The British advanced in the most gallant manner to the attack of Major Gordon’s position, each boat keeping its place as carefully in the line as soldiers on parade. In a few minutes the fleet turned the point of the river, and came dashing up to the landing, the water rolling under the bows and the oars keeping steady time. The sunshine, which now began to stream from the west, glanced from the muskets; was reflected from the bright buttons of the soldiers; and flashed back from the millions of drops showered from the ashen blades, till the river seemed alive with diamonds, sparkling as they fell.
Major Gordon, by this time, had arranged his men behind the half-finished breastwork, which, being within a short distance of the river, was intended to command the landing.
“Look to your priming carefully,” were his last words. “Let nobody fire till I give the word; then every other man. When I give command again, let those who have reserved, fire. Everything depends on steadiness. Remember Bunker Hill.”
He had scarcely finished passing along the line, repeating these orders, when the boats dashed up to the landing, their crews giving three cheers; and immediately the British, numbering several hundred, began to marshal themselves on dry ground, as coolly as if Major Gordon and his little force were a thousand miles away. Our hero saw that not a moment was to be lost. Springing upon the rampart, where he could be seen by all, he waved his sword and gave the command to fire.
Instantaneously a volley of musketry rattled on the air; a stream of fire ran down the line; and the rampart was covered with light blue smoke, which the breeze wafted slowly away. Other muskets followed in irregular succession, when the firing ceased.
At first the enemy had staggered: but the stern voice of the British commander, crying, “close up, close up,” they moved steadily forward, with fixed bayonets, giving a gallant cheer. This was the moment for which Major Gordon had reserved his second fire. He knew that if the enemy reached the rampart, there would be but little prospect of a successful defence.
Again, therefore, leaping up on the breastwork, he waived his sword and shouted to fire.
But no volley, as he had expected, answered his command. Only a few dropping shots were heard. His men, in the ardor common to raw troops, had been unable to retain their fire before, and being flurried by the novelty of their position had scarcely taken aim at all. Fifty good muskets, in fact, would have done more execution than the hundreds which had been discharged ineffectually, leaving scarcely a score serviceable now.
The British discovered immediately the advantage which they possessed. Their leader, springing in front, raised his blade, and pointing to the Americans, called on his men, in words distinctly heard behind the breastwork, to “drive the rebels to the woods.”
At the same instant a heavy launch, which, armed with a swivel, had pulled around on the flank of the fortification, began to open a galling fire on the defenders.