“Look behind you, sir!”
The young English officer, whose name was Lavack, did as he was told, and saw his troops either dead or wounded or in full retreat, and already some distance away.
“I’ll have to trouble you for your sword, sir!” said Eph, after showing him this sight.
“And to whom do I surrender?” said the young officer, gazing at Eph’s rig of silk shirt and sash and loose white trowsers.
“To Lieutenant Clark, of Lafitte’s Battery.” And the young officer was led away, to be well treated.
In the meantime, while the surviving British troops were retreating from the front, Eph Clark and those about him heard the “advance” blown from a bugle in front of them, and, seeing no one standing so near as the notes seemed to come from, at last discovered, perched up in a small tree—which must have been exposed to all the storm of balls and bullets, for many of its branches were cut away—a small music-boy of one of the British regiments, who had sat up there, sounding the “advance,” all the time the fight was going on, and continued to do so when his regiment was half a mile away.
Amused at the curious courage and persistency of the little fellow, Eph and a lieutenant of Kentucky riflemen dropped down into the ditch, and went out and captured the courageous lad, who was not more than fourteen.
When they brought him in, the stolid little Englishman, who was entirely unhurt, was much astonished at the praises he received from those he considered deadly enemies.
The English did not renew their attack, but at once began preparations for retreat to their ships. And there was good reason, for the actual fighting had only lasted twenty-five minutes, and they had twenty-six hundred men killed, wounded or prisoners, while the American loss was just seventeen.
General Packenham, the English commander, General Gibbs, Colonel Keene and Colonel Dale, among the leaders, all lost their lives in that fatal assault.