V 
 
 
 ^°-v 
 
 
 
 • • 
 
ORIGINIL REVOLUTIONARY CHRONICLE. 
 
 THE 
 
 ATTLE-BAT 
 
 OF 
 
 aERMANTOWN. 
 
 BY GEORGE LIPPARD, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF *' HERBERT TRACY, OR THE ROMANCE OF THE BATTLE OF GERJIANTOWN ; " RANDULPH 
 
 THE PRINCE, OR THE ROMANCE OF BRANDYWINE ; " AND OTHER 
 
 NOVELS OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 A. H. DILLER, NO. 3 NORTH SIXTH STREET. 
 
f-* 
 
 ^f 
 
TO IHE REy\DER. 
 
 In order that those who have not perilled the writings of Gkorge Lippard, may form an idea of 
 <J.he estimation which the public place on his productions, we lay before the rcade-r the following 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 From the Coshocton (Ohio) Democrat. 
 "The Battle Day of BuaxdywIxXE. — We copy 
 in to-day's paper this excellent production of 
 <jEorge Lippard, Esa. The style is chaste and 
 forcible, and cannot fail to enchain the attention 
 of the reader. The subject is one in which every 
 American must take a deep interest, as it is one 
 of the most eventful scenes of the struggle for 
 American independence. We have just read an- 
 other 'story' from the pen of Mr. Lippard, called 
 ''Adrian, the Neophyte,' which, in our judgment, 
 surpasses any of his previous productions that we 
 Jiave read. Mr. Lippard, we believe, is a young 
 writer, and we have no doubt that his name will 
 •in a few years be classed with the first literary 
 writers of the country." 
 
 " We copy the thrilling and deeply interesting 
 ."{listorical sketch, the 'Battle- Day of Brandywine.' '» 
 The Democrat^ New Philad.^ O. 
 
 Godey's Lady's Book, the magazine of the land, 
 iiolds this language : 
 
 '•'■'■ Adrian, the Neophyte. By George Lippard,' 
 This is a short sketch, or rather skeleton of a 
 story, exhibiting the fierce struggles of a passion- 
 ■ate nature, first aroused to the temptations of the 
 world. The sketch is written with much skill, 
 and is effective in showing the conflict of the 
 heaven-aspiring but superstitious soul, when drawn 
 <3own from its fancied high sanctity by the heart- 
 engrossing influence of human love. These de- 
 scriptions of the pen have a vividness which seems 
 caught from the pictorings of the pencil." 
 
 pen of George Lippard, Esq., which, in point of 
 originality and interest, equals, if not surpasses, 
 some of the most noted productions of the day." 
 
 "The Battle- Day of Germantown adds an- 
 other leaf to the laurels already gathered by the 
 talented author." — New York Argii&, 
 
 The Battle-Day of Germaxtowx. — One of 
 the most interesting historical tales wc ever had 
 the pleasure to peruse. — Odd Fellow, Md. 
 
 *' A highly interesting story, from the pen of 
 George Lippard, Esq., entitled the ' Battle-Day 
 «f Germantown.' " 
 
 Democratic Press, York, Pa. 
 
 Speaking of this chronicle of" The Battle- Day 
 of Germantown," the Reading Press observes : 
 " An excellent Revolutionary story, from the 
 
 The Philadelphia Inquirer, edited by Robert 
 Morris, Esq., says of " Adrian, the Neophyte j" 
 
 " We have received a story of the soul, (for such 
 truly we may term it,) with the above tjtle. It is 
 from the pen of George Lippard, The conception 
 is somewhat of the Zanoni school, and will not 
 fail to inspire the reader with <3eep interest. Many 
 of the thoughts and sentiments are expressed in 
 powerful, feeling, aKd eloquent language ; and on 
 the whole, the romance is striking and grand. 
 'A mysterie is the soul.' " 
 
 The Philadelphia Evening Mercury, (edited by 
 L. A. Wilmer, Esq.,) among other notices, has the 
 following concerning the abilities of George Lip- 
 pard : 
 
 " We entertain the belief that the author has the 
 stamina which may make him a distinguished 
 writer of fiction. He has a fervor of imagination 
 and a strength of expression which we rarely see 
 equalled, and these qualities appear to be conspicu- 
 ously shown in the 'Neophyte.' " 
 
 The organ of the L O. O. F., the "Symbol," 
 published in Boston, says : 
 
 "A highly interesting historical tale, called the 
 'Battle-Day of Brandywine,' by George Lippard, 
 Esq. It is one of the most thrilling and intereat- 
 ing we ever read." 
 
 f 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 And again : 
 
 ^''■Adrian, the NeophyteJ' — We have read the 
 first part, and can truly say it will compare in 
 every respect with any story — prize or otherwise — 
 that has been published for the last twelve months 
 in cither of the popular magazines of the day." 
 
 The New York Cynosure, edited by M. Hardin 
 Andrews, Esq,, after endorsing the sentiments of 
 the Philadelphia Inquirer, says ; 
 
 " We know that his (Mr. Lippard's) talents are 
 of an original and exalted kind. His tales which 
 have been published in the Saturday Evening 
 Post and other papers, ('Herbert Tracey,' for in- 
 stance,) have been received with great fervor 
 wherever they have been read." 
 
 Lewis C. Levin, Esq., editor of the " Daily 
 Sun," and well known as the gifted orator and 
 advocate of the cause of Temperance, pays George 
 Lippard this tribute : 
 
 " The Battle-Day of Germantown. — It is 
 written with great power, and stamps the author 
 a man of genius J*^ 
 
 " An original tale from the pen of George Lip- 
 PARD, Esq., entitled 'The Battle-Day of German- 
 town,' for minuteness of detail and beauty of dic- 
 tion is worthy of the author. The graphic de- 
 scription of 'The Battle Eve' thrills the soul of the 
 American reader while he depicts to his mind's 
 eye the perilous and destitute condition of the 
 continental army." — Butler (Pa.) Democrat, 
 
\ 
 
THE OLD STATE-HOUSE, PHH.ADELPHIA, 
 
 As it stood at the time of the enlry of the British into Philadelphia— September 26, 1777. 
 
 CHEW'S HOUSE, GERMANTOWN. 
 
 This engraving of the venerable mansion may be relied on for the most exact correc'.ncss of detail. 
 
 •i« 
 
ORIGINAL REVOLUTIONARY CHRONICLE. 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 BY GEORGE LIPPAUD, ESQ., 
 
 AUTHOR OF " HERBERT TRACY, A ROMANCE OF THE BATTLE-FIELD OF GERMANTOWN," 
 " RANDULPH THE PRIXCE, OR THE ROMANCE OF THE 
 BATTLE OF BRANDYWINE, ETC., ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 A. H. DILLER, PUBLISHER. 
 
 1843 
 
 <1 o -io t4 
 
£24-1 
 
 [COPYRIGHT SECURED ACCORDING TO LAW.] 
 
 Note.— The correct and cftectivo Engravings accompanying this chronicle,' are copied, by permission of the 
 gifted author, from the forthcoming second edition of " Watson's Annals.'' 
 
 n 
 
TO 
 
 JOHN F. WATSON, Esq., 
 
 Or Germantown, 
 
 The Antiquary of Revolutionary lore — the gentleman of the old school, and the accomplished scholar, 
 this Chronicle of the Battle-Day of Gerraantown, is respectfully inscribed by 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A WORD TO THE READER. 
 
 This Chronicle is presented to your perusal as a tiue and correct history of the Battle of German- 
 town, containing all the facts to be gleaned from history, combined with the legendary incidents of the 
 day of battle, narrated by the survivors of the times of the Revolution. Wherever the author has found 
 a tradition, he has applied it to bis purpose ; wherever he has discovered an old-time legend, he has 
 written it down, and now he presents this book of the Battle-Day of Germantown to the public, with 
 the intention of preserving the memory of its wild and romantic incidents in some tangible form, and 
 of saving its history from that oblivion of the grave which will soon envelope the survivors of the Re- 
 volution. 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 BY TrEOBGE LIPPARD, ESa. 
 
 "And when servile Fraud stalks through the land, and Genius starves in his cell, while upstart 
 Imbecility rides abroad in chariots : when man is degenerate, pubhc faith is broken, public honor 
 violated, tiien will we wander forth into the awful shadows of the Past, and from the skeletons of the 
 battle-tield evoke the spirits of that giant time, calling upon their forms ot unreal majesty for the mighty 
 secret which made them the man-gods of that era of high deeds and glorious purposes, the Ghostly 
 Past. From the Abbe De La Menncm, 
 
 THE BATTLE EVE. 
 
 The Red Cross in Pliiladclpliia. 
 
 It was a sad day for Philadelphia, a sad day for 
 the nation, when the pomp of British banners and 
 the gleam of British arms was in her streets and 
 along her avenues; when, as far as eye could 
 reach, was seen the long array of glaring red coats, 
 with the sunbeams of a clear September day fall- 
 ing on helm and cuirass, shining like burnished 
 gold. 
 
 It was a sad and gloomy day for the nation, 
 when the Congi ess was forced to flee the old pro- 
 vincial town of William Fenn, when the tories pa- 
 raded the streets with loud hurrahs, with the Brit- 
 ish lion waving overhead, while the whigs hung 
 their heads in shame and in despair. 
 
 True, the day was calm and bright overhead ; 
 true, the sky was clear, and the nipping air of au- 
 tumn gave freshness to the mind and bloom to the 
 cheek ; true it was, the city was all alive with the 
 glitter of processions, and the passing to and fro 
 of vast crowds of people ; but the processions were 
 a dishonor to our soil, the crowds hurried to and 
 fro to gaze upon the living monuments of the de- 
 feat of Brandy wine — the armed and arrogant Brit- 
 ishers filling the streets of Philadelphia. 
 
 They came marching along in front of the old 
 Stale House, on their way to their barracks in the 
 Northern Liberties. The scene was full of strange 
 and startling interest. The roofs of the State 
 House arose clearly in the autumn air each peak 
 and cornice, each gable-end and corner, shown in 
 fall and distinct outline, with the trees of Indepen- 
 dence Square towering greenly in the rear of tiio 
 fabric, while up into the clear sky arose the Statu 
 House ctccplc, will* ito ooienm bell ui indcptn- 
 A 
 
 dence, that but a year ago sent foKh the new* of 
 liberty to all the land, swinging a welcome to the 
 British host — a welcome that sounded like the 
 funeral knell of new world freedom. 
 
 The British in. Chesniit Street. 
 
 The columns of the army were passing in front 
 of Independence Hall. Along Chesnut street, as 
 far as the eye could see, shone the glittering array 
 of sword and bayonet, with the bright sunshine 
 falling over the stout forms of the British troopers, 
 mounted on gallant war steeds, and blazing with 
 burnished cuirass and jpolished helm, while ban- 
 ner and pennon waved gaily overhead ; and there, 
 treading the streets in all the flush of victory, were 
 the regiments of British infantry, with the one 
 bold front of their crimson attire flashing in the 
 light, with their bayonets rising overhead like a 
 forest ot steel, and with tnarks of Brandywinc 
 written on many a whiskered face and burly 
 chest. 
 
 And at their head, mounted on a gallant steed, 
 with the lordlings of his staff" around him, rode a 
 tall and athletic man, with a frame of sinew, and 
 a calm, placid face, wearing an even smile and 
 quiet look, seen from beneath the shadow of his 
 plain chapeau, while his gaudy attire of crimson, 
 with epaulettes of gold on cither shoulder, an- 
 nounced Sir William Howe, * commander-in-chief 
 of the invading army. 
 
 And as the General glanced around, fiAing his 
 eye proudly upon the British banner, waving from 
 
 * Some accounts state that Sir William Howe 
 took ])ossession of Philadelphia in person, while 
 others state that Lord rornwallis entered the city 
 with four regiments of grenadiers. 
 
THE BATTLE DAY OF OERMANTOWJV. 
 
 the State House steeple, as his glance was met by 
 the windows of Independence Hall, decorated by 
 the flags of the Britisher, a proud gleam lit up his 
 
 calm blue eye ; and with tlie thought of Brandy- 
 wine, came a vision of the future, speaking elo- 
 quently of provinces subjugated, rebels overthrown 
 and liberties crushed. 
 
 And then 'peals of music, uttered by an hundred 
 bands, filled the street, and startled the silence of 
 the State House avenues, swelling up to the heav- 
 ens with notes of joy the roll of drum, the shriek 
 of bugle, and the clash of cymbal mingling in 
 grand chorus; while the banners waved more 
 proudly overhead, the spears, the bayonets, and 
 helmets shone brighter in the light, and between 
 the peals of music the loud huzzas of the crowd 
 blackening the sidewalks, looking from the win- 
 dows, and clinging to the trees, broke gladly upon 
 the air, as the solemn notes of independence bell 
 heralded, with an iron tongue, the entrance of the 
 invaders into the city; the possession of Philadel- 
 phia by the British. 
 
 It was a grand sight to see — the windows 
 crowded with the forms of beauty, waving scarfs 
 ui the air, ngcd matrons lifting little children on 
 high, who clapped their hands with glee, as they 
 beheld the glimmer of arms and the glitter of 
 steel, the streets below all crimson with British 
 uniform, all music and all joy, the side walks black- 
 ened by crowdi of servile tories, who shouted till 
 their loyal throats were tired "Long life to King 
 George — confusion to Washington, and death to 
 the rebels I" 
 
 They trooped through the streets of Philadelphia 
 on that 26th of September, 1777; just fifteen days af- 
 ter the battle-day of Brandy wine, they took posses- 
 sion with all the pomp of victory; and as the shades 
 of twilight sank down over the town, they marched 
 proudly into their barracks, in the Northern Li- 
 berties. 
 
 The Path of tlic Rchel Ciiief. 
 
 And where was Washington ? 
 
 Retreating from the forces of Sir William Howe, 
 along the Scliuylkill; retreating with brave men 
 under his command, men who had dared death in 
 a thousand shapes, and crimsoned their hands with 
 the carnage of Brandy wine; retreating because his 
 powder and ammunition were exhausted; because 
 his soldiers wanted the necessary apparel, while 
 their hands grasped muskets without lock or flint. 
 
 The man of the American army retreated, but 
 hi3 soul was firm. The American Congress had 
 
 deserted Philadelphia, but Washington did not 
 despair. The British occupied the surrounding 
 country, their arms shone on every hill; their ban- 
 ners toyed in every breeze; yet had George Wash- 
 ington resolved to strike another blow for the free- 
 dom of this fair land. 
 
 A Qiiiet and Lovely liantl* 
 
 The calm sunlight of an autumnal afternoon was 
 failing over the quiet valleys, the green plains, and 
 the rich and rolling woodland of an undulating 
 tract of country, spreading from the broad bosom 
 of the Delaware to the hilly shores of the Schuyl- 
 kill, about seven miles from Philadelphia. 
 
 The roofs of an ancient village, extending in one 
 unbroken line along the great northern road, arose 
 grey and massive in the sunlight, as each corniced 
 gable and substantial chimney looked forth from 
 the shelter of the surrounding trees. There was 
 an air of quaint and rustic beauty about this vil- 
 lage. Its plan was plain and simple, burdened 
 with no intricate crossings of streets, no labyrinth- 
 ine pathways, no complicated arrangement of 
 houses. The fabrics of the village were all situa- 
 ted on the line of the great northern road, reaching 
 from the fifth mile stone to the eighth, while a line 
 of smaller villages extended this "Indian file of 
 houses " to the tenth milestone from the city. 
 
 The houses were all stamped with marks of tha 
 German origin of their tenants. The high, sloping 
 roof, the walls of dark grey stone, the porch be- 
 fore the door, and the garden in the rear, bloom- 
 ing with all the freshnessof careful culture, mark- 
 ed the tenements of the village, while the heavy 
 gable-ends and the massive cornices of each roof, 
 gave each house an appearance of rustic antiquity^ 
 Around the village, on either side, spread fertile 
 farms, each cultivated like a garden, varied by or- 
 chards heavy with golden fruit, fields burdened 
 with the massive shocks of corn, or whitened with 
 the ripe buckwheat, or embrowned by the upturn- 
 ing plough. 
 
 The village looked calm and peaceful in the 
 sunlight, but its plain and simple denizens went 
 not forth to the field to work on that calm autura - 
 nal afternoon. The oxen stood idly in the barn 
 yard, cropping the fragrant hay, the teams stood 
 unused by the flirmer, and the flail was silent 
 within the barn. A sudden spell seemed to have 
 come strangely down upon the peaceful denizens 
 of Germantown, and that spell was the shadow of 
 the British banner flung over her fields of while 
 buckwheat, surmounting the dreamlike steeps of 
 
 C 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 the Wissahikon, waving from Mount Airy, and 
 floating in the frcshning breeze of Chcsnut Hill. 
 Th.e View from Chcsnut Hill. 
 
 Had you ascended Chesnut Hill on that calm 
 autumnal afternoon, and gazed over the tract of 
 country opened to your view, your eye would have 
 beheld a strange and stirring sight. 
 
 Above your head the clear and boundless sky, 
 its calm azure giving no tokens of the strife of 
 the morrow ; declining in the west, the gorgeous 
 sun pouring his golden light over the land, his 
 beams of welcome having no omen of the battle 
 smoke and mist that shall cloud their light on the 
 morrow morn. 
 
 Gaze on the valley below. Germantown, witjj 
 its dark grey tenements, sweeps away to the south, 
 in one unbroken line ; farther on you behold the 
 glitter of steeples, and the roofs of a large city — 
 they are the steeples and roofs of Philadelphia. 
 Yon belt of blue is the broad Delaware, and yon 
 dim, dark object beyond the city, blackening the 
 bosom of the waters, is Fort Mifflin, recently erect- 
 ed by General Washington. 
 
 Gaze over the fields of Gennantcvvn near the 
 centre of the village. In every field there is the 
 gleam of arms, on every hill-top there waves a 
 royal banner, and over hill and plain, toward the 
 Schuylkill on the one side, and the Delaware on 
 the other, sweep the white tents of the British 
 army. 
 
 Tbe Haunt of tlic Rebel. 
 
 Now tarn your gaze to the north, and to the 
 northwest. The valley opens before you, and fairer 
 valley the sun never looked down upon. 
 
 Away it sweeps to the northwest, an image of 
 rustic beauty, here a rich copse of green woodland, 
 just tinged by autumn, there a brown field, yonder 
 the Wissahikon, marking its way of light, by a 
 winding line of silver, in one green spot a village 
 peeping out from among the trees; a little faitlicr 
 on, a farmer's dwelling with the massive barn and 
 the dark, grey hay-stack; on every side life, and 
 verdure, and cultivation, mingled and crowded to- 
 gether, as though the hand of God, had flung his 
 richest blessings over the valley, and clothed the 
 land in verdure and in beaut}'. 
 
 Yonder the valley sweeps away to the south- 
 west; the sun shines over a dense mass of wood- 
 land rolling away to the blue of the horizon. Mark 
 that woodland well, try and discern the outline of 
 every tree, and count the miles as you gaze upon 
 I he prospect. 
 
 The dipluncc Cnnn ' 'lio nut Hill, is- pixtncn vvca 
 
 ry miles, and under that mass of woodland, bc^ 
 neath the shadows of those rolling forests, beside 
 the streams hidden from your eye, in distress 
 and in want, in defeat and in danger, rendevouz 
 the bands of a desperate, though gallant army. 
 
 It is the Continental army, and they encamp 
 on the banks of the Skippack. Their encamp- 
 ment is sad and still, no peals of music break up- 
 on the woodland air, no loud hurrahs, no shouts 
 of arrogant victory. The morrow has a different 
 tale to tell, Ibr by the first flush of the coming 
 moon, a meteor will burst over the British Hosts 
 at Germantown, and fighting for life, for liberty, 
 will advance the starved soldiers of the Continen- 
 tal host. 
 
 AnAnciexat Mansion and a green liaivn. 
 
 As the sun went down in his way of glory, on 
 that 3rd day of October, 1777, his last beams 
 flung a veil of golden light over the verdure of a 
 green lawn, that extended from the road near the 
 head of Germantown, bounded along the village 
 street by a massive wall of stone, spreading north 
 and south, over a quarter of a mile, while toward 
 the east, it swept in all its greenness and beauty, 
 for the distance of some two hundred yards. 
 
 A magnificent mansion arose towering on the 
 air, a mansion built of grey stone, with a steep 
 roof, ornamented by heavy cornices, and varied 
 massive chimneys, with urns of brown stone, plac- 
 ed on pedestals of brick at each corner of the 
 building. This fabric was at once substantial, 
 strikingly adapted for defence in time of war, 
 and neat and well-proportioned as regards archi- 
 tectural beauty. The walls thick and massive, 
 were well supplied with windows, the hall door 
 opened in the centre of the house, facing the road, 
 and the steps were deeorated]by two marble Lions 
 placed on either side, each holding an escutcheon 
 in its grasp. 
 
 Here and there a green tree arose from the bo- 
 som of the lawn; in the rear of the mansion arose 
 the brown-stone buildings of the barn, and to the 
 north the grounds were varied by the rustic en- 
 closures of a cattle pen. 
 
 This was the mansion of Chew's House, and 
 that green lawn, spreading bright and golden in 
 he beams of the declining sun, was the Battle- 
 Field OF Germantown. 
 
 One word with r( g.ird to the position of the 
 British on the Eve o!' Battle. 
 
 Tlic Camp of ihf RviHslier. 
 
 The left win? -^'f <Ii«^ Briii h .trmv oxtended 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWN. 
 
 from the centre of the village, more than a mile 
 below Chew's house, from a point near the old 
 market house, westward across the Wissahikon, 
 and toward the Schuylkill. The German chas- 
 seurs in their heavy uniform, the ponderous caps, 
 defended by bear skin and steel, the massive sword, 
 and the cumbrous ornaments of silver, were sta- 
 tioned in the front and on the flank of the left 
 wing. 
 
 The right wing swept away towards the Dela- 
 ware, as far as the Old York Road; each soldier 
 well armed and accoutred, each dragoon supplied 
 with his stout war-steed, each cannon with its file 
 of men, ready for action, and every musket, with 
 brilliant tube and glittering bayonet, prepared 
 wiih its man, <for the keen chase of the rebel route, 
 whenever the master of the hounds might start the 
 hunt.' 
 
 Tills wing was defended in the front by a bat- 
 talion of light infantry, and the Queen's American 
 Rangers, whose handsome accoutrements, uniform 
 of dark green, varied by ornaments of gold, and 
 rifles mounted with silver, gleamed gaily from amid 
 the depths of the greenwood, presenting a bril- 
 liant contrast to the coarse blue hunting shirt, the 
 plain rifle, and uncouth woodsman's knife that 
 characterised the American Riflemen. 
 
 In a green field, situated near the Germantown 
 road, a mile above Chew's house, the banner of 
 the 40th regiment floated above the tent of Col. 
 Musgrave, its brave commander, while the canvass 
 dwellings of the soldiers were scattered around the 
 field, intermingled with the tents of another bat- 
 talion of light infantry. 
 
 Such was the British position at Germantown 
 — a picket at Allan's house. Mount Airy, two 
 miles above Chew's house — Col. Musgrave's com- 
 mand a mile below Allen's house — the main body 
 two miles below Chew's, somewhere near the old 
 market house — and this force was backed by four 
 regiments of British Grenadiers, stationed in the 
 barracks in the Northern Liberties, Philadelphia. 
 
 And this force, exceeding 18000 able-bodied re- 
 gulars, the Patriot chieftain had resolved to attack 
 with 8000 Continental troops and 3000 militia, in- 
 ferior in arms, in clothing, and in everything but the 
 justice of their cause, to the proud soldiers of the 
 British host. 
 
 Niglit and Fear in Gci'mantown* 
 
 Nighi came down upon Germantown. The 
 
 long shadows of the old houses were flung across 
 the village road, and along the fields; the moon 
 was up in the clear heavens, the dark grey roofs 
 were tinted with silver, and glimpses of moonlight 
 were flung around the massive barns of the village, 
 yet its peaceful denizens had not yet retired to 
 rest, after their good old German fashion, at early 
 candle-light. 
 
 There was a strange fear upon the minds of the 
 villagers. Each porch contained its little circle, 
 the grey haired grandsire, who had suffered the 
 bright-cheeked grandchild to glide from his knee, 
 while he leaned forward, with animated gesture, 
 conversing with his son in a low whisper — the 
 blooming mother, the blue-eyed maiden, and the 
 ruddy-cheeked, flaxen-haired boy, all sharing the 
 interest of the scene and having but one terrible 
 topic of discourse — the terror of war. 
 
 Could we go back to that quiet autumnal night 
 on the 3rd of October, in the Year of the "Three 
 Sevens," and stroll along the village street of Gcr- 
 mantovi^n, we would find much to interest the ear 
 and attract the eye. 
 
 A Stroll into the Olden Time* 
 
 We would leave Chew's house behind us, we 
 would stroll along the village street. We would 
 note the old time costumes of the villagers, the 
 men clad in coarse linsey wolsey, voluminous 
 vests with wide lappels, breeches of buckskin, 
 stockings and buckled shoes, while the head was 
 defended by the skimming dish hat; we would ad- 
 mire the picturesque costume of the dames atid 
 damsels of Germantown, here and there a young 
 lady of "quality" mincing her way in all the glory 
 f high-heeled shoes, intricate head-dress, and fine 
 silk gown, all hooped and frilled; there a stately 
 dame in frock of calico, newly bought and high- 
 priced; but most would we admire the blushing 
 damsel of the village, her full round cheeks peep- 
 ing from beneath the kerchief thrown lightly around 
 her rich brown locks, her blue eyes glancing mis- 
 chievously hither and thither, her bust, full round- 
 ed and swelling with youth and health, enclosed 
 in the tight bodice, while the rustic petticoat of 
 brown linsey wolsey, just long enough to disclose 
 a plump ancle and a little foot, would possess 
 more attractions for our eyes, than the frock of 
 calico or gown of silk. 
 
 We could stroll along the street of the village, 
 
THR BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 and listen to the conversation of the villagers.-— 
 Every tongue speaks of war, the old man whispers 
 the word as his grey hairs wave in the moonlight, 
 the mother murmurs the syllable of terror as rhe 
 babe seeks the shelter of her bosom, the boy gaily 
 shouts the word, as he brandishes the rusted fowl- 
 ing piece in the air, and the vill ige bean, seated 
 beside his sweetheart, mutters that word as the 
 thought of the British ravisher flashes over his 
 mind. 
 
 Tlie Old Settlers of Germaiitown. 
 
 Strolling from Chew's House, we would pass 
 the Bringhcrsts, seated on their porch, the Hei- 
 tiGs, the Pkters, the Unrods just opposite Axe's 
 Grave Yard, and the Lippards, and tha Joaif- 
 soxs, below the grave yard, at the opposite cor- 
 ners of the lane leading back to the township line; 
 we would stroll by the mansion of the Ketsers, 
 near the McEnistgraveyard;further down we would 
 pass the Knorrs, the Haines, the Pastorius, 
 the Hergeskimers, the Engees, the Cookes, 
 the CoNRADS, the Watsons, the ScHiEFFEUs and 
 the hundred other families of Gerraantown, desen- 
 dants of old German stock, we would pass by, as 
 seated on the porch in front of the mansion, each 
 family circle discussed the terrible topic of war, 
 of bloodshed, of battle and of death. 
 
 And at every step, we would meet a British 
 soldier, strutting by in his coat of crimson, on 
 every side we would behold the gleam of Bri- 
 tish arms, and our ears would be saluted by the 
 roll of British drums, beating the tattoo, and the 
 signal cannon, announcing the hopr of repose. 
 Midnight around Cliew's House. 
 
 And as midnight gathered over tlie roofs of the 
 town, as the baying of the watchdog broke upon 
 our ears, mingled with the challenge of the senti- 
 nel, we would stroll over the lawn of Chew's House, 
 note the grass growing greenly and freshly, heavy 
 with dew, and then gazing upon the heavens, our 
 hearts would ask the question, whetiier no omen 
 of blood in the skies, heralded the doom and the 
 death of tlie morrow? 
 
 01), there is something of horror in the anti- 
 cipation of a certain death, when we know as 
 surely as wc know our own existence, that a 
 coming bnlllc will send scores of souls shriek- 
 ing to their last account, when the green lawn, 
 now silvered by the moonlight, will be sod- 
 dencd with blood, when the ancient mansion, now 
 rising in the midnight air, like an cmhlcm^of ru- 
 
 ral ease, with its chimneys and its roof sleeping in 
 the moonbeams, will be a. scene of terrible contest 
 with sword, and ball, and bayonet, when the roof 
 will smoke with the lodged cannon ball, when the 
 windows will send their volumes of flame across 
 the lawn, when all around will be mist and gloom, 
 grappling foemen, heaps of dying mingled with 
 the dead, charging legions, and recoiling squad- 
 rons. 
 
 Sunset ou tlie Skippack* 
 
 And as the sun went down, on that calm day 
 of autumn, shooting his level beams thro' the wilds 
 of the rivulet of the Skippack, there gathered within 
 the woods, and along the shores of that stream, 
 a gallant and desperate army, with every steed 
 ready for the march, with the columns marshalled 
 for the journey of death, every man with his knap- 
 sack on his shoulder, with his musket ready for 
 action, while the broad banner of the Continental 
 Host drooped heavily over head, its folds rent 
 and torn by the fight of Brandywine, waving 
 solemnly in the twilight.* 
 
 The tents were struck, the camp fires where had 
 been prepared the hasty supper of the soldier, 
 were still burning, the neighing of steeds, and the 
 suppressed rattle of arms, rang thro' the grove 
 startling the night-bird ol the Skippack, when the 
 flashing light of a decaying flame, burning around 
 the stump ot a great oak, revealed a scene of 
 strange and terrible interest. 
 
 Tlie I<ast Council. 
 
 The flame light fell upon the features of a gal- 
 lant band of heroes, circling round the fire, each 
 with his war cloak, drooping over his shoulder, 
 half concealing the uniform of blue and buff, each 
 with sword by his side, chapeau in hand, ready 
 to spring upon his war steed neighing in the grove 
 hard by, at a moment's warning, while every eye 
 was fixed upon the face of the chieftain who stood 
 in their midst. 
 
 By the soul of Mad Anthony it wa$ a sight that 
 would have stirred a man's blood to look upon— that 
 sight of the gallant chieftains of a gallant band, 
 clustering round the camp fire, in the last and 
 most solemn council of war, ere tiiey spurred 
 their steeds forward in the march of death. 
 
 The man virith the form of majesty, and that 
 calm, impenetrable face, lighted by the hidden fire 
 of soul bursting forth ever and again in the glance 
 of his eycl Had you listened to the murmurs of 
 
 * The Skippack, the reader will remember, was 
 some IG miles from Germuntown. 
 
.6 
 
 THE DATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWNo 
 
 the dying- on the field of Brandywinc you would 
 have lieard the name, that has long since become 
 a sound of prayer and blessing on the tongues of 
 nations — the name of Washington. And by his 
 side was Greene, his fine countenance wearing 
 a shade of serious thought; and there listlessly 
 thrusting his glittering sword in the embers of 
 the decaying fire, with his fierce eyes fixed upon 
 the earth, while his mustachioed lip gave a stern 
 expression to his face, was the man of Poland and 
 the Patriot of Brandywinc, Pulaski, whom it were 
 tautology to call the brave; there was the tower- 
 ing form of Sullivan, there was Conway, with his 
 fine face and expressive features, there was Arm- 
 strong and Nash and Maxwell and Stirling and 
 Stephens, all brave men and true, side by side 
 with the gallant Smallw^ood of Maryland, and the 
 stalwart Forman of Jersey. 
 
 And there with his muscular chest, clad in the 
 close buttoned blue coat, with his fatigue cloak 
 thrown over his left shoulder, with his hand rest- 
 ing on the hilt of his sword, was the hero of 
 Chadd's Ford,theCommander of the Massacred of 
 Paoli, the future avenger of Stony Point, Anthony 
 Wayne, whom the soldiers loved in their delight 
 to name Mad Anthony; shouting that name in 
 the hour of the charge and in the moment of death 
 like a watchword of terror to the British Army. 
 
 Clustered around their Chief, were the aids de- 
 camp of Washington, John Marshall, afterwards 
 Chief Justice of the Slates, Alexander Hamil- 
 ton, gifted, gallant, and brave, Washington's 
 counsellor in the hour of peril, his bosom friend 
 and confidant, all standing in the same circle with 
 PiCKERrNG and Lee, the Captain of the Partizan 
 Band, with his slight form and swarthy face, 
 who was on that eventful night detailed for duty 
 near the Commander-in-chief. 
 
 The Plan of tlie Battle. 
 
 And as tlicy stood there clustered round the 
 person of Washington, in a mild yet decided voice, 
 the chieftain spoke to them of the plan of the con- 
 templated surprise and battle. 
 
 It was his object to take the British by surprise. 
 He intended for the accomplishment of this object, 
 to attack them at once in the front of each wing, 
 as well as in the front of the centre; on the flank 
 and on the rear of each wing. This plan of opera- 
 tion would force the American commander to ex- 
 tend the continental army over a surface of from 
 five to seven miles. 
 
 In order to make this plan of attack cfToctive, it 
 would be necessary for the American army to 
 
 separate near Skippack, and advance to German, 
 town in four divisions, marching through as many 
 roads. 
 
 General Armstrong with the Pennsylvania mili- 
 tia, 3000 strong, was to march down the Mana- 
 inwny road (now Ridge road,) and traversing the 
 shores of the Schuylkill, until the beautiful Wis- 
 sahikon poured into its bosom, he was to turn the 
 left flank of the enemy at Vandurings (now Rob- 
 inson's) Mill, and then advance eastward, along 
 the bye roads, until two miles distance between this 
 mill and the Germanlown market-house were ac- 
 complished. 
 
 jyieanwhile the Militia of Maryland and New 
 Jersey, were to take up their line of march some 
 seven or eight miles to the eastward of Armstrong's 
 position, and over three miles distance from Ger- 
 mantown. They were to march down the Old 
 York Road, turn the right flank of the enemy, and 
 attack it in the rear, also entering the town at the 
 market-house, which was the central point of opera- 
 tion for all the divisions. 
 
 Between Germantown and Old York Road, at 
 the distance of near two miles from the village^ 
 extends a road, called Limekiln roa<l. The divis- 
 ions of Greene and Stephens flanked by McDou- 
 gal's Brigade were to take a circuit by this road, 
 and attack the front of the enemy's right wing. 
 They, also were to enter the town by the market- 
 house. 
 
 The main body, with which was Washington, 
 Wayne, and Sullivan, were to advance toward 
 Germantown by the Great Northern Road, enter 
 ing the town by way of Chesnut Hill, some foiir 
 miles distant from the Market-house. 
 
 A column of this body was led on by Sullivan 
 another by Wayne, and Conway's Brigade flanked 
 the entire force. • 
 
 While these four divisions advanced, the divis 
 ion of Lord Stirling, combined with the brigades 
 of Maxwell and Nash were to form a corps de re- 
 serve. 
 
 The reader, and the student of American His. 
 tory, has now the plan of battle spread out before 
 him. In order to take in the full particulars of 
 this magnificent plan of battle, it may be necessary 
 to remember the exact nature of the ground around 
 Germantown. 
 
 The Crrountl around G«rinantovvu. 
 
 In some places plain and level, in others broken 
 by ravines, rendered intricale by woods, tangled 
 by thickets, or traversed by streams, it was in 
 its most accessible points, and most favorablp as- 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GEllMANTOWiV. 
 
 pects, broken by enclosures, difficult fences, mass" 
 ivc stone walls, or other boundary marks of land, 
 rendering the operation of cavalry at all times 
 hazardous, and often impossible. 
 
 In the vicinage of the town, for near a mile on 
 cither side, the land spread greenly away, in level 
 fields, still broken by enclosures, and then came 
 thick woods, steep hills and dark ravines. 
 
 The base line of operations was the country 
 around Skippack Creek, from which point, Wash- 
 ington, like a mighty giant, spread forth the four 
 arms of his force, clutching the enemy in front, 
 on his wings and on his rear, all at the same mo- 
 ment. 
 
 It was a magnificent plan of battle, and success 
 already seemed to hover round the American ban- 
 ner, followed by a defeat of the British, as terrible as 
 that of Yorktown, when the red-coat heroes of Gcr- 
 manlown struck their own Lion from his rock. 
 
 As Washington went over the details of battle, 
 each brave officer and scarred chieftain leaned 
 forward, taking in every word, with absorbing in- 
 terest, and then receiving the orders of his com- 
 
 mander, with the utmost attention and considera- 
 tion. 
 
 All was now planned, everything was ready for 
 the march, each General mounted on his war- 
 steed, rode to the head of his division, and with a 
 low solemn peal of music, the night-march of 
 Germantovvn commenced. 
 
 And through the solemn hours of that night, 
 along the whole valley, on every side, was heard 
 the half suppressed sound of marching legions, 
 mingled with the low muttered word ofcommand, 
 the clank of arms and the neighing of war-steeds 
 — all dim and indistinct, yet terrible to hear. — 
 The farmer sleeping on his humble coucli, rushed 
 to the window of his rustic mansion at the sound, 
 and while his wife stood beside him, all tremor 
 and affright, and his little ones clung to his knees 
 in alarm, he saw with a mingled look of surprise 
 and fear, the forms of an armed band, some on 
 horse and some on foot, sweeping through his 
 green fields, as the dim moonbeams shining 
 through the gathering mist and gloom, shone over 
 glittering arms, and dusky banners, all gliding 
 past, like phantoms of the Spectre Land. 
 
 THE SHROUD OF DEATH. 
 
 Ghastly and white, 
 
 Tlirough the gloom of the night, 
 
 From plain and from heath, 
 
 Like a shroud of death, 
 
 The mist all slowly and sullenly sweeps — 
 A shroud of death for the myriad brave, 
 Who to-morrow shall find the tombless grave — 
 
 In mid heaven now a bright spirit weeps ; 
 While sullenly, slowly rises that pall. 
 Crimson tears for the brave who shall fall, 
 Crimson tears for the dead without tomb, 
 Crimson tears for the death and the doom — 
 Crimson tears of an angel's sorrow, 
 For the havoc, the bloodshed, the carnage and 
 
 gloom, 
 That shall startle the field on the morrow ; — 
 
 Tlxe DayTjrcak Watcli* 
 
 Along the porch of an ancient mansion, sur- 
 mounting the height of Mount Airy, strode the 
 sentinel of the British picket, his tall form loom- 
 ing like the figure of a giant in the gathering 
 mist, while the musquct on his shoulder was 
 grasped by a hand red with American blood. 
 
 lie strode slowly along the porch, keeping his 
 lonely watch; now turning to gaze at tlie dark 
 shadow of the mansion towering above him, now 
 fixing hi.s eye along the Germuiitown road, uo it 
 wound down the Inll, on itb nuithwaid course; 
 
 And up to the heavens now whitens the mist. 
 Shrouding the morn with a fiery glare; 
 Solemn voices now startle the air, 
 To their sounds of omen you are fain to list: 
 To listen and tremble, and hold your breath; 
 While the air is thronging witli shapes of death. 
 *'0n, on over valley and plain the legions tramp. 
 Scenting the foemen who sleep in their camp; 
 Now bare the sword from its sheath bloou-red, 
 Now dig the pits for the unwept dead; 
 Now let the cannon give light to the hour, 
 And carnage stalk forth in liis crimson power. 
 Lo ! on the plain lay myriads gasping for 
 
 breath — 
 While the mist it is rising — tue Siiuoun of 
 
 Death !" 
 
 and again he gazed upon the landscape around 
 hitn, wrapt in a gathering mist, which chilled his 
 blood, and rendered all objects around him dim 
 and indistinct. 
 
 Up Rises t!ic Mist. 
 All around was vague and shadowy. The mist, 
 with its white wreaths and snowy columns, came 
 sweeping up on every side, from the bosom of the 
 Wissahikon, from tl)e depths of ;i tlif)usand brook- 
 lets, over hill and over valley, circled that dense 
 and gathering exhalation ; covering the woods 
 with ito yliuiilly pull, lolling over the plaiiio, and 
 
8 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 winding upward around the height of Mount 
 Airy, enveloping the cottages opposite the sentinel 
 in its folds of gloom, and confining the view to a 
 space of twenty paces from the porch, where he 
 kept his solitary watch — to him, a watch of death. 
 It is now daybreak, and a strange sound meets 
 that soldier's ear. It is now daybreak, and his 
 comrades sleep within the walls of Allen's house, 
 and a strange, low, murmuring noise, heard from 
 a great distance, causes him to incline his ear with 
 attention, and to listen vvilli hushed breath and 
 parted lips. 
 
 The Soiintl of Distant Waters. 
 
 He listens. It is a distant sound — very distant; 
 like the rush of waters, or the moaning of the 
 young August storm, bursting into life amid the 
 ravines of the far-off mountains. It swells on the 
 ear — it spreads to the east and to the west: it 
 strikes the sentinel's heart with a strange fear, 
 and he shoulders his musquet with a firmer grasp; 
 and now a merry smile wreathes his lips. 
 
 That sound — it is the rush of waters : the Wis- 
 sahikon has flooded its banks, and is pouring its 
 torrent over the meadows, while it rolls onward 
 towards the Schuylkill. The sentinel smiles at 
 his discovery, and resumes his measured stride. 
 He is right — and yet not altogether right. A 
 stream has burst its banks, but not the Wissahi- 
 kon. A stream of vengeance — dark, wild, and 
 terrible, vexed by passion, aroused by revenge, 
 boiling and seething from its unfathomable deeps — 
 is flowing from the north, and on its bosom are 
 borne men with strong arms and stout hearts, 
 swelling the turbulence of the waters; while a 
 tide of sword and bayonet is rushing madly on- 
 ward. 
 
 The day is breaking — sadly and ghastly break- 
 ing ; along the veil of mist, that whitens over the 
 face of nature like a Shroud of Death for mil- 
 lions, the day is slowly, solemnly, and sadly 
 breaking, and the sentinel leans idly upon the 
 bannisters of the porch, relaxes the grasp of his 
 musquet, inclines his head to one side, and no 
 longer looks upon the face of nature covered by 
 mist. He sleeps. The sound not long ago far 
 off, is now near and mighty in its volume, tlic 
 tramp of steeds startles tiie silence of Ihc road, 
 suppressed tones are heard, and tbicre is a r.oisc 
 like the moving of legions. 
 
 Tlic First Corse of Gci-mantowii. 
 
 It grows nearer and nearer I The clatlci ul 
 Ijorses' hoofs break along the road above Mount 
 
 Airy, and one long blaze of light glares through 
 the wliitcning mist, lifting for a moment the pall 
 of gloom^ while a terrible echo arises, shrieking 
 around the scene. The light blazes through the 
 mist, and at the very moment the clatter of a fall- 
 ing musquet rings along the porch of Allen's house. 
 The sentinel is dead at his post, his back to the 
 floor of the porch, his ghastly face upturned, and 
 his muscular hands vainly clutching at the red 
 wound between his eyes. 
 
 That strange flash, lifting the shroud of mist, 
 is the first shot of the battle-dav of Germantown» 
 and that corpse stretched along the floor of the 
 porch, is the first dead man of that day of horror. 
 And now forms of armed men, with eager faces 
 and stout forms, with upraised musquets and drawn 
 swords, break on the scene, and surround Allen's 
 house; while the voice of Sullivan is heard far 
 down the road, urging the men of tlie first column 
 onward in the march ; and then the battle shout 
 of Anthony Wayne is borne along by the morning 
 breeze. 
 
 The Hunt is Up. 
 Allen's house is surrounded. The soldiers of 
 the picket guard rush wildly from their beds, from 
 the scene of their late carousal by the fire the^^ 
 rush, and seize their arms — but in vain ! A bla/ 
 of fire streams in every window, soldier after sol 
 ier falls heavily to the floor, the picket guard a) 
 surprised, Allen's house is secured, and the hui 
 is up I 
 
 Great God, v/hat a scene ! The whole roa< 
 farther than eye could see, farther than ear coui 
 hear, crowded by armed men, hurrying over Che- 
 nut Hill, hurrying along the valley between Che. 
 nut Hill and Mount Airy, sweeping up the hill f 
 Allen's house, rushing onward in one dense co 
 umn, with the tall form of Sullivan at their hea 
 with the war sliout of Anthony Wayne hear 
 from the centre of his column; while riding fro" 
 rank to rank, speeding from battalion to battalio 
 from column to column, a form of majesty swee; 
 by, mounted on a -steed of iron grey, waving e 
 couragemenl to the men, while every lip repea * 
 the whis[?er, and every heart beats at the soun ' 
 echoed like a word of magic along the lines- ' 
 "There he rides — how grandly his form towers 
 the mist; it's Washington — it's Washington" 
 and the whole army take up the sound — " It 
 Washington I" 
 
 Allen's house was pa.sscd, and now the path oi 
 the central body of the aimy lay along the descent 
 of the road frouj Mount Aijy, Ibi the upace of a 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWPf. 
 
 9 
 
 trtile, until the quarters of Colonel Musgrave's 
 regiment were reached. 
 
 The Tramp of the Iiegious. 
 
 The descent was like the path of a hurricane. 
 The light of the breaking day, streaming dimly 
 through mist and gloom, fell over the forms of 
 the patriot band as they swept down the hill, every 
 man with his musquet ready for the charge, every 
 trooper with his sword drawn, every eye fixed 
 upon the shroud of mist in front of their palh, in 
 the vain effort to gaze upon the position of the ad- 
 Vance post of the enemy a mile below, every heart 
 throbbing wildly with the excitement of the com- 
 ing contest, and all prepared for the keen encoun- 
 ter, — the fight, hand to hand, foot to foot, the 
 charge of death, and the sweeping hail of the iron 
 Cannon ball and the leaden bullet. 
 
 How it would have made your heart throb, and 
 beat and throb again, to have stood on that hill of 
 Mount Airy, and looked upon the legions as they 
 rushed by. 
 
 Sullivan's men have passed, they arc dovvn the 
 hill, and you see them below, — rank after rank 
 disappearing in the pail of the enveloping mist. 
 
 The Men of Paoli. 
 
 Here they come — a band brave and true, a band 
 
 Vith scarred faces and sunburnt visages, with 
 
 Listed musquets and tattered apparel, yet with 
 
 rue hearts and stout hands. 
 
 In their midst rides that soldier with the tall 
 
 : form, marked by the broad shoulders and the mus- 
 
 . pular chest ; that soldier with the eye of fire and 
 
 ,lhe voice like thunder; now he waves his sword 
 
 on high, now he turns from side to side, speaking 
 
 ,, cheerfully to his soldiers, while his steed springs 
 
 , forward in the race, and every eye beholds him, 
 
 and every heart gathers courage at the echo of 
 
 his name. 
 
 And then his voice — how it rings out upon the 
 morning air, rising above the clatter of arms and 
 ■the tramp of steeds, rising in a mighty shout — 
 ,'■' On, boys, on ! In a moment we'll have them. 
 On, comrades, on — and remember Paoli !" 
 
 Conivay ou the March. 
 
 And then comes the band with the gallant 
 .-. iFrenchman at their head, the brave Conway, brave 
 though unfortunate, also rushing wildly by, in the 
 :rain of the hunt; while your eye sickens as you 
 ra.te over file after file of brave men, with mean 
 apparel and meaner arms, some half clad, others 
 well nigh barefoot, yet treading gaily over the 
 flinty ground; some with fragments of a coat on 
 
 their backs, others without covering for their head, 
 all marked by wounds, all thinned by hunger and 
 disease, yet every man of them is firm, every hand 
 is true, as it clutches the musquet with an eager 
 grasp. 
 
 The Brave Polander. 
 
 Ha ! That gallant band who came trooping on, 
 spurring their stout steeds, with wide haunches 
 and chests ot iron, hastily forward, that band with 
 every face seamed by scars, and darkened by the 
 thick mustachio, every eye gleaming beneath a 
 knit brow, every swarthy hand raising the tremen- 
 dous sword on high. They wear the look of for- 
 eigners, the manner of men trained to fight in the 
 exterminating wars of Europe. 
 
 And their leader is tall and well-proportioned, 
 with a dark-hued face, marked by a compressed lip, 
 rendered fierce by the overhanging mustachio* 
 his brow is shaded by the trooper's plume, and 
 his hand grasps the trooper's sword. He speaks 
 to his men in a foreign tongue, he reminds them 
 of the well-fought field on the plain of Poland, he 
 whispers a quick, terrible memento of Brandy wine 
 and Paoli, and the clear word rings from his lips. 
 
 " Forwarts, — briidern, — forwarts I" 
 
 It is the band of Pulaski sweeping past, eager 
 for the hunt of death, and as they spur their steeds 
 forward, a terrible confusion arises far ahead. 
 
 The Cagle darts upon the liion. 
 
 There is flashing of strange fires through the 
 folds of mist, lifting the snow-white pall for a mo* 
 raent— ^there is rolling of musquetry, rattling 
 like the thunderbolt ere it strikes — there is the 
 tramp of hurrying legions, the far-ofi^ shout of the 
 charging continentals^ and the yells and shouts of 
 the surprised foemen. 
 
 Sullivan is upon the camp of the enemy, upofl 
 them with the terror of ball and bayonet. They 
 rnsh from their camp, they form hastily across 
 the road, in front of their baggage, each red-coated 
 trooper seeks his steed, each footman grasps his 
 musquet and the loud voice of Musgrave, hurrying 
 wildly along the line of crimson attire and flashing 
 bayonets is heard above all other sounds, — "Form 
 — lads, form — fall in there — to your arms, lads, to 
 your arms. — Form, comrades, form!" 
 
 In vain his shouting, in vain the haste of his men 
 rushing from their beds, into the very path of the 
 advancing continentials! The men of Sullivan are 
 upon themi They sweep on with one bold frontj 
 the forms of the troopers, mounted on their war- 
 steeds, looming througii the mist, as with Eword 
 
10 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWJf. 
 
 upraised, and battle-shout pealing to the skies, 
 they lead on the charge of death! 
 
 Eternity crowclccl into a Moment* 
 
 A moment of terror, a moment made an age by 
 suspense! Tiie troopers meet, mid-way in their 
 charge, horse to horse, sword mingled with sword, 
 eye glaring in eye, they meet, and as the earth- 
 quake shock shakes the very ground, steeds recoil 
 on their haunches, the British strew the roadside, 
 flooding the dust with their blood, and the music 
 of battle, the fierce music of dying groans and 
 cries of death, rises up with the fog, startling the 
 very heavens with its discord! 
 
 The hunt te up! 
 
 "On — boys — on" — rings the voice of Mad An- 
 thony — "on — comrades — on — and Remember Pa- 
 oli!" 
 
 *^ Charge!" sounds the voice of Washington, 
 shrieking along the line, like the voice ot a migh- 
 ty spirit — "upon them — over them!" Conway re- 
 echoes the sound, Sullivan has already made the air 
 ring with his shout, and now Pulaski, takes up the 
 cry — ^'•Forwarls — brudern — Forwarts!" 
 
 The hunt is up! 
 
 The fight of the Avengers. 
 
 The British face the bayonets of the advancing 
 Americans, but in vain! Each bold backwoods- 
 man sends his volley of death along the British 
 line, and then clubbing his musqaet rushes wildly 
 forward, beating the red-coat to the sod with a 
 blow that cannot be stayed. The British troopers 
 rush forward in the charge, bat ere half the dis- 
 tance between them and the American host is 
 measured, Mad Anthony comes tliundering on, 
 with his Legion of Iron, and as his war-shout 
 swells loudly above, the red-coats are driven back 
 by the hurricane force of his charge, the ground 
 is strewn with the dying, and the red hoofs of the 
 horse, trample madly over the faces of the dead. 
 
 Wayne charges, Pulaski charges, Conway 
 brings up his men, and Washington rides in the 
 very glare of the mellay. 
 
 A Scene lighted hy the Mnstect-'flash- 
 
 The fires of the infantry, spreading a sheeted 
 flame thro' the folds of the mist, light up the scene, 
 and the never-ceasing clang of sword against 
 sword, the low muttered shriek of the fallen, vain- 
 ly trying to stop the flow of blood, the wild, dread 
 yell of the soldier, gazing madly round as he re- 
 ceives his death wound, the shout of the charge, 
 and the involuntary cry of 'quarter,' all furnish a 
 imusic most dread and horrible, as tho' an infer- 
 
 nal band, were urging on the work of slaughter 
 with their notes of fiendish mockery. 
 
 That flash of musquetry! What a light it gives 
 the scene! Above, clouds of white mist and lurid 
 smoke; around, all hurry, and tramp, and motion, 
 faces darkened by all the passions of a demon, 
 glaring madly in the light, blood red hands up- 
 raised, meeting foemen grappling in contest, 
 swords rising and falling, glaring and glitteringy 
 the forms of the wounded, with their faces 
 buried in the earth, the ghastly dead, all heaped 
 up in positions of ludicrous mockery of death, along 
 the roadside! 
 
 That flash of musquetry! 
 
 The form of Washington is in the centre of the 
 mellay, the battle glare lighting up his face of 
 majesty; the stalwart form of Wayne is seen riding* 
 hither and thither, waving a dripping sword in 
 his good right hand; the figure of Pulaski, dark as 
 the form of an earth riven spirit of some German 
 story, breaks on your eye, as, enveloped in mist, 
 he seems rushing everywhere at the same moment, 
 fighting in all points of the contest, hurrying his 
 men onward, and driving the aflfrighted British 
 before him, with the terror of his charge. 
 
 **To Chevir's House— AivayJ» 
 
 And Col. Musgrave — where is he? 
 
 He shouts the charge to his men, he hurries hi- 
 ther and thither, he shouts till he is hoarse, he 
 fights till his person is red with the blood of his 
 own men, slain before his very eyes, but all in 
 vain! 
 
 He shouts the word of retreat along his line— 
 "Away, my men, away to Chew's House — 
 away!" 
 
 The retreat commences, and then, indeed, the 
 hunt of death is up in good earnest. 
 
 The British wheel down the Grermantpwn road,. 
 tl^ey turn their backs to their foes, they flee wild- 
 ly toward Germantown, leaving their dead and dy- 
 ing in their wake, man and Iiorse, they flee, some 
 scattering thsir arms by the roadside, others weak- 
 ened by loss of blood, feebly endeavoring to join 
 the retreat, and then falling dead in the path of 
 the pursuers, who with one bold front, with one 
 firm step rush after the British in their flight, ride 
 down the fleeing ranks, and scatter death along 
 the hurrying columns. 
 
 The fever of bloodshed grows hotter, the chase 
 grows fearful in interest, the hounds who so often 
 have worried down the starved Americans,, are 
 now hunted in their turn. 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OP GERMANTOWN. 
 
 11 
 
 And in the very van of pursuit, his tall form 
 seen by every soldier, rode George Washington, his 
 mind strained to a pitch of agony, as the crisis of 
 the contest approached, and by his side rode Mad 
 Anthony Wayne, now Mad Anthony indeed, for 
 his whole appearance was changed, his eye seem- 
 ed turned to a thing of living flame, his face 
 was begrimed with soot, his sword was red 
 with blood andhisbattle-shout rung fiercer on the 
 air — 
 
 "Over them boys — upon them — over them, and 
 Remember PaoliI" 
 
 "Now, Wayne, «02«" — shouted Washington — 
 "one charge more and we have them !" 
 
 "Forwarts — brudern — forwarts !" shouted Pulas 
 ki, as his iron band came thundering on — "For- 
 warts — for Washington — Forwarts !" 
 
 The Fli|;lit alonig tlie Germantown M.oa,d 
 
 The British leader wheeled his steed for a mo- 
 ment and gazed upon his pursuers. All around 
 was bloodshed, gloom, and death, mist and smoke 
 above, flame around, and mangled corses below. — 
 With one hoarse shout, he again bade his men 
 make for Chew's House, and again the dying 
 scattered along the path looked up, and beheld the 
 British sweeping madly down the road. 
 
 The vanguard of the pursuers had gained the 
 upper end of Chew's wall, when the remnant of 
 the British force disappeared in the fog; file after 
 file of the crimson-coaled British Vi'ere lost to 
 sight in the mist, and in the very heat and flush of 
 the chase, the American army was brought to 
 a halt in front of Chew's wall, each soldier falling 
 back on his comrade v.'ith a sudden recoil 
 while the oflicers gazed on each other's faces in 
 vain inquiry for the cause of this unexpected de- 
 Jay. 
 
 The fog gathered in dense folds over the heads 
 of the soldiers, thicker and more dense it gathered 
 every instant; the enemy was lost to sight in the 
 direction of Chew's lawn, and a fearful pause of 
 silence from the din and tumult of bloodshed en- 
 sued for a single moment. 
 
 Tlie Council in the heat of Battle. 
 
 Leaning from his steed in front of the gate that 
 led into Chew's lawn, Washington gazed round 
 upon the faces of his staff", who circled him on 
 every side, with each steed recoiling on his haun- 
 ches from the sudden effect of the halt. 
 
 Washington was about to speak as he leaned 
 from his steed, with his sword half lowered in the 
 misty air, he was about to speak, and ask the 
 
 meaning of this sudden disappearance of the Bri- 
 tis!i, when a lurid flash, lifted up the fog from the 
 lawn, and the thunder of musquetry echoed along 
 the air, quivering among the nooks and corners of 
 the ancient houses on the opposite side of the 
 street. 
 
 Another moment, and a soldier with face all 
 crimsoned with blood and darkened by battle 
 smoke rushed thro' the group clustering around 
 the horse of Washington, and in a hurried voice 
 announced that the remnant of the British Regi- 
 ment had thrown themselves into the substantial 
 stone mansion on the left, and seemed determined 
 to make good a desperate defence. 
 
 "What say you, gentlemen" — cried Washing- 
 ton — "shall we press onward, into the town, and 
 attack the main body of the enemy at once, or 
 shall we first drive the enemy from their strong 
 hold, at this mansion on our leftl" 
 
 The answer of Wayne was short and to the 
 point, ''Onward" — he shouted, and his sword 
 rose in the air, all dripping with blood — "On- 
 ward into the town — our soldiers are warmed 
 with the chase — onward, and with another blow, 
 we have them!" 
 
 And the gallant Hamilton, the brave Pickering, 
 the gifted ?^arshall, echoed the cry — "Onward"— 
 while the hoarse shout of Pulaski rang out in 
 the air — "Forwarts — briidern — Forwarts!" 
 
 "It is against every rule of military science" — 
 exclaimed General Knox, whose opinion in 
 council was ever valuable with Washington — "It 
 is against every rule of military science, to leave 
 a forlified stronghold in the rear of an advancing 
 army. Let us first reduce the mansion on our 
 left, and then move forward into the centre of the 
 town!" 
 
 There was another moment of solemn council 
 the older officers of the staff united in opinion 
 with Knox, and with one, quick anxious glance 
 around the scene of fog and mist, Washington 
 gave the orders to storm the house. 
 
 Storm the House* 
 
 And at the word while a steady volume of flame 
 was flashing from Chew's House, every window 
 pouring forth its blaze, flashing over the wreath of 
 mist, the continentals, horse and foot, formed 
 across the road, to the north of the house, eager 
 for the signal, which would bid them advance into 
 the very jaws of death. 
 
12 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTTOWN^. 
 
 The artillery were rang^ed some three hundred 
 yards from the mansion — their cannon beingr plac- 
 ed on a slight elevation, and pointed at the north- 
 west corner of the house. This was one of the 
 grand mistakes of the battle, occasioned by the 
 density of the fog. Had tlie cannon been placed in a 
 proper position, the house would have been reduc- 
 ed ere the first warm flush of pursuit was cold in 
 the cheeks of the soldiers. 
 
 But the fog gathered thicker and more densely 
 around, the soldiers moved like men moving in 
 the dark, and all was vague, dim, undefined and 
 uncertain.. 
 
 All ready for tlie Banquet of Death. 
 
 All was ready for the storm. Here were men with 
 firebrands ready to rush forward under the cover 
 of the first volley of musquetry and fire the house; 
 here were long lines of soldiers grasping their guns 
 with a quick nervous movement, one foot advanced 
 in the act of springing forward; yonder were the 
 cannoniers, their pieces loaded, the linstock in 
 the hand of one soldier, while another stood ready 
 with the next charge of ammunition; on every side 
 was intense suspense and expectation, and heard 
 above all other sounds, the rattle of the British 
 musquets, rose like thunder over Chew's lawn, and 
 seen the brightest of all other sights, the light 
 of the British guns, streamed red and lurid over 
 the field, giving a strange brilliancy to the wreaths 
 of mist above, and columns of armed men below. 
 
 The Flag of Truce. 
 
 Tradition states that at this moment, when eve- 
 ry thing was ready for the storm of death, an ex- 
 pression of the most intense thought passed over 
 the impenetrable countenance of Washington. 
 Jivery line of his features was marked by thought, 
 his lip was sternly compressed, and his eye gath- 
 ered a strange brilliancy. 
 
 He turned to the east, and bent one long anxious 
 gaze over the white folds of mist, as though he 
 would pierce the fog with his glance, and gaze upon 
 the advancing columns of Greene and Stephen. 
 He inclined his head to one side of his steed, and 
 listened for the tramp of their war-horses, but in 
 vain. He turned towards Germantown; all was 
 silent in that direction, the main body of the ene- 
 my were not yet in motion. 
 
 And then in a calm voice, he asked for an oflScer 
 who would consent to bear a flag of truce to the 
 enemy. A young and gallant officer of Lee's 
 ^^ngers, spjrang from his horse, his name Lieut. 
 
 Smith, he assumed the snow-white flag held sa- 
 cred by all nations, and, with a single glance at 
 the Continental array, he advanced to Chew's 
 House. 
 
 Tn a moment he was lost to sight amid the folds 
 of the fog, and his way lay over the green lawn for 
 some two hundred yards. All was still and silent 
 around him. Tradition states that the fire from 
 the house ceased for a moment, while Musgravo's 
 band were silently maturing their plan of desperate 
 defence. The young soldier advanced along his 
 lonely path, speeding through the bosom of the fog, 
 all objects lost to his sight, save the green verdure 
 of the sod, yet uncrimsoned by blood, and here and 
 there the trunk of a giant tree looming blackly 
 through the mist. 
 
 The outline of a noble mansion began to dawn 
 on his eye, first the sloping ro©f, then ihe massive 
 chimneys, then the front of the edifice, and then 
 its windows, all crowded with soldiers in their 
 crimson attire, whiskered face appearing above face, 
 with grisly musket and glittering bayonet, thrust 
 oat upon the air, while with fierce glances, the 
 hirelings looked forth into the bosom of that fearful 
 mist, which still, like a deaih-shroud for millions, 
 hung over the lawn, and over the chimneys of the 
 house. 
 
 The Honor of the Britisher. 
 
 The young officer came steadily on, and now he 
 stood some thirty paces from the house, waving his 
 while flag on high, and then with an even step he 
 advanced toward the hall door. He advanced, but 
 he never reached that hall door. He was within 
 the scope of the British soldiers' vision, they could 
 have almost touched him with an extended flag- 
 staff, when the loud word of command rang through 
 the house, a volley of fire blazed from every win-^ 
 dow, and the whole American army saw the fog 
 lifted from the surface of the lawn, like a vast cur- 
 tain from the scenes of a magnificent theatre, 
 
 Slowly and heavily that curtain uprose, and a 
 hail storm of bullets whistled across the plain, when 
 the soldiers of the Continental host looked for their 
 messenger of peace. 
 
 They beheld a gallant form in front of the man- 
 sion. He seemed making an effort to advance, 
 and then he tottered to and fro, and his white flag 
 disappeared for a moment; and the next instant 
 he fell down like a heavy weight upon the sod, 
 and a hand trembling with the pulse of death was 
 raised above his head, waving a white flag in the 
 air. That flag was stained with blood : it was 
 
THE BATTLE DAY OF GERiSAiNTOWN. 
 
 13 
 
 the warm blood flowing from^ the young- Virgin- 
 ian's heart. 
 
 Along the whole American line there rang one 
 wild yell of horror. Old men raised tlieir mus- 
 quels on high, while the tears gathered in their 
 eyes; the young soldiers all moved forward with 
 one sudden step; a wild light blazed in the eye of 
 Washington; Wayne waved his dripping sword 
 
 on high; PulasJ^i raised his proud form in the stir. 
 
 rups, and gave one meaning glance to his men; 
 and then, through every rank and file, through 
 every column and solid square, rang the terrible 
 words of command, and high above all other 
 sounds was heard the voice of Washington — 
 
 *' Charge, for your country and for vengeance^- 
 charge!" 
 
 THE FIGHT AT CHEW'S HOUSE 
 
 Now bare tlie sword from its sheath blood-refl, 
 
 'Tis wet with the gore of the massacred dead ; 
 
 Now raise the sword in the cause most holy — 
 And while the whispers of ghosts break on your ear, 
 Oh ! strike without mercy, or pity, or fear ; 
 
 Oh! strike for the massacred dead of Paoli! 
 
 KEVOLUTIONARy SONQ. 
 
 The Flame arotuid tlie House* 
 
 And while the mist gathered thicker and dark- 
 er above, while the lurid columns of battle smoke 
 waved like a banner overhead, while all around 
 was dim and indistinct, — all objects rendeted lar- 
 ger and swelled to gigantic proportions by the ac- 
 tion of the fog, — along that green lawn arose the 
 sound of charging legions, and the blaze of mus- 
 quetry flashing from the windows of Chew's house, 
 gave a terrible light to ihe theatre of death. 
 
 Again, like a vast curtain, the mist uprose, — 
 again were seen armed men brandishing swords 
 aloft, or presenting fixed bayonets, or holding 
 the sure rifle in their unfailing grasp, or yet again 
 waving torches on high, all rushing madly for- 
 ward, still in regular columns, file atter file, squad- 
 ron after squadron — a fierce array of battle and of 
 death. 
 
 T3ie Theatre of Death* 
 It was a sight worth a score of peaceful years 
 to see ! The dark and heavy pall of battle smoke 
 overhead, mingled with curling wreaths of snow- 
 white mist — the curtain of this theatre of death — 
 the mansion of dark, grey stone, rising massive 
 and ponderous from the lawn, each peak and cor- 
 ner, each buttress and each angle, shown clearly 
 by the light of the musquet flash — the green lawn 
 spreading away from the house — the stage of the 
 dread theatre — crowded by bands of advancing 
 men, with arms glittering in the fearful light, 
 with fierce faces stamped with looks of vengeance, 
 sweeping forward with one steady step, their eyes 
 fixed upon the fatal house ; while over tlTeir heads, 
 jind among their ranks, swept and fell the leaden 
 
 bullets of their foes, hissing through the air with 
 the sound of serpents, or pattering on the sod like 
 a hailstorm of death. 
 
 And while a single brigade, with which was 
 Washington and Sullivan and Wayne, swept on- 
 ward toward the house, the other troops of the 
 central division, extending east and west along 
 the fields, were forced to remain inactive spectators 
 of this scene of death, while each man vainly en- 
 deavored to pierce the gloom of the mist and smoke 
 and observe the course of the terrible fight. 
 The Forlorn. Hope* 
 Some thirty yards of green lawn now lay be- 
 tween the forlorn hope of the advancing Americans 
 and Chew's house; all became suddenly still and 
 hushed, and the continentals could hear their own 
 foot tramp breaking upon the air with a deadened 
 sound, as they swept onward toward the mansion. 
 A moment of terrible stillness, and then a mo- 
 ment of bloodshed and horror I Like the crash 
 of thunderbolts meeting in the zenith from distant 
 points of the heavens, the sound of musquetry 
 broke over the lawn, and from every window of 
 Chew's house, from the hall door, and from behind 
 the chimneys on the roof, rolled the dense columns 
 of musquet smoke ; while on every side, overhead, 
 around, and beneath, the musquet flash of the 
 British glared like earth-riven lightning in the 
 faces of the Americans, and then the mist and 
 smoke came down like a pall, and for a moment 
 all was dark as midnight. 
 
 A wild yell broke along the American line, and 
 then the voice of Wayne rung out through the 
 darkness and the gloom — "Sweep forward under 
 
14 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 the cover of the smoke — sweep forward and storm 
 the house I" 
 
 Tlie Torch and tlic Scaling liadder. 
 
 They came rushing on, the gallant band of ran- 
 gers, bearing torches in their hands — they came 
 rushing on, and their path lay over the mangled 
 bodies of the forlorn hope, scattered along the sod, 
 in all the ghastliness of wounds and death, and at 
 their backs advanced with measured step the firm 
 columns of the continental army, while the air 
 was heavy with the sb.riek of wounded men, and 
 burdened with cries of death. 
 
 On they swept, trampling ever the faces of the 
 dead in the darkness and gloom, and then the ter- 
 rible words of command rang out upon the air — 
 " Advance and fire — advance and storm the 
 house I" 
 
 A volley of sheeted flame arose from the bosom 
 of the fog along the lav/n, the thunder of the Ame- 
 rican musquetry broke upon the air, and the balls 
 were heard pattering against the walls of the 
 house, and tearing splinters from the roof. 
 
 Another moment, and the pall of mir.t and battle 
 smoke is swept aside, revealing a scene that a 
 thousand words might not describe — a scene 
 whose hurry, and motion, and glare, and horror' 
 the pencil of the artist might in vain essay to 
 picture. 
 
 There were glittering bayonets thrust from the 
 windows of the hg^se, — there were fierce faces, 
 with stout forms robed in crimson attire, thrust 
 from every caseruent,— there were bold men wav- 
 ing torches on high, rushing around the house; 
 here a party were piling up combustible brush- 
 wood and faggots, here a gallant band were affix- 
 ing their scaling ladder to a second story window, 
 yonder another gallant band were thundering 
 away at the hall door, with musquet and battle 
 axe; while along the whole sweep of the wide 
 lawn poured the fire of the continental host, with 
 a flash like lightning, yet with uncertain and in- 
 effectual aim. 
 
 The Fate of the Stormers. 
 
 The hand of the soldier with the band gathered 
 near the combustible pile under a window — the 
 hand of the soldier was extended with the blazing 
 torch, he was about to fire the heap of faggots, 
 when his shattered arm fell to his side, and a dead 
 comrade came toppling over his chest. 
 
 A soldier near the hall door had been foremost 
 among that gallant band, the barricades were torn 
 away, all obstructions well nigh cleared, and he 
 raised his battle axe to hew the door in fragments, 
 
 when the axe fell with a clanging sound upon the 
 threshold stone, and his comrades caught his fall- 
 ing body in their arms, while his severed jaw 
 hung loosely on his breast. 
 
 The party who rushed forward in the endeavor 
 to scale the window ! The ladder was fixed — 
 across the trench dug around Chew's house it was 
 fixed — the hands of two sturdy continentals held 
 it firm, and a file of desperate men, headed by a 
 stalwart backwoodsman, in rough blue shirt and 
 fur cap, with buck-tail plume, began the ascent of 
 death. 
 
 The foot of the backwoodsman touched the sec- 
 ond round of the scaling ladder, when he sprang 
 wildly in the air, over the heads of his comrades, 
 and fell dead in the narrow trench, with a death 
 shriek that rang in the ears of all who heard it 
 for life. A musquet ball had penetrated his skull, 
 and the red torrent w^as .already streaming over 
 his forehead, and along his swarthy features. 
 
 The Americans again rushed forward to the 
 house, but it was like rushing into the embrace of 
 death ; again they scaled the windows, again were 
 they driven back, while the dead bodies of their 
 comrades littered the trench ; again they strode 
 boldly up to the hall door, and again did soldier 
 after soldier crimson the threshold stone with his 
 blood. 
 
 The Sound of Marching I<egions* 
 
 And while the battle swelled fiercest, and the 
 flame flashing from the windows of Chew's house 
 was answered by the volley of the continental 
 brigade, two sounds came sweeping along the air, 
 one from the south, and the other from the north- 
 west. They were the sounds of marching men — 
 the tread of hurrying legions. 
 
 On the summit of a gentle knoll, surrounded by 
 the officers of his staff, Washington had watched 
 the progress of the fight around Chew's mansion, 
 not more than two hundred yards distant. 
 Washington and his Terrihle Suspense* 
 
 With his calm and impenetrable face, wearing 
 an unmoved expression, he had seen the continen- 
 tals disappear in the folds of the fog, he had seen 
 file after file marching on their way of death, he 
 had heard the roar of contest, the shrieks of the 
 wounded and the yells of the dying had startled his 
 ear, but not a muscle of his countenance moved 
 not a feature trembled. 
 
 But when those mingling sounds of marching 
 men came pealing on his ear, he inclined slightly 
 to one side of his steed and then to the other, as 
 if in the effort to catch the slightest sound, his 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 1^ 
 
 lips were fixedly compressed and his eye flashed 
 and flashed again, until it seemed turning to a 
 thing of living flame. 
 
 Tlie Horseman and his Message* 
 
 The sounds grew near, and nearer! A horse- 
 man approached from the direction of German- 
 town, his steed was well nigh exhausted and the 
 rider swayed heavily to and fro in the saddle. 
 The horse came thundering up the knoll, and a 
 man with a ghastly face, spotted with blood, lean- 
 ed from the saddles and shrieked forth, as he pant- 
 ed for breath — 
 
 "General — they are 'in motion — they are 
 marching through Germantown — Kniphausen, 
 Agnew, and Grey, they will be on you in a mo- 
 ment, and — Cornwallis — Cornwallis is sweeping 
 from Philadelphia." 
 
 The word had not passed his lips, when he fell 
 from his steed a ghastly corpse. 
 
 Another messenger stood by the side of Wash- 
 ington — his steed was also exhausted, and his face 
 was covered with dust, but not with blood. He 
 panted for breath as he shrieked forth an excla- 
 mation of joy: — 
 
 "Greene is marching from the northwest — at- 
 tracted by the fire in this quarter, he has deviated 
 from his path, and will be with you in a mo- 
 ment!" 
 
 And as he spoke, the forms of a vast body of 
 men began to move, dim and indistinctly, from 
 the folds of the fog on the northwest, and then 
 the glare of crimson was seen appearing from the 
 bosom of the mist on the south, as a long column 
 of red coated soldiers, began to break slowly on 
 the vision of Washington and his men. 
 
 Germantown Aroused by distant Tliunder. 
 
 Turn we for a moment to Germantown. 
 
 The first glimpse of day,flung a grey and solemn 
 light over the tenements of Germantown, when 
 the sound of distant thunder, aroused the startled 
 inhabitants from their beds, and sent them hurri- 
 edly into the street, where they crowded in small 
 groups, each one asking his neighbor for the ex- 
 planation of this sudden alarm, and each one in- 
 dining his ear to the north, listening intently to 
 those faint yet terrible sounds, thundering along 
 the northern horizon. 
 
 The crowded moments of that eventful morn, 
 wore slowly on, and ere the day was yet light, 
 the streets of Germantown were all in motion, 
 crowds of anxious men were hurrying hither and 
 thither, mothers stood on the rustic porch, gather- 
 
 ing their babes in a closer embrace, and old men, 
 risen in haste from their beds, clasped their 
 withered hands and lifted tlieir eyes to heaven in 
 muttered prayer, as their ears were startled by 
 the sounds of omen pealing from the north. 
 
 The Briiish leaders were yet asleep, the sol 
 dieis of the camp, it is true, had risen hastily from 
 their couches, and along the entire line of the 
 British encampment, ran a vague yet terrible ru- 
 mor of coming battle and of sudden death, yet the 
 generals in command slept soundly in their beds, 
 visited, it may be, with pleasant dreams of massa- 
 cred rebels, fancy pictured of the night of Paoli, 
 mingled with a graphic sketch of the head of 
 Washington adorning one of the gates of London, 
 while the grim visage of mad Anthony Wayne 
 figured on another. 
 
 TSie Message for Gsneral Grey". 
 
 The footstep of a booted soldier rang along the 
 village street, near the market-house, in the centre 
 of the village, and presently a tall grenadier strode 
 up the stone steps ol an ancient mansion, spoke a 
 hurried word to the sentinel at the door, and then 
 hastily entered the house. In a moment he stood 
 beside the couch of General Grey, he roused hin* 
 with a rude shake of his vigorous hands, and the 
 startled Briusher sprang up as hastily in his bed 
 as though he had been dieaming a dream of the 
 terrible night of Paoli. 
 
 "Your Excellency — the Rebels are upon us !"' 
 cried the grenadier — "they have driven in our 
 outposts, they surround us on every side — " 
 
 "We must fight it out — away to KniphauseB— • 
 away to Agnew — " 
 
 "They are already in the field, and the men are* 
 about advancing to Chew's House." 
 
 Bat a moment elapsed, and the British generaF 
 with his attire flung hastily over his person, rode 
 to the head of his command, and while Knipbao^ 
 sen, gay with the laurels of Brandywine, rodb' 
 from rank to rank, speaking encouragement to hia' 
 soldiers in his broken dialect, the British army* 
 moved forward over the fields and along the" 
 solitary streets of Germantown towards ChewV 
 House. 
 
 The brilliant front of the British extended in- 
 a flash i tig array of crimson, over the fields, along: 
 the streets, and through the wreaths of mist on* 
 every side shone the glitter of bayonets, on every 
 hand was heard the terrible tramp of 16,000 meiv 
 
ll 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWW. 
 
 sweeping onward, toward the field of battle, their 
 swords eager for American blood. 
 
 To Clie-vr's House S 
 
 As the column under command of General 
 Agnew swept through the village street, every 
 man noted the strange silence that seemed to have 
 come down upon the village like a spell. The 
 houses were all carefully closed, as though they 
 had not been inhabited for years, the windows 
 were barricaded, and the earthquake tramp of the 
 vast body of soldiers was the only sound that dis- 
 turbed the silence of the town. 
 
 Not a single inhabitant was seen. Some had 
 fled wildly to the fields, others had hastened with 
 the strange and fearful curiosity of our nature to 
 the very verge of the battle of Chew's House, and 
 in the cellars of the houses gathered many a wild 
 and affrighted group, mothers holding their little 
 children to their breasts, old men whose eye.= were 
 Vacant with enfeebled intellect asking wildly the 
 cause of all this alarm, while many a fair-cheeked 
 maiden turned pale with hoiror, as the thunder of 
 the cannon seemed to shake the very earth. 
 Tlie Liegend of General Agne^v. 
 A singular legend is told in relation to General 
 Agnew. Tradition states, that on that eventful 
 morn, as he led the troops onward through the 
 town, a singular change was noted in his appear- 
 ance. His cheeks were pale as death, his com- 
 pressed lip trembled with a nervous movement, and 
 his eyes glared hither and thither with a strange 
 wild glance. 
 
 He turned to the aid-de-camp at his side, and 
 said with a ghastly smile, that this day's work 
 would be his last on earth, that this battle-field 
 would be the last he should fight, that it be- 
 came him to look well at the gallant array of war, 
 and share in the thickest of the fight, for in war 
 and in fight should his hand this day strike its last 
 and dying blow. 
 
 The Strange Old Man. 
 And tradition states that as his column neared 
 the Mcenisht grave-yard,* a man of strange and 
 wild aspect, clad in the skins of wild beasts, with 
 scarred lace and unshaven beard, came leaping 
 over the grave-yard wall, and asked a soldier of 
 the British column, with an idiotic smile, whether 
 that gallant officer, riding at the head of the men, 
 
 •Adjoining the dwelling of Mr. Samuel Keyser, 
 about three-fourths of a mile below Chew's House. 
 
 was the brave Genera! Grey, who had so nobly 
 routed the rebels at Paolil 
 
 The soldier replied with a peevish oath that 
 yonder oflicer was General Grey, and he pointed 
 to General Agnew as he spoke. 
 
 The strange man said never a word, but smiled 
 with a satisfied look, and sprang over the grave- 
 yard wall, and as he sprang, a bullet whistled past 
 the ear of General Agnew, and a thin column of 
 blue smoke wound upward from the grave-yard 
 wall. 
 
 The General turned and smiled. His officers 
 would have searched the grave-yard for the author 
 of the shot, but a sound broke on their ears from 
 the road above, and presently the clatter of hoofs 
 and the clamor of swords came thundering through 
 the mist. 
 
 Tlie Contest in tlie Village Street. 
 
 And in a moment the voice of Sullivan was 
 heard — '^Charge — upon the Britishers — charge 
 them home .'" 
 
 And the steeds of the American cavalry came 
 thundering on, sweeping down the hill with one 
 wild movement, rushing into the very centre of 
 the enemy's column, each trooper unhorsing his 
 man, while a thousand fierce shouts mingled in 
 wild chorus, and the infantry advanced with fiixed 
 bayonets, speeding steadily onward until they had 
 driven back their foes with the force of their solid 
 charge. 
 
 And along that solitary street of Germantown 
 
 swelled the din and terror of battle, there grappled 
 
 with the fierce grasp of vengeance and of death 
 
 the columns of contending foemen, there redd 
 
 the troopers of the opposite armies, their sword g 
 
 mingling, their horses meeting breast to breast 
 
 in the terrible shock of this fierce tournament; 
 
 there shrieked the wounded and dying, while 
 
 above the heads of the combatants waved the 
 
 white folds of mist, mingled with the murky battle 
 
 smoke. 
 
 Sullivan charged bravely, Wayne came nobly 
 
 to his rescue, Pulaski scattered confusion into 
 the ranks of the enemy, and the Americans had 
 been masters of the field were it not for a fresh 
 disaster at Chew's House, combined with the mis- 
 takes of the various bodies of the Continentals, who 
 were unable to discern friend from foe in the 
 density of the fog. 
 
 Chew's House again* 
 Meanwhile the contest thickened around Chew's 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWPT. 
 
 IT 
 
 house; the division of Greene, united willi the cen- 
 tral body of the American army, were engaged 
 with the left wing of the British army, under 
 Kniphausen, Grant, and Grey, while Sullivan led 
 forward into the town a portion of the advance 
 column of his division. 
 
 Tradition has brought down to our times a fear- 
 ful accouni of the carnage and bloodshed of the 
 light aroutid Chew's house at this moment, when 
 the British army to the south and the Americans 
 to the north, advanced in the terrible charge, under 
 the cover of the mist and gloom. 
 
 It was like fighting in the dark. The Ameri- 
 cans advanced column after column, they drove 
 back the British columns with a line of bristling 
 bayonets, while the fire of the backwoodsmen rat- 
 tled a death hail over the field ; but it was all in 
 vain! That gloomy raiset hung over their heads, 
 concealing their foes from sight, or investing the 
 forms of their friends with a doubtful gloom, that 
 caused them to be mistaken for Britishers in the 
 fierce mellay; all was dim, undefined and indistinct. 
 y^ TIxe Adventure of 'Washington* 
 
 It was at this moment that a fierce resolution 
 came bver the mind of Washington. All around 
 hica was mist and gloom, he saw his men disap' 
 pear within the fog, toward Chew's house, but he 
 knew not whether their charge was greeted with 
 suecess or defeat; he heard the tread of hurrying 
 legions, the thunder of the cannon, the rattle of 
 the musketry broke on his ear, mingled with the 
 Bhrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dy- 
 ing; and all the terrible panorama of a battle field, 
 the smoke, the gloom and the mist, passed vividly 
 before his eyes, but still he knew not the cause of 
 the impregnability of Chew's house. He deter- 
 mined to advance toward the bouse, and examine 
 its position in person. He turned to the officers 
 of his staff — « Follow me who lists !" he cried, 
 and in a moment, his steed of iron grey was ca- 
 reering over the sod, littered with ghastly corses, 
 while the air overhead was alive with the music 
 of bullets, and the earth beneath was fiung against 
 the war-steed's flanks by the cannon ball. 
 
 Followed by Hamilton, by Pickering, by 
 Marshall, and by Lee, of the gallant legion, Wash- 
 
 ington rode forward, and speeding between the 
 fires of the opposing armies, approached the 
 house. 
 
 Tlie Patli Of Terror. 
 
 The scene was awful, At each step a dead maft, 
 with a ghastly face turned upward, little pools of 
 blood crimsoning the lawn, torn fragments of at- 
 tire scattered over the sod, on every side hurrying 
 bodies of marching foemen, while, terrible and 
 unremitting, the fire flashing from the windows of 
 Chew's House, throws a lurid glare over the fear- 
 ful scene. 
 
 Washington dashed over the lawn, he approach* 
 ed the house, and every man of his train held his 
 breath. Bullets were whistling over their heads, 
 cannon balls playing round their horses' feet, yet 
 their leader kept on his way of terror. A single 
 glance at the house, with its vollies of flame flash- 
 ing from every window, and he turned to the 
 north, to regain the American line?, but the fog 
 and smoke gathered round him, and he found his 
 horse entangled amid the enclosures of the cattle- 
 pen to the north of the mansion. 
 
 AVasliington toetween t-\vo Fires. 
 
 '*Leap your horses" — ^cried Washington to the 
 brave men around hira — " Leap your horses and 
 save yourselves!" And in a moment, amid the 
 mist and gloom, his officers leaped the northern 
 enclosure of the cattle-pen, and rode forward to 
 the American line, scarcely able to discover their 
 path, in the dense gloom that gathered around 
 them. They reached the American lines, and to 
 their horror^ discovered that Washington was not 
 among them. He had not leaped the fence of the 
 cattle-pen, because with the feeling of a true ve^. 
 teran^ he was afraid of injuring his gallant steed, 
 by this leap in the dark. 
 
 While the ofi^icers of the staff were speeding to 
 the American line, Washington turned his steed 
 to the south, he determined to repass the house, 
 strike to the north east, and then facing the fires 
 of both armies, regain the Continental army- 
 He rose proudly in the stirrups, he placed 
 his hand gently on the neck of his steed, he glanc- 
 ed proudly around him, and then the noble horso 
 sprang forward with a sudden leap, and the mist 
 rising for a moment disclosed the form of Washrf 
 ington, to the vision of the opposing armies. 
 
THE FALL OF THE BANNER OF THE STARS. 
 
 "What seest thou now, Gonzales ?" 
 
 "I look from the oriel window— I see a forest of glittering steel, rising in the light, with the snow-flakes of waving 
 plumes flaunting with the sunbeams ! Our men advance— the banner of the stars is borne aloft, onward and on it 
 sweeps, like a mighty bird ; and now the foemen waver, they recoil — they — " 
 
 "They fly ! Great God— they fly !" 
 
 "No— no !— oh, moment of ))orror!— the banner of the stars is lost!— the flag of blood-red hue rises in the light — 
 the foemen advance — I dare not look upon the scene — " 
 
 "Look again, good Gonzales — look, I beseech tliee — what seest thou now?" 
 
 "I see a desolated field, sirewn with dead carcases and broken arms— the banner of the stars is trampled in the 
 dust— all is lost, and yet not all !" 
 
 Waslilngton In Banger. 
 
 The form of the Chieftain rose through the 
 smoke and gloom of battle, in all its magnificence 
 of proportion, and majesty of bearing, as speeding 
 between two opposing fires, with a proud glance 
 over the battle-field, he retraced his path of death, 
 and rode fearlessly toward the American army. 
 
 He was now in front of Chew's House, he was 
 passing through the very sweep of the terrible 
 fires, belching from every window, the bullets 
 whistled around him, and on every hand was con- 
 fusion, and darkness, made more fearful by the 
 glare of musquetry, and the lightning.flashof can- 
 non. 
 
 He is now in front of Chew's House ! Another 
 moment and the Man of the Army may fall from 
 his steed riddled by a thousand bullets, a single 
 moment and his corse may be added to the heaps 
 of dead piled along the lawn in all the ghastliness 
 of death, another moment and the Continentale 
 may be without a leader, the British without 
 their most determined foe. 
 
 His form is enrapt in mist, he is lost to sight, 
 he again emerges into light, he passes the houses 
 and sweeps away toward the Continental army. 
 
 He passes the house, and as be speeds onward 
 toward the American lines, a proud gleam lights 
 up his eye, and a prouder smjile wreaths his de- 
 termined lips. "The American army is yet safe, 
 they are in the path to victory" — 'he exclaims, as 
 he rejoins the officers of his staff, within the 
 American lines — "Had I but intelligence of Arms- 
 strong in the West — ^of Smallwood and Forman 
 in the East, with one bold effort, we might carry 
 the field !" 
 
 But no intelligeuce of Smalhvood or Forman 
 came — Armstrong's movements were all unknown 
 — Stephens, who flanked the right wing of Greene, 
 was not heard from, nor could any one give in- 
 formation concerning his position. 
 
 And as the battle draws to a crisis around Chew's 
 House, as the British and Americans are disputing 
 the possession of the lawn now flooded with blood, 
 
 let me for a moment turn aside from the path of 
 regular history, and notice some of the legends 
 of the battle field, brought down to our times by 
 the hoary survivors of the Revolution. 
 
 The Unknown Form. 
 
 And while the b:itl.le swelled ficcest, while the 
 armies traversed that green lawn in the hurry of 
 contest, along the blood-stained sward, with calm 
 manner and even step, strode an unknown form, 
 passing unfeariogly over the field, passing amid 
 smoke and mist and gloom, while the wounded 
 fell shrieking at his feet, and the faces of the dead 
 met his gaze on every side. 
 
 It was the form of an aged man, with grey hairs 
 streaming over his shoulders, an aged man with 
 a mild yet fearless countenance, with a tall and 
 impressive figure, clad neither in the glaring dress 
 of the Britisher, or the hunting-shirt of the Conti- 
 nental, but in the plain attire of drab cloth, the 
 simple coat, vest with wide lappels, small clothes 
 and stockings, that mark the believers of the Qua- 
 ker faith. 
 
 He was a Friend. Who he was, or what was 
 his name, whence he came, or whither he went, 
 no one could tell, and tradition still remains si- 
 lent. 
 
 But along that field, he was seen gliding amid 
 the heat and glare of battle. Shrieked the wound- 
 ed soldier for a cup of water, it was his hand that 
 brought it from the well, on the verge of Chew's 
 wall. Extended along the sward, with their 
 ghastly faces trembling with the spasmodic throe 
 of insupportable pain, the dying raised themselves 
 piteously on their trembling hands, and in broken 
 tones asked for relief, or in the wildness of delirium 
 spoke of their far-off homes, whispered a message 
 to their wives or little ones, or besought the bless- 
 ing of their grey-haired sires. 
 
 The Disciple of Jcsns* 
 
 It was the Quaker, the unknown and mysterious 
 Friend who was seen unarmed save with the Faith 
 of God, undefended save by the Armor of Heaven 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWlf . 
 
 19 
 
 kneeling- on the sod, whispering words of comfort i aside, and again came down upon the forms of the 
 to the dying, and pointing with his upUfted hand Britishers like dark night. 
 
 to a home beyond the skies, where battle nor 
 wrong nor death ever came. 
 
 Around Chew's House and over the lawn he 
 sped on his message of mercy. There was fear 
 and terror around him, the earth beneath his mea- 
 sured footsteps trembled, and the air was heavy 
 with death, but he trembled not, nor quailed, nor 
 turned back from his errand of mercy. 
 
 Now seen in the thickest of the fight, the sol- 
 diers rushing on their paths of blood, started back 
 as they beheld his mild and peaceful figure. Some 
 deemed him a thing of air, some more superstitious, 
 thought they beheld a spirit, not one offered to 
 molest or harm the Messenger of Peace. 
 
 It was a sight worth all the ages of controversial 
 Divinity to see, this plain Quaker going forth with 
 the faith of that Saviour, whose name has ever 
 been most foully blasphemed by those who called 
 themselves his friends, going forth with the faith 
 of Jesus in his heart, speaking comfort to the dy- 
 ing, binding up the gashes of the wounded, or yet 
 again striding boldly into the fight and rescuing 
 with his own unarmed hands the prostrate soldier 
 from the attack of his conquering foe. 
 Honor to tiie Disciple. 
 Blessings on his name, the humble Quaker, for 
 this deed which sanctifies humanity, and makes 
 us dream of men of mortal mould raised up to the 
 majesty of Gods. His name is not written down, 
 his history is all unknown, but when the broad 
 books of the unknown world are bared to the eyes 
 of a congregated universe, then will that nanie 
 shine brighter and lighten up with a holier gleam 
 than the name Qf any Controversial Divine or 
 loud-mouthed hireling that ever disgraced Chris- 
 tianity or blasphemed the name of Jesus. 
 
 The Scene "Withiii Chew's House. 
 Within Chew's House this was the scene : 
 Every room crowded with soldiers in their 
 glaring crimson attire, the old hall thronged by 
 armed men, all stained with blood and begrimed 
 with battle smoke, the stair-way trembling beneath 
 the tread of soldiers bearing ammunition to the 
 upper rooms, while every board of the floor, every 
 step of the stair-case bore its ghastly burden of 
 dying and dead, the air was pestilent with the 
 smell of powder, the walls trembled beneath the 
 shock of battle, and thick volumes of smoke rolling 
 from the lower rooms, wound through the doors, 
 into the old hall, and up the stairway, enveloping 
 
 all objects in a pall of gloom, that now shifted | another. 
 
 Let us ascend the stairway. Tread carefully, 
 or your foot will trample on the face of that dead 
 soldier; ascend the staircase with a cautious step, 
 or you will lose your way in the battie smoke. 
 
 The house trembles to its foundation, one vol- 
 ley of musquetry after another breaks on your 
 ear, and all around is noise and confusion; noth- 
 ing seen but armed men hurrying to and fro, 
 nothing heard but the thunder of the fight. 
 
 We gain the top of the stairway — we have 
 mounted over the piles of dead — we pass along 
 the entry — we enter the room on the right, facing 
 toward the lawn. 
 
 A scene of startling interest opens to our sight. 
 At each window are arranged files of men, who, 
 with faces all blood stained and begrimed, are 
 sending their musquet shots along the lawn ; at 
 each window the floor is stained with a pool ot 
 blood, and the bodies of the dead are dragged 
 away by the strong hands of their comrades, who 
 fill their places almost as soon as they receive 
 their death wound. The walls are rent by cannon 
 balls, and torn by bullets, and the very air seems 
 ringing with the carnival shouts of old Death, re- 
 joicing in the midst of demons. 
 
 The Drop from the Ceiling. 
 
 Near a window in this room clustered a gallant 
 band of British officers, who gave the word to the 
 men, directed the dead to be taken from the floor, 
 or gazed out upon the lawn in the endeavor to 
 pierce the gloom of the contest. 
 
 Some were young and handsome officers, others 
 were veterans who had mowed their way through 
 many a fight, and all were begrimed with the 
 blood and smoke of battle. Their gaudy coats were 
 rent, the epaulette was torn from one shoulder by 
 the bullet, the plume from the helm of another 
 and a third fell in his comrades' arms, as he re- 
 ceived the ball in his heart. 
 
 While they stood gazing from the window, a 
 singular incident occurred. 
 
 A young officer, standing in the midst of his 
 comrades, felt something drop from the ceiling, 
 and trickle down his cheek. 
 
 The fight was fierce and bloody in the attic 
 overhead. They could hear the cannon balls tear- 
 ing shingles from the roof — they could hear the 
 low, deep groans of the dying. 
 
 Another drop fell from the ceiling — another and 
 
eo 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OP GERMANTOWIf. 
 
 •' It is blood !" cried his comrades, and a laugh 
 went round the group. 
 
 Is it Ijloocll 
 
 Drop after drop fell from the celing ; and in a 
 moment a thin liquid stream came trickling down, 
 and paltered upon the blood-stained floor. 
 
 The young officer reached forth his hand, he 
 held it extended beni^th the falling stream : he 
 Applied it to his lips. 
 
 "Not blood, but wine!" he shouted. "Good 
 old Madeira wine !" 
 
 The group gathered round tiie young officer in 
 wonder. It was wine — good old wine — that was 
 dripping from the ceiling. In a few moments the 
 young officer, rushing through the gloom and con- 
 fusion of the stairway, had ransacked the attic, 
 and discovered under the eaves of the roof, between 
 the rafters and the floor, some three dozen bottles 
 of old Madeira wine, placed there for safe-keeping 
 some score of years before the battle. These bot- 
 tles were soon drawn from their resting-place, and 
 the eyes of the group in the room below were pre- 
 sently astonished by the vision of the ancient bot- 
 tles, all hung with cobwebs, arid with the sealed 
 corks covered with du?t. 
 
 In a moment the necks were struck off" some 
 half-dozen bottles, and while the fire poured from 
 the window along the lawn, while cries, and 
 shrieks, and groans, broke on the air; while the 
 smoke came rolling in the window, nov/ in folds 
 of midnight blackness, and now turned to lurjd 
 red by the glare of cannon; while the terror and 
 gloom of battle arose around them, the group of 
 officers poured the wine in an ancient goblet, dis- 
 covered in a closet of the mansion, — they filled it 
 brimming full with wine, and drank a royal health 
 to the good King George ! 
 
 The Delbaucli of Deatb. 
 
 They drank and drank again, until their eyes 
 sparkled, and their lips grew wild with loyal 
 words, and their thirst tor blood-^-the blood of the 
 rebels — was ej^cited to madness. Again and again 
 were the soldiers shot down at the window, again 
 were their places filled, and again and again the 
 goblet went round from lip to lip, and ihe old 
 wine was poured forth like water, in healths to 
 the good King George I 
 
 And as they drank, one by one, the soldiers 
 were swept away from the windows, until at the 
 last the officers stood exposed to the blaze of the 
 American fire, flashing from the green lawn. 
 
 "Health to King George — Death to the rebels!" 
 
 The shout arose from the lips of a grey -haired 
 veteran, and he fell to the floor, a mangled corse. 
 The arm that raised the goblet was shattered at 
 the elbow by one musket ball, as another penetrat. 
 ed his brain, 
 
 The goblet was seized by another hand, and the 
 revel grew loud and wild. The sparkling wine 
 was poured forth like water, healths were drank, 
 hurrahs were shouted, and — another officer mea- 
 sured his length on the floor. He had received 
 his ball of death. 
 
 There was something of ludicrous horror in the 
 scene. 
 
 Those sounds of revel and bacchanalian uproar, 
 breaking on the air, amid the intervals — the short 
 and terrible intervals of battle— .those faces flushed 
 by wine, and agitated by all the madness of the 
 moment, turned from one side to another, each lip 
 wearing a ghastly smile, each eye glaring from its 
 socket, while each voice echoed the drunken shout 
 and the fierce hurrah. 
 
 Another officer fell wounded, and another, and 
 yet another. The young officer who had first dis, 
 covered the wme alone remained. 
 
 He glanced round upon his wounded and dying 
 comrades, he looked vacantly in the faces of the 
 dead, he gazed around upon the terror and contu* 
 sion of the scene, and then he seized the goblet, 
 filled it brimming-full with wine, and raised it to 
 his lips. 
 
 His lip touched the edge of the goblet, his face 
 was reflected in tiie quivering wavelets of the 
 Vt'ine, his eyes rolled Vi^ildly to and fro, and then 
 a musket shot pealed through the window. The 
 officer glared around with a terrible glance, and 
 then the warm blood, spouting from the wound 
 between his eyebrows, fell drop by drop into the 
 goblet, and mingled with the wavelets of the ruby 
 wine. 
 
 And then there was a wild shout, and a heavy 
 
 body toppled to the floor; and so ended the de- 
 
 bauch of death. 
 
 Tlie ]>Iovemeuts of Smallveood) Formanj 
 and. Armstrong* 
 
 Let us for a moment notice the movements of 
 the divisions of Washington's army, and then rcr 
 turn to the principal battle ground at Chew's 
 house. 
 
 The movements of the divisions of Smallwood 
 and Forman are, to this day, enveloped in mys- 
 tery. They came in view of the enemy, but the 
 density of the mist prevented them from effectual- 
 ly engaging with the British. 
 
tHB BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWIV. 
 
 21 
 
 Armstrong came marching down the Mana- 
 tawny road, until the quiet VVissahikon dawn- 
 ed in the eyes of his men ; but after this mo- 
 ment, his march is also enwrapt in mystery. — 
 Sume reports say that he actually engaged with 
 the Hessian division of the enemy, others state 
 that the alarm of the Americans retreating from 
 Chew's house reached his ear, as the vanguard of 
 his command entered Germantown, near the mar- 
 ket-house, and commenced firing upon the chas- 
 seurs who flanked the left wing of the British 
 army. 
 
 However this may be, yet tradition has brought 
 down to our times a terrible legend connected with 
 the retreat of Armstrong's division. The theatre 
 of this legend was the quiet VVissahikon, and this 
 is the story of ancient tradition. 
 
 Tlie Wissaliilcon. 
 
 It is a poem of everlasting beauty and a dream 
 «f magnificence — the world-hidden, wood-embow- 
 ered Wissahikon. Its pure waters break forever 
 in ripples of silver around the base of colossal 
 rocks, or sweep murmuringly on, over beds of peb- 
 bled flints, or spread into calm and mirror-Iike 
 lakes, with^hores of verdure, surmounted by green. 
 hills, rolling away in waves of forest trees, or 
 spreading quietly in the fierce light of the summer 
 sun, with the tired cattle grouped beneath the lofty 
 eaks. 
 
 It is a poem of beauty — where the breeze 
 mourns its requiem through the tall pines; where 
 the silver waters send up their voices of joy; where 
 calmness, and quiet, and intense solitude awe the 
 soul, and fill the heart with bright thoughts and 
 golden dreams, woven in the luxury of the sum- 
 mer hour. 
 
 From the moment your eyes first drink in the 
 gladness of its waters, as they pour into the 
 Schuylkill, seven miles from Philadelphia, until 
 yeu behold it winding its thread of silver along 
 the meadows of Whitemarsh, many miles above, 
 it is all beauty, all dream, all magnificence. 
 
 It breaks on your eye, pouring into the Schuyl- 
 kill, a calm lake, with an ancient and picturesque 
 mill* in the foreground; a calm lake, buried in the 
 depths of towering steeps, that rise almost perpen- 
 dicularly on either side, casting a shadow of gloom 
 over the water, while each steep is green with 
 brushwood, each rocky cleft magnificent with the 
 towering oak, the sombre pine, or the leafy ches- 
 nut. 
 
 * Formerly Vanduring's, now Robinson's mill. 
 
 This glen is passed; then come quiet hilly shores, 
 sloping away to the south in pleasant undulations, 
 while on the north arise frowning steeps, and then 
 your mind is awed by tremendous hills on either 
 side, creating one immense solitude; rugged steeps 
 — all precipice and perpendicular rock — covered 
 and crowded with giant pines, and then come calm 
 and rippleless lakes, shadowy glens, deep ravines 
 and twilight dells of strange and dreamy beauty. 
 
 Tliere is, in sooth, a stamp of strange and dreamy 
 beauty impressed upon every ripple of the Wissa- 
 hikon, every grassy bank extending greenly along 
 its waters, on every forest-tree towering beside its 
 shores. 
 
 On the calm summer's day, when the sun is de- 
 clining in the broad west, you may look from the 
 heightof some grey, rugged steep, down upon the 
 depths of the world-hidden waters. Wild legends 
 wander across your fancy as you gaze; every scene 
 around you seems but the fitting location for a wild 
 and dreamy tradition, every rock bears its old time 
 story, every nook of the wild wood has its tale of 
 the ancient days. The waters, deep, calm, and 
 well-like, buried amidst overhanging hills, have a 
 a strange and mysterious clearness. The long 
 shadows of the hills, broken by golden belts of 
 sunshine, clothe the waters in sable and gold, in 
 glitter and in shadow. All around is quiet and 
 stili; silence seems to have assumed a positive ex- 
 istence amid these vallies of romance and of 
 dreams. 
 
 Tlie liouely Hoiise of the Wissabikon* 
 
 It was along the borders of this quiet stream, 
 that an ancient fabric arose, towering through the 
 verdure of the trees, with its tottering chimneys 
 enveloped in folds of mist. The walls were severed 
 by many a fissure, the windows were crumbling 
 to decay, and the halls of the ancient mansion 
 were silent as the tomb. 
 
 It was wearing toward noon, when a body of 
 soldiers, wearing the blue hunting-shirt and fur 
 cap with bucktail plume, came rushing from the 
 woods on the opposite side of the rivulet, came 
 rushing through the waters of the lovely stream, 
 and hurried with hasty steps toward the deserted 
 house. 
 
 In a moment they had entered its tottering 
 doorway, and disappeared within its aged walls. 
 Another instant, and a body of soldiers broke from 
 the woods on the opposite side of the stream, clad 
 in the Hessian costume, with ponderous bearskin 
 caps, heavy accoutrements, and massive muskets. 
 
 They crossed the stream, and rushed into the 
 
2^ 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWJf» 
 
 house in pursuit of the flying continentals. They 
 searched the rooms on tlie first floor; they hurried 
 
 Another moment! And along that green wood 
 rang a feariul sound, louder and more terrible than 
 
 along the tottering timbers, but not a single Conti- thunder, shaking the very earth with an earth 
 
 nental was to be seen. They rushed up the crumbl- 
 ing stairway with loud shouts and bois-terous oaths, 
 and reached the rooms of the second story. Every 
 door was flung hastily aside, every closet was bro- 
 ken open, the boards were oven torn from the 
 floor, every nook was searched, every corner ran- 
 sacked, and yet no vision of a blue shifted back- 
 woodsman, met the eye of the eager Hessians. All 
 was silent as death. Their own footfalls were re- 
 turned in a thousand echoes, their own shouts 
 alone disturbed the silence of the bouse, but no 
 sound nor sight, could be obtained of the fleeing 
 Continentals. Every room was now searched, 
 save the garret, and the Hessians, some twenty 
 men, able bodied and sloui, were about rushing 
 up the stairway of the attic in pursuit of the ten 
 Continental soldiers, when the attention of one of 
 their number was arrested by a singular specta- 
 cle. The Hessian soldier beheld through a 
 crumbling window frame, the figure of a woman, 
 standing on the height of an abrupt steep, over- 
 hanging the opposite side of the stream. She 
 waved her hands to the soldier, siiouted and wiiv- 
 ed her hands again. He heeded her not, but rush- 
 ed up the stairway after his companions. 
 
 The shout of that unknown woman was the 
 warning of death. 
 
 While the Hessians were busily engaged in 
 searching the attic, while their shouts and execra- 
 tions awoke the echoes of the roof, while they 
 were thrusting sword and bayonet into the dark 
 corners of the apartment, that shout of the woman 
 on the rock arose, echoing over the stream again 
 .^nd again. 
 
 The Hessians rushed to the window, they sud- 
 denly remembered that they had neglected to 
 jsearch the cellar, and looking far below, they be- 
 ixeld thin wreaths of light blue smoke, Vt^inding 
 jupward from the cellar window. 
 
 A fearful suspicion crept over the minds of the 
 soldiers. 
 
 Thay rushed from the attic, in a moment they 
 might reach the lower floor and escape. With 
 that feeling of strange terror creeping round each 
 heart and paling every face they rushed tremblingly 
 jon, they gained the second floor, their footsteps al- 
 ready resounded along the stairway when the floor 
 trembled beneath their feet, a horrid combination 
 .of sounds assailed their ears, and the walls rocked 
 to and fro like a drunken bacchanal. 
 
 quake motion, while the fragments of the ancient 
 fabric arose blackening into the heavens, mingled 
 with human bodies, torn and scattered into innu- 
 merable pieces, and the air was filled with a dense 
 smoke, that hung over the forest, in one thick and 
 blackening pall. 
 
 In a few moments the scene was clear, but the 
 ancient house had disappeared as if by magic, 
 while the shouts of the Continental soldiers were 
 heard in the woods far beyond the scene. 
 
 The house had been used by the British as a 
 temporary depot of powder. When the American 
 Continentals rushed into the cellar, they beheld 
 the kegs standing in one corner, they piled up 
 combustible matter in its vicinity and then made 
 their escape from the house by a subterranean 
 passage known only to themselves. They emerg- 
 ed into open air some hundred yards beyond, and 
 beheld the result of this signal vengeance on their 
 
 foes. 
 
 The Crisis of the Fight, 
 
 Again we return to the field of Chew's House. 
 
 Washington determined to make offe last and 
 desperate effort. The Corps de Reserve under 
 Stirling, and Maxwell, and Nash, came thunder- 
 ing along the field; each swQrd unsheathed, every 
 bayonet firm; every man eagfcr and ready for the 
 encounter. 
 
 It was now near 9 o'clock in the morning. — 
 The enemy still retained Chew's House. The di- 
 vision under Greene, the main body commanded 
 by Wayne, by Sullivan and Conway, composed 
 the American force engaged in actual contest. — 
 To this force was now added the Corps de Reserve, 
 under Lord Stirling, Generals Maxwell and Nash. 
 
 The British force, under command of General 
 Howe, who had arrived on the field soon after the 
 onslaught at Chew's House, were led to battle by 
 Kniphausen, Agnew, Grant and Grey, who now 
 rode from troop to troop, from rank to rank, hur- 
 rying the men around toward the main point of 
 the fight. 
 
 There was a pause in the horror of the battle. 
 
 The Americans rested on their arms, the troop- 
 ers reined in their steeds in sight of Chew's House, 
 and amid the bodies of the dead. The Conti- 
 nental ranks were terribly thinned by the desola- 
 ting fire from the house, every file was diminished, 
 and in some instances, whole companies were 
 swept away. The British were fresh in vigor. 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMA^TOWN. 
 
 23 
 
 and ably armed and equipped. They impatiently ' 
 rushed forward, eager to steep their arms elbow 
 deep in American blood. 
 
 And amid the folds of mist and battle-smoke, 
 while the whole field resembled some fearful phan- 
 tasmagoria of fancy, with its shadowy figures flit- 
 ting to and fro, while the echo of the cannon, the 
 rattle of the musketry, and the shrieks of the 
 wounded yet rung on the soldiers' ears, they eager- 
 ly awaited the signal for the re-commencement of 
 the fight. 
 
 ^Tbe Signal of tile last Fight* 
 
 The signal rang along the lines ! In an instant 
 the cannons opened their fire on Chew's house, the 
 troopers came thundering on in their hurricane 
 charge, and all around were charging legions, arm- 
 ed bodies of men hurrying toward the house, heaps 
 of the wounded strown over the sod; while that 
 terrible cry which had for three long hours gone 
 shrieking up to heaven from that lawn, now rose 
 above the tumult of battle — the quick, piercing cry 
 of the strong man, smitten suddenly down by his 
 death-wound. 
 
 The American soldiers fought like men who 
 fight for everything that man needs for sustenance, 
 or holds dear in honor, or sacred in religion. Step 
 by step the veteran continentals drove the British- 
 ers over the field, trampling over the faces of their 
 dead comrades in the very action; step by step 
 were they driven back in their turn, musquets 
 were clubbed in the madness of the strife, and the 
 cry for " quarter," fell on deafened ears. 
 
 Then it was that the chieftains of the American 
 host displayed aots of preternatural daring and 
 superhuman courage ! 
 
 Tlie ■Warrior-Drover. 
 
 In the thickest of the fight, where swords flash- 
 ed most fiercely, where death-groans shrieked most 
 terribly*upon the air, where the steeds of contend;, 
 ing squadrons rushed madly against each other in 
 the wild encounter of the charge, there might you 
 see mad Anthony Wayne : his imposing form tow- 
 ering over the heads of the combatants, his eye 
 blazing with excitement, and his sword, all red 
 with blood, rising and falling like a mighty ham- 
 mer in the hands of a giant blacksmith. 
 
 How gallantly the warrior-drover rides ! How 
 keen is the glance of his eye, how unfearing the 
 waving of his sword, as foe after foe fall shrieking 
 from their steeds ! On and on, without fear, with- 
 out a thought save his country's honor and the 
 vengeance of Paoli — on and on be rides, and as' 
 
 he speeds, his shout rings out clear and lustily 
 upon the air — 
 
 "On, comrades, on — and Remtmber Paoli ."' 
 
 ^'■ForwarU, hriidcrn, forioarts .'" 
 
 Ha! The gallant Pulaski ! How like a king he 
 rides at the head of his unfearing band, how firm" 
 ly he sits in his stirrups, how gallantly he beckons 
 his men onward, how like a sunbeam playing on 
 glittering ice, his sword flits to and fro, along the 
 darkened air I 
 
 Like one solid battle-bolt, his gallant band speed 
 onward, carrying terror and confusion into the 
 very centre of Kniphausen's columns, leaving a 
 line of ghastly dead in their rear, and driving the 
 discomfilted Hessians before them, while the well-* 
 known battle-shout of Pulaski halloos these war- 
 hounds on to the slaughter. 
 
 " Forwarts — brudern — forwarts !" 
 
 And there he rides, known to all the men as 
 their commander, seen by every eye in the inter- 
 vals of the battle-smoke, hailed by a thousand 
 voices; in wild excitement and in terrible anxiety 
 he rides, cheering the soldiers with his deep-toned 
 voice, v/hile his eye is fixed upon the varied aspects 
 of the fight. 
 
 A calm and mild-faced man, leading on a column 
 of Continentals rides up to his side, and is pushing 
 forward into the terror of the mist-hidden mellay 
 when the voice of Washington rings in his ear— rr 
 
 "Greene — why is Stephens not here ? Why 
 does he delay his division ?" 
 
 "General, we have no intelligence of his move- 
 ments. He has not yet appeared upon the field — '*' 
 
 Washington's lip quivered. A thousand worlds 
 seemed pent up in his heart, and for once in 
 his entire life, his agitation was visible and appa- 
 rent. 
 
 He raised his clenched hand on high and as Na- 
 poleon cursed Grouchy at Waterloo, in after times, 
 so Washington at Germantown cursed Stephens, 
 from his very heart of heartrs. The glittering game 
 of battle was being played around him. Stephens 
 alone was wanting to strike terror into the ranks 
 of the enemy around Chew's House, the crisis had 
 come and — Stephens was not there, one of the 
 most important divisions of the army was useless. 
 
 And now the gallant Stirling, the brave Nash,, 
 and the laurelled Maxwell, came riding on, at the 
 hcatl of the corps de reserve, every man with his 
 sword and bayonet, yet unstained with blood, ea- 
 ger to join the current of the fight. 
 
 Nash — the brave General of the North Carolina 
 
fu 
 
 THE BATTLE-t>AV OP GERMANtOWltf. 
 
 Division, was rushing into the midst of the rncllay 
 with his men, leading them on to deeds of courage 
 and renown, when he received his death wound 
 and fell insensible in the arms of one of his aids- 
 dC'Camp. 
 
 The Shroud of Death, again. 
 
 The mist gathering thicker and denser over the 
 battle field, caused a terrible mistake on the part 
 of the American divisions. They charged against 
 their own friends, shot down their own comrades, 
 and even bayonetted the very soldiers who had 
 shared their mess^ ere they discovered the fatal 
 mistake. The mist and baltle-smoke rendered all 
 objects dim and indistinct — =the event of this bat- 
 tle will show, that it was no vain fancy of the 
 author, which induced him to name this mist of 
 Germantown — the Shroud of Death. It proved a 
 shroud of death, in good sooth, for hundreds 
 who laid down their lives on the sod of the battle 
 field. 
 
 The gallant Colonel Matthews, at the head of a 
 Virginia regiment, penetrated into the centre ol 
 the town, driving the British before him at plea- 
 sure, and after this glorious effort, he was return- 
 ing to the American lines with some 300 prison- 
 ers, when he encountered a body of troops in the 
 mist, whom he supposed to be Continentals. He 
 rode unfearingly into their midst, and found him* 
 self a prisoner in the heart of the British army! 
 The mist had foiled his gallant effort, himself 
 and his men were captives to the fortune of v/ar, 
 and his prisoners were recaptured. 
 
 That Terrible Word. 
 
 Now it was that Washington beheld his soldiers 
 shrink and give way on every side! On every hand 
 they began to waver, from line to line, from co- 
 lumn to column ran terrible rumors of the ap- 
 proach ofCornwallis, with a reinforcement of Grc- 
 nadiers, and the American soldiers were struck 
 with despair. 
 
 They had fought while there was hope, they 
 had paved their way to victory with heaps of 
 ghastly dead, they had fought against superior 
 discipline, superior force, superior fortune, but the 
 fearful mist, that overhung the battle field, blast- 
 ed all their hopes, and along the American co- 
 lumns rang one fearful word, that struck like a 
 knell of death on the heart of Washington — " le. 
 treat" — " retreat !" 
 
 Washiugtou veils liis Face in his Hands* 
 
 It was all in vain that the American chiefiain 
 threw himself in the way of the retreating ranks 
 and besought them to stand firm — for the sake of 
 their honor, for the sake of their country, for the 
 sake of their God. 
 
 It was all in vain! In vain was it that Pulaski 
 threw his troopers in the path chosen by the fugi- 
 tives; in vain did he wave his sword on high, and 
 beseech them in his broken dialect, with a flushed 
 cheek and a maddening eye, implore thi m, to turn 
 and face the well-nigh conquered foe! It was in 
 vain! 
 
 In vain did Mad Anthony Wayne, the hero of 
 Pennsylvania, ride from rank to rank, and with 
 his towering form raised to its full height, hold 
 his hand aloft, and in the familiar tones of bro-' 
 therly intimacy, beckon the soldiers once again 
 to the field of battle. 
 
 All was in vain! 
 
 And while Chew's house still belched forth its 
 fires of death, while all through Germantown were 
 marching men, hot-foot from Philadelphia, while 
 over the fatal lawn rushed hurried bands of the 
 Continentals, seeking for theii comrades among 
 the dead, Washington gazed to the north and be- 
 held the columns of Continentals, their array all 
 thinned and scattered, their numbers diminished, 
 taking their way along the [northern road, calmly 
 it is true, and in remarkable order, but stilt in> the 
 order of a retreat, though the enemy showed no 
 disposition to annoy or pursue them. 
 
 And while his heart swelled to bursting, and 
 his lip was pressed between his teeth in anguish, 
 Washington bowed his head to the mane of his 
 gallant "grej" and veiled his face in his hands, and 
 then his muscular chest throbbed as though a 
 mighty tempest were pent up within its confines. 
 
 In a moment he raised his face. All was calm 
 and immoveable, all traces of emotion had passed 
 away from the stern and commanding features, hke 
 the waves rolling from the rock. 
 
 He whispered a few brief words to his aids-de- 
 camp, and then raising his form proudly in the 
 stirrups, he rode along the Continental columns^ 
 while with a confused and half-suppressed murmur- 
 ing sound, the Retreat op Germantown com-*' 
 menced. 
 
I^atrt tljr JFiftlv. 
 
 THE LAST SHOT OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 Iiook foriJi upon the scene of fij^ht, Gonzales." 
 
 " The moon is up in llie heavens— lier beams glimmer on the cold faces of the dead. Over dead carcase ami 
 over fallen hanner, in the midst of the lawn, arises one fell and ghastly form, towering in the moonbeams '• 
 
 "The form, Gonzales ?" 
 
 " It is the form of Doath, brooding and clmckling over the carnage of the field ; he shakes his arms of bone aloft, 
 his skeleton hands wave in the moonlight, he holds high festival over the bodies of the dead. " 
 
 How Goes the Fight 1 
 
 A pause in the din of battle I 
 
 Ttie denizens of Mount Airy and Chesnut Hill 
 came crowding to their doors and windows, the 
 hilly streets were occupied by anxious groups of 
 people, who conversed in low and whispered tones, 
 with hurried gestures and looks of surprise and 
 fear. Yonder group who stand clustered in tiie 
 roadside ! 
 
 A grey-haired man with his car inclined intent- 
 ly toward Germantown, his hands outspread, and 
 his trembling form bent with age. The maiden, 
 fair-cheeked, red-lipped, and blooming, clad in the 
 peasant-costume, the tight boddice, the linsey 
 skirt, the light 'kerchief thrown over the bosom. 
 Her ear is also inclined toward Germantown, and 
 her small hands are involuntarily crossed over her 
 bosom that heaves and throbs into view. 
 
 The matron, calm, self-possessed, and placid, 
 little children clinging to the skirt of her dress, 
 her wifely cap flung carelessly on her head, with 
 hair slightly touched with grey, while the sleeping 
 babe nestles in her bosom. I 
 
 The boy, with tiie light flaxen hair, the ruddy 
 cheeks, llic merry blue eye! He stands silent 
 and motionless — he also listens ! 
 
 You stand upon the height of Mount Airy, 
 it is wearing towards noon, yet gaze around 
 you. 
 
 Above the mist is rising. Here and there an 
 occasional sun-gleam lights the rolling clouds of 
 mist, but the atmosphere wears a dull leaden hue, 
 and the vast hori^on u look of solemnity and 
 gloom. 
 
 Beneath and around sweep field and plain, buck- 
 wheat field, and sombre woods, luxuriant orchards 
 and fertile vallics, all seen in the intervals of the 
 white columns of the uprising mist. 
 
 The group clustered along the roadside of Mount 
 Airy arc still and silent. Each heart is full, 
 every ear absorbed in the cflurt ui culcJnng the 
 blighlest sound from Germualov^n. 
 Tlic Stiaiisc Sileuce iu the Midst of Battle. 
 
 There IS a strange silence upon tiie air. A 
 moment ago and Ikr-off shouts broke on the ear, 
 mingled with the thunder of cannon and the 
 4 
 
 shrieks of musquelry, the earth seemed to tremble, 
 and far around the wide horizon was agitated by a 
 thousand echoes. 
 
 Now the scene is still as midnight. Not a 
 sound, not a shout, not a distant hurrahs The 
 anxiety of the group upon the hill becomes absorb- 
 ing and painful. Looks of wonder at the sudden 
 pause in the battle flit from face to face, and then 
 low whispers are heard, and then comes another 
 moment of fearful suspense. 
 
 It is followed by a wild rushing sound to the 
 south, like the shrieks of the oce.-.n waves, as they 
 fill the hold of the foundering ship, while it sinks 
 far in the loneliness of the seas. 
 
 Then a pause, and again that unknown sound, 
 and then the tramp of ten thousand footsteps 
 mingled with a wild and indistinct murmur.— 
 Tramp, Iranip, tramp, the air is filled with the 
 sound, and then distinct voices break upon the 
 air, and the clatter is borne on the breeze. 
 Tiic Soldiei' aiicl His Burden- 
 The boy turns to his mother, and asks her who 
 has gained the day? Every heart feels vividly 
 that the battle is now over, that the account of 
 blood is near its close, that the at)peal to the God 
 of battles has been made. 
 
 The mother turns her tearful eyes to the south 
 — she cannot answer the question. The old man, 
 awaking from a reverie, turns suddenly to the 
 maiden, and clasps her arm witli his trembling 
 hands. His lips move, but his tongue is'unable to 
 syllable a sound. His suspense is fearful. He 
 flin.-Ts a trembling hand southward, and speaks his 
 question with the gesture of age. 
 
 The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 
 And as he makes the gct-turc, the figure of a 
 soldier is seen rushing from the mist in the valley 
 below, he comes speeding round the bend of the 
 road, he ascends the hill, but his steps totter, 
 and he staggers to and fro like a drunken man. 
 
 He bears a burden on his shoulders- — is it the 
 pluniler of the fighl, is it spoil gathered from the 
 ranks of the dead ? 
 
 No — no. He bears an aged man on his shoul- 
 ders, he grasps the aged form with his trembling- 
 arms, and with an unsteady step ncars the group 
 on the hill-top. 
 
26 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF (3ERMANT0WN. 
 
 The old man's grey hairs are waving in the 
 oreeze, and his extended hand grasps a broken 
 bayonet, which he raises on high with a maniac 
 gesture. 
 
 The soldier and the veteran he bears upon his 
 shoulders, are clad in the blue hunting shirt, torn 
 and tattered and stained with blood, it is true, but 
 still you can recognize the uniform of the Revolu- 
 tion. 
 
 The tottering soldier nenrs the group, he lays 
 the aged veteran down by the roadside, and then 
 looks around with a ghastly face and a rolhng eye. 
 There is blood dripping from his attire, his face is 
 begrimed with powder, and spotted with crimson 
 drops. He glances wildly around, and then kneel- 
 ing on the sod he takes tlie hands of the aged man 
 in his own, and raises his head upon his knee. 
 
 The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 
 
 The group cluster round as they shriek the 
 question. 
 
 The young Continental makes no reply, but 
 gazing upon the face of the dying veteran, wipes 
 the beaded drops of blood from his forehead. 
 " Wii>c tlic blood from my eycsj cojin*atle» " 
 
 "Comrade," shrieks the veteran, "raise tne (jn 
 my feet, and wipe the blood from my eyes. 1 
 would see him once again !" 
 
 He is raised upon his feet, the blood is wiped 
 from his eyes. 
 
 " I see — I see — it is he — it is Washington ! 
 Yonder — yonder — I see his sword — and Antony 
 Wayne, — raise me higher, comrade, — all is getting 
 dark — I would see — Mad Antony !" 
 
 Did you ever see a picture that made your heart 
 throb and your eyes grow blind with tears ? 
 
 Here is one. 
 
 The roadside, the group clustered in front of 
 Allen's House, which rises massive and solemn in 
 the background. The young soldier, all weak and 
 trembling from loss of blood, raising the grey-hair- 
 ed veteran in his arms, placing his face toward 
 Germantown, while the wrinkled features light up 
 with a sudden gleam, and waving his broken bayo- 
 net before his eyes, he looks toward the sence of 
 the late fight. 
 
 The bystanders, spectators of this scene. The 
 matron gazing anxiously upon the old man's face, 
 her eyes swimming in tears, the ruddy-cheeked boy 
 holding one hand of the dying veteran, the youth- 
 ful maiden, all blossom and innocence, standing 
 slightly apart, with the ancient man in peasant's 
 ultire, gazing vacantly around as he grasps her 
 arm. 
 
 " Lift me, comrade — higher, higher — I see him 
 I see Mad An«ony ! Wipe the blood from my 
 eyes, comrade, for it darkens my sight— rit is dark, 
 it is dark I" 
 
 And the young soldier held in his arms a life- 
 less corse. The old veteran was dead. He had 
 fought his last fight, fired his last shot, shouted 
 the name of Mad Antony for the last time, and 
 yet his withered liand clenched, with the tightness 
 of death, tlie broken bayonet. 
 
 The battle, the battle, how goes the battle ? 
 
 As the thrilhng question again rung in his ears 
 the young Continental turned to the group, smiled 
 ghaslily and then flung his wounded arm to the 
 south. 
 
 " Lost /" he shrieked, and rushed on his way 
 like one bereft of his senses. He had not gone 
 ten steps, when he bit the dust of the roadside, and 
 lay extended in the face of day a lifeless corse. 
 
 The eyes of the group were now fixed upon the 
 valley below. 
 
 TIic Terror of tlic Retreat. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, echoed the sound of hoofs, and 
 then a steed, ca[)arisoned in battle array, came 
 sweeping up the hill, with his wounded rider 
 hanging helpless and faint by the saddle-bow. — 
 Then came another steed, speeding up the hilU 
 with bloodshot eye and quivering nostril, while 
 his rider fell dying to the earth, shouting his wild 
 hurrah as he fell. 
 
 Then came baggage wagons, then bodies of 
 flying troops in continental attire turned the bend 
 of the road in the valley below, and like a flash the 
 hillside of Mount Airy was all alive with disorder- 
 ed masses of armed men, rushing onward with 
 hurried steps and broken arms. 
 
 Another moment! The whole array of the 
 continental army comes sweeping round the bend 
 of the road, file after file, rank after rank, and now» 
 a column breaks into sight. 
 
 iMonc the whole column, no vision meets the 
 eyes of the group, but the spectacle of broken arms, 
 tarnished array, men v^'caried with toil and thirst» 
 fainting with wounds, and tottering with the loss 
 of blood. 
 
 On and on, along the ascent of the hill they 
 rush, some looking hastily around with their pallid 
 fiCCs stained with blood, some holding their shat- 
 tered arms high over head, others aiding their 
 wounded comrades as they hurry on in the cur- 
 rent of the retreat, while waving in the air, the 
 blue banner of the continental host, with its arrav 
 
TUB BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOW FT 
 
 27 
 
 of thirteen stars, droops heavily Irom the flag- 
 staff, as its torn folds come sweeping into light. 
 
 And from file to file, with a wild movement and 
 a reckless air, rode a tall and muscular soldier clad 
 in the uniform of a general officer, his sword wa- 
 ving aloft and his voice heard above the hurry and 
 confusion of the retreat — 
 
 " Turn, comrades, turn and face the Britisher — 
 turn, and the day is ours !" 
 
 Mad Antony cried in vain ! The panic had gone 
 like a lightning flash through the army, and every 
 man hurried on, without a thought save the 
 thought of retreat, without a motive save the es- 
 cape from the fatal field of Chew's House. 
 
 Pulaski) Siillivanj and Greene 
 
 Then came Pulaski and his veterans, tlicir cos- 
 tumes of white extending along the road, in glaring 
 relief against the background of blue-shirlcd con- 
 tinentals; then came the columns of Sullivan, the 
 division of Greene, and then huddled together in 
 a confused crowd came the disordered bands of 
 the army, who iiad broken their ranks, and were 
 marching beside the baggage wains loaded to the 
 very sides v/ith wounded and dying. 
 
 Tlic Train of Deatli-Cars. 
 
 It was a sad and ghastly spectacle to see that 
 train of death-cars, rolling heavily on, with the 
 carcases of the wounded hanging over their sides, 
 with broken arms and limbs protruding from their 
 confines, with pallid faces upturned to the sky, 
 while amid the hurry and motion of the retreat,, 
 piteous moans, fierce cries, and convulsive death- 
 shrieks broke terribly on the air. 
 
 Yon gallant oSicer leaning from his steed, yon 
 gallant officer, with the bared forehead, the dis- 
 ordered dress, the ruffle spotted with blood, the 
 coat torn by sword thrusts, and dripping with the 
 crimson current flowing from the heart, while an 
 aid-dcrcamp riding by his side supports his faint- 
 ing form on his steed, urging the noble animal 
 for«vard in the path of the retreat. 
 
 It is the brave General Nash. He has fought 
 his last fight, led his gallant North Carolinians on 
 to the field for the last time, his heart is fluttering 
 with the trembling pulsation of death, and his eyes 
 swimnung in the dimness of coming dissolution. 
 
 The Last Look at the Field. 
 
 In the rear, casting fierce glances toward Ger- 
 manlown, rides the tall form of Wasliington, with 
 Pickering and Ilainillon and Marshall cluslcring 
 round their chieftain, while the sound of the re- 
 
 treating legions is heard far in the distance, along 
 the heights of Chesnut Hill. 
 
 Washington reaches the summit of Mount Airy, 
 he beholds his gallant though unfortunate army 
 sweeping far ahead, he reins his steed for a mo- 
 ment on the height of the mount and looks 
 toward the field of Germantown I 
 
 One long look toward the scene of the hard 
 fought fight, one quick and fearful memory of the 
 unburied dead, one half-sraothered exclamation of 
 anguish, and the chieftain's steed springs forward, 
 and thus progresses the retreat of Germantown. 
 
 Germantown Again ! 
 
 In the town the scene is wild and varied. The 
 mist has not yet arisen, the startled inhabitants 
 have not crept from their places of concealment, 
 and through the village ride scattered bands and 
 regiments of the British army. Here a party of 
 gaudily-clad German troopers of Walbeck break 
 on your eye, yonder the solemn and ponderous 
 Hessian in his heavy accoutrements crosses your 
 path, here a company of plaid-kilted Highlanders 
 came marching on, with claymore and bag-pipe, 
 and yonder, far in the distance sweep the troopers 
 of Anspack, in their costume of midnight dark- 
 ness, relieved by ornaments of gold, with the skull 
 and cross-bones engraven on each sable cap. 
 
 Tlie Brave Captain Lee. 
 
 In the centre of the village extended a level 
 piece of ground, surrounded by dwelling houses, 
 stretching from the eastern side of the road, with 
 the market-house, a massive and picturesque struc- 
 ture, arising on one side, while the German Re- 
 formed Church, with its venerable front and stee- 
 ple, arose on the other. 
 
 The gallant Captain Lee, of the'Partizan Ran- 
 gers, had penetrated thus far into the town, in 
 common with many other companies of the army, 
 but soon all others retreated, and he was leftalona 
 in the heart of the British army, while the conti- 
 nentals were retreating over Mount Airy and 
 Chesnut Hill. 
 
 Lee had pursued a Hanoverian troop as far as 
 the market-house, when he suddenly perceived the 
 red-coated soldiers of Cornwallis breaking from 
 the gloom of the mist on the south, while a body 
 of troopers came rushing from the school-house 
 lane on one side, and another corps came thunder- 
 ing from the church lane on the opposite side. 
 
 Lee was surrounded. The sable-coated troopers 
 whom he had been pursuing, now turned on their 
 pursucrs,an(l escape accnicd impossible. The brave 
 
28 
 
 THE CATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWrf 
 
 Partizan turned to his men. Each swarthy face 
 gleamed with delight — each sunburnt hand flung 
 aloft the battle-dented sword. The confusion and 
 havoc of the day had left the Partizan but forty 
 troopers, but every manly form was marked by 
 wide shoulders^ muscular chest, and lofty bearing; 
 and their uniform of green, their caps of fur, with 
 buck-tail plume, gave a striking and effective ap- 
 pearance to the band. 
 
 " Comrades, now for a chase !" shouted Lee, 
 glancing gaily over his men. " Let us give these 
 seare-crow hirelings a chase! Up the Germantown 
 road, advance, boys — forward !" 
 Tlxe Cliasce 
 And as they galloped along the Germantown 
 road, riding gallantly four abreast, in all a war- 
 rior's port and pride, the Hanoverians, novv two 
 hundred strong, came thundering in their rear, 
 each dark-coated trooper leaning over the neck of 
 his steed, with sword upraised, and with fierce 
 battle-shout echoing from lip to lip. 
 
 Only twenty paces lay between the Rangers and 
 their foes. The monotonous sound of the patter- 
 ing hoof, tiie clank of the scabbard against the 
 soldier's booted leg, the deep, hard brealliing of 
 the horses, urged by boot and spur to their utmost 
 speed, the fierce looks of the Hanoverians, tlieir 
 bending figures, their dress of deep black, with re- 
 lief of gold, the ponderous caps, ornamented with 
 ihc fearful insignia of skull and cross-bone, the 
 Rangers sweeping gallantly in front, square, and 
 compact in their solid column, eacli manly form 
 in costume of green and gold, disclosed in the 
 light, in all its muscular ability and imposing pro- 
 portions, as lliey moved forward with the same 
 quick impulse, all combined, form a scene of 
 strange and varying interest, peculiar to those 
 times of Revolutionary peril and bloodshed. 
 
 The chase b>;eame exciting. The advance 
 company of sabic coaled troopers gained on Lee's 
 gallant band at every step, and at every step they 
 left their comrades further in the rear. 
 
 Lee's men spurred their steeds merrily forward 
 ringing their l)oisterous shouts tauntingly upon 
 the air, while their exasperated foes replied with 
 curses and execrations. 
 
 And all along through the streets of German- 
 town lay the scene of tiiis exciting chase, the clat- 
 ter of the horses' hoofs awake the echoes of the an- 
 cient house, bringing the frightened denizens sud- 
 denly to the doors and windows, and the pursuers 
 and pursued began to near the hill of the Mcnno- 
 
 nist grave-yard, while the peril of Lee became 
 more imminent and apparent. The Hanoverians 
 were at the horses' heels of the Rangers — they 
 were gaining upim them at every step; in a mo- 
 ment they would be surrounded and cut to pieces. 
 TIic Crisis* 
 
 Lee glanced over his shoulder. He saw his. 
 danger at a glance ; they were now riding up the 
 hill, the advance company of the enemy were in 
 his rear, the main division were some hundred 
 yards behind. In a moment the quick word of 
 command rung from his lips, and at the instant* 
 as the whole corps attained the summit of the hill, 
 his men wheeled suddenly round, faced the pur- 
 suing enemy, and came thundering upon their 
 ranks like an earlh-riven thunderbolt! 
 
 Another moment! and the discomfitted Hano- 
 verians lay scattered and bleeding along the road- 
 side; here a steed was thrown back upon hia 
 haunches, crushing its rider as it fell ; here was a 
 trooper clinging with the grasp of death to his 
 horse's neck ; yonder reared another horse with- 
 out its rider, and the ground was littered with the 
 overthrown and wounded troopers. 
 The Cliarge. 
 
 They swept over the black-coated troopers like 
 a thunderbolt, and in another instant the gallant 
 Rangers wheeled about, returning in their charge 
 of terror with the fleetness of the wind, each man 
 sabreing an enemy as he rode, and then, with a wild 
 hurrah, they regained the summit of the hill. 
 
 Lee drew his trooper's cap from his head, his 
 men did the same, and then, with their eyes fixed 
 upon the main body of the enemy advancing along 
 the foot of the hill, the gallant Rangers sent up a 
 wild hurrah of triumph, waving their caps above 
 their heads, and brandishing their swords. 
 
 The enemy returned a yell of execration, but 
 ere they reached the summit of the hill, Lee's 
 company were some hundred yards ahead, and all 
 pursuit was vain. The Rangers rode fearlessly 
 forward, and, ere an half-hour was passed, regain- 
 ed the columns of the retreating army. 
 
 Sunset «poii tlic Battlc"fael<l« 
 
 It was sunset upon the field of battle — solemn 
 and quiet sunset. The rich, golden light fell over 
 tiic grassy luwn, over the vcnernbie fabric of 
 Chew's house, and over the trees scattered along 
 the field, turning their autumnal foliage to quiver- 
 ing gold. 
 
 The scene was fidl of liic spirit of desolation, 
 Klccped in deatli, and crimsoned in hlood. The 
 
THE BATTLE DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 29 
 
 green lawn — with the soil turned up by the can- 
 non wheels, by the tramp of war steeds, by the 
 rush of the focmcn — was all heaped with ghastly 
 piles of dead, whose cold upturned faces shone 
 with a terrible lustre in the last beams of the de- 
 dining sun. 
 
 There were senseless carcasses, with the arms 
 rent from the shattered body, with the eyes scoop- 
 ed from the hollow sockets, with foreheads sever- 
 ed by the sword thrust, with hair dabbled in blood, 
 with sunken juws fallen on the gory chest; there 
 was all the horror, all the bloodshed, all the butch- 
 ery of war, without a single gleam of its romance 
 or chivalry. 
 
 Here a plaid-kilted Highlander, a dark-coated 
 Hanoverian, were huddled to^jethcr in the ghast- 
 liness of sudden death ; each with that fearful red 
 wound denting the forehead, each with that same 
 repulsive expression of convulsive pain, while their 
 unclosed eyes, cold, dead, and lustreless, glared on 
 the blue heavens with the glare of death. 
 
 Yonder, at the foot of a giant elm, a continental, 
 strong armed and stout, sunk down in the grasp 
 of death. His head is sunken on his breast, his 
 white hair all blood-bedabblcd, his blue hunting 
 shirt is spotted with clotted drops of purple. The 
 sunburnt hand extended, grasps the unfailing rifle 
 — the old warrior is merry even in death, for his 
 lip wears a cold and unmoving smile. 
 Silence and Dcatli. 
 
 A little farther on a peasant boy bites the sod, 
 with his sunburnt face half buried in the blood- 
 soddencd earth, his rustic attire of linsey tinted by 
 the last beams of the declining sun ; one arm con- 
 vulsively gathered under his head, the long brown 
 hair all stiffened with blood, while the other grasps 
 the well-used fowling piece, with which he rushed 
 to the field, fought bravely, and died like a hero. 
 The fowling piece is with him in death ; the fowl- 
 ing piece — companion of many a boyish ramble 
 beside the Wissahikon, many a hunting excur- 
 sion on the wild and dreamy hills that frown 
 around that rivulet — is now beside him, but the 
 hand that encloses its slock, is colder than the iron 
 of its rusted tube. 
 
 Let us hie over the field, with a soft'and solemn 
 footstep, for our path is yet stamped with the re- 
 cent footsteps of death, and the ghosts of the he- 
 roes are thronging in the invisible air of the fight. 
 
 Chew's house is silent and still. The shattered 
 windows, the broken hall door, the splintered roof, ; 
 the battered chimneys, and the walls of the house 
 
 stained- with blood : all are silent, yet terrible 
 proofs of the havoc and ruin of the fight. 
 
 Silence is within Chew's house. No death- 
 shriek, no groan of agony, no voice shrieking to 
 the uplifted sword to spare and pity, breaks upon 
 the air. All is still and solemn, and the eye of 
 human vision may not pierce the gloom of the un- 
 known, and behold the ghosts of the slain crowd- 
 ing before the throne of God. 
 
 The sun is setting over Chew's lawn and house, 
 the soldiers of the British army have deserted the 
 place, and as the last beams of day quiver over the 
 field, death — terrible and fearful death — broods 
 over the scene, in all its ghastliness and horror. 
 
 Tlie Licgcntl of General Agne^v again* 
 
 Along the solitary streets of Germantown, as 
 the sun went down, rang the echo of horses' hoofs, 
 and the form of the rider of a gallant war steed 
 was seen, disclosed in the last beams of the dying 
 day, as he took his way along the village road. 
 
 The horseman was tall, well-formed, and mus- 
 cular in proportion ; his hair was slightly touched 
 with the frost of age, and his eye was wild and 
 wandering in its glance. The compressed lip, 
 the hollow cheek, the flashing eye, all told a story 
 of powerful, through suppressed emotion, stirring 
 the warrior's heart to bitter thoughts and gloomy 
 memories. 
 
 It was General Agnew, of the British army : he 
 had fought bravely in the fight of Chew's house, 
 though the presentiment sat heavy on his soul; he 
 had fought bravely, escaped without a wound, and 
 now was riding alone, along the solitary ylreet, 
 toward the Mccnist grave-yard. 
 
 There was an expression on his commanding 
 face that it would have chilled your heart to see- 
 It was an expression which stamped his features 
 with a look of doom and fate, which revealed the 
 inward throbbings of his soul, as the dark pre- 
 sentiment of the morning moved over its shadowy 
 depths. 
 
 He may have been thinking of his home, away 
 in the fair valleys ot England — of the blooming 
 daughter, the bright-eyed boy, or the matronly 
 wife; and then a thought of the terrible wrong in- 
 volved in the British cause may have crossed his 
 soul, for the carnage of Chew's lawn had been 
 most fearful, and it is not well to slay hundreds of 
 living beings like ourselves, for the shadow of a 
 right. 
 
 Tlic Tjast Look at tUc Setting Sun- 
 
 He reached the point where the road sweeps 
 
30 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF CERMAlVTOVVrf . 
 
 down the hill, in front of the grave-yard, and as 
 he rode slowly down the ascent, liis attention was 
 arrested by a singular spectacle. 
 
 The head of a man, grey-bearded and grey- 
 haired, was thrust above the grave-yard wall, and 
 a fierce, malignant eye met the gaze of General 
 Agncw. It was the strange old man who, in the 
 morning, had asked whether " that was General 
 Grey ?" pointing to the person of Agnew as he 
 spoke, and being answered, by mistake or design, 
 in the affirmative, fired a rifle at the officer from 
 the shelter of the wall. 
 
 No sooner had the wild face rose above the wall 
 than it suddenly disappeared, and, scarce noting 
 the circumstance, the General reined his steed for 
 a moment, on the descent of the hill, and gazed 
 toward the western sky, where the setting sun was 
 sinking behind a rainbow-hued pile of clouds, all 
 brilliant with a thousand contrasted lights. 
 
 The last beams of the sun trembled over the 
 high forehead of General Agnew, as, with his back 
 turned to the grave-yard wall, he gazed upon the 
 
 prospect, and his eye lit up with a sudden brillian- 
 cy, when the quick and piercing report of a rifle 
 broke on the air, and echoed around the scene. 
 
 A small cloud of light blue smoke wound upward 
 xrom the grave-yard wall, a ghastly smile over- 
 spread the face of Agnew, he looked wildly round 
 for a single instant, and then fell heavily ts the 
 dust of the road-side — a lifeless corse. 
 
 His gallant steed of ebon darkness of skin, low- 
 ered his proud crest, and thrust his nostrils in his 
 master's face, his large eyes dilating, as he snuffed 
 the scent of blood upon the air; and at the very 
 instant, that same wild and ghastly face was 
 thrust above the stones of the grave-yard wall, and 
 a shriek of triumph, wilder and ghastlier than the 
 face, arose shrieking above the graves. 
 
 That rifle shot, pealing from the grave-yard 
 wall, was the last shot of the battle-day of Ger-. 
 mantown ; and that corse flung along the road- 
 side, with those cold eyes glaring on the blue sun- 
 set sky, with the death-wound near the heart, was 
 the LAST DEAD MAN of that day of horror. 
 
 THE FUNERAL OF THE D^E A D . 
 
 ■' Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.' ' 
 
 An Ancient Cliurcli. 
 
 In the township of Towamensing, some twenty- 
 six miles from Philadelphia, from the green sward 
 of a quiet grave-yard, arises the venerable walls of 
 an aricicnt church, under whose peaceful roof wor- 
 ship the believers in the Menonist faith, as their 
 fathers worshipped before them. 
 
 The graveyard, with its mounds of green sod, 
 is encircled by a massive wall of stone, oversha- 
 dowed by a grove of primitive oaks, whose giant 
 trunks and giiarlcd branches, as they tower in the 
 blue summer sky, seetn to share in the sacred 
 stillness and ancient grandeur which rests like a 
 holy spell upon the temple and the hamlet of the 
 dead. 
 
 Come back with me, reader, once more come 
 back to the ancient revolutionary time. Come 
 back to the solemnity and ginom of the funeral of 
 the dead; and in the quiet grave-yard we will be- 
 hold the scene. 
 j^""^ Tlie Coffins 'beside tlic Grave. 
 
 Bands of armed men throng the place of graves; 
 on every side you bolH^lti figures of stout men* 
 
 clad in the uniform of war ; on every side you be- 
 hold stern and scarred visages, and all along the 
 green sward, with its encircling grove ot oaks, 
 the pomp of banners wave flauntingly in the even- 
 ing air, but no glittering bayonet gleams in the 
 light of the declining day. The banners arc 
 heavy with folds of crape, the bayonets are unfix- 
 ed from each musquet, and every soldier carries 
 his arms reversed. 
 
 Near the centre ot the ground, hard by the road- 
 side, are dug four graves, the upturned earth form- 
 ing a mound beside each grave, and the sunbeams 
 shine upon four coffins, hewn out of rough pine 
 wood, and laid upon trussels, with the faces of the 
 dead cold and colorless, tinted with a ghastly 
 gleam of the golden sunlight. 
 
 Around the graves are grouped the chieftains 
 of the American armj^ each manly brow uncov- 
 ered, each manly arm wearing the solemn scarf 
 ©f crape, while an expression of deep and over- 
 whelming grief is stamped upon the lines of each 
 expressive face. 
 
 Washington stands near the cofllnR : his eyes 
 
TIIK BATTLE-DAY OF GERMAN TOWN. 
 
 31 
 
 are downcast, and his lip is compressed. Wayne 
 is by his side, his bkifT countenance marked by 
 unfeigned sorrow ; and there stands Greene and 
 Sullivan, and Maxwell and Armstrong, clustered 
 in the same group with Stirling and Forman, with 
 Smallwood and Knox. Standing near the coffin's 
 head, a tall and imposing form, clad in a white- 
 hued uniform, is disclosed in the full light of the 
 sunbeams. The face, with the whiskered lip and 
 the eagle eye, wears the same expression of sor- 
 row that you behold on the faces of all around. It 
 is the Count Pulaski. 
 
 These are the pall-bearers of the dead. 
 
 A.nd in the rear of this imposing group sweep 
 the columns of the American army, each officer 
 with his sword reversed, each musquet also re- 
 versed, while all around is silent and still. 
 Tlie Dead of Gcrmaiitown. 
 
 A grey-haired man, tall and imposing in stature 
 advances from the group of pall-bearers. He is 
 clad in tlie robes of the minister of heaven, his face 
 is marked by lines of care and thought, and his 
 calm eye is expressive of a mind at peace with 
 God and man. fie stands disclosed in the full 
 glow of the sunbeams, and while his long grey 
 hairs wave in the evening air, he gazes upon the 
 faces of the dead. 
 
 Tlie first corse, resting in the pine coffin, with 
 the banner of blue and stars sweeping over its 
 rough surface, and bearing upon its folds the 
 sword and chapeau of a general officer, is the 
 corse of General Nash. The noble features are 
 white as marble, the eyes are closed, and the lip 
 wears the smile of death. 
 
 The next corse, with the sword and chapeau of 
 the commanding officer of a regiment, is the corse 
 of the brave Colonel Boyd. 
 
 Then comes the corse of Major White, hand- 
 some and dignified even in death. The finely 
 chisseled features, the arched brows, the Roman 
 nose, and compressed lip, look like the marble of 
 a statue. 
 
 The last corse, the corse of a young man, with 
 a lieutenants sword and cap placed on the coffin, 
 is the last remains of the gallant Virginian, who 
 bore the flag of truce to Chew's house, and was 
 shot down in the act. Lieutenant Smith rests 
 in death, and the blood-slained flag of truce is 
 placed over his heart. 
 
 The venerable rainieler advances, he gazes upon 
 the faces ot the do id, his clear and solemn voice 
 briakb out in toiici of iujpuobiuucd tloijucnco in thij. 
 
 PUNERAL SERMON OVER THE DEAD. * 
 
 General Nashj Colonel Boyd, Major White, 
 and liicutciiaiit Sniitli: liiii'lcd in To^va> 
 mensins^ Mennonist Graveyard, tlie day 
 aftci- tlic Battle of GermautoAvu. 
 
 " Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, 
 
 FOR they rest from THEIR LABORS, AND THEIR 
 WORKS DO FOLLOW THEM." 
 
 Soldiers and Countrymen : — Our brethren lay 
 before us in all the solemnity of death. Their 
 eyes are closed, their lips are voiceless ; life, with 
 its hurry and turmoil, its hopes and its fears, with 
 them is over forever. They have passed from 
 among us, amid the smoke and glare of battle they 
 passed away ; aud now, in this solemn grove , 
 amid the silence and quiet of the evening hour, 
 we have assembled to celebrate their funeral obse- 
 quies. 
 
 Brethren, look well upon the corses of the dead, 
 mark the eyes hollowed by decay, the cheeks 
 sunken, and the lips livid with the touch of death; 
 look upon these forms, but one short day ago 
 moving and throbbing with the warm blood of 
 life, and now cold, clammy, dead, senseless remains 
 of clay. 
 
 But this is not all, brethren; for as we look 
 upon these corse?, the solemn words of the book 
 break on our ear, through the silence of the even- 
 ing air : 
 
 * Note. The author deems it necessary to state, 
 once for all, that all the legends given in this 
 chronicle, are derived from substantial fact or oral 
 tradition. The legend of the D(^bauch of Death 
 — the old Quaker — the House on ihe Wis>ahikon 
 -—the escape of Washiiigtor) — the pret^e.itiment 
 and death of General Agnew — the ftal of Captain 
 Lee — as well as all other incidents are derived 
 from oral tradition. In other points, the history 
 of the Battle is followed as laid down by Marshall 
 arid his contemporaries. To the accomplished 
 scholar and antiquary, John F. Watson, Esq., of 
 Germantown, the author acknowledges himself 
 indebted for various interesting traditions and, 
 incidents of the time, gleaned from the forthcoming 
 second edition of his celebrated Annals. The en- 
 gravings accompanying this chronicle, are copied 
 by permission from the two elegant engravings 
 illustrating the new edition of Watson's Annals. 
 This work will create a great sensation. There 
 is some doubt concerning the name of the preacher 
 who delivered the funeral sermon. But with re- 
 gard to the funeral ceremonies at the Mennonist 
 church at Toyamensing, there can bo no doubt. 
 General Nash and his companions in death were 
 buried with the honors of war, in presence of the 
 whole army the day after the battle. 
 
32 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 Blessed arc the dead that die in the Lord, for 
 they rest from their labors, and their ivorks do 
 follow them. 
 
 For they did die in the Lord, my brethren. 
 Fighting in the holiest cause, fighting against 
 wrong, and might, and violence, the brave Nash 
 rode into the ranks of battle, and while the bullets 
 of the hirelings whistled around him, while all 
 was terror and gloom, he fell at the head of his 
 men, bravely flashing his sword for his father- 
 land. 
 
 So fell White, and so fill Boyd ; you have all 
 heard how Lieutenant Smith met his death. You 
 have heard how he went forth on the battle morn 
 with the flag of truce in his hand. You have 
 heard how he approached the fatal mansion on the 
 battle-field ; you have heard how these merciless 
 men pointed their musquets at his heart, and he 
 foil, bathing the flag of truce with the warm blood 
 of his heart. 
 
 They fell, but their blood shall not fall unheed- 
 ed, George of Brunswick may augur success to 
 his cause from the result of this fight, but the 
 weak and mistaken man shall soon know his de- 
 lusion false. 
 
 From every drop of patriot blood sinking in 
 the sod of Gorrnant >wn, a hero shall arise ! From 
 the darkne-s and death of that terrible fight, I see 
 the angel of our country's freedom springing into 
 birth; beyond iho i-Iouds and smoke of battle, I 
 bchcll the dawning of a brighter and more glo- 
 rious (lay. 
 
 They le^t from their labors. From the toil- 
 some labor of ili!! night march, from the fierce la- 
 bor of the baltb^ cbarj^e, from the labor of l)lood- 
 shed and death I hey rest. 
 
 They will no nroro share the stern joy of the 
 meeting of congregated armies ; no more ride the 
 steed to battle ; no more feel their hearts throb at 
 the sound of the trumpet. All is over. 
 
 They rest from their labors ! Aye, in the sol- 
 emn courts of heaven they rest from their labors, 
 and the immortal great of the past greet them 
 with smiles and beckonings of joy, their hearts 
 are soothed by the hymnings of angels, and the 
 voice of the Eternal bids them welcome. 
 From the dead let me turn to the living. 
 Let me speak for a moment to the men of the 
 gallant band ; let me tell them that God will fight 
 for them ; that though the battle may be fierce 
 
 and bloody, still the sword of the Unknown will 
 glisten on the side of the freemen-brothers ; that 
 though the battle clouds may roll their shadows 
 of gloom over heaps of dying and dead, yet from 
 those very clouds will spring the day of Freedom, 
 from the very carnage of the battle-field will bloom 
 the fruits of a peaceful land. 
 
 Man, chosen among men, as the leader of free- 
 men, I speak to thee ! And as the prophets of 
 old, standing on the ramparts of Israel, raised their 
 hands, and blessed the Hebrew chieftains as they 
 went forth to battle, so now I bless thee, and bless 
 thy doings; by the graves of the slain, and by 
 the corses of the patriot dead, I sanctify thy arms, 
 in the name of that God who never yet beheld 
 fearful wrong without sudden vengeance — in the 
 name of that Redeemer whose mission was ji»y to 
 the captive, freedom to the slave, I bless thee, — 
 Washington. 
 
 On, on — in thy career of glory ! 
 
 Not the glory of bloodshed, not the halo that is 
 born of the phosphorescent light hovering around 
 the carcasses of the dead, not the empty fame o 
 human slaughter. No — no. 
 
 The glory of a pure soul, actuated by one mo- 
 tive of good, straining every purpose of heart to 
 accomplish that motive; neither heeding the 
 threats of the merciless tyrant, on the one hand, 
 or the calls of ambition on the other, but speeding 
 forward, with sure and steady steps, to the goal 
 of all thy hopes — the freedom of this land of the 
 new world. 
 
 Such is thy glory, Washington. 
 
 On, then, ye gallant men, on, in your career 
 of glory. To day all may be d;irk, all mny be 
 sad, all may be steeped in gloom. You may be 
 driven from one batlle-field, you may behold your 
 comrades fall wounded and dying in the path of 
 your retreat. Carnage may thin your ranks, de- 
 cease walk through your tents, death track your 
 footsteps. 
 
 But the bright day will come at last. The trea- 
 sure of blood will find its recompense, the courage, 
 the self-denial and daring of this time will work 
 out the certain rewaid of the country's freedom. 
 
 Then behold the fruits of your labours, 
 
 A land of mighty rivers, colossal mountains, a 
 
 land of luxurious vallies, fertile plains, a laud of 
 
 frceuiun, peopled by happy multitudoo of uiillions 
 
 who&e temples echo withhosaunas to God, whose 
 
THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 33 
 
 praises repeat your names, gallant survivors of 
 the battle field of Germantown. 
 
 «' Their Works do foUovr them." 
 
 Yes — yes. From the Eternal world, our de- 
 paited friends shall look down upon the fruit of 
 their works. From the Vast Unseen they shall 
 look down upon your banner of blue as the sun- 
 Sleam of victory glitters on its stars. They shall 
 behold the skeletons of the invader strewing our 
 shores, his banners trailed in the dust, his armies 
 annihilated, his strong men overthrown, and the 
 temple of his power, toppled from its strong foun- 
 dations. 
 
 They rest from their labours. 
 
 Oh, glorious is their resting place, oh, most 
 glorious is their home ! As they flee on spirit- 
 wings to their eternal abode, the ghosts of the 
 mighty-dead, come crowding to the poitals of the 
 Unknown, and hail them welcome home! Bru- 
 tus of old is there, shaking his gory dagger 
 aloft, Hampden and Sidney are there, and there 
 are the patriot martyrs from all the scaffolds of 
 oppressed Europe, each mighty spirit sounding a 
 welcome to the martyrs of New World freedom. 
 
 The dead of Bunker Hill are there, the form of 
 Warren is among the first in the mighty crowd, 
 and there, raising their gory hands on high, a 
 band of the martyred men of Brandy wine, press 
 forward, and hail their compeers of Germantown 
 a welcome home. 
 
 Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord. 
 
 Oh ! thrice blessed, oh ! blessed on the tongues 
 of nations, blessed in the hymns of little children, 
 blessed in the tears of woman, shed for their mar- 
 tyrdom ; blessed in the world beyond, forever and 
 forever blessed. 
 
 Farewell to ye, mighty dead, on earth ! The 
 kind hands of wife or child were not passed over 
 your brows, when the big drops of the death-dew 
 announced the approach of the last enemy of man ! 
 No blooming child, no soft-voiced wife, no fair- 
 haired boy was near ye. 
 
 Alone ye died. Alone amid the ranks of battle,. 
 or ere the battle shout had yet ceased to echo on 
 your ear. Alone, with fever in your brain, with 
 fever in your hearts, with maddening throes of 
 pain, forcing from your manly lips the involuntary 
 cry of pain, yet, with your native land uppermost 
 ki your thoughts, ye died. 
 
 And now, brethren, the sun sinking in the 
 west, warns me to close. The bright golden beams 
 
 tint the tops of the tiees, and fiing a shower ot 
 light over the roof of the ancient church. The 
 sky above arches calm and azure, as though the 
 spirits of the dead smiled from yon clime upon 
 our solemn ceremonies. The hour is still and 
 solemn, and all nature invites us to the offering of 
 prayer. Let us pray. 
 
 Prayer for tlie Dead. 
 Father in Heaven, we bow before thee, under 
 the temple of the clear blue sky and within the 
 shadow of yon oaken grove, we bow beside the 
 corses of the dead. Our hearts are sad, our 
 souls are awed. Up to thy throne we send our 
 earnest prayers for this, our much-afflicted land. 
 Turn, oh! God, turn the burning sword from be- 
 tween us and the sun of thy countenance. Lift 
 the shadow of death from our land. And, as in 
 the olden times, thou didst save the oppressed, 
 even when the blood-stained grasp of wrong was 
 at their throats, so save thou us, now — oh, most 
 merciful God ! 
 
 And if the voice of prayer is ever heard in thy 
 courts, for the spirits of the dead, then let our 
 voices now plead with thee, for the ghosts of the 
 slain, as they crowd around the portals of the Un- 
 seen world. 
 
 Oh ! Lord God, look into our hearts, and there 
 behold every pulse throbbing, every vein filling 
 with one desire, which we now send up to thee, 
 with hands and soul upraised — the desire of free- 
 dom for this fair land. 
 
 Give us success in this our m/;st holy cause. 
 In the name of the martyred dead of the past, in 
 the name of that shadowy band, whose life-blood 
 dyes a thousand scaffolds, give us freedom. 
 
 In the name of Jesas give us peacel Make 
 strong the hands of thy servant even George 
 Washington. Make strong the hearts of his coun- 
 sellors, stir^ them up to greater deeds even than 
 the deeds they have already done, let thy presence 
 be with our host, a pillar of cloud by day and a 
 pillar of fire by night. 
 
 And at last, when our calling shall have been 
 fulfilled, when we have done and suffered thy will 
 here below, receive us into the Rest of the Blessed. 
 So shall it be said of us — 
 
 ''Blessed are the dead that die iu the Lord, 
 for they rest from tiielr lahjrs, and their 
 works do fellow them!'' 
 
 The last words of the preacher, sank into the 
 hearts of his hearers. Every man felt awed, every 
 Boui wa» thrilled. 
 
u 
 
 THE BATTLE-DAY OF GERMANTOWN. 
 
 The preacher made a sign to the group of war- 
 worn soldiers in attendance at the head of the 
 graves. The coffins were lowered in their re- 
 ceptacles of death. The man of God advanced, 
 and took a handful! of earth, from one of the up- 
 rising mounds. 
 
 There was universal silence around the graves, 
 and thro' the grave-yard. 
 
 '"Earth to earthy ashes to ashes^ dust to dust. " 
 
 The sound ofthe earth rattling on the coffin of 
 General Nash, broke with a strange echo on the 
 air. 
 
 Slowly along the sod, passed the minister of 
 heaven speaking the solemn words ofthe last cer- 
 emony, as he flung the handful of earth upon each 
 coffin. 
 
 A single moment passed, and a file of soldiers, 
 with upraised musquets, extended along the graves. 
 The word of command rang out upon the air, and 
 the shot after shot, the alternating reports of the 
 musquets, broke like thunder over the graves of 
 the laurelled dead. 
 
 The soldiers suddenly swept aside, and in a 
 moment, a glittering cannon was wheeled near 
 the graves, with the cannonier standing with the 
 lighted linstock, by its side. The subdued word of 
 command again was heard, the earthquake thun- 
 der of the cannon shook the graveyard, and iikea 
 pall for the mighty dead, the thick folds of smoke, 
 waved heavily above the grave. 
 
 Again did the file of musquetry pour forth iha 
 file, again did the cannons send forth their flame, 
 ■flashing down into the very graves of the dead, 
 >8vhile the old church walls gave back the echo. — 
 
 Again was the ceremony repeated, and as the thick 
 folds of cannon-smoke waved overhead, the soldiers 
 opened to the right and left, and the pall-bearers 
 of the dead advanced. 
 
 They advanced, and one by one looked into the 
 graves of the slain. 
 
 This was the scene when Washington looked 
 for the last time into the grave of Nash and bis 
 death-mates. 
 
 The sun setting behind the grove of oaks threw 
 a veil of sunshine over the masses of armed men 
 thronging the grave-yard, over the reversed arms, 
 and craped banner of blue and stars. The form 
 of Washington, standing at the head ofthe grave, 
 was disclosed in all its majesty of proportion, his 
 face impressed with an expression of sorrow, and 
 his right hand reversing his craped sword; Wayne 
 —the gallant, the noble, the fearless Wayne — 
 stood at his right shoulder, and then sweeping in 
 a line along the graves, extended the chieftains of 
 the army, each face stamped with grief, each 
 right arm holding the reversed sword : there was 
 the sagacious face of Greene, the bluff visage of 
 Knox, the commanding features of Sullivan, the 
 manly countenances of Maxwell, Stirling, Forman, 
 Conway, and the other officers of the continental 
 host. All were grouped there beside the graves 
 of the slain, and as every eye was fixed upon the 
 coffins sprinkled with earth, a low, solemn peal of 
 music floated along the air, and a veteran advanc- 
 ing to the grave, flung to the wind the broad ban- 
 ner of blue and stars, and the last glimpse of sun» 
 light fell upon this solemn relic of the 
 
 iljittie%19a3 Of (iSfetrmantolnn. 
 
 THE END. 
 
fi. 
 
 fhSZ 
 
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