Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1860-07-25

1t was the at the battle of Brandy wine
that Count Pulaski appeared in all his glory.
As ne rode, charging there, into the thick
est OF the battle, he was q warrior to look
upon but once, and never forget
Mounted on large black horse, whose
strength and beauty Of shape made you for
get the plainness of his caparison. Pulaski
himself, with form six feet ii. height mas
sive chest and limbs of iron, was attired in
white uniform, that was seen from afar. re-
lieved by the black clouds of battle. His
face, grim with the scars of Poland. was the
face of of man who had seen much trou-
bic, endured much wrong. 1t was stamped
with an expression of abiding melancholv.-
Bronzed in hue, lighted by large dark eyes,
with the lip darkened by thick noustacbe
his throat and chin were covered with 4 hes,
w beard, while his hair fell in raven masses
from beneath his troopers cap, shielded with
ridge of glittering steel. His hair and
beard were of the same hue.
The sword that hung by his side. FASH
ioncd oftempored steel with a hilt Of iron
was one that warrior alone could lift
1t was in this array he rode to battle. fol-
lowed BY band of three hundred men, whose
faces, burnt with the scorching of a tropical
sun, or hardened by northern SHOWS. bore
the sears of many battles They were most
ly Europeans, some Polanders, some deserters
from tie British army. These were the men
to fight To be taken by the British would
be death on the gibbet therefore, they fought
their best and fought to the last gasp, .rath-
er than mutter word about Quarter
When they charged it was as one man.
their three hundred swords flashing over
their heads, against the~ clouds of battle
They came down upon the enemy in terrible
silence, without word spoken, not even a
whisper, You could hear the tramp of their
steeds, you could hear the rafting of their
seabbards, but that was all.
Yet when they closed with the British. Won
could hear noise like the echo of hundred
hammers, beating the hot iron on the anvil
You conld see Pulaski himself, riding wonder
in his white uniform, his black steed rearing
aloft as turning his head over his shoulder
he spoke to his men
"Forwarts, Brudern, forwarts p
1t was but broken German, yet they un-
derstood it, those three hundred men of sun-
burnt face, wounds and gashes. With one
burst they crashed upon the enemy. For few
moments they used their swords, and then
the gronnd was covered with the dead. while
the living enemy scattered in panic before
their path.
It was on this battie-day Of Brandywine
! that the Count was in his glory He under
! stood hnt little English, so he spake what he
had to say with the edge of his sword. It
was severe Lexicon. but the British soon
learned to read it, and to know it, and fear
It. All over the field, from yonder Quaker
meeting-hou away to the top of Osborne's
Hill, the soldiers of the enemy saw Pulaski
come, and learned to know his name by heart.
That white uniform, that bronzed visage,
that black horse with burning eye and quiv-
ering nostrils, they knew the warrior well {
they trembled when they heard him say
''Forwarts. Brudern, forwarts y
II was in the Retreat of Brandywine, that
the Polander was most terrible It was when
the men Of Sullivan--badly armed, poorly
fed, shabbily clad-gave way, step BY step,
before the overwhelming discipline of the
British host that Pulaski looked like a bat
tle-6end, mounted on his demon.steed
His cap had fallen from his brow. His
barred head .shone in an occasional sunbeam,