THE GREATEST AMERICANS

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, THE BOY WHO WAS DILIGENT IN BUSINESS

WHEN Benjamin Franklin was a little boy he lived in Boston, where his father was a maker of soap and candles. Little Ben was only ten years old when his father took him out of school and set him at work in his shop. Dipping candles all day long is hard, disagreeable work and Ben, who loved books, often wished that he was back in school. His uncle Benjamin sometimes tried to cheer the lad at his tiresome toil by telling him: “It is not so much what you do in life as how you do it.”

One day Ben’s uncle brought a Bible into the smoky soapfat room and read from it: “Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.”

Ben Franklin was a thoughtful boy. While he was bending over the little vat of hot tallow all that long day, he could not help thinking of what his uncle had read to him. Half smothered by the burning grease he whispered to himself: “ ‘Stand before kings?’ I’m so tired, and my back is so lame when night comes that I can hardly stand at all!”

After Ben had worked at home for two long years, his father said to him,

“My son, you have been so faithful that I cannot bear to let you dip candles all your life. You are fit for something better. What trade would you like to learn?”

Ben was delighted. He was so fond of books that he felt sure he would like to learn how to make them. He answered his father’s question by saying, “I would like to be a printer.”

When a boy went to learn a trade in those days, he had to serve as an apprentice. That is, he was bound out by law to work for a master until he was twenty-one. At first he received nothing for his work but his board and clothes, and when he was nineteen or twenty he was given very small wages. At that time James Franklin, Ben’s older brother, had a printing office in Boston. It was soon arranged that Ben should be his brother James’s apprentice, and work for nine years to learn the printing business.

Ben was clever and willing. The work of a printing office boy was very hard. More than this, James Franklin was a hard master. He sometimes boxed Ben’s ears and treated him very unkindly. The more the young brother tried to please, the crosser James seemed to be.

Ben bore this abuse for five years. He soon learned to set type well, and to run the “hand”—or foot—press, which was hard even for a man to do. James was so mean to him at home that the boy asked for just half the money it cost his brother to feed him, so that he might board himself. Of course, James was pleased with such a bargain.

The boy was so eager to learn that he saved half of that small sum to buy books. He ate no meat—only bread and a few plain vegetables. Instead of going out, as the men and the other apprentices did, to get a good dinner, he stayed in the shop at noon to eat his dry bread and read. Benjamin Franklin liked books, which other boys thought too dry, even better than good things to eat.

Besides being studious, Ben was ingenious. He had the knack of finding out what was wrong with things and making them right. When the printing press would not work, he fixed it and set it going again. He soon wrote pieces for his brother’s newspaper. He was so bright, willing, and useful that every one praised him—except his brother, who, instead of being proud of Ben, was jealous, and treated him worse than ever.

So Ben had to run away—not to sea, but to Philadelphia, where he could get printing work to do. He quickly found a place there and worked with a royal will. If ever a young man was “diligent in his business,” it was Benjamin Franklin. When he was about twenty-one, he became the owner of the largest printing business in America. He was soon editing and publishing the best newspaper in the country. Before long he also started “Poor Richard’s Almanac,” a sort of yearly magazine containing Franklin’s maxims, or short, wise sayings. These have been translated into many languages and are quoted all over the world.

Franklin founded the first library in Philadelphia, and started the University of Pennsylvania. He kept on improving and inventing useful things. He made printers’ type and presses better than they were before. One night his whale-oil lamp smoked. He went to work to fix it. To do this he had to find out what made it smoke like that. Before he finished he had invented the best lamp in the world. With his new knowledge of the action of drafts, he went on and invented a stove, to take the place of the fireplace, which before this time was generally used for heating and cooking.

Many people thought the most striking thing that Franklin did was to make a silk kite with a steel wire projecting from the end of the long cross-stick to fly in the clouds during a thunderstorm. When the lightning struck the steel wire, it ran down the kite string to a big iron key which Franklin had hung there for that purpose. He then put the key into a big, wide-mouthed glass jar. This was like catching the lightning in a trap. In this simple way, Benjamin Franklin proved that lightning is nothing but electricity flashing up in the clouds.

Thus, by studying into things every chance he had, Benjamin Franklin became not only one of the most learned men in the world, but the greatest inventor of his time. He was honored with the title of Doctor of Philosophy by the greatest universities in Europe. Better than this, he was known and loved by the people all over the world.

While the War for Independence was under way, the leaders of the new nation, called the United States of America, came to Doctor Franklin and urged him to go to France and persuade the king and the people to help the United States. Doctor Franklin said he would see what could be done. When he reached Paris he received a more wonderful welcome than was ever given to a king. “The good Doctor Franklin’s” portrait and his stove were seen in nearly every home in France. He became “the fashion” in Paris, “the city of fashion.” Storekeepers were selling “Franklin” hats, “Franklin” canes, “Franklin” snuffboxes and so on. While he was entertained by the king of France, the kings of four other nations came to see him. Not only did he “stand before kings,” but he sat at table with the rulers of five great nations of Europe. The French government supplied him with money, men, and ships to help to win the independence of the United States. Then he stayed in France and signed the treaty of peace, which he brought home to America.

He arrived at the old wharf in Philadelphia where he had landed many years before—a poor, hungry lad of seventeen, running away from his cruel brother. This time he was welcomed by thousands of people, cheering. Cannon were booming. The bells of the city were ringing. Above them all tolled the great Liberty Bell of Independence Hall. The happy people shouted to one another—

“Hurrah for Doctor Franklin! Hurrah for peace!”

And Benjamin Franklin told some of them about the words his uncle had read to him when he was a boy:

“Seest thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.”

GEORGE WASHINGTON AND HIS MOTHER

WHEN George Washington was a little boy there was no such country as the United States. The part of America where he was born was called Virginia, but it was not a state then. It was a colony, or new country, settled by people from England.

These colonists lived along the eastern shore. Back from the sea coast were beautiful valleys and high hills covered with woods. That region was called a “howling wilderness,” because there were tribes of Indians roaming through its forests, hunting bears and wolves, war-whooping, and killing and scalping one another. Sometimes they stole up to a lone cabin or settlement to murder a few white people who were brave enough to try to live there, and set fire to their little home.

The wealthy Virginia colonists built handsome houses on their large estates. “The First Families of Virginia,” as they came to be called, owned negroes that had been stolen from the jungles of Africa and sold to the planters. These slaves worked in the tobacco fields and did other work on the farms. Then there were also white men who had broken the laws in England, and were condemned to hard labor in the fields of Virginia instead of being shut up in the prisons of England. As most of the labor on their farms and plantations was done by black slaves and white convicts, the young gentlemen of the colony thought all that kind of work was too low for them to do. So, instead of laboring to improve their new country, as men did in other colonies, the strong young men of Virginia led lives of ease—drinking, carousing, gambling, and horse racing.

Little George Washington’s father was a wealthy planter who owned three plantations. He was a member of a great English company buying up vast tracts of land in the new country. He also owned a big interest in some iron mines. And besides all these, he was owner and master of a ship which took his tobacco and iron to London and brought back cargoes of silks, furniture, tea, coffee, and many other things not then made or raised in Virginia. Mr. Washington sometimes sailed to England on his ship and commanded his crew. From this he was called “Captain.”

Captain Washington’s oldest son, Lawrence, fourteen years older than George, had enlisted in the army while at school in England, and was now a captain fighting the Spaniards under Admiral Vernon.

When George was seven years old the Washington house was burned down, and the family had to move about fifty miles in a sailboat to another estate named “Ferry Farm,” on the Rappahannock River. From there George went to school, riding several miles a day on his own pony.

The schoolhouse was a mere shed in the center of a wornout tobacco field. George did not learn much there, but he did have a great time playing soldier. Small as he was, he was captain of the “white men.” The other “men” were Spaniards, French, or Indians, for England was at war with all these people most of the time. So, just then, there were three “captains” in the Washington family—Augustine, the father, Lawrence, the soldier son, and George, the school leader.

When George was eleven his father died, leaving the best part of his wealth to Lawrence. By English law the most of the property went to the eldest son; so the people of Virginia felt that this was the right thing to do. But George’s mother thought it was all wrong, when the oldest son of her husband’s first wife was made a rich man and her oldest son was left a poor boy by their father’s will. As for George, he believed it must be right because his father had willed it so. Instead of being jealous or grudging his half-brother such good fortune, George began to plan how to earn his own living. In this way the boy George Washington was preparing for the great War for Independence.

To keep his little brother from going to work, Lawrence persuaded his stepmother to let him find George a good place where he might become an officer in the English navy. He could do so through Admiral Vernon, for whom Lawrence had named the mansion he had built where his father’s house had burned down. But when the time came for parting with her oldest son and stand-by, stern, dignified Mary Washington broke down and cried, pleading with George not to leave his mother alone in her widowhood and poverty. It was so hard for George to give up what he thought was his only chance in life, that his face turned white. But for his mother’s sake, he gave it all up. Taking

Washington’s farewell to his mother.

off his bright “middy” uniform, he folded it away in his new sailor chest, never to be worn again. When he saw the warship, which had been anchored below Mount Vernon, sailing away in the morning sunshine, young George Washington’s future looked as dark as ever it could to a heartbroken lad of fifteen. But who would have led the colonists in their rebellion against England if George Washington had entered the English navy then, and had later become a British admiral instead of commanding general of the American army?

By the time George was twenty-one his brother Lawrence was dead and, as his father had willed it, most of the property, including “Mount Vernon,” belonged to the oldest son of the second wife. George at once provided for his mother against worry or want in future. But he had to tell her that he was a man now and that his devotion to country must come first—even before his duty to his mother.

The English governor of Virginia sent him, still little more than a boy, as messenger of the British government to the French and Indian commanders in the distant Ohio region. This was a lonely journey of many hundred miles through frozen and pathless forests full of cruel savages. George had several hairbreadth escapes, once from drowning in an icy river, and once from being shot by a treacherous Indian guide. A great writer says of his wonderful success on this difficult and dangerous errand through that western wilderness: “He went in a schoolboy, he came out the first soldier in the colonies.”

The brave youth was appointed Major Washington, and given command of a little army to fight the French and Indians. He soon gained a victory which was called “the first blow” in a war which lasted, in America and Europe, more than fifty years. As a member of General Braddock’s staff young Washington saved the remaining part of the British army at Fort Duquesne.

He was Colonel Washington when he was sent to the Congress which adopted the Declaration of Independence. While there he was made commander-in-chief of the Continental Army in the War for Independence. His faith and courage and patience endeared him so to the country that no other man could be thought of for the first President of the United States except the “Father of his Country.”

ALEXANDER HAMILTON, THE ORPHAN BOY FROM THE WEST INDIES

ON the little island of Nevis, in the West Indies, lived a small boy who had lost his mother, a bright young woman from France. His father, James Hamilton, who was a Scotch planter, soon left the island, and the boy, Alexander, heard little of him after that. No one knows to-day what became of the father of Alexander Hamilton, but his grandfather was a Scottish laird, or lord.

The next that is known of Alexander is that he was a clerk in the store of a merchant on Santa Cruz, a smaller island, and that the lad was not contented there. When he was twelve he wrote back to a friend in Nevis, “I would be willing to risk my life, but not my character, to exalt my station.”

Alexander studied with a minister of Santa Cruz who did all he could to help the boy to improve his position in life. As Alexander was a devout lad it is believed that the good man was trying to fit him to be a minister.

The first thing young Hamilton did to win credit was to write a wonderful description of a hurricane, or violent wind storm, that did great damage on the island. The article was printed in a London newspaper. When the people who knew the lad read his account, they could hardly believe that one so young could have written it and several wealthy planters decided to give such a bright boy a chance “to exalt his station” by sending him to school in America.

Soon the little Scotch lad who could speak French and write splendid stories in English was on his way to Boston in a British packet boat. It is stated that on that voyage he first heard of George Washington. When Alexander Hamilton reached Boston, he found the people up in arms because the British government had sent soldiers to keep order in that rebellious city; but the boy had been brought up to think that the king and the great men of England were always right.

The little Britisher from the West Indies was first sent to a grammar school not far from New York to prepare for college. He was so keen and studied so hard that he was fitted to enter King’s College in New York City at the age of sixteen. After the war against the king the name of the college was changed from King’s to Columbia.

After a year in college, the British-bred youth went to Boston again. This was about the time when the “Sons of Liberty” dressed up as Indians and threw the taxed tea overboard into Boston harbor. This act was intended to show the king and the English statesmen that the Americans would not pay taxes when they had nothing to say in the government as to what taxes they should pay. No doubt Alexander, while studying for college, had learned something of the history and the spirit of the people in America, so that he did not feel so sure that all the king did was right. After he returned to New York, there was a great mass meeting in “the Fields” to talk about the unjust acts of the king of England. In the city were many Tories, loyal to the king. Young Hamilton went down from college to hear the discussion, and it was not long before he was answering a rich Tory in a sharp, vigorous way. The people shouted to him to go up on the platform, and the brilliant West Indian youth of seventeen made a strong speech that became the talk of New York City.

A little while after this the students called on the president of King’s College. He was a Tory, and very bitter against the people who were fighting for their rights as British subjects. He scolded the students roundly, calling them traitors, rascals, and other hard names. This made the young men so angry that it might have gone hard with the old gentleman if young Hamilton had not jumped up on the porch and spoken earnestly in his defense. The president, seeing who was speaking, and thinking that the youth was talking against the Tories again, put his angry red face out of an upper window and shouted: “It’s a lie! Don’t believe a word that rogue says. He’s crazy!”

As Hamilton was really taking their foolish president’s part, this made the students shout and laugh. The young orator, taking advantage of this, kept on talking till the old Tory made his escape by a back way to a British man-of-war in the river near by. After this Hamilton wrote pamphlets and newspaper articles about the rights of the people. Events began to happen thick and fast. Washington was elected commander-in-chief of the Continental Army and drove the British soldiers out of Boston. Then the Americans decided to separate from England; so the Declaration of Independence was written and signed. Young Hamilton was soon in the midst of the fight—in command of an artillery company. When Washington and his ragged Continentals were retreating from New York, he saw a youth in charge of a battery keeping the red-coats from crossing a wide river, so that the American commander-in-chief and his little army could keep on their way to Philadelphia.

“Who is that young man?” asked Washington.

“That, your Excellency, is Alexander Hamilton.”

The great general was so pleased with the skill and courage of the young officer that he soon invited him to become his aide and secretary, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel. The commander-in-chief liked to have bright young men around him. Colonel Hamilton was now twenty. Colonel Aaron Burr was a year older. “Light-Horse Harry” Lee was about the same age; and General Lafayette, who was added to General Washington’s staff that summer, was only nineteen. Colonel Hamilton was such a discreet and faithful secretary that it was said, “The pen of the army is held by Hamilton.” In some ways Hamilton’s pen was mightier than his sword.

At Brandywine, where Lafayette was wounded, Hamilton’s horse was shot under him; but he kept at the head of his regiment, on foot. At Valley Forge young Hamilton had occasion to remember the language his mother used in talking with him when he was a baby on the island of Nevis, for he often spoke French with young Marquis de Lafayette. The West Indian colonel was welcome wherever

The first meeting between Washington and Hamilton. From an old print

he went. He was thoughtful and kind to the sick, writing beautiful letters home for disabled and dying soldiers.

One day when the young staff officer was hurrying to meet his chief, Lafayette detained him. Finally breaking away from the friendly young Frenchman, Hamilton found Washington waiting for him. The commander-in-chief said, “Colonel Hamilton, you have kept me waiting these ten minutes! I must tell you, sir, that you treat me with disrespect.”

The young aide flushed scarlet and replied: “I am not conscious of it, sir; but since you have thought it necessary to tell me so, we part.”

“Very well, sir, if it be your choice,” said Washington.

With face still aflame, Hamilton turned and left the commander-in-chief. Within an hour the general was sorry he had been so severe with “my boy” as he called his aide, and sent for him, asking that their too hasty words might be forgotten. But even then Hamilton could not quite forgive his chief for reproving him. So Alexander Hamilton was placed in command of a detachment in the south, where “Light-Horse Harry” and Lafayette were officers also. At Yorktown, the last battle in the War for Independence, Colonel Hamilton was the first man of the American army to mount the wall before the town, where he was quickly followed by his devoted men. Within a very few minutes the American flag was floating over Yorktown.

After the war, Hamilton returned to New York City to practise law. He had married the daughter of General Schuyler, one of the richest men in that state. Attorney Hamilton soon became successful and prosperous. When the time came to frame the Constitution which was to bind the thirteen states into one Union and make them true to their name, the United States, Alexander Hamilton was one of the leaders in that great undertaking.

After that, his former chief was elected the first President. One of the first acts of President Washington was to send for Alexander Hamilton to be the first Secretary of the Treasury. The young Secretary had to create success for the new nation, like making “bricks without straw.” There was no national treasury. Continental money was without value, so that when anything was considered worthless it was said to be—“not worth a continental.”

Rival states had been jealous of one another, and as there was no head, nothing was owned in common by the whole country—but debts. Money had been borrowed of other nations, and of patriotic people in America, to carry on the War for Independence. Many good people thought it would be impossible for the new government, just starting, to pay its debts, besides building up a new government and meeting the running expenses. But Alexander Hamilton, still a young man, saw that a country in debt could never be independent, and that if the government of the United States did not pay all it owed, it could not go on, any more than a bankrupt business which could not pay its bills. The only way to secure credit was to pay every dollar it owed.

Hamilton devised ways and means to do all this with such success that, in the street parades which the people arranged in different cities to celebrate the new Constitution, wherever a float represented the Constitution, the only man’s name on the ship of state was “Hamilton.” The plans of the young Secretary of the Treasury worked like magic, and the new government was soon on a solid foundation.

Daniel Webster, the greatest orator who ever lived in America, in speaking of Hamilton’s work, compared it to two miracles told of in the Bible; one, that of Moses when he drew water from a rock for the thirsty Israelites in the wilderness; the other, the raising of a dead man to life by Elijah. These are Webster’s words:

“Hamilton smote the rock of the national resources and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth. He touched the dead corpse of public credit, and it sprang upon its feet.”

Alexander Hamilton continued to act as the first President’s private secretary. It is generally believed that it was he who wrote out Washington’s immortal “Farewell Address.” When he gave up the office of Secretary of the Treasury, Hamilton returned to the practise of law. He had gladly given up a large income and served his country for about one-third the amount of money he had been receiving from his law business.

In New York Hamilton’s chief rival was Aaron Burr, whom Washington had disliked and allowed to retire from his military staff. But Colonel Burr was a brilliant lawyer and a popular politician. When Thomas Jefferson was elected President of the United States by the House of Representatives, Aaron Burr might have been chosen President if three men had voted the other way. Burr was bitterly disappointed, and blamed Hamilton for his defeat. Nursing revenge in his heart Burr practised shooting. As Hamilton continued to oppose Burr’s schemes, Burr easily found an excuse to challenge him to fight a duel.

Dueling was still a common means of deciding questions of honor. Hamilton’s eldest son had been killed in that way. As a man was called a coward if he did not fight, Hamilton accepted Burr’s challenge, though he felt sure it would mean death to himself. The place chosen for the shooting was the spot where Hamilton’s son had lately been killed. When the signal was given, Alexander Hamilton pointed his pistol upward and fired into a tree to avoid hitting Burr, whose aim was as true as when shooting at a target. Hamilton fell, face downward, and died next day, declaring that he forgave the enemy who had planned and practised to kill him.

This duel did more than anything else to show the wickedness of the duel as a way of settling disputes. Aaron Burr later was accused of being a traitor to the country which Hamilton had given his great and noble life to place upon a firm foundation. What is true of dueling is also true of war—the unworthy party may succeed by wicked means. But America remembers Aaron Burr as a curse, and Alexander Hamilton as a blessing to his country.

THOMAS JEFFERSON, THE FATHER OF DEMOCRACY

THOMAS JEFFERSON was born on his father’s many-thousand-acre farm near Charlottesville, Virginia, on the banks of River Anna, whose name was shortened to “Rivanna.” Thomas’s father, Colonel Peter Jefferson, had come over the sea from Wales, and his mother was Jane Randolph, a daughter of one of the “F. F. V.’s,” or First Families of Virginia.

The Jefferson boy grew up tall, thin, awkward, freckled and red-haired. His father, like George Washington’s, was a wealthy planter, who died while Thomas was yet a lad. But young Jefferson’s mother was not left poor like Washington’s; she was able to send her son to William and Mary College. Though Thomas was always reading and studying, he was very fond of playing the violin. Several stories are told about Jefferson and his “fiddle,” as they called it then. One is that he played duets with Patrick Henry; another is that he once performed with George Washington, who played quite well on the flute.

Thomas was so eager to learn and so afraid of wasting time in college that he took the four years’ course in two years, graduating at nineteen. Besides the regular college branches, he studied architecture, and after graduating devoted some time to that profession before fully deciding to study law.

Young Jefferson was not admitted to practise law until five years after finishing his college course. This was because he was not content merely with “reading law,” but he read many books on other subjects and continued his study of music.

While he was attending court at Charlottesville, his home at Shadwell was burned to the ground. An old negro house-servant came to tell the young master all about the fire. Lawyer Jefferson thought first of his large library and asked if his precious books had been saved.

“No, massa,” said the old slave. “Dem books is all burnt up, but de fire didn’t cotch your dear old fiddle. I carried dat out, myse’f, I did.”

Perhaps the best story of all that are still told of Jefferson and his fiddle is that about two young men admirers of the young and beautiful widow Skelton. They called on her one evening and found “Tom” Jefferson there already. He was playing his violin while she accompanied him on her spinet—an old-fashioned piano. They listened a moment and laughed. “We won’t play ‘second fiddle’ or break up their duet,” said one of the callers. So they went away without leaving their names. It was not long before Thomas Jefferson, like George Washington, married a wealthy widow and brought her to live on one of the largest and finest estates in old Virginia.

Thomas Jefferson had planned and built a new house in place of the one which had been burned down. He chose a high hill on the plantation, from which, across the surrounding country, the town of Charlottesville could be seen miles away. He named the estate “Monticello,” the Italian word for “little mountain.”

About the time the Jeffersons were married the whole country was stirred by the Stamp Act and other taxes demanded by England of the American colonies. These taxes seemed unjust, because the people were not allowed the right to send men from America to help make the laws which they had to obey. Jefferson wrote a pamphlet on the subject, which he called “A Summary View of the Rights of British America.” In it he said, “The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time.”

When the people of the colonies in America were fully aroused, they sent men to the Continental Congress at Philadelphia to decide what to do about the unjust acts of the British king and his wrong advisers. George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Richard Henry Lee were among the men, called delegates, sent from “Old Virginia.”

One day in the Congress, Richard Henry Lee arose and made this motion:

“Resolved, That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.”

After discussing Lee’s resolution for three days, the

The signing of the Declaration of Independence, that historic document of which Jefferson was the author.

Congress voted to have a statement drawn up to send to King George the Third, declaring that the people of the United Colonies could not stand wrong treatment any longer. Thomas Jefferson was appointed chairman of a committee of five to write this paper, which came to be called the Declaration of Independence. This is one of the four greatest legal papers ever written. In it were these lines, which will be repeated as long as there are people living in the world who love liberty:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident—that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

“We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”

When the War for Independence was won, Thomas Jefferson was sent to France to represent the young American republic. Then when Washington was President he was called home to be Secretary of State. After Washington died, Thomas Jefferson was elected the third President of the United States. Instead of being fond of show in using the power given to him by the people, Thomas Jefferson was very simple in his tastes. When he came to be inaugurated President he did not drive through the streets of Washington in a coach with six horses and outriders and escorts, as other Presidents had done, but walked with a few friends from his boarding-house to the new Capitol, then building, where he delivered his Inaugural Address and took the oath of office.

This so-called “Jeffersonian simplicity” seemed strange then, because he was a man of wealth and lived in a beautiful mansion. Many people did not like his simple ways. They thought the President of the United States should show more dignity. The minister from Great Britain was offended because, when he came to present his respects and those of the king of England, President Jefferson received him in a dressing-gown and slippers and heavy yarn socks. But the sensible people thought so much of the man who wrote the Declaration of Independence that they did not mind what kind of stockings Thomas Jefferson wore.

While he was President, Jefferson saw that the country’s interests would be hampered while New Orleans, near the mouth of the Mississippi River, belonged to France. It was like having another nation own and control the south door of the United States. So Jefferson sent men to purchase from the French government New Orleans and the right of way out of the Mississippi. Napoleon was then in power, and as he needed money to carry on his war with England, he offered to sell to the United States, for fifteen million dollars, not only New Orleans, but all the western country which France had claimed since the days of La Salle and other explorers. This was a great bargain and the men whom President Jefferson had sent bought the land without waiting to hear from home. This was called the Louisiana Purchase, and the people were more than glad to approve what the President had done.

The expedition of Lewis and Clark was sent out by Jefferson to explore and make maps of the Louisiana Purchase.

So Thomas Jefferson not only wrote the Declaration of Independence but he was the means of doubling the size and wealth of the country, making it extend from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.

ANDREW JACKSON, AMERICA’S MOST POPULAR HERO

ABOUT ten years before the signing of the Declaration of Independence, two Irish linen weavers, Andrew and Elizabeth Jackson, came across the Atlantic to a backwoods settlement in North Carolina. There the young settlers built a cabin, but before they had lived long in their rude little home, Andrew Jackson died, leaving his wife with two small sons, Hugh and Robert. The young widow went to live with a sick sister a few miles away, and when the third baby boy was born to her here, she named him Andrew for his dead father. The house in which little Andrew Jackson was born was so near the boundary line between North and South Carolina that years afterwards both states claimed him as their son.

Elizabeth Jackson had to keep house for her sister to support herself and her three little boys. Andrew was in his tenth year when the War for Independence broke out in the north. Three years later the British came to fight near the Jacksons’ home in the south. Hugh, the oldest, now a lad of seventeen, fought in the battle of Stono, and died, soon after, of heat and exhaustion.

Then the British troops came nearer, and Widow Jackson, with Robert and Andrew, was driven from her poor home. These terrible experiences developed in the tall, red-haired, freckled, thirteen-year-old Scotch-Irish lad a deep hatred of the “red-coats,” as the British soldiers were called.

As if Andrew had not already reasons enough for hating his enemies, a squad of dragoons surprised him with his brother Robert and a cousin, Lieutenant Thomas Crawford, at the home of the Crawfords, where they had brought Tom, wounded and ill, for his mother’s care. After capturing the young American “soldiers three,” the British cavalrymen broke the Crawfords’ dishes, tore their clothing, ripped open feather beds, insulted the frightened mother and abused the little children. Then, as if for a crowning insult, the British officer ordered Andy to clean his boots. The young Irish soldier drew himself up and said proudly,

“Sir, I am not a servant, but a prisoner of war, and I claim to be treated as such.”

The angry dragoon struck at the youth’s head with his saber. Andy threw up his hand and saved his own life by breaking the force of the stroke, but received deep cuts on his forehead and hand. He wore the two scars to his dying day.

Andrew’s brother Robert was commanded to perform the same low service and refused with the same proud spirit; he also received a sword-cut on his head which nearly killed him. The two Jackson youths were then taken away to a prison pen at Camden, South Carolina, where American soldiers were treated like beasts and where many were already dying of smallpox.

While the Jackson brothers were in this prison, a battle was fought near by. Young Andrew whittled a hole through a board with an old razor, so that he could watch the battle that was raging around them.

When the poor mother heard that her wounded sons were confined in a filthy prison where they were exposed to smallpox, she walked forty miles to Camden and managed to have them exchanged for some British soldiers the Americans had captured. Begging the use of two horses, she placed Robert on one of them, as he was very ill with smallpox. She rode the other horse to hold her son in his saddle; and young Andrew, “weak and wounded, sick and sore,” staggered along behind them on foot. Robert died two days after reaching home, but Andrew recovered after a long and severe illness.

After nursing her only remaining son back to health, that brave, unselfish mother heard that many American soldiers were sick and dying in the British prison ship in the harbor of Charleston, South Carolina. She walked more than one hundred and fifty miles to nurse and help them as she had nursed her own sons. She took the ship fever and died, giving her devoted life for freedom and for country.

So Andrew Jackson, now a tall, thin youth of fourteen with a “shock of sandy hair,” was without father, mother, brothers, money, or near friends—but with a bitter grudge against Britain as the cause of all his troubles and sorrows. His life was made better by his deep love of his brave, noble mother’s memory. When he grew up and became the most popular man in the United States, Andrew Jackson often said with a smile of pride:

“That I learned from my good old mother!”

Andrew Jackson had but few chances to go to school, and then only a few weeks at a time. He learned the saddler’s trade and studied when he could take the time from hard work. Little as he learned from books, he knew more than most of his neighbors. He taught school sometimes to add to what he earned at his trade, so that he could study law. Even North Carolina, wild as that new country was, became too “civilized” for Andrew Jackson, and he crossed the mountains into Tennessee and settled at Nashville, where he began to practise law. In that rough country he soon became a leader. In the midst of the wild life in which the chief “sports” were horse-racing, Indian shooting, fighting duels, and the like, young “Judge” Jackson was “hail-fellow, well met!” He soon was elected to Congress, but he found life at the capital entirely too “genteel” for him. When the southern Indians went on the warpath and massacred white settlers, General Jackson and his troops from Tennessee drove them from place to place and killed nearly all the savage murderers. He was called the Hero of the War of 1812, because he won the Battle of New Orleans, the greatest land victory in that war.

The people loved General Jackson because he was a bluff, warm-hearted man, and because, whether he fought with the Indians or the British, “he thrashed ’em every time!” He was named “Old Hickory” because he was about as tough in fiber and as rough on the outside as the hickory tree. He was probably the most popular hero that ever lived in America, for more boys were named Andrew Jackson than even George Washington or Abraham Lincoln. January eighth, the date of Jackson’s victory at New Orleans, is still celebrated as Jackson Day. Jackson was called “the Man of the People,” including the “rough and ready” people of the great, new west; Jefferson represented the more educated classes; while Washington was the man of the upper class of people. Still, Jackson stood for the white people only. It was Abraham Lincoln who came thirty years later and stood for all the people, black and white.

General Jackson was elected and carried to the White House by a great wave of popularity. The people were so pleased to have him for their President that they crowded into the White House and stood on the new satin covered furniture in their muddy boots. They broke the china and glassware and spilled punch on the velvet carpets. In their

General Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans. From the painting by D. M. Carter

frantic efforts to shake hands with their hero-president they nearly crushed him to death.

President Jackson treated his political enemies as he did the Indians and the English. He turned thousands of men out of office and appointed his friends in their places. “To the victors belong the spoils,” he said, but most people to-day believe the warlike President had the wrong idea in treating public service as “spoils of war.” After serving his country as President, Andrew Jackson lived at the Hermitage, a beautiful mansion he had built near Nashville, Tennessee.

When the aged ex-President knew he was dying, he called his friends and slaves around his bed and told them he wanted them all to meet him in heaven. When the simple but grand old hero died, they found his dead wife’s miniature close to his heart where he had worn it for many years.

Then they remembered that, rough and violent as he often had been with men, he had never spoken a cross or cruel word to his wife or any of his own household.

“The bravest are the tenderest.”

WEBSTER, CLAY, CALHOUN, THREE GREAT CHAMPIONS IN CONGRESS

“THERE were giants in those days,” a hundred years ago in the United States of America; not giants in body, but in mind and heart. Besides the Presidents and the generals in the War of 1812 and the Indian wars, the greatest men in America were Webster, Clay, and Calhoun, who were in Congress together. Daniel Webster was the man of New England, Henry Clay of the west, and John C. Calhoun of the south.

Daniel Webster was born among the hills of New Hampshire, the ninth of the ten children of his father. He had a huge head, a high forehead, and great, deep, inquiring eyes. Webster once said that he did not remember when he could not read the Bible. He learned chapter after chapter of it by heart and remembered them all his life.

Clay, Calhoun and Webster, “The Statesmen of the Compromise.” (From left to right.) From the painting by A. Tholey

Daniel’s father lived on a rocky farm in New Hampshire and had a hard time to educate his growing family. He was called Captain Webster because he had been an officer in the War for Independence. His children used to delight in hearing about General Washington. After Daniel grew to be a great man he was proud to tell how the Father of his Country had trusted his father. Once he said,

“I should rather have it said upon my father’s tombstone that he had guarded the person of George Washington and was worthy of such a trust, than to have carved upon it the greatest title that the world could give.”

Captain Webster said to his son one day after a gentleman who was riding by had stopped to speak to him:

“Dan, that man beat me by a few votes when I ran against him for Congress, and all because he had a better education. For that reason I intend you shall have a good education, and I hope to see you work your way up to Congress.”

Daniel’s next older brother’s name was Ezekiel. He was larger and stronger than Daniel who, because of his poor health, was not expected to do hard work on the farm. This gave Daniel time to read and improve his mind. Yet he was not allowed to be idle; he was expected to do “chores” and other light work about the place. One day Captain Webster went away, after giving both boys a certain task to do while he was gone. The lads, boy-like, spent the day having a good time, so that when their father came home he found the work not done.

“Zeke,” he said sternly, “what have you been doing all day?”

“Nothing,” said Zeke sheepishly.

“And what have you been doing, Dan?” asked Captain Webster.

“Helping Zeke!” said the younger boy with a grin.

After that when any one was idle, it was said that he was “helping Zeke.”

When the time came for Father Webster to send Daniel away to school, as he had promised, the younger boy said he would not go unless Zeke could have the same chance. So Captain Webster mortgaged the farm to raise the money to educate both boys. Even then the sons had to stay out of school at times to earn money to help themselves through the academy and college.

In mental work Daniel proved stronger and better able to earn money than his older brother. A good story is told of Daniel’s coming, after teaching a term of school, to see Ezekiel at college and giving his brother one hundred dollars—nearly all he had earned, keeping only three dollars for himself until he could earn more. That was Daniel Webster’s best way of “helping Zeke.”

Daniel was the more brilliant of the two, so that he was through college as soon as his brother, though he had not spent so much time there. Their father explained one difference between the two sons:

“Ezekiel could not tell half he knew; but Daniel could tell more than he knew.”

By the time Daniel was out of college his father had become a county judge, and was able to offer his youngest son a position as clerk of the court at fifteen hundred dollars a year, which was a large salary for that time and place. But Daniel refused the place, saying: “I intend to be a lawyer myself and not to spend my life jotting down other men’s doings.”

“ ‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’ ” said Judge Webster, reminding his son that there were already too many lawyers for them all to make a good living.

“There’s always room at the top,” said young Daniel Webster.

He went to Boston to study law, and his fame as attorney and orator spread far and wide. The two sons soon paid their father’s debts, and proud old Judge Webster soon saw his son Daniel not only in Congress, but acknowledged to be the greatest man in the Senate.

Ezekiel Webster did not have so brilliant a career as his younger brother, but Daniel always yielded to “Zeke’s” better judgment, even in the greatest public affairs. Ezekiel did not live to see Daniel’s highest success, and it was said that a new look of sadness came into the great Webster’s face, and never left it, after hearing of “Zeke’s” sudden death.

Although Daniel Webster was not six feet tall, his high, full, square brow and dignified bearing made him seem a giant. Carlyle, the great Scottish philosopher, met him in London and said: “Webster is a walking cathedral!”

When Daniel Webster was still a small boy on his father’s “rock-ribb’d” farm in New Hampshire, a thin, homely youth of fifteen came into the Court of Chancery in Richmond, Virginia. He was so awkward and bashful and dressed so queerly that the clerks winked at one another and snickered behind his back. That youth, whose name was Henry Clay, had come to Richmond from a low, swampy region called “the Slashes,” where he lived with his widowed mother. Because he used to ride a poor old horse to a mill near his home to get a little corn ground, Henry Clay was afterward called “the Mill Boy of the Slashes.”

Henry’s mother married again and moved out to Kentucky when it was still a western wilderness. Young Clay stayed in Virginia to study law and was soon admired because of his brightness. He improved his time, as well as his appearance, so that when he was eighteen, he was a popular orator and “the bright, particular star” of the Richmond Debating Society.

Then, instead of finding “room higher up” in his home state, Henry went west to be near his mother, and to “grow up with the country.” The twenty-one-year-old attorney hung out his sign in the new and growing town of Lexington, Kentucky. He was good-natured and thoughtful. He understood law very well for so young a man. As he was an eloquent speaker, he became a successful attorney. He married and settled down on a 600-acre estate which he named “Ashland.” This estate is still known all over the world as “the home of Henry Clay.”

The year before the War of 1812 began, Henry Clay was sent to Congress from Kentucky and was elected Speaker of the House of Representatives. He raised his eloquent voice against England and bore a strong part in supporting President Madison in carrying on the war. He was so earnest in this that he was known as a leader of “the War Hawks.” When the war was over, Henry Clay was one of five men sent to Europe by the United States to arrange the terms of peace with Great Britain—a peace which has not been broken for more than a hundred years.

Henry Clay was three times a candidate for the presidency. He had done so much for the country that he had made enemies of many whom he had to oppose at different times. So each time he was defeated by a man not nearly so great or powerful, but for whom more people were willing to vote.

While Webster and Clay were leaders in Congress there was great excitement because that body passed a tariff law which the southern people did not like. Many of the southern leaders, especially those of South Carolina, said that Congress had no right to pass such a law and that each state might declare the objectionable law null and void or of no effect within its borders. Such action by a state was called “nullification.” There was talk that some of the states would withdraw from the Union if the President tried to enforce the hated law. Such withdrawal on the part of a state was called “secession.”

About the time these mutterings of disunion were in the air, Robert Y. Hayne, a great orator from South Carolina, made a strong speech in the Senate of the United States, maintaining the right of his state to “nullify” and withdraw from the Union. Daniel Webster, the champion of the Union, delivered one of the greatest appeals ever made by any orator, in his famous reply to Hayne. It closed with these now familiar words:

“Let my last feeble and lingering glance behold the glorious ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured; bearing for its motto no such miserable question as, ‘What is all this worth?’ or those other words of delusion and folly, ‘Liberty first and Union afterwards;’ but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing in all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart—Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.”

The greatest leader in the south and champion of the right of his state, South Carolina, was John C. Calhoun. He also was an eloquent speaker. He declared in the Senate of the United States, in speaking of the tariff law meant to tax goods which people needed, “We look upon it as a dead law, null and void, and will not obey it.” South Carolina nullified the tariff law and threatened to secede from the Union.

General Andrew Jackson, the bluff old Indian fighter and hero of the War of 1812, was then President. He declared, “The Union must and shall be preserved!” John C. Calhoun and all others acquainted with “Old Hickory,” as the President was nicknamed, knew that he meant just what he said. It seemed that civil war was about to begin when Henry Clay, who loved the Union, averted the danger by proposing a plan of compromise which both sides could accept.

THE KIND HEART OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

LITTLE Abe Lincoln lived in a log cabin in Kentucky. When he was seven, his family moved across the Ohio River into Indiana, and lived all winter in an open shed called a “half-faced camp,” before his father built a better cabin, with bare earth for its floor. Tom Lincoln, Abe’s father, was “a mighty hunter.” He liked to shoot game better than the hard work of clearing land and farming. He thought Abe was timid because he did not like to kill harmless animals or see them suffer.

During the fourteen years Abe lived in southern Indiana, he went to school a few weeks at a time—less than a year in all. A girl who went to school when he did, used to tell, after she became an old woman, that Abe’s first “composition” was against cruelty to animals. She always remembered how he read this sentence in it: “An ant’s life is as sweet to it as ours is to us.”

One day Abe caught several lads laughing at a turtle as it moved slowly about, showing, as well as a dumb animal could, the misery it was in. For there were burning coals on its back, and the biggest boy stood by with a smoking shingle in his hand. This showed Abe how the hot coals came upon the terrapin’s back. Snatching the shingle from the big bully’s hand, he brushed them off and began

The boy Lincoln reading by the firelight in the log cabin in which he was born.

to paddle the cruel boy with it, calling him a cowardly fellow for hurting a helpless turtle.

Just before Abe was twenty-one, Father Lincoln moved to newer country in Illinois. Abe’s step-sisters were now married, so there was a big family going west in a lumbering wagon drawn by two yoke of oxen. One of the step-sisters took with her a pet dog. It was in the midst of winter, and some of the rivers they had to cross were covered with ice. One day the little dog strayed away from the wagon and failed to come back until the Lincoln party had forded a shallow stream. After crossing, Abe, who was then driving the oxen, saw the poor little fellow jumping about and whining, afraid of being left behind. It was growing dark and they had to make their camp for the night. All the others were for leaving the “troublesome cur” to its fate. Mr. Lincoln, in telling of their moving to Illinois, said of this:

“But I could not endure the idea of abandoning even a dog. Pulling off shoes and socks, I waded across the stream and triumphantly returned with the shivering animal under my arm. His frantic leaps of joy and other evidences of a dog’s gratitude amply repaid me for all the exposure I had undergone.”

Many other stories are told of Abraham Lincoln’s kindness of heart. When he was a country lawyer he had to ride from one county seat to another, attending court. The judge and several attorneys rode from place to place where court was to be held. Lawyer Lincoln was the most popular man of them all, because of his good nature and his ready fund of funny stories.

The Illinois roads were then nearly always very dusty or very muddy. One day their party saw a hog stuck in a deep mudhole, squealing loudly. The party rode by and laughed at the pig’s plight, but no one took the trouble to help it out. But those despairing squeals touched the heart of Abraham Lincoln.

He soon fell behind and galloped back to rescue the animal. Taking several rails from the roadside fence, he used one to pry over, and another to lift the pig out. By taking care and plenty of time, he managed to place the end of a rail under the hog without hurting it. The animal was now so weak that this took a long time, and Lawyer Lincoln’s clothes were badly smeared with mud.

At last, when the pig realized that it was free, it started off toward the farmhouse where it belonged, flopping its big ears and grunting gratefully. Mr. Lincoln did not catch up with his friends until they had arrived at the tavern in the next town.

When they saw his mud-plastered clothes, they all began to laugh, for Lawyer Lincoln did not often have a new suit of clothes. When they stopped chaffing him about helping his “dear brother” in distress, Lincoln said soberly,

“That farmer’s children might have to go barefoot next winter if he lost his hog.”

Another day Lincoln was missing. One of the party explained,

“I saw him an hour ago over the fence in a grove with a young bird screaming in each hand, while he was going around hunting for their nest.”

It took a long time to find it. Lawyer Lincoln had to let one bird go while he climbed the tree to put the other in its nest. Then he had to climb up again to put the other bird in. So it was after dark when he rejoined his friends at the tavern table. It seemed so absurd for a big man like Lincoln to waste hours on two birds that had fallen out of their nest, that even the judge scolded him. Mr. Lincoln replied with deep feeling,

“Gentlemen, you may laugh, but I could not have slept well to-night if I had not saved those birds. Their cries would have rung in my ears.”

The spring after he was twenty-one, Abraham Lincoln helped to build a flatboat and went on it to New Orleans to buy stock for a store in the village. While in the southern city with two companions, he witnessed the sale of a mulatto girl in a slave market. The sight filled his righteous soul with wrath. Clenching his fists, he exclaimed:

“Boys, let’s get away from this. If I ever get a chance to hit that thing (slavery) I’ll hit it hard!”

So Lawyer Lincoln became the champion of the negro and lifted his voice against slavery. “This country cannot exist half slave and half free,” he exclaimed. His ringing words in the famous debates with Senator Douglas pleased the people of the north so much that Lincoln was elected President next time. Within six weeks after he went to live in the White House, the Civil War broke out.

The tender heart of President Lincoln was often hurt when the news of a battle came to Washington with its list of killed and wounded. He tried to keep up his own spirits and the heart of the nation by his constant flow of stories which made the people smile through their tears. To him it was an awful thing for his brothers in the north to be fighting and slaying their brothers down south.

When Abraham Lincoln saw that the time was right, he gave out the Emancipation Proclamation—his order to free four million slaves. He now had “a chance to hit that thing,” and he did “hit it hard.”

Grand as it was to write that great paper and free all the slaves, it was even greater to show the people of the United States and of the whole world how to look on the bright side of the hardest trials, and even to laugh in the face of trouble.

President Lincoln had the supreme joy of seeing the purpose of the war accomplished. His Gettysburg Address—which every boy and girl should know by heart—and the words from the Second Inaugural, “With malice toward none; with charity for all,” are ever-living witnesses of the kind heart and unselfish spirit of Abraham Lincoln.

William Cullen Bryant, one of the first of American poets, wrote these lines for the Martyr President’s funeral:

ULYSSES S. GRANT, THE GENERAL WHO HATED WAR

“THIS poor little boy has no name!” exclaimed Miss Simpson, the aunt who was visiting the Grant family at Point Pleasant, overlooking the Ohio River, about twenty miles east of Cincinnati.

The rest of the family agreed that it would be a shame to let the baby go a day longer without a name.

“Let’s name him now,” said the aunt; “let’s vote on it.”

The others consented, and each wrote a preferred name on a bit of paper. Then a hat was passed and all put their

General Ulysses S. Grant.

slips in it. The aunt took out a ballot which read, “Ulysses.” This name was on several slips, because Grandfather Grant had just been reading the story of the siege of Troy. “Hiram” and “Albert” were on two other ballots. At last they decided to call the baby Hiram Ulysses Grant.

When “Baby Lysses,” as the family called him, was about a year old, the Grants moved to Georgetown, a village about ten miles farther from Cincinnati, and ten miles back from the Ohio. Here little Ulysses grew and began to go to school, and some of the boys called him “Hug,” from his initials, H. U. G. Other boys, just to be funny, called him “Useless.”

Ulysses’ father was a tanner and leather worker. The boy did not like tanning hides because it was dirty, bad-smelling work; but he did like horses. Besides his tannery, Mr. Grant owned a small farm. So Ulysses, while he was a boy, learned to plow and harrow, and to haul logs to the creek near by, where they were floated to the sawmill to be cut up into boards and timber. The lad found a good way to make a horse do the heavy work of lifting or rolling logs on to the sled, so that he and the horse could do that better than two or three men.

A visitor in Georgetown was astonished one day to see a boy dash by, standing on the back of a horse on the run.

“Circus rider?” the stranger asked.

“No—only ‘Useless’ Grant,” was the reply.

When a circus did come to Georgetown, the Grant boy was there to see the trained horses and the fancy riding. There was a trick pony that had been trained not to allow a man or even a boy to stay on its back. The manager came to the side of the ring and called out that a prize of five dollars in gold would be given to any one who could ride the pony five times around the ring. Some of the men and boys in the crowd shouted, “Lyss Grant can do it. Try it! Oh, go ahead, Lyss!”

Although Ulysses was a bashful lad and hated to make a show of himself, the prize and his desire to see what he could do were too tempting to resist. So he went to the ringside and began to pat the pony. Then he sprang lightly upon its back. The vicious little beast began to rear and tear around to shake or rub the rider off, but Ulysses hung on in spite of all its frantic efforts. He won the prize, but that five dollars was of small value compared with the lesson he learned of trying hard and not giving up anything he attempted.

The Grant boy’s mastery of horses and his way of finishing whatever he started out to do made his services valuable to the neighbors. He rode hundreds of miles on important business errands. One time he was driving two young ladies and their baggage on a long journey where they had to ford a swollen stream. The ladies, seeing the horses were swimming and that the wagon was full of water, began to scream and take hold of his arms.

“Keep quiet, please,” said Ulysses calmly. “I’ll take you through safe.” And the Grant lad was as good as his word.

Sometimes he was asked to break a horse to trot or to pace. The wildest animal would soon become tame and gentle and would do whatever he wished. People thought he would be a horse-trainer or jockey, or keep a racing stable, but Ulysses Grant, much as he enjoyed training horses, had a mind above doing that all his life.

He was studious at school and excelled in games and sports. One day, while playing with a neighbor boy, he batted the ball through the window of a neighboring house. Instead of running away or pretending that another boy had done it, Ulysses went at once and knocked at the door of the house, and said to the lady when she came out, “I have broken your window, but I’m going to get a pane of glass and have it put right in.”

The woman, who had seen how it happened, told the Grant boy to go back and play, and she would attend to the glass. In telling about the accident, she said Ulysses was no more to blame than the other boy, and ended her story with, “I like Lyss Grant; he’s such a square, manly little fellow.”

The school at Georgetown was not advanced enough to suit Ulysses’ father; so the lad was sent away to a private school at Marysville. When he came home, though he did not like the tannery, he worked faithfully there. He told his father plainly that he would work at tanning hides until he was twenty-one—“but not one day after that!”

“What would you like to do?” his father asked.

“I’d like to be a planter, or a river merchant, or—or—get an education,” stammered the boy.

Father Grant smiled and sent his son off to another school. He knew it would be very wrong to expect a real man to work all his life at something he did not like. While Ulysses was away this time, his father obtained an appointment for his son to go to West Point. Ulysses himself has written about this:

“I was attending school at Ripley, only ten miles distant from Georgetown, but spent the Christmas holidays at home. During this vacation my father received a letter from the United States Senator from Ohio. When he read it he said to me, ‘Ulysses, I believe you are going to receive the appointment.’

“ ‘What appointment?’ I inquired.

“ ‘To West Point. I have applied for it.’

“ ‘But I won’t go,’ I said.

“He said he thought I would, and I thought so too, if he did!”

Young Grant had such a high idea of the requirements at West Point that he was sure he could never pass the entrance examinations. He began to study algebra and other branches to fit him better, but he said he never gave up hoping something would happen—even that the Military Academy might burn down!—so he would not have to go. He was afraid he would fail. The neighbors also thought his father was making a mistake to send the boy to West Point when he seemed so little fitted for a soldier. But, soon after his seventeenth birthday, the neighbors bade Ulysses good-bye, expecting him to come home because he could not pass.

Ulysses found the West Point buildings still standing when he arrived. He registered, and, to his surprise, was permitted to enter as a cadet. They made a mistake in recording his name, writing it Ulysses S., instead of H. Ulysses Grant. He was tired of being called “Hug,” and, as it seemed too much trouble to correct the error, he let it go, accepting the S. for his middle initial. As his mother’s maiden name was Simpson, he let them name him Ulysses Simpson Grant, in honor of the U. S. government and his little mother. But even then the boys made fun of his initials, “U. S.,” calling him “United States” and “Uncle Sam” Grant. From this he was nicknamed “Sam.”

Cadet Ulysses did well enough in his studies, and developed a taste for drawing and painting. He thought he would rather be a water-color artist than a soldier. The idea of shooting at men was shocking to him. The sight of blood made him sick—“Just like a girl!” the fellows said. But there were horses at the Academy, so the young cadet managed to be quite happy. He learned to ride like an Indian and to leap from one horse to the back of another as he met it running in the opposite direction. The one thing for which he was remembered by the other cadets was the great feat of jumping York, a huge horse, over a bar. Every one was afraid the vicious horse, if forced to clear such a height, might kill his rider. “I can’t die but once,” remarked Cadet Grant coolly, and made the horse jump over the bar without the least harm to horse or rider. The record of “Grant on York,” then made, has never been beaten since.

The people of Ulysses’ home town had changed their minds about him when he came home after two years, in his mid-course furlough, as a cadet in full uniform with gold lace and gilt buttons. After he had been President of the United States, Ulysses S. Grant said this summer vacation was the happiest time in his whole life, because every one was so kind, and his family were so proud of him.

When he finished his course at the Military Academy and was graduated, it was said of him: “There is ‘Sam’ Grant. He is a splendid fellow; a good, honest man against whom nothing can be said, and from whom everything may be expected.”

Lieutenant Grant went home for a while, and then entered military service near St. Louis. Here he became acquainted with Miss Julia Dent, who afterward became Mrs. Grant, wife of the great general and President of the United States. He had the usual experiences of young army officers in the southwest, with wild beasts and savage Indians. He tells of being wakened early one morning by hearing shots near at hand. Getting up, he learned that two men had been fighting a duel. He afterward wrote:

“I don’t believe I ever could have the courage to fight a duel. If I should do another man such a wrong as to justify him in killing me, I would make any reasonable amends in my power, if convinced of the wrong done. I place my opposition to dueling on higher grounds. No doubt, most of the duels have been fought for want of moral courage, on the part of those engaged, to decline.”

Lieutenant Grant’s friends thought it strange for the bravest man they ever met to say, “I don’t believe I ever could have the courage to fight a duel.” But some things that seemed heroic to others did not seem so to Ulysses S. Grant. He spoke almost with scorn of mere physical courage. It is moral courage that counts—the heroism that will face a sneer and bravely say, “That is not right and I will not do it.” He had shown this kind of courage as a boy, when other lads dared him to come out with them at night and disobey his little mother.

In the Mexican War, while fighting desperately in Monterey, the Americans ran short of powder. Who would dare to go back through the streets of the town held by the enemy, and carry the request for more ammunition and reinforcements? “Sam” Grant volunteered, and rode, Indian fashion, keeping his horse between him and the Mexicans’ bullets. He made the dangerous run with both his horse and himself unhurt, relieved the Americans, and thus helped to save the day at Monterey.

When the Civil War broke out, Captain Grant was in business. He had withdrawn from the army, and had been mentioned as a “military dead beat,” working in his father’s leather store at fifty dollars a month. He at once enlisted as a volunteer, and was sent to command a brigade in Missouri. Within a year the name of General U. S. Grant was on every tongue. He had won the battles of Fort Donelson and Fort Henry, and had made his famous demand of “Unconditional Surrender,” words which meant that they were to yield without asking any favors. After that, people said his initials, U. S., stood for “Unconditional Surrender” Grant. He went from one triumph to another until his enemies in the west were beaten. Then President Lincoln called him to end the war in the east, a thing which five northern generals before him had failed to do.

Though he won great victories for his country and became the most successful general of his day, the greatest thing General Grant ever said was, “Let us have peace,” When Richmond was captured he refused to enter the city as its conqueror. When General Lee surrendered, the northern commander treated the enemy general as a friend and a brother.

A grateful nation elected General Grant twice to the presidency of the United States. After he left the White House, he and Mrs. Grant made a trip around the world and became the guests of kings, queens, princes, prime ministers, and peoples.

Wherever General Grant went, he went as a man of peace. When he visited Prince Bismarck, “the man of blood and iron” who taught the Germans that everything they did would be right if they only had the power to do it, General Grant apologized for his record as a soldier. In this way, the greatest living general became the foremost man in the world for peace. He had learned to regard war as a duel between nations. He thought that was quite as wrong as dueling between men, and that war was due to moral cowardice rather than to courage.

General Grant gave this as his belief:

“Though I have been trained as a soldier and have taken part in many battles, there never has been a time when, in my opinion, some way could not have been found to prevent the drawing of the sword.”

THE NOBLE SOUL OF ROBERT E. LEE

ROBERT E. LEE’S father, Colonel Henry Lee, was a hero of the Revolutionary War. He was commander of the famous company known as “Lee’s Legion.” He was called “Light-Horse Harry” because he was so ready and alert with his cavalry regiment. He was such a friend of the commander-in-chief that it was said: “General Washington loves Harry Lee as if he were his own son.”

Therefore, when the Father of his Country died, Robert E. Lee’s father was chosen by Congress to deliver the great oration in his memory. It was in this brilliant address that Colonel Henry Lee used the now familiar words describing Washington as “First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.”

Like George Washington, Robert Lee was born in Virginia, near the Potomac River, in a huge brick house which looked like a mansion, a castle, and a fort, all in one. When Robert was four, his father moved to Alexandria, near the new city of Washington, to send the boy, with his brothers and sisters, to school.

The next year the War of 1812, often called the Second War for Independence, was declared. The father’s rank was raised at once from Colonel to General Henry Lee. But General Lee was badly hurt while defending a friend from a mob in Baltimore. It was very hard for a brave man like “Light-Horse Harry” to be sent away for his health instead of leading in another fight for his country’s liberties. The general did not become better and, after five years of absence and longing, he started home to die. But the end came while he was on his way, and the Lee children were told, one sad day, that they would never see the dear father’s face again.

Robert was now eleven, the same age as George Washington when he lost his father. Mrs. Lee was not left so poor as Washington’s mother, but she was an invalid.

The oldest Lee son was in Harvard College, and the next was a midshipman in the Naval Academy at Annapolis. So Robert was left at home to take care of his mother. He nursed her

yet in his strong, manly arms he carried her out to the family coach, when she was well enough to go for a drive. No mother ever had more reason to be proud of her tall, handsome son than the widow of Henry Lee. Feeling that his mother could not afford to send him to college, young Robert studied hard to enter West Point Military Academy. Because the country was still new and settlers had to defend their homes and lives from Indians, and also because the nations were always at war, such boys as George Washington and Robert Lee said to themselves, “When I’m a man I’ll be a soldier.”

When Robert was eighteen he became a West Point cadet. After he left home his brave little mother exclaimed, “How can I do without Robert? He is both son and daughter to me!”

Cadet Lee’s life was without doubt the bravest any young man ever led at West Point. Young Jefferson Davis, who was there at the same time, fell off a cliff and nearly lost his life while breaking the rules of the Academy. Young Ulysses Grant wrote home ten years later that it was impossible to get through at West Point without demerits. But Robert E. Lee went through the whole four years without a single “black mark”! More than this, he did

Lee’s invasion of the North. From the painting by J. Steeple Davis, © 1897, by The Woolfall Co

not drink, though young gentlemen of that day thought the serving of wine necessary in polite society. He did not even smoke.

It was a wonder that the other cadets did not hate a young man who seemed to feel that he must behave better than the rest of them. What kept them all from calling him a “goody-goody boy,” a snob or a prig? It was the love of his kind heart, which they could see shining through his strange courage. Robert Lee fully realized that he had come to West Point to learn, at his country’s expense, how to be a soldier, and that the first duty of a soldier is to obey. If he had left his post and sneaked off the Academy grounds to drink, or gamble, or break some other rule, he would have been a deserter who, in real army life, would have deserved to be shot. But he never acted as if he felt above the rest, and so his fellow cadets did not sneer at Robert E. Lee. One of them said of him afterward:

“He was the only one of all the men I have known who could laugh at the faults and follies of others without losing their affection.”

At graduation, Lieutenant Lee was the most popular man at West Point; he ranked second in his class, and received the highest military honor in the course.

The physical courage of Robert E. Lee was put to the supreme test in the Mexican War. On a dark night he found the way across a dangerous lava field cracked in all directions by deep crevices—“without light, without a companion or guide, where scarcely a step could be taken without fear of death.” General Scott, then chief in command, reported this act to be “the greatest feat of physical and moral courage performed by any one in the campaign.” In his official statement about the whole war, this general stated that the United States’ “success in Mexico was largely due to the skill, valor, and courage of Robert E. Lee, the greatest military genius in America.”

Colonel Lee’s high military reputation made it natural for President Lincoln to offer him the highest command of the United States army when the Civil War broke out. But Colonel Lee did not accept the honor. He did not believe in slavery, and did not think it was right for any of the states to secede, or leave the Union. But he was a Virginian, and he could not bring himself to lead an army to burn his own home or to kill or drive out his relatives, friends, and neighbors. He had heard his father, who was once governor of the state, say with deepest feeling, “Virginia is my country; her will I obey, no matter how sad my fate may be.” So, when his native state went out of the Union, Robert E. Lee resigned as colonel in the United States army and went with her.

The southern people soon made Lee their general and it became, as he thought, his duty to defend the homes and lives of the people not only of Virginia, but also of the other states of the south.

General Lee soon proved that he was, as General Scott had said, “the greatest military genius in America.” With smaller armies and poorer supplies and weapons than those of the north, he gained great victories—the second battle of Manassas, or Bull Run, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville. He defeated five northern generals, one after another. It took Grant, the sixth general sent against him, a whole year to “hammer” and surround Lee’s ragged, starving heroes, and capture them at last, when they were almost as helpless as a little flock of shorn sheep. And so noble and dignified was his character that he was honored and admired by north and south alike.

The motto of West Point Military Academy is “Duty, Honor, Country.” All through his life, in all that he did, Robert E. Lee showed that he respected Honor, loved his Country, and almost worshiped Duty. He expressed this thought when he wrote, “Duty is the sublimest word in our language.”

DAVY FARRAGUT, THE HERO OF MOBILE BAY

AFTER the War of Independence, there lived in a cabin among the mountains of Tennessee a Spaniard named Farragut, who had come to America to help the people in their fight for liberty. He had married a brave little Scotch woman. While her husband was away one day several skulking Indians hung around and watched for a chance to get into the cabin. The mother had seen them and sent her two little boys up under the roof, while she stood inside the door for hours, with an ax in her small hands, to kill the first Indian who tried to enter. After a long watch, the red men stole away, as much afraid of the fire in that little woman’s eye as of the ax in her hands. One of the two boys who crouched in almost breathless silence up in the cabin loft was Davy Farragut.

When this lad was seven his father was appointed sailing master in the navy, and moved with his family to live by the large lake near New Orleans. When off duty, Farragut took his boys sailing on the lake. One day when he was out fishing he found an old man lying in the bottom of a rowboat, alone and unconscious. Farragut took the sick man home for his wife to nurse. In a few days the stranger died of yellow fever. The good wife caught the dread disease and died, too. The poor father was left to care for five motherless children under ten years of age.

It turned out that Captain David Porter, who was then in command of the naval station at New Orleans, was the dead man’s son. In gratitude for the care of his dying father, Captain Porter offered to adopt one of the Farragut boys. David was chosen, and the naval officer took the sturdy little lad to his home in New Orleans, and afterward to Washington, where he was sent to a good school.

In Washington the Secretary of the Navy saw what a bright, honest, pleasant-faced lad Davy Farragut was and, when he was ten years old, appointed him a midshipman on his adopted father’s ship. This was early in the War of 1812. After Porter’s warship, the Essex, had captured a British ship, the Alert, Middy Davy, lying awake in his hammock, saw a sailor of the Alert standing near, with a cocked pistol in his hand. Davy pretended to be asleep and the man passed on. The boy got up, crept into Captain Porter’s cabin, and whispered to him what he had just seen.

“Fire! Fire!” shouted the captain, and the sailors of the Essex came scrambling up on deck. Porter ordered them down to capture the imprisoned sailors of the Alert, who were preparing to kill the American crew and take the ship to England. Before any damage was done, the astonished Britishers were all in irons, thanks to the wide-awake shrewdness of eleven-year-old Midshipman Farragut.

Captain Porter was ordered to sail around South America into the Pacific Ocean to warn American crews that there was a war going on between the United States and Great Britain. He was also to capture British ships as prizes. Over one of these ships he placed in command David Farragut—then a boy of twelve. When Davy ordered the British sailors to “fill away the maintopsail,” the former captain of the ship was angry. It was bad enough to be captured and have his ship taken into a South American port as a prize; but to have his crew ordered about by an American boy of twelve seemed too much for an English captain to bear.

Shouting that he would shoot any Englishman who dared to touch a rope without his orders, the former captain went below to get his pistols to carry out his threat. Captain Farragut sent one of his men to follow the swearing captain down and tell him that if he came back on deck with a pistol in his hand he would himself be shot and pitched overboard. The man decided not to come back. Young David brought the British ship into port and reported to his proud foster-father what he had done.

The Essex fought a great battle with two British warships, and Farragut himself has left a description of the sights in his first great sea fight:

“I shall never forget the horrid impression made upon me at the sight of the first man I had ever seen killed. It staggered me at first, but they soon began to fall so fast that it all appeared like a dream, and produced no effect on my nerves.

“Some gun-primers [for loading the cannon] were wanted and I was sent after them. In going below, while I was on the ward-room ladder, the captain of the gun directly opposite the hatchway was struck full in the face by an eighteen-pound shot, and fell back on me. We tumbled down the hatch together.

“I lay for some moments stunned by the blow, but soon recovered consciousness enough to rush up on deck. The captain, seeing me covered with blood, asked if I were wounded; to which I replied, ‘I believe not, sir.’

“ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘where are the primers?’ This brought me to my senses, and I ran below again and brought up the primers.”

After being powder boy and doing all sorts of service on a man-of-war, the little middy was taken prisoner, but was released at the close of the war.

When Farragut was fifteen he went on a cruise in the Washington to watch for pirates in the Mediterranean Sea. While anchored off Naples he witnessed an eruption of the great volcano, Vesuvius. A naval chaplain, then American consul at Tunis, begged to have the Farragut youth stay with him, and study French, Italian, literature, and mathematics. While on a horseback journey to the Desert of Sahara, David suffered a sunstroke, which hurt his eyes so that he was unable to read much afterwards.

On his return home, Farragut passed the necessary examinations and at eighteen received the rank of lieutenant in the navy. Then he went to New Orleans and found that his father was dead and that his own sister did not know him. Here he was exposed to yellow fever and was very ill of it in a hospital after his return to Washington.

Lieutenant Farragut was married, soon after his recovery, and spent most of his time on shore until the breaking out of the Civil War. At that time he was living in Norfolk, Virginia. He did not, however, approve of the act of Virginia in withdrawing from the Union. People told him, that if he thought that, it would not be safe for him to live in Virginia. He replied coolly, “Well then, I can live somewhere else”; and he and his wife packed up and went to live on the Hudson River above New York City.

Though born and bred in the South, Farragut was a Union man and offered his services to his country. He was appointed to take New Orleans. It was the largest city in the South, and an important seaport. Its capture would cut short the war by preventing the South from selling cotton. Also, it would open the Mississippi, so that the western states could have that outlet to the sea. It was a dangerous undertaking, but Farragut was glad of the chance to risk his life for his country. He said as he started out, “If I die in the attempt, it will only be what every officer has to expect.”

Captain Farragut now commanded a fleet of forty-eight ships, carrying over two hundred guns. In six days and nights his mortars threw nearly six thousand shells on the two forts barring his way, one on each side of the Mississippi. The enemy sent five blazing rafts to set fire to his fleet, but Farragut’s men either dodged the burning craft or towed them out of the way. One heroic deed was the cutting, under fire from the forts, of the great chain which had been stretched across the Mississippi to keep the ships from coming up to New Orleans.

This was one of the greatest naval battles in the war; for, with a few wooden ships, Farragut ran against the current and past the two forts, meeting fire-rafts and fighting with a large fleet above the forts. Two of the enemy’s warships were ironclads. He finally captured the city of New Orleans after great loss of life on both sides. The next day the happy victor wrote home:

“My Dearest Wife and Boy:

“I am so agitated that I can scarcely write, and shall only tell you that it pleased Almighty God to preserve my life through a fire such as the world has scarcely known. He has permitted me to make a name for my dear boy’s inheritance, as well as for my comfort and that of my family.”

“The Hero of New Orleans” was soon made Rear Admiral for this, splendid service to the country. But there was to be still another test of the courage of David Glasgow Farragut. It came two years later in Mobile Bay, which he entered with fourteen ships and four monitors, or small ironclad boats. He saw his monitor, the Tecumseh, sinking with all on board.

Farragut in the rigging at the battle of Mobile Bay

“What’s the trouble?” came through his speaking trumpet to the men on the monitor nearest the sinking craft.

“Torpedoes!” was the reply.

What was to be done? Should he risk the whole fleet in a harbor filled with lurking mines? The good admiral sought help from above. “O God,” he whispered, “direct me what to do.”

Farragut heard the answer in his heart. Without an instant’s delay he shouted to the captain of his own ship, the Hartford, “Go ahead! give her all the steam you’ve got.”