III.—THE FLAG OF TRUCE.
Tradition states that at this moment, when every thing was ready for
the storm of death, an expression of the most intense thought passed over
the impenetrable countenance of Washington. Every line of his features
was marked by thought, his lip was sternly compressed, and his eye
gathered a strange fire.
He turned to the east, and bent one long anxious look over the white
folds of mist, as though he would pierce the fog with his glance, and gaze
upon the advancing columns of Greene and Stephen. He inclined his head
to one side of his steed, and listened for the tramp of their war-horses, but
in vain. He turned towards Germantown; all was silent in that direction,
the main body of the enemy were not yet in motion.
And then in a calm voice, he asked for an officer who would consent to
bear a flag of truce to the enemy. A young and gallant officer of Lee's
Rangers, sprang from his horse, his name Lieut. Smith; he assumed the
snow-white flag, held sacred by all nations, and with a single glance at the
Continental array, he advanced to Chew's House.
In a moment he was lost to sight amid the folds of the fog, and his way
lay over the green lawn for some two hundred yards. All was still and
silent around him. Tradition states that the fire from the house ceased for
a moment, while Musgrave's band were silently maturing their plan of desperate
defence. The young soldier advanced along his lonely path, speeding
through the bosom of the fog, all objects lost to his sight, save the green
verdure of the sod, yet uncrimsoned by blood, and here and there the trunk
of a giant tree looming blackly through the mist.
The outline of a noble mansion began to dawn on his eye, first the sloping
roof, then the massive chimneys, then the front of the edifice, and then
its windows, all crowded with soldiers in their crimson attire, whiskered
face appearing above face, with grisly musquet and glittering bayonet, thrust
out upon the air, while with fierce glances, the hirelings looked forth into
the bosom of that fearful mist, which still like a death-shroud for millions,
hung over the lawn, and over the chimneys of the house.
The young officer came steadily on, and now he stood some thirty paces
from the house, waving his white flag on high, and then with an even step
he advanced toward the hall door. He advanced, but he never reached
that hall door. He was within the scope of the British soldiers' vision,
they could have almost touched him with an extended flag staff, when the
loud word of command rang through the house, a volley of fire blazed from
every window, and the whole American army saw the fog lifted from the
surface of the lawn, like a vast curtain from the scenes of a magnificent
theatre.
Slowly and heavily that curtain uprose, and a hail storm of bullets
whistled across the plain, when the soldiers of the Continental host looked
for their messenger of peace.
They beheld a gallant form in front of the mansion. He seemed making
an effort to advance, and then he tottered to and fro, and his white flag disappeared
for a moment; and the next instant he fell down like a heavy
weight upon the sod, and a hand trembling with the pulse of death was
raised above his head, waving a white flag in the air. That flag was
stained with blood: it was the warm blood flowing from the young Virginian's
heart.
Along the whole American line there rang one wild yell of horror. Old
men raised their musquets on high, while the tears gathered in their eyes;
the young soldiers all moved forward with one sudden step; a wild light
blazed in the eye of Washington; Wayne waved his dripping sword on
high; Pulaski raised his proud form in the stirrups, and gave one meaning
glance to his men; and then, through every rank and file, through every
column and solid square, rang the terrible words of command, and high
above all other sounds was heard the voice of Washington—
“Charge, for your country and for vengeance—CHARGE!”
