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ELSIE ON THE HUDSON AND ELSEWHERE

BY

MARTHA FINLEY

AUTHOR OF THE ELSIE BOOKS, THE MILDRED BOOKS, "WANTED, A PEDIGREE," ETC.

NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS

THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, RAHWAY, N. J.

NOTE.

For information in regard to the events of our two wars with England, the author is largely indebted to Lossing's historical works—The Field Books of the Revolution and of the War of 1812.

M. F.

ELSIE ON THE HUDSON

CHAPTER I.

Crag Cottage was almost overflowingly full the first night after the arrival of its young mistress and her friends, but with a little contrivance all were comfortably accommodated. Most of them, weary with their journey, slept rather late in the morning, but Captain Raymond and his eldest daughter were as usual out of doors—out in the grounds—early enough to enjoy the beautiful sight of the rising of the sun over the eastern mountains. They met upon the front porch just in time to walk down together to Evelyn's favorite summer house on the edge of the cliff, before the king of day showed his bright face peeping above those eastern heights.

"Oh, what a lovely sight!" exclaimed Lucilla. "I am so glad, papa, that we are out in time to see it."

"Yes," he said, "it is worth the giving up of an extra hour of sleep. Especially as we can take that during the day if we feel the need of it. I would never have you do without needed sleep, daughter. There is nothing gained by it in the end."

"No, papa, but I think I do not need so much as do some others,—Gracie, for instance,—and I do so enjoy these early walks and talks with you—the dearest father that ever any girl had, I am sure," she added, giving him a look of ardent affection.

"Ah, but you must remember there are some fathers you haven't tried," he returned with a slight laugh of amusement, but accompanied by a fond pressure of the pretty white hand she had slipped into his.

"Yet I am just as sure as if I had tried them all, father," she laughed. "There may perhaps be some few nearly as good, but I know they can't be any better. Oh, see! yonder is a yacht coming up the river. I wish it was ours."

"Possibly it may be. Look again," her father said.

"Oh, is it, papa?" she asked eagerly. "Did you order it brought here?"

"I did; and thought it might arrive some time to-day."

"And it is—it is the Dolphin! I'm so glad! How nice in you, papa, to have it come to us so soon; for now we can supplement Eva's sleeping accommodations and take delightful little trips up and down the river."

"Yes; that was my idea in having the vessel brought here. There are a number of historical scenes along the Hudson's banks which I have no doubt you and the others would like to visit."

"Oh, yes, indeed, papa! and the very pleasantest way to do it will be in our own yacht—with Captain Raymond to take charge of us and it," she added with a bright smile up into his face. "Oh, the yacht seems to be heading for the little landing down at the foot of the hill! Can't we run down and get aboard of her just to take a peep, here and there, and see that all is right for us to move into the staterooms whenever we will?"

"Yes, come along, daughter. I think we can go and come back again before the summons to breakfast," he replied, leading the way as he spoke. They reached the landing just as the Dolphin had anchored and thrown out a plank to the shore.

"Oh, how bright and fresh she looks!" exclaimed Lulu.

"Yes—outside," laughed her father. "We will go aboard and see whether the same can be said of the inside," he added, leading her carefully onward till they reached the deck.

"Lovely!" she exclaimed as they stepped upon it; "everything is as spick-and-span as possible."

"I am glad indeed that it pleases you, Miss Raymond," said the man in charge, coming hastily forward to greet and welcome them. "I hope you too are satisfied, sir?"

"Perfectly, so far as I have yet examined," returned Captain Raymond in a cheery tone. "You had good weather for your trip up the coast. Mr. Bailey?"

"Yes, sir, yes; indeed, couldn't have asked finer. Hope you all arrived safely and well?"

"Yes, thank you, and I expect to make pretty constant and good use of the yacht. There could hardly be a better place for it than this river."

"No, sir; I think not."

With Lucilla by his side, the captain went here and there, satisfying himself that everything was in perfect order, exchanging kindly greetings with the sailors, and bestowing words of praise upon their care of the vessel.

"She seems in excellent condition," he said, "and I perceive no dirt or disorder. I should not blush to show her to the highest dignitary in the land."

"I hope not, sir," returned Mr. Bailey with a gratified smile; "and I think if anything were wrong no eyes would detect it sooner than those of her owner."

"Now let us go below, papa," said Lucilla. "I quite want to take a peep into my own cosey stateroom."

"Yes, so you shall," he returned, leading the way.

"Oh!" cried Lulu as they stepped into the saloon; "I see you have been making some changes here, father; and they are all improvements. What lovely carpets and curtains!"

"I am glad you like them," he said with a smile, as she turned toward him with a look of surprise and delight. "The old ones were looking considerably the worse for the wear, and the good parts I knew would be acceptable and useful in another place."

"Oh, yes, I am sure of that," she said in reply, as she hastened to the door of her own little bedroom and threw it open. "Oh, this looks as neat, sweet, and pretty as possible!" she exclaimed joyously. "Can't Gracie and I occupy it to-night, papa? Won't you let us?"

"Probably; if matters are so arranged that your mamma and I, with the younger ones, can be here also. Now," consulting his watch, "we will take a hasty look at the other staterooms and then hurry back to the cottage on the crag; lest we keep Evelyn's breakfast waiting."

"I am so glad the yacht is here, papa," Lucilla said as they walked up the winding path that led to Crag Cottage. "I felt last night as if it were an imposition for so many of us to crowd into Evelyn's small house—even though we were there by her own invitation; and yet I was afraid she might feel hurt if we should go off very speedily to some house of entertainment."

"Yes," returned her father; "but it will be all right now, I think. If I had known you were so troubled about the matter, I should have told you I was expecting the Dolphin."

"But you didn't because you wanted to give me and all the rest a pleasant surprise?" she said questioningly, and with a loving look up into his eyes.

"Yes, that was it. You are as good at guessing as a Yankee."

"But I am a Yankee, am I not?" she laughed.

"Yes; you certainly belong to the universal Yankee nation; as did your ancestors for several generations. Both mine and your mother's were here long before the Revolution."

"A fact which I think is something to rejoice over," she said in joyous tones.

"Therefore something to be thankful for," he said in a tone between assertion and inquiry.

"Oh, yes, sir; yes, indeed! I am very glad and thankful that you are my father and I am your child."

"And I that you are my own dearly loved daughter," he said in response.

"Ah," as a turn in the walk brought the house into full view, "I see we are no longer the only ones up and about"—for nearly all the guests were now gathered upon the porch or wandering to and fro under the trees or among the flower beds near at hand.

"Oh, yonder come papa and Lu!" shouted Ned at the same moment, starting on a run toward them, quickly followed by his cousins, the Leland boys.

"Good-morning, papa and Lu," "Good-morning, uncle and Lu," cried the three as they drew near. Eric adding: "Have you been down by the river? and is there a walk along down by the waters edge?"

"In some places," his uncle answered, "but you can go down and see for yourselves after breakfast."

"Oh, yes; I presume we can get permission; especially if papa or you will go with us, Uncle Levis."

"It would be still pleasanter to go up and down the river in a boat though," remarked Ned, taking possession of his father's hand as they all moved on toward the house. "Papa, can't you have our yacht brought here for us to go in?"

"I suppose that might be possible," was the smiling rejoinder.

"Oh, that would be splendid, uncle," exclaimed the two Leland boys in a breath.

"Yes," said Ned; "for then we could go every day, and all day, if we wanted to. I mean, if papa and the rest of the grown folks thought best."

But now they had reached the house, and morning greetings were the order of the moment. Everyone was well, in good spirits, and ready to answer with alacrity the summons of the breakfast bell which presently sounded out.

Naturally, their talk turned principally upon the plans for the best manner of spending the next few weeks, in order to gain all possible pleasure and information from their brief sojourn in that part of the country.

"Papa," said Grace, "I should like to see every place along this river that can boast of any Revolutionary incident occurring there. I wish we had our yacht here to travel up and down in. Won't you please send for it?"

"No, daughter," he said gravely; "I have a particular reason for not doing so; though I should like to gratify you."

"Yes, I know you would, father, and so I am quite satisfied with your decision," she returned pleasantly, though with a little sigh of regret.

Violet gave her husband a look of surprise, but made no remark, and the talk went on.

"I think we would all enjoy visiting any and every place occupied by, or visited by, our Washington," remarked Mrs. Leland.

"Yes," said her husband; "Newburgh, for one, and it is not so very far away."

"No," said the captain, "that is quite true."

"And there are boats passing up and down every day, I suppose?" remarked Sydney Dinsmore inquiringly.

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Evelyn; "so we won't have any difficulty in getting there; though we can't have the Dolphin to go in."

"Papa, why can't we have our yacht come here so that we can go up and down in it?" asked Neddie.

"Have I said we couldn't?" was his father's smiling rejoinder.

"No, sir; at least, I didn't hear you say it—but she isn't here."

"It is really quite wonderful how much some little boys know," laughed Lucilla. "However, I don't believe it would require a great deal of coaxing to induce papa to send for her."

"But he just refused," said Grace.

"You could telegraph, couldn't you, papa?" asked Lucilla. "But perhaps the repairs you said she needed are not finished yet?"

"I think they must be," returned the captain pleasantly. "Perhaps we may get some news in regard to her to-day."

"And if the repairs are finished, will you send for her?" asked
Violet.

"In case they are, I see no reason why we should not have the use of her," was the rather non-committal reply.

CHAPTER II.

A half-hour later nearly the whole company returned to the front porch as the most attractive spot, since from it was a very fine view of the broad river and its opposite shore.

"Oh," shouted several young voices, "there's our flag! There's Old
Glory!"

"And it must be on a boat down close to the landing," added Edward
Leland. "May I run down and see, papa?"

"I think you could see quite as well from the summer-house out yonder on the edge of the cliff," replied Mr. Leland, starting for that place himself, followed by most of the others.

"Why it's the Dolphin, the Dolphin!" exclaimed several voices simultaneously, as they reached the arbor and caught sight of the pretty craft in the river below.

The young people were at once seized with an eager desire to get aboard of her, and, as the captain seemed entirely willing, the parents did not withhold their consent.

"Ah, papa," laughed Grace Raymond, "I understand now why you refused my request to send for our yacht; she was already here, and you wanted to give me a pleasant surprise."

"Yes, daughter, that was just it," he returned; "for I know you like pleasant surprises. And I hope to give you and the rest of our party some pleasant trips up and down the river in her."

"Which I am sure we shall all find extremely enjoyable, captain," remarked Grandma Elsie.

The whole company were wending their way down to the river and the yacht as they talked, and presently they were all on board, viewing and commenting admiringly upon the refurnishing and other improvements.

"Are you all too tired of travel to enjoy a sail—perhaps only a short one—up or down the river?" asked the captain.

"Oh, no—not we, indeed!" was the simultaneous exclamation of many voices, older and younger; and not one was raised against it.

"I see you are all willing," said Captain Raymond, glancing about from
one to another of the bright, eager faces. "Suppose I take you to
Newburgh, which is not very far away, and let you see the Hasbrouck
House, Washington's old headquarters? How many would like that?"

"Oh, all of us! all of us!" cried several voices with enthusiasm.

"Then we will get up steam and go at once," he said. "Will that suit you, my dear?" turning to Violet.

"Perfectly—if we may have a few minutes to go up to the house and make some slight preparation. You see, I have come down without hat or bonnet," she added with merry look and tone.

"Oh, yes, anyone who wishes may do that," he replied pleasantly. "And
I must give orders to my cook."

"Oh, no, captain," exclaimed Evelyn, overhearing him; "I have arranged for dinner at the house, and——"

"Then, my dear girl, hurry up and rescind your orders; for we will not be back in season to take that meal here; and the Dolphin is well supplied with provisions," was his smiling rejoinder. And with a hasty "Oh, thank you, sir! You are very, very kind and thoughtful," accompanied by a pleased and grateful look, she hurried away after the others, who were already making rapid progress toward Crag Cottage.

It did not take long to gather up the few articles wanted and return to the yacht, which immediately started for Newburgh.

The weather was all that could be desired—a gentle breeze blowing from the north, and light, fleecy white clouds tempering the heat of the sun.

"How far from New York is Newburgh, papa?" asked Grace.

"Sixty miles," he replied. "It is on the western bank of the river and in the midst of some of the finest scenery in the world, Lossing says, and I entirely agree with him. Are you not of the same opinion, mother?" turning to Grandma Elsie.

"Yes," she said heartily; "and we will have a fine view of it from the piazza of the Hasbrouck House."

"Is that where we are going?" asked Little Elsie.

"Yes; that is the house where Washington had his headquarters at the close of the Revolution."

"Oh, I'm glad!" exclaimed the little girl. "I'd like to see every place where Washington used to be."

"Yes," said her mother; "I think we all would. But, now, let us not miss the beautiful scenery we are passing through on our way to Newburgh."

"Oh, yes, mamma, it is lovely! and I am proud of it as being part of my country—my own dear native land."

"As we all are," said Grace. "I think my native land the best and loveliest the sun shines upon."

Her father, standing near, smiled his approval of the sentiment, and Grandma Elsie remarked pleasantly: "That is a good frame of mind to be in when visiting Revolutionary scenes."

"This will not be your first visit to Newburgh and the Hasbrouck
House, mother?" said the captain in a tone of inquiry.

"No," she answered, "I was there some years ago, but am well pleased to repeat my visit."

"When was it that Washington was there?" asked Elsie. "I know that some of the time he was in Massachusetts and at other times in New Jersey and Pennsylvania."

"Yes," said her father, "but he was here on the Hudson, holding his headquarters at Newburgh, at the close of the Revolution. It was in April, 1782, he took possession of his quarters there, and there he continued most of the time until November, 1783, when the Continental Army was disbanded."

"Because the war was over?" asked Eric Leland.

"Yes; and the brave men who had done and suffered so much together had to bid each other farewell, separate, and go to their homes. Of course they were very glad and thankful that liberty was gained and the dreadful struggle over, yet it was sad to part; especially from their beloved chief."

"Wasn't it there, father, that some of them had proposed to make him king?" asked Grace.

"Yes; but he received the proposal with abhorrence. Washington had fought to win freedom for his country, not to win power and glory for himself. He had no hunger for them, but a great love of liberty for his country and himself."

"Do you think he was as great a man as Napoleon, captain?" asked
Sydney.

"Greater, much greater! Napoleon undoubtedly had genius, but he was utterly selfish, utterly unscrupulous in the means he took to gain power and satisfy his own ambition—even sacrificing the wife he probably really loved (after his own selfish fashion) in order to get an heir to the throne he had usurped."

"And his fortunes began to wane from the time that he divorced poor
Josephine," remarked Mr. Leland.

"Yes; and the son and heir to gain which he had done such wickedness never succeeded to the crown or throne," remarked Grandma Elsie. "'The triumphing of the wicked is short.'"

"I never thought of it before," remarked Sydney; "but isn't it odd that each of those great men married a widow with children, and had none of his own by her?"

"And of our Washington it has been said, 'Providence left him childless that his country might call him father,'" said Mrs. Leland. "I have always thought that a very pretty idea."

"A true one too, I do believe," said Evelyn; "he was so true a patriot—so wise, so unselfish, so true and good."

"A countryman to be very, very proud of, and very thankful to God for giving us," said Grandma Elsie; "especially at that time, when he was so much needed."

"Are there not a good many places in this neighborhood where something happened during the Revolution, papa?" asked Grace.

"Yes, a good many. Orange County was one of the first settled portions of this State, named in honor of William, Prince of Orange, afterward King of England. The first settlers in what is now the town of Newburgh were Germans. They remained for only a time, however. They grew dissatisfied, sold out, and left; some going to Pennsylvania. Their places were filled by English, Irish, New Englanders, and a few Huguenots; and a number of settlements were soon planted along the river and in the rich bottom lands bordering the smaller streams. Many stirring tales could be told of their privations, alarms, and sufferings from the attacks of the Indians, both before and during the Revolution."

"Papa," said Little Elsie earnestly, "don't you think we ought to thank our Heavenly Father very often that we didn't live then and here instead of now and where we do?"

"Yes, indeed, daughter," he replied; "we have great reason to thank God for the liberty and security that are ours, and I think we should ever remember with love and gratitude the brave men who fought and bled to secure these liberties for us."

"Indeed we should!" said Mrs. Travilla earnestly. "How it would have cheered and helped them in their toils and privations and struggles if they could have foreseen the great results visible in these days!"

It was not yet noon when they reached Newburgh, pausing in the southern suburbs, where, on a hill overlooking the river, stood a gray old building which the captain pointed out as the Hasbrouck House. They had soon climbed the hill and were standing on the porch, thinking with a thrill of feeling, as they glanced about them and down at the river, that here Washington had stood in days long gone by and gazed upon the same scenes, probably but little changed since then.

Grandma Elsie, the captain, and Mr. Leland had all been there before, and presently pointed out to the others various historic places—Pollopel's Island, Fishkill, New Windsor, Plumb Point, and the Beacon Hills; also, through the gateway in the Highlands formed by Breakneck and Butter hills, glimpse of distant West Point and the mountains that surround it.

Then they went inside the dwelling, passing first into a large square room which they were told was used by Washington as a dining hall and for his public audiences.

"Notice the doors and windows, children," said the captain.

"Windows, papa! why, there is only one!" exclaimed Elsie.

"Ah! and how many doors?" he asked.

"Why, seven!" cried Neddie; "I've counted them."

"Yes, you are right," said his father. "That"—pointing to one on the left—"opens into what was Washington's sitting room; the other, on the same side, into his bedroom."

"There is no plaster on this ceiling," remarked Edward Leland, looking up. "But those great, heavy beams make it look very strong as well as old-fashioned."

"Yes," said Captain Raymond; "they are nine inches wide and fourteen deep. This part of the house is nearly one hundred and fifty years old."

"How much of it, papa?" asked Lucilla.

"This large room and the two bedrooms there on the north side. That part was built in 1750, was it not?" he asked, turning to the woman who had admitted them.

"Yes, sir," she replied. "Some time after the kitchen; that is on the south side. In 1770 they added to the west side. The dates are cut in the stone of the walls."

"What a very big fireplace that is!" remarked Little Elsie—"the largest I ever saw."

"Almost big enough to roast an ox in, I should say," said Edward
Leland.

"A small bullock probably," said his father.

"Who owns this house now?" asked the boy, turning to the woman.

"The State of New York," she answered. "It used to belong to the
Hasbrouck family, but the State bought it to keep as a relic of the
Revolution."

"I am glad they did," said Lucilla. "I think everything that
Washington ever used should be kept in memory of him."

"Yes, indeed," assented the woman. Then, leading the way, "And we have a cabinet here of relics of the Revolution which I am sure will interest you."

All were much interested in what she showed them, especially in some muskets, of which she said, "They are some of those bought in France by Lafayette, with his own money, and presented to his own favorite corps of light infantry."

"Oh, that makes them very interesting!" exclaimed Lucilla, her cheeks flushing and her eyes sparkling.

Sydney said inquiringly, "Lady Washington was here with her husband, was she not?"

"Oh, yes," was the reply; "in the summer of 1783; and as she was fond of gardening she had some flower beds out in the grounds."

"That was about at the end of the war," said Sydney.

"Yes," said the captain, "and it was in this old house that Washington wrote his address to the officers of whom we were speaking a while ago, and a circular letter addressed to the Governors of all the States on disbanding the army. They were admirable documents.

"A good many of the troops went home on furlough, and then Washington, having leisure for it, went up the Hudson with Governor Clinton to visit the principal battlefields of the North—Stillwater, Ticonderoga, and Crown Point; also to Fort Schuyler, on the Mohawk.

"He returned here, after an absence of nineteen days, to find a letter from the President of Congress asking him to attend upon that body, then in session at Princeton, N. J. He did so, after waiting a little for the recovery of his wife, who was not well. And while waiting he had, out yonder upon the lawn, an affecting final parting with many of his subalterns and soldiers. That took place upon the day he left to answer the call of Congress."

"Did he return here, captain?" asked Evelyn.

"No; he made his headquarters at West Point for a few days in November, and from there went down to New York City and took possession of it on its evacuation by the British."

Our party passed out upon the porch again, feasted their eyes upon the beauties of the landscape for a few moments; then, having generously remunerated the woman for her services, returned to the yacht.

Again seated upon the deck, they chatted among themselves, their talk running for the most part upon the scenes through which they were passing and the Revolutionary events connected with them.

The captain pointed out New Windsor, as they passed it, with the remark that it was where Washington established his headquarters on the 23d of June, 1779, and again near the close of 1780, remaining till the summer of 1781.

"Oh, can you paint out the house, father?" exclaimed Lucilla.

"No," he replied; "it was a plain Dutch building, long since decayed and demolished."

"Did not Washington go from New Windsor to Peekskill?" asked Grandma
Elsie.

"Yes," said the captain. "Oh, yonder is Plum Point also, and of that I have a little story to tell. There, at the foot of that steep bank, there was, in the times we have been talking of, a redoubt with a battery of fourteen guns designed to cover strong chevaux-de-frise and other obstructions placed in the river. A little above that battery, and long before it was made, a loghouse used to stand. It belonged to a Scotchman named M'Evers. When thinking of emigrating to America, he asked his servant Mike if he would go with him. Mike, being much attached to him, replied, 'Indeed, gude mon, I'll follow ye to the gates o' hell if ye gang there yersel.' So they came over. The ocean could not be crossed so rapidly in those days as in ours, and their voyage was long and tempestuous. Then the vessel, instead of entering New York Harbor by the Narrows, sailed through Long Island Sound and the East River. At the whirlpool called Hellgate the ship struck upon the Hog's Back with a terrible crash. The frightened passengers—none of them more frightened than Mike—rushed upon the deck. 'What place is it?' he asked. 'Hellgate,' answered a sailor. 'God ha' mercy on me!' groaned Mike; 'I promised my master I'd follow him to the gates o' hell, but I didna say I'd gang through with him.' However, the vessel floated off with the tide, carried its passengers safely into the city, and Mike lived to be a gardener on Plum Point."

"Is that a real, true story, papa?" asked Elsie.

"I think so," he said.

"I suppose," said Grandma Elsie, "some—perhaps all—of you have heard an anecdote in connection with that dining room of the Hasbrouck House—published in the New York Mirror for 1834?"

Several voices answered in the negative and urged her to go on and tell it, which she did. "During the Revolution," she said, "a Frenchman named Marbois was secretary of that legation here. Shortly before Lafayette's death he, with the American minister and several of his countrymen, was invited to dine at the house of Marbois. At the supper hour the guests were shown into a room which presented a strange contrast to the elegance of the apartments in which they had spent the evening. There were numerous small doors; one uncurtained small window; a low boarded, painted ceiling with large beams; all together giving it very much the appearance of the kitchen of a Dutch or Belgian farmhouse; and on the table was a repast quite in keeping with the appearance of the room. There was a large dish of meat, uncouth-looking pastry, and wine in bottles and decanters, accompanied by glasses and silver mugs such as seemed but ill-suited to the habits and tastes of modern Paris. 'Do you know where we now are?' the host asked, addressing Lafayette and the other guests. They were too much surprised to answer for a moment. They knew they had somewhere seen something like it before—but where? 'Ah! the seven doors and one window!' Lafayette exclaimed presently; 'and the silver camp-goblets, such as the marshals of France used in my youth. We are at Washington's headquarters on the Hudson, fifty years ago.'"

"A great deal must have happened in this region during the Revolution," remarked Mrs. Leland. "Haven't you another little story for us, mother?"

"Yes; I was just thinking that the taking of a spy occurred not far from here. At the time that Washington's headquarters were at Newburgh, Generals Greene and Knox had theirs in a house on the New Windsor Road about three miles west from Plum Point; and about a mile farther west was the house of Mrs. Falls. There Governor Clinton had his headquarters. He and his brother were in command of Forts Clinton and Montgomery, among the Hudson Highlands, when the British succeeded in taking them in spite of the desperate defence of the American patriots. It was then General Clinton established his headquarters at the house of Mrs. Falls and collected his dispersed troops preparatory to marching to the defence of Kingston. About noon on the 10th of October a horseman came riding up into the camp in great haste. The sentinel challenged him.

"He replied, 'I am a friend and wish to see General Clinton.'

"The man was a Tory, bearing a message from Sir Henry Clinton to Burgoyne, who was at that time hedged up in Saratoga. This messenger supposed the American forces on the Hudson to be utterly broken and destroyed; and, as the British never gave our officers their titles in speaking of or to them, he thought General Clinton must belong to the British Army, so believed himself among his friends.

"He was taken to Clinton's quarters, and when he was ushered into that officer's presence he perceived his mistake. 'I am lost!' he exclaimed to himself in a low but audible tone, and hastily taking something from his pocket, swallowed it, evidently with some difficulty. This aroused the suspicions of those about him; a physician was summoned, and gave the prisoner a powerful dose of tartar emetic."

"Why, grandma, what a foolish fellow he was to take it!" exclaimed
Eric Leland.

"I think it was administered surreptitiously," she replied, "in a glass of wine or beer probably, without letting him know their suspicions or intentions. I have been giving you Lossing's version of the affair, but years ago I read another, going rather more into detail. It said the patriots did not let the Tory know their suspicions of him, but, acting as if they thought him all right, invited him to eat with them, and secretly put the tartar emetic in the drink furnished him at the meal; that he grew very sick after drinking it, left the table, and went out of doors. They watched him secretly and saw that after getting rid of what he had eaten he covered it with some chips. When he had gone back to his companions at the table some of them went out, scraped away the chips, and found the silver bullet. Lossing says he (the Tory) succeeded in swallowing it a second time and refused to take another emetic until Governor Clinton threatened to hang him upon a tree and have his stomach searched with a surgeon's knife. At that he yielded, and the bullet presently again appeared.

"It was a curiously wrought, hollow sphere, with a compound screw in the centre; inside of it was a note from Sir Henry Clinton to General Burgoyne, written from Fort Montgomery, telling of their success, and expressing the hope that it might facilitate his (Burgoyne's) operations.

"This made the guilt of the prisoner very clear. He was not allowed to escape, and when, soon afterward, Governor Clinton marched with his troops to the help of the people of Esopus, or Kingston, he took the spy with him; and at Hurley, a few miles from Kingston, they tried, condemned the spy, and hung him on an apple tree near the old church. The British had reached Kingston first, and it was then in flames."

"Oh, what a dreadful thing war is!" sighed Grace. "So many people are killed, and so many others robbed of everything but life."

"It is, indeed, an awful thing," assented Grandma Elsie. "May we of this land never again know anything of its horrors by experience."

CHAPTER III.

The next day was Sunday. There were several churches within easy walking distance, and Evelyn and her guests all attended the morning services. Toward evening they held a little Bible service of their own on the porch, overlooking the beautiful river. Captain Raymond was, as usual, the leader, being the oldest gentleman and the unanimous choice of those who were to take part.

He selected the third chapter of Proverbs, and had them read it verse about; then made a few remarks.

"'In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.' That is a precious promise," he said; "one to plead and to rest joyfully upon in time of doubt and perplexity such as come to all of us. Thus leaning upon God and his promises, we may be free from care and anxiety; content with our lot in life, because he appoints it. 'Godliness with contentment is great gain.' Lucilla, can you tell us of a Bible saint who had learned this lesson?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, turning over the leaves of her Bible as she spoke. "Here in Phillipians, fourth chapter and eleventh verse, Paul says, 'I have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to be content.'"

"Yes; and he teaches the same to those he addresses in his other epistles. I see you have a passage ready, mother. Will you please read it to us?"

"Yes," Grandma Elsie said in reply; "here in Hebrews thirteenth chapter and fifth verse, he says, 'Let your conversation be without covetousness; and be content with such things as ye have: for he hath said, I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.'"

Then Violet read, "'But godliness with contentment is great gain; for we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.'"

"A Christian may well be content and joyful, even though he have but the bare necessaries of life," remarked Grandma Elsie, "for he may boldly say, 'The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.'"

"No," said Mr. Leland, "those who belong to Jesus need fear nothing; for he will never forsake his own, and he has all power in heaven and in earth."

"How can we know if we belong to him, papa?" asked Eric.

"If we give ourselves to him—truly, honestly, and with purpose of heart to serve him while we have any being—he will accept us for his own; for he says, 'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'"

"'Then will we be Christians and follow Christ—so living, acting, speaking that those who know us will take knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus and learned of him,'" the captain said. "But one who does not walk in the footsteps of Christ—striving to follow his example and do his will—to be like him in temper and spirit, is none of his. But if we have of his spirit, then we become with him sons of God. He is our Brother and God the Father, both his Father and ours. He tells us that he came to save souls. 'For the son of man is come not to destroy men's lives, but to save them.' We must make it our chief business to do his will and win souls for him. That is the commission he gives to each one who professes to love him. He bids them, 'Let your light shine,' 'Go ye into all the world and preach the Gospel to every creature.' 'He that winneth souls is wise,' is another Bible text. Each one of us must feel that this is his or her own work. We are none of us to live for self, but to glorify God and save the souls of our fellow creatures—by bringing them to Christ."

"Yes," said Grandma Elsie, "and we are guilty if we neglect to obey our Father's commands. If we truly love him we will be very earnest and persevering in our efforts to obey. The prophet Daniel tells us, 'They that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever.'"

"Grandma," said little Ned Raymond, coming to her side, later in the evening, and looking up at the star-spangled sky, "I'd like to shine like those beautiful stars for ever and ever. I wish I knew how to turn many to righteousness. What's the way to do it?"

"To tell them the sweet story of Jesus and his love," she answered in low, moved tones. "Tell them how he suffered and died that we might live. But first you must give your own self to him."

"I think I have, grandma," he said in low, earnest tones. "I've tried to do it, asking him to take me for his very own, and I think he has; because, you know, he says, 'Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.'"

"Yes, dear child, that is his own word and you need have no fear that he will not keep it."

"But when and where and how should I tell about Jesus to others?"

"Ask him to show you when and where—to teach you what to say and do, and help you never to be ashamed to own yourself one of his disciples."

"Like my father," he said. "I am sure he is never ashamed or afraid to let anybody know that he loves and serves God. I don't often hear him tell them, but he acts it out always and everywhere."

"Yes, I think he does," said Grandma Elsie, "and it is what we all should do. Remember Jesus' words, 'Whosoever, therefore, shall be ashamed of me and of my words, in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him also shall the Son of Man be ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of the Father with the holy angels.'"

There was a moment of silence; then Neddie asked:

"Grandma, do you think it was right for our soldiers in the Revolution to hang that man for just having that silver bullet in his pocket?"

"Yes; because success in carrying such messages from one British officer to another would probably have cost the lives of very many of our people, and helped the British to take away our liberties."

"Oh, yes! So he was as bad as a murderer; wasn't he?"

"Very much like one, I think. War is a dreadful, dreadful thing! I hope we may never have another."

"It's always wicked on one side, but sometimes right on the other; isn't it, grandma?"

"Yes; when life and liberty are in peril it is right to fight for their preservation. Especially when it is not for ourselves only, but for our children and future generations. If our fathers had weakly given up to the tyranny of the British Government, we would not be the free people we are to-day."

"And it was a dreadfully hard fight for them; wasn't it, grandma?" remarked little Elsie, who had drawn near enough to hear the latter part of the conversation.

"It was, indeed; and our poor soldiers went through terrible sufferings, from lack of prompt pay and proper food and clothing, as well as from wounds and exposure to the inclement weather."

"Yes, grandma, I remember it was terribly cold when they crossed the Delaware River and fought the battles of Trenton and Princeton; and, oh, so hot when the Battle of Monmouth was fought!"

"I'm glad our papa and Brother Max didn't have to help fight those battles," said Ned; "and I hope we'll never have any more wars. Don't you, grandma?"

"I do, indeed, Neddie," grandma answered; "and I hope it may not be long till we come to the time the Bible speaks of where it says, 'And many nations shall come, and say, Come and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, and to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths: for the law shall go forth of Zion, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. And he shall judge among many people, and rebuke strong nations afar off; and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up a sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid for the mouth of the Lord of hosts hath spoken it.'"

"What a good time that will be," said the little girl thoughtfully. "I wish it might come soon. Don't you, grandma?"

"Yes, dear; I do, indeed!" was the sweet-toned reply.

CHAPTER IV.

It was Monday morning, the sun not an hour high, when Captain Raymond, sitting on the Dolphin's deck, reading, heard a light footstep approaching, then a sweet-toned voice saying, "Good-morning, my dear father," and, looking up, found Lucilla standing at his knee, her bright eyes gazing lovingly down into his.

"Good-morning, daughter," he returned, taking her hand and drawing her down to a seat by his side, then passing an arm about her waist and giving her the accustomed morning caress. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, indeed, papa; from the minute I laid my head upon the pillow till I woke to find it broad daylight."

"I am glad to hear it. It is something that both you and I should be very thankful for."

"And you, papa? did you sleep well?"

"Very; as I hope and believe all on board did. I suppose you left
Grace still asleep?"

"Yes, sir; sleeping so sweetly that I took particular pains to move quietly and not wake her."

"That was right," he said. "I want her—my feeble little girl—to take all the sleep she can."

"So do I, father; and I think she has gained a good deal in health and strength since she has had you at home almost all the time to take care of her."

"That's what fathers are for—to take care of the children," he returned with a smile.

"Well, daughter, what would you like to do to-day?"

"Whatever my father bids me," she said with a happy laugh.

"Ah! isn't that a rash choice?" he asked, passing his hand caressingly over her hair and smiling down at her as he spoke.

"No, sir; I think not—considering how wise, kind, and loving my father is."

"What would you think of a trip up to Kingston—to view it as one of the scenes of Revolutionary occurrences?"

"Oh, I should like it very much!" she exclaimed with eager delight.
"Do you think of going there to-day, papa?"

"I have been thinking it would answer very well as a sequel to our Saturday's visit to Washington's old quarters at Newburgh. We will make the suggestion at the breakfast table, and see what the rest of our company think of it."

"Oh, I don't believe anyone will think of objecting. I shall be astonished if they do."

"But there are other places some may prefer visiting first, and it will be only polite and kind to let each one express his or her preference."

"And the majority decide, I suppose?"

"That is my idea," he said pleasantly.

"Your ideas are always kind ones, father dear," she responded with a loving look up into his eyes.

"Though occasionally not altogether agreeable to my eldest daughter, eh?" he returned with a smile, and playfully patting the hand which he held.

"Ah, papa, I do not often object by word or look to your decisions nowadays, do I?" she said half-imploringly.

"No, it has been a very rare thing for a very long while now," he said with a tenderly affectionate look—"so rare that I really believe my dear eldest daughter has come to have full faith in her father's wisdom and love for her."

"Indeed, papa, I don't doubt either in the very least," she exclaimed with an energy that brought an amused smile to her father's lips and eyes.

"Good-morning, papa!" cried a sweet child voice at that moment; "here we come, and mamma will follow in a very few minutes." And with that Elsie and Ned came bounding across the deck to their father's side. He welcomed both with kind greetings and fatherly caresses.

"Is your sister Grace up yet?" he asked, and Elsie answered: "Yes, sir; and almost dressed. She opened her door as I was going by, and gave me a kiss, and told me to tell papa she would be ready to go up to breakfast in a very few minutes!"

"Ah," he said; "I fear she may hurry too much for her feeble strength. Neddie, boy, go down to the cabin, knock at your sister's door, and tell her papa says it is so early yet that she need not hurry with her dressing. We will wait till she and mamma are quite ready to go up to the house."

"I will, papa," was the ready and cheerful response, as the little fellow turned to obey, but then he paused with the exclamation, "Oh, here they come—both of them!"

The captain rose to exchange morning greetings with his wife and daughter, then all set out for the cottage on the hill.

They found the other guests gathered on the front porch, and when morning salutations had been exchanged they fell into conversation, breakfast being not quite ready. The question was at once proposed how and where they should spend the day, and when the captain told of his plan in regard to that, it was hailed with delight. No one could think of anything better, and it was decided that they would start very shortly after finishing their morning meal.

"Will it be a long voyage, captain?" asked Sydney in a jesting tone.

"Something less than crossing the Atlantic," he returned with becoming gravity.

"It certainly is, captain," Evelyn said with a smile. Then turning to
Sydney, "Kingston is ninety-three miles north of New York."

"Oh, well then, one will not need to burden one's self with much luggage," laughed Sydney.

"So there will be no time consumed in packing trunks," remarked
Lucilla.

"I never have any trouble about that. Papa always does it for me," said Grace, giving him a loving look and smile.

"Will we go on shore at Kingston, papa?" asked Elsie.

"Probably," he replied.

"And see the tree the silver bullet man was hung on?" asked Neddie.

"I do not know whether it is still standing or not, my son," replied his father; "and, if so, it probably looks much like other apple trees. It was not at Kingston he was hanged, however, but at Hurley—a few miles from there."

"Kingston is a very old place, is it not?" asked Violet.

"Yes," said her mother; "it was settled by the Dutch as early as 1663, Lossing tells us, and at first called Wiltwyck—which means wild witch or Indian Witch—on account of the troubles between the settlers and the Indians. A redoubt was built by the Dutch on the bank of the creek near the old landing place, and they called the creek Redoubt Kill, or Creek. Now it is called Rondout—a corruption of Redoubt. Years later, near the close of the century, the population of the town was increased by a valuable addition from Europe—a colony of French Huguenots, who fled from that dreadful persecution begun in 1685 by Louis XIV.'s revocation of the Edict of Nantes."

"What does that mean, grandma?" asked Neddie.

"I will tell you sometime; perhaps while we are going up the river to-day," she answered in kindly tones. "I cannot do it now, for there is the breakfast bell."

They were all seated upon the Dolphin's deck very shortly after leaving the table, and in a few moments the yacht was steaming rapidly up the river. Then Neddie, going to his grandmother's side, claimed her promise to explain to him what was meant by an edict—particularly the one of which she had spoken.

"An edict," she said, "is a public decree that things shall be so and so. The Edict of Nantes said that the persecution of the Protestants must stop and they be allowed to worship God as they deemed right; the revocation of that edict gave permission to the Romanists to begin persecution again. Therefore, to save their lives, the Protestants had to flee to other lands."

"Where did they go, grandma?" asked Eric, who was listening with as keen an interest as Neddie himself.

"A great many to England and Germany and some to this country. It was really a great loss to France, for they were industrious and skilful artisans—manufacturers of silk, jewelry, and glass."

"I'm glad some of them did come here," said Eric. "The massacre of St.
Bartholomew was before that, wasn't it, grandma?"

"Yes; on the 26th of August, 1572; in that seventy thousand Protestants were butchered by the Papists in France, by the authority of the Pope and the king. From that time on, until 1598, there were terrible persecutions, stopped in that year by Henry IV.'s issue of the Edict of Nantes, allowing, as I have told you, Protestants to worship God according to the dictates of their consciences. That edict remained in force for nearly a century, but was revoked in 1685 by Louis XIV."

"Then the Protestants moved away to escape being killed?" asked Eric.

"Yes," replied Grandma Elsie, "and some of them came up this river and settled on its shores. They found it less hazardous to dwell beside the savage Indians than among the persecuting Papists."

"So they came across the ocean and up this river and settled near
Kingston, did they, grandma?" queried Eric.

"They settled in the valley of Ulster and Orange counties," she answered.

"And then they had good times, I hope," said Neddie.

"Not for some time," she answered, "because the Indians were fierce and jealous of the palefaces, as they called the whites. It was not until after the Revolution that they ceased to give trouble to the white settlers, both Huguenots and others. But it was borne with patience and perseverance; and many of their descendants helped in the hard struggle for our independence."

"Fighting the British in the Revolutionary War, do you mean, grandma?" asked Neddie.

"Yes; fighting for freedom. That was the war that made us the great and growing nation that we are to-day. It was a fearful struggle, but God helped us, and we should never forget to give him thanks for our liberties."

"I hope we won't," said Eric. "Papa says we have more to be thankful for than any other people; and I think so myself."

"As I do," said his grandma; "and my little grandsons are much better off than very many other children, even in this good land."

"Yes, grandma, I know that; papa and mamma often remind me of it; and I do feel thankful for my many blessings; for none of them more than for my dear, sweet grandma," he added with a loving look into her eyes.

"As I do for my dear grandchildren," she returned, giving him a loving smile and softly patting the hand he had laid on her knee.

"Indeed, we all love you dearly, grandma," exclaimed Ned. "But, now, please won't you go on and tell us some more? Tell about the Indians, and what they and the white folks did to each other."

"I could not tell all that was done, nor would it be a pleasant story if I could," replied Grandma Elsie. "The Esopus Indians lived on the flats extending northward from the creek for some distance. They did not fancy their white neighbors, and determined to kill them. They fell upon the settlement one day while the able-bodied men were in the field and slew sixty-five persons. The others fled to the redoubt, and the Indians began to build a stockade near it. But a call for help was sent to New York, and the Governor sent troops, who drove the Indians back to the mountains. Not long afterward the Dutch followed the Indians into their fastnesses, destroyed their forts and villages, laid waste their fields, burned their stores of maize, killed many of their warriors, captured eleven of them, and released twenty-two of the Dutch whom they were holding captives. All that led to a truce the next December and a treaty of peace the following May."

"Were the Huguenots there when all that happened, grandma?" asked
Eric.

"No; as I have told you, it was the revocation of the Edict of Nantes which drove them from their native land to this foreign shore, and that did not take place until 1685—more than twenty years later."

"Were the Indians all gone from about Kingston by that time, grandma?" asked Eric.

"Oh, no!" she said. "They as well as the Tories gave a great deal of trouble to the Patriots during the Revolutionary War—that hard struggle for freedom. At the time of the Revolution the New York Legislature, then called 'Convention of the Representatives of the State of New York,' migrated from place to place, being compelled to do so by the movements of the enemy, and finally, in February, 1777, took up their quarters in Kingston until May of that year. They were making a Constitution for the State. It proved a very excellent one, and was adopted. And the first session of the legislature of the State was appointed to meet at Kingston in July. So Kingston was the capital of the State when Sir Henry Clinton took the forts in the Hudson Highlands; and because it was the capital he marked it out for special vengeance.

"The British fleet, under Sir James Wallace, came up the river with 3600 men under the command of General Vaughan. The order given them was to scatter desolation in their track; and they obeyed—destroying all vessels on the river and firing from the ships upon the houses of known Patriots. Also small parties landed and desolated whole neighborhoods with fire and sword. They landed near Kingston on the 13th of October in two divisions, each taking a different road to the town, and burning and destroying as they went. They joined upon a gentle eminence and marched into the town,—then but a small village,—began setting the houses on fire, and soon had almost every one laid in ashes."

"Was Kingston only a very little place then, grandma?" asked Eric.

"A town of only three or four thousand inhabitants," she replied. "Some of the people—warned of the approach of the British—had succeeded in hiding their most valuable effects, but others lost all they had. A large quantity of provisions and stores was destroyed. After doing all that mischief, the British—fearing the American people would gather together and come upon and punish them for all this wanton cruelty—hastily retreated."

"Did it do them any good to burn down the town, grandma?" asked Eric hotly.

Elsie on the Hudson