In Hostile Red

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Catron galloped away, and before the sound of his horse's hoofs had died, more rifle-shots were heard still farther to the northward, coming from a point entirely new. The fire quickly blazed up there like a flame in a tinder dry forest, indicating another attack, heavier perhaps than the first. We paused, uncertain which way to go; and while we hesitated, the attack developed at a fourth point far to the southward, some of the ships in the river replying, the deep boom of the cannon rising like the notes of a funeral bell above the crackle of the musketry. A hum sprang up too from Philadelphia, the alarm of the people deepening as the firing seemed to spread and ring them around. They feared another battle fought almost at their doors, like that of Germantown. The cantonments, mostly light wooden structures, burned brightly, adding to the alarm, and casting a glow over the hurrying regiments. I confess, American as I was, and much as I should have enjoyed the doubts of the British, that I, too, was in a daze. My own peculiar position was assuming most perplexing phases.

"If I only knew what this meant!" exclaimed Sir William. "Perhaps, after all, I can leave my men to brush off those rebels while I continue my search for Wildfoot."

His eagerness to capture the partisan seemed to increase, and I did not wonder at it. I should have felt the same way in his place. We were joined at this moment by more officers, among whom I saw Belfort and Schwarzfelder. The German's face was inflamed by drink, and his talk was full of warlike fury. It died, however, when Sir William looked towards him, although it was Belfort's hand on his arm that warned him to make less noise.

Another light flamed up at the central point of attack, and one of the officers stated that it was a farmhouse occupied as quarters by the troops, evidently set on fire, like the other cantonments, by the rebels. The rapid br-r-r of the rifle-shots there indicated that it was the heaviest point of attack.

This seemed to decide Sir William, and he rode towards the farmhouse, ordering us to follow. I looked back and saw the lights of the city twinkling behind us, and I felt sure that Wildfoot and his comrades lay hidden there, perhaps in the houses of trusty patriots. The attack at this particular time was either a lucky chance, or part of a clever scheme, and my admiration of the man, always great, increased. We approached the scene of the combat, and the volume of the firing swelled rapidly, the shouts of the combatants coming to our ears; yet we could see but little of the battle. The night was dark, and the assailing force which had driven back the pickets was sheltered by a rail fence standing within the original British lines. The little jets of flame ran along the fence for some hundreds of yards, but the Americans remained invisible. None could even make a guess at their numbers.

"Stop, Sir William!" exclaimed Belfort, suddenly. "Let us dispose of these skirmishers before you advance."

Belfort never lacked courage, and his remark was well-timed. I heard the br-r-r of a bullet over our heads, and then another, and then many others. Two men were struck the next instant, and a horse was killed. It was obviously not the place of the commander-in-chief to ride into such a hornet's nest, and he drew off a bit. An unusually heavy volley burst from the fence, and the British pickets were driven back. The officers with us gathered up the fugitives, and led them in a charge.

"Stay with me, Melville," said Sir William to me. "I shall want you for despatches."

I was devoutly thankful for his order, not being willing to join in a charge against my own countrymen, and I sat willingly on my horse beside him. I was of the opinion that the attack of the British would fail, as they were in too small force, and should have waited for the regiments which were coming up rapidly.

All the officers were on horseback save the one whose mount had been shot from beneath him, and a bulky figure which I recognized even in the dark as Schwarzfelder's led the van. The German, for all I knew, was a brave man; but the wine that he had been drinking was now more potent in bringing him on and putting him in the foremost place.