The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter: A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
History
The Rangers; or, The Tory's Daughter: A Tale Illustrative of the Revolutionary History of Vermont and the Northern Campaign of 1777
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Vermont -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
Meanwhile, the tories had proceeded on their destination undiscovered,
till they reached the termination of their screening ridge on the left,
which brought them within fifty yards of the bushy point where the
largest party of their opponents lay concealed, unsuspicious of any
immediate attack. Here the former made a brief pause, when they rushed
forward with a loud shout, and, after a rapid exchange of shots, and
a brief hand to hand conflict, drove the others from their ground, and
compelled them to flee across the intervening opening to the opposite
jungle, for protection. A cry of exultation now burst from the lips
of the wife of the tory, as she witnessed this successful onset of her
husband's party, and, crowing over her disappointed sister, she began
to treat the insignificant result as the certain precursor of the speedy
flight of the whole rebel army. But her triumph was of short duration;
for, almost the next moment, the discomfited party, in conjunction
with the band of their associates, to whose covert they had retreated,
sallied out, and, returning impetuously to the charge, sent a fatal
shower of bullets into the huddled ranks of the unprepared tories, and
soon routed them entirely from the woods, from which they were seen
flying, in wild disorder, towards the encampment. The rallying wife of
the whig now, in turn, broke out in retaliatory exclamations of joy and
exultation. But her triumphs, also, were destined to be cut short as
speedily as those of her equally thoughtless sister, but in a different,
and far more sorrowful manner.
A man, bearing the lifeless body of one of the slain on his shoulders,
now emerged into view, and came hurriedly staggering along over the
field, directly towards the house. The instant the careless eye of the
elated Martha fell on the approaching figure, it became fixed as if
enchained by a spell. The half-uttered word she was speaking suddenly
died on her faltering tongue. An instinctive shudder seemed to run over
her; and, for nearly a minute, she stood gazing in motionless silence.
“What is that? O! what is that?” at length burst sharply from her
blanched lips.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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