 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
THE BALLAD OF VALLEY FORGE.
It was a night in winter,
Some seventy years ago;
The bleak and barren landscape
Was blurred with driving snow.
Some seventy years ago;
The bleak and barren landscape
Was blurred with driving snow.
You caught a glimpse of uplands,
And guessed where valleys lay;
The trees were broken shadows,
A house was something gray.
And guessed where valleys lay;
The trees were broken shadows,
A house was something gray.
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Only the western forests
Stood sharply, black and bare;
For there the blood-red sunset
Still shot a sullen glare.
Stood sharply, black and bare;
For there the blood-red sunset
Still shot a sullen glare.
In an old New England farm-house,
That snowy winter night,
In the spacious chimney corner,
Where the logs were blazing bright,
That snowy winter night,
In the spacious chimney corner,
Where the logs were blazing bright,
An aged man was sitting
In the cherry light and heat,
With his head upon his bosom,
And the watch-dog at his feet.
In the cherry light and heat,
With his head upon his bosom,
And the watch-dog at his feet.
Beside him sat his grandson,
In a high-backed oaken chair,
And the glow of ten sweet summers
Was golden in his hair.
In a high-backed oaken chair,
And the glow of ten sweet summers
Was golden in his hair.
The man was Nathan Baldwin,
And many a tale is told
Of how he marched, and suffered
With hunger and with cold.
And many a tale is told
Of how he marched, and suffered
With hunger and with cold.
Of brave old Gran'ther Baldwin
Shall be the song I sing,
Who fought for Independence
When George the Third was King.
Shall be the song I sing,
Who fought for Independence
When George the Third was King.
Before him hung two muskets,
With clumsy, dinted stocks,
The bayonets were mounted,
The flints were in the locks;
With clumsy, dinted stocks,
The bayonets were mounted,
The flints were in the locks;
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Two rusty Queen Anne's muskets,
Whose pans were smoky still,
The spoil of British soldiers
Who charged at Bunker Hill.
Whose pans were smoky still,
The spoil of British soldiers
Who charged at Bunker Hill.
They fell by Nathan's rifle,
He snatched their dropping guns,
And sent them to the farm-house
To arm his stalwart sons.
He snatched their dropping guns,
And sent them to the farm-house
To arm his stalwart sons.
They hung against the chimney
That windy winter night,
Unseen by Nathan Baldwin,
Who saw another sight.
That windy winter night,
Unseen by Nathan Baldwin,
Who saw another sight.
He sat there in his settle
Before the dancing flame,
And on the wall behind him
His shadow went and came.
Before the dancing flame,
And on the wall behind him
His shadow went and came.
He dozed behind his grandson,
Whose thoughts were on the snow,
While his eyes were on the muskets,
And the powder-horns below.
Whose thoughts were on the snow,
While his eyes were on the muskets,
And the powder-horns below.
“Tell me a story, Gran'ther,”
The little dreamer said;
But Nathan did not answer,
Though he smoothed his curly head.
The little dreamer said;
But Nathan did not answer,
Though he smoothed his curly head.
He heard the shrill winds whistle,
He saw the embers glow,
And dropping down the chimney
The ragged flakes of snow.
He saw the embers glow,
And dropping down the chimney
The ragged flakes of snow.
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The sap in the back-log spluttered,
And through the puffs of smoke,
Like a sharp discharge of rifles,
A crackling volley broke.
And through the puffs of smoke,
Like a sharp discharge of rifles,
A crackling volley broke.
“Tell me a story, Gran'ther.
Not that of Riding-Hood,
Nor how the robins buried
The Children in the Wood.
Not that of Riding-Hood,
Nor how the robins buried
The Children in the Wood.
“But how you fought the Indians,
So many years ago;
Or Valley Forge in winter,
And all about the snow.”
So many years ago;
Or Valley Forge in winter,
And all about the snow.”
“In the fall of seventy-seven
(My little Abner, hear,)
In the middle of November
Of that unhappy year,
(My little Abner, hear,)
In the middle of November
Of that unhappy year,
I marched with Morgan's Rifles,
A corps of gallant men,
To join our wretched army
In the Quaker State of Penn.
A corps of gallant men,
To join our wretched army
In the Quaker State of Penn.
By forced and rapid marches,
(We took the shortest way,
A crow-flight through the Jerseys,
And added night to day,)
(We took the shortest way,
A crow-flight through the Jerseys,
And added night to day,)
By long and weary marches
We crossed the dreary plain:
The winds were wild with winter,
And the sky was dark with rain.
We crossed the dreary plain:
The winds were wild with winter,
And the sky was dark with rain.
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There was no sun in the daytime,
At night there was no moon:
So Morgan told the fifer
To blow a merry tune.
At night there was no moon:
So Morgan told the fifer
To blow a merry tune.
Our poor old regimentals
Were more like rags than clo'es:
Just fit to flap in cornfields
And scare away the crows.
Were more like rags than clo'es:
Just fit to flap in cornfields
And scare away the crows.
You knew our halting-places
By the tatters lying round.
When we came in sight of White Marsh
Our feet were on the ground.
By the tatters lying round.
When we came in sight of White Marsh
Our feet were on the ground.
We scarcely saw the army
That cheered as we drew nigh;
But we marched with flying colors,
And our powder, boy, was dry!
That cheered as we drew nigh;
But we marched with flying colors,
And our powder, boy, was dry!
One morning in December
The British came in sight.
Said Morgan, ‘Load your rifles,
For here's a chance to fight.’
The British came in sight.
Said Morgan, ‘Load your rifles,
For here's a chance to fight.’
Six hundred stout militia,
With Irvine at their head,
Sneaked out to take a volley—
Of course the cowards fled!
With Irvine at their head,
Sneaked out to take a volley—
Of course the cowards fled!
Howe changed his ground at midnight,
For at the break of day
We saw that he was nearer,
Though still a mile away.
For at the break of day
We saw that he was nearer,
Though still a mile away.
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All day he lay and watched us,
But changed again at night.
When morning came ('twas Sunday)
We saw he meant to fight.
But changed again at night.
When morning came ('twas Sunday)
We saw he meant to fight.
‘Be ready, boys,’ said Morgan,
‘And let your aim be true.’
At noon the word was ‘Forward!’
And then the bullets flew.”
‘And let your aim be true.’
At noon the word was ‘Forward!’
And then the bullets flew.”
“I guess,” said Abner, warming,
“You showed 'em how to fight.”
“At dusk they lighted watch-fires,
And vanished in the night.
“You showed 'em how to fight.”
“At dusk they lighted watch-fires,
And vanished in the night.
The General called a council
To meet him in his tent,
And choose our winter quarters,
And all the generals went.
To meet him in his tent,
And choose our winter quarters,
And all the generals went.
They sat with maps before them,
And knit their brows awhile;
Some thought of York and Reading,
And others of Carlisle.
And knit their brows awhile;
Some thought of York and Reading,
And others of Carlisle.
But Washington decided,
When all had spoken round,
That Valley Forge, in Chester,
Should be our winter ground.
When all had spoken round,
That Valley Forge, in Chester,
Should be our winter ground.
We heard the news at supper,
And said 'twas time to go,
For winter was upon us,
And the sky was full of snow.
And said 'twas time to go,
For winter was upon us,
And the sky was full of snow.
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So when the dead were buried,
Some ninety men in all,
We took the road to Chester,
As the snows began to fall.
Some ninety men in all,
We took the road to Chester,
As the snows began to fall.
It was a sight to see us,
That dreary winter day,
As we broke up our encampment,
And stretched for miles away.
That dreary winter day,
As we broke up our encampment,
And stretched for miles away.
The files that came and vanished,
The banners on the wind,
The gallant van of light-horse,
The rifles close behind.
The banners on the wind,
The gallant van of light-horse,
The rifles close behind.
Then Poor's brigade, and Glover's,
The heavy guns of Knox,
The train of baggage-wagons,
And the teamsters in their frocks,
The heavy guns of Knox,
The train of baggage-wagons,
And the teamsters in their frocks,
Climbing the whitened hill-tops,
And swarming on the plain;
And Washington on horseback,
With Harry Lee and Wayne.
And swarming on the plain;
And Washington on horseback,
With Harry Lee and Wayne.
We crossed a wasted country,
With a farm-house here and there:
No smoke-wreaths from the chimneys
Went curling up the air.
With a farm-house here and there:
No smoke-wreaths from the chimneys
Went curling up the air.
No face at door or window
Looked out as we passed by;
But through the battered sashes
We saw the blank of sky.
Looked out as we passed by;
But through the battered sashes
We saw the blank of sky.
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We pushed ahead till nightfall
Closed round our straggling lines,
Then halted in the shelter
Of a ragged belt of pines.
Closed round our straggling lines,
Then halted in the shelter
Of a ragged belt of pines.
We lighted fires of brushwood,
And stacked our muskets round;
The teamsters lent us fodder,
And we spread it on the ground.
And stacked our muskets round;
The teamsters lent us fodder,
And we spread it on the ground.
'Twas bitter, bitter, Abner,
On the frozen ground to lie,
No pillow but a knapsack,
No blanket but the sky!
On the frozen ground to lie,
No pillow but a knapsack,
No blanket but the sky!
We took the road at daybreak,
In the blinding snow and wind;
The wounded went in wagons,
We left the dead behind.
In the blinding snow and wind;
The wounded went in wagons,
We left the dead behind.
The fifers screamed their loudest,
But the winds alone were heard;
The drums in snow were muffled,
And no man spake a word.
But the winds alone were heard;
The drums in snow were muffled,
And no man spake a word.
We marched in gloomy silence,
A sort of grim despair,
That nerved the weak to suffer,
And fired the strong to dare.
A sort of grim despair,
That nerved the weak to suffer,
And fired the strong to dare.
You might have tracked us, Abner,
By the trail of blood we shed;
We bled at every footstep,
The snow for miles was red!”
By the trail of blood we shed;
We bled at every footstep,
The snow for miles was red!”
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“O Gran'ther!” Abner whispered,
But Gran'ther did not speak,
For the tears of eighty winters
Were trickling down his cheek.
But Gran'ther did not speak,
For the tears of eighty winters
Were trickling down his cheek.
The tender child was troubled,
He knew not what to say;
So he clambered up and kissed him,
And wiped his tears away.
He knew not what to say;
So he clambered up and kissed him,
And wiped his tears away.
“On the seventeenth of December
(The day was still and bright)
We crossed the swollen Schuylkill,
With Valley Forge in sight.
(The day was still and bright)
We crossed the swollen Schuylkill,
With Valley Forge in sight.
We saw the smoke of the forges,
We heard the anvils ring;
You should have seen us, Abner,
And hear us shout and sing.
We heard the anvils ring;
You should have seen us, Abner,
And hear us shout and sing.
We pitched our tents by the river,
In a row along the street,
Built fires, and cooked our dinners,
And dressed our bleeding feet.
In a row along the street,
Built fires, and cooked our dinners,
And dressed our bleeding feet.
Some sat apart with their muskets,
Rubbing the rusty stains;
The teamsters stood by their horses,
And combed the snow from their manes.
Rubbing the rusty stains;
The teamsters stood by their horses,
And combed the snow from their manes.
One chopped a stack of brushwood,
Another blew a brand;
I fell asleep at dinner,
With my ration in my hand.
Another blew a brand;
I fell asleep at dinner,
With my ration in my hand.
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The next day was Thanksgiving,
And the valley bells were rung;
The farmers drove to meeting,
And a goodly psalm was sung.
And the valley bells were rung;
The farmers drove to meeting,
And a goodly psalm was sung.
The drummers beat the roll-call,
We gathered in the air;
The chaplain preached a sermon,
And made a touching prayer.
We gathered in the air;
The chaplain preached a sermon,
And made a touching prayer.
Next morning we were stirring
As the cocks began to crow,
With our shovels on our shoulders,
To clear away the snow.
As the cocks began to crow,
With our shovels on our shoulders,
To clear away the snow.
It was a dreary prospect,
For the winds were sharp and cold,
And we were nearly naked,
And some, alas, were old.
For the winds were sharp and cold,
And we were nearly naked,
And some, alas, were old.
The General planned our village,
The streets were east and west.
We dug the snow in trenches,
A dozen men abreast.
The streets were east and west.
We dug the snow in trenches,
A dozen men abreast.
By night the white embankments
Were piled above our heads.
The roads were black with soldiers,
And blocked with carts and sleds;
Were piled above our heads.
The roads were black with soldiers,
And blocked with carts and sleds;
With ox-carts of provisions,
With sleds of wood and hay,
And officers on horseback
That slowly cleared the way.
With sleds of wood and hay,
And officers on horseback
That slowly cleared the way.
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And in the windy forest,
Whose moan was like the sea's,
We heard the stroke of axes,
And the crash of falling trees;
Whose moan was like the sea's,
We heard the stroke of axes,
And the crash of falling trees;
The lowing of the oxen,
That hauled the timber down;
The noise of saws and hammers,
And the forges in the town.
That hauled the timber down;
The noise of saws and hammers,
And the forges in the town.
Our huts were built by Christmas,
Rough logs, a slab the door;
The cracks with clay were plastered,
The frozen ground the floor.
Rough logs, a slab the door;
The cracks with clay were plastered,
The frozen ground the floor.
All through the happy valley
The Christmas cheer was spread;
The farmers ate their turkeys,
And we our mouldy bread.
The Christmas cheer was spread;
The farmers ate their turkeys,
And we our mouldy bread.
Well, there we were all winter,
Ten thousand men, or more.
Ah, how can I remember,
Or speak of what we bore?
Ten thousand men, or more.
Ah, how can I remember,
Or speak of what we bore?
The stupor that benumbed us,
The pains that drove us wild,
The hunger and the sickness,
The—all but death, my child!
The pains that drove us wild,
The hunger and the sickness,
The—all but death, my child!
We made us shoes of raw hide,
That stung our tender feet;
We limped about on crutches,
We stumbled in the street.
That stung our tender feet;
We limped about on crutches,
We stumbled in the street.
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I had a burning fever,
I had a freezing chill,
I dreamed of killing Indians,
I dreamed of Bunker Hill.
I had a freezing chill,
I dreamed of killing Indians,
I dreamed of Bunker Hill.
One night, when I was better
The guard was ordered out
In front of Varnum's quarters,
Before the Star Redoubt.
The guard was ordered out
In front of Varnum's quarters,
Before the Star Redoubt.
I thought I heard them call me,
(It was my turn to go,)
So I snatched a hat and musket,
And hobbled through the snow.
(It was my turn to go,)
So I snatched a hat and musket,
And hobbled through the snow.
Along the grim abatis
That faced the windy street,
To where the gloomy forest
And swollen river meet.
That faced the windy street,
To where the gloomy forest
And swollen river meet.
Along the roaring river,
Beyond the narrow ford,
Till near the outer picket—
When all at once I heard
Beyond the narrow ford,
Till near the outer picket—
When all at once I heard
The General's voice. I harkened,
And through the darkness broke
His tall, commanding figure,
Wrapt in a martial cloak.
And through the darkness broke
His tall, commanding figure,
Wrapt in a martial cloak.
‘Good evening, Nathan Baldwin.
I'm glad to see you out.’
‘It is my night on guard, sir,
Before the Star Redoubt.’
I'm glad to see you out.’
‘It is my night on guard, sir,
Before the Star Redoubt.’
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And he: ‘Did Morgan send you?
The snow is drifted there.’
I felt he saw my tatters,
And pitied my gray hair.
The snow is drifted there.’
I felt he saw my tatters,
And pitied my gray hair.
‘I'll do my duty, General.’”
“What did the General say?”
“He threw his cloak about me,
And slowly walked away.
“What did the General say?”
“He threw his cloak about me,
And slowly walked away.
‘God bless you, sir!’ I shouted,
And as I strode along
I laughed and cried together,
And hummed a battle-song.
And as I strode along
I laughed and cried together,
And hummed a battle-song.
I felt my way before me,
It was too dark to see,
I floundered in a snow-drift,
I ran against a tree.
It was too dark to see,
I floundered in a snow-drift,
I ran against a tree.
The March winds, sharp and cruel,
Their stormy trumpets blew;
Came charging down the hillsides,
And stabbed me through and through.
Their stormy trumpets blew;
Came charging down the hillsides,
And stabbed me through and through.
I heard the drums in the distance,
I heard the river roar,
I heard the wolves in the forests,
And then I heard no more.
I heard the river roar,
I heard the wolves in the forests,
And then I heard no more.
I woke in your father's barrack,
I was lying in his bed;
He stood beside me crying,
Because he thought me dead.
I was lying in his bed;
He stood beside me crying,
Because he thought me dead.
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But hark, I hear him coming,
And mother's drawing the tea;
His step is on the scraper,
Run to the door, and see.”
And mother's drawing the tea;
His step is on the scraper,
Run to the door, and see.”
The outside latch was lifted,
A draught blew in the room;
They heard him calling “Mother!”
And “Abner, fetch a broom.”
A draught blew in the room;
They heard him calling “Mother!”
And “Abner, fetch a broom.”
He stamped his feet in the entry,
And brushed his homespun clo'es.
“Well, boys.” “Good evening, Reuben.
What news to-night?” “It snows!”
And brushed his homespun clo'es.
“Well, boys.” “Good evening, Reuben.
What news to-night?” “It snows!”
The dog barked, Abner tittered,
But Gran'ther shook his head.
Now mother brought the candles,
And the table soon was spread:
But Gran'ther shook his head.
Now mother brought the candles,
And the table soon was spread:
With the dishes on the dresser,
The loaf of wheat and rye,
The baked beans from the oven,
And a royal pumpkin-pie.
The loaf of wheat and rye,
The baked beans from the oven,
And a royal pumpkin-pie.
“Draw up, we're ready, Reuben.”
“But where did Abner go?”
With Gran'ther's crutch for a musket,
He was marching sad and slow,
Freezing in thought at midnight,
At Valley Forge in the snow.
“But where did Abner go?”
With Gran'ther's crutch for a musket,
He was marching sad and slow,
Freezing in thought at midnight,
At Valley Forge in the snow.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |