The Tory Maid Part 6

CHAPTER IX

THE RED TIDE OF BLOOD

Spruce Macaronies, and pretty to see, Tidy and dapper and gallant were we; Blooded, fine gentlemen, proper and tall, Bold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball;

Tralara! Tralara! now praise we the Lord, For the clang of His call and the flash of His sword.

Tralara! Tralara! now forward to die; For the banner, hurrah! and for sweethearts, good-bye!

JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.

It was on the 22d day of August that the rumour flew through the camp that the enemy had landed and was preparing to attack. But the hours flew by, and still no orders came, until the Line became restless, and the fear grew that the fight would begin before we could reach the field of battle. The sun began to sink over the Heights of Harlem when an aide rode into our lines. It was Tench Tilghman, who swung his hat and shouted as he went by: "You will have warm work in a day or two, boys!"

We gave him a yell in reply, and started with renewed interest the preparations for the coming fight. A few minutes later came the orders that we were to march at dawn. The men received the news joyfully, and it was wonderful to see the change in their bearing; for while the doubt hung over them, they were restless and murmuring was heard all through the camp; but now all was laughter and gaiety. They prepared for the fight as one would prepare for the next county ball or a fox-hunt on the morrow.

The stirring notes of the bugle ringing over the camp brought me to my feet with a bound, and I looked out of the tent to see a heavy mist over everything, and hear the sound of men's voices coming through it all around me. It does not take a soldier long to don his uniform, and I was soon out attending to my duties. At seven o'clock we were on our march to the ferry, crossing the East River at the foot of the main street of the small town of Brooklyn; then we took a road leading over a creek called Gowa.n.u.s, and knew that we were marching to guard the right of the American line. Low-lying hills, heavily wooded, lay before us; it was in these woods that our line was called to a halt, and we took up our position for the battle. We lay there several days, with constant rumours flying through the camp of the enemy's advance, but yet they would not come.

It was on the morning of the 27th of August that the great battle of Long Island, so disastrous for the patriot forces, broke upon us. The scattering shots of the skirmishers first made us spring to arms; then the sharp rattle of the musketry of Atlee's men and the boom of Carpenter's cannon on our immediate right told that the enemy was pus.h.i.+ng them hard. Then through the forest trees came the line of the British advance. The fire extended along our whole front, while far over, to our left came the distant roar of cannon and musketry.

"They are having a hot time over there," said d.i.c.k, "but why don't these fellows charge us?"

"They will charge us soon enough," I replied. But it seemed as if they never would, for what promised to be an attack along our whole line dwindled down to a mere exchange of shots. Hour after hour went by, and yet they never advanced beyond a certain point except when a company or so would dash forward and a sharp skirmish would break forth for a moment or two, and then die away again. But far over to our left the sound of the battle came rolling nearer and nearer, telling the tale of Sullivan's men being driven in.

"I do not like that," said d.i.c.k. "They are doing all the fighting, while we are merely exchanging courtesies with our friends six hundred yards away. h.e.l.lo! There comes news."

I looked behind us to a small hill, where Lord Stirling stood with his staff, and saw Tench Tilghman riding up at full speed. There was a hurried movement among the staff, and Stirling's gla.s.ses swept the country to our left and rear. A moment later an order was given and the aides came das.h.i.+ng down our lines, and then, to our disgust, came the order to retire.

"Retreat!" cried one of the men. "Why, we haven't begun to fight yet!"

"Steady, men," cried Captain Ramsay; "you form the rear guard and must hold the enemy in check," for they were beginning to advance as the regiments on each side of us withdrew. Then we began slowly to withdraw, but there came an aide riding swiftly to Major Gist.

Pennsylvania and Delaware regiments took our place in the rear, and we were marched rapidly to the front. The heavy woods had heretofore prevented our seeing what was taking place, but now that we had come out to the opening a wild scene of terror and dismay lay before us.

Gowa.n.u.s Creek, deep and unfordable, with its sullen tide rising fast, lay like a great ugly serpent across our path, while over the meadow and far in our front the broken streams of fugitives were swarming, flying toward the bridge at the mill, the only hope of crossing Gowa.n.u.s Creek. And as I looked, to my horror, the mill and the bridge burst into flames, catching the routed army as it were between the rising tide and the advancing legions of the victorious English. Then, as we watched it, a rumour grew and spread through the ranks, as such things will in battle, that a New England Colonel had fired the bridge to save himself and his regiment. How we cursed New England then, and swore that if we ever escaped we would have our reckoning with her and her people.

"There they come!" cried d.i.c.k at my side, pointing to where a large stone house crowned a hill immediately in the rear and commanded the whole field of the terror-stricken fugitives.

I saw the brilliant scarlet of their coats as they took possession of the hill and prepared to open fire.

"They will have to be driven from there or we are lost," I answered.

Then, as the prospect looked the darkest and the long line of the British formed to make their last advance, Lord Stirling rode up to our line.

"Men of Maryland!" he shouted, "charge that hill, hold Cornwallis in check and save the army!"

We answered with a yell, as he sprang from his horse to lead us.

Ah, I shall never forget the pride with which we stepped out of the ma.s.s of flying fugitives, four hundred Marylanders, the greatest dandies and bluest blood in all the army, for this, the proudest service of the day. We formed for the charge as if on the drill ground; our evolutions and lines were perfect, and would have done credit to the grenadiers of the later empire. Stirling's sword was in the air, the drums were beating the charge, when there broke from the throats of our Marylanders the wild, thrilling yell of the southern provinces, and we leaped to the charge up the long hill, straight into the face of Cornwallis's army, a handful against thousands. Up, up the hill we dashed. A fire as of h.e.l.l broke upon us and rattled and roared about our ears, thinning our ranks and strewing our pathway with the dead. Men fell to the right and to the left of me, and I strode across the bodies of the slain in my path; but still, over the roar of the cannon and the rattle of musketry, high and shrill rose the yell of the charging line. We swept up the hill, the crest was gained, and the British fell back before us, when we were met by a sheet of flame, a storm of lead and smoke and fire. We were raised as it were in the air and held there gasping for breath, and then we were swept back down the hill, struggling desperately to gain a foothold to make a stand.

Again we saw Stirling glance over the meadow and the marsh behind us as we re-formed our line. His voice came ringing down our ranks.

"Once again, men of Maryland."

Once again! Aye, we knew how to answer that call, for the bodies of our comrades lay dotting the long hillside.

"Once again, and charge home!" cried Ramsay.

We sprang to the charge, and wilder, shriller, fiercer, more terrible, rose the yell--the yell of vengeance that seemed to pick the line up bodily and hurl it up the hill through the scorching, blistering storm and hail of lead, fire, and smoke. I remembered naught till the crest was gained, and Edward Veasey crying, "Charge home! Charge home!" and we dashed in upon the scarlet line. Ah me, for a moment, then it was glorious, as steel met steel, and we drove them, ten times our number, back, and rolled them up against the house and forced them off the plain. And then our hands were on the ugly muzzles of the guns, and Edward Veasey, springing on the carriage, cheered on his men. But ere it had died on his lips, so desperate was the struggle, the English Captain of the guns fired, and Veasey fell. I was but a dozen steps away, and, seeing Veasey fall, I dashed through the press of bayonets to where the English Captain fought.

"Another one!" he cried, as we met face to face.

"Yes, and the last;" and our swords met.

"No time for that!" cried a voice at my side; then there was a flash, and the Englishman fell back into the arms of his men, and the guns were won for an instant. But only for an instant. Our men melted away under the storm of lead from the Cortelyou house, and the weight of the advancing regiments forced us back to the crest of the hill. Then slowly, step by step, down the hill they forced us, until we rested once more at its foot.

But still the meadow, the marsh, and the creek were black with the ma.s.s of flying men seeking eagerly, desperately to escape, while between them and the victorious British stretched the ranks of the Maryland Line, now sadly thinned, for one-third of our men were dyeing the long dank gra.s.s with their blood. But that line, thin as it was, closed up the wide gaps in the ranks with as jaunty a step and as gallant a carriage as when they first stepped out for the charge.

Their faces looked grim, it is true, for with the smoke and the fire, and the blood and the dust, the genius of battle had sketched thereon.

For a few minutes we rested at the foot of the hill, for we knew that our work was not half done, and until the last fugitive was over Gowa.n.u.s Creek we must check the British advance. A glance from Lord Stirling told us to charge, as he pointed up the long hill with his sword.

Again there came the answering yell, the requiem for many a gallant soul, and the line once more swung forward to breast the hill. Up the long hill we toiled again, straight into the teeth of the fire.

Again we gained the crest and fought them, man to man; again by weight of numbers they forced us off the crest, and sent us staggering, reeling down the hill, desperate now.

Yet again Lord Stirling called on us to follow, and yet again we charged them home.

Men lay wounded, men lay dying, all across the long hillside, and more than half our number were dead or sorely stricken.

Yet it was for a fifth time that Stirling's voice rang clear, over the roar of the battle, and for the fifth time we picked up the gauge of their challenge, and swept forward in the charge.

Thus for the last time we reached the crest, and for one heroic moment held our own, and then came reeling back from the shock. And, as I was carried down the hill with the retreating line, I saw the tall figure of Lord Stirling standing upright and alone amid the storm of bullets, courting death and disdaining to retreat.

"To the rescue of Lord Stirling," I cried to the few soldiers who were around me. d.i.c.k, who was near, echoed my shout, and we dashed forward, determined to bring him off by force if no other way could be found.

But we had not advanced a dozen yards before every man that was with us had fallen and only d.i.c.k and I reached Lord Stirling, who was calmly awaiting the end.

"The day is lost, my lord," I cried, "but we have yet time to save you."

"Save yourselves, lads," he replied; "you have done everything that men can do, but it remains for me either to die or surrender."

"My lord," I cried; but at this moment d.i.c.k reeled. "Struck, by George!" he exclaimed, and I caught him as he fell.

"See to your comrade," said Lord Stirling; "you have yet time to escape."

So, throwing d.i.c.k's arms around my neck, for there was no time to parley under that rain of lead, I bore him quickly down the hill.