Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current, 1846-01-22
From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier.
THE HERO OF THE BRANDYWINE

4A41 444SANO OC Dnh1NO1 w 11N
From the Lecture of George Lippard, Esq; de-
llvered before the William Writ Institute,
being the first of a series on The Romance
OF the Revolution" . E 10
Near Dilworth corner, at the time of the
Revolution, there stood quiet cottage,
somewhat retired from the road, under the
shade OF a stout chestnut tree. 1t was a
quiet cottage, nesting away there in one
corner of the forest road, a dear home in the
wilderness, with sloping roof, walls of dark
grey stone, and easement hidden among
vines and flowers. f TT .
On one side, amid an interval of the for
est trees, was seen a rough outline of a
blacksmith's shop. There was a garden in
'front.' with brown gravelled walk, and
beds of wild flowers. +.
Here, at the time of the Revolution, there
dwelt 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 Brandywine, while shoe ng the horse
OF Tory Refugee, he overheard plot for
the surprise and capture of Washington
The American leader was to be lured into
the tolls of the Tories; his person once in
the British camp, the English General might
send the " Traitor Washington home, to
be tried in London. -..,
Now our blacksmith, working away there,
in that dim nook of the forest, without car
ing for battle or war, had still a secret
kindness for this Mister Washington, whose
name rung on the lips of all men. So one
night, bidding his young wife hasty good
bye, and kissing the babe that reposed on
her bosom, smiling as it slept, he hurried
away to the American camp, and told his
story to Washington.
1t was morning ere he came back 1t
was in the dimness of the autumnal morn
ing, that the blacksmith was plodding his
way along the forest 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 house. ..t
With this thought warming his heart, he
hurried on. Hurried ON, thinking of the
calm young face, and mild blue eyes of that
wife, who, the night before, had stood in the
cottage door, waving him out of sight with
beckoned good By thinking of the baby
that lay smiling as it slept upon her bosom
he turned the bend of the wood--he look.
ed upon his home. q: ... f..t, hess .
All, what sight was there ;@H. ~
hnro he ;Dl,t luc L L. 1.n
peaceful cottage, smiling under green
chestnut tree, in the light of the setting sun,
there was only a heap of black smoking en-
bers and burnt and blasted tree. This
was his home
And there stood the blacksmith gazing
upon that wreck of his hearthstone there
he stood with folded arms and moody brow,
but in moment smile broke over his face.
He saw it all. In the night his house had
taken fire and had burned To cinders. But
his wife, his child had escaped. For that
he thanked 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 kindling over his face,
the blacksmith stood there, with cheerful
light beaming from his large grey eyes,
when-a hand was laid upon his shoulder.
lie turned ard beheld the face of neigh
Dor. ... II ID,
1t was a neighbours face, but there was an
awful agony stamping those plain features
there was an awful agony flashing from
those dilating eyes-there was a dark and
terrible mystery speaking from those thin
lips, that moved and moved, but made no
sound. r.-. -
For moment that farmer tried to speak
the horror that convulsed his features.
At last, forcing the blacksmith along the
brown gravelled walk, now strewn with cin-
ders, he pointed to the smoking embers.-
There, there-amid thad heap of black and
smoking ruins, the blacksmith beheld da,k
mass of burnt flesh and blackened bones. 81
" Your Wife!" shrieked the farmer, as
his agony found words. "The British, they
came in the night, they'--and then he
spoke that outrage which the lips quivers to
think on, which the heart grows palsied to
outrage too foul to name" Your
wife" she shrieked, pointing to that hideous
thing, amid the smoking ruins; "the Brit
ish have murdered your wife, they flung her
dead body in the Aames--they dashed your
child against the hearthstone
This was the farmers story. .'
And there, as the light of the breaking
day fell around that spot, there stood the
husband and father, gazing upon that mass
of burned flesh and blackened bones-aA
that aOas once his ,cJe. ., .a..
Do you ask me for the words that tremb-
led from his white lips2 Do you ask me
for the fire that blazed in his eye?
cannot tell you. ButI can tell you that
there was vow going up to Heaven from
that blacksmith's heart; that there was a
clenched hand, appraised, in the light of the
breaking day. .i .> --.
Yes, yes, as the fiIst CLEAN of the autumn
nal dawn broke around the spot, as the first
long CLEAN of sunlight streamed over the
peeled skull of that fair young wife-she was
that last night-there was a vow going up
TO Heaven, the VOW of maddened heart
and anguished brain. . t-.4
How was the VOW kept? Go there to
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