Part 6 (1/2)

It was just before sunrise on a lovely Sabbath morning that Nathan Hale was led out to death. The gallows was the limb of an apple tree.

Early as it was, a number of men and women had come to witness the execution.

”Give us your dying speech, you young rebel!” shouted the brutal Cunningham.

The young patriot, standing upon the fatal ladder, lifted his eyes toward heaven, and said, in a calm, clear voice, ”I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.”

These were his last words. The women sobbed, and some of the men began to show signs of sympathy.

”Swing the rebel off!” cried Cunningham, in a voice hoa.r.s.e with anger. The order was obeyed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Statue of Nathan Hale, standing in City Hall Park in New York City]

Half an hour later, the body of the patriot spy was buried, probably beneath the apple tree, but the grave {61} was not marked, and the exact spot is now unknown. A British officer was sent, under a flag of truce, to tell Was.h.i.+ngton of the fate of his gallant young captain.

Thus died in the bloom of life, Captain Nathan Hale, the early martyr in the cause of our freedom. Gifted, educated, ambitious, he laid aside every thought of himself, and entered upon a service of the greatest risk to life and to honor, because Was.h.i.+ngton deemed it important to the sacred cause to which they had both given their best efforts.

”What was to have been your reward in case you succeeded?” asked Major Tallmadge, Hale's cla.s.smate, of the British spy, Major Andre, as his prisoner was being rowed across the Hudson River to be tried by court-martial.

”Military glory was all I sought for,” replied Andre; ”the thanks of my general and the approbation of my king would have been a rich reward.”

Hale did not expect, nor did he care, to be a hero. He had no thought of reward or of promotion. He sacrificed his life from a pure sense of what he thought to be his duty.

{62}

CHAPTER V

OUR GREATEST PATRIOT

If American boys and girls were asked to name the one great man in their country's history whom they would like to have seen and talked with, nine out of every ten would probably say, ”Was.h.i.+ngton.” Many an old man of our day has asked his grandfather or his great-grandfather how Was.h.i.+ngton looked. Indeed, so much has been said and written of the ”Father of his Country” that we are apt to think of him as something more than human.

Was.h.i.+ngton was truly a remarkable man, from whatever point of view we choose to study his life. He left, as a priceless legacy to his fellow citizens, an example of what a man with a pure and n.o.ble character can do for himself and for his country. Duty performed with faithfulness was the keynote to every word and every act of his life.

Still, we must not overlook the fact that Was.h.i.+ngton was, after all, quite human. Like all the rest of us, he had his faults, his trials, and his failures. Knowing this, we are only drawn nearer to him, and find ourselves possessed of a more abiding admiration for the life he lived.

{63} Was.h.i.+ngton was tall, and straight as an arrow. His favorite nephew, Lawrence Lewis, once asked him about his height. He replied, ”In my best days, Lawrence, I stood six feet and two inches, in ordinary shoes.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: George Was.h.i.+ngton]

During his whole life, Was.h.i.+ngton was rather spare than fleshy. Most of his portraits, it is said, give to his person a fullness that it did not have. He once said that the best weight of his best days never exceeded two hundred and twenty pounds. His chest was broad but not well rounded. His arms and his legs were long, large, and sinewy.

His feet and his hands were especially large. Lafayette, who aided us in the Revolution, once said to a friend, ”I never saw so large a hand on any human being, as the general's.”

Was.h.i.+ngton's eyes were of a light, grayish blue, and were so deep sunken that they gave him an unusually serious expression. On being asked why he painted these eyes of a deeper blue than life, the artist said, ”In a hundred years they will have faded to the right {64} color.” This painting, by Stuart, of the bust of Was.h.i.+ngton, is said to be wonderfully true to life.

Many stories are told of the mighty power of Was.h.i.+ngton's right arm.

It is said that he once threw a stone from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural Bridge, in Virginia. Again, we are told that once upon a time he rounded a piece of slate to the size of a silver dollar, and threw it across the Rappahannock at Fredericksburg, the slate falling at least thirty feet on the other side. Many strong men have since tried the same feat, but have never cleared the water.

Peale, who was called the soldier artist, was once visiting Was.h.i.+ngton at Mount Vernon. One day, he tells us, some athletic young men were pitching the iron bar in the presence of their host.

Suddenly, without taking off his coat, Was.h.i.+ngton grasped the bar and hurled it, with little effort, much farther than any of them had done. ”We were indeed amazed,” said one of the young men, ”as we stood round, all stripped to the buff, and having thought ourselves very clever fellows, while the colonel, on retiring, pleasantly said, 'When you beat my pitch, young gentlemen, I'll try again.'”

At another time, Was.h.i.+ngton witnessed a wrestling match. The champion of the day challenged him, in sport, to wrestle. Was.h.i.+ngton did not stop to take off his coat, but grasped the ”strong man of Virginia.”