THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE MILITARY HEROES REVOLUTION: WITH A NAHRATIVK OF THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. BY CHARLES J. (PETERSON. PHILADELPHIA: WILLIAM A. LEARY, No. 158 N. SECOND STREET. 1848. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S43, by JAMES L. GIHON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. JOHN H. GIHON, PRINTER, Comer of Sixth and Chetnat StmXv DAVID W. GIHON, BINDER, No. 98 Chetnut Street. TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES, THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 3654 JUS PREFACE. THE following work has long been a favorite scheme of the author. When the idea of it first occurred to him, there was scarcely any book of a similar character. Some of the biog- raphies were composed five or six years ago, and were given to the public as fugitive contributions ; others are of a later date ; but nearly all were ready for the press a twelve-month since. Just as they arrived at this point, however, the an- nouncement of a publication somewhat resembling this, in- duced the abandonment of the enterprise, with the natural reflection, that in America at least, the delay recommended by Horace was not always advisable. Subsequently, how- 6 PREFACE. ever, the writer was persuaded to prosecute his undertaking, and the result, with but little alteration, is before the reader ! It was the original intention to have given, in one volume, a complete gallery of the military heroes of the United States, those of the war of 1812, as well as those of the war of Inde- pendence. The war with Mexico, however, frustrated this design, it being found that the material would swell to two volumes. The " Heroes of the War of 1812," and the " He- roes of the War with Mexico," will together complete a se- cond volume, which is now passing through the press. The design of this work is to furnish brief, analytical por- traits of those military leaders who, either from superior abi- lity, or superior good fortune, have played the most promi- nent parts in the wars of the United States. Each biography is made the frame, as it were, for a battle picture, the combat chosen being that in which the hero of the memoir principally distinguished himself. This has always appeared to the author the only true way to give a military portrait. What would a sketch of Hannibal be, without Cannse ; or one of Bruce with- out Bannockburn ? The battle in which a great hero dis- tinguishes himself, becomes a part of his biography. His fame, and sometimes even his character cannot be understood without it. The author has desired, accordingly, to write a book which should not only tell when Warren was born, where Putnam spent his youth, or who were the ancestors ot Greene and Wayne, but to enshrine as far as his feeble pen has power, the memory of those immortal heroes with Lex- ington, Bunker Hill, Eutaw and Stony Point. In executing this plan, it became necessary to omit many PREFACE. 7 whose rank wo aid seem to claim admission, and to introduce others whose subordinate positions have caused them hereto- fore to be overlooked. Thus the author has given sketches of Colonel Henry Lee, of Captain Kirkwood, of Ethan Allen, and of others ; but none of several Major-Generals. He hesitated for some time, whether Howard and Pickens ought not to be included with Williams and Sumpter ; whether the services of Captain Washington in the cavalry, and those of Clarke on the western frontier, did not entitle them to a place. He has admitted, perhaps, more foreigners than some may think ne- cessary ; but it must be recollected that the army w r as indebted for most of its discipline and military science to these men. He has also included Hamilton and Burr; but they have never heretofore been assigned their due prominence ; and moreover their biographies allowed the author to bring the history of the nation down to the present century, an import- ant addition to the completeness of his work as a whole. The author does not pretend to claim exemption from er- rors no annalist can, least of all an annalist of the American revolution ! Many of the details of that period are involved in inextricable confusion. Whether Mercer suggested the march on Princeton ; whether Putnam brought on the battle of Bunker Hill ; whether Montgomery harangued his men be- fore the second barrier of Quebec ; whether Arnold was pre- sent at Stillwater ; whether the legend of Horse-Neck is true ; w r hether the battle of the Assunpink, so unaccountably neglect- ed by most writers, was a mere skirmish or a desperate conflict ; whether any of the British, at Brandywine, crossed the river lower than Jeffries' Ford ; whether the name of Wood Creek. 8 PREFACE. in 1777, was extended to the arm of the lake between Skeens- boro' and Ticonderoga ; whether the surprise at Trenton ori- ginated with Washington ; whether Burr intended to dismem- ber the Union these, and other mooted points, perplex the historical student, and will, perhaps, always, continue to per- plex him. The author has contented himself merely with stating his opinions, discussion being foreign to the character of this work. As a general rule, however, he has applied to the decision of all such questions, the logical maxim of the law, that, where a fact is distinctly stated by a credible eye- witness, circumstantial testimony against it is of little value- Many anecdotes are used in this narrative which have never been in print. The one relating to Washington's ad- dress at Trenton " Now or never, this is our last chance"' is of this description. It came from the lips of a private soldier, who always had told it in the same way, and whose veracity was unimpeachable ; he was accustomed to say that Washington spoke under evident agitation, and that only him- self, and a few others close at hand, heard the words. The dramatic character of the address may induce some to discre- dit it ; but when the attending circumstances are considered, this becomes a proof of its authenticity. Far be it from the author to invade history with fiction ! Nothing can be more reprehensible than the practice, which has too much prevailed, of inventing anecdotes in relation to historical characters and passing them off as realities. Forgers in literature should be as infamous as other forgers. But neither can we excuse those who studiously banish every thing picturesque from their pages, as if history grew correct in proportion as it became PREFACE. 9 stupid. Rather should we preserve those stirring anecdotes, which illustrate a crisis, and which, to use the metaphor of Coleridge, tell a story " by flashes of lightning." The narrative of the war is intended not so much for a perfect history, as for a short, but as far as possible, compre- hensive review of the contest. It forms, it is believed, a pro- per introduction for a work intended, like this, for the people. The style, in consequence, is different from that which a more pretending narrative should exhibit. Of the various authorities the author has consulted, he has found " Sparks' American Biographies," the most generally correct ; and he desires to acknowledge, in this public man- ner, the assistance he has derived from that series. He would express his obligations in other quarters also, if the list would not swell this preface to an unwarrantable length. CONTENTS. THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. PRELIMINARY CHAPTER, BOOK I, BOOK II, BOOK III, - BOOK IV, BOOK V, * 19 25 45 73 113 141 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. GEORGE WASHINGTON, JOSEPH WARREN, ... ISRAEL PUTNAM, - RICHARD MONTGOMERY, LORD STIRLING, . . - - ETHAN ALLEN, ... WILLIAM MOCLTRIE, 173 207 219 235 243 259 261 11 12 CONTENTS. HUSH MERCER, ..... 269 ARTHUR ST. CLAIH, .... 277 PHILIP SCHUTLBR, ' <4 - - - - 285 JOBS STARK, - .-- - - - 295 ^^HoRATio GATES, - / - - 309 BENEDICT ARNOLD, - 323 JAMES CLINTON, . - . - - 343 JOHN SULLIVAN, - % l . - - 347 HENRY KNOX, .... 355 BARON STEUBEIT, - - . - - - 359 CHARLES LEE, .... 365 BENJAMIN LINCOLN, . - - 385 ANTHONY WAYNE, - - _ - -391 Couirr PULASKI, - .... 403 ROHERT KlRKWOOD, - 407 BAROIT DB KALB, - 409 MARQUIS DE LAFATETTE, - 413 NATHAXAEL GREENE, - 421 OTHO H. WILLIAMS, ..... 443 HAXCIS MARION, ..... 445 THOMAS SUMPTER, ..... 453 HENRY LEE, ..... 457 I.'AMKL MORGAN. . . . . .461 THADDEUS KOSCIUSZKO, - 465 -- ALEXANDER HAMILTOK, ..... 469 AARON BURR, .- 477 ILLUSTRATIONS. ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. Portrait of Washington, ......... Frontispiece. Battle of Germantowri, ...._-.-- Page 83 Battle of Guilford Court House, 135 Battle of Eutaw Springs, 139 Washington at the Battle of Princeton, 180 Battle of the Assunpink, at Trenton, ........ 193 Battle of Bunker Hill and Death of Warren, 217 Portrait of Major-General Arthur St.Clair, 277 Saratoga Battle Ground, - - - - - - - - - -317 Portrait of Major-General Benedict Arnold, ------- 323 Fort Putnam, at West Point, ---------- 339 Portrait of Baron Steuben, -...-.--- 359 Battle Ground at Monmouth, - - - - - - - 379 Pulaski Monument at Savannah, Ga., .....-- 406 Portrait of the Marquis La Fayette, (at the age of twenty two years,) 413 Portrait of Major-General Otho H. Williams, 443 Portrait of Brigadier-Genera) Thomas Surnpter, ..... 455 Portrait of Brigadier-General Daniel Morgan, ... ... 461 B 13 14 ILLUSTRATIONS. ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. Residence of General Wayne, Chester Co., Pa., ..... Page 5 Washington's Head-Quarters at Brandywine, - ...... 9 Washington's Head-Quarters at Valley Forge, - - - - - - 11 Battle Ground at Stillwater, --._.---- 13 Ornamental Title Page, " The War of Independence," - - - - - 17 Head Piece, 19 Tail Piece, - - 24 Americans Harassing the British on their Retreat from Concord, - - -25 Ornamental Letter Cap and Sword, - - - - - - - 25 Portrait of Patrick Henry, - - - - - - - - - -29 Reception of the News of the Repeal of the Stamp Act, ... - - 3'2 Fanueil Hall, Boston, -.- - - - - 34 Destruction of the Tea in Boston Harbor, -- - - - - - 37 Carpenters' Hall, Philadelphia, - - - - - - -40 Battle of Lexington, -----------43 The Minute Man of the Revolution, '" "."- - - - - 45 Ornamental Letter Table and Sword, ....... 45 Colonel Ethan Allen Summoning the Commander of Fort Ticonderoga to Surrender, 47 Siege of Boston, ......... -.53 Quebec, ............. 55 Portrait of Admiral Sir Peter Parker, - 58 Independence Hall, _........ -.60 Committee Presenting the Declaration of Independence to Congress, - - 61 Portrait of Admiral Lord Howe, 65 Retreat of the Americans through New Jersey, ...... 68 Battle of Trenton, 70 Bunker Hill Monument, .......... 72 Head Piece Eagle and Flag. 73 Ornamental Letter, ..........73 Portrait of Lord Cornwallis, .--......-76 Birmingham Meeting-House, .-..-....80 Battle of Red Bank, . / . 84 Portrait of General Burgoyne, .........87 Burgoyne's Encampment on the Banks of the Hudson, - - - - - 91 Burgoyne's Retreat to Saratoga, ........95 Encampment at Valley Forge, ...... .-98 Signing the Treaty of Alliance at Paris, - - - - -.**. 101 Portrait of Sir Henry Clinton, ......... 105 Ruins of Wyoming, ... --_.'. . . 108 Tail Piece Implements of War, ........ 112 Portrait of Major-General Nathanael Greene, - 113 Ornamental Letter, . - . . - . . - -113 Savannah in 1778, - - - . . - *-,.,- - 118 Tarleton's Quarters, ........... 122 Battle of the Cowpens, -- ........131 Capture of the General Monk by the Hyder Ally, ..... 141 Ornamental Letter, . .......... 141 Portrait of Commodore John Paul Jones, ^ 143 Capture of Major Andre, - - - - - - - - - - 148 Continental Money, .......... 152 Portrait of Robert Morris, ........ --154 ILLUSTRATIONS. 15 Action off Cape Henry, - ' . - - . ; - - - - Page 1 f>6 Vorktown, in 1782, ------ .' ... .* . . jyj Capture of Corn wallis, - - - - -- - - .._ ] O 4 Tail Piece Cannon and Flag, - - - - - - - - -170 Ornamental Title Page " Heroes of the Revolution," ..... j7j Mount Vernon, - - - - - - - - - - -173 Ornamental Letter Washington, .----..-_ 173 Washington's Interview with the Commander of the French Fort, - - - 176 Washington's Head-Quarters at Cambridge, - - - - - - . 181 Copy of a Gold Medal Presented to Washington by Congress, - - - 185 Washington Crossing the Delaware, ......... j^g Washington's Head-Quarters at Morristown, - - - - - -197 Washington's Head-Quarters at Newburg, - ...... 202 Tomb of Washington at Mount Vernon, ---.... 206 Portrait of Major-General Joseph Warren, - .... 207 Ornamental Letter Throwing up Intrenchments, ------ 207 Tail Piece Cap and Sword, - - - - - - - -- 218 Portrait of Major-General Israel Putnam, - - 219 Ornamental Letter Putnam Prepared for the Torture, - - - - 219 Ruins of Old Fort Ticonderoga, - - - - - - - - -221 Battle of Bunker Hill, ------.-._ 227 Portrait of Major-General Richard Montgomery, --._._ 235 Ornamental Letter, .... ..... 235 St. Johns, on the Sorel, _.-._-____ 237 Death of Montgomery at the Storming of Quebec, - - ... 242 Head Piece Sword, ---.__..___ 243 Ornamental Letter Officer taking Observations, - - - - - - 243 Portrait of Major-General William Moultrie, - - - - - - -251 Ornamental Letter, ........... 251 Portrait of Major-General Lord Stirling, --_---_. 259 Ornamental Letter Sentinel, -..--.... 259 The Retreat of the Americans at Long Island, ...... 266 Tail Piece, - ........... 268 Battle of Princeton, --------__. 269 Ornamental Letter, .......... 269 Tomb of General Mercer, at Laurel Hill Cemetery, near Philadelphia, - ' - 276 Death of General Wolfe, .......... 277 Ornamental Letter, -----.....- 277 Wolfe's Army Ascending the Heights of Abraham, ..... 284 Portrait of Major-General Philip Schuyler, - 285 Ornamental Letter Sentinel, ...... ... 285 Massacre at Fort Henry in 1757, ........ 290 Portrait of Major-General John Stark, ........ 295 Ornamental Letter Sentinel, - - - 295 General Abercrombie's Army Crossing Lake George, - .... 299 Portrait of John Langdon, - - - - . . - . . -301 Battle of Bennington, -------_.-. 304 Tail Piece Sword, ........... 3(13 Portrait of Major-General Horatio Gates, --...-- 309 Ornamental Letter Eagle and Flag, 309 Surrender of Burgoyne, - - - - - - . . - . 316 Medal Presented by Congress to General Gates, - - - - - - 318 Shippen's House, Philadelphia, in which General Arnold was Married, - - 323 Ornamental Letter, - - . . . .'. . -323 16 ILLUSTRATIONS. Montreal Place d'Arras, Page 32 S Washington's Head-Quarters at Tappan, 340 General James Clinton's Escape from Fort Clinton, ------ 343 Ornamental Letter Tomahawk, ------ - - 343 Portrait of Major-General John Sullivan, and Ornamental Letter, ... 347 Portrait of Major-General Henry Knox, and Ornamental Letter, - - - 355 Tail Piece Artillery, 358 Head Piece Prussian Soldiers, ___-..--. 359 Ornamental Letter, ....------- 359 Baron Steuben Drilling the American Army, - 361 Tail Piece, 364 Portrait of Major-General Charles Lee, .'.*- - -'- * ' . " 365 Ornamental Letter, ----------- 365 Tail Piece, - - .384 Portrait of Major-General Benjamin Lincoln, --._--- 385 Ornamental Letter, _--. ----- 385 Portrait of Major-General Anthony Wayne, ----.-- 391 Ornamental Letter, _..__------ 391 Storming of Stony Point, _---------- 396 General Wayne Attempting to Quell the Mutiny of the Troops. 398 General Wayne's Defeat of the Indians on the Miami, - - 400 Tail Piece, .-402 Head Piece Pulaski and Polish Soldiers, ----.-- 403 Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - - '. ,li*ivt - 403 Death of Count Pulaski, - - "' K , - - - 406 Portrait of Major-General the Baron de Kalb, - - ...-. . 407 Ornamental Letter, - ^ 4 .,-... -' * - - - - 407 The Battle of Camden, and Death of the Baron de Kalb, ; W - - - 410 Head Piece, and Ornamental Letter, - ... ^ '-'-- - - 411 Yorktown Battle-Ground, and Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - 413 Moore's House, Yorktown, in which Cornwallis Signed the Articles of Capitulation, 417 Tomb of General La Fayette, ......... 420 General Greene's Entrance into Charleston, - - - - - - - 421 Ornamental Letter The Dead Soldier, - - - - - - - -421 The Landlady Offering her Money to General Greene, - 431 Portrait of Brigadier-General Francis Marion, .-..--- 445 Ornamental Letter General Marion Inviting the British Officer to Dinner, - 445 Sampler's Assault on the British at Rocky Mount, ..--.- 455 Ornamental Letter, -------- ... 455 Portrait of Colonel Henry Lee, --------- 457 Ornamental Letter Lee's Legion, -------- 457 Tail Piece, - - 460 Morgan at the Battle of Stillwater, ------- 461 Ornamental Letter, - - - - - - - - - - -461 Portrait of Brigadier-General Thaddeus Koskiuszko, - - - ' * - 465 Ornamental Letter, _....-.---- 465 Monument to the Memory of Koskiuszko at West Point, - - - - 468 Portrait of General Alexander Hamilton, - - - * .*' ~ - - 469 Ornamental Letter, .-..-- ...-469 Tail Piece, - ..^ .^ . *. .'i--^ 1 - - 47f Portrait of Colonel Aaron Burr, - - - . .< * - -*'. ; ^W " -. 477 Ornamental Letter, -_.-.._..-- 477 Tail Piece, - - - - :.,". 487 PRELIMINARY CHAPTER, I HE American Revolution, in whatever aspect , viewed, forms an epoch in history. That a com- paratively weak confederacy should undertake a war unassisted, against a power which had just humbled the proud- est throne in Europe, appears at first sight little short of madness. Never, perhaps, did England enjoy a more formidable position than at the beginning of the dispute with her colonies. Her armies had been victorious in the old world and the new. Her fleets had chased those of every adversary from the ocean. She had dictated peace to her antagonist. And while these events had been transact- ing in Europe and America, a commercial company had been con- quering for her the vast empire of the Indies. Her flag already floating over Quebec, Gibraltar and Calcutta ; her name heard with terror by distant and savage tribes ; men began to look forward to the day when the British empire, like the sea which she controlled, should circle the habitable globe. It was at this, the very height of her career, that the American Revolution occurred. The colonies contained, at that time, but three millions of people, divided by local prejudices, by differences 19 80 HISTORY OF of religious opinion, and by mutual jealousies. In one sentiment only they agreed, a determination to resist oppression. Without arms, money or credit, they embarked in a contest from which France had just retired in despair. At a very early period of the war, the Americans were so completely overpowered that any other people would have abandoned the contest in despair. The battle of Trenton alone saved the country. The genius and resolution of Washington, in that eventful crisis, interposed to arrest the torrent of disaster ; he checked the flood and rolled it back on the foe. For eight years the conflict was protracted amid financial and military difficulties almost incredible. At times the Americans were reduced to such straits that it was a greater triumph of military chieftainship, merely to keep an army together, than it would have been, under ordinary circumstances, to have achieved a decisive victory. Battle after battle was lost, city upon city fell into the hands of the foe, domestic treason conspired with foreign hirelings against the liberties of the land ; but the colonies, true to the principles of their immortal declaration, resolved to perish rather than submit. They acted in the spirit of the patriot who swore to demolish every house and burn every blade of grass before the invader. The Senate of Rome, when Hannibal was at the city gates, solemnly sold at auction the land on which he was encamped, the august members of that body competing, in their private capacities, who should pay the highest price : so indomitable was the sentiment of ancient freedom. Wash- ington, not less determined, when asked what he would do if the enemy drove him from Pennsylvania, replied, ' " I will retire to Augusta county, among the mountains of Virginia, or if necessary beyond the Alleghanies, but never yield." When such heroic reso- lutions are entertained, victory, sooner or later, must ensue ; and thus America, insignificant as she seemed, was able to humble the mistress of the world. But if we would correctly appreciate the American Revolution, we must look, not to the event itself, but to its consequences. The war of Independence was the first ever gained in behalf of the people, using that word as contradistinguished from a privileged class. Magna Charta was obtained for the benefit of a few nobles, while the majority of the population continued slaves to the soil. The boasted revolution of 1688, was but a struggle between a despot and an oligarchy : the commonalty gaining as little by the elevation of William the Third, as they lost by the exile of James the Second. It was only the nobility, the gentry, the church, and the higher classes of merchants to whom it was of advantage. The govern- THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 21 ment passed from an irresponsible monarch to a landed and rnonied aristocracy : the people obtaining no share in it, and remaining still subjects arid not citizens. But the American Revolution established the great principle of political equality. It elevated the poorest member of the commonwealth to an equal participation with the richest in the choice of his rulers ; and by teaching that the State must rely on the virtue of its citizens, and not on a military force for support, invoked some of the most powerful sentiments of human nature in behalf of the permanency of the republic. The example* thus set, has influenced the whole European conti- nent. The knowledge of the freedom of institutions in America, awakening the lethargic mind of the old world, has led to a general amelioration in the social and political condition of its millions of inhabitants. To the American Revolution may be traced, in a great measure, the revolution in France, an incalculable blessing to man- kind, notwithstanding its excesses ; for if that terrific outbreak had not occurred, the chains of feudalism would probably remain un- broken ; long established customs would still hold the minds of men in thrall ; and Europe, instead of being in motion towards constitu- tional liberty, would lie inert and stupified, careless or ignorant of her inestimable rights. The hand of Providence may be discerned in the settlement, inde- pendence, and subsequent prosperity of the United States. The race of men who came to these shores was of that northern blood which has, in all ages, asserted its superiority over every other with which it has come in contact. Perhaps there never existed its equal in the capacity for material development. The very name of North- man suggests the idea of enterprise and progress. In a new country the genius of the race had free room for expansion, without being checked by old institutions as it was every where in Europe. A bold and hardy people was the consequence, possessing high notions of personal independence, and accustomed from the very first to choose their own rulers and make their own laws. Had a less energetic stock colonized these shores, the destiny of the western world would have been far different. No other people but one formed and nurtured as the early settlers were, could have achieved the inde- pendence of this country. Fortunately the materials for the state were of the best possible kind, nor was any parent community at hand to wither the young commonwealth by its protecting shadow ; but the colonies were suffered to grow into power, and to know their own strength, before the mother country interfered to harass them ; and by that time they were able to conquer their indepen- 22 HISTORY OF dence, and to maintain it afterwards. If instead of being three thousand miles away, the young republic had started upon European soil, it never would have been allowed to try the experiment of self- government unmolested ; but foreign powers, alarmed at the effect its example might produce, would early have interfered and crushed its development. In that case our liberties could only have been achieved by the blood and horror of a second French Revolution ; and after we had filled Europe with the glare of conflagration, we might at last have proved unworthy of freedom. It is evident to the eye of the philosopher that the old world is worn out. There are cycles in empires, as well as in dynasties ; and Europe, after nearly two thousand years, seems to have fin- ished another term of civilization. The most polished nation in the eastern hemisphere is now where the Roman Empire was just before it verged to a decline : the same system of government, the same extremes of wealth and poverty, the same delusive prosperity characterizing both. Europe stands on the crust of a decayed vol- cano which at any time may fall in. The social fabric, in the old world, is in its dotage. The whole tendency of the philosophic mind abroad, is towards change ; but whence to seek relief, or in what manner to invoke it ? It is not too visionary to believe that from the new world will come the recuperative energy which is to restore the old, and that America is hereafter to return to Europe, in an improved condition, the civilization she borrowed in her youth. The one starts where the other leaves off. The United States begins with an experience of two thousand years. At the same ratio of progress with which it has advanced during the last century, it will attain, by the close of the next, a social and political elevation, at present incredible. Its population, exceeding that of any Empire but China, will all speak the same language, possess the same laws, and boast the same blood ; and history will be searched in vain for an example of such numbers collected into so compact a territory, or possessing equal intelligence and enterprize. It is then that emissaries will go hence to re-model the old world. And the time may even come, as a celebrated English writer has remarked, when Europe will be chiefly known and remembered from her connexions with America : when travellers will visit England, as men now visit Italy, because once the seat of art ; and when antiquaries from cities beyond the Rocky Mountains, will wander among the ruins of Lon- don, almost incredulous that there had once been centred the com- merce of the world. With the Roman Empire the seeds of disunion existed in the THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 23 variety of races acknowledging her sway, and in the fact that most of the provinces had originally been conquered nations and were never completely assimilated to her, or to each other. Whe'n the irruptions of the Goths occurred, this unwieldy and ill-cemented mass naturally fell to pieces. Even during the existence of the em- pire the government of the distant colonies was more or less imper- fect, as is indeed always the case with the provinces of an extensive monarchy or despotism. The body thrives while the extremities wither. But in the republic of the United States, these difficulties are obviated by the federal compact, which bestows on the general government only such power as the states cannot conveniently use themselves, leaving to each common- wealth the right of local legislation. The nation is governed on the wise principle of representing the wishes of the people as a whole ; while each individual state is left to adjust its own affairs in the manner best suited to itself. For the purposes of a free peo- ple occupying an extended territory the federal league is the most wonderful discovery in the whole range of political science. It combines the separate independence of the municipal system of Rome, with the compactness of a consolidated monarchy such as that of France. Like the magic tent in the fairy tale, it may shelter a family, or cover a continent. It moreover carries within itself the seeds of recuperation, and may be peaceably amended to suit the altered condition of the times. It is the only form of government for an extensive republic that can be relied on as permanent. A cursory observer would suppose, that on the slightest difference of opinion among the States, they would separate into as many hostile and independent nations : but experience has shown, as philosophy prognosticated, that the federal league weathers tempests that wreck even constitutional monarchies. It is the most pliable of all the forms of human government. Like those vast Druidical stones that are still the admiration of the world, though their builders are for- gotton, it is so nicely poised that while rocking under the finger of a child, it yet defies human power to hurl it to the ground. The story of the Revolution, pregnant with such mighty con- sequences, and the lives and characters of the great men who began and successfully completed it against such overwhelm- ing odds, cannot fail to be interesting, especially to the descend- ants of those who shed their blood in that quarrel. It is our purpose to narrate this theme : and we shall do it without further preface. I AMERICANS HARASSING THE BRITISH ON THEIR RETREAT FROM CONCORD. BOOK I, THE ORIGIN OP THE WAR. HE American Revolution natu- rally divides itself into five peri- ods. The first dates from the passage of the Stamp Act to the battle of Lexington. This was a period of popular excitement, increasing in an accelerated ratio, until it burst forth with almost irresistable fury at Lexington and Bunker Hill. The second reaches to the battle of Trenton. During this period the popular enthusiasm died away, and recruits were difficult to be obtained for the army : consequently the American forces were made up chiefly of ill-disciplined militia, wholly incapa- ble of opposing the splendid troops of England. As a result of this, the battle of Long Island was lost, and Washington was driven across the Delaware. In this emergency, even the most sanguine of the patriots were beginning to despair, when the commander in chief made his memorable attack at Trenton, and rescued the country from the brink of ruin. The third period brings us up to the important alliance with France. It was during this period that 4 c 25 26 HISTORY OP a regular army, having some pretentions to discipline, was first formed ; that the battles of Brandy wine, Germantown and Mon- mouth were fought; and that Burgoyne surrendered. It was a period when, notwithstanding the fortunes of the country occasion- ally ebbed, the cause of Independence on the whole steadily advanced. The fourth period embraces the war at the south. During this period the military operations of the British at the north were com- paratively neglected ; indeed England now began to regard the con- quest of the whole country as impossible, and therefore resolved to concentrate all her energies on one part, in hopes to subdue it at least. The fifth and last period, which had nearly proved fatal, after all, to Independence, comprises the capture of Cornwallis; witnesses the deliverance of the nation from a financial crisis ; and finally beholds Independence acknowledged, and the enemy's troops withdrawn from our shores. To each of these periods we shall devote a book : the first we shall now portray. There can be no question but that the colonies would eventually have detached themselves from the mother country, even if the severance had not occurred at the period of which we write. While the provinces were young and feeble, they naturally looked to the parent state for countenance ; but when they grew to manhood, the sentiment of Independence and the consciousness of importance sprang up together in their bosoms. In everything the colonies found themselves pinched and controlled by the supremacy of England. They were not allowed to trade where or when they pleased : they were compelled to pay a certain portion of the product of their mines to the king : and in many other ways they were made continually to feel that their existence was permitted, not so much for their own benefit, as for that of the parent state. Originally seeking a refuge in the new world because of religious and political tyranny at home, their independent spirit had increased, rather than diminished : and this naturally, in consequence of the agricultural life they led, and the democratic character of their colonial governments. There were, long before the Revolution, a few observing intellects who prognosticated, in consequence of these things, an ultimate disruption between America and England. The Swedish traveller, Kolm, twenty years before the contest, has re- corded the prophecies of such minds. But the great body of the people, not yet pressed on directly by the aggressions of the mother country, were insensible of wrong. A wise government would have temporized with the colonies and endeavored to avert as long as possible the breach which it THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 27 saw to be inevitable ; but England, at the period of the Revolution, was ruled by a ministry which either could not or would not under- stand America. In an evil hour for Great Britain it was resolved to draw a revenue from the colonies by direct taxation. In vain Burke lifted his warning voice. "The fierce spirit of liberty," he said, " is stronger in the English colonies probably than with any other people of the earth." In vain a few discerning minds in England pointed to the examples of Pitt and Walpole, former prime-ministers, both of whom had refused to tax America. Said the latter shrewdly, " I will leave that measure to some one of my successors who has more courage than I have." The Grenville ministry, brave with the audacity of ignorant folly, resolved to undertake what others had shrunk from, and draw a revenue from America, not only incidentally as of old, but directly by a certain fixed tax. As a preliminary measure, however, two acts were passed, having reference to the trade and finances of the provinces. The first of these imposed heavy duties on indigo, coffee, silk, and many other articles, imported into the colonies from the West Indies, besides requiring the customs to be paid in gold or silver: by this act a very lucrative branch of commerce was at once destroyed. The second declared the paper money, which had been issued by the provinces to defray the expences of the war just closed, not a legal tender in the payment of debts. Each of these laws was equally irritating. But had the ministry stopped here, no immediate opposition would have been aroused ; for the colonies had been too long accustomed to old commercial restrictions to take offence at new ones. But these measures proving insufficient to raise the revenue which the ministers desired to reap from America a direct tax was resolved upon, and the Stamp Act accordingly brought forward. It has often been a subject of surprise that Great Britain should ever have entertained the idea of taxing America without her consent, or should have persisted in it after discovering her oppo- sition. But, when we consider the attending circumstances, all astonishment ceases. England had just come out of an expensive war, which though in reality produced by her own aggressions on this continent, she persuaded herself was undertaken for the defence of her colonies ; and therefore it seemed but natural that the pro- vinces should be made to pay a part of the cost. This was un- questionably the first view taken of the subject by the majority of the middle class of Englishmen. As the dispute advanced, this selfish desire to lighten their own burdens, received a new ally in 28 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. the national obstinacy which would not brook opposition. Up to a comparatively late period of the war, these causes, combined with a feeling of contempt for America, as a province, produced a very extraordinary unity of sentiment among the country gentlemen in parliament, and the middle classes out of it, in favor of England persisting in her claim. In further confirmation of this view, is the fact that, from the hour when the dispute first began, up to the breaking out of the Revolution, the parliament, whether in the hands of a tory or whig ministry, never abandoned the assertion of its right to tax America. In 1766, when the Rockingham administration desir"ed to repeal the Stamp Act, it was found necessary to preface it by a declaratory act, asserting the right of the mother country to bind the colonies in all cases whatever. In 1770, when Lord North brought in his bill to remove the obnoxious duties, he retained the duty on tea, expressly to reserve the right of parliamentary taxation. It is a lamentable truth, yet one to which the historian must not shut his eyes, that with the exception of a portion of the whigs, of the merchants engaged in the American trade, and of a few comprehensive minds like those of Burke and Chatham, the great body even of intelligent Englishmen, regarded the provinces as factious colonies, and sustained, if they did not urge on the government in its domineering course. Moreover, the King, from first to last, was the uncompro- mising foe of conciliation. When these facts are understood, the riddle becomes plain. The coldness with which parliament and the people received the various appeals of the American Congress, prior to the war, is no longer a mystery ; the headlong obstinacy of the mother country ceases to astonish, for men are never so guilty of follies as when angry: and the inefficiency of subsequent conces- sions, which the Americans have been blamed for not receiving in a more generous spirit, becomes apparent, since never, during the whole progress of those conciliatory movements, did England aban- don the disputed claim. While the irritating cause is left in the wound, palliatives are but a mockery. The Stamp Act became a law on the 22d of March, 1765. Its direct effect was only the imposition of stamp duties on certain papers and documents used in the colonies. As it however em- bodied a great principle, of which itself was but the entering wedge, the provinces took the alarm the more readily, perhaps, inconsequence of the prevailing irritation in reference to the navigation laws, and the rigor with which they had begun to be enforced. At first, however, there was no public expression of discontent. The country ft THE STAMP ACT. PATRICK HENRY. seemed to stand at gaze, struck dumb with astonishment. Patrick Henry, in the Virginia Assembly, led the way in giving voice to the popular feeling. He introduced into, and passed through 'that body a series of resolutions declaratory of the right of Virginia to be exempt from taxation, except by a vote of the provincial legis- lature, with the assent of his majesty or substitute : a right which the citizens of Virginia, the resolutions further asserted, inherited from their English ancestors, and had frequently had guaranteed to them by the King and people of Great Britain : a right, to attempt the destruction of which, would be subversive of the constitution, and of British and American freedom. It was, while advocating these resolutions, that the memorable scene occurred which Wirt graphically portrays. The orator was in the full torrent of decla- mation against the tyrannical act, when he exclaimed, " Caesar had his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, and George the Third" But here he was interrupted by loud cries of "treason, treason," resounding through the house. Henry paused, drew himself up to his loftiest height, and fixing his undaunted eye on the speaker, c* 30 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. J elevated his voice while he finished the sentence, "and George the Third may profit by their example. If this be treason, make the most of it." The boldness of the man, and 'of his words, were electric ; not only on the Assembly, but on the people at large. The retort hit the popular nerve, and thrilling through the nation, quickened the pulse and fired the heart of patriotism. It was like the spark of fire to the dry prairie : instantaneously the whole country was in a blaze. Massachusetts was the next colony to give an impetus to the career of Revolution. The other provincial Assemblies had passed acts similar to that of Virginia ; but shrewd men saw that it required something more to produce a permanent effect. As early as 1754, the plan of a general league, to carry on the ordinary government of the colonies, had been rejected by the ministry, after having been adopted by the provinces. A similar league suggested itself now as of use in this emergency. Simultaneously, the idea of a Congress of the colonies struck different minds in opposite sections of America. It was reserved for Massachusetts, however, to give this sentiment a voice. On the 6th of June, 1765, her legislature resolved it was expedient that a general Congress of deputies from all the provinces should meet at New York on the first Tuesday of October, to consult on their grievances. In the meantime the first riot of the Revolution occurred, and at Boston, from that time forth the head-quarters of turbulence and disaffection. Distributors of stamps had already been appointed for the several colonies, though the Stamp Act was not to go in opera- tion until the 1st of November. On the morning of the 14th of August, an effigy of Andrew Oliver, the distributor of stamps for Massachusetts, was discovered hanging from a tree on the town common, since known as the " liberty tree." At night a large mob assembled, which burned the effigy, and afterwards attacked the stamp office and residence of Oliver. The next day this obnoxious individual resigned. The popular leaders now strove to check further violence : but the mob was not satisfied until it had com- mitted other disgraceful outrages. Before the excitement subsided, the papers of the court of admiralty had been destroyed, the dwell- ings of the collectors of customs had been razed to the ground, and the beautiful garden, the richly furnished mansion, and the valuable library of state papers belonging to the lieutenant governor, Hutch- inson, had been sacrificed to the popular phrensy. In the other colonies the distributors of stamps averted a similar tumult by resigning. THE STAMP ACT. 3J In October, 1765, the Congress assembled pursuant to recom- mendation. Deputies from nine colonies were in attendance. The attitude of the assembly was firm but conciliatory. A petition to the King, and a memorial to parliament, were prepared and signed hy all the members present. In these documents the affection of the provinces to the person of the King as well as to his government was enlarged on ; but at the same time the determination of the colonies to preserve their liberty was explicitly expressed. It was declared that the constitution guaranteed to British subjects im- munity from taxation, unless by their own representatives ; while it was argued that the remote situation of the colonies practically forbade this representation, unless in their own provincial assem- blies. In conclusion a prayer was made for the redress of their wrongs. This petition and memorial had no effect, for the reasons we have before explained. The only benefit of the Congress was the bringing together leading men from the different colonies, by which a certain sort of unity of purpose was obtained, and a way opened for future assemblies of the kind. In the end, it led to a closer acquaintance between the provinces, gradually removing the local prejudices that had formerly prevailed; and this, ultimately, to that feeling of a common interest almost amounting to nationality, with- out which the war of Independence would have failed in its first year. Thus, from comparatively small beginnings, does Providence work out his great designs. The 1st of November, the day on which the Stamp Act was to go into effect, at last arrived. The colonists had meantime resolved not to wear English goods until the illegal law was repealed. On this occasion, therefore, the citizens were all in homespun, rich and poor alike. At Boston the bells were tolled and the shops closed. At Portsmouth, N. H., a coffin inscribed " Liberty, setat cxlv years," was borne in funeral procession, interred to the sound of minute guns, and an oration pronounced over its grave. Everywhere the people acted as if some great calamity had happened : men spoke of freedom as if she had forever departed from their midst. Mean- time the Stamp Act became practically nugatory. The citizens refused to use the stamped paper. The regularly appointed officers declined the obnoxious duty. The attorneys determined to employ ordinary paper, as of old, in legal documents, in defiance of the law. Vessels were cleared without the stamped papers, no collector being willing to brave the popular odium. Even the royal governors had to bend to the storm and grant dispensations. 32 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. In the midst of the general depression and gloom came a sudden gleam of hope. The Grenville administration went out of office, and was succeeded by that of the Marquis of Rockingham. The new ministry was composed chiefly of whig's. One of its first acts was to agitate the repeal of the obnoxious law. Dr. Franklin, at that time in London, was called before the bar of the House of Com- mons, in order to be interrogated respecting the opinions of his countrymen and the condition of the colonies. His clear and in- telligent answers, united to the moderation of his sentiments, pro- duced a great effect on the public mind. After the passage of the declaratory act to which we have before alluded, the Stamp Act itself was repealed, March the 15th, 1766. The intelligence was BBCEPTION OF NEWS OS THE REPEAL OP THE STAMP ACT. received in America with transports of joy. At first the repeal was accepted as a boon, instead of being received as a right. All hostile thoughts were immediately laid aside : importations were renewed, homespun was discarded. But this extravagant joy was of short duration. As soon as the first burst of enthusiasm was over, and men began to comprehend more exactly the true condition of things, it was found that England still asserted her obnoxious claim, though for the time being she waived its exercise. This alarming fact dis- turbed the public mind with fears for the future. The tone of the royal governors, who acted on instructions from the ministry at home, was, moreover, supercilious and domineering to the last degree. In the short space of a year the worst suspicions of the colonists were verified. The Rockingham administration was overthrown, and succeeded by one in which Charles Townshend was con- spicuous. That gentleman revived the idea of taxing America. Accordingly, in June, 1767, a bill was signed by the King, imposing THE NEW TAX BILL. 33 duties on glass, tea, paper and colors imported into the colonies. This bill was thought to be such a one as the provinces could not complain of, since they had heretofore made a distinction between external and internal taxes : and the probability is, that, if such a bill had been originally passed in place of the Stamp Act, it would have received little or no opposition. But times had changed. The colonies had been taught to distrust the parent state : they had learned to examine into their own rights. The spirit of resistance which at first had flowed in a feeble and insignificant current, began to widen and deepen with new sources of complaint, until, finally, even greater concessions than it had originally asked, proving in- sufficient to restrain it it rolled on, bearing down all opposition, and involving everything in its overwhelming torrent. The new tax bill was received in Massachusetts with peculiar disfavor. The legislature addressed a circular letter to the other colonies, requesting their aid in obtaining a redress of grievances. This gave great offence to the English ministry, which sent out immediately a circular letter to the royal governors, in which the Massachusetts letter was denounced as factious. The governor of Massachusetts was ordered to require the Assembly to repeal the resolution on which the obnoxious epistle had been founded. On receiving a refusal he dissolved the Assembly. In the other pro- vinces the ministerial letter was treated with equal disregard. Meantime other causes of irritation were arising. The ministry had long desired to make the colonists support the royal troops quartered among them, which the colonists had continually refused. Before the dissolution of the Massachusetts Assembly, it had main- tained a triumphant altercation with the governor on this point. In New York, however, the ministry was more successful. In addition to their difficulties about the soldiery, came^others in relation to the execution of the laws of trade. It had been usual to evade these laws very generally, but the commissioners now determined to ex- ercise the utmost rigor ; and in consequence, a riot arose at Boston in reference to the sloop Liberty, owned by John Hancock, which had just arrived from Madeira with a cargo of wines. The com- missioners in the end, had to fly the town. In the very midst of these disorders several transports appeared with troops, and as the selectmen refused to provide for them, they were quartered in Fanueil Hall. More troops kept arriving, until, by the close of the year, the force in Boston amounted to four thousand men. The attitude assumed by Massachusetts was particularly exaspe- rating to the ministry. Charles Townshend was now dead, and 5 34 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. FANUETL HALL. had been succeeded by Lord North, who continued to the end of the war, with but a slight intermission, to be prime minister. But the policy of England was not altered. In retaliation for what was called the factious spirit of Massachusetts a petition to the King was passed, beseeching, him, and in effect authorizing the colonial governor to arrest and send to England for trial all persons suspected of treason. So glaring an outrage on the rights of the colonists was received in America with one general cry of indignation. For its boldness in denouncing this outrage, the Assembly of Virginia was dissolved by the royal governor, Lord Botetourt. But, nothing intimidated, the members met immediately, and recommended to their fellow citizens, again, the non-importation of British goods. Most of the other colonies imitated this example. The popular sentiment warmly seconded the movement : committees were ap- pointed to enforce compliance ; and the names of offenders were published in the newspapers and held up to public scorn as enemies of the country. RIOT AT BOSTON. 35 In the meantime, the people of Massachusetts finding their general court dissolved, boldly elected members to a convention ; the dif- ferent towns choosing the delegates. This act was a virtual declara- tion of independence. The convention, however, did little beyond petition the governor for a redress of grievances, and recommend endurance, patience and good order to the people. In May, 1768, a new general court met, when the old difficulties about the troops were revived. The court began by refusing to sit while Boston was occupied by an armed force. The governor then adjourned the sittings of the body to Cambridge. The court next remonstrated against the quartering of soldiers in the capital. The governor, in return, sent it an account of the expenditures for the support of the troops, and demanded that the sum should be paid, and a provision made for the future. The court refused to comply, and on this the governor prorogued it. The presence of the troops in Boston was naturally irritating to the inhabitants. A free people cannot brook an armed force. Fre- quent quarrels occurred between the townsfolk and the soldiery, but no serious difficulty arose until the fifth of March, 1770. On that day, however, an affray, in part premeditated on the side of the people, took place, in which the troops, as a means of self-preserva- tion, finally fired on the mob. Three men were killed, and several wounded, one of whom subsequently died. This affair has ever since gone by the name of the massacre. A collision was, perhaps, inevitable, considering that the very presence of the soldiers was an outrage ; but that the troops were not wholly to blame is proven by the fact that a Boston jury acquitted the captain who gave the order to fire, and that Josiah Quincy and John Adams, both popular leaders, felt it their duty to join in his defence. In all such cases the guilt ought to rest on the government which commands, and not on the officer who executes ; yet great honor is due the jury, since, perhaps, in no other community, under equally exciting circum- stances, could a similar verdict have been obtained. Events now began to follow each other in rapid succession. The spirit of resistance was visibly on the increase. The ministry at last grew alarmed, and determined to try conciliatory measures. Accord- ingly, the duties on glass, paper and colors were repealed ; but the duty on tea, for the reasons we have stated, was left unaltered. This was a fatal blunder. Its effect was to neutralize all the rest that had been done. Nothing short of a total abandonment of the right of parlia- mentary taxation would now have satisfied the colonies; and if England really wished to settle the dispute, she ought to have 36 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. yielded this claim at once and forever. But, like a miser from whom a part of his store is demanded in commutation, she haggled for a price, her concessions always falling short of what was desired, until finally, by her greediness, she lost all. The southern provinces, however, were less firm than Massachu- setts. In this latter colony the non-importation agreement continued to be observed in all its vigor ; but elsewhere an exception was made in favor of those articles exempted by the new bill. The enthusiasm of many persons had already sensibly declined under the restrictions to which they had subjected themselves, and they were not sorry, therefore, to find an excuse for returning to the old and more comfortable order of things. Had the ministry, at this juncture, repealed the tax on tea, and assumed even the appearance of con- ciliation, there can be no doubt but that the majority of the colonists would have become perfectly loyal once more : a blind fate, however, an inexplicable perversity, hurried Lord North forward, and, by re- solving to force on the provinces the obnoxious tea, he broke the last link existing between the two countries. Another of those fatal misapprehensions, however, of which the British ministry appear to have been the victims throughout these difficulties, was at the bottom of this new movement. Lord North had been made to believe that the colonies objected to the tax itself rather than to the principle involved in it : in other words, that they feared more for their pockets than for the invasion of their rights. Consequently he resolved to furnish them with tea cheaper than they had been able to purchase it before the existence of the tax, and this he effected by allowing the East India company to export it duty free. But the colonies were not so base as to be caught in this lure. The trick was at once discovered. The public press called on the people to resist this new encroachment on their liber- ties. Never before had all classes been so unanimous during the whole progress of the dispute ; and when the ships, freighted with tea, were announced off the coast, the enthusiasm passed all bounds. Cargoes had been sent to New York, Philadelphia, Charleston and Boston. New York and Philadelphia refused to suffer the tea to be landed, and the ships returned to London without breaking bulk. At Charleston the tea, though discharged, was put in damp cellars where it spoiled. At Boston, the citizens desired to send the vessels back, but the authorities refused permission : a proceeding which gave rise to one of the most memorable events of the Revolution. We allude to the destruction of the tea in Boston harbor. DESTRUCTION OP TEA. 37 No sooner had the ships approached the wharves, than the people, acting through a committee appointed at a town meeting, gave notice to the captains not to land their cargoes. A guard was posted on the quay, and in case of any insult during the night, the alarm bell was to be rung. The excitement soon spread to the country, from whence the people arrived in large numbers. The consignees, fearing violence, finally fled to the protection of the castle. The governor, again solicited to clear the ships, haughtily refused. On this being declared at the town meeting, whither the inhabitants had collected almost spontaneously, an alarming scene of uproar ensued, in the midst of which a voice from the crowd raised the Indian war-whoop, and the meeting dissolved in confu- sion. As if foreseeing what was to ensue, the crowd hurried to the DESTRUCTION OF TEA IN BOSTON HABEOB. wharf, where the ships laden with tea were moored. In a few minutes about forty individuals disguised like Indians, and apparently acting on a preconcerted plan, made their appearance in the mob, who opened eagerly to let them pass. A rush was made for the ships, the Indians boarding them, while the populace silently thronged the wharves. The hatches were soon removed, and a portion of the 365412 38 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. patriots descending into the hold, passed up the tea, while the remainder broke open the chests as fast as they appeared, and threw the contents into the sea. It was night, and a profound stillness reigned. There was no cheering from the mob, no disorder, no haste. The only sound heard, was the crash of the chests, and the tread of the patriots as they crossed the decks. In two hours three hundred and forty chests were staved and emptied into the harbor. No other property whatever was injured. When all was finished, the disguised citizens left the ships, and quietly losing themselves among the crowd, disappeared, from that hour, from the public eye. Discovery would, perhaps, have led to the scaffold ; and hence those most active concealed their participation even from their own families. Tradition narrates one instance in which a good dame discovered, to her dismay, that her husband had been one of the Indians, in consequence of finding his shoes filled with tea the next morning by her bed-side. This memorable act, destined to excite the popular enthusiasm so much in subsequent times, happened on the 16th of December, 1773. On receiving intelligence of this event the British ministry were excessively exasperated ; and the feeling was shared by a majority of all classes in England. A bill was immediately passed through Parliament to deprive Boston of her privileges as a port of entry, and bestow them on Salem : another to revoke, in effect, the charter of Massachusetts, by making all magistrates in the colony be appointed by the King, and at his pleasure : and a third to give the royal governor the power, at his discretion, to send persons charged Avith homicide, or other criminal offences, to England for trial. To these measures of rigor was added one of conciliation. The gov- ernor of Massachusetts was recalled, and General Gage, a man popular in the colonies, appointed in his place ; the most ample authority being given him to pardon all treasons and remit forfeitures. When the intelligence of these acts arrived in America, the whole country rose in sympathy and indignation. Virginia, as on the passage of the Stamp Act, was the first to sound the tocsin of alarm. The 1st of June, the day on which the port-bill was to take effect, was selected as a day of fasting, humiliation and prayer ; copies of the act were printed on mourning paper, and disseminated far and wide ; and popular orators in the public halls, as well as ministers of the gospel in their churches, exhausted eloquence and invective to inflame the minds of the people. The governor of Virginia, alarmed at the bold language of its Assembly, dissolved that body ; but not before the members had resolved that an attempt to coerce THE COLONISTS SEIZE THE PUBLIC ARMS. 39 one colony, should be regarded as an attack on all, and resisted accordingly. And as a pledge of the sincerity of this opinion, another general Congress was recommende.d, in order that the colo- nies might deliberate, as one man, on whaf was best to be done for the interests of America. Thus the two nations, like hostile armies approaching each other, after successive skirmishes, which continu- ally grew more serious, had now met on a common battle-ground, and were marshalling their respective forces into a compact line for a general and decisive assault. The day on which the port-bill went into operation, as on the similar occasion of the Stamp Act, was observed throughout the country as a season of mourning. In Boston tears and lamentations were everywhere heard, mingled with angry execrations and threats ; for by this act whole families were reduced to indigence, and business of all kinds received a fatal blow. But, in the emergency, the sympathy of the country came to their aid. Salem tendered the use of her wharves to the merchants of the persecuted city, nobly refusing to take advantage of her neighbor's misfortunes : while collections for the relief of the sufferers were made in most of the colonies, and promptly forwarded. Added to this, a league, which was now started in Boston, to stop all commerce with England until the tyrannical acts were repealed, was enthusiastically received in the other colonies, and signed with avidity; while the Virginia proposition for another general Congress was adopted by the several legislatures, and delegates chosen accordingly. The City of Phila- delphia, from its superior wealth and importance, as well as from its central situation, was designated as the place of meeting. Meanwhile the civil magistrates in Massachusetts suspended their functions, the people, since the law altering the appointment of these officers, interfering to prevent their holding courts, or otherwise ex- ercising authority. In these commotions, not only the irresponsible, but the wealthy took part : the landed proprietors being foremost. An opinion that war was inevitable began to spread. The Assem- bly of Massachusetts having been countermanded by General Gage, ninety of the members met, in defiance of the proclamation, and. among other things, passed an act for the enlistment of a number of inhabitants to be ready to march at a minute's warning ; and with such alacrity was this warlike movement seconded by the people, that, soon after, on a false alarm that the royal army had fired Bos- ton, thirty thousand men, in a few hours, assumed arms and pro- ceeded towards the scene of strife. Everywhere throughout the New England states the powder in the public magazines was seized. At 40 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. Newport, R. I., the inhabitants took possession of forty pieces of cannon which defended the harbor. At Portsmouth, N. H., the people stormed the fort and carried off the artillery. The thunder- bolts of war were rapidly forging. CARPENTERS' HALL, PHILADELPHIA, WHERE THE FIRST CONGRESS MET. The Congress met on the 14th of September, 1774. All the colo- nies were represented. Never before had so august a body assem- bled on the American continent. The members having been chosen for their ability, their prudence, or their large possessions, the confi- dence in them was extreme ; and they were universally regarded as men who, in some way or other, would rescue their country from its difficulties. There was, therefore, as if by tacit consent, a general pause on all sides, every eye being directed to this solemn and mo- mentous assembly. The first act of the Congress was to choose Peyton Randolph, of Virginia, President, and Charles Thomson, of Philadelphia, Secre- tary ; a selection indicative of its future proceedings, both men being singularly remarkable for prudence and firmness. Its next was to pass a series of resolutions commending the province of Massachu- setts for its patriotic course. After this, it published a declaration of rights. Next it resolved to enter into a non-importation, non- ACTS OP THE FIRST CONGRESS. 41 consumption, and non-exportation agreement. And finally, it adopt- ed an address to the people of Great Britain, a memorial to the inhabitants of British America, and a petition to the King. * These several documents were written with a moderation and eloquence which immediately attracted the attention of Europe, and have rendered them models of state papers even to the present time. The address to the people of England displayed particular merit. It avoided, with great tact, any offence to their prejudices, while it strove to enlist them in the cause of America, by the common bond of interest. The memorial, however, wholly failed of its purpose, as did also the petition to the King : the public opinion in England, excepting with a portion of the whigs, continuing to be as obstinate as ever. The Congress, having executed its task in a manner to win the increased confidence of the country, and extort the applause of unprejudiced Europe, adjourned, after appointing the 10th of May, 1775, for the convocation of another general Congress, by which period, it was supposed, the answers to the memorial would be received. The Legislature of Pennsylvania, which convoked towards the close of the year, was the first constitutional authority which ratified the acts of Congress, and elected deputies for the ensuing. Provi- sion was immediately made of gunpowder, iron, steel, saltpetre and other munitions of war. Maryland, Delaware, New Hampshire, and South Carolina soon after responded to the action of Congress in like manner; while Massachusetts and Virginia, in which the flame of liberty had first blazed forth, emulated each other in enthu- siastic preparations for the appeal to arms. In the latter colony, the officers of the provincial militia, after expressing their loyalty to the King, signified their determination to embark in the cause of the Congress; while in the former place, regiments were formed at Marblehead, Salem, and other seaports, of men thrown out of em- ployment, and thus doubly exasperated against England. In a word, the whole country suddenly assumed the aspect of a garrisoned camp, about to be beseiged, where all men busied themselves with forging armor, preparing weapons, and disciplining actively against the arrival of the foe. But one exception existed to this unanimity of opinion ; and that was in the case of the colony of New York. This province had been, from its foundation, less republican in the character of its in- stitutions than the others : and now, whether from this or other causes, it numbered a larger proportion of royalists than any sister colony. Moreover, the merchants of New York city were deeply interested 6 * 42 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. against the non-importation agreement. In consequence, the recom- mendations of Congress were not responded to in this province. Whetbe English ministry first saw the imposing attitude assumed by the Congress, and the enthusiasm with which the recommenda- tion was received by the Americans, the idea was for a moment entertained by Lord North, of making such concessions as would arrest the threatened conflict. The disaffection of New York, how- ever, changed the ministers resolution. Imbibing the idea that the loyalists in this latter colony outnumbered the patriots, and that they were a numerous and increasing body in the other provinces, he determined to abandon all thought of conciliation, believing that the Americans would yet eventually succumb. In this opinion he was sustained by the declarations of General Grant, and others who had been in the provinces, and who boasted, that with five regiments the whole continent could be subdued. Accordingly, several severe acts were immediately passed against the colonies. Their trade was restricted to Great Britain and the West India islands, and their lucrative fishery on the Newfoundland Banks prohibited ; an exception, however, being made in favor of New York and North Carolina. They also held out inducements for the different provinces to return to allegiance separately, hoping thus to break up the league, which was what they chiefly dreaded. They gave orders to embark ten thousand troops to America. And finally, as the crowning act of the whole, they declared the province of Massachusetts in a state of rebellion ; firmly believing that the use of that terrible word, so intimately associated with the axe and scaffold, would frighten the colonists into submission. But they had to do with men of sterner stuff, and who were not to be moved by such anticipations. The sons of those patriots who had dared Charles the First in the height of his power ; had with- stood even the terrible Cromwell ; and had been willing to share the block with Russell and Sydney, in a gloomier hour, were not to be intimidated by the name of treason, or driven from their course even by the ghastly terrors of Temple Bar. The news of the proceedings of Parliament was received with a burst of indignant enthusiasm. In Massachusetts, as the province most nearly concerned, the flame blazed highest and most intense. The Congress of that colony passed, with acclamation, a resolution to purchase gunpowder and procure arms for a force of fifteen thousand men. The people busied themselves secretly in fulfilling this order. Cannon balls were carried through the English post in carts of manure ; powder in the baskets of farmers returning from market ; and cartridges in ASSEMBLING OP THE MINUTE MEN. 43 BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. candle-boxes. Watches were posted at Cambridge, Roxbury, and Charlestown, to be on service day and night, in order to give warn- ing to the towns where magazines were kept, in case General Gage should despatch a force to seize them. Like the inhabitants of a feudal frontier in momentary expectation of invasion, the people, as it were, slept on their arms, ready, at the light of the first beacon, to vault into the saddle, and gallop on the foe. An outbreak could not be long averted. On the 18th of April, 1775, an expedition set out secretly from Boston, composed of the grenadiers and several companies of light infantry, destined to destroy the provincial stores collected at Concord, about twenty- eight miles distant. Notwithstanding precautions had been taken to preserve the expedition secret, the colonists received intelligence of the projected movement, and fleet couriers were despatched in advance, to alarm the towns along the route, and procure the removal of the stores. The bells rung ; cannon were fired ; beacons blazed on the night ; and everywhere the country was filled with excitement and alarm. The minute men turned out. The people armed. At Lexington a small party had assembled on the green, certainly with no intention of immediate strife, as their number was x 44 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. too few, when, at daylight, the British grenadiers appeared in sight, and Major Pitcairn, considerably excited, riding np, exclaimed, "Disperse, you rebels, lay down your arms and disperse." The provincials hesitated to obey. Pitcairn, springing from the ranks, fired a pistol at the foremost minute-man, brandished his sword, and ordered the soldiers to fire. On this the provincials retired, sullenly fighting as they fled. The English commander, now sensible of his imprudence, hurried on eagerly to Concord. Here the inhabitants were found in arms, but, being too few to make a successful stand, they were routed by the light infantry, while the remainder of the royal force proceeded to destroy the stores, which the colonists had not had leisure to remove. This occupied some time, at the end of which the country people began to swarm to the scene. The light infantry, which at first had been victorious, was now in turn compelled to fly, and re- joining the grenadiers, the whole body commenced a precipitate retreat. The country rose with one sentiment, on hearing of the massacre at Lexington, and marched to intercept the fugitives on their retreat. In consequence, the English, on their way back to Boston, had to maintain a running fight ; the provincials harassing them from every cross-road, from behind stone fences, and from the windows of houses. But for the timely arrival of a reinforcement under Lord Percy, which joined the fugitives at Lexington, the whole detach- ment would have fallen a sacrifice. Weary, dispirited, and weak from wounds, the royal soldiers reached Charlestown neck at night- fall, and the next day slunk into Boston, where they remained besieged until the evacuation of the town in the succeeding year. In this manner was the first blow struck in the memorable war for American Independence : a war which laid the foundation of a mighty republic, and has since shaken half the habitable globe. THE MINUTE MAN OF THE REVOLUTION. BOOK II, TO THE BATTLE OP TRENTON. HE intelligence of the battle of Lex- ington traversed the country with the speed of a miracle. On the first news of the fight, couriers, mounted on fleet horses, started off in every direc- tion, and when one gave out another took his place, so that before midnight the event was known at Plymouth, and on the next day through all the _^___ peaceful vallies of Connecticut. Eve- rywhere the information was received as a signal for war. Old and young seized their arms and hastened without delay to Boston. The provincial leaders in the late French war, who had for nearly fifteen years of peace been quietly at work on their farms, re-appeared from their obscurity, resumed their swords, and called on 45 48 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. their countrymen to follow them in this new and more righteous quar- rel. The summons was obeyed with alacrity. The New Hampshire militia were on the ground almost before the smoke of battle had subsided : the Connecticut regiments followed in little more than a week ; while from Massachusetts the people poured in, with con- stantly increasing numbers, inland as well as sea-coast contributing its quota to the fray. On the day after the battle, the Provincial Congress of Mas- sachusetts ordered a levy of thirteen thousand six hundred men : an example which was followed, though of course on a smaller scale, by the other New England states. Before a month an army, fifteen thousand strong, besieged Boston. This imposing force was under the command of General Thomas Ward, of Massachusetts, who fixed his headquarters at Roxbury. General Putnam, of Connecticut, was posted at Cambridge, as his subor- dinate. At first the popular enthusiasm ran so high that the Generals were forced to decline recruits, more presenting themselves than they were authorized to enlist. Meantime, in consequence of the investment, a scarcity of food began to be felt in Boston. Skirmishes between the provincial and royal detachments sent out for supplies, were the frequent result. In this strait the citizens waited on General Gage and solicited permission to leave the town, to which he at first ac- ceded; but in the end, fearing that the city would be set" on fire as soon as the patriots had retired, he withdrew his consent. After this, none of the townspeople were suffered to depart, except in rare instances, and then only by the sacrifice of their furniture, which they were restricted from removing. Not only in New England, but throughout all the Middle and Southern colonies, the intelligence of the battle of Lexington was received with a burst of enthusiastic patriotism. In New York the tory ascendancy was swept away, never again to be recovered; in Virginia the inhabitants rose under Patrick Henry, and drove the governor, Lord Dunmore, to his fleet : in South Carolina a Provincial Congress was convoked, and every man in the colony offered for the service of the common cause : while in Maryland, Pennsylvania and New Jer- sey the public arms and treasures were seized, people of all classes, even some of the loyalists themselves, joining in a common cry of vengeance for their slaughtered countrymen. Meantime two bold and original minds, simultaneously, and in different sections of the country, conceived the idea of cap- turing Ticonderoga, a fort at the southern extremity of Lake CAPTURE OP FORT TICONDEROGA. 47 Champlain, commanding the highway to the Canadas. It was thought that not only would the fall of this place supply the colonies with artillery, of which they were deficient, but so bril- liant a feat, thus early in the war, would exercise a powerful moral influence. Colonel Ethan Allen, with a company of Green Mountain boys, had already started on this expedition, when he was overtaken by Colonel Arnold, of Connecticut, who had left the camp at Roxbury, on a like design. The surprise of the latter was ex- treme to find himself anticipated, but not less so than his chagrin. Bold and impetuous, yet haughty and irritable, he at first demurred to serving under Allen, but finally consented, and the twoleaders moved on in company, with despatch and secrecy, on which every- thing depended. Arriving at Ticonderoga with but eighty three men, they surprised the fort at day -break on the 10th of May. But one sentry was at his post ; the Americans rushed in, formed into COL. ALLEN SUMMONING THE COMMANDER OF FORT TICONDEROGA TO SURRENDER. squares, and gave three cheers, which awoke the garrison. Some skirmishing ensued, but defence was vain. Hastily aroused from bed, the commander of the fort stepped forward, unable as yet to comprehend why, or by whom, he was assailed. " In whose name am I called on to surrender ?" he asked. " In the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress ! " replied Allen. Pur- 48 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. suing their plan, the provincials sent a detachment immediately to Crown Point, another fort higher up the lake, which also fell into their possession. A British sloop of war was, soon after, captured by Arnold in the most brilliant manner. By these bold achieve- ments a large quantity of artillery and ammunition was obtained, besides the command of the great highway leading from the Cana- das to the Hudson. Arnold was left in command at Crown Point, while Allen retained Ticonderoga. When General Gage found himself besieged, he began to con- cert measures to break the meshes of his net. The provincial army extended in a semi-circle around Boston, on the land side, reaching from the Mystic river on the north, to Roxbury, on the south ; the whole line being twelve miles long, and suitably defended by ramparts of earth. Gage resolved to force this barricade, at Charlestown Neck. To do so it was first necessary to seize and fortify Bunker Hill, an elevation situated just where the peninsula shoots out from the mainland. The design, however, was pene- trated by the colonists, who resolved to anticipate him. Accordingly, at midnight on the 1 6th of June, a detachment of men, a thousand strong, under the command of Col. Prescott, was marched secretly across Charlestown Neck, with orders to entrench itself on the sum- mit of Bunker Hill. Putnam, however, who went with the detach- ment, being desirous of bringing on a battle, induced the alteration of the original plan, and the fortifications, instead of being erected on Bunker Hill, were begun on Breed's Hill, an elevation further in the peninsula, and directly overlooking Boston. It was after midnight when the first spade was struck into the ground, but be- fore dawn, which happened at this season at four o'clock, a con- siderable redoubt had risen on the summit of the hill : and when the enemy awoke, he beheld, with astonishment, this fortification tower- ing down upon him like some edifice of Arabian story, the magic exhalation of a night. It was instantly resolved to drive the Americans from the height. Accordingly a cannonade was begun from the royal ships in the river below, which was continued throughout the morning; but the provincials worked silently on, and before noon had nearly completed their defences. These were a redoubt about eight rods square on the summit of the hill, flanked with a breast-work of earth, and a parapet running down towards Mystic river made of two parallel rail-fences, filled up between with hay. Some reinforcements arrived just as the battle was about to begin, raising the number of the provincials to nearly fifteen hundred, BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 49 Generals Pomeroy and Warren both joined the combatants almost at the moment of engagement, but declined to fight except as volun- teers. Consequently Col. Prescott continued in command. Putnam, though absent during the morning, was present when the crisis came, and by his voice and example contributed materially to the glory of the day. Two plans were proposed to dislodge the Americans. Clinton would have landed at Charlestown Neck, and by interposing between the detachment on Breed's Hill and the main army, compelled the surrender of the former. But Howe advocated a bolder plan. He proposed to storm the entrenchments in front. As this was more agreeable to the pride of the English, and to the contempt in which they held their enemy, it was finally adopted. A little after noon, accordingly, Howe crossed the river with ten companies of grena- diers, as many of light infantry, and a proportionate number of artillery. Having reconnoitered the redoubt, he thought proper to delay his attack until he had sent for reinforcements. It was three o'clock before he began to move up the hill, which he did slowly, his artillery playing as he advanced. The Americans, meanwhile, withheld their fire. " Do not pull a trigger until you can see their waistbands," said Putnam. Volley after volley poured from the British ranks : but there was no reply from the Americans ; the silence of death hung over their line. Some of the English began to think the colonists did not intend to fight. But a glittering array of mus- kets, projecting from their entrenchments, convinced the few who knew them better, otherwise. " Do not deceive yourselves," said one of the bravest of the royal officers to his companions, " when these Yankees are silent in this way, they mean something." At last the assailants were within eight rods of the defences. Suddenly a solitary musket blazed from the redoubt. It was the signal for a thousand others which went off in irregular succession ; a scattering fire first rolling down the line, and then returning ; after which fol- lowed an explosion from the whole front, as if a volcano had burst forth. Each colonist had taken deliberate aim. The effect was terrific. The English rank and file went down like grain beaten by a tempest. For an instant those who remained unhurt stopped, and v gazed around as if unable to comprehend this sudden and unexpect- ed carnage : then, as the fire of the Americans, which had slackened, began again, they reeled wildly before it, broke, and fled down the hill. Three times the British troops were led to the assault. Twice they recoiled, broken and in dismay. Between the first and second 50 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. charge there was but a slight pause : the troops were rallied almost im- mediately and led to the charge again. As they advanced, the town of Charlestown was fired at the suggestion of Howe, that officer hoping that the smoke would conceal an attack intended to be made simulta- neously on the southern side of the redoubt. The wind, however, was unfavorable, and the colonists detected the manoeuvre ; while the sight of the burning houses inflamed them to new fury. Again the British were suffered to approach within eight rods: again the colonists poured in their deadly fire : again the assailants broke and fled, this time in utter confusion, and in such wild terror that many did not stop until they reached the boats. Half an hour now elapsed before the courage of the British soldiers could be re-animated. At last, Clinton arrived to succor Howe. The troops were now rallied and led once more to the attack, with orders, this time, to carry the redoubt by the bayonet. The fate of the third assault would probably not have differed from that of the two others, had not the ammunition of the colonists become exhausted. After a fruitless struggle, hand to hand, they were forced from the redoubt. Finding the day lost, a general retreat was ordered. It was during this retreat that the chief loss of the Americans occurred. After performing prodigies of valor, the provincials made good their escape over Charlestown Neck, leaving the enemy masters of the field. But it was a dearly bought victory for the King. The number of killed and wounded in the royal army was fifteen hundred ; while that of the Americans was but little over four hundred. Though the possession of the field remained with the British, the moral effect of the day was on the side of the provin- cials. That a comparatively small body of ill-disciplined militia should hold in check a force of regular troops twice their number, was something new in military annals, and proved that the people capable of doing this were not to be despised as foes. From that day the English no longer scorned their enemy. Nor was the effect of the battle less powerful in Europe. Military men saw at once that, however protracted the strife might be, the victory must at last rest with the Americans. The whole continent gazed with surprise on this new and striking spectacle. Nowhere in the old world did there exist a country, the common people of which were capable of such heroic deeds. No European peasantry would have ventured to assume so bold an attitude, or to have defended it so obstinately. The battle of Bunker Hill revealed a new social prob- lem. It was as if a thunder-bolt had burst over astonished Europe ; and men stood in silent wonder and amazement, which increased PROCEEDINGS OF CONGRESS. 51 as the storm rolled darker to the zenith, and the firmament quaked with new explosions. Meantime Congress had met on the appointed day, the 10th of May, when the news of the battle of Lexington being laid officially before them, they resolved unanimously that the colonies should be put in a state of defence. They issued instructions to procure pow- der ; passed a resolution to equip twenty thousand men ; and, in order to meet the necessary expenses, emitted bills of credit for which the faith of the united colonies was pledged. They now proceeded to the choice of a commander in chief. The New England states were anxious that one of their officers should be selected, but the more south- ern colonies regarded this proposal with disfavor. In this emergency John Adams suggested Col. George Washington, of Virginia, then a member of the Congress, and favorably known for his moderation, sound judgment, and military skill. The vote in his favor was unanimous. On being notified of the result, Washington made a few modest, yet dignified remarks. He expressed his unworthiness for the task, and begged the Congress to remember, in case of any failures on his part, that he had forewarned them of his incapacity He finished by declaring that, since no pecuniary consideration could induce him to abandon his domestic ease and enter this ardu- ous career, he did not wish to derive any profit from it, and would therefore accept no pay. The Congress next proceeded to issue a manifesto, justifying themselves before the world for the part they were taking. They - also voted a letter to the English people, an address to the King, and an epistle to the Irish nation. They resolved fur- ther to thank the city of London for the countenance that she had shown them, as also to address the people of Canada, and invite them to make common cause against Great Britain. All these various documents were distinguished by a moderation and dignity which won the most favorable opinions among the conti- nental nations of Europe. The Congress also undertook measures to secure the neutrality of the Indian tribes, and counteract the machinations of Sir George Carleton, Governor of Canada, who was intriguing to arm them against the defenceless frontier. A general fast day was appointed, and it was considered a favorable emen that Georgia, which had hitherto been unrepresented in Congress, joined the league of the other colonies on the day fixed for this religious observance. Massachusetts was advised to form a govern- ment for herself, which was accordingly done : and her example was speedily followed by New Hampshire, Virginia and Pennsylva- 52 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. nia. The Congress then devoted itself to the task of drawing up articles of federation, which should bind the colonies during the war : these being prepared, somewhat on the plan of the subsequent con- stitution, were accepted by all the colonies except North Carolina. In short, matters were daily tending towards a formal separation of the provinces from the mother country, the necessity for such a de- termination hourly becoming more irresistible ; and the convictions of a few leading minds, moving with an accelerated speed in that direction, soon gathered around them the mass of the public senti- ment, and hurried it impetuously to the same conclusion. Washington lost no time in repairing to the army at Cam- bridge, which Congress had already adopted as its own. Here he found everything in confusion. The troops were rather a mob of enthusiastic patriots than a body of efficient soldiery. There was no pretence of discipline in the camp. The men elected their own officers, and consequently did very much as they pleased. Their terms of enlistment were so short, that they had scarcely time to learn the routine of a soldier's duty, before their period expired, and they returned to their homes. There was little powder in the country, much less at camp. Added to this there existed an almost universal dissatisfaction among the higher officers at the Congressional appointments of Major and Brigadier Generals : a result inevitable, since all could not be gratified, and whoever was neglected was sure to complain. An ordinary man would have shrunk at once from this complication of difficulties. But Washing- ton set himself judiciously, yet firmly to correct these evils. Nor did he wholly fail. Jealousies were removed : discipline was strength- ened ; and munitions of war were provided ; but the main evil, the short enlistment of troops, could not be corrected in consequence of the jealousy of Congress against a standing army. It was not until later, when the country rocked on the very abyss of ruin, that Wash- ington's representations prevailed, and an earnest effort was made to enlist soldiers for the war. Meantime the siege of Boston was continued with unabated vigor Congress had placed the army establishment at twenty thousand men; and nearly that number of troops now environed the hostile town. On the sea the colonies were not less active. Vessels had been fitted out by the different provinces, which distinguished themselves by their ac- tivity in preying upon British commerce. In this way numerous valu- able prizes were taken at a considerable distance from the coast, while ships, laden with provisions and munitions for the English army, were almost daily captured. In retaliation, the enemy began to LEE SENT TO FORTIFY NEW YORK. 53 SIEGE OF BOSTON. commit depredations on the coast. Frequent skirmishes occurred in consequence, in which the colonists were not always worsted. This induced one act, at least, unworthy of the British name. About the middle of October, the town of Falmouth, in Massachusetts, was bombarded and reduced to ashes, as a punishment for some of its inhabitants having molested a ship laden with the effects of loyalists. The horrors of civil war were now beginning to be felt. Congress had desired that Boston might be stormed, and Wash- ington appears to have entertained the same wish, but a council of war decided against the measure, as calculated to risk too much. In the meanwhile intelligence was received of a secret expedition on the part of the British, under the command of Sir Henry Clinton ; and fearing it might be directed against New York, Major General Lee was despatched to fortify that city, and on his way, to raise troops in Connecticut for its defence. At New York it was discovered that Clinton's destination was the South, and at the request of Congress, Lee followed him thither. In another place we shall speak of the gallant repulse which the ememy's ex- pedition met. Leaving the army around Boston, to watch the straitened foe, and wait the coming in of the ever memorable year E* 54 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. 1776, let us now retrace our steps to the preceding September, in order to carry on, in an unbroken series from its commencement, the narrative of the war in Canada. Congress had early adopted the idea that the assistance of Canada was necessary to success in the contest against the parent state. The refusal of the Canadians to side with England, though in reality pro- ceeding from indifference to either party, was interpreted as a proof of secret affection to the colonial cause. Accordingly, one of the earliest measure of Congress was to send an address to the Canadians, backed by an armed force to act against the British authority. The command of this expedition was entrusted to Generals Schuyler and Montgom- ery, but the former falling sick, the latter obtained the sole direction of the enterprize. He was admirably fitted for his task, and advanced with rapidity. On the 10th of September, the Americans landed at St. John's, the first British post in Canada : and in a short time, with but one slight check, they had taken Fort Chamblee, St. John's, and Montreal ; driving Sir George Carleton a fugitive to Quebec. Simultaneously with the expedition under Montgomery, which had advanced by the usual route of Lake Champlain, another expedi- tion, commanded by Arnold, and despatched by Washington, was penetrating to Canada through the wilds of Maine. Never was a more difficult enterprize undertaken, or an apparent impossibility so gallant- ly overcome. Through trackless forests, across rugged hills, over rivers full of rapids, the little army made its way, often without food, more often without rest, and frequently drenched to the skin for days. In six weeks the expedition reached Canada. It burst on the aston- ished enemy, as if it had risen suddenly from the earth ; and in the first moments of consternation Quebec had nearly become its prey. But the enemy having been treacherously informed of Arnold's ap- proach, had made themselves ready to receive him; and he was forced to abandon the enterprise at present. On the first of December, how- ever, the forces of Montgomery and Arnold were united, and they resolved now to undertake together what Arnold had found himself incompetent to achieve alone. On the 31st, they made their com- bined attack on that celebrated fortress. Montgomery gained the heights of Abraham, but fell almost in the arms of victory ; and on this fatal event, the troops under him retreated. Arnold made an attack on the other side of the town, but was wounded in the leg at the first onset, and carried off the field : the darkness of the morning prevented Morgan, who succeeded in the command, from pursuing the advantages he at first gained, and in the end that gallant officer, CANADA ABANDONED BY THE AMERICANS. with his riflemen, was captured. Thus the attack, on all sides, was repulsed. The subsequent story of the war in Canada is soon told. On the death of Montgomery, Arnold succeeded to the chief com- mand, and besieged Quebec ; but the small-pox appeared among his troops, and though he was reinforced, the breaking up of the ice in the succeeding May, enabling the English fleet to ascend the St. Lawrence, compelled him to retire. Meantime, the prejudices of the Canadians had been aroused against the Ameri- cans, partly in consequence of the indiscretions of our troops, so that instead of finding the people their friends, they discovered in them irreconcilable enemies. By the end of May, the British force in Canada amounted to thirteen thousand men. To continue, it was wisely judged, would be to play a losing game, and invite almost certain destruction. Accordingly, on the 15th of June, 1776, Gen- eral Sullivan, who had been sent meantime to take the command, abandoned Montreal, and led his army back to Crown Point, with comparative little loss. The enemy did not, at that time, follow the 56 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. receding wave, but in the succeeding year, as we shall find, poured his advancing tide on the track of the fugitives. Meanwhile, in England, preparations had been making to carry on the war with an energy that should at once put down, all further opposition. General Howe was to be sent out to supercede Gage, and Lord Howe was to accompany his brother with a fleet. As great difficulty, however, existed in enlist- ing a sufficient number of recruits in England, overtures were made, at first to Russia, and subsequently to Holland, to furnish soldiers, Great Britain to pay a fixed premium per head. In both cases the application failed. Some of the lesser German principali- ties were, however, found, at last, to consent that their soldiers should enter a foreign service. In this manner seventeen thousand Hessians were procured. The intelligence of this event was received in America with almost universal horror and detestation, and con- tributed materially to increase the exasperation of the colonies, and hasten their separation from the mother country. With this force of Hessians, and an additional one of nearly thirty thousand native born soldiers, the British government pre- pared to open the campaign of 1776. The ministry was the more active in its exertions, because desirous of striking some decisive blow before France should join in the quarrel; for already it was foreseen that jealousy of her ancient rival would induce that power to assist America, as soon as convinced that a reconciliation was impossible. With these extensive prepara- tions, however, conciliation was not forgotten, arid it was resolved to send out commissioners to America to grant individual amnesties, and to declare a colony, or colonies restored to its allegiance to the King, and therefore to be exempt from the hostility of the royal troops. It was hoped in this manner to seduce a portion of the pro- vincials back to loyalty, and thus break the combined strength of the whole. The two Howes were named as these commissioners. While these preparations were making in England, in America things were hastening to a crisis. The year opened with an un- diminished enthusiasm on the part of the continental army besieging Boston. The royal garrison suffered greatly for provisions. Before the end of February, Washington found himself at the head of four- teen thousand men. He had long wished to attack Boston, but had been overruled by his council of officers ; now, however, he resolved to commence offensive operations without delay. He accordingly determined to occupy Dorchester Heights, which commanded Boston on the south. On the 4th of March, 1776, the contemplated works ATTACK UPON CHARLESTON. 57 were begun, under cover of a heavy fire from the American battery on the British lines. Howe, who had meantime arrived to supercede Gage, no sooner saw these fortifications rising on his right, than he resolved to dislodge the Americans ; and everything had been pre- pared for the assault, when a storm suddenly arose and prevented the conflict. The continentals, in the meantime, finished their works, which Howe now considered too strong to render an attack advisable. To remain longer in Boston, with Dorchester heights in possession of Washington, was impossible for the English General. Accordingly, he resolved to evacuate the place ; and Washington, on receiving notice of his intenton, agreed not to molest him. The evacuation was perfected on the 17th of March, on which day the inhabitants beheld with joy the British departing, the whole harbor being dotted with the transports that bore away the foe. Large numbers of loyalists followed the retreating army to Halifax. The Americans entered the evacuated city with rejoicings, and immedi- ately proceeded to fortify it ; after which Washington moved the main portion of his force in the direction of New York, where he foresaw the next attempt of the English would be made. We have intimated before that Gen. Lee, who had at first been despatched to fortify New York, had subsequently been sent to the Southern States, where it was expected a descent would be made by the English, at the instigation of the royalists, who, though less numerous than the whigs, were in considerable force there. As the spring advanced it became nearly certain that Charleston was the pro- jected point of attack. Accordingly, measures were taken to strength- en the harbor and place the town in a state of defence. Among other things, Sullivan's Island, six miles below the city, was fortified, as it was placed in a favorable position to command the channel. These hasty preparations had scarcely been completed when the expected English fleet arrived off the coast. The squadron was under the command of Sir Peter Parker, and comprised two vessels of fifty guns each, four of twenty-eight, one of twenty-two, one of twenty, and two of eight. Besides this, there were nearly forty transports, containing three thousand land forces, under the command of Clinton. On the 25th of June, the English fleet advanced to the attack of the fort on Sullivan's Island ; Clinton, at the same time, intending to disembark on the neighboring island of Long Island, and assail the fort on land. But a succession of easterly winds had so deepened the channel between Sullivan's Island and Long Island, that Clinton found it impossible to ford it, and was compelled to abandon his part of the attack. The fleet nevertheless persisted. 8 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. ADMIRAL SIR PETER PARKER. Three of the frigates, however, ran aground, and could not take up the positions assigned them. The others, nevertheless, gallantly began the combat, which, for some hours, raged with awful fury. Never were greater prodigies of valor performed than on that day in the American fort. The city was in full sight across the water, and the inhabitants gazed anxiously on the spectacle. From ten o'clock in the morning until after twilight, the combat was main- tained on both sides with fury : the English firing shot and shells incessantly, the Americans replying from their guns with deliberate and deadly aim. All day the sky was black with bombs, whirling and hissing as they flew : all day the roar and blaze of artillery deafened DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 59 the ears and blinded the sight of the thousands of spectators. Many of the British vessels were almost cut to pieces ; their crews suffered terri- bly. Night came, but still the strife continued. Fiery missives crossed and re-crossed the heavens ; the smoke that lay along the water grew lurid in the darkness. At last the firing slackened. By eleven at night the fleet slipped cables and retired out of range of the fort. The next morning, one of the royal ships, the Acteon, which had grounded and could not be carried off, was set on fire and deserted, on which she blew up. Seven thousand balls, picked up on the island after the engagement, evinced the fury of the attack. When we consider that the American force consisted of less than four hun- dred regulars, with a few volunteer militia, we begin fully to com- prehend the greatness of the victory, which indeed was the Bunker Hill of the South. The loss of the British was two hundred and twenty-two, that of the Americans thirty -two. The fort was subse- quently called Fort Moultrie, in honor of Colonel Moultrie, who commanded at the island during the battle. General Lee, who had posted himself nearer the city, not expecting the real struggle to occur at the fort, was only present once during the fight, having visited the island to cheer the troops. After his repulse, Sir Peter Parker sailed for Sandy Hook ; Clinton, with his land forces accom- panying him : and several years elapsed before the English made a second assault on the South, the history of which attempt, in due time will form a chapter by itself. During the winter the public feeling in America had been growing more and more favorable to a total separation* of the colonies from the mother country. Many able writers of essays and pamphlets, which were circulated extensively, had contributed to bring about this result. Among others, an Englishman named Thomas Paine, had rendered himself conspicuous by a pamphlet entitled " Common Sense," which demonstrated the benefits, practicability and necessity of independence, and with great vigor of language and force of invective, assailed monarchical governments. Congress, mean- time, approached "nearer and nearer to independence, by passing laws more and more irreconcilable with allegiance. Thus, in May, reprisals were authorized, and the American ports opened to the whole world except England. At last, on the 7th of June, Richard Henry Lee, one of the delegates from Virginia, submitted a resolu- tion in Congress declaring the colonies free and independent states. A series of animated and eloquent debates ensued. The wealthy state of Pennsylvania long hesitated, though finally she gave her consent. The original draft of the memorable document, called 60 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. INDEPENDENCE HALL. the Declaration of Independence, was from the pen of Thomas Jef- ferson. On its adoption it was ordered to be engrossed and signed by every member of the Congress. The resolution in favor of inde- pendence was finally passed on the 2nd of July, and the form of the declaration agreed to on the 4th. Custom has since observed the latter day as a public festival, a proceeding which John Adams pro- phetically foretold: "I am apt to believe," 'he wrote to his wife, " that this day will be celebrated by succeeding generations as a great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as a day of deliverance, by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward, forevermore." The Declaration of Independence was hailed with general enthusi- asm, both in the army, and by the people at large. Men felt that the day of reconciliation had passed, that any compromise with England would have been hollow, and that the time had come to WASHINGTON VT NEW YORK. 61 throw away the scabbard, and delude themselves no longer with false hopes of peace. For more than a year the provinces had vir- tually been in a state of independence. It was but proper, therefore to cast oif disguise, and assume before the world the station they really held. If a few timorous souls drew back in terror from the act, and others continued to deceive themselves with idle hopes of a reconciliation, the great body of the people neither entertained such notions, nor shrank from assuming the required responsibility. : 1 1 COMMITTEE PBESEN7ING THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE TO COXGKESS. The enthusiasm of the country was now, perhaps, at its highest point. Success hitherto had crowned nearly every effort of the colo- nists. Boston had fallen, the English were repulsed from Charleston, independence had been declared. But a new scene was now about to open. A period of disaster, and gloom, and despair, was to suc- ceed, ending at last in the apparently inevitable necessity of an uncon- ditional surrender. The dark days of the Revolution were at hand. As the curtain rises, the shadows lengthen. Meanwhile, Washington had taken up his position at New York, where he found that Putnam, the successor of Lee, had constructed a i 62 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. chain of works. On the 25th of June, General Howe made his expect- ed appearance off Sandy Hook. His brother, Admiral Howe, arrived at the same place on the 12th of July : and shortly afterwards Clin- ton joined them from the South, bringing the three thousand troops repulsed at Charleston. The whole force of the British army, thus collected off New York, was twenty-four thousand men. Before commencing hostilities, however, Lord Howe, as instructed by the ministry, addressed a circular letter to the chief magistrates of the colonies, acquainting them with his powers, and desiring them to publish the same for the information of the people. Congress, conscious of possessing the popular affections, treated the commis- sioners with contempt, by sending Howe's documents to General Washington, to be proclaimed to the army, and ordering them also to be published in the newspapers. Lord Howe, about this time, attempted to open a correspondence with General Washington, by addressing him as George Washington, Esq., but the commander-in- chief, determining not to compromise his own dignity, or that of Congress, refused to receive any letter on public business, in which he was not addressed by his official titles. Preparations were now made by the British for their long contem- plated assault on New York: but, prior to this, it was deemed advisable to dislodge the Americans from their position on Long Island, opposite the city. The works here consisted of a fortification at Brooklyn, well defended on the left by the East River, on the right by the bay, and behind by the harbor and Governor's Island. In front of this fortification was an open plain, crossed by three great roads diverging from Brooklyn, and passing over a chain of wooded hills at some distance from the town. Each of these roads should have been defended, at the point where it crossed the hills, by a sufficiently numerous detachment- to keep the pass : but unfor- tunately the Americans were not strong enough for this, their whole effective force being but twenty thousand men, of which a conside- rable portion had to be detained within the lines, at Brooklyn, at New York, and in various other places. The next best thing would have been to have kept the main body moving in front of Brooklyn, as on a centre, while small parties should be sent to occupy the three passes through the hills, so that, on notice being* received where the English intended to attack in force, the Americans might be precipi- tated on that point. But, as if fate was resolved on that day to be against the colonies, Gen. Greene, to whom had been confided the works at Brooklyn, fell sick two days before the battle. Gen. Put- nam was sent to occupy his place, but owing to the hurry could BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND. 63 not fully make himself master of the nature of the ground in time for the attack. He, therefore, posted but an inconsiderable detachment at the eastern pass, reserving his principal force to meet the enemy at the central and western passes, by one of which he supposed the the main attack would be made. Putnam himself remained, during the day, within the entrenchments at Brooklyn. Sullivan had com- mand of all the troops without, and was posted on the plain, just within the central pass, where the road from Flatbush to Brooklyn traverses the hills. It was on the morning of the 28th of August, that the battle began. Early on the evening before, Gen. Clinton, who had been posted with the centre of the British army at Flatbush, discovered the weakness of the American forces at the eastern pass, and silently drew off in that direction, intending there to make the main attack. In the meantime, by way of a feint, General Grant, with the British left wing, was directed to advance against the Americans by the western pass. Accordingly, abaut three o'clock in the morning, he made the attack, which Lord Stirling, at the head of fifteen hundred Americans, prepared to resist. Grant, however, who had no wish to rout his opponent, contented himself with amusing Stirling, until he should hear of the success of Clinton's intended movement to get be- tween the main body of the Americans and Brooklyn. General de Heister, who commmanded the British centre, manoeuvred meanwhile in front of the middle pass, not wishing to advance in earnest until Clinton should carry his point : but, in order to deceive, he began at sunrise a distant cannonade on the redoubt opposite him, where General Sullivan, with the main body of our troops, was stationed. Thus, two portions of the British army combined to amuse theii opponents, \vhile a third was insidiously stealing into their rear. Had the detachment posted to watch the eastern route been active and brave, no surprise would have taken place. But Clinton, arriving at the pass before day, captured the whole party before they had even suspected his approach, and immediately crossing the hills, he poured his splendid legions into the plain below, and began to interpose himself between Sullivan and Brooklyn. The very existence of America trembled in the balance at that moment. But fortunately the manoeuvre of Clinton was detected before it was too late. Sullivan, discovering that Clinton was in his rear, began a retreat to the lines, but he had not retired far before he was met by that General, and forced back in the direction of Heister, who, as soon as made aware of the success of Clinton's stratagem, had dashed over the hills, and impetuously assailed the Americans. 64 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. Thus, tossed to and fro between two bodies of the enemy, now facing Heister, now retreating before Clinton, the troops under Sul- livan, in spite of the most desperate efforts, during which a portion actually cut their way through the foe, and escaped to Brooklyn, were finally compelled, with their leader, to lay down their arms. Lord Stirling, whom we left amused by Grant, was equally unfor- tunate. When this last officer advanced in earnest, he was taken prisoner with four hundred of his men, although not until he had secured the retreat of the remainder. The victorious English, advancing with loud huzzas across the plains, drove what was left of the American army within the lines, where dismay and terror reigned universal, for an immediate assault was expected. Had General Howe then yielded to the importunities of his officers, and led the excited soldiers to the charge, there is little doubt but that his victory would have been complete, and the whole American force on the Long Island side of the river become his prey. But his habitual prudence prevailing, he ordered a halt, and commenced leisurely to break ground in due form before the entrenchments. Washington availed himself of this blunder to withdraw from a posi- tion no longer tenable, and in the night transported his troops, their artillery, and all his munitions of war, in safety to New York. The loss of the Americans in this battle was over a thousand ; that of the English but three hundred and fifty. It was not only in its immediate effects, however, that the defeat was so disastrous ; the remoter results were even more injurious to the American cause. The battle of Long Island was the first pitched battle between the continental army and the British. Great, even extravagant expec- tations had been formed concerning the prowess of the continental army ; and now, with the versatility of the popular mind, despair succeeded to former elation. It was thought impossible for Ameri- can soldiers ever to be brought to face the disciplined troops of England. This sentiment found its way into the camp, and pro- duced the most alarming desertions. Added to this, the men whose terms began to expire, refused to re-enlist. The exertions of Wash- ington and Lee, however, delayed the reduction of the army for a while. Indeed, but for them, it would have crumbled to pieces like a fabric of ashes at the touch of the hand. A few days after the battle of Long Island, Lord Howe attempt- ed to open a correspondence with the American Congress, imagining that, in the general terror, the members would eagerly accept terms which they would have refused a few days before. To have declined hearing him, would have looked as if that body was insin- WASHINGTON WITHDRAWS FROM NEW YORK. 65 cere in its desire to terminate the war. Accordingly, a committee was appointed to wait on Lord Howe. But finding that he pos- sessed no power to treat, but only to grant pardons, Congress refused to hold any further correspondence with him, and this attempt at reconciliation proved as abortive as former ones. LORD HOWE. General Washington now divided his army, leaving four thousand five hundred men in the city of New York, and stationing six thou- sand five hundred at Haerlem, and twelve thousand at Kingsbridge. He did this in order to prepare for an event which he saw to be inevitable, the ultimate evacuation of New York. A body of four thousand men landing under Clinton at Kipp's Bay, three miles above the city, drove in a detachment of American troops stationed there. Washington hurried to the scene, and threatened to cut down the panic-struck soldiers, but in vain, and the affair ended in an inglorious flight. In consequence of this, Washington withdrew from New York entirely, contenting himself with occupying the 9 p* 66 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. neighboring heights. The retreat was effected in good order, chiefly under the direction of Putnam. General Washington now strove to accustom his troops to face the enemy, by engaging them in a succession of skirmishes. In one of these affairs, on the 16th of September, the Americans gained some advantages ; but they had to mourn the loss of Colonel Knowlton and Major Leitch, two valuable officers. At last Wash- ington found it necessary to retreat from York Island, as he had already done from the city of New York. He fell back, accordingly, to White Plains, evacuating all his posts on the island except Fort Washington, at the upper end, where a garrison of three thousand men was left, it being vainly supposed that this stronghold, with that of Fort Lee, on the opposite side of the Hudson, would enable the Americans to retain the command of the river. As fast as Washington retired, the royal army pursued, until the former came to a stand at White Plains, where he threw up entrenchments. Here he was attacked by Howe, on the 28th of Octo- ber, and an action ensued, in which several hundreds fell : among these was the brave Colonel Smallwood, whose regiment, at Long Island, had borne the brunt of the fight. In consequence of this action, Washington took up a new and stronger position, with his right wing resting on some hills. On the 30th, Howe, who had meantime waited for his rear to come up, prepared to renew his attack; but a violent storm arising, he was forced to forego his purpose. Washington now changed his station again, withdrawing to North Castle, about five miles from White Plains, where he took up a position nearly, if not quite impregnable. Thus finding the prey escaped, which he had flattered himself was within his grasp, Howe changed his plan of operations, and determined to retrace his steps, and reduce Fort Washington, in his rear. The American General, learning this purpose, left Lee at North Castle with a por- tion of his force, and hastened to Fort Lee, opposite the threatened post, to watch his enemy. At first it was suggested that Fort Washington should be aban- doned ; but this counsel being overruled, Colonel Magaw, with a garrison of nearly three thousand men, was left to defend the place. On the 16th of November, the British advanced to the assault, after having summoned the post and been defied. The attack was vehe- ment and irresistible. The Americans were driven from the outer works, and finally forced to surrender as prisoners of Avar. The loss of the English, however, was severe, they suffering in round num- bers not less than eight hundred. But this did not compensate the DESPONDENCY OF THE AMERICANS. 67 Americans for the capture of over two thousand of their best troops, and the moral effect of so terrible a disaster following on the heels of that of Long Island. The attempt to hold the fort was a mistake, for which General Greene is principally chargeable. In consequence of its fall, Fort Lee, on the opposite side of the Hudson, had to be evacuated. This was done in the most gallant style, General Greene fully redeeming his late blunder, by bringing oif the army in safety, although Cornwallis, with six thousand victorious troops, was thun- dering in his rear. The retreat, however, had to be effected in such haste as to render a sacrifice of a vast quantity of artillery and mili- tary stores indispensable; Greene having barely time to escape with his men the moment he heard of the loss of Fort Washington, and that Cornwallis had crossed the Hudson. These successive disasters, following one upon another, reduced the American cause to the very verge of ruin. From the period the British had landed on Long Island, a series of misfortunes had pur- sued the army of Washington. Every day had seen his troops re- tiring before those of the enemy ; every hour had beheld his force dwindling down; every moment had witnessed the increasing despondency of the friends of liberty, both within and without the camp. The terms of large numbers of the men were now expiring, and the consequences of these disasters begun to be felt. Few would re-enlist. The enthusiasm which had first called them from their homes had begun to subside under the privations of a camp, and had now been completely dissipated by misfortune. The cause of America was generally regarded as lost. This feeling of des- pair even spread among the officers, and it required all Washington's firmness of mind to check its progress. But with the common men nothing could be done to check the panic. In vain did Congress endeavor to supply the places of those who retired, by new recruits. Even a bounty of twenty dollars to each private who would engage for the war, failed to hasten enlistments : and though the offer was subsequently made to all who would contract for three years, it proved equally inoperative. The army of Washington by these causes : by loss in battle, by desertion, by the capture of Fort Washington, and by the expiration of enlistments, had now sunk to little over three thousand men. The British, aware of his weakness, and convinced that a few decisive blows would finish the war forever, resolved not to go into winter quarters, but to follow up their successes by the pursuit and anni- hilation of the small force remaining in arms under Washing- ton. Accordingly, they pushed on to Newark, in New Jersey, 68 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. whither the American commander had retired. At this, Washing- ton fell back to New Brunswick. But the enemy still followed. As a last refuge he hurried to place the Delaware between him and his foe. On the 8th of December, he reached that river and retired across it, destroying the bridges, and removing all the boats, to secure his retreat. Scarcely had his rear gained the welcome right bank, than the English appeared on the left, but finding no means of crossing, they fell back in chagrin. RETREAT OF THE AMERICAS ARMY THROUGH NEW JERSEY. To add to the despondency of the times, the news was received, about this period, of the capture of General Lee, who had been tar- dily approaching Washington, in order to effect a junction. Lee had incautiously spent the night three miles from his forces, with but a small guard in attendance, when an English cavalry officer, hearing by accident of his unprotected situation, by a bold dash secured the valuable prize. As Lee was second in command in the army, and as the country entertained a high opinion of his abilities, his loss, at this critical moment, struck the last prop from the hopes of the patriots, and induced almost universal despair. Indeed, there was no longer any rational prospect of success on the part of the Americans. Heaven and earth seemed to have con- spired against their cause : and to have removed from it the counte- nance of man and God alike. Their best Generals were prisoners : their most wisely concerted plans had failed, almost as if by the direct interposition of fate ; and that popular enthusiasm, which had WASHINGTON* RESOLVES TO RE-CROSS THE DELAWARE. 69 been relied on as the support of the cause, and which at first had promised to sweep away all opposition before its resistless wave, had now subsided and left the country a wreck, high and dry on the shore. With three thousand men, Washington occupied the Delaware, while the British, with twenty thousand, swarmed over the Jerseys in pursuit. Already Philadelphia was threatened, and the most sanguine thought its capture could not be delayed a month. Congress had fled to Baltimore. Terror, panic, despair, and a self- ish desire to save themselves, began to affect even the best patriots. The clouds stooped low and black, and the tempest hurtled around every man's home. To add to the awful gloom of the crisis, Howe now issued a pro- clamation, offering a pardon to all who would lay down their arms and take the oath of allegiance, within sixty days. Instantly, hun- dreds grasped at what they deemed a fortunate chance of escape : former professions were forgotten in present panic : and throughout New Jersey and Pennsylvania, the most alarming defections, even among leaders in the popular cause, daily occurred. The loyalists, who had been heretofore overawed, now vented their long concealed rage : plunder, insult, and oppression became the daily lot of the suffering patriots. Almost alone, beneath this driving storm, Washington stood up erect and unappalled. For one moment his constancy did not forsake him. He was, in that awful hour, the Achilles and Atlas of the cause. No hint of submission ever crossed his lips : no word of despondency or doubt was heard. His unshaken front inspired Congress anew, warmed the drooping enthu- siasm of his army, and finally enabled him to deal a blow which rescued the country at the very instant of ruin, and sent his late tri- umphant foe reeling back with defeat. Like a wrestler, almost overcome in a struggle, and whom his antagonist thinks about to succumb, but who, rallying all his strength for a last effort, suddenly throws his astonished opponent, so, Washington, defeated and .pros- trated, all at once started to his feet, and with one gigantic and desperate strain, hurled his enemy to the ground, stunned, bleeding, and utterly discomfited. The English, after the retreat of Washington across the Delaware, had distributed themselves in cantonments on the New Jersey side, occupying Trenton, Princeton, Burlington, Mount Holly, and vari- ous other posts. Flushed with victory, and fancying their enemy completely disheartened, they gave themselves up to ease and care- lessness. The watchful eye of Washington saw the inviting oppor- tunity to strike a blow. He knew that, without some speedy and 70 THZ WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. brilliant success on his part, the cause of America was lost. It was better to hazard all on one die, than to lose the present precious opportunity which might never return. Accordingly, he resolved to re-cross the river and surprise the enemy, if possible, at one or more of his posts. The night of the 25th of December, was chosen for the purpose, as on that festival day the foe, little dreaming an enemy -TTLK OP TRENTON. was near, would probably give himself up to license and merriment. On that night, therefore, Washington crossed the Delaware at McConkey's Ferry, nine miles above Trenton. General Cadwalader was to have effected a landing opposite Bristol, and General Irvine was to have transported his troops at Trenton Ferry; but both failed in consequence of he river being full of driving ice : nor did Washington himself .fleet his crossing until four o'clock, and after incredible efforts. Once on the Jersey shore, however, he lost ' o time. Dividing i a troops into two divisions, he sent one alo 1 the river road, while the other, accompanied by himself, took tb pper or Penning ton route. The night was bitterly cold, and J .o snow fell fast ; but the troops, animated by the same hope as their leader, pressed eagerly forward. The light was just breaking when, at eight o'clock in the morning, they drove in the outposts of the Hessians. The enemy, suddenly aroused from their beds or from the taverns where the,y had spent the night in drinking, seized their arms, rushed out, and made a show of resistance, their com- mander, Col. Rahl, gallantly leading them, until he fell mortally THE BATTLE OF TRENTON. 71 wounded. The Hessians now fled rapidly down the village. At this juncture, the other detachment of the Americans, which, follow- ing the river road, had entered the town at its lower extremity, was heard firing through the tempest, and the panic-struck Hessians, now enclosed between two forces, were speedily compelled to lay down their arms. Only a few cavalry of the enemy escaped. One thousand prisoners were taken, besides as many stand of arms, and six field pieces. Had the detachments of Cadwalader and Irvine been able to cross as projected, the twenty-five hundred of the enemy at Bordentown, Mount Holly, and the White Horse, would likewise have been captured, and the whole British force in that section of New Jersey prostrated at a blow. As it was, this bold incursion struck terror to the heart of the English army. Cornwallis, who had gone to New York in order to embark for England, retraced his steps, and once more assumed command of the forces near the Delaware. His first movement was to withdraw all his troops from the more exposed posts, and concentrate them at Princeton and towards New Bruns- wick. Thus the English army stood in attitude of defence like a boxer just recovered from a staggering blow. BOOK III. TO THE ALLIANCE WITH FRANCE. HE late disasters to the American cause had resulted principally from the want of a proper organization of the army. Had Congress listened to the remon- strances of Washington, and, taking advantage of the popular enthusiasm after the battle of Bunker Hill, enlisted recruits for the war, a force of thirty thousand men could easily have been procured, not liable to be dis- solved by reverses, or by the abatement of the momentary excite- ment. The army would have been composed of disciplined and veteran soldiers, who could have been relied on in every emergency : whereas now it was made up chiefly of six or twelve months militia, with whom a general could not venture on any delicate manosuvre in the crisis of battle. All the disasters following the con 10 G 73 74 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. test on Long Island may be traced to the neglect of this advice of Washington. It was in the very darkest hour of the Revolution, just before the surprise at Trenton, that Congress awoke to a sense of its mistake, and endeavored to redeem the cause by appointing Washington dictator for six months, giving him power to remove all officers beneath the rank of brigadier. Meantime to prove that submission was still far from its thoughts, it instructed the commissioners in Europe, Dr. Franklin and Silas Deane, to renew their protestations at the courts of France and Spain, and to assure those powers that the colonies, notwithstanding their late defeats, would continue the war at all hazards. The commissioners were also instructed to en- deavor to draw his most Christian Majesty into the war by the most liberal promises. Half the island and fisheries of New Found- land were offered as a bribe, and afterwards, all the possessions in the West Indies that might be conquered during the contest. Agents were also sent with representations to the courts of Berlin, Tuscany and Vienna. The choice of Dr. Franklin as one of the deputies abroad was a happy thought : his reputation for science, his philoso- phic character, his simple mode of life, and his venerable age made him the fashion in Paris ; and assisted, not a little, in bringing about the subsequent treaty of amity with the Court of France. Meantime Washington resolved to follow up the surprise at Tren- ton with another blow. He had, on the .evening of the victory, retired across the Delaware. His prisoners, the next day, were marched ostentatiously through Philadelphia, in order to raise the drooping spirits of the citizens. Having done this, he re-crossed, in the course of a few days, to Trenton, intending to act in the offen- sive. The British, in the interval, had concentrated at Princeton ; but Cornwallis, receiving intelligence of Washington's return to New Jersey moved on Trenton, where he arrived on the morning of the and of January, 1 777, leaving his rear guard at Maidenhead, a vil- lage half way between Princeton and Trenton. Washington, finding Cornwallis in such force, retired across the Assunpink creek, which skirts the southern extremity of the town of Trenton, having first se- cured the bridge. The British, on this, attempted to pass the stream, but were thrice repulsed. A cannonade, on both sides, was kept up until dark, when a council was called in the American camp. The peril of the little army was imminent. To wait the event of the next day's battle, against the overwhelming force of Cornwallis, was to ensure destruction : to retire across the Delaware, encumbered with floating ice, in face of a wary foe, was equally perilous. In BATTLE OF PRINCETON. 7o this emergency, the bold design was adopted of falling on the enemy's line of communications, and thus carrying the war into the very heart of New Jersey. Accordingly, in the night, the regular fires being kept up, and sentinels posted, the army of Washington silently withdrew from the Assunpink, and taking a circuitous route to avoid Maidenhead, before morning was far on its way to Princeton. Here it fell in with two British regiments, when a sharp action ensued. The enemy fought with desperate resolution, thinking themselves sur- rounded, with no hope of escape. At last, the American militia Avavered. Washington, on this, seizing a standard, galloped in front of his men, exposing his person to the fire of both armies. The example was electric. The retreating militia, opportunely succored by the veterans of Trenton, now returned to the charge, and the day was won. In this affair, General Mercer was mortally wounded. About one hundred of the enemy were slain, and three hundred taken prisoners. The Americans lost in all one hundred. A part of one of the British regiments escaped to Maidenhead ; the other retired to New Brunswick. Cornwallis, at early dawn, was awakened by the noise of firing in the direction of Princeton. Discovering that the enemy was no longer in his front, he instantly divined the stratagem of Washington, and ordered his troops to march with all haste in pursuit, alarmed for his communications. He used such expedition, that he arrived at Princeton almost as soon as the American rear-guard. Washing- ton now found himself again in imminent peril. Unable to compete with the forces of Cornwallis, no resource was left but a hasty retreat. Instead of retracing his steps, however, he pushed on to the Raritan. Cornwallis followed. Washington, finding his troops too few and feeble to maintain the war at present, retired to the hilly country of upper New Jersey, and took post at Morristown. On this, Cornwallis abandoned the pursuit and returned to New Bruns- wick, where he found his subordinate, General Matthews, removing in terror the baggage and stores. In a few days, Washington, receiving some slight accessions of strength, descended into the open country, where he so judiciously manoeuvred as, in a little time, to command the whole coast in front of Staten Island. Thus, the British army, after having overrun all New Jersey, now found itself, in face of an inferior foe, restricted to the two posts of New Bruns- wick and Amboy, besides being cut off from all communication with New York, except by sea. This brilliant winter campaign changed the whole aspect of the 76 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. contest. The patriots recovered their hopes and their enthusiasm : the indifferent and timorous came out openly on the side of the coun- LORD CORNWALLIS. try : and the loyalists, lately so elated, began to despond. Another fact added to the revulsion in popular feeling. The Hessians had signalized their supremacy in New Jersey by the greatest excesses, so that even many of the loyal inhabitants had become exasperated. From this period to the end of the conflict the people of New Jersey, at first comparatively lukewarm in the cause, were distinguished as the most earnest and decided supporters of the war. The epoch of the battle of Trenton marked the turning point of the contest. The fortunes of the colonists had then reached their lowest ebb. After that period, though the cause fluctuated continually, there was, on the whole, a perceptible gain. The waves flowed and retreated ; but the tide steadily advanced. WASHINGTON AT MIDDLEBROOK. 77 The spring of 1777, opened with favorable omens to the Ameri- cans ; for, as the mild weather advanced, recruits began to flock to Washington's camp. Howe, meantime, diverted his troops by attacking Peekskill, on the Hudson, and Danbury, in Connecticut, for the purpose of destroying stores : in both of these expeditions, he was comparatively successful. The Americans retorted by a descent on Sagg Harbor, where they burned a dozen British ships and took many prisoners. As yet the American General had not been able to penetrate the plans of his opponent for the ensuing campaign. One opinion was, that the British leader intended renewing his designs on Philadelphia : another, and to this Washington leaned, that he projected an ascent of the Hudson, to form a junction with Burgoyne, who was about to lead the contemplated expe- dition from Canada. This latter was certainly the true policy. By seizing the Hudson, and uniting with Burgoyne at Albany, or above that place, Howe would have cut off the middle and southern states from New England ; and the prospect of ultimate success for the Americans, would in consequence have been greatly decreased. To be ready, however, for either movement on the part of Howe, Washington stationed a portion of his troops at Peekskill, posting the remainder in New Jersey. In this manner, if Howe moved on Philadelphia, he would find in front the forces of New Jersey, while those at Peekskill would descend and harass his right flank : if, on the other hand, he took the direction of Albany, the troops at Peekskill would be in front, and those of New Jersey on the flank. As a further resource, a camp for recruits was formed at Philadelphia, which, in an emergency, might furnish resources. Having made these admirable dispositions, Washington waited for Howe to take the initiative. The British General had been recommended by the ministry to ascend the Hudson and form a junction with Burgoyne : but Howe, exercising his discretion, determined to advance on Philadelphia instead. He thought it certain that Washington would hazard Sf battle, or retire ; in either case he felt sure of his prey. The capture of the capital, he hoped, would end the war, of which he would then reap all the renown. Accordingly he made demonstrations of inarching on the Delaware. Washington, however, contrary to Howe's expectation, neither descended into the plains to give battle, nor hurried to the defence of Philadelphia ; but maintaining his old position on the heights of Middlebrook, prepared to cut off Howe's communications. The British General accordingly retraced his steps, and began a series of manoeuvres to draw Washington from his * 78 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. position. Once he had nearly succeeded. Having made a pretence of retiring from Amboy to Staten Island, Washington fancied he was really about to retreat, and descended to assail him. Instantly a detachment under Cornwallis was sent to seize the late position of the Americans; but Washington, timely informed of his error, hastened to retrace his steps, and reached his old camp in safety. Thus foiled, Howe resolved to abandon the idea of crossing New Jersey, and embarking his troops, to reach Philadelphia by sea. But, hoping to deceive Washington as to his real intentions, he feigned an invasion up the Hudson. Intelligence had just been received of the advance of Burgoyne to Ticonderoga, and speedily after of the fall of that place : so that, for a while, Washington gave credit to the supposed co-operation. In a few days, however, his sagacious mind penetrated the cheat ; when, dividing his army into several corps, he prepared to march at a moment's warning on the Delaware. He sent Congress word of the contemplated attack; exhorted the proper authorities of Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey to collect militia near the threatened points ; ancUprdered watches to be kept at the capes of Delaware, to give early intimation of the'' appearance of the English fleet. On the 23rd of July the royal squadron and transports sailed from Sandy Hook. Washington, however, lest he should yet be made the victim .of a stratagem, did not abandon his position in East Jersey. For a time, too, the news received of the enemy's fleet was extremely conflicting. At first the ships were seen near the capes of Delaware, steering eastward : this alarmed Washington for the banks of the Hudson. Then they appeared again at the entrance of Delaware bay, but immediately vanished to the south : this inspired fears lest they should have gone to the Carolinas. At last intelligence was obtained of the arrival of the squadron in the Chesapeake : this set- tled all doubts ; and hastily collecting his various corps, Washington advanced by quick marches to oppose the enemy at his landing. A month, however, had been wasted in these mano3uvres ; and it was the last of August before the English disembarked, which they did at the head of Elk river, in Maryland. The whole continent now stood gazing in silent awe as the two armies approached each other. A battle was inevitable. The destiny of America might hang on the result. While these events were transacting, two incidents happened in other quarters, which we must pause to relate. General Sullivan, at the head of fifteen hundred American troops, made an attack on Staten Island ; and though at first successful, was finally repulsed BATTLE OF BRANDYWINE. 79 with heavy loss. The other occurrence was the capture of Major General Prevost, commanding the seven battalions of English troops which occupied Rhode Island. This officer slept at a farm- house not far from Narragansett Bay. At the dead of night he was taken out of his bed, by Lieut. Col. Barton, at the head of forty men, and being carried to the whale-boats in which the party descended, was securely carried off. This bold exploit filled the country with applause, particularly as it afforded the Americans an officer of equal rank to exchange for General Lee. About the same period, the Marquis La Fayette arrived at Phila- delphia. He came to join the American cause as a volunteer. Very rich, of high rank, and supposed to have influence at the Court of Versailles, his appearance was hailed as an omen of an approach- ing alliance with France. He became a favorite with Washington, who saw in his enthusiasm, in his refusal to accept pay, and in the fact that he had torn himself from the arms of a young and lovely wife, powerful reasons for regard and affection. Nor to the close of life, was there any diminution of the mutual love and friendship of the two heroes. When Washington arrived in the vicinity of the Chesapeake, he discovered that the British had already effected a landing. After some mano3uvres, he took post behind the Brandywine, at a spot called Chad's Ford, and prepared to dispute the passage of the enemy ; Congress and the public loudly demanding a battle to save Philadelphia. On the 1 1th of September the British advanced to the attack. The country in the vicinity of Chad's is undulating, and about six miles above the ford, the river divides into two forks. Howe resolved to leave Knyphausen with a portion of the army to make a feint of assailing the Americans in front, at the ford ; while, with a much stronger body, he and Cornwallis gained the rear of Wash- ington by crossing the Brandywine higher up. The stratagem was eminently successful. The British passed the Brandywine above the forks, without the knowledge of the Americans ; the videttes of the latter not being pushed so far, arid the country people being too disaffected to give warning. Meantime, Knyphausen began to make repeated feints to attempt the passage at Chad's Ford. He first advanced his marksmen across the river, but the Americans forcing them back, he opened a furious cannonade, and made dispositions as if about to attack with all his troops. In this manner the morning passed. Washington was preparing to cross the river, and assail Knyphausen, when, about noon, he received intelligence that Corn- wallis had crossed the Brandywine, and was coming down in his 80 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. rear. Already, in fact, long columns of dust, winding in serpentine course among the distant hills, announced his route. The moment was critical. Washington, if he disregarded the enemy in his rear, might precipitate himself on Knyphausen in front ; but, by such a movement, he would abandon the right bank of the Brandywine to Cornwallis, and throw open the route to Philadel- phia. No resource, therefore, was left but to turn and face the Marquis. Accordingly Washington wheeled the brigades of Sullivan, Stephens and Stirling to oppose Cornwallis, who was said to be approaching Birmingham meeting-house, two miles in the rear. Then, leaving Wayne with a strong corps at Chad's Ford, he him- self, with two divisions, accompanied by General Greene, took a position half way between Chad's Ford and the meeting-house, to be ready to assist either wing as occasion might require. Having done this, he waited anxiously for the result. BIRMrXGHAM MEETING-HODSE When Sullivan, with his three divisions, reached Birmingham meeting-house, he found Cornwallis drawn up on the declivity of a BATTLE OF BRAJfDYWINE. 81 lofty eminence opposite, the scarlet uniforms of his troops relieving the deep green of the hill-side, on which they swarmed, as a specta- tor has written, like bees. The British army had just finished its noontide meal, and as Sullivan's corps came in sight, the blare of trumpets sounded along the line, and the whole of that splendid army put itself into motion. The distance from the summit of the hill on which the meeting-house stands, to the top of the neighbor- ing elevation, following the descent into the valley, and the opposite rise, is nearly a mile ; so that some time necessarily elapsed before the British troops came within range. During this period the spectacle they presented, as they slowly descended one hill and began to ascend the other, was truly magnificent. They moved in a solid mass, forming a compact and extended front, along which ran the glitter of their polished arms, and over which their banners floated lazily in the sultry breeze. The action began on the American right, and soon extended along the whole line. Both wings speedily gave way, the disorder beginning on the right. Sullivan's own divi- sion breaking, he hurried, flushed and excited, to animate the centre. With this the contest was longer and fiercer. Occupying the low stone wall of the grave-yard which crowns Birmingham hill, the Americans poured in a steady fire on the advancing foe ; but fresh troops dashing up the hill, and the victorious British hastening from the rout of the other divisions, to turn their flank, they were forced to retreat. The English now poured densely over the brow of the hill. The Ameri- cans fled through an orchard in their rear, where the carnage was dreadful. The retreat might have become a rout, but for the arrival of Greene, who opening his columns to suffer the fugitives to pass, closed up immediately after, and continued to face the foe. In the meantime Knyphausen, finding the enemy in his front weakened, forded the river and advanced to attack Wayne. After a brave resistance the latter fell back, leaving his artillery in the hands of the enemy. In his retreat he passed in the rear of Greene, who, posted in a defile between two woods, ploughed the enemy's advancing columns with artillery, and was the last to retire. The army fell back to Chester, where, for a whole day, fugitives con- tinued arriving, many having escaped by lanes and circuitous ways. The British spent the night on the battle-field. The loss of the Americans was over a thousand ; that of their opponents less than five hundred. In this conflict the Virginians and Pennsylvanians fought with particular intrepidity; and Count Pulaski, a Pole, at the head of the light-horse, charged in the most gallant manner. 11 82 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. Here La Fayette saw his first engagement, and received a wound in his leg. The defeat may be attributed to ignorance of the move- ments of Cornwallis, arising chiefly from the want of a sufficient number of well mounted videttes* The news of this disaster was received with various emotions in Philadelphia. The disaffected openly rejoiced : the patriots were struck with consternation. Congress, however, remained firm. That body voted reinforcements to Washington, who, after a few days repose for his troops, took the field again to seek another encounter with the enemy. The two armies came in sight of each other on- the 1 6th, on the Lancaster road, a few miles from Philadelphia ; but a heavy rain beginning to fall, the American muskets were rendered useless and much of their ammunition was spoiled. Washington was compelled, by this accident, to retreat to Yellow Springs, and thence to Warwick Furnace, on French creek. He sent Wayne, however, to harass the march of Howe. But a detachment of British troops, led by General Grey, surprised this General in the night, and he only escaped with the loss of one hundred and fifty men. This is the affair usually known as the Paoli massacre. Howe now advanced on Philadelphia, by the way of Germantown, Congress adjourning on his approach to the town of York in Pennsylvania , and on the 26th of September, Lord Cornwallis, with the van of the British army, marched into the capital, to the great joy of the disaf- fected. The rest of the English force, however, remained encamped at Germantown, six miles from the city. Washington took post at Skippack creek, about fourteen miles distant. The first object of Howe, on finding himself in possession of Phi- ladelphia, was to subdue the forts commanding the Delaware below that city, and to remove the obstructions with which the Americans had filled the river. The forces detached for this purpose necessarily weakened the army at Germantown. Aware of this, Washington resolved to attempt surprising it. The village of Germantown is built on a single street, occupying both sides of the road for about two miles. The English army lay very nearly in the centre of the town, being encamped behind a lane that crosses the street at right angles in the vicinity of the market place. About a mile from this spot, and at the head of the village, is a large stone house known as Chew's mansion. More than a mile higher up is Mount Airy, where the English had a picket guard. It was about dawn on the morning of the 4th of October when Washington drove in this picket, and pushing on, dashed for the centre of the town. Sullivan, com- manding the right wing, marched through the fields to the right of BATTLE OP GERMANTOWN. 83 the village street ; Wayne, leading another division, passed to the left ; and Greene, with a strong corps, making a circuit on the left of Wayne, followed a road which entered the town just below the market place. The morning was foggy, so that the soldiers could see but a few paces before them. At first this favored the attack ; and the British fell back hurriedly and in affright. Sullivan, advancing with headlong speed, soon reached the centre of the town. Here all was in comparative confusion on the part of the enemy. The British troops, hastily aroused, were forming in the lane in front of their encampment. Howe, imagining himself surrounded, was gallopping bewildered to the point of danger : while the wildest rumors circu- lated among the soldiers, and even struck dismay to the hearts of their officers. Victory seemed in Sullivan's grasp. Suddenly a sharp firing was heard in his rear, when a voice among his soldiers exclaimed, that the British had cut them off; and at the same moment troops were seen advancing through the fog in front, their numbers magnified by the obscurity. A panic instantly ensued. Cries of alarm were heard on all sides. In vain Sullivan, riding among the men, assured them that the troops in front were a part of Greeners division : in vain couriers arrived to say that the firing behind arose from only a small party of the English who had thrown themselves into Chew's house : in vain the officers, ready to break their swords in mortification and rage, declared to the soldiers that they were running away from victory. Nothing could allay the panic. The men broke and tied. The British, by this time par- tially recovering from their alarm, seized the favorable moment and advanced with loud huzzas. The retreat became a rout. The enemy kept up a hot pursuit, and the American army was only saved by the timely thought of General Wayne, who, throwing up a hasty battery at White Marsh church, arrested the chase after it had con- tinued seven miles. In this battle the loss of the Americans was about nine hundred; that of the British six hundred. Although resulting in defeat, it had some of the advantages of a victory; for it induced Howe to withdraw most of his forces into Philadelphia. Washington retired to his old station at Skippack. Meantime Howe proceeded to the removal of the obstructions in the river Delaware, and to the reduction of the two forts which the Americans had erected immediately below Philadelphia. One of these, Fort Mifflin, was situated on the left bank of the Delaware at the confluence of the Schuylkill with the latter river : the other, Fort Mercer, occupied a bold bluff on the opposite shore, called Red Bank. On the 22nd of October the latter was assailed, by a com- 84 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. BATTLE OF BED BANK. bined attack from land and water. Count Donop, with twelve hun- dred men, advanced to storm the fort, which was defended by only five hundred troops ; but was repulsed with a loss of four hundred, himself being mortally wounded. The Americans lost but thirty-two. The attack from the water was equally disastrous to the enemy, he losing in addition two of his frigates. The attempt to reduce Fort Mifflin was more successful, though not until after nearly a month's delay. On the 16th of November, the fort being no longer tenable, its little garrison of three hundred went over to Red Bank. This post, also, was soon after abandoned. Washington, receiving some reinforcements, left Skippack and took up a position at White Marsh, fourteen miles nearer Philadel- phia. His army was now fourteen thousand strong : and that of Howe was about the same number. But the latter, in discipline, equipments and materal, was infinitely superior. The two armies watched each other for some time, but Washington was not willing to risk an engagement on equal terms ; and Howe, with his usual prudence, shrunk from assailing the American General in his strong position. Finally Washington went into winter quarters, selecting for the purpose a spot called Valley Forge, a wide ravine on elevated ground, about sixteen miles from Philadelphia. The privations which he and his little army suffered there we shall describe here- PALL OF TICONDEROGA. 85 after. In the meantime, after premising that Howe had gained little by the campaign except a change of quarters from New York to Philadelphia, let us turn to the north, where the most signal success had just crowned the American arms, and where the inhabitants, lately overcome by despair, were now dizzy with exultation. It had been a favorite scheme with the British ministry, from the beginning of the war, to invade the colonies from Canada, and by forming a line of posts along the Hudson, to cut off New England from the middle and southern provinces. It was in the New En- gland states that the soul and strength of the rebellion was supposed to be : these colonies once overrun, the subjugation of the remain- ing, it was considered, would be easy. Accordingly, at the begin- ning of the year 1777, preparations were made for this invasion. A force of seven thousand men was raised, which General Burgoyne was selected to command. He was regarded as an officer of ability, having served with distinction in the continental wars : and he was not sparing of promises. The ministry were generous to a fault in supplying him with everything he asked. The plan of the cam- paign was arranged in London. Burgoyne, with seven thousand men, and the most splendid train of artillery ever seen in America, was to advance on Albany by way of Lake Champlain : while Colonel St. Leger, with two hundred regulars, a regiment of loyal- ists, and a large force of Indians was to penetrate to the same place by the route of lake Ontario and the Mohawk. As we have before intimated, General Howe was recommended to form a junction at the same place with Burgoyne and St. Leger ; but a discretionary power being left him, he exercised it, as we have seen, by attacking Philadelphia. The news of this contemplated invasion spread terror and alarm throughout all the eastern states, but especially on the frontiers, and in the fertile valleys of New York. General Schuyler, having the chief command in the northern department, exerted himself promptly and vigorously in this emergency ; but recruits came in slowly, and not in sufficient numbers for the crisis. His head quarters were fixed at Stillwater, where he labored to prepare means of resistance ; while to General St. Clair was deputed the command of Fort Ticon- deroga, where the first onset of the enemy was expected. On the 2nd of July, Burgoyne, having ascended lake Champlain, made his appearance before this fortress, which he proceeded to invest, seizing and erecting batteries on Sugar Hill, an eminence overlooking the works. St. Clair was not prepared for the appearance of so large a force, nor had he supposed the height in question could be occupied ; : < - . is ' ' _l 86 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. accordingly he called a council of war, in which it was resolved that the fort was no longer tenable, and that it should be evacuated. On the night of the 5th, the garrison, taking with them provisions for eight days, stealthily abandoned the place ; but a house accidentally taking fire, when the rear guard was about to leave, lit up the land- scape with the glare of day, and revealed the flight of the Americans. Instantly the British army was aroused, and a fierce pursuit began. At Skeensborough the English gun-boats overtook the American galleys and batteaux ; the former were captured ; but most of the latter achieved their escape. The van of the enemy came up with the American rear on the morning of the 7th, when a bloody con- flict began, maintained on the one side with the obstinacy of des- pair, on the other with the eagerness of victory. At last, the British being reinforced, the Americans gave way. In this sanguinary contest the latter lost about four hundred, killed and prisoners, with five hundred wounded, of whom many afterwards perished mise- rably in the woods for want of succor. The British lost less than two hundred. Of a thousand men, who composed his corps, War- ner reached the main army some days after with but ninety. St. Clair, with the body of the army, thus saved by the devotion of his rear-guard, after seven days of toil and exposure in the wilderness, reached Fort Edward, on the Hudson. Schuyler was already at this latter place, and busied himself im- mediately in preparations to retard the victorious enemy. He ordered trenches to be cut, the bridges to be broken down, and the defiles where Burgoyne would have to pass, to be obstructed by trees felled across them and interlaced. The cattle in the neighbor- hood were driven off. To add to the desolation the inhabitants deserted their homes, flying in affright before the approach of the dreaded foe, so that for whole days a traveller, in crossing from Ticonderoga to the Hudson, would meet nothing but ruined clear- ings, smoking crops, and a wilderness rendered more inhospitable by the destroying hand of man. The intelligence of the fall of Ticonderoga was heard with a thrill of horror by the country at large. In the popular mind the strength of St. Glair's garrison had been overrated, while of that of Burgoyne 's army, too slight an estimate had been formed. The suspicion of treachery was at first breathed against the unfortunate commander ; and even Schuyler came in for his share of oppro- brium. At this day the charges of cowardice and venality against St. Clair are no longer entertained : but he is regarded as an incompe- tent commander, who either should have abandoned Ticonderoga FALL OF TICONDEROGA. 87 in time, or have held it out manfully. To Schuyler no censure can properly apply. He exerted himself vigorously in every emergency, and it was the measures he took which in fact led to the subsequent GENERAL BUBGOTNK. capture of Burgoyne. But unfortunately for him, he was unpopular with the New England states, and their clamors ultimately led to his removal ; and, that, too, at a crisis when the precautions he had taken to arrest the foe were on the point of being crowned with success. Another reaped where he had sown ; and, for a while, Gates wore the laurel that of right belonged to Schuyler. But pos- terity has revoked the sentence of his contemporaries, by restoring to the latter General the renown which was fairly earned by his skill, his labors, and his sacrifices. The numerous Indians accompanying Burgoyne 's army increased the terror of the inhabitants. The massacre at Fort Henry, in the French war, was still remembered ; and the murder of Miss McCrea, which now occurred, seemed to forebode a repetition of such scenes. This unfortunate lady was killed in a quarrel between two savages ; but rumor exaggerated the wantonness of this act, and thus the public mind was filled with horror and panic. The general consternation did not, however, subdue the spirit of Congress or paralyze the energies of Washington. The former 88 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. ^ having its eye ever on the hope of an alliance with France, in- structed its agents abroad to lay the blame on the imbecility and misconduct of St. Clair, and to assure the Court of Versailles that the Americans, so far from being discouraged, only waited an occasion to avenge their defeats. Washington exerted all his influence to expedite succors to Schuyler. General Lincoln, a man of great influence in New England, was despatched thither to encourage the militia to enlist ; General Arnold and Colonel Morgan, both cele- brated for headlong valor, were sent to join Schuyler. In England the news of the fall of Ticonderoga was received with unbounded expressions of delight. Those who had opposed the war were silenced by the popular outcry; while the ministry were hailed as the asserters of the public honor. Success lent a temporary halo to the cause of oppression, and, in the exultation of the moment, the complete subjugation of America was regarded as now at hand. Yet how strange are the ordinations of fate ! At the very moment when, in England, these extravagant expectations were being indulged, the whole face of affairs in America had become suddenly changed : Burgoyne, so late the arrogant victor, was now a sup- pliant captive ; and the cause of Great Britain, but two short months before at the zenith of success, was now setting in darkness, and tempest, and despair. Although Ticonderoga fell on the 6th of July, it was the 30th of the same month before Burgoyne advanced to the Hudson. This delay was owing to the obstructions in the roads, and to his being compelled to take all his provisions with him. He subsequently remained at Fort Edward, from which the Americans had retired on his approach, until the 1 5th of August, engaged in bringing sup- plies from Ticonderoga. But his success was inconsiderable in this undertaking. The horses he expected from Canada had not arrived ; he could with difficulty procure the comparatively small number of fifty pair of oxen; and, to add to his embarrassments, heavy and continual rains wore down the soldiers and rendered the roads im- passable. On the 15th, notwithstanding all his exertions, there were but four days' provisions in camp. He now resolved to send out a detachment to Bennington in New Hampshire, where he learned there was a depot of provisions belonging to the Americans. Colo- nel Baum was despatched accordingly on this service with a force of about six hundred men. Meantime, however, General Stark, of the New Hampshire militia, hearing of Baum's approach, marched with two thousand men, hastily collected, to meet the British. Baum, on learning the approach of Stark, halted before he reached THE SEIGE OF FORT SCHUYJLER RAISED. 89 Bennington and sent back to camp for reinforcements. Colonel Breyman, with five hundred men, was accordingly hurried off to his assistance. Before the arrival of the latter, however, Stark had stormed Baum in his entrenchments, and after a desperate conflict, in which Baum fell mortally wounded, had chased the enemy from the field. The militia dispersed for plunder, when Breyman came up and renewed the fight. Stark fortunately was reinforced, and the conflict raged until dark, when Breyman abandoned his baggage and artillery; and fled with the remnant of his force to the British camp. In this engagement the enemy lost about seven hundred ; the Americans but one hundred. Four brass field pieces, a thou- sand stand of arms, and nine hundred swords fell into the hands of Stark, a supply very opportune at the crisis, and which furnished many of the weapons subsequently used at Saratoga with such effect against the foe. While Burgoyne had been thus advancing into the heart of New York, St. Leger, with the other division of the royal army, had marched from lake Ontario to the Mohawk, where, on the 3rd of August he laid seige to fort Schuyler with an army of sixteen hun- dred men, composed of British, Canadians, Tories, and Indians. Col. Gansevort, who, with six hundred men occupied the post, on being summoned to surrender, replied, with the heroism of an ancient Ro- man, that he would defend it to the last. Meantime Gen. Herkimer, on the approach of the British, hastened to raise the militia of the county of Tryon and fly to the succor of Gansevort ; but marching without sufficient circumspection, he fell into an ambuscade of Bri- tish and savages, and was defeated, with the loss of his own life and of four hundred of his men. The victory of the Indians was accom- panied by all the horrors of their mode of warfare : they slaughtered the suppliant and the resisting alike, and after the battle even but- chered the prisoners taken by their English allies. The tradition of that terrible day still survives in the valley of the Mohawk, and the listener shudders as he hears the tale. The whole of Herkimer's force would have fallen but for a diversion in his favor by the garrison, a party of whom made a bold sortie on the British camp, which they rifled, and then returned to the fort. The British, however, avenged themselves by resuming the siege with greater vigor than before. In this emergency Colonel Willet left the fort at dead of night, passed stealthily through the enemy's camp, and traversing pathless woods and unexplored morasses for the space of fifty miles, reached the confines of civili- zation, and raised the country to the relief of the leagured place. In 12 H* 90 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. this emergency Arnold was despatched to Fort Schuyler. On his approach the Indians began to be alarmed, and their terror being heightened by a report that Schuyler had totally defeated Burgoyne, they resolved to abandon St. Leger, and return to their own country. In vain the British commander besought them to stay : they were immoveable ; and in consequence, on the 22nd of August, St. Leger found himself forced to raise the siege. He retired with great precipitancy, leaving his tents, artillery and baggage in the hands of the garrison. Arnold, having succeeded in his purpose, returned to Camp ; while St. Leger retired in confusion to Montreal, whence he soon set forth to Ticorideroga to unite himself with Burgoyne. Thus one part of this well digested plan of invasion had already failed : a combination of circumstances was insidiously preparing the ruin of the other. Prominent among these was the want of provisions for Burgoyne's army, to which we have already alluded. This difficulty increased, instead of diminishing, as days and weeks progressed. The failure of his effort to relieve himself by the cap- ture of the stores at Bennington, threw a momentarily increasing cloud of despondency around his hopes. He began, for the first time, to appreciate the difficulty of his enterprise. Instead of finding himself among a friendly, or even indifferent population, he disco- vered that every step he took only led him further into the heart of a hostile community, from which he could draw neither encourage- ment nor sustenance, and where every man he met was irreconci- lably his foe. In such a country the capture of its forts was of little real benefit to the victor. He conquered only what he held. Though the country people every where fled before him, yet, as fast as he advanced they closed behind his track, like a returning tide. Thus hemmed in, with an armed enemy in front, and a hostile population gathering in his rear, Burgoyne knew scarcely which way to turn : his stout heart failed, his boastful confidence began to desert him, and foreboding shadows of the future already haunted his sleep, and deprived him, during the day, of his habitual cheerfulness. To add to the peril of his situation, the communications with his rear were now threatened. General Lincoln, having received a force of two thousand militia, instead of advancing directly to the succor of the American army, conceived the more effective plan of attack- ing Fort Ticonderoga and the other posts in Burgoyne's rear. His enterprise was successful in every thing except the capture of the two fortresses of Independence and Ticonderoga. Mount Defiance, Mount Hope, two hundred batteaux, several gun boats, an armed BTTRGOYNE ENCAMPS ON THE HUDSON. 91 BURGOYNE'S ENCAMPMENT ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON. sloop, and two hundred and ninety prisoners were the fruits of this happy thought. Besides this, one hundred American prisoners were set at liberty. In this manner mesh after mesh of the net destined to enclose Burgoyne, was drawn around the unhappy English General. At last he resolved to cross the Hudson and bring his enemy to battle, when, in case of a victory, the road to Albany would lie open, and supplies be more easy to be obtained. We cannot avoid regard- ing this as a military blunder. By advancing along the eastern shore of the Hudson, Burgoyne would have kept that river between him and the Americans, or, in case they attempted to cross it, he could have utterly routed them in the endeavor. By crossing to the western bank he lost these advantages. But his fate was upon him. An inevitable destiny led him forward. Accordingly, towards the middle of September, he threw a bridge of boats over the Hud- son, and passing his army across, encamped on the heights of Sara- toga, the Americans being at Stillwater, about three miles below. 92 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. In the approaching trial of strength between the two armies, the Americans were as confident as the British were dispirited : in this respect the two sides had changed situations since the battle of Bennington. Every day saw new accessions of strength to the Americans, for the harvest being ended, the militia began to pour into camp : and to add to the popular enthusiasm, General Gates had just been appointed to succeed General Schuyler, and his name alone, especially with the New England soldiers, was considered a sure presage of success. Gates arrived in camp on the 21st of August. Though Schuyler felt keenly his own removal, and com- plained of it eloquently in his letters to Washington, he still had too much patriotism to suffer it to cool his ardor, but nobly seconded his more fortunate rival with all his powers. On the 1 9th of September, Burgoyne advanced to offer battle to the Americans. His right wing, commanded by himself, rested on the high grounds that rise from the river ; the left wing, under Generals Phillips and Reidesel, occupied the great road and meadows by the river side. The American army drew up in the same order from the river to the hills, Gates taking command of the right, and giving the left to Arnold. Between the two armies, and in front of the British right, Burgoyne had thrown forward his Indians. Colonel Morgan, with the American light horse, supported by the American light infantry, charged the savages, who fell back, but being supported, they rallied, and with hideous yells drove Morgan back to his original position. Burgoyne now extended his right wing, in order to overlap Arnold, and reach that General's flank and rear. But by one of those coincidences which sometimes happen amid the turmoil and smoke of battle, Arnold, at this very moment was engaged in a like manoeuvre against Burgoyne. The intervening woods hid the hostile troops from sight, until they came suddenly on each other at a turn in the road. Surprise for a moment checked both parties, when, the charge sounded, and they rushed madly on each other. The Americans, after a desperate conflict gave ground. Arnold, finding the right flank of the enemy too strong for him, now made a rapid movement, and threw himself on the left flank of the same wing. His onset was terrible. The British line wavered before it. Encouraging his men with voice and example, he raged in their front, the hero of the day. His intention was to pierce the enemy's line, and cut off the right wing from the rest of the British army. To prevent this, successive reinforcements were poured on the threatened point ; but in vain : Gates hurried up new regiments to back Arnold ; and the whole interest of the struggle was concen- BATTLE OF BEHMUS HEIGHTS. 93 trated in this one place, where victory seemed about to declare for the Americans. For four hours the contest raged with unexampled fury. At last, night put an end to the combat. The royalists slept on their arms on the field of battle ; their opponents fell back. Both parties claimed the victory, the English, for having kept possession of the scene of strife, the Americans, for having checked the advance of the foe. All the moral results of a victory pertained to the latter however, and to them, therefore, we must award it. The army of Gates lost three hundred and thirteen in killed and wounded ; that of Burgoyne, at least six hundred, some writers say a thousand. Immediately after this battle, the Indian allies of Burgoyne, becom- ing dissatisfied, abandoned him, and their example was followed by most of the Canadians and Tories. The day after the battle of Stillwater, the English General advanced, and took a position within cannon shot of Gates. Both armies now occupied themselves in fortifying their respective camps. On the 21st of September, two days after the battle, Burgoyne received a letter from General Clinton, dated on the 10th, stating that he intended ascending the Hudson, and attacking Fort Mont- gomery, but that he could do no more. Burgoyne had hoped that Clinton would advance to Albany, and could not conceal his despondency on receipt of this news. He instantly despatched emissaries to his brother General, with a full account of his difficul- ties, urging a speedy execution of the proposed diversion, and saying that he had provisions with which to hold out until the 12th of October. He waited until the 7th of October for a reply, but received none. Had prudence, indeed, controlled him, he would have retreated immediately after receiving Clinton's letter ; but hope lured him on, while he shrank from the disgrace of a retrograde movement. Thus was he hurried forward to his melancholy destiny. Not hearing from Clinton, Burgoyne resolved to attack the Ameri- can left, hoping to force a passage, which might be made available either for an advance or retreat, as circumstances should afterwards recommend. The battle that ensued is known in popular language as the battle of Behmus Heights. At the head of fifteen hundred men, led by himself in person, Burgoyne advanced to execute his movement ; but Gates instantly penetrating his design, despatched a strong corps to cut him off from the main army. The American detachment soon became engaged with the left of Burgoyne's, the contest extending along to the right. Gates now attempted to throw a body of troops into the enemy's rear, so as to prevent his 94 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. retreat to camp. Burgoyne perceiving this, sent his light infantry to form a second line, and cover him as he fell back. He then began a retrograde movement. Arnold, with three regiments, instantly gave pursuit. A terrible trial of skill and strength now ensued : the English struggling to reach their entrenchments, the Americans to cut them off. Arnold was never greater than on that day. Gal- lopping fiercely to and fro, between his own troops and those of the enemy, he stimulated them, by his voice, and by his heroic courage, to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. For a while, Burgoyne regarded the day as lost. General Frazer, his friend and counsellor, had fallen mortally wounded, while endeavoring to check the onset of Arnold. The entrenchments were still at some distance : the Americans threatened to reach them first. At last, Burgoyne abandoned his artillery, and leaving a frightful array of killed and wounded, shew- ing the path by which he had retreated, made a last, and successful effort to gain the desired entrenchments. But even here he was not safe. Arnold still thundered in pursuit. The American General, fired with the resistless fury and courage of another Achilles, came raging to the front of the lines, and without pause, and amid a tempest of grape drifting into his face, dashed up to the assault Everything yielded before him. He had almost carried the works by storm, when a shot struck him in the leg, and he was forced to retire from the field. His men, however, still possessed with the fury to which he had excited them, continued the attack. Night at last fell, and checked the sanguinary struggle. In another quarter the enemy was even more unfortunate. While Arnold had been driving the British in terror and haste before him, Colonel Brooks, with a corps of Americans, had turned the extreme right of Burgoyne's encampment, and carried the works there by storm, notwithstanding a desperate resistance made by Colonel Brey- man, who occupied them with the German reserve. Breyman, himself, was mortally wounded. The tents, artillery, and baggage fell into the hands of the Americans, who established themselves in the entrenchment, and there spent the night. And as the guards went their rounds in their new possession, they saw, near at hand, the dark shadows of the English host, and eagerly longed for the dawn to renew the fray. But Burgoyne feared to tempt fortune again. He had suffered terribly, and lost immense stores. His troops were disheartened. His position was no longer tenable. Accordingly, in the night, he changed his ground to the heights in his rear. In this strong post Gates refused to attack him, for he now thought himself certain to BURGOYNE RETREATS TO SARATOGA. 95 reduce his enemy by starvation : he accordingly confined himself on the 8th to a distant cannonade, which the enemy warmly returned. It was during this fire, that General Lincoln was wounded in the leg. Several skirmishes took place in the course of the day. Towards evening, the British proceeded, with melancholy hearts, to the obse- quies of General Frazer. With slow steps and sad countenances, his late associates followed him to the grave : their regret for the deceased being combined with anxious solicitude for their own BURGOYITE'S RETREAT TO SARATOGA. future. To add to the terrors of the scene, the American batteries, during the whole evening, filled the darkness with their blaze and roar ; while at every moment the balls fell around, and spattered earth in the faces of the chaplain and spectators. Gates now made preparations for throwing a strong corps into Burgoyne's rear. The latter, perceiving this, abandoned his hospital to the mercy of the victor, and retreated to Saratoga, nine miles dis- tant, where he arrived on the 10th. A drenching rain pursued him nearly the whole way. Gloom and despondency, from this hour, 96 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. made a prey of the British army. The men had lost all confidence in themselves : they were half-starved, wet through, wounded and sore. Their leaders saw no gleam of hope, and met each other with melancholy looks. There was no word of Clinton. The Americans already had seized the fords in the rear, so that escape was impossible. The net had been drawn closer and closer, until now the victim scarcely found room to turn ; every avenue blocked up, every hope of succor gone, Burgoyne was a subject of pity, rather than of hate. With secret tears, his proud soul saw all his visions of glory vanished ; and no resource left but a step only less bitter than death itself. This was a surrender, now inevitable. Accordingly, on the 1 3th, a communication was opened with Gates, and on the 16th, terms of capitulation were signed. The English, to the number of nearly six thousand, surrendered themselves pri- soners of war. By the stipulations of the articles the British were to march out of their encampment with the honors of war : to stack their arms by command of their own officers, who were to retain their side-arms : the men not to serve against the United States until exchanged, though to be permitted to embark for England or Germany. These were more favorable terms than would have been granted, had not Gates heard of the advance of Clinton to Fort Montgomery, and the fall of that place, which had taken place a few days before. In fact, the British General had reduced all the forts on the lower Hudson, and was now opening the way to Albany : but on hearing of Burgoyne's surrender, he retired again to New York. Thus ended the expedition from Canada, on which the British ministry had placed such reliance. On the day of the capitulation, the American army numbered fifteen thousand men, of whom nearly ten thousand were regulars : the English five thousand, seven hundred and nine- ty-one, the remains of the splendid army of nine thousand, with which Burgoyne had left Ticonderoga. Even of these, but three thousand five hundred, were capable fighting men. The fall of Burgoyne was received with a burst of enthusiastic applause from one end of the confederacy to the other. The popu- lar mind, overlooking the true causes of his defeat, attributed all to the genius and courage of Gates, who was immediately lauded as the first of living Generals. No reward was considered too great for him. Congress voted him immediately a gold medal. Gates suffered himself to be carried away by this extravagant popularity. Of unequal mind, he became too exhilirated by success, as in defeat he was too depressed : he began now to form the loftiest ideas of his own AMERICAN ARMY AT VALLEY FORGE. 97 capacity and merits, grew over-confident, trusted too much to the terror of his name, and despising prudence and foresight, brought on himself at no distant day, defeat, humiliation and ruin. With far different sentiments was the news of Burgoyne's defeat received in England. Consternation seized even the warmest advo- cates of the war ; all foresaw that France would now ally herself to the colonies. The middle ranks, heretofore almost unanimous in support of the ministers, became alarmed at the prospect of a pro- tracted war and an increase of taxes. The minister himself saw that the cause was virtually lost, and hastening to the king tendered his resignation. In that crisis, George the Third had it in his power to have averted the further horrors of war, the increase of his peo- ple's burdens, and the execrations with which impartial history must load his name. But instead of listening to the remonstrances of Lord North, he laid his commands on that nobleman to remain in office and prosecute the war. Never was a more obstinate man than the then sovereign of Great Britain : never one possessing higher notions of kingly prerogative, or more at heart a tyrant. The minister to his own disgrace, consented. For a period of four more years, blood and havoc devastated America ; of all which the awful responsibility rests on the head of the monarch. Is it going too far to assert that in the miseries of his future life : in the ingratitude of his heir, in the commotions arising from the French revolution, and in his own subsequent blindness and insanity, a retributive Provi- dence worked out, in part, his punishment ? The close of the year 1777, found the British army comfortably quartered in Philadelphia, while the Americans lay at Valley Forge enduring every inclemency of the season. To this latter place Wash- ington had retired from White Marsh, his troops frequently tracking the ground with blood from their bare feet. At Valley Forge they constructed rude log huts, in which they braved one of the most icy winters on record ; sleeping usually without beds, blankets, or even straw. But few of the men had a whole garment : half a shirt was more frequent than a whole one : overcoats were almost entirely wanting. To add to their sufferings provisions became scarce. The neighboring farmers, attracted by the gold given in exchange for their products by the British, while the Americans had nothing to offer but continental money, constantly depreciating in price, flocked to Philadelphia ; and the army at Valley Forge might have starved but for the energy of Washington, who, exercising the dictatorial powers conferred on him by Congress, seized the necessary provi- sions by force, and continued thus to supply his camp until, through 13 I 98 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. the exertions of the commissary department, succors were brought from Connecticut and other places at a distance. The horrors of the winter were increased by a contagious fever, which, arising origi- nally from scarcity of food and clothing, broke out in the camp and daily swept numbers to the grave. It is computed that of seventeen thousand men, the numerical force of the army, there were at no time during this awful winter, more than five thousand fit for duty. ENCAMPMENT AT VALLEY FORGE. So alarming a condition of things, if known to its full extent by Howe, would infallibly have brought him out from his quarters at Philadelphia to attack Washington. But the latter, by keeping parties actively employed in harassing the outposts of the British, and by circulating exaggerated stories of his strength, continued to alarm the prudence of the English commander and ensure repose for his own harassed troops. But Washington had not only to combat distress in camp, and keep a wary eye on a powerful foe without : domestic intrigue in his own army, and even in his military family, was busying herself to ruin him in the estimation of the people. From the beginning of the war there had been a party in Congress, chiefly New En- glanders, who viewed with jealousy the elevation of a Virginian to the supreme command ; and to these were now added a knot of discontented military spirits, who complained loudly of what they called the criminal inactivity of Washington, and, under the guise of seeking to advance the interests of the country by the substitution of a more able chief, intrigued in reality to advance themselves. Among the most prominent of these men were Generals Conway RESIGNATION OF HOWE. 99 and Mifflin, the former a foreigner, the latter a Pennsylvanian. Gates was the person they aimed 'to place in the office of commander in chief. The latter was secretly a friend to the intrigue ; and hoped that his late victory would smooth the road to his elevation. Among other base plots of this faction, was one intended to separate La Fayette from Washington ; and for this purpose they procured Congress to project, without consulting the General, another expe- dition against Canada, the command of which was to be given to the Marquis. The plot failed, however, and the enterprise was abandoned. The machinations of these bad spirits coming to light, the popular voice broke out into such loud expressions of indigna- tion, and the esteem of Washington among the best citizens, was found so much to exceed their belief, that the conspirators abandoned their scheme in chagrin. Happy for the cause of independence was this failure, as the subsequent incompetency of Gates proved. There is no part of Washington's career which exhibits his character in a nobler aspect than his manly and high minded conduct during this crisis : though conscious of the injustice of Congress, he was too elevated in soul to allow irritation or anger to aifect his conduct ; but serene and high, he bore himself above the petty weaknesses of our frail human nature, continuing in all things to exercise his duties as if nothing base or ungrateful had been plotted against him. On the contrary, it was during this very period, that he exposed himself to the animadversions of Congress, by beseiging their doors with letters and remonstrances in favor of awarding half pay for life to the officers who should serve during the war. He was actuated to this course by a sincere conviction of its justice. Many of the best officers had no income but their pay, and as this was received in depreciated continental bills, they did not enjoy enough to support themselves, much less their absent families. Civilians, in the mean- time, were making a comfortable subsistence in comparative ease. These considerations induced many to resign, the best and ablest being invariably the first disgusted. The evil threatened to disband the army. In this emergency Washington recommended the system of half pay for life, as a premium on continuing in the army to the end of the contest. This advice, though at first received with cold- ness, was finally adopted in part, and half pay for seven years was voted to the officers, to count from the close of the war. The spring of 1778 opened with the resignation of Howe, and his return to England, where, in consequence of current rumors against his incapacity, he demanded an enquiry into his conduct in Parliament. The investigation ended in nothing. Howe's chief 100 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. complaint against the ministry was that they refused to comply with his requisitions for troops, but persisted in the error, which he early warned them against, of believing that large numbers of loyalists could be recruited in America. The truth was, that ignorance, ob- stinacy and incapacity were, throughout this whole conflict, charac- teristics of the English Cabinet. Howe was right in his strictures : he never had enough men for his purposes. That he was not a great military genius ; that he frequently erred on the side of prudence ; are facts not to be denied. But the opinion of his merits rises when we consider that he effected more than any of his successors. In reality, America, from the stubbornness of the patriots, and the impracticable character of the country, was uncon- querable : it was not in human intellect to overcome her : hence the failures of the English Generals, and hence, too, the recriminations between the ministry and the disgusted leaders. On the 6th of February, 1778, treaties of amity and commerce, and of alliance with the United States, were entered into by the king of France. This event, long procrastinated, had been deter- mined finally by the capture of Burgoyne. Hitherto France had held back, secretly aiding the Americans, but refusing openly to espouse their cause : her wish being to strengthen herself for a war if it should occur, and to avoid one unless a compromise between England and her colonies became impossible. On the 2nd of May Silas Deane arrived in Philadelphia with copies of the treaties. Congress immediately ratified them, amid the universal joy of the country. In the treaty of alliance it was declared that if war should break out between England and France, during the continuance of the one now existing with the United States, it should be made common cause : and that neither of the contracting parties should conclude either truce or peace with great Britain, without the formal consent of the other. Moreover, they mutually engaged not to lay down their arms, until the independence of the United States should have been formally, or tacitly, assured, by the treaty or treaties that should terminate the war. A separate and secret article reserved to the King of Spain the right to become a party to the treaty of amity an$ commerce, and to that of alliance, at such time as he should think proper. Not, however, to abandon all hope of accommodation, or rather as a blind to the country members, Lord North proposed in Parlia- ment new terms of conciliation with America. He moved a resolu- tion that in future England would abandon the right to lay any tax or duty on the colonies, except such as was beneficial to commerce, TERMS OF CONCILIATION. 101 SIGMN'G THE TREATY OF ALLIANCE AT PARIS. and it only to be collected under the authority of the respective provinces, and for their use and advantage. Five commissioners were appointed to treat with the colonies, with powers to suspend all laws passed since the 10th of February, 1763, and to grant armistices and pardons. The departure of these commissioners was hastened in consequence of the alliance with France. They arrived in America late in the spring, and immediately began to circulate copies of the conditions of compromise. Congress answered these papers by a report, which was ordered to be published with them. In this report the people were warned against this new and insidious attempt of England to destroy that union by which alone the liber- ties of America could be achieved. A resolution of Congress was appended, declaring that the withdrawal of the British forces, or the acknowledgment of the independence of the states, were indispensa- ble preliminaries to any treaty. This report and resolution were received with general applause. The alliance with France had convinced the most timid that success must eventually crown the efforts of the confederation. The loyalists began to waver : some 102 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. 4 even came forward and took the oaths to the new government. The storm was already breaking away : the clouds rolled westward : and through the broken gaps, which momentarily increased, gleamed in the distance the star of peace. The French, almost immediately after entering into their treaty of alliance, resolved to send a fleet to America ; and accordingly, on the 13th of April, the Count d'Estaing, with a large squadron, departed from France. The English ministry suspecting such a movement, and fearing that the French might embarrass Clinton by obtaining command of the Delaware, sent out instructions to him to evacuate Philadelphia and fall back upon New York. In conse- quence, on the 18th of June, the royal" General abandoned forever the capital whose possession had cost so much blood. Expecting to find the population of New Jersey hostile, he took with him suffi- cient provisions for the whole retreat: this encumbered him with a long train of wagons, which rendered his progress necessarily slow. Washington, on receiving certain intelligence of this movement, broke up his camp at Valley Forge and began a pursuit. He was exceedingly anxious to attack the enemy, but his opinion in favor of a battle was over-ruled in a council of officers ; Lee, who had just been exchanged for Prescott, taking a prominent lead in opposition, and contending that the want of discipline among the Americans rendered the experiment too hazardous. Washington, however, followed the enemy cautiously, holding the power to give or refuse battle, as he chose. At last, on the 27th of June, the British army encamped at Monmouth. The heights of Middletown were but a few miles distant, and if Clinton once reached there, it would be impos- sible to attack him. In this crisis Washington resolved to give battle, notwithstanding the adverse opinion of his officers. The advanced division of the Americans had been confided to La Fayette, Lee having refused it ; but subsequently he changed his mind, and desired the command, which was generously yielded to him. Washington, on the evening of the 27th, gave him orders to attack the enemy on the ensuing day, unless there were powerful reasons to the contrary. Accordingly, on the 28th, Lee put his columns into motion to obey this command. The van of the British, led by Knyphausen, had started at day-break, but Clinton, with the rear, remained until eight o'clock on the heights where they had encamped the preceding night. In the meantime, Knyphausen had advanced some miles, and Clinton could just see his dark columns in the distance, the intermediate space being occupied by long trains of wagons toiling through the sandy plains. Clouds of dust hung over BATTLE OF MONMOUTH. 103 * the prospect, for the day was already intolerably hot, with scarcely the slightest breeze stirring. The design of Washington was to let Lee assail Clinton in the rear, while Morgan and Dickenson should attack his right and left flanks, in the -hope to cut him off from his baggage. But Clinton, penetrating this design, resolved to face on Lee, arid make so vigorous an assault, that it would be necessary for the Americans to recall Morgan and Diekenson. The plan was well conceived, and executed with boldness. Wheeling on Lee, the British General advanced impetuously to the charge, his artillery and dragoons moving gallantly before him. Lee little expected to find Clinton so ready for the combat, or in such force ; neverthe- less, he began to form his line in order to receive the enemy. But at this moment, through a mistake, one of his subordinates, fell back wilh a portion of the troops, across a morass in their rear ; and Lee, already doubtful whether it was prudent to engage, suffered this incident to decide him, and began a retreat. His way lay along a valley, about three miles long and one wide, broken by woods, hillocks, and patches of swampy ground. He had already retired some distance, the British pursuing with animation, and yet he saw no position where he thought it advisable to make a stand. In fact, having been opposed to a battle from the first, he scarcely regretted that events had happened to justify his opinion. He still, there- fore, continued retreating. Washington, however, was in a situation exactly the reverse. He had recommended a battle : he had even brought one on against the opinions of his officers. His good name, in a measure, depended on success. Yet he had arranged his plans so skilfully, that he scarcely entertained a doubt of victory. On the first sound of firing, he hastened forward, at the head of the rear-guard, so eager to join the fray that he directed the soldiers to cast away their knapsacks. Suddenly, a horseman, covered with dust, his animal white with foam, dashed up, and announced that Lee was in full retreat. Astonishment and indignation flashed across Washington's countenance : for a moment, perhaps, he suspected treachery : plunging his spurs into his horse's sides, he galloped furiously forward. It was not long before he met Lee. Addressing that officer with anger, he demanded the cause of the flight. But instantly reflecting that the occasion was one for action, not for words, he proceeded to use his voice and example to cheek the retreat. It was necessary, first of all, to arrest the impetuous career of the British, and for this purpose, two bat- talions were placed on the left, behind a clump of woods, to receive the first shock of the enemy. Washington, after this, directing Lee 104 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. to make good his position at all hazards, hurried back to bring up the rear-guard. Lee, stung by the reproaches of the General, now made the most desperate efforts to rally his troops. He succeeded in part. For a while the English were checked. But the splendid grenadiers of Cornwallis, inflamed at this unexpected rebuff, now advanced to the charge, their polished muskets gleaming out, at broken intervals, through the dust and smoke of that sultry battle- field, like lightning playing in a thunder-cloud. Their loud huzzas rent the air as they charged at quick pace : and the Americans, overpowered, once more began to retreat. The contest had now raged along an extent of three miles or more. The day had progressed to noon, and the air was hot and suffocating. Many of the men in both armies, had fallen dead from the heat. It was the Sabbath day, and all nature was quiet. Tihe leaves hung motionless on the trees ; no laborers disturbed the fields with rural sounds : far away, along the line of the hills, the atmos- phere seemed to boil in the sun's vertical rays. Yet Washington, haunted by the thought of impending disaster, saw nothing of these things ; all was uproar and tumult in his soul, as on the battle-field ; strange contrast with the peacefulness of nature ! Riding at the head, he hurried the rear-guard forward with impetuous haste, and speedily met Lee, now unavoidably retreating. Instantly room was made for the fugitives to pass to the rear, while the fresh troops were brought promptly and skilfully into action. One detachment was placed in a neighboring wood ; another, on a hill to the left ; and the remaining, and largest, in the centre, boldly facing the enemy. Lord Stirling, with a battery of guns, was sent to support the first, on the hill to the left. These dispositions had scarcely been made, before Greene arrived at the scene. He enjoyed the command of the right wing on that day, and had at first advanced considerably, but on hearing of Lee's retreat, had thought it prudent to fall back. Coming up opportunely at this crisis, he took a strong position on an elevation to Lord Stirling's right, and having with him Knox's bat- tery of artillery, he speedily unlimbered the guns, and began to open with vigor and accuracy on the foe. Lord Stirling's pieces seconded him from the other part of the field : and soon the ground shook with incessant explosions. The British had been checked in front by the very first of these dispositions. But, unwilling to yield the victory, they changed their point of attack, and attempted to turn the left flank of the Ameri- cans : repulsed here, they wheeled like a lion baffled in the ring, and essayed to surround the right of the foe ; but this was the period of THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH. 105 SIR HENRY CLINTON. time when Knox had just planted his battery, and the well served pieces opened whole lanes through the masses of the foe. The dust and smoke combined, at this point of the strife, for a moment con- cealed the enemy from the Americans. All at once the canopy lifted and the British were beheld falling back. Washington saw it : his heart thrilled with anticipated victory: the moment had come when a vigorous stroke would turn the scales of battle. He ordered up Wayne, with his tried veterans, to charge the confused ranks of the nemy. Launching his infantry like a thunderbolt on the foe, that headlong officer carried dismay and terror every where before him. The story of the battle was reversed. The British were in fall retrea* 14 106 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. Clinton, however, still desperately disputing the fray, rallied his men on the same ground where Lee had made his first halt. Here his flanks were covered by woods and deep morasses : while his front was defended by a ravine, crossed only by a single narrow pass. Washington followed him up, and the action bagan anew. But the day had been consumed in this succession of terrible strug- gles, and night now approaching, the firing on both sides gradually ceased. In fact, the troops of either army were completely exhausted. At the welcome order to desist, the men flung themselves on the ground panting for breath, or eagerly sought water to allay their burning thirst. The night continued intensely hot. Scarcely a breath of air arose to cool the fevered Americans, and for hours they tossed on the ground courting sleep in vain. Slowly the dust settled once more on the plain. The moon, now in her fourth quar- ter, soon set, and for a while there was comparative darkness. Then the stars came out on a sky, again blue and unshrouded ; the dew, beginning to fall, rendered the atmosphere more refreshing ; and the soldiers, worn out by excitement, finally sunk one by one to slum- ber, Washington reposing in their midst, extended on the uncovered ground. Thus ended the most memorable battle of the revolution. It was fought within a few days of the summer solstice, and with the ther- mometer at ninety ; the only strife of a like character recorded in history. Its result was a virtual defeat of Clinton. At the first, victory had inclined decidedly for the British ; but the skill and resolution of Washington changed the fortunes of the day. The Americans, in this battle, lost sixty-nine killed, and one hun- dred and forty wounded : the British had nearly three hundred killed, besides an equal number wounded. But their principal diminution of numbers occurred after the battle, when hundreds deserted to settle peaceably among the people they had come to conquer. On the morning succeeding the strife, Washington had resolved to renew the battle, but Clinton silently decamped in the night and gained the heights of Middletown. The American General thought nothing was to be gained now by a pursuit, and accordingly the English embarked in safety at Sandy Hook. On the 1st of July, Washington advanced to the Hudson, and took up a favorable position to watch the enemy now in force in New York. General Lee, of an irascible and revengeful mind, could ill-brook the expressions Washington had used towards him during the battle. He brooded over what he thought his injuries, and finally wrote INDIAN MASSACRES. 107 two improper letters to his superior. The consequence was a court martial, which suspended him for one year. The remaining events of 1778, may be told in a few words. The Count d'Estaing arrived off Virginia early in July, when, being informed that Lord Howe had left the Delaware, he pursued that officer to New York. Here, however, he could not get his ships over the bar, owing to the want of water. He now, at Washing- ton's suggestion, proceeded to Rhode Island, to unite with General Sullivan in the reduction of the British army, six thousand strong, which was stationed at Newport. Sullivan was at the head of a force of ten thousand men, chiefly militia, and was exceedingly anxious to succeed in the enterprise, for though a laborious, he had been an unfortunate officer, and he now fancied he had a chance to achieve something brilliant at last. The 9th of August was selected for a combined attack on the British lines. But on that day, Howe appearing off the harbor, d'Estaing put to sea to give him chase. Sullivan waited in vain for his ally's return until the 14th, when he laid siege alone to Newport. On the 19th d'Estaing made his appearance, in a shattered condition, the two fleets having been separated by a storm. He refused to assist further in the siege, and announced his design of going to Boston to re-fit. In vain La Fay- ette and Greene besought him to remain. He replied, that he was controlled by orders from home. He set sail on the 22nd. Sullivan now found himself forced to abandon the siege, which he did in mortification, anger, and despair. He was pursued by the British, who met a repulse : after which he was suffered to retire unmolested. He still, however, kept possession of the north end of the island. But, receiving intelligence from Washington that Lord Howe had sailed from New York with a large body of troops, intended to cut off his retreat, he abandoned his works on the night of the 30th of September, and retired to the mainland. It was a fortunate move- ment, and not too early effected; for on the 31st, Clinton arrived with four thousand men. During this summer, occurred those* devastations and massacres on the western border which will be ever memorable for their horrors. The Indians, excited by the English, made simultaneous incursions on the defenceless settlements, along the whole line of frontier from the boundery of New York to the confines of Georgia. In the south, their successes were partial : but from Virginia they were repelled by\Colonel George Rogers Clarke. Their most terrible blow, however, fell on the beautiful and peaceful valley of Wyoming, situated on the north branch of the Susquehannah, in the upper part j . - - 108 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. of Pennsylvania. A body of savages and tories, the latter said to be the most numerous, headed by Colonel Butler, a Connecticut loyalist, descended suddenly on this settlement in the beginning of July, and laid waste the district with fire and sword. Unheard of cruelties were perpetrated on the miserable inhabitants. The heart sickens in reading the horrible details of that massacre. Harmless women were scalped and left to die in lingering agonies : children were inhumanly put to death in sport: a fort was fired and its BUIXS OF WYOMIN3. unhappy inmates burnt alive. Brothers refused brothers mercy, but murdered them'while suppliant. It is computed that of a population of three thousand souls very few escaped. When the relatives of the hapless victims visited the valley with reinforcements, they found only desolate ruins where once had been smiling houses, while for miles, before reaching the fort, the road was strewn with bleached and mouldering human bones. For this horrible massacre a terrible retribution was taken the succeeding year. An expedition, commanded by General Sullivan, proceeded up the Susquehannfth, in the summer of 1779, as far as Wyoming, where it was joined by General James Clinton, from the Mohawk, with further reinforcements. Th^Avo Generals advanced up the Susquehannah, penetrating the tg^jjory of the Six Nations, until they reached a village called Newtown. Here the Indians had made a stand, assisted by some loyalists. Their position was defended by palisades and a rude redoubt, but the Americans charged with such fury, that the savages, after two hours fighting, fled on all sides. No further resistance was made by the Indians, STORMING OF STONY POINT. 109 who, abandoning their corn-fields and villages, hid themselves in ' inaccessible swamps, or retreated to the frontiers of Canada. Sulli- van's orders were to lay waste their country with fire and sword, which he proceeded to do. Forty villages, and one hundred and sixty thousand bushels of corn were destroyed : the whole of that fertile district, with its orchards and farm-houses, was reduced to a smoking ruin : and the savages, late its possessors, and who had there gathered around themselves all the appliances of civilization, were driven forth outcasts, to herd again with wild beasts, and to perish of want, exposure, and disease, during the ensuing winter. Thus do the miseries and cruelties of war re-produce themselves. During the year 1779, the same in which this terrible retaliation occurred, the armies of Washington and Clinton, though watching each other closely, engaged in no enterprise of magnitude. On the side of the Anferican General, this apparent indolence was the result of the comparatively small force under his command, for the terms of a large portion of his tmops were expiring, and enlist- ments progressed slowly. He was^specially unwilling to hazard the loss of a battle with his insufficient forces, because he considered the cause gained already, unless, by his receiving some severe check, the drooping spirits of the enemy should be raised. On the side of Sir Henry Clinton, this inactivity was in part the result of a want of reinforcements, in part the remembrance of Monmouth, and in part a consequence of a design then forming to operate in the southern colonies. Meantime, however, the British General set on foot several pre- datory excursions, the principal of which was directed against the exposed coast of Connecticut. The command of this enterprise was bestowed on the notorious Governor Tryon. He took with him twenty-six hundred troops, and was absent about ten days, during which period he plundered and burnt East Haven, Fairfield, and Norwalk : and New Haven, which he pillaged, would also have been given to the flames, but for the gallantry of a party of students, headed by Captain James Fairfield. Another expedition was despatched agains^taratmouth, in Virginia. That town was plun- dered, and partially tl od, as well as Suffolk, Kemp's Landing, Gosport, and other places $he vicinity. About one hundred and fifty American vessels fell info the hands of the British, during the fortnight's stay made by their fleet on the coast. After being absent less than a month, this Vandal expedition returned to New York. Early in the spring the Americans had busied themselves with fortifying Stony Point and Verplank's Hill, commanding King's 110 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. Ferry, on the Hudson. The English resolved to attempt the seizure of these two posts, as in that case the Americans would have no way of communication between the middle and eastern colonies, unless by making a circuit of ninety miles up the Hudson. The enterprise was successful. Clinton now hastened to complete the works at both these places ; and had, before the end of June, ren- dered them, as. he hoped, impregnable. Washington, however, resolved to attempt their surprize. The delicate and perilous undertaking of storming Stony Point, the most difficult of the two, was entrusted to General Wayne. On the 15th of July, 1779, that officer, at the head of a detachment of picked veterans, cautiously approached the place, and, unperceived by the enemy, advanced to the assault about half-past eleven o'clock at night. The Americans marched in two columns, with fixed bayonets. The enemy soon discovered them through the gloom, and immediately opened a tre- mendous fire of musketry andgrape ; yet nothing could daunt the impetuosity of the assailants : opening their way with the bayonet, they scaled the works, and tr^^wo columns met in the centre of the fort. The fury of the defence is shewn by the fact, that out of the forlorn hope of twenty, seventeen fell. General Wayne him- self was slightly wounded in the head at the beginning of the assault, but bravely continued to advance with his men. The English lost six hundred in killed and prisoners. The American loss was sixty- three killed, and forty wounded. The fortifications were now demolished, and the place abandoned. The attack meditated against Fort Verplanks, on the opposite side of the river, had not the same success, insurmountable obstacles having been encountered. This campaign was also distinguished by the surprise of Pawles Hook. With less than five hundred men, Major Lee, on the 18th of July, took this post with the loss of but half a dozen men, killed and wounded. About thirty of the enemy were killed, besides one hundred and sixty-one taken prisoners. The post being near the main body of the enemy, was immediately abandoned : but the brilliant success of the enterprise exhilarated the spirit of the whole American army. About the same time, General Putnam, at the Horse Neck, in Connecticut, came near falling into the enemy's hands, and only succeeded in escaping by gallopping his horse headlong down an almost precipitous descent of one hundred steps. In August of this year, an expedition, fitted out at Boston, to reduce the British post at Penobscot, failed in consequence of unnecessary delays, which afforded time for an English squadron to sail to the relief of the THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. Ill post. Thus the year passed. No important enterprises were undertaken : no permanent advantages gained on either side. We must now turn from the north, where comparative inactivity marked both armies, and devote ourselves for a while to the south, where war, revisiting that section of the country, in the summer of 1779, continued to rage there until the declaration of peace, with a violence and horror to which the north had been a stranger, and which gave to it, in the language of General Greene, the character of a strife between fiends rather than men. GENERAL GREEXE. BOOK IV. THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. HE commissioners sent out with Lord Howe, in the spring of 1778, had con- tinued in the country after Congress re- jected their proposals, one of their number occupying himself in endeavors to seduce various prominent members of the patriot party. Governor Johnstone was the per- sonage who made himself active in these overtures. He addressed letters to Robert Morris, to Joseph Reed, and to Francis Dana: and secretly offered, through a lady, a bribe of ten thousand pounds to General Reed. These in- trigues coming to light, induced Congress to declare that it could 15 113 114 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. hold no correspondence with Johnstone, who made a sharp rejoinder, while his colleagues disclaimed all knowledge of any bribery and corruption, and bore testimony to his honesty and high mindedness. The conduct of Reed was one of the noblest instances of patriotism in our revolutionary history. The winter spent at Valley Forge had not been without one good effect: it had tended materially to increase the discipline of the army. In May, 1778, the Baron Steuben, who had served with distinction under the great Frederick, was appointed Inspector General of the army, into which he speedily introduced the exact and perfect prac- tice of the then celebrated Prussian discipline. The benefit of his instructions was perceptible even at so early a period as the battle of Monmouth, as may be seen by comparing the conduct of the soldiers there and at Long Island ; but was more especially remark- able in the storming of Stony Point, where not a musket was discharged, but the bayonet did every thing, a feat worthy of the Prussian veterans themselves. The British, afler three active campaigns, now found themselves no further advanced than in the first. It had been remarked in Europe, on hearing of the battle of Bunker Hill, that the royal troops had conquered, on that day, only so much of America as was covered by the dead and dying. After the lapse of four years, they had done no more. .At no period, not even in the disastrous autumn of 1776, had they reduced to submission more of the country than they occupied. As long as their armies were present in overwhelm- ing force, the inhabitants were quiet through terror ; but the instant the royal troops departed, the country rose in their rear. The tem- porary ascendancy of the loyalists, always in a minority, was cast down : the patriots once more assumed the reins of government ; the disaffected were banished, imprisoned, or silenced by fines : and a traveller, ignorant of this sudden change, would have supposed that the colonists had never succumbed to the British, since the war first broke out. From the conquest of such a people, the royal generals began to turn in despair. At first, they had attempted the reduction of New England. A year's experience had convinced them that this was impossible. Then they had essayed the middle states ; this endea- vor, also, after a more stubborn trial, they had virtually abandoned. The south, however, remained to them : and they resolved to make there a last effort. They were stimulated to this final enterprise by the servile character of a portion of her population, opening a door for domestic treason and warfare ; by the fact that a larger coiu- GENERAL PREVOST AT SAVANNAH. 115 parative number of the free population were loyalists, than at the north ; and by the richness of portions of the soil, which furnished large supplies to Washington, as well as to the French fleet in the West Indies. It was hoped that if the south was overrun and conquered, it could be retained for the King, even if it became necessary to acknowledge the independence of the middle and eastern provinces. The Carolinas and Georgia were too rich a prize to be lightly abandoned : the stake was worth playing for, at least. Moved by these considerations, the English Generals resolved to transfer the war to those provinces. A sufficient force was to be reserved at the north to keep Washington in check : the remainder was to be embarked for a new and more dazzling field of enterprise. Was it blind destiny, or an overruling Providence that lured them on ? As an experiment, Lieutenant Colonel Campbell had been despatched from New York, towards the close of the year 1778, with twenty-five hundred men, to invest Savannah ; while at the same time, General Prevost, who commanded the British troops in the Floridas, was ordered to march with all his force, and invade Geor- gia from the south. Colonel Campbell appeared in the Savannah river on the 23rd of December, 1778 ; and six days after effected a landing, under cover of the fleet. General Robert Howe, of the American Army, had hastily collected a force of about nine hundred regulars and militia, and with these he took a strong position, sur- rounded, except in front, by the river, and by morasses, A negro, however, betrayed a secret pass in his rear to the enemy, and being attacked on both sides at once, Howe was defeated, though not until after a desperate resistance. Nearly two-thirds of his little force were either killed or made prisoners. The town, the fort, the ship- ping in the river, and all the provisions, fell into the hands of the British. With what remained of his little army, Howe retreated into South Carolina. In the meantime, General Prevost had begun his march from East Florida, pursuant to the orders of General Clinton. After having conquered innumerable obstacles, he arrived at Fort Sunbury, which he proceeded to invest. The fort soon surrendered. About this time, Colonel Campbell, who had set out also to reduce the fort, came up, and the two English corps effected a junction with mutual felicitations. General Prevost now proceeded to Savannah, where he assumed the chief command. Shortly after, he sent a detachment to occupy Augusta. The loyalists in the upper part oi South Carolina, animated by the appearance of the British at Augusta, collected, and began to march to join the royal standard, 116 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. having first chosen for their leader Colonel Boyd. Their route was everywhere marked by pillage and flame. They had already crossed the Savannah, and were near the British posts, when Colonel Pickens, with a party of Carolinians, in pursuit, came up with them. The tories were routed with great slaughter. In consequence, the English abandoned Augusta, and fell back to Savannah. This retreat was the more advisable, because General Lincoln, whom congress had just appointed to the command of the southern army, had arrived in the vicinity of Augusta, and encamped at Black Swamp. He had been selected at the recommendation of the Carolinians, on the first intimation of Clinton's designs against the south. The people now rose and took arms with alacrity to second him. He soon found himself at the head of about twenty-five hun- dred men. Sixteen hundred of these he despatched to the upper country, under the command of General Ashe. Prevost, gaining intelligence of this separation, resolved to attempt the destruction of the weaker corps, and accordingly, by a forced march, he came up with General Ashe, at the. head of nine hundred regulars, and speedily defeated that officer. Most of those who escaped, dis- banded, so that but four hundred, out of the whole detachment, returned to Lincoln. This affair, in which the militia behaved shamefully, has been called the rout of Briar Creek. It occurred on the^ 3rd of March, 1779. Lincoln and Prevost, after this, remained watching each other until the beginning of May, when Lincoln, in order to overawe the loyalists in the upper country, advanced towards Augusta. Instantly Prevost formed the design of carrying the war into the heart of Carolina. He accordingly crossed the Savannah, and began to forage extensively, General Moultrie, whom Lincoln had left to watch the British, retiring before him. Astonished at his own suc- cess, bolder views now broke upon him, and he conceived the daring project of capturing Charleston itself. In a few days, accordingly, after a forced march, he arrived within cannon-shot of that rich capital, which he instantly summoned to surrender. On this, all was consternation among the citizens : some were for an instant compli- ance, others wished to hold out against a storm. At last, amid these conflicting counsels, it was resolved to temporise for the present, trusting to the speedy arrival of Lincoln to raise the seige. This scheme succeeded. Prevost was still listening to discussions of the terms of the capitulation, when he received intelligence that Lincoln was approaching. It was now his own turn to be alarmed. He determined to retreat. This he effected by crossing to the SIEGE OP SAVANNAH. 117 neighboring islands of St. John and St. James. A succession of like fertile islands, contiguous to each other, but separated from the main, stretch along the sea-coast from Charleston to Savannah, and by availing himself of these, Prevost extricated himself from a dilemma, into which it is almost impossible to tell whether he was led more by boldness, than by rashness. Lincoln made no attempt to assail the retiring British, except by attacking the pass at Stono Ferry ; where, however, he met with a repulse. The royal army now retired to Savannah. Thus, in a single campaign, had the British conquered the whole province of Georgia, besides devastating some of the richest parts of South Carolina and almost possessing themselves of its capital. It is true that the excesses committed by the royal troops, in the end inflamed the inhabitants against them ; but, at present, nothing was seen, nothing was talked of, but the supremacy of the English. The British officers continually remarked on the ease of conquering the south, compared with the more stubborn north. Miserable delusion ! But when Prevost wrote to Sir Henry Clinton that he had reduced the whole province of Georgia to abject submission, and that in Carolina he had destroyed innumerable splendid dwellings and freed four thousand negroes, the British General, inflamed by the magni- tude of the prize and the comparative ease with which it might be appropriated, determined to follow up in earnest the conquest of that splendid section of the country. In the meanwhile, in order to divert the public rnind, he despatched that ruthless expedition against Portsmouth, in Virginia, of which we have already given an account. Before, however, Sir Henry Clinton could prepare to enter in person on a southern campaign, the Count d'Estaing arrived off Savannah, anxious to perform something showy and brilliant before he returned to Europe. We left him re-fitting at Boston in 1778. After he had laid in his stores there, he sailed for the West Indies, where he was occupied, with various success, for nearly a year. About the first of September, 1779, he made his appearance on the coast of Georgia. The news of his arrival caused a delirium of exultation at Charleston. Lincoln immediately marched for Savannah. D'Estaing now landed his troops, and on the 15th of September the allies appeared under the walls of the town. Prevost was summoned to surrender. He asked twenty-four hours delay, during which time he was joined by a reinforcement of eight hun- dred men. He now expressed his determination to defend himself to the last extremity. On this d'Estaing began the siege in form. The allies numbered nearly eight thousand ; the British three thou- 118 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. SAVAJOCAH in Tax YEAR OJCK THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT. sand. But the latter were defended by fortifications, which daily strengthened beneath their assiduous labors. At length, on the 3rd of October, the besiegers mounted their first battery, and for the five succeeding days the bombardment was maintained with extraordi- nary vigor : fifty-three heavy cannon and nine mortars shook the earth with constant explosions ; carcasses were launched into the town, imparting flames wherever they struck ; women and children were killed by the falling roofs, or what is worse, were miserably crippled. Yet still the garrison betrayed no signs of surrender. The few breaches in their works they repaired, defying their enemy gal- lantly to the last. The season was now* approaching when storms, so frequent and terrible in the autumn on that coast, rendered the situation of the French fleet extremely precarious. D'Estaing had been pursuaded, day after day, by the growing excitement of the siege, to postpone his departure ; but now he declared that the safety of the fleet precluded a longer delay. Before abandoning the expedition, however, it was resolved to attempt the British works by assault : an enterprise in SIEGE OF CHARLESTON. 119 which d'Estaing was sanguine of success, although no considerable breach had been yet opened. Accordingly, on the 9th, before day, the allies advanced to the storm in two columns, d'Estaing leading one, and Lincoln the other. It is said the English had received notice of the impending attack ; and the assertion is rendered proba- ble by the state of preparation in which they were found. For an hour the strife raged with terrific fury. A redoubt on the Ebenezer Road became the principal scene of the conflict. A French and an American standard were at last planted on the ramparts, but soon hurled down, with their brave defenders, by the soldiers in the place. In the end, the allies were forced to retreat, leaving, of the French, six hundred and thirty-seven, of the Americans, two hundred and forty-one, killed and wounded. In the height of the assault, Count Pulaski, charging at the head of his men, received a mortal wound, of which he died a few days after. The loss of the British, as they fought behind ramparts, was inconsiderable. On the 18th the siege was raised. Lincoln passed to the left bank of the Savannah, into South Carolina : d'Estaing embarked, and immediately left the coasts of America. Of this fatal affair, impartial history is forced to record that the assault either took place too soon, or was put off too long. Had it occurred before Prevost was reinforced it would probably have been successful : had it been delayed until the trenches were further advanced, and practicable breaches made, the fortress must have fallen. Thus ended d'Estaing's career in America. In all his enterprises undertaken in conjunction with his allies he was unfortunate, partly from his own rashness, partly because restricted by instructions from home : in consequence his name has been regarded here with peculiar unpopularity and disfavor. He effected little, yet was not wholly useless. His presence restrained the Bri- tish and made them avoid hazardous enterprises. Owing to his expected return from the West Indies the royal troops were with- drawn from Rhode Island and concentrated at New York ; while Clinton, from the same cause, postponed his long contemplated southern expedition, until d'Estaing had left America. No sooner, however, did the British General receive certain intel- ligence of d'Estaing's departure, than he set sail from New York, with between seven and eight thousand men, under convoy of Ad- miral Arbuthnot, who had arrived some weeks before with reinforce- ments. The fleet was at first separated by a tempest, but the ships finally arrived in Georgia about the end of January, 1 780. Thence th<> re-united forces proceeded towards Charleston, and on the llth of February landed on St. John's Island, about thirty miles south of 120 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. that town. Proceeding with celerity, Clinton, by the end of March, was fully prepared for the siege. On the 21st, Admiral Arbuthnot, with the fleet, forced the passage defended by Fort Moultrie. On the 29th, Clinton crossed the Ashley, twelve miles above the town, and marching down, took post across the isthmus, a mile and a half distant behind the city. On the 1st of April ground was broken, and in a week afterwards batteries raised. On the 9th, Admiral Arbuthnot, taking advantage of a favorable wind, sailed up the harbor, and took a position within cannon shot of the town. Every- thing being now ready on the part of the British, and the city being hemmed effectually in, a summons was sent to Lincoln to surrender. That General answered with spirit that he was determined to de- fend himself to the last. On this the English opened their fire. From the hour in which he had received the intimation of Clin- ton's approach, Lincoln had been busily engaged in putting Charles- ton in a state of defence. The old works were repaired : new fortifications erected. A chain of redoubts, lines and batteries was constructed, extending from the Ashley to the Cooper river, thus completely defending the peninsula on which Charleston stood. Eighty pieces of artillery guarded this line. On either side of the town, wherever a landing could be effected, batteries were erected, which bristled with cannon. On these various works six thousand slaves had been actively employed. Meantime, the Governor, Mr. Rutledge, seconded Lincoln with all the powers of civil government, increased in this emergency, by a vote of the Assembly, to those of a dictatorship. The inhabitants were called out en masse, and con- fiscation threatened to those who refused. Nevertheless, there was among many a disposition to hold back : already they feared that the colonists would prove the weaker ; and, in consequence, the utmost exertions of the Governor and General could not raise the effective force of the garrison above six thousand. Of these, but two thousand, who were regulars, could be depended on. But there were strong hopes that reinforcements, which had been promised from North Carolina, would speedily arrive : indulging this expecta- tion, Lincoln returned a defiance to the summons of Clinton. Had it been certain that no succor would reach him, the American Gene- ral might have acted differently, and either made an honorable capitulation, or effected a retreat over the Cooper River, which as yet remained open to him. In a few days, however, this outlet was also closed. A party of cavalry and militia, who virtually guarded it, were attacked and uttterly routed, at Monk's Corner. The English now swarmed SIEGE OP CHARLESTON. 121 over the whole country on the side of Cooper River opposite Charleston ; and thus were the Americans finally enclosed. By this time the second parallel had been opened, and the town began to crumble under the fire of the British batteries. Receiving an accession of reinforcements amounting to three thousand men, Clin- ton resolved to attack Fort Moultrie, which place, despairing of relief, and being too weak to resist an assault, surrendered on the 7th of May. The third parallel had now been reached. Clinton seized this occasion to summon Lincoln anew. But the Americans would not consent to the terms of capitulation offered, and accord- ingly the conflict began again. The English batteries thundered incessantly : the fortifications sunk under repeated blows ; many of the guns were dismounted, and officers and soldiers were picked oft' if they showed themselves above the works. The town, all this while, suffered terribly. Bombs fell continually among the houses, whence flames almost hourly broke forth, and were with difficulty extinguished : no roof was safe, no place of refuge remained. The citizens began to clamor. The garrison lost heart. At last the inflexibility of Lincoln gave way, and on the 12th of May, articles of capitulation were signed. By these the garrison was allowed some of the honors of war : it was to march out of the town and deposit its arms in front of the works, but the drums were not to beat a British march, nor the colors to be uncased. The seamen and continentals were to be prisoners of war until exchanged : the militia were allowed to return to their homes as prisoners on parole : the citizens were also to be prisoners on parole, and, as well as the militia, were not to be molested in person or property. The officers were to retain their arms, baggage and servants. By this capitula- tion seven general officers ; ten continental regiments, much reduced ; three battalions of artillery ; four frigates ; and an immense quan- tity of bombs, balls and powder came into the hands of the English. It is computed that four hundred cannon, and six thousand troops, in all, were captured at the fall of Charleston. The blow was the severest one the cause of independence had yet received. Lincoln was almost universally blamed. One half the nation censured him for attempting to defend the town at all, and the other half found fault with him for not abandoning it before the rout at Monk's Corner. His best defence, perhaps, is in this very difference of opinion ; for if it was difficult, after the affair, to tell what he should have done: how much more difficult must it have been during the progress of events. Besides, he had been promised reinforcements, which he depended on, but which never arrived. 16 L 122 THE WAR OP INDEPENDENCE. In popular communities an unfortunate General is too frequently punished as an incompetent one, at least, by public opinion ; and such was the fate of Lincoln : but it is the province of history to correct these erroneous judgments, and declare the truth, however counter it may run to preconceived opinions. Clinton had no sooner taken possession of Charleston than he proceeded to follow up his success by the conquest of the state. He sent out expeditions to various quarters, all of which were success- ful. One, composed of about seven hundred horse and foot, com- manded by Colonel Tarleton, overtook arid defeated, after a forced march, a body of continental infantry and a few horsemen, led by Colonel Benford, at the Waxhaws. A horrible scene of butchery ensued. The Americans, imploring quarter, were ruthlessly cut TABLEIOX'S QUARTEBS. down, until nearly every man was killed, or so severely wounded as to be unable to move. This massacre gave a tone of savageness to the future warfare in the south on both sides ; and, long after, when the colonists would express the cruelties of a barbarous foe, they called them Tarleton's quarters. These reverses struck terror far and wide through Carolina. The fall of Charleston, and the successive blows dealt throughout the state, paralyzed all resistance : even the patriots began to regard the AMERICAN VICTORY AT HANGING ROCK. 123 south as irretrievably conquered. Clinton resolved to seize this favor- able crisis in the public sentiment, by the proclamation of a general amnesty and pardon, ending with an invitation to all citizens to renew their allegiance. By a sort of trick he strove to enroll the inhabitants in the army of the King. He freed all persons taken at Charleston, except the regulars, from their parole ; but immediately enjoined on them, as being now royal citizens, to take up arms for his Majesty. All persons who would not do this were to be treated as rebels. Regarding the colony as completely conquered, he soon after sailed for New York, leaving Cornwallis in command at the south. But the clause, in which it was sought to force every citizen to fight for the King, soon began to re-act with terrible force against the British. Men, who had but lately borne arms for the Congress, were not prepared to take the field against it : they would have been willing to remain neutral; but they were not to be drilled into instruments of oppression. A change in the public sentiment immediately began. Despair gave courage : a deadly animosity was nursed in secret. Many openly avowed their sentiments and fled : others dissembled for a time. But the great majority, so frail is human nature, were driven by their fears to swear allegiance to the royal government ; only the women were frank and heroic, for these, with a courage above that of the other sex, openly expressed their sentiments, and loaded with smiles of approval the few of their countrymen who dared to be sincere. A portion of those who preferred abandoning their homes to acknowledging the royal authority, met in North Carolina, and chose for their leader, General Sumpter, a man of enterprise, skill and chivalrous courage. He immediately began, on the state authori- ty, a partizan warfare. On the 10th of July, at the head of but one hundred and thirty-three men, he routed a detachment of royal forces and militia at Williamson's plantation. His force gradually swelled to six hundred men. He now made an unsuccessful attack on Rocky Mount, where a strong party of the enemy was posted ; but immediately afterwards met and almost utterly annihilated, at Hanging Rock, the Prince of Wales' regiment and large body of tories. These slight checks, however, did not intimidate Cornwallis, who was actively engaged in preparations to invade North Caro- lina. But meantime Congress and Washington had not been idle, and at that very moment an army was advancing from the north to oppose him, headed by the man who had subdued Burgoyne, the con- quering Gates. 124 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. As soon as Washington had been apprised of the siege of Charles- ton, he had despatched the Baron de Kalb to the succor of that place, with fourteen hundred regulars. That officer made every effort, but in vain, to reach his destination in time. In passing through Virginia and North Carolina he was joined by the militia of those provinces, by which reinforcements his army was raised very conside- rably. So large a force, in the eyes of Congress, favored the hope of a successful struggle for the recovery of the south : and to give as much confidence as possible to the army, Gates was appointed to the chief command, the prestige of whose name, it was thought, would ensure victory. Accordingly, on the 25th of July, that officer joined the camp at Deep River. He immediately reviewed the troops, and without loss of time advanced to the Pedee. On entering South Carolina, he issued a proclamation, calling on all patriotic citizens to resort to his standard. So great was the confidence in his name, that numbers flocked to him, and on every side, the most unequivo- cal signs of a rising alarmed Cornwallis. That officer was at Cam- den, where he found that he must either retreat to Charleston, or give battle to his foe. His forces were but two thousand, of whom only fifteen hundred were regulars: while the army of Gates amounted to three thousand, six hundred and sixty-three, of whom about a thousand were regulars. Nevertheless, he chose the bolder resolution, and determined to give battle. On the night of the 15th of August, accordingly, he moved from his position, intending to assault the Americans in their camp ; but, by a singular coincidence, he met Gates half-way, coming, in like manner, to surprise him. A smart skirmish ensued in the darkness, which unfortunately destroyed the confidence of the American militia ; but eventually both armies drew off, resolving to await daylight before they engaged in the deadly strife. Profound silence now fell over the landscape, no sound being heard except the occasional neigh of a horse, the cry of the sentinel, or the wind moaning among the lofty pines. The morning rose still and hazy. Cornwallis found himself, for- tunately, in an excellent position. His army covered a piece of firm ground, bounded on the right and left by morasses, parallel to which a highway ran through the centre of his position. He accordingly drew up his army in two divisions : the right, commanded by Colonel Webster, reached from one morass to the highway ; the left, led by Lord Rawdon, extended from the highway, to the other morass : the artillery was placed in front of the highway, as it were, between the two divisions. Tarleton, with his cavalry, was on the right of the road, in readiness to charge or receive the enemy, as BATTLE OF CAMDEN. 125 occasion might require. Gates divided his van-guard into three columns ; the right, the centre, and the left, commanded respectively by Generals Gist, Caswell, and Stevens. Behind the left column, which was composed of the Virginia militia, were posted the light infantry of Porterfield and Armstrong. Colonel Armand, with his cavalry, faced the legion of Tarleton. The continental troops of Delaware and Maryland formed the reserve. Unfortunately, just as the action was about to begin, Gates, not exactly liking the position of his left and centre columns, undertook to change them. The eagle eye of Cornwallis saw the advantage this error afforded him, and instantly, he hurled the veteran grenadiers of Webster on the still wavering line. The English advanced in splendid order, now pour- ing in their fire, now charging with the bayonet. For a while, the smoke shrouded the combatants from sight, but the suspense was soon over, for the Virginians, breaking wildly from the vapory canopy, were seen flying in all directions. Their rout exposed the flank of the next column, which in turn gave way. Gates and Caswell made some efforts to check the panic, but in vain; for Tarleton, coming down at a gallop, spread renewed terror and con- sternation among the fugitives, who plunged themselves, as a last hope, into the woods for safety. The whole shock of battle now fell on the reserves, the gallant regulars of Delaware and Maryland: and already their left flank was exposed, while, in front, a victorious foe poured down to the attack. Then was shewn the difference between veterans and militia, between discipline and the want of it ! Environed by foes, and left alone on that sanguinary field, the little band, not a thousand strong, still made good its ground. Opposing the enemy with a terrible fire, or by the push of the bayonet, they, for a while, withstood all his efforts. The Baron de Kalb led them several times to the charge, and they even regained, lost ground, and took some prisoners. A few hundred more of such veterans would have turned the fortunes of that bloody day. But their number was too small to produce a permanent effect ; and at last, surrounded on all sides, and pene- trated by cavalry, they were forced from the field. The Baron de Kalb fell in this desperate struggle mortally wounded, and was abandoned to the foe. The flight now became general. The British pursued the fugitives for the space of twenty-three miles, hewing mercilessly down all they overtook : and to this day, tradition bears testimony to the terrors of that bloody rout. The loss, in this battle, for the Americans, was excessive, consider- ing the number of troops engaged : it was, according to the account L* 126 THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE. . and the river was now full of ice, 188 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. grinding and rumbling in the tide, with the noise of thunder. In consequence of this obstacle, the army, which it had been calculated would pass over by midnight, was not able to reach the eastern shore until after four o'clock ; and at times, it seemed impossible that it could cross at all. During these awful moments of suspense, Wash- WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE. ington sat, exposed to all the rigors of the night, eyeing the progress of the boats, which, now jamned in between large masses of ice, and now nearly over-lapped by fragments of the same material, {tiling one above another, threatened momentarily to be engulphed. The wind roared among the skeleton trees that lined the shore ; the crashing and splitting of the ice filled the wind with images of terror ; and occasionally gusts of hail and sleet, premonitory of the coming tempest, dashed fiercely in the face. Yet still he sat, on that rude seat prepared for him near the shore, unmoved, yet filled with intense anxiety, and watching the struggling boats, by the light of the few stars, which broke, here and there, through the stormy rack of heaven. His force consisted of about twenty-four hundred men, with, twenty brass field-pieces. The distance from the landing place to Trenton, by the river road, is eight miles ; but, by the more cir- cuitous Pennington road, rather more. Washington's plan was to GEORGE WASHINGTON. 189 divide his forces, allowing Sullivan, with one half, to take the river road, while he, with the remainder, should pursue the longer route, timing their progress in such a way, however, as to enable both to reach the opposite sides of Trenton at the same time, and thus make a simultaneous attack. Accordingly, after proceeding a mile in company, the two divisions parted. Washington watched the troops of Sullivan until they faded in the gloom, and then turned to follow Greene's division, which was already some distance in advance. The night was fast growing darker. The snow, which had hitherto come only in squalls, now began to fall steadily, accompanied occa- sionally with hail and sleet. The flakes, thick and whirling, obscured the way ; the icy particles rattled on the knapsacks ; and the wind moaned across the landscape, as if wailing over the approaching ruin of America. Many of the soldiers were scantily clothed : a few had neither stockings nor shoes, but, as they marched, left their bloody footsteps in the snow. The tempest roared louder and fiercer, increasing every moment. Yet still the men toiled on. Some of them noticed that the wet had spoiled their powder, and on this being reported to Washington, he remarked, with resolution, " then we must fight with the bayonet." Every one felt, with their leader, that it was the hour of crisis : and so, though shivering and weary, they toiled resolutely on. They were yet two miles from Trenton when the dawn began to break. Two of their number, exhausted and frozen, dropped from their ranks and died. But the others still pressed on. History, perhaps, presents no parallel to that eventful march. No martial band was there to exhilarate the men ; no gilded banner floated on high ; no splendid forest of sabres guarded that infantry, toiling on its way, with triple TOAVS of steel. In silence, like the Spartans of old, the Americans pursued their route. The inhabitants of the farm houses they passed, half, waking from slumber, fancied, for a moment, there were strange sounds upon the breeze ; but imagining what they heard only the intonations of the tempest, they turned and slept again, little thinking that the destiny of their country quivered, that hour, in the balance. Washington rode beside his scanty band, oppressed with anxious thoughts. Even more taciturn than usual, he scarcely exchanged a syllable with his staff. His mighty bosom, we may well suppose, was oppressed with the awful crisis approaching. Everything hung on the next half hour. The accidental discharge of a musket, the timely warning of a single traitor might ruin all. Never did his anxiety rise to such a pitch as now. At last, word was passed down THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. the line in a whisper that the outposts of the enemy were close at hand ; and now the great hero rode forward to the head of his troops. The moment of destiny had arrived. Washington endea- vored, for an instant, to penetrate with his vision, the gloom ahead : then reining up his steed, he turned to his troops, his sword pointed in the advance. The front ranks only were in sound of his voice, but they pressed around him to hear his words. " Soldiers," he said, " now, or never ! This is our last chance march on !" His voice was husky as he spoke, for all the mighty responsibili- ties of the crisis had crowded on his mind ! But the tone of that voice, the stirring eloquence of those brief words, filled the hearts of his hearers with one common sentiment, which they expressed in their glances, as they looked, with half glistening eyes at each other ! it was to conquer or die ! The address was repeated from mouth to mouth, along the line, and thrilled every heart. Involun- tarily the men, as they listened, grasped their muskets more firmly, and stepped quicker on. All was now breathless excitement. Suddenly a house loomed up through the fog ahead ! The next moment a challenge was heard : answers were rapidly exchanged ; and then a hurried discharge of musketry blazed irregularly through the storm. The picquet of the enemy had been surprised. " For- ward," rung out in the deep tones of Washington, at that instant; and with the word, the men started like hounds let loose from the leash, poured in a withering fire, and driving the picquet furiously before them, pursued it to the outskirts of the town. In Trenton, the night had been one of festivity. The soldiers were mostly in the beer-shops carousing : and even the officers had given themselves up to mirth. Col. Rahl had been engaged, all night, at his head-quarters playing cards, and it is a tradition that a note, conveying intelligence of the contemplated attack, had been delivered to him about midnight, but being occupied with the game, he had slipped it into his pocket, and afterwards forgot it. A more authentic story is, that General Grant, at Princeton, forwarded the note, and that Rahl acted on it at once ; but an advance party returning from the Jerseys to Pennsylvania, about two hours before the real attack, fell in with the Hessian picquet, and being repulsed, this was supposed to be the' intended surprise. In consequence, the Hessians had relapsed into greater security than ever. On the noise of the firing at the outposts, Rahl stopped and listened : the driving sleet pattering against the window panes, for a moment deceived him ; but then, loud and distinct, succeeded the rattle of musketry : he dropped his cards, sprang to the door, and looked out. At that GEORGE WASHINGTON. 191 instant some of the Hessian soldiers came running down the street, exclaiming that Washington was upon them. Rahl shouted to arms, and called for his horse. He sprang into the saddle : the drums ' beat ; and in an instant the whole town was in a tumult. The sol- diers rushed from their quarters, some with, some without arms ; the officers were heard calling to their men, and endeavoring to form the ranks ; while the inhabitants, hurrying to their doors and win- dows, looked out, a moment, at the storm and uproar, and then hastened to conceal themselves in the most secret recesses of their dwellings. The Hessian outpost, as it fled, kept up a desultory fire, its men dodging from house to house, like Indians in a frontier fight. On approaching the town, Washington saw the enemy already drawn up to receive him : Rahl galloping hither and thither, eager to make up for his want of caution, by energy and boldness. The American commander instantly ordered up the artillery. Quick as lightning, Knox galloped to the front, unlimbered his guns, and swept the solid ranks before him, with a storm of tfiery sleet. The infantry, on right and left, meantime poured in their musketry. A dropping fire from the enemy replied. Another round of cannon and small arms followed : and then the Hessians were seen perceptibly to waver. At this instant, the rattle of musketry was heard coming from the opposite end of the town, where Sullivan was expected to enter. The enemy were in the net : escape was impossible. The enthusiasm was now unbounded, and the men, cheering, swept onwards with accelerated pace ; while the Hessians, wildly breaking their ranks, drove before them in rapid and tumultuous flight. The city of Trenton is built in the corner of a right-angled triangle, formed by the junction of the Assunpink creek with the Delaware. The river road follows the course of the Delaware, here nearly east, until, just before reaching the Assunpink, it turns sharp to the north- east, and runs through the lower part of the town, nearly parallel to the Assunpink. The road by which Washington came, enters Trenton at the upper end of the city, and passing nearly due south, intersects the route followed by Sullivan, about the centre of the town. In consequence, as soon as Sullivan reached his position, the Hessians were partially surrounded; and would have been alto- gether so, if General Ewirig could have crossed below Trenton, as arranged, and cut off escape by the bridge over the Assunpink. In the panic of the first alarm, a body of Hessians, five hundred strong, besides a company of light-horse, without waiting to assist their companions, fled across this bridge towards Bordentown, and made 192 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. good their escape. The remainder, under Rahl, at the upper end of the town, finding, by the firing to the south, that the enemy had cut off retreat in that direction, broke from the main-street, where they had first been drawn up, and taking a diagonal course across the fields, to the east, sought to escape by the road to Princeton. To prevent this, Washington threw a detachment of Virginia troops between them and the highway. Thus hemmed in, but one course remained for them ; which was to fly towards the Assunpink, and endeavor, if possible, to ford it. Thither, accordingly, one portion of them hurried, no longer keeping their ranks however, but huddled wildly together, jostling and treading on each other in their mortal panic. But fast as they fled, the Americans pursued as fast. Whenever the Hessians turned in their fright, they saw the enemy, nigher than before ; while still that fatal rattle of fire-arms was main- tained, accompanied by exulting huzzas. At every step, some new victim dropped from the ranks of the fugitives, and was silent for- ever. In vain the brave Rahl tried to rally his troops. He was shot while thus engaged, and fell mortally wounded. Then the panic became greater than ever. Through the orchard on their left ; by the grave-yard of the Presbyterian Church ; across the common at the end of the street, by which Sullivan was advancing, the Hes- sians hurried frantically on, the officers borne resistlessly with them, a wild, confused, terror-struck torrent. At last they reached the Assunpink. Here some threw themselves in, and were frozen to death, in attempting to swim across. But the larger portion, flying to a rock which juts out into the stream, and discovering further escape impossible, grounded their arms, loudly supplicating quarter. Another portion had cast themselves into a stone house in their way, carrying with them a piece of artillery, which they posted in the hall. Captain Washington immediately unlimbered one of his field pieces, and, for a few minutes, the ground shook with the ex- plosions of the hostile cannon. But the fire growing every minute more sure and deadly, and his men beginning to waver, he suddenly resolved on one of those bold strokes of personal daring, which carry back the imagination to the days of Richard at Ascalon. Dashing from the ranks, he sprang into the house, seized the officer in com- mand of the gun and ordered him to surrender. The Hessians drew back, astonished and uncertain. That single moment of doubt de- cided their fate. Washington's men, rushing after him, had filled the hall, before the enemy could recover from their amazement ; and the whole party accordingly was made prisoners. Washington was GEORGE WASHINGTON. 193 the only one of the assailants wounded, receiving a ball in his hand as he entered the house. The battle was now over. When those who had- been captured by Sullivan were added to those taken prisoners by Washington, the whole number was found to be nine hundred and nine, of whom twenty-three were officers. The Hessians lost seven officers and nearly thirty men killed : only two officers of the Americans, and a few privates were wounded. About a thousand stand of arms fell into the hands of the victors. As Washington rode over the field, after the conflict was at an end, he found Colonel Rahl, in the snow, weltering in his blood. He instantly ordered that his own physician should attend the unfortunate man ; but medical assistance was in vain : Rahl had received a mortal wound, and being carried back to his head-quarters, died. It was, perhaps, better that he should thus close his life, than survive to face the obloquy of having, by his carelessness or misfortune, ruined the royal cause. The Americans, when they found the victory their own, could not conceal the exhilaration of their spirits. It was the first gleam of success after an unbroken series of misfortunes. A load seemed removed from every heart. The men forgot their sufferings, and congratulated each other as on a festival ; while the officers, looking forward into the future, foresaw the day when they should be fol- lowed by acclamations as they revisited this scene, and the murmur go round, " he, too, fought at Trenton." Washington alone, pre- served his equanimity. What the secret emotions of that mighty heart must have been, we can imagine, but not adequately describe^ He busied himself, apart, in making preparations to secure his vic- tory ; and so successfully, that, before night, the prisoners were all transported to the western shore of the Delaware. His next measure was to march them to Philadelphia, where they were paraded through the streets, while the inhabitants, as they looked on, gazed in speechless amazement, like spectators at some exhibition of magic in Arabian story. The fact that the first rumor of the victory was received with incredulity, and the capture of the Hessians disbe- lieved up to the very moment of their appearance in the city, proves, more than volumes of reasoning, the general depression of the pub- lic mind, and the conviction of the invincibility of the royal troops. The moral consequences of the battle of Trenton were infinitely greater than its mere physical results. It changed, at once, the doubting into friends ; it made the hostile neutral ; and it convinced the patriot that God was on his side, and that his country would yet be free ! R 25 194 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. If the original plan of the battle had been carried into effect, it is probable not a British soldier, south of Princeton, would have made his escape. Could Ewing have effected his passage below Trenton, he would have intercepted the detachment that fled over the Assun- pink bridge : while, if Cadwalader had been able to cross from Bristol, not only Burlington, but Bordentown, Mount Holly and Black Horse, must have fallen into his hands. Washington, how- ever, was determined not to lose the advantage he had gained. The enemy, yet staggering under his blow, had abandoned all his posts and fallen back on Princeton : it was the design of the American commander, if possible, to throw him back still further, and clear west Jersey of his presence. Accordingly, on the 30th of De- cember, his troops having been recruited, Washington crossed the Delaware again and took post at Trenton. General Cadwalader, with fifteen hundred Pennsylvania militia, and shortly after, Gene- ral Mifflin, with as many more, succeeded also in passing the river, and formed a junction with Washington. Meantime Cornwallis, who had proceeded to New York to embark for Europe, considered affairs in too critical a state to leave ; and suspending his departure, hastened back to Princeton, collecting, on his way, all the regiments he could muster, and concentrating them on that point. Having prepared a force sufficient, as he thought, to annihilate Washington, he left Princeton on the 2nd of January, 1777, and advanced on Trenton. Washington, learning his approach by scouts, sent forward detachments to skirmish and impede his way, which was done with such success, that the royal General could not reach Trenton until four o'clock in the afternoon. By this time the American leader had retired to the eastern shore of the Assunpink, where there is a high bank ; and forming his men there, with the artillery to defend the bridge, he awaited the onset. A furious conflict ensued. The British assailed the Americans at two different points, one attack being directed against the bridge, and the other against a ford lower down. At the latter place, the enemy was repulsed promptly, and with such slaughter, that the stream was choked up with his dead. But the main assault was at the former position. The ground on the eastern shore of the river, here declines from all sides towards the bridge, so that the Americans were able to range themselves on the slopes, rank above rank, like spectators in an amphitheatre. An old mill, frowning over the bank at this spot, afforded a rude fortress to command the passage. A heavy battery of artillery was posted in the road, just beyond, its gaping mouths pointed so as to sweep the bridge. Thus prepared, GEORGE WASHINGTON. 195 the Americans awaited the assault. All eyes, in their crowded ranks, were meanwhile silently directed across that narrow cause- way, and up the long street, which, stretching in a straight line on the other side, was now darkened with the threatening masses of the foe. Directly a column was seen to unwind itself from the main body, and with fifers playing gaily, to advance steadily towards the passage. The Americans gazed in silent suspense, as the head of the long extended column approached them, its other extremity continuing to evolve itself from the apparently inexhaustible mass behind. They were still confounded at the endless numbers they displayed, when the front of the enemy, arriving within sixty yards of the bridge, raised a shout, and rushed forward. Instantly the defenders opened their batteries, all uniting in a concentric fire on the bridge. For a few seconds, the roar of artillery and musketry was terrific. Incessant discharges of grape swept the narrow pas- sage, and ploughed up the planks of the foot-path ; while the crashing of bullets on the solid masses of the foe, smote the ear like the shattering of glass in a hail-storm. Unappalled, however, by the awful carnage, the British pressed steadily forward; they reached the bridge, they rushed upon it, they even got half way across. The appalled Americans saw, through the smoke, the bayonets of their foes glistening on the hither side of the causeway. At the sight they redoubled their exertions. The earth now quaked under the rapid discharges of the artillery, and the old mill rocked, enveloped in sheets of fire. Drifts of fiery spray hissed over the bridge, gust following gust without the intermission of a second, until the head of the British column melted away in the tempest. Yet still the rear ranks pressed on. And still the front files, as they came within that magic circle, disappeared, like snow-flakes driven into the mouth of a furnace. Soon a pile of almost impassible dead blocked up the passage. Yet those behind continued to urge on those before, till, notwithstanding the immense weight of the mass thus pressing from the rear, the head of the column moved slower and slower, retarded by the bodies of the slain, and by the rushing of that terrible blast. In vafn they placed shoulder to shoulder, and stooping their heads, strove to bear down the tempest with their solid masses : tearing and splitting wherever it came, it riddled their ranks through and through, and prostrated them before it. At last human courage could endure it no longer. With a wild cry of horror the British broke and fled. Not a shout had been heard in the American ranks while the struggle continued ; but now a simultaneous cheer arose, and rolling 196 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. down the line, which extended for a mile, was echoed back from the extreme left, far out of sight. A few minutes of breathless sus- pense ensued, at the end of which, the British, having rallied, were seen again advancing. They were met, a second time, by that withering fire ; and, a second time, triumphantly repelled. Again that shout rose from the Americans defending the bridge, and was replied to by their companions far along that winding stream. A third time the enemy attempted to carry the passage ; a third time they were hurled triumphantly back : a third time that rejoicing huzza traversed the line, till the shores of the distant Delaware trembled in the concussion. The English returned no more to the charge after this ; but, drawing off their shattered ranks, reserved their further trials for the morrow. Night soon fell upon the bloody scene, and con- cealed the heaps of dead and wounded that choked up the bridge. The houses on the opposite bank grew darker and more obscure : the trees, standing leafless and frozen in the twilight, changed to fantastic shapes, and finally disappeared ; and the deep gloom of a winter evening threw its mantle of silence around the landscape. Lights, however, flashed up and down in Trenton, and the low hum of the British army rose on the air. On the American side there was, for a while, equal silence and darkness. But, as the twilight deepened, the enemy heard the sound of spades as if busy at entrenching in the rebel camp, while watch-fire after watch-fire started into sight, until the whole line, like some vast electric chain, brightened with the conflagration. Cornwallis gazed with secret exultation at this spec- tacle, which assured him that the Americans would await him on the morrow ; and, confident in his overwhelming forces, for large re-inforcements from Brunswick were expected before morning, he retired to his tent to dream of victory, and of new honors bestowed by the hand of a grateful sovereign. But it was not Washington's intention to allow his enemy this triumph. Satisfied that he could not hold his present position against the overwhelming masses that, on the morrow, would be precipitated against it, he resolved to abandon his ground. A hasty council of officers was called, at the quarters of St. Clair. No authentic memorial is preserved of the deliberations of this meeting ; but tradition assigns to Washington the suggestion of the bold plan which he ultimately adopted, and in which, it is understood, only Greene and Knox at first concurred. This plan was to move boldly on the enemy's rear, by way of Princeton, and cut off his communi- cations. Accordingly, about midnight, the army was put in motion, sentinels being left to keep guard through the night, and a GEORGE WASHINGTON. 197 party sent to the front to work noisily at digging trenches. The day had been comparatively mild, so that the roads had thawed ; and it was feared they would now be impassible ; but the wind suddenly shifting to the north, the cold soon became intense, and the highway, though rough, was frozen hard. Following the east bank of the Assunpink, Washington silently drew off towards Princeton, resolv- ing to carry the war into the heart of the enemy's position. The HEAD-QfAHTEBS AT MORRISTOWN. remainder of this eventful campaign may be told in few words. At Princeton he met a detachment of the royal army, hastening to join Cornwallis, and a severe action ensued, which terminated victoriously for the Americans. Cornwallis, who had retired to dream of victory, was waked at day-break by the firing. He instantly perceived that he had been duped, and trembling for his communications, hur- ried back to Princeton in mortification and alarm, hoping yet to overtake Washington before he could wholly escape ; but the American General skilfully eluding the pursuit, drew off towards Pluckemain, where, safe from surprise, he halted to refresh his troops, worn down by thirty-six hours of incessant action. Immediately afterwards, he took up his winter-quarters in the hilly region around Morristown. Cornwallis, completely foiled, fell back towards the Raritan, and abandoned all hopes of entrapping his wary antagonist. The result of this splendid series of operations was, that, in a short time, not a single regiment of the enemy remained in the Jerseys, K* 198 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. except at Brunswick and Amboy, between which places and New York was an open communication by water. Thus, when supposed to be annihilated, Washington, like the fabled genii, had suddenly risen up, saved Philadelphia, driven the British from the Delaware, and recovered the whole province of New Jersey. All this, too, he did in ten days. Napoleon's earlier campaigns form the only parallel to it in modern history. As Botta, the eloquent Italian historian of the war remarks : " Achievements so astonishing gained for the American commander a very great reputation, and were regarded with wonder by all nations, as well as by the Americans. Every one applauded the prudence, the firmness, and the daring of Wash- ington. All declared him the saviour of his country : all proclaimed him equal to the most renowned commanders of antiquity." We now dismiss the military character of Washington. We have thrown it thus prominently into the fore-ground, and examined it in such detail, in consequence of the almost universal misapprehension which exists with regard to it. We have wished to shew that he was a great General as well as a pure patriot : that his intellectual qualities and his moral ones were equally harmonious and high. His consummate judgment ; his iron will ; his daring ; his courage ; his discernment of character ; and his skill in tactics and strategy, are all ingredients which go to make up the perfect whole of his military character. These we have considered. His love of coun- try, his sense of duty, and his lofty and incorruptible principles are the elements which constitute his moral character. The combination of the first produced the great General : the union of these last resulted in the good man. The one gave him the means, the other afforded the motive to play the part he did in achieving our inde- pendence. The military leader we have already described : it only remains for us to paint the patriot and hero. As A PATRIOT Washington was pure and unselfish. On the one hand, he was not actuated by any ambitious motives of personal distinction, nor on the other, restrained by any fear of obloquy or danger. It is unquestionable that there were many men taking part in the revolutionary struggle, who were guided chiefly by a thirst to lead an insane longing after notoriety or power. Such a man was Lee. There were others, who, while good patriots in the main, yet suffered unworthy motives of personal advancement to regulate their conduct : men who, when all went prosperously, were valuable auxiliaries ; but when disasters thickened, and the scaffold loomed up threateningly close at hand, began to tremble, if not for them- selves, at least for their families. Washington had none of this GEORGE WASHINGTON. 199 timorous, half-repenting feeling. He loved his country with no common sentiment, but with that depth and earnestness which charac- terized him in all things. He had little to gain by the war, and everything to lose. His estate was one of the best in the provinces ; his reputation was sufficient for his ambition; with his love of domestic quiet, the command of the army, involving such perplex- ities and perils, was no temptation. But he believed his country had been wronged, and he had the spirit to resent it. He foresaw the long and bitter war. " Give me leave to add, as my opinion," he wrote in 1774, "that more blood will be spilled on this occasion, if the ministry are determined to push matters to extremity, than history has ever yet furnished in the annals of America." Yet, with this knowledge before him, he did not hesitate. It is a mis- take, as some have supposed, that Washington was for conciliation. In the first Congress he asserted the necessity of war. He voted afterwards, in the Virginia Convention, in favor of Patrick Henry's celebrated resolutions, to enrol, arm and discipline the militia ; and we can fancy we see his fine form dilating to its loftiest height, as he listened breathlessly to the fervid oratory of the speaker. " We must fight. I repeat it, sir, we must fight," said Henry. "An appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us." It was his high sense of duty, no meaner motive, which led Washington to accept the command of the army. He would have fought in an humbler capacity if necessary. In 1775, he writes, in reference to an independent company, t I shall very cheerfully accept the honor of commanding it, if occasion require it to be drawn out, as it is my full intention to devote my life and fortune in the cause we are engaged in, if needful." When he was chosen gene- ralissimo, if he hesitated at all, it was from a consciousness of the magnitude and responsibility of the office. He wrote home to his wife, "so far from seeking this appointment, I have used every endeavor in my power to avoid it." A few months later, he writes to a friend, " my situation is so irksome to me, at times, that, if I did not consult the public good more than my sense of tranquillity, I should long ere this have put everything at the hazard of a die." When, on the evacuation of Boston, the Massachusetts Legislature testified their respect and attachment by an address, he replied that he had only done his duty, " wishing for no other reward than that arising from a conscientious discharge of his important trust" Throughout the whole war, his conduct exhibited him in the same light. It was not merely in words that he sacrificed on the altar of duty : whatever his hand found to do, that he did with all his might." THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. His equal mind was especially conspicuous. He seemed to tower above the clouds and storms of the present, and to live only in the loftier and serener atmosphere of the future. The misrepresentations of his character and motives, which at one time obtained even the ear of Congress, did not destroy his equanimity, or seduce him into recrimination. Other men, with but half his wrongs, revenged themselves by deserting or betraying their country. But Washing- ton, though daily slights were put upon him, and even the with- drawal of his rank secretly plotted, never allowed himself to swerve a hair's breadth from the line of duty. Caressed or thwarted, he did his best for his country. Like Luther, he could have said, " this is none of my seeking the work is upon me, and I must go for ward God help me ! " His conscience was ever his guide. He allowed no sinister motives to actuate him. Never, to attain his ends, would he stoop to unworthy means. So high was his sense of virtue, that he could not forgive subterfuge or dishonesty ; but the man whom he detected in such arts, at once, and forever lost his confidence. By some, this trait in his character has been called sternness. It was not, it was justice. Follies and indiscretions, Washington could forgive ; but not deliberate and continued acts of moral turpitude. Pity for the criminal has, of late years, supplanted, to a great extent, indignation at the crime ; and we see the consequences in the uncertainty of pun- ishment, and in the increasing disorganization of society. To coun- tenance guilt, through a false clemency, is treason to honest men. Washington carried his hatred against subterfuge and dishonesty to such an extent, as to abjure, in the ordinary concerns of life, even the shadow of artifice or dissimulation. No man was more sincere. Hence he reprobated the slightest departure from truth. A lie roused all his indignation : deceit shut his soul against intimacy. He was candid and faithful to his friends ; to his enemies cold, but impartial. Never, perhaps, was there an individual more deserving the title of " the just man." One of his most prominent traits was self-control. This was the more remarkable, because naturally he possessed impetuous passions. Some men, gifted with easy dispositions, find it no hard task to be impartial, because neither right nor wrong can make any lasting impression on them : their charity, in fact, is indifference ; their amiability, coldness of heart ; and the whole merit of their equanim- ity, consists in incapacity. Yet few individuals have made a figure in the world, unless originally possessed of high passions. Men of the greatest force of character are those whose temper, naturally GEORGE WASHINGTON. 201 vehement, has been disciplined and brought under control. Wash- ington was of this description. Long and severe training had made him completely the master of himself. He realized the words of the wise man : " He that is slow to anger, is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city." Washington seemed, indeed, to exercise a control over himself to a degree denied to other men. In situations the most trying to the temper, he retained an equanimity almost miraculous. Once or twice only, during the eight years of the war, did he give way to his passions in moments of excitement ; but on these occasions his fury was terrible. At the battle of Germantown, and at Kipp's Bay, both times under the same circumstances of mortification at the unexpected flight of his soldiers, he burst forth into a scornful anger, withering to its guilty objects, attended with a recklessness as to his own life, which compelled his friends to force him from the field. These were the exceptions, however. It is rare to find him, even in private letters to his friends, giving way to irritation at the con- stant annoyances he had to contend with, chiefly arising from the contentions of his officers, or the folly, neglect, and suspicions of Con- gress. We have already alluded to his conduct during the Conway cabal, when a powerful party, both military and civil, was plotting his downfall. Ordinary men, under such circumstances, would have thrown up their commission in disgust or spleen : a Cromwell, or a Napoleon would have marched on Congress, and cut the Gordian knot with his sword. But Washington's sense of duty, his lofty and he- roic patriotism, made him abhor the remedies, as it exalted him above the passions of common humanity. He wrote a letter, on this occa- sion, designed for Congress in which he says : " My chief concern arises from an apprehension of the dangerous consequences, which intestine dissentions may produce to the common cause. As I have no other view than to promote the public good, and am unambitious of honors not founded in the approbation of my country, I would not desire, in the least degree, to suppress a free spirit of inquiry into any part of my conduct, that even faction itself may deem reprehensible." After inviting an examination, he says : " My enemies take an ungenerous advantage of me. They know the delicacy of my situation, and that motives of policy deprive me of the defence I might otherwise make against their insidious attacks. They know I cannot combat their insinuations, however injurious, without disclosing secrets, which it is of the utmost moment to con- ceal. But why should I expect to be exempt from censure, the 26 202 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. WASHINGTON'S HEID-^IAKTEES AT XCWBIBG. unfailing lot of an elevated situation ?" It is some consolation to know that Conway, the busy agent in this intrigue, afterwards, by his own accord, recanted, and that the prominent actors in it nearly all fell into signal disgrace, in consequence of their own follies, before the close of the war. There is no single fact more illustrative of Washington's character, than his answer to the proposition made to him, in the name of some of his officers, to assume the title of king. It was in the year 1782, and while he was still at the head of his command. The incapacity of Con- gress had long been apparent : the army, to a man, was dissatisfied with the civil authorities of the country ; and even a portion of the citizens, fond of pomp and titles, and thinking a monarchy safer than a republic, secretly favored the measure. Nor would it have been so difficult, as many suppose, for Washington, had he been ambitious, to have obtained the crown. The people were exhausted with war. There was no force, in any part of the states, competent for resist- ance. A bounty to the troops ; the promise of immunity to the lories ; GEORGE WASHINGTON. 203 rank proffered to such leading men as were patriots from policy : these would have been bribes which, if adroitly administered, would have betrayed America, unless her citizens were less selfish than others, or than they had proved themselves to be. It was well for the freedom of this land, that a Washington, not a Cromwell or a Napoleon, was at the head of the army. He refused the boon at once, and refused it with indignation and horror. The act is the .more noble because it stands alone in history. His indignant reply, dated Newburg, 22nd May, 1782, is as follows: " SIR : With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment, I have read with attention the sentiments you have submitted for my peru- sal. Be assured, Sir, no occurrence in the course of the war has given me more painful sensations, than your information of there being such ideas existing in the army, as you have expressed, and I must view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity. For the present, the communication of them will rest in my own bosom, unless some further agitation of them shall make a disclosure neces- sary. " I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encouragement to an address, which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall my country. If I am not deceived, in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. At the same time, in justice to my own feelings, I must add, that no man pos- sesses a more sincere wish to see ample justice done to the army than I do : and, as far as my powers and influence, in a constitutional way, extend, they shall be employed to the utmost of my abilities to effect it, should there be any occasion. Let me conjure you, then, 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 a like nature. " I am, Sir, &c., GEORGE WASHINGTON." After the receipt of this letter nothing more was said in relation to the proposition. The effect of the refusal was more potent than it seemed at first. There were many who had secretly looked to a monarchy as the form of government under which they could most easily aggrandize themselves; but not one of these, after the rebuff from 204 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the Commander-in-chief, dared to mention their designs, since, with- out him, all their plots must fail. It is impossible to doubt that there would have been, at least, a serious struggle, perhaps a protract- ed civil war, in case Washington had acceded to the proposition. It must not be supposed, because the monarchists kept silence from that hour, that their numbers were few or that their de- signs were visionary. Who can tell the magnitude of the danger we escaped ? Such was Washington. His unselfish love of country, his stern sense of duty, and his high and incorruptible principles rendered him, as a patriot, even more superior than his great military talents did, as a General. The union of both made him the saviour of his coun- try. It is to his consummate judgment and his stern morality that we owe our success in the war and the subsequent establishment of our liberties. Had he suffered himself to be more brilliant ; had he given way to the natural impetuosity of his character ; had a false love of fame precipitated him into hasty enterprises, the army might have been annihilated and all effectual resistance put at an end, in the first years of the war. But, contrary to the bent of his genius, he adopted a line of cautious policy, until an army had been organ- ized fit to cope with the veterans of England. Few men would have had the courage to adhere to a resolution like this, at the sacrifice, for years, of his personal fame. Both Congress and the people, dazzled by the capture of Burgoyne, drew, at one time, invidious comparisons between Washington and Gates, and hesitated not to charge the former with inactivity, if not with incompetency : but, firm in consciousness of right, the American commander never wavered, and thus was the salvation of the war. To a certain ex- tent, even yet, he suffers for his wisdom ; and is depreciated as a military commander in exact proportion as his virtue is extolled. Let tardy justice be done him ! Washington was not less superior as a General than exalted as a patriot. His letters, written during the war, when compared with those of others shew a wonderful contrast, in the absence of that envy and party strife, the presence of which, more or less, characterizes the correspondence of his con- temporaries. The singular breadth and comprehensiveness of his views will startle the reader continually; and the conclusion be irre- sistibly drawn, that no other man could have carried the country through the war. One fact has never been presented in a sufficiently forcible light: we mean, that Congress, whenever refusing the advice of Washington, always went wrong, and had eventually to retrace GEORGE WASHINGTON. 205 its steps* In a word, the whole burden of the war lay on his shoul- ders. Nobly and triumphantly did he bear it through ! We come last to consider Washington as THE HERO. It has been well said that the great intellect dies with its possessor, but that the great heart survives forever, beckoning kindred natures to deeds of heroic trust and self-sacrifice. The names of Alexander, Caesar, and of all earth's conquerors, do but dazzle the imagination ; but Leonidas, and Tell, and Bruce, are talismanic words that will kindle enthu- siasm forever. We can well believe that the thought of these im- mortal patriots was in many a brave heart that went up to Bunker Hill. The heroes and martyrs of all ages ; how the blood leaps at mention of their names ! Wallace and Kosciuszko ; Latimer and Xavier ; those who perished for liberty, and those who died for con- science will not their services be consecrated, in all true bosoms, until earth shall be no more ? Some have sunk on the battle-field ; some have watered the scaffold with their blood ; some have perish- ed in the agonies of fire ; some have drawn their last breath on distant and savage coasts : these have been of one race and language, those of another : this endured all things for one faith, that for a dif- ferent : but all, whatever their nation, or sect, or lineage, were the warriors of humanity, and suffered that mankind might be free. The good of all eras form but one great brotherhood. Our hearts yearn towards the martyrs and heroes of the past as towards dear kinsmen, long known and beloved. Thank God, for having thus linked dis- tant ages together by the ties of one common sympathy. The great souls scattered along the highway of history, are connected one to the other by an electric chain, and thus the influence of heroic deeds thrills from century to century, down the long avenue of Time ! Washington, above all others, is the hero of America ! In the long catalogue of the great and good no other name, perhaps, will ever rival his. If this confederacy should achieve but half the destinies apparently opening before it, he will descend to future ages as the founder of the mightiest republic the world has seen. What a des- tiny is that of our country ! With great capacity for social and material development; with institutions more free than those of any preceding nation ; with a race of people surpassed by no other of the Caucasian tribes ; and with a land whose boundless vallies and gigantic rivers reflect a portion of their own immensity upon the national mind, the career of the United States promises, like the eagle it has chosen for an emblem, to be onward and upward, until s 206 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the imagination, bewildered, shrinks from following its flight ! It is as the hero and founder of this republic that Washington will be reverenced by future times. "One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die." JOSEPH WARREN. HERE are three classes of men, who, in revo- lutions, rise to the sur- face of affairs. The first is composed of the ordinary military Generals. These are usually persons of great physical courage, more or less impetuous m their characters, capa- ble of bold and sudden enterprises, yet without the far-reaching views that perceive and prepare to avert danger long before the crisis. Such men, even in the army, fill secondary places, requiring to be directed by more comprehensive intellects. Murat is a case in point. Wayne, Put- nam, Morgan, and others of our revolutionary heroes, answer to this description. There is a second class, the members of which possess even greater merit, though, as their career is less dazzling, they rank below mill 207 208 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. tary leaders in popular estimation. We allude to the men of thought, the distinguished civilians of their day, whose prescient knowledge sees the tempest in the cloud no bigger than a man's hand. The orators, pamphleteers, and legislators, who rouse the people to a sense of their rights, and who hazard in so doing all the penalties of treason, have not less courage, though of a different kind perhaps, than the soldier who charges to the cannon's mouth. To control with a firm hand the ship of state, when she rocks on the edge of the revolutionary whirlpool, requires great nerve, as well as intellec- tual ability Who will venture to place Adams, Jay and Jefferson in a lower scale than Clinton, Marion, or Stark ? The former faced death in his most terrible form, the axe, the gibbet, the grinning crowd : the others defied him on the field of battle, with the enthu- siasm of the strife to cheer them on. These had in prospect an ignominious execution in case of failure : those, the immortal glory of the hero dying on the battle-field. There is still a third class. This is composed of the men who in revolutionary times rise to the supreme direction of affairs, both civil and military. Such individuals combine the qualities which are most prominent in both the other classes, possessing the comprehensive and prescient intellect of the one united to the impetuosity and light- ning-like decision of the other. They are prudent as well as daring ; wise, but also impetuous. They govern the popular mind, yet at the same time lead armies. They are pre-eminent in all things now counselling in the Senate, now thundering in the front of war. Of this class were Cromwell, Napoleon and Washington. Warren, the subject of our present notice, belonged properly to the second of these classes, though he possessed many characteristics which allied him also to the first. He was born at Roxbury, Mas- sachusetts, in 1741. His father was chiefly employed in the culti- vation of land, and particularly in raising fruit ; and came to his death, when his son was still a child, by falling from an apple tree. The subject of our memoir entered Harvard University at fourteen years of age. Here he became remarked as a young man of supe- rior abilities, gentle manners, and a frank, independent and fearless character. Even at this early age he was celebrated for his daring courage. An anecdote, illustrative of this, yet survives. A college frolic was in contemplation, of which it was known Warren did not approve, and fearing the effect of his example and eloquence, the leaders in the disturbance resolved to exclude him from their delibe- rations. But Warren was riot to be frustrated. The assembly was held in a room in an upper story, and the door locked ; yet Warren, JOSEPH WARREN. 209 ascending to the roof, clambered down the spout, and sprang in at the window. The instant he was safe on the sill, the spout, which was old and decayed, fell, with a crash, to the ground. " It has served my purpose," quietly said Warren, and immediately pro- ceeded to the subject in debate. Such cool self-possession foresha- dowed future greatness. Already indeed had he begun to exhibit that rare union of valor and discretion which distinguished him in after life, and which, had he lived, might have elevated him to a position second only to that of Washington. In 1764, Warren established himself in Boston as a physician. His engaging manners and his amiable character, not less than his talents and his acquirements, opened before him an easy path to eminence and wealth. But troublous times were approaching; the difficulties between the colonies and mother country had begun ; and Warren, with all the enthusiasm of his character, entered at once into the exciting struggle. His boldness terrified more timid minds. While many hesitated between old attachments and new acts of oppression, he declared that all kinds of taxation without representation, were tyrannical, and as such ought to be resisted. He publicly asserted his opinion that America was able to withstand any force that could be sent against her. Though one of the youngest, he was soon one of the most influential leaders on the popular side. From 1768, he was a member of the secret council in Boston, which advised most of the earlier measures of resistance. He twice acted as the public orator to deliver the anniversary address commemorative of the massacre in King street. The first address was made in 1772 : the last took place three years later. On this occasion, the mutual ex- asperation between the troops arid citizens was such as to render the post of the orator of the day a perilous one ; and Warren, finding others shrank from the duty, boldly volunteered to perform it. In executing his task, however, he acted with as much discretion as boldness. Says Everett, who narrates this circumstance, " When the day arrived, the aisles of the church, the pulpit stairs, the pulpit itself, was occupied by the officers and soldiers of the garrison, who were doubtless stationed there to overawe the orator, and, perhaps, prevent him, by force, from proceeding. Warren, to avoid, interrup- tian and confusion, entered from the rear, by the pulpit window ; and, unmoved by the hostile military array that surrounded him and pressed upon his person, delivered the bold, stirring address which we have in print. While the oration was in progress, an officer, who was seated on the pulpit stairs, held up one of his hands, in view of the orator, with several pistol bullets on the open palm. Warren 27 s* 210 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. observed the action, and, without discontinuing his discourse, drop- ped a white handkerchief on the officer's hand. How happy would it have been," continues the biographer, " if this gentle and graceful admonition could have arrested the march of violence." This little incident furnishes the key to Warren's character. Though in action bold to rashness, in council he was circumspect to a fault. Hence his influence over his fellow laborers. His judgment rarely erred. The wisdom of his counsel was always acknowledged, and has come down to our own times as a tradition of something pre-eminent. On the abolition of the old royal Assembly, and the substitution for it of a provincial Congress in 1774, the estimation in which Warren was held by his fellow citizens became at once apparent. He was elected a delegate to the Congress, and on its organization made President. The executive power of the state, under this new ar- rangement, was wielded by a committee of thirteen, Chosen from the Congress, entitled the Committee of Public Safety. Of this War- ren was elected Chairman. Thus, in comparative youth, he became, in reality, the chief magistrate of Massachusetts. He was now, in fact, a sort of popular dictator, uniting in his person the whole civil and military power of the state. Every eye looked to him as to the pilot who should direct them in the approaching storm. Nor was he dismayed. Calm and high, he stood at the helm, watching the coming up of that ominous tempest ; and when the hurricane was about to burst, his voice was heard giving the first intimation of the peril. To him must be awarded the merit of setting the ball of revo- lution in motion. He prepared the people for the event, he originated the rising, he fought in the fray. Warren was the true hero of Lexington. For many months the popular and the royal parties had been growing more and more exasperated against each other. Men could see that a great crisis was approaching. Not only in New England, but throughout all the colonies, the symptoms of alienation and hatred increased daily. A continental Congress had assembled at Philadelphia, and though, in their public documents, the members still breathed peace and allegiance, their private fears pointed to-ga, war as nearly inevitable. It needed only a spark to set them in a blaze. This was evident from the manner in which a rumor of the bombardment of Boston was received : the members started to their feet, and the cry to arms resounded through the house ; nor was it until the report had been proved untrue, that the excitement could be allayed. The whole nation, at this crisis, was in a state of alarm and foreboding scarcely to be comprehended. The thoughts M "* T* JOSEPH WARREN. 211 of men everywhere were unsettled. Wild rumors awoke, no one knew whence, to die as strangely ; and without any definite fears, all felt vague presentiments. Few as yet, even in New England, spoke openly of war. Warren himself said that, on the night preceding the outrage at Lexington, he did not believe fifty men in the whole colony thought there would ever be blood shed in the quarrel. Preparations for a contest, nevertheless, went on. John Adams wrote home from Congress to train the people twice a week. The population was formed into companies, under regularly appointed officers, with orders to be in readiness to march at a moment's warning. The public stores were everywhere seized. But even the few who wished for war and regarded it as inevitable, exhorted to present moderation, hoping, as the end proved, to throw on the British the odium of striking the first blow. Gage, the royal commander, soon found that he was playing a losing game. The time for conciliation was past. His inactivity only allowed the colonists leisure to perfect their military arrange- ments. He was, in fact, being check-mated without a move. He determined, accordingly, to change his tactics, and arrest the prepa- rations of the patriots. For this purpose he planned the seizure of some stores, which he learned had been collected at Concord, New Hampshire ; but, in order to avoid a collision, he concealed his object even from his own army, resolving to effect his wishes by surprise, rather than by open force. It was not until the day before the bat- tle of Lexington, that Gage, calling together the officers to whom he intended entrusting the expedition, informed them of his purpose . and even after the troops had marched, their destination was con- cealed from the common soldiers, lest some treacherous voice should betray the contemplated movement to the colonists. A suspicion of the enterprise had got abroad, however, and the patriots, with Warren at their head, were actively on the watch. A portion of the stores was removed from Concord, and distributed among the neighboring towns. John Hancock and Samuel Adams, who had retired for safety to Lexington, were warned of the .pproaching crisis : and lest messengers should be prevented leaving the city, it was arranged with the patriots in Charlestown, that if the expedition set out by water, two lights should be displayed on the steeple of the North Church ; if it marched over the Neck, through Roxbury, only one. About nine o'clock on the evening of the 18th of April, 1775, the royal troops, about one thousand in num- ber, were embarked, under Colonel Small, at the bottom of the 212 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. common. Warren, who had just returned from West Cambridge, where he had met the Committee of Safety, saw the embarkation in person ; and immediately despatching Mr. Davies overland to Lexington to raise the country, sent for his friend Colonel Revere, to induce him to proceed through Charlestown on the same errand. Before eleven o'clock, the Colonel, having first displayed two lights on the steeple of the North Church, had rowed across from the upper part of the city to Charlestown, from which, in the dead of night, he pursued his way through West Cambridge to Lexington, running in safety, the gauntlet of the British officers who had been stationed, at different points on the road, to intercept messengers from the town. It was well that he had not delayed, for after the embarkation of the troops, Gage, to prevent an alarm, had ordered that no person should be allowed to leave Boston. At Lexington, Colonel Revere met Mr. Davies, the other messen- ger, whom, however, he had anticipated ; Hancock and Adams were warned to fly ; and together the emissaries galloped on towards Concord, rousing the population as they went. In part, they had been anticipated by the signals on the North Church steeple. Lights were flashing in the houses as they passed ; the inhabitants in the villages were seen collecting : everything betokened the excitement and enthusiasm of a first alarm. All through that April night the noise of hasty preparation was heard. In consequence, before morn- ing, the militia along the road were mostly in arms, and rapidly concentrating to resist the approaching invaders. A body of these men had already assembled on Lexington green, when, through the grey of the dawn, the British troops were seen suddenly advancing. For a moment, the surprise was mutual : then Major Pitcairn cried " Disperse, you rebels, lay down your arms and disperse." The Americans still kept their ground, hesitating, when Major Pitcairn ordered the soldiers to fire. Several of the patriots fell. The resi then dispersed, returning a scattering volley as they fled : and the British, exulting in their victory, but not without uneasy forebodings, hurried forward to Concord. Here they found a few colonists, who fled before them. Without loss of time, they proceeded to destroy the public stores. This task being finished, they set out on their return, the more experienced of their leaders knowing well what was in store for them. For now the whole country was in commotion. What followed was rather a popular tumult than a regular battle. The news of the massa- cre, as the collision at Lexington was called, had spread through the neighboring country with the speed of lightning. The church bells JOSEPH WARREN. 213 clamored from hill to hill. The fife echoed its notes of shrill alarm in once quiet villages. The farmer left his plough in the furrow ; the artizan hurried from his forge ; and even the invalid forgot his pains, and calling for his father's musket, strove to rise from his couch. Messengers, on fleet horses, scoured the country, carrying the intelligence to the remoter towns. An aged relative of the writer, then in her youth, was standing at her father's door towards noon of that celebrated day. Suddenly a horseman, his steed covered with foam, crossed the crest of the village hill ahead. He came on, arid on, and on, waving his hat, amid clouds of rolling dust. The villagers rushed from their doors. All at once, as he drew near, he raised himself in his stirrups, and shouted, " the bat- tle 's begun, the battle 's begun." Every one knew the meaning of those words. A long and continuous shout followed him as he dashed down the street towards the village inn ; and when he flung himself exhausted from his steed, a dozen men stepped forward to carry the news to the remoter towns. Thus the intelligence was passed from county to county, until the whole province shook in its length and breadth with the enthusiasm of the hour. At the summons, the country rose, like a giant rending the green withes that bound him. The vague feeling of loyalty, which had lingered, like a spell, in the bosoms of the people, was cast off, and forever, as they listened indignantly to the news of the massacre. At once, every village and farm house discharged its living contents to swell the tide of popular vengeance that begun to roar after the foe. From hill and valley ; from work-shop and closet ; from the poor man's cottage and the rich man's hall, the avenging hosts poured forth to the strife, their fifes playing that old Yankee air which has led Americans so often since to victory. They were clad in no flaunting uniforms, but came as the summons found them. They bore no glittering arms, but only the rusty household gun. Yet they burned with indomitable zeal. And when, as they reached the elevated grounds above the Lexington road, the sight of the retreating enemy burst, for the first time, upon them, their excite- ment became almost uncontrollable, and long and repeated cheers frequently rent the air. The blood kindles even now to hear old men, who fought there, recount that spectacle ! The enemy were in the valley below, no longer the proud looking soldiery of the day before, but a crowd of weary and travel soiled fugitives, evidently hurrying desperately on. Clouds of dust, rising around them, con- tinually hid their ranks from sight, though occasionally a sunbeam would penetrate the gloom, and their arms flash out like a golden 214 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. 1, ripple. No inspiring sound of fife was heard, except at rare inter- vals, in those disordered ranks ; no glorious roll of drums ; no stir- ring blast of trumpets. The exhilaration of spirit was all on the side of the colonists. Dejected and crest-fallen, the British hurried on ; exulting and triumphant, the patriots pursued. It was as if the whole country had risen, with horn and hound, to chase to his lair some long dreaded wolf, who now, sullen and cowed at last, pressed desperately on, glad even to escape with life. The assaults of the colonists were not conducted after any regular method : indeed, there was no leader in the field to direct and unite their movements. They fought each in his own manner, or in squads, as at Monterey. Now a bold horseman would gallop up within gun-shot of the fugitives, and deliberately taking aim, fire : then, wheeling his horse, would retire to re-load, when he would renew the attack. Now a few provincials would conceal themselves behind some hedge or out-house, on the flank of the foe, and, as the British passed, the whole line, in succession, would blaze on the enemy. To add to the tumult, the royal troops, in revenge for acts like these, began to fire the dwellings on their flank ; and frequently the homeless mother, with her babes, was seen flying, through the horrors of the battle, to seek shelter behind the hills. At this, the exasperation of the colonists deepened to fury. The church bells clanged louder and faster. Those, who at first, from age or debility, had looked on in quiet, seized whatever offensive weapon was nearest to hand, and hurried to the strife. Old men came running, their white hairs streaming in the wind : boys, catching the enthusi- asm of manhood, loaded the muskets they could scarcely carry. Some galloped along the highway ; some over the fields. Every lane that debouched into the main-road, yielded its quota to the bat- tle. As the fugitives saw all this, as they beheld the circle of their foes narrowing around them, their hearts began to fail, and only the stern words of their leaders roused them to hurry on. At times, indeed, stung to savage fury, they turned, gnashing, but vainly, on the foe. The roar of the pursuing multitude grew louder every instant. It was no longer a retreat, it was a flight. Major Pitcaim, conspicuous by his uniform, and alarmed for his life, abandoned his horse, and on foot, hid himself among his men. The British troops at last reached Lexington, where, fortunately, they met Lord Percy, who had hastened from Boston, with eight hun- dred men, and two pieces of cannon, to their relief. The united force of the royal troops was sufficiently imposing to check the pur- suit for a while : and accordingly a halt was ordered, in order to JOSEPH WARREN. 215 refresh the fugitives, and allow them to take dinner. But the colo- nists continued gathering in such dark and ominous masses on the elevations around, that before two hours had elapsed, Lord Percy thought it advisable to proceed. The moment he set his troops in motion, the assailants, hovering on the rear and flank, resumed their offensive operations. Their superior knowledge of the roads enabled them to annoy the flying enemy at every turn : while, wherever a stone wall, or other covert afforded shelter, they lay in ambush with their deadly rifles. It was at West Cambridge, after the junction between Small and Lord Percy, that Warren first joined the fight. He was at this place, in attendance on the Committee of Safety, but hearing the sound of the approaching battle, he rushed from the Assembly, seized a musket, and, in company with General Heath, dashed into the foremost fray. No one, to have seen him then, would ever have supposed he was so calm and sage in council. Raging in the very front of the fight, his fine face glowing with enthusiasm, he became speedily a mark for the enemy's muskets, and more than one ball narrowly missed him. At last a bullet, more accurate than usual, cut off the long, close curl, which, in the fashion of the day, he wore above his ear ; but even this could not intimidate him, or induce him to expose his person less rashly ; he continued thundering at the head of the pursuit, until the enemy reached Charlestown Neck. Here the chase was necessarily abandoned. The colonists drew off: and the British, fatigued and famished, threw themselves on the bare ground, on Bunker Hill, where, pro- tected by the guns of a royal frigate, they slept secure. The next day they pursued their march into Boston. Events now hurried after each other in rapid succession. The Massachussetts Congress, the very next day, resolved that thirty thousand men were wanted for the defence of New England ; that, of this number Massachusetts would furnish thirteen thousand six hundred, and that the other colonies be requested to supply the balance. The same body drew up regulations for this army, and voted an issue of paper money. The people rose with alacrity in answer to this call. The old Generals of the French war came forth from their retreats, and hurried to join their younger companions in arms. Putnam left his plough in Connecticut, and within twenty- four hours was at Cambridge. Stark hastened down with his New Hampshire volunteers. Gridley threw up his pension, and joined the patriots. Before the middle of June, an army of fifteen thousand men had assembled around Boston, which they proceeded regularly to invest, establishing a line of redoubts from Cambridge to Roxbury , %r '. ' 216 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. a circuit of nearly twelve miles. On the 21st of May, General Ward had been commissioned as Commander-in-chief of the Massachusetts forces. He fixed his head-quarters at Cambridge. Putnam, though really independent of him, tacitly consented to act as his subordinate. He lay, with a portion of the Connecticut troops, at Inman's farm, in advance of the main body, near the Charlestown road. Brigadier- General Thomas commanded at Roxbury. Among the other leading officers in camp, not already mentioned, were General Pomeroy and Colonel Prescott, both heroes of the old French war. The concentration of the provincial army around the peninsula of Boston, naturally suggested to General Gage the idea of occupying Charlestown Heights. We shall explain the benefit of this more fully, when we come to recur to the subject in the life of Putnam. It was instantly proposed, in the council of war, to anticipate General Gage ; and, on this proposition, an animated debate ensued. There was, at that time, only eleven barrels of powder in the camp, and but sixty-seven within the state of Massachussetts : and, as the seizure of Charlestown Heights would probably bring on a battle, many considered this stock of ammunition too small. Among these was Warren. Putnam and Prescott, but especially the former, advised the bolder, not to say less prudent plan : and their arguments backed by the influence of their acknowledged experience, carried the day. It was fortunate that, in this solitary instance, the advice of Warren was disregarded. Had the attempt been postponed, it could never have been made at all ; and we should thus have been without one of the most glorious events in our history. Technically speaking, the Americans were defeated at Bunker Hill, but the defeat was of such a character as to answer all the purposes of a victory. In justice to Warren, we must add that the repulse occurred from the want of powder, as he had foretold. On the 14th of June, three days before this remarkable battle, Warren received a commission as Major-General from the provin- cial Congress. On the 16th, he was at Watertown, presiding over that august body. The whole of that night, the last he was to live, he spent in transacting public business. At daylight, on the 17th, he rode to Cambridge, where he arrived, suffering under a severe head-ache, which compelled him to retire for repose. He was soon awakened, however, by information that the British were moving to attack Bunker Hill. He rose instantly, declared his head-ache gone, and hastened to the meeting of the Committee of Safety, of which he was Chairman. Here he expressed his determination to join per- sonally in the fight. He was urged not to expose himself thus. " I JOSEPH WARREX. 217 know that I may fall," replied Warren, " but where is the man who does not think it glorious and delightful to die for his country." When the Committee adjourned, he called for his horse, sprang into the saddle, and galloped towards Charlestown. Both armies were breathlessly awaiting the signal for attack, when a solitary horseman dashed across Charlestown Neck, regardless of the fire of the shipping directed towards that point, and was seen advancing at full speed upon the American lines. As he crossed Bunker Hill, General Put- nam, who was there erecting a redoubt, rode forward. " General Warren," he exclaimed, ." can this be you ? I rejoice and regret to see you. Your life is too precious to be exposed in this battle ; but since you are here, I take your orders." " Not so," replied Warren, " I come only as a volunteer. Tell me where I can be useful." ""Go then to the redoubt," said Putnam, "you will there be cov- ered." " I came not to be covered," answered Warren, " tell me where the peril is where the action will be hottest." " To the redoubt then," cried Putnam, waving his hand. Warren dashed spurs into his horse's sides, and shot like an arrow, on his way. He sped down the slight acclivity of Bunker's Hill, across the inter- vening depression, and up Breed's Hill, where his person was recog- nised with long and loud huzzas as he galloped along the line. At the redoubt he found Colonel Prescott, before whom he checked his foaming steed. The Colonel hastened forward, and offered to take his orders. " No," said Warren, springing from the saddle, " g^ive me yours : I come as a volunteer ; give me a musket. I am here to take a lesson of a veteran soidier in the art of war." The heroic character of Warren was evinced in all his actions on that day. He had been opposed, us we have seen, to the battle, from motives of prudence : but the moment the conflict became ine- vitable, he dismissed every consideration except that of participating in it with glory. The time for the exercise of discretion had passed : the moment for valorous action had come. He knew that much depended on the manner in which the leaders behaved ; and he was resolved that no one should say he remained at home in safety, while others were bleeding in the fight. Throughout the whole of that day he bore himself among the bravest his voice and example encou- raging the troops. When the retreat was ordered, as if loath to leave, he lingered behind. He had been marked out conspicuously by his conduct, and as he was slowly retiring, at the distance of only a few rods, an English officer snatched a musket from a soldier, and taking deliberate aim, shot him through the head. He fell weltering in blood. General Ho.we, at this time, was not far off, leaning on the arm of Colonel Small, having been lamed by a spent ball striking 28 T 218 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. his ankle. Seeing Warren sink to the earth, he said to Colonel Small, " Do you see that elegant young man who has just fallen?" " Good God, sir," replied Small, " I believe it is my friend Warren." " Leave me, then, instantly," said Howe, " run keep off the troops save him, if possible." Small flew to the spot. When he arrived, a provincial was supporting Warren's head. " My dear friend," cried Small, kneeling anxiously down, " I hope you are not hurt." The dying hero faintly opened his eyes, looked up into the speaker's face, and smiling, as if in recognition, died. Thus fell Warren, the first martyr of the Revolution, at the age of thirty -four. His death was regarded as so important that the British General considered the war as virtually at an end in consequence. Some writers have regretted that he died prematurely for his fame ; as he was fitted to play a prominent part in the drama just opening. Yet his was a glorious death. His memory is enshrined in the hearts of his countrymen, and history has placed him among the noble company of patriots and martyrs whose renown is eternal. Warren left four children, two sons and two daughters : his wife had already preceded him to the grave. The continental Congress took on itself the education of his eldest son. The other children, were, for a time, assisted by Arnold, until Congress provided for them also. The sons both died soon after reaching the age of maturity. The daughters married ; but one of them only has left posterity. ISRAEL PUTNAM. SRAEL Put- nam, a Major- General in the continental ar- my, was one of the most daring spirits of the Re- volution. He had not the compre- hensive mind re- quired for a great strategist; but in leading a column to the storm, or in any emergen- cy requiring indomitable valor, possessed no rival. He needed some one to plan, but he was a Paladin to execute. His name was almost miraculous. Other military leaders distinguished themselves in bat- tle j Putnam was the battle itself. 219 220 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. , Israel Putnam was born at Salem, Massachusetts, on the 7th day of January, 1718. He received but little education, and displayed no peculiar taste for learning. He was chiefly remarkable, as a boy, for boldness, independence and courage. The first time he visited Boston he was jeered for his rusticity by a lad twice his size. Put- nam attacked and soundly threshed his insulter. As he grew up he became distinguished for feats of personal skill and strength : and in leaping, running and wrestling had no superiors. In 1739, he mar- ried, and shortly after emigrated to Pomfret, Connecticut, where he engaged in farming, at first under many disadvantages, but finally with profit. It was about this period that he pursued and shot, in her cave, the she-wolf which had so long been a terror to the neigh- borhood : a story familiar to every school boy, and which we only xefer to here, in order to shew the adventurous and daring spirit of Putnam. When the French war broke out his ardent genius found vent in a higher spher He was appointed to command a company raised in Connecticut in 1755, to operate in the expedition against Crown Point; and in 1757, was elevated to the rank of Major, his services having been considered so important as to deserve this compliment. Numerous anecdotes are told of his presence of mind, and romantic escapes during the several campaigns in which he took a part. It was at Putnam's side that the lamented Lord Howe fell, on the 6th of July, 1758. On one occasion Putnam was captured by the savages, who proceeded, in their inhuman way, to torture him to death. He was already stripped naked and tied to the stake ; t& fire had been kindled ; and the Indians were dancing and yelling around in fiendish delight, when a French officer rushed in, scattered the blazing brands, and unbinding the victim, carried him in safety to his quarters. He was subsequently conducted to Montreal, where he arrived almost without clothes, his body torn by briars, his face gashed by the tomahawk, and his whole appearance miserable and squalid to the last degree. Colonel Peter Schuyler was then at Montreal, a prisoner also. He was indignant at this treatment to- wards Putnam, clothed him, procured his reception as became his rank, and afterwards obtained his exchange. In 1759, Putnam, who had been raised to the rank of Lieutenant- Colonel, accompanied General Amherst ,in the latter's expedition against Ticonderoga and Crown Point. In this campaign he proved of the greatest service, by his ingenuity no less than by his courage. At one time he proposed to reduce the enemy's squadron on Lake Champlain by attacking each ship in a batteau, and driving a wedge between the rudder and stern, by which to render the vessel unma- ISRAEL PUTNAM. 221 RUINS OF OLD FORT TICONDEROGA nageable ; but, just as the assault was about to begin, the ships sur- rendered. In 1762, he went to Cuba, at the head of a regiment, to assist in the attack on Havana. Here he was shipwrecked ; but, through his presence of mind the troops were saved. In 1764, having been raised to the rank of a Colonel, he marched against the western Indians ; but the campaign gave him no opportunity to signalize himself, and on the treaty in the ensuing year, Putnam returned home, after having been engaged in military life nearly ten years. He carried with him into his retirement, one of the best reputations as an officer in the colonies. He boasted little military knowledge except such as was the result of experience ; but he had ingenuity, energy and courage, qualities which education could not give. His bravery was of no common kind. The stormier the battle grew, the , more fearless he became : the deadlier the crisis, the cooler his self- ossession. It was said of him already, that he "dared to lead where any dared to follow." In no other man, from his section of the provinces, had the soldiers equal confidence in a desperate strife. His towering form was like a banner to them through the cloud and smoke of battle. T* 222 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. When the difficulties between the mother country and the colonies begun, Putnam was looked up to for counsel, and at once, took sides with the provinces. He was one of the foremost actors in the popu- lar demonstration which compelled the collectors of stamps, in Con- necticut, to relinquish their offices. Throughout the whole affair, his decision and energy were prominent. Minds like his, always rally the masses around them in threatening times, and each year added to the influence of Putnam. He frequently visited Boston, where he was familiarly known to the royal officers, many of whom had served with him during the French war. On one occasion, he was asked what he would do, if the dispute should end in hostilities. " I will stand by my country," stoutly replied Putnam. An officer happening to say triumphantly, that an army of five thousand vete- rans might march from one end of the continent to the other. " No doubt," replied Putnam, " if they conducted themselves properly, and paid for what they wanted : but, should they attempt it in a hostile manner, the American women would brain them with their ladles." Putnam was quietly ploughing in his field, nearly a hundred miles from the field of Lexington, when a horseman, carrying a drum, galloped up and announced the news of the massacre. Instantly the old hero was on fire. He unyoked his team, sprang on one of the horses, and telling his little son, who was with him, to go home and acquaint Mrs. Putnam whither he had gone, dashed off on the road to Boston, where he arrived in less than twenty-four hours. On the 21st, two days after the battle, he attended a council of war at Cambridge : then, at the summons of the Legislature of Connecticut, he flew back to that state ; and in less than a week, having raised three thousand troops, and accepted the commission of Brigadier- General, was once more at head-quarters, having traversed the country, in the discharge of his several missions, with a rapidity that resembled that of some wild meteor. At Cambridge, he was first in command of the Connecticut recruits. His position, when the besieging army had taken its ground, was in the advance at Inman's Farm, on the Charlestown road. It was while thus beleaguering Boston, that Putnam received the offer of a Major-General's commission, besides a large pecuniary recompense, provided he would abandon the cause of the colonists, and join the British side. The bribe was indignantly spurned. Meantime a month had passed since the provincial army had assem- bled for the siege, and nothing effective had been done, though skirmishes were occasionally occurring between detachments on both sides. Putnam became impatient for action. His soul was one of ISRAEL PUTNAM. 223 those thai fretted at inactivity : he longed to strike some blow that should terrify the enemy, and inspire the Americans. An opportu- nity was not long wanting. General Gage, it was discovered by spies, was about to fortify the entrance to the peninsula of Charles- town ; and, to prevent this, even at the risk of a battle, at once became Putnam's secret design. , . The peninsula of Charlestown is rather more than a mile in length, from east to west, and two-thirds of a mile in breadth, from north to south. It is washed on the north by the Mystic River, and on the south by the Charles, the two rivers approaching within a hun- dred yards of each other at the neck of the peninsula. A narrow channel divides it from Boston, on the east. Bunker Hill begins at the Neck, and rises to the height of above a hundred feet : then, declining towards the east, runs along the shore of the Mystic, par- allel to Breed's Hill. This last begins near the southern extremity of Bunker, and rising to the height of eighty-seven feet, extends to the south and east, the two summits being about one hundred and thirty rods apart. To the east and north of Breed's Hill the ground was low and marshy. Charlestown lay on the south side of the hill, and had already begun to extend up its slope. Morton's Point, where the Navy Yard now is, formed the north-eastern extremity of the peninsula. The peninsula was traversed by a road, which, crossing Bunker Hill, swept around Breed's, approaching very near the summit of the latter, on the southern side. The object of Gage, in seizing Bunker Hill, was to fortify the entrance of Charlestown peninsula, both for his own security, and as a vantage ground, from which to dislodge the Americans from their entrenchments. A council of war was called in the provincial camp on receiving intelligence of his contemplated movement. Putnam and Pomeroy advocated the seizure of the hill, by a portion of their own force, to prevent the English from obtaining it : Ward and Warren opposed the measure, as calculated to bring on an engagement, for which they did not believe the American army prepared. Their chief argument was the scarcity of powder. But Putnam was anxious for a fight. The scene, in that coun- cil, was a memorable one. "We will risk only two thousand men," said he, "and if driven to retreat, every stone-wall shall ., be lined with dead. If surrounded, and escape cut off, we shall / set our country an example of which it shall not be ashamed, and teach mercenaries what men can do, who are determined to live or die free." At these stirring words, Warren, who had been walking the floor, stopped and said, " Almost thou per- suadest me, General Putnam : still the project is rash ; yet, if you t 224 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. go, be riot surprised to find me at your side." " I hope not," said Putnam, earnestly, laying his hand on his young associate's shoulder, " let us who are old and can be spared, begin the fray. There will be time enough for you hereafter, for it will not soon be over." The bolder counsel of Putnam, aided by his enthusiasm, prevailed ; and when the council broke up, it had been resolved to seize and fortify Bunker Hill. It was after twilight, on the 16th of June. 1775, that the detach- ment, selected for this enterprise, left Cambridge, and took its way, in silence and darkness, across the Neck into the peninsula. It was necessary to move with caution, for two men-of-war lay in Charles River, commanding the Neck. Colonel Prescott, who had charge of the expedition, led the way, attended by two sergeants carrying dark lanterns. Arrived at Bunker Hill, a consultation was held as to whether it would be best to fortify that height, or advance to Breed's Hill, which was nearer Boston. It was finally determined to erect the principal works on the latter place, and construct a smaller redoubt in the rear, on Bunker Hill. This resolution was in consequence of Putnam's counsel, who, all through the prelim- inary transactions, evidently labored to render a battle inevitable. All through that night the provincials labored incessantly, and when morning broke, their work was well advanced. No suspicion of what was going on meantime had reached the city. Silence reigned in the deserted streets of Boston, and the sentry > as he went his rounds, distinguished no unusual noises. At last the sun, rising through the haze on the eastern horizon, shot his lurid rays along the summit of Breed's Hill ; and to the astonishment of the sentries, the beams were reflected back from a long line of glittering steel. Instantly the American fortification stood revealed ! The discovery was first made on board a British sloop-of-war, which promptly fired an alarm gun. This was replied to by the Somerset frigate, from the more immediate vicinity of the fortification. Instantly, all Boston was aroused by the unusual sounds. The rumor of their cause soon spread. The people and soldiery, crowding to the North End, could scarcely believe what they saw, the redoubt and its brave occupiers appearing as if they had risen by enchantment in the night. But the enemy lost no time in idle wonder. The shipping at once opened their fire on the entrenchments, and soon the battery at Copp's Hill, Boston, began to play. Bornbs were seen, black and threatening, traversing the sky : shot richochetted along the sides of Breed's : and the thunder of continual explosions shook the windows of the city, and echoed oif among the neighboring hills. ISRAEL PUTNAM. 225 Putnam had left the detachment, immediately after midnight, and returned to his quarters ; but, at the first sound of the cannon, he galloped to the scene of action. Here, it was proposed by some, to send to camp fora relief; but Prescott urged that the men who raised the works were best entitled to the honor of defending them. He consented, however, to despatch a messenger to General Ward for refreshments. Putnam, perceiving, from the bustle in Boston, how imposing a force was mustering to the attack, hurried back to camp, thinking his presence might carry influence with it, and begged the Commander-in-chief to reinforce the redoubt. Bat Gene- ral Ward was convinced that the enemy intended to attack the main army, and hence refused. He would not even allow the troops of Putnam to follow their leader. Putnam himself, however, could not be restrained. He remained at Inman's farm only long enough to be satisfied that the enemy did not contemplate a landing at that posi- tion, and then, flinging himself on his horse, dashed off towards Bunker Hill, his blood quickening as he approached the scene of action, and the cannonade seemed to grow louder and more inces- sant. Putnam now labored to throw up a redoubt on Bunker Hill, while Prescott, with the larger detachment, worked assiduously on that at Breed's. At this latter place a redoubt, eight rods square, was erected ; while a breastwork extended, from its north-eastern angle, in a northerly direction, to the marshy ground, or slough, in that quarter. Just as the battle was about to begin, the American line of defence, at Putnam's suggestion, was extended from the slough across the ridge to the Mystic River, by the erection of two parallel rail fences, filled up between with new made hay. Mean- time, Prescott applied again to General Ward for reinforcements. Putnam, too, finding the crisis approaching, galloped once more to head-quarters; this time, it is said, in his shirt-sleeves, for he was too excited to think of his coat, which he had cast off to assist his men. Aid at last was granted, the designs of the enemy no longer being doubtful. He was absent but a short period, and soon hurried back to Bun- ker Hill, where he remained, busily animating the men. Prescott, in the main fortification, equally encouraged to assiduity. The redoubt was now nearly finished. As the provincials rested a mo- ment on their spades and looked off towards the neighboring country, they witnessed a spectacle which fired each patriotic bosom anew. It was now the height of the summer solstice. Far away, the quiet farm-houses, amid their waving fields, slept in the sultry noon-tide. 29 226 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Here and there, in the laps of the hills, stood the white churches, their spires peeping out above the elms that shaded New England's ancestral graves. How peaceful the prospect yet how inspiriting its associations ! Changing the direction of the eye, and looking towards the south, Boston, with her thousand troops, was seen beneath. An ominous buzz floated up from her streets, as if the whole population was in motion, above which at intervals rose the blare of trumpets, the shriller note of the fife, and the rumbling of artillery wagons. Whole companies of troops were already mustered along the wharves as if in readiness to be embarked. The cannon, from the shipping, thundered continually. This spectacle might have moved stouter hearts, but it struck no terror to the provincials, who labored silently on. Noon passed, yet they still toiled on. Since they had left Cambridge the night before, not a morsel of food had passed their lips ; and now one o'clock was come ; yet they still toiled on. Shells exploded, and cannon balls ploughed up the earth around; yet they toiled on. One of their comrades fell; they buried him where he died ; and toiled on. There was something stern and terrible in such demeanor. No shouts rent the air ; no martial music cheered their task ; no time-hallowed banner waved above their heads : there was nothing of the usual accompaniments of war to excite and madden their imaginations ! But there were other things as spirit-stirring ; for, as they looked off towards the mainland, they could see the dim walls of their homes; and almost fancy they beheld, gazing on, their wives, their sires, or the mothers that gave them milk. All over the surrounding hills were groups gathered in anx- ious expectation; while, in Boston, crowds lined the wharves, hung on the roofs, or looked down from the church steeples. Not a cloud obscured the sky. It was a panorama such as the world has never seen since. Noon had scarcely passed, when the British, to the number of three thousand men, with three pieces of artillery, landed at Mor- ton's Point, under command of General Howe. The field pieces of the enemy immediately began to play, and were answered, for a while, by some cannon from the redoubt ; but these soon becoming useless, were carried to the rear. Meantime Warren had arrived on the field, and shortly after him General Pomeroy : both these well known patriots were received with cheers as they rode along the line. The men were in the highest spirits. Putnam remained working at his redoubt on Bunker Hill, until towards three o'clock, when it became evident the enemy were about to advance. Then he has- ISRAEL PUTNAM. 227 5~----^-:::--.--::.-T^7p-~- - ..-..- , -v ggjpar^r^r BATTLE OF BC.NKER H1LU tened to Breed's Hill, where he rode along the line, his presence increasing, if that were possible, the enthusiasm of the men. It was a splendid spectacle, all cotemporary witnesses agree, that of the British army, as it advanced to the attack. It seemed as if a single volley from it would annihilate the Americans. The proud step of the grenadiers ; their lofty height ; their glittering arms ; and the exulting bursts of music which accompanied their march realized all that had ever been imagined of the might and panoply of war. The men came on in columns, their artillery playing in the advance. As the imposing array moved, through the long grass, up the hill, the provincials, manning their entrenchments, stood anxiously await- ing the crisis. Few of them had ever been in action before. Their best weapons were muskets without bayonets : not a few had only rusty firelocks. Doubtless many a stout yeoman's bosom throbbed that day with terrible suspense. Putnam, Prescott and Pomeroy passed among the men encouraging and instructing them. " Do not fire until you can see their waistbands," said Putnam. " Take a steady aim and have a care not to throw away your balls." 228 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION.* The enemy advanced slowly, stopping to let his artillery play, and afterwards stepping quicker and discharging volley after volley. The thousands of spectators in Boston and elsewhere, seeing no return made to this fire, fancied the provincials were paralyzed with fear. Nearer, still nearer, the grenadiers approached, and now were close upon the redoubt. Suddenly a gush of flame streamed from one end of the entrenchment, and ran swiftly along the American line, until the whole front was a blaze of fire : a white cloud of smoke shot forward, concealing the assailants from sight : a rattling sound, sharp and incessant, followed : and then, after a breathless pause of sus- pense, which may have continued ten or even twenty seconds, for in that thrilling interval no one thought of time, the British army emerged in disorder from the smoke, and was seen, in full retreat, recoiling down the hill. Just as the British turned to fly, a form leaped up on the parapet, and a voice cried tauntingly after one of the fugitives who was known to have sneered at American bravery, " Colonel Abercrombie, do you call the Yankees cowards, now ?" The provincials had conquered. The spectators drew a long breath. But suddenly, and almost before their exhilaration had time to spread, a scene met their view which changed those feelings of triumph into horror and hate. Charlestown, the home of many of them, lying directly at the foot of Breed's Hill, was discovered to be in flames. Sir William Howe had ordered it to be set on fire while he made his preparations for a second attack. Soon the raging element was in full play. The flames caught rapidly from house to house, rolling volumes of smoke to the sky. Their crackling sound smote incessantly on the ear. As the conflagration spread, it reached the church, up whose lofty spire the subtle essence ran, and streamed far above the vane, a pillar of fire. Sparks were hurried up in mil- lions, accompanied by burning fragments, starring with gold the black canopy that now hung over the city. The warehouses began to explode their combustible materials. Women were seen aban- doning their houses, glad to escape alive with their children. The bells rung out in alarm ; shrieks and other sounds of tumult arose ; while over all was heard the deep roar of the conflagration, wild and terrible as when a hurricane is devastating forests. Each instant the fury of the raging destroyer increased. The houses, built mostly of wood, flashed into flames like powder before the approaching conflagration, and the lurid element, surging across the streets, over- whelmed new tenements, tossing its fiery crests and plunging head- long on, like some burning and devouring ocean. In the meantime, reinforcements from Cambridge had arrived at ISRAEL PUTNAM. 229 the Neck ; but the enemy's shipping had resumed the cannonade ; and gusts of fiery sleet drove incessantly across the narrow isthmus. The troops drew back. Putnam, who had hurried from the entrench- ments to bring up assistance, was almost beside himself at this hesitation. He dashed through the hurricane of balls, and calling the men to follow him, re-crossed the isthmus. But they remained unmoved. Once more he passed the Neck. He exhorted, he im- plored the troops ; he even walked his horse across the isthmus ; he stood still, while the shot threw the earth up all around him. But neither his entreaties, his reproaches, nor the haughty scorn of dan- ger he exhibited, could move the men : a few only crossed ; and stung to madness by his failure, he turned and hurried passionately back to the fight. He arrived just in season to participate in the second repulse of the British; for Howe, having rallied his troops, was now advancing again to the assault. This time the patriots waited until the enemy had arrived within six rods ; when they delivered a fire, even more murderous than the first. The British again recoiled. In vain their officers strove to rally them : the volleys of the excited provincials followed in rapid succession : and at last the whole assailing army, grenadiers and infantry pell-mell, rushed in disorder to their boats. The slaughter had been terrific. Of one company it was found that five, of another only fourteen had escaped. Most of the officers were down. It was during this assault that an incident occurred, that, for a moment, relieved the horrors of the fight. Among the enemy Putnam recognised an old friend and fellow soldier, Major Small, and recognised him just in time to save his life, by striking up a musket levelled at him. Poetical as this occurrence seems, it is established on the best testimony, arid is, moreover, eminently characteristic of Putnam. Sir Henry Clinton, perceiving the desperate character of the fight, had, meantime, hastened from Boston to Howe's assistance ; and, with some difficulty, the troops were rallied once more, and led to the attack. This time the soldiers were ordered to throw away their knapsacks, reserve their fire, and trust to the bayonet. Howe had now discovered, also, the vulnerable point of the Americans ; and pushing forward his artillery to the opening between the breast- work and redoubt, was enabled to enfilade the whole of the provin- cial line. He, moreover, abandoned the attack on the rail fence, concentrating his whole force on the redoubt. To resist these preparations, the Americans had not even their former means. They were now reduced to their last extremity. Their ammunition u 230 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. was exhausted ; bayonets, they had none ; Putnam, with tears of mortification, had returned from his unavailing eifort to bring up reinforcements. Nothing was left but to retreat, or repel the enemy with the butts of their muskets, or with stones. Having reached the works, the foremost of the British attempted to scale them. A private mounted first. He was shot down at once with one of the few remaining charges of ammunition. Major Pitcairn followed him. " The day is ours !" he cried, waving his sword, as he leaped on the parapet. The words had scarcely left his lips, when he, too, fell, mortally wounded. General Pigot next made the attempt to enter the works. He was the first man who succeeded. The British now came pouring in on all sides. The Americans, however, still held out. Clubbing their muskets, they fought with desperate valor, or gave ground slowly and sullenly. At last Prescott ordered a retreat. The American right first fell back, and after it the left. Putnam followed the retiring troops, indignant and enraged : making a vain effort to induce them to stand again on Bunker Hill. Find- ing this impossible, he remained behind to cover their retreat. Coming to a deserted field-piece, he dismounted, and, taking his post by it, seemed resolved to brave the foe alone. One man only dared remain with him, who was soon shot down. Putnam did not retire until the British bayonets were close upon him. He then followed the retreating troops, who fell back, in good order, across the Neck, and took post at Bunker Hill. Night fell on the scene of battle, but did not bring repose. The British, as if fearful of an attack from the colonists, kept up an in- cessant fire of shot and shells, in the direction of Cambridge. As the gloom deepened, the spectacle became terrifically sublime. Bombs crossed and re-crossed in the air, leaving fiery trails like comets : the thunder of cannon echoed among the hills, and shook the solid shores ; lights were seen flashing up and down in Boston, arid far and wide over the neighboring country ; while, as if to crown this terrific day, the smouldering embers of Charlestown illuminated the horizon in that direction, and poured upwards thick volumes of smoke, which, gradually extending, blotted star after star from the heavens. Terrible omen of the years of war to come ! It was a night of alarm and vague foreboding, as the day had been of horror and blood. The moral effect of this battle, especially in England, was almost incredible. But the truth is, that men there had been accustomed to regard the inhabitants of the colonies in the same light they did the peasantry of the continent, as a timorous, ignorant race, poor, ISRAEL PUTNAM. 231 without leaders, awe-struck before authority : and in this opinion they had been confirmed by the representations sent home from per- sons in authority, as well as by the statements made in Parliament by cowards like Grant, who remembered the colonies only as places where their insolence had been chastised. In consequence, when it was told abroad, that two or three thousand of these despised peasants had virtually defeated four thousand well appointed British troops, with a loss to the latter of nearly one-third of their number, astonishment and admiration took the place of contempt. Horace Walpole alluded to the conflict almost with glee, overlooking all considerations of country in sympathy for the Americans. At the Court of Versailles the intelligence was received with secret exulta- tion, and France, lifting her dishonored head, dreamed of revenge for the loss of Canada. Putnam was unquestionably the hero of Bunker Hill. Much has been written to dispute his claim to this high merit ; but, even ad- mitting all the assertions of his enemies, their facts prove nothing. It is not now pretended that Putnam held any authorized command on the field ; his real post was at Inman's Farm ; but he seerns to have hurried, in the restlessness of his spirit, from one place to another, until the battle really begun, when he flew to Breed's Hill, and fought on the American left. Here, as during his occasional presence in the preceding hours, his reputation, his energetic spirit, and the fact of his being the highest officer in rank present, gave him an authority which, wherever he went, was paramount for the time. He seems, however, not to have interfered with Prescott, who was the real Commander-in-chief, and who fought on the right. But, as it was in consequence of Putnam's counsels that the battle was brought on, so, during the strife, and in the retreat, he was the presiding spirit of the day. Whether galloping to head-quarters for reinforce- ments, or assisting his men to throw up the redoubt on Bunker Hill, or hurrying along the line telling the provincials to reserve their fire, or dashing backwards and forwards over the isthmus to persuade the recruits to cross, or standing alone before that solitary cannon, in the retreat, brandishing his sword passionately against a thousand British bayonets, it is still Putnam whom we meet, the Achilles of the fight, or, to change the simile, the lurid comet of the scene, blazing hither and thither, wilder and wilder every moment, until we lose sight of everything else in watching its fiery progress. On the second of July, little over two weeks after the battle, Gen- eral Washington arrived at Cambridge, having been elected Com- mander-in-chief, by Congress, of the American army. The troops 232 THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. were now placed on the continental establishment ; and Putnam was one of the first four Major-Generals commissioned. He early acquired the esteem of Washington, who, in a letter to the President of Congress, speaks of him, with a wonderful insight, considering their short acquaintance, as " a most valuable man, and fine executive officer." When it was contemplated to assault Boston, to Putnam was assigned the command of four thousand troops, who were to land in the west part of the town, and forcing their way up the Neck towards Roxbury, join the troops who were to enter from that direction. In the summer of 1776, when General Greene, just before the battle of Long Island, was taken sick, Washington selected Putnam to fill his post ; nor are the misfortunes of the day to be attributed justly to him, the little time intervening between his assumption of the command and the battle, not allowing leisure to make himself acquainted with the ground. A few days afterwards, on the retreat of the army from New York, Putnam was entrusted with the charge of covering the rear ; and nobly did he execute his trust, flying, from point to point, his horse covered with foam, to encourage the troops. But for him the guards would have been inevitably lost, and perhaps even the whole of the rear corps sacrificed. His selec- tion by Washington, in all such emergencies, proves how well that great man understood the peculiar qualities of Putnam. For chival- rous daring, he had no equal among the general officers, at that time in the American army. He reminds us forcibly of some of Napoleon's Marshals, Murat, Ney or MacDonald. Terrible in the charge, like an avalanche, he carried everything before him ! When he rushed upon the foe, firm indeed was the front that could resist him: generally it sank, crumbling, as when the lightning smites the solid rock. During the various operations that followed on the Hudson, and through the melancholy retreat across the Jerseys, Putnam was at Washington's side, faithful and energetic, when so many wavered or were careless. To Putnam was delegated the command of Phila- delphia, in that fearful crisis, when the enemy was hourly expected to advance on the capital. In January, 1777, he was sent to Prince- ton, where he remained until spring. In May he was assigned the command of a separate army in the Highlands of the state of New York. This was an important post, for it was the season when Burgoyne was advancing from the Canadas. In October, Sir Henry Clinton proceeded up the Hudson, landing at Verplank's Point. On his approach Putnam retired to the high grounds in his rear. The next morning, concealed by the fog, a portion of the British crossed ISRAEL PUTNAM. 233 I the Hudson to Stony Point and pushed on to Forts Montgomery and Clinton. Both these places were assaulted at once and fell : on hearing which, Putnam evacuated Forts Independence and Consti- tution, retiring to Fishkill. The command of the river was now lost. But, in a few days, Sir Henry Clinton, hearing of Burgoyne's sur- - render, abandoned his advantages and retired to New York. In the meantime, however, Putnam had received an accession of militia, and a detachment of five thousand men from the army of Gates, which raised his force to eleven thousand. Washington now ver- bally, through Colonel Hamilton, ordered the brigade, which Putnam had received from the northern army, to be sent on to himself, near Philadelphia; but Putnam hesitating, in consequence of not com- pletely apprehending the order, the Commander-in-chief wrote a letter expressing his dissatisfaction. This is the only instance in which Washington ever censured Putnam. The conduct of the latter was, perhaps, actuated by a desire to make an attempt on New York, arising from too high an opinion of its importance. Putnam continued in command of the Highlands, occasionally engaging in desultory enterprises. To Putnam principally belongs the merit of having selected West Point as the true key to the Highlands. In March, 1778, Putnam was relieved of his command, in consequence of having become unpopular with the people of New York. The fact appears to be that, by his interference with what he considered the peculations of some of the persons entrusted with the disposal of tory property, he awoke the enmity of a powerful and selfish party, who found a handle, in his acknowledged clemency towards the enemy, to defame and injure his character. What was then, however, in the eyes of faction, a fault, is now regarded as a virtue ; and it is Putnam's highest praise that while indomitable in the fight, he was courteous to the conquered. He endeavored to soften, as far as possible, the asperities of war. In a word, he had the tenderness of a woman, but the courage of a lion. Shortly after the battle of Monmouth, Putnam returned to the army, where he took command of the right wing, being now second in rank to the Commander-in-chief. After that battle, however, there was a lull in the tempest of war for nearly two years, and no oppor- tunity occurred where Putnam could distinguish himself in his pecu- liar way. It is, perhaps, to be regretted that he was absent from the main army in the campaign of 1777, for both at Brandy wine and Ger- mantown there were emergencies when his headlong valor might al- most have changed the day. In 1 779, he was detached to Connecticut, 30 u* 234 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. where he was nearly surprised, at West Greenwich, by Governor Tryon, and only escaped, by plunging on horseback, headlong down a steep ascent, almost precipitous, and nearly one hundred feet high. The place has since been called Putnam's Leap, and occasionally Horse-neck Hill. This feat is, perhaps, the favorite with the public, of the numerous daring enterprises of Putnam's career. His career was now drawing to a close. Towards the end of the campaign of 1779, he was seized with paralysis, by which the use of his limbs, on one side, was temporarily lost. The complaint refusing to yield, unless to repose, the rest of his days was passed in compa- rative inaction. He survived until the 17th of May, 1790, when he died, after a sharp attack of inflammatory disease, aged seventy-two years. He retained his faculties to the last, the consolations of reli- gion sustaining his closing hours. The seven years of retirement that ensued between the peace of 1783 and his death, were passed in comparative prosperity ; for his early agricultural labors had pro- duced him a comfortable property. He was twice married, the second time in 1764 ; but he was again a widower in 1777 ; and he continued one until his death. The career of Putnam is, perhaps, more familiar to the popular mind than that of any of the Generals of the Revolution, except Washington. The anecdotes told of him, and perpetuated in a thou- sand shapes, are innumerable ; and it is because they are so well known, that we have generally avoided them. They are all, how- ever, eminently characteristic. His self-possession as a boy when caught in the limb of the apple tree ; his answer to Governor Fitch, of Connecticut, in reference to destroying the stamped papers ; his stratagem at Princeton, which so happily reconciled his kindness of heart and his duty as a commander ; his laconic note to Sir Henry Clinton, in reference to hanging the spy, claimed by the royal Gene- ral as a British officer ; all shew his coolness in danger, his resolution when aroused, his inventive genius, and his stern sense of duty; (qualities which, united to great personal daring and even greater tenderness of heart, made up the character of Putnam. He never could have become a first-rate General-in-chief, like Greene or Washington, for he wanted comprehensive genius ; but he was bra- ver than even Arnold, if that were possible ; and infinitely superior in every moral quality. As a leader of division under Napoleon he would have stormed over the bloodiest fields victoriously ; and left his name associated, immortally, with Wagram, Leipsic, and Wa- terloo ! RICHARD MONTGOMERY. ICHARD Montgomery, a Major-Gene- ral in the continental army, was born, of a family of standing, in the north of Ire- land, on the 2nd of December, 1736. He received his education at the college of Dublin, and, at the age of eighteen ob- tained a commission in the British army, the military profession suiting alike his own taste and his father's wishes. He first saw active service in America, whither he went in 1757. In the following year his regiment was at the siege of Louisburg, and on this occasion young Montgomery's military qualities were so conspicuous that he was promoted to a Lieutenancy. After the fall of that place, Montgomery's regiment, with five others, was despatched to join Abercrombie at Lake Cham- 235 236 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. plain. He remained with the army operating against Canada, until 1760, when Montreal finally surrendered to the British arms. He next visited the West Indies, and partook in the expeditions against Martinico and Havana. His conduct here procured his elevation to the command of a company. Soon after the treaty of Versailles, which, in 1763, put an end to the war, he procured permission to visit Europe, where he remained until 1772, when he finally aban- doned his native country, and removed to America, with the intention of permanently settling there. His reasons for this resolution are understood to have been that, having twice been frustrated in the purchase of a majority, and being convinced that there was a govern- ment agency in both cases, he determined to quit the service, and throw off the country, which had thus become hostile to his interests. What cause there was, if any, for the enmity of the government, has never been made public ; but Montgomery never would admit any. On the contrary, that he felt himself wantonly ill-used, is evident, from the pertinacity with which, ever after, he declaimed against the oppressions of England. Having married Miss Livingston, a daughter of Robert R. Liv- ingston, he settled at Rhinebeck, in Dutchess county, New York, and devoted himself to agriculture. He soon acquired influence in the province. The disputes between Great Britain and the colonies were, every year, becoming more alarming ; and Montgomery, taking the part of his adopted country, was, in April, 1775, elected a mem- ber of the first Provincial Convention of New York. The battle of Lexington soon followed. The whole nation became, as it were, transformed into a garrison ; and the din of preparing aims resound- ed, day and night. The general Congress proceeded to form an army, of which Washington was chosen Commander-in-chief, with four Ma- jor-Generals, and eight Brigadiers. The influence of his connexions, added to his reputation, procured Montgomery a commission as Brigadier. Though the gift was unsolicited, he would not refuse it. Writing to a friend, he says : " The Congress having done me the honor of electing me a Brigadier-General in their service, is an event which must put an end for a while, perhaps forever, to the quiet scheme of life I had prescribed for myself; for, though entirely un- expected and undesired by me, the will of an oppressed people, compelled to choose between liberty and slavery, must be obeyed." These were noble sentiments, and, in a few months, he sealed them with his blood. One of the first aims of Congress was to enlist Canada in the con- test. For this purpose an expedition against that province was RICHARD MONTGOMERY. 237 determined on, for the two-fold purpose of expelling the English, and inducing the Canadians to join the Americans. Two routes were selected for the invasion, the one by the Sorel, the other by the Kennebec. The latter was assigned to Arnold; the former to Major- General Schuyler. Arnold, with a thousand men, was to cross the wilderness of Maine, and form a junction at, or near Quebec, with Schuyler, who, in the meantime, with three thousand troops, was to ST. JOHNS, ON THE SOREL. act, by the other route, against Forts St. John, Chamblee and North- erly. With Schuyler went Montgomery as second in command. The first destination of the army was to have been Ticonderoga ; but in the capture of that place Schuyler was anticipated by Ethan Allen. On the 17th of August, Montgomery arrived at Ticonderoga, in advance of his commanding officer, and immediately began to make preparations for proceeding down the lake. On the 5th of September, General Schuyler reached the camp. The investment of St. Johns was, at once, begun. But, on the night of the landing, a spy brought in such intelligence of the strength of the enemy, as induced the Americans to abandon their design ; and, on the 7th, the troops were re-conducted to their former post at the Isle-aux-Noix. At this point General Schuyler wrote to Congress : " I cannot esti- mate the obligations I lie under to General Montgomery, for the 238 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. many important services he has done, and daily does, and in which he has had little assistance from me." Soon after, General Schuyler was compelled, by ill-health, to return to Albany, on which the command of the expedition devolved on General Montgomery. He proved himself fully equal to the arduous task. It is now that we first really arrive at the military career of Montgomery, a career destined to be as short as it was brilliant. He had already, in his earlier campaigns, traversed the ground on which he was now called to operate ; and, having then made himself thoroughly acquainted with it, he was now able to act under peculiar advantages. The decision, sagacity, and promptitude of his character became immedi- ately apparent. In a short time, the whole of Canada had been conquered, except the single city of Quebec, then, arid since, the Gibraltar of America. Fort Chamblee was first captured, by a detachment sent forward, under Majors Livingston and Brown. Then, General Carleton, the British Governor of Canada, approach- ing to raise the siege of St. Johns, was defeated. This happened at Longueil, on the 31st of October, as he attempted to cross the river. St. Johns now surrendered. Immediately advancing to Montreal, Montgomery captured that city on the 12th of November. He had hoped to surprise Carleton here, but that General, receiving timely warning, had at first flown to his fleet, and afterwards, fearing he could not force his way, had trusted himself to a small boat, and with muffled oars, succeeded in passing the American batteries and armed vessels in the night. But now, to his chagrin, Montgomery found it impossible to prose- cute his victorious career as he wished, or as America expected of him. Most of his troops were disinclined to remain longer in the field. Indeed, before his late success, he had been compelled to pacify them by a promise, that, " Montreal in his possession, no further service would be exacted from them." He nevertheless did the best he could, under these discouraging circumstances. His first object was to effect a junction with Arnold, who, on the 19th of November, had crossed the St. Lawrence in safety. This was effected on the 4th of December. His next was to pursue Carleton to Quebec, where that General had taken refuge ; and attempt the reduction of this stronghold. " I need not tell you," he wrote to a member of Congress, " that, till Quebec is taken, Canada is uncon- quered." He entertained, however, no visionary prospects of suc- cess. He states distinctly, in the letter just referred to, that, unless Congress reinforces him, the result must be exceedingly doubtful. There were but three ways of reducing Quebec : first, by siege ; RICHARD MONTGOMERY. 239 second, by investment ; third, by storm. The first was impracticable, because, in the winter, the ground was frozen too hard to dig trenches ; and, before summer could arrive, an English fleet, with reinforcements, would be in the St. Lawrence. The second was impossible, in consequence of the small number of his troops : and if possible, would have been impolitic, because it deprived the Cana- dian farmers of their city market, without affording a substitute ; and to conciliate, not irritate the Canadians, was the desire of Mont- gomery. The only plan, which afforded even a gleam of success, was the third and last, that of a storm. But that Montgomery fully comprehended all the difficulties of his position, and was, by no means, sanguine even of an assault, will appear by another extract from the letter already twice referred to. " To the storming plan," he writes, " there are fewer objections ; and to this we must come at last. If my force be small, Carleton's is not great. The extensiveness of his works, which, in case of investment, would favor him, will, in the other case, favor us. Masters of our secret, we may select a particular time and place for attack, and, to repel this, the garrison must be prepared at all times and places; a circumstance, which will impose upon it inces- sant watching and labor by day and by night ; which, in its undis- ciplined state, must breed discontents that may compel Carleton to capitulate, or, perhaps, to make an attempt to drive us off. In this last idea, there is a glimmering of hope. Wolfe's success was a lucky hit, or rather a series of such hits. All sober and scientific calculation was against him, until Montcalm, permitting his courage to get the better of his discretion, gave up the advantages of his fortress, and came out to try his strength on the plain. Carleton, who was Wolfe's Quartermaster-General, understands this well ; and, it is to be feared, will not follow the Frenchman's example." This prediction was verified by the result. Carleton remained in his fortress, on his guard against a surprise. No demonstrations of the Americans could induce him to abandon his covert : inflexible and defying, he remained secure behind his massive walls ! At first, Montgomery began a bombardment, but, as he had only five small mortars, he soon desisted, finding them of no effect. He then opened a six gun battery, about seven hundred yards from the fortress ; but his pieces were of too small calibre. A council of war was now called, when the question was submitted, "shall we attempt the reduction of Quebec by a night attack ?" This was carried by a majority of one. It was then decided that the lower town should be the point attacked, and that the assault should be made on the 240 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. first favorable opportunity. A night was selected, but it proved too clear, and then Montgomery, as if with a foreboding of his fate, chose the last day of the year for the enterprise. Meantime, the enemy, through his spies, had obtained intelligence of the intended assault, and held himself in readiness. The American General decided to make the attack on two sides of the lower town at once : Arnold leading one detachment, and himself another. While these two were thus engaged, a third division was to make a succession of feints against the upper town. Between three and four o'clock, accordingly, of the morning of the 31st of December, 1775, the troops were put in motion. Montgomery's division was in high spirits, notwithstanding they had to make their way against a driving tempest of snow, which almost blocked up their road. The route lay around the foot of the promontory, where his way was further impeded by huge masses of ice, which the tide had piled, high and jagged, between the river and the face of the precipice. The men were continually slipping, and suffering intensely from the cold. Fierce and sullen the huge St. Lawrence roared along at their sides, its white crests occasionally flashing through the gloom ; while avalanches of snow, blown from the heights overhead, came drifting down across the darkness. Occasionally, too, huge fire-balls, pro- jected by the enemy, falling on the snow, or simmering on the river, flung their lurid light around. At last the promontory was passed ; and the first barrier appeared. Pausing a moment to restore order to his ranks, Montgomery dashed forward, and, in an instant, the work was carried. The second was just before, dimly seen through the faint light, guarded by a row of palisades. An instant Montgom- ery halted, but only for an instant : it was- while his troops gathered around him for another rush. He pointed, with his sword, to the palisades ahead. His eye kindled, and his form dilated. " Men of New York," he cried, "you will not fear to follow where your General leads, march on !" Pronouncing these stirring words, he dashed forward, followed closely by his companions. He was one of the first to gain the pickets, which he seized with his own hands, and began pulling them up, his men eagerly imitating his example, and everything promising a speedy and glorious victory. The road was here so narrow that five persons could scarcely walk abreast. Montgomery, pressing exultingly on, had gained a rising ground about thirty yards from the barrier, when, suddenly, a couple of cannon, which had been masked there, were discharged down the passage. The effect was terrific ; the Americans, crowded together, were mowed down in heaps : the path of that hurricane of balls, RICHARD MONTGOMERY. 241 being as distinctly marked as a windfall in the forest. Montgomery, being foremost, was one of the first to fall: his two aids, at his side, followed him so instantaneously, that the bodies of all three rolled over together on the ice, at the side of the river. The rest of the assailants recoiled in dismay. The troops lost their confidence. Confusion and terror followed, and, in a few minutes, the Americans, who so lately had seemed to hold victory within their grasp, were totally defeated. It does not belong to this biography to follow the fortunes of Arnold's division, except so far as to state that it also was repulsed, Arnold himself receiving a severe wound in the leg, and Morgan, his second in command, being captured. The military career of Montgomery was too short to develope, to their full extent, the resources of his genius. He had, however, during his campaign of three months, exhibited great military talents : prudence, coolness, foresight, energy, and personal courage the most chivalrous. His industry was great; his vigilance sleepless. He combined great strength and activity in his physical organization, with a high intellect, and many excellent qualities of heart. He was affable and kind ; a patriot, and a gentleman. He had none of that vanity which disdained the advice of others ; but, when his own opinions were over-ruled, cheerfully acquiesced. When he first assumed command of the troops they were jealous of him in the extreme ; but he gradually won their confidence, and at last inspired them with his own enthusiasm. They followed him, in that terrible assault, with a valor the most heroic, and their reliance on him is shewn by their consternation when he fell. Those who belonged to Arnold's division, and were taken prisoners, burst into tears when they saw his dead body, the next day. Had he lived, the result might have been different, though even that is problematical. As it was, he won a martyr's name. We do nbt know but that his fate was an enviable one. Even had he survived to become one of the most successful Generals of the war, his name never would have been regarded with the sanctity and veneration with which it is now worshipped. Perishing, in the arms of what seemed almost a victory, and after a series of brilliant and decisive successes, his death seems the fitting climax to a race of glory. Both England and America united to regret him. Eloquence pronounced his panegyric abroad ; patriotism wept his untimely end at home. The British minister, at the close of a eulogy, pronounced on him, said, " Curses on his vir- tues, they have undone his country." Montgomery perished at the early age of thirty -eight. His remains, at the entreaty of Lieutenant-Governor Cramat6, were allowed burial 31 v 242 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. within the city. A plain coffin was provided, with a silver plate on the lid. Forty-two years after, his remains, by a resolution of the state of New York, were disinterred, and conveyed to the city of New York, where they were deposited, with august ceremonies, near the monument which Congress had erected, in front of St. Paul's church, to his memory. His name has ever been cherished with peculiar fondness by Americans. ETHAN ALLEN. THAN ALLEN, Brevet-Colonel in the Continental iT/Line, was born in ^-Litchfield, Con- fnecticut, though in what year is not known. He was a man of strong, natural powers of mind, but possessing lit- tle cultivation. He was, perhaps, somewhat too self- confident in all things. His cour- age was bold even to rashness. Ambitious and determined in public life ; in pri- vate he was mild and placable. His manners were eccentric. He was frank, generous and warm-hearted ; in religious matters he was a skeptic. We introduce him into this series of biographies on account of his capture of Ticonderoga, and the sufferings he endured when subsequently a prisoner in the hands of the British. At an early period of his career, Allen removed from Connecticut and settled within the borders of the present state of Vermont, on what were called the New Hampshire grants. At that time, the 243 244 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. boundaries between the different provinces were not clearly defined, and both New York and New Hampshire claimed the territory between the Connecticut river and Lake Champlain. The Governor of the latter state even proceeded so far as to grant patents for tracts of land, on which many individuals were induced to settle, among xvhom were Ethan Allen, his brother, and other Connecticut yeomen. In course of time, under the labor of these pioneers, the forest disap- peared, and in its place rose flourishing farms and thriving villages. About this period New York put in her claim for the territory, and. in 1764, procured a decree of the King in council in favor of her right. But when the settlers, or as they now called themselves, the Green Mountain Boys, found the Surveyors of New York running lines over the lands they had so long regarded as their own, and heard that they were expected to pay a second time for their farms, a spirit of the most determined resistance to this practical injustice was aroused. The result was a controversy between the settlers and the govern- ment of New York, which raged with great bitterness up to the period of the Revolution, and was only adjusted, as we shall see, with great difficulty, even after that event had achieved their common indepen- dence, the dispute even threatening, at one time, to throw Vermont into the arms of Great Britain. It was in this controversy, and before the war of the Revolution, that Ethan Allen first rose to eminence as a public character. By general consent he became the head and directer of the disaffected settlers, and was given the command of a body of troops raised by them, to resist the aggressions of New York. When the members of the Connecticut Legislature, immediately after the battle of Lexington, conceived the capture of Ticonderoga, he was suggested to them as a suitable person to command the expedition. The self-constituted committee had proceeded from Hartford to Bennington, raising volunteers as they went along ; and at the latter place they held a council of war, in which Allen was formally appointed the leader of the projected enterprise. Just as the troops were about to set forward, Arnold arrived from Massa- chusetts, having been commissioned by the Committee of Safety of that colony to seize Ticonderoga, though without any knowledge of the proposed expedition of Allen. Arnold, however, brought no men with him ; and hence, in the end, though not until he had made considerable difficulty, consented to waive his commission and serve under Allen as a volunteer. The main body, consisting of one hundred and forty persons, now pushed forward, and, arriving on the shore of the Lake opposite ETHAN ALLEN. 245 Ticonderoga, proceeded immediately to cross. This was in the night, and but eighty-three had crossed when the dawn broke. Resolving not to wait for the remainder of his force, Allen drew up his men in three ranks, made them a short address, and, placing himself at their head, led them silently but with rapid steps, up the heights on which the fortress stood. As he reached the gate, with Arnold at his side, a sentinel snapped his musket at them and then hastily retreated to the shelter of a covering. Another sentinel made a thrust at one of the officers, on which Allen cut the soldier across the head with his sword, when the man threw down his gun and begged for quarter. The assailants now rushed on and gaining the parade between the barracks, gave three hearty cheers in token of their victory. Having done this, they remained with ready arms, while Allen advanced to the door of the Commandant's apartment, which was approached by a stairs attached to the outside of the barracks, and, knocking loudly, called for the Captain to appear, or the whole garrison should be sacrificed. DeLaplace startled from sleep thus rudely, arose and opened the door in bewilderment, when the form of Allen appeared with a drawn sword, and his voice was heard sternly demanding an instant surrender. "By what authority?" asked DeLaplace, won- dering with whom Great Britain, unknown to himself, was at war. " In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress," exclaimed Allen. The Governor attempted to expostulate, but Allen raised his weapon over his head, and seeing no alternative, DeLa- place gave up his sword and ordered the garrison to parade without arms. The principal advantage of this capture was the possession of one hundred and twenty pieces of cannon, besides numerous swivels, mortars, small arms and stores. The number of prisoners was one Captain, one Lieutenant, and forty-eight subalterns and privates. During the day the remainder of Allen's main body arrived, and on the morrow he was still further reinforced, so that his troops, which, in the assault, had numbered, as we have seen, but eighty -three, two days after, rose to two hundred and twenty-six. The capture of Crown Point followed. A combined land and naval attack was then projected against St. Johns, in which Allen led the land, and Arnold the naval forces. The latter arrived first at his destination, and captured a King's sloop armed with two brass six pounders, besides taking twenty men prisoners; but, hear- ing of the approach of reinforcements, he thought it advisable to retreat. On his return, about fifteen miles from St. Johns, he met Allen, who, notwithstanding Arnold's report, determined to proceed. The consequence of this rashness was that the enemy attacked him v* 246 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the next morning with two hundred men and defeating him with the loss of three prisoners, compelled him to retire hastily to Ticonde- roga. Allen now took command of this latter fortress, while Arnold became Governor of Crown Point. Meantime, notice of these pro- ceedings having been sent to the Continental Congress, that body had requested Gov. Trumbull, of Connecticut, to despatch a body of troops to Lake Champlain sufficient to defend these important acqui- sitions ; and, accordingly, a thousand men having been deputed for that purpose, under command of Col. Hinman, Allen, on their arrival, resigned the post into their hands. The capture of Ticonde- roga was one of the boldest affairs of the war, and was regarded abroad as even more brilliant than it really was ; for the place had played so important a part in former contests, and was thought to be so impregnable, that men could not credit how it could be taken by eighty raw volunteers. Col. Allen now visited Philadelphia, in order to procure pay for the soldiers who had served under him, and to solicit authority to raise a regiment in the New Hampshire grants. Congress voted to allow the men and officers engaged in the enterprise against Ticon- deroga and Crown Point the same pay as was received by officers and privates in the American army ; but the question of raising a regiment they referred to the Provincial Congress of New York, in order that no controversy might arise about jurisdiction at a time when unanimity was so desirable. To the Congress of New York accordingly, Allen proceeded; and that body promptly passed a resolution for raising a regiment of Green Mountain Boys. Of this regiment Seth Warner, the friend and Lieutenant of Allen, was chosen Lieutenant-Colonel. Allen now joined the northern army under Gen. Schuyler, as a volunteer. The invasion of Canada had been originally proposed by himself, in a letter written from Crown Point on the 2nd of the pre- ceding June ; and though the project had then been overlooked, he had now the gratification of seeing it carried into effect by the Con- tinental Congress. With an address to the Canadians, Allen was despatched into Canada, where his mission met with considerable success. Gen. Montgomery having succeeded Schuyler about the time of Allen's return, despatched the latter a second time into Can- ada, for the purpose of raising as many of the inhabitants as he could, to take arms and unite with the Americans. He soon suc- ceeded in collecting about three hundred Canadians, and wrote to Montgomery that, with a little exertion, he could obtain a thousand. Had he now returned to his General, with these recruits, the whole ETHAN ALLEN. 247 fate of the expedition might have been altered ; but, in an evil hour, he met Major Brown, who commanded an advance party of Ameri- cans and Canadians, and the latter proposed that they should unite their forces and attempt to surprise Montreal. The duty of Allen was plain ; it was to resist the temptation, and return to Montgom- ery, who, busily engaged in besieging St. Johns, needed his assist- ance. But Allen had been too long accustomed to acting without a superior, to pay much regard to the requirements of discipline. Allured by the prospect of so great a prize, he determined to risk the enterprise. As might have been foreseen it failed. Allen, with eighty Canadians and thirty Americans, crossed the river below the town before dawn ; but Major Brown, who was to have landed above, failed to arrive in consequence of the high winds and waves. It was now too late for Allen to retreat, as his canoes could carry but a third of his force at a time. With the break of day the enemy became alarmed, and soon a body of forty regulars, with two hun- dred Canadians, besides a few Indians, made their appearance. All his men now deserted except about thirty-eight, on which he agreed to surrender if promised honorable terms. Thus ended this Quixotic enterprise ! Now ensued a series of personal sufferings, visited on Allen by the British authorities, 'which will ever remain a disgrace on the Brit- ish name. All parties, from lowest to highest, should share in this obloquy ; for the ill-treatment begun at Montreal, was persevered in when Allen went to England ; it was a matter of public notoriety, the Prime Minister being as cognizant of it as the meanest subaltern who tyrannized over the unfortunate captive. We shall follow Allen's sufferings, in detail, through the two years and a half of his imprisonment. On being carried into Montreal, he was threatened by Gen. Prescott with a halter at Tyburn ; and afterwards sent on board the Gaspee man-of-war, where he was hand-cuffed, and his ankles put in shackles, to which a bar of iron eight feet long was fastened. He was then thrust into the lowest part of the ship, where a common sailor's chest was alike his bed and seat. Here he re- mained five weeks. He was afterwards transferred to Quebec and placed on board another vessel, where, for a few days, he enjoyed a respite from his sufferings ; the Captain, a Mr. Littlejohn, ordering his irons to be taken off, and giving him a seat at his own table. On the approach of the American army, Allen was put on board a vessel of war, and sent, with other prisoners, to England. His hand-cuffs were now replaced, and, with thirty -three others, he was confined in a single apartment, which they were not allowed to leave 248 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. during a passage that extended to nearly forty days. Barbarities like these were then known only to the slave trade. It was a happy hour for the poor captives when the vessel that bore them anchored in the harbor of Falmouth. Now, for the first time since they started, were they permitted to come on deck and breathe the fresh air. The prisoners, on being landed, experienced better treatment, though still such as would have been deemed harsh to any who had suffered less. They were now lodged in an airy apart- ment, and indulged with beds of straw. But their irons were still kept on. Allen himself was distinguished by several marks of pecu- liar favor, chiefly owing to his rank and to the renown of the capture of Ticonderoga. Still, however, threats that he would yet be exe- cuted as a traitor, were frequently made to him. In this emergency he asked leave to write a letter to the Continental Congress ; when he took occasion to depict the sufferings he had endured and to advise retaliation. A missive of this character, as he had expected, was sent to Lord North, instead of to the American Congress ; and in the end more lenient measures were resolved on by the ministry, and the prisoners, instead of being tried for treason, ordered back to their own country. During this compulsory stay in England, Allen had been visited by many persons. His appearance, at this time, was peculiar even to grotesqueness. When captured, he had on a Canadian dress, consisting of a jacket of fawn skin, vest and breeches of sagathy, worsted stockings, shoes, and a red worsted cap ; and this dress, from poverty, he still wore. On the return voyage, however, the vessel stopped at Cork, where the humanity of the inhabitants fur- nished him with a suit of clothes and some money. The captain of the ship, on seeing Allen, for the first time, come on deck, ordered him to leave it, saying it was a place only " for gentlemen to walk." Two days after, however, having shaved and arranged his dress, Allen boldly appeared again on deck, when the captain demanded harshly if he had forgotten the order. Allen said that he had heard such an order, but as he had also heard that " the deck was the place for gentlemen to walk," he, being a gentleman, claimed the privilege of his rank. The captain, uttering an oath, cautioned the prisoner never to be seen on the same side of the ship as himself, and turned on his heel ; and Allen took good care afterwards to avoid his tyrant, when availing himself of this tacit privilege to breathe the fresh air. The prisoners were first carried to New York, and afterwards to Halifax, where, confined in a sloop, with scanty provisions, the ETHAN ALLEN. 249 scurvy broke out among them. In vain Allen wrote to his tyrants, soliciting medical aid : nothing moved their obdurate hearts. Finally the guard was bribed to carry a letter to the Governor. This pro- cured some amelioration in their condition, as it obtained for them the assistance of a surgeon, and was the means of changing their quarters from the prison-ship to the town-jail. Congress, as well as the Legislature of his native state, Connecticut, were now actively engaged in negotiating the exchange of Allen and his unfortunate companions. The prisoners were put on board the Lark frigate and carried to New York. On this passage Allen was honorably treated by the captain, a kindness which he rewarded by preventing a con- spiracy among the prisoners to seize the ship. At New York he was admitted to his parole, but his heart was pained by seeing the sufferings of his fellow countrymen, captured at Fort Washington and Long Island, who were huddled into the churches, and other places, and left to perish there of hunger, cold and disease, an indeli- ble stain on the memory of Sir William Howe. On one occasion Allen himself, on a false charge of infringing his parole, was cast into prison, and denied food for three days. Finally, on the 3rd of May, 1778, he was exchanged for Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell, and found himself, after his incredible sufferings, once more free. His first object was to repair to the camp at Valley Forge, in order in person to thank General Washington for the efforts of the Com- mander-in-chief to procure his liberation. He then turned his steps homeward, to his darling Vermont, where his return was hailed as a season of festivity. Congress, meantime, not unmindful of his suf- ferings and services, granted him a brevet commission of Colonel in the continental army ; arid, moreover, resolved that he should be entitled to the pay and other emoluments of a Lieutenant-Colonel, for the period he was a prisoner. Allen, however, did not serve, at any time after this, against the common enemy ; for the feud between his state and New York had again broken out, and his time was now monopolized by this controversy. During his absence, the inhabitants of the New Hampshire grants had formed a constitution, and declared their territory an indepen- dent state, under the name of Vermont. There were still many persons in New York who regarded this as robbing that common- wealth of part of her land ; and who resisted it accordingly. Allen returned at an opportune moment. The Governor of New York had just issued a proclamation, containing overtures for a peaceable adjustment of the controversy. His proposition was that the patents granted by New Hampshire should be confirmed, but that the pur- 32 250 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. chasers should continue to pay a quit rent as under the old colonial system, and that the unsettled lands were to be the property of New York. Through the influence of Allen, these terms were rejected. In his opinion any proposal which did not imply the entire indepen- dence of Vermont as a state was to be refused. The controversy continued for several years, and, at one time, reached so threatening a point that the British ministry believed Vermont might be induced to return to her allegiance. Informal overtures to this end were even made to Allen, who, on his part, allowed the enemy to continue deceived, and thus secured for Ver- mont the benefits of a neutrality during the remainder of the war. The coldness with which Congress had regarded the claims of Ver- mont, was alleged by Allen as his defence for this conduct. He and his friends looked on Vermont as an independent commonwealth, having the right to make war or peace without consulting the con- federated states. Her position was, indeed, that of a nation in rebel- lion against the united colonies, which were themselves in rebellion against the parent state a wheel within a wheel ! We leave it for casuists to assail or defend his conduct. When the insurrection in Massachusetts broke out, Allen was soli- cited by Shays and his associates, to take command of the re volte rs; but this proposition he indignantly rejected ; at the same time he wrote a letter to the Governor of Massachusetts, in which he assured that officer that none of the insurgents should be abetted by Vermont. The purity of his patriotism was proved by another circumstance. Learning that one of his brothers had become a tory, he petitioned the court to confiscate the offender's property. Allen died by a stroke of apoplexy, at Burlington, Vermont, in 1789. He had been twice married. His second wife, and his chil- dren by both wives, survived him. WILLIAM MOULTRIE. ILLIAM Moultrie, a Major- General in the continental army, was born at Charles- ton, South Carolina, in 1731. He was early distinguished for coolness and intrepidity i in danger. The Indian wars were, at that period, the ordi- nary school of the young American soldier ; and Moultrie first " en- tered the field of Mars," to use his own expression, in the campaign of 1761, where he commanded a company, of which Marion was Lieutenant. This was the year when the Indian settlements, beyond the pass of Etchoee, were laid waste with fire and sword. For thirty days the ravages continued : the towns were given to the flames, the corn-fields made desolate, and the heart of that once proud nation of aborigines broken forever. On his return from this 251 252 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. f expedition, Moultrie retired into private life ; but when the tempest of the Revolution began to gather, he offered himself to the service of his country. The citizens of South Carolina, entering at once, and enthusiastically, into the measures of resistance proposed by Massachusetts and the other colonies, summoned a provincial Con- gress, which met at Charleston, on the llth of January, 1775. In this body the boldest sentiments were encouraged, and the associa- tion recommended by the general Congress, warmly subscribed. Moultrie was an active member of the provincial Congress. When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Charleston, South Carolina rose in commotion. The provincial Congress, which had adjourned, immediately re-assembled. Two regiments of foot and one of horse were ordered to be'raised ; measures were taken to procure powder ; and every preparation made for the war which was now seen to be inevitable. Moultrie was offered", and accepted the command of one of the regiments of foot. He soon proved him- self a prudent, but active officer. The intrigues of the lories, espe- cially in the district of Ninety-six, where they assumed arms in large numbers, first gave active employment to the patriots of South Caro- lina ; but a danger, of a more vital character, speedily threatened them. This was the invasion of their state by the British, a project which had long been entertained by the royal Generals. To provide in time for defeating it, Congress had despatched General Lee to the south. It was not until the beginning of the summer of 1776, how- ever, that the enemy's armament set sail from New York, consisting of a large fleet of transports with a competent land force, commanded by Sir Henry Clinton, and attended by a squadron of nine men-of- war, led by Sir Peter Parker. On the arrival of this expedition off the coast, all was terror and confusion among the South Carolinians. Energetic measures were at once adopted to repel the attack. To defend their capital the inhabitants had constructed on Sulli- van's Island, near the entrance of their harbor, and about four miles from the city, a rude fort of palmetto logs, the command of which was given to Col. Moultrie. Never, perhaps, was a more inartificial defence relied on in so great an emergency. The form of the fort was square, with a bastion at each angle ; it was built of logs laid on each other in parallel rows, at a distance of sixteen feet apart. Other logs were bound together at frequent intervals with timber dove- tailed and bolted into them. The spaces between were filled up with sand. The merlons were faced with palmetto logs. All the indus- try of the Carolinians, however, was insufficient to complete the fort in time ; and when the British fleet entered the harbor, the defences WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 253 consisted of little more than a single front facing the water. The force of Col. Moultrie was four hundred and thirty-five, rank and file ; his armament consisted of nine French twenty-sixes, fourteen English eighteens, nine twelve and seven nine pounders. Finding the fort could be easily enfiladed, Gen. Lee advised abandoning it ; but the Governor refused, telling Moultrie to keep his post, until he himself ordered the retreat. Moultrie, on his part required no urging to adopt this more heroic course. A spectator happening to say, that in half an hour the enemy would knock the fort to pieces, "Then," replied Moultrie, undauntedly, " we will lie behind the ruins, and prevent their men from landing." Lee with many fears left the Island, and repairing to his camp on the main land, prepared to cover the retreat of the garrison, which he considered inevitable. There was, perhaps, more of bravado than of sound military pol- icy in attacking this fort at all, since the English fleet might easily have run the gauntlet of it, as was done a few years later. But Fort Moultrie was destined to be to the navy what Bunker Hill had been to the Army. It was in consequence of excess of scorn for his enemy, that Sir Peter Parker, disdaining to leave such a place in his rear, resolved on its total demolition. He had no doubt but that, in an hour at the utmost, he could make the unpractised Carolinians glad to sue for peace on any terms. Accordingly, on the 28th of June, 1776, he entered the harbor, in all the parade of his proud ships, nine in number, and drawing up abreast the fort, let go his anchors with springs upon the cables, and began a furious cannonade. Meanwhile, terror reigned in Charleston. As the sound of the first gun went booming over the waters towards the town, the trembling inhabitants, who had been crowding the wharves and lining the house-tops since early morning, turned pale with ominous forebodings. Nor were the feelings of the defenders of the fort, less anxious. Look- ing off, over the low Island intervening between them and the city, they could see the gleaming walls of their distant homes; and their imaginations conjured up the picture of those dear habitations given to the flames, as another Charlestown had been, twelve months before, and the still dearer wives that inhabited them, cast houseless upon the world. As they turned from this spectacle, and watched the haughty approach of the enemy, his every motion betraying confi dence of success, their eyes kindled with indignant feelings, and they silently swore to make good the words of their leader, by perishing, if need were, under the ruins of the fort. One by one the British men-of-war gallantly approached the stations assigned them, Sir Peter Parker, in the Bristol, leading the w THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. van. The Experiment, another fifty gun ship, came close after, and both dropped their anchors in succession directly abreast the fort. The other frigates followed, and ranged themselves as supports. The remaining vessels were still working up to their stations, when the first gun was fired, and instantly the battle begun. The quantity of powder on the Island being small, five thousand pounds in all, there was an absolute necessity that there should be no waste. Ac- cordingly, the field officers pointed the pieces in person, and the words "look to the Commodore look to the two-deckers !" passed along the line. The conflict soon grew terrific. The balls whistled above the heads of the defenders, and bombs fell thick and fast within the fort ; yet, in the excitement of the moment, the men seem- ed totally unconscious of danger. The fight deepened. Occa- sionally a shot from one of the cannon, striking the hull of the flag ship, would send the splinters flying into the air ; and then a loud huzza would burst from those who worked the guns ; but, except in instances like this, the patriots fought in stern and solemn silence. Once, when it was seen that the three men-of-war working up to join the conflict, had become entangled among the shoals, and would not probably be enabled to join in the fight, a general and prolonged cheer went down the line, and taken up a second and third time, rose, like an exulting strain, over all the uproar of the battle. The incessant cannonade soon darkened the prospect, the smoke lying packed along the surface of the water ; while a thousand fiery tongues, as from some hundred headed monster, shot out inces- santly, and licking the air a moment, were gone forever. Occasionally this thick, cloudy veil concealed all but the spars of the enemy from sight, and then the tall masts seemed rising, by some potent spell, out of nothing ; occasionally the terrific explosions Avould rend and tear asunder the curtain, and, for an instant, the black hulls would loom out threateningly, and then disappear. The roar of three hun- dred guns shook the Island and fort unremittingly : the water that washed the sand beach, gasped with a quick ebb and flow, under the concussions. Higher and higher, the sun mounted to the zenith, yet still the battle continued. The heat was excessive ; but casting aside their coats, the men breathed themselves a minute, and return- ed to the fight. The city was now hidden from view, by low banks of smoke, which extending right and left along the water, bounded the horizon on two sides. Yet the defenders of the fort still thought of the thousands anxiously watching them from Charleston, or of the wives and mothers, trembling at every explosion for the lives of those they loved. One of their number soon fell mortally wounded. WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 255 Gasping and in agony, he was carried by. " Do not give up," he had still strength to say ; " you are fighting for liberty and country." Who that heard these words could think of surrender ? Noon came and went, and still the awful struggle continued. Suddenly a shot struck the flag-staff, and the banner, which had waved in that lurid atmosphere all day, proudly overhead, fell on the beach outside the fort. For a moment there was a pause, as if at a presage of disaster. Then a soldier, the brave and immortal Serjeant Jasper, sprang upon the parapet, leaped down to the beach, and passing along nearly the whole front of the fort, exposed to the full fire of the enemy, deliberately cut off the bunting from the shat- tered mast, called for a sponge staff to be thrown to him, and tying the flag to this, clambered up the ramparts and replaced the banner, amid the cheers of his companions. Far away, in the city, there had been those who saw, through their telescopes, the fall of that flag ; and, as the news went around, a chill of horror froze every heart, for it was thought the place had surrendered. But soon a slight staff was seen uplifted at one of the angles : it bore, clinging to it, something like bunting : the breeze struck it, the bundle unrolled, it was the flag of America ! Hope danced again through every heart. Some burst into tears ; some laughed hysterically ; some gave way to outcries and huzzas of delight. As the hours wore on, however, new causes for apprehension arose. The fire of the fort was perceived to slacken. Could it be that its brave defend- ers, after such a glorious struggle, had at last given in ? Again hope yielded to doubt, almost to despair ; the feeling was the more terrible from the late exhilaration. Already, in fancy, the enemy was seen approaching the city. Wives began to tremble for their husbands, who had rendered themselves conspicuous on the patriotic side : mothers clasped their infants, whose sires, they thought, had perished in the fight, and, in silent agony, prayed God to protect the fatherless. Thus passed an hour of the wildest anxiety and alarm. At last intelligence was brought that the fire had slackened only for want of powder ; that a supply had since been secured ; and that the cannonade would soon be resumed. In a short time these pre- dictions were verified, and the air again shook with distant concus- sions. Thus the afternoon passed. Sunset approached, yet the fight raged. Slowly the great luminary of day sank in the west, and twilight, cold and calm, threw its shadows across the waters ; yet still the fight raged. The stars came out, twinkling sharp and clear, in that half tropical sky : yet still the fight raged. The hum of the day had now subsided, and the cicada was heard trilling its note 256 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. on the night air : all was quiet and serene in the city : yet still the fight raged. The dull, heavy reports of the distant artillery boomed louder across the water, and the dark curtain of smoke that nearly concealed the ships and fort, grew luminous with incessant flashes. The fight still raged. At last the frequency of the discharges per- ceptibly lessened, and gradually, towards ten o'clock, ceased alto- gether. The ships of the enemy were now seen moving from their position, and making their way slowly, as if crippled and weary, out of the harbor : and, at that sight, most of the population, losing their anxiety, returned to their dwellings ; though crowds still lined some of the wharves, waiting for authentic messengers from the fight, and peering into the gathering gloom, to detect the approach of the first boat. The loss of the enemy had been excessive. The flag-ship, the Bristol, had forty -four men killed, and thirty wounded : the Experi- ment, another fifty gun ship, fifty-seven killed, and thirty wounded. All the ships were much cut up : the two deckers terribly so ; and one of the frigates, the Acteon, running aground, was burnt. The last shot fired from the fort entered the cabin of Sir Peter Parker's ship, cut down two young officers who were drinking there, and passing forwards, killed three sailors on the main deck, then passed out, and buried itself in the sea. The loss on the American side was inconsiderable : twelve killed, and about twenty-five wounded. During the battle, the earnest zeal of the men was occasionally relieved by moments of merriment. A coat, having been thrown on the top of one of the merlons, was caught by a shot, and lodged in a tree, at which sight a general peal of laughter was heard. Moultrie sat coolly smoking during the conflict, occasionally taking* his pipe from his mouth to issue an order. Once, while the battle was in progress, General Lee came off to the island, but, finding everything so prosperous, soon returned to his camp. The supply of powder which was obtained during the conflict, and which enabled the patriots to resume the fight, was procured, part from a schooner in the harbor, part from the city. Unbounded enthusiasm, on the side of the inhabitants, hailed the gallant defenders of the fort after the victory : Moultrie received the thanks of Congress, was elevated to the rank of Brigadier-General, and was honored by having the post he had defended called after his name. A stand of colors was presented, by Mrs. Elliott, to the men of his regiment, with the belief, she said, " that they would stand by them, as long as they could wave in the air of liberty." It was in guarding these colors, that the brave Serjeant Jasper, subsequently, lost his life. . WILLIAM MOULTRIE. 257 The repulse from Fort Moultrie induced the British to abandon their designs on South Carolina ; and, for three years, that province was exempt from the ravages of war. At length, in 1779, after the successful invasion of Georgia, the royal army turned its attention to the neighboring province, and General Moultrie was once more called into active service. The campaign that followed may be described in a few words. At Beaufort, in South Carolina, whither the enemy had advanced, Moultrie met him in a drawn battle. Lin- coln, finding the militia refractory, in chagrin transferred their com- mand to Moultrie, and, at the head of two thousand troops, advanced towards Augusta. Meantime, General Ashe had been defeated at Brier's Creek. Prevost now crossed the Savannah, and, driving Moultrie before him, advanced, by rapid marches, on the capital of South Carolina ; the hero of this biography, powerless to check his victorious career, hurrying to save Charleston, as all that remained to be done in this extremity. Here Moultrie found every one in consternation. Even the surrender of the city was projected ; but happily, the firmness of Governor Rutledge averted this. The yeo- manry and citizens were aroused for the crisis, and the town placed in a state of defence. Prevost, advancing to the lines, was arrested by the American fire. He summoned the place, and received a defiance. The night was spent in dismal forebodings by the people of Charleston : only Moultrie and a few other bold spirits were cool and resolute. When morning dawned, the enemy had disappeared, the want of artillery, and the news of Lincoln's approach, having led him to abandon the siege, and begin a precipitate retreat to Georgia. The fortunes of war had again changed : the pursuers were now the pursued ; and, with high spirits, Moultrie found himself in the field once more on the aggressive. Prevost had retired to an island in the vicinity of Charleston, establishing himself in a strong fort at Stono Ferry. Here he was assailed by Lincoln, and afterwards by Moultrie in galleys ; both times with spirit, but without success. The British, finding their position growing more perilous, retreated along the chain of islands on the coast, until they reached Beaufort, and finally Savannah. Here they were followed by Lincoln, who esta- blished himself at Sheldon to watch his enemy. In September, the Count d'Estaing arrived, when the allied forces determined to storm Savannah. A melancholy and terrible repulse happened. Moul- trie, having long since returned to Charleston, was spared the morti- fication of sharing in this affair. Moultrie had received the commission of a Major-General, on the continental establishment, during the progress of this campaign, a 33 w* 258 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. high testimony to his military abilities, and proving the estimation in which he was held by Congress. In the succeeding year, on the third invasion of South Carolina, he rendered most important ser- vices; although he, like his superior, Lincoln, appears to have placed an undue importance on the preservation of the capital. This feeling, however, was shared by all classes in the Carolinas ; and, perhaps, it would have been impossible for any General to have resisted it. Moultrie was particularly active in the defence of Charleston. But it was in vain. Sir Henry Clinton, with his overwhelming force, put effectual resistance out of the question, especially after the supplies, promised from the north, failed to arrive to assist the besieged. On the 12th of May, 1780, the capital of South Carolina surrendered; and the officers and men of the army of Lincoln became prisoners of war. Moultrie was one of the most unfortunate of the victims of this capitulation ; for he remained a prisoner, there being no officer to exchange for him, until the war had nearly terminated. He had consequently no further opportunity to distinguish himself ; and was prevented from participating in the glorious struggle subsequently carried on by Marion, Lee, Sumpter and others ! Had he been free, judging from his past career, he would have been one of the most intrepid in that sanguinary strife. The chief characteristic of Moultrie as a military leader was his coolness in moments of danger. No crisis, however terrible, could shake his self-possession. His smoking his pipe during the cannon- ade at Sullivan's Island ; his easy indifference when the magazine in Charleston was expected to take fire and blow up the town ; and his invariable collectedness in every emergency, where great peril threatened him, establish his possession of this quality and in its highest perfection. This was his distinguishing trait. Besides this, he had prudence, sagacity, and the power of attaching to himself his troops. He does riot, however, appear to have enjoyed either the headlong bravery of Wayne, or the comprehensive intellect of Greene. His courage was chivalrous, but not terrible like Putnam's: his views just, but not eagle-eyed like those of Washington. The great event of his career was the defence of Fort Sullivan : and this will render his name immortal ! His public services, after the peace of 1783, were few and com- paratively unimportant. He was a man of warm affections, and generally beloved : his dependants worshipped him almost to adora- tion. He filled the office of Governor of his native state ; and died at Charleston, on the 27th day of September, 1805. LORD STIRLING. ILLIAM Alexander, by courtesy ^ called Lord Stirling, a Major-Ge- 3 neral in the continental line, was r born in the city of New York, in the year 1726. He received as '-. excellent an education as the country, at that time, could af- |'jl ford, and was early distinguish- ed for that mathematical ability which subsequently made him so ardent an admirer of science. When the French war broke out, he entered the army. He acted as Commissary, as Aid-de-camp, and finally as Secretary to Gover- nor Shirley. At the close of the contest he accompanied his patron to England, in order to prosecute his claims to a Scotch earldom of which he considered himself the rightful heir ; but, from the want of 259 260 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. some link in the testimony necessary to establish his claim, failed in the suit. It is understood that the sums spent in this vain effort to secure a title, materially impaired his fortune. In America, how- ever, his claim was considered rightful, and he always bore the name of Lord Stirling in consequence. When the war of independence began, the ability, position and wealth of Lord Stirling rendered his influence of weight ; and ena- bled him to obtain a corresponding rank in the continental line. He was immediately appointed a Colonel. During the siege of Boston he was stationed at New York. Here he found opportunity to dis- play the natural boldness and gallantry of his disposition. Fitting out a pilot-boat and some smaller craft, and availing himself of the night to escape the Asia man-of-war which then lay in the har- bor, he put to sea and succeeded in capturing an English transport, laden with valuable stores for the army in Boston. The personal appearance of Stirling was remarkably fine. His face was dignified ; his figure tall but somewhat portly ; and his man- ners elegant, yet soldierly. As a General he was brave to rashness. His military abilities were of that kind, indeed, that rendered it more prudent to keep him under the eye of a Commander-in-chief; in this respect he resembled Putnam and others, who were more valuable as executive officers than when acting on their own responsibility. It was at Monmouth and Long Island that he won his chief laurels. At Monmouth, when the battle hung upon a thread, when Lee was retreating after having made his last stand, and Clinton was pouring down his victorious legions on Washington's left wing, he placed himself at the head of Lieutenant Carrington's artillery, and dashing at full gallop to the brow of an elevation that commanded the advanc- ing columns of the enemy, hastily unlimbered the guns and opened so terrible a fire, that the assailants wavered, and finally fell back. At Long Island he held command of the right wing. As he played a conspicuous part here, we shall describe the battle at some length. Brooklyn stands on a knob of land as it were, formed by the in- dentations of Wallabout and Gouverneur's bays, which, at the dis- tance of a mile and a half from the heights, approaching each other, reduce its width one half. Across this isthmus, the ground of which is elevated, a line of defences was drawn, commanding all the ap- proaches from the interior, and from the northern and southern shores of the island. In the rear, the works were protected by bat- teries on Governor's Island and Red Hook, and by other batteries on the East river, which kept open the communication with the main army in New York. In front, these roads radiated from the lines, LORD STIRLING. 261 like spokes from the hub of a wheel, and crossed a range of wooded heights, nearly four miles distant, which, to carry out the simile, formed the felloe. Between these heights and the lines the battle was fought. The two roads nearest the Narrows were defended pro- perly, but the upper one was left with an insufficient guard ; here Clinton crossed undetected, and pouring down into the plain beyond, while his colleagues made a feint of forcing the two other passes, had nearly cut off the Americans from their lines, when happily his ap- proach was discovered, and a portion, after a desperate encounter, succeeded in gaining their entrenchments. Stirling, on this fatal day, directed the right wing, which number- ed about two-thirds of those engaged in the battle. The Comman- der-in-chief outside the lines was Sullivan. Putnam, the superior of all, remained within the redoubts. He had been sent to supersede Greene, when the latter was suddenly taken ill. Putnam first went over to Brooklyn on Sunday, the 25th of August, 1776, and the battle was fought two days after ; hence the ignorance at head- quarters respecting the ground, and the neglect properly to fortify the upper pass. The general impression was that the English would attempt to force a passage across the hills at the lower road ; and it was in consequence of this that Stirling's command preponderated so greatly over that of Sullivan. Having given this general outline of the battle, let us proceed to speak more in detail. The two armies were separated by a range of wooded hills, which were impassable for artillery and cavalry, except by the three principal roads. The chief one of these ran, in nearly a straight line from Flatbush to the American entrenchments, four miles distant. Another road, conducting northwardly of this, now called the Clove road, led through a second pass to Bedford vil- lage in the plain. A more circuitous route took its way through a pass on the north, and joined the road from Jamaica to Bedford. There was another pass, close to the Narrows, running from New Utrecht over the hills into the plain. All these roads met in the plain about half a mile without the lines. The latter pass) as we have said, was defended by Stirling, with much the largest portion of the American army. The pass, leading across from Flatbush, was held by Sullivan, with a strong force and a redoubt. At that on the Clove road, were two regiments under Colonels Williams and Miles. The pass on the Jamaica road was guarded only by a few light volunteers. It was by this that Clinton crossed, his sagacity foresee- ing that the American defences would be weaker here than at either of the other points. 262 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. The British landed at the ferry near the Narrows, on the 22nd, and marched through Utrecht and Gravesend to P'latbush, back of which last place they established their principal encampment, near the vil- lage of Flatbush. Their centre, composed of Hessians, lay in front at Flatbush, in command of General De Heister ; while the left wing, under General Grant, extended to the place of landing. The army remained inactive until the evening of the 26th, when it being found that the Americans had guarded all the most westerly passes, Clinton moved in the direction of the Jamaica pass, his scouts having brought him intelligence, as he expected, of the small force in that quarter. He reached it unperceived before day -break, and cautiously pushing forward, surprised and captured the party sta- tioned there. Having thus secured his enemy from receiving notice of his approach, he suffered his men to repose for awhile from the fatigues of their march. The whole division accordingly rested on their arms. It was a clear, starlight night, and the country in the plain below was just visible through the hazy light. The men strained their eyes across it in search of the distant heights of Brooklyn and the spires of New York beyond, and continued watching for that haven of their hopes until the stars paled, the dawn approached, and the morning sunbeams shot along the woodland and cultivated fields below. Then the order to march was given, and the troops san- guine of victory, crossed the heights and poured down into the plain. Meanwhile, immediately after day-light, De Heister began a furi- ous cannonade on Sullivan, in order to direct the attention of the American General from what was passing on his extreme left. De Heister did not, however, advance from Flatbush until he had received intelligence of Clinton's successful passage ; but when, at half past eight, he learned that his colleague had reached Bedford and thrown forward a detachment in Sullivan's rear, he charged the American redoubt in earnest. The dark masses of De Heister were just beginning to unwind themselves, like some glittering anaconda, from the village of Flatbush, when a scout dashed, all in a foam, into the camp of Sullivan, and announced that Clinton was in the rear. In this terrible crisis, surprised, circumvented, defeated already, the presence of mind of Sullivan did not desert him. He saw that but one hope remained to him, that of gaining the lines at Brooklyn before his enemy. He accordingly ordered the troops to fall back, through the woods, by regiments. In so doing they encountered the British front. At the same instant, De Heister, advancing from Flat- bush, made a furious assault on that side. The coolness of Sullivan unfortunately was not shared by his men. Struck with panic at hear- LORD STIRLING. 263 ing the firing in their rear, and thinking only of making good their escape, they could not be induced even to wait the first onset of the Hessians. In vain Sullivan rode among them, appealing to their patriotism; in vain he reminded them of Lexington and Bunker Hill ; in vain he rushed into the most exposed situations to stimulate them by his personal example ; all discipline was lost, all decency disregarded ; terrified they turned and fled, the Hessians thundering in pursuit, and the troops of Clinton on their flank, hastening, with loud cheers, to cut off the fugitives. As a contrast to this shameful conduct, the little band of men in the pass on the Clove road, behaved with a heroism that should ren- der their names immortal. The force, at this point, was composed of a regiment under Colonel Williams, and another of Pennsylvania riflemen under Colonel Miles. As soon as De Heister had put the personal command of Sullivan to the rout, he detached a portion of his Hessians against these two regiments. Overpowered by num- bers, after a short, but gallant resistance, the Pennsylvanians were driven back into the woods. At the same time, Clinton, moving to intercept those in retreat along the road from Flatbush, arrived in the rear of these brave men. Now ensued one of those desperate struggles, in which courage seeks to make up for want of numbers. Hemmed in on front and rear ; now driven by the British on the Hessians, and now on the Hessians by the British, that little band like a lion turning every way to meet its hunters, charged incessantly on the foe. Hurled back from the assault , they returned more furi- ous to the onset. Long and heroically they thus struggled. During the contest they were joined by the remnant of Sullivan's command, with himself at its head, and their efforts now grew more desper- ate than ever. Some forced their passage through the solid ranks of the enemy, and, fighting all the way, regained the lines at Brook- lyn. Some plunging into the woods, concealed themselves there until the action was over, and thus escaped. But the greater num- ber either died in the unavailing struggle, or exhausted by two hours of severe fighting, surrendered, at last, with their General. The battle was now over in this quarter. But it still raged towards the American right where Stirling commanded, and raged, if possible, with a fury greater than even around this heroic band ! Long before either De Heister or Clinton had crossed the wooded heights, at so early an hour indeed as midnight, General Grant, with the design of directing attention from Clinton's manceuvre, advanced along the coast, with the left wing, driving in the light out-lying par- ties of the Americans. As this was the point where the main assault 264 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. was expected, these parties were quite abundant, and intelligence of the advance was immediately communicated to Putnam. This was at three o'clock in the morning. Putnam instantly detached Stir- ling, with strong reinforcements, to repel this attack. Stirling reached the summit of the hill just before sunrise, his steps being hastened by the sounds of skirmishing in front. The first object that met his sight, as the beams of the morning sun illuminated the valley below, was the retiring troops who had been stationed to guard the pass, and who were now slowly falling back before superior numbers. Promptly uniting his fresh men to these wearied ones, he drew up his whole division to defend the pass. In a few minutes the head of the enemy's column appeared in view ; but at sight of Stirling's imposing force, halted. The American General thought this the result of timidity on the part of the British, and would have descended into the plain to attack Grant, had not his orders restricted him to defend- ing the pass. He allowed a portion of his infantry, however, to skirmish with parties of the enemy thrown forward for that purpose, and meantime grew more and more impatient for the battle. To amuse his enemy Grant had opened, at once, a cannonade, which he continued with increasing fury as the day wore on. To this Stirling replied ; and soon the space between the armies was covered with wreaths of smoke which undulated with the morning breeze ; while the roar of the artillery continually shook the ground, boomed along the neighboring bay, and echoed far over the vallies of Staten Island. At last, through the heavy explosions of artillery, fainter sounds, borne on the wind, were distinguishable in the rear. Stirling listen- ed to them with an anxious heart, for they seemed to imply that an enemy had interposed between him and Putnam. At last, what he had foreboded, became no longer doubtful. The British were behind him. A retreat, with all possible despatch, on the lines at Brooklyn, was his sole resource. Only one route by which this could be effected lay open to him ; this was to cross Mill Creek below the swamp ; for to retire above, would bring him face to face with De Heister and Clinton. Cornwallis, however, anticipating this intended movement, now hastily pushed on to the ford, and, arriving there before Stir- ling, took his station at a house near the upper mills. It was below this point, fortunately, that Stirling had resolved to cross ; but in order to conceal the movement of his main body, he resolved to occupy the attention of Cornwallis by attacking him with a portion of his force. Accordingly he selected six companies of Smallwood's Ma- ryland riflemen, in number about four hundred, and placing himself LORD STIRLING. 265 in person at their head, prepared to carry out this terrible diversion. A few words, by way of address, informed this little band that they were to immolate themselves for their companions ; on which, with shouts of enthusiasm, they demanded to be led to the assault. In their first onset they were repulsed ; and, indeed, for several succes- sive ones. But speedily rallying, they charged again and again, until the enemy began finally to waver. Before the deadly fire of that courageous corps, the British ranks thinned rapidly. Seeing the foe betray signs of confusion, the brave riflemen, with Stirling wav- ing his sword at their head, advanced cheering, to a last assault ; and Cornwallis was on the very point of abandoning his post, when Grant, wheeling his whole division around an angle of the woods in their rear, suddenly appeared in view. To retreat was impossi- ble. The soldiers of Cornwallis so lately disheartened, took up the shout which, at this sight, died on the tongues of the Americans ; and with deafening huzzas, from front and rear, overpowering masses of the enemy poured down upon this isolated force. To struggle longer would have been a useless waste of blood. Stirling accordingly hung out a white handkerchief on the point of a bayonet, and with the remnant of his Spartan band surrendered. But he had gained his purpose. During the struggle the remainder of his troops, con- cealed by the woods and by the firing, made good their passage of the creek, and succeeded in safely reaching the lines at Brooklyn. The British were now masters of the last pass, and Grant, empty- ing his legions down into the plain, advanced to join De Heister and Clinton, when all three uniting, under the personal command of Howe, rolled onwards triumphantly to the American lines. Mean- time, within those defences, all was alarm and confusion. Parties of fugitives, sometimes in whole companies, sometimes in smaller fragments, now in good order, now totally disorganized, came hurrying across the plain, and flinging themselves, breathless, behind the entrenchments, communicated a portion of their own terror to those within. These were the more easily infected, because mostly militia ; for the regular troops had been placed outside to bear the brunt of the battle. In vain Putnam had despatched every man he could spare, in order to check the retreat : the recruits, as well as the fugitives, soon appeared, driving, pell-mell, before the advanced parties of the enemy. General Washington had hurried to Brook- lyn, as soon as the first cannon announced a battle ; and he now witnessed, with anguish indescribable, the rout of his choicest troops. His presence restored confidence among the officers ; but with the common men, the panic still spread. Hour after hour had 34 x 266 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. THE RETREAT AT LOSG ISLAND. passed, and yet neither Sullivan nor Stirling appeared, though many of their troops had come in, some so blackened with powder, and their standards so torn with shot, as to betray the hard fighting they had witnessed. At last hope for these brave commanders gave out ; for now the enemy darkened the whole space in front of the entrenchments : and as column after column marched up, their bur- nished muskets flashing in the light, and huzzas of triumph ringing along the line, the cry arose that the British were about to storm the encampment. Had Howe allowed his men to do so, in that moment of enthusiasm on their side, and depression on that of the Americans, he would, without doubt, have carried everything before him, and almost annihilated his enemy. Washington hastily made what ar- rangements he could to resist such an attack, which the increasing delay of Howe enabled him to perfect better than he had hoped. The day passed, however, without any demonstration on the part of the enemy ; but it was not until night fell, and the lights of the British glittered along the eastern horizon, that the exhausted Americans felt secure. LORD STIRLING. 267 This battle has been much and severely criticised ; but, after a candid examination, we can see no blame attaching to any one. Putnam himself was scarcely aware of the pass by Jamaica, nor had he, before the battle, had time to become at home in his position. If Greene had continued well, the result of the day might have been different. But, perhaps, the defeat of the Americans was providential ; for, if they had repulsed the enemy, and been induced in consequence to hold Long Island until the British had passed their ships up the North and East Rivers, the whole army, instead of a part, might, in the end, have fallen a sacrifice. It is astonishing that Howe did not wait until he had done this, before he made his attack. As it was, the way was left open for Washington to retire. This he availed himself of on the night of the 28th, in that memorable retreat across the East River, which has always been regarded as one of the most brilliant in history. The night was dark and misty. The embarkation began in the evening. Nine thousand troops, a quantity of military stores, and a heavy train of artillery were to be transported across a sheet of water and landed in safety on the other side ; and this while an active and watchful enemy was posted so close to the American camp, that the neigh of a horse from the latter could almost be heard by the British sentinels. Yet neither the heavy rumbling of the artillery wagons, nor the other unavoidable noises of a retreat, warned the enemy of Washington's movement. The Commander- in-chief remained at the ferry through the whole night, personally superintending the embarkation. The high honor of forming the covering party was, on this occasion, entrusted to the troops of the middle states, as a reward for the gallantry they had shewn in the late action. By daybreak all the troops had crossed. Some heavy camion had to be abandoned ; but every thing else was brought off in safety. The events of Stirling's life, after the battle 'of Long Island, may be told in few words. He remained a prisoner until exchanged for the Governor of Florida, and, joining the army in 1777, was present at the battles of Brandywine and Germantown, in the last of which encounters he commanded the reserve. His next engagement was that of Monmouth; of his conduct on which occasion we have already spoken. In 1780, with a force of twenty-five hundred men, he was sent on an expedition against Staten Island ; but the enemy having received notice of the intended attack, the affair proved abortive. In 1781, he took command of the northern army, and remained at Albany until the next season, when he removed to 268 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Philadelphia. When spring opened, however, he again went to Albany and resumed command of the northern troops. His life was now drawing to a close. The following year, in 1783, he fell a vic- tim to the gout. Lord Stirling was devotedly attached to Washington ; and it was through him that the Conway cabal was brought to light. In his nature he was frank and generous. He despised trickery, and abhorred dissimulation. Perhaps, few men in the army were his equals in learning. He always signed himself Stirling, instead of Alexander, using his title, and not his family name. BATTLE OF PKINCETON. HUGH MERCER. HAT Hugh Mercer, a Brigadier- General in the continental line, was second to few in the Revolution, for talents, education, and patriotism, is now universally admitted. The opening of the war of indepen- dence found him engaged in a lucrative medical practice, which he immediately abandoned to enter the army, declaring his willingness to serve in any rank or station. This absence of all selfish motives continued with him to the end of his career. He never joined those who complained of Congress for promo- tions that seemed to slight their own services ; but, on one of those occasions, only a day or two before x* 269 270 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. his death, reproved his companions in these words : " We are not engaged in a war of ambition, gentlemen," he said, " if we were, I should not be here. Every man should be content to serve in that station where he can be most useful. For my part I have but one object in view, and that is the success of the cause. God can wit- ness how cheerfully I would lay down my life to secure it !" Mercer was born in Scotland, though in what year has never been satisfactorily ascertained. He was old enough, however, to join Charles Edward, in that Prince's romantic enterprise to regain the crown of the Stuarts, in 1745 ; and, at the battle of Culloden, acted as an assistant Surgeon. Flying from a disastrous field, he succeeded in escaping the pursuit of the sanguinary Duke of Cumberland, and, with a number of his fellow soldiers, sought a refuge in the then wilds of America. He settled at Fredericksburg, Virginia, where he married and became distinguished as a physician. His martial pro- pensities, however, still clung to him, and in the Indian war of 1755, he served as a Captain under Washington. During this campaign he made one of those miraculous escapes which have passed into popular traditions. Wounded in a sharp engagement, and separated from his company, he was flying before the merciless savages, when faintness from loss of blood seizing him, he hid himself in the hollow of a large tree. In a moment the Indians appeared in sight, and even searched around the trunk. Mercer scarcely breathed, so ter- rible was his suspense ! At last the savages passed on, and when sufficient time had elapsed to render it prudent, he emerged from his retreat and began a painful march of more than a hundred miles to the abodes of civilization. During the journey he supported himself on roots and on the body of a rattlesnake, which crossed his path, and which he killed. Finally he reached Fort Cumberland in safety, though haggard in looks, and weak from his wound and sufferings. For his gallantry in destroying the Indian settlement at Kittanning, in Pennsylvania, during this war, the corporation of Philadelphia presented him a medal. It may, at first, appear surprising that a Scottish Jacobite, the as- serter and defender of hereditary right, should become an American republican. But the exiles for the cause of Stuart had suffered so much from the oppressions of England, that their sympathies were at once aroused in behalf of others persecuted like themselves. More- over, the followers of Charles Edward were prompted, in undertak- ing his cause, more by a sentiment of generous loyalty than by any conviction of the superior advantages to be derived from his govern- ment ; hence, those Jacobite predilections being more a feeling than 'HUGH MERCER. 271 a principle, experienced nothing repugnant, but every thing that was noble, in adopting the side of men fighting for their hearths arid lib- erty. It was thus, no doubt, that Mercer reasoned, or rather felt. Besides, he had formed an intimate friendship for Washington, and naturally inclined to adopt the course his old commander had taken up. Certain it is that, when the war of independence began, no man was more prompt to render his services in behalf of freedom, or, as we have seen, with less of selfishness in the offer. Forever exiled from his native shores ; never more to behold her brown heaths, her hoary glens, or her misty mountains, America was now his coun- try, and he prepared to shed his blood for her as freely and disinter- estedly as when he had made a last stand for his ancient line of Princes, on the wild moor of Culloden. In 1775, when the minute-men of Virginia began to marshal, Mercer was in command of three regiments of their number. In the beginning of the next year, having been appointed a Colonel of the state militia, he was of great service in organizing and disciplining these rude re- cruits. Many of the troops, especially those from beyond the niountains, were wild and turbulent to the last degree, spurning every restraint of military rule. On one occasion, a company of these men broke out into open mutiny, seized the camp, and threatened with instant death any officer who should interfere with their lawless mea- sures. Mercer no sooner heard of the disturbance than he hurried to the scene, regardless of the entreaties of his friends, who looked on him as going to certain destruction. Arriving at the camp, he or- dered all the troops to be drawn up for a general parade, when he directed the offending company to be disarmed in the presence of the others. Intimidated by his bold front, and finding the obedient troops far the most numerous, the mutineers suffered themselves to be stripped of their weapons without resistance. The ringleaders having been placed under a strong guard, Mercer proceeded to ad- dress the guilty company. He spoke in eloquent and forcible terms, appealing to their better feelings in the capacity of citizens ; then, changing his tone, he reminded them that, while soldiers, the penalty of death would be their certain fate, if mutineers. The result of this bold, yet judicious conduct, was that all symptoms of disorder van- ished from that hour. The ringleaders, after an imprisonment of a few days, were liberated ; and the company became one of the most obedient and effective in the army. The reputation of Mercer as a veteran officer was not confined to his adopted state ; and, in 1776, Congress, justly estimating' his mer- its, appointed him a Brigadier-General. He immediately repaired to 272 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the camp of Washington, who welcomed his old associate with de- light. The crisis was critical. It was the hour when the liberties of America, after running a short and dazzling career, seemed about to expire forever, like those false stars, which shooting athwart the tem- pest, coruscate a moment and disappear. The blaze of enthusiasm which had illuminated Lexington and Bunker Hill, had vanished before the clouds that gathered blacker and blacker around Long Island, Fort Washington, and the retreat through the Jerseys. Hope almost despaired, as the gloom deepened at the prospect, while the land rocked to its utmost shores, as if foreboding earthquake and utter dissolution. Throughout that disastrous period, Mercer was one of those who, never for a moment, was appalled. No fear of sacrificing his family, of endangering his life, or of leaving a name stigmatised by that op- probious epithet which the successful tyrant bestows on the unsuc- cessful rebel, could make him regret the part he had taken. In defeat and doubt he was still the same bold, resolute, and efficient officer, as in victory and success. When, after the battle of Assunpink, it was resolved, in the celebrated midnight consultation at the tent of St. Clair, to march on Princeton, and afterwards, if possible, on Bruns- wick, to Mercer was committed the important command of the ad- vanced guard. The little army that now began its march was but the skeleton of what it had been but a few months before. The cel- ebrated regiment of Smallwood, composed of the flower of the Ma- ryland youth, which had gone into battle at Long Island over a thousand strong, was reduced to sixty men ; and indeed, nearly the whole of Washington's force was composed of the Pennsylvania militia and volunteers, to whom belongs, in a great measure, the honor of saving the country in that crisis. The night was dark, calm, and cold, and as the army left their burning watch fires and plunged into the gloom, many a heart beat uneasily for the success of Washington's bold stratagem. The troops took the lower road for Sandtown, and about day-break reached Stony Brook, at the distance of rather more than a mile and a quarter from the college at Prince- ton. A brigade of the enemy was known to be in the town, and to intercept its retreat, as well as to cover his own rear from Cornwal- lis, Washington despatched General Mercer, with a detachment of three hundred and fifty men, along the brook, to seize the bridge on the old Trenton road. It happened that Lieutenant-Colonel Maw- hood, at the head of the 17th British regiment, had just crossed this bridge on his way to join Cornwallis, but discovering the approach of the Americans, he retraced his steps and hastened to seize a rising HUGH MERCER. 273 ground, not quite five hundred yards distant. Mercer, on his part, pressed forward as eagerly to gain the elevation first ; and, availing himself of a diagonal course through an orchard, anticipated the enemy by about forty paces. The sun had just risen, and the hoar frost bespangled the twigs, the blades of grass, every thing around ; never, perhaps, was there a more lovely scene than the one so soon to be darkened by the smoke of blood and ensanguined by mortal strife. Advancing to a worm-fence, Mercer ranged his men along it and ordered them to fire. The British replied, and instantly charged. It was a gallant sight, as even their adversaries confess, to see those splendid veter- ans advancing through the smoke, their arms glistening, their bayo- nets in an unbroken line, and their tramp as steady as on a parade. The enemy were comparatively fresh; the Americans were exhausted by eighteen hours of fighting and marching, and, moreover, were only armed with rifles ; yet they stood until the third fire, when see- ing the bayonets of the British bristling close at hand, they turned and fled. The ardent and heroic soul of Mercer could not endure this spectacle. At first he tried to rally his men, but this was impos- sible ; and in a few seconds he found himself deserted in the rear. Disdaining to fly, he turned on the foe. At this instant a blow from a musket brought him to the ground. He was immediately surrounded by the British soldiery who bayoneted him as he lay ; but, like a wounded lion, defiant to the last, Mercer continued to lunge at his enemies. " Call for quarters, you d d rebel," and "we have got the rebel General," were the cries of the soldiery in this melee, each word being accompanied by a new bayonet stroke. But still the wounded man fought on, his indignation repelling in words the charge of rebellion. Alone, amid his many foes, he maintained the unequal strife ! At last, fainting from loss of blood, he sank back, to all appearance dead. With an oath at his heroic obstinacy, and, perhaps, a last thrust of the bayonet, his assailants now left him, and hurried to regain their companions engaged in pursuit of the flying foe. At the first sound of the firing, Washington directed the Penn- sylvania militia to advance, with two pieces of artillery to Mercer's support. He headed this detachment in person. As he hurried forward, his heart was wrung to behold Mercer's troops flying towards him. The Pennsylvania militia, too, showed signs of wavering, but Washington dashed into their midst, and, seizing the colors, galloped ahead, waving them aloft, and calling on the fugi- tives to rally and follow him to meet the foe. His voice did not 35 274 THE HEROES OF THE BEVOLUTION. fall on unheeding ears. There was a look of momentary terror at the enemy, a glance of enthusiasm at their leader, and then, with a cheer, they halted, formed into line again, and levelled their arms. At this show of resistance, the British column stopped, like a well- trained courser checked in full career, the order to dress the line was distinctly heard, and a long line of levelled muskets flashed back the morning sunbeams. There was a deathless pause. The Com- mander-in-chief still stood in the fore-ground, half way between the two armies, his tall form conspicuous against the opposite horizon. His death seemed inevitable. The pause was but for a second. The hoarse command to fire echoed from the British line, and the whole of that glittering front was a sheet of flame ; while, at the same moment, the two field-pieces of their adversaries hurled on the royal flank their tempests of grape. Now followed an agony of suspense in the American ranks, until the smoke, lifting from the intervening space, disclosed the form of their leader, still towering unhurt ; at this a shout burst from the militia, and, with one common impulse of enthusiasm, they advanced to the charge. But the enemy, satisfied with his reception, gave way, leaving his artillery behind him. The cheers of victory now redoubled along the line. Washington, around whom his friends had pressed to grasp his hand, which some did with tears, yielded, an instant, to the affec- tionate pressure, and then exclaimed, with a brightening face, "Away, and bring up the troops the day is our own ! " The Americans now continued their march towards Princeton, where the 55th and 40th regiments of the enemy were posted. These made some resistance at a deep ravine, not far south of the village, and also at the college, in which they took refuge at the approach of the victors. The struggle here, however, was soon over. In this battle about one hundred of the British were killed, and nearly three hundred taken prisoners. On the part of the Americans the loss was slight, at least in numbers. But several valu- able officers fell. In no battle during the war, indeed, did so many men of talents and usefulness lose their lives. Colonels Potter and Haslet, Major Anthony Morris, and Captains Fleming, Neal, and Shippen, all officers of ability, were among the slain in this sanguin- ary struggle. It was in the first part of the action, which did not occupy twenty minutes, that most of this mortality occurred. After the retreat of the enemy, the wounded Mercer was found on the field, and assisted into a house, which stood a few rods from the place where he fell. The first information that Washington received respecting his old companion in arms, was that he had HUGH MERCER. 275 perished on the field ; and a false story was propagated through the army, which is still perpetuated in many popular works, that he had been bayonetted after his surrender. On the march to Morristown, however, the Commander-in-chief, hearing that Mercer survived, deputed Major George Lewis, his own nephew, with a flag and letter to Lord Cornwallis, requesting that the bearer might be allowed to remain with the wounded General, and tend him during his illness. Cornwallis, who was rarely wanting in courtesy, not only acceded to this, but sent his own surgeon to wait on the suf- ferer. This gentleman, at first, held out hopes to his patient, that the wounds, though many and severe, would not be mortal. But Mercer, who had been an army-surgeon himself, shook his head with a faint smile, and addressing young Lewis, said, " Raise my right arm, George, and this gentleman will then discern the smallest of my wounds, but which will prove the most fatal. Yes, sir, that is a fellow that will soon do my business." His words proved pro- phetic: he languished until the 12th, and then expired. He died far from his family, and in the house of a stranger ; yet one thought cheered him to the last, it was that he perished in the cause of freedom ! The death bed of Mercer was attended by two females, of the society of Friends, who, like messengers from heaven, smoothed his pillow and cheered his declining hours. They inhabited the house to which he was carried, and refusing to dy during the battle, were there when he was brought, wounded and dying, to the threshold. History has scarcely done justice to the women of the Revolution. Those whose relatives were embarked in the contest were the prey of constant anxieties, and had to endure privations such as we would now shudder even to record. Death continually removed some bro- ther, or parent, or husband. The few who were restrained by religious scruples from an active participation in the war, like the peaceful females who watched by Mercer's dying bed, still had their warmest sympathies enlisted for a suffering country, and were forced, in com- mon with others, to submit to sacrifices, the result of the disordered condition of affairs. The women of the Revolution were more gene- rally true to the cause of freedom than were the other sex. They endured in silence and without complaint. Let us pay this tardy tribute to the patriotism of those immortal females ! Nearly seventy years after Mercer's death, his heroism and untimely fate were brought vividly before the minds of the present generation, by a ceremony as impressive as it was merited. We allude to the removal of his remains from Christ church grave-yard, in Philadel- 276 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. phia, to the cemetery on Laurel Hill, where a monument had been prepared for them. The coffin, covered with a pall, was borne through the streets of Philadelphia, in military procession, and with the wail of martial music. The side-walks were lined with unco- vered spectators, one common sentiment of awe and reverence per- vading the vast crowd, as it thus stood face to face, as it were, with a martyr of the Revolution ! DEATH OF GENERAL WOLFE. ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. N military affairs, to be unfortunate is almost as criminal as to be incapable. Arthur St. Glair is an example in point. From first to last a fatality ap- .peared to follow all his undertakings, and, though often engaged, he never achieved a victory. It was not owing to a total want of ability that he miscarried so universally; for he was brave, careful, self-collected, and possessed the advantage of con- siderable military experience. But, having failed once or twice, the reputation of being unlucky ever after attended him ; and this senti ment dampened the confidence of his soldiers, even if it had no effect on himself. The recollection of past glory is a spur to both leader and army; while the consciousness of former defeats is always disheartening. But there was, besides this, a cause for St. Glair's ill-success, existing in his slavish adherence to rules, and in his want Y 277 278 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. of original and comprehensive grasp of mind. In short, he had talent, but no genius; could follow, but was not fit to lead. At Princeton and Yorktown, where he was under the eye of Washing- ton, he acquitted himself honorably ; but at Ticonderoga and the Miami, where he commanded in chief, he reaped only ruin arid dis- grace. Gates, Lee and himself, all officers educated in the armies of Europe, were memorable examples that, in revolutions, it is not the accomplished martinet, but the hero, rough from the people, who becomes eminent. St. Glair was born in Edinburg, in the year 1734. His education was elegant, and early took a military turn. In 1755, at the age of twenty-one, he accompanied Admiral Boscawen to this country, and receiving an Ensign's commission, took the field in the old French war. He was one of the immortal band that followed Wolfe, in his expedition against Quebec, and was present, on the heights of Abra- ham, when the gallant soul of his leader took flight in the hour of victory. Before the close of the war, St. Clair had risen to be a Lieutenant. He did not remain in the army, however, but disposing of his commission, remained in America and embarked in trade. Proving unfortunate in commerce, he removed to Ligonier Valley, in Pennsylvania, west of the Alleghany mountains, where, succeeding in monopolizing various offices of public business, he rapidly acquired a fortune. When the war of independence sent its sum- mons through the land, St. Clair assumed arms in behalf of his adopted country, and, having received a Colonel's commission, was so active in recruiting that he raised a regiment within sixty days. He was ordered to Canada, where he arrived just after the death of Montgomery. In the aifair at Three Rivers he took a part. He remained with the invading army until Canada was evacuated, establishing, among his fellow soldiers, a high character for zeal and intrepidity. For his services during the campaign Congress rewarded him with the rank of Brigadier-General. St. Clair now joined the army of Washington. On the morning of December 25th, 1776, he accompanied Sullivan's division in the memorable attack on Trenton. He was engaged also in the battle of Assunpink ; and it was in his tent, on the night after the conflict, that the consultation was held, at which the bold manoBuvre of marching on the enemy's communications, was resolved upon. Being the only general officer acquainted with the country, St. Clair was in close attendance on Washington through the eventful transactions that succeeded. He was present at the battle of Princeton, though here, as at Trenton and Assunpink, no opportunity was afforded of ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 279 particularly distinguishing himself. A high opinion of his talents, however, had spread, and this, added to his amiable manners, secured his elevation, in the ensuing spring, to the rank of Major-General ; a promotion, however, obtained at the expense of Arnold, whose just claims were postponed to those of St. Clair. He was now despatched to the northern department, in order to assist Schuyler against Bur- goyne. Here the command of Fort Ticonderoga devolved on him. This was the first instance in his career in which he was called on to assume a leading part. The event proved that his abilities had been exaggerated. The greatest expectations had been formed of his conduct, and the country Avas in hourly expectation of hearing that he had checked Burgoyne ; but, suddenly, in the midst of this sanguine belief, came the startling intelligence that Ticonderoga had been abandoned. The revulsion was terrible. A universal outcry rose up against St. Clair ; it was said that he had been bribed by sil- ver bullets shot into his camp ; and Congress, itself carried away by the popular feeling, in the first moments of indignation, ordered his recall, as well as Schuyler, and all the Brigadiers. At this day, the candid judgment passed on St. Clair, while it jus- tifies his intentions, depreciates his ability. He erred, either in not abandoning the fort earlier, or in not holding it out to extremity. Only one excuse can be given for his conduct. Mount Defiance, which commanded the fort, had been always considered inaccessi- ble ; consequently, St. Clair took no measures to occupy it ; and when Burgoyne, after incredible toil erected a battery there, Ticonderoga, of course, became untenable. But no great General trusts to hearsay. If Burgoyne had assented, without examination, to the received opi- nion respecting Mount Defiance, Ticonderoga would not have fallen without a struggle; and the fact that the British leader doubted and made an examination, must always be sufficient to condemn St. Clair. The enemy arrived under the walls of the fort on the 1st of July, 1777. On the 5th, the height was occupied. By the ensuing day, it was expected that the batteries would be opened, and the invest- ment on all sides of the lines complete. In this crisis, a hurried coun- cil of war was called, when the sentiment in favor of a retreat was found to be universal. To remain was to insure ultimate capture. The only resource was to abandon the place in the night, and fall back on Schuyler at Fort Edward. In a great degree the country itself is answerable for the loss of this fortress. The opinion appears to have been general that Ti- conderoga was impregnable, and that it could be defended by a com- paratively small force ; hence the army under St. Clair, as appeared 280 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. on his trial, was not a third of what was required properly to man the works. His small numbers left him no resource but to retreat, especially after the battery was erected on Mount Defiance. Accord- ingly, on the night of the 5th of July, the hapless garrison stole from the fortress. The baggage, the hospital furniture, the sick, and such stores as the haste would allow, were embarked on board above two hundred batteaux and five armed galleys ; and the whole being placed under the charge of a strong detachment, commanded by Colonel Long, was despatched up Wood Creek, in the direction of Fort Edward. The main army proceeded on foot, taking the route of Castleton, St. Clair in the van, and Colonel Francis bringing up the rear. It was two o'clock in the morning of the 6th, before St. Clair left the fort. He had ordered the utmost silence to be pre- served, and the lights to be extinguished ; but unfortunately a house accidentally took fire on Mount Independence, and by the glare of the conflagration the flight of the Americans was detected. Instantly the alarm spread in the British camp, and the troops, roused from slumber, began a pursuit. Burgoyne undertook for his part to fol- low up the galleys, while Generals Reidesel and Frazer gave chase to St. Clair. Burgoytie had to cut through some heavy booms and a bridge, but, with incredible activity he succeeded in doing this by nine o'clock in the morning, and, dashing through the passage, urged every muscle and nerve to overtake the baggage. By three o'clock he came up with the rear boats near Skeensborough Falls, and at- tacked them with great fury. At the same time, three English regi- ments, which had been landed, with orders to turn the Americans at the Falls, appeared in sight ; on which the fugitives, abandoning their baggage and setting fire to their batteaux, fell back precipitately to Fort Anne. The main army under St. Clair fared little better. Aware that he could save his troops only by the rapidity of his flight, that officer pressed forward with such eagerness that, on the night succeeding the evacuation, he was at Castleton, thirty miles from Ticonderoga. The rear guard under Colonels Francis and Warner, rested at Hub- bardston, six miles short of that place ; and, having been augmented from shore by the van, who, from excessive fatigue, had lagged be- hind, amounted to a thousand men. This little band, on whom the salvation of the whole army devolved, was assailed at five o'clock on the morning of the 7th, by General Frazer, at the head of eight hundred and fifty veterans. The battle was, for a while, gallantly contested. After several shocks, with alternate success, the British began to give way ; but Frazer rallied them anew, and led them to ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 281 a furious charge with the bayonet. Before this impetuous assault, the Americans began to shake ; and, at this crisis, Riedesel appear- ing, with a column of fresh grenadiers to reinforce Frazer, the rout was rendered complete. Colonel Francis, with several officers, and two hundred men, were left dead on the field; while Colonel Hall,and sev- enteen other officers, besides over two hundred men, were taken prisoners. Nearly six hundred are supposed to have been wounded, of whom many died miserably, in the woods, before they could reach the inhabited country. The whole British loss did not exceed one hundred arid eighty. At the beginning of the battle there were two regiments of Americans about two miles in the rear of Colonel Francis. These were ordered up to his assistance, but instead of obeying, they fled to Castleton. Had they arrived to his succor, the British would probably have been cut to pieces. It will always be a reflection on St. Clair that he was not present in this action. If Putnam, or Wayne, or any other of the indomitable souls of the Revo- lution, had been in command of the retreating garrison, there would have been one of the bloodiest frays on that July morning which history records. Compare Putnam retreating from Bunker Hill, or even Stirling, falling back at Long Island, with St. Clair, on this occa- sion, and how much does the latter suffer by the comparison ! Yet St. Clair did not want courage. It was heroic resolution that he required the determination to die rather than retreat. The spirit of Leonidas was wanting in him ! On receiving intelligence of this defeat, and also of the defeat at Skeensborough, St. Clair hesitated whether to retire to the upper waters of the Connecticut, or fall back upon Fort Edward. The arri- val of the remains of the rear-guard, ten days after, at Manchester, where he then was, decided him to adopt the latter course. He reached Fort Edward, on the 12th of July, and found Schuyler already there. Colonel Long, who had commanded the detachment in charge of the batteaux, also succeeded in gaining Fort Edward about this time. At this post the consternation was general, except in the heroic soul of Schuyler. To add to the calamity, the inhabi- tants of the surrounding region, struck with terror by the retreat of St. Clair, came pouring past the fort on their flight to the lower set- tlements, having abandoned their houses and crops to the mercy of the foe. At this day we can scarcely comprehend the excite- ment and alarm of that crisis. Nor was it confined to the immediate vicinity of the invading host. The blow struck on the shores of Lake Champlain, vibrated through the land, from extremity to extremity, communicating a sense of horror to every breast. The shock at once 36 Y* 82 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. prostrated St. Clair in the popular estimation. And though a court- martiai subsequently exonerated him, declaring, what is true, that he violated no military rule, the verdict of the country has been, from that day to this, unfavorable to the genius and heroism of the beaten General. Let us not be misunderstood. St. Clair was guilty only of a negative fault. He did not do all that a Ney, or Macdonald would have done : yet he did every thing that military rules required. Napoleon would have condemned him, nevertheless. The popular verdict was more true than that of the court-martial, at least for the purposes of history, which should endeavor to make the hero and not the mere General the standard. St. Clair, however, did not lose the confidence of Washington. A sense of the injustice done the unfortunate General, in imputing treasonable motives to him, had its effect in producing this course on the part of the Commander-in- chief, though, it is beyond a doubt, his opinion of St. Glair's capacity was not as high, after these events, as it had been before. His appointment of this General to the command of the Miami expedi- tion, in 1791, does not disprove this statement: for the post was one to which St. Clair was entitled by seniority; and besides, though not a first-rate officer, he was one of average ability. In short, St. Clair was not equal to Greene as a strategist ; and was inferior to Putnam as a leader in battle : yet there is no evidence that he was worse than several other general officers who have escaped opprobrium. And whatever may be thought of his abilities, his patriotism must stand unquestioned. St. Clair was present at the battle of Brandy wine, though he held no command. He was also at Yorktown when Cornwallis surren- dered, having arrived a few days before the capitulation. From this place he was despatched with six regiments to the aid of Greene, but the struggle in the Carol inas had terminated before he reached his destination. On the conclusion of peace, St. Clair retired to Pennsylvania, of which state he was elected a member of Congress in 1786. In 1787 he was chosen President of that commonwealth. In 178S he was appointed Governor of the north-western territory. It thus appears that the obloquy which had, at first, attended the loss of Ticonderoga had gradually subsided, and that his country, sensible of the injustice she had done him, was not unwilling to make some amends. In Pennsylvania, where he was regarded almost as a native-born citizen, he had never been so unpopular as in the more northern states ; and he now continued to enjoy the confidence of that commonwealth to a large degree. ARTHUR ST. CLAIR. 283 St. Clair appeared but once more before the people as a military leader, and on this last occasion failed as fatally as at Ticonderoga, and from similar causes. The Indian depredators on the Miami requiring chastisement, Washington, in 1791, despatched an army to their country. The force was entrusted to St. Clair. On the 1st of September he left Fort Washington, and moving north in the direction of the enemy's territories, had, on the 3rd of November, arrived within fifteen miles of the Indians. During the march, his force had dwindled down, in consequence of desertion and other causes, from two thousand to fourteen hundred men. On the morn- ing of the 3rd, just after parade, the savages made an unexpected assault on St. Clair's army, and, driving in the militia, who were posted in advance, precipitated them, a mass of affrighted fugitives, on. the regulars, whom they threw into disorder. The Americans were soon surrounded, and most of their officers and artillerists picked off. The men, now huddled together in confusion, became an easy prey to the bullets of their concealed foe. A terrific slaugh- ter ensued. St. Clair, in vain endeavored to rally his troops, and finally was forced to give the order to retreat. This retrograde movement was soon changed into a flight, the men even casting aside their arms in order to assist their speed ; nor did the fugitives pause until, on the evening of that day, they reached Fort Jefferson, thirty miles from the field of battle. In this sanguinary defeat the army of St. Clair lost thirty-eight officers and five hundred and nine- ty-three soldiers killed ; while twenty-one officers and two hundred and forty-two men were wounded. The Indian force was probably from one thousand to fifteen hundred. This defeat again covered St. Clair with popular odium, which was not lessened by the brilliant victory of Wayne in the succeeding campaign. St. Clair's error appears to have been the same with that of Braddock, a too rigid adherence to military rules unsuited to fron- tier warfare. An unfortunate disagreement with his second in com- mand contributed also to the disaster. The loss of this battle closed the military career of St. Clair. He was continued in his office of Governor of the north-western territory, however, through the rest of Washington's term, and the succeeding administration of John Adams; but in 1802, was removed by President Jefferson. He now returned to Ligonier Valley. But he was no longer wealthy. The little property which had remained to him at the close of the Revolution, had now been dissipated, in various vicissi- tudes of fortune. At one period, prior to his appointment to the north-west territory, he appears to have enjoyed comparative opu- 284 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. lence, for a cotemporary describes him as engaged in .the business of an auctioneer and living in elegant style in Philadelphia. But this prosperity had long since departed. He was now poor, unpopu- lar, and without influence. He still held some claims against gov- ernment, and on these he fondly relied as the support of his old age. But the claims were barred by technicalities. At last in despair, he is said to have sought refuge in the family of a widowed daughter, living in a condition of the greatest penury. Relief finally came, though not from his country. It was his adopted state which stepped forward to his aid, and by settling on him an annuity of three hun- dred dollars, rescued him from positive indigence. Soon after, this annuity was raised to six hundred and fifty dollars. St. Clair died on the 31st of August, 1818, having survived to the age of eighty -four. PHILIP SCHUYLER. HILIP Schuyler, a Ma- jor-General in the con- tinental army, was born at Albany, in J733. He was descended from the ancient Dutch family of Schuyler, so conspicuous in the early history of New York. His abilities were rather solid than brilliant. Of great energy, full of resources, industrious, courageous, never yielding to despair, he was capable of great deeds ; and, having been in command of the northern department during most of the expedition of Burgoyne, should share, with Gates, the credit of the Saratoga convention. He was a patriot in the highest sense of that term. Possessing a large fortune, he risked it all for his country. Unjustly treated by Congress, he served them notwithstanding their ingratitude. Though of quick 285 286 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. temper, he was magnanimous; and in his whole life was never guilty of a meanness. His social qualities were the delight of his family and friends. Schuyler received an excellent education, at least for the colonies, and rose to eminence among his young companions, in the study of mathematics. He early turned his attention to military affairs. In 1755, he took part, with the rank of Captain, in the unfortunate ex- pedition against Ticonderoga ; and, after the death of Lord Howe, was deputed to attend the corpse back to Albany. He afterwards served as a member of the Provincial Assembly, and made himself conspicuous by his bold and resolute stand in favor of the rights of the colonies. He moved, and carried, after a strong debate, a series of resolutions asserting that the Stamp Act, and others of the op- pressive measures of the ministry, were grievances which ought to be redressed. This decided conduct, so early in the struggle, and from a man who had such large hereditary possessions at stake, de- serves for the name of Schuyler the lasting gratitude of America. Without him, and Clinton, and Woodhull, New York would proba- bly have been lost to the confederation ! Schuyler was a member of the second Continental Congress, and there formed that intimacy with Washington, which ended only with the death of the latter. When the army was organized with Wash- ington as Commander-in-chief, Schuyler was appointed one of the Major-Generals, and assigned the command of the northern depart- ment. In September he was directed to invade Canada. Being, however, seized with illness and incapacitated from exertion in the field, he was forced to return to Albany, when the command devolved upon Montgomery, who gallantly and faithfully executed his trust, until he fell, in the arms of glory, on the fatal plains of Abraham. Having recovered from his indisposition he was ordered to Tryon county, in his native state, to adjust the disturbances exist- ing there. In the depth of winter he marched up the Mohawk, quelled the threatened storm, and established a treaty with the hos- tile Indians. His powers, both of mind and body, were taxed to their utmost, at this period, by the requirements of Congress ; but, having once dedicated himself to his country, he hesitated at no sacrifice of time or health. To give an idea of the immense labor Schuyler went through, we will state his duties for the space of little over a year. In December, 1775, he was ordered, as we have seen, to disarm the tories of Tryon county; on the 8th of January, 1776, he was directed to have the river St. Lawrence, above and below Quebec, explored ; on the 25th, he was commanded to repair Fort Ticonderoga, and PHILIP SCHUVJLER. 287 render it defensible; on the 17th of February, he was summoned to take command of the forces, and to conduct the military opera- tions at the city of New York ; in March, he was requested to fix his head-quarters at Albany, for the purpose of raising and forward- ing supplies to the army in Canada; in June he was called on to hold a conference, and establish a treaty, if possible, with the Six Nations; and immediately afterwards, the last order being countermanded, he was hurried away to Lake Champlain, to build vessels to resist the English armament fitting out at St. Johns. All these manifold duties he could not, of course, have performed under his immediate eye, but he was responsible for the agents he selected, and neces- sarily compelled to superintend their performances, to a certain degree. Fortunately he was quick and acute in the despatch of business. Congress, knowing this fact, availed themselves largely of his assistance. Schuyler had been superseded, for a short time, in the command of the northern army, by Gates. When, however, the long threat- ened invasion by Burgoyne, at last burst, like some huge tempest that had been lowering all day on the horizon, he was again at the head of that department, and prepared to resist the invaders with heroic resolution. Never had there been a more splendid army landed in America than that which accompanied Burgoyne. The British ministry had allowed that General to dictate the number and quality of his own forces, in fact, had surrendered to him the entire supervision of the whole affair. His brilliant reputation promised results the most glorious to England, the most disastrous to America. At the head of ten thousand veteran troops, and with a magnificent train of artillery, while clouds of savages and Canadians hung on his flanks and brought him the earliest intelligence of the movements of his foe, Burgoyne advanced from Canada, like some invincible hero, scattering proclamations full of promises to those who would return to their allegiance, but breathing only vengeance and destruc- tion to those who should dare to oppose his steps. At first, he swept everything before him. The once impregnable fortress of Ticonderoga in vain opposed his progress. The country, which had trusted, perhaps, too securely in its strength, was paralyzed on hear- ing of its fall, and a general cry of horror rose up, from one end of the continent to the other ! The news of the capture of Ticonderoga reached Schuyler at Stillwater. Pursuing his journey, he heard, on the same day, at Saratoga, of the loss of the stores at Skeensborough. As yet, how- ever, he had received no intelligence of St. Clair. Hurrying forward to Fort Edward, he arrived there just in time to welcome his unfor- 288 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. tunate siibordinate, who, with troops worn down with fatigue, and himself jaded, in mind and body, reached there on the 10th of July. The whole force under Schuyler, even after the junction of St. Clair, amounted to little over four thousand, including the militia. He was in want of every necessary for his soldiers, who themselves were broken down and dispirited. Indeed, when he looked back on the reverses which had attended his command, he could scarcely rally his own spirits ; for, in the late actions, the Americans had lost one hundred and twenty-eight pieces of artillery, with a vast quan- tity of warlike stores, baggage and provisions. But Schuyler did not allow even this consideration to make him despond. He felt that the crisis was one demanding energy, and that, if errors had been committed by others, it was his part to repair them. The enemy still lay at Skeensborough, from which the navigation up Wood Creek was comparatively easy to Fort Anne, within sixteen miles of Fort Edward. Between these two latter places, the country was covered with thick woods, was almost entirely unsettled, and was cut up by creeks and morasses. To retard the progress of his enemy, and thus gain time, was the course adopted by Schuyler ; and was the wisest which could have been selected under the cir- cumstances. He despatched parties to impede the navigation of Wood Creek, to break up the bridges, to fell trees across the roads, and to render the ravines everywhere impassable. He also ordered what live stock there was on the route to be driven into Fort Ed- ward. Thus, nothing but a savage wilderness was left for Burgoyne to traverse, rendered more inhospitable and dreary by every device of human ingenuity. As a further resource, Schuyler detached Colonel Warner to hang on the enemy's left flank, and endeavor to raise the militia in that quarter, trusting that the British General would become alarmed for his communications, and weaken his main army by sending back a reinforcement to Ticonderoga. Meantime, the first stunning blow having passed away, the country began to rally to Schuyler's support. Washington wrote, in the most cheering terms, from his head-quarters. " We should never despair," he said. " Our situation has before been unpromising, and has changed for the better. So, I trust, it will again." He accompanied these expressions by the most energetic efforts to assist the northern army. He ordered a supply of tents to be obtained for Schuyler ; he procured artillery and ammunition to be forwarded from Massachusetts ; he directed General Lincoln to raise the militia of that commonwealth, and hasten to the aid of Schuyler ; and he despatched General Arnold, and also Colonel Morgan, with the latter's celebrated corps of riflemen, in hopes that the presence of PHILIP SCHUYLER. 289 these two gallant officers might re-animate the northern troops. In consequence, appearances at Fort Edward began to assume a more cheerful aspect. The numbers of militia there augmented daily. A large reinforcement of continental troops had hurried up from Peekskill. Every day, however, while these additions to his force were going on, Schuyler had to listen to the doleful tales of the fugi- tive settlers, who, deserting their houses and farms on the route of Burgoyne, rushed forward to Fort Edward as their only hope of safety. The British General, slowly working his way through the obstacles which had been thrown in his path, was advancing, like some huge serpent toiling at every foot of land over which it dragged its weary body, yet certain of its prey at last. It was the 30th of July before the enemy reached Fort Edward, and when they arrived, to their chagrin they found it tenantless. Schuyler, not deeming it advisable to wait Burgoyne's approach, had retired over the Hudson to Saratoga : and soon after, continuing his retreat, he fell back to Stillwater, near the mouth of the Mohawk. The country along this route was better populated than above Fort Edward, and universal consternation now spread among the inhabi- tants. The news of the melancholy tragedy of Miss McCrea had, by this time, spread far and wide, and, exaggerated in all its details, brought mortal terror wherever it was heard. Other atrocities com- mitted by the savages who attended Burgoyne were rehearsed, until the hairs of the. listeners stood on end, and the mother, clasping her babe, thought no longer of preserving her once happy home, but only of seeking safety in flight. The massacre at Fort Henry during the last war, was recalled to memory, to increase the dismay and horror of the settlers. A universal affright seized on the inhabitants. The old man grasped his cane, and giving a last look on the home pro- vided for his declining days, took up a long journey for the lower districts : the sturdy father yoked his team, and placing his family in it with a few household goods, shouldered his musket and set forth in the same direction ; while the widowed matron, gathering her little ones around her, and looking back, through blinding tears, on the deserted habitation that was the sole support of her children, followed wearily in the track of the other fugitives. In the haste to fly, many left the corn standing in the field, and the grain piled in their barns. Others, with a resolution born of despair, fired their houses and destroyed their crops before beginning their flight, in order that the enemy might derive no assistance from these supplies. Thus, the population, as when the ice breaks up in some vast river, hurried towards the south, until accumulating in one enormous pile, 37 2 290 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. MASSA'CRE AT FORT HENRY IN SEVENTEEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY -SEVEN. it choked up its own passage and remained an impassable barrier for the foe. But while the 1 whole community was flying before him, and a once smiling country becoming a depopulated waste, Burgoyne was be- ginning to experience those difficulties which the far-seeing wisdom of Schuyler had prepared for him. The surrounding districts being universally hostile, he was forced to draw all his provisions from Ti- conderoga, and accordingly, from the 30th of July to the 15th of August, his time was monopolized in forwarding stores from the lower extremity of Lake George, to the first navigable point on the Hudson, a distance of eighteen miles. The roads were steep, broken and out of repair. Incessant rains fell and added to his difficulties. Scarcely one-third of the horses expected from Canada had arrived. With difficulty so small a number as fifty pair of oxen had been procured. Under all these complicated misfortunes it was found toilsome to supply the army with food from day to day, and utterly impracticable to collect such a store as would furnish a magazine for the campaign. On the 15th of August, Burgoyne had provisions for only four days. Like the man in the fairy tale, he had entered with- in an enchanted forest, where every step only carried him further from hope, and where the clouds gathered darker and the thunder muttered louder as the day advanced. In this emergency he determined on an enterprise which he fondly believed would extricate him from his difficulties. At the village of Bennington, about twenty miles east of the Hudson, the Americans PHILIP SCHUYLER. 291 had collected large quantities of live cattle, corn, and other necessa- ries ; and Burgoyne, anticipating an easy conquest, resolved to detach Colonel Baum, with six hundred men, to capture this place and ex- pedite the provisions from there to the royal camp. Baron Riedesel in vain expostulated against this division of the forces, and hinted at the possibility of the expedition being cut off. But Burgoyne saw no alternative. A crisis had come when it was necessary to draw sup- plies from the surrounding country or retreat. He counted on the bravery of his troops for a certain victory, and believed that such a check would strike terror and insure the neutrality of the inhabitants. Two hundred of Baum's force were dismounted dragoons, who were to obtain horses for themselves during this forage ; and, in order to facilitate the bperations of the detachment as far as possible, Bur- goyne moved down the Hudson and established himself nearly oppo- site to Saratoga. The result of this expedition was the decisive bat- tle of Bennington, in which Stark, at the head of the New England militia, stormed and carried the entrenchments of Baum, after a ter- rific contest two hours in duration. A few days afterwards another misfortune befell Burgoyne. This was the defeat of Colonel St. Leger, at Fort Schuyler, on the Mohawk, by which that officer was compelled to retire in confusion to Montreal, instead of advancing in triumph to Albany and there joining Burgoyne, as had been ar- ranged in the original plan of the campaign. Everything now promised a speedy victory over this proud Brit- ish army, which, so lately, with the pomp of a conquering host, had darkened the waters of the lake. The measures of Schuyler were beginning to bear their fruit. From all sides the militia, aroused to a sense of the danger, were pouring into the American camp. Al- ready the terror of Burgoyne 's name was broken. The fall of Ticon- deroga had not been able long to depress the public mind ; and on a nearer view of their condition, the neighboring inhabitants began to take courage. To despair had first succeeded hope, and now followed the certainty of success. As the spirits of the Americans rose, those of the enemy fell. The timid, who had lately leaned to the British side, now came out openly in favor of their countrymen ; the disaf- fected, alarmed at the aspect things were assuming, hesitated before they took the irrevocable step ; and the open tories, who had been active in assisting the enemy, began to tremble for their families, if not for themselves, and express their anxiety that Clinton, by a bold push up the Hudson, should form a junction with Burgoyne and an- nihilate at once the hopes of the Americans. Every day added to the embarrassments of the royal army. Every day increased the numbers of Schuyler's force. Like a hive of ants suddenly disturbed 292 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the neighboring population thronged to the scene of strife, until the land, far and near, was in a buzz with the advancing hosts. But Schuyler was not destined to reap the victory for which he had so laboriously sown. Although not present at the fall of Ticon- deroga, as the superior officer he had come in for his share of blame ; and in New England especially, where the loss was most keenly felt, the charge of treason was openly whispered against him. Schuyler had never been popular with the troops of Connecticut, Massachusetts and New Hampshire ; and, perhaps, for reasons sim- ilar to those which rendered Putnam unpopular in New York. Local prejudices, at that day, were stronger than at present ; and being a New Englander as frequently condemned a man in New York, as being a New Yorker condemned a man in New England. This sec- tional feeling was the basis of Schuyler's unpopularity. The mis- fortunes of the earlier part of the summer afforded room for his enemies to dilate on his pretended incapacity ; and the current of opinion, especially in the neighboring states, soon set so strongly against him as to render his removal desirable. It often becomes necessary for a government to yield to popular clamor, even when unjust, and the present instance was an example ; for it was feared that the New England troops would not rally properly, unless under a favorite leader. Schuyler was accordingly superseded, and Gates appointed in his place. The unfairness of being recalled at this cri- sis, when victory was certain, was felt acutely by the disgraced Gene- ral. " It is," he wrote to Washington, " matter of extreme chagrin to me to be deprived of the command at a time when, soon if ever, we shall probably be enabled to face the enemy ; when we are on the point of taking ground where they must attack to a disadvan- tage, should our force be inadequate to facing them in the field ; when an opportunity willj in all probability, occur, in which I might evince that I am not what Congress have too plainly insinuated, by taking the command from me." The Commander-in-chief secretly acknow- ledged the force of these reasons, and saw, with regret, his old and valued friend made an unavoidable sacrifice to local prejudices, for the good of the common cause ! This is the proper place for a remark, forced on us by the circum- stances we are considering. It is that the local prejudices of that period have survived in part and that even grave historians now canvass the relative merits of revolutionary Generals from different sections of the union, and the comparative sacrifices made by the various commonwealths in behalf of the common cause. There should be no such jealousies admitted at this day. Let a holy veil hang over the dissensions of the past ! Every quarter of the union PHILIP SCHUYLER. 293 " t furnished its distinguished men for the war of independence. Wash- ington came from Virginia, Putnam from Connecticut, Schuyler and the Clintons from New York, Wayne from Pennsylvania, Marion from South Carolina, and a host of others, less distinguished, because perhaps less favored by circumstances, from the most remote sec- tions of the confederation. In civil talents also the honors were equally divided. The middle states afforded Jay and Morris, the New England states Hancock and Adams, Virginia Jefferson and Henry, South Carolina her immortal Rutledge. Nor can the impartial annalist award to any portion of the country the palm of superior sacri- fices in the war. The New England states nominally furnished the most men, but their recruits were generally for nine months ; hence, they counted three or four times where the recruits of other states, enlisting for three years, counted once. After the first year of the war, New England was comparatively free from the presence of an enemy, while the middle and southern states were ravaged without intermission. It must be remembered, likewise, that in New York and Pennsylvania the number of loyalists was much greater than in New England, and that consequently the exertions of the patriots in the former states, even if apparently less, were in reality as great as in the more united provinces. There were more large fortunes to be lost in the middle states than in New England, and hence the risk the patriots there ran was relatively greater. In short, it would be invidious to exalt one portion of the confederation at the expense of the other. If Boston was the cradle of the Revolution, Philadelphia was the altar where it was baptised. If, at Lexington the ball of the Revolution was set in motion, at Yorktown it received the stroke that sent it victoriously home. Though Schuyler, by his removal at this juncture suffered a greater injury than was inflicted on any other individual during the war, he did not allow his exertions in behalf of his country to be affected by it. He was the same noble-hearted patriot, whether in retirement or surrounded by power. On the arrival of Gates, he communicated to his successor all the information he possessed, and placing every paper in his hands, added, " I have done all that could be done as far as the means were in my power, to injure the enemy, and to inspire confidence in the soldiers of our army, and I flatter myself with some success ; but the palm of victory is denied me, and it is left to you, General, to reap the fruits of my labors. I will not fail, however, to second your views ; and my devotion to my country will cause me with alacrity to obey all your orders." He kept his word, and by his knowledge of the country, and his popularity z* 294 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. among the surrounding inhabitants, was of frequent assistance to Gates. On the 16th of October, less than two months after he was superseded, the whole British army surrendered as prisoners of war. A popular anecdote is told of General Schuyler on this event. Dining with Burgoyne, the captive General apologized to him for having a few days before, burnt the latter's elegant country seat. " Make no excuses, my dear General," was the felicitous reply ; " I feel myself more than compensated by the pleasure of meeting you at this table/' The courtesy and kindness of heart of Schuyler was evinced, at the same period, by his delicacy towards the Baroness Riedesel, the wife of one of the prisoners. In the first moments of indignation, after hearing of the loss of Ticonderoga, Congress, by a sweeping resolve, recalled all the Gene- rals of the northern department, and directed an inquiry to be made into their conduct. On the remonstrance of Washington, however, who represented the peril to the service, of a recall of the Generals in this crisis, the intention was, for the present, abandoned. Ultimately it was put in force, as we have seen, against Schuyler. After the surrender of Burgoyne, the misused General was urgent for a court- martial, which was finally granted. By this body he was honorably acquitted. He now sought, and obtained leave to resign his com- mission. He had long contemplated this measure, and only delayed it until his exculpation ; nor, under the circumstances, can we blame his decision. There was no chance of his ever being useful again in a military capacity to his country ; for the prejudices against him would forbid his employment in any station worthy his rank. Be- sides, the crisis of the war was considered past. Yet there was nothing of passionate revenge in this decision of Schuyler ; the assistance he rendered Gates proved he was above such littleness. He was still willing to serve his country, though in another capacity. How dif- ferent this conduct from that of Arnold, who, on far less provoca- tion, became a traitor ! After his retirement from the army, Schuyler entered Congress, where he served during the sessions of 1777 and 1779. He subse- quently occupied a seat in the Senate of his native state. In 1789, after the adoption of the federal constitution, he was elected a United States Senator from New York, and in 1797 was re-elected for another term. His health beginning to give way, however, he resigned. He died in November, 1804, a short time after his son-in- law, Alexander Hamilton an event which is said to have hastened his own death. At the period of his decease he had attained the age of seventy-one. JOHN STARK. O John Stark of New Hampshire, a Major-General in the continental line, belongs the credit of having been the only man, during the war of independence, who, at the head \ of a body of militia, stormed and carried entrenchments defended by veteran troops. At Bunker Hill, the British regulars, though assisted by artillery, and exceeding in num- bers the Americans, were twice driven back, and would probably have been a third time repulsed, but for the failure of their ammunition ; while at Bennington, the 295 296 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. New England militia successfully assaulted works defended by batteries, and utterly defeated one of the finest corps in the army of Burgoyne. Much of the glory of this achievement belongs exclu- sively to Stark, whose influence over his raw levies was miraculous, and whose skill availed itself of every possible contingency in his favor. In short, the hero of Bennington was one of the ablest mili- tary men of the Revolution, and, but for his strong local prejudices and tenacity on the score of rank, would have deserved unqualified praise as a patriot. We do not mean to imply, however, that Stark was not devoted to his country, but only that he gave the preference to that portion of it where he was born and bred : " not that he loved America less, but New England more." Nor can his tenacity on the point of military rank, fairly be reprehended. It is curious to trace the effect of this sentiment on three prominent men of the Re- volution. Mercer, in the enthusiasm of his chivalric soul, declared his willingness to fight, even in the most subordinate capacity. Stark, with more of personal feeling, resigned his commission when he found his claims neglected. Arnold, in whom there was an almost total absence of the moral sense, became a traitor, to revenge similar wrongs. In Mercer there was the true heroic metal, an absence of all selfishness : in Stark there was just enough leaven of the baser feeling to reduce his character to the scale of common humanity; in Arnold selfishness triumphed over patriotism, and sunk him below his race, to be execrated as a villain to all time ! Stark was born in Londonderry, New Hampshire, the 28th, of August, 1728. His father was a native of Glasgow, who had emi- grated first to Ireland, and afterwards to America. The son grew up athletic and hardy, though with but little education. At the age of twenty-four, while engaged on a hunting expedition, he was made prisoner by the savages. In the perilous situation in which he now found himself, he first displayed those qualities of mind which afterwards rendered him so remarkable. Brave and adven- turous, with great insight into character, and a coolness that never deserted him in emergencies, he was always ready to act, and in the wisest way, when others lost all presence of mind. An instance in point soon occurred. He was carried to the Indian village, with a companion taken at the same time, and the young warriors, arming themselves with clubs, and forming a double line, ordered their prisoners to run the customary gauntlet. The companion of Stark suffered a severe beating before he could gain the council house. But when it came to the turn of the latter, suddenly seizing a club from the first warrior, he laid about him right and left, scattering the JOHN STARK. 297 young men to the great amusement of the older Indians, and reach- ing the end of the line almost without receiving a blow. Soon after, he was ordered to hoe corn, when he destroyed the corn and pre- served the weeds : and finished by throwing his hoe into the river, arid declaring it was a business only fit for squaws, and not for war- riors. By this conduct, founded on a profound knowledge of the Indian character, he gained the applause of the savages, and was adopted by them into their tribe. He remained with them for some time, and until ransomed by the colony of Massachusetts. He was afterwards accustomed to declare that he experienced far better treatment during this captivity than it was usual for prisoners of war to receive even among civilized nations. When the French war began, in 1754, Stark, who had already won a high reputation as a scout, obtained the commission of Second Lieutenant in a company of rangers. It is not our purpose to follow him in detail through that contest, though it afforded scope for many gallant deeds, and was the school in which the leaders of the Revo- lution were very generally trained. We shall merely glance at the prominent events in which Stark took part. The first campaign passed without any transactions of importance. In the succeeding year he was in the desperate fight near Fort Edward, in which Baron Dieskau, the Commander of the French, was mortally wound- ed. In January, 1757, Stark, with his superior, Major Rogers, and about seventy men, was sent out on a scouting expedition to Lake Champlain, with orders, if possible, to cut off the supplies from Crown Point to Ticonderoga. The party captured a few sleighs between the two forts, but most of the convoy escaped, and the alarm being given, a detachment from the garrison of Ticonderoga arrested the rangers in their retreat. A stubborn and bloody con- flict ensued. Major Rogers, who had brought on them the ambush, by refusing Stark's suggestion to return to Fort Edward by a new route, being twice wounded, was about to surrender, but to this his more heroic Lieutenant would not listen, and, by maintaining the fight until dusk, Stark managed to effect his escape. Marching all night through the woods, the little army reached Lake George the next morning ; but here, worn out by cold, fatigue, and loss of blood, they gave up the march in despair. Stark alone maintained his spirits, and bore up against physical depression. Accoutring himself with snow shoes, he started for Fort Edward, a distance of forty miles, and arrived there the same evening, an almost incredible feat for one who had fought for most of the preceding day, and marched all of the preceding night. Sleighs were hastily despatched 38 298 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. for the sufferers, who, on the .ensuing day, arrived in safety. For his gallantry on this occasion, Stark was rewarded with the rank of Captain. Not long after, by his judicious conduct in refusing liquor to his troops on St. Patrick's day, he saved Fort Edward, in a night attack made by the French garrison of Fort Ticonderoga. His regiment, during this campaign, was ordered to Halifax, but an attack of the small pox prevented him accompanying it. In the year 1758, occurred the disgraceful repulse of General Abercrombie from before Fort Ticonderoga. The expedition, at first successful, appeared to be attended with misfortunes from the hour of Lord Howe's death, a young nobleman of great promise, and who had rendered himself peculiarly dear to the provincials. He had imbibed a friendship for Stark. The latter supped with him the night before his death, and the conversation turned chiefly on the expected battle, and the mode of attack. It was the duty of the rangers to. precede the main army, and drive in the outlying parties of the enemy : and the last observations, at this supper, were on the order given to Stark's regiment, to carry a bridge on their route early the next morning. The bridge was found strongly defended by Canadians and Indians, but, at a vigorous charge, the enemy fled. Lord Howe, marching at the head of his column, came across a part of the advanced guard of the foe, which had lost its way in the forest, and, on the first fire, fell. His loss was so much regretted, that the General Court of Massachusetts appropriated two hundred and fifty pounds to erect a monument for him in Westminster Abbey. Lord Howe was the elder brother of Sir William Howe, and an illegitimate cousin to the King. His untimely fate, though at first deplored, saved him, in the end, from taking up arms against his old companions, during the war of the Revolution. After this event the army moved towards Ticonderoga, though with such criminal delay, that the enemy had time to entrench them- selves behind a breast-work of trees, which the English found impregnable to assault, though they stormed them several times with great fury. On this bloody and disastrous day there fell of the British army six hundred killed, while nearly fifteen hundred were wounded. General Abercrombie now retreated to the south end of Lake George. At the close of the campaign Stark went home on a furlough, and was married to Elizabeth Page. In the spring he returned to the army, now commanded by General Amherst, and was present at the capture of Ticonderoga and Crown Point. His military services in the royal cause may be said to have terminated with this campaign. With other provincial officers, he had become JOHN STARK. 299 indignant at the arrogance exhibited by the young Englishmen of the same rank with himself, but of infinitely less experience. He accordingly resigned, but carried with him the esteem of General Amherst, who promised him that he should resume his rank in the army whenever he chose to rejoin it. If the war had continued, GENERAL ABERCROMBIE'S ARMT CROSSING LAKE GEORGE. Stark might probably have again engaged in military life ; but after the fall of Canada, peace was soon concluded. In the quiet avocations of private life, Stark employed himself until the breaking out of the war of the Revolution. When that event was rendered inevitable, overtures were made to him by the royal gov- ernment : but he preferred to embark in behalf of the cause of the colonies. His elder brother, William Stark, was less patriotic, and was rewarded with the rank of Colonel in the British army. On the eve of his departure, the latter strove to persuade his brother John to follow his example ; but the appeal was in vain : and the two brothers, who had drawn sustenance from the same maternal breast, parted, never to meet again except in mortal strife. Stark remained at home until the intelligence of the battle of Lexington reached him, when, flinging himself on his horse, he galloped to head quarters, almost without drawing rein. He was immediately appointed Colonel of one of the three regiments raised by the Pro- vincial Congress of New Hampshire. In the skirmish at Noddle's 300 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Island he took an active part. On the day of the battle of Bunker Hill, after General Ward had, at last, consented to reinforce the troops under Prescott, Stark was ordered to march, with the New Hampshire regiments, to the scene of expected strife, which he did leisurely, arriving just in time for the battle, with his men as fresh and eager as if they had not come a mile. His post was at the rail-fence, which extended, it will be remembered, from the road down to the river Mystic ; and the fire of his troops was so deadly, that, of the companies opposed to him, a royal officer declared, after the battle, some had but eight or nine, some only three or four men left. When it became necessary to retreat, he drew off his troops in good order. During the siege of Boston, he remained posted with his regiment at Winter Hill, and, on the evacuation of the city, his were among the New England troops that followed Washington to New York. Stark did not, however, remain to participate in the misfortunes of Long Island, having been detached, in May, to join the American army in Canada. He served with distinction through the northern campaign of that year, after which he was ordered to rejoin Wash- ington, now retreating through the Jerseys. He arrived at the camp of the Commander-in-chief on the 20th of December, 1776, just in time to participate in the victory at Trenton, when he led the van- guard of the right wing, under Sullivan. He was at the battle of Assunpink also, as well as at that of Princeton, remaining with Washington until the latter had established himself in winter quar- ters at Morristown. During the dark crisis that witnessed these battles, Stark had been of essential service, by inducing the New Hampshire troops, whose terms of service had expired on the 1st of January, to re-enlist for six weeks ; and now, when the campaign for the winter was over, and his presence could be spared, he hastened back to his native state in order to recruit the ranks of his regiment. His popularity speedily enabled him to do so with entire success ; but having heard of the promotion of some junior officers over his head, he threw up his commission in disgust. The feeling was a natural one, and can scarcely be reprehended, espe- cially as he did not allow it to interfere with the services of his sons in the cause of freedom. He signified, also, his intention to take the field if any emergency should arise in which his country should demand his aid. In this conduct there was perhaps nothing of the self-sacrificing enthusiasm of the true heroic character ; but neither was there anything different from what might be expected of even a good patriot, with the ordinary weaknesses of humanity. It is, JOHN STARK. 301 perhaps, difficult to decide in cases like that of Stark, between what is due to persona, dignity, and what is due to country. JOIIK LANGDON. The rapid approach of Burgoyne, however, in the autumn of the same year, brought Stark again into the field. Alarmed at the inroad of the enemy, the inhabitants of the New Hampshire grants declared to the New Hampshire Committee of Safety, that, unless they could receive succor, they should be compelled to abandon the country and seek a refuge east of the Connecticut River. This intelligence aroused the public spirit of New Hampshire. Measures of relief to the inhabitants of the grants were immediately adopted. John Langdon, a merchant of Portsmouth, took the lead in this move- ment. Finding some members of the Assembly disposed to hesitate, because the public credit was exhausted, and there was no perceptible means of relieving it, he addressed the house in these memorable words: "I have three thousand dollars in hard money; I will AA 302 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. pledge my plate for three thousand more ; I have several hogsheads of Tobago rum, which shall be sold for the most it will bring. They are at the service of the state. If we succeed in defending our fire- sides and homes, I may be remunerated. Our old friend Stark, who so nobly maintained the honor of our state at Bunker Hill, may be safely entrusted with the conduct of the enterprise, and we will check the progress of Burgoyne." At these noble words there was no longer any despondency. The patriotic enthusiasm of Langdon infused itself into every portion of the house : the militia were called out and formed into two brigades ; and a portion of them, being placed under the command of Stark, were ordered to stop the progress of the enemy on the western frontier. Stark accepted this command on condition of not being obliged to join the main army; but allowed to lie on the skirts of the foe, exercise his own discretion as to his movements, and account to none but the authorities of New Hampshire. His terms being acceded to, he marched at once to Manchester, twenty miles to the north of Bennington. Here he was met by General Lincoln, whom Schuyler, then in command of the northern army, had sent to conduct the militia to the Hudson. Stark, however, refused to go, alleging his discretionary powers, and arguing that it was wiser to harass the enemy's rear than to concentrate the whole army in his front. On this, Lincoln applied to Congress, who passed a resolution of censure on Stark's conduct, as destructive of military subordination ; at the same time they directed him to conform to the rules which other general officers of the militia were subject to when called out at the expense of the United States. However prejudicial as an example, Stark's insubordination might be, his determination to harass the enemy's rear was wise, as events soon proved. Burgoyne had already begun to feel the scarcity of provisions. Hoping to supply himself from the surrounding country, he determined to send out a strong foraging party ; and for this purpose he despatched Colonel Baum with six hundred men in the direction of Bennington. Stark, who had just arrived at the latter place, hearing of the advance of this expedition, immediately sent out Colonel Gregg to check it, while he proceeded to rally the neighboring militia. The following morning he moved forward to the support of Gregg, whom he met retreating, and the enemy within a mile of him. Stark halted promptly and prepared for battle. But the enemy instead of attacking him, began to entrench himself in a highly favorable position, while an express was hurried off to Burgoyne for reinforcements. Stark, at first, endeavored to draw JOHN STARK. the enemy from his ground, but failing in this, fell back about a mile, leaving only a small force to skirmish with the foe. This was done with such success that thirty of the British, with two Indian chiefs, their allies, were killed or wounded, without any loss on the part of the assailants ; a happy augury of the more decisive conflict yet to come. The ensuing day, the 15th of August, 1777, proved rainy, but amid the pelting storm, the enemy worked laboriously on his en- trenchments, more and more intimidated by the hostile appearance of the inhabitants. He had chosen his ground with admirable skill. The German. troops were posted on a rising ground at a bend of the Wollamsac, a tributary of the Hoosac, and on its northern bank ; while a corps of lories was entrenched on the opposite side of the stream, and nearly in front of the German battery. The river wound backwards and forwards several times, before it reached Stark's camp, but was fordable in all places. The militia under Stark, who beheld the enemy entrenching himself more strongly, all through the 15th, began, at last, to grow impatient, particularly a detachment from Berkshire county, headed by their clergyman. These men, to- wards daylight of the 1 6th, waited on the General and declared that if he did not lead them to fight, they would never turn out again. " Do you wish to march then," said Stark, " while it is dark and rainy ?" " No," replied the clergyman, who was the spokesman. " Then," retorted Stark, " if the Lord should once more give us sun- shine, and I do not give you fighting enough, I will never ask you to come again." It was three o'clock in the afternoon on the 16th, before the weather would permit the attack to be made. The plan of battle, proposed by Stark, and agreed to in a council of war was this. Col. Nichols, with two hundred men, was to assail the rear of the ene- my's left ; while Colonel Herrick, with three hundred men, was to fall on the rear of their right, the two Colonels to form a junction before beginning the assault. In order to divert the attention of the foe, however, Colonels Hubbard and Stickney were deputed to ad- vance with two hundred men on their right and one hundred in front. Stark himself moved slowly forward in front, until he heard the rattle of Nichols's musketry, when, ordering his men to cheer, he rushed on the tories. The action soon became general on all sides. Neither the Germans nor the loyalists could assist one another, for each had work enough on their own hands. Attacked in front and rear, and with an impetuosity they had little expected, the enemy scarcely knew what to do, yet still fought desperately on. In a few 304 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. minutes the struggle had become a general melee. The entrench- ments blazed with fire ; the shouts of the combatants rose over the roar of the guns ; and the colors of the German troops, firmly planted on the battery, floated, for a long time, unharmed. The smoke of battle gradually grew thicker and darker around the scene. The Indian allies of the enemy had fled at the beginning of the battle, disheartened by finding themselves assailed in their rear; but the reg- ulars dauntlessly maintained their ground, meeting the assaults of the Americans with the push of the bayonet, and girdling their little entrenchments with the dead. But if the foe fought bravely, the as- sailants fought not less so ! Hotter and hotter waxed the fight as that summer sun began to decline. The roar of musketry ; the shouts of BATTLE OF BENMNGTON. the excited combatants ; the groans and cries of the dying, rose in terrible discord. It seemed as if the elements were joining in the JOHN STARK. 305 commotion. To use the words of Stark himself, it was like one continued clap of thunder ! At last the tories gave way, and were forced from their breast-work : then, after a desperate, but fruitless charge of their cavalry, totally routed. They fled, leaving their artillery and baggage to the victors. The militia now dispersed for plunder, when suddenly intelligence was brought to Stark, that a large reinforcement of the British army was advancing, and was within two miles. This force was com- manded by Colonel Breyman, and had been sent in reply to Baum's express. The rain of the last two days had delayed its march, op- portunely for the Americans. At its approach the fugitives under Baum rallied, and, as most of Stark's men had abandoned him, the victory just gained, for a while seemed about to be snatched from his grasp. But a fresh body of Americans, arriving from Benning- ton at this crisis, saved the day. Still, the battle was contested until sunset, when the enemy took to flight, leaving Baum mortally wounded on the field. The spoils of victory were four pieces of brass cannon, a quantity of German swords, several hundred stand of arms, eight brass drums, and about seven hundred prisoners. Two hundred and seven of the enemy were found dead on the scene of the struggle ; while the loss of the Americans was but thirty killed and forty wounded. The battle of Bennington affords the only instance during the war, in which a body of militia carried en- trenchments manned by veteran troops and defended with artillery. The number of the assailants, it is true, considerably exceeded those of the enemy. The victory, notwithstanding, was one of the most wonderful of the war. Congress on hearing the results of the battle, overlooked the dis- respect of Stark, in failing to notify them of the victory, and passed an unanimous vote of thanks to him and to his brave troops ; at the same time, with but a single dissenting voice, they raised him to the rank of Brigadier-General in the continental army. Nor 1 was the reward disproportionate to his services. The moral effect of the battle of Bennington was even greater than its physical results. Burgoyne had trusted to Baum's expedition to obtain a supply of provisions, but, in consequence of the defeat, he was forced to wait until sup- plies could be sent from Ticonderoga. This delayed his progress and afforded time for the Americans to prepare the net in which they afterwards enclosed him. The Baroness Riedesel, wife of one of Burgoyne's Generals, declares that the defeat of Baum " paralyzed at once the operations of the British army." The victory at Ben- nington, moreover, raised the drooping spirits of the Americans. 39 A A* 306 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Washington had foreseen that this would be the result of any advan- tage gained over the enemy, however inconsiderable. Writing to Schuyler as early as the 17th of July, and when so many were de- sponding in consequence of the loss of Ticonderoga, he used these remarkable words : " I trust General Burgoyne's army will meet, sooner or later, an effectual check ; and, as I suggested before, that the success he has had will precipitate his ruin. From your accounts, he appears to be pursuing that line of conduct, which, of all others, is most favorable to us. / mean acting in detachment. This con- duct will certainly give room for enterprise on our part, and expose his parties to great hazard. Could we be so happy as to cut off one of them, though it should not exceed four, five, or six hundred men, it would inspirit the people and do away much of their present anxiety. In such an event they would lose sight of past misfortunes, and urged at the same time by a regard for their own security, they would fly to arms and afford every aid in their power." Memora- ble and prophetic words ! After the victory of Bennington, Stark proceeded to the American camp, where Gates had been now promoted to the chief command. On the 18th of September, however, the term of Stark's troops ex- pired, and notwithstanding he urged them to re-enlist, they refused, and began their return march. The next day the battle of Sara- toga occurred, before Stark, with his militia, had proceeded ten miles. At the sound of the firing, some of the soldiers were for re- tracing their steps, but the reports ceasing, the whole body continued its homeward journey. Stark, at this time, had not yet heard of his promotion, but the intelligence of it arrived in a few days. He now recruited a considerable force and hastened to place his little army in Burgoyne's rear, contending that, if the militia were but true to themselves, the British General would be forced to surrender at discretion. Gates thought it wiser, however, not to drive his ene- my to despair ; and accordingly consented to an honorable capitula- tion. The campaign being over, Stark returned to his native state, and occupied himself industriously in procuring recruits and supplies for the succeeding year. A short time after he reached home, Congress ordered him to prepare for a winter expedition against Canada. This was the celebrated project, conceived by the Board of War, without the knowledge or advice of Washington, and intended to detach LaFayette from the Commander-in-chief. Stark repaired to Albany, and subsequently visited Vermont, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts, to forward preparations, but on his return, early in JOHN STARK. 307 the succeeding year, 1778, he was assigned the command of the northern department. The duties he was now called on to perform he always spoke of as the most unpleasant of his life. He had a large frontier to protect and but few troops to do it with ; while he was surrounded by a sort of licensed tories, " in the midst of spies, peculators and public defaulters. He labored to reform the abuses in the department, and succeeded like most reformers. Those who were detected, cursed him, and their friends complained." In Octo- ber he was ordered to Rhode Island, a command which he obeyed with alacrity. Here his duty, in connexion with General Gates, was to gain information of the plan of the enemy and guard against invasion. During the winter, he returned, for a short period, to New Hampshire, in order to raise recruits. In the spring, rejoining his post, he was deputed by General Gates to examine the shores of Nar- ragansett Bay on the west side, from Providence to Point Judith, and on the east side, from Providence to Mount Hope. This was a ser- vice requiring the utmost vigilance, and a system of constant and perilous espionage on the enemy, then at Newport. Finally, in No- vember, the British left that town, on which Stark immediately took possession. He was now ordered to Washington's head-quarters in New Jer- sey ; and in the winter again returned to New Hampshire for recruits and supplies. He arrived at West Point, on his return, a few days be- fore the treason of Arnold, and passing enjoined his division at Liberty Pole, New Jersey. He was one of the council of war that tried and condemned Andre. During the autumn, at the head of twenty-five hundred men, and with a large train of wagons and teams, he made a descent towards York Island, pillaging the country of provisions to the very verge of Morrisania and Kingsbridge ; the British, sus- pecting some subtle design to be concealed by his movements, did not interfere. During the winter, Stark was seized with an illness which forced him to apply for leave of absence ; but, in the spring of 1781, his health being recruited, he was assigned the command of the northern department for the second time. Unpleasant as the task was, he resolved to do his duty. The country was infested with the same species of spies and traitors who had annoyed him in 1778 ; and also by brigands, or armed bodies of refugees, who plundered at will, and even carried off the inhabitants into Canada as prisoners. Shortly after Stark's arrival, one of these parties was ar- rested within his lines. The leader produced a commission as a British Lieutenant, but as he had been a refugee from that section, and his practices were known, Stark summoned a board of officers and procured THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. the condemnation of the man as a spy. The sentence was sternly executed, notwithstanding the excitement it created. The friends and connexions of the sufferer in Albany even applied to Washing- ton, complaining that, being a British officer, his death would be made the subject of retaliation. The Commander-in-chief demanded a copy of the proceedings in the case, which was sent, but here the matter dropped. The effect of Stark's bold conduct, however, was to put a stop to brigandage. From this period to the close of the war nothing of interest in his life remains to be noticed. When peace had been concluded, and the army was about to be disbanded, he exerted his influence, in opposition to the celebrated Newburgh letters, to allay discontent and prevent insubordination. Stark now retired to his farm, where he lived in quiet and plenty, until the 8th of May, 1822, when he terminated his days at the ad- vanced age of ninety-four. His character we have endeavored to pourtray faithfully in this short memoir. He was a man of strong talents and of a resolute will, though of little mental cultivation, and a hard, unyielding disposition. His manners were frank and open, but eccentric. He was kind but stern in his social relations, and firm, though not chivalric, in his patriotism. His influence over the mili- tia, arising from a keen insight into their character, was, perhaps, superior to that of any other general officer in the Revolution. It is singular that, though participating in so many battles, he was never wounded. His remains are deposited on a rising ground, near the river Mer- rimac, visible four or five miles, both up and down the stream. His family has erected a granite obelisk on the spot, with the simple, but all-sufficient inscription, "MAJOR-GENERAL, STARK." HORATIO GATES. nary HE most fortunate, and at the same time unfortunate of the Ge- nerals of the Revolution, Horatio Gates, was, like St. Clair, Lee and Conway, a foreigner by birth. Gates was born in England, in the year 1728. He was one of those individuals whom fortune, rather than ability, makes famous. With little original talent, but great self-sufficiency; more of the fine soldier than the true General ; elegant but shallow ; chivalrous in manner rather than in fact; captious, unjust, stooping to low arts to rise ; yet courteous, digni- fied, honorable according to ordi- standards ; a fair tactician, and a brave man ; a soldier who 309 310 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. bore misfortune better than success ; his character presents itself to the annalist as merely that of a common-place commander, without one atom of the hero in its composition. A train of fortunate cir- cumstances presented victory before him, and though he had the genius to secure it, he had none beyond that. Had he been more self-poised he might have proved a greater man. But, unlike Wash- ington and Greene, success destroyed his equilibrium of mind, and precipitated him into acts of presumptuous folly. His portrait, as seen on the Burgoyne medal, is eminently characteristic. The finely chiselled profile, and graceful flow of the hair, contrasted with the low and retreating forehead, conjure up vividly before the mind the idea of elegant mediocrity ! At a very early age, Gates entered the British army with the commission of an Ensign. He served with credit in this subordinate capacity, gradually rising by honorable promotion. At the siege of Martinico he acted as Aid-de-camp to the British General ; and sub- sequently, about the year 1748, was stationed at Halifax, in Nova Scotia. When the French war broke out in America, he came to this country as a Captain of foot, and was present with the unfortunate Gen. Braddock at the battle of Monongahela. In this action he re- ceived a wound which, for some time, unfitted him for service. At the conclusion of peace, in 1763, he settled in Virginia, adopting the life of a planter, and rendering himself popular by his elegant man- ners, his hospitality, and his general intelligence. When the difficulties between the colonies and Great Britain be- gan to assume a threatening aspect, Gates embraced the side of his adopted country with enthusiasm. His military reputation, like that of all the retired officers in America, who had served in the royal army, stood very high : nor was this to be wondered at, for, with the exception of a few individuals, who, like Washington, Putnam and Stark, had held commissions in the provincial regiments, the ignorance of military affairs was almost universal. It will be found that a large proportion of the higher posts in .the continental line, at its first formation, was given to officers bred in the royal army : witness Lee, Montgomery, Mercer and St. Clair ! In this favored class was Gates, who received the appointment of Adjutant-General, with the rank of Brigadier. He immediately joined the camp at Cambridge. His appointment was, in part, the result of Washing- ton's recommendations. But he had not been long at head-quarters, before he made an application to be received in the line, and being refused, from that hour he became secretly hostile to the Command- er-in-chief. With much that was noble and generous in his compo- HORATIO GATES. 311 sition, Gates mingled a petty jealousy, the consequence of excessive self-conceit, which marred an otherwise chivalrous character, and was the cause of all those subsequent errors that ruined him in the eyes of his cotemporaries, and disgraced him in those of posterity. In 1777, Gates received the appointment of Commander-in-chief on the northern frontier. This gift he obtained, through favoritism, and at the expense of Schuyler; for even at this early period, Gates was the idol of a faction secretly averse to Washington. The elements of this faction, as revealed by subsequent developments, were of the most opposite and unexpected character. On the one side the pa- triotic Samuel Adams, misled by the violence of his local feelings, disliked the appointment of Washington, because made at the ex- pense of Massachusetts ; on the other, General Mifflin, of Pennsyl- vania, angry at the refusal of the Commander-in-chief to elevate him and his friend Gates at the expense of others, secretly brooded over revenge. The two, exercising their influence, both in and out of Congress, already raised a powerful faction, the purposes of which, though masked from the public, were well understood among them- selves. To depreciate Washington and his friends, while, at the same time, they advanced their own interests, was the aim of this cabal. Nor, for a time, did they despair of success. They seem to have hesitated, at first, between Lee and Gates as a substitute for the Commander-in-chief, but finally, when the former was made pri- soner, to have united on the latter. As yet, however, they care- fully concealed their designs. When Schuyler fell under censure in the winter of 1777, they adroitly procured the nomination of Gates to his place ; but, when Schuyler was proved innocent, they thought it most prudent to consent to his restoration, as they found themselves not yet strong enough to prevent it. Hence, on the fall of Ticonderoga, they seized the occasion to misrepresent Schuyler, and by covering him with odium, procure from Congress the exal- tatien of their favorite. Accordingly, on the 20th of August, 1777, Gates arrived at the camp at Stillwater, and received the command from the hands of his misused predecessor. There is a dignity in Schuyler's words on this occasion which is touchingly eloquent. After describing the measures he had taken to embarrass Burgoyne, and foretelling the success that would follow them, he remarked, " but the palm of victory is denied me, and it is left to you, General, to reap the fruits of my labors." And from that hour, as we have seen, he continued as unremitting in his exertions as if he was the injurer instead of the injured. Gates continued at Stillwater, where he daily received reinforce- \ 312 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. ments, until Burgoyne had crossed the Hudson, on the ' 4th of Sep- tember, when, advancing about two miles in front of *' village, he took possession of Behmis Heights, a range of hills swe >ing inland from the river, and presenting a convex front, like a bent I >w, towards the enemy. Here he threw up an entrenched camp, expending from a defile on the river Hudson, to a steep height on the* -west, about three quarters of a mile distant. The main fortificati ns were at the defile, where Gates commanded the right wing in person. The Massachusetts regiments and a New York regiment tnder James Livingston, occupied the centre, which was a plain, co\ red in front, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, by a wooded ravine. The left, composed of Poor's brigade, of Morgan's riflemen, and of a few other regiments, was posted on the heights, and, together with the centre, formed a division under the command of General Arnold. Thus placed, the Americans presented a barrier to Burgoyne, which it was necessary for him to force before he could proceed. But con- fident of the valor of his veteran troops, the British General did not hesitate. On the morning of the nineteenth of September he formed his army in order of battle. His plan was worthy of his genius. Himself with the centre, and Frazer with the right wing were to make a circuitous route by two different roads, around the left of the Americans, and having attained this point to concentrate their forces and fall headlong on the astonished enemy. Generals Philips and Riedesel, meantime, were to advance slowly along the river road, with the artillery, and within half a mile of the American line, they were to pause and await two signal guns, announcing the attack on the enemy's rear. After this they were to precipitate themselves on the defile and force their way through. But this plan of attack, so clever in arrangement, was destined to be less happy in its execution. The keen foresight of Arnold detected the manoeuvre of Burgoyne, and sending to Gates, he begged for authority to assail the enemy's right in anticipation. That he might do so effectually he solicited reinforcements. But Gates, fearful of an attack himself, refused to weaken his wing, though he gave per- mission for Arnold to send out Morgan to observe the enemy. Ac- cordingly that officer, with his gallant rifle corps, took a wide circuit on the American left, and soon came unexpectedly on the centre of the British, already nearly in a line with the entrenchments, and rapidly approaching Arnold's rear. A sharp skirmish ensued. At first the British were driven back, but it was only for a moment ; soon, like an avalanche they burst on Morgan's little band, crushing it before them. Two officers and twenty privates fell into the hands HORATIO GATES. 313 of the enemf', a disastrous beginning for the Americans. But Morgan himself escHi'-g, retreated through the woods with the remains of his corps, and-l^ing reinforced by Dearborn's light infantry, returned bravely to t*fe .conflict. Soon also, the regiments of Scammel and Cilley, composed of the redoubtable sons of New Hampshire, coming up, formed ' n the left of Morgan, and the whole, stimulating each other with caeers, poured down on the British regiments. Like vete- ran troops t' ey restrained their fire until close upon the foe. A des- perate conflict ensued. Frazer, who had arrived with the right wing to succor Bwgoyne, hurled his dauntless grenadiers on the American line, intending to penetrate it : and so terrible was the onset that the troops were checked in full career, the whole front trembling under the shock, like a ship struck by a heavy sea. Opportunely at this moment, Arnold came up in person with reinforcements, and in turn dashed furiously on the foe, cutting his way between the centre and right wing, and thus retaliating the manoeuvre of Frazer. Here had now met, for the first time, the Hector and Achilles of the respective armies ! At the head of his renowned grenadiers, who never yet had been defeated, Frazer advanced to the charge, proud that he was about to encounter a foe worthy of his fame ; while Arnold, wav- ing his sword in the van of his troops, his form towering conspicu- ous above the billowy smoke, rushed eagerly to the proffered con- flict. The shock of the hostile battalions was awful. They reeled, swaying to and fro, and for a few minutes neither gave ground ! Sharp and incessant vollies of musketry, fiercer than the most expe- rienced veterans had ever heard, rattled through the woods ; while the smoke clung around the trees and hid the combatants from sight. At last the British grenadiers resorted to their bayonets, and then the Americans sullenly fell back. The course of the battle had now brought the contending armies to the opposite sides of an oblong clearing, right in the heart of the woods. This open space contained about fifteen acres, and measured, perhaps, sixty rods across from east to west. The field sloped gently down towards the south and east. On its north was a thin grove of pines, and on its south a dense wood of oaks. At the upper extrem- ity, sheltered within that open pine grove, were ranged the British ranks, their long line of splendid uniforms relieved by the glittering steel of their muskets, setting the foliage a-blaze with crimson. The Americans were drawn up in the thick forest at the lower end of the clearing, with Arnold at their head. For awhile the two parties stood watching each other. It was a welcome breathing spell for both. The battle had begun at noon, and it was now three in the 40 BB < 314 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. afternoon, so that the men were much fatigued, especially those who had bqen among the first to engage. Yet the deadly animosity of the foes was not lessened. Neither however, seemed eager to attack the other in his stronghold. The British awaited the onset of the Americans the Americans resolved not to lose the advantage of their position. Thus, like two wary wrestlers about to engage in the ring, each party stood measuring its opponent's thews. At last the British, with a shout, rushed from their covert, and dashed across the clearing at the Americans. The latter waited until the enemy had half traversed the field, when they threw in a suc- cession of close and withering vollies. The British staggered, and then again advanced. Another volley was now delivered by the Americans, and seeing that the assailants halted in confusion, the soldiers of Arnold sprang from their coverts, and with loud shouts poured down on the foe. The British fled. The Americans pursued. With wild huzzas they drove the British across the field and up to the very edge of the pine wood. But here received by a fire as deadly as their own, they recoiled in turn. Thus fluctuating forwards and backwards, charging up the ascent and driving in confusion down, the Americans, for some time, gained no permanent advantage. As fast as either side left its covert, the vollies of the other side checked it ; as fast as the assailing party fell back, the retreating one returned to the charge. But finally the British centre began to give way. At this critical moment, however, when Arnold almost regarded the day as won, a brigade of artillery emerged into the front of the ene- my. General Philips, with incredible exertions, had made his way from the plain below through the intervening woods, and the British, elated by this reinforcement, again rallied and drove the Americans a third time across the clearing. The contest was now renewed more fiercely than ever. The one party was sanguine of success at last ; the other was stung to phrenzy by seeing victory snatched from its grasp. The Ameri- cans fled to their covert, but here paused, and pouring in two or three destructive vollies, drove the enemy back. At this, Arnold sprang in front, and, calling on his troops to follow, led them, fired with rage and enthusiasm, up to the muzzles of the British cannon. In vain the clearing was swept by incessant discharges of musketry and artillery ; on over the open space, on through the groves of pines, on to the very guns of the enemy swept the Americans ! The artillerists fled from their pieces or were bayonetted at their post. For a few moments the Americans were again victors. Seizing the ropes they attempted to drag off the cannon ; but the exertion HORATIO GATES. 315 was too great. And now the British, recovering themselves, returned to the charge, and the refluent wave of battle again rolled over the clearing, and lashed the front of the forest in which the fugitives took shelter. Three times the Americans thus dashed at the enemy, drove him from his guns, and remained for a space, masters of the field ; three times the British, returning to the strife, succeeded in redeeming their pieces and beating their assailants back. The car- nage was meantime appalling. The oldest veterans from the Ger- man wars had seen nothing like it. Thirty-six of the forty-eight artillerists had fallen, besides every one of their officers, excepting only Lieutenant Hammond. The clearing was covered with nearly a thousand fallen and slain. Everywhere around, the trees were mangled by cannon balls, while whole limbs, cut off by the shot, frequently obstructed the path. The sun had now declined towards the west. His almost level beams, breaking through a gap in the woods, made luminous the sulphurous canopy that eddied to and fro over that field of blood, with every fluctuation of the battle. As his setting approached, the strife deepened. The British, rallying all their strength for a last effort, again charged across the clearing; while the Americans, reinforced by a fresh regiment, again repulsed them. Twilight brought no cessation to the struggle. Still the tide of battle surged to and fro over that little enclosure. Still the explosions of artillery, like successive eruptions of a volcano, shook the solid hills. At last darkness fell upon the scene. One by one the different corps ceased fighting. The noise of firing gradually subsided, continuing last on the extreme left of the Americans, where Colonel Jackson, with part of the Massachusetts troops, had penetrated almost to the enemy's rear. Finally the "smoke began to lift from the open field, and eddy off, though long after the stars were shining calmly down into the clearing, the vapors still clung around the trees, and hung, like a white shroud over the piles of slain at the edges of the woods. As the evening advanced the whip-poor-will was heard, uttering his plaintive wail unseen ; and the British soldiers, to whom the melan- choly note was unknown, almost fancied it some sad spirit lamenting the dead. The British occupied the ground after the battle, and may, there- fore, be considered the victors. Yet their triumph was, in effect, a defeat ; for Burgoyne had failed in his original design, which was to force the American position. It is plain, from what we have narrated, that much of the glory of the day belonged to Arnold. Gates had scarcely issued an order. In fact, if the earnest messages 316 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. of Arnold had been attended to, and suitable reinforcements sent him, there is little doubt but that Burgoyne would have been totally defeated. Gates, however, acted with prudence, for he knew that a strong force was in his front, and to have materially weak- ened his own position, would probably have invited an assault. He seems to have felt, after the victory, that to Arnold belonged the real glory of the day ; but, instead of frankly acknowledging this, he meanly suppressed that General's name altogether in his despatches. The consequence was an open breach between the two officers, who had formerly been warm friends.^ It is impossible to extenuate the conduct of Gates. It evinced all that jealousy and littleness which is the true test of conscious inferiority. Not all his chivalrous behavior to the unfortunate Burgoyne can make us forget the mean- ness of his conduct to the heroic Arnold. The two armies remained watching each other until the 8th of October. On that day Burgoyne, at the head of fifteen hundred SURRENDER OF BVRGOYNC. men, executed a movement on the American left, for the purpose of covering an extensive forage. The result was another collision be tween the two armies. On this occasion also Arnold was the hero HORATIO GATES. 317 of the fight. The British were repulsed with terrible slaughter and the loss of most of their artillery. Arnold, following them up in their retreat, stormed them in the entrenchments to which they had fled, and was wounded when riding triumphantly into a sally port. In the night Burgoyne retired to a stronger camp. He next attempted to return to Canada. But Gates judiciously enclosing his rear, and his provisions failing, he capitulated on the 16th of October. By this surrender, more than five thousand prisoners, a park of artillery, seven thousand muskets, with an immense quantity of tents and military stores fell into the hands of the Americans. Nothing could exceed the delicacy with which Burgoyne was treated by his captor. Whatever may have been the faults of Gates, a want of courtesy was not among the number; and his graceful attentions almost made the English General forget his misfortunes. Nor must we be under- stood as denying to Gates any merit in the capitulation of Saratoga. However little he may have shared personally in the two battles of BehrmV Heights, the skill with which he managed his army, both before and after those contests, deserves high praise. In short, though not a great General, he was a skilful commander. The conquest of Burgoyne made the partizans of Gates dizzy with exultation. Hitherto the career of Washington had been attended principally by misfortune, the brilliant affairs of Trenton and Prince- ton forming the only exceptions. He had just lost a battle, by which the capital of the nation fell into the enemy's hands ; and though his defeat had been owing to circumstances beyond his control, many were not in a humor to make allowances for this ; and the most un- favorable comparisons were, in consequence, drawn by such persons, between him and the conqueror of Saratoga. The faction which had, from the first, secretly opposed his nomination now raised its head openly and prepared to strike. It is impossible to believe that Gates himself was not in the secret of this cabal, or at least a sym- pathizer in its views, for he neglected to send Washington an account of his victory, but contented himself with reporting to Congress as if he had no superior officer. His neglect to do Arnold justice, and his insolence to the Commander-in-chief, place his character before us, we confess, in a more unfavorable light than it is generally re- garded. And how was his conduct to Washington retaliated ? When misfortune visited Gates, and a fickle Congress was ready to sacrifice him, the hero stepped in to save the victim, and not only preserved him from wrong, but soothed his injured vanity by the gentlest condolence. For the capture of Burgoyne, Gates was rewarded by Congress BB* 318 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. with a gold medal. A Board of War was also constituted, at the head of which he was placed, with powers that rendered him inde- MEDAL PRESENTED BY CONGRESS TO GENERAL GATE*. pendent of Washington. This Board now became the scene of the most abominable intrigues, all aimed at the same point, the removal of Washington, and the substitution of Gates in his place. It is supposed that the design of the cabal, which is known in history as the Conway faction, was to continue to annoy the Commander-in- cniel, uhti^^^T^me moment of spleen, he should resign his post. One of the measures adopted to this end, was an expedition against Canada, which the Board resolved upon without consulting Washing- ton. The command of this enterprise was to be given to LaFayette, in hopes to detach him from the General-in-chief. But the plotters soon found that the Marquis was not to be turned from his allegiance, and in consequence the Canadian expedition was abandoned, chiefly because no longer useful in the way desired. The intrigues of the Conway faction were, soon after, discovered by General Cadwalader, who indignantly challenged Conway, and in the duel that followed, gave him a wound which .was, at first, supposed mortal. In the near expectation of death, Conway, stung by remorse, addressed a letter to Washington, in which he acknowledged his crime, begged the par- don of that august personage, and declared that, in his eyes, the Commander-in-chief was " the great and good man." Conway sub- sequently recovered, but did not remain in America. He went to France, where he died. The cabal coming by these means to light, HORATIO GATES. 319 i such was the indignation of the people, and so odious did its very name become, that its members strove to conceal their participation in its intrigues, and, in a great measure, succeeded. The conduct of the people in this affair is a high testimony to their virtue and gene- ral accuracy of judgment. They knew that Washington was the man, above all others, to defend their liberties ; and knew it, by that instinct, which always guides the mass to the appreciation of the true hero. Defeat and misrepresentation failed utterly to lessen their confidence in him, notwithstanding that many of the ablest minds in the country were shaken in their faith. The result, in the end, proved their superior discernment. We question whether the mass ever mis- takes a truly great man. There seems, as it were, an electric sym- pathy between the soul of the true hero and them, which reveals him to them at once ! On the 1 3th of June, 1 780, after the news of the fall of Charleston, Gates was called to the command of the southern army. This choice was made without consulting Washington, and the sagacious mind of that leader appears to have immediately foreboded the result. Gates hastened to assume his new post. The southern army, at that time, numbered but fifteen hundred men, and was commanded by the Baron de Kalb. It was near Hillsborough, in North Carolina, when overtaken by Gates. That personage reached camp in the highest spirits. He seemed, in the eyes of unprejudiced observers, to regard his name as sufficient alone to paralyze the foe. He began his new career by a fatal blunder. The country in which he was to operate was one especially favorable for cavalry, yet, instead of assisting Colonels Washington and White in recruiting their troops, he cava- lierly dismissed both those officers, and set out on his march with only Armand's corps. On the footsteps of this first, he committed another capital error. Two roads lay open to reach the foe ; one, the most direct, over a desolate country ; the other, more circuitous, through comparatively fertile districts ; yet he chose the former. If his army had been composed solely of veterans, long inured to pri- vation, perhaps the shorter road would have been the best. But as all the accessions to his force were of raw troops, he should have taken the longer and more easy route, both that he might have time to discipline them, and that they might be kept in the highest possi- ble condition. Gates appears to have fancied that it was only necessary for him to find the enemy. Of the possibility of defeat he never thought. It had been made a subject of reproach against him by captious critics, that he had starved out Burgoyne, when it would have been as easy to have conquered him outright ; and the victor 320 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. was resolved not to give occasion again for such strictures. He would, like Caesar, write " veni, vidi, vici," and then the measure of his glory would be full ! The Baron de Kalb would have been the guardian angel of the inflated General, if the self-sufficiency of the one could have paid even ordinary deference to the grey hairs of the other. The Baron recommended a cautious policy, and was in favor of the more cir- cuitous route. The result verified his predictions. The troops were nearly famished for food ; they had scarcely any bread, or even rneal ; a few cattle, caught wild in the woods, afforded the chief sustenance. Owing to the unwholesome swamps they traversed, as well as to the want of proper nourishment, a train of fatal diseases followed the army, destroying many of the men, and debilitating more. At last Gates reached Clermont, from which place Lord Rawdon withdrew on his approach. It would be unjust not to allow that the American General had displayed the highest energy in the prosecution of his march. He had indeed proved himself above yielding to difficulties. But, at the same time, he had shame- fully neglected all precautionary measures. Though joined by nume- rous bodies of militia, whom his renown brought to his standard, he made scarcely any effort to train them, and left the discipline of the camp to take care of itself. He spared neither the health nor the spirits of his men. In short, he pressed forward as if he had but one object in view, to catch the enemy, if possible, before he could shut himself up in Charleston. Lord Rawdon had, at first, retired upon Camden. To the vicinity of this place Gates now followed. On his approach, however, Rawdon, instead of retreating further, advanced to Lynch's Creek, about fifteen miles in front ; and, for four days, the armies continued watching each other, separated only by this slender stream. At the end of this period, a movement of Gates against the enemy's left, induced Rawdon to retire on Camden once more. Gates, slowly advancing, took post at Rudgely's mill, which the enemy had just abandoned. Here he was joined by General Stevens, at the head of seven hundred Virginia militia ; and from this point he detached four hundred regulars to reinforce Sumpter, a fatal error, unless he considered Rawdon sure to retreat before him. If he had been governed by the same sagacious views of the nature of the contest as Lord Cornwallis, he would, instead of weakening his army, have waited until it was strengthened by further reinforcements, satisfied that his enemy, and not himself, would lose by delay. Cornwallis, who had meantime arrived at Camden, saw this, and resolved to HORATIO GATES. 321 seek Gates, in order to give him instant battle. He had indeed but two thousand men, while the American General had nearly four ; but the latter was in the midst of his resources, while the former was far from them. Moreover, the British army was composed chiefly of regulars, that of Gates mostly of militia. Accordingly, on the 16th of August, the British General marched out from Camden. Gates, still confident of success, had left Rudgely's mills the same day, on his way to Saunder's Creek, seven miles from Camden. The two armies, to their mutual surprise, met about one o'clock at night. Each took some prisoners and learned the motives of the other; when, by mutual consent, they drew off and awaited the dawn. At daybreak the battle began. The story of that melan- choly day we have already told at sufficient length. Gates, on the eve of the contest, appears to have hesitated for the first time. He called a council of his officers, and desired to know what was best to be done. For some time no one spoke, but finally General Stevens remarked, " that it was now too late to retreat." This was all that was said. The silence continuing, Gates broke up the unsat- isfactory council with the words, " then we must fight gentlemen, please to take your posts." After a vain attempt to redeem his errors, by rallying the fugitive militia, the defeated commander gave the reins to his horse and galloped from the fatal field. He has been censured for not remain- ing to share death with the brave de Kalb. But, when Gates left the scene of disaster, he believed the rout final, the thick fog com- pletely concealing from his sight the Maryland and Delaware regiments. r _Aceompanied only by a few friends, the prostrate con- queror fled to Charlotte, eighty miles distant, without dismounting. Soon after he" continued his flight to Salisbury, and subsequently to Hillsborough. He left, however, Smallwood and Gist at the former place to collect the dispersed continentals who had survived the fight ; for little hope existed of rallying the militia, that species of force always making the best of their way home after a disaster. At Hillsborough, a hundred and eighty miles from the scene of battle, he felt himself in comparative safety. Here, with a resolution that sheds a momentary gleam across his darkening fortunes, he began immediately to collect reinforcements, expressing his determination not to abandon the contest, but return and face the foe. He had partially succeeded in restoring confidence, when, on the 5th of October, he was removed from his command, and an inquiry ordered into his conduct. Congress now called on Washington to nominate his successor. The Commander-in-chief promptly replied by select- 41 322 THE HEROES OF THE KEVOLTTTION. ing General Greene. The new commander as promptly began his journey, and arrived in the camp of Gates on the 2nd of December, where he was received by the fallen General with a dignity and fortitude which extorts admiration. Greene, on his part, with deli- cate forbearance, paid his predecessor the compliment of continuing his orders of the day. The reverse of Gates is one of those mysterious events which affect the mind with a profound sense of retributive justice. Great as had been the folly that produced the rout of Camden, his worst enemies could see nothing of criminality in his conduct. His actions had been the result of a mind made dizzy by success; but no worse accu- sation could be brought against him. Yet, as in his prosperity he had been unjust to others, so, in adversity there were many unjust to him. The wrongs of Arnold were now being fearfully avenged. As he travelled north, on his way to his residence in Virginia, no- thing but scowling, or at best gloomy faces welcomed him. The odium of his defeat had gone before him, and rendered even his best friends cold. His reception deeply affected his spirits. He who had once been so cordial in his manners, was now grave and reserved. Notwithstanding his assumption of fortitude in public, in private, it is said, he keenly felt his degradation. At last he reached Richmond. Here the first word of condolence he had received, greeted his wel- come ears. The Assembly was then in session, and a committee was appointed to assure the desponding General of " their high re- gard and esteem, and that their remembrance of his former glorious services was never to be obliterated by any reverse of fortune." Washington also, though so much injured by Gates, extended his sympathy to the unhappy fugitive, arid sought, with disinterested kindness, to assuage the sharp pang of misfortune, by compassion- ately deferring assembling the court of inquiry. Thus closed the military career of Horatio Gates. In depicting it we have sought to be governed by exact justice. He was, in our opinion, neither a very good nor a very bad man ; neither an able General, nor one wholly the reverse. His character suggests no idea so forcibly as that of elegant mediocrity. After the termination of' the war he resided in Virginia until 1789, when he manumitted his slaves and removed to New York. He took little part in public af- fairs, (face, and once only, he emerged from his retirement. This was in 1800, when he served a single term in the Legislature. He died on the 10th of April, 1806, leaving no posterity. SHIPPEX S HOUSE WHERE GEXEKAL ARNOLD WAS MARRIED. BENEDICT ARNOLD. ENEDICT Arnold was the solitary traitor of the Revo- lution. Yet it has been the fashion of late to extenuate his treason. It is argued that he had great tempta- tions; that his passions were violent ; that he was wrong- ed by Congress, in rank, fortune, and good name. But they know little of hu- man nature who suppose criminals are such from mere wantonness only. Guilt always has a cause. ^rT^-^ The difference between __<^ ' wickedness and honesty is not that one is tempted, and 'he other goes free, but that one yields while the other resists. There was more than one officer in the army who suffered as great indig- 323 324 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. nities as Arnold, yet he alone sought revenge in betraying his coun- try. His moral obliquity was the cause of his fall. He, whose romantic courage and intrepidity in the early years of the war, had lifted his name on a pinnacle of glory, suffered himself at last, in the gratification of an unholy hatred, to be hurried into acts which pre- cipitated him from his lofty elevation, and buried him forever in the gulf of the traitor. We never recall the name of Arnold, without thinking of that Lucifer, who, like him, found ruin in his impetuous ambition. ' So call him now His former name Is heard no more in heaven." The character of Arnold is no riddle, as many suppose. On the contrary, it is of a very ordinary kind, though not always found in such exaggeration. It united great force with even greater depravity. But the heart of man is his balance-wheel, and if it be wrong, the whole machine runs wild. Arnold had no controlling moral princi- ples. As boy and man he would have his way, reckless of the means, so that he succeeded. Impetuous, daring, energetic, with a will that carried everything before it, yet wholly destitute of principle or honor, he was like some terrible wild beast, let loose to work his pleasure in a crowd, without chain or keeper. If nothing opposed him, all went well : but if his path was crossed, hell itself was roused to his aid. There was something colossal in the energy with which he pursued an object, something awful in his fierceness: like the fabled mammoth, when he advanced he crushed everything mercilessly down. His almost delirious fury on the battle-field of Saratoga is an illustration of this. Raging across the plain, the foe scattering wherever he appeared, what was he even then but the same pas- sionate and headlong man who, when afterwards opposed by Con- gress, rushed, in a phrenzy of hatred, to avenge himself by bartering his country. Arnold was consistent throughout his whole career. In his boyish pastimes, a heedless bully ; in his commercial days, a reckless speculator ; was it to be. wondered at if, in the higher walks of after life, he played out his p"art ? From first to last he acted without moral restraint. From first to last he had a will to convulse empires. The heroism of Arnold was that of vast physical courage, set in motion and hurried forward by a fiery soul. His treason, on the contrary, was only a new phase of that moral obliquity which had attended him through life. If Arnold's guilt is to be extenuated, it would be a mockery to punish crime ! Benedict Arnold was bom at Norwich, Connecticut, on the 3rd BENEDICT ARNOLD. 325 of January, 1 740. As a boy he was characterized by cruelty, bad temper, and an indifference to the opinions of others. He would maim young birds in sight of the parents, in order to be amused by the cries of the latter. He scattered broken pieces of glass near the school house door that the children might cut their feet. Conduct like this evinced a greater degree of innate brutality than belongs to boys ordinarily. As he grew up he betrayed dispositions, in other respects, painful to his friends. He ran away and enlisted in the army, but being placed on garrison duty, he found its restraints too great, arid deserted. At the age* of manhood he began business as a druggist in New Haven. The energy which had always charac- terized him, being, for a while, confined in a legitimate channel, his profits increased ; and finally he added the pursuit of a general mer- chant to his earlier avocation. He began to trade with the West Indies, and commanded his own vessels. Diverging into speculation, he finished with insolvency. In addition to this, his irascible, impetu- ous and unprincipled disposition continually plunged him into quar- rels, in one of which, while in the West Indies, he fought a duel with a Frenchman. Numerous anecdotes are preserved of this period of his life, but they all resolve themselves into two classes, and either exemplify his energy and daring, or else betray his obli- quity of moral purpose. In 1775, after the battle of Lexington, Arnold marched at the head of sixty men from New Haven to Cambridge. Before setting out, he called on the selectmen for ammunition, but they refused the keys of the magazine, on which Arnold, with characteristic daring, answered that, if the keys were not surrendered, he would break open the doors. When he arrived at head-quarters he proposed to the Massachusetts Committee of Safety the capture of Fort Ticon- deroga, and that body adopting his plan, and furnishing him with a Colonel's commission, he hastened forward to his destination. His intention had been to raise recruits in the western part of the state, but on arriving there he heard of the similar project of the committee of the Connecticut Legislature, and instantly pressed forward to Castleton, where the New Hampshire volunteers were, in order to assert his superior right to the command. The friends of Ethan Allen, however, would not serve under Arnold, and in the end the latter consented to waive his claims, and act as a volunteer. He entered the gate of the fort, in the assault, side by side with Allen. Subsequently he captured a royal sloop and some galleys. His con- duct throughout was marked by energy, intrepidity and military forecast; but also by arrogance, impetuosity, and an arbitrary cc 326 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. demeanor. Even at this early period, the seeds of his subsequent disgrace were sown. Immediately after the capture of Ticonderoga he produced his commission, and claimed the command of the fort ; but as the followers of Allen, as well as the Connecticut Committee still refused his claims, he withdrew sullenly to Crown Point, where he assumed supreme control. His presumption was represented in exaggerated terms to the Massachusetts authorities, who despatched a committee of inquiry to examine his conduct. The indignation of Arnold blazed up at such a procedure, and he angrily resigned his commission. His services had been of value, and, perhaps, were not justly rewarded ; but if he had possessed less selfish ambition, he would have been less enraged. The war of independence was not one in which mere personal ends ought to have been sought. Its true heroes were all self-denying men. In the ensuing autumn Arnold offered to lead an expedition across the wilderness of Maine, in order to penetrate into Canada from an unexpected quarter, and try the effect of a surprise on Quebec. The route was one of incredible difficulty, and had never been travelled except by small parties. But its very dangers recommended it to Arnold : he burned to do something beyond ordinary daring : and, having received the concurrence of Washington, he began his march, on the 16th of September, with about a thousand men. For six weeks the expedition toiled on amid perils and privations that would have disheartened common leaders. Over rugged mountains, through inhospitable forests, and down rivers foaming with terrific cataracts the little army pursued its way, the men often being compelled to carry their boats for miles from portage to portage, and sometimes passing days in succession drenched to the skin by rain. On one occasion several of the batteaux were upset, a large stock of provi- sions lost, and the crews nearly drowned. In consequence of this accident food became scarce. The troops continually lost themselves, moreover, in the labyrinthine woods. Exhausted with incessant labor, and weak for want of necessary nourishment, many of the men became sick, and were unable to proceed further. The unfor- tunate sufferers, in such cases, were left in rude huts, composed of the branches of trees, with a companion to tend them, while the rest pressed forward ; for to have lingered would have ensured death by starvation. Day after day elapsed, yet the settlements did not appear. The sun rose, after nights of hunger and fever, on another day of toil and privation ; and as he mounted to the zenith, the travellers clambered up the lofty trees, and strove to catch a sight of some friendly smoke in that vast wilderness. But noon came, BENEDICT ARNOLD. 327 and night succeeded ; and still there was no hope. Another day rose and departed ; still no signs of succor ! The men dropped along the route, but, remembering that to despair was to perish, rose and struggled on as they best could. Soon the travellers were scattered over a distance of thirty miles. Despair was fast gathering around every heart. In this awful emergency Arnold showed all the qual- ities of a great leader, by sharing the privations of the lowest, by assisting to draw the batteaux, by hurrying to and fro to cheer the men along that extended line. At last, flinging himself into a light canoe, he embarked on the angry waters of the Chaudiere, and, in three days, after being in continual peril amid its boiling and foam- ing current, arrived at Sertigan, the first French settlement in Canada. His appearance filled the simple inhabitants with awe. They regarded him and his companions almost as some superior beings, having ever considered the wilderness impassable unless for soli- tary hunters. Tradition still preserves, in the secluded vallies of that district, the memory of that audacious enterprise, and old men, with grey heads shaking as they rehearse it, tell the miraculous story of the " descent of the Bostonians." Arnold now despatched succors to the rear, and booths were erected with refreshments, so that the famished members of the ex- pedition, as they came in, might find instant relief. He then pro- ceeded down the river to conciliate the inhabitants. Success crowned his efforts. Too recently conquered to have become reconciled to their yoke, the French inhabitants of Canada welcomed the Ameri- cans as deliverers ; while the Americans on their part, obeying the instructions of Washington, paid the highest respect to the prejudices of the Canadians and liberally paid for supplies. Having recruited his men by a short delay, Arnold pushed on toward Quebec, hoping to take that city by surprise. But a messenger whom he had despatched in advance to some friends in the town, having proved a traitor and delivered the letters to the Governor, the garrison was found in a state of preparation. Arnold, however, climbed the heights of Abraham and drawing up his troops on the plain, gave three cheers, not in idle bravado as some have supposed, but in hopes to draw the English from their entrenchments. The command- er, however, was too prudent to endanger the loss of the place, and obstinately remained within his walls. Arnold now retired to Point aux Trembles, twenty miles above Quebec, where he was soon joined by Montgomery ; and the two, uniting their forces, moved down again to renew the attempt. The story of that desperate, but gallant assault, need not be repeated here. It is sufficient 328 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. to say that Montgomery fell and Arnold was wounded, while the attack was repulsed with little loss to the besieged. The block- MONTKKAU ade of Quebec, however, was continued until May, 1776. During a portion of this period Arnold was Governor of Montreal, whither he retired in sullen disgust at the coldness of General Wooster, who had arrived from the states and superseded him in the command. Gradually the Americans were compelled to relinquish one post after another in Canada, until on the 18th of June, the army permanently abandoned that country. In the retreat, Arnold led the rear, and like Ney in Russia, was the last man to retire. The story of his conduct on this occasion is as picturesque as any in romance. When the army was about to sail for Crown Point, Arnold remained be- hind to superintend the embarkation. At last every boat had left except his own ; he then mounted his horse and attended only by a single Aid-de-camp, rode back two miles, until the advancing legions of the enemy were distinctly visible. Drawing in his rein, he gazed at them for a short time, and, when his curiosity was satisfied, has- tened back to St. Johns. The boat was in waiting, and the men anxious to be gone ; for already the evening gun of the enemy echoed among the neighboring hills. The horses were stripped and shot, and Arnold, pushing off the boat with his own hands, leaped on board ; the men sprang to their oars, and the light craft, skim- BENEDICT ARNOLD. 329 ming rapidly away, was soon lost in the gathering obscurity of the night. On the news of Arnold's gallant behavior at Quebec, Congress had appointed him a Brigadier. This new rank opened to his ambitions soul a wider career of glory ; but the higher he soared, the loftier grew his aspirations, arid the prouder his daring ! On the retreat of the army to Ticonderoga, he was appointed to command a small fleet on Lake Champlain, destined to harass, and, if possible, baffle the approach of the British, who, in numerous galleys, were preparing to advance down the lake. A better choice of a leader for this little navy, could not have been made. Arnold's voyages to the West Indies had given him a sufficient knowledge of maritine affairs to answer his present purpose, and besides, the smallness of the vessels would render the combats rather like the hand to hand conflicts of knightly times than the sea-fights of modern warfare. Perhaps, no man ever lived more fitted to distinguish himself in such melees than Benedict Arnold. It was not long before he heard of the pre- sence of an English fleet in the lake, and sallying out boldly, although he knew the enemy to be superior, he soon became engaged in a desperate strife. His own force consisted of three schooners, two sloops, three galleys and eight gondolas ; the enemy had one three- masted vessel, two schooners, a radeau, one gondola, and twenty gun-boats. For some hours the battle raged furiously notwithstand- ing the vast disproportion of numbers, for the wind not allowing all the vessels on either side to be engaged, the Americans had even a smaller relative force in battle than that enumerated above. Dur- ing the action Arnold was the chief stay of his little fleet. He pointed almost every gun that was fired from his galley, and stimulated his crew by a constant exposure of his person. Both his own vessel and that of his second in command were terribly shattered. The number of killed and wounded was enormous, considering the small force engaged. Every officer on board of one of the gondolas, ex- cept the captain, was killed, and another gondola sank soon after the conflict. Night now fell around the scene of strife, and the smoke which had lain packed upon the water, gradually eddied off and thinned imperceptibly away. But no stars were in the cloudy sky. This was, however, a fortunate circumstance for Arnold, as it enabled him to put in execution a design which the ruined condition of his fleet and the disparity of his forces rendered inevitable. This was to re- turn to Crown Point. But as the enemy had anchored their vessels in a line from shore to shore in order to prevent his retreat, the 42 cc* 330 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. manoeuvre would, perhaps, have been impossible but for the favor- ing obscurity of the night. A breeze from the north springing up, the crippled navy got under weigh. Arnold, as usual, brought up the rear. Not a sound was heard except the ripple of the water under the galley's stern, and the sough of the wind among the pine trees on the shore,as this gallant craft, bringing up the line,stood boldly on between the two principal vessels of the foe. Even the tread of the sentry on board the British ships could be distinguished. At last the gauntlet was safely run, and spreading all sail, the fleet sped swiftly up the lake. But when it had proceeded about twelve miles it was forced to come to anchor in order to stop leaks, and before it was ready to advance again, the wind died away and then came out baffling from the south. The ships could not all sail alike, and some necessarily fell behind. By the second morning after the battle, the pursuing enemy overtook the rear of the fugitives. A fresh conflict ensued. The force of the British was so overpowering that soon the galley of Arnold was the only one that had not surrendered. For four hours, a ship of eighteen guns, a schooner of fourteen, and another of twelve, poured a concentric fire on his solitary craft; and for four hours Arnold returned the unequal cannonade, the crater, as it were, of a blazing volcano. At last his vessel, reduced almost to a wreck, was surrounded by seven hostile sail. In this situation, Arnold ran his galley with the four gondolas ashore in a small stream near the scene of conflict, and setting fire to them, ordered the ma- rines to leap out, wade to land and line the bank in order to keep off the enemy. The order was faithfully executed. Arnold remained alone on board until sure that the flames could not be extinguished, then, leaving the flags flying in defiance, he sprang into the water and marched sword in hand to shore. This series of brilliant deeds gave Arnold an unequalled popula- rity with the people. His name was on every tongue. The distant vallies of Pennsylvania as well as the villages of his native New England, rung with plaudits ; and a hundred anecdotes were passed from tongue to tongue, of his sufferings in the wilderness, of his dauntlessness at Quebec, of his dazzling heroism on Lake Champlain. Men said that what others dared to propose he dared to execute t that there was nothing he would not attempt, and few things he could not achieve. Where the strife raged fiercest, there, they de- clared, his sword flamed highest, as of old the white plume of Henry of Navarre danced on the surge of battle. Arnold knew that this was his reputation ; but he knew also that many envied him. There were numerous olficers in the army who were as selfish as himself BENEDICT ARNOLD. 331 but had none of his impetuous bravery ; and these, with their friends in and out of Congress, waited only an opportunity to injure him. It was not long wanting. Even before the naval battle of Lake Champlain, a complaint had been made against Arnold in reference to some goods which he had carried off from Montreal in his official capacity, and though, perhaps, there was nothing criminal in his conduct, it was sufficiently irregular to afford a handle for his ene- mies. Unfortunately neither Arnold's former character as a mer- chant, nor his present reputation in monied transactions were of a kind to discountenance such a charge, but rather tended to confirm it. In addition to this, his haughty and arrogant demeanor had ren- dered him disagreeable to his military associates ; and these latter, by their letters to members of Congress, spread the same dislike to Arnold abroad which existed in the camp. The consequence was that, when a new list of Major-Generals was made out, Arnold was neglected and younger officers appointed in his stead. A case is half lost already when the prejudices of the public are enlisted against either party. Arnold was in this unfortunate situation. Nor was he a man who, when he found the current setting against him, would endeavor to conciliate his enemies or the public ; but on the contrary, carrying his impetuosity in battle into private life, he strove to force his antagonists into submission. This was the course he now adopted. At once he called in the public as his arbiters, and complain- ed to them of his services and his neglect. This defiant conduct, as might have been expected, only increased the virulence of his ene- mies. He lost his temper too, in all such controversies ; and the more he was wronged, the angrier he recriminated. Instead of wait- 'ing prudently until the sense of the people should compel his enemies to do him justice, he stormed against Congress with a violence amounting almost to insanity, and which disgusted even his friends. Instead of imitating the example of Schuyler,who, when superseded in the moment of victory, stifled his resentment and patriotically assisted Gates, Arnold, when overlooked in the promotions, dinned into the ears of the nation his selfish complaints, and exposed his wounds ostentatiously to the public gaze, like a ragged mendicant on the highway. Washington was the only man that could control this haughty and imprudent spirit. He understood perfectly the fiery impetuosity of Arnold, and if he misjudged him at all it was in charitably estimat- ing his moral character too favorably. He gave wise counsel to the irritated General in this emergency counsel which, if always fol- lowed by Arnold, would have saved his name from future infamy, 332 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. And, for a while, Arnold listened to Washington, and obeyed his belter angel. The Commander-in-chief now took up his part, and wrote to Congress in relation to the affair ; and Arnold himself, about this time having gallantly repulsed a predatory incursion of the Bri- tish in Connecticut, that body, at last, listened to his claims and ele- vated him to the rank of Major-General. He was not, however, placed above the juniors of whose promotion he had been complain- ing, and the guerdon accordingly, as it fell short of his wishes, was received with angry reproaches. Indeed, to a nature like Arnold's, this half reluctant and incomplete justice was a source of constant irri- tation : it worked like a thorn in his soul, continually festering, and from that day to the hour of his suicidal ruin, it kept him in a state of morbid excitement, which first hurried him on, a madman, to Beh- mis' Heights, and afterwards precipitated him, a traitor, into infamy and ruin. Yet we do not urge these things as a defence of his con- duct. Had not a mere selfish ambition actuated him, he would never had betrayed his country for robbing him of rank. We only ana- lyze his character. Another difficulty, meantime, arose between him and Congress. By the peculiarity of his situation, during the two last campaigns, lie had been compelled to act not only in the capacity of commander, but of Commissary and Paymaster also. He now presented his ac- counts for settlement, and claimed a large balance in his favor. As it was known that he entered the service poor, men asked how he came to accumulate such a sum. On examining his statement it was found to contain several extravagant charges in his own behalf, some of them of a dubious character, and others clearly unreasona- ble. The authorities naturally hesitated to settle such accounts. His ejiemies in Congress openly charged him with endeavoring to swindle the public, nor could his friends consistently defend conduct so evidently wrong. At last, finding the committee not disposed to make a report in his favor, and discovering that the friends of the other Major-Generals were too strong for him to attain the rank he desired, in a fit of impetuous anger he sent in his resignation, declar- ing that he was driven to do this by a sense of the injustice he had suffered, and averring that " honor was a sacrifice no man ought to make." But he had scarcely despatched the document when intel- ligence of the fall of Ticonderoga was received, and immediately after Washington wrote to Congress, recommending that Arnold should be sent to the northern army. "He is active, judicious and brave," said the Commander-in-chief, "and an officer in whom the militia will repose great confidence." The offer of the appoint- BENEDICT ARNOLD. 333 ment conciliated Arnold. He declared that he would go at once to Schuyler's army and trust to the justice of Congress for his reparation. He reached the northern army a few days before the evacuation of Fort Edward, and while there heard that Congress had finally dis- allowed his claim to be advanced over the other Major-Generals. He again determined to resign, but was prevented by the coun- sels of Schuyler. When the army fell back to Stillwater, intelligence arrived of the sanguinary battle of Oriskany, in which General Her- kimer had lost his life ; and Arnold promptly volunteered to lead an expedition to the relief of Fort Leger, now blockaded by the victo- rious foe. A stratagem played off by Arnold led the enemy to sup- pose that his force was far greater than it was; and the British, with- out waiting for a conflict retreated in confusion. After an absence of twenty days Arnold returned to camp. He found the army, under the command of Gates, had retreated and taken post just above the confluence of the Mohawk and Hudson ; but a few days after, the enemy still occupying Saratoga, the Americans retraced their steps and occupied Behmis' Heights. A week subsequently the battle of Stillwater was fought. This action lasted from noon until night and was contested chiefly by Arnold's division. Directly after the battle, Gates withdrew a part of Arnold's divi- sion, without the latter 's knowledge. At this Arnold was extremely indignant, as it placed him in the light, he said, of presuming to give orders which were contravened by the general orders of the Com- mander-in-chief. In his despatches respecting the battle of Stillwater, Gates had overlooked Arnold's division altogether, merely stating that the struggle was carried on by detachments from the army. At this, too, Arnold was justly indignant. " Had my division behaved ill," he said, " the other division of the army would have thought it extremely hard to have been amenable for their conduct." An angry altercation ensued between the two Generals. Gates insinuated that, on Lincoln's arrival, he should take away Arnold's division from him. Arnold demanded a pass for himself and suite to join Wash- ington. Gates haughtily complied with the request. But Arnold, on reconsideration, thinking he would hazard his reputation by a depar- ture on the eve of battle, remained, though stripped of his command, without any employment in camp, arid in open hostility with the Ge- neral-in-chief. The censure of this affair must be equally divided between Gates and Arnold. The former was arrogant and tyranni- cal ; the latter insolent and presuming. The one was jealous of the glory won by his subordinates ; the other not unwilling to supplant his superior in renown. 334 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. The quarrel remained in this condition when the second battle of Behmis' Heights occurred, on the 7th of October, 1777. The action was begun by a detachment, fifteen hundred strong, headed by Burgoyne in person, directed against the left of the American posi- tion. Gates instantly determined to cut this force off from the main body, and accordingly hurled his masses against its left ; while a strong body of troops was despatched to get into its rear. An attack was also made on the British right, so that the conflict now became general along the whole line. As Arnold had no command, he remained chafing in his own tent, but when the roar of battle in- creased, unable to endure the inaction longer, he rushed out, and mounting a borrowed charger, rode, for some time in excitement around the crimp, and then galloped to the field without orders. The animal he rode was a beautiful Spanish mare, celebrated for her fleetness of foot, and all eyes in the camp were soon turned on the spirited steed and its rider as they scoured the distance between the lines and the army. The instant Gates recognized Arnold, he turned angrily to Major Armstrong and commanded him to bring the fugi- tive General back. But Arnold, divining his message, would not allow Armstrong to overtake him. Dashing into the hottest of the fight whenever his pursuer approached, he lost himself amid the smoke, until at last the latter abandoned the erratic chase in despair. Arnold now had the field before him. He was without orders, the officer of highest rank in the action. Plunging hither and thither through the apparently involved strife, issuing directions for which his former renown as well as his rank ensured obedience, he became from that moment the master spirit of the fight. The most wonderful accounts are handed down, by tradition, of his intrepidity. The prodigies of valor he performed surpass the boundaries of romance. A reckless- ness allied to phrenzy seemed to have possessed him, and he hurled himself continually on the solid masses of the foe, scattering terror and confusion wherever he came. His example was contagious. Storming over the field like a whirlwind, he swept his men with him wherever he went, here rend- ing and splitting the ranks of the enemy, there dashing them head- long before his track. It is said, by some, that he was intoxicated, by others that he acted under the influence of opium. But it was not so. Passions wrought to their highest pitch by his late quarrel, ambition fearing a fall, rage seeking an outlet, revenge burning for distinction, all these feelings, flaming in his bosom at once, fired him to a madness that surpassed that of any physical excitement, and BENEDICT ARNOLD. 335 the tempest of the elements. In this phrenzy he did acts of which afterwards he had no recollection. An officer hesitating to obey his orders, he struck the man over the head with his sword ; yet, the next day Arnold had forgotten it. On one occasion, having to cross ARNOLD AT BKHMls' HEIGHTS. the field, he wheeled his steed in front of his own men, and dashed down the whole length of the line, opposed to both fires. Gallop- ing to arid fro, his voice rising above the shattering noise of battle, he stimulated to great deeds wherever he came. As the British, finding their retreat about to be cut oft', began to retire, Arnold came up at the head of three regiments, and fell, like a thunderbolt, on their line. Recoiling before this fierce onset, the enemy strove no longer to keep his ground, but only to reach his camp before the pursuing Americans ; while Arnold cheering his men by words and by the most heroic exposure of his person, raged furiously in his rear. o3f) THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. At last Burgoyue gained his entrenchments ; but even here he was not safe ! Arnold came foaming on, and soon reaching the foot of the lines, lashed them incessantly. Night gradually fell, yet still the assault continued. In vain the British swept his ranks with mus- ketry and grape ; in vain a thousand bayonets bristled above the works ; still waving his sword at the head of his troops, and excit- ing them with enthusiastic appeals, he led them up to the very mouth of the artillery, drove back the appalled defenders, and was entering the sally-port, when a grape shot shattered his leg, and killing his horse under him, he fell helpless to the ground. But he had conquered. He had made himself the hero of the day. Wounded, but exulting he was borne from the field; and soon after the attack closed on all sides, for with his departure the master-spirit had vanished. Darkness fell upon the scene ; the smoke gradually lifting from the field, slowly eddied away ; but in the dim obscurity, only an undistinguishable mass of broken artil- lery wagons, shattered carriages and heaps of dead were discernible. But, it was known that the enemy were everywhere driven back ; and far over the valley lights -were seen, which told that the Ameri- cans were established in the Hessian camp. As the wounded hero lay on his couch, news was brought him that the army attributed to him the chief glory of the day. The welcome intelligence compen- sated him for his suffering. His proud soul swelled with the thought that though deprived of his command and sought to be disgraced by his superior, he had plucked the laurels from the brow of Gates ; and, in the sanguine exhilaration of the hour, he looked forward to a long career of glory and to a triumph over all his enemies, as galling to them as it would be delicious to himself. Nor was he dis- appointed, at least in a part of his expectations. Congress, on receiv- ing intelligence of the battle of Behmis' Heights, immediately elevated Arnold to his long desired rank. Felicitations poured in on him from every quarter. At Albany, whither he had retired in consequence of his wound, he became an object of universal interest. Burgoyne, after the capitulation, personally complimented him on his intrepidity. In short, he was now at the zenith of his dazzling career the won- der and applause of his countrymen ; but alas ! the star that blazed so brilliantly was only a false meteor, which already began to dim, and which was destined, amid gloom and tempest, to grow darker and darker to the close ! His wound proving tedious and unfitting him for service, Arnold, after the recovery of Philadelphia, was assigned the command of that place. His duties were never exactly defined, and his interfer- BENEDICT ARNOLD. 337 ence soon offended the authorities of Pennsylvania, the result of which was another of those unfortunate quarrels in which Arnold continued to be involved, from the beginning to the close of his military career. His enemies charged him with extortion, oppression, and applying the public money to his own use ; he retorted in his old manner, impetuously and defyingly, appealing to his services as a defence. It is not our purpose to dig up and expose, from the grave of buried animosities, the unhappy bickerings, and more unhappy recrimina- tions of that controversy. Our present aim requires only that we should state accurately the amount of Arnold's guilt. This extended to imprudence, but scarcely to crime. However, his old enemies had never been conciliated, and these now joining their outcries to his new ones, both together produced an uproar against which even Arnold could make no head, notwithstanding the brilliancy of his reputation. He became excessively unpopular in Philadelphia. At last the state authorities exhibited charges against him for pretended oppressive and illegal acts ; and, in the end, a military tribunal was appointed to examine and adjudicate on the case. His trial began in June, 1779, but, owing to the movements of the army, it was not concluded until January, 1780. To the astonishment of Arnold it ended in his conviction on two of the charges. He was not found guilty of any Criminality, however, but of imprudent and improper conduct for one in his high station. He was sentenced to be repri- manded by Washington. Simultaneously with the progress of this quarrel, Arnold had been engaged in endeavoring to obtain a settlement of his accounts with Congress. The old difficulties, however, interposed. In the end, Congress agreed to allow him about half of his claims, but inti- mated that he was then receiving more than he had any right to expect. At this, his resentment broke forth into the most violent invectives against the injustice of that body. In public and private he declaimed of the ingratitude of his country. There is no doubt that Congress was torn by factions, and that many members opposed Arnold from improper motives ; but there is as little doubt that, in his accounts, he was endeavoring to plunder his country. Even had he been perfectly innocent, however, the injustice of otherswould have been no defence of his subsequent conduct. But Arnold was not one to reason thus. His character was such that he often fancied himself injured when he was not; and when he fancied himself injured, his first thought was of revenge. To gain this he was willing to sacri- fice everything honor, a good name, his home, his country. He had long nursed this foul sentiment secretly in his bosom, and had 43 DD 338 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. even taken some steps to carry it into execution, with the intention of pursuing or abandoning it as circumstances should recommend ; but now, when Congress gave this implicit censure in their report, and afterwards approved the sentence of the court martial by which he was subjected to the ignominy of a reprimand, he resolved to adopt the measure he had as yet only vaguely conceived. Another circumstance contributed to hasten this resolution, which we must present, before a just estimate of his character can be formed. On his arrival at Philadelphia, Arnold had given way to the natural selfishness and vanity of his soul, by adopting a style of the most ostentatious living, and one little in consonance with his com- paratively narrow means. He leased the house of Governor Penn, drove a carriage and four, gave splendid entertainments, and, in every way, sought to vie with the wealthiest inhabitants of the place. He formed an attachment for Miss Shippen, a young lady of great beauty, whose connexions and sympathies were chiefly with the loyalists, and who had herself been an admired belle in the circle of the British officers during their late occupation of the city. The society into which this marriage threw him, increased the suspicion into which Arnold fell. Neither did it diminish his expensive habits. He soon began to feel the necessity of recruiting his finances. For this purpose he embarked in privateering, but met with no success. He wrote to Washington, proposing to take the command of the navy ; but as he received no encouragement, he abandoned his project. He then waited on the Chevalier de la Luzerne, Ambassador from the Court of France, and proposed to that gentle- man to advance him a loan from the Court of Versailles; but the Chevalier, who felt an interest in so brave a man, kindly repre- sented that any such loan would be considered by his enemies, in the light of a bribe, and to Arnold's chagrin, declined it. Thus, impelled at once by his necessities, and by the desire for revenge, he resolved to consummate the treason he had long projected. Even before the period when the court of inquiry was first ordered on his conduct, so early indeed as the spring of 1779, Arnold had opened a secret correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton, under the assumed character of a merchant, adopting the fictitious name of Anderson. Clinton at once suspected, from the contents of the let- ters, that his correspondent was a man of rank in the American army ; and giving the epistles into the hand of Major Andre, his protegee, directed him to answer them. Andre replied over the signature of Gustavus. The correspondence was continued, without Clinton discovering the name of the traitor, until the trial of Arnold, BENEDICT ARNOLD. 339 when the British General became convinced, by a combination of various circumstances, that this wr%s the man. When, therefore, shortly after, the command of West Point was given to Arnold, and Clinton received a letter from the pretended Anderson, stating that he was now in a situation to render a vast service to the royal cause, but wished to have a private interview with some responsible officer, in order to adjust the terms, the British General felt justified in deputing Major Andre, we may suppose with ample powers, to meet this secret friend, and, if he should prove to be Arnold, to promise everything in order to obtain possession of West Point. For that fortress, in consequence of being the depot where the stores were deposited, which had been collected in view of the pro- jected attack on New York, was now a prize of the highest value 10 Clinton, since its capture would at once derange the plans of the enemy, and break up altogether the approaching campaign. Nor had Arnold obtained the command of this post without much finesse. Indeed, from the hour when he resolved on his treason, he began to display a subtlety, little of which had been evinced in his former life, and which would have been thought incompatible with his impetuosity. Instead of openly asking for the command, he ap- proached his object by tortuous steps, procuring others to suggest him for it, and then merely hinting to Washington its fitness for him, in consequence of his wounded leg, which had not yet grown strong. Once in possession of the place he became urgent, as we have seen, for an interview with some responsible British officer. He himself suggested Andre as a proper person. That gallant officer, on being applied to, accepted the task, though unwillingly. What took place at the interview that followed is a secret which descended to the grave with its guilty perpetrators. Nor are the results known, except so far as they were betrayed by the papers found in Andre's boots, at the time of his capture. But from these it would appear that Sir Henry Clinton, on an appointed day, was to have advanced up the Hudson with the flower of his army, arid that Arnold was to have placed the garrison of West Point in such situations that the place would have fallen an easy prey to the enemy. Andre was to have led one of the columns, and to have been rewarded, in case of success, with the rank of Brigadier. W T hat was to have been the compensation of Arnold, in the event of this triumph, we have no means of determining, though, from the letters of Clinton to the British Ministry, it is evident that no price was considered too great to secure the possession of West Point. Fortu- nately, the plot failed. In the very moment of apparent success, 340 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. when the arch conspirator was already counting his gains, the unexpected arrest of Andre frustrated the whole treason, and brought ruin on its plotters. Yet fate most unequally awarded the penalties Andre, the accomplished, gallant, noble-hearted gentleman, the pride of the British army, and the stay of his widowed mother and of his sisters, died a felon's death ; while Arnold, the mercenary patriot, HEAD-QUARTBKS AT TAPPAN. the unprincipled man, the officer without honor, the heart black with base revenge, escaped by a combination of the most fortuitous cir- cumstances, and died, at last, in his bed. But time has, in part, made amends for this apparent injustice. The story of Andre is now never told without a tear; while the treason of Arnold is always heard with execrations. The one, exhumed from his hum- ble grave on the Hudson, lies in the stately shades of Westminster Abbey, and, of all the heroes, and sages, and poets there, attracts the first attention : the other, buried in his obscure grave, without a monument to mark the spot, survives only as a lesson to our children, as a hissing and reproach among nations. We have not, it will be seen, followed the episode of Andre into its details. The narrative is familiar to all. But we have endeavored to do what is more to our purpose, to analyze the causes of Arnold's treason. We have traced, step by step, the growth of that dark design in his unprincipled, selfish, and revengeful bosom ; and have successfully proved, we think, that the sequence was a natural one, w BENEDICT ARNOLD. 341 under the circumstances, to a mind like his. There was no mon- strosity in the wickedness of Arnold. He was not, as the early wri- ters loved to paint him, a fiend in human shape. On the contrary, he was just such a person as hundreds might become, if they should cast aside the restraints of virtue. He was only a bad man, whose violent passions, uncontrolled by moral principles, seduced him in- sensibly to his ruin. He was brave, it is true, even to heroism; but this, rightly considered, is no extenuation of his crime : on the con- trary, it awakens indignation, perhaps mingled a little with regret, that one who might have served his country so effectually, chose rather to serve her foes. Men of Arnold's character continually cross the path of those conversant with criminal courts ; men of high ani- mal courage, but low in the scale of morals ; men who are burglars, or Highwaymen, or murderers, as the circumstances may demand. It was his fortune to move in a higher sphere only : had his situation been different his fate might have been theirs. We are not of those who think he ever could have been a permanent ornament to his country. Had his grievances been even less, or had they been none at all, he would, sooner or later, have become a dangerous man in consequence of his depravity of principle. " Can the leopard change his spots, or the Ethiopian his skin ?" In a word, Arnold had half the elements of a hero, and half the elements of a villain ; but the villain triumphed over the hero. The events of the traitor's subsequent career may be told in a few words. On his flight to New York, he was appointed a Colonel in the British army with the brevet of a Brigadier. He immediately began to raise a regiment of loyalists and renegades, and published an address to the Americans, inviting them to return to their alle- giance. His proclamation was treated with scorn ; and, with all his efforts, his regiment filled up but slowly. Eager to display his zeal for the royal cause, he solicited active employment, and was sent on an expedition against Virginia, where his atrocities will be long re- membered. He did not succeed, however, in gaining the confidence of his new employers ; for Clinton, when he assigned him this com- mand, attached Colonels Dundas and Simcoe to the expedition, and ordered them secretly to watch Arnold ; and subsequently, when Cornwallis arrived in Virginia, one of his first acts was to banish the traitor from head-quarters. The antipathy to him in the British army was so great that, finding he could get no respectable officers to serve under him, he sailed for Europe before the war closed. None of his acts in America, after his treason, reflect the slightest credit on DD* 342 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. him; but, on the contrary, his ferocity at New London and in Virgi- nia, increased the infamy of his name. Arrived in England, his reception was not more favorable than in New York. The government, from motives of interest, continued to shew him favor; but in private society he was shunned by men of honor and subjected to daily insults. Lord Lauderdale, observing him standing near the throne, when the sovereign came in state to the House, remarked that notwithstanding the gracicfusness of his majesty's language, his indignation was aroused to see the King supported by a traitor. Lord Surry, on one occasion having risen to address the House, and seeing Arnold in the gallery, set down, declaring he would not speak while such a man was present. When the war with France broke out, Arnold solicited employment, but the government, finding that no officer would serve under him, declined his services. In the interval he had removed to St. Johns, New Brunswick, and engaged in trade ; and to compensate him in part for his services, the ministry afforded him lucrative contracts for supplying the West India troops with provisions. . His style of living was still profuse and showy; but though received on this account among the wealthier classes, he soon became odious with the popu- lace. He finally returned to London, where he died on the 14th of June, 1801, at the age of sixty-one. His wife clung to him throughout all, the same in his guilt as in his glory. The morning of his flight, he called her to his chamber and hastily unfolding to her his story, left her senseless at the dis- closure and hurried away. Her distraction has been eloquently painted by the pen of Hamilton, and is said to have drawn tears from Washington, whom, in her delirious agony, she upbraided as the cause of her sorrows. It has been thought, by some, that this was only acting, and that she had been, all along, the confidant of her husband's treason. But this is an error. Mrs. Arnold gave no assistance to the plot, unless by feeding unconsciously her husband's love of extravagance. When she recovered, she desired to be allowed to join him, and, throughout his subsequent career, clung to him with all a woman's devotion. We cannot dismiss this subject without an anecdote illustrative of the temper of the American populace towards females. Mrs. Arnold was travelling to join her husband when she stopped, for the night, at a village where the mob were about burning the traitor in effigy ; but the rioters, hearing of her arrival, postponed their sport. Would the populace of any other nation have dis- played a similar delicacy ? GENERAL JAMES CLINTON'S ESCAPE FROM FORT CLINTON. JAMES CLINTON. T would be invidious in any history of the war of I V9 STTE 01 IB E N, A t BARON STEUBEN REDERICK William Au- gustus, Bar- on Steuben, a Major -Gene- ral in the con- tinental army, was born, it is believed, in Suabia, in the year 1730. He served with distinction in the army of the great Fre- derick, attained the honor of Aid-de-camp to that monarch, and, at the peace of 1763, when he retired from Prussia, was presented by the King with a canonry in the cathedral of Harelburg. His military talents were still remembered in Berlin, many years afterwards; for when Congress applied to the different European courts for a tran- script of their military codes, the Prime Minister of Frederick replied that their regulations had never been published, but that the Baron 359 360 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. Steuben, who was in America, could give the necessary information, as he was acquainted with the minutest details of the Prussian sys- tem. On his retirement from Berlin, Baron Steuben went to Hohenzol- len-Hechingen, where he was made Grand Marshal of the Court, and appointed Colonel of the circle of Suabia. In the year 1767, the Prince Margrave of Baden bestowed on him the title of General, with the chief command of the troops. The income of Steuben now amounted to about three thousand dollars, which was a sufficiently ample sum for his rank so long as he remained a bachelor. He had, therefore, no idea of abandoning his comparatively lucrative em- ployments, and embarking in an uncertain contest in a distant land ; especially at his advanced years. But, happening to visit Paris, he was prevailed on to offer his services to the American Congress, by the solicitations of the French minister, who, although the Court of Versailles had not yet declared in favor of the Americans, desired secretly to aid them, by sending over some experienced officer to train and discipline the troops. Accordingly, on the 26th of Septem- ber, 1777, Steuben, with his suite, set sail from Marsailles, having first resigned all his employments in Europe. Dr. Franklin, though anxious to secure the services of the Baron, had declined making any arrangement with Steuben, his powers not authorizing him to do so. On his arrival in America, therefore, Steuben waited on Congress with his recommendations, stating that hecame to act as a volunteer until it should be seen whether his assistance would be of value or not ; that, if his services proved no acquisition, he should ask no compensation ; but that, if they were beneficial, he would trust in the honor of Congress to remunerate him for the income he had sacrificed and give him whatever further allowance might be thought deserved. These modest terms were immediately acceded to by Congress, and Steuben ordered to repair to head-quarters. At this period the Army was at Valley Forge, suffering ah 1 the horrors of an inclement winter, without proper food, shelter or clothing. Five thousand men were in the hospitals. Discipline had almost disappeared in the general suffering. Indeed there never had been yet, in the American army, that vigorous attention to this subject which distinguished the camps of Europe ; and the disastrous consequences were felt whenever the raw levies of Washington met the trained veterans of Great Britain in the open field. There was no general system of tactics employed, but the men from each state drilled differently. Many were ignorant of the manual exercise ; BARON STEUBEN. 361 very few understood field movements : and, to add to the evil, the officers were as untaught as the common soldiers. The utmost carelessness prevailed in the use of arms, the discharged recruits frequently carrying home their equipments, while the new levies always came without weapons, so that it was customary to allow five thousand muskets beyond the numbers of the muster roll, to supply the waste. Washington had long seen and regretted this evil. But he had sought in vain for a remedy. The arrival of Baron Steuben, however, at once relieved him of his difficulty, for he saw that, in this experienced veteran, he had found the very man so long desired. The Baron immediately undertook the task 'of drilling the men, and inspecting their weapons. He trained a com- pany himself as a beginning.. After partially instructing the officers as well as the privates, for a considerable time, he began to reap the fruits of his exertions. The army assumed coherence. The troops manoeuvred with the precision of veterans. There was no longer any waste of arms and ammunition. But this reform was not BABON STEUBKX DRILLIXG THK AMERICAN ARMY. brought about until after great perseverence and much vexation on the part of the Baron. His almost entire ignorance of our language, his impetuous temper, and the blunders of the troops, frequently 46 FF 362 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION conspired to produce the most ludicrous scenes. On one of these occasions, after exhausting all the execrations he could think of in German and French, he called despairingly to one of his Aids, " Venez, Walker, mon ami ! Sacre, de gaucherie of dese badants, je ne puis plus. I can curse dem no more." The Baron had been in the camp but a short time when Wash- ington wrote to Congress. " I should do injustice, if I were to be longer silent with regard to the merits of Baron Steuben. His expectations with respect to rank extend to that of Major-General. His finances, he ingenuously confesses, will not admit of his serving without the incidental emoluments ; and Congress, I presume, from his character, and their own knowledge of him, will without difficulty gratify him in these particulars." On the 5th of .May, 1778, Steuben was, ac- cordingly, appointed Inspector-General, with the rank and pay of a Major-General. The department of inspection was now arranged on a permanent footing, and thoroughly systematized. The Baron, finding the European military systems too complicated, varied them so as to be adapted to the condition and character of the American army; and, in 1779, he published, at the request of Congress, a work on discipline and inspection, which continued, until after the close of the century, to be the standard in most of the states. It was owing in a great measure to the instructions of the Baron that the American troops acquitted themselves at Monmouth so much like veterans. He was justly proud of his own services and of the proficiency of his pupils. He wrote, on a subsequent occasion, "Though we are so young that we scarce begin to walk, we have already taken Stony Point and Paulus Hook, at the point of the bayonet and without firing a single shot." Perhaps the advantages of discipline were never exhibited so strikingly as in the superior efficacy of the American soldiers after Steuben's arrival in this country. He found the troops raw militia : he made them resolute veterans. On his arrival, Washington, from necessity, was still fighting with the pickaxe and the spade ; but within a year Steuben had rendered the men fit to cope in the open field, even with the renowned grenadiers of Cornwallis. The magic wand by which he did this was discipline. In July 1778, the Baron became desirous of exchanging his post as Inspector-General for a command of equal honor in the regular line. Hitherto, in consequence of his being attached to a distinct department, his rank as Major-General had not interfered with the claims of any one ; but, if his request had been granted, the promo- tion of all the Brigadiers in succession would have had to be post- BARON STEUBEN. 363 poned. Congress accordingly, at Washington's suggestion, declined acceding to this desire. At the same time, however, that body confirmed Steuben's absolute authority in the department of Inspec- tor-General, in opposition to the claims of the Inspector-General in the army of Gates, who asserted his independence of Steuben. The Baron, perhaps, recognized the justice of the refusal, for he never renewed the request. He was, however, occasionally indulged in a separate command whenever circumstances would allow it. In 1 780 he was sent to join the army of Greene, but remained in Virginia to prepare and forward recruits. The invasion of Cornwallis found him thus engaged, and he had the satisfaction, after joining his forces to those of LaFayette, to follow up the fugitive General, and command in the trenches at Yorktown on the day when a capitulation was proposed, a post of honor which he maintained, in accordance with the usages of European warfare, until the British flag was struck. After the peace, the Baron was reduced to comparative want. In vain he applied to Congress to remunerate him for what he had sacrificed in its behalf: for while the propriety of his claim was admitted, no active measures were taken to liquidate it. For seven years he fruitlessly petitioned the nation for justice. At last, on the adoption of the federal constitution, an act was passed by Congress to give him an annuity of twenty-five hundred dollars. Meantime, however, Virginia and New Jersey had each presented him with a small gift of land ; and New York had voted him sixteen thousand acres in the Oneida tract. But he did not live many years to enjoy it. On the 25th of November, 1794, he was struck with paralysis and died three days afterwards. He was buried in the forest, on his farm, not far from Utica. Subsequently, a road having been laid out to run over his grave, his remains were taken up and re-interred at a little distance, where a monument was erected over the ashes. Steuben was of incalculable service to the American cause by introducing the European discipline into the army. He made an excellent General for regulars, but could not manage militia with any success. In disposition he was affectionate, generous and warm- hearted. He had, in many things, the simplicity of a child. His temper was quick, but he was always ready to make amends for injustice. On one occasion he had arrested an officer for throwing the line into disorder, but, finding him innocent, he apologized, the next day, at the head of the regiment, his hat off, and the rain pour- ing on his silvery head. In Virginia he sold his camp equipage to give a dinner to the French officers, declaring that he would keep up the credit of the army even if he had to eat from a wooden spoon 364 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. for the rest of his life. When the troops were being disbanded, and he had the cheerless prospect of a pennyless old age before him, he gave almost his last dollar to a brother officer with a family, who was too poor to return home. Cheerful in the gloomiest affairs, generous to a fault, a little vain of his rank, a warm friend, a hearty enemy to meanness : such was Baron Steuben. May his name be long held in remembrance by that country for which he sacrificed so much ! CHARLES LEE. HARLES LEE, a Major-General in the American army, was one of ' those erratic men in whom passion : triumphs over reason, and preju- dice frequently over both. He possessed unquestionable ability, but, exercising no ^control over his temper, was always dangerous to himself and others. An Englishman by birth he became a Republican from whim ; ambition rather than patriotism led him to embark in the American cause ; impatient of control he aspired after a sepa- rate, if not the supreme command; haughty and irascible, he invited a trial of popularity between Washington and himself, and was punished, for his extravagant self-conceit, by the loss of public confi- dence : in short, he was a man whose whole life presented a series of blunders, and who, beginning with every advantage on his side, finished, through his own folly, in disappointment, obscurity and disgrace ! His violent passions were the ruin of the once celebrated Charles Lee. FF* 365 366 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. Charles Lee was the son of General John Lee, of Dernhall, in Cheshire, England ; and was born in 1731. He was naturally of quick parts and made rapid advances in education. At eleven years of age he received a commission in the army. His first experience in the field, however, was during the old French war. He came to America in 1757, shortly after having purchased a Captaincy in the twenty-fourth regiment of infantry ; and, at the memorable assault on Ticonderoga, was wounded while attempting to penetrate the French breastworks. He recovered in time for the ensuing cam- paign, and was one of the expedition against Fort Niagara. After the defeat of the enemy, Lee, with a small party, was sent to dis- cover what became of the remnant of the army ; and it was these troops which were the first English ones that crossed Lake Erie : he passed down the western branch of the Ohio to Fort Pitt, and, in his return, marched seven hundred miles across the country to Crown Point. In 1760, Lee was with the expedition that captured Mon- treal. After the close of the war in America he returned to England, and soon after, being promoted to a Lieutenant-Colonelcy, was sent out to Portugal, with the forces destined to aid that ancient ally of England in her contest with Spain. Here he acquitted himself with gallantry, especially in a night assault on the Spanish forces, which drew down encomiums from all parties. The strife ended in a single campaign, and Lee returned to England. Lee, from the period of his service in America, had always taken a lively interest in its affairs : and he now drew up a plan, and sub- mitted it to the ministry, for colonizing the country on the Ohio be- low the Wabash, and in Illinois. The ministry rejected his plan. Soon after the difficulties between the mother country and the colo- nies began ; and Lee, guided probably as much by personal dislike as by his political tendencies, embarked in the controversy against England. His active and restless spirit having no longer the stimu- los of war to feed its love of excitement, he plunged into the tur- moil of politics and soon proved himself possessed of a ready pen. His wit was scorching, his invective bitter, his boldness as a writer captivating to the popular taste. In the midst of this dispute, the threat of a war in Poland arrested his attention : the love of glory, the thirst of rank, and a chivalrous sentiment in favor of that ancient and abused nation, determined him to offer her his services. He went in the true spirit of a knight-errant and was received favorably by Stanislaus, who had just been elected King. He remained two years in Poland, but as hostilities did not break out, he became dis- satisfied with inaction, and from mere restlessness accompanied the CHARLES LEE. 367 Polish embassy to Constantinople. Abandoning the mission, in order to advance with more celerity, he came near perishing of cold and hunger on the Bulgarian mountains. At the close of 1766 he re- turned to England, with a letter of recommendation to the King, and solicited promotion : but, though many promises were made him, they were never fulfilled, his former violent invectives, and a letter attacking General Townsend and Lord Sackville, attributed to him, preventing any favors from the ministry. Lee, at last, finding he had been trifled with, and that he possessed no chance of promotion in England, gave way to a violent resentment against the King personally and the party in power. This hostility remained with him to his grave. During his visit to his native country, he con- tinued in intimate correspondence with King Stanislaus, and finally in December, 1768, leaving London on a visit to the south of France, met Prince Czartorinsky in Paris, and was induced to accompany him to Warsaw. Here the King received him as a brother, and made him a Major-General. The purpose of Lee in returning to Poland was to enter the Russian service : but he could not forget the animosities he bore against the government at home. In one of his letters to a friend in England, after saying how unpopular his native country was in Poland, he says: "A French comedian was the other day near being hanged, from the circumstance of his wearing a bob-wig, which, by the confederates, is supposed to be the uniform of the English nation. / wish to God the three branches of our Legisla- ture would take it into their heads to travel through the woods of Poland in bob-wigs" This little stroke of wit shews, at once, his bitter animosity and his fatal ability in expressing it. It goes far towards unravelling the riddle of his failure in life. In 1769 he joined the Russian army on the Neister, and served during that year's campaign. As usual, he abused the superior officers. A severe rheumatism attacking him he visited Vienna and afterwards Italy, everywhere mingling in the highest society. In 1770 he returned again to England. Here he plunged once more into the angry sea of political strife ; and the man who had been the friend of kings, became the asserter of republican principles. His reputation as a writer has procured for him, since his death, the credit with some persons, of being the author of Junius ; but it is sufficient to say that the evidence in favor of this claim is entirely insufficient, and that to Sir Philip Francis more justly belongs that honor. In 1773, in anticipation of a war, he sailed for America, and on his arrival, made no secret of his intention to reside in New York. The zeal he displayed in the cause of the colonies, his 368 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. eloquent declamation, and the romance that hung about a man who had offered his sword to Poland, and crossed blades with the Ottoman, soon won him the hearts of the people, as well as the confidence of the leaders, and opened to his ambitious soul the prospect of a daz- zling career. He had formerly been intimate with General Gage, but did not now call on that officer, or pay him any tokens of re- spect : a course of conduct which he defended in a public letter, complimentary to Gage as a man, but not as a patriot. A somewhat similar letter, in which the controversy between the colonies and the mother country was examined, he wrote to Lord Percy. After tra- velling through the middle, and subsequently the eastern provinces, Lee returned to Philadelphia in time for the session of the first Con- gress. Here he became acquainted with the members, and paved the way for the future confidence they reposed in him. A well timed pamphlet assisted him in this. Dr. Myles Cooper, of New York, an Episcopal clergymen, a very excellent divine but altogether a pretender in politics, wrote what he called, " A Friendly Address to all Reasonable Americans," in which he argued, in effect, for pas- sive obedience, and undertook to terrify the colonists with the formi- dable armies of Great Britain. This foolish affair falling in Lee's way, he attacked it with such logic t and declamation, as hooted it at once into disgrace, and elevated Lee even higher than before, in the esteem of the country. In consequence, when the army came to be formed in the succeeding year, he was elevated to the rank of second Major-General, and would have been made first, but that Congress could not avoid giving that rank to General Ward, whom they had displaced from the post of Commander-in-chief, by the election of Washington. The resignation of Ward soon made Lee second in command. It is probable he had, at one time, entertained hopes of being placed at the head of the army, but to this his foreign birth presented an insuperable objection. He acquiesced for a time, how- ever, generously, if not candidly, in the decision. Before accepting this commission, Lee resigned the one he held in the British army, but characteristically observed that whenever his majesty should call on him to fight against the enemies of his coun- try, or in defence of his just rights and dignity, no man would obey the summons with more alacrity. By thus declaring himself on the American side, he jeopardized an income of nearly one thousand pounds, besides other property, which it was in the power of the King to confiscate, nor did he make any stipulation with Congress to be indemnified, though that body, not to be outdone in generosity, resolved, as recorded on the secret journal, that Lee should be remu- CHARLES LEE. 369 nerated for any loss he might sustain in the service. On arriving at Cambridge, General Lee was assigned the command of the left wing of the army, and was received with a respect second only to that awarded to Washington. His experience in military affairs was of the most essential service to the cause at this period. The high esti- mation in which he stood, as well as his elevated rank, induced the Commander-in-chief to send him to take command of New York, on the rumor of an expedition by Clinton against that place. He de- sired this post particularly, and was especially indignant against the tories who were so numerous there : " not to crush these serpents," he said, " before their rattles are grown, would be ruinous." The citizens of New York were alarmed at the approach of Gene- ral Lee, for they feared his presence would be a signal for the Bri- tish armed ships in the harbor to fire on the town. Lee, however, prudently quieted their fears. He fortified the town, adopted strin- gent measures against the tories on Long Island, and was active in enlarging and disciplining the force preparatory for the defence of the place. While thus busily employed, intelligence was received of the death of Montgomery, and Lee, within two weeks after his arrival at New York, was selected to succeed him. The words in which John Adams alluded to this choice were highly flattering. " We want you at New York," he said, " we want you at Cam- bridge ; we want you in Virginia ; but Canada seems * 392 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. irrepressible energy hurried him forward on a battle-field to make attempts which often succeeded from their very audacity. An instance of this occurred at Jamestown Ferry, where he saved his corps from annihilation by charging a force, five times in number, with the bayonet. He stood alone among the American Generals in the terrible power which he infused into a column of attack. Had he been one of Napoleon's Marshals he would have rivalled Mac- donald at Wagram, or Ney at Waterloo. He swooped across a battle-field like an eagle striking at its prey. If he had lived in the old heroic age he would have gone, like Hercules, to drag Cerberus from the gates of hell. Wayne was born in Chester county, Pennsylvania, on the 1st of January, 1 745. Even while a boy he evinced military spirit. His preceptor writing to the father, in reference to Wayne, said, " One thing I am certain of, he will never make a scholar. He may make a soldier : he has already distracted the brains of two-thirds of the boys, under my direction, by rehearsals of battles and sieges." The old schoolmaster, however, was not exactly correct in his estimate : for Wayne, having been censured by his father, in consequence of this epistle, applied himself from that hour laboriously to his books, and was finally dismissed with a certificate that, " having acquired all that his master could teach, he merited the means of higher and more general instruction." Wayne accordingly was sent to the Philadelphia Academy. Here he remained until his eighteenth year, when he returned to Chester county, and assumed the profes- sion of a surveyor. A company of merchants having associated to purchase lands in Nova Scotia, Wayne was chosen as surveyor, on the recommendation of Dr. Franklin, over numerous competitors. He was at this period but twenty-one years of age, and the choice proves the reputation for talent which he had even then obtained. In 1767 he married and settled permanently in his native county. Here he served as a member of the Legislature and of the Committee of Public Safety. As early as 1764, convinced that war was inevi- table, he began to apply himself to the study of military science. He raised a corps of volunteers, and devoted his leisure to drilling them, with such success, as one of his biographers asserts, that in six weeks they had "more the appearance of a veteran than a militia regiment." In January, 1776, he was appointed by Congress Colonel of one of the regiments to be raised in Pennsylvania. He soon filled his ranks, and early in the spring, was ordered to Canada. In the ex- pedition against Three Rivers he signalized himself by his daring ANTHONY WAYNE. 393 bravery, and also during the subsequent retreat, so that he began already to be spoken of as one certain to rise to eminence. He was wounded in this campaign. In February, 1777, he was appointed a Brigadier. He joined Washington in May of that year, and rendered such important aid in driving the enemy from New Jersey, that the Commander-in-chief spoke of him with especial approbation, in his official report to Congress in June, 1777. When it became evident that Howe was about to attack Philadelphia, Wayne was sent to his native county to raise the militia there. In the action of the Bran- dywine, Wayne commanded at Chad's Ford. On this occasion his troops particularly distinguished themselves. The Pennsylvania line had already become celebrated for its high state of discipline, and to this was now added a reputation for unshrinking courage in the field characteristics which it never lost throughout the war, and for which it was mainly indebted to the example and instructions of Wayne. On the llth of September, five days after the battle of Brandywine, the American army had completely recovered from its defeat ; and the van, led by General Wayne, had actually come into contact with the enemy, with the intention of giving battle, when a storm arose and separated the combatants. Washington, discovering that Howe still lingered in his vicinity, despatched Wayne to watch the enemy's movements,and when joined by Smallwood and the Maryland militia, to cut off the baggage and hospital train. Wayne accordingly hovered on the enemy's rear, but not being joined by Smallwood, was able to effect nothing. Mean- time the British were meditating an attack on his position. Wayne received a partial notice of the intended surprise about an hour be- fore it occurred, but the information was not sufficiently reliable to induce him to shift his position. He held his men in readiness, how- ever. At eleven o'clock, and while it was raining, the enemy sud- denly appeared in sight. Wayne immediately ordered a retreat. The artillery and larger portion of his force, he directed to move off under Colonel Hampton; while he remained in person, with the first Pennsylvania regiment, the light infantry and the horse^ to cover the rear. Through negligence or misapprehension, Hampton did not put his troops into motion until three distinct orders had been sent to do so ; and in consequence about one hundred and fifty of his men were cut off and bayonetted by the British. The real offender, Hampton, in order to exonerate himself, charged the misfortune to the negligence of Wayne. A court-martial accordingly was sum- moned, the verdict of which not only exculpated the General, but declared he had done everything that could be expected of an active, 50 394 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. brave and vigilant officer. This affair has been misrepresented in popular history as a surprise, followed by an indiscriminate slaughter, and is generally known as the Paoli massacre. At the battle of Germantown, Wayne led one division of the right wing ; and in the retreat saved the army, by throwing up a battery at White Marsh Church. During the winter at Valley Forge, Wayne was despatched to New Jersey, which he foraged from Bordentown to Salem, and succeeded in bringing very important supplies to camp, though not until after many sharp skirmishes with the enemy. In the obstinate contest at Monmouth he signalized himself by the most daring courage, and was one of the few who sided with Washington in recommending a battle. For his conduct on this day he was particularly commended to Congress by the Commander-in-chief. Nothing of importance occurred in Wayne's career after this, until the storming of Stony Point, which took place on the 15th of July, 1779. This is the most brilliant affair of the war of independence. Stony Point is a precipitous hill, on the western shore of the Hudson, completely commanding King's Ferry, the then ordinary communi- cation between the middle and eastern states. It had been seized by the British, who declared their intention to make it impregnable. Nature had already done much to assist their design. The hill was washed by the river on two of its sides, and covered on the third by a marsh, overflowed except at low tide. The enemy encircled this hill with a double row of abatis, and erected on its summit a strong breastwork bristling with artillery. Six hundred veteran troops were assigned as the garrison of the place. Washington sent for Wayne and proposed that the latter should assault it, at the head of a picked corps. Though the British had been foiled at Bunker Hill, under exactly similar circumstances, Wayne did not hesitate an instant in expressing his willingness for the task, or his confidence in success. Tradition has even placed in his mouth this characteristic reply to the Commander-in-chief's suggestion, "General, if you will only plan it, I will storm h-11." Wayne began his march from Sandy Beach, about fourteen miles distant from Stony Point, and by eight o'clock in the evening arrived within a mile and a half of his destination. He now made his final arrangements, and at half after eleven was once more in motion. The night had no moon, but the stars were out, and the deep shadows of the hill lay in huge black masses on the water, as the little army arrived at the morass. Across the Hudson, Verplank's Point was seen, rising huge and dark from the river shore. The time appointed for the attack had been midnight, but the uneven ANTHONY WAYNE. 395 nature of the ground had protracted the march, and it was now twenty minutes past that hour. The assault was arranged to be in two columns, one of the right, and the other of the left, which, entering the fort at opposite corners, were to meet in its centre. The regiments of Febiger and Meigs, with Hull's detachment, formed the column of the right : that of the left was composed of the regiment of Butler, and Murphy's detachment. They were all troops in whom Wayne had confidence, mostly of the Pennsylvania line, brave to a man ! Each column was preceded by an advanced party. That on the right, of one hundred and fifty men, was led by Lieutenant- Colonel Herny; that on the left, of one hundred, was led by Major Stewart. Two forlorn hopes of twenty men each, went first, one commanded by Lieutenant Gibbon of the sixth, and the other by Lieutenant Knox of the ninth Pennsylvania regiments. The forlorn hopes marched with axes to cut away the abatis : behind them went the two advanced parties, with unloaded muskets ; then came the main body of each column. Wayne placed himself at the head of Febiger's regiment. " The first man that fires his piece shall be cut down," was his short address, "trust to the bayonet. March on!" The troops had nearly crossed the morass before the enemy took the alarm. But when the head of the column approached firm land, the drum within the works was heard beating to arms, and instan- taneously the sounds of hurried feet and other signs of commotion came, borne by the night breeze, from the summit of the hill. The forlorn hope sprang forward, knowing that not a second was to be lost, and began to cut away the abatis, the column behind pressing densely on. The first blow of the axe had scarcely struck the pali- sades when the rampart streamed, right and left, with fire, and the next moment, a torrent of grape-shot and musket-balls tore furiously down the hill. Seventeen of the twenty members of the forlorn hope led by Lieutenant Gibbons fell. But the advanced party immedi-. ately rushed on to fill their places: the palisades were thrown down ; and the column, like a solid wedge, advanced steadily up the ascent. The fire of the enemy continued without cessation, showers of grape and musketry raining down on the assailants. But, stooping their heads to the storm, the men, with fixed bayo- nets, and in perfect silence, rapidly pushed on. The hill shook beneath the concussions, as if an earthquake was passing. Shells hissed through the air, like fiery serpents, and plunging into the ranks of the Americans, tore them asunder with terrific explosions. Hurricanes of grape swept the lines, levelling whole lanes of soldiers. As Wayne marched in the van, a musket ball striking him in the 396 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. forehead, prostrated him, but staggering to his feet, the wounded hero cried, " March on, carry me into the fort, I will die at the head of the column." Seizing their leader, the men, at these words, STORMING OF STONT POINT rushed headlong forward. The incessant rattle of musketry, the roar of artillery, the crashing of grape-shot, and the lurid light flung over the scene by the explosions of shells and by the streams of fire pouring from the fort were enough to appal the stoutest hearts ; but the Americans, nothing daunted, pressed steadily forward, advancing at quick -step up the hill, and sweeping like a living wave over the ramparts of the enemy. In vain the British maintained their de- structive and incessant fire : in vain, when the assailants reached the fort, the defenders met them, breast to breast : silent, steady, with unbroken front, the Americans moved on, pushing the enemy, by main force, from his walls, and bearing down every thing before their torrent of glittering steel. The two columns were not a minute apart in entering their respective sides of the fort, and met, victo- riously, in the middle of the enclosure. Here, for the first time, the silence of the Americans was broken ; for, finding the place their own, loud and continued shouts rent the air. The enemy was now supplicating for quarters on all sides. Arid though the assailants ANTHONY WAYNE. 397 would have been justified, by the laws of war, in putting the gar- rison to death, every man was spared who asked for quarter, nor was a solitary individual injured after the surrender. The whole loss of the Americans was about one hundred. The British suffered in killed, wounded and captured, six hundred and seven. For this gallant action, Wayne received a gold medal from Con- gress. Washington wrote, " He improved on the plan recommended by me, and executed it in a manner that does honor to his judgment and bravery." Lee, who had lately had a difference with Wayne, forgot it in the admiration of this dashing enterprise, and in a com- plimentary letter, said, " I do most sincerely declare, that your assault of Stony Point is not only the most brilliant, in my opinion, through- out the whole course of the war on either side, but that it is the most brilliant I am acquainted with in history; the assault of Schweidnitz by Marshal Laudon, I think inferior to it." The credit of this splen- did action is chiefly due to the Pennsylvania line, from which most of the storming party were drawn. No veteran European troops could have behaved with more resolution. It is not known that a single trigger was pulled, on the part of the Americans, during the assault. The thanks of Congress, and of the Pennsylvania Legislature were unanimously bestowed on the officers and soldiers engaged in this gallant exploit. The wound of Wayne, on examination, proved slight ; and he was able, an hour after the victory, to write the fol- lowing characteristic letter to Washington. * * " DEAR GENERAL : " The fort and garrison, with Colonel Johnston, are ours. Our officers and men behaved like men who are determined to be free. " Yours, most sincerely, "ANTHONY WAYNE." In July, 1780, Wayne was employed in beating up the refugees of East Jersey, and on the 20th of that month made a gallant, though not altogether successful attack on their depot at Bergen Neck. The next event in the life of Wayne was the revolt of the Pennsylvania line, and his agency in restoring order. The cause of this mutiny was entirely owing to the misery of the troops. Had common justice been awarded these brave men they never would have risen against Con- gress ; but when to a neglect of pay, and a want of provisions, was added a fraudulent attempt to increase, the term for which they had enlisted, the soldiers naturally rebelled. A few unquestionably took advantage of the mutiny to leave a service of which they were tired-, ii 398 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. but that the majority of the Pennsylvania line deserves censure, no one, who understands the facts, is now prepared to say. The mutineers refused all the offers of Sir Henry Clinton, returning the GENERAL WAYNE ATTEMPTING TO QCBU. THE MUTINT OF THE TEOOKi. memorable answer that "their patience, but not their patriotism, was exhausted." Justice has never been done the common soldiers of the Revolution. Those humble, but brave men, endured every extremity of hunger, cold, and privation, and, at last, after years of service, were dismissed unrewarded, to beg their way home. No honors alleviated their misery, no prospect of plenty cheered their despondency. They were thrown aside like useless lumber that is no longer required. They saw the very persons whose liberties they fought to win active in doing injustice to them, and others making fortunes out of their necessities. What wonder they revolted ! Few of the New England troops enlisted for such long terms as those of the middle states, and consequently were spared the protracted suf- ferings endured year after year, by the Pennsylvania line. We ANTHONY WAYNE. 399 may deplore this munity, on account of its pernicious example, but certainly never had mutineers such provocation ! On the 7th of June, 1781, Wayne joined La Fayette in Virginia, with the remains of the Pennsylvania Line, now reduced to eleven hundred rank and file. On hearing of the junction of the two Generals, Lord Cornwallis retreated to Williamsburg, and on the 5th of July, still retiring, prepared to cross the river James at Jamestown Ferry. La Fayette, believing that most of the British force had crossed, despatched Wayne with seven hundred men to attack the remainder. But, after driving in the pickets, Wayne found himself in the presence of the whole British army, instead of the rear guard. The enemy was but a hundred paces distant, and perceiving his small force, extended his wings to enclose Wayne. This was just such a crisis as fully awoke the genius of the Ameri- can General. He saw that to retreat then would be ruin, and accordingly he ordered his men to charge with the bayonet. The little band, obedient to his word, dashed forward. The British, so lately on the point of advancing, fell back, confident, from Wayne's bold front, that he was supported by a large force near at hand. By this stroke the British were checked, and Wayne enabled to retire without being pursued. No incident of the war is more characteris- tic of the impetuous yet sagacious genius of Wayne than this affair. Cornwallis continued his retreat to Yorktown, where, three months later, he surrendered to Washington. Wayne was present at that siege, and, with his gallant troops, was of great service. After the fall of the British army, Wayne was despatched to Georgia, his instructions being to bring that state under the authority of the confederation. His command consisted of about one hundred dragoons, three hundred continentals, and three hundred militia : yet with this paltry force, in little more than a month, he chased the British from the interior of the state and defeated the Creeks, their allies. On the 20th of May, 1782, he surprised a portion of the Indians at Ogechee, and repulsed them with great slaughter: and three days afterwards he met the remainder and almost exterminated them. On the 12th of July, 1782, the British evacuated Georgia. Wayne was now ordered to South Carolina by General Greene, Commander-in-chief ol the southern department, who complimented him highly on his address, sagacity, prudence and energy during the late campaign. After this, no especial occasion arose for the services of Wayne, until the evacuation of Charleston, but on that eventful day he commanded the advanced guard of the Americans, to whom 400 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. was entrusted the taking possession of the town. Wayne's troops entered the city as soon as the British began their march to the water-side, and followed up the enemy so closely that the royal soldiers frequently turned and said "You press too fast upon us." On this, Wayne would check his troops, but, in a few minutes, in their exhilaration, they would again be at the heels of the foe : and thus, with martial music playing triumphant airs, and the windows crowded with ladies waving handkerchiefs in welcome, the long banished Americans re-entered Charleston! In July, 1783, Wayne returned to civil life, settling in his native state. In 1784 he was elected a member of the Pennsylvania Le- gislature, and served for two sessions. In 1792, after the defeat of St. Clair, Wayne was appointed, by Washington, to the command of the United States army. This selection, under the circumstances, proves the high estimate formed by the President, of Wayne's abili- ties. On the 1 st of September, 1793, having vainly tried to negotiate GENERAL WAYNE'S DEFEAT OF THE INDIANS ON THE MIAMI with the savages, Wayne formed a camp near Cincinnati, and devoted his time, for the next month, to drilling his troops. He then removed ANTHONY WAYNE. 401 to a location he had selected on one of the branches of the big Miami River, and here established his winter quarters. About the middle of the ensuing year, having been reinforced by a body of mounted volunteers from Kentucky, he marched to attack the enemy, who had encamped near the Rapids, in the vicinity of a British fort, erected in defiance of the treaty. The van of his army consisting of mounted volunteers, was first attacked, and with such im- petuosity as to be driven in. Wayne immediately formed his army in two lines. He soon found that the Indians were in full force in front, concealed in high grass and woods, and were endeavoring to turn his left flank. Accordingly he ordered the first line to advance with the bayonet, and rouse the savages from their coverts; at the same time he directed the mounted vol-, unteers and the legion of cavalry to turn the right and left flanks of the enemy respectively. The front line advanced with such rapidity that neither the second line which had been commanded to support it, nor the cavalry on the flanks, could come up in time : the Indians being started from their hiding places by the prick of the bayonet, and driven in terror and dismay, for two miles in less than an hour, by half their number. The savages numbered about two thousand in this battle. After the victory, the commander of the British fort having sent notice to Wayne, not to approach within reach of the fire of his fort, the American General, with becoming spirit, burnt every thing of value within sight of the works, and up to the very muzzles of the guns. This signal defeat of the Indians led to the treaty of Greenville, by which large accessions of territory were gained for the United States. It struck such terror into the savages that, for nearly twenty years, there was no attempt on their part to renew the struggle. Nor was this all ; for the British, who had fomented these disturbances, finding that their machinations xvould be of no avail, soon after consented to the Jay treaty, and abandoned the posts they had illegally seized. Through the whole of this Indian campaign, as through that in Georgia, Wayne evinced equal prudence, sagacity and boldness. Wayne died at Presque Isle, from an attack of the gout, on the 15th of December, 1796. He was on his return from the west, whither he had gone to treat with the north-western Indians, and receive the surrender of the British military posts. In 1809 his remains were transported to the burial ground of Radnor Church, in Chester county, Pennsylvania. A monument, erected by the Pennsylvania State Society of Cincinnati, marks the present spot of his interment. 51 n* 402 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. The soubriquet of "Mad Anthony," by which Wayne was popu- larly known in the Revolution, was first applied to him by a witless fellow about the camp, and was immediately adopted by the soldiers as expressive of his daring and headlong courage. COUNT PULASKI. OUNT Casimir Pulaski, General of Cavalry in the American array, was born in Poland, in the year 1747. By birth and alli- ance he was connected with some of the noblest families of that kingdom, especially with the prince- ly house of Czartorinsky. He came of age at a criti- cal period. The election of Poniato wsky, produced || as it had been by the armed interference ofRus- sia, instigated a portion of the nation to revolt, and, at the head of the insur- gents stood the father of Pulaski. The sons of this patriot, then scarcely arrived at manhood, embarked in the cause with enthusiasm, 403 404 THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. and, in the civil war that followed, between the confederates and the monarch, signally distinguished themselves. Casimir Pulaski soon became renowned for his exploits as a cavalry officer. One by one his relatives fell in the struggle, yet still he maintained the contest. At last, an abortive attempt to carry off the person of the king, having been represented as an effort at his assasination, the odium became so universal that all who participated in it, directly or indi- rectly, thought it advisable to leave the kingdom. Among these was Casimir Pulaski, who had been in the secrets of the conspirators, though without any active share in the attempt. Before he bade adieu to his native soil forever he published a manifesto, in which he declared his innocence of the crime imputed to him. His de- parture was hastened by the arrival of Austrian and Prussian troops, which now began to pour into Poland, ostensibly to protect her monarch, but in reality to prepare for her partition. Thus, at the age of twenty-five, Pulaski found himself an exile, homeless, fatherless, without brothers, without friends. But his name had gone before him. The memory of his miraculous escapes from the Russians, of the gallantry with which he had so often de- feated them, of his generosity, patriotism and nobleness of heart was everywhere vivid in Europe ; and when, towards the close of the year 1776, he suddenly appeared in Paris, after almost incredible perils and adventures in Turkey, he became the centre of curiosity to that mercuial capital. But his intention was not to remain in France. The American Revolution was beginning to attract the eyes of Europe, and Pulaski resolved to fight the battles of freedom on a distant shore. The Court of Versailles secretly encouraged his intention ; and Franklin gave him letters of introduction to Congress. In the summer of 1777 he arrived at Philadelphia, and immediately joined the army as a volunteer. Hitherto there had been no cavalry force of consequence belonging to the Americans. There were four regiments of dragoons, it is true ; but they never acted together, and, on Pulaski's arrival, the cavalry was under no higher officer than a Colonel. Washington had long felt the want of a competent force of this description, properly commanded ; and now he hastened to solicit for Pulaski the post of General of the Cavalry, and the rank of Brigadier. Before a decision was made, the battle of Brandywine occurred. Pulaski was a volunteer, and remained inactive until the close of the action ; but then, finding the enemy about to cut off the baggage, he asked the loan of Washington's body-guard, and with these thirty horsemen, and a few scattered dragoons he picked up, charged the British several times in so brilliant a manner as to drive COUNT PULASKI. 4Q.5 them back and secure the retreat. Four days afterwards he received the command of the cavalry, with the rank of a Brigadier. Pulaski held this post for only five months, at the end of which period he resigned. The command had not answered his expecta- tions. He was one of those fiery spirits who must be constantly in action. To carry out his daring plans, he required a force always ready and at his service. But the nature of the American warfare required that the cavalry should be separated into small parties, and at the disposal of the different divisions of the army. Pulaski saw that he would never be able, while at the head of such a force, to fulfil the expectations formed of him. Accordingly he solicited per- mission to raise an independent corps, which was to consist of cavalry armed with lances and of foot equipped as light infantry. The renown of his name soon drew recruits to his standard. In a few months he had enlisted three hundred and thirty, which was sixty more than at first proposed. The corps was called Pulaski 's Legion, and was of vast service in the subsequent campaigns. It was the model on which Lee's and Armand's legions were after- wards formed. Its gallantry soon passed into a proverb. Whenever the towering hussar cap of Pulaski was seen in a fight, men knew that deeds of heroic valor were at hand. His career, however, was soon cut short. In February, 1779, he was sent to the south with his legion. He was approaching Charles- ton when he heard of the movement of Prevost on that place. Se- lecting his ablest men and horses, he pushed forward by forced marches and entered the city on the 8th of May. Three days after- wards the enemy appeared before the town. The consternation was universal. But Pulaski, sallying forth at the head of his legion and a few mounted volunteers, made a dashing assault on the foe ; and though the immediate results were not great, the boldness and spirit of the attack restored confidence to the alarmed citizens. On the retreat of Prevost, a few days after, Pulaski followed him up, harassing his army at every assailable point. In the autumn, d'Es- taing appeared on the coast, and the memorable siege of Savannah was undertaken. When it was decided to attempt carrying the works by assault, Pulaski was assigned the command of both the French and American cavalry. The disastrous result of the day is well known. The allies were repulsed with immense slaughter. Pulaski was numbered with the slain. He had been stationed in the rear of the advanced columns, but when he heard of the havoc made among the French troops in crossing the swamp that lay between them and the works, he turned to his companions, and shaking his 406 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. sabre over his head, called to them to follow : then giving spurs to his horse, he rushed forward, though almost blinded by the smoke, and pressed right through the fire of the hostile batteries, his clear, ringing voice heard, continually, between the explosions of the artil- lery. Suddenly a swivel-shot struck him in the groin, as he was swiftly dashing on. He reeled back, the sabre dropped from his hand, and he fell to the ground mortally wounded. He lingered, for some days, after the repulse ; and at last died on board the U. S. brig Wasp, as she was leaving the mouth of the Sa- vannah river. His body was committed to the deep. Congress, on hearing of his untimely death, voted that a monument should be erected to his memory. The resolution, however, has never been carried into effect; but a beautiful cenotaph has been put up in Sa- vannah by private subscription. Pulaski died at the age of thirty- two. There is a melancholy fitness in the place of his sepulture : he had no country, and he has no grave ! 1PUJGLA2 KO EIPDSCDtfBIPAlL A V A NJ A H ROBERT KIRKWOOD OBERT KIRKWOOD, a Captain in the con- tinental line, was born in Newcastle eountv, Delaware, in the year 1756. He fell on the bloody field of Miami, November the 4th, 1792, being, at the time of his death, the oldest Captain on the list. His career is an example of bravery unrewarded, arid patriotism conti- nuing unabated notwithstanding neglect. He entered the army in 1776, as a Lieutenant in the regiment of his native state, and conti- nued with it to the close of the contest, when he came out its senior officer. Yet, as the regiment had been reduced to a Captain's com- mand by the casualties of the service, he had risen to no higher rank than a Captain, the regulations prohibiting his promotion under such circumstances. It must ever be a subject of regret that Kirkwood was not raised to a loftier position. Both personally, and in con- sideration of the services of his regiment, one of the most gallant in the army, he deserved a Colonel's, if not a Brigadier's commission. This self-sacrificing soldier risked his life for his country oftener, perhaps, than any other officer in the army. The battle in which he fell was the thirty -third he had fought. He was present at Long Island, Trenton and Princeton as a Lieutenant. Being promoted to a captaincy in 1777, he fought in that rank, with his brave Dela- warians, at Brandy wine, Gerrnantown and Monmouth. In 1780 he accompanied Gates to South Carolina. At the battle of Camden, the little band of Kirkwood, in conjunction with the Maryland line, desperately maintained the sinking fortunes of the day under DeKalb, and by their veteran courage, still struggling after all others had fled, covered themselves with immortal glory. One fact will forcibly present the heroic valor of Kirkwood's troops, and the awful carnage of the battle. Of eight companies of the Delaware 407 408 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. regiment that went into battle, but two came out, the remainder being either killed or made prisoners. In this conflict Colonel Vaughan and Major Patton, Kirkwood's superior officers, were made captive, and continued so until the close of the war, a circumstance which also would have prevented his promotion, even if it had not been forbidden by the regulation we have named. After the fatal day of Camden, the two Delaware companies were attached as light infantry to Lee's legion. In this capacity they rendered invaluable service. With Kirkwood at their head, they formed part of the gallant rear-guard which protected the army of Greene during his retreat to the Dan. At Guilford Court House, at Hobkirk's Hill, and at Eutaw Springs, they fought valiantly, mind- ful of their past glories and eager for new laurels; until at last, dis- ciplined by so many conflicts, no sooner did these scarred and im- passable veterans appear on any part of the field than confidence immediately filled every heart. But it was at the Cowpens that the coolness of their leader, and their own more than Roman firm- ness shone forth conspicuously. When Colonel Howard was ordered to charge, at the crisis of that battle, Kirkwood was at the head of the first platoon of that officer's corps ; and promptly springing for- ward ten paces in advance, he charged with his espontoon, calling, in a confident voice, for the men to "come on!" The example stimulated the whole regiment. The long line of bayonets was levelled on the instant, and the soldiers dashed forward to that memorable charge. On the conclusion of the war, Kirkwood, through the influence of Washington, was made a Major by brevet. He now devoted him- self to agricultural pursuits. But when the incursions of the Indians rendered it necessary to send an army to chastise them, Kirkwood again took the field, the oldest captain of the oldest regiment in the. Uni- ted States. In the battle of Miami, at which St. Clair was routed, Kirk- wood, though he had been ill for several days, fought with the most desperate courage, cheering his own men on, and inspiring others also by his daring example. At last he was shot through the abdomen and fell. When the retreat was ordered he crawled to a tree, and in this situation a companion found him, and proposed to carry him off. " No," said the hero, " I am dying : save yourself, if you can ; and leave me to my fate. But, as the last act of friendship you can con- fer on me, blow my brains out. I see the Indians coming, and God knows how they will treat me." His friend was affected to tears. He shook the dying soldier by the hand, and left him to his fate. Kirk- wood was never heard of more ! BARON DE KALB. ARON DE KALB, a Major-Gene- O^ral in the continental army, was born in Germany, though at what place is not known, about the year 1720. He served with distinction in the war of 1755, being attached to the imperial army, at the time it was in alliance with that of France. Towards the close of that contest he visited America as an agent of the Court of Versailles, and was so struck with the loyalty of the inhabitants, that he was accustom- ed, during the Revolution, to say, that nothing but a series of the most absurd blunders on the part of the British Government, could 52 KK 409 410 THE HEROES OP THE BEVOLUTION. have alienated such devoted adherents. He rose in the French service to the rank of Brigadier. De Kalb, like Steuben and Pulaski, came to the United States at the instigation of the French Government; and it is even believed that he acted as a secret agent for the Court of Versailles. Such a confidential messenger it was of extreme importance for France to have here, in consequence of the conflicting accounts received at Paris of the strength, disposition and zeal of the colonists. The Baron was a keen observer of character ; possessed of an accurate judgment; with great knowledge of men arid things; simple in his manners, affable, winning and amiable. On his arrival in America he was appointed a Major-General in the army, and speedily won all hearts by his frankness and condescension. His experience was of great service to the cause. The Baron served nearly three years in the armies of the United States, having arrived in this country with La Fayette in 1777. In his mode of life he was exceedingly abstemious, maintaining the same temperate diet, to which he had been accustomed in his youth and poverty. He lived chiefly on beef-soup and bread; and drank nothing but water. His habits were industrious. He was accus- tomed, in summer, to rise with the dawn; and in winter, before day. He spent much of his time in writing, employing hieroglyphics and large folio books. This favored the idea to which we have alluded, and which was generally circulated through the army, that he was an agent of the Court of France. He betrayed unceasing jealousy lest his journals should be perused; and seemed to be very anxious respecting the safety of his baggage, which could only have been valuable on account of these manuscripts. What became of his papers was never known. If they were such as has been presumed, they, perhaps, passed into the hands of the French Ambassador. On the disastrous field of Camden, he commanded the regulars, and made the most desperate exertions to change the fortunes of the day. For three-quarters of an hour, at the head of these brave troops, he stemmed the tide of victory. He charged the enemy incessantly with the bayonet, and once took several prisoners. But even heroic courage was in vain. The struggle grew, every moment, more hopeless for De Kalb. The militia having fled in all directions, Cornwallis concentrated all his forces for a decisive attack on the continentals, and the cavalry coming up at the same time, penetrated through and through the opposing ranks, sabring them without mercy. De Kalb, fighting on foot in this last despe- rate moment, fell under eleven wounds. At his fall, the fog still BARON DE KALB. 411 concealed the flight of Gates; and it was some time before the dying hero could be made to believe the Americans were defeated. His loss immediately broke the courage of the troops. The flight now became general. A third of the brave regulars, however, were left on the ground, and, in their midst, lay the gallant old man who had rallied them to that terrible strife. Exhausted and bleeding, his uniform soiled by the struggle, he was undistinguishable from the common mass; and as the enemy came rushing on, a dozen bayonets were presented at his bosom. At this instant his Aid-de-camp, Du Buyssen, with a disregard of his own peril that should render his memory immortal, threw himself above the body and extending his arms, cried, " Save the Baron De Kalb save the Baron De Kalb." The petition was not in vain. In the confusion of the moment a few additional wounds were received by the fallen General, but a British officer interposing, he was preserved from further danger and borne from the fatal field. Du Buyssen himself was wounded in several places, in consequence of this generous effort to defend his friend : but, instead of regretting this, he pointed to his wounds with pride, declaring he wished they had been greater, if that would have availed. De Kalb lived several days after the battle. He was treated with every attention by the enemy, but no skill could save his life, and when he found his end approaching, he prepared to die like a soldier and a hero. His last moments were devoted to the gallant conti- nentals of his division, the troops of the Maryland and Delaware line, who had stood by him on the field of Camden and performed such prodigies of valor. He dictated a letter to General Smallwood, who succeeded to the command of this division, expressing his sincere affection for the officers and men, dilating, at the same time, on the glow of admiration their late conduct had awakened in his bosom, and repeating the encomiums which it had extorted from the enemy. Then, finding the dimness of death stealing over his vision, he stretched out his hand to the faithful Du Buyssen, and said, " Tell my brave fellows I died thinking of them tell them they behaved like veterans." After this, he closed his eyes, and sank placidly into the arms of death. De Kalb was a friend to America, not from mercenary motives, but from a sense of the justice of her cause. When the British officer who had captured him, condoled with him on his approach- ing dissolution, the Baron replied : " I thank you for your generous sympathy, but I die the death I always prayed for ; the death .of a soldier fighting for the rights of man." 412 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Years after his death, Washington, standing by his grave, said: " So, there lies the brave De Kalb : the generous stranger who came from a distant land to fight our battles, and to water with his blood the tree of liberty. Would to God he had lived to share its fruits!" Congress resolved to erect a monument to his remains with a suitable inscription, and the city of Annapolis, in Maryland, was chosen for the place of its erection. BATTLE Of CAMDK.V <*' YOBKTOWX BATTLE-GROUND. MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE ILBERT MOTTIER, Marquis de La Fay- , ette, a Major-General in the American army, is celebrated for leaving a luxurious home, the splendors of rank, and a beloved wife, to fight the battles of a strange people, struggling, in a distant continent, for freedom. This gene- rous act will render his name immortal. He was born of an ancient family in France, in the province of Auvergne, on the 6th of Sep- tember, 1757. Possessed of an immense estate, and surrounded by all the temptations of a profligate court, it is a wonder thaUie was KK* 413 414 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. able to preserve his heart so comparatively pure and fresh. At sixteen he was united in marriage to a daughter of the Noailles family, a union which, unlike most of those of the nobility, was attended by felicity. Adopting the profession of a soldier, La Fay- ette, at nineteen, was stationed, as Captain of Dragoons, at Metz, one of the garrisoned towns of France. It was while here, in the summer of 1776, that he met the Duke of Gloucester, brother to the King of England, at a grand entertainment given by the commandant to this distinguished visitor, and listened while the prince narrated the revolt of the American colonies and their subsequent Declaration of Independence. La Fayette was fascinated by what he heard. Naturally of a warm and somewhat imaginative spirit, he conceived the idea of offering his sword to the Americans. He consulted several of his friends, but received little encouragement. He did not, how- ever, abandon his project. At last he met the Baron de Kalb, who was himself about to join the colonists, and through his influence was introduced to Silas Deane, the American Commissioner in Paris. Mr. Deane, by his vivid pictures of the struggle, enlisted more warmly than ever the sympathies of his young visitor, and finally La Fayette declared his fixed determination to offer his services to Congress. The rank of Major-General, in consequence, was pro- mised him by the Commissioner. * La Fayette was still in Paris, however, when the news was received of the disastrous campaign of 1776. At the same time arrived Dr. Franklin arid Arthur Lee, who had been sent to France to join Silas Deane. Both these gentlemen, under the altered cir- cumstances of the case, endeavored to persuade La Fayette against prosecuting his original intention. But the young hero was not to be deterred. His wife secretly exhorted him to persevere, fired by an enthusiasm as holy as his own. He resolved accordingly to purchase a vessel, to freight it with supplies, and to set sail without delay for the shores of America. His intention having been dis- covered, a royal order was issued to detain his person ; but making his escape to Spain, in company with De Kalb and ten other officers, he succeeded in embarking from that kingdom. His passage was protracted, stormy and perilous. He landed near Georgetown, South Carolina, and spent his first night at the house of Major Huger. Losing no time in unnecessary delay, he hastened to Charleston, and thence to Philadelphia, where he immediately sent his recommendations to the Committee on Foreign Relations. The answer was promptly returned that, in consequence of the number of such applications, it was doubted whether he could obtain a MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 415 commission. The truth is that Congress had already found itself embarrassed by the unreasonable promises made, on its behalf, by Silas Deane to numerous foreign adventurers. Without waiting, therefore, to scrutinize the claims of La Fayette, the Committee, fancying his case was similar to the others, returned this discou- raging answer. But La Fayette was not to be repulsed. He had come to America from a sincere desire to aid the struggling colonists, not from mere love of rank or desire for emoluments. Accordingly he sent a note to the President, offering his services as a volunteer, and refusing to accept pay. This language, so different from that usually employed, induced an examination of his letters. The obstacles which he had overcome in reaching our shores soon began to be whispered about, moreover; and the result of all was an instant acceptance of his offers, and the tender of a commission as Major-General. It was at a dinner party that La Fayette was first introduced to Washington. The Commander-in-chief took him apart and con- versed with him in the most flattering manner, and this little attention so fixed the gratitude of the young noble, that from that hour, he was entirely devoted to the hero. With that insight into character which was one of the prominent traits of Washington, he saw, at once, the excellent heart, the modesty, and the abilities of the Marquis ; and when he recalled to mind the dangers La Fayette had braved, as well as the risk he had run, the Commander-in-chief could not withhold his affection. He invited La Fayette accordingly to make head-quarters his home. \ The love that grew up between the young noble and the august hero is one of the most beautiful incidents in our Revolutionary history. It was on the one part something of the affection of a parent, tempered with that of a brother ; on the other, not unlike that of a son, sweetened by a more equal relationship. On one side the consciousness of superior wis- dom and talent only increased the love of the elder ; on the other the reverential respect of the younger hallowed, while it exalted his devotion. No subsequent events ever disturbed the harmony of that mutual regard. When Lee, at the battle of Monmouth, after first refusing, insisted on receiving the command of the attacking party, it became necessary to displace La Fayette, yet the latter submitted without a complaint, satisfied with the explanations of Washington. When the Conway cabal, at the head of the Board of War, planned the expedition against Canada, it appointed La Fayette to the chief command in order to detach him from the interests of the Com- mander-in-chief; but the Marquis no sooner penetrated the designs 416 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. of the conspirators, than he took occasion to express, in plain terms, his dissent from them, and in consequence the enterprise was suf- fered to drop. At the close of the war, before sailing for his native country, La Fayette visited Mount Vernon, and on his departure, Washington rode several miles with him. They never met again ! The services of La Fayette, during the war, were many and important. He first fought at the battle of Brandywine, where he served as a volunteer, and where, exposing himself with the greatest intrepidity, he was severely wounded in the leg. For two months, in consequence of this injury, he was debarred from active service. In the succeeding winter, the expedition to Canada was projected. In May he distinguished himself by his retreat from Barren Hill, in the face of a much superior force of the enemy. At the battle of Monmouth, in June, 1778, he acted with the highest spirit. During the siege of Newport, after d'Estaing had signified his intention to visit Boston to re-fit, La Fayette rendered the most important services to America, by healing the breach which the obstinacy of the French Admiral and the heat of Sullivan's temper had caused. The war which broke out between England and France at this period, the result of the treaty between the latter power and America, altered La Fayette's relations, in his opinion, towards his native country, and he considered it his duty accordingly to return to Paris, and offer his aid to his King, in whose service he still continued. Con- gress granted him an unlimited leave of absence, and caused a sword to be presented to him, with suitable devices. He reached the shores of France, on the 12th of February, 1779, after an absence of about two years, and was immediately hailed with enthusiasm, especially by the people; and though for awhile the Court behaved coldly towards him, he was finally received into favor, and a com- mand in the King's own regiment of dragoons bestowed on him. In March, 1780, after a sojourn of a year in his native land, La Fayette returned to the United States. He came, bringing intelli- gence of the resolution of France to sustain the colonies with a large army, and in consequence was welcomed with the most rap- turous enthusiasm, and hailed, after Washington, as the saviour of the country ! Congress noticed his return with complimentary resolutions. One of the first acts he was called on to perform, was to sit as a member of the Board that tried Andre. In the spring of 1 781 he was sent into Virginia, where his manoeuvres against Cornwallis gained him the highest credit. He acted, in this campaign, with such consummate judgment, that though the English General often exclaimed "that boy cannot escape me," every plan for his capture MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 417 was frustrated, and he finally enjoyed the pleasure of seeing his boastful antagonist reduced to the mortification of a surrender. Nor was the devotion of La Fayette to his adopted country less con- spicuous than his military ability. On one occasion, his men being in want of necessaries, and the treasury empty, he raised the sum required, in Baltimore, on his personal responsibility. He was present at the siege of Yorktown, where he commanded the detachment of American troops that stormed one of the two redoubts of the enemy. There had been some playful remarks among the allies, as to whether the French or Americans would carry their respective redoubts first. La Fayette stormed his with such impetuosity that the men rushed in without waiting for the abatis to be removed. He sent word of this success to the Baron de Viomenel, who commanded the French detachment. " Tell the Marquis we are not yet in, but shall be, in five minutes," was the reply, and the Baron was as good as his word. MOORE'S HOCSE YOKKIOW.N WHKKE THE CAPITULATION WAS SIG.VKD. After the fall of Cornwallis, La Fayette sailed for France, bui re-visited America in 1784. He was received with enthusiasm wherever he came. Cities and states, Legislatures and Congress vied with each other in demonstrations of respect towards him ; and when he departed for his native shores, the world witnessed the spectacle of a young man, scarcely twenty-five, carrying with him the regrets of a whole nation. In France almost equal honors 53 V 418 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. awaited him. He had been appointed a Major-General in the French army, his commission to date from the surrender of Corn- wallis; and the Revolution, which soon after succeeded, elevated him to new honors, and a power superior to that even of royalty. His career, during the troubled times that succeeded, it does not become us to paint. He has been charged with imbecility, but without justice, for his conduct throughout was temperate and patri- otic, if not always sagacious and wise. There were two things in the character of La Fayette which prevented his permanent ascend- ancy in the French Revolution. He was too honest himself for the men who labored with him, and he mistook the condition and wants of the people. He fancied a republic, like that of the United States, could be established on the ruins of the diseased monarchy of France, and that those who had been ignorant subjects could, by mere voli- tion, become competent rulers. Never was there a greater mistake. America, in shaking off her allegiance and establishing a republic, in reality altered her form of government but little, and the difference between the old state of things and new consisted more in names than in things ; but in France the change was radical, and affected the social as well as the political frame of society. The intellect of La Fayette was more imitative than original. He had learned to reverence the counsels of Washington, and consider the government of the United States the most perfect in the world ; and hence con- cluded that nothing could be better adapted to France. But he totally forgot the vast difference between the people of the two coun- tries, and other circumstances, of which a more profound statesman would not have lost sight. On the 12th of July, 1789, the bastile was destroyed, and, from that hour, the violence of the Revolution increased every hour. The old spirit of brutality and massacre, the elements of which the pro- phetic eye of Burke had seen existing as far back as 1 774, now broke forth with insatiate fury, and, for four years, Paris was deli- vered over to all the terrors of anarchy. The Tuilleries were stormed on the 10th of August, 1791, and the constitutional mon- archy overthrown. In the succeeding month the massacres in the prisons occurred. In July, 1792, the King was beheaded. In the Spring the Girondists were overthrown, and after them Dan ton ; and then, for one long year of horror, Robespierre raged, like a wild beast athirst for blood. The reign of terror froze every heart with fear. But La Fayette did not remain to witness this sanguinary drama. Finding himself, after the execution of the King, beset by suspicion, and satisfied that purity of motive would be no defence MARQUIS DE LA FAYETTE. 419 * * against the men who then ruled at Paris, he determined to fly ; and accordingly, on receiving secret intelligence that he had been de- nounced as a traitor in the National Assembly, he abandoned the com- mand of the army, and rode hastily toward the enemy's posts. At Liege he was seized by the Austrians, who, in defiance of his coming as a fugitive, and not as an enemy, delivered him to the Prussians, who were then at war with France. By these he was confined in the fortress of Magdeburg, in a damp, gloomy and subterraneous vault. On an exchange of prisoners taking place between France and Prussia, La Fayette was transferred to the charge of Austria, in order to avoid including him in the cartel. He was now thrown into a dungeon, in the fortress of Olmutz, in Moravia. Here, excluded from all communication with the outer world, and deprived of a knife and fork, lest he should commit suicide in his despair, he lingered out several years. During his imprisonment an unsuccessful attempt at his liberation was made on the part of a young American named Huger, and a German named Bollman, both of whom, being detected, were chained by the neck to the floors of separate cells, for a space of six months. At last, towards the close of 1795, the rigor of La Fayette's confinement was miti- gated in part, and his wife permitted to join him, though only on condition that she should never again return to freedom. Finally, through the intercession of Washington, and what was even more effective, the threats of Napoleon, La Fayette was set at liberty, though with shattered health and broken fortunes. On the fall of the Directory, which soon occurred, La Fayette returned to France and established himself at Lagrange. Napoleon was now First Consul, and, with that sagacious policy which always distinguished him, sought to make La Fayette his partizan. But the pupil of Washington was too true a republican to be thus seduced. He constantly opposed the arbitrary course of the Emperor, and assisted to produce his fall in 1815. In 1824, La Fayette visited the United States for the last time. Forty years had passed since he had departed from our shores, and in that time one generation had passed away and another filled half its allotted period. The republic which he had left in its infancy had grown into a mighty nation. Where there had been pathless forests were now populated towns. In all the chief cities he was welcomed with processions, with civic banquets, with the unbought huzzas of thousands of spectators. Occasionally, in the crowds that flocked to greet him, he would distinguish some grey-haired veteran, the companion of his revolutionary campaigns, and the two would 420 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. rush together with tears that affected all who beheld the scene. When he returned to France, a national vessel was offered to carry him home. In the whole range of history, ancient or modern, there is no instance of similar honors being paid to any hero, by the free and spontaneous will of a whole people. It stands alone in the world's annals, a glorious example to future times! La Fayette took an active part in the Three Days' Revolution of 1830. But the administration of Louis Philippe soon disgusting him, he retired again to private life, from which nothing could in- duce him subsequently to emerge. He died at his seat at Lagrange, in 1834. With characteristic modesty he shunned, even in death, the pomp of this world. He lies buried in a rural cemetery near Paris, sleeping between his heroic wife and daughter ! GENERAL GREENE'S ENTRANCE WTO CHARLESTON. NATHANAEL GREENE ATIIANAEL GREENE, a Major-General in the Ameri- can army, was, after Wash- ington, the ablest of the revo- lutionary leaders. His mind, indeed, was strikingly similar to that of the Commander-in- chief. He possessed the same calm judgment, the same pa- tient investigation, the same energy, perseverance and ca- pacity of adapting himself to circumstances. He differed from Washington, however, in a nature less disciplined to annoyances. He had the boldness and originality of the Commander-in-chief; yet, like him, he long adhered to a cautious policy. The same considerations, in fact, governed both T,L 421 422 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 'in thus surrendering the native bent of their genius. They saw its necessity, and did not hesitate in abandoning present fame for future victory. When Washington, year after year, stood on the defensive, and when Greene made his memorable retreat through North Caro- lina, there were many, even among the wisest and purest patriots, who openly charged them with incapacity; but both these great Generals, conscious of the superior comprehensiveness of their views, persisted in the course they had laid down for themselves, and finally triumphed. It is now clear that any other system would have failed. But Greene, though equal to Washington in many respects, was still his inferior. He was at times rash, especially in his earlier career. The loss of Fort Washington is to be attributed to his too sanguine assurances. But as the war progressed, experi- ence went far toward correcting this error, for, in his southern cam- paigns, he rarely, or never ventured too much. His boldness was then tempered with prudence, and had become filed down until it formed his best quality. Nothing can exceed in daring, the resolu- tion he took to abandon Virginia to Cornwallis, yet it was based on the soundest rules, and eventually led both to the ruin of that Gene- ral, and the emancipation of the Carolinas. Greene had great self-confidence. He rarely called a council of officers, but revolved and decided his measures in the silent depths of his own mind. He governed his movements very much accord- ing to his estimate of his opponent's character. In his campaign against Cornwallis he evinced a profound insight into the foibles of that Commander, and availed himself of this knowledge with consum- mate skill and effect. He omitted nothing which could assist to win success. Hence he was indefatigable in his labors, as well of body as of mind. In examining whatever subject came under his notice, he first thoroughly mastered the details, and then formed his opinion. When he assumed command of the southern army, he perused the whole correspondence of his predecessors, and, in every other way, strove to become acquainted with the condition, resources and char- acter of the south. In consequence, the instant he was installed, his plans for the campaign were already formed. He was unfortunate in never gaining a decided victory, yet his defeats he so managed as to be more permanently injurious to his antagonist than to him- self. He soon inspired the enemy with the same dread of him which they entertained of Washington. Like that great comrnandei he never could be brought to battle until he was ready for it. Now retreating and now advancing ; by times prudent and bold ; fer- tile in expedients ; profound in combinations the triumph which NATHANAEL GREENE. 423 eventually crowned his arms is to be attributed, as in the case of the General-in-chief, rather to his successful strategy than to any deci- sive victories he gained. He was fond of the excitement of battle. In moments of emergency, he exposed his person with the same recklessness as if he had been a common soldier : thus, at Hobkirk's Hill, he thrice led up the Virginia regiment to within twenty paces of the enemy. He shared every privation with his troops, besides enduring an amount of personal labor almost incredible. Frequently he did not undress for weeks except to change his linen. From the day he set out to join the camp of Morgan, at the beginning of the retreat through North Carolina, to the hour when he saw his little army landed in safety on the northern shore of the Dan, he never took off his clothes to sleep. He was a rigid disciplinarian, yet beloved by his troops. When he joined the southern army he found the different corps, with but few exceptions, in a lamentable state of disorganization. He had to hang one man for insubordination, and, after that, all went well. Wiihin a year, at the battle of Eutaw, his army proved itself, in discipline, equal to the best English veterans. He waged war in the south under disadvantages that would have crushed any other man but Washington. At first he had neither men, arms nor money : yet he managed to preserve the two first, and to fight without the last. No General better understood the moral effect any given movement would have on his own forces or those of his enemy ; and many of his actions are to be traced rather to the desire to inspirit the patriots than to produce an immediate effect on the foe. The battle of Guilford was of this description. Its result, even with defeat, was to dishearten the lories. His movement on the left of Cornwallis, which led to the battle of the Cowpens, and which has been condemned by so many, was made with this design ; for, if he had not thrown Morgan in that direction, even at the risk of the latter being cut off, he could neither have victualled his troops, nor imparted that confidence which was so necessary to obtain recruits. He early saw the value of cavalry in a southern campaign. Of the militia he had no very high opinion, nor do they appear generally to have deserved it. The brigade of Marion was indeed of invaluable benefit, and the services of that General deservedly rank second only to those of Greene ; but the men of Marion were useful merely as light troops, and could not be depended on in battle, unless under the eye of their leader. Greene was rarely disheartened. After a repulse, instead of wasting time in useless regrets, he set himself at work to repair the disaster. A blow might stagger him, but could not strike him to the earth, for, 424 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. rallying immediately, he returned to the strife, and wore out his antagonist in the end by his superior powers of endurance. In short, he was the Washington of the south. Greene was born at Warwick, Rhode Island, on the 27th of May, 1742. His family were Friends, in which denomination his father was a preacher ; and Greene himself continued a member of that sect until he was disowned in consequence of assuming arms. He early displayed a taste for study, especially for the mathematics ; and the seat was still pointed out, a few years since, in his father's forge, where he used to pore over Euclid while the iron was heating. He became acquainted with Or Stiles, of Newport, and subsequently with Lindley Murray ; and the study of Watts' Logic and Locke on the Understanding was the result of those intimacies. Gradually he acquired a small library. Having few books he studied these thoroughly ; and to this, perhaps, is to be attributed the force and originality of his subsequent opinions. He enjoyed high animal spirits, however, and was more fond of fun and frolic than comported with the decorum of a Quaker. This exuberance continued with him through life, except in the gloomiest periods of the southern war ; and when peace was declared, at the age of forty, he used to amuse himself at Newport, by playing with his wife the old game of Puss in the Corner. His father, on Greene's approach to man- hood, took him into business, and soon the whole care of one of the mills and forges, those of Powtohomnet, fell under his charge. His em- inent abilities were not long without being discovered by his neigh- bors, who, in 1770, elected him to the General Assembly ; and he con- tinued to be returned by them, year after year, until some time sub- sequent to his assuming command of the southern army. He took part with the colonists from the first, and, as if guided by a secret instinct to his future destiny, began to turn his attention to the study of military science. A company of volunteers being formed in 1774, at East Greenwich, called the Kentish Guards, and Greene having failed to obtain votes sufficient for a Lieutenancy, he patriotically enlisted as a private. Finding that there were no arms to equip his fellow soldiers, he secretly visited Boston, and not only procured a supply, but induced a deserter to return with him as drill master. When the news of the battle of Lexington reached Rhode Island, the drum of the Kentish Guards beat to arms, but the Royal Gov- ernor requiring them to return, none of the officers dared to disobey. Greene, however, pushed forward, with four others, whom he influ- enced to follow his example. This conduct was remembered when the Assembly proceeded, shortly afterwards, to raise an army of NATHANAEL GREENE. 425 sixteen hundred men ; and Greene, whose ability was well known in that body, was at once raised over all competitors to the post of Major-General. He repaired immediately to Cambridge. When Congress placed the forces on the continental establishment, Greene was appointed a Brigadier, a descent in rank which he accepted without complaining, but which was destined not to be of long du- ration. Greene was one of the first to see the necessity of a Declaration of Independence, a measure which he recommended as early as the 4th of June, 1775. The similarity of jaaind existing between him and Washington soon drew them into terms of comparative intimacy. Greene was of opinion, with the Commander-in-chief, that an attack should be made on Boston. When the army moved to New York, Greene was selected to command at Brooklyn, a proof of the high estimation in which he stood already with Washington and the army. He immediately began a careful study of the ground on which the expected battle was to be fought ; but unfortunately, just as he had completed his preparations, he fell ill of a bilious fever, which brought him to the brink of the grave. It is possible, if he had continued well, that the struggle on Long Island might have terminated differently. During the battle, he lay on his pillow in New York, scarcely able to raise his head ; and as the sound of the cannon boomed on his ears he exclaimed, " Gracious God, to be confined at such a time !" When the news was brought him of the havoc made in Smallwood's heroic band, his favorite regiment, he burst into tears. On his recovery he was among the most active in the operations that succeeded. He had just been raised to the rank of Major-General, and strongly advised the abandonment and burn- ing of New York, but Congress had resolved that the city should be held to the last extremity, a fatal error ! When it became advisable to evacuate Fort Washington, Greene opposed it, declaring the gar- rison fully competent to defend the place ; and, perhaps, his conduct on this occasion, arising from excessive confidence, is the great blunder of his life. Had his wish been complied with, however, and the command entrusted to himself, the result might have been different, as he always contended. He was with Washington at Trenton, and besides the Commander-in-chief and Knox, was the only one for following up the blow by an attack on all the posts in New Jersey. From this hour he was secretly the first in Washing- ton's estimation. In the battle of Brandywine he commanded the reserve. At Germantown he led the right wing. When the Conway cabal began its machinations, Greene was selected as one of its first 54 LL* 426 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. 'victims, in consequence of the consideration in which he stood with Washington ; and he continued, for years, to feel the evil effects of the prejudices excited against him then, both as an officer and a man. In 1778 he was appointed Quarter-Master-General. The army immediately felt the benefit of the reforms he had introduced into his department. When he accepted the post, he reserved the right to command according to his rank in the day of battle, and conse- quently, in the fierce struggle at Monmouth, he took a prominent part, first advising an attack on the enemy, and afterwards leading the right wing. He next is seen at Newport, when, during the siege under Sullivan, he commanded one division of the army. Some difficulties having arisen between him and Congress, in reference to his duties as Quarter-Master-General, Greene sent in his resignation of that post, and came near throwing up his commission.in the army. To nariate the particulars of this dispute would extend this sketch too far. It is sufficient to say that Congress was unjust, and acting evidently under the influence of prejudice ; while Greene, though perhaps justifiable in his resentment, did not emulate the calmness and forbearance of Washington under like treatment. On the 22nd of June, 1780, Greene was attacked at Springfield, New Jersey, while at the head of but thirteen hundred men, by two divisions of the royal army numbering twenty-five hundred each. By the skil- ful manner in which he not only escaped destruction, but managed to frustrate most of the enemy's designs, in part saving the village from the flames, besides harassing the British retreat, he gained universal credit, both in our own army and that of Sir Henry Clin- ton. When the treason of Arnold was detected, and Washington scarcely knew, for a while, whom to trust, the post of West Point was assigned to Greene, as one of the few in whom the General could place perfect confidence. But scarcely had he entered on his duties when a letter from head-quarters summoned him to the com- mand of the southern army, recently made vacant by the removal of Gates. He stopped at Philadelphia on his way to his new post, and there learned, to use his own words, that the army he was called to lead, " was rather a shadow than a substance, having only an imaginary existence." Congress could give him neither arms nor clothing, nor could it hold out any definite hopes for the future. He could, with difficulty, procure sufficient money to defray his personal expenses. He visited the capitals of the various states lying in his route, and spent a few days at each in endeavoring to arouse the different Legislatures to the necessity of action. His sagacious mind at once NATHANAEL GREENE. 427 perceived the possibility of a retreat being necessary, and accordingly he chose Virginia as his depot for stores, in consequence of being further from the scene of war than North Carolina, and therefore safer. On the 2nd of December, 1780, he reached the camp at Char- lotte, and having courteously met and parted with Gates, set himself at once to the task before him. We cannot follow him through all the events of the next three years. We shall select two portions of his career only, as illustrative of the whole, the retreat through North Carolina, and the battle of Eutaw. The first at once raised him to the rank of a master in strategy, and has been so ably de- picted by the grandson of the hero, that, in describing it, we can scarcely hope to improve on that account. The retreat began immediately after the battle of the Cowpens. Greene's first movement had been that of a giant in military science. In order to gain the initiative, or at least obtain some control over the measures of the ene- my, as well as better to supply his army and raise the drooping spirits of the country, he divided his little force, sending Morgan, with six hundred men, across the Catawba, while he took post himself in a camp judiciously selected by Kosciusko at the junction of Hick's Creek with the Great Pedee. Cornwallis was puzzled by this bold movement, and for some time hesitated what to do. At last hi resolved to effect a junction with Leslie, and afterwards to direct the whole force of the army against Morgan, whom Tarleton meantime was to follow up, while Cornwallis held himself ready to cut off his retreat. Tarleton began his pursuit on the 12th of January, 1781, and on the 17th came up with Morgan, who had resolved to await him in hopes of a victory, which might throw an eclat around the American arms, and conceal, in part, the disgrace of a retreat. The battle, known as that of the Cowpens, succeeded, in which Tarleton met with a signal defeat. The conflict was scarcely over before Morgan took measures for continuing his retreat ; for he well knew that delay would bring Cornwallis, hot for revenge, upon him. Crossing the Broad River the same evening with his prisoners, he pushed onward to the fords of the Catawba. Meantime, the news of the defeat reached Corn- wallis in his camp at Winnsboro. Chagrined, but not disheartened, he resolved on pursuing the victorious Morgan, who was but twenty- five miles distant, arid whose retreat he yet hoped to cut off. Having been joined on the morning of the r$th by Leslie's detachment, he de- voted the rest of the day to collecting the fugitives of Tarleton ; and early on the morrow put his troops in motion, by a road which inter- sected the line of Morgan's retreat, and strained every nerve to over- 428 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. take them in season. But it was in vain. On the 22nd the American General reached the Catawba,and transported his army in safety to the opposite shore, so that when, soon after, Cornwallis came up, he had the mortification to see that his enemy had eluded his grasp. The consequences of the measures into which the strategy of Greene had hurried him, now rose in all their force before the British General's mind. He saw the fruits of Camden already slipping from his hold. The inhabitants, after the success of the Cowpens, hesitated to declare for him. He beheld himself, a second time, cut off from his march on North Carolina. One resource only was left him. By a rapid pursuit, he might hope yet to crush Morgan before the latter could join the main army ; and then, if with one vigorous push, he could overtake Greene, the American cause would be ruined. To the execution of this bold scheme, Cornwallis accordingly now de- voted all the energies of his rapid mind. It was first necessary, however, to convert his army into light troops, and to do this, he resolved on the hazardous expedient of destroying the baggage. The example was set by himself. The baggage of head-quarters was first given to the flames. That of the soldiers promptly followed. Only a small supply of clothing, and a few wagons for hospital stores and for the sick were preserved. Two days were devoted to this task. On the third, stripped for the race, the British army renewed the pursuit. But Greene, meanwhile, had not been idle. His inferior force did not allow him as yet to entertain the thought of giving battle ; but lie was incessantly occupied in strengthening it, with the hope of soon being adequate to the trial. At the same time, however, he prepared, with far seeing sagacity, for a protracted retreat, in case it should prove necessary. He ordered all provisions to be brought to camp that did not lie along the contemplated route ; the stores at Salisbury and Hillsboro were held in readiness to move, at a mo- ment's warning, on the upper counties of Virginia ; and, to provide for the most remote contingencies, the Quarter-Master-General was directed to form a magazine on the Roanoke, and hold his boats in readiness on the Dan. The prisoners taken by Morgan, who had been sent on in advance, the instant that General crossed the Catawba, were despatched to Virginia with General Stevens, under the escort of a number of the troops whose terms of enlistment had expired. Having completed these arrangements, Greene left the main army to pursue its march to Salisbury, and throwing himself on horseback, started to join Morgan, in order to lend the influence of his garrison to extricate that officer. His way lay across the XATHANAEL GREENE 429 country for a hundred and fifty miles, yet he could only allow him- self, for protection, a single aid and a Serjeant's guard of dragoons. He reached the camp of Morgan on the 30th of January. On being told that Cornwallis had destroyed his baggage, the prophetic mind of Greene saw, through the long vista of events to come, the conse- quences of the act. " He is ours," he cried exultingly. . And a day or two after, having determined on his memorable retreat, he wrote, " I am not without hopes of ruining Lord Cornwallis, if he persists in his mad scheme of pushing through the country." To understand the series of movements that followed, it is neces- sary to look at the map. Three rivers rise in the upper parts of the Carolinas, and flow in a south-easterly direction towards the Atlantic. The first is the Catawba ; the second the Yadkin ; and the last arid most northern the Dan. This latter river at first follows the same course with the others, but finally, changing its direction, winds backwards and forwards over the Virginia line. To retreat from the Catawba north, the route of Greene would cut each of these rivers in succession. To place a deep river between a pursuing army and the pursued, is to give the latter a breathing spell ; while for the pursuing to overtake a retreating army between two rivers, is almost certain ruin for the latter. Accordingly the efforts of Corn- wallis were directed to entrap his adversary in this situation. It had been apparent to Greene from the first that his enemy intended crossing the Catawba as soon as the heavy rains, which had swollen the river, should subside sufficiently to allow a passage. On the 31st it became evident that the waters were falling. Morgan was accordingly ordered to push on with the regulars for the Yadkin, while at the same time an express was despatched to the main army, directing it to rendezvous at Guilford instead of Salisbury. Morgan would have sought the refuge of the mountains, and openly declared he would not answer for the consequences unless this was done. " Neither shall you," replied Greene, who never shrunk from responsibility, " for I will take the measure upon myself." Having thus sent forward the regular troops, Greene left a body of militia to harass the enemy in crossing the Catawba. They were about five hundred in number, chiefly drawn from the neighboring dis- tricts, and were under the command of General Davidson, in whom they placed unbounded confidence. Greene himself retired to a place selected for the rendezvous, sixteen miles in advance on the road to Salisbury. Day was just breaking, on the morning of the 1st of February, when the British column advanced to the ford. The rain fell in torrents ; the prospect was dark and lowering ; and 430 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. the waters whirling and foaming by, flashed back the fitful glare of the American watch-fires on the opposite bank. It was a scene to appal an ordinary enemy ; but the soldiers of Cornwallis, without a pause, plunged into the roaring torrent. The waters soon rose to their waists. Frequently the men were swept from their foot- holds. General O'Hara was carried down the stream and came near losing his life. But the cavalry struggled manfully on ; while the grenadiers, leaning on each other, presented an adamantine wall to the rushing waters. When half way across, the muskets of the Americans blazed through the gloom, and the battle began. Nothing intimidated, the gallant veterans of Cornwallis pressed on, and though numbers continually dropped from the ranks, the rest steadily persevered, and gaining the bank, after a sharp conflict, dispersed the handful of militia. General Davidson, in mount- ing his horse to direct a retreat, was shot dead, on which his men fled in every direction, most of them taking to the woods. Cornwallis himself had a narrow escape. His horse was wound- ed while yet in the water, and though the noble animal strug- gled to the shore, he fell the moment he reached it. Tarleton pur- suing the advantage, overtook some of the fugitives about ten miles from the ford. The militia, trained to fire from their horses, received him with a volley, and dashed into the woods. A pursuit was use- less, arid the British Colonel was forced to return with a loss of seven men and twenty horses. Meanwhile Greene remained at the rendezvous, ignorant of the result of the skirmish, and tormented with anxiety. The rain still fell in torrents and he was drenched to the skin. At last, about midnight, a messenger arrived with the news of the defeat. Turning his horse's head to Salisbury, he alighted at that place towards morn- ing completely worn out. His friend, Dr. Read, had been waiting his arrival, and observing the expression of his face, anxiously inquired how he was. " Fatigued, hungry, alone and penniless," was the almost despondent reply of Greene. The last word struck the ear of his landlady, and when he had sat down to breakfast, she entered the room, and cautiously fastening the door, drew from under her apron two small bags of specie. "Take these," said she, "for you will want them and I can do without them." This simple offering touched the heart of the defeated commander. He took the money, for he was truly without a penny; and the gift proved afterwards of the greatest .value in procuring intelligence. What more beautiful than this touching incident of a woman's patriotism ? The army of Morgan had meantime gained a day on that of NATHANAEL GREENE. 431 THE LANDLADY OFFERING HER MOtiEY TO GEXERAf, GKEESK. Cornwailis. But the latter General, mounting a part of his infantry on the horses left by the destruction of the baggage, hastened tc send them forward, with the cavalry, in order to overtake the enemy. Greene, however, had now joined the little army, and, under the eye of their leader, the men pressed on, regardless of the toil. It was the height of the southern winter. The rain fell incessantly. The roads were of clay, deep and miry. But the same torrents which retarded the troops would also swell the Yadkin ; and could the fugitives only place it between them and their foes, they might repose again in safety. Sustained by this hope, they struggled forward, until, on the third day, they gained the banks of the river. The boats provided by the foresight of Greene, in contemplation of this emergency, were fortunately in readiness, and, in a short time, the main body of the army was transported to the other shore. Midnight arrived before the rear guard had crossed, when suddenly the advanced column of the enemy came up. Though almost broken down by toil, the Americans sprang at once to their arms, and a sharp skirmish ensued. O'Hara tried in vain to seize some of the boats. The rear guard succeeded in crossing, and, in a few minutes, the British General beheld his enemy quietly encamped on the op- posite bank, while the river, swollen so as to be no longer fordable, roared in wild volume at his feet. Mortified at seeing the foe thns 432 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. slip from his very grasp, he opened a furious cannonade, but to little purpose, the camp of the Americans being sheltered behind a low ridge. Not far from the river, half concealed by a pile of rocks, stood a solitary cabin, in which Greene sat down to write his de- spatches, stealing for the purpose the hours allotted to sleep. Sus- pecting its inhabitant, the British directed the fire of their batteries on this spot. The shot soon bounded on the neighboring rocks, and shivered into splinters the pine saplings around. Still Greene wrote on. As the aim of the artillerists improved, the balls were heard whistling over the hut. Still he wrote on. At last a shot struck the roof, knocking the clapboards in every direction. Una wed, the General wrote on, and continued to do so through the night, though the roar and blaze of the artillery went on without cessation. Greene remained but a day upon the banks of the Yadkin, when, having recruited his troops, he advanced to the forks of Abbott's Creek, a secure position, where he passed four days. He was extremely eager to give Gornwallis battle, and made this halt in order, if possible, to induce the militia to join him. But he was doomed to disappointment. His accessions of force were inconside- rable, and on the 9th, when the main body joined the division of Morgan, at Guilford, the returns showed only a force of i*venty-six hundred men, fit for duty. Cornwallis, it was well known, had nearly three thousand, superior in discipline, accoutrements, aud, more than all, in the prestige of success. To hazard a battle, with such a disparity, would have ensured defeat; and defeat would have been followed by the loss of both North Carolina and Virginia. It became necessary, therefore, to continue the retreat. Meantime Cornwallis, growing more eager than ever to crush his enemy, had passed up the Yadkin until he found a ford where he could cross. Having been foiled in preventing the junction of the two divisions of the American army, he was now intent on bringing it to battle before it could reach the shelter of the Dan. Twice had Greene eluded him when at the very moment of victory. He was resolved that, this third time, there should be no escape. The Dan was only fordable high up, and Cornwallis being nearer to those fords than his enemy, supposed that no course was left for Greene but to meet his pursuers or fly to the lower ferries, where there were no means of transportation. The British General had satisfied himself from the manoeuvres of his antagonist, that the latter intended to retreat on a ferry called Dix's, and accordingly he had taken a position on Greene's left, which brought him as near to that place as the American General. NATHANAEL GREENE. 433 The sagacity of the latter instantly penetrated this design, which he saw with secret exultation, favored his own plan. He would have gained nothing by placing a fordable river between himself and his foe, for he was deficient in artillery, so necessary to defend the passage of such a stream. It had never been his intention, therefore, to retire on the upper ferries of the Dan. On the contrary he had, long before, prepared boats at the lower ferries, for the possible contingency of a retreat in that direction. He chose this route, moreover, because it would bring him nearer the base of his operations. The magazines he had collected at Roanoke were in this quarter, and here also was he to look for the reinforcements from Virginia. But it was all important for the safety and ease of his troops that Cornwallis should not suspect his true design, and consequently the American General hastened to take such mea- sures as would effectually maintain his enemy's delusion. The distance from Guilford to Boyd's Ferry, where his boats were col- lected, was about seventy miles, considerably less than the distance of Cornwallis from the same place. To deceive the enemy as to his course and thus still further to increase the distance between the two armies. Greene formed a covering detachment of seven hundred picked men, partly composed of the conquerors at the Cowperis, partly of militia riflemen, and the remaining part of Washington's cavalry and Lee's celebrated legion. The whole was placed under the command of Col. Otho Williams. With this chosen band Wil- liams was ordered to throw himself between the two armies and taking the road towards the upper ferries, hang back so close on the foe as to conceal the movements of the main body of the Americans. When Greene should have safely crossed the Dan, Williams was to unmask, and make a forced march on Boyd's Ferry. The whole nation was, meantime, watching the struggle. Nearly a month had passed since the desperate trial of skill began. The news of the victory at the Cowpens had first arrested the public at- tention to the proceedings of Greene, and turned every eye in the direction of the Carolinas. Then had followed the pursuit of Corn- wallis, the bloody passage of the Catawba, and the continued retreat of the Americans. Greene's masterly manoeuvres had taken the country by surprise ! The existence of such genius in him had not been imagined, and all awaited with breathless interest the conclusion of the drama. The struggle was now drawing to a close. On the 10th of February the two armies were only twenty-five miles apart. There lay but one river more between Cornwallis and Virginia, and the slightest blunder on the part of Greene would crush the Ame- 55 MM 434 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. ricans forever. The fate of the south trembled in the balance. At last Greene put his main army into motion for Boyd's Ferry, and Williams, as directed, threw himself on the van of the British Gene- ral, and took the route for Dix's. As the army of Greene stretched away on its march, the devoted band left behind gazed with strangely mingled feelings, for few ever expected to behold it again. On fled the fugitives, scarcely allowing time for food or rest, on through storm and sunshine, on through ice and thaw, on, from early dawn till long after dark. The roads were drenched with rain one day, and frozen stiff the next, and for miles the track of the fugitives was marked with blood from their lacera- ted feet. There was but one blanket among four men. Such was the haste witli which they marched that they were compelled to dry their wet clothes by the heat of their bodies. At every step of their progress they feared lest Cornwallis should discover the truth, and thundering fast in pursuit, overtake them yet before they reached the Dan. Greene himself was such a prey to anxiety and watching that he did not sleep four hours during the whole period occupied in reaching the Dan. At last, on the evening of the fourth day, the army gain- ed the welcome river, and by the ensuing morning all the troops had crossed. The American General, now despatching a courier to an- nounce his safety to Williams, remained on the southern shore, in deep anxiety, awaiting his arrival. When the main body of the Americans had moved in the direc- tion of the lower ferries, Williams, as we have seen, by pressing close on the enemy's van had effectually concealed that movement. When he reached the road where Greene had turned off, he had kept the one leading to Dix's ; and, with secret joy, he beheld the success of his stratagem, as Cornwallis, neglecting the other route, pressed close after him. The legion of Lee, being admirably mounted, was left in the rear. Numerous detachments were sent out in every direction to observe the enemy and give the earliest intelligence of an opening for attack. Every night the camp was pitched at a considerable dis- tance from the foe. So manifold were the duties each soldier had to perform, that but six hours out of forty-eight were allowed for sleep. The troops were always in motion before day-break. By forcing a march, a breakfast and halt of an hour in the forenoon, was secured; and this was the only meal eaten during the day : for at night, when the camp was made, the men were so exhausted that sleep triumph- ed over hunger, and those off duty, flinging themselves on the ground, were immediately lost in slumber. More than once the rear-guard of Williams and the advance of Cornwallis approached within mus- NATHANAEL GREENE. 435 ket shot, and it was with extreme difficulty that the respective com- manders could restrain their troops from engaging. But the British General wished to reserve himself for the last struggle, which he was confident was close at hand ; and Williams was unwilling to strike until he could give some terrible blow. Thus four days passed. At last Williams, thinking that sufficient time had elapsed for Greene to reach and cross the Dan, cautiously drew off his men in the direction of the lower ferries. On the same day Cornwallis learned, for the first time, the trick played upon him, and hastily crossing into the proper road, found himself, on a sudden, once more in the rear of the light troops. And now ensued a closing struggle, the parallel to which is scarcely to be found in history. On the one side Cornwallis, chafed by his in- cessant repulses, resolved to revenge himself and exterminate the little band before him ; on the other hand Williams, knowing that the race was for life or death, strained every muscle to effect his escape. The night came, chill and damp ; the roads were broken and deep ; and the men, worn down by a month's marching, staggered feebly on. In vain they hoped that Cornwallis would halt ; still onward he stretched through that gloomy night. The darkness increased ; the rain began to fall ; and the way grew more difficult ; yet still the sullen tramp of the enemy was heard in pursuit, and still the Ameri- cans toiled on. At last the gleam of watch-fires was seen in the dis- tance ahead, and at the sight, Williams, fearing that Greene had not escaped, resolved to offer himself up, with his heroic corps, to save the main army ; but happily it was discovered in time that what he saw was only the embers of the camp, and that the Americans were far in the advance, sweeping onward through the gloom and rain. Fi- nally the British halted, and then Williams gave his men a few hours respite. But at midnight the troops were roused and the re- treat recommenced. Nor was it long before Cornwallis was also in motion. He still hoped to find Greene cooped up between him and the Dan, for want of boats to cross. But he knew that everything depended on speed. Forty miles only lay between him and the river, and this distance he was resolved to traverse, if possible, before he allowed his troops repose. Williams was equally aware of the value of the next twenty-four hours. Mile vanished after mile, hour suc- ceeded hour, and as the goal drew nearer, the struggle became more close and fierce. The usual time was scarcely allowed for refresh- ment, and then the Americans resumed their hurried march. The strife now grew thrillingly interesting. All through the hours of that long, dark night ; all through the early portion of that wintry morn- 436 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. ing; over roads at first slippery and frozen, but now thawed and yielding, the one army had fled, and the other pursued ; and as the Americans hastily swallowed their frugal breakfast, they fancied they heard again the tread of the foe, and resuming their ranks, taxed their sinews again in a last desperate strain to reach the goal. Noon at last arrived, and with it an express announcing the safety of Greene. The joyful intelligence passed along the line, and the soldiers, re-invigorated, pushed forward with renewed alacrity. The infantry of Williams went first, then folio wed the legion of Lee. By three o'clock the river was only fourteen miles distant. The infan- try now turned off by the shortest route, and hastening to the ferry, were borne in safety across. Cornwallis, finding himself approach- ing the Dan, and seeing no signs of Greene, began to suspect the truth, and redoubled his exertions to overtake the rear-guard, vow- ing angrily to sacrifice it to his vengeance. But Lee, no longer caring to watch the foe, bent every effort only to gain the ferry. The boats which carried Williams across had scarcely returned when the legionaries stood on the bank. The men instantly leaped in and took their seats ; the horses were led by the bridles and made to swim ; and the last of the fugitives finally left the shore. The night,by this time, was beginning to fall ; the river surged dark beneath ; and only a few stars glimmered through the stormy rack of heaven. All was desolate and forbidding in the landscape yet not all, for on the fur- ther bank of the Dan gleamed welcome watch fires, and there stood Greene and Williams waiting to receive their companions in arms! When the boats touched the bank, and the legions had safely landed, a shout went up from the assembled host that shook the forests around and echoed far down the sky. As Lee stepped on shore he rushed into the arms of Williams ; then looking back across the turbid wa- ters, he saw the shadowy forms of his pursuers just emerging on the other bank. But he had escaped, and the Carolinas were free ! Greene did not, however, remain long in Virginia. Having re- ceived a reinforcement, he crossed the Dan again, within a few days, and began that series of masterly mariCEiivres which led to the bat- tle of Guilford Court-House. After this sanguinary struggle, Corn- wallis determined to invade Virginia ; for he already found himself in a dilemma in consequence of having been led so far away from his base. Greene immediately conceived the bold plan of returning into the Carolinas. He accordingly retraced the route over which he had so lately retreated. At the news of his approach, consternation seized the tories and even the royal troops. Lord Rawdon, as the NATHANAEL GREENE. 437 last hope, resolved to attack him, and the battle of Hobkirk's Hill ensued, in which Greene met a repulse. But the check did not amount to a positive defeat, and in a few days, the American army being again ready for combat, Rawdon considered it advisable to abandon the vicinity of Camden and retire towards Charleston. The operations against Ninety-Six followed. Having spent the hottest of the summer months in the salubrious heights of Santee, Greene ad- vanced, in the beginning of September, to the lower country, resolv- ing to employ his forces in expelling the British from the few towns they still occupied in South Carolina. As the Americans advanced, the royalists retired. At Eutaw Springs the enemy halted and en- trenched themselves. Greene followed them up, and on the 8th of September, 1781, attacked them. The battle was, perhaps, the fiercest of the whole war : one-third of the American army being left upon the field ; while the royal troops suffered even more. The British, on this bloody day, were commanded by General Stewart. They numbered in all two thousand three hundred men, a force rather superior to that of the Americans. They were drawn up with great skill in a highly advantageous position. Greene set his army in motion for the attack about an hour after daybreak. The sky was cloudless, and the road lying through an open wood, where the dew had scarcely yet dried on the blades of grass, the troops were invigorated, rather than fatigued by their march of a few hours. When about four miles from Eutaw, the advance of the Americans came into collision with a detachment of the British, sent out to reconnoitre. The enemy broke and 'fled. The Americans, with Lee in the front, followed up their victory, and arriving at the little river at Eutaw, beheld the main body of the enemy drawn up in a single line within the border of a wood, the right resting on the Charleston road, but the left wholly unprotected. The American militia, led by Marion and Pickens, moved in the advance, with the artillery of Gaines. The fight immediately became furious. The militia, behaving with the intrepidity of veterans, stood unmoved before the British fire, while unremitting streams of musketry poured from flank to flank along the American line. The enemy, aston- ished to find raw troops so stubborn, increased his efforts to break their line. His artillery soon dismounted the two pieces of Gaines, though not until the American battery had dismounted one of the guns of the enemy. At last, after they had delivered seventeen rounds a man, the militia in the centre began to retire. Greene promptly hurried up the corps of Sumter to fill the chasm. The 438 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. battle was now renewed with more obstinacy than ever. The British General, trembling for the fate of the day, brought up his reserves at this crisis, and the next half hour witnessed the most superhuman exertions on his part and that of his troops to achieve a victory. At last, after a desperate struggle, the centre of the Americans again gave way ; and the British, seeing this, pressed forward with loud shouts, and with such ardor that their line became disordered. This was the critical moment for which Greene had waited. Bringing up the tried battalions of Williams and Howard, which he had reserved for the crisis, he ordered them to advance with trailed arms, and, retaining their fire, sweep the field with the bayonet. It would have warmed the coldest bosom to have witnessed that gallant charge, arid the equally gallant manner in which, for a while, the enemy withstood it. Howard came splendidly to the encounter ! For a few moments while he advanced the air rung with huzzas from the contending armies. Showers of bullets from the enemy rapidly thinned the ranks of the brave Marylanders ; but still they pressed on, not a man pulling a trigger until they were within a few paces of the hostile line. At sight of that unshaken front the British regiments began to give way, the panic beginning at the left and extending to the centre. But here a crack corps, the Bluffs, was posted, which, instead of shrinking from the bayonet, came resolutely to the charge. With loud shouts the two parties met in full career. Some fell at once pierced to the heart. Others, losing their footing, tumbled headlong and were instantly trodden down. The bayonets of both sides speedily becoming interlocked, the combatants swayed to and fro, like a mass of foliage tossed by contending winds. At last the British line broke. Seeing this, Howard sprang to the front and ordered his brave Marylanders to pour in their fire, on which the enemy fled in confusion, the Americans sweeping in a solid mass after them, like a wave of glittering steel. So utter was the rout that many of the royal soldiers did not pause in their flight until they reached Charleston, where such tales of the prowess and numbers of the Americans were told, that every able bodied man was impressed to defend the capital in this its last extremity. But, during the pursuit, the Americans had reached the camp of the enemy, where the tents were still standing and the stores lying invitingly in view. Most of the militia hastened to avail themselves of the unusual luxuries. But the legion of Lee still pressed on, in hot chase of a detachment which was straining to gain a brick house, defended in the rear by a garden with palisades, NATHANAEL GREENE. 439 and on the right by a ravine and thicket, rendered impassable by low, craggy shrubs. The enemy reached the entrance first, and rushed in ; yet so close was Lee upon him, that one of his men got half way within the door, and for a moment there was a sharp struggle, his companions endeavoring to push him in, and the British to thrust him out. At last the enemy prevailed, though several of his own men and officers were excluded. A heavy fire was in- stantly opened from the upper windows, on which the assailants, holding their prisoners before them, retreated. Meantime the Bri- tish left, which had been posted in a thicket, under Major Majori- banks, had, until this period, resisted every effort to dislodge it. The troop of Washington, which had been led up to charge it, was completely shattered, with the loss of every officer but two, Wash- ington himself having his horse shot under him, and being made a prisoner. But now, the rest of the line having retreated, Majori- banks became exposed on the flank, and fell back slowly towards the house, still clinging to the cover of the woods and ravine. Here, resting on the picketed garden, he took a new position. On the right, the British cavalry under Coffin had drawn up in an open field to the west of the Charleston road. Thus supported on both flanks, and protected by the fire from the house, Stewart rallied his broken regiments and stubbornly prepared to contest the day anew. Greene, hastening to complete his victory, had brought up his artil- lery to batter the house, but the pieces proved too light to make any impression on the walls; while the rattling volleys that blazed unceasingly from the windows soon smote down every man at the guns. At this instant, and while some of the militia were still in the tents, Coffin charged with his cavalry, while Majoribanks on the other flank advanced with his brave veterans. In vain the Ameri- can horse dashed forward to repulse the assailants ; though successful for a while, the tremendous fire of Majoribanks checked them at last ; and then, perceiving his advantage, the enemy sprang forward, seized the artillery, and driving wildly on, swept up and regained his camp. This being done, and the last scattered Americans chased from the tents or made prisoners, the British formed their line and prepared to renew the battle. But Greene, appalled by the slaughter that had already taken place, and satisfied that his enemy had received a blow that would force him to retreat, wisely declined renewing the strife. He had attacked Stewart, because the latter had intended to establish a post at Eutaw, and now that this purpose would be abandoned, there 440 THE HEROES OP THE REVOLUTION. was no longer any object to be gained by protracting the battle, of sufficient importance to compensate for the loss of life. The wisdom of Greene was shown in this decision. Many a General, excited by the struggle, or smarting under the imputation of having received a check, would have returned to the contest and uselessly sacrificed hundreds of lives. But Greene never lost his self-possession on the field of battle, never allowed his judgment to be affected by its excitement. He saw that he had gained his purpose, and he decided to retreat. He fell back, however, no farther than to the spot from which he had started in the morning. And he would probably not have done this, but retained his position on the field, but for the impossibility of its furnishing sufficient water for his thirsty and fainting men. The loss of Greene, in this battle, was five hundred and fifty-five, rank and file, or nearly one-third of his whole army. Of this num- ber one hundred and thirty had been killed on the field, including seventeen commissioned officers. The British suffered not less severely. It was a sad task, on that day, for the American com- mander to visit his wounded. When he entered the miserable hovel where the officers of Washington's mutilated corps lay, and be- held those gallant young men, some of whom were destined never to rise from their beds, his feelings gave way, and he exclaimed in a choking voice, " It was a trying duty imposed on you, but it was unavoidable : I could not help it !" Those brave men, however, lived to hear that their blood had not been shed in vain ; for, on that very night, Stewart,' destroying his stores and abandoning about seventy of his wounded, hurriedly retreated to Charleston. For this victory, as it has always been regarded, Congress voted Greene a conquered standard and a medal of gold. During this battle an incident occurred, so poetical in its character, that but for the most unimpeachable testimony in favor of its truth, we should hesitate to be the first to place it in print. After the repulse of the British, one of Lee's legion galloped to the enemy's camp, intending to set it on fire, and by a spectacle so disheartening to the foe, complete his rout. Alighting and snatching up a brand, he drew aside the canvass of a tent, in order to apply the fire to the straw within. But a sight there met his eyes which made him draw back irresolute. A wounded soldier lay on the rude pallet, and by his side sat a woman, wringing her hands and weeping bit- terly as she gazed down on the face of the dying man. She looked up an instant at the intruder, with a glance of mute entreaty, while NATHANAEL, GREENE. 441 the tears rolled down her cheeks. The American hesitated. If I set fire to the camp, he thought, this poor woman must see her hus- band consume before her eyes : and others, perhaps, will perish as miserably. I may reduce the enemy to as great straits as ourselves, but will that assist in terminating the war ? At this consideration he dropped the canvass, flung down his brand, and left the camp. The hero of this little incident still lives, almost the solitary survivor of that bloody day. From his lips we have heard that, after the bat- tle was over, the British and American soldiers were frequently found lying side by side, transfixed with each others bayonets. Where the American artillery had been posted, there now remain- ed only the dismembered cannon. An oak sapling, about eight inches in diameter, stood close by this battery ; and the trunk of this tree showed, within ten feet from the ground, twenty-eight marks of balls. In the beginning of the year 1782, the House of Representatives of South Carolina bestowed on Greene the sum of ten thousand gui- neas, " in consideration of his important services." He was now, indeed, universally regarded as the saviour of the south. He had broken up all the enemy's posts in the interior, and confined him to a small circle in the vicinity of Charleston. The people, so lately despondent, were now full of hope. The tories were overawed. The royal troops themselves were giving way to despair. All par- ties saw that the evacuation of the southern capital must speedily occur, unless Great Britain was disposed to begin again the attempt at conquest, now foiled after eight years of war. At last, on the 14th of December, Charleston was evacuated. Greene entered the town amid the acclamations of the inhabitants, Governor Rutledge riding at his side, and a brilliant cortage of officers and guards ac- companying him. Every door, balcony and window was crowded. Tears of Joy were shed freely, and the cry, "God bless you ! wel- come home, gentlemen," broke from many a surcharged heart. Greene did not long survive the war. His last days, too, were em- bittered by financial difficulties, arising out of some bills he had be- come liable for, in order to purchase stores at a critical period in his last campaign. But his country was not ungrateful. South Carolina, as we have seen, had voted him ten thousand guineas, and Georgia presented him with a handsome estate. He removed his family from Rhode Island to Charleston, in 1785, intending there to spend the remainder of his days ; but these were destined to be of short duration. On Tuesday, the 13th of June, 1786, while on a visit to 51 442 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. a neighbor, he walked out to see a rice crop, the sun, at the time, being intensely hot. A headache was the consequence, followed by a violent fever and inflammation of the brain : and by Monday, the 15th, he was a corpse. His death was considered a public misfor- tune, and the inhabitants of Savannah, where he was interred, joined unanimously in paying the last tribute to his remains. Thus, at the age of forty-four, perished the second General of the Revolution ! OTHO H. WILLIAMS. __,- ONSPICUOUS among the heroes of the Revo- lution was Otho Hol- land Williams, a Briga- dier-General in the continental line. He was born in Prince George county, Md., in the year 1748. His abilities were of a high order. He was saga- Sffl^ .^* j cious in counsel, syste- _~i^ matic in camp and in battle brave as a lion, yet perfectly self-pos- sessed. Few men were purer in their patriotism. He served his coun- try, not for emolument or rank, but from a consciousness of duty alone. In morals he was rigid, like his great chief, evincing his dis- like of wrong even with asperity. He scorned hypocrisy and the low arts of intrigue, nor would he ever depreciate others in order to ex- alt himself. Williams was at the head of the clerk's office of the county of 443 444 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Baltimore, when the war of independence began, but he immediate- ly abandoned his emoluments, and accepting a Lieutenant's commis- sion in a rifle corps, marched to join the army at Boston. In 1776 a rifle regiment was formed, of which he was appointed Major. He was present in Fort Washington when the assault of that place oc- curred ; and it was his regiment which so gallantly met the Hessian column, and had nearly repulsed it. But Fort Washington fell, and Williams became a prisoner. He was now subjected to all those horrors which the captives, at that early period suffered, and which have made the name of Sir William Howe execrable wherever hu- manity has advocates. The seeds of the fatal disease, which subse- quently carried off Williams, were sown during this imprisonment. At last, after the surrender of Burgoyne, he was exchanged for Ma- jor Ackland ; and, rejoining the army, found he had risen in due course of promotion to the rank of a Colonel. Williams accompanied De Kalb to the Carolinas. When Gates succeeded to thecommand, he bestowed on Colonel Williams the post of Adjutant General, an honor which was continued to him, with the most flattering acknowledgements, by Greene. He was in the battles of Camden, Guilford, Hobkirk and Eutaw. During Greene's famous retreat across North Carolina, Williams commanded the light troops which covered his rear. What Ney was to Napoleon in retir- ing from Russia, that Williams was to Greene in this emergen- cy! Never was a General-in-chief better seconded by any merely executive officer. When Greene re-crossed the Dan, Williams was conspicuous in the manosuvres that ensued. Cornwallis had resolved to force the American commander either to fight at a disadvantage or retreat ; but, the latter, determining to do neither,* changed his camp daily, now advancing and now falling back, until the English General, lost in a maze of perplexity, knew not where to find him. Subsequently at the battle of Guilford, and afterwards at Eutaw, Williams highly distinguished himself. In the latter con- test he headed the charge which was so decisive. On the return of peace, Williams, who had been raised, meantime, to the rank of a Brigadier, retired to his native state, where the col- lectorship of the port of Baltimore, the most lucrative office in Mary- land, was bestowed on him by the authorities as a token of the ap- preciation of his services. Washington, on acceding to the Presi- dency, continued Williams in this post. In 1794 Williams died of pulmonary consumption. His wife, whom he had married just be- fore, soon followed him to the grave, her days being shortened, it is said, by grief for her loss. FRANCIS MARION. HERE are fewAme- rican readers, to whom the name of Marion is not a spell. It conjures up images of the forest camp, the moonlight march, the sudden attack, and all the romance of that daring war- fare which fascinated us when a boy ! In the popular fancy Marion holds the place of a great champion, not unlike King Arthur, in English legendary story. Yet there was nothing chivalric, in the ordinary sense of that term, about the south- NN 445 446 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. ern hero. His personal prowess was inconsiderable. He never slew a man in single combat. He was small in stature, hard in manners, cautious, scheming and taciturn. No act of knightly emprize is recorded of him. But his achievements were so brilliant they were performed with such apparently inadequate means they followed each other in such rapid succession arid they were begun in so disastrous a period, and exercised so astonishing an in- fluence in arousing the south, that we gaze on his career as on that of some Paladin of old, suddenly raised up by enchantment, to dis- comfit all comers with his single arm. . v Marion was of Huguenot descent. He was born in 1732, near Georgetown, in South Carolina. His youth was spent chietiy on a farm, except during one short interval, when he went to sea. On this occasion he came near losing his life by drowning. When he returned, at his mother's anxious solicitation, he took up the pursuit of agriculture. The restless spirit of his boyhood appeared to have been now totally subdued. Ambition seemed no longer a part of his nature. He followed the quiet life of men of his class, and was respected, beloved and honored. No one fancied that the name of Francis Marion would ever become great in history. The Indian war of 1760 found him in this condition. The Chero- kees, on the western frontier of the Carolinas, had long been trouble- some neighbors. They inhabited a luxuriant district, partly in the lower country and partly in the hilly region to the west. Their villages were well built, their corn-fields in high cultivation. They were a bold and turbulent nation, always doubtful allies, ever ready to lift the tomahawk at the slightest provocation. On the present occasion they had taken up arms at the instigation of the French. As the only means of ensuring tranquillity in future, it was deter- mined to break the heart of this proud people by penetrating to their most impregnable fastnesses, and laying the whole district waste with fire and sword. A strong force from the Canadas was de- spatched for this purpose to South Carolina. Marion joined the army as a Lieutenant, and now first distinguished himself. After all the lower country had been devastated, the troops advanced to the higher grounds. But at the famous pass of Etchoee, a narrow val- ley between high hills, the bravest of the Cherokees had made a stand, resolved, with a spirit worthy of old Rome, to shed the last drop of their blood on this threshold of their nation. They occupied a strong position on the flank of the invading army. Before any progress could be made it became necessary to dislodge them, and a large corps was sent in advance for this purpose, preceded by a for FRANCIS MARION. 447 lorn hope of thirty men. The command of this latter party was given to Marion. Their ascent was through a gloomy defile, flanked by impenetrable thickets, the very lurking places for a savage foe. Yet that gallant band went steadily forward, their leader marching in the van ! As the head of the column entered the defile, a savage yell was heard, as if from every bush around, and immediately a hundred muskets blazed on the assailants. Twenty-one of the for- lorn hope fell. But their leader was unhurt. Waving his sword, he called on the few that remained to follow him, and dashed up the ascent : he was soon reinforced by the advanced corps, which, stim- ulated by such heroism, followed close behind. The contest that ensued is to this hour spoken of with awe by the miserable remnant of that people. Never, perhaps, in the annals of Indian war was the carnage greater. For four hours the fight raged without inter- mission. The savages fought like men who cared not to survive a defeat. Driven by the bayonet again and again from their positions, they returned, like wounded lions, fiercer with agony and despair. But. their heroism was of no avail. Discipline at length triumphed over untaught bravery. The Cherokees fled. Nor did they ever after rally. And for thirty days, the fire-brand and the bayonet went through their beautiful vallies, making once happy villages heaps of ruins, and reducing the whole district to a blackened and smoking desert. This work of devastation smote the heart of Marion with pity. In a letter attributed to him, his feelings are described with picturesque force. " I saw everywhere around," he writes, " the footsteps of the little Indian children, where they had lately played under the shelter of the rustling corn. When we are gone, thought I, they will return, and peeping through the woods ivith tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes, and the happy fields where they had so often played. ' Who did this ? ' they will ask their mothers. ' The white people, the Christians did it !' will be their reply." Whether Marion wrote this letter, or, which is more probable, Weems invented it, the sentiments are characteristic of that tenderness of heart, which, notwithstanding Marion's firmness and decision, was one of his most prominent qualities. For fourteen years after this campaign Marion was occupied on his farm. But he had acquired a reputation for skill and spirit during the Indian troubles, which was not forgotten, and subse- quently, when the storm of war began to darken the horizon, men turned to Marion with anxiety, as mariners to the veteran pilot. In 1775, he was a member in the Provincial Congress of South Caro- 448 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. lina, and was among the most active in procuring the vote commit- ting that colony to the Revolution. It was during a partial adjourn- ment of this body that the news of the battle of Lexington reached Charleston by express. Instantly the chivalric Carolinians took fire. The Congress was called together. Public spirit ran high. Two regi- ments of infantry and one of cavalry were raised; a million of money was voted ; and an act of association was passed, by which all persons were declared enemies of the state who should refuse to join in resisting by force of arms the aggressions of the King. In one of the new regiments Marion received a Major's commis- sion. His Colonel was the celebrated Moultrie. He proved him- self an excellent disciplinarian, and the superiority of the regiment was, on all hands, attributed to his skill. During the attack on Sul- livan's Island, he was actively occupied in the fort, except when, with a small detachment, he boarded the armed schooner Defence, to obtain powder. For his services on this occasion, he was raised by Congress to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the regular army. For the next three years, the war languished in the south ; but in 1779, when the British invaded Georgia, Marion re-appears upon the scene. He was only prevented from being captured in Charles- ton on the fall of that place, by having broken an ankle : a misfor- tune which compelled him to leave the city when, just before the siege, all sick persons and officers unfit for duty were ordered to de- part. The manner in which this accident occurred is characteristic. Marion was dining with some friends, when the drinking became deep, and the host, to prevent the escape of any one, locked the door: on which Marion, who was habitually temperate, leaped from the window and fractured his ankle . Charleston fell. Four thousand men all the available force at the south came into the hands of the enemy ; and organized resist- ance in South Carolina was at an end. Then the seven vials of wrath were opened on that devoted colony. Deceit was added to cruelty ; and the miserable inhabitants, seduced by fair promises into swearing allegiance, soon learned that there is no refuge for the conquered, but in unmitigated and hopeless slavery. They had at first been asked only to remain quiet. They were now told that neutrality was impossible, and that they must either take up arms for the King or be punished as rebels. In vain they remonstrated, in vain they entreated : their masters were inexorable. One or two districts at length ventured to resist. It had been better for their inhabitants if they had never been born. Old men and immature boys were hung up without trial, and females of tender nurture FRANCIS MARION. 449 brutally thrust from the doors which had been kept sacred to them since they were brides. The land was ravaged as no other had been since the Conqueror desolated the New Forest. One region, seventy miles long and fifteen broad, through which the British army passed, became a desert. A wife who asked to see her husband in prison was told to wait, and her request should soon be granted ; they left her, and returning with a brutal jest, pointed to their victim, suspended from the jail window, and yet quivering in the agonies of death. But God at last raised up an avenger ! Suddenly, in the very heart of the oppressed districts, there arose an enemy ; bitter, sleepless, unforgetful ; seemingly possessed of miraculous powers of intelligence ; whose motions were quick as lightning ; who dealt blows successively at points where no human foresight could have foreseen them ; and who, by a series of rapid and brilliant successes, made the British power tremble from centre to circumference. The secret of this was soon noised abroad. Marion had recovered, had raised a troop, had began the war again on his own account. His name became a terror to the foe, and a rallying word for the patri- ots. Wherever a surprise took place wherever a convoy was cut off wherever a gallant deed was done, men said that Marion had been there. And the aged widow, who had seen her bravest sons dragged to the shambles, gave thanks nightly to God that a defend- er had arisen for Israel. We can at this day have but a faint idea of the re-action that fol- lowed the successes of Marion. It was like the first feeling of hope after a shipwreck, in which every plank has gone down beneath us. It was like the cheering word of pardon to the criminal on the scaf- fold. Instantly, the colony rose from its sackcloth and ashes. It put off its garments of humiliation ; it assumed the sword ; it went forth to battle rejoicingly. In every direction around the British posts, men suddenly appeared in arms. They had no weapons; but the huge saws of the timber-mills were fabricated into sabres. They had no camp equipage ; but Marion slept on a forest couch, and so could they. They flocked to him in crowds. Mounted on fleet horses, they traversed the country under him, often marching sixty miles between sundown and daybreak, striking blows now here, now there, until the perplexed ene- my scarcely knew which way to turn, and began to regard, with name- less fear, this mysterious foe, who, if folio wed, could never be caught, but who was always at hand, with his terrible shout and charge, when least expected. The favorite rendezvous of Marion was at Snow Island. This is a piece of high river swamp, as it is called in the Carolinas, and was 57 NN* 450 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. surrounded on three sides by water, so as to be almost impregnable He rendered it more so by destroying the bridges, securing the boats, and placing defences where they were required. The island, thus cut off from the mainland, was of some extent, and abounded with game. No one unacquainted with its labyrinths could have well found his way among its tortuous paths, overgrown with a luxuri- ant tropical vegetation and tangled with vines. Here Marion had his camp. From this fastness he issued forth at pleasure to ravage the enemy's granaries or capture a straggling party of his troops. Secure in his retreat he had no fear of pursuit. The imagination kindles at the picture of that greenwood camp, and we are carried back to the days of old romance, when Robin Hood held court in Sher- wood Forest. There, with the laurel blooming over them, his bold followers slept as sweetly as under canopies of silk ; there, with the free, blue sky for their tent, they felt that liberty was theirs, in defiance of the British arms ; there, while the stars kept watch above, they dreamed of peace, and happiness, and plenty, yet to come, of pleasant homes and smiling wives, and of children prattling at their knee ! For carrying on a partizan warfare, such as now ensued, Marion was peculiarly fitted. Governor Rutledge had given him a commis- sion as Brigadier-General in the militia ; and no man understood bet- ter how to manage a volunteer force. His maxim was " feed high and then attack." When in the open field he never required his men to wait for a bayonet charge ; but after they had deliv- ered their fire, he ordered them to fall back under cover. By these means he kept them self-collected and confident ; and in consequence we know of but one instance of their having become panic-struck. The celerity of his movements supplied the place of numbers. His genius defied the want of arms, ammunition, and all the material of war. He was wary, scheming, clear-sighted, bold, rapid, energetic. No man but one possessing such a rare union of qualities could have made head against the British power after the defeat of Gates. At times, indeed, he suffered "from despondency. Once he talked, despairingly, of retiring to the mountains. But no mind can be always on the rack, without giving way occasionally to the strain. To be melancholy at times, is the destiny of lofty na- tures, and few have achieved greatness without feeling often as if life were a burden gladly to be laid down. The war was conducted with savage ferocity. The tories hung their prisoners, the whigs retaliated on the tories. The British burn- ed the dwellings of the patriots, pillaged their barns, ravaged their FRANCIS MARION. 451 fields, and set free their negroes. The Americans shot down senti- nels at their posts, cut off picquets, and laid ambuscades for officers. Neither party for a while paid much respect to flags. Private re- venge entered deeply into the contest. At the taking of Georgetown Lieutenant Conyer sought out and murdered an English officer, from whom he had once suffered an indignity. A serjeant, whose private baggage had been captured, sent word to the British leader that, if it was not returned, he would kill eight of his men ; and the plunder was given up, for it was known he would keep his word. The same man shot at an English officer at a distance of three hundred yards. Yet there were occasional glimpses of chivalry shown on both sides. When Colonel Watson garrisoned Blakely's mansion, it was the resi- dence of a young lady whose lover belonged to the American force, which at that time, partially beleaguered the Englishmen ; and every day the fiery youth, like a knight of old, either singly or at the head of his troop, rode up to the hostile lines, and in sight of his mistress, defied the foe to mortal combat. Among the British officers, Major Macintosh became distinguished as the most humane. But the gene- ral character of the contest was such, that those who had been ac- customed to the comparative courtesy of European strife, declared that the Americans fought like devils rather than like men. Greene himself wrote back to the north, that the war was one of butchery. But we doubt whether it could have been waged successfully in any other way. When a foreign invader has given your roof-tree to the flames, and driven you forth to herd with wild beasts, it is an instinct of human nature to slay him wherever he appears, to assail him in darkness, to " war even to the knife." The want of num- bers must be supplied by incessant watchfulness. It may do for kings playing at the game of war to talk of conducting it politely, but men fighting with a rope around their necks are not apt to be over nice. It would be impossible, in a sketch like this, to follow Marion through all his enterprises. He planned, with Lee, the surprise of Georgetown, which an accident only prevented being completely successful ; he defeated the lories at Black Mingo and at Tarcote ; he captured Forts Watson and Motte ; he made a second and victo- rious attack on Georgetown ; he nearly annihilated General Frazier's cavalry at Parker's Ferry ; he scattered the English horse at St. Thomas ; and, to the very close of the war, continued striking that series of sudden and decisive blows which made his name a terror to the foe, and which, in subsequent times, renders his career so bril- liant and fascinating. We can pause on one only of his numerous 452 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. achievements. This was the deadly ambush at Parker's Ferry. It was just before the struggle at Eutaw that it occurred. Greene and the British General were silently watching each other, when Marion suddenly set forth from the American camp, with two hun- dred picked men, on one of his many secret expeditions, Not even his officers knew the purpose of his march. His object, however, was to relieve Colonel Harden, at that time hard pressed by a British force of five hundred men. After traversing the country for a hun- dred miles, Marion came up with the Colonel. The enemy was close at hand, thundering in pursuit. The Americans, thus reinforced, were hastily concealed in a swamp, and a small party sent out to lure the English into the ambuscade. The stratagem succeeded. Imagining he had no one to contend with but Colonel Harden, the British leader led his cavalry at full charge almost up to the muzzles of the'conceal- ed riflemen. But when the deadly fire of the American sharp-shoot- ers opened on him, the enemy recoiled in horror and dismay from that incessant torrent of missiles. Yet soon, with unfaltering bravery he rallied, and dashed again to the charge. A second time he was hurled back. And now began a fearful carnage. Hemmed in on the narrow causeway, unable either to advance or retreat, that gal- lant cavalry was fast melting away beneath Marion's fire, when the ammunition of the Americans gave out and they were forced to yield their ground. But so horrible had been the slaughter, that, at the battle of Eutaw, the enemy had scarcely a single troop of horse left to bring into the field. Marion continued with his brigade until after the evacuation of Charleston, when he retired to his farm, which he found a scene of ruins. He now resolved to apply himself seriously to agriculture, in hopes to repair his shattered fortunes. But his native state claiming his services, he was first a Senator to the Legislature, and afterwards military commandant at Fort Johnson in the harbor of Charleston. In his senatorial capacity he opposed the continuance of the Confis- cation Act, wishing, now that peace had been gained, to forget and forgive all political delinquencies. He married a lady of wealth, but had no issue. He died on the 20th of February, 1795, in the sixty- third year of his age. SCMPTEIt'S ASSAULT ON THE BRITISH AT ROCKY MOUNT. THOMAS SUMPTER. UMPTER and Marion are names indissolubly connected in the memo- ry with all that was gallant and suc- cessful in the partizan warfare of the south. Both were leaders in the militia, both obtained signal victo- ries, and both were possessed of a superior genius for war. Yet, per- haps, no .two men ever differed more in character. Marion was cautious, scheming, careful of his troops; Sumpter bold, rash, and often prodigal of his men. The one could never be induced to fight unless nearly certain of success : the other was always ready for the contest, even when wisdom counselled a retreat. In the one pru- dence amounted almost to a foible ; in the other daring sometimes degenerated to folly. The difference between the two men is well described in the remark which Tarleton is said to have made respecting them, at the end of an unsuccessful pursuit of Marion : 453 454 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. " let us leave this d d swamp-fox," said the irritated Colonel, " and seek Sumpter ; he is a game cock always ready for a fight." Sampler was bom in Virginia, in the year 1734. While still a youth, his activity and intelligence in scouting recommended him to the notice of Lord Dunmore, who is said to have employed him on the frontier in a trust of equal hazard and importance. He was pre- sent at the battle of Monongahela, where he was so fortunate as to escape without a wound. At the close of the war he removed to South Carolina. He speedily acquired a commanding influence in the district where he settled; and in consequence, in March, 1776, was recommended to the Provisional Congress for the post of Lieu- tenant-Colonel of the second regiment of riflemen. In this com- mand he continued for some years, but without any opportu- nity of distinguishing himself. The war in fact languished at the south, and his regiment was confined to overawing the tories. At last, in 1 780, Charleston fell. The patriots generally fled in dismay. Not so Sumpter. He had seen his wife driven from her dwelling, and the torch applied to the habitation, while the enemy, like sav- age bloodhounds, hunted around the swarrip whither he had fled for concealment. Hidden in that covert he had sworn to avenge his own and his country's wrongs. Nobly did he keep his vow ! Aware that little could be done as yet in his adopted state, he pass- ed into North Carolina", and visiting the patriot settlements, urged a rising against the British. At first those whom he addressed, appalled by the conquest of Charleston, hesitated. But his eloquence, his lofty enthusiasm, and his bold decision of character finally prevailed, and it was not long before he found himself at the head of a considerable force. An anecdote is preserved of the manner in which he obtained his famous soubriquet ; and as it also illustrates his tact in enlisting recruits, we insert it as characteristic. There was a family of Gillespies, all large and active men, all celebrated for their love of cock-fighting. They had in their possession, among other game birds, a blue hen, renowned for her virtues. These men were engaged at their usual sport when Sumpter called upon them. " Shame on you," he said, " to be wasting your time in such pursuits at a crisis like this ; go with me and I will teach you to fight with men." They looked up in amazement. But his fine soldierly aspect and his kindling eye, warmed up their patriotism as they gazed. They sprang to their feet and grasped his hand. " You are a Blue Hen's chicken," they said ; and enlisted almost to a man. He soon found himself at the head of a larger force than he could arm. In this emergency the saws of the mills were fabricated into THOMAS ST7MPTER. 455 sabres, lances were made by fastening knives at the end of a pole ; and pewter dishes were melted into bullets. His first enterprise was directed against a party of tories who had collected at Williams' plantation, in the upper part of South Carolina. The enemy was surprised, and in a few minutes utterly defeated. Colonel Ferguson, the commander of the party, and Captain Huck, a tory leader, notorious for his brutality, were among the slain; indeed, not twenty of the whole number of the foe escaped alive. This bril- liant stroke was the more exhilarating to the Americans because wholly unexpected ; and being accompanied almost simultaneously, by the successes of Marion in another quarter of the state, cheered the patriots with a prospect of eventual redemption from the yoke of the conquerer. Recruits flocked to both commanders. Governor Rutledge promptly sent Sumpter a commission as Brigadier in the militia, a rank which he also conferred on Marion, dividing the state between the two leaders. Sumpter was now at the head of six hun- dred men. He left the enemy scarcely time to recover from his first blow before he dealt a second. On the 30th of July he attacked the British fort at Rocky Mount, but, though he thrice assaulted the works, they proved too strong to be reduced without artillery, and he was compelled finally to draw oif his men, with a heavy loss. The action, however, had assisted to discipline his troops, to give them confidence in their leader, and to whet their appetite for new enterprises. Without losing a moment, Sumpter now turned on Hanging Rock. This post was defended by five hundred men. The attack was so impetuous that the first line of the British instantly gave way and fell back on the second, composed of one hundred and sixty of Tarleton's infantry. This also retired in confusion, after a desper- ate struggle. Nothing now remained but the centre of the foe, which, however, was so well posted that it could not be routed ; and in the end, Sumpter abandoned the enterprise, though so terribly had the British suffered that they did not dare to pursue him. Hitherto he had been either decidedly victorious, or had engaged the enemy with such comparative success, that his enterprises had possessed all the moral force of triumphs. But a reverse was at hand. On the 16th of August he captured a British train of wagons at Carey's Fort, and was retiring negligently with his plunder, when Tarleton, two days after, overtook him at Fishing Creek, and com- pletely routed him. Undismayed, however, Sumpter hurried to North Carolina, recruited his shattered forces, and was speedily in the field again, as active, daring, and dreaded as ever. Taking up a position at Fishdam Ford, he was assaulted here on the 5th of No- 456 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. vember, by Colonel Wemyss, at the head of the sixty-third regiment and corps of dragoons. A total defeat of the British was the con- sequence. This success was the more inspiring to the patriot because it was the first important one since the defeat of Gates at Camden. Mortified at the check, Cornwallis now despatched Tarleton a second time against Sumpter, who meantime had moved from his former position. The Americans retreated over the Tiger river, where they took up a strong position, intending to hold it during the day, and retreat as soon as night should throw its protecting mantle around. But the impetuosity of Tarleton having led that officer, with a portion of his force, to advance some distance before the main body, Sumpter seized the advantage thus afforded, and issuing boldly from his position, in a few minutes put his antagonist to flight. One hundred and ninety-two of the British were left on the field. The Americans suffered comparatively little. Sumpter, how- ever, was severely wounded. Suspended in an ox-hide between two horses, he was now conveyed to North Carolina, where he lay, for a long time, incapacitated for service. The best testimony, perhaps, to his merits, was that paid by Cornwallis, on hearing of his wound. Writing to Tarleton, the British General said : " I shall be very glad to learn that Sumpter is in a condition to give us no further trouble. He certainly has been our greatest plague in this country." Sumpter was able to take the field early in 1781, in order to assist in diverting the attention of the enemy during the retreat of Greene through North Carolina. On the return of the army to South Caro- lina, Sumpter assisted in reducing the British chain of forts. For a period he now retired from active service. To this he was compelled by exhaustion and wounds. Daring his absence the terrible battle of Eutaw was fought ; but though not present himself, his brigade was, and did good service. When he rejoined his command, recruited in health and spirits, the war was virtually at an end. Little remains to be said of the subsequent life of Sumpter, except that it was prosperous, happy and honored. He was a member of Congress and afterwards a United States Senator. His term of years was extended far beyond that usually allotted to mankind ; and he lived to see one after another of his brother Generals drop into the grave, while he remained the last. His death occurred at his resi- dence near Bedford Springs, South Carolina, June the 1st, 1832, when he was in the ninety -eighth year of his age. HENRY LEE. A' .^ ^ ^ENRY LEE, Lieu- tenant-Colonel Com- landant of the parti- zan legion, was born in Virginia, in the year 1757. At the 'age of nineteen he entered the continen- tal army as Captain of cavalry in the line of his native state ; and speedily becom- ing distinguished for his activity, enterprise and daring, rose to the rank of Major. In 1778, he planned an at- tack on Paulus Hook, a British post opposite New York. He sur- prised and captured the garrison, and safe- ly carried off his prisoners to the American lines, the exploit being 58 oo 457 458 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. performed without the loss of a man. This brilliant affair ensured him the esteem and favor of the Commander-in-chief. Soon after he was appointed to raise a legionary corps, to act under him as a partially independent commander; and the renown of his name speedily enabled him to enlist his complement of men. Lee accompanied Greene to the south immediately after the dis- astrous battle of Camden. His earliest exploit was in the retreat towards the Dan, when, in conjunction with Col. Otho Williams, he covered the rear in the most brilliant manner. From this period his services were constant, and generally crowned with success. He usually hung on the skirts of Greene's army, annoying the enemy at every opportunity and in every way. Occasionally he was detached from the main army to co-operate with others. It was at one of these periods that he and Marion made their gallant, though unsuccessful attempt on Georgetown. Subsequently, in conjunction with that General, he played an important part in the reduction of the British chain of posts, contributing more than any other man to the redemption of the south, if we except Greene and Marion. The legion of Lee was in constant motion. It endured privations of all kinds, not only without a murmur, but with enthusiasm. Most of its recruits were from the middle states. They were generally en- terprising young men, of superior intelligence, education and condi- tion in life to the ordinary privates of an arrny. Their leader was of their own age, and regarded them as brothers. Their numbers were not large, and they lived consequently in the closest intimacy with each other. Distinguished by superior privileges, and proved by the many gallant deeds they had performed, they acquired gradu- ally a feeling of conscious superiority and confidence in themselves, which, as in the case of the Old Guard, went far towards making them irresistible. Together they endured a thousand privations; together they conquered a thousand difficulties ; together they shared a thousand perils. At the distance of half a century from the period of their separation, they still remembered each other's faces as if they had only parted the day before ; and it is said that when two of their number happened to meet after that long separation, they rushed instinctively together, and with tears, ejaculated each other's name. Lee resembled Marion rather than Sumpter in character. He mingled caution with enterprise, was exceedingly careful of the lives of his men, and never exposed them to unnecessary toils, or to risks too great for the expected benefit. Yet he was bold at times, almost to a fault ; and his prudence resulted more from necessity than in- stinct. For one so young to have displayed such qualities merits HENRY LEE. 459 the highest praise. We cannot rank Lee among the ordinary leaders of the Revolution. He deserves to be called the Murat of Ame- rica though he had far more intellect and needed only the same enlarged sphere and vast means to rival that chivalrous officer. It must be borne in mind, when forming an estimate of our revolutionary heroes, that the slender resources of the country con- tinually crippled their exertions, and that they were Irequently com- pelled to be cautious, when bolder measures would have better suited their tastes. It is a remarkable fact that every leader who dis- regarded prudence, and attempted to carry on the war as war was carried on in Europe, failed with signal disgrace. That Lee, at twenty-two, should have been what he was, proves his extraordinary genius. Cornwallis said of him, " that he came a soldier from his mother's womb." The legion was continually in the most critical positions. Once, when the siege of Ninety-Six was relieved, it had barely time to escape, so sudden was the approach of the enemy. It may give an idea of its mode of life to introduce an anecdote here. Some peas and beef had been procured, and the men were eagerly watch- ing the process of boiling, when the alarm was given. Instantly every man was in his saddle. But, loathe to leave the dinner for which they had been hungrily waiting, each soldier grasped what he could get, some a piece of beef, others a cap full of peas, and galloped off: and, perhaps, a more ludicrous spectacle was never seen than the troops in their flight, leaning over towards each other and bargaining beef for peas and peas for beef, all eating so fast they could scarcely speak. Another anecdote will illustrate Lee's cau- tion. He always, at night, posted guards around the house where he expected to sleep, yet often, after the troopers generally had sunk to repose, he would steal out into the open air and share the blanket of some favorite. This he did to prevent having his person sur- prised. When the war terminated, he returned to his native state. Here honors were heaped on him by the grateful citizens. He was elect- ed to the Legislature, chosen a delegate to Congress, and appointed one of the convention by which the present federal constitution of the United States was adopted. He was also, for three years, Gov- ernor of Virginia. Subsequently he was a member of Congress under the federal constitution. He appeared in military life but once, after the peace of 1 780 : this was when he joined the army sent to quell the whiskey insurrection in Western Pennsylvania. He lived to the age of sixty -one, and died at Cumberland Island, THE HEKOES OF THE REVOLUTION. Georgia, on his return from the West Indies to Virginia. The pru- dence which distinguished him as a military leader, unfortunately did not follow him into the transactions of private life, and, after having lived hospitably and generously, it was his lot, in old age, to die poor. His last hours, however, were sweetened by being per- mitted to die in the arms of the son of an old mesmate, whom he had loved as a brother. We cannot close this sketch without referring to a story which has been propagated respecting Martin Rudolph, one of Lee's legion. It. is said that this individual secretly went to France, at the period of the revolution in that country, and entering the army of the Rhine under an assumed name, subsequently became the re- nowned Marshal Ney. The disappearance of Rudolph from America in 1792 ; the similarity of his character to that of the impetuous Ney ; and an assertion that the French hero denied being a native of France, are the chief grounds on which this romantic story is based. We have the authority, however, of a surviving member of Lee's legion, who was Rudolph's companion for years, to say that, in the published portraits of Marshal Ney, there is no resemblance to the American hero ; and knowing, as we do, the informant's accu- rate memory in such things, we should regard this evidence as con- clusive, even if the fiction was sustained by stronger proofs than those yet adduced. The gentleman to whom we refer is Captain James Cooper, of Haddonfield, N. J. We believe that, with a single exception, he is the sole surviving member of the legion. y MORGAN AT THE BATTLE OF STILLWATEa. DANIEL MORGAN. , ANIEL MORGAN, a Major-General in the American army, was born in New .Jersey, in 1736. He belonged to the same [class of military heroes as Putnam, Wayne and Arnold, and was known, among his cotemporaries, as "the thunderbolt of war." His intellect was not comprehensive, nor his education extensive ; but he had great prudence, an invaluable gift, ]) especially when combined with high personal courage. His early life was spent in Virginia, where he followed the occupation of a wagoner. While attending Brad- dock's army in this capacity, he was subjected to the indignity of receiving four hundred and fifty lashes, for having struck an officer who had insulted him. He endured his horrible punish- ment without flinching, though he fainted at last from extremity of anguish ; and, what is creditable to his heart, forgave the man who had injured him, when the latter, discovering that he had been in fault in the original difference, asked Morgan's pardon. In conse- quence of being disabled by this punishment, Morgan was not present on the fatal field of Monongahela. oo 461 462 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. On his recovery he was appointed to the rank of Ensign, and soon became distinguished for his enterprise, activity and courage. He attracted the notice of Washington and secured the friendship of that great man. On one occasion he had an almost miraculous escape from death. Accompanied by two scouts, he was carrying des- patches to a frontier fort, when the crack of rifles was heard, and his companions fell dead beside him. At the same time a ball, en- tering the back of his neck, passed out through his cheek, after shat- tering his jaw. Looking around, he saw several savages start from a neighboring thicket, one of whom gave pursuit with his tomahawk raised to strike. Though believing himself mortally wounded, Mor- gan resolved not to yield his scalp without an effort, and, grasping the mane of his horse, dashed spurs into the sides of the animal and shot off towards the fort. At this the savage, perceiving the chase likely to be an abortive one, threw his hatchet, but the weapon fell short, and Morgan succeeded in gaining the fort. For many years afterwards, Morgan lived at Battletown, in Virginia, where he was celebrated for his devotion to pugilistic exercises. Nor was this trait singular. In his humble sphere he played the bully, as, in a loftier one, he would have been a duelist : for men of his temperament are impelled to action restlessly, and if not heroes, must be profligates. When the war of independence began, Morgan was appointed a Captain, and immediately began to raise a rifle company, which proved the nucleus of the celebrated corps that afterwards was of such service during the contest. Morgan, in three weeks, with his new recruits, completed the march from Virginia to Cambridge, a distance of six hundred miles. A short time after his arrival at head-quar- ters, he was detached to join the expedition of Arnold against Can- ada ; and, in the fatal attack on Quebec, in which Montgomery fell, signalized himself by an exhibition of the most desperate bravery. He belonged to Arnold's division, and, assuming the command after that General was wounded, stormed the defence, and even gained the second barrier. But here, notwithstanding every exertion, his assault failed, and he was taken prisoner with most of his men. His dashing courage during the attack had attracted the notice of the British Governor, and the rank of Colonel in the royal army was proffered him as an inducement to desert his countrymen. The pro- posal was rejected with scorn. His conduct in this affair met the approval of Washington and of Congress to such a degree, that, on being exchanged, he was immediately raised to the rank of Colonel, and the rifle brigade, which had now increased to the number of five hundred men, consigned to his command. DANIEL MORGAN. 463 When Burgoyne, in 1777, was advancing into the heart of New York, attended by hordes of Indian allies, Morgan was despatched to join Gates, in order, as Washington wrote, that there might be a man in the American camp " to fight the Indians in their own way." His services, during the campaign that ensued, were of the most signal value. He opened the battle of Stillwater, and drove in the Canadians and Indians ; but being, at last, overpowered by numbers, was forced back on Arnold's main position. In the ensuing skir- mishes between the two armies, Morgan's corps was in constant requisition. But when Burgoyne surrendered, Gates meanly over- looked his subordinate in the despatches. It is narrated that, at a dinner given to some English officers, the General was waited on by a person in uniform, whose appearance so struck the guests that they enquired his name : when what was their astonishment to learn that this was the redoubtable Morgan, whose prowess they had so often felt, and an introduction to whom they had vainly de- sired since their capture. The cause of this neglect of Gates, as sub- sequently discovered, was a refusal to join in the cabal against Washington. During most of the ensuing years of the war, Mor- gan served with the main army. In 1780, however, he retired to his farm in Frederick county, Virginia, completely disabled by a rheumatism brought on by exposure during his campaigns. When Charleston fell, and Gates was appointed to the southern army, Morgan, although but partially recovered, accepted the rank of Brigadier-General, and consented to serve under his old leader. He did not arrive at head-quarters, however, until after the battle of Camden ; but carne with General Greene, when sent to displace Gates. Soon after he was despatched to the country in the vicinity of the Pacolet River, in order to rouse the spirits of the patriots in that quarter, as also to make a demonstration against Ninety-Six. Tarleton was immediately sent in pursuit. Morgan halted to receive the British at a place called the Cowpens. A sharp, but de- cisive battle ensued, the particulars of which we have narrated at sufficient length in another place. The victory was owing, in part, to Morgan's admirable positions, in part to the firmness of Lieuten- ant-Colonel Howard, at the head of the Maryland line. Knowing that Cornwallis, who was but twenty-five miles distant, would be upon him if he delayed, Morgan, on the same day, continued his retreat, and succeeded in crossing the Catawba in safety with his prisoners, though the whole British army was pressing rapidly in pursuit. The moral effect of the battle of the Cowpens was so great as to be almost incalculable. It strikingly exemplifies 464 THE HEROES OF THE REVOLUTION. Morgan's military character. In the judicious tempering of courage with prudence, so eminently exhibited on that day, we recognize the quality to which he was indebted for success and glory through- out his whole career. It was shortly after this famous battle that Morgan retired from the southern army. He had differed from Greene as to the course to be pursued in the celebrated retreat across North Carolina, and to this fact many have attributed his return to private life ; but the more charitable supposition is, that his rheumatism, from which he still suffered acutely, led to this result. Lee, in his narrative of the campaign, exonerates Morgan from any unworthy motive in retiring. On the advance of Cornwallis into Virginia, Morgan again took the field, and served until the capitulation at Yorktown. He now returned to his farm, which he had called " Saratoga," in memory of the earlier days of his glory ; and here, devoting himself to agri- culture, and to historical reading, he spent the chief part of the remainder of his days. In 1791, when the Indian war broke out, it is said that Washington desired to place him at the head of the expedition sent to chastise the_ savages ; but the pretensions of St. Glair were, perhaps, too well sustained. In 1794, however, at the crisis of the " whiskey insurrection," Morgan was appointed to the force marched against the insurgents. After this, he served for two sessions in Congress. In 1802, he died at Winchester, in Virginia. The intellect of Morgan was keen, and if it had been suitably in- formed, would have left him few superiors. In physical courage he resembled Ney. Macdonald and Murat. His early life was reckless in some respects; but this was merely the result of high animal spirits ; for, even during his residence at Battletown, he was acquiring, by his prudent sagacity, a comfortable farm. In later years he became eminently pious. He had always, indeed, possessed strong religious feelings, and was accustomed frequently to pray before going into battle. He used afterwards to say, that when he saw Tarletou advancing, at the Cowpens, his heart misgave him, and it w