Ben was with Greene’s division upon the right, having been sent there with some orders. From this position he saw the batteries of General Sterling open upon the British and force them back; there was a pause, then the enemy came driving upon the position of Greene. But here the artillery of Knox met them with its thunder. In the face of it the invaders came on; smoke was ascending in choking clouds, but through it the red coats and gleaming brass and steel of the British could be seen. Their musket balls pattered among the artillerymen like rain, and suddenly Ben saw a stalwart sergeant throw up his hands and fall. There was a shriek; a figure with streaming red hair rushed to his side and sank to her knees beside him.
“It’s Sergeant Hayes that’s down,” reported one of the men.
“Take him to the rear,” was the order.
“I’m not badly hurt, Molly,” said Hayes to his wife. “So don’t cry about me.”
“You are sure?” said she.
“It’s only a scratch,” said the sergeant with a smile as he was placed on a litter.
“Another man, there, to Hayes’ place,” came the order.
As she stood watching the litter being borne to the rear Molly Hayes heard these words.
“What!” she cried, whirling about, “another man to that gun!” pointing to the piece at which her husband had fallen. “Faith, then, there’s no need of it. That big-throated roarer is one of the family, so it is, and if one of us isn’t able to attend to it, the other must.”
And with that she seized a ramrod and thrust it into the smoking maw of the cannon; as brave as the bravest she worked away amid the musket shot of the British, never heeding them as they came plunging upon the battery.