations of women in thus softening war's grim features. The good they did, however, was at the time acknowledged with respectful gratitude. There is reason to believe that General Knox often deferred to his wife's judgment, regarding her as a superior being; and it is said that her influence and superiority were owned by Washington himself. Her mind was undoubtedly of a high order, and her character a remarkable one. She appears to have possessed an ascendancy over all with whom she associated. After the close of the struggle, while General Knox held the office of Secretary of War, his wife's position was next to that of Mrs. Washington, whom she advised in matters of ceremony. Mrs. Knox had a taste for the management and show of public life, and was a leader of the ton in the social circles at the seat of government. When the General retired from the political arena, she accompanied him to his—or rather her estates in Maine. She had inherited a share of the domain on Penobscot River and Bay which belonged to her mother's father, General Waldo, the proprietor of the Waldo patent in Maine. The property had been confirmed by government to her and General Knox after the peace.
Their residence was at Thomaston, in a splendid mansion at the head of St. George's River, furnished with taste and elegance. Here the soldier enjoyed the honors he had won, and spent his time in the indulgence of his literary tastes, and the companionship of his friends. His hospitality was unbounded, and numerous visitors frequented his house. *
* Sullivan, in his "Familiar Letters on Public Characters," speaks of the hospitality of Knox at his superb mansion. It was not unusual for him in summer, when visited by great numbers of his friends, to kill an ox and twenty sheep every Monday morning, and to have a hundred beds made up daily in the house. He kept for his own use and that of his friends, twenty saddle horses and several pairs of carriage horses in his stables. This expensive style of living encroached greatly on his means.
The influence of "Madam Knox," as she was called, on all within the circle of her acquaintance, was decided; and she shared the lot of all remarkable persons, in having enemies as well as friends. Tradition speaks much of her; but little of what is said is sufficiently well authenticated to relate. With rare powers of conversation, a memory stored with interesting incidents, and much knowledge of the world, she was, when she pleased, one of the most charming and entertaining of women; and her society was much sought by men of taste and talent, while the unreserved expression of her opinions to those with whom she conversed, sometimes displeased persons who could not appreciate the independence of an original and intelligent mind. The military life of which she had partaken, and her association with those in command, with her engrossing interest in political measures, perhaps imparted a tone to her character and deportment; none, it is said, could forget her superiority of intellect, though in her the loftier qualities of woman's nature were softened by the generous feelings that impel to the kindly courtesies and charities of life. Having accompanied her husband through the vicissitudes of an eight years' war—and shared with him the splendors of exalted public station—she was content to retire with him to the privacy of domestic life, and devote her talents to the education of her children. Her taste created the elegance that surrounded the General's home, and diffused a beneficial influence throughout the section of country in which they resided. With her strong mind and remarkable traits of character, it is not singular that the popular remembrance of her should be abiding, as of one who had filled more than the ordinary sphere of a woman. She had ten children, only three of whom lived beyond infancy. She lived at her place after the death of General Knox, continuing active in her charities, and in the exercise of hospitality, during her almost eighteen years of widowhood. She died in 1824.
The manuscript correspondence of General Gates, now in the library of the New York Historical Society, contains many letters addressed to Mrs. Gates, and some written by her. Although these give no detail of her personal history, they throw light upon some points in her character, showing that she was an efficient helpmate as well as an intelligent companion to her husband in all affairs that came properly under her supervision. She was undoubtedly well skilled in the art of managing the concerns of the household and farm, and acquainted with their details. Her interest in public affairs is however, not the less manifest. Colonel Wilkinson announces to her the news of the victory at Saratoga; and continual allusions in the correspondence show that she closely observed the progress of events. Her letter to the Count D'Estaing in acknowledgment of the compliments paid her husband, may serve to show that she could write both with ease and grace.
Danbury, Oct., 1778. Sir:
The terms in which your Excellency has expressed your esteem for General Gates are so personally obliging, that I am afraid I am rather more grieved than pure patriotism permits, that I cannot at this time send you his portrait. It is in Virginia.
If I can have it in time before you leave these parts, I need not assure you, Sir, that my partiality to the General will be such powerful inducement to my transmitting it to the painter you have directed to copy it, that you may depend on the gratification of what your kindness to the General has made you wish for.
With all the gratitude which the honor you feel inclined to confer on General Gates entitles you to from his family, and with the respect your personal merit commands from all, I have the honor to be, Sir, your Excellency's most humble and most obedient servant. *
* From the original MS.
The maiden name of Mrs. Gates was Phillips. She was the daughter of a British officer. She and the General resided several years on their estate in Berkeley County, Virginia. They afterwards removed to New York, and fixed their abode at the country seat near the city which received the name of Rosehill. Here General Gates appears to have enjoyed a happy retirement, cheered by visits from his friends, for whom "my Mary" had always a cordial welcome.
When the news reached Connecticut that blood had been shed, Putnam, who was at work in the field, left his plow in the furrow, and started for Cambridge without delaying to change his apparel. Stark was sawing pine logs without a coat; he shut down the gate of his mill, and commenced the journey to Boston in his shirt-sleeves. * The same spirit prevailed far and near. The volunteers waited not to be supplied with arms, but seizing on whatever rude weapons were at hand, hastened away to fight for home and liberty. The women, lacking not their share of patriotic zeal, were active in preparations to encourage, assist, and sustain them. Among many whose persevering exertions were ready and efficient, Mrs. Draper is still remembered with admiration by those who knew her. ** She was the wife of Captain Draper, of Dedham, Massachusetts, and lived on a farm. Her house, which was always a home for the destitute while occupied by her, is yet standing, and is owned by one of her descendants. It was her abode to the age of one hundred years.
* Sabine.
** The facts were communicated by a lady who was well acquainted with Mrs. Draper, and has often heard her relate particulars of the war.
Mrs. Draper felt the deepest sympathy for the hardships inevitably encountered by the newly raised troops, and considered the limited means she possessed not as her own property, but belonging to her distressed country. When the first call to arms sounded throughout the land, she exhorted her husband to lose no time in hastening to the scene of action; and with her own hands bound knapsack and blanket on the shoulders of her only son, a stripling of sixteen, bidding him depart and do his duty. To the entreaties of her daughter that her young brother might remain at home to be their protector, she answered that every arm able to aid the cause belonged to the country. "He is wanted and must go. You and I, Kate, have also service to do. Food must be prepared for the hungry; for before to-morrow night, hundreds, I hope thousands, will be on their way to join the continental forces. Some who have travelled far will need refreshment, and you and I, with Molly, must feed as many as we can."
This undertaking, though of no small labor, was presently commenced. Captain Draper was a thriving farmer; his granaries were well filled, and his wife's dairy was her special care and pride. All the resources at her command were in requisition to contribute to her benevolent purpose. Assisted by her daughter and the domestic, she spent the whole day and night, and the succeeding day, in baking brown bread. The ovens of that day were not the small ones now in use, but were suited for such an occasion, each holding bread sufficient to supply a neighborhood. By good fortune two of these monster ovens appertained to the establishment, as is frequently the case in New England. These were soon in full blast, and the kneading trough was plied by hands that shrank not from the task. At that time of hurry and confusion, none could stop long enough to dine. The people were under the influence of strong excitement, and all were in such haste to join the army, that they stayed only to relieve the cravings of hunger, though from want of food, and fatigue, many were almost exhausted. With the help of a disabled veteran of the French war, who had for years resided in her family, Mrs. Draper had soon her stores in readiness. A long form was erected by the road-side; large pans of bread and cheese were placed upon it, and replenished as often as was necessary; while old John brought cider in pails from the cellar, which, poured into tubs, was served out by two lads who volunteered their services. Thus were the weary patriots refreshed on their way. Mrs. Draper presided at the entertainment; and when her own stock of provisions began to fail, applied to her neighbors for aid. By their contributions her hospitable board was supplied, till in a few days the necessity for extraordinary exertion had in a measure passed, and order and discipline took the place of popular tumult. When each soldier carried his rations, the calls on private benevolence were less frequent and imperative.
But ere long came the startling intelligence, after the battle of Bunker Hill, that a scarcity of ammunition had been experienced. General Washington called upon the inhabitants to send to head-quarters every ounce of lead or pewter at their disposal, saying that any quantity, however small, would be gratefully received.
This appeal could not be disregarded. It is difficult at this day to estimate the value of pewter as an ornamental as well as indispensable convenience. The more precious metals had not then found their way to the tables of New Englanders; and throughout the country, services of pewter, scoured to the brightness of silver, covered the board, even in the mansions of the wealthy. Few withheld their portion in that hour of the country's need; and noble were the sacrifices made in presenting their willing offerings. Mrs. Draper was rich in a large stock of pewter, which she valued as the ornament of her house. Much of it was precious to her as the gift of a departed mother. But the call reached her heart, and she delayed not obedience, thankful that she was able to contribute so largely to the requirements of her suffering country. Her husband before joining the army had purchased a mould for casting bullets, to supply himself and son with this article of warfare. Mrs. Draper was not satisfied with merely giving the material required, when she could possibly do more; and her platters, pans, and dishes were soon in process of transformation into balls.
The approach of winter brought fears that the resources of the country would hardly yield supplies for the pressing wants of the army. Mrs. Draper was one of the most active in efforts to meet the exigencies of the times; and hesitated at no sacrifice of personal convenience to increase her contributions. The supply of domestic cloth designed for her family was in a short time converted by her labor, assisted by that of her daughter and maid, into coats for the soldiers: the sheets and blankets with which her presses were stored, were fashioned into shirts; and even the flannel already made up for herself and daughter, was altered into men's habiliments. Such was the aid rendered by women whose deeds of disinterested generosity were never known beyond their own immediate neighborhood!
Another anecdote may here be mentioned, illustrative of the spirit that was abroad. On the morning after the battle of Lexington, a company of nearly a hundred halted before the house of Colonel Pond of West Dedham. They had marched all night, and were covered with dust, and faint from fatigue and want of food. Their haste was urgent, and the mistress of the house whose hospitality they claimed, was unprepared for the entertainment of so large a party. Her husband was absent with the army, and she had only one female assistant and a hired man. But the willing heart can do wonders. In a few minutes she had a large brass kettle holding ten pails full, over the fire, filled with water and Indian meal for hasty pudding. In the barnyard were ten cows ready to contribute their share to the morning meal. Near the farm-house was a store well supplied with brown earthen dishes, and pewter spoons tied in dozens for sale. The military guests volunteered their aid. Some milked the cows, others stirred the pudding; while the two domestics collected all the milk in the neighborhood. Thus, in the short space of an hour, by the energetic efforts of one kind-hearted woman, a hundred weary, hungry soldiers were provided with refreshment. They ate, and marched on to the place of their destination; receiving encouragement, it cannot be doubted, from this simple manifestation of good-will, which was not soon forgotten.
General Wilkinson, who was personally acquainted with Madame de Riedesel, published fragments of her journal in his Memoirs. He calls her "the amiable, accomplished, and dignified baroness."—"I have more than once," he says, "seen her charming blue eyes bedewed with tears, at the recital of her sufferings." The regard she inspired, however, was not due entirely to admiration of her loveliness; for others in the American ranks, as well as in Europe, were deeply interested in her account of her adventures.
Frederica Charlotte Louisa, the daughter of Mas-sow, the Prussian Minister of State, was born in Brandenburgh, in 1746. Her father was Intendant General of the allied army at Minden, where, at the age of seventeen, she married Lieutenant Colonel Baron de Riedesel. In the war of the Revolution, he was appointed to the command of the Brunswick forces in the British service in America, and his wife followed him in 1777, with her three young children. Her journal, and letters addressed to her mother, describe her travels with the camp through various parts of the country, and the occurrences she witnessed. These papers, intended only for a circle of the writer's friends, were first published by her son-in-law in Germany in 1801, shortly after the death of General Riedesel. Portions having been copied into periodicals, and read with interest, the whole was translated, and presented to the American public. It forms an appropriate appendix to the history of the period, with its graphic pictures of scenes in the war and the state of society, and its notices of distinguished men. But it is still more valuable as exhibiting an example of female energy, fortitude, and conjugal devotion. The moral is the more striking as drawn from the experience of a woman of rank, subjected to dangers and privations from which the soldier might have shrunk. The readiness with which she hastened to cross the ocean that she might bear her husband company through toils or want, or suffering, or death, the courage with which she encountered perils, and the cheerful resignation displayed under trials felt the more severely for the sake of those she loved, present a touching picture of fidelity and tenderness. After she has joined her husband in Canada, and is again separated from him, she thinks only of joy at being permitted at last to follow the army. Obliged to pass the night on a lonely island, where the only shelter is a half-finished house, and the only couch a cluster of bushes over which the traveller's cloaks are spread, she utters no murmur, nor complains of the scarcity of food. "A soldier," she says, "put a pot to the fire. I asked him what it contained. 'Some potatoes,' quoth he, 'which I brought with me.' I threw a longing glance at them; but as they were few, it would have been cruel to deprive him of them. At last my desire to have some for my children overcame my diffidence; and he gave me half his little provision (about twelve potatoes), and took at the same time from his pocket two or three ends of candles, which I accepted with pleasure; for my children were afraid to remain in the dark. A dollar which I gave him made him as happy as his liberality had made me."
With her three children, the Baroness proceeded to meet her husband at Fort Edward. When the army broke up the encampment, she would not remain behind. Her spirits rose at the observation of General Burgoyne on the passage across the Hudson—"Britons never retrograde." The action at Freeman's Farm took place in her hearing, and some of the wounded were brought to the house where she was. Among them was a young English officer, an only son, whose sufferings excited her deepest sympathy, and whose last moans she heard. A calash was ordered for her further progress with the army. They marched through extensive forests, and a beautiful district, deserted by the inhabitants, who were gone to re-enforce General Gates.
The Diary gives a touching account of the scenes passed through at the memorable conclusion of Bur-goyne's campaign, with the battles of Saratoga. "On the seventh of October," she says, "our misfortunes began." Generals Burgoyne, Phillips, and Frazer, with the Baron, were to dine with her on that day. She had observed in the morning an unusual movement in the camp; and had seen a number of armed Indians in their war dresses, who answered "War! war!" to her inquiries whither they were going. As the dinner hour approached, an increased tumult, the firing, and the yelling of the savages, announced the approaching battle. The roar of artillery became louder and more incessant. At four o'clock, instead of the guests invited, General Frazer was brought in mortally wounded. The table, already prepared for dinner, was removed to make room for his bed. The Baroness, terrified by the noise of the conflict raging without, expected every moment to see her husband also led in pale and helpless. Towards night he came to the house, dined in haste, and desired his wife to pack up her camp furniture, and be ready for removal at an instant's warning. His dejected countenance told the disastrous result. Lady Ackland, whose tent was adjoining, was presently informed that her husband was wounded, and a prisoner! Thus through the long hours till day the kind ministries of the Baroness were demanded by many sufferers. "I divided the night," she says, "between her I wished to comfort, and my children who were asleep, but who I feared might disturb the poor dying General. Several times he begged my pardon for the trouble he thought he gave me. About three o'clock I was informed he could not live much longer; and as I did not wish to be present at his last struggle, I wrapped my children in blankets, and retired into the room below. At eight in the morning he expired."
All day the cannonade continued, while the melancholy spectacle of the dead was before their eyes. The women attended the wounded soldiers who were brought in, like ministering angels. In the afternoon the Baroness saw the house that had been built for her in flames.
Frazer's last request had been that he should be buried at six in the evening, in the great redoubt on the hill; and the retreat was delayed for this purpose. The generals, with their retinues, followed the honored corpse to the spot, in the midst of a heavy fire from the Americans; for General Gates knew not that it was a funeral procession. The women stood in full view of this impressive and awful scene, so eloquently described by Burgoyne himself:
"The incessant cannonode during the solemnity; the steady attitude and unaltered voice with which the chaplain officiated, though frequently covered with dust which the shot threw up on all sides of him; the mute but expressive mixture of sensibility and indignation upon every countenance; these objects will remain to the last of life upon the mind of every man who was present."
The deepening shadows of evening closed around the group thus rendering the last service to one of their number, while each might anticipate his own death in the next report of artillery. A subject was presented for the pencil of a master. An appropriate side-piece to the picture might represent the group of anxious females who shared the peril, regardless of themselves. "Many cannon-balls," says Madame de Riedesel, "flew close by me; but I had my eyes directed towards the mountain where my husband was standing amidst the fire of the enemy; and of course I did not think of my own danger."
That night the army commenced its retreat, leaving the sick and wounded; a flag of truce waving over the hospital thus abandoned to the mercy of the foe. The rain fell in torrents all day of the 9th, and it was dark when they reached Saratoga. The Baroness suffered cruel suspense as to the fate of her husband. She had taken charge of some valuables belonging to the officers, and having no place to change her drenched apparel, lay down with her children upon some straw by the fire. Her provisions were shared the next day with the officers; and being insufficient to satisfy their hunger, she made an appeal to the Adjutant-General in their behalf. Again the alarm of battle, and reports of muskets and cannon, drove them to seek shelter in a house, which was fired at under the impression that the generals were there. It was occupied by women and crippled soldiers. They were obliged at last to descend into the cellar, where the Baroness laid herself in a corner, supporting her children's heads on her knees. The night was passed in the utmost terror and anguish; and with the morning the terrible cannonade commenced anew. So it continued for several days. But in the midst of the dreadful scenes, when the Baron spoke of sending his family to the American camp, the heroic wife declared that nothing would be so painful to her as to owe safety to those with whom he was fighting. He then consented that she should continue to follow the army. "However," she says—"the apprehension that he might have marched away, repeatedly entered my mind; and I crept up the staircase more than once to dispel my fears. When I saw our soldiers near their watchfires, I became more calm, and could even have slept.
"The want of water continuing to distress us, we could not but be extremely glad to find a soldier's wife so spirited as to fetch some from the river, an occupation from which the boldest might have shrunk, as the Americans shot every one who approached it. They told us afterwards that they spared her on account of her sex.
"I endeavored to dispel my melancholy by continually attending to the wounded. I made them tea and coffee, and often shared my dinner with them. One day a Canadian officer came creeping into our cellar, and was hardly able to say that he was dying with hunger, I felt happy to offer him my dinner, by eating which he recovered his health, and I gained his friendship."
At length the danger was over.
"A gallant army formed their last array
Upon that field, in silence and deep gloom,
And at their conquerors' feet
Laid their war weapons down.
"Sullen and stern—disarmed but not dishonored;
Brave men—but brave in vain—they yielded there;—
The soldier's trial task
Is not alone * to die.'"
On the seventeenth, the capitulation was carried into effect. The generals waited upon Gates, and the troops surrendered themselves prisoners of war. "At last," writes the fair Riedesel, "my husband's groom brought me a message to join him with the children. I once more seated myself in my dear calash; and while driving through the American camp, was gratified to observe that nobody looked at us with disrespect; but on the contrary, greeted us, and seemed touched at the sight of a captive mother with three children. I must candidly confess that I did not present myself, though so situated, with much courage to the enemy. When I drew near the tents, a fine-looking man advanced towards me, helped the children from the calash, and kissed and caressed them. He then offered me his arm, and tears trembled in his eyes. "You tremble, madam," said he; "do not be alarmed, I beg of you."
"Sir," cried I—"a countenance so expressive of benevolence, and the kindness you have evinced towards my children, are sufficient to dispel all apprehension." He then ushered me into the tent of General Gates, whom I found engaged in friendly conversation with Generals Burgoyne and Phillips. General Burgoyne said to me—"you can now be quiet and free from all apprehension of danger." I replied that I should indeed be reprehensible, if I felt any anxiety, when our general was on such friendly terms with General Gates.
"All the generals remained to dine with the American commander. The gentleman who had received me with so much kindness, came and said to me: "You may find it embarrassing to be the only lady in so large a company of gentlemen. Will you come with your children to my tent, and partake of a frugal dinner, offered with the best will?"
"You show me so much kindness," replied I, "I cannot but believe that you are a husband and a father." He informed me that he was General Schuyler. The dinner was of excellent smoked tongues, beefsteaks, potatoes, fresh butter, and bread. Never did a meal give me so much pleasure. I was easy after many months of anxiety, and I read the same happy change in the countenances of those around me. That my husband was out of danger, was a still greater cause of joy. After our dinner, General Schuyler begged me to pay him a visit at his house near Albany, where he expected that General Burgoyne would also be his guest. I sent to ask my husband's directions, who advised me to accept the invitation. We were two days' journey from Albany, and as it was now five o'clock in the afternoon, he wished me to endeavor to reach, on that day, a place distant about three hour's ride. General Schuyler carried his civilities so far as to solicit a well-bred French officer to accompany me on that first part of my journey. As soon as he saw me safely established in the house where I was to remain, he went back to the General.
"We reached Albany, where we had so often wished ourselves; but did not enter that city, as we had hoped, with a victorious army. Our reception, however, from General Schuyler, and his wife and daughters, was not like the reception of enemies, but of the most intimate friends. They loaded us with kindness; and they behaved in the same manner towards General Burgoyne, though he had without any necessity ordered their splendid establishment to be burnt. All their actions proved that at the sight of the misfortunes of others, they quickly forgot their own. Burgoyne was so much affected by this generous deportment, that he said to Schuyler: 'You are too kind to me—who have done you so much injury,' 'Such is the fate of war,' he replied; 'let us not dwell on this subject.' We remained three days with that excellent family, and they seemed to regret our departure."
General Riedesel who brooded continually on the late disastrous events, and upon his captivity, was not able to bear his troubles with the spirit and cheerfulness of his wife. He became moody and irritable; and his health was much impaired in consequence of having passed many nights in the damp air. "One day," says the Baroness, "when he was much indisposed, the American sentinels at our doors were very noisy in their merriment and drinking; and grew more so when my husband sent a message desiring them to be quiet; but as soon as I went myself, and told them the General was sick they were immediately silent. This proves that the Americans also respect our sex."
The prisoners at length reached Boston; and after a stay of three weeks, were transported to Cambridge, where Madame de Riedesel and her family were lodged in one of the best houses of the place. *
* On one of the windows of this house the name "Riedesel," written on the glass with a diamond, is still to be seen. In front; are several beautiful lime-trees, and the view is a lovely one. The house near it, which Washington occupied as his head-quarters, is now the residence of the poet Longfellow.
None of the officers were permitted to enter Boston; but Madame de Riedesel went to visit Mrs. Carter, the daughter of General Schuyler, and dined with her several times. Boston she describes as a fine city; but the inhabitants as "outrageously patriotic." The captives met in some instances with very different treatment from that which they had before encountered; and the worst, she says, from persons of her own sex. They gazed at her with indignation, and testified contempt when she passed near them. Mrs. Carter resembled her parents in mildness and goodness of heart; but the Baroness has no admiration for her husband—"this wicked Mr. Carter, who, in consequence of General Howe's having burnt several villages and small towns, suggested to his countrymen to cut off our generals' heads, to pickle them, and to put them in small barrels; and as often as the English should again burn a village—to send them one of these barrels." She here adds some sad stories of American cruelty towards the loyalists.
On the third of June, 1778, Madame de Riedesel gave a ball and supper to celebrate her husband's birthday. The British officers were invited, with Mr. and Mrs. Carter, and General Burgoyne, of whom the fair hostess records that he sent an excuse after he had made them wait till eight o'clock. "He had always some excuse," observes she—"for not visiting us, until he was about departing for England, when he came and made me many apologies; to which I made no other reply than that I should be extremely sorry if he had put himself to any inconvenience for our sake." The dance and supper were so brilliant, and so numerously attended, and the toasts drunk with such enthusiasm, that the house was surrounded with people, who began to suspect a conspiracy. The Baroness here notices the American method of telegraphing by lighting torches on surrounding heights, when they wished to call troops together. When General Howe attempted to rescue the troops detained in Boston, the inhabitants planted their torches, and a crowd of people without shoes or stockings—their rifles on their shoulders, flocked together; so that the landing would have been attended with extreme difficulty. Towards the approach of winter the prisoners received orders to set out for Virginia. The ingenuity of Madame de Riedesel devised means of preserving the colors of the German regiments, which the Americans believed they had burned. A mattress was made under her direction, into which the honorable badges were introduced. Captain O'Connell, under pretence of some commission, took the mattress to New York; and the Baroness received it again at Halifax, on their voyage from New York to Canada, and had it placed in her cabin.
A rascal on no small scale was the cook of Madame la Baronne. She had given him money for the daily expenditure—but he had paid nobody; and while preparations for the journey were going on, bills were presented to the amount of a thousand dollars. The cook was arrested; but escaping, went into the service of General Gates, who finding him too expensive, he entered into the employment of General La Fayette. The Marquis used to say, "that he was a cook only fit for a king."
The Baroness had the accommodation of an English coach in commencing her journey to Virginia, November, 1778. The provisions followed in the baggage wagon; but as that moved more slowly, they were often without food, and were obliged to make a halt every fourth day. At Hartford, General La Fayette was invited to dine by the Baron, somewhat to the perplexity of his wife, who feared she would have difficulty in preparing her provisions so as to suit one who appreciated a good dinner. The Marquis is mentioned with great respect; but Madame de Riedesel thinks the suspicions of the Americans were excited by hearing them speak French.
"We reached one day a pretty little town; but our wagon remaining behind, we were very hungry. Seeing much fresh meat in the house where we stopped, I begged the landlady to sell me some. 'I have,' quoth she, 'several sorts of meat; beef, mutton and lamb.' I said, 'let me have some; I will pay you liberally.' But snapping her fingers, she replied; 'You shall not have a morsel of it; why have you left your country to slay and rob us of our property? Now that you are our prisoners, it is our turn to vex you.' 'But,' rejoined I, 'see those poor children; they are dying of hunger.' She remained still unmoved; but when at length my youngest child, Caroline, who was then about two years and a half old, went to her, seized her hands, and said in English: 'Good woman, I am indeed very hungry,' she could no longer resist; and carrying the child to her room, she gave her an egg. 'But,' persisted the dear little one, 'I have two sisters.' Affected by this remark, the hostess gave her three eggs, saying, 'I am loth to be so weak, but I cannot refuse the child.' By-and-by she softened, and offered me bread and butter. I made tea: and saw that the hostess looked at our tea-pot with a longing eye; for the Americans are very fond of that beverage; yet they had stoutly resolved not to drink any more, the tax on tea, as is well known, having been the immediate cause of the contest with Great Britain. I offered her, however, a cup, and presented her with a paper case full of tea. This drove away all clouds between us. She begged me to go with her into the kitchen, and there I found her husband eating a piece of pork. The woman went into the cellar to bring me a basket of potatoes. When she returned into the kitchen, the husband offered her some of his dainty food; she tasted it, and returned to him what remained. I was disagreeably struck with this partnership; but the man probably thought I was envious of it, on account of the hunger I had manifested; and presented me with the little both had left. I feared by refusing, to offend them, and lose the potatoes. I therefore accepted the morsel, and having kept up the appearance as if I ate, threw it secretly into the fire. We were now in perfect amity; with the potatoes and some butter I made a good supper, and we had to ourselves three neat rooms, with very good beds."
On the banks of the Hudson, in a skipper's house, they were not so fortunate in finding good accommodations—being given the remnants of breakfast after the hostess, children, and servants had finished their meal. The woman was a staunch republican, and could not bring herself to any courtesies towards the enemies of her country. They fared a little better after crossing the river. When the aids-de-camp who accompanied them to the house where they were to lodge, wished to warm themselves in the kitchen, the host followed, and taking them by their arms, said, "Is it not enough that I give you shelter, ye wretched royalists?" His wife, however, was more amiable; and his coarseness gradually softened, till they became good friends.
They stopped one night on the road, at the house of a Colonel Howe, to whom the Baroness meant to pay a compliment by asking him if he was a relative of the general of that name. "Heaven forbid!" replied he, in great anger; "he is not worthy of that honor." Madame de Riedesel is amusingly indignant at the sanguinary temper of this gentleman's daughter, who was very pretty and only fourteen years of age. "Sitting with her near the fire, she said on a sudden, staring at the blaze, 'Oh! if I had here the king of England, with how much pleasure I could roast and eat him!' I looked at her with indignation, and said, 'I am almost ashamed to belong to a sex capable of indulging such fancies! I shall never forget that detestable girl.'"
Passing through a wild, grand, and picturesque country, they at length arrived in Virginia. At a day's distance from the place of destination, their little stock of provisions gave out. At noon they reached a house, and begged for some dinner; but all assistance was denied them, with many imprecations upon the royalists. "Seizing some maize, I begged our hostess to give me some of it to make a little bread. She replied that she needed it for her black people. 'They work for us,' she added, 'and you come to kill us.' Captain Edmonstone offered to pay her one or two guineas for a little wheat. But she answered, 'You shall not have it even for hundreds of guineas; and it will be so much the better if you all die!' The captain became so enraged at these words, that he was about to take the maize; but I prevented him from doing it, thinking we should soon meet with more charitable people. But in this I was much mistaken; for we did not see even a solitary hut. The roads were execrable, and the horses could hardly move. My children, starving from hunger, grew pale, and for the first time lost their spirits. Captain Edmonstone, deeply affected at this, went about asking for something for the children; and received at last from one of the wagoners who transported our baggage, a piece of stale bread, of three ounces weight, upon which many a tooth had already exercised its strength. Yet to my children it was at this time a delicious morsel. I broke it, and was about giving the first piece to the youngest, but she said, 'No, mamma; my sisters are more in want of it than I am.' The two eldest girls, with no less generosity, thought that little Caroline was to have the first piece. I then distributed to each her small portion. Tears ran down my cheeks; and had I ever refused to the poor a piece of bread, I should have thought retributive justice had overtaken me. Captain Edmonstone, who was much affected, presented the generous wagoner who had given us his last morsel, with a guinea; and when we were arrived at our place of destination, we provided him, besides, with bread for a part of his journey homewards."
The place of their destination was Colle, in Virginia, where General Riedesel, who had advanced with the troops, already expected them with impatient anxiety. This was about the middle of February, 1779. They had passed, in the journey, through the States of Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Maryland; and in about three months had travelled six hundred and twenty-eight miles. They hired a house belonging to an Italian who was about leaving the country. The troops were at Charlottesville, three hours' ride distant—the road thither running through a fine wood.
The life of Madame de Riedesel and her family in Virginia was not an unhappy one, though they suffered from the heat during the summer. The General was brought home one day with a coup de soleil, which for years afterwards affected his health. His physician and acquaintances advised him to go to Frederic Springs. It was there that he and his wife became acquainted with General Washington's family, and with some other amiable persons attached to the American cause.
While at Frederic Springs, General Riedesel received the news that he and General Phillips, with their aids-de-camp, were expected in New York, where they were to be exchanged for American prisoners. He returned to Colle, to place the troops during his absence, under the care of Colonel Specht. In August, 1779, the Baroness left the Springs to join her husband in Pennsylvania, stopping near Baltimore to pay a visit to one of the ladies with whom, though of opposite political opinions, she had formed a friendship at the Springs. This visit was a charming episode in the troubled life of Madame de Riedesel. She remembered long after, with gratitude, the hospitality and kindness received. "The loyalists," she says, "received us with frank hospitality, from political sympathy; and those of opposite principles gave us a friendly welcome, merely from habit; for in that country it would be considered a crime to behave otherwise towards strangers."
At Elizabethtown they met with many friends to their cause. They were exulting in the anticipation of an exchange, and restoration to freedom, when an officer arrived, commissioned by Washington to deliver to General Phillips a letter containing an order to return to Virginia—Congress having rejected the proposal of a cartel. The disappointment was excessive, but unavoidable; and after a day's halt, they commenced their journey back. On reaching Bethlehem, the two Generals, Riedesel and Phillips, obtained permission to remain there till the difficulties respecting the cartel should be removed. Their bill, after six weeks' lodging for the party, with the care of their horses, amounted to thirty-two thousand dollars in paper money, corresponding to about four hundred guineas in specie. A traveller who bought silver coin, gave them eighty dollars in paper money for every dollar in silver, and thus enabled them to leave the place, when at last permitted to go to New York.
Arrived at New York, a soldier went before the travellers "from the gate of the city," to show the way to their lodging. This proved to be the house of the Governor, General Tryon, where the Baroness made herself at home with her children and attendants, under the belief that they had been conducted to a hotel. She received visits here from General Patterson, the Commandant of the city; and also from Generals Cornwallis and Clinton; and had a romantic introduction to her host, who did not announce his name at the first visit, nor till she had expressed a wish to become personally acquainted with him.
Madame de Riedesel went from the city to General Clinton's country-seat, a mile distant, where her children were inoculated for the small-pox. When the danger of infection was over, they returned and spent the winter in New York. The charming country seat was again their residence in the summer of 1780. The situation was uncommonly beautiful; around the house were meadows and orchards, with the Hudson at their feet; and they had abundance of delicious fruit. General Clinton visited them frequently, and the last time was accompanied by Major André, the day before he set out on his fatal expedition.
The breaking out of a malignant fever, which made dreadful ravages in the city and neighborhood, disturbed their pleasure. In the house no less than twenty were laboring under the disease. The Baron himself was dangerously ill; and the cares and nursing devolved on his wife, who was worn out with anxiety. "We were one day," she says, "in anxious expectation of our physician from New York, my husband's symptoms having become of late more and more threatening. He was continually in a lethargic stupor, and when I presented him the sago water, which the physician had ordered for him, he turned round, desiring me to let him die quietly. He thought his end must be near. The physician having entered the room at that moment, I urgently begged him to tell me the truth, and to let me know if there was any hope of my husband's recovery. He had scarcely said 'Yes,' when my children, on hearing this merciful word, sprang from under a table where they had lain concealed in dreadful expectation of the doctor's sentence, threw themselves at his feet, and kissed his hands with rapturous feelings of gratitude. Nobody could have witnessed the scene without sharing my deep emotion."
..."Out of thirty persons of whom our family consisted, ten only escaped the disease. It is astonishing how much the frail human creature can endure; and I am amazed that I survived such hard trials. My happy temperament permitted me even to be gay and cheerful, whenever my hopes were encouraged. The best health is often undermined by such sufferings; still I rejoice to think I had it in my power to be useful to those who are dearest to me; and that without my exertions, I might have lost those who now contribute so much to my felicity. At length all my patients were cured."
In the autumn Generals Phillips and Riedesel were exchanged; although the rest of the army who surrendered at Saratoga still remained prisoners. General Clinton wished to replace the Baron in active service, and appointed him Lieutenant General, investing him with the command at Long Island. A second dangerous attack of fever so impaired his health, that the physicians thought he could never recover as long as he resided in that climate. But he would not leave the army, nor ask a furlough.
In the following spring, the Baroness was established on Long Island. Her husband's health mended slowly; and his thoughts being often fixed on the remnant of his late regiments, which had remained in Canada, General Clinton at length consented that he should pay them a visit. Being about to depart in July, Madame de Riedesel sent the residue of their wood—about thirty cords—to some poor families, and took but a few articles of furniture, returning the rest to the commissary of the army. They at last embarked for Canada, and reached Quebec after a journey of about two months, in September, 1781.
Madame de Riedesel gives a pleasing description of her life in Canada, which seems to have been very agreeable. She had an opportunity of observing the habits of the Indians, some of whom were under her husband's command. Before she joined him on her first arrival in Canada, one of the savages, having heard that M. de Riedesel was ill, that he was married, and felt uneasy on account of the delay in his wife's arrival, came with his own wife, and said to the General; "I love my wife—but I love thee also; in proof of which I give her to thee." The Indian seemed distressed and almost offended at the refusal of his gift. It is somewhat remarkable that this man was by birth a German, who had been taken prisoner by the savages when about fifteen years of age.
In the summer of 1783, the General having received news of the death of his father, became impatient to return to Europe. They made all necessary arrangements for the voyage, and after the troops had embarked, were accompanied by many of their friends to the vessel.
General and Madame de Riedesel were graciously received by the king and queen of Great Britain when they reached London. Their return to Germany was welcomed by their old friends and acquaintance; and the fair traveller rejoiced on seeing her husband once more "standing in the midst of his soldiers, and a multitude of parents, wives, children, brothers and sisters, who either rejoiced at meeting again their relatives who had been so long absent, or mourned over the loss of those who had been long missed and expected."
It is to be presumed that the after life of one who possessed a spirit so generous and cheerful, was happy. The record of her sojourn in America impresses the reader with feelings of admiration and esteem for her. Such details have a value beyond that of a mere narration of facts; they illustrate character, and add the warm coloring of life to the outlines of history. They afford light by which we can more clearly read the great lessons in the story of battle and victory. In the midst of our enthusiasm for the achievement of Saratoga, we do not lose pity for the disasters that accompanied the triumph. We see courtesy and humanity prevailing in the midst of the strife, and honor both the opposing principles of loyalty and patriotism. "If the figures of the picture are at first fierce and repulsive—the figures of brethren armed against brethren, of mercenary Germans and frantic savages, Canadian rangers and American ploughmen, all bristling together with the horrid front of war—what a charm of contrast is presented, when among these stern and forbidding groups is beheld the form of a Christian woman moving to and fro, disarming the heart of every emotion but reverence, softening the misfortunes of defeat, and checking the elation of victory!"
After the death of General Riedesel, in 1800, the Baroness fixed her residence at Berlin, where she died, on the 29th of March, 1808. She established here an asylum for military orphans, and an almshouse for the poor in Brunswick.
She was long remembered, with her interesting family, in Virginia, as well as in other parts of the continent. She is described as full in figure, and possessing no small share of beauty. Some of her foreign habits rendered her rather conspicuous; such as riding in boots, and in what was then called, "the European fashion;" and she was sometimes charged with carelessness in her attire. She was visited by many families in the neighborhood of Charlottesville.