Was the brave officer living or dead? There was no time to tell. As Nathan clasped his father's hands in a passion of grief, the straggling musketry-fire in front suddenly ceased, and back in full flight poured the Pennsylvania troops. On their right flank, sweeping along under the gathering shades of evening to cover the retreat of the British brigade, came a compact line of dragoons. A dozen voices yelled at Nathan, but he only shook his head.
"Take my father along," he cried, "and I will go."
Crack! crack! crack!—the rear ranks of the grenadiers had turned and were firing. The dragoons were galloping closer. A ball tore the lad's cap from his head, and he sprang to his feet, staring around him undecidedly. Then Barnabas Otter and Corporal Dubbs grasped him by each arm, and in spite of protest they dragged him rapidly along with the retreating regiment. In the rout Major Langdon was forgotten, and he seized the opportunity to drop into a clump of bushes, where he lay unseen until his own men came up.
The dragoons continued the pursuit almost to the edge of the woods, and there a hot fire from the rallied skirmishers, and a few shells from Knox's guns on the hillside, drove them back with severe loss to the British lines.
Night was now closing in, and with darkness the battle ended. The British had lost nearly a thousand; the Americans less than three hundred. But Washington was not satisfied. He issued orders to resume the attack at daylight, and after eating supper in ranks the weary troops slept upon their arms.
For Nathan the joy of victory was swallowed up in bitter grief. After the moon rose, with Barnabas Otter and a few other faithful comrades, he ventured out from the woods to recover his father's body. But it could not be found, though the spot where he had fallen was easily located. All around were dead and wounded, British and American, but no sign of Captain Stanbury.
"It's no use to look," said Nathan. "My father is not dead. He is alive, and a prisoner in the hands of the enemy."
"What makes you think so?" asked Barnabas.
"Because the British have left their own dead on the field," was the reply. "Would they have carried off an American officer, unless he was alive?"
"True fur that, lad," said Barnabas, "but it's a mighty queer disappearance just the same." His brow knitted as he remembered the strange and evil look on Major Langdon's face while he watched Captain Stanbury. "I wish that stuck-up British officer hadn't slipped away," he added angrily, little dreaming, as he spoke the words, of what the major's escape was to cost himself and others.