The Jeffersonian. [volume] (Stroudsburg, Pa.) 1853-1911, 1855-05-03
PULASKI.


thickest OF the battle, he was warrior
to look upon but once and never to forget
Mounted on large black horse, whose
strength and beauty of shape made you
forget the plainness of his caparison, Pu
laski, himself, with form six feet il
height, massive chest, and limbs of iron
was seen from afar relieved by the black
cloud 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 black eyes, with the lip darkened
by thick moustache, his throat and chin
were covered with heavy beard, while
his hair fell in raven masses from beneath
his troopers cap, shielded with a ridge OF
glittering steel. His hair and beard were
of the same hue.
The sword that hung by his side, fash
oned of tempered steel, with hilt of iron,
was one that warrior alone could lift.
1t was in this array that he rode to the
battle, followed by band of three hun
dred men whose faces, burnt with the
scorching of tropical sun, or hardened
by northern SHOWS, bore the scars of ma
ny battle. They were mostly Europe
ans some Germans, some Polanders,
some deserters from the British army
These were the men to fight. To be ia
| ken bv the British would be death on the
gibbet; therefore they fought their best
and fought their 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 cloud of battle =
They came down upon the enemy in ter
rible silence, without word spoken, even
a whisper.
You could hear the tramp of their
steeds, you could hear the rattling of their
scabbards, but that was all. As they
closed with the British, you could hear
a noise like the echo of hundred ham
mers beating the hot iron on the anvil
| You could see Pulaski himself riding yon-
| der in his white uniform-his black steed
rearing aloft, as turning his head over his
shoulder, he spoke to his men:
"FoRwATs, BRUDERN FoRwARTs !"
! 1t was but broken German, yet they
understood it, those three hundred men
of sunburt faces, wounds and gashes.-
With one burst they rushed upon the en-
emy. For few moments they used their
swords, and then the ground was cover
ed with dead while their living enemy
scattered in panic before their path.
1t was on this battle day of Brandy
wine, that the Count was in his glory
He understood but little English, SO he
spake what he had to say with the edge
of the sword 1t was a severe lexicon,
but the British soon learned to read it,
and to know it.
All over the field from yonder Quaker
meeting house away to the top of Os-
/ borncs hill, the soldiers of the enemy saw
! Pulaski come, and learned to know his
name by heart.
The white uniform, that bronzed visage,
that black horses burning eyes and quiv-
ering norstrils, they knew the warrior
we'll, they trembled when they heard him
say
"FoRwARTs, BRUDERN FoRwARTs!"
1t was at the retreat Of Brandywine
that the Polander was mo st terrible. Ii
was when the men of Sullivan-badly
armed, poorly fed, shabbiIy clothed-gave
way, step by step, before the oyerwhel-
ming discipline of the British host, that
Pulaski looked like battle fend mount
ed on bis demon steed.
His cap had fallen from his brow
His broad head shorn in an occasional
sunbeam or grew crimson with the fash
of an occasional cannon or rife.
His white uniform was rent and stained;
in fact, from head to foot, he was covered
with dust and blood.
Still his right arm was free; still it
rose there, executing British hireling
when it fell; still his voice was heard,
hoarse and husky, but strong in every
turn-"Forwarts, Brudern !"
He beheld the division of Sullivan re-
treating from the field; he saw the British
yonder stripping their coats from their
backs, in the madness of pursuit. He
looked to the South for Washington who
with the reserve under Greene, was hur.
rying to the rescue, but the American
chief was not in view.
Then Pulaski was eonvulsed with rage
He rode madly upon the bayonets oI
the pursuing British, his sword gathering
victim after victim, even there, in front oi
the whole army; he flung, his steed acros:
the path of the retire ating Americans be be-
sought them in his broken English to turn
and make one effort he shouted in boarst
tones that the day was not yet lost
They did not understand his words bu
the tone in which he spoke thrilled theil
blood.
The picture, too, standing out from tn n,
clouds of battle--a warrior conVulsed Will
passion, covered with blood, leaning Owe
the neck of his steed. while his eyes seem
ed turned to fire, and the muscles OF hi
bronzed face writhing like serpents-tha
picture, / say filled many heart witt
new courage, neryed many wounded
Al q