Part 8 (2/2)
”Then why?” he persisted.
”The Lord was good to us.”
”How?”
The question came with an accent of indignation. Sometimes he couldn't help getting cross with his mother when she began to give the Lord credit for everything. If the Lord did it all why should he give his string of fish to an old soldier!
The grey eyes looked into his with wistful tenderness. She had been shocked once before by the fear that there was something in this child's eternal why that would keep him out of the church. The one deep desire of her heart was that he should be good.
”Would you like to hear,” she began softly, ”something about the Revolution which my old school teacher told me in Virginia?”
”Yes, tell me!” he answered eagerly.
”He said that we could never have won our independence but for G.o.d. We didn't win because British soldiers couldn't fight. We held out for ten years because we outran them. We ran quicker, covered more ground, got further into the woods and stayed there longer than any fighters the British had ever met before. That's why we got the best of them. Our men who fought and ran away lived to fight another day. General Was.h.i.+ngton was always great in retreat. He never fought unless he was ready and could choose his own field. He waited until his enemies were in snug quarters drinking and gambling, and then on a dark night, so dark and cold that some of his own men would freeze to death, he pushed across a river, fell on them, cut them to pieces and retreated.
”The number of men he commanded was so small he could not face his foes in the open if he could avoid it. His men were poorly armed, poorly drilled, half-clothed and half-starved at times. The British troops were the best drilled and finest fighting men of the world in their day, armed with good guns, well fed, well clothed, and well paid.”
She paused and smiled at the memory of her teacher's narrative.
”What do you suppose happened on one of our battlefields?”
”I dunno--what?”
”When the Red-coats charged, our boys ran at the first crack of a gun.
They ran so well that they all got away except one little fellow who had a game leg. He stumbled and fell in a hole. A big British soldier raised a musket to brain him. The little fellow looked up and cried: 'All right. Kill away, ding ye--ye won't get much!'
”The Britisher laughed, picked him up, brushed his clothes and told him to go home.”
The Boy laughed again and again.
”He was a s.p.u.n.ky one anyhow, wasn't he?”
”Yes,” the mother nodded, ”that's why the Red-coat let him go. And we never could have endured if G.o.d hadn't inspired one man to hold fast when other hearts had failed.”
”And who was he?” the Boy broke in.
”General Was.h.i.+ngton. At Valley Forge our cause was lost but for him. Our men were not paid. They could get no clothes, they were freezing and starving. They quit and went home in hundreds and gave up in despair.
And then, Boy----”
Her voice dropped to a tense whisper:
”General Was.h.i.+ngton fell on his knees and prayed until he saw the s.h.i.+ning face of G.o.d and got his answer. Next day he called his ragged, hungry men together and said:
”'Soldiers, though all my armies desert, the war shall go on. If I must, I'll gather my faithful followers in Virginia, retreat to the mountains and fight until our country is free!'
”His words cheered the despairing men and they stood by him. We were saved at last because help came in time. Lord Cornwallis had laid the South in ashes, and camped at Yorktown, his army of veterans laden with spoils. He was only waiting for the transports from New York to take his victorious men North, join the army there and end the war, and then----”
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