The War Letters of Cornelius Rose (1775-1787)

I have sent three sons off to war. Though watching them depart and worrying about their safety was a daily challenge, I never had to deal with what my eighth generation great grandfather, Samuel Rose did: watching two sons on opposite sides of the battle. 

In 1775, the colonies were straining at the seams of unity. War drums were beating forcing everyone to choose a side. As in so many towns, sensibilities lined up on various sides. Not everyone chose the same allegiance. Samuel and his son, Samuel Jr. were resolved in their loyalty to the Crown. We can reasonably assume that, as with many devoted Christians, their loyalty was in great part driven by their theology. The Scriptures they read commanded them to obey the authorities as ministers of God! Many Dutch Reformed pastors would have preached this message from their pulpits. 

But not all the men in the pews agreed. Samuel’s son, Cornelius was one of them. Like the people, there were preachers on both sides. The most famous of the period was Jonathan Mayhew of Boston who rallied patriots from his pulpit. Could Cornelius himself have heard a sermon in the Green Mountains of Vermont from a preacher like Mayhew? (Jim Rose, Editor)

The Pulpit of Liberty: A Sermon for the New Hampshire Grants

Setting: A rustic, timber-framed meeting house in the Green Mountain country, May 1775. The pastor stands before a congregation of hard-pressed farmers, axes and muskets leaning against the back benches.

Text: Galatians 5:1

"Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage."

Brethren, we are gathered here today not merely to tend to our private souls, but to answer a solemn reckoning brought to our very doorsteps. You look out upon these valley lands—fields you cleared with your own calloused hands, cabins built log by log to shelter your wives and children. Yet, there are those in high palaces across the sea, and greedy magistrates in New York, who look upon your labor and claim it as their own. They demand tribute without your consent; they invalidate your lawful deeds; they seek to make you tenants on the very soil God gave you to steward.

Hear me clearly: there are those who abuse the Holy Scriptures to preach a doctrine of blind, unlimited submission. They quote the Apostle Paul out of context, whispering that we must bow our necks to every decree of King George, no matter how wicked or destructive.

I tell you today, that is a theology of chains! It is an insult to the Creator!

Our great brother, the late Reverend Mayhew of Boston, taught us the true meaning of the divine order. Government is indeed ordained by God—but for what purpose? It is ordained to be a minister of good, a shield for the innocent, and a protector of the people’s peace and property. A ruler is bound by a sacred oath before the Almighty to seek the welfare of his subjects.

Therefore, when a magistrate ceases to be a protector and instead becomes a devourer; when he robs you of your livelihood, strips away your chartered rights, and sends an armed mob to take your homesteads, he has broken his covenant with God! He has emptied his office of any divine authority. He is no longer a minister of heaven, but a common pest to human society.

Is it a sin to resist such lawless power? No! To resist those who defy God’s justice is to align yourself with God’s will. To tamely surrender the liberty won by the blood of our forefathers, and given to us as a divine inheritance, is to commit a grievous sin of stewardship. Tyranny begins like a tiny drop in a bucket, but if left unchecked, it becomes a raging torrent that deluges whole empires. We must stand fast now, before the yoke is irrevocably fastened.

Do not be discouraged by the might of those who call you rebels or a lawless "mob." The Pharaoh of Egypt had chariots and armies, yet the Lord of Hosts cast them into the sea. The tyrant King Charles I claimed a divine right to oppress, yet God brought his pride to the dust.

Take up your muskets, then, not in a spirit of lawlessness, but in a solemn defense of God’s law. Gird your loins, step into the margins of this wild frontier, and defend the inheritance of your children. If the King’s men demand your subjugation, let your answer be that we acknowledge no King but King Jesus!

Go forth, stand fast in your liberty, and may the Lord of Hosts cover your heads in the day of battle.

Amen.

Historical Note:

It is no surprise that most of the historical details of the Rose Family conflict are not recorded. We do know that Samuel Jr. fought for King George and that Cornelius joined the famous Green Mountain Boys where he served under the command of Ethan Allen. There is also enough historical data about this period to reconstruct a reasonable story of one of the Green Mountain Boys. While there are no actual “war letters” and exchanges between Samuel and Cornelius Rose there could have been. This is what they might have been. 

From Castleton

May 4, 1775

Honored Father,

I doubt not that this letter will bring a dark cloud over your brow, but I must speak the truth of my heart. Having  left our farm at Manchester I plan to join Colonel Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys. Please do not worry, nor look upon this as the reckless whim of a boy. There is a fire of liberty burning through the hills, and I can no longer turn a blind eye to its call. My hands, which you taught to hold a plow, will soon hold a flintlock. I have never felt a greater certainty of purpose.

I just arrived at Castleton where I stood proudly before the officers of the Green Mountain Boys and signed the papers of my service. There are many men like me who have joined. We sleep in rough tents with a tattered blanket to keep us warm. We sit around the fires at night telling stories of our homes and share our dreams of freedom. 

The daily  routines are strict but filled with a rugged, cheerful spirit. At the first light of dawn, the drums beat us awake, and we assemble in the wet grass for drills.  We do not march in the rigid, mechanical lines of the King’s regulars; instead, Captain Warner is training us to move like the shadow of a cloud behind tress and crouching behind rocks. We practice forming quick lines, scattering instantly into the brush, and then coming together again with our pieces primed. The older men are teaching us how to advance in silence through the dead leaves, keeping our powder horns dry and our eyes moving at all times..

You can assure Mother that though our fare is simple there is  plenty enough to keep our strength up. We take our meals in small messes around the campfires. Every morning, the cooks boil great iron kettles of cornmeal mush—what the boys call "hasty pudding"—sweetened with a bit of wild maple molasses. For supper, we often get a ration of salt pork and peas, stew them together in our tin cups, and enjoy ash-cakes baked right on the hot stones of the fire. 

I know you fear what I’ve done and I know your loyalty to the old order runs deep. But if you could see the resolve in the eyes of these men—men who have cleared this wilderness with their bare hands—you would know that we cannot bow to a distant king. We do not do this for love of blood but love of the soil. 

Your loving son,

Cornelius

From Manchester

October 12, 1775

My Son Cornelius,

It is indeed with a heavy heart and hand trembling with both anger and sorrow that having received your letter I now write these lines. A traveler passing south from the lake recently brought word that you have not only stayed with Seth Warner’s men, but that you are marching with them into Canada. I cannot comprehend such a decision! To hear that my own flesh and blood is involved in such folly leaves me shattered. To picture you enduring the freezing rains and snows of a northern campaign—all for the sake of a lawless, mistaken rebellion—is a bitter cup to drink. I implore you, my son, drop this folly; leave the misguided camp, and come home where we will welcome you without rebuke. 

Though you speak of a "new dawn" and the "dawn of liberty,"  you do not see the ruin you are inviting upon our house and this land. It is not a glorious cause but a dangerous treason against our king. God cannot be pleased with this! We are implore in the Holy Scripture to “submit to those in authority” as unto God himself. We may not like all he does but King George is God’s minister for good, as Saint Paul himself said. 

Look at the reality of the conflict you have thrown yourself into. I agree there was a local dispute over land titles. We were right to resist the unfair encroachments. But your youth fails to see that there were radical lawless men behind the scenes coopting this injury for their own nefarious purposes. The blood spilled at Lexington and Concord was a senseless tragedy born of hot-headed defiance. There is no warrant from the Almighty to tear brothers apart. 

You fail to understand how the King has protected these colonies for generations. He has  shielded us from the French and the savage wilderness. To turn our backs on the Crown now is a betrayal of the peace, order, and rule of law that allows our farms to look toward a harvest.

My heart is further broken by the fracture in our own household. While you march north under a rebel banner, your brother Samuel has chosen the path of honor and loyalty. He has cast his lot with His Majesty’s provincial forces. Think on this, Cornelius! If you persist in this madness, you risk facing your own brother across a field of battle. Will you pull a trigger against the boy you shared a bed with, all for the sake of Ethan Allen's vanity and the empty promises of a rebel Congress?

This unnatural war is tearing the fabric of our country and our family apart. The frontier is no longer safe, and the winter will be unforgiving. There is still time to turn back. Your mother weeps for you daily, and my own arms are open to receive a repentant son. I pray to the Almighty that He restores your reason, stays your hand from treason, and brings you safely back to the hearth where you belong.

Your grieving and worried father,

Samuel Rose

From Castleton

May 8, 1775

Honored Father,

I know this letter will find you in displeasure, and it breaks my heart to write to you from a camp of men you have called seditious. I know what you and Samuel say of the Green Mountain Boys—that we are nothing but riotous woodsmen defying lawful authority. But Father, the wind has shifted since the news from Lexington reached us. This is no longer a dispute over New York land grants The blood of farmers has been spilled by the King’s troops, and the land we have cleared with our own sweat cannot be held under the thumb of a distant Parliament.

Tomorrow we march for the lake. Colonel Allen is a fierce man, but it is Colonel Seth Warner who commands my deepest respect. He is calm, steady, and treats us like men who own our own lives.

I take no pleasure in defying your will. I do not write this to add insult to your injury. But I do implore you to look at what is happening around us. We are not a mob; we are your neighbors, your sons, seeking only to breathe the air of liberty on the land we broke. I pray that when the news of what we do reaches Manchester, you will see that our cause is just. Tell Mother I am safe, and tell Samuel I hold no malice—only a hope that his eyes will be opened to the dawn that is coming.

Your dutiful son,

Cornelius

From Fort Ticonderoga

May 11, 1775

Honored Father,

The Great Gibraltar of America has fallen, and it was done without the shedding of a single drop of blood. If ever there was a sign that the Almighty favors our cause, it was witnessed yesterday at dawn.

We crossed Lake Champlain in the pitch of night. The water was rough and we had so few boats that only eighty-three of us stood on the enemy's shore when the sky began to turn grey. 

Colonel Allen knew we could not wait for the rest—to linger was to hang. We breached the wicket gate just as the birds began to wake. A sentry snapped his piece directly at us, but the powder only flashed in the pan and did not catch. Surely, Father, the hand of God stayed that flint.

We swarmed the parade ground of Fort Ticonderoga. Our shouts echoed off the stone barracks like the crash of thunder and lightning. To see those British regulars, who so long demanded we quarter their troops without payment in our own homes, and held themselves as our masters–to see them surrender their swords while standing in their nightshirts–it was a sight that would have stirred your soul as well! 

I know you fear the chaos of rebellion, but there was a profound order here. We took this fortress "in the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress." I wish you could see how we are building a nation out of the woods and rocks of our land.  Do not cast yourself on the wrong side of history. There is room for men of your wisdom in this new dawn. I beg you to consider what we have accomplished here before you condemn my choice.

Your loving son,

Cornelius

From Crown Point

May 14, 1775

Honored Father,

I write to you now from Crown Point, which we secured under the direct command of Colonel Warner on the twelfth of this month. Where Allen's march was filled with noise and theater, Warner led us with a quiet, unyielding discipline that left the British garrison no choice but to lay down their arms immediately.

We have captured over a hundred massive iron and brass cannon here. As I look at these great guns, I do not see instruments of destruction—I see the very walls of our future safety. They will be used to protect our towns, our churches, and the families we love.

It pains me deeply to hear from a traveler that Samuel has been speaking with the King's agents. Father, I implore you, use your counsel to stay his hand. The Crown cannot hold this continent; the spirit that moves these hills is too vast to be caged by red coats and bayonets. If Samuel takes up arms for the King, he will be fighting against the very soil that feeds him—and against his own brother.

I do not ask for your forgiveness for being here, for my conscience is entirely clear before God. I ask only for your understanding. Look at the strength of our people when we stand as one. Join your prayers with mine for a free country.

Your son, who honors you always,

Cornelius

Manchester

November 5, 1775

Cornelius,

Your words regarding your brother Samuel wound me to the quick, and I cannot sit in silence while you lecture me on his honor from your mud-soaked trenches in Canada. You implore me to "stay his hand" as if he were a child being led astray by villains, yet you blind yourself to the fact that it is your hand that has taken up an unnatural rebellion against your rightful Sovereign.

Let it be known to you that Samuel has not been whispered to by "agents" in the dark; he has spoken openly with His Majesty’s authorities because he possesses a mind for law, duty, and the preservation of this family. While you have allowed yourself to be intoxicated by the theater of Ethan Allen and the high-sounding phrases of the Philadelphia Congress, your brother sees the precipice upon which you stand. He knows, as do I, that the very "spirit" you claim moves these hills is not a holy fire, but a fever of lawlessness that will leave our farms in ashes.

You boldly write that the Crown cannot hold this continent, and that bayonets cannot cage your ideals. What a foolish, youthful arrogance! You speak of Great Britain as if she were a foreign invader, forgetting that it was British blood, British gold, and those very "red coats" that defended our frontiers from the French and the hatchet but fifteen years ago. The peace we enjoyed to clear our lands in Manchester was bought by the strength of the King’s navy and the order of his laws. To think that a loose confederation of farmers, tradesmen, and debt-ridden lawyers can withstand the unmitigated might of the empire is a madness born of pride. When the King's fleets arrive in full force upon our shores, this illusion of yours will vanish like morning mist over the lake.

But what tears at my soul most heavily is the cold reality of your division. Samuel has left the Grants to offer his service to His Majesty's provincial forces. He does so not out of a love for tyranny, but out of a desire to restore the peace that your faction has broken.

Weigh your ideals carefully in the scales of eternity, Cornelius. If you continue on this path, the day is fast approaching when the smoke of battle clears, and you will find your musket leveled at the breast of the brother who helped you clear our first northern pasture. No grand talk of "liberty" from a distant Congress will wash the blood of a brother from your hands. I command you, by the duty you owe to the mother who bore you and the father who raised you: renounce this treason, leave the rebel ranks, and return to the family that prays even now for your rescue.

I remain your grieving father,

Samuel Rose

Historical Note: 

Even as in the communities and homes of the colonies, churches and pastors were divided about the cause: some advocating liberty and others submission. It is possible that Samuel Rose attended such a church and the sermons solidified his resolve even to the point of his growing estrangement from Conrelius. Here is a fictionalized sermon by a Loyalist Pastor that is based on historically accurate sentiments. 

The Pulpit of Peace: A Loyalist Sermon for the New Hampshire Grants

Setting: A modest, timber-framed colonial meeting house. The pastor stands behind a plain wooden pulpit, addressing a congregation heavy with anxiety. The mood is somber, and a few men sit stiffly, conflicted by the rising tide of rebellion.

Text: Romans 13:1–2

"Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation."

Beloved brethren, we live in a day of terrifying confusion. The winds of sedition blow fiercely through our valleys, and the voices of demagogues echo from the taverns to the very steps of our sanctuaries. They call upon you to take up arms against your rightful King. They whisper that your fields and your freedoms are in jeopardy, using the language of liberty to mask the sin of rebellion.

But I ask you today, as your shepherd: who is the true author of order, and who is the author of confusion?

The Apostle Paul did not write the words of our text to a perfect government, nor to a flawless ruler. He wrote them to Christians living under the Roman Empire, enduring trials far greater than a tax on tea or paper. Yet his mandate remained absolute: the authorities that exist are ordained by the Almighty Himself. To honor the King is to honor the divine order that keeps the wilderness from devouring us.

Government is a fortress built by God to protect us from our own fallen natures. Look upon the British Empire—it is the shield that has defended these colonies from foreign conquest, the guarantor of the common law, and the source of our deep-rooted prosperity. King George III is not a Pharaoh; he is our lawful sovereign, bound by the British Constitution to preserve the peace of the realm.

What do the builders of this "rebellion" offer you in exchange for this peace? They offer the rule of the mob. They style themselves "Liberty Men" or "Green Mountain Boys," but they act as lawless rioters, defying property laws, intimidating their neighbors, and threatening the very fabric of civil society. They claim to fight for property, yet they strip the property and peace from any honest man who dares remain loyal to his oath.

Do not be deceived by those who twist the Holy Gospels to preach a doctrine of treason. Christ our Savior flatly commanded us to "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's." He did not call for an insurgent mob; He submitted even unto an unjust cross, demonstrating that the kingdom of God is not advanced by the sword of sedition.

When you sign those rebel covenants or lift a musket against the King's men, you are not merely defying a parliament across the sea—you are resisting the very ordinance of God. You are inviting the ruin of your families, the desolation of your farms, and the righteous judgment of the law.

I exhort you, brethren, turn away from these lawless committees. Close your ears to the preachers of discord. Let us be a people of order, of law, and of quiet duty. Pray for the King. Seek the peace of this land. Stand fast in your allegiance, and trust that the Lord of Hosts will preserve those who walk in obedience and humility.

Amen.

From Camp near Fort St. Jean, Province of Quebec

October 24, 1775

Honored Father,

The easy victories of the spring are far behind us now. The Canadian northern line is a bitter, unforgiving place. For weeks we have slogged through freezing rains and knee-deep swamps along the Richelieu River. Smallpox crawls through our camps like a thief in the night, looking to steal and kill and destroy.  Many nights my blanket is stiff with frost before I can close my eyes.

In these dark hours, when my body shakes with the cold, it is the memory of your hearth that keeps me alive. But it is my faith in our cause that keeps me standing on the picket line. We are pushing toward Montreal to secure the northern gate so that our homes in the Grants may sleep in peace.

A heavy sorrow weighs on me, heavier than the freezing mud. A captured provincial told me that Samuel has officially joined with the King’s loyal units. My heart is broken, Father. When I look across the misty tree lines at the enemy's breastworks, I am forced to wonder if my own brother is behind them, aiming his musket at my breast.

How have we come to this? I know you blame my stubborn idealism, but I see a future where no man has to bow to a lord or a king across the sea. I endure this freezing wilderness so that your grandchildren will inherit a continent of free men. If this is the last letter you receive from me, know that I loved my family fiercely, but I loved liberty enough to die for it. I pray daily that God will reconcile our house, and that you will yet see the justice of what we fight for.

Your faithful and enduring son,

Cornelius

From Manchester

December 18, 1775

Cornelius,

I have read your latest missive, sent from the frozen gates of Montreal, and while my heart breaks for the physical miseries you endure, my soul shakes with a far greater terror for your spiritual estate. You write to me of your "faith in the cause" as if it were a holy shield against the Canadian winter. You speak of this rebellion with the language of the sanctuary, blasphemously intertwining the sacred name of the Almighty with the lawless designs of treasonous men.

Let me be plain with you, my son: this "faith" you claim is not the faith of a Christian. It is a grotesque delusion, a misplaced worship of an earthly idol that exposes how far your heart has strayed from the true God of Scripture.

Have you forgotten the very first lessons of your youth? The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is a God of order, not of confusion. He is the sovereign King who establishes thrones and appoints rulers for the restraint of human wickedness. Scripture does not leave us in the dark on these matters. The Holy Apostle Paul commanded the church in Rome—under a regime far more severe than any Parliament—that “every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God. Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation.”

By marching under a rebel banner, you do not serve the Lord; you openly wage war against His established ordinance. You have traded the eternal Covenant of Grace for a covenant of political vanity written by debt-ridden lawyers in Philadelphia.

Just this past Sabbath, our own Reverend stood before the congregation and preached from the text of Proverbs: “My son, fear thou the Lord and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change: For their calamity shall rise suddenly.” He warned us with tears in his eyes of the wandering wolves who have entered the flock, preaching a false gospel of "liberty" that leads straight to the pit of destruction. He looked upon the empty benches—benches where you and other hot-headed boys once sat—and declared that those who leave the path of lawful submission to join the rebels have departed from the faith itself. He warned that you have traded the quiet fruits of righteousness for the frantic spirit of a mob, and that those who draw the sword against their King will find that same sword turned upon their own souls by the judgment of God.

You comfort yourself in your freezing trench by believing you are building a new Zion in the wilderness. But God will not be mocked, Cornelius. He does not bless the breaking of oaths, the defiance of authority, or the shedding of brotherly blood. Your brother Samuel has placed his faith where it belongs: in the unchangeable Word of God and the preservation of lawful order. He goes to serve his King with a clear conscience, knowing that true freedom is found in obedience, not in the frantic pursuit of an earthly utopia.

I implore you, look into your own heart. Strip away the theatrical rhetoric of Ethan Allen and the empty promises of your commanders. See your "faith in the cause" for what it truly is: a dangerous pride that threatens your eternal soul. Repent of this misplaced worship. Cry out to the true God for forgiveness, lay down your weapons of rebellion, and return to the church, the family, and the King you have so foolishly abandoned.

Your grieving but praying father,

Samuel Rose

Historical Note: 

The Continental invasion of Canada collapsed entirely by the summer of 1776. After a brutal winter siege at Quebec City and a retreating action back down the St. Lawrence River, the remnants of the American northern army—ravaged by smallpox and exposure—fell back to Mount Independence and Fort Ticonderoga by July 1776.

Because enlistments for the original Green Mountain Boys and early Continental regiments expired at or near the end of 1776, soldiers like Cornelius who survived the Canadian ordeal returned home to recover.

Cornelius did not move back to his father’s house in Manchester, Vermont. The bitter political and personal rift with his Loyalist father and brother Samuel Jr. made a return to the family homestead nearly impossible—Cornelius sought a fresh start in a community more aligned with his views. He chose Schaghticoke, New York.  It was an established farming community along the Hoosic and Hudson rivers. 

After settling in Schaghticoke he re-enlisted in the Continental Army in a friendlier jurisdiction. Records indicate that he joined the 14th Albany County Militia (also known as the Hoosack and Schaghticoke Regiment) under the command of the important revolutionary war figure, Colonel John Knickerbocker. He most likely kept his rank of private for the duration of his military service. 

Schaghticoke, New York

September 14, 1788

Honored Father,

The years have traveled past us like water rushing over the mill-dam, and though a long, heavy silence has hung between Manchester and myself, not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you, of Mother, and of Samuel. The bitter smoke of the war has finally cleared from our valleys, and the grand, turbulent struggle that consumed my youth has given way to the quiet, steady labor of the plow and the scythe. I write to you now from Schaghticoke, where I have traded my musket for a tract of rich bottomland, hoping to lay down roots that might outlast the scars of our old divisions.

The Lord has been merciful to me, Father, preserving my life through the frozen northern campaigns so that I might find a place of true peace. And it is of a deep, sacred peace that I must now tell you.

I have been faithfully attending the Dutch Reformed Church here in the township, seeking to anchor my soul in the truths of Scripture just as you always raised me to do. It is within those quiet, whitewashed walls that the Almighty has blessed me beyond measure. I have formed a budding, deeply cherished relationship with a young woman of grace and virtue named Sarah Earls. We sit near one another in the pews, and we have spent many a Sabbath afternoon walking along the banks of the Hoosic River, speaking of our faith, our trials, and our hopes for the days ahead.

Sarah possesses a steadfast spirit that heals the lingering hurts of my soldiering days, and it is my fervent hope and prayer to make her my wife before the snow flies this winter. To stand before the altar with her, to build a home, and to see a new generation rise from our line is the deepest longing of my heart.

Yet, as I look forward to the joy of holy matrimony, my happiness feels hollow without the blessing of the father who raised me. The political rifts that once fractured our household—the arguments over kings, congresses, and land patents—belong now to the history books. We have both survived a crucible that tore a continent apart, and surely the ties of blood and the love of Christ are vaster than any allegiance to earthly crowns or republics.

I desire with all my soul to reunite with my family in Manchester. I want nothing more than to bring my Sarah up into the green hills of Vermont, to place her hand in yours, and to sit at your hearth once again as a son, not a rebel. Let the past be buried in the soil we both work. I implore you, Father, send me some word of grace. Let me know that the door to your house is open to me and to the woman I hope to marry, so that our house may finally be made whole.

Your loving and expectant son,

Cornelius

Concluding Historical Note

Following their marriage at the Schaghticoke Dutch Reformed Church in 1788, Cornelius Rose and Sarah Earls had five or more children Though the records of the church are not complete and the details of each child not clear, genealogical research suggests that their first son was named Elias (1789-??), followed by Edward (1795-1875), Joseph (1798–??), Margaret (1801-??), Peter (1805-1854), and his most famous son, named after his commander, Herman Knickerbocker Rose (1812-??). Of particular interest to my story is Peter Rose. Peter was my fifth generation great grandfather.