On the morning of the twenty-eighth of June the attack began. The incidents are faithfully given in the ballad, and to that the reader is referred. _SULLIVAN’S ISLAND._ Stout Sir Henry Clinton spoke— “It is time the power awoke That upholds in these dominions Royal right; Set all sail, and southward steer, And, instead of idling here, Crush these rebel Carolinians Who have dared to beard our might.” Of his coming well we knew— Far and wide the story flew, And the many tongues of rumor Swelled his force; But we scorned his gathered might, And, relying on the right, Bade the braggart let his humor For a battle take its course. Neither idle nor dismayed, As we watched the coming shade Of the murky cloud that hovered On our coast; From the country far and near, In we called the volunteer, Till the ground around was covered With the trampling of our host. In their homespun garb arrayed, Sturdy farmers to our aid Came, as to a bridal lightly Come the guests; Leaving crops and kine and lands, Trusty weapons in their hands, And the fire of courage brightly Burning in their manly breasts. [Illustration: SIR HENRY CLINTON. [From an English Print.]] From the hills the hunters came— Having dealt with meaner game, Much they longed to meet the lions Of the isles; And ’twas pleasant there to see With what stately step, and free, Strode those restless-eyed Orions Past our better-ordered files. There were soldiers from the North, Hailed as brothers by the swarth, Keen, chivalric Carolinians At their side— Ah, may never discord’s fires, Sons of heart-united sires Who together fought the minions Of a tyrant-king, divide! Came the owner of the soil, The mechanic from his toil, And the student from the college— Equal each; They had gathered there to show To the proud and cruel foe, Who had come to court the knowledge, What a people’s wrath could teach. Watching Clinton, day by day, From his vessels in the bay, On Long Island beach debarking Grenadiers, In the fort at Sullivan’s isle, With a grim and meaning smile, Every scarlet soldier marking, Stood our ready cannoneers. Of palmetto logs and sand, On a stretch of barren land, Stands that rude but strong obstruction, Keeping guard; ’Tis the shelter of the town— They must take or break it down, They must sweep it to destruction, Or their farther path is barred.