University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

The rough and unimproved face of the country,
the frequency of covers, together with the
great distance from their own country, and the
facilities afforded them for rapid movements to the
different points of the war, by the undisputed
command of the ocean, had all united to deter the
English officers from employing a heavy force in
cavalry, in their efforts to subdue the revolted
colonies.

Only one regiment of regular horse was sent
from the mother country during the struggle.
But legions and independent corps were formed
in different places, as it best accorded with the
views of the royal commanders, or suited the exigencies
of the times. These were not unfrequently
composed of men raised in the colonies, and at
other times drafts were had from the regiments of
the line, and the soldier was made to lay aside the
musquet and bayonet, and taught to wield the
sabre and carabine. One particular body of the
subsidiary troops were included in this arrangement,
and the Hessian yagers were transformed
into a corps of heavy and inactive horse.

Opposed to them were the hardiest spirits of
America. Most of the cavalry regiments of the
continental army were led and officered by gentlemen
from the south. The high and haughty
courage of the commanders had communicated
itself to the privates, who were men selected
with care and attention to the service they were
intended to perform.

While the British were confined to their empty
conquests in the possession of a few of the larger
towns, or marched through countries that were
swept of every thing like military supplies, the
light troops of their enemies had the range of the
whole of the interior before them.

The sufferings of the line of the American army
were great beyond example; but possessing the
power, and feeling themselves engaged in a cause
which justified severity, the horse were well mounted,
well fed, and consequently very effective.
Perhaps the world could not furnish more brave,
enterprising, and resistless corps of light cavalry
than were a few in the continental service at the
time of which we write.

Dunwoodie's men had often tried their prowess
against the enemy, and now sat panting to be led
once more against foes that they seldom charged
in vain. Their wishes were soon to be gratified;
for their commander had scarcely time to regain
his seat in the saddle, before a body of the enemy
came sweeping round the base of the hill, which
intersected the view to the south. A few minutes
enabled the Major to distinguish their character.
In one troop he saw the green coats of the Cowboys,
and in the other the leather helmets and
wooden saddles of the yagers. Their numbers
were about equal to the body under his immediate
orders.

On reaching the open space near to the cottage

of Harvey Birch, the enem halted and drew up
his men in line, and was evidently making preparations
for a charge. At this moment a column
of foot appeared in the vale, and pressed forward
to the bank of the brook which we have already
mentioned.

Major Dunwoodie was not less distinguished for
coolness and judgment, than, where occasion offered,
by his dauntless intrepidity. He at once
saw his advantage, and determined to profit by it.
The column he led began slowly to retire from
the field, when the youthful German, who commanded
the enemy's horse, fearful of missing an
easy conquest, gave the word to charge. Few
troops were more hardy than the Cow-boys; they
sprang eagerly forward in the pursuit with a confidence,
created by the retiring foe and the column
in their rear; the Hessians followed more slowly,
but in better order. The trumpets of the Virginians
now sounded long and lively; they were
answered by a strain from the party in ambush
that went to the hearts of their enemies. The
column of Dunwoodie wheeled in perfect order,
opened, and, as the word to charge was given, the
troops of Lawton emerged from the cover, with
their leader in advance, waving his sabre over his
head, and shouting, in a voice that was heard
above the clangor of the martial music.

The charge threatened too much for the refugee
troop. They scattered in every direction, flying
from the field as fast as their horses, the chosen
beasts of Westchester, could carry them. Only
a few were hurt; but such as did meet the arms
of their avenging countrymen never survived the
blow, to tell who struck it. It was upon the poor
vassals of a German tyrant that the shock fell.
Disciplined to the most exact obedience, these ill-fated
men met the charge bravely, but they were

swept before the mettled horses and nervous arms
of their antagonists like chaff before the wind.
Many of them were literally ridden down, and
Dunwoodie soon saw the field without an opposing
foe. The proximity of the infantry prevented
pursuit, and it was behind its column that the few
Hessians who escaped unhurt sought protection.

The more cunning refugees dispersed in small
bands, taking various and devious routes back to
their old station in front of Harlaem. Many was the
sufferer, in his cattle, furniture, and person, that
was created by this route; for the dispersion of a
troop of Cow-boys was only the extension of an evil.

Such a scene could not be expected to be acted
so near them, and the inmates of the cottage take
no interest in the result. In truth, the feelings
it excited pervaded every bosom, from the kitchen
to the parlour. Terror and horror had prevented
the ladies from being spectators, but they did not
feel the less. Frances continued lying in the posture
we have mentioned, offering up fervent and
incoherent petitions for the safety of her countrymen,
although in her inmost heart she had personified
her nation by the graceful image of Major
Dunwoodie. Her aunt and sister were less exclusive
in their devotions, but Sarah began to feel,
as the horrors of war were thus brought home to
her senses, less pleasure in her anticipated triumphs.

The inmates of Mr. Wharton's kitchen were
four—namely, Cæsar and his spouse, their granddaughter,
a jetty damsel of twenty, and the boy
before alluded to. The blacks were the remnants
of a race of negroes which had been entailed on
his estate from Mr. Wharton's maternal ancestors,
who had been descendants from the early Dutch
colonists. Time, depravity, and death, had reduced
them to this small number, and the boy,

who was white, had been added by Miss Peyton
to the establishment, as an assistant, to perform
the ordinary services of a footman. Cæsar, after
first using the precaution to place himself under
the cover of an angle of the wall, for a screen
against any roving bullet which might be traversing
the air, became an amused spectator of the
skirmish. The sentinel on the piazza was at the
distance of but a few feet from him, and entered
into the spirit of the chase with all the ardour of a
tried blood-hound—he noticed the approach of the
black, and his judicious position with a smile of
contempt, as he squared himself towards the enemy,
offering his unprotected breast to any dangers
which might come.

After considering the arrangement of Cæsar for
a moment with ineffable disdain, the dragoon said
with great coolness—

“You seem very careful of that beautiful person
of yours, Mr. Blueskin.”

“I guess a bullet hurt a coloured man as quick
as a white,” muttered the black surlily, casting
a glance at his rampart with much self-satisfaction.

“I'm thinking it's all guess with you, snowball—suppose
I make the experiment;” as he
spoke, he deliberately drew a pistol from his belt
and levelled it at the black. Cæsar's teeth chattered
at the appearance of the dragoon, although
he believed nothing serious was intended;
and it was at this moment that the column of
Dunwoodie began to retire, and the royal cavalry
commenced their charge.

“There, Mister Light-horseman,” said Cæsar
eagerly, as he believed the Americans were retiring
in earnest, “why you rebels don't fight—see—
see how King George's men make Major Dunwoodie
run—good gentleman too, but don't like
to fight a rig'lars.”

“Damn your regulars,” cried the other fiercely;
“wait a minute, blackey, and you'll see Captain
Jack Lawton come out from behind yonder hill,
and scatter these Cow-boys like wild geese who've
lost their leader.”

Cæsar had supposed the party under Lawton
to have sought the shelter of the hill from similar
motives to what had induced him to place the wall
between himself and the battle ground: but the
fact soon verified the trooper's prophecy, and the
black witnessed with consternation the total route
of the royal horse.

The sentinel had manifested his exultation at
the success of his comrades with loud shouts,
which soon brought his companion, who had been
left in the more immediate charge of Henry Wharton,
to the open window of the parlour.

“See, Tom, see,” cried the delighted trooper,
“how Captain Lawton makes that Hessian's
leather cap fly; and now the major has killed the
officer's horse—zounds, why didn't he kill the
Dutchman, and save the horse?”

A few pistols were discharged at the flying
Cow-boys, and a spent bullet broke a pane of
glass within a few feet of Cæsar—imitating the
posture of the great tempter of our race, the black
sought the protection of the inside of the building,
and immediately ascended to the parlour.

The small lawn in front of the Locusts was hid
from the view of the road by a close line of shrubbery,
and the horses of the dragoons had been left
linked together under its shelter to await the
movements of their masters.

At this moment two Cow-boys, who had been
cut off from a retreat to their own party, rode
furiously through the gate, with an intention of
escaping to the open wood in the rear of the
cottage.

The victorious Americans had pressed the retreating
Germans until they had driven them under
the protection of the fire of the infantry; and
feeling themselves in the privacy of the lawn relieved
from any immediate danger, the predatory
warriors yielded to a temptation that few of the
corps were ever known to resist—opportunity and
horse-flesh. With a hardihood and presence of
mind that could only exist from long practice in
similar scenes, they made towards their intended
prizes by an almost spontaneous movement. They
were busily engaged in separating the fastenings
of the horses, when the trooper on the piazza discharged
his pistols, and rushed sword in hand to
the rescue.

The entrance of Cæsar into the parlour had
induced the wary dragoon within to turn his attention
more closely on his prisoner; but this
new interruption drew him again to the window.
He threw his body out of the building, and with
dreadful imprecations endeavoured by his threats
and appearance, to frighten the marauders from
their prey. The moment was enticing. Three
hundred of his comrades were within a mile of
the cottage; unridden horses were running at
large in every direction, and Henry Wharton
seized the unconscious sentinel by his legs, and
threw him headlong into the lawn.—Cæsar vanished
from the room, and drew a bolt of the outer
door.

The fall of the soldier was not great, and recovering
his feet, he turned his fury for a moment
on his prisoner. To scale the window in the face
of his enemy, was, however, impossible, and on
trial he found the main entrance barred.

His comrade now called loudly upon his aid,
and forgetful of every thing else, the discomfited
trooper rushed to his assistance. One horse was

instantly liberated, but the other was already fastened
to the saddle of a Cow-boy, and the four retired
behind the building, cutting furiously at each
other with their sabres, and making the air resound
with the violence of their imprecations.
Cæsar threw the outer door open, and pointing to
the horse, who was quietly biting the faded herbage
of the lawn, exclaimed—

“Run—now—run—Massa Harry, run.”

“Yes,” cried the youth as he vaulted into the
saddle, “now, indeed, my honest fellow, is the
time to run.” He beckoned hastily to his father,
who stood at the window in speechless anxiety,
with his hands extended towards his child in the
attitude of benediction, and adding, “God bless
you, Cæsar, salute the girls,” dashed through the
gate with the rapidity of lightning.

The African watched him with anxiety as he
gained the highway, saw him incline to the right,
and riding furiously under the brow of some rocks,
which on that side rose perpendicularly, and disappear
behind a projection, which soon hid him
from view.

The delighted Cæsar closed the door, pushing
bolt after bolt, and turning the key until it would
turn no more, soliloquizing the whole time on the
happy escape of his young master.

“How well he ride—teach him myself—salute
a young lady—I guess a Miss Fanny would'nt let
old coloured man kiss her pretty red cheek.”

When the fortune of the day was decided, and
the time arrived for the burial of the dead, two
Cow-boys and a Virginian were found in the rear
of the Locusts to be included in the number.

Happily for Henry Wharton, the searching eyes
of his captor were examining, through a pocket
glass, the column of infantry that still held its position
on the bank of the stream, as the remnants

of the Hessian yagers were seeking its friendly
protection. His horse was of the best blood of
Virginia, and carried him with the swiftness of the
wind along the valley, and the heart of the youth
was already beating tumultuously with the pleasure
of his deliverance, when a well known voice
reached his startled ear, crying aloud—

“Bravely done—Captain—don't spare the
whip, and turn to your left before you cross the
brook.”

Wharton turned his head in surprise, and saw,
sitting on the point of a jutting rock that commanded
a bird's-eye view of the valley, his former
guide, Harvey Birch. His pack much diminished
in size lay at the feet of the pedlar, who waved
his hat to the youth exultingly as the latter flew
by him. The English captain took the advice of
this mysterious being, and finding a wood road,
which led to the highway that intersected the valley,
turned down its direction, was soon opposite
to his friends, and the next minute crossed the
bridge, and stopped his charger before his old acquaintance,
Colonel Wellmere.

“Captain Wharton!” exclaimed the astonished
commander of the English troops, “dressed in
blue and mounted on a rebel dragoon horse! are
you from the clouds in this attire, and in such a
style?”

“Thank God!” cried the youth, recovering
his breath, “I am safe, and escaped from the
hands of my enemies; but five minutes since and
I was a prisoner and threatened with the gallows.”

“The gallows, Captain Wharton! surely those
traitors to their king would never dare to commit
another murder in cold blood; is it not enough
that they took the life of André? wherefore did
they threaten you with a similar fate?”

“Under the pretence of a similar offence,”

said the captain, briefly explaining to the group of
listeners the manner of his capture, the grounds
for his personal apprehensions, and the method of
his escape. By the time he had concluded his
narration, the fugitive Germans had collected in
the rear of the column of infantry, and Colonel
Wellmere cried aloud—

“From my soul I congratulate you, my brave
friend—mercy is a quality with which these traitors
are unacquainted, and you are doubly fortunate
in escaping from their hands, and uninjured.
Prepare yourself to grant me your assistance, and
I will soon afford you a noble revenge.”

“I do not think there was danger of personal
outrage to any man, Colonel Wellmere, from a
party where Major Dunwoodie commands,” returned
young Wharton, with a slight glow on his
face; “his character is above the impeachment of
such an offence; neither do I think it altogether
prudent to cross this brook into the open plain,
in the face of those Virginian horse, flushed as
they must be with the success they have just obtained.”

“Do you call the route of those irregulars and
these sluggish Hessians, a deed to boast of?” said
the other with a contemptuous smile; “you speak
of the affair, Captain Wharton, as if your boasted
Mr. Dunwoodie, for major he is none, had discomfited
the body guards of your king.”

“And I must be allowed to say, Colonel Wellmere,
that if the body guards of my king were in
yon field, they would meet a foe that it would be
dangerous to despise. Sir, my boasted Mr. Dunwoodie
is the pride of Washington's army as a cavalry
officer,” cried Henry with warmth.

“Dunwoodie—Dunwoodie,” repeated the colonel
slowly; “surely I have met the gentleman
before.”

“I have been told you once saw him, sir, for a
moment, at the town residence of my sisters,” replied
Wharton, with a lurking smile.

“Ah! I do remember me of such a youth,”
said the Colonel with affected irony; “and does
the most potent congress of these rebellious colonies
intrust their soldiers to the leading of such a
warrior?”

“Ask the commander of your Hessian horse,
whether he thinks Major Dunwoodie worthy of
the confidence,” said Henry Wharton keenly,
feeling indignant at the trifling of the other, when
applied to such a man as his friend, and at a moment
so unseasonable.

Colonel Wellmere was far from wanting that
kind of pride which makes a man bear himself
bravely in the presence of his enemies. He had
served in America a long time without ever meeting
with any but new raised levies, or the militia
of the country; these would sometimes fight, and
that fearlessly, but they as often chose to run
away without pulling a trigger. He was too
apt to judge from externals, and thought it impossible
for men, whose gaiters were so clean,
whose tread so regular, and who wheeled with so
much accuracy, to be beaten. In addition to all
these, they were Englishmen, and their success
was certain. Colonel Wellmere had never been
kept much in the field, or these notions, which he
had brought with him from home, and which had
been greatly increased by the vaporings of a garrisoned
town, would have long since vanished—he
listened to the warm reply of Captain Wharton
with a supercilious smile, and then inquired—

“You would not have us retire, sir, before these
boasted horsemen, without doing something that
may deprive them of part of the glory you appear
to think they have gained?”

“I would have you advised, Colonel Wellmere,
of the danger you are about to encounter.”

“Danger is but an unseemly word for a soldier,”
continued the British commander with a
sneer.

“And one as little dreaded by the 60th as any
corps who wear the royal livery,” cried Henry
Wharton fiercely; “give but the word to charge,
and then let our actions speak.”

“Now again I know my young friend,” said
Wellmere soothingly; “but if you have any thing
to say before we fight, that can in any manner
help us in our attack, we'll listen. You know
the force of the rebels—are there more of them
in ambush?”

“Yes,” replied the youth, chafing still with the
other's sneers, “in the skirt of this wood on our
right are a small party of foot—their horse are all
before you.”

“Where they will not continue long,” cried
Wellmere, turning to the few officers around him;
“gentlemen, we will cross the stream in column,
and display on the plain beyond, or else we shall
not be able to entice these valiant yankies within
the reach of our muskets. Captain Wharton, I
claim your assistance as an aid-de-camp.”

The youth shook his head in disapprobation of
a movement which his good sense taught him was
rash, but prepared with alacrity to perform his
duty in the impending trial.

During this conversation, which was held at a
small distance in advance of the British column,
and in full view of the Americans, Dunwoodie
had been collecting his scattered troops, securing
his few prisoners, and retiring to the ground where
he had been posted at the first appearance of his
enemy. Satisfied with the success he had already

obtained, and believing the English too
wary too give him an opportunity of harrassing
them farther, he was about to withdraw the guides,
and, leaving a strong party on the ground to watch
the movements of the regulars, to fall back a few
miles to a favorable place for taking up his quarters
for the night. Captain Lawton was reluctantly
listening to the reasoning of his commander,
and had brought out his favorite glass, to see if
no opening could be found for an advantageous attack,
when he suddenly exclaimed—

“How's this? a blue coat among those scarlet
gentry,” again applying his glass to his eye, “as
I hope to live to see old Virginia, it is my masquerading
friend of the 60th, the handsome Captain
Wharton escaped from two of the best men
in my troop.”

He had not done speaking when the survivor of
these heroes joined, bringing with him his own
and the horses of the Cow-boys; he reported the
death of his comrade, and the escape of his prisoner.
As the deceased was the immediate sentinel
over the person of young Wharton, and the other
was not to be blamed for defending the horses,
which were more particularly under his care, his
captain heard him with uneasiness, but without
anger.

This intelligence made an entire change in the
views of Major Dunwoodie. He saw at once that
his own reputation was involved in the escape of
his prisoner. The orders to recal the guides was
countermanded, and he now joined his second in
command, watching as eagerly as the impetuous
Lawton for some opening to assail his foe to advantage.

But two hours before and Dunwoodie had felt
the chance, which made Henry Wharton his
captive, as the severest blow he had ever sustained.

Now he panted for an opportunity in which,
by risking his own life, he might return his friend
to bondage—all other considerations were lost in
the goadings of his wounded spirit, and he might
have soon emulated Lawton in hardihood, had not
Wellmere and his troops at this moment crossed
the brook into the open plain.

“There,” cried the delighted captain, as he
pointed out the movement with his finger, “there
comes John Bull into the mouse trap, and with his
eyes wide open.”

“Surely,” said Dunwoodie eagerly, “he will
not display his column on that flat; Wharton must
tell him of the ambush. But if he does”—“We
will not leave him a dozen sound skins in his
battalion,” interrupted the other, springing into
his saddle.

The truth was soon apparent; for the English
column, after advancing for a short distance on
the level land, displayed with an accuracy that
would have done them honour on a field day in
their own Hyde Park.

“Prepare to mount—mount;” cried Dunwoodie;
the last word being repeated by Lawton
in a tone that rung in the ears of Cæsar, as he
stood at the open window of the cottage The
black had lost all his confidence in Captain Lawton's
timidity, for he thought he yet saw him
emerging from his cover and waving his sword on
high.

As the British line advanced slowly and in exact
order, the guides opened a galling fire. It began
to annoy that part of the royal troops which
was nearest to them. Wellmere listened to the
advice of the veteran who was next to him in
rank, and ordered two companies to dislodge the
American foot from their hiding place. The
movement created a slight confusion, and Dunwoodie

seized the opportunity to charge. No
ground could be more favorable for the manœuvres
of horse, and the attack of the Virginians was
irresistible. It was aimed chiefly at the flank opposite
to the wood, in order to clear the Americans
from the fire of their friends who were concealed—and
it was completely successful. Wellmere
was on the left of his line, and was overthrown
by the impetuous fury of his assailants.
Dunwoodie was in time to save him from the impending
blow of one of his men, and raising him
from the ground, had him placed on a horse and
delivered to the custody of his orderly. The officer
who had suggested the attack upon the guides,
had been intrusted with its execution, but the menace
was sufficient for these irregulars. In fact,
their duty was performed, and they retired along
the skirt of the wood with intent to regain their
horses, which had been left under a guard at the
upper end of the valley.

The left of the British line had been outflanked
by the Americans, who had doubled in their rear,
and had thus made the route in that quarter total.
But the second in command perceiving how
the battle went, promptly wheeled his party, and
threw in a heavy fire on the dragoons as they
passed him to the charge; with this party was
Henry Wharton who had volunteered to assist
in dispersing the guides: a ball had struck his
bridle arm, and compelled him to change hands.
As the dragoons dashed by them, rending the air
with their shouts, and with trumpets sounding a
lively strain, the charger ridden by the youth
became ungovernable—he plunged, reared, and
his rider being unable with his wounded arm to
manage the impatient animal, Henry Wharton
found himself in less than a minute, unwillingly
riding by the side of Captain Lawton. The dragoon

comprehended at a glance the ludicrous situation
of this new comrade, but had only time to
cry aloud before they plunged into the English
line—

“The horse knows the righteous cause better
than his rider. Captain Wharton, you are welcome
to the ranks of freedom.”

No time was lost, however, by Lawton, after
the charge was completed, in securing his prisoner
again; and, perceiving him to be hurt, he directed
him to be conveyed to the rear.

The Virginian troopers dealt out their favours
with no gentle hands on that part of the royal
foot who were thus left in a great measure at their
mercy. Dunwoodie noticing the remnant of the
Hessians, who had again ventured on the plain,
led on in pursuit, and easily overtaking their light
and half-fed horses, soon destroyed the remainder
of their detachment.

In the meanwhile, great numbers of the English,
taking advantage of the smoke and confusion
on the battle ground, were enabled to get in the
rear of their countrymen, who still preserved their
order in a line parallel to the wood, but who had
been obliged to hold their fire from the fear of injuring
friends as well as foes. The fugitives were
directed to form a second line within the wood
itself, and under cover of its trees. This was not
yet done, when Captain Lawton, called to a youth,
who commanded the other troop left with that part
of the force which remained on the ground, and
proposed charging the unbroken line of the British.
The proposal was as promptly accepted as it had
been made, and the troops were arrayed for the
purpose. The eagerness of their leader prevented
the preparations necessary to insure success,
and the horse receiving a destructive fire as they
advanced, were thrown into additional confusion.

Both Lawton and his more juvenile comrade fell
at this discharge. Fortunately for the credit of
the Virginians, Major Dunwoodie re-entered the
field at this critical instant—he saw his troops in
disorder—at his feet lay weltering in his blood
George Singleton, a youth endeared to him by
numberless virtues, and Lawton was unhorsed and
stretched senseless on the plain. The eye of the
youthful warrior flashed with unwonted fires.
Riding between his squadron and the enemy, in a
voice that reached to the hearts of his dragoons,
he recalled them to their duty. His presence
and words acted like magic. The clamour of
voices ceased; the line was formed promptly and
with exactitude; the charge sounded, and led on
by their commander, the Virginians swept across
the plain with an impetuosity that nothing could
withstand, and the field was instantly cleared of the
enemy; what were not destroyed sought a shelter
in the woods. Dunwoodie slowly withdrew from
the fire of the English who were covered by the
trees, and commenced the painful duty of collecting
his dead and wounded.

The sergeant, charged with conducting Henry
Wharton to where he might procure surgical aid,
set about performing his duty with alacrity, in
order to return as soon as possible to the scene of
strife. They had not reached the middle of the
plain, before the captain noticed a man whose appearance
and occupation forcibly arrested his attention.
His head was bald and bare, but a well-powdered
wig was to be seen half concealed in the
pocket of his breeches. His coat was off, and
his arms naked to the elbow—blood had disfigured
much of his dress, and his hands and even face bore
this mark of his profession—in his mouth was a
segar—in his right hand some instruments of
strange formation, and in his left the remnants of
an apple, with which he occasionally relieved the

duty of his before mentioned segar. He was
standing, lost in the contemplation of a Hessian
who lay breathless before him. At a little distance
were three or four of the guides, leaning on
their muskets, and straining their eyes in the direction
of the combatants, and at his elbow stood
a man who, from the implements in his hand and
bloody vestments, was an assistant in his duty.

“There, sir, is the doctor,” said the attendant
of Henry very coolly; “he will patch up your
arm in the twinkling of an eye;” and beckoning to
the guides to approach, he whispered and pointed
to his prisoner; and then galloped furiously towards
his comrades.

Wharton advanced to the side of this strange
figure, and observing himself to be unnoticed, was
about to request his assistance, when the other
broke silence in a soliloquy—

“Now I know this man to have been killed by
Captain Lawton, as well as if I had seen him strike
the blow. How often have I strove to teach him
the manner in which he can disable his adversary
without destroying life. It is cruel thus unnecessarily
to cut off the human race, and furthermore,
such blows as these render professional assistance
unnecessary—it is in a measure treating the lights
of science with disrespect.”

“If, sir, your leisure will admit,” said Henry
Wharton, “I must beg your attention to this slight
hurt of mine.”

“Ah!” cried the other starting, and examining
him from head to foot, “you are from the field
below—is there much business there, sir?”

“Indeed,” answered Henry, accepting the offer
of the surgeon to assist in removing his coat,
“'tis a stirring time, I can assure you.

“Stirring!” repeated the surgeon, busily employed
with his dressings, “you give me great

pleasure, sir, for so long as they can stir there
must be life, and while there is life you know,
there is hope—but here my art is of no use—I
did put in the brains of one patient, but I rather
think the man must have been dead before I saw
him—it is a curious case, sir; I will take you to
see it—only across the fence there, where you
may perceive so many bodies together. Ah! the
ball has glanced around the bone without shattering
it—you are fortunate in falling into the hands
of an old practitioner, or you might have lost this
limb.”

“Indeed!” said Henry with a slight uneasiness,
“I did not apprehend the injury to be so serious.”

“Oh! the hurt is not bad, but you have such a
pretty arm for an operation,” replied the surgeon
coolly, “the pleasure of the thing might easily
tempt a novice.”

“The devil!” cried the horror-struck captain,
“can there be any pleasure in mutilating a fellow
creature?”

“Sir,” said the surgeon with great gravity, “a
scientific amputation is a very pretty operation,
and doubtless might tempt a younger man, in the
hurry of business, to overlook all the particulars of
the case.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the
appearance of the dragoons, slowly marching towards
their former halting place, and new appliplications
from the slightly wounded soldiers who
now came riding in, making hasty demands on the
skill of the doctor.

The guides took charge of Wharton, and with a
heavy heart, the young man retraced his steps to
his father's cottage.

The English had lost in the charges about one
third of their foot, but the remainder had been
rallied in the wood, and Dunwoodie, perceiving

them to be too strongly posted to assail, had
left a strong party with Captain Lawton, with orders
to watch their motions, and seize every opportunity
to harrass them before they re-embarked.

Intelligence had reached the major of another
party being out by the way of the Hudson, and
his duty required that he should hold himself in
readiness to defeat the intentions of these also.
Captain Lawton received his orders with strong
injunctions to make no efforts on the foe unless
a favourable chance should offer. The injury received
by this officer was in the head, being
stunned by a glancing bullet, and parting with a
laughing declaration from the major, that if he
again forgot himself, they should all think him
more materially hurt, each took his own course.

The British were a light party without baggage,
that had been sent out to destroy certain stores
understood to be collecting for the use of the
American army. They now retired through the
woods to the heights, and keeping the route along
their summits, in places unassailable by cavalry,
commenced their retreat to their boats.