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BY p. c. PENDLETON. | Devoted to Literature, Internal Improvement, Commerce, Agriculture, Foreign and Domestic News, Amusement, &c. jc. r. harlots*, printer.
VOL. I.
THE
smaas?
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POETRY.
KNOWLEDGE.
BY E. L. BULWER, ESQ.
’Tis midnight: round the lamp which o’er
The chamber sheds the lonely beam,
Is widely spread the varied lore
Which feeds in youth the feverish dream—
The dream, the thirst, the wide desire,
Delirious, yet divine— to know !
Around to roam, above aspire,
And drink the breath of heaven below!
From ocean, earth, the stars, the sky,
To lift mysterious Nature's pall.
And bare before the kindling eye,
In man, the darkest mist of all.
Alas I what boots the midnight oil—
The madness of the struggling mind?
Oh, vain the hope, and vain the toil
Which only leave us doubly blind !
What learn we from the past ?—the same
Dull course of glory, guilt, and gloom !
I asked the future—and there came
No voice from its unfathomed womb.
The sun was silent, and the wave ;
The air replied but with a breath ;
But earth was kind, and from the grave
Arose die eternal answer — Death !
And this was all; we need no sage
To teach us Nature’s only, truth.
Oil, fools 1 o’er Wisdom’s idle page
To waste the hours of golden Youth 1
In Science wildly do we seek,
What only withering years should bring—
The languid pulse, the feverish cheek.
The spirits drooping on the wing.
Even now my wandering eyes survey
The glass to youthful glance so dear;
What deepening tracks of slow decay
Exhausting thought has graven here !
To think, is but to learn to groan,
To scorn what all besides adore:
To feel amid the world alone—
An alien on a desert shojp;
To loose the only ties which seem.
To idler gaze, in mercy given ;
To find love, faith and hope a dream.
And turn to dark despair from Heaven !
MISCELLANEOUS.
From the Southern Literary Messenger.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF
CAPTAIN SAMUEL COOPER.
BY A CITIZEN OF FREDERICK COUNTY, MARYLAND.
Terrible was the git am of his steel; 'twas like the
green meteor of death setting in the heath of Malinor
when the traveller is asleep, and the broad moon is
darkened in tlie Heavens.—Ossian.
On the evening of tlie 28th of June last, I
visited Captain Samuel Cooper, of Georgetown,
I). C., that I might ascertain the events of his
military life. The venerable man was seated
in his portico, from which we saw old Potomac
rolling his waters far as the eye could reach,
insensibly leading tlie imagination to the tomb
of Washington, and in quick succession, re
viving all the prominent events of his day.
The capitol of our country, too, and the proud
monuments of national glory, were immediate
ly before us, which we could not behold
without recurring with sorrow and indignation
to the disastrous events of 1814, when a vandal
foe laid them in ruins. The rays of the setting
sun gilded the horizon with a beautiful lustre—
the lofty oaks, which surrounded his house,
were covered with the richest foliage—the
feathered songsters poured forth their sweetest
music—and when I was told, that this was
alike the birth-day of the aged put riot, and the
the anniversary of the battle of Monmouth,
w here he had fought for our country, my curi
osity was much excited to learn his history,
lie seemed at first rather to shrink from the
narration of the stirring scenes of his adventu
rous career : his modesty recoiled from the
task. At length I saw his eye kindling, his
mental powers were quickly excited, and he
thus began. “Often like the evening sun
comes tlie memory of former days on my soul.
I was born June 28th, 1755, in Boston, and
was enrolled in Col. Knox’s regiment of artillery
May 2d, 1775. 1 saw the blood of my neigh
bors flow at Lexington, on tlie 19th of the pro
ceeding month, and had frequently heard the
great orator, Dr. Warren,thunder in the ‘Old
Houth,’ against the oppressions of England,
even when the British soldiers menaced him
with instant death in tho holy place. Sir, (said
he, rising from his scat, in a sort of ecstacy,)
I yet hear his unrivalled eloquence—his pa
thetic tones—rl see the people electrified and
borne off to the aid of t heir country, despising
the horrors of war—by tho all-powerful oratory
of this second Demosthenes. 1 had previously
in 1774, borne a very prominent part in the
destruction of three hundred and forty-two
chests of tea, in Boston harbor. And although
this expedition was fraught with the best effects
tQ the whole country, yet was it as nothing
| when compared with the battle of Bunker Hill,
I which was not surpassed in bravery or good
fortune, either in ancient or modern times.
“ Our army had blockaded Boston : we la
bored incessantly through the night of the 16th
June, ’75, to fortify our position on the summit
which completely commanded the city ; and
it was not until four next morning that one of
the enemy’s ships first perceived our operations,
1 and played on us with their artillery. The
three English generals saw that all their efforts
j to dislodge us from our strong position would
be vain, unless by general assault. Our lines
were manned with yeomanry, many of whom
had never been in battle. Putnam commanded
in chief, assisted by Starke and other brave
| spirits. A few minutes before the contest be
gan, Warren appeared in all the pride of youth
and courage. I remember distinctly his
countenance, (which strikingly resembled that
of the late Mr. Wirt,) glowing with patriotism
and ardor—his hair tell in curls down his
shoulders—his presence inspired the troops
wherever lie was seen. The sun had risen
resplendently, indicative of our fortunes on that
remarkable day. We saw from the top of the
hill tlie British shipping and barges in the bar
bor—thousands of anxious spectators filling
the windows, balconies, and roofs of houses of
my native city—the enemy preparing for the
conflict—all was big with the fate of the two
nations. About one o’clock, P. M., they lan
ded at Moreton’s Point, without meeting re
sistance. ten companies of grenadiers, ten of
light infantry, and a quantity of urtillery, com
manded by Generals Howe and l’igot. On
surveying our entrenchment, the British Gene
ral halted, and sent for a reinforcement. They
advanced in two columns. At this moment
Charleston was in one sheet of flame. The
I enemy gradually advanced up the hill now
covered with their troops —their colors flying
—music mingling with the roar of artillery—
soldiers well dressed—officers distinguished
by their splendid costume —whilst we waited
in profound silence for their near approach ;
our star-spangled banner spread out to the
unclouded sun—no signs of lear in any counte
nance-—all, cool and determined, were awaiting
the signal. On our first fire, hundreds of the
enemy lay dead before us ; their ranks were
broken, and they retired in disorder to their
place of landing ; their officers were seen run
ning in every direction, inspiriting their soldiers
for another attack. The second charge was
to them more disastrous than the first. Again
the survivors fled to their old position. An
univerai shout of joy along our line, enlivened
with the favorite air of Yankee Doodle, apprized
the enemy that our arms were nerved by a
superior power in our country’s cause. But
for Sir Henry Clinton, who beheld the scene
from Coppe’s Hill, the British army had never
rallied. He fled to its succor. That enter
prizing officer cheered the drooping spirits of
his troops, and himself led the third and last
charge. He attacked our redoubt at three
: several points. We now suffered from the
artillery of the ships, which not only kept off
our reinforcement by the isthmus of Charles
town, but even uncovered and swept the in
terior of our trench, which was assaulted in
front at the same instant: our amunition was
exhausted—no hopes of succor —no bayonets
to our guns— -the redoubt filled with the enemy
—a retreat was now ordered. We were
forced to pass alongthe isthmus of Charlestown
and here we suffered considerably from a
British ship of war and two floating batteries.
Here Warren fell close by my side. 1 saw
him standing alone in advanee of his troops,
rallying tliein by his own glorious example.
His voice was heard above the storm of battle.
He reminded them of the mottoes inscribed on
i their ensigns, on one side of which were writ
ten these words ; ‘An appeal to Heaven ;’ and
on the other ‘ Qui trunstulil sustinet ;’ meaning
that the same Providence which had brought
their ancestors through innumerable perils to
a place of safety, would also support their de
scendants. Imagine my feelings when I beheld
his noble form covered with blood—wl at in
dignation swelled my bosom as I beheld Charles
town a heap of smoking ruins—whole families
destroyed—more than a thousand corpses ex
posed to the sun—the groans of the dying
mingled with the shouts of victory—give but a
faint view of the horrors of war !” “ True,”
replied I, “ but tlie contest was a holy one.
You were fighting for liberty.” “lies,” he
rejoined, with enthusiasm ; “ the battle of Bun
ker Hill in some degree resembled the thunders
and lightings of the mount were the law was
delivered to Moses. The way was opened for
the national glory of the Jewish and the Ameri
can people, and fire of liberty glowed in our
bosoms, like tlie flaming bush which burnt, but
was not consumed.” The patriarch now re
sumed his sent. “Did you retire from the
camp after this memorable conflict ?” “By
no means. Washington, on the day after this
battle, had been appointed by Congress gen
eral-in-chief of all our armies ; he arrived at
head.quarters at Cambridge on the 3d July,
and it was determined on tlie 9th, in a council
of war, that Boston should be closely besieged.
1 remained here during the whole time, and on
the morning of the 17th March, 1776, saw
their fleet filled with troops under sail lor some
other position. I was actively engaged at
White Plains, New York, in October, 1776,
were Washington gave proofofthat interpidity
of character and military science, which he
had displayed on the banks of the Monongn
hela on the 9th July, 1755. Subsequently to
this period, during the fall and winter of 1776,
fortune seemed to have deserted our standard ;
but I never once despaired. On the 25th of
! December, we passed the Delaware to surprise
the enemy iu Treuton : the weather was ex-
MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY aMORNING, AUGUST 25, 1838.
cessively cold—the river filled with ice—wind
high—a powerful foe to be attacked by a dis
pirited army—but, sir, it was a splendid affair ;
| twenty-three officers and eight hundred and
eighty-six soldiers were made prisoners of war!
j Not a man of our troops was kiilled ; and but
two wounded. We retreated from Trenton
only to engage the British near Princeton, on
the 2d of January, 1777, where our loss was
inconsiderable when compared to that of the
enemy, although we all lamented the fall of
Gen. Mercer.ol Fredericksburg, Virginia, who
had seen good service at Culloden, and also in
the French war in this country, where his
intimacy with our beloved chief began. It was
not until September lit!) of this year, I had the
pleasure of again encountering the foe at Chad’s
Ford, on tlie Brandywine. The day was en-
I livened by the martial appearance of the
chivalric Lafayette, who rode along our line
with Washington just before the action com
menced. True we were compelled to quit
the field, but be assured the battle was warm
and sanguinary. Philadelphia passed into the
hands of the enemy—Congress removed hastily
to Lancaster—the whole country was dismay,
ed—but the general-in-chief on the morning of
the 4th of October, at Germantown, again
taught the British a lesson which they never
forgot. My own commander, Knox, displayed
on this occasion the most entire coolness and
interpidity, combined with the most profound
skill and science. Nothing but the lightness of
our artillery prevented our demolishing Chew’s
house, from whence out brave comrades were
mowed down with a most destructive fire.
Notwithstanding the thick fog of the morning,
and the derangement of the plan ofbattle from
unforeseen eauses, the English army would
have been captured, bad not Cornwallis, at the
crisis of the contest hearing the noise of our
artillery arms, arrived with fresh
troops from Philadelphia. So changeable is
the fortune ot war, that the affairs of nations
often hang on the events of a moment! The
campaign closed, and we withdrew into winter
quarters at Valley Forge, on the 22d Decem
ber ; and with your permission, (bowing po
litely,) I will retire for the evening.”
Early on the ensuing morning the good old
man renewed his narration :—“ The winter of
1777-78, at Valley Forge, was the most drea
ry I ever saw. Washington’s head-quarters
were very near the Schuylkill, while the save
ral divisions of our army were stationed at
proper positions : ours was in the centre. The
enemy occupied Philadelphia. While they
were enjoying at their ease the luxuries of life,
we were exposed to cold,nakedness and famine.
Deep snows, bleak winds, combined with the
almost entire want of clothing, brought on us
a train ofevils and of trials which I cannot des
cribe. Beyond all this, a deep laid and aborni
nable plot was devised by Conway, Gates, and
other disaffected generals, to deprive the com
mander-in-chief of his hard-earned fame. The
fate of our country now hung suspended on a
single hair. Never shall I forget the awful
scene! Washington, conscious of his own
integrity, stood like a rock, firm and immova
ble. I could see that his countenance was
occasionally lighted up with a glow of deep
toned indignation, and that he struggled hard
in his own virtuous bosom, to repress his in
jured spirit. The conspiracy was not entirely
crushed until the last of March, 1778. Sud
denly the cloud vanished—the sun shone forth
with the most gorgeous splendor —and he stood
like Mount Atlas,
• While storms and tempests thunder on his brow,
And oceans break their billows at his feet.”
“ We remained at this position until the 18th
of June, when our army was put in motion,
in order to pursue Sir Henry Clinton, who had
evacuated Philadelphia on the preceding day,
and was now making his way through Jersey
to New York. All was now life and joy :
our officers and soldiers greeted each other
with the kindest salutations, ut the prospect of
entering the field of glory. I saw our chief
mounted on his war horse, elegantly caparison,
ed, surrouned by his staff —his eye lighted with
fire—his countenance full of animation —the
army catching from his bosom the spirit of
liberty. Never; no, never, sir, did I behold \
so joyous a day as when we were in pursuit of
the enemy on this occasion. Great skill was
displayed by the respective commanders of
both armies on the memorable 28th of June,
1778,when the battle of Monmouth was fought.
Tlie unfortunate mismanagement of Gen. Lee
deranged in some degree our plan of battle— j
but the result was clearly favorable to the
Americans. Three hundred of the British
were slain, a like number wounded, and one
hundred prisoners were taken. Wc slept on
our arms with the hope of renewing the con-,
fiict at the dawn of day, but Sir Henry Clinton
had eluded our vigilance at midnight, and was
now in full retreat. From this time I had not
the good fortune to encounter the enemy in
the oped field, but was actively engaged in the
partizan warfare, in which detached portions
of our army so often participated.”
It happened that at this part of his narrative,
I inquired if he knew any thing of the history
of the unfortunate Major Andre.
“ I am intimately acquainted with all its de
tails, and witnessed the last thrilling scene of
his earthly career. He arrived at Tappan on
Thursday, September 28th, 1780, under the
care of the late Col. Talmadge, for many years
a representative in Congress from Connecticut,
to whose especial supcrientendcnce ho had
been entrusted by Washington at West Point,
whither he had been taken after his capture,
on the preceding Saturday, near Tarrx town,
on the opposite batik of the Hudson. Here I
ft st saw this brave and chivalric officer, then
in tlie twenty-ninth year of his age. His per.
son was of the m .dJIe size, well proportioned—
his bearing noble—his manners polished in the
highest degree—his countenance indicating
deep thought and extensive literary acquire
ments. Occasionally a cloud of melancholy
obscured for a season the sunshine of his soul.
His parents were natives of Geneva, who emi
grated to London, where their highly gifted
son was born, lie was bred to the mercantile
business, and when about twenty years of age
became deeply smitten with ,the charms of a
young lady residing in the same street with
himself, to whom he often addressed the
sweetest effusions of his muse. His affection
was reciprocated, but their union war preven
ted by her parents. Chnrgrined beyond mea
sure he joined the royal army, then coming to
this country—occupied a high place in the
esteem of Sir Henry Cl inton--was a com
missioner with Col. Hyde at Amboy, on the
12th April, 1779, to effect an exchange of
prisoners with the American commissioners,
Davies and Harrison—and signed the articles
of capitulation as aid-de-camp of the British
commander, when Fort Lafayette capitulated
on the Ist of June of the fame year. He had
formerly fallen into our hands as a prisoner of
war, and with Capt. Gordon and other officers
was detained for some time in Carl isle,Pennsyl
vania, where lie was almost incessantly occu
pied in the perusal of books. Here, as every
where else, he won the affections of the citizens
of that borough, who heard with undissemblcd
grief of his subsequent deplorable end. I now
regretted his present misfortune the more, be
cause he was the victim of Arnold, the most
perfidious of all traitors, who hod now left him
to expireon that gibbit where he himself should
have died a thousand deaths. Every heart
bled for the forlorne stranger, and Washing,
ton was melted into tears. On Friday the
court convened, and I saw Andre escorted
from the guard house, dressed in full regimen
tals, and heard him candidly and fearlessly
acknowledge before that tribunal all the cir
cumstances necessary to establish his guilt.
On his return from the court, on this day, lie
wrote to Sir Henry Canton, at New-York, a
most touching letter, in which he reminds his
late chief of his perilous situation, and recom
mends to bis especial care a widowed mother
and three orphan sisters. Home, with all its
enjoyments, was now unspeakably dear to his
affections. He beheld, in his mind’s eye, over
the broad Atlantic, the forms of those who
were dear to him by every tie of humanity,
and anticipated their unspeakable sorrow when
the intelligence of his ignominious death should
be announced. Sir Henry Clinton was almost
frantic when he found that all his efforts to
obtain the release of Andre were unavailing.
On Saturday, General Greene, president of the
court, held a long conference with General
Robinson of the English army, at Dobb’s
Ferry, in which this interresting case was
canvassed at large. No effort was left un
tried on tlie part of the Bri.ish commissioner
to maintain tlie position that the laws of war
did not condemn the prisoner. Greene urged
that he had been convicted, by a court properly
constituted, as a spy, aiding Arnold in the per
petration of an act of treason of the deepest
dye, and that however much his untimely fate
was to be deplored, still it was irrevocable.
Washington so instructed him prior to this
interview. During this day I visited him, in
company with other officers. Our sympathies
increased, as the fatal hour was hastening on
when his earthly career was to end forever.
He was, however, tranquil, and occasionally
cheerful. Fie seemed at first to be buoyed up
with the hope that he would be exchanged for
Arnold, and such also was the ardent desire of
every officer and soldier in our army. It be.
itig ascertained, however, that Sir Henry
Clinton had rejected every proposition which
could lead to the surrender of Arnold, the
order for his execution, at five, P. M., on Sun
day, Oct. Ist, 1780, was issued in the morning
orders of that day, but the protracted discus
sion between Generals Greene and Robinson,
prevented its consummation until twelve o’-
clock, M., of Monday. During the Sabba'h
he dictated and sent to Washington the most
touching letter ever written by man, imploring
him merely to soften his last moments by as
suring him that he should “ not die on a gib
bet.” Never before was the illustrious chief of
our army placed in a more trying situation.
It was universally reported and believed in
camp, at the t me, that he shed tears on
signing the death-warrant of the brave but un
fortunate captive. The stern, unbending laws
of war, pointed to an ignominous death only,
and he possessed no power to change those
laws. Monday morning the sun rose clear ;
all were busy in preparing for the tragic scene
before us : large detachments of troops under
arms: nearly all the general and field offi
cers, except the commander-in-chief and his
suite, were mounted on horseback, in their
appropriate costume ; an immense concourse
of citizens thronged every avenue ; melancholy
sat on each countenance ; the scene was aw
ful! Sometime before he left his quarters, 1
went in company with Capt. Lecraft, of New
York, to bid him farewell. lie was in the act
of shaving himself, standing before a glass as
we entered the door. Seeing that we paused,
he turned round and pleasantly observed,
‘ Come in, gentlemen ; you perceive I am now
in the suds —but 1 shall soon be relieved from
this predicament.’ Soon after he bade adieu
to nil immediately' around him, in the most
affecting manner. He was escorted from the
door to the place of execution, (about three
quarters of a mile distnnt,) by two of our offi
cers ; one was a Mr. Samuel Hughes of Balti
more, if my memory docs not decieve me ; the
name of the other I have forgotten. Andre
walked between them, dressed in full uniform.
How wonderful aud mysterious are the dis.
pensations of Providence ! A few years be
fore, and tliese very officers were prisoners of
war in Quebec, where Andre was town Major;
and they had been treated by him with kind
ness and humanity—now they were compelled
by the inflexible code of military law, to aid in
taking uway the life of their aimable and hap
less friend ! 1 kept very near his person until
the scene was finally closed. lie seemed
elevated above his misfortunes. Not a feature
of his countenance changed. He smiled as he
bowed gracefully to many of our officers, with
whom he was acquainted. Ills step, firm and
soldior-like; his bearing, lofty and firm ; —and
while the assembled t irong was dissolved
in grief, no tear coursed down his cheek.
When he ascended the cart, Maj. Jos. Puttin
gall read the death warrant. The executioner
appeared to do his office, but Andre ordered
him to retire. When the rope was adjusted
about his neck, with his own hand, without any
assistance, I distinctly heard him saw, ‘ In a
few minutes I shall know more than any of
you.’ After he had bandaged his eyes with a
white handkerchief. Col. Scatnmcl said, ‘You
can now speak, if you wish.’ Raising the
handkerchief, lie replied with a firm voice, ‘ I
pray you to bear me witness that I die like a
brave man.’ After the body was interred,
and his clothes delivered to his servant, to carry
to New-York, the dead march was played, and
we retired to quarters, overwhelmed with the
sad scerets of this memorable duy. I have
been told that a monument wcas long ago
erected to his memory, in Westminster Abbey,
and that his ashes was disintcrcd in 1821, by
Mr. Buchanan, British Consul at New-York,
and removed to England, at the suggestion of
the late Duke ofYork.”
“ Is it true sir, as related by Lee, in his in
comparable narrative of the enterprizc of John
Champe of Londoun county, Virginia, that he
deserted prior to the execution, in order to
seize Arnold and bring him alive to camp?”
“ No, sir,” he replied, “On the contrary,
Champe did not leave us until the night of the
20th of October, and was then sent to discover
how far the suspicions of Washington were
well founded, as to some of his chief officers,
whom he had been induced to believe were
concerned in tho treason of Arnold. The
agent mentioned by Lee, to whom Champe
was introduced in the city of New-York, and
whose information was conveyed by him in
cypher to the American general, was Sam
Francis, a negro man, who kept a tavern in
that city for some time prior to the battle of
Long Island, and who remained there during
the whole period of seven years, while the city
was held by the enemy. Washington’s head
quarters were at one time at SamS house,
prior to the evacuation of New-York by the
Americans, in 1776. He formed for his
colored host an inviolable friendship. The
house abounded in good cheer. Francis was
uniformly polite and prompt —very observant
of passing events—thoughtful and tactiturn as
Champe himself—kept his day book and ledger
with his own hand—was a genuine patriot, as
well as an admirer of the American chief.
There is no doubt in my mind that Washington
himself gave Sam the key to the cyphered
letter, and that he had received advices through
this channel, of the movements of the enemy
long before Champe’s adventure. Sir Henry
Clinton and his principal officers lodged at his
tavern during all their residence in New-York,
occupying the very rooms where Washington
and his staff had often slept. Sam became as
intimate with them as he hnd previously been
with our chief. They little supposed that
Sam was in correspondence with the head of
the American army, nor did he give them the
opportunity of suspecting that he was noting
their conversations at his table, or searching
with inquisitive eye the workings of their minds,
frequently displayed in their thoughtful visage.
Never did he once betray the confidence ro
posed in him, or mislead his friend during this
eventful and interesting period of our history.
I was present in New-York at Francis’ tavern,
on the 4th of December, 1783, and saw Wash
ington once more greet his faithful confidante.
An affecting scene now occurred. The war
rior was about to separate from his compan
ions in arms. His chief officers advanced to
receive his last embrace and final blessing.
My own faithful commander, Knox, under
whose banner I had often met the enemy, first
grasped his hand : both were overwhelmed
with strong emotions : these stern chieftains,
unmoved amidst the shock of battle and the
groans of the dying, were now subdued by the
tide of grief rushing on their souls. No word
was uttered to break the profound silence of
this majestic scene. Walking to White Hall,
attended by a numerous concourse of admiring
and weeping spectators, he entered a bargo
which was to transport him to Paulus llook.
It was manned by twelve seamen dressed in
white. I yet see the noble form of that immor
tal man, as he stood erect in tlie barge and
waved his hat in bidding adieu to the multitude
thronging the ahore. Surely no man ever
served under such a commander !”
“ Pray, sir, what became of Sam Francis
“Congress on the recommendation of Wash
ington, presented him with a farm on the
Raritan, where lie lived many years, and died
universally esteemed for his virtues and
patriotism.”
“ Have you detailed all tlie events of your
militajy life ?”
“ No, sir,” he replied ; “ I omitted to men
tion, in its proper place, that I witnessed the
convention of officers at Ncwburg, on the 15th
NO. 44.