Colonel Hamilton, whom I saw early on the 14th, was as much surprised at
the result of my request as was I, and was pleased to say he should be
glad of my company, and would I be on hand in the trenches before dark?
The French of the old regiment D’Auvergne, which that night won the
right to be called D’Auvergne _sans tache_, were to carry the redoubt to
the right of the enemy’s line. The Baron de Viomenisle was to lead them.
Gimat was to have a chance with us.
“There are Connecticut men, and Massachusetts and Rhode Island men, with
a reserve from Pennsylvania. The North has the whole business,” said
Hamilton, “and your friend Warder has the luck to be with us.”
The redoubt Number Ten on the enemy’s left, and nearest the river, fell
to us, and Hamilton by no means meant that we should be later in the
work than our allies.
I am forced to be thus particular because, although in God’s providence
I knew it not, I was about to pass through another crisis of my
adventurous life. Before dusk I was in the trenches, and lying down amid
a crowd of silent men. Hamilton walked to and fro among them, seeing
that all were ready, and at last tied a piece of surgeons’ bandage
around my left arm, a precaution also taken as to the men that they
might be distinguished in the darkness from the enemy.
Pioneers with fascines and ladders were a little later put out in front
of the trenches, and with them the sappers and axemen under Captain
Kirkpatrick. Within the crowded trenches and behind them the detachment
of four hundred men lay ready.
It was cold, and a drizzling rain would have made it needful, under
ordinary circumstances, to keep the pans of the muskets dry; but all
loads were drawn, and the marquis meant to trust to the bayonet alone.
Jack was afoot, and in his gay fashion was saying something merry to his
men. I heard the marquis cry, “Silence!” in queer English, and down the
line I could hear officers repeating his order.
For a little while all was still.
“Good-by,” said my Jack. His hand was damp, and shook.
“You dear old idiot!” said I.
It was now close to eight, and of a sudden our cannon ceased. I dimly
saw, a few yards away in the deep trench, the marquis looking back
toward our camp. The enemy, glad, I dare say, of a chance to cool their
guns, also stopped firing. I wished to heaven this horror of waiting
were over.
Then a rocket rose high in air over our camp. “Ready, men!” said
Hamilton, while I drew my long Hessian blade.
Six bombs in quick succession rose and went over us. I heard the marquis
cry out, “_En avant!_ Forward!”
“Forward, sappers” cried a voice in front.
“Come along, boys!” cried Jack. And not giving the sappers more than
time to scramble up, we were off in a swift rush through the darkness.
The quickly formed line broke irregularly, as we ran over the space
between us and the abatis, the sappers vainly trying to keep ahead.
As we rushed forward, my legs serving me well, I saw that they in the
redoubt knew what was coming. A dozen rockets went up, Bengal fires of a
sudden lighted their works, a cannon-shot went close to my head, and all
pandemonium seemed to break loose.
At the stockade, an hundred feet from their works, our men pushed aside
the sappers, and tore down the rude barrier, or tumbled over it.
They were used to fences. Here Gimat was hurt, and Kirkpatrick of the
pioneers, and a moment later Colonel Barber.
The hundred feet beyond were passed at a run, and the men with fascines
cast them into the ditch. It was already half full of the wreck the
cannon had made in the earthwork. We jumped in, and out; it was all mud
and water. Ladders were set against the parapet, but the slope was now
not abrupt, having been crumbled away by our guns, so that most of us
scrambled up without delay. I saw Captain Hunt fall, the enemy firing
wildly. If Sergeant Brown of the Fourth Connecticut, or Mansfield of the
Forlorn Hope, were first on the parapet, I do not know. Hamilton got by
me, and I saw him set a foot on the shoulder of a man, and jump on to
the top of the redoubt. Why more or all were not killed seems to me a
wonder. I think if the enemy had been cooler we had been easily disposed
of. I saw the girl-boy leap down among the bayonets, and we were at once
in a hurly-burly of redcoats, our men with and after us.
For a little there was fierce resistance and a furious struggle, of
which I recall only a remembrance of smoke, red flashes, yells, and a
confusion of men striking and thrusting. A big Hessian caught me a smart
thrust in the left leg--no great hurt. Another with his butt pretty
nearly broke my left arm, as I put it up to save my head. I ran him
through, and felt that they were giving way.
To left and right was still a mad struggle, and what with the Bengal
fires still blazing, and a heap of brush in flames at one side of the
redoubt, there was light enough to see. Near about me was a clear space,
and a pause such as occurs now and then in such a scrimmage. There were
still men who held back, and to whom, as I pushed on, I called, “Come
on! We have them!” A great wind from the sea blew the smoke away, so
that it was easy to see. As I called out to the men who hesitated on
the outer slope, as some will, I heard before me a voice cry, “This way,
men!” and, turning, caught sight of the face of Arthur Wynne. He too saw
and knew me. He uttered an oath, I remember, crying out, “At last!” as I
dashed at him.
I heard ahead of me cries for “Quarter! quarter!” The mass of striving
men had fallen back, and in fact the business was at an end. I saw Jack
run from my left toward me, but he stood still when he saw what was
happening, and instantly, as he came, Arthur and I crossed swords. What
else chanced or who else came near I knew not. I saw for the time only
that one face I so hated, for the heap of brush in the work was still
blazing.
As is true of every Wynne I ever knew, when in danger I became cool at
once. I lost no time, but pressed him hard with a glad sense that he
was no longer my master at the game. I meant to kill him, and as he fell
back I knew that at last his hour had come. I think he too knew it. He
fenced with caution, and was as cool as I. Just as I touched him in the
right shoulder I felt a wounded Hessian clutch my leg. I fell squarely
backward, my cousin lunging savagely as I dropped. I had been done for
had not Jack struck up his blade as I lay, calling out:
“Coward!”
I was up in a moment, pretty savage, and caught sight of my Jack fencing
with my man, as calm as if we were in old Pike’s gallery. As I stood
panting--it was but a moment--I saw Jack’s blade whip viciously round
Arthur’s and pass through his breast, nearly to the guard.
My cousin cried I know not what, fell to one side, and then in a heap
across a dead grenadier.
“Better I than thou,” cried Jack, blowing hard. “He will play no more
tricks. Come on!”
“With a glance at my enemy I hurried past him over dead and wounded men,
a cannon upset, muskets cast away, and what not.
“This way, Wynne,” said the marquis. “_C’est fini!_ Get those fellows
together, gentlemen.”
Our men were huddling the prisoners in a corner and collecting their
arms. A red-faced New Hampshire captain was angrily threatening Major
Campbell, the commander of the redoubt, who had just surrendered.
Colonel Hamilton struck up the captain’s blade, or I do believe he would
have killed the major. He was furious over the death of Colonel Seammel,
who was greatly beloved, and had been killed by Hessians after having
given up his sword.
[Illustration: THE DUEL Page 504 Hugh Wynne]
[Transcriber’s Note: Two men are fighting with swords, as a third looks
on. There appears to be flame, smoke, or clouds in the background.]
It was over, and I went back to see what had become of Arthur. He was
alive, and having dragged himself to the inner wall of the redoubt, was
now seated against it. Jack soon found a lantern, and by its light we
looked at Arthur. He was covered with blood, but was conscious, and
stared at me with dull eyes, without power to say a word.
“Take care of him, Jack,” said I, and went away down the crumbled slope
and through the broken abatis, while overhead the bombs howled with
unearthly noises and the cannonry broke out anew.
I was still angry that I had not killed the man, and went off to my tent
in no very happy state of mind, so tired in body that I could not sleep
for hours.
Says Jack, “October 15.--I can never cease to be thankful that, when we
had them driven like seared sheep into the far side of the redoubt,
I ran back to see what had become of Hugh. It was but a minute I had
missed him, and when I saw him slip I had only just time to catch that
devil Arthur Wynne’s blade. He was used in old days to play with me like
a child, but either I am become more skilful or he was out of practice,
for I knew pretty soon that he was delivered over to me, and had small
chance to get away unhurt. If my friend had killed him,--and that was
what he meant, I fear,--would Darthea ever have married Hugh? I know
not, but it has been ordered otherwise. There was indeed a way opened,
as Friends say. A nice Quaker I am become!”
I was not of his opinion that night. Just before reveille I fell into a
broken slumber. I awakened in a sweat, having dreamed that I had put a
sword through my cousin, and was troubled that Jack was to tell Darthea.
Thus it came to my mind--dulled before this with anger and unsatisfied
hate--that I had made a fortunate escape. The morning brought wisdom. I
was beginning to think that all was not well between Darthea and Arthur
Wynne, and that to kill him would do anything but add to my chances with
a woman so sensitive, nor would it much improve matters that his death
had come out of the unhappy chances of war.
When in happier mood I began to dress at dawn, I found my left arm very
stiff and sore. I must have been much distracted overnight not to have
felt it, and not to have seen that I was seriously bruised; my breeches
were starched stiff with blood from a bayonet-prick. Jack’s quarters
were on the extreme right, and as soon as the lines broke after morning
drill I rode over to find him.
He told me that Dr. Bush was come to camp the day before with other
surgeons, and that Arthur was in a tent and cared for by our good
doctor, who informed Jack that his sword had traversed the right lung,
but had not gone through, as it seemed to me it must have done. The
doctor thought he might possibly get over it. Out of his affection for
my aunt he would see that Arthur had such care as she would desire for
one of her kin, but was it not a most unfortunate accident?
“I assured him,” said Jack, “that it was most lamentable, but might have
been worse--as I intended it should be,” added Jack, with a grin. He
then asked me had I heard of that good Free Quaker, Colonel Forest, who
had taken Major Campbell, saying, “I advise thee to surrender, or thou
wilt repent it, d--- thee!” to the delight of Hamilton, who must tell
his Excellency that night, having supped with him on his return.
I made haste to write to my aunt, and was able to send our letters North
with the general’s despatches to Congress. I said nothing of my own
encounter with Arthur, but made mention of Jack’s affair as one of the
chances of war.
Dr. Rush dressed my arm, and I went back to duty with the member in a
sling, and aching like mad. His Excellency, seeing my condition, asked
me if my right arm was in good order, but made no reference to the left.
After I took his commands for the morning he said, seeing me limp, “Were
you much hurt?”