Produced by Al Haines
BOYS' BOOK
OF
FAMOUS SOLDIERS
BY
J. WALKER McSPADDEN
THE WORLD PUBLISHING CO.
CLEVELAND, OHIO ---- NEW YORK, N. Y.
Copyright, MCMXIX
by
The World Syndicate Publishing Co.
_Printed in the United States of America_
PREFACE
So much has been written about the great soldiers of the world, that it
is a matter of considerable hardihood to attempt to present another
volume on the subject in any sense "new." But the Great War has not
only brought to the center of the stage a new group of martial
figures--it has also intensified and revivified our interest in those
of a bygone day. The springs of history rise far back. We can the
better appreciate our leaders of today and their problems, by comparing
them with the leaders and problems of yesterday. Waterloo takes on a
new aspect when viewed from Vimy Ridge.
The present book includes a round dozen of the great soldiers of
yesterday and today. The list is about equally divided among British,
French, and American leaders, and is confined to the last two
centuries. Each man selected is typical of a particular time and task.
His life story contains a message of definite interest and value.
In telling these stories, however, in the limits of brief chapters, we
have carefully abstained from the writing of formal biographies. Such
a treatment would have resulted merely in a rehash of time-worn data
beginning "He was born," and ending "He died."
The plan of these stories is to give a personal portrait of the man,
using the background of his early life--to trace his career up from
boyhood through the formative years. Such data serves to explain the
great soldier of later years. Every schoolboy knows, for example, what
Washington did after he was placed in command of the Colonial Army--but
what he did in the earlier years to _deserve_ this high command is a
story not so well known. Yet it is both interesting in itself, and
serves to humanize its subject. The stately Washington steps down off
his pedestal, and shoulders again his surveyor's tripod of boyhood
days, while he invites us to take a tramp through the Virginia wilds.
The writing (and, we hope, the reading) of these life stories brings an
especial message. We discover that in each instance the famous soldier
was not a pet of Fortune, but was selected for his high and arduous
task, because of the training received in his formative years. His
peculiar gift of leadership was merely an expression of his indomitable
will to forge ahead. He exemplified in his life the Boy Scout motto,
"Be Prepared."
CONTENTS
WASHINGTON
GRANT
LEE
NAPOLEON
WELLINGTON
GORDON
ROBERTS
KITCHENER
HAIG
JOFFRE
FOCH
PERSHING
BOYS' BOOK OF FAMOUS SOLDIERS
WASHINGTON
THE YOUNG SURVEYOR
"Turn your guns around on them! Stop them!"
The command was given in peremptory tones to a demoralized group of
soldiers. Not waiting for them to carry out his orders, the young
officer who gave them leaped from his horse, and with his own hands
turned one of the guns upon the advancing foe.
Had it been the Argonne Forest, and the year 1918, it would have been a
machine gun that the officer manned. But the time was over a century
and a half earlier than this--and the weapon a light brass field-piece,
which after being fired once, must be painfully reloaded.
Meanwhile, the redskins came on.
The young officer, whose name has come down to history as George
Washington, was trying to stem the tide of defeat. It was the fateful
day when old General Braddock of the British army received his first
and fatal lesson in Indian warfare. Says an old Pennsylvania ranger
who was also in the fray:
"I saw Col. Washington spring from his panting horse, and seize a brass
field-piece as if it had been a stick. His look was terrible. He put
his right hand on the muzzle, his left hand on the breach; he pulled
with this, he pushed with that, and wheeled it round, as if it had been
a plaything. It furrowed the ground like a ploughshare. He tore the
sheet-lead from the touch-hole; then the powder-monkey rushed up with
the fire, when the cannon went off, making the bark fly from the trees,
and many an Indian send up his last yell and bite the dust."
Yet this resourceful officer, fighting almost single-handed against
certain defeat, was then only a young man a few months past twenty-one.
He was displaying the same qualities which were later to make him the
commander-in-chief of a Revolution.
George Washington was a typical example of the born leader. He had
received no set military training save that which the stern necessity
of frontier life forced upon him. Yet at nineteen we find him no less
courageous and active when facing the enemy. He had been reared as a
farmer boy, with no other intention at first than the successful
management of his father's estates in Virginia. But boys in those days
had to learn to handle the rifle as readily as the plow, and Washington
was no exception to this rule.
Born in 1732 (every schoolboy knows the month and day) at Bridges
Creek, Virginia, his first home was a plain wooden farmhouse of
somewhat primitive pattern, with four rooms on the ground floor, and a
roomy attic covered by a long, sloping roof. But before he was more
than able to walk this house burned down, and the family removed to
another farm in what was later Stafford County--an attractive knoll
across the Rappahannock River from Fredericksburg.
When George was eleven years old he lost his father, which threw him to
a great extent upon his own resources, so far as outdoor life was
concerned, although his education was still the care of his mother, who
is pictured as a gentlewoman of the old school--one born to command.
To her Washington owed many traits, among them his courtliness. In
those days, the gentle-bred boys always used very formal language when
addressing their elders. And so we find Washington writing to his
mother, even after he became of age, beginning his letter with,
"Honored Madam," and ending "Your dutiful son."
After his father's death, George Washington made his home for four or
five years with his brother Augustine, who lived at the old homestead,
now rebuilt, at Bridges Creek; and near there he attended school. It
was in no sense a remarkable school, being kept by a Mr. Williams, but
it was thorough in the fundamentals, the "Three R's," without going in
much for the frills. Some of Washington's exercise books are still
preserved, showing in a good round hand a series of "Rules of Civility
and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation."
Such things sound somewhat priggish today; but in those days they were
a necessary part of one's education. Washington was probably neither
better nor worse than the run of Virginia boys, of gentle stock, in
those days--just a good-natured, fun-loving youngster, not especially
bright as a scholar, but known as a plodder. One of his early
playmates was Richard Henry Lee, who also grew up to be a famous
Virginian; and between the two some droll schoolboy letters passed.
Washington was to be, like his father, a Virginia planter; and this may
have had something to do with the sort of education he received, which
was not very extensive. But along with his early training for farm
life there were many echoes of the military, which must have had a
lasting influence on the growing lad. His brother, Lawrence, had been
a soldier in His Majesty's service, and his stories of campaign life so
fired George's imagination that he was for throwing his books away, at
fifteen, and going into the navy. He was too young for the army, but
Lawrence, who rather encouraged him, told him that he could get him a
berth as midshipman.
It is related that the young middy's luggage was actually on board a
British man-of-war anchored in the Potomac, when Madam Washington, who
all along had been reluctant to give her consent, now withdrew it
altogether; and the "dutiful son" was saved from the navy for a larger
arena.
The boy was then just turned fifteen, and seems to have rebelled from
the humdrum life of the plantation. He was at the restless age, and
his naturally adventurous disposition sought a more active outlet.
This proved to be surveying--a profession then greatly in demand.
There were great tracts of wilderness in Virginia still inhabited by
Indians and infested by wild animals, which had never heard the sound
of the woodman's axe. These tracts had been included in grants from
the King, but their boundaries had never been exactly determined. To
make such surveys was a task requiring both skill and courage.
Washington was naturally an exact and painstaking boy. He now applied
himself to geometry and trigonometry; and at the ripe age of sixteen
was ready to sling his somewhat crude surveyor's instruments across his
shoulder and subdue the wilderness. It promised excitement and
adventure--and the work was well paid.
Washington was even then a strapping big fellow, tall and muscular, and
nearly six feet in height. He afterwards exceeded this height, but at
sixteen there were naturally some hollows which remained to be filled
out. He is described as having a well-shaped, active figure,
symmetrical except for the unusual length of his arms, indicating great
strength. His light brown hair was drawn back from a broad forehead,
and grayish-blue eyes looked happily and perhaps soberly on the
pleasant Virginia hills and valleys. His face was open and manly, set
off by a square, massive jaw, and a general expression of calmness and
strength. "Fair and florid, big and strong, he was, take him for all
in all, as fine a specimen of his race as could be found in the English
colonies."
It was at this turning point in his career that Washington was
fortunate in finding a friend and protector in Lord Fairfax, whose
daughter was the wife of Lawrence Washington. This distinguished old
veteran, a long-time friend of the Washington family, took a particular
fancy to the young man. They hunted the fox together, and hunted him
hard. In those days fox-hunting was no kid glove and pink tea affair.
It was one of many perilous outdoor sports that frontier Virginia could
afford; and as they hunted, the old English nobleman had opportunity to
learn what sort of stuff this young Virginian was made of. He saw that
here was a union of sturdy qualities upon which he could rely.
Lord Fairfax then owned, by kingly grant, a vast estate stretching
across the Blue Ridge into the untrodden wilderness. Until the estate
was properly surveyed, it would be subject to endless lawsuits. We can
imagine the following conversation on one of their helter-skelter rides
together:
"What are you studying now, George?"
"Mathematics, sir."
"Humph! Like it?"
"In part--but some of it is stiff."
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Well, sir," hesitated George, "since my mother objects to my going
into the navy, I thought I would turn my hand at surveying. There's
lots to be done around here."
"The very thing! I think I could use you, myself. When you are ready
let me know, and I'll send you over the hill yonder to mark out where
Fairfax starts, and where he ends. My cousin George will go with you."
So, in some such fashion it was arranged, and in the spring of 1748,
George Fairfax and George Washington set forth on their adventures.
The Virginia mountains were just budding forth in the freshness of
spring when they started out by way of Ashby's Gap, in the Blue Ridge,
entering the valley of Virginia. Thence they worked through the
Shenandoah region, crossing the swollen Potomac and surveying the hilly
country of what is now Frederick County.
It was a rough and hazardous trip lasting over a month, but one that
left them fit and seasoned woodsmen. They had learned what it was to
shift for themselves; to defend themselves against prowling beasts in
an untrodden wilderness; to swim swollen currents; to be wet and cold
and hungry; to come suddenly upon a war party of Indians, who would not
have scrupled to kill them, had the savages known that these two youths
were plotting and dividing up the hunting grounds which they claimed as
their own.
That all these things were a part of their experience we note from
jottings made briefly but methodically by Washington in his diary of
the trip. As to the survey itself, a Virginia title attorney remarked,
many years afterward, that in clearing up old titles the lines surveyed
by Washington were more reliable than any others of their day.
Lord Fairfax was so pleased with its results that he procured for his
protégé an appointment as public surveyor. It was his induction into
three years of hard frontier life, which was the finest possible
schooling to him, for his later career as soldier. We find him writing
to a friend:
"Since you received my letter of October last, I have not slept above
three or four nights in a bed, but after walking a good deal all the
day, I have lain down before the fire upon a little hay, straw, fodder,
or a bearskin, whichever was to be had, with man, wife, and children,
like dogs and cats; and happy is he who gets the berth nearest the
fire. Nothing would make it pass off tolerably but a good reward. A
doubloon is my constant gain every day that the weather will permit of
my going out, and sometimes six pistoles."
This would indicate that he was a thrifty lad, honestly pleased with
honest earnings--and no mere adventurer.
About this time, a company was formed, called the Ohio Company, for the
purpose of opening a trade route through northern Virginia and
Maryland. George Washington's two elder brothers, Lawrence and
Augustine, were interested in the 'enterprise'; and they naturally
called in their young surveyor brother to consultation. The project
sounded fascinating, but presented many elements of danger. The French
were becoming more and more active, and making warlike preparations to
seize and hold all the western frontier. In order to develop and hold
this land against the French and their Indian allies, it was necessary
to place the work in the hands of a military leader.
George Washington was at this time only nineteen years old, but fully
grown--a man of powerful physique, hardened and seasoned by his outdoor
life. Despite his youth and lack of military experience, the Ohio
Company secured for him the appointment of adjutant general of this
district. Washington at once placed himself under several military
officers of his acquaintance, among them a Major Muse, and soon
acquired at least the rudiments of warfare, the manual of arms. The
broader school of tactics he was to acquire for himself in the field of
experience.
An interruption to his military career came in the illness of his
brother Lawrence. A voyage to the West Indies was determined upon, for
the invalid, and George accompanied him--on the young man's first sea
voyage, and of which he has left us entertaining glimpses in his
ever-faithful diary. But after a winter in the South Seas, Lawrence
grew worse and was brought home to die. George, though only twenty,
was made one of the executors to the estate, Mount Vernon, which became
henceforth his home.
Shortly afterward, we find George Washington given still higher office,
but one which entailed heavy responsibilities. The newly appointed
governor of the state, Robert Dinwiddie, growing uneasy at the constant
reports of alliances between the French and Indians, determined to send
a commissioner to the French commander, to ask by what right he was
building forts in English dominions; and also to treat with the
Indians, in the way of counter proposals against the French.
It was a hazardous mission, and one which also involved tact,
diplomacy, and a first-hand knowledge of the wilderness. But we are
not much surprised to find Washington, at twenty-one, given the
commission of major and sent on this undertaking.
Leaving Williamsburg with a little company of six, he set out on a
cross-country trip by horseback, of more than a thousand miles. The
details of this adventurous journey make interesting reading, but
cannot find place in this necessarily brief story. They reached an
Indian village near where the city of Pittsburgh now stands, then
turned south to the junction of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers
where dwelt a friendly tribe of Indians. Thence they went to Fort le
Boeuf, where the French commander received the Virginia major politely,
entertained him, but tried at the same time to win his Indian friends
away from him.
The return journey was terrible. The horses had become so weak that
they were useless except as light pack animals. The little party
struggled along on foot. Washington with one companion went on ahead.
It was the dead of winter, but when they reached the Ohio River, they
found that instead of its being frozen solid, as they had hoped, it was
a turbulent mass of tossing cakes of ice.
"There was no way of getting over," writes Washington in his journal,
"but on a raft, which we set about, with but one poor hatchet, and
finished just after sun-setting. This was a whole day's work; we next
got it launched, then went on board of it, and set off; but before we
were half-way over, we were jammed in the ice in such a manner that we
expected every moment our raft to sink and ourselves to perish. I put
out my setting-pole to try to stop the raft, that the ice might pass
by, when the rapidity of the stream threw it with so much violence
against the pole, that it jerked me out into ten feet of water; but I
fortunately saved myself by catching hold of one of the raft-logs.
Notwithstanding all our efforts, we could not get to either shore, but
were obliged, as we were near an island, to quit our raft and make to
it. The cold was so extremely severe that Mr. Gist had all his fingers
and some of his toes frozen, and the water was shut up so hard that we
found no difficulty in getting off the island on the ice in the
morning, and went to Mr. Frazier's."
Here they succeeded in procuring horses, and in a few days more, Major
Washington handed in his report to the Governor at Williamsburg.
This report stirred the Virginia House of Burgesses to action. It
showed that the whole western frontier was imperilled. One of
Washington's recommendations, that a fort be built at the fork of the
Ohio, was put into effect at once; and a Captain Trent was sent out
with some woodsmen to begin its construction. But before the fort was
completed a force of French descended upon it and captured it. Near
its site they themselves built a larger one, which they called Fort
Duquesne--the site of the later city of Pittsburgh.
This action on the part of the French was equivalent to a declaration
of war. It was really the beginning of the Seven Years' War between
England and France, for the control of America--a drama in which
Washington was to have no little part.
When news of the French move reached the Governor, he sent Washington,
with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and a small armed force against
the invaders. The men were mostly half-trained militia whom Washington
had been drilling for some such emergency. They were raw soldiers, but
hardy fellows, who thoroughly believed in their young commander. He
himself, although but twenty-two, was a seasoned campaigner of the
wilderness. Now he was essaying his first trial as a soldier.
His men marched to a point about half-way to Fort Duquesne, blazing a
road for other troops to follow, and constructing a fort to serve as a
base of supplies. There he sent out scouts to reconnoitre. They
reported an advancing party of French who were ready to attack any
English whom they might encounter. Washington did not wait for them to
attack. He decided to attack first. Taking a force of about forty men
he made a night march in the pelting rain, to surprise the enemy. It
reminds us of his later famous exploit at Trenton.
"The path," he wrote, "was hardly wide enough for one man. We often
lost it, and could not find it again for fifteen or twenty minutes, and
we often tumbled over each other in the dark."
However, at daybreak on this May day of 1754, they reached the camp of
their Indian allies; who in turn took them with stealthy tread to the
hollow where lay the French--waiting to ambush the colonists. But it
was their turn to be surprised, and they quickly sprang to their feet
and grasped their weapons.
Washington gave his men the order to fire--the first of many such
orders that were to come in the stormy days of two successive wars--and
in a sense this was the opening gun. A lively but brief skirmish
followed. The French lost their commander, Jumonville, and nine
others. The English lost only one man, killed, and two or three
wounded. The remainder of the French, twenty-two in number, were taken
prisoners.
The affair made a great stir, and was the forerunner of extended
hostilities. Washington foresaw the results immediately, and set his
men to constructing a fort which was called Fort Necessity. He had won
his first battle and it greatly inspired his troops. Writing
afterwards to his brother, Lawrence, he said: "I heard the bullets
whistle; and, believe me, there is something charming in the sound."
Their fort, however, was well-named. For presently the French and
Indians marched down upon them, nine hundred strong, and as Washington
had, all told, but three hundred poorly equipped men, they were
compelled to surrender. The terms of surrender were liberal enough,
permitting the English to return home with their light arms.
Thus did Washington's first campaign come to a somewhat inglorious
close. He tendered his resignation, and may have felt humiliated over
his defeat; although the House of Burgesses passed a vote of thanks to
him and his staff, "for their bravery and gallant defense of their
country." But later when Governor Dinwiddie requested him to head
another regiment against Fort Duquesne, Washington politely declined.
He had not received sufficient support in the first venture to warrant
another such attempt.
The next stage in the French and Indian War--and likewise in
Washington's military development--was the arrival of General Braddock
with two regiments of seasoned troops from England. Braddock was an
old campaigner of forty years' experience, who had long since learned
all that was to be taught about the art of warfare.
"He'd teach those French a lesson--and as for the Indians--stuff and
nonsense!"
Braddock's arrival made a great stir in the colonies. It was the first
sign of real help from the Mother Country. The governors of four or
five of the colonies met him at Alexandria. It was near Mount Vernon,
and the young retired officer watched the preparations with keenest
interest. He could not help contrasting this splendid equipment with
the scanty packs which his own men had carried.
Much to his delight, he was invited by General Braddock to join his
staff as an aide-de-camp, a post which Washington joyfully accepted.
Braddock had heard something of the Virginia colonel even before
leaving England; and was not so much honoring this colonial officer, as
immeasurably strengthening his own good right arm--if he had only had
the discernment to know it. As results showed, Braddock did not need
his heavy cannon nearly so much as he needed an insight into wilderness
ways.
Just before Braddock started west on his ill-fated expedition, he
conferred at Fredericktown, Maryland, with the Postmaster General of
Pennsylvania, a strong, practical man, who was to obtain some
greatly-needed horses and wagons for his artillery and supplies. This
man, a middle-aged and rather plain sort of fellow--and the youthful
Virginia colonel whom he may have met then for the first time--possibly
attracted very little attention in the gaudy military array. But
American history could ill have spared either Benjamin Franklin or
George Washington.
We will not narrate again in detail here the oft-told story of
Braddock's Defeat--how he insisted on marching across the mountains and
valleys of Pennsylvania, as though on parade--with banners flying,
fifes shrilling, and drums beating. It was a brave display, and such
as the old General was accustomed to, in Europe. It would undoubtedly
put the French and their skulking allies to instant flight!
Against such a method of warfare Washington raised his voice of
counsel, but in vain. The grizzled veteran brushed him aside.
Washington was for rapid marching, with scouting troops deployed on
ahead.
"But this prospect," he writes, "was soon clouded, and my hopes brought
very low indeed, when I found that, instead of pushing on with vigor,
without regarding a little rough road, they were halting to level every
molehill, and to erect bridges over every brook, by which means we were
four days in getting twelve miles."
A few days before Braddock reached the vicinity of Fort Duquesne,
Washington had fallen sick of a fever, and had barely recovered
strength enough to rejoin the command. But the slow progress to which
he refers, enabled him to do so before the attack--though he was still
far from well.
As he rode up to meet the general, he could not help but admire the
beauty of the scene. The troops had crossed a ford on the Monongahela,
about fifteen miles from the fort, and now marched in close formation
along its winding bank, as though on dress parade. But his admiration
of the display only intensified his sense of danger--the sixth sense of
every woodsman. He begged his general to scatter his forces somewhat,
or at least send scouts ahead. But Braddock rebuked him angrily for
presuming to teach English regulars how to fight.
Suddenly the sound of firing was heard at the front, although no
attacking party could be seen. The soldiers had marched straight into
an ambush, as Washington had feared. With whoops and yells the Indians
commanded by a few French were firing from behind every rock and tree.
The regulars were thrown into confusion. This type of warfare was new
to them. They did not know how to answer it. The front ranks recoiled
upon the others, throwing all into wild turmoil.
Washington at once threw himself into the fight--counselling,
persuading, commanding. A company of Virginians, previously sneered at
as "raw militia," spread themselves out as a protecting party of
skirmishers. The English officers, also, be it said, displayed the
utmost bravery in trying to rally their men. The general, as though to
atone for his headstrong folly, seemed everywhere at once. He had two
horses shot from under him, before receiving wounds in his own body,
which were to prove mortal.
It was all over in a comparatively short time. The troops which had so
proudly marched, with arms glittering in the sun, were put to rout by
an unseen foe. That they were not almost annihilated was due to the
presence of Washington and the Virginians. They fought the enemy in
kind, and protected the fugitives until some sort of order could be
restored.
Washington it was who collected the troops and rescued the dying
general. He it was who led them back to meet the reinforcements under
Dunbar. And he it was who laid the remains of Braddock in the grave,
four days later, and read the burial service above him.
Again had the young soldier to taste the bitter dregs of defeat--but it
was salutary, and a part of the iron discipline which was making him
into the future leader.
That he had not lost any prestige by this experience, but rather gained
thereby, is shown by the call that came urgently to him, soon after, to
take command of all the forces of Virginia. He did not want the
command, but felt that after such a vote of confidence he could not
decline it. And so for three years more he struggled on, a general
without an army, to protect the western frontier of Virginia against
invasion. In April, 1757, he wrote:
"I have been posted for more than twenty months past, upon our cold and
barren frontiers, to perform, I think I may say, impossibilities; that
is, to protect from the cruel incursions of a crafty, savage enemy a
line of inhabitants, of more than three hundred and fifty miles in
extent, with a force inadequate to the task."
In the winter of 1758 his health broke down completely, and he feared
that it was permanently impaired. He resigned his commission and
retired to Mount Vernon for a much-needed rest.
Thus closes the first and formative period of Washington's life--the
period with which the present brief sketch is chiefly concerned. As we
read of those years of adventure and hardship from an early age, we
realize that here was being hammered into shape upon the anvil of
circumstance a very special weapon for some great need. Washington was
not an accident. He was a fine example of what special training can do
for the boy who does his bit with all his might. And because he was
better fitted for the task than any other man in America, we find him,
a few years later, chosen to lead the colonist forces against mighty
England. A pen picture of him at the time, from the diary of James
Thacher, a surgeon in the Revolution, deserves repeating:
"The personal appearance of our commander-in-chief is that of a perfect
gentleman and accomplished warrior. He is remarkably tall--full six
feet--erect and well-proportioned. The strength and proportion of his
joints and muscles appear to be commensurate with the pre-eminent
powers of his mind. The serenity of his countenance, and majestic
gracefulness of his deportment impart a strong impression of that
dignity and grandeur which are peculiar characteristics; and no one can
stand in his presence without feeling the ascendancy of his mind, and
associating with his countenance the idea of wisdom, philanthropy,
magnanimity, and patriotism. There is a fine symmetry in the features
of his face indicative of a benign and dignified spirit. His nose is
straight, and his eyes inclined to blue. He wears his hair in a
becoming cue, and from his forehead it is turned back, and powdered in
a manner which adds to the military air of his appearance. He displays
a native gravity, but devoid of all appearance of ostentation. His
uniform dress is a blue coat with two brilliant epaulets, buff-colored
underclothes, and a three-cornered hat with a black cockade. He is
constantly equipped with an elegant small-sword, boots and spurs, in
readiness to mount his noble charger."
In this description, somewhat fulsome in its praise, we can read
between the lines the confidence and affection which inspired his
troops during all the trying days of the Revolution.
Washington has suffered much at the hands of his biographers. They
have over-praised him, with the result that many readers of today have
come to regard him as scarcely human--a sort of demi-god. But one or
two more recent biographers have had the courage and conviction to tear
aside the mask, and we can, if we will, see Washington the
man--quick-tempered at times, perhaps profane in the heat of battle,
fond of display and good living in his hours of ease--but also a man to
be trusted in every crisis, cool, courageous, resourceful--a strategist
who made the ablest generals that England could send over against him,
suffer by comparison.
And when the great fight was won, and the last of their proud generals,
Cornwallis, had grudgingly yielded up his sword--it is pleasant to
think of Washington writing about it to--whom do you think?--a
white-haired old man now ninety years of age, who had given the young
surveyor his first start in life. Lord Fairfax was an old Tory, an
unreconstructed English gentleman of the old school, who drank the
King's health religiously every day at dinner. It must have been with
mixed feelings, therefore, that he heard of Cornwallis's surrender.
But pride in his protégé must have conquered. We can imagine him as
lifting his glass with trembling fingers to another toast:
"Here's to George Washington!"
And to that toast grateful America will ever respond.
IMPORTANT DATES IN WASHINGTON'S LIFE
1732. February 22. George Washington born.
1747. Left school.
1748. Became a surveyor.
1753. Sent by Governor Dinwiddie on a mission to the French.
1754. Appointed lieutenant-colonel and sent against the
French and Indians.
1755. Joined General Braddock's staff with rank of colonel.
1757. Resigned his army commission.
1759. Married Martha Dandridge Custis.
1775. Appointed commander-in-chief of American forces,
in Revolution.
1781. Receives surrender of Cornwallis.
1788. Became first President of the United States.
1797. Ended second term as President.
1799. December 14. Died at Mt. Vernon.
GRANT
THE MAN WHO "CAME BACK"
"Can a man 'come back'?"
This is a question one frequently hears nowadays; and the answer is,
more often than not, a shrug of the shoulders. For the man who has
once failed--or even passed his first chance of success--is not
considered seriously in this busy day and time. He is a
"down-and-outer"; he cannot "come back."
But there are exceptions to every rule, and one of the most striking
ones in all history, to the above adage, is furnished by the man who
led the Union forces to victory in the American Civil War, and later
achieved the presidency.
Here was a man who, at forty, was generally regarded as a failure, a
ne'er-do-well. But for the accident of war he would in all likelihood
have ended his days "unwept, unhonored, and unsung." We have a picture
of this middle-aged man, clerking for his younger brothers in a country
store, at eight hundred dollars a year, and day by day sinking further
into the slough of despond.
He was of little real value to the store, at even that meager salary.
He was no good at driving bargains or at palavering with the trade. He
tried to keep out of sight as much as possible among the boxes and
shelves. His clothing was poor and shabby, his hair and beard long and
unkempt. The brand of failure was stamped all over him.
Yet this was the man who in five short years was to become the most
famous military leader of his day.
The life story of Ulysses Simpson Grant abounds in strange paradoxes.
If ever a man was made the plaything of fate, it was he. His career
has even persuaded some writers into the belief that he was "the Man of
Mystery."
His father, Jesse Grant, was a self-taught man, who is said to have
received but six months actual schooling in his life. He was all the
more determined that his son, Ulysses, should have the education that
he lacked. We find him intervening more than once to drive the boy
contrary to the latter's wishes--but to his later good. The father was
tall, about six feet, rugged and aggressive, making friends and enemies
with equal readiness. Ulysses' mother, however, was quiet,
self-possessed, and patient--qualities which she afterwards gave the
boy. Jesse Grant said of her in later years: "Her steadiness and
strength of character have been the stay of the family through life."
At the time of Ulysses' birth (April 27, 1822) the family were living
at Point Pleasant, Claremont County, Ohio. But when he was still an
infant they removed to Georgetown, a few miles away, where the father
established a tannery. At this time the town was little more than a
clearing hewed out from the virgin forest. Wood was plentiful and
cheap, and for this reason, Mr. Grant bought a tract of land and set up
his tannery.
Ulysses, or "Lys" as the neighbors called him, was the oldest of six
children--three boys and three girls. As soon as Ulysses was old
enough, his father started him to school. There were no public schools
in those days, so he went to a school maintained by private
subscription and taught by a man named John White.
White had his own notions about a curriculum, and one of the most
important was discipline. On top of his desk always reposed a bundle
of good husky switches--except at frequently recurring times when they
were beating a tattoo on some hapless scholar's back. It was his boast
that he often used up a whole bunch in a single day. However, his
school was no different from many another of the time. Beatings were
taken as a matter of course. "Spare the rod and spoil the child!"
Ulysses went to this school until he was fourteen, and mastered the
elementary studies. Between whiles he helped his father at the tannery
or on the farm. The tannery work he always hated. But outdoor work,
particularly with horses, he delighted in. At seven years of age he
drove a team with all the skill of a man; and it was said that when he
could scarcely walk he could ride horseback. The story is told of him
that at a county fair, where a prize of five dollars was offered to any
one who could stick on a trick pony, Ulysses won it after several other
boys had got thrown helter-skelter. He flung his arms around the
pony's fat neck, and stuck on, though as he afterward said: "That pony
was as round as an apple."
He tells another amusing story of himself, in these early days. He
greatly coveted a young colt owned by a neighboring farmer, and after
teasing his father, the latter tried to buy it for him. But he offered
only twenty dollars for the colt, and the owner wanted twenty-five.
After some dickering without any result, the boy went to the owner with
this message, which he delivered all in a breath:
"Father says I may offer you twenty dollars; and if you won't take
that, I am to offer you twenty-two and a half; and if you won't take
that for your colt, I am to pay you twenty-five dollars."
"It would not take a Connecticut farmer to tell what was the price paid
for the colt," he added afterward when telling the story.
This little incident, while amusing, reveals a trait in his character
which persisted all through life. He was the soul of candor. He
called a spade a spade. And he never could bargain.
Another early trait revealing itself in later years was something that,
in his Memoirs, he calls a superstition. It was a dislike to turn back
when once started on a journey. If he found himself on the wrong road,
he would keep going until he came to some branching road rather than
turn aside. This habit was destined to make some of the generals on
the other side, in the Civil War, somewhat uncomfortable. They found
that he never quit.
Thus grew up the boy, Ulysses Grant. He was not considered
particularly bright at school, but he was a plodder, going along
keeping his own counsel. He could not talk readily, even in a small
company, and was hopeless when it came to "speaking a piece" on Friday
at the school. But he was a sturdy, outdoor boy, by this time
remarkably proficient with horses. At the age of fifteen he had
explored the back country for miles roundabout.
His father, however, had never lost sight of the fact that the boy was
to get a good schooling--and frequently brought up the subject, to
"Lys's" discomfort. The lad was not especially keen for any more
books. But the opportunity came--just as others were to come, to shape
the whole course of young Grant's life.
The son of a neighbor had received an appointment to West Point, but
had failed to pass the entrance examinations. Jesse Grant immediately
wrote to the Congressman of the district, in behalf of Ulysses,
although the two men were on opposite political sides and had quarreled
bitterly: "If you have no other person in view and feel willing to
consent to the appointment of Ulysses, you will please signify that
consent to the Department."
Ulysses got the appointment, despite the political feud, and it is
pleasant to note that the two men healed their differences and became
good friends again.
The boy received news of his appointment without much enthusiasm. He
would much rather be a horse trader, he told his father. But the
latter was determined--and Ulysses went.
Nor did his appointment please others in the village, who thought the
boy dull. One man meeting Mr. Grant in the street, said bluntly: "I
hear that your boy is going to West Point. Why didn't our
Representative pick some one that would be a credit to the district?"
This ill-natured speech may have been inspired by the fact that
political feeling ran high at that time; and Jesse Grant as a staunch
Whig and Northerner had made a good many enemies.
Ulysses was coached for West Point at an academy at Ripley, Ohio,
conducted by William Taylor, and passed his entrance examinations with
fair grades. His best study was mathematics. He entered at the age of
seventeen.
It took young Grant many a long day to accustom himself to the Military
Academy. The hazing encountered by every Freshman he didn't seem to
mind, so the older men soon let him alone. But the drill and the
dress! To this farm lad it was deadly. These were the days of the
"ramrod" tactics of Winfield Scott--the starch and stock and buckram
days of the army. "Old Fuss and Feathers" his critics called him, but
with all his love of pomp and circumstance Scott was a splendid
soldier, whether on the drill ground, or in the face of the enemy.
Nevertheless, to Grant it was a constant trial, at first. He felt like
a fish out of water. General Charles King thus speaks of him:
"Phlegmatic in temperament and long given to ease and deliberation in
all his movements at home, this springing to attention at the tap of
the drum, this snapping together of the heels at the sound of a
sergeant's voice, this sudden freezing to a rigid pose without the move
of a muscle, except at the word of command, was something almost beyond
him. It seemed utterly unnatural, if not utterly repugnant.
Accustomed to swinging along the winding banks of the White Oak, or the
cow-paths of the pasture lot, this moving only at a measured pace of
twenty-eight inches, and one hundred and ten to the minute, and all in
strict unison with the step of the guide on the marching flank or at
the head of column, came ten times harder than ever did the pages of
'analytical' or the calculus.
"Grant had no sense of rhythm. He had no joy in martial music. The
thrill and inspiration of the drum and fife, or the beautiful harmonies
of the old Academy band were utterly lost on him. In all that class of
1843, it may well be doubted if there lived one solitary soul who found
there less to like or more to shrink from, than this seventeen-year-old
lad who, thanks to the opportunities and to the training there given
them, was in less than a quarter of a century to be hailed as the
foremost soldier of more than two millions of men in the Union blue."
But this was only one of the Grant paradoxes--the contradictions which
were to mark his strange career.
Life at West Point was not all hardship, however. In his quiet way
Grant made a few warm friends. On account of his initials he was
promptly nicknamed "Uncle Sam," which was soon shortened to "Sam." He
excelled in two widely different courses--mathematics and horsemanship.
We have already noticed his early skill with, and love for horses. Now
it was to stand him in good stead. He was assigned, during one year,
to a particularly intractable young horse--a big, raw-boned sorrel,
named York. One of York's tricks was to rear and throw himself
backward with his rider. But in Grant he found his master, and the
steed not only grew tractable, but developed under his rider's training
into a famous jumper. Horse and rider are vividly described by General
James B. Fry, in his Reminiscences:
"The class, still mounted, was formed in line through the center of the
hall. The riding master placed the leaping bar higher than a man's
head and called out, 'Cadet Grant!' A clean-faced, slender, blue-eyed
young fellow, weighing about one hundred and twenty pounds, dashed from
the ranks on a powerfully built chestnut-sorrel horse, and galloped
down the opposite side of the hall. As he turned at the farther end
and came into the stretch at which the bar was placed, the horse
increased his pace and measuring his stride for the great leap before
him, bounded into the air and cleared the bar, carrying his rider as if
man and beast had been welded together. The spectators were
breathless."
"Sam" Grant graduated from the Military Academy in July, 1843, one of
thirty-nine out of a class that had originally numbered one hundred.
Among his classmates were Sherman, Thomas, Meade, Reynolds, and other
soldiers later known to fame. It cannot be said, however, that his
entry into the army was auspicious. He was still by no means
reconciled to the idea of being a soldier. He had not received the
assignment he had coveted, the Dragoons; and moreover his health was
poor. He was troubled with a persistent cough which indicated weak
lungs--but thanks to his life in the open and horseback riding he
escaped a possible attack of consumption.
After a three months' furlough visiting his father's home, now at
Bethel, Ohio, he reported for duty at the Jefferson Barracks, near St.
Louis, as a second lieutenant in the infantry. The best horseman in
his class had to walk!
But there were compensations. Outside of duty, Grant could always
procure a mount; and about five miles away from the Barracks--just an
easy canter--was the home of his college chum and roommate, Lieut.
Frederick T. Dent. The Dents had a big, hospitable country place, and
they speedily made Fred's friend feel at home. One member of the
family who had heard much about "Sam" Grant from her brother's letters,
long before Grant appeared in person, was Julia Dent now a charming
girl of seventeen. It was not long before her friends began teasing
her about "the little lieutenant with the big epaulets"--and while she
laughed and blushed she didn't seem to mind.
The little round of social gayeties, however, was of brief duration.
Trouble with Mexico was brewing, and in 1844 relations had become so
strained that an "Army of Observation," as it was called, was assembled
under General Zachary Taylor, old "Rough and Ready," on the border.
Grant's company was ordered to join this army, on the briefest notice.
The young lieutenant had time only for a brief leave-taking with the
Dents, and one member in particular, but her final message meant all
the world to him.
In March of the next year, Congress sanctioned the annexation of Texas,
and trouble with Mexico began in earnest. History records the rapid
course of events which made up the Mexican War. We can only notice the
events which directly concern the career of Grant. His company was a
part of the expeditionary force of three thousand men destined to see
active service on the border.
By the middle of March they had reached the Rio Grande, and pitched
camp opposite the city of Matamoras. Their army was far from its base
of supplies and in a country swarming with the enemy. Before war was
formally declared, two officers who were caught outside the camp were
killed, and two whole companies captured.
There was no railroad, and General Taylor was compelled to send a
considerable force back twenty-five miles for supplies. On the third
of May the returning troops encountered a much larger force of
Mexicans. A battle followed which continued after sundown. During the
night the Mexicans retreated, but were found further on, in a much
stronger position. They awaited the Americans on the far side of a
pond, their position being further fortified by logs and branches of
trees.
The captain of Grant's company was temporarily absent, and it fell to
Grant to lead their advance. By this time the bullets were humming
merrily, but he directed his men to deploy to one side and approach
through thicker woods. At last they reached a clearing near the head
of the pond, and he ordered a charge. They captured the position
immediately in front of them, and made a few prisoners, including one
colonel. The engagement all along the line had been too brisk for the
Mexicans, and they broke and ran, leaving a considerable quantity of
guns and ammunition.
As for the little lieutenant, it was his first battle, and first
command of a company, and he had reason to feel satisfied with the
day's work.
As one result of the engagement, the Americans now crossed the river,
and became an Army of Invasion. And now that war had actually begun,
volunteers began to flock to the standard. The ensuing months of that
year were packed with incident and no little danger. In August, Grant
was made quartermaster and commissary of the regiment--a position of
responsibility which he held until the army was withdrawn.