# The Adventures Of A Revolutionary Soldier/Chapter IX.

CHAPTER IX.
Campaign of 1783.
When we see th' end of strife and war— And gain what we contended for;— Remember that our thanks are due To Him whose mercy brings us through.
The winter set in rather early for that part of the country, and not over gentle. We had a quarters guard and a magazine guard to keep; the magazine was situated on one of the highest hills, or rather ledges, on the island. In a cold northeast snow storm it would make a sentry shake his ears to stand two hours before the magazine. We likewise kept a small guard to protect the slaughter-house, about half the winter, the Invalids kept it the other half. All this made the duty of our little corps (of less than seventy men) rather hard.
I was once upon this slaughter-house guard;—when I went to relieve the sentinel there, who was a room-mate of mine, and a smart, active young man of about twenty-one years of age. As it was an obscure place, we dispensed with the usual ceremonies in relieving sentries; but this young man standing in the door of the house, when I came with the relief, and in his levity endeavouring to cut some odd figure with his musket, by throwing it over and catching it again, not considering where or how he stood, he struck the butt of his piece against the upper part of the door, which knocked it out of his hands and, coming down behind him, the bayonet entered the upper part of the calf of his leg and came out a little above the ankle. I had him conveyed to the barracks, where the wound was dressed by an ignoramus boy of a surgeon, belonging to the regiment of Invalids. A few days after he complained of a pain in his neck and back; I immediately informed the Captain, who had him wrapt up and sent off to the hospital at Newburgh. The men who conveyed him to the hospital, returned in the evening and informed us that he was dead, having been seized with the lockjaw, convulsions, or something else, caused by the wound. Thus a poor fellow, who had braved the hardships and perils of the war, till the very close of ​ it, "died as a fool dieth," causing his own death by his folly. But, perhaps, if another man had been in his stead, he would have acted just as he did. "If I were you I would do so and so," is a very common expression, but a very improper one; if I were in your place, or were you, I should do just as you do.
Here we suffered again for eatables. We, generally speaking, had fared better for a year or two back, than we did in the first three or four years of the war; then all the care of procuring sustenence for the army was entrusted to the commissaries themselves; after our government had obtained loans of money from France and Holland, the money was put into the hands of contractors, who were accountable for the use they made of it, and of course, the contractors made the commissaries responsible for what they received of them. But somehow this winter, between the two stools, the poor soldiers often came to the ground. I lived half the winter upon tripe and cowheels, and the other half upon what I could get. We always had very short carnivals, but lengthy fasts. One evening, in the first part of this winter, there happened the most brilliant and remarkable exhibition of the Aurora Borealis, or northern lights, that I ever witnessed; the wind was in the same quarter and quite fresh.
We passed this winter as contentedly as we could, under the hope that the war was nearly over, and that hope buoyed us up under many difficulties which we should hardly have surmounted without its aid. But we were afraid to be too sanguine, for fear of being disappointed.
Some time in the latter part of the month of February, our officers were about to send off some men to Newburgh, ten or twelve miles up the river, to bring down some clothing. As the ice in the river had not broken up, (although it began to be thin and rotten,) several of the non-commissioned officers solicited the job for the sake of a frolic. We readily obtained permission, and seven or eight of us set off in the morning on the ice, with a large hand-sled to bring the clothing upon. About a mile and a half above West point there was a large rent in the ice, quite across the river, in some places not more than a foot or two wide, in others, eight or ten. We crossed this place very easily, and went on, when ​we met an officer coming down the river, picking his way among the holes in the ice. He asked us, what troops we belonged to. We told him. He bid us be careful, for, said he, "you are too good looking men to be drowned." We thanked him for his compliment, and passed on—arrived safe at Newburgh, got our clothes, and set off on our return. When we came to New-Windsor, about three or four miles below Newburgh, we conceited we were growing thirsty. We concluded, thereupon, to go on shore and get something to make us breathe freer. We could not get any thing but cider, but that was almost as good and as strong as wine. We drank pretty freely of that, and set off again. It was now nearly sun down, and we had about seven miles to travel. Just before we had arrived at the before mentioned rent in the ice, we overtook a sleigh drawn by two horses, and owned by a countryman that I was acquainted with. He had in his sleigh a hogshead of rum, belonging to a suttler on West point. There were two or three other citizens with him, one of whom was, to appearance, sixty or seventy years of age. When we arrived at the chasm in the ice, the teamster untackled his horses in order to jump them over, and we stopped to see the operation performed. He forced them both over at once; and when they struck the ice on the other side, they both went through, breaking the ice for a rod round. The poor man was in a pitiful taking: he cried like a child. Some of our party told him to choke them out. He had but little faith in the plan; we, however, soon got his leading reins, which happened to be strong new cords, and fixed one round each of the horse's necks, with a slip noose. They did not require much pulling before they both sprang out upon the ice together. The owner's tune now turned; he was as joyful as he had been sad before. The next thing was, to get the sleigh and rum over. We got it to a narrow spot in the chasm, and all hands taking hold, we ran it over; but when the hinder ends of the sleigh-runners came near the edge of the ice, they, with their own weight, broke the ice as bad as the horses had done before. The sleigh arrived safe on the other side, but we were, mostly, upon the broken floating ice; but by the aid of Providence, we all survived the accident. The old man that I mentioned, happened to be on the same fragment of ice ​with me; when I had stepped off, I saw him on the edge of the piece, settling down gradually in the water, without making the least exertion to help himself. I seized him by the shoulder, and at one flirt, flung him upon the solid ice. He appeared as light as a bag of feathers. He was very thankful, and said I had saved his life; and I am not quite sure that I did not. After we had got matters regulated again, we must take a sip of their rum with them. They soon got the bung from the hogshead, the only way they had in their power to get at the good creature. We each took a hearty pull at it, for soldiers are seldom backward in such cases. The rum soon began to associate with the cider, and between them, they contrived to cut some queer capers amongst us; for we had not gone far, before one of our corporals hauled up, or rather upset. We laid him upon the sled, and hauled him to the wharf at West point, where we landed. There was a sentry on the wharf, and as we had to go some distance to deliver the clothing to our commanding officer, we left our disabled corporal in the care of the sentry, with a strict charge not to let him stir from the place, for fear that he might blunder off the wharf and break his neck on the ice. We were gone an hour or more. When we returned we found the poor prisoner in a terrible chafe with the sentinel for detaining him, for the guard had been true to his trust. We then released him from his confinement, and he walked with us as well as he could, across the river, to our barracks, where, during the night, he settled his head. If the reader says there was no "suffering of a Revolutionary Soldier" in this affair; I say, perhaps there was not; but there was an "adventure."
The great chain that barred the river at West point had been regularly taken up every autumn, and put down every spring, ever since it had been in use, (that chain which the soldiers used to denominate General Washington's watch chain; every four links of which weighed a ton,) but we heard nothing of its being put down this spring, although some idle fellow would report that it was going to be put down immediately. These simple stories would keep the men in agitation, often for days together, (for the putting down, or the keeping up of the chain, was the criterion by which we were to judge of ​ war or peace,) when they would get some other piece of information by the ears, which would entirely put the boot on the other leg. The political atmosphere was, at this time, as full of reports, as ever the natural was of smoke, and of about as much consequence.
Time thus passed on to the nineteenth of April, when we had general orders read which satisfied the most skeptical, that the war was over, and the prize won for which we had been contending through eight tedious years. But the soldiers said but very little about it, their chief thoughts were more closely fixed upon their situation as it respected the figure they were to exhibit upon their leaving the army and becoming citizens. Starved, ragged and meagre, not a cent to help themselves with, and no means or method in view to remedy or alleviate their condition; this was appaling in the extreme. All that they could do, was to make a virtue of necessity and face the threatening evils with the same resolution and fortitude that they had for so long a time faced the enemy in the field.
At length the eleventh day of June, 1783, arrived. "The old man," our Captain came into our room, with his hands full of papers, and first ordered us to empty all our cartridge boxes upon the floor (this was the last order he ever gave us) and then told us that if we needed them, we might take some of them again; they were all immediately gathered up and returned to our boxes. Government had given us our arms, and we considered the ammunition as belonging to them, and he had neither right nor orders to take them from us. He then handed us our discharges, or rather furloughs, for they were in appearance no other than furloughs, permission to return home, but, to return to the army again, if required. This was policy in government; to discharge us absolutely in our present pitiful forlorn condition, it was feared, might cause some difficulties, which might be too hard for government to get easily over.
The powder in our cartridges was soon burnt. Some saluted the officers with large charges, others only squibbed them, just as each one's mind was affected toward them. Our "old man" had a number of these last mentioned symbols of honour and affection, presented him. Some of the men were not half so liberal in the use of ​powder as they were when they would have given him a canteen full at once.
I confess, after all, that my anticipation of the happiness I should experience upon such a day as this, was not realized; I can assure the reader that there was as much sorrow as joy transfused on the occasion. We had lived together as a family of brothers for several years (setting aside some little family squabbles, like most other families,) had shared with each other the hardships, dangers and sufferings incident to a soldier's life, had sympathized with each other in trouble and sickness; had assisted in bearing each other's burdens, or strove to make them lighter by council and advice; had endeavoured to conceal each other's faults, or make them appear in as good a light as they would bear. In short, the soldiery, each in his particular circle of acquaintance, were as strict a band of brotherhood as Masons, and, I believe, as faithful to each other. And now we were to be (the greater part of us) parted forever; as unconditionally separated, as though the grave lay between us. This, I say, was the case with the most, I will not say all; there were as many genuine misanthropists among the soldiers, according to numbers, as of any other class of people whatever; and some in our corps of Miners; but we were young men, and had warm hearts. I question if there was a corps in the army that parted with more regret than ours did, the New-Englanders in particular, Ah! it was a serious time.
Some of the soldiers went off for home the same day that their fetters were knocked off; others staid and got their final settlement certificates, which they sold to procure decent clothing and money sufficient to enable them to pass with decency through the country, and to appear something like themselves when they arrived among their friends. I was among those; I went up the river to the Wallkill, and staid some time. When I returned to West point the certificates were not ready, and it was uncertain when they would be. I had waited so long I was loath to leave there without them. I had a friend and acquaintance in one of the Massachusetts regiments, who had five or six months to serve in the three years service, there was also in the same regiment, a man who had about the same space of time to serve, and who ​ wished to hire a man to take his place; my friend persuaded me (although against my inclinations) to take this man's place, telling me that at the expiration of our service, we would go together into the western parts of the State of New-York, where there was a plenty of good land to be had as cheap as the Irishman's potatoes; (for nothing at all, fath, and a little farther on, cheaper nor all that,) and there we would get us farms and live like heroes; the other man offering me sixteen dollars in specie, with several other small articles, I consented; and now I had got hobbled again, though but for a short time. After I had been in this regiment about a month or six weeks, this "friend of mine" told me that he had taken an affront at something, I have forgotten what, and was determined not to stay there any longer, and endeavoured to persuade me to go with him. I told him I had so short a time to serve, and as there was a prospect that I should not have to stay so long as I had engaged to do, I would not go off like a scoundrel, get a bad name, and subject myself to suspicion and danger. I laboured to persuade him to relinquish his foolish resolution, and I thought I had; but he a few days after set off with himself, and I have never heard of him since. I hope he did well, for he was a worthy young man.
Soon after this, an order was issued, that all who had but four months to serve, should, after they had cut two cords of wood near the garrison, for firewood, be discharged; accordingly, I cut my two cords of wood, and obtained an honourable discharge, which the other man might have done if he had not been so hasty in his determination.
I now bid a final farewell to the service. I had obtained my settlement certificates and sold some of them, and purchased some decent clothing, and then set off from West point. I went into the Highlands, where I accidentally came across an old messmate, who had been at work there ever since he had left the army in June last, and, as it appeared, was on a courting expedition. I stopped a few days with him and worked at the farming business; I got acquainted with the people here, who were chiefly Dutch, and as winter was approaching, and my friend recommended me to them, I agreed to teach a ​ school amongst them—A fit person!—I knew but little and they less, if possible. "Like people, like priest." However, I staid and had a school of from twenty to thirty pupils, and probably I gave them satisfaction; if I did not, it was all one; I never heard any thing to the contrary. Any how, they wished me to stay and settle with them.
When the spring opened I bid my Dutch friends adieu, and set my face to the eastward, and made no material halt till I arrived in the, now, State of Maine, in the year 1784, where I have remained ever since, and where I expect to remain so long as I remain in existence, and here at last to rest my warworn weary limbs. And here I would make an end of my tedious narrative, but that I deem it necessary to make a few short observations relative to what I have said; or a sort of recapitulation of some of the things which I have mentioned.
When those who engaged to serve during the war, enlisted, they were promised a hundred acres of land, each, which was to be in their own or the adjoining States. When the country had drained the last drop of service it could screw out of the poor soldiers, they were turned adrift like old worn out horses, and nothing said about land to pasture them upon. Congress did, indeed, appropriate lands under the denomination of "Soldier's lands," in Ohio State, or some State, or a future state; but no care was taken that the soldiers should get them. No agents were appointed to see that the poor fellows ever got possession of their lands; no one ever took the least care about it, except a pack of speculators, who were driving about the country like so many evil spirits, endeavouring to pluck the last feather from the soldiers. The soldiers were ignorant of the ways and means to obtain their bounty lands, and there was no one appointed to inform them. The truth was, none cared for them; the country was served, and faithfully served, and that was all that was deemed necessary. It was, soldiers, look to yourselves, we want no more of you. I hope I shall one day find land enough to lay my bones in. If I chance to die in a civilized country, none will deny me that. A dead body never begs a grave;—thanks for that.
They were likewise promised the following articles of clothing per year. One uniform coat, a woollen and a ​ linen waistcoat, four shirts, four pair of shoes, four pair of stockings, a pair of woollen, and a pair of linen overalls, a hat or a leather cap, a stock for the neck, a hunting shirt, a pair of shoe buckels and a blanket. Ample clothing, says the reader; and ample clothing, say I. But what did we ever realize of all this ample store:—why, perhaps a coat, (we generally did get that,) and one or two shirts, the same of shoes and stockings, and, indeed, the same may be said of every other article of clothing—a few dribbled out in a regiment, two or three times in a year, never getting a whole suit at a time, and all of the poorest quality; and blankets of thin baize, thin enough to have straws shot through without discommoding the threads. How often have I had to lie whole stormy cold nights in a wood, on a field, or a bleak hill, with such blankets and other clothing like them, with nothing but the canopy of the heavens to cover me, me, all this too in the heart of winter, when a New-England farmer, if his cattle had been in my situation, would not have slept a wink from sheer anxiety for them. And if I stepped into a house to warm me, when passing, wet to the skin and almost dead with cold, hunger and fatigue, what scornful looks and hard words have I experienced.
​ As to provision of victuals, I have said a great deal already; but ten times as much might be said and not get to the end of the chapter. When we engaged in the service we were promised the following articles for a ration.—One pound of good and wholesome fresh or salt beef, or three fourths of a pound of good salt pork, a pound of good flour, soft or hard bread, a quart of salt to every hundred pounds of fresh beef, a quart of vinegar to a hundred rations, a gill of rum, brandy or whiskey per day; some little soap and candles, I have forgot how much, for I had so little of these two articles, that I never knew the quantity. And as to the article of vinegar, I do not recollect of ever having any except a spoonful at the famous rice and vinegar thanksgiving in Pennsylvania, in the year 1777. But we never received what was allowed us. Oftentimes have I gone one, two, three, and even four days without a morsel, unless the fields or forests might chance to afford enough to prevent absolute starvation. Often, when I have picked the last grain from the bones of my scanty morsel, have I eat the very bones, as much of them as possibly could be eaten, and then have had to perform some hard and fatiguing duty, when my stomach has been as craving as it was before I had eaten any thing at all.
If we had got our full allowance regularly, what was it? A bare pound of fresh beef, and a bare pound of bread or flour. The beef, when it had gone through all its divisions and sub-divisions, would not be much over three quarters of a pound, and that nearly or quite half bones. The beef that we got in the army, was, generally, not many degrees above carrion; it was much like the old Negro's rabbit, it had not much fat upon it and but a very little lean. When we drew flour, which was much of the time we were in the field, or on marches, it was of small value, being eaten half cooked, besides a deal of it being unavoidably wasted in the cookery.
When in the field, and often while in winter quarters, our usual mode of drawing our provisions, (when we did draw any,) was as follows:—a return being made out for all the officers and men, for seven days, we drew four days of meat, and the whole seven days of flour. At the expiration of the four days, the other three days allowance of beef. Now, dear reader, pray consider a ​ moment, how were five men in a mess, five hearty, hungry young men to subsist four days on twenty pounds of fresh beef, (and I might say, twelve or fifteen pounds,) without any vegetables or any other kind of sauce to eke it out. In the hottest season of the year it was the same; though there was not much danger of our provisions putrifying, we had none on hand long enough for that, if it did, we were obliged to eat it, or go without any thing. When Gen. Washington told Congress, "the soldiers eat every kind of horse fodder but hay," he might have gone a little farther, and told them that they eat considerable hog's fodder, and not a trifle of dog's,—when they could get it to eat.
We were, also, promised six dollars and two thirds a month, to be paid us monthly; and how did we fare in this particular? Why, as we did in every other. I received the six dollars and two thirds, till (if I remember rightly) the month of August, 1777, when paying ceased. And what was six dollars and sixty-seven cents of this "Continental currency" as it was called, worth? it was scarcely enough to procure a man a dinner. Government was ashamed to tantalize the soldiers any longer with such trash, and wisely gave it up for its own credit. I received one month's pay in specie while on the march to Virginia, in the year 1781, and except that, I never received any pay worth the name while I belonged to the army. Had I been paid as I was promised to be at my engaging in the service, I needed not to have suffered as I did, nor would I have done it; there was enough in the country, and money would have procured it if I had had it. It is provoking to think of it. The country was rigorous in exacting my compliance to my engagements to a punctilio, but equally careless in performing her contracts with me; and why so? One reason was, because she had all the power in her own hands, and I had none. Such things ought not to be.
The poor soldiers had hardships enough to endure, without having to starve; the least that could be done was to give them something to eat. "The labourer is worthy of his meat" at least, and he ought to have it for his employer's interest, if nothing more. But, as I said, there were other hardships to grapple with.—How many times have I had to lie down like a dumb animal in the field, ​ and bear "the pelting of the pitiless storm;" cruel enough in warm weather, but how much more so in the heart of winter. Could I have had the benefit of a little fire, it would have been deemed a luxury. But when snow or rain would fall so heavy that it was impossible to keep a spark of fire alive, to have to weather out a long, wet, cold, tedious night in the depth of winter, with scarcely clothes enough to keep one from freezing instantly; how discouraging it must be, I leave to my reader to judge. It is fatiguing, almost beyond belief, to those that never experienced it, to be obliged to march twenty-four or forty-eight hours (as very many times I have had to) and often more, night and day without rest or sleep, wishing and hoping that some wood or village I could see ahead, might prove a short resting place, when, alas, I came to it, almost tired off my legs, it proved no resting place for me. How often have I envied the very swine their happiness, when I have heard them quarrelling in their warm dry styes, when I was wet to the skin, and wished in vain for that indulgence. And even in dry, warm weather, I have often been so beat out with long and tedious marching, that I have fallen asleep while walking the road, and not been sensible of it till I have jostled against some one in the same situation; and when permitted to stop and have the superlative happiness to roll myself in my blanket, and drop down on the ground, in the bushes, briars, thorns or thistles, and get an hour or two's sleep, O! how exhilerating. Fighting the enemy is the great scarecrow to people unacquainted with the duties of an army. To see the fire and smoke, to hear the din of cannon and musketry, and the whistling of shot; they cannot bear the sight or hearing of this. They would like the service in an army tolerably well, but for the fighting part of it. I never was killed in the army; I never was wounded but once; I never was a prisoner with the enemy; but I have seen many that have undergone all these; and I have many times run the risk of all of them myself; but, reader, believe me, for I tell a solemn truth, that I have felt more anxiety, undergone more fatigue and hardships, suffered more every way, in performing one of those tedious marches, than ever I did in fighting the hottest battle ​was ever engaged in, with the anticipation of all the other calamities I have mentioned added to it.
It has been said by some that ought to have been better employed; that the Revolutionary army was needless; that the Militia were competent for all that the crisis required. That there was then, and now is in the Militia, as brave and as good men as were ever in any army since the creation, I am ready and willing to allow, but there are many among them too, I hope the citizen soldiers will be as ready to allow, who are not so good as regulars; and I affirm that the Militia would not have answered so well as standing troops, for the following reason, among many others. They would not have endured the sufferings the army did; they would have considered themselves (as in reality they were and are) free citizens, not bound by any cords that were not of their own manufacturing and when the hardships of fatigue, starvation, cold and nakedness, which I have just mentioned, begun to seize upon them, in such awful array as they did on us, they would have instantly quitted the service in disgust; and who would blame them? I am sure I could hardly find it in my heart to do it.
That the Militia did good and great service in that war, as well as in the last, on particular occasions, I well know, for I have fought by their side; but still I insist that they would not have answered the end so well as regular soldiers; unless they were very different people from what I believe and know them to be, as well as I wish to know. Upon every exigency they would have been to be collected, and what would the enemy have been doing in the mean time?—The regulars were there, and there obliged to be; we could not go away when we pleased without exposing ourselves to military punishment; and we had trouble enough to undergo without that.
It was likewise said at that time, that the army was idle; did nothing but lounge about from one station to another, eating the country's bread and wearing her clothing without rendering her any essential service, (and I wonder they did not add, spending the country's money, too, it would have been quite as consistent as the other charges.) You ought to drive on, said they, you are competent for the business; rid the country at once of her invaders. ​Poor simple souls! It was very easy for them to build castles in the air, but they had not felt the difficulty of making them stand there. It was easier, with them, taking whole armies in a warm room, and by a good fire, than enduring the hardships of one cold winter's night upon a bleak hill without clothing or victuals.
If the Revolutionary army was really such an useless appendage to the cause; such a nuisance as it was then, and has since been said to be, why was it not broken up at once; why were we not sent off home and obliged to maintain ourselves? Surely it would have been as well for us soldiers, and according to the reckoning of those wiseacres, it would have been much better for the country to have done it, than for us to have been eating so much provisions, and wearing out so much clothing, when our services were worse than useless. We could have made as good Militia men as though we had never seen an army at all. We should, in case we had been discharged from the army, have saved the country a world of expense, as they said; and I say, we should have saved ourselves a world of trouble in having our constitutions broken down, and our joints dislocated by trotting after Belona's car.
But the poor old decripid soldiers, after all that has been said, to discourage them, have found friends in the community, and I trust there are many, very many, that are sensible of the usefulness of that suffering army, although, perhaps, all their voices have not been so loud in its praise as the voice of slander has been against it. President Monroe was the first of all our Presidents, except President Washington, who ever uttered a syllable in the "old soldiers'" favour. President Washington urged the country to do something for them and not to forget their hard services, but President Monroe told them how to act; he had been a soldier himself in the darkest period of the war, that point of it that emphatically "tried men's souls;" was wounded, and knew what soldiers suffered. His good intentions being seconded by some Revolutionary officers, then in Congress, brought about a system by which, aided by our present worthy Vice-President, then Secretary at war, heaven bless him, many of the poor men who had spent their youthful, and consequently, their best days in the hard service of their ​country, have been enabled to eke out the fag end of their lives a little too high for the grovelling hand of envy or the long arm of poverty to reach.
Many murmur now at the apparent good fortune of the poor soldiers. Many I have myself seen, vile enough to say, that they never deserved such favour from the country. The only wish I would bestow upon such hard-hearted wretches, is, that they might be compelled to go through just such sufferings and privations as that army did; and then if they did not sing a different tune, I should miss my guess.
But I really hope these people will not go beside themselves. Those men whom they wish to die on a dung-hill; men, who, if they had not ventured their lives in battle, and faced poverty, disease and death for their country, to gain and maintain that Independence and liberty, in the sunny beams of which, they like reptiles are basking, they would, many or the most of them, be this moment, in as much need of help and succour, as ever the most indigent soldier was before he experienced his country's beneficence.
The soldiers consider it cruel to be thus vilified, and it is cruel as the grave, to any man, when he knows his own rectitude of conduct; to have his hard services, not only debased and underrated, but scandalized and vilified. But the Revolutionary soldiers are not the only people that endure obloquy, others as meritorious, and perhaps more deserving than they, are forced to submit to ungenerous treatment.
But if the old Revolutionary Pensioners are really an eyesore, a grief of mind, to any man, or set of men, (and I know they are,) let me tell them that if they will exercise a very little patience, a few years longer will put all of them beyond the power of troubling them; for they will soon be "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."
And now I think it is time to draw to a close, (and so say I, says the reader,) in truth, when I began this narrative, I thought a very few pages would contain it, but as occurrences returned to my memory, and one thing brought another to mind, I could not stop, for as soon as I had let one thought through my mind, another would step up and ask for admittance. And now, dear reader, ​ if any such should be found, I will come to a close and trespass upon your time no longer, time that may, doubtless, be spent to more advantage than reading the "Adventures and Sufferings" of a private soldier. But if you have been really desirous to hear a part, and a part only, of the hardships of some of that army that achieved our Independence, I can say I am sorry you have not had an abler pen than mine to give you the requisite information.
To conclude. Whoever has the patience to follow me to the end of this rhapsody, I will confess that I think he must have almost as great a share of perseverence in reading it as I had to go through the hardships and dangers it records—And now, kind reader, I bid you a cordial and long farewell.
Through much fatigue and many dangers past, The warworn soldier's braved his way at last.
THE END.