Early in May, Sir Henry Clinton succeeded Howe in command of the British forces, and on June 18, 1778, evacuated Philadelphia, and started, with his whole army, for New York. Washington started in pursuit, and on Sunday, June 28, ordered General Charles Lee, in command of the advance guard, to fall upon the British left wing near Monmouth Court-House. Instead of pressing forward, Lee ordered his men to retire, and they began to fall into disorder. At that moment, Washington, summoned by Lafayette, galloped up, white with rage, ordered Lee to the rear, re-formed the troops, and drove the British back. Night put an end to the conflict, and Clinton managed to get away under cover of the darkness, leaving his wounded behind. THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH [June 28, 1778] Whilst in peaceful quarters lying We indulge the glass till late, Far remote the thought of dying, Hear, my friends, the soldier's fate: From the summer's sun hot beaming, Where yon dust e'en clouds the skies, To the plains where heroes bleeding, Shouts and dying groans arise. Halt! halt! halt! form every rank here; Mark yon dust that climbs the sky, To the front close up the long rear, See! the enemy is nigh; Platoons march at proper distance, Cover close each rank and file, They will make a bold resistance, Here, my lads, is gallant toil. Now all you from downy slumber Roused to the soft joys of love, Waked to pleasures without number, Peace and ease your bosoms prove: Round us roars Bellona's thunder, Ah! how close the iron storm, O'er the field wild stalks pale wonder, Pass the word there, form, lads, form. To the left display that column, Front, halt, dress, be bold and brave; Mark in air yon fiery volume, Who'd refuse a glorious grave; Ope your boxes, quick, be ready, See! our light-bobs gain the hill; Courage, boys, be firm and steady, Hence each care, each fear lie still. Now the dismal cannon roaring Speaks loud terror to the soul, Grape shot wing'd with death fast pouring, Ether rings from pole to pole; See, the smoke, how black and dreary, Clouds sulphureous hide the sky, Wounded, bloody, fainting, weary, How their groans ascend on high! Firm, my lads; who breaks the line thus? Oh! can brave men ever yield, Glorious danger now combines us, None but cowards quit the field. To the rear each gun dismounted; Close the breach, and brisk advance. All your former acts recounted This day's merit shall enhance.