It roused the Briton’s anger, Who bade his men stand fast; And, turning, tried another charge, The fourth one and the last. But now our blood had risen, The hour of fury came; And driving them within their lines, We hemmed them round with flame. The dead lay heaped around us, The ground with blood was wet; And gouts of gore hung dripping there From knife and bayonet. But still our hardy hunters, As when the fight began, Kept plying trigger busily, And no one missed his man. Still smaller grew the circle Around the loyal band; Still fell our long-pent hate upon The spoiler of our land. Hark! Forguson is speaking! His voice is stern and low— “To saddle, horsemen! Sabres draw! And charge upon the foe!” Ah! deadly was that order, For, as upon his horse Each horseman strove to mount, he fell Or wounded or a corse. But with his heart undaunted, The soldier of the crown Contrived to save one section there, And bade it ride us down. Down came the bold Dupoister, And down came Forguson: We held our fire, for well we knew Our work was nearly done. Down came they like a torrent— A stream of bold and brave; We met them like the solid rock That breaks to foam the wave. The clinking of their horse-hoofs Was only heard at first, Then came a sound as sharp and loud As though a mine had burst; Down falls both horse and rider, Backward the charge rebounds, And down falls gallant Forguson With seven mortal wounds. The tide was spent and harmless; Ere we could fire again, Up went the white, appealing flag— None raised to us in vain. Up went a cry for quarter, And down their muskets fell, While rang our cry of victory Through nook, ravine, and dell. And so upon King’s Mountain, From rise till set of sun, By hardy western mountaineers The battle-field was won. _MRS. MERRILL’S DEFENCE._