United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
Never before nor since have I seen such effective results. It seemed to
me as if whole squads went down. There were great gaps in the line
through which I could see as far as Morton's point, and the grass was
strewn with blotches of red until it was like as if a carpet of crimson
had suddenly been thrown over it.
Immediately our muskets were discharged we reloaded, firing whensoever
we could, and by this time such of the Britishers as were yet on their
feet answered us with a volley that did little or no execution, because
of being aimed over our heads.
There was the rattle of musketry close about us; the heavy booming of
cannon from the king's ships, and from the guns General Howe had brought
with him. It was as if all the shore of Boston town had suddenly been
lined with great guns belching forth fire and shot, while the smoke
settled down over us and over those scattered ranks in front of the
intrenchments, parching our throats and burning our eyes until we could
no longer see anything before us.
Then it was that the fever of battle took possession of us; I was
conscious only of loading and discharging my musket as rapidly as
possible. Now and then shrieks of agony came to my ears, mingled with
the volleys of great guns and the rattle of small arms, which seemed
only a natural accompaniment to the din, and to the blood-thirstiness
which assails one at such times.
Once I understood, as if looking down upon two figures with whom I had
no connection, that Archie was speaking; but I neither heard the words
nor made any answer, and could not tell whether he turned away, or
remained there talking, when suddenly a great shout went up, and
everywhere around me men were crying:
"The lobster backs have turned tail! They have got all of Yankee Doodle
they needed!"
Our people cheered wildly. Some even threw down their weapons to dance
about as do children, and, coming fairly to my senses, I leaned over the
breastwork seeing, as the smoke cleared away, those men who had so
lately come up to over-run us, fleeing like frightened sheep, leaving
behind them here and there squads of dead or wounded comrades, some of
whom shrieked with pain, and others, striving to follow in the retreat,
crawling on hands and knees, dragging after them shattered limbs,
staining the grass with crimson, until one could almost fancy that even
amid the fumes of powder it was possible to detect that acrid odor which
comes from blood.
In my delirium it was as if I had lived a whole life-time fighting,
struggling to force back those soldiers of the king who fought only for
the wage they received, caring naught for the righteousness of their
cause, and yet, as I was told, we had not been at the work above ten
minutes.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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