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
A fresh and general outbreak between the opposing lines here interrupted
the conversation, and turned Sabrey's attention again to the field. And
for nearly another fearful hour did she keep her stand at the window,
heedless of the danger from the bullets which were whistling round her
head, and unable, in the agonizing anxiety she felt for the result, to
withdraw her eyes from that dread field, where the continued thunders
of the artillery and musketry, shaking the solid earth along the line of
conflict proclaimed the battle to be still raging with unabated fury.
At length, a brisk breeze sprang up in the north-west, and the battle
cloud rolled heavily away before it from the field, disclosing, not only
the relative positions of the opposing forces, but the awful picture of
carnage that every where strewed the blackened earth. Mutually anxious
to avail themselves of this opportunity to ascertain each other's
situation, both parties at once suspended operations, for the purpose
of obtaining observations which should enable them to resume the battle
with more deadly effect. The deafening roar of musketry which, for
nearly two hours, had shaken the embattled plain like one continued
peal of thunder, was now heard rolling away, in dying echoes, among the
far-off hills, leaving only the monotonous din of the martial music,
kept up to drown the cries of the wounded, and the heavy booming of
Baum's artillery, that still maintained its regular fire on the hill,
though only to send--as it now became evident it had done from the
first--its iron missiles high and harmlessly over the heads of the
Americans, into the tops of the crashing forest beyond.
“Is the battle over?” asked Vine, as the noise of fire-arms thus
subsided.
“No--that is, I conclude not,” hesitatingly answered the other, still
more closely rivetting her anxious gaze on the unfolding scene
before her. “No, I think not--I trust not; for the British yet remain
unconquered.”
“Can you see them now?”
“Yes; the wind is driving away the smoke, and both armies are now fast
becoming visible.”
“Do our men maintain their ground?”
“Ay, and more. They have advanced almost to the hostile intrenchments;
and there they stand face to face with their foes; and with ranks less
thinned, thank Heaven, than I should think possible after withstanding
so long the dreadful fire to which they have been exposed; though I can
distinguish the forms of many poor fellows stretched upon the earth.”
“And have not the ranks of the enemy suffered also?”
“Severely, it is evident. The ground along their lines as far as I can
see, and especially that part opposite to the station occupied by the
Rangers, whom I can distinguish by their green uniform, is thickly
strown with the bodies of the slain. And if our men could see the
destruction they have caused behind those intrenchments to encourage
them! But stay! what means that commotion? Can it be? Heaven forbid!
But it is so. They fly!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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