Chapter 21

One of the famous battles of the Revolution was that of Monmouth, New Jersey, which was fought on the 28th of June, 1778. General Washington was in command on the American side, and General Sir Henry Clinton was commander-in-chief of the British forces. The British troops met with a decisive defeat. The wife of an Irish gunner on the American side who went by the name of Molly had followed her husband to the battle. During the engagement he was shot down. With the most undaunted heroism Molly rushed forward and took his place at the gun and remained there throughout the thickest of the fight. In reciting this graphic account of her courageous deed you should show great spirit and animation, pointing her out as she takes her husband’s place, and in glowing manner describe her patriotism.

On the bloody field of Monmouth flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne;Fiercely roared the tide of battle; thick the sward was heaped with slain.Foremost, facing death and danger, Hessian horse and grenadier,In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, stood an Irish cannoneer.Loudly roared his iron cannon, mingling ever in the strife,And beside him, firm and daring, stood his faithful Irish wife;Of her bold contempt of danger, Greene and Lee’s brigade could tell,Every one knew “Captain Molly,” and the army loved her well.Surged the roar of battle round them; swiftly flew the iron hail;Forward dashed a thousand bayonets that lone battery to assail;From the foeman’s foremost columns swept a furious fusilade,Mowing down the massed battalions in the ranks of Greene’s brigade.Faster and faster worked the gunner, soiled with powder, blood and dust;English bayonets shone before him, shot and shell around him burst;Still he fought with reckless daring, stood and manned her long and well,Till at last the gallant fellow dead beside his cannon fell.With a bitter cry of sorrow, and a dark and angry frown,Looked that band of gallant patriots at their gunner stricken down.“Fall back, comrades! It is folly thus to strive against the foe.”“Not so!” cried Irish Molly, “we can strike another blow!”Quickly leaped she to the cannon in her fallen husband’s place,Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, fired it in the foeman’s face.Flashed another ringing volley, roared another from the gun;“Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly, “for the flag of Washington!”Greene’s brigade, though shorn and shattered, slain and bleeding half their men,When they heard that Irish slogan, turned and charged the foe again;Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, to the front they forward wheel,And before their rushing onset Clinton’s English columns reel.Still the cannon’s voice in anger rolled and rattled o’er the plain,Till they lay in swarms around it mingled heaps of Hessian slain.“Forward! charge them with the bayonet!” ’twas the voice of Washington;And there burst a fiery greeting from the Irishwoman’s gun.Monckton falls; against his columns leap the troops of Wayne and Lee,And before their reeking bayonets Clinton’s red battalions flee;Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing, thin the foe’s retreating ranks,And behind them, onward dashing, Ogden hovers on their flanks.Fast they fly, those boasting Britons, who in all their glory came,With their brutal Hessian hirelings to wipe out our country’s name.Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won;And, in triumph, Irish Molly stands besides her smoking gun.William Collins.

On the bloody field of Monmouth flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne;

Fiercely roared the tide of battle; thick the sward was heaped with slain.

Foremost, facing death and danger, Hessian horse and grenadier,

In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, stood an Irish cannoneer.

Loudly roared his iron cannon, mingling ever in the strife,And beside him, firm and daring, stood his faithful Irish wife;Of her bold contempt of danger, Greene and Lee’s brigade could tell,Every one knew “Captain Molly,” and the army loved her well.

Loudly roared his iron cannon, mingling ever in the strife,

And beside him, firm and daring, stood his faithful Irish wife;

Of her bold contempt of danger, Greene and Lee’s brigade could tell,

Every one knew “Captain Molly,” and the army loved her well.

Surged the roar of battle round them; swiftly flew the iron hail;Forward dashed a thousand bayonets that lone battery to assail;From the foeman’s foremost columns swept a furious fusilade,Mowing down the massed battalions in the ranks of Greene’s brigade.

Surged the roar of battle round them; swiftly flew the iron hail;

Forward dashed a thousand bayonets that lone battery to assail;

From the foeman’s foremost columns swept a furious fusilade,

Mowing down the massed battalions in the ranks of Greene’s brigade.

Faster and faster worked the gunner, soiled with powder, blood and dust;English bayonets shone before him, shot and shell around him burst;Still he fought with reckless daring, stood and manned her long and well,Till at last the gallant fellow dead beside his cannon fell.

Faster and faster worked the gunner, soiled with powder, blood and dust;

English bayonets shone before him, shot and shell around him burst;

Still he fought with reckless daring, stood and manned her long and well,

Till at last the gallant fellow dead beside his cannon fell.

With a bitter cry of sorrow, and a dark and angry frown,Looked that band of gallant patriots at their gunner stricken down.“Fall back, comrades! It is folly thus to strive against the foe.”“Not so!” cried Irish Molly, “we can strike another blow!”

With a bitter cry of sorrow, and a dark and angry frown,

Looked that band of gallant patriots at their gunner stricken down.

“Fall back, comrades! It is folly thus to strive against the foe.”

“Not so!” cried Irish Molly, “we can strike another blow!”

Quickly leaped she to the cannon in her fallen husband’s place,Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, fired it in the foeman’s face.Flashed another ringing volley, roared another from the gun;“Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly, “for the flag of Washington!”

Quickly leaped she to the cannon in her fallen husband’s place,

Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, fired it in the foeman’s face.

Flashed another ringing volley, roared another from the gun;

“Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly, “for the flag of Washington!”

Greene’s brigade, though shorn and shattered, slain and bleeding half their men,When they heard that Irish slogan, turned and charged the foe again;Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, to the front they forward wheel,And before their rushing onset Clinton’s English columns reel.

Greene’s brigade, though shorn and shattered, slain and bleeding half their men,

When they heard that Irish slogan, turned and charged the foe again;

Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, to the front they forward wheel,

And before their rushing onset Clinton’s English columns reel.

Still the cannon’s voice in anger rolled and rattled o’er the plain,Till they lay in swarms around it mingled heaps of Hessian slain.“Forward! charge them with the bayonet!” ’twas the voice of Washington;And there burst a fiery greeting from the Irishwoman’s gun.

Still the cannon’s voice in anger rolled and rattled o’er the plain,

Till they lay in swarms around it mingled heaps of Hessian slain.

“Forward! charge them with the bayonet!” ’twas the voice of Washington;

And there burst a fiery greeting from the Irishwoman’s gun.

Monckton falls; against his columns leap the troops of Wayne and Lee,And before their reeking bayonets Clinton’s red battalions flee;Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing, thin the foe’s retreating ranks,And behind them, onward dashing, Ogden hovers on their flanks.

Monckton falls; against his columns leap the troops of Wayne and Lee,

And before their reeking bayonets Clinton’s red battalions flee;

Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing, thin the foe’s retreating ranks,

And behind them, onward dashing, Ogden hovers on their flanks.

Fast they fly, those boasting Britons, who in all their glory came,With their brutal Hessian hirelings to wipe out our country’s name.Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won;And, in triumph, Irish Molly stands besides her smoking gun.

Fast they fly, those boasting Britons, who in all their glory came,

With their brutal Hessian hirelings to wipe out our country’s name.

Proudly floats the starry banner; Monmouth’s glorious field is won;

And, in triumph, Irish Molly stands besides her smoking gun.

William Collins.

Hear, gentle friends! ere yet, for me,Ye break the bands of fealty.My life, my honor, and my cause,I tender free to Scotland’s laws.Are these so weak as must requireThe aid of your misguided ire?Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,Is then my selfish rage so strong,My sense of public weal so low,That, for mean vengeance on a foe,Those cords of love I should unbindWhich knit my country and my kind?Oh no! believe, in yonder towerIt will not soothe my captive hour,To know those spears our foes should dreadFor me in kindred gore are red;To know, in fruitless brawl begun,For me, that mother wails her son;For me that widow’s mate expires,For me, that orphans weep their sires,That patriots mourn insulted laws,And curse the Douglas for the cause.O let your patience ward such ill,And keep your right to love me still.Sir Walter Scott.

Hear, gentle friends! ere yet, for me,

Ye break the bands of fealty.

My life, my honor, and my cause,

I tender free to Scotland’s laws.

Are these so weak as must require

The aid of your misguided ire?

Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,

Is then my selfish rage so strong,

My sense of public weal so low,

That, for mean vengeance on a foe,

Those cords of love I should unbind

Which knit my country and my kind?

Oh no! believe, in yonder tower

It will not soothe my captive hour,

To know those spears our foes should dread

For me in kindred gore are red;

To know, in fruitless brawl begun,

For me, that mother wails her son;

For me that widow’s mate expires,

For me, that orphans weep their sires,

That patriots mourn insulted laws,

And curse the Douglas for the cause.

O let your patience ward such ill,

And keep your right to love me still.

Sir Walter Scott.

Our country!—’tis a glorious land!With broad arms stretched from shore to shore,The proud Pacific chafes her strand,She hears the dark Atlantic roar;And, nurtured on her ample breast,How many a goodly prospect liesIn Nature’s wildest grandeur drest,Enamelled with her loveliest dyes.Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold,Like sunlit oceans roll afar;Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,Reflecting clear each trembling star,And mighty rivers, mountain-born,Go sweeping onward dark and deep,Through forests where the bounding fawnBeneath their sheltering branches leap.And, cradled mid her clustering hills,Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,Where love the air with music fills;And calm content and peace abide;For plenty here her fulness poursIn rich profusion o’er the land,And sent to seize her generous stores,There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band.Great God! we thank thee for this home—This bounteous birthland of the free;Where wanderers from afar may come,And breathe the air of liberty!—Still may her flowers untrampled spring,Her harvests wave, her cities rise;And yet, till Time shall fold his wing,Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise!W. G. Peabodie.

Our country!—’tis a glorious land!

With broad arms stretched from shore to shore,

The proud Pacific chafes her strand,

She hears the dark Atlantic roar;

And, nurtured on her ample breast,

How many a goodly prospect lies

In Nature’s wildest grandeur drest,

Enamelled with her loveliest dyes.

Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold,Like sunlit oceans roll afar;Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,Reflecting clear each trembling star,And mighty rivers, mountain-born,Go sweeping onward dark and deep,Through forests where the bounding fawnBeneath their sheltering branches leap.

Rich prairies, decked with flowers of gold,

Like sunlit oceans roll afar;

Broad lakes her azure heavens behold,

Reflecting clear each trembling star,

And mighty rivers, mountain-born,

Go sweeping onward dark and deep,

Through forests where the bounding fawn

Beneath their sheltering branches leap.

And, cradled mid her clustering hills,Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,Where love the air with music fills;And calm content and peace abide;For plenty here her fulness poursIn rich profusion o’er the land,And sent to seize her generous stores,There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band.

And, cradled mid her clustering hills,

Sweet vales in dreamlike beauty hide,

Where love the air with music fills;

And calm content and peace abide;

For plenty here her fulness pours

In rich profusion o’er the land,

And sent to seize her generous stores,

There prowls no tyrant’s hireling band.

Great God! we thank thee for this home—This bounteous birthland of the free;Where wanderers from afar may come,And breathe the air of liberty!—Still may her flowers untrampled spring,Her harvests wave, her cities rise;And yet, till Time shall fold his wing,Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise!

Great God! we thank thee for this home—

This bounteous birthland of the free;

Where wanderers from afar may come,

And breathe the air of liberty!—

Still may her flowers untrampled spring,

Her harvests wave, her cities rise;

And yet, till Time shall fold his wing,

Remain Earth’s loveliest paradise!

W. G. Peabodie.

Acting Sergeant J. A. McIlrath, Battery H, Third Artillery, Regulars; enlisted from New York; fifteen years’ service. The heroism of our brave Regulars in the War with Spain was the theme of universal admiration. Throw plenty of life and fire into this reading, and avoid a sing-song tone.

Yes, yes, my boy, there’s no mistake,You put the contract through!You lads with Shafter, I’ll allow,Were heroes, tried and true;But don’t forget the men who foughtAbout Manila Bay,And don’t forget brave McIlrathWho died at Malaté.The night was black, save where the forksOf tropic lightning ran,When, with a long deep thunder-roar,The typhoon storm began.Then, suddenly above the din,We heard the steady bayOf volleys from the trenches whereThe Pennsylvanians lay.The Tenth, we thought, could hold their ownAgainst the feigned attack,And, if the Spaniards dared advance,Would pay them doubly back.But soon we marked the volleys sinkInto a scattered fire—And, now we heard the Spanish gunBoom nigher yet and nigher!Then, like a ghost, a courierSeemed past our picket tossedWith wild hair streaming in his face—“We’re lost—we’re lost—we’re lost.”“Front, front—in God’s name—front!” he cried:“Our ammunition’s gone!”He turned a face of dazed dismay—And through the night sped on!“Men, follow me!” cried McIlrath,Our acting Sergeant then;And when he gave the word he knewHe gave the word to men!Twenty there—not one man more—But down the sunken roadWe dragged the guns of Battery H,Nor even stopped to load!Sudden, from the darkness pouredA storm of Mauser hail—But not a man there thought to pause,Nor any man to quail!Ahead, the Pennsylvanians’ gunsIn scattered firing broke;The Spanish trenches, red with flame,In fiercer volleys spoke!Down with a rush our twenty came—The open field we passed—And in among the hard-pressed TenthWe set our feet at last!Up, with a leap, sprang McIlrath,Mud-spattered, worn and wet,And, in an instant, there he stoodHigh on the parapet!“Steady, boys! we’ve got ’em now—Only a minute late!It’s all right, lads—we’ve got ’em whipped.Just give ’em volleys straight!”Then, up and down the parapetWith head erect he went,As cool as when he sat with usBeside our evening tent!Not one of us, close sheltered thereDown in the trench’s pen,But felt that he would rather dieThan shame or grieve him then!The fire, so close to being quenchedIn panic and defeat,Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped,In one long deadly sheet!A cheer went up along the lineAs breaks the thunder-call—But, as it rose, great God! we sawOur gallant Sergeant fall!He sank into our outstretched armsDead—but immortal grown;And Glory brightened where he fell,And valor claimed her own!John Jerome Rooney.

Yes, yes, my boy, there’s no mistake,You put the contract through!You lads with Shafter, I’ll allow,Were heroes, tried and true;

Yes, yes, my boy, there’s no mistake,

You put the contract through!

You lads with Shafter, I’ll allow,

Were heroes, tried and true;

But don’t forget the men who foughtAbout Manila Bay,And don’t forget brave McIlrathWho died at Malaté.

But don’t forget the men who fought

About Manila Bay,

And don’t forget brave McIlrath

Who died at Malaté.

The night was black, save where the forksOf tropic lightning ran,When, with a long deep thunder-roar,The typhoon storm began.

The night was black, save where the forks

Of tropic lightning ran,

When, with a long deep thunder-roar,

The typhoon storm began.

Then, suddenly above the din,We heard the steady bayOf volleys from the trenches whereThe Pennsylvanians lay.

Then, suddenly above the din,

We heard the steady bay

Of volleys from the trenches where

The Pennsylvanians lay.

The Tenth, we thought, could hold their ownAgainst the feigned attack,And, if the Spaniards dared advance,Would pay them doubly back.

The Tenth, we thought, could hold their own

Against the feigned attack,

And, if the Spaniards dared advance,

Would pay them doubly back.

But soon we marked the volleys sinkInto a scattered fire—And, now we heard the Spanish gunBoom nigher yet and nigher!

But soon we marked the volleys sink

Into a scattered fire—

And, now we heard the Spanish gun

Boom nigher yet and nigher!

Then, like a ghost, a courierSeemed past our picket tossedWith wild hair streaming in his face—“We’re lost—we’re lost—we’re lost.”

Then, like a ghost, a courier

Seemed past our picket tossed

With wild hair streaming in his face—

“We’re lost—we’re lost—we’re lost.”

“Front, front—in God’s name—front!” he cried:“Our ammunition’s gone!”He turned a face of dazed dismay—And through the night sped on!

“Front, front—in God’s name—front!” he cried:

“Our ammunition’s gone!”

He turned a face of dazed dismay—

And through the night sped on!

“Men, follow me!” cried McIlrath,Our acting Sergeant then;And when he gave the word he knewHe gave the word to men!

“Men, follow me!” cried McIlrath,

Our acting Sergeant then;

And when he gave the word he knew

He gave the word to men!

Twenty there—not one man more—But down the sunken roadWe dragged the guns of Battery H,Nor even stopped to load!

Twenty there—not one man more—

But down the sunken road

We dragged the guns of Battery H,

Nor even stopped to load!

Sudden, from the darkness pouredA storm of Mauser hail—But not a man there thought to pause,Nor any man to quail!

Sudden, from the darkness poured

A storm of Mauser hail—

But not a man there thought to pause,

Nor any man to quail!

Ahead, the Pennsylvanians’ gunsIn scattered firing broke;The Spanish trenches, red with flame,In fiercer volleys spoke!

Ahead, the Pennsylvanians’ guns

In scattered firing broke;

The Spanish trenches, red with flame,

In fiercer volleys spoke!

Down with a rush our twenty came—The open field we passed—And in among the hard-pressed TenthWe set our feet at last!

Down with a rush our twenty came—

The open field we passed—

And in among the hard-pressed Tenth

We set our feet at last!

Up, with a leap, sprang McIlrath,Mud-spattered, worn and wet,And, in an instant, there he stoodHigh on the parapet!

Up, with a leap, sprang McIlrath,

Mud-spattered, worn and wet,

And, in an instant, there he stood

High on the parapet!

“Steady, boys! we’ve got ’em now—Only a minute late!It’s all right, lads—we’ve got ’em whipped.Just give ’em volleys straight!”

“Steady, boys! we’ve got ’em now—

Only a minute late!

It’s all right, lads—we’ve got ’em whipped.

Just give ’em volleys straight!”

Then, up and down the parapetWith head erect he went,As cool as when he sat with usBeside our evening tent!

Then, up and down the parapet

With head erect he went,

As cool as when he sat with us

Beside our evening tent!

Not one of us, close sheltered thereDown in the trench’s pen,But felt that he would rather dieThan shame or grieve him then!

Not one of us, close sheltered there

Down in the trench’s pen,

But felt that he would rather die

Than shame or grieve him then!

The fire, so close to being quenchedIn panic and defeat,Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped,In one long deadly sheet!

The fire, so close to being quenched

In panic and defeat,

Leaped forth, by rapid volleys sped,

In one long deadly sheet!

A cheer went up along the lineAs breaks the thunder-call—But, as it rose, great God! we sawOur gallant Sergeant fall!

A cheer went up along the line

As breaks the thunder-call—

But, as it rose, great God! we saw

Our gallant Sergeant fall!

He sank into our outstretched armsDead—but immortal grown;And Glory brightened where he fell,And valor claimed her own!

He sank into our outstretched arms

Dead—but immortal grown;

And Glory brightened where he fell,

And valor claimed her own!

John Jerome Rooney.

If you should read or recite this tragic selection in a dull monotone, as most persons read poetry, the effect would be ludicrous. The brave captain is dying. With gasping utterance, signs of weakness and appealing looks, his words should be delivered. Some of the sentences should be whispered. Do not attempt to recite this piece until you have mastered it and can render it with telling effect. It demands the trained powers of a competent elocutionist.

“Brave captain! canst thou speak?What is it thou dost see?A wondrous glory lingers on thy face,The night is past; I’ve watched the night with thee.Knowest thou the place?”“The place?’Tis San Juan, comrade.Is the battle over?The victory—the victory—is it won?My wound is mortal; I know I cannot recover—The battle for me is done!“I never thought it would come to this!Does it rain?The musketry! Give me a drink; ah, that is glorious!Now if it were not for this pain—this pain—Didst thou say victorious?“It would not be strange, would it, if I do wander?A man can’t remember with a bullet in his brain.I wish when at home I had been a little fonder—Shall I ever be well again?“It can make no difference whether I go from here or there.Thou’lt write to father and tell him when I am dead?—The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers every hairEven of this poor head.“Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for thee;I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments longer;Thou’lt say good-bye to the friends at home for me?—If only I were a little stronger!“I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me?The glory—is it the glory?—makes me blind;Strange, for the light, comrade, the light I cannot see—Thou hast been very kind!“I do not think I have done so very much evil—I did not mean it. ‘I lay me down to sleep,I pray the Lord my soul’—just a little rude and uncivil—Comrade, why dost thou weep?“Oh! if human pity is so gentle and tender—Good-night, good friends! ‘I lay me down to sleep!’—Who from a Heavenly Father’s love needs a defender?‘My soul to keep!’“‘If I should die before I wake’—comrade, tell mother,Remember—‘I pray the Lord my soul to take!’My musket thou’lt carry back to my little brotherFor my dear sake!“Attention, company! Reverse arms! Very well, men; my thanks.Where am I? Do I wander, comrade,—wander again?—Parade is over. Company E, break ranks! break ranks!I know it is the pain.“Give me thy strong hand; fain would I cling, comrade to thee;I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore;My sight revives; Death stands and looks at me.What waits he for?“Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown;I would know something of the Silent Land;It’s hard to struggle to the front alone—Comrade, thy hand.“Thereveillecalls! be strong, my soul, and peaceful;The Eternal City bursts upon my sight!The ringing air with ravishing melody is full—I’ve won the fight!“Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast;I am commissioned—under marching orders—I know the Future—let the Past be past—I cross the borders.”

“Brave captain! canst thou speak?What is it thou dost see?A wondrous glory lingers on thy face,The night is past; I’ve watched the night with thee.Knowest thou the place?”

“Brave captain! canst thou speak?

What is it thou dost see?

A wondrous glory lingers on thy face,

The night is past; I’ve watched the night with thee.

Knowest thou the place?”

“The place?’Tis San Juan, comrade.Is the battle over?The victory—the victory—is it won?My wound is mortal; I know I cannot recover—The battle for me is done!

“The place?’Tis San Juan, comrade.

Is the battle over?

The victory—the victory—is it won?

My wound is mortal; I know I cannot recover—

The battle for me is done!

“I never thought it would come to this!Does it rain?The musketry! Give me a drink; ah, that is glorious!Now if it were not for this pain—this pain—Didst thou say victorious?

“I never thought it would come to this!

Does it rain?

The musketry! Give me a drink; ah, that is glorious!

Now if it were not for this pain—this pain—

Didst thou say victorious?

“It would not be strange, would it, if I do wander?A man can’t remember with a bullet in his brain.I wish when at home I had been a little fonder—Shall I ever be well again?

“It would not be strange, would it, if I do wander?

A man can’t remember with a bullet in his brain.

I wish when at home I had been a little fonder—

Shall I ever be well again?

“It can make no difference whether I go from here or there.Thou’lt write to father and tell him when I am dead?—The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers every hairEven of this poor head.

“It can make no difference whether I go from here or there.

Thou’lt write to father and tell him when I am dead?—

The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers every hair

Even of this poor head.

“Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for thee;I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments longer;Thou’lt say good-bye to the friends at home for me?—If only I were a little stronger!

“Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can wait for thee;

I will try to keep thee but a few brief moments longer;

Thou’lt say good-bye to the friends at home for me?—

If only I were a little stronger!

“I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me?The glory—is it the glory?—makes me blind;Strange, for the light, comrade, the light I cannot see—Thou hast been very kind!

“I must not think of it. Thou art sorry for me?

The glory—is it the glory?—makes me blind;

Strange, for the light, comrade, the light I cannot see—

Thou hast been very kind!

“I do not think I have done so very much evil—I did not mean it. ‘I lay me down to sleep,I pray the Lord my soul’—just a little rude and uncivil—Comrade, why dost thou weep?

“I do not think I have done so very much evil—

I did not mean it. ‘I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul’—just a little rude and uncivil—

Comrade, why dost thou weep?

“Oh! if human pity is so gentle and tender—Good-night, good friends! ‘I lay me down to sleep!’—Who from a Heavenly Father’s love needs a defender?‘My soul to keep!’

“Oh! if human pity is so gentle and tender—

Good-night, good friends! ‘I lay me down to sleep!’—

Who from a Heavenly Father’s love needs a defender?

‘My soul to keep!’

“‘If I should die before I wake’—comrade, tell mother,Remember—‘I pray the Lord my soul to take!’My musket thou’lt carry back to my little brotherFor my dear sake!

“‘If I should die before I wake’—comrade, tell mother,

Remember—‘I pray the Lord my soul to take!’

My musket thou’lt carry back to my little brother

For my dear sake!

“Attention, company! Reverse arms! Very well, men; my thanks.Where am I? Do I wander, comrade,—wander again?—Parade is over. Company E, break ranks! break ranks!I know it is the pain.

“Attention, company! Reverse arms! Very well, men; my thanks.

Where am I? Do I wander, comrade,—wander again?—

Parade is over. Company E, break ranks! break ranks!

I know it is the pain.

“Give me thy strong hand; fain would I cling, comrade to thee;I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore;My sight revives; Death stands and looks at me.What waits he for?

“Give me thy strong hand; fain would I cling, comrade to thee;

I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore;

My sight revives; Death stands and looks at me.

What waits he for?

“Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown;I would know something of the Silent Land;It’s hard to struggle to the front alone—Comrade, thy hand.

“Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown;

I would know something of the Silent Land;

It’s hard to struggle to the front alone—

Comrade, thy hand.

“Thereveillecalls! be strong, my soul, and peaceful;The Eternal City bursts upon my sight!The ringing air with ravishing melody is full—I’ve won the fight!

“Thereveillecalls! be strong, my soul, and peaceful;

The Eternal City bursts upon my sight!

The ringing air with ravishing melody is full—

I’ve won the fight!

“Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast;I am commissioned—under marching orders—I know the Future—let the Past be past—I cross the borders.”

“Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast;

I am commissioned—under marching orders—

I know the Future—let the Past be past—

I cross the borders.”

With the United States Flag Flying at all their mastheads, our ships moved to the attack in line ahead, with a speed of eight knots, first passing in front of Manila, where the action was begun by three batteries mounting guns powerful enough to send a shell over us at a distance of five miles. The Concord’s guns boomed out a reply to these batteries with two shots. No more were fired, because Admiral Dewey could not engage with these batteries without sending death and destruction into the crowded city.As we neared Cavite two very powerful submarine mines were exploded ahead of the flagship. The Spaniards had misjudged our position. Immense volumes of water were thrown high in air by these destroyers, but no harm was done to our ships.Admiral Dewey had fought with Farragut at New Orleans and Mobile Bay, where he had his first experience with torpedoes. Not knowing how many more mines there might be ahead, he still kept on without faltering. No other mines exploded, however, and it is believed that the Spaniards had only these two in place.Only a few minutes later the shore battery at Cavite Point sent over the flagship a shot that nearly hit the battery in Manila, but soon the guns got a better range, and the shells began to strike near us, or burst close aboard from both the batteries and the Spanish vessels. The heat was intense. Men stripped off all clothing except their trousers.As the Admiral’s flagship, the Olympia, drew nearer all was as silent on board as if the ship had been empty, except for the whirr of blowers and the throb of the engines.Suddenly a shell burst directly over us. From the boatswain’s mate at the after 5-inch gun came a hoarse cry. “Remember the Maine!” arose from the throats of five hundred men at the guns. This watchword was caught up in turrets and fire-rooms, wherever seaman or fireman stood at his post.“Remember the Maine!” had rung out for defiance and revenge. Its utterance seemed unpremeditated, but was evidently in every man’s mind, and, now that the moment had come to make adequate reply to the murder of the Maine’s crew, every man shouted what was in his heart.The Olympia was now ready to begin the fight. “You may fire when ready, Captain Gridley,” said the Admiral, and at nineteen minutes of six o’clock, at a distance of 5,500 yards, the starboard 8-inch gun in the forward turret roared forth a compliment to the Spanish forts. Presently similar guns from the Baltimore and the Boston sent 250-pound shells hurtling toward the Spanish ships Castilla and the Reina Christina for accuracy. The Spaniards seemed encouraged to fire faster, knowing exactly our distance, while we had to guess theirs. Their ship and shore guns were making things hot for us.The piercing scream of shot was varied often by the bursting of time fuse shells, fragments of which would lash the water like shrapnel or cut our hull and rigging. One large shell that was coming straight at the Olympia’s forward bridge fortunately fell within less than one hundred feet away. One fragment cut the rigging exactly over the heads of some of the officers. Another struck the bridge gratings in line with it. A third passed just under Dewey and gouged a hole in the deck. Incidents like these were plentiful.“Capture and destroy Spanish squadron,” were Dewey’s orders. Never were instructions more effectually carried out. Within seven hours after arriving on the scene of action nothing remained to be done. The Admiral closed the day by anchoring off the city of Manila and sending word to the Governor General that if a shot was fired from the city at the fleet he would lay Manila in ashes.What was Dewey’s achievement? He steamed into Manila Bay at the dead hour of the night, through the narrower of the two channels, and as soon as there was daylight enough to grope his way about he put his ships in line of battle and brought on an engagement, the greatest in many respects in ancient or modern warfare. The results are known the world over—every ship in the Spanish fleet destroyed, the harbor Dewey’s own, his own ships safe from the shore batteries, owing to the strategic position he occupied, and Manila his whenever he cared to take it.Henceforth, so long as ships sail and flags wave, high on the scroll that bears the names of the world’s greatest naval heroes will be written that of George Dewey.

As we neared Cavite two very powerful submarine mines were exploded ahead of the flagship. The Spaniards had misjudged our position. Immense volumes of water were thrown high in air by these destroyers, but no harm was done to our ships.

Admiral Dewey had fought with Farragut at New Orleans and Mobile Bay, where he had his first experience with torpedoes. Not knowing how many more mines there might be ahead, he still kept on without faltering. No other mines exploded, however, and it is believed that the Spaniards had only these two in place.

Only a few minutes later the shore battery at Cavite Point sent over the flagship a shot that nearly hit the battery in Manila, but soon the guns got a better range, and the shells began to strike near us, or burst close aboard from both the batteries and the Spanish vessels. The heat was intense. Men stripped off all clothing except their trousers.

As the Admiral’s flagship, the Olympia, drew nearer all was as silent on board as if the ship had been empty, except for the whirr of blowers and the throb of the engines.Suddenly a shell burst directly over us. From the boatswain’s mate at the after 5-inch gun came a hoarse cry. “Remember the Maine!” arose from the throats of five hundred men at the guns. This watchword was caught up in turrets and fire-rooms, wherever seaman or fireman stood at his post.

“Remember the Maine!” had rung out for defiance and revenge. Its utterance seemed unpremeditated, but was evidently in every man’s mind, and, now that the moment had come to make adequate reply to the murder of the Maine’s crew, every man shouted what was in his heart.

The Olympia was now ready to begin the fight. “You may fire when ready, Captain Gridley,” said the Admiral, and at nineteen minutes of six o’clock, at a distance of 5,500 yards, the starboard 8-inch gun in the forward turret roared forth a compliment to the Spanish forts. Presently similar guns from the Baltimore and the Boston sent 250-pound shells hurtling toward the Spanish ships Castilla and the Reina Christina for accuracy. The Spaniards seemed encouraged to fire faster, knowing exactly our distance, while we had to guess theirs. Their ship and shore guns were making things hot for us.

The piercing scream of shot was varied often by the bursting of time fuse shells, fragments of which would lash the water like shrapnel or cut our hull and rigging. One large shell that was coming straight at the Olympia’s forward bridge fortunately fell within less than one hundred feet away. One fragment cut the rigging exactly over the heads of some of the officers. Another struck the bridge gratings in line with it. A third passed just under Dewey and gouged a hole in the deck. Incidents like these were plentiful.

“Capture and destroy Spanish squadron,” were Dewey’s orders. Never were instructions more effectually carried out. Within seven hours after arriving on the scene of action nothing remained to be done. The Admiral closed the day by anchoring off the city of Manila and sending word to the Governor General that if a shot was fired from the city at the fleet he would lay Manila in ashes.

What was Dewey’s achievement? He steamed into Manila Bay at the dead hour of the night, through the narrower of the two channels, and as soon as there was daylight enough to grope his way about he put his ships in line of battle and brought on an engagement, the greatest in many respects in ancient or modern warfare. The results are known the world over—every ship in the Spanish fleet destroyed, the harbor Dewey’s own, his own ships safe from the shore batteries, owing to the strategic position he occupied, and Manila his whenever he cared to take it.

Henceforth, so long as ships sail and flags wave, high on the scroll that bears the names of the world’s greatest naval heroes will be written that of George Dewey.

This is an excellent selection for any one who can put dramatic force into its recital. Picture to your imagination the “Sinking of the Ships,” and then describe it to your hearers as though the actual scene were before you. You have command in these words, “Now, sailors, stand by,” etc.; rapid utterance in these words, “And the Oregon flew,” etc.; subdued tenderness in the words, “Giving mercy to all,” etc. In short, the whole piece affords an excellent opportunity for intense dramatic description.

Dark, dark is the night; not a star in the sky,And the Maine rides serenely; what danger is nigh?Our nation’s at peace with the Kingdom of Spain,So calmly they rest in the battleship Maine.But, hark to that roar! See, the water is red!And the sailor sleeps now with the slime for his bed.Havana then shook, like the leaves of the trees,When the tornado rides on the breast of the breeze;Then people sprang up from their beds in the gloom,As they’ll spring from their graves at the thunder of doom;And they rushed through the streets, in their terror and fear,Crying out as they ran, “Have the rebels come here?”“Oh, see how the flame lights the shores of the bay,Like the red rising sun at the coming of day;’Tis a ship in a blaze! ’Tis the battleship Maine!What means this to us and the Kingdom of Spain?The eagle will come at that loud sounding roar,And our flag will fly free over Cuba no more.”Dark, dark is the night on the face of the deep,In the forts all is still; are the soldiers asleep?Oh, see how that ship glides along through the night;’Tis the ghost of the Maine—she has come to the fight;A flash, and a roar, and a cry of despair;The eagle has come, for brave Dewey is there.Oh, Spaniards, come out, for the daylight has fled,And look on those ships—look with terror and dread;The eagle has come, and he swoops to his prey;Oh, fly, Spaniards, fly, to that creek in the bay!The eagle has come—“Remember the Maine!”And the water is red with the blood of the slain.They rest for a time—now they sail in again!Oh, woe, doom and woe, to the kingdom of Spain.Their ships are ablaze, they are battered and rent,By the death-dealing shells which our sailors have sent.Not a man have we lost; yet the battle is o’er,And their ships ride the bay of Manila no more.Dark, silent and dark, on the face of the deep,A ship glides in there; are the Spaniards asleep?The channel is mined! Oh, rash sailors beware!Or that death dealing fiend will spring up from his lair;He will tear you, and rend you, with wild fiendish roar,And cast you afar on the bay and the shore!They laugh at the danger; what care they for death?’Tis only a shock and the ceasing of breath;Their souls to their Maker, their forms to the wave,What nation has sons like the home of the brave?That ship they would steer to the pit of despair,If duty cried “Onward!” and glory were there.The shore is ablaze, but the channel they gain;A word of command, and the rattle of chain;A flash—and the Merrimac’s sunk in the bay,And the Spaniard must leave in the light of the day.Santiago and Hobson remembered shall be,While waves the proud flag of the brave and the free.The Spaniards sail out—what a glorious sight!Now, sailors, stand by and prepare for the fight;O, Glo’ster, in there, pelt the Dons as they fly,Make us glorious news for the Fourth of July!And Wainwright remembered the Maine with a roar,And that shell-battered hulk is a terror no more.Then Schley and the Brooklyn were right in the way,But Sampson had gone to see Shafter, they say;And the Oregon flew like a fury from hell,Spreading wreckage and death with the might of her shell;Then Evans stood out, like a chivalrous knight,Giving mercy to all at the end of the fight.The Colon still flies, but a shell cleaves the air,Its number is fatal—a cry of despair—She turns to the shore, she bursts into flame,And down comes the flag of the kingdom of Spain;Men float all around, the battle is done,And their ships are all sunk for the sinking of one.Not ours is the hand that would strike in the night,With the fiendish intention to mangle and slay;We strike at obstruction to freedom and right,And strike when we strike in the light of the day.W. B. Collison.

Dark, dark is the night; not a star in the sky,

And the Maine rides serenely; what danger is nigh?

Our nation’s at peace with the Kingdom of Spain,

So calmly they rest in the battleship Maine.

But, hark to that roar! See, the water is red!

And the sailor sleeps now with the slime for his bed.

Havana then shook, like the leaves of the trees,

When the tornado rides on the breast of the breeze;

Then people sprang up from their beds in the gloom,

As they’ll spring from their graves at the thunder of doom;

And they rushed through the streets, in their terror and fear,

Crying out as they ran, “Have the rebels come here?”

“Oh, see how the flame lights the shores of the bay,Like the red rising sun at the coming of day;’Tis a ship in a blaze! ’Tis the battleship Maine!What means this to us and the Kingdom of Spain?The eagle will come at that loud sounding roar,And our flag will fly free over Cuba no more.”

“Oh, see how the flame lights the shores of the bay,

Like the red rising sun at the coming of day;

’Tis a ship in a blaze! ’Tis the battleship Maine!

What means this to us and the Kingdom of Spain?

The eagle will come at that loud sounding roar,

And our flag will fly free over Cuba no more.”

Dark, dark is the night on the face of the deep,In the forts all is still; are the soldiers asleep?Oh, see how that ship glides along through the night;’Tis the ghost of the Maine—she has come to the fight;A flash, and a roar, and a cry of despair;The eagle has come, for brave Dewey is there.

Dark, dark is the night on the face of the deep,

In the forts all is still; are the soldiers asleep?

Oh, see how that ship glides along through the night;

’Tis the ghost of the Maine—she has come to the fight;

A flash, and a roar, and a cry of despair;

The eagle has come, for brave Dewey is there.

Oh, Spaniards, come out, for the daylight has fled,And look on those ships—look with terror and dread;The eagle has come, and he swoops to his prey;Oh, fly, Spaniards, fly, to that creek in the bay!The eagle has come—“Remember the Maine!”And the water is red with the blood of the slain.

Oh, Spaniards, come out, for the daylight has fled,

And look on those ships—look with terror and dread;

The eagle has come, and he swoops to his prey;

Oh, fly, Spaniards, fly, to that creek in the bay!

The eagle has come—“Remember the Maine!”

And the water is red with the blood of the slain.

They rest for a time—now they sail in again!Oh, woe, doom and woe, to the kingdom of Spain.Their ships are ablaze, they are battered and rent,By the death-dealing shells which our sailors have sent.Not a man have we lost; yet the battle is o’er,And their ships ride the bay of Manila no more.

They rest for a time—now they sail in again!

Oh, woe, doom and woe, to the kingdom of Spain.

Their ships are ablaze, they are battered and rent,

By the death-dealing shells which our sailors have sent.

Not a man have we lost; yet the battle is o’er,

And their ships ride the bay of Manila no more.

Dark, silent and dark, on the face of the deep,A ship glides in there; are the Spaniards asleep?The channel is mined! Oh, rash sailors beware!Or that death dealing fiend will spring up from his lair;He will tear you, and rend you, with wild fiendish roar,And cast you afar on the bay and the shore!

Dark, silent and dark, on the face of the deep,

A ship glides in there; are the Spaniards asleep?

The channel is mined! Oh, rash sailors beware!

Or that death dealing fiend will spring up from his lair;

He will tear you, and rend you, with wild fiendish roar,

And cast you afar on the bay and the shore!

They laugh at the danger; what care they for death?’Tis only a shock and the ceasing of breath;Their souls to their Maker, their forms to the wave,What nation has sons like the home of the brave?That ship they would steer to the pit of despair,If duty cried “Onward!” and glory were there.

They laugh at the danger; what care they for death?

’Tis only a shock and the ceasing of breath;

Their souls to their Maker, their forms to the wave,

What nation has sons like the home of the brave?

That ship they would steer to the pit of despair,

If duty cried “Onward!” and glory were there.

The shore is ablaze, but the channel they gain;A word of command, and the rattle of chain;A flash—and the Merrimac’s sunk in the bay,And the Spaniard must leave in the light of the day.Santiago and Hobson remembered shall be,While waves the proud flag of the brave and the free.

The shore is ablaze, but the channel they gain;

A word of command, and the rattle of chain;

A flash—and the Merrimac’s sunk in the bay,

And the Spaniard must leave in the light of the day.

Santiago and Hobson remembered shall be,

While waves the proud flag of the brave and the free.

The Spaniards sail out—what a glorious sight!Now, sailors, stand by and prepare for the fight;O, Glo’ster, in there, pelt the Dons as they fly,Make us glorious news for the Fourth of July!And Wainwright remembered the Maine with a roar,And that shell-battered hulk is a terror no more.

The Spaniards sail out—what a glorious sight!

Now, sailors, stand by and prepare for the fight;

O, Glo’ster, in there, pelt the Dons as they fly,

Make us glorious news for the Fourth of July!

And Wainwright remembered the Maine with a roar,

And that shell-battered hulk is a terror no more.

Then Schley and the Brooklyn were right in the way,But Sampson had gone to see Shafter, they say;And the Oregon flew like a fury from hell,Spreading wreckage and death with the might of her shell;Then Evans stood out, like a chivalrous knight,Giving mercy to all at the end of the fight.

Then Schley and the Brooklyn were right in the way,

But Sampson had gone to see Shafter, they say;

And the Oregon flew like a fury from hell,

Spreading wreckage and death with the might of her shell;

Then Evans stood out, like a chivalrous knight,

Giving mercy to all at the end of the fight.

The Colon still flies, but a shell cleaves the air,Its number is fatal—a cry of despair—She turns to the shore, she bursts into flame,And down comes the flag of the kingdom of Spain;Men float all around, the battle is done,And their ships are all sunk for the sinking of one.Not ours is the hand that would strike in the night,With the fiendish intention to mangle and slay;We strike at obstruction to freedom and right,And strike when we strike in the light of the day.

The Colon still flies, but a shell cleaves the air,

Its number is fatal—a cry of despair—

She turns to the shore, she bursts into flame,

And down comes the flag of the kingdom of Spain;

Men float all around, the battle is done,

And their ships are all sunk for the sinking of one.

Not ours is the hand that would strike in the night,

With the fiendish intention to mangle and slay;

We strike at obstruction to freedom and right,

And strike when we strike in the light of the day.

W. B. Collison.

Perry’s famous battle on Lake Erie raised the spirits of the Americans. The British had six ships, with sixty-three guns. The Americans had nine ships, with fifty-four guns, and the American ships were much smaller than the English. At this time Perry, the American commander, was but twenty-six years of age. His flagship was the Lawrence. The ship’s watchword was the last charge of the Chesapeake’s dying Commander—“Don’t give up the ship.” The battle was witnessed by thousands of people on shore.At first the advantage seemed to be with the English. Perry’s flagship was riddled by English shots, her guns were dismounted and the battle seemed lost. At the supreme crisis Perry embarked in a small boat with some of his officers, and under the fire of many cannon passed to the Niagara, another ship of the fleet, of which he took command.After he had left the Lawrence she hauled down her flag and surrendered, but the other American ships carried on the battle with such fierce impetuosity that the English battle-ship in turn surrendered, the Lawrence was retaken and all the English ships yielded with the exception of one, which took flight. The Americans pursued her, took her and came back with the entire British squadron. In the Capitol at Washington is a historical picture showing this famous victory.In Perry’s great battle on Lake Erie was shown the true stuff of which American sailors are made. Perry was young, bold and dashing, but withal, he had the coolness and intrepidity of the veteran. History records few braver acts than his passage in an open boat from one ship to another under the galling fire of the enemy.The grand achievements of the American navy are brilliant chapters in our country’s history. When the time comes for daring deeds, our gallant tars are equal to the occasion. Coolness in battle, splendid discipline, perfect marksmanship and a patriotism that glories in the victory of the Stars and Stripes, combine to place the officers and men of our navy in the front rank of the world’s greatest heroes.

At first the advantage seemed to be with the English. Perry’s flagship was riddled by English shots, her guns were dismounted and the battle seemed lost. At the supreme crisis Perry embarked in a small boat with some of his officers, and under the fire of many cannon passed to the Niagara, another ship of the fleet, of which he took command.

After he had left the Lawrence she hauled down her flag and surrendered, but the other American ships carried on the battle with such fierce impetuosity that the English battle-ship in turn surrendered, the Lawrence was retaken and all the English ships yielded with the exception of one, which took flight. The Americans pursued her, took her and came back with the entire British squadron. In the Capitol at Washington is a historical picture showing this famous victory.

In Perry’s great battle on Lake Erie was shown the true stuff of which American sailors are made. Perry was young, bold and dashing, but withal, he had the coolness and intrepidity of the veteran. History records few braver acts than his passage in an open boat from one ship to another under the galling fire of the enemy.

The grand achievements of the American navy are brilliant chapters in our country’s history. When the time comes for daring deeds, our gallant tars are equal to the occasion. Coolness in battle, splendid discipline, perfect marksmanship and a patriotism that glories in the victory of the Stars and Stripes, combine to place the officers and men of our navy in the front rank of the world’s greatest heroes.

General Wolfe, the English commander, saw that he must take Quebec by his own efforts or not at all. He attempted several diversions above the city in the hope of drawing Montcalm, the French commander, from his intrenchments into the open field, but Montcalm merely sent De Bougainville with fifteen hundred men to watch the shore above Quebec and prevent a landing. Wolfe fell into a fever, caused by his anxiety, and his despatches to his government created the gravest uneasiness in England for the success of his enterprise.Though ill, Wolfe examined the river with eagle eyes to detect some place at which alanding could be attempted. His energy was rewarded by his discovery of the cove which now bears his name. From the shore at the head of this cove a steep and difficult pathway, along which two men could scarcely march abreast, wound up to the summit of the heights and was guarded by a small force of Canadians.Wolfe at once resolved to effect a landing here and ascend the heights by this path. The greatest secrecy was necessary to the success of the undertaking, and in order to deceive the French as to his real design, Captain Cook, afterwards famous as a great navigator, was sent to take soundings and place buoys opposite Montcalm’s camp, as if that were to be the real point of attack. The morning of the thirteenth of September was chosen for the movement, and the day and night of the twelfth were spent in preparations for it.At one o’clock on the morning of the thirteenth a force of about five thousand men under Wolfe, with Monckton and Murray, set off in boats from the fleet, which had ascended the river several days before, and dropped down to the point designated for the landing. Each officer was thoroughly informed of the duties required of him, and each shared the resolution of the gallant young commander, to conquer or to die. As the boats floated down the stream, in the clear, cool starlight, Wolfe spoke to his officers of the poet Gray, and of his “Elegy in a Country Churchyard.” “I would prefer,” said he, “being the author of that poem to the glory of beating the French to-morrow.” Then in a musing voice he repeated the lines:“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,Await alike the inexorable hour;The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”In a short while the landing-place was reached, and the fleet, following silently, took position to cover the landing if necessary. Wolfe and his immediate command leaped ashore and secured the pathway. The light infantry, who were carried by the tide a little below the path, climbed up the side of the heights, sustaining themselves by clinging to the roots and shrubs which lined the precipitous face of the hill. They reached the summit and drove off the picket-guard after a light skirmish. The rest of the troops ascended in safety by the pathway. Having gained the heights, Wolfe moved forward rapidly to clear the forest, and by daybreak his army was drawn up on the Heights of Abraham, in the rear of the city.Montcalm was speedily informed of the presence of the English. “It can be but a small party come to burn a few houses and retire,” he answered incredulously. A brief examination satisfied him of his danger, and he exclaimed in amazement: “Then they have at last got to the weak side of this miserable garrison. We must give battle and crush them before mid-day.”He at once despatched a messenger for De Bougainville, who was fifteen miles up the river, and marched from his camp opposite the city to the Heights of Abraham to drive the English from them. The opposing forces were about equal in numbers, though the English troops were superior to their adversaries in discipline, steadiness and determination.The battle began about ten o’clock and was stubbornly contested. It was at length decided in favor of the English. Wolfe though wounded several times, continued to direct his army until, as he was leading them to a final charge, he received a musket ball in the breast. He tottered and called to an officer near him: “Support me; let not my brave fellows see me drop.” Hewas borne tenderly to the rear, and water was brought him to quench his thirst.At this moment the officer upon whom he was leaning cried out: “They run! they run!” “Who run?” asked the dying hero, eagerly. “The French,” said the officer, “give way everywhere.” “What,” said Wolfe, summoning up his remaining strength, “do they run already? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton; bid him march Webb’s regiment with all speed to Charles River to cut off the fugitives.” Then a smile of contentment overspreading his pale features, he murmured: “Now, God be praised, I die happy,” and expired. He had done his whole duty, and with his life had purchased an empire for his country.James D. McCabe.

Though ill, Wolfe examined the river with eagle eyes to detect some place at which alanding could be attempted. His energy was rewarded by his discovery of the cove which now bears his name. From the shore at the head of this cove a steep and difficult pathway, along which two men could scarcely march abreast, wound up to the summit of the heights and was guarded by a small force of Canadians.

Wolfe at once resolved to effect a landing here and ascend the heights by this path. The greatest secrecy was necessary to the success of the undertaking, and in order to deceive the French as to his real design, Captain Cook, afterwards famous as a great navigator, was sent to take soundings and place buoys opposite Montcalm’s camp, as if that were to be the real point of attack. The morning of the thirteenth of September was chosen for the movement, and the day and night of the twelfth were spent in preparations for it.

At one o’clock on the morning of the thirteenth a force of about five thousand men under Wolfe, with Monckton and Murray, set off in boats from the fleet, which had ascended the river several days before, and dropped down to the point designated for the landing. Each officer was thoroughly informed of the duties required of him, and each shared the resolution of the gallant young commander, to conquer or to die. As the boats floated down the stream, in the clear, cool starlight, Wolfe spoke to his officers of the poet Gray, and of his “Elegy in a Country Churchyard.” “I would prefer,” said he, “being the author of that poem to the glory of beating the French to-morrow.” Then in a musing voice he repeated the lines:

“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,Await alike the inexorable hour;The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,

Await alike the inexorable hour;

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

In a short while the landing-place was reached, and the fleet, following silently, took position to cover the landing if necessary. Wolfe and his immediate command leaped ashore and secured the pathway. The light infantry, who were carried by the tide a little below the path, climbed up the side of the heights, sustaining themselves by clinging to the roots and shrubs which lined the precipitous face of the hill. They reached the summit and drove off the picket-guard after a light skirmish. The rest of the troops ascended in safety by the pathway. Having gained the heights, Wolfe moved forward rapidly to clear the forest, and by daybreak his army was drawn up on the Heights of Abraham, in the rear of the city.

Montcalm was speedily informed of the presence of the English. “It can be but a small party come to burn a few houses and retire,” he answered incredulously. A brief examination satisfied him of his danger, and he exclaimed in amazement: “Then they have at last got to the weak side of this miserable garrison. We must give battle and crush them before mid-day.”

He at once despatched a messenger for De Bougainville, who was fifteen miles up the river, and marched from his camp opposite the city to the Heights of Abraham to drive the English from them. The opposing forces were about equal in numbers, though the English troops were superior to their adversaries in discipline, steadiness and determination.

The battle began about ten o’clock and was stubbornly contested. It was at length decided in favor of the English. Wolfe though wounded several times, continued to direct his army until, as he was leading them to a final charge, he received a musket ball in the breast. He tottered and called to an officer near him: “Support me; let not my brave fellows see me drop.” Hewas borne tenderly to the rear, and water was brought him to quench his thirst.

At this moment the officer upon whom he was leaning cried out: “They run! they run!” “Who run?” asked the dying hero, eagerly. “The French,” said the officer, “give way everywhere.” “What,” said Wolfe, summoning up his remaining strength, “do they run already? Go, one of you, to Colonel Burton; bid him march Webb’s regiment with all speed to Charles River to cut off the fugitives.” Then a smile of contentment overspreading his pale features, he murmured: “Now, God be praised, I die happy,” and expired. He had done his whole duty, and with his life had purchased an empire for his country.

James D. McCabe.

At the battle of the Pyramids, July 21st,A.D.1798.

Burning sands, and isles of palm, and the Mamelukes’ fierce array,Under the solemn Pyramids, Napoleon saw that day;“Comrades,” he cried, “from those old heights, Fame watches the deeds you do,The eyes of forty centuries are fixed this day on you!”They answered him with ringing shouts, they were eager for the fray,Napoleon held their central square, in front was bold Desaix;They gave one glance to the Pyramids, one glance to the rich Cairo,And then they poured a rain of fire upon their charging foe.Only a little drummer boy, from the column of Dufarge,Tottered to where the “Forty-third” stood waiting for their “charge,”Bleeding—but beating still his call—he said, with tear-dimmed eye:“I’m but a baby, Forty-third, so teach me how to die!”Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard, and Joubert turned away,The lad had been the pet of all, they knew not what to say;“I will not shame you, ‘Forty-third,’ though I am but a child!”Then Regnier stooped and kissed his face, and shouted loud and wild:“Forward! Why are we waiting here? Shall Mamelukes stop our way?Come, little Jean, and beat the ‘charge,’ and ours shall be the day;And we will show thee how to die, good boy! good boy! Be brave!It is not every ‘nine years’ old’ can fill a soldier’s grave!”It was as though a spirit spoke, the men to battle flew;Yet each in passing, cried aloud: “My little Jean, Adieu!”“Adieu, brave Forty-third, Adieu!” Then proudly beat his drum—“You’ve showed me how a soldier dies—and little Jean will come!”They found him ’mid the slain next day, amid the brave who fell,Said Regnier, proudly, “My brave Jean, thou learned thy lesson well!”They hung the medal round his neck, and crossed his childish hands,And dug for him a little grave in Egypt’s lonely sands.But, still, the corps his memory keep, and name with flashing eye,The hero whom the “Forty-third,” in Egypt, taught to die.Lillie E. Barr.

Burning sands, and isles of palm, and the Mamelukes’ fierce array,

Under the solemn Pyramids, Napoleon saw that day;

“Comrades,” he cried, “from those old heights, Fame watches the deeds you do,

The eyes of forty centuries are fixed this day on you!”

They answered him with ringing shouts, they were eager for the fray,Napoleon held their central square, in front was bold Desaix;They gave one glance to the Pyramids, one glance to the rich Cairo,And then they poured a rain of fire upon their charging foe.

They answered him with ringing shouts, they were eager for the fray,

Napoleon held their central square, in front was bold Desaix;

They gave one glance to the Pyramids, one glance to the rich Cairo,

And then they poured a rain of fire upon their charging foe.

Only a little drummer boy, from the column of Dufarge,Tottered to where the “Forty-third” stood waiting for their “charge,”Bleeding—but beating still his call—he said, with tear-dimmed eye:“I’m but a baby, Forty-third, so teach me how to die!”

Only a little drummer boy, from the column of Dufarge,

Tottered to where the “Forty-third” stood waiting for their “charge,”

Bleeding—but beating still his call—he said, with tear-dimmed eye:

“I’m but a baby, Forty-third, so teach me how to die!”

Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard, and Joubert turned away,The lad had been the pet of all, they knew not what to say;“I will not shame you, ‘Forty-third,’ though I am but a child!”Then Regnier stooped and kissed his face, and shouted loud and wild:

Then Regnier gnawed his long gray beard, and Joubert turned away,

The lad had been the pet of all, they knew not what to say;

“I will not shame you, ‘Forty-third,’ though I am but a child!”

Then Regnier stooped and kissed his face, and shouted loud and wild:

“Forward! Why are we waiting here? Shall Mamelukes stop our way?Come, little Jean, and beat the ‘charge,’ and ours shall be the day;And we will show thee how to die, good boy! good boy! Be brave!It is not every ‘nine years’ old’ can fill a soldier’s grave!”

“Forward! Why are we waiting here? Shall Mamelukes stop our way?

Come, little Jean, and beat the ‘charge,’ and ours shall be the day;

And we will show thee how to die, good boy! good boy! Be brave!

It is not every ‘nine years’ old’ can fill a soldier’s grave!”

It was as though a spirit spoke, the men to battle flew;Yet each in passing, cried aloud: “My little Jean, Adieu!”“Adieu, brave Forty-third, Adieu!” Then proudly beat his drum—“You’ve showed me how a soldier dies—and little Jean will come!”

It was as though a spirit spoke, the men to battle flew;

Yet each in passing, cried aloud: “My little Jean, Adieu!”

“Adieu, brave Forty-third, Adieu!” Then proudly beat his drum—

“You’ve showed me how a soldier dies—and little Jean will come!”

They found him ’mid the slain next day, amid the brave who fell,Said Regnier, proudly, “My brave Jean, thou learned thy lesson well!”They hung the medal round his neck, and crossed his childish hands,And dug for him a little grave in Egypt’s lonely sands.But, still, the corps his memory keep, and name with flashing eye,The hero whom the “Forty-third,” in Egypt, taught to die.

They found him ’mid the slain next day, amid the brave who fell,

Said Regnier, proudly, “My brave Jean, thou learned thy lesson well!”

They hung the medal round his neck, and crossed his childish hands,

And dug for him a little grave in Egypt’s lonely sands.

But, still, the corps his memory keep, and name with flashing eye,

The hero whom the “Forty-third,” in Egypt, taught to die.

Lillie E. Barr.

Washington, who, at this time, was a subordinate officer, was well convinced that the French and Indians were informed of the movements of the army and would seek to interfere with it before its arrival at Fort Duquesne, which was only ten miles distant, and urged Braddock to throw in advance the Virginia Rangers, three hundred strong, as they were experienced Indian fighters.Braddock angrily rebuked his aide, and as if to make the rebuke more pointed, ordered the Virginia troops and other provincials to take position in the rear of the regulars.In the meantime the French at Fort Duquesne had been informed by their scouts of Braddock’s movements, and had resolved to ambuscade him on his march. Early on the morning of the ninth a force of about two hundred and thirty French and Canadians and six hundred and thirty-seven Indians, under De Beaujeu, the commandant at Fort Duquesne, was despatched with orders to occupy a designated spot and attack the enemy upon their approach. Before reaching it, about two o’clock in the afternoon, they encountered the advanced force of the English army, under Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Gage, and at once attacked them with spirit.The English army at this moment was moving along a narrow road, about twelve feet in width, with scarcely a scout thrown out in advance or upon the flanks. The engineer who was locating the road was the first to discover the enemy, and called out: “French and Indians!” Instantly a heavy fire was opened upon Gage’s force, and his indecision allowed the French and Indians to seize a commanding ridge, from which they maintained their attack with spirit.The regulars were quickly thrown into confusion by the heavy fire and the fierce yells of the Indians, who could nowhere be seen, and their losses were so severe and sudden that they became panic-stricken.The only semblance of resistance maintained by the English was by the Virginia Rangers, whom Braddock had insulted at the beginning of the day’s march. Immediately upon the commencement of the battle, they had adopted the tactics of the Indians, and had thrown themselves behind trees, from which shelter they were rapidly picking off the Indians. Washington entreated Braddock to follow the example of the Virginians, but he refused, and stubbornly endeavored to form them in platoons under the fatal fire that was being poured upon them by their hidden assailants. Thus through his obstinacy many useful lives were lost.The officers did not share the panic of the men, but behaved with the greatest gallantry. They were the especial marks of the Indian sharpshooters, and many of them were killed or wounded. Two of Braddock’s aides were seriously wounded, and their duties devolved upon Washington in addition to his own. He passed repeatedly over the field, carrying the orders of the commander and encouraging the men. When sent to bring up the artillery, he found it surrounded by Indians, its commander, Sir Peter Halket, killed, and the men standing helpless from fear.Springing from his horse, he appealed to the men to save the guns, pointed a field-piece and discharged it at the savages and entreated the gunners to rally. He could accomplish nothing by either his words or example. The men deserted the guns and fled. In a letter to his brother, Washington wrote: “I had four bullets through my coat, two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, though death was levelling my companions on every side around me.”James D. McCabe.

Braddock angrily rebuked his aide, and as if to make the rebuke more pointed, ordered the Virginia troops and other provincials to take position in the rear of the regulars.

In the meantime the French at Fort Duquesne had been informed by their scouts of Braddock’s movements, and had resolved to ambuscade him on his march. Early on the morning of the ninth a force of about two hundred and thirty French and Canadians and six hundred and thirty-seven Indians, under De Beaujeu, the commandant at Fort Duquesne, was despatched with orders to occupy a designated spot and attack the enemy upon their approach. Before reaching it, about two o’clock in the afternoon, they encountered the advanced force of the English army, under Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Gage, and at once attacked them with spirit.

The English army at this moment was moving along a narrow road, about twelve feet in width, with scarcely a scout thrown out in advance or upon the flanks. The engineer who was locating the road was the first to discover the enemy, and called out: “French and Indians!” Instantly a heavy fire was opened upon Gage’s force, and his indecision allowed the French and Indians to seize a commanding ridge, from which they maintained their attack with spirit.

The regulars were quickly thrown into confusion by the heavy fire and the fierce yells of the Indians, who could nowhere be seen, and their losses were so severe and sudden that they became panic-stricken.

The only semblance of resistance maintained by the English was by the Virginia Rangers, whom Braddock had insulted at the beginning of the day’s march. Immediately upon the commencement of the battle, they had adopted the tactics of the Indians, and had thrown themselves behind trees, from which shelter they were rapidly picking off the Indians. Washington entreated Braddock to follow the example of the Virginians, but he refused, and stubbornly endeavored to form them in platoons under the fatal fire that was being poured upon them by their hidden assailants. Thus through his obstinacy many useful lives were lost.

The officers did not share the panic of the men, but behaved with the greatest gallantry. They were the especial marks of the Indian sharpshooters, and many of them were killed or wounded. Two of Braddock’s aides were seriously wounded, and their duties devolved upon Washington in addition to his own. He passed repeatedly over the field, carrying the orders of the commander and encouraging the men. When sent to bring up the artillery, he found it surrounded by Indians, its commander, Sir Peter Halket, killed, and the men standing helpless from fear.

Springing from his horse, he appealed to the men to save the guns, pointed a field-piece and discharged it at the savages and entreated the gunners to rally. He could accomplish nothing by either his words or example. The men deserted the guns and fled. In a letter to his brother, Washington wrote: “I had four bullets through my coat, two horses shot under me, yet escaped unhurt, though death was levelling my companions on every side around me.”

James D. McCabe.

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