Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1855-08-16
THE MECHANIC HERO.
ArALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

Near Dalworth corner, at the time oi
the Revolution, there stood quiet cot
tage, somewhat retired from the road,
under the shade of stout chesnut tree.
1t was quiet cottage, nesting away
there in one corner of the forest road, a
dear home in the wilderness, with slop-
ing roof, wall Of dark grey stone, and a
easement hidden among vines and flow
ers.
On one side, amid an interval of for
est trees, was seen the rough outlines of
blacksmith shop. There was small
garden in front, with brown gravelled
walk and beds of beautiful flowers
Here, at the time of the Revolution,
there dwelt stout, hardy blacksmith,
his young wife, and her babe. What
cares that blacksmith, working away in
that shady nook of the forest, for war?
What feared he for the peril of tha
times, SO long as his strong arm, ring
ing that hammer on the anvil, might
gain bread for his wife and child? All,
he cared little for war--he took little
note of the panic that shook the valley
when some few mornings before the
battle of Brandywine, while shoeing the
horse of Tory Refugee, he overheard
plot for the surprise and capture of
Washington. The American leader
was to be lured into the folds of the To-
ries; his person once in the British
camp. the English General might send
the 'Troitor Washington home to be
tried in London. Now our blacksmith
working away there in that dim nook of
the forest, without caring for battle or
war, had still a sneaking kindness. for
this Mister Washington, whose name
rang on the lips of all men. So one
night, bidding his wife hasty good bye,
and kissed the babe that reposed on her
bosom, smiling as it slept, he hurried
away to the American camp, and told
the story TO Washington.
1t was morn ere he came back-it
was the dimness of the autumnal morn
ing that the blacksmith was plodding
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
beyond that oak was the blacksmith's
home. With this thought warming his
heart, he hurried on-he hurried on
thinking of the calm young face and
mild blue eye of his wife, who, the night
before, had stood in the cottage door
way, seeing him out of sight, with a
beckoned good bye-thinking of the ba-
by who lay smiling, as it slept, upon
her bosom-he hurried on--he turned
the bend of the woods, he looked upon
his home. Ali what sight was there?
Where the night before be had left
peaceful cottage, smiling under green
chestnut tree, in the light of the setting
sun, now was only heap of black and
smoking embers, and burnt and blast
ed tree. This was his homel There
stood the blacksmith, gazing upon the
wreck of his hearthstone-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 home
had taken fire, and been burnt to Gin
ders, but bis wife and child had escap-
ed--for that be thanked God. With
the toll of his stout arm, playing there
on the anvil, he would build fairer
home for his wife and child, fresh flow
ers should bloom over the walks, and
more lively vines trail over the case
ment. With this resolve kindIing over
his face, the blacksmith stood there,
with cheerful light beeming upon his
large grey eyes, when hand was laid
upon bis shoulder.
He turned and beheld the face of a
neighbor. 1t was neighbor's face,
but there was an awful agony flashing
from those dilaing eyes-there was a
dark and terrible mystery speaking from
those thin lips that moved and moved,
but made nosound. For moment the
farmer tried to speak the horror that
conyulsed his features. At last, fore
;ng the blacksmith down the brown
orsyeled walk, now strewn with cin-
dersl he pointed to the smoking embers.
There, there-amid that heap of black
and smoking ruins, the blacksmith be-
held a dark mass of burnt flesh and