Washington Chasing Mr. Brown at Brandywine

 

I recently came across an account of Washington at Brandywine which matches up very well with my description in The Riddle of Penncroft Farm, and even has an illustration!

Arthur Becher, illustrator

Meanwhile Washington, hearing the firing far away on his right and fearing some disaster, dashed toward the sound, followed by his Aides and guided by a frightened and unwilling old man, named Joseph Brown, who had been hoisted on a horse and told to away on his right and fearing some disaster, dashed toward the sound, followed by his Aides and guided by a frightened and unwilling old man, named Joseph Brown, who had been hoisted on a horse and told to lead the way at top speed. Away they dashed across the fields, flying over fences and ditches, Washington continually urging his guide to set a faster pace and exclaiming " Push along, old man! Push along! " whenever he showed signs of weakening. But despite this wild steeple-chase, before the Commander-in-Chief could reach the scene of action, the defeated columns came rolling back in dire confusion.—On the trail of Washington; a narrative history of Washington's boyhood and manhood, based on his own writings, authentic documents and other authoritative information, by Hill, Frederick Trevor, 1866-1930. 

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By this time the gunfire was quickening, making Buttercup as skittish as an unbroken filly. I was still trying to get up on her when General Washington himself emerged from the house, calling for a guide to lead him to Birmingham Road. I half hoped and half feared that I would be that guide, but instead his aides brought up an elderly man from the neighborhood, Mr. Joseph Brown. Old Mr. Brown made every possible excuse not to go, but in the end was convinced at swordpoint where his duty lay. When he protested his lack of a horse, one of Washington’s aides dismounted from his own fine charger. As Brown reluctantly climbed into the saddle, Washington sat impatiently on his own beautiful white horse. The instant the frightened farmer was in place, Washington snapped a whip at the rump of the reluctant guide’s horse, which leaped into a gallop. The general followed, spurring his own mount until its nose pushed into the leader’s flank like a colt suckling its mother. Even this didn’t satisfy Washington, who cracked his whip and shouted, “Push along, old man, push along!” Spellbound, I watched the two race up the hill across the golden fields, jumping the fences as they came to them. I had never seen such horsemanship—superb on the part of the general, dreadful on the part of Mr. Brown. Behind them ran a ragged line of soldiers, rucksacks bobbing as they sped over the uneven ground.        —The Riddle of Penncroft Farm