AMERICAN MANHOOD IN THE REVOLUTION
[1775-1781]
It would be foolish to say that the Revolutionary soldiers never
quailed. Militia too often gave way before the steady bayonet charge of
British regulars, at times fleeing panic-stricken. Troops whose term of
service was out would go home at critical moments. Hardships and lack of
pay in a few instances led to mutiny and desertion. But the marvel is
that they fought so bravely, endured so much, and complained so little.
One reason was the patriotism of the people at large behind them.
Soldiers who turned their backs on Boston, leaving Washington in the
lurch, were refused food along the road home. Women placed rifles in the
hands of husbands, sons, or lovers, and said "Go!"
The rank and file in this war, coming from farm, work-bench,
logging-camp, or fisher's boat, had a superb physical basis for camp and
field life. Used to the rifle from boyhood, they kept their powder dry
and made every one of their scanty bullets tell. The Revolutionary
soldier's splendid courage has glorified a score of battle-fields; while
Valley Forge, with its days of hunger and nights of cold, its sick-beds
on the damp ground, and its bloody footprints in the snow, tell of his
patient endurance.
At Bunker Hill an undisciplined body of farmers, ill-armed, weary,
hungry and thirsty, calmly awaited the charge of old British
campaigners, and by a fire of dreadful precision drove them back. "They
may talk of their Mindens and their Fontenoys," said the British
general, Howe, "but there was no such fire there." At Charleston, while
the wooden fort shook with the British broadsides, Moultrie and his
South Carolina boys, half naked in the stifling heat, through twelve
long hours smoked their pipes and carefully pointed their guns. At Long
Island, to gain time for the retreat of the rest, five Maryland
companies flew again and again in the face of the pursuing host. At
Monmouth, eight thousand British were in hot pursuit of the retreating
Americans. Square in their front Washington planted two Pennsylvania and
Maryland regiments, saying, "Gentlemen, I depend upon you to hold the
ground until I can form the main army." And hold it they did.
Heroism grander than that of the battlefield, which can calmly meet an
ignominious death, was not lacking. Captain Nathan Hale, a quiet,
studious spirit, just graduated from Yale College, volunteered to enter
the British lines on Long Island as a spy. He was caught, and soon swung
from an apple tree in Colonel Rutgers's orchard, a corpse. Bible and
religious ministrations denied him, his letters to mother and sister
destroyed, women standing by and sobbing, he met his fate without a
tremor. "I only regret," comes his voice from yon rude scaffold, "that I
have but one life to give for my country." It is a shame that America so
long had no monument to this heroic man. One almost rejoices that the
British captain, Cunningham, author of the cruelty to Hale, himself met
death on the gallows, in London, 1791. How different from Hale's the
treatment bestowed upon Andre, the British spy who fell into our hands.
He was fed from Washington's table, and supported to his execution by
every manifestation of sympathy for his suffering.
[Illustration: Portrait.]
John Paul Jones.
The stanch and useful loyalty of the New England clergy in the
Revolution has been much dwelt upon--none too much, however. With them
should be mentioned the Rev. James Caldwell, Presbyterian pastor at
Elizabeth, N. J., who, when English soldiers raided the town, and its
defenders were short of wadding, tore up his hymn-book for their use,
urging: "Give them Watts, boys, give them Watts."
No fiercer naval battle was ever fought than when Jones, in the old and
rotten Bon Homme Richard, grappled with the new British frigate Serapis.
Yard-arm to yardarm, port-hole to port-hole, the fight raged for hours.
Three times both vessels were on fire. The Serapis's guns tore a
complete breach in the Richard from main-mast to stern. The Richard was
sinking, but the intrepid Jones fought on, and the Serapis struck.
[Illustration: Hand-to-hand fighting; a shell explodes in the
background.]
Fight between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis.
As the roll of Revolutionary officers is called, what matchless figures
file past the mind's eye! We see stalwart Ethan Allen entering
Ticonderoga too early in the morning to find its commander in a
presentable condition, and demanding possession "in the name of Almighty
God and the Continental Congress "--destined, himself, in a few months,
to be sailing down the St. Lawrence in irons, bound for long captivity
in England. We behold gallant Prescott leisurely promenading the Bunker
Hill parapet to inspirit his men, shot and shell hurtling thick around.
There is Israel Putnam--"Old Put" the boys dubbed him. He was no
general, but we forgive his costly blunders at Brooklyn Heights and
Peekskill as we think of him leaving plough in furrow at the drum-beat
to arms, and speeding to the deadly front at Boston, or with iron
firmness stemming the retreat from Bunker Hill. Young Richard Montgomery
might have been next to Washington in the war but for Sir Guy Carleton's
deadly grape-shot from the Quebec walls the closing moments of 1775.
Buried at Quebec, his remains were transferred by the State of New York,
July 8, 1818, to their present resting-place in front of St. Paul's, New
York City, the then aged widow tearfully watching the funeral barge as
it floated past Montgomery Place on the Hudson.
[Illustration: Portrait.]
General Anthony Wayne.
During a four years' apprenticeship under Washington, General Greene had
caught more of his master's spirit and method than did any other
American leader, and one year's separate command at the South gave him a
martial fame second only to Washington's own. In him the great chief's
word was fulfilled, "I send you a general." A naked, starving army, an
empty military chest, the surrounding country impoverished and full of
loyalists--these were his difficulties. Three States practically cleared
of the royal army in ten months--this was his achievement. He retreated
only to advance, was beaten only to fight again. One hardly knows which
to admire most, his tireless energy and vigilance, his prudence in
retreat, his boldness and vigor in attack, his cheerful courage in
defeat, or his mingled kindness and firmness toward a suffering and
mutinous army.
John Stark, eccentric but true, famous for cool courage--how stubbornly,
with his New Hampshire boys, he held the rail fence at Bunker Hill, and
covered the retreat when ammunition was gone! But Stark's most brilliant
deed was at Bennington. "There they are, boys--the redcoats, and by
night they're ours, or Molly Stark's a widow." Those "boys," without
bayonets, their artillery shooting stones for balls, were little more
than a mob. But with confidence in him, on they rush, up, over, sweeping
Baume's Hessians from the field like a tornado. The figure of General
Schuyler comes before us--quieter but not less noble, an invalid, set to
hard tasks with little glory. His magnanimous soul forgets self in
country as he cheerfully gives all possible help to Gates, his
supplanter, and puts the torch to his own grain-fields at Saratoga lest
they feed the foe.
[Illustration: Several soldiers on horseback, fighting with swords and
pistols.]
The Encounter between Tarleton and Colonel Washington.
And matchless Dan Morgan of Virginia, with his band of riflemen, tall,
sinewy fellows, in hunting-shirts, leggins, and moccasins, each with
hatchet, hunter's knife, and rifle, dead sure to hit a man's head every
time at two hundred and fifty yards. It was one of these men who shot
the gallant Briton, Fraser, at Bemis's Heights. Morgan became the ablest
leader of light troops then living. How gallantly he headed the forlorn
hope under the icy walls of Quebec, where he was taken prisoner, and at
Saratoga with his shrill whistle and stentorian voice called his
dauntless braves where the fight was thickest! But Cowpens was Morgan's
crowning feat. Inspiring militia and veterans alike with a courage they
had never felt before, he routs Tarleton's trained band of horse, and
then, skilful in retreat as he had been bold in fight, laughs at baffled
Cornwallis's rage.
Gladly would one form fuller acquaintance with other Revolutionary
leaders: Stirling, Sullivan, Sumter, Mad Anthony Wayne, of Monmouth and
Stony Point fame, Glover with his brave following of Marblehead
fishermen, who, able to row as well as shoot, manned the oars that
critical night when General Washington crossed to Trenton. But space is
too brief. Colonel Washington, the dashing cavalryman, was the Custer of
the Revolution. All the patriot ladies idolized him. In a hot
sword-fight with the Colonel, Tarleton had had three fingers nearly
severed. Subsequently in conversation with a South Carolina lady
Tarleton said: "Why do you ladies so lionize Colonel Washington? He is
an ignorant fellow. He can hardly write his name." "But you are a
witness that he can make his mark," was the reply.
[Illustration: An officer on horseback looking down at a wounded man
lying on the ground.]
DeKalb Wounded at Camden.
DeKalb was an American, too--by adoption. It is related that he
expostulated with Gates for fighting so unprepared at Camden, and that
Gates intimated cowardice. "Tomorrow will tell, sir, who is the coward,"
the old fellow rejoined. And tomorrow did tell. As the battle reddened,
exit Gates from Camden and from fame. We have recounted elsewhere how
like a bull De Kalb held the field. A monster British grenadier rushed
on him, bayonet fixed. DeKalb parried, at the same time burying his
sword in the grenadier's breast so deep that he was unable to extract
it. Then seizing the dead man's weapon he fought on, thrusting right and
left, till at last, overpowered by numbers, he slipped and fell,
mortally hurt.
Among the civilian heroes of the Revolution, Robert Morris, the
financier, deserves exceeding praise. Now turning over the lead ballast
of his ships for bullets, now raising $50,000 on his private credit and
sending it to Washington in the nick of time, now leading the country
back to specie payment in season to save the national credit, the
Philadelphia banker aided the cause as much as the best general in the
field.
Faithful and successful envoys as Jay and John Adams were, the
Revolution brought to light one, and only one, true master in the
difficult art of diplomacy--Franklin. Wise with a lifetime's shrewd
observation, venerable with years, preceded by his fame as scientist and
Revolutionary statesman, grand in his plain dignity, the Philadelphia
printer stood unabashed before the throne of France, and carried king
and diplomats with an art that surprised Europe's best-trained
courtiers. Never missing an opportunity, he yet knew, by delicate
intuition, when to speak and when to hold his tongue. Through
concession, intrigue, and delay, his resolute will kept steady to its
purpose. To please by yielding is easy. To carry one's point and be
pleasing still, requires genius. This Franklin did--how successfully,
our treaty of alliance with France and our treaty of peace with England
splendidly attested.
Towering above Revolutionary soldier, general, and statesman stands a
figure summing up in himself all these characters and much more. That
figure is George Washington, the most perfect human personality the
world has known. Washington's military ability has been much underrated.
He was hardly more First in Peace than First in War. That he had
physical courage and could give orders calmly while bullets whizzed all
about, one need not repeat. He was strategist and tactician too. Trenton
and Yorktown do not cover his whole military record. With troops
inferior in every single respect except natural valor, he
out-generalled Howe in 1776, and he almost never erred when acting upon
his own good judgment instead of yielding to Congress or to his
subordinates. His movements on the Delaware even such a captain as
Frederick the Great declared "the most brilliant achievements in the
annals of military action." Washington advised against the attempt to
hold Fort Washington, which failed; against the Canada campaign, which
failed; against Gates for commander in the South, who failed; and in
favor of Greene for that post, who succeeded. His army was indeed driven
back in several battles, but never broken up. At Monmouth his plan was
perfect, and it seems that he must have captured Clinton but for the
treason of Charles Lee, set, by Congress's wish, to command the van.
Indeed, of Washington's military career, "take it all in all, its long
duration, its slender means, its vast theatre, its glorious aims and
results, there is no parallel in history." [Footnote: Winthrop,
Washington Monument Oration. February 23, 1885.]
Yet we are right in never thinking of the Great Man first as a soldier,
he was so much besides. Washington's consummate intellectual trait was
sound judgment, only matched by the magnificent balance which subsisted
between his mental and his moral powers. "George had always been a good
son," his mother said. Nature had endowed him with intense passions and
ambitions, but neither could blind him or swerve him one hair from the
line of rectitude as he saw it. And he made painful and unremitting
effort to see it and see it correctly. He was approachable, but repelled
familiarity, and whoever attempted this was met with a perfectly
withering look. He rarely laughed, and he was without humor, though he
wrote and conversed well. He had the integrity of Aristides. His account
with Congress while general shows scrupulousness to the uttermost
farthing. To subordinate, to foe, even to malicious plotters against
him, he was almost guiltily magnanimous. He loved popularity, yet, if
conscious that he was right, would face public murmuring with heart of
flint. Became the most famous man alive, idolized at home, named by
every tongue in Europe, praised by kings and great ministers, who
compared him with Caesar, Charlemagne, and Alfred the Great, his head
swam not, but with steadfast heart and mind he moved on in the simple
pursuit of his country's weal. "In Washington's career," said Fisher
Ames, "mankind perceived some change in their ideas of greatness; the
splendor of power, and even the name of conqueror had grown dim in their
eyes." Lord Erskine wrote him: "You are the only being for whom I have
an awful reverence." "Until time shall be no more," said Lord Brougham,
"will a test of the progress which our race has made in Wisdom and
Virtue be derived from the veneration paid to the immortal name of
Washington." And Mr. Gladstone: "If among all the pedestals supplied by
history for public characters of extraordinary nobility and purity I saw
one higher than all the rest, and if I were required at a moment's
notice to name the fittest occupant for it, my choice would light upon
WASHINGTON." [Footnote: See Winthrop's Oration for these and other
encomia.]