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About Oregon spectator. (Oregon City, O.T. [i.e. Or.]) 1846-1855 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 10, 1846)
The i"rn. BT IORAOB OEBKLT. Laac rinrntrtrH tna wH la the darkneai of error, S h-W"'" a U : To tha nMeraad crawa aaea afeaera them in term. TWhto tfaa boadaf and bitter tho thrall ; Whana J & aarthqnake'a revealed the d. A ia like the Ufhtnin ' nnaeal'd oyerjr eye, And aW WU-tep and glen Boated l.barty'a banner, While round it men gather'd to conquer or die ! TVu the voice of the prwa on the atartled ear break In pant-00 P""""- PAixaof old: Twaa the flaeh of intelligence glorioudy waking A glow on the cheek of tbeW nd bold ; And tyranny! minions, o'erawed Jhd affiighted, Sought a luting retreat in the cloVter and cowl, AndlSe chaina which bound natioiwki agta benighted Were cart to the haunU of the bat and the owL Then hail to the Preae ! choaen guardian of freedom j Strongawordrmofjuaticeibnglitauiibeamofiruth! WepMgetohercauae,(andahehaabuttoheedthemO The strength of oar manhood, the fire of our youth : Should deepota e'er dare to impede her free oaring. Or bigot lo fetter her flight with his chain, We awear that the earth ahall close o'er our deploring Or view her gladneai and freedom again. But no ! to the day-dawn of knowledge and glory, A far brighter noontide-refulgence eucceeda ; And oar art ahall embalm, through all agea, in atory. Her champion who triumph her martyr who bleedi, And proudlv her aont ahall recall their devotion, While millions ahall liitrn to honor and Meat, Till there burata respouae from the heart's strong And,the earth echoea deep with " Long life to the rVr- Thn followine intcrestina sketches and reminiscences of the old sugar house in Liberty street, New York city, used by the British in the Revolution as a prison for con fining American prisoners, ana in which the most painful and appalling sufferings were endured, have seen published in a communi cation in the New World, from Grant Thor burn, otherwise known as Laurie Todd : The 1 SHgar Heaic Prison. When ages shall have mingled with those who have gone before the flood, tkspot on which stood this prison will be sougtitHbr with more than antiquarian interest. It was founded in 1769, and occupied as a sugar refining manufactory till 1776, when Lord Howe converted it into a place of confine ment for the American prisoners. At the conclusion of the war for Independence, the business of sugar refining was resumed and continued until 1839 or '40, whan it was leveled to the ground to make way for a block of buildings wherein to stow Yankee rum end Now Orleans melasses. Pity it was ever demolished. With reasonable care it might have stood a thousaniiye&rs, a mohu . ment to all gcneratons of the pains, penal ties, sufferings and deatln their fathers met in procuring tho blessings they now inherit. T atiwl nn tho South.East and ailioinint? the grave-yard around the Middle Dutch Church, and said church being now bounded by Lib. erty, Nassau and Cedar streets. But, as it is said, this church is soon to become a post offici. The leveling spirit of the day is rooting up and destroying every landmark and vestige of antiquity aoout the city, and it is probable that in the year 2021 there will not bo a man in New York who can point out the spot whereon stood a prison whoso history is so feelingly connected with our revolutionary traditions. On the 13th of June, 1794, I came to re. side in Liberty street, between Nassau street and Broadway, where I dwelt forty years. As :ho events recorded in tho history had but recently transpired, I had frequent oppor tunities of seeing and conversing with the men who had been actors in tho scenes. Some of the anecdotes I heard from the lips of Gen. Alexander Hamilton, Gen. Morgan Lewis, Col. Richard Varick, tho venerable John Pintard, and other revolutionary wor thies, then in the prido of life, but now all numbered with tho dead. &a Till within a few years past there stood, in Liberty street, a daric stone Dunaing, grown gray and rusty with age, with small, deep windows, exhibiting a dujgeon-like as pect, and transporting dho memory to scenes of former days, when the revolution poured iU desolating waves over the fairest portion' of our- country. It was fwo stories bb; and each story wan divided into two dreary ' apartments, with ceiling so low and thtjrlight from die windows so dim, tint a stranger would readily take tho place for n jail. On the alone in the walls, and on many of the bricks under the office windows, are still jtb be seen Initials' and ancient dasv as If done with a penknife or nail ; this was the work of many of the American prisoners, who adopted this among other means, to while away their weeks and years of long monot onous confinement. ( Thore is a strong jail like door opening on Liborty street, and an othor on the South Bast, descending into a dismal cellar, scarco allowing tho midday sun to peep through its window-gratings. When 1 first saw this building some fifty years ago thoro was a walk nearly broad enough for a cart to travel round it ; but, of late years, a wing has been added to the northeast end, which shuts up this walk where, for many long days and nights, two British or Hessian soldiers walked their weary rounds, guarding the American pris oners. For thirty years after I settled in Liberty street, this houso was often visited by one and auothcr of thoso war-worn vete rans men of whom the present political worldlings are not worthy. I often heard them repeat the story of their sufferings and sorrows, but always with grateful acknowl edgments to Him, who guides tho destinies of men as well as of nations. One morning, when returning from the old Fly market at the foot of Maiden Lane, 1 noticed two of those old soldiers in tho su gar houso yard ; they had only three legs between them one having a wooden leg. I stopped a moment to listen to their conver sation, and and as they were slowly moving from tho yard, said I to them : " Gentlemen, do either of you remember this old building ?" Aye, indeed; I shall never forget it,' re plied he of one leg. For twelve months, that dark hole,' pointing to the cellar, ' was my only home. And at that door I saw the corpse of iry brother thrown into the dead cart, among a heap of others, who died in night previous of jail fever. While the fe ver was raging we were let out, in companies of' twenty, for half an hour at a time, to breathe the fresh air ; and inside wo were so crowded that we divided our number into squads of six each. No. 1 stood ten min utes as close to the window as they could crowd, to catch the cool air, and then step ped back, when No. 2 took their places ; and so on. Seats we -had none ; and our beds were but straw on the floor, with vcr min intermixed. And there' continued he, pointing with his cane to a brick in the wall, 'is my kill time work A.V. S. 1777,' viz: Abraham Van Sickler which I scratch ed with an old nail. When peace camo some learned the fato of their fathers and mothers from such initials.' My house being near by, I asked them to step in and take a bite. In answer to my inquiry as to how ho lost his leg, he related the following circumstances : ' In 1777,' said he, ' I was quartered at Belleville, N. J., with a part of the army, under Col. Cortland t. Gen. Howe had pos. session of New York, at the same time, and we every moment expected an attack from Henry Clinton. Delay made us less vigi lant, and we were surprised, defeated, and many slain and made prisoners. We march ed from Newark, crossing the Passaic and Hackensao rivers in boats. The road through tho swamp was a 'corduroy,' that is, pine trees Jaid side by side.' In September, 1795, I traveled this road and found it in the same condition. ' Wo were confined,' he continued, ' in this sugar house, with hundreds who had entered before us. At that time, the brick mcoting house, the North Dutch Church, the Protest ant Church in Pine, street, were used as jails for the prisoners ; while the Scotch Presby terian Church in Cedar street, (now a house of merchandise,) was occupied as a hospital for the Hessian soldiers, and the Middlo Dutch Church for a riding school for their cavalry. I well remember it was on a Sab. bath morning as "fj-in contempt of Him whose house they )(rero desecrating that they first commenced their riding operations in said Church. Qn that same day a vos sel from England arrived, laden with pow. der, ball and other munitions of war. She dropped anchor in the East River, opposite the foot of Maiden Lane. The weather was jwarrn, and a thunder storm camo on in tho iienavun. a no snip was wiuua vy uiuu. derbcatfrom Heaven. Not a vestige of the crew, stores or equipment was over seen af. ter that. '- The good Whigs and Americans, all;bveithe country, saty that the God of Battles bad pointed that thunderbolt. 'We were crowded to excess continued the old veteran; 'etfwIaJMbdj scanty and unwholesome, and the fever raged like a pestilence. For many weeks the dead cart visited tia every morning, into which from eight to twelve corpses woro thrown, piled upliko sticks of wood, with the same dollies tlioy had worn for months, and in which tlwv had died, and often before tho body was cold. Thus, every day expecting dcathil made up my mind to escape, or die in the attempt. Tho yard was surrounded by n close Imurd fence, nine feet high. I informed my friend lioro of my intention, and ho readily agreed to follow my plan. The lav previous we placed an old barrel, which stood in the! yard, against tho fence, as if by accident. Seeing the burrcl was not removed the next ' iltiv wt hariliftfl tn t.iftl'fi llin nllmiilit llitil I V I " unuiim IK v. .iii. .......(. ...... afternoon. The fence wo intended to scnle was on tho side of tho yard nearest to the East Itivor ; and our intentions were, if wo stiecccdcd in getting over, to make for the river, seize tho first boat wc could, and push for Long Island. 1 Two sentries walked around the build ing day and night, always meeting and pass, ing ouch other at tho. ends of the prison. They were only about one minute out of sight, and during this minute wc mounted the barrel and cleared the fence. 1 dropped uKn a stone and broke my leg, so that I lay still nt tho bottom of the fence outside. Wo were missed immediately and pursued. They stopped a moment to examine my leg, and this saved my friend ; for by the time they reached the water edge, at the foot of Muiden Lane, he was stepping on shoro at Brooklyn, and thus 'got clear. I was carried to my old quarters, and rather thrown than laid on the floor, under a shower of curses. ' Twenty-four hours elapsed cro I saw the Doctor. My log, by this time, had become so much swollen that it could not be set. Mortification immediately commenced, and amputation soon followed. Thus, being dis abled from cither serving friend or foe, I was lilierated, through the influence of a distant relative, royalist. And now I live as I can, on my pension, and with the help of my friends. In 1812, Judge Schuyler, qC Belleville, showed me a musket ball which then lay im bedded in ono of his window shutters, which was lodged there on that night thirty-five years previous. Among tho many who visited this prison forty years ago, I one day observed a tall, thin, but respectable looking gentleman, on whoso head was a cocked hut an article not entirely discarded in those days and a few dozen snow.whivJ hairs gathered behind and tied with a black ribbon. On his arm hung not a badge, or a cane, nor a dogger; but a handsome young lady, who I learned from him was his daughter, whom ho had brought two hundred miles to view tho place of her father's sufferings. He walked erect, and had about him something of a military air. Being strangers, I asked them in ; and before we parted I heard (To be continued.) AN INTERESTING NARRATIVE. Our story will carry tho reader bock a little more than fifty years; when all North of tho Ohio river was an almost unbroken wilderness the mysterious red man's home. On the other side a bold and hardy band from beyond the mountains had built their log cabins, and were trying to subduo the wilderness. To them every hour was full of peril. Tho Indians would often cross tho river, strut their children and horses, and kill and scalp any victim who camo in their wuy. They worked in the field with weapons at their side, and on the Sabbath met in tho grove in the rudo log church, to hear thn word of God with their rifles in their hands. To preach to thcoo settlors, Mr. Joseph Smith, a Presbyterian minister, had left his parental homo cast of tho mountains, do, it was said, was tho second minister who had crossed tho Monongahela river. Ho settled in Washington county, Penn., and became tho pastor of the Cross Crock and Upper Buf falo congregations, dividing his timo between them. He found them a willing and united pcoplo, but still unablo to pay him a salary which would support his family. He irr com mon with all the early ministers, must oulti vate a farm. He purchased one on credit, proposing to pay for it with the salary pledg ed to him by his people. Years passed away. The pastor was un paid. Littlo or no money was in circulation. Wheat was abundant, but there was no market. It could not bo sold for more than twolvo and a half cents in cash. Even their salt had to bo brought across tho mountains on pock horses was worth eight dollars per bushel, and twenty one bushels of wheat were often given for one of suit. The time came when the lust payment uiiiHt be made, and Mr. Smith was told ho must pay or leave his (unit. Three years' salary was now due from his ieopi. For the want of this his land, his improve, moots upon it, ami his hopes of remaining n Hiring a beloved M-oplo, must be iihuiidoued. The people were culled together .and the ease laid Itefore them. They were greatly moved. Counsel from on high wns sought. Plan after pluu was proNed and abandoned. T1e congregations were unable to pay the tithe of their debts, and no money could Im lorrowed. Iii despuir they adjourned to meet ngain the following week. In the mean time it was ascertained that a Mr. Moore who owjied the only mill in the eountry, would grind for them wheat on moderate terms. At the next meeting it was resolved to carry their wheat to Mr. Moore's mill. Some gave Till bushels, some moro. This was carried from fifteen to twenty-six miles 'n horses to the mill. In a month, word came that the flour was ready to go to market. Again the people were! called together. After an earnest prayer, tho question was asked, who will run the flour to New OrleniiH 7 This was a start ling question. The work wus perilous in tho extreme. Months must pass lielore the ad venturer could hope to return, even though his journey should lie fortuirtite. Nearly all the way wos a wilderness ; and gloomy tales had been told of the treacherous Indian. More than one Itont's crew had gone on that journey and came back no more. Who then would endure the toil and bravo the lunger ? None volunteered. Tho young shrunk back, and the middle aged had their excuse. Their last suhcine seemed likely to fail. At length u houry headed man, an elder in the church, sixty-four years of age, arose, and to the ustonishmeiit of the. assem bly said, " Mere am I, send me." The deep est feeling ut once perviujed the whole as sembly. To see their venerated elder thus devote himself for their good, melted thein to tears. They gather around old father Smi ley to learn thut his resolution was indeed token ; that rather than lose their pastor, ho would brave danger, toil, and even death. After MJiue delay and trouble two young men wercinduced by hope of a large reward to go us his assistants. A day wus appointed for starting. Tho young u'nd old from fur und near, from lovo io father Smiley, and their deep interest in the object of his mission, gathered together, und with their pastor at their head, camo down from the church, fifteen miles away to the bank of the river, to bid the old man furcwcll. Then a prayer was offered by their pastor. A parting hymn was sung. "There," said the old Scotchman, "untie tho cable, and let us seo what tho Lord will do for us." This was dono and tho bout float ed slowly awuy. Moro than nino months passed, and no word camo back from father Smiley. Muny n pruyer hud been breathed for him, but what had been his fate was unknown.. Another Sabbath came. The people enmn together for worship, and there on his rudo bench be fore the preacher, composed and devout, siU father Smiley. After the services, tho pco plo worn requested to meet early in the week to hear tho report. All came again. After thanks had boon rendered to God for his safe return, father Smiloy uroso end told his story ; thut tho Lord hud prospered his mission ; that ho hud sold his flour for twenty-seven dollars per barrel, and then got safely back. He then draw n large purso, and poured upon thn table n larger pile of gold than most of thn spectators hud ever seen before. Tho young men were paid each a hundred dollars. Father Smiley was ask ed his charges,. He meekly replied, thoMio thought ho ought to havu tho same as one of tho young men, though he had not done Atiito iih much work. It was immediately proposed to pay him threo hundred dollars. This ho refused to rcceivo till tho pastor was pWd. Upon counting thn money, thoro was found enough to pajrjwhat was duo Mr. S. to advunoo his salary for tho year to come to reward fathor Smilev with three hundred dollars, and then toleavo a large dividend for each contribution. Their debts wero paid and pastor relieved, 'r