No. 10.

John Petticord was exemplary in character and habits, modest and gentle in his disposition, pure in his faith and in his living; he had no enemies, and was always known as a reliable man. During his long career as foreman or master of the shop, he never had a quarrel or a serious difficulty with the many who came under his control. He never drank intoxicating beverages, although in his early days that was the general custom, which, with hatters, was unfortunately the universal habit. His manliness and strength of character were also well displayed by his never chewing or smoking tobacco. He was patient and methodical, an indefatigable worker at his trade, believing that undivided attention to his work was a duty he owed to others.

John Petticord was a patriot, being one of that noble band who fearlessly stood and successfully resisted the British attack upon Baltimore in 1814. At that time he was a youth of nineteen working at his trade. At noon-time on the eventful September 12th, 1814, the "tocsin" was sounded to call to arms every able-bodied citizen to defend his home and fireside, and, if possible, prevent the destruction of their beautiful city. At the first sound of the cannon, which was the signal agreed upon, John Petticord left his unfinished noonday meal, seized his musket, and was one of the first to join the ranks of his company. The day was desperately hot, and a forced march of two miles to the battlefield brought them, dusty, tired and thirsty, face to face with the enemy, who was in a fresh condition and eager for fight. Petticord's canteen, as all others, by regulation orders, was filled with whiskey, but he, being a temperance man, would not assuage his thirst with grog. Famishing for water, he obtained permission from his superior officer to go a short distance away, where a "squatter" was dispensing cider for the comfort of the soldiers and profit to himself. Petticord, emptying his canteen of whiskey on the ground, had it filled with hard cider, and quenched his thirst with a good round drink. That hard cider, together with heat and exhaustion, came about as near ending the earthly career of John Petticord as did the storm of enemy's bullets which whizzed about his head. On that trying day the bravery of this man was well tested. He stood manfully in position while his comrade on the right fell dead at his feet, and the one on his left was removed wounded from the battlefield, he himself receiving a slight wound on the finger. The riderless white horse of the British General Ross, who had just been killed, pranced by in front of the rank in which Mr. Petticord was stationed, and the hearts of himself and comrades beat lightly with hope of success, as the shouts of the Americans echoed along the line, announced the death of the invaders' great leader, encouraging a grand rally that gave them the victory of the day. Mr. Petticord, though a brave soldier in the time of his country's need, was a man of peace, and, upon the ending of hostilities with Great Britain, resigned his position in the eighth company of the 27th Regiment of Maryland militia.

Baltimore always honors her noble band of brave defenders, and upon each anniversary of the 12th of September a public celebration is given, and the Old Defenders occupy the post of honor. It is but a few years since they marched with lively and steady step to martial music; later on, age required their appearing in carriages in the procession, and each year, at the annual dinner given by the city, their number has grown less and less.

The present year but three were on earth to answer to the "roll call," and but one able to appear at the banquet. Who can realize the sad feelings of the last of such a noble band? Feeble Old Age, with its infirmities, mindful of its duty, sat perhaps for the last time around the banquet board, where, with friends and comrades, he before had enjoyed happy and jovial times, his spirits were cheered and the occasion made as pleasant as possible, by the presence of many of Baltimore's honored citizens; but not to see a single face of the many with whom during the seventy-five long years he had kept up a pleasant association, is an experience others cannot imagine.

With Mr. Petticord's death, but two[1] are left of that noble band who so bravely protected our rights and fought for and firmly secured that liberty and freedom we of the present day are enjoying.