"Who goes thar?"
We heard the click of the sentinel's musket-lock; whereupon Captain De Lancey, in hope of gaining the time to seize him ere he could give the alarm, replied, "Friends," and kept riding on.
"You're a liar, Jim De Lancey!" cried back the sentinel, and fired his piece, and then (as our ears told us) fled through the woods, up the hill, toward his comrades.
There was now nothing for us but to abandon all thought of surrounding the enemy, or even, we told ourselves, of taking time to dismount and bestow our horses; unless we were willing to lose the advantage of a surprise at least partial, as we were not. We could but charge on horseback up the hill, after the fleeing sentinel, in hope of coming upon the rebels but half-prepared. Or rather, as we then felt, so we chose to think, foolish as the opinion was. Indeed what could have been more foolish, less military, more like a tale of fabulous knights in some enchanted forest? A cavalry charge, with no sort of regular formation, up a wooded hill, in a night dark enough in the open but sheer black under the thick boughs; to meet an encamped enemy at the top! But James De Lancey's men were noted rather for reckless dash than for military prudence; they felt best on horseback, and would accept a score of ill chances and fight in the saddle, rather than a dozen advantages and go afoot. I think they were not displeased at their discovery by the sentinel, which gave them an excuse for a harebrained onset ahorse, in place of the tedious manoeuvre afoot that had been planned. As for Tom and me, we were at the age when a man will dare the impossible.
So we went, trusting to the sense of our beasts, or to dumb luck, to carry us unimpeded through the black woods. As it was, a few of the animals ran headforemost against trees, and others stumbled over roots and logs, while some of the riders had their heads knocked nearly off by coming in contact with low branches. But a majority of us, to judge by the noise we made, arrived with our snorting, panting steeds at the hill-crest; where, in a cleared space, and fortified with felled trees, upheaved earth, forage carts, and what not, stood the improvised cabins of the rebels.
Three or four shots greeted us as we emerged from the thick wood. We, being armed with muskets and pistols as well as swords, returned the fire, and spurred our horses on toward the low breastwork, which, as it was not likely to have anything of a trench behind it, we thought to overleap either on horse or afoot. But the fire that we met, almost at the very barrier, felled so many of our horses and men, raised such a hellish chorus of wild neighing, cries of pain and wrath, ferocious curses and shouts of vengeance, that the men behind reined up uncertain. De Lancey turned upon his horse, waved his sword, and shouted for the laggards to come on. We had only the light of musketry to see by. Tom Faringfield was unhorsed and down; and fearing he might be wounded, I leaped to the ground, knelt, and partly raised him. He was unharmed, however; and we both got upon our feet, with our swords out, our discharged muskets slung round upon our backs, our intent being to mount over the rebel's rude rampart—for we had got an impression of De Lancey's sword pointed that way while he fiercely called upon his troops to disregard the fallen, and each man charge for himself in any manner possible, ahorse or afoot.
But more and more of the awakened rebels—we could make out only their dark figures—sprang forward from their huts (mere roofs, 'twere better to call these) to the breastwork, each waiting to take careful aim at our mixed-up mass of men and horses before he fired into it. As Tom and I were extricating ourselves from the mass by scrambling over a groaning man or two, and a shrieking, kicking horse that lay on its side, De Lancey rode back to enforce his commands upon the men at our rear, some of whom were firing over our heads. His turning was mistaken for a movement of retreat, not only by our men, of whom the unhurt promptly made to hasten down the hill, but also by the enemy, a few of whom now leaped from behind their defence to pursue.
Tom and I, not yet sensible of the action of our comrades, were striding forward to mount the rampart, when this sally of rebels occurred. Though it appalled us at the time, coming so unexpectedly, it was the saving of us; for it stopped the fire of the rebels remaining behind the barrier, lest they should hit their comrades. A ringing voice, more potent than a bugle, now called upon these latter to come back, in a tone showing their movement to have been without orders. They speedily obeyed; all save one, a tall, broad fellow—nothing but a great black figure in the night, to our sight—who had rushed with a clubbed musket straight upon Tom and me. A vague sense of it circling through the air, rather than distinct sight of it, told me that his musket-butt was aimed at Tom's head. Instinctively I flung up my sword to ward off the blow; and though of course I could not stop its descent, I so disturbed its direction that it struck only Tom's shoulder; none the less sending him to the ground with a groan. With a curse, I swung my sword—a cut-and-thrust blade-of-all-work, so to speak—with some wild idea of slicing off a part of the rebel's head; but my weapon was hacked where it met him, and so it merely made him reel and drop his musket. The darkness falling the blacker after the glare of the firing, must have cloaked these doings from the other rebels. Tom rose, and the two of us fell upon our enemy at once, I hissing out the words, "Call for quarter, you dog!"
"Very well," he said faintly, quite docile from having had his senses knocked out of him by my blow, and not knowing at all what was going on.
"Come then," said I, and grasped him by an arm, while Tom held him at the other side; and so the three of us ran after De Lancey and his men—for the captain had followed in vain attempt to rally them—into the woods and down the hill. Tom's horse was shot, and mine had fled.