Marcel and I, with some others, were moved presently to the outskirts
with the skirmishers. We lay among some trees by the roadside, and in
the road one of our cannon with its complement of men was stationed to
drive back a large body of the British troops which threatened us on
that wing. We did not have to wait long for the attack. The heavy red
squares of the English appeared, pressing down the road. Then the gun, a
beautiful bronze twelve-pounder, became active, and the men who fought
it were full of zeal.
They fired for a time, working rapidly, skilfully, and without friction,
like a perfect machine, only the sergeant in command speaking, his
short, sharp orders snapping out like the crackling of a whip. The faces
of all were impassive, save for the occasional flash of an eye when a
shot beat its fellows. The gun was alive now, pouring a stream of
missiles from its bronze throat, the British replying with both cannon
and muskets.
Presently the men fell back a little with the gun, until they came to a
hillock, and then unlimbered again just beyond the crest, where they
were somewhat sheltered. They seemed to think that the new position was
good, and they would fight where they were. Ross, the sergeant in
command, a tall, thin Jerseyman with an impassive face, gave the order
to unlimber the cannon, and the six horses dragged the limber to the
proper distance in the rear. At an almost equal distance in the rear of
the limber stood the caisson, also with its six horses. The chief of
caisson, a short, stout man, was behind the limber ready to supply
ammunition when needed, his face calm, his nerves unmoved by the roar
and blaze of the combat, which rolled towards him in a flaming curve,
tipped with steel.
There were thirteen men with the gun and caisson, and the eyes of all
were on Sergeant Ross, who commanded it, a man worthy of his post and
fit for battle. The twelve horses stood in the rear. We were still near
them among the trees by the roadside, firing our rifles, and could hear
the few words that they said.
"We must stay here," resumed Sergeant Ross to the corporal, his gunner,
a tall, thin Jerseyman like himself and as calm and impassive. The
corporal looked at the heavy squares pressing forward as if to crush
them, listened a moment to the swell of the battle, but said nothing.
The men were at work already, serving in silence.
There had been no lull in the combat, and the advancing British line
looked like a red wave of fire. A shell burst over the men around the
gun, and a fragment struck the lead horse of the limber chest in the
neck. The animal uttered a single neigh of pain, and then let his head
drop, while the blood poured from his wound. His eye expressed
melancholy and resignation precisely like that of a stricken veteran. He
fell softly in a few moments, and died.
The battle was coming very near, and made many threats. The reserve men
cut the gear of the dead horse, dragged his body aside, and replaced him
with one of the six from the caisson. They did this without comment, and
the sergeant and the gunner took no notice.
"To your posts!" called Sergeant Ross.
His men sprang instantly to position. No. 7 took a charge of shot and
powder from the limber chest and passed it to No. 5, who handed it to
No. 2. No. 2 inserted it in the gun, while No. 1 rammed it home. The
gunner took aim at the black mass of the British army, red at the crest
with flame. Sergeant Ross gave the command to fire, and No. 4 obeyed.
The twelve-pound shot rushed through the air, but though watching and
eager to see, the men could not tell what damage it had done. The
advancing line was hidden at that moment by the floating smoke and the
flash of the firing. Those at the gun bent to their work. No. 1 ran his
sponge into the black muzzle, swabbed out the barrel, and No. 2 inserted
a fresh charge. These impassive men seemed to show no fear; they loaded
and fired as if unconscious of the showers of balls and bullets.
The British army pushed on, and its line of battle converged nearer, but
the men at the gun were still without emotion. This machine, whose parts
were human beings, worked in a beautiful way, and we admired them.
Again the cannon was alive, pouring forth its rapid stream of shot.
"We must drive 'em back!" said Sergeant Ross.
"We'll blow 'em to hell with this twelve-pounder," said the corporal.
He patted the gun, a polished piece kept in perfect order. They fired
again, and the shattered British line crumpled up before the rage of the
twelve-pounder, which was pouring its fire into it, faster and faster;
the rows had already become thinner at that point, the bulk of the force
turning aside against the heavier Continental battalions. The hopes of
the men with the gun rose.
"We'll mow 'em down," said No. 1, the sponger and rammer, a boy of
twenty.
They showed feeling at last, and their faces brightened up. They were
young, in fact, boys rather than men; the oldest of them was under
twenty-five, and the youngest was not more than seventeen.
The battle veered a little, and thundered to right and left; but the
thinner line in front of the gun was still advancing, and its muskets
threatened. A battery, a little distance in its rear, threw shot over
its head; but the regular and precise work of the men was not disturbed.
"Depress that gun a bit!" said Ross to the corporal, in his sharp,
snapping voice. It was done. The discharge that followed swept down a
row of advancing men in red. The gunner smiled, and the captain of the
gun nodded approvingly. The cannoneers said nothing, but No. 7 passed
another cartridge.
A shell screamed through the air, took off Sergeant Ross's head and
passed on. The corporal made no comment, but joined the duties of
captain of the gun to his own duties as gunner. The regularity and
precision of the work was not disturbed for a moment. The gun had
aroused more attention in the British lines, and it became necessary to
silence it and destroy the men who served it. It was merely a small
incident in the course of a great battle, but the gun had become an
obstacle.
"They know we are here," said the corporal to the new gunner, a faint
smile appearing on his brown face.
"Yes, and they are throwing us bouquets," replied the gunner, as a
shower of bullets flew over their heads.
There was a crash in their ears, a blaze of light like that struck by
steel, and the cannon toppled over. The four men nearest it fell to the
ground, three sprang up quickly; but the fourth, who was No. 5, a
cannoneer, lay still and dead. A reserve man instantly took his place.
The others ran anxiously to the cannon. They paid no attention to the
dead man. The wounded gun was of far more importance than many men.
"The wheel's smashed! No harm beyond that!" said the corporal. Then he
shouted,--
"Change wheels!"
The rubbish was dragged away, the extra wheel, provided for such cases,
was brought as by another turn of the perfect machine from its place on
the caisson, and fitted on the axle. No. 4, a cannoneer, was killed by
a bullet while they were doing it; but the second reserve man took his
place, and the battery went on with its work as well as ever.
The gun was fired rapidly again, and the men saw that the effect was
good; the red line of their enemy had been shattered once more. The
corporal glanced a little to the left, and said, in an unchanged voice:
"A cavalry charge is coming; stand steady!"
The red line of infantry was suddenly blotted out, and in its place a
line of horsemen rose out of the smoke. They were riding at a gallop,
firing from their pistols, their sabres ready for the swinging blow when
the charge was driven home, a swelling wave, edged with fire and steel.
It was a glittering and magnificent sight.
The boys about the gun looked anxious at the sight of the cavalry, but
the corporal was calm.
"Load with grape, triple charges!" he said, and his voice cracked louder
and sharper than ever.
The grape, triple charges, was rammed into the twelve-pounder, and the
wonderful machine that handled the gun increased its speed. The British
cavalry galloped into a stream of fire. The gun was hidden from them by
the incessant blaze and smoke of its discharges, and the triple loads of
grape whizzed among them, killing horses and horsemen, destroying the
precision of their ordered lines, crumpling up those in front, and
heaping the dead in the way of those behind. But the unslain horsemen
galloped on, and always before them roared the engine of death, the gun,
and always about them whistled the showers of grape. Presently they
were into the flame and the smoke, and before them rose the gun and its
detachment.
"Stretch prolonge ropes!" shouted the corporal to his men.
The drivers cracked their whips over the horses, and whirled the caisson
and the limber chest about, bringing them, horses and all, into line
with the piece, and in a moment, heavy ropes were stretched from the
cannon to the limber chest, and from the limber chest to the caisson,
and the fighting men were crouching in their appointed positions between
the wheels, and around the gun, holding in hand their pistols and
artillery swords, short, heavy weapons with which they could slash as
with axes. The cavalry company was charging upon a breastwork held by an
armed force.
"Let 'em have it with the pistols!" cried the corporal to his men.
The pistols began to crack, and more holes appeared in the charging
lines of horsemen. When a trooper was hit hard in the breast or
shoulder, up went his hands, and he fell back from his horse; if struck
in the limbs, he fell forward and rolled off. Some horses that had lost
their riders kept place in the charge and galloped on. Two or three
others turned to one side, and ran about, neighing with fear and alarm,
but would not leave the field. All sprang aside when they came to a
wounded or dead man lying on the ground.
The cavalry company was not large, and many saddles were empty before it
smashed into the gun and its defenders. Then a terrible tumult arose.
There was a confused mêlée of rearing horses, men leaning in the saddle,
firing with pistols and slashing with sabres. Other men, brown and wiry,
reaching over and bending forward among the wheels, striking upward with
short heavy swords, killing horses and riders, and darting about like
Indians, evading alike the hoofs of the horses and the slashes of the
horsemen. There was a sickening whit of steel cutting through flesh, the
gasp of last and hard-drawn breaths, and the sound of falls. The horses
became entangled among the ropes, and stumbled over the gun and caisson,
throwing their riders to the earth. The sinewy forms of their enemies
slipped in and out like snakes, escaping the blows aimed from above, but
steadily deepening the stains on their own red swords. Shouts, cries,
and the stamp of horses' feet came from the whirling ball of fire and
smoke, which began presently to throw forth men and horses. The
cavalrymen who still rode, galloped away, and those who were on foot
now, followed. Many of the horses were riderless, and they joined others
that ran up and down the field, always keeping the battle in view. Then
the ball split asunder entirely, and each half began to shred off in
fragments; the dying combat, and the men, the living and the dead, rose
out of it. The ground over which they had fought was a soaking red mire,
and the wheels of cannon, caisson, and limber were sunk deep in it. But
the cavalry had been beaten; entangled in the breastwork of the gun and
its equipment and the prolonge ropes, they had been unable to withstand
the slashing and the thrusting of the short artillery swords, and those
who lived fled to the main line of their army, knowing their defeat and
not seeking to hide it. A trumpet sounded the recall, and the riderless
horses, ceasing their restless race to and fro on the field, fell into
line like the veterans they were, and followed the bugler back to the
army which owned them.
The men about the gun may have enjoyed their victory; but they gave no
sign, and the seven who were left, four having fallen, were reloading as
if nothing had happened to interrupt the regular firing of their one gun
battery. No. 1, the sponger and rammer, had been killed by a
pistol-shot. No. 2 had taken his place, his own place being taken in
turn by No. 3, and so on, each moving up a step in the promotion of
death. There was no reserve men now, and the force at the caisson was
reduced. The corporal was bleeding from a sabre-cut on the head; but he
took no notice of it, nor did the men comment on the appearance of his
face, which was dyed red. Such things had grown common.
"We gave 'em hell that time," said the corporal.
"And we can do it again," said he who had been No. 2, but now was No. 1.
The men, though saying nothing, began to feel their victory. They were
making a great fight and they knew it. Their beloved cannon was
excelling itself. They patted the barrel and the wheels, and ran their
hands along the shining bronze, saying, "Good old boy!" and "Well done!"
The prolonge ropes were taken down, the limber chest and caisson were
sent back to the rear, and the great one gun battery again went into
action.
"Aim at that mass of infantry across the hill there," said the corporal,
and the shot was placed in the appointed spot.
The fires of many British guns was turned upon this cannon which had
become most annoying, stinging like a wasp. The defeat of the cavalry
furnished mortification too, and the necessity to silence the gun and
annihilate its detachment grew more imperative. A sleet of lead and iron
beat about it. A hot shot struck the limber chest, and a volcano of fire
and smoke, accompanied by a terrific explosion, gushed up. Pieces of
iron and steel and oaken wood whizzed through the air, and for a few
moments both men and horses were blinded by the dazzling burst of flame.
The limber chest was no longer there; but a deep hole appeared in the
earth where it had been, and the space about it was strewed with old
iron. It had been blown up by the hot shot, and the corporal, who was
taking charges from the chest, and three horses were blown up with it.
The other horses, torn loose from their gear and chest, had run away,
bleeding. The new driver of the caisson cracked his whip over the heads
of his horses, and whirled the limber into the place of the limber
destroyed. The chief of caisson proceeded to supply ammunition to the
gun, which did not slacken its industry.
The main battle rolled a little further away, and the horses and the gun
formed a projection of the American line extending into the British. But
the nature of the ground on either side, and the occupation furnished by
our army to the bulk of the British troops, protected their flanks. The
danger lay directly in front of them.
The gun was getting hot, and they were forced to let it cool a little.
The corporal watched the enemy, while his gun rested. He never turned
his eyes towards his comrades, knowing they would do their duty.
"They advance slowly," he said to the new No. 1.
"They do not like the kisses of old Hammer and Tongs here," replied No.
1, patting the gun.
"Is that sponge burnt out?" asked the corporal.
No. 1 did not reply.
"Why don't you answer?" asked the corporal, a little impatiently.
"He's quit talking," said Acting No. 2.
The corporal did not ask, as he knew there could be only one reason for
No. 1's inability. A bullet had passed through the man's heart, and he
had died gracefully and without noise. All the men moved up another
step, but both the gun and the caisson were shorthanded. They were too
few now to have repulsed a second cavalry charge; but, luckily for them,
the second charge was not forthcoming. Infantry and guns alone were
before them.
"Begin firing!" said the corporal.
The silent Jerseyman who was chief of caisson passed the charges, and in
a moment the deep note of the gun blended with the surge and roar of the
battle. Shot followed shot. The machine was reduced, but no change was
apparent in the quantity or quality of its work.
"The old gun can still talk good English," said the corporal, with
intense satisfaction.
A fragment of grape cut him in half. The chief of caisson was promoted
to the command of the gun, and took his new office without friction or
delay. Six men with such a willing and experienced cannon could yet hold
eloquent converse with their enemy. Still there were disadvantages. The
force at the limber was so small that the charges were handled with
difficulty, and the firing speed was reduced. The hostile line of battle
was pressing alarmingly near, and, moreover, it had begun at last to
converge on the flanks of the gun. Although we with our rifles were
protecting them as much as we could, one of the reserve men looked
behind him and spoke of retreat.
"This gun is tired of retreating," said the new captain. "It stays right
here, and we stay with it."
Fierce and defiant, the rapid note of the twelve-pounder boomed out.
A minute later the new wheel that had been supplied to it from the
caisson was smashed like its predecessor by a round shot; to fill its
place, they took off the hinder part of the caisson, leaving it a
cripple, and put it on the gun, which became again as good as new.
The fire of the twelve-pounder was undiminished.
"We still hold 'em back; we've won our day's pay and perhaps a little
more," remarked the new captain, rather in a tone of soliloquy than
address.
The balance of pay was never collected. A whiff of grape exterminated
him and the man who stood nearest him, and the gun had only four
assistants in its work. Two of these four men were wounded, and they
might have thought of retreat; but a shot struck the caisson, blew it
up, and killed the drivers, and all the horses except two. It was no
longer possible to carry away the gun, and the three men who were left
would not abandon it to the enemy.
The surviving horses hovered near, turning about in a small circle.
The man who had been No. 5, a cannoneer, was the senior, and took
command. He was wounded, but he lost little blood and concealed the
hurt.
"Shall we run?" asked one of his comrades.
"One more shot for good count!" he replied.
They aimed with deliberation, though the balls and bullets rained around
them. The cannoneer chose the densest red of the advancing mass, and
sent the shot straight to the mark. Before the smoke from the discharge
sank, three British shells burst, almost simultaneously, among the last
defenders, and when the smoke cleared no one was standing there. The
gun, blown from its wheels and torn open at the breech, was useless
forever.