“That charge, I think, is going to be a success, Mr. Shelby, and your sharpshooters will find it more comfortable to keep a little farther away from us.”
He spoke with a certain pride, as if he would hold our people a little more cheaply than his own.
I made no reply, for another and better answer from a different source was ready. There was a very vivid blaze from the wood and the crash of a heavy volley. The head of the column was shattered, nay, crushed, and the body of it reeled like a man to whom has been dealt a stunning blow. It was apparent that our people had seen the movement and had gathered in force in the wood to repel it, striking at the proper moment.
The company rallied and advanced most bravely a second time to the charge; but the flash of the rifles was so steady and so fast that the woods seemed to be spouting fire. The British fell back quickly and then broke into a discreet run into their own encampment.
“You will perceive,” said I to Captain Jervis, “that our people have not yet retired for the night.”
He laughed a little, though on the wrong side of his mouth. I could see that he felt chagrin, and so I said no more on that point.
As if by concert our sharpshooters also pushed up closer, and being so much better at that business drove in those of Burgoyne. The Germans, in particular, knowing but little of forests, fared badly.
Though I was neither in it nor of it, I felt much elation at our little triumph. In truth the consequences, if not important of themselves, were significant of greater things. They showed that Burgoyne’s beleaguered battalions could rest hope only on two things, the arrival of Clinton or victory in a pitched battle. But now Burgoyne could not even protect his own camp. It was reached in many parts by the fire of the sharpshooters drawn in a deadly ring around it. The night came, and as far as possible the lights in the camp were put out, but the firing went on, and no British sentinel was safe at his post.