DICK, THE YOUNGEST SOLDIER
"Did you hear the news, Dick?" The children on their way to school alongthe elm-lined street of Hartford caught up with the lad of ten and spoketo him.
"They do say that General Burgoyne and all his Red Coats are marchingdown from Canada and will fight their way to Albany. Our soldiers aredropping out of the ranks from weariness with this long struggle, andGeneral Schuyler is calling for more recruits."
"My father is going to enlist in the Continental Army."
"So is my brother."
"And my father too."
The lads and lassies in their homespun and calico drew themselves upproudly. They loved this fair, green land of America with its fields ofyellow corn and orchards of ruddy fruit. They loved its blazingfireplaces, the games on the Common, and the brave, ragged army offarmer soldiers who were trying to free the Colonies.
"Do you know what General Washington says about us?" Abigail, a quaintlittle girl in a long frock and pinafore said, touching Dick's sleeve."He says if all the states had done their duty as well as our littleState of Connecticut the war would have been ended long ago. But ofcourse that doesn't mean us, Dick," she added. "There's nothing wechildren can do for the Colonies."
Dick drew himself up proudly. Although he was but ten years old he wasas straight and held his head as high as a soldier. He looked down thestreet toward a big white house with the Stars and Stripes flying fromthe pole on the green lawn. It was the recruiting station wherevolunteers were enrolled to march against the Red Coats.
"I should like to help General Washington," he said. "Perhaps they wouldlet me enlist."
A shout of laughter went up from the children.
"A boy of ten a soldier in the Continental Army!"
"What would you do for your country?"
"All you know, Dick, is how to play tunes on your grandfather's fife."
The words hurt the little lad and his face flushed. He was about toretort, but the boys and girls scattered, some running ahead swingingtheir school bags, some stopping to look at the sweets in DameBrewster's bake-shop window. Dick waited until he saw that he was alone.Then he hurried on down the street and he did not stop until he hadreached the recruiting station and turned in at the gate.
The sun touched their ranks with gold and the summer wind carried theStars and Stripes before them the day in 1777 when the new volunteerregiment left Hartford. It was on its long, weary way over rough roadsto Peekskill on the Hudson, the headquarters of General Putnam. AllHartford was gathered on the wide piazzas and green streets to cheer theregiment on its way. All the children were there, too, waving their capsand bonnets.
All? No, one child was missing.
As the lines of blue swung along beneath the great old trees, the soundof a fife playing an old marching tune came piping above the shoutingand the cheers of the crowd. Suddenly every one was quiet as the drummercame into sight and beside him a little lad of ten years, dressed in theuniform of the Colonies and playing a fife.
"Richard Jones!" the children whispered in excitement to each other. "Itis our Dick, going to war with the regiment."
An old man leaning on his cane at the edge of the crowd took off his hatand called to Dick.
"Good-bye, little lad. If you play your fife as well as Grandfathertaught you, it will put heart into the soldiers and strength in theirarms. It was your fine piping that won you a place in the regiment, theyoungest soldier of the Revolution. God save you and bring you back safeto us."
Hearing him, Dick stopped playing a moment and called out, "Good-bye,Grandfather. I'll try to do my duty. Good-bye!"
Then he was lost to sight,--a little figure in a blue coat and kneebreeches, Richard Lord Jones, enlisted at ten years in the army of theAmerican colonies.
Dick could play the fife better than any one else in the regiment. Itmade the soldiers forget hunger and weariness and sleeplessness to havethe little lad march at their head, his gay tunes marking the time fortheir ragged shoes. He fifed the regiment all the long way to WhitePlains and then up the Hudson to Peekskill where General Putnam wasstationed and needed reinforcements. There he rested for a while, butnot long. The British commander, General Clinton, appeared and capturedtwo forts on the west side of the Hudson. General Putnam was obliged toretreat up the river.
It was a wild, adventure-filled retreat all the way. Dick had little buthard biscuit and raw, salt pork to eat. He marched through villages thatwere in flames from the fire brands of the British. He saw and was ableto give information about a British spy who was condemned and shot. Thenthe division to which Dick belonged reached Long Island where it wascommissioned to land at Huntington. The soldiers were in a commontransport, though, without guns, and it was captured by a British man ofwar. Dick, the little fifer, was marched with his Colonel and officersand the militia, all picked men, into the presence of a Britishcommander.
The little lad must have looked very strange to the Englishman. Hisshoes were so worn that his feet were on the ground and one couldscarcely see the blue of his Continental uniform because of its dust andrags. He was pale from going without food and sleep, but he held hishead very proudly and high. Not one of the prisoners was as brave asDick as he marched into the presence of the enemy beside his Colonel,carrying his fife under his arm.
"Who is this boy?" the British officer demanded, frowning down on thelad. His tent was bristling with swords and crowded with other officersof the King in scarlet broadcloth and gold lace. It was indeed a fearfulplace for a little boy to be, but Dick answered bravely,
"A soldier of the Colonies, sir."
The British officer laughed.
"What can a little bantam cock like you do for the cause of thesefighting farmers?" he asked. "I'll wager you're of no use and, methinks,only a hindrance to your regiment."
Dick drew himself up proudly. "I have played the fife for the regimentthese many months," he asserted stoutly, "and they do say there isn't aman in the army can put as much heart into a tune as I. It might chanceI could fight, too, if I were put to it."
A chorus of laughter from the British officers greeted Dick's lastassertion.
"You fight!"
"The little cock thinks he could fight!" they sneered, but the Britishcommander looked sternly at Dick as he spoke to him.
"There is too much of this idle boasting in the farmer army. I would putan end to it."
He motioned to an English lad, the boatswain's boy, older and moretoughly built than Dick.
"Fight!" the officer commanded. "Let the Yankee fight one of KingGeorge's men!"
The two lads went at each other, rough and tumble. It was hardly a fairfight. The English lad hit right and left with iron fists and Dick triedto parry the blows, weak from his long marches and fasting. Dick'sspirit and his courage were stronger than those of the other lad,though. First one would be on top and then the other while the Britishofficers and Dick's own men shouted,
"Down with the enemy of the King!" or, "Down with King George!"
It was one of the strangest and most memorable fights of the whole warfor independence because both lads felt that more than their personalprowess was at stake. Dick fell under his assailant's blows many timesbut each time he struggled to his feet, caught his breath, and struckback again.
"Enough!" the English lad cried at last and this battle, like so manyothers, was a victory for the Colonies.
There was scant mercy showed by the British in those days but one couldnot help but admire the pluck of the youngest soldier of the regiment.The officer whose prisoner he was called Dick to him and patted him onhis curly head.
"A brave little cock indeed!" he said. "As a reward for your goodfighting, how would you like to have me give you your freedom?" heasked.
"Oh, sir," Dick cried, his whole face lighted with pleasure. "I shouldlike it very much, but--" he stepped nearer his own commander, "I do notwant to be released unless my Colonel may come with me."
The British officer considered a moment. T
hen, in a sudden impulse ofkindness, he granted Dick's request.
"Colonel Webb may go too, on parole," he said.
Dick went home for a week in Hartford after his first fight. There hadnever been such a hero as he among the other boys and girls. He couldnot stir outside of his gate without a crowd of them following at hisheels, begging for tales of his adventures, a button, or a scrap oflining from his coat. The little soldier did not care for fame, though.He longed to be back in the thick of the fight so he put his fife to hislips again and rejoined his regiment. They were glad to see him. Theyhad missed his cheerful tunes.
Dick was with the regiment when the great Kosciusko helped them tofortify West Point. He marched over rough and frozen ground two hundredmiles to Morristown, but at the end of the weary way General Washingtongreeted him. The winter of privation and exposure that followed was notso hard for Dick to bear because he was sharing it with the greatWashington. No other boy had so great an honor.
Through the three years of his enlistment Dick faced whatever hardshipscame to him without a whimper and the sound of his cheerful fife tunescomes down to us through all these years as one of the helps toAmerica's freedom. He was honorably discharged from the Continental Armywhen he was a little more than thirteen years old and, with an escort oftwo soldiers, he walked two hundred miles home.
No one asked him now what he could do for his country. Dick was the heroof the children and everyone else in Hartford. When the Revolution wasover and the Stars and Stripes waved over the free Colonies Dick knewthat he had helped in winning his country's independence.
BETSY'S GUEST
Betsy looked with delight at the dainty white frock spread out on thebig four-poster bed in the spare room.
It was early spring in the quaint old Southern town of Salisbury.Through the windows of the big white house of the Brandon plantationwhich was Betsy's home came the sweet notes of the first mocking bird,the singing of the farm hands as they ploughed the land for the firstplanting, and the fresh odor of the pine trees.
A few years before Salisbury had seen the devastating ruin of war in itslovely green borders. Now, in the year of our Lord and of America'sindependence, 1791, the South was peacefully planting and harvestingonce more. Barns and cellars and the home larders were full tooverflowing.
The next day was to bring a great event to Salisbury. The President ofthe new United States, George Washington, and his cabinet were making atour of the South. They had driven in lordly, leisurely fashion in theircoaches through Virginia, South Carolina, and Georgia. All Salisburywould see the Greatest American in the morning.
TWO OF THE FARM HANDS]
The little town was ready for the President. He was to be met at thevillage green by an escort of soldiers who would accompany him as hetoured the town, and flower girls were to head the procession.
Betsy Brandon was to be one of the flower girls and that was why she hadsuch a pretty new frock. It was made of the sheerest, white dotted swisswith as many ruffles as a white rose has petals. And some of the ruffleswere caught up with bunches of tiny pink flowers and green leaves thatBetsy's mother had made with her own clever fingers. A wide pink sashlay on the bed, too, and a white hat with wide pink streamers and abunch of the same pretty pink flowers in front. Betsy was to wear pinksilk stockings and white slippers. Never, in all her life, had she beenallowed to wear such lovely things.
She touched the flowing ruffles and the soft silk of the sash, thinkinghow happy she would be with the other little daughters of Salisbury inthe morning. She had not noticed that her mother had crossed thethreshold of the spare room and stood beside her looking down earnestlyinto the little girl's happy face. Mistress Brandon put her hand onBetsy's brown braids that were coiled neatly and tied about her head.
"My precious little daughter," Mistress Brandon said, "there issomething that I must tell you."
"Yes, mother," Betsy looked smilingly into her mother's sober face.
Her mother spoke quickly now and as if the words hurt her. "Your dearAunt Tabitha's serving man has just come in great haste on horsebackfrom her plantation to say that his mistress is far from well and wishesme to come to her at once with a supply of simples. I must go. The maidsare packing my basket and laying out my traveling cloak, and the horsesare harnessed and at the door." She paused, in sorrow at the grief thatshe saw suddenly in Betsy's radiant face.
"Your father will not return for some days yet," she added, and thenstopped.
There was a pause and then Betsy looked up bravely, saying just what hermother had hoped and expected that she would, for she was a good littlegirl.
"And Grandmother should not be left alone here because she is not welland the maids are new," Betsy said. Then, all at once, it seemed as ifshe could not bear her disappointment. She threw herself into hermother's arms, burying her head in her shoulder. "I can't be a flowergirl," she sobbed. "I must stay at home to-morrow, and not see PresidentWashington. Oh, I can't bear it; it seems as if I just can't!"
Her mother stooped down and kissed her. "Any other little daughterexcept my own brave little Betsy perhaps could not bear thedisappointment," she said, "but she can. The Brandons come of a braveold family, strong to fight and well able to bear whatever comes tothem. And think, too, dear, what sorrows came to our brave Presidentbefore he won the war for us. You can try to be as brave as he, dearchild, can you not?"
"Yes, mother." Betsy was smiling again. She folded the dainty frock andthe sash and laid them away in one of the lavender-scented drawers ofthe big mahogany bureau. And then she went downstairs, and did not shedone tear as she kissed her mother good-bye and watched her drive awaybetween the magnolia trees that lined the long driveway of theplantation.
It was a hard afternoon, though, for Betsy. The little girl who lived onthe next plantation came over to see Betsy's dress and after she hadshown it to her, Betsy had to tell her that she would not have anopportunity to wear it. She thought, too, that it would make hergrandmother feel badly if she were to know of her disappointment, so shesat with her in her big, sunny room in the afternoon and read to her andwas a smiling little girl all the time. Late in the day Betsy went downto the kitchen and made corn bread. She was almost as good a cook as washer mother. The corn bread was as yellow as gold, and as light as spongecake.
The morning of the great day for Salisbury was as blue and gold as skyand sun could make it. Betsy was up with the birds and gave the maidstheir orders for the day, and looked over the supplies in the safe, asthe big locked cupboard for food was called, just as Mistress Brandonwould have done if she had been home. She opened all the windows of themansion to let in the sweet spring air. She filled the bowls and vaseswith fresh flowers, and then she sat down with her sewing on the piazza.
Betsy was working a sampler in cross-stitch. Around the edge,embroidered in bright crewels, was a border of flowers and bees, thelatter because of her initials. Inside, Betsy was working her name inneat letters, the Lord's prayer, and the date of her birth. UsuallyBetsy liked nothing better than to be able to sit there in the quiet ofthe piazza, shaded by its great pillars, the green lawn stretching belowthe steps and her colored sewing in her lap. To-day, though, her eyesleft the bright worsted often to follow the line of the plantationdriveway that led away from the house and down toward the village.
Through the trees she had glimpses of fluttering white skirts and brightribbons. The flower girls, her little girl neighbors, were gathering andtaking their happy way down to the village green to meet Mr. Washington.She could hear their merry voices and the sounds of fifes and drums. Thesoldiers were starting, too.
Betsy could see, in imagination, how pretty and gay the town would be.People in their carriages and coaches would be there from miles around.Every one would be joyous and so proud to do honor to the GreatestAmerican. It was hours too early for him to be there yet, but here theywere gathering to greet him.
"I am brave, but it seems as if I must cry just a little bit," Betsyburied her head in her sewing.
But before she had shed a tear, a man'svoice startled her. She looked up.
He was very tall and straight, and wore the beautiful, rich costume ofthe Colonies. His velvet knee breeches, silver-buckled shoes,gold-embroidered coat, and white wig showed Betsy that he was apersonage of importance. But he stood before her with his three-corneredhat in his hand and bowed to her quite as if she had been a young lady.
"Good morning, little lass of Salisbury," he said in his deep, kindvoice, pointing to her sewing. "You are an industrious child, such anone as I like to see growing up in this new land. You work betimes inthe day, and with the birds."
Betsy rose and dropped a deep curtsey to the stranger. She must havelooked very winsome to him in her pink calico dress, white apron, andwith her cheeks flushed to a rose color in excitement.
"My mother has taught me that work comes before play, and always in themorning," Betsy explained. "What is your pleasure, sir!" she went on. "Iam the mistress of the Brandon plantation for the day. My mother iscalled away by the illness of my Aunt Tabitha and I am taking care ofgrandmother and the maids in her absence. It is a sore disappointment tome, sir. I was to have been a flower girl in the village and walked withour guest of honor of the day, Mr. Washington."
The stranger came up the steps, and took a chair beside Betsy.
"You wanted very much to see him?" he asked. "Why?"
"Because President Washington is a great soldier, and the most importantman in the United States," Betsy answered, her hands clasped, and hereyes shining with excitement.
The man smiled. "I know him," he said. "Did it ever occur to you, littlelass of Salisbury, that perhaps Mr. Washington is a great deal likeother Americans. He loves the earth," he pointed to the wide expanse ofthe fertile Brandon acres. "Perhaps, too, he likes to try new roads as Ihave done this morning. I have come a long distance," he said, "and amtired and hungry. I left my carriage at the entrance to your plantation,and the driveway looked so pleasant and quiet that I walked along ituntil I came to your house. May I ask you for food and drink, littleMistress of the Mansion?"
"Indeed, yes, sir!" Betsy sprang toward the door, but with her hand onthe latch she turned. "Do you like corn bread, sir," she asked. "I madesome, myself, yesterday afternoon. It is delicious with our fresh milk,half cream."
"That would make a breakfast that I should like above all else," thestranger said, smiling. And he watched the graceful little figure asBetsy slipped through the door. "A good daughter of America," he said tohimself, "a housewife above all else."
"LITTLE MISTRESS OF THE MANSION"]
In the twinkling of an eye, Betsy returned, carrying a daintily-spreadtray. On a white cloth there was set gold and white china, thin andsparkling. The corn bread almost matched the gold, and a tall glassgoblet was filled to the top with foamy milk. Betsy's guest ate as if nomeal had ever tasted so good to him before. He did not speak until hehad eaten the last crumb of the corn bread and drunk the last drop ofthe milk. Then he rose to go.
"Many thanks, little Mistress of the Mansion," he said, "for your verygracious hospitality. I have been entertained most lavishly on thejourney I am now taking, but at no stopping place have I enjoyed it somuch. I want you to be comforted in your disappointment, my child, andto realize that in serving and feeding a stranger you have done quite askind an act as if you had scattered flowers before your President."
"Thank you very much, sir!" Betsy bowed again, and took the strong handthe man gave her as he started down the steps. Then a sudden thoughtcame to her.
"May I ask your name, sir?" she asked. "I should like to tell my motherwhen she returns."
"You may, my child," he replied. "It is George Washington."
THE END
PATRIOTIC SONGS
The best Patriotic Songs of the United States and the Allied EuropeanNations.
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America--The Star Spangled Banner--Battle Hymn of the Republic--Columbia,the Gem of the Ocean--Hail Columbia!--The Battle Cry of Freedom--Tramp!Tramp! Tramp! the Boys are Marching--Yankee Doodle--Tenting on the OldCamp Ground--Home, Sweet Home--Onward Christian Soldiers--Dixie--My OldKentucky Home--Old Black Joe--Old Folks at Home--Illinois--Sweet andLow--Hymn of the Marseillaise--God Save the King--March of the Men ofHarlech--Annie Laurie--Auld Lang Syne--When Johnny Comes MarchingHome--Swanee River.
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PATRIOTIC SONGS
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