Cale Green has often told me this story himself. I was born in 1774. My father was whipped, tortured and hanged for his money both by Skinners and Cowboys. He was inclined to the whigs, but my mother leaned to the Royal cause. Once during the war, an officer with a detachment of eight or ten horse men came about eleven o'clock at night to our place and after feeding their horses at the barn entered the house when
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the commander addressed my mother who was up, telling her they had eaten nothing all day long, and begging her, very civilly, to supply them with some refreshments if it were nothing but bread &c. My mother moved with com- -passion, went to the dark hole in the field where her meat and most of her provisions were concealed, and gave them the best supper in her power. In the morning early the troopers departed. An officious, gossiping old woman of our neighborhood went to Colonel Thomas, and informed him that my father during the last night had har- -boured a party of Refugees. During the forenoon the Colonel came to our house and said to my father: "You har- -boured a party of Refugees last night." Father replied, "A party of horse staid here last night - I believe they belong above, but I don't certainly know." "Yes, you
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do, you old rascal," said Thomas, and thereupon knocked my father down with a blow of his musket. A moment after the officer and men in question who be- -longed as we discovered to Sheldon's returned from reconnoitring, and my father informed the commander of the treatment he had received from Colonel Thomas. The officer was ex- -tremely indignant and addressed Tho- -mas in the severest terms, saying: "We came here last night hungry and fatigued both men and horses.