The Cadiz sentinel. [volume] (Cadiz, Ohio) 184?-1851, 1845-12-31
INCIDENT OF '76.
THE HERO OF BRANDYwENE.
BY GEORGE LIPPARD, ESQ.

BY GEORGE LIPPARD, ESQ.
Near Dworth corner, at the time of the Re-
volution, there stood quiet cottage, somewhat
retired from the road, under the shade of stout
chesnut tree. 1t was quiet cottage, Nesting
away there in one corner of the forest road dear
home in the wilderness, with sloping roof, walls
Of dark gray stone, and easement hidden among
vines and flowers.
On one side, amid an interval of the. forest
trees, was seen the rough outlines of a black
smiths shop. There was small garden in front,
with brown gravelIed walk, and beds of wild
flowers.
Here, at the time of the Revolution, there
dwelt a stout blacksmith, his young wife and her
babe. What cared that blacksmith, working
away there in that shadowy nook of the forest,
for war? What feared he for the peril of the
times, so long as his strong arm, ringing that
hammer on the anvil, might gain bread for his
wife and child?
All, he cared little for war, he took little note
OF the panic that shook the valley, when some
few mornings before the battle of the Brandy
wine, while shoeing the horse of Tory Rcll-
gee, he overheard plot for the surprise and cap
tire of Washington. The American leader was
to be lured into the tolls of the Tories; his per-
son once in the British camp, the English Gen
era might send the "Iraitor Washington home
to be tried in London.
Nov our blacksmith, working away there, in
that dim nook of the forest, without ca ing for
battle or war, had still sneak;ng likeness for
this Mister Washington, whose name runn on
the lips of all men, SO one night, bidding his
young wife a hasty goodbye, and Kissing the
babe that reposed on her bosom, smiling as ii
slept, he hurried away to the American camp,and
told his story to Washington.
Ii was morning ere he came back 1t was in
the dmness Of the nutumnal morning, that the
blacksmith was plodding his way along the To-
rest road Some few PAGES ahead there was an
aged oak, standing out into the road "a grim old
veteran of the forest, that had stood the shocks
Of three hundred years. Right beyond that oak
was the blacksmith's home.
With this thought warming his heart he hurried
on. He hurried on. thinking of the calm young
face and mild buc eyes Of that wife, who, the
night before had stood in the cottage door, wa
wing him out of sight with a beckoned good-bve
thinking of the baby, that lay smiling as it
slept upon her bosom, he hurried on--he turned
the bend of the wood, he looked upon his home
All! what sight was there!
Where the night before he had LETT peaceful
cottage, smiling under green chesnut tree, in
the light of the setting sun, now was only heap
of black and smoking embers and burnt and
blasted ree
This was his home!
And there stood the blacksmith gazing upon
that wreck of his hearth stone There he stood
with folded arms and moody brow, but in mo-
ment smile broke over his face.
He saw it all. In the night his home had ta-
ken fire, and been burnt to cinders But his
wife, his child had escaped. For that he thank
ed God
With the toll Of his stout arm, plying there on
the anvil, he would build fairer home for his
wife and child; fresh flowers should bloom over
the garden walks, and more lovely vines trail
along the easement.
With this resolve kndlng over his face, the
blacksmith stood there, with cheerful light
beaming from his dark grey eyes, when-a
hand was laid upon his shoulder.
He turned and beheld the face of a ncighbor
1t was neighbours face, but there was an ag-
ony stamping those plain feaures-here was an
awful agony flushing from those diIating eyes
there was dark and terrible mystery speaking
from those thin lips, that moved and moved, but
made no sound.
For moment that farmer tried to speak the
horror that convulsed his features.
AT last, forcing the blacksmith along the brown
graveIed walk, now strewn with cinders, he
pointed to the smoking embers There, there
amid the heap OF black and smoking ruins, the
blacksmith boheId dark mass of burnt flesh and
biackened bones.
"YOw WJcm shrieked the farmer, as his ag-
ony found words. "The British they came in
the night, they'-Und then he spoke that out
rage, which the lip quivers TO think on, which the
heart grows palsied to teI-that outrage too foul
TO name-"Your wife," he shrieked, pointing 10
that hideous thing, amid the smoking ruins; ''thc
British they murdered your wife, they flung her
dead body in the flames they dashed your child
against the hearthstonem
This was the farmers story.
And there, as the light of the breaking day
fell around the spot, there stood the husband, the
father, gazing upon that mass Of burned flesh
and blackened bones-dH that wdS once his rife
Do you ask me for the words that trembled
from his white lips! Do you ask me for the fire
that blazed in his eye?
| cannot tell you. But can tell you that there
was vow going up to Heaven from that black
smiths heart; that there was cenched hand
upraised in the light of tho breaking day!
Yes, yes, as the first CLEAN Of the autumnal
dawn broke round the spot, as the first long
gleam of sunlight CLEANED over the peeled skull
of that fair young wife-she was that last night
--there was vow going up 10 Heaven, the vow
Of a maddened heart and anguished brain.
How was that vow kepta Go there to Brandy
wine, and where the carnage gathers thickes,
where the fight is most bloody, there you may
see stout form siriding on, lifting huge ham
mer into light Where that hammer falls, i'll
that hammer strikes, it crushes! Ill
is The blacksmiih's form. And the war cry that