On the bloody sands where Captain Heald’s small command fought so nobly is now (1893) being held a great international exposition, the “World’s Columbian Exposition” in celebration of the discovery of the New World by Columbus.

Thus far, the war with England had not been encouraging to Americans.  Within two months from the time of this declaration, the whole northwest, excepting Forts Harrison and Wayne in the Indian Territory, were in possession of the enemy.  Alarm and astonishment prevailed throughout the West.  The great mass of Indians, ever ready to join the successful party, were flocking to the British; but by the spirited exertion of the governors of Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana, three thousand volunteers were quickly raised and placed under command of General W.H.  Harrison, for the purpose of subduing the Indians and regaining what was lost at Detroit.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PEACE PARTY.

Terrence Malone, with all his frivolity and tendency toward ludicrousness, had a remarkable amount of shrewdness in his composition.  He was a bold, harum scarum fellow, as liable to pull the beard of a king, as to kick a pauper.  Though he had fared well for an impressed seaman, Terrence had no love for Great Britain.  Like others of his race, he made a noble American.  One can scarcely find, a more patriotic American than the Irish American, who, driven by tyranny from the land of his birth, transfers his love to the land of his adoption.  America has never had a war in which the brave sons of the Emerald Isle have not been found under the star-spangled banner, musket in hand, risking their lives for their adopted country.

Young Malone had a double cause to hate England.  His father had been driven from Ireland, when Terrence was but a child, by the tyranny of the British, and he had been made to give almost four of the best years of his life to the service of King George.

In January, 1812, Terrence announced to his father his intention of going to Washington City.

“What the divil be ye goin’ to Washington City for, me boy?”

“To see the prisident,” was the answer.

“You’d better be goin’ to school, I’m thinkin’.”

“School, father!” said Terrence, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders.  “Faith, don’t talk to me of schools and colleges, when it’s a war we are goin’ to have, sure.  My next school will be breakin’ heads.”

“Be the times, you’ll have yer own cracked!”

“Not before I’ve got even with some of the divilish Britons, methinks.”

“What be ye goin’ to see the prisident about?”

This interview, the reader will bear in mind, was before war had been declared.

“I am going to tell Prisident Madison to give Johnny Bull a good whippin’.”

“Prisident Madison will tell yez to moind yer own business,” the Hibernian answered.