The weekly Columbian., 1857-01-31
Revolutionary Incidents.

l
ry was embodied in the person of stout
blacksmith, aye, an humble blacksmith,
but in his stout frame, hardened with toll,
throbbed as generous an impulse of free
dom as ever beat in the bosom of Lafay-
cite, o, around the heart of mad Anthony
Wayne.
1t was in full tide of the retreat that a
follower of the American camp, who had
at least shouldered cart-whip in his
country's service, was dragging bag
gage wagon from the field Of battle, while
some short distance behind body of con-
tinentals were pushing forward with a
body of British ia pursuit.
The wagon had arrived at narrow
point of the by-road leading to the south,
where two high banks of rocks and crags,
arising on either side, afforded just space
sufficient for the passage of the baggage
wagons, and not an inch more.
His eyes were arrested by the sight of
stout, muscular man, apparently some
forty years of age, extended at the foot of
tree at the very opening of the pass
He was clad IN the coarse attire of a me-
chanic. His coat had been flung aside,
and with his shirt sleeves rolled up from
his muscular arm, he lay extended on the
turf with his rifle in his grasp, while the
blood poured in torrent from his right
leg, which was broken at the knee bv a
cannon ball.
The wagoner's sympathes were ar
rested by the sight He would have
paused in the very instance of his flight,
and placed the wounded blacksmith in
his wagon, but the stout hearted man re-
fused.
"Ill not go into your wagon" said he,
in his rough way, but I'll tell you what
| will do. Do you see yonder cherry
tree on the top of that rock that hangs
over the road! Do you think you can
lift a man of my build up there! Fol-
you see neighbor," he continued, while
the blood flowed down from his wound
q never meddled with the Britishers
until they came trampling over this val
ley and turned my house down. And
now Pm liddled to pieces, and haint got
more than fifteen minutes in me; but
I've got three balls in my cartridge-box
and sojust prop me up against that tree
and I'll give the whole three shots, and
then.' exclaimed the blacksmith, "1'Il
die"
The wagner started his horses ahead
and then with sudden effort dragged
the wounded man along the sod to the
foot of the tree. His face was to the ad
vancing troopers, and while his shattered
leg hung over the bank, the wagoner
rushed on his way, when the Ndoomed
blacksmith proceeded coolly to load his
rifle.
1t was not long before body of Amer
ican soldiers rushed by with the British
in pursuit. The blacksmith greeted them
with shout, and, raising his rifle to his
shoulder, he picked the foremost f,om
his spirited steed, with the exclamation
"That's for General Washington! -
In moment the rifle was reloaded
and again it was fired, and the pursuing
British rode over another of their fallen
officers.
That's for myself" cried the black.
smith, and then, with hand sti ong with
the feeling of approaching death, agai,
loaded, raised his rifle-fred his last shot
and another soldier kissed the sod! A
tear quivered in the eye of the dying
blacksmith.
/ And that" he said, with husky
voice, which strengthened almost into a
shout, " is for mad Anthony Wayne!"
| Long after the battle Of Brandywine
was past, the body was discovered against
the tree, with the features frozen in
death. smiling grimly, while his right
hand still grasped the never-failing rifle
And thus died one Of the thousand
brave mechanic heroes of the Revolution;
brave in the hour of battle, undaunted in
the hour Of retreat. and undismayed in
the moment of death.