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Brave Deeds of 
 Revolutionary Soldiers 
 
UNIFORM friTH THIS 
 
 Brave Deeds of 
 American Sailors 
 
 By ROBERT B. DUNCAN 
 
rave Deeds of 
 Revolutionary Soldiers 
 
 By 
 ROBERT B. DUNCAN 
 
 Author of "Brave Deeds of American 
 Sailors " 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 191 3, by 
 
 George W. Jacobs & Company 
 
 Published August, igij 
 
 All rights reserved 
 Printed in U.S.A. 
 
 • //^ 
 
Contents 
 
 I. The Hornet's Nest 
 
 The Story of a Game Boy at Lexington 
 
 II. Prescott of Peperell 
 
 The Story of Bunker Hill 
 
 in. Luck and a Blizzard 
 
 The Story of Richard Montgomery at Quebec 
 
 IV. Only a Bit of Bunting . 
 
 The Story of Sergeant Jasper at Fort Sullivan 
 V. The Schoolmaster .... 
 The Story of Nathan Hale 
 
 VI. The Man They Called a Coward . 
 
 The Story of Herkimer at Oriskany 
 
 VII. When Arnold Should Have Died . 
 The Story of Saratoga 
 
 VIII. Another Sort of Hero . 
 The Story of Valley Forge 
 
 IX. The Madness of Anthony Wayne . 
 
 The Story of Stony Point 
 
 X. A Loyal Deserter .... 
 The Story of John Champe 
 XI. Wading to Victory 
 
 The Story of Clark at Kaskaskia and Vincennes 
 
 XII. The Last Hope .... 
 The Story of Francis Marion 
 
 38 
 65 
 
 112 
 138^ 
 
 173 
 
 208 \ 
 227 
 
 275 
 
Illustrations 
 
 A Great Shout Went Up From the Fort . Frontispiece V^ 
 
 The Time Had Come for Patriots to 
 
 Fight ...... Facing page 
 
 Slowly the British Ranks Moved Up the 
 Slope ...... 
 
 It Was the Brave Montgomery 
 
 " Get Back Into Line and You'll Be 
 Doing It " 
 
 The Battle Swiftly Came to an Issue 
 
 It Was Breaking Washington's Heart 
 to See Them Suffer 
 
 " Carry Me Into the Fort," He Said 
 
 20 y^ 
 84 v^ 
 
 148 
 168 "^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 192 
 
 224 
 
 ^ 
 
Brave Deeds of Revolutionary 
 Soldiers 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE HORNET'S NEST 
 
 Jedediah Munroe lived in stirring times. It is 
 hard, in these days of peace, to understand how 
 exciting they were. The post-season series for the 
 baseball championship, the last football games in 
 the fall, a presidential election, or a strike in the 
 steel mills, are mild affairs compared with what was 
 going on when Jedediah Munroe was a young man. 
 For a long time George III, king of England, had 
 been bullying his ministers and Parliament into 
 passing laws for the government of his subjects 
 in America which the Americans refused to obey, 
 because they were unjust laws, and because the 
 Americans had not been given any voice in their 
 making. George III, being a stubborn and rather 
 stupid king, had stormed and threatened, and sent 
 soldiers to Boston to frighten the Americans into 
 obeying his laws. Already there had been some 
 ugly consequences. Citizens of Boston had des- 
 troyed stamps King George had sent over as a 
 trick to make them pay him money ; had burned in 
 
8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 effigy an officer appointed by the crown to collect 
 the stamp tax ; had thrown into Boston harbor car- 
 goes of taxed tea ; had stood firmly defiant against 
 all his devices. One night some years before British 
 soldiers in Boston had fired into a crowd that was 
 baiting them with snowballs and sticks, killing sev- 
 eral. Now it was beginning to look like war ; there 
 seemed to be no other way out of the difficulty. 
 
 Imagine the situation. A few colonies scattered 
 up and down the Atlantic coast of America were 
 actually thinking of going to war against the ter- 
 rible power of England, the mother country. They 
 were not only ready to do so ; they were impatiently 
 waiting for King George to start the trouble. You 
 know how you used to feel when some bigger boy 
 bullied you ; stole your marbles ; ran off with your 
 hat ; broke up your game of ball. You wanted to 
 do something to him that would hurt. You made 
 plans all day long for getting even with him, and 
 lay awake at night thinking about it. That is the 
 way the Americans felt toward their king. They 
 were ready to fight to the death for what they 
 believed to be their rights. 
 
 Every little town and hamlet throughout Massa- 
 chusetts, and neighboring provinces as well, had its 
 band of militia that met each night on the village 
 green for drill under the instruction of some veteran 
 who had fought against the French, twenty odd 
 years before. They were learning how to march 
 and wheel and form and fire their old muskets. 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 
 
 " Minutemen," they were called ; they were ready 
 to turn out and fight at a minute's notice. Signals 
 were arranged for calling them together hastily ; the 
 firing of muskets, the beating of drums, the tolling 
 of bells. The countryside was a vast nest of hornets 
 needing only a little stirring to bring them out, buzz- 
 ing and stinging. 
 
 You can guess that Jedediah Munroe was prop- 
 erly excited over it all. He was one of the minute- 
 men of Lexington, Massachusetts, and was contin- 
 ually in the thick of the talk. Every traveler that 
 put up at his father's tavern on the Medford road 
 brought late news ; and there was never a night, 
 excepting Sunday, or scarcely an hour in the day, 
 when a group was not around the tap-room fire, or 
 lolling around the front door in chairs, discussing the 
 affairs between the colonies and the mother country. 
 
 Coming in from drill on an April evening, in the 
 year 1775, with half a dozen comrades, Jedediah 
 Munroe found two strangers holding forth in the 
 tap-room to a group of eager citizens. The young 
 men pressed forward ; any man was likely to bring 
 big news. 
 
 " It's to be war," one of them was saying. "There 
 is no longer any doubt that the British mean to bring 
 about a clash of arms, and that King George intends 
 to grind us under a heel of iron. It is now only 
 a question of how and when and where they will 
 strike." 
 
 ** Let them strike I " cried Jedediah, thumping the 
 
lo REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 floor with the butt of his musket. " They shall find 
 us ready for them." 
 
 "Aye, ready enough, I doubt not, young man," 
 returned the other stranger, glancing toward the 
 lad. " But be not too hot for it. It is a weighty 
 matter to take up arms against your king; and 
 we are likely not only to offend God by it, but to 
 bring ourselves to a much worse pass. For what 
 good can we hope to bring out of arousing the 
 king's wrath against us ? His armies would swarm 
 over our lands ; they would sweep us into the sea, 
 and destroy us." 
 
 A dozen voices clamored down the one who had 
 spoken. 
 
 " Let him try 1 " cried one. " He shall find what 
 work he has on his hands." 
 
 " You had better pack off to your friend the king 
 before the ball begins, then," sneered another. 
 
 " If he does as you say, it will be because there 
 will be not a man, woman or child left alive in the 
 land ! " exclaimed a third. 
 
 " Except such as yourself," a fourth amended. 
 
 " Even so ! " exclaimed Jedediah. " 'Twould be 
 better to die at once like men than to be slaves to a 
 tyrant, say I ! " 
 
 " Aye, aye ; well said ! " shouted a dozen voices. 
 
 " Very well," returned the man who had aroused 
 the storm. " Ye will find me as staunch as the best 
 man. I merely preach caution ; but if the die be 
 cast, I commit myself to it." 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST ii 
 
 The speech restored him to a measure of favor 
 with his listeners. 
 
 "Why say you that it means war, stranger?" 
 asked Innkeeper Munroe, addressing the first of his 
 guests, taking advantage of a lull to distract atten- 
 tion from the other's embarrassment. " What news 
 do you bring ? " 
 
 " The redcoats in Boston are stirring about each 
 day," the man replied. " They march up and down 
 the town, fully accoutred, to the beat of drums. 
 There is much running to and fro of messengers from 
 General Gage to his officers, and an air of secret ex- 
 pectancy about it all that the patriots of the town 
 take for a sign that something is soon to take place." 
 
 " Yesterday they were out over Charlestown Neck, 
 two companies of them," the other stranger went on. 
 " Last week a column passed through Somerville, 
 and was hooted by the boys." 
 
 " The lobsters are likely to get more than hoots if 
 they come this way," boasted one of the younger 
 militiamen. The British soldiers were called *' lob- 
 sters " because of their red coats. 
 
 " Not so, lad," reproved Jedediah's father. " We 
 are not to lift a hand against them until they strike 
 the first blow, that you well know." 
 
 " And didn't they strike the first blow when they 
 shot down our citizens in Boston?" rejoined the 
 youth. 
 
 " Aye, but the time was not then ripe." 
 
 " These marching soldiers ; for what did they go 
 
12 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 out?" asked John Parker, captain of the Lexington 
 militia. 
 
 " Why, so that our people might get used to see- 
 ing the red-backs about their streets, and so think lit- 
 tle of it when they set out about the errand they con- 
 template." 
 
 " What errand is that ? " demanded two or three. 
 
 " Why," said the traveler, " I had not thought to 
 alarm you with the rumors that are floating about 
 Boston, for they may be but idle ; but 'tis said they 
 mean to come this way to lay hands on Samuel 
 Adams and John Hancock, who have been stopping 
 with your minister, Jonas Clark, since Congress ad- 
 journed at Cambridge three days ago. King George, 
 it is shrewdly whispered, has ordered them sent to 
 London to be put in the Tower and wait for their 
 trial for treason." 
 
 The announcement started a hubbub of excitement, 
 in which nothing could be distinctly heard above the 
 hum of angry voices. Several of the younger mili- 
 tiamen rattled the stocks of their guns against the 
 floor. 
 
 " A5'^e, and while they are about it they are likely 
 to go on to Concord to seize the stores we have been 
 gathering there," the other traveler added. 
 
 " Not while there are men and muskets in Lexing- 
 ton will they pass this way 1 " cried Jedediah. 
 
 '* Why didn't they lay hands on Adams and Han- 
 cock when they were in Boston ? " demanded one of 
 the young men. 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 13 
 
 " Aye ; and on Dr. Warren, too, when he spoke in 
 old South Meeting-House on the anniversary of the 
 Boston massacre I " 
 
 " Because they were afraid, that is why 1 " jeered 
 Jedediah. 
 
 The elder men let the boasts of the young pass by 
 them. They were more concerned with the import 
 of the news that they had listened to. " What rea- 
 son have you for thinking that they are coming this 
 way?" asked Mr. Munroe. 
 
 " Reason enough, in a way," replied his guest. 
 "John Knox, and Paul Revere, and the others who 
 make it their business to watch what goes on in the 
 city have seen many signs that lead them to expect 
 such a move. They do not let a moment pass with- 
 out watchfulness ; and if you are roused out of your 
 beds some fair night soon by a clatter of hoofs and 
 a shouting you may know that it is Paul Revere 
 come himself to give you warning of what I am tell- 
 ing you." 
 
 " It is quite true," said Captain Parker. " I have 
 been told to be prepared. I think we are ready 
 for them," he added, quietly. 
 
 " For the whole British army," said the youths. 
 
 " So you had better go home and into your beds, 
 lads," Captain Parker went on. " For who knows 
 that it may not be this very night that we shall be 
 called on to strike the first blow for liberty." 
 
 At that many brave cries of liberty went up from 
 the party, and a shouting enthusiasm for the prom- 
 
14 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 ised event. Presently the elders began to scatter to 
 their homes, leaving the young men to ply the two 
 strangers with further questions, and buzz over what 
 they had been told. 
 
 It was well into the night when Jedediah left the 
 few stragglers that still remained in the tap-room, 
 and took himself ofi to his bed. Big dreams of the 
 things he would do in the war that was about to 
 break filled his mind, until tardy sleep overtook him. 
 
 Gradually, as he lay sleeping, a sense of disturb- 
 ance crept over his consciousness. He was vaguely 
 aware of a confusion of excited voices in the rooms 
 beneath. Men were talking in short, sharp, unfin- 
 ished sentences. 
 
 He lay listening for some moments, trying to re- 
 member where he was ; trying to make out distinctly 
 what was going on. Suddenly definite words struck 
 on his ear. " The regulars are coming," he heard 
 some one say. 
 
 The regulars are coming 1 He knew what that 
 meant. He was awake in an instant, and scram- 
 bling into his clothes. Five minutes later he was 
 in the tap-room. 
 
 A man whom he had never seen before was leav- 
 ing by another door as Jedediah entered. His father 
 and one or two others were following the stranger 
 from the room, firing questions at him, scarcely wait- 
 ing for answers. " When did they leave ? " "Which 
 way are they coming?" he heard. Jedediah could 
 not catch the replies. 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 15 
 
 "What is it, father?" asked the boy, when Mr. 
 Munroe returned to the room alone. The others had 
 gone to spread the news. 
 
 " The British 1 They are coming ! They crossed 
 the Charles River at ten o'clock last night and took 
 up their march this way." 
 
 " How do you know ? Who told you ? " 
 
 " The word has just come from Boston. Hurry I 
 Get your gun, lad. They are like to be here within 
 the hour ! " Jedediah looked at the clock ; it was 
 past two in the morning. 
 
 "Who was here, father?" demanded the boy with 
 rising excitement. 
 
 " Revere ; Paul Revere ! Come, make haste ! " 
 
 Jedediah needed no urging. Running up-stairs, 
 he snatched up musket, powder-horn, and bullet 
 pouch, dashed down again, and into the road run- 
 ning toward the green. Already the bell in the meet- 
 ing-house was beginning to ring. Its snarling notes 
 sent a shiver up and down the boy's back. 
 
 A shot rang out on the air. The reverberations 
 had hardly died when it was followed by another, at 
 a distance, and another, one after the other, until 
 they faded out in the distance of the night. It was 
 the signal ; the alarm of the minutemen. 
 
 Hurrying down the road through the dark, Jede- 
 diah made his way to Lexington green. Already 
 others had gathered there, and stood in a shadowy 
 group. Each had his musket ; some were loading, 
 some were priming, some were adjusting the flints 
 
i6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 in their locks. All were preparing to dispute the 
 way with the British. 
 
 They were in lively, excited talk when Jedediah 
 joined them, speculating on the probable number of 
 the foe, wondering when they would arrive, discuss- 
 ing rumors that had already sprung up among them, 
 like morning mists from the grass. 
 
 "What time is it?" some one asked. 
 
 "Two o'clock," another answered. 
 
 " They crossed the river at ten. It is twelve miles 
 to Boston. They should be here soon." 
 
 " We have sent messengers down the road to look 
 for them," said Captain Parker. "We shall hear 
 presently, without doubt. Remember, you are not 
 to fire until you are fired upon. The redcoats must 
 strike the first blow I " 
 
 The group grew. Men and boys came running 
 from all directions, fastening their clothes, dragging 
 their muskets, their powder-horns and bullet pouches 
 rattling at their waists. There was a great clamor 
 of excited talk. The young men were especially 
 noisy, and boastful. It was a striking scene. There 
 were no lights save a patch or two thrown from 
 some window ; they moved about in shadow, like 
 ominous ghosts. 
 
 A clatter of hoofs on the Boston road, and a mes- 
 senger rode up. "They must have turned off the 
 road," he announced. " I can't find them anywhere. 
 Nary a trace ; hide nor hair ; hoof nor head." 
 
 Captain Parker took counsel with some of the 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 17 
 
 older heads. " Go back to your homes, boys," he 
 said, at last. " No use waiting here. We'll keep a 
 watch out. If they come we'll sound the alarm again. 
 Sleep with your muskets handy." 
 
 Jedediah returned reluctantly to the tavern and 
 flung himself down on a bench in the tap-room. 
 He was too stirred up to sleep, but lay listening to 
 the talk of three or four who had gathered there 
 to discuss the situation. One ear he held pricked 
 for the first sound of the alarm. 
 
 It came at last, — the roll of a drum from the vil- 
 lage green. He sprang up and started down the 
 road once more, prickling with excitement. 
 
 It was half-past four. A faint hint of coming day 
 lay along the eastern horizon. And such a day it 
 would prove, both for him and humanity ! He 
 seemed to feel some premonition as he ran along 
 the road ; a sense of exultant sadness ; a tincture, 
 perhaps, of the joy a martyr feels when he is about to 
 die that something dearer to him than life may live. 
 
 Half-past four, and the village green was filling 
 up again with minutemen. Farmers they were, for 
 the most part, and farmers' lads. Lexington was a 
 mere hamlet ; a crossroads. Most of the houses in 
 the village itself were farmhouses, with their fields 
 behind them. 
 
 Jedediah had scarcely joined the band, and was 
 sitting against a stone wall, panting to regain his 
 breath, when a horseman rode up trembling with 
 excitement. "They're coming!" he cried. "The 
 
i8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 regulars are coming ! They're not half a mile down 
 the road 1 " 
 
 "Let them come," said more than one of the 
 farmers. "We have a welcome for them." 
 
 " Adams and Hancock ; where are they ? " asked 
 Jedediah, thinking of the errand of the British troops. 
 
 " Gone to Woburn long ago," the other replied. 
 " Revere stopped to give them warning before he 
 raised the town." 
 
 " Hancock was all for coming over to lead the 
 militia against the lobster-backs, but the others 
 would have none of it, telling him he was too im- 
 portant a man in these big times to run the risk of 
 being shot down or taken ofi to the tower." 
 
 " Aye, and right they were ; right they were," 
 commented another. 
 
 " Hush ! Here they come ! " 
 
 The day had lightened imperceptibly as they 
 talked and waited. Now, by its faint dusk, they 
 could see a deep rank of red-coated soldiers swing- 
 ing up the Boston road, behind the meeting-house. 
 It was not strange that the one who had first seen 
 them had cried out : " Hush 1 " They were an im- 
 posing sight, an awesome sight, coming through the 
 gloom of the April morning. They were enough to 
 cast an awed silence upon a tiny group of farmers 
 and their boys, swinging down upon them in quick, 
 smooth, even step, their arms gleaming, their uni- 
 forms spick and span. They looked like a great, 
 threatening machine. 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 19 
 
 But it was not sight enough to do more than awe 
 them ; not enough to frighten them ; they did not 
 stir from their places. 
 
 " Form in line ! " said Captain Parker, quietly. 
 ** Do not fire unless they fire," he repeated, adding, 
 " And if any man runs I will shoot him down like a 
 dog 1 " No one minded his saying that, for no one 
 intended to run. 
 
 "Whacky, but there are a lot of them!" ex- 
 claimed Jedediah, staring at the advancing column. 
 Rank after rank was wheeling into sight along the 
 road. 
 
 An officer rode in front ; it was Major Pitcairn. 
 The men of Lexington heard him give an order, and 
 saw the column divide, part of it coming on along 
 the road, and part swinging in behind the meeting- 
 house. With steady step they came on and on, meet- 
 ing again on the green, and spreading into a long 
 line. The thirty or forty militiamen, straggling in a 
 thin rank along the edge of the green confronting 
 the splendid soldiery of England, would have made 
 a comic sight, if it had not been one of the most 
 dramatic the world had ever seen. 
 
 Major Pitcairn rode forward. " Disperse, curse ye I 
 Why don't ye disperse, ye rebels?" he shouted. 
 
 Silence along the thin, grim rank of farmers. 
 
 The British officer turned to his troops. " Fire ! " 
 he cried. 
 
 They would not fire. It was no little thing to 
 shoot down men in cold blood, especially when 
 
20 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 those men were brothers against whom they had no 
 war. The call of race was strong ; these farmers, in 
 the eyes of the British soldiers, were Englishmen. 
 
 The man on the horse stiffened in his saddle ; his 
 eyes flashed. " Fire ! " he cried again. He pulled 
 his pistols from their holsters, took a snap aim at the 
 farmers, twenty paces away from him on the edge of 
 the green, and pulled triggers. Two tiny spouts of 
 flame leaped from the pistols' muzzles ; two little 
 flashes of fire that were destined to start a mighty 
 conflagration whose flames would weld thirteen strag- 
 gling colonies into a mighty nation. 
 
 The sound of the pistol shots was still in the air 
 when a sputtering fire ran along the ranks of the 
 British soldiers, followed by a solid volley. At the 
 discharge of the first gun Jedediah Munroe glanced 
 swiftly from side to side among his fellows to see 
 what harm had been done. He was watching one 
 of his comrades, who had been hit, writhing on the 
 ground, and wondering pitifully at the sight of a well 
 man stricken down, when a hot flash of pain ran 
 through his shoulder. He was staggered under the 
 impact of a blow that had been so quick and abrupt 
 that he had been scarcely aware of it. The next in- 
 stant he was on his knees, staring at the ground, 
 steadying his brain. 
 
 A shot rang out close to his ear. Another, and 
 another. His companions were returning the fire. 
 The noise drove home a consciousness of what it all 
 meant. Struggling to his feet, he picked up his 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 21 
 
 musket, which had fallen, leveled it, and pulled the 
 trigger. 
 
 There was no response from the gun. The pow- 
 der had been spilled from the firing-pan. With 
 steady hand and cool head he poured out some more, 
 adjusted the flint in the lock, took steady aim, and 
 fired. He did not feel the jump of the musket butt 
 against his cheek ; he did not feel the great burning 
 hurt that ran through and through his shoulder. He 
 only knew that the redcoats had fired upon the 
 Americans, and that the time had come when patriots 
 might fight for what they held dear. 
 
 The fire back and forth was brisk. In the midst 
 of the rattle the boy heard the voice of Captain John 
 Parker, calm and firm. " Disperse," he ordered. 
 " There is no use in sacrificing ourselves ; they are 
 too many for us." 
 
 Men at Jedediah's side began to fall back ; the 
 ranks were dissolving. Stopping for one last shot, 
 Jedediah backed away from the foe, reluctantly, 
 shouting defiance. He saw a dozen of his friends 
 and comrades lying on the ground where the min- 
 utemen had stood as he backed away. His heart 
 burned with rage and hate against their slayers. One 
 or two of the British had sunk to the ground ; he re- 
 joiced in that, and wondered whether his bullets had 
 found a mark. 
 
 The redcoats came on with a rush when the 
 American ranks broke. Jedediah turned and ran for 
 a stone wall fifty yards from the green. He ran be- 
 
22 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 cause he wanted to keep out of the enemy's hands, 
 so that he might fight again. There was no thought 
 of fear in his action. 
 
 Glancing over his shoulder as he crossed the field 
 near the stone wall, he saw some one kneeling on the 
 green leveling his musket at the British. Between 
 the man's knees was a hat filled with cartridges. It 
 was Jonas Parker. Jonas had sworn that he would 
 never run from the regulars, and was making good 
 his boast. Even as jedediah looked two infantry- 
 men ran up to the kneeling man and plunged their 
 bayonets into him, thrusting him savagely to the 
 ground, where he kicked and lay still. In his heart 
 Jedediah wished that he were Jonas Parker ; but his 
 own time was fast approaching. 
 
 When the half-back on your team, bowled* over in 
 a scrimmage, picks himself up from the dirt and 
 staggers into his place behind the line, you know how 
 it makes you feel. You know how your heart gets 
 big under your overcoaty and something clutches you 
 at the throat to see him go back into the game, at 
 the risk of another hurt, for the honor and glory of 
 his school. How much more would you feel if your 
 comrade arose bleeding from a bullet blow that had 
 laid him in the dust, and returned to a fray where 
 death lurked in every noisy instant ! 
 
 That is what Jedediah Munroe did. He had scarcely 
 gained the shelter of the stone wall when weakness 
 seized him, and he sank to the ground. The bullet 
 wound was a growing hurt. It throbbed and burned ; 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 23 
 
 a hot lameness spread through his shoulder and neck, 
 and down his arm. He grew sick and faint with the 
 suffering. 
 
 He sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, 
 gasping, sobbing. Now and then a bullet would 
 spat against the stones, or whistle above him. He 
 gritted his teeth and set his will to conquer the sick- 
 ness that assailed him. The hand that he uncon- 
 sciously pressed against the bullet hole came away 
 sopping with blood. For a moment he stared at it. 
 Then he tore off his neckerchief, made a wad of it, 
 pressed it against the wound, and bound it there as 
 well as he could, using the cord of his powder-flask. 
 The flask he put into his pocket. 
 
 He had barely finished doing this when he saw 
 two British soldiers vault over the wall a hundred 
 feet away, and look about them. Catching sight of 
 him, they raised their guns and fired. One bullet 
 kicked up the dust a foot from the boy's knee ; the 
 other sent his hat spinning in the air. Without wait- 
 ing to pick it up Jedediah started to his feet and ran 
 along the wall away from the soldiers, crouching low 
 to avoid exposing his head to the redcoats still in the 
 green, of whom he caught glimpses between the top 
 stones as he ran. 
 
 Finding that the others did not follow, Jedediah 
 crept around the corner of an outhouse, which he en- 
 tered by the back door. He crawled into a stall to 
 wait. For ten minutes he lay there before he ven- 
 tured to look out again. When he thrust his head 
 
24 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 around the edge of the building he saw the first files 
 of the British marching off the green in the direction 
 of Concord, and saw another column approaching 
 from the Boston road. 
 
 It seemed to him, looking at them, that the entire 
 British army had come that way. He had never 
 seen so many soldiers at once in his whole life. 
 Their dust could be seen away down the Bos- 
 ton road. He watched them in fascinated admira- 
 tion, forgetting his wound for a moment, and his 
 hate. 
 
 The second column, which was Colonel Smith's 
 command, and the main body of the force, halted 
 for a short time on the green while Smith and Pit- 
 cairn refreshed themselves at Buckman's tavern, and 
 then followed the advance into the Concord road. 
 They had not passed out of sight when Jedediah 
 Munroe, picking up his musket, went skirting 
 through the field on their flanks. Such a matter 
 as a bullet wound, more or less, was not going to 
 keep him out of the fight. He had a score to pay, 
 he had ; a long score, partly his own, and partly 
 that of his countrymen, who had suffered enough 
 from a British tyrant. 
 
 His wound hurt him ; he could not make good 
 time. Now and then he was obliged to stop and 
 rest. The rumble of the column moving along the 
 Concord road grew fainter and fainter. But Jede- 
 diah did not care. They must come back that way, 
 those redcoats, and he would have one good shot at 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 25 
 
 them, — if he lived long enough. His wound was 
 hurting him bitterly. 
 
 He was suddenly aware that two men were walk- 
 ing beside him ; that he was talking with them. 
 They were two of the militiamen. He remembered 
 then that they had been in the outhouse where he 
 had hid ; that they had come away with him, and 
 been with him since he started. He had been too 
 excited to notice them particularly. They were 
 urging him to go home ; to leave the rest to others. 
 They made him angry. He told them to tend to 
 their own affairs ; that he was going to kill some of 
 those redcoats if it did cost him his life. He wasn't 
 very agreeable about it, but they were rather pleased 
 with his spirit, nevertheless. 
 
 As the three trudged along they fell in with others 
 following the British. Some of them had been on 
 the green earlier. Some of them had just come 
 up from farms close by. Some of them lived over 
 Woburn way. Three lads had come all the way 
 from Woburn, having been alarmed by a messenger 
 sent out by Captain Parker when Revere brought 
 the first word to Lexington. 
 
 Mile by mile the number grew. The little group that 
 had begun with three was no longer a distinct party. 
 A straggling procession of grim farmers and their lads 
 dotted the long road. Each moment the number was 
 increased. And always the newcomers had arrived 
 from greater and greater distances. The hornets 
 were beginning to buzz. The hive had been stirred. 
 
26 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 It was broad morning now. The sun shone warm 
 from a clear sky ; unusually warm, for April. Birds 
 were singing in the trees ; cattle looked up from 
 their browsing in pastures to stare stupidly at the 
 rout of men streaming along the road, usually so 
 quiet. They did not know what to make of it, 
 apparently. Already they had been sufficiently as- 
 tonished to see more men than an average cow had 
 ever dreamed of go walking by in red coats. Now 
 the roads were filled again with men. Undoubtedly 
 the cows wondered that the world contained so 
 many men. 
 
 Jedediah Munroe could not keep up. The stream 
 of men, hastening toward Concord in the wake of 
 the British, brushed past him. More and more often 
 he was obliged to sit down by the side of the road. 
 His wound hurt him bitterly ; his whole shoulder 
 was afire with the pain of it. The bandage kept 
 slipping ; he made it the excuse for resting. 
 
 Once when he was sitting on a stone near a farm- 
 house a little girl came out and helped him fix his 
 bandage. She was full of pity for him. She told 
 him that her father had stayed home to watch the 
 house, but that two of her brothers had gone to 
 Concord. When he was ready to march again, the 
 girl brought Jedediah a bowl of milk and some 
 bread. He realized then that he had been without 
 food since the night before. The little bite revived 
 him ; he stalked off with a stronger step, determined 
 that the girl should not see him stagger. She was 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 27 
 
 shading her eyes watching him when he passed a 
 turn in the road. 
 
 He picked up a bit of gossip now and then. Paul 
 Revere had been captured before reaching Concord 
 by British officers who had ridden out the pre- 
 vious evening to watch the road. So had Ebenezer 
 Dawes, another messenger from Boston. But Dr. 
 Prescott, who Hved in Lexington, and who had ac- 
 companied the two on their way toward Concord, 
 had escaped and got into Concord with word of the 
 regulars' approach. The town had turned out, and 
 the countryside. Most of the stores had been hidden 
 or buried or carted out of the way by daylight ; prob- 
 ably all would be saved, was the word that came 
 back along the line of farmers. 
 
 Glancing ahead down the road as he tottered 
 along, Jedediah caught sight of smoke lifting in 
 sluggish column in the direction of Concord. The 
 British were burning the town I Another score for 
 him to pay before the gnawing wound in his 
 shoulder bit too deep ! He quickened his steps 
 impulsively. 
 
 The sound of a shot came to his ears from a great 
 distance. His nerves tingled ; he felt like a hunter 
 approaching game. The sound was followed by an- 
 other ; by several ; by the crash of a volley, and 
 silence. He hurried on. 
 
 The smoke from the fire grew thicker and higher. 
 Presently, coming within distant sight of the town, 
 the young minuteman saw that it was the court-house 
 
28 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 that was burning. Farther away was another fire in 
 a barn-yard. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later, climbing the crest of a hill, 
 he looked down into the village. The British were 
 drawn up on the green. They had cut down the 
 liberty pole. Squads of them could be seen moving 
 from house to house, in search of the stores they had 
 come to seize or destroy. At the sight of them 
 Jedediah forgot his wound again ; forgot his fatigue 
 and his sick faintness. He thought only of the score 
 he had to pay, and set out to pay it. 
 
 Making a wide detour, he fell in presently with 
 some minutemen who had come all the way from 
 Lincoln. They had been there before the British, 
 and told him what had happened. The redcoats, 
 they said, had ruined a few of the stores that had 
 not been carted off to safety. There had been a 
 fight at the bridge, in which several on both sides 
 had been killed. The whole country was swarming 
 with minutemen, they said ; if the redcoats did not 
 start back for Boston pretty soon they would find it 
 hard to get there at all. The Lincoln men had high 
 hopes of capturing the entire British detachment 
 before the day ended. 
 
 The British officers in command of the expedition 
 apparently had a like view of the situation, and were 
 not so pleased with it. Jedediah watched them 
 sending recalls to the squads, and watched them 
 reform their men on the green before the court-house, 
 preparing to march. Presently, with a roll of drums 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 29 
 
 and the squeal of fifes, they set out, entering the 
 road toward Lexington again. 
 
 Now the time had come. Crawling to his feet, 
 the boy shouldered his musket and swung off with 
 the Lincoln men to join a large body of militia that 
 was hurrying across the fields toward the Bedford 
 road. The Bedford road came into the Lexington 
 and Concord road at Merriam's Corners, a mile and 
 a half from town. If the militia could reach the point 
 first, they could punish the British column severely 
 as they passed. 
 
 Jedediah found it heavy work keeping up with 
 the others. Only an eagerness to settle the score 
 made it possible for the wounded man to stay in the 
 ranks at all. A dozen of his comrades urged him 
 to drop out ; some of them insisted, almost threaten- 
 ing him if he did not give up, but he answered them 
 brusquely and kept on. 
 
 His legs were like lead ; his neck was like a rag ; 
 his head reeled dizzily. Every breath ran bunches 
 of white-hot blades through and through the top 
 of his lung ; the biting soreness from his wound 
 was creeping, creeping across his body. He could 
 scarcely move his arm. 
 
 He was beginning to think that the end had come, 
 and that he would be obliged to give up, when some 
 one shouted that the regulars were coming. Follow- 
 ing the gaze of the others, he saw a band come 
 swinging ofl[ a ridge paralleling the Concord road, and 
 making for the Bedford road ahead of the militia. 
 
30 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 A tension passed through the militiamen. They 
 saw that there was going to be a clash, and braced 
 themselves for it. Jedediah, experiencing a wild sort 
 of glee, loaded his musket, primed it with great care, 
 saw to his flint, and waited. 
 
 The British were making for a bridge that crossed 
 a little brook. It was a flanking party ; they must 
 cross that bridge to get to the main body coming 
 along the Concord road. The main body was in 
 sight now, raising a great cloud of dust a quarter of 
 a mile away. Some of the militiamen were for seiz- 
 ing the bridge. Others, seeing that they would 
 then be exposed to an attack in the rear by the main 
 column, counseled taking a position behind the stone 
 wall at the side of the road. They did so, and stood 
 there in silent, grim determination, watching the red 
 lines draw through the field toward them. 
 
 Straight to the bridge marched the British. Ar- 
 riving there, they wheeled, aimed, and fired a volley. 
 It went singing over the heads of the minutemen ; 
 it was nothing to the humming sting of the hornets 
 that were about to be loosed on the king's regulars. 
 
 A shot from behind the wall I A British soldier, 
 flinging his gun into the air, staggered three steps 
 and fell, grasping with both hands at his throat. 
 Jedediah Munroe, his eyes lighted by the flame of 
 battle lust, was taking down his musket from its rest 
 among the stones and preparing to reload it. He 
 had made one mark against the score he had to 
 settle. 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 31 
 
 A dozen shots rattled from the wall ; a score, fifty. 
 Another regular, and another, faded out of the ranks. 
 The detachment, without stopping to reload and fire 
 again, moved off briskly toward the Concord road, 
 glad enough to get to the protection of the main 
 force. 
 
 It was the beginning of a tragedy. The hornets 
 had begun to sting. From that moment the retreat- 
 ing British were beset with foes that clung on their 
 flanks, sinking their stings into the quivering ranks. 
 They had stirred the nest too well. 
 
 Jedediah, with a shout, leaped over the wall and 
 raced toward a wood ahead of the British through 
 which they must pass on the road. His musket was 
 loaded and ready again. He reached the wood, 
 stepped behind a tree, poked out his musket, and 
 waited. The ranks of red came in sight among the 
 stems of trees, stepping briskly. He could see the 
 soldiers looking this way and that. Their faces were 
 unhappy, anxious. They were alarmed. Now and 
 then one stopped to fire at a glimpse of a man in 
 homespun hiding behind some tree-trunk. 
 
 Every trunk hid its hornet. Jedediah, taking care- 
 ful aim at a man on the edge of the nearest file, let 
 go his piece with a right good will, and leaped away, 
 dodging from tree to tree until he had put a distance 
 between the column and himself. Loading swiftly, 
 he set out again to intercept the column once more. 
 He was like a boy at a game ; eager, excited, joyous. 
 He cared not for the thick throb in his shoulder ; for 
 
32 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 the numbness that was creeping over him ; that had 
 already risen to his head, turning it light and dizzy. 
 He was full of the zest of the game, and ran ahead 
 for more of it. 
 
 How many times that morning the boy delivered 
 his sting from behind some tree-trunk, or stone wall, 
 or outhouse, cannot be told. There was no one there 
 to count. But for two hours he followed, just as a 
 horse-fly follows a horse, lighting now to sting ; tak- 
 ing flight, and lighting again. 
 
 The condition of the regulars was becoming des- 
 perate. They were beginning to tire. They had 
 had no sleep ; they had marched eighteen miles from 
 Boston since the night before ; they had had little 
 food. They had been doing heavy work in Con- 
 cord ; and now their hands were full of heavier. 
 And the day was piping hot. 
 
 At every turn of the road, they were met by the 
 persistent foe. Every rise in the ground, every 
 cluster of trees, every stretch of stone wall, swarmed 
 with the maddened hornets. Fresh swarms of them, 
 coming from distant towns, stirred by the stick, 
 rushed out upon the struggling Englishmen. There 
 was no refuge from their stings. 
 
 They sent out flanking parties to clear the sides 
 of the road. The flanking parties found no solid 
 foe ; only a fluid line of hidden enemies that drew 
 away, only to close up again upon them when they 
 returned to the main force in the road. 
 
 The firing was incessant, from all directions. It 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 33 
 
 was maddening. There was no way of striking 
 back, because there was nothing to strike at ; no or- 
 ganization, no formation. Only farmers and their 
 lads scampering from tree to rock, from rock to tree, 
 with their deadly muskets ready to sting again and 
 again, from each rock and tree. 
 
 The regulars, schooled in war, and as brave as 
 any soldiers, could not stand it. They were in no 
 mood for fighting, but there was no choice. They 
 must fight, or die. Some of them preferred to die, 
 and sat down by the side of the road, expecting 
 some yeoman to come up and despatch them. 
 
 They crowded in the road like sheep, each trying 
 to bury himself in the center of the column, where he 
 would be protected from the galling fire. Officers 
 were powerless to control them. Faster and faster 
 they hurried along the hot, dusty road, a disorganized 
 mob. They did not try to fight back ; they only 
 tried to get out of the way. And always, with- 
 out giving a moment's rest, the militiamen kept 
 up their nagging fire, bullet by bullet, minute by 
 minute. 
 
 Jedediah Munroe trudged doggedly on their flanks 
 like a pursuing ghost. Very like a ghost he was ; 
 grim, gray, silent. He was in a trance of weakness 
 and pain ; firing, loading, running ahead, and firing 
 again had become a habit. He did it all mechanically, 
 without thinking. The world was a great whirling 
 disk to his senses, with a splotch of red in its center, 
 — and another splotch on the shoulder of his coat 
 
34 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The splotch in the center was growing smaller ; that 
 on his coat was increasing. 
 
 Fatigue seized him now and then, compelling him 
 to sit down and rest. Sometimes he fell in his tracks 
 and lay until strength enough returned to enable him 
 to stagger forward again. It seemed to him that all 
 his life had been filled with this experience of firing 
 into the central splotch of red ; of stopping to rest, 
 and staggering forward once more. He had no 
 other recollection. 
 
 This sense was so strong on him that presently, 
 when something dimly familiar in the scene aroused 
 his consciousness, he was puzzled to know what it 
 was, and where he had seen it before. Then he 
 realized that he was back in Lexington again. 
 
 He saw the meeting-house ; Buckman's tavern on 
 the green ; recognized the plat of level ground where 
 he had learned soldiering with his neighbors and 
 comrades. He stood staring at it, supporting him- 
 self with his musket. 
 
 Something was happening ; he could not make out 
 what it was. The straggling patch of red in the 
 center of the whirling world had become strangely 
 steady and regular. It was a great hollow square 
 now, with sides of red-coated men. But in the mid- 
 dle of the square was the same red splotch that he 
 had been following so mercilessly since — since time 
 began. 
 
 Gradually, as he looked, he saw other lines form- 
 ing outside the central square, at a distance. Somber, 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 35 
 
 dull-colored lines they were, composed of men in 
 workaday dress. He knew at last that they were 
 the yeomen of the countryside called out by the 
 alarm to fight for their country ; that they were the 
 hornets whose nest had been stirred by the British 
 stick. 
 
 " Curse 'em 1 " he heard some one say, at his 
 elbow. 
 
 " Curse who ? " he demanded, hotly. 
 
 •' The British. They've come from Boston ; and 
 just in time, too ! Half an hour more and we'd have 
 bagged the whole lot of 'em." 
 
 What the man said was true. The expedition that 
 had marched forth so bravely in the morning was an 
 exhausted wreck. The regulars were scarcely able 
 to drag one foot behind the other when they reached 
 Lexington, where they found Earl Percy with a 
 fresh body of troops from Boston drawn up in hol- 
 low square. 
 
 The desperate fugitives flung themselves on the 
 ground in the protection of their comrades, and lay 
 there helpless, their tongues hanging from their 
 mouths. 
 
 Even now they were not safe. Their bitter foe 
 began to press on the larger force with the courage 
 and determination of men within whose grasp was 
 victory. Every minute their numbers grew ; farmers 
 and villagers still came pouring in to the attack. 
 
 Percy, alarmed, aroused the exhausted troops and 
 took up his march slowly down the Boston road. 
 
36 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 He had two pieces of artillery with him, which he 
 planted on hills at each side of the road. Their 
 hoarse barking and heavy bites held back the 
 militia, unused to war, and awed by cannon. 
 
 Seeing the foe slipping from the grasp of the 
 Americans, Jedediah Munroe, lost to all sense of fear 
 or self, thinking only of the score he had to settle, 
 moved forward with the fringe of militiamen against 
 the stiff ranks of the British troops. In his eyes was 
 a wild light ; the light of raging fever ; the light of 
 death. 
 
 He heard shouts ; heard his name called. He 
 was vaguely aware that he was alone ; that he had 
 left his comrades behind and was advancing, a 
 solitary figure against the red array. He did not 
 pause ; he did not take thought of what he did, but 
 stalked forward, head held high, the light of death in 
 his eyes. 
 
 He stopped. He raised his musket, leveling the 
 barrel at the brilliant ranks ahead of him. The long 
 steel tube danced in a circle ; the enemy swung in 
 wavering lines ahead before him. He pulled the 
 trigger. 
 
 With the flash of his gun he saw another flash 
 from the mouth of a cannon. Saw it, and knew no 
 more. A black blow descended upon him from the 
 air. He lay stretched in death on the village green, 
 where he had been taught to be a soldier. He had 
 done his best. Those who were left must do the 
 rest. Theirs the long, weary fight to rid the land of 
 
THE HORNET'S NEST 37 
 
 the foe. Many were to follow where he had pre- 
 ceded to the final bivouac, but in all the array of 
 heroes there was none who would fight a better 
 fight, or achieve a braver death. He had done 
 what he could ; no man can do more. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 
 
 It was nine o'clock on the evening of June 14, 
 1775. The soldiers of the British regiments lay- 
 sleeping at their quarters in Boston, save the few 
 that were doing sentry duty about the town, or were 
 posted as sentinels on the lines of defense that had 
 been thrown up against the rabble of " peasants " 
 and " rustics " that had swarmed in after the affair at 
 Lexington and Concord, and settled down in front of 
 the town with an angry hum, to besiege it. 
 
 Out in the Mystic River British ships of war 
 swung idly at anchor, giving back sociable whispers 
 to the tide that lapped drowsily about their prows. 
 The tread of their sentinels echoed across the calm 
 water from their deserted decks ; there was no other 
 life awake on board the vessels. They stood like 
 ghosts in the silent stream. 
 
 Across the water the town of Charlestown was 
 adrowse. Here and there the light of a candle 
 sparred the darkness through the windows of a room 
 where some sick person lay in pain, or where a 
 bookish citizen, forgetful of the near presence of a 
 hostile army, was absorbed in the pages of a favorite 
 volume. 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 39 
 
 Behind the town, grim, silent, serene, the huge 
 bulk of hills hunched into the dim night, with lines 
 of rail fence and stone wall traced faintly across gray 
 and yellow fields where new cut grass lay loose and 
 unraked. Solitary and majestic they stood, indiffer- 
 ent to the petty passions of men that were playing 
 the game of war within sight of them ; unmindful of 
 this little bubble that was breaking on the sea of 
 eternity through which they had endured. 
 
 The ridge of which they were part came to two 
 prominences. One of them, Breed's Hill, stood in 
 advance of the other, nearer the town and the water, 
 attached to its comrade by a bridging ridge, broad 
 and smooth. The other, Bunker Hill, towered 
 slightly higher than the first. From it the ridge ran 
 backward, growing lower and narrower, until it 
 pinched out and finally disappeared at the narrow 
 neck of land which connected the peninsula, on 
 which the town and hills were situated, with the 
 mainland. 
 
 Beyond the neck of land, stretching in a long, thin 
 circle, marked and dotted with earthwork and en- 
 campment ; passing through towns and hamlets, 
 crossing field and woods, ridge and river, was the 
 line of the American forces ; the ** peasants " and 
 " rustics " that were besieging Boston town. Here 
 and there in the long line camp-fires glowed red 
 against the earth ; here and there lights in some 
 house or village mansion showed that the officers 
 who commanded this array were taking counsel, how 
 
40 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 they might drive the hated redcoats from the chief 
 city of the colony. 
 
 Over it all, city and river, town and hill, droning 
 camp and silent countryside, hovered the starry 
 silences of night. And city and river, town and hill, 
 camp and countryside, earth and sky, held no hint 
 of the great deeds that were to be performed on the 
 morrow, the first of many deeds that were to awaken 
 the world to a new country, born of liberty and free- 
 dom on the shores of the Atlantic. 
 
 No hint, unless there was hint of it in a long file 
 of stalking shadows that moved in spectral silence 
 along the road crossing the thin neck behind Charles- 
 town. What could it bode, that long, broken dusky 
 file of shadows that bore on their shoulders muskets, 
 and shovels, and picks ? What was the meaning of 
 the carts scattered among the shadows, their wheels 
 wound with wisps of straw to kill the noise of their 
 rolling ? The hours, rushing swiftly down out of 
 eternity, were to tell the meaning of that ghost-like 
 procession. At their head strode a tall, rugged, 
 well-knit man, his face raised to the breeze, his alert 
 eyes searching the darkness for the way, glancing at 
 the British ships in the stream, and beyond to where 
 the British regiments lay sleeping in Boston. Col. 
 William Prescott it was, of Peperell ; he who had 
 fought with the English against the French at Louis- 
 burg in the late war ; who had refused a commission 
 in the British army to return to his farm ; who had 
 gathered together the minutemen of Peperell when 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 41 
 
 the alarm came from Concord two months before, 
 and who had not since turned his back on the foes 
 of liberty and freedom in yonder city. 
 
 The British regiments slept on ; the sentinels con- 
 tinued to tread the empty decks of the British ships 
 of war, calling out that all was well as the hours 
 struck, and the stealthy file of shadows moved out 
 across the neck of land and up the nearest hill — 
 Bunker Hill. 
 
 They came to the crest. The thin stream of 
 dusky shadows gathered into broad eddies, whisper- 
 ing softly within themselves. The quiet carts came 
 to a halt. A group of men joined in earnest discus- 
 sion apart from the others. 
 
 " Here is the place," said one. 
 
 •' But the other hill is better," another objected. 
 " Look ; it is closer to the town. Our guns could 
 command the city from there, and sweep the British 
 shipping from the river." 
 
 " But there we should be in danger of being cut 
 off," returned a third. " The enemy could seize the 
 neck of land, and have us bottled up ; but if we for- 
 tify here we could keep them from it." 
 
 " What is to be gained by holding the position 
 unless we can put it to some use ? " argued another. 
 " We could do nothing here against the town or the 
 ships ; it is too far. If the other hill is exposed, we 
 must remember that we shall gain nothing without 
 exposure, and war is not a lady's game, to be plaved 
 fearfully." 
 
42 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " Neither is it a game where you should set for 
 yourself traps." 
 
 " We should gain enough by holding this hill," 
 went on another, " for it is known that the enemy de- 
 sire it for their own use, to hold back our own lines. 
 They had planned to seize it soon." 
 
 " Come, let us decide," protested Gridley, an en- 
 gineer who was to lay out the plan of the fort. "We 
 have no time to lose. It is already late to begin." 
 
 " Our orders were to fortify Bunker Hill," submit- 
 ted another of the group, " We had best do as we 
 were told." 
 
 Colonel Prescott spoke up. ** That is no reason 
 why we should not do as we see fit, now that we are 
 on the ground and can look it over." 
 
 So the argument went on to no decision. They 
 walked across to Breed's Hill, and back again, weigh- 
 ing every reason for and against each position, los- 
 ing much precious time, while the soldiers waited 
 impatiently to begin the task that was ahead of them. 
 It was not until Gridley had urged them time and 
 again, pleading with them to decide one way or the 
 other, that Colonel Prescott gave the order to have 
 the fort built on Breed's Hill, nearer to the town and 
 river, and farthest from the slim neck of land which 
 was their only escape from the position if disaster 
 came upon them. 
 
 Presently, on the top of Breed's Hill, there arose a 
 faint busy sound ; the thud of picks on the surface 
 of the ground, the click of shovels against stones. 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 43 
 
 the soft hiss of dirt flung from shovel blades, the 
 sigh of it sinking upon the banks that grew apace, 
 the smothered grunts and labored breathing of men, 
 a low-spoken word now and then of comment, a 
 question asked and answered, a suggestion given. 
 The embankment took form along the lines laid 
 down by Gridley, and grew with a rapidity that 
 seemed like magic. But not one least sound went 
 down from the hill to the sentinels on the deserted 
 decks of the British ships. 
 
 Stout lads they were behind the shovels and 
 picks ; men who tilled the soil ; who had fought a 
 hard fight to drag their sustenance from the ground 
 through generations ; who were as familiar with the 
 use of the weapons they plied as with the muskets 
 which lay on the ground ready for what was to 
 follow. And behind the stout lads was an intense 
 feeling of hatred for the foe against whom they 
 labored ; of love for the rights and liberties which 
 that foe disputed, giving them greater strength and 
 endurance for the task. 
 
 One hour passed ; two ; three. The work was 
 beginning to look like something ; even those unused 
 to fortifications could see the idea behind it ; the 
 purpose of the angled walls they were throwing up. 
 Doubtful hearts took new courage ; tired muscles 
 and bones forgot their fatigue ; the dirt flew fast and 
 faster. Those at work could hear the ships' bells 
 striking the hour in the river below ; could hear the 
 sentinels on watch cry out : " All's well ; " could 
 
44 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 almost hear the tread of their feet on the planks. 
 No hint of their presence on the hill had warned the 
 enemy. 
 
 Gray crept into the east ; a faint hue, growing 
 brighter, streaked presently with flushes from the 
 sun rising in the distant ocean. Time pressed ; the 
 work was not completed. Slowly the dim outlines of 
 the hill took form from the hovering dusk ; the 
 town of Charlestown arose from the gulf of darkness 
 that had drowned it from their sight ; the outlines of 
 the ships at anchor in the stream became more and 
 more distinct. 
 
 A soldier, stopping to rest, glanced down at the 
 ships. He saw a ball of white smoke leap suddenly 
 from the vessel's side, pierced by a quick, bright 
 flash. Before he had time to exclaim, the air shook 
 with the boom of a cannon. The British on the 
 ships had seen them ; the game had begun. 
 
 Another pufl of smoke ; another flash, and the 
 boom of another gun rushed up the hill. A second 
 ship spoke ; a third. In ten minutes three of them 
 were pounding away regularly at the mound of 
 earth that had risen during the night, and swarmed 
 now with men looking, from the distant river, like so 
 many ants. 
 
 The balls struck around the workers, kicking up a 
 cloud of dust in the hillside, or howling over their 
 heads. There were not many who had been under 
 the fire of heavy guns before ; they looked at one 
 another with long faces. " Courage, men," said 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 45 
 
 Colonel Prescott, walking among them, calm as a 
 duck. They fell to work once more, watching over 
 their shoulders for the balls. 
 
 Prescott, calling an aide, sent him to General 
 Artemus Ward, at Cambridge, with a request for 
 reinforcements. He foresaw that the British would 
 not leave them long in undisputed possession of the 
 hill. Their cannonading was too vigorous ; too 
 businesslike. 
 
 Those on the hill could see soldiers and dragoons 
 running to and fro over in the streets of Boston 
 bearing messages, carrying alarms. People began 
 to appear in vacant lots, on verandahs, on roofs, to 
 see what the clatter was all about. The sight they 
 saw held them excited witnesses. They knew what 
 it meant. They knew that if their friends were 
 permitted to hold ihe hill Boston couid no longer be 
 occupied by the British ; and they knew that if the 
 British should try to take the hill there would shortly 
 be a sight worth seeing. 
 
 A cannon shot, finding its way into the throng of 
 diggers, struck down a soldier. He kicked the dirt 
 with his heels once, stiffened, wriggled, and lay 
 quiet, without uttering a cry, or a sob. The sight 
 appalled the farmers not used to seeing men slaugh- 
 tered in such fashion. They drew away from the 
 victim of the shot, anxious, disturbed, worried. 
 
 Colonel Prescott, seeing the fear growing among 
 them, leapt upon the top of the embankment, with 
 drawn sword in his hand. 
 
46 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " A chance shot ; a chance shot ! " he cried, walk- 
 ing to and fro quietly, with head erect. " Never 
 mind them, men. We have work to do." 
 
 The sight of the man walking calmly in such 
 exposure reassured them. They picked up their 
 implements again, and renewed their digging. 
 
 Companies of redcoats began to form in the streets 
 near the river. Officers, hurrying up in full uniform, 
 sent them hither and yon, forming them into battal- 
 ions and regiments. Others came marching down 
 the streets to join them. All was bustle and excite- 
 ment. 
 
 Colonel Prescott, marching back and forth on top 
 of the embankment, turned an anxious eye toward 
 Charlestown Neck. He had sent several messages 
 earlier in the morning to Cambridge urging General 
 Ward to send more troops. He saw bodies of them 
 coming in the distance. Looking from time to time, 
 he saw them draw nearer and emerge upon the thin 
 strip of land. 
 
 As they reached this point, two British barges, 
 anchored near the neck, opened on them heavily. 
 Prescott beheld the Americans continue to move at 
 even pace through the drift of fire, and come toward 
 him, on the hill. Presently he saw that it was John 
 Stark, with his New Hampshire boys. 
 
 Others came after him ; Putnam, Pomeroy, Knowl- 
 ton. There was confusion on the hill. None knew 
 who was in command ; each officer went about the 
 work of preparing for the British as he saw fit 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 47 
 
 Stark, passing over the ridge, hurried with his men 
 into the sloping field on the left, where others were 
 already at work transforming a stone and rail fence 
 into a work of defense by building another rail fence 
 in front of it, and stuffing between the two the new- 
 mown hay which strewed the ground. 
 
 Colonel Prescott, watching from the top of the 
 parapet, where he continued to walk exposed to the 
 bombardment as an example to his men, caught 
 sight of some one approaching whose presence 
 brought him down in a leap from his elevated posi- 
 tion, and sent him hurrying forward to meet the 
 newcomer. It was Dr. Warren, leader of the patriots 
 in and about Boston. Warren was young — only 
 thirty-four — but he had already distinguished him- 
 self. Twice, on anniversaries of the Boston Massa- 
 cre, he had delivered orations in Old South Meeting- 
 House in Boston, when British officers had sworn 
 that the man who endeavored to address the meet- 
 ing would not be permitted to live. He had been 
 president of the Massachusetts assembly ; next to 
 Samuel Adams and John Hancock he was the most 
 important and influential man in the colony. Lately 
 he had been elected a major-general in the army by 
 the assembly. Prescott, holding no commission, 
 hastened to surrender command to him. Putnam, 
 coming up at the moment, made the same offer. 
 
 " I thank you, gentlemen," replied Dr. Warren, 
 generously, " but I have come to serve as a volunteer 
 in the ranks. Not feeling myself suited to the re- 
 
48 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 sponsibility of leading, I much prefer shouldering a 
 musket, with which I hope I shall be able to efTect 
 more than I could with a sword." 
 
 No urging would induce him to change his de- 
 cision ; borrowing a musket, he took position behind 
 the embankment of the redoubt, which was now 
 nearly completed, where he greatly heartened the 
 tired men by his presence. 
 
 There was another volunteer on that day whom 
 history knows. James Otis, one of the first leaders 
 of thought among the patriots in the times when 
 King George was beginning to make himself detest- 
 able, had suffered a beating at the hands of a British 
 officer in Boston several years before, from the ef- 
 fects of which he lost his mind. A sister took him 
 to live with her at Watertown. Learning early in the 
 morning that Bunker Hill was being fortified, and 
 that there would probably be a battle, he stole away 
 from her house, stopped at a tavern to borrow a 
 musket, trudged across Charlestown Neck, made his 
 way to the redoubt, and stood there now, musket in 
 hand, waiting for the time to come when he could 
 deal a blow in answer to those he had received. The 
 one passion of his life — love of human rights and 
 hatred of tyranny — had risen through the mists that 
 obscured his brain and driven him there to the fort, 
 clear of purpose, stalwart, determined. 
 
 All along the line, from the four sides of the re- 
 doubt to the tip of the rail fence next the river, every- 
 thing was astir. Foot by foot the defenses grew 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 49 
 
 stronger ; the walls thicker and higher ; the platforms 
 behind the parapets broader and more secure. With 
 men enough, and with powder enough, they might 
 hope to hold out against any direct attack of the 
 enemy. But they had neither men nor powder 
 enough. The soldiers in the works were tired with 
 a long night of labor without sleep ; and powder was 
 pitiably scarce. Prescott had sent for more ; many 
 and many a time he cast an eager eye toward the 
 neck to see whether it was coming. 
 
 But there was another danger, graver than scar- 
 city of men and powder. They realized it better 
 now that daylight showed the lay of the land than 
 they had when they began to erect the redoubt in 
 the darkness. By seizing Charlestown Neck, which 
 they could easily do with the aid of their boats, the 
 enemy could capture the entire American force. The 
 fort on the hill was no defense against such a move- 
 ment ; and there was no egress from the Charlestown 
 peninsula except by way of the neck. Putnam, see- 
 ing this clearly, formed men on Bunker Hill, in the 
 rear of the works, where they would be able partially 
 to cover a retreat. 
 
 Now barges were being brought up to the water 
 side in Boston town, where the redcoats were formed 
 ready to embark. If there had been any doubt about 
 the intentions of General Sir William Howe, the 
 British commanding officer, they were settled now. 
 It was clear that he meant to fight, and that he meant 
 to fight hard, if need be. For he had drawn up 
 
50 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 three regiments of his best troops, and was about to 
 embark them in the barges. 
 
 All this time the fire from the ships, and from a 
 battery on Copp's Hill, had continued to pepper the 
 works of the Americans, but without much damage. 
 The "peasants" and " rustics " were used to cannon 
 fire by this time ; they had already found out that its 
 bark was worse than its bite. They were resting 
 now behind the works they had labored so hard to 
 throw up, and were eating a bit of food. They were 
 tired and hungry enough for it, you may know. 
 
 Fancy the sight from Boston ! The day was crys- 
 tal clear ; the sun bright and sparkling ; the sky 
 without a cloud. Over on the hill behind the little 
 suburb of Charlestown they could clearly see the 
 fort where the night before had been only vacant 
 fields. They could see their friends still busying 
 about here and there, putting the last touches on 
 their defenses. The long slopes that ran from the 
 Mystic to the fortified crest of the hill lay under their 
 eyes like a theater ; fields green with grass, yellow 
 with hay, interlaced by fences. Down by the river, 
 at Moulton's point, the regulars were marching off 
 their boats and deploying in long lines, vivid red 
 lines against the green ; a magnificent and terrible 
 sight. 
 
 Colonel Prescott was glad in his stout heart that 
 the enemy were going to attack in front. He had 
 dreaded more and more a movement against his 
 rear by way of Charlestown Neck. He knew his 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 51 
 
 men. Exhausted though they were by loss of sleep 
 and labor without food, he knew that they would 
 hurl back any advance up the exposed slopes, and 
 welcomed it. His only doubt, his only fear, was 
 that the powder would give out. 
 
 You may wonder why Howe did not seize the 
 neck, as he could have done. Many have raised 
 the question. The answer is amusing — and tragic. 
 He, and his fellow-officers with him, believed that the 
 " peasants " and " rustics" were cowards ; that they 
 would not stand before the British regulars ; that 
 they would turn and run after firing a shot or two. 
 Belief in their cowardice had been encouraged by 
 English statesmen at home» Howe, believing it, 
 thought that he could sweep the hill clean in a brave 
 advance. He would not do the enemy the honor of 
 making a flank movement ; that would be a recog- 
 nition of their fighting capacity which he was not 
 willing to admit 
 
 To the beat of drums the red-coated lines formed 
 in ranging ranks and moved forward ; one wing, 
 led by Howe in person, against the stone wall and 
 rail fence and the other, under General Pigot, against 
 the redoubt. You can imagine that there was a deal 
 of suppressed excitement among the farmers waiting 
 for them on the hill. Many of them had never been 
 in battle, and those who had had faced only the 
 French and Indians in the late war. The British had 
 a reputation for terrible courage. The Americans 
 knew how well the enemy could fight. Some of the 
 
52 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 regiments that advanced against the inexperienced 
 farmers had glorious histories behind them of battles 
 fought and won ; of sieges sustained, and deeds of 
 valor. 
 
 I hope that you and I would have been as calm 
 and cool in the face of that advancing array as were 
 those who stood behind their hasty defenses. There 
 was not a sound, not a movement, behind the re- 
 doubt walls and the rail fence, excepting now and 
 then a low word of comment that ran its course 
 through the attacked, or a quiet order from some 
 officer pacing up and down the lines. 
 
 "Aim low," was the word. "Aim at their belts." 
 Their belts were pretty things to shoot at ; white 
 against the scarlet coats. 
 
 " Hold your fire. Wait until you see the whites 
 of their eyes," said Israel Putnam to the men at the 
 fence. 
 
 You must remember that the muskets used in 
 those days were smooth-bore affairs firing a round 
 ball. They did not shoot straight for more than 
 fifty or sixty yards. Beyond that distance the bullet 
 would go sailing oflE in almost any direction. In 
 order to hit the mark, the man behind the musket 
 had to wait until the target was close ; less than the 
 length of two baseball paths. You can imagine 
 that that would be a hard thing for raw fighters to 
 do, when a brave array was marching against them 
 with bayonets fixed, firing as they came. 
 
 Closer and closer up the slopes drew the red ranks. 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 53 
 
 They came slowly, in regular lines, as though on 
 parade. In front of them marched their officers, 
 speaking over their shoulders to the men. A glori- 
 ous sight on that June morning — and a terrible. 
 
 Colonel Prescott stood on a platform behind the 
 parapet of the redoubt, watching them come. From 
 time to time he looked along the lines inside the for- 
 tification. He saw eager faces straining over the 
 top of the embankment ; saw strong fingers toying 
 nervously with lock and trigger ; saw Dr. Warren, 
 young, brave, handsome, shoulder to shoulder with 
 a farmer lad from Groton ; saw the pitiful, wistful 
 face of James Otis, the lips moving, perhaps in 
 silent repetition of some of the words he had hurled 
 in his day against the British king, ready now to 
 hurl more deadly missiles against the hirelings of 
 that king who had come to do his despotic bidding. 
 
 The ranks of the British came to a halt a hundred 
 yards away. They lifted their muskets with a 
 steady sweep, smooth and regular as the working of 
 a machine. The Americans could hear the order 
 given to fire. There was a flat sheet of flame, a 
 swirling cloud of gray smoke, the crash of a volley. 
 Heads disappeared behind the embankment. The 
 bullets whistled harmlessly above, or pattered into 
 the soft earth, sending up little spurts of dust, and 
 releasing tiny avalanches that slid to rest, covering 
 the balls. No one was hurt ; no harm done. 
 
 Some one fired a shot from the redoubt, unable to 
 contain his impatience. Away down along the fence 
 
54 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 there was another shot, and another. Colonel Pres- 
 cott, seeing more muskets leveled over the ramparts, 
 leaped toward them and struck them up with his 
 sword. 
 
 "Stop firing!" he shouted. "You are wasting 
 powder. Wait until I give the sign." 
 
 Dr. Warren, glancing along the ranks on either 
 side, repeated the order. It ran through the line. 
 Soldiers restrained each other; silence fell on the 
 redoubt as the men settled down to wait once 
 more. 
 
 Another halt, and another volley from the foe. 
 Again a few of the Americans gave way to eager- 
 ness, and fired ; and again they were restrained by 
 officers and men. Every bullet must count ; every 
 ounce of powder must be well spent, if they were to 
 drive back that magnificent array of valor. 
 
 Seventy yards, sixty, fifty-five ; and still there 
 was no sign of fight in the redoubt or along the 
 fence. The British could not understand. Were 
 the Americans greater cowards even than they had 
 been reported to be ? Were they going to turn and 
 run without firing a single shot? 
 
 Fifty yards — and they had their answer. Colonel 
 Prescott, his face alight with a sudden exultation, 
 turned to his men. " Now ! " he said, in a voice that 
 was little more than a whisper. 
 
 With the quickness of magic the top of the fort 
 was fringed thick with muskets. There was a pause, 
 while the men took aim, and then a rattle of fire 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 55 
 
 began, growing faster and faster until it merged 
 into a continuous clatter. 
 
 Out in front of the work, fifty yards away, was a 
 horrible scene. The front rank of the British had 
 disappeared ; melted away in the heat of a gun fire 
 the like of which British veterans had never faced 
 before. Soldiers lay squirming in heaps on the 
 grass. Some, lifting themselves on hands or elbows, 
 clutched at their sudden wounds and cried out to the 
 sky overhead in their bitter anguish. Others lay 
 still ; others merely groaned, or sobbed, with eyes 
 slowly fixing and glazing. 
 
 The red ranks stopped, staggered and aghast at 
 the destruction that had leapt upon them from the 
 brisding walls. They looked this way and that over 
 the carnage, puzzled, confused, unable to understand 
 the meaning of it. It was beyond their experience. 
 They saw their fellows writhing in death throes on 
 every hand. They saw officers on whom they 
 depended for encouragement and command strew- 
 ing the grass in front of them. They drew together 
 like frightened horses in a storm, staring wistfully at 
 each other. 
 
 Fast and furiously the Americans plied their guns 
 within the redoubt, and behind the rail fence. Howe 
 had met no better fate there than Pigot here. His 
 men were shattered, dumbly hopeless. Howe himself, 
 standing in advance of them, watched them dropping 
 one by one before the steady fire of the ** peasants. " 
 He waved his sword, shouting courage to them. 
 
56 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Habit, the habit of bravery, held the demoralized 
 ranks where they were in the midst of the withering 
 fire. Presently, standing there, they began to load 
 and fire back, aimlessly, from force of habit. 
 
 Those in the redoubt did not mind their firing. 
 With a skill born of long usage of guns in forest 
 and field, the countrymen loaded, aimed carefully, 
 and fired at the white belts against the red coats. 
 It was like picking off partridges. They worked 
 swiftly, but calmly, without hurry. They did not 
 waste a shot ; each selected his victim and aimed 
 deliberately at him before he pulled the trigger. 
 
 " See that officer over there ? Watch me hit him ! " 
 cried the Groton lad, next to Dr. Warren. The piece 
 was steadied ; it leapt against the lad's cheek at the 
 pull of the trigger, and the British officer, brave and 
 gay in his fine uniform, crumpled up and plunged 
 forward, his face ploughing in the dirt. The lad 
 laughed. 
 
 So it went. Prescott, running here and there, 
 watchful, took a musket from a wounded man and 
 fired it. His eye caught sight of James Otis, gazing 
 in fascination over the top of the works as he loaded 
 his musket mechanically. He stopped to watch the 
 old broken man fire ; saw the light of battle gleam- 
 ing in his eye ; swallowed a sob of pity in memory 
 of all the man had been. 
 
 It could not last forever. Flesh and blood could 
 not stand such murder, if British courage could. 
 The regulars— those that were left of them, — turned, 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 57 
 
 and marched down the hill ; marched with the slow 
 step and even ranks of soldiers on parade. 
 
 As they started a hundred men leapt from the 
 works to pursue, going over the top of the parapet 
 in a cloud. 
 
 " Halt 1 " cried Colonel Prescott, leaping after 
 them and dragging them by their sleeves. "Come 
 back." They must not give up the advantage 
 of their defenses ; they could not meet in open 
 field British regulars that outnumbered them two to 
 one. 
 
 Ofificers and soldiers ran up and down within the 
 works, restraining their too anxious comrades. All 
 was confusion for a moment. It was not like an 
 army, that force of defenders. There was no dis- 
 cipline, no authority that they would all recognize. 
 Orders had to be enforced by persuasion, and not by 
 force. 
 
 When quiet was restored at last the tired men set- 
 tled back at their posts to snatch a bit of rest before 
 another attack — if there should be another. It had 
 been hot work while it lasted, after their long night 
 with the pick and shovel. 
 
 Dr. Warren stepped up to Colonel Prescott. " I 
 congratulate you, sir, on a noble defense," he said, 
 warmly. 
 
 " We have the men to thank for that, doctor," re- 
 turned Prescott. " Brave men like yourself." 
 
 " I am only one who is doing my best," rejoined 
 the doctor, modestly. 
 
58 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " That's all any of them are. Every man here is 
 just one, doing his best." 
 
 •' Will they attempt it again, colonel ? " asked Dr. 
 Warren, glancing down the hill at the enemy. 
 
 " They are British soldiers, and they want the hill, 
 doctor," returned the commanding officer. "That 
 is all I am able to say." 
 
 " They will not have their wish, sir ! " declared Dr. 
 Warren. 
 
 •' They would not, if we had enough powder," the 
 other returned. " Tired as our men are, they would 
 hold the hill if they had anything left to shoot with." 
 
 " Is the powder gone ? " 
 
 " We have enough for another assault, if they 
 make it." 
 
 " We shall have enough ; they will not take the 
 hill," Warren repeated, emphatically. "They can- 
 not vanquish such courage as this." 
 
 " You can't load a musket with courage and kill 
 an enemy with it," replied Prescott. 
 
 Warren was silent for a moment. " James Otis is 
 here," he went on. 
 
 " I have seen him ; it is pathetic." 
 
 " And it is glorious. Age has bent his body, and 
 the British have beaten out the light of his brain, but 
 nothing can smother the flame in his soul that has 
 exalted him above his fellows in the fight for freedom 
 which we now see drawing to a climax. It is sub- 
 limely magnificent that he should be here, driven by 
 the same high passion that has animated his life." 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 59 
 
 " Heaven spare him from death ! " murmured 
 Prescott. 
 
 " On the contrary, colonel, would it not be a fit- 
 ting end if this day were to put a period to his 
 glorious life ? It would be a fitting conclusion to his 
 labors." 
 
 *' Aye," returned Colonel Prescott, " and a fitting 
 conclusion to the labors of any man to die this day. 
 It is a glorious day, sir." 
 
 About to reply, Dr. Warren's speech was arrested 
 by something that his eye had caught in swinging 
 over the panorama below them. All this time the 
 ships in the stream, and the battery on Copp's Hill had 
 been pounding away at the patriots' works, raising 
 a great din and smoke, but without any other notable 
 result. ** See," he said, " there is more smoke than 
 usual, Charlestown way. 'Tis a black smoke, more- 
 over," Warren went on. '• Can you make out the 
 meaning of it ? " 
 
 " The British have set fire to Charlestown," Pres- 
 cott announced, after a moment's view. 
 
 " Why ? " cried Warren, hotly. " Why have they 
 done such a wanton thing ? " 
 
 "To cover their movements," Prescott replied. 
 " It means that they are going to try again." 
 
 " Outrageous ! " exclaimed Dr. Warren. 
 
 A mutter of anger arose from the patriot ranks at 
 the sight of the burning town. The fire, set by red- 
 hot shot from the British vessels, sprang up in a 
 number of places and grew apace. The black 
 
6o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 smoke-pall lifted lazily into the air and drifted sky- 
 ward, without serving the purpose for which the fire 
 had been kindled. The long hill-slopes were as clear 
 and bright under the sun as they had been. 
 
 Down by the river the British were eating their 
 lunches, and waiting for the arrival of fresh troops. 
 It was clear that Howe intended another attack like 
 the first. Presently the Americans saw the troops 
 forming again in lines of battle ; heard the beat 
 of drums, and beheld the enemy advancing once 
 more. 
 
 Prescott, standing on the parapet, turned his eyes 
 toward Charlestown Neck again. Where was the 
 powder he had sent for so urgently? Why was it 
 not coming up ? Once more they could hold back 
 this fierce flood, and then they would be helpless. 
 
 Slowly, with steadfast courage, the British ranks 
 moved up the slope. One hundred yards away they 
 were ; seventy ; fifty. At intervals they stopped to 
 fire a volley, and came on again. The guns of ship 
 and battery made incessant thunder ; the black smoke 
 of burning Charlestown rolled heavenward. Silent, 
 grim, resolute, the patriots waited in their defenses. 
 
 Thirty yards away the British marched ; the length 
 of a baseball path. Suddenly the redoubt and the 
 rail fence again became volcanoes, spitting hot 
 leaden death upon the soldiers of the king. Once 
 more the ranks withered away ; once more they 
 stood appalled ; once more they retreated, this time 
 on the run. The Americans from behind their works 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 6i 
 
 could see them straggling down the hill in drifting 
 lines, some of them helping wounded comrades, 
 others making the best time they could alone. 
 
 Silence reigned in the fortifications. Would the 
 enemy try again ? The men were exhausted. Their 
 powder was gone. No more came. Some of the 
 men had three rounds left, some only one. They 
 broke open the cannon cartridges and passed around 
 that powder. It barely increased the pitiable store. 
 
 Hours passed. It was five o'clock. The day was 
 nearly done. The farmers on the hill began to 
 breathe more easily. They were certain the red- 
 coats would not try again. They chattered and 
 joked each other in relief. 
 
 Then they saw the brave regulars moving forward 
 for a third time. 
 
 Up, up the hill they came, drums beating, colors 
 flying, the long, straight ranks marching in martial 
 step. Closer and closer they came. Now the pa- 
 triots could see the faces of the British ; now they 
 could see their eyes. 
 
 In the moment when the defense was bracing 
 itself for the last shock, the long line wheeled, folded 
 up, bunched, and was hurled in solid mass against 
 the redoubt. 
 
 Sharp spoke the rifles of the Americans. The red- 
 coated ranks held back, shirking the task, shrinking 
 from the punishment that had been theirs twice 
 before. 
 
 " Powder ! Powder ! " called out a farmer lad in 
 
62 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 the redoubt, in an ill-starred moment. " Where is 
 more powder ? We're out of powder," 
 
 The Englishmen heard the call, and knew what it 
 meant. They dashed forward. The shots that met 
 them thinned out, becoming more and more infre- 
 quent. 
 
 In the lead of the attacking column was a slim fig- 
 ure of a man; a major of grenadiers. He leaped 
 upon the top of the parapet, sword in hand. " Up, 
 men," he shouted. " They've nothing left to shoot." 
 
 The Americans saw him. They recognized him 
 at once. An angry shout went up. " Shoot him ! " 
 they cried. " It's Pitcairn. Kill him ! " It was the 
 Pitcairn that had led the British to Concord, he who 
 had fired the first shot in this war. 
 
 Half a dozen muskets spoke. The major of grena- 
 diers grew limp, caved in, and toppled down from the 
 top of the wall, a dead man. 
 
 But others came ; too many others. There were 
 not bullets for them all. They gained the crest of 
 the work ; they poured inside. Their bayonets 
 flashed in the sunlight, driven home in patriot 
 bodies. They were met with clubbed muskets in 
 the hands of brave men. But the patriots were no 
 match. Driven from place to place, they fought 
 stoudy, only to fall beneath the pointed steel or the 
 bullets which the foe still had in plenty. 
 
 Prescott, standing in the midst of the conflict, saw 
 that his men were being wasted in a hopeless, useless 
 slaughter. He rushed here and there directing re- 
 
PRESCOTT OF PEPERELL 63 
 
 sistance, but to no purpose. Each effort to stem the 
 rising tide of redcoats only resulted in death to the 
 Americans. The hill was lost. 
 
 " Retreat 1 " he cried. 
 
 " Retreat 1 Retreat 1 " rang along the ranks. 
 
 Slowly, doggedly, the patriots withdrew in cluster- 
 ing bands, fighting off those who pressed upon 
 them. 
 
 Prescott, loitering and looking about to see that 
 all had heard, and were getting off, beheld a sight 
 that stopped his heart; that all but sent him back 
 into the fray to die. Dr. Warren, tall, agile, was 
 standing beneath the parapet, surrounded by British, 
 beating them off with a sword he had snatched up. 
 On his face was a light that told why he was there. 
 He was there still because he would not leave ; be- 
 cause he would not abandon the post that they had 
 fought for so bravely. 
 
 Even as Prescott looked he saw a bayonet thrust 
 through Warren's body, and saw him pitched on the 
 ground dead. 
 
 With a raging heart, he turned once more and 
 followed his men, who were walking away reluc- 
 tantly, stopping now and then to snarl a curse back 
 at the British. They were joined by men leaving 
 the rail fence, where the British had found lodg- 
 ment in the excitement that attended the taking of 
 the redoubt. All were sullen, disappointed, angry, 
 — but not disheartened. They left the field of battle 
 as they left the field of ploughing at the close of 
 
64 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 other days ; without haste, without fear. For they 
 had learned that American yeomen could stand their 
 ground against the regulars of England, and that 
 was enough. They had lost the hill, but another 
 time, and many other times, they would put their 
 valor to the proof. That they knew ; and that the 
 British knew as well. Defeat had come with the end 
 of day ; but it was the beginning of a braver day for 
 those who had fought the good fight. 
 
 And up in the redoubt, on the top of the hill, 
 British redcoats gathered in silent, thoughtful groups 
 watching the "rustics" whom they had taken for 
 cowards as they straggled down the ridge and across 
 Charlestown Neck. No one had a thought of follow- 
 ing ; for all had had enough. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 
 
 Four or five young men sat huddled about the 
 kitchen fire in the Caldwell house, on the Plains of 
 Abraham, behind Quebec. They wore the red coats 
 of British infantry, but they were American soldiers. 
 The coats had been made of cloth taken when they 
 captured Montreal. They were glad enough to 
 have any coats to their backs ; for the time was 
 late December, and the winter was bitter cold out-of- 
 doors. 
 
 You would not have thought they were soldiers if 
 you had seen them sitting about the fire, in spite of 
 their red coats. They had not a military bearing ; 
 they slouched in their chairs, careless of their appear- 
 ance. Their faces were thin and drawn by hard- 
 ships ; their bodies were reduced to strands of lean 
 muscle and sinew. They had come many weary 
 miles with their comrades to drive the English from 
 the capital of Canada, and take the town for the 
 colonies. 
 
 The winter wind was howling dismally without, 
 blowing keen from the frozen fields of Hudson's Bay. 
 Drafts, creeping through chinks in the door-sill, 
 drove them shivering close to the fire. In the next 
 room there was the sound of voices muttering in dis- 
 
66 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 cussion. Now and then the tread of an impatient 
 boot was heard. The Caldwell house was the head- 
 quarters of Richard Montgomery ; he and his ofificers 
 were in a council of war. 
 
 Richard Montgomery was a man you would have 
 loved. Bred a soldier in the English army, he had 
 served with Wolfe when that general captured 
 Quebec from the French nineteen years before, in a 
 fight that had taken place within half a mile of where 
 he was now taking counsel concerning the capture of 
 the place from the English. Tiring at last of the 
 profession of arms, he had resigned his commission 
 as captain, sailed for America, and settled in New 
 York, where he married a daughter of the Living- 
 stons. You ought to know about the Livingstons ; 
 they were a brave and splendid family in our early 
 history. 
 
 When trouble broke out between the colonies and 
 the British crown Montgomery had seen the truth of 
 the conflict, and cast his lot with the patriots on the 
 side of human rights. After the battle of Bunker 
 Hill he had started for Canada with a force of New 
 York and New England troops, intending to seize 
 the British strongholds in the province and so pre- 
 vent the enemy from descending against New York 
 and severing the eastern colonies from the western. 
 Now, having taken the English fort at St. Johns, and 
 captured Montreal, he was before the gates of the 
 City of Quebec ; the post vital to the English cause 
 in America. 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 67 
 
 Another force was with him behind the city. Bene- 
 dict Arnold, starting from the mouth of the Kenne- 
 bec, in Maine, witli 1,100 men in the summer be- 
 fore, had brought some of them through with him to 
 the St. Lawrence, had crossed the river with them, 
 and taken position on the Plains of Abraham. It 
 was a dreadful journey up the Kennebec in huge, 
 cumbrous plank boats, across the divide, and down 
 the Chaudiere. Of the 1,100 who started scarcely 
 500 reached the end of the journey. Many turned 
 back, ill or discouraged ; many died by the way. 
 Long before they reached Canada they had run 
 out of provisions. Much of their food was lost in 
 the water through the overturning of their craft ; 
 much, getting wet, spoiled. For days the surviv- 
 ors had lived on roots dug out of the mud with 
 bleeding knuckles ; on the leather of old shoes and 
 hunting shirts, boiled, which they sucked and chewed. 
 They killed and devoured some dogs that had come 
 with the party. They would have starved utterly 
 had not Arnold gone ahead with some others and 
 brought back cattle and horses laden with food. 
 
 Arnold had depended on surprise to capture the 
 British city. His surprise failed. Letters that he 
 had sent ahead to confidential friends fell into the 
 hands of the enemy, forewarning them. When his 
 five hundred appeared opposite the city early in No- 
 vember the foe was on the alert. Even then he could 
 have taken the town by a bold movement. He saw 
 the chance, and prepared to take it. 
 
68 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 His only hope was to cross the river above the 
 city and storm the gates in the fortification facing 
 the Plains of Abraham. It was a slim chance. 
 Quebec had natural defenses almost insurmount- 
 able. The Plains of Abraham broke down in sharp 
 cliffs on three sides. At the end of the promontory 
 thus formed was the city ; Upper Town, straggling 
 down from the summit, and Lower Town, in the 
 narrow space between the base of the huge hill and 
 the St. Lawrence. On the right hand of the plains 
 lay the St. Lawrence, with scarcely room for a road- 
 way between the foot of the bluf? and high tide. To 
 the left was the St. Charles, a smaller stream. The 
 whole was amply walled and fortified. 
 
 But Arnold believed there was a chance. He 
 knew of the place where Wolfe had scaled the 
 heights of Abraham ; the only place for several miles 
 where the summit could be gained from the river. 
 He believed that if he gained the plains and moved 
 briskly against the fortifications from that side he 
 could carry them before the defenders could prevent 
 him. They would not expect such a move from a 
 force as weak as his. The few men he had were 
 half starved and in their scant garments were al- 
 ready shivering with the cold. 
 
 One night he ferried his army across, dodging the 
 British war vessels and scout boats guarding the St. 
 Lawrence. The prospect was bright, when the last 
 boat encountered one of the guard boats in the very 
 cove where the others had landed, and fired on it in 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 69 
 
 an attempt to capture it and prevent its men from 
 alarming the garrison. After that Arnold felt he 
 could not risk an attack, believing the foe would be 
 aroused and would infest the works before he could 
 strike a blow. 
 
 The incident was a part of the ill fortune that fol- 
 lowed the American arms, of which you shall hear 
 more presently. 
 
 When Montgomery joined Arnold's band with 
 three hundred more soldiers and took command 
 they did their best to frighten the city into surrender- 
 ing, but without success. Perhaps they would have 
 succeeded if it had not been for another bit of hard 
 luck. When Montgomery captured the British 
 army at Montreal the British commander. Sir Guy 
 Carleton, a brave man and an able, had slipped 
 away in a boat, disguised as a farmer, and escaped. 
 It was Carleton who organized the defense of the 
 town, gave it backbone, and held the garrison stiff 
 when the Americans' threats and demands promised 
 to intimidate them. 
 
 The situation grew desperate. The Canadian 
 winter was already upon them, with all its horrors. 
 They could hope for no more help from the colonies 
 until spring. Meanwhile the city was likely to grow 
 stronger, and the besiegers weaker. The only 
 chance seemed to lay in an assault. The men were 
 willing and anxious to make the attempt. The of- 
 ficers planned it carefully. 
 
 Three nights previous they had tried. It was a 
 
70 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 night of storm ; a savage wind, a cloudy sky, and a 
 swirling snow, which obscured their movements from 
 the enemy. Arnold, with one-third of the army, had 
 moved against the Lower Town along the St. Charles, 
 and Montgomery, with the remainder, had advanced 
 toward the bastion that crowned Cape Diamond, the 
 highest point in the bluff overlooking the St. Law- 
 rence. His men carried scaling ladders with them 
 which they had been weeks in making. But before 
 they could carry out their plans the snow had ceased, 
 the clouds had broken away, and the stars had come 
 out, making the movement impossible. 
 
 Now they were waiting for another favorable night. 
 
 The group of soldiers about the kitchen fire were 
 discussing the situation with the wisdom peculiar to 
 soldiers. Most of them belonged to Montgomery's 
 command, but two had come from Arnold's camp 
 with his ofBcers. Arnold himself was in the room 
 with Montgomery, and Morgan, and Aaron Burr, 
 who had accompanied the expedition all the way 
 from Maine. Morgan had led his Virginia riflemen, 
 but Burr had come as a gentleman volunteer, 
 
 " 'Tis a bitter, biting night without," said one of 
 the men in the kitchen. " If it should but snow now, 
 as it gives promise to do, we are like to have fair 
 work to keep us warm before morning." 
 
 " For my part, I would welcome it," put in an- 
 other. " I have no stomach for this abiding in mud 
 huts through a northern winter, with the snow up to 
 the arms on a level stretch, and far over your head 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 71 
 
 when it comes to drifts. I would rather be home 
 about my own warm fire, with my babes clambering 
 over my knees." 
 
 " Right you are," quoth a third. 
 
 " Hush, for shame," spoke one of Montgomery's 
 men. " Would you desert a fair cause for a bit of 
 adverse weather ? " 
 
 " Not so ; but if the thing is to be done, let it be 
 done quickly," rejoined the second speaker. 
 
 '* 'Tis too late," observed one, who had kept 
 silence until now. " The chance has slipped past 
 us." 
 
 " How so ? " demanded two or three, hotly. 
 
 *' Why, that's plain enough to any man," the other 
 replied. '* If we do not hit them with surprise what 
 chance have we of winning ? And we can no longer 
 surprise them." 
 
 " You speak folly ! " cried one of them. 
 
 " Nay ; for our plans are known. How, then, shall 
 we surprise them ? " 
 
 " How say you ? How are they known ? " 
 
 " Blockhead ! Did not Sergeant Singleton go over 
 to the enemy since our trial of the other night? 
 Think you he has not told ere this what we in- 
 tended ? " 
 
 " Nay, but that gives us the better chance I " cried 
 another. " For now they will be expecting us at the 
 Cape Diamond bastion and will bring their forces 
 thither, so that we may pass some other way unop- 
 posed." 
 
72 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The soldier had hit upon the truth. Such was the 
 plan even then brewing in the other room. Already 
 the officers had agreed that the main attack was to 
 be delivered by Arnold through the Lower Town by 
 way of the St. Charles, while Montgomery moved 
 along the St. Lawrence at the base of Cape Diamond 
 and came upon the defenses from the opposite 
 quarter ; feints to be maintained meanwhile against 
 the faces of the fort and the gates exposed to the 
 Plains of Abraham. 
 
 " We have but to wait for a fitting night, and all 
 will be over," the soldier went on, 
 
 " Aye, over, one way or t' other, and I, for one, 
 shall be glad enough," rejoined the dismal one, 
 thinking of home and little ones. 
 
 The talk broke into new channels. The two who 
 had come across the wilderness of Maine with 
 Arnold's expedition fell to telling the others of their 
 experiences ; how they had fought up the swift stream 
 with their heavy bateaux, sometimes rowing, some- 
 times poling, sometimes wading in the water to their 
 waists or necks ; how they had carried the boats 
 around falls and rapids, floundering in the mud 
 with the burdens gnawing into the flesh of their 
 shoulders, sometimes sprawling in a heap under the 
 boats ; how they had laughed over it all as they lay 
 at night in their wet clothes, until the food began to 
 give out and sickness spread among them. They 
 told of the horrid days when hunger weakened them ; 
 of pulling out lean roots and gnawing them for 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 73 
 
 nourishment ; of boiled boot-leather for food. They 
 made the eyes of their listeners stare when they spoke 
 of the weary journey over the interminable hills be- 
 tween the head waters of the Kennebec and the 
 Chaudiere. There it was that they first ceased trying 
 to help fallen companions, leaving them to die in the 
 wilderness, a food for wolves and crows. It was all 
 each could do to take care of himself. Barefooted, 
 haggard, gaunt, with clothing in shreds and stream- 
 ing in the cooling winds, they had pushed onward 
 along the banks of the Chaudiere until at last food 
 came to them in the shape of cattle driven by Arnold 
 and his small party. 
 
 '• Will you ever forget the sight of those cattle ? " 
 cried one of Arnold's men, spinning the yarn, to the 
 other. " I saw dust rising between some hills ahead, 
 and pretty soon what should I see coming toward us 
 but critters. When I first caught sight of the horns 
 I could not but think that my day had come, and 
 the evil one was meeting me to take me away with 
 him. For that matter, I believe I would have ex- 
 changed places then for everlasting torment of eter- 
 nity, so poor I was in body and mind." ^ 
 
 " That I did not see," spoke up the other who had 
 come with the Maine expedition, " for early on that 
 day I had stumbled over a log and lain there, too 
 weak to rise. I watched the others go staggering 
 by, and felt sorry for them. And glad enough I was 
 to have it over with, too. My troubles were ended, 
 I said a prayer, and fell asleep as I lay, never doubt 
 
74 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 ing that I should wake in the next world. And when 
 some one woke me, I thought it was the next world, 
 sure enough. They gave me a bit of food, and put 
 me in a boat, and brought me down to my comrades. 
 When the wind blows too sharp of nights, and my 
 feet are nigh freezing in my blankets, I think of that 
 day, and bless God that things are no worse with me 
 now." 
 
 There was a scufBe of feet in the next room, the 
 door opened, and the officers began to file out, still 
 talking to each other over their shoulders. Arnold, 
 handsome, lively, quick-eyed, conversed with the 
 giant Morgan ; a man of sad visage and deep-set 
 eyes, with a soul as big in courage as was his body. 
 Little Aaron Burr, keen of limb and tongue, brilliant 
 of eye and wit, dapper, neat, was with them. Who 
 would have believed that this one and the brave 
 Arnold would one day be traitors to the country for 
 which they were suffering now so stoutly ? Within 
 the room the soldiers caught glimpses of Mont- 
 gomery, delicately handsome, genteel ; a man equally 
 popular in the parlor and ballroom, or the mess and 
 battle-field. Their plans were made ; they had cast 
 themselves upon fortune. How well she used them 
 we shall see. 
 
 Amos Hargreaves, glancing into the room, felt 
 something cold and moist against his dangling wrist. 
 It was the nose of a spaniel, proffering acquaintance. 
 The dog had come unobserved from the room where 
 the ofificers had been in council. 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 75 
 
 " Yah ! Get away ! " cried Amos, in sudden angry 
 disgust, kicking out at tlie dog. 
 
 " Have a care ! " flashed one of Montgomery's 
 soldiers, observing what passed. " Lay a hand on 
 that beast and you will have me to answer to. It is 
 the general's dog, come all the way from New York, 
 that you would kick ! " 
 
 Hargreaves was about to reply in kind, when his 
 comrade broke in. " Give no heed ! " he cried. 
 " Amos cannot abide dogs since we had them for 
 fare on the march. Is it not so, Amos ?" 
 
 •* Aye, that it is," returned the other. " And in 
 sooth I thought I had seen a ghost, for we had one 
 very like this with us." 
 
 The spaniel's champion in pity forgave the fellow, 
 and the dog went about among the others, seeking 
 friends with cold nose and wagging tail. But he 
 gained no attention. Other matters of more impor- 
 tance were in the air. 
 
 Arnold and Morgan, passing to the door that 
 opened into the yard, flung back the portal to go 
 out. As they did so a gust of wind swept in, mak- 
 ing the candle flame dance giddily. With it came a 
 swirl of floating snow. Those in the room could see 
 snow driving in long straight lines across the light 
 from the open door. The storm had arrived ; the 
 hour had come. 
 
 Arnold, stopping in the aperture, called back to 
 Montgomery, who came out to look abroad. " 'Tis 
 a fair beginning," he remarked. " Another hour or 
 
76 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 two of this, and the time will be fit. Make haste to 
 be ready for it, colonel." 
 
 With a quick farewell and a promise to meet in 
 the city below, Arnold took his departure, accom- 
 panied by Morgan and the other officers who had 
 attended the council with him. The two soldiers, 
 wrapping themselves close in their coats, bade their 
 companions good-bye, and followed out into the 
 night. It was then near midnight. 
 
 Montgomery was unhappy. Alone in his room, 
 he strode up and down the floor in anxious impa- 
 tience. He felt the weight of what he was about to 
 do. He had not come in command of the invading 
 force from choice. Only a sense of duty had com- 
 pelled him. He would have preferred to remain at 
 home with his wife, tending to the simple duties of 
 his farm, which he loved. But when General 
 Schuyler's health failed, there had been no one else 
 to assume command, and he had taken the responsi- 
 bility. He was not reluctant, or regretful ; he was 
 only unhappy. 
 
 The prospect of success was bright. The night 
 already gave promise of being such a night as he 
 had been waiting for. The wind was increasing, 
 and the long lines of driven snow were growing 
 denser. Unless luck went against him, fame and 
 glory were in his grasp. Indeed, fame and glory 
 would be his in any event; for he knew that the 
 thing he was about to do was a glorious thing ; that 
 it would be told of him in years to come. Still he 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 77 
 
 was unhappy. He cared nothing for fame and 
 glory. He longed for the quiet pursuits of his 
 farm. 
 
 Perhaps he had a premonition of what impended 
 as he paced to and fro on the floor, glancing out of 
 the window to watch the weather at each turn. The 
 spaniel, coiled up on a rug before the fire, wistfully- 
 watching its master, seemed to have a foreboding. 
 Now and then it would arise to its feet and trot after 
 him, dejectedly, whining softly to itself. 
 
 " Ah, Rocco, little fellow," said the general, paus- 
 ing in his stride to stoop and stroke the dog, " you 
 would much better have stayed at home with your 
 mistress. This is no work for you." 
 
 He walked to the window again, gazed into the 
 whirling dark for a space, turned back to his desk, 
 sat down, and began to write. 
 
 Two o'clock on the morning of December 31, 
 1775. The night was black. Through the utter 
 darkness swung the stinging snow in straight lines. 
 Deadly cold it was ; so cold that arms were numb, 
 that legs moved sluggishly, and heads swam with 
 the pain of it. 
 
 What were those shadows, blacker than the black 
 night, gathering in huddled groups on the Plains of 
 Abraham? Standing in ominous silence, heads 
 bowed, arms hugging their sides ? They were the 
 soldiers of Montgomery, forming to strike a blow for 
 freedom. Whose the slim, straight, quick moving 
 
78 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 figure passing swiftly amongst them with cheering 
 words ? Montgomery himself, the valiant and chiv- 
 alric, who had left wife and home to lay his blow 
 along with the others against the foe. 
 
 And between his master's knees, shaking with the 
 cold, whining piteously as he cast imploring glances 
 into the face of the soldier, was the spaniel which 
 Amos had kicked at in the farmer's cottage. 
 
 A sharp word, and the groups began to unwind 
 into a long file of moving shadows. Their backs 
 were turned on the walls of the city ; they went up 
 the river, with the wind behind them. In their lead 
 trudged Montgomery, the spaniel hopping deject- 
 edly at his heels. 
 
 It was a weary way they went over the storm- 
 swept plains. The wind was more piercing ever}'^ 
 step ; but it was in their backs now, and the exercise 
 of walking sent the blood driving through their 
 veins. Now and then the head of the line was lost, 
 floundering in some treacherous drift ; now and 
 then it stopped to make certain of the way, for land- 
 marks were invisible, and they must trust to that 
 sense which men develop who travel much afoot 
 in the open. 
 
 At last they swung off to the left and plunged 
 down the ravine that led to Wolfe's Cove. Reaching 
 the water level, and pushing out from the shelter of 
 the gully, they turned back toward the city, two 
 miles away, and faced the blizzard. 
 
 Was ever such a thing done before ? A handful 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 79 
 
 of men, ill-fed, scantily clothed, marching through 
 a freezing blizzard to strike against an enemy 
 stronger than they, quartered comfortably in a place 
 that scarcely needed defense? Into the hissing 
 teeth of the gale they plunged, heads down, feet 
 stumbling against the hidden road ; floundering in 
 drifts to their shoulders ; scarce able to look up 
 because of the cutting snow, and able to see nothing 
 when they looked up because of the utter darkness 
 of the storm-ridden night. 
 
 You have known what it is to be cold. Your 
 hands have ached in a snowball fight ; your feet 
 have suffered on the skating pond. Perhaps you 
 have had a frost-bitten cheek, or an ear. Undoubt- 
 edly you have plied your sled on a hill until you 
 were chilled through and through. That is all very 
 well ; but always there was prospect of your warm 
 home ahead of you when you chose to go to it, 
 and a doughnut, or a slice of bread ; a book and a 
 chair snug to the fire. 
 
 Not so these men. Living in the open, half fed 
 and half clothed, they had scarcely been warm for a 
 month ; and if there was warmth ahead they must 
 win it by paying the price in blood. No refuge 
 from the blizzard ; no stopping when they chose ; no 
 shelter anywhere for them but in the enemy's strong- 
 hold. If a hand or a foot was freezing, they must 
 let it freeze. If the snow-charged wind bit to the 
 marrow, they could only shiver and sigh and plunge 
 onward into its jaws. Cold guns in hand, they 
 
8o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 must go forward, wrapping a handkerchief over the 
 flindock, or robbing their body of the shelter of a 
 coat skirt to protect the firing pan from the damp. 
 We who Hve now can scarcely conceive of such 
 fortitude. 
 
 Marching at their head went the slim Montgomery, 
 weighted down with the responsibility of the tre- 
 mendous thing he was attempting with the lives of 
 those who struggled behind him. What were the 
 chances ? He dared not reckon them. He could 
 only reassure himself that there was no other way. 
 It must be victory or death. 
 
 Once, plowing through a heavy drift, he stopped 
 half-way, stooped over, and swept up the spaniel. 
 "You little rogue," he scolded, thrusting the dog 
 under his coat. " You think yourself a soldier ; but 
 a soldier would have obeyed orders, and stayed at 
 home." Yet in his brave heart he was glad the dog 
 had come ; glad to carry him through the drifts and 
 the flinging storm. 
 
 The column, stumbling in long file through the 
 deep snow, heard the crash of a cannon above the 
 roar and hiss of the storm. They quickened their 
 efforts, knowing what it meant. It meant that a feint 
 was being made against the walls on the cliflF above 
 them for the purpose of drawing the defenders 
 thither, so that there would be less opposition in front 
 of the main assault. The feint was in three bodies ; 
 one against the bastion on Cape Diamond, and the 
 others against two of the gates in the fortifications. 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 8i 
 
 The sound of the first shot had hardly been swept 
 into distance by the furious gale before there was an- 
 other, and another, followed closely by more dis- 
 charges, which overlapped in a continuous crash. 
 The English were well ready for their foe where their 
 foe was not attacking. The soldiers below congrat- 
 ulated themselves on the way the plan was working 
 out. 
 
 Above the seething of the storm, piercing the 
 rumble of guns on the heights, their ears caught now 
 and then, faintly, the tones of a bell ringing in wild 
 alarm. Presently another bell answered it from one 
 of the monasteries or convents ; in brief minutes a 
 dozen were crying with brazen throats into the 
 storm, awakening the slumbering defenders with 
 their startled outcry. 
 
 Louder and louder swelled the rumble of cannon 
 and the rattle of musketry from the cliff over the 
 heads of the devoted soldiers ; madly and more 
 madly pealed the bells, filling the night with weird 
 alarm. Bravely along the weary way plunged the 
 thin, shivering column, diving into the wind with 
 heads down, paying no heed to freezing fingers and 
 feet; to cheeks that grew solid and senseless in the 
 blast. For the thing was working out as their leader 
 had planned. 
 
 Where was Arnold all this time ? They soon had 
 their answer in a din of sudden battle that came 
 swirling around the base of the cliff from Lower 
 Town. Their hearts beat fast ; they forgot their 
 
82 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 misery as they heard the welcome sound. Arnold 
 was doing his part ; Arnold was at hand. They had 
 only to press on. Victory seemed already assured. 
 
 It was a mad and glorious fight to which they were 
 listening as they struggled forward. At the head of 
 Arnold's column marched Daniel Morgan with his 
 Virginia riflemen, followed by the men of Pennsyl- 
 vania, dead shots all of them. Behind came the rest 
 of the column, in long file, winding through the snow- 
 drifts that filled the narrow way. In the van of the 
 main body trudged three of the soldiers that had 
 been passing the evening in the little farm cottage. 
 They carried a scaling ladder on their shoulders, for 
 use against the barriers with which the British had 
 closed off the streets. 
 
 Morgan and his men, marching at the head of the 
 column, with Arnold among them, saw something 
 bulky and dark looming through the storm ahead. 
 As they looked to see what it was, the center of the 
 shadow leapt into vivid flame ; there was a deafen- 
 ing crash ; a rush of hot, pungent smoke, and a shot 
 whizzed past. They had come upon the first barrier. 
 
 " Rally 1 " shouted Morgan. " Shoot them down 
 at their guns." 
 
 Gathering swiftly in the black night, the riflemen 
 leveled their pieces and fired where the flash had 
 been. Their aim was lighted by the dull glow of the 
 matches with which the guns were set off. Not one 
 man showed himself within the fluttering circle of 
 the wind-tossed light that was not stricken down by 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 83 
 
 a bullet from the riflemen. The guns were made 
 useless. 
 
 But a British soldier, firing his musket from the 
 top of the barrier, sent a ball which struck against 
 the stone wall of a house, glanced, and plowed its 
 way through Benedict Arnold's left knee. Leaning 
 against a wall, Arnold continued to direct the fight- 
 ing for a space ; but loss of blood and the cold of the 
 night quickly sapped his strength. He had to be 
 supported and carried to the rear, leaving Morgan in 
 command. 
 
 That huge knight, seizing the ladder which our 
 three acquaintances brought up, placed it against the 
 barrier and was over the top of it, followed by a 
 swarm of men, pouring across the narrow bridge like 
 ants. They rushed the English and Canadians from 
 the space beyond, and dashed forward toward the 
 second barrier. 
 
 It was this fighting to which the hurrying column 
 of Montgomery listened eagerly as they crept along 
 the road. To their left the black face of Cape Dia- 
 mond disappeared in the swirling storm overhead ; 
 to their right the sullen frozen St. Lawrence River 
 sent a pale reflection through the driven snow. 
 Ahead was victory, or death. 
 
 They came to the first barrier that blocked their 
 way. The sound of fighting on the cliffs behind 
 them, diminishing, was swept away in the howling 
 wind. The din of conflict in the Lower Town, where 
 Arnold's column was in death grapple at the second 
 
84 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 barrier, was slackening, as they rushed against the 
 defense. Carpenters, pushing forward, fell to with 
 their saws ; but Montgomery, impatient, thrust him- 
 self through between the posts and the wall of the 
 cliff, setting the dog in the snow to care for himself. 
 
 Others followed, and moved forward. Ahead of 
 them a building beetled down upon them. They 
 dashed upon it, seeing the lights of cannon matches 
 wavering within it. Some English sailors were there. 
 They had been drinking. Seeing the shadowy forms 
 filling the space in front of them, they turned and 
 fled. 
 
 But one drunken fellow, halting half-way across 
 the room, turned back, with an oath, and touched off 
 a gun. The act saved Canada. A blast of flame 
 burst through the window, and grape-shot rushed 
 swarming into the huddled group. 
 
 One man was down in the snow ; two, three. One 
 of them, raising a forearm, waved his hand, shud- 
 dered, stiffened, and was still. It was the brave 
 Montgomery. 
 
 Colonel Campbell, succeeding to the command, 
 pushed aside the whining spaniel and leaned over 
 the commander. Terror smote his heart when he 
 saw that the leader was dead. He hesitated, 
 wavered, lost courage, ordered a retreat. 
 
 Back along the weary way they had come, stag- 
 gering before the driving snow, marched the soldiers, 
 angry and sullen. They did not stop to lift the 
 body of their fallen leader to their shoulders ; they 
 
LUCK AND A BLIZZARD 85 
 
 did not stop to coax the wretched dog to come with 
 them, but staggered on, defeated by their second in 
 command, dejected, disheartened. 
 
 Oh, the pity of it ! If they had pressed forward, 
 Quebec would have been theirs. For at the mo- 
 ment when they turned away, Morgan and his men, 
 joined by the rest of Arnold's column, was making a 
 valiant stand against overwhelming numbers of the 
 foe. Up and down before the barrier the fight 
 raged. Morgan, a giant in body and soul, fought 
 like a knight, slaying right and left with sword, 
 pistol, and musket-butt. 
 
 Stricken down by fire that plunged into their 
 midst from three directions, the men that had 
 marched through the woods of Maine, that had dug 
 roots from the ground with bleeding fingers and 
 eaten them to maintain life, crumpled into the snow, 
 freezing stiff in the contortions of their last agonies. 
 
 Morgan, seeing the fight going against him, led 
 his men into a house, where they made a last stand. 
 But the foe were too many. If Montgomery had not 
 been killed ; if Campbell had not been a coward, and 
 the other column had come up then, all would have 
 been well. But, freed from attack in other quarters, 
 the British defenders poured down upon the stalwart 
 band from all directions ; overwhelmed them ; 
 swamped them in numbers. They climbed into the 
 house through an upper window ; cornered the 
 Americans in the house that had sheltered them ; 
 compelled their surrender. 
 
86 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Morgan, defiant until the last, backed against a 
 wall and would not give up until his soldiers pre- 
 vailed upon him to save his life, when he handed his 
 sword to a priest. 
 
 Thus ended the attack on Quebec. With victory 
 in their grasp, conquerors of storm and numbered 
 foe, they failed at the last because one man had 
 faltered. 
 
 Out in the drifting snow under the huge brow of 
 Cape Diamond a tiny bundle of fur shivered and 
 whined, crouching beside the slim figure of a hero 
 stiffened in death. Faithful through life, the wretched 
 spaniel would not be comforted, but crouched there 
 grieving, with his cold nose nuzzling the cold hand 
 that nevermore would respond with affectionate 
 stroke. 
 
 And when the British had buried his master where 
 he had fallen, the beast still mourned upon the 
 grave, reckless of wind and weather, ignoring hunger 
 and need of warmth, until a Frenchman, a week 
 later, carried him away to his own house and coaxed 
 him to live. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 
 
 Seven or eight men sat under a palmetto tree 
 next an arm of the Atlantic in the dusk of a June 
 evening. They were rough looking men ; quite ill- 
 looking fellows, on the whole. They were soiled 
 and disheveled, showing the effects of a hot day 
 spent in toil without benefit of water. Their hair 
 was mussed ; stubbly beards covered their cheeks 
 and chins ; their homespun clothing was loosened at 
 throat and wrists for whatever cool breeze might 
 steal off the surface of the lazy waters of the inlet. 
 
 They formed a little straggling circle, in the center 
 of which a few sticks and leaves raised a smudge, 
 with a tiny blaze shooting this way and that among 
 the ribbons of smoke. On the fire was a steaming 
 vessel, giving out the odor of coffee. A round-bot- 
 tomed saucepan balanced precariously on a stone at 
 the edge of the fire. A chicken, dressed and drawn, 
 hung suspended over it on a stick. The men were 
 waiting for their evening meal. 
 
 Behind them, against the palmetto tree, leaned a 
 cluster of long-barreled, polished muskets, of odd 
 shapes and sizes. Their burnished appearance and 
 a certain smoothness about the stock and shanks of 
 
88 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 the guns showed that they were well used weapons, 
 and no strangers to the hands that had laid them 
 there. Among the butts of the guns, on the ground, 
 were bullet pouches and powder-horns, together with 
 a crude knapsack or two. 
 
 At a distance from the men, pacing close to the 
 edge of the water, with a musket over his shoulder, 
 was another man. From time to time he paused to 
 gaze across the inlet to where the opposite shore, a 
 mile away, was disappearing in the gloaming. He 
 peered long and sharply each time, as though intent 
 on seeing what was going on across the water. At 
 intervals he turned back toward the group near the 
 fire, to call out an impatient question about the sup- 
 per. 
 
 The men were a squad detached from Colonel 
 Thompson's South Carolina militia, stationed on 
 Sullivan's Island, in Charleston harbor, to support 
 the erection of a fort on the island intended to 
 prevent the approach to the city of a fleet of British 
 war vessels that had lately appeared, bent on mis- 
 chief. The time was late June, in the year 1775. 
 The English, making no headway against the patriots 
 in Massachusetts, had sent thousands of redcoats in 
 fifty ships against the province of South Carolina, 
 hoping to restore loyalty there. 
 
 In this they had more than failed. Although there 
 were many in the interior of the state whose hearts 
 had been with the king in the beginning, most of 
 these had been turned away by an attempt on the 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 89 
 
 part of the British governor to raise the Indians in a 
 frontier warfare, and now that an invading force had 
 appeared these had sent mihtia to join the patriots 
 of the coast in a defense of their principal seaport. 
 Virginia, too, had sent troops, and there was a regi- 
 ment of Pennsylvania riflemen, under General John 
 Armstrong, on the ground. 
 
 Charles Lee, a soldier of fortune from Europe, 
 who had fought in Continental wars, and who had 
 thrown in his lot with the Americans in the hope of 
 gaining fame and position, was in command. At 
 that time his purpose had not been guessed by the 
 patriots, and they welcomed him as a hero, with the 
 glamour of a European reputation behind him. Un- 
 der him were General Armstrong, Colonel Thomp- 
 son, and Colonel William Moultrie. 
 
 General Clinton, in command of the British troops, 
 had landed 3,000 men on Long Island some days 
 before, expecting to cross to Sullivan's Island over a 
 ford and drive the Americans from the uncompleted 
 work. But when they were ready to make the ad- 
 vance, they found that there was no ford, and Clin- 
 ton contented himself with encamping on Long Is- 
 land, which w^as nothing but a barren sandspit. 
 
 It was Long Island that the sentinel was watching 
 who was tramping up and down next the water a 
 few paces from the little group. At each turn he 
 could see the masts of the British ships, transports 
 and men-of-war, lying within the bar ; a beautiful, 
 threatening sight, with their forest of masts and spars 
 
90 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 lined against the flush that spread in the eastern 
 sky from the setting sun. Perhaps he shook his 
 head more than once over the formidable array of 
 force. 
 
 But evidently he was more interested in supper, 
 for he left his post for a moment presently and trudged 
 through the sand to the fire. " Smoked chicken ? " 
 he grumbled. *' Smoked chicken ? Is that what 
 you're tryin' to cook over yon fire ? If not, why 
 don't you put on some wood ? " 
 
 " Patience, Stephen," laughed one of the men, who 
 seemed to be the cook. " Ain't the night hot enough 
 without building up a great fire to show the bloody- 
 backs where we are in case they take a fancy to fire 
 a shot at us ? The chicken'll be done, and likewise 
 the potatoes, soon enough. Do you keep to your 
 post, and leave us to mind our affairs with the vict- 
 uals." 
 
 " 'Tis all well enough to tell me to stick to my 
 post, but 'tis not so pleasant doing it with my waist- 
 coat sticking to my backbone for the lack of some- 
 thing hot in my stomach," retorted the sentry. 
 
 '' Something hot, is it ? " laughed another. " You 
 are like to have something hot on the morrow in the 
 shape of a British cannon-ball, so what's the odds 
 now, a bite of chicken or two ? 'Twould be a waste 
 of good food, say I, to cram a man who is like to be 
 shot on the morrow." 
 
 " Then speak for yourself," snapped Stephen, tak- 
 ing up his gun again and moving back toward the 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 91 
 
 water, " for you are as like as the next to be fed on 
 British iron ; although 'tis more likely, to my way of 
 thinking, that you will have it in the back than in 
 the stomach." 
 
 There was a burst of rough mirth at the jest, which 
 was taken in good part by the victim of it, there be- 
 ing no room for doubt that he was as brave in fight 
 as any of them. 
 
 " To-morrow's the day, then, think you ? " said a 
 soldier, when the laugh had died out. 
 
 '* Nay, we can only guess as to that," replied the 
 one to whom he spoke. " For my part, I am puzzled 
 to see why the British have not struck long ago. 
 'Tis now nigh a month since their fifty ships came 
 into our waters, and they have done little more than 
 come inside the bar, and land a handful of troops on 
 a sand-bar, where they can go neither one way nor 
 t' other." 
 
 " We ought to thank our lucky stars for that, for 
 if they had struck at once the}^ would have found us 
 but ill-prepared to withstand them in a half-finished 
 fort." 
 
 " And a half-finished fort it is still, when you come 
 to that," spoke a voice from behind the palmetto 
 where their guns rested. 
 
 The men started up at sound of it, and peered 
 through the smoke of their fire to see who it was 
 that came on them so unexpectedly. 
 
 " Ah, Sergeant Jasper ! " cried one of the number, 
 perceiving the face of the newcomer, as he ap- 
 
92 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 proached the fire. *' What's afoot ? What news of 
 the fort, then ? " 
 
 " Little news, except that it grows ; but it still has 
 a long way to grow," replied Sergeant Jasper, coming 
 to a stand in the thickest part of the smoke. " All 
 day long have I been shouldering palmetto logs into 
 place, and filling behind them with sand. One of 
 the traverses was found to be tottering weak as an 
 old man. But the platforms are ready, and the front 
 walls stout, so that, with the help of God, we may 
 hope to give a good account of ourselves." 
 
 " For my part," quoth one of the number, ** I 
 think Colonel Moultrie, if I may make so bold, blun- 
 dered when he seized upon the palmetto for his walls. 
 'Tis well known that the wood is as soft as sponges, 
 and what chance has it against the solid balls of the 
 enemy's guns ? " 
 
 " The best chance in life," returned Jasper. " The 
 iron balls will only sink into the soft wood, without 
 cracking or splitting it, so that the more balls the 
 enemy lodge there, the stronger will be the wall, for 
 it will be made of iron, my man." 
 
 " What brings you. Sergeant Jasper?" asked an- 
 other, jovially. 
 
 " I have had my fill of working shoulder to shoulder 
 with negroes from the plantations, and I came to 
 seek a clean breath with a white man," replied the 
 man from the fort 
 
 " Draw out of the smoke, then, and take pot luck 
 with us. We have a fine plump hen which came our 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 93 
 
 way this afternoon to make a sacrifice of fierself on 
 the altar of liberty ; and, since you have been so much 
 with the negroes to-day, you shall have a bit of the 
 breast, which is good white meat, if there ever was 
 any." 
 
 The remark passed current for a merry quip. 
 Sergeant Jasper, laughing quietly, withdrew from the 
 smoke of the fire, where he had sought shelter from 
 the mosquitoes that were beginning to buzz, and sat 
 down with the others, while the one who acted as 
 cook drew the chicken from its spit and cut away 
 chunks of it with a dagger, passing the bits around 
 to his comrades on the point of the weapon. 
 
 " Think you they will begin the ball to-morrow, 
 Sergeant Jasper ? " a soldier asked, as they ate. 
 
 "That who can tell?" replied the other. "They 
 have waited well-nigh thirty days, from which we 
 should argue that they will wait no longer, or that 
 they will wait thirty more." 
 
 " If it were not for biding another month in this 
 dog's hole of an island, I could well wish it was the 
 latter," observed one. 
 
 " Why so ? You like not the prospect of a fight, 
 then?" 
 
 " Aye, merrily, I like that well enough. But I 
 would rather that the fort was well ready first." 
 
 " Have no fear for the fort ; it will be ready 
 enough." 
 
 " Aye, but the bridge," spoke up another. '* What 
 of the bridge ? It is scarcely well begun yet ; which 
 
94 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 is to say, the new one, for the other was of no value, 
 as was well shown when General Armstrong sent two 
 hundred men along it, and it sank with them to their 
 necks." 
 
 " Who talks of bridge ? " cried Jasper, indignantly. 
 " What bridge would you have ? " 
 
 " Why, a bridge to the mainland, to be sure. 
 Else how can we retreat ? We shall be cut off like 
 a fox in a fence, else." 
 
 " We shall have no need to retreat ! " cried Jasper, 
 "If you are so bent upon making yourself safe, you 
 would best be off before the fun begins." 
 
 " Nay, not so," returned the other. " I am as 
 willing to stand up as the next man. But 'tis no 
 more than good military tactics to have a road for 
 retreat, in case something untoward happens. All 
 good generals say as much, and Lee himself has 
 more than once pressed upon Colonel Moultrie to 
 build a bridge." 
 
 " We shall have no need of a bridge," Jasper in- 
 sisted. " And as for General Lee, were it not an un- 
 civil thing to speak so of your commanding officer, 
 I should say that he was like a frightened old woman 
 in this whole matter. He has a fear of redcoats 
 which, thanks be to God, is not shared by us who are 
 going to fight against them. He believes that we 
 shall make but a poor showing against them, having 
 told Colonel Moultrie more than once that we can- 
 not hold out ; and were it not for John Rutledge, 
 our sturdy governor, he would have had us with- 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 95 
 
 drawn from here long ere this, and the enemy would 
 even now be making merry in our streets, belike." 
 
 " Aye, so they would ; and did you hear what 
 passed between him and Moultrie but a few days 
 back ? " interposed one of the group. 
 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 " Why, the general said, said he : * When those 
 ships lay alongside this fort they will knock it down 
 in half an hour.' * Then,' said Moultrie, ' we will lie 
 behind the ruins and prevent their men from land- 
 ing.' " 
 
 " Well said, and a brave speech, and so we will," 
 shouted a militiaman. 
 
 " Aye, if there be any ruin," Jasper agreed. " But 
 there will be none," he went on. 
 
 " How many ships may they have to bring against 
 us? Is it known ?" 
 
 " Seven, I think. Two of them, the Bristol on 
 which Commodore Peter Parker commands, and the 
 Experiment are of fifty guns. The others are lighter 
 ships, and will give no trouble." 
 
 The talk was interrupted by the arrival of the 
 sentry, who had been down the sand a few rods to 
 investigate a noise which he thought he had heard 
 in the water. " Now, then ! " he cried, " is the sup- 
 per ready yet ? " 
 
 " Aye, ready, and eaten, but you may have a bone 
 to keep company with that cannon-ball for which 
 you have whetted your appetite this night," answered 
 the camp cook, holding toward him the bare re- 
 
96 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 mains of the bird. " And here is a slice of potato 
 to keep the bird in victuals while it is waiting," he 
 went on, holding up the round-bottomed saucepan, 
 in which a few scraps of sweet potatoes still re- 
 mained. 
 
 Stephen, in a great rage, was for giving the cook a 
 cuff, but was prevented by another soldier, who had 
 saved aside the sentry's share, and now presented it 
 to him with a good laugh all round. 
 
 " Why they picked out this pest hole to build a 
 fort in is more than I can see," observed one of the 
 men, when quiet had returned. " There is a swamp 
 in the very center of the works, and such a jungle 
 of palmettos and underbrush all about that one can 
 scarcely find his way without sinking into a bog or 
 being bitten by a moccasin." 
 
 *' Or a mosquito, which doubtless is as evil for 
 your way of thinking," retorted Sergeant Jasper, 
 pulling out his pipe and filling it. *• Forts are not 
 built like houses, according to the beauty of the site," 
 he went on, after a pause in which he had lighted 
 his pipe with the coal end of one of the brands in the 
 fire. " You build a fort where it is necessary to 
 build a fort, and not where it will look pretty, or 
 where the living is nice. And as for this fort, it 
 could not be in a better place to control the harbor ; 
 for, look you, no fleet could get to the city without 
 passing us. And still, your friend Charles Lee was 
 for having us clear out and leave the ground for the 
 enemy ! " 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 97 
 
 " Let us hope his fears are not on good ground," 
 returned the soldier, who felt that a defense of the 
 commander-in-chief had been thrust upon him. " If 
 we are all cut off, it will be through no fault of his." 
 
 " It will be through fault of ours," retorted Jasper. 
 " There is only one thing I fear." 
 
 *• And what is that ? " 
 
 " I fear there is not enough powder in the fort. 
 But for all that," he went on, rising to go, " we shall 
 do the best we can, and shall render a good account 
 of ourselves, never fear. And perhaps another day 
 will read the riddle. So good-night, my lads, and a 
 soft sleep for all of you. I must back to the fort." 
 
 Leaving one man to keep watch of the water-side, 
 and throw grass and mold on the fire from time to 
 time to smudge out the mosquitoes, which had be- 
 come more and more annoying as the evening set- 
 tled, the others drew their blankets about them and 
 lay down in the drift of the smoke to sleep. The 
 sound of busy laborers at the fort came to their 
 drowsy ears as they passed into slumben 
 
 All night long the work continued, as it had for 
 many days and nights. Those in the fort knew that 
 not many days would be left them in which to make 
 preparation. They had done much, the fort was 
 already stout and thick ; but there were many last 
 touches which they wished to give it. 
 
 They were still at work on it the next morning, the 
 morning of June 28th, when Sergeant Jasper, who 
 had climbed to the top of the parapet to set free the 
 
98 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 flag, which had become entangled with the halliards, 
 called out to Colonel Moultrie that the enemy ap- 
 peared to be making ready to move. 
 
 Clambering up beside him, with three or four 
 officers, Moultrie beheld litde blossoms of white 
 breaking out on the lofty yards of the men-of-war ; 
 saw the blossoms blow into great tossing flowers of 
 sail, saw the sails being sheeted home. Over the 
 water, borne on the breeze which came from the ships, 
 they heard the chantey of sailors heaving anchor, and 
 the orders of mates shouted through trumpets to the 
 sailors alow and aloft. It was quite true that the 
 enemy were active ; but whether they were coming 
 against the fort, or bent on some other expedition, 
 remained to be seen. 
 
 Moultrie, however, was not going to take any 
 chances. He glanced up at the flagstaff to make 
 sure that the flag was all right. It was nothing but 
 a bit of blue bunting, on which had been sewn a white 
 crescent ; but it meant much. It meant, floating 
 there at the top of the staff, all that they were fight- 
 ing for. It meant to them liberty, and freedom, and 
 human rights. 
 
 " Is the flag all right, sergeant ? " he asked. 
 
 "All right, sir," replied Sergeant Jasper. 
 
 " Good," said Moultrie, and clambered down into 
 the work again. 
 
 Five minutes later the last batch of negro laborers 
 had been withdrawn from working on the walls, and 
 the garrison was bustling to its post. Cannon 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 99 
 
 matches were lighted ; guns were loaded ; balls were 
 brought and laid beside the pieces ; powder was 
 stored in small quantities under the platforms where 
 the guns stood, ready for quick speech if the enemy- 
 came that way. Soldiers and sailors — there were 
 many sailors in the fort who had enlisted when the 
 British closed the sea to them by blockading the port 
 — stripped themselves of their coats and shirts, ready 
 for a warm fight. For the June sun was already 
 burning hot in the sky, and the moist sea air was 
 sweltering. 
 
 Sergeant Jasper served at one of the guns on the 
 sea front of the fort. The embrasure of the gun, 
 through which it pointed at the enemy, was near the 
 flagstafif, and was therefore likely to be more ex- 
 posed to the fire of the enemy than the others. That 
 is probably one reason why Sergeant Jasper was 
 placed there ; for his courage and coolness were 
 well known. He was the sort of young fellow that 
 every one depended on, without knowing quite 
 why ; often without knowing that they did depend 
 on him. 
 
 As he stood by his gun, looking through the em- 
 brasure at the British fleet, he was fascinated by the 
 sight. The great white sails billowed and filled high 
 above the hulls of the ships. He could see the rows 
 of guns, grim-muzzled, thrust through the ports ; 
 not a reassuring sight, when one thought they would 
 soon be throwing iron balls at him. The fifty-gun 
 ships looked huge enough to topple the fort over in 
 
lOO REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 one blast. Jasper had never been shot at by a can- 
 non before ; he found himself wondering how it 
 would seem. 
 
 Any doubt about the intentions of Sir Peter Parker 
 did not long remain. The vessels, swinging for a 
 moment in the wind, caught the breeze in their sails 
 and came floating down toward the fort, scarcely 
 bobbing to the low swell swung in from the sea. A 
 tension ran through the garrison ; men tightened 
 their belts and wiped their mouths nervously. The 
 man next to Jasper heaved an unconscious sigh. 
 The sergeant, smiling, laid a hand on his bare 
 shoulder. " We'll give it to them pretty soon, lad," 
 he said. The other smiled back ; his face was white 
 and drawn with excitement. 
 
 Slowly, steadily, the vessels drew near. There 
 was not a sound ashore. Over the water there came 
 the call of boatswains giving orders for the trimming 
 of the sails. Now the gunners in the fort could see 
 the men on deck, standing at their cannon. Now 
 they could see their laces, gazing eagerly at the pal- 
 metto wall. Now they could see the planking in the 
 vessels' sides ; now they could see the ropes coiled 
 on the belaying pins. 
 
 Four hundred yards from the fort the sails van- 
 ished from the yards like a cloud scattered by the 
 wind. There was a splashing of water about the 
 bows of each ship, and the grumble of anchor chains 
 running out through hawse-holes. For a space the 
 vessels drifted, bringing up in line, broadside on, 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING loi 
 
 held in position by spring-lines fastened to the 
 anchor cables. 
 
 There was a tense moment of silence. A puff of 
 smoke leaped from a forward gun on the Bristol, 
 Commodore Parker's flag-ship. The sound of a 
 shot rolled across the narrow strip of water, and a 
 ball went howling overhead. The echo of the shot 
 had not died alongshore when the entire British fleet 
 burst into flaming smoke, and the air shook with the 
 heavy discharge of the broadside. 
 
 It seemed to Sergeant Jasper for a moment that 
 the end of the fort was at hand. The gun platform 
 shook and trembled under the heavy blow of the 
 hurtling shot. In the next moment he saw that no 
 harm had been done. The iron balls had merely im- 
 bedded themselves in the palmetto logs, jarring loose 
 little rivulets of sand here and there, but dislodging 
 nothing important. 
 
 He did not stop for an order to fire ; he did not 
 wait to see what others were doing. Springing to 
 the breech of the cannon, he dragged the trail to the 
 right, bringing the piece in line with the commodore's 
 flag-ship, trained it, and nodded to the matchman. 
 The match swung down through the air against the 
 primer ; there was a lurch and a roar, a swift spout of 
 smoke, and the shot went skimming across the 
 water. 
 
 "A hit ! " cried one of the gun crew, running for- 
 ward with a swab to clean out the gun. " I saw 
 splinters." 
 
102 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " You've the eyes of a salamander, then, to see 
 through such smoke," laughed Jasper ; for the 
 British fleet was already enveloped in the smoke 
 from their own guns, which left only their spars and 
 top hamper visible behind swinging wraiths of gray 
 cloud. 
 
 " Steady all," spoke a voice behind them. " Take 
 your time, and make every shot count. Aim at the 
 two fifty-gun ships ; let the others go." It was 
 Colonel Moultrie, walking up and down behind the 
 parapet, cool as a farmer bossing a threshing gang. 
 His pipe was in his mouth, and his hands under the 
 tails of his coat, which he had kept on, despite the 
 heat, for the sake of military appearances. 
 
 The fire of the British vessels was rapid and 
 incessant. Each second the dull thump of a ball 
 sounded against the soft logs out in front, and the 
 air was laced with their black traces across the sky. 
 " They've got powder to waste, my lads, and let 
 them waste it," cried Jasper, with a laugh. " As for 
 us, we'll make it count. Steady and slow is the 
 word, boys. No hurry. We'll blow them out of the 
 water by degrees." 
 
 Steady and slow was the word. To the constant 
 roar of the fleet's guns the cannon in the fort an- 
 swered deliberately, calmly, pounding away like a 
 man with a heavy sledge. The air was full of the 
 din of cannon and the softer thump of British shot 
 against the works. The first nervousness had worn 
 off ; the Americans no longer feared the shot of the 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 103 
 
 enemy. Now and then the ripping noise of one of 
 their shot tearing through the oak bulwarks came 
 down the wind to give them heart in their work. 
 
 Sergeant Jasper was growing warm. The heat of 
 the sun was enough, without the heat of his task, 
 and the burning powder added to the temperature. 
 " Let her cool down, boys," he said, after a time, lay- 
 ing his hand on the breech of the piece. 
 
 The crew squatted behind the bulwarks, laughing 
 and discussing the effects of their shot. Jasper, re- 
 moving his coat, which he had retained out of 
 respect to his office, pulled out his pipe, filled it, and 
 began to smoke. 
 
 " Look, look ! " cried one of the men, peeping 
 through the embrasure, just as Jasper was blowing 
 great clouds of smoke from his nostrils in enjoyment 
 of his tobacco. 
 
 Glancing through the opening, he saw that the 
 Bristol was swinging round in the tide. 
 
 " Quick," he cried. " Load, men, load for your 
 lives. We've cut her cables. Quick, and we'll rake 
 her." 
 
 They flew about their task, ramming home the 
 powder. 
 
 " Grape ! " shouted Jasper. '• Give 'em grape." 
 
 The grape was sent home. 
 
 The Bristol, swinging slowly and helplessly in the 
 tide, presented her bow to the fort. Jasper leaned 
 over his gun, squinted along the barrel, and nodded. 
 " Now, give it to her ! " he exclaimed. 
 
I04 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The gun leapt like a dog springing at a throat. 
 A dozen others spoke at the same time. As the 
 smoke cleared away, Jasper peered out. The Bristol, 
 being end on, could not fire, and the breeze had 
 swept her decks clear of smoke. Jasper could see 
 the havoc that had been wrought. Men were run- 
 ning about the flag-ship's decks in consternation. 
 Ropes were dangling from their blocks ; several 
 yards came down with a run ; the maintopmast, 
 tottering like a sick man, plunged overside and 
 speared down into the water, dragging with it a mess 
 of cordage. 
 
 " Quick ! " cried Jasper. " Give her another ! " 
 
 They gave her another, and another, before the 
 British sailors, bending new springs upon their 
 cables, swung the ship back into position. 
 
 " Huzza ! Huzza ! " shouted the men in the fort, 
 seeing the mischief they had wrought on board the 
 commodore's vessel. 
 
 At that moment evil word spread through the 
 ranks. Somebody whispered that Clinton's redcoats 
 were crossing in boats from Long Island to attack 
 the fort in the rear. The men working at the guns 
 looked at each other, disheartened for the moment. 
 
 " Never mind them," said Jasper, aiming his piece 
 again. " The Pennsylvania boys will take care of 
 them. We've our own work to do." 
 
 The fight had not gone much farther when a cry 
 of alarm went up from the right bastion of the fort. 
 Three of the British vessels, slipping along under 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 105 
 
 cover of the smoke, were seen emerging from the 
 end of the British hne and making for the rear of 
 the works, where the walls had not been com- 
 pleted. 
 
 If they gained that position it would go hard with 
 the defenses. There were few guns there, and those 
 in position were poorly protected. The enemy 
 would be able to pour in a cross fire ; perhaps they 
 would be able to clear the gun platforms. 
 
 Jasper, seeing the danger, swung his gun, but it 
 would not bear. The embrasure was too narrow to 
 permit him to bring it far enough to one side. He 
 let fall an exclamation of annoyance, and stood 
 watching the result of the maneuver. 
 
 As he looked he gave aery of delight. " They've 
 fouled ! " he shouted. " They've fouled ! They've 
 made a mess of it." 
 
 It was true. Two of the ships were stuck together, 
 the bowsprit of one interlacing with the rigging of 
 the other's mainmast. Men were already busy, un- 
 der what fire could be brought to bear, chopping 
 away the bowsprit. They had no time now to fight ; 
 the helpless vessels were drifting with the tide. 
 
 " And the other is aground ! " shouted Jasper, with 
 delight. 
 
 She had ceased to move, although the wind still 
 filled her sails and the tide ran strong about her 
 stern, urging her on. She was fast on a bar. 
 
 " They're done for," said Jasper. " We'll go out 
 and take possession of 'em this afternoon, when the 
 
io6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 others have had enough. If they don't take care, 
 they'll all be in the same fix." 
 
 All this time the fire from the other British ships 
 had not slackened, and the hail of iron missiles still 
 rattled against the logs. But the Americans did not 
 mind it in the least any more. They worked their 
 guns quietly, without hurry, taking careful aim, and 
 firing at long intervals, preserving their powder. 
 The end was almost certain now. Unless Clinton 
 managed to get ashore with his troops and take 
 the fort in the rear, the British were as good as 
 whipped. 
 
 An hour passed, and no word of Clinton. The 
 dread of him was on the minds of all, but no one 
 showed his dread. Colonel Moultrie, with his officers, 
 loitered about within the fort, going hither and yon 
 with a word of praise and courage for the fighting 
 men, making a holiday of it. 
 
 It was no holiday on the British ship. Nearly 
 every shot from the fort found its mark. The decks 
 were strewn with the mangled dead ; shrieks of an- 
 guish arose from the cockpits, where the surgeons 
 tended the wounded. Spars were rattling down 
 from aloft, cut by the deadly fire of the patriots. The 
 tops were not habitable ; the marines had been with- 
 drawn after the first few minutes of fire. Great holes 
 were opening up in the hulls ; carpenters were busy 
 making repairs, and sailors were bending to the 
 pumps. Sir Peter Parker was below in the hands of 
 the surgeons, with one arm gone. The commander 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 107 
 
 of the Experimeuty the other fifty-gun ship, was in 
 similar case. All was merry in the fort. 
 
 But not so merry ! What was the meaning of 
 that cry of disappointment and dismay that pierced 
 the heavy reverberation of the guns? Why that 
 shout of anger that arose from the throats of half the 
 garrison, spreading among them like a wind among 
 pine-needles in a mountain forest ? 
 
 A glance showed Sergeant Jasper what was wrong. 
 Up on the parapet, where the bit of bunting with a 
 crescent on blue ground had been floating serenely 
 all this time, there was nothing left but a shattered 
 stump of a flagstaff. The flag was nowhere to be 
 seen. 
 
 The British on board the ship had observed the 
 mishap. They were setting up a shout of victory ; 
 they believed the enemy had struck. 
 
 "Where's the flag?" demanded Jasper, his face 
 setting in a look of determination. 
 
 ** In the ditch," answered one of the gunners. "It 
 fell outside." 
 
 Before any one was aware of what he was about, 
 Jasper had clambered through the embrasure and 
 sprung into the ditch. The fire in the fort ceased ; 
 men stood at their guns craning their necks and 
 straining their eyes, watching for him to come 
 back. 
 
 But the fire in the British ships did not slacken. 
 It increased ; it redoubled. The air seemed solid 
 with the swarm of shot that rushed upon the fort. It 
 
io8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 seemed that no man could live through such an iron 
 storm. Those in the fort deplored the mad reck- 
 lessness that had led Sergeant Jasper out into it. 
 Everybody liked Jasper ; they exchanged condolences 
 with each other over him. 
 
 Still, they waited, hoping against hope that he 
 would return. None dared peer over the works to 
 see how he fared ; the fire was too fierce and deadly. 
 They only waited, staring at the place where he had 
 gone. 
 
 A hand, appearing above the edge of the parapet, 
 clutched over a log. Another hand took place 
 alongside. In the second hand was something blue ; 
 a bit of bunting. 
 
 Another instant, and the tousled head of Sergeant 
 Jasper emerged from behind the parapet, and was 
 lifted higher and higher. Presently one elbow 
 crooked ; a leg flew up and curled over the top log ; 
 the body of the sergeant appeared ; clambered to the 
 top, and stood upright. He had climbed the logs on 
 the face of the wall, as you climb a fence. 
 
 He looked about, saw the stump of the flagstaff, 
 and walked up to it, cool as a school-teacher. The 
 air was thick with screaming shot. He paid no 
 heed. He reached the staff, examined it, spread out 
 the flag, and shook his head. 
 
 " Pass me up a swab," he said, quietly, to one of 
 the gunners at his own gun. 
 
 The man handed him the cannon sponge. With- 
 out the least haste, Jasper took it, stretched the edge 
 
ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING 109 
 
 of the flag along the staff of it, studied for a moment, 
 and shook his head again. He could not make out 
 the best way to fasten it. 
 
 Presently, before the eyes of the entire garrison 
 and all the men on the British vessels, he began to 
 twist the halliards around the shaft of the sponge, 
 tied a couple of knots, tested them with a pull at the 
 bit of bunting, found them good, and shook his head 
 again. The air was alive with yelling cannon-balls ; 
 it seemed to those who watched that he must be 
 knocked into the sky the next instant. 
 
 Shaking the bit of bunting to the breeze as he 
 went, he walked to the edge of the parapet, thrust 
 the end of the sponge staff into the sand, straightened 
 it, bore down heavily on it, gave it a shake to see 
 that it was firm, walked back to the embrasure of his 
 gun, and slid to the platform. " Come, now, load 
 up," he said, easily. " You're wasting time." 
 
 A great shout went up from the fort, answered by 
 a huzza from the ships. Anglo-Saxon blood could 
 not witness such a deed, even on the part of an 
 enemy, and remain silent. It was the involuntary 
 tribute of brave men for a brave act. 
 
 Sergeant Jasper, trying to hide a look of conscious 
 pride, bent over his gun and sighted it again. 
 
 When he straightened up, a hand was laid on his 
 arm, and he turned to look into the sparkling eyes 
 of Colonel Moultrie. " Bravo, Jasper, bravo I " cried 
 his commander. 
 
 That was all ; but that was enough. 
 
no REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " What news of Clinton ? " asked the sergeant, 
 avoiding an embarrassing subject. 
 
 Moultrie grinned. " He didn't try it," he replied. 
 " Got half of his men in boats, and took them out 
 again." 
 
 " Remembers Bunker Hill, I reckon," commented 
 the sergeant. 
 
 " I reckon," was all that Moultrie said, as he turned 
 away to see how things went elsewhere. 
 
 There is no need to tell more. All through the 
 long day, and until evening spread over the waters, 
 the fight went on as it had gone on from the begin- 
 ning, with the British suffering fearfully from the 
 well-aimed shots of the patriots, and the Americans 
 scarcely touched. Only one gun was dismounted ; 
 and but a score of men killed and wounded. If the 
 powder had held out the British fleet must inevitably 
 have been destroyed or captured, for they were 
 caught where they were, unable to stir until even- 
 ing because of wind and tide. They could only 
 fight hopelessly. As it was, when they finally with- 
 drew, only one of the ten vessels was fit for sea. 
 The Bristol had lost two masts and was full of shot 
 holes ; the Experiment had fared little better. The 
 Acteo7tf the one that had gone aground in the effort to 
 come up on the flank of the fort, was burned by the 
 British that night. As soon as they could make 
 ready for sea, the British fleet left Charleston, to- 
 gether with the transports carrying the regulars, 
 
R 
 
 ONLY A BIT OF BUNTING iii 
 
 and for two years no British were seen in those 
 parts. 
 
 As for Jasper ; there are many more things that 
 might be told of him — how he harried the foe 
 through many days and nights as one of Marion's 
 men, performing numerous brave deeds, and win- 
 ning a name up and down, among friends and foes, 
 that any one might envy — but it is all another story. 
 It was the adventure with the bit of bunting that has 
 made him famous, and that will keep him so as long 
 as young Americans are proud of their country and 
 the courageous struggle that gained it for their her- 
 itage. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER ^ 
 
 Mother Johnson propped herself up m bed on 
 an elbow and poked her sleeping husband. " Will- 
 iam," she said. " William ! There's somebody at 
 the door." 
 
 William Johnson turned heavily. " Can't be, at 
 this time of night," he grunted. 
 
 " I tell you there is," his wife insisted. " Listen." 
 
 The sound of a loud knocking echoed through the 
 house. Johnson sat up abruptly. " Some drunken 
 redcoat from the Widow Chick's, I reckon," he 
 grumbled. " I'll fix him." 
 
 He tumbled out of bed and fumbled about for his 
 clothes. 
 
 " Be careful what you do, William," pleaded Mrs. 
 Johnson. " Don't get the British soldiers down on 
 us, whatever you do." 
 
 " Oh, you leave that to me," rejoined her good- 
 man, a bit sharply, not pleased to be turned out of 
 his bed at that time of night. 
 
 The knocking was repeated. 
 
 " Hold your noise, can't you? " shouted William, 
 through the window. " Can't you see that I'm com- 
 ing as fast as I can ? " 
 
 Anybody might have known that the stranger at 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 113 
 
 the door could not have seen through three walls 
 and a floor, even if it had been broad daylight, in- 
 stead of three o'clock in the morning, but Johnson 
 was not in a humor to consider little circumstances 
 like that. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," came a low, firm voice from 
 the front of the house. " I thought you hadn't heard 
 me." 
 
 It was neither the voice nor the manner of a 
 drunken soldier. Johnson, prompted by curiosity, 
 poked his head through the window for a view of 
 the one who had got him out of bed. *' What do 
 you want here at this time of night?" he demanded, 
 a bit annoyed at having his guess proved false. He 
 could see nothing but the shadow of a man at the 
 front door. 
 
 " I want a bed, sir, if you will be so good," came 
 the response. 
 
 " Why don't you go to the Widow Chick's, then ? " 
 growled Johnson. " She keeps a tavern for travelers 
 three-quarters of a mile up the road." 
 
 " I've just been there," the other replied. " She 
 has no room. She sent me here, sir. If you would 
 be so good as to admit me for the rest of the night I 
 shall be under heavy obligations, and shall repay you 
 as well as I can in money." 
 
 Farmer Johnson hesitated. 
 
 "Sounds like a nice voice, William," submitted 
 Mrs. Johnson, sitting up in bed to listen. " Maybe 
 he'd pay us handsome." 
 
114 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 "Don't like it, howsomever," snapped Johnson, 
 drawing his head in and going on with his dressing. 
 " Something's wrong, mark my word. No self- 
 respecting, law-abiding citizen is going around the 
 country at this time of night looking for a bed to sleep 
 in. But if you insist, I'll risk my neck and see what 
 he wants." 
 
 " You can't tell much about things in these times 
 of war," his wife endeavored to console him. "Things 
 is so irregular now, with the British running all over 
 Long Island, and nobody knowing who's a friend 
 and who's a foe." 
 
 " Shut your head, will you ? " jerked Johnson. 
 " What are you blabbin' about friend and foe for, 
 when everybody is our friend, and nobody is our 
 foe ? " 
 
 " I'm sorry, William," she apologized. " I didn't 
 mean no harm, and nobody could have heard me." 
 
 " You can't tell who's hearing you, with the whole 
 country overrun with spies and informers. Who's to 
 know that this isn't one of them down at the door 
 now ? Yes, yes, I'm comin' ! Hold your horses, 
 can't you ? " This last shouted toward the window, 
 in response to another timid knock that sounded on 
 the door. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," spoke the stranger. 
 " I didn't know whether you had decided to let me 
 in or not, and thought from your silence that you 
 were going to exclude me from the shelter of your 
 home." 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 115 
 
 " Talks fine, doesn't he ? " observed Mrs. Johnson, 
 admiringly. " Wonder if he's an officer. Maybe it's 
 a general, William. Maybe it's General Howe him- 
 self 1 " she concluded, her voice rising with the climax 
 in her guessing. 
 
 " Likely 'tis I " snarled Johnson, sarcastically. 
 " Maybe it's King George ! . . . Well, good-bye, 
 and if the fellow chooses to shoot me through and 
 run off with all there is in the house, you'll have 
 only yourself to thank for making me let him in." 
 
 With which gracious speech William Johnson, 
 snatching a candle from the mantel-shelf, left the 
 room and made off down the stairs, holding his half- 
 buttoned clothes about him as he went. He stopped 
 in the kitchen on the way, to light his candle in the 
 coals still smouldering on the hearth, and approached 
 the front door at last with great caution, holding the 
 fluttering flame high above his head and peering 
 into the panels of the door as though he would have 
 seen through them to make certain of the character 
 of the midnight visitor before throwing the portal 
 open to him. 
 
 " Who are you, and what do you want ? " he de- 
 manded again, as he laid finger on the latch. 
 
 '* I've just come over from the mainland," replied 
 the visitor. '* I am in search of employment, but I 
 don't know the way well, and if you could put me 
 up, sir, until morning, I should be greatly obliged." 
 
 " You hain't got a gun, have ye?" queried John- 
 son, doubtfully. 
 
ii6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 '• No weapon of any kind, I assure you," laughed 
 the other. 
 
 " You mustn't mind my being careful," apologized 
 the farmer, relenting to the soft voice of the traveler. 
 " In these times of war, with the country full of red- 
 coats, a man must look out for himself." 
 
 " I understand. . . . Pray let me in. It is 
 rather chilly out here, although it is still September." 
 
 "All right, sir," quoth Johnson. With that he 
 threw the latch and swung the door wide. 
 
 As he did so a gust of wind swept through the 
 opening, fluttering the candle and at last snatching 
 the flame from the wick, leaving them both in dark- 
 ness. In the brief view he had had of the stranger 
 the farmer saw a man a little above the average 
 height, well built, straight, erect, dressed in the velvet 
 knickers and black velvet coat of a schoolmaster, 
 with white lace at the cuffs and throat, and a broad- 
 brimmed black felt hat on his head. Although his 
 appearance was reassuring, Johnson slammed the 
 door hurriedly in his face while he ran off to get an- 
 other light. He was taking no chances. 
 
 He was rather ashamed of his action, however, on 
 second thought, and was full of explanations when he 
 returned with the lighted candle. " The door must 
 have blown shut," he protested. " Just come right 
 into the kitchen, and I'll poke up the fire a bit for 
 ye. 'Tis right sharp out, and that's a fact. Had no 
 idea the nights were getting so cold." He rattled on 
 in this strain as he led the stranger into the kitchen. 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 117 
 
 " We are like to have an early winter, and a severe 
 one," observed the traveler, making himself at home 
 in an armchair near the fire. 
 
 " Hard on the soldiers," returned Johnson, bus- 
 tlingc about. " Will you care for a glass of rum or 
 spirits ? There is some fine old cider in the wood- 
 shed." 
 
 His guest refused. " Isn't that rather a risky 
 place to keep cider, with soldiers all about ? " he 
 laughed. 
 
 Johnson, giving the fire three or four lusty pokes, 
 leered at him shrewdly. " If any of 'em find where I 
 hid it, they're welcome to it," he chuckled. " Would 
 you like a bite to eat ? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I am hungry, and if you 
 can find me a snack of something it would be grate- 
 ful," confessed the traveler. " But do not put your- 
 self to any inconvenience." 
 
 Johnson looked at the clock. " I'll call my woman," 
 he said. *' Half-past three now ; time to get up in 
 another hour, anyway." 
 
 In spite of the schoolmaster's considerate protests 
 the farmer cried out up the stairs for his wife to dress 
 and come down ; which she did with a celerity that 
 suggested that she had for some time been making 
 preparations to descend. 
 
 " From the mainland, be ye ? " quizzed Johnson, 
 when his wife was bustling about getting a breakfast 
 for their visitor. 
 
 " Yes ; Connecticut." 
 
ii8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " Aha ! How's things over there ? " 
 
 " How do you mean, sir ?" returned the school- 
 master, pretending not to understand. " What 
 things do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, just things. What do the people think 
 about it all ? " 
 
 "They are pretty much excited; they are all 
 stirred up." 
 
 " Aha. Are they for us, or against us ? " 
 
 The schoolmaster smiled. "That depends upon 
 whom we are for, and against," he fenced. 
 
 " Of course ; of course. But I guess you know 
 what I mean, don't you? You are loyal, ain't 
 you?" 
 
 " I left Connecticut by night and stole across the 
 sound because my known views and sympathies 
 were beginning to make it inconvenient, if not impos- 
 sible, for me to remain there," replied the stranger- 
 " I came to Long Island in order to be near the 
 British, and under their protection, if necessary." 
 
 " Soho ! " whistled Johnson. " Well, you have 
 come to a good place. The woods are full of 'em 
 here." 
 
 "They are encamped near here, I understand?" 
 queried the other. 
 
 " Five miles south of here, and up at the Cedars. 
 Thousands of them. You'll find plenty of 'em any 
 night at Widow Chick's, hard by here ; and others 
 who are friends, howbeit they are not soldiers in the 
 army." 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 119 
 
 " Loyalists ? " 
 
 " Aye ; loyalists, and a plenty of 'em. Wife and 
 I, we're loyalists, but we don't mix much, finding it 
 better to mind our own affairs as much as we can, as 
 we never know when Washington may be back here 
 with his regiments to make things lively for those 
 who have been too kind to the British." 
 
 "Small chance of that, I fancy," returned the 
 schoolmaster. " If reports are true, Washington is 
 in straitened circumstances along the Hudson, above 
 New York." 
 
 " In a bad fix, is he ? " 
 
 "I couldn't say that. He has many thousand 
 men determined to fight to the death, all well armed 
 and drilled, but since their defeat on Long Island 
 they have lacked spirit, in spite of the absurd mani- 
 festo that their Continental Congress put out on 
 July 4th." 
 
 "You mean what they call the Declaration of 
 Independence ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Washington is a sly one, though, isn't he?" 
 Johnson went on, his eyes lighting up. " The way 
 he slipped away from General Howe when Howe 
 thought he had him boxed up on Long Island Heights 
 was something rich, in a way, even if we did want to 
 see him bagged." 
 
 " Aye, and he is quite likely to repeat the per- 
 formance, unless Howe moves quickly," the school- 
 master returned. " Why doesn't Howe move ? 
 
120 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 What is he contemplating, that he does not strike at 
 once, and for all? " 
 
 "You'll have to ask Howe," said Johnson, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 The serving of breakfast, piping hot, put an end 
 to their talk. The schoolmaster, falling to with a 
 right good appetite, had soon disposed of his food, 
 and asked to be shown to his bed. " You might call 
 me a couple of hours after sunrise, if you will," he 
 said, when Johnson left him. 
 
 The longer the stranger slept, the more Johnson 
 wondered over the adventure of his coming there in 
 the middle of the night, saying that he was looking 
 for occupation. What manner of occupation should 
 a stranger be looking for in a country torn with 
 civil war ? he puzzled. There was something strange 
 behind it all ; something that Johnson wanted very 
 much to ferret out, to satisfy a rustic curiosity. The 
 two hours which he allowed his guest for sleep after 
 sunrise were cut rather short because of this curiosity. 
 
 But when he pressed the man with questions, the 
 most he could get out of him was that he wanted to 
 find a school to teach in some loyal district, where 
 he would not be compelled to utter doctrines offen- 
 sive to his views of the struggle then going on 
 between the colonies and the mother country. The 
 fact looked reasonable enough on the surface, but 
 behind it all, in the manner of the schoolmaster's 
 answers, in his avoiding anything definite about his 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 121 
 
 former employments, and in the circumstance that he 
 had not mentioned his name, although pointedly 
 asked for it more than once, Johnson saw much that 
 set him to scratching his head in thought. He was 
 half minded to follow the fellow when he finally took 
 his leave, and would have done so, if there had not 
 been matters of importance demanding his attention 
 in the hay-field. But by dinner time he had so far 
 swung back toward an easier view of the experience 
 that the chatter of his wife, upon whom the stranger's 
 gracious manners and genteel speech had made an 
 impression, quite disarmed him of any suspicion. 
 
 If he had followed the schoolmaster whom he had 
 entertained mysteriously over night, he would have 
 seen a number of things which would not only have 
 quickened all his doubts, but would have put him in 
 some fear because of his own connection, however 
 innocent it was, with the stranger. For the well- 
 knit young man in the black hat and knickers had 
 no more than got out of sight along the road than 
 he stopped, glanced slyly up and down to see that 
 he was not observed, crawled through a broken rail 
 fence, and struck out across hills and pastures south- 
 ward, in the direction of the British camp five miles 
 away. 
 
 Now and then, as he traveled, the schoolmaster 
 stopped on the crest of a hill to make a survey 
 of the land with a critical eye. Once, sitting down 
 on a stone, he took out a bit of thin paper and 
 traced some lines on it ; lines that would have had 
 
122 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 little meaning to one not familiar with the first 
 sketches of those who draw maps. 
 
 Reaching the camp at last, the schoolmaster ex- 
 plained his situation to the sentry who halted him, 
 and was sent under guard to the officer of the day, 
 wlio received him cordially, congratulating him on 
 his proper view of the trouble in the colonies, and 
 promising him whatever help he could give in find- 
 ing a place to teach school. " Though, bless your 
 heart," he went on, " I fear you will fare ill enough. 
 The country people are so distraught by the pres- 
 ence of war among them, and so scattered in their 
 wits, that they have little thought of schooling their 
 children, even if there were a chance for peace and 
 quiet. And, what's more, I fear me your little 
 rogues would be truant most of the time, for we 
 find them much given to lingering about the camp 
 listening to the marvelous tales with which our 
 grenadiers fill their ears ; an employment, I warrant 
 you, far less profitable than sitting quietly at school 
 at the feet of a master learning their A B C's ; 
 although, you will grant me, more fascinating to the 
 young fancy." 
 
 Taking leave of the talkative officer with many 
 thanks, the schoolmaster set out once more on his 
 bootless errand, this time turning toward the western 
 end of the island, where there was even less chance 
 of his sort of employment than in the spot where he 
 then was ; for the western end was more overrun 
 than this with British and Hessian soldiers, with 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 123 
 
 camps and forts. Nevertheless, thither he turned his 
 steps, with a countenance lacking in guile, and de- 
 noting cheer and good hope. 
 
 But there was this to observe about his manner of 
 walking through the camp, and out along the road. 
 Although to one who did not look closely he seemed 
 to be going along with eyes to the front, lost in 
 rumination over some abstract doctrine in philoso- 
 phy or a question in higher mathematics, on close 
 inspection it might have been seen that his eyes were 
 never still from roving from side to side of the way, 
 peering deep into distances, noting trivial details of 
 his surroundings. And there was something atten- 
 tive about the expression on his face to denote that 
 he was noting down on his memory what he saw ; 
 fixing it there, so that it might be laid hold of again. 
 Strange behavior for a schoolmaster, seeking a 
 peaceful occupation teaching school I And strange 
 schoolmaster, to be seeking such occupation there, 
 at such a time 1 
 
 Four days later, as the sun was dragging long rays 
 across the western hills of Long Island, the school- 
 master sat on a log in a little gully not far from the 
 tavern kept by the Widow Chichester — Mother 
 Chick, as Farmer Johnson called her. The gully 
 was in an odd nook of the hills, far from the road. 
 It was sheltered by a thick growth of oaks and 
 maples along its brim. The log itself was heavily 
 screened by underbrush. 
 
124 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Seated on the log, the schoolmaster drew from an 
 inner breast pocket a number of bits of thin paper, 
 similar to the one on which he had sketched a map 
 the first day of his appearance on the island. Lay- 
 ing the papers on the ground, where he secured 
 them with a small stone, he began to unbuckle his 
 shoe. He looked about him cautiously before he 
 pulled it off when the buckle was unfastened. Mak- 
 ing certain that he was unobserved, he drew it from 
 his foot, took it in one hand, and thrust the other 
 within. Presently his hand emerged, holding in its 
 fingers a leather sole, cut to fit the inside of the shoe. 
 Snatching up the papers which he had laid on the 
 ground, the schoolmaster thrust them into the shoe, 
 slipped the sole back, smoothed it out, put the shoe 
 on, stamped his foot well into it, fastened the buckle, 
 arose, and made his way out of the gully, turning at 
 the brink in the direction of Mother Chick's. 
 
 Strange behavior for a schoolmaster, in search of 
 a chance to teach the children of Tories that King 
 George was anointed by God to rule the English- 
 speaking people, and that all notions of liberty and 
 the rights of men to rule themselves were arrant non- 
 sense that ought to be punished ! What should he 
 be doing with a shoe having a false bottom ? What 
 should he be doing with thin slips of paper which he 
 concealed with such secret care in that novel hiding- 
 place ? What manner of schoolmaster was he, wan- 
 dering up and down Long Island in the midst of 
 British soldiers after this fashion ? 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 125 
 
 Half an hour later a company of British officers 
 and neighborhood Tories, gathered together in 
 Mother Chick's tap-room for a carousal, were struck 
 with much mirth at the appearance in their midst of 
 a simple looking person, dressed in black knickers, 
 and a black coat, with lace at cuffs and collar^ and 
 wearing a broad-brimmed felt hat of black. 
 
 " What, ho, parson I " sang out one lusty fellow, 
 already in his cups, thwacking the table mightily 
 with an empty tankard. " Hast come to preach, or 
 to fortify thy spirit for this earth with some of the 
 rare spirits which good Dame Chichester furnishes 
 forth at her tap ? " 
 
 " Hold your uncivil tongue, Duncan," shouted an- 
 other. " 'Tis no preacher, by my troth, but the 
 schoolmaster I told you of, who came seeking a 
 chance to teach in these parts." The one who spoke 
 was the officer to whom the stranger had been con- 
 ducted by the sentry on the first day, in the camp 
 five miles south, 
 
 "Teach, is it!" roared the other, with a great 
 laugh. " We'll teach him that we do all the teach- 
 ing that is to be taught in these parts in times like 
 these. Here, school-teacher, learn from a cup, and 
 have done with your sour looks." 
 
 The schoolmaster met the bully's look boldly. " I 
 am inclined to the opinion that whatever might be 
 learned of you, sir, would be best soon forgot," he 
 observed quietly, "And as for your cup, the only 
 lesson in that is the lesson which you yourself pre- 
 
126 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 sent to all who have the misfortune to look upon you 
 in your present condition." 
 
 It was a bold speech, but well considered. The 
 schoolmaster knew it would set him in favor with the 
 company. The others, greatly edified to see their 
 roistering companion so bearded by a peace-loving 
 schoolmaster, made many gibes at Duncan's ex- 
 pense, restraining him from wrecking the wrath of 
 which he made a great blustering show, and twitting 
 him out of his humor. 
 
 " Nay, comrade," said the officer who had recog- 
 nized the stranger, " be not so savage. For the fel- 
 low is on our side, as you can well see by his being 
 here, and moreover, I am not so certain that his plan 
 is not a good one, for, by my troth, I think we are 
 more like to subdue these savages over here in 
 America by bringing them to some reason through 
 the teaching of sound-headed fellows like this than 
 we are to be breaking their sconces with swords and 
 musket butts." 
 
 They pressed the schoolmaster to drink with them 
 in celebration of his defiance of the bully, and of the 
 peace that had followed it, but he refused, modestly 
 and civilly, protesting that liquor made him ill, and 
 that he could not take it without great danger to 
 himself. Pacified by his demeanor, they went on 
 with their roistering, content to let him sit by in ob- 
 servation of it, and forgetting by degrees that he was 
 there. 
 
 Thus left more to himself, the stranger loitered 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 127 
 
 about from one group at table to another, exchang- 
 ing informal greetings, discussing with this one the 
 state of the weather and the prospect of an early and 
 severe winter, with its probable effect on the two 
 armies, and holding argument with that over the 
 position and situation of the British and American 
 forces, together with the chances that General Howe 
 would be able to crush the patriots before the snow 
 flew. Such conversation was common in the room ; 
 excepting some of the roisterers, to whom serious 
 topics had no present interest, there were few groups 
 who did not speak of the war and express themselves 
 freely on the tactics that Howe was pursuing, or fail- 
 ing to pursue, to get the Yankee general in another 
 such box as the one from which Washington had es- 
 caped several months before. No notice was taken 
 of a schoolmaster who had sought lodgings in the 
 tavern, and had joined the party in the tap-room to 
 pass away the evening. 
 
 No notice, except by one. One there was whose 
 eyes scarcely left the face of the schoolmaster ; who 
 followed him from group to group, studying him, 
 scanning his features from this angle and that, weigh- 
 ing him with his eye, testing the sound of his voice 
 with head aside, like one who found in him a re- 
 semblance which puzzled. This fellow was a Tory ; 
 a strong sympathizer with the English, and a friend 
 of a number of the officers. 
 
 He had been watching the mysterious school- 
 master for upward of an hour in this fashion, when 
 
128 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 he went to the table where the officers were sitting 
 of whom Duncan and the schoolmaster's chance ac- 
 quaintance were two. Drawing a chair behind the 
 latter's chair, he leaned over his shoulder and whis- 
 pered in his ear. " Do you know who that is, Cap- 
 tain Watts ? " he asked. 
 
 '• Who who is ? " bellowed Captain Watts. 
 
 " Hush ; not so loud. That schoolmaster, as you 
 think him." 
 
 " Loud I " roared the officer. " I'll be as loud as I 
 choose. What is the meaning of all this nose-pok- 
 ing mystery hereabout? Who is this schoolmaster, 
 then, since you think it so important that I should 
 know ? " 
 
 The stranger, hearing himself referred to, glanced 
 across the room, and saw the Tory in whispers with 
 the captain. 
 
 " Not so loud, I tell you, or all will be lost," went 
 on the Tory. " If I mistake not, it is a cousin of 
 mine whom I have not seen for many years, by the 
 name of Nathan Hale." 
 
 " You have many times shown so little sense that 
 it is not strange to me that you do not know your 
 own cousin when you see him, William Hale," 
 laughed Captain Watts. " And what of this mighty 
 cousin of yours, the schoolmaster ? Is he an ogre, 
 that we shall all be lost in case he learns that we are 
 speaking of him ? " 
 
 " If it is he, he is a spy," hissed William Hale. 
 " For this Nathan Hale is an officer in the Conti- 
 
THE SCHOOLiMASTER 129 
 
 nental army. He it was who captured the schooner 
 with arms and stores in the East River not long ago, 
 and he has done many things to endear him to the 
 hearts of the desperate fellows with whom he has 
 thrown in his lot. He is notorious as a reckless, 
 harebrained dare-devil." 
 
 ** Tush ! " cried Captain Watts, interrupting him. 
 " You have had too much liquor for your own good, 
 friend Hale ; and, mark me, you had better leave it 
 alone for the rest of the evening, if you are a man, 
 and get you off to bed, before you have other visions 
 of spies and long-lost cousins. Tush, fellow j away 
 with you." 
 
 The schoolmaster, catching a word or two of what 
 had passed above the uproar, made his way across 
 the room and took a vacant chair at the table of 
 roisterers. " Gentlemen," he said, " by your leave, I 
 will sit here, in the hope of listening to more edifying 
 conversation in such company than has been my for- 
 tune elsewhere this evening." As he seated himself 
 in the chair, he caught the eye of William Hale, 
 whom he stared out of countenance, and the fellow 
 slunk off, rebuffed by his friend the captain, and 
 thrown in some doubt concerning the surmise that 
 had been the topic of his talk. 
 
 " Hail, fellow ; well met ! " cried Captain Watts, 
 extending an arm in half-drunken welcome. The 
 others took up the shout, even Duncan joining, for- 
 getting the affront that had been put upon him at an 
 earlier hour in the evening. 
 
I30 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 •' Methinks that one who does not care for good 
 spirits would find more profit in bed," said Duncan, 
 lifting a glass. 
 
 The schoolmaster smiled. "There would be litde 
 chance of sleep in this house to-night, I fear, with 
 such merriment going forward, if one were inclined 
 to it," he said. " As for me, I find more pleasure in 
 sitting in such lively company, after a day of fatigue 
 and disappointment, than I would in bed ; and, al- 
 though I cannot partake of the spirits you are 
 drinking, I can enjoy the spirit in which it puts 
 you." 
 
 The speech set him in good favor all around, and 
 he was suffered to sit unmolested where he was, 
 while the fun waxed more and more furious. If he 
 seemed to listen with interest to the gay tales that 
 went back and forth, the quips and jests, the songs 
 and anecdotes, his eyes could have been seen to 
 light up with a peculiar eagerness whenever the talk 
 ran to shop, and the officers discussed the plans of 
 campaign which they conjectured Howe was about to 
 make. 
 
 But no one noticed that, not even the Tory, Will- 
 iam Hale, who lounged about from one table to an- 
 other, seeking some ear that would listen to his sus- 
 picion about the mild-mannered schoolmaster seated 
 at the table with the officers. And if they had, 
 would they have considered it strange that a school- 
 master, whose trade depended on peace being re- 
 stored in those parts, should show a lively interest in 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 131 
 
 the prospects of bringing the war to a close in one 
 
 campaign ? 
 
 Half an hour before daylight the schoolmaster, ex- 
 cusing himself, bade farewell to the officers and left 
 the tap-room. Reaching the hall, he did not ascend 
 the stairs, but turned and went through the front 
 door, out into the thick dusk of the night. 
 
 Out in the night he paused to look about him, and 
 then moved rapidly toward the Sound. His step 
 grew lighter as he proceeded ; he seemed like a man 
 who was finding relief from a burden of anxiety. 
 Rather a strange circumstance in a schoolmaster who 
 had failed in a four days' search to find employment. 
 
 Emerging through a strip of woods, he saw the 
 broad sheet of water under the starlight, and gave a 
 sigh. Turning to the left, he struck into the woods 
 once more. Dawn of day was creeping in from the 
 sea ; it was already gray in the east, and a faint flush 
 of light showed the way to him among the tree 
 trunks, and between bushes. 
 
 Half a mile farther he bent his course until he came 
 once more to the shore of the Sound. A mile or so 
 beyond where he had broken cover a long, sheer 
 headland jutted into the water. The growth of trees 
 ceased at the shore line, leaving the promontory bare 
 and conspicuous. Already, in the light of coming 
 day, it stood forth distinctly against the waters be- 
 yond it. Toward this the schoolmaster turned eager 
 steps. 
 
132 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 It was not long before he had gained the outer tip 
 of the headland, and was standing on the shore, 
 which here broke down from the bluffs behind until 
 it was only a few feet above the tide. He gazed 
 eagerly across the Sound, searching the flood for 
 something ; searching it, without doubt, for a vessel 
 that he expected to meet him there. But what should 
 a schoolmaster, dissatisfied with the patriot flavor of 
 Connecticut, and in search of more agreeable employ- 
 ment among Tories, be doing there early on a Sep- 
 tember morning, stealthily watching for a craft to 
 come from the Connecticut shore ? 
 
 For an hour he stood or sat about on the head- 
 land, scarcely taking his eyes from the sheet of water 
 before him. The Sound was quite plain now in the 
 strengthening light ; he could almost see the land on 
 the other side. 
 
 At last, peering intently into the distance, he ut- 
 tered an exclamation of gladness. Out on the water 
 was a boat, dim and indistinct. It was approaching 
 the shore. 
 
 He waited until it was within hailing distance. 
 Rising to his feet, he held his curved hands beside 
 his mouth and gave a halloo. His eyes quickened 
 with a glad light; a look of tension that had be- 
 come so habitual on his face that it seemed to be 
 a part of him, and so escaped attention, relaxed, 
 giving place to an expression of complete and joyous 
 relief. 
 
 In the next instant his expression changed again. 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 133 
 
 It became more anxious than it had been ; it grew 
 distressed with anxiety. For the men who stood 
 up in the craft and sent back his halloo were dressed 
 in the uniform of British marines ! 
 
 Why should that have alarmed a Tory schoolmas- 
 ter seeking a school among British friends ? The 
 question is puzzling ; but the fact that he was alarmed 
 was very apparent. He was so alarmed, so suddenly 
 overcome by surprise, that, without thinking better 
 of the act, he turned and took several steps land- 
 ward in a brisk run. 
 
 " Halt ! " came a hail from the barge ; for such it 
 was. " Halt, or we fire I " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, realizing his blunder ; know- 
 ing that any attempt to escape would be vain if they 
 raised an alarm by firing at him, and that it would 
 merely make it necessary for him to give explana- 
 tions of conduct inconsistent with his character as a 
 Tory schoolmaster. He stopped, and returned slowly 
 to the waterside. 
 
 The boat drew nearer. Men were in the bow of 
 it, eyes fixed on him, consulting with each other. 
 
 " I thought for a moment you were Continentals," 
 he shouted, as they drew closer. 
 
 There was an ominous lack of response to his ex- 
 planation. The boat grounded, and two men waded 
 ashore. " Come aboard," they said. 
 
 He went readily, assuming an air of freedom 
 from care, of indifference to the evident suspicion of 
 him that was behind their demand. 
 
134 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " What did you run for ? " demanded the sergeant 
 of marines, who was in charge of the boat's com- 
 pany. 
 
 " I told you that I mistook you for Yankees," he 
 repeated. 
 
 The fellow scowled at him, and lifted a lip in a 
 sneer. " What were you doing out here at this 
 time of day ? " he snarled. " Who were you look 
 ing for ? " 
 
 The schoolmaster smiled as he replied. *' Is it 
 so strange that a man should be taking a stroll by 
 the Sound in the early morning ? " he submitted. 
 
 " Yes, it is. Back to the ship, lads," to the crew. 
 
 An hour later the schoolmaster stood in his stock- 
 ings in the cabin of the British frigate Acteon, con- 
 fronting the captain. On the table between them 
 were his shoes. The false sole of one of them lay on 
 the table ; about it were strewn thin bits of paper, 
 containing writing, and sketches of maps. " I will 
 answer no questions," he was saying, calmly. *' I 
 beg to be referred to General Howe." 
 
 General Howe was quartered in the old Beekman 
 mansion, in New York. There was great excitement 
 about headquarters, and through the town, when the 
 word went about that a spy had been captured and 
 brought before the British commander. The com- 
 mander himself was somewhat disturbed as he gazed 
 into the handsome face of the young man in black 
 velvet knickers and the black coat of a schoolmaster 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 135 
 
 who stood before him, meeting his eyes with a frank, 
 honest, brave gaze. 
 
 "What is your name?" asked the EngHshman. 
 
 " Nathan Hale, Heutenant in the Continental army," 
 replied the schoolmaster. 
 
 "And what were you doing in our lines ? " pursued 
 the general. 
 
 " I was obtaining information for the benefit of the 
 commander of the American forces," was the reply. 
 There was no tremor of the eyelids, no quiver in his 
 voice, as he answered. 
 
 Howe looked at him critically. " You are alive to 
 the consequences of your conduct, sir, are you ?" he 
 asked. " You are aware of the punishment that is 
 meted out to those who steal within an enemy's lines 
 for the purpose which you confess was yours ? " 
 
 " Sir," replied Nathan Hale, " there has not been 
 a moment since I undertook the task that I have not 
 been aware of the consequences that would be visited 
 upon me in case I was detected. I was fully aware 
 of the responsibility which I assumed, and I have 
 nothing to regret except that the object of my so- 
 journ among your troops was frustrated when it was 
 so near accomplishment." 
 
 " You realize, then, that there is no hope for you ? " 
 went on the British commander. " You realize that 
 by your own confession you are guilty of a crime for 
 which there can be no punishment but death ? " 
 
 Nathan Hale nodded his head, without taking his 
 eyes from Howe's countenance. " The fortunes of 
 
136 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 war have delivered me into your hands, sir," he said, 
 in even voice. " You will doubtless not flinch from 
 what you consider to be your duty. You shall hear 
 no reproach from me in your exercise of it." 
 
 A flash of pity went across the Englishman's face 
 as he waved a hand to those who had brought in the 
 spy under guard ; pity for the brave young man 
 whom nothing could save, and admiration for his 
 bravery. 
 
 There was silence for a space. It was broken by 
 the low, measured accents of General Howe. " You 
 shall be hung," he said . . . "in the morning." 
 
 It was Sunday, the 26th of September, in the year 
 of our Lord 1776. The sun shone clear from a blue 
 sky ; fleecy clouds drove overhead before a gentle 
 breeze that came wafting in from the sea ; birds 
 twittered from bough to bough of the apple trees in 
 the orchard behind the Beekman mansion. 
 
 Platoons of soldiers were drawn up in a square 
 about the orchard. In the midst of the soldiers was 
 a group of officers, brilliant in scarlet uniform, heavy 
 with gold lace. All about the orchard was a con- 
 course of people, attracted thither by the news of 
 what was going forward. Underneath one of the 
 apple trees, standing on the rungs of a ladder which 
 raised him above the ground, was a young man, 
 dressed in the black velvet knickers of a country 
 schoolmaster, with black coat, white lace at the cuffs 
 and throat. About his neck was a noose ; the other 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 137 
 
 end of the rope was fastened to a limb. His head 
 was bare ; the sun shone through his Hght brown 
 hair upon a face of beauty and serenity. In the eyes 
 which met the stare of those about was a light of an- 
 other world ; the glad fire of martyrdom. His lips 
 were moving ; he was speaking. " My only regret 
 is that I have but one life to give for my country," 
 he was saying. 
 
 A signal from one of the group about the ladder 
 — and the story of Nathan Hale had come to an end. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 
 
 Nobody likes to be called a coward. If he really 
 is a coward, he makes a great fuss about it. The 
 braver he is, the longer he will stand it. Old Gen- 
 eral Herkimer stood it a long time before he lost his 
 patience, and gave the order that cost him his life. 
 
 Old General Herkimer was a hard fighter. He 
 had fought in Indian wars from the time he was a 
 boy. He was over sixty now. Probably Herkimer 
 himself could not have told how many fights he had 
 been in. Probably he would not have told, if he 
 could have done so, for he was not boastful ; which 
 is another trait of brave men. 
 
 Every one knew how brave he was. Even those 
 who called him a coward, and a Tory — which was 
 worse, to his thinking — knew that he was brave 
 enough for two men. But they lost their tempers, 
 and with their tempers their good sense, and said 
 what came into their heads, without regard to 
 whether it was true or not. 
 
 Herkimer lived in old New York State, in Tyron 
 County. That was the name given to a vast stretch 
 of country extending from the neighborhood of 
 Albany off to the Great Lakes. It was a good deal of 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 139 
 
 a wilderness, and the Indians had not moved out 
 when he lived there. The country was sparsely 
 populated by whites. The feeling of loyalty to the 
 king of England was strong among them ; there were 
 more Tories, perhaps, than whites. This result 3d in 
 a very savage state of affairs, for when neighbors 
 fall out, as you know, they hate each other cordially. 
 
 When General Burgoyne started down from 
 Montreal in 1777, to march through to New York 
 and cut the colonies in two. General St. Leger under- 
 took a movement in cooperation with him. Gather- 
 ing together a force of Canadians and Tories, many 
 of whom were from Tyron County, and inducing a 
 number of Indians to join with him, he landed at 
 Oswego, where he was joined by more Tories, under 
 Johnson and the Butlers. Thence he marched 
 toward Fort Stanwix, an American outpost held by 
 six hundred men under Colonel Peter Gansevoort. 
 
 Herkimer heard of the advance of the British and 
 Tories, with their Indian allies. It was bad enough 
 to have his old neighbors attempting an invasion of 
 New York, but the presence of Indians in their force 
 stirred him to the depths of his fighting soul. Or- 
 ganizing a force fifteen hundred strong among the 
 patriotic neighbors he started out to the relief of the 
 fort, which was hard pressed by this time. 
 
 All went well until the little army reached Oris- 
 kany, eight miles from the fort. There Herkimer 
 halted, and talked things over with his officers. 
 They decided that the thing to do was to send mes- 
 
I40 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 sengers into the fort, telling of their approach, and 
 arrange with Colonel Gansevoort that he make a 
 sortie against his besiegers at the same time that 
 Herkimer took them in rear. 
 
 The errand was a dangerous one, but men who 
 were willing to undertake it were not hard to find in 
 that company. The messengers were sent ofT early 
 on the evening of August 5th ; so early that they 
 were expected to reach the fort by three o'clock in 
 the morning. It was arranged that Gansevoort 
 should fire three signal guns to announce their ar- 
 rival, and to notify Herkimer's force that the garri- 
 son was about to undertake their part of the pro- 
 gram. 
 
 It was a wakeful night in the small force. The 
 officers and men dozed around, waiting for the guns 
 that were to be their signal to advance. Three 
 o'clock came, and nothing was heard from the direc- 
 tion of the fort. Four and five arrived, and went 
 down into eternal time without the signal. Hour 
 after hour they waited. Then some of the officers, 
 and most of the men, began to get impatient. 
 
 That was how it came about that they called 
 Nicholas Herkimer a coward. They were certain 
 that something had happened to the messengers, or 
 that something was wrong in the fort. They thought 
 they ought not to wait any longer. They wanted to 
 advance without further delay. Herkimer was not 
 willing to do that. He realized the importance of 
 having the movement take place in conjunction with 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 141 
 
 the movement from the fort. He knew that when 
 one has once formed a plan, and committed himself 
 to it, and begun to execute it, any change in details 
 is likely to make confusion and invite disaster. 
 
 " Wait a little," he said to his officers. 
 
 But when they had been whispering among them- 
 selves for a long time, and had begun openly to 
 charge that the reason he would not advance was 
 that he was a coward, and that he was in sympathy 
 with the Tories, and that he was plotting to betray 
 his command to help the king's cause, he would 
 stand it no longer. " All right," he said. " You will 
 find that I am the last man to give way before danger. 
 Come on." 
 
 Whereupon the force moved ofif in long file along 
 the wooded road toward Fort Stanwix. 
 
 It was then eight or nine in the morning. It was 
 a picturesque sight, without doubt. There was not 
 a uniform or a flag among them. They were farmers 
 and pioneers, dressed in leather jerkins and trousers, 
 with rough caps on their heads. They straggled 
 along in a mass, without regard for military forma- 
 tion, talking and laughing among themselves. They 
 were very little like an army. 
 
 But they all had their rifles or their muskets handy 
 in their fingers, and a great courageous determina- 
 tion in their hearts ; which, after all, is worth more in 
 a fight oftentimes than flags and uniforms. 
 
 Two miles from their starting point the road 
 crossed a little crescent-shaped ravine. At the bot- 
 
142 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 torn of the ravine was a swampy place, over which 
 the road ran on a causeway of logs. All about was 
 a thick growth of trees and bushes. It was a capital 
 place for an ambush. 
 
 The Americans moved down the slope of the hill 
 into this ravine on a steady swing. They were not 
 expecting to see an enemy yet. Nevertheless, they 
 were enough used to Indian fighting to be on the 
 lookout. They scanned the hills and peered through 
 the bushes and behind trees for sign of a hidden foe 
 as they marched. Herkimer, in the van of the 
 column, was especially alert. 
 
 The head of the force had reached the bottom of 
 the ravine, leaving the rear-guard some distance be- 
 hind, when Herkimer, scrutinizing the bushes to left 
 and right, caught sight of a movement in the leaves 
 that could not be accounted for by the wind. He 
 was watching the spot intently, waiting for another 
 sign of life, when the woods all about them suddenly 
 blossomed out into smoke. There was a great rattle 
 of muskets, and balls went singing among them. 
 
 At the same time a troop of horse, rushing over 
 the brink of the ravine in front, came charging down 
 upon the startled body of men with savage yells, 
 firing as they came. They were Sir John Johnson's 
 Royal Greens, a famous Tory regiment. 
 
 There were two reasons why the ambush did not 
 succeed at once in demoralizing and destroying the 
 American force. One reason was that the Ameri- 
 cans, backwoodsmen all, were not entirely surprised 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 143 
 
 being used to that manner of warfare. The other 
 reason was Nicholas Herkimer, whom some of them 
 had lately called a coward. 
 
 Wheeling his horse to face his troops, the doughty- 
 old veteran shouted to them : " Stand your ground I 
 Beat *em back 1 Keep cool, and stand firm ! We'll 
 give 'em some of their own medicine fast enough." 
 Snatching his pistols from his holsters, he turned 
 again toward the foe, and snapped them both in the 
 very faces of the onrushing Greens. 
 
 The shock was terrific when the horsemen struck 
 the thick American column. In a moment the road 
 was a surging mass of humanity, cursing, firing, 
 slicing at each other with swords, swinging at each 
 other with musket butts. All around the edges of 
 the fight were heard the popping of muskets in the 
 hands of the Indians. 
 
 Johnson's Greens accomplished little. The Ameri- 
 cans took to the bog, where the horses floundered 
 helplessly when they undertook to follow. From 
 this security they loaded and fired with comparative 
 safety at the mounted men, who gradually with- 
 drew. 
 
 " Mind the Indians behind you ! " shouted Herki- 
 mer, in a voice heard above the uproar of battle. 
 " They're coming through the trees and bushes." 
 
 There was no doubt where they were coming from. 
 The brush was alive with them ; the leaves were 
 draped with wreaths and festoons of smoke, and 
 blossomed with fire. 
 
144 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " Swing out. Form a circle ! " shouted Herkimer, 
 riding back along the causeway and sending the 
 men hither and thither to posts of advantage. " Stand 
 steady. Aim straight. There's no hurry." 
 
 His words and example gave them courage, and 
 steadied them. They ran each to the nearest shelter, 
 alert and watchful, shooting wherever an Indian 
 showed his head. " Kill 'em ! " bellowed Herkimer. 
 
 Just as the Americans were cooling down to their 
 work, a shot struck the leader's horse. The animal 
 sank to the ground with a scream and lay still. Men 
 rushed to free their commander from the animal's 
 body. " Are you hurt ? " they asked. 
 
 " Nothing," answered the man whom they had 
 called a coward. " Only a scratch in the leg. Lift 
 me up." 
 
 Raising him, they saw blood pouring from a wound 
 below the knee. His leg was shattered by the same 
 ball that had killed his mount. His face was grow- 
 ing pale ; it twitched with pain. 
 
 " Here," he said. " Help me to that tree." He 
 pointed to a huge beech near at hand. " Bring the 
 saddle. . . . You, there ! Stoughton ! " he 
 called to one of his officers. " Get some men and 
 take care of those Indians over there. Quick." 
 Standing on one leg, supporting himself on the shoul- 
 der of one who was helping him to the tree, he 
 pointed to where a band of Indians was pressing 
 hard against a few of his soldiers, whom they out- 
 numbered. 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 145 
 
 " You're bad hit, general," ventured the man he 
 was leaning against. 
 
 "What if I am?" retorted Herkimer. "We've 
 got to keep on fighting. . . . It's nothing but a 
 scratch," he went on. 
 
 They helped him painfully to the tree. All the 
 time his eyes were everywhere ; he continued it) 
 shout his orders, sending men here and there where 
 they were most needed. Not a detail of the fight es- 
 caped his observation ; he was as self-possessed as 
 he would have been in his potato field, directing men 
 at their hoeing. 
 
 Some one brought the saddle and laid it down 
 against the tree. They let him down gently. He 
 propped himself against the huge trunk. " Look 
 out for those red devils in that clump," he said to 
 one of the group that stood irresolute about him. 
 " They're sneaking up too close there. Clean 'em 
 out. Never mind me. 'Tend to the redskins." 
 
 By this time the struggle had settled into a stub- 
 born contest of a more definite character. The 
 Americans were entirely surrounded by a host of 
 hidden enemies who fired from behind trees and 
 bushes. Now and then one or a dozen of them could 
 be seen scurrying from one point of vantage to an- 
 other, but for the most part they were revealed only 
 by the flashes and smoke from their muskets. 
 
 But the Americans were equal to it. They had 
 fought Indians before. Knowing the desperate na- 
 ture of their situation, they steadied themselves to 
 
146 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 meet it. Their only chance of life was in their cour- 
 age, and their weapons. There was no chance to 
 draw out. They plied both with a firm will. Creep- 
 ing through the bog from rock to stump, from tree 
 trunk to fallen log, they hid as well as their enemy, 
 and fired as accurately at those who exposed them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Hey ! Over there ! To the right, behind that 
 boulder," Herkimer yelled, showing some soldiers 
 where the foes were thickening close to the lines of 
 defense. " Give it to *em, boys. We've got 'em 
 where we want 'em now. They won't stand much 
 more of it. Yah ! That's the way." His voice 
 arose above the crackling din of the conflict. His 
 wounded, mangled leg lay extended along the ground 
 before him. Some one was tightening a bandage 
 about it. " Get back to your work, my man, and 
 leave my leg to take care of itself," he ordered. 
 " You can't make it whole, and you're needed." 
 
 The crash of arms and the yells of the combatants 
 made a hideous noise in the narrow, tree-darkened 
 ravine. Some of the men were up to their knees in 
 the mire of the bog ; some of them were lying in the 
 water, firing deliberately, with great care for their 
 aim. And some who lay in the water were not fir- 
 ing ; their muskets had spoken for the last time in 
 their hands. 
 
 Herkimer, fumbling in his pockets, pulled out a 
 pipe. " Watch out," he cried, as he rummaged his 
 pockets again for his tobacco pouch. " Watch out I 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 147 
 
 Don't let 'em get any closer by the causeway, there. 
 They're crawling up behind it. Cross over and clean 
 'em out. That's the way. Bravo ! " 
 
 The form of an Indian arose at a distance on the 
 steep bank of the ravine. " Shoot him down 1 " cried 
 Herkimer. " That's Brandt." 
 
 Brandt was the leader of the Indians ; a mighty 
 brave and a great warrior. Before the one whom 
 Herkimer had directed to kill him could draw bead, 
 the Indian vanished. 
 
 •* Don't let him get away again like that," the 
 doughty general reproved. " Get him, and they'll 
 all run like sheep." 
 
 He drew his pouch forth, and began to fumble at 
 the latchet strings. " Burton 1 " he called, as he was 
 filling the bowl of his pipe. " Burton 1 Take what 
 men you can get and work in behind us. They're 
 swinging around ; they're trying to mass in our rear. 
 Stop it." 
 
 The rattle of arms and the yells of the fighters re- 
 doubled as Burton went to meet the strategy of the 
 enemy. Herkimer watched the outcome narrowly 
 as he finished off the top of his pipeful with a fat 
 thumb and stuck the stem in his mouth, 
 
 ** How are you getting on, general ? " asked an 
 officer, running up to him. 
 
 " How are you ? " returned the old warrior. " Is 
 your work all done?" 
 
 " I wanted to see whether anything could be don« 
 for you," stammered the other. 
 
148 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 "There can. Get back into the line and you'll be 
 doing it." 
 
 The man, abashed, leapt behind a tree and swung 
 his gun to his shoulder, waiting for a view of a 
 foeman. 
 
 Herkimer, without taking his roving eyes from the 
 scene of battle, produced flint and tinder box, struck 
 a light, applied it to the piled tobacco in his pipe- 
 bowl, drew in a half dozen hearty puffs, and settled 
 back against the tree with a sigh. A twitch of pain 
 passed over his features ; he was growing paler. 
 
 " Now, then, men, we're holding them," shouted 
 Herkimer, seeing that the movement to the rear was 
 being checked. " Keep it up ; keep it up. They 
 won't last long now ! " 
 
 He drew his pipe out of his mouth and blew a 
 cloud of smoke into the air. 
 
 A man came reeUng toward him, whimpering, his 
 head in his hands. Blood ran through his fingers 
 and streaked along his wrists. " What now ? What 
 now?" demanded Herkimer, sternly. 
 
 The man sank down beside the wounded general 
 with a gasp. " I can't see ! I can't see ! " he wailed. 
 " I'm hit 1 Oh, I'm killed ! " 
 
 " So'm I," returned Herkimer, gruffly, "but if I had 
 two legs under me I wouldn't be here. Get back 
 into the fight. Fight 'til you die, man, fight 'til you 
 die. It'll help you to forget." 
 
 " I can't see ! Oh, I can't see I " whimpered the 
 stricken man. " Oh, mamma, mamma ! " 
 

 'Get Back into Line and You'll be Doing It" 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 149 
 
 "Tut, friend," said Herkimer, more gendy. "If 
 your mother was here she'd send you back to die 
 like a man." 
 
 With a sob the man struggled to his feet, whirled 
 two steps, wavered, and fell to the ground, dead. 
 Herkimer, glancing at him, put his pipe in his mouth 
 again and turned his gaze to a spot where the fight 
 was growing hotter and hotter. That is war. 
 
 Hark ! What was that ? That sound like distant 
 cannon ? Had the messengers reached the fort ? 
 Was it Gansevoorfs guns ? Was he beginning his 
 sortie against St. Leger? The sound was too long 
 drawn out for that. 
 
 Herkimer listened again. Once more the distant 
 rumble rose, grew heavy, and died away in a long 
 reverberation. It was thunder. 
 
 Turning an eye upward, Herkimer perceived that 
 the sky was rapidly clouding over. Black banks of 
 cloud were hurrying in upon them ; the leaves on the 
 trees overhead twitched nervously in a rising breeze. 
 Shadows deepened through the gloomy ravine. 
 
 Herkimer shook his head. Rain would mean that 
 the firing would stop ; the rain would wet the powder 
 in the firing pans. What would happen then ? 
 
 The hot spot in the fighting was getting hotter, 
 and drawing nearer. Nothing could be seen of the 
 enemy ; the increasing gloom, and the smoke from 
 their guns, obscured their position. Only by the 
 sound of the firing could their position be de- 
 termined. 
 
I50 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " Over there ! Over there ! " bellowed Herkimer, 
 directing a squad of men to the danger point. 
 •' Drive 'em out of that." 
 
 The men were off at a run, dodging behind trees 
 and bushes. 
 
 A drop of rain came driving down through the 
 foliage and lit on the old man's hand. He brushed 
 it off unconsciously against his sleeve. The wind 
 sang through the trees ; a bright flash of lightning 
 raced across the sky, throwing a lurid instantaneous 
 light upon the scene. 
 
 It showed men crouched behind logs and rocks, 
 loading and firing, alert, watchful, grim, determined. 
 
 A rumble of thunder ; another flash of lightning ; 
 a distant hissing, and a thick dash of rain swept 
 among the leaves. A lull ; another dash of rain ; a 
 steady pour. Darkness descended like a pall, shot 
 through and through by incessant flashes of lightning. 
 
 Gradually the sound of firing died away. The 
 muskets were wet; they could no longer be fired. 
 What would happen next ? 
 
 The man against the tree could see only by the 
 lightning flashes what was happening. He saw the 
 dusky forms of savages rising up out of their hiding- 
 places in the covert ; saw them dash against his own 
 men, with hatchets raised, brandishing knives, swing- 
 ing muskets by their barrels. He saw Johnson's 
 Greens swarming in, with knives and pistols and 
 hatchets. He saw his own men brace themselves to 
 meet the onslaught ; saw them close and grapple 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 151 
 
 with their foemen ; saw them clinging close in em- 
 braces of death ; heard their harsh breath dragging 
 through set teeth ; their cries, their curses, their 
 screams of rage and despair and mortal agony. Saw 
 and heard all this, and went on smoking quietly at 
 the base of the beech, helpless, unable to make a 
 move to turn the fight. 
 
 Now a horrid struggle began. Down there in 
 that dark ravine, with the storm shrieking about 
 their ears and the thunder crashing and mumbling 
 above them, with the rain flooding down over their 
 shoulders, into their upturned faces, lighted now and 
 then by the flames of heaven, filled with hate and 
 the fear of death, man to man they struggled, as 
 their cave-dwelling progenitors had fought — to the 
 death. 
 
 The crash of firing had hushed suddenly into the 
 subdued sounds of intimate struggle that was like an 
 awful silence in comparison. Wicked strokes were 
 given and taken ; blows that crushed out life. Men, 
 clutching at each other's throats, looked one another 
 in the eye, looked unutterable angry hatred, mingled 
 stifling breath with breath, until one, or both, felt 
 the sharp prick of the knife beneath his shirt, felt 
 the edge grate swiftly between his ribs, felt strength 
 evaporate from him, and sank into the mire, never 
 to rise. The hour was inhuman ; the blackness of 
 the day, the close-crowding rim of the ravine, made 
 the struggle seem like some mighty conflict between 
 demons in a land that was not like the earth. 
 
152 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Herkimer, sitting in the rain, drenched to the 
 skin, catching glimpses now and then of the struggle 
 that failed to tell him how it went, presently saw a 
 rift of light creep into the sky behind the hill. 
 Against the rift he saw a human form, pausing 
 for an instant before it disappeared. While he still 
 looked, puzzled, wondering, he saw another and 
 another. 
 
 The rift widened ; a faint glow of light suffused 
 the bloody ravine. Looking still toward the rim of 
 hills, Herkimer beheld more figures ; more and 
 continually more. Suddenly he understood. They 
 were Indians, and they were running away ! The 
 fight was won ! 
 
 "They flee! They flee!" he shouted. "Into 
 'em, men ! They're breaking ! " 
 
 A slight increase in the muffled noises in the 
 gloomy gulch answered his urging ; a growth of 
 sound like the lifting voice of wind in a distant pine 
 forest. With it grew more frequent the screams of 
 dying men. The Americans, reheartened, fell to 
 with renewed vigor, slaying more mercilessly than 
 they had yet slain their foes. 
 
 " Look ! There they go I " thundered Herkimer, 
 exulting. " Over the edge of the hill ! " You might 
 have thought him on the side-lines at a football 
 game, with his team pushing the ball across for the 
 touch-down that won the game. " Into 'em, men ! 
 Pitch in ! They're running away ! " 
 
 Now against the rapidly clearing sky those who 
 
THE MAN THEY CALLED A COWARD 153 
 
 remained to fight could see the savages vanishing 
 over the hill in knots and pairs ; in throngs ; in 
 swarms. A mighty yell of triumph arose ; they fell 
 to with a sudden new strength, forgetting their 
 fatigue, forgetting their hurts. 
 
 It was over. Seeing themselves deserted by their 
 savage allies, the Tories, harder pressed, gave way 
 and fled. Like sun-scattered mist they vanished, 
 leaving the hideous death hole barren of enemies. 
 The fight was won. Herkimer, with a sigh, closed 
 his eyes, and rested his weary head against the 
 trunk of the huge beech tree. 
 
 It was over, but at what a cost ! For four hours, 
 under the hot August air, they had been fighting. 
 More than one-fourth of their number lay dead. 
 The fighters, utterly exhausted, threw themselves 
 down where they were, or crept oflf to some dry 
 spot, out of the gory mire. When the sky cleared, 
 as it did quickly, the sun looked down through 
 the trees upon seven hundred dead and wounded 
 men, lying among those who breathed deeply of a 
 hard-earned rest. So spent they were, so listless, 
 that even the sound of distant firing from the direc- 
 tion of Fort Stanwix, which presently came to their 
 ears, could not arouse them to further effort. The 
 messengers, arriving at the fort at last, had given 
 the word, and Gansevoort had attacked. But it 
 was too late for the success of the plans which 
 Herkimer had laid, and which he had abandoned 
 because there were those among his men who called 
 
154 
 
 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 him coward. Although the garrison punished St. 
 Leger badly, driving him from his camp and seizing 
 quantities of his stores, they could not crush him, 
 and he was able to maintain his position until 
 Benedict Arnold, coming up through the woods 
 from Saratoga, so frightened his Indian allies that 
 they deserted him to a man. 
 
 It was late in the day when the exhausted sur- 
 vivors of the fight in the ravine gathered them- 
 selves together and marched wearily back to Oris- 
 kany, bearing their wounded with them on litters 
 made of green boughs. Bearing with them, too, 
 their general with a shattered leg, calmly smoking 
 his pipe in silence. 
 
 What man was there now to call him coward? 
 What man was there now whose heart did not beat 
 with pride and love for him ? 
 
 But he had paid the price. Two days later, in 
 spite of all that the crude surgery of the back- 
 woods could do for him, he died. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 
 
 There is not one among you who read this book, I 
 hope, who does not bristle up at the mention of the 
 name of Benedict Arnold. You remember how he 
 tried to betray West Point into the hands of the 
 British, and how he would have succeeded, probably, 
 if John Paulding and two other loyal Americans had 
 not picked up Major Andre traveling through the 
 woods along the Hudson and found in his stocking 
 papers that showed what Arnold was trying to do. 
 We all detest a traitor, whether he gives away a hid- 
 ing-place in " I Spy," or throws us down in a game 
 of ball, or betrays his country. We detest him more, 
 of course, if he betrays his country, and that is what 
 Arnold did. 
 
 Before he did that, however, he did many other 
 things for which we would like to love him if we 
 could. And there was one time in his life, when, 
 if he had died, he would have been one of our 
 great national heroes. It is that time that this story 
 is about. 
 
 The first thing Arnold did that made him a hero 
 was soon after the battle of Bunker Hill. He went 
 to Boston in response to the call to arms. Find- 
 ing nothing to be done there when he arrived, he 
 
156 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 proposed a plan to go and capture Ticonderoga 
 and Crown Point. Ticonderoga was a fort at the 
 junction of Lakes George and Champlain, in north- 
 ern New York. It was an important point. The 
 principal route from Canada to the colonies passed 
 along the two lakes and into the Hudson River basin. 
 In those days people traveled all they could by 
 water, for lack of good roads. Crown Point was 
 another important post, further down Lake George. 
 They were not only of consequence for their military 
 value, but the British had large stores planted there, 
 which would come in very handy for the Continental 
 boys, who were lacking in weapons and munitions. 
 So Arnold, finding nothing to do about Boston, and 
 wanting very much to do something, proposed to 
 go and capture the two British forts. 
 
 After a certain amount of red tape was unwound, 
 — and there was more of it in those days than there 
 is now, because no one knew then who was in au- 
 thority, and where the authority came from, — after 
 the tape was unwound, Arnold was given a com- 
 mission, and permission to raise a force of volunteers 
 for the purpose. 
 
 When he arrived on the ground where he intended 
 to recruit his force, he learned that Ethan Allen, of 
 Connecticut, had already set out on the same errand 
 with a body of Green Mountain boys. Arnold, over- 
 taking him, tried to obtain command of the Green 
 Mountain boys, on the strength of the commission 
 which had been given him. Allen and the others 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 157 
 
 only laughed at him. Instead of being offended 
 Arnold swallowed his pride and enlisted in the force 
 as a volunteer. It is quite clear that at that time 
 Arnold was free from the personal ambition with 
 which he has been charged, and which is said to 
 have been his ruin finally. He was willing to fight 
 in the ranks, if only he could fight. 
 
 You remember the story of the capture of Ticonder- 
 oga ; we are not concerned with it here. The next 
 thing he did for which we would love him if we could 
 was more than brave. It required big-hearted and 
 dogged courage. He led a force of men through the 
 woods of Maine, against disheartening obstacles, 
 and brought them to Quebec, intending to capture 
 that town from the British. It is a long, pathetic 
 story. It ended in a reckless midnight assault on 
 New Year's Eve against the citadel, in which Arnold 
 was wounded in the left leg. That was the night 
 when Montgomery was killed. The expedition was 
 a failure. Arnold had done all he could, and much 
 more than most men would have done, to make it 
 a success, but luck and too many British were against 
 him. 
 
 He put up one fight on Lake Champlain against 
 the British that would have been enough in itself to 
 make him a hero for us, even if he had never done 
 anything else. He slapped together a fleet of boats, 
 when the British were coming down from Canada on 
 their first invasion, and fought their vessels to a stand- 
 still all through one long and heavy day. At night 
 
158 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 his own craft were little better than wrecks. The 
 English surrounded them, nearly, and expected to 
 finish them off the next day. In the night Arnold 
 slipped out around the end of their line and went 
 scurrying off up Lake George toward Crown Point 
 with his tiny fleet. When the British overhauled 
 him at last, Arnold stood at bay and fought them off 
 for four hours with one schooner, while the rest made 
 their way to safety. When they were safe, and when 
 most of his crew were dead or wounded, and his 
 vessel was tottering on the top of the water, he ran 
 her ashore. The remnant of his crew took to the 
 woods, making their way to their comrades. That 
 was fighting that you would like to read about, if 
 you haven't. 
 
 In spite of all he had done. Congress overlooked 
 him in appointing five major-generals for the Con- 
 tinental army. Arnold was deeply hurt. He would 
 have resigned had not Washington persuaded him to 
 remain with the army and fight. Perhaps he was be- 
 coming ambitious ; but there had been bickerings 
 and politics enough behind his back to make any 
 man angry. There is no doubt that he was treated 
 shabbily. There was one man in particular, of whom 
 you will presently hear more, that plotted against 
 Arnold, and every one else, even Washington, in 
 most selfish fashion. That man was General Hore^tio 
 Gates. 
 
 It was at about this time that Arnold distinguished 
 himself in another fight with the British. He was 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 159 
 
 visiting his two boys in Connecticut — their mother 
 was dead — when he learned that a body of redcoats 
 had landed and was making a march into the inte- 
 rior for the purpose of plundering the country and 
 seizing some arms ; much such a march as the one 
 out of Boston, in '75, which resulted in the battle of 
 Lexington and Concord. Arnold jumped on his 
 horse and started for the scene of trouble, picking up 
 troops as he went. When he came upon the British 
 he had quite a respectable army, which he used to 
 such advantange that the British were glad to get 
 back to their ships alive. Many of them didn't. 
 
 His relief of Fort Stanwix, in New York, in 1777, 
 is another instance of the man's courage and love 
 for fighting. In 1777 the English began the execu- 
 tion of a large plan to cut the colonies in two. Bur- 
 goyne started down from Canada, took Ticonderoga 
 and Crown Point, and struck out for the Hudson. 
 Howe was to come up from New York with a large 
 force and meet him at Albany, and St. Leger, with 
 Canadians, Tories, and Indians sailed across the bot- 
 tom of Lake Erie and moved up the Mohawk to 
 join the two. If they had succeeded New England 
 would have been entirely severed from the other 
 colonies, and it would have gone very hard with the 
 patriots. They could not communicate by water, for 
 the English controlled the sea absolutely. 
 
 In St. Leger's way was Fort Stanwix. I have told 
 you about the fighting around there ; about Herki- 
 mer, and the battle of Oriskany, for instance. St. 
 
i6o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Leger finally came up to Fort Stanwix, and was 
 pressing it severely. The only chance the Ameri- 
 cans had was in help from outside. One of the offi- 
 cers in the fort stole out at night, slipped through 
 the British lines, and made his way to the American 
 army that had gathered to oppose Burgoyne. 
 
 General Schuyler was in command of the army. 
 General Schuyler was an able general and a noble 
 man. But he was disliked by his officers and most 
 of his men because he was from New York. You 
 have no idea now of the bitterness there used to be 
 between the colonies ; and New York was rather 
 generally hated by all New England. General Gates 
 was making the most of the feeling against Schuyler 
 to have him deposed, and himself appointed in com- 
 mand of the army instead ; a scheme in which he 
 finally succeeded. 
 
 Arnold had just reached the American camp when 
 the courier came in with word from Fort Stanwix, 
 begging for help. Arnold was a friend of Schuyler, 
 and had little use for Gates. Schuyler called a 
 council of war. 
 
 " He only wants to weaken the army," sneered 
 one of the officers, in a whisper that all could hear, 
 when Schuyler proposed sending a relief expedition. 
 He meant that Schuyler wanted to weaken the force 
 opposed to Burgoyne so that the English would 
 meet with no trouble. 
 
 " Enough ! " cried Schuyler, leaping to his feet. 
 " I will take upon myself the responsibility ! " He 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED i6i 
 
 bit his pipe so hard that he bit the stem in two, 
 and the bowl fell crashing to the floor. " Where is 
 the brigadier that will go? " 
 
 The brigadiers were silent. " I will go ! " cried 
 Arnold, springing up. 
 
 He was given a force, and went. On the way his 
 men brought in half a dozen Tory spies that they 
 had found. Among them was Yan Yost Cuyler, a 
 half-witted fellow. When Yan Yost's mother heard 
 that he was about to be hanged as a spy, she came 
 to Arnold to beg for his life. Arnold agreed to 
 spare him, if he would do as he was told to do. 
 Yan Yost and his mother promised. Yan Yost was 
 accordingly sent off with his hat and coat full of 
 bullet holes, to tell the Tories and Indians around 
 Fort Stanwix that a great host was coming to anni- 
 hilate them. He did his work so well that the In- 
 dians, more than half afraid of simpletons to begin 
 with, believing them possessed of devils, deserted 
 St. Leger, and were soon followed by many Tories 
 and Canadians. St, Leger, beside himself with 
 anger and chagrin, was obliged to withdraw. When 
 Arnold came to the place he could find no one to 
 fight, and Fort Stanwix was relieved. 
 
 When Arnold returned to Saratoga Burgoyne's 
 army was in a bad predicament. The English had 
 just had a bit of bad luck in the disastrous defeat at 
 Bennington of a force of Hessians Burgoyne had 
 sent out foraging. The countrymen were swarming 
 to the defense of their country from far and near. 
 
i62 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Detachments of veterans were being sent from the 
 Hudson River posts; Washington sent Morgan, 
 with five hundred riflemen, and General Dearborn, 
 with a brigade. With these troops General Schuyler 
 had drawn the lines tight about the British, and they 
 were struggling in his net, when Gates succeeded in 
 being appointed in his stead. 
 
 Horatio Gates has been called the " Hero of Sara- 
 toga." I want you to know that he wasn't. If it 
 had been possible to ruin the situation that Schuy- 
 ler had so skilfully developed he would probably 
 have done it. He was a vain, silly, incompetent 
 officer, and undoubtedly cowardly. He was never 
 under fire in his northern campaigns, leaving that to 
 his soldiers, and after one fight which he lost in the 
 South he ran two hundred miles in four days, never 
 stopping to look behind him. That was the battle 
 of Camden. 
 
 The American army was posted on Bemis Heights, 
 on the west side of the Hudson. Detachments 
 were strung along to the north, east of the river, on 
 Burgoyne's line of communication. Burgoyne had 
 crossed to the west side of the river, under orders to 
 press on to Albany, where he expected to be met by 
 Sir William Howe,, Finding the American army 
 strongly posted in his front, and learning that it was 
 daily growing stronger, he decided that he must 
 attack it at once, although it was already stronger 
 than his. Retreat was out of the question. There 
 were as many enemies in the rear as there were in 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 163 
 
 the front. His only hope was to sweep Gates out of 
 his way and march on to Albany. And I am 
 inclined to think he would have done it if it hadn't 
 been for Benedict Arnold. 
 
 The American sharpshooters had a pleasant habit 
 of climbing into the trees in front of their position 
 and picking off any redcoats that might stray 
 within range. A number of them were occupied in 
 this pursuit on the morning of August 18, 1777, a 
 short distance in front of Bemis Heights, when they 
 caught glimpses of a number of redcoats flicking 
 through the brush and undergrowth that lined one 
 of the roads in the neighborhood. Now and then 
 a flash of sunlight would dart up through the 
 leaves, reflected from guns or bayonets. Occa- 
 sionally the men in the trees would catch the sound 
 of the clank of steel, or the mumble of footsteps. 
 They reported at once to Arnold, who was in com- 
 mand of the left wing of the American force. 
 
 Arnold was not long in making out what Bur- 
 goyne was up to. He saw that Burgoyne was 
 sending a force through the woods to attack the 
 American extreme left. It was evident that the 
 Englishman expected to roll up the American left 
 and slip past with his army. 
 
 Arnold went to Gates and laid the situation before 
 him. Gates sneered at him at first. He could not 
 make up his mind what to do. Finally, when 
 Arnold . had pled with him for many minutes, he 
 consented to let Arnold take Morgan's sharp- 
 
i64 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 shooters and Dearborn's brigade and attack the 
 British. 
 
 It was not long before the British column, moving 
 through the woods, found itself assailed with a sur- 
 prising vigor. The fight became general. Arnold 
 sent back repeatedly to Gates, begging for rein- 
 forcements. But Gates, with ii,ooo idle troops 
 burning for a fight, refused to send a man. If he 
 had supplied the force, there is no doubt that Bur- 
 goyne would have fought his last fight that day. 
 Arnold, with only 3,000 men, Vv^as very near whip- 
 ping him as it was. Burgoyne withdrew to his 
 fortified encampment, baffled. 
 
 Gates, aware of the success that Arnold's stroke 
 had met, promptly sent word to Congress that he 
 had won a victory, without so much as mentioning 
 Arnold's name. But the soldiers mentioned it ; 
 mentioned it so much that Gates, who could not 
 bear to hear any one else praised, grew angrily 
 jealous. In a mean, petty spite he withdrew from 
 Arnold's division Morgan's riflemen and Dearborn's 
 brigade, the very troops with which he had won 
 the fight a few days before. He furthermore told 
 Arnold that as soon as Lincoln arrived with an army 
 that he was bringing up, he would have no more 
 use for Arnold. 
 
 The fighting general was so angry that he would 
 have left the front at once had not the other officers 
 prevailed on him to remain, and had he not been 
 prompted to do so by the belief that he could be of 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 165 
 
 some assistance. So he stayed, keeping close to his 
 headquarters, deprived of a command, but still 
 determined to do what he could to crush Burgoyne 
 and rescue the country from the threat of being cut 
 in two. And the time when he should have died 
 approached. 
 
 It was the seventh of October. Looking down 
 from the door of his tent on Bemis Heights, Bene- 
 dict Arnold, the general without a command, could 
 view the field where he knew, sooner or later, great 
 deeds would be done for the liberty of the colonies. 
 The soft air of a warm autumnal day lay hazily 
 over the scene, mellowing the woods, already bright 
 with turning leaves, smoothing the fields into gentle 
 billows, like a brown running sea. Not far from the 
 foot of the hill a farmer had cleared the trees away 
 and planted his hay and corn, now harvested. The 
 barn and outhouses of his farm peeped up from 
 behind green fir trees, set beside the buildings in a 
 long row. Here and there on the farm the fields 
 had been rudely torn into breastworks for a defense 
 to the British troops, who were posted on the north- 
 ern half of it. Soldiers could be seen through a 
 good glass moving about their camp. 
 
 As he watched, Arnold saw some one running up 
 the slope of the hill in great excitement. " They're 
 coming," cried the boy, who was a soldier in Dear- 
 born's legions. 
 
 •' Who ? " cried Arnold. 
 
 ** Burgoyne. The British." 
 
i66 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Arnold, biting his lip, turned into his tent. " It 
 can't be borne," he muttered, under his breath. 
 " Must I sit idly here all day, listening to the noise 
 of the glorious game, with the smell of burnt 
 powder in my very nostrils, without striking a 
 blow? And all for that popinjay over there?" 
 He flung a look angrily in the direction of General 
 Gates's tent. 
 
 He sprang to his feet and went to the door of his 
 tent. The young man that had come running up the 
 hill was returning whence he had come, more leis- 
 urely. " Ho, there ! " cried Arnold. 
 
 The soldier stopped. 
 
 " What news is this, my man ? " 
 
 The soldier approached, a bit bashfully, for in the 
 eyes of those who fought Benedict Arnold was a 
 man to be reverenced and respected. " Burgoyne is 
 marching out along the road through Freeman's 
 Farm," replied the soldier, pulling off his hat in a 
 salute ; he was a raw recruit. " There are thou- 
 sands of 'em," he went on. " Gory ! I wish " 
 
 " What do you wish ? " 
 
 " Nothin'," returned the lad, fidgeting. 
 
 " Come, come, out with it I " 
 
 The boy was frightened. " I wish I was goin' to 
 fight with you again," he stammered. 
 
 " So do I," muttered Arnold, with a quick frown, 
 turning into the tent again. The soldier fled, think- 
 ing he had offended his hero. 
 
 A shot came puttering through the soft air. 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 167 
 
 Another, and another. Arnold clenched his fists. 
 "There they go!" he cried. "They are at it!" 
 The light of battle was flaming in his eyes ; his 
 lips grew thin and quivered. You could almost 
 fancy that he was whimpering, like an eager bird- 
 dog, waiting for the sound of a gun. 
 
 The firing grew to sound like pop-corn in a pop- 
 per. It rose swiftly through a long, swelling rattle 
 into a mighty and incessant crash of musketry. 
 Suddenly there tore through the sharper sound the 
 heavy booming of cannon. The battle came to an 
 issue with unusual swiftness. 
 
 Arnold, in his tent, could endure it no longer. 
 He rushed out, glasses in hand, to view the scene. 
 His magnificent black charger whinnied and pawed 
 the ground at a little distance, scenting the fray. 
 
 Down in the fields and woods by Freeman's Farm 
 he could see the two armies closing in a death grap- 
 ple. Beyond, to the left, was the sound of Morgan's 
 rifles ; he knew them by their sharp crack, not like 
 the blat of the muskets. 
 
 His heart beat mightily within his breast as he 
 beheld the long red line of British heroes meet and 
 fling back the surging swarms of eager Americans. 
 One to five, they stood stalwart and brave, fighting 
 a good fight. The brave officer, standing idle, 
 viewing the fight from a distance, tingled through 
 every tissue to be in the thick of it. His eyes 
 flashed ; his breath scraped in his throat ; he could 
 hear the pulses of his heart gush through his arteries. 
 
i68 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 1 
 
 They were breaking ! The British were breaking ! 
 Their line was wavering ; crumpling up. Fighting 
 doggedly, the British were beginning to withdraw. 
 The patriots were too many for them. Arnold, in 
 his excitement, beat his palm with his fist, and cried 
 out " Courage ! " 
 
 The slow moving mass of redcoats was coming 
 to a stand again. They were forming once more, 
 farther back, rallied by some one. It was Frazer ; 
 Arnold knew him by his gray horse. If they should 
 hold there, perhaps — 
 
 Arnold could stand it no longer. " I will fight as 
 a private, if I cannot fight as an officer ! " he cried, 
 and dashed to where his charger stood, whickering 
 for the fray. 
 
 He untied the beast, leaped into the saddle, put 
 spurs, and was off down the hill like a demon, lying 
 low in the saddle, impatient of the speed the noble 
 animal was making down the slope. 
 
 Gates, sitting at the door of his own tent, beheld 
 Arnold dashing toward the battle line. " Stop that 
 fellow ! " he cried, snapping his fingers at an orderly. 
 " Stop him. He will be doing something rash I " 
 
 The orderly gave chase, but coming soon to a 
 place that was too hot for his liking, he gave up. 
 Arnold might do something rash if he chose ; the 
 orderly did not propose to. He was an orderly, 
 doubtless, after Gates's own heart. 
 
 Glancing past the straining black neck of the 
 charger that bore him, Arnold could see the British 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 169 
 
 forming again in the rear of the position from which 
 they had been driven. If that formation could be 
 crushed, his soldier's wisdom told him, the British 
 army would be defeated, — destroyed, perhaps. But 
 if it held. . . . He set his spurs against the 
 flanks of his animal again, urging him forward. 
 
 What sound was that, rising above the crash of 
 battle ? What glad cry ? Nothing but the soldiers 
 giving welcome to their commander. Nothing but 
 the cheering of the brave lads when they saw him 
 come among them, magnificent, furious, flaming 
 battle from his eyes, exultant in conflict. Such a 
 man to turn a traitor ! 
 
 '* Forward ! On to victory ! " His voice rang 
 out above the din. He waved his sword toward the 
 newly formed British line. With a mighty glad 
 shout they rushed after him ; after the general with- 
 out a command. 
 
 General Frazer, brave, cool, calm, was riding up 
 and down the line, steadying it. " Who is that devil 
 raging thereat the head of those Americans?" he 
 demanded, puzzled and half angry to be obliged to 
 fight against such fury. 
 
 " Arnold I " answered half a dozen. *' We know 
 him 1 It's that father of all fighting devils, Benedict 
 Arnold." 
 
 " How so ! " cried Frazer. " We were told he no 
 longer fought in the American lines ? " 
 
 " You may see him fighting now. Here he 
 comes ! " 
 
lyo REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Frazer did not see him coming, for in that instant 
 a bullet, sent to slay him under orders from Arnold 
 himself, did its errand. With a quick sigh and a 
 shudder, he doubled limply in the saddle and slid to 
 the ground. 
 
 At that instant Arnold struck the British line with 
 the force of a tornado. The shock was irresistible. 
 The men behind him were inspired with reckless 
 valor. Nothing could stop them. The redcoats, 
 hesitating a moment through very shame of run- 
 ning, turned at last and fled. 
 
 Seeing them broken and flying, Arnold swung his 
 troops to the left, shouting to them to follow him to 
 victory. With a wild yell, they dashed upon the 
 next line of British. 
 
 Finding these too strongly posted behind entrench- 
 ments which they had thrown up some days before, 
 Arnold, with rare presence of mind, swerved farther 
 to the left and led his joyous charge against a 
 brigade of Canadians. Towering above the swarm 
 of men that raced along beside his black charger, he 
 was a sight for heroes to behold. His ringing voice 
 raised a tremor of zeal as it penetrated the din-beaten 
 ears of the soldiers. 
 
 His force, drawn about him for sheer love of fight- 
 ing with such a one as he, was growing stronger 
 every moment. The Canadians did not stand 
 They melted like sand in front of a wave. 
 
 Stopping for nothing, Arnold dashed himself 
 against the Hessians, standing like a rock at the ex- i 
 
WHEN ARNOLD SHOULD HAVE DIED 171 
 
 treme right of the British line. Thej'^ were stubborn ; 
 they fought back sullenly, refusing to be defeated. 
 But there was a fury about the assault, led by the 
 furious fighter on the black charger, that would not 
 be denied. They gave at last, reluctantly, slowly, 
 stubbornly. 
 
 Arnold, shouting victory, pressed after them. His 
 black horse was tossing foam from its lips, snorting, 
 rejoicing. 
 
 There was a sharp report from beneath the very 
 feet of the animal. It reared, screamed, lurched on 
 its haunches, and rolled over on the ground, dead. 
 
 A soldier rushed to Arnold's aid. The general, 
 his face whitening, was holding his hand against his 
 left thigh. Blood was trickling between the fingers. 
 He was looking at a wounded Hessian, lying on the 
 ground a pace away, propping himself on an elbow. 
 The Hessian's gun v;as in his hands. 
 
 ** Are you hit ? " asked the soldier. 
 
 " In the leg." The leg was broken ; the same leg 
 that had received a wound at Quebec. 
 
 A snarl of rage broke from the soldier. He un- 
 derstood now. It was the Hessian that had shot 
 Arnold. 
 
 He grasped his own musket, and was rushing upon 
 the wounded German to kill him, when Arnold cried 
 out : *' For God's sake, don't ! He is a fine fel- 
 low ! " 
 
 That is when Arnold should have died. What a 
 memory of him would then have lived down our his- 
 
172 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 tory ! What a bitter, hateful story would have been 
 spared if some merciful bullet had found its way to 
 his heart then, in the midst of his great victory ! In 
 the moment of supreme triumph ; in the moment 
 when he spared the life of the poor soldier who had 
 tried to kill him, he should have died ! 
 
 What follows needs no telling. The surrender of 
 Burgoyne ; the crying up of Gates as a hero ; the 
 great joy which swept through the thirteen states, 
 heartening them for the long struggle that was 
 ahead. That is known to you all. But perhaps you 
 had not known that Benedict Arnold was all the hero 
 that any one could wish until his heart cankered and 
 he became a traitor to the cause for which he had 
 fought so tremendously. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 
 
 There are several kinds of courage. There is the 
 courage that is aroused in a man by excitement, by 
 a sense of heroics and the spectacular, by love of ap- 
 plause, by desire for fame, or by the shame of being 
 cowardly. This is frequently the kind of courage 
 that sends a soldier against the enemy's guns with a 
 shout in his throat. It is often the form of courage 
 that keeps the crippled half-back in the football 
 game, and sends him hurling himself against the 
 opponent's line while his partisans are yelling from 
 the grand stand. It is a very good sort of cour- 
 age, in its way. 
 
 But there is another sort of courage that is bet- 
 ter. This is the courage that keeps a man true 
 to his faith and principles against discouragement 
 and difficulties. It is the kind of courage that holds 
 up against temptations ; that doesn't need applause 
 or hope of reward, or excitement to keep it alive. 
 The kind that carries a man through a slow, mon- 
 otonous duty to the verge of death, and beyond. 
 It is called moral courage. 
 
 Sometimes the man that has moral courage has 
 not the other kind, which is physical. He may be 
 afraid of getting hurt ; he may shrink from a fight 
 
174 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 with another man. He may be positively timid and 
 frightened in the presence of a material danger, but 
 be willing to surrender his life in slow sacrifice if 
 necessary rather than abandon his ideals. 
 
 This was the sort of courage that marked Chris- 
 topher Martin. When he enlisted in the Continen- 
 tal army, joining a Connecticut company soon after 
 the battle of Lexington, he dreaded war and the pros- 
 pect of battle. He enlisted because he believed in 
 fighting for his rights, and not because he wanted to 
 fight. 
 
 While his compatriots were repulsing the British 
 at Bunker Hill he lay at Cambridge with his com- 
 pany trembling with physical fear at the sound of 
 the guns. At the battle of Long Island only sheer 
 shame kept him from running before his comrades 
 finally broke and fled to the Heights, after they had 
 been outflanked by the British, At White Plains he 
 was in a torture of apprehension ; at the Brandywine 
 he could scarcely refrain from flinging down his gun 
 and sneaking away to hide. 
 
 But it was not until the fight in the fog at Ger- 
 mantown that he openly disgraced himself by phys- 
 ical cowardice. Until that time his pride prompted 
 his ingenuity to conceal his state of mind from his 
 comrades. If they thought that he was perhaps a 
 little lacking in ardor when it came to fighting, his 
 generous good-nature in camp and on the march, his 
 kindliness toward all whom he met, his readiness to 
 give of what he had to those who lacked, and his 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 175 
 
 patience when he himself was without, won him the 
 affection and regard of his company. 
 
 They called him *' Little Chris," and made much 
 of him during the long, tedious days of army life. 
 You must remember that the Revolution was not 
 what can be called an active war. There was a long 
 time between fights. Washington had so few troops 
 with which to oppose the enemy that he avoided 
 battle when he could ; which showed a very high 
 grade of moral courage in him, because every one 
 was complaining of his inactivity. 
 
 There was one man in Christopher's company who 
 was especially fond of Little Chris, and made a great 
 pet of him. This was a big, strong, hearty fellow 
 several years older than the boy, and a fighter by 
 nature. He loved danger, and was always aching 
 for a chance at the British, He was never happier 
 than when he stood in the front rank of the battle 
 line, with the bullets whistling about his ears, plying 
 his musket and waiting for an order to charge. He 
 was quite the hero of the regiment. His name was 
 Philip Worth. 
 
 Philip and Little Christopher had managed to get 
 places in the company's ranks next each other. 
 Christopher would have preferred a less exposed 
 position than the one Philip selected, but was too 
 proud to show his preference, so he swallowed the 
 lump in his throat and marched off with a show of 
 bravery when the order was given to fall in and 
 move on the English at Germantown. 
 
176 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The English army under General Howe had sailed 
 down from New York City and advanced on Phila- 
 delphia, defeating Washington at the Brandywine 
 by a flank movement, and occupying the City of 
 Brotherly Love, which was then the largest town in 
 the colonies and the place where the Continental 
 Congress had been in the habit of meeting. 
 
 A large part of the English army was stationed in 
 the little town of Germantown, five or six miles from 
 the capital. Washington felt the need of striking 
 a blow against the enemy, although there was not 
 much chance of winning. His countrymen were be- 
 coming discouraged by his inactivity ; he realized 
 that it would be better to lose a battle than to go on 
 longer without fighting. So he planned a skilful at- 
 tack, and ordered the advance. 
 
 The Continental army set out in the evening, in- 
 tending to surprise the enemy. It was arranged 
 that some were to attack the right wing of the British 
 in front, while Greene moved against their flank, the 
 left wing meanwhile being kept busy by a demon- 
 stration in their front. 
 
 The attacking army arrived at Germantown early 
 in the morning. Things went wrong from the first. 
 One column of the patriots got hung up in an attack 
 on a British outpost, and when General Wayne kept 
 on to do what had been assigned him a fog came 
 up, so that he lost his bearings, and was not quite 
 certain where the enemy was. 
 
 Meanwhile General Stepen, of Greene's division, 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 177 
 
 was advancing. Hearing the firing about the out- 
 post, his troops bore off to the right, in the direction 
 of the uproar. The fog was so dense that they 
 could scarcely see fifty yards. When they beheld a 
 rank of shadowy figures ahead of tJiem in the mist 
 they opened fire on them with a will, believing them 
 to be British. 
 
 Instead they were Wayne's troops, with Chris- 
 topher and Philip among them. 
 
 That was when Little Chris lost his head. They 
 had been advancing slowly and steadily, and had 
 just begun to feel the enemy, and were opening on 
 them, when they were taken in the rear by their own 
 friends. Christopher, hearing the fire behind and in 
 front, dropped his musket, turned pale, and began to 
 make a strange noise in his throat, something like 
 the whining of a dog. 
 
 Philip looked at him in surprise. " 'Pon my soul, 
 lad, what are you whimpering for ? " he cried. 
 
 Christopher, forgetting everything in his fright, 
 grasped his companion by the arm. " We're going 
 to be killed ; we're going to be killed ! " he mur- 
 mured, over and over. 
 
 Philip shook him off. " I'd as lief kill you myself 
 for showing the white feather," he growled, savagely. 
 " What kind of a soldier are you ? " 
 
 There was a great shouting going up among the 
 troops about them. No one knew quite what was 
 the matter, and others besides Christopher were los- 
 ing their heads. Christopher, able to stand it no 
 
178 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 longer, turned and skulked to one side, leaving the 
 ranks without even stopping to pick up his gun. 
 
 Philip, in a rage, picked the musket up and hurled 
 it after him. It struck the boy on the leg, making a 
 bruise that showed for many a day after that, but he 
 did not feel it at the time. 
 
 Some one slapped him with the flat of a sword, 
 ordering him to get back into line. But the bullets 
 were whizzing in every direction ; instead of doing 
 as he was told Christopher broke into a run, making 
 off in the direction where there was least sound of 
 firing. 
 
 He found, as he ran, that he was not alone. 
 Others were straggling past him. They were out- 
 stripping him, because his leg had been really in- 
 jured, although he was not aware of it at the time. 
 
 Presently the entire line gave way in more or less 
 confusion, bearing Philip with it. 
 
 Christopher did not see Philip again until late 
 in the day. The American forces had rallied after 
 their confused retreat, and given a good account of 
 themselves, but Christopher was not with them. He 
 was in the rear, limping, for the sake of appearances 
 and his conscience ; but the blow on his leg had not 
 prevented him from gaining a safe place. 
 
 It was supper time when the crestfallen young pa- 
 triot found his company again and crept up to it. 
 It showed that he had courage to return at all. He 
 might have deserted, as many of the soldiers did 
 desert. The organization of the Continental army 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 179 
 
 was loose. There was no strong government behind 
 to compel their loyalty, and Washington was too 
 wise to be severe with his troops. Many of his men 
 made it a practice to enlist in times of danger and 
 return to their farms when danger was past. De- 
 sertion was winked at more or less ; the men must 
 be indulged, or they would grow sulky, and recruit- 
 ing in time of necessity would be difficult. So Chris- 
 topher might have deserted, but he did not. Instead, 
 he returned to face his comrades ; to face Philip 
 Worth, especially. 
 
 Philip greeted him with a roar of reproach, sprang 
 to his feet, and descended upon him in a towering 
 rage. 
 
 " Strike me," begged Christopher, with a look of 
 pathetic remorse in his eye. " Strike me. Kill me, 
 if you wish. I deserve it." 
 
 Philip, disarmed by his humility, only took him by 
 the collar and shook him roundly, abusing him the 
 while with strong names. When he was released 
 from the other's grasp Christopher crept up to the 
 edge of the group about the camp-fire and waited 
 for night to hide him. 
 
 It was many days before his patient good temper 
 and efforts at amends won him some slight favor 
 again among his comrades. It was weeks before he 
 had largely outlived the blot he had brought upon 
 his record. It was months before he showed the 
 heroic strain that ran through his fiber, and became 
 a hero to them all. 
 
i8o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Having done what he could against the enemy, 
 Washington was compelled to settle down while 
 Howe captured Forts Mercer and Mifflin, which 
 guarded the Delaware River below Philadelphia and 
 threatened the British communications by sea. The 
 forts fell after a heroic defense, to which Washing- 
 ton was unable to contribute. 
 
 Late in the fall General Howe moved out against 
 the Americans, entrenched at Whitemarsh, with the 
 intention of driving Washington over the moun- 
 tains, where he would not molest the British in their 
 occupation of Philadelphia. But Washington was 
 too strong to be attacked, and would not be enticed 
 into making an attack, although there was great 
 clamor against him behind his back because he 
 would not fight. Congress was in a stew over his 
 inactivity, and there were many who compared his 
 military conduct with the recent victory over Bur- 
 goyne in the north, pointing out what Gates had 
 done, and what Washington did not do. It is diffi- 
 cult to believe that there were any unreasonable 
 enough to make serious comparisons between the 
 two. Washington had held the field through tre- 
 mendous difficulties against a superior force ; the 
 other was a sluggard and a bungler who had nearly 
 wrecked the work that others had begun in the north. 
 But there were plenty, in and out of the army, who 
 were lively enough with their tongues in belittling 
 Washington. 
 
 Winter was approaching. Indeed, it was already 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO i8i 
 
 upon the two armies. The British were comfortably 
 quartered in Philadelphia. All Washington could 
 do was to settle down near at hand, where he could 
 prevent the enemy from communicating with New 
 York, and wait for the spring. His men were in a 
 pitiable condition, without food and clothing suffi- 
 cient for a severe season ; many of them without 
 blankets or shoes. But they must be kept together, 
 and the spirit of the army must be kept alive through 
 the winter months. 
 
 Washington chose his position at Valley Forge, 
 twenty miles from Philadelphia, on the Schuylkill 
 River. It was naturally a strong position among 
 wooded hills, easy of defense. The army arrived 
 there in December, when snow was already on the 
 ground, and proceeded to make it into a winter 
 camp. Streets were laid out, and the soldiers were 
 set to work building log huts, cutting their material 
 from the hillsides. 
 
 It was then that Christopher Martin began to 
 show the stuff he was made of. The men were 
 hungry, cold, dispirited. The prospect of a long 
 winter in the wilderness where they found them- 
 selves was disheartening. As their spirits fell, 
 Christopher's arose. He was possessed of an in- 
 domitable, cheerful fortitude. He fell to with an 
 axe, chopping down trees and lopping off their 
 branches, cheering his companions with his chatter, 
 never complaining, doing more than his share of the 
 work, and taking less than his share of the food. 
 
i82 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 For two weeks the threadbare soldiers worked at 
 their cabins, up and down the streets that had been 
 laid out over the hills. The shrill December wind, 
 frequently filled with biting snow, cut through their 
 thin clothes ; many of them were without hats ; 
 many of them left little tracks of blood in the 
 snow, where they waded barefooted at their rough 
 labor. 
 
 All they had to live on for two weeks, while they 
 were building the huts, was flour, mixed with water 
 and baked into cakes, with now and then a strip of 
 tough beef, or a box of spoiled fish. It was meager 
 fare for men compelled to work hard all day, and 
 sleep out on the frozen ground at night, with noth- 
 ing to keep them warm but a few scraps of worn 
 blankets and the open camp-fire. There was plenty 
 of grumbling over it all, with now and then a 
 dangerous outburst of dissatisfaction. 
 
 Philip Worth was one of the loudest in his com- 
 plaints. He was willing enough to stand up and 
 fight with powder and ball, but this slow endurance 
 of hardships that promised to become much worse 
 before they got better was more than his patience 
 could stand. It was Little Chris who smoothed his 
 temper at such times, coaxing him into better hu- 
 mor, or making him forget his sufferings by telling 
 a jolly story, or getting Philip started on a narration 
 of some of his own martial exploits ; a device that 
 was usually quite successful. 
 
 When the work began Christopher had a blanket 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 183 
 
 somewhat better than most of those in the company. 
 He had taken good care of it. One morning when 
 Philip Worth got up shivering from the snow where 
 he had been sleeping, he perceived that Little 
 Chris's blanket was gone. The boy was lying un- 
 covered on the ground, blue and shaking with the 
 cold. 
 
 " If any thief stole my blanket I'd kill him," 
 growled Philip, scornfully, catching Christopher's 
 eye. 
 
 Christopher, making a sign of silence, cocked his 
 head toward one of their number who had been ail- 
 ing for two or three days. The sick man lay asleep 
 under Christopher's blanket. Philip said nothing ; 
 he only looked in a puzzled and surprised way at 
 his chum. He was beginning, perhaps, to under- 
 stand something about the manner of courage that 
 Christopher possessed. 
 
 The houses were finished at last ; rough log huts, 
 with mud in the chinks, and log-and-mud chimneys. 
 Sixteen men were assigned to each. There were no 
 floors and no beds ; not even straw to keep their 
 bodies from the frozen ground. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the squad con- 
 taining Philip and Christopher was ready to move 
 into theirs. They built up a roaring fire in the fire- 
 place, and were beginning to feel a little warmth, 
 for the first time in two weeks, in spite of the wind 
 that whistled through the chinks and about the crude 
 door, when one of the number noticed that Chris- 
 
i84 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS ;|! 
 
 topher was not with them. " Where's Christopher ? " 
 he asked. ♦ 
 
 " Blessed if I know," returned Philip. " Run away 
 again, like as not." Philip had a habit of saying 
 things he did not mean, for show. 
 
 A man lying in a blanket near the fire arose on an 
 elbow. His cheeks were sunken, fever burned in 
 his hollow eyes ; fever, and anger. " If he's gone, 
 he's gone to heaven," he murmured, in a rattling 
 voice. " Little Chris isn't the man to run away from 
 thisP It was the sick man to whom Christopher 
 had given his blanket. 
 
 Before Philip could justify himself in a reply, the 
 door flew open, admitting a prodigious gust of cold 
 wind, and Christopher stood inside. He was hold- 
 ing something tightly wrapped beneath his coat. 
 
 "Shut the door!" yelled Philip Worth. "It's 
 cold enough in here without your letting in the 
 whole north zone." 
 
 " All right, Phil," returned Christopher, cheerily. 
 '• I shut it as quick as I could, Phil, with both my 
 hands full." He glanced about among the others 
 with a bright smile of expectancy on his face. " I've 
 brought you something, comrades," he said. *' I've 
 brought something for a little house-warming. I 
 thought we ought to celebrate our moving in." 
 
 " A fine place to celebrate moving into," growled 
 Philip Worth, as Christopher approached the fire, 
 bearing the mysterious bundle hidden under his coat. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, if you can't use it civil," one 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 185 
 
 of the others retorted. " If you had some of Little 
 Chris's spirit, you'd be better off, and so would we, 
 Phil Worth ! " 
 
 " Phil's right," quoth Christopner, briskly, seeing 
 a storm-cloud gathering. *' 'Tain't much of a place, 
 and I'm afraid 'tain't much of a celebration ; but if 
 it's the best we can do, what then ? We'll only have 
 to pretend a bit, that's all. Look here." 
 
 Kneeling down on the ground before the fire, he 
 lowered the bundle from his coat into the light of 
 the roaring blaze. He had brought a chicken, and 
 a duck, and a quarter of ham, with a few potatoes 
 tied up in a handkerchief. 
 
 A great shout went up at sight of the promised 
 feast. " Where'd ye come by them. Little Chris ? " 
 cried Philip Worth, in immense good humor all at 
 once. " Been prowling, eh ? " 
 
 *' Never you mind where I came by them, Phil 
 Worth," laughed the boy. " I've had my eyes 
 about me these days, and when we got through to- 
 night with our work I made up my mind it was a 
 good time for a little feast. I'll tell you this much, 
 though : no one has come to any harm by this. I 
 paid for what I took, and there's an end of it." 
 
 Philip Worth glowered at him. " You young 
 jackanapes ! Do you mean to tell us that you've 
 known all this time where you could lay hands on 
 all this food, and left us to starve without bringing 
 it in ? If I had my way I know how I would punish 
 such selfishness." 
 
i86 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " 'Tis lucky enough for us that 'twas not the 
 other way around, and we lay here starving waiting 
 for you to bring such food in to us," snapped one of 
 the soldiers. " And what's more, Phil Worth, if you 
 don't keep a civil tongue in your head you'll get 
 none of this, for we'll not stand to hear Little Chris 
 so abused by any man." 
 
 *' Phil is only fooling," interposed Christopher. 
 
 " Yes ; just the way you were fooling at German- 
 town," sneered Phil. 
 
 " In Heaven's name, cease this bickering and 
 give me food," came a voice from the ground. " I'm 
 starving ; can't you see that I'm starving ? " It was 
 the sick man who lay in Christopher's blanket. 
 
 They scarcely waited for the food to cook before 
 they tore it into portions and handed it around. 
 They devoured it like famished wolves, without 
 speaking a word until it was gone. There was only 
 the sound of human teeth against bones, and the 
 smacking of lips, and heavy breathing that sounded 
 like the growls of animals. It was no time at all 
 until there was not a scrap of flesh left on the bones, 
 which were put aside for the soup they would make 
 on the morrow. 
 
 That night they went to sleep in better spirits 
 than they had known for many days ; even Philip 
 Worth was in a good humor. Philip was awakened 
 in the morning by a poke from Christopher. Lift- 
 ing himself on an elbow, and rubbing his eyes, he 
 saw Christopher sitting bolt upright, looking toward 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 187 
 
 the soldier to whom he had given his blanket. *' He's 
 gone," whispered Christopher. 
 
 " You've lost your wits," returned Philip, scorn- 
 fully. " He's there, big as life. What ails ye, lad ? 
 Did ye fetch a bottle last night that ye did not pass 
 round ? " 
 
 " I know he's there," answered Christopher. 
 " But he's dead ! " 
 
 Philip sat up with a start. " How long has he 
 been dead ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I just woke up and went over to 
 see if he was all right, and found him — that way. I 
 didn't know what to do." 
 
 " He don't need that blanket any more," snarled 
 Philip, reaching over and snatching it from the dead 
 body. 
 
 Christopher made no comment. " He won't need 
 this, either," he said, presently, handing something 
 to Philip wrapped in his handkerchief. 
 
 '* What's this ? " asked the other, surprised, fum- 
 bling at the knotted ends of the rag. 
 
 " Nothing," said Christopher, still gazing thought- 
 fully at the dead soldier. " Only something I had 
 left over from last night. I was going to give it to 
 him, but now he won't need it." 
 
 " Reckon he had too much last night, and that's 
 what he died of," observed Philip, coolly unwrap- 
 ping the handkerchief and examining the contents. 
 " Why, you little villain, you ate nothing at all of 
 your ration ! " he cried. 
 
i88 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " I was saving it for him," Christopher explained, 
 simply. 
 
 Philip stared at him. " Here," he said, reluctantly. 
 " I won't take it." 
 
 " I wish you would," urged Christopher. " I get 
 along very well on what they give us. You see, 
 you're bigger than I am, and need more to eat. 
 Please keep it." 
 
 A strange moisture appeared in Philip's eye. 
 " We'll go halvers on it, anyway," he suggested. 
 
 " All right," agreed Christopher, 
 
 " Hadn't we better eat it now ? " Philip went on. 
 
 " You can," said Christopher, putting his own 
 share in his shirt. "I'm going to get some more 
 wood and build up the fire." 
 
 The first death among them had a variety of 
 effects. Some were cast down by the event ; others 
 were thrown into a state of desperate gayety, fore- 
 seeing their own possible fate ; some pitied the victim ; 
 some rejoiced for his escape. Philip Worth was ob- 
 served to be less morose and surly ; although whether 
 it was the ominous visit of death to their little band 
 that had awakened him to thoughts of his own 
 future life, or whether it was an insight into the soul 
 of Christopher Martin that softened him it might be 
 difficult to say. 
 
 The next day no rations were distributed but a 
 handful of sour beans to each man. Those in the 
 hut with Christopher were better off than most, 
 having had a comparatively hearty meal the night 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 189 
 
 before. But when two more days passed with no 
 food excepting some more of the sour beans, they 
 began to lose strength and courage. 
 
 PhiHp Worth was inclined to be rebellious against 
 conditions. " What did they bring us here for, if 
 they are not going to feed us, now they have got us 
 here ? " he complained. " I might be at home all 
 this time, with my own people, warm and with at 
 least enough to eat, instead of starving and freezing 
 here in this wilderness. Why don't they get us 
 food ? Why don't they send us some blankets ? If 
 they want us to keep on fighting for them, why 
 don't they think of us a little and give us what we 
 need to keep body and soul together ? I suppose 
 they think that when a soldier is not fighting a battle 
 he crawls into a cocoon and sleeps like a butterfly 
 until the next battle." By " they " he meant the Con- 
 tinental Congress. " I'll tell you what, for one : if 
 we don't get food before night I am going to take 
 my leave of this sink of misery." 
 
 Christopher, sidling up to him, handed him a little 
 package, slyly drawing it from his coat. " Wait," 
 he said. " Don't give up. Stay with us, Phil. If 
 the British should attack we'd need you." 
 
 "Aye, if the British should attack I'd stay fast 
 enough ; but as for lying around idle and starving 
 to death, it is quite another matter," retorted Philip 
 Worth. However, he took the package, which con- 
 tained the remnant of the food which Christopher 
 had saved from the previous evening. 
 
I90 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " Lad, lad," he said to the boy, when he had 
 munched the last of it. " You should have kept this 
 for yourself and not have been giving it to me. 
 Why, ye eat barely nothing at all, boy." 
 
 " That's all right, Philip," returned Christopher, 
 cheerfully. " You are so much bigger than I that you 
 need more to eat. I am getting along all right." 
 
 Days crept into weary nights ; the stars dragged 
 themselves through their dark rounds until they 
 emerged again in gray day, and still the soldiers of 
 liberty clung to life in their little bare huts. The 
 weather was ferocious ; it almost seemed as though 
 nature conspired with the British against the patriots. 
 There was scarcely a day when snow did not drive 
 through camp on the north wind ; the sun rarely 
 shone ; there was no cheer under the leaden sky. 
 The houses were cold ; the wind cut through the 
 mud-smeared chinks. There was nothing on the 
 floor to keep them from the frozen ground. They 
 had plenty of fire-wood, but their chimney did not 
 draw well ; either all the smoke blew into the room, 
 or all the heat rushed up the chimney. Their clothing, 
 which many of them had worn since the spring be- 
 fore, was falling to pieces. Overcoats were scarce 
 and poor, blankets were scarcer. Of new shoes there 
 were none ; many of the men wrapped straw about 
 their feet for warmth when they went out on picket 
 duty. 
 
 To fortify themselves against all this hardship 
 the men had nothing. Every day something was 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 191 
 
 rationed among them — a little flour, a few potatoes, 
 some boxes of old fish, usually spoiled, a scrap of 
 lean, tough meat — but not enough to keep a man 
 in comfort of body even under the best conditions ; 
 not enough for a lazy man's diet in summer. It was 
 not long, in those circumstances, before actual famine 
 began to be apparent in the ranks. Men staggered 
 in their walk, staring dazedly ahead of them into the 
 drifting snow-laden air ; their bodies were gaunt, 
 their cheeks filled with strange lines and tensions 
 and shadows. They began to sicken and die. Over 
 half the force was not fit for service. 
 
 The men had scarcely finished their huts before 
 they were set to work on a series of forts which 
 Washington planned and threw up to prevent an 
 attack by the British, which he was in dread of, for 
 he could not have made much of a resistance. The 
 men grumbled, some of them, but it was lucky for 
 them that they had work to do which took their 
 minds from their troubles. 
 
 Squads were sent out to bring in wood, and to 
 gather forage from neighboring farms. The farmers 
 had little left ; most of it had been bought by the 
 English, and the countrymen did not care to sell 
 to the Continentals, for the Continental money was 
 not worth much. 
 
 Christopher Martin was the life and the soul of the 
 squad with which he lived. He was always cheerful, 
 and never lost his patience. If too many days went 
 by without bringing a fairish meal, Christopher would 
 
192 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 give his belt a pull and make some joke about it. 
 " There won't be much for the British to hit next 
 year, if this keeps up," he would say. " I am get- 
 ting thin at a powerful fast clip." Or : " I'll soon be 
 like the horse the farmer trained to live on a pound 
 of straw a day. Just as the animal had learned how 
 to get along on it, he up and died on the farmer." 
 
 Christopher spent his spare time when off picket 
 or fatigue duty in knocking together rough furniture 
 for their hut. He made a table and some stools and 
 benches out of wood cut from the hills, splitting 
 trunks for the flat table-tops ; he stuck up bedsteads, 
 and filled them with dried grass and leaves, which 
 he gathered at great pains ; dressing the tops of 
 them over with fir boughs from some fir trees that 
 he found in a hollow a mile or more from camp. He 
 had to get permission to leave camp, but it was not 
 difficult to do so. 
 
 Frequently when he came back from expeditions 
 in search of some little added comfort for their quar- 
 ters he would bring food, as he had done on the 
 night of their house-warming. He never would eat 
 any of it himself, always telling them that he had 
 eaten his share on the way. They all wondered 
 where he could find anything to eat, for no one else 
 had such success. Finally they learned that a cousin 
 of his lived five miles away, who had a hidden cellar 
 in which he kept some things that he did not want 
 the army to get hold of. Christopher made this trip 
 of ten miles whenever he had time to spare. 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 193 
 
 In the middle of January the second member of 
 their httle party died. Two days later seven of them 
 were in the hospital. It seemed strange to Christo 
 pher that any of them were alive. He wondered at 
 his own endurance. After the first week he felt that 
 he would not be able to survive another day ; but 
 the days came and went, leaving him still alive and 
 with strength enough to do what he had to do. He 
 got used to being cold all the time ; got used to be- 
 ing hungry all the time ; got used to being tired all 
 the time. He got so used to it that it began to 
 seem to him that life had always been like that ; that 
 there had never been anything but this slow, creep- 
 ing, dull, dead existence since he could remember. 
 He did not think, he did not feel, he did not worry ; 
 he only dragged through hour after hour, waiting 
 for something to change. But all the time he kept 
 up a cheerful countenance for his comrades. He 
 felt that he could do that much, if he could not stand 
 up bravely and look into the muzzles of an enemy's 
 guns. 
 
 Philip Worth was not getting along so well. Phys- 
 ically, his condition was good enough, but his temper 
 grew more and more sour. He grumbled at every- 
 thing and everybody ; he began to be abusive ; he 
 began to bully the others, and make them stand 
 around. He took a blanket by force from one of the 
 squad ; he made another give up a coat. He bullied 
 them into giving him more than his share of food. 
 He was quite a tyrant in a small way, and was be- 
 
194 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 coming unendurable, when something happened to 
 change his mood. 
 
 Christopher came in one afternoon from one of his 
 exploring expeditions empty-handed, but filled with 
 intense excitement. He found Philip standing in 
 front of the fire, holding forth to a company of men, 
 many of whom had wandered in from other huts 
 near by. " What do they think a soldier is made 
 of?" Phil was saying, his face distended with passion, 
 and his arms working frantically through the air. 
 " What do they think we can live on ? The dried 
 blood of our old wounds ? The frost that gathers in 
 our hair when we sleep? Do they think we can 
 break our frozen fingers off like sugar sticks and 
 suck them for our life? Why don't they feed us? 
 Why don't they send us some clothing? Because 
 they don't want to, that's why. Because they have 
 something to do that they think is of more impor- 
 tance. Because they have their own bellies and purses 
 to line, every one of them, from the President ot 
 Congress down to the negro porter that sweeps out 
 after their meetings. Do you know that the roads 
 are lined with food meant for us, that lies rotting be- 
 cause nobody will take the trouble to get it to us ? 
 Do you know that there are hogsheads and barrels 
 and crates and bundles of food and clothing going 
 to waste in ditches and behind hedges, because no- 
 body is willing to turn over a dollar to get a horse 
 to fetch it in? How much longer do you think I'm 
 going to stay here and freeze ? Not much, I can 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 195 
 
 tell you. Look at these fat officers lolling around 
 their quarters, living on the best of the land, with 
 wine to wash it down with ! What do they care for 
 us, who are starving to death out in the trenches, so 
 long as they have something to put in their stomachs 
 and a bit of wine to set their fingers tingling ? They 
 are all alike ; one is as bad as another, and General 
 Wash " 
 
 He got no farther. " Stop ! " screamed Christo- 
 pher Martin, bouncing in front of the furious Philip. 
 " Hold your uncivil tongue, Phil Worth, and listen." 
 Worth, too surprised to resent the sudden interrup- 
 tion, stood staring at him with open eyes and ears. 
 
 " Listen to me, while I tell you what I just saw," 
 Little Chris went on. " I wasn't going to tell about 
 it, but perhaps I'd better. When I was coming up 
 through the woods just now I heard somebody in 
 the bushes, talking. He seemed to be in great dis- 
 tress. I thought perhaps one of the men had given 
 out and fallen in the snow, or that he had frozen his 
 feet, or that the cold might have dazed him, so I 
 turned aside and went toward him. What do you 
 think I saw ? " 
 
 " What ? " asked three or four. 
 
 " I saw a man kneeling in the snow. He was 
 praying to Almighty God to help his men. There 
 were tears in his eyes. Do you know who that man 
 was ? " 
 
 " Washington ? " submitted one. 
 
 " George Washington ! " Christopher went on. 
 
196 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " You stand here and say things about him," he said, 
 turning full on PhiHp Worth. " You think he doesn't 
 care so long as he is in a house with plenty to eat. 
 I tell you, it is breaking his heart to have us suffer- 
 ing like this. I tell you, he would trade places with 
 all of us this second, if it would do any good ; if we 
 could all go to live in the house by his coming out 
 here to live in a hut. I tell you that he is having a 
 harder time than we are having. Do you suppose 
 that there is a single man that dies but what General 
 Washington says to himself, ' I might have prevented 
 that ' ? Do you suppose he hears the sick groaning 
 in the hospital without saying to himself, * They are 
 there because they are loyal to me ' ? It's little 
 enough he is asking of us, to stay here and be true 
 to him during this winter. He's carrying more than 
 any of us can know. He's got the whole burden of 
 the war on his shoulders now. If it wasn't for him, 
 the British would be overrunning our country right 
 now, and half the colonies would be back under the 
 king. You know it yourself, Philip Worth. If there 
 is anything we can do to help him, we ought to do 
 it, and thank God for the chance. If it helps him to 
 stay here, and make the most of it, it is doing little 
 enough. And here you stand and talk about run- 
 ning off ! Maybe I ran once when the bullets were 
 flying, but it's going to take a little more than snow 
 and a cold wind to drive me away this time." 
 
 No one said a word. Some of the men who had 
 come from other cabins sneaked out and went back 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 197 
 
 to their own fires. Philip Worth, standing staring 
 into the flames for a space, reeled over and sprawled 
 out on his couch. 
 
 " But I can't stand it," he whined, burying his 
 head in his arms. " I can't stand it." 
 
 Christopher slipped over and sat beside him on the 
 pile of leaves. "What can't you stand, old Phil?" 
 he asked, putting a gentle hand on the great bony 
 shoulders. / 
 
 •' Oh, the cold, the cold. It bites my bones. It 
 gnaws them ; it never stops. I do-nothing but ache, 
 ache, ache, ache, morning and night, hour after hour, 
 day in and day out. I can't get warm. My feet, 
 look at my feet ! Frozen three times ; I can scarce 
 bear my weight on them. And the hunger ! Oh, 
 God, I am so hungry." 
 
 "'Tain't going to be much longer, Phil," Little 
 Chris coaxed. 
 
 "It ain't; it can't," Worth echoed. "I can't 
 stand it ! We're on picket to-night. How can I 
 go on picket ? I can't walk ; I can't stand ; I am 
 freezing in the hut. It is more than human flesh can 
 stand." 
 
 •' I'll take your place on sentinel duty, Phil. No- 
 body '11 mind." 
 
 " Will you. Little Chris ? Will you? " eagerly. 
 
 "Always. You stay inside and keep comfort- 
 able." 
 
 " Comfortable ! " echoed Philip, sarcastically. 
 " Lots of comfort I'll get anywhere hereabouts I " 
 
198 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 " It isn't so bad inside as it is out, though," Chris- 
 topher suggested. 
 
 Philip made no answer. He merely rolled over 
 on his bed and curled up, like a cat, trying to keep 
 himself warm. 
 
 There was no phase of the life in Valley Forge so 
 terrible as standing sentinel. Often barefooted, al- 
 ways onl}^ half clad, the soldiers were compelled to 
 wait out in the snow with no protection from the icy 
 blast. It was work that had to be done ; there was 
 always a chance that Howe would move out from 
 Philadelphia and attack ; there was always the need 
 to watch for spies who tried to get into the camp and 
 learn conditions, or stir up mutiny among the dis- 
 tressed troops. The officers made the task as easy 
 as they could. The sentinels were left on duty for 
 only an hour at a time, and were called upon as in- 
 frequently as possible. 
 
 It was eight that night when Christopher's turn 
 came. Philip was supposed to follow him. " Worth 
 is sick to-night," he told the guard officer, as he 
 marched out to his post on the line of breastworks. 
 " I told him I would take his turn." 
 
 It was a bitter night. Not a star shone in the sky 
 to give any light. A savage wind whipped out of 
 the northeast, driving snow before it, wrapping 
 Christopher's ragged garments about his legs, pierc- 
 ing him to the quick. His toes were naked in the 
 snow, escaping from his torn shoes. He stooped 
 from time to time to warm them with fingers scarcely 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 199 
 
 less cold. He had to take care in handling his 
 musket lest his wet fingers freeze to the steel. He 
 stood with back hunched against the blast, hands in 
 pockets, a handkerchief tied about his chin and ears, 
 shivering and miserable. 
 
 He thought of his warm fire at home ; of his 
 mother and sisters, ready always to cook him some- 
 thing warm and wrap him in his snug bed if he 
 should return. He thought of his stout old father, 
 who had urged him to go to war, and of his little 
 brother, in whose eyes he was a hero. The thought 
 of the brother brought a flush of hot shame to his 
 cheeks. What if the lad should learn of his behavior 
 at Germantown ? There would be no escape from 
 the young lad's condemnation ; his judgment would 
 be severe and immovable. . . . He took off 
 his hat, placed it on the ground, and stood on it, to 
 keep his toes out of the snow. 
 
 The two hours passed, and Christopher crept back 
 to his cabin. The others were silent in sleep ; or in 
 what approached sleep — a dull stupor of low vitality ; 
 a sluggishness of mind and body, the result of their 
 suffering. He crept into his bunk beside Philip. 
 He felt pitiably weak ; he had never felt quite so 
 weak and forlorn. It seemed to him that he would 
 never be able to stir a muscle again ; they were as 
 stifT and heavy and insensible as leather. The leg 
 that Philip had hit with a musket at Germantown 
 ached bitterly. 
 
 As he passed into slumber, it was more as though 
 
200 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 the soul left and floated out of his body than it was 
 like a loss of unconsciousness in the usual manner 
 of sleep. All night long he dreamed of his home, 
 and awoke in the morning with a sense of having 
 been there. He could not rid himself of the picture ; 
 for the first time he felt tempted to steal away and 
 go home, if only for a week or two of rest and re- 
 covery. But he stifled the temptation, remembering 
 the sight he had seen in the woods the day before ; 
 remembering the debt he had to pay for Germantown. 
 
 Philip Worth was like a child thenceforth ; like a 
 spoiled and pouting sick child. He was sullen and 
 surly, giving short answers to every one excepting 
 Christopher, before whom he seemed to be ashamed. 
 He lay in his bunk throughout the day and night, 
 moving only to warm himself now and then at the 
 fire, or to help himself to the rations that were brought 
 and heated at the fireplace — you could scarcely say 
 they were cooked, for the starving men would not 
 wait for that. 
 
 Matters seemed to be going from bad to worse. 
 In the entire army there was not a man who was not 
 suffering from hardship and exposure ; who had not 
 been frost-bitten, or whose health had not broken un- 
 der the ordeal. You would have seen blood in half 
 the tracks in the trampled snow through the rough 
 village of cabins. You would have seen men like 
 living skeletons stalking back and forth in clothing 
 the very sight of which would have made you shiver 
 in such weather. Warmth was impossible ; sometimes 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 201 
 
 the men were less cold than others, but they were 
 always cold. They had no place to go to get warm ; 
 distant spring was their only hope. 
 
 Surprising that they endured it all with any 
 patience ! Surprising that they all did not steal 
 away by night — as many of them did ! Surprising 
 that there was one company left to face the terrors 
 of that desolate winter ! It was Washington that 
 held them ; the lofty spirit of the man ; the brave, 
 determined devotion of his example among them. 
 Officers continually moved about the camp, cheering 
 up the men, expostulating with those who were in 
 mutinous mood, coaxing, arguing with them. Many 
 left, but more stayed. 
 
 After the night on sentinel duty when he came 
 home with such a strange, new feeling of exhaustion, 
 Christopher Martin had many returns of the sensa- 
 tion. A half hour of exposure in the open air was 
 enough to make him numb from head to foot ; to 
 give him a peculiar, floaty feeling, as though his soul 
 were absent from his body. One day he caught a re- 
 flection of himself in a pool of water, which had been 
 cleared of ice so that the men might get drinking 
 water. The sight he saw sent him back on his heels 
 with a shock of surprise and apprehension ; for a mo- 
 ment he believed that he had beheld his own ghost. 
 
 The thought grew upon him. He was his own 
 ghost. He was wandering about on the cold surface 
 of the world unburied. There were so many ghosts, 
 he fancied, that no one had noticed him particularly. 
 
202 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 A strange surprise the British would have, if they 
 came out to attack, and found themselves fighting an 
 army of ghosts 1 
 
 With the feeling came the alluring picture of his 
 home. What harm would it do if he were to take 
 an unasked leave for a few days, and recuperate 
 there ? He would not have to be gone for more than 
 a month — or two, at the most. No one would miss 
 him ; he would be back in time for any fighting that 
 might take place. 
 
 He was sitting beside the fireplace late on an 
 afternoon in February, struggling against the impulse 
 to take a vacation ; fighting it down angrily, when 
 his attention was attracted to Philip, who had sud- 
 denly raised himself from his bunk, and was sitting 
 on the edge of it, with his long, thin shanks reaching 
 to the ground. "What's the use in all this?" 
 Philip was demanding, savagely, blowing into his 
 knuckles to keep them warm — his breath showed in 
 a little gray cloud, so cold was it inside the four log 
 walls. " What's the use in all this ? Why should I 
 wait here and starve, and freeze ? I am not doing 
 any good. I'm going home. I'm going home. 
 Who will go home with me ? Little Chris, will you 
 go home with me ? " 
 
 Chris sprang to his feet in unheralded rage. 
 "No," he cried. "No, nor you won't go, either!" 
 He made a bound, leaped full upon Philip's broad 
 breast, and bore him back on the bed, in the sudden- 
 ness of the attack. " Curse you 1 " he snarled, dig- 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 203 
 
 ging his fingers into the hairy throat of his chum. 
 " Curse you for a coward ! You won't go home 
 either ! You'll stay here until the candle is burnt out, 
 or I'll find out why!" 
 
 The others, seeing little Chris throwing himself on 
 the huge Philip, sprang after him in alarm and pulled 
 him off, expecting to see him shortly beaten for his 
 temerity. But Philip only lay back on the bed wide- 
 eyed, staring at Christopher, and making his lips go 
 silendy on some syllables. Christopher sank back 
 by the fire, weak and trembling. 
 
 That night it was his turn to go on sentinel duty. 
 There had been no food all day. They were expect- 
 ing it any minute, but Christopher could not wait- 
 Picking up his musket, he started to go out. As he 
 passed Philip on the bunk he stopped and leaned 
 over him. " Phil," he said. " Old Phil ! You won't 
 go, will you? You'll stick it out. I'm going to 
 stand your turn on sentry, Phil. You won't go while 
 I'm gone, will you ? " But Philip would not answer 
 him. 
 
 He floundered out into the night. All day it had 
 been storming ; the storm had waxed into a blizzard 
 now. Christopher could scarcely see the forms of 
 the huts lining the streets as he struggled through 
 the fresh drifts to report for duty. The snow snapped 
 in his face and stung his eyes ; it was a harsh night 
 for any man to be abroad, to say nothing of one-half 
 starved, whom the winter had already worn down 
 desperately. 
 
204 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 His beat was on a bleak angle of the entrenched 
 lines, exposed to every wind. Deep drifts had 
 formed behind the bank of earth, more than half 
 covering a field-piece that stood hunched across the 
 top of the works, looking harmless enough against 
 the force of the storm. 
 
 " No British to-night," said Christopher to himself, 
 " and lucky enough it is. What with the wind blind- 
 ing us, and the snow drowning our muskets, we could 
 make but a sorry show against an enemy." 
 
 The last sentry had broken a rough path through 
 the drifts, but Christopher had difficulty in following 
 it back and forth. The tumbril of the gun served as 
 a guiding post. From there he walked along close 
 to the embankment until he came to an angle, 
 which was the end of his beat, where he turned and 
 paced back to the gun, time after time, time after 
 time. 
 
 He did not feel the cold. He had been cold for so 
 long that he had forgotten what it was to be warm. 
 He did not feel tired, or weak. He did not feel any- 
 thing ; the old sensation of floating away from him- 
 self came over him after he had been pacing back 
 and forth for a short time. He wandered up and 
 down like one in a trance ; from the gun to the 
 angle ; from the angle to the gun, over and over 
 again. 
 
 One time when he arrived at the gun he did not 
 turn at once to go back. " I'll stop here a minute," 
 he said to himself. " I'll just stop here for a minute. 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 205 
 
 Nobody is coming." He leaned against the wheel 
 of the cannon. 
 
 He was aware of being tremendously drowsy. He 
 had never had such a desire to sleep. " None of that, 
 my boy," he said to himself, and brought his eyes 
 open with a jerk. 
 
 The lids closed again ; his head nodded. He was 
 aroused by the snapping of the back of his neck when 
 his head bobbed forward. " Here, Christopher," he 
 warned himself, " this will never do. That's the way 
 men feel when they are freezing to death. You'd 
 better keep awake." 
 
 The better to keep awake, he started down his 
 beat again, and staggered to the angle in the works. 
 There he stopped again, and the drowsiness seized 
 him. 
 
 He felt a hand on his arm. It was the sentry that 
 had the beat next him. " Wake up, Little Chris," 
 said the sentry. "You know what happens to sen- 
 tries that go to sleep on post, don't you?" 
 
 " They freeze," answered Christopher. 
 
 " Or they are shot for it." Christopher was not 
 afraid of being shot ; the strict rules of military dis- 
 cipline were not enforced in the Continental army. 
 " They only freeze," he insisted. 
 
 '* That's just as bad," the man replied. " Wake 
 up." 
 
 Christopher stumbled back to the gun. He did 
 not dare to stop now ; the desire to sleep was over- 
 powering him even when he walked. He turned, 
 
2o6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 and hurried back to the angle, the other end of his 
 beat, floundering in the drifts. 
 
 As he wheeled to return, a gust of wind struck 
 him and swung him off his feet. He faltered a few 
 steps, and plunged into the drift. It was wonder- 
 fully soft. He made up his mind that he would lie 
 there for a minute ; just for a minute, to rest. 
 
 The next thing he knew he was being shaken vio- 
 lently, and some one was rubbing snow on the back 
 of his neck. " Close squeeze, that," said a voice. 
 " Another five minutes, and he would have been 
 stiff." 
 
 " 'Tis too soon to be sure now," said another. 
 " Come, fetch him this way. Make him walk. 
 Keep him walking. Halloo, there ! Are you 
 awake ? Wake up ! You are freezing to death, 
 lad." Fingers gave his nose a prodigious tweek ; 
 some one shook him again, and dragged him on 
 his feet through the drifts. 
 
 He was before the door of his own hut before he 
 was fully aware of what was taking place. " What's 
 the matter ? What has happened ? " he asked, be- 
 wildered, when he recognized the spot. 
 
 " Picket relief found you asleep and freezing," 
 they told him. " Here 3^ou are, now ; make your- 
 self snug." 
 
 He opened the door and passed in. The fluttering 
 fire on the hearth showed the bunks about the wall, 
 and the rough table and stools he had made. He went 
 toward the bunk where he slept with Philip Worth. 
 
ANOTHER SORT OF HERO 207 
 
 At the edge of it he stopped and gave a little 
 start of surprise. The bunk was empty. " He's 
 gone," murmured Christopher. *' Old Phil is gone ! 
 Too bad ! Too bad ! Old Phil ! " 
 
 With a deep sigh of exhaustion he threw himself 
 upon the bunk and fell asleep. The blankets were 
 gone, but he was too tired to notice that ; too tired 
 to have pulled them over him if they had been there. 
 
 One of the soldiers, stirring in the morning before 
 the others, noticed that there was only one man in 
 the bunk occupied by Philip and Christopher. He 
 could not understand, and went to see which one it 
 was. 
 
 " Hello, here," he called out. " Old Phil's gone ! " 
 
 "Gone!" exclaimed two or three. "Gone where?" 
 
 " OfiE — home, I suppose." He bent over to see 
 whether Christopher was awake ; perhaps Little 
 Chris might know something about it. 
 
 He straightened again quickly, turning a face of 
 surprise and shock upon the others. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " they cried. 
 
 " Little Chris," was the answer. " He's gone, too. 
 Home." 
 
 The boy was dead. 
 
 That was the difference between the courage of 
 Christopher Martin and of Philip Worth. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 
 
 You have doubtless heard of "Mad Anthony" 
 Wayne ; and you have doubtless always supposed 
 that he was called " Mad Anthony " because of reck- 
 less daring in batde. Almost every one believes that 
 is the reason he was called " Mad Anthony," — and 
 almost every one is wrong. General Wayne was as 
 brave a soldier as ever fought, but he was most 
 cautious and painstaking in his fighting. He never 
 undertook to do anything without first weighing all 
 the chances, and being quite certain that the balance 
 was in his favor. He was not at all a Mad Anthony. 
 
 This is how he came to be called " Mad Anthony." 
 It is rather interesting, and it shows how easy it is 
 for little things to creep into the popular opinion 
 concerning historical characters and lead to a mis- 
 judgment of them. There was a man in Wayne's 
 army corps during the Revolution known as " Jemy 
 the Rover." Jemy was a whimsical, simple-minded 
 fellow, up to his pranks. One day General Wayne 
 had him put in the guard-house for something he 
 had done ; for Wayne was a strict officer who would 
 stand no nonsense. When Jemy was released he 
 asked a sergeant whether the general was " mad or 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 209 
 
 in fun." The sergeant replied : " The general has 
 been very much displeased with your disorderly con- 
 duct, and a repetition of it will be followed by con- 
 finement and twenty-nine lashes, well laid on." 
 
 "Then," said Jemy, " Anthony is mad. Clear the 
 coast for Mad Anthony's friend," 
 
 The soldiers, who loved their commander, took up 
 the phrase and made a nickname of it, as men will 
 when they are fond of another. To be called by a 
 nickname usually proves that others like you. In a 
 short time General Wayne came generally to be 
 spoken of affectionately among the soldiery as " Mad 
 Anthony " ; the name spread through the army and 
 into civil life, and it has endured until this day. But 
 most people, as I have told you, believe that Wayne 
 got it because of foolhardy bravery on the field of 
 battle. 
 
 There were a number of incidents in his career as 
 a soldier to make that mistaken theory easy to be- 
 lieve. He did things that thoughtless persons would 
 consider evidence of recklessness. For instance : 
 once, when he was in Georgia fighting the British 
 and Tories, he unexpectedly came upon a force of 
 them much larger than his own. They met in a 
 narrow causeway through a swamp. The situation 
 was critical ; the Americans were in great danger of 
 being exterminated. Wayne did not hesitate a mo- 
 ment, but ordered a charge, which so surprised the 
 enemy that they broke and fled That seemed like 
 a foolish thing to do ; but Wayne saw that it was the 
 
2IO REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 only safe way. He was quite certain that his sudden 
 charge would have the effect it did have. 
 
 He did precisely the same thing in Virginia. Lord 
 Cornwallis, the British general who afterward was 
 besieged and captured at Yorktown, was marching 
 up and down the state doing what mischief he could. 
 Wayne was following him with a small force, doing 
 all he could to harass the British and prevent them 
 from having too much their own way. One day he 
 came popping out of a woods face to face with the 
 entire British army, which outnumbered his own 
 many to one. He made an instant charge, which 
 so disconcerted Cornwallis that the English with- 
 drew, and the American army was saved from almost 
 certain destruction. " Mad Anthony has done it 
 again," people said, when they heard of it ; not stop- 
 ping to think that the general's action was the most 
 wise and prudent thing he could have done. 
 
 Many other stories are told concerning Wayne to 
 fit the theory that he was a foolhardy fighter. People 
 tell how he used to take a book with him when he 
 went to councils of war in Washington's head- 
 quarters ; how he would read the book in a corner, 
 paying no attention to the discussion among the 
 other generals until his opinion was asked, when he 
 would shut the book on a finger and say : " Fight.'' 
 That is not the truth of the matter. In the first place, 
 Wayne was too well bred to behave in that fashion ; 
 and in the second place, he was too intelligent a man 
 to take serious matters so lightly. It is true that he 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 211 
 
 often advised fighting when other commanders were 
 opposed to it, but always for good reasons. And 
 usually General Washington agreed with him. 
 
 When Lord Howe was retreating from Philadel- 
 phia to New York, for instance, Wayne urged the 
 plan of following and offering battle, although all 
 the other generals except Washington and Greene 
 opposed it. Washington adopted the plan. The 
 Americans followed, came upon the British at Mon- 
 mouth, and the war might have ended right there 
 in the capture of the entire British army if it had not 
 been for the treachery of General Charles Lee, who 
 ordered a retreat. Wayne did wonders that day ; it 
 was largely due to him that Lee's treachery did not 
 result in a terrible disaster to the American arms. 
 
 But one of the bravest things he ever did was the 
 storming of the British at Stony Point, on the 
 Hudson, in 1779. It was a most heroic act he did 
 on that summer night, as you will see when you 
 have read this story ; but Wayne had planned the 
 entire afifair to the smallest detail before he under- 
 took it| and, unless some accident happened, knew 
 what the result was going to be. 
 
 Stony Point is a high promontory jutting out into 
 the Hudson River from the west shore about twelve 
 miles below West Point, and thirty-five miles above 
 New York. On three sides is the Hudson River ; 
 behind it, between the hill and the land, is a marsh 
 covered by water at high tide. It was an important 
 position, commanding the Hudson River at the 
 
212 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS ' 
 
 lower end of the Highlands, and controlling the 
 more important position at West Point. King's 
 Ferry, the principal route of travel from New Eng- 
 land to the other colonies, landed immediately at the 
 base of the hill. As long as the British held Stony 
 Point, West Point was threatened, and the eastern 
 colonies were almost entirely cut off from the western. 
 
 They had seized the place early in the summer of 
 1779, when it was being fortified by the Americans, 
 and had greatly strengthened it. The crest and 
 slopes of the hill were dotted with earthworks and 
 redoubts, fourteen in number, mounting twenty^our 
 guns. Two lines of abatis extended across the 
 neck between the hill and the mainland. An abatis, 
 as you probably know, is a sort of fence made of 
 felled trees fixed close together in the earth in a long 
 line, with their sharpened, tangled branches pointing 
 in the direction from which an enemy is expected to 
 advance. An abatis must be cleared away by the 
 foe before they can advance, which gives the de- 
 fenders of the position a splendid chance with can- 
 non and muskets, and the advancing formation is 
 pretty thoroughly broken up. 
 
 Beyond the second line of abatis was the marsh, 
 through which ran a channel, originally deep enough 
 for a rowboat. The Americans had built a dirt 
 roadway across the marsh, filling the channel, to 
 open the way to the ferry. The hill itself was steep 
 and rough, naturally easy of defense. The works 
 were held by six hundred of the best soldiers in the 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 213 
 
 British army, under the command of the gallant 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Johnson, of the Seven- 
 teenth British Regiment of Foot ; a regiment with a 
 long tradition of fighting behind them ; brave lads, 
 and stubborn. 
 
 Washington was in the Highlands with the Ameri- 
 can army, watching the British in New York City. 
 He was very anxious to dislodge them from Stony 
 Point. It was a big piece of work. He could think 
 of no man better fitted for it than Anthony Wayne. 
 Wayne at the time was in Pennsylvania. Washing- 
 ton sent for him, and placed him in command of the 
 Light Infantry Corps, 1,350 strong, recently selected 
 by Washington from the entire army. Picked men 
 they were ; strong, brave, tried soldiers. 
 
 There is a tradition that when Washington asked 
 Wayne whether he would be willing to undertake an 
 assault on Stony Point, Mad Anthony replied : " I 
 would storm hell if your excellency would plan it." 
 It is not necessary to believe that story ; although 
 Anthony Wayne felt that way toward his commander. 
 
 Wayne made many careful inspections of the 
 position, going as close to it as he could ; climbing 
 hills in the neighborhood that gave him a view, and 
 studying the location and strength of the forts and 
 defenses until he knew what to expect on every inch 
 of the formidable hill. At first General Wayne 
 reported that he did not think a storm of the place 
 was practicable, but later, when he talked it over 
 again with Washington, he thought it might be done. 
 
214 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 On the sixth of July Washington himself went to 
 have a look at the situation. A few days later he 
 submitted a plan of attack to Wayne, which the 
 latter adopted with a few minor changes. The plan 
 was to attack at night with two forces, one moving to 
 the crest of the hill from the south side of the point, 
 and the other to come from the north. Secrecy and 
 surprise were the essentials of the plan. Only a few 
 of the important officers of the corps knew what 
 was in hand. A strict watch was kept by the Ameri- 
 cans on the point to prevent any one from passing in 
 or out, lest some inkling of what was about to 
 happen should leak to the ears of the British. Light 
 Horse Harry Lee scoured the country with one 
 hundred and fifty scouts. I am sorry to tell you 
 that he considered it necessary to kill all the dogs 
 within three miles, so that their barking would not 
 arouse the British on the important night when the 
 troops were moving to the assault. That will give 
 you an idea of what war is like ; especially if you 
 have a dog of your own. 
 
 The Light Infantry was in camp at a point in the 
 Highlands, fourteen miles north of Stony Point. On 
 July 15th General Wayne ordered all the battalions of 
 the corps to form for parade in the morning, " fresh 
 shaved and well powdered " and fully equipped and 
 rationed. You must know that in those days the 
 soldiers powdered their hair, which they wore long 
 and tied behind with a ribbon. Wayne was a 
 stickler for discipline and a military appearance. A 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 215 
 
 week before he had written to Washington : " I have 
 an insuperable bias in favor of an elegant uniform.'* 
 He knew that a natty soldier had a pride which 
 would make him fight better than a slovenly one ; 
 and he knew that his men had that in hand which 
 would require all their fighting ability. 
 
 High noon on the sixteenth of July ; a hot, sultry 
 day. The thirteen hundred and fifty stood in serried 
 Hues, " fresh shaved and well powdered," with the 
 sun glinting from their bayonets, the crack corps of 
 the Continental army. Wayne and his staflf had 
 been down the line, examining muskets, looking 
 into haversacks, with a word of praise for each 
 soldier who showed especial neatness, whose hair 
 was powdered whitest, whose face was most cleanly 
 shaved, or whose musket was most speckless ; and a 
 scowl of reproof to the few who did not show the 
 proper pride. 
 
 The men, standing in line with eyes forward, were 
 waiting for the command to break ranks, thinking of 
 their dinners, impatient to relieve themselves from 
 the hot buttoned-up uniforms, when an order came ; 
 but not the order they had expected. " Forward, 
 march," said General Wayne. 
 
 " Forward, march ! " The command was taken 
 up ; and the lines wheeled into columns and stepped 
 off, swinging in step across the parade ground. 
 
 Where were they to march to ? What was ahead 
 of them ? Not a man in the ranks knew. Was it a 
 drill ? Were they going to make camp elsewhere ? 
 
2i6 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Or were they starting out to find and fight an 
 enemy ? No one could answer. 
 
 For three miles they marched through the swelter- 
 ing heat southward to Fort Montgomery. But they 
 did not stop there. They swung off into a gorge 
 between two long mountain ridges, where their route 
 was a wilderness trail along which they passed in 
 single file. On all hands was dense, primeval forest 
 and a tangle of brush ; only the little path penetrated 
 the wilderness, swinging up-hill and down-dale. Wild 
 birds flew away in alarm at the sight of the long line 
 of silent marching men ; squirrels hastened into the 
 tallest trees and barked excitedly from behind the 
 shelter of leaf-grown limbs. 
 
 The order ran along the line that no man was to 
 leave the ranks on any pretext, unless accompanied 
 by a commissioned officer, under penalty of death. 
 The soldiers were puzzled. Why all this precaution ? 
 Why all this mystery ? 
 
 Throughout the hot afternoon they clambered in 
 silent file along the mountain trail, crossing the bend 
 of a ridge at last and coming out in a valley, a mile 
 and a half from Stony Point. Only once during the 
 long, hot march, had they stopped to rest. It was 
 now eight o'clock at night. 
 
 There, when they rested under the deepening twi- 
 light, the men were told what they were going to be 
 called upon to do. Do not believe that among them 
 all there was one dismayed ; that there was one who 
 was not glad and eager when he was informed that 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 217 
 
 they were going to march out into the darkness of 
 the approaching night and storm the British fort — 
 " Little Gibraltar," as they called it. They were the 
 picked men of a brave army of men ; the cream of 
 the Continental forces. 
 
 Nine, ten, eleven o'clock came and went. The 
 men, " fresh shaved and well powdered," fretted and 
 fidgeted, impatient to be off to the fray. Not a man 
 was permitted to leave the ranks. The suspense was 
 wearing them to a wire edge. Why did the ball not 
 begin ? Where was Wayne ? Was the plan given 
 up? 
 
 Wayne was out at the point, looking over the 
 ground for the last time, making certain of all the 
 approaches, satisfying himself that their project was 
 not known to the enemy, exercising every possible 
 last precaution. For that was the manner of mad- 
 ness that was Anthony Wayne's. 
 
 Eleven-thirty, and the order came : " Fall in ! " 
 Out into the silent night, soft-footed, without ex- 
 changing a whisper, with only an occasional clank 
 of steel rising above the steady muffled tread of many 
 feet, the column moved; moved to death and to 
 glory. 
 
 They marched with empty guns ; no man was to 
 load his musket. It was silent work they had ahead 
 of them. They must creep as close as they could 
 upon the enemy before he became aware of their 
 presence ; that was the only chance. Forewarned, 
 the six hundred Englishmen in the high-perched 
 
2i8 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 ramparts of the point, with their twenty-four guns, 
 could exterminate the thirteen hundred Americans 
 before they could come within striking distance. So 
 the work must be done with the bayonet ; there was 
 no other chance. It was ordered tnat if any man left 
 the ranks, or loaded his musket, the officer next him 
 should slay him on the spot, so necessary was secrecy. 
 
 At the foot of the hill they stopped. Black and 
 shaggy it loomed above them. They could hear 
 the faint tramping of sentries ; a gleam or two of 
 light from some dying camp-fire, or the quarters of 
 an officer, shone down through the thick shadows of 
 the hillside. The calm and silent night brooded over 
 it all, holding no hint of what was about to burst 
 forth, — no hint save the thronging ranks of men, 
 " fresh shaved and well powdered,'' fretting at the 
 foot of the hill. 
 
 Swiftly, under a plan arranged and agreed upon 
 before, the force was divided into three columns ; one 
 to move around and attack from the north ; another 
 to advance from the south, and a third to go forward 
 across the causeway against the center. This third 
 body, the smallest of the three, was to march with 
 loaded muskets and begin a brisk fire so soon as the 
 British opened on the others. Wayne wanted to 
 make the British think that the main attack was com- 
 ing from in front, so that they would be drawn away 
 from the flanks, and not pay so much attention to 
 the two larger forces. Another instance of his " mad- 
 ness." 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 219 
 
 In advance of each of the two principal columns 
 of attack were placed one hundred and fifty picked 
 men. Twenty, selected from the hundred and fifty 
 for peculiar courage and coolness, were to go ahead 
 with muskets slung and tools in their hands to 
 clear a way through the abatis for the following 
 soldiers. 
 
 Do you imagine it was hard to find twenty men 
 willing to occupy this post, so dangerous that the 
 little squad was called a " forlorn hope " ? Not a bit 
 of it ! The men were clamorously eager for the honor ; 
 young officers quarreled for the chance to lead the 
 forlorn hope, and the command of it had to be set- 
 tled by lot. 
 
 The force, divided, marched away in its several 
 directions. Black night overhead, looking down, 
 saw the long columns winding forward in silence ; 
 saw the British sentinels lounging up and down their 
 beats in quiet security ; saw the sleeping garrison, 
 and gave no sign. Only a frightened night bird 
 now and then uttered a cry of terror as it winged 
 through the shadowy sky ; but the sentinels paid no 
 heed. Night birds are foolish creatures at best, likely 
 to be startled by anything, or nothing. . . . But 
 it was well that Light Horse Harry's men had killed 
 all the dogs in the neighborhood. Perhaps if you 
 had lived there in those days, and had understood, 
 you would have been willing to spare your own pet 
 in the country's cause. 
 
 Swiftly, silently, under the shadows of the trees, 
 
220 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 marched the armed men. Black ghosts they were, 
 scarcely raising sound enough with their careful foot- 
 steps to be heard by themselves. Only a slight, low 
 rustle, like a night wind passing through the trees, 
 or the murmur of the tide creeping up the shore. 
 
 General Wayne went with the right column, at- 
 tacking from the south. They moved onward to the 
 river. Colonel Fleury, a French officer, was in com- 
 mand. Each man had a piece of white paper 
 fastened to his hat so that friends would be known to 
 each other in the hand to hand attack. 
 
 They reached the river. They could see the dark 
 outlines of some of the enemy's works high on the 
 hill above them. They moved toward the hill. 
 The lapping mutter of the tide, the occasional rustle 
 of leaves in languid puffs of air that breathed 
 through the hot night, were the only sounds in the 
 still air besides the mumble of their tread. Not a 
 word was spoken ; the men breathed softly, as 
 though such a slight noise as that would betray 
 them. Their one chance lay in a surprise ; there 
 must not be much time between the moment when 
 they should be first seen by the enemy, and the mo- 
 ment when they should scale the last parapet and 
 plant their bayonets in the breasts of the defenders. 
 
 The twenty men of the " forlorn hope," stealing 
 ahead along the margin of the river, came to a 
 stretch of water that reached far across the marsh, 
 and hesitated for a moment. The tide had run in 
 since General Wayne had been there for a last look 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 221 
 
 at the ground. They knew that to enter the water 
 was to be heard by the British sentinels and to bring 
 down upon them the fire of the bristling hill. Not 
 that they cared for themselves — they expected to pay 
 with their lives for the honor of the post to which 
 they had been chosen ; but they were afraid that, if 
 they drew the fire too soon, they would not have time 
 to complete the work of clearing the way for those 
 who followed. 
 
 They did not stop long. With a jerk of the head 
 as a sign to follow, the leader of the little band strode 
 in, splashing the water in a white apron that tinkled 
 down ahead of him with a rattling whisper of drops, 
 and the others followed. 
 
 A sharp spot of light leaped out of the night, and 
 the snap of a shot rang across the marsh. A British 
 sentinel had heard them, and fired. Another shot ; 
 the alarm was spreading. The " forlorn hope " 
 hurried forward, followed by the long line of shadows. 
 
 A shot here and there from the ridge ; the sound 
 of startled cries ; excited commands ! The British 
 were astir, and rushing to their posts. Wayne, wav- 
 ing a short-handled spear, which he carried in lieu 
 of his sword, urged haste in low tones. But there 
 was no need. The men were hastening. 
 
 Suddenly a welcome sound smote upon their ears. 
 It was the rattle of the muskets of the column that 
 Wayne had sent over the causeway to make the 
 British think the main attack was coming from that 
 direction. They were doing their part ; they had 
 
222 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 come up in time, and responded to the signal ; the 
 first fire of the English. 
 
 Now quick fire leaped along the hill in sputtering 
 fringes, marking the several works, and musket 
 balls snarled through the air. Crashing through the 
 popping musketry leaped the bellow of great guns ; 
 the hurrying men could hear the crash of the balls 
 through the trees, and their scream as they rushed 
 overhead. 
 
 The twenty were at the first abatis, hacking away 
 with axes to clear a path for their comrades. Just as 
 the young hunter fires into brush where he hears the 
 rustle of a rabbit, so the British aimed at the crack- 
 ling noise of the pioneers, chopping at the felled 
 trees. One, two, three, a half dozen of the busy men 
 lurched and fell, found by the bullets sent hissing 
 through the dark ; but the others worked on. 
 
 Only for a minute did the advancing column 
 check its speed at the fringe of heavy brush. The 
 stout fellows who were left of the twenty, wielding 
 their axes, broke through one barrier and started on 
 a run for the next, followed by the thin, dark flood of 
 streaming Continentals. 
 
 Beside them, watchful, eager, teeming with com- 
 pressed energy, but quite cool and calm, hurried 
 Wayne, swinging his short spear. 
 
 The " forlorn hope " — or what was left of it — was 
 at the second abatis. The noise of the British 
 muskets on the crest had risen to an incessant rattle, 
 punctuated by the heavier boom of the cannon. 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 223 
 
 Down by the causeway, in the British front, the 
 Americans were answering briskly with two hundred 
 muskets. 
 
 The long, dark line of the right column of attack 
 pushed forward in silence, broken only by the sobs 
 and groans of the sore hit, and the sharp gasp of 
 their breathing ; for they had already struck the 
 slope, and were climbing it on the run. 
 
 You have seen a little stream of water running 
 over dry dust ; it stops for an instant, melts away 
 into the ground, gathers head, twists forward, 
 hesitates, and so gains its way along ; losing water 
 but gaining ground. So it was with the head of this 
 stream of men at the second abatis. 
 
 The gallant band of pioneers, worming their way 
 into the abatis, dwindled, until all but three lay 
 among the hewn limbs of the trees that formed the 
 obstacle. Those coming after picked up their axes 
 and fell to, making further progress, only to be 
 toppled down in turn. 
 
 The British on the hill, seeing them gathering be- 
 hind the abatis, called down to them, taunting and 
 jeering them, believing they would not be able to 
 penetrate. 
 
 Wayne, pressing into the van, stood upon a limb, 
 directing, encouraging, his eyes gleaming in the fire 
 of the guns on the crest. His men, glancing at him, 
 fell to with greater fury, and the last trunks and 
 limbs of the huge fence were swept away. 
 
 But where was Wayne ? At one instant he had 
 
224 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 stood in the breach, encouraging them ; in another 
 instant, he had disappeared. 
 
 ** They've killed him I " cried a voice. " I saw him 
 fall." 
 
 " Hit in the head," cried another. " I saw ; I know 
 how they tumble when they get it in the head." 
 
 " On, my brave men, on 1 " came another voice. 
 " Forward ! Forward ! " It was the voice of An- 
 thony Wayne, but he was lying wounded upon the 
 ground. 
 
 With a curse the Continentals rushed onward, to 
 avenge their commander upon the enemy. 
 
 His aides bent over the fallen man. Blood, gush- 
 ing from a wound along the scalp, poured over his 
 face. He was dazed ; he blinked up at them, brush- 
 ing away the warm blood " Carry me into the 
 fort," he said. " Let me die in the fort." 
 
 They bound his head with two twists of a necker- 
 chief, lifted him on their shoulders, and carried him 
 in the thronging column of men. 
 
 Up, up went the Americans, winding across 
 the slopes like a great, grim-headed snake, silent 
 and threatening, twisting around great boulders, 
 coiling to avoid clumps of bushes, swerving to one 
 side or the other to escape plunging into little gullies, 
 ever rising higher and higher along the deadly slope 
 toward the forts fringed with death-spitting fire. 
 Never a word was said ; there was only the quick 
 breathing of the men, the cries and gasps of those 
 who were hit. 
 
'Carry Me into the Fort," He Said 
 
THE MADNESS OF ANTHONY WAYNE 225 
 
 The British had ceased their shouting now. These 
 reckless men that kept coming on against hot- 
 tongued death were not to be jeered at. They must 
 be stopped before it was too late ; there was no time 
 to think of anything but the strict business of mak- 
 ing them stop. And it was not to be done with jeer- 
 ing. 
 
 The figure of a man appeared on the brink of the 
 parapet, outlined against the glare of the British 
 fire ; he was waving a sword, beckoning those be- 
 hind to follow. It was Colonel Fleury, the French- 
 man who had come to America to help fight his an- 
 cient foe, the British. 
 
 Another figure sprang up beside him, and another ; 
 half a dozen ; a dozen. Among them was the 
 shadow-picture of two men carrying a third, who 
 waved a short handled spear about his head. It was 
 Wayne on the shoulders of his aides. 
 
 " The fort is ours I The fort is ours ! " The cry 
 went up from a score of throats. Exhilarating words I 
 It was the cry that had been agreed upon as the 
 watchword, to be given when the storming party had 
 gained the inside of the fort, and not before. It 
 meant victory to those who still clambered up the 
 hill. 
 
 " The fort is ours 1 The fort is ours ! " came an 
 echoing cry. But it was no echo. It was the other 
 column, that had advanced from the left ; they also 
 had gained the fort. So well had Anthony Wayne 
 laid the plans for his foolhardy undertaking that his 
 
226 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 recklessness was working" out just as it should have 
 worked out. Great work for a madcap, wasn't it ? 
 
 There is little more to tell. The stream of trium- 
 phant men spouted into the fort. Bayonets were 
 plunged into the breasts of the enemy, still strug- 
 gling with bulldog courage to save the fort ; they 
 were swept hither and thither by the eddying cur- 
 rents of the victorious torrent. Presently they began 
 to cry for quarter : "Mercy, dear Americans !" they 
 said, throwing down their arms and surrendering. 
 
 That was the way Stony Point was captured by 
 Wayne's Light Infantry at midnight on July 15, 
 1779. I think you must see pretty clearly now that 
 the fight was no madcap venture on the part of 
 Anthony Wayne. It was a case of thorough plan- 
 ning carried out with a bravery that not every one 
 could understand ; and with a valor and discipline 
 on the part of the soldiers that a merely harum- 
 scarum brave man could not have inspired in his 
 troops. 
 
 As for Mad Anthony Wayne, he did not die of the 
 wound in the head, which was only a glancing blow 
 from a musket ball, but lived to fight many more 
 fights, the last of which was a famous fight with the 
 Indians at Fallen Timber, Indiana ; and to die like 
 any man of peace, of the rheumatism. And the next 
 time any boy talks to you about Mad Anthony 
 Wayne, you can set him right about it. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A LOYAL DESERTER 
 
 About the bravest thing- Sergeant-Major John 
 Champe ever did was to desert. Sergeant-Major John 
 Champe did so many brave things, first and last, 
 that it is difficult to pick out the one that was really 
 the most courageous ; but when you have heard the 
 story I think you will agree with me that his deser- 
 tion was the bravest of them all. Not because he ran 
 the risk of being shot if he should be captured, or 
 because he ran the risk of being shot if the British 
 found out why he had deserted, but because he was 
 called upon to make his comrades and close pals in 
 the patriot army believe that he had turned traitor. 
 That was the hard part of it for John Champe, ser- 
 geant-major. He had put his life on a hazard often 
 enough not to mind the chance of losing it ; but he 
 had made a proud name for himself as a soldier, and 
 it took nerve and determination to shatter his repu- 
 tation by an act that could not be explained for a 
 long time ; that might never be explained, if he came 
 to his death meanwhile. 
 
 Traitors were especially hated and feared in the 
 patriot army at the time John Champe deserted. 
 
228 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Arnold had just been found out in his plot to turn 
 West Point over to the British in New York City, and 
 had fled to them. Andre was a prisoner in the 
 American camp. You remember about Andre, the 
 handsome and popular young English officer who 
 was captured by three American soldiers in the 
 woods near the Hudson as he was going away from 
 an interview with Arnold. It was through his cap- 
 ture that the plot of treason was discovered. There 
 were rumors of other plots ; word had come to 
 Washington that there were other generals in the 
 American army as guilty as Arnold. And it v;as 
 known to be part of Arnold's agreement and inten- 
 tion to carry with him into the British forces as many 
 Americans, officers and soldiers, as he could. So 
 there was bitter feeling against traitors of all kinds 
 at the time Champe deserted. 
 
 Now you begin to see how much courage John 
 Champe needed to desert. He wasn't a bit afraid to 
 take a chance on getting out of the American camp, 
 or making his way into the British lines in the city 
 of New York. He was not at all anxious over the 
 prospect of acting as a spy. He was perfectly will- 
 ing to try to lay hold of Arnold in the midst of the 
 enemy and drag him forth. None of those things 
 bothered him a bit. But he was not pleased with 
 the circumstance that he would be hated and loathed 
 by his comrades. That was what bothered him. 
 
 It was indirectly because of Arnold that Champe 
 deserted. There were three things that General 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 229 
 
 Washington wanted to do. He wanted to find out 
 whether it was true that other American generals 
 were as guilty as the one that had gone over to the 
 British. He wanted to get hold of Arnold and 
 abduct him into the American camp where he could 
 be properly punished. And he wanted to save the 
 life of Andre, whom every one liked and was sorry 
 for, which he felt he could do if he could get hold of 
 Arnold, who was the real villain in the case. 
 
 To accomplish these three things he realized he 
 must send some brave and trustworthy fellow into 
 New York. When he talked the scheme over pri- 
 vately with Major Lee — " Light Horse Harry " Lee, 
 of the dragoons, — Lee said that Champe was just the 
 man for it. Washington wrote a couple of letters to 
 citizens in New York who could be relied upon, and 
 gave them to Lee for Champe to take with him. 
 Lee, returning to his tent, sent for Champe and laid 
 the proposition before him. 
 
 John Champe was very reluctant about going, if 
 he had to desert. It was only after Lee promised to 
 clear his reputation with the soldiers if anything 
 should happen to prevent his return, and had made 
 him see that it was his duty to go, and that he would 
 be doing a big thing for the American cause, that he 
 consented. You see, the desertion had to have the 
 appearance of being genuine. It wouldn t do to tell 
 the rest of the soldiers why Champe had left them, 
 for fear that word would get to the British and they 
 would hang the brave fellow. There were spies in 
 
230 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 camp, and in the country about ; much information 
 leaked mysteriously from one side to the other, all 
 the time. 
 
 Champe, prevailed upon at last, took the two 
 letters and stuffed them into his breast pocket. 
 
 " When do you start ? " asked Lee. 
 
 " To-night," replied Champe, pulling out his watch. 
 " Now." It was half-past ten. 
 
 Light Horse Harry looked pleased. " Good," he 
 said. 
 
 " You will do what you can to prevent a pursuit," 
 said Champe. 
 
 "It is not likely that your absence will be dis- 
 covered until daylight," Lee returned. ** If it is I 
 shall do all in my power to detain a pursuing party, 
 short of disclosing to them the secret of your deser- 
 tion. Which way will you take?" 
 
 " Paulus Hook," Champe replied. Paulus Hook 
 was a point on the west shore of the river occupied 
 by a British fort ; the same fort that Lee had descended 
 upon and captured in the middle of the night a year 
 before. " 'Tisn't likely the bo3^s will give me until 
 morning to get away in," Champe went on. " I 
 need all the time I can get. There are many patrols 
 out, and the countryside is full of marauding and 
 booty-hunting parties going to and fro that it would 
 be awkward to meet. I shall have to do some dodg- 
 ing ; it won't be a straight ride down the middle of 
 the road, sir." 
 
 " I shall have every care to give you a good start," 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 231 
 
 Lee reassured him, " You have full instructions. 
 Do not let either of the parties to whom you have 
 letters let the other know that you are in communica- 
 tion with the other, and do not let the enemy find 
 the papers upon your person. And do not fail to 
 bear in mind that General Washington especially 
 commands that the knave be brought back un- 
 harmed, so that he may suffer in the presence of the 
 army." 
 
 Champe, nodding again, saluted, and turned from 
 the tent without another word. 
 
 The night was a bit dark and threatening rain ; a 
 lucky circumstance, thought Champe. As will be 
 seen, it was a ver}^ unlucky one, and nearly brought 
 disaster upon him. He sauntered across the camp to 
 his own tent, gathered up his gripsack, cloak, orderly 
 book, and sword, stepped out into the shadows, made 
 his way silently, but without suspicious stealth, to the 
 tether, picked out his horse, saddled and bridled, 
 mounted, and rode away. 
 
 Major Lee was not entirely happy after Champe 
 had gone. He got to thinking things over again ; he 
 lay on his cot wide awake, worrying about the young 
 soldier. He tried to hope that his absence would not 
 be discovered until morning. 
 
 He knew that Champe had a long, hard ride before 
 him. The American army was scattered through up- 
 per New Jersey and lower New York, west of the 
 Hudson River. Champe must ride down among their 
 many outposts along the neck of land between the 
 
232 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Hudson and the Hackensack and make his way to 
 the British fort on Paulus. The country was full of 
 scouting dragoons. 
 
 Champe had been gone scarcely half an hour when 
 Captain Carnes came stirring up to his commanding 
 officer's camp with an alarm. " One of the patrol 
 challenged a dragoon who put spurs to his horse 
 and fled," said the captain. 
 
 Lee, of course, knew perfectly well who the dragoon 
 was ; but he rolled over on the other side, yawned, 
 and upbraided the captain for disturbing him. Cap- 
 tain Carnes repeated what he had said, with increas- 
 ing excitement. Lee told him to go aw^ay ; that he 
 was fatigued by his ride to Washington's headquar- 
 ters the day before, and wanted to rest. But Carnes 
 persisted. 
 
 " Perhaps it was some countryman," Lee sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " It was a dragoon of this army, and probably of 
 this legion," the captain returned, stoutly. '* The 
 patrol saw enough of him to make sure of that." 
 
 The major started to discuss wdth him the improb- 
 ability that any one should be riding away on mis- 
 chief. No one had ever deserted from Lee's legion. 
 "It is one of the men going out for a bit of private 
 fun," he suggested. 
 
 But Carnes was not to be shaken. " I have 
 ordered the legion to form, so that we can see who 
 it is," he said. " Would it please you to make out 
 an order for the apprehension of the rogue ? " The 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 233 
 
 captain went off for an inspection of the force, leav- 
 ing Lee trying to devise schemes for delaying the 
 pursuit without making it apparent that he was a 
 party to the desertion. 
 
 In a few minutes Carnes was back, boiling mad. 
 He had found out who the scoundrel was ; it was 
 Champe ! He was astonished and dismayed ; if 
 Champe had proved traitor, who could be depended 
 upon ? The fellow must be brought back and hid- 
 eously punished. 
 
 Lee, pretending the utmost surprise, argued with 
 the doughty captain. It was impossible that Champe 
 was deserting, he said. He went on to point out 
 the many things Champe had done in the past to 
 prove his loyalty to the patriots' cause. 
 
 But he could not argue all night ; the time came 
 when he was compelled, for the sake of appearances, 
 to make out an order for the arrest of John Champe, 
 alive, if possible, but in any case not to permit his 
 escape. He gave the order to Cornet Middleton in- 
 stead of Captain Carnes, partly because it made an- 
 other delay to find Middleton and bring him up, and 
 partly because he knew Middleton had a tenderer 
 heart than Captain Carnes, and would be less likely 
 to kill the brave sergeant. Of course Major Lee 
 could have whispered to Captain Carnes or Cornet 
 Middleton that Champe's desertion was authorized ; 
 but the camps and the country were so filled with Brit- 
 ish spies that he did not want to do that, for fear the 
 word would follow Champe to New York, and be 
 
234 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 his undoing. ... It was then past twelve ; 
 Champe had been gone a Httle more than an hour. 
 
 Now it was that the clouded sky, which Sergeant- 
 Major John Champe had welcomed when he started 
 out, came near to being disastrous. For the squad 
 of pursuers, with Middleton at their head, had 
 scarcely more than left camp in a whirlwind of hoof- 
 beats when a little shower came down from the 
 clouds. Enough rain fell to beat out all old marks 
 on the ground, and spread a new surface on the road. 
 Presently the pursuers came upon the tracks of 
 Champe's horse, clear as print in the new-laid dust. 
 There could be no mistake about the tracks ; the 
 horses of Lee's legions were shod with a shoe of a 
 certain shape, with a peculiar mark in the toe of the 
 shoe. 
 
 Champe, meanwhile, had been making the best of 
 his way down the neck of land toward Paulus Hook. 
 His progress had been slow. He had been obliged 
 to dodge pickets constantly, and frequently was com- 
 pelled to ride into the woods and wait while some 
 wandering detachment of cavalry passed by in the 
 road. He was quite certain that he would be fol- 
 lowed closely ; it was nerve-racking to have to waste 
 any time. 
 
 Morning was just breaking. Champe, riding 
 down a little slope toward Bergen, was beginning to 
 be relieved. He was now within striking distance 
 of Paulus Hook ; his horse could make it in a long 
 sprint, if need should be. 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 235 
 
 His trained ear caught the sound of hoof-beats be- 
 hind him. He turned in his saddle. A group of 
 horsemen was just coming into view above the ridge, 
 not half a mile behind him. At sight of him, they 
 put spurs to their horses, and came down the slope 
 on a mad run. 
 
 There was little doubt who they were, and what 
 their errand was. Champe urged his animal into a 
 run, and tore toward Bergen. 
 
 Bergen ky midway between the North or Hudson 
 River, and the Hackensack. One road ran east- 
 ward from the town to the Hudson and Paulus 
 Hook, and another westward to the Hackensack. 
 There was a bridge on the Paulus Hook road not far 
 out of Bergen. A short cut ran through the woods 
 from the main road he was on to the bridge, avoid- 
 ing the town. To gain the bridge ahead of the pur- 
 suers would be to escape safely, but Champe did not 
 dare risk a ride through the woods, because the cut- 
 oflf was so much used by American cavalry, riding 
 to and fro on their mischief. So he kept on into 
 the town. 
 
 Looking over his shoulder, he saw the squad that 
 was following divide at the point where the cut-off 
 went to the bridge. Several horses raced off down 
 the path, and the others came thundering onward 
 toward the deserter. 
 
 What was to be done ? Champe knew he would 
 be cut off at the bridge ; it would be impossible to 
 get there ahead of the party that had taken the trail 
 
236 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 through the woods. Unless he could get across 
 that bridge he could not get to Paulus Hook. Un- 
 less he could get to Paulus Hook, he — 
 
 Four miles west of Bergen, Champe recalled, in 
 the Hackensack River, he had seen some British 
 galleys. If they were there now, and if he could 
 reach them, he would be safe. He would give his 
 pursuers the slip ; they would look for him at the 
 bridge. If the cursed shower had not made it so 
 easy to track his horse, he thought, he would have a 
 splendid chance to throw them off the trail. 
 
 He rode into Bergen, whisked around a corner, 
 struck into the main street, where the tracks of his 
 horse mingled with other tracks, followed the ruck as 
 far as he could, came to the east and west road 
 through town, turned to the right, and struck out 
 into the open again, toward the Hackensack, and the 
 British galleys, — if they were there. 
 
 There were a few anxious moments. His horse 
 was tiring. If his old comrades lost track of him in 
 the village he would be all right. How he wanted 
 to shout out to them and tell them the truth, not be- 
 cause he was afraid they would kill him in the pur- 
 suit, as he knew they were quite likely to do, but 
 because he could scarcely endure to be thought a 
 traitor. . . . He saw them take the turn to the 
 left, and hurry toward the bridge. He slackened 
 his pace a trifle, to give his horse a chance to get its 
 breath. 
 
 He had not gone far before he heard them follow- 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 237 
 
 ing again. Middleton, finding that Champe had 
 given them the slip in the village, had sent his 
 troopers scouring through the streets. Two of them 
 had picked up the telltale marks in the fresh paste 
 that the rain had made of the dust ; had given the 
 view halloo, and away they were, the whole pack of 
 them, cursing through shut teeth at the traitor and 
 deserter, 
 
 Champe, stretching his horse into a dead run, 
 kept ahead. He caught sight of the masts of the 
 British galleys through the trees, and he took cheer. 
 As his horse tore along the road the sergeant man- 
 aged to fasten his satchel to his shoulders, so that 
 his arms would be free to swim. He drew his sword, 
 throwing away his scabbard so that it would not get 
 between his legs when he was in the water and 
 hinder him. 
 
 His horse was rapidly growing tired ; it was about 
 ready to give in. The pursuers were gaining ; they 
 were not one hundred yards behind. The river was 
 not far. Could he make it? 
 
 His horse staggered up to the swampy margin. 
 Champe, throwing himself from the animal's back, 
 plunged in, splashing the ooze over his uniform, 
 shouting out to the galleys and calling for help. 
 
 The men on the galleys guessed what was going 
 forward when they saw a man leap off his horse and 
 plunge into the river, followed by a squad of hurry- 
 ing horsemen. They opened fire on the pursuers, 
 and sent out a boat. Champe, swimming strongly, 
 
238 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 saw his comrades of the legion turn reluctantly from 
 the shore and ride oflF, leading his animal among 
 them. He fell into a slow stroke, swimming easily 
 toward the approaching boat. 
 
 The story that he told when they had pulled him 
 in and carried him aboard was easily believed. The 
 pursuit, which had been full of threat at one time, 
 had turned into a big piece of luck. Those who 
 had witnessed the end of it from the galleys were 
 in no doubt that it was genuine, and that Champe 
 was, as he claimed to be, a deserter from Lee's 
 legions. 
 
 He was conveyed to New York City, where he 
 presently found himself, after a number of examina- 
 tions, in the presence of Sir Henry Clinton, British 
 commander-in-chief. Champe was just the man for 
 what followed. He was not much of a talker ; his 
 face was one that hid his feelings ; he M^as very wise, 
 and very cautious. He told Sir Henry a great many 
 amazing things about the American arm}^ with just 
 enough truth in them to make the Englishman think 
 they were all true. Before he was through being 
 examined, Sir Henry felt pretty certain that the en- 
 tire American army was ready and waiting for a 
 chance to come over into the British ranks. 
 
 " Gad ! " cried Sir Henry, rubbing his hands. 
 " 'Twill not be long ere we shall have no enemy to 
 fight. Here," — to an orderly — " take this fine fellow 
 to General Arnold, with my compliments. He will 
 make a likely soldier in the legion for Virginia." 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 239 
 
 Arnold at the time was recruiting a force among de- 
 serted Americans and Tories for an invasion of Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 Sir Henry, writing out a communication for Gen- 
 eral Arnold, handed it to the orderly, who beckoned 
 Champe, and the two left for the traitor's head- 
 quarters. 
 
 John Champe's heart beat fast when he was led 
 into the presence of the man who had endeavored 
 to betray the patriot cause. He was not sure of 
 himself ; was not certain that he could keep his face 
 free from the abiding hatred he had for Arnold ; that 
 he could conceal a desire to fall on him and do vio- 
 lence to him. 
 
 Arnold was sitting at a table in the parlor of the 
 house where he was quartered, busy with papers. 
 He looked up with a nervous glance when Champe 
 entered with the orderly. He had the appearance 
 of a man who was making a brave fight against his 
 conscience. 
 
 He took Sir Henry's letter from the orderly, 
 opened it, and read it in silence, without once glanc- 
 ing from it, until he was through. " So you also 
 have come to your senses," he observed, casting a 
 sidelong glance at Champe, at last. 
 
 Champe merely grunted, and nodded. 
 
 " You are a brave fellow to have the courage," 
 Arnold remarked. 
 
 " It took courage," replied Champe. 
 
 " Many more will follow you," Arnold went on. 
 
240 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 "Your example has had a great effect in the 
 American army," said Champe. 
 
 Arnold was silent for a space. " You wish to en- 
 list in my new legion, I assume," he said. 
 
 A flush of anger burned in Champe's honest 
 cheeks. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew 
 his nose to hide the telltale color from the traitor. 
 But Arnold was not looking at him ; his eyes for the 
 most part were fixed on the table before him. 
 
 " I don't know that I want to enlist," Champe 
 replied, controlling himself. " You see, if the Yankees 
 should catch me in your ranks it would go hard 
 with me." 
 
 " Tut, tut, my man I You're not one to be afraid, 
 are you ?" exclaimed the general. 
 
 " I wouldn't like to be hanged, sir." 
 
 " No danger of that. With a legion of brave 
 fellows like yourself there is little chance that you 
 will fall into the hands of the enemy. You were a 
 sergeant-major with Mr. Lee?" 
 
 Champe boiled to hear his dashing commander 
 deprived of his title, after the fashion of the British 
 when they spoke of American officers, but he held 
 his tongue. " I was," he said. 
 
 " So you shall be with me," Arnold promised. 
 
 Champe seemed to be taking thought. 
 
 " Take it under consideration," said Arnold, notic- 
 ing his expression. " Meanwhile, you will lodge 
 with my recruiting sergeants, next door to me. 
 They are merry lads ; you will find life pleasant 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 241 
 
 with them." The traitor arose from his chair and 
 walked across the room to a bell cord. 
 
 Champe watched him with a strange mingling of 
 sensations. Arnold walked with a limp, being hope- 
 lessly crippled in one leg from the wounds he had 
 received at Quebec and Saratoga. The reminder 
 of his former brave service in the American army 
 collided in Champe's mind with the feelings aroused 
 in him by seeing the traitor active in the midst of 
 the enemy, setting up keen emotions. 
 
 An orderly came in response to Arnold's pull on 
 the bell. " Take our friend Sergeant Champe and 
 quarter him next door," Arnold directed, addressing 
 the orderly. " Make him known to my recruiting 
 sergeants. He is a brave lad that has lately come 
 over from the enemy." 
 
 So far, fortune had favored the American in his 
 risky undertaking. He had escaped suspicion, he 
 had obtained the confidence of the man whom he 
 sought to abduct, and he was to be quartered close 
 at hand, where he could have excellent opportunity 
 to form and execute plans for the carrying out of his 
 purpose. 
 
 The recruiting sergeants received him with friendly 
 good fellowship, and he proceeded at once to make 
 himself at home with them. The first thing to be 
 done was to communicate with the persons to whom 
 he had letters. Of these two the first one to be 
 seen was the one who was to obtain information 
 concerning the other American generals who were 
 
242 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 under suspicion. That matter must be cleared up 
 before he could begin his other errand ; he could 
 not leave the city with Arnold until he had learned 
 all he could. 
 
 For several days he had no chance to deliver the 
 first letter. Although he was under no direct sus- 
 picion as yet, he had to be cautious in his conduct, 
 because every stranger was more or less closely 
 watched. He spent his time with the recruiting 
 sergeants and the recruits, gossiping idly and spin- 
 ning yarns, after the fashion of soldiers, and estab- 
 lishing himself as securely as possible in the good 
 opinion of his comrades. 
 
 One night, fixing up some excuse, Champe left the 
 house alone, and wandered through the streets of 
 the city with the manner of one on a stroll. He had 
 his letter hidden in the lining of his waistcoat. The 
 other was concealed in a crack behind the wainscot- 
 ing of his room. Loitering about until he had 
 made certain that no one was spying upon him, 
 he set off at last for the address on the letter. 
 
 He found the man he was looking for after some 
 search, and presented the letter. The man read it 
 twice, squinting closely between lines at the bearer, 
 held the paper over a candle until it was a crinkled 
 cinder when he had finished it the second time, and 
 then extended his hand to the deserter. " I am 
 glad to see you safely here," he said, leading him to 
 a chair. 
 
 " I have no doubt that I can ascertain what General 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 243 
 
 Washington desires to learn," the man went on, 
 when they were seated, '* but it will take some time. 
 We have to be extremely cautious ; we hardly know 
 whom to trust. I am reputed to be a staunch Loy- 
 alist. If the British should find out what I am doing, 
 I should have short shrift. I shall have to have the 
 help of a certain individual in the matter, and shall 
 not be able to see him, perhaps, for several days. We 
 are obliged to meet by chance in the street ; and if 
 we met too frequently we would attract attention. If 
 you will walk down Cortland Street in the afternoon 
 at three o'clock five days hence I may have word for 
 you." 
 
 Champe, spending half an hour with his fellow- 
 spy, returned to his quarters. He was impatient to 
 be about the rest of his business. If Arnold was not 
 delivered in the American camp soon it might be 
 too late to save the life of Andre. But he was com- 
 pelled to wait for this business to be transacted. 
 
 In the days that followed Champe watched Arnold 
 like a hawk. He regretted at times that Washington 
 had expressly ordered the traitor to be brought back 
 alive. Every time he looked into the face of the 
 man who had led a forlorn hope against the walls 
 of Quebec, who had built a fleet in Lake Cham plain 
 and stood at bay against the British ships, who had 
 pounded the British army to a jelly at Saratoga, 
 and who had wrecked all his good deeds by his 
 infamous treason ; every time Sergeant-Major John 
 Champe looked at the man and thought of these 
 
244 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 things he wanted to lift his right arm in vengeance. 
 Arnold had fought too well to be a traitor. 
 
 He met the man to whom the first letter had been 
 addressed in the street some days later, as they had 
 appointed to meet, and learned that the business was 
 not yet completed. The other had gained much 
 information, but not enough. It was a week later 
 before he had finally established beyond doubt that 
 the rumors involving other generals were wholly 
 false. They had been spread by the British for the 
 purpose of disturbing the Americans' peace of mind 
 and breaking up their organization by introducing 
 doubts. This Champe communicated to Major Lee, 
 and went about the other errand. He had found it 
 necessary meanwhile to enlist under the odious 
 traitor. The step went hard with him, but it gave 
 him a greater freedom of movement. 
 
 On a cool October evening John Champe slipped 
 out of the house where he lived with the recruiting 
 sergeants of Arnold's legion, crept along the walls of 
 houses, came out in a main street, and swung swiftly 
 off toward North River. Making many windings 
 and turnings, with frequent sly glances over his 
 shoulder, he turned at last into a narrow lane, pushed 
 open the gate of a little cottage, marched up the 
 gravel walk, and knocked at the door. The door 
 was presently opened a little crack by a man who 
 held a candle in the chink to see who it was knock- 
 ing. The man held his foot against the bottom of 
 the door to prevent its being pushed open from the 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 245 
 
 outside. One hand was held behind his back, in a 
 manner that suggested a weapon. 
 
 " Does Mr. Jeremiah Hepworth, esquire, live here?" 
 asked John Champe. 
 
 •' He does," replied the other. 
 
 " I have a communication for him." Champe held 
 out the second letter he had brought with him from 
 General Washington. 
 
 The man, catching a glimpse of the handv/riting, 
 cast a second quick glance over the stranger, evi- 
 dently fearful that some trick was being tried on him. 
 
 " I will hand it to him," said he. 
 
 "The matter requires an immediate reply," said 
 Champe. 
 
 Hepworth, breaking the seal, began to unfold the 
 letter, holding the door half open with his knee, 
 
 " The communication, sir, is for Master Hepworth 
 alone," Champe reminded him, rather brusquely. 
 
 " I am he ; I am he," the man reassured him, 
 glancing hastily over the contents of the missive, 
 while Champe studied his face closely. " Come in," 
 he said, at last. 
 
 Without another word Champe followed him into 
 the kitchen of the little cottage, making sure of the 
 door before he left it. 
 
 Hepworth motioned him to a seat. "You are 
 acquainted with the purport of this communication ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 John told him that he knew what it was about. 
 
 " It is a bold project," observed the cottager. 
 
246 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Champe nodded his head in agreement that it was. 
 
 " What do you purpose doing ? How do you ex- 
 pect to effect the capture of this unutterable wretch ? " 
 
 "That is what I am come to discuss with you," re- 
 turned Champe, boldly, sweeping away all further 
 preliminaries. 
 
 They drew their chairs close about the fireplace, 
 for the night was a bit biting, Hepworth produced 
 pipes and tobacco, and a mug of ale. " I'll help 
 you," he said. " I'll do what I can ; all I can. It is 
 a risky business, mind you, to bring off this miscreant 
 from the midst of his friends, and we must be 
 cautious. What is there that I can do to help you ? 
 What is your plan ? " 
 
 " Can you find me a couple of good stout water- 
 men who can mind a boat and keep their own 
 counsel ? " said Champe, who had a fashion of coming 
 at once to the point when nothing was to be gained 
 by beating about it. 
 
 '• I think I can ; I think I can," replied Hepworth, 
 thoughtfully, with an eye in the fire. 
 
 "They needn't know what is expected of them, ex- 
 cept that they must be at a certain place on the river 
 front on a certain night, ready to row us across to 
 Hoboken." 
 
 " Good," said Jeremiah Hepworth. " Excellent. I 
 have two such fellows in mind. They may be de- 
 pended upon ; they may be depended upon." 
 
 " I shall want some stout fellow to assist me in 
 what I shall have to do," Champe went on. 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 247 
 
 " Might one of the boatmen do ? " suggested Hep- 
 worth. " One of them is a capital fellow ; strong as 
 a bull, and zealous. You may depend upon him." 
 
 " I will take your word for him, sir," replied 
 Champe. 
 
 "And what do you propose to do?" asked the 
 other, for the third time, in a whisper. 
 
 Champe leaned closer to his fellow-conspirator. 
 •' Arnold comes home each night about midnight," 
 he began. " He walks in the garden behind his 
 house for an hour or two before he retires. He is al- 
 ways alone. . . ." 
 
 •' Alone with the memory of his dastardly treachery," 
 interposed Hepworth. 
 
 Champe proceeded without comment on the re- 
 mark. ** I am quartered in the house next to his. I 
 have been compelled to enlist in his infamous serv- 
 ice, so that I could be free to come and go, and not 
 be sent about my business. I am a recruiting 
 sergeant ; I live with the other recruiting sergeants 
 in that house. We also have a garden in the rear. 
 The two gardens are separated from each other by a 
 fence. Behind the two gardens is a narrow alley 
 way. No one ever passes through it at night. My 
 plan is to take off two or three of the fence palings, 
 go into the garden at night when the villain is walk- 
 ing up and down, steal behind him, with a gag 
 ready, seize him, smother his cries before he can 
 raise an alarm, and carry him into the alley, where 
 we can bind him and make him secure against any 
 
248 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 outcry. That done, we can take him on our shoul- 
 ders to the water-front, put him in the boat, and row 
 to Hoboken. I shall notify Major Lee of the night 
 when we expect to carry out the project, and he will 
 be down at the water on the other side to meet us 
 with a troop of dragoons. If we encounter any one 
 on the way to the boat, we shall say that it is a 
 drunken sailor whom we are carrying to his mates. 
 We will select a dark night, and go through back 
 lanes. I have already picked out a route to the water 
 that we can safely follow, I think." 
 
 They talked the plan over at length, and parted 
 at last with a promise of meeting the second day 
 thereafter in a certain street, where they should greet 
 each other like two old friends encountering by 
 chance. In the meantime Mr. Hepworth was to 
 see the two whom he hoped to engage in the enter- 
 prise, and broach the matter to them, with great 
 caution. If possible, he would bring one of the two 
 with him to their next meeting. 
 
 The day came. Champe, all impatience, for he 
 could scarcely brook being constantly under the 
 nose of Arnold without making progress toward his 
 punishnient, went to the appointed street and saun- 
 tered along the pavement, carelessly, looking in at 
 this window and that like an idler with time to kill. 
 Presently he caught sight of Hepworth, approaching 
 from another direction in much the same fashion, 
 accompanied by a strange young man. They en- 
 countered presently, greeted each other casually, 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 249 
 
 and stopped for a chat. Champe suggesting a mug 
 of ale, they turned down the street, crossed a corner, 
 and entered an inn, where they sat in idle gossip for 
 upward of an hour, when they broke up to go about 
 their business. All this to throw out of suspicion 
 any one who might have looked askance at the 
 meeting of a deserter with two citizens of the city. 
 
 Passing along the cross streets of the town in 
 leaving the inn, they spoke of the subject in hand. 
 They did not talk after the manner of conspirators 
 in story books, with their heads close together and 
 sly looks stealing over their shoulders. To any one 
 who did not hear it their chatter would have ap- 
 peared very light and frivolous ; but they took good 
 care that none heard it. They flung jests back and 
 forth, laughing and bantering one another, when 
 they came w^ithin ear-shot of other passengers ; and 
 did not change their manner, although they changed 
 the subject of their discourse, when they were alone 
 in the streets. 
 
 The third person, who was the one of whom Hep- 
 worth had spoken, was enthusiastic for the project. 
 His ardor was a bit too keen ; he was for being 
 about the business at once, without delay. But 
 Champe was for waiting another week, until the 
 moon was in the dark, when the way would be 
 safer. He was supported in this by Hepworth, who 
 had an older and cooler head on his shoulder than 
 either of them. There was the less reason for haste 
 now, because Andre, whom Champe had hoped to 
 
250 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 save by Arnold's abduction, had confessed to being 
 a spy and been hanged. The tliree separated at 
 last, after arranging for future meetings, and went 
 their several ways. 
 
 John Champe had no easy life now among the 
 recruiting agents with whom he was quartered, next 
 to Benedict Arnold's headquarters. He was used to 
 their rough banter, having tasted much of it among 
 the American soldiery ; but it was a tax upon his 
 patience and self-control to be compelled to sit about 
 in idleness by the hour and listen to their talk of the 
 accursed rebels, as they spoke of the Americans, 
 without resenting it, and laying about him well. 
 Not only was he compelled to listen to it, but he 
 needs must contribute his share toward the abuse 
 of his friends on the other side of the river, and the 
 cause for which he had long been willing to lay 
 down his life, and was now laying aside his honor. 
 
 At last the day was fixed. Champe and his com- 
 panions had arranged the least detail. The boat 
 was procured and held in readiness. A gag and 
 cord for binding their prisoner were secreted on the 
 premises next to Arnold's garden, where they could 
 be found when wanted. Champe, by great adroit- 
 ness, had succeeded in loosening some boards from 
 the fence between the two gardens so that they 
 could be removed hastily and quietly. A place of 
 meeting was appointed between Champe and the 
 one who was to help him. The third understood 
 clearly where he was to be with the boat, and when. 
 
A LOYAL DESERTER 251 
 
 Everything was arranged. No one had become 
 suspicious of their designs, and everything promised 
 success. Having brought things to such a pass, 
 Champe sent a communication to Major Lee telling 
 him on what night the attempt would be made, and 
 asking him to be at the riverside with a troop of 
 horse to receive them and their prisoner. 
 
 The night came. Major Lee, ordering up a small 
 detachment of his dragoons, set out from camp in 
 the evening and trotted leisurely toward the point 
 where Champe had written him the boat would land. 
 The men had no idea of what was going forward. 
 They looked upon the expedition as part of their 
 day's work, and nothing more ; a scout along the 
 British lines ; an investigation of some report involv- 
 ing a loyal citizen in suspicion of being a Tory ; a 
 hunt for a bit of forage ; a meeting with another 
 general ; — any one of a dozen errands might have 
 brought them out. 
 
 They rode to the bank of the river, and stopped. 
 Lee, dismounting, gazed long and minutely over the 
 gray sheet of water for the little boat that was to 
 bring the traitorous general, Arnold, and to restore 
 Champe to honor and new fame among his com- 
 rades. 
 
 The boat did not come. From early evening 
 until morning paled the east beyond the city, they 
 waited, but it did not come. At last the major 
 turned reluctantly and rode back to camp, wonder- 
 
252 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 ing what had happened ; full of fears lest Champe's 
 failure meant that his plot had been discovered and 
 he had met an ignominious death. 
 
 Four days later he learned what had happened. 
 On the very day before the two conspirators were to 
 seize Arnold, that officer changed his headquarters 
 to a house where he could more conveniently watch 
 the embarkation of his troops for his expedition 
 against Virginia. And on the same day he had 
 ordered his legion, recruited largely among Ameri- 
 cans that had deserted from the patriot army, or had 
 become tired of warring against the king, to be sent 
 aboard the transports. He was afraid they would 
 change their minds again and desert his ranks when 
 they found themselves about to be sent against their 
 old friends. 
 
 So Champe's bravery and courage came to naught 
 through a piece of bad luck. He was compelled to 
 go with Arnold's force into Virginia, and did not 
 find a chance to get across to his own lines for sev- 
 eral months. When he came into his old camp — 
 Lee had moved with his legion to fight in the South 
 meanwhile, — his former comrades were surprised 
 and angry to see him received with honor by their 
 commander ; but they soon learned the story, and 
 John Champe became the hero among them that he 
 would have been all the time if they had known. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRl 
 Legislative Reference Su 
 
 MARKER 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 WADING TO VICTORY 
 
 There was a party in the old fort at Kaskaskia 
 on the evening of July 4, 1778. The French inhabit- 
 ants of the town were making merry at the invita- 
 tion of the officers of the post. The noise of laughter 
 filled the soft summer evening; the sound of the 
 fiddle quavered through the parade ground ; now 
 and then a strain of it got as far as the end of the 
 village street or the wilderness of wood that pressed 
 close upon the outskirts of the place. 
 
 The French inhabitants were very happy, — for no 
 particular reason, except that they were French, and 
 were having a party. There were several reasons 
 why they might have been unhappy. They lived a 
 rough and lonely life on the very frontier of civiliza- 
 tion, with only a few distant neighbors, excepting 
 the Indians that lived far and near in the woods. 
 They were cut ofif from the entire world, getting 
 word only at rare intervals, and scarcely ever seeing 
 any one who could bring them news of what was 
 going on. They had no diversions or amusements, 
 except what they provided for themselves in the 
 way of a dance or a feast And they were not even 
 under the rule of the French king, but were subjects 
 of England, which you would expect to be annoying 
 
254 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 to Frenchmen. But they did not mind it in the 
 least. They had been subjects to King George of 
 England ever since the close of the French war, 
 some twenty years ago, when France lost Canada ; 
 Louis or George w^as all one to them, if only they 
 could have their music, and their song and dance, 
 and feasting, odd times. 
 
 They were having a dance this night, and were 
 mailing the most of it. They were unusually happy, 
 perhaps because they had just got over fearing an 
 attack from the Americans, whom they dreaded 
 very much. They had learned from the Indians 
 that the American frontiersmen were men to be 
 feared ; that they were rough barbarians, terrible in 
 fight and cruel in victory, A rumor of an attack 
 from the backwoodsmen had come to Kaskaskia a 
 few weeks before. The British commander had re- 
 cently left for Detroit when the rumor came, and the 
 Frenchmen were tremendously disturbed by it. 
 Rocheblave, the French commander left in charge, 
 had sent a messenger asking that another English- 
 man be put in command. He was afraid that the 
 French Creoles would not fight as hard under him as 
 they ought to. He knew, as a matter of fact, that if 
 they fought at all it would be to defend their own 
 lives, and not for the purpose of defending the 
 British post, which they were supposed to hold 
 loyally. 
 
 But that fear had evaporated and vanished, and 
 the officers of the fort had asked all the Creoles, and 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 255 
 
 the Indians who happened to be in town, to come 
 over to the fort on this night and have a good time, 
 to celebrate their relief from fear. Now the good 
 time was at its height. Dancers swept across the 
 floor, bright-eyed, laughing, chattering, clapping 
 their hands, as jolly as a parcel of children. Brisk 
 Creole girls and handsome young Frenchmen, sol- 
 diers in the fort, many of them., flashed up and down 
 the room in lively measure, forgetful of everything 
 but the moment's pleasure. Their elders who could 
 not dance sat about the edge of the room beaming 
 upon them. Officers of the fort stood in corners, 
 nodding approval. Here and there an Indian, 
 stolid, mute, impassive, sat on the floor with his 
 back against the wall, watching calmly. Everything 
 was life and gaiety ; there was no hint in the air of 
 interruption. 
 
 When the dance was at its height one of the In- 
 dians lying on the floor chanced to turn his eyes 
 toward the door that opened on the parade ground. 
 They fell on a figure the sight of which stopped the 
 blood in his veins, Indian though he was. Standing 
 there like a statue, with arms folded, with a face of 
 wood, dressed in leather hunting jacket and leg- 
 gings, was a tall American ; a stranger ; a back- 
 woodsman. 
 
 For an instant the Indian stared blankly at the in- 
 truder. In the next instant, leaping to his feet, he 
 uttered the war-whoop of his tribe. 
 
 The frightful cry brought the joy to a sudden end. 
 
256 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The music ceased in the midst of a note ; women 
 and girls screamed in utter terror ; men cried out, 
 running this way and that in confusion. 
 
 The confusion was growing worse, when the 
 stranger spoke. *' Do not be disturbed," he said. 
 " Go on with your dance. Only remember that 
 you are dancing now under Virginia and not Great 
 Britain." 
 
 They only stared at him, unable to comprehend. 
 
 " Dance on," he repeated. " Do not be alarmed. 
 My soldiers have taken the fort, but it is not you 
 they have come against. Your commandant is in 
 my hands ; him will I deal with, but as for you — 
 dance on." 
 
 There was still much doubt in the minds of the 
 company whether the solitary intruder should be re- 
 sisted, when the question was settled by the appear- 
 ance at his back of a score or more of hardy looking 
 fellows like himself, armed with rifles. Then the 
 Creoles knew that the rumors they had heard before, 
 and which had died out, were founded on truth, and 
 that these were the same American backwoodsmen 
 whom they had dreaded. 
 
 The man was George Rogers Clark. He was a 
 frontiersman and Indian fighter who had left his 
 home in Virginia and gone to Kentucky. When in 
 Kentucky he decided that the British ought to be 
 driven out of the towns they occupied in the terri- 
 tory that is now Indiana and Illinois. The British 
 general Hamilton, stationed at Detroit, was con- 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 257 
 
 tinually sending out expeditions of Indians against 
 the American settlers from the forts. Clark saw 
 that as long as they were held by the British the 
 Americans would be in danger of losing Kentucky. 
 
 He made up his mind to seize the towns — Kas- 
 kaskia and Cahokia in Illinois, Vincennes in Indiana 
 on the Wabash River. He made a journey to Vir- 
 ginia to get men and means to undertake an expe- 
 dition for the purpose. Patrick Henry, governor of 
 Virginia, supported the plan with his approval and 
 endorsement, but could give him no men. At the 
 end of a long period in which he overcame many 
 discouragements and obstacles, Clark found himself 
 at the falls of the Ohio, where Louisville now is, with 
 about one hundred and sixty picked backwoodsmen. 
 
 The task ahead of him was heavy. He knew that 
 there were more French Creoles in each of the towns 
 than he had men with him. He knew that the In- 
 dians were inclined to be friendly with the English, 
 and would probably fight with the French against 
 his tiny band. But he also knew that the French 
 were not very partial to the English ; that they were 
 fighting on that side because it seemed to them the 
 safest thing to do. He believed that he could win 
 them over to his side if he managed it right. 
 
 To do it he decided that he must surprise the town 
 of Kaskaskia, give the Frenchmen a good fright, and 
 then tell them that he was their friend. He believed 
 that if he frightened them enough, they would be so 
 relieved to find that he was not going to harm them 
 
258 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 that they would come over to him. He knew that 
 the Creoles were not as particular which side they 
 fought on as the Americans and Englishmen, but that 
 they would be quite likely to do what they believed 
 would be best for themselves. 
 
 It was a hard march he had with his little band. 
 There were no roads ; there were not even trails. 
 The usual route to Kaskaskia was by river, but Clark 
 could not go by the rivers because of the danger that 
 he would be seen and reported to the French, which 
 would prevent his surprising them. So he was 
 obliged to strike out across the country, through 
 dense woods and over wide stretches of prairie. 
 
 For the first fifty miles the Americans had to tear 
 a way through the underbrush and fallen timber. 
 After that they came to more open country. They 
 fell in presently with a party of hunters, who joined 
 the expedition and became their guides. Even the 
 hunters became lost once, and for a long time did 
 not know which way to go. 
 
 The tiny army approached Kaskaskia on the even- 
 ing of July 4th. Clark had captured a French hunter 
 a day or two before, who told him that the garrison 
 had been expecting an attack, but had forgotten their 
 fears now. When the Americans arrived opposite 
 the fort they found that a dance and jubilation were 
 going forward, and learned from a family living on 
 the bank of the river that the Creoles felt so secure 
 that even the sentinels on the fort walls had left their 
 posts to go to the dance. 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 259 
 
 Securing boats, Clark ferried his force across the 
 stream, sent one-half to surround the town and pre- 
 vent any from escaping, and entered the fort through 
 a postern gate near the water, with the other half at 
 his heels. He crept up to the hall where the fun was 
 going on and entered, standing beside the door, as 
 you have already learned, before he was finally seen 
 by an Indian and the alarm given. 
 
 But the alarm was too late. The soldiers at his 
 heels had already seized the fort and secured Roche- 
 blave and the other French officers, while the second 
 party had filled the streets of the town and kept in 
 their houses the few people who were not at the 
 dance, and who might have made trouble. 
 
 The results of his bold move met his expectations. 
 The French were properly terrified. The next morn- 
 ing they came to him begging for their lives. He 
 told them that he would be very easy with them if 
 they would swear allegiance to the American Con- 
 gress and refuse to fight for the English. They 
 were glad enough to do this, and swore their new 
 allegiance heartily. All but Rocheblave, and some 
 of the officers, who were forthwith packed off to 
 Virginia as prisoners of war. 
 
 Clark's task, however, had scarcely begun. He 
 had gained a foothold in the territory, but there was 
 much to be done if he were to keep it. He was sur- 
 rounded by tribes of hostile Indians, many of whom 
 had recently been on the war-path against the 
 Americans. Hamilton, the Englishman, was at De- 
 
26o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 troit, and could not be expected to leave the Ameri- 
 cans alone. He had more resources than Clark ; 
 more men and more stores ; and he was in closer 
 touch with a base. Clark knew that he could not 
 expect even to hear from Virginia for many months, 
 to say nothing of receiving reinforcement or supplies. 
 Cahokia and Vincennes still belonged to the British ; 
 even if he took them he would not have men enough 
 to hold them. The situation was desperate ; proba- 
 bly no one but George Rogers Clark would have 
 been equal to it. 
 
 The first thing he did was to settle the Indian 
 question. He invited the hostile tribes to meet him 
 at Cahokia, which he seized from the French, much 
 as he had taken Kaskaskia. They came. They 
 were very sullen and ugly. One night one of the 
 chiefs tried to break into Clark's house with a party 
 of braves, and capture the American leader. 
 
 The chief and his braves v;ere seized. Other chiefs 
 came to beg for them. Clark sent them on their way 
 with short words ; he would give them no promises. 
 After they had gone, to show them that he was not 
 afraid, he gave a party in the fort, and slept that 
 night in a house in the town. 
 
 His show of bravery had its effect on the savages. 
 In the morning, when they came to a council with 
 him, they were very ready to listen to him. He told 
 them that he would not at once kill the braves whom 
 he had taken ; that he would let them have three 
 days' start, and then he would follow and make war 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 261 
 
 on their tribes. He said that he intended to carry a 
 war against them all. He wanted to do it. But if 
 they desired peace, he would let them have it, pro- 
 vided they would be good Indians. If they did not 
 behave themselves, he told them, he would bring men 
 from the East, as many as the leaves in the trees, and 
 would exterminate the redmen. He spoke in the 
 fashion of the Indians, with picturesque eloquence. 
 They were tremendously impressed, and when he had 
 finished they begged him to be friendly ; a request 
 to which he consented, with pretended reluctance, 
 refusing to smoke the pipe of peace with them. 
 
 So far things had progressed favorably. He con- 
 tinued to have good fortune. Word came from Vin- 
 cennes that the Creoles there were of a mind to fight 
 with the Americans for a little while, now that the 
 English seemed to be defeated. Clark sent an offi- 
 cer to take command of the place. He could not 
 spare any men. 
 
 Now he had seized the towns he had come to take. 
 The next thing was to hold them. Hundreds of 
 miles from home, with no chance to get more men 
 or supplies, perhaps within a year, with only a hand- 
 ful of men, surrounded by Indians who were full of 
 hate, although they were full of fear ; supported by 
 Creoles, as unreliable as the wind, he lay exposed to 
 the attack of the English from Detroit, which he 
 knew must come sooner or later. But he made a 
 great show of security, talked big for the benefit of 
 his wavering allies, and waited. 
 
262 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The blow fell first on Vincennes, two hundred and 
 forty miles away, which Hamilton captured in the fall, 
 moving upon the place from Detroit. The Creoles 
 made practically no defense. There were only two 
 or three Americans in the place at the time — the 
 commandant whom Clark had sent, and some 
 others that had gone with him. Having captured 
 the place, Hamilton decided to wait until spring be- 
 fore he moved on to Kaskaskia and obliterated the 
 daring American who had come into the country 
 with such a ridiculously small force. The roads 
 were almost impassable already, and were becoming 
 worse. He knew that Clark would not elude him ; 
 that he could not get back to the settlements that 
 fall, if he wanted to, and that he would stay in the 
 Illinois towns in the hopes of being able to hold 
 them. So he sat down in Vincennes and waited. 
 
 Meanwhile Clark's situation was becoming worse. 
 The time for which his volunteers had enlisted ex- 
 pired, and he was able to prevail on only one hun- 
 dred of them to remain with him. He could not 
 stay in the country with such a small force, barely 
 half of what he had brought, and he did not want to 
 withdraw, knowing that the Creoles would pay no 
 attention to their oaths, but would go back to the 
 British as soon as Hamilton put in an appearance. 
 He wanted to enlist some of the Creoles in his ranks, 
 but did not wish to invite them for fear they would 
 consider it a confession of weakness on his part. So 
 he hit upon a trick. Telling them that they could 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 263 
 
 now take care of themselves, and would not need 
 him and his men any longer, he pretended that he 
 was going to march back to Virginia. 
 
 The Creoles did not relish the idea of facing 
 Hamilton alone, after the manner in which they had 
 deserted the British cause, and they prevailed upon 
 Clark to stay, offering to enlist in his ranks if he 
 would remain. That was what he wanted, and he 
 consented, after making a show of a delay. 
 
 The winter passed without event. Early in 
 February a French trapper, Vigo, came over from 
 St. Louis. He had been captured the preceding 
 autumn by Hamilton, and recently set at liberty. 
 He told Clark that the English were planning to 
 descend on Kaskaskia as soon as travel was pos- 
 sible ; that Hamilton had a large force available 
 which he could gather together and bring against 
 the Americans. 
 
 Clark knew that he would have no chance on the 
 defensive ; that the British would so heavily out- 
 number him that they would sweep him out of the 
 country. So he hit upon a daring plan ; a plan that 
 not many would have contemplated, and very few 
 would have undertaken. He decided to attack first. 
 
 The venture was audacious. The English had a 
 larger force than his, in a strong fort. They had 
 provisions, ammunitions, drilled soldiers, cannon ; 
 everything to make their position secure. And the 
 journey thither was frightful. There had been a 
 heavy snowfall that winter, which had melted, flood- 
 
264 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 ing" the country. All the rivers were out of their 
 banks. Travel seemed impossible. 
 
 But Clark was not to be daunted by that. Bring- 
 ing his little band together, he told them what he in- 
 tended to do, and started out to do it. They 
 marched from Kaskaskia in the middle of February, 
 1779, with as little in the way of clothing and food 
 as they could possibly get along with. They had 
 horses, and carried with them tools, for building 
 dugout canoes to ferry them across the rivers. 
 
 It was not like the march of an army. It was 
 more like an expedition of schoolboys, out for a 
 Saturday's tramp ; like a party of hunters, off to the 
 woods for two weeks with the deer They were a 
 jolly crowd, joking, singing, laughing, and cutting 
 capers as they trudged across the trackless country. 
 When their spirits began to lag ; when the fun ran 
 low, Clark would start some new jest going, and in- 
 spirit the men again. He kept them lively. There 
 was one drummer boy who was the clown of the 
 party. When times grew dangerously dull, Clark 
 would set him at his antics. So they traveled, 
 marching across the water-soaked country by day, 
 camping in what dry spot they could find at night, 
 living on game brought in by their hunters. 
 
 When they came to the branches of the Little 
 Wabash they found a solid river five miles wide, 
 where there should have been two streams three 
 miles apart. Clark set his men to building large 
 dugout canoes. They cut down trees and hollowed 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 265 
 
 them out, tapering off the ends. Launching these, 
 they filled them with their stores and ferried across 
 the first branch of the river, making many trips to 
 bring up the men, and the horses, which swam in 
 the wake of the canoes. 
 
 On the farther bank Clark had first built a scaf- 
 folding, where the stores were placed, to keep them 
 from getting wet, while the men and horses were 
 being brought over. There was a wade of three 
 miles to the other bank of the other branch. The 
 canoes were dragged behind the splashing, flounder- 
 ing men, who sometimes were in water to their 
 chins, and who were never entirely out of it. The 
 ground was covered with a heavy growth of brush, 
 and there were many trees. Sometimes they could 
 get the canoes through only with the greatest diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 Arriving at the near bank of the second stream, 
 Clark built another scaffolding for a place of depar- 
 ture, and proceeded to ferry his army across the tur- 
 bulent river. The entire crossing occupied three 
 days, full of hard work and hardships. There was 
 not a man in the force that had on a stitch of dry 
 clothing. In fact, they had scarcely been dry since 
 they left Kaskaskia ; but now all thought of avoid- 
 ing water was given up. The men henceforth paid 
 no more attention to it than so manv ducks. 
 
 And so the journey went. It was two hundred 
 and forty miles from Kaskaskia to Vincennes, and 
 most of the way was under water. At least, so it 
 
266 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 seemed to the wading troops. And as they ap- 
 proached Vincennes, the travel became worse. There 
 were entire days when they scarcely set foot on dry 
 ground. They camped where they could, on knolls 
 and hillocks that arose above the surface of the 
 water. 
 
 Ten days after they started, late in the afternoon, 
 they came to the banks of the Embarras River. That 
 is, they came to where the river was, but there were 
 no banks. There was nothing but a wide lake, 
 without so much as a hummock showing above it. 
 To cross without canoes was impossible. Neither 
 could they find a dry spot on which to camp until 
 one man espied a little knoll in the dusk, where they 
 all huddled through the night, wet, cold and hungry. 
 
 They could not find any game now, because the 
 floods had driven it all away, and could not have 
 killed it if they had found it, because they were too 
 near Vincennes. Hamilton might hear their shots ; 
 they could hear his morning and evening guns. 
 
 In the morning they set out, wading down the 
 flooded banks of the stream until they came to the 
 Wabash River, which they must cross in order to 
 finish the march on Vincennes, on the other side. 
 Clark set his men to work building more dugouts. 
 
 They had now been without food for two days, 
 and there was no chance to kill any game. The 
 Creoles wanted to return to Kaskaskia. Clark did 
 not prohibit their going, knowing they would not 
 have the courage to undertake the trip alone ; so he 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 267 
 
 let them fume and fuss over their hard lot. He did, 
 however, permit his hunters to go out and look for 
 game, being willing to take a chance on being heard 
 at Vincennes. 
 
 While the hunters were gone his men captured 
 five Frenchmen from Vincennes. The astonishment 
 of the Frenchmen at seeing an army of frontiersmen 
 making a sudden appearance in the midst of a flood- 
 drowned country was tremendous. They told Clark 
 that Hamilton and the English in Vincennes had not 
 the slightest suspicion of his approach. 
 
 On top of this good news came the return of the 
 hunters with a deer, which was rather completely 
 devoured, you may imagine, by the one hundred 
 and seventy men who fed on it. But each had 
 enough to keep him active for a few more days, and 
 the end of the journey seemed to be approaching 
 swiftly now. 
 
 The soldiers crossed the river the next day in a 
 rain-storm, leaving their horses behind them. Clark 
 had hoped to be able to get to Vincennes that night, 
 but he found, when he had crossed, that the entire 
 farther shore of the river was covered with water. 
 Only a few hillocks protruded above the surface. 
 
 As soon as his men were all on shore, Clark struck 
 out in the lead of the dripping column. They waded 
 three miles, taking their canoes with them. There 
 were not enough boats to carry all the men ; there 
 were barely enough to transport the few things the 
 force had brought with them. At the end of three 
 
268 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 miles, they stopped and made camp on one of the 
 hillocks that formed an island in the lake. 
 
 Many of the men were too weak and famished in 
 the morning to continue the trip on foot. These 
 were put in the canoes, and the others started, pull- 
 ing the canoes through the brush when the paddlers 
 could not longer propel them. 
 
 They traveled in this way all the morning. At 
 noon they came to a place in the lake where the 
 bushes disappeared from view beneath the surface of 
 the flood. It was a forbidding place, with the ap- 
 pearance of being very deep. The men were in de- 
 spair. To cross seemed impossible. Their French 
 prisoners assured them that it would be quite impos- 
 sible. 
 
 But Clark was not to be daunted. Standing on 
 the edge of the expanse of water, looking across it 
 in the direction of his goal, he suddenly took his 
 powder pouch, poured some powder in his palm, 
 smeared it over his face, uttered a war-whoop, and 
 plunged in. The others, animated by his example, 
 followed. He ordered those near him to commence 
 one of their favorite songs. Soon the wild chant 
 arose from the strange procession of men flounder- 
 ing and splashing through the lake, often with noth- 
 ing but their heads showing above the water. 
 
 Presently one of the men felt a path under his 
 feet, and followed it, the others taking after him. It 
 led them to a sugar camp, deserted, a few miles 
 from Vincennes. Here they lay down for the night. 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 269 
 
 It was the second night since their crossing the 
 river ; they had hoped once to spend the first night 
 in Vincennes. 
 
 The night added to their discouragement. The 
 weather, which had been mild, turned bitterly cold. 
 Their wet clothes hoze to their bodies. They were 
 starving ; many of them were already sick with 
 weakness. Only Clark's incessant good cheer and 
 courage kept up the spirits of the Creoles that night. 
 Even so, if they could have gone away ; if there had 
 been any place to go to, doubtless they would have 
 gone. 
 
 But the morning was bright and sunny. Clark, 
 arousing his men, delivered a stirring speech, and 
 plunged into the water once more, without waiting 
 for a reply to his words, but breaking stalwartly 
 through the ice. 
 
 Before the third man had followed him, he turned 
 and gave an order that twenty-five men should bring 
 up the rear and shoot any one who refused to march. 
 The order was met with a cheer ; the men leapt into 
 the water after him when he resumed his march. 
 
 It was the hardest time of all. They had entered 
 Horse Shoe Plains, which, for a distance of four 
 miles, was a solid sheet of water, with nothing rising 
 above the surface. They made for a dense woods 
 on the other side. Midway across, the weak and 
 famished began to give wa}^ Those in the canoes 
 took all they could aboard and hurried ashore with 
 them, returning for other loads. Many were in great 
 
270 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 danger of drowning, saving themselves only by 
 clinging to the stronger. 
 
 All through this bitter time Clark trudged at their 
 head, cheering his men in every possible way, jok- 
 ing them about their weakness, making fun of their 
 discouragement, singing songs and telling rough 
 frontier jokes. 
 
 When they reached the woods at last many were 
 just able to pull themselves out of the water and 
 fling down on the ground. The strong built fires, 
 but the warmth did not revive those whom the 
 cold water and exertion had rendered helpless. So 
 those who were strong picked them up from the 
 ground and ran them up and down until the exercise 
 revived them. 
 
 While they were resting on this dry spot a canoe 
 paddled by some Indian squaws was captured. It 
 contained a half of a buffalo quarter, some tallow, 
 and kettles. Broth was made at once, and given to 
 those who were starving. 
 
 In the afternoon they set out again, rested and re- 
 freshed, crossing a narrow lake in their canoes and 
 reaching a dense bit of woods, from which they could 
 see the cabins of the town and the stockade of the 
 fort, two miles away. Between them and the town 
 were numerous sloughs, which were filled with wild 
 duck. Some hunters on horseback were riding 
 about among the sloughs. One of them was caught 
 by a squad that Clark sent out. He told the Ameri- 
 cans that Hamilton had no suspicion of the nearness 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 271 
 
 of an enemy, which was good news ; but that there 
 were two hundred Indians just come to town, which 
 was very bad news. 
 
 Clark knew that the English, together with the 
 Indians and French in the town, outnumbered him 
 about four to one. He began to puzzle over the 
 problem of winning the town against such odds. If 
 he should attack at once, surprising them, he would 
 kill some of the citizens, without doubt, and some of 
 the Indians, which would set them against him. His 
 only hope was to make them neutral. How was it 
 to be done ? 
 
 He decided at last to send a letter to the people of 
 the town. The young man he had captured told 
 him that the Creoles were rather lukewarm toward 
 the English, and would not fight unless they had to, 
 and that many of the Indians were quite friendly 
 toward the Americans. 
 
 So Clark sent a letter to the townspeople by the 
 young man he had captured in which he told them 
 that all who were friendly to the Americans should 
 keep to their houses, where they would not be 
 molested, that all who were friendly to the king 
 would go to the fort and fight like men, and that all 
 who were found on the streets under arms would be 
 treated as enemies. 
 
 Having sent off the letter, Clark waited for even- 
 ing. His men busied themselves getting their 
 weapons ready. The rifles had sufTered heavily on 
 the trip, having been banged about in the dugouts 
 
272 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 and tumbled into the mud of their camping places. 
 The powder, too, had to be dried. Luckily the 
 day was bright and warm, and the work of prepara- 
 tion progressed. The men were in lively spirits at 
 the end of their long journey, with the prize insight. 
 
 At sundown the tiny force marched against the 
 town. Clark had heard nothing from his letter, and 
 had no idea of what reception he would get from the 
 citizens. 
 
 He found that his scheme had worked perfectly. 
 The Creoles of the town were so in fear of him and 
 his men that they did not even dare tell Hamilton 
 that the Americans were in the neighborhood. Many 
 of the Indians and the French who were friendly to 
 the English began to leave town. Hamilton, dis- 
 covering the commotion among the cabins, sent out 
 to learn what it was all about. His men had barel}^ 
 found out, and had not yet reported to him, when the 
 Americans descended upon the town. 
 
 As they passed up the streets of the town, in two 
 divisions, Creoles came cautiously out of their houses 
 offering powder and ammunition. Many of them 
 wanted to serve under Clark. One Indian chief of- 
 fered to join the Americans with his tribe, but Clark 
 would have none of him, merely asking that he re- 
 main neutral. Some of the Creoles, however, he ac- 
 cepted. 
 
 Hamilton was so surprised by the American ad- 
 vance that he could not believe it was true. He 
 thought that the first rifle shots he heard were fired 
 
WADING TO VICTORY 273 
 
 by Indians who had been drinking too much. But 
 he soon learned better, when a sharp, incessant 
 crackle of rifle started up in the dusk. 
 
 The fire continued through the evening. Fort 
 Vincennes was a strong stockade, armed with two 
 cannon and two swivels in blockhouses. Against 
 these weapons Clark's frontiersmen had only their 
 rifles. 
 
 At one o'clock, when the moon went down, Clark 
 threw up an intrenchment, and when day broke his 
 men, sheltered from the fire of the enemy, began to 
 pick off the British gunners, firing through the ports 
 in the blockhouses. The British artillery was soon 
 entirely silenced. 
 
 Seeing that the enemy had ceased firing, Clark 
 sent a demand of surrender to Hamilton, to which 
 Hamilton returned a proposal of a three days' truce. 
 Clark refused to consider the proposition, and ordered 
 the fighting to go on. 
 
 Before it commenced something happened which 
 decided the fate of the fort. Nine Indians that had 
 been out in a scalping party came back to the town 
 and marched up the street, entirely ignorant of what 
 was happening. They had not heard the firing, 
 which had ceased when negotiations for surrender 
 were under way, and were completely surprised 
 when a party of Americans rushed out upon them 
 and captured six of them, after killing three. 
 
 Clark saw his chance. Leading the captured six, 
 who had been killing and scalping American settlers, 
 
274 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 toward the fort, he deliberately had them tomahawked 
 and thrown into the river, in the sight of their English 
 allies. The spectacle at once discouraged the Eng- 
 lish in the fort, and their Indian friends. If this man 
 Clark could kill half a dozen Indians with their Eng- 
 lish friends looking on, thought the Indians, there 
 was not much to be gained by being friendly with 
 the king's men. Likewise, the audacity of the act 
 was a hint to the defenders of the fort, if they had not 
 already guessed it, that they had a stubborn and 
 determined foe to deal with. 
 
 That afternoon, after a little more show of fight, 
 the British surrendered and the northwest was saved 
 to the United States. It was the last blow that was 
 necessary to shake that territory free from the grasp 
 of England. There was a long, hard struggle before 
 it became a safe place in which to live ; but it was 
 always a winning struggle, and there was not any dis- 
 pute as to whom the land by rights belonged. And 
 all because one man had had the vision and courage 
 to strike the blow ; to march into an untracked 
 wilderness against a foe that outnumbered him by 
 swarms, and wrest that wilderness from their grasp. 
 
 The next time you get your feet wet, think of the 
 soldiers that marched through water for two hundred 
 and forty miles, with little to eat, and whipped a foe 
 that outnumbered them two to one. Think of 
 George Rogers Clark. And think of Indiana, and 
 Illinois, and Michigan, as they are now. History 
 will not be so dull if you do. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE LAST HOPE 
 
 Every boy, at various times in his life, wants to 
 be something that he never becomes. Perhaps it is 
 usually just as well that he doesn't ; it was much 
 better in the case of Francis Marion. 
 
 Francis Marion wanted to be a sailor. He was 
 pretty sure for a little while that he was going to be 
 a sailor — he went off to sea in a ship, feeling very 
 jubilant. But he was shipwrecked, and came home 
 draggled in person and in spirits, and gave up the 
 sea forever. 
 
 If Francis Marion had become a real sailor, it is 
 hard to say just what would have happened. It is 
 quite certain that a great many things that did 
 happen would never have occurred, which would 
 have been a misfortune to you and me. 
 
 For if Francis Marion had been a sailor, he would 
 not have been a soldier ; and if he had not been a 
 soldier, the British would have overrun South Caro- 
 lina in 1780, and would have gotten such a hold on 
 it that Greene would have had a very hard time dis- 
 lodging them. It is quite probable that Greene 
 could not have done it at all, in which case the War 
 of Independence might have broken down at the 
 
2 76 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 last moment, or the Southern colonies, at least, might 
 have remained in the possession of England. If 
 you will think it over for a minute, you can see what 
 that would have meant to the other colonies, and to 
 the United States. 
 
 But Marion was a soldier, so everything turned 
 out right in the end. 
 
 Francis Marion was born in South Carolina in 
 1732 or 1733. He came from a French Huguenot 
 family that had been driven out of France because 
 they were not Catholics. By the time Francis was 
 born the family had been in America long enough to 
 have become thoroughly American. 
 
 He was a lively sort of lad, ready to fight for 
 what he thought was right ; and a good fighter he 
 was, for all that he was rather small. He was one of 
 those wiry specimens that know how to handle them- 
 selves. After he came back from his disastrous 
 voyage he went off with the militia against the 
 Indians, and helped to punish them very severely 
 for liberties they had taken with the settlers. 
 
 There are letters written by him at the time which 
 show that he was a tender-hearted young man, as 
 well as a good fighter. He spoke of the sorrow he 
 felt when it became necessary to destroy the homes 
 and the standing crops of their savage enemies. 
 He was deeply touched by the thought of the little 
 Indians ; how unhappy they would be when they 
 came back and found their pretty homes burned 
 down, and the corn fields where they played in the 
 
THE LAST HOPE 277 
 
 shadows of the stalks all chopped to the ground and 
 ruined. 
 
 When the colonies began to break away from the 
 mother country, Marion was as hot as any one for 
 liberty. He was one of the officers in Fort Sullivan 
 at the time that Sergeant Jasper climbed over the 
 wall to rescue the flag that had been shot away by 
 Sir Peter Parker's British fleet. But it was later on 
 that he did the things which proved so important to 
 us who are living now. This story will tell you 
 about one of those deeds. 
 
 Matters went from bad to worse in South Carolina 
 as the war progressed. The British captured 
 Charleston eventually, and swarmed over the entire 
 state, burning the houses of patriots and killing and 
 hanging right and left. There was no one to oppose 
 them excepting a few bands of militia that made 
 indifferent work of it, through lack of arms, number, 
 and organization. 
 
 The colony was in a condition of despair. Colo- 
 nel Tarleton rode up and down with his British cav- 
 alry, pillaging and murdering. Marion, who had 
 done what he bravely could, was hunted through 
 swamps and forests, more than once narrowly 
 escaping from his pursuers, who would have made 
 short work of him if they had captured him. No 
 one could see any hope ; any escape from the ter- 
 rible oppression of the enemy. 
 
 Then Congress sent General Horatio Gates down 
 with an army to drive out the redcoats, who were 
 
278 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 led by General Cornwallis. Gates had recently 
 had the good luck to be appointed to the command 
 of the Northern army in time to finish the work that 
 General Schuyler had begun — the capture of Bur- 
 goyne's army at Saratoga. People who did not 
 understand the circumstances — and the people of the 
 South did not understand — expected great things 
 of Gates. Brave reports of his prowess drifted 
 through the countryside, reviving the hopes of the 
 despairing people. They began to take cheer ; to 
 wait until this hero from the North should have rid 
 them of their foe. 
 
 But their hopes were vain. Cornwallis, marching 
 out from Charleston, met the American army and 
 whipped it horribly. Gates ran more than eighty 
 miles without stopping. DeKalb was killed. The 
 American army was scattered ; it vanished like a 
 mist. Great numbers of the patriot soldiers were 
 captured ; many were killed. Despair was deeper 
 than before ; the one hope of rescue was shattered. 
 
 This was the situation when Marion did the brave 
 thing of which you are about to read ; the first of 
 many brave things that I should like to tell you 
 about. 
 
 Marion had joined Gates with a small force when 
 that general approached South Carolina with his 
 army. Marion's band seemed to Gates to be a 
 worthless rabble. They were a motley company of 
 countrymen, mounted on such horses as they had, 
 armed with such weapons as they could find. 
 
THE LAST HOPE 279 
 
 Many of them carried fowling pieces, or swords 
 made of old saws. They were few in number, with- 
 out discipline or organization. They had nothing to 
 recommend them to a commander but native cour- 
 age and skill in woodcraft ; qualities that such a 
 commander as Gates was quite incapable of appre- 
 ciating. 
 
 Neither did their leader inspire great confidence 
 in a man who had such confidence in himself that 
 he held his English adversary in contempt. Marion 
 was a slight, dusky, sharp-visaged man of forty- 
 eight, with a quick, black eye and an absence of the 
 military bearing which was to Gates the sole sign 
 of a soldier. 
 
 Gates did not want such an array about him. 
 But he was a courteous man, reluctant to hurt the 
 feelings of another. As a device to rid himself of 
 the ridiculous band without affronting them, he sent 
 Marion with his men on an expedition to burn all 
 the rice planters' boats that lay between him and 
 Charleston, to prevent the British from escaping, 
 after he should have defeated them in the battle 
 toward which he was hastening. 
 
 That is how it happened that Marion was not with 
 Gates at the disaster which befell him near Camden, 
 That is how it happened that he was spared to do 
 what he afterward did, and save the state. That is 
 how it happened that South Carolina did not go 
 back to the English, perhaps, and that the United 
 States is what it is to-day. 
 
28o REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 The little company of ragged militiamen, thirty 
 in number, were busy in the sludge at the side of 
 one of the numerous South Carolina rivers on a 
 pleasant afternoon in August, 1780, destroying a 
 couple of new boats belonging to a neighboring 
 planter, when the planter himself came up in a state 
 of high excitement. 
 
 "What in the world are you doing to my boats?" 
 he demanded, mistaking the motley crowd for I 
 know not what set of mischief-makers. 
 
 " Destroying them," Marion returned. 
 
 "What are you destroying them for?" 
 
 •' Because we were ordered to do so by General 
 Gates, of the Continental army. I am General 
 Francis Marion." 
 
 " And why in the name of all that is good, bad, 
 and indifferent did he tell you to destroy my boats ? " 
 pursued the irate planter. 
 
 " He ordered us to destroy all the boats between 
 Camden and Charleston to prevent Cornwallis from 
 getting away after the British army is whipped," 
 replied Marion. Perhaps there was a bit of a twinkle 
 in the corner of his eye as he said it. Doubtless 
 Marion knew what manner of soldier Gates was. 
 
 " Whipped ! " roared the planter. " Whipped ! 
 Why, Gates is so whipped that he took horse and is 
 running yet ! DeKalb is killed, and the army is 
 scattered to the four winds of heaven — or such part 
 of it as is not captured by the British. Fine talk, 
 this, of whipping the British ! " 
 
THE LAST HOPE 281 
 
 Marion, stepping up to the man quickly, held a 
 finger against his lips, warning silence. They were 
 a short distance apart from the others, and had not 
 been overheard. " Keep your counsel," he directed, 
 sharply. " Don't you know, man, that if these 
 soldiers hear what you have just told me they are 
 likely to lose heart, and be hard to lead against the 
 enemy ? " 
 
 The little officer of partisans perceived the situ- 
 ation in an instant. With Gates's army destroyed, 
 nothing stood between the British and the Carolinas 
 but his own little band of thirty men. He knew that 
 no thirty men, however brave, would have the cour- 
 age to stand alone against an army if the knowledge 
 of their position should come to them too suddenly. 
 For his part, he was stout enough to keep hope and 
 determination alive, but he feared for the others. 
 
 "This way," he signaled, leading the planter 
 aside. " Tell me that once more." 
 
 The planter recounted the tale he had heard of 
 the disaster to the American army at Camden, with 
 many details, brought to him by a faithful negro 
 who had in turn heard it at a neighboring planta- 
 tion. " And mark you," the planter went on, " the 
 Tories are gathering even now to make short work 
 of you and your men. 'Twould be well for you to 
 steal ofT into the swamps and hide like a fox, instead 
 of busying yourself burning the boats of your 
 friends." 
 
 Marion paid no heed to the warning. He had 
 
282 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 been hunted before and was not to be frightened by 
 the present prospects. " Which way has the enemy 
 gone ? " he asked. 
 
 " Why, which way should he go, when he can go 
 whither he wills ? " returned the other. " Some, the 
 report goes, are on their way back to Charleston 
 with prisoners, and others, I make no doubt, are 
 hunting you and your ragamuffins. And let me tell 
 you that it will go sufficiently hard with you if they 
 find you, for they have no love toward you, these 
 bloodthirsty Tories and redcoats." 
 
 Without a word, General Marion sang out an 
 order to mount. His men, dropping their tasks, ran 
 to their horses, scenting something afoot, and eager 
 to be at livelier business than burning defenseless 
 boats. 
 
 " 'Tis well that you make good haste while you 
 may," approved the planter, whose temper was some- 
 what cooled by the safety in which his boats now 
 rested. " Lie close within the swamps for a day or 
 two, and break up at the first chance, is my advice.'' 
 
 " Not a word of this to the men," Marion warned, 
 limping off to his own mount. He was lame, having 
 broken his leg the year before in leaping from a 
 window to escape a company of friends who were 
 carousing, and insisted upon his imbibing more than 
 he should. 
 
 Something in the little general's manner and tone 
 pricked the curiosity of the planter. " What do you 
 mean, sir?" he asked, stalking behind him. "You 
 
THE LAST HOPE 283 
 
 are not going to tell the men ? You are not going 
 to make your escape ? " 
 
 " There is no escape from this except in death, or 
 in victory," Marion returned, quietly. 
 
 " You don't mean that you intend to attack the 
 entire British army, surely ? " 
 
 " I mean that I intend to do what I can to save my 
 country, sir," returned Marion, swinging into his 
 saddle. " Follow me ! " he shouted, waving an arm 
 toward his troop. 
 
 With a shout and a clatter of hoofs they were off 
 across the low fields by the riverside, leaving the 
 astonished planter to stare after them in wonder. 
 
 In those days the road from Charleston to Camden 
 was called the " war-path," because all the armies 
 and detachments of troops that operated between the 
 British base and the northern part of the state passed 
 back and forth that way. The " war-path " crossed 
 the Santee River, the most important stream between 
 the two towns, at a place called Nelson's Ferry. It 
 is no longer on the map. 
 
 All that part of the country was dotted with 
 swamps and groves. The roads were not very good, 
 being nothing more than tracks of animals and 
 wagons through the mud and sand. But they were 
 the only means of getting from one place to another, 
 for all that, and defined the course of travel quite as 
 strictly as railroads do now. 
 
 In one of these swamps, not far from Nelson's 
 
284 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Ferry, a small company of men was gathered 
 together in the shelter of night and solitude. Some 
 of them had muskets ; some of them had shotguns ; 
 some of them had pistols ; some of them had swords 
 roughly made from old saws. They were all pro- 
 vided with horses ; their animals browsed quietly 
 on the rank grass of the little patch of wooded 
 meadow which the men had found in the heart of 
 the swamp. 
 
 It was the night after Marion had heard that the 
 American army under Gates was defeated. And 
 these men hidden in the swamp were Marion's men. 
 But if you think that they were hiding to keep 
 away from the British, you will presently find out 
 how mistaken you are. 
 
 They were very quiet, talking scarcely above a 
 whisper. That was their way ; to steal by long 
 marches close to an enemy, and to lie in wait until 
 the time was ripe for striking. They did not know 
 who there was near at hand to be struck this night, 
 but they knew that their leader had brought them on 
 one of their loved errands, and they were ready to do 
 his bidding. 
 
 As they crouched in a silent group in the heart of 
 the swamp, making a scant meal of cold potatoes and 
 water, there was a sound of hoof-beats, and a horse- 
 man rode cautiously into their midst. He sought 
 out Marion. 
 
 "What do you learn?" asked the little leader. 
 
 " There are a lot of prisoners from the fight up 
 
THE LAST HOPE 285 
 
 yonder, being taken to Charleston by the British," 
 was the answer. " They have just crossed the ford, 
 going down." 
 
 " How many prisoners ? " 
 
 " Between two and three hundred." 
 
 •' And the guard ? " 
 
 " About ninety." 
 
 " To your mounts, men, and follow me," cried 
 Marion. 
 
 They were up and in saddle like a swarm of flies. 
 
 Ten minutes later the cavalcade emerged on the 
 " war-path," and turned off in the direction of Nel- 
 son's Ferry, whither the British prison guard had 
 preceded them. 
 
 A ride of a few miles brought them to the ferry. 
 The fight at Camden had unsettled the country there- 
 abouts. The road was filled with straggling parties, 
 going to and fro, all of them of British sympathies ; 
 for it was no place then for a patriotic American. 
 The keepers of the ferry had been so busy carrying 
 people back and forth that they had got into the way 
 of paying little heed to those they took into their 
 boat, believing, of course, that all were Tories. 
 
 Riding boldly down to the water, prepared to seize 
 the boats if necessary, but hoping to play some trick 
 on the unsuspecting ferrymen, Marion asked that he 
 and his party be set across the river. 
 
 '* That I'll do, and right smart about it," replied 
 the ferryman, whom large profits had put in good 
 humor. 
 
286 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 Horses and men went aboard, the boat cast off, 
 and drifted slowly over the stream. 
 
 " Out to see what you can find ? " queried the 
 ferryman in charge, sidHng up to Marion. 
 
 Marion nodded. 
 
 ** Right smart fight up yonder yesterday," the 
 waterman went on. 
 
 "So it seems," replied the little cavalier. 
 
 " Just took over a party of Yankee prisoners, look- 
 ing pretty glum and bad beat up," he pursued. 
 
 "Just now ?" rejoined Marion. 
 
 " Some hours back. About sundown. Reckon 
 they stopped yonder at the Blue House." 
 
 "What is the Blue House?" 
 
 " What parts be you from, stranger, that you don't 
 know the Blue House ? " quizzed the yokel. " It's 
 an inn, of course," 
 
 " I'm from another part of the state," replied the 
 American. 
 
 The ferryman's curiosity was prevented from 
 further satisfaction by the arrival of the boat at the 
 farther shore, where Marion lost no time in debark- 
 ing his men and setting out upon the road once 
 more. 
 
 Their situation was not the pleasantest in the 
 world. They were thirty men in the heart of a 
 country overrun by a victorious army. Upon their 
 devoted shoulders rested the burden of liberty. To 
 sink under it meant death at the hands of a relent- 
 less enemy ; for the Tories, and Tarleton himself, the 
 
THE LAST HOPE 287 
 
 British cavalry officer, did not hesitate to hang the 
 enemies of their king. 
 
 Swiftly through the black night they rode, a dusky 
 cavalcade. Every foot of the ground was well known 
 to them. Coming at last to a point not far from the 
 Blue House, they swept off from the *• war-path " 
 and swung into the depths of the wooded swamp, 
 where they stopped to rest while scouts went of! to 
 see how the land lay. 
 
 Some of them kept watch while others lay down 
 on the grass to snatch a bit of sleep under the starry 
 August night. Marion himself sat on a log, waiting, 
 watching for the return of his scouts. 
 
 Presently they came. 
 
 " What news? " he asked, quietly. 
 
 "The officers are roistering in the house," replied 
 the scout. "The men are scattered about in the yard." 
 
 "Is there any watch being kept? " 
 
 "A few idle sentinels. They think there is no 
 enemy within miles of them." 
 
 Marion went back to his log, and waited. 
 
 The hours of early morning wheeled among the 
 stars. An hour before daybreak Marion roused his 
 men. " Men," he said, " are you ready to strike an- 
 other telling blow for your country?" 
 
 " Aye, that we are ! " from thirty tongues. 
 
 " Ninety of the enemy lie sleeping in yonder tavern. 
 We are only thirty, but thirty tried men like you 
 can make short work of them. Your country looks 
 to you. Up, then, and at them." 
 
288 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 He made a sign to Colonel Horry, his chief lieu- 
 tenant. " Take a few men with you and make a 
 wide circle to come in behind the house. Get as 
 close as you can, and wait until we strike. Then 
 close up on them, and see that no man escapes you. 
 We must make clean work of them." 
 
 With the eagerness of a schoolboy starting a game 
 of ball, Horry gathered a dozen stalwart militiamen 
 to his side, and set off on the flank movement. The 
 others watched them creeping silently through the 
 night. They left their horses behind them in order 
 to move more quietly and not be hindered by the 
 animals when the final moment should arrive. 
 
 Marion turned to the followers that remained. 
 " Look well to your guns, men," he ordered. 
 
 There was a muffled rattling of ramrods in muz- 
 zles, the clicking of locks, tried to see that they were 
 in order, and a chorus of, " Ready, sir I " from the 
 shadowy ranks. 
 
 " Forward, then, and follow me," said Marion. 
 " See to it that you make no noise about it. Not a 
 word between you. Watch where I lead, and come 
 after. Do not fire without my signal." 
 
 Like a pack of Indians they crept through the 
 swamp in the direction of the Blue House. Now 
 and then the light from the stars twinkled on pol- 
 ished gun barrel ; now and then a gleam of star- 
 light came back from the straining eyes of the men, 
 alight with excitement, eager for sight of the foe. 
 They cared little if there were ninety against them — 
 
THE LAST HOPE 289 
 
 three to one. They had been at such odds before, 
 and were ready to undertake the fight again. 
 
 Through the hush of the early morning came the 
 distant sound of men at revelry. The British officers 
 in the house were making very merry over the de- 
 feat of Horatio Gates and his crew. 
 
 The sound stiffened the backs of the creeping as- 
 sailants. You have seen a cat stealing up on a 
 bird? There was the same tense excitement 
 among the tiny band that moved against their bit- 
 ter enemy. 
 
 Now they caught a glimpse of a light between the 
 trees. They crept more cautiously, testing every 
 spot of ground before they rested foot on it, careful 
 not to break a twig or to rustle the dried grass. To 
 make sure of success they must come unawares upon 
 the enemy. 
 
 The trees opened out into a vacant space. They 
 came to the road. They could see the house hulk- 
 ing against the gray sky. Lights gleamed from the 
 lower windows. Shadows of men within were 
 against the panes. In the yard the tiny force be- 
 held the forms of their enemy, lying about on the 
 ground, with here and there one standing watch 
 above their slumbers. It was a strange scene of un- 
 suspecting joy within and complacent peace without. 
 Marion halted his men with a sign of the hand for a 
 last rest before the fray. 
 
 A shot rang out on the night air from the other 
 side of the house. Marion, whose mind was always 
 
 y 
 
290 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 quick to understand, knew that Horr}'^ had blundered 
 too close and had been seen by a sentinel. 
 
 Not a moment was to be lost. The alarm was 
 given ; in another instant the foe would be prepared 
 for the assault. 
 
 " Forward ! " cried the little leader, leaping across 
 the road, with his sword swishing the air above his 
 head. " On, brave men ! " 
 
 With a mighty yell of triumph the men came after, 
 swarming across the narrow space that separated 
 them from their foe. 
 
 British soldiers, aroused from peaceful sleep, 
 scrambled to their feet and gazed about them, be- 
 wildered. Officers came tumbling out of the house 
 with shouts and curses. A wild tumult arose from 
 the yard around the inn. None knew what had be- 
 fallen ; none knew which way to face against the 
 sudden blow that had descended on them. 
 
 In from the road ran the Americans, shouting and 
 firing as they came. Where a group of British 
 soldiers stood hesitating, they dashed savagely, 
 striking with sword and musket-butt, gashing with 
 gleaming knives. Here and there some stood 
 bravely upon resistance, until they were cut down 
 or driven back. Others ran hither and thither, like 
 chickens in a yard when a six-year-old plies them 
 with a stick. The officers, with drawn swords, ran 
 up and down, trying to bring some order out of the 
 chaos, but not knowing where to turn. 
 
 The Americans seemed more like a host than like 
 
THE LAST HOPE 291 
 
 thirty men. Marion was everywhere among them, 
 shouting encouragement and directing attacks toward 
 the more stubborn points of resistance. 
 
 The fight was over almost as soon as it had be- 
 gun. The British, wholly at a loss, made only a 
 weak and scattered defense. In the midst of the 
 tumult arose cries for quarter ; the enemy was sur- 
 rendering on all sides. 
 
 Another moment, and Marion, pressing close to 
 the front door of the Blue House, presented a sword 
 at the breast of a British officer there. 
 
 " Surrender ! " he demanded. 
 
 Up went the Englishman's arms. " I am your 
 prisoner, sir," he said. " Cease firing I " he called 
 to his men. 
 
 The order was not needed. Not one of the 
 British soldiers was making a fight of it any longer. 
 
 "Where is your commanding officer?" demanded 
 Marion. 
 
 They looked about for him. He was nowhere 
 to be seen. They searched high and low. At last 
 they found him high up the throat of the great 
 chimney, whence they pulled him out by the leg. 
 
 That was the end of it — and the beginning. 
 
 Many were the long night marches, the sudden 
 descents on unprepared enemies, before the tale was 
 told. Many were the hidings in swamps, the furtive 
 lurkings in back country, with rapid strokes made 
 at great risk when they could be made, before the 
 countrymen took heart again and came back to the 
 
292 REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS 
 
 struggle. It was a long, hard struggle, ending only 
 when General Greene came with another Conti- 
 nental army and defeated the English in several bat- 
 tles, driving them back to the narrow strip of coast 
 about Charleston. 
 
 But that night was the beginning of it. If Marion 
 had failed the cause then ; if he had not led his 
 thirty men, his forlorn hope, against the enemy in 
 the very hour of the Americans* utter defeat, perhaps 
 the dying struggle would never have been revived, 
 and many things would have been different through 
 the years that have followed. 
 
 4? 
 
 
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