Virginia Free Press

The Mason's Last Request.

BY EDWARD Z. C. JUDSON.

It was a very hot day in the summer of 1778. The British General Clinton, with a formidable army, was hastening across the sandy plains of New Jersey, to join the forces of General Howe, at Sandy Hook. And, Washington, with an army regenerated into life, determined, if it lay within the bound of possibility, to prevent that junction; and to effect his purpose, sent a large detachment of light troops, under General Lee to harass their movements and retard their progress until he could come up with the main force and effect their capture or destruction.

As soon as the American sharpshooters in the van of Lee's army began to annoy the British, the latter drew up in order of battle and prepared for defence. The Americans boldly pushed on and were driving all before them, when to their utter astonishment, and to the deep mortification of their gallant officers, who were flushed with the hope of victory almost in their hands, Gen. Lee ordered a retreat.

Shame mantled many a brow then and there; and in spite of discipline angry words broke from many a lip: for even then, as now, the word retreat sounded strangely, aye almost harshly, upon an American ear. But the order had been given by him who had command, and he must be obeyed. But so angry and unwilling were those who fell back that they did not preserve the order which they would have done had they only been yielding to stern necessity.

And the British, overjoyed at a victory so easy, were pushing their advantages as they ever did, mercilessly, and our brave men were falling fast before them, when suddenly dashing forward upon a horse which was white with foam, rode that matchless man upon whom a Nation's fate depended.

'What means this cowardly retreat? Who dared to order it?' he thundered.

'I did!' was the angry response of Gen. Lee.

'Rally your men, coward, or hide your face in shame!' cried Washington, that day giving vent to a passion which hitherto, under all circumstances, he had managed to control.

'Halt and form!' he cried again, in a voice so loud that it fell alike upon the ears of friend and foe.

And though the bullets fell like hail around him, and brave men dropped upon his right hand and upon his left, he sat unmoved upon his horse, stemmed the tide of retreat, and checked the advance of the triumphant foe.

The carnage was terrible. Bayonet clashed against bayonet, sabre met sabre, while the sulphurous smoke almost hid the combatants from view; and they sprang at each other like fiends, lighted by the flashes of cannon and the blaze of musketry.

One gallant officer whose gray hairs had become tinged with blood, fought directly under the eyes of Washington, whom he loved not only as a general, but as a Brother, bound by that mysterious and holy tie which equalizes peasant with a prince. By his side three sons of lesser rank, the younger scarce 19 years of age, fought as bravely as himself.

It was at that moment when, with Washington at their head, the Americans drove back the foe at the bayonet's point, that he whom I will call Major Carroll, who was leading his battalion on, himself on foot (for two horses had already gone down under him on that day, and to whom I just alluded, saw a British officer fall, who had, with heroic gallantry, striven to stem the changing tide.

Though wounded and down, the brave officer still struggled and drawing a pistol disabled a man whose bayonet was at his breast. Major Carroll's sword was raised above his head, but quickly a sign, a word, and the 'widow's son' was safe, for the foe whose arm had just been raised was a Brother, whose extended hand was ready to lift him who lay upon the earth in such distress.

But ah! fatal pause! that generous bosom so full of Fraternal love, which did not forget duty even there amid the wild carnage of battle, was pierced by a bullet; and the brave Carroll sank dying by the side of him who had called for help and had not been refused.

Washington's eyes were on him—he knew who and what he was, for he had sat with him in a place where light abounded; but he could not wait—the enemy are flying and must be pursued.

'On!' cried the dying hero to his men.—

'Forward!' he shouted to his men.

'We are victorious, and I am content.'

The battle was over. The British had been swept back over the gory field which they had taken, and night had drawn its mantle over the horrors which the day exposed.

And by Major Carroll's side knelt the only one of his race that was left to life—his youngest born. His two eldest sons had fallen on that dear bought field—like himself contented that they died for their country, and fell in the hour when victory was theirs.

'Father, what can I do for you?' said the boy hero, as he grasped his dying sire by the hand, and sustained his head upon his breast.

'Be a man and do your duty to your country first, and to your mother next. And lad, save that Masonic regalia. 'Twas our Nation's father invested me with it: Save it, and act so worthy that when you are of full age you may be entitled to wear it. It is my last request!'

And soon the noble spirit of that brave, good man left his body, and went to dwell with the great Architect of the Universe.

And years after, when peace smiled upon our land, the son fulfilled the father's request, and that cherished regalia is still in the possession of his descendants.—Masonic Eclectic.