Part 5 (1/2)
THE CAPTURE OF GENERAL SULLIVAN.
”The women were all right during the Revolution,” said Pitts. ”I can tell you of an instance in which a woman displayed both patriotism and wisdom, though it may be rather a long story.”
”Oh! the longer the better,” said Hand.
”Very well,” said Pitts, ”I'll tell you about it, as near as I can recollect. One night, while the British army was encamped on Long Island, a party of the redcoats, galled by the death of Major Andre, formed a plan to cross over to the Connecticut side and capture General Sullivan, who commanded some of the Americans stationed there, and hold him in revenge for Andre's death.
”It was a hazardous project, but four bold men pledged themselves to undertake it. John Hartwell, a brave young officer was selected as their leader.
”Soon as arranged they proceeded to a boat, and made the best progress they could across the river; on gaining the sh.o.r.e, they made for a small clump of underwood, where they lay concealed, until they noted what direction it was best to take.
”Here too may be seen the tents where repose the brave men who have sworn to protect their homes and country, or die in its defence against the invaders, who seek to control their free rights. Near may be seen a s.p.a.cious farm house, the abode of General Sullivan--the brave soldier and faithful friend--who now slept, unconscious of danger. Through some neglect, the sentinels on duty had wandered from their posts, never dreaming it possible that any one would risk a landing, or could pa.s.s the tents un.o.bserved. By a circuitous route they gained the house, and here the faithful watch-dog gave the alarm; a blow soon silenced him; and ascending the piazza, Captain Hartwell opened the cas.e.m.e.nt, and followed by his men, stepped lightly into the sitting-room of the family.
”They now struck a light, and with caution proceeded on their search--they pa.s.sed through several apartments, while, strange to relate, the inmates slept on, unconscious of this deed of darkness.
”They at length reached the General's room--two of the men remained outside, while Captain Hartwell, with another officer, entered, and stood in silence, musing on the scene before them.
”A night-lamp burnt in the room, dimly revealing the face of the sleepers--whose unprotected situation could not but awake a feeling of pity even in their callous hearts.
”'Jack,' whispered his companion, 'by heaven I wish this part of the business had been entrusted to some one else--I could meet this man face to face, life for life, in the field of battle--but this savors too much of cowardice.'
”'Hold your craven tongue, Low,' answered Captain Hartwell, 'perform your part of the play, or let some one else take your place--you forget the sc.r.a.pe we are in at the least alarm. We might happen to salute the rising sun from one of the tallest trees on the General's farm--an idea far from pleasing.'
”'For my part, I could wish myself back on Long Island--but our general expects every man to do his duty--let yours be to prevent that female from screaming, while I secure her husband.'
”The ear of woman is quick, and from their entering the room, not a word had escaped Mrs. Sullivan. At first she could scarce refrain from calling out, but her uncommon strength of mind enabled her to master her fear--she scarce knew what to think: her husband's life, herself and family, were at stake, and her courage rose in proportion as her sense of danger increased.
”She scarcely dared to breathe, and even the infant at her breast seemed to partake of its mother's anxiety, and nestled closer to her bosom.
”The curtains partly shaded where she lay, and breathing a prayer to Heaven for protection, she silently stepped from the bed, scarce knowing how to proceed.
”Her woman's tact led her to appeal to their sympathies, if sympathies they had--if she died, she but risked her life for one dearer than herself whose existence to his country was invaluable--and perhaps by this means enable him to escape. In an instant she was before them, her infant at their feet, her pale beseeching face imploring what speech refused to utter.
”The officers started--this sight was unexpected--the least hesitation, and all would be lost.
”Captain Hartwell threw aside his heavy watch-cloak and said--
”'Madam, let this uniform be the warrant for our honour--our object is to take your husband alive, if possible--that depends, however, on your silence.'
”At this moment General Sullivan awoke, and finding his wife in the hands of men whose calling he knew not, his good sword was soon in his hand, but a strong arm wrested it from him--handcuffs were placed on his wrists, and he stood their prisoner.
”He enquired by what right they entered his house! 'Our object, sir,'
replied the officer, 'is to convey you to Long Island--the least expression of alarm from you, that moment you breathe your last--if peaceable, no violence will be offered.' Mrs. Sullivan threw herself before them, and entreaties for mercy gushed from her agonized heart.
'Oh! spare him--take what money is here, but leave me my husband, the father of my children. Think, if you have wives or families, what their sense of bereavement would be to see some murderous band tear you from their arms, and they left in horrid uncertainty as to your fate. Take all that we have, but leave him.' A sneer of scorn curled the officer's lip, as he coolly replied--
”'Madam, we are neither robbers nor a.s.sa.s.sins--the compliment on our part is quite undeserved. We are British officers.'
”'Then, sir,' exclaimed Mrs. Sullivan starting to her feet--her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, her proud form trembling, as her own wrongs were forgot in those of her country--'Shame on the cause that sanctions such a deed as this--in the silence of night to enter a peaceful dwelling and take an unoffending man from the arms of his wife and family--Truly, such an act as this would well need the covering of darkness. You may call yourselves servants of Britain--that is your fit appellation. Take him--another victim is required for my country. But the vengeance of Heaven is abroad, and, ere long, the men who war for the price of blood, will find the arm of him who fights for his fireside and liberty, nerved by a stronger consciousness of right.'