The Mountain Sentinel

From the New York Era.

THE QUAKER AND THE COW BOYS.

The intervening period from the commencement of the year 1776 to the close of '78, was an eventful time for the infant Republic. They had declared their independence, had thrown off the yoke of Britain and the time had now arrived, when, in the words of a patriot, "it was time to be seen whether America had virtue enough to be free or not."

The year of '78 was particularly distinguished by the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British, by several brilliant engagements in the tented field, which shed an undying lustre upon the American arms, and for the multifarious bands of predatory ruffians who infested the forests in the vicinity of New York, Philadelphia, and the "neutral grounds." They were composed of renegade tories and villains of all descriptions, principally native Americans. They were fierce and cruel; savage alike in their manner of living, and, indeed, verifying the assertion of the poet, that

He who loves not his country, can love nothing.

It was a balmy morning in June; the sun shone with intense brilliancy, and its burning rays reflected upon some parts of the armor of a solitary equestrian, who was winding his way from West Chester to Philadelphia. His horse might have seen better days, as well as himself—both appeared jaded and worn with toil. The former was a large black and noble looking animal: the maugre appearance of his ribs, which stood out in bold relief, "bore testimony ample" of his meagre & stinted fare. His rider was a man whose demeanor at once stamped him as one of the brave sons of liberty, a certain expression about the mouth, the bold and fearless glance of a black eye, and the noble contour of his form, spoke of him as the bravest of the brave, when deeds of danger were nigh. His holsters contained a pair of pistols, which were the only arms visible. A military coat rather worn, a rough foraging cap, completed his warlike accoutrements. An air of determined bravery was blended with a humorous expression which lingered about his visage, and upon all this

Middle age

Had slightly passed his signet sage,

"By Jove," exclaimed he, "here is old Baker's they told me of at Chester;" and spurring his Rosinante, he soon dismounted at the door of a miserable inn, and giving his noble animal in charge of an attendant, he made his way into the interior of the dwelling.

The landlord was alone. Our adventurer knew him to be a staunch Whig, and greeted him cordially.

Well, Baker," said he, "is there any news stirring?"

"None of consequence, sir—are you going to the city?"

"Yes,—what is the distance?"

About five miles to go the direct road, but—but—"

"But why, pray?"

"Why, the 'Cow Boys, are as thick as blackberries—a band of twenty robbed two men yesterday, and only on Monday there was a man murdered out-right."

He stepped to the window and mused anxiously.

"Baker," observed he at last, "I have been told you are honest, and I doubt not. My name is Barton, and I am paymaster in the army, and with me I have several thousand dollars. To go through the forest you speak of as I am now, were an act of consummate folly. Can you rig me with a poor horse and countryman's dress, with a wig and Quaker hat?"

"Yes, Major, I have the very things. If you'll come this way I'll show you."

In a few minutes Major Burton returned having undergone a complete metamorphosis. A pair of home spun breeches, drab coat and broad brimmed beaver hat superseded his military equipage, every trace of which had disappeared, and his soldier-like bearing had given place to the demure and quiet deportment of the honest Quaker. Albeit his bold eye flashed occasionally from under the broad brim of his upper integument, and sadly belied the staid and suffering disposition which it became him to assume. The money was carefully deposited in a pair of saddle bags, which were thrown across the saddle, and Major Burton mounted.

"Good morning, Baker," said Burton, "take good care of my beast."

"I will," shouted the worthy landlord, "and luck be with ye."

The Major rode on in silence, and thus communed with himself: this is indeed making a virtue of necessity, to be compelled to ride this sorry jade.

It was a transformation with a vengeance, and no one would there have recognized any but the honest Quaker. He had proceeded into the forest about a mile and was turning a short angle in the road when he was commanded in a stentorian voice to stand. But two men were near him, and these two were as villainous looking beings as one would wish to look upon. Squalid wretchedness was depicted upon every feature, and in a voice rendered hollow by every misery, they demanded his money.

"Alas, my dear friends," said our worthy Quaker, "I have but little, which I will bestow upon thee, if thou demand it. But friend (to the one that held the bridle) release my beast and fear not that I shall attempt to escape thee. Why dost thou pursue this course, ruining both body and that immortal part which dieth not? I would have thee cleave unto some calling—and if ye will imbrue thy hands into the blood of thy fellow man, join the forces of your country and—"

"Look here," shouted one of them, "you infernal canting hypocrite, stop your preaching."

The Quaker fumbled first in one pocket and then in the other, and producing some change, he handed it out to them in silence. They eyed the paltry sum with looks in which shame and wrath struggled for mastery.

"Three fips and four coppers," mumbled one, glancing at the Quaker, who sat complacently composed on his horse.

"'Three fips and four coppers! d—d you begone!" and bestowing two or three kicks on the old horse, which merely started him on a gallop, they dashed thro the tangled waste of underwood, and were soon beyond the ken of the "honest Quaker," alias Major Burton of the Continental army. He sobered the animal into a patient trot, more becoming his garb, and "whistling as he went for want of thought," he soon entered the city in safety, and with his comrades in arms had many a hearty laugh on his adventures with the Cow Boys.