“Up and at ’em” again, each time nearer, while flanking parties were working around toward the rear of the redoubts. The enemy behind the breastworks had the advantage both in number and position, and held back the Rangers, who had no bayonets and could not charge successfully.
“Here comes General Wayne’s brigade, now we’ll dislodge ’em,” shouted Zeb in his excitement, and Bunster stood up and cheered.
“We’ll teach ’em that they have to earn their money when they hire out to lick Americans,” cried Rodney.
“What’s the matter with Bunster!” exclaimed Zeb, for their companion staggered and pitched forward in a heap, his hands convulsively clutching the grass.
“They run, they run, at ’em, boys!” and, with this cry in their ears, Rodney and Zeb charged down on the flying enemy.
Bunster lay face down in the field. How he would have yelled and run after the retreating Hessians! He had made his last charge, poor Bunster! Such a genial fellow; such a kindly, helpful soul, with no fear in your heart! You have done as much as the best and bravest of them, and your country can never do as much for you.
At the first opportunity his companions sought him out from among the slain, and laid him in a hastily constructed grave. Zeb’s eyes were wet and tears made furrows among the powder stains on Rodney’s face. Their hearts would be hardened in the days of war to come, for that is one of war’s penalties. What 220 sympathy they might have would be rather with those writhing and waiting for death.
“Thar’s a heap o’ walkin’ ahead of the Rangers,” was Zeb’s greeting as he returned from a talk with their colonel several days later.
“What is it now?”
“Schuyler an’ Gates are howlin’ fer more men an’ expect Washington to furnish ’em whether he has ’em or not. Burgoyne’s comin’ down Lake Champlain with a horde of red devils at his heels, an’ the country people up that way don’t feel easy about their hair, with the lovely flag of England wavin’ over ’em.”