The Hand of Providence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIX

PROGRESS OF LIBERTY IN EUROPE

INFLUENCE OF LA FAYETTE—DESPOTISM IN FRANCE—THE BASTILE—CORRUPTIONS OF THE CHURCH—COMMENCEMENT OF THE REVOLUTION—THE MARSEILLAISE—ITS WONDERFUL INFLUENCE—REIGN OF TERROR—NAPOLEON BONAPARTE—HIS WONDERFUL CAREER—JEWISH SANHEDRIM—FALL OF NAPOLEON—HIS DEATH—PROGRESS OF LIBERTY.

When the war of independence was over La Fayette returned to France. He was the lightning-rod by which the current of republican sentiments flashed from America to Europe. He was the hero of the hour. A man who had helped to set up a republic in America, was a dangerous element for old despotic France to receive into her bosom. With the charm of a great name, immense wealth and boundless popularity to aid him, he everywhere urged that men should be free and self-governing. The influence of La Fayette was soon apparent.

The people of France were living under a government which had come down from the feudal ages. They wished to follow the example of the United States, but how could this be accomplished? The king could do as he pleased—make war, build fleets, tax the people, even send men to prison when charged with no crime, keeping them in prison till they became old and gray-haired, or until death set them free. Of all the gloomy prisons of France, the Bastile was the most horrible. Its dark, deep dungeons were ever dripping with water and alive with vermin. No straggling ray of light ever entered them The floor was covered with mud and slime and the bones of victims who had died of starvation.

Louis XV., king of France was accustomed to sign his name to blank letters and give them to his friends to fill in as they pleased the names of those they wished to punish. One day, the king wanted money, and demanded $120,000 of M. Massot. "I cannot pay it," he replied. "Into the Bastile with him," cried the king, and ordered his goods to be seized. M. Catalan was very rich. The king cast him into the Bastile and he did not get out till he handed over $1,200,000! Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of the king, ruled France, and woe to him who provoked her displeasure! M. Latude, twenty years old, offended her, and the great door of the Bastile closed upon him. The years rolled on, Madame de Pompadour and the king went down to the grave, yet M. Latude was still a prisoner in the Bastile. Thus for sixty years did Louis XV., plunder and imprison the people of France.

The nobility, the priests and the officers of the government paid no taxes, but, on the other hand, received great revenues from the people. They had nothing to do except to eat, drink, attend balls or hunting parties and play cards. They lived in fine castles, and had beautiful parks, gardens and hunting-grounds. The tax collectors came several times a year to the poor man's home, but never to the castle. Of every sixteen dollars produced from the land by the hard-working peasants, the king took four, the priests took four, and the nobleman who owned the land took five, leaving only three for the poor man and his family. Meanwhile Louis XVI. succeeded to the throne.

The church was as corrupt as the king. The priests lived luxuriously on the revenue wrung from the toiling people. They charged the people enormous fees for every service, for baptism, marriage, burial, and masses for the dead. From the cradle to the grave it was one continual extortion.

Such was the condition of the people when La Fayette presented to the National Assembly a Declaration of Rights. It resembled the Declaration of Independence in many particulars, and declared that all men are free and equal. It was on Saturday, July 11th, 1789, that La Fayette presented the Declaration of Rights. Sunday came, and the troops were marching. The king had resolved to disperse the National Assembly, and if the people resisted to mow them down with cannon balls. A great crowd assembled in the Palais Royal Garden. They eagerly asked "What is to be done?" A young man named Camille Desmoulins, sprang upon a table, with a pistol in each hand to defend himself. "To arms! to arms!" he cried, "we must defend ourselves!" He plucked a green leaf and put it in his hat-band, for a plume. The people followed his example. They had no arms, but there were muskets in the great arsenal, called the Hotel des Invalides. They broke it open and armed themselves. The cry rung through the streets, "Down with the Bastile!" They rushed to the gloomy prison and planted their cannon to batter down the gates. The guards in the Bastile were heart and soul with the people. They hung out a white flag, and the prison was surrendered. Then came forth to the light of day the emaciated victims who had been so long immured in its filthy dungeons.

A duke rode to the king's palace at Versailles to tell the news. "It is a revolt," exclaimed the king. The duke replied, "Nay, sire, it is a revolution." The deluge of blood had come. Revengeful men were roaming the streets of Paris murdering the nobles and the clergy. The National Assembly ordered the Bastile to be torn down, and the people leveled it to the ground.

In Strasburg, was a young man named Rouget de l'Isle. One day he was dining with his friend Dietrich, and they talked of liberty and equal rights. After dinner, he went to his chamber, sat down to the clavichord and began to play and sing. His soul was on fire for liberty for France. He seemed to be wrought upon by a higher power. Words came, and with them a strange, wild melody. He did not know which came first. He sang and played, and played and sang, and felt a strange delight. At length his head fell upon his breast: he was asleep. The morning sun was shining in his face when he awoke and the song was still stirring in his heart. He called in his friend Dietrich to hear it, he liked it well, and other friends were called in to hear it. A young lady sat down to the clavichord and played while Rouget de l'Isle sang:

"Ye sons of freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives and grand-sires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries!

"Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding,
With hireling host, a ruffian band,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding,
Affright and desolate the land?

"Do you not hear the prisoners moaning?
Arise ye brave, the sword unsheath,
'Neath tyrants yoke no longer groaning,
Resolved on liberty or death."

The peculiar genius of the French language, as well as the strange versification of the song, will not permit of an exact translation.

For the benefit of those of our readers who understand the French language we give one of the stanzas as originally written:

"Quoi! des cohortes etrangeres,
Feraient la loi dans nos foyers,
Quoi! ces phalanges mercenaires
Terrasseraient nos fiers gueriers.
Grand Dieu! par des mains enchainees,
Nos fronts sous le joug se plieraient,
De vils despotes deviendraient,
Les maitres de nos destinees.

In a few hours all Strasburg was singing it. It went from village to village, from city to city, from province to province, and became known as the Marseillaise, or national song of France, which above all other songs ever written has stirred the hearts of men. Great events took place. The king of France and his beautiful queen, Maria Antoinette, were beheaded. A republic was started, but was soon overthrown, and the government seized by blood-thirsty villains. More than a million people perished by the guillotine, war, famine and starvation.

The nation waded through a sea of blood. Old things passed away never to return. The internal history of France during a period of two years from the fall of the monarchy, is perhaps the most appalling record, which the annals of the human family present.

Why did not France succeed in establishing a free government? Because all such must be founded on intelligence, virtue, and faith in God and immortality. Out of the revolution came the one man who could restore order to France—Napoleon Bonaparte.

It does not come within the limits of this work to relate the various wars of Napoleon. The French revolution—abortive as it seemed—rendered forever impossible the continuance of the despotism which had heretofore governed Europe. Napoleon, though one of the worst despots, sowed revolutionary principles broad-cast over Europe. His judicial code taught the equality of man before the law. His overthrow of so many princes taught the people to place a lower estimate on the sanctity of crowned heads. His consolidation of the petty German states, awakened the desire for a united Germany and paved the way for its accomplishment. He introduced constitutional government to Italy, Westphalia and Spain. He weakened the temporal power of the pope, and dealt fatal blows at the feudal nobility. His rude assaults shook to its foundations the whole fabric of European despotism, and led the lower orders of the people to entertain new ideas regarding their own rights. Never before had influences so powerful been brought so widely into operation over vast multitudes of men.

Napoleon, with the exception of Oliver Cromwell, was the first great statesman in Europe to engage in designs for the advantage of the Jews. In 1806, the world heard with amazement that Napoleon had summoned a grand Sanhedrim of the Jews to assemble at Paris. The twelve great questions which Napoleon submitted to the Jewish Rabbis thus assembled and the answers which they gave to him, did much to dispel popular prejudice against that people, and prepare the way for their social and material advancement. Some of these questions and answers were of peculiar importance in a religious point of view. From these we learn, that in 1806, among the Jewish people, and among some of the advanced thinkers of that age, marriage was considered null and void unless the ceremony was performed by a person possessing divine authority. Further, that polygamy is taught in the Jewish scriptures, but had been discontinued by the Jews by virtue of a decree of the Synod of Worms, in A. D. 1030. (For further particulars see "Journal des Debats" pour 1807. Milman's History of the Jews, page 592.)

The influence which Napoleon exerted upon the course of human affairs is without parallel in history. In comparison with these, the conquest of Caesar and Alexander dwindle into insignificance. Never before had any man inflicted upon his fellows, miseries so appalling; yet did never one man's hand scatter seeds destined to produce a harvest of political change, so vast and so beneficent. To the despots of Europe he was the dreaded apostle of democracy. The amazing events which followed each other in so swift succession in France were watched with profound interest in other lands. The results were quickly apparent. When Napoleon fell, the desire for self-government had silently spread over Europe. The anxiety, which the dethroned monarchs evinced to please their subjects, began to disclose to the people the secret of their own strength.