"It is true. Washington, like all very great men, was naturally strongly passionate. His usual self-command was the more wonderful because it had been acquired by stern practice. The battle of Germantown was one of those few occasions in his life when his feelings burst through all restraint; and then, it is said by those who should know, that his wrath was fierce and terrible. The officers were compelled, by considerations of his safety, to lead his horse from the field. He did all that a man could do to rally his broken troops, and exposed himself as fearlessly as the bravest soldier. All his exertions were vain, however, and he became much irritated in consequence." "The retreat just when victory was within his grasp was enough to irritate any commander who valued his aim and plan," observed Mr. Jackson Harmar, agreeing with Smith in the remarks which he had just made. "I suppose, if Washington had been completely successful at Germantown, the British would have been driven from Philadelphia," said Higgins. "Ay; and from the vicinity of Philadelphia," replied Smith. "They could not have recovered from such a defeat." [Illustration: BATTLE OF THE KEGS.] BATTLE OF THE KEGS. "Father," said Mr. Jackson Harmar, "I have a song in my portfolio, written by Francis Hopkinson while the British were in Philadelphia; perhaps you can tell us something about the event which is the subject of it. Here it is. It is called 'The Battle of the Kegs.'" "The Battle of the Kegs! That I can, my boy. But read the song," replied old Harmar. His son then read the following facetious ditty: "Gallants, attend, and hear a friend Trill forth harmonious ditty: Strange things I'll tell, which late befell In Philadelphia city. Twas early day, as poets say, Just when the sun was rising, A soldier stood on log of wood, And saw a sight surprising. As, in amaze, he stood to gaze,-- The truth can't be denied, sirs,-- He spied a score--of kegs, or more, Come floating down the tide, sirs. A sailor, too, in jerkin blue, The strange appearance viewing, First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, Then said, 'Some mischief's brewing. These kegs now hold the rebels bold, Pack'd up like pickled herrings And they're come down to attack the town, In this new way of ferrying.' The soldier flew, the sailor, too, And, scared almost to death, sirs, Wore out their shoes to spread the news, And ran till out of breath, sirs. Now up and down, throughout the town, Most frantic scenes were acted; And some ran here, and some ran there, Like men almost distracted. Some fire cried, which some denied, But said the earth had quakèd; And girls and boys, with hideous noise, Ran through the town half-naked. Sir William he, snug as a flea, Lay all this time a snoring, Nor dream'd of harm, as he lay warm, While all without was roaring.