And dark was the cloud o’er their life;
For some had been riven of children,
And some of both children and wife;
And woe to the barbarous Mingo,
If either should meet him in strife.
John Lewis said, calmly and coldly,
When gazing that eve on the slain—
“We will bury our dead on the morrow,
But let these red rascals remain;
And the wandering wolves and the buzzards
Will not of our kindness complain.”
Years after, when men called John Lewis
As brave as a brave man could be,
He lit him his pipe made of corn-cob,
And drawing a draught long and free—
“The red rascals kept me quite busy
With pulling the trigger,” said he.
“And though I got slightly the better
Of insolent foes in the strife,
I may as well own that my triumph
Was due unto Maggie, my wife;
For had she not loaded expertly,
The Mingos had reft us of life.
“And through all that terrible combat
She never was scared at the din;
But carefully loaded each rifle,
And prophesied that we would win—
Yet why should she tremble? her fathers
Were the terrible lords of Loch Linn.”
John Lewis commanded the fortress;
John Lewis was army as well;
John Lewis was master of ordnance;
John Lewis he fought as I tell;
And, gathered long since to his fathers,
John Lewis lies low in the dell.
But a braver old man, or a better,
Was never yet known to exist;
Not even in olden Augusta,
Where good men who died were not missed,
For the very particular reason—
Good men then were plenty, I wist.
_THE FIRST BLOOD DRAWN._
[Illustration: CLARK’S HOUSE, LEXINGTON.]
In the spring of 1775, General Gage, commanding the royal troops in
Boston, determined to seize the arms and stores which the colonists
had gathered at Concord. At midnight, on the eighteenth of April,
he sent eight hundred men, grenadiers and light infantry, under
Lieutenant-colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn, for that purpose. They
landed quietly at Phipps’s Farm, and to insure secrecy arrested all
they met on the march. General Warren, however, knew of it, and
sent Paul Revere with the news to John Hancock and Samuel Adams,
both of whom were at Clark’s House, in Lexington. Revere spread
the alarm. By two o’clock in the morning a company of minute-men
met on the green at Lexington, and after forming were dismissed,
with orders to re-assemble on call. In the mean while the ringing
of bells and firing of guns told the British that their movements
were known. Smith detached the greater part of his force, under
Pitcairn, with orders to push on to Concord. As they approached
Lexington they came upon the minute-men, who had hastily turned
out again. A pause ensued, both parties hesitating. Then Pitcairn
called on them to disperse. Not being obeyed, he moved his troops,
and a few random shots having been exchanged, gave the order to
fire. Four of the minute-men fell at the volley, and the rest
dispersed. As the British fired again, while the Americans were
retreating, some shots were returned. Four of the Americans were
killed, and three of the British were wounded. Joined by Smith and
his men, the British pushed on to Concord.
[Illustration: SAMUEL ADAMS.]
But the country was now thoroughly aroused. A strong party of
militia, though less in force than the enemy, had been gathered
under the command of Colonel Barrett, an old soldier, who had
served with Amherst and Abercrombie. Under his direction most of
the stores were removed to a place of safety. At seven in the
morning the British arrived at the place, and found two companies
of militia on the Common. These retreated to some high ground
about a mile back. The enemy then occupied the town, secured the
bridges, destroyed what stores had been left, and broke off the
trunnions of three 24-pound cannon. They also fired the town.
Meanwhile the forces of the Americans increased to four companies.
After consultation, Major Buttrick was sent with a detachment to
attack the enemy at the North Bridge. Here a fight ensued. Two
Americans and three British were killed, and several on both sides
were wounded. The British detachment retreated, and the Americans
took the bridge. The enemy, seeing Americans continually arriving,
were alarmed, and Smith ordered a speedy return to Boston, throwing
out flanking parties on the march. But it seemed as though armed
men sprang from every house and barn, or were lurking behind
every rock and tree. Shots came from every quarter, and were
mostly fatal. Charges had no effect. Driven from one point, fresh
assailants came from another. It seemed as though the entire
detachment would be slain or captured.
[Illustration: THE LEXINGTON MASSACRE.—[FROM AN OLD PRINT.]]
[Illustration: JOHN HANCOCK.]
Gage received word of the swarming of the minute-men and the peril
of his troops, and sent a brigade, with light artillery, under
Lord Percy, to reinforce Smith. This reached within a half mile of
Lexington at three o’clock in the afternoon, and forming a hollow
square around the wearied soldiers, allowed them a short time for
rest and refreshment. Then the whole body began its return march,
destroying houses and doing other mischief on the way. The country
was now up, the provincial troops came from all quarters, and it
was a general running engagement. At Prospect Hill there was a
sharp fight. Percy seemed in danger of being cut off; but another
and stronger reinforcement arriving, he was enabled to reach Boston.
[Illustration: FIGHT AT THE BRIDGE.]
_THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON._
Tugged the patient, panting horses, as the coulter keen and thorough,
By the careful farmer guided, cut the deep and even furrow;
Soon the mellow mould in ridges, straightly pointing as an arrow,
Lay to wait the bitter vexing of the fierce, remorseless harrow—
Lay impatient for the seeding, for the growing and the reaping,
All the richer and the readier for the quiet winter-sleeping.
At his loom the pallid weaver, with his feet upon the treadles,
Watched the threads alternate rising, with the lifting of the heddles—
Not admiring that, so swiftly, at his eager fingers’ urging,
Flew the bobbin-loaded shuttle ’twixt the filaments diverging;
Only labor dull and cheerless in the work before him seeing,
As the warp and woof uniting brought the figures into being.
Roared the fire before the bellows; glowed the forge’s dazzling crater;
Rang the hammers on the anvil, both the lesser and the greater;
Fell the sparks around the smithy, keeping rhythm to the clamor,
To the ponderous blows, and clanging of each unrelenting hammer;
While the diamonds of labor, from the curse of Adam borrowed,
Glittered in a crown of honor on each iron-beater’s forehead.
Through the air there came a whisper, deepening quickly into thunder,
How the deed was done that morning that would rend the realm asunder;
How at Lexington the Briton mingled causeless crime with folly,
And a king endangered empire by an ill-considered volley.
Then each heart beat quick for vengeance, as the anger-stirring story
Told of brethren and of neighbors lying corses stiff and gory.
Stops the plough and sleeps the shuttle, stills the blacksmith’s noisy hammer,
Come the farmer, smith, and weaver, with a wrath too deep for clamor;
But their fiercely purposed doing every glance they give avouches,
As they handle rusty firelocks, powder-horns, and bullet-pouches;
As they hurry from the workshops, from the fields, and from the forges,
Venting curses deep and bitter on the latest of the Georges.
Matrons gather at the portals—some with children round them grouping,
Some are filled with exultation, some are sad of soul and drooping—
Gazing at our hasty levies as they march unskilled but steady,
Or prepare their long-kept firelocks, for the combat making ready—
Mingling smiles with tears, and praying for our men and those who lead them,
That the gracious Lord of battles to a triumph sure may speed them.
I was but a beardless stripling on that chilly April morning,
When the church-bells backward ringing, to the minute-men gave warning;
But I seized my father’s weapons—he was dead who one time bore them—
And I swore to use them stoutly, or to nevermore restore them;
Bade farewell to sister, mother, and to one than either dearer,
Then departed as the firing told of red-coats drawing nearer.
On the Britons came from Concord—’twas a name of mocking omen;
Concord nevermore existed ’twixt our people and the foemen—
On they came in haste from Concord, where a few had stood to fight them,
Where they failed to conquer Buttrick, who had stormed the bridge despite them;
On they came, the tools of tyrants, ’mid a people who abhorred them;
They had done their master’s bidding, and we purposed to reward them.
We, at Meriam’s Corner posted, heard the fifing and the drumming
In the distance creeping onward, which prepared us for their coming;
Soon we saw the lines of scarlet, their advance to music timing,
When our captain quickly bade us pick our flints and freshen priming.
There our little band of freemen, couched in silent ambush lying,
Watched the forces, full eight hundred, as they came with colors flying.
[Illustration: BATTLE-GROUND AT CONCORD.]
’Twas a goodly sight to see them; but we heeded not its splendor,
For we felt their martial bearing hate within our hearts engender,
Kindling fire within our spirits, though our eyes a moment watered,
As we thought on Moore and Hadley, and their brave companions slaughtered;
And we swore to deadly vengeance for the fallen to devote them,
And our rage grew hotter, hotter, as our well-aimed bullets smote them.
Then, in overpowering numbers, charging bayonet, came their flankers;
We were driven as the ships are, by a tempest, from their anchors.
But we loaded while retreating, and, regaining other shelter,
Saw their proudest on the highway in their life’s blood fall and welter;
Saw them fall, or dead or wounded, at our fire so quick and deadly,
While the dusty road was moistened with the torrent raining redly.
[Illustration: MERIAM’S CORNER, ON THE LEXINGTON ROAD.]
From behind the mounds and fences poured the bullets thickly, fastly;
From ravines and clumps of coppice leaped destruction grim and ghastly;
All around our leaguers hurried, coming hither, going thither,
Yet, when charged on by their forces, disappearing, none knew whither;
Buzzed around the hornets ever, newer swarms each moment springing,
Breaking, rising, and returning, yet continually stinging.
[Illustration: HALT OF TROOPS NEAR ELISHA JONES’S HOUSE.]
When to Hardy’s Hill their weary, waxing-fainter footsteps brought them,
There again the stout Provincials brought the wolves to bay and fought them;
And though often backward beaten, still returned the foe to follow,
Making forts of every hill-top, and redoubts of every hollow.
Hunters came from every farm-house, joining eagerly to chase them—
They had boasted far too often that we ne’er would dare to face them.
[Illustration: THE PROVINCIALS ON PUNKATASSET.]
How they staggered, how they trembled, how they panted at pursuing,
How they hurried broken columns that had marched to their undoing;
How their stout commander, wounded, urged along his frightened forces,
That had marked their fearful progress by their comrades’ bloody corses;
How they rallied, how they faltered, how in vain returned our firing,
While we hung upon their footsteps with a zealousness untiring.
With nine hundred came Lord Percy, sent by startled Gage to meet them,
And he scoffed at those who suffered such a horde of boors to beat them;
But his scorn was changed to anger, when on front and flank were falling,
From the fences, walls, and roadside, drifts of leaden hail appalling;
And his picked and chosen soldiers, who had never shrunk in battle,
Hurried quicker in their panic when they heard the firelocks rattle.
Tell it not in Gath, Lord Percy, never Ascalon let hear it,
That you fled from those you taunted as devoid of force and spirit;
That the blacksmith, weaver, farmer, leaving forging, weaving, tillage,
Fully paid with coin of bullets base marauders for their pillage;
They, you said, would fly in terror, Britons and their bayonets shunning;
But the loudest of the boasters proved the foremost in the running.
Then round Prospect Hill they hurried, where we followed and assailed them;
They had stout and tireless muscles, or their limbs had surely failed them;
Stood abashed the bitter Tories, as the women loudly wondered
That a crowd of scurvy rebels chased to hold eleven hundred—
Chased to hold eleven hundred, grenadiers both light and heavy,
Leading Percy, of the Border, on a chase surpassing Chevy.
Into Boston marched their forces, musket-barrels brightly gleaming,
Colors flying, sabres flashing, drums were beating, fifes were screaming.
Not a word about their journey; from the general to the drummer,
Did you ask about their doings, than a statue each was dumber;
But the wounded in their litters, lying pallid, weak, and gory,
With a language clear and certain told the sanguinary story.
’Twas a dark and bloody lesson; it was bloody work to teach it;
But when sits on high Oppression, soaring fire alone can reach it.
Though but raw and rude Provincials, we were freemen, and contending
For the rights our fathers gave us, and a country worth defending;
And when foul invaders threaten wrong to hearthstone and to altar,
Shame were on the freeman’s manhood should he either fail or falter.
On the day the fight that followed, neighbor met and talked with neighbor;
First the few who fell they buried, then returned to daily labor.
Glowed the fire within the forges, ran the ploughshare down the furrow,
Clicked the bobbin-loaded shuttle—both our fight and toil were thorough;
If we labored in the battle, or the shop, or forge, or fallow,
Still there came an honest purpose, casting round our deeds a halo.
Though they strove again, these minions of Germaine and North and Gower,
They could never make the weakest of our band before them cower;
Neither England’s bribes nor soldiers, force of arms nor titles splendid,
Could deprive of what our fathers left as rights to be defended.
And the flame from Concord, spreading, kindled kindred conflagrations,
Till the Colonies United took their place among the nations.
[Illustration: MONUMENT AT CONCORD.]
_BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SULLIVAN._
[Illustration: WILLIAM MOULTRIE.]
[Illustration: PLAN OF FORT ON SULLIVAN’S ISLAND.]
The Provincial Congress of South Carolina, in 1775, appointed a
Committee of Safety to sit during its own recess, and to this
it delegated full power. The Committee fitted out a vessel,
which captured an English sloop, laden with powder, lying at
St. Augustine. The royal governor of the State sent couriers to
intercept the vessel, but they failed. The powder was brought to
Charleston, and part of it was used by Arnold in the siege of
Quebec. Later in the year Colonel Moultrie took possession of a
small fort standing on Sullivan’s Island, in Charleston Harbor. The
governor fled to the frigate _Tamar_, and the Committee of Safety
took charge of affairs. Fort Johnson, on James’s Island, was seized
and armed. Guns were mounted on Haddrell’s Point, and a fascine
battery made on Sullivan’s Island. Between these two the _Tamar_
and her consort were obliged to leave the harbor. Colonel Moultrie
was now ordered to build a strong fort on Sullivan’s Island, and
over three hundred guns were mounted on the various fortifications.
Colonel Gadsden was placed in command, and every preparation made
for a vigorous defence.
[Illustration: SOUTH CAROLINA FLAG.]
[Illustration: SULLIVAN’S ISLAND, AND THE BRITISH FLEET AT THE TIME
OF THE ATTACK.]
The Continental Congress knew that a combined naval and land
attack would be made on Charleston; and in April Brigadier-general
Armstrong was sent there to take command, but was superseded, on
the fourth of June, by Major-general Charles Lee, who had been sent
by Washington. He worked hard for the defence of the city, and was
supported with ardor and enthusiasm by the people. Troops flocked
in until there were between five and six thousand men in arms,
including the Northern troops that had come with Armstrong and
Lee. They were disposed at Fort Johnson, on James’s Island, under
Gadsden; a battery on Sullivan’s Island, under Thomson; in the fort
on the same island, under Moultrie; and at Haddrell’s Point, under
Lee.
The British arrived on the fourth of June, but it was not until
the twenty-eighth that they were ready to attack. During the
interval they had constructed batteries on Long Island, to silence
that of Thomson on Sullivan’s Island and cover the landing of the
storming-party of Clinton’s troops.
On the morning of the twenty-eighth of June the attack began. The
incidents are faithfully given in the ballad, and to that the
reader is referred.
_SULLIVAN’S ISLAND._
Stout Sir Henry Clinton spoke—
“It is time the power awoke
That upholds in these dominions
Royal right;
Set all sail, and southward steer,
And, instead of idling here,
Crush these rebel Carolinians
Who have dared to beard our might.”
Of his coming well we knew—
Far and wide the story flew,
And the many tongues of rumor
Swelled his force;
But we scorned his gathered might,
And, relying on the right,
Bade the braggart let his humor
For a battle take its course.
Neither idle nor dismayed,
As we watched the coming shade
Of the murky cloud that hovered
On our coast;
From the country far and near,
In we called the volunteer,
Till the ground around was covered
With the trampling of our host.
In their homespun garb arrayed,
Sturdy farmers to our aid
Came, as to a bridal lightly
Come the guests;
Leaving crops and kine and lands,
Trusty weapons in their hands,
And the fire of courage brightly
Burning in their manly breasts.
[Illustration: SIR HENRY CLINTON.
[From an English Print.]]
From the hills the hunters came—
Having dealt with meaner game,
Much they longed to meet the lions
Of the isles;
And ’twas pleasant there to see
With what stately step, and free,
Strode those restless-eyed Orions
Past our better-ordered files.
There were soldiers from the North,
Hailed as brothers by the swarth,
Keen, chivalric Carolinians
At their side—
Ah, may never discord’s fires,
Sons of heart-united sires
Who together fought the minions
Of a tyrant-king, divide!
Came the owner of the soil,
The mechanic from his toil,
And the student from the college—
Equal each;
They had gathered there to show
To the proud and cruel foe,
Who had come to court the knowledge,
What a people’s wrath could teach.
Watching Clinton, day by day,
From his vessels in the bay,
On Long Island beach debarking
Grenadiers,
In the fort at Sullivan’s isle,
With a grim and meaning smile,
Every scarlet soldier marking,
Stood our ready cannoneers.
Of palmetto logs and sand,
On a stretch of barren land,
Stands that rude but strong obstruction,
Keeping guard;
’Tis the shelter of the town—
They must take or break it down,
They must sweep it to destruction,
Or their farther path is barred.
’Twas but weak they thought to shield;
They were sure it soon would yield;
They had guns afloat before it,
Ten to one;
Yet long time their vessels lay
Idly rocking in the bay,
While the flag that floated o’er it
Spread its colors in the sun.
But at length toward the noon
Of the twenty-eighth of June,
We observed their force in motion
On the shore;
At the hour of half-past nine
Saw their frigates form in line,
Heard the krakens of the ocean
Ope their mighty jaws and roar.
On the decks we saw them stand,
Lighted matches held in hand,
Brawny sailors, stripped and ready
For the word;
Crawling to the royal’s head,
Saw the signal rise and spread;
And the order to be steady
To the waiting crews we heard.
Then the iron balls and fire,
From the lips of cannon dire,
In a blazing torrent pouring,
Roaring came;
And each dun and rolling cloud
That arose the ships to shroud,
Seemed a mist continual soaring
From some cataract of flame.
Moultrie eyed the _Bristol_ then—
She was foremost of the ten—
And these words, his eyes upon her,
Left his lips:
“Let them not esteem you boors;
Show that gentle blood of yours;
Pay the Admiral due honor,
And the line-of-battle ships.”
Back our balls in answer flew,
Piercing plank and timbers through,
Till the foe began to wonder
At our might;
While we laughed to hear the roar
Flung by Echo from the shore;
While we shouted to the thunder
Grandly pealing through the fight.
From Long Island Clinton came,
To surmount the wall of flame
That was built by Thomson’s rangers
On the east;
But he found a banquet spread
Where, with open hand and red,
Dangers bade the hostile strangers
Bloody welcome to the feast.
Moved their boats, with soldiers filled,
Rowed by seamen picked and skilled,
O’er the channel, urging proudly
To attack;
Stern and silently they moved,
As became their courage proved,
Though the rangers’ rifles, loudly
Speaking peril, warned them back.
Long the barges headway held,
By the sinewy arms impelled
Of the dauntless British seamen,
Through the foam;
Through the leaden death that came,
Borne upon the wings of flame,
From the rifled guns of freemen
Fighting fiercely for their home.
One by one the rowers dropped;
Then their onward course was stopped—
Death stood ready for the daring
At the oar;
Though in scorn they came at first,
When the storm upon them burst
They returned with humbler bearing
To the safe and farther shore.
Then the bluff Sir Peter cried,
“Though they lower Clinton’s pride,
And with front as stern as iron
Are arrayed,
There’s a joint within their mail—
To their western front shall sail
The _Actæon_, _Sphynx_, and _Siren_,
And the fortress enfilade.”
[Illustration: SIR PETER PARKER.]
Oh, the admiral was too free
With his gallant frigates three!
It were better had he kept them
As they were;
For the Middle Shoal they found,
Where they snugly lay aground,
While so bloodily we swept them
With our iron besoms there.
They were taught full soon aright
That the bravest man in flight
May, when perils dire environ,
Safety find:
Soon, by aid of sail and sweep,
From the shoal unto the deep
[Illustration: MOULTRIE MONUMENT, WITH JASPER’S STATUE.]
They restored the _Sphynx_ and _Siren_:
But the other stayed behind.
Gnawed the admiral his lip;
Yet the combat from his ship
Coolly, ’mid our fire so deadly,
Guided he,
Though the dying and the dead
On the decks around were spread,
And the blood was running redly
From the scuppers to the sea.
On that bloody deck he stood,
While, with voices deep and rude,
Thrice a hundred cannons thundered
For the King;
And our thirty cannon black
Growled their terrible answer back,
Till the souls from bodies sundered
Of three hundred men took wing.
All the while the battle through
Waved our crescent flag of blue,
Till the staff was cut asunder
By a ball;
And the foemen raised a cheer,
Like the crow of chanticleer,
Shrilly sounding through the thunder
As they saw the color fall.
On the ramparts Jasper stood,
In his hands that banner good,
’Mid the balls that flew incessant
O’er the brine;
To a sponge-staff firmly tied
Once again it floated wide,
Flashing to the sun the crescent
Of the Carolina line.
Rang the stirring cheer on cheer
For our hero void of fear,
For our young and gallant sergeant
Firm and bold;
And we swore our bones should bleach
On that barren, sandy beach,
Ere that flag with crescent argent
Should be wrested from our hold.
So we fought till set of sun,
When their vessels, one by one,
Slackened fire, and, anchor weighing,
Shaped a course;
To Five Fathom Hole they fled
With their dying and their dead,
In their battered hulls displaying
How our skill surpassed their force.
Through the night we never slept—
Ceaseless watch and ward we kept,
With the port-fire steady burning
At each gun;
And the vessels of our foes
We beheld when dawn arose—
Eastwardly our glances turning—
Lie between us and the sun.
Yet not all escaped that day:
The _Actæon_ frigate lay
At the shoal whereon she grounded
Hours before;
And her vexed and angry crew,
As our shot at her we threw,
And her sides of oak we pounded,
Left the guns and took the oar.