to you, my countrymen, that our fathers have taught us both by their
words and acts, that it is the duty of every citizen to devote himself
to the welfare of his country. They have taught us during peace to
cultivate the soil, to despise luxury and effeminate pursuits, and, by
begetting and educating children, to strengthen the State; in war by
valor to defend it; nor without sufficient reason to risk our lives,
the property of our country, bestowed by the gods. This I have ever
striven to do. I am indeed young to die; age hath not tamed my sinews,
nor misfortune broken my spirits, that I should be weary of life;
fortune thus far has been friendly to me, reasonable expectations have
been gratified, and efforts crowned with success. I might justly hope
for many years of usefulness to my country and honor to myself, but it
is now in my power, by devoting myself, to secure the interposition
of the gods in crowning with victory the banners of our country and
destroying its foes.
“It would be a solace to me once more to embrace an affectionate wife
and dutiful children, to look again upon the trees I have planted and
watched in their growth till they have become a part of myself, and
upon the fields from which for so many years I have raised my bread
and that of my family. I should like to walk over them once more,
but I leave them with all my other affairs to the care of the State,
which I am assured I shall this day more benefit by death than by the
longest and most prosperous life. To you, Valerius, I commit the care
of interring my body, that, having received the sacred rites of burial,
I may enter those happy fields, where dwell the shades of heroes and my
warlike ancestors. I commission you to inform my wife of the manner of
my death, charging her to educate my sons in a manner worthy of their
father and their ancestors.
“I pray you, my friends, look not so mournfully upon me, as though some
great misfortune were about to befall me; for, though I may no longer
lead you to battle, my shade will be present with you and nerve your
arms to strike for the safety and glory of the Republic. The spirits
of our ancestors hover around us; I behold their shadowy forms. The
immortal gods are present for our aid. Jove thunders from the sky and
Apollo bends the bow.”
Followed by the frantic legions assured of victory, he rushed into the
midst of the foe; they fled in terror before the terrible warrior armed
with supernatural terrors and seeking only death. The contest ended,
the victorious Romans drew the body of their general from beneath a
heap of slain, contemplating with emotions of mingled pride and sorrow
the wounds which had let out a spirit so noble. They cleansed that
beloved form from the stains of battle, arrayed it in gorgeous robes
perfumed with fragrant odors, and reverend senators bore it to the
grave.
LEONIDAS
It was on the morn of the 7th of August, 480 B.C., that Leonidas,
with three hundred kindred spirits, performed the deed that shall be
transmitted from father to son, through the generations of men, while
human hearts shall throb with the love of country and of the domestic
hearth. Four days had the haughty invader lingered at the mountain
pass to afford this desperate band time to reconsider their act and
disperse. Summoned to lay down their arms, they replied, “Come and
take them.” Vainly had he poured his thousands upon this devoted band
till the defile was choked with Persian dead. At length the tidings
came that ten thousand men guided by a traitor were threading the goat
paths to attack their rear. With ample opportunity to retreat, in
obedience to the laws of their country, which forbade its soldiers to
retreat from the foe, the Spartans, dismissing their allies, remained
to face the storm. Never before or since has law been thus voluntarily
baptized in blood, or the sun looked down upon a scene like that.
On one side in solitary grandeur tower the massive cliffs of Œta,
wreathed with the white foam of torrents, and shaggy with forests
bathed in dew; before stretches the narrow path leading to a plain,
where lie the hosts of Xerxes, two million men; and on the other, the
sea.
In these rude ages of brawl and battle his life and liberty alone
were safe whose hand could help his head; thus also in respect to
communities, the nation unable to defend itself found no allies; to
be weak was to be miserable. The institutions of Lycurgus aimed to
produce the greatest physical strength, contempt of pain and death, and
to inspire an absorbing love of country. They decreed that all puny
and imperfect children should be put to death, thus leaving to grow up
only the strongest of the race. All labor was performed by slaves, that
the citizens might be left at leisure for the study and practice of
arms. The fatigues of their daily life were greater than those of the
camp, and to the Spartan alone war afforded a relaxation. Their cities
disdained the protection of walls, while they boasted that the women
had never seen the smoke of an enemy’s camp. From the breast they were
taught that glory and happiness consisted in love for their country
and obedience to its laws. They were early accustomed to cold, hunger,
and scourgings, in order to teach them endurance and contempt of pain.
No tender parent wrought with saddened brow their battle robes, or
buckled on with tears their armor; but the Spartan mother’s farewell to
her son was, “Bring back thy shield or be borne upon it.” Trained in
the contests of the gymnasium and the free life of the hunter and the
warrior, accustomed from childhood to the weight of harness graduated
to their growing strength, their armor grew to their limbs, and was
worn with a grace and their weapons wielded with a skill that was
instinctive.
Such were the stern brotherhood, chosen from a thousand Spartans, all
the fathers of living sons, that others might be left to fill their
places, inherit their spirit, and follow their example. In those forms
so replete with manly beauty dwelt a spirit more noble still, which,
preferring the toils of liberty to the ease of servitude, caught from
those frowning precipices and that matchless sky, ever flinging its
shadow over sea and shore, a love for the soil enduring as life itself.
As the sun arose they bathed their bodies in water, anointed themselves
with oil, and arranged their hair as for a banquet. “Let us,” said
Leonidas, “breakfast heartily, for we shall all sup with Pluto
to-night.”
“Comrades,” cried the heroic king, as the serried ranks gathered around
him, “those whose laws do not forbid them to retreat from the foe have
left us. I welcome you to death; had not treachery done its work, three
hundred Spartans would have still held at bay two million slaves. Deem
not because we, trained in all feats of arms, in the full strength of
manhood, perish nor hold the pass, our country’s gate, we therefore die
for naught. This day shall we do more for Sparta than could the longest
life consumed in war or councils of the State. As trees that fall in
lonely forests die but to live again, and with other trees incorporate,
lift their proud tops to heaven, wave in the breeze, and fling their
shadows over the murmuring streams, thus shall our blood, which ere
high noon shall smoke upon these rocks and stain these fretting waves,
beget defenders for the soil it consecrates. To-day you fight the
battles of a thousand years and teach this vaunting foe that bodies
are not men, that freedom’s laws are mightier than the knotted scourge
or chains by despots forged. The savor of this holocaust, borne by the
winds and journeying on the waves, shall nerve the patriot’s arm, while
Pinda rears its awful front, and from its sacred caves the streams
descend. Inspired by this your act, henceforth five hundred Spartan
men shall count a thousand. Our countrymen with envy shall view the
gaping wounds through which the hero’s soul flees to the silent shades,
and mourn they were not privileged with us to die. Our children shall
tread with prouder step their native hills, while men exclaim each to
the other, ’Behold the sons of sires who slumber at Thermopylæ.’ These
battered arms, gathered with jealous care, shall hallow every home; our
little ones with awful reverence shall point to the shivered sword, the
war-scarred shield, the bloody vesture or the helmet cleft, and say,
’My father bore these arms at old Thermopylæ.’ With noble ardor shall
they yearn for the day when their young arms shall bear ancestral
shields, the spear sustain, and, like their sires, strike home on
bloody fields for liberty and law.”
Their courage needed to be attempered, not aroused by the clangor
of trumpets, the stormy roll of drums, and the frantic shout of
multitudes. To the sound of softest music, and decked with flowers as
for a bridal, they marched upon their foe.
Now flute notes and the sweet music of the Spartan lyre floated upon
the breath of morn as they encountered the foe. Persian arrows and
javelins darkened the air, and discordant yells rose up to heaven, but
before that terrible phalanx the multitudes went down like grass before
the scythe of the mower. Their spears gave no second thrust, their
swords no second blow; assailed at length by millions in front and
rear, they were slain and not subdued. Yet does their influence live
in all literature and all lands. To-day they teach the age that there
are nobler employments for man than the acquisition of riches or the
pursuit of pleasure. The patriot scholar goes from the contemplation
of the relics of Roman and Grecian art, to pay a deeper devotion at
their grass-grown sepulchre; listens to the dash of waves, breaking as
they broke upon the ear of Leonidas and his heroes, when, on that proud
morning, they marched forth to die; reads with awe that sublime epitaph
and passes on a better patriot and a better man.
THE CENTURION
The Roman Senate, in high conclave assembled, deliberated respecting
the raising of fresh levies of men and arms. Powerful and vindictive
foes, with difficulty held at bay, were gathering for attack, while the
commons were ripe for revolt. Meanwhile, a turbulent crowd thronged
the forum, surging to and fro like forests tossed by conflicting
winds. Exasperated by oppression, beggared by usury, they recounted
their causes of discontent, and thus fanned the smouldering flame in
each other’s breast. It was from their households the conscription now
pending was to be made; their blood was to stain the fields of battle,
and victory, bringing but empty honors, would leave them more under the
power of their masters than before. To increase the confusion, some
Latin horsemen came full speed to the city, announcing that the Volsci
were on their march to attack it; upon which the people set up a shout
of joy, willing to perish if so be their oppressors might perish with
them.
Cries of agony now arose above the tumult, and an old man pursued by
creditors ran into the midst imploring aid; but his pursuers catching
hold of the chain which was fastened to his right foot, he fell upon
his face, while the blood gushed from his nostrils. He had just escaped
from the dungeon of a creditor; his clothes were in tatters; his body
emaciated by hunger; while his face, hideous with matted hair and
beard, resembled more that of a beast than of a man. Some soldiers at
length recalled the face of a centurion under whom they had served,
famed for military skill, and distinguished by honors received as the
reward of valor in the field. It needed but this spark to ignite a
train already prepared for explosion. With a roar, like that of surges
upon a winter’s beach, they trampled his pursuers beneath their feet,
bidding him without fear to tell his tale, for they would protect him
though it were necessary to fling both senate and consuls into the
Tiber. And now to that fearful uproar succeeded a silence like that
of the sepulchre, permitting the feeble tones of the miserable man to
reach every ear and touch every heart in that vast assembly, as thus
he spake:--
“Ten years ago, my countrymen, I was the owner of a little farm, the
fruit of my labor and that of my ancestors. It lay along the base of
hills around whose roots wound a brook which, watering my fields, ran
into the Tiber; on its banks grew the elms that sustained our vines;
the hills were clothed with chestnut and olives, and there also was the
pasture of my flocks. In the sheltered vale beneath, the almond mingled
with the fig, the flax spread its azure flowers to the sun, apples bent
the laden boughs, and grain rewarded the toil of the reaper. How dear
to me was that humble cot with its straw-thatched roof from which the
swallows sprang to greet the breaking day; where the stock-dove hung
its nest in the beechen shade, and morning breezes brought perfume to
its threshold. How sweet, when the weary bullocks were released from
the yoke, to lie among the lengthening shadows and listen to the dying
breeze steal through the soft acanthus leaves in wild, low music. Our
wants were few and easily satisfied; my wife ground the corn, her hands
spun and wove our clothing, my children were dutiful; we led a frugal,
happy life, revering the immortal gods and cherishing the virtues of
our fathers. These few acres, valued as the fruit of my own labor, the
gift of my ancestors, consecrated by their toil and pregnant with their
ashes, were to me inexpressibly dear. I, indeed, was most of the time
in arms for my country, yet often in the midnight watches of the camp
did memory picture those sunny fields, my family thinking and talking
of the absent soldier; nor did I forget to thank the immortal gods,
that, should my country require my life, my family possessed a heritage
and a home. The sun was declining as I neared my native vale on my
return from the Sabine war. Eagerly I pressed to the brow of the hill
that I might look down upon that dear cot. It was a heap of ashes; the
storm of war had swept over those pleasant fields; fire had consumed
the standing corn; the cattle were driven off, and the beauty of the
groves had departed. As nearer I drew, I descried the body of my wife
and first-born lying dead at the threshold; the rest had fled, not a
living thing, even a dog, was left to welcome me; and the tired soldier
had not where to lay his head.
“To war succeeded famine, hostilities continued, taxes increased, the
land lay untilled. I was compelled to borrow money at exorbitant usury;
that loved heritage passed into the hands of strangers. The golden
crown and silver chain, bestowed for being the first to enter the
enemy’s camp, went next; they are in the coffers of a man who never saw
the color of a foeman’s eye nor drew his sword in the State’s behalf.
All this not sufficing, my creditor immured me in a foul dungeon
beneath his palace; with fifteen pounds of iron, the utmost the law
permits, was I loaded; a pound of corn and water was my daily food, and
I, a Roman citizen and a centurion, was scourged like a dog. Had I not
broken my chain and flung myself upon you for protection, this war-worn
body would have been cut in pieces and apportioned among my creditors.
“Comrades on many a bloody field, behold this arm,--which in
twenty-eight battles has fought for the liberty of Rome till the hand
clave to the sword hilt,--worn by cruel fetters to the bone; this body,
seamed with honorable scars, dripping blood from the knotted scourge.
Milder tortures would have been reserved for me had I been the betrayer
instead of the defender of my country. The laws which consume the
poor man’s substance and drain his blood are by usurers enacted, by
them are executed. Usurers rob the public chest and parcel out the
conquered lands among themselves. Let us, rather than longer submit to
such extortion, fling wide the gates to the approaching enemy, leave
them to exercise their wisdom in making laws where there are none to
govern, levying taxes where there are none to pay, and displaying their
valor where there is nought to defend. By the ashes of that ruined
home, those loved forms mangled by the Sabine sword and devoured by the
vultures of the Apennines, by the sufferings of my remaining children
whose young lives are consumed by the tortures from which I have fled,
by him who on Olympus holds his awful seat and shakes the nations with
his nod, I conjure you to assert the rights of the people and the
ancient liberties of Rome.”
VIRGINIUS TO THE ROMAN ARMY
The night wind blew in fitful gusts, with occasional dashes of rain,
where, grouped around their watch-fires, and sheltered by the dense
foliage of a beechen grove, a Roman cohort held its leaguer. Some,
their spears thrust into the ground beside them, sat upright against
the trees; while others lay at full length, with their heads resting
upon their shields.
As the flames threw their red light upon the war-scarred faces of the
veterans, they revealed only sullen features. No song nor jest was
heard,--no sound, save the low hiss of the raindrops on the embers, the
bay of a wolf in the distant forest, and the low muttered words of a
soldier who was telling to his comrade how that, the night before, as
the sun fell over the hills, a centurion rode past his beat full speed
to Rome, summoned there by some new outrage of the Patricians.
All that night, throughout the host, mysterious forebodings crept.
Men around their watch-fires spake in low whispers; and many a silent
grasp of the hand passed from man to man. As the night wore away, and
the day dawned, Virginius, upon a foaming steed, his head bare, and in
his right hand a bloody knife, dashed past the guard to where--beneath
an oak which, withered and scorched by sacrificial fires, flung no
shadow--great Jove was worshipped.
Mounting the altar-steps, he turned, and, with bloodshot eyes, glared
upon the soldiers who thronged tumultuously around him. Holding aloft
the bloody knife, he exclaimed, “With this weapon I have slain my only
child, to preserve her from dishonor!” Yells of horror and bitter
execrations rose from the whole army; and a thousand swords flashed in
the sun’s bright beams.
“Soldiers!” he cried, “I am like this blasted tree. Two years ago
the Ides of May three lusty sons went with me to the field. In one
disastrous fight they perished. A daughter, beautiful as the day, yet
remained; ’tis but a week ago you saw her here, bearing to her old sire
home comforts prepared by her own hands, and sharing with him the
evening meal, and you blessed her as you passed.
“You’ll never see her more, who weekly came, with the soft music of her
voice, and spells of home, to cheer our hearts. As on her way to school
she crossed the Forum, Appius Claudius, through his minion Marcus,
claimed her as a slave. With desperate haste I rode to Rome. Holding my
daughter by the hand, and by my side her uncle, her aged grandsire, and
Icilius her betrothed, I claimed my child.
“The judge, that he may gain his end, decides that in his house and
custody she must remain, till I, by legal process, prove my right! The
guards approach. Trembling, she clings around my neck,--her hot tears
on my cheek. Snatching this knife from a butcher’s stall, I plunged it
in her breast, that her pure soul might go free and unstained to her
mother and her ancestors.
“And this is the reward a grateful country gives her soldiery! Cursed
be the day my mother bore me! Accursed my sire’s untimely joy! Accursed
the twilight hour, when ’mid Etruscan groves I wooed and won Acestes’
beauteous child, while youth’s bright dreams were busy at my heart!
“Soldiers! the deadliest foes of our liberties are behind, not before
us; they are not the Æqui, the Volsci, and the Sabines, who meet us
in fair fight; but that pampered aristocracy, who chain you by the
death-penalty to the camp, that in your absence they may work their
will upon those you leave behind.
“But why do I seek to kindle a fire in ice? Why seek to arouse the
vengeance of those who care for no miseries but their own, and are
enamoured of their fetters? I, indeed, can lose no more. Misfortune
hath emptied her quiver,--she hath no other shaft for this bleeding
breast; but flatter not yourselves that the lust of Appius Claudius has
expired with the defeat of his purpose.
“Your homes, likewise, invite the destroyer; into your fold the grim
wolf will leap; among the lambs of your flock will he revel, his jaws
dripping blood. For you, also, the bow is bent; the arrow drawn to the
head; and the string impatient of its charge. By all that I have lost,
and that you imperil by delay, avenge this accursed wrong!
“If you have arms, use them; liberties, vindicate them; patriotism,
save the tottering State; natural affection, protect the domestic
hearth; piety, appease the wrath of the gods by avenging the blood
that cries to heaven. To arms! To arms! or your swords will leap from
their scabbards, the trumpets sound the onset, and the standards of
_themselves_ advance to rebuke your delay!”
GENERAL GAGE AND THE BOSTON BOYS
The year seventeen hundred and seventy-five dawned gloomily upon the
inhabitants of Massachusetts Bay. Portentous clouds darkened the
political horizon, while clear-sighted and forecasting men prepared
themselves for a struggle they saw to be inevitable. The attempt to
crush by force of arms the spirit of liberty in the colonies had
already commenced. A hostile fleet, with guns double-shotted and
trained upon the town, lay at anchor in Boston Harbor. The town was
under martial law, the hills bristled with cannon, sentinels challenged
the citizen going to his daily vocations, and the common was a camp.
On the wharves of this busy emporium of colonial trade that had been
wont to send its thousand vessels each year to foreign and domestic
ports, the sailor’s song was hushed, warehouses were closed, and no
canvas fluttered to the breeze. But few shops, and those only which
dealt in the necessaries of life, were opened, and the hammer of the
artisan lay rusting on the anvil. In many streets the snow lying white
and undisturbed before the doors of hospitable dwellings evinced that
their occupants had fled from a tyranny they were unable to resist.
Beneath this grinding oppression, so intolerable to the spirit of a
free people, no weak complaints were uttered nor sounds of riot heard.
The citizen pursuing his business brushed the sentinel with a calm brow
and sealed lips, and the children went to and fro to their schools and
plays.
When soldiers barracked and horses were stabled in their churches,
when bayonets gleamed in their halls of legislation, they lifted
up the voice to God in other places and the town meeting was held
as heretofore. For the first time in the history of peoples, the
flocks sported in the pasture or slept in the fold unconscious of the
butcher’s knife; the inhabitants of Massachusetts had resolved to eat
no mutton, that their resources might be increased. On the roofs of
sheds and porticoes wool and flax were bleaching; from hundreds of
dwellings were heard the hum of the wheel and the stroke of the loom,
where the mothers of heroes were preparing their children for the
forum or the field. Balls were run and cartridges made by the hands
of women and children at the kitchen fire, and, deftly concealed in
loads of offal, passed unchallenged the sentries to hiding-places in
the neighboring towns. Men who pursued their usual labors during the
day met at midnight in garrets and cellars, and after swearing upon the
Scriptures to keep secret the purpose of the meeting, consulted and
prayed together, enduring meanwhile as best they might the insults of
the soldiery.