 | CHAPTER IV. Seventy-six |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
`And panted at the drum's deep roll;
`And held my breath, when, flaming high,
`I've seen our starry banners fly,
`As, challenging the haughty sky,
`They stirred the battle in my soul.'
Nicholas left me, as he came, abruptly, and in the
darkness; and I was awakened the next morning by
the sound of Jasper's voice at my door.
`We have taken a devil!' he cried; `please to turn
out. He swears to your acquaintance. Halloo, there!'
I leaped off the chest where I slept, and found poor
Nicholas in the hands of two of our troop, who were
menacing him with their sabres, at every flourish of
which, he ducked—less in fear, than surprise, I thought.
His countenance was so expressive, so ludicrously expressive,
that I was fain to laugh.
`Run him up,' cried Jasper—`run him up, directly;
the Lieutenant does'nt know him.'
`I know that,' said the other—`and I've a mind to
do it.'
`What has the poor creature done?' said I.
`Knocked up the finest stallion in the troop,' said
Jasper.
`How, pray?'
`By running him out, fairly out o' wind.'
`Be kind enough to tell me, so that I can understand
you,' said I.
`Well, Sir,' said Jasper, his red, honest face shining
as if basted in blood gravy—`I was out near the north
battery, just one hour before day light. Simpson,
sleeping at the guard house—our horses saddled and
bridled, just by. Suddenly, I heard a shot—`Halloa!'
I cried—for the round dozen that Corporal Capen had,
for sleeping on his post t'other night, had made our
men more wakeful—`Halloa,' said I, running out,
`who goes there?' Nobody answered me; but I saw a
black shadow running, like a rabbit, along the ground;
and then, a shower of bullets was sent after him—
damn it, don't laugh, beast; I'll stop your grinning.
So, I jumped a-straddle, leaped the ditch, and rode
after him; Bill backed the stallion, and run him till he
slipped his wind, while that devil there kept leaping
the ditch, for half an hour, with one of us after him, first
one side and then the other. Shall we hang him?'
I laughed at the impudence of the fellow, for daring
to play such pranks in my presence—and sent him off.
`Where were you going?' said I, to young Nick, as
soon as we were left alone.
`Home.'
`Suppose you enlist.'
`I will,' he answered, `as soon as I have seen Nell,
and said good bye'—(striking his hands together, with
a report that made me start—it was like a pistol.)
`Surely,' said I, looking at him—and wondering at
the expression of his face. It was lighted up, and he
stood taller, by many inches than I had ever seen him!
`Surely, you are not afflicted with ambition?'
`Ambition?—what the devil's that?'
`It is that,' said I, my chest heaving as I spoke—
`it is that which dilates the heart, distends all the
arteries, lightens and animates, and—'
`Ha! ha! ha! No I've nothing of that. I have
no desire to wear a beautiful jacket, or ride a handsome
horse—would as soon taste blood in the ranks; nay,
sooner, for there I should wade in it, as to drive my
horse through it, fetlock deep. No but'—here was
another outbreaking of brightness from his whole face,
—`I am an American, a worthless, abandoned one, a
wicked fellow, and willing to die, if it please God,—
My heart bustles strangely when I hear it splitting
away in the wind. The drum sets all my blood bubbling.
And the new standard—lord! I could look at
it, forever! the cannon too, and the smoke and —
O, I would die, willingly, if I might be where such
things are to be seen continually.'
I looked at the creature in astonishment. `Surely,'
said I, inwardly, and shuddering at the deep sanguinary
hue of his lips, that quivered as he spoke—`surely, the
appetite for blood is natural to us all—He!—Oh, men
have understood it well; he cannot withstand the
prompting of a wayward spirit—the fierce instinct—
though it cometh not to him, with the bright beckoning
of a woman mailed, as it does to me—nor with a countenance
of dominion. There is no command for him,
no hope, nothing but derision and mockery; yet, for the
pleasure of dabbling in human blood, and watching the
red issue of broken hearts—he is willing to put body
and soul in jeopardy.'
`Why—what the devil have you there?' cried Archibald,
coming up.
I told him, as well as I could, all that I knew of the
matter; and in return, asked him how Copely was.
`Bad enough,' he replied—his left arm shattered—
under arrest. And—poor Chester!'
`Chester,' said I. `Who is he?'
`Chester Copely,' was the reply.
`I thought his name was Charles.'
`So did I, till this morning, when I saw it written
at length. He always writes C. Copely, and that is
the reason, I suppose, for I never asked, that we have
always supposed his name to be Charles.'
`There seems to be a great bustle in camp,' said I.
`Does the affair make such a noise?'
`O, no—but we are on the eve of something, I know
not what—ah!'
A horseman here came up, saluted Archibald, and
informed him that the Commander in Chief was on
thrown up) waiting for him.
His horse was brought out; and he set forward, a
minute or two ahead of me. When I arrived on the
ground, I saw him, bare headed, fronting the commander,
whose countenance was remarkably stern; but it
gradually changed, and just as I passed, I heard him
say. `There is your Commission Sir. I am glad to
find that you had no hand in this affair. It must be
put a stop to. You are brevetted for the present.'
From that moment, Archibald was a Major. `I am
afraid,' said he, faltering—and I stopped my horse,
immediately, that I might not lose a word—`that—that
I am not altogether blameless. Yet—I was not
present.'
`Enough,' said Washington. `Keep in your saddle
from ten this morning. We shall have work for
yo before night.'
Archibald joined me, with a countenance particularly
thoughtful and solemn.
`What is the matter?' said I.
`I am a Major,' he replied.
`And does that make you sorrowful?'
`Yes—I do not deserve it. Many a better man will
be under my command—many a better man; and I am
but a boy.'
`But you can deserve it.'
`Yes! that is true—and I will, or die. I will not
be in the way of any man that deserves it better.'
`Are we to do any thing?'
`Yes—did you see the general's face?'
`See it!' said I—`yes, and shook all over, as I
did see it. How preternaturally dark it was.'
`Very,' he replied, `very. It bodes another Trenton
visitation, I am apt to think. But hush—Let us be
wary.'
Washington passed us again now, at a slow, warlike
movement, his tall martial person habited in a uniform,
which I will try to describe:—the waiscoat was buff,
plain buff, without an atom of gold about it, very long,
we call a French blue, rather worn and dusty, exceedingly
tight in the arms and open always;—breeches
buff, and boots in the clumsy fashion of the day, reaching
to the knees—but without any expression: the
whole costume wearing the look of what is meant
for service, rather than parade. As he passed us, he
uncovered to our general salution, with a dignity and
plainness that I never saw equalled. But do what he
would—he was always George Washington—full of
beautiful simplicity and power.
In two hours more, we were in motion, under himself
in person, and advanced to Skippack creek, where
we encamped. It was about sixteen miles from Germantown,
where the main body of the enemy lay;
Cornwallis having followed Howe to Philadelphia.—
Lord Howe had gone round from the Chesapeake, to cooperate
with his brother, in reducing the forts upon
Mud Island, and Red Bank, in and upon the Delaware.
Washington was constantly in the saddle—and the
whole army in a state of fiery excitement, from the
news that came in every day, respecting the operations
at the north against Burgoyne, who was already in a
most critical situation. By the way, I forgot to mention
in the proper place, that we sustained a severe loss
a few nights before this movement, by General Wayne's
suffering himself to be surprised, and then, most unluckily,
parading his men in front of their fires, so that
every shot told—we lost nearly three hundred of our
best troops, bayonetted on the spot.
On the third of October, we were handsomely reinforced,
and Washington led us against the enemy at
Germantown, rationally supposing that the contemplated
operations upon fort Mifflin, and Red Bank, would
leave the enemy's main body considerably weakened at
Germantown.
The enemy were pitched about the centre of the town.
His left on the Schuylkill; covered by the chasseurs;
the west—with a battalion in front, occupying chesnut
hill.
Our plan was too complicated—the ground was broken
up by enclosures; a heavy fog covered the whole
ground, which was exceedingly uneven—and we could
not see a pistol-shot from our horses heads. And, from
the time we entered the field, leaning about in a most
disorderly manner, until we heard Pulaski raging like
a devil all about us, leaping heages and ditches, and
calling out the day is our own! the day is our own!—
I had not seen, or heard any thing of Archibald or Arthur.
But in five minutes more, they had both passed
me, erect on their saddles, and shouting to us, that the
horse of the enemy, (a squadron under Cornwallis, just
arrived for Philadelphia,) were riding Greene down.—
At the time, we knew little of what was going forward.
Again and again, were we utterly lost, in the heavy
fog, mistaking our own party for the enemy, and being
mistaken in our turn. A tremendous firing was
kept up, it appeared, at every corner of the heavens—
a part of both armies had fallen into each others hands;
and, but for the abominable delay at a stone house (into
which Col. Margrave, threw himself in the heat of the
battle, checking our main body, and holding out till all
the enemy were upon us,) we should have given a good
account of the day's work, I believe. But, be that
as it will, we were in time to cover the retreat of our
army—exchange some cuts with Cornwallis' horse;
and hold him in check, till Steven's artillery opened
upon them, with a destruction like that which fell upon
Sodom and Gommorah—breaking through whole ranks
at every discharge, and blowing platoon after platoon
into the air—man and horse. The Marylanders under
Conway, (forming a part of Sullivan's division) fought
like so many armed knights.
Archibald got a cut over the left temple, which soon
healed; but neither Pulaski, nor Arthur, nor myself,
was wounded, though I had my bear skin cap, riddled
three places; and Arthur had stirrup and bridle shot
away. Yet, I saw Pulaski cleave one fellow to the
chine, at the moment it appeared to me, that a pistol
was fired into his very face and eyes. I looked a moment
though I was hotly engaged with two good swordsmen,
in the expectation of seeing him fall; but, in a twinkling,
he was out of sight, his blade rattling like hail,
about the bayonets that hedged him in, as he passed in
a circle of incessant fire, giving point and edge, at the
same moment. He had a horse killed under him; but
immediately brought down his antagonist from the saddle,
mounted his horse, and rejoined his men.
And here, I cannot forget to mention, that, a long
time after the battle, Archibald and I rode over the
ground again, step by step, each pointing out to the
other, the spot where every vicissitude and accident
had occurred to himself. I remember too, as if it were
but yesterday, his pointing out the window at the left
wing of Chew's house, which a spirited young officer,
under the very eye of Washington, attempted to set
fire to; and the very tree, under which he died a few
moments after the attempt. The window is yet shattered
and blackened with the attempt, and the walls
are indented and bruised, all about, with the idle cannonading
of our light artillery; and a friend of mine
lately informed me of a remarkable fact, which has escaped
the notice of all of our historians; and which,
had it been known at the time, might have changed the
issue of the day. When Washington ordered up the
field pieces, and they had began to play upon the house,
(which is built of a very solid, heavy stone) he went a
little in advance, to reconnoitre; and, owing to the fog
and smoke, was deceived into a belief, that one of the
back buildings, connected with the house, had been
changed since he had seen it, (for he had been perfectly
acquainted with the house and family,) and deliberately
fortified. The building, even yet, has a formidable appearance,
and I can readily conceive, that a military
man might hesitate a good while, before he would attempt
appearance Washington was prevented from attempting
to carry it in the rear, by which he would undoubtedly,
have succeeded, for there were all its weak points,
there was it most accessible, and there, least capable
of defence. But to return.
After this battle, we returned to Skippack and encamped;
lying, literally upon our arms, until the
news of Burgoyne's surrender came upon us like a clap
of thunder. I was not ten feet from Washington, when
the officer, covered with dust and froth, handed him a
letter—exclaiming, at the same time—`Burgoyne
and his whole army have surrendered!' The news
went, like a peal of electricity through the camp.
`Hourra! Hourra! Hourra!' exclaimed the men running
together in all directions.
`Hourra! Hourra! Hourra!' shouted the officers, utterly
forgetful of Washington's presence.
But I—I could neither speak nor breathe, nor take
off my eyes from his face.
He read the whole letter through—turned it over in
his hand—looked at the date—asked a question or two,
as if taught by experience, that good news were not
lightly to be depended upon.—But when it was all confirmed—
all!—I thought, for a moment, that he would
have fallen from his horse. A mighty paleness overspread
his whole face—like moonlight over Roman
sculpture. His great heart laboured—his lip worked—
his chest heaved; he turned up his clear eyes to
God—gave his hand to the messenger; who looked as
if he could have fallen upon his face, and lain there for
Washington to drive his white charger over; and then
dismounted, and withdrew, alone—all, all alone to his
tent. I am sure that it was to go down upon his knees
—yes! I am sure of it; and every man that saw his
troubled port—the august, patient tread of the hero, as
he bowed his great forehead again, uncovered as it was,
and walked away, felt as I did, that Washington had
gone to prayer. It was a whole hour before a living
man approached him. Who would have dared? who!
with Jehovah?
I will not stop to relate what I was not an eye witness
of—the operations upon the Delaware.—You will
find the story well told in every history, upon which
you can lay your hand: but keep upon the track that I
have chosen.
One thing I had forgotten. Young Sampson had remained
with us; and it was said by a Virginian, though
I did not see him, fought like `a ring-tailed panther,'
in the battle. All that I know is, that he was taken
prisoner, as he said, once or twice, that night; and
esaped as often, with the blood of his captor, and his
spoils into the bargain. To my knowledge, he had
three handsome watches, and some gold, when he returned
to the camp; and was smeared and soaked in
human blood: nay, his very hair was stiffened with it;
and for a week afterwards, the snow where his head
lay, would be soiled with crimson, though I made him
wash it twenty times at least. Yet, I doubt, if any of
it was unfairly shed; unfairly, I mean, after the usages
of war. His face was blacked and scorched with
gunpowder, and he was nearly blind for a time; and
his eye-lashes, were singed off. But he was not otherwise
injured than by a bruise in the side, as he said,
from a regiment of horse running over him.
`With gun carriages at their heels, I dare say,'
added Copely, who heard him account for it.
Copely was now able to attend to duty again, and
went about it with the same unaltered front—a little
paler, and perhaps a little calmer than usual—with his
arm in a sling.
Our condition, at this time, was deplorable beyond all
belief. Several thousand of our troops had not a
blanket to wrap themselves in, though the winter had
now set in, with unparalleled severity: a large portion
were without breeches, shoes or stockings. We
had exhausted all our money, and credit—and were,
for a time, hardly less ragged than our men.
On the fourth of December, Sir William Howe advanced
upon us, in power, as if determined to exasperate
us, naked and suffering as we were, to a rash engagement,
that we might go into winter quarters with
a tolerable feeling of security. But, after manœuvering
several days in beautiful style, performing some of
his evolutions within reach of our cannon, he, quietly,
like the king of France, with twenty thousand men,
marched up the hill, and then, marched down again.
Our whole army were struck with astonishment;
and Washington, not less than his troops. What could
have led to such an unequivocal avowal of Sir William's
respect, it would be difficult to say; but, we ought not
to forget, that we were altogether his inferiours in every
respect at the time; and, that every man in our army,
felt the retreat of Sir William, as if we had obtained a
victory over him.
On the eleventh, we began a movement in search of
winter quarters; and, finally pitched upon Valley
Forge, a place about sixteen miles from Philadelphia.
We arrived there on the sixteenth; and here let me
pause. Here began our severest sufferings. Men may
talk of their Romans, and their Greeks: of armies,
that have perished in their own blood; cities in their
smoke; martyrs and apostles to liberty, chanting
their own death song. I have been in battle many times,
by night and by day: I have been willing to spend my
whole life in it; I have been wrapped in smoke and
blaze; stunned, for hours together, with the noise of
cannon; and blinded, for whole days, with the flash of
musketry: yet, so help me God, I could spend a long
life, in one uninterrupted battle, with less suffering,
than I — (and my care was nothing to that of some
others,) than I spent that winter at Valley Forge. Our
poor fellows were barefooted, as I have told you; naked
and starving. As I am a living man, in the presence
of my Maker, I declare to you, that I have seen
the dark, swollen, discoloured and lacerated feet of a
whole company, frozen to the ground, in their own
blood, when we halted for ten minutes. I remember it
among them, who had either stockings or shoes; and
when they put their bruised soles to the earth, the blood
gushed out as from a trodden spunge, so swollen and
bloated were they. But why dwell upon it!—why?
Because, since the creation of this world, there never
was an army that endured so much, so patiently.
Greeks and Romans! blisters on the American tongue,
that shall dare to name them in comparison with our poor
fellows! every foot fall was martyrdom; and when the
winds blew, and the storm beat—and the fine snow
drifted over them, as they lay, shivering and naked,
upon their pallets; their stout hearts were never heard
to complain. No! they lived, while they could; and,
when they could live no longer—they died in silence.
I have seen many a stout fellow; but one, I particularly
remember, frozen hand and feet, chafing his purple
limbs, for whole hours together, without uttering one
word of sorrow or complaint. We made a town of log-huts,
at the suggestion of our commander; kept constantly
in motion; and were all inoculated with the
small-pox: and this, in the very face of our enemy!
For whole days, we were without a mouthful of bread;
though our foraging parties, were all sent abroad, in
every direction, to sieze and appropriate clothing and
food: yet, were we without either, owing to the mismanagement
of Congress—always interfering, whenever
it was possible to make mischief. You would not
wonder at my indignation, if you had seen a thousandth
part of the suffering that I did, for the want of articles,
that were actually lying about the country, purchased
and paid for, and rotting in the woods. I—but, no, I
cannot trust myself to do more than relate two or three
simple facts. When we were eight thousand strong,
we were obliged to report three thousand unfit for duty,
on account of their nakedness; and this number was
continually augmenting, till the greater part of the
army were obliged to sit up, all night long, before the
fire, smothered and blinded with smoke, instead of
sleeping quietly, for they had no clothes to cover them.
a prohibited theme to a man of my passion. Great
Britain dealt with us like a destroyer; but we must try
to forget it. Thank God! and I do thank God for it,
I was never their prisoner. But I have seen them
that were—and Archibald, I remember, after his escape.
He never recovered from it. `They have poisoned
me,' he cried, `I have seen powdered glass in
the wretched food that they gave me, on board the
Jersey prison-ship. It was a slaughter-house; and
the water grew black about her, as if with the plague,
choaked up with human bodies.' This was all that he
said. But he never forgot or forgave it; and, to my
knowledge, exacted a fearful retribution for it. He
was squalid and filthy, I have been told, beyond all expression,
when he returned; but there was blood encrusted
upon his face. One of his keepers had given
up the ghost for his insult and cruelty; and Archibald
burst his chains at the same moment.
Follow me; a few steps will bring us to the opening
of a new campaign. France had joined us. Gates,
I believe, was at the bottom of a conspiracy to supplant
Washington. Pulaski was appointed to a legion of
horse, with the rank of major-general. Archibald's
brevet was confirmed; Arthur was promoted to a captainship;
Copely to a lieutenant colonelship in the infantry,
and I—I remained a captain.
We had now been nearly two years in actual warfare.
Neither Archibald nor I, had seen our mother for fifteen
months, though we frequently heard from her; and
he, I suspected at the time, more frequently than ever.
But at last, on the arrival of Sir Henry Clinton to
supersede Howe—and the evacuation of Philadelphia;
we heard that Mr. Arnauld had removed to that city.
My heart throbbed mightily, when I heard of it. I
longed to fall in their way, (her way, I ought to say,)
by accident: and yet, there was the sunny-haired Ellenour;
how should I meet her? I trembled at the
thought.
Washington called a council of war, and proposed
giving Clinton battle in his retreat; but, unluckily
was overruled. So that—allow me to say, that there
was a battle fought, called the battle of Monmouth, in
which, I received a wound, that cost me my leg afterward;—and
that Arthur particularly distinguished himself
in it. This is all that I know of the affair. Archibald
used to contract his forehead, when I spoke of it,
saying, that `it was a hard fought, desperate, and unnecessary
battle.' He had began to study the scene
of war at the time: I had made considerable progress
in it. `It would never have been fought.' said he,
`had not Washington forgot himself, in his exasperation
with Lee. And Lee—by heaven, he is an injured
man! rash and haughty as he is. He was brave and
skillful; and the court-martial, with Lord Sterling the
president, were all a pack of blunderheads, or something
worse, for suspending him.'
| CHAPTER IV. Seventy-six | |