STORIES OF THE REVOLUTION.
XIV.—THE GASPÉ.
1. Just before the Revolution, the British ship-of-war Gaspé was sent to Narragansett Bay to see that the trade was all right there. Lieutenant Duddington was the commander, and he annoyed the traders as much as possible. He would order a vessel to stop, go on board of her, and, having seen that everything was right, would go off with words of insult instead of apology. The Governor of Rhode Island ordered Duddington to let the trading-vessels alone, but the pert little officer only laughed at him. Next the Governor appealed to Admiral Watson, and received an insulting reply.
2. By this time the people were aroused. The petty little tyrant had issued an order that all vessels sailing up the bay should lower their flag by way of salute—an order very much like that of Gessler when he required the people to bow to a hat set upon a post. On the 9th of June Captain Lindsay, coming up in his packet, refused to lower his flag. The Gaspé gave chase, but Captain Lindsay dodged about among the shoals in such a way that the Gaspé got aground on the sand. Here she must stick until high tide, about three o'clock the next morning.
3. The news soon reached Providence. Mr. John Brown, one of the leading merchants, saw that it was a good time to end the troubles. He fitted out eight of the largest boats he could get, and placed them under the command of Captain Whipple, one of his most trusted ship-masters. The boats left Providence about ten o'clock in the evening, with sixty-four men, armed with paving-stones. As they approached the Gaspé, the sentinel hailed them, and Lieutenant Duddington fired a pistol at them. The reply was a single musket-shot, which brought the officer down, badly wounded. The ship's company were then ordered ashore, and the ship set on fire. At dawn she blew up.
4. A large reward was offered by Admiral Watson for the discovery of the parties engaged in this affair. Although the boats were publicly fitted out, and their departure was seen by hundreds of people, not one jot of information could he get. Commissioners sent over from England met with no better success, and after a trial of six months they gave it up as a bad job. A poem, written in regard to this affair, concludes with this verse:
5. "Now, for to find these people out,
King George has offered very stout:
One thousand pounds to find out one
That wounded William Duddington;
One thousand more he says he'll spare
For those who say the sheriffs were;
One thousand more there doth remain
For to find out the leader's name;
Likewise five hundred pounds per man
For any one of all the clan.
But let him try his utmost skill,
I'm apt to think he never will
Find out any of those hearts of gold
Though he should offer fifty-fold."
XV.—ETHAN ALLEN.
1. During the Revolution, the pride and the hero of the Green Mountains was Ethan Allen, and probably there was no man living then that had more of the elements of the popular hero than he. He was tall, almost a giant in stature, and strong in proportion. He was easily excited to anger, and his rage was something terrific. In another place it is told how he surprised and captured the strong fortresses of Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Afterward he was captured and taken prisoner to England. The brutal British officer in command put him in irons, and one day spat in his face. Allen, beside himself with rage at this insult, with his teeth wrenched off the head of the nail which fastened his handcuffs, and attacked the officer, who was obliged to retreat to save his life.
2. With all his rough ways and fits of anger Allen was a remarkably honest man. It is related of him that he owed a person in Boston sixty pounds, for which he gave his note. When due, it was sent to Vermont for collection. Allen could not pay at the time, and he employed a lawyer to postpone the payment until he could raise the money. The lawyer arose in court and denied Allen's signature to the note, as this would oblige the other party to send to Boston for a witness, and give Allen all the time he wanted.
3. When the lawyer made his plea, Allen, who happened to be in the back part of the court-room, strode forward, and in a voice of thunder addressed the lawyer: "Mr. Jones, I did not hire you to come here to lie! This is a true note—I signed it—I'll swear to it—and I'll pay it! I want no shuffling, I want time. What I employed you for was to get this matter put over to the next court, not to come here and lie and juggle about it." The lawyer shrank from his blazing eye, and the case was put over as he wished.
XVI.—JOSEPH REED.
1. A hero of another kind, and one we should never forget, is Joseph Reed, of New Jersey. He entered the patriot army, and proved a brave and efficient officer. In 1778 he entered Congress, and, while quiet, he became one of the most useful members. Soon after he entered Congress, a British commission was sent out to see if the difficulties between the two countries could not be adjusted and the war terminated. The terms they offered, however, did not include independence. Convinced that they could not accomplish their object directly, the commissioners resorted to deceit and bribery, and they offered Joseph Reed ten thousand guineas if he would use his influence to help along their project. The noble patriot heard the offer with great indignation, and replied, "I am not worth purchasing, but, such as I am, the King of Great Britain is not rich enough to buy me." The poet Freneau has recorded this incident in a poem from which the following extract is made:
2. "No single art engaged his manly mind,
In every scene his active genius shined;
Nature in him, in honor to our age,
At once composed the soldier and the sage.
3. "Firm in his purpose, vigilant and bold,
Detesting traitors, and despising gold,
He scorned all bribes from Britain's hostile throne,
For all his country's wrongs were thrice his own."
XVII.—GENERAL PRESCOTT.
1. In 1777 the British troops upon the Island of Rhode Island were commanded by General Prescott. Of all the disreputable officers sent over by the British during the Revolution, he was the meanest and the worst. He was cruel at heart, a petty tyrant, and a real coward. His government was so offensive to the people of Rhode Island, that they determined to put an end to it. The British army was stationed at Newport, and the British ships sailed up and down Narragansett Bay to protect the island from any attempted surprise on the part of the Americans. Feeling perfectly secure under the protection of the fleet, General Prescott made his headquarters at the house of a Mr. Ovington, five miles out of Newport, and beyond the British military lines.
2. The residence of General Prescott became known to the patriot leaders at Providence, and they resolved to make an effort to capture him. The enterprise was intrusted to Colonel William Barton, who entered upon the service with zeal and discretion. On the night of July 10, 1777, Barton, with a few chosen men, embarked in four whale-boats, and with muffled oars rowed across the bay to the island, passing directly through the fleet of ships and guard-boats. They came so near the ships that they could hear the sentinel's cry of "All is well!" After landing they made their way silently to the Ovington house, and captured the guard without creating an alarm.
3. Barton boldly entered the house, and found Mr. Ovington reading, the rest of the family being in bed. He inquired for General Prescott's room, and was told it was directly overhead. Taking with him four sailors, and Sisson, a powerful negro, Barton ascended the stairs, and gently tried the door. It was locked; but there was no time to be lost: the negro drew back a few paces, and, using his head for a battering-ram, burst open the door at the first effort. Prescott begged time to dress, but, as time was precious, he was hurried down to the shore without clothes, and placed in the boat, where he could dress at leisure. The boats then took their way back in perfect silence, and about midnight landed upon the mainland in safety. "Sir, you have made a bold push to-night!" said Prescott, to his captor. "We have been fortunate," replied Barton.
XVIII.—PRESCOTT AND THE YANKEE BOY.
1. In the spring of 1778, Prescott was exchanged for General Charles Lee, and returned to Rhode Island. Soon afterward the British admiral invited the general to dine with him and his officers on board his ship, then lying in front of Newport. Martial law yet prevailed on the island, and men and boys were frequently sent by the authorities on shore to be confined in the ship as a punishment for slight offenses. There were several on board at the time.
2. After dinner, the free use of wine made the company hilarious, and toasts and songs were frequently called for. A lieutenant remarked to the admiral, "There is a Yankee lad confined below who can shame any of us in singing."
3. "Bring him up," said the admiral. "Yes, bring him up," said Prescott. The boy was brought to the cabin. He was pale and slender, and about thirteen years of age. Abashed by the presence of great officers, with their glittering uniforms, he timidly approached, when the admiral, seeing his embarrassment, spoke kindly to him, and asked him to sing a song.
4. "I can't sing any but Yankee songs," said the trembling boy. "Come, my little fellow, don't be afraid," said the admiral. "Sing one of your Yankee songs—any one you can recollect."
5. The boy still hesitated, when the brutal Prescott, who was a stranger to the lad, roared out: "Sing us a song, or I will give you a dozen with the cat!" But the admiral interfered and told him to sing, and he should be set at liberty the next morning. Thus encouraged, the lad sang the following ballad, composed by a sailor at Newport:
6. "'Twas on a dark and stormy night,
The wind and waves did roar;
Bold Barton then, with twenty men,
Went down upon the shore.
7. "And in a whale-boat they set off,
To Rhode Island fair,
To catch, a red-coat general
Who then resided there.
8. "Through British fleets and guard-boats strong
They held their dangerous way,
Till they arrived unto their port,
And then did not delay.
9. "A tawny son of Afric's race
Them through the ravine led,
And entering then the Overton house,
They found him in his bed.
10. "But to get in they had no means
Except poor Cuffie's head,
Who beat the door down, then rushed in.
And seized him in his bed.
11. "'Stop! let me put my clothing on,'
The general then did pray;
'Your clothing, massa, I will take,
For dress we can not stay,'
12. "Then through rye-stubble him they led,
With shoes and clothing none,
And placed him in their boat quite snug,
And from the shore were gone.
13. "Soon the alarm was sounded loud,
'The Yankees they have come,
And stolen Prescott from his bed,
And him have carried home!'
14. "The drums were beat, sky-rockets flew,
The soldiers shouldered arms,
And marched around the ground they knew,
Filled with most dire alarms.
15. "But through the fleet with muffled oars
They held their devious way,
And landed him on 'Gansett shores,
Where Britons held no sway.
16. "When unto land the captors came,
When rescue there was none,
'A bold push this,' the general cried;
'Of prisoners I am one.'"
17. The boy was frequently interrupted by roars of laughter at Prescott's expense, which strengthened the child's nerves and voice; and when he had concluded his song, "I thought," wrote a gentleman who was present, "the deck would go through with the stamping." General Prescott joined heartily in the merriment produced by the song, and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a coin, and handed it to the boy, saying, "Here, you young dog, is a guinea for you!" The boy was set at liberty the next morning, and went ashore.
XIX.—BATTLE OF THE KEGS.
1. In 1777, while the British occupied Philadelphia, Washington made an effort to destroy their shipping. He caused torpedoes to be constructed in the form of strong kegs, and launched in the river, hoping that the tide would float them against the British ships, when they would explode. But the British discovered them, and for a time were greatly frightened. Then they opened upon them a furious cannonade; and for the next twenty-four hours they fired at everything that floated in the water. Mr. Hopkinson, the author of "Hail, Columbia," has given the following amusing account of this battle:
2. Gallants attend, and hear a friend
Trill forth harmonious ditty;
Strange things I'll tell, which late befell
In Philadelphia city.
3. 'Twas early day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was rising,
A soldier stood on log of wood,
And saw a sight surprising.
4. As in his maze, he stood to gaze,
The truth can't be denied, sir,
He spied a score of kegs or more
Come driving down the tide, sir.
5. A sailor too, in jerkin blue,
The strange appearance viewing,
First rubbed his eyes in great surprise,
Then said, "Some mischief's brewing."
6. The soldier flew, the sailor too,
And, scared almost to death, sir
Wore out their shoes to spread the news,
And ran till out of breath, sir.
7. Now up and down, throughout the town,
Most frantic scenes were acted;
And some ran here, and others there,
Like men almost distracted.
8. Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the earth had quaked;
And girls and boys, with hideous noise,
Ran through the streets half naked.
9. Now in a fright, Howe starts upright,
Awaked by such a clatter;
He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries,
"For God's sake, what's the matter?"
10. At his bedside he then espied
Sir Erskine at command, sir;
Upon one foot he had one boot,
And 'tother in his hand, sir.
11. "Arise! arise!" Sir Erskine cries,
"The rebels—more's the pity—
Without a boat, are all afloat,
And ranged before the city!
12. "The motley crew, on vessels new,
With Satan for their guide, sir,
Packed up in bags, or wooden kegs,
Come driving down the tide, sir.
13. "Therefore prepare for bloody war!
These kegs must all be routed;
Or surely we despised shall be,
And British valor doubted."
14. The royal band, now ready stand,
All ranged in dread array, sir;
With stomach stout, to see it out,
And make a bloody day, sir.
15. The cannons roar from shore to shore,
The small-arms loud did rattle;
Since war began, I'm sure no man
E'er saw so strange a battle.
16. The rebel dales, the rebel vales,
With rebel trees surrounded,
The distant woods, the hills and floods,
With rebel echoes sounded.
17. The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made
Of rebel stones and hoops, sir,
Could not oppose their powerful foes,
The conquering British troops, sir.
18. From morn till night, these men of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And, when the sun was fairly down,
Retired to sup their porridge.
19. Such feats did they perform that day,
Against those wicked kegs, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir.
XX.—THE DARING OF PAUL JONES
1. It was in the spring of 1778 that the name of John Paul Jones became so terrible along the western coasts of Britain—his native coasts, as familiar to him as to a Solway fisherman.
2. And what a tough, valiant, intractable, audacious hero he was, with his foppish ways and costume, his romantic, fantastic courtesy and enthusiasm! He had been a Nelson, if he had had Nelson's opportunities. He was a little man, too, like Nelson, though compactly built, and his voice was "soft and still, and small, and his eye had keenness and softness in it, and, full as he was of the spirit of mastery, he was all gentleness, consideration, generosity, to men who obeyed him." Like all the greatest fighters, he performed his immortal exploits while he was young; he was but thirty-two when he did his greatest day's work.
3. On the southwestern coast of Scotland John Paul Jones was born. Nothing could keep him from the sea. At twelve he was apprenticed to a merchant in the American trade, in whose ships he served seven years, as cabin-boy, and sailor before the mast. At the age of twenty-four we find him settled in Tobago, engaged in commerce, and possessing considerable property. In 1774 he came to the colonies. The Revolution breaking out, he obtained a lieutenant's commission in the forming navy of the United States. He acquired sudden and very great distinction. In one short cruise he took sixteen prizes, of which he burned eight and sent in eight. He had some sharp actions with king's ships, and captured one, which had on board a company of British troops, and ten thousand suits of clothes—a most precious acquisition in 1776.
4. It was Paul Jones who first hoisted the Stars and Stripes. On the very day, June 14, 1777, on which Congress resolved that "the flag of the thirteen United States be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation," they also resolved that "Captain Paul Jones be appointed to command the ship Ranger." As he had been the first to hoist the flag of the United States on a ship-of-war, so, on entering the harbor of Brest in February, 1778, seven days after the signing of the treaty of alliance, he was the first naval officer who had the pleasure of acknowledging a salute to that flag from a foreign power.
5. Soon after, Captain Jones sailed in the Ranger for the Scottish coast, on his first cruise in British waters. On the seventh day he was between the Isle of Man and Whitehaven waters, which he knew as familiarly as New-Yorkers do the Narrows. Whitehaven was the town at which he had been apprenticed, and from which he had sailed for ten years. It was a town of several thousand inhabitants, and its harbor contained three or four hundred vessels closely moored together. Jones had formed the daring scheme of running in near the port, landing two parties, burning all these ships, and retiring before an armed force could be raised to repel him.
6. At midnight, with two boats and thirty-one men, provided with combustibles and dark-lanterns, he left his ship and made for Whitehaven pier. Day was dawning when he reached it, for the light wind had made him hours too late in starting. He would not abandon the enterprise, however, unpromising as it seemed. Sending one boat to the north side of the harbor to fire the vessels collected there, he went himself to do the same office to the stranded fleet on the south side.
7. Familiar with every foot of the ground he had to traverse, he boldly landed under the guns of the two forts that protected the harbor, and he himself climbed the wall of one of them, and spiked every gun, without giving alarm. All the sentinels, he found, had gone to the guard-house, and there he secured and disarmed every one of them without giving or receiving a scratch. Then, accompanied by one man, he scaled the other fort and spiked its guns. Returning to the pier to begin the conflagration, he found there the other boat, which had come back for a light, the candles in the lanterns having burned out. Jones now discovered that all his own candles were consumed, and there was not in either boat a spark of fire, or the means of kindling one. The day, too, had dawned, and every second was precious. Nevertheless, he sent one of his men to a house near by for a light, who soon returned successful, and the boats again separated for the work of destruction.
8. Ten minutes later a barrel of fat, ignited in the steerage of a ship that lay surrounded by a hundred and fifty others, all left high and dry by the receded tide, shot a bolt of roaring flame through the hatchway. The people of the town, in hundreds, were soon running to the pier. Captain Jones stood by the side of the burning vessel, pistol in hand, and ordered the crowd to keep their distance, which they did. Not till the flames had caught the rigging and wreathed about the mainmast, not till the sun was an hour high, not till the whole town was rushing amazed to the scene, did Jones give the order to embark.
9. His men entered the boats without opposition, the captain releasing, at the last moment, all his prisoners but three, who were all he had room for. He stood on the pier till his men were seated in the boats, and for some little time after; then, stepping gracefully into his place, he gave the word, the oars splashed into the water, and they moved toward the ship, while from every eminence in the vicinity hundreds and thousands of silent, astonished spectators gazed upon the unearthly scene.
10. "To the forts!" was the cry on shore, as soon as the spell of the enemy's presence was removed. "Their disappointment," says Jones, "may easily be imagined, when they found at least thirty heavy cannon, the instruments of their vengeance, rendered useless! At length, however, they began to fire, having, as I apprehend, either brought down ship-guns, or used one or two cannon which lay on the beach dismounted, and had not been spiked. They fired with no direction, and the shot falling short of the boats, instead of doing us any damage, afforded some diversion, which my people could not help showing, by discharging their pistols in return for the salute." The people of the town succeeded in confining the ravages of the fire to a few ships. Had it been possible, he remarks, to have landed a few hours sooner, he could have burned three hundred vessels.
XXI-FORT MOULTRIE.
1. Early in 1776 Governor Rutledge, of South Carolina, built Fort Moultrie, to protect Charleston from an attack by sea. The fort was built of palmetto-wood, which is soft, but very tough and springy. In the middle of the fort was a low place scooped out of the earth, designed to hold water. Before the fort was finished, the British admiral, Sir Peter Parker, with two large ships-of-war, made his appearance off the harbor. Colonel Moultrie commanded within the fort. His men were all militia, and had never been in battle before.
2. Sir Peter commenced a furious attack upon the fort from his principal ships. But the balls entered the soft palmetto-wood and did no damage. Shells were thrown into the fort, struck in the interior ditch, which on the day of battle was filled with mud, instead of water, and the fuses were put out, or the shells burst and did no other damage than covering the men with a thick coat of mud. All day long the ships kept up their terrible broadsides, and all day long did the brave militiamen in the fort return the fire slowly but with good aim. It would not do to waste fire, as powder was low; and several times during the battle the gunners were obliged to stop firing until a new supply of powder came in from the city.
3. In the meantime, the people in the city were fearful and anxious; that small, half-finished fort was all that stood between them and capture. They could hardly believe that Colonel Moultrie with his raw troops could resist the attack of a formidable British fleet. All day long they heard the boom of the cannon, and all day long the steeples and roofs of houses were crowded with anxious spectators. With joy, they saw the ships crawl away toward night, fearfully cut up, while the fort continued its firing as the powder came slowly in. Then the bells rang, and a shout went up, that cheered the hearts of the brave garrison at the fort. One of the ships got aground, and was set on fire and burned up. Only ten of the militia were killed, and twenty-two wounded, while the loss on the ships numbered hundreds.
4. One incident of this battle is worthy of note. During the action, the flag-staff was shot away, and the flag fell to the earth outside the fort. Sergeant William Jasper at once jumped over the parapet, picked up the flag, and, amid the storm of iron from the fleet, he fastened it to a staff and set it up once more, and then leaped unhurt into the fort. The next morning Governor Rutledge publicly thanked Jasper, and gave him a small sword that hung by his side. Three years later the gallant sergeant was killed in the attack upon Savannah.
XXII.—COUNT PULASKI AND HIS BANNER
1. Count Casimer Pulaski was a native of Poland. At an early age he entered the army, where he soon became a leader of a patriotic movement to rid Poland at once of an unpopular king and of Russian rule. His little army was defeated, and in 1771 he entered the service of the Turks, then at war with Russia. In 1776 he went to Paris and had an interview with Dr. Franklin, and resolved to enter the service of the United States. He sailed for America the next year, and was placed by Washington in command of cavalry. He proved a very valuable acquisition to the American cause. His familiarity with military affairs enabled him to bring his corps to a high degree of efficiency in regard to discipline, and in battle he was a very thunderbolt. He was stationed along the New Jersey coast, keeping watch of the British during the greater part of 1778; and the next spring he was ordered south to assist General Lincoln and the Count d'Estaing in the reduction of Savannah.
2. This enterprise, planned by Washington with every prospect of success, met with a series of mishaps and disasters from the very first. The troops were tardy in concentrating, enabling the British commander to complete measures of defense which at first were very imperfect. Then there was a want of co-operation between the American forces and their French allies. When everything was in readiness, Count d'Estaing granted the British commander twenty-four hours truce, which he employed to so good a purpose that the idea of an assault was abandoned, and the operations were turned into a siege. For twelve days there was constant battle, ending in a general assault. No troops ever fought better, but they were driven back from the strong fortifications of the enemy with great loss. The golden moment was lost, and the great sacrifice of life was in vain. Count Pulaski was in the van of the fight during all these anxious days, and was stricken down at the very last moment, a hero dying for our freedom.
3. In 1777 Pulaski visited Lafayette while that officer was wounded, and under the care of the Moravian nuns, at Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. When it became known that the brave Pole was raising a company of cavalry, the nuns prepared a banner of crimson silk, beautifully wrought with the needle by their own hands, and sent it to Pulaski with their blessing. This banner he received with grateful thanks, and took it with him in every battle to the day of his death. The story of this banner is beautifully told by Longfellow:
4. "When the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the gleaming tapers shed
Faint light on the cowlèd head;
And the censer burning swung,
When before the altar hung
That proud banner, which with prayer
Had been consecrated there;
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.
5. "Take thy banner. May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave,
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale;
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills;
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance, shivering, breaks.
6. "Take thy banner; and, beneath
The war-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it—till our homes are free—
Guard it—God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
7. "Take thy banner. But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him—by our holy vow;
By our prayers and many tears;
By the mercy that endears—
Spare him—he our love hath shared;
Spare him as thou wouldst be spared.
8. "Take thy banner, and, if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier.
And the muffled drums should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this common flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.
And the warrior took that banner proud.
And it was his martial cloak and shroud."
XXIII.—LYDIA DARRAH.
1. While the British were in Philadelphia, one of Howe's principal officers made his quarters at the house of a Quaker named William Darrah. His wife, Lydia, was a true patriot, but she said so little, and performed her household work so well, that she won the entire confidence of her guest. One day he said to her, "I expect some friends to call this evening, and they will stay late, so have your family out of the way early." This order aroused her curiosity, and, when her family were in bed, she took off her shoes and went into the passage and listened to what was going on. She heard one of the officers read an order of Sir William Howe for the troops to march out the next night silently, and surprise Washington in his quarters. She went back to bed, and, when it was time for her to get up and let out the visitors, she was apparently fast asleep. She formed her plans during the night, and, early in the morning, she awakened her husband and told him that flour was wanted for family use, and that she must go to Frankford to get it.
2. It was a cold morning in December, and a deep snow covered the ground. On foot, with a bag in her hand, she set out, calling at Howe's headquarters for a permit to leave the city. At an early hour she reached Frankford, and, leaving her bag at the mill, she went on until she reached the American outposts. Here she met Colonel Craig, who had been sent out by Washington to get what news he could of the enemy. To him Mrs. Darrah told her story, and then went back to the mill, shouldered her flour, and hastened home.
3. From her window, the next night, in the cold starlight, she watched the British troops as they marched silently out of town, and a few hours later she saw them on their way back from their "fool's errand." The officer came home and bade Lydia go to his room. With an air of great secrecy he said, "Were any of your family up on the night when I had company in my room?" "No," she replied; "they all retired at eight o'clock." "It is very strange," said the officer. "You, I know, was asleep, for I knocked on your door three times before you heard me. But, by some means, our plans became known, for, when we went out, we found Washington ready to receive us, with his cannon mounted and his troops under arms, so we were compelled to march back like a parcel of fools."
XXIV.—THE LIBERTY-BELL.
1. The old State-House at Philadelphia still stands, and is preserved with the greatest care. Thousands of people from all parts of the United States visit it every year, for here Congress met in 1776, and here the Declaration of Independence was signed, July 4th. In the State-House is kept the old Liberty-Bell, which is thought almost as sacred as the house itself.
2. This bell was bought in England, in 1752, for the State-House. It was then the largest bell in America. Upon the first trial-ringing it cracked, and it hung unused in the steeple for a year. It was then taken down and recast, with these words in relief letters around its top: "Proclaim liberty throughout the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof." In the hall underneath this very bell, twelve years later, Congress did indeed proclaim liberty, and the joyful ringing of this bell first told the crowd of anxious people without that the Declaration of Independence had been passed. For two hours the tones of the bell floated down from above and mingled with the roll of drums, the booming of cannon, and shouts of the multitudes below.
3. After more than fifty years of service, the bell was cracked again, and rendered useless. It is now kept as a sacred relic of the past. The following is the last stanza of a poem upon the old bell by William Ross Wallace:
4. "That old bell is still seen by the patriot's eye,
And he blesses it ever, when journeying by;
Long years have passed o'er it, and yet every soul
Will thrill, in the night, to its wonderful roll;
For it speaks to its belfry when kissed by the blast,
Like a glory-breathed tone from the mystical past.
Long years shall roll o'er it, and yet every chime
Shall unceasingly tell of an era sublime;
Oh, yes! if the flame on our altars should pale,
Let its voice but be heard, and the freeman will start,
To rekindle the fire, while he sees on the gale
All the stars and the stripes of the flag of his heart."
XXV.—THE TORY'S HORSE.
1. While Cornwallis was virtually master of the Carolinas, raids were made in all directions to prevent the patriots from assembling, and to break up the bands of Sumter and Marion, which had proved to be very annoying to the British commander. The most noted commander of these raids was Colonel Tarleton, who displayed great activity in plundering and burning the homes of the patriots. Some of the planters were Tories, and eagerly welcomed the British troops.
2. While Tarleton was out on one of his raids, Macdonald, a young Scotchman, one of Marion's men, played a curious trick on an old Tory, who lived in the neighborhood. As soon as he heard that Colonel Tarleton had encamped, he dressed himself in the British uniform, and early in the morning called upon the Tory, and said to him:
3. "Colonel Tarleton sends his compliments, and, knowing you to be a good friend of the king, begs you will send him one of your best horses for a charger, to help drive the rebels out of the country."
4. "Send him one of my finest horses!" cried the old Tory, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Yes, Mr. Sergeant, that I will. A good friend of the king did he call me? Yes, God save his sacred majesty, a good friend I am, indeed, and true! And faith I am glad, too, that the colonel knows it. Here, Dick, run, jump, fly, you rascal, to the stable, and bring me out Selim. Young Selim! Do you hear?"
5. Then, turning to Macdonald, he went on: "Well, Mr. Sergeant, you have made me confounded glad this morning, you may depend! And now, suppose you take a glass of peach—of good old peach, Mr. Sergeant? Do you think it would do you any harm?" "Why, they say it is good on a rainy morning, sir," replied Macdonald. "Oh, yes, famous of a rainy morning, Mr. Sergeant—a mighty antifogmatic. It prevents the ague, Mr. Sergeant, and clears the throat of the cob webs, sir."
6. "Your honor's health!" said Macdonald, as he turned off a bumper of the strong cordial. But scarcely had he smacked his lips, before Dick paraded Selim, a proud, full-blooded steed, that stepped as though he disdained the earth he walked upon.
7. Here the old fellow broke out again: "There, Mr. Sergeant, there is a horse for you! A charger fit for a king. Well, my compliments to Colonel Tarleton. Tell him I have sent him my young Selim—my Grand Turk. Say to him that he is too noble for me, and that the only work fit for him is to drive the rebels out of the country." And, to send Selim off in high style, he ordered Dick to bring down his new saddle and holsters, with his silver-mounted pistols. Then, giving Macdonald a hot breakfast, and lending him a great-coat, as it was raining, he let him go.
8. The next morning he waited upon Colonel Tarleton, and told his name, with the smiling countenance of one who expected to be eaten up with fondness. But Tarleton treated him as an entire stranger. After recovering a little, he bluntly asked Colonel Tarleton how he liked his charger. "Charger, sir!" replied Tarleton. "Yes, sir, the elegant horse I sent you yesterday by your sergeant." "An elegant horse by my sergeant? I really don't understand this!"
9. The looks and voice of Colonel Tarleton too sadly convinced the old traitor that he had been bit, and that young Selim was gone. To have been outwitted in this manner by a rebel—to have lost his peach-brandy, his hot breakfast, his great-coat, his new saddle, his silver-mounted pistols, and, worse than all, his darling horse, his young, full-blooded, bounding Selim—the sense of all these losses came crowding upon him so suddenly that the old sinner liked to have suffocated on the spot. He grew black in the face, and as soon as he could recover breath he broke out into a torrent of curses against the rebels generally, and Macdonald in particular.
10. And Selim! a noble horse he was indeed! Full sixteen hands high, with the eye of a hawk, the spirit of a king-eagle, the chest of a lion, swifter than a roebuck, and strong as a buffalo! Macdonald kept Selim up lustily to the top of his mettle. The horse soon learned his master's ways, and at the first glimpse of the red-coats he would paw and champ his bit with rage; and the moment he heard the word "Go!" off he was among them like a thunderbolt.
XXVI.—GENERAL SCHUYLER.
1. In the year 1781 the war was chiefly carried on in the South, but the North was constantly troubled by parties of Tories and Indians, who would swoop down on some small settlements, and make off with whatever they could lay their hands on.
2. During this time General Schuyler was staying at his house, which stood just outside the stockade or walls of Albany. The British commander sent out a party of Tories and Indians to capture General Schuyler.
3. When they reached the outskirts of the city, they learned from a Dutch laborer, whom they had taken, that the general's house was guarded by six soldiers, three watching by night, and three by day. They then let the Dutchman go, after making him swear an oath of secrecy. This oath he did not keep very strictly, for, the minute the band was out of sight, he took to his short legs and warned the general of their approach.
4. On one of those scorching August days, when you feel as if you hardly had energy enough to move, and when the very trees droop their dusty leaves, too lazy to hold up their heads, Schuyler and his family were sitting in the large hall, when a servant entered and told the general that there was a strange man at the back door who wished to see him.
5. Schuyler, understanding the trap, gathered his family in one of the upper rooms, and, giving orders that the doors and windows should be barred, fired a pistol from one of the top-story windows to alarm the neighborhood. The guards, who had been lounging in the shade of a tree, started to their feet at the sound of the pistol; but, alas! too late, for they found themselves surrounded by a crowd of dusky figures, who bound them hand and foot, before they had time to resist.
6. In the room up-stairs was the sturdy general, standing resolutely by the door, with his gun in hand, his black slaves gathered around him, each with some weapon. At the other end of the room the women were huddled together, some weeping, some praying. Suddenly, a crash is heard, which chills the very blood, and brings vividly to each one's mind the tales of Indian massacres so common at that day. The band had broken in at one of the windows.
7. At that moment, Mrs. Schuyler springing to her feet, rushed to the door; for she remembered that the baby, only a few months old, having been forgotten in the hour of flight, was asleep in its cradle on the first floor. But the general, catching her in his arms, told her that her life was of more value than her child's, and that, if any one must go, he would. While, however, this generous struggle was going on, the third daughter, gliding past them, was soon at the side of the cradle. All was as black as night in the hall, save for a small patch of light just at the foot of the stairs; this came from the dining-room, where the Indians could be seen pillaging the shelves, pulling down the china, and quarreling with one another over their ill-gotten booty.
8. How to get past the spot was the question, but the girl did not hesitate. She reached the cradle unobserved, and was just darting back with her precious burden, when, by ill-luck, one of the savages happened to see her. Whiz! went his sharp tomahawk, within a few inches of the baby's head, and, clearing the edge of the brave girl's dress, stuck deep in the stair-rail.
9. Just then one of the Tories, seeing her flit by, and supposing her to be a servant, called after her, "Wench, wench, where is your master?" She, stopping a moment, called back, "Gone to alarm the town!" and, hurrying on, was soon again with her father up-stairs.
10. And now, nearly all the plunder having been secured, the band was about to proceed to the real object of the expedition, when the general, raising one of the windows, called out in lusty tones, as if commanding a large body of men: "Come on, my brave fellows! Surround the house! Secure the villains who are plundering!" The cowards knew that voice, and they each and every one of them took to the woods as fast as their legs would carry them, leaving the general in possession of the field.
XXVII.—ODE.
1. How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
With all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mold,
She then shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
2. By fairy-hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
Then Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair.
And dwell a weeping hermit there.
–Collins