Part 19

Faint from loss of blood and the intense agony of his wound, the sufferer was borne to a house hard by, and attended by Dr. Craik, by special order of the commander-in-chief. The doctor gave his patient but feeble hopes of recovery, even with the chances of amputation, when Nash observed, 'It may be considered unmanly to complain, but my agony is too great for human nature to bear. I am aware that my days, perhaps hours, are numbered, but I do not repine at my fate. I have fallen on the field of honor, while leading my brave Carolinians to the assault of the enemy. I have a last request to make of his Excellency, the commander-in-chief, that he will permit you, my dear doctor, to remain with me, to protect me while I live, and my remains from insult.' Dr. Craik assured the general that he had nothing to fear from the enemy; it was impossible that they would harm him while living, or offer insult to his remains; that Lord Cornwallis was by this time in the field, and that, under his auspices, a wounded soldier would be treated with humanity and respect. The dying patriot and hero then uttered these memorable words: 'I have no favors to expect from the enemy. I have been consistent in my principles and conduct since the commencement of the troubles. From the very first dawn of the Revolution I have ever been on the side of liberty and my country.' "He lingered in extreme torture between two and three days, and died admired by his enemies, admired and lamented by his companions in arms. On Thursday, the ninth of October, the whole American army was paraded by order of the commander-in-chief, to perform the funeral obsequies of General Nash."

"I have heard those who knew him best speak of him as a brave soldier and a noble-hearted man; and your account of his death assures me of the truth of their eulogy," remarked Smith.

"It is said that Washington, seeing that his well-arranged plan was about to be defeated, could not control his anger and disappointment," said Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"It is true. Washington, like all very great men, was naturally strongly passionate. His usual self-command was the more wonderful because it had been acquired by stern practice. The battle of Germantown was one of those few occasions in his life when his feelings burst through all restraint; and then, it is said by those who should know, that his wrath was fierce and terrible. The officers were compelled, by considerations of his safety, to lead his horse from the field. He did all that a man could do to rally his broken troops, and exposed himself as fearlessly as the bravest soldier. All his exertions were vain, however, and he became much irritated in consequence."

"The retreat just when victory was within his grasp was enough to irritate any commander who valued his aim and plan," observed Mr. Jackson Harmar, agreeing with Smith in the remarks which he had just made. "I suppose, if Washington had been completely successful at Germantown, the British would have been driven from Philadelphia," said Higgins.

"Ay; and from the vicinity of Philadelphia," replied Smith. "They could not have recovered from such a defeat."

BATTLE OF THE KEGS.

"Father," said Mr. Jackson Harmar, "I have a song in my portfolio, written by Francis Hopkinson while the British were in Philadelphia; perhaps you can tell us something about the event which is the subject of it. Here it is. It is called 'The Battle of the Kegs.'"

"The Battle of the Kegs! That I can, my boy. But read the song," replied old Harmar. His son then read the following facetious ditty:

"Gallants, attend, and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty: Strange things I'll tell, which late befell In Philadelphia city.

Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on log of wood, And saw a sight surprising.

As, in amaze, he stood to gaze,-- The truth can't be denied, sirs,-- He spied a score--of kegs, or more, Come floating down the tide, sirs. A sailor, too, in jerkin blue, The strange appearance viewing, First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, 'Some mischief's brewing.

These kegs now hold the rebels bold, Pack'd up like pickled herrings And they're come down to attack the town, In this new way of ferrying.'

The soldier flew, the sailor, too, And, scared almost to death, sirs, Wore out their shoes to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sirs.

Now up and down, throughout the town, Most frantic scenes were acted; And some ran here, and some ran there, Like men almost distracted.

Some fire cried, which some denied, But said the earth had quakèd; And girls and boys, with hideous noise, Ran through the town half-naked.

Sir William he, snug as a flea, Lay all this time a snoring, Nor dream'd of harm, as he lay warm, While all without was roaring.

Now, in affright, he starts upright, Awaked by such a clatter: He rubs both eyes, and boldly cries, 'For God's sake, what's the matter?' At his bedside he then espied Sir Erskine at command, sirs; Upon one foot he had one boot, And t'other in his hand, sirs.

'Arise! arise!' Sir Erskine cries: 'The rebels--more's the pity-- Without a boat, are all afloat, And ranged before the city.

'The motley crew, in vessels new, With Satan for their guide, sir, Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, Come driving down the tide, sir.

'Therefore prepare for bloody war! These kegs must all be routed; Or surely we despised shall be, And British courage doubted.'

The royal band now ready stand, All ranged in dread array, sirs; With stomach stout, to see it out, And make a bloody day, sirs.

The cannons roar from shore to shore, The small arms make a rattle; Since wars began, I'm sure no man E'er saw so strange a battle.

The rebel vales, the rebel dales, With rebel trees surrounded, The distant woods, the hills and floods, With rebel echoes sounded. The fish below swam to and fro, Attack'd from every quarter: Why, sure, thought they, the devil's to pay 'Mongst folks above the water.

The kegs, 'tis said, though strongly made, Of rebel staves and hoops, sirs, Could not oppose their powerful foes, The conquering British troops, sirs.

From morn to night, these men of might Display'd amazing courage; And when the sun was fairly down, Retired to sup their porridge.

A hundred men, with each a pen, Or more--upon my word, sirs, It is most true--would be too few Their valor to record, sirs.

Such feats did they perform that day Upon these wicked kegs, sirs, That years to come, if they get home, They'll make their boasts and brags, sirs."