University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
STILLWATER.

This action, although of no great magnitude in itself,
was productive of very fortunate results. The revolutionary
party appeared the stronger. The wavering
were encouraged. The timid were emboldened. Our
ranks filled up.

Very soon afterwards we received the news of the
abandonment of Fort Schuyler. General St. Leger,
finding the resistance beyond his expectation, had at
length thrown up the siege and retired to Canada.

Immediately after the affair at Bennington, our whole
force joined the main army at Stillwater. On the 21st
of August, General Gates assumed the command. The
army was reinforced in all directions.

Soon afterwards, the whole British army crossed the
Hudson, and encamped directly opposite us at Saratoga.
We were within half-a-dozen miles of each other.

The plot thickened, the affairs of the north were narrowed
down to a single point. The whole action of the
northern campaign was now concentrated at Saratoga.

The military melo-drama, of which General Burgoyne
was the author and stage-manager, now assumed a
beautiful unity.

Although it proved an unsuccessful piece, it was not
deficient in stage effect. He determined to act it out.—
On the night of the 17th he advanced to within four
miles of us. He meditated a grand coup-de-theatre.

The hostile armies were now only divided by a deep

ravine. It was evident that we were to be attacked.—
We waited quietly.

On the 19th, at high noon, General Gates received intelligence
that the English were already advancing on
our left. They were led on in person by their own
brave, but unfortunate general, the brilliant, gallant
preux chevalier, Burgoyne. Our left was commanded,
by the heroic traitor, Arnold.

Colonel Morgan was sent forward with his riflemen
to annoy them as they advanced; and my whole corps
of sharp-shooters were united in the service. We came
up with the advanced guard of the enemy. We drove
in their pickets—we advanced rapidly—the pickets were,
however, immediately reinforced. General Frazer came
up and sustained them with his whole brigade. We fell
back in some disorder.

Suddenly the whole line of battle was changed.—
Nearly all our troops had been directing their main force
upon the enemy's extreme right. We took advantage
of the country. The whole American army suddenly
disappeared as if the earth had swallowed them. There
was a pause. It was of short duration, and then the
whole force of our army rushed furiously upon the enemy's
left. The attack was desperate. The defence
determined. The melée was dreadful—British, Americans,
Indians, Germans, all fought hand to hand. Execrations,
fierce shouts, oaths, and shrieks rent the air.—
The confusion of tongues and of nations was appalling.

In the thickest of the contending throng I marked my
father's waving plume. I struggled after him. Suddenly
he was struck down. He was surrounded by foes. Excited
by the conflict, I felt the force of a giant in my
single arm. I burned to save his life, to repay the debt

I owed him. I cut my way through the crowd of friends
and foes that opposed me. I reached his side. He lay
on the ground bleeding desperately. I succeeded in dragging
him out of the throng. I laid him by a little thicket,
as I supposed, in temporary safety. Suddenly there
was a yell, and three painted savages sprang from the
other side, waving their tomahawks in the air. I stood
over my father's bleeding body, determined to sell my
life for him. The fiends uttered frantic whoops, and
bounded towards us. I was about giving up myself for
lost—when, lo! they paused—they gazed on the countenance
of the fallen warrior, and interchanged rapid and
unintelligible exclamations. They lowered their weapons
and approached me with peaceful gestures. Instead
of attacking me, they assisted me in removing my father
to a place of safety. They bound up his wounds, laid
their hands upon their breasts, and disappeared.

After I had seen that my father, who was dangerously
wounded, was bestowed in safety, and attended as well
as circumstances would permit, I returned to the affray.
I had been absent but five minutes. I encouraged my
men—the battle raged. The main force of both armies
was engaged in the desperate conflict. My corps suffered
with the rest. We had lost fifty men. I perceived at
some distance a company of British regulars which had
become detached from the main body, and were endeavouring
to cut their way to our camp. I resolved to intercept
them. I led my men through a thick wood.—
When we emerged, we met them face to face. I recognized
the features of their captain. It was Carew, whom
I have spoken of in the first part of my memoirs. An
old feeling of hate came over me. I cheered my men—
we rushed furiously forward. I singled out Carew. He

did not decline the challenge. We engaged in desperate
conflict. It was soon over. Fortune favoured the avenger's
arm. The Englishman fell—suddenly I heard a shrill
cry—my arm was arrested—it was too late—I had passed
my sword thrice through the prostrate body of Carew.

“Spare him! for the love of God, spare him! He is
our enemy—but even I forgive him.”

The supplication and the voice stole upon my heart
like magic. I looked, and beheld the youthful form of
Eliot kneeling over the body, and seeking in vain to
stanch the life-blood of my fallen enemy. I approached
him closely, that I might read the features which I had
never distinctly seen. He raised his head. A crowd of
mingled and unutterable sensations rushed across my
brain. My heart trembled as I gazed upon the youth.
Suddenly his cap fell off, and a flood of raven tresses
floated down his neck. I sprang forward. I did not
mistake. The youth was Mayflower Vane!

At that moment I received a sudden blow from behind.
I fell. I felt myself trampled upon by the contending
throng. The tide of battle rushed over me. Dark, indistinct
shadows of a struggling host floated before my
vision. They faded, and all was blackness. I lost all
recollection.