United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction; Wyoming Valley (Pa.) -- History -- Juvenile fiction
Then, because of the gaps which had been cut in our lines and the
wounded who writhed on the ground at our feet, we could not move
forward when next our weapons were discharged, but stood as best we
might, firing and loading with all possible speed.
How long we remained there exchanging shots, I am unable to say,
although it seemed to me a very long while; but Master Morley maintains
that it was not above twenty minutes, and then I could see dimly
through the dense clouds of smoke that the Indians nearest the swamp
were moving down toward the ruins of the fort.
I was on the point of speaking to Captain Durkee, who was not more than
ten paces from me, to tell him what I had seen, when that officer
pitched forward on his face dead, and a man in my rear came upon me
in his dying struggles so violently that I was thrown to the ground,
covered with blood, causing Giles March to utter a cry of horror,
believing I had been killed.
By the time I regained my feet and cleared the blood from my eyes, the
Johnson Greens had begun an advance, and we were forced to put forth
every effort lest they should overrun us, therefore did the movement of
the savages pass from my mind.
For a time the battle raged nearabout our company as hotly as I have
ever known. More than once we grappled with those who had come within
arm’s length, and, while our companions were cut down on either hand,
neither Master Morley, Giles March, or I had received a scratch. Twice
had one or the other saved my life when I was overmatched by some big
Tory, who chose me for an antagonist because I was the smallest, and
more than once I did the same service for them.
Then, while we were the same as drunken men from the fumes of burning
powder and the excitement of the battle, that company to the left of us
set up a shout of dismay, as the bullets began to come from the rear.
I understood then the meaning of that movement of the savages which I
had seen. The red wolves had crept along the edge of the swamp until
the yet smouldering ruins of Wintermoot’s Fort hid them from view,
and then made a dash which brought them in the rear of the left of our
line, where Colonel Dennison was in command.
Even above the din of the conflict I heard him give the word for his
men to fall back, and understood that such manœuvre was for the purpose
of changing position in order to meet the foe who had outflanked him;
but his men, among whom were a goodly number of those who had cried the
loudest to be led against the enemy, mistook--or afterward claimed that
they did--the command, believing he had said “retreat.”
In an instant that terrible word rang out along the entire line which,
up to this time, had inflicted even more injury than had been received,
and in a twinkling three men out of every four were facing to the rear.
Not an officer belonging to our company was left alive, and Master
Morley, believing he might stem the tide, leaped in front of those who
had begun to run, as he shouted:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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