“Her selfishness does but little harm,” returned Dunwoodie. “One of her greatest difficulties is her aversion to the blacks. She says that she never saw but one that she liked.”
“And who was he?”
“His name was Cæsar; he was a house-servant of my late grandfather Wharton. My mother always speaks of him with great affection. Both Cæsar and Katy came to Virginia with my mother when she married. My mother was——”
“An angel!” interrupted the old man, in a voice that startled the young soldiers by its abruptness and energy.
“Did you know her?” cried the son, with a glow of pleasure on his cheek.
The reply of the stranger was interrupted by sudden and heavy explosions of artillery, which were immediately followed by continued volleys of small-arms, and in a few minutes the air was filled with the tumult of a warm and well-contested battle.
Everything in the American camp announced an approaching struggle. The troops were in motion, and a movement made to support the division of the army which was already engaged. Night had set in before the reserve and irregulars reached the foot of Lundy’s Lane,[140] a road that diverged from the river and crossed a conical eminence at no great distance from the Niagara highway. The summit of the hill was crowned with the cannon of the British, and in the flat beneath was the remnant of Scott’s[141] gallant brigade, which for a long time had held an unequal contest with distinguished bravery. A new line was interposed, and one column of the Americans directed to charge the hill, parallel to the road. This column took the English in flank, and bayoneting their artillerists, gained possession of the cannon. They were immediately joined by their comrades, and the enemy was swept from the hill.
But large reënforcements were joining the English general momentarily, and their troops were too brave to rest easy under defeat. Repeated and bloody charges were made to recover the guns, but in all they were repulsed with slaughter. During the last of these struggles, the ardor of the youthful captain whom we have mentioned urged him to lead his men some distance in advance, to scatter a daring party of the enemy. He succeeded, but in returning to the line missed his lieutenant from the station that he ought to have occupied. Soon after this repulse, which was the last, orders were given to the shattered troops to return to the camp. The British were nowhere to be seen, and preparations were made to take in such of the wounded as could be moved.
At this moment Wharton Dunwoodie, impelled by affection for his friend, seized a lighted fusee,[142] and taking two of his men, went himself in quest of his body, where he was supposed to have fallen.
Mason was found on the side of the hill, seated with great composure, but unable to walk from a fractured leg. Dunwoodie saw and flew to the side of his comrade, exclaiming: