The Hand of Providence

Thus the youthful nation, as it took its place among the powers of the world, proclaimed its faith in the truth and reality and unchangeableness of freedom, virtue and right. The heart of Jefferson, in writing the declaration, and of Congress in adopting it, beat for all humanity. The assertion of right was made for all nations and for all coming generations. It was addressed to all mankind and was destined to make the circuit of the world. As it passed by the despotic countries of Europe, and the astonished people read with mingled surprise and joy, that "all men are created equal," and have an equal right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, they started as from the sleep of years; like those, who have been exiles from their native land from childhood, start up when they suddenly hear the dimly remembered accents of their mother tongue.

When the news of the declaration of independence reached England the spirit of the nobility was vehement against the Americans. Had the decision of the conflict hung on the strength of armies alone, the colonists could not have gained the victory; but it involved the interests of Europe's toiling millions, and brought into action ideas which had hitherto no opportunity for expression, and forces which until then had no sphere of action. The principles that gave life to the new institutions pervaded history like a prophecy, and seemed like the realizing of the golden age of which the poets dreamed. The most profound thinkers and most intense lovers of the race saw in America's future an opportunity for man's higher development; the spiritual-minded saw in the history and circumstances of America the wonder-working and controlling hand of Providence.

The history of the military campaigns of 1776 and 1777, are too well known to need repetition here. The Americans were beaten in every attack made upon them, from the battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775, to the battle of Fort Mifflin, October 22, 1777. At Cambridge they had no powder, yet their courage and perseverance held out. They lost Long Island, New York, Fort Washington and more than three thousand men. They fled through New Jersey followed by the victorious English. The American army kept on dwindling and shrinking till it comprised scarcely seven thousand men, ill armed, unpaid, ill clad and unfed.

During those two years and four months the only battles, that were precursors of success and gave renewed hope and vigor to the patriot cause, were the brilliant successes at Trenton and Princeton.

It was the night before Christmas. The British lay waiting fur the Delaware river to freeze over, that they might again pursue Washington and his little band. Meanwhile the Americans collected all the boats up and down the river for seventy miles. After dark they commenced to cross the river. The night was dark and tempestuous, and the weather so intensely cold that two of the soldiers were frozen to death. Yet amidst the floating ice and gusts of wind they fearlessly rowed across the river. At day-break Christmas morning they attacked the astonished royalists. Three times as many prisoners were taken as the number of the American troops engaged. The Americans then recrossed the river taking the prisoners with them. A week later, Washington made another night march and surprised the British at Princeton, capturing prisoners and making good his escape.

These exploits, inconsiderable as they may seem, greatly raised the spirits of the American people. When triumphs like these were possible, under circumstances so discouraging, there was no need to despair.

Though the British advanced on Philadelphia and took possession of it, still there was a feeling of insecurity in the British army. They knew not what moment they might be attacked.

Notwithstanding these successes many of the American officers left the army in disgust. The nation could not pay her soldiers and made no promise of future indemnity. The British had full possession of New York, and were rioting and feasting at Philadelphia. Meanwhile Washington with his little army had retreated to a secluded place among the Pennsylvania hills, which was known by the name of Valley Forge.

As the men moved toward the spot selected for their winter resting-place, they had no clothes to cover their nakedness, blankets to lie on, nor tents to sleep under. For the want of shoes, their marches through frost and snow might be traced by the blood from their feet, and they were almost as often without provisions as with them.

An extract from one of Washington's letters to Congress may not be out of place: "We have this day no less than two thousand eight hundred and ninety-eight men unfit for duty, because they are barefoot or otherwise naked. Our whole strength in continental troops amounts to no more than eight thousand two hundred men. Since the fourth instant, owing to hardships and exposures, our numbers have decreased nearly two thousand men. Numbers are obliged to sit all night by the fires; or sleep on a cold, bleak hill, under frost and snow, without clothes or blankets."

All this time the British soldiers in Philadelphia were well provided for; the officers were living in luxury at the expense of the inhabitants. The days were spent in pastime, the nights in entertainments.

It was at this period of the war—the darkest through which the nation ever passed—that the following incident occurred. It was observed that each day after Washington had visited the hospital tents and administered to the sick whatever necessities or comforts he had in his power to bestow, he retired into the forest at some distance from the camp. Curiosity prompted an individual, named Isaac Pitts, to follow him. There, at the foot of a large tree, with head uncovered, kneeling in the snow, was seen the commander-in-chief of the American armies, engaged in prayer before God. With an anxious and burdened mind—a mind conscious of its need of divine support and consolation—Washington went and rolled those mighty burdens—too heavy for him to bear unaided—upon the arm of Omnipotence. Isaac Pitts related what he had seen and heard, and on a subsequent day at least three persons beheld the venerated "father of his country," at prayer before his God.

It is recorded in Matthew vi., 6: "But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father, which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly." May we not believe that the high moral courage which dared greater perils than the whistling of bullets; that will of mighty strength which having chosen the right, though unpopular, never deviated from it; that calm self-command, which bore up under the greatest reverses and still preserved its equanimity amidst the taunts of enemies and censure of friends—may we not believe that these things were among the open rewards of secret prayer?

From that time forward success seems to have attended the American arms. Meanwhile the tidings of American heroism and suffering had reached the old world and thrilled the hearts of the lovers of liberty in Europe. Prominent among these was the Marquis de la Fayette, a young French nobleman, then scarcely nineteen years of age, who offered to serve in the American army, without pension or allowance. The king of France dreaded the growth of civil and political liberty; yet he could not withstand the temptation to wreak a terrible vengeance on England for having wrested Canada from his grasp. He sent a fleet and army to America, which greatly aided the cause of Independence. Thus did the rage of wicked men further the designs of Providence.

While Washington was still hemmed in among the hills of Pennsylvania, the British general, Burgoyne, had marched from Canada into the heart of New England. At his approach every man took down his musket from the wall and hurried to the front. Little discipline had they, but a resolute purpose and a sure aim. Difficulties thickened around the fated army.

At length, Burgoyne found himself at Saratoga. It was now October. Heavy rains fell. Provisions were growing scanty. Gradually it became evident that the British were surrounded. Night and day a circle of fire encompassed them. Burgoyne called his officers together. There was but one thing to do and it was done. The British army surrendered. Nearly six thousand brave men, in sorrow and in shame, laid down their arms. The men who took them were mere peasants. No two of them were dressed alike. These grotesque American warriors behaved towards their conquered enemies with true nobility. General Gates, the American commander, kept his men strictly within their lines, that they might not witness the piling of the British arms. No taunt was offered, no look of disrespect was directed against the fallen. All were mute in astonishment and pity.

One of the saddest incidents of the war, was the tragic fate of Major Andre. The Americans had a strong fortress at West Point, on the Hudson river. The English desired to obtain this place, as its possession would give them command of the Hudson river, up which their ships might sail more than a hundred miles. But that fort, sitting impregnably on rocks, two hundred feet above the river, was hard to win. Benedict Arnold, a proud and ambitious American officer, was in command of this post. Loving money more than duty, he determined to sell this fortress to the English. He opened negotiations with Sir Henry Clinton, then in command of the English at New York, who sent Major Andre to arrange the terms of the transfer.

At midnight Major Andre landed from a British ship at a lonely place, where Arnold awaited him. Their conference lasted so long, that it was deemed unsafe for Andre to return to the ship. It was determined that the next night he should attempt, in disguise, to reach New York by land. The pass given to him by Arnold, permitted him to go through the American lines. His danger might now be considered at an end, and, under cover of the darkness, he rode cheerfully on his lonely journey, till he came to a small stream. Thick woods on each side made the darkness still more gloomy. Suddenly three men stepped from among the trees and ordered him to halt. Thinking them to be friends, he told them he was a British officer on very important business. Alas for Andre! they were Americans. Andre was searched, and in his boots were discovered Arnold's drawings of West Point. The men knew then that he was a spy. He vainly offered them a large sum of money, but the men nobly refused to sell their liberty and their country for gold. Andre was tried, condemned, and, ten days after, executed.

His death caused deep sensation throughout the army and England. Men in England began to inquire into the causes of this terrible, fratricidal war.

While the British general, Clinton, was holding New York, Lord Cornwallis was fortifying himself in Yorktown, Virginia. The French fleet sailed for the Chesapeake bay, and Washington decided to act in concert with the French, and lay siege to Yorktown. The bombarding was carried on with extraordinary energy. In a few days the defenses lay in utter ruins. Cornwallis determined to evacuate Yorktown and join Clinton at New York. One night he began to embark his men in order to cross the York river and set out on his desperate march. A violent storm arose and scattered his boats. All hope was now at an end. In about a fortnight from the opening of the siege, the British army, eight thousand strong, laid down its arms.

Well might the colonists rejoice for their long and bitter struggle was about to close. Eight years had passed since the first blood was shed at Lexington. The representatives of the English people had learned the causes of the American revolution, and refused to continue the fratricidal war. The independence of the United States was acknowledged and the British forces were withdrawn.

On the 30th of November, 1782, a treaty of peace was signed at Versailles, between the commissioners, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams and John Jay, appointed by the Congress of the United States and those of Great Britain. The treaty was not a compact imposed by force, but a perpetual settlement of all that had been called in question. By doing this act of justice to her former colonies, England rescued her own liberties from imminent danger, and gave a pledge of liberty to her other dependencies. That selfish colonial policy, which had led to the cruel and unnatural war, was laid aside forever. Great Britain was henceforth the mother of nations—the great colonizing power—destined to found colonies in every quarter of the globe, and sow the islands of the ocean with the seeds of freedom.

For the United States, the war which began on Lexington Green, ended with the independence and possession of a country, which has increased till it is now thirty times larger than the parent state.

"The boys of '76" had fought their last battle. December 4th, 1783, Washington came to disband the army. Many of the soldiers had been home by permission. They now came to bid farewell to their commander-in-chief, and then return to their great work of building a nation. Washington and his soldiers met for the last time. No more beating of drums or roar of cannon; no more weary marches or the clash of arms. They had fought side by side, and the memories of those conflicts could never be effaced. Washington said: "With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you, most devoutly wishing, that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy, as your former ones have been glorious and honorable."

The officers then took his hand. There were tears upon his cheek, and the officers felt a choking in their throats. They passed out of doors down to the ferry. Washington stepped into a boat, took off his hat and waved a farewell. The oars of the rowers soon bore him from New York to the New Jersey side.

At noon on the 20th of December, he stood in the old hall of the state house at Annapolis, in the presence of the Congress, which had called him from his quiet home eight years before, to take command of the armies of the United States. Now he was to resign it.

He said: "I commend the interests of our country to the protection of Almighty God, and those who have the superintendence of them to His holy keeping. Having finished the work assigned me, and bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose order I have so long acted, I here offer my commission and take leave of all employments of public life."

Thus did Washington gladly return to his home on the Potomac. The simple grandeur of his character was now revealed beyond the possibility of misconception. Afterwards he was twice elected president; yet never abused the trust reposed in him. There were many who would have made him king. He trampled on their offer, and went back to his fields of corn and quiet haunts at Mount Vernon. The grandest act of his public life was to give up power; the most magnanimous deed of his private life, was to liberate his slaves.

During the Revolution most of the states had adopted written codes or constitutions on which all their civil laws were based. They were virtually, at that time, thirteen independent states. Congress had but little authority; could not enforce laws or collect taxes. A general constitution was needed, which would fuse them into one nationality, and control their conflicting interests.

In 1787, fifty-five delegates met in Philadelphia. They came together to devise means for perpetuating the liberty they had so dearly won. Washington was appointed to preside over the Convention; Thomas Jefferson, Patrick Henry, Alexander Hamilton and many other wise men were there. Benjamin Franklin brought to this—his latest and greatest task—the ripe experience of eighty-two years. There were many perplexing questions to be settled. Some of the states were large, others small: ought the small ones to have equal voice in the government with the large ones? They decided that Congress should consist of a Senate and House of Representatives—two senators from each state, no matter what its size or number of population; but the representatives were to be elected according to population. For four months the delegates discussed the momentous issues that came before them. They sat with closed doors; the world will never know how wise or foolish, how eloquent or angry were their words. At one time it seemed impossible to reconcile their differences. Benjamin Franklin proposed that the blessing of God should be asked upon their labors. From that time forward, prayer was offered each morning, and greater unanimity prevailed in counsel. A spirit of concession was manifest, and a willingness to give up their private interests for the general good. Thus did the Spirit of God act on the hearts of the founders of this nation.

At length they embodied their labors in a written constitution, which, by a vote of the people, became, in 1789, the supreme law of the land. With few amendments the original constitution remains in full force now, receiving, as it increases in age, the growing reverence of right minded people.

Washington was the first president. He took the oath of office April 30th, 1789, in the presence of a vast multitude. He served eight years, and then retired again to Mount Vernon, where he died in the sixty-eighth year of his age, December 15, 1799. His countrymen mourned him with a sorrow, sincere and deep. Their reverence for him has not diminished with the progress of the years. To this day the steamers, which ply upon the Potomac, strike mournful notes as they sweep past Mount Vernon, where Washington spent the happiest years of his life, and where he now reposes.