Chapter VIII: Appendix: I. Programme of Stories from the History of the United States 453 (5)

As for Nellie, she wanted to romp and play from morning till night. She did not like to have her hair dressed with feathers and ribbons. She did not enjoy her books and music. And she used to cry for hours together, while her determined grandmother stood guard over her, keeping her at practice on the beautiful harpsichord, which Washington had given her.

As for Washington, he tried to lighten little Nellie’s tasks, and used to carry her off for a gallop or brisk outdoor walk.

He was always extremely fond of little girls. He liked other little girls beside Nellie. He had with him her pretty sister, Elizabeth, when he sat for one of his portraits. And in the most critical week of his Presidency, Washington went to the house of one of his cabinet officers, and played with his little daughters.

_Harriet Taylor Upton_ (_Retold_)

_Many of the stories in this book are from the Life of Washington,
by his adopted son, George Washington Parke Custis._

SEEING THE PRESIDENT

Sometimes, when President Washington went on a journey in his state-coach, he wanted to travel quietly, without attracting people’s attention. So he charged his courier, who rode on ahead, to make all necessary arrangements at inns, but to tell no one but the landlords, that the President was coming.

Often, however, the news leaked out, and was flashed throughout the countryside. Trumpets were blown, as the veterans of the War for Independence gathered to welcome their Chief. Village cannon roared. Every village and hamlet poured out its folk to greet the man who was “first in the hearts of his countrymen.”

As for the school children, how eagerly they hurried to get their lessons, so that as a reward, they might see _General Washington_.

And when at last he did come, how happy the children were to be presented to him. With delight, they listened to his kind voice, felt the kindlier touch of his hand, and even climbed on his knee to look up into his smiling face.

_George Washington Parke Custis_ (_Retold_)

NELSON THE HERO

There was one old horse at Mount Vernon, after the War for Independence, who was a hero. He was never ridden. He was cared for kindly. He grazed in a pleasant paddock.

That was Nelson, Washington’s favourite and splendid charger, which he had ridden on the day of the surrender at Yorktown. He was a light sorrel, with white face and legs.

Now that he was old, he was petted and cared for. Whenever Washington made the rounds of his kennels and stables, he stopped at the paddock. Then the old war-horse would run neighing up to the fence, proud to be caressed by the hand of his master.

_George Washington Parke Custis_ (_Retold_)

CARING FOR THE GUEST

_Told by the Guest Himself_

I had feasted my imagination, for several days, on the near prospect of a visit to Mount Vernon, the seat of Washington. No pilgrim ever approached Mecca with deeper enthusiasm.

The first evening I spent under the wing of his hospitality, we sat a full hour at table, by ourselves, without the least interruption after the family had retired.

I was extremely oppressed with a severe cold and excessive coughing, contracted from the exposure of a harsh winter journey. He pressed me to use some remedies, but I declined doing so.

As usual, soon after retiring, my cough increased.

When some time had elapsed, the door of my room was gently opened. And, on drawing back my bed-curtains, to my utter astonishment, I beheld Washington himself standing at my bedside with a bowl of hot tea in his hand.

_Elkanah Watson_ (_Condensed_)

THOUGHTFUL OF OTHERS

Once, when Washington was stopping for refreshment at a house in Jersey, some one told him that a wounded officer was there, who could not bear the slightest sound.

During the meal, Washington spoke in an undertone, and was careful to make no noise.

After he had left the table, however, his officers began to talk in loud voices. Instantly, Washington softly opened the dining-room door, entered on tip-toe, took a book from the mantelpiece, and stole out of the room without uttering a word.

His officers took the hint, and were silent.

THE CINCINNATUS OF THE WEST

_A man who’d fought to free the land from woe,
Like me, had left his farm a-soldiering to go;
But having gained his point, he had, like me,
Returned his own potato-ground to see;
But there he couldn’t rest;--with one accord
He’s called to be a kind of--, not a Lord,--
I don’t know what--he’s not a great man, sure,
For poor men love him, just as he was poor!
They love him like a father or a brother!_

_This little verse is from “Darby’s Return,” a play that President Washington went to see. The moment he entered the theatre the whole audience rose to its feet and cheered. And when “Darby” said these lines, the audience stared hard at Washington to see how he would take them. He looked horribly embarrassed. But when “Darby” quickly added that he had not seen the “man” at all at all because he was so plainly dressed that he passed by unnoticed, Washington burst into a hearty laugh._

In the ancient days of Rome, a terrible enemy threatened the city. There was no Roman general wise enough to lead the army against the foe. There was just one plain Roman citizen whom the people trusted. They believed that he had the wisdom to save them. This was Cincinnatus the Curly-haired. They sent hasty messengers to bid him come to the aid of Rome.

The messengers found him tilling his land, for he was a farmer. His feet were heavy with damp earth and his clothes covered with soil. He listened to their message, and to the request of the Roman Senate that he should come at once to the aid of his Country.

He called his wife to bring his toga from their hut. After he had wiped off the dust and sweat, he put on his toga and went with the messengers.

So he saved Rome.

Thus it was with Washington.

When the call came for him to save his Country, he left his plantation. So did many farmers and planters; at a moment’s notice they left their farms and plantations, took up their muskets and answered the call of their Country. They became officers in Washington’s Army.

After the war, these officers formed a society, called the Society of the Cincinnati, naming it after the patriotic old Roman farmer.

To it belonged Washington, Hamilton, Lafayette, Kosciuszko, and many other American and foreign officers, who had served with honour in the Continental army. To-day their descendants, one representing each officer, belong to the Society of the Cincinnati.

The French members presented Washington with a magnificent badge of the Order, studded with about two hundred precious stones--diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and amethysts.

Washington himself is called:--

“_Yes--one--the first--the last--the best,
The Cincinnatus of the West._”

BROTHER JONATHAN

_I do hereby earnestly recommend it to all ... to meet together for
social prayer to Almighty God ... that He would ... preserve our
precious Rights and Liberties ... and make us a People of his
praise, and blessed of the Lord, as long as the sun and the moon
shall endure._

JONATHAN TRUMBULL, _to the People of Connecticut, June 18, 1776_

Patriotic and plucky was Connecticut, the State of the Charter Oak. It had been a liberty-loving Colony from the days when its first settlers, with their wives, children, household goods, and cattle, came through the howling Wilderness--literally howling with savage Pequot Indians--and settled on the banks of the beautiful Connecticut River, whose name in the Indian language means Long River.

Those brave settlers came into the Wilderness so that they might have religious and civil Liberty. Almost, their first act was to frame in 1639, a Constitution for their own government. It was the first Constitution in America to make no mention of allegiance to King or Great Britain. It breathed the free spirit of American Independence over a hundred years before the Declaration of Independence.

Is it strange, then, that Jonathan Trumbull, Governor of Connecticut under King George, should have been a Patriot?

He was more than loyal to American freedom. He was Washington’s friend and supporter. He supplied Washington with soldiers and ammunition. He supplied more than half the powder used at Bunker Hill.

There is a tale, that once when Washington was hard put to it for ammunition, and it looked as though the campaign would fail for lack of powder and shot, Washington said to his officers, “We must consult Brother Jonathan.”

Then Washington consulted Governor Trumbull, and got his powder and shot.

After that, whenever a difficulty arose in the Army, the men would say, “We must consult Brother Jonathan.” So the saying became a byword.

Later, people nicknamed the United States, “Brother Jonathan,” just as England is called “John Bull.”

THE BLOODY FOOTPRINTS

It was the terrible winter of 1777. The snow lay thick on the ground, and the cold was piercing. Through the snow, a detachment of Patriot troops was wearily plodding toward winter-quarters at Valley Forge. Half-naked, hungry, and numb with cold, they pushed on.

Presently Washington rode slowly up after them. He was eying the snow intently through which they had marched. There was something on its frozen surface, something red that he had tracked for many miles.

Saluting the commanding officer, Washington drew rein.

“How comes it, sir,” he said, “that I have tracked the march of your troops by the bloodstains of their feet upon the frozen ground? Were there no shoes in the commissary’s stores, that this sad spectacle is to be seen along the public highways?”

“Your Excellency may rest assured,” replied the officer, “that this sight is as painful to my feelings as it can be to yours. But there is no remedy within our reach. When the shoes were issued, the different regiments were served in turn. It was our misfortune to be among the last to be served, and the stores became exhausted before we could obtain even the smallest supply.”

Washington’s lips compressed, while his chest heaved with the powerful emotions that were struggling in his bosom. Then turning toward the troops, with a trembling voice, he exclaimed:--

“Poor fellows!”

Then giving his horse the rein, he rode sadly on.

During this touching interview, every eye had been bent upon him; and as those two words warm from the heart of their beloved commander and full of commiseration for their sufferings, reached the soldiers, there burst gratefully from their lips:--

“God bless your Excellency, your poor soldiers’ friend!”

_George Washington Parke Custis_ (_Arranged_)

AN APPEAL TO GOD

On a cold wintry journey to Valley Forge, Mrs. Washington rode behind her husband on a pillion. He was on his powerful bay charger, and accompanied by a single aide-de-camp.

On his arrival at Valley Forge, Washington placed her in the small but comfortable house of Isaac Potts, a Quaker preacher.

So in all the trials of that Winter at Valley Forge, Washington had the most earnest sympathies, cheerful spirit, and willing hands of his loving wife to sustain him and share in his cares.

She provided comforts for the sick soldiers. Every day except Sundays, the wives of officers, and other women too, assisted her in knitting socks, patching garments, and making shirts for the poor soldiers.

Every fair day, she might be seen, basket in hand and with a single attendant, going among the huts and giving comfort to the most needy sufferers.

On one occasion, she went to the hut of a dying sergeant, whose young wife was with him. His misery touched the heart of Mrs. Washington, and after she had given him some food prepared with her own hands, she knelt down by his straw bed, and prayed earnestly for him and his wife, in her sweet serious voice.

But it was not only women who prayed in those terrible days at Valley Forge.

The cold and suffering increased. One day Friend Potts was walking by the creek not far from his house, when he heard a solemn voice speaking. He went quietly in its direction, and saw Washington’s horse without a rider tied to a sapling.

He stole nearer, and saw Washington himself, kneeling in a thicket. He was on his knees in prayer to God asking Him for help. Tears were on Washington’s cheeks.

And quietly the Friend stole away. On entering his house, he burst out weeping. When his wife asked him what was the matter, he said:--

“If there is any one on this earth whom the Lord will listen to, it is George Washington. And I feel a presentiment that under such a Commander there can be no doubt of our eventually establishing our Independence, and that God in His providence has willed it so.”

_Benson J. Lossing_ (_Arranged_)

FRIEND GREENE

_At Eutaw Springs the valiant died;
Their limbs with dust are covered o’er.
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!_

* * * * *

_Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain,
None grieved, in such a cause to die._

_From Eutaw Springs, by_ PHILIP FRENEAU

It was at the Siege of Boston. The troops of the Colonies were raw and uncouth. They were camping separately. Washington was inspecting their camps for the first time. He saw that their shelters were made of anything the soldiers could lay hands on, turf, bricks, sail-cloth, boards, or brushwood. Each soldier seemed to live and do as he pleased.

But when Washington reached the camp of the Rhode Island troops, he perceived neat tents pitched, soldiers well drilled and equipped, and under perfect discipline. He was pausing to look around him with pleasure and approval, when a young officer, vigorous and finely built, stepped forward to greet him, his frank manly face beaming with a cordial welcome.

The young man was Nathanael Greene, Commander of the Rhode Island troops. It was he who had trained them, after studying the manœuvres of the British troops in Boston.

Nathanael Greene was born a Friend or Quaker. When a boy, he worked in his father’s forge, and helped on the farm.

He was eager to read. He got together a little library of his own. He studied hard. He liked best to read about military heroes. When he grew older, although he was a Friend, he joined the Rhode Island militia. Later he was appointed Rhode Island’s Commander, and led her troops to Bunker Hill and the Siege of Boston.

Washington liked and trusted him at first sight. Later his confidence became friendship.

At Valley Forge, Nathanael Greene gave up active duty in the field, much to his sorrow and regret, and became Quartermaster-General. He gave up his ambitions, in order to help Washington relieve the sufferings of the troops. As Quartermaster-General, he was soon able to supply them with some blankets, clothes, and food, all of which Congress had failed to deliver.

Later Greene’s reward of faithful service came. Washington appointed him Commander of the Army in the South. It was a post of great danger; but he conducted his military operations with such courage and sagacity that they led on to completed victory for the American arms at Yorktown.

This is what John Fiske says of Nathanael Greene:--

“The intellectual qualities which he showed in his southern campaign were those which have characterized some of the foremost strategists of modern times.... Nor was Greene less notable for the sweetness and purity of his character, than for the scope of his intelligence. From lowly beginnings he had come to be ... the most admired and respected citizen of Rhode Island.”

LIGHT HORSE HARRY

_The American Congress to Henry Lee, Colonel of Cavalry_:--

“_Notwithstanding rivers and intrenchments, he with a small band
ered the foe by warlike skill and prowess, and firmly bound by his
humanity, those who had been conquered by his arms._”

_In memory of the conflict at Paulus’s Hook, nineteenth of August, 1779_

I

The most dashing and romantic young soldier of the Continental Army, was Light Horse Harry. His real name was Henry Lee.

He was a small, alert, young man, mischievous sometimes, but always brave. He was a cavalry-leader. He commanded the famous Legion of Light Horse, which took part in so many heroic battles. He was one of Washington’s most trusted generals.

His charm and dauntlessness delighted Washington, who showed warm interest in his promotion; perhaps this was because Light Horse Harry’s mother had been Washington’s young sweetheart in his schoolboy days. “My lowland beauty,” he had called her. But she had married a Lee, and not Washington.

Light Horse Harry had many adventures as romantic and daring as himself.

II

Light Horse Harry was a favourite at Mount Vernon. He did not stand in any reverential awe of the great Washington.

One day, as they sat at table, Washington mentioned that he wanted a pair of carriage horses, and asked the young man if he knew where they might be bought.

“I have a fine pair, General,” replied he, “but you cannot get them.”

“Why not?”

“Because you will never pay more than half price for anything; and I must have full price for my horses.”

This bantering reply set Mrs. Washington laughing; and her parrot, perched beside her, joined in the laugh.

Washington took this familiar assault upon his dignity with great good humour.

“Ah, Lee, you are a funny fellow!” said he, “See, that bird is laughing at you!”

III

When Washington died, it was Light Horse Harry who was chosen by Congress to deliver the funeral oration before both Houses. It was in this oration that he said those famous words:--

“He survives in our hearts--in the growing knowledge of our children, in the affection of the good throughout the World,-- ... first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen ... pious, just, humane, temperate and sincere, uniform, dignified and commanding ... the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his public virtues.”

_Washington Irving and Other Sources_ (_Retold_)

CAPTAIN MOLLY

_Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won;
And in triumph Irish Molly stands beside her smoking gun._

Moll Pitcher, twenty-two years old, was dubbed _Captain_ at the Battle of Monmouth, and very proud she was of the title. Her real name was Molly Hays. She carried drinking-water on the battle-field, to refresh the soldiers; so they nicknamed her Moll Pitcher.

At Monmouth, her husband, a Patriot, belonged to Proctor’s artillery. Moll was with him on the field. Six men, one after another, were killed or wounded at her husband’s gun.

“It’s an unlucky gun,” grumbled the soldiers, “draw it aside and abandon it.”

Just at that moment, while Moll was serving water to the soldiers, her husband received a shot in the head, and fell lifeless under the wheels of that very gun.

Moll threw down her pail of water; and crying, “Lie there, my darling, while I revenge ye!” she grasped the ramrod that the lifeless hand of the poor fellow had let fall, and rammed home the charge.

Then she called to the artillerymen to prime and fire.

It was done. Pushing the sponge into the smoking muzzle of the gun, she performed the duties of an expert artilleryman, while loud shouts from the soldiers passed along the line.

The gun was no longer thought unlucky. The fire of the battery became more vivid than ever.

Moll kept to her post till night closed the action, and the British were driven back by the Patriots, Washington himself leading them to the attack.

It was then that General Greene complimented Moll on her courage and conduct. The next morning he presented her to Washington, who received her graciously, and gave her a piece of gold, assuring her that her services should not be forgotten.

Washington conferred upon her the commission of sergeant, and placed her name on the half-pay list for life.

The French officers, charmed with her bravery, gave her many presents. She would sometimes pass along the French line with her cocked hat, and get it almost filled with crowns.

She was always welcome at Headquarters. She wore a cocked hat and feather, and an artilleryman’s coat over her petticoat.

One day, Washington found her washing clothes, and stopped to chat with her.

“Well, Captain Molly,” he said, “are you not almost tired of this quiet way of life; and longing to be once more on the field of battle?”

“Troth, your Excellency,” replied she, “and ye may say that! for I care not how soon I have another slap at them Red Coats, bad luck to them!”

“But what is to become of your petticoats, in such an event, Captain Molly?”

“Oh, long life to your Excellency!” said she, “and never de ye mind them at all at all! Sure, and it is only in the artillery, your Excellency knows, that I would sarve, and divil a fear but the smoke of the cannon will hide my petticoats!”

_George Washington Parke Custis, and Other Sources_

THE SOLDIER BARON

_The good Baron found time to prepare a new code of discipline and
tactics ... and this excellent manual held its place, long after
the death of its author, as the Blue Book of our Army._

JOHN FISKE

While the ragged Patriot Army with Washington starved, froze, and suffered at Valley Forge, there was speeding down from Boston on a fast saddle-horse, a man who was to help them win the war.

His keen hazel eyes looked pleasantly out from under bushy brows. His mouth smiled with good cheer; but he held his head in military fashion. The glittering star of a foreign Order was on his breast, and he carried a letter of recommendation from Benjamin Franklin to George Washington, Commander-in-Chief of the American Army.

He was Baron Steuben, a famous soldier and German hero of the Seven Years’ War. He had offered his services to Washington to train the Army, explaining that he wished to deserve the title of a citizen of America, by fighting for her Liberty.

At his side rode his young and waggish French interpreter in scarlet regimentals faced with blue. His bright eyes were always on the watch for a glimpse of pretty American maidens. Behind the two came their servants with the baggage.

It began to snow heavily. Night fell. They drew rein at an inn. It had a bad name; and it was kept by a Tory.

“I’ve no beds, bread, meat, drink, milk, or eggs for you,” said the sullen Tory landlord.

And neither Steuben’s remonstrances nor oaths could make him change his mind.

Steuben’s blood began to boil. “Bring me my pistol!” he cried in German to his servant.

And the landlord, who was smiling maliciously, suddenly felt a pistol pressed against his breast.

“Can you give us beds?” shouted Steuben.

“Yes!” cried the affrighted man.

“Bread?”

“Yes!”

“Meat--drink--milk--eggs?”

“Yes!--yes!--yes!--yes!”

And the trembling landlord scurried around. The table was quickly laid, and food set out. Then after a substantial supper, a comfortable night and a hearty breakfast, the Baron and his men mounted and were off again.

To cut the story short, he was soon at Valley Forge, serving with Washington, and training the troops. They had had little expert military training before. The Baron drilled the soldiers himself. He took a musket in hand and showed them how to advance, retreat, or charge without falling into disorder.

Not only the soldiers, but the generals, colonels, and captains, watched him eagerly and with enthusiasm. Soon the camp was a bustling military training school. The men almost forgot their sufferings, so intent they were on learning. They worked incessantly and with tremendous energy.

But the Baron made it lively for them, for he had a quick temper. He swore at them in three languages; and, when they did not understand that, he called his aide to help him out in English.

Some of the men had thrown away their bayonets, and some had used them for roasting meat. But the Baron soon drilled them to use bayonets with such good effect that when later a column of them stormed Stony Point they took it in a bayonet charge.

He--the bluff Steuben--never failed in bravery on the battle-field. At Monmouth, while the American troops were fleeing in panic, the Baron kept doggedly on with his face to the foe. Meanwhile, Washington, furious and fiery, rallied the soldiers and led them back to victory. “It was now,” says John Fiske, “that the admirable results of Steuben’s teaching were to be seen. The retreating soldiers immediately wheeled and formed under fire, with as much coolness and precision as they could have shown on parade.”

Bluff, generous, kindly, old Steuben still served the Country after peace and Independence came. Then he settled down on his farm of sixteen thousand acres, the gift to him from the State of New York, in recognition of his patriotic services. “Throughout the war,” says John Fiske, “Steuben proved no less faithful than capable. He came to feel a genuine love for his adopted Country.”

FATHER THADDEUS

_Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciuszko fell!_

THOMAS CAMPBELL

“What do you wish to do?” said Washington.

The young Polish officer with a rugged face, held himself erect.

“I come,” answered he, “to fight as a volunteer for American Independence.”

“What can you do?” asked Washington.

“Try me!” said the young Pole, his dark eyes flashing pleasantly.

So Washington tried him.

He was Thaddeus Kosciuszko, born in Lithuania, and a Patriot of unhappy Poland.

Poor Poland! Dismembered, patriotic Poland! Again and again she had been betrayed, and divided by her greedy neighbours, Russia, Prussia, and Austria. But always the fires of Patriotism had burned in the hearts of the Poles, and though they had been forced to bow their necks to their enemies they had never bowed their hearts.

And it was a romantic story that had sent young Kosciuszko post-haste from Poland to America. He was poor but of good blood. He had fallen in love with a beautiful and clever Polish girl. Her father was a haughty, rich State official. He would not give his consent to their marriage. So the young lovers eloped. The father pursued them with his men. Kosciuszko fought like a lion to defend his beloved Ludwika. But her father’s men wounded him so severely that he fell senseless on the field. Then her father carried Ludwika home, and married her to another man.

When Kosciuszko came to his senses, his Love was gone. Her handkerchief stained with his own blood, lay beside him. He took it up reverently and placed it in his bosom.

Thus disappointed in love, he had left Poland and come to America to forget his grief in fighting for Freedom. For Kosciuszko had been a Patriot and a lover of Liberty for all men, since his early boyhood.

Washington placed him on his own staff. Soon he found that the young man had talent, and was an experienced army engineer. He commissioned him Chief Engineer. Kosciuszko rendered great service to America, but his most important work was on the defenses of West Point.

When our War for Independence was over, he returned to Poland. He became her leading Patriot, defending her against the invasions of Russia, Prussia, and Austria. “Father Thaddeus” his men called him, as he led them into battle.

During his famous defense of Warsaw, he was badly wounded on the battle-field, and captured by Cossacks. He was thrown into a Russian prison; and there he was kept until after the death of Catherine the Great.

He was released by the new Czar, who admired him, and wished to give him a brilliant commission in the Russian Army. But Kosciuszko refused his offer, and went into voluntary exile. He still hoped that some day again he might serve Poland.

His wounds were yet unhealed. There was a sabre-cut across his forehead. There were three bayonet-thrusts in his back. A part of his thigh had been torn away by a cannon ball. Around his forehead, he kept a black band tied over the sabre-cut.

He went into exile, and the people of Poland believed that he was dead.

* * * * *

It was nearly seventy-five years after that red-letter day in Lithuania, on which Thaddeus Kosciuszko had been born.

It was in 1814, France and Russia were at war. The Russian Army, as it advanced against Paris, was barbarously pillaging the valley of the Seine. The soldiers were burning the cottages of the poor peasants over their heads, and ill-treating the children, women, and aged folk.

Among the Russian troops was a Polish Regiment. And while its soldiers were savagely burning and looting the little houses, an old man with a scar across his forehead, rushed suddenly in among them.

Raging like a lion, he shouted in Polish:--

“When I commanded brave soldiers, they never pillaged--I should have punished them severely! And still more severely would I have punished officers who allowed such disorders as you are all now engaged in!”

“And who are you, my pretty old man,” cried the officers with sneers and laughter, “who are you that you dare to speak to us in such a tone, and with such boldness!”

“I am Kosciuszko,” was the quick reply.

Each man stood fixed to the spot. Each was paralyzed with astonishment.

There, before them with flashing eyes, stood Poland’s hero--the Polish soldiers’ “Father Thaddeus.”

Then the men threw down their arms to the ground. They cast themselves at his feet. They sprinkled dust upon their heads as was their wild custom at home. They crept close to him, hugging his knees and begging for his forgiveness--for the forgiveness of their “Father Thaddeus.”

* * * * *

When Kosciuszko died in Switzerland, in 1817, there was found in his bosom next his heart, the blood-stained handkerchief which his lost love Ludwika had dropped beside him, so long before.

To-day, in a little chapel at the foot of the lime-planted Hill, the Lindenhof, there is a bronze urn, in which lies the once brave heart of Thaddeus Kosciuszko.

THE LITTLE FRIEND IN FRONT STREET

_He entitled himself to the gratitude of the entire Country._

_Ex-President_ WILLIAM H. TAFT

He was only a little man in his office on Front Street, Philadelphia.

Only a little man--but how great! Without his help our War for Independence might have been lost. He helped to save the Country not with a sword, but by giving all the means that he had and expecting nothing in return.

This little man--his “little friend in Front Street,” as James Madison called him--was Haym Salomon, a Polish Jew and a Patriot.

Through Robert Morris, who was Superintendent of Finance, during the War for Independence, Haym Salomon loaned money to establish the Government and to pay the soldiers. Without his money, Washington could scarcely have held the Army together. And all the while, the little friend in Front Street was refusing any interest on his loans; and some of these loans were never repaid at all.

And he not only financed the Nation, but generously made personal advances of money without interest to members of the Government, in order that they might keep on in their patriotic work. “When any member was in need, all that was necessary was to call upon Salomon,” said James Madison.

But it was not only by financing our young Nation, that Haym Salomon showed his Patriotism.

He was born in Poland of an intelligent educated family. He knew many languages. He was a friend of Kosciuszko and Pulaski. Because of oppression, he left Poland and came to New York City. He married and settled down to business. He soon found, however, that the Americans were heavily oppressed by England. So he threw himself heart and soul into the cause for Independence.

He became a Patriot. He was arrested by the British, imprisoned, tortured, and condemned to death. He managed to escape, and reached Philadelphia safely. There he opened his broker’s office in Front Street. He became a great financier. Henceforward he unselfishly devoted his brains, his energy, and his wealth to help win the War for Independence and build up our Republic.

FAREWELL! MY GENERAL! FAREWELL!

_December 4, 1783_

The War for Independence was over.

Thursday the 4th of December was fixed upon for the final leave-taking of Washington with his officers.

This was the most trying event in his whole career, and he summoned all his self-command to meet it with composure.

Knox and Greene, and Hamilton and Steuben, and others assembled in Fraunces Tavern,[4] and waited with fast-beating hearts the arrival of their Chief.

Not a sound broke the silence as he entered, save the clatter of scabbards as the whole group rose to do him reverence. Casting his eye around, he saw the sad and mournful countenances of those who had been his companions-in-arms through the long years of darkness that had passed. Shoulder to shoulder, they had pressed by his side through the smoke of the conflict. He had heard their battle-shout answer his call in the hour of deepest peril, and seen them bear his standard triumphantly on to victory. Brave hearts were they all and true, on whom he had leaned and not in vain.

Advancing slowly to the table, Washington lifted the glass to his lips and said in a voice choked with emotion:--

“With a heart full of gratitude and love, I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and honourable.”

A mournful, profound silence followed this short address, when Knox advanced to say farewell. But neither could utter a word,--Knox reached forth his hand, while Washington, opening his arms, took him to his heart.

In silence, that was more eloquent than all language, each advanced in turn and was clasped in his embrace.

Washington dared not trust himself to speak, and looking a silent farewell, turned to the door. A corps of light infantry was drawn up on either side to receive him, and as he passed slowly through the lines, a gigantic soldier, who had moved beside him in the terrible march on Trenton, stepped from the ranks, and reaching out his arms, exclaimed:--

“Farewell! my dear General, farewell!”

Washington seized his hand in both of his and wrung it convulsively. In a moment all discipline was at an end; and the soldiers broke their order, and rushing around him, seized him by the hands, covering them with tears.

This was too much for even his strong nature, and as he moved away his broad chest heaved, and tears rolled unchecked down his face.

Passing on to Whitehall, he entered a barge, and as it moved out into the bay, he rose and waved a mute adieu to the noble band on shore.

The impressive scene was over.

_J. T. Headley_ (_Condensed_)

FROM “WASHINGTON’S LEGACY”

OR HIS LETTER TO THE GOVERNORS OF ALL THE STATES

I now make it my earnest prayer that God would have you, and the State over which you preside, in His holy protection; that He would incline the hearts of the Citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and obedience to government; to entertain a brotherly affection and love for one another, for their Fellow-citizens of the United States at large, and particularly for their brethren who have served in the field;--and finally that He would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity, humility, and pacific temper of mind, which were the characteristics of the Divine Author of our blessed Religion, and without an humble imitation of whose example in these things, we can never hope to be a happy Nation.

GEORGE WASHINGTON

_8 June, 1783_

A KING OF MEN

Hand in hand with ... rare soundness of judgment there went a completeness of moral self-control which was all the more impressive inasmuch as Washington’s was by no means a tame or commonplace nature, such as ordinary power of will would suffice to guide.

He was a man of intense and fiery passions. His anger when once aroused had in it something so terrible, that strong men were cowed by it like frightened children. This prodigious animal nature was habitually curbed by a will of iron and held in the service of a sweet and tender soul, into which no mean or unworthy thought had ever entered.

Whole-souled devotion to public duty, an incorruptible integrity, which no appeal to ambition or vanity could for a moment solicit--these were attributes of Washington, as well marked as his clearness of mind and his strength of purpose.

And it was in no unworthy temple, that Nature had enshrined this great spirit. His lofty stature--exceeding six feet--his grave and handsome face, his noble bearing, and courtly grace of manner, all proclaimed in Washington a king of men.

_John Fiske_

WHEN WASHINGTON DIED

Crape enshrouded the Standards of France, and the Flags upon the
victorious ships of England fell fluttering to half-mast at the
tidings of his death.

_Chief Justice Fuller_

Let his countrymen consecrate the memory of the heroic General, the
patriotic Statesman, and the virtuous sage. Let them teach their
children never to forget that the fruits of his labours and his
example, _are their inheritance_.

_The Senate of the United States, 1799_

_The following stories about Washington, and the War for
Independence, may be found in “Good Stories for Great Holidays”:
Three Old Tales (the Cherry-Tree Tale); Young George and the Colt;
Washington the Athlete; Washington’s Modesty; Washington at
Yorktown; Washington and the Cowards; Betsy Ross and the Flag; A
Brave Girl (General Schuyler’s Daughter); A Gunpowder Story
(Elizabeth Zane); The Declaration of Independence; Signing of the
Declaration of Independence._

FEBRUARY 25

JOSE DE SAN MARTIN OF ARGENTINA THE PROTECTOR

_Jose de San Martin, a strong and silent man, whose character and
achievements have been little known or appreciated outside his own
country ... comes nearer than any one else to being the George
Washington of Spanish America._

LORD BRYCE

San Martin, the great Liberator, loved men of audacity and courage.
Besides, he was just and compassionate ... courteous to gentle and
simple alike ... generous and brave San Martin.

JOSEPH CONRAD

_The white-souled San Martin who was without fear and almost
without reproach._

WILLIAM SPENCE ROBERTSON

_The moral grandeur of San Martin consists in this: that nothing is
known of the secret ambitions of his life; that he was in
everything disinterested; that he confined himself strictly to his
mission; and that he died in silence, showing neither weakness,
pride, nor bitterness at seeing his work triumphant and his part in
it forgotten._

BARTOLOME MITRE

SAN MARTIN was born in Spanish America, February 25, 1778

Became the Liberator of Argentina, 1812

Was the Hannibal of the Andes, 1817

He and O’Higgins liberated Chile, 1817-20

San Martin resigned after the meeting with Bolivar, 1822

In voluntary exile, he died at the age of 72, August 17, 1850

His body was brought in state to Argentina, 1880

He is called Protector of Peru

His name is pronounced--Hosay de San Marteen

THE BOY SOLDIER

This boy soldier, who became a great general and American Patriot, was born in the Indian village of Yapeyu, in the district of Misiones, which is now a part of Argentina.

Misiones is a land of thousands of bright butterflies and brilliant flowers, of plantations and wide forests. In it are abandoned groves of wild oranges and lemons, once belonging to the Jesuit Missions, that gave the name of Misiones to the region.

Though he was born among Indians, the boy soldier was not an Indian. He was of pure Spanish blood. His father was an officer of the Spanish Crown, and was Governor of Misiones. Spain ruled all Spanish America in those days.

The boy soldier’s name was Jose de San Martin. Jose, is Spanish for Joseph.

It was an exciting life for Jose, with Indian boys to show him how to shoot wild game, and how to fish in the Uruguay River. Then, there were his father’s soldiers to tell him about military life.

Before Jose was eight years old, his father was transferred, and the boy was sent overseas to Spain to attend school in Madrid.

But such an active American boy, accustomed to Indians and frontier life, could not stay long contented in a school in old Madrid. Besides, he had soldiers’ blood in his veins. He grew restless. He was only eleven; but he petitioned the Spanish Government to be allowed to enlist in the army.

His petition was granted, and he became a boy soldier.

His uniform was white and blue. His first campaign was in Africa. His first battle was with the Moors.

During the next few years he served so gallantly, that at sixteen he was made a lieutenant. So he became a boy officer.

THE PATRIOT WHO KEPT FAITH

In romantic Spain, there was everything to entice young San Martin to forget his native land so far away, and the little Indian village on the Uruguay.

The crimson and gold banners of Spain waved over victorious battle-fields, the drums beat triumphantly, the trumpets sounded to the charge. There was glamour of combat with Moors and other brave enemies. There were romances of knights and ladies, and legends of Aragon, Castile, and the Alhambra. There were serenades, _fandangos_, and feasts. While in the quaint Spanish towns, maidens with dark witching eyes half hidden by mantillas, peeped through the latticed casements. And they must have peeped out joyously whenever the stalwart, handsome, young San Martin went by.

But he never forgot his native land.

As the years passed, he kept deep in his mind the memories of his childhood. He heard that some of his countrymen in Argentina had formed a Patriot Army, and were trying to gain their independence from Spanish rule. He learned of their unsuccessful attempts and of their sufferings.

San Martin heard, too, that the English Colonies of North America had cast off the rule of their mother-country, England, and had established a free government of the People under a Constitution.

Meanwhile, Napoleon Bonaparte was throwing Europe into confusion, pulling down Kings from their thrones, and setting up whomsoever he wished in their stead. He forced the King of Spain to abdicate, and proclaimed his own brother Joseph Bonaparte, King of Spain.

Now the Spanish-American Colonies were the property of the _Kings of Spain_, “the most precious jewel in their crown.” Some of the Colonists had remained loyal, but when they heard how their King had weakly abdicated many of them, in disgust, went over to the Patriots’ side.

It was then that San Martin, although he had opportunities for rising much higher in the Spanish Army, decided to return to Argentina.

He landed on Argentine soil, March 9, 1812.

As a little boy, he had left Argentina. Now he was returned as a man, offering her his sword, his life, his all. “Forsaking my fortunes and my hopes,” said San Martin later, “I desired only to sacrifice everything to promote the Liberty of my native land. I arrived at Buenos Aires in the beginning of 1812--thenceforward I consecrated myself to the cause of Spanish America.”

WHEN SAN MARTIN CAME

To-day, the Republic of Argentina is an immense rich land. It stretches from the Atlantic Coast westward nearly to the Pacific. Its broad _pampas_, or plains, roll almost from the very doors of the beautiful city of Buenos Aires to the foothills of the Andes Mountains. The mighty frozen peaks of the Andes form a wall between the two sister Republics, Argentina and Chile.

Though the breadth of Argentina is so great, its length is even more tremendous. North to South, the Republic stretches from tropic regions of intense heat to the far distant Patagonian land with its sheep-ranches, salt-licks, and arid plains, and still farther southward the Republic stretches toward the Antartic Circle.

The _pampas_ are like our prairies. On them herds of cattle graze; and the _gauchos_ Argentine cowboys, round up the cattle on the wealthy _estancias_ or ranches. On many of these ranches, grow wide acres of the finest wheat and of other grains.

And through the city of Buenos Aires, which has been called the “Paris of America,” pass shipments of beef and wheat to help feed the world. In the city’s roadstead, are ships from many countries waiting to carry away not only beef and grain, but hides, sugar, and other Argentine produce, as well as Patagonian mutton and wool.

There are flourishing towns and cities in Argentina, and great wealth. Buenos Aires alone has about two million inhabitants. And to Buenos Aires come throngs of immigrants from Europe and Asia, seeking their fortunes in Argentina; just as immigrants land in the City of New York, to find their fortunes in our country.

An immense and rich land is the Republic of Argentina to-day; and her native citizens are one hundred per cent American!

* * * * *

But when San Martin stepped upon Argentine soil over a hundred years ago, there was no great wealthy Republic. There were only some poor Provinces, struggling with Spain for their Liberty. Buenos Aires was but a Colonial town on the bank of the River of Silver.

There was no forest of foreign ships in the roadstead; for Spain had forbidden trading with any land except herself. There were no great _estancias_ helping to feed the world. The whole country was groaning under oppression. Colonists, Indians, and _gauchos_, were in arms to defend her.

The land was swarming with Spanish soldiers and Royalists. The patriot Army was small, scattered, and poorly equipped, and undisciplined. San Martin, with all his military knowledge, came as a Liberator to his Country.

The Patriot Government appointed him to train soldiers and organize the army. He opened a military school. To it thronged the _gauchos_, those daring riders of the plains, also Creoles as the Colonists of pure Spanish blood were called, and Indians, and even slaves, to whom San Martin had promised their freedom.

The Patriots wore cockades of white and sky-blue, the Argentine colours. In time, San Martin had mobilized a well-disciplined army of earnest courageous men.

At San Lorenzo, San Martin won a famous victory. The enemy retreated in headlong flight, leaving behind banner, guns, and muskets. After the battle, San Martin sent supplies to the enemy for the wounded, and exchanged prisoners with them.

This victory put heart into the entire Patriot Army, and assured the final success of the Patriot cause.

ARGENTINA’S INDEPENDENCE DAY

_July 9, 1816_

The Birthday of the Argentine Republic was really May 25, 1810, before San Martin came to Argentina. For on that day a group of patriotic citizens of Buenos Aires braved the anger of Spain, set up a People’s Government, and convened the first Colonial Assembly in Argentina.

But on July 9, 1816, while San Martin’s soldiers were harassing the Spaniards, there assembled at the city of Tucuman, delegates from a number of the Provinces, who declared the “Independence of the United Provinces of the River of Silver (or Rio de la Plata).” The name “Argentine Republic” was not given the Argentine Union until some years later.

Thus, Argentina, while Spain was yet on her soil, bravely declared her Independence.

A GREAT IDEA

Gold, jewels, spices, and costly woods, in fact much of the stupendous wealth of Spanish America, flowed yearly into Lima, “the City of the Kings” in Peru, on the Pacific, the city founded by Pizarro the gold-hunter.

Triumphantly, Lima lifted the picturesque towers and domes of her palaces, convents, monasteries, and religious schools, and of her ancient cathedral, for Lima ruled not only the Pacific coast of Spanish America, but the whole of Spanish America as well. She was the centre of Spain’s power, strength, religion, and wealth in the New World. There, with pomp and pageant, lived the most influential of the Spanish Viceroys, whose word was law. From Lima went forth Spain’s armies to crush the Patriots in Argentina and Chile.

So long as Spain should hold Lima, the Patriot cause would be hopeless. On the other hand, if Lima might be taken by the Patriots, then the stronghold of Spanish tyranny would be destroyed.

So thought San Martin; and he began to lay plans to capture Lima, although the city was seemingly inaccessible and lay beyond the Andes Mountains far to the northwest on the Pacific Coast.

The Argentine Government transferred San Martin to the Province of Cuyo, and made him its Governor. There in the lovely city of Mendoza, the city of vineyards, at the very foot of the Andes, he set about raising revenues, and training and equipping an army--a small but strong army of devoted men.

But how to reach Lima? questioned San Martin to himself. Any attempt to lead the army northward to Upper Peru, and over the Andes to Lima, was sure to bring down upon the small body of Patriots, Spain’s seasoned troops who held Upper Peru and a part of Argentina.

The only way, thought San Martin, is to cross the Andes, drive the Spaniards _out of Chile_, then joining our forces with those of the Chilean Patriots, go by sea to Lima, and take her from Spain. Peru will yield, and our continent will be free!

THE MIGHTY ANDES

“What spoils my sleep, is not the strength of the enemy, but how to pass those immense mountains,” said San Martin, as from Mendoza he gazed upon the snow-clad summits of the mighty Andes, whose giant wall separated the wide plains of Argentina from the sunny smiling valleys of Chile on the Pacific.

Terrible seemed the Andes stretching from North to South like an impassable barrier. Near Mendoza, the barren foothills resembled waves of a petrified sea. Above them soared the central lofty mountain-ranges of conical, sharply defined peaks white with everlasting snow. Over the precipices, wheeled the condors at dizzy height. And down the chasm-rent sides of the mountains, rushed dark torrents of melted snow.

San Martin knew of the rugged defiles, the narrow paths winding along the edges of precipices, the ice-choked passages, the gloomy gorges, and the many unbridged torrents to be crossed, torrents tossing rocks about like straws.

Nevertheless, he determined to lead his Army across the Andes, rescue Chile, and go by sea to Lima.

So without haste, he carefully laid his plans in every detail. He spent two years in raising the Army of the Andes and equipping it. He kept his project of crossing into Chile, secret, lest the enemy should hear of it and guard the mountain-passes.

The enthusiastic and loyal men of Mendoza and of the whole Province of Cuyo, helped him with money and labour. Many of them enlisted. Even the children wanted to help; so San Martin, to keep up their Patriotism, formed them into little regiments and let them drill and carry banners. Their mothers, led by San Martin’s wife, a lovely Argentine lady, took off their jewels and sold them. If it had not been for the cheerful spirit of coöperation among the folk of Cuyo, San Martin could not have mobilized his men. For this reason, Mendoza is called “The Nest of the Argentine Eagle.”

_Bartolome Mitre_ (_Retold_)

THE REAL SAN MARTIN

And what was General San Martin like?

Why did the good folk of Mendoza love him and hasten to do all that he asked?

Why did his troops cheerfully submit to terrible privations, and willingly plunge into danger and death if San Martin was with them?

Why, to-day, do the boys and girls of Argentina wish to be like their great and beloved hero--San Martin?

First, because San Martin never thought of himself. The folk of Mendoza offered him a handsome house to live in. He quietly refused it. He gave up to the cause half of his salary as Governor. He accepted the rank of general with the understanding that he might lay it down as soon as Argentina was free. He steadfastly refused all other promotions from his Government. He sent his wife back to Buenos Aires, so that he might live more simply.

He lived frugally, ate little, and worked hard. And what did he look like, this General so strong yet so simple? He wore the plain uniform of the Mounted Grenadiers, with the white and sky-blue cockade in his hat.

He was fine-looking, tall, and muscular. His complexion was olive, his jaw strong, and his lips firm, his black hair thick. His large, jet black eyes looked out from under bushy eyebrows; eyes now kindly and humorous, now piercingly observant. But when he met treachery or cowardice those eyes could frown terribly, and when he faced dangers or great emergencies, they expressed a fiery determined spirit.

A man nobly unselfish, gentle yet forceful, modest, patient, whimsically humorous at times, but always of few words was San Martin. Even strangers who met him were filled with respect and affection for him.

His motto was:--

_Thou shall be what thou oughtest to be,
Or thou shall be nothing._

THE FIGHTING ENGINEER OF THE ANDES