The fight raged fiercely, but our men refused to be dislodged. The grenadiers were forced backward on the causeway, where they rallied upon the tory infantry coming to their support, and in a moment the smoke cleared away enough to see them forming for another desperate charge. Again and again did they storm that line of riflemen, and each time they were repulsed and forced onto the causeway. Then, with great precision, they closed up and drew away, firing steadily as they went, the tory infantry leading. A great shout went up from our victorious soldiers, and Colonel Bullet leaped, sword in hand, over the breastworks and called for the men to follow him. Bullbeggor pushed forward on the right, and led half a score of men onto the causeway, but the British fired so steadily, and kept their formation so well, that Colonel Woodford would not risk any mishap to mar so grand a victory. The men were recalled, in spite of the gallant Bullet's protests, but the rifle fire was kept up from the breastwork until the enemy was well across and out of range. All along the line of that long causeway they dropped from the ranks before the murderous fire of those Virginians, and when they at last gained the protection of the guns of their fort on the other side, there was not one grenadier left unhit. The rest of them broke and became a disorganized mob, making for shelter where it could be found, while the way now being clear the fort opened a heavy fire that soon kept our men under cover. When I had time to look about me I was astonished at the small number of our wounded. In that hot fire it seemed to me that nearly everyone must get hit. But the poor light and breastworks had saved us many lives, and our victory was not robbed of its joy by the presence of many dead and wounded comrades. Not over a score of our men were hit, and only a few of these casualties resulted fatally. Barron had his coat cut in three places by balls, for he had exposed himself unnecessarily, and Bullbeggor had lost his hat and was bleeding from a scratch on his forehead where a grenadier had made a pass at him with his bayonet and then fired. The steel had cut the skin, but the bullet had missed and the discharge had blackened the Major's face until it was the color of his servant's. Snake wished to attend his master, but the Major waved him back and insisted on taking no notice of his hurt. He stalked up and down the line of men, with his drawn sword held before him, stopping now and then to see that a rifle was properly primed, or that the men did not flinch too much from the artillery fire and become disorganized in case of a renewal of the attack.