Selections from the writings of Mrs. Margaret M. Davidson, the mother of Lucretia Maria and Margaret M. Davidson

Contents

Page Preface -------v

Dedication ---..- vii

Introduction - - - - - - ix

Dedication

TO

my much respected friend, miss catharine m. sedgwick.

Dear Madam: —

Preface

It can hardly be said that the author of the following pages appears for the first time before the public; yet, with the diffidence natural to a recluse and delicate woman, she shrinks from appearing alone, and wishes to be announced by one, who would do even an humbler office for her with respect and pleasure, and for whom the reading world has lost some of its terrors by familiarity.

There are persons on both sides of the Atlantic, w^ho feel a deep interest in the mother of Lucretia and Margaret Davidson; many have manifested an unusual sympathy in her joys and sorrows, and some have expressed a curiosity to know more of the mind whose holiest and brightest emanations were infused into those rare sisters, who seem hardly to have touched our world on their passage to Heaven. But the gratification of their curiosity is not the motive to the publication of these pages, though it may be incidental to it. The mother's life has been in companionship with her children, and she is now tempted from her seclusion that she may still be associated with them, — go forth with them on their mental pilgrimage, and for their sakes, it may be, be welcomed to many kindred hearts.

C. M. SEDGWICK.

Introduction

I HAVE been induced to publish the following extracts to gratify the wishes of dear and partial friends, and, I will frankly confess, a secret desire of my own, until of late scarcely acknowledged by myself, to follow in the train of my beloved children, and maintain, while I live, that close companionship with their minds, which has hitherto formed the chief happiness of my life: — these motives impel me onward.

The story of the Stanley family is a simple narrative of facts, which occurred in 1814; the names only are fictitious. Every person who has read the remains of my daughter Margaret, by Irving, will recognize in Mrs. Stanley the original of Mrs. Mentraville in the unfinished romance, the characters of which were drawn from real life, although the tale is a fiction interwoven with many circumstances which actually took place at different periods of time. Dear to my heart, and deeply cherished there, is the remembrance of every individual connected with the events I am about to relate. The detail requires more firmness and self-command than I at all times possess, and calls up a host of sweet and bitter memories which nearly imfits me for my task. Dear and beloved beings! with whom my very heart of hearts was entwined; they have long since burst asunder the ties which bound them to life, and soared to join that angelic band, in that wide field of intellectual im-

XIV INTRODUCTION.

provement, to which their young hearts, while still on earth, so ardently aspired.

The six books of Fingal are the fruits of an odd whim of mine, to while away time, when languishing under a distressing illness in 1827 — which confined me to the sick room and bed for more than eighteen months. On my recovery it was rescued from the flames by the intercession of a friend, and consigned to my common-place book, from whence it is now withdrawn by the same magic influence, to make its way in the world in company with the fugitive poems, with which it has so long held companionship. It is with diffidence I venture to appear before the public. I do not — 1 cannot anticipate the same warmth of feeling — the unqualified approbation with which the remains of my lamented daughters were welcomed. I only hope, as their mother, to escape the severe ordeal of the critic; — although sanguine in this hope, tremblingly I venture forth.

M. M. D.

EVENTS OF A FEW EVENIFUL DAYS

THE EVENTS

FEW EVENTFUL DAYS IN 1814

Chapter I

About the last of August, 1S14, General Brisbane, the British commander, encamped with the advance guard of the enemy on the north side of the great Chazy. Sir George Provost following with all his combined forces, amounting to 15,000 well disciplined troops, on the first of September threw himself into the little village of Champlain. Immediately on his arrival there, he endeavoured to disaffect the minds of the inhabitants towards their own government, and draw them over to the enemy; failing in this, he proceeded to impress wagons and teams in the vicinity, for the purpose of transporting their baggage and military stores. From these movements, General Macomb, the American commander, was convinced that an attack was speedily meditated upon Plattsburgh. General Macomb had just returned from the lines, where he had commanded a fine brigade which was broken up by the march of General Izard, to the assistance of General Brown at Sackett's Harbor; this 2 movement left the northern frontier comparatively defenceless; at least weak-handed, for our brave officers and men were resolved neither to know weakness or danger while the safety of (hat post was at hazard. Four companies of organized troops were all that remained to defend the post of Plattsburgh. The garrison was chiefly composed of recruits and invalids; every thing was in confusion from the sudden march of General Izard. Our brave commander had much upon his hands. The works were not even in a state of defence, and fifteen hundred men were all he could command to compete with as many thousands. In order to stimulate his men to industry, and give them an interest in completing the works, General Macomb divided them into parties, placing them near the several forts; declaring, in general orders, that each detachment should garrison the fort at which they laboured, and the men were bound to defend it with their lives. This view of the subject awakened all their enthusiasm; they worked day and night, and swore to conquer or die.* The deliberation with which the enemy advanced gave time for the necessary preparations; and the activity

* The above statement I received from General Macomb himself, who also remarked, that the patriotism manifested by his officers and soldiers to a man on that occasion, had for ever riveted his esteem. He said that when they threw themselves into that fort, he told them they were to defend or perish with it, and that if there was a man there who was not willing to make this sacrifice for the general good he was at liberty to leave the regiment; that his own determination was to sustain the siege, or blow up the fort with all its military stores; — not a man moved to go, — they were unanimous in the high resolve to conquer or die. General Macomb related these circumstances to me a few weeks after the battle. The tears of a soldier filled his eyes as he spoke of the magnanimity of his officers and men.

and zeal of our officers and men, placed matters in a tolerable state of defence when the enemy made his descent upon the place. The enemy was expected in two columns, one by the way of the Lake, crossing Dead-Creek, where an advanced guard with arms and a fieldpiece had been stationed, in order to skirmish with, and annoy them in every possible way. The other column was on the western or Beekmantown road, and from the fourth inst. until the eleventh, there was constant skirmishing between the British advance guards and our militia and Vermont volunteers, which caused great alarm in the minds of the peaceable inhabitants. I will not here attempt a regular description of the movements of the contending armies; I merely wish the reader to understand their relative position, that he may the more readily comprehend the situation of those who were engaged in the scenes I am about to relate. My notes fail me with regard to the exact date of the general alarm throughout the village. According to the best of my recollection, however, the town was deserted by the inhabitants on or about the fourth of September, 1814.

Chapter II

It was a lovely day, and notwithstanding the warlike preparations I have described above, all nature wore the aspect of peace and tranquillity. The rich foliage of the landscape was in full beauty; the early autumn shrubbery seemed the very perfection of nature. The river Saranac was winding its serpentine course between the banks, (on each side of which, the httle village of Plattsburgh rose in picturesque beauty,) and as it fell, sparkling and foaming over the mill-dam, pursued its devious way under the bridge and gently rolled along to pour its waters into the beautiful Bay of Cumberland, which stretched before the eye in the distance. The waves of the lake were laving the variegated shrubbery which adorned its banks. The beautiful islands were peacefully reclining upon its bosom, and the blue mountains rising in grand succession beyond, lent a degree of sublimity to the scene.

The fleet of M'Donough, moored within the Bay, was gallantly riding at anchor, as if in the proud consciousness of coming victory, yet, evincing in its calm and graceful outline, no preparation for the scene of carnage which was so soon to deface its loveliness; all was peace and serenity in the landscape, forming altogether a picture of inimitable grandeur and beauty, and a striking contrast to the agitation which marked the countenance of a lady, who was seated at the little parlour window of a pleasant but unpretending mansion, which looked out upon the scenery I have attempted to describe. There sat the young mourner, communing with her own heart, which laboured with painful forebodings as to the issue of the engagement, which, it was anticipated, would soon take place between the contending armies, and at the same time watching with all a mother's fondness the gambols of her only remainingson, a child of three years old, and a pet dog, who were playing on the grass under the shade of the tall poplars which grew near the window. She was very pale, and her face bore the marks of deep mental suffering; her wasted frame told that pain and sorrow had made deep ravages upon her naturally delicate constitution. She seemed in deep meditation, and frequently brushed the tear-drop from her eye, with the obvious resolution to suppress her emotions. The child, at length wearied with the vain effort to harness Fidele in a little chair, which he substituted for a carriage, sprang upon the piazza and jumping on the seat under the window, seized his mother affectionately around the neck: "Oh! don't cry, mamma — you promised papa you would not cry any more for dear little brother Oliver. Oh mamma! he is an angel in heaven now — up in that bright beautiful heaven — don't cry any more — (and the sweet child Aviped the tears from her pale cheek with the corner of his little white apron) — we will soon go to that beautiful place to see him. Sister Anna says he can't come back to us. I am glad that naughty bonny-horse did not kill mamma too;" and again he wound his httle arms around her neck and covered her with kisses. At that moment a man on horseback dashed furiously along, passing over the bridge to the cantonment. In a few moments all seemed bustle and confusion in the streets. Mrs. Stanley watched with a beating heart the movements she could not understand, yet apprehending they were in some way connected with the expected invasion, when all at once her two little daughters came flying in.

"Oh mamma! the British! the British are coming! our teacher said so, and told us to hasten home to our parents before the streets were in confusion; she kept Louisa and I with her until she was ready to go home, and came nearly home with us herself, fearing we might get hurt; and mamma," said Louisa, " you don't know how she cried and kissed us, and said she hoped God would bring us together again some time or other — but — look mamma! what are they doing over the river?" Mrs. Stanley saw at once from the general commotion that something unusual was going on — Anna and Louisa were old enough to remember the events of the preceding summer. They had not forgotten the horrors attending their flight, nor the desolation which awaited their return; their little hearts trembled: — they threw their arms around their mother's neck, weeping violently. Little Charles caught the contagion, and although he did not understand the cause of alarm, wept from sympathy. Mrs. Stanley was still feeble, not having perfectly recovered from injuries received when thrown from a carriage a few months before. She was aware that the safety of her little family, perhaps the life of her sick husband, depended upon her own firmness and good management. After putting up a silent prayer to that Being who had so marvellously protected, when instant and certain death seemed to menace her, that he would give her wisdom and strength and courage to support her in the coming emergency, she felt her mind composed, and although the weakest of the weak, was assured she should be sustained.

" My sweet little girls," said she, "the time has now arrived, which is to prove the force and strength of the precepts I have tried to instil into your minds — you are both very young, but you ahoays understand mamma. I have, ever since reason began to dawn, treated you as friends and companions, not like babies or silly children — you must now prove yourselves worthy of your mother^s confidence. War is a dreadful calamity; we must prepare to brave its dangers in common with our friends and neighbours, and to you, my children, I look for consolation and assistance in the coming trial: your dear father has been ill many weeks, — it is but two days since his fever left him. He is quite too feeble to bear agitation, and you must assist me to keep him composed. Remember, my dear daughters, that God is your Father and your Friend; his care is over you equally in war as in peace, in the camp of an enemy as in the arms of your parents: — his power is over all, — and he has promised to protect those who put their trust in him. I expect much from you, my daughters, and trust I shall not be disappointed. You, Anna, must make your little brother your own particular charge;— be as a mother to him on this occasion. The care of your father, indeed of every thing now devolves upon me — Louisa will assist us both, — you, dear Anna, will set the example, as you are the eldest." The sweet babes, for babes they were, again kissed their proud fond mother, and drying their tears, promised to be all she desired. She told them to remain quietly in the parlour, while

she went to Mr. S 's to inquire the truth of the

reports. Mr. S was their nearest neighbour, and

the families had for many years been on terms of intimacy. There, she found all in the confusion of

packing and moving: Mr. S had stepped out,

and could not be found. On learning that Mrs. S

and the young ladies had been gone an hour, she returned as fast as her trembling limbs and palpitating heart would permit. Dr. Stanley had been several weeks confined to his bed with a fever, — his feeble wife had herself performed all the duties of narse, scarcely leaving his bed-side a moment, night or day; herself just recovering from a long illness. Dr. Stanley's anxiety for the health of his wife had, no doubt, retarded his own recovery, and as he was now pronounced out of danger, he had urged her to let Cynthia sit with him while she went down stairs to inhale the fresh, healthy breezes from the river. She was thus seated in compliance with his request, when the circumstances we have named occurred. When

Mrs. Stanley returned from the house of Mr. S

it would be impossible to describe the feeling of helplessness and desolation which oppressed her heart. The preceding summer, when Plattsburgh was invaded by Murray, and her home despoiled of every comfort, she had a husband to protect herself and babes, in as far as his single arm could do it: — now, that beloved husband, enfeebled by a long ilUiess, convalescent it is true, but so weak that he could scarcely bear his own weight, must look to her for support; and she, who until her marriage at the age of seventeen had leaned implicitly upon an only brother, and after that event, upon her husband with child like dependence in every emergency, what could she do? in her weak state, with her fractured limbs scarcely knit together— the bandages still in use, what could she do? <'0h! my God," she mentally exclaimed, "preserve my senses — let not reason desert her throne!" then rushing into her own room, closed the door to prevent intrusion, and sank almost

A FEW EVENTFUL DAYS IN 18U. 25

exhausted into an easy-chair. A timely liood of tears relieved the pressure upon her heart and brain. As she poured out her soul to that Almighty Father in whom she trusted, she found her mind more composed. She besought him to give her strength to meet her approaching trials. She prayed for judgment to direct, grace to sustain her, and above all, for perfect submission to his holy will. Her spirit rose with the necessity of exertion, and with a mind fortified, and strengthened by communion with the High and Holy One, felt prepared to do all, and brave all for the safety of the precious charge committed to her care.

She entered her husband's room, and with as much caution as possible, communicated to him the state of affairs. He bore the tidings with more composure than she feared, and they hastened to decide upon the best possible arrangement for the safety of the family.

Mrs. Stanley proposed sending the children to Peru, with Cynthia, a faithful, good girl, who had lived some time in the family, and whose mother lived in Peru; she would take them directly to the house of her mother, where they would be safe, until the Doctor and Mrs. Stanley could join them, or until after the battle, and she (Mrs. Stanley) would remain with Polly, a little girl of fourteen, who was bound to the family by indentures, and take care of Dr. Stanley, who, his wife affirmed, was too feeble to use any exertions at present. Roused by this proposition to a sense of the danger and indignity to which his feeble and beloved wife would be exposed, the shock her nerves might sustain, from the scenes of carnage she must in that case witness, the insults to which she might be exposed from a lawless soldiery, and danger from the shot of both armies, which were, as he supposed, to be stationed one in front, and the other in the rear of his own dwelling, as the cannon played across the river, he expostulated warmly against this plan, and in the midst of his excitement, rose from the bed quickly and unassisted. Mrs. Stanley, alarmed at this sudden accession of strength, which she knew must proceed from morbid 'excitement, dreaded, lest his exertions in leaving town might prove fatal to her hopes — became more anxious to remain, for every other misfortune seemed light, compared with the thought of losing her husband. She then proposed to transfer to the cellar the comforts they would require to sustain them until after the engagement.

This plan was, in the opinion of Dr. Stanley, more preposterous than the first, and he said at once, it would not do: should she, by some miracle, suddenly become hardy enough to live and sleep in a cold, damp cellar for a week or two, (for there was no knowing how long the fort would hold out,) a burning firebrand thrown into the house by the Indians, or a hot shot from our own fort, might light a flame above them which would bury them in the ruins of their own dwelling. There was no time to be lost; the afternoon was wearing away. Dr. Stanley insisted on substituting his usual dress for his sick wrapper, in order to step about the room and try the measure of his strength. Mrs. Stanley ordered some light nourishment to be prepared to sustain him under this strong emotion, and tying on her hat, told him she would step out, and if possible engage teams to carry away their goods. As she passed the parlour door she stepped in to see how the little ones came on. She found them composed, yet watching with anxious and wondering e^^es the scene of bustle and confusion wliich was passing in ttie streets. Tiiey flew to her; a kiss and a look of approbation was their reward; telling them her errand out, she directed Cynthia to put lip some changes for herself and the children, and then begin to pack the furniture as fast as possible; this done, she hastened out on her uncertain mission. The village now presented a scene of deep and thrilling interest. The small force which remained at Plattsburgh after Gen. Izard left for Sackett-'s Harbor, amounting, as I before said, to only fourteen hundred men, who were now to cope with as many thousands, had retired into the fort. Guards and sentinels were posted in the streets and environs of the village, — parties of volunteers and militia were constantly sallying forth in small bands, to harass the enemy, who had encamped at little Chazy, and by pulling down bridges, and throwing trees and other impediments to their march across the roads, so to annoy, as to delay their entrance until our brave commander should have time to make the best possible disposition of his handful of men, to meet a force so superior. Expresses were riding back and forth constantly: guns and bayonets were seen glittering in the sunbeams; all, every thing presenting a striking evidence of the state of excitement which prevailed throughout the village and camp. As Mrs. Stanley stepped out of the gate,

she met her kind friend and neighbour Mr. S ,

who came to inquire her plans. He knew Dr. Stanley was ill, and felt interested in the situation of this helpless little family, and as an intimacy subsisted between his wife and daughters and Mrs. Stanley, he felt he could hardly join them without being able to give some account of her situation. Mrs. Stanley mentioned her fears for her husband, and her plan of

remaining in her own house. Mr. S confirmed

ail Dr. Stanley's apprehensions on the subject, and entreated her by all means not to delay leaving until the guard was set around the village. "My dear madam,'' said he, " there is no safety for you here; perhaps the first gun fired from our own fort may end

your life." Thanking Mr. S for his kindness, she

made as much expedition as possible, leaning upon the staff of her umbrella, for that support which she had been accustomed to receive from the protecting arm of a friend. She crossed the bridge, and entering the store of a merchant with whom her husband was in the habit of transacting business, asked his assistance in procuring wagons to send off their goods. He told her, it was impossible to obtain even a wheelbarrow, every thing was in requisition — and advised her to send to Peru. She wrote a note to a friend, desiring him to send a couple of large lumber wagons with all speed, feeling thankful that their own little pony was quietly feeding in the stable, ready to be put before the little pleasure wagon, any moment when the safety of the family should render it necessary for them to leave the place. As with a feeble step and almost breaking heart, poor Mrs. Stanley ascended the piazza, her children flew to her arms, and tears and smiles were her reward for her exertions to protect them. Never had they seemed so dear, so interesting as at that moment. They had all been busy, and had accomplished a great deal. Mrs. Stanley directed Cynthia to put up a large basket of provisions, wisely concluding that food might be scarce in a little hamlet where so many hundreds were unexpectedly thrown upon the hospitality of the inhabitants. They were now ready, and Mrs. Stanley knew of no other way to send them but by procuring seats for them on one of the many loaded wagons which were constantly passing from Chazy and Cumberland- Head. She had hardly resolved upon this step, when she heard the sound of wagons; on hailing one of them, to her infinite relief, she found it to be the property of a respectable Quaker, whom she had often seen, and whose reputation she knew to be good. After some little hesitation, and the offer of a liberal reward, she procured seats for Cynthia, the children, Fidele, and the basket. They were to be taken immediately to the home of Cynthia, where Dr. and Mrs. Stanley were to join them as soon as the wagons came to take their household goods. The trial of parting with her children was almost too much for Mrs. Stanley. The fortune of war might separate them for ever; the poor little things wept, and entreated to stay until their parents went, but Mrs. S. knew it was her duty to remain until she had secured their property. She had been too great a sufferer on the preceding summer, not to perceive the necessity of this decision. It was uncertain when the teams would arrive, and it was important that the children should be removed to a place of safety as soon as possible. Under these circumstances she found it necessary to suppress her own feelings, cheering the little ones by the hope of a speedy reunion. After reminding them of their promises to be calm, and submit to the necessity of the case, she saw them comfortably so MARGARET M. DAVIDSON.

Stowed away amid beds and boxes, and with an almost breaking heart returned to the now soUtary parlour.

Chapter III

A HEAVY load was now removed from the mind of Mrs. Stanley. Her children, she trusted, were safe under the care of the kind old woman to whom she had consigned them, and her heart was filled with gratitude to that all-gracious Being who had thus far prospered her exertions for their safety. Deep, and all absorbing anxiety for the health, and perhaps life of their father, had now taken possession of her mind: a relapse might be fatal; in this emergency, every thing depended upon herself As the importance of the charge pressed upon her mind it almost overpowered her. Again she commended herself and her dear ones to the care of her Almighty Father, and again her spirit rose to meet the exigencies of her situation. As the shades of evening descended, the scene assumed a deeper interest. The rumbling of carriages, the tramp of horses, the running and confusion of foot passengers, the deep hoarse tones of the sentinel, as the anxious " who comes there.?" floated on the evening breeze, the portentous roll of the drum as it beat tattoo, all sunk upon the heart of that lone one, and reminded her of the weighty responsibilities which rested upon her. After urging him to take a cup of tea, her first care was to get her husband quietly in bed for the night, fearing the effect which the fatigue and anxiety of this eventful day might have upon his feeble frame. By kind care and good nursing she hoped to prepare him for the duties of the morrow. This done, their own simple tea despatched, with the aid of Polly she set herself to complete the packing, ready for the wagons, which were expected at midnight.

Her exertions were indeed almost superhuman: that was truly a night of dreadful anxiety. Oh! how her heart beat as the couriers galloped by, and with stentorian voices proclaimed the position of the enemy. The preparations within the cantonment continued all night: there all seemed bustle — lights flying in every direction in the village gave notice of some unusual event, while the distant voice of the sentinel hailing some passing passenger, rang upon the midnight air, like echoes of fearful presage. At daybreak the wagons came, and the heart of the anxious parent was relieved by hearing of the safe arrival of her loved ones at their place of destination. With a weight removed from her heart, Mrs. Stanley was hastening to her husband's room to communicate the intelligence, when to her utter astonishment, there he stood, dressed — looking pale, but animated; with a firm step he advanced to greet his amazed wife. — "My dear, dear husband,'^ said she, much agitated, "why will you exert yourself in this way? this strength cannot be real; I have serious apprehensions as to the effect of this excitement upon you, weak as you now are.'^ — Her pale and care-worn features alarmed him; he assured her the excitement caused by the approach of the enemy, was the very thing necessary for bis restoration — it v/as the best thing that could have happened to him — he was restored— " but oh! Margaret," said he, " I fear you are ill! you look so pale and languid!" When told she had not been in bed during the night, he was shocked and alarmed lest such excessive fatigue should entirely exhaust her delicate frame. " My dear wife, you must dismiss this anxiety from your mind; be not alarmed for me; I only required something to rouse me to action, and you see I am well! I shall go after breakfast to Peru, (unless I hear intelligence which will render it necessary to take you with me,) and engage rooms for our reception. Should I neglect to do so, it is very possible our situation may be uncomfortable there, as so many people are crowding into that little place at once and without warning." Mrs. Stanley trembled with apprehension; she knew this sudden change was unnatural, yet what could she do? " I must risk the consequences," said she, as he went out of the street door. In a few minutes he returned, saying the British were still encamped at Chazy — their movements could only be conjectured; he however did not apprehend an immediate attack — they certainly would not move until to-morrow — he would mount his horse, ride to Peru, secure comfortable apartments, and bring her tidings of the children. The morning was fine, his resolution taken, and she yielded a reluctant consent. To be left alone at this juncture was dreadful! With a quivering lip and tearful eye she bade him farewell, after receiving his promise to return by two o'clock in the afternoon. When the little gate closed upon him, the desolation of her feelings beggared all description. She threw herself into