Eastern times., 1855-04-12
8iograpgp. B
PULASK

1t was at the battle of Brandywine that
Count Pulaski appeared in all his glory.
As he rode charging there, into the thick
est of the battle, he was warrior to look up
on but once and never forget.
Mounted on a large black horse, whose
strength and beauty of shape made you forget
the painness of his caparison, Pulaski, with 4
form six feet in 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 stamp
ed with an expression of abiding melancholy.
Bronzed in hue, lighted by large black eyes,
with the lip darkened by thick houstache,
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 glitterng steel. His hair and beard
were of the same hue.
The sword that hung by his siGe, fashioned
of tempered steel, with a hilt Of iron, was one
that warrior a!ons could lift
1t was in this array that he rode TO battle,
followed by band of three hundred men,
whose faces. burnt with the scorching of a
tropical sun-or hardened by northern SHOWS.
bore the scars of many battle. They were
mostly Europeans-some Germans, some Po-
landers, some deserters from the British army
These were the men to fight. To be taken
bysshe British would be death on the gibbet !;
therefore they fought their best, and fought to
their last grasp, rather than mutter a word
about quarter
When they charged, it was one man, their
three hundred swords flashing over their heads
against the cloud OF battle. They came down
upon the enemy in terrible silence, witheut
word spoken, not eveu 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 noise like the echo
of hundred hammers beating the hot iron
'on the anvil. You could see Pulaski himself,
riding yonder in his white uniferm-his black
steed rearing aloft, he spoke to his men
<Forwarls, Brudern, Forwarts =
1t was but broken German, yet they under
stood it, those three hundred men with sun
burnt faces, wounds and gashes. With one
burst they rushed upon the enemy. For
few moments they used their swords and then
the ground was covered with dead, while the
living enemy scattered in panic before their
path.
1t was on this battle day of Brandywinc,
that the Count was in his glory. He under
stood but little English, so he spake what he
had to say with the edge of the sword. 1t
was 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 Osborn's
hill, the soldiers of the enemy saw Pulaski
come, and learned to know his name by heart
The white uniform, that bronzed visagc,
that black horse with burning eyes aud quiv-
ering nostrils, they knew the warrior well,
they trembled when they heard him say
Forwarts, Brudern, Forwarts!'
IL was al tne retreat OF DFdHdyWlne lnhl Tue
Polander was most terrible 1t was when the
men of Sullivan-badly armed, poorly fed,
shabbily clothed-gave way, step by step, be-
fore the overwhelming discipline Of the Brit
ish host, that Pulaski looked like battle fiend
mounted on his demon steed.
His cap had fallen from his brow. His
broad head shone in an occasional cannon or
rife.
His white uniform was rent and stained ;
in fact, from head to fcct, 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
tnusky, but strong in every turn Forwarts,
Brudernl'
: He beheld the division of Sullivan retreat
ing from the field he saw the British yonder
stripping their coats from their backs, in the
madness of pursuit. He looked at the South
for Washington, who with the reserve under
Greene, was hurrying 10 the rescue, but the
American chiet was not in view.
Then Pulaski was CONFUSED with rage.
He rode madly upon the bayonets of the
pursuing British; his sword gathering victim
after victim, there, in tront OF their whole
army; he flung his steed across the path Of
the retreating Americans, he besought them
in broken English to turn, and make one more
effort; he shouted in hoarse tones that the day
was not yet lost
They did not understand his words, but the
tone in which he spoke thrilled their blood.
That picture too, standing out from the
clouds of battle-a warrior convused witt
passion, covered with blood, leaning over tht
neck of his steed, while his eyes seemed turned
to fire, and the muscles of his bronzed face
writhing like serpents-that picture, say
filed many a heart with new courage, nervet
many wounded arm to the fight again.
These retreating men turned-they face'
the enemy again-like the wolf at bay betor
the blood-hounds- sprang upon the neck
of the foe, and bore them down by one des
,perate charge.
The people know but little of the characte
of Washington, who term the American Fa