uncouth. They were camping separately. Washington was inspecting their
camps for the first time. He saw that their shelters were made of
anything the soldiers could lay hands on, turf, bricks, sail-cloth,
boards, or brushwood. Each soldier seemed to live and do as he pleased.
But when Washington reached the camp of the Rhode Island troops, he
perceived neat tents pitched, soldiers well drilled and equipped, and
under perfect discipline. He was pausing to look around him with
pleasure and approval, when a young officer, vigorous and finely built,
stepped forward to greet him, his frank manly face beaming with a
cordial welcome.
The young man was Nathanael Greene, Commander of the Rhode Island
troops. It was he who had trained them, after studying the manœuvres
of the British troops in Boston.
Nathanael Greene was born a Friend or Quaker. When a boy, he worked in
his father’s forge, and helped on the farm.
He was eager to read. He got together a little library of his own. He
studied hard. He liked best to read about military heroes. When he grew
older, although he was a Friend, he joined the Rhode Island militia.
Later he was appointed Rhode Island’s Commander, and led her troops to
Bunker Hill and the Siege of Boston.
Washington liked and trusted him at first sight. Later his confidence
became friendship.
At Valley Forge, Nathanael Greene gave up active duty in the field, much
to his sorrow and regret, and became Quartermaster-General. He gave up
his ambitions, in order to help Washington relieve the sufferings of the
troops. As Quartermaster-General, he was soon able to supply them with
some blankets, clothes, and food, all of which Congress had failed to
deliver.
Later Greene’s reward of faithful service came. Washington appointed him
Commander of the Army in the South. It was a post of great danger; but
he conducted his military operations with such courage and sagacity that
they led on to completed victory for the American arms at Yorktown.
This is what John Fiske says of Nathanael Greene:--
“The intellectual qualities which he showed in his southern campaign
were those which have characterized some of the foremost strategists of
modern times.... Nor was Greene less notable for the sweetness and
purity of his character, than for the scope of his intelligence. From
lowly beginnings he had come to be ... the most admired and respected
citizen of Rhode Island.”
LIGHT HORSE HARRY
_The American Congress to Henry Lee, Colonel of Cavalry_:--
“_Notwithstanding rivers and intrenchments, he with a small band
ered the foe by warlike skill and prowess, and firmly bound by his
humanity, those who had been conquered by his arms._”
_In memory of the conflict at Paulus’s Hook,
nineteenth of August, 1779_
I
The most dashing and romantic young soldier of the Continental Army, was
Light Horse Harry. His real name was Henry Lee.
He was a small, alert, young man, mischievous sometimes, but always
brave. He was a cavalry-leader. He commanded the famous Legion of Light
Horse, which took part in so many heroic battles. He was one of
Washington’s most trusted generals.
His charm and dauntlessness delighted Washington, who showed warm
interest in his promotion; perhaps this was because Light Horse Harry’s
mother had been Washington’s young sweetheart in his schoolboy days. “My
lowland beauty,” he had called her. But she had married a Lee, and not
Washington.
Light Horse Harry had many adventures as romantic and daring as himself.
II
Light Horse Harry was a favourite at Mount Vernon. He did not stand in
any reverential awe of the great Washington.
One day, as they sat at table, Washington mentioned that he wanted a
pair of carriage horses, and asked the young man if he knew where they
might be bought.
“I have a fine pair, General,” replied he, “but you cannot get them.”
“Why not?”
“Because you will never pay more than half price for anything; and I
must have full price for my horses.”
This bantering reply set Mrs. Washington laughing; and her parrot,
perched beside her, joined in the laugh.
Washington took this familiar assault upon his dignity with great good
humour.
“Ah, Lee, you are a funny fellow!” said he, “See, that bird is laughing
at you!”
III
When Washington died, it was Light Horse Harry who was chosen by
Congress to deliver the funeral oration before both Houses. It was in
this oration that he said those famous words:--
“He survives in our hearts--in the growing knowledge of our children, in
the affection of the good throughout the World,-- ... first in war,
first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen ... pious,
just, humane, temperate and sincere, uniform, dignified and commanding
... the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his public
virtues.”
_Washington Irving and Other Sources_ (_Retold_)
CAPTAIN MOLLY
_Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won;
And in triumph Irish Molly stands beside her smoking gun._
Moll Pitcher, twenty-two years old, was dubbed _Captain_ at the Battle
of Monmouth, and very proud she was of the title. Her real name was
Molly Hays. She carried drinking-water on the battle-field, to refresh
the soldiers; so they nicknamed her Moll Pitcher.
At Monmouth, her husband, a Patriot, belonged to Proctor’s artillery.
Moll was with him on the field. Six men, one after another, were killed
or wounded at her husband’s gun.
“It’s an unlucky gun,” grumbled the soldiers, “draw it aside and abandon
it.”
Just at that moment, while Moll was serving water to the soldiers, her
husband received a shot in the head, and fell lifeless under the wheels
of that very gun.
Moll threw down her pail of water; and crying, “Lie there, my darling,
while I revenge ye!” she grasped the ramrod that the lifeless hand of
the poor fellow had let fall, and rammed home the charge.
Then she called to the artillerymen to prime and fire.
It was done. Pushing the sponge into the smoking muzzle of the gun, she
performed the duties of an expert artilleryman, while loud shouts from
the soldiers passed along the line.
The gun was no longer thought unlucky. The fire of the battery became
more vivid than ever.
Moll kept to her post till night closed the action, and the British were
driven back by the Patriots, Washington himself leading them to the
attack.
It was then that General Greene complimented Moll on her courage and
conduct. The next morning he presented her to Washington, who received
her graciously, and gave her a piece of gold, assuring her that her
services should not be forgotten.
Washington conferred upon her the commission of sergeant, and placed her
name on the half-pay list for life.
The French officers, charmed with her bravery, gave her many presents.
She would sometimes pass along the French line with her cocked hat, and
get it almost filled with crowns.
She was always welcome at Headquarters. She wore a cocked hat and
feather, and an artilleryman’s coat over her petticoat.
One day, Washington found her washing clothes, and stopped to chat with
her.
“Well, Captain Molly,” he said, “are you not almost tired of this quiet
way of life; and longing to be once more on the field of battle?”
“Troth, your Excellency,” replied she, “and ye may say that! for I care
not how soon I have another slap at them Red Coats, bad luck to them!”
“But what is to become of your petticoats, in such an event, Captain
Molly?”
“Oh, long life to your Excellency!” said she, “and never de ye mind them
at all at all! Sure, and it is only in the artillery, your Excellency
knows, that I would sarve, and divil a fear but the smoke of the cannon
will hide my petticoats!”
_George Washington Parke Custis, and Other Sources_
THE SOLDIER BARON
_The good Baron found time to prepare a new code of discipline and
tactics ... and this excellent manual held its place, long after
the death of its author, as the Blue Book of our Army._
JOHN FISKE
While the ragged Patriot Army with Washington starved, froze, and
suffered at Valley Forge, there was speeding down from Boston on a fast
saddle-horse, a man who was to help them win the war.
His keen hazel eyes looked pleasantly out from under bushy brows. His
mouth smiled with good cheer; but he held his head in military fashion.
The glittering star of a foreign Order was on his breast, and he
carried a letter of recommendation from Benjamin Franklin to George
Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the American Army.
He was Baron Steuben, a famous soldier and German hero of the Seven
Years’ War. He had offered his services to Washington to train the Army,
explaining that he wished to deserve the title of a citizen of America,
by fighting for her Liberty.
At his side rode his young and waggish French interpreter in scarlet
regimentals faced with blue. His bright eyes were always on the watch
for a glimpse of pretty American maidens. Behind the two came their
servants with the baggage.
It began to snow heavily. Night fell. They drew rein at an inn. It had a
bad name; and it was kept by a Tory.
“I’ve no beds, bread, meat, drink, milk, or eggs for you,” said the
sullen Tory landlord.
And neither Steuben’s remonstrances nor oaths could make him change his
mind.
Steuben’s blood began to boil. “Bring me my pistol!” he cried in German
to his servant.
And the landlord, who was smiling maliciously, suddenly felt a pistol
pressed against his breast.
“Can you give us beds?” shouted Steuben.
“Yes!” cried the affrighted man.
“Bread?”
“Yes!”
“Meat--drink--milk--eggs?”
“Yes!--yes!--yes!--yes!”
And the trembling landlord scurried around. The table was quickly laid,
and food set out. Then after a substantial supper, a comfortable night
and a hearty breakfast, the Baron and his men mounted and were off
again.
To cut the story short, he was soon at Valley Forge, serving with
Washington, and training the troops. They had had little expert military
training before. The Baron drilled the soldiers himself. He took a
musket in hand and showed them how to advance, retreat, or charge
without falling into disorder.
Not only the soldiers, but the generals, colonels, and captains, watched
him eagerly and with enthusiasm. Soon the camp was a bustling military
training school. The men almost forgot their sufferings, so intent they
were on learning. They worked incessantly and with tremendous energy.
But the Baron made it lively for them, for he had a quick temper. He
swore at them in three languages; and, when they did not understand
that, he called his aide to help him out in English.
Some of the men had thrown away their bayonets, and some had used them
for roasting meat. But the Baron soon drilled them to use bayonets with
such good effect that when later a column of them stormed Stony Point
they took it in a bayonet charge.
He--the bluff Steuben--never failed in bravery on the battle-field. At
Monmouth, while the American troops were fleeing in panic, the Baron
kept doggedly on with his face to the foe. Meanwhile, Washington,
furious and fiery, rallied the soldiers and led them back to victory.
“It was now,” says John Fiske, “that the admirable results of Steuben’s
teaching were to be seen. The retreating soldiers immediately wheeled
and formed under fire, with as much coolness and precision as they could
have shown on parade.”
Bluff, generous, kindly, old Steuben still served the Country after
peace and Independence came. Then he settled down on his farm of sixteen
thousand acres, the gift to him from the State of New York, in
recognition of his patriotic services. “Throughout the war,” says John
Fiske, “Steuben proved no less faithful than capable. He came to feel a
genuine love for his adopted Country.”
FATHER THADDEUS
_Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciuszko fell!_
THOMAS CAMPBELL
“What do you wish to do?” said Washington.
The young Polish officer with a rugged face, held himself erect.
“I come,” answered he, “to fight as a volunteer for American
Independence.”
“What can you do?” asked Washington.
“Try me!” said the young Pole, his dark eyes flashing pleasantly.
So Washington tried him.
He was Thaddeus Kosciuszko, born in Lithuania, and a Patriot of unhappy
Poland.
Poor Poland! Dismembered, patriotic Poland! Again and again she had been
betrayed, and divided by her greedy neighbours, Russia, Prussia, and
Austria. But always the fires of Patriotism had burned in the hearts of
the Poles, and though they had been forced to bow their necks to their
enemies they had never bowed their hearts.
And it was a romantic story that had sent young Kosciuszko post-haste
from Poland to America. He was poor but of good blood. He had fallen in
love with a beautiful and clever Polish girl. Her father was a haughty,
rich State official. He would not give his consent to their marriage. So
the young lovers eloped. The father pursued them with his men.
Kosciuszko fought like a lion to defend his beloved Ludwika. But her
father’s men wounded him so severely that he fell senseless on the
field. Then her father carried Ludwika home, and married her to another
man.
When Kosciuszko came to his senses, his Love was gone. Her handkerchief
stained with his own blood, lay beside him. He took it up reverently
and placed it in his bosom.
Thus disappointed in love, he had left Poland and come to America to
forget his grief in fighting for Freedom. For Kosciuszko had been a
Patriot and a lover of Liberty for all men, since his early boyhood.
Washington placed him on his own staff. Soon he found that the young man
had talent, and was an experienced army engineer. He commissioned him
Chief Engineer. Kosciuszko rendered great service to America, but his
most important work was on the defenses of West Point.
When our War for Independence was over, he returned to Poland. He became
her leading Patriot, defending her against the invasions of Russia,
Prussia, and Austria. “Father Thaddeus” his men called him, as he led
them into battle.
During his famous defense of Warsaw, he was badly wounded on the
battle-field, and captured by Cossacks. He was thrown into a Russian
prison; and there he was kept until after the death of Catherine the
Great.
He was released by the new Czar, who admired him, and wished to give him
a brilliant commission in the Russian Army. But Kosciuszko refused his
offer, and went into voluntary exile. He still hoped that some day
again he might serve Poland.
His wounds were yet unhealed. There was a sabre-cut across his forehead.
There were three bayonet-thrusts in his back. A part of his thigh had
been torn away by a cannon ball. Around his forehead, he kept a black
band tied over the sabre-cut.
He went into exile, and the people of Poland believed that he was dead.
* * * * *
It was nearly seventy-five years after that red-letter day in Lithuania,
on which Thaddeus Kosciuszko had been born.
It was in 1814, France and Russia were at war. The Russian Army, as it
advanced against Paris, was barbarously pillaging the valley of the
Seine. The soldiers were burning the cottages of the poor peasants over
their heads, and ill-treating the children, women, and aged folk.
Among the Russian troops was a Polish Regiment. And while its soldiers
were savagely burning and looting the little houses, an old man with a
scar across his forehead, rushed suddenly in among them.
Raging like a lion, he shouted in Polish:--
“When I commanded brave soldiers, they never pillaged--I should have
punished them severely! And still more severely would I have punished
officers who allowed such disorders as you are all now engaged in!”
“And who are you, my pretty old man,” cried the officers with sneers and
laughter, “who are you that you dare to speak to us in such a tone, and
with such boldness!”
“I am Kosciuszko,” was the quick reply.
Each man stood fixed to the spot. Each was paralyzed with astonishment.
There, before them with flashing eyes, stood Poland’s hero--the Polish
soldiers’ “Father Thaddeus.”
Then the men threw down their arms to the ground. They cast themselves
at his feet. They sprinkled dust upon their heads as was their wild
custom at home. They crept close to him, hugging his knees and begging
for his forgiveness--for the forgiveness of their “Father Thaddeus.”
* * * * *
When Kosciuszko died in Switzerland, in 1817, there was found in his
bosom next his heart, the blood-stained handkerchief which his lost love
Ludwika had dropped beside him, so long before.
To-day, in a little chapel at the foot of the lime-planted Hill, the
Lindenhof, there is a bronze urn, in which lies the once brave heart of
Thaddeus Kosciuszko.
THE LITTLE FRIEND IN FRONT STREET
_He entitled himself to the gratitude of the entire Country._
_Ex-President_ WILLIAM H. TAFT
He was only a little man in his office on Front Street, Philadelphia.
Only a little man--but how great! Without his help our War for
Independence might have been lost. He helped to save the Country not
with a sword, but by giving all the means that he had and expecting
nothing in return.
This little man--his “little friend in Front Street,” as James Madison
called him--was Haym Salomon, a Polish Jew and a Patriot.
Through Robert Morris, who was Superintendent of Finance, during the War
for Independence, Haym Salomon loaned money to establish the Government
and to pay the soldiers. Without his money, Washington could scarcely
have held the Army together. And all the while, the little friend in
Front Street was refusing any interest on his loans; and some of these
loans were never repaid at all.
And he not only financed the Nation, but generously made personal
advances of money without interest to members of the Government, in
order that they might keep on in their patriotic work. “When any member
was in need, all that was necessary was to call upon Salomon,” said
James Madison.
But it was not only by financing our young Nation, that Haym Salomon
showed his Patriotism.
He was born in Poland of an intelligent educated family. He knew many
languages. He was a friend of Kosciuszko and Pulaski. Because of
oppression, he left Poland and came to New York City. He married and
settled down to business. He soon found, however, that the Americans
were heavily oppressed by England. So he threw himself heart and soul
into the cause for Independence.
He became a Patriot. He was arrested by the British, imprisoned,
tortured, and condemned to death. He managed to escape, and reached
Philadelphia safely. There he opened his broker’s office in Front
Street. He became a great financier. Henceforward he unselfishly devoted
his brains, his energy, and his wealth to help win the War for
Independence and build up our Republic.
FAREWELL! MY GENERAL! FAREWELL!
_December 4, 1783_
The War for Independence was over.
Thursday the 4th of December was fixed upon for the final leave-taking
of Washington with his officers.
This was the most trying event in his whole career, and he summoned all
his self-command to meet it with composure.
Knox and Greene, and Hamilton and Steuben, and others assembled in
Fraunces Tavern,[4] and waited with fast-beating hearts the arrival of
their Chief.
Not a sound broke the silence as he entered, save the clatter of
scabbards as the whole group rose to do him reverence. Casting his eye
around, he saw the sad and mournful countenances of those who had been
his companions-in-arms through the long years of darkness that had
passed. Shoulder to shoulder, they had pressed by his side through the
smoke of the conflict. He had heard their battle-shout answer his call
in the hour of deepest peril, and seen them bear his standard
triumphantly on to victory. Brave hearts were they all and true, on
whom he had leaned and not in vain.
Advancing slowly to the table, Washington lifted the glass to his lips
and said in a voice choked with emotion:--
“With a heart full of gratitude and love, I now take leave of you. I
most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy
as your former ones have been glorious and honourable.”
A mournful, profound silence followed this short address, when Knox
advanced to say farewell. But neither could utter a word,--Knox reached
forth his hand, while Washington, opening his arms, took him to his
heart.
In silence, that was more eloquent than all language, each advanced in
turn and was clasped in his embrace.
Washington dared not trust himself to speak, and looking a silent
farewell, turned to the door. A corps of light infantry was drawn up on
either side to receive him, and as he passed slowly through the lines, a
gigantic soldier, who had moved beside him in the terrible march on
Trenton, stepped from the ranks, and reaching out his arms, exclaimed:--
“Farewell! my dear General, farewell!”
Washington seized his hand in both of his and wrung it convulsively. In
a moment all discipline was at an end; and the soldiers broke their
order, and rushing around him, seized him by the hands, covering them
with tears.
This was too much for even his strong nature, and as he moved away his
broad chest heaved, and tears rolled unchecked down his face.
Passing on to Whitehall, he entered a barge, and as it moved out into
the bay, he rose and waved a mute adieu to the noble band on shore.
The impressive scene was over.
_J. T. Headley_ (_Condensed_)
FROM “WASHINGTON’S LEGACY”
OR HIS LETTER TO THE GOVERNORS OF ALL THE STATES
I now make it my earnest prayer that God would have you, and the State
over which you preside, in His holy protection; that He would incline
the hearts of the Citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and
obedience to government; to entertain a brotherly affection and love for
one another, for their Fellow-citizens of the United States at large,
and particularly for their brethren who have served in the field;--and
finally that He would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do
justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity,
humility, and pacific temper of mind, which were the characteristics of
the Divine Author of our blessed Religion, and without an humble
imitation of whose example in these things, we can never hope to be a
happy Nation.
GEORGE WASHINGTON
_8 June, 1783_
A KING OF MEN
Hand in hand with ... rare soundness of judgment there went a
completeness of moral self-control which was all the more impressive
inasmuch as Washington’s was by no means a tame or commonplace nature,
such as ordinary power of will would suffice to guide.
He was a man of intense and fiery passions. His anger when once aroused
had in it something so terrible, that strong men were cowed by it like
frightened children. This prodigious animal nature was habitually curbed
by a will of iron and held in the service of a sweet and tender soul,
into which no mean or unworthy thought had ever entered.
Whole-souled devotion to public duty, an incorruptible integrity, which
no appeal to ambition or vanity could for a moment solicit--these were
attributes of Washington, as well marked as his clearness of mind and
his strength of purpose.
And it was in no unworthy temple, that Nature had enshrined this great
spirit. His lofty stature--exceeding six feet--his grave and handsome
face, his noble bearing, and courtly grace of manner, all proclaimed in
Washington a king of men.
_John Fiske_
WHEN WASHINGTON DIED
Crape enshrouded the Standards of France, and the Flags upon the
victorious ships of England fell fluttering to half-mast at the
tidings of his death.
_Chief Justice Fuller_
Let his countrymen consecrate the memory of the heroic General, the
patriotic Statesman, and the virtuous sage. Let them teach their
children never to forget that the fruits of his labours and his
example, _are their inheritance_.
_The Senate of the United States, 1799_
_The following stories about Washington, and the War for
Independence, may be found in “Good Stories for Great Holidays”:
Three Old Tales (the Cherry-Tree Tale); Young George and the Colt;
Washington the Athlete; Washington’s Modesty; Washington at
Yorktown; Washington and the Cowards; Betsy Ross and the Flag; A
Brave Girl (General Schuyler’s Daughter); A Gunpowder Story
(Elizabeth Zane); The Declaration of Independence; Signing of the
Declaration of Independence._
FEBRUARY 25