CARRYING THE NEWS.
It was the morning of the twenty-fifth of January, 1815. Martin Cooper
rode up before Mr. Howard's and, dismounting, called Owen, whom he saw
busy with the chores around the house.
"Owen," said he, "look at this! Father was working at the barn
yesterday, and found it in the saddle pockets--it's one of the prize
pistols you won at the shooting-match. I don't know how it got into the
pockets. Why didn't you speak about it?"
"Why, Martin!" was the answer, "I thought you would find it as soon as
you got home. I slipped it into the pockets just before we parted."
"I've brought it back, Owen. You must not give it to me."
"Keep it, Mart! You did as much to get the pistols as I. When I told
them here at home that I had given you one of the prizes, they all said
you deserved it."
"No, Owen! it wouldn't be right for me to take your prize."
"Right, nothing. It's yours, Mart, and you have got to keep it."
"I can't."
"You must," and with playful firmness Owen quickly replaced the pistol
in the saddle pockets, and secured the buckles.
"But look!" he continued, running toward the gate, "there comes a man
with a flag."
"Hurrah, boys!" cried the stranger, riding up at full speed. "Hurrah!
Our soldiers have whipped the English in a great battle at New Orleans.
Not more than a dozen of our men killed. Two thousand of the red-coats
have been captured, killed or wounded. Here is the account of the battle
written by Jackson; and this is the flag carried by the Kentucky
regiment."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" chimed in the two boys, throwing their caps into the
air. "Hurrah for the American soldiers! Hurrah for the Kentuckians!"
Mr. Howard heard the shouting, and came out into the yard. He was
overjoyed at the report, and taking the bullet-rent flag he waved it
three times over his head, invoking a blessing on his country.
"We have no time to lose," said the stranger. "This flag and this report
must be carried to Washington. The man who handed it to me on the banks
of the Green river killed his horse, he rode so fast. I have been on the
road since four this morning, and my horse can not go a mile farther.
Some one here must take my place."
Owen and Martin interchanged a rapid glance, and demanded at the same
time the privilege of heralding the victory.
"Go, my boys! It is no small honor to carry such a flag and such news,
and both of you shall have it," said Mr. Howard. "Owen, hurry on and
saddle Hickory. Martin, leave your saddle pockets here, but take out the
pistol which you and Owen were speaking of. It is yours; buckle it
around your waist. It will look more like war. And now, stranger," he
continued, turning to the man, "you are welcome! Walk into the house.
I'll have breakfast ready for you in a short time, and we'll see that
one of the negroes takes care of your horse."
"Before the boys start," said the stranger, "I must say a word to them
about giving the flag, and especially the message, to a reliable person.
They were intrusted to an officer of one of our Kentucky regiments. He
changed horses eight times before he reached Tennessee. The last horse
dropped in a marshy country, and the poor fellow was forced to push his
way on foot for five miles before he came to a settlement. He fell
exhausted at the door of a farmer's house. The message has been given to
four persons since that time. If the boys can carry it to Louisville,
the soldiers there will see it safe to Pittsburg; beyond that the forts
are so close that it can be carried one hundred and fifty miles in
twenty-four hours."
"I can easily arrange the matter," replied Mr. Howard; "there is a
friend of mine by the name of Sims, who lives twelve miles beyond
Bardstown on the Louisville road; he is a true patriot in whose hands
the letter will be safe. The boys can carry the message twenty miles,
and friend Sims can take it twenty-eight more."
Martin and Owen were soon ready for their long ride, strapping their
pistols around their waists and hanging their powder flasks at their
sides.
"This flag for you," said the stranger, handing it to Martin; "and this
for you," he continued, giving Jackson's letter to Owen. "Give it to no
one except your father's friend. The President, Congress, and the whole
country are waiting anxiously for the news from New Orleans; but I have
my reasons for suspecting that there are some unprincipled wretches who
would gladly intercept such joyful tidings. Even if you die for it, my
boy, do not give this letter to any one but the man who is to carry it
to Louisville."
Owen's heart beat with patriotic pride as he placed the missive deep
down in his coat pocket, and promised to guard it faithfully.
The whole family came out to bid the boys "God speed." When Martin waved
the flag, and both he and Owen fired a farewell salute from their
pistols, they were answered by shouts while hats and bonnets were tossed
in the air. Little Robin, who, as the reader has seen, was always
frightened at the report of a fire-arm, sought shelter behind Mrs.
Howard's apron; while Wash, who thought that Owen never fired a pistol
without killing something, sallied forth in quest of the victim.
My readers have all heard of "Paul Revere's Ride," and how the patriot,
spreading the news from farm to farm, aroused the American yeomen to
battle with the British regulars.
"_How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again,
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load._"
The tidings which our young friends carried resembled in some respects
the message of Paul Revere--his was the cry of battle, theirs the shout
of victory; he called his countrymen to defend their rights, they
proclaimed that their country's wrongs had been redressed. On they sped,
their young hearts burning with patriotic pride. Firing their pistols to
attract the attention of the farmers near the road, pausing for a moment
to show the flag and tell the good news, then dashing on again, in less
than two hours the boys were galloping up the hill in sight of
Bardstown.
They remembered, however, that it was county court day, and that the
town would be filled with visitors. They, therefore, determined upon a
definite course of action. Martin, according to the arrangement, was to
ride into the midst of the crowd, show the flag and announce the
victory. Owen, on his part, was to remain at one side, and if the
written report of the battle were demanded, to put spurs to his horse
and escape from the town; for they were determined to be true to their
charge, and under no conditions to surrender the message to another for
a single instant.
The public square, as it was called, a large open lot in the middle of
the town, was crowded with townfolk and farmers from all parts of the
county. These were engaged in a variety of ways--some entered the stone
court house to follow the proceedings of the bar, while others stood
around in groups chatting about their crops, and inquiring about the
latest reports of the war. But by far the greater number was engaged in
trading horses and cattle, or purchasing various articles of the
peddlers who came to town in great numbers on court days.
Suddenly the attention of all was attracted in the same direction, for
Martin and Owen rode into the public square, checking their horses in
the midst of the crowd and crying out: "Hurrah for the Americans! The
English army has been defeated at New Orleans!" As Martin preceded Owen,
and carried the flag, the eyes of all were directed toward him.
A wild shout of triumph answered the announcement of the victory. Then
the crowd pressed around and demanded the particulars of the battle.
"Who brought the news from the South?"
"When was the battle fought?"
"How many were killed?"
"Where did that flag come from?"
"Are you sure about the result?"
"Have you any written account of the battle?"
Such were the questions which came from every side, but the shouts and
hurrahs were so prolonged and loud that Martin was no longer heard. A
few men who were nearest to him demanded the written account of the
battle. Martin replied that he had orders not to show it to any one. The
men became excited at once, and threatened to drag him from his horse.
The boy saw that he was powerless; turning therefore toward Owen, who
was ready to start at a moment's notice, he signaled to him to go. Owen
understood the sign, sank his spurs into old Hickory's side, and dashed
down the road toward Louisville.
At the same time Martin was dragged from his horse by several strong men
and forced by them through the crowd into the court house. Here he
easily succeeded in explaining his conduct, and why it was that his
companion had escaped with Jackson's message. The county judge learned
from him the full account of the battle, as contained in the written
report of the commander; then going out upon the steps of the court
house repeated the news to the excited throng. The town was wild with
enthusiasm! An old cannon, which years before had been used to defend
Bardstown when it was a frontier post, was dragged out into the street
and was made once more to raise its thundering voice. Old heroes of the
Revolution were there--old soldiers who had fought at Trenton and
Yorktown. Some of these who had treasured up their rust-worn muskets
marched in line and fired salutes.
At the west end of the town, workmen were busily engaged on the new
cathedral; its steeple was already completed, and in it hung a bell,
whose mellowed notes had never yet been heard in the western hemisphere.
This bell was four feet in height and eight in circumference, and was
destined for years to be the largest in the country from the Allegheny
Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. For more than a century it had hung in
an old Gothic steeple, in the northern part of Europe, and called pious
pilgrims and holy monks to prayer and meditation. When impious hands
destroyed the sacred shrine, the bell was spared and transported beyond
the seas, where, wreathed with evergreens, it waited the day when it
would again give forth its harmonious notes.
Near the church stood the saintly, zealous Bishop Flaget, contemplating
the work before him. His meditation was disturbed by the shouts of
victory; then came the report that it was in honor of the American
success at the battle of New Orleans. At once he caught the enthusiasm
of those around; raising his voice he cried aloud to the workmen in the
steeple: "Ring the bell! Ring the bell! The American army has been
victorious at New Orleans!" Long and loud it rang mingling its mellow
notes with the roar of the cannon and announcing peace to all.