Loudon free press. (Loudon, Tenn.) 1852-1855, 1853-12-02
COUNT PULASKI.
A bEGENr OF THE REVOLUTION.
BY GEORGE LIPPARD.

AS he rode, charging there, into the thcheSt
of the battle, he was warrior to look upon,
and never forget.
Mounted on large black horse, whose
strength and beauty Of shape made you forget
the plainness of his caparison, Pulaski himself,
with form six feet in hight, massive chest
and limbs of iron, was attired in a white uni
form, that was seen from afar, relieved by the
black clouds of battle. His face grim with
the scars of Poland was the face of man who
had seen much trouble, endured much wrong
1t was stamped with an expression of abiding
melancholy. Bronzed in hue, lighted by large
dark eyes, with lip darkened bya thick nous
tache, his throat and chin were covered with a
heavy beard, while his hair fell in raven mas
ses from beneath his troopers cap shielded with
a ridge of gFttering steel His hair and
beard of the same hue.
The sword that hung by his side, fashioned of
tempered steel, with hit of iron, was one that
a warrior alone would lift.
1t was in this array he rode to battle, follow
ed by q band of three hundred men, whose IA
ces burned with the scorching Of tropic sun, or
hardened by nothern snows,or bore the scars OF
many battle. They were mostly European;
some Germans, some Polanders, some deser-
ters from the British army. To be taken by
the British would be death on the gibbet; there
fore, they fought to the last gasp, rather than
mutter a word about quarter.
When they charged it was as one man, their
three hundred swords flashing over their heads,
against the clouds of battle. They came down
upon the enemy in terrible silence, without a
word spoken, not even whisper. You could
hear the tramp of the Steeds you could hear the
rafting of their scabbardS, but that was all.
Yet when they closed with the British, ycs
could hear a noise like that of a hundred ham
mers, beating the hot iron on the evil. You
could see Pulaski himself, riding yonder IN his
white uniform, his black steed riding aloft; as
turning his head over his shoulder he spoke to
his men: tForcartS, Brude1n, For1arts."
1t was but broken Germany, yet they under
stool it those three hundred men of sunburnt
face, wounds and gashes. With one burst they
crashed upon the enemy. For few moments
then the ground was covered with dead, while
the living emmy scattered in panic before their
path. -,
1t was on this battle day of Brandywine that
the Count was in his glory; he understood but
little English, so that he spoke what he had to
say with the edge of his word. 1t was Sc
we're Lexicon, but the British soon learned to
read it and to know it, and to fear it. All over
the field, from yonder Quarter Westinghouse,
away to the top Osburn's Hill, the soldiers OF
the enemy saw Pulaski come, and learned to
know his name by heart
That white uniform that bronized visage,
that black horse, with burning eye and quiver-
ing nostrils, they know the warrior well; they
trembed when then they heard him say.
'Forwarts, Brudern, Forwarts!
1t was in the retreat of Brandywine that the
Polander was most terrible. 1t was when the
men of Sullivan-badly armed, poorly fed, shah
billy clad grave way step, by step, before the
overwhelming discipline of the British host,
that Pulaski like battle field, mounted on his
demon steed.
His cap had fallen from his brow His bare
head shone in occasional sunbeam, or grew
crimson with fash from a cannon Or rifle. His
white uniform was rent and stained, in fact from
head to foot, he was covered with DUST and
blood.
Still his right hand arm was free-still it rose
there, executing British hireling when it fell
still his voice was heard, hoarse and husky,
but strong in its every tone-'Forwarts, Bru-
dernr
He beheld the division Of Sullivan retreatng
from the field, he saw the British yonder, strip
ping their coats from their backs, in the mad
ness of pursuit. He looked to the south for
Washington, who, with the reserve, under
Green, was hurrying to the rescue, hut the
American Chief was invisible.
Then Pulaski was convulsed with rage.
He rode madly upon the bayonets of the pur-
suing English, his sword gathering victim after
victim; even there in front Of their whole army,
he flung his steed across the path of the retreat
ing American, he besought them in broken En-
glish, to turn, to make one more effort; he shou-
ted in hoarse tones that the day was not vet
lost
They did not understand his words but the
tones in which they were spoken thrilled their
blood.
That picture, too, standing out from the
clouds of battle-a warrior, convulsed with
passion, covered with blood leaning over the
neck of his steed, while his eyes seemed turn
ed to fire; and the muscles of his bronzed face
withered like serpent-that picture, | say, filled
many heart with revived courage, nerved
many wounded arm for the fight again
Those rctreating turned, they faced the enc
my again-like grey huunde OF boy ooforo the
wolf-they sprung upon the necks of the foe,
and bore them down by one desperate charge.
1t was at this moment that Washington came
rushing once more to the battle.
Those people that known but little of the
American Oeneral VINO called MIN Jne ADlerl-
can Fabus, that is, general compound of pru-
dence and caution, with but spark of enter
prise. American Fabius When you will show
that the Roman Fabius had a heart of fire,
nerves of steel, soul that hungered for the
charge, enterprise that rushed from the wilds
like the Shippack, upon an army like the Bri-
tish at Germantown, or started from ice and
snow like that which lay across the Delaware
upon hords like those of the Hessians, at Tren-
ton-then | will lower Washington known into
Fabius. This comparison of our heroes. with
the barbarian demi-godS Of Rome only illustra-
ted the property of the mind that makes it.
Compare Brutus the assassin of his friend,
with Washington, the savior of the peope!-
Cicero, the opponent of Cataline; with Henry
the champion of continent What beggary
Of thought! Let us learn to be little independ-
ent, to know our great men as they wore, not
by comparison with the barbarian heroes of
old Rome.
Let us learn that Washington was no negG-
tire thing, bnt all chivalry and genius.
1t was in the battle of Brandywine that this
truth was made plain. He came rushing on to
battle. He beheld his men hewn down by the
British; he heard them shrek his name, and
regardless of his personal safety, he rushed to
join them.
Yes. it was in the dread havoc of that retreat
that Washington rushing forward into the very
centre of melee, was entangled in the enemys
troops, on the top of high hill, southwest of