Legends and Memories of St John's Chapel -
Addressed to R. A. Riddick
by Major John W. Moore 

Part XXI  (A)- published in the Windsor Ledger Nov 9, 1899

 But he was of such a bent
As hates to be defeated,
He'd calmly borne for months
This hard way to be treated,
But the last moment now had come
He would dally never more,
She must answer then, or never,
Or that he, some foreign shore
Would seek as refuge when he could,
No more upon her peace intrude.

He told her, all the story
Of his love, and new intent,
Standing there, in the moon light,
And she was so long silent
That he hoped her resolution
Had relaxed, for once, and all,
But she only asked him kindly
To be led back to the ball.
And they amid dancers parting
He was soon from them departing.

The very day thereafter,
His own brother, Captain Ben,
Would sail for the West Indies,
And fair Susan, trembled when
They told her that he, sure enough
To his word had been faithful,
And now was gone so far away
That with grief his cup was full;
She had not dreamed his words were true,
But now too late, she found them so.

'Twas a great time, in Hertford;
In those days, when ships would sail
Across the great sea water,
And such voyage entail
Much concernment, into many,
Who were chief thus supplied
In many wants, that overwise
Would else be to them denied,
So Captain Ben, had endless orders
For such things, from foreign borders.

'Twas not only coffee, then,
And the sugar,  all would need,
But their dear Jamaica rum,
And all things, that foreign trade
Brought unto men, out in the woods,
Came to our sires thus, by the sea;
So friend Robert you understand,
How very, very anxiously,
Those good old folks, who flourished then
Watched the coming of Captain Ben.

Many good wives, whose dainties
For the coming Christmas times,
Would be largely what he brought;
Jellies, Cocas, Spices, limes,
And a hundred other matters,
Only to be ever found
Down in those enchanting islands,
Whose profusion finds no bound,
Where endless summer, holds its sway
And winters cold ne'er comes that way.

'Twas long before Captain Ben,
Ventured out and on his return,
There were waiting enemies
Who might seize and quickly burn
His good ship, if once he started
And they caught him out at sea;
Only in the Spanish harbor
Could he then in safety be,
So he bided until he saw
How he could reach his home afar.

The young lover all this time
Had in silent sorrow borne
His affliction without hope,
'Till by chance, it became known,
That a Yankee craft was going
Off for Europe the next day,
And on this, he taking passage
Started on his doubtful way
Steering o'er the ocean wide,
Ere long, a foeman was espied.

After an exciting chase
The Yankee was over hauled,
And for the skippers papers,
Soon the British Captain called.
There he saw it plainly stated
That one Thomas Wynns, Gent,
Was booked as going to Bourdeaux;
As supposed with some intent
Of thus procuring foreign aid,
To the rebellion lately made.

Thus it was by cruel fate
This unhappy youth was borne
As prisoner of state,
With a prospect all forlorn;
He was lodged in London Tower,
Until the Royal Government,
Should be able to discover
What was surely his intent,
In daring thus to cross the seas
When notes of war, filled every breeze.

There in those gloomy chambers
In the sad dark days of yore
Had lain the gallant Raleigh,
Lady Jane, and Thomas Moore,
Luckless Kings, and Princes many
And a host of noble men,
Had been led from out its portals,
Soon to meet a bloody end.
So Thomas waited patiently
To see what his own fate should be.

His youth, and simple bearing,
With his high-bred courtesey,
Added to a full confession,
Served to set the young man free,
The wise old statesman, saw at once
That no scheme of treachery,
Had led the youth to leave his home,
To cross the dangerous sea,
Seeking in far-off foreign lands
Release from Cupid's cruel barbs.

When Captain Ben and his ship,
Haply once again reached home,
He found that many people
Were in the profoundist gloom,
Nigh despairing of this coming.
Christmas had already come
Not a single breath of tidings
Had told where, he yet did roam.
When lo! the good ship once again
Had safe returned from oe'r the Main.

But sad to tell, fair Susan,
Heard with auguish the sad tale,
That her lover came not back
But had sent a long farewell,
In a brief missive, telling her
She would see him never again;
As he then was sadly starting
For the lands beyond the main,
Where he in time might over come
A portion of his present gloom.

She had not thought a moment,
When he sailed from her away,
That longer than a voyage
Would he dare prolong his stay,
She was sure, that the long, long days,
Of his absence, would but find
Him, unto all the memories
Of their past, and he would find,
That after all; she would relent,
And to his suit at last consent.

It was then with aching soul
That she heard that he was gone
Far across the ocean waters
With no promise of return.
And withal, his hopeless letter,
Bidding her a long adieu,
Crushed her last fond expectation.
"Oh," she cried, "what shall I do?"
And the long night watches found her
In piteous state to those around her.

She had never known her heart,
Had not dreamed of how she loved
Now she realized how well
She was prized, by him who roved
There was little outward showing
Of the greatness of her grief.
For two lives thus madly ruined
By her own mistaken doing.

Her father saw the pallor
Of her cheeks, that used to bloom,
And he watched her step unsteadly,
As she passed from room to room,
But no dream of why, or wherefore,
Filled his deeply anxious mind
He, only coubled his caresses,
More than ever grew so kind.
That in her dumb unhappiness,
She yearned the whole truth to confess.

Part XXI  (B)- published in the Windsor Ledger Nov 16, 1899

Alas! this loving maiden
Had a goodly store of pride
Her dread of all things earthly
Was that people might deride
Her great jolly, in refusing,
One for whom, she now would die;
It was thus, she pined in silence,
As the days went sadly by,
She only moaned "the night is dreary"
Of day light, I'm still more weary.

At midnight, when her mother
Could not from anxiety,
Find accustomed balm of sleep,
It was then, all silently,
She stood o'er her sleeping daughter,
And the maiden in her dreams,
Murmured of her acheing sorrow,
While by help of the moon beams
She saw her cheeks were wet with tears
And spoken words betrayed her cares.

Thus the long hidden secret,
Came at last to the light,
Yet, in dire perplexity,
Were her friends that summer night,
As to how they could recall him,
He who yet, was far away,
Pining in a foreign prison,
Where, the blessed light of day
Was barred from them confined therein,
And yet were guiltless of all sin.

But they were much mistaken,
For the lover long ago,
Had been freed from all restraint;
And in London it was so,
That spite of war and enmity
He was making many friends,
And being left unto himself
Followed his own views and ends;
But as the English were his foes,
He could not find with them repose.

He was in perplexity
As to what he next should do,
It was wrong to longer stay,
But where, then, had he to go?
It was thus, he stood debating,
When a letter came to him
Telling of his sweetheart's sorrow;
How her eyes had grown so dim,
And all the love of days agone
Came back to make him all her own.

Then he sped across the sea,
Just as fast as wind and tide,
Then could bear such a lover
To the presence of his bride;
Soon her damask cheek was blooming
Telling sorrow all was gone,
And the church bells, too were pealing;
To salute their wedding morn,
Northampton, Hertford, and Bertie
Were all on hand the fete to see.

At least the aristocracy
Of all these three balliwicks,
Were in Murfreesboro, seen,
There to see, the parson fix,
The marriage bonds, between the two;
And no couple ever yet,
Lived in wedlock more serene,
Or among our people met
More of reverence and love,
Or themselves, more worthy proved.

Hertford never had a man,
Who, so long her pulses swayed;
Every honor in her gift,
At his feet, she gladly laid.
All his manhood dedicated
To the nation, and the state,
Gave him place, and precedence,
Among men, who too were great
No statesman e'er had fewer sins
Than our general Thomas Wynns.

It was their only sorrow,
That no children blessed their home;
The great house down at Barfields
Had in this its only gloom
But we still have in old Hertford
Just a few, who worthily
Keep the name, and former virtues
Of this ancient family;
God bless us all, and make us too
To every plighted promise true.

In those far off years, neighbor,
Early in this century,
There was living, strong, and lusty,
In the County of Bertie,
A strange old man, with daughter fair,
Who for many miles around,
Was considered fairest, richest
Heiress to be therein found;
And this you see would certainly
Make many wish her mate to be.

They lived on a great wide farm,
Down beside the Roanoke,
Its broad fields, stretched far away,
To forests dark with ash and oak;
Across the river too, his vast
Expanse of lofty cypress rose,
From which at midnight often  came
Sounds, that boldest spirits froze,
Where bullfrogs, wildcats, bears and owls,
Gave fourth their loudest screams and howls.

The lonely great house far away,
From the village of the slaves,
Stood upon a headland high
Close beside the river's waves;
Here in state, like times primeval,
And the patriarchs of old,
Colonel Sutton, lived full lordly,
Having in his ample fold
Big herds of cattle, hogs, and sheep,
Which showed his careful ward and keep.

It was a treat to see his cows,
Night and morning stem the flood,
Swimming o'er the wide river,
There to graze just as they would;
Fair and stately was the mansion,
But a lonely solemn grace,
E'er with shadowy evening came,
And so clothed the ancient place
That eyes not blind, might plainly see;
Hung o'er the place some mystery.

There were tales of former vengeance,
Wrought by him for fancied wrong,
He, the lord of all this manor,
So 'twas whispered, oft among
Slaves and neighbors, that the two,
Man and wife ne'er spoke again;
He in sorrow still abiding,
In her grave long has she lain,
But oh! the bitter memory
From which he since could never flee.

He too had been such a boy
As every one, might expect
Would grow up, when every man
Gave a lad, so much, much respect
No wonder, that he rarely found
One to disregard commands,
When after years he grew to be
The barb of many folks, and handly
Swift to feel dishonors touch
No man e'er saw him yield or crouch.

How shall I hope in my rhyme
Now to tell you half the tale
Of Mary Sutton as they knew her,
Ah! good neighbor, I should fail,
For her beauty grace and goodness
Made her chosen belle and queen
Of a wide extended region
Which has ever famous been
Indeed, a fair, a gracious region
Those good things number by the legion.

Tall and most divinely fashioned,
She was full of gentleness,
And the grand queenly bearing,
Rich and poor alike could bless,
For she never let it happen,
To be anything below,
The benign and gracious lady,
They all loved and worshipped so,
One of those rare and radiant maids,
Angelic without fortune's aids.

Her beauty and great fortune
Made her soon of wide reknown;
Many suiters sought her hand,
Yet with n'er a single frown,
She gently put aside all claims,
As she told them, one and all,
That ne'er within her father's life,
Whatever thing might befall,
That she with him would still abide,
And leave him to be no man's bride.