The following story we also obtain from a communication to an old periodical. We have no reason to doubt its truth, although we do not find the circumstance mentioned elsewhere:
In the summer of 1776, when the American army was in New York, a young girl of the city went to her lover, one Francis, and communicated to him, as a secret she had overheard, a plan that was in operation among the government men to destroy the American commander-in-chief, by poison, which was to be plentifully mingled with his green peas, a favorite vegetable of his, on the following day, at Richmond Hill head-quarters, where he was to dine. Francis, who was a thorough Whig, although supposed to be friendly to the Royalists, went immediately to Washington and acquainted him with this diabolical plan for his destruction. Washington, having listened with attention said:
“My friend, I thank you; your fidelity has saved my life, to what reserve the Almighty knows! But, now, for your safety; I charge you to return to your house, and let not a word of what you have related to me, pass your lips; it would involve you in certain ruin; and heaven forbid that your life should be forfeited or endangered by your faith to me. I will take the necessary steps to prevent, and at the same time discover, the instrument of this wicked device.”
The next day, about two hours before dinner, he sent for one of his guard, told him of the plot, and requested that he would disguise himself as a female, and go to the kitchen, there to keep a strict watch upon the peas, until they should be served up for the table. The young man carefully observed the directions he had received, and had not been long upon his post of duty, before a young man, another of the guard, came in anxiously to the door of the kitchen, looked in, and then passed away. In a few moments after, he returned and approached the hearth where the peas stood, and was about to mingle in the deadly substance, when suddenly he shrunk back as though from the sting of the fork-tongued adder, his color changing to the pale hue of death, and his limbs apparently palsied with fear, evidently horrorstruck with his own purpose; but soon, however, the operation of a more powerful incitement urged forward his reluctant hand, that trembling strewed the odious bane, and he left the kitchen, overwhelmed with conflicting passions, remorse and confusion.
“Harold sleeps no more; the cry has reached his heart ere the deed be accomplished,” said the youth on duty, in a voice not devoid of pity, as he looked after the self-condemned wretch.
“What, Harold!” said the commander-in-chief, sorrowfully, upon receiving the information; “can it be possible – so young, so fair, and gentle! He would have been the last person upon whom a suspicion of that nature could have fallen, by right of countenance. You have done well,” said he to the youth before him. “Go, join your comrades and be secret.”
The young man went accordingly, and Washington returned to the piazza, where several officers were assembled, among whom was the hero of Saratoga, who was waiting for further instructions from Congress before he departed for Canada. In a few moments dinner was announced, and the party was ushered into a handsome apartment, where the sumptuous board was spread, covered with all the delicacies of the season.
The commander-in-chief took his seat, placing General Gates on his right hand, and General Wooster on the left. When the remainder of the officers and company were seated, and eager to commence the duties of the table, the chief said, impressively:
“Gentleman, I must request you to suspend your meal for a few moments. Let the guard attend me.” All was silence and amazement. The guard entered and formed in a line toward the upper end of the apartment. Washington, having put upon his plate a spoonful of peas, fixed his eyes sternly upon the guilty man, and said: “Shall I eat of this vegetable?”
The youth turned pale and became dreadfully agitated, while his trembling lips faintly uttered, “I don’t know.”
“Shall I eat of these?” again demanded Washington, raising some upon his knife.
Here Harold elevated his hand, as if by an involuntary impulse, to prevent their being tasted.
A Chicken was then brought in, that a conclusive experiment might be made in the presence of all those witnesses. The animal ate of the peas and immediately died, and the wretched criminal, overcome with terror and remorse, fell fainting, and was borne from the apartment.
“The Poisoned Dish” in True Stories of the Days of Washington (New York: Phinney, Blakeman & Mason, 1861), p. 51-55.
4 A paradigm of authenticity might move in the direction from lesser reliability to greater reliability, beginning with myth, then moving consecutively to legend, to tradition, to verifiable historical event. Sometimes the only difference in actual history between tradition and historical event is verifiability. But the mere fact of the reality of historical occurrence is not the same as historical validity. Thus, there is a strong wall of distinction between tradition and verifiable historical event. The recognition of this wall of separation between tradition and historical event, and the frustration and limitations it sometimes imposes on the historian, has encouraged the development of the study of oral history, as a legitimate attempt to utilize tradition without compromising the necessity of high standards for verifiable history. Oral history, then, is a preserver of tradition, a tradition that may in fact be a real event, yet an event not possessing the capability of independent verification by written record or other evidence. To overcome the inherent weakness of oral history’s preserving of historical data without external corroboration, various factors and standards have been conceived. Such factors to assess the strength and reliability of oral tradition include matters such as the reliability and credibility of the historical informants, the frequency of reports as well as the number of distinctive reporters, the extent of confusion in the story as to major or minor details, and as to whether the details are expressions of augmentation, or of contradiction. Thus, a largely uniform and frequently reported oral story expressed by several highly competent individuals is an expression of tradition that although falling short of the highest standards of verifiable historical fact, cannot be utterly dismissed as irrelevant. It is this intuitive understanding that causes the historian to frequently report an insightful anecdote that otherwise may not be able to stand on its own. In our study here, we will on occasion pursue the importance of certain potentially significant oral historical records, since there is no other data on which to build certain events, given the exigencies of the time and circumstances in which the event occurred.
So, as an example of a myth, consider “An Unknown Speaker Swayed Colonials to Sign the Declaration of Independence in 1776” in The Justice Times (Publishers Ajay Lowery & Anita Lowery, no date, no city.). The story here presented is historically situated, but it adds elements of the supernatural and of the impossible and historically unrecorded in any other setting.
Faced with the death penalty for high treason, courageous men debated long before they picked up the quill pen to si[g]n the parchment that declared the independence of the colonies from the mother country on July 4, 1776.
For many hours they had debated in the S[t]ate House at Philadelphia, with the lower chamber doors locked and a guard posted.
According to Jefferson, it was late in the afternoon before the delegates gathered their courage to the sticking point.
The talk was about axes, scaffolds, and the gibbet, when suddenly a strong, bold voice sounded:
“Gibbet! They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in the land; they may turn every rock into a scaffold; every tree into a gallows; every home into a grave, and yet the words of that parchment can never die!”
“They may pour our blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet every drop that dyes the axe a new champion of freedom will spring into birth!”
“The British King may blot out our stars of God from the sky, but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment there.”
“The works of God may perish: His words never! The words of this declaration will live in the world long after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshop they will speak hope: to the slave in the mines, freedom: but to the coward kings, these words will speak in tones of warning they cannot choose but hear.”
“Sign that parchment!”
“Sign, if the next moment the gibbet’s rope is about your neck! Sign, if the next minute this hall rings with the clash of falling axes!”
“Sign, by all your hopes in life or death, as men, as husbands, as fathers, brothers, sign you names to the parchment, or be accursed forever! Sign, and not only for yourselves, but for all ages, for that parchment will be the textbook of freedom, the bible the rights of man forever.”
“Nay, do not start and whisper with surprise! It is truth, your own hearts witness it: God proclaims it. Look at his strange band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a people; a handful of men, weak in arms, but mighty in God-like faith; nay, look at your recent achievements, your Bunker Hill, your Lexington, and then tell me, if you can, that God has not given America to be free!”
“It is not give to our poor human intellect to climb to the skies, and to pierce the Council of the Almighty One. But methinks I stand among the awful clouds which veil the brightness of Jehovah’s throne.”
“Methinks I see the recording Angel come trembling up to the throne and speak his dread message. ‘Father the old world is baptized in blood. Father, look with one glance of Thine eternal eye, and behold evermore that terrible nations lost in blood, murder, and superstition, walking hand and hand over the graves of the victims, and not a single voice of hope to man!’”
“He stands there, the Angel, trembling with the record of human guilt. But hark! The voice of God speaks from out the awful cloud: ‘Let there be light again!”
“Tell my people, the poor and oppressed, to go out from the old world, from oppression and blood, and build My alter in the new.’”
“As I live, my friends, that to be His voice! Yes, were my soul trembling on the verge of eternity, were this hand freezing to death, were this voice, implore you to remember this truth— God has give America to be free!”
“Yes, as I stare into the gloomy shadows of the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign that parchment for the sake of those millions whose very breath is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up to you for the awful words: ‘You are free.’”
The unknown speaker fell exhausted into his seat. The delegates, carried away by his enthusiasm, rushed forward. John Hancock scarcely had time to pen his bold signature before the quill was grasped by another… and another… and yet another.
It was done.
The delegates turned to express their gratitude to the unknown speaker for his eloquent words. He was not there.
Who was this strange man, who seemed to speak with a divine authority, whose solemn words gave courage to the doubters and sealed the destiny of the new nation?
His name is not recorded: none of those present knew him; or if they did, not one acknowledged the acquaintance. How he had entered into the locked and guarded room is not told, not is there any record of the manner of his departure.
5 R.T. Haines Halsey, Pictures of Early New York on Dark Blue, Staffordshire Pottery (New York: Dover Publications, 1974), pp. 302-306. See photograph of the mug facing page 3.
