CHAPTER III.
All were eager to visit the historical places immediately upon theirarrival. As they entered the harbor of Castine Mrs. Travilla remarkedthat it was quite as picturesque as she expected from Lossing'sdescription.
"Ah, I entirely agree with you, Cousin Elsie," responded Mr. Lilburn;"it is so bonny a place that I do not wonder it was coveted by theenemy."
The whole party presently landed, a guide was found who promised toconduct them to all the points of historical interest, and they set outupon their search. They very much admired the situation of the town,and the view from it of the bay, with its picturesque islands. Theyvisited old Fort George, built by the British in 1779, in the centre ofthe peninsula, and repaired, fraised, and armed by them in 1814. It wasonly a ruin now, but interesting because of what it had been in thoseearlier days. The view from its banks, which were about eighteen feethigh from the bottom of the six feet deep ditch, was very interesting.Looking northwestward from the fort they could see on the right theentrance to the canal cut by the British across Castine Neck, turningthe peninsula into an island. It was about eighty rods long and twelvefeet deep, and now had a bridge across it. Between the promontoryand an island could be seen the mouth of the Penobscot River. Onthe extreme left they could see the town of Belfast, thirteen milesdistant. Leaving that point they visited the remains of several otherforts built by the British, after which they returned to the yacht forthe evening meal and the night's rest.
The _Dolphin_ was allowed to remain stationary until all her passengerswere on deck again the next morning; then the anchor was lifted, andshe steamed up the river. Favored with delightful weather they greatlyenjoyed the trip up the beautiful, winding stream. They had taken onboard a man well acquainted with the river and every point of interestupon its banks, and who pointed out each one as they neared it. As theyentered Marsh Bay the young people were told that the British squadronlay there one night on their way toward Hampden. Elsie and Ned showedkeen interest when told of it, and in hearing from their father of thecannon-ball of the British that lodged in a storehouse there in 1814.
"Do you remember the story Lossing tells about a Norway pine somewherein this region?" asked Mrs. Travilla, addressing Captain Raymond.
"Something of it," he said, with an amused smile, and the children atonce begged to hear it.
"Will you gratify them, mother?" asked the captain. "You probably havea better recollection of his story than I."
"I will do my best," she said, and began at once. "Lossing says thetree was about a mile above here, and the only one of its kind in thatregion--a round, compact tree, its short trunk looking as if composedof a group of smaller ones, and the limbs growing so near the groundthat it was difficult to get under it. At the time that the Britishlanded at Frankford some man who had a large quantity of bacon, beingafraid they would rob him of it, carried it to that tree and hung thepieces in among the branches to hide them from the foe; and though theBritish passed along the road only a short distance from the tree, theydid not notice its peculiar fruit, so did not meddle with it, and hisbacon was saved; always afterward that Norway pine was called the BaconTree."
"Thank you, grandma; that was a nice story," said Elsie.
"Haven't you another little story for us, grandma?" asked Ned, incoaxing 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 remarkableblack man whom he visited somewhere near here. His name was Henry VanMeter, and he was then ninety-five years old. During the Revolutionhe was a slave to Governor Nelson of Virginia. After that he becamea seaman, and was one of the crew of the privateer _Lawrence_, whichsailed from Baltimore in 1814. I suppose Lossing questioned him abouthis long life, and heard his story of it. He remembered having seenWashington many times. The estate of Governor Nelson, his first master,was sold after the war, to pay his debts, and Henry was bought by aplanter beyond the Blue Ridge. The new master wanted him to marry oneof his slave girls, and told him if he did he would order in his willthat he should be made a free man at his (the master's) death. Intelling of it Henry said, 'I didn't like the gals, and didn't want towait 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 wentthere.'
"He was soon sold to another man, who treated him shamefully, and onenight he mounted one of his master's horses and fled to the KentuckyRiver, where he turned the horse loose, and told him to go home if hehad a mind to, as he didn't want to steal him. Some kind white peoplehelped Henry over the river into Ohio, and at Cincinnati he then tookthe name of Van Meter--the family name of some of the Shenandoah Valleypeople who had been kind to him.
"Afterward Henry became the servant of an officer in the army ofGeneral St. Clair, and served with our troops in the Northwest underGeneral Wayne. After that he lived in Chillicothe, then came East toPhiladelphia. There some Quaker sent him to school, and he learned toread and write. He became a sailor, went to Europe several times inthat capacity, and when the war broke out he shipped as such on boardthe privateer _Lawrence_. It was taken by the British, and he wasthrown into Dartmoor Prison, and saw the massacre there in 1815."
"Oh, what was that, grandma?" asked Ned, in tones of excitement. "Ididn't think I ever heard about it."
"Lossing tells us," replied his grandmother, "that Dartmoor was a depotfor prisoners in England; that it was situated in a desolate region,was built in 1809 for a place in which to confine French prisoners. Atthe time the treaty of peace was made with us there were six thousandAmerican prisoners in it--two thousand five hundred of them Americanseamen, put there for refusing to fight in the British Navy againsttheir countrymen. They were there when the war began in 1812. Forsome unknown reason there was great delay in setting those prisonersfree after the treaty of peace was made. It was nearly three monthsbefore they were allowed to know that the treaty had been signed. Fromthe time they first heard of it they were every day expecting to beset at liberty, and naturally grew very impatient over the delay. Onthe 4th of April they demanded bread instead of hard biscuit, whichthey refused to eat. On the evening of the 6th they showed greatunwillingness to obey the order to retire to their quarters, and someof them not only refused to do that, but went beyond their prescribedlimits. 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 andthirty-three wounded."
"Why, that was just murder, wasn't it, grandma?" asked Ned. "And didn'tthey hang those soldiers for doing it?"
"No; the British authorities called it 'justifiable homicide,' whichmeant it was all right enough."
"In which decision I, for one, am far from agreeing," remarked Mr.Lilburn emphatically.
"It created intense indignation in this country at the time," said thecaptain; "but is now seldom remembered, and the two nations are, and Ihope always will be, good friends."
The _Dolphin_ ascended the river only as far as Bangor, and returnedby moonlight to Castine, where they anchored for some hours; then atan early hour in the morning they steamed out into the ocean again,and pursued a westward course until they reached Portland. There theylanded and paid a visit to the cemetery where lay the remains of thebrave captains of the _Enterprise_ and the _Boxer_; also those ofMidshipman Kervin Waters.
"They are buried side by side, as if they were brothers, instead ofenemies who were killed fighting each other," said little Elsie softly."But perhaps they were good Christian men, each fighting for what hethought was the right of his own country. Papa, can you tell us aboutthe funeral? I suppose they had one?"
"Yes, daughter, a solemn and imposing one. The two battered vesselswere lying at the end of Union Wharf. A civil and military processionhad been formed at the court-house at nine in the morning of the 9thof September. The coffins were brought from the vessels in barge
s often oars each, rowed by minute strokes of ship-masters and mates, mostof the barges and boats in the harbor accompanying them. When thebarges began to move, and while the procession was passing through thestreets to the church, minute guns were fired by artillery companies.Also while the procession marched from the church to the cemetery here,which is about a mile distant from the church.
"The chief mourners who followed the corpse of Captain Burrows were Dr.Washington, Captain Hull, and officers of the _Enterprise_. Those whofollowed Captain Blyth's were the officers of the _Boxer_, on parole.Both were followed by naval and military officers in the United Statesservice, the crews of the two vessels, civil officers of the State andcity, military companies, and a large concourse of citizens. Only a fewweeks before Captain Blyth was one of the pall-bearers at the funeralof our Lawrence, the gallant commander of the _Chesapeake_, at Halifax."
"That dear brave man that said, 'Don't give up the ship,' papa?" askedElsie.
"Yes, daughter. Now let us read the inscription on his tombstone:'In memory of Captain Samuel Blyth, late Commander of his BritannicMajesty's brig _Boxer_. He nobly fell on the 5th day of September,1813, in action with the United States brig _Enterprise_. In lifehonorable; in death glorious. His country will long deplore one ofher bravest sons, his friends long lament one of the best of men. AE.29. The surviving officers of his crew offer this feeble tribute ofadmiration and respect.'"
"It sounds as though they had respected and loved him," said the littlegirl. "That next grave is where Burrows lies, isn't it, papa? and won'tyou please read its inscription?"
They drew nearer and the captain read aloud: "'Beneath this stonemoulders the body of William Burrows, late commander of the UnitedStates brig _Enterprise_, who was mortally wounded on the 5th ofSeptember, 1813, in an action which contributed to increase the fameof American valor, by capturing his Britannic Majesty's brig _Boxer_,after a severe contest of forty-five minutes. AE. 28. A passing strangerhas erected this memento of respect to the manes of a patriot, who, inthe hour of peril, obeyed the loud summons of an injured country, andwho gallantly met, fought, and conquered the foeman.'"
"And that one on the pillars, papa--whose is it?" Elsie asked, as herfather paused with a slight sigh.
"That is the tomb of Midshipman Waters," he said. "We will go nearerand read its inscription: 'Beneath this marble, by the side of hisgallant commander, rest the remains of Lieutenant Kervin Waters, anative of Georgetown, District of Columbia, who received a mortalwound, September 5, 1813, while a midshipman on board the United Statesbrig _Enterprise_, in an action with his Britannic Majesty's brig_Boxer_, which terminated in the capture of the latter. He languishedin severe pain, which he endured with fortitude, until September 25,1813, when he died with Christian calmness and resignation, agedeighteen. The young men of Portland erect this stone as a testimony oftheir respect for his valor and virtues.'"
"Twenty days to suffer so," sighed Elsie. "Oh, it was dreadful!"
Max and Evelyn stood near, side by side.
"Dreadful indeed!" Evelyn sighed, in low quivering tones as they turnedaway. "Oh, Max! I wish you did not belong to the navy!"
"Why, dearest?" he asked in tender tones. "It is not only in the navythat men die suddenly and of injuries; and many a naval officer haslived to old age and died at home in his bed. And we are under the sameProtecting Care on the sea as on the land."
"Yes, that is a cheering thought," she said, "and since you lovethe sea, it is wrong and selfish in me to regret your choice of aprofession. And I could not be induced to resign my sailor lover forany landsman," she added, with a charming blush and smile.
That evening, joining her father, as she so often did, in his quietpromenade of the deck before retiring for the night, Lucilla spoke oftheir visit to the cemetery, and said, "I have always been so glad thatyou left the navy, papa, so that we could have you always at home withus, and I am gladder still when I think that if we should have anotherwar you will not be in danger of such a fate as that which befellBurrows and Blyth."
"Unless I am needed, volunteer my services, and am accepted," hereturned, in a slightly playful tone.
"Oh, papa, don't, please don't!" she exclaimed, clinging more closelyto him. "It will be dreadful enough to have Max in such danger, but tohave you, too, in it would be heart-breaking."
"Well, dear child, we won't be so foolish as to trouble ourselves aboutwhat may never happen. And if it ever should happen, we must just putour trust in the Lord, believing that he doeth all things well, andtrusting his promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' And youcan rejoice in the fact that Chester is neither sailor nor soldier," headded, with a smile, and softly patting the hand resting upon his arm.
"Yes, father dear, that is no small comfort," she said; "especially asI know he is patriotic enough to do all in his power for his country."
"Ah, no doubt of that! I think Chester would be as ready as any oneelse to take up arms in her defence if he saw that his services wereneeded. And I don't believe this daughter of mine would say a word toprevent him."
"I think not, papa; but I hope I may never be tried in that way."
"A hope in which I heartily join you, daughter. I should be glad indeedto know that we were done with wars. But that is so uncertain that we,as a nation, must be ever prepared to repel attack--on land or sea.'Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.'"
"And liberty is worth that price, isn't it, father?" she said, with abright smile up into his face.
"Yes; so we think; we could never be content without it."
They paced silently back and forth for a few moments, then Lucillaasked, "How long are we going to lie quietly here in Portland harbor,papa?"
"That will depend upon the wishes of the majority of our company," heanswered; "which I think we will learn at the breakfast table to-morrowmorning."
Elsie's Young Folks in Peace and War Page 3
