Harper's Round Table, December 17, 1895

by Various

George stepped forward. It was no effort for him to make his way up into the branches; but he did not need the glass, and his heart stood still. He could hardly form the words that were upon his lips. What he had seen was this: Gleams of red flaring here and there along the hill-side behind them.

"We are surrounded," he shouted down, and slid through the branches with a crash.

Some of the riflemen were sent back to meet the new forces in the rear, but by this time the firing had commenced along the line, and the Hessians were swarming up the hill. So confused now became events that George could only see what happened close to him, and even of that his recollections were most vague.

A tall form burst through the bushes, and a great red-bearded face thrust itself over the redoubt. In an instant the forms seemed to be all around him. The shouts varied, first in one direction and then another. He could never forget the horror with which he saw a tall Hessian draw back his bayonet at a young figure on the ground.

Twigs snapped and crackled all around, the bullets ripped through the leaves of the trees, and the first thing the young sergeant knew he was standing breast-high in a thicket, and before him stood a green-coated foreigner who was breathing hard from the charge through the brush, and who held at George's throat the point of a bayonet.

Captain Clarkson's company was at the extreme left wing. A little brook ran down the hollow, and most of the fighting had been at the front and to the left.

George scarcely noticed the shrieks and cries for mercy and the groans. His eye was upon the figure standing in front of him, and the blade of the roughly made sword he carried was grating against the bayonet that was thrusting at him viciously. Twice he parried, and then his opponent lunged again. The hilt and the musket came together with a clash. George lost his footing, tripped over a fallen branch, and fell backwards; but so great was the force of the lunge the green-coated soldier had levelled at him that the latter too lost his balance and pitched forward. Both fell over the bank of the little brook and rolled down into the shallow water. They were now out of sight of the fighting and locked in each other's arms. The Hessian snapped with his teeth like a cornered dog, and with his fingers tried to close about George's throat. But the boy was strong and wiry, and the man was tired from his sharp run up the hill. Over and over they went in the sand and pebbles, the young American silent, but the Hessian grunting and cursing in his foreign tongue. At last George was on top, and his hand closed about a large stone. He struck the man a heavy blow between the eyes, and the latter relaxed his hold. He lay there with his body half in the muddy waters of the brook.

George looked about him. The firing had now grown less and less, but the shouts were still heard, and occasionally a bullet whistled through the trees. Stooping, he picked up his dented sword, and without a glance at the figure of the senseless German, made his way down the stream. He crawled under the corner of a rail fence, and lay there in the ferns trying to get his breath.

It was evident that Colonel Hand's brave forces had been destroyed; the Americans had been driven back and defeated.

As night came on George moved from his hiding-place, and crawling on his hands and knees, made his way again to the top of the incline. And now his experience "playing Injun" at Stanham Mills came into good use. He knew that the Americans must be to the northward.