Revolutionary Reader: Reminiscences and Indian Legends

by Sophie Lee Foster

One by one the years have dropped into the abyss of the past, since the close of the war for American Independence. Time has spread his brooding wings over the gulf and much of the horror and of the pathos of that tremendous struggle is now veiled from us; yet we are still perhaps too prone to remember only the dreadful in the events of the war, too anxious to recall only the dark days, leaving out the traces of cheerfulness which even in those troublous times, were experienced here and there; for there were many incidents connected with the American Revolution which were in lighter vein; incidents which did not, it is true, abolish the gloom and the suffering, but which lightened the sombreness and shed rays of glimmering light through the shade.

It has always seemed to me almost incredible, that the Colonists could have found anything to laugh at during those awful years. They were threatened with absolute loss of liberty as a country; they were menaced by starvation, and they were obliged to pass through the rigors of the winters, without proper food or clothing. The sanctity of their homes was invaded by the grim monster of war, who was no respecter of persons, and to whose voracious palate all persons were equally attractive.

If the British won their cause, the Colonists had nothing better to which to look forward than slavery and injustice; if the colonists won theirs, they must face the future poorly equipped in every way. The waste of their country must be repaired, their desolate homes must be rebuilt; their business, which was crushed, must be restored, they must begin from the beginning. Whatever the result, the outlook was dark. As the days went on, the husbands and fathers were obliged to forsake their plows, and go, perhaps with but a moment's warning, to bloody fields of battle. Poorly clothed, they fought in their shirt sleeves and with their feet bare, their bloody foot prints often standing out as symbols of the struggle. The women must remain at home, to plow and sow and reap. The American soldiers must have spent many sleepless nights thinking of their unprotected ones at home, alone and defenceless. How could there be anything of humor connected with the struggle? And yet, while the American Revolution can in no sense of the word be said to have had its humorous side, yet there was much of humor connected with many Revolutionary occurrences, the stories of which have lived until the present time and have gained perhaps in their humorous aspect since the close of the great struggle.

One of the first incidents of the war, which I have found to savor of the humorous, was the meeting of General John Burgoyne and the Irish patriot immediately after the surrender of the British General. All through the march of the General, to Saratoga, he had boasted of the of the calamities which he would bring upon the Americans. Pompously up and down his quarters he would strut, composing high sounding sentences and listening to the fine roll of his voice, revelling in his verbosity and smiling with satisfaction at his thoughts which he deemed so great. The manifestos which he issued so frequently, were words, words, words, and these reiterated over and over again, the direful things which would encompass the Americans, did they not surrender with all haste and with becoming deference. He made himself ridiculous by the manifestos, but he did not realize this until he made his way through the streets of Albany, a conquered rather than a conquering hero, and met a funny little Irishman, who had evidently studied the harangues of the General to good purpose.

On the march through the Albany streets, Burgoyne was surrounded by men, women and children, who would fain look upon the face of this pompous British General. Suddenly in the crowded part of the street, there bobbed up in front of him, a blue-eyed, red-haired Celt, his bright eyes dancing with mirth and his tongue ready with the wit of his mother country. "Make way there, ye spalpeens," he shouted, "sure don't ye see the great Ginral Burgyne a comin' along? Sthand back fer the great Ginral. Wud yees be standin' in the way of the conquerer? If ye don't sthand back and give the great man room, shure I'll murther ivy mither's son of ye."

History does not record how the boasting Briton received the onslaught of the Irishman, but we can readily imagine that his face lengthened a little, as he heard the laughs on every side. Still it is quite possible that he did not see the joke until the following week. Someway, that march of Burgoyne and his army, always struck me as humorous to a certain extent. While there was the sadness caused by the loss of many lives, and while the battle of Saratoga was one of the great battles of the world, still Burgoyne himself, with his verbosity and his pomposity, was so ludicrous a figure oft times, that he gave a humorous tinge to the entire campaign.

The saying of General Starke at Bennington which has come down to us with such pleasing patriotism: "Here come the Red Coats and we must beat them to-day, or Mollie Starke is a widow," was not a humorous saying, nor was the battle of Bennington a humorous incident. But Bill Nye, the immortal, has written something exceedingly funny concerning both. Nye said, "This little remark of Starke's made an instantaneous hit, and when they counted up their prisoners at night they found they had six hundred souls and a Hessian." Nye's description of Burgoyne's surrender is well worth repeating. He wrote: "A council was now held in Burgoyne's tent and on the question of renewing the fight, stood six to six, when an eighteen pound hot shot went through the tent, knocking a stylograph pen out of Burgoyne's hand. Almost at once he decided to surrender, and the entire army of 6999 men was surrendered, together with arms, portable bath tubs and leather hat boxes."

Nearly all of our American soldiers were brave; that goes without saying. One of the bravest of these was Lieutenant Manning. His deeds of prowess were many and great. He was hero in one extremely humorous incident at the battle of Eutaw. After the British line had been broken, the "Old Buffs" started to run. This particular regiment was as boastful as General Burgoyne. Manning knew this and he was delighted to follow hard after them with his platoon. Excited in his pursuit he did not notice that he was getting away from his men, until he found himself surrounded by British soldiers and not an American in sight. Something must be done at once and Manning was the man to do it. He siezed a British officer standing near, and much to that officer's amazement he not only felt himself violently handled, but he heard the stentorian voice of the American shouting—"You are my prisoner." His sword was wrested from his grasp, and he was made a human shield for this preposterously impudent American. But instead of making a break for liberty, he began to relate his various titles to Manning. "I am sir," he said, "Sir Henry Barry, Deputy Adjutant General of the British Army, Captain in the 52d Regiment, Secretary to the Commandant of Charleston."

"Enough Sir," said Manning, "You are just the man I have been looking for. Fear nothing; you shall screen me from danger and I will take special care of you," which he did, holding the astonished man of title in front of him, until he reached the Americans and handed him over as a prisoner.

Colonel Peter Horry was another brave man of the south. He was afflicted by an impediment in his speech and at one time the impediment nearly worked disaster for him. He was ordered to await in ambuscade with his regiment for a British detachment, and he soon had them completely within his power; but when he tried to command his men to fire, his speech failed him. In vain he corrugated his brows and twisted his jaws; the word would not come out. "Fi, fi, fi, fi," he shouted, but could get no further. Finally in his desperation he howled, "shoot, blank you, shoot. You know very well what I would say. Shoot and be blanked to you." Horry was a determined character. At one time in battle a brother officer called to him: