great men, was very modest--smiled, and quaintly answered that while
he appreciated the kindness of the speech, he was obliged to confess
that not only had he left thunder in the clouds,--just where he had
found it,--but that more than one million of his countrymen had
helped him snatch the scepter from the hands of the tyrant!
News traveled so slowly in those days that it took months before
Franklin heard of Burgoyne's surrender, and before Washington and
Howe received word that the French were going to help the colonies
openly. These months were full of hardships for all the Americans,
for while the men were away fighting, the heroic women were obliged
to do their work too.
[Illustration: At Valley Forge.]
Washington's army, as we have seen, had encamped at Valley Forge,
where the soldiers lived in rude log huts. They were without proper
food or clothes, and cowered miserably over camp fires, for which
they had to carry wood on their backs from neighboring forests.
Even General Washington had but one room, and lived on cabbage and
potatoes, with a few hickory nuts for dessert from time to time.
His heart was wrung at the sight of his men's sufferings, and
as soon as his wife joined him at Valley Forge, he begged her
to work as hard as she could to supply the men with stockings.
Mrs. Washington's own knitting needles now flew faster than ever;
besides, she interested all her friends in the work, and every day
visited the soldiers' quarters, carrying them the stout garments
thus secured. But provisions grew so scarce that Washington had to
send all the women home, and Mrs. Washington again withdrew to Mount
Vernon, where she lived as economically as possible, working day and
night for her husband and the army.
As if matters were not bad enough already, some of the officers now
formed a plot to take the command away from Washington, and put
Gates at the head of the army in his stead. This plot, known as the
Conway cabal, was headed by a man named Conway, to whom Washington
had been particularly kind, but who was angry because he had not
been promoted as fast as he wished.
The question was brought before Congress at Baltimore, where,
hearing that there was danger of Washington's being dismissed for
lack of a vote, Du´er, one of his friends, although ill in bed,
determined to go to the meeting. His doctor, however, said that if
he did so it would be at the risk of his life. "Do you mean I should
expire before reaching the place?" asked Duer. "No; but I should not
answer for your leaving it alive," answered the doctor. Hearing
this, the good man firmly said: "Very well, sir; you have done your
duty; now I will do mine." Then he called for a litter to carry him
to Congress.
Luckily for him, some of Washington's friends came back in time to
prevent his leaving his sick room. But better still for the welfare
of our country, the Conway plot failed, and Washington remained at
the head of the army. Conway had been so ungrateful that he was
forced to leave the country, where people despised him for the mean
part he had played.
All these trials wrung Washington's noble heart, and as he had no
privacy in his headquarters, he sometimes rode out alone to think. A
Quaker, hearing a noise in the bushes, once stole up cautiously, and
found the general's horse tied to a tree. A few feet farther away,
he beheld Washington kneeling in the snow, praying aloud for his
country, with great tears streaming down his cheeks. The good Quaker
crept away again unseen, but in telling the story some years later,
he remarked that he felt at the time that the Lord could not but
answer the fervent prayer of so good a man.
LXXII. THE QUAKER WOMAN.
The British quartered in Philadelphia were leading an easy and
merry life; but several times during the winter Howe made plans to
surprise Washington's troops. To his dismay, however, his plans
always seemed known to the Americans, and therefore failed. Afraid
that some spy might overhear him, Howe once held a secret meeting
at night in the house of a Quaker woman, named Lydia Darrah. To make
sure that he should not be overheard, he bade her go to bed, and see
that all her family retired likewise.
Lydia obeyed, and the general, thinking all was safe, explained his
plan to his officers. But the Quaker woman had noiselessly slipped
out of her room again, and was now standing at the door listening to
all that was said. As soon as the talk was over she crept back to
her room, and when the officers had all gone, Howe called her, as
agreed, to lock the door behind him. But she pretended to be sound
asleep, and let him knock at her door three times before she rose,
yawning, to show him out.
The next day, Lydia, who had not dared breathe a word of what she
had heard to any one, said she was out of flour, and got a pass to
go and buy some at a village near by. Meeting a patriot there, she
quickly warned him of Washington's peril, and then quietly went home.
The next day Howe crossly said to her: "It is very strange; you, I
know, were asleep, for I knocked at your door three times before you
heard me; yet it is certain we were betrayed. On arriving, we found
Washington so prepared at every point that we have been compelled
to march back without injuring our enemy, like a parcel of fools."
Lydia heard this without making a sign, and not till the war was
over did it become known that it was she who had saved the army.
Besides the American patriots, foreigners were helping Washington
with all their might. Among these was the Prussian officer, Baron
Steuben, who knew no English, and therefore brought over an
interpreter with him. According to one story, this interpreter
made an idle bet to kiss the first Yankee girl he met. Landing at
Portsmouth, this man won his wager by stepping up to a pretty girl,
bowing politely, and begging permission to kiss her, saying: "Before
leaving my native land to fight for American freedom, I made a vow
to ask, in earnest of victory, a kiss from the first lady I should
meet." The story adds that the young lady accepted the kiss, saying
she could not refuse so small a favor to a man who had come to
fight, and if necessary, to die, for her country.
Steuben joined Washington at Valley Forge, and there began to drill
the troops, so they could meet the British on an equal footing. At
first the German officer was shocked by their lack of discipline,
and swore at them in every language he knew; sometimes he even
called to his interpreter: "Come and swear for me in English; these
fellows will not do what I bid them."
You see, soldiers in those days thought it manly to swear; and as
Baron Steuben had been accustomed to European soldiers, who obeyed
without a question, it took him some time to grow used to Americans,
who, as he said, had to be told, "This is the reason why you ought
to do that," before they would obey. Still, he soon taught our men
to fight like old and trained soldiers.
The winter the troops spent at Valley Forge was one of the coldest
ever seen, and therefore the soldiers' sufferings were very great.
But with the spring, hope revived, for the news of the coming French
fleet made the British leave Philadelphia to defend New York.
General Howe having gone back to England for his health, it was
Clinton who conducted this retreat. Leaving the camp at Valley
Forge, Washington pursued him across New Jersey, planning to engage
him in a battle at Mon´moŭth (1778).
Here Lee, who had been exchanged for Prescott, and was again in
command, disobeyed orders, and bade his men retreat. Warned by
Lafayette, Washington came up just in time to check this movement,
and, dashing up to Lee, hotly asked what his disobedience meant.
Lee answered: "These men cannot face the British grenadiers." But
Washington exclaimed: "They can do it, and they shall!" He was
right; the men could, and did, face the enemy bravely. But precious
time had been lost, and instead of winning a victory, the Americans
only managed to stand their ground.
[Illustration: Molly Pitcher.]
During the battle, Molly Pitcher, a gunner's wife, carrying a pail
of water to her husband, saw him fall. She immediately rushed
forward, took his place, and, loading his cannon, fired it as
quickly and well as he. In reward for filling her husband's place
that day, Congress paid her a small pension, and the soldiers, who
admired her pluck, ever after called her "Major Molly."
When darkness came on, the fight ceased, and Washington flung
himself down to rest. During the night an officer drew softly near,
and the general quickly bade him advance and deliver his message,
saying: "I lie here to think, and not to sleep." Washington's
thoughts were busy, for now he could no longer doubt that Charles
Lee was a traitor. Indeed, he foresaw what soon happened--that Lee
would be dismissed from the army in disgrace. In fact, Lee, who had
tried to harm the American cause, was never allowed to serve his
country again, and had to withdraw to Virginia. There he lived a
loveless and solitary life, in a house whose only partitions were
chalk lines across the floor.
LXXIII. PUTNAM'S ADVENTURES.
On the morrow of the battle of Monmouth, Washington found that
Clinton had withdrawn his army so as to avoid a second battle.
The British were now well on their way to New York, so Washington
could no longer hope to overtake them. To hem them in, however, he
stretched a line of American troops all the way from Morristown to
West Point.
But Washington had to abandon his plan for seizing New York with
the help of the French fleet, because the vessels drew too much
water to be able to cross the bar. As the fleet could not reach
New York, it made an attempt to seize Newport. Here it was met by
British ships; but before a battle could take place, a sudden storm
scattered both fleets, and caused so much damage that they had to
refit.
When Clinton saw that Washington had drawn a close line about him in
New Jersey, he tried to force the American general to break it by
attacking the towns in Connecticut. But Washington would not stir,
for he knew that General Israel Putnam, in charge of the forces
there, was well able to look out for himself. As this Putnam is one
of the heroes of the Revolutionary War, it will interest you to hear
a few stories about him, which all Americans should know.
We are told that, even as a lad, Putnam was famous for his courage.
Once, when a wolf caused great damage in his neighbors' herds, he
determined to kill it. But the wolf withdrew into its den, where it
could be reached only by crawling along through a narrow passage.
As the creature could neither be smoked nor starved out, Putnam
offered to go in and kill it. Tying a rope to his foot, he bade his
companions pull him out when they felt the rope twitch, or heard a
shot. Then he crawled along the passage on his stomach, carefully
holding his gun. At the end of a few minutes he came to a place
where the passage widened a little, and there, in the darkness,
he saw the yellow gleam of the big wolf's eyes! Putnam raised his
gun, shot, and was dragged out by his companions in such haste that
his clothes were actually torn off his back, and his skin somewhat
scraped.
Determined to know whether the old wolf was dead, Putnam, at the
end of a few minutes, again crept into the den. When his companions
obeyed the twitch of the rope a few minutes later, and drew him out
a second time, they thought he was very heavy; but when he got out
they found he was dragging by the leg the biggest gray wolf they had
ever seen!
Putnam had taken part in the last French and Indian War. The year
after the French took and destroyed Fort William Henry, he was with
a British army that encamped on the same ground; and when this army
advanced to attack Ticonderoga, his company led the way. While they
were thus marching through the woods, the French surprised them;
and had it not been that Rogers came to their rescue with more men,
Putnam and his detachment would have fallen. At another time, we are
told, Fort Edward took fire, and the powder magazine was in great
danger. But Putnam fought the flames inch by inch, putting them
out barely in time to prevent the explosion of the whole store of
ammunition.
During this French and Indian War Putnam once volunteered to mount
guard at a place where the sentinel was always found dead in the
morning. While watching there, he heard a strange noise in the
bushes, and saw what he took in the darkness for a wild pig or a
bear. He fired at it without a moment's delay, and, on drawing near,
found he had killed an Indian, who, covered by a bearskin, and
imitating the actions of an animal, had always managed to get near
enough to the sentinels to kill them.
Another time, when Putnam and Rogers were sent to recapture some
baggage wagons, the latter spent the noon hour in target practice,
although warned it was dangerous. The Indians, guided by the sound
of firing, fell upon the British unawares, and seizing Putnam bound
him to a tree.
For a while Putnam found himself between the fire of his own party
and that of the Indians; and when the latter were driven from the
battlefield, they took him away with them. After torturing him in
many ways, breaking his jaw and cutting open his cheek, the Indians
tied him to a tree and began to roast him alive.
The fire was raging around him when a sudden and violent shower put
it out. But as soon as the rain was over the savages rekindled it.
They would have succeeded in roasting Putnam alive, had not a French
officer come up just then, rushed into the fire, cut him loose, and
thus saved him from a horrible death.
Burned, gashed, disfigured, and bowed down by weakness, Putnam was
taken to Montreal, where the other prisoners were careful not to
tell who he was. So the French, thinking him a poor old man who
would never have the strength to fight again, gladly exchanged him
for one of their captive soldiers.
Putnam then went on fighting again till the war was over. He took
an active part in the capture of Montreal in 1760, and in that of
Havana two years later.
A British general once showed him a French vessel on Lake Ontario,
saying it must be destroyed. Putnam immediately volunteered to
destroy it, and rowing out in the dark, he secretly drove wedges
behind the rudder. As the vessel could no longer obey its helm, it
was soon driven ashore and wrecked.
LXXIV. INDIAN CRUELTY.
The French and Indian War ended, Putnam resumed work on his
Connecticut farm. At the time of the Stamp Act trouble he and some
of his fellow-citizens visited the house of one of the men who had
stamped paper for sale. They told him he must not sell a single
sheet of it; and when he objected that he must mind the king, Putnam
declared that if he dared disobey them his house would "be level
with the dust in five minutes."
[Illustration: Putnam's Ride.]
You have already seen how quick Putnam was to respond to the call
when the patriots flew to arms. Ever since the beginning of the
war he had been equally active. Called upon to meet the British in
Connecticut, with but very few men, Putnam nevertheless managed to
hamper their movements greatly.
On one occasion he found himself almost surrounded by the British.
Calling to his companions to save themselves, he drew off the
British soldiers, who hotly pursued him. With the enemy on three
sides of him, and a frightfully steep and rocky slope on the other,
it seemed quite impossible that Putnam should escape. But he boldly
drove his spurs into his steed, rode safely down the stone steps at
Horse´neck, and as none of the British dared follow him, he thus
managed to get away.
Hearing that the British were burning farmhouses and villages in
Connecticut, Washington fancied it might be a good plan to strike a
blow which would frighten them and make them come back. He therefore
planned to storm Stony Point, a place on the Hudson, where the
British were building a new fort.
Sending for Anthony Wayne, an officer who was so brave and daring
that his men generally called him "Mad Anthony," Washington told
him what he wanted. The young man, devoted to Washington, promptly
cried: "I'll storm hell, general, if you will only plan it!" The
patriotic young soldier's answer was so well meant that Washington,
who never swore himself, and generally reproved his men when they
did so, merely smiled on this occasion, and quietly said: "Hadn't we
better try Stony Point first?"
The Americans, with guns unloaded and bayonets fixed, drew near the
fort unseen, led by an old negro who often went in and out of the
British camp to sell strawberries. He walked up to the sentinel,
and whispered: "The fort is ours." As this was the password,
the soldier began to chat with him, and thus did not notice the
Americans creeping up behind him until they seized and gagged him.
[Illustration: The Capture of Stony Point.]
The patriots thus got halfway up the hill before the alarm was
given and firing began. Although one of the first shots wounded Mad
Anthony, he bade his men carry him, and, cheering his soldiers on,
led the way into the fort. Taken by surprise, the British lost many
men and their new fort, and at two o'clock in the morning Wayne
wrote to Washington: "The fort and garrison, with Colonel Johnson,
are ours. Our officers and men behaved like men who are determined
to be free." This charge at Stony Point (1779) is considered one of
the most brilliant deeds of the Revolutionary War, and the place
where it occurred is often visited.
When war first broke out the British hired many Indians to fight for
them. While the two main armies were busy in New Jersey, southern
New York, and Connecticut, people living in northern New York, and
all along the western frontier, were in constant danger. Led by a
man named Butler, some Tories--friends of the king--and many Indians
suddenly appeared in the Wy-o´ming Valley, in Pennsylvania. Here
they cruelly murdered men, women, and children. We are even told
that a cruel soldier once ran his bayonet through a tiny baby, and
tossed it out of its cradle, saying it was a rebel also!
Not satisfied with one raid of this kind, the Indians soon made a
second one at Cherry Valley, in New York. These massacres roused the
Americans' anger, not only against the Indians, but also against
the British for hiring the help of such cruel allies. Still, it
was only the king and some of his ministers who were to blame for
this, for most Englishmen felt like Burke. When the order had been
given to make use of the Indians, but forbidding them to be cruel,
Burke made a speech in the House of Commons, saying: "Suppose there
was a riot on Tower Hill. What would the keeper of his Majesty's
lions do? Would he not fling open the dens of the wild beasts,
and then address them thus: 'My gentle lions, my humane bears,
my tender-hearted hyenas, go forth! But I exhort you, as you are
Christians and members of civilized society, to take care not to
hurt any man, woman, or child!'"
To punish the Indians for the massacres at Wyoming Valley and Cherry
Valley, General Sul´li-van now marched into the Indian territory,
where he burned more than forty villages. He also killed so many
warriors that the Indians in that part of the country never again
dared rise up against the Americans.
The Indian war not only raged in the northeast, but extended even
into what is now Ken-tuck´y. Although there were but very few
settlers there then, many of these were slain. To put an end to
Indian raids, General George Rogers Clark of Virginia marched
northward, hoping to conquer all the land between the Ohio, the
Lakes, and the Mississippi.
[Illustration: Clark's March.]
Although his army was small, it was composed of brave men, used
to the woods and to the Indian way of fighting. They followed him
boldly through the wilderness, fording rivers and streams. We are
told that they once came to water so deep that their little drummer
boy, seeing it would rise above his head, used his drum as a raft,
begging the tallest soldier to steer him safely across.
Marching thus from point to point, Clark's forces took all the forts
in the Illinois country; but as he had few men, he could not send
fair-sized garrisons to all. Some time after Vin-cennes´ submitted,
a large British force appeared to capture it, and loudly commanded
the American officer there to surrender. After some parley, this man
consented to do so, provided he and his garrison were allowed to
march out with all the honors of war.
The British officer granted this request; but imagine his surprise
and anger when he saw the officer march out, followed by only one
man! These two composed the whole garrison, and could boast that
they had held the fort of Vincennes against a force of eight hundred
men. When Clark heard what had happened, he marched over with a
large force and recaptured the fort.
LXXV. BOONE IN KENTUCKY.
As you have heard, the land south of the Ohio suffered much from
Indian raids. This part of the country had already been the scene of
so many Indian battles that it well deserved the name of Kentucky,
or the "dark and bloody ground." Six years before the Revolutionary
War began, Daniel Boone, a hardy pioneer, first crossed the
Alleghany Mountains and came into this beautiful region. Seeing the
tall forest trees and plentiful game, he thought it would be a good
place to live in.
After wandering about it for months, and escaping from the hands
of some Indians who had taken him captive, Boone made up his mind
to settle there. He therefore went back to North Carolina for
his wife and daughter, and, with his brother and several other
pioneers, returned to Kentucky where he formed a settlement called
Boones´bor-o (1775). Like all pioneer villages, this was merely a
collection of a few log huts, surrounded by a tall palisade to serve
as a rampart against Indian attacks.
Boone's daughter and two younger girls, little suspecting danger,
once went out in a canoe to pick flowers along the banks of a
stream. Suddenly several Indians sprang out of a thicket, seized
them, and bore them off into the woods. While the younger girls
cried helplessly, Boone's daughter, seeing it was of no use to
struggle, quietly followed her captor. But she took care to leave
the print of her shoe here and there where the soil was damp, to
break twigs of bushes, and to fasten shreds of her dress to the
briers along the way, so that her tracks could be followed.
As soon as the girls' capture was discovered, Boone and six other
men set out in pursuit. Thanks to the girl's clever way of marking
her passage, they soon came to where the savages were camping in the
woods. Creeping up stealthily, the white men noiselessly got between
the children and the Indians, for they knew the latter would kill
and scalp their captives at the first alarm. The Indians, suddenly
finding themselves in danger, hastily fled, leaving captives and
weapons behind them.
In the third year of the Revolutionary War, some Indians, hired
by the British to make war along the frontier, came to attack
Boonesboro. But the place was so gallantly defended by the settlers
that they could not get in. They vainly directed a steady fire
against the palisades for some time, and then withdrew to a short
distance to rest.
The settlers, who had very little powder within the palisade, were
anxious to secure a keg full of powder that was standing in a hut
near by. Still, they knew that if a man ventured out, the Indians
would probably kill him, and they did not feel that they could spare
a single one. A brave girl, Elizabeth Zane, therefore insisted
upon going, for she said they could easily get along without her,
although they needed all the men.
[Illustration: Elizabeth Zane brings Powder.]
At her request, the gate was opened, and she sped like an arrow to
the house where the powder had been left. The Indians, astonished at
the sight of a woman running out of the fort, stood perfectly still.
In a few seconds they saw her rush back, her apron full of powder.
Now they understood what it all meant; but it was too late to stop
the brave girl, who had reached the fort in safety. The powder thus
secured saved the settlement; for the Indians, after losing many
men, gave up the siege and went home.
In 1778, while out hunting, Boone was captured by Indians, who
carried him off to Detroit. They were about to kill him when an old
squaw claimed him to take the place of her son who had been slain.
The Indians consented, and Boone was adopted by the squaw, who
pulled out all his hair, except a scalp lock, which she dressed with
feathers in fine Indian style.