LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1818, 18 December 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

TRUMBULL’S WAR OFFICE. (Prom the New York “ Sun.”) The old war office in Lebanon, Ot., of Gov. Trumbull—Washington’s Brother Jonathan—has lately received a new roof. This fneans that the little building which sheltered Washington, Rochamboau, and Lafayette,' which was the meeting place of the Council of Safety, and the halting place of the messengers who boro important despatches between Philadelphia and Boston, is not yet to be torn down. It also means that the mysterious document which Prudence Strong once hid there, in defiance of Gov. Trumbull and Count de Rochambeau, will still longer remain in its hiding place—for years ago, even before Gov. Trumbull was gathered to his fathers, the villagers said that the papers would never be found until the building was taken down, and every rafter and every crevice between the stones of the largo chimney wore examined. Before I tell the tradition that has been handed dawn, and of which still the older townspeople say, with the manner of persons who know, that there is a groat secret hidden in the walls of the War Office—a secret that has been buried there a hundred years—a word or two ought to bo written about the War Office itself. It was sadly slighted during the Centennial year, yet there is probably no building standing, save only Independence Hall, that sheltered at one time or another so many of the heroes of the Revolution as did this little gableroofed structure on Lebanon Green. This is not a matter of tradition, but is fully authenticalcd by papers and letters which were collected by the late Judge Lamed Hebard. Here were written the letters, and hence came the suggestions to the Commander-in-Ohief from Gov. Trumbull which were so practical and bubbling over with good sense as to cause Washington always to speak of the Governor ns Brother Jonathan, a. name that in time became generic, and even now is applied to the “ Universal Yankee Nation.” Here always, when not called away, was the Governor to be found. Rochambeau made it. his nominal headquarters when in winter quarters in Lebanon with his battalion. Gov. Trumbull’s War Office was as well known by common repute to every revolutionary soldier as was Independence Hall. It stands to-day just as it thou did, and barring the new roof looks as it did then, and the surroundings are almost identical —an advantage that it has over Independence Hall, The Hon. Samuel J. Tilden, while visiting Lebanon a few years ago, evinced the greatest interest in the building. Ho said to Judge Hebard that it was a relic of the Revolution that ought to be preserved, and suggested that it be made the depository of mementoes of that war. From the papers and letters that Judge Hebard collected, many of them coming into his hands when settling an estate of the husband of one of Gov. Trumbull’s daughters, from the information that Judge Hebard gained from members of the Trumbull f amily whom he knew, and from various other sources, the story of the secret of Prudence Strong—a secret which it is firmly believed would have been exposed had the office been torn down—is gathered. The Count de Rochambeau, with his battalion of allies, in the winter of 1780 rested in Lebanon. The soldiers pitched their tents and built their huts on the slope of a hill, at the bottom of which ran a stream of water to the mill pond. Stream and pond and sloping hill side have not been changed since then by either nature or art. The Count de Rochambeau sat eating his dinner of succotash and a juicy piece of beef one stormy afternoon. He had just received a despatch from Washington which pleased him greatly, and had sent a messenger to notify Gov. Trumbull that the Count de Rochambeau would do himself the honor cf passing an hour or so of the evening with the Governor at the War Office. An unusual bustle in the camp attracted Rochambeau’s attention. ‘ Whht does this mean ? Those fellows are unusually noisy tonight,’ he said to an aide-de-camp who dined with him. ‘ If I mistake not, the sentries have captured a deserter,’ said the aid, rising and going to the window. He stood there peering through the glass, which was so imperfect as to make big men look very little and small men seem very large, besides frequently gracing one’s body with four or even six pairs of legs. - ‘ It is os I mistrusted, sir. They have caught the deserter, and, if my eyes do not deceive mo, it is Francois Duplan.’ ‘ No, not he,’ the Count said, rising. ‘Why he is a gentleman. He cannot conceal that even from you, if he is a common soldier. lie has the air of a grand mystery, and he is withal exceeding serviceable at the oven.’ ‘ It is he, nevertheless, sir, and you will pardon me if I recall to your memory the order that was issued by the Count de Bochambeau when the deserter was captured the other day and forgiven.’ * Death at the next sunrise,’ said the Count, sinking into his chair. ‘ Death at the next sunrise,’ said the aid, quietly. * Methinks, had I known that this fellow would be the next, I would have waited until the next aftpr him, for there is something about him that passes my comprehension greatly,’ * You will— ’ ‘ No, I will not. The order was given, it must be followed. See that I am not wakened until after the sentence is executed.’ A court-martial was speedily convened, and Francois Duplan stood before it charged with Laving been captured by the pickets far beyond bounds and making as if it were his intention to pass through the north woods, out upon the Hartford turnpike. ‘ I cannot deny this,’ he said, * but I affirm that it was my intention to return before roll-call, and at once admit that I had disobeyed the rules, * That is an apology easily framed after capture,’ suggested the Judge Advocate; * but if you say what your purpose was in thus going beyond the lines, if it seem to ns good and consistent with your return, it may make the difference between life and death with yon, Francois Duplan.’ ■‘Alas! I cannot tell my purpose. lean say that it was a good one; that had it been accomplished resnlts of much concern to me and to another—yea many others—might have come of it. As it is unaccomplished, my purpose would be laughed at, and another made an object of ridicule.’ ‘ That mnst be a singular purpose, indeed, which you would prefer to lose your life rather than part with.’ * If it must be so, then it mnst, I hoped to lose my life when I came to America, but not thus. However, what difference Is it ?’ Thty found him guilty, and sentenced him to death. He was to be shot by six of his comrades at the next sunrise. Yet they pitied him. He was, by a’l accounts, a tall, handsome, brave fellow —a soldier whose ease of manner and whose habits indicated that his early life was passed in circles with which none of his companions were familiar. He was a stranger to them when he joined them, and it had not escaped notice that the Count de Rochambeau, with his ever-obser-vant eye, had marked this common soldier, Francois, and had even once said in the hearing of the sentry who paced in front of the door, ‘I mean to find out why this gen tleman serves as a common soldier, and who he is.’ With all hla reserve a* d hours of meditation Francois was a favorite with his comrades, for while they felt that ha was above them in refinement, in polish and experience, they knew that he made no effort to have them feel this, but rather endeavored to repress all trials and emotions not shared in common by a private soldier. He could not repress all There was a method, a way, a mannerism, of which he was unconscious. He had nursed the sick, done double duty to save some tired out comrade, and there was gloom throughout the camp when it went forth that comrade Duplan was to bo shot at sunrise. They went by twos and threes and scores to the Count de Roobambeau to beg for mercy, and they returned heavy hearted, not getting what they sought. Dnplan himself, so it was afterwards said, was the moat composed and seemingly least troubled soldier in the camp. To his guard he said but little. Once when the guard, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, said, ‘ Too bad, too bad 1 ’ Dnplan replied, ‘lt is well.’ And then he added, ‘I have lived these five years in the shadow of death. To-day, yesterday, for a few weeks, I have seen a little ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. I knew to-day, when I stepped over the line, that ere I returned either the sun would once more shine for me, or that night would come for ever,’ ‘ That seems to be the strange part of it

all. There la not a soldier in the camp who thinks you intended to desert.' ‘Nor did I. Had I succeeded I should have returned, welcomed by the Count de Rochambeau, and not as Francois Duplan.’ 'Then you are not serving under your right name ?’ ‘No, I once had—knew a servant of that name.’ Later in the evening the Count do Roohambeau’s aid brought a message to the sergeant in command. It was to the effect that any requests of Francois Duplan consistent with the execution of the sentence were to be granted. Food, writing materials, companions for the night, the choice of comrades who were to execute the sentence—any wishes ho might havo were to be strictly carried out. Duplan at first said ho had none ; but suddenly, with an air of great earnestness, and yet timidity, he asked if a comrade might be detailed to escort from the village and homo again one whom he would like to see, ‘And who is this one ?’ ‘Mistress Prudence Strong.’ The aid looked at Duplan curiously f,r an instant ‘And why do you wish to see Mistress Prudence Strong on such a night as this ?’ he asked, 'Did the Count de Rochambeau instruct you that I must give the reasons for any wish I might desire granted ?’ was Duplan’s answer. The aid smiled significantly, bnt Duplan did not see that. ‘ Let it be then as he wishes,’ said the aid to the sergeant. A soldier was detailed to go up into the village and escort Mistress Prudence to the camp. ‘Per-adventure she will not come,’ he said to his comrades as he buttoned his great coat about him ; ‘ and yet I think she will. Have "you not seen her at the oven when Duplan and the rest of ns were baking brsad? Did she not visit ns one evening with some of the other maids, and bring us cider and apples ?’ As the soldier passed the gnard-honse, Duplan called him, ‘ I pray you,’ said the prisoner, ‘not to reveal to Mistress Prudence my troubles. It is my last request to you, comrade.’ Half an hour later the soldier returned.' The flicker of the lantern that he carried revealed, as they parsed the sentry, a slender female form, enwrapped from head to foot with a cloak. She preceded her escort a few steps. The snow was beginning to fall. Some of the flakes fell upon the tresses of her hair that escaped from the top of her hood where it encircled the face. She was shown the gnard-honse. Duplan, standing, received her, waving his hand slightly, as if to warn her against any undue emotion. The guard, with a delicacy for which Duplan subsequently thanked him, turned his back to them, and paced slowly before the door. He heard voices. He did not hear, or try to, what was said. He heard sobs, also. At the end of fcalf-an-hour Duplan said distinctly, “ now go. You will come to see me in the morning at the oven, will you not ?’ And then the guard knew that he had not told her what his sentence was, and that she did not know that she never would hear him speak again. As she quitted the guard-house he put some papers that he took from his breast ieto her hand, ‘ Will you go with me to the War Office?’ she said to her escort, ‘ and wait there until I have seen Mr Trumbull ? Then when we get to my father’s house my father will make for you a hot punch, I’ll warrant. Yes, I know the punch will be already, because Mr Rudd, our minister, is in the kitchen this evening with father, and they always take a warm one together.’ The snow as they passed to the highway began to fall so thickly that even the light of the lantern was dimmed, but at this Miss Prudence laughed, and the comrade who was acting as her escort thought her an extremely fearless girl, and wonderfully handsome withal. The walk to the War Office was a short one. Within ten minutes they were at the door. 1 Halt! ’ said the sentinel, and ho was so muffled up that it was the tone rather than the articulation that checked Mistress Prudence, who would otherwise have opened the door and gone in unannounced, ‘ Oh, oh 1 It is you. is it Prudence, and what do you here on such a night as this ? ’ the sentinel said, after peering into the maiden’s face. ‘ I would see Mr Trumbull; truly 1 desire overmuch to speak to him. Will you admit me?’ The sentinel tapped at the door. It was opened. A ruddy glow burst from within, and by it two despatch bearers could he seen sitting on the counter—for before the war the office was a country shop—driving their spurs into the wood work as their legs dangled a foot or more from the floor. (The marks of the spurs of these and other messengers are to be seen in the woodwork even to this day.) Mistress Prudence and her escort passed into this room. The despatch bearers who were evidently in the midst of some rollicking story, and were plainly feeling the merrier for the mulled cider they had taken, eyed the female figure curiously at first, bnt when she threw her cloak and hood off, and they saw the large grey eyes, now seeming very dark by the firelight, and that her features were exceedingly fair and her manner gracious, they thought for certain that they were in the presenoa of one of the Governor’s daughters, and became at once greatly courteous. One took her cloak and shook the snow from it, then put it before the fire. The other opened the door to the room in the rear, where he knew the Governor was passing an hour with the Count de Kochambeau. '! has unannounced Mistress Prudence came into the Governor’s presence. He sat at his oaken desk, but seemed for the moment to be more occupied over a certain discussion that he was having with Rochambeau than with his papers. The French nobleman stood easily before the fireplace, the flames from the burning log burnishing the gilt of his scabbard. The Governor arose and the Count bowed. Both were exceedingly tall, and Mistress Prudence seemed by contrast wofully small, but not less fearless than the men she confronted.’ ‘ Why, Mistress Prudence, what has brought you here ? Do you come from your worthy father, the Esquire V ‘ Ahem !’ this in the slightest and yet most suggestive of tones from the Count. ‘Pardon me,’ said the Governor. ‘Let me, I beg, present Mistress Prudence Strong to the Count de Rochambeau. A worthy daughter of an exceeding worthy father, sir.’ {To de continued.)