Monmouth weekly herald. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1854-1860, 1857-03-26
Revolutionary Incidents.

The hero of the following thrilling sto
ry was embodied in the person of a 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, or around the heart of mad Antho
ny Wayne.
1t was in the full tide of the retreat
that follower of the American camp
who had at least shouldered cart whip
in his country's service, was dragging q
baggage wagon from the field of battle
while some short distance behind, body
of Continentals 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 crags
arising on either side, afforded just space
enough for the passage Of the wagon, 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
a tree at the very opening Of the pass
He was clad in the coarse attire of 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 rife in his grasp, while the
blood poured torrent from his right leg,
which was broken at the knee by can
non ball.
The wagoncr's sympathies were arrest
ed 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-hearteG man refused
I'll not 90 in your wagon" said he. in
his rough way, /" but | 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 that you can lift
a man Of my build up there? For you see
neighbour" he continued, while the blood
flowed from the wound, never meddled
with the Brtishers until they came tramp
ling over the valley and burned my house
down. And now am riddled to pieces
and hain't got more than fifteen minutes
in me. but have got three balls in my
cartridge-box, and so just prop me VI
against that tree, and I'll give the whole
three shots, and them" exclaimed the
blacksmith, IN die"
The WAGNER started his horses ahead
and then with sudden effort dragged the
wounded man along the sod to 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 proceeded
coolly to load his rife.
1t was not long before body Of Amer
lean 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 from his
spirited steed, with the exclamation:
That's for General Washington!'
In moment the rife was reloaded
and again it was fired, and the pursuing
British rode over another of their 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, fired his last Shot
and another soldier kissed the sod A
tear quiyered 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!7
Long after the battle of Brandy
wine was past, the body was discovered
against the tree, with his features frozen
in death, smiling grimly. while his right
hand 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 ofretreat. and undismayed in the mo-
Fment of death.