tory. The British troops under Clinton were beaten
back after a desperate struggle, the Americans took possession of the
field, and the battle of Monmouth was won.

On the following day, poor Molly, no longer a furious Amazon, but a
sad-faced widow, with swollen eyes, and a scanty bit of crape pinned on
her broad young bosom, was presented to Washington, and received a
sergeant's commission with half-pay for life. It is said that the French
officers, then fighting for the freedom of the colonies, that is,
against the English, were so delighted with her courage that they added
to this reward a cocked hat full of gold pieces, and christened her 'La
Capitaine.' What befell her in after-years has never been told. She
lived and died obscurely, and her name has well-nigh been forgotten in
the land she served. But the memory of brave deeds can never wholly
perish, and Molly Pitcher has won for herself a little niche in the
temple of Fame, where her companions are fair Mary Ambree and the
dauntless Maid of Saragossa.

_THE VOYAGES, DANGEROUS ADVENTURES, AND IMMINENT ESCAPES OF CAPTAIN
RICHARD FALCONER_[31]

I WAS born at a town called Bruton, in Somersetshire, and my parents
were well-to-do people. My mother died when I was very young; my father,
who had been a great traveller in his days, often told me of his
adventures, which gave me a strong desire for a roving life. I used to
beg my father to let me go to sea with some captain of his acquaintance;
but he only warned me solemnly against the dangers to which sailors were
exposed, and told me I should soon wish to be at home again.

But at last, through my father's misfortunes, my wish was gratified, for
he was robbed of a large sum of money, and found himself unable to
provide for me as he wished. Disaster followed disaster till he was
compelled to recommend to me the very life he had warned me against. I
left him for Bristol, carrying with me a letter he had written to a
captain there, begging him to give me all the help in his power, and
never saw him again. But Captain Pultney, his friend, welcomed me like a
son, and before long got me a berth on the 'Albion' frigate, in which I
set sail for Jamaica on May 2, 1699.

When we were in the Bay of Biscay a terrible storm came on; the billows
ran mountains high, and our vessel was the sport of the waves. A ship
that had overtaken and followed us the day before seemed to be in yet
worse distress, and signalled to us