Before me reared and plunged the British horses, while here, there and everywhere I heard cries of rage or groans of mortal agony until it was all a hideous, whirling, dancing picture in which I could distinguish only the outlines of my comrades, who held their places bravely.
Side by side we fought against the redcoats, ignorant of the fact that we were alone, and then came the moment when all our muskets were emptied at the same instant.
The horsemen surrounded us; our weapons were of little service against the sabers of the enemy, and we understood it, although there was no thought of surrender in my mind until Gavin Witherspoon seized me by the arm, shouting in my ear:
"Surrender, lad, surrender! There is neither honor nor glory in dying when our lives are of no avail for the Cause!"
Gavin seized my arm, shouting in my ear: "Surrender, lad, surrender!"—[Page 250].
Even as he spoke three of the redcoats had clutched Gabriel and Percy.
I allowed my musket, which had been raised as a club, to drop, and immediately I felt, for the first time, the grasp of a Britisher.
We were prisoners. The glory of fighting to the bitter end with the knowledge that in so doing we were opening the way for those in the rear, was denied us, and but for the shame of it I could have wept like a girl.