When hereafter the military genius of Washington is called in question, let the story of Trenton be remembered. Napoleon always spoke of this ten days’ campaign as one of the most able on record. Botta, the Italian historian, said of it, “Achievements so astonishing gained for the American commander a very great reputation, and were regarded with wonder by all nations, as well as by the Americans; every one applauded the prudence, the firmness, and the daring of Washington; all declared him the saviour of his country; all proclaimed him _equal to the most renowned commanders of antiquity_.”
They left their country with great regret, and I do not think they will ever be satisfied elsewhere. The men seemed moody, but occasionally uttered sentences in their own tongue with great feeling. The lamentations of the women Were pitiful to hear. (_Extract from a Letter to the Secretary at War, in Relation to the Removal of the Seminoles._)
Moonlight plays on the waters and all silently they glide, Though swiftly by a mighty ship that swingeth in their tide, And the gentle winds of summer are bearing from the land In whispering tones a sad farewell to an exiled band.
The perfume of the jasmine and the magnolia flowers Mingles with the odors borne from distant orange bowers, The music of the mock-bird’s song they hear across the deep, Whose glassy ripples murmuring a cadence with it keep.
They know that at the morning sun the ship will spread its wing And like a spirit hurry them from every cherished thing, And therefore gaze they earnestly upon their native shore, To write upon their memory scenes they will see no more.
They gaze upon the royal palm, around whose coronet, Mingling with the moon-beams, the sunlight lingers yet,[1] On the live-oak, with gnarled limbs all hidden by the moss, Whose tresses in the summer wind like pennons twine and toss.
They gaze upon the silver strand of Holy Spirit’s Bay,[2] They see the dolphins flinging up showers of starry spray, They hear the Halcyon’s[3] wailing voice far out upon the sea, Mournful as if it knew their grief and wailed for sympathy.
Oh! who can tell the agony that filled the bosoms then Of mothers with their callow babes, the breasts of stalwort men, As in the deep and mellow tones of the Muscogee tongue A warrior o’er his nation’s fate a lament thus begun: