THIS steady reserve of fire, even after the British had come up within pistol-shot, led them to hope that the Americans did not mean to resist! and many their friends on the heights had near given up all for lost. But soon as the enemy were advanced within the fatal distance marked, all at once a thousand triggers were drawn, and a sheet of fire, wide as the whole front of the breast-work, bursted upon them with most ruinous effect. The British instantly came to a halt—still keeping up their fire—but altogether at random and ineffectual, like men in a panic. While full exposed, within point-blank shot, ranks on ranks they fell before the American marksmen, as the heavy-eared corn before the devouring hailstorm, when with whirlwind rage it smites the trembling earth, and rushes on, smoking and roaring through the desolated fields. The enemy still maintained their ground like Britons, though all in front was nothing but one wide destructive flash; and nought around but heaps of their shrieking, dying comrades. But in a few minutes the slaughter became so general, that they could stand it no longer, but broke and fled in the utmost disorder, to the shore side; and some even took refuge in their boats! Their officers with some difficulty brought them back to a second charge, when the Americans, waiting till they were come up within a few rods of the fort, recommenced their fire, with a mortality which broke and drove them again. Some of officers attempted to bring them on a third time: but others cried out, that " t was no better than murder." It is probable they would hardly have made another effort, had not the generals Clinton and Burgoyne, spectators of their defeat, hastened over from Boston with fresh troops to their aid.

Insert: Bunker hill

THE Americans, being nearly destitute of ammunition, and attacked by such superior force, were obliged to retreat, which they did in tolerable order [77] but not till they had given the enemy, as they mounted the works, their last cartridges, and to some of them the buts of their guns—for want of bayonets. The British, 'tis true, by such great advantage of numbers and weapons, gained the day, but sung no te deum. To have given 1350 men, killed and wounded, for a poor ditch of 12 hours labour, seemed to them a bargain hardly worth thanking God for.

AMONG the slain of the enemy was Major Pitcairn, author of the murders at Lexington a few weeks before! And travellers often turn aside to drop a tear on the tomb where Warren sleeps.

DURING the autumn and winter of 1775, Washington could effect nothing against the British, but to hold them close confined in Boston, where the scurvy got in among them, and proved very fatal. To remedy this evil, immense quantities of live stock and vegetables were shipped from Britain—5,000 fat oxen—14,000 sheep—12,000 hogs, with 22,000 pounds sterling worth of sour-crout!!! And nearly the same amount in hay, oats and beans, for a single regiment of cavalry!! " Blessed are the meek!" for they shall save a world of expense.

IN consequence of some disturbances, this year in South-Carolina, in favour of the ministry, Sir Peter Parker was dispatched with nine ships of war, with a large land force, commanded by Clinton and Cornwallis, to make an attempt on Charleston, the capital. Before the ships could be brought to pay their respects to the town, they must, it seems, pass a little fort on Sullivan's Island. This, however, being defended only by raw militia, was hardly looked on as an obstacle. Happily for America, the command of the fort had been committed to general Moultrie; for the chief in command, gen. Charles Lee, though otherwise brave, was ever in the frights at the thought of a British man-of-war; and, for a general, much too free in lending his fears to others. For, while Moultrie was showing him the fort, and in the language of [78] a fiery patriot, was boasting what handsome resistance he hoped it would make; Lee, with infinite scorn replied "Pshaw! a mere slaughter house! a mere slaughter house! a British man of war will knock it about your ears in half an hour!"—He even proposed to abandon the fort!—The courage of one man saved Charleston, and perhaps the State; that fortunate man, was John Rutledge, Esq. governor of South Carolina. He insisted that the fort should be defended to the last extremity. Moultrie was called in. "Well, general Moultrie," said gov. Rutledge, "what do you think of giving up the fort?" Moultrie could scarcely suppress his indignation. "No man, sir," said he to Lee, "can have a higher opinion of the British ships and seamen than I have. But there are others who love the smell of gunpowder as well as they do; and give us but plenty of powder and ball, sir, and let them come on as soon as they please." His courage was quickly put to the test; for about 10 o'clock, on the 28th of June, in the glorious 1776, Sir Peter Parker, with seven tall ships formed his line, and bearing down within point-blank shot of the fort, let go his anchors and began a tremendous fire. At every thundering blast he fondly hoped to see the militia take to the sands like frightened rats from an old barn on fire. But, widely different from his hopes, the militia stood their ground, firm as the Black-jacks of their land, and levelling their four-and-twenty pounders with good aim, bored the old hearts of oak through and through at every fire. Their third broadside carried away the springs on the cables of the commodore's ship, which immediately swung around right stern upon the guns of the fort—"Hurra! my sons of thunder," was instantly the cry along the American battery, "look handsomely to the commodore! now, my boys, for your best respects to the commodore!" Little did the commodore thank them for such respects; for in a short time he had 60 of his brave crew lying lifeless on his decks, and his cockpit stowed with the wounded. At one period of the [79] action, the quarter-deck was cleared of every soul, except Sir Peter himself. Nor was he entirely excused; for an honest cannon-ball, by way of broad hint that it was out of character for a Briton to fight against liberty, rudely snatched away the bag of his silk breeches. Thus, Sir Peter had the honour to be the first and I believe the only Sans Culotte ever heard of in American natural history!!

THE Americans stood the fire like SALAMANDERS, for the neighbouring shores were lined with thousands of their dearest relatives, anxiously looking on! The British tars, poor fellows! had no sisters, mothers, nor wives, spectators of their strife, but fought, notwithstanding, with their wonted heroism. Long accustomed to mastery in battles with the French, and greatly out-numbering the fort both in men and guns, they counted on certain victory; and tho' dreadfully handled, yet scorned to yield. Immense were the exertions on both sides; and while the powder of the fort lasted, the conflict was awfully grand—From ships to fort, and from fort to ships again, all below seemed one stream of solid fire; all above, one vast mountain of smoke darkening the day, while unintermitted bursts of thunder deafened all ears, and far around shook both land and sea.

THE heroes in the fort won immortal honour. One brave fellow, a Serjeant Jasper, observing the flag staff shot away, jumped down from the fort on the beach, in the hottest fury of the battle, and snatching up the flag, returned it to its place, streaming defiance, with a—"Hurra, my boys, Liberty and America for ever." Governor Rutledge rewarded him with a sword. Another Serjeant, M'Donald, while roaring away with his 24 pounder, was terribly shattered by a cannon ball. When about to expire, he lifted up his dying eyes and said—"My brave countrymen, I die, but don't let the cause of Liberty die with me." Now louder and louder still, peal on peal, the American^ thunder burst forth with earth-trembling crashes; and the British ships after a long and gal- [80] lant struggle, hauled off with a good fortnight's worth of work for surgeons, carpenters, and riggers.

Sir Peter was so dumb-founded by this drubbing, that it took him full eight-and-forty hours to recover his stomach for his beef and pudding. So wonderfully had it let him down, that even his black pilots grew impudent upon him. For as he was going out over the bar he called to Cudjo (a black fellow, a Pilot who was sounding the depth of the water.) ----

"Cudjo! (says he) what water have you got there?"

"WHAT water, massa? what water? why salt water, be sure, sir!—sea water alway salt water, an't he massa?"

"You black rascal, I knew it was salt water, I only wanted to know how much water you have there?"

"How much water here, massa! how much water here! God bless me, massa! where I going get quart pot for measure him?"

This was right down impudence; and Cudjo richly deserved a rope's end for it; but Sir Peter, a good natured man, was so tickled with the idea of measuring the Atlantic ocean with a quart pot, that he broke into a hearty laugh, and ordered Cudjo a stiff drink of grog.

'TWAS the celebrated Samuel Chase, the Demosthenes of Maryland, who first taught the startled vaults of Congress-hall to re-echo the name of Independence. After enumerating many a glaring instance of ministerial violation of American rights—on all of which George the Third, the expected father his people, had looked with a most unfatherly calmness—his countenance became like the dark stormy cloud edg'd with lightning; then swinging his arm in the air, with a tremendous stamp and voice of thunder, that made the hollow dome resound, he swore—"By the G— of Heaven he owed no allegiance to the king of England!"

MANY in Congress trembled at hearing such a speech; and, on mention of Independence, felt the pang which nature feels when soul and body are part- [81] ing. But fearing that "true friendship could never grow again, where wounds of deadly hate had pierced so deep," they at length resolved to part. The gentlemen appointed by Congress to frame the declaration of Independence, were THOMAS JEFFERSON, JOHN ADAMS, Dr. FRANKLIN, R. SHEARMAN and R. R. LIVINGSTON. On hearing their nomination to a task so high and arduous, they met; and after some conversation on the subject, parted, under the agreement that each of their number should draft his own declaration, and read it next day, in rotation to the rest. At the fixed hour next day, they met—but "who should read first," was the question. Mr. Jefferson was fixed on, and, after much importunity, consented to read his form, which had the honour to give such complete satisfaction, that none other was read.

A FEW days after this, Lord Howe came upon the coast with a forest of men of war and transports, shading far and wide the frightened ocean, and bearing nearly 40,000 men, British, Hessians, and Waldeckers. Supposing that this had intimidated the American commander, Lord Howe wrote a letter to him, directed—"George Washington, Esq." This he refused to receive! looking on it as an insult to Congress, under whom he had the honour to bear the commission of Commander in Chief, and should have been addressed as such. General Howe, then sent an officer (Colonel Patterson) to converse with him on the subject of reconciliation . . . Having heard what he had to say, Washington replied, "by what has yet appeared, sir, you have no power but to grant pardons; but we, who have committed no faults, want no pardons; for we are only fighting for our rights as the descendants of Englishmen."

THE unfortunate defeat of Long-Island, now took place, on August 28th, which though the hottest day in the year, had like to have been the freezing point in the American affairs. For, on this day, the British with an infinite superiority of force, after having [82] defeated the Americans with, great loss, were investing the slender remains of their army, and had actually broke ground within six hundred yards of the little redoubt that feebly covered their front. Soon as it was dark, Washington ordered the troops to convey their baggage and artillery to the water side, whence it was transported over a broad ferry all night long, with amazing silence and order. Providentially a thick fog continued next morning till ten o'clock; when that passed away, and the sun broke out, the British were equally surprised and enraged to see the rear guard with the last of the baggage, in their boats, and out of all danger.

LORD Howe, supposing that such a run of misfortunes must have put Congress into a good humour to think about peace, signified a willingness to have a grand talk on the subject. Congress sent Dr. Franklin, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Rutledge, each with his belt of wampum. But finding that his lordship was still harping on the old string, pardons! pardons! they took up their hats, and very erectly stalked off.

TOWARDS the close of this trying campaign, it is a fact, that Washington had not 3000 men: and even these were so destitute of necessaries, that nothing but their love and veneration for him kept them together. And with this handful he had to oppose a victorious army, of nearly forty thousand veterans!! But Jehovah, the God of Hosts, was with him: and oft' times, in the ear of the slumbering hero, his voice was heard, "fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God."—Hence, under all he disheartening circumstances of this campaign, Washington not only kept up his own spirits, but cheered those of his drooping comrades. Hearing his officers one day talk about the gloominess of the American affairs, he humourously clasped his neck with his hands, and said with a smile, "I really cannot believe yet, that my neck was ever made for a halter!"

[83] FOR four months, during the summer and fall of 1776, the Americans were obliged to retreat before the enemy, who completely over-ran the Jerseys, filling every town and hamlet with their victorious troops . . . During their pursuit through the Jerseys, the behaviour of the Hessians towards the country people was barbarous in the extreme. To make them fight the better, it seems they had been told that the Americans, against whom they were warring, were not (like the Europeans) Christians and gentlemen, but mere savages, a race of Cannibals, who would not only tomahawk a poor Hessian, and haul off his hide for a drum's head, but would just as lieve barbacue and eat him as they would a pig. "Vat! Vat! cried the Waldeckers, with eyes staring wild and big as billiard balls, "Vat! eat Hessian man up like vun hock! Oh mine Got and Vader! vot peoples ever bin heard of eat Christian man before! Vy! shure des Mericans mush be de deble."

THIS was Hessian logic: and it inspired them with the utmost abhorrence of the Americans, to whom they thought the worst treatment much too good . . . they burnt houses—destroyed furniture—killed the stock—abused the women!—and spread consternation and ruin along all their march.

To save their families from such horrid tragedies; the Americans flocked in, by thousands, to general Howe, to take the oath of allegiance. And the best judges were of opinion, that this alarming apostacy would soon become general throughout the two great states of Pennsylvania and New Jersey! And indeed no wonder; for to most people it appeared that the cause of liberty was a gone cause. But, still, firm as the iron rudder-bands that maintain the course of the ship in her trembling flight over raging seas, so firmly did Washington cleave to his countrymen, and cover their retreat.

THEY had been obliged to retreat from Long-Island to New-York, from New-York, over the Hudson, to New-Jersey, and now, over the Delaware, to [84] Pennsylvania. "My God! general Washington, how long shall we retreat?" said general Reed, "where shall we stop?" "Why sir," replied Washington, if we can do no better, we'll retreat over every river in America; and last of all over the mountains, whence we shall never lack opportunities to annoy, and finally, I hope, to expel the enemies of our country."

But, God be thanked, our toils and trials were not to be pushed to such sad extremities; for general Howe, having driven the Americans to the western side of the Delaware, stationed 4000 men in Trenton, Bordentown, and Burlington, on its eastern bank, and then returned with the main army to eat their winter puddings in Brunswick and New-York.—Here, Washington, with joy, first discovered an opportunity to make a blow. Not doubting, but that such a long run of success had taught the enemy to think very highly of themselves, and as meanly of the Americans; and suspecting, too, that at Christmas, which was close at hand, instead of watching and praying like good christians, they would, very likely, be drinking and hopping like fools, he determined then and there if possible to make a smash among them. To this end he broke his little remnant of an army into three divisions; two of which he committed to generals Ewing and Cadwallader to attack at Bordentown and Burlington . . . the third he meant to lead in person to the heavier charge on Trenton. Every thing being in readiness by Christmas night, soon as it was dark they struck their tents and moved off in high spirits, once more to try their fortune against a long victorious enemy. But alas! the enthusiasm of the gallant Cadwallader and Ewing was soon arrested; for on arriving at the river, they found it so filled with ice, as to preclude all possibility of crossing. Thus, to their inexpressible grief, was blasted the ardent wish to aid their beloved chief in this his last bold attempt to save America. Ignorant of the failure of two-thirds of his plan, Washington [85] and his little forlorn hope, pressed on through the darksome night, pelted by an incessant storm of hail and snow. On approaching the river, nine miles above Trenton, they heard the unwelcome roar of ice, loud crashing along the angry flood. But the object before them was too vast to allow one thought about difficulties. The troops were instantly embarked, and after five hours of infinite toil and danger, landed, some of them frost-bitten, on the same shores with the enemy. Forming the line they renewed their march. Pale, and slowly moving along the neighbouring hills was seen, (by Fancy's eye) the weeping GENIUS OF LIBERTY. Driven from the rest of the world, she had fled to the wild woods of America, as to an assured asylum of rest.—Here she fondly hoped, through long unfailing time, to see her children pursuing, their cheerful toils, unstarved and uncrushed by the INHUMAN FEW. But alas! the inhuman few, with fleets and armies, had pursued her flight! Her sons had gathered around her, but they had failed—some, on their bloody beds: others, dispersed; all desponding. One little band alone remained! and, now, resolved to bleed or to defend, were in rapid march to face her foes. Pale and in tears, with eyes often lifted to Heaven, she moved along with her children to witness perhaps the last conflict

THE Sun had just tipt with gold the adjacent hills, when snowy Trenton, with the wide-tented fields of the foe, hove in sight. To the young in arms this was an awful scene, and nature called a short-liv'd terror to their hearts. But not unseen of Washington was their fear. He marked the sudden paleness of their cheeks, when first they beheld the enemy, and quick, with half-stifled sighs, turned on him their wistful looks. As the big lion of Zara, calling his brindled sons to battle against the mighty rhinoceros, if he mark their falling manes and crouching to his side, instantly puts on all his terrors—his eyes roll [86] in blood—he shakes the forest with his deepening roar, till, kindled by their father's fire, the maddening cubs swell with answering rage, and spring undaunted on the Monster. Thus stately and terrible rode Columbia's first and greatest son, along the front of his halted troops. The eager wish for battle flushed over his burning face, as, rising on his stirrups, he waved his sword towards the hostile camp, and exclaimed, "there! my brave friends! there are the enemies of your country! and now, all I ask of you, is, just to remember what you are about to fight for. March." His looks and voice rekindled all their fire, and drove them undaunted to the charge. The enemy saw their danger when it was too late! but, as if resolved to tax their courage, to pay for their carelessness, they roused the thunder of their drums and flew to arms. But before they could form, the Americans led on by Washington, advanced upon them in a stream of lightning, which soon decided the contest. Col. Rhal, a brave German who commanded them, fell by the musket of the intrepid captain (now general) Frelinghuysen, of New-Jersey. The ghosts of forty of his countrymen accompanied him; and very nearly one thousand were made prisoners. Five hundred British horse effected their escape to Bordenton. Could Ewing and Cadwallader have crossed the river, agreeably to Washington's plan, the enemy's whole line of cantonments would have been completely swept!!

To rouse his desponding countrymen, Washington immediately marched down to Philadelphia, and made triumphal entry with all his prisoners, preceded by their camion and colours, and waggons bristling with muskets and bayonets. The poor tories could scarcely believe their own eyes. The whigs, many of them wept for joy.

To do away from the minds of the Hessians, their ill-grounded dread of the Americans, Washington took great care, from the moment they fell into his hands, to have them treated with the utmost tender- [87] ness and generosity. He contrived that the wealthy Dutch farmers should come in from the country and converse with them. They seemed very agreeably surprised at such friendly attentions. The Dutchmen at length proposed to them to quit the British service and go and turn farmers . . . At this the Hessians paused a little, and said something about parting with their country.

"YOUR country!" said the farmers, "Poor fellows! where is your country? You have no country. To support his pomps and pleasures, your prince has torn you from your country, and sold you like slaves (for 30£, a-head) to fight against us, who never troubled you. Then leave the vile employment and come live with us. Our lands are rich; come help us to cultivate them. Our tables are covered with fat meats, and with milk and honey; come sit down and eat with us like brothers. Our daughters are young and beautiful and good; then shew yourselves worthy, and you shall have our daughters; and we will give you of our lands and cattle, that you may work and become rich and happy as we are. You were told that General Washington and the Americans were savages, and would devour you! But from the moment you threw down your arms, have they not been as kind to you as you had any right to expect?"

"O YES!" cried they, "and a thousand times more kind than we deserved. We were told the Americans would show us no pity, and so we were cruel to them. But we are sorry for it now, since they have been so good to us; and now we love the Americans, and will never fight against them any " more!"

Such was the effect of Washington's policy; the divine policy of doing good for evil. It melted down his iron enemies into golden friends. It caused the Hessian soldiers, to join with the American farmers! . . . not only so, but to write such letters to their countrymen. that they were constantly breaking loose [88] from the British to run over to the Americans . . . insomuch that in a little time the British would hardly trust a Hessian to stand sentinel!

THOUGH this victory was gained on the 26th of December, yet we find Washington again, on the 1st of January, across the angry Delaware, with his country's flag bold-waving over the heights of Trenton. Lord Cornwallis advanced in great force to attack him. The Americans retreated through the town, and crossing the Sanpink (a creek that runs along its eastern side) planted their cannon near the ford, to defend its passage. The British army following, close in their rear, entered the town about 4 o'clock; and a heavy cannonade commenced between the two armies, which were separated only by the Sanpink and its narrow valley. "Now, sir!" said sir William Erskine to Cornwallis, "now is the time to make sure of Washington."

"OH no!" replied Cornwallis, "our troops have marched a good way to-day, and are tired. And the old fox can't make his escape; for with the help of the Delaware, now filled with ice, we have completely surrounded him. To-morrow morning, fresh and fasting, we'll fall upon him, and take him and his ragamuffins all at once!''

"AH! my Lord!" returned sir William, " if Washington be the soldier that I fear he is, you'll not see him there to-morrow morning!"

Night coming on, the artillery ceased to roar; and lighting up their fires, both armies proceeded to supper and to sleep. About midnight, having renewed all the fires, Washington put his little army in motion, and passing along the enemy's rear, hasted to surprise a large body of their troops at Princeton. Soon as it was day, Cornwallis was greatly mortified to find there was no American army on the banks of the Sanpink. "That's exactly what I feared" said sir William. Just as they were in deep thought on the matter, they heard the roar of Washington's cannon at Princeton. "There," continued sir William, [89] "There is Washington now, cutting up our troops." And so it was; for on arriving at Princeton, about sun-rise, Washington met three British regiments, who had just struck their tents, and were coming on in high spirits to attack him at Trenton. To it, in a moment, both parties fell like heroes. At the first onset the Americans gave way; but sensible that all was at stake, Washington snatched a standard, and advancing on the enemy, called to his countrymen to follow: his countrymen heard and rushed on to the charge. Then flash and clash went the muskets and bayonets.—Here the servants of George, and there the sons of liberty, wrapped in clouds and flames, together plung'd to mutual wounds and death.

"God save the king!" the British heroes cry'd,
"And God for Washington!" Columbia's sons reply'd.

THE name of Washington imparted its usual animation to his troops. The enemy gave way in all quarters, and were pursued four miles. The victors returned with 400 prisoners; the bayonet had stopped 120 on the field. But they fell not alone. The gallant Mercer, and 63 of his brave countrymen, sleep with them. But the strife of the heroes was but for a moment; and they have forgotten their wounds. Together now, they feast in Paradise, and when meet their eyes of love, their joys are not dashed by the remembrance of the past.

THE British officers gave Washington full credit for such fine strokes of generalship, and began to look thoughtful whenever his name was mentioned.

THE enemy now (January 15th) drew in all their forces to winter-quarters at Brunswick, where Washington continued to thin their numbers by cutting off their foraging parties; so that every load of hay, or dish of turnips they got, was at the price of blood.

[90] THUS gloriously, in ten days, was turned the tide of victory in favour of America, by him whom Heaven, in mercy not to America alone, but to Britain, and to the world, had raised up to found here a wide empire of liberty and virtue. The character of Washington was exalted to the highest pitch, even throughout Europe, where he was generally styled the American Fabius, from the famous Roman general of that name, who opposed Hannibal with success. A distinction to which he was justly entitled, from the invincible firmness with which he rejected every finesse of the British generals; as also, from that admirable judgment with which he suited the defence of the nation to the genius and abilities of the people, and to the natural advantages of the country, thereby not allowing the enemy to profit by their great superiority of numbers, discipline, and artillery, and constantly cutting them off by skirmishes and surprise.

THE ministerial plan for this year (1777) was to reduce the Americans, by cutting off all communication between the northern and southern states! To effect this General Howe, with 20,000 men, was to go round from New-York to the Head of Elk, and thence march on, due north, through Philadelphia; while general Burgoyne with 10,000 men, setting out from Canada, was to pass along down the lakes, and thence due south to meet his brother Howe; the straight line, formed by the junction of these two gentlemen, was to possess such virtues, that it was supposed no American could be found hardy enough to set foot over it!!

ACCORDINGLY, July 23, general Howe left Sandy-Hook, sailed up the Chesapeake, and landed at the mouth of Elk-River, marched on, with but little interruption, except at Brandywine, to Philadelphia—Into this elegant city, on the 26th of September, 1777, he entered in triumph; fondly supposing, that, in America, as in Europe, the capture of the city was the same thing as the reduction of the coun- [91] try. But instead of finding himself master of this great continent, whose rattle-snakes alone in the hand of heaven, could scourge his presumption; it was with no small difficulty he could keep possession of the little village of Germantown. For, on the morning of the 4th of October, Washington made an attack on him with such judgment and fury, that his troops gave way in every quarter. "The tumult, disorder and despair in the British army," says Washington, "were unparalleled." But, in the very moment of the most decisive and glorious victory, when some of the provincial regiments had more prisoners than men, the Americans, through the mistake of a drunken officer, began to retreat!! Washington's grief and mortification were inexpressible.

BUT while he was annoying the enemy by land, he did not lose sight of their fleet, which was now forcing its way up the Delaware, to keep open to the army a channel of supplies. They arrived, without molestation, within 8 miles of Philadelphia, at a marsh called Mud-Island. On this poor harmless spot, the fittest, however, that nature in this peaceful land of Friends could furnish, Washington had ordered a Fort to be thrown up, the command of which, with 230 men, he assigned to lieutenant-colonel Samuel Smith. On the eastern or Jersey side of the river, at a place called Red-bank, he ordered a strong redoubt, the command of which, with 205 men, was given to Colonel Greene. These, with some chevaux-de-frise sunk in the river, and a few gallies, formed all the barrier that Washington could present against the British navy. The strength of this barrier was soon put to a fiery trial. Great preparations were made to attack the Americans, at the same instant, both by land and water. Count Donop, with a host of Hessians, was sent over to be in readiness to attack Red-Bank, while the tide of flood, groaning under their, enormous weight, brought up the men of war. The morning was still, and the heavens overcast with sad clouds, as of nature sym- [92] pathizing with her children, and ready to drop showers of celestial pity on their strifes. No sooner had the ships floated up within three cables length of the fort, than they began a most tremendous cannonade: while cannon-balls and fire-tailed bombs, like comets, fell upon it thick as hail. The gallant Smith and his myrmidons stood the shock to a miracle, and like men fighting under the eye of their Washington, drove the two-and-thirty pounders through them with such spirit and success, that in a little time, the Augusta, a heavy 64 gun ship, took fire, and blew up, the horrible balloon of many of the crew. Another ship, called the Merlin, or Black-Bird, soon got on the wing, blew up likewise, and went off in thunder to join the Augusta.

At the same moment, Col. Donop, with his Hessians, made a gallant attack on the fort at Red-Bank. After a few well directed fires, Greene and his men artfully retired from the out-works. The enemy now supposing the day their own, rushed on in vast numbers along a large opening in the fort, and within twenty steps of a masked battery, of 18 pounders, loaded with grape-shot and spike-nails. All at once hell itself seemed to open before their affrighted view. But their pains and their terrors were but for a moment. Together down they sunk by hundreds, into the sweet slumbers of death, scarcely sensible of the fatal blow that reft their lives.

Heaps on heaps the slaughter'd Hessians lie:
Brave Greene beholds them with a tearful eye.
Far now from home, and from their native shore,
They sleep in death, and hear of wars no more.

POOR Donop was mortally wounded, and taken prisoner. The attentions of the American officers, and particularly the kind condolence of the Godlike Washington, quite overcame him: and his last moments were steeped in tears of regret, for having left [93] his native land, to fight a distant people, who had never injured him.

ON hearing of his misfortune, Washington sent an officer to condole with him. The officer was conducted to his apartment, and delivered the message. The wounded Count appeared much affected—a tear swelled in his eye—and he said to the officer, "Present to general Washington the thanks of an unfortunate brother soldier—tell him I expect to rise no more—but, if I should, the first exertion of my strength shall be, to return to him my thanks in person." The officer sent, was colonel Daniel Clymer, of Berks, Pennsylvania. "See here, Colonel," said the dying count, "see in me the vanity of all human pride! I have shone in all the courts of Europe, and now I am dying here, on the banks of the Delaware, in the house of an obscure Quaker!"

After six weeks of infinite fatigue, with great loss of men and money, the British forced a passage large enough for their provision ships to Philadelphia, where general Howe and his officers held their balls this winter; while 16 miles distant, the great Washington, well pleased with his campaign, retired and hutted it at Valley Forge.

WHILE such ill success attended this part of the ministerial plan, viz. to choke the colonies by a military noose, so tightly drawn from Chesapeake to Champlain, as to stop all circulation between the northern and southern states; a worse fate frowned on their attempt in the north—General Burgoyne, with 10,000 veterans, besides a host of Canadians and Indians, issuing forth from Canada in June '77, came pouring along down the lakes, like the thundering Niagara, with an impetuosity that swept every thing before it. The hatchets of the Indians were drunk with American blood. No age, no sex, could soften them. "The widow's wail, the virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry," was music in their ears. In cold blood they struck their cruel tomahawks into the defenceless-head of a Miss M'Rea, a beautiful [94] girl, who was that very day to have been married! Such acts of inhumanity called forth the fiercest indignation of the Americans, and inspired that desperate resolution of which the human heart is capable, but which no human force can conquer. The New Englanders, who were nearest to these infernal scenes, turned out en masse. Washington hurried on Gates and Arnold with their furious legions; and to these he joined the immortal Morgan with his dreadful phalanx, 1000 riflemen, whose triggers were never touched in vain, but could throw a ball a hundred yards at a squirrel's head, and never miss.

THE first check given to Burgoyne's career, was at Bennington. Hearing that the Americans had laid up large provisions in that town, he detached a Colonel Baum, with 600 Germans, to surprise it; and, at the same time, posted Colonel Breyman in the neighbourhood, with an equal number, to support him if necessary. Finding the place too well guarded either for surprise or storm, Baum fortified himself at a little distance, and sent back for Breyman. The American commander, the brave general Starke, thinking these enemies fully enough, at least not wishing for any more, sallied out, and with great fury attacked Baum's intrenchments. At the first onset, the Canadians and British marksmen took to their heels, and left the poor Germans in the lurch. After a gallant resistance, Baum was mortally wounded, and his brave countrymen killed or taken to a man. In the mean time Breyman, who had not heard a syllable of all this, arrived at the place of action, where, instead of the cheering huzzas of joyful friends, he was saluted, on all hands, with the deadly whizzing of rifle bullets. After receiving a few close and scorching fires, the Germans hastily betook themselves to flight. The neighbouring woods, with night's sable curtains, enabled the fugitives to save themselves, for that time at least.—The enemy lost in these two engagements not less than 1000 men, killed, wounded, and prisoners.

[95] ABOUT the same time all their forts on the lakes were surprised—Colonel St. Leger was defeated at Fort-Stanwix—the Indians began to desert—Arnold and Morgan were coming up like mountain-storms,—and the militia from all quarters were pouring in. Burgoyne began to be alarmed, and wrote to New-York for aid; but finding that Clinton could give him none, and that the salvation of his army depended on themselves, he gallantly determined, on the 7th of October, 1777, to stake his all on the cast of a general battle.

HIS army, in high spirits, was formed within a mile of the American camp. Burgoyne, with the flower of the British troops, composed the centre—brigadier-general Frazer commanded the left—the Germans, headed by major-generals Philips and Reidesdel, and Col. Breyman formed the right. With a fine train of artillery, flying colours, and full roll of martial music, from wing to wing the towering heroes moved. On the other hand, fired with the love of liberty, the Americans poured out by thousands, eager for the glorious contest. Their dear country's flag waves over their heads; the thoughts of the warriors are on their children, and on the chains now forging for their tender hands. The avenging passions rise, and the battle moves. Morgan brought on the action. In a large buckwheat field, which lay between the two armies, he had concealed his famous regiment of riflemen. The enemies, chiefly Canadians and Indians, advance, suspecting no harm. They were suffered to come up within point-blank shot, when they received a general fire, which strewed the field with their dead bodies. Morgan pursued: but was soon met by a heavy reinforcement from the British, who quickly drove him, in turn. Arnold then moved on to support Morgan, and, in a short time, with nine heavy regiments was closely engaged with the whole of the British army, both parties fighting as if each was determined never to yield: while the incessant crash of muskets and roar of artillery appeared both [96] to sight and sound as if two wrathful clouds had come down on the plain, rushing together, in hideous battle with all their thunders and lightnings. The weight, however, of the American fire, was directed against the enemy's centre, extending along the left wing: and though it was some time sustained with the greatest firmness, yet at length it prevailed and threw the British into confusion. But the gallant Frazer flying to their assistance, soon restored their order and renewed the fight. Severely galled still by Morgan's rifles on the flank, and hard pressed at the same time, in front by Arnold, they gave way a second time: and a second time Frazer's presence revived their valour, and rekindled the battle in all its rage.

HERE Arnold did an act unworthy of the glory of the well fought battle. He ordered up twelve of his best riflemen, and pointing to Frazer, who on horseback, with brandished sword was gallantly animating his men, he said, "Mark that officer!—Himself is a host—let me not see him long."

THE riflemen flew to their places, and in a few moments the hero was cut down. With him fell the courage of the left wing, who being now fiercely charged, gave way, and retreated to their camp. But scarcely had they entered it, when the Americans, with Arnold at their head, stormed it with inconceivable fury; rushing, with trailed arms through a heavy discharge of musquetry and grape shot. The British fought with equal desperation, for their all was at stake, and the Americans like a whelming flood, were bursting over their intrenchments, and, hand to hand, with arguments of bloody steel, were pleading the cause of ages yet unborn. Hoarse as a mastiff of true British breed, Lord Balcarras was heard from rank to rank, loud-animating his troops; while on the other hand, fierce as the hungry tiger of Bengal, the impetuous Arnold precipitated his heroes on the stubborn foe. High in air, the encountering banners blazed! there bold waving the lion-painted standard of Britain, and here the streaming pride of Columbia's lovely [97] stripes—while thick below, ten thousand eager warriors close the darkening files, all bristled with vengeful steel. No firing is heard; but shrill and terrible, from rank to rank, resounds the clash of bayonets—frequent and sad the groans of the dying. Pairs on pairs, Britons and Americans, with each his bayonet in his brother's breast, fall forward together faint-shrieking in death, and mingle their smoking blood.

MANY were the widows, many the orphans that were made that day. Long did the daughters of Columbia mourn their fallen brothers! and often did the lovely maids of Caledonia roll their soft blue eyes of sorrow along the sky-bound sea, to meet the sails of their returning lovers.

BUT alas! their lovers shall return no more. Far distant, on the banks of the roaring Hudson they lie, pale and helpless on the fields of death. Glassy now and dim are those eyes which once beamed with friendship or which flamed in war. Their last thoughts are towards the maids of their love; and the big tear glistens in their eye, as they heave the parting groan.

THEN was seen the faded form of Ocean's Queen, far-famed Britannia, sitting alone and tearful on her western cliffs. With downcast look her faithful lion lay roaring at her feet; while torn and scattered on the rock were seen her many trophies of ancient fame. Silent, in dishevelled locks, the goddess sat, absorbed in grief, when the gale of the west came blackening along the wave, laden with the roar of murderous battle. At once she rose—a livid horror spread her cheeks—distraction glared on her eyeballs, hard strained towards the place whence came the groans of her children! the groans of her children fast sinking in a distant land—thrice she essayed to curse the destroyers of her race; but thrice she remembered that they too were her sons. Then wild shrieking with a mother's anguish, she rent the [98] air with her cries, and the hated name of NORTH sounded through all her caves.

BUT still in all its rage the battle burned, and both parties fought with an obstinacy, never exceeded. But, in that moment of danger and of glory, the impetuous Arnold, who led the Americans, was dangerously wounded, and forced to retire; and several regiments of British infantry pouring in to the assistance of their gallant comrades, the Americans, after many hard struggles, were finally repulsed.

IN another quarter, where the strength of the Germans fought, the Americans, led on by Morgan, carried the intrenchments sword in hand. The face of Morgan was like the full moon in a stormy night, when she looks down red and fiery on the raging deep, amidst foundering wrecks and cries of drowning seamen; while his voice, like thunder on the hills, was heard, loud-shouting his heroes to the bloody charge. The tail regiments of Hesse Cassel fell or fled before them, leaving their baggage, tents, and artillery in the hands of the victors.

THIS was a bloody day to both armies: but so peculiarly disheartening to the British, that they were obliged to retreat that night to Saratoga, where in a few days, (on the 13th of October, 1777,) they surrendered to the Americans, under Gates, by whom they were treated with a generosity that perfectly astonished them. For, when the British were marched out to lay down their arms, there was not an American to be seen! They had all nobly retired for a moment, as, if unwilling to give the pain, even to their enemies, of being spectators of so humiliating a scene! Worthy countrymen of Washington! this deed of yours shall outlive the stars; and the blest sun himself, smiling, shall proclaim, that in the wide travel of his beams, he never looked upon its like before.

Thus, gloriously for America, ended the campaign of '77. That of '78 began as auspiciously. In May, Silas Dean arrived from France, with the welcome news of a treaty with that powerful people, and a [99] letter from Louis XVI. to Congress, whom he styled—very dear great friends and allies.

SOON as it was known by the British ambassador at Paris, Lord Stormont, that the king of France had taken part with the Americans, he waited on the French minister, De Vergennes; and with great agitation mentioned the report, asking if it were possible it could be true.

"VERY possible, my Lord," replied the smooth Frenchman.

"WELL, I'm astonished at it, sir," continued Stormont, exceedingly mortified. "America, sir, is our daughter! and it was extremely indelicate of the French king thus to decoy her from our embraces, and make a w—e of her!"

"WHY as to that matter, my Lord," quoth Vergennes, with the true Gallic shrug, "there is no great harm done. For the king of France is very willing to marry your daughter, and make an honest woman of her."


Lord North, coming to his senses, sends commissioners to America—Clinton evacuates Philadelphia— Washington pursues him—battle of Monmouth— Arnold's apostacy—Andre apprehended—executed —his character.

THE news of the total loss of Burgoyne and his army soon reached Parliament, where it produced a consternation never before known in that house. The Ministry, utterly confounded, could not open their lips; while the Whig minority, with great severity, lashed their obstinacy and ignorance. Lord North, beginning now to find, as the great Chatham had foretold, that "three millions of Whigs, with arms [100] in their hands, were not to be enslaved," became very anxious to conciliate! Commissioners were sent over with offers to repeal the obnoxious taxes! and also with promises of great favours which Lord North would confer on America, if she would settle the dispute with the mother country. The better to dispose her towards these offers, elegant presents were to be made to her best friends, (such as Washington, the President of Congress, &c. &c.) to speak a good word for Lord North's favours!! But, observe, Independence was to be out of the question!

DOCTOR Franklin used laughingly to say, that "Lord North and his great favours, put him in mind of an old bawd, and her attempts upon a young virgin, to whom she promised every thing but Innocence. While in robbing her of innocence, the old hag knew well enough that she was robbing the poor girl of that without which she would soon in spite of her fine gowns and necklaces, become a miserable outcast and slave."

FINDING that Lord North, in the multitude of his favours, had entirely forgotten the only one which they valued, i. e. the Independence of their country, the committee of Congress broke off all farther converse with the ministerial commissioners, who proceeded immediately to try the efficacy of their presents. To Washington, 'tis said, a viceroyship, with tons of gold, was to have been tendered. But, to the honour of the commissioners be it said, not one of their number was graceless enough to breathe the polluted wish into his ear. They had, however, the hardihood to throw out a bait of 10,000 guineas to the President of Congress, Gen. Reed. His answer is worthy of lasting remembrance. "Gentlemen," said he, "I am poor, very poor. But your king is not rich enough to buy me!"

On the 18th of June, the British army, now under the command of Clinton, evacuated Philadelphia for New-York. The figure they made on the road had something of the air of the sublime; for their bag- [101] gage, loaded horses, and carriages, formed a line not less than twelve miles in length. General Washington, whose eye, like that of the sacred dragon, was always open, and fixed upon the enemies of America, immediately crossed the Delaware after them—pushed on detached corps to obstruct their advance—gall their flanks—and fall on their rear, while he himself moved on with the main body of the army. By the 27th, Clinton had advanced as far Monmouth: and Washington's troops were close on his flank and rear. Next morning General Lee, with 5000 men, was ordered to begin the attack; Washington moving on briskly to support him. But, as he advanced, to his infinite astonishment he met Lee retreating, and the enemy pursuing. "For God's sake, General Lee," said Washington with great warmth, "what's the cause of this ill-tim'd prudence?"

"No man, sir," replied Lee, quite convulsed with rage, "can boast a larger portion of that rascally virtue than your Excellency!!"

Dashing along by the madman, Washington rode up to his troops, who, at sight of him, rent the air with "God save great Washington!"

"MY brave fellows" said he, "can you fight?"

THEY answered with three cheers! "Then face about, my heroes, and charge."—This order was executed with infinite spirit. The enemy, finding themselves now warmly opposed in front, made an attempt to turn his left flank; but were gallantly attacked and driven back. They then made a rapid push to the right: but the brave Greene, with a choice body of troops and artillery, repulsed them with considerable slaughter. At the same instant, Wayne advanced with his legion; and poured in so severe and well directed a fire, that the enemy were glad to regain their defiles. Morgan's rifles distinguished themselves that day. Washington and his heroes lay upon their arms all night, resolved to fall on the enemy the moment they should attempt their retreat next morning. But [102] during the night, they moved off in silence; and got such a start, that Washington thought it dangerous, in such hot weather, to make a push after them. The Americans lost 58 killed—140 wounded. The British had 249 killed, and the wounded in proportion. Numbers, on both sides, died of the extreme heat, and by drinking cold water.

IN September 1780, an attempt was made to take off our Washington, and by means which I can hardly believe the old British lion was ever well pleased with.

I ALLUDE to the affair of Arnold's treason. That which makes rogues of thousands, I mean Extravagance, was the ruin of this great soldier. Though extremely brave, he was of that vulgar sort, who having no taste for the pleasures of the mind, think of nothing but high living, dress, and show. To rent large houses in Philadelphia—to entertain French Ambassadors—to give balls and concerts, and grand dinners and suppers—required more money than he could honestly command. And, alas! such is the stuff whereof spendthrifts are made, that to fatten his Prodigality, Arnold consented to starve his Honesty: and provided he might but figure as a gorgeous Governor, he was content to retail, by the billet and the gill, wood and rum unfairly drawn from the commissary's store!

COLONEL Melcher, the barrack master, mentioned the matter to Congress, who desired him to issue to General Arnold no more than his proper rations. He had scarcely returned home when Arnold's servant appeared with an order for another large supply of Rum, Hickory wood, &c. &c.

"Inform your master" said Melcher, "that he can't have so much."

ARNOLD immediately came down, and in a great passion asked Colonel Melcher, if it was true he had protested his bill?

"Yes, sir!"

AND how durst you do it?"

[103] "BY order of Congress, sir."

AT this, Arnold, half choked with rage, replied, "D—n the Rascals! I'll remember them for it. Sampson-like I'll shake the pillars of their Liberty temple about their ears!"

On the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British, Gen. Arnold had been appointed temporary governor of that city, where he behaved like a desperado, who hesitates at nothing to stop the deadly leaks of his prodigality, and to keep himself from sinking. Among other bold strokes, he seized and sold large quantities of American property, pretending it was British. Complaints were made to Congress, who, unwilling to expose the man who had fought so gallantly for Liberty, treated him with great gentleness: and for the same reason, Washington after a mild reproof, gave him the command of West Point, with a large body of troops.

THE history of Arnold's embarrassments and his quarrel with his countrymen, soon reached New-York. The British commander, well knowing the ticklish situation of a proud man, caught on the horns of poverty, sends up major Andre, with money in his pocket. The major, by means yet unknown to the public, got near enough to Arnold to probe him; and, alas! found him, both in principle and purse, hollow as an exhausted receiver, and very willing to be filled up with English guineas. English guineas, to the tune of ten thousand, with the rank and pay of Brigadier General, are offered him: and Arnold agrees, Oh! shocking to humanity! Arnold agrees to sacrifice Washington.

THE outlines of the project were, it seems, that Arnold should make such a disposition of the troops at West Point, as to enable sir Henry Clinton, so completely to surprise them, that they must inevitably, either lay down their arms or be cut to pieces—with General Washington among them!! The victorious British were then, both by land and water to rush upon the feeble and dispirited residue of the [104] American army, in the neighbourhood, utterly unable to resist, when there would follow such a slaughter of men, and such a sweeping of artillery, ammunition, stores, &c. &c. as would completely break down the spirit of the nation, and reduce them to unconditional submission to the Ministry!

To be certified of this delightful truth, Andre, during Washington's absence from West Point, comes ashore from a sloop of war, with a surtout over his regimentals; spends a day and night with Arnold; sees with his own eyes, the dear train laid, the matches lighted, and every thing in readiness, a few nights hence, to send the old Virginia farmer and his republic to destruction.

EVERY thing being settled to satisfaction, Andre wishes to set off to carry the glorious news to Gen. Clinton. But, behold! by a fine stroke of Providential interference, he cannot get on board the ship! Arnold gives him a horse and a pass to go to New-York by land. Under the name of Anderson he passes, in safety, all the guards. Now, like an uncaged bird, and light as the air he breathes, he sweeps along the road. His fame brightens before him—stars and garters, coaches and castles, dance before his delighted fancy—even his long-loved reluctant Delia (Miss Seward) is all his own—she joins in the nation's gratitude—softly she rolls her eyes of love, and brightening in all her beauty, sinks on his enraptured breast. In the midst of these, too, too happy thoughts, he is met by three young militia men. Though not on duty, they challenge him. He answers by the name of Anderson; shews his pass: and bounds away. Here the guardian genius of Columbia burst into tears—she saw the fall of her hero, and her country's liberties crushed forever. Dry thine eyes, blest saint, thy Washington is not fallen yet. The thick bosses of Jehovah's buckler are before the chief: and the shafts of his enemies shall yet fall to the earth, accurst—For, scarce had Andre passed the young militia-men, before one of them tells his comrades, that "he does not like his looks," and insists that he shall [105] be called back, and questioned again. His answers prove him a spy. He would have fled: but they level their musquets. Trembling and pale, he offers them an elegant gold-watch to let him go. No! He presses on them a purse bloated with guineas. No! He promises each of them a handsome pension for life—but all in vain. The power that guarded Washington was wroth with Andre. On searching him they find in his boot, and in Arnold's own hand-writing, a plan of the whole conspiracy! Sons of the generous soul, why should I tell how major Andre died? The place where his gallows stood is overgrown with weeds—but smiling angels often visit the spot; and it was bathed with the tears of his foes.

Insert: Capture of Major Andre.

HIS candour, on his examination, in some sort expiated his crime. It melted the angel soul of Washington: and the tears of the hero were mingled with the ink that signed the death-warrant of the hapless youth. The names of the young men who arrested poor Andre, were, JOHN PAULDING, DAVID WILLIAMS, and ISAAC VAN VERT. They were at cards under a large poplar that grew by the road, where the major was to pass. Congress rewarded them with silver medals; and settled on each of them $200 annually, for life.

AMERICAN writers have recorded a thousand handsome things of unfortunate Andre. They have made him scholar, soldier, gentleman, poet, painter, musician, and, in short, every thing that talents and taste can make a man. The following anecdote will show that he was much greater still.

SOME short time before that fatal affair which brought him to his end, (said my informant, Mr. Drewy, a painter, now living at Newbern,) a foraging party from New-York made an inroad into our settlement near that city. The neighbours soon assembled to oppose them; and, though not above fifteen years old, I turned out with my friends. In company was another boy, in age and size nearly about my own speed. We had counted on a fine chace. But the British were not to be driven so easily as we [106] had expected. Standing their ground, they not only put us to flight, but captured several of our party; myself and the other boy among them. They presently set out with us for New York: and, all the way, as we were going, my heart ached to think how my poor mother and sisters would be distressed when night came, and I did not return. Soon as they brought me in sight of the prison, I was struck with horror. The gloomy walls, and frightful guards at the doors, and wretched crowds at the iron windows, together with the thoughts of being locked up there in dark dungeons with disease and death, so overcame me, that I bursted into tears. Instantly a richly dressed officer stepped up, and taking me by the hand, with a look of great tenderness, said, "My dear boy! what makes you cry?" I told him I could not help it when I compared my present sad prospect with the happy one I enjoyed in the morning with my mother and sisters at home. "Well, well, my dear child, (said he) don't cry, don't cry any more." Then turning to the jailor ordered him to stop till he should come back. Though but a boy, yet I was deeply struck with the wonderful difference betwixt this man and the rest around me. He appeared to me like a brother; they like brutes. I asked the jailor who he was. "Why, that's major Andre, (said he angrily) the adjutant-general of the army; and you may thank your stars that he saw you; for I suppose he is gone to the general to beg you off, as he has done many of your d—d rebel countrymen." In a short time he returned; and with great joy in his countenance called out—"Well, my boys, I've good news, good news for you! The General has given you to me, to dispose of as I choose; and now you are at liberty! So run home to your fond parents, and be good boys; mind what they tell you: say your prayers; love one another; and God Almighty will bless you."

AND yet Andre perished, on a gallows, while Arnold, after living to old age, died in his bed!! Shall we hence infer with Brutus, that "Virtue is but an empty name?" and that Andre had been good in vain! [107] God forbid! Goodness and happiness are twins. Heaven hath joined them together, and Hell cannot put them asunder. For proof, we need go no further than to Andre himself—to Andre in prison! Even in that last and gloomiest scene of his life, we see the power which virtue has to illuminate the dark, to enliven the sad, and to raise her votaries above the terrors of death. In the first moment of his capture, when vulgar minds are thinking of nothing but self preservation, he is thinking of nothing but duty and generosity. Regardless of himself, he is only anxious for Arnold. Having by letter advised that wretched man of his danger, and give him time to escape, he then gallantly asserts his own real character; and avows himself "the Adjutant General of the British army."

THE truth is, he had been sent by Gen. Clinton, on a dirty piece of business for which he was not fit; and of which he was so heartily ashamed, that he appears to have been willing to atone for it with his life. Hence to the questions put at his trial, he answered with a candour which at once surprised and melted the Court Martial—he answered, with the candour of a mind which feared its own condemnation more than that of any human tribunal.—He heard his sentence of death with perfect indifference; and at the place of execution behaved like one who had fulfilled the high duties of son, brother, and man, with constant attention to a happy immortality. Thus giving the friends of virtue abundant cause to exclaim:

"Far more true peace the dying Andre felt,
"Than Arnold ever knew in prosp'rous guilt."

He, poor wretch, survived! but only to live a life, at once hated and despised—hated by the British General, whom he had shown capable of assassinating the man he could not conquer—hated by the British army, whom he had robbed of one of its brightest onaments—and hated by the officers who could not bear to see what they called "a d—mn'd traitor," not [108] only introduced into their company, but placed over their heads! In short, Arnold was an eye-sore to every man of honour in England, where he was often most grossly insulted.

SOON after his flight to England with the slender remains of the British army, he went down to Southampton, where the broken hearted Mother and Sisters of the unfortunate Andre lived. And so little was he acquainted with the human heart, that he called to see them! On hearing his name announced by the servant, they burst into tears, and sent him word, that "they did not wish to see him."

THE moment he received Major Andre's letter, the terrified Arnold made his escape to New-York.

BRITISH historians have wondered that he left his wife in the power of Washington. But Arnold knew in whom he trusted; and the generous man behaved exactly as Arnold had foreseen; for he immediately sent him his clothes and baggage, and wrote a polite letter of condolence to his lady, offering her a conveyance to her husband, or to her friends in Pennsylvania.

WASHINGTON now waged the war with, various success. On the one hand, his hero of Saratoga (Gates) was defeated with great loss, at Camden; on the other, the British lost, on the King's-Mountain, the brave Colonel Ferguson, with all his army, 1,400 men. Colonel Ferguson and his men were supposed by the British, the most exquisite marksmen alive. And indeed to hear their bravadoes, one would suppose, that give them but guns of a proper calibre, and they would think it a light affair to snuff the moon or drive the centre of the fixed stars. But the American Rifle-boys soon let them into a truer way of thinking. For in a few rounds they pink'd the brave Col. and put 300 of his exquisite marks-men asleep; which struck such a wholesome panic into the survivors, that they threw down their shooting-irons, and like thrifty gentlemen, called out right lustily for quarters.

[109] OF the Americans there fell but few; but among these was one, whose fame "Time with his own eternal lips shall sing." I mean the brave Col. Williams. He it was, whose burning words first kindled the young farmers at their ploughs, and led them to the King's Mountain, to measure their youthful rifles with Ferguson's heroes. On receiving the ball which opened in his breast the crimson sluice of life, he was borne by his aids, into the rear; where he was scarcely laid down, fainting with loss of blood, before a voice was heard, loud exclaiming, "Hurra! My Boys! the day is our own! the day is our own! they are crying for quarters!" Instantly he started, as from the beginning sleep of death, and opening his heavy eyes, eagerly called out, "My God! who are crying for quarters?" —"The British! The British!" replied the powder-blackened rifleman. At this, one last beam of joy lighted in a smile on his dying face: then faintly whispering, God be praised! he bowed his head in everlasting peace.

JOY follow thee, my brother, to HIS BLEST PRESENCE who sent thee a pillar of fire to blast the mad efforts of men fighting against themselves! On earth thy fame shall never fail. Children yet unborn shall lisp the name of Williams. Their cherub lips shall often talk of him whose patriot eye beheld them, afar off, smiling on the breast, and with a parent's ardor hasted to ward from their guiltless heads the curses of monarchy.

AFTER the defeat of Gates, Washington sent on his favorite Greene to head the southern army against the victorious Cornwallis and Tarleton. With Greene he joined the famous Morgan, whose riflemen had done such signal service during the war.

To draw Cornwallis's attention from a blow meditated against the British post at Ninety-Six, Greene detached Morgan to Paulet's river, near the neighbourhood of Cornwallis and Tarleton. Immediately the pride of Tarleton rose. He begged of his friend, [110] lord Rawdon, to obtain for him the permission of the commander in chief to go and attack Morgan. "By Heaven, my lord, (said he) I would not desire a finer feather in my cap than Col. Morgan, Such a prisoner would make my fortune." "Ah, Ben, (replied Rawdon, very coolly) you had better let the old waggoner alone." As no refusal could satisfy, permission at length was granted him; and he instantly set out. At parting, he said to lord Rawdon with a smile, "My lord, if you will be so obliging as to wait dinner, the day after to-morrow, till four o'clock, Col. Morgan shall be one of your Lordship's guests." "Very well, Ben, (said the other) we shall wait; but remember, Morgan was brought up under Washington."—There followed Tarleton to battle about 1000 choice infantry and 250 horse, with two field pieces. To oppose this formidable force, Morgan had but 500 militia, 300 regulars, and 75 horse. His militia were but militia; but his regulars were the famous MARYLAND LINE led by Howard; men who would have done honour to the plains of Austerlitz. The intrepid Desaix, who turned the tide of war in the bloody strife of Marengo, was only equal to Washington, Col. of the horse. Morgan had no wish to fight; but Tarleton compelled him; for about two hours before day on the 17th of January, '81, some of Washington's cavalry came galloping into camp with news that the British were but eight miles off, and would be up by day break. Instantly Morgan called a council of war, composed but of Howard, Washington, and himself. "Well, gentlemen, (said he) what's to be done? shall we fight or fly? shall we leave our friends to our enemies, and burning our meal and bacon, so hardly got, turn out again into the starving woods; or shall we stand by both, and fight like men?"

"No burning! no flying, (replied they) but let's stand, and fight like men!"

"WELL then, my brave fellows, (said Morgan) wake up the troops, and prepare for action."

[111] THE ground on which this very memorable battle was fought, was an open pine barren. The militia were drawn up about two hundred yards in front of the regulars, and the horse some small distance in the rear. Just after day-break, the British came in sight, and halting within a quarter of a mile of the militia, began to prepare for battle. The sun had just risen, as the enemy, with loud shouts, advanced to the charge. The militia, hardly waiting to give them a distant fire, broke and fled for their horses, which were tied at some distance on the wings of the Maryland line. Tarleton's cavalry pushed hard after the fugitives, and, coming up with them just as they had reached their horses, began to cut them down. Unable to bear that sight, Col. Washington, with his corps, dashed on to their rescue. As if certain of victory, Tarleton's men were all scattered in the chase! . . . Washington's on the contrary, sensible of the fearful odds against them, advanced close and compact as the Spartan phalanx. Then sudden and terrible the charge was made! Like men fighting, life in hand, all at once they rose high on their stirrups! while in streams of lightning their swords came down, and heads and arms, and caps, and carcasses, distained with spouting gore, rolled fearfully all around. Mournfully from all sides the cries of the wounded were heard, and the hollow groans of the dying.

AGONIZING with rage and grief, Tarleton beheld the Bight of his boasted victory, and the slaughter of his bravest troops. He flew to reanimate them—he encouraged—he threatened—he stormed and raved; but all in vain; no time was given to rally: for like the heavy ship under crowded canvass, bursting through the waves, so strong and resistless Washington's squadron went on, hewing down and overthrowing every thing in their way. Confounded, by such a fatal charge; the British cavalry could not stand it, but broke and fled in the utmost precipitation; while, bending forward over their horses, and waving their [112] blood-stained swords, the loud shouting Americans pursued. The woods resounded with the noise of their flight.

As when a mammoth suddenly dashes in among a thousand buffaloes, feeding at large on the vast plains of Missouri; all at once the innumerous herd, with wildly rolling eyes, and hideous bellowings, break forth into flight, while close at their heels, the roaring monster follows—earth trembles as they fly. Such was the noise in the chase of Tarleton, when the swords of Washington's cavalry pursued his troops from Cowpens' famous fields. It was like a peal of thunder, loud roaring at first, but gradually dying on the ear as it rolls away along the distant air.

BY this time the British infantry were come up; and, having crossed a little valley, just as they ascended the hill, they found themselves within twenty steps of Howard and his regulars, who received them with a right soldierly welcome, and taking good aim, poured in a general and deadly fire—a slaughter so entirely unexpected, threw the enemy into confusion. Seeing this wonderful change in the battle, the militia recovered their spirits, and began to form on the right of the regulars. Morgan, waving his sword, instantly rode up to them, and with a voice of thunder roared out, "Hurra! my brave fellow, form, form! Old Morgan was never beat in his life, . . . one fire more, my heroes, and the day is our own!" With answering shouts, both regulars and militia then advanced upon the enemy, and following their fire with the bayonet, instantly decided the conflict. The ground was covered with the dead; the tops of the aged pines shook with the ascending ghosts. With feeble cries and groans, at once they rose, like flocks of snow-white swans when the cold blasts strikes them on the lakes of Canada, and sends them on wide-spread wings, far to the south to seek a happier clime.

WASHINGTON pursued Tarleton 20 miles! and during the race was often so near him, that he could easily have killed him with a pistol shot. But having [113] strictly forbidden his men to fire a pistol that day, he thought it would never do to break his own orders. However there was one of his men who broke them. At one time Washington was 30 or 40 yards ahead of his men—Tarleton observing this, suddenly wheeled with a couple of his dragoons to cut him off. Washington, with more courage than prudence perhaps, dashed on, and rising on his stirrups made a blow at Tarleton, with such force, that it beat down his guard and mutilated one or two of his fingers. In this unprotected state, one of the British dragoons was aiming a stroke which must have killed him. But, the good genii, who guard the name of Washington, prevailed, for in that critical moment a mere dwarf of a Frenchman rushed up, and, with a pistol ball, shivered the arm of the Briton. The other dragoon attempted to wheel off, but was cut down. Tarleton made his escape.

TARLETON was brave, but not generous. He could not bear to hear another's praise. When some ladies in Charleston were speaking very handsomely of Washington, he replied, with a scornful air, that, "he should be very glad to get a sight of Col. Washington, he had heard much talk of him, (he said) but had never seen him yet." "Why sir, (rejoined one of the ladies) if you had looked behind you at the battle of the Cowpens, you might very easily have enjoyed that pleasure."

WHILE in the neighbourhood of Halifax, North-Carolina, Tarleton dined in a large company. The elegant and witty Mrs. Wiley Jones happened to be of the party. The ladies, who chiefly were whigs, were frequently praising the brave Col. Washington. Tarleton with looks considerably angry, replied, "that he was very much surprised that the Americans should think so highly of Col. Washington; for, from what he could learn, he was quite an illiterate fellow, and could hardly write his own name." "That may be very true, (replied Mrs. [114] Jones) but I believe, sir, you can testify that he knows how to make his mark." Poor Tarleton looked at his crippled finger, and bit his lips with rage.

WASHINGTON continued the war against the British till '81; when Cornwallis pushed into Virginia, and fortified himself at York-Town. But the eye of Washington was upon him; and with an address, which, the British historians say, was never equalled, he concerted a plan that ended in his total destruction. He artfully wrote letters to Greene, informing, that, "in order to relieve Virginia, he was determined immediately to attack New-York." These letters were so disposed as to fall into the right hands. Clinton took the alarm. But while Clinton was in daily expectation of a visit from him, Washington and his army, now across the Delaware, were in full stretch to the south, darkening the day with their clouds of rolling dust. Cornwallis saw that the day of his fall was at hand. He had done all that a brave, would to God we could add, a humane man could do, but all in vain. On the last of September, Washington sat down before York, with 100 pieces of heavy artillery. On the 7th of October this dreadful train began to thunder; and the British works sunk before them. Lord Cornwallis, unwilling to expose his army to the destruction of a general assault, agreed on the 17th to surrender. This was justly considered as the close of war; which having been begun with supplication, Washington piously ordered to be finished with thanksgiving.

Insert: Surrender of Lord Cornwallis.

IN the siege of Cornwallis, the behaviour of the Americans, was, as usual, generous and noble. The amiable Col. Scammel, adjutant-general, of the American army, and uncommonly beloved by them, was badly wounded, and taken prisoner by some British dragoons, who barbarously trotted him on before them, three miles, into town, where he presently died of fever and loss of blood. Great was the mourning for Scammel. In a few nights, Washington gave [115] orders to storm two of the enemy's redoubts, which were carried almost in an instant. The British called for quarters: A voice of death was heard, "Remember poor Scammel."—"Remember, gentlemen, you are Americans!" was rejoined by the commander, and instantly the points of the American bayonets were thrown up towards heaven!

THE conduct of the French also, was such as to entitle them to equal praise.

FOR when the British marched out to lay down their arms, the French officers were seen to shed tears—they condoled with the British, and tendered them their purses!—Glorious proof, that God never intended men to be, as some wickedly term it, natural enemies.

ON hearing in Congress the fall of Cornwallis, the door-keeper swoon'd with joy—on hearing the same news announced in Parliament, Lord North fell back in his chair, and bursted into tears! On receipt of the above news, congress broke forth into songs of praise to God: Parliament into execrations against their Prime Minister—Congress hastened to the temple to pay their vows to the Most High; Parliament bustle to St. James's with a petition to the King for a change of men and measures. The King was graciously pleased to hear the voice of their prayer. Men and measures were changed, and a decree was passed that whoever should advise war and a farther widening of the breach between Britain and "America, should be denounced an equal enemy to both. Then full leafed and green the olive branch of peace was held out to the nations: and the eyes of millions on both sides the water were lifted in transport to the lovely sign. The stern features of war were relaxed; and gladdening smiles began again to brighten over the "human face divine." But Washington beheld the lovely sign with doubt. Long accustomed unerringly to predict what Britain would do, from what he knew she had power to do, he had nothing to hope, but, every thing to fear. America, without cash [116] or credit!—her officers, without a dollar in pocket, strolling about camp in long beards and dirty shirts—her soldiers often without a crust in their knapsacks or a dram in their canteens—and her citizens every where sick and tired of war!—Great Britain, on the other hand, every where victorious over the fleets of her energies—completely mistress of the watery world, and, Judas-like, bag bearer of its commerce and cash! with such resources, with all these trumps in her hands, will she play quits, and make a draw game of it? Impossible! but if she should, "it must be the work of that Providence who ruleth in the armies of Heaven and Earth, and whose hand has been visibly displayed in every step of our progress to Independence." "Nothing," continued Washington, "can remove my doubts but an order from the ministry to remove their fleets and armies."

THAT welcome order, at length, was given! and the British troops, sprucely powdered and perfumed, in eager thousands hied on board their ships.

"All hands unmoor!" the stamping boatswain cry'd:
"All hands unmoor!" the joyous crews replied.

THEN all in a moment they fly to work. Some, seizing the ready handspikes, vault high upon the windlasses, thence coming down all at once with the hearty Yo-heave-O, they shake the sounding decks and tear from their dark oozy beds the ponderous anchors. Others, with halyards hard strained through the creaking blocks, sway aloft the wide-extended yards, and spread their canvas to the gale, which, with increasing freshness, bears the broad-winged ships in foam and thunder through the waves. Great was the joy of the multitude, for they were hastening to revisit their native land, and to meet those eyes of love which create a heaven in the virtuous breast. But the souls of some were sad. These were the reflecting few, whose thoughts were on the past, and on [117] the better hopes of former days! To them, the flowing bowl, the lively joke, the hearty laugh and song, gave no delight; nor yet the blue fields of ocean brightly shining round, with all her young billows wantoning before the playful breeze. Their country ruined and themselves repulsed, how could they rejoice! Then slowly retiring from the noisy crew, by themselves apart they sat on the lofty stern, high above the burning track which the ships left behind them in their rapid flight. There, deep in thought they sat with eyes sad fixed on the lessening shores, and ruminated even to melancholy. The dismal war returns upon their thoughts, with the pleasant days of '76, then bright with hope, but now, alas! all darkened in despair. "'Twas then," said they, "we first approached these coasts, shaded far and wide with our navies nodding tall and stately over the heaving surge. From their crowded decks looked forth myriads of blooming warriors, eagerly gazing on the lovely shores, the farms, and flocks, and domes, fondly thought their own, with all the beauteous maids, the easy purchase of a bloodless strife! But ah, vain hope! Washington met us in his strength. His people poured around him as the brindled sons of the desert around their sire when he lifts his terrible voice, and calls them from their dens, to aid him in war against the mighty rhinoceros. The battle raged along a thousand fields—a thousand streams ran purple with British gore. And now of all our blooming warriors, alas! how few remain! Pierced by the fatal rifle, far the greater part now press their bloody beds. There, each on his couch of honour, lie those who Were once the flower of our host. There lies the gallant Frazer, the dauntless Ferguson, the accomplished Donop, and that pride of youth, the generous Andre, with thousands equally brave and good. But, O! ye dear partners of this cruel strife, though fallen you are not forgotten! Often, with tears do we see you still, as when you rejoiced with us at the feast, or fought by our sides [118] in battle. But vain was all our valour; for God fought for Washington. Hence our choicest troops are fallen before him; and we, the sad remains of war are now returning, inglorious, to our native shores. Land of the graves of Heroes, farewell! Ghosts the noble dead! chide not the steps of our departure! you are left; but it is in a land of brothers who often mourned the death which their valour gave. But now the unnatural strife is past, and peace returns. And O! that with peace may return that spirit which once warmed the hearts of Americas towards their British brethren, when the sight of our tall ships was wont to spread joy along their shores; and when the planter, viewing his cotton-covered fields, rejoiced that he was preparing employment and bread for thousands of our poor!!"

THE hostile fleets and armies thus withdrawn; and the Independence of his country acknowledged, Washington proceeded, at the command of Congress, to disband the army! To this event, though of all others the dearest to his heart, he had ever looked forward with trembling anxiety. Loving his soldiers as his children, how could he tell them the painful truth which the poverty of his country had imposed on him? How could he tell them, that after all that they had done and suffered with him, they must now ground their arms, and return home, many of them without a decent suit on their backs, or a penny in their pockets?

BUT he was saved the pain of making this communication; for they soon received it from another quarter, and with circumstances calculated to kindle the fiercest indignation against their country. Letters were industriously circulated through the army, painting in the strongest colours, their own unparalleled sufferings, and the Ingratitude of Congress.

"CONFIDING in her honor," said the writer, "did you not cheerfully enlist in the service of your country, and for her dear sake encounter all the evils of a soldier's life? Have you not beaten the ice- [119] bound road full many a wintry day, without a shoe to your bleeding feet; and wasted the long bitter night, without a tent, to shelter your heads from the pelting storm? Have you not borne the brunt of many a bloody fight, and from the hands of hard struggling foes torn the glorious prize, YOUR COUNTRY'S INDEPENDENCE? And now after all, after wasting in her service the flower of your days—with bodies broken under arms, and bones filled with the pains and aches of a seven year's war, will you suffer yourselves to be sent home in rags to your families, to spend the sad remains of life in poverty and scorn?—No! my brothers in arms, I trust you will not. I trust you bear no such coward minds. I trust that after having fought so bravely for the rights of others, you will now fight as bravely for your own rights. And now is the accepted time and golden hour of redress, while you have weapons in your hands, the strength of an army to support you, and a beloved General at your head, ready to lead you to that justice which you owe yourselves, and which you have so long but vainly expected from an ungrateful country.

THESE letters produced, as might have been expected, a most alarming effect. Rage, like a fire in secret, began to burn throughout the camp. Washington soon perceived it. He discovered it in his soldiers as gathered into groups they stood and talked of their grievances, while with furious looks and gestures they stamped on the earth, and hurled their curses against Congress. Gladdening at such success of his first letters, the writer instantly sent around a second set, still more artful and inflammatory than the first: the passions of the army now rose to a height that threatened instantaneous explosion. But still their eyes, beaming reverence and love, were turned towards their honoured chief, to whom they had ever looked as to a father.

OFTEN had they marked his tears, as, visiting their encampments, he beheld them suffering and [120] sinking under fevers and fluxes, for want of clothes and provisions. Often, had they hushed their complaints, trusting to his promises that Congress would still remember them. But behold! his promises and their hopes are all alike abortive!

AND will not Washington, the friend of Justice, and father of his army, avenge them on a government which has thus basely defrauded them and deceived him? There needed but a glance of his approbation to set the whole army in motion. Instantly with fixed bayonets they would have hurled the hated Congress from their seats, and placed their beloved Washington on the throne of St. Tammany. Here, no doubt, the tempter flashed the dangerous diadem before the eyes of our Countryman: but religion at the same time, pointed him to the GREAT LOVER OF ORDER, holding up that crown in comparison of which the diadems of kings are but dross. Animated with such hopes he had long cherished that ardent philanthropy which sighs for Liberty to all countries, and especially to his own. For Liberty he had fought and conquered, and now considered it with all its blessings as at hand. "Yet a little while, and America shall become the glory of the earth—a nation of Brothers, enjoying the golden reign of equal laws, and rejoicing under their own vine and fig tree, and no tyrant to make them afraid. And shall these glorious prospects be darkened? shall they be darkened by WASHINGTON! shall he, ever the friend of his country, become her bitterest enemy, by fixing upon her again the iron yoke of monarchy? shall he! the Father of his army, become their assassin, by establishing a government that shall swallow up their liberties for ever?"

THE idea filled his soul with horror. Instead, therefore, of tamely yielding to the wishes of his army to their own ruin, he bravely opposes them to their true good: and instead of drinking in, with traitorous smile, the hosannas that would make him King, he darkens his brow of Parental displeasure [121] at their impiety. He flies to extinguish their rising rebellion; he addresses letters to the officers of the army, desiring them to meet him at an appointed time and place. Happily for America, the voice of Washington still sounded in their ear as the voice of a father. His officers, to a man, all gathered around him; while, with a countenance inspiring veneration and love, he arose and addressed the eager-listening chiefs. He began with reminding them of the great argument for which they had first drawn their swords, i. e. THE LIBERTIES OF THEIR COUNTRY. He applauded that noble spirit with which they had submitted to so many privations—combated so many-dangers—and overcome so many difficulties. And now, said he, after having thus waded, like Israel of old, through a Red Sea of blood, and withstood the thundering Sinais of British fury—after having crushed the fiery serpents of Indian rifles, and trampled down those insidious Amalekites, the tories—after having travelled through a howling wilderness of war, and, with the ark of your country's liberties in camp, safely arrived on the borders of Canaan, and in sight of the glorious end of all your labours, will you now give yourselves up the dupes of a "British emissary," and for the sordid flesh-pots of a few months' pay, rush into civil war, and fall back to a worse than Egyptian bondage? No! my brave countrymen, I trust you will not. I trust, that an army so famed throughout the world for patriotism, will yet maintain its reputation. I trust, that your behaviour on this last, this most trying occasion, will fill up the measure of your heroism, and stamp the American character with never-dying fame. You have achieved miracles, but a greater miracle still remains to be achieved. We have had the glory to conquer our enemies; now for the greater glory to conquer ourselves. Other armies, after subduing the enemies of their country, have themselves, for power and plunder, become her tyrants, and trampled her liberties under foot: be it our nobler ambition, after suffer- [122] ings unparalleled for our needy country, to return cheerful, though pennyless, to our homes, and patiently wait the rewards which her gratitude will, one day, assuredly bestow. In the mean time, beating our swords into ploughshares, and our bayonets into reaping hooks, let us, as peaceful citizens, cultivate those fields from which, as victorious soldiers, we lately drove the enemy. Thence, as from the noblest of theatres, you shall display a spectacle of patriotism never seen before—you shall teach the delighted world, that men are capable of finding a heaven in noble actions—and you will give occasion to posterity to say, when speaking of your present behaviour, had this day been wanting, the triumph of our fathers' virtues would have been incomplete."

As he spoke, his cheeks, naturally pale, were reddened over with virtue's pure vermillion; while his eyes of cœrulean blue were kindled up with those indescribable fires which fancy lends to an angel orator, animating poor mortals to the sublime of godlike deeds. His words were not in vain. From lips of wisdom, and long-tried love, like his, such counsel wrought as though an oracle had spoke. Instantly a committee of the whole was formed, with general Knox at their head, who, in thirty minutes, reported the following resolutions, which were unanimously adopted:

"RESOLVED—that having engaged in the war from motives of the purest love and zeal for the rights of man, no circumstance of distress or danger shall ever induce us to sully the glory we have acquired at the price of our blood, and eight years' faithful service."

"RESOLVED—that we continue to have an unshaken confidence in the justice of congress and our country."

"RESOLVED—that we view with abhorrence, and reject with disdain, the infamous proposition contained in a late anonymous address to the officers of the army."

[123] THE officers then hasted back to their troops, who had been impatiently expecting them; and related Washington's speech. They also stated, as his firm conviction, that "the claims of every soldier would be liquidated, his accounts accurately ascertained, and adequate funds provided for the payment of them, as soon as the circumstances of the nation would permit."

THE soldiers listened to this communication with attention, and heard the close of it without a murmur. "They had no great opinion, they said, of congress; but having gone such lengths for duty and old George, they supposed they might as well now go a little farther, and make thorough work of it. A little pay would, to be sure, have been very welcome; and it was a poor military chest that could not afford a single dollar, especially as some of them had hundreds of miles to their homes. But surely the people won't let us starve for a meal's victuals by the way, especially after we have been so long fighting their battles. So, in God's name, we'll even shoulder our knapsacks, whenever our old general shall say the word."

THE next day the breaking up of the army began, which was conducted in the following manner. The troops after breakfast were ordered under arms. On receiving notice that they were ready to move, Washington with his aids, rode out on the plains of their encampment, where he sat on his horse awaiting their arrival. The troops got in motion, and with fifes and muffled drums playing the mournful air of Roslin Castle, marched up for the last time, into his presence. Every countenance was shrowded in sorrow. At a signal given, they grounded their arms; then waving their hats, and faintly crying out "God save great Washington," through watery eyes they gave him a long adieu, and wheeled off in files for their native homes. With pensive looks his eye pursued them as they retired, wide spreading over the fields. But when he saw those brave troops who had so long obeyed him, and who had just given such an [124] evidence of their affection, when he saw them slowly descending behind the distant hills, shortly to disappear for ever, then nature stirred all the father within him, and gave him up to tears. But he wept not "as those without hope." He rejoiced in the remembrance of HIM who treasures up the toils of the virtuous, and will, one day, bestow that reward which "this world cannot give."

BUT the whole army was not disbanded at once. Shortly after this he went down to New-York to finish what remained of his duty as commander in chief, and to prepare to return home. On the last day that he was there, it being known that he meant to set out for Virginia at one o'clock, all his officers, who happened to be in town, assembled at Francis's tavern, where he lodged, to bid him a last farewell. About half after twelve the general entered the room, where an elegant collation was spread, but none tasted it. Conversation was attempted, but it failed. As the clock struck one, the general went to the side-board, and filling out some wine, turned to his officers, and begged they would join him in a glass. Then, with a look of sorrow and a faultering voice, he said, "Well my brave brothers in arms, we part—perhaps to meet in this life no more. And now I pray God to take you all in his holy keeping, and render your latter days as prosperous as the past have been glorious."

SOON as they had drunk, he beckoned to general Knox, who approached and pressed his hand in tears of delicious silence. The officers all followed his example, while their manly checks, swollen with grief, bespoke sensations too strong for utterance. This tender scene being over, he moved towards the door, followed by his officers. By this time the street from the hotel to the river was filled with light infantry, and thousands of citizens, who all attended him in silence to the water-side, where he was to take boat. Here another pleasing proof of esteem was given him. Instead of the common ferry boat, a [125] barge magnificently decorated, was ready to receive him, with the American jack and colours flying, and manned with thirteen sea-captains, all in elegant blue uniforms. On stepping aboard the barge, he turned towards the people, who stood in vast crowds on the shore, and, waving his hat, bade them a silent adieu, which they in like solemn manner returned, all waving their hats, and without speaking a word. Having received their honoured freight, the sons of Neptune, ready with well-poised oars, leap forward to the coxswain's call; then, all at once falling back, with sudden stroke they flash their bending blades into the yielding flood. Swift at their stroke the barge sprung from the shore, and, under the music of echoing row-locks, flew through the waves, followed by the eager gaze of the pensive thousands. The sighing multitude then turned away from the shore with feelings whose source they did not, perhaps, understand. But some, on returning to their homes, spoke to their listening children of what they had seen, and of the honours which belong to such virtue as Washington's.

HE lodged that night at Elizabethtown, 15 miles from New-York. The next morning, elate with thoughts of home, he ascended his chariot, and with bounding steeds drove on his way through the lovely country of New-Jersey. This, no doubt, was the pleasantest ride by far that he had known since the dark days of '75. For though joyless winter was spread abroad with her cold clouds, and winds shrill whistling over the flowerless fields, yet to his patriot eye the face of nature shone brighter than in latter years, when clad in springtide green and gold—for it was covered over with the bright mantle of peace. His shoulders were freed from the burden of public cares, and his heart from the anxieties of supreme command—with a father's joy he could look around on the thick settled-country, with all their little ones, and flocks, and herds, now no longer exposed to danger.

[126] "HAPPY farmers! the long winter of war is past and gone—the spring time of peace is returned; and the voice of her dove is heard in our land. Restore your wasted farms—spread abroad the fertilizing manure, and prepare again to crown your war-worn fields with joyful crops."

"HAPPY children! now pour forth again in safety to your schools—treasure up the golden knowledge, and make yourselves the future glory and guardians of your country."

"HAPPY citizens! hasten to rebuild the ruined temples of your God—and lift your glad songs to him the great ruler of war, who aided your feeble arms, and trampled down the mighty enemy beneath your feet."

BUT often, amidst these happy thoughts, the swift wheeled chariot would bring him in view of fields on which his bleeding memory could not look without a tear.—"There the battling armies met in thunder—the stormy strife was short; but yonder mournful hillocks point the place where many of our brave heroes sleep: perhaps some good angel has whispered that their fall was not in vain."

ON his journey homewards, he stopped for a moment at Philadelphia, to do an act, which to a mind proudly honest like his, must have been a sublime treat. He stopped to present to the comptroller-general an account of all the public monies which he had spent. Though this account was in his own hand writing, and accompanied with the proper vouchers, yet it will hardly be credited by European statesmen and generals, that, in the course of an eight years' war, he had spent only 12,497£ 8s. 9d. sterling!!

FROM Philadelphia he hastened on to Annapolis, where congress was then in session, that he might return to that honourable body the commission with which they had entrusted him.

HAVING always disliked parade, he wished to make his resignation in writing; but congress, it seems, willed otherwise. To see a man voluntarily giving [127] up power, was a spectacle not to be met with every day. And that they might have the pleasure of seeing him in this last, and perhaps greatest, act of his public life, they expressed a wish to receive his resignation from his own hand at a full audience. The next day, the 23d of December, 1783, was appointed for the purpose. At an early hour the house was crowded. The members of congress, with the grandees of the land, filled the floors; the ladies sparkled in the galleries. At eleven o'clock, Washington was ushered into the house, and conducted to a seat which had been prepared for him, covered with red velvet. After a becoming pause, and information given by the president, that the United States in congress assembled were ready to receive his communication, he arose, and with great brevity and modesty observed, that he had presented himself before them, to resign into their hands with satisfaction the commission which, eight years before, he had accepted with diffidence. He begged to mingle his sincerest congratulations with them, for the glorious result of their united struggles—took no part of the praise to himself, but ascribed all to the blessing of Heaven on the exertions of the nation. Then fervently commending his dearest country to the protection of Almighty God, he bade them an affectionate farewell; and taking leave of all the employments of public life, surrendered up his commission!

SELDOM has there been exhibited so charming a display of the power which pre-eminent virtue possesses over the human heart, as on this occasion. Short and simple as was the speech of Washington, yet it seems to have carried back every trembling imagination to the fearful days of '75, when the British fleets and armies were thundering on our coasts, and when nothing was talked of but slavery, confiscation, and executions. And now they saw before them the man to whom they all looked for safety in that gloomy time, and who had completely answered their fond hopes—had stood by them uncorruptible [128] and unshaken—had anticipated their mighty enemy in all his plans—had met him at every point—had thwarted, defeated and blasted all his hopes—and, victory after victory won, had at length laid his strong legions in dust or in chains, and had secured to his country a glorious independence, with the fairest chance of being one of the most respectable and happy nations of the earth—and, in consequence of all this, had so completely won the hearts of his army and his nation, that he could perhaps have made himself their master—at all events, a Caesar or a Cromwell would, at the hazard of a million of lives, made the sacrilegious attempt. Yet they now saw this man scorning to abuse his power to the degradation of his country,—but, on the contrary, treating her with the most sacred respect—dutifully bowing before her delegated presence, the congress—cheerfully returning the commission she had entrusted him with— piously laying clown his extensive powers at her feet—and modestly falling back into the humble condition of the rest of her children. The sight of their great countryman, already so beloved, and now acting so generous, so godlike a part, produced an effect beyond the power of words to express. Their feelings of admiration and affection were too delicious, too big for utterance. Every countenance was swollen with sentiment, and a flood of tears gushed from every eye, which, though a silent, was perhaps the richest offering of veneration and esteem ever paid to a human being.

HAVING discharged this last great debt to his country, the next morning, early, he ascended his chariot, and listened with joy to the rattling wheels, now running off his last day's journey to Mount Vernon. Ah! could gloomy tyrants but feel what Washington felt that day, when, sweeping along the road, with grateful heart, he revolved the mighty work which he had finished—his country saved, and his conscience clear; they would tear off the accursed purple, and starting from their blood-stained thrones, like Washington seek true happiness in making others happy.

[129] O WASHINGTON! thrice glorious name,
What due rewards can man decree?
Empires are far below thy aim,
And sceptres have no charms for thee;
Duty alone has thy regard,
In her thou seek'st thy great reward.


Washington again on his farm—sketch of his conduct there—suggests the importance of inland navigation—companies forming—urges a reform of the old constitution—appointed president of the United States—great difficulties to encounter—gloriously surmounts them.

TO be happy in every situation is an argument of wisdom seldom attained by man. It proves that the heart is set on that which alone can ever completely satisfy it, i. e. the imitation of God in benevolent and useful life. This was the happy case with, Washington. To establish in his country the golden, reign of liberty was his grand wish. In the accomplishment of this he seeks his happiness. He abhors war; but, if war be necessary, to this end he bravely encounters it. His ruling passion must be obeyed. He beats his ploughshare into a sword, and exchanges the peace and pleasures of his farm for the din and dangers of the camp. Having won the great prize for which he contended, he returns to his plough. His military habits are laid by with the same ease as he would throw off an old coat. The camp, with all its parade and noise, is forgotten. He awakes, in his silent chambers at Mount Vernon, without sighing for the sprightly drums and fifes that used [130] to salute him every morning. Happy among his domestics, he does not regret the shining ranks, that, with ported arms used to pay him homage. The useful citizen is the high character he wishes to act—his sword turned into a ploughshare is his favourite instrument, and his beloved farm his stage. Agriculture had been always his delight. To breathe the pure healthful air of a farm, perfumed with odorous flowers, and enriched with golden harvests, and with numerous flocks and herds, appeared to him a life nearest connected with individual and national happiness. To this great object he turns all his attention, bends all his exertions. He writes to the most skilful farmers, not only in America but in England (for Washington was incapable of bearing malice against a people who had made friends with his country); he writes, I say, to the ablest farmers in America and England, for instructions how best to cultivate and improve his lands—what grains, what grasses, what manures would best suit his soils; what shrubs are fittest for fences, and what animals for labour.

BUT, to a soul large and benevolent like his, to beautify his own farm, and to enrich his own family, seemed like doing nothing. To see the whole nation engaged in glorious toils, filling themselves with "plenty, and inundating the sea-ports with food and raiment for the poor and needy of distant nations—this was his godlike ambition. But, knowing that his beloved countrymen could not long enjoy the honor and advantage of such glorious toils, unless they could easily convey their swelling harvests to their own markets, he hastened to rouse them to a proper sense of the infinite importance of forming canals and cuts between all the fine rivers that run through the United States. To give the greater weight to his counsel, he had first ascended the sources of those great rivers—ascertained the distance between them—the obstacles in the way of navigation—and the probable expense of removing them.

[131 AGREEABLE to his wishes, two wealthy companies were soon formed to extend the navigation of James River and Potomac, the noblest rivers in Virginia. Struck with the exceeding benefit which both themselves and their country would speedily derive from a plan which he had not only suggested, but had taken such pains and expense to recommend, they pressed him to accept one hundred and fifty shares of the company's stock, amounting to near 40,000 dollars! But he instantly refused it, saying, "what will the world think if they should hear that I have taken 40,000 dollars for this affair? Will they not be apt to suspect, on my next proposition, that money is my motive? Thus, for the sake of money, which indeed I never coveted from my country, I may lose the power to do her some service, which may be worth more than all money!!"

BUT, while engaged in this goodly work, he was suddenly alarmed by the appearance of an evil, which threatened to put an end to all his well-meant labours for ever—this was, the beginning dissolution of the federal government!! The framers of that fair but flimsy fabric, having put it together according to the square and compass of equal rights and mutual interests, thought they had done enough. The good sense and virtue of the nation, it was supposed, would form a foundation of rock whereon it would safely rest, in spite of all commotions, foreign or domestic.

"BUT, alas!" said Washington, "experience has shown that men, unless constrained, will seldom do what is for their own good. With joy I once beheld my country feeling the liveliest sense of her rights, and maintaining them with a spirit apportioned to their worth. With joy I have seen all the wise of Europe looking on her with admiration, and all the good with hope, that her fair example would regenerate the old world, and restore the blessings of equal government to long oppressed HUMANITY. But alas! in place of maintaining this glorious attitude, [132] America is herself rushing into disorder and dissolution. We have powers sufficient for self-defence and glory: but those powers are not exerted. For fear congress should abuse it, the people will not trust their power with congress. Foreigners insult and injure us with impunity, for congress has no power to chastise them.—Ambitious men stir up factions; congress possesses no power to scourge them. Public creditors call for their money; congress has no power to collect it. In short, we cannot long subsist as a nation, without lodging somewhere a power that may command the full energies of the nation for defence from all its enemies, and for supply of all its wants. The people will soon be tired of such a government—they will sigh for a change—and many of them already begin to talk of monarchy, without horror!!"

IN this, as in all cases of apprehended danger, his pen knew no rest. The leading characters of the nation were roused; and a CONVENTION was formed of deputies from the several states, to revise and amend the general government. Of this convention Washington was unanimously chosen president.—Their session commenced in Philadelphia, May, 1787, and ended in October. The fruit of their six months labour was the present excellent constitution, which was no sooner adopted, than the eyes of the whole nation were fixed on him as the president.

BEING now in his 57th year, and wedded to his farm and family, he had no wish to come forward again to the cares and dangers of public life. Ease was now become almost as necessary as dear to him. His reputation was already at the highest; and as to money, in the service of his country he had always refused it. These things considered, together with his acknowledged modesty and disinterestedness, we can hardly doubt the correctness of the declaration he made, when he said, that, "the call, to the magistracy was the most unwelcome he had ever heard."

[133] HOWEVER, as soon as it was officially notified to him, in the spring of 1789, that he was unanimously elected president of the United States, and that congress, then sitting in New-York, was impatient to see him in the chair, he set out for that city. Then all along the roads where he passed, were seen the most charming proofs of that enthusiasm with which the hearts of all delighted to honour him. If it was only said, "General Washington is coming," it was enough. The inhabitants all hastened from their houses to the highways, to get a sight of their great countryman; while the people of the towns, hearing of his approach, sallied out, horse and foot, to meet him. In eager throngs, men, women, and children pressed upon his steps, as waves in crowding ridges pursue the course of a ship through the ocean. And as a new succession of waves is ever ready to take the place of those which had just ended their chase in playful foam, so it was with the ever-gathering crowds that followed their Washington.

"ON reaching the western banks of Schuylkill," said a gentleman who was present, "I was astonished at the concourse of people that overspread the country, apparently from Gray's ferry to the city. Indeed one would have thought that the whole population of Philadelphia was come out to meet him. And to see so many thousands of people on foot, on horseback, and in coaches, all voluntarily waiting upon and moving along with one man, struck me with strangely agreeable sensations. Surely, thought I, there must be a divinity in goodness, that mankind should thus delight to honour it."

HIS reception at Trenton was more than flattering. It was planned, they said, by the ladies, and indeed bore marks that it could have been done only by them. The reader must remember, that it was near this place that the fair sex in '76 suffered such cruel indignities from the enemy; and also that it was here that Providence, in the same year enabled Washing- [134] ton so severely to chastise them for it. The women are not apt to forget their benefactors. Hearing that Washington was on his way to Trenton, they instantly held a caucus among themselves, to devise ways and means to display their gratitude to him. Under their direction, the bridge over the Sanpink (a narrow creek running through Trenton, from whose opposite banks Washington and the British once fought) was decorated with a triumphal arch, with this inscription in large figures:

DECEMBER 26, 1776.

HE approached the bridge on its south side, amidst the heartiest shouts of congratulating thousands, while on the north side were drawn up several hundreds of little girls, dressed in snow-white robes, with temples adorned with garlands, and baskets of flowers on their arms. Just behind them stood long rows of young virgins, whose fair faces, of sweetest red, and white, highly animated by the occasion, looked quite angelic—and, back of them, in crowds stood their venerable mothers. As Washington slowly drove off the bridge, the female voices all began, sweet as the first wakings of the Eolian harp, and thus they rolled the song:

"Welcome, mighty chief! once more
Welcome to this grateful shore,
Now no mercenary foe
Aims again the fatal blow,
Aims at thee the fatal blow,
Virgins fair, and matrons grave,
(These thy conquering arm did save!)
Build for thee triumphal bowers.
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers;
Strew your hero's way with flowers."

[135] WHILE singing the last lines, they strewed the way with flowers before him.

SOME have said that they could see in his altered looks, that he remembered the far different scenes of '76; for that they saw him wipe a tear. No doubt 'twas the sweet tear of gratitude to him who had brought him to see this happy day.

AT New-York the behaviour of the citizens was equally expressive of the general veneration and esteem. The ships in the harbour were all dressed in their flags and streamers; and the wharves where he landed richly decorated. At the water's edge he was received by an immense concourse of the joyful citizens, and amidst the mingled thunder of guns and acclamations, was conducted to his lodgings. Such honours would have intoxicated most men; but to a mind, like his, habitually conversant with the far sublimer subjects of the Christian philosophy, they must have looked quite puerile. Indeed, it appears from a note made in his Journal that very evening, that he regarded all these marks of public favour rather as calls to humility than pride. "The display of boats on this occasion," says he, "with vocal and instrumental music on board, the decorations of the ships, the roar of cannon, and the loud acclamations of the people, as I passed along the wharves, gave me as much pain as pleasure, contemplating the probable reverse of this scene after all my endeavours to go good."

IT was on the 23d of April, 1789, that he arrived in New-York: and on the 30th, after taking the oath, as president of the United States, to preserve, protect and defend the constitution, he entered upon the duties of his office.

AS things then stood, even his bitterest enemies, if he had any, might have said "happy man be his dole!" for he came to the helm in a perilous and fearful season. Like, chaos, " in the olden time," our government was "without form and void, and darkness dwelt upon the face of the deep!." Enemies in [136] numerable threatened the country, both from within and without, abroad and at home—the people of three continents at daggers drawn with the young republic of America!

THE pirates of Morocco laying their uncircumcised bands on our rich commerce in the Mediterranean.

THE British grumbling and threatening war.

THE Spaniards shutting up the Mississippi!

THE Kentuckians in great warmth, threatening to break the union, and join the Spaniards!

THE Indian nations, from Canada to Georgia, unburying the tomahawk!

NORTH-CAROLINA and Rhode-Island, blowing on the confederacy! strong parties in other states against it!—and an alarming insurrection in Massachusetts! While, to combat all these enemies, the United States had but 600 regular troops!! and, though eighty millions of dollars in debt, they had not one cent in the treasury!!! Here, certainly, if ever, was the time to try a man's soul. But Washington despaired not, Glowing with the love of his country, and persuaded that his country still enjoyed an opportunity to be great and happy, he resolved, whatever it might cost him, that nothing should be wanting on his part to fill up the measure of her glory. But first of all, in his inaugural speech, he called upon Congress and his countrymen, to look up to God for his blessing; next, as to themselves, to be most industrious, honourable, and united, as became men responsible to ages yet unborn, for all the blessings of a republican government, now, and perhaps for the last time, at stake, on their wisdom and virtue;—then as to himself; "I feel," said he, "my incompetency of political skill and abilities. Integrity and firmness are all I can promise. These, I know, will never forsake me, although I may be deserted by all men: and of the consolations to be derived from these, under no circumstances can the world ever deprive me."—And last of all, as, in a crazy ship at sea, tossed by furious winds, [137] no pilot can save without the aid of able seamen, Washington prudently rallied around him the wisest of all his countrymen.

Mr. Jefferson, secretary of foreign affairs.
Col. Hamilton, secretary of the treasury.
Gen. Knox, secretary of war.
Edmund Randolph, attorney general.
John Jay, chief justice.
John Rutledge, James Wilson, John Cushing, Robert Harrison, John Blair: Associate Judges.

THESE judicious preparations being made for the storm, (Heaven's blessing invoked, and the ablest pilots embarked with him,) Washington then seized the helm, with a gallant hard-a-lee; luffed up his ship at once to the gale, hoping yet to shoot the hideous gulphs that threatened all around.

HIS first attention was turned to the call of Humanity, i. e. to satisfy and make peace with the Indians. This was soon done; partly by presents, and by establishing, in their country, houses of fair trade, which, by preventing frauds, prevent those grudges that lead to private murders, and thence to public disturbances and wars. Some of the Indian tribes, despising these friendly efforts of Washington, were obliged to be drubbed into peace, which service was done for them by General Wayne, in 1794—but not until many lives had been lost in preceding defeats; owing chiefly, it was said, to the very intemperate passions and potations of some of their officers. However, after the first shock, the loss of these poor souls was not much lamented. Tall young fellows, who could easily get their half dollar a day at the healthful and glorious labours of the plough, to go and enlist and rust among the lice and itch of a camp, for four dollars a month, were certainly not worth their country's crying about.

[138] WASHINGTON'S friendly overtures to Spain were equally fortunate. Believing that he desired nothing but what was perfectly just, and what both God and man would support him in, she presently agreed to negotiate. The navigation of the Mississippi was given up. The Kentuckians were satisfied: and Spain and the United States lived on good terms all the rest of his days.

WASHINGTON then tried his hands with the British. But alas! he soon found that they were not made of such pliable stuff as the Indians and Spaniards. Nor had he the British alone to complain of. He presently found it as hard to satisfy his own countrymen, in the matter of a treaty, as to please them.

FOR whether it was that the two nations still retained a most unchristian recollection of what they had suffered from one another during the past war—or whether, more unchristianly still, they felt the odious spirit of rivals, and sickened at each other's prosperity—or whether each nation thought that the ships of the other were navigated by their seamen; but so it was, that the prejudices of the two people, though sprung from the same progenitors, ran so high as to render it extremely difficult for Washington to settle matters between them. But it was at length happily effected, without the horrors of another war. Though the treaty which brought about this desirable event was entirely execrated by great numbers of sensible and honest men no doubt, yet Washington, led, as he says, by duty and humanity, ratified it.

IF the signing of the treaty displayed his firmness, the operation of it has, perhaps, shown his wisdom. For, surely, since that time, no country like this ever so progressed in the public and private blessings of industry, wealth, population, and morals. Whether greater, or, indeed, equal blessings would have resulted from a bloody war with England at that time, let others determine.

[139] BUT scarcely had Washington got clear of his embarrassments with Britain, before still worse were thrown in his way by France.

THE cause was this. "The French army, as Doctor Franklin observes, having served an apprenticeship to LIBERTY, in America, on going back to France, set up for themselves." Throughout the kingdom, wherever they went, they could talk of nothing but the Americans. "Ah, happy people!" said they, "neither oppressing nor oppressed, they mingle together as one great family of brothers. Every man is free. Every man labours for himself, and wipes with joy the sweat from his brow, because 'tis the earnest of plenteous food and clothing, education, and delights, for his children!"

THE people every where listened with eagerness to these descriptions of American happiness, and sighed to think of their own wretchedness. The smothered fire soon broke out. The press teemed with papers and pamphlets on the RIGHTS OF MAN—the TRUE ENDS OF GOVERNMENT,—and the BLESSINGS OF LIBERTY. The eyes of the great nation were presently opened to a sight of her degraded and wretched state. Then suddenly springing up, like a mighty giantess from the hated bed of violation and dishonour, she began a course of vengeance as terrible as it had been long delayed. The unfortunate king and queen were quickly brought low.—The heads of her tyrants every where bounded on the floors of the guillotine; while in every place dogs licked the blood of nobles: and the bodies of great lords were scattered like dung over the face of the earth.

FEARING that if France were suffered to go on at this rate, there would not in a little time, be a CROWN left in Europe, the crowned heads all confederated to arrest her progress. The whole surrounding world, both by land and water, was in commotion: and tremendous fleets and armies poured in from every side, [140] to overwhelm her. With unanimity and valour equal to their danger, the war-loving Gauls rushed forth in crowding millions to meet their foes. The mighty armies joined in battle, appearing, to the terrified eye, as if the whole human race were rushing together for mutual destruction. But not content with setting the eastern world on fire, the furious combatants like Milton's warring SPIRITS tearing up and flinging mountains and islands at each other, flew to America to seize and drag her into their war.

FLAMING on this errand, Mr. Genet lighted on our continent as an envoy from France. He was received with joy as a brother republican. The people every where welcomed him as the representative of a beloved nation, to whom, under God, they owed their liberties. Grand dinners were given—sparkling bumpers were filled, and standing up round the vast convivial board, with joined hands and cheeks glowing with friendship and the generous juice, they rent the air with—"health and fraternity to the sister republics of France and America."

WASHINGTON joined in the general hospitality to the stranger. He extolled the valour, and congratulated the victories of his brave countrymen."Born, sir, said he, in the land of Liberty, for whose sake I have spent my best years of life in war, I cannot but feel a trembling anxiety whenever I see an oppressed people drawing their swords and rearing aloft the sacred banners of freedom."

ENRAPTURED at finding in America such a cordial spirit towards his country, Mr. Genet instantly set himself to call it into the fullest exertion. And by artfully ringing the changes on British cruelty, and French generosity, to the Americans, he so far succeeded as to prevail on some persons in Charleston to commence the equipment of privateers against the British.—Dazzled by the lustre of a false gratitude to one nation, they lost sight of their horrid injustice to another; and during the profoundest peace between England and America, when the American [141] planters, by their flour, rice, and cotton, were making money almost as fast as if they had mints upon their estates; and, on the other hand, the British artisans were driving on their manufactures day and night for the Americans—in this sacred season and state of things, certain persons in Charleston, began to equip privateers against England.

GRIEVED that his countrymen should be capable of such an outrage against justice, against humanity, and every thing sacred among men; and equally grieved to see them so far forget, so far belittle themselves as to become willing cat's-paws of one nation, to tear another to pieces, he instantly issued his proclamation, stating it as the "duty and therefore the interest of the United States to preserve the strictest neutrality between the belligerents, and prohibiting the citizens of the United States, from all manner of interference in the unhappy contest."

THIS so enraged Mr. Genet, that he threatened to appeal from the president to the people! i. e. in plain English to try to overthrow the government of the United States!!

BUT, thank God, the American people were too wise and virtuous to hear these things without feeling and expressing a suitable indignation. They rallied around their beloved president; and soon gave this most inconsiderate stranger to understand, that he had insulted the sacred person of their father.

WASHINGTON bore this insult with his usual good temper! but at the same time took such prudent measures with the French government, that Mr. Genet was quickly recalled.

HAVING at length attained the acme of all his wishes—having lived to see a general and efficient government adopted, and for eight years in successful operation, exalting his country from the brink of infamy and ruin to the highest ground of prosperity and honour, both at home and abroad: abroad, peace with the Indians—with Britain—with Spain—and, some slight heart-burnings excepted, peace with [142] France; and with all the world: at home, her shining ploughshares laying open the best treasures of the earth—her ships flying over every sea—distant nations feeding on her bread, and manufacturing her staples—her revenue rapidly increasing with her credit, religion, learning, arts, and whatever tends to national glory and happiness, he determined to lay down that load of public care which he had borne so long, and which, now in his 66th year he found was growing too heavy for him. But feeling towards his countrymen the solicitude of a father for his children, over whom he had long watched, but was about to leave to themselves; and fearing, on the one hand, that they might go astray, and, hoping, on the other, that from his long labours of love, he might be permitted to impart the counsels of his long experience, he drew up for them a farewell address, which the filial piety of the nation has since called " his Legacy."

AS this little piece, about the length of an ordinary sermon, may do as much good to the people of America as any sermon ever preached, that DIVINE ONE on the mount excepted, I shall offer no apology for laying it before them, especially as I well know that they will all read it with the feelings of children reading the last letter of a once-loved father now in his grave. And who knows but it may check for a while that fatal flame of discord which has destroyed all the once glorious republics of antiquity, and here now at length in the United States has caught upon the last republic that's left on the face of the earth?

To the People of the United States.
September, 1796.


"THE period for a new election of a citizen, to administer the executive government of the United States, being not far distant—and the time actually arrived when your thoughts must be employed in designating the person who is to be clothed with that important trust—it appears to me proper, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, that I should now apprize you of the resolution I have formed, to decline being considered among the number of those out of whom a choice is to be made.

"I BEG you, at the same time, to do me the justice to be assured, that this resolution has not been taken without a strict regard to all the considerations appertaining to the relation which binds a dutiful citizen to his country; and that, in withdrawing the tender of service, which silence in my situation might imply, I am influenced by no diminution of zeal for your future interest, no deficiency of grateful respect for your past kindness; but am supported by a full conviction, that the step is compatible with both.

"THE acceptance of, and continuance hitherto in the office to which your suffrages have twice called me, have been a uniform sacrifice of inclination to the opinion of duty, and to a deference for what appeared to be your desire. I constantly hoped, that it would have been much earlier in my power, consistently with motives which I was not at liberty to disregard, to return to that retirement from which I had been reluctantly drawn. The strength of my inclination to do this, previous to the last election, had [144] even led to the preparation of an address to declare it to you: but mature reflection on the then perplexed and critical posture of our affairs with foreign nations, and the unanimous advice of persons entitled to my confidence, impelled me to abandon the idea. "I rejoice that the state of your concerns, external as well as internal, no longer renders the pursuit of inclination incompatible with the sentiment of duty or propriety; and am persuaded, whatever partiality may be retained for my services, that, in the present circumstances of our country, you will not disapprove my determination to retire.

"THE impressions with which I first undertook the arduous trust, were explained on the proper occasion. In the discharge of this trust, I will only say, that I have, with good intentions, contributed towards the organization and administration of the government, the best exertions of which a very fallible judgment was capable. Not unconscious, in the outset, of the inferiority of my qualifications, experience in my own eyes, perhaps still more in the eyes of others, has strengthened the motives to diffidence of myself: and every day the increasing weight of years admonishes me more and more that the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will be welcome. Satisfied that if any circumstances have given peculiar value to my services, they were temporary, I have the consolation to believe, that while choice and prudence invite me to quit the political scene, patriotism does not forbid it.

"IN looking forward to the moment which is intended to terminate the career of my public life, my feelings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved country, for the many honours it has conferred upon me; still more for the stedfast confidence with which it has supported me; and for the opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to [145] my zeal. If benefits have resulted to our country from these services, let it always be remembered to your praise, and as an instructive example in our annals, that, under circumstances, in which the passions, agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead—amidst appearances sometimes dubious—vicissitudes of fortune often discouraging—in situations in which not unfrequently want of success has countenanced the spirit of criticism—the constancy of your support was the essential prop of the efforts, and a guarantee of the plans by which they were effected. Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it with me to my grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows that Heaven may continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution, which is the work of your hands, may be sacredly maintained; that its administration in every department may be stamped with wisdom and virtue; that, in fine, the happiness of the people of these states, under the auspices of Heaven, may be made complete, by so careful a preservation and so prudent a use of liberty, as will acquire to them the glory of recommending it to the applause, the affection, and the adoption of every nation which is yet a stranger to it.

"HERE, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude for your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review, some sentiments, which are the result of much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all-important to the permanency of your felicity as a people. These will be offered to you with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can possibly have no personal motive, to bias his counsel. Nor can I forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent reception [146] of my sentiments on a former and not dissimilar occasion.

"INTERWOVEN as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment.

"THE unity of government, which constitutes you one people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support of your tranquility at home, your peace abroad; of your safety; of your prosperity; of that very liberty which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee, that from different causes, and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political fortress, against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment, that you should properly estimate the immense value of your national union, to your collective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, and immoveable attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every attempt to alien any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts.

"FOR this you have every inducement of sympathy and interest. Citizens by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of AMERICAN, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism, more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same reli- [147] gion, manners, habits, and political principles. You have, in a common cause, fought and triumphed together. The independence and liberty you possess are the work of joint councils, and joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings, and successes.

"BUT these considerations, however powerfully they address themselves to your sensibility, are greatly outweighed by those which apply more immediately to your interest. Here every portion of our country finds the most commanding motives for carefully guarding and preserving the union of the whole.

"THE NORTH, in an unrestrained intercourse with the south, protected by the equal laws of a common government, finds in the productions of the latter, great additional resources of maritime and commercial enterprise, and precious materials of manufacturing industry. The SOUTH, in the same intercourse benefiting by the agency of the NORTH, sees its agriculture grow, and its commerce expand. Turning partly into its own channels the seamen of the north, it finds its particular navigation invigorated: and while it contributes, in different ways, to nourish and increase the general mass of the national navigation, it looks forward to the protection of a maritime strength, to which itself is unequally adapted.—The EAST, in a like intercourse with the west, already finds, and in the progressive improvement of interior communications, by land and water, will more and more find a valuable vent for the commodities which it brings from abroad, or manufactures at home—The WEST derives from the EAST supplies requisite to its growth and comfort—and what is, perhaps, of still greater consequence, it must of necessity owe the secure enjoyment of indispensable OUTLETS for its own productions, to the weight, influence, and the future maritime strength of the Atlantic side of the union, directed by an indissoluble community of interest, as ONE NATION. Any other tenure by which the west can hold this essential advantage, whether [148] derived from its own separate strength, or from an apostate and unnatural connexion with any foreign power, must be intrinsically precarious.

"WHILE then every part of our country thus feels an immediate and particular interest in union, all the parties combined cannot fail to find, in the united mass of means and efforts, greater strength, greater resource, proportionably greater security from external danger, a less frequent interruption of their peace by foreign nations; and, what is of inestimable value, they must derive from union an exemption from those broils and wars between themselves, which so frequently afflict neighbouring countries, not tied together by the same government; which their own rivalships alone would be sufficient to produce, but which opposite foreign alliances, attachments, and intrigues, would stimulate and embitter. Hence, likewise, they will avoid the necessity of those overgrown military establishments, which, under any form of government, are inauspicious to liberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly hostile to republican liberty. In this sense it is, that your union ought to be considered as a main prop of your liberty, and that the love of the one ought to endear to you the preservation of the other.

"THESE considerations speak a persuasive language to every reflecting and virtuous mind, and exhibit the continuance of the union as a primary object of patriotic desire. Is there a doubt, whether a common government can embrace so large a sphere? Let experience solve it. To listen to mere speculation in such a case were criminal. We are authorised to hope, that a proper organization of the whole, with the auxiliary agency of governments for the respective subdivisions, will afford a happy issue to the experiment. 'Tis well worth a fair and full experiment. With such powerful and obvious motives to union, affecting all parts of our country, while experience shall not have demonstrated its impracticability, there will always be reason to distrust the [149] patriotism of those, who in any quarter may endeavour to weaken its bands.

"IN contemplating the causes which may disturb our union, it occurs as a matter of serious concern that any ground should have been furnished for characterizing parties by-GEOGRAPHICAL discriminations—NORTHERN and SOUTHERN ATLANTIC and WESTERN; whence designing men may endeavour to excite a belief that there is a real difference of local interests and views. One of the expedients of party to acquire influence, within particular districts is to misrepresent the opinions and aims of other districts. You cannot shield yourselves too much against the jealousies and heart-burnings which spring from these misrepresentations. They tend to render alien to each other those who ought to be bound together by fraternal affection. The inhabitants of our western country have lately had a useful lesson on this head. They have seen, in the negotiation by the executive, and in the unanimous ratification by the senate, of the treaty with Spain, and in the universal satisfaction at that event throughout the United States, a decisive proof how unfounded were the suspicions propagated among them, of a policy in the general government, and in the Atlantic states, unfriendly to their interest in regard to the MISSISSIPPI. They have been witnesses to the formation of two treaties, that with Great Britain, and that with Spain, which secure to them every thing they could desire, in respect to our foreign relations, towards confirming their prosperity. Will it not be their wisdom to rely for the preservation of these advantages on the union by which they were procured? Will they not henceforth be deaf to those advisers, if such there are, who would sever them from their brethren, and connect them with aliens?

"TO the efficacy and permanency of your union, a government for the whole is indispensable. No alliances, however strict, between the parts, can be an adequate substitute. They must inevitably experience [150] the infractions and interruptions which all alliances in all times have experienced. Sensible of the momentous truth, you have improved upon your first essay, by the adoption of a constitution of government better calculated than your former for an intimate union, and for the efficacious management of your common concerns. This government, the offspring of your own choice, uninfluenced and unawed, adopted upon full investigation and mature deliberation, completely free in its principles, in the distribution of its powers, uniting security with energy, and containing within itself a provision for its own amendment, has a just claim to your confidence and your support. Respect for its authority, compliance with its laws, acquiescence in its measures, are duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of true liberty. The basis of our political systems is the right of the people to make and alter their constitutions of government. But the constitution which at any time exists, till changed by an explicit and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. The very idea of the power and the right of the people to establish government, presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established government.

"ALL obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combinations and associations, under whatever plausible character, with a real design to direct, controul, counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this fundamental principle, and of fatal tendency. They serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and extraordinary force—to put in the place of the delegated will of the nation the will of a party, often a small, but artful and enterprising minority of the community; and, according to the alternate triumphs of different parties, to make the public administration the mirror of the ill-concerted and incongruous project of faction, rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome plans, digested by common counsels, and modified by mutual interests.


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