Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 3 | Page 3

It took a great deal of teasing to overcome the scruples of the farmer,
but he gruffly consented to receive the young man until his hurt should
heal. Ruth attended him faithfully, and the cheerful, manly nature of the
officer so won the farmer's heart that he soon forgot the color of
Howell's coat. Nor was he surprised when Howell told him that he
loved his daughter and asked for her hand; indeed, it had been easy to
guess their affection, and the old man declared that but for his
allegiance to a tyrant he would gladly own him as a son-in-law. It was a
long struggle between love and duty that ensued in Howell's breast, and
love was victor. If he might marry Ruth he would leave the army. The
old man gave prompt consent, and a secret marriage was arranged.
Howell had been ordered to rejoin his regiment; he could not honorably
resign on the eve of an impending battle, and, even had he done so, a
long delay must have preceded his release. He would marry the girl, go

to the country, live there quietly until the British evacuated
Philadelphia, when he would return and cast his lot with the Jarrett
household.
Howell donned citizen's dress, and the wedding took place in the
spacious best room of the mansion, but as he slipped the ring on the
finger of his bride the roll of a drum was heard advancing up the steps
into the room, then on and away until all was still again. The young
colonel was pale; Ruth clung to him in terror; clergymen and guests
looked at each other in amazement. Now there were voices at the porch,
the door was flung open, armed men entered, and the bridegroom was a
prisoner. He was borne to his quarters, and afterward tried for desertion,
for a servant in the Jarrett household, hating all English and wishing
them to suffer, even at each other's hands, had betrayed the plan of his
master's guest. The court-martial found him guilty and condemned him
to be shot. When the execution took place, Ruth, praying and sobbing
in her chamber, knew that her husband was no more. The distant sound
of musketry reverberated like the roll of a drum.

THE MISSING SOLDIER OF VALLEY FORGE
During the dreadful winter of the American encampment at Valley
Forge six or eight soldiers went out to forage for provisions. Knowing
that little was to be hoped for near the camp of their starving comrades,
they set off in the direction of French Creek. At this stream the party
separated, and a little later two of the men were attacked by Tory
farmers. Flying along the creek for some distance they came to a small
cave in a bluff, and one of them, a young Southerner named Carrington,
scrambled into it. His companion was not far behind, and was hurrying
toward the cave, when he was arrested by a rumble and a crash: a block
of granite, tons in weight, that had hung poised overhead, slid from its
place and completely blocked the entrance. The stifled cry of despair
from the living occupant of the tomb struck to his heart. He hid in a
neighboring wood until the Tories had dispersed, then, returning to the
cave, he strove with might and main to stir the boulder from its place,
but without avail.
When he reached camp, as he did next day, he told of this disaster, but
the time for rescue was believed to be past, or the work was thought to
be too exhausting and dangerous for a body of men who had much ado

to keep life in their own weak frames. It was a double tragedy, for the
young man's sweetheart never recovered from the shock that the news
occasioned, and on her tomb, near Richmond, Virginia, these words are
chiselled: "Died, of a broken heart, on the 1st of March, 1780, Virginia
Randolph, aged 21 years, 9 days. Faithful unto death." In the summer
of 1889 some workmen, blasting rock near the falls on French Creek,
uncovered the long-concealed cavern and found there a skeleton with a
few rags of a Continental uniform. In a bottle beside it was an account,
signed by Arthur L. Carrington, of the accident that had befallen him,
and a letter declaring undying love for his sweetheart.
He had starved to death. The bones were neatly coffined, and were sent
to Richmond to be buried beside those of the faithful Miss Randolph.

THE LAST SHOT AT GERMANTOWN
Many are the tales of prophecy that have been preserved to us from war
times. In the beginning of King Philip's war in Connecticut, in 1675, it
was reported that the firing of the first gun was heard