Indians; so they took him out hunting every day, giving him only a
certain amount of powder and bullets. Boone was such a good marksman
that he soon found he could kill his game with half a bullet and
less powder. He therefore secretly cut his bullets in two, and
although he brought back a bird, rabbit, or deer for every charge
the savages gave him, he really saved half his ammunition without
their suspecting it.
When he had thus collected enough powder and bullets, Boone stole a
piece of dried meat and some parched corn, and went out hunting, as
usual. But as soon as he got out of sight he began running as hard
as he could. As he ran he hid his traces, so the Indians could not
follow him. Thus he darted along fallen trees, jumped from stone to
stone, ran up and down shallow streams, and once, at least, grasped
a trailing grapevine, and, swinging hard, landed on his feet a long
distance ahead.
The Indians, finding out his escape, soon started to follow him; but
while they were hunting around for his broken tracks, he ran on,
pausing to rest only when his strength gave out. Boone thus reached
the Ohio, where he had the good luck to find a leaky canoe, in
which he paddled across the stream.
Then, for the first time, he used one of the bullets he had saved to
kill a turkey, which he roasted over the first fire he had dared to
light since his escape. Tramping thus all the way from the Indian
camp to Boonesboro, Boone found his home deserted. At first he
thought all his family had been killed; but he soon heard they had
merely gone back to their old home, thinking he was dead.
[Illustration: Boone's Grapevine.]
As he knew the Indians would soon come to attack Boonesboro,
Boone collected about fifty-five men, who helped him repair the
palisade. They were scarcely through their work when more than four
hundred Indians appeared, led by a French officer serving in the
British army. When they bade Boone surrender, he answered: "We are
determined to defend our fort while a man of us lives."
Although the Indians tried to break into the fort, they were driven
back, and their bullets had no effect on the heavy logs of the
palisade. Next they made an attempt to set fire to the fort, but the
flames were quickly quenched; and when they began to tunnel a way
into the place, they were forced to give it up.
Weary of vain attempts, the Indians finally withdrew; and when
they had gone, Boone and his companions picked up a hundred and
twenty-five pounds of bullets, which had fallen harmlessly along the
palisade. Later on, Boone brought his family back to Kentucky; but
the Indians continued to make trouble during the next ten years.
Still, when those dark days were all over, so many settlers came
into Kentucky that Boone declared the place was too crowded for him,
and said he needed more elbow-room.
He therefore removed first to a place near the Great Ka-na´wha, and
then to Missouri, which at that time belonged to Spain. Here he
lived long enough to see many settlers cross the Mississippi. He
was again saying that he felt crowded, and talking of moving still
farther west, when he died, at the age of eighty-five, still hale
and hearty, and a famous hunter and pioneer.
LXXVI. FAMOUS SEA FIGHTS.
While American patriots were busy fighting the British on land,
others, equally brave, were fighting them at sea. As soon as the
war began, Congress gave seamen letters of marque, which were
permissions to attack and seize any British vessel they met.
The bravest and best known of all the American seamen of this time
was John Paul Jones. Although born in Scotland, he adopted this
country for his own, and, when the War of Independence began,
offered his services to Congress. He proved such an able seaman that
in 1777 he was sent to France on an important errand. Although the
French did not give him a large ship, as he had hoped, he boldly
cruised around in a little American vessel called the _Ranger_, on
which he hoisted the first American flag ever seen and saluted at
sea.
Paul Jones sailed boldly along, capturing and sinking English
vessels, and even running into the port of White-ha´ven, where he
tried to burn all the shipping. Then, as his boat was no longer good
enough to continue fighting, he went back to France, in quest of a
long-promised new ship. But after five months' weary delay, he was
still ashore and waiting.
One day he read in "Poor Richard's Almanac": "If you would have
your business done, go; if not, send." This saying seemed so true
that he immediately set out for Paris. There he managed to talk to
the French minister, who again promised him a fine ship. But when
the young seaman saw this craft, five days later, he was sorely
disappointed, for it was both old and clumsy.
Still, any kind of a ship was better than no ship at all; so Paul
Jones named it _Bonhomme Richard_ (bŏ-nŏm´ re-shar´), a French
translation of "Poor Richard." Then he set sail in it, accompanied
by a few smaller vessels, and coasted along the North Sea. There
Jones ran near the shore, where his visits were so dreaded that, we
are told, an old Scotch minister at Kirk-cal´dy once prayed: "Now,
dear Lord, don't you think it a shame for you to send this vile
pirate to rob our folk of Kirkcaldy? You know that they are poor
enough already, and have nothing to spare."
Still, Paul Jones was not so vile a pirate as the old minister
supposed, for whenever he landed for provisions, he paid the poor
people for the food and cattle he took. We are also told that, his
men having once robbed a castle of its silver plate, Jones sent it
all back, eight years later, with a polite note.
But while Jones did not wish to harm the poor, he did want to
damage the British navy as much as he could. He therefore cruised
about until he met the _Se-rā´pis_, a British man-of-war, off
Flam´-bor-ough Head(1779). Here was waged one of the fiercest naval
battles ever fought. Although Jones's ship was afire from the very
beginning, his guns all disabled, the vessel shot away between decks
and slowly sinking, he boldly lashed it fast to the _Serapis_.
While doing so he heard one of his men swear, and turning to him,
quietly said: "Don't swear, sir; in another moment we may all be in
eternity."
[Illustration: The Bonhomme Richard and the Serapis.]
By this time the smoke was so thick that the British captain
could not see whether the American flag had been hauled down. He
therefore shouted: "Have you struck your colors?" But Jones coolly
answered: "I have not yet begun to fight." Such was Jones's pluck
that the British commander finally yielded; but when he gave up his
sword to Paul Jones, he haughtily said: "It is with great reluctance
that I surrender my sword to a man who fights with a halter round
his neck."
Paul Jones gave him back the weapon, politely saying: "Captain
Pearson, you have fought like a hero, and I have no doubt that your
sovereign will reward you for it in the most ample manner." These
words came true, for after Captain Pearson had been duly exchanged,
George III. called him to court and made him a knight.
As the _Bonhomme Richard_ was sinking, Jones transferred his men
and prisoners to the _Serapis_. Then he sadly watched his own ship
settle down and vanish beneath the waves. The _Serapis_ was next
taken to France, where it was discovered that Captain Landais
(lahN-dā´), the French commander of one of the smaller vessels in
Jones's fleet, was insane. Paul Jones and his men had known this for
some time, because Landais had disobeyed orders several times, and
when the _Bonhomme Richard_ was fighting against the _Serapis_, he
had even used his cannon against it instead of attacking the enemy.
The news of Paul Jones's victory caused great rejoicings both in
America and in France, and when the young captain returned to the
latter country, he was invited to court with Franklin. King Louis
XVI. heard Jones's account of the fight, and told him that his
enemy, Captain Pearson had just been knighted, and had received a
new ship. Paul Jones then gayly answered: "Well, he deserved the
honor, and if I meet him in his new ship I'll make a lord of him."
This answer greatly amused the king; but at the same time it showed
that Paul Jones, hero as he was, had one great fault--that of
boasting. When he came back to America, Congress honored him; but
as the young sailor did not think his services were well enough
appreciated in America, he left our country soon after the war was
ended, and went to serve Russia.
Paul Jones was not the only hero on the seas at this time, for we
are told the American privateers captured five hundred British
vessels in three years, secured much booty, and did great harm to
the shipping in several English ports.
LXXVII. THE "SWAMP FOX."
The British had failed not only in their first attempt, against
Boston, but also in their second,--to seize the Hudson valley and
thus separate the southern colonies from New England. But as they
were not yet ready to give up the struggle, they decided to try a
third plan. That was to begin a new campaign in the far south, and
march up the Atlantic coast, leaving nothing but conquered people
behind them.
In 1778, therefore, they began their operations by besieging and
taking Savannah. Soon after, they became masters of Au-gus´ta and of
nearly all Georgia. These successes delighted them, for, with one
province won, they fancied they would soon be masters of all the
rest. Still, before they could do much more, the French fleet under
D'Estaing (des-taN´), and an American army under Lincoln, came to
recover Savannah. While the French were bombarding that city from
their ships, the Americans, led by Pulaski, tried to storm it (1779).
But in spite of a most gallant charge, the patriots were driven back
with great loss. Among the dead was Sergeant Jasper, still holding
the flag given him at Fort Moultrie, and Count Pulaski, the generous
Pole who had joined the army and served under Washington in the
battle of the Brandywine. Both of these men were so brave that their
names will never be forgotten, and in Savannah fine monuments have
been erected in their honor.
[Illustration: Pulaski's Monument in Savannah.]
The first attempt to take Savannah having failed, the French admiral
refused to lend any more aid to the Americans in the South. So
Lincoln, after defending Charleston alone for forty days, was forced
to surrender. The British, coming to the city, exacted such hard
conditions from him that they roused the indignation of all true
Americans. But when the British minister heard that the city was
taken, he proudly cried: "We look on America as at our feet!"
The British now overran the state, behaving most cruelly everywhere.
An officer named Tarle´ton not only burned houses, and beat women
and children, but when some Americans asked for quarter,--that is,
vowed not to fight any more if he would spare their lives,--he broke
his promise and had them all killed. Because he did not keep his
word, the expression "Tarleton's quarter" was used in the South as a
term for immediate death.
Although by Lincoln's surrender one American army was lost, the
patriots were not ready to give up yet, and as soon as another force
was raised, Gates was sent southward to command it. He was so proud
of his victory at Saratoga that he started out full of confidence.
When he stopped, on his way, to visit Lee, the latter, hearing him
boast, quietly remarked: "Take care your northern laurels do not
turn to southern willows."
Unfortunately, however, Gates paid no heed to this warning. Thinking
he would soon force Cornwallis to surrender, he was very imprudent,
and when he met the British at Cam´den, a few months later (1780),
he suffered a defeat instead of winning a victory. We are told that
when he saw the day was lost, Gates turned and fled, never daring
to stop until he had put about eighty miles between himself and his
foes. The German officer De Kalb, who had so generously come to help
the Americans, fought in this battle with great courage, and died
from the eleven wounds he received there. He is buried at Camden,
where a monument marks his resting place. This was the worst battle
for the Americans during the whole war, and it was speedily followed
by the loss of nearly all South Carolina. The only people who still
had courage to fight were a few patriots led by such heroes as
Mār´i-on, Sumter, and Pickens.
The first of these three men was so upright, brave, and gentlemanly
that he has often been compared to a brave French knight, and is
therefore known as the "Bay´ard of the South." Marion and his men
had retreats in the woods and swamps, whence they made sudden raids
upon the British. It seems that the latter, wishing to exchange
prisoners, once sent an officer into one of these hiding places
under a flag of truce. As Marion did not wish the British to learn
the way to his retreat, this officer was blindfolded and led a long
distance. When his bandage was removed, he was surprised to find
himself, not in a fort or house, as he had expected, but in a lonely
spot in the woods. Marion stepped forward, politely offered him a
seat on a log, and, when business was over, cordially invited him to
share his dinner.
The officer was just wondering where his dining room could be, when
one of the ragged soldiers appeared, carrying a piece of bark on
which smoked some sweet potatoes, roasted in the camp fire. Marion
helped his guest to a potato on a chip, and began to eat one himself
with a relish. Of course the British officer immediately followed
his example; but he soon asked whether the American officers often
dined so simply. Marion, the "Swamp Fox," answered, "Yes;" and then
gayly added, "but we are fortunate on this occasion, having company
to entertain, to have more than our usual allowance."
[Illustration: Marion's Dinner.]
The officer, hearing this, suggested that the Americans probably
gave their soldiers big pay to make up for such poor fare and
uncomfortable quarters. But Marion truthfully answered that he
received no salary at all. The astonished officer then asked why he
served such a mean country at all; and the brave young Southerner,
looking him full in the face, proudly remarked that a man was always
ready to do anything for the lady he loved, and that the name of his
sweetheart was Liberty.
The British officer could not but admire such a man and such an
answer. On returning to camp, we are told, he left the service,
saying he would have no share in depriving such brave men as Marion
of the rights due them.
LXXVIII. THE POOR SOLDIERS.
In the meantime things were going very badly in the North. The
winter spent at Valley Forge had, indeed, been hard to bear, but
that which Washington spent at Morristown was in some respects even
worse. Congress, in those days, had no power to tax the people to
raise money, the states were in many cases too poor to supply much,
and it was very difficult to borrow funds abroad, because it was
quite evident that if the Americans were beaten their debts would
never be paid.
Already in 1777 Congress began to issue paper money. Of course it
had no real value of its own, like gold or silver, but was merely a
promise that Congress would some day give the bearer the amount it
called for in real money. As everybody knew that Congress did not
have, and therefore could not give, gold or silver in exchange for
these "continental bills," no one liked to take them in payment for
food or clothing.
To make matters worse, the British printed ever so many bills just
like those issued by Congress, and paper money soon became so nearly
worthless as to give rise to the expression still used, "Not worth
a continental." By this time there was two hundred millions' worth
of this money in circulation, and people gave one hundred and fifty
dollars in bills for a bushel of corn, and several thousand for a
suit of clothes, when they had no silver or gold.
Many times during the Revolutionary War the soldiers, knowing their
families were starving, clamored loudly for their money. As it was
not paid to them, some of them rebelled, and it took all their love
for Washington--the only person whom they really trusted--to hold
the army together. Still, these soldiers were faithful to their
country; for when British spies once came among them, offering gold
if they would only desert, they nobly gave these spies up to their
officers, saying that, while they wanted their dues, they were not
traitors.
The British not only tried to win over the men, but also attempted
to bribe American officers and statesmen. But they failed in this,
too; and when they approached Joseph Reed, he proudly said: "I am
not worth purchasing; but such as I am, the King of Great Britain is
not rich enough to buy me."
Washington always supplied the needs of his men as far as he could;
but as he had been away from Mount Vernon several years now, his
fortune was much smaller than it had been, and as time went on he
had less and less ready money. In despair at his men's sufferings,
he wrote again and again to Congress. Finally he warned Robert
Morris, who had charge of money matters, that it would be impossible
to keep the army together if food, money, and clothing were not
forthcoming right away.
This appeal proved successful. Morris not only gave all the money
he had, but, going from door to door, begged from all his friends
for the safety of the country. The Philadelphians nobly answered
his appeal, and on New Year's Day Washington could gladden the
soldiers' hearts by giving them food and money. Shortly after, the
Philadelphia ladies, wishing to help also, sent him twenty-two
thousand shirts, which they had made for the almost naked soldiers,
who were glad to get into warm and whole garments.
LXXIX. THE SPY.
You may remember that Benedict Arnold marched gallantly through the
Maine woods to attack Quebec, and was wounded there in the beginning
of the war. After his recovery he showed his courage in many ways.
For instance, he was once surrounded by Tories, who killed his
horse. While Arnold was trying to release his foot from the stirrup,
one of his foes rushed toward him, crying, "Surrender!" "Not yet,"
answered Arnold, and, drawing his pistol, he shot the Tory, jumped
up, and ran into the woods near by. There, finding another horse, he
quickly mounted, and came back to take part in the fight once more.
You remember, too, how he won the victory of Stillwater, with
Morgan and Schuyler, while Gates was lingering idly in his tent. On
this occasion, however, Arnold was again badly wounded. As he lay
upon the ground, helpless, one of the enemy, who had fought with
great valor and had fallen only a moment before him, slowly raised
himself, and, in spite of a bad wound, tried to get at Arnold to
kill him. Just then a friend of Arnold's came up, and was about to
slay the soldier, when Arnold stopped him by crying: "For God's
sake, don't hurt him; he is a fine fellow!"
Although Arnold could thus show himself both brave and forgiving, he
had one great fault, his vanity. While recovering from his wound, in
Philadelphia, he got into bad company, ran into debt, and behaved
in such a way that Congress bade Washington reprove him publicly
for his conduct. Washington did so as gently as he could, and some
time later, when Arnold asked him for the command at West Point,
he gladly granted this request; for he knew that Arnold was brave,
and thought he had been treated rather unfairly. But no sooner had
Arnold secured this important place than, forgetting his duty to his
country and his honor as a man, he determined to avenge his wrongs
by giving up the fort to the British (1780). He therefore began a
secret correspondence with General Clinton, and finally arranged
to meet a British officer, so as to settle the particulars of the
affair with him.
True to the appointment, Major John André came up the Hudson in an
English vessel, the _Vulture_. Landing at night, he met Arnold as
agreed; but their talk lasted until morning, and the ship, being
then discovered by the Americans, was fired upon. It therefore
dropped down the river. Seeing that he could not join it without
running too great a risk of discovery, André now got a pass from
Arnold. He then crossed the Hudson, and set out for New York on
horseback, reaching Tăr´ry-town in safety, although travelers
were then often stopped by parties of "Skinners" or "Cowboys," as
marauding British and American troops were generally called. André
was just beginning to think that all danger of capture was over,
when three men suddenly sprang out of the bushes, seized his horse,
and forced him to dismount.
Although André offered his horse, his watch, and a large sum of
money to these three men if they would only let him go, they held
him fast and began searching him. At first they found nothing
suspicious; but in his boots they finally discovered plans of the
fort at West Point, and other important papers.
[Illustration: André and his Captors.]
Sure that they held a spy, Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart now sent
word to Arnold to look out, for they had caught a spy, and then they
took André to White Plains. Arnold was at breakfast when the notice
of André's capture reached him. Rising from the table, he hurriedly
explained matters to his fainting wife, kissed his child good-by,
and, mounting his horse, galloped wildly off to the river. There
he found his boat, as usual, and was rowed off to the _Vulture_.
The British, who had watched his approach, received him in grim
silence; for while they would have been glad to take advantage of
his baseness, they all despised him as a traitor.
Washington, then on his way to West Point, received the news of
André's arrest too late to seize Arnold, although he tried very hard
to do so. Still, he did not forget that Arnold's wife was innocent.
Pitying her evident suffering, he soon sent her word that her
husband had escaped, and said that she would be allowed to join him
in New York.
The news of Arnold's treachery, which wrung tears from Washington,
and made him exclaim, "Whom can we trust now?" filled the whole
country with dismay. People were horror-struck; but while all hated
Arnold, many were almost as excited over the capture and probable
fate of André. An artist, writer, and soldier, this young man had
many admirers; but as he had played the part of a spy, and had been
captured in disguise within the American lines, most people thought
he deserved to be hanged.
Still, it was felt that Arnold, the traitor, was the one who merited
that death most, so when the British protested that André should
not be hanged, the Americans offered to exchange him for Arnold,
thinking that if they could only make an example of the real culprit
it would prevent similar cases in the future.
But, much as the British despised Arnold, they could not, of
course, give him up. André's trial, therefore, went on, and the
jury condemned him to death as a spy. Instead of treating him as
the British had treated Hale, however, the Americans allowed him
to write to his friends and prepare for death. When he was ready,
André paid the penalty of his wrongdoing by being hanged. Still,
people have always felt sorry for him, and the British, who would
have gained greatly by his spying, declared that he had fallen a
martyr. They therefore gave him a place in Westminster Abbey, where
many of their greatest men are buried. Besides, two monuments have
been erected for him in our country, at Tarrytown and Tap´pan, thus
marking the places where he was captured and hanged.
But, although André was hanged, his sufferings were slight and
merciful compared with those of Arnold. This was just; for, while
the former had tried to serve his country, the latter had betrayed
his trust, and it was natural that his conscience should trouble
him night and day. Although the British, as they had promised, gave
him a large sum of money and a place in their army, none of their
officers ever treated him as a friend.