The Van Buren press. [volume] (Van Buren, Ark.) 1859-1914, 1878-09-24
Death of Young Henry Clay.
BY GEORGE LIPPARD.


come down on the charge of Buena Wis
days of Washington. closed the day in
glory. 80
Do you behold that dark ravine, deep
sunken between those precipitous banks I
Here no sunlight com So, for the walls OF
rock wrap up the pass in eternal twilight
Withered trees grew between masses OF
granite, and stone make the bed Of the
ravine uncertain and difficult OF tread
Hank That cry that PUSHES like a
mountain torrent bursting its barriers,
and quick as the lightning fashes from
darkness. the dismal ravine 10 bathed in
battle light. From its no.ehern extrem-
fIty band OF conruseu arextrans, an mr.
my in itself, came yelling along the pass,
treading one another as they fly; their
banners, spears, horses and men tossed
together in inextricable confusion.
BY thousands they rushed into the
shade H of the pass, their dark faces red
ened with the heated blaze of musketry.
The caverns of the ravine send back the
roar of the panic, and the grey rocks are
washed with their blood.
But the little band who pursues this
army, who are they2 You may see, in
their firm, heroic ranks, the volunteer
uniforms of Illinois and Kentucky. At
their head, urging his men With shouts,
rides the gallant Mckee; by his side.
young Henry Clay, that broad forehead,
which reminds you of his father, bathed
in the glare, as his sword quivers on
high, ere it falls to kill There, too. a
wild figure, red with his own blood, and
the blood OF his Mexican foes, his uni
form rent in tatters, his shoulders atrik-
ing terrible blows with his good sword
Hardin, Of Illinois came gallantly for
ward.
The small, but iron, band hnrl the
Mexcans from the height in the ravine,
and follow up the chase far down into the
eternal twilight of that mountain pass.
Look As their musketry streams in
steady blaze, you would think that a
ceaseless sheet Of lightning bathed these
rocks in flame.
! Over the Mexicans, men and horses
hurried back in mad disorder, the Amer
leans dash on their way, never needing
the overwhelming numbers of their foes,
never needing the palpitating forms be-
meath their feet, with bayonet and sword
they press steadily on, their well-known
banner ever streaming overhead.
The howl of the dying war-horse-
bark Does it not chill your blood to
hear it? The horrible cry of the woun
{ ded man, with the horses hoot upon his
snv.on,s ,srsnpHrE nfS 'ucU oo a nrt'roun
wreck-does it not sicken your soul to
hear it?
A hundred yards or more into the pass
the Americans had penetrated, when sud
denly a young Mexican PUSHES back.
opens their ranks, raises the fallen flag
Of Alahannc. and dashes to death.
To see him, young and beafdless, a
very boy, rush with his country's fig
with barred breast, upon that line of sharp
stec---it was sight to stir towards into
manhood, and it shot into Mexican
hearts like an electric flame.
Even, in their panic stricken disorder,
they rallied by hundreds, they grasped
arm, and rolled into one long wave Of
lances and bayonets upon the toe. Woe
to the brave men of Illinois and Ken.
lucky. Locked in that deadly pass, o
wall of Infatuated Mexicans between
them and that wall of rocks over their
heads, through every aperture among the
cliffs, the blaze OF muskets pouring a
shower of bullets in their faces-when-
ever they turned the long and deadly
lance pointed at their throats-it was a
moment to think once of homeland
die,
Those who survived that fearful mo
ment, tell, with shuddering triumph, the
deeds Of three heroes-Mckee, Hardin,
and Clay
Mckee you see yonder, with his shat
tered sword, dripping with blood be
endeavors to ward Off those deadly lane
es, and fights on his knees when he can
stand no longer, and then the combatants
close over him, and you see him no
more.
Hardin arose from heap Of slsught
[ cred dead, his face streaming from hide
| Gus lance wounds, and waved Mexican
flag in triumph, as his life blood rushes
in torrent over his muscular form
! Then hinging his captured flag to bro
thor soldier % GIVE II to tier as me
mortal of Buena Vista My wife" II
was his last words. Upon his barred
breast the fury of ten lanees, and tbs
horses hoots tramped him into the heap
Of .he dead.
But most sad and yet most glorious oil
all was to see the death of the second
Henry Clay.
You should have seen him with his back
against yonder rock, his sword grasped
FIRMLY, the consciousness that he bore &
name that must not die ingloriously
seeming to fill his every vein, and dart 9
: deadly fire from his eyes.
At that time he looked like an ole
man.
For his brow, high and retreating, with
the blood clotted hair waving back from
| the outline, was swollen in every vein, as
, though bis soul shone from it ere it fec
forever. Lips set, brows knit, hands firm
IA circle of men fighting round him
he dashed into the MeNicans until his
; sword was wet, and his arms weary will
, blood.
At last, with his thigh spllntercd by {
; ball, he gathered his proud form to it'
, full height and fell. His face ashy will
: intense agony, he babe his comrades tc
leave him there to die. That ravint
should be the bed Of his glory.
= But gathered around him guard o
breasts of steel, while two of his com
. n