USA > Massachusetts > Middlesex County > Old landmarks and historic fields of Middlesex > Part 10
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It is not a little curious that Arnold, Burr, and Silas Deane, who, it is believed, was more sinned against than sinning, were from the same State. It is also a coincidence that the two former in their young, chivalric days should have fallen in love with two young ladies of the New England capital, both celebrated for their beauty. Arnold lost his heart to the " heavenly Miss Deblois," and laid at her feet the spoils of rich stuffs which he had ignobly plundered from the shops of Mon- treal. His suit was, however, unsuccessful ; for when did a Boston girl become the mother of traitors ? Burr, on his part, improved a visit which Madam Hancock, the governor's aunt, was paying his uncle at Fairfield, to lay siege to the heart of Dorothy Quincy, who was then under the protection of Madam Hancock. Aaron was then a handsome young fellow of very pretty fortune ; but the dowager, who was apprehensive that he might defeat her purpose of uniting Miss Quincy to her nephew, would not leave them a moment together. If we are to believe report, the lady was not insensible to the insinuating manners of young Burr.
John Vanderlyn, the painter, owed his rescue from the ob- scurity of a village blacksmith's shop to the acuteness and patronage of Colonel Burr. The latter, while journeying in the interior of New York, was much struck by a little pen-and-ink drawing that hung over the fireplace in the bar-room of a tavern. The lad was sent for, and, on parting, Colonel Burr said to him : " Put a shirt in your pocket, come to New York, and inquire for Aaron Burr ; he will take care of you." The boy followed his patron, who sent him to Paris, where he achieved a reputation that justified the sagacity of the then Vice-President of the United States.
Among the officers who served on Winter Hill, and who subsequently acquired fame, were Henry Dearborn, John Brooks, and Joseph Cilley. Dearborn was a captain in Stark's regi- ment, Brooks major of Bridges', and Cilley of Poor's regiment. Dearborn and Brooks became very distinguished in military and civil life : both testified their affection for Alexander Scammell by naming a son for that lamented officer ; both fought with conspicuous valor at Saratoga.
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During the battle of Monmouth a corps commanded by Colonel Dearborn acquitted themselves with such undaunted bravery that they attracted particular notice. A Southern officer of rank rode up to Dearborn and inquired' " who they were, and to what portion of America that regiment belonged." The Colonel replied in this laconic and soldierly manner : " Full-blooded Yankees, by G-d, sir, from the State of New Hampshire." * The same anecdote has been related of Colonel Cilley.
The Germans of Burgoyne's army, to the number of about nineteen hundred, took up their quarters in the barracks and huts on Winter Hill which had been used by the Ameri- cans. General Riedesel, & B with his family, were ac- commodated in a farm- 1775 house, where he was obliged to content him- self with a room and a garret, with nothing bet- ter than straw for a couch. The General's biographer continues the description: HESSIAN FLAG. " The landlord was very kind, but his other half was a veritable dragon, doing every- thing to offend and annoy her obnoxious guests. But, as it was impossible to find another place, they were obliged to put up with everything rather than be driven from the house." After a sojourn here of three weeks, the General and Madame Riedesel were furnished with excellent quarters at Cambridge. Several of the officers were allowed to reside at that place and at Medford, but none were allowed to pass into Boston without special permission. The officers and soldiers had the privilege of going, first a mile, and eventually three miles, from their
* Mrs. Warren.
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barracks. Colonel William Raymond Lee commanded on Winter Hill at the time of the arrival' of the Hessians.
These mercenaries were employed, it is said, at the instiga- tion of Lord George Germaine. The British government stipu- lated with the Landgrave of Hesse to pay £ 30 sterling for every man that did not return, and £ 15 sterling for each one disabled, so that it was commonly said, after a battle in which the Hessians were engaged, that their loss was the Landgrave's gain. Similar treaties were made with the Duke of Brunswick and the Count of Hanau.
We make the following extracts, which serve to convey an accurate idea of the condition of things on Winter Hill as they appeared to the German prisoners, from General Riedesel's memoirs : -
" The camp of the prisoners was encircled by a chain of outposts. The officers, who were permitted to go somewhat beyond the camp, were obliged to promise in writing, on their word of honor, to go no farther beyond it than a mile and a half. Within this space are the villages Cambridge, Mystic, or Medford, and a part of Charlestown. In these places the generals and brigadiers could select lodgings, for which, of course, they had to pay dearly. After a while this per- mission was extended to other staff and subaltern officers. Only a few of the Brunswickers availed themselves of this permission, pre- ferring to remain in their miserable barracks, and thus share all inconveniences with their men.
" The camp was located on a height, which, to a distance of eight miles, was surrounded with woods, thus presenting a splendid view of Boston, the harbor, and the vast ocean. The barracks had been built in 1775, at the time that the Americans first took up arms, and upon these very heights took their first position against General Gage. These heights were fortified.
" When the fatigued and worn-out troops arrived here on the 7th of November they found not the least thing for their support. A little straw and some wood was everything that was furnished to the soldiers. The officers and privates were obliged to repair the bar- racks as well as they could, although they had neither tools nor ma- terials with which to do it. Necessity, however, which is the mother of invention, accomplished incredible things."
The question, " Will Yankees fight ?" had to be settled in
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the Revolution. It might be supposed that Lexington and Bunker Hill would have given a final answer to such queries, but they did not. The New England troops, when they came to join those from the Southern Colonies, were mercilessly ridi- culed by the chivalrous Southrons. It was Puritan and Cava- lier over again. Hear the avowal of a Pennsylvania officer, who evidently spoke the feeling of his section :-
" In so contemptible a light were the New England men regarded, that it was scarcely held possible to conceive a case which could be construed into a reprehensible disrespect of them."
The officers came in for a degree of ridicule second only to the rank and file.
" So far from aiming at a deportment which might raise them above their privates, and thence prompt them to due respect and obedience to their commands, the object was, by humility, to pre- serve the existing blessing of equality ; an illustrious instance of which was given by Colonel Putnam, the chief engineer of the army, and no less a personage than the nephew of the major-general of that name. 'What !' says a person, meeting him one day with a piece of meat in his hand, 'carrying home your rations yourself, Colonel ?' 'Yes,' says he, 'and I do it to set the officers a good example.'"
This feeling, which the Southerners were at no pains to con- ceal, was not lost on the objects of it, who, nevertheless, for the most part quietly endured the opprobrium, trusting to their deeds to set them right in good time. Sullivan, who was a little quick-tempered, was rather restive under such treatment. An officer of Smallwood's Maryland regiment, which " was distin- guished by the most fashionably cut coat, the most macaroni cocked-hat, and hottest blood in the Union," had been guilty of some disrespect or disobedience to the General. He was arrested and tried, but, as the narrator ingeniously records, a majority of the officers being Southern men, the offender was acquitted with honor. Putnam and Greene were not exempt from the derision of these blue-blooded heroes.
This was about the time of the disastrous campaign of Long
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Island. The battle of Trenton displayed the qualities of the men of New England in such a light that a more creditable feeling began to be discovered by the men of the South. The despised Yankees showed themselves true descendants of the inen of Marston Moor, Dunbar, and Worcester ; they became to Washington what Cromwell's Ironsides were to the Protec- tor. The Southern cock crowed less loudly, and Northern courage, proved again and again, asserted, as it ever will assert, to its gainsayers : - .
" If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; If not, when you have stomachs."
We may well pardon one of our generals a little exultation when he writes home, after the battles of Trenton and Prince- ton : -
" I have been much pleased to see a day approaching to try the difference between Yankee cowardice and Southern valor. The day, or rather the days, have arrived, and all the general officers allowed, and do allow, that Yankee cowardice assumes the shape of true valor in the field, and that Southern valor appears to be a composi- tion of boasting and conceit. General Washington made no scruple to say publicly that the remains of the Eastern regiments were the strength of his army, though their numbers were, comparatively speaking, but small. He calls them in front when the enemy are there. He sends them to the rear when the enemy threaten that way. All the general officers allow them to be the best of troops. The Southern officers and soldiers allow it in time of danger, but not at all other times. Believe me, sir, the Yankees took Trenton before the other troops knew anything of the matter. More than that, there was an engagement, and, what will still surprise you more, the line that attacked the town consisted of but eight hundred Yankees, and there were sixteen hundred Hessians to oppose them. At Prince- ton, where the 17th regiment had thrown thirty-five hundred ' Southern militia into the utmost confusion, a regiment of Yankees restored the day. This General Mifflin confessed to me, though the Philadelphia papers tell us a different story. It seems to have been quite forgot that, while the 17th regiment was engaging these troops, six hundred Yankees had the town to take against the 40th and 55th regiments, which they did without loss, owing to the manner of attack."
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CHAPTER V.
THE OLD WAYSIDE MILL.
" There watching high the least alarms, Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar, Like some bold vet'ran gray in arms, And marked with many a seamy scar."
B Y far the most remarkable object to be seen in the vicinity of Boston is the Old Powder House, which stands on a little eminence hard by the road leading from Winter Hill to Arlington, - formerly the old stage-road to Keene, New Hampshire. In the day of its erection it stood at the meeting of the roads from Cambridge, Mystic, and Menotomy, - a situ- ation excellently adapted to the wants of the settlements.
It is the only really antique ruin we can boast of in Massa- chusetts; and for solitary picturesqueness, in all New England, only its fellow, the Old Mill at Newport, can rival it. Long before you reach the spot its venerable aspect rivets the atten- tion. Its novel structure, its solid masonry, no less than the extraordinary contrast with everything around, stamp it as the handiwork of a generation long since forgotten. We are not long in deciding it to be a windmill of the early settlers.
The Old Mill, as we shall call it, belongs to the early part of the reign of good Queen Anne, and was doubtless erected by John Mallet, who came into possession of the site in 1703- 04. It remained for a considerable period in the Mallet family, de- scending at last, in 1747, to Michael, son of Andrew Mallet, by whom it was conveyed in the same year to the Province of the Massachusetts Bay in New England, for the use of " ye Gover- nor, Council and Assembly of said province," with the right of way to and from the high-road. It had, however, ceased to be
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THE OLD WAYSIDE MILL.
used as a windmill long before this transfer. So that before Shirley's armada had set sail for Louisburg, its lusty arms had ceased to beat the air. Strange that an edifice erected to sustain life should become the receptacle of such a death-dealing sub- stance as powder !
The walls of the mill are about two feet in thickness, with an inner structure of brick, the outside of which is encased in a shell of blue stone, quarried, probably, on the hillside. Within, it has three stages or lofts supported by oaken beams of great thickness, and having, each, about six feet of clear space between. A respectable number of visitors have carved their names on these timbers. There were entrances on the northwest and southwest sides, but only the latter belonged to the original edifice, the small brick structure on the northwest having been constructed at a recent date. From this southwest door expands a most charming view. The structure is capped with a conical roof, from which the shingles threaten with every blast to sep- arate ; and the lightning-rod which once protected the strange grist kept for a time in the mill hangs now úselessly by its fastenings. The edifice is about thirty feet high, with a diameter of fifteen feet at its base.
Mallet's Mill ground for many an old farmstead of Middle- sex or Essex. The old farm-house in which the miller dwelt stood by the roadside, where a newer habitation now is. Ten, thirty, sixty miles, and back, the farmers sent their sons to mill. The roads were few and bad. Oxen performed the labor of the fields. Those that came from a distance mounted their horses astride a sack of corn in lieu. of saddle, and so performed their journey.
As a historical monument, the mill is commemorative of one of the earliest hostile acts of General Gage, one which led to the most important events. At the instance of William Brattle, at that time major-general of the Massachusetts militia, General Gage sent an expedition to seize the powder in this magazine belonging to the province. About four o'clock on the morning of September 1, 1774, two hundred and sixty soldiers embarked from Long Wharf, in Boston, in thirteen boats, and proceeded
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up the Mystic River, landing at Ten Hills Farm, less than a mile from the Powder House. The magazine, which then con- tained two hundred and fifty half-barrels of powder, was speed- ily emptied, and the explosive mixture transported to the Castle, while a detachment of the expedition proceeded to Cambridge and brought off two field-pieces there. At the time of this occurrence William Gamage was keeper of the magazine.
The news of the seizure circulated with amazing rapidity, and on the following morning several thousand of the inhabi- tants of the neighboring towns had assembled on Cambridge Common. This appears to have been the very first occasion on which the provincials assembled in arms with the intention of opposing the forces of their king. Those men who repaired to the Common at Cambridge were the men of Middlesex ; when, therefore, we place Massachusetts in the front of the Revolu- tion, we must put Middlesex in the van. It was at this time that the lieutenant-governor (Oliver) and several of the coun- cillors were compelled to resign. The Revolution had fully begun, and accident alone prevented the first blood being shed on Cambridge, instead of Lexington, Common.
We will not leave the old mill until we consider for a moment what a centre of anxious solicitude it had become in 1775, when the word " powder" set the whole camp in a shiver. Putnam prayed for it ; Greene, Sullivan, and the rest begged it of their provincial committees. A terrible mistake had occurred through the inadvertence of the Massachusetts Com- mittee, which had returned four hundred and eighty-five quar- ter-casks as on hand, when there were actually but thirty-eight barrels in the magazine. When Washington was apprised of this startling error, he sat for half an hour without uttering a word. The generals present - the discovery was made at a general council - felt with him as if the army and the cause had received its death-blow. "The word 'Powder' in a letter," says Reed, " sets us all a-tiptoe." The heavy artillery was use- less ; they were obliged to bear with the cannonade of the rascals on Bunker Hill in silence ; and, what was worse than
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all the rest, there were only nine rounds for the small-arms in the hands of the men. In the whole contest there was not a more dangerous hour for America.
We have had occasion elsewhere to mention this scarcity of ammunition. At no time was the army in possession of abun- dance. Before Boston the cartridges were taken from the men that left camp, and fourpence was charged for every one ex- pended without proper account. The inhabitants were called upon to give up their window-weights to be moulded into bul- lets, and even the churchyards were laid under contribution for the leaden coats-of-arms of the deceased. The metal pipes of the English Church of Cambridge were appropriated for a like purpose. On the lines the men plucked the fuses from the enemy's shells, or chased the spent shot with boyish eagerness. In this way missiles were sometimes actually returned to the enemy before they had cooled.
The old name of the eminence on which the Powder House stands was Quarry Hill, from the quarries opened at its base more than a century and a half ago. The region round about was, from the earliest times, known as the Stinted Pasture, and the little rivulet near at hand was called Two Penny Brook. When the province bought the Old Mill there was but a quar- ter of an acre of land belonging to it. After the Old War the Powder House continued to be used by the State until the erec- tion, more than forty years ago, of the magazine at Cambridge- port. It was then sold, and passed into the possession of Nathan Tufts, from whom the place is usually known as the " Tufts Farm," but it has never lost its designation as the "Old Powder-House Farm," and we hope it never will.
Except that the sides of the edifice are somewhat bulged out, which gives it a portly, aldermanic appearance, and that it shows a few fissures traversing its outward crust, the Powder House is good for another century if for a day. Fortunately the iconoclasts have not yet begun to sap its foundations. Nothing is wanting but its long arms, for the Old Mill to have stepped bodily out of a canvas of Rembrandt or a cartoon of Albert Dürer. It carries us in imagination beyond seas to the
H
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banks of the Scheldt, - to the land of burgomasters, dikes, and guilders.
There is not the smallest doubt that Washington has often dismounted at the Old Mill, or that Knox came here seeking daily food for his Crown Point murtherers. Sullivan, in whose command it was, watched over it with anxious care. Will not the enterprising young city keep its ancient tower ? Once destroyed, it can never be replaced ; and, while it may not be practicable to preserve lines of intrenchments, such an edifice may easily be saved for those who will come after us. The battle-fields of the Old World have their monuments. Un- numbered pilgrims pay yearly homage before the lion of Waterloo. Our Old Mill may fairly claim to illustrate a higher principle than brave men fallen in defence of despotic power ; and long may it stand to remind the passer-by of the Siege of Boston !
In furtherance of such a design, we would gladly see a tablet placed on the mill which should record its claims to public protection by reciting the following passages from its history : -
" This edifice, a windmill of the early settlers, was erected before 1720. Sold to the Province in 1747 for a magazine, the seizure, September 1, 1774, by General Gage of the Colony's store of powder led to the first mustering in arms of the yeomanry of Middlesex, September 2, 1774, on Cambridge Common. September 3 the avenues into Boston were closed by the cannon of the army and fleet. In 1775 it became the magazine of the American army be- sieging Boston."
The monument is already standing. All it asks at our hands is protection. We commend to the people of ancient Charlestown the good taste and example of the citizens of New- port, who have surrounded their old mill with a railing, and look upon it as one of the chief attractions of their famous resort. The forty rods square and way into the road of Old Mallet should remain, with the mill, the property of the inhabitants. If this be done, our word for it, the plan will early reward its adoption, and prove a precious legacy of care well bestowed, as well as a landmark of the ramparts of the Revolution.
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Sir Walter Scott has said, " Nothing is easier than to make a legend." We need not invent, but only repeat one of which the Old Mill is the subject.
A LEGEND OF THE POWDER HOUSE.
In the day of Mallet, the miller, it was no unusual occurrence for a customer to dismount before the farm-house door after dark ; so that when, one sombre November evening, the good- man sat at his evening meal, he was not surprised to hear a horse neigh, and a faint halloo from the rider.
Going to the door, the miller saw, by the light of the lan- tern he held aloft, a youth mounted on a strong beast, whose steaming flanks gave evidence that he had been pushed at the top of his speed, and whose neck was already stretched wist- fully in the direction of the miller's crib.
Mallet, - when was your miller aught else in song or story but a downright jolly fellow, -in cheery tones, bade the lad dismount and enter, at the same time calling his son André to lead the stranger's horse to the stable, and have a care for the brace of well-filled bags that were slung across the crupper.
Once within the house the new-comer seemed to shrink from the scrutiny of the miller's wife and daughters, and, notwith- standing his evident fatigue, could scarcely be prevailed upon to touch the relics of the evening repast, which the goodwife placed before him. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then withdrew into the darkest corner of the cavernous fireplace, where a rousing fire blazed on the hearth, crackling, and dif- fusing a generous warmth through the apartment.
The stranger was a mere stripling, with a face the natural pallor of which was heightened by a pair of large, restless black eyes, that seemed never to rest on any object at which they were directed, but glanced furtively from the glistening fire- irons to the spinning-wheel at which Goodwife Mallet was em- ployed, and from the rude pictures on the wall back to the queen's arm which hung by its hooks above the chimney-piece. " Certes," muttered Mallet, under his breath, "this fellow is no brigand, I'll be sworn."
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The habit of those days among the poorer classes was early to bed, and soon the miller set the example by taking a greasy dip-candle and saying : " Comè, wife, Marie, Ivan, to bed ; and you, André, see that all is secured. Come, lad," - beckoning to his guest, - " follow me."
Leading the way up the rickety stairs, the miller reached the garret, and, pointing to the only bed it contained, bade the wayfarer share a good night's rest with his son André. The startled expression of the stranger's face, and the painful flush that lingered there, were not observed by the bluff old miller. They were plain folk, and used to entertain guests as they might.
The youth entreated that if he might not have a couch to himself, he might at least sit by the kitchen fire till morning ; but his request was sternly refused by the miller, with marks of evident displeasure. "Harkye, lad," he blurted out, "your speech is fair, and you do not look as if you would cut our throats in the dark, but if ye can't sleep with the miller's son for a bedfellow, your highness must e'en couch with the rats at the mill, for other place there is none." To his surprise the boy caught eagerly at the proposal, and, after no little per- suasion, he yielded, and conducted his fastidious visitor out into the open air, muttering his disapproval in no stinted phrase as he took the well-trod path that led to the mill.
The old mill loomed large in the obscurity, its scarce dis- tinguishable outline seeming a piece fitted into the surrounding darkness. The sails, idly flapping in the night wind, gave to the whole structure the appearance of some antique, winged monster, just stooping for a flight. The boy shivered, and drew his roquelaure closer around him.
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