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

Part II - published in the Windsor Ledger June 29, 1899

It was a time of peril
  To our stalwart sires of yore;
It was no pleasant matter
  Then to hear the Lion roar;
For their king was Lord and master
  Of the broad and narrow seas,
And he had a mighty army
                             To enforce his stern decrees;                            
But all these things could not dismay
  Brave men determined to be free.

The fierce and crafty Indians
Held the forest far and wide,
  The slaves and bloody Tories
Too were thorns on every side,
  But with these foes conjoining
They resolved to win or die;
So they joined the Continentals,
Fighting on as years went by;
Until King George no longer bore
The right to rule this happy shore.

Then Ahoskie Ridge was true
  Unto itself and liberty;
For Captain Abner Perry,
 With his gallant company:
With that of Irving Jenkins,
 Went to face the British foes;
And Major Hardy Murfree
  Unto deathless fame arose;
For men will ne'er forget his fight
  At Stony Point, that bloody night.

This was a British fortress,
 That arose grim, strong and high
Above the Hudson River,
  With three English cruisers by;
But it's rugged Scotch Highlanders,
  Near a thousand men or more,
Were at midnight stormed and taken
  'Mid wild carnage and uproar;
And Hardy and his gallant set
  Did all the sork with bayonet.

All America was glad
  O'er the victory then won;
All but a single kinsman; 
  This was stern old Major Brown,
Who had fought and was disabled
   On Culloden's bloody moor;
And he a royal pensioner, 
  Could in battle join no more;
So sore he mourned our fealty lost
   To the land and king he yet loved most.

Then too, his own son-in-law,
   Godwin Cotten, kind and mild,
Left his youthful bride and home,
   And 'mid comrades rough and wild,
As aide-de-campe of General Howe,
   Also went to do his part
In battling for the land he loved;
   Weary limb and anxious heart,
Were their's until god gave them peace,
   And of their woes complete surcease.

Near St Johns, Rosllyn Castle
   Stood with gables dark and quaint,
Where dwelt old Robin Sumner,
   Who though warden, was no saint;
He was rich and long a leader
   In the great affairs of state;
Then his balls were widely famous,
   And his gaming high and late;
He had two hundred slaves or more,
   And blooded horses by the score.

Just a league to the westward,
   In his mansion fair then dwelt
His rival, Arthur Cotten,
   Who had often known and felt
How the captain takes the battle
   When he feels his good ship reel
'Neath the foeman's cannonading,
   When with blood his scuppers fill;
Long had he sailed upon the seas,
   Before he sought a life of ease.

His sire was friend and kinsman
    Of the Lady Alice Lisle
  That pure and gentle woman,
    Who was brave and yet so mild
  That she died as did he Savior,
    For the mercy she had shown,
  Helpless victim of a tyrant
    Who was soon to lose his throne.
  That bigot King our fathers made
    The last who dared their rights invade. 

Captain Arthur found a wife
   Who was fair as he was grim;
She replaced his love of old
   For his cruiser staunch and trim;
And his life on ocean waters, 
   For young Bessie Rutland bore,
So many graces in her mien
   Kind alike to rich and poor,
That Arthur smoked his pipe at home,
   No more on rolling seas to roam.
  
He and his neighbor Sumner
  Were church wardens of St. Johns;
They two were mostly friendly,
   But it happened more than once
That high words by both were spoken
   And t'was said their gentle wives
Had to calm the troubled waters
   And keep peaceful thus their lives;
How often thus our women bring
   Some balm to soothe life's sorest sting.

Their greatest quarrel happened
   When the Baptist people sought
To use the ancient chapel
   For a meeting, Cotten thought,
Was nothing more than just their right
   As was the public's own;
But Robin swore t'was sacrelege
   If any such thing was done,
So Captain Cotten gave his home
   And bade the people all to come.

After seven years of battle
   And when peace had come again,
Freedom ruled in Church and State
   There were mighty changes seen;
T'was then in spite of Robin's wrath
   The old chapel at St. Johns
Was free to all who love our Lord,
    Yes to each and every one
The doors stood open free and wide,
   And to the humblest not denied.

It was then that a Baptist,
   Who was dwelling very nigh,
Came oft to wake the echoes
   And to lift a warning cry
That resounded like a trumpet,
   Heard in stillness of the night,
So he stirred the careless people;
   Till he led them to the light,
And though a youth he foremost stood
   Among the men who sought the good.

Nor from that day has other
   Rose to bless and lift the State,
More than this Lemuel Burkitt
   With his service long and great;
For as preacher and reformer,
   And historian he made
A name still dear to myriads,
   And bore them so clean a blade;
He dying, knew his life had been,
   For only things that make us clean.

On the broad highway dwelt he,
   Just two miles toward the west,
Close beside an old neighbor
   Who of men he loved the best;
This was the gentle deacon Cotten
    Who oft rode with him afar,
On long journeys undertaken
    In times peaceful well as war;
For well they served our Lord and land
   Battling for both with hear & hand.

Old St. Johns outlived the war
   But when mourning long and sore,
For the gallant sons of hers
   That would come to her no more;
From fatal Camden in the South,
   Unto bloody Monmouth's field,
They had so nobly borne their parts
   Now and then a tear would steal
Down furrowed cheeks for comrades
   But far abroad their fame was blown.

T'was a happy village still,
   In those years so long agone,
But where are now the  men and maides
   And the many houses flown;
In mossy graves the people sleep
   Not a single house remains,
Long ago I knew the chapel
   With its many weather stains
It too had crumbled into dust,
   The people gone to heaven I trust.

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