The general was so eager that Graves and I were several yards behind him
when we emerged from the house into the midst of a great tumult,
orderlies galloping from the door with despatches, and others returning
for more, while lights were increasing rapidly in the city, and soldiers
were gathering for duty. It was evident that Sir William was thoroughly
aroused, and intended to capture Wildfoot if it were possible to do such
a thing. My first feeling of anger against the ranger because of his
treatment of me passed, as I reflected that he naturally took me for a
British officer, and could not have done otherwise, even had he known
the difference. Now I began to fear for him. I did not wish this bold
man, so valuable to our cause, to be captured, possibly to be hanged
upon some pretext or other. But Sir William did not give me much time to
think.
"Be sure you follow me, Melville," he said.
He was already on horseback, and, mounting a horse that an orderly held
for me, I galloped after him. He had gathered several other aides in his
rapid pursuit, and we made quite a cavalcade, the hoofs of our horses
thundering upon the hard street. The whole city was awake now;
night-capped heads were thrust from windows, and trembling voices asked
what was the matter. But we paid no heed, galloping on.
Catron was among the officers who had joined us, and pointing towards
Germantown, he said:--
"They ran this way; I saw four men with pistols in their hands dash down
the street. One was very large."
"That was Wildfoot! It was he! Sound the call!" Sir William shouted
joyfully to a trumpeter.
The man put the instrument to his lips and blew the hunting call.
Merrily rose the notes, and Sir William's spirits rose with them. He
felt sure that already he held Wildfoot in the hollow of his hand.
Our rapid ride was bringing us near the outskirts of the city, where the
British intrenchments and fortifications lay, and I imagined that it was
Sir William's plan to establish first a thorough picket line, and then
to search every house in Philadelphia for Wildfoot and his comrades.
But, turning my eyes to the southward, I saw a sudden rosy glow under
the dark horizon which deepened in a moment into pink and then into red,
rising in a lofty pyramid. Sparks shot from it. I pointed it out to Sir
William at once. He paused, perplexed.
"It is a fire, clearly enough," he said; "but I wonder what it can be!"
His doubt lasted only a moment. An aide, much excited, galloped up and
informed us that the cantonments of the troops to the southward had been
set on fire, and were now burning fiercely.
"An accident?" asked Sir William, deeply annoyed.
"The men are sure that it was caused by the rebels," replied the aide.
"There is nothing to be done but to put it out as best you can," replied
Sir William, and he began to give instructions; but even as he spoke the
report of rifle-shots came from a point a little farther to the north,
distant yet distinct, sounding so far away like the popping of a hickory
log under the flames. There were red sparks too, no bigger than
fire-flies, and both the cracking noises and the sparks increased. Sir
William stopped his horse and gazed anxiously at the little red flashes.
"An attack by the rebels, and at this of all times," he said in tones of
great annoyance, but to himself rather than to us. It was not likely
that our ragged little army could storm fortified Philadelphia and
defeat the powerful and far more numerous force that defended it; but
Sir William was so much engrossed with the pursuit of Wildfoot that he
resented any interference demanding his attention. He swore again in his
wrath.
"Catron," he said, "you must go at once to that point. If the force
there is not sufficient, hurry forward these."
He began to name regiments that would be available.
Catron galloped away, and before the sound of his horse's hoofs had
died, more rifle-shots were heard still farther to the northward, coming
from a point entirely new. The fire quickly blazed up there like a
flame in a tinder dry forest, indicating another attack, heavier perhaps
than the first. We paused, uncertain which way to go; and while we
hesitated, the attack developed at a fourth point far to the southward,
some of the ships in the river replying, the deep boom of the cannon
rising like the notes of a funeral bell above the crackle of the
musketry. A hum sprang up too from Philadelphia, the alarm of the people
deepening as the firing seemed to spread and ring them around. They
feared another battle fought almost at their doors, like that of
Germantown. The cantonments, mostly light wooden structures, burned
brightly, adding to the alarm, and casting a glow over the hurrying
regiments. I confess, American as I was, and much as I should have
enjoyed the doubts of the British, that I, too, was in a daze. My own
peculiar position was assuming most perplexing phases.
"If I only knew what this meant!" exclaimed Sir William. "Perhaps, after
all, I can leave my men to brush off those rebels while I continue my
search for Wildfoot."
His eagerness to capture the partisan seemed to increase, and I did not
wonder at it. I should have felt the same way in his place. We were
joined at this moment by more officers, among whom I saw Belfort and
Schwarzfelder. The German's face was inflamed by drink, and his talk was
full of warlike fury. It died, however, when Sir William looked towards
him, although it was Belfort's hand on his arm that warned him to make
less noise.
Another light flamed up at the central point of attack, and one of the
officers stated that it was a farmhouse occupied as quarters by the
troops, evidently set on fire, like the other cantonments, by the
rebels. The rapid br-r-r of the rifle-shots there indicated that it was
the heaviest point of attack.
This seemed to decide Sir William, and he rode towards the farmhouse,
ordering us to follow. I looked back and saw the lights of the city
twinkling behind us, and I felt sure that Wildfoot and his comrades lay
hidden there, perhaps in the houses of trusty patriots. The attack at
this particular time was either a lucky chance, or part of a clever
scheme, and my admiration of the man, always great, increased. We
approached the scene of the combat, and the volume of the firing swelled
rapidly, the shouts of the combatants coming to our ears; yet we could
see but little of the battle. The night was dark, and the assailing
force which had driven back the pickets was sheltered by a rail fence
standing within the original British lines. The little jets of flame ran
along the fence for some hundreds of yards, but the Americans remained
invisible. None could even make a guess at their numbers.
"Stop, Sir William!" exclaimed Belfort, suddenly. "Let us dispose of
these skirmishers before you advance."
Belfort never lacked courage, and his remark was well-timed. I heard the
br-r-r of a bullet over our heads, and then another, and then many
others. Two men were struck the next instant, and a horse was killed. It
was obviously not the place of the commander-in-chief to ride into such
a hornet's nest, and he drew off a bit. An unusually heavy volley burst
from the fence, and the British pickets were driven back. The officers
with us gathered up the fugitives, and led them in a charge.
"Stay with me, Melville," said Sir William to me. "I shall want you for
despatches."
I was devoutly thankful for his order, not being willing to join in a
charge against my own countrymen, and I sat willingly on my horse beside
him. I was of the opinion that the attack of the British would fail, as
they were in too small force, and should have waited for the regiments
which were coming up rapidly.
All the officers were on horseback save the one whose mount had been
shot from beneath him, and a bulky figure which I recognized even in the
dark as Schwarzfelder's led the van. The German, for all I knew, was a
brave man; but the wine that he had been drinking was now more potent in
bringing him on and putting him in the foremost place.
The attacking force of English numbered about a hundred, and, despite
their scanty numbers, they rushed forward with the greatest gallantry,
shouting to each other and uttering a hearty cheer. The top of the fence
burst into a long streak of flame, and the crack of many rifles together
made a heavy crash, followed by an irregular crackle, as more rifles
were fired. All but a few in the front ranks of the attacking column
were cut down, and those in the rear still pushing on, dropped fast
before the deliberate fire of the concealed sharpshooters.
"It's a trap," I said to Sir William; "the English are sure to be
beaten."
We heard a rapid drum behind us, and the footsteps of an advancing
regiment; but they would be too late to save the forlorn hope charging
the fence. The crackling fire swelled again into a volley, and the red
blur made by the uniforms of the advancing English became dimmer. I
heard a groan beside me. It was Vivian, pale and weak, with a limply
hanging arm, who had ridden up.
"They will all be killed," he said.
The charging force was now approaching the fence, and always in the van
was the bulky figure of Schwarzfelder, bestriding his horse, man and
beast apparently alike untouched, the German brandishing a huge sword,
and shouting as if he were possessed by a demon.
"Certainly Schwarzfelder is brave," muttered Sir William, who perhaps
remembered the night that I had cast the German out of his quarters. The
forlorn hope was almost at the fence, and then the fire of the riflemen
increased rapidly. Many of the English fell, and the few who were left,
unable to stand such a leaden sleet, turned and ran, as they should have
done long before, all except Schwarzfelder, who rode straight at the
fence.
Then I saw an unusual thing. Two men, evidently large and powerful, and
at the distance the first looked to me remarkably like Wildfoot, sprang
over the fence and seized Schwarzfelder from either side. Then, while
one tore the sword from his hand, the other, the one who looked like
Wildfoot, sprang up behind him, and, holding him around the waist,
jumped the horse over the low fence. Then we heard the distant thud of
hoofs as they disappeared in the darkness.
"What an insult to Hessian dignity!" said Vivian beside me. Then he
added in a low voice, that Sir William might not hear: "There's an end
to your duel, Melville. The gods are surely unwilling for you to fight."
When the regiment advancing to the relief reached the fence, the
Americans were gone and no one could discover where. The attack at the
other points ceased almost simultaneously, and the fires burned out
slowly. The search for Wildfoot in the city was continued, but no trace
of him could be found, and, eating his heart out in his anger, Sir
William returned to his quarters.