COLUMBIA LIBRARIES OFFSITE AVERY FINE ARTS RESTRICTED AR01 400665 ^&*&; .< - festal ^*4r; ^*^-Sf ;:f •»*•■ ** >-, -'&»*" I till ■ umaiiiii ■ AHWifiHl n % iEx ICtbriH SEYMOUR DURST -f ' 'Tort ni&uu/ ^4m/le.rda.-m, of Je Manhatans IVhen you leave, please leave this book Because it has been said "Sver'tbing comes t' him who waits Except a loaned book." \\ l RY \K( Mill (II KM WD FlNl ARTS LIBRARY (,n roi sn moi r B. Di km oi i) York Libr \m Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/racheldumontbravOOwest «** I< > *-/. a~~< RACHEL DU MONT; & iraxre Sittte IPaid erf tfte gjtowltttiim. A TRUE STORY OF THE BURNING OF KINGSTON, N. Y. BY THE BRITISH, 1 776. FOR GIRLS AND BOYS, AND OLDER PEOPLE. BY MARY WESTBROOK. ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. FOURTH AND ILLUSTRATED EDITION. ALBANY, N. Y. : JOEL MUNSELL'S SONS, PUBLISHERS. 1890. COPYRIGHT BY MRS. JAMES LANSING VAN DEUSEN. WITH A HEART O ERFLOWING WITH PRECIOUS MEMORIES TD MY MDTHER, SARAH BEEKMAN WESTBROOK, THE YOUNGEST CHILD OF "LITTLE RACHEL," LOVINGLY, TENDERLY, I INSCRIBE THIS STORY. Mary Westbrook. The Weinberg, Kingston, N. Y., 1884. PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION. Thanking, with all my heart, the friends who have so kindly and cordially received my little " Rachel DuMont," I venture this new edition, hoping, trusting that " The Brave Little Maid of the Revolution " will ever retain the interest which has been so delicately, unstintedly shown at her debut. Mary Westbrook. Cloveri.y-on- Weinberg, Kingston, N. Y. ' Rachel was obliged to shade her eyes with her hands that she might still gazi RACHEL DU MONT; & 3xnm $iitl* gXaifl ®f tfee ^molvttiau. A. TRUE STORY. CHAPTER I. NE hundred and seven years ago, on the sixteenth of October, a perfect day of In- dian-summer, a small village nestling under the Catskill mountains, was startled early in the morning by the cry : " The British soldiers are coming ! " Of course, young readers, you know this was during our Revolutionary War. This war was fought, you remember, to free our American colonies from the unjust tyranny of Great Britain, and to establish a government for ourselves — under which government, through God's goodness, we are living to day. The rural settlement which I have just spoken about, was Kingston, a place of much im- portance during this long struggle for freedom. General Washington often had his head-quarters 8 Rachel DuMont, here, and the house in which he stopped is still stand- ing. To go back to my story : In this village lived a brave little girl, fifteen years old, by the name of Rachel DuMont. She was the eldest child of an in- valid father and mother, and had three sisters and one brother. Rachel was the little mistress and house- keeper. In the house, beside the immediate family, were twenty slaves, over whom the little maid kept a kind supervision, for slavery, in a mild form, then prevailed in New York. Some of these family ser- vants had grown quite old and infirm, and some were children younger than Rachel herself. She was the darling little "missy" all of the bond-children loved and almost worshipped. And truly the child was worthy of all the affection they so freely lavished upon her. She was ever careful for all their wants, and always treated them kindly and considerately. On the day when this sudden cry spread through the hamlet, every man that was able to fight, or enlist as a soldier, was away with the army under Wash- ington, and none were left to guard the women and children save the sick and very old. These, of course, could not do much, so the women and chil- dren had to act the part of soldiers, and nobly many of them did their duty. But none excelled the young damsel Rachel, who showed, in readiness for the crisis, a careful management and forethought far beyond her years. "The British are coming!" sounded and re- sounded o'er the beautiful plains of the quiet village. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. Rachel and her Mother. io Rachel DuMont, And well the inhabitants knew what that meant. It had been rumored that Kingston was to be burned by the British soldiers, so as to cut off the supplies from the rebel army, which came largely from the rich farms bordering this old Dutch settlement. Some Tory families, living in Kingston, had given this information to the British officers, upon the assurance that they should find protection. Yes, dear youth, even one hundred years ago, there were a few ready to betray their country, should their own interests not suffer thereby. Ignoble souls ! Let us, if we can, draw the veil of charity over their mis- deeds. On the eventful morning of the entrance of the enemy in this camp of women and children, Rachel was arrayed in a most becoming holiday attire, consisting of a white tunic, (or short-gown, as it was then called) and blue skirt or petticoat, reaching midway between the knee and ankle, and long blue silk stockings, with black pumps, orna- mented with large silver buckles. Her hair, which was chestnut brown, was closely tucked under a dainty white muslin cap, save a few stray curling locks, which chafed at the restraint, and sported with wild abandon on the soft autumn breeze. It was the little girl's fifteenth birthday, and it was to be celebrated with as much festivity as the perilous times would allow. The girls and boys of the vil- lage had been invited to spend the day with Rachel in the large front-yard of the old family mansion. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 1 1 Caesar, the most venerable of the men-servants, over whose brow the gray hair was deftly braided in honor of the day, and Isabel, his wife, with a bright red turban and clean white apron, were to preside over the supplies of the kitchen — which, let me whisper right here — consisted only of suppawn and milk. And the whole crowd of servants — forming almost a colony — were already robed in their very best — the girls and women in gray homespun petti- coats, with blue waists and 'kerchiefs, yellow turbans and pink aprons. The boys and men also in gray linsey-woolsey suits — roundabouts and trowsers — and braided hair, which was made to stand out like the waxed moustache of the present day. They were to have games on the still soft, sweet, green grass : " Oats, peas, beans and barley grows," " Hunt the slipper," " Pillows and keys," etcetera, and then they were to have their refreshments on the same rich beautiful lawn, with the blue canopy of Heaven over their heads. Isabel had spread the whitest of table-cloths over the improvised table for the great party, and the old blue china brought from Holland, by Rachel's mother, and the antique silver cream-pitcher from the same father-country graced this neatly-laid board. The pitcher I must describe, as being now in posses- sion of one of the great-grandchildren of little Rachel, — I can tell you just how it looks. The most quaint old tankard, poised on three carved feet, large at the base, and sloping upward to the most 12 Rachel DuMont, delicate of necks and throats. So, although only a pudding made of Indian meal, with rich creamy milk, was to be the repast, there was a certain style to be observed in the serving of the same, which be- tokened somewhat the social status of the little girl's parents. I had forgotten to tell you that Rachel's father was a French Huguenot, and his eldest child had inherited all the gay vivacity and graceful man- ner of the French race. Yet how I do digress ! The morning of the fe A te champetre, the little Rachel was in the most brilliant of spirits, and her deep gray eyes fairly danced with delight, yet a wistful, far- away look in the happy child-face, truly foretold the tragic drama of this eventful day. She had just de- scended from her room, in the gabled attic of the old stone house, and had gone to the front porch to see the arrangements for her lawn party, when the alarm — "The British are coming!" — fell upon her ear. Instantaneously, without moving, she lifted her eyes and heart to the " God of battles" for suc- cor and guidance. Then, while a mantle of light seemed to envelop her, hastily she summoned the men-servants and told them to get the large wagons, with the tried family and farm horses, in immediate readiness. Quietly she went to the invalid parents who were each reclining on a lounge-chair, and told them unexcitedly as possible that the enemy was near, and that she thought best to move the family over the creek, which bordered the village, and which was, at that time of the day, fordable. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 13 Instinctively the mother and father submitted to the guidance of their little daughter, seeming to re- gard her as specially commissioned to save them. They were quickly ready to be lifted in the first wagon by the servants, who then placed the younger children in the same conveyance. Caesar's oldest son, Elijah, was given the post of trust for this pre- cious load — the idolized family of the little " missy." And with a good portion of the old prophet's sagac- ity did this stalwart coachman start on his journey over the Esopus creek. Rachel, fondly embracing her parents, sisters and brother, who implored her to come with them, — bade them good-bye with a loving, strong voice, tell- ing them God would bring her safely to them when she had attended to the rest of her charge. Then directing the men to lift old Dinah, Caesar's mother, who was bed-ridden from rheumatism, in the next wagon, and one of the little slave children, who was sick, she quickly gave orders to fill up this load with the mothers having babies and young children. Pompey, Dinah's second grandson, was placed in charge of his grandmother, the mothers, babies (and horses,) and started on his way. He, too, rose to the dignity of the occasion, and vociferously shouted in the old woman's ear, " Don' be scared, Mammy ! The Britishers can't catch us ! And if dey's do, one gimpse of yer red turban, and red coak would make em tink we wos jis dem own folks ! So no danger for us ! " And putting the whip to the horses H Rachel DuMont, Pompey Conveying the Slaves to a Place of Safety, A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 15 in a very energetic manner, although he protested he " wasn' 'feared," reached the borders of the creek, on the northwest of the village, just as the red-coats were seen approaching the lowlands on the north- east. Yet brave Pompey did not say he had caught sight of these red-coats to the old Mammy. For once he restrained his fright somewhat. Yet his eye-balls rolled with a very uncertain glare, as ever and anon he peeped back over his shoulders. Filling another smaller wagon with a few of the household treasures — the silver and china which had been brought out of the house, fortunately, for the grand party, Rachel gave this in charge of Uncle Ned, Pompey's father. He quickly followed in the wake of the preceding wagons, looking neither to the right nor the left, " les I'se might be changed to a pillar of salt," he said. Poor old Uncle Ned, faithfully and literally applied all the Bible warnings. Now, the little girl for one moment, went in the dear old house, to take a parting look at the home of her birth, whose rooms were filled with so many endeared, hallowed associations, even to a child. For an instant the tears o'erflowed her eyes and face ; but, dashing them away, she knelt by the side of her mothers chair, and lifting her eyes once more Heavenward, asked her Father in Heaven to go forth with her and her beloved ones, and lead them to a place of safety. Then, rising from her lowly posture, she braced herself for the trying ordeal. By this time all the inhabitants had fled to the i6 Rachel Die Mont, In God is our Trust. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 1 7 woods, and different places they thought safe, sav- ing what they could. Already had the torch been applied to the dwellings on the outskirts of the vil- lage, by the scouts, and the lurid flames threw an unearthly light over the face and figure of little Rachel in her holiday dress. The men and women servants had all collected about her, waiting for her Rachel asking her Father in Heaven for guidance. to lead them forth. Every eye was on the little maid, and every arm ready to be raised in her de- fense. As she left the house, she had caught up a red scarf, which had lain in the hall, which she care- lessly threw over her shoulder and draped around her waist, thus unconsciously, with the blue skirt, 3 1 8 Rachel DuMont. and white tunic, girding herself with her country's colors. Happy augury ! Thus was our little " Lieu- tenant-General" robed for the fiery trial, through which she was to pass. Then stepping quickly in the midst of the waiting servants, with sparkling eyes, though her face was pale, with firm voice, lifting her right hand over her head she said : " In God is our trust ! Come, my well-loved ! We will not be afraid ! He who led His chosen people through the waters of the Red Sea, — He shall be with us ! And though the fiery flames envelop us, He will be at our side and lead us forth unharmed." CHAPTER II. ]0 did this truly inspired child breathe hope and confidence in the little band under her guidance. And valorously did she march at the head of her followers, never flagging, until she had safely guided them over the waters to the desired haven. Then her thoughts quickly went back to the old home. Suddenly as though some one had been forgotten, she darted away, and fairly flew to the grounds which had so long yielded all the supplies of the family. It was just about har- vest time and the beautiful fields of corn were wav- ing and bowing with their tasseled helmets, seeming like a great army of warriors, to protect this lone little girl. The buckwheat was also in its most beauteous of dress, frisking and gamboling with the soft breeze, as though no ruthless sword, nor flaming torch, were even then held over its head. All was serene and peaceful, just for that moment, as the ominous lull, that so often precedes the outburst of the storm. The child saw it and felt it all ! Never could she forget these beautiful fields ripe for har- vest, swaying and bending with their precious sheaves. They were graven on her heart never to be erased. Neither could perish from her memory 20 Rachel DuMont, the sense of impending woe, which now weighed upon her like some terrible nightmare. What had brought her back to her home? She had thought of the cows, chickens and pigs that were in the barn- yard near the house, and she had come to save these animals, if possible, even at the risk of her own life, or of being taken prisoner, which was worse than death. The cows were Rachel's especial pets, and their soft, dreamy eyes had ever a strange fascina- tion for the little girl. They were wont to follow her, and come at her call, as did the chickens, large and small, and even the great, fat mother-swine, with her family of nine frisky pigs, never for an instant hesitated when Rachel spoke. So now, as she ab- ruptly appeared among them and said " come ! " the entire " caravan," as one, sprang to do her bidding. With the inborn knowledge of coming events which animals largely possess, they had scented danger in the air, and plainly showed by their manner, their delight, when their deliverer came for their rescue. Rachel, with all these friends closely following her, turned her steps to the largest corn-field — the most remote from the house and village, and where there was a spring of good water, and field of grass adjoining. There she led her flock in " richest, greenest pastures, beside the still waters." Then telling them to stay there until she came, she patted the cows' faces, with their sad eyes turned to hers, and even stopped to say something in an unknown tongue to the pretty, soft, little chickens, and chubby, A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 2 1 Come ! 22 Rachel DuMont. awkward pigs, who seemed to understand. At least they kept their eyes fixed upon their little mistress, and quietly remained where she had placed them. " Good-bye, good-bye, dear, old darlings ! " called Rachel, as lightly she sprang over the log fence. " I will come for you as soon as I can ! " The child never forgot to reassure even an animal. She was their best friend, and with true instinct they knew it, as they showed by always coming to her when sick, or hurt, and bringing their young too, for comfort. CHAPTER III. HE field where Rachel had left her "pets" was very near to the creek, which was yet to be forded. The water had now risen much higher, and was well calculated to intimidate an older person than our heroine. Still, nothing daunted, the little girl espied some rocks here and there, jutting their uneven, ragged edges above the water. So she thought she could jump or spring from stone to stone, and thus reach her beloved mother and father, sisters and brother. She was the best dancer of the village maidens, and a famed adept in dancing the minuet. Perhaps, young friends, you know all about these old-fashioned dances from your great, great grandmothers ; so I will only say, that to dance well in olden times, one had to be very lithe and agile, and be able to jump a little — gracefully, of course. Thus our brave little Rachel soon was leaping from one rock to another like some young deer, choosing the most perilous places. And very beautiful was the sight of this young girl with her gay dress and floating, red scarf, poised on stone after stone, with all the speed and grace of a fawn. Her cap had fallen off in the water, and the chest- nut hair, gleaming with gold in the sunlight, fell 24 Rachel DuMont, over her shoulders, below the waist in the most attractive neglige. Now she stands perfectly still, posed on a rock which seems too far away from another to leap, yet once. She had unconsciously taken the most grace- ful of postures. One foot slightly forward of the other, standing on tip-toe, she was looking where to take the next step. Forward she could not go ; and, turning in desperation partly, to her old home, she caught sight of the British army — crossing the low- lands — entering Kingston. It was then about twelve o'clock, and the sun shone directly down on the brightly polished, arms and red uniform of the sol- diers, making them to glisten with brilliance, which so entranced the child — she could not move. The soft, low beat of the drum had also reached her ear, and she, the child of a soldier, full of martial enthusiasm, forgot everything but the glittering array and bril- liant approach of a grand army, with drums and fifes, playing well-known old airs. Rachel had ever been a strange child, keenly sensitive to all impressions, and had often been rallied upon her " queer ways." Now she saw and felt nothing but the dazzling splendor of this grand army of marching soldiers in shining armor. She was fairly enchained to the spot. She thought not of her danger, but was filled with childish ecstacy and delight at the brilliant pageant. Her French nature fairly reveled in the bright colors of the British, and their glistening guns, and she could not take her eyes away. The A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 25 sun, as I have said, shone so directly upon them, and so intensified the glittering, that Rachel was obliged to shade her eyes with her hands, that she might still gaze on. Would that some one of our gifted American artists could have transferred to canvas this child-woman as she there stood amid the waters of the Esopus creek. No other would be needed to immortalize his genius or skill. Noble, heroic maiden ! Lifted above and out of herself and hazardous surroundings, and intently looking with a child's artlessness and fearlessness upon this band of marauders that were to lay desolate her fondly-loved home. Rachel remained in this strange position, with her hands still shading her eyes, perfectly motionless, still gazing at the moving army, slowly entering the village — many minutes. The flames on the out- skirts of the town, where the scouts had applied the torch, were increasing rapidly. Already the wind was carrying the cinders from the burning barns all around this fairy Undine, on her island in the sea, and the smoke of the falling homes had reached the heart of the little maid, well nigh suffocating her. She could not longer look toward this flaming mass. Suddenly she awoke to a sense of her dangerous situation. Hot, blinding tears shut out all the glit- tering arms and bright uniforms, and the cries of the dazed inhabitants from their different coverts drowned the music of drum and fife. Yes, Rachel was awake, and fully roused to the import of what 4 26 Rachel DuMont. was impending. She must reach her parents ! They would be agonized at her delay ! Summoning all her courage and again lifting eyes and heart heavenward, she gave the leap — to what ? But the ever-loving Father had His eye on this brave child ! His arms were about her ! Distinctly she felt the unseen Presence, and submitted to the Strength which she knew environed her. Her feet now rested on the Rock, sure and steadfast ! She was saved ! The waters did seem to roll back ! And a path was made whereon the little girl reached the opposite shore in safety. CHAPTER IV. [ERY proudly Rachel stepped on tcrra-firma once more with a heart overflowing with gratitude to the dear Friend who had so truly been with her. The little sisters and brother, with the servants, had been watching her from the shore, powerless to help. As the child leaped in the arms extended toward her, unscathed, arose such a cry of thanksgiving and praise as only a negro's fer- vent nature can send forth. " Our little missy ! Our little missy! Jesus did carry de little lamb in His bosom ober de rolling water! Bress de Lor ! Bress de Lor ! Hallelujah, Hallelujah ! " The little girl, quiet, but beaming with joy, soon hushed the kindly enthusiastic though rather noisy demonstrations of her staunch friends, and hastened, surrounded by this " guard o' the leal," to her anxious parents. They had taken refuge at an old farm-house about a mile from the creek, and were each on a rude settee, watching for their hearts' idol. As they saw her approaching and knew that she was safe, the mother fainted. The long watching, with the terrible uncertainty, had almost snapped the thread of life ; and when the darling figure of her child, her first-born, was seen in the distance, the reaction nearly proved fatal. 28 Rachel DuMont, Touching indeed was the solicitude of the sick husband and father in trying to arouse the drooping form of his wife; "She is here! She is here!" the poor man called to his swooning companion. Slowly, the eyes opened, a faint color came to her cheek, and Rachel's mother lived to clasp her beloved to her heart once more. Too sacred was the scene now to lift the veil, even though one hun- dred years have cast their soft, mellow haze over the touching picture. The little maid, robed in the " red, white and blue," kneeling beside the reclining parents, while the brother and sisters and servants pressed close about her : the father, in strong voice, sent earnest thanksgiving to the Heavenly Father, for restoring to them their child. "Amen and amen!" " Bress de Lor'!" were the frequent re- sponses and ejaculations, breaking in upon or enhancing this hallowed hour. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 29 Rachel restored to her Parents. CHAPTER V. |JND now the family were ai-viasse, watch- ing the progress of the terrible fire-fiend, which they could very clearly trace. With suffused eyes and beating hearts, entwined in each others' arms, silently they witnessed home after home succumb and fall before the destroyer. Their own beloved walls were among the last to be con- sumed by the flames. Slowly, yet surely, the stealthy foe crept and hissed with forked tongue over the doomed village ! Its fate was sealed ! The old Dutch settlement was to be totally destroyed by the enemy. I say totally — yet there was one barn saved, in which a very pious old man had for many years, every day, sent up sincere, heart-breathed petitions to Him who watcheth above. And one house was left intact, where General Washington made his head-quarters when in this vicinity. And the unroofed walls of the old stone mansion in which Rachel's grandfather lived, and which had the honor of being the first Senate House of the State of New York. This old house also became the residence of Major VanGaasbeck, a brother-in-law of our little heroine, and a member of the first Congress of the United States. His 32 Rachel D it Mont. portrait, a beautiful painting on ivory, in powdered wig, ruffled linen at the bosom and wrists and " small clothes," is one of the interesting features of this quaint old building, which is still standing, the home of a grandchild of little Rachel. Pardon my little digressions, young friends. So many incidents crowd upon my heart and brain as I am chronicling this biography, which were told me in my childhood by my grandmother, the brave little maid of the Revolution, that it seems almost im- possible not to turn aside from the laid-out path, once-in-a-while, and pluck these little stray blossoms from the storehouse of memory. Remember, I am writing a true story, which I think will teach you many a lesson of bravery, unselfishness, endurance and fortitude. ',/ Portrait of Major Van Gaasbeck. CHAPTER VI. HE sun had gone down some time before the fire seemed to be burnt out for want of material. Greedily it had cried, " more, until there was no more to give. Nothing but a desert of ashes remained where once the beautiful hamlet gladdened the eyes and hearts of its inhabitants. Oh, desolation of desolations ! Verily, " its walls were laid even with the ground, and its children rose up and called it desolate!" What a sunset was this ! The whole sky blazing with the lurid reflections, while all over the fallen village, impenetrable masses of thick, black smoke. God alone could sustain the fugitives, and truly He did. They lost neither faith nor courage, but quietly waited for the rift in the cloud. It was most morning before Rachel could be in- duced to take any rest. She had passed through so much on this eventful day that to sleep seemed hun- dreds of years away. Beside, she was on guard over her darling parents and younger children, and she knew not what might happen, as long as the British soldiers were not miles and miles off. No, Rachel could not sleep ! She must watch through the darkness until the day should dawn. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 35 Telling the servants to be in readiness, should they be needed, this unselfish, self-sacrificing child, persuaded her parents, with the children, to retire for the night. After all was quiet, the little girl began to think over all that had happened during the day. She felt that some strange change had come over her own nature in the last few hours. She had become a woman in heart and mind. Yes, her childhood's days had been consumed by the same scorching flames that had interrupted and stopped all the games and festivities of her birthday fete. Truly, Rachel had been baptized with fire ! And she had come forth freed from alloy. Yet, she was only a woman, and as such could not help clinging to the remembrance of many a household treasure buried beneath the ruins of her once happy home. Sincere tears flowed over her cheeks while thinking that she should see these endeared relics no more. And then the eyes of the woman-child went down to her feet to see if her silver buckles — her only ornaments — were safe. This was the first she had thought of them. And, alas ! one was gone ! It must have been washed away by the waters in that terrible crossing of the creek. Poor little Rachel, who had so bravely stood almost within the range of the enemy's guns without the slightest fear, and without shedding a tear, was now quite heart-broken over the loss of only a shoe-buckle. Do not think she was foolish, reader. They had been given to her by a dear playmate, a boy, a few years her senior, 36 Rachel DuMont, as he bade her good-bye two years before, and marched off to the music of the drum and fife to join the army fighting for his country. Tears had been in the lad's eyes as he placed these souvenirs ' ' Good-bye, Rachel ! keep these until I come back to you, and wear them for my sake. " in the little maid's hands, and very tremulous was the voice that said: "Good-bye, Rachel ! keep these until I come back to you, and wear them for my sake." With both his hands clasping the one the A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 37 young girl outstretched to him, the children stood perfectly quiet, with only Heaven to witness the parting. Yet each felt the choking sensation that would not permit the expressing in words the thoughts welling up in either breast. They were too much in awe to kiss each other, yet a certain something passed from heart to heart, and flashed from eye to eye, revealing that their destinies were forever inseparable. And now, that one link intrusted to her care was missing, this was too much for our little " Lieutenant- General " to endure without the relief of tears. But I must give her the credit of not long giving way to what she thought a selfish wrong at such a time, and heroically drying her eyes, she placed the remaining buckle next her heart, where she would wear it until the dear one came. Not a very romantic keep-sake, my youthful friend: still remember it was not quite as easy one hundred years ago to give rings, and locked bracelets, as pledges of love. And the silver buckles, which had been the boy's grandfather's in his English home, were the most precious of treas- ures to the country lad. And just because they were so dearly cherished, did he give them to the little girl he loved. To tell the truth, Rachel in so quickly wiping away her tears, had felt that she would in some way soon again obtain possession of the little piece of her heart lost that day. Her sensitiveness to impressions was very great, and she had often shocked the good old Holland-Dutch by 3§ Rachel DuMont, saying so-and-so would happen — she felt it in the air. It was her French blood, the little maiden said, which made her feel things before the more stolid Dutch. And she seemed so earnest in her beliefs, that no one had the heart to contradict her, although they WW'//// % '"'""- Rachel falls asleep. could not understand the child's moods. She was their darling and they trusted her. The morning had dawned before Rachel would give slumber to her eye-lids or sleep to her eyes. Then lying on a rude " bunk," a clumsy wooden sofa-bedstead, with- out pillow or blanket, she fell asleep. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 39 It was nearly noon before she awoke, with the happiest smile on her face, and some great joy quiv- ering on her lips — the impressions and recollections of a dream, too good to tell — of her absent playmate and absent shoe-buckle. All the little girl would disclose was that she had seen the silver buckle as in her dream she was crossing the creek with the dear friend who had given them to her, and who seemed to be a tall man in the dress of an officer in the American army. Rachel's happiness cheered all the family. And with the light of another day they took a new view of the calamity which had come to them. Their lives had been spared, and they had found a place of refuge, where they could stay, until they might erect some sort of log-hut for the winter months. And best of all, the " Britishers " had evacuated the town. This news had come to them early in the day, so their hearts could be at rest about new depredations near them. The red-coats had learned that a portion of the American army under General George Clinton, — afterward Governor of the State of New York for twenty-one years, — was marching to the relief of the terrified inhabitants, and very prudently had hastened away after making sure to capture and burn all provisions. They did not pursue the flee- ing villagers, but speedily traveled off with their spoils. When Rachel learned that the British had fled, she insisted upon immediately going to see about 40 Rachel DuMont. the animals she had left in the corn-field. But her parents were so fearful some red-coat might be prowling about still, to quiet their fears, reluctantly she waited. The ruins were yet smoking and burn- ing and none of the fugitives dared to go back, until it was certain that the enemy had departed — every man. Do not think they were cowards, young readers. They were without weapons or any means of defense, — these old and sick men and women and young children ; and to be taken prisoner was too dreadful to think of. So they waited until our own soldiers had come to their relief a few days later. In this battalion, sent too late to save the beautiful hamlet, were the fathers, husbands, brothers and sons of the burnt homes, and touching beyond words were the meetings of the separated families. Language cannot portray these scenes. Your hearts alone, dear readers, can paint them. When the army arrived in sight of these blackened ruins, the officer in command gave the order to these hus- bands, sons, fathers and brothers to go forth and seek their loved ones. The brave lad, Rachel's playmate, who had grown a tall youth of eighteen — Tjerck Beekman, was his name — and had risen to the dignity of a Lieutenant's epaulettes, quickly found the whereabouts of the young maid of his dreams. CHAPTER VII. ACHEL was standing on the borders of the creek which separated her from her child- hood's home, watching the still burning ruins and listening to the drum and fife in the dis- tance, which intuitively she knew to be the notes that relief — joy had come. Clasping her hands over, her heart, which wildly throbbed with all she felt in the air, she saw approaching a young officer in American uniform. Tall and graceful, his sword sheathed at his side, he was leaping from rock to rock, with all the intrepidity with which a true man conquers "the lions in his path," or surmounts the obstacles which intervene between him and his loved one. As he neared the spot where the young girl stood, still robed in her country's colors, he felt that it was indeed Rachel. The blood mounted to his brow, in spite of his soldier-clothes, and the brave officer's heart gave some very portentous leaps to- ward his mouth, as he now, rather tremblingly, drew close to the shore. And our little "Lieutenant-General!" She saw and conquered her unruly heart ! For was she not more than a soldier, even a Lieutenant? Was she not a true woman ? 6 42 Rachel DuMont, "He felt that it was indeed Rachel. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 43 With apparent sang-froid, although with burning cheeks and beaming eyes, she issued her orders : " Be careful ! Look well before you leap ! Salute your — General ! " — which last command was not obeyed in strictly orthodox military fashion. An old croaking turtle on the rock told Rachel's mother — although Rachel never entered any complaint of insubordina- tion. As there were no eye-witnesses to the meeting save the old turtle-croaker, and he quickly drew his head within his shell, I will have to skip what I con- fess is just the most interesting part of the story to me — an old married woman. But, as my grand- mother — little Rachel — always left a sort of blank page at this terminus of the "jumping and leaping," I never knew exactly how much of a leap was that last one of the young soldier. Any way I think it was made safely at the feet of little Rachel, who, I can say this much, warmly welcomed her old play- mate from the depths of the heart, fortified by the mailed armor of a huge silver shoe-buckle, which you know, young friends, could not be very invin- cible. Turning their steps toward the old farm-house, where the family of Rachel was sheltered, the youth- ful lovers (can I use the word in its holiest sense ?) with hearts too full to talk, quietly side by side, wafted as sweet incense toward Heaven, their over- flowing gratitude and love. This was their uncon- scious betrothal, too pure and sacred for us to linger upon, although so many years have passed since Heaven sanctioned this silent plighted troth. CHAPTER VIII. EFORE the old-fashioned porch of the farm-house was reached Rachel told her friend of the missing shoe-buckle, and of her grief, and then of the impression that she would find it, but nothing did the little girl say of her happy dream. That was hers alone still. Not yet could she divulge this secret, even to her returned cher ami. The young officer's eyes sparkled with an amused expression, as Rachel, with artless nawete y spoke of her great loss, and then so quickly "knew she would find it." Tjerck well remembered this hopeful, joyous, bright side of the child's character, and with pleasure found that the years had left her with all her childhood's faith and trust. By this time they had reached the place of refuge of the family of the little girl, whom for so long the young soldier had fondly watched over and cherished. Time had only strengthened this boyish love, and Rachel was the bright, particular star that influenced all his destiny. Her presence had been with him through all the trying, severe experiences of the last two years, and nothing could sever, no not even death — the firm cable-link closely binding the woman-child's heart to his own. And now, as she A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution, 45 led him before her surprised mother and father, with parents' hearts, they felt at once this bond of union. With a son's tenderness, Tjerck greeted them and the little ones. Truth compels me to add that these children almost demolished the worn uniform of their soldier-friend. The sword and epaulettes had peculiar attractions for the little boy, the " Benja- min " of the household, and very proudly did he strut over the wide old porch, with the sword, in its scabbard, dangling at his side. He was a true hero, in miniature, that would "defend mother, and father and sister, right before the enemy's guns, when they were fired off ! ". 46 Rachel DitMont. After spending some few minutes in talking of the terrible misfortune, and finding out the exact situa- tion of these exiles, the young Lieutenant proposed going to the old house to see if anything was left. Rachel, who had been so longing to go to her pets for many days, insisted upon accompanying him. Gladly would her old playmate have spared her the sight of her beloved home lying in ashes, but the brave girl told him that she had promised these dear friends to come as soon as she could, and she knew they must be in despair at her delay, if they were still alive. So she overcame the scruples and ob- jections of the young man and her cautious parents, and made ready for the expedition. Telling Pompey to bring one of the horses which was accustomed to fording the creek for Lieutenant Beekman to mount, she retired to make some few preparations for her journey. CHAPTER IX. HEN Rachel returned, being absent only a few minutes, she had draped a scarlet cloth cloak belonging to her mother about her slight form, in lieu of a riding-habit, and most pictur- esque was the costume. With whatever this little maid robed herself there was always a grace and a charm very unusual in one so young. (This scarlet cloak is in a pretty well-preserved state, the inheri- ted legacy of one of little Rachel's great grandchil- dren.) Finding her escort with the favorite family horse in readiness, unassisted she sprang on the pil- lion of the saddle, with all the nonchalance of a " Child of the Regiment," followed quickly by the young Lieutenant, who took his place directly in front of her. This fashion of riding was an old cus- tom, considered perfectly au fait a hundred years ago. Pompey was not exactly pleased to see his young "missy" going away in the company of a handsome young soldier, and rolled his eyes from one to another as if trying to gauge the situation. He had refrained from speaking, but now when Rachel had vaulted so lightly on the back of the horse, he could stand it no longer. Looking very grave, and showing all the whites of his eyes, he 4« Rachel DuMont* said: " Missy Rachel, let Pompey go wid de young gemmen ! Little Missy can't do nuffin in war times ! Me and de hofficer '11 tend to ebery ting, and be company for each oder too. Yer'll be arful lonely widout yer Mar and Par, missy ! and sojers isn' 'cus- somed to young ladies ! Dis one can't take no car ob yer. Now jes lissen to Pompey, and jump right off dat hoss's back, an' go on de piazzer wid yer mudder and fadder. Pompey is de boy wot'll fix dem red fellers. Heisn'feard" — li Lordy Massy! dem Britishers am comin' agin." Just then the American army were firing a gun to tell the hour of noon, and Pompey took to his heels for the house, exclaiming, " Lordy Massy ; dem Britishers am comin' agin ! — Good Mr. Lordie, spare A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 49 dis poor family, an' de niggers, too ; ole Grannie, she's ole an' sick, an' wan's to die, so takes her fust, if yer mus hab some un. An Dad he can go wid her fer comp'ny. Pompey has too many wimmen and chil- lens to take car ob ; he can' be spar'd jes yet ! " "Cum out, yer nigger, an don spile all dem new taters." In vain did Rachel and Lieutenant Beekman call to the frightened boy, and tell him it was not the Britishers, only their friends firing to let them know that they were near. Pompey was too scared to stop, until he had hidden from the red-coats in the potato- barrel in the large dark cellar of the old farm-house. 7 50 Rachel DuMont. There Uncle Ned found him half an hour later, when getting the potatoes for the mid-day meal. " Lors-a-massy, wot's yer doin in dis tater bar'l ? Has yer been bout suffin arful wicked agin, an feard de gud Lor'll cotch yer ? Cum out, yer nigger, an don spile all dem new taters," said the pious father. " Oh, daddie, I done thort dem red-coats was comin', an' I'se so feard dey take yer an' ole Grannie dat I come in de cella' to fire at dem trough de trap door. Am dey come ? " responded the valiant son. " No, no, chile ! No Britishers '11 come now ! Didn' yer see de young Ginral wot's come fo' de little missy ? He's de brave sojer wot will take car' ob us ! Come out de bar'l, chile ! De good Lor' '11 take car' ob poo' ole Daddy and Grannie ! Yer's a brave boy, Pompey, to 'fend yer 'lations, and s'all hab' a big piece of watermelion for yer dinner for not forgettin' de ole folks. Some niggers jes' like some white folks, and jes' looks out for dem own se'fs. But yer, Pompey, is a waryer, an' no mistake ! Come, chile, an' kiss yer ole Grannie ! " with much subdued feeling, were the jerky ejaculations of the proud parent. CHAPTER X. HE young Lieutenant, and still younger " Lieutenant-General," were now midway over the creek. The faithful white horse, — "Old Bill," — his sobriquet, seemed to feel highly honored in being chosen for this important mission. Very cautiously did he feel of every stone before leaping with his precious burden. And though slowly the fording was accomplished, it did not inconvenience the gallant horseman and fair com- panion, because — well, they had a great deal to talk about and think about ; and if " Old Bill " were slow, he was so sure-footed and knew so well what he was doing, and who were on his back. His riders trusted him, and he felt it. Certainly, if sound can travel over wire, so is there some sort of magnetism or mesmerism, imparted through the reins, by which one handles and controls the horse. Animals, par- ticularly horses, are very sensitive to this magnetic whatever it may be called. (Time will bring this truth to the surface.) Rachel clung firmly to her pillion and ignored any other help. She resolved when she started not to be an incumbrance, but a helper. And resolutely did our young heroine keep her resolution. When at the spot from whence the 52 Rachel DuMont, Q^i/K Tjf e^P^f 7"^ young Lieutenant and still youngei ' 'Lieutenant-General " crossing the Esopus creek. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 53 little girl had made the perilous leap of a few days before, Lieutenant Beekman espied something very shining in the clear water, nestling among the stones in the bed of the creek. The sun, which was high in the heavens, caused the little gem to emit flash after flash from the surface, dazzling the eyes of the young girl and the soldier. In an instant Tjerck sprang from the horse and plunged in the creek. So quickly had this been done, that Rachel, frightened lest some accident had happened to her comrade, turned very pale, and would have fallen, in spite of all her resolutions, had not the young soldier swiftly emerged from his impromptu bath with the precious jewel still flashing in lustrous brilliance, like a cluster of diamonds. More precious than the costliest of stones, was this found shoe-buckle to the young man and maiden. With the gallantry of the most chival- rous of knights did the youthful soldier now kneel on a rock and fasten it on the slipper or pump of the little maid. While doing this he made a wish that this pledge, rescued from the "waters of trouble," might prove a true talisman against all that could harm his beloved. And Rachel, with all her old cognizance of what was going on in the atmosphere about her, felt her dear playmate's wish to protect her, and thanked him with her eyes, although her lips were too tremulous to speak. "Now, where is the other one, Rachel? Have you it with you ? Give it to me, that the pair may be united once more. Truly, dear, these buckles 54 Rachel DuMont, Lieutenant Beekman fastens the silver shoe-buckle on the slipper of Rachel. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 55 seem to be in perfect sympathy with our own fates. They shall be the augury of our friendship and love," in a low clear voice spoke the young officer. " Where is the other one, little girl?" Rachel, who did not want this tall " grown-up" gentleman to know that she was wearing a shoe-buckle next her heart, replied : " You must wait until we go back to the farm-house. I cannot give it to you now. We must hurry to my old pets. My poor dove-eyed cows will think their little mistress has deserted them for good ; and the dear little chickens miss me, too ; I know they do. And the chubby white pigs. Oh, how I want to see them ally all ! Come, mon ami" Tjerck, jumping on Old Bill's back, while this lit- tle ruse-de-guerre was transpiring, the trio were soon rapidly gaining the Kingston shore. The young offi- cer was glad it was about dinner time at the camp, as the soldiers would be engaged with their meal, and he could thus protect the little maid from their questioning eyes and manners. As soon as they reached the land they left the old horse on some nice grass near the water, and hastened to the corn- field with the rich pasture adjoining. And now, what are these strange noises which greet their ears ? Surely they do not come from what are called human throats : Neither from the lips of the " brute creation." They are the rejoicing cries of long-despairing, pent-up souls suddenly re- lieved from agony. Yes, from the mouths and hearts of cows, chickens, and even pigs come these unmistak- 56 Rachel DuMon able notes of joy. The animals had caught sight of their young mistress coming to them as she had promised. Long had they watched and waited : And now their delight knew no bounds. Running to meet her, the whole flock so completely sur- rounded the little girl that the soldier was alarmed for her safety. Rachel assured her friend they would not harm her, and she would quiet them soon. For some minutes did the cows rub their faces against her habit, looking with their eyes as only cows can ; the chickens chirping and hopping about her, bobbing their funny little heads from one side to the other, as they peeped with their wee eyes to be sure it was Rachel ; and the old mother pig, with her family of nine, each doing its share of joyous grunting and poking at Rachel's feet. A happy re- united family, with merry carnival celebrating the hour which restored to them their loved one. Who shall dare to say that such animals have no souls ? Notes verrons. CHAPTER XL |00N were these pets subdued to quietness and all still clustering about their faithful friend, they lay down as their token, or " flag of truce," that the noisy demonstrations were at an end. Now the young pair proceeded to where the old home once had swung its inviting open- doors. Oh, the blackened mass which met their eyes ! The tender-hearted youth tried to turn Rachel from the shocking sight, but our brave little woman, only for an instant, averted her head. Then taking her comrade's proffered hand, they approached the still smoking mass of ruins. One object they saw as they drew close, which made them think some soldiers must be near. This was a large black kettle, swinging on an iron chain over the old fire-place, which was all that was left of the dear home. Rachel recognized this black utensil as the one in which Isabel was making the suppawn (hasty pudding) for the birthday fete, when they were so rudely startled by the enemy. Yes, there was the Indian-corn, browned to perfection, waiting for the guests ; — and where were they ? The sight of the old kettle, which had been used by Rachel's mother ever since the little girl could 8 58 Rachel DuMont, remember, brought the relief of tears to the eyes of the homesick child. Passionately, without shame, did she convulsively cry, sobbing as in her early childhood when something had gone wrong. Her friend did not try to stop the flood of tears, as he knew she could not be calm without this — nature's The young girl had cried herself to sleep." remedy. The young man busied himself in disen- gaging the crane with the iron kettle attached, which had been hung over this family-hearth at the marriage of Rachets mother and father. One of the feet of the iron pot had succumbed to the flames which had so fiercely pelted upon it, and the kettle, minus one foot, is extant to this day, occupying an honored A Brave Little Maid of the Revohction. 59 niche in the heart and household of the writer of this story — a grandchild of little Rachel. The young girl had cried herself to sleep as she sat on some of the charred timbers encircling the burnt fire-place, with her head pillowed on her arm as was her wont in early childhood. All this week of suffering had vanished, and Rachel once more was the little mistress, the pet of the household, sitting by her mother's side as she was reclining in her invalid's chair. One glance at the young maid's face, with the happy child-smile playing about her lips, told her friend that nature had truly soothed and comforted the weeping girl. She must not be disturbed. He knew she would soon awake, so he remained perfectly quiet. The constant watching and excitement of the week, with not much proper food, had pressed very heavily upon the nerves of the little woman so young in years. And now the exhaustion conse- quent upon her convulsive weeping, had brought the best boon — "tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep." Rachel did not awake quite as soon as her com- rade and friend thought. Yet very patiently he occupied the post of sentinel until she should open her eyes. He feared to look at her steadily, lest that might disturb her rest, and only furtively, once in a while, did he allow his eyes to glance at the sleeping maid. And, indeed, the young man was rapt in reverie. Much had passed through his mind 60 Rachel DuMont, and heart since he had learned that the British army had marched toward Kingston. And the last few hours had been burnt on his heart and brain never to be effaced. While in this deep meditation he was aroused by the voice of Rachel, murmuring in a low tone : " How bright ! How beautiful ! That scarlet uniform I have seen before in some strange land ! Oram I dreaming? No, these are soldiers! Brit- ish soldiers ! Oh, they are coming, they are coming to burn our home ! They are most there now ! Where am I? In the water? I must jump! My mother! My father!" and with one quick start, Rachel awoke. For an instant she could not under- stand, as with a dazed look she fixed her eyes on the blackened ruins. And then as they met the lov- ing, anxious look of her old playmate, everything flashed to her mind. Now she knew. She had been asleep and dreaming of that dreadful day. The earnest eyes of the young soldier had touched the lost chord of memory, and Rachel was the brave little woman again, planning and directing for her dear ones. " Forgive me, Tjerck, for having detained you, when your time is so precious. How could I have slept amid all this desolation ? God must have given me the rest I so much needed. Yet, not to-day, the first of your return, would I have been so selfish. But I feel strong now. You must not longer wait for me. Do you have to return to your command soon ? I hope I have not been the cause of your A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 61 getting in trouble for delinquency. Tell me how it is," quickly spoke Rachel. " Well, my little fast talker, you are having things all your own way now. Yet I will interrupt your pleasant voice just long enough to say you never give me any trouble. Every moment spent with you brings naught but happiness. So rest your mind in peace, I am truly glad you have had the refreshing sleep. I could not have desired a greater blessing for you to-day, my little girl. And now I will take you back to your mother before I report at head-quarters, and then I will see you later in the day, so that we may talk over what is best to be done. Come, Rachel," responded the young soldier. " Now, my old playmate, just listen to me; girls know so much better than boys how things should be managed, even in war-times. Leave me here ; you go and report to your colonel ; I will wait for you until you return. I want to look about these dear old walls for a while longer, and also to talk to and comfort my pets, the animals, a little more. Do not look so disapprovingly, God will take care of me ! Now please go ! That's a good boy ! Grant this request and I will not soon again ask to be left in such a place. The Britishers are far, far away, and all your own soldiers are now in camp at dinner, so I shall not be disturbed. It is so quiet and peaceful here, even in the midst of these ruins. I feel that our Heavenly Father is now very near to us ! His arm is strong to protect. Go, Tjerck ! Obey me ! I 62 Rachel DtiMont, am your little Lieutenant-General ! " uttered the low, sweet voice of the young girl. The soldier-youth could not resist the pleading tones and confident words of the brave maid. Her faith ever infused in his mind the same trust. He too felt the nearness of the Most High o'ershadowing this lonely spot, and encircling the fearless child with the bright cloud of His presence. " Be it as you say, dear ; I will soon come to you," musingly answered the soldier. And with only a military salute his true eyes rested on those of Rachel for an instant, and he was rapidly walking toward the camp. Rachel watched him until out of sight, and then looked among the charred ashes for some token of her old loved home besides the iron kettle. None greeted her wistful eyes, and giving up the search, she sat down by the old family-hearth, — hoping to feel some of the comfort that must cling to it still. But oh, it was not the dear old fire-place without her beloved parents and the children. And even the little colored toddlings hanging about, with the grown servants going out and in, she missed more than she could express. And poor old Dinah laid up with the rheumatism, and Caesar, grown gray and old in the service of the family ; and pious Uncle Ned, and even mischievous, wicked Pompey. How her heart yearned over them all. No place could feel like home where these were not. Where her loved ones were, even the wilds of the desert would be "sweet, sweet home." A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 63 She could no longer tarry here. She would go to her friends in the corn-field and pasture-lot. They would comfort her now. And yes, she heard them calling to her in the language she so well understood. " I am coming ! I am coming ! dear old darlings," answered Rachel. " God has spared you for me, if the old stone walls have fallen. We can build another home, with our strong arms and hands, and again together our happy family shall be, animals and all. You do not forget your little mistress, do you ? " ejaculated the young girl, as she hastened to where the cows were looking toward her. All her flock seemed to know she was coming : indeed, they had scarcely taken their eyes from the path she had taken when she had left them a little while before, ap- parently knowing she would not be long away. Now chickens, large and small, mother pig and nine wee piglings, as well as the dove-eyed cows, were on the qui vive for the return of their loved ones. Hastening to those intelligent, loyal brutes, (?) the young girl resolved, just for this once, she would be a child as of yore, and have a good romp with her old darlings. Throwing herself on the grass beside the cows, they rubbed her with their heads, while with her arms clasped around the neck of each in turn, she talked with their speaking eyes. And the chickens hopped on her head and shoulders and pecked at her cheeks and hands, keeping up an inces- sant clatter. One old rooster deliberately jumped on the head of Rachel, flapped his wings, and stretch- 64 Rachel DttMont, ing his neck to its utmost length, gave a tremendous crow, "cock-a doodle-do !" This unheard-of pro- ceeding made the child laugh heartily, but the sad- eyed cows looked aghast at the free-and-easy bird. The hens, too, seemed to be frightened at their liege lord's lack of respect for their mistress, and woman- like tried to cover up the breach of decorum, by click- ing their bills very rapidly, thus engaging the atten- tion of the little lady. The baby-chicklings evidently thought it a most wondrous performance, as they intently watched the proud, self-satisfied rooster — " lord of creation." On the grass, with all these funny-acting pets clamoring about her, was our heroine, when the tall soldier returned. Springing to her feet, Rachel ex- claimed: " Why, you have not come so soon ; I do believe you have run every step of the way. And you have not had one morsel of dinner, I know. I did not dream you could have yet reached your camp. You must be very tired, Tjerck ; come sit down by me and rest." The youth did not see much of a place to sit down, save on the outer edge of this family-group, with all the animals between him and his beloved. So he nonchalantly replied : " Now tell the truth, Rachel, have you missed me at all ? These — what shall I call them ? are so absorbing all your attention that there does not seem to be any room for me outside or inside your heart, and I do not choose to be ban- ished so far away." A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 65 z^*---e - ^^^^Sf^^ ygf t S t-g gST 11 Fite dish of suppawn and milk. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 77 them long to erect a comfortable home out of the logs near at hand. To-morrow they will commence this work, and soon you will be under your own roof. The servants can help them, and can gather the remaining harvest also. General Clinton told me this morning that he and his command would do all in their power to make homes for the inhabitants of the unfortunate village. And since they will stay here three weeks at least, much can be done. Our men work like troopers when their heart is in their work, and they are in earnest for the poor sufferers of Kingston. You, Rachel, I wish to stay at this farm-house with your parents and the children, until Captain , my friend, shall come for you. Prom- ise me this, dear." Rachel was so truly in the mist of sweet happiness that was enveloping her, that she scarcely compre- hended this new order of things. Not until Tjerck addressed himself immediately to her, did she emerge from this pleasant hiding-place. Then, fearing from the manner in which her old playmate spoke, that he was not to remain, she quickly exclaimed : " You will not leave us, Tjerck ; I cannot let you go." " Yes, Rachel, you will, when I tell you that even now I have my orders to join General Washington, who is on the march for Valley Forge. Would that I could stay with you, darling. Yet God will protect you, Rachel." Isabel, with Caesar, who had stolen unperceived in the room, upon hearing that the soldiers would build 78 Rachel DuMont. them a house, with their warm African blood, sang or intoned : Bress de Lor' ! Bress de Lor ! God am good ! Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! " And no less sincerely did Mr. and Mrs. DuMont thank and praise Him for His wondrous help in their time of need. The announcement that they would have a home once more made their hearts and eyes o'erflow with gratitude toward their Heavenly Pro- tector. And now only an hour could the young soldier stay with this happy family. Yes, happy, in spite of all their loss, because they thought of the goodness and kindness of their Heavenly Father, and with pure faith and trust knew that He would bring good even from the misfortune which had befallen them. Very pleasant and dear was this hour's communion with their soldier-son. They trusted him without reserve with all their plans. They had still their farm and all their cattle, and before winter much could be accomplished. General Washington had sent sup- plies to satisfy the immediate pressing need of the villagers, and had ordered the command to do all they could for the suffering ones, which order was very efficiently enforced by General George Clinton. CHAPTER XIII. RAVELY the young soldier — Lieutenant Beekman — tried to impart to the young girl — Rachel — the counsel, comfort and strength that she would need through the years that might intervene before he should see her — or — but he could not think of the other alternative that had lain like a weight on his mind and heart. He trusted that their lives would be spared, and that they should be reunited, never again to be separated. To leave his little playmate and helpmate was now his greatest sorrow. Rachel — brave little patriot, courageous woman — felt in the innermost recesses of her heart that all would be well, and that Tjerck and she should be reunited. So she would be strong ! Was she not a woman, now, with the charge of a family on her young shoulders? Truly had she in the events of the last week proved herself worthy of the title of Lieutenant-General, and she would not now show a child's weakness. Bravely she bade Tjerck " Good- bye," bidding her own wildly-throbbing heart " Be still!" With an affectionate farewell to each of the family, the young soldier whispered something in the ear of 80 Rachel DuMont, the mother, and with one parting kiss on Rachel's broad, clear brow, and one look in the depths of her dark gray eyes — he was gone ! Rachel stood where her beloved had left her with one hand over her heart, and one shading her eyes, intently watching the retreating form of the noble young officer until she could see him no longer — then turning to her mother, was clasped to the loving mother-heart, where we leave her to be comforted. CHAPTER XIV. |IEUTENANT Beekman hurried to camp, and giving his trusted friend the plans — his own — for the new home of the Du- Mont family — with this friend's sacred promise to direct the speedy building of the log-house — he mounted his horse, with a few soldiers as body-guard, and started on his journey. Early the next morn- ing, a captain in the American uniform, with a com- pany of twenty-five men, were at work at the home of little Rachel. Not many days passed before they had a very comfortable building, to which the family could immediately remove. Rachel had sent all the men-servants to help the soldiers, and to gather the harvest. She, with her parents and the children, remained where they were, until the Cap- tain, Lieutenant Beekman's friend, came to tell them everything was in readiness, and to escort them with all needed help to their new home. Very faithfully did this officer fulfill every promise made. All that could be done for the comfort of this family was most zealously and gallantly performed. They were in his charge and were cared for tenderly. And now, having placed my little heroine and her loved ones once more in their home, — on their own beloved grounds, — perhaps I should stop, ii 82 Rachel DuMont. But, may be some one or more of my young readers would like to know if Rachel and Tjerck ever met again. So I will spin out my story a little longer, and tell these interested ones the true sequel. At the close of the war, which lasted six years after the burning of Kingston, the young soldier, who had then obtained a captain's commission, came to Rachel's home. And although this is not a " love and marriage " novel, I think I will farther add that Captain Beekman and Rachel DuMont were mar- ried very soon after peace was proclaimed. Lieutenant Beekman goes to join General Washington, at Valley Forgt. CONCLUSION. J N OT H E Rfete champetre on Rachel's twenty- first birthday, to atone for the one that the Britishers had spoiled exactly six years before. Again is the table laid on the soft sweet grass of the old-fashioned lawn, although it is the sixteenth of October. But Rachel even had the same beautiful Indian-summer-day now for her bridal. (God was so good to remember everything.*) And Isabel as fat and gay as ever, in her brand new red turban, was now, as of old, to preside over the good things to eat. The suppawn and milk was yet intact, but a huge bridal cake, with " Rachel " in large sugar letters, was even then in its honored place in the cen- tre of the table — a chef-d'ceuvre — the product of the loving brain, heart and hands of the good old colored woman. This indefatigable, never-tiring friend had also rilled the hospitable board with de- licious Dutch rusks, as only Isabel could make, and honey, and oleykceks, and maple sugar, and large red apples, and " Maiden Blush" apples, and raisins, and white walnuts, and black walnuts, and butternuts, and delicious cider, Now, young friends, isn't that a banquet fit for a king ? And I must tell you that the cider was poured 84 Rachel DuMont, from the old silver tankard that was among the relics saved that memorable day. And instead of tumblers or goblets they used the old blue china that had also been rescued from the red-coat Britishers. Caesar was still the head-waiter — or, no — the butler — he wished to be called — with his hair braided as of old (on one side). The corresponding portion of his head had been bereft of the gray, scanty locks by his nephew — the wicked Pompey — one day when the poor old man was asleep. He was caught doing it by his father, " Uncle Ned," although Caesar in- sisted that it was " dem rascally Britishers dat wuz "Missy Rachel's butler." try in to scalp him." Indeed, he was so proud of this — his only scar of the war — that he would not cut off the remaining one queue, but clung to it so as to have a chance to tell his version of the "scalpin'." Pompey gave as his excuse for so naughty a prank that " Uncle Caese put on mos' too much ' grandilo- quism' for ony a nigger, eben dough him is Missy Rachel's butler." The other servants were dressed the same as at the other party ; indeed, this was their prescribed regalia for state occasions. And the bride! — Beautiful Rachel! Tall — lithe and graceful in every movement — her dark gray A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 85 eyes beamed to-day with a quiet, tender, tremulous joy. She was robed in her old favorite costume — the same that had so filled the eyes of her boy-lover six years before, only of some finer material. (The young Captain had made this request.) So her country's colors were her bridal-robe. And the luxuriant chestnut-hair, still gleaming with gold, which now reached almost to the hem of her skirt — her only bridal-veil. This, too, was the young officer's taste, which rather shocked some of the orthodox Dutch matrons, who thought it should have been put away closely under a cap. And the huge silver shoe-buckles (her only orna- ments) — the same that had for years been so closely linked and twined about Rachel's heart, flashed and sparkled with renewed brilliancy, as though in truth they were in perfect sympathy with the young lovers' happy hearts united forever. * ■* * * * -* And the old crane, with the kettle — minus one foot — attached, which was all that was left of the old home, which the "Britishers" burned, — was hung over the bridal-hearth of the charming bride and noble bridegroom, the same evening, with appropri- ate festivities. ****** Rachel DuMont Beekman lived to the age of ninety-three years in the village of Kingston, on the very grounds surrounding the home of her childhood 86 Rachel DuMont, So her country" s colors were her b>idal-robe" A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 87 and birth. Her husband, the gallant soldier of the Revolution, fell at her side at the early age of thirty- one years.* He had contracted a severe cold the winter Washington was encamped at Valley Forge, where our army suffered such terrible privations, The hanging of the crane. which made sad inroads upon his naturally strong constitution. Rachel was ever true to the memory of her soldier-husband to the latest day of her life. She even reproved (in her ninety-third year) one who said that " Tjerck was rather a harsh name," and insisted with all the fervor of early girlhood that it was beautiful Left a widow at the age of twenty- six, with three children, for sixty-seven years she walked alone the path toward Heaven, her life full of honors, respected and loved by all. * See Note in Appendix. 88 Rachel DuMont, On her ninety-third birthday, in accordance with her usual custom, Mrs. Tjerck Beekman had quite a large party of her relatives and friends. She was robed in a soft gray silk, with white mull 'kerchief — her silvery hair partly covered with a delicate mull cap — and entertained her guests with all the grace and vivacity of her youth. After the company had gone — quite early in the evening — she said she thought she would take off the long robe and put on the " short gown and petticoat," which had ever been her favorite costume from childhood. Telling her daughter, then her only child, she was tired, she lay down on her couch, and never arose. A few days later she passed to the brighter " Home," there to rejoin the lover-husband of her early girlhood, never, never again to be parted. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution, Lieutenant Beekman at Valley Forge FINIS. SHORT time after the death of Captain Tjerck Beekman, General Washington visited Newburgh. The bereaved young wife of the fallen patriot, with her only boy, a child of three years, with a double share of her old mili- tary fervor, hastened thither to do him honor. Robed in deepest mourning, with her fatherless boy in her arms, standing on the side of one of the streets through which the military hero was to pass, she was seen by the tender-hearted " Father of our Country." An officer at his side who knew Mrs. Beekman, noticing that Washington had observed her, told him that she was the wife of Captain Beekman, who was with him at Valley Forge. General Wash- ington immediately dismounted and went to the young widowed mother. With a great deal of feel- ing he took her hand, saying a few words, and lifting her boy in his strong arms, he kissed the fair baby- brow. Then, most courteously he bade the sorrow- ing Rachel adieu, and hastened to his comrades in waiting. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 91 General Washington immediately dismounted and went to the youn< widowed mother.'" APPENDIX. jJAPTAIN Tjerck Beekman, the husband of Rachel DuMont, was one of the original members of "The Society of the Cincin- nati," of which General Washington was the first President. John Beekman Westbrook, of Peekskill, N. Y., — the grandchild of Rachel and Tjerck — has inherited in the order of succession (and taken) Captain Tjerck Beekman's seat in that illustrious body. Through the kindly courtesy of Mrs. Henry H. Reynolds, of Kingston, N. Y., we are permitted to publish the following extracts from letters written to Mr. Cornelius Wynkoop, of New York, the grand- father of Mrs. Reynolds, by his sons, Mr. Augustus Wynkoop and Mr. Cornelius E. Wynkoop : Written by Augustus Wynkoop to his father, Mr. Cornelius Wynkoop : Kingston, Dec. 2jtk, 1 791. * * * On Sunday night died Capt. Tjerck Beekman, to the great sorrow of all his acquaint- ance, and loss of the Regiment. To-day he is to be buried with honours of war. A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 93 Written by Cornelius E. Wynkoop to his father, Mr. Cornelius Wynkoop : Kingston, Dec. 28th, 1791. * * * Died here on Sunday evening last, Capt. Tjerck Beekman, that much respected officer and good man. His funeral was more than common : it was almost the same as Col. Hasbrouck's, except as to firing of cannon, but in its place we had the Free Masons in their dress, who attended the funeral in order, he being a brother. It was a very solemn scene. There was not a single individual — either those attending the funeral, or spectators (of which there were an uncommon number), but seemed all as if they mourned bitterly, for the loss of Beekman. Rachel's little brother — Johnnie — was, in after years, the "owner" of the slave-woman — Isabel — who in the full maturity of womanhood became the world-famed evangelist, Sojourner Truth. She was a beloved inmate of his household for many years — Mr. John DuMont of Esopus — and served his family most faithfully. To the latest moments of her chequered life, did the heart of this noble woman — who was so truly baptized with the Holy Spirit and who with so much pathos told of the Blessed Master — lovingly turn — with pride — to the chil- dren and grandchildren (calling each by name) of 94 Rachel DuMont, the fondly-remembered " Missy" — Rachel DuMont Beekman. The grandfather of "Rachel DuMont" — Col. Wessel TenBroeck — erected the quaint building known as the old Senate House in Kingston, N. Y., more than two hundred years ago. One hundred years afterward, the first Senate of the State of New York held its sessions there, the year of the adop- tion of the First Constitution — C 1 777)- ******** Col. TenBroeck married twice. His second wife, whom he married in 1695, was the widow of Thomas Chambers, the first prominent settler of Esopus, now Kingston. Before her marriage with Mr. Chambers, she had been the widow of Rev. Lauren- tius Van Gaasbeck, the second pastor of the old Dutch church of Esopus (now Kingston). Col. Abraham VanGaasbeck, a son of this marriage, married one of the daughters of Col. Wessel Ten Broeck (by his first marriage), and inherited the Senate House through his wife, Sarah TenBroeck — the aunt of Rachel DuMont. * * * * # * * # * Col. VanGaasbeck bequeathed the old mansion, the first Senate House of the State of New York, to his wife's niece, Sarah DuMont (a sister of Rachel DuMont), who afterward married his son Peter (her cousin), a member of the First Congress ^4 Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 95 ^j~*~*-rf"*~<"- rt * 96 Rachel Die Mont. of the United States. By the only child of this marriage — Sarah VanGaasbeck — this antique build- ing of Revolutionary historic fame was given to the grandchild of " Little Rachel" — Charles Ruggles Westbrook, of Ogdensburg, N. Y., — who conveyed it to his brother, the present owner — Frederic Edward Westbrook, of New York city.* *This antique, historic building of Revolutionary fame — the first Senate House of the State of New York — has recently passed into the posses- sion of the State.