"I will do my best," she said, and began at once. "Lossing says the tree was about a mile above here, and the only one of its kind in that region—a round, compact tree, its short trunk looking as if composed of a group of smaller ones, and the limbs growing so near the ground that it was difficult to get under it. At the time that the British landed at Frankford some man who had a large quantity of bacon, being afraid they would rob him of it, carried it to that tree and hung the pieces in among the branches to hide them from the foe; and though the British passed along the road only a short distance from the tree, they did not notice its peculiar fruit, so did not meddle with it, and his bacon was saved; always afterward that Norway pine was called the Bacon Tree."
"Thank you, grandma; that was a nice story," said Elsie.
"Haven't you another little story for us, grandma?" asked Ned, in coaxing tones. "I do always like your stories ever so much."
At that Grandma Elsie laughed a pleasant little laugh, then went on:
"Lossing tells us quite an interesting little story of a remarkable black man whom he visited somewhere near here. His name was Henry Van Meter, and he was then ninety-five years old. During the Revolution he was a slave to Governor Nelson of Virginia. After that he became a seaman, and was one of the crew of the privateer Lawrence, which sailed from Baltimore in 1814. I suppose Lossing questioned him about his long life, and heard his story of it. He remembered having seen Washington many times. The estate of Governor Nelson, his first master, was sold after the war, to pay his debts, and Henry was bought by a planter beyond the Blue Ridge. The new master wanted him to marry one of his slave girls, and told him if he did he would order in his will that he should be made a free man at his (the master's) death. In telling of it Henry said, 'I didn't like the gals, and didn't want to wait for dead men's shoes. So master sold me to a man near Lexington, Kentucky, and there was only one log house in that town when I went there.'
"He was soon sold to another man, who treated him shamefully, and one night he mounted one of his master's horses and fled to the Kentucky River, where he turned the horse loose, and told him to go home if he had a mind to, as he didn't want to steal him. Some kind white people helped Henry over the river into Ohio, and at Cincinnati he then took the name of Van Meter—the family name of some of the Shenandoah Valley people who had been kind to him.
"Afterward Henry became the servant of an officer in the army of General St. Clair, and served with our troops in the Northwest under General Wayne. After that he lived in Chillicothe, then came East to Philadelphia. There some Quaker sent him to school, and he learned to read and write. He became a sailor, went to Europe several times in that capacity, and when the war broke out he shipped as such on board the privateer Lawrence. It was taken by the British, and he was thrown into Dartmoor Prison, and saw the massacre there in 1815."
"Oh, what was that, grandma?" asked Ned, in tones of excitement. "I didn't think I ever heard about it."
"Lossing tells us," replied his grandmother, "that Dartmoor was a depot for prisoners in England; that it was situated in a desolate region, was built in 1809 for a place in which to confine French prisoners. At the time the treaty of peace was made with us there were six thousand American prisoners in it—two thousand five hundred of them American seamen, put there for refusing to fight in the British Navy against their countrymen. They were there when the war began in 1812. For some unknown reason there was great delay in setting those prisoners free after the treaty of peace was made. It was nearly three months before they were allowed to know that the treaty had been signed. From the time they first heard of it they were every day expecting to be set at liberty, and naturally grew very impatient over the delay. On the 4th of April they demanded bread instead of hard biscuit, which they refused to eat. On the evening of the 6th they showed great unwillingness to obey the order to retire to their quarters, and some of them not only refused to do that, but went beyond their prescribed limits. Then Captain Shortland, who had charge of the military guard, ordered them to fire on the Americans, which they did. The soldiers, I believe, fired a second time. Five prisoners were killed and thirty-three wounded."
"Why, that was just murder, wasn't it, grandma?" asked Ned. "And didn't they hang those soldiers for doing it?"