Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1852-03-11
THE STORY TELLER.
THE MECHANIC HERO.
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.


I'll use the adv antage of my pow'r ..
And Law the summers dust with show'rs Of blood "
Rain'd from the wounds of slaught'd Englishman
--.....-. .---.t.-.- SHAKESPEARE.
Near Dlworth corner, at the time of the rev.
olntion, there stood quiet cottage, somewhat
retired from the road under the shade of a stout
chesnut tree. 1t was quiet cottage, nesting
away there in one corner of the forest road, a
dear home in the wilderness, with slopng roof,
den among the vines and flowers.
On one side, amid an interval of the forest
trees, was seen the rough outline of black
smiths shop There was a small 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 cares that blacksmith, work.
ing away there in that shadowy nook of the for
est, 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 childl
All, NE CdreQ jltti6 wal. HO tooh ht'iC
note of the panic that shook the valley, when
some few mornings before the battle of Brandy
wine, while shoeng the horse of Tory Refu-
gee, he overheard plot for the surprise and
capture of Washington. The American leader
was 10 be lured into the hands of the Tories ;
his person once in the British camp, the English
Gen eral might send the 'Traitor Washing
ton home, TO be tried in London. -...-... .
Now our blacksmith, working away there,
in that dip nook of the forest, without caring
for battle or war, had still sneaking kindness
for this Mister Washington, whose name rung
on the lips of all men. So one night, bidding
the babe that reposed on her bosom, smiling
it slept, he hurried away to the American camp,
and told his story to Washington. ... ...
Ii was morning ere he came back. Ii was
the blacksmith was ploddug his way, along the
forest road. Some few PAGES ahead there
was an aged oak, standing out in the road-a
grim old veteran of the forest, that had stood
the shocks of three hundred years. Right be-
yond the oak that blacksmith home.
With this thought warming his heart, he
hurried on. He 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-bye thinking of the baby, that
Law smiling as it slept upon her bosom, he hur-
ried on-he turned :he bend of the wood-he
looked upon his home.
All! what sight was there!
Where, the night before, he had left peace
able cottage, srnl'ing under green chesnut
tree, in The light of the setting sun, now was
only heap of black and smoking embers, and
a burnt and blasted tree!
This was his home
Aud lbeue steod the blacksmith, gazing up
on that wreck of his hearth-stone-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 been burned to cinders. But
his wife, his child had escaped. For that he
thanked God.
wiah the toll of his stout arm, plying there
on the anvil he would build farer home for
his wife and child; fresh flowers should bloom
over the walks, and more lovely vines trail
along the easement.
With these resolves kindling over his face,
the blacksmith stood there, with cheerful light
beamng upon his large gray eyes when-a
hand was laid upon his shoulder.
He turned and beheld the face of neigh
Itwas neighbor's face, but there was an
awful agony stamping those plain features
there was an awful agony flashing from those
dilatiug eyes-there was a dark and terrible
mystery speaking from those thin lips, tha,
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 grayelled walk, now strewn with Gin
ders, he pointed to the smoking embers. There
there-amid that heap of black and smoking
ruins, he behed dark mass of burnt flesh ant
blackened bones. .., ......, ... r..,...-.
0i Your aoieP shrieked the farmer, as his
agony found words. The British! They
came in the night; they then he spoke
that outrage which the lip quivered to think on
which the heart grows pasied to tell--tha
outrage too foul to name Your wife!' ht
shrieked, pointing to that hldeous thing annie
the Stacking ruins. The Brtish-they mur
dered your wife; they flung her dead body il
the flames they dashed your child against tht
hearth-stonep .,... ........ .....
This was the farmers story ,ares -. .r
oii And, there, as the light of the breaking day
fell around the spot, there stood the husband
the father, gazing upon that mass of flesh ant
blackened bones-aU that ,oas once his ,oye.'
% DO you ask me for the words that tremble'
from 'fis white lips! Do you ask me for tn
fire that blazed in his eyei " |"
cannot tell you. But can tell you tha
there was a vow going up to Heaven from
that blacksmith's heart; that there was
clenched hand upraised in the light of tn
breaking day. 's''''''''' y. yH'e 1oi ta'.1
Yes, yes, as the first CLEAN of the autumna
dawn brcke around the spot, the FIRST Ions
eleam of sunlight sireamed over the peeled
skull Of that fair young wife--she was that las
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