NOTES
[1] Quoted from Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra.”
[2] It seemed strange that the hero of Stony Point should have been a vain man; but he was said to be vain both for himself and his regiment. At the beginning of the war he told his regiment that there would be a barber in each company to shave the soldiers and dress their hair; (their hair was to be plaited and powdered) and that any man who came on parade with a long beard, carelessly dressed, or dirty, was to be punished. He told General Washington he would rather lead his men into action well dressed and with only one round of cartridges, than with all the ammunition that they needed and yet ragged and dirty.
[3] This was no vain threat. During the attack one unfortunate soldier stepped out of the ranks to load his musket, and the officer in charge immediately ran him through with his bayonet.
[4] One of Wayne’s friends wrote that the only drawback to the attack was that the General would probably lose his hearing;—he would be deafened by his own praises.
[5] The grave of Mary Vining is in the Old Swedes’ Church yard in Wilmington.
How Once Upon A Time
MacDonough Sailed
The Sea.
COMMODORE THOMAS MACDONOUGH was sometimes called “the Boy Commodore,” for he was the youngest Commodore in the American navy.
He was born December, thirty-first, 1783, on a farm in New Castle county where his father and grandfather had lived before him.
When he was seventeen he joined the navy as a Midshipman, and made his first cruise on the ship “Ganges.”
He was a tall, thin, shy youth. He was never strong, but he was so brave that he was ready for any dangers or hardships. Cooper called him “the modest but lion-hearted MacDonough.”
At the time MacDonough joined the navy, the United States was at war with France, and his first cruise was against the French in the West Indies. The “Ganges” captured three of the enemy’s vessels, and sent them home as prizes. Then the yellow fever broke out on board the “Ganges.” MacDonough was one of the men who had it. He and the other sick men were carried on shore to a miserable dirty Spanish hospital at Havana. Here, for many weeks, he lay ill.
When he was able to get up and go about again he found that the “Ganges” had sailed away, and that he was left, poor, alone, and almost without clothing, in a strange land. All the Americans who had been brought to the hospital had died except himself and two others. These two were in as much distress as himself. The American agent at Havana gave them some shirts and other pieces of clothing, and they got back to the United States on a sailing vessel.
MacDonough landed at Norfolk, Virginia, and worked his way back to Delaware. He had been away from home a year, and his family had never expected to see him again; they had been told he had the yellow fever at Havana, and was either dying or already dead. They could hardly believe it was he when he walked in among them, thin, pale and weak-looking, but still alive. The whole house was filled with rejoicings. He was still dressed as he had been when he left Havana, in worn out clothes, a straw hat and canvas shoes.
As soon as he was able, he went back to the “Ganges,” and was with her until he was ordered to the Mediterranean on the frigate “Philadelphia.”
We were then at war with Tripoli. Soon after the “Philadelphia” reached the Mediterranean, they captured a Moorish vessel, and MacDonough was sent on board of her to take her to Gibraltar.
It was a very lucky thing for MacDonough that he was ordered on to this other vessel, for very soon after he left the “Philadelphia” she ran aground, and was captured by the enemy. All the men and officers on board of her were taken prisoner.
After the “Philadelphia” was taken by the enemy, the Americans were very anxious to destroy it, for now the enemy had the ship and might use it as a war vessel. But it seemed as though it would be almost impossible to destroy the “Philadelphia.” It lay in the harbor of Tripoli, close under the fortress, and above it were the black mouths of the cannon. If the Tripoli gunners had seen any American ship come into the harbor, they would have blown it to pieces rather than let it come near their prize.
The only way to get to the vessel would be by using some trick.
Stephen Decatur, then a young commander, was very anxious to try it. It would mean the risk of his life, and of the lives of all who went with him; but every sailor on his vessel was as eager to try as he himself. From among them all he chose sixty-two to go with him, and MacDonough was one of those chosen.
They set sail for the bay of Tripoli, in a ketch, (a sort of small merchant vessel) which they named “Intrepid.” Almost all the Americans hid down in the lower part of the ketch. Only a few stayed on deck. Those on deck darkened their faces, and dressed themselves as Maltese sailors, with red fezzes and round jackets. The inside of the ketch was filled with powder and everything else necessary for blowing up the “Philadelphia,” if they could only get to her.
Boldly the little ketch with these brave men on board sailed into the enemy’s harbor.
The Tripolitans, looking from their forts, saw nothing but what seemed to be a Maltese merchant ship, sailing into the harbor to shelter there for the night,—for the daylight was already fading from the sky and the moon was rising.
The “Intrepid” sailed slowly across the harbor to where the “Philadelphia” lay under the fortress. Aboard of her were the Tripoli officers on the watch.
When the ketch was near enough to the “Philadelphia,” an American officer hailed her, speaking in the Maltese language. He said they had lost their anchors at sea, and asked whether they might fasten their boat to the “Philadelphia” for the night.
The Tripoli officer hesitated a moment. “That is a very unusual thing to ask,” he said. However, he agreed that they might, and a hawser rope was flung over to the ketch for them to fasten by.
Just then the “Intrepid” swung out from under the shadow of the “Philadelphia,” and the moon shone down on her deck. There on her deck, in the full light, lay the anchors that the officer said had been lost at sea.
Immediately the Tripoli men knew that a trick had been played upon them. “Americanos! Americanos!” they shouted. But they had found it out too late. The ketch was already fastened to the side of the larger vessel. The Americans swarmed over the sides of the “Philadelphia,” and the Tripolitans found themselves fighting for their lives. MacDonough was the third man to spring aboard of the ship. In a short time all the Tripolitans were killed or driven overboard, the powder was hastily carried from the ketch to the “Philadelphia,” and she was set on fire. Then the Americans returned to their own boat. They cut loose and rowed at full speed away from the “Philadelphia” and across the harbor.
The men in the fortress near by, had seen that strange things were happening on board the “Philadelphia,” but in the uncertain moonlight they could not tell just what the matter was. It was not until they saw the ketch well across the harbor, and flames and smoke pouring from the “Philadelphia” that they realized what had happened. Then their cannon roared, but the balls fell short. The men on the “Intrepid” rose to their feet, waved their caps, and in the red light of the burning ship, gave three rousing American cheers. Then they again fell to their oars, and rowed out of the harbor to where the “Siren,” an American war vessel, was waiting for them outside.
This burning of the “Philadelphia” was said by Admiral Nelson, to be “the most bold and daring act of the age.”
MacDonough had shown such bravery in this action that he was made a lieutenant.
It was while MacDonough was still on this Mediterranean cruise that he had an adventure with three cut-throats.
The commander had given him leave to go on shore one day, and toward evening, as he was coming back to his boat, three cut-throats set upon him in a lonely place. Instead of trying to escape, MacDonough turned upon them and fought so fiercely that he soon wounded two of them, and the third took to his heels and ran. MacDonough ran after him. He chased the man for some distance, and then they came to a low building; into this building the man dashed, and up the stairs, with MacDonough still after him. When he reached the roof he looked behind him. There still was the terrible Americano. Then the man ran to the edge of the roof and jumped off, for he felt he would rather run the risk of breaking his neck than fight with MacDonough.
When MacDonough came down stairs again, he looked all around for the man, but he could not see him, so he quietly returned to his boat and rowed back to the ship.
In 1806, MacDonough was first lieutenant on the “Siren,” with Captain Smith in command.
They were lying just off Gibraltar at one time, and at some distance from them were anchored two other vessels. One was an American merchant ship, and the other a British frigate.
One day Captain Smith had gone on shore and MacDonough was in charge of the “Siren.” In the afternoon he saw a boat put off from the frigate and row over to the merchant ship. It lay there for a while, and then when it started to return to the frigate he saw that there was one more man in her than there had been before.
MacDonough knew that the captains of English warships sometimes kidnapped American sailors, and made them serve on board the British vessels, and he suspected that this extra man was an American who was being stolen from the crew of the merchant ship.
He immediately sent over to the ship to ask whether this were so.
The captain told him “Yes;”—that the British had come on board, and taken one of his sailors. The captain had been afraid to resist them, for the frigate had guns and he had none.
As soon as MacDonough heard this, he had a cutter lowered, and set out in chase of the British boat. The Englishmen were rowing in a very leisurely manner, for they never dreamed that any one would dare to interfere with their prize.
MacDonough caught up to them just as they reached the frigate. The prisoner was sitting in the stem of the boat. MacDonough’s men drove the cutter so close that the two boats grated together. One of the Englishmen shouted to them to keep off, but instead MacDonough reached over, and catching hold of the prisoner dragged him, bodily, into his own boat. Then his rowers gave way, and before the Englishmen could recover from their surprise, he was on his way back to the “Siren,” the rescued man with him.
The British captain had seen the whole affair from the deck of the frigate, and he was in a fury. He got into a boat and had himself rowed over to the “Siren.” When he came on board, he saw MacDonough walking quietly up and down the deck, with his hands clasped behind him.
The captain marched up to him insolently. “Where is that man you took? I must have him back,” he cried.
“I will not give him up,” answered MacDonough quietly.
“You dare to tell me that? Why you are not even the captain of this vessel, and you dare to say you will not let me have the man?”
“I will answer to it to my captain,” said MacDonough, “and I will not give him up.”
The captain raged and threatened to turn the frigate’s guns against the “Siren” and blow it out of the water.
“You can do it, no doubt, if you choose,” answered MacDonough, “but as long as this boat is afloat I will never give that man up.”
The captain finding he could gain nothing, got into his boat again and had himself rowed over toward the merchant vessel.
MacDonough feared he might try to kidnap another man, so he entered the cutter and followed close after the British boat. The Englishmen rowed about for some time and then finding they could not shake him off they returned to the frigate. Then, and not till then, MacDonough went back to the “Siren.”
The English officers one and all admired MacDonough’s conduct in this affair, and always afterward spoke of him with great admiration.
But it was in the battle of Lake Champlain that MacDonough won his greatest fame.
Our troubles with England had finally ended in a war with her. MacDonough was put in command of the naval forces on Lake Champlain. He was then a little over thirty years old.
The battle was fought on a clear, bright September morning, in 1814.
Before the battle began the Commodore (as MacDonough was then called) knelt on the deck of the “Saratoga,” and with his officers and crew about him, he prayed for success in the conflict.
When a little later they were clearing the decks of the “Saratoga” for action, they let out some chickens that were in coops, and threw the coops overboard. One of the cocks flew up on the rigging and flapped his wings and crowed loud and long. It was as if he recognized in the Commodore one of the “Blue Hen’s Chickens,” and was greeting him.
The sailors took his crowing as a sign of victory, and cheered in answer to him.
The American ships were scarcely set in battle order, before the British squadron came sailing proudly around a wooded point of land. The red flags at their mast-heads fluttered gaily in the sunlight.
MacDonough himself fired the first shot from the “Saratoga.” The gun was aimed at the British flagship “Confidence,” and the shot killed and wounded several of her men, and carried away her wheel. Again and again, through the battle, MacDonough, with his own hands, helped to work the guns. Three times he was struck by splinters and thrown across the decks. Once a heavy spar fell over him and knocked him senseless. Once a shot blew off the head of a gunner, and threw it against him with such force that he was again knocked across the deck and into the scuppers. But he was not seriously hurt, though every other officer on the “Saratoga” was either killed or wounded.
By mid-day the battle was over and the Americans had won. So fierce had been the broadsides that not a single mast was left standing on the vessel of either of the opposing squadrons.
After the battle was ended the American officers all gathered on the deck of the “Saratoga” and the British officers came to give up their swords to MacDonough.
Instead of taking them, however, MacDonough said, “Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you the more worthy to wear your swords;” and he bade them put them back in their scabbards and keep them.
Every care was now given to the wounded on both sides, and MacDonough himself visited every ship in his squadron, and thanked the officers and men for their bravery.
News of the American victory was received with joy all over the country. Congress offered a vote of thanks to MacDonough, and many states and towns gave him presents. But through it all he was still the modest MacDonough. Often tears came into his eyes when he was speaking of all the country had done for him.
This was almost his last battle. Soon after it, peace was declared, and he left Lake Champlain and went back to the ocean.
In 1825 he was Commander of the “Constitution,” in the Mediterranean. But his health failed and he determined to go home. He never reached his country, however. On November tenth, he died, leaving behind him an undying name—a brave officer, a great seaman, and a Christian gentleman. In memory of MacDonough, the place near which he was born has been named after him, and in the great warship “Delaware,” the largest in the present American navy, his portrait (presented by the Colonial Dames of the State) is hung with those of Admiral Jones and Admiral du Pont, to commemorate the naval heroes of Delaware.
How Once Upon A Time
Delaware Welcomed
Lafayette.
WHEN Lafayette was in America, helping us fight for liberty, he made many friends among the Delaware people. Caesar Rodney was then President of Delaware, and Lafayette was often entertained at his house. It was there that he met the beautiful Miss Vining. He and she became great friends, and for a great many years they used to write to each other.
When Washington had his headquarters in Wilmington, Lafayette came with him. He staid at the house of a Quaker, Mr. Joseph Tatnall, in Brandywine Village, just across the stream from Wilmington. General Wayne and other of Washington’s officers, were stationed at Mr. Tatnall’s house, too.
Brandywine Village was then a separate place, and not a part of Wilmington as it is now. There was no bridge across the Brandywine, and people who wished to go from one place to the other, were ferried across the stream.[1] Lafayette often crossed the Brandywine in this way. He would ride his horse on to the great clumsy boat and sit quietly while it was ferried over; then he would ride clattering off on the Wilmington side, and up the hilly streets to join Washington at his headquarters.
Often General Washington himself would cross in the ferry to Brandywine Village, and come to the Tatnall house to discuss plans of battle with Lafayette, and the other officers. These meetings were held in the back parlor; there was a large round table in the middle of the room, and on this they spread out their maps and plans. Washington kept other important papers at the Tatnall house, too. It was a safer place than his headquarters in Wilmington.
Lafayette was at this time a very gay and dashing young officer, and the Tatnall children, who were shy little Quakers, were rather afraid of him. After he had been out riding he used to come marching into the house, snapping his riding whip, and glancing about him with keen, bright eyes; his spurs jingled as he walked. The children generally ran and hid when they heard him coming,—that is all but the youngest, a pretty little girl of two or three. She never felt the least fear of the Frenchman. She would run to meet him, holding up her little bare dimpled arms for him to take her. Then Lafayette would swing her up on his shoulder, and march with her through the house. He called her “his little sweetheart.”
But one morning Lafayette and the other officers said good-bye, and went down to the ferry for the last time. His “little sweetheart” never saw him again. He had gone with Washington and his army to meet the British further north, and to fight in the battle of Brandywine.
After the Revolution was over, and the colonies were free, Lafayette went back to France, and it was almost forty years before he visited America again. In that time, there were many changes. Washington died and was buried at his beloved home, Mount Vernon. Lafayette himself had changed from a gay, dashing officer to a stately, grey-haired man of sixty-seven.
He landed at New York on August, sixteenth, 1824, and was welcomed with great honor as “the nation’s guest.” Flowers were strewn before him. In many places the horses were taken from his carriage, and it was drawn through the streets by the people themselves.
There were at that time, twenty-four states in the Union, and Lafayette wished to visit each one of them. He planned to come to Wilmington on October, sixth, so as to attend the wedding of Mr. Charles I. du Pont and Miss VanDyke, the daughter of U. S. Senator, Nicholas VanDyke, at New Castle in the evening of that day. Lafayette had known Mr. du Pont’s father in France, for they were of a French family.
Great preparations were made by all the people of Wilmington and its vicinity, (indeed from all parts of the State) to welcome Lafayette.
The day of his arrival dawned clear and bright. As early as seven o’clock in the morning all the town was astir. Fifes were sounded, drums were beaten. The Wilmington City Troop was to march up the Philadelphia pike and meet the General at the state line, between Pennsylvania and Delaware. This City Troop had been named the “Lafayette Guard,” in honor of their visitor. With the troop were to ride about two hundred of the young men of Wilmington. These young men were all dressed alike, in white trousers, blue or black coats, and high black stocks. They all wore Revolutionary cockades, and Lafayette badges. A number of the older men of Wilmington rode out with them, too, in carriages.
At the boundary line in Brandywine Hundred, near the Practical Farmer, a magnificent floral arch had been erected with the American eagle suspended in the centre, a United States flag, with a portrait of Washington underneath of it and the words:—
“DELAWARE WELCOMES LAFAYETTE.”
Advancing into the city of Wilmington, his reception was overwhelming. Flowers were strewn in his pathway; arches of evergreens, decorated with flags, had been built across Market Street at different points. From one of the arches hung a model of the ship “Brandywine,” and above it were the words, “In honor of Lafayette, the friend of Civil Liberty.”
The ladies of the town had decorated Brandywine bridge so that it was almost hidden by wreaths and flowers. It was over this bridge that Lafayette would enter the town.
It was eight o’clock when the procession set out from Wilmington and marched up the Philadelphia pike to meet the distinguished guest.
At about ten o’clock word was brought that General Lafayette was then in sight. The procession drew up in order, and as soon as Lafayette appeared the men burst into a loud shout of “Long live Lafayette!”
Lafayette rose and bowed in answer. He was riding in a barouche, and with him was his son, George Washington Lafayette. He was escorted by the First City Troop of Philadelphia, and a number of well known men.
As soon as Lafayette reached the State line where the Wilmington procession was waiting, he stepped from the barouche down into the road.
The Honorable Louis McLane came forward to meet him, and made a speech of welcome. Lafayette answered him, and in his answer he spoke of the war for liberty, in which he had fought, and of the great bravery of the Delaware regiment in that war.
Mr. McLane then asked to introduce to the General, three men who had fought in the Delaware regiment,—three of the Blue Hen’s Chickens. They were, Major Peter Jaquet, Captain Caleb P. Bennett and Colonel Allen McLane. Colonel McLane, an old man of eighty-three years, was dressed in the Colonial uniform he had worn in the war.
Other prominent citizens of Delaware were introduced, and then Lafayette stepped into the carriage that had been brought for him, and to the music of the band, the procession moved on toward Wilmington.
As they reached the top of Shellpot hill, just outside of the city, the dull boom of a cannon sounded across the sunny fields. Again it boomed, and still again, till thirteen shots had been fired, one shot for each of the thirteen original colonies. It was a salute to Lafayette.
The General was very anxious to stop in Brandywine Village, at the Tatnall house. His old friend, Joseph Tatnall, had died many years before, but his son was still living in a stone house close by.
He was standing in the doorway when Lafayette’s carriage stopped before the house. He hurried down to the street to welcome the General. He had his little son in his arms, and at a whispered word from his father, the little fellow held out a beautiful basket of Washington pears.
Lafayette took it with a smile, and thanked the child. “You were not so many years older than this little fellow, when I was here before,” said the General to the father.
“And my little sweetheart?” added the General. “What has become of her? Shall I see her?”
But the little sweetheart was dead. Years before, she had grown up and married, and then had died, leaving a daughter. Lafayette wished to see this daughter, but she was away at boarding school. Mr. Tatnall had asked the mistress of the school to allow his niece to come to him for that day, but the mistress had refused; she was so strict that she would not allow the young girl to be absent for a day, even to meet General Lafayette.
Just beyond the bridge, a great crowd of people had gathered. They cheered wildly as Lafayette’s carriage rolled across the bridge. At the same time, all the bells in the city began to ring, and so with shouts and music, and the pealing of bells, General Lafayette was welcomed back to Delaware.
The procession paraded through the streets and under the arches, and at last drew up before the City Hall, where a great feast had been made ready. About two hundred people were at the banquet.
Just as the feast was ended, an old woman pushed her way into the hall, and came to where Mr. McLane was standing. Mr. McLane knew who she was very well. Her name was Belle McClosky, and she earned her living by selling cakes and pies about the town. Wherever she went, she always carried an old musket ball in her pocket. Often she took out this ball and showed it to her customers, and boasted that she had taken it out of General Lafayette’s wound with a pair of scissors when he was wounded at the Battle of Brandywine.
Now, as soon as she reached Mr. McLane’s side, she said, “Mr. McLane, I want you to introduce me to General Lafayette.”
Mr. McLane hesitated a moment; then he said “Very well, Belle, I will do it. I know you are a true patriot, and I believe you saved many a poor soldier’s life at the time of the war.”
He then led Belle over to General Lafayette. The General spoke to her pleasantly, but he had not the least idea who she was.
“General,” said Belle, “do you remember being wounded at the Battle of Brandywine, and the young woman who took out the ball with a pair of scissors?”
“I remember very well,” answered Lafayette. “She saved me several hours of suffering. I would like to see her again, that I might thank her.”
Belle took the ball from her pocket, and held it out to him in her hand. “This is the ball,” said she, “and I am the woman who took it out, though I am so old now it is no wonder that you do not know me.”
Lafayette was amazed. He thanked her warmly, and then took the ball and looked at it. “So you have kept it all these years,” he said. “That is very curious.”
Then he gave the ball back to her, and Belle went out from the hall that day a very proud and happy woman.
Lafayette paid only one visit in Wilmington, and that was to Mrs. Connel. She was the wife of Mr. John Connel who had been very kind to some French soldiers at the time of the war between France and Russia.[2]
Later in the afternoon, the General set out for New Castle, to attend the wedding there.
New Castle had prepared to welcome him with a military salute. There were two six pound cannons in the old arsenal at New Castle, that were named the “Wasp” and the “Hornet.”
They had been moved to the northeast end of the town, near the site of old Fort Casimir, ready for use. As the procession passed Rogers’ Woods, and came in sight of New Castle, the gunners began. The cannons boomed and boomed incessantly until Lafayette had entered the house of George Read, 2nd, on Water St., where he was received, and where guards were placed at the front door to keep back the crowd.
In the evening Lafayette attended the wedding. At this wedding, he was, of course, the guest of honor. The chair where he was to sit was raised so as to be higher than any others in the room, and was wreathed about with flowers.
A great crowd gathered before the house to see General Lafayette.
Senator VanDyke, the father of the bride, gave orders that the door and windows should be left open, so that the people outside could see the General and also the wedding party.
Afterward, he went to take supper and spend the night, with George Read, 2nd, the son of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. The next morning, he was driven over to Frenchtown, Maryland, on the Elk river, where he was met and welcomed by the Marylanders.
So Lafayette passed through Delaware, on his tour through the States, and so the Delaware people welcomed him. It was a beautiful greeting, and Delaware may well be proud of the day when Lafayette was here.
