Fighters young Americans want to know; heroes of our country's wars

Preface

These stories are taken from the different struggles in which the United States has been engaged, and all of them are authentic. Many have not been recorded in our histories, but every one is founded upon an event that actually occurred. The writer has presented them in the hope that they will increase the interest in the perpetual struggle for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness which our fathers won. Surely the present, of all the times in our history, is the one in which there is the greatest necessity of stimulating a strong and intelligent love for our country. One flag, one country, one language, one purpose — all these ought to be the component parts in the construction of every true American, whether or not he is born within our borders. The spirit of the fighter is not always displayed on the battle field. There are contests which every one must face. Life is a perpetual overcoming. Every man becomes either a victor or a victim. To strengthen the purpose to win the best that life can give lies behind every worthy conflict. The writer takes this occasion to express his thanks to the various papers and magazines in which some of these stories have appeared. Particu-

PREFACE

larly to the Magazine of the Daughters of the American Revolution he desires to acknowledge the courtesy which permits the inclusion of several of his stories in this collection.

Everett T. Tomlinson.

Elizabeth, New Jersey.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I A NAMELESS BOY HEKO . ., . .15

II A PATRIOTIC SON 27

Chapter I Nameless Boy Heko

IN 1778, Washington's little army was marching swiftly across New Jersey. The suffering at Valley Forge was now a memory. The activities of Clinton's forces in Philadelphia, in the winter of 1777-8, no longer were a menace to the patriots of that region. General Clinton, marching ont of Philadelphia early in June, had been followed closely by the entry of the hardy patriots, so closely, indeed, that certain of the Colonial troops even cut off and captured straggling parties of the redcoats before they could flee from the Quaker City. So swiftly did Washington approach that many of the half-hearted patriots in Philadelphia, terri-

ADMIRAL LORD HOWE fied by the coming of the Colonial Army and with vivid recollections of the ways in which they had aided the redcoats that had been quartered in the city throughout the past winter, were now beseeching Clinton to take them with him on his departure. And the leader yielded, in spite of the fact that he discovered that there were so many of these recreant Americans that he would be obliged to alter his previous carefully made plans for transporting his troops.

Originally he had planned for Admiral Howe's fleet to sail from New York, come up the Delaware and receive on board the red-coated soldiers who were to be carried by him to New York. There were so many, however, of the terrified Tories, who now recalled their half-hearted declarations of loyalty to the Colonies and their whole-hearted devotion to the

SIR HENRY CLINTON

GEOBGE WASHINGTON

A NAMELESS BOY HERO

interests of Clinton's soldiers, that they had become a serious problem to the general. At last he yielded to their frantic appeals and sent word for Admiral Howe to come to carry these unfortunate men without a country by ship to New York. After he had safely disposed of his human cargo he was then to sail back as far as New Brunswick on the Raritan, where Clinton and his redcoats, after marching across the Jerseys, were to meet him.

Meanwhile Washington's ragged and rugged army was doing its utmost to get in advance of Clinton's forces. Day and night the Continen tals were marching, hoping to gain some point in advance of their enemies where they might compel the redcoats to turn back or at least to abandon their line of march. Then, in a place of his own selection, Washington planned to give battle.

The little American army, poorly equipped and still more poorly provisioned, was nearly overcome by the intense heat of the summer days. For years the oldest inhabitants afterward referred to the summer as one of the warmest New Jersey ever had known. Along the dusty road, from the humble farmhouses, 11 Molly Pitchers" continually came with water for the thirsty, marching soldiers.

Difficult though his task was, Washington still was not relying solely upon the speed of his troops. Continually he was sending couriers in advance with instructions for the Jersey farmers to turn out and destroy the bridges in the line of Clinton's advance. In this way he was hoping to retard the march "ro^TSES^' of his enemy until he himself had gained the desired advantage he was seeking.

In response to this call for help three men and a boy of sixteen one morning were working desperately in their efforts to cut the stringers of a bridge across a stream a few miles before the advancing redcoats. The air was like the hot blast from a furnace. The little band of four soon were showing the effects of their strenuous labors. Every one was swinging his

A NAMELESS BOY HERO

ax with all his might, and perspiration was pouring in streams down his body. It almost blinded his eyes and yet the labors were not remitted. Not only must the great general be helped, but the very lives of the workers depended upon their efforts.

The task, however, had not been completed when it became known that the redcoats were approaching and now were not far distant. Indeed, they were even nearer than the men suspected, for suddenly, before the stringers had been cut half-way through, notes of bugles and the rolling of drums were heard in the summer air.

Startled by the unexpected sound every worker instantly stood erect and peered intently in the direction from which the music was heard. Nor was it long before occasional glimpses were had of the approaching scarletclad troops, as they followed the winding road, sometimes hidden from sight by the intervening trees and then again marching boldly along the open highway.

The sight and sounds were more than the 21 tense nerves of the workers were able to bear. Abruptly, as there came a louder, clearer blast of the bugles and the voices of the officers giving their commands were distinctly heard, panic seized upon the workers. Moved by a common impulse they seized their axes and, though the bridge was yet standing, fled from the spot.

The boy, however, remained at his task. Disregarding the frantic appeals of his recent companions to flee for his life he still swung his ax more lustily than before. Indeed, in his desperation the strokes fell faster and faster. The blinding perspiration prevented him from seeing clearly the stringers which he was chopping. He was only dimly aware that, after repeated calls for him to follow them, his friends had fled across the fields and no longer were within sight.

The advancing troops were rapidly approaching the bridge. The shrill notes of the fifes now were heard distinctly above the blows of his ax, but the young patriot would not desert his post. Still desperately he held to his ax and looked neither to right nor left. Somehow he

A NAMELESS BOY HERO

was hoping that every stroke would be the last required and the bridge would fall into the stream below. But the stringers were of hickory and tough and strong, and consequently his task was prolonged.

Scarcely aware of what he was doing he redoubled his efforts. Not even a thought of fleeing from the place had entered his mind. Washington had given orders to destroy the bridge and the word of the great commander must be obeyed. At last there was a slight creaking and groaning in the timbers. Only a few more strokes would be required and then the stringers would be cut through. The bridge would fall of its own weight. One more desperate effort was called for and then his task would be accomplished. The last blow fell, the creaking bridge groaned almost as if it were human and then with a loud splash one end fell into the water below.

For a brief instant the young Colonial lad stood erect and wiped the streaming perspiration from his eyes. What he had been striving to do had been accomplished. It was high time for him to flee, if he was to find safety. At that moment, however, just as the boy turned to run, he saw that the redcoats had halted on the opposite bank. And they too had discovered him and seen also what he had successfully done.

For a brief moment there was a silence so tense that it was almost possible to sense it. Even the young hero apparently had forgotten his plight and was watching, almost fascinated by the sight, the redcoated soldiers on the opposite bank of the stream.

The silence of the summer day, however, was abruptly broken. A word of command was sharply $ spoken, the reports of many rifles rang out together and grenadier English the heroic young Jerseyman fell to the ground, his body almost literally filled with lead.

There was only a brief delay for Clinton's troops, caused by the falling of the bridge, for

A NAMELESS BOY HERO

the invading army, unmindful of the fleeing families, apparently unaware of the body lying by the roadside, pushed across the stream and the march continued. The notes of the fifes and the rolling of the drums soon sounded faintly in the distance, then were only occasionally heard till at last the silence of the summer day once more rested over the dusty road.

It was long before the frightened Colonists returned to the place where they had left their young comrade. There a brief search soon revealed the body near the roadside and then the men, silent and conscience-stricken, carried the dead boy to his home.

For days the country folk, subdued and quiet, talked of the heroism of the brave lad who had refused to flee when the men who had been his companions scattered at the time when most their help was needed.

To-day, however, no monument marks the spot where the young patriot fell, no poet has ever sung the praises of the unknown lad who literally gave himself to the uttermost as a part of the price that was paid for the liberty of the land in which we live. Some day (perhaps) a singer will arise to give the nameless young hero the recognition he deserves from those who have profited by his gift but who never have heard of the giver.

Chapter II

THE winter night was one of the wildest in the year 1779. Snow and sleet were mingled in the blinding storm. In spite of the darkness, a small detachment of Hessian soldiers had safely crossed Staten Island Sound and safely landed on the Jersey shore. There they formed and stealthily marched up the long, winding street of Elizabethtown. There were few to know of their approach and no one to oppose it at the time. Without interruption the selected Hessian soldiers marched through Elizabethtown and then proceeded on their way toward the home of William Crane, at the foot of Galloping Hill a mile or more beyond the village.

There were visions before the minds of the 27 eager Hessians, of the reward which had been offered for the taking of William Crane (dead or alive), for he was a member of the New Jersey Colonial Committee of Safety and so intensely patriotic was he that his enemies had decided to rid the Colonies of his presence.

"When the Hessians arrived at the place they were seeking, the little house was hardly ,# to be distinguished in HBssiAN trooper the storm from the great swinging trees behind it. There was only a brief delay before the soldiers made their way to the rear door. There, pausing a moment, their leader advanced and knocked loudly with the butt of his

SOLDIER OF

rifle. The roar of the storm was THE r X G f ss ' the only sound that followed the TJimK 1

OFFICER AT

rude summons. Again the officer THE TIME struck the door with a rifle, almost smashing the panels.

WHERE THE HESSIAXS TURNED INTO GALLOPING HILL

In response to his last appeal the door was slowly opened and the sixteen-year-old son of Crane stood before the marauding force. Without a word the entire band pushed their way into the kitchen where the leader called loudly for a light.

Although he was frightened by the entrance of these enemies of his country the young American quietly did as he was bidden without making any protest. In the flickering rays of the candle, which he soon lighted, he saw the uniforms of his unwelcome visitors and instantly was convinced that the party had come hoping to capture his father. His supposition was confirmed a moment later when the leader in broken English demanded that the member of the Committee of Safety should appear before him.

"He is not here," said young Crane quietly.

"It is a lie!" shouted the Hessian. "He is here and he shall come. You shall tell him. ' '

AMERICAN

RIFLEMAN.

FROM A PRINT

OF THE TIME

"But he is not here," repeated the lad, who was the only member of his family in the house. "We shall see! We shall see!" roared the Hessian in his broken English. Turning quickly to his followers he ordered them to make a hasty but complete search of the place. In silence young Crane stood and watched the men as they entered every room, overturning beds and smashing furniture in their unavailing quest.

Convinced at last that Mr.

Crane was not in the house the leader and his men returned to the kitchen and angrily facing the boy said, "He is not here." "That's what I told you."

"But you shall tell where he has gone!" Young Crane shook his head and did not reply.

"You shall tell!" roared the angry Hessian, glancing threateningly upon the lad.

"I have told you all I know, and that's that my father is not here and I do not know where

REVOLUTIONARY POWDER-HORN AND CANTEEN he is. You would not expect me to tell you, even if I did know."

"But you do know and you shall tell ! ? ' again shouted the leader. As he spoke he adjusted his bayonet and stepped forward directly in front of the lad.

Even the boys in those trying days had gained much of the self-control that belonged to their elders. Frightened, almost terrified, the boy undoubtedly was, for he was fully aware of the desperate character of his visitors, as well as of the reward that had been placed upon his father's head.

"You shall tell me!" again shouted the leader. "You shall tell me, or you shall suffer!"

The threat, however, brought no response. True to his word the brutal Hessian pricked the boy with his bayonet. Still, young Crane refused to betray his father. He quietly faced his tormentors and though his features were like gray granite there was not a sign of yielding to the demands of his angry visitors.

Infuriated by the calmness of the lad and 33 keenly disappointed by his failure to secure the member of the Committee of Safety, the Hessian officer again used his bayonet. But his question was still unanswered. The very fearlessness of the lad increased the rage of the brutal soldiers. Twice more they pricked him with their bayonets, each time demanding that he should reveal the hiding-place of his father.

Although he was bleeding from his wounds the young patriot sturdily and steadily refused to answer.

The rage of the Hessians now became uncontrollable. Their shouts of anger were heard above the roar of the storm, but their repeated demands and threats still failed to make the son of William Crane reveal his knowledge of the place his father was at the time.

The boy was bleeding now from many wounds, but his determination was as marked as when the brutal questions were first asked.

Again and again the Hessians repeated their questions, emphasizing their demands every time by thrusts of their bayonets. The sufferings of the patriotic boy were evident, but they failed to arouse any feeling of pity in the brutal band. His quietly spoken refusal to betray his father served only to increase their rage. With increasing brutality they pricked the lad with their bayonets, but they still failed to elicit any reply to their oft-repeated questions.

The infuriated soldiers continued to press their demands but the lad soon was unable, even if he had been willing, to respond to their demands.

In his exhaustion, bleeding from his many wounds, at last he fell to the floor. Even then the hired Hessians did not cease their efforts and still demanded that he should reveal to them the place where they might find his father. Between the thrusts of their bayonets they repeated their demands, but young Crane, loyal to his father and to his country, still did not answer.

HESSIAN MADE PRISONER BY

MILITIAMAN

The brutal attacks continued until at last the suffering boy was unable to speak. Not a groan had escaped his lips and his silent devotion to his father and to the cause to which his father was faithful was unshaken.

At last, when the brutal soldiers departed, they left the son of William Crane lying dead on the floor of his father's house. Nor did he die in vain. The story of his heroism soon was known throughout the region. Even the Hessians when they had recovered from their anger paid tribute to the lad's unflinching bravery. For years, however, the site of the house at the foot of Galloping Hill remained unmarked. The timbers of the old building decayed, even the foundations disappeared with the passing of the years. But the story of the lad who was true to his country as well as to his father still remained.

Recently the Daughters of the Revolution placed a beautiful marker on the spot where the heroic young son of the patriotic member of the New Jersey Committee of Safety gave up his life rather than betray his father or the land he loved. If the crown of life belongs to those who are faithful unto death, surely the Jersey lad, who died to save his country, deserves one of the brightest.

Chapter III The Hek0ism Of Richarjd Wallace

MOST people are aware that a few years ago old Fort Ticonderoga was restored. To-day one can stand upon its walls and look out upon almost the same sights that greeted Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys in 1775.

The shining waters of Lake Champlain still glisten in the sunlight, the beauty of the Green Mountains and the haze resting over the distant Adirondacks are unchanged. Even the very doors are like those to which young Nathan Beeman conducted Ethan Allen on that memorable May morning, and, after the doughty leader had rapped noisily with the hilt of his sword to arouse Captain Delaplace and his frightened little wife, he demanded the surrender of the fort, and its garrivjmjg^SF*

RUINS OF TICOKDEEOGA son "in the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress. ' ' In this manner for the second time Old Fort 39

Ty fell without a gun having been fired in attack or defense. But the redcoats soon held the fort again, and then late in 1777, it was once more in the hands of the Americans, for John Burgoyne had more serious foes to meet than the little garrison that had been left behind him in the old fort.

The new commander, however, was seriously troubled. He had received word that his foe was still strong enough to send troops against Lincoln and his men who had worked their way in behind the invading force of John Burgoyne and were harassing it in every conceivable manner. Indeed, it was Lincoln's ambition to seize and hold the little fort two miles across Lake Champlain, nearly opposite Ticonderoga. And the very night after the message was received was the time selected by Burgoyne for a surprise attack on Lincoln's troops in the hope of scattering the men and thus putting an end once and for all to their activities. How was the commander of old Fort Ty to send word across the lake to warn General Lincoln? Many vessels of the British fleet still were on the water directly between the two forts. Any boat attempting to pass would surely be taken. To go by land was impossible. And yet Lincoln simply must be informed of bis peril.

At last in the middle of the afternoon the troubled commander of Ticonderoga assembled his men. Frankly he told them of the word he had received concerning the dire peril of General Lincoln and his men unless they could be warned in time. With equal frankness he spoke of the danger of crossing the lake and stated that the venture might be fatal for the man who tried to carry the message for he must swim two miles, finding his way among the enemy's fleet and facing the danger of capture or even death. And there were other perils besides, cramps due to the cold water, loss of way and exhaustion, — all were among the possibilities.

When the commander ceased there was silence in the room — tense and eloquent. The men glanced stealthily at one another, but every countenance was set and stern, for every soldier was fully aware that their leader had not stated too strongly the perils that would beset the man to volunteer for the attempt. And yet there was the unspoken appeal of Lincoln's troops — more eloquent because they were ignorant of the approaching danger.

The stillness lasted until the very air became oppressive. The commander had become silent and not a man as yet had responded to his appeal. The condition was almost intolerable and the whitened faces of the assembly were indicative of the struggle going on in the heart of every soldier.

Suddenly young Eichard Wallace stood up. "I will go," he said quietly.

Instantly the eyes of all were turned toward the courageous young Vermonter. His Scotch blood was up and in his face was shining the reflection of the strength of will and unselfish devotion of his soul to his country. The relief manifested in the expressions on the faces of his comrades was a background for such a picture as is not often seen, even in times of war.

"Good! Good for you, Wallace !" said the 42 commander, touched by the heroic spirit of his boyish soldier and pleased that his appeal had not been in vain.

"And I will go with him," spoke up young Webster quietly from the opposite side of the assembly. The full reaction now had come and the soldiers were loud in their praise and applause. It may be that the loudest were those whose consciences most troubled them. The assembly soon dispersed, however, the men all talking excitedly as they departed.

Young Wallace and Webster remained for a conference with the commander. After details had been discussed and arrangements made for their desperate venture they decided that as soon as darkness fell upon the waters of the lake the two daring volunteers should start.

The hours that intervened were slow and heavy for the waiting soldiers. Each talked over his affairs with a friend, writing and leaving messages for his family in case he should not come back. The impatience of each increased as the minutes slowly dragged on and when at last the moment arrived when they were to start, it was with a feeling of relief that, without the attendance or knowledge of anyone except the commander they walked down to the shore of Lake Champlain. The night air was cold and the water shimmering in the dim light reminded both young adventurers of a field of ice. There was no opportunity, however, for speculating on what might befall and both prepared at once for their plunge.

The message they were to carry to General Lincoln had been written in duplicate and each had a copy which he concealed in his clothing.

Each also was told what the message was so that if either failed to gain the distant shore, the other, provided he succeeded in

GENERAL LINCOLN

crossing, would be able to inform the general of the trap that had been made.

The young soldiers stripped in the chill air and each tied his clothing in a bundle. To this bundle ropes were attached in such a manner that one of the bands was placed aronnd the forehead of the swimmer — leaving the bundle a few feet behind him to be towed as he swam forward. Just after the start was made Wallace's band slipped from its place and becoming fast about his neck nearly strangled him before he was free to resume his efforts.

Slowly and keeping well together and at the same time doing their utmost to proceed silently the two daring swimmers passed into the waters of Lake Champlain. For a time their efforts served to keep them measurably warm, but the water was even colder than they had thought and soon they were beginning to suffer. Directly across the water where the little fleet of their foes was lying they passed, frequently stopping to avoid discovery. The cry of the guards " All's well" was distinctly heard. Both were convinced that the words had an empty sound, however, as far as they were con-

AMERICAN SEAMAN, cerned, for neither really believed that all was well with him.

At last after many delays and frequent stops the two young soldiers were safely past the fleet. Several times they had been fearful their presence was discovered, but fortunately their fears proved groundless and they were not seen by the guard. Before them now stretched a mile of 1 the cold waters of Lake Champlain, seeming to stretch on forever into the night. Already their strength was failing and their bodies were becoming numb. It was impossible to go back even if they had been so minded, but not a thought of abandoning the task they had undertaken had occurred to either. There was no way but forward.

For a time Wallace occasionally called for a stop, but soon the exhaustion of his friend was so great that he dared not urge him to anything except a continuance of his efforts. No signs of pursuit had been seen and apparently

AMERICAN MARINE, the lake before them was free. But their strength was gone.

Wallace whose endurance was manifestly the greater now kept continually near his friend to assist him in case of sudden need. Several times Webster had almost given out and had it not been for the help of his friend he would have disappeared beneath the waters. The brief respite, however, had enabled him to resume his labors and at last the boys were within a hundred feet of the shore they were seeking. Wallace now was almost unaware that he had a friend near him. Great weights seemed to be holding him down. His breath came in gasps. For a long time his hands had been numb and it seemed to him that the cold had entered his very soul. He was scarcely able to see, but dimly aware that the shore was near, he struggled forward, moving with difficulty and scarcely moving at all. By inches the boys swam forward. Neither, with his glazed eyes, could distinguish the outline of the shore. Every action was mechanical, every foot gained increased the suffering.

Suddenly Wallace felt the ground beneath his feet. Instantly abandoning his efforts to swim he stumbled forward. Twice he fell and with difficulty regained his footing, but each fall was forward. He was near the bank and at last with one more desperate effort he gained the shore.

As soon as he had drawn in his bundle of clothing he was reminded of Webster. In the dim light he saw in the water an object which might be the head of his friend. Unmindful of his own condition Wallace again dashed into the lake and swam toward the spot and quickly was aware that his surmise was true. Webster, although he was within ten feet of the shore, was unable to move. Quickly seizing him by the hair of his head Wallace with great suffering dragged his friend ashore. But Webster was exhausted. He was not able even to stand. He was in dire need of a stimulant, but none was to be had. At last in sheer desperation Wallace

SEAMAN, 1798 hastily took his knife and cut several hickory switches with which he "soundly warmed the jacket" of his comrade, by which expression he meant that he warmed him without a jacket. And the improvised restorative worked admirably. In a brief time Webster revived and ( ' soundly berated his restorer. ' ' Wallace, however, did not desist until he was convinced that his friend was indeed able to walk and then the two chilled, shivering young patriots donned their wet and heavy clothing and set out for the camp of Lincoln's men.

Their troubles, however, were not yet at an end. They were aware that guards doubtless had been established and as neither of the boys knew the countersign there was great danger that they might be fired upon by the sentry when they approached, before either could explain the purpose of their coming.

They did not hesitate, however, and once more summoning their little remaining strength they pushed forward into the woods.