Chapter III: Preface (3)

“If discovered now,” said he, “all is lost.”

In a few moments they rounded a little headland and found awaiting them in the cove beyond two gondolas and a small boat containing in all some eighteen men. These were under the leadership of Captain Pickering.

“Let us be off!” exclaimed Sullivan impatiently. “We must cross Portsmouth harbor before the moon shows her face again.”

They pulled out into the middle of the stream in the momentary darkness, and by the time the clouds had drifted away from the moon the little fleet was within a rod of the island on which stood Fort William and Mary. All was dark and still within, and the only sound outside was the wash of the waves on the narrow beach. After a whispered consultation the men disembarked at a signal from Sullivan. Wading through the icy water they arranged themselves in line at the rear of the fort, while Pickering with three others crept cautiously in the shadow of the wall and disappeared behind one of the bastions. In a moment more a sentinel’s challenge rang out sharp and clear: “Who goes there? Stand, and give the countersign!”

Pickering seized the soldier’s gun and grasped him by the throat. “Not a word more or you are a dead man,” he whispered.

The men then made their way to the commandant’s room. He looked up as Sullivan and Pickering entered, but his smile of recognition changed to a blank stare as the former said with much agitation: “Captain Cochran, you are our prisoner. Your little garrison has surrendered. You had better follow its example!”

Cochran glanced at the resolute faces of his captors, then tendered his sword. He was left in charge of two of the men while the rest of the party proceeded to break open the magazine. In the course of an hour and a half the powder was safe in the gondolas and the little band left the fort and began the hard task of rowing up-stream. Absolute silence was maintained, and when they finally landed at the foot of meeting-house hill and found Larry with the oxen awaiting them, they took off their heavy, nailed shoes lest a spark from them should set fire to the powder.

By dawn Larry was back in his room telling the wonderful story to Tony. One half of the king’s powder was buried deep beneath the pulpit of the meeting-house, and John Demeritt, with the other half snugly hidden under a load of straw, was on the road to Madbury driving along his oxen as unconcernedly as if nothing had happened.

The next day Governor Wentworth issued a proclamation, declaring all those who took part in the capture of Fort William and Mary guilty of high treason. Four months later the news from Lexington and Concord spread from the White Hills of New Hampshire to the pine forests of the Carolinas arousing the people to a renewed determination to defend with their lives--their rights and liberties.

Major Sullivan, accompanied by his faithful little band, started at once for the scene of action. Indeed the New Hampshire troops were among the earliest at the front, for Bancroft tells us “the ferries on the Merrimack were crowded with the men of New Hampshire,” and that “they finally paraded on Cambridge Common having _run_ rather than walked the entire distance.”

Captain John Demeritt, after reserving a portion of the powder for the use of his own company, brought out the remainder from his cellar and once more concealing it beneath a load of straw carted it with his ox team all the way to the headquarters of the American Army at Cambridge. He arrived in time to have it sent out to the troops at Bunker Hill, and a local historian tells us that it was stated on the best authority, that had not the powder arrived at so opportune a moment the fate of the day would have been far different. It was with this powder that the New Hampshire troops with two regiments from Connecticut guarded the flank at Bunker Hill, twice driving back the British. And it was with the same powder that they held the enemy at bay until Prescott’s little band had left the redoubt and then they retreated in good order through a galling fire.

THE BATTLE OF BUNKER’S HILL[F]

By WASHINGTON IRVING

“Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes” were the orders of
“Old Put” to the Yankee farmers who first taught the enemy that they
could and would stand and fight British regulars.

The sound of drum and trumpet, the clatter of hoofs, the rattling of gun-carriages, and all the other military din and bustle in the streets of Boston, soon apprised the Americans on their rudely fortified height of an impending attack. They were ill-fitted to withstand it, being jaded by the night’s labor and want of sleep; hungry and thirsty, having brought but scanty supplies, and oppressed by the heat of the weather. Prescott sent repeated messages to General Ward, asking reinforcements and provisions. Putnam seconded the request in person, urging the exigencies of the case. Ward hesitated. He feared to weaken his main body at Cambridge, as his military stores were deposited there, and it might have to sustain the principal attack. At length, having taken advice of the council of safety, he issued orders for Colonels Stark and Read, then at Medford, to march to the relief of Prescott with their New Hampshire regiments. The orders reached Medford about eleven o’clock. Ammunition was distributed in all haste; two flints, a gill of powder, and fifteen balls to each man. The balls had to be suited to the different calibres of the guns; the powder to be carried in powder-horns, or loose in the pocket, for there were no cartridges prepared. It was the rude turn-out of yeoman soldiery destitute of regular accoutrements.

In the meanwhile, the Americans on Breed’s Hill were sustaining the fire from the ships, and from the battery on Copp’s Hill, which opened upon them about ten o’clock. They returned an occasional shot from one corner of the redoubt, without much harm to the enemy, and continued strengthening their position until about eleven o’clock, when they ceased to work, piled their intrenching tools in the rear, and looked out anxiously and impatiently for the anticipated reinforcements and supplies.

About this time General Putnam, who had been to headquarters, arrived at the redoubt on horseback. Some words passed between him and Prescott with regard to the intrenching tools, which have been variously reported. The most probable version is, that he urged to have them taken from their present place, where they might fall into the hands of the enemy, and carried to Bunker’s Hill, to be employed in throwing up a redoubt, which was part of the original plan, and which would be very important should the troops be obliged to retreat from Breed’s Hill. To this Prescott demurred that those employed to convey them, and who were already jaded with toil, might not return to his redoubt. A large part of the tools were ultimately carried to Bunker’s Hill, and a breastwork commenced by order of General Putnam. The importance of such a work was afterward made apparent.

About noon the Americans descried twenty-eight barges crossing from Boston in parallel lines. They contained a large detachment of grenadiers, rangers, and light infantry, admirably equipped, and commanded by Major-general Howe. They made a splendid and formidable appearance with their scarlet uniforms, and the sun flashing upon muskets and bayonets, and brass fieldpieces. A heavy fire from the ships and batteries covered their advance, but no attempt was made to oppose them, and they landed about one o’clock at Moulton’s Point, a little to the north of Breed’s Hill.

Here General Howe made a pause. On reconnoitering the works from this point, the Americans appeared to be much more strongly posted than he had imagined. He descried troops also hastening to their assistance. These were the New Hampshire troops, led on by Stark. Howe immediately sent over to General Gage for more forces, and a supply of cannon-balls; those brought by him being found, through some egregious oversight, too large for the ordnance. While awaiting their arrival, refreshments were served out to the troops, with “grog” by the bucketful; and tantalizing it was, to the hungry and thirsty provincials, to look down from their ramparts of earth, and see their invaders seated in groups upon the grass eating and drinking, and preparing themselves by a hearty meal for the coming encounter. Their only consolation was to take advantage of the delay, while the enemy were carousing, to strengthen their position. The breastwork on the left of the redoubt extended to what was called the Slough, but beyond this, the ridge of the hill, and the slope toward Mystic River, were undefended, leaving a pass by which the enemy might turn the left flank of the position and seize upon Bunker’s Hill. Putnam ordered his chosen officer, Captain Knowlton, to cover this pass with the Connecticut troops under his command. A novel kind of rampart, savoring of rural device, was suggested by the rustic general. About six hundred feet in the rear of the redoubt, and about one hundred feet to the left of the breastwork, was a post-and-rail fence, set in a low footwall of stone, and extending down to Mystic River. The posts and rails of another fence were hastily pulled up and set a few feet in behind this, and the intermediate space was filled up with new-mown hay from the adjacent meadows. This double fence, it will be found, proved an important protection to the redoubt, although there still remained an unprotected interval of about seven hundred feet.

While Knowlton and his men were putting up this fence, Putnam proceeded with other of his troops to throw up the work on Bunker’s Hill, despatching his son, Captain Putnam, on horseback, to hurry up the remainder of his men from Cambridge. By this time his compeer in French and Indian warfare, the veteran Stark, made his appearance with the New Hampshire troops, five hundred strong. He had grown cool and wary with age, and his march from Medford, a distance of five or six miles, had been in character. He led his men at a moderate pace, to bring them into action fresh and vigorous. In crossing the Neck, which was enfiladed by the enemy’s ships and batteries, Captain Dearborn, who was by his side, suggested a quick step. The veteran shook his head: “One fresh man in action is worth ten tired ones,” replied he, and marched steadily on.

Putnam detained some of Stark’s men to aid in throwing up the work on Bunker’s Hill, and directed him to reinforce Knowlton with the rest. Stark made a short speech to his men, now that they were likely to have warm work. He then pushed on, and did good service that day at the rustic bulwark.

About two o’clock Warren arrived on the heights, ready to engage in their perilous defence, although he had opposed the scheme of their occupation. He had recently been elected a major-general, but had not received his commission; like Pomeroy, he came to serve in the ranks with a musket on his shoulder. Putnam offered him the command at the fence; he declined it, and merely asked where he could be of most service as a volunteer. Putnam pointed to the redoubt, observing that there he would be under cover. “Don’t think I seek a place of safety,” replied Warren quickly; “where will the attack be the hottest?” Putnam still pointed to the redoubt. “That is the enemy’s object; if that can be maintained, the day is ours.”

Warren was cheered by the troops as he entered the redoubt. Colonel Prescott tendered him the command. He again declined. “I have come to serve only as a volunteer, and shall be happy to learn from a soldier of your experience.” Such were the noble spirits assembled on these perilous heights.

The British now prepared for a general assault. An easy victory was anticipated; the main thought was, how to make it most effectual. The left wing, commanded by General Pigot, was to mount the hill and force the redoubt; while General Howe, with the right wing, was to push on between the fort and Mystic River, turn the left flank of the Americans, and cut off their retreat.

General Pigot, accordingly, advanced up the hill under cover of a fire from fieldpieces and howitzers planted on a small height near the landing-place on Moulton’s Point. His troops commenced a discharge of musketry while yet at a long distance from the redoubts. The Americans within the works, obedient to strict command, retained their fire until the enemy were within thirty or forty paces, when they opened upon them with a tremendous volley. Being all marksmen, accustomed to take deliberate aim, the slaughter was immense, and especially fatal to officers. The assailants fell back in some confusion; but rallied on by their officers, advanced within pistol shot. Another volley, more effective than the first, made them again recoil. To add to their confusion, they were galled by a flanking fire from the handful of provincials posted in Charlestown. Shocked at the carnage, and seeing the confusion of his troops, General Pigot was urged to give the word for a retreat.

In the meantime, General Howe, with the right wing, advanced along Mystic River toward the fence where Stark, Read, and Knowlton were stationed, thinking to carry this slight breastwork with ease, and so get in the rear of the fortress. His artillery proved of little avail, being stopped by a swampy piece of ground, while his columns suffered from two or three fieldpieces with which Putnam had fortified the fence. Howe’s men kept up a fire of musketry as they advanced; but, not taking aim, their shots passed over the heads of the Americans. The latter had received the same orders with those in the redoubt, not to fire until the enemy should be within thirty paces. Some few transgressed the command. Putnam rode up and swore he would cut down the next man that fired contrary to orders. When the British arrived within the stated distance a sheeted fire opened upon them from rifles, muskets, and fowling-pieces, all leveled with deadly aim. The carnage, as in the other instance, was horrible. The British were thrown into confusion and fell back; some even retreated to the boats.

There was a general pause on the part of the British. The American officers availed themselves of it to prepare for another attack, which must soon be made. Prescott mingled among his men in the redoubt, who were all in high spirits at the severe check they had given “the regulars.” He praised them for their steadfastness in maintaining their post, and their good conduct in reserving their fire until the word of command, and exhorted them to do the same in the next attack.

Putnam rode about Bunker’s Hill and its skirts, to rally and bring on reinforcements which had been checked or scattered in crossing Charlestown Neck by the raking fire from the ships and batteries. Before many could be brought to the scene of action the British had commenced their second attack. They again ascended the hill to storm the redoubt; their advance was covered as before by discharges of artillery. Charlestown, which had annoyed them on their first attack by a flanking fire, was in flames, by shells thrown from Copp’s Hill, and by marines from the ships. Being built of wood, the place was soon wrapped in a general conflagration. The thunder of artillery from batteries and ships; the bursting of bomb-shells; the sharp discharges of musketry; the shouts and yells of the combatants; the crash of burning buildings, and the dense volumes of smoke, which obscured the summer sun, all formed a tremendous spectacle. “Sure I am,” said Burgoyne in one of his letters--“Sure I am nothing ever has or ever can be more dreadfully terrible than what was to be seen or heard at this time. The most incessant discharge of guns that ever was heard by mortal ears.”

The American troops, although unused to war, stood undismayed amidst a scene where it was bursting upon them with all its horrors. Reserving their fire, as before, until the enemy was close at hand, they again poured forth repeated volleys with the fatal aim of sharpshooters. The British stood the first shock, and continued to advance; but the incessant stream of fire staggered them. Their officers remonstrated, threatened, and even attempted to goad them on with their swords, but the havoc was too deadly; whole ranks were mowed down; many of the officers were either slain or wounded, and among them several of the staff of General Howe. The troops again gave way and retreated down the hill.

All this passed under the eye of thousands of spectators of both sexes and all ages, watching from afar every turn of a battle in which the lives of those most dear to them were at hazard. The British soldiery in Boston gazed with astonishment and almost incredulity at the resolute and protracted stand of raw militia whom they had been taught to despise, and at the havoc made among their own veteran troops. Every convoy of wounded brought over to the town increased their consternation; and General Clinton, who had watched the action from Copp’s Hill, embarking in a boat, hurried over as a volunteer, taking with him reinforcements.

A third attack was now determined on, though some of Howe’s officers remonstrated, declaring it would be downright butchery. A different plan was adopted. Instead of advancing in front of the redoubt, it was to be taken in flank on the left, where the open space between the breastwork and the fortified fence presented a weak point. It having been accidentally discovered that the ammunition of the Americans was nearly expended, preparations were made to carry the works at the point of the bayonet; and the soldiery threw off their knapsacks, and some even their coats, to be more light for action.

General Howe, with the main body, now made a feint of attacking the fortified fence; but, while a part of his force was thus engaged, the rest brought some of the fieldpieces to enfilade the breastwork on the left of the redoubt. A raking fire soon drove the Americans out of this exposed place into the enclosure. Much damage, too, was done in the latter by balls which entered the sally-port.

The troops were now led on to assail the works; those who flinched were, as before, goaded on by the swords of the officers. The Americans again reserved their fire until their assailants were close at hand, and then made a murderous volley, by which several officers were laid low, and General Howe himself was wounded in the foot. The British soldiery this time likewise reserved their fire and rushed on with fixed bayonet. Clinton and Pigot had reached the southern and eastern sides of the redoubt, and it was now assailed on three sides at once. Prescott ordered those who had no bayonets to retire to the back part of the redoubt and fire on the enemy as they showed themselves above the parapet. The first who mounted exclaimed in triumph, “The day is ours!” He was instantly shot down, and so were several others who mounted at the same time. The Americans, however, had fired their last round, their ammunition was exhausted; and now succeeded a desperate and deadly struggle, hand to hand, with bayonets, stones, and the stocks of their muskets. At length, as the British continued to pour in, Prescott gave the order to retreat. His men had to cut their way through two divisions of the enemy who were getting in rear of the redoubt, and they received a destructive volley from those who had formed on the captured works. By that volley fell the patriot Warren, who had distinguished himself throughout the action. He was among the last to leave the redoubt, and had scarce done so when he was shot through the head with a musket-ball, and fell dead on the spot.

While the Americans were thus slowly dislodged from the redoubt, Stark, Read, and Knowlton maintained their ground at the fortified fence; which, indeed, had been nobly defended throughout the action. Pomeroy distinguished himself here by his sharp-shooting until his musket was shattered by a ball. The resistance at this hastily constructed work was kept up after the troops in the redoubt had given way, and until Colonel Prescott had left the hill; thus defeating General Howe’s design of cutting off the retreat of the main body, which would have produced a scene of direful confusion and slaughter. Having effected their purpose, the brave associates at the fence abandoned their weak outpost, retiring slowly, and disputing the ground inch by inch, with a regularity remarkable in troops many of whom had never before been in action.

The main retreat was across Bunker’s Hill, where Putnam had endeavored to throw up a breastwork. The veteran, sword in hand, rode to the rear of the retreating troops, regardless of the balls whistling about him. His only thought was to rally them at the unfinished works. “Halt! make a stand here!” cried he, “we can check them yet. In God’s name form and give them one shot more.”

Pomeroy, wielding his shattered musket as a truncheon, seconded him in his efforts to stay the torrent. It was impossible, however, to bring the troops to a stand. They continued on down the hill to the Neck, and across it to Cambridge, exposed to a raking fire from the ships and batteries, and only protected by a single piece of ordnance. The British were too exhausted to pursue them; they contented themselves with taking possession of Bunker’s Hill, were reinforced from Boston, and threw up additional works during the night.

HER PUNISHMENT[G]

By ELIZABETH GIBSON

How a certain little girl prepared for General Washington the “best
breakfast he had had in a month.”

Long, long ago, when my mother was a little girl, there lived in her neighborhood an old lady whom all the children called “Aunt Prissy.”

She was a quaint, funny little old lady, with her bobbing white curls, and always wore a small black lace cap, a black silk gown, a soft white kerchief, and fringed silk apron.

The children loved to pay a visit to Aunt Prissy. After they were all carefully seated, each child with a small seed-cake, the eager little faces would turn toward her, and one of the children would say, “Now, Aunt Prissy, we won’t drop crumbs on the floor, and we are sitting up straight, and we haven’t got our knees crossed, so won’t you please tell us about the time you saw General Washington with your own eyes?”

Aunt Prissy would count the stitches in her knitting, look up over her “specs,” and begin, “Well, well, children, it does seem to me you ought to know _that_ story by heart. But never mind; I s’pose you know which you like best.

“Now let me see. It must have been in ’81, and I was nine years old, that our folks went to Salisbury to see General Washington.

“I had been in disgrace for a whole day, and for punishment it was decided that I must stay at home.

“My poor little heart almost broke, and I cried and made myself altogether disagreeable while the great lunch-baskets were being strapped behind the carriage, the huge bunches of roses to hurl at the general wrapped in wet cotton, and the family bundled into the carriages.

“After they had gone I wandered disconsolately about house and garden. As I was swinging on the gate and wondering what I would do next, I heard a great clatter of horses’ feet up the road, and in a few minutes a party of men in uniform came in sight. I had seen enough soldiers to know that these were Continental officers, so I was not frightened, but waited until they came up.

“A tall man on a white horse, with a cocked hat and plain uniform, rode forward, and with the kindest smile in the world, asked, ‘My little girl, can you give us a cup of coffee?’

“Now I was very proud of being able to make coffee and batter-cakes, so I said I would try. The gentlemen rode into the yard, their servants came forward to take the horses, and I showed the party into the house. Mammy Dilsie had gone to the quarters on an errand, so I had things my own way.

“A fire was blazing in the huge kitchen fireplace. We didn’t have cooking-stoves in those days, but did our baking in great round iron ovens, with lids to heap coals on, and our boiling in pots swung over the coals on cranes. I raked out a nice bed of coals, filled the big coffee-pot, and soon had it simmering, then put the pan for the batter-cakes on to heat, made them up, had them nicely browned in a trice, set out a cold ham, and then invited the gentlemen in to breakfast.

“They came, laughing and talking, said the coffee was the best they had ever tasted, the cakes delicious. I poured the coffee, and the gentlemen laughed and joked me, and one of them asked how I happened to be at home all alone.

“My eyes filled with tears and I could hardly speak, but managed to tell him that everybody had gone to Salisbury to see General Washington; and that I wanted to see him worst of all because in the picture of him in my red book one of his eyes was blue and the other brown, and I wanted to see if it was really true. The officers all laughed at this, but the leader raised his hand, and they did not say anything.

“‘But why did you not go, little maid?’ he asked.

“Then I hung my head, but at last blurted out, ‘Because I tried to bury John’s ten little biddies in the sand.’

“The men roared again at this; but the tall one said, ‘Did you not know that it was very wrong to hurt the little chicks?’

“I began to cry then, but the kind officer took me on his knee and kissed me.

“‘And now, my little maid,’ he said, ‘you may tell your mother that you did see General Washington and gave him the best breakfast he has had in a month. And you see, his eyes are neither brown nor blue, but gray.’

“And I looked into his kind face and saw that the red book was not even half right. Then Mammy Dilsie came in and courtesied to the floor when I told her who it was.

“The gentlemen patted me on the head, General Washington kissed me again, and they rode away.”

FAMOUS WORDS AT GREAT MOMENTS

PATRICK HENRY

Ten years and more before the Declaration of Independence there was great excitement in the Colonies over the new Stamp Act. Patrick Henry, a young member of the General Assembly of Virginia, had the temerity to offer a resolution which declared that in the General Assembly lay the sole right and power to lay taxes upon the Colony. An excited debate followed this resolution, in the course of which Patrick Henry arose and addressed the assembly. His speech closed with the words which have made him famous: _Cæsar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third_--The hall rang with cries of _Treason! Treason!_ The patriot orator paused for an impressive moment, and then continued calmly;--_may profit by their example. If this be treason make the most of it!_

(His resolution was carried.)

A decade passed before the actual outbreak of the War in New England inspired Patrick Henry to the oration which concluded thus: _It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace--but there is no peace. The war has actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains or slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!_

BATTLE OF LEXINGTON

Very early on the morning of April 19, 1775, Paul Revere, by his famous ride, had warned the men of Lexington of the coming of the redcoats. About half-past four the patriots’ drum beat to arms and the minute-men came hurrying from all directions, to receive the instructions of their stalwart Captain, John Parker. His orders were: _Stand your ground, don’t fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here._ Then came Major Pitcairn’s insolent order, _Disperse, ye rebels, disperse!_ Actually, the first trigger was pulled by a hot-headed young American. His gun, however, failed to go off. A British soldier then discharged his piece--and the War began.

BUNKER HILL

Dr. Joseph Warren, who was slain at Bunker Hill, when urged by Elbridge Gerry not to go into the fight, replied quietly, and we know sincerely: _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_ (To die for one’s country is both agreeable and fitting). He had that very day been appointed a Major-General by Congress, but had not yet received his Commission. When he presented himself before Colonel Prescott, the latter naturally tendered him the command. But Warren replied with the modesty which so often characterizes the bravest of men, _I come as a volunteer with my musket to serve under you_.

When the British General Gage heard of Warren’s death he is said to have remarked, _It is well; that one man was equal to five hundred ordinary soldiers_. It was probably General Israel Putnam--“Old Put”--commanding at the rail fence at Bunker Hill, who gave the famous order, _Don’t fire until you can see the whites of their eyes_. This was because the patriots’ powder was so pitifully short. Colonel Prescott’s injunction was, _Don’t waste a grain; make every shot tell_.

* * * * *

Washington was journeying to New England to take command of the army when the Battle of Bunker Hill was fought. On hearing of it he inquired anxiously, _Did they stand the fire of the regulars?_ _That they did_, was the response, and _held their own fire in reserve until the enemy was within eight rods_. _Then_, said Washington, _the liberties of the country are safe_.

The Bunker Hill Monument, it will be remembered, inspired one of Daniel Webster’s greatest orations. This is its peroration: _When honored and decrepit age shall lean against the base of this monument, and troops of vigorous youths shall be gathered around it, and when the one shall speak to the other of its objects, the purposes of its construction, and the great and glorious events with which it was connected--then shall come from every youthful breast the ejaculation--Thank God!--I also--am an American!_

NATHAN HALE

After Washington’s retreat, following the battle of Long Island, he was most anxious to discover the intentions of the British in New York. Nathan Hale, a young Captain from Connecticut--he had formerly been a schoolmaster--volunteered to try and secure this information. He was detected, arrested, and summarily condemned by the British, however, and as he stood under the fatal noose awaiting the ignominious death of a spy, the brutal British officer, Cunningham, who was in charge of the execution shouted at him, _Give us your dying speech, you young rebel._ And Hale replied in a calm, clear voice, _I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country_.

WILLIAM PITT

Young people sometimes forget that the patriots’ cause had many friends among the wiser statesmen of England. William Pitt was brave enough to say: _We are told that the Americans are obstinate, that they are in almost open rebellion against us. I rejoice that America has resisted. I rejoice that they are not so dead to all feelings of liberty as to be willing to submit like slaves!_

GEORGE WASHINGTON

The winter at Valley Forge was a time of bitter discouragement for Washington and his cause. Tradition has preserved a touching picture of the great man in his lonely hour of trial.

A Quaker farmer, Isaac Potts, one day returned home joyful and confident in the ultimate success of the Americans: _George Washington will succeed! George Washington will succeed!_ he told his wife. _What makes thee think so, Isaac?_ was her reply. _I have heard him pray, Hannah, alone out in the woods to-day. The Generals horse was tied to a sapling in a thicket. He himself was on his knees, praying most fervently. The Lord will surely hear his prayer. He will, Hannah; thee may rest assured, he will._

* * * * *

Washington’s soldiers were often exasperated by the pettiness and tedious delays of Congress. On one occasion a group of them proposed to improve matters by making their leader King. His downright reply to the man who finally summoned sufficient courage to broach the matter to him is too little known: _I am at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encouragement to an address which seems to me big with the greatest mischief that can befall any country.... Let me conjure you, if you have any regard for your country, concern for yourself or posterity, or respect for me, to banish these thoughts from your mind, and never communicate, as from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the like nature!_

ETHAN ALLEN

When Ethan Allen, the Green Mountain Boy, broke into Fort Ticonderoga at the head of a handful of followers and demanded its surrender, its bewildered and still sleepy Commandant began to stutter out a very natural inquiry as to the authority in whose name Allen acted. History has recorded Allen’s grandiloquent reply: _In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress!_ (But certain old Vermonters will have it that his actual words were, _Here, come out of that, you old rascal and give us the fort, quick, or we’ll smoke you out like rats!_)

ANTHONY WAYNE

Mad Anthony Wayne was wounded in the head by a musket-ball during his famous assault on Stony Point. He fell to the ground with blood streaming over his face, and for a moment supposed himself to be mortally wounded. His order to his aids was eminently characteristic, _Carry me into the fort and let me die at the head of the column_.

JOHN STARK

It was before the Battle of Bennington, fought and won in defiance of the orders of the too cautious Congress, that bold John Stark uttered his famous invocation to his men: _There they are, boys_, he shouted, waving his sword toward the enemy; _we’ll get ’em, or to-night Molly Stark’ll be a widow_.

BENEDICT ARNOLD

A pitiful story is told of the death in London, twenty years after the War, of Benedict Arnold, the traitor. His last request was for the old epaulettes and sword-knot given him by Washington. _Let me die_, said he, _in the old American uniform, in which I fought my battles. God forgive me for ever having put on any other!_

GEORGE THE THIRD

It is well to remember, in these days, that George Washington was in reality an Englishman who fought a German king whom chance had seated on the throne of England. And it is well to recall also that George the Third, though obstinate and wrong-headed enough, gave in at last with a better grace than might have been expected. To John Adams, our first minister to England, he said: _Sir, I will be very free with you. I was the last to consent to the separation, but the separation having been made ... I have always said and I say now, that I would be the first to meet the friendship of the United States as an independent power._

THE LITTLE FIFER[H]

By HELEN M. WINSLOW

John Holden was lost. His mother’s faith that God would take care of
her boy was rewarded, however, when it was discovered that John with
his little fife was helping to drill the soldiers in Washington’s
army.

More than a hundred years ago there lived, in the town of Shirley, Mass., a bright, well-grown lad named John Holden. His father was a farmer, and the little fellow trudged about the farm, clad in home-spun and home-made clothing, feeding calves, driving cows, and doing whatever his hands found to do “with all his might.”

One Saturday night John was early at the gate waiting for his father’s homecoming; for Saturday was the day when John Holden went to the village, and returned laden with packages and news from Boston--which to them was the centre of the world. A present was an unheard-of thing in little John’s life. What was his surprise, then, as his father rode up to the gate, to see him hand out a long black case, saying:

“Here, my boy, see what I’ve brought you for a birthday present.”

And imagine his greater astonishment, on opening the case, to see a beautiful fife of dark wood with silver trimmings!

The boy could hardly believe his own eyes; and as he was passionately fond of music he lost no time in beginning to learn the use of his newly acquired instrument. He carried the fife with him everywhere and practised on it in every spare moment, and before many months he was able to greatly astonish the villagers and won many a compliment by his skillful playing.

Just before the Revolutionary War the whole country, as every boy and girl ought to know, was in a state of ferment and dread. War seemed inevitable, and the oppressive rule of the English was the theme of conversation everywhere.

Little John heard much of it, and longed to be a man that he might join the “rebellious colonists.” And one day he received a compliment which set him thinking of matters in a way the older members of his family never mistrusted.

A visitor from Boston was at the farmhouse, and the talk, as usual, ran on the prospect of war in the colonies. During a pause in the conversation, Mr. Holden asked John to play something on the fife. When he had played a stirring march or two, the stranger exclaimed, “Upon my word! But the boy has the soul of music in him! He will be ready for the British bulls and lions when it is necessary.”

John sat quite still for some time. But before he went to bed he went to his father and said, “Father, if the British do come, shall I go to war with my fife?”

“To be sure,” answered his father laughingly. “They could not get along without you.”

Long after his father had forgotten this incident, John Holden took his dog Zip, and his darling fife, and went to a favorite hill on the place to practise. At night the dog came back alone and going straight up to the boy’s chamber began to moan and cry, and would not leave John’s bed.

The family were greatly alarmed, and instantly divined that something had happened to John.

Soon the whole town was in commotion; for the news that John Holden was lost flew like wildfire. Bands of men were organized and went searching the woods in every direction.

Indians had been traveling through the town recently. Had they carried off the boy or had they stolen the valuable fife and thrown the boy into the river? The woods were hunted through and through; the river was dragged; notices of the lost boy were sent in every direction; but weeks lengthened into months and no clew was obtained that threw the faintest glimmer of light on the strange disappearance.

Everybody believed him to be dead, or with the cruel Indians. Everybody but one. The boy’s mother never lost faith in his being safe somewhere.

“My boy is in God’s hands,” she would say. “In his good time John will come home.”

And nothing could move her from this belief while two anxious years slipped by.

In the meantime war had broken out, and Shirley had sent her full quota of men to fight for the country’s independence. It was through one of these that a rumor reached Mr. Holden that a boy of twelve was in General Washington’s army as fifer.

Jonas Holden was impressed with the certainty that the boy in Washington’s army and his lost son were the same. He went home and told his wife the story, and she was certain of it. Accordingly Mr. Holden started for New York, where General Washington and his army were then stationed. There were no railroads or telegraphs then, remember; nothing but horses and stagecoaches. Mr. Holden chose the former, and the best he could do, by traveling on horseback, was to reach General Washington’s headquarters in seven days.

When he finally drew rein at the outposts of the Continental Army, he made known his desire to see General Knox, who was with Washington at that time.

General Knox received the Massachusetts farmer with a cordiality that put him at his ease in a moment; and Mr. Holden found no difficulty in stating his errand.

“There is your boy, sir!” exclaimed the interested General, pointing to a young fellow in a soldier’s suit, gay with brass buttons, who was playing on a fife. “He is drilling some raw recruits. That boy is Captain-general of us all, sir. I have never known him to whimper or say ‘I can’t,’ although he is the youngest of us.”

The fifer was sent for in the Colonel’s name. As he drew near, and lifting his cap, asked, “Did you send for me, sir?” his eye fell on his father sitting in a corner of the tent.

In a moment the boy was in his father’s arms and sobbing like a baby. The father’s tears were mingled with the long-lost son’s and the redoubtable General was obliged to resort to his handkerchief as he withdrew, leaving father and son alone, with the remark:

“I will see our Commander-in-chief.”

“When did you come?” said John, when he could speak. “And how did you find me?”

“Old Captain brought me,” was the reply, “and he can take us both home.”

“And how is mother?” pursued the boy. “Oh! I have been so sorry for dear mother. I tell you, father, not a night have I camped down to sleep but I have thought of mother; and every time I thought of her the tears came. I thought perhaps she might die and I should never see her again.”

“Your mother is well,” was the father’s answer. “And she has never for one moment lost faith in your being well and happy, and finally restored to us.”

“Yes, I shall return, father,” said John. “But I want this war ended first.”

After the boy had inquired for all the family, he said:

“But why didn’t you bring Zip along, too?”

“Poor Zip!” was the reply. “He mourned himself to death before you had been gone a week. He never touched another mouthful of food, and would only lie on your bed and moan.”

General Knox soon returned with orders from the Commander-in-chief to conduct Mr. Holden and John to his headquarters--a summons that must be obeyed at once.

General Washington received Mr. Holden very kindly and said smilingly:

“I hear a story that sounds like a romance in the midst of war. Tell me, my little fifer, how you came to leave your parents without their knowledge, and to join my army at such a tender age?”

John was somewhat abashed by this direct question from so dignified and august a personage; but the General added kindly:

“You have the name of being one of my bravest boys. Tell me how it happened. You never ran away, did you?”

“No, sir, never,” answered John with spirit. “I was playing with my dog Zip, on Sorrel Hill, when a big wagon, full of men, came along. They stopped when they saw me, and one of them called out, ‘Halloo, my little fifer! We are looking for you. Jump in.’ I asked them if the British bulls and lions were here, and they said ‘Yes, hurry up!’ I jumped in, sir, and that was the way it happened.”

Mr. Holden then remembered, for the first time, what he had said long ago, when John asked him if he would be needed when the British bulls and lions appeared.

John’s story was met by a burst of laughter quite unusual with Washington. Then patting the boy’s rosy cheeks, the General said, “After this you must give us some music, my lad.”

And John, quite elated, rendered a stirring march.

“I don’t see how we can part with this brave boy of yours,” said General Washington to Mr. Holden when the boy had finished playing; “but parents have the first claim.”

John was just then ordered to go and dismiss the men he had been drilling, and he departed with a martial salute to his superiors, and “I will be back in five minutes,” to his father.

Mr. Holden, left alone, told the story of the mother’s deep faith, and added, “John seems to be in his element here.”

Then General Washington told the gratified parent an incident, showing the spirit of the lad.

“When I, with a number of my suite, approached the vicinity of Monmouth Court House,” said he, “I was met by a little musician, who archly cried out, ‘They are all coming this way, your Honor!’”

“‘Who are coming this way?’” said I.

“‘Why, our boys, your Honor! Our boys! and the British are right after them!’”

“‘Impossible!’ I cried; but spurring my horse, I found the boy’s words only too true.”

“He is a good boy,” added General Knox, “and invaluable in training raw recruits. If they are homesick he talks kindly with them and cheers them wonderfully with his ardent patriotism.”

The boy just then returned and General Knox added, “Well, what did your men say when you told them you were going home?”

John blushed and answered, “I could not tell them that, your Honor. Father, let me stay another year. Then I shall be thirteen and able to help you more on the farm. You know mother is well, and the war will soon be over.”

What father in Revolutionary times could resist such an appeal?

Washington smiled, and Mr. Holden consented. And after a kind farewell from the Father of his Country, and a loving one from the young fifer, Jonas Holden rode away, saying to himself:

“My boy could not hold a more honored position. I leave him safe in the hands of General Washington--and of God.”

When, after seven more days of horseback riding, Jonas Golden arrived at his own door in Shirley, he was met by his maiden sister with the words:

“Disappointed again! So it wasn’t our John at all? I tell you, you’ll never see that boy again.”

But Mr. Holden held out his hand to the boy’s mother.

“My dear,” he said, “John is the happiest boy in the Continental Army.”

It took a long time to tell the story of the journey; of his reception at Washington’s headquarters; of his finding the boy; of his growth, improvement, and popularity; of his close adherence to the principles of right and truth which they had taught him; and of the great Commander’s praise of their son. But at last the father said:

“Have I done right in leaving him there?”

“Just right,” said the mother.

* * * * *

John Holden returned to his parents when the war was over and lived to a good old age. And his name may be seen, for the searching, even now, on the books at Washington, as a pensioner of 1776.

ETHAN ALLEN AND THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS[I]

By WASHINGTON IRVING

The story of the capture of Fort Ticonderoga by the Robin Hood of the
New Hampshire Grants.

As affairs were now drawing to a crisis, and war was considered inevitable, some bold spirits in Connecticut conceived a project for the outset. This was the surprisal of the old forts of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, already famous in the French war. Their situation on Lake Champlain gave them the command of the main route to Canada; so that the possession of them would be all-important in case of hostilities. They were feebly garrisoned and negligently guarded, and abundantly furnished with, artillery and military stores so much needed by the patriot army.

This scheme was set on foot in the purlieus, as it were, of the provincial Legislature of Connecticut, then in session. It was not openly sanctioned by that body, but secretly favored, and money lent from the treasury to those engaged in it. A committee was appointed, also, to accompany them to the frontier, aid them in raising troops, and exercise over them a degree of superintendence and control.

Sixteen men were thus enlisted in Connecticut, a greater number in Massachusetts, but the greatest accession of force was from what was called the “New Hampshire Grants.” This was a region having the Connecticut River on one side and Lake Champlain and the Hudson River on the other--being, in fact, the country forming the present State of Vermont. It had long been a disputed territory claimed by New York and New Hampshire. George II had decided in favor of New York; but the Governor of New Hampshire had made grants of between one and two hundred townships in it, whence it had acquired the name of the New Hampshire Grants. The settlers on those grants resisted the attempts of New York to eject them, and formed themselves into an association called “The Green Mountain Boys.” Resolute, strong-handed fellows they were, with Ethan Allen at their head, a native of Connecticut, but brought up among the Green Mountains. He and his lieutenants, Seth Warner and Remember Baker, were outlawed by the Legislature of New York, and rewards offered for their apprehension. They and their associates armed themselves, set New York at defiance, and swore they would be the death of any one who should attempt their arrest.

Thus Ethan Allen was becoming a kind of Robin Hood among the mountains, when the present crisis changed the relative position of things as if by magic. Boundary feuds were forgotten amid the great questions of colonial rights. Ethan Allen at once stepped forward, a patriot, and volunteered with his Green Mountain Boys to serve in the popular cause. He was well fitted for the enterprise in question, by his experience as a frontier champion, his robustness of mind and body, and his fearless spirit. He had a kind of rough eloquence, also, that was very effective with his followers. “His style,” says one, who knew him personally, “was a singular compound of local barbarisms, Scriptural phrases, and oriental wildness; and though unclassic, and sometimes ungrammatical, was highly animated and forcible.” Washington, in one of his letters, says there was “an original something in him which commanded admiration.”

Thus reinforced, the party, now two hundred and seventy strong, pushed forward to Castleton, a place within a few miles of the head of Lake Champlain. Here a council of war was held on the 2d of May. Ethan Allen was placed at the head of the expedition, with James Easton and Seth Warner as second and third in command. Detachments were sent off to Skenesborough (now Whitehall), and another place on the lake, with orders to seize all the boats they could find and bring them to Shoreham, opposite Ticonderoga, whither Allen prepared to proceed with the main body.

At this juncture another adventurous spirit arrived at Castleton. This was Benedict Arnold, since so sadly renowned. He, too, had conceived the project of surprising Ticonderoga and Crown Point; or, perhaps, had caught the idea from its first agitators in Connecticut--in the militia of which province he held a captain’s commission. He had proposed the scheme to the Massachusetts committee of safety. It had met their approbation. They had given him a colonel’s commission, authorized him to raise a force in western Massachusetts not exceeding four hundred men, and furnished him with money and means. Arnold had enlisted but a few officers and men when he heard of the expedition from Connecticut being on the march. He instantly hurried on with one attendant to overtake it, leaving his few recruits to follow as best they could; in this way he reached Castleton just after the council of war.

Producing the colonel’s commission received from the Massachusetts committee of safety, he now aspired to the supreme command. His claims were disregarded by the Green Mountain Boys; they would follow no leader but Ethan Allen. As they formed the majority of the party, Arnold was fain to acquiesce, and serve as a volunteer, with the rank, but not the command, of colonel.