under them. Sometimes they sat up all night, crowding up to the fires to keep from freezing.

They were no better off for clothing than for houses. The whole army was in rags, which the soldiers' most skillful mending could hardly hold together. Many of the men had no shirts, even more were without shoes. Wherever they walked, the snow was marked with blood. Some cut strips from their precious blankets, and wound them about their feet to protect them from the frozen ground. Food was scanty; sometimes for several days they were without meat, and some companies were once without bread for three days. When the word went around, "No meat to-night," the soldiers groaned, but they never yielded.

The cause of these hardships was the fact that Congress had no power. It could say to a State, "We need money for the army, and your share will be so much"; but if the State did not choose to pay the tax, Congress could not force it to pay. It is said that while these brave soldiers were suffering in their rags, whole hogsheads of clothes and shoes and stockings were waiting at different places on the roads until money to pay for teaming could be found. Sometimes the soldiers themselves took the places of horses and oxen, and when they could learn of any supplies, dragged the wagons into camp.

Washington shared all this suffering with his men, and he had even more to bear from fault-finders. The Pennsylvania Legislature thought he ought not to shelter his men in huts at Valley Forge. "Why does n't he camp out in tents in the open field," they demanded, "and attack the British?" This was too much for even Washington's patience, and he wrote a blunt letter to the Legislature, telling them how little they were doing for the army. He said it was much easier to find fault "in a comfortable room by a good fireside than to camp

upon a cold, bleak hill and sleep under frost and snow without clothes or blankets."

Not all the soldiers were Americans by any means. Some of them were foreigners who had come to America to get what they could out of the country; but there were also many who came because they believed that the United States was in the right, and they wanted to help her win her independence. One of these true friends was a young Frenchman, the Marquis de Lafayette. For some time the Americans had been trying to persuade France to help them, but Lafayette could not bear to wait for his country to act. "The moment I heard of America, I loved her," he wrote. He fitted out a ship at his own cost and crossed the ocean. Then he asked two "favors" of Congress to serve as a volunteer, and to pay his own expenses. Congress made him an officer, although he was only nineteen. He won the heart of the commander-inchief at their first meeting, and from that day Washington trusted him as he trusted few people. Lafayette was rich, a nobleman, and a favorite at the French court. He had lived in luxury all his days; but he shared with Washington the hard life at Valley Forge, never complaining, always bright and cheerful. All this time he was writing letters home, which did much to bring about something that delighted Washington and "the boy," as the British scornfully called Lafayette. Word came across the sea that the French king had decided to help America. Then there was rejoicing at gloomy Valley Forge. A day of thanksgiving was appointed. Prayer was offered, the troops were reviewed, thirteen cannon were fired, and at a signal the whole army shouted, "Long live the king of France!"

The French Government had asked many questions about the American army. The answer was always the same: "They are brave and patient and determined, but they lack drill and

discipline. They are splendid fighters, but they need to be taught how to fight together." There was a Prussian officer, Baron von Steuben, who was better prepared than any one else to teach what the army ought to know, and the French persuaded him to cross the ocean.

The baron was amazed when he went to Valley Forge and saw the miserable little huts and the starving, half-naked men. "There is not a commander in Europe who could keep troops together a week if they were suffering like this," he declared. There was hardly any artillery and almost no cavalry. Many of the guns were not fit to use. Few of them had bayonets. That was a small matter, however, for the soldiers did not know what to do with bayonets, and had used them chiefly to broil meat with when they were so fortunate as to have any meat. Baron von Steuben was horrified. He drilled and drilled. One minute he stormed at the ignorance of the men, and the next he praised their quickness in learning some difficult movement. Then at their next blunder he stormed again in a comical mixture of German and French and English. In spite of his scoldings, however, he was devoted to the men and exceedingly proud of them. During that cruel winter many fell ill, and the hot-tempered baron went about from one wretched hut to another, doing everything that he could to help and cheer them. It is no wonder that they loved him and were eager to learn.

The terrible winter at Valley Forge came to an end at last. Out of the cold and hunger and sickness and suffering an army came forth that was stronger than before, an army that was "never beaten in a fair fight."

Eva March Tappan

MOLLY PITCHER

June 28, 1778

ALL day the great guns barked and roared;
All day the big balls screeched and soared;
All day, mid the sweating gunners grim,
Who toiled in their smoke-shroud dense and dim,
Sweet Molly labored with courage high,
With steady hand and watchful eye,

'Til the day was ours, and the sinking sun
Looked down on the field of Monmouth won,
And Molly standing beside her gun.

Now, Molly, rest your weary arm!
Safe, Molly, all is safe from harm.
Now, woman, bow your aching head,
And
weep in sorrow o'er
your dead!

Next day on that field so hardly won,
Stately and calm stands Washington,

And looks where our gallant Greene doth lead
A figure clad in motley weed-

A soldier's cap and a soldier's coat
Masking a woman's petticoat.

He greets our Molly in kindly wise;
He bids her raise her tearful eyes;

And now he hails her before them all
Comrade and soldier, whate'er befall,
"And since she has played a man's full part,
A man's reward for her loyal heart!
And Sergeant Molly Pitcher's name

Be writ henceforth on the shield of fame!"

Oh, Molly, with your eyes so blue!
Oh, Molly, Molly, here's to you!
Sweet honor's roll will e'er be richer
To hold the name of Molly Pitcher.

Laura E. Richards

LAFAYETTE

It is night in Philadelphia. In spite of their worries the members of Congress are in bed. Quiet is over all, and the only sound that breaks the stillness is the lagging footsteps of the drowsy watchman going his rounds. "One o'clock, and all is well!" he cries. "Two o'clock, and all is well!"

The minutes wear on. Then his ear catches a distant sound. He listens. Muffled at first, it grows nearer and nearer, louder and louder. It is the even hoof-beats of a horse ridden at full speed. The rider comes in sight. "What news?" shouts the watchman. What news, indeed!

His steps no longer lag. The tones of his voice are jubilant now, as he shouts from house to house: "Past three o'clock, and Cornwallis has surrendered! Past three o'clock, and Cornwallis has surrendered!"

Let bells peal! Let cannon boom! Speed the good tidings from man to man, from town to town, from colony to colony! Let all America know and rejoice that victory is ours!

Not many days behind the bearer of the glorious news, another man journeys from Yorktown to Philadelphia. He is young, tall, and slender. He is the French Marquis de Lafayette.

Four years before, at the very time when our future looked the darkest, Lafayette came to America a boy of nineteen and offered Congress his services without pay. Loyally and well he has played his part in the Revolution. Now the hour of