Part 20

With his lineage unknown, his birthplace unestablished, his advent unheralded, and his history but sparsely written, no man can speak with certainty of the race from which he sprung. But if there be aught distinctive in racial characteristics; or aught indicative in that accent of human speech which makes the Irish brogue sound as music on the ear, Daniel Morgan was of that race which has ennobled Celtic history, and the lullaby which first soothed him into sleeping was the crooning of a mother’s voice that spake the Irish tongue. But, my countrymen, whatever his lineage and wherever the place of his birth, tonight, on the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary of his greatest battle, when we have assembled in New York’s banquet hall to honor his memory and to make better known a renown which should be as firmly established as the liberties of his country, we may well pause to trace the course of those wonderful activities which have no parallel in Revolutionary lore.

The earliest, and perhaps his sole biographer, James Graham, declares he was of Welsh extraction, and that he went to Virginia from the banks of the Delaware. This declaration is based on a manuscript prepared for the biographer by Dr. William Hall, of Winchester, who knew General Morgan in his lifetime and attended his bedside during his last illness. The uniform refusal of Morgan to discuss his parentage and the resultant uncertainty which surrounds his racial extraction, entitle such a statement on the part of a person who was his friend in life to consideration and respect. But I submit a statement of another person who knew him during life to substantiate the belief which exists in Virginia that he was of Irish blood.

The grandmother of Colonel Charles Triplett O’Ferrall, a late Governor of that Commonwealth, lived near and knew Daniel Morgan. During a close association at Richmond, Governor O’Ferrall frequently told me anecdotes of him which he learned from the lips of his grandmother, who in her early life saw much of Morgan and was present at his funeral. In reciting some of these anecdotes the Governor would imitate the Irish brogue which appeared to distinguish the accent of Morgan. Born within a few miles of Morgan’s home, O’Ferrall lived in the Valley all his life and for twelve years represented that District in the House of Representatives of the United States. Three times in that body he introduced a bill having for its object the erection of a monument to mark the grave of Morgan. No citizen gave more thought to the personality of the man and his career as a soldier than did Governor O’Ferrall. In his published memoirs he closes the last chapter with a tribute to him and expresses the hope that some successor in Congress from the Valley District will be able to persuade Congress to mark his lowly grave. “I had set my heart on its passage,” he says, on page 358; “every emotion of my soul was aroused in its behalf. I had carefully studied the hero’s life and character and it read like a romance to me.” Concerning Morgan’s brogue, he could not have been misinformed by his grandmother. _Res ipsa loquitur._ Himself of Irish extraction and as game a cavalryman as ever drew a blade, who can doubt that it was because of the blood that ran in Morgan’s veins, scarcely less than his services to his country, that impelled O’Ferrall to so interest himself in his career?

When about the age of seventeen, in the year 1753, a tall, raw-boned boy, calling himself Daniel Morgan, “turned up” near the village of Winchester in Virginia. There was nothing about him to excite the good opinion of those frontiersmen, except his willingness to work. He had scant acquaintance with the three R’s. His writing was barely legible; his reading, painful to everybody who heard—especially to himself; his knowledge of the simplest principles of arithmetic, was small; his manners were rude; and his conversation so unpolished as to class him with the humblest order of men. The only occupation he understood was that of a land-grubber and rail-splitter, and it was at these hard tasks that he sought employment. He found it. And such was his strength and his industry that no man engaged Daniel Morgan to clear a piece of new land or to split white-oak rails for a snake-fence and ever regretted his contract! Within a year he became a wagoner for Nathaniel Burwell, Esquire. In a little more than two years his industry and thrift enabled him to purchase a wagon and team of his own; and then—a forerunner of the Wells Fargo—he established an express between the Valley and points beyond the Blue Ridge, east of the Range.

As his fortunes improved, there came improvement in his mind. His manners, too, changed. The raw-boned boy of seventeen had developed into the man of twenty-one, and with the development came a reputation for great physical strength and a courage that was dauntless—great virtues, always, on the frontier. With these qualities he coupled a natural wit, a quick intelligence, a manliness, and a frankness of manner which won the admiration of his sturdy neighbors.

When Braddock landed his army on the upper banks of the Potomac to make good the claim of his sovereign to the fertile region west of the Alleghanies, Morgan became a teamster with the ill-fated soldiers and accompanied the baggage train of the Second Division. In 1756 he was sent to Fort Chiswell with a wagon-load of supplies. It was while at this post that he received the terrible beating on his bare back which would have cost a less hardy man his life. A British lieutenant insulted him by striking him with the flat of his sword and was immediately stretched senseless on the ground by a blow from the teamster’s fist. A drum-head courtmartial sentenced him to receive five hundred lashes. He was forthwith stripped and tied to a white-oak tree. At the end of the castigation his flesh hung in tags. But his spirit was unbroken and King George was never forgiven for the cruelty his soldiers then inflicted.

When he arrived at about the age of twenty-three, he was a strikingly handsome man. In height, he was upward of six feet; his frame was massive and symmetrical; and, without carrying an ounce of superfluous flesh, his weight was two hundred pounds. But his conduct was not exemplary. He became at this time a trencherman of distinction. Yet so powerful was his constitution he was able to bear excess of liquor without becoming entirely under its influence. As a card player, he was as skillful as the most skillful, and he used his talent to add to his estate. So great was his prowess at fisticuffs and so constant his engagements thereat, that the little town of Berryville in the County of Clarke, where these combats were always held, is called “Battletown” to this day by the older residents of the Valley.

This, indeed, was the most unpromising time of Daniel Morgan’s life. To most of the vices which end in ruin, he was addicted. But, in the Providence of God, he was not overwhelmed. Grave faults, indeed, he had in plenty; but they appear to have proceeded, not from a depraved heart but from the rollicking, devil-may-care nature of a young frontiersman. Without parents to advise or friends to admonish, his bold wayward spirit was conscious of no restraint when impulse impelled it to action. What he needed to round the man was adventurous enterprise—dangerous commissions! The dash within him—the spirit of command—needed war. And, war came! Like Hotspur, he must have blows and “pass them current, too.”

First it was “Lord Dunmore’s War” for the protection of the frontier against the Indians under Chief Logan and Cornstalk. General Andrew Lewis, an Irishman born and thirteen years of age before he left Ireland for Virginia, was ordered to raise four regiments in the Southwestern counties; and while Lewis was organizing his forces, Morgan, now holding a commission by grace of William Nelson, Esquire, President of His Majesty’s Council and Commander-in-chief of the Colony and Dominion of Virginia, took the field under Major Angus McDonald. He became at once an active factor. His splendid judgment, his knowledge of woodcraft, his understanding of the Indian character and their methods of warfare, his boldness and his courage, soon distinguished him among his comrades in arms as a man fit for leadership.

“Lord Dunmore’s War” ended with the defeat of Cornstalk at Point Pleasant and Morgan’s command turned homeward. When they reached the mouth of the Hockhocking, those stupendous events which had been happening in England and the Colonies during their absence became known to these Virginians, fresh from the wilderness. They learned that the Parliament of Great Britain had ordered the port of Boston to be closed. They were informed that the General Assembly of the mother colony had protested against such despotic legislation. They were told with solemn voices that representatives of the people were then assembled at Philadelphia to consider ways and means to resist the encroachments of the crown. And then and there, amidst the solitude of that wilderness, far from the outposts of civilization, Daniel Morgan and his band of liberty-loving Virginians resolved upon their course. “Upon hearing these things,” he wrote in an all-too-inadequate sketch of his military services, “we, as an army victorious, formed ourselves into a society, pledging our words of honor to each other to assist our brethren of Boston in case hostilities should commence.” I need not ask you New Englanders tonight how well they kept that pledge!

On the 22d day of June, 1775, by a unanimous vote of the Committee of Safety of Frederick County, he was appointed to command one of the two companies of Riflemen which the Continental Congress had ordered to be raised in Virginia. “In less than ten days after the receipt of his commission,” says Graham, “he raised a company of ninety-six young, hardy woodsmen, full of spirit and enthusiasm and practised marksmen with the rifle. John Humphreys, who was killed in the assault on Quebec, was his first lieutenant. William Heth, afterwards a Colonel, who greatly distinguished himself in the subsequent events of the war, was his second lieutenant. His ensign was Charles Porterfield, afterwards a Colonel, and an officer who by his many brilliant and daring achievements had earned a proud name among the defenders of his country, and was rapidly rising to distinction when he fell in the bloody field of Camden. A finer body of men than those who composed his company are seldom seen. One that rendered better service, or that shed a brighter lustre on the arms of their country, never had existence.”

In twenty-one days, Morgan, at the head of this company, each Rifleman wearing a cap with the legend “Liberty or Death,” marched a distance of six hundred miles to Boston, and when the roll was called every member of the command was present and ready for duty.

He was now come for the first time on that broader field of action in which he won a renown which will never die. It is not my purpose to dwell on the hardships of that extraordinary march into Canada led by Arnold. The sufferings endured by the Americans in the midst of the snow’s and ice of the Canadian winter are beyond the power of human speech to depict. Half-clad, bare of foot or shod only with moccasins, half-starving, with their comrades in arms dropping in their weary tracks to die—such sufferings could only be endured by men whose natural hardihood and love of country could not be overwhelmed by the agonies of physical torture. At intervals, some helpless hero would be overcome by the hardships of the march and tenderly laid aside to die, with a single devoted comrade to hunt for a squirrel or jay or to gather wild herbs for his food, the while he watched his expiring breath and caught the last whispered message of affection for the loved ones at home. Morgan himself was dressed in a costume similar to that of an Indian. He wore leggings and a cloth about the middle. His thighs were bare and their laceration because of it was painfully obvious. But he appeared to be impervious to pain. Judge Henry, who was a member of the expedition, in his “Campaign” describes Morgan at this time as being “a large, strong-bodied personage”—“with a stentorian voice”—“whose appearance gave the idea history has left us of Belisarius.” Those high qualifications for command, which became more and more distinguished as the war progressed, manifested themselves on this occasion. He led the vanguard. And in eight weeks’ time he penetrated an unexplored wilderness for six hundred miles and stood ready with his Riflemen to assault the fortified walls of gun-fringed and snow-crowned Quebec.

If the fame of Daniel Morgan as one of the most intrepid of soldiers depended alone on his conduct at the storming of Quebec, it would live as long as the heroic deeds of the Revolution are remembered of men. At the height of a tempest in which the blinding snow was driven with terrible effect, in the early hours of the first day of the New Year, 1775, the assault began. Armed with scaling-ladders and spontoons, as well as rifles, Morgan’s men, with their captain at their head, were first over the walls. With a sublime courage and a voice which rang above the roar of the tempest he commanded his men, and they, with a devotion as faithful as it was unquestioning, obeyed. Into the heart of the town they fought their way. But, alas, the brave fellows were not supported. The disastrous results of the assault—the wounding of Arnold at its commencement, the death of Montgomery, the brave, while leading those sixty heroes from New York, and the capture of Morgan, of the lion’s heart—are tales of devotion which every American schoolboy knows and which were so extraordinary as to become the subject of public eulogy in the Commons of Great Britain. With “the flower of the rebel army,” Morgan was “cooped up” in the town. His half-starved and poorly clad men were all but frozen in the terrible northeast storm. Their eyes could not endure the hail; their faces were “hoar with frost” and weird with pendant icicles; their rifles were practically useless. Finding himself alone with a few of his men and a sprinkling of brave Pennsylvanians, and confronted in a narrow street by his massed enemies, he resolved to cut his way through. The attempt was madness itself. At last, he stood at bay with his back to a wall. With tears streaming down his face, he refused to surrender and challenged his enemies to come and take his sword. A hundred muskets were levelled at his breast, when several of his men begged him to resist no further. Denouncing his enemies as cowards, he acquiesced in the importunities of his followers, but refused to surrender his sword to any person save a noncombatant priest who chanced to be near.

The heroism of the Americans in this assault attracted the admiration of the world. Frederick, of Prussia, praised Montgomery as a military chieftain. In the British Parliament, Barrè, Montgomery’s veteran friend and comrade in the war with France which annexed Canada to the crown, “wept profusely,” in extolling his virtues and the bravery of his men. Edmund Burke pronounced him a hero and his men brave patriots. Lord North, in reply for government, cursed the virtues of the Americans and denounced them as rebels. “The term rebel,” retorted Fox, “is no certain mark of disgrace. The great assertors of liberty, the saviors of their country, the benefactors of mankind in all ages have been called rebels. We owe the constitution which enables us to sit in this house to a rebellion.” And North was silent!

It was during his confinement in “The Seminary,” following his capture, that Morgan was tempted by the British to desert the cause of his country. Had he been made of common clay he might have yielded. He was half-naked; the few garments he wore were in tatters; he was a thousand miles from home; he was a prisoner of war with no prospect of release. But beneath the ragged hunting shirt of this nobleman from the Virginia forests beat a heart as full of loyalty as of love for his country. The polished and generous Governor-General, Sir Guy Carleton, knew of his wonderful courage in the assault. Through the mediation of a subordinate, he tendered Morgan in delicate and diplomatic language “the commission, rank and emoluments of a colonel” in the British Army. “I hope, sir,” was his disdainful reply, “I hope, sir, you will never again insult me in my present distressed and unfortunate situation by making me offers which plainly imply that you think me a scoundrel.”

On the 10th day of August, 1776, the prisoners of war in Quebec were released on parole, and a month later landed from the transports at Elizabethtown Point. General Washington gave Morgan a flattering reception. His high qualifications as an officer had become known throughout the army, and the Commander-in-chief desired to avail of his talents at once. From the Heights of Harlem, on the 20th day of September, 1776, General Washington addressed a communication to the President of Congress urging the appointment of Morgan to succeed Colonel Hugh Stephenson of the Rifle Regiment lately ordered to be raised. He stated “his conduct as an officer, in the expedition with General Arnold last fall, his intrepid behavior in the assault on Quebec, when the brave Montgomery fell, the inflexible attachment he professed to our cause during his imprisonment, and which he perseveres in,” all entitled him “to the favor of Congress.” After his release from his parole, Congress acted on the recommendation and Captain Morgan became “a Colonel of the Eleventh Regiment of Virginia in the army of the United States.” Before the year 1776 closed he was once more in the field of active operations.

He was ordered northward with a regiment of his own recruiting to check the ravages of the Indians attached to Burgoyne’s army. During that ever memorable campaign under Gates, Morgan and his men were in the thick of every engagement until the capitulation of the British at Saratoga. “Sir, you command the finest regiment in the world,” was Burgoyne’s outburst to him when they were introduced after the surrender. And in his “Review of the Evidence taken before the House of Commons,” in which Burgoyne’s conduct was a subject of investigation, in speaking of Morgan’s regiment having driven the British light infantry from the field and attacked them in their entrenchments, Burgoyne remarks: “If there can be any person who, after considering that circumstance and the positive proof of the subsequent obstinacy of the attack on the post of Lord Balcarras, and various other actions of the day, continue to doubt that the Americans possess the _quality_ and _faculty_ of fighting (call it by whatever term they please) they are of a prejudice that it would be very absurd longer to contend with.”

That is honorable testimony from an able adversary of the part Morgan bore in those momentous days. And yet the name of Morgan was omitted from the official account of the surrender which he did so much to compel. The reason was not far to seek and is now well-known. Again—this time on a triumphant field—did the innate nobleness, the loyalty and love of country of Daniel Morgan overcome the blandishments of the tempter and scorn his proffered preferments. General Gates sought to persuade the honest woodsman to join him and his co-conspirators in the “Conway Cabal,” which had for its object the promotion of Gates over Washington. He refused. Had he yielded, his name would have blazoned the dispatches announcing the capitulation. When Gates had concluded his request, the frank and honest soul of Morgan was aflame with indignation. “I have one favor to ask of you, sir, which is never to mention that detestable subject to me again; for under no other man than Washington as commander-in-chief would I ever serve.”

Vain was the attempt to ignore the services of Morgan and his regiment in the campaign against Burgoyne! The omission of his name by Gates in the dispatches should be supplied by the mighty pen of his grateful countrymen, and writ large, in letters of gold, upon the imperishable annals of the Republic. His enemies paid homage to his gallantry. An incident occurred at this time, as related by Lee in his Memoirs, which illustrates the resentment of Gates towards Morgan and demonstrates how unworthy and undeserved was his malice. Shortly after the rejection by Morgan of General Gates’ proposition to join the “Conway Cabal,” Gates gave a dinner to the principal officers of Burgoyne’s army. The principal officers of the American army were also present. But Morgan was not invited. Having occasion to seek an interview with General Gates before the entertainment was concluded, the British officers, observing the noble mien and soldier-like carriage of Morgan and that he wore the uniform of a field officer, made inquiries concerning his identity immediately upon his withdrawal. When informed that he was Colonel Morgan, of the Rifle Regiment, they arose to a man, and overtaking him in the road severally introduced themselves and declared their admiration for his bravery and skill as a commander.

After the surrender, Colonel Morgan, by express command of General Washington, marched southward to join him. The commanderin-chief was then operating on the Hudson and in New Jersey and Pennsylvania and was anxious to avail himself of the remarkable talents of Morgan, whose Rangers were now become the _elite_ rifle-corps of the army. To follow him in all of his engagements while under the immediate command of Washington would prolong this address beyond the limitations which patience and the conventions prescribe. No undertaking having for its object the success of the American cause was too hazardous, no service too difficult for him to perform. It was during this period that developed those intimate personal relations between Colonel Morgan and General Lafayette which continued through life and which is affectionately manifested in the correspondence of the polished Marquis with his unaccomplished friend. In a letter from Fishkill, November 28, 1778, Lafayette, in thanking Morgan for the friendship and good opinion he expressed for him on the eve of his departure for France, said: “Both are extremely dear to my heart; and I do assure you, my dear sir, that the true regard and esteem and the sincere affection you have inspired to me, will last forever.

* * * * *

“Farewell, my dear sir, don’t forget your friend on the other side of the great water, and believe me ever,

“Your affectionate, “LAFAYETTE.”