United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
As he drew his horse about he again came face to face with Lee, who sat
his saddle sullenly, his gaze on the ground. Washington looked at him a
moment, evidently not knowing what to say. Then he asked quietly:
"Will you retain command on this height, or not, sir?"
"It is equal to me where I command."
"Then I expect you will take proper means for checking the enemy."
"I shall not be the first to leave the ground; your orders shall be
obeyed."
What followed was but a medley of sight and sound. I saw Washington ride
to the left; heard Lee give a hurried order, or two; then I was at the
rear of our own line strengthening it for assault. There was little
enough time left.
Under the smoke of several batteries, whose shells were ripping open the
side of the hill, the British were advancing in double line, the sun
gleaming on their bayonets, and revealing the uniforms of different
corps.
"Steady men! Steady!" voice after voice caught up the command. "Hold your
fire!"
"Wait until they reach that fallen tree!" I added.
Every man of us had a gun, officers, all. Coatless as though we came from
the haying field, the perspiration streaming down our faces, we waited.
The rifle barrels glowed brown in the sun, as the keen eyes took careful
sight. We were but a handful, a single thin line; if the reserves failed
we would be driven back by mere force of numbers, yet before we went that
slope should be strewn with dead. Crashing up from the rear came Oswald
with two guns, wheeling into position, the depressed muzzles spouting
destruction. Yet those red and blue lines came on; great openings were
ploughed through them, but the living mass closed up. They were at the
fallen tree, beyond, when we poured our volleys into their very faces. We
saw them waver as that storm of lead struck; the centre seemed to give
way, leaving behind a ridge of motionless bodies; then it surged forward
again, led by a waving flag, urged on by gesticulating officers.
"The cavalry! The cavalry!"
They were coming around the end of the morass, charging full tilt upon
the right of our line. I saw that end crumble up, and, a moment later,
scarcely realizing what had occurred, we were racing backward, firing as
we ran, and stumbling over dead bodies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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