In the meanwhile one red-coated troop, unnoted, riding faster
Than their comrades on our rear in fury bore;
But the light-horse led by Washington soon brought it to disaster,
For they shattered it and scattered it, and smote it fast and sore.
Like a herd of startled cattle from the battlefield we drove them;
In disorder down the Mill-gap road they fled;
Tarleton led them in the racing, fast he fled before our chasing,
And he stopped not for the dying, and he stayed not for the dead.
Down the Mill-gap road they scurried and they hurried with such fleetness—
We had never seen such running in our lives!
Ran they swifter than if seeking homes to taste domestic sweetness,
Having many years been parted from their children and their wives.
Ah! for some no wife to meet them, child to greet them, friend to shield them!
To their home o'er ocean never sailing back;
After them the red avengers, bitter hate for death had sealed them,
Yelped the dark and red-eyed sleuth-hound unrelenting on their track.
In their midst I saw one trooper, and around his waist I noted
Tied a simple silken scarf of blue and white;
When my vision grasped it clearly to my hatred I devoted
Him, from all the hireling wretches who were mingled there in flight.
For that token in the summer had been from our cabin taken
By the robber-hands of wrongers of my kin;
'Twas my sister's—for the moment things around me were forsaken;
I was blind to fleeing foemen, I was deaf to battle's din.
Olden comrades round me lying dead or dying were unheeded;
Vain to me they looked for succor in their need.
O'er the corses of the soldiers, through the gory pools I speeded,
Driving rowel-deep my spurs within my madly-bounding steed.
As I came he turned, and staring at my glaring eyes he shivered;
Pallid fear went quickly o'er his features grim;
As he grasped his sword in terror, every nerve within him quivered,
For his guilty spirit told him why I solely sought for him.
Though the stroke I dealt he parried, onward carried, down I bore him—
Horse and rider—down together went the twain:
"Quarter!"—He! that scarf had doomed him! stood a son and brother o'er him;
Down through plume and brass and leather went my sabre to the brain—
Ha! no music like that crushing through the skull-bone to the brain.