"The deep interest which passing events are giving to the history of the campaigns of the North-Western Army, naturally sets the memory to work in recalling the incidents that gave them their peculiar character. The achievments of the volunteers under the gallant Harrison, are written in the brightest pages of the records of their country, and must live so long as the human heart thrills at the contemplation of deeds of lofty heroism. But Kentucky does not point solely to her brave soldiers, and challenge admiration for them. Far, far from it; for to the noble mothers and daughters of our State belongs a chaplet of unfading laurels. They espoused the cause of their country with an ardour never surpassed in any land under the sun. Company after company, batallion after batallion, left the State for the scene of war, and although the bloodiest battles were fought, and men came home with thinned ranks and wearied frames, and the wail of the widow and the orphan was loud in the lament for the slain, the fire of patriotism burnt the brighter, and the women of Kentucky, never faltering, still urged on the men to battle. Although we were at that time but a very small boy, well do we remember all that passed under our observation at that stirring period. We remember the letters that were received from the volunteers describing their sufferings from cold and hunger and nakedness, and we remember, too, how the ladies united together for the purpose of sending clothing to the suffering soldiery. They formed themselves into sewing societies, made hunting shirts, knit socks, purchased blankets and fitted up all kinds of garments that could add to the comfort of the troops. The ladies of the town of Frankfort, alone, sent two wagon loads of clothing to the frontier, which arrived most timely, and warmed alike the hearts and bodies of the volunteers, for they reminded them that such wives and mothers and sisters deserved to be defended at every possible hazard.
A Spartan mother is said, on presenting a shield to her son, to have told him "to return, with it or upon it." It is recorded of another, that when her son complained of the shortness of his sword, she bade him "take one step nearer his enemy and he would find it long enough." And for such sayings as these, the Spartan women have ever since been renowned in history. We remember an incident that occurred in our own presence during the last war, that proves that a Kentucky mother was fully equal in courage and love of country to any of those whose fame has survived for so many ages. We beg leave to relate it, and will do so in as few words as possible.
Soon after the battle of the river Raisin, where the Captain of the Frankfort company (Pascal Hickman,) had been barbarously massacred in the officers' house after the surrender, Lieutenant Peter Dudley returned to Frankfort for the purpose of raising another company. The preceding and recent events of the campaigns had demonstrated to all that war was, in reality, a trade of blood, and the badges of mourning, worn by male and female, evidenced that here its most dire calamity had been felt. He who would volunteer now, knew that he embarked in a hazardous enterprise. On the occasion alluded to, there was a public gathering of the people. The young Lieutenant, with a drummer and fifer, commenced his march through the crowd, proclaiming his purpose of raising another company, and requesting all who were willing to go with him, to fall in the ranks. In a few moments he was at the head of a respectable number of young men; and, as he marched around, others were continually dropping in. There was, in the crowd of spectators, a lad of fifteen years of age; a pale stripling of a boy, the son of a widow, whose dwelling was hard by the parade ground. He had looked on with a burning heart, and filled with the passion of patriotism, until he could refrain no longer, and, as the volunteers passed again, he leaped into the ranks with the resolve to be a soldier. "You are a brave boy," exclaimed the Captain, "and I will take care of you;" and a feeling of admiration ran through the crowd.
In a little time, the news was borne to the widow, that her son was marching with the volunteers. It struck a chill into her heart, for he was her oldest son. In a few moments she came in breathless haste, and with streaming eyes, to the father of the editor of this paper, who was her nearest neighbor, and long tried friend. "Mr. Brown," said she, "James has joined the volunteers! the foolish boy does not know what he is about. I want you to make haste and get him out of the ranks. He is too young—he is weak and sickly. Mr. Brown, he will die on the march. If he does not die on the march he will be killed by the enemy, for he is too small to take care of himself. If he escapes the enemy he will die of the fever. Oh, my friend, go and take him away." After a few moments, she commenced again—"I do not know what has got into the boy—I cannot conceive why he wants to go to the army—he could do nothing, he is able to do nothing." Again she paused; and at last rising from her seat, with her eyes flashing fire, she exclaimed—"BUT I WOULD DESPISE HIM, IF HE DID NOT WANT TO GO!" That noble thought changed the current of her reflections, and of her grief—she went home, prepared with her own hands the plain uniform of that day for her son, and sent him forth with a mother's blessing. The lad went on with the troops, bore all the toils of the march, was in the battle at Fort Meigs, and fought as bravely and efficiently as the boldest man in the company. The widow's son again came home in safety. Her patriotism has not been unrewarded. On yesterday I saw that son bending over the sick bed of the aged mother. He is the only surviving child of a numerous family, and has been spared as the stay and prop of her declining years.
Is it any wonder that the Kentuckians are brave and chivalric? Were they otherwise, they would be recreant to the land of their birth, and a reproach to their mothers' milk."
Erratum.—For Captain Watson, read Captain Matson, wherever it occurs.
[*]Footnote [[return]] Having marked the place where this old Frenchman lived, in order that I might the more readily find him, should I ever be permitted to visit the country again: and having taken particular notice of the house, I found no difficulty in ascertaining its location, and even the very habitation in which the old tory resided.
After the lapse of about eighteen months, from the time I was there a prisoner with the Indians, I was there again under General McArthur, who commanded a regiment of mounted volunteers—one battalion of which was from Kentucky, under the command of Major Peter Dudley.
Passing by this old man's house, in company with Benjamin Whitaker, our Lieutenant, we met this man in the street near his own house; I immediately recognized him as the individual who had so inhumanly assisted in the massacre of young Mr. Blythe, at Stony creek.
I mentioned the circumstance to Whitaker, and asked his advice in reference to the course best to be pursued; who instantly replied, "let us take him." I was glad of the opportunity, and forthwith approached him, and the first salutation, as near as I can recollect, was, "Well sir, do you know any thing of me?" His reply was, "No sir, I know nothing about you." "Well sir," said I, "I know you very well." He seemed at first to be somewhat surprised at my confident address, and looking on me very earnestly seemed to express some doubts on the subject. I, however, soon removed the old man's doubts, by remarking to him, "You are the man who was guilty of the cruel and inhuman act of assisting the savages in killing one of the prisoners at Stony creek, taken at Raisin, January 23, 1813. You are the very man, sir, and I saw you do it." These words come upon him, no doubt, very unexpectedly; and being seconded by the voice of conscience within, made him tremble. He discovered evident marks of fear, his countenance grew pale in an instant; and finding that his very fear had betrayed him, he did not deny it; but offered as an excuse that the Indians required it of him, and that he was afraid to refuse. This excuse, however, did not satisfy us. We considered, that as a citizen of Detroit, he had no business with the British army in time of battle. We, therefore, took him, without any further ceremony about it, and delivered him over to the proper authorities. He was confined in jail for eight or ten days, and then brought out for trial. I, of course, was the only evidence that appeared against him. He plead the same excuse he did when we first arrested him.