Retreat of Sir Henry Clinton. Character of the Monmouth Battle. Clinton's Official Dispatch criticised. The Loss. morning light brought disappointment. At midnight, under cover of darkness,' Sir Henry Clinton put his weary host in motion. With silent steps, column after column left the camp and hurried toward Sandy Hook. So secret was the movement, and so deep the sleep of the patriots, that the troops of Poor, lying close by the enemy, were ignorant of their de parture, until, at dawn, they saw the deserted camp of the enemy. They had been gone more than three hours. Washington, considering the distance they had gained, the fatigue of his men, the extreme heat of the weather, and the deep, sandy country, with but litte water, deemed pursuit fruitless, and Sir Henry Clinton escaped. Washington marched with his army to Brunswick, and thence to the Hudson River, which he crossed at King's Ferry, and encamped near White Plains, in West Chester county. The Jersey brigade and Morgan's corps were left to hover on the enemy's rear, but they performed no essential service. The British army reached Sandy Hook on the 30th, where Lord Howe's fleet, having come round from the Delaware, was in readiness to convey them to June, 1778. ers. New York.2 The battle of Monmouth was one of the most severely contested during the war. Remarkable skill and bravery were displayed on both sides, after the shameful retreat of Lee; and the events of the day were highly creditable to the military genius of both commandVictory for the Americans was twice denied them during the day, first by the retreat of Lee in the morning, and, secondly, by the unaccountable detention of Morgan and his brave riflemen at a distance from the field. For hours the latter was at Richmond Mills, three miles below Monmouth court-house, awaiting orders, in an agony of desire to engage in the battle, for he was within sound of its fearful tumult. To and fro he strode, uncertain what course to pursue, and, like a hound in the leash, panting to be away to action. Why he was not allowed to participate in the conflict, we have no means of determining. It appears probable that, had he fallen upon the British rear, with his fresh troops, at the close of the day, Sir Henry Clinton and his army might have shared the fate of the British at Saratoga. The hottest of the conflict occurred near the spot where Monckton fell. Very few of the Americans were killed on the west side of the morass, but many were slain in the field with Monckton, and lay among the slaughtered grenadiers of the enemy. The Americans lost, in killed, six officers, and sixty-one non-commissioned officers and privates. The wounded were twenty-four officers, and one hundred and thirty-six non-commissioned officers and privates, in all two hundred and twenty-eight. The missing amounted to one hundred and thirty; but many of them, having dropped down through fatigue, soon joined the army. Among 'Sir Henry Clinton, in his official dispatch to Lord George Germaine, wrote, "Having reposed the troops antil ten at night to avoid the excessive heat of the day, I took advantage of the moonlight to rejoin General Knyphausen, who had advanced to Nut Swamp, near Middletown." This assertion was the cause of muck merriment in America, for it was known that the event took place about the time of new moon. Poor Will's Almanac, printed at Philadelphia by Joseph Cruikshank, indicates the occurrence of the new moon on the 24th of June, and that on the night of the battle being only four days old, it set at fifty-five minutes past ten. Trumbull, in his M'Fingal, alluding to this, says, "He forms his camp with great parade, Then still, like some endanger'd spark, Steals off on tiptoe in the dark; Yet writes his king in boasting tone, How grand he march'd by light of moon! Go on, great general, nor regard The scoffs of every scribbling bard, "Who sings how gods, that fearful night, As once they used in Homer's day, Ramsay; Gordon; Marshall; Sparks; D'Auberteuil; Stedman, &c. The enemy suffered more from the heat than the Americans, on account of their woolen uniform, anu being encumbered with their knapsacks, while the Americans were half disrobed. The Americans buried the slain which were found on the battle-field in shallow graves. In their retreat, the British left many of their wounded, with surgeons and nurses, in the houses at Freehold, and every room in the court-house was filled with the maimed and dying on the morning after the battle. A pit was dug on the site of the pres Sufferings of the Soldiers. Visit to the Battle-ground. Woodhull's Monument. William and Gilbert Tennent. the slain were Lieutenant-colonel Bonner, of Pennsylvania, and Major Dickinson, of Virginia. The British left four officers, and two hundred and forty-five non-commissioned officers and privates on the field. They buried some, and took many of their wounded with them. Fifty-nine of their soldiers perished by the heat, without receiving a wound; they lay under trees, and by rivulets, whither they had crawled for shade and water. But why dwell upon the sad and sickening scene of the battle-field with the dead and dying upon it? We have considered the dreadful events of the day; let us for a moment, before returning to Valley Forge from our long digression, glance at the ground now covered with the results. of the peaceful tiller's conquests. I visited the battle-ground of Monmouth toward the close of September, 1850, and had the good fortune to be favored with the company of Doctor John Woodhull, of Freehold, in my ramble over that interesting locality. Doctor Woodhull is the son of the beloved min.ister of that name who succeeded William Tennent in the pastoral care of the congregation that worshiped in the Freehold meeting-house, and who, for forty-six consecutive years, preached and prayed in that venerated chapel. Doctor Woodhull was born in the parsonage yet upon the battle-ground, and is so familiar with every locality and event connected with the conflict, that I felt as if traversing the battle-field with an actor in the scene. Dark clouds rolled up menacingly from the southwest when we left Freehold and rode out to the meeting-house; and while sketching the old fane, pictured on page 153, heavy peals of thunder from a cloud that rapidly approached broke over the country. I had scarcely finished my outline when the heavy drops came down, and we were obliged to take shelter in the church. Resting my port-folio upon the high back of a pew, I sketched, from the open door, the annexed picture of a neat monument erected to the memory of the reverend pastor just mentioned. Almost beneath the spot where I stood, under the middle aisle of the church, rest the remains of the Reverend William Tennent, who was pastor of that flock for forty-three years. On the right of the pulpit is a commemorative tablet, with a brief inscription. Mr. Tennent was one of the most faithful ministers of his day; and his name is widely known in connection with curious physiological and psychological phenomena, of which he was the subject. For three days he remained in a cataleptic state, commonly called a trance, or apparent death of the body while the interior life is active. He had applied himself closely to theological studies, until his health suddenly gave way. He became emaciated, his life was despaired of, and, WOODHULL'S MONUMENT.3 1 ent residence of Dr Throckmorton, of Freehold, wherein the wounded were thrown and buried as fast as they expired. It is said that nearly six hundred young men of Clinton's army, who had formed tender attachments during the winter cantonment in Philadelphia, deserted during the march through New Jersey, and returned to that city. Mr. Tennent's brother, Gilbert, was also an eminent preacher. Garden, in his Revolutionary Anec dotes, relates the following circumstance: "When the American army entered Philadelphia in June, 1778, after the evacuation by the British troops, we were hard pressed for ammunition. We caused the whole city to be ransacked in search of cartridge-paper. At length I thought of the garrets, &c., of old printingoffices. In that once occupied as a lumber-room by Dr. Franklin, when a printer, a vast collection was discovered. Among the mass was more than a cart-body load of sermons on defensive war, preached by a famous Gilbert Tennent, during the old British and French war, to rouse the colonies to indispensable exertion. These appropriate manifestoes were instantly employed as cases for musket-cartridges, rapidly sent to the army, came most opportunely, and were fired away at the battle of Monmouth against our retiring foe." The following is a copy of the inscription: "Sacred to the memory of the Reverend William Tennent, pastor of the first Presbyterian church in Freehold, who departed this life the 8th of March, 1777, aged 71 years and 9 months. He was pastor of said church 43 years and 6 months. FAITHFUL AND BELOVED." 3 This monument stands on the south side of the church. It is of white marble, about eight feet in Inscription upon Woodhull's Monument. Capture and Execution of Captain Huddy. Case of Captain Asgill. one morning, while conversing with his brother, in Latin, on the state of his soul, he fainted, and seemed to expire. He was laid out, and preparations were made for his funeral. His height. The following is the inscription upon it: "Sacred to the memory of the Reverend John Woodhull, D.D., who died Nov. 22d, 1824, aged 80 years. An able, faithful, and beloved minister of Jesus Christ. He preached the Gospel 56 years. He was settled first in Leacock, in Pennsylvania, and in 1779 removed to this congregation, which he served as pastor, with great diligence and success, for 45 years. Eminent as an instructor of youth, zealous for the glory of God, fervent and active in the discharge of all public and private duties, the labors of a long life have ended in a large reward." Reverend Dr. Woodhull was one of the most active patriots of his day, and his zeal in the cause of his country was largely infused into his congregation. On one occasion, while a pastor in Pennsylvania, every man in his parish went out to oppose the enemy, except one feeble old invalid, who bade them God speed. The zealous pastor went with them as chaplain. Dr. Woodhull preached the funeral sermon on the occasion of the burial of Captain Huddy, at Freehold, in the spring of 1782, from the piazza of the hotel now kept by Mr. Higgins. Captain Huddy lived in the central part of Colt's Neck, about five miles from Freehold. He was an ardent Whig, and by his activity and courage became a terror to the Tories. In the summer of 1780, a mulatto, named Titus, and about sixty refugees, attacked Huddy's house, in the evening. The only inmates were Huddy and Lucretia Emmons (afterward Mrs. Chambers), a servant girl about twenty years of age. There were several guns in the house; these Lucretia loaded, while Huddy fired them from different windows. Titus and some others were wounded. They set fire to the house, when Huddy surrendered, and the flames were extinguished. The prisoners were taken on board of a boat near Black Point. Just as it was pushed off from the shore, Huddy leaped into the water, and escaped under fire of some militia who were in pursuit of the Tories. In the spring of 1782, Huddy commanded a block-house, situated a short distance north of the bridge at the village of Tom's River. It was attacked by some refugees from New York, and his ammunition giving out, Huddy was obliged to surrender. Himself and companions were taken to New York, and afterward back to Sandy Hook, and placed, heavily ironed, on board a guard-ship. On the 12th of April, sixteen refugees, under Captain Lippincott, took Huddy to Gravelly Point, on the shore at the foot of the Navesink Hills, near the light-houses, and hung him upon a gallows made of three rails. He met his fate with composure. Upon the barrel on which he stood for execution, he wrote his will with an unfaltering hand. His murderers falsely charged him with being concerned in the death of a desperate Tory, named Philip White, which occurred while Huddy was a prisoner in New York. To the breast of Huddy, the infamous Lippincott affixed the following label: We, the refugees, having long with grief beheld the cruel murders of our brethren, and finding nothing but such measures daily carrying into execution; we therefore determine not to suffer, without taking vengeance for the numerous cruelties; and thus begin, having made use of Captain Huddy as the first object to present to your view; and further determine to hang man for man, while there is a refugee existing. UP GOES HUDDY FOR PHILIP WHITE!" HUDDY'S RESIDENCE. Huddy's body was carried to Freehold, and buried with the honors of war. His death excited the greatest indignation throughout the country. Dr. Woodhull earnestly entreated Washington to retaliate, in order that such inhuman murders might be prevented. The commander-in-chief acquiesced, but, instead of executing a British officer at once, he wrote to Sir Henry Clinton, assuring him that, unless the murderers of Huddy were given up, he should proceed to retaliate. Clinton refused compliance, and Captain Asgill, a young British officer (son of Sir Charles Asgill), who was a prisoner, was designated, by lot, for execution. In the mean while, Lippincott was tried by a court martial; and it appeared, in testimony, that Governor Franklin, president of the Board of Associated Loyalists, had given that officer verbal orders to hang Huddy. Lippincott was acquitted. Sir Guy Carleton, who had succeeded Sir Henry Clinton, in a letter to Washington, reprobated the death of Huddy, and acquainted him that he had broken up the Board of Associated Loyalists. Washington had mercifully postponed the execution of young Asgill, and, in the mean time, had received a pathetic letter from Lady Asgill, his mother, and an intercessory one from Count De Vergennes, the French minister. He sent these letters to Congress, and, on the 5th of November, 1782, that body resolved, "That the commander-in-chief be, and hereby is, directed to set Captain Asgill at liberty." The tenderest sympathies of Washington had been awakened in the young man's behalf, and he had resolved to do all in his power, consistent with duty, to save him; and yet ne unfair compiler of the Pictorial History of England (v., 489) accuses Washington of foul dishonor, and expresses his belief that, as at the crisis when he put Major Andrè to death, and refused him the last sad consolation he asked for, he was now rendered gloomy and irascible by the constant and degrading troubles and mortifications in which he was involved." Nothing can be more unjust than this sentence. In a humorous poem, entitled Rivington's Reflections, Philip Freneau thus alludes to the case of Asgill. He makes Rivington (the Tory printer in New York) say, "I'll petition the rebels (if York is forsaken) For a place in their Zion which ne'er shall be shaken. Remarkable Case of William Tennent. His own Description of his Feelings. Loss of his Papers. His skill detected symptoms physician, who was absent, was much grieved on his return. of life, and he desired a postponement of burial. The body was cold and stiff; there were no signs of life to the common apprehension, and his brother insisted that he should be burBut the entreaties of the physician prevailed; the funeral was postponed. On the third day after his apparent death, the people were assembled to bury him. The doctor, who had been at his side from the beginning, still insisted upon applying restoratives. The hour appointed for the burial arrived, and the brother of Tennent impatiently demanded that the funeral ceremonies should be performed. At that moment, to the alarm of all present, Mr. Tennent opened his eyes, gave a dreadful groan, and relapsed again into apparent lifelessness. This movement was twice repeated after an interval of an hour, when life permanently remained, and the patient slowly recovered. Absolute forgetfulness of all knowl edge marked his return to consciousness. He was totally ignorant of every transaction of his life previous to his sickness. He had to be taught reading, writing, and all things, as if he was a new-born child. At length he felt a sudden shock in his head, and from that moment his recollection was by degrees restored. These circumstances made a profound impression on the public mind, and became the theme of philosophical speculation and inquiry. When the storm abated we left the church and proceeded to the battle-ground. The old parsonage is in the present possession of Mr. William T. Sutphen, who has allowed the parlor and study of Tennent and Woodhull to be used as a depository of grain and of agricultural implements! The careless neglect which permits a mansion so hallowed by religion and patriotic events to fall into utter ruin, is actual desecration, and much to be reprehended and deplored. The windows are destroyed; the roof is falling into the chambers; and in a few years not a vestige will be left of that venerable memento of the field of Monmouth. We visited the spot where Monckton fell; the place of the causeway across the morass (now a small bridge upon the main road); and, after taking a general view of the whole ground of conflict, and sketching the picture on page 362, returned to Freehold in time to dine, and take the stage for the station at Jamesburg, on my way home. It had been to me a day of rarest interest and pleasure, notwithstanding the inclement weather; for no battle-field in our country has stronger claims to the reverence of the American heart than that of the plains of Monmouth. I am sure they'll be clever; it seems their whole study; If they spare us for murder they'll spare us for lying." 1 Mr. Tennent has left on record the following graphic account of his feelings while his body was in a state of catalepsy: "While I was conversing with my brother on the state of my soul, and the fears I had entertained for my future welfare, I found myself, in an instant, in another state of existence, under the direction of a Superior Being, who ordered me to follow him. I was accordingly wafted along, I know not how, till I beheld at a distance an ineffable glory, the impression of which on my mind it is impossible to communicate to mortal man. I immediately reflected on my happy change, and thought, Well, blessed be God I am safe at last, notwithstanding all my fears. I saw an innumerable host of happy beings surrounding the inexpressible glory, in acts of adoration and joyous worship; but I did not see any bodily shape or representation in the glorious appearance. I heard things unutterable. I heard their songs and hallelujahs of thanksgiving and praise, with unspeakable rapture. I felt joy unutterable and full of glory. I then applied to my conductor, and requested leave to join the happy throng; on which he tapped me on the shoulder, and said, 'You must return to the earth.' This seemed like a sword through my heart. In an instant I recollect to have seen my brother standing before me disputing with the doctor. The three days during which I had appeared lifeless seemed to me not more than ten or twenty minutes. The idea of returning to this world of sorrow and trouble gave me such a shock, that I fainted repeatedly."-Life of William Tennent, by Elias Boudinot, LL.D. Mr. Tennent said that, for three years, the ravishing sounds he had heard and the words that were uttered were not out of his ears. He was often importuned to tell what words were uttered, but declined, saying, "You will know them, with many other particulars, hereafter, as you will find the whole among my papers." Boudinot was with the army when Tennent died, and, before he could reach his house, the family, with all his effects, had gone with a son to South Carolina. He was taken sick about fifty miles from Charleston, and died among strangers. Although Boudinot was the executor of both father and son, he never discovered any trace of Tennent's papers. The Pine Robbers. The men and women of the Revolution, but a few years since numerous in the neighborhood of Freehold, have passed away, but the narrative of their trials during the war have left abiding records of patriotism upon the hearts of their descendants. I listened to many tales concerning the "Pine Robbers" and other Tory desperadoes of the time, who kept the people of Monmouth county in a state of continual alarm. Many noble deeds of daring were achieved by the tillers of the soil, and their mothers, wives, and sisters; and while the field of Monmouth attested the bravery and endurance of American soldiers, the inhabitants, whose households were disturbed on that Sabbath morning by the bugle and the cannonpeal, exhibited, in their daily course, the loftiest patriotism and manly courage. We will leave the task of recording the acts of their heroism to the pen of the local historian, and, hastening back to Valley Forge, resume the reins and depart for Paoli, for the short November day is fast waning. 1 The Pine Robbers were a band of marauding Tories, who infested the large districts of pine woods in the lower part of Monmouth county, whence they made predatory excursions among the Whigs of the neighboring country. They burrowed caves in the sand-hills for places of shelter and retreat, on the borders of swamps, and, covering them with brush, effectually concealed them. From these dens they sallied forth at midnight to burn, plunder, and murder. Nor were the people safe in the daytime, for the scoundrels would often issue from their hiding-places, and fall upon the farmer in his field. The people were obliged to carry muskets while at their work, and their families were kept in a state of continual terror. Of these depredators, the most prominent were Fenton, Fagan, Williams, Debow, West, and Carter. Fenton was the arch-fiend of the pandemonium of the Pines. He was a blacksmith of Freehold, large and muscular. He early took to the business of the Tories, and began his career of villainy by robbery. He plundered a tailor's shop in Freehold township. Already a committee of vigilance was organized. They sent Fenton word that, if he did not return the plunder, he should be hunted and shot. Intimidated, he sent back the clothing, with the following savage note appended: I have returned your damned rags. In a short time I am coming to burn your barns and houses, and roast you all like a pack of kittens!" Fenton soon proceeded to put his threat into execution. One summer night, at the head of a gang of desperadoes, he attacked the dwelling of an aged man near Imlaytown, named Farr. Himself, wife, and daughter composed the family. They barricaded the door, and kept the scoundrels at bay for a while. Fenton finally broke in a portion of the door, and, firing through the opening, broke the leg of the old man with a musket-ball. They forced an entrance at last, murdered the wife, and then dispatched the helpless old man. The daughter, badly wounded, escaped, and the miscreants, becoming alarmed, fled without taking any plunder with them. Fenton was afterward shot by a young soldier of Lee's legion, then lying at Monmouth court-house. The robber had plundered and beaten a young man while on his way from a mill. He gave information to Lee, who detailed a sergeant and two soldiers to capture or destroy the villain. The young man, and the sergeant disguised as a countryman, took a seat in a wagon, while the two soldiers, armed, were concealed under some straw in the bottom of the vehicle, and proceeded toward the mill, expecting to meet Fenton on the road. From a low groggery among the Pines the robber came out, with a pistol, and commanded them to halt. He then inquired if they had brandy, to which an affirmative was given, and a bottle handed to him. While drinking, one of the soldiers, at a signal from the sergeant, arose, and shot the villain through the head. His body was thrown into the wagon, and conveyed in triumph to Freehold. Fagan and West were also shot by the exasperated people. The body of the latter was suspended in chains, with hoop-iron bands around it, upon a chestnut by the road-side, about a mile from Freehold, on the way to Colt's Neck, where it was left to be destroyed by carrion birds. The sufferings of the people from these marauders made such a deep impression, that the lapse of years could not efface it from the hearts of those who felt their scourge, and even the third generation of the samilies of Tories were objects of hate to some of the surviving sufferers. An old lady, ninety years of age, with whom I conversed at Boundbrook, became greatly excited while talking of what her family endured from the Pine Robbers and other Tories, and spoke indignantly of one or two families in Monmouth county who were descendants of Loyalists. Philip Freneau, from whose poems I have frequently quoted, was native of this county. He was graduated at Princeton College in 1771. His poems, written chiefly during the Revolution and immediately after, were vigorous, and sometimes beautiful. He was found dead in a bog, in which he was mired, near Freehold, on the 18th of December, 1832, and was buried in that village. See page 659. a |