Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1874-12-21

necks of the foe and bore them down by
one desperate charge.
1t was at this moment that Washing
ton came rushing once more to the bat
tie. The people know but little of the
American general who call him the
American Fabius, that is, compound
of prudence and caution. with but
spark of enterprise. American Fabius !
When you will show me that the Roman
Fabius had a heart of fire, nerves of
steel, soul that hungered for the charge,
an enterprise that rushed from the winds
like the Sippack. upon the British at
Germantown, or started from ice and
snow like that which lay across the Del
aware. upon hordes like those of the
Hessians at Trenton-then [ will lower
Washington down to Fabius. This COM
parison of our heroes with the barbarian
deml gods of Rome only illustrates the
poverty of the mind that makes it. Com
pare Brutus, the assassin of his friend,
with Washington, the savior of the peo-
pie Cicero, the opponent of Cataline,
with Henry, the champion of a conti-
nent What beggary of thought! Let
us learn to be little independent, to
know our great men as they were, not
by comparison with the bar barian heroes
of old Rome Let US learn that Wash
ington was no negative thing, but all
chivalry and genius. 1t wasin the bat
tie of Brandywine that this truth was
made plain. He beheld his men hewn
down by the British; he heard them
shrek his name, and regardless of his
personal safety, he rushed to join them.
Yes. it was in the dread havoc of that
retreat that Washington, rushing for
ward into the very centre of the melee,
was entangled in the enemy's troops, on
the top of high hill, southwest of the
meeting house, while Pulaski was sweep
ing on with his grim smile to have one
more bout with the eager red coats.
Washington was in terrible danger-h1s
troops were rushing to the south-the
British troops came sweeping up the hill
a :. =
and around him-while Pulaski, on a
hill some hundred yards distant, was
scattering u parting blessing among the
hordes of Hanover. 1t was a. glorious
prize, this Mister Washington, in the
hearts of the British army.
Suddenly the Polander turncd-his
eye caught sight of the iron grey and his
rider. He turned to his troopers his
lips wreathed with a grim smile he
waved his sword-he pointed to the iron
grey and his rider. There was but a mo-
ment. With one impulse that iron band
wheeled their war horses, and then a
dark body, solid and compact was speed
ing over the valley like thunderbolt
from the sky-three hundred swords
rose glittering in the faint glimpse of
sunlight. In front Of the avalanche,
with his form raised to its full height,
dark frown on his brow. a fierce smile
on his lip, rode Pulaski. Like spirit
reused into life by the thunderbolt he
rode-his eyes were fixed upon the iron
grey and its rider-his band had but
one look, one shout, for Washington.
The British troops had encircled the
American leader-already. they felt Sc
cure of their already the head Of
| the traitor, Washington, seemed to yawn
above the gates of London. But that
trembling of the earth in the valley yon
der. What does it mean i? That terri
BILE beating of hoofs, what does it por
tend? That ,ominous silence, and now
that shout not of words nor names, but
that half yell, half hurrah, which burst:
from the Iron Men. as they scent theil
prey. What means it all? Pulaski i:
on our track ! The terror of the British
army is in our wake And on he cam,
(. The and his gallant band. A moment
and he swept over the Britishers-crush
ed, mangled, dead, dying, they strewet
the green sod-he had passed over tn,
hill-he had passed the form of Wash
\ ington. Another moment ! And tn
iron band had wheeled-back in tn
same, career of death they came Rout
ed, defeated, crushed, the redcoats he
from the form of George Washington
they encircle him in their forms of oak
their swords of steel-the shout of hi
name shrieks through the air, and ava,
to the American host they bear him il
all a soldiers battle joy.
1t was at Savannah that night cam
down upon Pulaski. Yes, see him now
under the gloom ofnight, riding forwar
toward yonder ramparts, his black stee
rearing aloft, while two hundred of hi
iron men follow at his back. Right on
neither looking to the right or left, b
rides, his eyes fixed upon the cannon Q
the British. his sword cleaning over hi
head. For the last time they hear tha
war cry, "Eorwarts. Brudern, Forwarts |!
They saw the black horse plunging fol-
ward, his fore-feet resting on the canno
OF the enemy, while his warrior ride
arose in all the pride of his form, an
r