Then Marched the Brave

Then Marched the Brave

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Then Marched the Brave, by Harriet
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Title: Then Marched the Brave
Author: Harriet T. Comstock
Illustrator: Anna S. Hicks
Release Date: June 30, 2005 [EBook #16156]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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MARCHED THE BRAVE ***

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[Illustration: _Frontispiece--"'I CAN SEE NO ONE BUT THE
GENERAL,' JANIE SAID."
_See page 133._]

Then Marched the Brave
By
Harriet T. Comstock
Author of "When the British Came," "Molly, the Drummer Boy," etc.
_Illustrations by Anna S. Hicks_
PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
MOLLY, THE DRUMMER BOY
WHEN THE BRITISH CAME
Fifty cents each
Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus

CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
ANDY McNEAL
CHAPTER II
A STRANGER IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER III
THE CROWNING OF ANDY McNEAL

CHAPTER IV
THROUGH THE CAVE
CHAPTER V
A SUSPICION
CHAPTER VI
THEN MARCHED THE BRAVE
CHAPTER VII
ANDY HEARS A STRANGE TALK
CHAPTER VIII
AT HEADQUARTERS
CHAPTER IX
PEACE

ILLUSTRATIONS
"'I can see no one but the General,' Janie said" "Andy was at the oars
now" "'Good day, my pretty lass!'" "Burr ventured a question" "It took
all of Andy's courage to don the female attire"

THEN MARCHED THE BRAVE
CHAPTER I

ANDY McNEAL
It was in the time when the king's men had things pretty much their
own way, and mystery and plot held full sway, that there lived, in a
little house near McGown Pass on the upper end of Manhattan Island, a
widow and her lame son. She was a tall, gaunt woman of Scotch
ancestry, but loyal to the land that had given her a second home. She
was not a woman of many opinions, but the few that she held were
rigid, and not to be trifled with. With all her might she hated the king,
and with equal intensity loved the cause of freedom. In the depths of
her nature there was a great feeling of shame and disappointment that
her only son was a hopeless cripple, and so could not be offered as a
living sacrifice to the new cause.
Janie McNeal held it against the good God that she, His faithful servant,
must be denied the glorious opportunity of giving her best and all, as
other mothers were doing, that the land of the free might be wrested
from cruel tyranny.
To be sure, Andy was but sixteen. That mattered little to Janie; young
as he was, she could have held him in readiness, as did Hannah of old,
until the time claimed him--but his lameness made it impossible.
Among all the deeds of courage, he must stand forever apart!
Poor Janie could not conceive of a bravery beyond physical strength. In
her disappointment she looked upon pale Andy, and she saw--she hated
to acknowledge it--but she saw only cowardice written upon every line
of the shrinking features! The patient blue eyes avoided her pitying
glance. The sensitive mouth twitched as the boy listened to her
oft-repeated laments. Janie had never seen those eyes grow steely and
keen; she had never seen the lips draw into firm lines, or the slim form
stiffen as the boy listened to the doings of the king's soldiers. When the
neighbors came with thrilling tales of daring done by some loved one,
Janie made some excuse for sending the boy upon an errand or to bed;
the contrast was too bitter.
And Andy, sensitive and keen from suffering, saw through it all and
shrank, not from fear or cowardice, but unselfish love, away from the

stir and excitement and his mother's sigh of humiliation. He lived his
life much alone; misunderstood, but silently brave. His chance would
come. Andy never once doubted that, and the chance would find him
ready.
And so he waited while the summer of 1776 waxed hotter and hotter,
and the king's men, drunken with success after the battle of Long Island,
pressed their advantage and impudence further, as they waited to see
what the "old fox," meaning Washington, meant to do next. What his
intentions were, no one, not even his own men, seemed to know; he
kept them and himself well out of sight, and the anxious people
watched and wondered and grew restless under the strain.
Now upon a certain July night Janie McNeal and Andy were sitting at
their humble meal. The door of the cottage stood open, and the song of