“The strife, that for a while did fail,
Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale.”--_Scott_.
Like the rapidly-flitting scenes of some dioramic exhibition passed the
crowding events of the next half hour before the half-bewildered senses
of our heroine. The sudden appearance of Woodburn in the now deserted
yard of her prison-house, whither, the moment the battle was won, he
had hastened, with the usual anxiety of the lover made intense by the
distracting fear that she might have been carried off by the escaping
tories,--his eager inquiries for her presence and safety,--her own
involuntary but silent response to his calls, by rushing out to meet
him, and placing herself under his coveted protection,--the hurried
congratulations that passed between them,--the complimentary greetings
of the gallant hero of the day, and other distinguished persons soon
gathering around her and her fair companion, as they stood shrinking
from the admiration and applause which the conduct of one, and the
position of both, had called forth from the lips of all,--their welcome
escape from the embarrassing scene, in a carriage, under the guidance
of Bart, to whom they were given in charge by Woodburn, as he hastily
departed, at the head of a chosen band of followers, in pursuit of
Peters, and a body of tories that were discovered to have escaped,--the
passage of the vehicle through the contested field, ploughed up by
artillery, blackened by the fire and smoke of battle, and strewed with
the dying and the dead, among whom the busy groups of the dismissed
soldiery were every where scattered in pursuit of their different
objects--here to collect plunder from their slain enemies, and there
to minister to the wounded, or search among the fallen for missing
comrades,--all these followed so rapidly upon a victory, the sudden
announcement of which had nearly overpowered her with joyful surprise,
that it was not till she and her companion had passed beyond the
confines of the battle-field, and entered upon the comparatively
solitary road leading towards the village of Bennington, to which
they were now directing their course, that she could realize her happy
deliverance. Then, for the first time during that terrible day, the
woman in her prevailed, and she melted into tears. But they were
the tears of joy and gratitude, that she and her native land, whose
immediate fate had so singularly become interwoven with her own, had
alike been permitted to triumph. We must, however, leave her and her
friend to indulge their overflowing feelings, and listen to the recitals
of the no less happy Bart, who had been in the hottest of the fight,
while they pursue their unmolested way to their present destination--we
must now leave them, and return once more to the field of battle, where
the dismissed troops were still busily engaged in gathering up the
trophies of war, preparing refreshments, and exulting over the glorious
result of the conflict, little dreaming of any further appearance of the
enemy after so signal a defeat.
But hark! What means that heavy firing which suddenly comes echoing over
the forest from the west? Does it portend only some skirmish on the
line of the retreat, where a portion of the foe have come to a stand
to shield the rest, or favor their escape? No; it is the booming of the
deep-mouthed cannon, and not those of the defeated forces; for they have
left all theirs behind them. While every eye and ear, through the hushed
field, were turned in anxious perplexity towards the ominous sounds, a
horseman came dashing at full speed along the wood-begirt road from
that direction, loudly proclaiming, as he drew near, the startling
intelligence, that the broken and flying bands of the enemy had been
met and rallied by a reenforcement of five hundred fresh veteran troops,
well supplied with artillery; and the whole, making a more formidable
army than the first, and evidently resolved to retrieve the lost
credit of the day, and revenge themselves on the victors, were rapidly
approaching, and within two miles of the place!
The next moment the loud and quickly repeated cry of “To arms! to arms!”
rang far and wide over the field. Then followed the rapid roll of the
alarm drums, the rattling of hastily-grasped muskets, the trampling of
hurrying feet, and the confused clamor of voices; while the scattered
and commingling bands of the surprised troops were seen throwing down
their plunder, or leaving the half-partaken meal, and flying, in all
directions, to their respective rallying points, to be ready to meet the
menaced onset, and die, or keep the field they had so gloriously won.
But notwithstanding the spirit and alacrity with which the troops
responded to the call, so rapid was the advance of the enemy, that,
before Stark, with all his energy, could collect much more than half his
former forces, refit them with ammunition, and bring them into line, the
British, led on by the cool and experienced Breyman, and driving before
them the detachment of Americans sent in pursuit of the fugitives, came
pouring onto the field; and, immediately throwing themselves into battle
array, opened a tremendous fire, with cannon and small arms, upon the
half-formed lines of their opponents, gathering to dispute their passage
in front. The Americans returned the fire, which, though partial and
irregular, was yet so well directed as to put a temporary check upon the
advance of the foe. But the latter, seeing the unprepared condition of
the former, and becoming confident of an easy victory, were soon again
upon the advance; while Stark, destroying the breastworks that had
sheltered the foe in the first action, as far as the time would permit,
and dragging the captured cannon along with him, slowly fell back,
continuing to make his dispositions, and pour, from time to time, as he
went, his well-aimed volleys upon the thinning ranks of his pursuers.
At length, however, he took his stand, resolved, in despite of all his
disadvantages, to make a final and desperate effort to regain the lost
mastery of the field. But closer and closer pressed the exulting and
determined foe; and, although well and bravely did his weakened and
exhausted men repel the fierce charges of their assailants, yet it soon
became evident that they could not long withstand the repeated assaults
of those heavy and disciplined columns upon their unequal lines. Both
the men and their officers began to exchange doubtful and despairing
glances; and even their bold and unyielding chief was seen to look
uneasily around him. But at that critical juncture, when the fate of the
free seemed trembling doubtfully in the balance, an inspiring shout rose
from the copse-wood bordering the road in the rear. And the next moment,
the far-famed regiment of Green Mountain Boys, whose earlier arrival
had been prevented by the storm of the preceding day, emerged into view;
and, led on by the chivalrous Warner on his fiery charger, that would
know no other rider,[Footnote: It may be interesting, to the antiquarian
at least, to learn that the splendid war-horse, which Warner was known
to have rode in all his battles, could neither be mounted nor managed by
any except the colonel and his son, then a lad of sixteen or seventeen,
who attended his father in the service mainly on that account. This fact
I have from the lips of Colonel W.'s second son, now living in Lower
Canada.] advanced with rapid and resolute tread directly to the scene of
action.
“Warm work, warm work here, Colonel Warner,” said Stark, as the other
dashed up to his side for his orders.
“Ay, general; but we will make it still warmer for the Red coats, at
least, if you will give us a chance at them in front of your line,”
promptly responded the gallant officer.
“That chance you shall have, with the thanks of my exhausted troops, to
whom, and myself, your presence, at this time, my brave friend, could
scarcely be more welcome,” said Stark, with a frankness and cordiality
of manner which attested the pleasure he felt at the other's timely
arrival.
“Thank you--thank you, general,” replied Warner, galloping back to his
regiment, and commanding their attention.
“Soldiers,” he exclaimed, in his clear, trumpet tones throwing back
his tall, superb form, and displaying his noble and beautifully-arched
brow,--“my brave soldiers, shall this be _our_ battle, and _our_
victory?”
A deafening cheer was the affirmative response.
“In God's name, on, then!” he resumed, in a voice of thunder--“on,
and avenge yourselves for country's wrongs, and for your flogging at
Hubbardton.”
In eager obedience to the welcome command of their idolized leader, who
now led the way, with flashing eyes and waving sword, they all swept on
through the opening ranks of their loudly-cheering companions in arms,
rapidly deployed into line, and, the next instant, wrapped themselves
in the flame and smoke of their own fire, which burst, with an almost
single report, into the very faces of the astonished foe, whose ranks
went down by scores before the leaden blast of that terrible volley.
And, by the time they had recovered from the shock of the unexpected
assault, the relieved and encouraged forces of Stark, now strengthened
by the arrival of additional numbers of the scattered militia, and
formed into new and more effective combinations, returned with,
fresh ardor to the contest. And, as the different detachments, moving
resolutely on, with flying colors and rattling drums, to the various
points of attack assigned them in front and around the hostile squares,
reached their allotted stations, they successively poured in their
withering volleys till the rebounding plain trembled and shook beneath
the tumult and thunders of a conflict, to which, in obstinacy and
sanguinary fierceness, few engagements on record afford a parallel. On
one side was discipline, with revenge, the hope of reward, and the fear
of the disgrace attending defeat, to incite them, to action On the other
side, the stake was home and liberty; and these as the trained officers
of Europe soon found to their astonishment often more than compensated
for the lack of discipline and military experience; for, in contending
for a stake of such individual moment, every man in the ranks of
freedom, though frequently wholly untrained, and in battle for the first
time in his life, at once became a warrior, fighting as if the whole
responsibility of the issue of the battle rested on his own shoulders.
And, in every part of the field, deeds were performed by nameless
peasants rivalling the most daring exploits of heroes. Here a company
of raw militia might be seen rushing upon a detached column of British
veterans, firing in their faces, and, for want of bayonets, knocking
them down with clubbed muskets. There old men and boys, with others
who, like them, had come unarmed and as spectators of the battle, would
spring forward after some retreating band, seize the muskets of the
slain, and engage, muzzle to muzzle, with the hated foe. The intrepid
Stark, harboring no thought but of victory, and as regardless of
exposure as the unconscious charger that bore him through the leaden
storm, was every where to be seen; now heading an onset--now dashing off
to rouse or rally a faltering column, and now leaping from his horse
to show his inexperienced men how to load and fire the captured cannon;
while Warner and Herrick, fit men to second the efforts of such a chief,
were constantly storming, like raging lions, in the smoke and fire
of the hottest of the fight; here breasting, with their brave and
unflinching regiments, the desperate assault, and there, in turn,
leading on the resistless charge.
Thus, with the tide of war alternately surging to and fro, like the wild
waves of the ocean lashed by contending winds, continued to rage this
fierce and sanguinary conflict, till the sun went down in the semblant
blood with which the smoke of battle had enshrouded him.
But now, soon an unusual commotion, attended with new and rapid
movements, was observable among the contending forces of the field.
Presently an exulting shout rose from the American lines; and the enemy
were seen at all points to be giving way. Their retreat, however, though
rapid, was yet, for a while, conducted with order; and they repeatedly
turned and made desperate efforts to resist the fiery tide that, with
gathering impetus, was rolling after them. But vain and fruitless
were all their attempts; for, while their whole rear was wasting with
frightful rapidity, under the terrible volleys which were poured upon
it, in one incessant blaze, by the hotly pursuing squadrons of Stark and
Warner, a strong detachment of the heroic Rangers, under the daring lead
of the now half-maddened Woodburn rushed forward and fell upon their
flank with a fury that threw their pierced and staggering columns into
such disorder and confusion as to destroy their last indulged hope of
escaping in a body from their infuriated pursuers. And, the next moment,
their whole force broke, and, abandoning their cannon and baggage, fled
in a tumultuous rout from the field, some escaping along the road, some
yielding themselves prisoners on the way, and others, to avoid their
outstripping pursuers, seeking refuge in the surrounding forest. But
neither road, nor field, nor forest, were this time permitted to afford
many of them the means of escape, or shield them from the harassing
pursuit of the exasperated Americans, who, in furiously-charging
columns, overthrew, shot down, or captured, all their broken and flying
bands within reach, in the road and open grounds, or in small parties,
or singly, closely followed and boldly encountered them in the woods,
whose dark recesses soon resounded with the scattering fire, the
clashing steel, and the hurrying shout, of the pursued and pursuing
combatants.
But of the scores of promiscuous conflicts and personal encounters which
marked the _finale_ of this memorable triumph and made so conspicuous
the prowess of the heroic men by whom it was achieved, it were in vain
for us, within our limits, to attempt a description. There was one of
these encounters, however, which the approaching development of our
story requires to be more particularly noted. And, for this purpose, we
will now change the scene to a wild glen, far within the depths of the
forest, where, hedged in by an impassable morass in front, and steep
ledges of rocks on either side, a gang of a half dozen of the fugitive
tories, headed by an officer in British uniform, had turned round
with the desperate ferocity of wild beasts, to give battle to the
indefatigable pursuers, who had followed them from the battle-field
with a vigilance and speed from which there was no escape, and with such
demonstrations of marksmanship as had already told fatally on nearly
half their numbers on the way. But those pursuers, as wary as they were
brave and untiring, with the double object of concealing the inequality
of their numbers, which were but four, and securing the advantages that
a choice of positions in all sylvan contests especially affords, had
instantly fallen back to a line of hastily-selected coverts, stretching
across the gorge, and had now become wholly invisible to their advancing
foes, who soon paused in turn, and, shielding themselves behind the
bodies of trees stood eagerly peering out to catch sight of the
objects of their aim. Suddenly the sharp report of a rifle burst from
a bush-covered cleft in the rocks nearly abreast of one of the exposed
flanks of the tories; and the tallest of their number, with a wild
start, and half-uttered oath, floundered into the bushes and fell. The
next moment, our old acquaintance, Bart Burt, who, having conveyed the
ladies to their destination, had sped back to the battle-field in time
to participate in the last part of the final action, was seen stealthily
creeping round the point of the ledge, from which the fatal shot had
issued, and approaching the leader of the concealed assailants, who,
as the reader may have already anticipated, was no other than Captain
Woodburn.
“Bart,” said the latter, “you have executed my order as no other man
could. But whom have you slain? Not Peters?”
“No--couldn't get him in range; but did as well, though--may be
better--fixed out the only one whose aim I was 'fraid of--the big,
fierce-looking whelp that shot father Herriot, in our last sally in the
field; the same that made that bullet-hole in your coat on the way
here; and the same, too, who would have finished me, likely, but for the
glancing of his bullet on a bush before me. But I have settled all the
grudges at a blow, now.”
“You have done bravely; but did you discover who they are--any of them
besides the leader, Peters?”
“Yes, two of 'em, who are, as Dunning and Piper surmised, Dave Redding
and Tiger Fitch, that beauty of a constable, who bothered us so in old
times, at Guilford. He's now some kind of an officer among 'em, guess;
and, dead or alive, I'm bound to have him; though, if you've any
particular plan, captain, I'll follow it, instead of going round to
'tother ledge for another pick of the flock.”
“I have one; and that is, to draw their fire, or most of it, and then
rush upon them. You may creep on, then, to Dunning and Piper, and, with
them, contrive and execute some plan to effect that object, and I will
stand here ready to order, and lead the charge, at the favoring moment.”
Bart now, with the noiseless tread of a cat, rapidly glided away into
the bushes and disappeared on his errand. In a few minutes, the cracking
of sticks, as if under the pressure of cautiously moving feet, was heard
in a thicket of bushes within full range of the guns of the tories,
who, now safely ensconced behind the new coverts, to which, in alarm at
Bart's fatal shot, they had betaken themselves, instantly turned their
attention in that direction, and, levelling their pieces, keenly watched
for the expected exposure of the persons of some of their opponents.
Soon the dim outlines of two or three apparently human forms could
be traced in the thicket, rising up one after another, with the quick
hesitating motions of men intent on a stealthy _reconnaissance_ of the
objects before them. And, the next moment, every tory, but one, sent the
contents of his gun at these supposed forms of the lurking besiegers.
But instead of beholding, as they had anticipated, the riddled bodies
of the dreaded foe dropping to the earth, they soon discovered, to
their astonishment and dismay, that the empty coats and caps, which
the outwitting Rangers had raised on their ramrods over their prostrate
persons, were the only sufferers.
“Der--der--der--ditter ready!” shouted Dunning, in a voice which at last
went off like the terminating clap of a rattling thunder peal, as he and
his two associates leaped, coatless, from the ground, to be prepared for
the instant execution of the expected order.
“On, then, and suffer not a wretch of them to escape you alive!”
exclaimed their impatient leader in reply, dashing forward himself, and
leading in the headlong onset which they all now made on the foe.
Taken by complete surprise by this rapid and unexpected movement of the
assailants, now bursting upon them with cocked and levelled rifles, the
dismayed tories, at first, made no attempts at escape or resistance;
while part of then threw down their half-loaded guns, and stepped out
from their coverts.
“Surrender at discretion, or take the consequence!” sternly cried
Woodburn, pausing within twenty yards of the tory leader.
“We are in your power, sir, I suppose,” replied Peters evasively, and
in a tone of affected submission, as, avoiding the burning gaze of the
other, he threw a significant glance to the tory who had reserved his
charge at the fruitless fire just made by the rest of his party.
In an instant, the gun of the latter, who still stood behind a tree
shielding him, as he supposed, from the other Rangers, was levelled at
Woodburn, whose attention was too intently fixed on his chief foe to
notice the movement. But before the finger of the assassin was permitted
to tighten on the trigger, a bullet from the unerring rifle of the
watchful Dunning had pierced his brain, and his gun, as he fell over
backwards, exploded harmlessly into the air. Three of the tories,
however, taking advantage of the momentary confusion occasioned by the
noise and smoke of the guns, made a desperate spring for the surrounding
thickets and succeeded in breaking through the line of their assailants,
three of whom instantly gave chase, leaving Woodburn to cope alone with
the rival foe, whom he had vainly sought through the day to confront
in battle. Peters threw a quick, furtive glance around him; and, for
an instant, seemed hesitating whether he should attempt to follow the
example of the rest of his band; but another glance at the watchful
and menacing eye of his opponent gleaming at him over the barrel of the
deadly rifle, taught the folly of any such attempt, and, throwing down
his weapons, he said,--
“I yield myself a prisoner of war, sir.”
“A prisoner of war!” exclaimed Woodburn, repeating the words of the
other, in a tone of bitter scorn. “After signifying your submission, and
then instigating an attempt to shoot me, you hope to be received as a
prisoner of war, do you? Villain!” he added, advancing and presenting
the muzzle of his piece within a yard of the other's breast--“villain,
your last claim to mercy is forfeited!”
“You would not slay an unarmed man, and a prisoner, would you?” said
Peters, recoiling, and casting an uneasy glance at his opponent.
“Yes,” replied the former, with increasing sternness, “if, like you, in
defiance of all the rules of war as well as honor, he would do the same
to me the first moment he had it in his power. No submission shields the
life of an outlaw from any one disposed to take it. But you shall have
one minute for uttering your last request, if you have any such to
make.”
Being now thoroughly alarmed by the words, as well as the demeanor of
his incensed captor, the once haughty loyalist fell on his knees, and
humbly besought the other to spare his life.
“Live, then, wretch!” said Woodburn, at length moved to both pity and
contempt by the entreaties and abject manner of the former--“live then,
if you choose it, to be dealt with as a traitor and a spy, by men who
will award you your deserts with more coolness, doubtless, than I should
have done, but with no less certainty.”
“O, spare me from that,” pleaded the abased supplicant, with redoubled
earnestness. “Kill me on the spot, if you will; but spare me from that
fate. Allow me to be delivered up as a prisoner of war, and I will
consent to any thing--yield any thing you wish. I will ensure you, by
my influence at the British camp, any advantage in a future exchange of
prisoners you may ask; and----”
“Peace! miserable craven!” interrupted Woodburn. “I could promise you
no exemption, if I would, from a punishment which our exasperated people
will justly say you have brought upon your own head.”
“And I will also,” resumed Peters, encouraged by the somewhat softened
tone, and slightly hesitating manner of the other--“I will also
relinquish all claims, and forego all interference, in matters that may
have stood in the way of your private interests and wishes.”
“I will make no pledges, nor grant, nor receive any terms, at your
dictation, sir,” said the former, haughtily.
“I will trust to your magnanimity to a fallen foe,” then, rejoined
Peters, rightly appreciating, for once, the character of his conqueror.
“Here, take this,” he continued, drawing a carefully-preserved document
from his pocket, and extending it towards the other--“take it, and
deliver it to the one whom it most concerns. Tell her it was voluntarily
relinquished, and that I will trouble her no more.”
As small as was the measure of credit which Woodburn's judgment told him
should be accorded to the motives prompting this unexpected course in
his old enemy, it nevertheless quickly banished every vindictive feeling
from his generous bosom; and after a momentary hesitation, he took the
proffered document, glanced at its contents, and silently deposited
it among his other papers. But soon growing jealous of himself lest he
should compromit the policy which his superiors might deem it just
and wise, under the sanction of the stern rules of war, to enforce,
he restrained himself from making any immediate reply. And, the next
moment, he was relieved from what apparent necessity there might be for
so doing, by the approach of the first of the returning Rangers.
“Where is your prisoner, Piper?” he asked, turning to the latter, now
coming up.
“He would not be taken alive, sir; and the order was to let none
escape in that condition,” replied the broad-chested subaltern with a
significant look.
“In order, then, that you go not home empty-handed,” rejoined Woodburn,
“I will give you charge of _my_ prisoner, Colonel Peters here, whom you
will conduct to Bennington Meeting-House, whither the prisoners of the
day were ordered, and whence you will deliver him to the officer in
command as a prisoner of war--at least for the present; for any doubt
that may arise about his final disposal can be settled hereafter.”
“Der well, captain,” exclaimed Dunning, whose tall, gaunt form, in the
rear of his prisoner, the infamous David Redding, whom it had been his
lot to capture, was now seen emerging from a thicket near by--“here is
one, about whom we shan't be bothered with der doubts, a great while, if
his captor can have his say.”
“Aha!--but what _is_ your say about him, sergeant?” said Woodburn,
smiling.
“Der well,” replied the other, “I say, if the ditter devil don't take
him from a traitor's gallows, then we may just as well have no devil.”
“I shall not be the one to gainsay you in that, sergeant,” responded
Woodburn. “But hark! what is the uproar yonder?” he added, pointing out
into the woods in a direction from whence the sound of an occasional
stiff _whack!_ followed by groans, curses, and calls for protection,
were now heard to issue.
On turning their eyes towards the spot, the company beheld Bart, with
his rifle in one hand, and a long beechen switch in the other, driving
in before him the whilom constable, Fitch, who was chafing, like
a chained bear, under the lash which his catechizing captor was
administering every few yards on the way.
“Why are you so rough with him, Bart?” expostulated Woodburn, as they
came up.
“Well, captain, I have a reasonable wherefore for it--may be,” answered
the former, gravely.
“What is it?” asked the other.
“Why,” replied the imperturbable Bart, “perhaps I don't remember, and
perhaps I do, how a chap of about my size sat sweating near two cool
hours, at the sight of an ugly-looking bunch of beech rods, that a
certain constable had ordered for his back. And as 'twas no fault of his
that the matter wasn't carried out at the time, and, as I always thought
there was a mistake made as to the one whose back ought to take it, I
felt rather bound to have the order executed now, and in a manner to set
all to rights between us.”
“Well, well, boys,” said Woodburn, with a good-humored smile, “you must
all be indulged in your notions, I suppose, at such a glorious hour as
this. But you may now be moving on with your prisoners to the field, and
thence by the road to Bennington. Business calls me there by a nearer
route, and at a quicker pace. You shall find good cheer awaiting your
arrival.”
So saying, he struck off rapidly from the rest, and soon disappeared in
the forest.