profound sensation throughout the country, where he was well known. He
was among the very first martyrs of the war, as he had been one of the
first volunteers.
Lincoln was overwhelmed with sorrow. He had the body of the lamented
young officer taken to the White House, where it lay in state until the
burial took place, and, even in the midst of his increasing cares, he
found time to sit alone and in grief-stricken meditation by the bier of
the dead young soldier of whose career he had cherished so great hopes.
The life-blood from Ellsworth's heart had stained not only the
Confederate flag, but a gold medal found under his uniform, bearing the
legend: “Non solum nobis, sed pro patria”; “Not for ourselves alone, but
for the country.”
GENERAL SCOTT AND THE STARS AND STRIPES
BY E. D. TOWNSEND (ADAPTED)
One day, as the general was sitting at his table in the office, the
messenger announced that a person desired to see him a moment in order
to present a gift.
A German was introduced, who said that he was commissioned by a house in
New York to present General Scott with a small silk banner. It was very
handsome, of the size of a regimental flag, and was made of a single
piece of silk stamped with the Stars and Stripes of the proper colors.
The German said that the manufacturers who had sent the banner, wished
to express thus the great respect they felt for General Scott, and their
sense of his importance to the country in that perilous time.
The general was highly pleased, and, in accepting the gift, assured
the donors that the flag should hang in his room wherever he went, and
enshroud him when he died.
As soon as the man was gone, the general desired that the stars might be
counted to see if ALL the States were represented. They were ALL there.
The flag was then draped between the windows over the couch where the
general frequently reclined for rest during the day. It went with him in
his berth when he sailed for Europe, after his retirement, and enveloped
his coffin when he was interred at West Point.
INDEPENDENCE DAY
(JULY 4)
THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
BY WASHINGTON IRVING
While danger was gathering round New York, and its inhabitants were
in mute suspense and fearful anticipations, the General Congress
at Philadelphia was discussing, with closed doors, what John Adams
pronounced: “The greatest question ever debated in America, and as great
as ever was or will be debated among men.” The result was, a resolution
passed unanimously on the 2d of July; “that these United Colonies are,
and of right ought to be, free and independent States.”
“The 2d of July,” adds the same patriot statesman, “will be the most
memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it
will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary
festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by
solemn acts of devotion to Almighty God. 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 forth forevermore.”
The glorious event has, indeed, given rise to an annual jubilee; but
not on the day designated by Adams. The FOURTH of July is the day of
national rejoicing, for on that day the “Declaration of Independence,”
that solemn and sublime document, was adopted.
Tradition gives a dramatic effect to its announcement. It was known
to be under discussion, but the closed doors of Congress excluded the
populace. They awaited, in throngs, an appointed signal. In the steeple
of the State House was a bell, imported twenty-three years previously
from London by the Provincial Assembly of Pennsylvania. It bore the
portentous text from Scripture: “Proclaim Liberty throughout all the
land, unto all the inhabitants thereof.” A joyous peal from that bell
gave notice that the bill had been passed. It was the knell of British
domination.
THE SIGNING OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
BY H. A. GUERBER [4]
[Footnote 4: From The Story of the Thirteen Colonies. Copyright, 1898,
by H. A. Guerber. American Book Company, publishers.]
John Hancock, President of Congress, was the first to sign the
Declaration of Independence, writing his name in large, plain letters,
and saying:--
“There! John Bull can read my name without spectacles. Now let him
double the price on my head, for this is my defiance.”
Then he turned to the other members, and solemnly declared:--
“We must be unanimous. There must be no pulling different ways. We must
all hang together.”
“Yes,” said Franklin, quaintly: “we must all hang together, or most
assuredly we shall all hang separately.”
We are told that Charles Carroll, thinking that his writing looked
shaky, added the words, “of Carrollton,” so that the king should not be
able to make any mistake as to whose name stood there.
A BRAVE GIRL
BY JAMES JOHONNOT (ADAPTED) [41]
[Footnote 41: From Stories of Heroic Deeds. Copyright, 1887, by D.
Appleton and Company. American Book Company, publishers.]
In the year 1781 the war was chiefly carried on in the South, but the
North was constantly troubled by bands of Tories and Indians, who would
swoop down on small settlements and make off with whatever they could
lay their hands on.
During this time General Schuyler was staying at his house, which stood
just outside the stockade or walls of Albany. The British commander sent
out a party of Tories and Indians to capture the general.
When they reached the outskirts of the city they learned from a Dutch
laborer that the general's house was guarded by six soldiers, three
watching by night and three by day. They let the Dutchman go, and as
soon as the band was out of sight he hastened to Albany and warned the
general of their approach.
Schuyler gathered his family in one of the upper rooms of his house,
and giving orders that the doors and windows should be barred, fired a
pistol from a top-story window, to alarm the neighborhood.
The soldiers on guard, who had been lounging in the shade of a tree,
started to their feet at the sound of the pistol; but, alas! too late,
for they found themselves surrounded by a crowd of dusky forms, who
bound them hand and foot, before they had time to resist.
In the room upstairs was the sturdy general, standing resolutely at the
door, with gun in hand, while his black slaves were gathered about him,
each with a weapon. At the other end of the room the women were huddled
together, some weeping and some praying.
Suddenly a deafening crash was heard. The Indian band had broken
into the house. With loud shouts they began to pillage and to destroy
everything in sight. While they were yet busy downstairs, Mrs. Schuyler
sprang to her feet and rushed to the door; for she had suddenly
remembered that the baby, who was only a few months old, was asleep in
its cradle in a room on the first floor.
The general caught his wife in his arms, and implored her not to go to
certain death, saying that if any one was to go he would. While this
generous struggle between husband and wife was going on, their young
daughter, who had been standing near the door, glided by them, and
descended the stairs.
All was dark in the hall, excepting where the light shone from the
dining-room in which the Indians were pillaging the shelves and fighting
over their booty. How to get past the dining-room door was the question,
but the brave girl did not hesitate. Reaching the lower hall, she walked
very deliberately forward, softly but quickly passing the door, and
unobserved reached the room in which was the cradle.
She caught up the baby, crept back past the open door, and was just
mounting the stairs, when one of the savages happened to see her.
“WHIZ”--and his sharp tomahawk struck the stair rail within a few inches
of the baby's head. But the frightened girl hurried on, and in a few
seconds was safe in her father's arms.
As for the Indians, fearing an attack from the near-by garrison, they
hastened away with the booty they had collected, and left General
Schuyler and his family unharmed.
THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY
BY JOHN ANDREWS (ADAPTED) [5]
[Footnote 5: From a letter written to a friend in 1773.]
On November 29, 1773, there arrived in Boston Harbor a ship carrying an
hundred and odd chests of the detested tea. The people in the country
roundabout, as well as the town's folk, were unanimous against allowing
the landing of it; but the agents in charge of the consignment persisted
in their refusal to take the tea back to London. The town bells were
rung, for a general muster of the citizens. Handbills were stuck up
calling on “Friends! Citizens! Countrymen!”
Mr. Rotch, the owner of the ship, found himself exposed not only to the
loss of his ship, but to the loss of the money-value of the tea itself,
if he should attempt to send her back without clearance papers from the
custom-house; for the admiral kept a vessel in readiness to seize
any ship which might leave without those papers. Therefore, Mr. Rotch
declared that his ship should not carry back the tea without either
the proper clearance or the promise of full indemnity for any losses he
might incur.
Matters continued thus for some days, when a general muster was called
of the people of Boston and of all the neighboring towns. They met, to
the number of five or six thousand, at ten o'clock in the morning, in
the Old South Meeting-House; where they passed a unanimous vote THAT THE
TEA SHOULD GO OUT OF THE HARBOR THAT AFTERNOON!
A committee, with Mr. Rotch, was sent to the custom-house to demand a
clearance. This the collector said he could not give without the duties
first being paid. Mr. Rotch was then sent to ask for a pass from
the governor, who returned answer that “consistent with the rules of
government and his duty to the king he could not grant one without they
produced a previous clearance from the office.”
By the time Mr. Rotch returned to the Old South Meeting-House with
this message, the candles were lighted and the house still crowded with
people. When the governor's message was read a prodigious shout was
raised, and soon afterward the moderator declared the meeting dissolved.
This caused another general shout, outdoors and in, and what with
the noise of breaking up the meeting, one might have thought that the
inhabitants of the infernal regions had been let loose.
That night there mustered upon Fort Hill about two hundred strange
figures, SAID TO BE INDIANS FROM NARRAGANSETT. They were clothed in
blankets, with heads muffled, and had copper-colored countenances. Each
was armed with a hatchet or axe, and a pair of pistols. They spoke a
strange, unintelligible jargon.
They proceeded two by two to Griffin's Wharf, where three tea-ships lay,
each with one hundred and fourteen chests of the ill-fated article on
board. And before nine o'clock in the evening every chest was knocked
into pieces and flung over the sides.
Not the least insult was offered to any one, save one Captain Conner,
who had ripped up the linings of his coat and waistcoat, and, watching
his opportunity, had filled them with tea. But, being detected, he was
handled pretty roughly. They not only stripped him of his clothes, but
gave him a coat of mud, with a severe bruising into the bargain. Nothing
but their desire not to make a disturbance prevented his being tarred
and feathered.
The tea being thrown overboard, all the Indians disappeared in a most
marvelous fashion.
The next day, if a stranger had walked through the streets of Boston,
and had observed the calm composure of the people, he would hardly have
thought that ten thousand pounds sterling of East India Company's tea
had been destroyed the night before.
A GUNPOWDER STORY
BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE (ADAPTED)
[Footnote 6: From Stories of the Old Dominion. Used by permission of the
American Book Company, publishers.]
In the autumn of 1777 the English decided to attack Fort Henry, at
Wheeling, in northwestern Virginia. This was an important border fort
named in honor of Patrick Henry, and around which had grown up a small
village of about twenty-five log houses.
A band of Indians, under the leadership of one Simon Girty, was supplied
by the English with muskets and ammunition, and sent against the fort.
This Girty was a white man, who, when a boy, had been captured by
Indians, and brought up by them. He had joined their tribes, and was a
ferocious and bloodthirsty leader of savage bands.
When the settlers at Wheeling heard that Simon Girty and his Indians
were advancing on the town, they left their homes and hastened into the
fort. Scarcely had they done so when the savages made their appearance.
The defenders of the fort knew that a desperate fight must now take
place, and there seemed little probability that they would be able to
hold out against their assailants. They had only forty two fighting men,
including old men and boys, while the Indian force numbered about five
hundred.
What was worse they had but a small amount of gunpowder. A keg
containing the main supply had been left by accident in one of the
village houses. This misfortune, as you will soon see, brought about the
brave action of a young girl.
After several encounters with the savages, which took place in the
village, the defenders withdrew to the fort. Then a number of Indians
advanced with loud yells, firing as they came. The fire was returned
by the defenders, each of whom had picked out his man, and taken deadly
aim. Most of the attacking party were killed, and the whole body of
Indians fell back into the near-by woods, and there awaited a more
favorable opportunity to renew hostilities.
The men in the fort now discovered, to their great dismay, that their
gunpowder was nearly gone. What was to be done? Unless they could get
another supply, they would not be able to hold the fort, and they and
their women and children would either be massacred or carried into
captivity.
Colonel Shepherd, who was in command, explained to the settlers exactly
how matters stood. He also told them of the forgotten keg of powder
which was in a house standing about sixty yards from the gate of the
fort.
It was plain to all that if any man should attempt to procure the keg,
he would almost surely be shot by the lurking Indians. In spite of this
three or four young men volunteered to go on the dangerous mission.
Colonel Shepherd replied that he could not spare three or four strong
men, as there were already too few for the defense. Only one man should
make the attempt and they might decide who was to go. This caused a
dispute.
Just then a young girl stepped forward and said that SHE was ready
to go. Her name was Elizabeth Zane, and she had just returned from a
boarding-school in Philadelphia. This made her brave offer all the more
remarkable, since she had not been bred up to the fearless life of the
border.
At first the men would not hear of her running such a risk. She was told
that it meant certain death. But she urged that they could not spare
a man from the defense, and that the loss of one girl would not be an
important matter. So after some discussion the settlers agreed that she
should go for the powder.
The house, as has already been stated, stood about sixty yards from the
fort, and Elizabeth hoped to run thither and bring back the powder in a
few minutes. The gate was opened, and she passed through, running like a
deer.
A few straggling Indians were dodging about the log houses of the town;
they saw the fleeing girl, but for some reason they did not fire upon
her. They may have supposed that she was returning to her home to rescue
her clothes. Possibly they thought it a waste of good ammunition to fire
at a woman, when they were so sure of taking the fort before long. So
they looked on quietly while, with flying skirts, Elizabeth ran across
the open, and entered the house.
She found the keg of powder, which was not large. She lifted it with
both arms, and, holding the precious burden close to her breast, she
darted out of the house and ran in the direction of the fort.
When the Indians saw what she was carrying they uttered fierce yells
and fired. The bullets fell like hail about her, but not one so much as
touched her garments. With the keg hugged to her bosom, she ran on, and
reached the fort in safety. The gate closed upon her just as the bullets
of the Indians buried themselves in its thick panels.
The rescued gunpowder enabled the little garrison to hold out until help
arrived from the other settlements near Wheeling. And Girty, seeing that
there were no further hopes of taking Fort Henry, withdrew his band.
Thus a weak but brave girl was the means of saving strong men with their
wives and children. It was a heroic act, and Americans should never
forget to honor the name of Elizabeth Zane.
THE CAPTURE OF FORT TICONDEROGA
BY WASHINGTON IRVING (ADAPTED)
Some bold spirits in Connecticut conceived the project of surprising the
old forts of Ticonderoga and Crown Point, already famous in the French
War. Their situation on Lake Champlain gave them the command of the main
route into Canada so that the possession of them would be all-important
in case of hostilities. They were feebly garrisoned and negligently
guarded, and abundantly furnished with artillery and military stores so
needed by the patriot army.
At this juncture Ethan Allen stepped forward, a patriot, and volunteered
with his “Green Mountain Boys.” He was well fitted for the enterprise.
During the border warfare over the New Hampshire Grants, he and his
lieutenants had been outlawed by the Legislature of New York and
rewards offered for their apprehension. He and his associates had armed
themselves, set New York at defiance, and had sworn they would be the
death of any one who should try to arrest them.
Thus Ethan Allen had become a kind of Robin Hood among the mountains.
His experience as a frontier champion, his robustness of mind and
body, and his fearless spirit made him a most desirable leader in the
expedition against Fort Ticonderoga. Therefore he was appointed at the
head of the attacking force.
Accompanied by Benjamin Arnold and two other officers, Allen and his
party of soldiers who had been enlisted from several States, set out
and arrived at Shoreham, opposite Fort Ticonderoga on the shore of Lake
Champlain. They reached the place at night-time. There were only a few
boats on hand, but the transfer of men began immediately. It was slow
work. The night wore away; day was about to break, and but eighty-three
men, with Allen and Arnold, had crossed. Should they wait for the rest
to cross over, day would dawn, the garrison wake, and their enterprise
might fail.
Allen drew up his men, addressed them in his own emphatic style, and
announced his intention of making a dash at the fort without waiting for
more force.
“It is a desperate attempt,” said he, “and I ask no man to go against
his will. I will take the lead, and be the first to advance. You that
are willing to follow, poise your firelocks!”
Not a firelock but was poised!
They mounted the hill briskly but in silence, guided by a boy from the
neighborhood.
The day dawned as Allen arrived at a sally-port. A sentry pulled trigger
on him, but his piece missed fire. He retreated through a covered way.
Allen and his men followed. Another sentry thrust at an officer with his
bayonet, but was struck down by Allen, and begged for quarter. It was
granted on condition of his leading the way instantly to the quarters of
the commandant, Captain Delaplace, who was yet in bed.
Being arrived there, Allen thundered at the door, and demanded a
surrender of the fort. By this time his followers had formed into two
lines on the parade-ground, and given three hearty cheers.
The commandant appeared at the door half-dressed, the frightened face
of his pretty wife peering over his shoulder. He gazed at Allen in
bewildered astonishment.
“By whose authority do you act?” exclaimed he.
“In the name of the Continental Congress!” replied Allen, with a
flourish of his sword, and an oath which we do not care to subjoin.
There was no disputing the point. The garrison, like the commandant,
had been startled from sleep, and made prisoners as they rushed forth
in their confusion. A surrender accordingly took place. The captain
and forty-eight men who composed his garrison were sent prisoners to
Hartford, in Connecticut.
And thus without the loss of a single man, one of the important forts,
commanding the main route into Canada, fell into the hands of the
patriots.
WASHINGTON AND THE COWARDS
BY WASHINGTON IRVING (ADAPTED)
During the evacuation of New York by Washington, two divisions of the
enemy, encamped on Long Island, one British under Sir Henry Clinton, the
other Hessian under Colonel Donop, emerged in boats from the deep wooded
recesses of Newtown Inlet, and under cover of the fire from the ships
began to land at two points between Turtle and Kip's Bays.
The breastworks were manned by patriot militia who had recently served
in Brooklyn. Disheartened by their late defeat, they fled at the first
advance of the enemy. Two brigades of Putnam's Connecticut troops,
which had been sent that morning to support them, caught the panic, and,
regardless of the commands and entreaties of their officers, joined in
the general scamper.
At this moment Washington, who had mounted his horse at the first sound
of the cannonade, came galloping to the scene of confusion. Riding in
among the fugitives he endeavored to rally and restore them to order.
All in vain. At the first appearance of sixty or seventy redcoats, they
broke again without firing a shot, and fled in headlong terror.
Losing all self-command at the sight of such dastardly conduct,
Washington dashed his hat upon the ground in a transport of rage.
“Are these the men,” exclaimed he, “with whom I am to defend America!”
In a paroxysm of passion and despair he snapped his pistols at some of
them, threatened others with his sword, and was so heedless of his own
danger that he might have fallen into the hands of the enemy, who were
not eighty yards distant, had not an aide-de-camp seized the bridle of
his horse, and absolutely hurried him away.
It was one of the rare moments of his life when the vehement element of
his nature was stirred up from its deep recesses. He soon recovered his
self-possession, and took measures against the general peril.
LABOR DAY
(FIRST MONDAY IN SEPTEMBER)
THE SMITHY
A HINDU FABLE
BY P. V. RAMASWAMI RAJU (ADAPTED)
Once words ran high in a smithy.
The furnace said: “If I cease to burn, the smithy must close.”
The bellows said: “If I cease to blow, no fire, no smithy.”
The hammer and anvil, also, each claimed the sole credit for keeping up
the smithy.
The ploughshare that had been shaped by the furnace, the bellows, the
hammer and the anvil, cried: “It is not each of you alone, that keeps up
the smithy, but ALL TOGETHER.”
THE NAIL
BY THE BROTHERS GRIMM (TRANSLATED)[7]
[Footnote 7: From the Riverside Fourth Reader.]
A merchant had done good business at the fair; he had sold his wares,
and filled his bag with gold and silver. Then he set out at once on his
journey home, for he wished to be in his own house before night.
At noon he rested in a town. When he wanted to go on, the stable-boy
brought his horse, saying:
“A nail is wanting, sir, in the shoe of his left hind foot.”
“Let it be wanting,” answered the merchant; “the shoe will stay on for
the six miles I have still to go. I am in a hurry.”
In the afternoon he got down at an inn and had his horse fed. The
stable-boy came into the room to him and said: “Sir, a shoe is wanting
from your horse's left hind foot. Shall I take him to the blacksmith?”
“Let it still be wanting,” said the man; “the horse can very well hold
out for a couple of miles more. I am in a hurry.”
So the merchant rode forth, but before long the horse began to limp. He
had not limped long before he began to stumble, and he had not stumbled
long before he fell down and broke his leg. The merchant had to leave
the horse where he fell, and unstrap the bag, take it on his back, and
go home on foot.
“That unlucky nail,” said he to himself, “has made all this trouble.”
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
BY HORACE E. SCUDDER