The voice of freedom. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1839-1848, 1839-05-25

have lived, and Aourshed and toied, that we mlgh'
succeed to their power, inherit their experience
and reap the fruits of their labors 30 also are
we the servants of posterity. The ROAD is an en-
! blem of the DESTINY of those who made 1t; built
! for the use of generations passed over as the
noth N some near or distant land succeeding races
inquire not whose hands constructed it. They, too,
are travelling toward their journeys end.
History and time are ours; the index and dial
plate which measure our span, the foundations Of
our knowledge, and the standard of our computa-
tion the instruments of spiritual and material COM
parson. But the one sits, like queen, upon a
throne, robed in purple, sceptre in her hand and
on her brow diadem, wherein each race of men
enshrine new Jewel. Heroes and statesmen
are her courtiers, and the brightest shapes of hui
man intelligence hover around her. The other
is creations slave fae's executioner unerringly
reckoning the debt of man and of nature, the
minutes of life, the seasons Of the year. He
reaps, with pitiless scythe,
Harvests of souls by Hope matured,
Garlands of selfdevoted flowers
The spirit bright to life scarce lured,
The heart that mourns its saddened hours
| Had authentic records preserved for US the
whole experience of nations, the precious inherit
ance would have permanently advanced our ma
terial progress; and in still greater degree will
the heritage Of accurate memorials of the men
and events of modern civilization, of the motives
of the one, and the causes of the other, enligh-
ten posterity in the path of human improvement.
The traces Of early society are proofs of material
and sensual progress as for instance, the pyra-
mid, and the bracelet upon the arm of the lonely
king entombed within its giant walls. These
are points of departure; for the distance accom-
plished may be measured; not so the route be-
yond. 1t is true, we know the virtues or the
crimes of few, in those days, when nations rose
and fell, even as they now expand, and when
the many felt not They are now the lords of the
earth. But only since the fiat luz of Gutenberg
have the people begun to realize their ong-with-
held inheritance; and events are now chronicled
less to CRAFTY the pride of the living, or the Gu
rosity of the unborn, less for purposes of nara
ton and romance, than to show the increased
capabilities of man, and swell the page of his
moral experience.
| Apart from the higher, the epochal incidents in
the life of humanity, the epitomes of years, deeds
and nations, there are events which do not claim
to be inscribed upon the page of general history
and yet, from the deep local influence they once
exercised, still preserve commemorative interest
and convey an impressive lesson. The great war
of our independence is rife with such illustra-
tions. Its memories and heroes crowd so thckly
near us, that its history cannot yet be written.
But as each day adds to the legendary store, and
we draw nigh the hour when it may be traced,
time silently distils the mass of events, and. the
mingled vapors which ascend from the alembic,
will be condensed by impartality into truth.
The events we are about to recall, occurred in
New York and its vicinity, between the months
of September, 1775, and September, l776. am
aware that these varying scenes and imperfect
81
than pencilings of men and of actions.-But they
will be exhibited upon a curtain, stained with as
noble blood as was ever shed in the cause of free
dom and though the hand that holds the transpa-
rengIass, be feeble one though faint tie coors,
and indistinct the outlines; the personages and
scenes are not fictitious or fanciful but once stood
CALAMITY forth, with drawn sword or levelled
musket, relieved by battle-coud rising from
ground so near, that cannon fired there at this
moment, would sartle with its reverberations the
peaceful echoes around u.s.
The revolution was hardly three months old
But already from the cradle of liberty had stran
gled its serpents at Lexington and Bunker Hill.
The American army, encamped around Boston,
owned WAsHlNGToN's command, and held at bay
the beleaguered British. In the oppressed colo
MES, spirit of resistance had or ganized the res
olute yeomanry; and with the victories inscribed
upon the national escutcheon, the patriotic chord
vibrating in every heart. War had not yet dis
turbed our goodly city, which lay in unconscious
repose, on the mellow night of the twenty-third
of August, 1775. One or two riots, the result of
political faction, rather than of unadulterated re-
bellion, alone gave tokens of turbulent spirit
The English Governor, Tryon, still dwelt here, an
object of courtesy, though mistrus In the North
River, off the fort, lay the Asia, British man-of
war, with whose presence people had become ia
miliar The public mind was in a state of vague
apprehension. 1t remained for its hopes and fears
to assume definite shape.
Toward midnight, cur forefathers were aroused
from their first slumbers, by the thunder of ar
tillery. At that silent hour, the ominous sounds
were unwecome vsitants The cannon peals
were relieved by the sharp discharge of musketry
and the stiffness that ensued, was occasionally |
broken by the hasty footsteps of one summoned to
his duty, with unbucked sabre trailing on the
ground, or by the agitated cry of a helpless wo-
man, fleeing from the audible danger. Drums
beat to arms, volley after volley announced the
continuation of strife and the half-wakened
dreamer no longer mistook these cries of war for
echoes of the eastern battles. As the night advan-
ed one body of men succeeding another was re-
Feaed by the blaze of torches, and the cumbrous
wheels Of the field piece thew were drarpinp SEEM