The Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, Vol. 2 (of 2): or, Illustrations, by Pen And Pencil, of the History, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the War for IndependenceLossing, Benson John
History
The Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, Vol. 2 (of 2): or, Illustrations, by Pen And Pencil, of the History, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the War for Independence
Lossing, Benson John
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783
My tarry at Elkton was brief. While Charley (my horse) was "taking a
bite" at an inn stable, I made inquiry of the post-master and other
citizens, concerning vestiges of the Revolution, and ascertained that
nothing was visible in the neighborhood of Elkton except the water, and
the fields, and the hills on which Howe encamped, some two miles from
the town. The place of the debarkation of the British was Turkey Point,
a cape formed by the junction of the Elk River and the broad mouth of
the Susquehanna, twelve miles below the village. Informed that the enemy
cast up no intrenchments, and, consequently, left no tangible marks of
their presence there, and assured that a fine view of the Point might be
obtained from the steam-boat, when going down the Chesapeake, I resolved
to be satisfied with a distant observation. I accordingly rode to
Frenchtown, three miles below Elkton, whence the boats connecting with
the Delaware and Chesapeake rail-way depart for Baltimore; "took tea"
with a widow lady, residing in a fine brick dwelling on the bank of
the river, and, just before sunset, embarked. Charley was restive when
walking the plank, but, using all the philosophy he possessed, he soon
decided that the hubbub in the steam-pipe was harmless, and his footing
on deck secure. These problems settled, he seemed to enjoy the evening
voyage quite as much as the bipeds around him. It was, indeed, a
glorious evening. When the _George Washington_ cast off her moorings,
the last gleams of the evening sun gilded the hills of Delaware, and,
while passing Turkey Point, the scene was truly gorgeous. The tall trees
of the cape were sharply penciled upon a back-ground of blended ruby,
orange, gold, purple, and azure, glowing like opal, and spreading over
many degrees of the western horizon; while above, far up in the dark
blue, was the crescent moon, with Jupiter in her lap, beaming so
brightly that he cast a line of silver light upon the calm waters of the
bay. Both had gone down behind the hills when we passed North Point *
light-house, and entered the Patapsco. We arrived
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