From the field where Mr. Gilpin and his sons were at work, I made the sketch printed on page 378, and there parting company with Mr. Townsend, my cicerone over the battleground of the Brandywine, I turned my face toward Kennet Square, with my back to the keen northeast wind. It was nearly four o'clock when I reached Chad's Ford. The clouds were deepening, and every aspect of nature was dreary. I alighted, tied my horse to a bar-post, and, shivering with cold, stood upon the bank of the congealing stream, and sketched the picture on page 379—giving it the effects of sunlight and foliage as in pleasant summer time, after a warm supper at Kennet Square. The shadows of evening were coming on when I crossed the Brandywine, and it was too dark to see objects clearly when I passed the old Kennet meeting-house and Welsh's tavern, places of historic interest upon the highway. I arrived at Kennet Square, seven miles west of the Brandywine, at about half-past five o'clock, and passed the night at Wiley's tavern, a venerable edifice, in which Howe had his quarters while his army was encamped in the vicinity.
I arose at daybreak, in anticipation of beholding a furious snow-storm, for the wind roared in the spacious chimneys, and the neighboring shutters and sign-boards were beating a tattoo. But the wind had changed to the southeast, and, though blowing with the fury of a December tempest, it was as warm as the breath of early spring. I breakfasted early, and departed for Elkton, twenty-four miles distant, with a prospect of receiving a drenching, for scuds, dark and billowy, came up from the ocean upon the wings of the gale like a flock of monster birds. I had just passed the "Hammer and Trowel" inn, a few miles from Kennet, when a thick mist came sweeping over the hills in the van of a tempest of wind and rain. For more than an hour, it seemed as if the "windows of heaven were opened," and that Æolus and Jupiter Pluvius were joined in merry-making upon the earth. The huge leafless oaks in the forests swayed to and fro like the masts and spars of tempest-tossed navies; and a thousand turbid streamlets poured from the hill-sides, and made rivers of the gentle water-courses in the vales. Twice, while passing over a lofty hill, I felt my wagon lifted from the ground by the wind, its spacious cover acting like a parachute. The storm ceased as suddenly as it arose, and, when I reached New London (a village of some twenty houses), about ten miles from Kennet Square, the clouds broke, and the winds were hushed. A brilliant, mild afternoon made the ride from New London to Elkton a delightful one, and fully compensated for the suffering of the morning. The country is hilly, until within a few miles of the head of the Elk, when it becomes flat, and marshy, and penetrated by deep estuaries of the bay and river.
Elkton (the "Head of Elk" of the Revolution) is an old town, the capital of Cecil county, in Maryland. It is situated at the junction of the two branches of the Elk River, the upper portion of Chesapeake Bay, and at the head of tide-water. The rail-way from Philadelphia to Baltimore passes within half a mile of the town. Here the British made their first halt, after leaving the place of debarkation at Turkey Point, twelve miles below; and Elkton may be considered the dividing point, in the military operations of the Revolution, between the North and South. The accompanying map, divided by the Delaware River, with New
Scene of Military Operations in New Jersey and Pennsylvania.—An Evening on the Chesapeake.—Baltimore.
Jersey on the right and Pennsylvania on the left, is introduced to exhibit the relative position of the principal places in those two states, from Amboy to Elkton, mentioned in preceding pages, and made memorable by military events.
My tarry at Elkton was brief. While Charley (my horse) was "taking a bite" at an inn stable, I made inquiry of the post-master and other citizens, concerning vestiges of the Revolution, and ascertained that nothing was visible in the neighborhood of Elkton except the water, and the fields, and the hills on which Howe encamped, some two miles from the town. The place of the debarkation of the British was Turkey Point, a cape formed by the junction of the Elk River and the broad mouth of the Susquehanna, twelve miles below the village. Informed that the enemy cast up no intrenchments, and, consequently, left no tangible marks of their presence there, and assured that a fine view of the Point might be obtained from the steam-boat, when going down the Chesapeake, I resolved to be satisfied with a distant observation. I accordingly rode to Frenchtown, three miles below Elkton, whence the boats connecting with the Delaware and Chesapeake rail-way depart for Baltimore; "took tea" with a widow lady, residing in a fine brick dwelling on the bank of the river, and, just before sunset, embarked. Charley was restive when walking the plank, but, using all the philosophy he possessed, he soon decided that the hubbub in the steam-pipe was harmless, and his footing on deck secure. These problems settled, he seemed to enjoy the evening voyage quite as much as the bipeds around him. It was, indeed, a glorious evening. When the George Washington cast off her moorings, the last gleams of the evening sun gilded the hills of Delaware, and, while passing Turkey Point, the scene was truly gorgeous. The tall trees of the cape were sharply penciled upon a back-ground of blended ruby, orange, gold, purple, and azure, glowing like opal, and spreading over many degrees of the western horizon; while above, far up in the dark blue, was the crescent moon, with Jupiter in her lap, beaming so brightly that he cast a line of silver light upon the calm waters of the bay. Both had gone down behind the hills when we passed North Point * light-house, and entered the Patapsco. We arrived