San Andreas independent., 1857-03-07
The Heroic Blacksmith.

The hero of the following thrilling story
was embodied in the person Of stout
blacksmith, aye, an humble blacksmith,
but his stout frame, hardened with toll,
throbbed as generous an impulse of free
dom as ever beat in the bosom of La Fay
cite, or 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 a cart-whip in his
country's service, was dragging baggage
wagon from the field of battle, while some
short distance behind, body of continen-
tails were pushing forward with body of
British in pursuit.
The wagon had arrived at narrow point
of the by-road leading to the South, where
two high banks of rocks and craigs, ari-
sing 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 a
stout muscular man, apparently some forty
years of age, extended at the foot of a
tree at the very opening of the pass. He
was clad in the course attire of mechanic.
His coat had been flung aside, and 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 by cannon ball.
The wagoner's sympathies were arrested
by the sight. He would have paused in
the very instance of his fight, and placed
the wounded blacksmith in his wagon, but
the stout-hearted man refused.
"l'll not 90 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? For you see
neighbor," he continued, while the blood
flowed down his wound, " ] nevermeddled
with the Britishers until they came tramp
ling over the valley and burned my house
down. And now am all riddled to pieces,
and hain't got more than fifteen minutes
in me but I've got three balls in my cat
ridge-box, and so just prop me up against
that tree, and I'll give the whole three
shots and then" exclaimed the blacksmith,
"Pll die"
The WAGNER started his horses ahead
and then with a sudden effort dragged the
wounded man along the sod to the foot of
the tree. His face was to the advancing
troopers and while his shattered leg hung
over the bank, the WAGNER rushed on his
way, when the doomed blacksmith pro-
ceeded coolly to load his rife
1t was not long before body of Ameri-
can soldiers rushed by the British in pur-
suit The blacksmith greeted them with
a shout, and, raising his rifle to his shoul-
der he picked the foremost from his spiri-
ted steed, with the exclamation
sThat's for General Washington p
In moment the rife 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 strong with
the feeling of approaching death, again
loaded, raised his rife-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 a husky
voice, which strengthened almost into q
shout, " is for mad Anthony Wayne p
Long after the battle of the 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 rife.
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 aeath