What the Parson dreamed in that Bennington camp,
Neither Yankee nor Prophet would dare to guess;
A vision, perhaps, of the King David stamp,
With a mixture of Cromwell and good Queen Bess.
But we know the result of that glorious day,
And the victory won ere the night came down;
How Warner charged in the bitter fray,
With Rossiter, Hobart, and old John Brown:
And how in the lull of the three hours' fight,
The Parson harangued the Tory line,
As he stood on a stump, with his musket bright,
And sprinkled his texts with the powder fine:—
The sword of the Lord is our battle-cry,
A refuge sure in the hour of need,
And freedom and faith can never die,
Is article first of the Puritan creed.
"Perhaps the 'occasion' was rather rash,"
He remarked to his comrades after the rout,
"For behind a bush I saw a flash,
But I fired that way and put it out."
And many the sayings, eccentric and queer,
Repeated and sung through the whole country side,
And quoted in Berkshire for many a year,
Of the Pittsfield march and the Parson's ride.
All honor to Stark and his resolute men,
To the Green Mountain Boys all honor and praise,
While with shout and with cheer we welcome again,
The Parson who came in his one-horse chaise.
Wallace Bruce.
The next day, August 16, 1777, dawned clear and bright, and the morning was consumed in preparations for the attack. Stark managed to throw half his force on Baum's rear and flanks, and, early in the afternoon, assaulted the enemy on all sides. The Germans stood their ground and fought desperately, but they were soon thrown into disorder, and at the end of two hours were all either killed or captured.
THE BATTLE OF BENNINGTON