This bravery
caused the enemy to retire, leaving the little band of heroes to
withdraw unmolested from the field. Two hundred men were killed,
and Herkimer soon died of wounds."
The town of Herkimer is very attractive. It still is full of the
undying name and fame of the gallant hero of the Revolution.
There is a statue of General Herkimer in Myers park. "To the
west of the town is Fort Herkimer church, on the site of an
ancient fortification, which was a refuge prior to the
Revolution, and a base of supplies during the war." While
thinking over those stirring days, we forgot Trenton falls for a
time. We were speedily reminded, however, that our journey was
not completed. A vivid flash of lightning and a loud crash of
thunder told us an older than British or American artillery was
in action. We left the scenes of a hero's glory under a black
and hopeless sky, from which the rain was dismally falling. The
road became very slippery and our progress was very slow. To
make matters worse, a bridge was missing and we were obliged to
go another way.
On inquiring from an old lady the nearest way to the falls, she
said, "Oh, the nearest way to the falls is to take the road you
see passing along the woods at your left; it is the next best
thing to try if you have failed in an attempt at committing
suicide."
We very quickly told the old lady in unmistakable words that we
never had attempted suicide and had no inclinations along that
line yet. We were directed another way, however, and started on
once more. Several times we met people going to church in
automobiles and many wore the grave look of those who wished
they had kept their life insurance policies paid up. At one
place in the road near a steep declivity where a large machine
skidded, we saw that several devoutly crossed themselves, and
forgetting the "joined three fingers, which is symbolical of the
Trinity," they used all ten, and doubtless murmured a prayer for
the propitious completion of their journey, to which I am sure
we all could have readily echoed the amen.
All along the route we saw nothing but draggled people splashing
through the mud, their faces suggestive of fear, yellow mud, and
kindred abominations. Perhaps we were not things of beauty
either, seen through the dim perspective of rain and mud. No
doubt our faces had the appearance of sailors huddled up on
quarter-deck benches, silent and fearful of seasickness.
