The Old Bell of Independence | Page 6

Tell them about it, Jackson, just as you wrote it," said old

Harmar.
"Certainly," replied young Harmar. "If I can recall it."
"Do," said Mrs. Harmer; and "Oh! do," added the children; and Mr.
Jackson Harmar did--as follows:--"All day long, on the tenth of
September, 1777, both armies were in the vicinity of each other, and
frequent and desperate skirmishes took place between advanced parties,
without bringing on a general action. At length, as the day closed, both
armies encamped within sight of each other, anxiously awaiting the
morrow, to decide the fate of the devoted city.
"The Americans lay behind Chadd's Ford, with the shallow waters of
the Brandywine between them and their opponents; the line extending
two miles along that stream.
"The sun was just sinking behind the dark hills of the west, gilding the
fading heavens with an autumnal brightness, and shedding a lurid glare
upon the already drooping and discolored foliage of the surrounding
forests. It was an hour of solemn calm. The cool evening breezes stole
softly through the air, as if unwilling to disturb the repose of all around.
The crystal waters of the creek murmured gently in their narrow bed,
and the national standard flapped lazily from the tall flag-staff on its
banks.
"In the American camp, interspersed between groups of tents and
stacks of arms, might be seen little knots of weary soldiers seated on
the ground, resting from the fatigues of the day, and talking in a low
but animated tone of the coming contest.
"Suddenly the tattoo sounded,--not loud and shrill, as on ordinary
occasions, but in a subdued and cautious manner, as if fearful of being
heard by the British, whose white tents might be seen in the distance.
Obedient to the signal, the greater part of the soldiers assembled in
front of the marquee of the commander, near the centre of the
encampment.
"All was hushed in expectation: soon the tall form of Washington,
wrapped in his military cloak, and attended by a large body of officers,
was seen advancing in their midst. All present respectfully saluted them,
to which they bowed courteously, and then took their seats upon
camp-stools set for them by a servant. The venerable Joab Prout,
chaplain of the Pennsylvania line, then stood upon the stump of a tree,
and commanded silence--for it was the hour of prayer.

"Here was a scene of moral grandeur unsurpassed by anything in the
annals of war. There, on that still, cool evening, when the sky was
darkening into night, were assembled some eight thousand men; very
many of whom would never look upon the glorious sunset again. From
the humble cottages in the quiet valley of the Connecticut--from the
statelier mansions of the sunny South--at the call of liberty, they had
rushed to the tented field; and now, on the eve of battle, as brethren in
heart and deed, had met together to implore the God of battles to smile
upon their noble cause.
"Oh! it was a thrilling and an august sight! The mild and dignified
Washington looked around him with proud emotion, and turned
enquiringly to the fair young stranger, Lafayette, beside him, as if to
ask, 'Can such men as these be vanquished?'
"The bold and fearless Wayne was there; the undaunted Pulaski, and
the whole-hearted Kosciusko; and they bowed their heads in reverence
to Him in whose presence they were worshipping.
"Never beneath the vaulted dome of the stately temple--never from the
lips of the eloquent divine--was seen such a congregation, or was heard
such a discourse, as on that September evening, from that humble old
man, with his grey locks streaming in the wind.
"With a firm, clear voice, that re-echoed to the distant hills, he
announced his text:--
_'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_
Then, straightening himself to his full height, and his eye beaming with
a holy feeling inspired by the time and place, he commenced:--
"'_They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_ 'Soldiers and
Countrymen:
We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared the
toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the retreat--alike
we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the internal foe,
and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night after, night,
beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers' fare; we
have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us to duty, or
the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy sleep of the
soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his pillow.
'And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley, on
the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder

heights--the