IN WHICH NATHAN MEETS AN OLD ENEMY
Wheeling his horse, Washington spurred on toward the rear to avert the
consequences of Lee's disaster and check the rout, and the effect of his
personal presence on the demoralized troops was speedy and gratifying.
Within ten minutes the retreat was suspended, the fugitives were
rallying, and order and discipline were visible in the midst of the
confusion.
Colonel Oswald, with two pieces of artillery, took a position on an
eminence, and by a well-directed fire from his battery, checked the
pursuing enemy. Stewart and Ramsey supported him, having formed their
troops under cover of a wood. While the British grenadiers were pouring
their deadly volleys into the still broken ranks of the Americans,
Washington rode fearlessly to and fro in the face of the leaden storm,
issuing order after order. The whole of Lee's army, so shortly before
on the verge of destruction, was soon drawn up in battle array, with a
bold and well-arranged front. Having thus saved the day, Washington rode
back to General Lee.
"Will you command in that place, sir?" he said curtly, pointing to the
reformed division.
"I will," Lee answered, eagerly.
"Then I expect you to check the enemy at once."
"Your command shall be obeyed," assured Lee, "and I will not be the
first to leave the field."
Washington hurried further back to the main army, and lost no time in
forming it in battle order on the ridge that rose above the western side
of the morass. Meanwhile General Lee partly atoned for his fault by a
display of skill and courage in obedience to his commander's orders.
While a hot cannonade was going on between the artillery of both forces,
he gallantly repulsed a troop of royal light horse that charged upon the
right of his division. Nevertheless the enemy were too strong to be
held in check more than temporarily, and before long the greater part of
the Americans were obliged to give way and fall back toward Washington.
Stretching across the open field in front of the causeway over the
morass was a hedgerow, and here the conflict raged for some little time,
the place being held stoutly by Livingston's regiment and Varnum's
brigade, with a battery of artillery. But their ranks were finally
broken by a desperate bayonet charge from the British cavalry and
infantry, and Varnum and Livingston, with the artillery, retreated
across the morass, their rear effectually protected by Colonel Ogden and
his men, who held a wood near the causeway. Lee was the last to leave
the field, bringing Ogden's corps off with him, and after forming the
whole of his division in good order on the hillside west of the morass,
he reported to Washington for further instructions.
Lee's forces had thus far borne the brunt of the day's fighting, so
Washington considerately ordered them to the rear in the direction of
Englishtown, while he himself prepared to engage the enemy with the
fresh and main army. His left was commanded by Lord Stirling, and the
right by General Greene. Wayne was on an eminence in an orchard near the
parsonage, while on his right a battery of artillery occupied the crest
of Comb's Hill.
The battle now began in earnest, the enemy being drawn up in force on
the hills and in the fields across the morass, and having possession of
the lost hedgerow. They were repulsed from the American left, and on
trying to turn the right flank they were driven back by Knox's battery,
supported by General Greene. Meanwhile Wayne kept up a brisk fire on the
British centre, and repeatedly hurled back the royal grenadiers, who
several times advanced upon him from the hedgerow.
The commander of the grenadiers, Colonel Monckton, determined to make a
last attempt to drive Wayne from his position. So he formed his men in
solid column, and advanced anew with the regularity of a corps on
parade. Wayne's troops were partly sheltered by a barn, and they
reserved their fire until the enemy were very close. Monckton was about
to give the order to charge, sword in hand, when the terrible volley was
poured forth. He himself was killed instantly, and most of the British
officers fell with him. A desperate hand-to-hand fight ensued, and the
survivors of the grenadiers finally fled in confusion, leaving the body
of their commander behind. Thus the conflict raged from point to point,
while the sultry day grew older, and the roar of cannons and muskets
echoed far over the peaceful Jersey countryside.
And what was Nathan Stanbury doing all this time? We shall see. Behind
the American lines was the meeting-house, and in front, down the hill
toward the swamp that separated the two armies, were the parsonage and
barn, an orchard, and a bit of woods. These places of shelter bristled
with Washington's skirmishers. From behind trees and fences, from the
loop-holes and crevices of the barn, they poured a hot and steady fire
on the red-coats.
The Pennsylvania regiment to which the Wyoming troops belonged, occupied
the strip of woods near the morass. Nathan was crouched behind a stump,
and next to him was Barnabas Otter. Captain Stanbury was twenty feet
away, and from time to time he looked anxiously around to see that his
boy was all right. Overhead bullets whistled, sending down fluttering
showers of leaves and twigs. Shells went screeching and hissing by, some
bursting far off, others exploding close at hand with a deafening
report. But Nathan kept his place like an old soldier, steadily loading
and firing, and shifting the hot breech of his musket from hand to hand.
At first the lad was nervous under fire, but that feeling had long since
passed away. His head was cool and his nerves steady. He felt that he
had to do his part in winning the battle, and he regretted that his post
of duty was with the skirmishers instead of on one of the flanks of the
main army. Men died around him by shot and shell, but these dreadful
sights only made his hand steadier and his aim truer.
"Be careful, boy," his father called to him. "Keep your head down."
"All right, sir," Nathan shouted back, "but I've got to see to fire."
"Aim low, lad," muttered old Barnabas Otter. "You know it's the natural
tendency of a musket to carry high."
"And who taught me that but yourself, Barnabas?" retorted Nathan. "Have
you forgotten all the fat deer I killed up on the Susquehanna? I'm
shooting just as carefully now."
He went on loading and firing, peering this way and that through the
smoke to get a glimpse of the red-coats. Far off he saw officers
galloping to and fro, and he wondered if one of them could be Godfrey
Spencer. He hoped the cruel fortune of war would not bring them together
on the battle-field.
So, for hour after hour through the long afternoon, the fight went on,
the skirmishers bravely holding their position. To right and left,
where the morass ended, there was a constant panorama of moving cavalry,
infantry and guns. The roar of battle echoed miles away, and the smoke
floated overhead on the still air. The heat was terrific, and men
dropped, fainting and exhausted, to the ground. Not since Bunker Hill
had the American army shown such desperate valor. In vain Clinton
thundered and stormed at the centre. In vain did Lord Cornwallis assail
Sterling's invincible left wing.
The approach of evening found both armies still holding their ground,
and now a large force of the British advanced on the American right
wing. But a spare battery hastened to that quarter, unlimbered their
guns, and poured into the enemy such a storm of shot and shell as drove
them back in confusion.
Part of an infantry brigade--mostly grenadiers--passed near the strip of
woods. The skirmishers had just turned their fire in this direction when
a mounted officer arrived with orders to charge on the enemy's flank.
With ringing cheers the Pennsylvania regiment poured out from the
trees, Captain Stanbury's Wyoming company in front; and a double-quick
trot brought them to close quarters with the rear of the British.
The grenadiers doggedly kept up the retreat, firing as they went, and
many fell on both sides. Most of the enemy's officers were far in front,
and Nathan felt sure that he recognized Godfrey's figure at a distance.
But one mounted officer, seeing what was taking place, pluckily galloped
back to the rear to try to rally the broken lines. He ventured too far,
and a shot brought horse and rider to the ground. Before his own men
could rescue him, the front line of the Americans was nearly at the
spot.
Barnabas and Nathan had seen the occurrence, and they ran up to the
officer just as he struggled to his feet from under the body of his
horse. At the first glance Nathan recognized Major Langdon, and he was
quick to observe the half healed scar on his left wrist.
[Illustration: "SURRENDER!" YELLED BARNABAS]
"Surrender!" yelled Barnabas, presenting his musket at the officer's
head.
Major Langdon glanced around, bit his lip passionately, and then dropped
his half-drawn sword into its scabbard.
"The fortune of war has made me your prisoner," he said proudly; "I am
an officer and a gentleman, and I demand proper treatment."
"You Britishers never were backward about demandin'," snorted Barnabas.
"Fall to the rear now."
Though the bullets were flying thickly Major Langdon showed no
inclination to move, he had suddenly seen and recognized Nathan, and
there was a strange look of hatred on his deeply flushed face as he
stared at the lad. Nathan returned the officer's piercing gaze for an
instant, and then, hearing a couple of loud shouts to one side, he
looked around in time to see his father toss up his arms and fall.
The retreating grenadiers were still being hotly pressed, both sides
firing steadily, but half a dozen men of Captain Stanbury's company at
once ran to him. He was lying on his back, deathly pale, and with blood
oozing from the left breast of his coat.
He lifted himself on one elbow as Nathan reached him and sank tearfully
down at his side.
"I am wounded, my boy--mortally wounded," he gasped, "but before I die I
have a secret to tell you--a secret that will change your whole life.
Listen, while I have breath to speak."