before the board of officers. It was a weakness to urge it. There was, in truth, no way of saving him. Arnold or he must have been the victim; the former was out of our power It was by some suspected, Arnold had taken his measures in such a manner, that if the interview had been discovered in the act, it might have been in his power to sacrifice André to his own security. This surmise of double treachery, made them imagine Clinton would be induced to give up Arnold for André; and a gentleman took occasion to suggest the expedient to the latter, as a thing that might be proposed by him. He declined it. The moment he had been capable of so much frailty, I should have ceased to esteem him. The infamy of Arnold's conduct, previous to his desertion, is only equalled by his baseness since. Besides the folly of writing to Sir Henry Clinton, that André had acted under a passport from him, and according to his directions, while commanding officer at a post, and that therefore he did not doubt he would be immediately sent in, he had the effrontery to write to General Washington in the same spirit, with the addition of a menace of retaliation, if the sentence should be carried into execution. He has since acted the farce of sending in his resig nation. This man is, in every sense, despicable. In addition to the scene of knavery and prostitution during his command in Philadelphia, which the late seizure of his papers has unfolded, the history of his command at West Point is a history of little as well as great villanies. He practised every art of peculation; and even stooped to connexion with the suttlers of the garrison to defraud the public. To his conduct, that of the captors of André formed a striking contrast. He tempted them with the offer of his watch, his horse, and any sum of money they should name. They rejected his offers with indignation; and the gold that could seduce a man high in the esteem and confidence of his country, who had the remembrance of past exploits, the motives of present reputation and future glory, to prop his integrity, had no charms for three simple peasants, learing only on their virtue and an honest sense of their duty. While Arnold is handed down, with execration, to future times, posterity will repeat with reverence the names of Van Wart, Paulding, and Williams. I congratulate my friend on our happy escape from the mischiefs with which this treason was big. It is a new comment on the value of an honest man, and, if it were possible, would endear you to me more than ever. Adieu. FROM THE EULOGIUM ON GEN. GREENE, BEFORE THE SOCIETY OF THE CINCINNATI, There is no duty that could have been assigned to me by this society which I should execute with greater alacrity than the one I am now called upon to perform. All the motives capable of interesting an ingenuous and feeling mind conspire to prompt me to its execution. To commemorate the talents, virtues, and exploits, of great and good men, is at all times a pleasing task to those who know how to esteem them. But when such men, to the title of superior merit, join that of having been the defenders and guardians of our country; when they have been connected with us as companions in the same dangers, sufferings, misfortunes, and triumphs; when they have been allied to us in the still more endearing character of friends; we recall the ideas of their worth with sensations that affect us yet more nearly, and feel an involuntary propensity to consider their fame as our own. We seem to appropriate to our selves the good they have done; and to take a personal interest in the glory they have acquired; and to share in the very praise we bestow. In entering upon a subject in which your feelings as well as my own are so deeply concerned, however it might become me to follow examples of humility, I shall refrain from a practice perhaps not less laudable than it is common. I cannot prevail upon myself to check the current of your sensibility by the cold formalities of an apology for the defects of the speaker. These can neither be concealed nor extenuated by the affectation of diffidence; nor even by the genuine concessions of conscious inability. "Tis your command, and the reverence we all bear to the memory of him of whom I am to speak, that must constitute my excuse, and my claim to your indulgence. Did I even possess the powers of oratory, I should with reluctance attempt to employ them upon the present occasion. The native brilliancy of the diamond needs not the polish of art; the conspicuous features of pre-eminent merit, need not the coloring pencil of imagination, nor the florid decorations of rhetoric. From you who knew and loved him, I fear not the imputation of flattery, or enthusiasm, when I indulge an expectation, that the name of GREENE will at once awaken in your minds, the images of whatever is noble and estimable in human nature. The fidelity of the portrait I shall draw, will therefore have nothing to apprehend from your sentence. But I dare not hope that it will meet with equal justice from all others; or that it will entirely escape the cavils of ignorance and the shafts of envy. For high as this great man stood in the estimation of his country, the whole extent of his worth was little known. The situations in which he has appeared, though such as would have measured the faculties and exhausted the resources of men who might justly challenge the epithet of great, were yet incompetent to the full display of those various, rare, and exalted endowments, with which nature only now and then decorates a favorite, as if with intention to astonish mankind. As a man, the virtues of Greene are admitted; as a patriot, he holds a place in the foremost rank; as a statesman, he is praised; as a soldier, he is admired. But in the two last characters, especially in the last but one, his reputation falls far below his desert. It required a longer life, and still greater opportunities, to have enabled him to exhibit, in full day, the vast, I had almost said the enormous, powers of his mind. The termination of the American war-not too soon for his wishes, nor for the welfare of his country, but too soon for his glory-put an end to his military career. The sudden termination of his life, cut him off from those scenes, which the progress of a new, immense, and unsettled empire, could not fail to open to the complete exertion of that universal and pervading genius which qualified him not less for the senate than for the field. In forming our estimate, nevertheless, of his character, we are not left to supposition and conjecture. We are not left to vague indications or uncertain appearances, which partiality might varnish or prejudice discolor. We have a succession of deeds, as glorious as they are unequivocal, to attest his greatness and perpetuate the honors of his name. It is an observation, as just as it is common, that in those great revolutions which occasionally convulse society, human nature never fails to be brought forward in its brightest as well as in its blackest colors: and it has very properly been ranked not among the least of the advantages which compensate for the evils they produce, that they serve to bring BALLAD LITERATURE. to light, talents and virtues, which might otherwise have languished in obscurity, or only shot forth a few scattered and wandering rays. NATHANIEL GREENE descended from reputable parents; but not placed by birth in that elevated rank which, under a monarchy, is the only sure road to those employments that give activity and scope to abilities, must, in all probability, have contented himself with the humble lot of a private citizen, or, at most, with the contracted sphere of an elective office, in a colonial and dependent government, scarcely conscious of the resources of his own mind, had not the violated rights of his country called him to act a part on a more splendid and more ample theatre. Happily for America, he hesitated not to obey the call. The vigor of his genius, corresponding with the importance of the prize to be contended for, overcame the natural moderation of his temper; and though not hurried on by enthusiasm, but animated by an enlightened sense of the value of free government, he cheerfully resolved to stake his fortune, his hopes, his life, and his honor, upon an enterprise, of the danger of which he knew the whole magnitude; in a cause, which was worthy of the toils and of the blood of heroes. The sword having been appealed to, nt Lexington, as the Arbiter of the controversy between Great Britain and America, Greene, shortly after, marched, at the head of a regiment, to join the American forces at Cambridge; determined to abide the awful decision. He was not long there before the discerning eye of the American Fabius marked him out as the object of his confidence. His abilities entitled him to a pre-eminent share in the councils of his Chief. He gained it, and he preserved it, amidst all the checkered varieties of military vicissitude, and in defiance of all the intrigues of jealous and aspiring rivals. As long as the measures which conducted us safely through the first most critical stages of the war shall be remembered with approbation; as long as the enterprises of Trenton and Princeton shall be regarded as the dawnings of that bright day which afterwards broke forth with such resplendent lustre; as long as the almost magic operations of the remainder of that memorable winter, distinguished not more by these events than by the extraordinary spectacle of a powerful army straitened within narrow limits by the phantom of a military force, and never permitted to transgress those limits with impunity, in which skill supplied the place of means, and disposition was the substitute for an army; as long, I say, as these operations shall continue to be the objects of curiosity and wonder, so long ought the name of Greene to be revered by a grateful country. To attribute to him a port on of the praise which is due, as well to the formation as to the execution of the plans that effected these important ends, can be no derogation from that wisdom and magnanimity which knew how to select and embrace counsels worthy of being pursued. The laurels of a Henry were never tarnished by the obligations he owed and acknowledged to a Sully. From the Heights of Monmouth I might lead you to the Plains of Springfield, there to behold the veteran Knyphaussen, at the head of a veteran army, baffled and almost beaten by a general without an army-aided, or rather embarrassed, by small fugitive bodies of volunteer militia, the mimicry of soldiership! But it would ill become me to detain you in the contemplation of objects diminutive in comparison Hitherto, we have seen the illustrious Greene acting in a subordinate capacity, the faint glimmer. ings of his fame absorbed and lost in the superior rays of a Washington. Happy was it for him to have been called to a more explicit station. Had this never been the case, the future historian, perplexed between the panegyric of friends and satire of enemies, might have doubted in what colors to draw his true character. Accident, alone, saved a Greene from so equivocal a fate; a reflection which might damp the noble ardor of emulation, and check the towering flight of conscious merit. The defeat of Camden, and the misfortune of Gates, opened the career of victory and of glory to Greene. Congress having resolved upon a successor to the former, the choice was left to the Cominanderin-Chief, and fell upon the latter. In this destination, honorable in proportion as it was critical, he acquiesced with the mingled emotions of a great mind-impelled by a sense of duty-allured by the hope of faine-apprised of the danger and precariousness of the situation, yet confident of its own strength, and animated by the magnitude of the object for which it was to be exerted. Henceforth we are to view him on a more exalted eminence. He is no longer to figure in an ambiguous or secondary light; he is to shine forth the artificer of his own glory-the leader of armies and the deliverer of States! BALLAD LITERATURE, &c., OF THE INDIAN, FRENCH, AND REVOLUTIONARY WARS. ONE of the early ballads written in the country is that composed about 1724, on the encounter between Captain Lovewell and Paugus, an Indian chief. Lovewell was the son of Zaccheus Lovewell, an ensign in Cromwell's army, who emigrated to New Hampshire and settled at Dunstable, where he attained the wonderful age of. one hundred and twenty years. Captain Lovewell had, previously to the engagement in which he lost his life, taken part in several encounters with the Indians, and proved himself a man of skill and bravery." We give the ballad from the appendix to the reprint of Church's Indian Wars, by Samuel G. Drake, with the valuable notes added by the editor. * Farmer and Moore's Hist. Coll. of New Hampshire, 1. 25; iii. 64. +Situated on the upper part of the river Saco, then fifty miles from any white settlement.-Farmer and Moore's Coll. i. 27. It is in the present town of Fryeburg, Maine. They set out from Dunstable about the 16th April, 1725. Symmes' narrative, in Farmer and Moore's Coll. 1. 27. § Called Saco pond. Some call this Lovewell's pond, but Lovewell's pond is in Wakefield, where he some time beforo captured a company of Indians, who were on their way to attack some of the frontier towns. Our men resolved to have him and travell'd two miles round, Until they met the Indian, who boldly stood his ground; Then spake up Captain Lovewell, “Take you good heed," says he, "This rogue is to decoy us, I very plainly see. "The Indians lie in ambush, in some place nigh at hand, In order to surround us upon this neck of land; Therefore we'll march in order, and each man leave his pack,t That we may briskly fight them when they make their attack." They came unto this Indian, who did them thus defy, As soon as they came nigh him, two guns he did let fly, Which wounded Captain Lovewell, and likewise one man more,§ But when this rogue was running, they laid him in his gore. Then having scalp'd the Indian, they went back to the spot, Where they had laid their packs down, but there they found them not, For the Indians having spy'd them, when they them down did lay, Did seize them for their plunder, and carry them away. These rebels lay in ambush, this very place hard by, So that an English soldier did one of them espy, And cried out "Here's an Indian," with that they started out, As fiercely as old lions, and hideously did shout. With that our valiant English, all gave a loud huzza, To show the rebel Indians they fear'd them not a straw: So now the fight began, and as fiercely as could be, The Indians ran up to them, but soon were forc'd to flee. Then spake up Captain Lovewell, when first the fight began, "Fight on, my valiant heroes! you see they fall like rain." For as we are inform'd, the Indians were so thick, A man could scarcely fire a gun and not some of them hit. Then did the rebels try their best our soldiers to surround, But they could not accomplish it, because there was a pond, To which our men retreated and covered all the rear,** *This Indian was ont a hunting, and probably had no knowledge of the English, having two ducks in his hand, and his guns loaded with beaver shot.-Symmes and Belknap, + The Indians finding their packs, learned their number, and placed themselves to surround them, when they returned. It appears from Mr. Symmes, that the English saw the Indian coming, and secreted themselves, firing at him first. He then, having two guns, discharged both, and wounded the Captain mortally. Samuel Whiting. Ensign Wyman shot him, and Mr. Frye, the chaplain, and another, scalped him.-Symmes. Both parties advanced with their guns presented, and when they came within "a few yards," they fired on both sides. "The Indians fell in considerable numbers, but the English, most, if not all of them, escaped the first shot."-Ib. Then advancing within twice the length of their guns, slew nine.-Penhallow. **Twelve were killed and wounded before they retreated to the pond. There was a small bank, which served them as a breastwork, and, perhaps, saved them from an immediate de The rogues were forc'd to flee them, altho' they skulk'd for fear. Two logs there were behind them, that close together lay, Without being discovered, they could not get away; Therefore our valiant English, they travell'd in a row, And at a handsome distance as they were wont to go. 'Twas ten o'clock in the morning, when first the fight begun, And fiercely did continue until the setting sun; Excepting that the Indians, some hours before 'twas night, Drew off into the bushes and ceased awhile to fight. But soon again returned, in fierce and furious mood, Shouting as in the morning, but yet not half so loud; For as we are informed, so thick and fast they fell, Scarce twenty of their number, at night did get home well. And that our valiant English, till midnight there did stay, To see whether the rebels would have another fray; But they no more returning, they made off towards their home, And brought away their wounded as far as they could come. Of all our valiant English, there were but thirty-four, And of the rebel Indians, there were about four score. And sixteen of our English did safely home return, The rest were killed and wounded, for which we all must mourn.§ Our worthy Captain Lovewell among them there did die, They killed Lt. Robins, and wounded good young Frye, Who was our English chaplain; he many Indians slew, And some of them he scalp'd when bullets round him flew. Young Fullam** too I'll mention, because he fought so well, Endeavouring to save a man, a sacrifice he fell; But yet our valiant Englishmen in fight were ne'er dismay'd, But still they kept their motion, and Wyman's++ Captain made, feat. This is the more probable, as but few were killed afterwards.-Ib. They probably drew off to take care of the wounded. Symmes nor Penhallow makes mention that they returned again to the fight, after they drew off. Forty were said to be killed upon the spot, and eighteen more died of their wounds.-Penhallowe. Solomon Keyes, after receiving three wounds, crawled along the shore of the pond, where he chanced to find an old canoe, into which he rolled himself, and the wind wafted him on several miles toward the fort, which he reached in safety. He felt his end approaching, when he was in the boat, into which he had crawled, only to die in peace, and to escape the scalping knife, but wonderfully revived.-Symmes, § Eight were left in the woods, whose wounds were so bad that they could not travel, of whom two only returned. One ran away in the beginning of the fight. He belonged to Chelmesford. Being mortally wounded, desired to have two guns charged, and left with him, which they did. He said, “As the Indians will come in the morning to scalp me, I will kill one more of them if I can."-Ib. He fell about the middle of the afternoon. He was the only son of Capt. James Frye of Andover, graduated at Harvard college in 1728, and was chaplain of the company.-16. ** Only son of Major Fullam of Weston, was sergeant of the company, and fell in the beginning of the fight.-Ib. 4 Ensign Seth Wyman of Woburn. He was presented with a silver hilted sword for his good conduct, and commissioned Captain. He died soon after. Who shot the old chief Paugus,* which did the foe defeat, Then set his men in order, and brought off the retreat; And braving many dangers and hardships in the way, They safe arriv'd at Dunstable, the thirteenth day of May.t The long-continued contest known as the old French War, though waged at a comparative distance from the settled portion of the country, was one which could not fail to leave its trace in the popular literature. The foe was one whose ascendency, in the opinion of a great part of the colonists, foreboded destruction to soul as well as body. The Roman Catholic priest represented a system which they detested; the Indian was identified with infant recollections and the tales of terror of the fireside. The colonists went heart and hand with the mother country, and shared to the full the John Bull prejudice and contempt of a Frenchman. As expedition succeeded expedition, battle followed after battle, the companionship in different scenes of danger and endurance led to a union of feeling among the representatives of different portions of the country, and while it furnished a school of warfare, presented one also of federative union. History has been active in identifying the localities of the war and in preserving the memory of its heroes, but has bestowed slight care on a department which has claims equal to these-the preservation of the ballad and song which cheered the long march of the soldier through the wilderness, and warmed the hearts of his kindred at the fireside. Many, probably, of the fugitive productions of which we have spoken have perished, and the lines of some which remain may to us have little of the spirit-stirring element, but they are worthy of regard for their past services. One of the first in order of the productions to which we have alluded is a little duodecimo pamphlet of thirty pages, entitled Tilden's Miscellaneous Poems on Divers Occasions, chiefly to animate and rouse the Soldiers. Printed 1756. We know nothing of the author beyond the information he furnishes us in his PREFACE, OR INTRODUCTION. INGENIOUS AND COURTEOUS READER: It may justly seem a matter of great surprise that a man near 70 years of age should attempt to be an author: it may justly be deemed by you, or any other gentleman, to be the product of superannuation. Yet, Courteous Reader, I have some excuses to make, for digging up rusty talents out of the earth so long lain hid. In the first place, when I was young I was bashful, and could not stand the gust of a laugh; but having observed the press for 60 years, which has stood open and free to every idle scribbler, who have come off with impunity instead of the punishment, I tho't they would have * Many of Lovewe'l's men knew Paugus personally. A huge bear's skin formed a part of his dress. From Mr. Symmes' account, it appears that John Chamberlain killed him. They had spoken together some time in the fight, and afterwards both happened to go to the pond to wash out their guns, which were rendered useless by so frequent firing. Here the challenge was given by Paugus, "It is you or I." As soon as the guns were prepared they fired, and Paugus fell. Wyman and three others did not arrive until the 15th, but the main body, consisting of twelve, arrived the 13th. had; I am thereby emboldened to venture myself among the rest. But, ingenious sirs, I think I have greater and nobler views; for since brave soldiers are the very life, nerves, and sinews of their country, and cannot be too much honored, nor too well paid -being a lover of martial discipline-I tho't at this critical juncture it might be of some service to the public, to attempt to animate, and stir up the martial spirits of our soldiery, which is the utmost I can do under my present circumstances. The small effort I made last spring was so well accepted by the gentlemen of the army, that I am thereby emboldened to revise that, and some other pieces, and put them into a small pamphlet. I have nothing further to say, Gentlemen, but conclude with the two following stanzas:— Kind Sirs, if that you will accept, I will consult your Honor, But spit and tread upon her. "Twill give her life and motion, Shall stand at your devotion. The work opens as a patriotic work, designing to fill, in due course, all the regular requirements of such a production, with THE BRITISH LION ROUSED. Hail! great Apollo guide my feeble pen, All neighbouring powers and neutral standers by The British lion on his legs, with rampant tail, we have next The English Soldiers Encouraged, from which we take a passage exhibiting the grievances complained of:— From Acadia to the Ohio river, They seize your lands where Jove is not the giver; In vain you'll sigh, and make your sad complaints In fields of blood, than ever to submit: From George, our king, and the great King of The blood of infants crieth from the ground, And thus they've acted more than three-score years. Ask Jove or Mars, and they will tell you no. Next follows Braddock's Fate, with an Incitement to Revenge, composed August 20, 1755. We select a passage, headed HIS EPITAPH. Beneath this stone brave Braddock lies, Amidst his Indian foes. I charge you, heroes, of the ground, And cherish his repose. And cancel thy commission: None envy's thy condition. A survey of the battle so rouses the author, that he gives us some glimpses of his own individuality: Their skulking, scalping, murdering tricks With legs and arms like withered sticks, Let young and old, both high and low, The sons of black delusion. New England's sons, you know their way, One bold effort O let us make, And this, brave soldiers, will we do, The land will be at rest. The Author. Come, every soldier, charge your gun, Don't throw away your fire; When forced to retire. O mother land, we think we're sure As east is from the west. Forbear, my muse, thy barbarous song, Get home unto thy plow. A poem follows on The Christian Hero, or New England's Triumph; written soon after the success of our arms at Nova Scotia, and the Signal Victory at Lake George, after which we find The Soldiers Reproved for Reflecting on one another. The remaining pieces consist of verses on The Vanity and Uncertainty of all Sublunary Things; An Epitaph upon Sir Isaac Newton; and An Essay on Progedies and Earthquakes. We are indebted for one of the most stirring of our specimens to The History of An Expedition against Fort Du Quesne in 1755 under MajorGeneral Braddock, edited from the original manuscripts by Winthrop Sargent, M.A.; published during the present year by the Pennsylvania Historical Society. This jingling provincial ballad,” says Mr. Sargent, "was composed in Chester county, Pennsylvania, while the army was on its march in the spring or early summer of 1755. During the Revolution it was still a favorite song there, the name of Lee being substituted for Braddock. It has never, I believe, appeared in print before. There is no doubt of its authenticity." To arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers! Hark, how the drums do roll it along! My loyal hearts of gold. Huzzah, my valiant countrymen !-—again I say huz |