United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
But where am I driving to? I did not think thus at the time. No; my
blood was up; my evil passions were aroused; and I was as eager as
anyone to shed blood, and utterly careless of all the consequences to
myself and others. Never have I witnessed a more tremendous fire than
was kept up by our ships for fifty-nine minutes, during which time in
the Orpheus alone we expended 5366 pounds of powder. I kept no note of
the number of shot we fired away. The very first broadside made a
considerable breach in the enemy's works. At the end of the time I have
mentioned the boats advanced, and the signal was made to cease firing.
As they touched the beach the men sprang on shore, and, forming rapidly,
gallantly rushed towards the entrenchments with fixed bayonets and loud
cheers. The enemy scarcely waited to deliver their fire, but, throwing
down their arms, fled on all sides in the utmost terror and confusion,
earnestly petitioning for quarter. The red-coats leaped through the
breaches made by our guns, and over the embankments, and were speedily
in possession of the enemy's works. As the smoke cleared away, the
ground far and near appeared covered with the bodies of the slain and
wounded, some with arms, others with legs, shot away, while parties of
fugitives were seen flying in every direction, pursued by our men,
especially by the Hessians, who seemed little disposed to give the
quarter which was asked.
I was not only a spectator but a participator in what I have been
describing. As soon as the ships ceased firing, our boats, of which I
commanded one, were ordered to aid in towing the flat-bottomed boats on
shore. As soon as the troops had landed, leaving Grampus in charge of
my boat, I, with another midshipman and Tom Rockets and two other men,
followed them into the entrenchments, and found myself shortly in the
rear of a body of Hessians as they charged over the ground. A poor
American was flying for his life, shrieking out for mercy. One of those
savage mercenaries either did not or would not understand him, and
before I could interpose had with a sweep of his sword severed his head
from his body, then, in savage triumph worthy of a Red Indian, sticking
it on a pole, carried it through the entrenchments, shouting out as if
he had performed some noble act of heroism.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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