The Tory Maid

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE SANDS OF MONMOUTH

  For a week we hung on the flank of the enemy, waiting for anopportunity to strike, as we saw the immense train form on the rightbank of the Delaware and take up its cumbersome march across theJersey plains.

  With it marched the whole force of the British army of seventeenthousand men, who did their duty so well that we longed for an openingin vain.

  All through those blazing hot days of June we marched through thesands of Jersey, ankle deep as we trudged along, and it seemed as ifthe time for a trial of strength would never come. All to the east andsouth of us the great train of their wagons crawled along through theheat and the dust, and the sun glinted and gleamed on the points ofthe bayonets as the mass of their troops marched on.

  Slowly they crawled through the dusty roads of Jersey, and slowly theywere crawling beyond the reach of our arms into the haven of safety.

  At last, on the 27th of the month, they reached the heights ofMonmouth, within a day's march of their journey's end, while we layfive miles away at Englishtown, swearing low and earnestly at ourluck.

  That night there came news to the camp that put new life in the men,and made them forget the heat and the toil of the march; the news thatthe great General had decided to risk a throw in the morning, and thatour regiment was to be with the advance.

  And so, when Lee rode up to take command, we gave him a cheer, forthough we disliked and distrusted the man, yet his coming meant afight in the morning.

  Then there was a great stir in the camp; the men saw to their muskets,and the signs everywhere told of their eager preparations for thedeadly struggle in the morning, while the cheery laugh and thesnatches of song spoke well for the spirits of the men after the long,toilsome march of the day.

  The sun comes up out of the ocean early in Jersey, but even before itsrays had cleared the pine tops our camp was stirring with life, themen preparing for the advance.

  But there seemed to be a fatality about it all; a hand, as it were,covered us and held us back, paralyzing the spirit of the men. Delayfollowed delay, and when at last the regiments took up the line ofmarch, ours was held back until almost the last. The New Jerseyvolunteers had the post of honour, as they longed to revenge theirruined homesteads and devastated farms, and then our turn came.

  We marched out of Englishtown into the dreary country beyond. On everyside sand dunes, former barriers of the ocean, raised their crests,covered with a straggling forest of stunted pines and scrub trees,which, in the passes in the hills, came down to the road, disputingthe passageway, while in the shallow valleys lay the open fields andmarshes. A dreary country withal, but where a small body of troopscould hold the passes in the hills against many hundreds and make goodtheir defence.

  We passed through the defile in the first range of hills, crossed thelow valley, and then, after passing through the second defile, we hadonly to cross the one before us to be on the heights overlooking theenemy's position at Freehold.

  As we approached this last pass in the hills we were surprised to seea steady stream of our troops coming back in disorder through the gap.The men were retreating doggedly in broken ranks, and turning, as theytrudged along, to look back, as if with half a mind to return.

  As they came streaming past our advance I called to a sergeant, an oldbackwoodsman whose courage I knew, and asked him of the battle and whyhe was not fighting.

  "Fight?" he cried indignantly, "why, damn it, Lieutenant, they willnot let us fight. They ordered us to retreat before a musket wasfired."

  At that moment Captain Mercer, an aide of the staff of General Lee,rode up to Colonel Ramsay, who was near me.

  He delivered an order rapidly, and then I heard Ramsay's voice ringout angrily. "Retreat?" he cried. "By whose order?"

  "By the order of General Lee."

  "But," he protested hotly, "we have not seen the enemy yet."

  Mercer shrugged his shoulders. "I only carry the order," he said.

  The stream of fugitives grew rapidly, becoming more disorderly,showing at every step the spread of the panic and the rout, as ColonelRamsay stopped the advance and gave the order to retreat.

  Slowly and reluctantly we obeyed, and as we retired through the secondpass in the hills we saw the British gain the opposite ridge andadvance with cheers on the disorderly flying mass in the sandy valleybehind.

  Every moment the press of the fugitives grew greater, and though westill maintained our formation and marched as on parade the retreathad turned into a rout. On every side and in our rear the brokenranks of the army poured past, demoralised and in despair, and evernearer came the musketry and the cheers of the advancing English.

  "They will catch us before we get through the gap," said Dick, lookingat the pass in front of us.

  "Then we will fight anyhow," I replied, "and General Lee can go to thedevil."

  Whereupon our spirits began to pick up, and the men retreated moreslowly than ever, glancing over their shoulders to see how near thehead of the British column was.

  At last we came to the foot of the first pass, with its hills heavilycovered with scrub pines. Behind us stretched the fields of brokentroops, and we could see the red line of the British as they debouchedupon the plain and drove the patriots before them.

  It was a wild scene of confusion and disorder, of demoralised retreatand rout; and then something happened.

  There was a stir in the pass in our front, a clatter of hoofs, andthere appeared before us the General with his staff. He towered therewith his great figure, a veritable god of war and of wrath.

  For a moment his eye swept the field, and his face flushed crimsonwith indignation and anger, as he saw the best troops of his armyflying like sheep before the enemy. There was a storm in the air, andthen, as Lee rode up, it broke.

  We heard his excited "Sir, sir!" and the General's angry tones, andthen dismissing him contemptuously, he called to Hamilton to ask ifthere was a regiment which could stop the advance.

  Ramsay sprang forward.

  "My regiment is ready, General."

  "If you stop them ten minutes until I form, you will save the army."

  "I will stop them or fall," cried Ramsay, and, turning to us, he gavethe order to "About face," and then crying that the General relied onus to save the army, he led us in the charge.

  Not a moment too soon, for, as the press of the fugitives was brushedaside by our advance, mingling in the midst of the disorderly mass,came the red line of the British, cheering and victorious.

  But suddenly the flying mass disappeared, and in their place came theyell of the Maryland Line, the long array of their bayonets bent tothe charge, with all the fury and weight of their onset.

  For a moment the red line hesitated; then an officer, who lookedstrangely familiar, sprang forward, shouting:

  "They are nothing but dogs of rebels; charge and break them."

  The red line answered with a cheer, for their fighting blood was up,and they dashed forward to meet us.

  Then came such a clash of steel as is seldom heard, as the King'sGrenadiers and the Maryland Line met in the shock of the charge. For amoment so close was the press that we could not wield our arms, andmen fell, spitted on each other's bayonets.

  Then came a deadly struggle, as men fought desperately, hand to hand,and the lines swayed backward and forward as the weight of the numberstold. The ground was lost and gained, struggled for and won over andover, while the dead lay in heaps under our feet.

  It was in the midst of this deadly struggle, when I was fighting swordin hand amid the press of bayonets for my very life, that I sawRamsay, who was near, cheering on his men, come face to face with theofficer who led the charge of the Grenadiers. Then, in that stormcentre, around which the roar of battle raged, there was a flash ofsteel and the swords crossed. But in the fury of the battle duels areshort and fierce, and I saw Ramsay, who was already covered withwounds, falter for a moment, as the other lunged, and then he was downamong the slain.
br />   Our line hesitated as Ramsay fell, and the English pressed on with acheer. But I sprang forward, shouting to the men to save theirColonel, and they, answering my call, forced the English back, until Istood by Ramsay's body. But only for a moment; before we could raiseRamsay gently up and bear him off the field, there came another chargeof the Grenadiers that forced us off our feet and hurled us backward,fighting desperately, leaving the body of our Colonel in the hands ofthe enemy. But in the _melee_ I found my sword crossing that of theofficer who had fought with Ramsay, and instantly I attacked himfiercely, for I was burning to avenge Ramsay's fall. But he, with easeand coolness, parried all my thrusts and played with me as if I werebut a child. Then, as I was growing desperate, he called to me, "Nay,lad, go try your sword on some one else and leave an old Scot alone. Iwould not hurt you for the world."

  I started and let the point of my sword fall, for it was the voice ofthe old Tory, whom I had not before recognised in the confusion of thefight. This slight hesitation almost led to my capture, for I had beenfighting in advance of our line, and now I found myself in the midstof the English troops. So, saluting the old Tory hastily, I regainedour lines.

  Then, fighting foot by foot and inch, by inch, we contested theiradvance, as the weight of numbers bore us backward up the hill intothe pines. But every minute gained meant the salvation of the army.

  Ah, it was hot work there, ankle deep in the sand, with the broilingsun above us, while the smoke and the dust of the conflict filled ourthroats and eyes; but we staggered on and fought blindly, desperately,amid the din and the carnage.

  Ten minutes, twenty minutes--ah, there it is at last, and the roar ofthe opening battle broke out to the right and left of us, as there-formed regiments went into the fight.

  Then to our left came the high piercing yell of our brothers of theLine, and we knew that the British were falling back before them. TheGrenadiers struggled on for a moment longer, but the force of theircharge was spent, and the fire of the new regiments forced them backin turn.

  But it was only for awhile, for they re-formed, and, under theleadership of the gallant Monkton, hurled themselves upon us onceagain.

  Monkton fell, and their lines shrivelled up under our fire. Then, asit was near the setting of the sun, Washington, glancing over thefield, saw that the time had come and ordered the advance.

  Our whole line sprang forward, and, though we had borne the brunt, thetoil, and heat of the day, not a man faltered. As the long line sweptforward the British slowly retreated before us. We drove them acrossthe plain and through the second pass, where night overtook us andstopped our pursuit.

  But then, when the fever of the battle left us, a great fatigueseized hold of our limbs, the men sank to the earth as they stood,and slept from very exhaustion.

  But we were soon to be aroused.

  Through the darkness came the sound of a horse's hoofs, and a voice,asking for Ramsay's regiment. I sprang up, answering, and sawapproaching a body of horsemen. The foremost rider seemed an immensefigure, as he advanced in the darkness; but I, who had seen him oftenbefore, knew him to be the great General.

  I immediately gave the alarm, and the men sprang to their feet andpresented arms.

  And then, there under the pines, by the light of the stars, theGeneral rode down our line, and, coming to the centre, we felt hisglance fall over our ranks.

  "Men of Maryland," spoke Washington, and his voice rang clear throughthe pines, "once before at Long Island you saved the army, and to-day,for a second time, you have done so by your courage and tenacity. Ithank you in the name of the army and the nation; I thank you formyself."

  A wild yell that broke from the Line was his answer. We forgot ourfatigue and our wounds in the pride of the moment.