At length Sullivan was taken prisoner, and with him a large body of his men; another section of the command broke through the mass of the British and gained their own lines, but by far the greater number of the brave fellows lay dead among the stones of the pass.
Before this dreadful blow was dealt the colonial hopes, Lord Sterling was exchanging shots with the British under Grant at the Gowanus pass. When the heavy guns of Clinton announced his presence at Bedford, Grant began a determined advance; with one rush he crushed and took the raw militia.
It was here that George Prentiss’ knowledge of the country, gained in his long rides and his sketching, was brought into play. Sterling, with his officers grouped about him, was endeavoring to hit upon a way out of a desperate situation. For desperate it was. Cornwallis, while Sterling was facing Grant, had rapidly brought the British reserve from Bedford by a narrow road; and he was now directly in Sterling’s rear. As Sullivan had been between the fires of Clinton and De Heister, so Sterling was between those of Cornwallis and Grant.
As George pressed toward the group about Sterling, an officer whispered something in the general’s ear. Instantly the latter’s glance went to the young New Englander.
“Prentiss,” said he, “I’m told that you’re familiar with this section.”
George lifted his hand in a salute.
“Yes, general.”
“Our only hope seems to be to the west and north of us. What is the ground like in that direction?”
“There is a creek, sir, which flows into Gowanus Cove; it is fordable at low water.”
“Do you know the state of the tide now?”