Women of America / Woman: In all ages and in all countries Vol. 10 (of 10)

by John Ruse Larus

It was in character and gift to the nation only, and not in incident, that the life of Madam Washington deserves chronicle; and others now demand notice in this chapter. Though the wife of Washington will be spoken of in an ensuing chapter, as being the first of the "first ladies of the land," mention must not be omitted of one whose very existence has been well-nigh forgotten--the sister of Washington. Of her, it is true, there is little to be gathered; but we are told that "she was a most majestic woman, and so strikingly like the brother that it was a matter of frolic to throw a cloak around her and place a military hat upon her head; and such was the perfect resemblance that had she appeared on her brother's steed, battalions would have presented arms and senates risen to do homage to the chief." Further she was not noted, and she lived her life in quiet, hardly coming within the radiance cast around by the deeds done by her illustrious brother. Only for his sake does she deserve notice here.

Hardly to that brother did the country owe greater debt than to the women whom it had nurtured. Patriotic as were the majority of American men, ready to suffer as well as to die in the cause of country, they were less patriotic, and their endurance was less splendid, than that shown by the women of our land. The patriotism evinced itself in many different ways; sometimes in mere sallies of wit, as with the famous Miss Franks, the daughter of a Jewish merchant. Rebecca Franks was celebrated for her wit and accomplishments. She was a loyalist at heart, and afterward married Sir Henry Johnson, an English general; but her keen jests at the expense of the British did not impress them with her devotion to their cause. When, at a ball in New York, Sir Henry Clinton, then holding on with rapidly relaxing grasp to English dominance in America, called to the musicians to play Britons, strike home! Miss Franks remarked that what he should have said was "Britons, go home!" Other ironies are credited to her; but none, probably, having such keen point as the repartee of a South Carolina maiden, in whose presence Colonel Tarleton spoke sneeringly of Colonel Washington and wished he "could see this paragon!" "Had you looked behind you at the battle of the Cowpens, Colonel Tarleton," replied the young lady, "you would have had that pleasure!" Whereat the hard-fighting dragoon, who on that day had run harder than he had fought, was much discomfited.

This was the spirit of the American patriot woman; but it often evinced itself in ways more serviceable to the cause of freedom. When Washington was encamped at White Marsh a surprise was planned against him; and it would undoubtedly have proved exceedingly disastrous had not the plan been overheard by Lydia Darrah, who lived in the house on Second Street, Philadelphia, opposite the mansion occupied by General Howe, where the plan was discussed, the family being supposed to be in bed. Lydia returned to her room after her espionage and had the nerve to remain quiet, as if asleep, when one of the officers knocked on her door to inform her that the conclave was over. Then, with quick ingenuity, she told her husband, a loyalist, that there was need of flour and that she must go to Frankford to procure it; and, having on this pretext secured egress from the British lines, she hastened to White Marsh. On her way she met Colonel Craig, of the light horse, and to him confided her secret; then, with lightened heart, she hastened back and managed to return unsuspected. The surprise consequently failed; but the part played by the demure little Quakeress was never guessed, though the British knew that some one had betrayed their plan to the American general. Had they suspected, it must have gone hard with Lydia; but she escaped the consequences of her brave act, which might have been death, while her country reaped the benefits thereof.

Not so marked by the evidence of personal courage, yet splendid in its patriotic self-sacrifice, was the spirit shown by Rebecca Motte when her house was occupied by the British soldiery under McPherson and besieged by Marion and Lee. McPherson's position was apparently impregnable; and he was holding out in anticipation of the coming of Lord Rawdon with a large force. Mrs. Motte was a firm friend of the American cause and had often bestowed generous hospitality upon the American officers, including Lee himself. To burn the house seemed to be the sole means of dislodging McPherson; but how could the friends of liberty destroy the property of one so devoted to the cause as Mrs. Motte, a widow, and one who had often nursed back to life some stricken Continental soldier? But Mrs. Motte overheard the discussion, and she assured the leaders that she "was gratified with the opportunity of contributing to the good of her country and should view the approaching scene with delight." Moreover, when the generals had reluctantly determined upon the measure, she gave them a bow and arrows, which had been imported from India, that by this means the flaming combustibles might be shot upon her roof. The plan was carried out and McPherson forced to surrender, while the house was burned to the ground. Mrs. Motte contemplated the destruction of her home with an unmoved smile, and busied herself in succoring and caring for the wounded--Tory as well as Whig, for suffering annihilates such distinctions--with a heart apparently as free from care and rejoicing in victory as if she had gained rather than lost by the day's work.

Another daughter of South Carolina, which State claimed Mrs. Motte as its own, displayed on more than one occasion qualities that fell nothing short of heroism. Martha Bratton was the wife of a revolutionary colonel, and she lived in a spot in York District that was exposed to all the storm of war that swept over the devoted State. Her husband was peculiarly obnoxious to the Tories, and Captain Huck or--Huyck, as it is spelled in the order of his commanding officer--was dispatched, after a severe defeat inflicted upon the loyal forces by troops under Colonel Bratton, to compel by force the wife to betray the husband into British hands. A soldier under Huck's command actually placed a reaping-hook at Mrs. Bratton's throat when she refused to reveal the whereabouts of her husband, and Huck did not interfere; but his second in command, with more decency, even if with a suspicion of insubordination, interposed in the lady's behalf, though not until she had looked death in the face for a time and had not recoiled. Threats were of no avail, and finally Huck abandoned his purpose as impracticable. The next day brought vengeance upon him for his brutality, for he was attacked by Colonel Bratton with a far smaller force, himself killed, and his troops utterly routed. The officer who had interfered in behalf of Mrs. Bratton was taken prisoner and might have been hanged by the enraged Whigs had not the lady fortunately recognized him in time to preserve his life by her story of debt to him. Another anecdote of Mrs. Bratton attests her heroic firmness of character. Ammunition was very scarce with both patriots and Tories, and a portion of that sent by Governor Rutledge to the former had been confided to the care of Colonel Bratton and by him placed in an outhouse on his place. News of this came to some loyalists, who at once, in the absence of Colonel Bratton, organized a foray to seize the powder. But Mrs. Bratton was warned in time, and she immediately laid a train of powder to the outhouse, took her stand at the end of the train, and when the enemy appeared set fire to the train and blew up the outhouse with its valuable contents. The officer in command of the forayers was furious at being thus outwitted and demanded to know the perpetrator of the deed. Mrs. Bratton did not flinch. "It was I who did it," she replied. "Let the consequence be what it will, I glory in having prevented the mischief contemplated by the cruel enemies of my country." One hardly knows whether the more to admire the gallant bearing of the lady or the coolness which led her to await the actual coming of the enemy and not to destroy such valuable property until the necessity for doing so became immediate.

These were but types, though pronounced ones, of the spirit that was almost universal among the patriot women of America during those stormy and fateful days. It was to be found dominant throughout the land, from New England to the Carolinas, though of course it was more evident, and possibly more fervent, in those districts where the war actually set its foot. In feeling at least, women, when once aroused, are more intensely militant than men, as they are more patient and constant under suffering; and it was to the women quite as much as to the men that our country owed its escape from the British yoke. The display of the feeling varied in its manifestations; but that feeling was ever present in the hearts of the American women of the revolutionary times. The ladies of Boston who abandoned, in the days of oppression, their cup of tea that the abhorrent taxes might not be enforced showed the same true patriotism, only needing opportunity to call it to higher pitch, as did their sisters who bore the insults and outrages of a brutal soldiery when Tarleton rode across stricken South Carolina and planted a hatred that bore fruit in the ambush and the night attack. The women of New England bound upon the backs of husbands and sons and even fathers the old knapsack and placed in their hands the old musket and sent them forth, ready to go, yet full of fears for those left behind, to Lexington and Bunker Hill.

It must not, however, be supposed that all the enthusiasm, all the depth of feeling, all the patriotism even, was in the camp, feminine or masculine, of the Continentals. Among the Tories, or Loyalists, as they liked best to call themselves, there were many hearts which beat with true devotion to their country, yet which believed that country's best duty, because its highest, was to be found in loyalty to the king. Especially was this the case in New York and Philadelphia, which were the strongholds of British possession. It is true that there were many, women as well as men, even more of the former, whose loyalty was but lip-service, who cherished in their hearts a devotion to the cause of freedom to which they dared not give utterance for fear of oppression; but there were also many who loved the flag of England as the banner of all that was truest and best, and who looked upon the resisters of British authority as rebels of the baser sort. They were as honest as were their opponents, and they were as fanatical; and they are entitled to the same respect for their devotion to a losing cause as are their rivals for their loyalty to one that was victorious.

In 1778 there was held in the staid city of Philadelphia a certain entertainment given by the officers of Sir William Howe to their general, which was to pass into history under the name of the Meschianza, or the Medley. It was a most gorgeous pageant, wherein were tournament and feat and dance; and to it came most of the belles of Philadelphia, forgetful of or uncaring for the army of their brethren, ragged and barefooted, and still suffering from their winter of starving amid the snows of Valley Forge. The loyalist ladies were in full feather, more literally than would now be the case, the nodding plume then adorning the head of the dame as frequently as it did the helmet of the soldier. Present are such famous toasts as Miss Becky Franks, Miss Peggy Chew, Miss Nancy White, Miss Becky Bond, and others. The Misses Shippen, equal to any in beauty and wit, do not grace the occasion by their charms; they have fully intended to be present, and have even ordered Turkish dresses for the occasion, 'since fancy costumes are en règle; but there has been issued a parental ukase to the contrary, Mr. Edward Shippen at the last moment declining to allow his daughters to make merry with the foes of his country, or it may be that the appearance of the Turkish dresses in the eyes of his Quaker neighbors has influenced his decision, for Mr. Shippen is not a patriot. But there are enough without these ladies, and the merriment is unalloyed. It is a typical scene, this of the Meschianza, even though never before has the revel been of such ornate character; for the belles of New York and Philadelphia and the macaronis of the army often forget the perils of war in the delights of the social function, unmindful of the waxing or waning of the patriot or the royal cause.

Of those present at the Meschianza there was one whose romance merits note in these pages, Miss Peggy Chew. Among the officers who on that day and night tilted and danced with the best was one Major John Andre, and his motto of "No Rival" was carried out at least in his connection with Miss Chew. That they were betrothed was the general belief; that they were lovers may be set down as certain. But a little more than two years later Major Andre, technically if not actually guilty of being a spy, was led beneath the fatal tree at Tappan, and poor Peggy Chew's romance was over forever. If we could leave her in her sorrow to weep for her lover and the overthrown cause of her king, she might pass down as one of the ideal heroines of sad romance; but fact somewhat hampers our sympathy with the lady, for some seven years after the death of Andre, Miss Chew married General John Eager Howard, the staunch fighter of the Cowpens; and the general, as was but natural, always denied, even with strange oaths, that his wife had ever cared for one who to him was but a common spy.

So the belle of the Meschianza changed her political faith with her love loyalty; but another who has been named in connection with that entertainment shamed many a woman in faith of another kind. With her sisters, Miss Peggy Shippen had been held from the revel; but she had been toasted there. Yet she became, but a short time afterward, the wife of one of the most gallant soldiers that ever drew sword for the cause of America, Benedict Arnold. Had he been as true as he was brave he might have left an honored name; and, even as it was, though history has not yet done justice in this wise, Arnold's bitter resentment toward the ungrateful Continental Congress was not without reason and excuse; nevertheless, his action resulting therefrom was unpardonable. In his treason, as was but natural, his splendid services were forgotten by his countrymen; but his wife was true to him in his degradation as in his glory. In an interview with Washington at West Point she even went so far as to accuse the commander-in-chief of conspiring to murder her infant as well as to degrade her husband; and we can forgive, as did Washington, even this to the tortured woman. During his residence in England after the Revolution, Arnold said to an Englishman who had met him casually and, being unaware of his personality, knowing only his nationality, asked him for some letters of introduction to be used in a purposed trip to America: "Sir, I am the only American in the world whose introduction would do you more harm than good; I am Benedict Arnold." There was here more than the bitterness of ostracism; but that bitterness, which made all his life a torment, never repelled his wife or caused her faith and love to swerve. She was loyal with even a higher loyalty than that given by her sisters of America to the cause of her country, for she was faithful in heart as in deed to one who had in all ways proved unworthy of faith.