A week subsequent to Clara’s arrival in Venice, whither she had come after a month’s search in Paris, Naples, Florence and Rome, for her husband, she sat by the bed-side of Alfred, now rapidly recovering, while Ella, their beautiful child, over a year old, was sleeping in her arms.

“I know it would have been better, Clara, far better,” said the invalid, replying to a remark which his wife had made. “But the disasters of that western business put me half beside myself. Ah me! how much happier we would have been if your fortune had been like my own—nothing.”

A cloud flitted over the brow of Clara as he made this last remark. She sighed faintly, and was silent.

“I am weak and foolish on this subject,” said he, after a few moments. “But you understand why it is so. The weight of a feather will hurt an inflamed wound.”

Clara looked at her husband half reproachfully, and then changed the subject.

A year longer Ellison remained in Italy, devoting his time to study and practice in the higher schools of art, and then turned his face homeward, taking with him about twenty pictures, half of which were his own compositions, and all of a high order of merit.

There is now, in the city of New York, an artist whose pictures are scarcely dry from the easel ere they meet with purchasers at a liberal price. His portraits are among the finest that are produced, and he is, consequently, never without a sitter. Money flows in to him by thousands, and from the proceeds of his own work, he has surrounded himself with all the elegances of life that a man of taste could desire. That artist is Ellison. Fifteen years have elapsed since the painful events we have described transpired. But success has not entirely obliterated the marks they left behind. To let his mind go back and linger thoughtfully on the past, is but to throw a shadow over his spirit. Often, as he looks into the face of his wife, comes upon him the remembrance that he sought her, at first, less for herself than for the external advantages she would bring him, and that she knows of the mercenary feelings which drew him to her side.

“If she had been poor, like myself,” he often sighs, as he turns away from some memory of the past, “there would have been nothing to dim the sunshine of our happiness; nor, if I had won my way to success by the force of my own talents, ere I asked to lead her to the altar. Alas! that the fine gold of affection should have been dimmed by the base alloy of selfishness!”

That the inflamed spot, fretted into painfulness by the touch of even a feather, still remains, is evident from the fact, that he has settled ten thousand dollars upon his wife, and will not touch a farthing of the income it yields. By this act he keeps alive in his own mind, as well as in that of Clara, the memory of things that should be buried with the mistakes and errors of the past, and thus robs both her and himself of a portion of the happiness that is rightfully their due. On this subject, suffering has made him little less than a monomaniac; and such he will probably remain while he lives. How true is it that our motives give quality to our acts, and mar all the effects that flow from them if they be stained with selfishness. Most true is this of marriage. If a base or mercenary end influence us in entering into this relation, unhappiness must inevitably follow. A reaction, such as that which occurred in the case of Ellison, may not take place; but there will come a reaction of some kind, and that a painful one, as surely as an effect follows its producing cause. Thousands around us fail to secure a true union in marriage, that consummation above all things desired by the heart, and for no other reason than the one here assigned. Of all motives from which we act, let those leading to marriage be freest from alloy. We may err in other things, and escape without a severe penalty; but never in marriage. We cannot do violence to the heart’s best affections without after years of pain and unavailing repentance.

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BY THOMAS WYATT, A. M., AUTHOR Of “HISTORY Of THE KINGS Of FRANCE,” ETC. ETC. ETC.

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[SEE ENGRAVING.]

In the early part of the seventeenth century a number of families emigrated to New England and took up their residence in the colony of Plymouth.

Among them was a family of the name of Greene, from which the subject of this memoir was a lineal descendant. Not many years after their settlement there, religious controversies began to wear a serious aspect, and John Greene becoming involved in them, determined to remove with his family to the settlement formed a year before, by Roger Williams, on the banks of the Providence river. We find the name of John Greene recorded among the twenty-four original colonists, who obtained a permanent organization by the charter of Charles the Second. From that period, members of this family are frequently mentioned as holding offices of dignity and trust; one of them was Governor of Rhode Island during several years of the revolutionary war.

Nathaniel Greene, a brother of Governor Greene, and direct in descent from the original emigrant, had established himself as an anchor-smith near the head waters of a small stream, which still retains its Indian name of Potowhommett.

On the settlement of this town it was named Warwick, where the subject of this sketch, and son of the above Nathaniel Greene, was born, on the 27th of May, 1742.

The first years of his life were almost exclusively passed in the labors of the farm, for which he was well adapted by a strong and vigorous constitution. Losing his mother when he was only ten years of age, his domestic education more immediately devolved upon his father, who was a rigid disciplinarian, confining his son very closely to agricultural pursuits, and a stand at the anvil. This was continued through the spring and summer, but at the approach of winter a teacher was sought to reside in the family to teach the elements of an English education.

The Bible was the only book allowed to be used in the family of the Quaker preacher, for such was the rank his father held. But to Nathaniel such an education was too limited, and therefore unsatisfactory; he accordingly, as fast as his small savings would permit, purchased himself a small, but well selected library, and often spent the whole night, after the family supposed he had retired to bed, in regular study. An acquaintance casually formed, at the age of fourteen, with a young man who happened to be spending his college vacation at Warwick, first directed his attention to higher and more absorbing pursuits. It is not for us to conjecture what passed between Greene and his newly found friend. But whatever it was, the spark in his coarse clad bosom soon became ignited, and kindled into a flame that was never to be quenched.

The next winter another teacher was engaged, better qualified to direct the first efforts of a mind awakening to a consciousness of its powers, and with him he studied mathematics and the classics.

He had now reached his twentieth year, and by patient industry and unwavering perseverance he had acquired a certain amount of knowledge, which was a matter of surprise to his neighbors, having so little leisure between the mill and the forge. Every penny of his hard-earned savings was devoted to his library, and he now possessed many valuable and standard works which he considered gems of invaluable worth. His life was regular but methodical, one cup of coffee in the morning, and one substantial meal in the afternoon sufficed for each day. His father, as has been before observed, was a strict disciplinarian, and every morning strictly laid out the duty which Nathaniel had to perform before night; this task he was never known to neglect, but always carried in his pocket some favorite volume, as a relaxation during the few intervals of leisure through the day.

It might easily be supposed, that with such strict habits he would have lost all his original buoyancy of spirits and love of frolic, but it was the reverse; it appeared to give a stronger zest to his sports, and no sooner was his mind relaxed from study or toil, than he entered at once into some feat of agility or mimic, in which art he so frequently displayed his skill. In notes written by his grandson, while consul at Rome, we find the following amusing anecdote: he says—“His chief passion was dancing, and that pleasure was often purchased at the risk of a fall from the window through which, when the watchful eyes of his father were closed in sleep, he would steal away to the scenes that he loved. It happened once, however, that something had excited his father’s suspicion, and set him upon the watch. There was a ball in the neighborhood to which young Greene was invited. The dance continued until late in the night, and he was cautiously making his way homeward, when whom should he see but his father, with horse-whip in hand, patiently pacing to and fro beneath the window. Retreat would have been useless, for the door was locked, and there was no other way of getting into the house. He knew the inflexible severity of his father too well to dream of escape, for dancing, of all misdemeanors, was most heinous in the eyes of a Quaker, and there was nothing to be done but to submit to his punishment with the best grace he could.

“But, while he made up his mind to take his flogging patiently, he was resolved to suffer as little from it as possible; and accordingly, before he presented himself to the lash, he cautiously thrust under his clothes three or four shingles, from a pile that chanced to be lying near him, and then coolly advanced to meet his father. The reception was just such as he was prepared for, and the blows fell quick and heavy upon his corselet of shingles.”

Some of his biographers have said that this love of frolic yielded at last to the rigorous discipline of his parent, but this is a mistake. Many years after this, when on a visit to Block Island, to the family of the lady who subsequently became his wife, dancing and riding were his chief amusements, and many persons remember to have seen him in his house at Newport, after the close of the war, amusing himself by playing with his wife the old game of poor puss wants a corner. About this time there was a considerable change in domestic affairs, his father purchased a new mill at Coventry, a few miles distant from his home, and made him the director. For the first time in his life he felt that he was his own master, and possessing a small share in the concern, his resources were enlarged, together with the means of employing them. His library, which had been but scantily supplied, now felt the benefit of this change, for it soon reached to between two and three hundred volumes, which at that period was considered an extensive affair. He now began to feel of some importance in the neighborhood in which he had made his new home. He began also to take an active part in public affairs, and was soon the means of establishing the first public school at Coventry, the result of the interest he took in all that related to the cultivation of mind. In 1770 he was elected to the General Assembly of the Colony, and from his zeal in the general cause, he continued to be returned for the town of Coventry until sometime after his appointment to the command of the Southern army. As a member of the Assembly he was distinguished for his dispassionate and patient investigation.

A portion of a correspondence of this period is still preserved, which shows how steadily he kept in view the cultivation and expansion of his mind. In 1769 a circumstance took place which caused much excitement, in which Greene took a conspicuous position.

It was the burning of the Gaspee in Providence river. On this occasion Greene’s bold and unequivocal expression of his sentiments drew upon him the suspicions of the royal agents, and it was expected he would have been summoned before the special tribunal convened at Newport to trace out and condemn the destroyers of the Gaspee.

From the exciting events continually occurring around him, Greene became convinced that the hour was not far distant when both parties must bring their differences to the test of the sword, and that nothing less than the sword could settle them. Being satisfied on this point, and determined to share in the contest, he at once commenced qualifying himself for the part he considered it his duty to take. With his usual energy he studied the art of war, and as military history had long been one of his favorite branches, his progress in this new science was both rapid and sure. He soon found himself absorbed in the study of Sharp’s Military Guide, Memoirs of Turenne, CÆsar’s Commentaries and Plutarch, for these were his text books. Every day brought fresh news, and the sound of preparation summoned the farmer from his plough and the mechanic from his workshop. Companies were organising in all parts of the country, and a review of a great number of men already under arms took place at Plainfield, which was witnessed by Greene with much enthusiasm and pleasure. This conduct, so entirely opposed to the rigid doctrines of the broad-brims, gave great displeasure, and he was summoned before some of their leading men appointed for the purpose of remonstrating with him for this open violation of their rules, and to endeavor to bring him back to that peaceful doctrine of his ancestors. He received their remonstrances with respectful silence, but informed them that it was his intention to persevere in the part he had embraced.

This of course caused an immediate expulsion from their society, to which he was never again united.

About this time, another change took place in his domestic situation. During his frequent visits at the house of Governor Greene, a lineal descendant of the founder of the family, he became acquainted with a young lady of the name of Littlefield, a niece of the wife of the Governor; and a few visits consummated the impressions so mutually made at their first interview. It was during his visits to the young lady at her house on Block Island where he indulged so freely his taste for dancing, the more so, perhaps, for having recently thrown off his Quaker’s garb. On the 20th of July, 1774, he was married at the residence of the lady’s father on Block Island, and returned to his home in Coventry to commence the enjoyment of a married life. But he was not suffered long to enjoy the repose of domestic life, the political horizon seemed to grow darker every day, and men were looking around them for the first burst of the tempest which they were assured must soon come. In almost every county or town independent companies were being raised.

One of these was formed at East Greenwich, under the name of the Kentish Guards, and Greene was solicited to become their lieutenant; this however failed, he not being able to obtain a sufficient number of votes, and he enrolled himself as a private in the same company. One of the most serious difficulties which they had to surmount was a proper supply of arms; but Greene (whose decision was prompt and decisive) made a visit to Boston under the pretext of collecting an old debt for his father, in order to look up and procure the necessary accoutrements for the company.

There he beheld for the first time an array of armed men sent from beyond the sea for the subjugation of his native land.

During his visit he was very punctual in his attendance on their morning and evening parades, and carefully noted down every remarkable evolution; at the same time referring to the lessons given in his text book. Little did the British officers, while glittering under their scarlet and gold, dream who was looking on them, or how fatally their lessons would be applied. It so happened that he fell in company with a deserter, whom he at once engaged to return with him to Rhode Island and become drill-master to the guards. This he considered a signal triumph, and having procured all he wished in the way of equipments, and bribed a wagoner to hide both the accoutrements and the new drill-master under the straw of his wagon, made the best of their way to Coventry unharmed.

It was not many weeks after their return, when the news of the first outbreak was announced to them in the battle of Lexington. Not a moment was lost, the drum of the Kentish Guards beat to arms, and they were soon on their march toward Boston. News having reached the Governor that they had left for the seat of war, he sent a peremptory message for their immediate return, and, strange to say, the whole company, with the exception of Greene, his brother, and another, responded to the request and returned to their homes; these three gallant fellows mounted their horses and repaired with all haste toward the scene of action, but before they had completed half their journey they were met with the welcome tidings of the retreat of the British, and the triumph of their countrymen. The first blow being given, retaliation commenced with vigor; delegates were dispatched in all directions, calling for assistance in this trying emergency. The Assembly of Rhode Island voted an army of one thousand six hundred men. The army was to receive its officers from the Assembly; and then it was that Greene’s real position among his colleagues was felt, by the unanimous voice of that body he was raised to the rank of major-general. In a few days his preparations were completed, and in less than one year from the day of his marriage, he entered upon that career in which he was to encounter so many hardships and reap so high a fame. Greene having attained the age of thirty-three, in the month of May, 1775, assumed the command as major-general of the Rhode Island troops to the army of the united colonies. It was well for him that his mind and body had long been trained to habits of laborious exertion, for he soon found himself surrounded with cares and anxieties which no one but a commander of an undisciplined army can understand. His military knowledge, obtained by his studies, was now brought into actual service, and the information gained from the instruction of the deserted drill-master was of immense importance to him. Greene was a man who had made human nature his favorite study, and deep indeed must have been that disguise which could escape his penetrating glance. With these important qualities, he commanded with more than ordinary success, his opinion was always listened to with deference and a preference given to his acknowledged military talents. A gentleman of distinction, who happened to be present at a court-martial upon which he was sitting a few weeks after the battle of Bunker’s Hill, was so struck with the sagacity and pertinence of his remarks, and the commanding dignity of his aspect, that without even knowing his name, pronounced him to be a man of real military genius, and decidedly the ablest member of the court. In entering seriously upon his military duties, Greene had firmly resolved to submit to every sacrifice, and endure every hardship in the fulfillment of them. The zeal and energy with which he applied himself in the discipline of his men, caused his troops to be pronounced, by a member of Washington’s own staff, as the best disciplined men in the service. On the 3d of July, General Washington joined the camp at Boston.

His arrival was hailed with great delight by Greene, who was anxious that the forces of the country should be brought together under one common head. In order to make his sentiments more publicly known, he welcomed him to the army in the name of his troops; and the feelings emanating from such relative positions, led to the formation of that affectionate and confidential intercourse, which ceased only with life. The first duty assigned the commander-in-chief, was to place the army upon the continental establishment, the officers till now, holding their commissions from their respective states, were received into the immediate service of the united colonies.

Some dissatisfaction was felt among the officers, on account of the changes in rank, but Greene found that he had no cause for complaint at being required to exchange the rank of major-general to brigadier, which was offered him in the name of Congress.

Shortly after the arrival of General Washington, the command of the left wing had been given to Major-General Lee, and Greene with his brigade placed under him. Nearly a year passed away without any decisive movements on either side, although both Washington and Greene were anxious to make the trial. “Out of an army of twenty thousand men,” says Greene, “it will be hard if we cannot find eight thousand who will do their duty.” But many of the officers were of a different opinion, and to their decision he was obliged to acquiesce. At this time serious apprehensions were entertained of the small-pox, which was known to be raging in Boston, and against which few were guarded by inoculation.

By Greene’s advice, a hospital was established at Coventry, for the inoculation of the officers; and sending his family into hired lodgings, he gave up his own house for the purpose.

During the excitement which this disease caused among both officers and men, Greene was seized with a severe attack of jaundice, the first illness he ever had, probably the consequence of this new mode of life; and this, too, at a time when many officers and men were down with the small-pox, and strong reasons for supposing that an attack would at length be made upon Boston. “Sick or well,” says he, “I intend to be there, if I am able to sit on my horse.” But the attempt was not made; and when, a month after, positive preparations were making for an assault by water, to support the movements at Dorchester, a brigade of four thousand picked men was entrusted to his command.

A sudden tempest frustrated the plans of the British commander, compelling him to put off the assault which he had meditated upon the right wing of the American army; and when the storm ceased, it was too late to attempt it with any chance of success. He, hastily embarking his troops, evacuated Boston.

Washington now ordered the forces to withdraw with all speed to New York, where he next expected to meet the enemy. Greene was ordered to march with all haste, and take up his quarters at Brooklyn. He had not reached his destination when he was seized with a bilious fever, which brought him to the brink of the grave. This was in the month of August, and during this severe attack, the battle of Long Island was fought; when the news reached him and he was hardly able to raise his head from his pillow, he exclaimed, “Gracious God! to be confined at such a time!” From his bed he heard the sound of the cannon, and received with the keenest anxiety the reports which were brought to him every half hour of the progress of the battle. When he was told of the havoc that had been made in Smallwood’s gallant band, his favorite regiment, he could no longer restrain his feelings, but burst into an agony of tears, accompanied by such severe spasms as to alarm the attendants who were near him. Well might he mourn over such a misfortune, for it was very generally believed, that had he been permitted to have been present, the reverses of that memorable day would have been changed. As soon as he was able to mount his horse, he was again at his post, the duties of which had been much enlarged by his promotion to the rank of major-general. The fate of New York was the question which was now in suspense; and Greene being stationed at HÆrlem, took part in his first battle; for he had hitherto seen nothing but distant cannonades and slight skirmishes; in his journal he speaks of it as one in which he had “fought hard.”

No sooner had this battle taken place than new difficulties appeared before him; the terms of service of a large portion of the troops was about to expire, and no measures taken to supply their places. The only resource that remained was the militia, and very many of them had refused to serve, alledging as an excuse the assurances of peace, liberty and safety which had been given them by the British. This was a moment of conflict, and he found that the strong hand of the soldier must be used to enforce the injunctions of the law. He instantly ordered down a detachment of his regulars, to check it in its bud, threatening them, at the same time, with the rigors of garrison duty in Fort Lee, as a punishment for their cowardice.

Early on the morning of the 18th of November, Lord Cornwallis crossed the Hudson with a strong body of the British and Hessians, intending an attack upon Fort Lee. Greene had four miles to march before he could reach the river, and Cornwallis but one and a half. Without losing an instant, he pushed forward with all his forces to the head of the stream, and drawing them up in front of Cornwallis, contrived to hold them at bay until Washington, to whom a courier had been dispatched, could come up. Then, leaving them under the guidance of the commander-in-chief, he hastened back to the fort, and collecting the stragglers and others, nearly three hundred in all, conveyed them in safety across the Hackensack River. This manoeuvre was his first encounter with Cornwallis. Now began the memorable retreat through the Jerseys.

During the whole of this trying period Greene was by the side of his commander, partaking his cares and anxieties, and sharing with him that firm and unbending trust in the ultimate triumph of their cause, which forms one of the sublimest traits in the character of Washington.

By rapid and exhausting marches, in a few days, the hostile armies were ranged, front to front along the banks of the Delaware.

During this halt was planned the brilliant attack upon Trenton; in this Greene bore a distinguished part, and strongly urged the following up of this blow by an attack upon the other posts of the enemy in New Jersey. During the winter of 1777, Washington established his quarters at Morristown. Greene was stationed with a separate division at Baskingridge; and through the whole of a long and severe winter, continual skirmishes took place, which very frequently were attended with decided advantages to the Americans. At the approach of spring, General Greene was dispatched to Philadelphia, to hasten the action of Congress upon the important subjects submitted for their decision. After his return, he with General Knox was sent to examine the passes of the Highlands on the Hudson, and take measures for their defense. The winter had thus far passed without much molestation, and early in May Washington removed from his quarters at Morristown to a strong station at Middlebrook. While encamped at this station, an incident occurred, which was well nigh depriving the army of some of its bravest officers. The delicate etiquette of military rank had never been fully understood by the new and inexperienced Congress; and when a report reached camp that a gentleman but recently arrived in the country had been appointed a major-general, with a commission of an earlier date than their own, it is not surprising that it should cause Generals Greene, Sullivan and Knox to declare their intention of resigning in case the report should be found true; and each of them addressed the President of Congress to this effect. Happily the rumor was unfounded; and by it Congress saw the necessity of a rigorous adherence to the established laws of promotion.

Nearly the whole of the following summer was employed in short marches and slight skirmishes, till the 10th of September, when they took up their position on the banks of the Brandywine.

Early on the morning following, the British appeared on the advance, preparing for an attack.

The passage of the ford, near which the chief of the American forces had been stationed, was manfully defended; but in the mean time a strong detachment, led by Howe and Cornwallis, had crossed the river by a circuitous march, and were rapidly gaining the American rear. A few minutes sufficed to show how judiciously this measure had been devised.

After a gallant resistance the Americans were forced from the field, in spite of all the efforts of their officers to rally them. Now was the time for Greene to display his coolness and his energy.

Marching along a road which intersected the flight of the Americans, and the advance of the enemy, he hurried his men forward with such rapidity that they marched four miles in forty-nine minutes. Here every thing was in confusion; ranks broken, troops scattered, the roads filled with fugitives, rushing forward they knew not whither, in the wildness of fear, and the enemy pressing close upon their footsteps with shouts of exultation. Throwing himself between them and his flying countrymen, he opened a sharp and well directed fire from his field-pieces, opening his ranks from time to time for the fugitives, and closing them the moment they had passed.

Having retreated in this manner for half a mile, until he came to a narrow defile protected on both sides by woods, he halted and drew up his men for battle; first depositing his cannon in a safe place, in case he should be forced to a hasty retreat. The British soon made their appearance, flushed with success, and thinking only of putting the last hand to their victorious conflict; but a close and destructive fire checked their pursuit, and compelled them to halt. So well chosen was Greene’s position, that it could neither be forced nor turned, and the sight of his fierce eye and firm countenance seemed to have inspired his men with an energy like his own. For two hours did he maintain the unequal conflict, and having wearied the enemy out, he gave up the contest, and drew off his troops to rejoin the army at their rallying point.

Howe was now resolved to follow up his success by another battle, or a stroke at Philadelphia, and advancing with two columns, was soon once more within striking distance of the Americans.

This being perceived by Greene, he managed to frustrate all his designs, till Howe, finding it useless to continue his skirmishes, made the best of his way to Philadelphia, where he made his triumphal entry on the 26th of September. At this time the main body of the British army were quartered at Germantown; a portion was in the city, and another part scattered between the two places. Washington now resolved on attacking the main army at Germantown, and began making preparations for that purpose.

Greene was ordered to march at once within the limits prescribed by Washington, which was done, and the effect was the sanguine and bloody battle of Germantown, which historians have so repeatedly described. Greene’s next orders were to examine the forts on the Delaware, and then retire to Valley Forge for winter quarters. It was customary with the generals when retired to quarters for the winter to receive their families; shortly after their arrival at Valley Forge Mrs. Washington joined her husband, and about the same time Mrs. Greene arrived, and the wives of other officers hastened to follow the example, and the cares and gloom of a winter encampment were illumined for a moment by this transient return of the sweets of domestic life. It was during this memorable winter that the intrigues against the commander-in-chief, commonly known as Conway’s cabal, became public. These calumnies were traced and ferreted out by the perseverance of Greene, and when exposed by him, fell to the ground, like drops from the melting icicle in the rays of the sun. In a letter to a friend, before they went to Valley Forge, he writes thus, “I have no hopes of coming home this winter, the general will not permit it; Mrs. Greene is coming to camp; we are all going into log huts; a sweet life after a most fatiguing campaign.”

Time was now approaching for some action, and indications were observed which led the army to suppose that the British troops were about to evacuate Philadelphia. But they were unable to ascertain whether it was the intention of the enemy to return overland to New York, or to engage in some more distant enterprise.

News, however, having arrived, informing them that the enemy was on the eastern bank of the Delaware, and that it was his intention to direct his march through the Jersey’s, the American army was now hastily put in motion to follow, and after a few minutes conversation, the orders were issued which ended in the battle of Monmouth.

At this period the department of quartermaster in the American army was in a very defective and alarming condition, and required speedy reform.

The commander-in-chief was requested by Congress to look out for an officer suitably calculated to fill a post of so much importance. Washington well knew that if Greene could be convinced that he could render his country more essential service in the department of quartermaster than in the field, he would accept of the appointment. “There is not,” he observed, “an officer in the army, nor a man in America, more sincerely attached to the interests of his country than General Greene; and could he best promote their interests, in the character of a corporal, he would readily exchange the epaulet for the knot.” When the appointment was offered Greene, he at first declined it, but on a second conference with the commander-in-chief, he accepted, on condition that he should forfeit nothing of his right to command in time of action.

He entered on the duties of his office on the 22d March, 1776. Very shortly after receiving his new appointment, he took a high and distinguished part in the battle of Monmouth, and followed in a very brilliant expedition against the enemy in Rhode Island, under the command of General Sullivan. At the battle of Monmouth, General Washington, disgusted with the behaviour of General Lee, deposed him in the field of battle, and appointed Greene to his command, which greatly contributed to retrieve the errors of his predecessor, and to the events of the day. General Greene had now been more than three years from home, and during this period the direction of his affairs had been intrusted to others, over which he had neither time nor means of control.

His short visit to his home at Coventry was hailed by his neighbors with affectionate demonstrations of joy. Even the Society of Friends, who had reluctantly excluded him from their communion, expressed their sincere satisfaction at the high position he had attained in the confidence of his country. One of the Society of Friends was asked by a young officer, in jest, how he, who was an advocate for peace, could keep company with General Greene, whose profession was war. “Friend,” said the Quaker, “’Tis true, I do not approve of this many-colored apparel, but whatever may be the color of his garments, Nathaniel Greene still retains the sound head and virtuous heart, which have gained him the love and esteem of our Society.”

About this time, General Greene was called to perform one of the most trying and painful duties of his life. The melancholy affair of Major Andre.

Washington having summoned a court of fourteen general officers, appointed General Greene to preside.

When summoned before this military tribunal, the unfortunate officer disclosed without interrogatory, what bore heaviest on his own life, but studiously concealed whatever might affect the safety of others.

His own confessions were conclusive, and no witness was examined against him. The court were unanimous that he must suffer death. When the sentence was communicated to the unhappy man, he entreated that he might not be compelled to expire on a gibbet, like a common felon, but that he might be permitted to close his life by that law generally prescribed by military usage; and to effect this, he dictated a letter to General Washington, containing one of the most affecting and pathetic appeals that ever fell from mortal pen. The commander-in-chief referred the subject to his general officers, who, with the exception of Greene, decided that Andre should be shot. The following remarks from the president of the council show his firmness; that no circumstance whatever could move him where the honor of his country was involved. “Andre,” said he, “is either a spy or an innocent man. If the latter, to execute him in any way will be murder; if the former, the mode of his death is prescribed by law, and you have no right to alter it; and at this alarming crisis of our affairs, the public safety demands a solemn and impressive example. Nothing can satisfy it short of the execution of the prisoner as a common spy; a character of which his own confession has clearly convicted him.”

This reasoning was considered conclusive by the council, and the prisoner suffered as a common spy. The post at West Point, now vacated by the treachery of Arnold, was confided to Greene, and by the 8th of October he was already at his new station on the banks of the Hudson. He had hardly entered upon his duties, when General Washington appointed him to the command of the army in the South.

We now behold an entire change in the situation of General Greene, and follow him through a southern campaign, virtually invested with the supreme command of a large section of the United States. On his arrival at Charlotte, North Carolina, the head-quarters of General Gates, and on entering on the duties of his command, he found himself in a situation fearfully embarrassing.

He found but a handful of men, amounting to about two thousand, and these principally militia, with but three days’ provision, and a very short supply of ammunition. In front lay an enemy treble his number, proud in victory, and too strong to be encountered. Before him was a task which he considered hopeless—the recovery of two States already conquered, and the protection of a third. He saw the astounding difficulty he had to encounter—to raise and provide for a dispirited army in a devastated country, having to create resources where they did not exist; to operate with an incompetent force on an extended and broken line of frontier, and to contend with an enemy superior in numbers and discipline. To conduct a warfare like this required a genius of the highest order, combined with indefatigable skill and industry. In order to prepare for such a campaign, Greene’s first care was to provide for his troops subsistence and ammunition. His next was to draw close the reins of discipline, which had been shamefully relaxed, and make both officers and men feel that they had a commander who knew both his duty and theirs, and was resolved that both should be performed. He called no councils of war, studying every question himself, and communicating his intentions to only two or three of his officers whom he trusted most. In a letter to General Hamilton, he says, “If I cannot inspire the army with confidence and respect by an independent conduct, I foresee it will be impossible to instill discipline and order among the troops.”

His next care was to select a position where his troops could be properly trained to the use of their arms, and better and more easily supplied with food; while at the same time it was essential that every step on his part should be a connecting link in his general plan of operations. It must be conceded that much of the moral strength of an army consists in a confidence in its leader, an attachment to his person, and a spirit of subordination founded on principle. To such an extent was this true, that even the common soldiery, sensible of the superintendence of a superior officer, confidently predicted a change of fortune. They felt a solicitude to regain the reputation they lost at Camden under their late commander, and to signalize their prowess under the command of their present one. The main part of the British army was then lying at Winnsborough, between the Broad River and the Catawba, with powerful garrisons in their flank and rear, and Charleston to fall back upon in case of a defeat. Cornwallis, who was at Charleston, receiving continual supplies of both men and provisions from New York, was expected to connect with the part of the army at Winnsborough, and attack the Americans before they could be ready to leave the village of Charlotte. This called for a decided movement of the American army, and Greene resolved to divide his forces, sending one portion to act upon the west bank of the Catawba, to the north of the enemy’s position, and advancing with the other to the Cheraw hills on the frontiers of South Carolina. The first dispatch was about four hundred continentals, under General Morgan, with Colonel Washington’s corps of dragoons, and a few militia, amounting in all to six hundred men. This judicious arrangement, which formed a rallying point for the friends of independence, both in the East and West, also facilitated the procuring of provisions for the troops. General Greene soon began to feel the good effects of this movement; it enabled him to make the most of his little army by compelling his adversary to divide his forces, and leaving him at a loss which way to direct his efforts. By advancing against the American commander, he would expose his posts at Ninety-Six and Augusta, or Morgan, hovering upon his flanks or his rear, might seize the critical moment for aiming a blow in concert with the main army. Cornwallis, on discovering the movements of Greene, and finding that there was no time to be lost, dispatched Colonel Tarlton with a strong detachment, amounting in horse and foot to nearly a thousand men, for the protection of Ninety-Six, with orders to bring General Morgan, if possible, to battle. With numbers greatly superior to Morgan, he advanced with a menacing aspect, and compelled him at first to fall back rapidly. He accordingly continued for a few days to retire before his adversary, receiving at every step new accessions of strength from the inhabitants of the country through which he passed, alarmed by the presence, and irritated by the cruelty of the enemy. Relying with confidence on the firmness of his regulars, and glorying in action, Morgan halted at the Cowpens, and prepared to give his adversary battle. Tarlton seized the opportunity, and the conflict, which was severe and stoutly contested, ended in a complete victory obtained by the Americans. Tarlton fled, leaving one hundred and eighty-four men on the field, and more than five hundred as prisoners in the hands of the victor. Two field-pieces, eight hundred muskets, one hundred dragoon-horses, with a very large supply of tents and ammunition, which constituted, in the present state of the American army, one of the most welcome fruits of the victory. This battle of the Cowpens, although achieved under the immediate command of Morgan, was the first stroke of General Greene’s fortunate career at the South.

The disappointment of Cornwallis was severe, for he had looked with confidence for victory under the accomplished Tarlton. Still he received the tidings with serenity, and immediately gave orders for pursuing the victorious army, whose retreat he yet hoped to cut off; and in order to prepare for the effort, and free himself from every thing that could encumber or retard his march, he ordered that all the baggage at head-quarters should be committed to the flames.

This was done, and the example was followed by his faithful soldiers with cheerfulness, reserving but a small supply of clothing for each man, and a few wagons for the conveyance of hospital stores, ammunition, and of the sick and wounded. Every thing else was burned. While these desperate measures were going on in the British camp, Greene reached Morgan’s head-quarters on the banks of the Catawba.

To his great mortification, Lord Cornwallis now perceived that in two of his objects, the destruction of Morgan’s detachment, and the prevention of its union with the main division, he was completely frustrated by the activity of Greene. But he still hoped to cut off the retreat of the Americans into Virginia, after their union, and to compel them to action, was still perhaps practicable; and to the achievement of this he now directed his undivided energies.

Notwithstanding the vigilance and activity of the British commander, Greene brought his men in safety into Virginia, without any loss of either men or ammunition. Soon after his arrival in Virginia he received reinforcements, and also effected a junction with a continental regiment. Upon these accessions, he was determined on attacking the British commander without loss of time, and accordingly commenced his march toward Guildford Court-House, the British then lying at twelve miles distance. His army had now increased to four thousand five hundred men, that of the British about two thousand four hundred. General Greene arrived at Guildford Court-House on the 14th of March, and on the morning of the 15th Cornwallis marched to meet him. He disposed his army in three lines—the militia of North Carolina were in front; the second line was composed of those of Virginia; and the third, which was the flower of the army, was formed of continental troops, near fifteen hundred in number. They were posted on a rising ground, a mile and a half from Guildford Court-House.

The engagement commenced by a brisk cannonade, after which the British advanced in three columns and attacked the first line composed of North Carolina militia. Many of the latter had never been in action before, and panic-struck, ran away without firing a gun, or being fired upon, and even before the British had come near them. The conflict lasted an hour and a half, and was terminated by General Greene’s ordering a retreat, when he found the enemy about encircling his troops.

This was a hard fought battle, and the exertions of the two rival generals, both in preparing for this action and during the course of it, were never surpassed. Forgetful of every thing but the fortune of the day, they on several occasions, mingled in the danger like common soldiers. The Americans lost in this battle about 400; several of the number were officers of distinction. The result of this conflict, though literally a defeat, was eventually a victory; for on the part of General Greene it will be seen that it placed him on higher ground toward his adversary than he had previously occupied. Believing that Lord Cornwallis would follow him, he kept retreating slowly until he had gained an advantageous position, where he could renew the contest whenever his adversary came in view. But Cornwallis, not being in a condition to pursue, commenced his retreat, leaving behind him about seventy of his wounded, whom he recommended, in a handsome letter, written by himself, to the humanity and attention of the American commander. Had General Greene been in a situation to have pursued his lordship, the destruction of that officer and his army would have been inevitable; and Carolina would have witnessed that momentous event which was reserved for Virginia. But the exhaustion of General Greene’s military stores, suspended his movements till he had received a supply.

These having arrived, he immediately pursued the enemy; but the advanced position of Lord Cornwallis, and the bad state of the roads, determined him to halt, in order to indulge his troops with that repose which they so much needed. Having abandoned the pursuit of the enemy, General Greene found himself encircled with new difficulties. Of that part of the Union over which General Greene’s command extended, the enemy was in force in three large and important sections. South Carolina and Georgia being entirely in possession of the enemy, and Cornwallis had taken post in the maritime district of North Carolina, and part of Virginia was occupied by a powerful detachment of British troops, under the command of General Phillips. Greene, under all these difficulties, was at a loss to determine in which of these points he should act in person, and on consulting with officers, he found them greatly divided in opinion. He accordingly decided to penetrate South Carolina, and after dividing his army into two columns, attack and harass the enemy at their different posts, without permitting them to concentrate their forces, and thus recover that rich and important member of the Union.

General Greene commenced his march South, and arrived at Hobkirk’s Hill, in front of Camden, the head-quarters of Lord Rawdon, then the commander-in-chief of the British forces in that section. In order to prevent supplies from being brought in, and to take advantage of such favorable circumstances as might occur, he encamped at about a mile from the town. Lord Rawdon’s situation was extremely delicate. His supplies also were very precarious; and should General Greene’s reinforcements arrive, which were hourly expected, he might be so closely invested as to be at length obliged to surrender. In this dilemma, the only expedient that presented itself, appeared to be a bold attack; for which purpose he armed every person with him capable of carrying a musket, not excepting even his musicians. On the 25th of April he made the attack upon General Greene in his camp.

The defense was obstinate, and for some time appeared to be in favor of America. At one time Lieut. Colonel Washington, who commanded the cavalry, had not less than two hundred British prisoners.

However, by the inadvertence of one of the American regiments, victory was snatched from General Greene, who was compelled to retreat, with a loss of about two hundred killed, wounded, and prisoners. The British general lost about two hundred and fifty-eight. The evacuation of Camden, with the vigilance of General Greene, and the several officers under him, gave entirely a new complexion to affairs in South Carolina, where the British ascendency declined more rapidly than it had been established.

Nearly every fort, with the exception of fort Ninety-Six, garrisoned by the enemy, with military stores and artillery, fell into the hands of the Americans.

The next attempt was the siege of Ninety-Six, but which proved unsuccessful, and Greene was obliged to retreat over the Saluda. Lord Rawdon now prepared to evacuate the garrison of Ninety-Six, and return to Charleston; and General Greene became in reality the pursuing party, exceedingly anxious to bring the enemy to battle. But this did not take place till September; the British at that time were posted at Eutaw Springs, where General Greene, who had assembled about two thousand men, prepared to follow and attack them.

The American force was drawn up in two lines; the first, composed of Carolina militia, was commanded by Generals Marion and Pickens, and Colonel de Malmedy. The second, which consisted of continental troops from North Carolina, Virginia and Maryland, was commanded by General Sumpter, Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell, and Colonel Williams. As the Americans approached toward an attack, they fell in with some advanced parties of the enemy, at about three miles ahead of the main body.

These being driven back, the action soon became general. In the very heat of the engagement General Greene ordered the Maryland and Virginia continentals to charge with trailed arms. This decided the fate of the day. “Nothing,” says Dr. Ramsay, “could surpass the intrepidity of both officers and men on this occasion. They rushed on in good order through a heavy cannonade, and a shower of musketry, with such unshaken resolution that they bore down all before them.” The British were broken, closely pursued, and upward of eleven hundred of them killed and taken prisoners; the loss of the Americans was about five hundred.

Judge Johnson, in his life of General Greene, says—“At the battle of the Eutaw Springs, Greene says, that hundreds of my men were naked as they were born. Posterity will scarcely believe that the bare loins of many brave men who carried death into the enemy’s ranks at the Eutaw, were galled by their cartouche-boxes, while a folded rag or a tuft of moss protected the shoulders from sustaining the same injury from the musket. Men of other times will inquire by what magic was the army kept together? By what supernatural power was it made to fight?”

General Greene in his letter to the Secretary of War says—“We have three hundred men without arms, and more than one thousand so naked that they can be put on duty only in cases of a desperate nature.”

Again he says—“Our difficulties are so numerous, and our wants so pressing, that I have not a moment’s relief from the most painful anxieties. I have more embarrassment than it is proper to disclose to the world. Let it suffice to say that this part of the United States has had a narrow escape. I have been seven months in the field without taking off my clothes.” Such then was the issue of the battle of Eutaw, and the last essay in arms in which it was the fortune of General Greene to command.

The surrender of Cornwallis at the battle of Yorktown soon followed, and the happy moment arrived when by the virtue and bravery of her sons, America, aided by the bounty of Heaven, compelled her invaders to acknowledge her independence; her armies quitted the tented field, and retired to cultivate the arts of peace and happiness.

General Greene now returned to his native state, where he remained two years in the adjustment of his private affairs, and in October, 1785, settled with his family on his estate near Savannah, Georgia. The three Southern States, South Carolina, North Carolina and Georgia, who had been most essentially benefited by his valor and services, manifested their sense of justice and gratitude by liberal donations. South Carolina presented to General Greene an estate valued at ten thousand pounds sterling. Georgia, with an estate, a few miles from Savannah, worth five thousand pounds; and North Carolina, with twenty-five thousand acres of land in the State of Tennessee. In writing from his new home, he speaks of his plantation with a kind of buoyant joy, which is constantly breaking out in gay and cheerful expressions; of his garden, and his flowers, the mocking-birds that sing around him morning and evening, and the mild and balmy atmosphere, with the same interest with which he would once have spoken of his troops, of their bravery and their discipline. But this felicity was to be of short duration. On Monday, the 12th of June, 1786, he went down to Savannah with his wife, and on their return the following day they paid a visit to an old friend, at whose house he was seized with an inflammation of the brain, which caused him to sink into a torpor, from which he never again was roused; he expired on Monday the 19th of June. The melancholy tidings soon reached Savannah, calling forth the strongest expressions of public grief. They had known him first as the champion of the South, in the hour of her greatest need, then as a fellow citizen, kind-hearted and benevolent, endearing himself to all by his social and civil virtues; and now, in the prime of manhood, he was suddenly snatched away, and a grave was all they could give him.

On the following day the body of the deceased was conveyed to Savannah, and at the request of the inhabitants, was interred in a private cemetery with military honors.

On the 12th of August of the year in which General Greene died, the Congress of the United States unanimously resolved—“That a monument be erected to the memory of the honorable Nathaniel Greene, at the seat of the federal government, with the following inscription—

SACRED

TO THE

MEMORY

OF THE

HON. NATHANIEL GREENE,

who departed this life

the 19th of June, 1786.

Late Major-General

in the service of the United States,

and commander of the army in the

Southern Department.

The United States in Congress assembled

in honor of

his patriotism, valor and ability,

have erected this

monument.”