AFTER THE BATTLE
TOM COWARD, as we know, had been selected to serve as one of the guides
of the American army. The roads were not so numerous as to cause any
fear of serious trouble from confusion; but boys and young men from the
region were nevertheless assigned to this duty, and in some instances
were said to have been so greatly excited as to have failed in finding
the way themselves. To this cause some assigned the failure of Morgan's
dragoons to enter the battle; but doubtless there were other causes as
well which prevented that terrible band of riflemen from having a share
in the struggle.
Tom had been reserved to move with the troops that were under the
command of General Washington himself, and that followed the division
which General Lee had failed to lead into battle. Frightened as the lad
was, he still noted keenly all that was occurring about him, and had
been as highly excited as any over the interview which took place
between Washington and Lee when the latter was retreating. The
impressions he there received were those which the people of Old
Monmouth ever after retained concerning Charles Lee, for he was
remembered, not for his experiences abroad or for his successes in the
south, but as the man who had been the traitor in the battle.
When the engagement began, Tom's duties as guide were ended, but as no
one gave him any instructions, he was driven from one band of men to
another, and while he still retained the rifle which he had taken when
he had departed from Benzeor's house, he had not made any use of it.
For a time he remained within sight of the young lieutenant, and they
were together when in the early part of the battle Captain Molly had
done the deed which has caused her name to be remembered until this day.
Molly had marched with her husband, and as the advanced batteries opened
fire upon each other the intrepid woman had been running back and forth
between the men and a little spring, which was near by, bringing water
to her husband and his companions. Her task was no light one in the heat
of that day.
As she had started to return from one of her visits to the spring, she
turned just in time to see her husband fall as he was advancing to his
post, for he was a cannoneer, as we already know. Molly hastily ran to
his assistance, but she at once perceived that he was dead. She heard an
officer order the cannon to be moved from its position, but instantly
controlling her grief, she declared her purpose to take her husband's
place. Amidst the cheers of the men she did so, and so bravely and well
did she perform the duty, that after the battle was ended General Greene
himself presented her to the great commander and related the story of
her bravery. Washington added his words of praise and bestowed upon her
a lieutenant's commission. The men received the news with loud cheers,
and then themselves bestowed upon "Molly Pitcher" the title of "Captain
Molly," and as Captain Molly she was known thereafter.
Another story, told afterwards by the Frenchmen, reflected great credit
upon General Clinton, and perhaps in a measure atoned for the action of
that commander in wantonly burning so many of the houses in Old
Monmouth. An American officer with about twenty of his men advanced
under the English batteries to observe their position. The redcoats
opened fire, and the officer's aid-de-camp fell at his side. The men,
who were dragoons, instantly turned and fled,--that is, all save the
officer, who, although he was directly under the fire of the cannon,
calmly dismounted and advanced to discover whether the fallen man was
dead or not, or whether the wound had been mortal. Quickly discovering
that the man was dead, the American officer, visibly weeping, turned and
remounted his horse and slowly rejoined his comrades. The officer was
the young Marquis de Lafayette, and his white charger had been
recognized by General Clinton, who himself ordered his men not to fire,
and doubtless thereby saved the life of the brave young nobleman. It was
long cherished as the one deed of mercy in the midst of a campaign and
battle which left its marks of suffering and sorrow on every side.
An instance of the other side of the British commander's character came
to Tom's attention not long afterwards, when he heard of the misfortune
of an old lady seventy years of age, in whose house General Clinton made
his headquarters. The British officer, noticing that his hostess had
caused all of her better furniture and valuables to be removed, informed
her that she need have had no fears for the safety of her possessions,
for he himself would protect her and them, and urged her to have them
brought back again. As the old lady expressed her fears and objected, he
repeated his assurances so strongly that she yielded and sent a man with
a wagon to the place in which they had been concealed.
When the wagon-load arrived in front of her door, she in person applied
to the British commander for a guard; but the permission was refused
and, not even giving her a change of dress for herself or her aged
husband, the goods were at once confiscated, and the old lady was
compelled to give up her bedroom and sleep with the negro women upon the
floor of the kitchen.
Among the congregation which had assembled at the "new church" to watch
the battle was one man who, instead of joining his friends upon the roof
or steeple, took his seat upon one of the gravestones. Not long
afterwards, a cannon-ball came speeding in that direction, and struck
the unfortunate man.
The congregation upon the roof did not wait for the customary
benediction to be pronounced, we may be sure, and while the most of them
hastily dispersed, a few remained to carry the wounded man into the
"meeting-house," where he died within a few minutes, and the stains of
his blood remained for many years upon the floor. It was within six feet
of the west end of this same "new church" that the body of the
unfortunate British Colonel Monckton, over which the contending forces
had such a desperate struggle, was buried.
Within the vicinity of Monmouth Court House many houses and farm
buildings were set on fire and burned by the redcoats, some of whom
openly declared that there was no hope of conquering the rebels until
"they had burned every house and killed every man, woman, and child."
Just how they expected to conquer _after_ they had burned the buildings
and slain the people is not clear to us to-day; but doubtless the
expression and the purpose alike were born of the fury of the battle,
and was only one among many of the results of war, which even in its
mildest forms appeals to all that is bad in men. And as the campaign in
Old Monmouth presented none of the milder forms of war, such deeds,
terrible as they were, were not unnatural.
Nor were they all confined to one side, for the men in buff and blue
were as much aroused as the men in scarlet, and, while naturally the
anecdotes and incidents of the battle are largely those of the cruel
deeds of the redcoats, doubtless if all things had been recorded, we
should have found that many of those brave ancestors of ours were not
entirely guiltless of similar deeds.
An unusual story was that of Captain Cook of the Virginia Corps, who was
shot through the lungs. He was carried into a room in a near-by house
and ordered by the surgeon not to speak. A brother officer came into the
room and tenderly asked of the wounded man whether anything could be
done for him. Captain Cook, in spite of his sufferings, was mindful of
the surgeon's words and made no reply. Mistaking the cause of the
silence, his friend departed from the house and reported to Washington
that Captain Cook was dead, and then the commander ordered a coffin to
be placed under the window of the room in which the brave captain was
supposed to be lying dead. But Captain Cook was not dead, nor did he
die until many years afterwards, and lived to visit several times the
good people in Old Monmouth, who had tenderly ministered to his wants
until he was able to rejoin the army.
After the battle, many of the dead were found beneath the shade of
trees, or beside the little streams to which they had crawled for
shelter or for water; and many of these had perished, not from wounds,
but from their labors in the intense heat of the day. Several houses at
Monmouth Court House were filled with the wounded after the battle, and
every room in the Court House itself was likewise filled. The suffering
soldiers lay upon the straw which had been scattered over the floors,
and the groans and cries of the wounded and the moanings of the dying
resounded together. The faces of many were so blackened that their
dearest friends did not recognize them, and as fast as they died their
bodies were taken and buried in pits, which were only slightly covered
by the sand.
A similar service was rendered for the enemy's dead, and among them was
found a sergeant of dragoons whose immense body had been a familiar
sight to both armies, for the man was said to have been the tallest
soldier ever seen in all the struggle of the Revolution, and to have
measured seven feet and four inches in height.
So, side by side, or in neighboring graves, the nameless bodies of
friends and foes were left for their last long sleep. The roar of the
cannon, the shouts of the men, the calls of the officers, the bitter
feelings of the awful war were never to disturb or arouse them again.
They had done their part, and done it well; but the land for which they
struggled could never mark their resting-places, nor perhaps recall the
names of all. But the heroes whose names we praise would never have been
honored except for the part the faithful and brave, but nameless and
forgotten, heroes took. In honoring the one class, let us never forget
to pay a tribute of honor and of praise to the unknown and forgotten
heroes of Old Monmouth.
The loss of the Americans in the battle had been three hundred and
sixty-two. That of the British, while it was reported to have been four
hundred and sixteen, was doubtless much greater, for the Americans
buried no less than two hundred and forty-five of the redcoats, and had
no means of knowing how many had been carried away. Washington himself
believed the loss to have been as great as twelve hundred.
Who were the victors on the plains of Old Monmouth? What were the
effects of the campaign upon the fortunes of the struggling States? Most
American writers have claimed that the victory belonged to the
Continentals because they had driven the British from the field, while
many British writers have claimed that it was a drawn battle.
Certainly, Washington must have felt bitterly disappointed, for he had
hoped to defeat the enemy and capture their baggage and stores. His
failure to do so was not due to the British, but to the treachery of
Charles Lee. Had Lee carried out the orders given him, there can be
little doubt to-day that the battle of Monmouth would have aided in
putting an end to the war long before peace came.
We are not concerned by what might have been the result, however, but by
what was the result. Clinton succeeded in withdrawing his troops and
saving his baggage train, and with both soon after embarked (June 30)
upon the ships which Lord Howe had been keeping in waiting off Sandy
Hook, and thereby gained the safety of New York. But his men were
greatly disheartened, and came to regard the despised "rebels" in an
entirely new light. Indeed, within a week more than two thousand
deserted, the most of whom were Hessians, and the confidence of those
who remained was sadly broken. While it is a current saying that
"nothing succeeds like success," it is also evident that nothing fails
like failure, and this was as true in those trying days of the
Revolution as it is to-day, and General Clinton soon found it to be so.
Upon the Americans, the moral effect of the campaign and battle was more
needed than the material effect. Valley Forge was passed now,
Philadelphia had been abandoned by the British, and the Americans had
found upon the plains of Old Monmouth, as they had at Trenton and
Princeton, that their men were not inferior to their enemies, while
their officers were among the best the world had known. The opponents
and enemies of Washington, and they were many at the time both within
and without Congress, were compelled to be silent, and the great
commander was free to face his difficulties and dangers, which were not
ended after the battle of Monmouth. That campaign had served chiefly to
place behind him one more of his problems, but, as we shall see, many
yet remained to try the soul of the noblest American of them all.
Meanwhile, what had become of the lad Tom Coward? Alarmed by the battle,
not daring to fight and yet not knowing where to withdraw, although his
fear had not been strong enough to lead to such a result, he was driven
about by the movements of the men, and in one of the lulls which came in
the conflict, he found himself almost alone. He was near a barn which
stood beyond the borders of the battlefield, and was just about to turn
the corner when he stumbled over the body of a fallen man.
As he glanced down, he was almost overcome when he discovered that the
soldier was his friend, the young lieutenant. A hurried examination
revealed that he was still living, though he was badly wounded in the
throat. The lad lifted the head of the suffering man, but a groan caused
him to desist. Almost overcome by grief and fear, he turned to seek for
aid.
[Illustration: HE DISCOVERED THAT THE SOLDIER WAS HIS FRIEND]
As he looked quickly about him, he perceived a man in the distance on
the border of the woods away from the battle-ground. Instantly he
turned and ran toward him, and to his surprise discovered that the man
was none other than Friend Nathan Brown.
"Come, Nathan! come! Be quick! Lieutenant Gordon's over here by the
barn. He's terribly wounded and may die any moment. Come and help me
with him!"
The Quaker instantly responded, and without explaining how it had
happened that he should be discovered so near a scene to which in spirit
as well as in practice he was strongly opposed, ran by the side of the
eager lad to the place where the wounded man had fallen.