The boy's book of battle-lyrics :: :: University of Virginia Library

The boy's book of battle-lyrics

a collection of verses illustrating some notable events in the history of the United States of America, from the Colonial period to the outbreak of the Sectional War

English, Thomas Dunn (1819-1902)

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COLONEL HARPER'S CHARGE.

DONALD M'DONALD.

The affair on which this lyric is founded is entirely different from the attack on the fort at Schoharie by Johnson and Brant. It was a raid by a party of loyalists and Indians, led by a Tory partisan, Donald M'Donald. He was an active and relentless leader; but not so bloody as Walter Butler. He should not be confounded with the loyalist general of the same name in North Carolina. He commanded part of the loyalists in the fight near Conewawah during Sullivan's expedition.

M'Donald died from wounds received in a very singular conflict. A German, named Schell —the name usually spelled Shell—had founded a little settlement about five miles north of Herkimer, which was known as Shell's Bush. Here he built a block-house, the upper story projecting all around. One August afternoon, while the people were at work out-of-doors, M'Donald, with sixty men, made a descent on the Bush. The inhabitants generally fled to Fort Dayton. Schell saw the enemy almost too late, but managed to escape to the block-house, with two of his sons—two others were taken. With the aid of Mrs. Schell, who loaded the guns, the little garrison made a vigorous defence. M'Donald, failing in an attempt to burn the block-house, tried to open the door with a crow-bar. A shot from Schell wounded him in the leg, and he was unable to stand. Schell opened the door, dragged in M'Donald, and closed it. Then he stripped his prisoner of all the cartridges he had. Schell felt he had an insurance against fire while his prisoner was inside. But the enemy, enraged at the loss of some of their number, made a rush to the house, and five of them put the ends of their pieces through the loop-holes. Mrs. Schell bent the barrels with the blows of an axe, and Schell and his sons fired down on them. At dusk Schell called to his wife from the second story, and told her that Captain Small was coming from Fort Dayton. Presently he gave directions loudly to imaginary troops, and the enemy taking fright ran away. M'Donald's leg was taken off next day at Fort Dayton, but he died soon after the operation.

As eastward the shadows were steadily creeping,
Fair wives were at spinning, stout husbands at reaping.

Loud chattered the children with no one to hush them;
None knew that the thunder was stooping to crush them.

But soon from the forest, the hill, and the dingle,
Came footmen and horsemen, in bodies and single.

Wild, painted Cayugas, relentless and fearless,
More barbarous Tories, black-hearted and tearless.

To hearth-stone and roof-tree destruction to carry,
The cruel M'Donald came down on Schoharie.

No mercy was offered, no quarter was given;
The souls of the victims departed unshriven.

Their requiem only the shrieks of the flying,
The yells of the slayers, the groans of the dying.

Too weak in our numbers to venture a sally,
We sat in our fortress and looked on the valley.

We heard the wild uproar, the screaming and yelling,
The firing and crashing, of butchery telling.

No tiger imprisoned in iron-bound caging
Felt half of our fury or equalled our raging.

Yet what could we hinder? Revenge was denied us,
While ten times our number to battle defied us.

Though wild was our anguish and deep our despairing,
With three hundred to fight would be imbecile daring.

But Colonel John Harper, who chafed at the ravage,
The pillage and murder, by Tory and savage,

Urged us on to the combat, and angrily showered
Hot words on our chief as a cold-blooded coward.

We heard all his raving of anger in sadness;
We never resented, but pitied his madness.

John Harper looked round him, and said he scorned favor,
He'd seek for assistance from men who were braver.

He called for his horse, and defied us to stay him,
And scoffed at the cowards who dared not obey him.

His foot in the stirrups, he hearkened to no man,
Sank spurs to their rowels, and charged through the foeman.

He scattered them fiercely, and, ere they could rally,
Away like an arrow he shot through the valley.

He broke through the circle created to bound him;
The bullets they showered fell harmlessly round him.

When fair in the saddle, he never was idle;
He rode through the darkness, and kept a loose bridle.

On, on through the darkness, till daylight was o'er him,
And Albany's houses rose proudly before him.

We heard the shots rattle, we saw his foes rally,
And thought that his life-blood had moistened the valley.

Meanwhile in the fortress, through all the night dreary,
We watched till the sunrise, disheartened and weary.

Noon came in its splendor; we saw them preparing
To storm our rude ramparts, and laughed at their daring.

For we were in shelter, and they were uncovered—
There was work for the buzzards that over us hovered.

Each step they took forward, with eagerness timing,
We handled our rifles, and looked to the priming.

But, stay! is this real, or only delusion?
What means their blank terror, their sudden confusion?

The whole of the foemen seem stricken with one dread—
'Tis Colonel John Harper, with horsemen a hundred!

We gaze but a moment in rapture and wonder—
Rides Harper like lightning, we fall like the thunder.

To saddle, M'Donald! your doom has been spoken;
The tigers are on you, the bars have been broken.

Whose horse is the swiftest may ride from the foray;
No hope for the footman if savage or Tory.

The heart shuts on pity when vengeance is portress;
And husbands and fathers came forth from the fortress.

As the wails of our wives and our babes we remember,
The bright fire of mercy goes out—the last ember.

They meant but a visit, we forced them to tarry;
But few of the foemen went back from Schoharie.