Part 13

The best thing grown in old Maryland was its patriotism. When the Fathers were signing the Declaration of Independence, the chief man from Maryland was Charles Carroll. As there was another Charles Carroll, the hero in Independence Hall signed his name “Charles Carroll of Carrollton.” The patriotic spirit of the colony still lives in that song, popular in all the states: “Maryland, my Maryland!”

WILLIAM PENN, THE FOUNDER OF PENNSYLVANIA

When William Penn was born, his father, Admiral Sir William Penn, was sailing out to sea on an English battleship. Little William’s mother was a lovely woman from Holland, and as good as she was beautiful. While in college at Oxford, young Penn attended Quaker meetings, which had been started by followers of George Fox, the founder of a religious sect, the Society of Friends, or Quakers, as they were commonly called.

The professors in charge of Oxford University did not believe in such meetings, so they turned out of the college those who attended them. When William Penn went home, sent away from Oxford, his father was so angry that he gave his Quaker son a beating and drove him from home. Young Penn would have had to starve or beg in the streets but for his good mother, who sent and helped him secretly. Even after that William was found at a Quaker meeting in London and put in prison for eight months.

William Penn’s father was a great man, a friend of King Charles the First. When that king was put to death, Admiral Penn became the friend of Cromwell, who had fought against the king. After Cromwell died, the Admiral attached himself to King Charles the Second, and to the king’s brother, the Duke of York, who afterward became James the Second. Although these four rulers were different--even bitter enemies to one another--shrewd Admiral Penn managed to keep the favor of them all. He was ambitious also to have his eldest son become the favorite of kings. He allowed William to come home after he was free from prison, in order to send him away to Paris, as he hoped the youth would forget his queer belief in the gay life there. The father asked the son’s friends, who were sons of English noblemen, to influence William while in Paris to do everything that was against the Quaker belief. One day a stranger met young Penn in the street and picked a quarrel with him, drawing his sword and challenging the peace-loving young man to a duel with swords. Penn was forced, much against his will, to fight. He had always been an active youth and fond of sports. While at college he had been very good at fencing. By skilful play he disarmed the quarrelsome fellow and ended the duel without hurting the stranger, as if it were all done in sport. This pleased all who saw the sword-play and it did credit to the heart as well as to the skill of the young Quaker.

When William returned home he was so handsome and had gained so much in courtly manners that his father was thoroughly pleased. But the Great Plague broke out in London then, carrying off nearly seventy thousand people in that city alone. This frightened even the most worldly into leading religious lives, and made William Penn’s conscience trouble him. Repenting of his gay life, he finally joined the Friends for good and all, and became one of their most earnest members and preachers. His father ordered him out of the house and threatened to cast him off utterly.

William was now imprisoned in the London Tower because of something he had written against the Church of England. While in prison he wrote “No Cross, No Crown,” and other works in defense of the Quakers. His father, whose heart was touched by his son’s courage and unselfishness, appealed to the Duke of York, King Charles’ brother, and got William out of the Tower.

Admiral Penn died soon after this, leaving William a rich man. The royal treasury owed him immense sums of money loaned to King Charles and his brother James. But young Penn was again arrested because he was a Friend, and imprisoned in Newgate, where the worst criminals were kept. When he was again set free he began to seek some good place outside of England where he and his Quaker followers could serve God and their fellow-men without being treated like criminals. Learning of a certain region in America, he went to King Charles and asked for it in payment of the large amount of money Charles owed him.

As the king was still unable to pay the great debt in money, he was glad to grant Penn a charter for the vast tract of land. When Penn came before the king and the council to have the state paper signed and sealed, he did not remove his hat, as Quakers think it wrong to show such reverence to any one but God. King Charles allowed Penn to keep his hat on, but removed his own, to the astonishment of all, and said with a smile, “It is the custom at court for only one person to remain covered.”

Penn suggested calling the tract of country they were ceding to him, Sylvania, which meant “forest land”; but the king insisted on naming it Pennsylvania, or Penn-forest. This name was written in the charter, so William Penn had to abide by it, though he thought it vain to have the land named for himself. The religious leader was now happy in having a country where he and his people could live and love God and one another in their own simple way. Sailing across the ocean in his good ship, _Welcome_, Penn bought the country from its rightful owners, the Indians. He made a solemn treaty with them which was “never sworn to, and never broken.”

No Quaker ever hurt or wronged an Indian, and no Indian ever injured a Friend, though the red savages murdered settlers belonging to other religious faiths. William Penn laid out a town which soon became the largest city in America. For this place he made up a name, Philadelphia, composed of two Greek words meaning “Brother” and “love.”

Grand as it was to own such a great country as Pennsylvania, and to found a large and flourishing city like Philadelphia, it was even grander to teach people to live by the Golden Rule, and to help along religious liberty. It was most fitting that the Declaration of Independence should be adopted and signed in the State House of Pennsylvania, in Philadelphia, the city of William Penn.

PATRIOTS OF THE REVOLUTION

PATRICK HENRY, THE “FIREBRAND OF THE REVOLUTION”

“Pat Henry’s a good-for-nothing fellow. Just lounges about his father-in-law’s tavern telling stories and fiddling.”

This was the verdict of the people of Hanover Court House, Virginia, when Patrick Henry was a young man. When he was but a youth he had married the tavern-keeper’s daughter. He had tried farming and failed, people said, because he was “too lazy to do anything but go a-fishing.” But he was a great reader and had studied law in a random, listless way.

The door of opportunity opened one day before this young man of whom the neighbors had so little good to say. There was a case in court called “the Parsons’ Cause.” This famous lawsuit arose in the following way: An old law required each church in Virginia to pay its minister sixteen thousand pounds of tobacco as his yearly salary. Later the legislature of Virginia passed another law which permitted each parish to pay its minister a smaller salary in money. The King of England set this law aside and then the “parsons,” as the clergy were called, brought a lawsuit to collect the unpaid parts of their salaries. Young Patrick Henry’s sympathies were with the men who were sued and he offered his services in their defense.

When the people of Hanover Court House heard of this, they laughed as if it were a huge joke.

“The good-for-nothing! What can _he_ do, with his low, tavern talk?” they asked in scorn. “His stories may do for a bar-room, but for such a fellow to speak in such an important case will be an insult to the court.”

The courtroom was well filled on the day of the trial. The opposing lawyers had promised to make short work of Patrick Henry, and teach him a lesson he would not soon forget. There was a strange stillness when the young man rose to speak. At first he seemed unable to control his voice, and some of those present nudged each other and whispered: “He’s going to break down! I told you so. He ought to have known better than attempt a big case like this.”

Then young Henry’s will seemed to come to his rescue. He straightened up. His face flushed eagerly. His eyes blazed with indignation. His words soon came in a torrent of eloquence. He declared that the people of Virginia had the right to make their own laws and that if the King interfered he was no longer the father of his people, but a tyrant whom they need not obey. The jury, carried away by the young lawyer’s fiery appeal, decided that the parsons should have only one penny more money.

The people who had come to sneer now began to cheer. They carried the young lawyer out of the courthouse on their shoulders.

That success showed that the “ne’er-do-well” was really a great lawyer. After that Patrick Henry spent his time in his law office instead of going fishing or loafing about the hotel. He studied to improve his mind, and practiced in correcting his errors of speech, while learning to make good use of his new-found gift of speaking in public.

Honors were showered, thick and fast, on the fiery lawyer. Other cases were brought to him and he won them right and left. Soon he was sent to the House of Burgesses, or the legislature of Virginia.

When other leaders hesitated to take the steps necessary to obtain their rights, Patrick Henry did not falter. He seemed to see farther than other men into the future. He made the halls of the lawmakers ring for liberty, beginning his great liberty speeches ten years before the colonies were prepared to meet and declare their independence.

When Virginians were sent to the first Congress of the United Colonies in Philadelphia, Patrick Henry was one of those chosen to go with George Washington and Richard Henry Lee. Here, in a fiery speech, Patrick Henry exclaimed: “I am not a Virginian--I am an American!” He had to leave Congress before signing the Declaration of Independence; but soon after he became the first governor of Virginia, which was now no longer a British colony but a new state. He was four times elected governor of the state.

Patrick Henry was “the firebrand of the Revolution”; that is, his burning words spread like a prairie fire from south to north, and inspired the people with a burning zeal for liberty which could not be quenched till all thirteen colonies had gained their independence and had become the United States of America.

It has been said that Patrick Henry “rocked the world with his voice.” The best known of his speeches was made just a few weeks before the battle of Lexington, which was the first skirmish of the Revolution. Here are the closing words of that great speech:

“Gentlemen may cry, ‘Peace! Peace!’--but there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it the gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but, as for me, _give me Liberty or give me Death!_”

NATHAN HALE, WHO SPOKE THE BRAVEST WORDS IN HISTORY

Nathan Hale was a country boy, the sixth of ten children. When he was twelve his mother died. It had been her wish that Nathan should study to be a minister. So the lad entered Yale College when he was only fourteen. Young as he was, Nathan became president of the debating society. He was a big, strong, handsome fellow, full of fun and fond of sports. He was best at what was known as the broad jump. For many years “the Hale jump” made the record for the college. He was a strong swimmer and excelled in shooting at the mark. In going about the college grounds, Hale was often seen placing one hand on top of a six-foot fence and vaulting over it with ease. One of his chums has told how Nathan would stand in one hogshead, with his hands on his hips, and jump up out of that into the second hogshead; then, in the same manner, leap into the third hogshead and from there out on the ground--“all without touching.” His athletic feats were so wonderful that the boys used to boast of the things “Young Hale” did for “Old Yale.”

When he was seventeen, the young athlete also showed himself such a ready and eloquent speaker that he was chosen for the highest honors of the debating society. One address of his is still kept in the records of Yale University. One of the questions he proposed and took part in debating was: “Is it right to enslave the Africans?”

Right after his graduation, at the age of eighteen, young Hale began to teach school and do tutoring besides, to pay his way while studying to be a minister. But early in 1775, when he had been teaching less than two years, the news of the first battles in the War for Independence fired the fervent soul of the young patriot, and he joined the army.

Nathan Hale was appointed lieutenant in a company sent by Connecticut, his native state, to become part of General Washington’s army which was trying to take the city of Boston, then in the hands of the British. The army then was without uniforms, proper arms, or training. During the summer Lieutenant Hale “turned” twenty-one and was promoted to the rank of captain.

When the time for which the Connecticut men had enlisted was nearly up, the young captain was shocked and hurt to find that some of the men in his own company were not willing to serve a little longer. Here is a short, signed entry he made in his camp-book in November:

“28. Tuesday. Promised the men if they would tarry another month they should have my wages for that time. NATHAN HALE.”

The youthful Connecticut officer and some of his men were among the few who stayed till the British were driven out of Boston by sea. After this the commander-in-chief, foreseeing that New York must be the next point of attack for the British, sent all his soldiers on ahead to that city. In the first brigade to go was Captain Nathan Hale, with as many of his little company as he could command.

While officers like Hale were recruiting new soldiers and drilling the raw recruits, Washington went to consult with the Congress then in session at Philadelphia. During this visit he designed the first American flag and ordered it made. It was the summer of the Declaration of Independence.

Washington and his untrained troops, less than fourteen thousand in number, had to defend and hold New York City, Brooklyn, and the surrounding country against an army nearly three times as large. The British troops under General Howe were well fitted out and trained, and were aided by a fleet of warships commanded by the general’s brother, Admiral Lord Howe. The Howes and their regular soldiers thought it would be an easy matter for their army, numbering three to one of their enemies, to capture the American army and carry Washington and the other ring-leaders of the rebellion back to England to be hanged for treason.

When, late in August, Washington learned that Howe was landing his army on Long Island from Staten Island, he sent General Putnam to meet and hold the British back. As the British outnumbered Putnam’s company five to one, this was impossible, and the Americans retreated to their defenses. This engagement was called the battle of Long Island. At nightfall the British encamped around the cornered Americans, and the commander told his staff that they would take that “nest of rebels” in the morning.

A dense fog came in from the sea, and Washington, under cover of it, got as many boats together as his sailor soldiers could manage, and they rowed away from Long Island in the silent watches of the night. Next morning, when Howe came to capture the nest, the birds had flown.

Washington was now forced to fly with his army from place to place, and the danger of being captured was greater than before. So he needed to learn, if possible, what General Howe’s plans were. Captain Nathan Hale was selected for this dangerous service.

There were some people in the colonies who believed that Washington was a traitor and that his men were rebels. These people called themselves Loyalists, but others called them Tories. Because of Nathan Hale’s frank face and sincere manner it was thought that he could make friends with these Tories and find out what was desired through them and their friends, the British officers. Also, he was an educated gentleman. He could take a position as tutor in the family of a rich Tory. British officers visited these Loyalists and often discussed plans with them.

Captain Hull, a college friend of Captain Hale’s, was now an army comrade also. When he heard that Hale was chosen, he called to beg him not to go as a spy. He argued:

“Your nature is too frank and open for deceit and disguise. General Washington--nor any commander--has a right to ask you to assume the garb of friendship for the betrayal of others.”

Hale hesitated a moment at this, but when he spoke his voice was clear and firm:

“I think I owe it to my country to do the thing which seems so important to General Washington, and I know of no other way of getting the desired information than by assuming a disguise and passing into the enemy’s camp.”

“But,” urged his friend almost in despair, “think of the disgrace of it! If you were caught, you would be hanged as a criminal! Dear Nathan, I beg of you, don’t go.”

Nathan Hale could not help being deeply moved. He said gently: “He took upon himself the disguise of the men He came to live among, for the good of many and the cause of the right. He was arrested and hanged--on a cross! Who am I that I should set up my judgment against His example and General Washington’s will?”

Still, Captain Hull could not give up. He has left on record his last attempt to persuade the young man whose love of country had become a religion: “I urged him for the love of country, for the love of kindred, to abandon an enterprise which would only end in the sacrifice of the dearest interests of both. He paused--then, affectionately taking my hand, he said, ‘I _will_ reflect, and _do nothing but what duty demands_.’ He was absent from the army and I feared he had gone to the British lines to execute his fatal purpose.”

Naturally very little is known of the spy in the few weeks that followed. Sergeant Hempstead has told of going with him to the point chosen for crossing on a waiting sloop to Long Island, many miles from the British camp. Hempstead says Hale was then “dressed in a brown suit of citizen’s clothes, with a round, broad-brimmed hat.” When the captain and the sergeant wrung each other’s hands in farewell, Nathan Hale gave into Hempstead’s care his private papers and letters and his shoe-buckles. The letters were to Hale’s aged father and to the girl whom he expected to marry.

At the end of several weeks Nathan Hale had succeeded in carrying out General Washington’s instructions, even to making a number of sketches. So far as he knew, he had not been suspected. This, he thought, was rather surprising, for there were Tories everywhere.

It was late in September, “in the dark of the moon,” when Hale slipped away from the British on Long Island and strolled down to the water’s edge where he was to meet the sloop and sail back to his own army. He waited some time for the ship, but it did not come. After some delay a sailboat came in sight and made up to the shore. He was greatly relieved, for it did not occur to him that there was anything wrong. As the boat drew near he hailed it with a happy shout. When it was too late, Hale saw that some of the men in the boat were in British uniform. In a moment more, he was their prisoner. He had been betrayed--it was never known by whom. He had a Tory cousin who was blamed at first, but his innocence was proven in time.

He was taken to General Howe’s headquarters. The telltale sketches and data were found in his shoes. He did not attempt to deny that he was a spy. It was not necessary to try him after he confessed. He was turned over to the provost marshal to be hanged next day.

Of course, no one knows what Nathan Hale thought that last night, but it may well be believed that he did not waste his last hours in despairing regrets. If he was permitted to write farewell letters that night, they were never delivered. In the morning Hale asked if he might speak with a minister, but that was curtly denied him. “Will you lend me a Bible a moment, then?” was his dying request. “No!” snapped the marshal.

A kind-hearted British officer, who noticed the pure, honest face of the young American spy, offered him shelter from the sun in his tent during a brief delay. The heart of this enemy captain was touched, and it was he who preserved Nathan Hale’s noble words for future ages. If the young spy could have known that his death would strengthen the hearts of patriots to fight for liberty, and that what he was about to say would go resounding down the ages, it would have added to his joy that hot September day. A poet has described the moment when they came and led him out:

“To drum-beat and heart-beat A soldier marches by; There is color in his cheek, There is courage in his eye; Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat, In a moment he must die.”

They led him to an apple tree near at hand. While they were fastening his arms behind him and tying a rope around his ankles, he gazed up into the tree. On his handsome face rested the resigned expression which is shown in the bronze and marble statues of Nathan Hale in the Yale yard where he used to play, and in the park before City Hall, in New York.

“Well, have you any confession to make?” asked the marshal. This called Nathan Hale’s mind back. He smiled at the needless question, for he had confessed the night before and had thus made a trial unnecessary. Hesitating only a moment, he answered the officer with simple courtesy, in the bravest words ever uttered by mortal man:

“_I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country._”

LAFAYETTE, THE BOY HERO OF TWO WORLDS

In a great stone building among the tree-covered hills in the south of France there lived a little boy who at birth received fourteen names and titles. He belonged to the noble French family of the Lafayettes, who had been knights for at least seven hundred years. The boy never saw his father, for shortly before the child was born, his brave young soldier father was killed in a battle with the English. The home in which this fatherless boy lived was a castle, but it looked like a great prison or a modern storage warehouse with a huge, round tower at each end. Across its few small windows were iron bars.