From Trenton Grandma Elsie, the captain, and their young charges went on to Princeton, where they received a most joyful welcome from Harold and Herbert Travilla, now spending their last year at the seminary.

Their mother had written to them of the intended visit, and all necessary arrangements had been made. Carriages were in waiting, and shortly after their arrival the whole party were on their way to the battleground, where the attention of the young people was drawn to the various points of interest, particularly the spot where fell General Mercer.

"The general's horse was wounded in the leg by a musket ball," explained Harold, in reply to a question from his little brother; "he dismounted, and was rallying his troops, when a British soldier felled him to the ground by a blow from a musket.

"He was supposed to be Washington. A shout, was raised, 'The rebel general is taken!' and at that others of the enemy rushed to the spot calling out, 'Call for quarter, you d—d rebel!'

"'I am no rebel!' Mercer answered indignantly, though half a dozen of their bayonets were at his breast; and instead of calling for quarter he continued to fight, striking at them with his sword till they bayoneted him and left him for dead.

"He was not dead, however, but mortally wounded.

"After the British had retreated he was carried to the house of Thomas Clark," continued Harold, pointing out the building as he spoke, "where he lingered in great pain till the 12th and then died."

"I'm glad it wasn't Washington," said Walter.

"Was Washington hurt at all, papa?" asked Grace.

"No, though exposed to the hottest fire he escaped without injury," replied the captain. "God our Heavenly Father preserved him for his great work—the salvation of our country. 'Man is immortal till his work is done'—and Washington's was not done till years afterward."

"Not even when the war was over; for he was our first president, I remember," said Lulu.

"Yes," replied her father, "and he did much for his country in that capacity.

"The night before this battle of Princeton he and his army were in a critical situation, the British being fully equal in numbers and their troops well disciplined, while about half of Washington's army was composed of raw militia—so that a general engagement the next day would be almost sure to result in defeat to the Americans.

"Washington called a council of war. It was he himself who proposed to withdraw from their present position—on the high ground upon the southern bank of the Assanpink—before dawn of the next morning, and, by a circuitous march to Princeton, get in the rear of the enemy, attack them at that place, and if successful march on to New Brunswick and take or destroy his stores there.

"The great difficulty in the way was that the ground was too soft, from a thaw, to make it safe and easy to move their forty pieces of cannon.

"But a kind Providence removed that hindrance, the weather suddenly becoming so extremely cold that in two hours or less the roads were hard enough for the work."

"As Lossing says," remarked Grandma Elsie, "'The great difficulty was overcome by a power mightier than that of man. Our fathers were fighting for God-given rights and it was by his help they at last succeeded.'"

"What's the rest of the story?" asked Walter. "How did Washington and his army slip away without the British seeing them? For I suppose they had sentinels awake and out."

"Washington had a number of camp fires lighted along his front," replied Harold, to whom the question seemed to be addressed, "making them of the fences near at hand. That made the British think he was encamped for the night, and Cornwallis, when some one urged him to make an attack that night, said he would certainly 'catch the fox in the morning.' The fox, of course, was Washington, but he didn't catch him. It was not till dawn he discovered that the fox had eluded him and slipped away, fleeing so silently that the British did not know in what direction he had gone till they heard the boom of the cannon in the fight here.

"Cornwallis thought it was thunder, but Sir William Erskine recognized it as what it was and exclaimed, 'To arms, General! Washington has outgeneraled us. Let us fly to the rescue at Princeton.'"

"How long did the battle last?" queried Walter.

"The fight right here lasted about fifteen minutes, but was very severe," replied his brother. "Then Washington pushed on to Princeton, and in a ravine near the college had another sharp fight with the Fifty-fifth British regiment."

"And whipped them too?"

"Yes; they were soon flying toward Brunswick, the Fortieth regiment going along with them.

"A part of a regiment was still in the college buildings, and Washington had some cannon placed in proper position, then began firing on them. One of the balls—it is said to have been the first—passed into the chapel and through the head of a portrait of George the Second that hung in a large frame on the wall. A few more shots were fired, and then the Princeton militia, and some other daring fellows, burst open a door of Nassau Hall and called upon the troops there to surrender, which they did promptly."

"And Cornwallis had not reached there yet?" Walter said interrogatively.

"No," returned Harold, "and when he did arrive he found that the battle was over, and Washington, with his victorious troops and prisoners, had already left the town and was in hot pursuit of the fleeing Fortieth and Fifty-fifth regiments."

"And our poor fellows so tired and cold!" sighed Eva.

"Yes," said the captain, "they had fought at Trenton on the 26th, after being up, probably, all night, getting across the river, had spent the next night in marching upon Princeton and the day in fighting; so that they must have been terribly fatigued even had they had the warm clothing and nourishing food they needed; but less than half of them had been able to procure any breakfast or dinner; and, as you all know, many of them were without shoes or stockings. Ah, how we should prize the liberty which was so dearly bought!"

"So to save his army," resumed Harold, "Washington refrained from an effort to seize the rich prize at New Brunswick, and let them rest that night and refresh themselves with food; then retired to his winter quarters at Morristown.

"Now, good people, if you are ready to retrace your steps, let us go back and look at the town souvenirs of the revolution; among them the portrait of Washington in the frame that used to hold that of George the Second."

Our friends made but a short stay at Princeton, leaving that evening, and the next day visited the scene of the battle of Monmouth. The captain gave a rapid sketch of the movements of the opposing armies, as he did so pointing out the various positions of the different corps, describing Lee's disgraceful conduct at the beginning of the fight, telling of the just indignation of Washington, his stern reproof, Lee's angry rejoinder, and then with what consummate skill and despatch his errors were repaired by the general-in-chief—the retreating, almost routed, troops rallied, and order brought out of confusion, and how fearlessly he exposed himself to the iron storm while giving his orders so that that patriot army, which had been so near destruction, within half an hour was drawn up in battle array and ready to meet the foe.

"It was a very hot day, wasn't it, papa?" asked Lulu.

"One of the hottest of the season," replied her father, "ninety-six degrees in the shade; and the sun slew his victims on both sides."

"Don't you think Lee was a traitor, Captain?" queried Evelyn.

"Either that or insane. I think it would have been a happy thing for America if both he and Gaines had remained in their own land. They did the American cause far more harm than good. Though I by no means accuse Gaines of treachery, but he was envious of Washington, and so desirous to supersede him that he was ready to sacrifice the cause to that end."

"I just wish he'd been sent back to England," said Walter. "But please tell us the rest about the battle, Brother Levis, won't you?"

The captain willingly complied.

"It was a dreadful battle," remarked Evelyn with a sigh, as his story came to a conclusion.

"Yes, one of the most hotly contested of the war," he assented, "and resulted in victory to the Americans in spite of Lee's repeated assertion that the 'attempt was madness.'

"All the other American generals did well, the country resounded with praises of Washington, and Congress passed a unanimous vote of thanks to him 'for his great and good conduct and victory.'"

"It was in this battle Captain Molly fought, wasn't it?" asked Rosie.

"Yes," the captain replied; and, noticing the eagerly inquiring looks of Grace and Walter, he went on to tell the story.

"Molly was the wife of a cannoneer who was firing one of the field-pieces, while she, disregarding the danger from the shots of the enemy, made frequent journeys to and from a spring near at hand, thus furnishing her husband with the means of slacking his thirst, which must have been great at such work in such weather.

"At length a shot from the enemy killed him, and an order was given to remove the cannon, as there was no one among the soldiers near who was capable of its management.

"But Molly, who had seen her husband fall, and heard the order, dropped her bucket, sprang to the cannon, seized the rammer, and, vowing that she would avenge his death, fired it with surprising skill, performing the duty probably as well as if she had belonged to the sterner sex.

"The next morning General Greene presented her—just as she was, all covered with dust and blood—to Washington, who gave her the commission of sergeant as a reward for her bravery; in addition to that he recommended her to Congress as worthy to have her name placed upon the list of those entitled to half-pay during life.

"The French officers so admired her bravery that they made her many presents. Lossing tells us that she would sometimes pass along their lines and get her cocked hat full of crowns. He also says the widow of General Hamilton told him she had often seen 'Captain Molly,' as she was called, and described her as a red-haired, freckle-faced young Irish woman, with a handsome piercing eye."

"Papa, did she wear a man's hat?" asked Grace.

"Yes, and also an artilleryman's coat over her woman's petticoats. She had done a brave deed about nine months before the battle of Monmouth, when Fort Clinton was taken by the British. She was there with her husband when the fort was attacked, and when the Americans retreated from the fort, and the enemy were scaling the ramparts, her husband dropped his match and fled, but Molly picked it up and fired the gun, then scampered off after him. That was the last gun fired in the fort by the Americans."

"And this battle of Monmouth was a great victory for us—for the Americans, I mean?" Walter said inquiringly.

"Yes, in spite of the shameful retreat of Lee and the unaccountable detention of Morgan and his brave riflemen, who were within sound of the fearful tumult of the battle and eager to take part in it, Morgan striding to and fro in an agony of suspense, and desire to participate in the struggle, yet unaccountably detained where he was."

"And that was some of that traitor Lee's doings, I suspect," exclaimed Lulu hotly. "Wasn't it, papa?"

"My dear child, I do not know," returned the captain, "but it seems altogether probable that if Morgan could have fallen, with his fresh troops, upon the weary ones of Sir Henry Clinton, toward the close of the day, the result might have been such a surrender as Burgoyne was forced to make at Saratoga.

"But as it was, while Washington and his weary troops slept that night, the general looking forward to certain victory in the morning, when he could again attack his country's foes with his own troops strengthened and refreshed by sleep, Sir Henry and his army stole silently away and hurried toward Sandy Hook."

"Did Washington chase him?" asked Walter.

"No," said the captain; "when he considered the start the British had, the weariness of his own troops, the excessive heat of the weather, and the deep sandy country, with but little water to be had, he thought it wiser not to make the attempt."

"Papa, was it near here that the British shot Mrs. Caldwell?" asked Lulu.

"No; that occurred in a place called Connecticut Farms, about four miles northwest of Elizabethtown, to which they—the Caldwells—had removed for greater safety.

"It was in June, 1780. The British under Clinton and Knyphausen crossed over to Elizabethtown and moved on toward Springfield. The Americans, under General Greene, were posted upon the Short Hills, a series of high ridges near Springfield, and came down to the plain to oppose the invasion of the British. I will not go into the details of the battle, but merely say that the British were finally repulsed, Greene being so advantageously posted by that time that he was anxious for an engagement, but Knyphausen, perceiving his own disadvantage, retreated, setting fire to the village of Connecticut Farms (now called Union) on his way.

"The people of the town fled when they perceived the approach of the British, but Mrs. Caldwell remained, and with her children and maid retired to a private apartment and engaged in prayer.

"Presently her maid, glancing from a window, exclaimed that a red-coated soldier had jumped over the fence and was coming toward the window.

"At that Mrs. Caldwell rose from the bed where she had been sitting, and at that moment the soldier raised his musket and deliberately fired at her through the window, sending two balls through her body, killing her instantly, so that she fell dead among her poor frightened children.

"It was with some difficulty that her body was saved from the fire which was consuming the town. It was dragged out into the street, and lay exposed there for some time—several hours—till some of her friends got leave to remove it to a house on the other side of the street.

"Her husband was at the Short Hills that night, and in great anxiety and distress about his family; the next day he went with a flag of truce to the village, found it in ruins, and his wife dead.

"That cold-blooded murder and wanton destruction of the peaceful little village aroused great indignation all over the land and turned many a Tory into a Whig."

"Did anybody ever find out who it was that killed her, papa?" asked Grace.

"The murderer is said to have been a man from the north of Ireland, named McDonald, who for some unknown reason had taken a violent dislike to Mr. Caldwell.

"But little more than a year afterward Mr. Caldwell himself was slain, in a very similar manner, but by an American soldier."

"An American, Brother Levis?" exclaimed Walter, in unfeigned surprise. "Did he do it intentionally?"

"The shooting was intentional, but whether meant to kill I cannot say," replied the captain; "the fellow who did it is said to have been a drunken Irishman. It happened at Elizabethtown, then in possession of the Americans. A sloop made weekly trips between that place and New York, where were the headquarters of the British army at that time—and frequently carried passengers with a flag, and also parcels.

"The Americans had a strong guard at a tavern near the shore, and one or two sentinels paced the causeway that extended across the marsh to the wharf.

"One day in November, 1781, the vessel came in with a lady on board who had permission to visit a sister at Elizabethtown, and Mr. Caldwell drove down to the wharf in his chaise to receive her; then, not finding her on the wharf, went aboard the sloop and presently returned, carrying a small bundle.

"The sentinel on the causeway halted Mr. Caldwell and demanded the bundle for examination, saying he had been ordered not to let anything of the kind pass without strict investigation.

"Mr. Caldwell refused to give it to the man—James Morgan, by name—saying it was the property of a lady and had been merely put in his care.

"The sentinel repeated his demand and Mr. Caldwell turned and went toward the vessel, it is presumed to carry the bundle back to its owner, when the sentinel leveled his piece and shot him dead upon the spot.

"Morgan was arrested, tried for murder, and hung. He was first taken to the church, where a sermon was preached from the text 'Oh, do not this abominable thing which I hate.'

"Mr. Caldwell had been much beloved as a pious and excellent minister. He was shot on Saturday afternoon, and the next day many of his people came in to attend church knowing nothing of the dreadful deed that had been done till they arrived.

"Then there was a great sound of weeping and lamentation. The corpse was placed on a large stone at the door of the house of a friend whither it had been carried, and all who wished to do so were allowed to take a last look at the remains of their beloved pastor. Then, before the coffin was closed, Dr. Elias Boudinot led the nine orphan children up to the coffin to take their last look at the face of their father, and, as they stood weeping there, made a most moving address in their behalf."

A few more days were spent by our friends in and about Philadelphia, during which brief visits were paid to places interesting to them because the scenes of historical events of the Revolution—Whitemarsh, Germantown, Barren Hill, Valley Forge, beside those within the city itself.

But the summer heats were over and the hearts of one and all began to yearn for the sweets of home; all the more when word reached them through the mails that the members of their party left in the Newport cottages had already succumbed to the same sort of sickness, and were on their homeward way by land. A day or two later the Dolphin, with her full complement of passengers, was moving rapidly southward.