HE sun was shining in its noontide glory when I crossed the great Trenton Bridge over the Delaware to Morrisville, and reined my horse to the right into the Falsington road, for Philadelphia, twenty-eight miles distant. Unlike a summer rain, the storm developed no new beauties in the fields and orchards, but "a mantle dun" continued to overspread the landscape, and a cold north wind was heralding the approach of winter. I was now in the fertile region of "old Bucks" * in Pennsylvania, and with a loose rein traversed the gentle undulating country over which the Continental battalions often marched and countermarched. It was the anniversary of the evacuation of New York by the British—the departure of the last hostile foot from November 25, 1783 our free shores. The mind, laden with the associations of the place and hour, its soul-stirring thoughts kept me such entertaining company, that the sun went down, and I entered the suburban district of Kensington, in the "Northern Liberties" of Philadelphia, before I was fairly conscious that a dozen miles had been traveled. It was but little more than four hours' journey with my strong and vigorous horse.
After leaving Falsington, the traveler obtains frequent glimpses of the Delaware and its white sails, on the left. The several small villages on the way (Falsington, Hulmeville, and Frankford being the largest) bear marks, in their dwellings, of considerable antiquity, if that word may properly be applied to American edifices. Many of them are small, steep-roofed stone houses, with little windows and wide doors, built before the war of the Revolution broke out, and presenting a great contrast with the New England villages, which seem as if just finished, with the white paint scarcely dry. It was almost sunset when I arrived at Frankford, quite a large town upon the Tacony Creek, five miles northeast of
* Tradition currently reports that the renowned Indian chief Tamene, or St. Tammany, was buried near a spring about three and a half miles west of Doylestown, in this county. He was an unequaled chief among the Delawares. Heckewelder says that when Colonel George Morgan, of Princeton, visited the Western Indians, by order of Congress, in 1776, he was so beloved for his goodness, that the Delawares conferred upon him the name of their venerated chief. Morgan brought back to the whites such glowing accounts of the qualities of that ancient chief, that in the Revolutionary war he was dubbed a saint, and his name was placed on some calendars. He was called by politicians, St. Tammany, and established as the patron saint of republican America. Tammany societies were organized, and Tammany halls dedicated, and on the 1st of May (the festival of the saint), meetings of the societies were held. "On that day," says Heckewelder, "numerous societies of his votaries walked together in procession through the streets of Philadelphia, their hats decorated with bucks' tails, and proceeded to a handsome rural place out of town, which they called the wigwam, where, after a long talk, or Indian speech, had been delivered, and the calumet of peace and friendship had been duly smoked, they spent the day in festivity and mirth." The Tammany Society of New York is yet in existence. Its meetings are held regularly at Tammany Hall, on the east side of the City Hall Park.
Revolutionary Events at Frankford.—Kensington.—Arrival in Philadelphia.—Christ Church and its Sounding-board.
Philadelphia. Here the Americans kept quite a strong picket, during the occupation of Philadelphia by the British in 1777—8, after the battles of Brandywine and Germantown. Near here was stationed the fine corps of light infantry guards under Colonel Twistleton (afterward Lord Say and Sele); and here, also, the active partisan corps called the Queen's Rangers, under Lieutenant-colonel Simcoe (afterward Governor of Canada), was recruited, and disciplined by actual service.
In November, 1777, the Rangers, in concert with Major Gwyn, attempted to surprise the American post at Frankford. They approached the town cautiously, and rushing in, expected to secure prisoners and booty; but the patriots had temporarily withdrawn. Some days afterward, another attempt to take the post was made. An American officer and twenty men were made prisoners. They were raw and undisciplined militia. Each man had the countersign, Richmond, written with chalk in his hat that he might not forget it. Soon after capturing these men, a patrol of cavalry, under Major Gwyn, which had pursued a party toward Bristol, came retreating in great confusion. They had been attacked, both in front and rear, by a troop of horsemen under Count Pulaski. Thoroughly alarmed, the whole British force at Frankford crossed the Tacony, and returned in haste to Philadelphia.
Parties of the Queen's Rangers were almost every day at Frankford, where the Americans did not keep a fixed post. Simcoe had trained his men to quick and energetic movements with the bayonet, and his standing order was, "Take as many prisoners as possible, but never destroy life unless absolutely necessary." On one occasion, a patroling party of the Rangers approached Frankford undiscovered by an American sentinel at the bridge. They were so near that they might easily have killed the guard, but a boy was sent to warn him to run for his life. He did so, and no more sentinels were posted there afterward; "a matter of some consequence," says Simcoe, "to the poor people of Philadelphia, as they were not prevented from getting their flour ground at Frankford Mills." *
Passing through a portion of the Kensington suburb of Philadelphia, its mud and wretchedness, its barking dogs and squalling babies, where society seems in a transition state from filth to cleanliness, and consequently from vice to godliness, I wheeled down Second Street, amid its glowing shops, and reined up at Congress Hall, just as the last hue of daylight faded away. It was Saturday night, a season as welcome to the traveler as a "cross day" in the calendar to the faithful. I was in Philadelphia' the city of brotherly love; the quiet Sabbath near; a glorious harvest of Revolutionary reminiscences spread out around me, inviting the pen-sickle to reap for my garner; and the broad and sunny South, its chivalry and its patriotism, beckoning me onward. Busy thought kept sleep at bay until midnight.
The Sabbath morning dawned brilliant and frosty. As I went up to worship in the venerable Christ Church, around which cluster so many interesting associations of the past, I felt that it was a two-fold sanctuary—a sanctuary of religion and of patriotism. The exterior is the same as it was when the later colonial governors and officers of state—when Washington and Franklin—when Congress and the officers of the Continental army went there to worship; but the interior has been greatly changed by that iconoclast, improvement—that breaker of the images which patriotism delights to worship! One vestige of the olden time remains untouched—the pulpit sounding-board, the indispensable canopy of the old pastors.
"That sounding-board, to me it seem'd