There never was a man so bold that his soul has not, at times, felt its
own powerlessness, and silently appealed to the mighty God for a
strength to sustain it in the hour of need. Daniel Morgan, as rough and
self-reliant as he was brave, did not hesitate to confess that more than
once in the hour of approaching trial, when the weight of responsibility
was more than he could bear, he threw off the burden of his cares and
fears at His feet who bears the destinies of the universe.
"Ah," said he, on one occasion, "people thought that Morgan was never
afraid—people said that 'Dan Morgan never prayed.' I'll tell you what it
is, Daniel Morgan, as wicked as he was, has prayed as hard and as
earnestly as ever a man prayed in this world."
We look back now with pride to the victory of the Cowpens, which was one
of Morgan's most glorious achievements. But before that battle was
fought, while it was being decided upon and prepared for, one of those
moments occurred to the intrepid leader, of inward dismay and trouble,
which it would never do to disclose to his men, looking to him for
direction and example. It is not strange that his soul was troubled. His
whole command consisted of not more than six hundred men—three hundred
infantry under Lieutenant-Colonel Howard, two hundred Virginia riflemen,
and about one hundred gallant dragoons under Colonel Washington. With
this little band he was retreating, with consummate prudence, before the
"haughty Tarleton," who had been sent by Cornwallis, to force him into
action, with eleven hundred veteran soldiers, besides two field-pieces
well served by artillerists. Tarleton had light and legion infantry,
fusileers, three hundred and fifty cavalry, and a fine battalion of the
Seventy-First regiment; he promised himself an easy victory over the
American "wagoner," as well he might, with the forces at his disposal.
Boldly he pursued the retreating enemy, expecting to overtake only to
destroy him. But he had now to encounter a General who had braved the
snows of Camden, had scaled the walls of Quebec, and had faced the
legions of Burgoyne. With the greatest prudence, Morgan retreated until
he reached the memorable field of Cowpens, near one of the branches of
the Pacolet river. Here, in the face of superior numbers, as well as
superior arms and discipline, he resolved to make a stand. He
communicated his design to his inferior officers, who with ready spirit
prepared the minds of their men for the combat. These, hating the
British for their late oppressions, burning with the love of liberty and
the desire for revenge, and placing implicit confidence in the wisdom of
the General who ordered the battle, declared themselves ready for the
fray.
Morgan's arrangement was simple but masterly, showing a perfect
knowledge of the character both of his own force and that of Tarleton.
In the open wood which formed the Cowpens, he established three lines.
The first consisted of the militia under Colonel Pickens, a brave
officer who had been recently relieved from captivity among the English.
The next line embraced all the regular infantry and the Virginia
riflemen, and was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Howard. The third was
formed by Washington's dragoons, and about fifty mounted militia armed
with pistols and swords. Knowing that the militia, though full of
courage, were liable to panics, Morgan directed that the first line, if
overpowered, should gradually retire and form on the right and left of
the second.
Thus prepared, he awaited the attack of the foe, who had come up, and
was rapidly forming in the front. His face did not betray the
trepidation of his heart. He knew how much depended upon the result, and
when he looked upon his own small army, composed of such rude material,
wretchedly equipped and but poorly disciplined, and his gaze wandered
through the open forest and rested upon veteran troops with whom he was
about to contend, his heart failed him. Not daring to betray his
despondency to those who looked up to him for the courage so much
needed, in that solitary and friendless hour, when even the brave
officers by his side could give no comfort to his mental trouble, the
rough, heroic General made God his friend and adviser. In a quiet dell
just back of the spot where his reserve was posted, he found a large
tree which had been blown up by the roots. Hidden by the branches of
this giant of the forest, he threw himself upon his knees before the
Lord of battles, beseeching Him to wield the lance of delivery on the
side of those who were fighting for their homes, their families and
their liberties. With an impulsive force characteristic of his nature,
he wrestled with his Maker, with an energy of spirit and a power of
language scarcely to be expected in one so unused to the "melting mood."
Rising from his knees with feelings relieved, and an oppressive weight
taken from his soul, he returned to the lines, where he cheered his men
in his own blunt, impulsive manner, and was replied to by shouts and
huzzas which showed on their part a determination to do or die.
When Tarleton found his foe drawn up in battle order, he rejoiced in the
hope of a speedy victory, and though his troops were somewhat fatigued
by a rapid march, he gave orders for a charge. Before his first line was
perfectly formed, he placed himself at its head, and in person rushed to
the onset. Colonel Pickens ordered his men not to fire until their
adversaries were within fifty yards, and their fire was delivered with
great steadiness and severe effect. But so impetuous was the British
charge, that the militia gave way, and attempted to form on the second
line.
At the head of his fusileers and legion, Tarleton pressed upon the
regulars and riflemen, who, notwithstanding their stern resistance, were
borne down by numbers, and forced to yield their ground. The British
regarded their victory as secured, and for a moment the hearts of the
republicans failed. But Morgan was everywhere, encouraging his men by
his voice and presence. At this time, when their very success had caused
some confusion among the fusileers, Washington, at the head of his
dragoons, made a furious charge, and dashing in among them, overthrew
them in a moment. His horses passed over the British infantry like a
storm, and the swords of his men hewed them down with resistless fury.
In this happy crisis Howard succeeded in restoring the Continentals to
order, while Pickens rallied the militia, and brought them again into
line.
"By the wind the smoke-cloud lifted lightly drifted to the nor'ward,
And displayed, in all their pride, the scarlet foe;
We beheld them, with a steady tramp and fearless moving forward,
With their banners proudly waving, and their bayonets leveled low.
"Morgan gave his order clearly: 'Fall back nearly to the border
Of the hill, and let the enemy come nigher!'
Oh, they thought we had retreated, and they charged in fierce
disorder,
When out rang the voice of Howard: 'To the right, about face! fire!'
"Then upon our very wheeling came the pealing of our volley,
And our balls made a red pathway down the hill;
Broke the foe, and shrunk and cowered; rang again the voice of Howard:
'Give the hireling dogs the bayonet!' and we did it with a will."
Struck with astonishment at finding themselves thus assaulted by men
they had just regarded as defeated, the English troops wavered and broke
in disorder. In vain their officers endeavored to rally them for a
renewed stand. The spirits of the patriots were roused, and pressing
forward with their bayonets, they carried every thing before them.
Nearly two hundred of Tarleton's horse, and among them the haughty
Tarleton himself, retreated in dismay from the field, riding over their
comrades and involving them in hopeless confusion. The Americans gained
the two field-pieces, and Colonel Howard, coming up with a large body of
infantry, and summoning them to surrender, they laid down their arms on
the field. The rout of the British was complete; a more signal victory
our forces had never obtained. Washington and his horse followed the
flying foe for several hours; Tarleton himself narrowly escaped falling
into the hands of his determined pursuer.
May we not safely conjecture that after this brilliant success Morgan
returned thanks to the Lord of victories as ardently as he had implored
him for aid?
On another occasion, previous to this, Morgan had knelt in the snows of
Canada, to beseech the blessing of God upon an undertaking as important
as it was arduous. It was in 1775. Montgomery was already in Canada,
where partial success had crowned his arms; but the capture of Quebec
was deemed all-important, and to insure it, Washington resolved to send
a detachment across the unexplored country between the province of Maine
and the St. Lawrence River. To form any idea of the difficulty of this
route it must be remembered that the whole of that region was then
covered by gloomy forests, in which even the red-man could hardly find
subsistence, and that in the winter season the country was bound in ice
and snow. To command the expedition, Colonel Benedict Arnold was
selected, and Morgan, then a Captain, eagerly sought a service so
congenial to his habits and character.
The whole detachment consisted of eleven hundred men, who were formed
into three divisions. After ascending the Kennebec as far as it was
navigable, they were forced to take the forest roads. Morgan, at the
head of his riflemen, formed the vanguard, upon whom devolved the duty
of exploring the country, sounding the fords, pioneering for his
companions, and seeking out spots where the bateaux might again be
employed in the streams. They were then forced to pass through forests
where men had never dwelt, to scale rugged hills, to contend with
torrents swollen with the snow-storms of that region, to wade through
marshes which threatened to ingulf them. Not only the baggage of the
army, but often their boats were borne upon their shoulders at those
places where the river was frozen, or where rapids and cataracts impeded
their progress. The sufferings of this devoted band can not be
exaggerated. No subsistence could be obtained from the country, and to
their other trials was added that of famine. They were driven to feed
upon their dogs, and even upon the leather of their shoes, before they
reached the first settlement of Canadians, and astonished them by their
account of their achievements.
[Illustration:
General Morgan Praying—_Page_ 38.
]
The spirit which endured such trials was the best surety of their
success. But reinforcements had been received in Quebec. The garrison
was prepared, and Arnold, after making some demonstrations, retired to
Point au Tremble, twenty miles distant, to await the coming of
Montgomery. When the two forces were joined, they were yet inadequate to
the attack of the strongest fortress in America; but the hero who now
commanded the Americans could not endure the thought of retreat.
On the last day of the year 1775, in the midst of a furious snowstorm,
the memorable attack was made. On this occasion it was, as Morgan
confessed afterward, that he was "afraid"—but fear, to his nature, was
not a passion which weakened him, but which urged him on. It was not for
himself, personally, that he was afraid; no, he dreaded the effect of a
defeat upon his country; he could not see, without shrinking, his brave
friends and comrades rushing upon what seemed like death in the land of
the enemy. In his own words we have his thoughts:
"The night we stormed Quebec, while I was waiting with my men, in the
cold, driving storm, for the word to advance, I felt unhappy; I looked
up at the frowning battlements above me, and then around upon my armful
of men, and felt that the enterprise was more than perilous; I felt that
nothing short of a miracle could prevent our being destroyed in a
contest where we fought at such an immense disadvantage. With such
feelings I stepped aside, and kneeling down in the snow, alongside an
old gun, with the storm beating into my face, I poured out my soul in an
humble petition to God, beseeching him to be my shield and protection in
the coming struggle—for nothing but an Almighty arm could save us—and I
really and sincerely feel that I owed my safety to the interposition of
Providence, and I thought so at the time."
In the attack which followed, and which was unsuccessful, Morgan did all
that a brave man could do. He scaled the walls of the fortress, and
sprung down alone amid the surprised garrison, though speedily followed
by numbers of his men. The enemy, appalled by such heroism, fell back to
the second barrier, and here, had he been properly supported, Morgan
might have been again successful; but the men had rendered their guns
useless; the riflemen who had followed him were unsupported; to face a
double row of bayonets and climb a wall was beyond the power of the most
desperately brave. After an obstinate resistance Morgan and his corps
were forced to surrender.
So much did Morgan's bravery impress the English, that, when a prisoner
in their hands, he was offered the rank of Colonel in the English
service, and many persuasive reasons were given why he should accept it.
It need not be said that he rejected the temptation with scorn.
General Daniel Morgan was born of Welch parentage, in New Jersey, in the
year 1736. Like so many of our most illustrious heroes, he was a
"self-made man." His family, which belonged to the "middle class," had
an interest in some Virginia lands, to attend to which he visited that
colony when about seventeen years old. Glowing with health, and full of
that love of adventure which always characterized him, he determined to
remain in Virginia, and begin the business of life for himself. He had
money enough for the purchase of a wagon and pair of horses. With these
he entered upon the employment which gave him the name of the "wagoner"
long after he had risen to military fame. He remained near Winchester
for about two years. When General Braddock's army commenced its march
against Fort Duquesne it was accompanied by several corps of provincial
troops. Morgan, the "ruling passion" thus early displaying itself,
joined one of these corps. He drove his own team in the baggage-train.
On the way occurred one of those instances, too frequent in military
experience, where the power of an officer is used with meanness and
tyranny against the soldier in his power. The ruggedness of the way
causing much trouble with the train, and Morgan's team becoming impeded,
along with many others, a British officer approached him, and, with much
impatience demanded why he did not move along. He replied that he would
move as soon as he was able. The officer, yielding to his irritable
temper, with unmerited harshness declared that if he did not move along
he would run him through with his sword. The high spirit of the
wagoner-boy could not brook this insult; he gave a fierce reply, when
the officer at once made a pass at him with his weapon. Morgan held in
his hand a heavy wagon-whip; parrying the stroke with the quickness of
thought, he closed with his superior; the sword was broken in the
struggle; then, using his whip with the skill which long practice had
given him, he inflicted upon the Englishman a severe castigation. Such a
breach of military law of course was not to be forgiven. Morgan was
tried by a court-martial, which sentenced him to receive _five hundred_
lashes. The sentence was carried into effect. The young victim bore this
horrible punishment with mute heroism, silently fainting from torture
and exhaustion, while fifty lashes were yet in reserve, which were of
necessity remitted. Three days afterward, the officer who had been the
occasion of this barbarity became convinced of his injustice, and,
seeking Morgan in the camp hospital, implored his forgiveness. Through
this miserable occurrence, the brave young volunteer was disabled from
duty, and escaped the danger and disgrace of Braddock's defeat.
Not long after his return from this unhappy campaign, he was appointed
an ensign in the colonial service. His merit had become apparent to the
Government of the colony; already he had won the friendship of
Washington, which afterward availed him on many trying occasions. His
known courage and activity caused him to be employed in the most
dangerous services. On one occasion, accompanied by two soldiers, he was
carrying dispatches to one of the frontiers of Virginia, infested by
cunning and ferocious savages. While in cautious progress through the
forest, unaware that any eye was upon them, or any stealthy step
tracking them fatally and silently, suddenly the discharge of rifles was
heard; his two companions fell dead by his side. Morgan himself received
the only severe wound he ever had during his military career; a rifle
ball entered the back of his neck, and, shattering his jaw, passed out
through his left cheek. Though he believed himself mortally wounded, his
presence of mind did not fail. Leaning forward on his saddle, he grasped
the mane of his horse, and pressing the spurs into his sides, darted
forward at full speed toward the fort. A single Indian followed him,
eager for his scalp. Morgan, in after years, often spoke of the
appearance of this savage, who ran with his mouth open, and his tomahawk
raised to strike the fatal blow. Finding his pursuit in vain, the Indian
finally threw the tomahawk with all his force, hoping it would hit the
soldier; but it fell short; the horse, with his bleeding rider, gained
the fort. Morgan was perfectly insensible when taken from the animal;
but proper treatment, and the vigor of his constitution, restored him to
health in six months.
From this time until the commencement of the Revolutionary War, he
remained in Frederick, employed in his old business as a wagoner. At
this time, he was wild and reckless, proud of his immense strength,
inclining to rough society, fond of the most rollicking pastimes, and
even, it is said, frequenting the gaming-table. His nature was of that
active and superabundant kind, that he could not live without
_excitement_; that which in times of idleness became a fault, or almost
a crime, leading him into wild excesses, was the same energy which, as
soon as there was a noble object for its exercise, sprung to the labor
of defending liberty.
It is said that pugilistic encounters were his daily _pastime_—such from
the fact that he was usually the victor. Few men of his time encountered
him without signal defeat. But though Morgan was generally successful,
we have an account of a reverse which he experienced, too salutary in
the lesson it inculcated to be lost. General Carson, of Frederick
county, Virginia, where the affair took place, tells the anecdote as one
entirely authentic:
"Passing along a road with his wagon, Morgan met a gentleman of refined
manners and appearance, who, as he approached the wagoner, had his hat
struck off by a bough overhead. This stopped him for a moment, and
Morgan, thinking that the stranger felt undue pride in sustaining the
character of a gentleman, determined to humble him. Alighting from his
horse—which he rode, teamster-fashion, instead of driving—he addressed
the traveler:
"'Well, sir, if you want a fight, I'm ready for you!'
"The stranger, in amazement, assured him that he wanted no fight, and
had made no signals to such a purpose. But Morgan was not to be thus
repulsed, and urged a contest upon him, until the stranger, becoming
enraged, in short terms accepted the challenge. The battle commenced. In
brief space the well-dressed man planted such a series of rapid and
scientific blows upon Morgan's front, that he knocked him down, and
inflicted upon him a severe chastisement. Morgan never forgot this
reverse; he found that he was not the only man in the world—that 'might
did not make right.' He often spoke of it afterward as having had a
happy effect upon his character."
In after years, he gained more dignity of character, these youthful
ebullitions merging into deeds of valor of which his country is proud.
Immediately upon the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, he stood
ready to aid his country. Congress appointed him a Captain of
provincials, and so great was his reputation, that, in a short time
after his call for recruits, ninety-six riflemen were enrolled in his
company. This was the nucleus of that celebrated rifle corps which
rendered so much brilliant service during the war. It was composed of
men who had been trained in the forest, and who had each been accustomed
to the use of his own rifle with wonderful skill. They were hardy in
body and dauntless in heart. From this time on, his career was one of
glory, although the hardships which he suffered finally undermined his
splendid health, and forced him to retire, with the rank of
Major-General, to his estate near Winchester, called "Saratoga," after
one of the places where he had distinguished himself.
It was here that he died in 1802, in the 67th year of his age. A
passer-by would hardly notice the humble slab, of little pretension,
which marks his grave in the Presbyterian church-yard, at Winchester;
yet on it is inscribed a name which Americans will ever delight to
honor: "The hero of Quebec, of Saratoga, and the Cowpens: the bravest
among the brave, and the Ney of the West."
In Irving's Life of Washington we have read an amusing account of an
impromptu fray, one party to which was a corps of Virginia riflemen,
very likely to be those commanded by Morgan, in which it would appear as
if the early habits of their leader had infected his men, and in which
the immortal Washington himself appears in a new and picturesque
attitude. "A large party of Virginia riflemen," says the author, "who
had recently arrived in camp, were strolling about Cambridge, and
viewing the collegiate buildings, now turned into barracks. Their
half-Indian equipments, and fringed and ruffled hunting-garbs, provoked
the merriment of some troops from Marblehead, chiefly fishermen and
sailors, who thought nothing equal to the round-jacket and trowsers. A
bantering ensued between them. There was snow upon the ground, and
snow-balls began to fly when jokes were wanting. The parties waxed warm
with the contest. They closed and came to blows; both sides were
reinforced, and in a little while at least a thousand were at
fisticuffs, and there was a tumult in the camp worthy of the days of
Homer. 'At this juncture,' writes our informant, 'Washington made his
appearance, whether by accident or design, I never knew. I saw none of
his aids with him; his black servant just behind him, mounted. He threw
the bridle of his own horse into his servant's hands, sprung from his
saddle, rushed into the thickest of the _melée_, seized two tall, brawny
riflemen by the throat, keeping them at arm's length, talking to and
shaking them.' As they were from his own province, he may have felt
peculiarly responsible for their good conduct; they were engaged, too,
in one of those sectional brawls which were his especial abhorrence; his
reprimand must, therefore, have been a vehement one. He was commanding
in his serenest moments, but irresistible in his bursts of indignation.
On the present occasion, we are told, his appearance and rebuke put an
instant end to the tumult. The veteran who records this exercise of
military authority, seems at a loss which most to admire, the simplicity
of the process, or the vigor with which it was administered. 'Here,'
writes he, 'bloodshed, imprisonments, trials by court-martial,
revengeful feelings between the different corps of the army, were
happily prevented by the physical and mental energies of a single
person, and the only damaging result from the fierce encounter was a few
torn hunting-frocks and round-jackets.'"
We may well believe that what was done by Washington was well done, even
to the stilling of this Homeric tumult.
Occasions of great danger and trial were so frequent that the leaders of
the Revolution had recourse to prayer more frequently, we are led to
believe, than history mentions. One anecdote is told of Washington's
having been overheard supplicating at the throne of grace, but how can
we conceive the Father of his Country as other than the devout leader
who at all times felt and acknowledged the hand of Providence over him?
The anecdote specially referred to was related by Potts, the Quaker.
During the winter of 1777, the Continental army was encamped at Valley
Forge—a suffering, dispirited, yet still patriotic little host. Clothing
was scant, food was scarce, numbers were too few for opposing the
triumphant foe, and all things seemed to betoken a most inauspicious
future for the patriot cause. Washington, outwardly firm, resolved, and
apparently not dissatisfied, was, as his correspondence shows, deeply
concerned for the result of the early spring campaign; and that, in his
hour of trial, he prayed for aid from on high we can well believe.
One day, Potts had occasion to go to a certain place, which led him
through a large grove, at no great distance from head-quarters. As he
was proceeding along, he thought he heard a noise. He stopped and
listened. He did hear the sound of a human voice at some distance, but
quite indistinctly. As it was in the direct course he was pursuing, he
went on, but with some caution. Occasionally he paused and listened, and
with increasing conviction that he heard some one. At length he came
within sight of a man, whose back was turned toward him, on his knees,
in the attitude of prayer. It was a secluded spot—a kind of natural
bower; but it was the house of prayer. Potts now stopped, partly leaned
forward, and watched till whoever it might be was through his devotions.
This was not long. And whom should he now see but Washington himself,
the commander of the American armies, returning from bending prostrate
before the God of armies above.
Potts himself was a pious man. He knew the power of prayer; and no
sooner had he reached home, than in the fullness of his faith he broke
forth to his wife Sarah, in the language of a watchman:
"Wife—Sarah, my dear, all's well—all's well! Yes, George Washington is
sure to beat the British—_sure_!"
"What—what's the matter with thee, Isaac?" replied the startled Sarah.
"Thee seems to be much moved about something."
"Well, and what if I am moved? Who would not be moved at such a sight as
I have seen to-day?"
"And what has thee seen, Isaac?"
"Seen! I've seen a man at prayer, in the woods—George Washington
himself! And now I say—just what I _have_ said—'All's well; George
Washington is sure to beat the British—sure!'"
Whether Sarah's faith was as strong as Isaac's, we can not say; but
Potts' logic was sound—that in a _good_ cause, a man of prayer is sure
to succeed—SURE!
That Washington was a constant attendant upon divine worship, and a man
of prayer, admits of no doubt. This was highly to his credit; for it too
often happens that men in important stations think that their pressure
of business will justly excuse them for neglecting all religious duties.
It is related of Washington, that in the French and Indian war, when he
was a Colonel, he used himself, in the absence of the chaplain, on the
Sabbath, to read the Scriptures to the soldiers of his regiment, and to
pray with them; and that more than once he was found on his knees in his
marquee at secret prayer.
While at home at Mount Vernon, he was always punctual to go to church.
Sometimes he had distinguished men to visit him, and who he knew had no
great regard for religion. This made no difference with his conduct. On
such occasions he regularly attended church, and invited them to
accompany him.
During his residence in Philadelphia, as President of the United States,
he was a constant attendant at the house of God, on the Sabbath; thus
setting a becoming example to others in authority. And it has often been
remarked, that in all his public messages to Congress, he was particular
to allude in some appropriate manner to God's overruling providence, and
his sense of his own and the nation's dependence upon divine favor, for
individual and national prosperity.
The greatness of Washington was conceded even more fully by the great
than by the "common herd" of mankind. Bonaparte paid a tribute to the
American's fame scarcely to be exceeded for its terms of admiration.
"Ah, gentlemen," the French General exclaimed to some young Americans
happening at Toulon, and anxious to see the mighty Corsican, had
obtained the honor of an introduction to him, "how fares your
countryman, the great Washington?"
"He was very well," replied the youths, brightening at the thought that
they were the countrymen of Washington, "he was very well, General, when
we left America."
"Ah, gentlemen," rejoined he, "Washington can never be otherwise than
well. The measure of _his_ fame is full. Posterity will talk of him with
reverence as the founder of a great empire, when my name shall be lost
in the vortex of revolutions."
This recalls the celebrated "toast scene" wherein Dr. Franklin "paid his
respects" to the English and French. It is thus recited:
Long after Washington's victories over the French and English had made
his name familiar to all Europe, Dr. Franklin chanced to dine with the
English and French embassadors, when the following toasts were drunk. By
the British embassador: "England—the sun, whose bright beams enlighten
and fructify the remotest corners of the earth." The French embassador,
glowing with national pride, but too polite to dispute the previous
toast, drank: "France—the _moon_, whose mild, steady and cheering rays
are the delight of all nations, consoling them in darkness, and making
their dreariness beautiful."
Dr. Franklin then rose, and with his usual dignified simplicity, said:
"_George Washington—the Joshua, who commanded the sun and moon to stand
still, and they obeyed him._"
We could fill many pages with anecdotes of Washington, illustrative of
his goodness, his real, _heart_ piety, his reliance on an overruling
Providence; but will not, at this time, devote more space to the theme,
promising ourselves the pleasures of again recurring to the truly august
subject.