The Jeffersonian. [volume] (Stroudsburg, Pa.) 1853-1911, 1855-05-03
with one desnerate charge.

r compounded of prudence and caution, with
but spark of enterprise. American Fa-
; bius When will you show me the Ro-
/ man Fabius that had heart of fire,
: nerves of steel, soul that hungered for
! the charge, an enterprise that rushed from
wilds like Sippock, upon an army like
that of the British at Germantown, or
started from ice and snow, like that which
, lay across the Delaware, upon hordes like
! those of the Hessians at Trenton-then l
J will lower Washington down into Fabius.
. This comparison of our heroes with the
barbarian demigods of Rome, only illus
trates the poverty of the mind that makes
| it.
! Compare Brutus, the assassin of his
friend, with Washington, the deliverer of
his people Cicero, the opponent of Cat
aline, with Henry, the champion of con-
tinent What beggary of thought! Let
US learn to be little independent, to know
our great men as they were not by COM
parison with the barbarian heroes of old
Rome.
Let US learn that Washington was no
negative thing, but all chivalry and genius.
1t was at the battle of the Brand ywine
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.
1t was, at this moment that Washington
came rushing on once more into battle.
Yes, it was in the dead havoc of that
retreat that Washington, rushing forward,
into the very centre of the melee, was en-
tangled in the enemies troops on the top
of high hill, southwest of the meeting
house, while Pulaski was sweeping on with
his grim smile, to have one more bout with
the red coats
Washington was in terrible danger
his troops were sweeping to the south
the British troopers were sweeping up the
hill and around him-while Pulaski, on
a hill some yards distant, was scattering
a parting blessing among the hordes of
Hanover.
1t was glorious prize, that MIsTHER
Washington in the heart of the British
army.
Suddenly the Polander turned-his eye
caught the sight of the iron gray and his
rider. He turned to his troopers his
Whiskered lip was wreathed with grim
smile--he waved his sword-he pointed
to the iron gray and his rider.
There was but one movement.
With true impulse that iron band
wheeled their war horses, and dark body,
solid and compact, was speeding over the
valley, like thunder-bolt sped from the
heavens-three hundred swords rose gilt
tering in a faint glimpse of sunlight--and
in front of the avalanche, with his form
raised to his full height, dark frown on
bis brow, fierce smile on his lip, rode
Pulaski, like spirit reused into life, by
the thunderbolt he rode-his eyes were
fixed on the iron gray and his rider--his
band had but one look, one will, one shout,
! WASHINGTON!
The British troops had encircled the
American leader--already the head Of
that traitor, Washington, seemed to yawn
upon the gates of London.
But what trembling of earth in the val
ley yonder What means it?
What terrible beating of hoofs, what
does it portend
That omnions silence--and now that
shout-not of words or of names, but that
half yell, half hurrah which shrieks from
the iron men as they scent their prey !!
! What means it all
Pulaski is on our track the terror of
the British army is in our wake!
And on he came, and his gallant band.
A moment and he had swept over the Brit
ishers, crushed, rnangled, dead and dy
ing they strewed the green sod-ho had
passed over the hill, passed the form of
Washington!
Another moment, and that iron band
had whceled-back to the same career of
death they came Routed, defeated
crushed, the red coats flee from the hill,
while the iron band swept around the form
of George Washington-they encircle him
with their forms of oak-their swords of
, steel--the shout of his name shrieks through
the air, and away to the American host
they hear him in all soldiers Joy.
1t was at Savannah that night came
down upon Pulaski.
Yes, | see him now, under the gloom
Of night riding toward yonder rampant,
f his black steed rearing aloft, while two
, hundred of his own men followed at his
back.
Right on, neither looking to the right
or left, he rides, his eye fixed upon the
cannon of the British-his sword cleaning
). over his head
For the last time they hear that war
{ cry --"FoRwARTs, BRUDERN FoRwARTs'
r Then they saw the black horse plung-
ing forward, his fore feet resting on the
9 cannon of the enemy while his rider rose
4 in all the pride of his face bathed in {
r flush of red light.
: The flash once gone, they saw Pulaski
$ no more. But they found him-yes, be
t meath the cnemy's cannon crushed by th'
i same gun that killed his steed---yes, thel
found him, the horse and bis rider togeth
lnr IN death that noble face 0larin0 in th,