# Seventy-Six (1840)/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
Thy spirit, Independence! let me share! Lord of the lion-heart and eagle eye! Thy steps I follow, with my bosom bare, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.
After reflecting a good deal upon the subject, dear children, I have come to the conclusion, that, if I interweave with the history, which I have promised to you, some account of myself and Archibald, of whom you have heard me relate so many things that made your nerves shiver, as with electricity, when you were mere boys, it will do much toward perpetuating the history of our family, and keeping your attention alive to the order of events.
And that, at the end of another generation, my posterity may not have to inquire, who and what were their ancestors, I will begin my narrative with a rapid sketch of our family, so far as there are now any traces of them left. I find a tradition among us that we are of Scotch extraction; and, by looking into the records of our oldest colony, as Plymouth, you will find a constant reference to the name of Oadley, as to one of influence and authority. My grandfather, I know, was born in a part of New England, since called the New Hampshire Grants, and, yet more recently, composing a part of the newly-made state of Vermont:—and I have heard my father relate several anecdotes of his warlike and adventurous character. It was he that headed the party against King Philip, as he was called, the Indian of Mount Hope, the season before his death; and he was the very man that grappled with him, in the midst of his young men, who had decoyed the party into an ambush; thereby, as you will remember,holding Philip as a hostage, even in the centre of his wigwam, till he was compelled to forego the whole profit of his adventure; and he it was who threw up his commission, before the Plymouth fathers, and broke his sword, and swore by the Everlasting God that he would never another, after the shameful treachery that had been practised upon that wary but high-hearted Indian, at the time of his assassination. Nor did he, till his dying day, I ​can but just recollect him. He was a very erect, stately, stern old man, of few words, and remark able stature. This is all that I can recollect of him, except that he used to talk to the militia of the day, as if they were children, and relate, with a distinctness that made my young heart swell violently, many an inroad of the Indians.
My father, as most of you well remember, was a pacific, mild, kind-hearted man and if I add to this, that, after he removed from Providence plantations to the Jerseys, he never saw blood drawn, till the flame of the revelation had broken out, you will then know about all that any man knows of his early life. Till within the last ten years of his life, there was the same plain, unpretending, substantial good sense in all that he did and during many years that we lived together, I do not remember that I ever saw him in a passion but twice or three times and the first left such an impression on my mind, that I will relate it—it was on seeing my good mother, in the pride of her beauty, equipped in a new calico gown, flowered ail over with yellow and blue roses, about the size of cabbages—after the new importation confederacy had been adopted. The affair had been managed secretly, and my mother might have passed it all off without the loss of her finery, or the rebuke that she received, had she been able to suppress, a little more, her natural spirit for display; but unfortunately, she could not, and she had passed, and repassed, before my father, during the first day, so frequently, in her flaming ruffles and furbelows, that human patience could endure it no longer. "Peggy," said my father, "what is the meaning of this?" She smiled, coloured, bridled a little, and turned about, so as to exhibit all the proportions of her finely turned waist, before she answered.
I was but a little fellow, scarcely old enough to speak my own name, so as to be understood; but my father s anger so frightened me, it being the first explosion, that I could not think of it for some time afterward, without looking behind me, and holding my breath.
My mother was the "lady" of the neighbourhood, and but for one other lady, would have been the happiest of human creatures.
"O, my dear," said she, coaxingly "only a little spec of mine; I was going to take tea with our neighbour Arnauld, and I thought—"
"Drink tea!" said my father, shutting his bible, with a clap that made me start, and standing erect—You remember his height—few men carried such a front with them, and of all our blood, he was the tallest, I believe—"Drink tea, Peggy! Do you not know, child, that tea, is one of the prohibited things?"
My father alluded to the confederacy that had just been entered into, by all the substantial men of the country, some in shame, some in terror, and some from downright honesty and virtue, not to purchase or consume any article whatever, supplied by the mother country to the colonies and tea was one of the enumerated articles.
My mother turned pale, I remember, but continued for a moment or two to defend the visit and tea-drinking stoutly, but my father was immoveable.
"Woman!" said he, putting his large hand kindly, but authoritatively, upon her shoulder. "while you are my wife, not one cup of tea shall pass your lips, unless the confederacy be abandoned. "And if your neighbour—"
This neighbour, by the way, lived eight miles off, at the end of an almost inaccessible wood, and was the lady rival of my mother.
"—be weak and wicked enough to treat her visitors, in the present state of her country, with tea. you shall never, with my leave, set your foot within her doors again."
"High times indeed!" said my mother, bouncing away from his hand, (she was the younger, by at least twelve years, and that gave her an advantage, not to be overlooked by a handsome and adroit woman) "High times indeed! Jonathan Oadley" (his name, too, was Jonathan, as you will recollect)—"when a body cannot be allowed to take a drop of tea for medicine—"
"A drop of hell-fire!" cried my father, stamping with wrath—"A woman of America! the wife of Jonathan Oadley—whose husband has signed a paper with his own blood" (a literal fact, my children, for in the feeling of the time, no solemnity, and I might say, no superstition was spared) "calling down the anger of God upon his house, and his wife, and children, if he kept it not—shall she be the first to laugh his obligation to scorn—give his household to destruction, and her husband's name to dishonour? O, for shame!"
I am sure, even now, that, had my father been, less violent, by a little, than he was, there would have been no trouble in the affair; but my mother was a high-spirited woman, remarkably well bred for the time, and had married him, in the face and eyes of all her family—
"Ye—ye—yes", said she, sobbing "just what I expected. I was always t—t—told so—I—"
"That I was a tyrant?" said my father, gently—"no, Peggy, no—I am no tyrant—but much as I love you, and that boy yonder, I would rather lose you both, rather see you taking a mortal poison, both of you, than a cup of this accursed tea:—but what is this—what is the meaning of this? (taking hold of the long ruffle, or flounce, at the elbow of her glittering calico)—new,is it, Peggy?"
My mother held down her head, whether in shame and mortification, or in sullenness, I know not; but there was an awful stillness for a minute or two, and then my father went up to her, and took her in his arms and kissed her—I declare to you, my children, like some high priest, about to offer up a living creature that he loved, in sacrifice.
He was very pale, and, after uttering a few words, my mother began, very reluctantly, to unfasten her girdle. My notion was, from my own experience in such matters and the sternness of his countenance, and the terror and shame in her, that he was going to beat her, and I began to cry lustily ; but they gave no heed to my bawling, and I never stopped, even to get my breath, till I had seen the beautiful calico gown torn into five hundred pieces, and burnt in the fire my another clad anew, in a dark brown cotton of her own weaving, and my father sitting by her, with his arn round her waist, and her head leaning upon his shoulder, full of affection and duty.
Thus much for my father's temper: it will give you some notion of his general deportment, when I tell you that I never saw him transported so far on any other occasion, for more than twenty years ​Nothing else, I am persuaded, could have disturbed him, like this wavering of allegiance in his wife. He loved her ardently, truly, but he loved her like a man. And as he never warmed but on one theme—till the cry for independence rang like a trumpet throughout the mountains—and that was, whenever the character of her father, the man of war, was named, I have had no better opportunity of seeing his nature than you yourselves have had, till within a few years of his death.
My infancy, boyhood, and manhood too. I might say, were spent much as they are with most of the world, who are born apart from all but a few sober, plain dealing country neighbours; for I was nearly twenty-two, and probably the stoutest fellow of any age in the whole country and Archibald, a poor weakly creature, about twenty, when the war of the revolution broke out, and gave to our characters, and that of my father, a strange, unexpected power, revealing many deeply-hidden properties, that might have been, and no doubt would have been, buried forever, but for the events that I am now about to relate.
We were very happy and though we heard of the war, and the numerous temptations of bounty and equipment, and advance even at our own doors, from the continental recruiting officers that came among us, yet nobody from our neighbourhood seemed to regard it as a possible thing for one of us to go really and truly into battle. We read of such things and talked of them but somehow or other it never entered our head, that they who did such feats as we were told of, were flesh and blood, like ourselves, raw countryman who would turn pale in the beginning of a campaign at the sight of blood, and stand up before it had finished like a veteran before the roar of artillery, and rattling of bullets, and the sure approach of the bayonet.
None of our neighbours had actually gone into service, though several had threatened violently, just before the affair of Long Island, and the abandonment of Fort Lee and Washington; but when they happened, one after the other with some other disasters, in such rapid succession, it is too true, my children, that the stout-hearted among us began to look about for darkness to cover them. Sir Henry Clinton was now in New York; our army had dwindled down to a few miserable battalions, with no cavalry and Cornwallis was mustering in the rear of poor Washington, who really began to totter, even in the estimation of my father.
We were about fourteen miles from the high road, over which our countrymen were afterwards hunted by Sir William Howe and already we had heard "the drum beat at dead of night," and seen, away on the verge of the horizon, the red light of farm houses, set fire to by the royal banditti: and once, I remember, when my cousin Arthur, a fine, free-spirited fellow, and Archibald and I were out upon a high hill, late in the afternoon, we heard a heavy cannonading in the east, and were soon after told there had been a bloody affair with some of the outposts that Sir Henry Clinton had established to protect his foraging parties.
In the evening, as we sat together in a mournful silence, Arthur at last with a deep sigh, turning to my father, asked him what he thought of the matter?
The old man shook his head, and his large bony hands as they lay on the table before him were raised for a moment with a convulsive pressure, and then he shook his head again.
"A dreary winter, father," said I, "and the farmers complain bitterly of the depredations committed by their own countrymen."
There was another deep silence of some minutes, when the old man groaned aloud, as if his heart were in travail.
Archibald arose and went to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder, in that silent, strange way which was so natural to him, even when a boy, and lifting his deep blue eyes with a melancholy look of determination, said—
"Surely, sir, you do not complain of these things?"
"No, Archy," replied my father, putting his arm round his waist, "no, my boy, I do not complain that my cattle are driven away from me to feed the poor fellows in camp; for I know that Washington has no other way of feeding them, particularly since the removal of Commissary Trumbull but I do complain when I see my cattle slaughtered and hewed to pieces in my barnyard, and left there, weltering in their blood, by the savages that are detached from our army!"
"Father!" said Archibald, retreating two or three paces, folding his arms, and looking him in the face, as if he thought he had not heard him alright—
"I know what you are thinking, Archibald," said my father, "and I cannot blame you. You have not forgotten my words, when the Declaration of Independence was read to us, have you ?"
"No, sir," said my brother, his pale face growing still paler, and his slender form shivering with the depth and excess of some inward and unknown feeling, and then added, in a manner that awed me as much as if a dumb creature had suddenly found his tongue; for such had been the melancholy, deep, and solemn abstraction of his nature, from the age of about eighteen, that we had learnt never to attempt any conversation with him, leaving him alone and unmolested to his thought, as a poor distempered creature whom it was a pity to worry in his humours and now, when he broke out upon us much after the following fashion, our amazement held us speechless; and that of my father was dashed with a feeling of shame, that even I could tee, for the red blood shot over his temples and up through his bald forehead, showing that he felt the rebuke of Archibald even to his old heart.
"No, sir! I have not forgotten it," said my brother, standing motionless before him, "and I did believe that not one of this house would ever forget it. But now—now, in the time of his tribulation, when all that is dearest to us, our home and country, is about to be laid waste with fire and sword—they that have sworn to stand by George Washington, though Heaven itself rained fire upon their heads (your own words, sir), are the first to abandon him—withhold their succour, drive off their cattle to the woods, bury their provisions, and refuse the currency of the country; nay, more, the first to quail at sound of cannon, the first to lay their hands upon their own children and say, you shall not fight the battles of your country." He faltered as he concluded, and when he had done, and the echo of his own words came back loudly to him from the ceiling, he started, and looked about him with a troubled air for a moment, and then put his thin ​hands to his forehead and buried them slowly in his rich brown hair, as if astonished at the sound of his own voice.
Nor were we less so. My cousin Arthur and I exchanged two or three glances, and the fire streamed from his black eyes as he ran up to Archibald, and seized him by both his hands, and shook them for a whole minute, as if he would shake them off, trying two or three times, but in vain, to speak, and at last turning away, and wiping his eyes, without uttering a word.
"Archibald," said my father, rising majestically and coming forward to meet him," it is hard to abide the upbraiding of a child, our own child, our youngest born—"
Archibald's head drooped, and the red heat went all over it, like the light of a furnace.
"Yet it is harder," continued my father, to bear that of our own heart (laying both his hands, emphatically, upon his left breast, as he spoke). What would you have me do?"
It was a whole minute before Archibald replied, and his chin worked up and down all the while of his preparation, and a mortal lividness overspread his face, while his long dark eyelashes gave an animated sadness and shadow to his beautiful eyes; and when he did reply, it was by lifting his head slowly to our father's, planting his foot, and compressing his folded arms upon his chest, as if to keep down a rebellion there.
"Shall I speak the truth?" said he.
"Assuredly," answered my father, while Arthur pressed up to me, and whispered, "What possesses the creature?" Is that Archibald, the weak, peevish boy." I shook my head; I knew not what to think of it.
"Well, then," continued Archibald, in a voice which was just audible, "you ask me what I would have you do? I answer thus. Sell all that you have. Give all that you have to your country. Shoulder your knapsack. Put another upon John (he always called me John); and another upon me. Let each of us take his course through the country, and collect as many as we can of the stout yeomanry; and then go before George Washington, and tell him to be of good cheer, for, come what will, we, at least, will abide with him to the death."
My father shook his head, but embraced Archibald and kissed his white forehead a dozen times at least before he answered.
"I am proud of your spirit, Archy," said he; "but I cannot say much for your wisdom. What! in the darkest time of our trial, when the bravest of all the land are hiding themselves in dismay, shall I be the first to let out my whole blood, at once, in desperation?"
"Yes—Yes! now is the time!—father—now! even now!" cried Archibald, pressing upon him. One such example would electrify the country. What! would you stand by, and see our little army beaten man by man, and wait for a miraculous interposition of Heaven for their relief? No, my father, give but the signal—here are four of us already, and, before to-morrow night, I will put my head upon the issue, that I carry forth more with me on the way to Washington's camp, Do this, and, before the winter is gone, he will have turned upon his enemy, and beaten him back into his hiding places. What say you? shall we buckle on our blankets?"
As he said this, he took down an old rifle that lay athwart the smoked panel work, over the fire-place, and leant upon it with a face all on fire; but my father put out his spirit immediately, with a smile, as he said—
"No, my boy, Washington would hardly thank me for an army of such striplings."
Archibald bit his lip.
"Three of us," said he, "are stout men—you, and John, and Arthur, and—"
"Arthur may do as he pleases," said my father; "and as for John, from this moment he hath my consent to shoulder his musket."
"And join the army," shouted Archibald, leaping from the floor. "O, do let me go with him. I—I—I am not very strong, but I can—"
"No, Archibald, I cannot part with you. Your constitution is too delicate."
"The best way to harden it, father," said he.
"Your temper too unsocial and passionate—"
"The best way to cure that—"
"Silence! I will not hear another word upon the subject. John may depart whenever he pleases, and, if Arthur will go, he may have his choice of the horses, and I will furnish both, as well as monty can do it, with equipments; but as for you, I will not part with you. They are strong, handsome fellows, and will work their way through the battle, I'll warrant them; but as for you, the first thing that I should hear of you would be, that you had been run away with by your own horse, or trodden to death in the onset. No, you shall be a minister, Archibald, a minister of the gospel."
Archibald looked at him a moment, as if—I hardly dare to say what, for he was the most affectionate creature in the world, and till that hour I had never heard him speak a loud word in the presence of my father. He had always sat apart by himself, musing all the day long over some history or drawing. But it did appear to me that, all at once, his soul felt new strength, and that, before the sound of my father's voice had died away, declaring that he should be a minister of the gospel, he had determined to be torn in pieces first by wild horses; but he bowed his head reverentially to my father (who left us for a while), and went into the darkest corner of the room, where he stood for a whole hour without opening his lips.
"Well, Jonathan," said my father, returning—"what say you, when will you go?"
I felt my heart stop—partly with shame, and partly with fear, till he repeated the question, and I saw Archibald's eyes flashing, impatiently, for my answer. "Whenever you please, sir," said I—though I would have given the world to be out of the affair.
"To-morrow, then," said Arthur, rubbing his hands. "The sorrel mare for me—Hobson's choice for you—and the next morning at daylight, hourra for the camp!"
I have determined not to disguise one feeling of my heart, nor one thought of fear, my children; for I would have you know me thoroughly and, therefore, I must own to you that I wondered at the enthusiasm of Arthur, and would have given my right hand that the proposition had not been made; but I was ashamed to appear less of a man than Arthur, who was a whole year younger, and, therefore, I answered stoutly, "To-morrow be it then."
My father embraced me, and there was a look of encouragement in the face of my brother, that made me run up to him, when he caught my hand ​and wrung it with all his might, while the tears rushed into his eyes, and he said, "O, brother, would to God that I were as strong and handsome as you!"
Arthur arose to go.
"No, my lad," said my father, "you will take a bed with me to-night, and to-morrow go round to your acquaintances, with Arthur and Archy they shall both go with you, and bid them good-bye. I will take care to represent the matter rightly to your uncle. It is really time that we did something. I am ashamed of myself. Our cause must perish if all abandon it as I have done. No, I will mount and ride to-morrow through all the neighbourhood, and never rest till I have stirred up some of our substantial men—for they are the most backward after all; they have nothing to gain and much to lose, and they, like me, have been lying by, to see the sun break out, before they go abroad. No ! it shall not be so another day. I will go to them myself, and if that doesn t work upon them, I will let the minister loose. Ha! Archy, what say you—silent? Well, well, I like your contemplative spirit—so fond of study.
I heard something fall, and turning to where he stood, saw that the book which he had been holding had fallen from his hand, but he did not appear to observe it.
"No!" continued my father, "we must be ready to begin the next campaign with spirit, or the devil will be to pay—one bold, manly effort, and we shall down with our invader to the dust—to-morrow, I will throw open my barn, and stable, and corn-houses, and let the first foraging party that will, empty them all—and set fire to the ruins. I will never complain more!—what say you, Archy ?- will that do!—come, come, cheer—up you shall stay by your old father and mother, and comfort them, while Jonathan is cutting and slashing at the enemy so, hourra from independence!"
"Hourra! hourra!" shouted Arthur, swinging the old rifle round his head—"hourra for independence!"
My voice followed his, but so faintly, that it sounded like an echo only—while Archibald merely merely locked his hands, and uplifted fliem to heaven, much to the delight of the old gentleman, who winked at us, and smiled, as if it were some timely revelation from above—"Yes! yes!" said he, "he was made for a minister."