[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

While the scenes and events that we have recorded,
were occurring, Captain Lawton led his
small party, by slow and wary marches, from the
four-corners to the front of a body of the enemy,
where he so successfully manœuvred for a short
time as completely to elude all their efforts to entrap
him, and yet so to disguise his own force, as to
excite the constant apprehension of an attack from
the Americans. This forbearing policy on the
side of the partisan, was owing to orders that he
had received from his commander. When Dunwoodie
left his detachment, the enemy were known
to be slowly advancing, and he directed Lawton
to hover around them until his own return, and the
arrival of a body of foot, which might aid in intercepting
their retreat.

The trooper discharged his duty to the letter,
but with no little of the impatience that made part
of his character, when restrained from the attack.
During these movements, Betty Flanagan guided
her little cart with indefatigable zeal among the
rocks of West-Chester, now discussing with the
sergeant the nature of evil spirits and the quality
of her own, and now combatting with the surgeon

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sundry points of practice that were hourly arising
under their opposite opinions upon the subject of
stimulus. But the moment at length arrived that
was to terminate their controversies, and decide
the mastery of the field. A detachment of the
eastern militia moved out from their fastnesses,
and approached the enemy.

The junction between Lawton and his auxiliaries,
was made at midnight, and an immediate consultation
was held between him and the leader of
the foot soldiers. After listening to the statements
of the partisan, who rather despised the prowess
of his enemy, the commandant of the party determined
to attack the British, the moment that daylight
enabled him to reconnoitre their position,
without waiting for the aid of Dunwoodie and his
horse. So soon as this decision was made, Lawton
retired from the building where the consultation
was held, and rejoined his own small command.

The few troopers who were with the Captain,
had fastened their horses in a spot adjacent to a
hay-stack, and laid their own frames under its
shelter to catch a few hours sleep. But Dr. Sitgreaves,
Sergeant Hollister, and Betty Flanagan,
were congregated at a short distance by themselves,
having spread a few blankets upon the dry
surface of a rock. Lawton threw his huge frame
by the side of the surgeon, and folding his cloak
around him, leaned his head upon one hand, and
appeared deeply engaged in contemplating the
moon as it waded majestically through the heavens.
The sergeant was sitting upright in respectful deference
to the conversation that the operator was
kindly dispensing, and the washerwoman was now
raising her head in order to vindicate some of her
favourite maxims, and now composing it on one of
her gin casks, in a vain effort to sleep.

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“So, sergeant,” continued the operator, after
pausing a moment while Lawton took the position
which we have described, “if you cut upwards,
the blow, by losing the additional momentum of
your weight, will be less destructive, and at the
same time effect the true purposes of war, that
of disabling your enemy.”

“Pooh! pooh! sargeant, dear,” said the washerwoman,
raising her head from her blanket;
“where's the harm of taking a life jist in the way
of battle? Is it the rig'lars who'll show favour,
and they fighting? Ask Captain Jack, there, if
the country could get the liberty, and the boys
no strike their might—Pooh! I wouldn't have
them disparage the whiskey so much.”

“It is not to be expected, that an ignorant female
like yourself, Mrs. Flannagan,” returned
the operator, with ineffable disdain, “can comprehend
the distinctions of surgical science; neither
are you accomplished in the sword exercise;
so that dissertations upon the judicious use of that
weapon could avail you nothing, either in theory
or practice.”

“It's but little I care, any way, for sich botherments,”
said Betty, sinking her head under her
blanket again; “but fighting is no play, and a
body should'nt be partic'lar how they strike, or
who they hit, so it's the inimy.”

“Are we likely to have a warm day, Captain
Lawton?” said the surgeon, turning from the
washerwoman with vast contempt.

“'Tis more than probable,” replied the trooper
in a voice that startled his companion; “these
militia seldom fail of making a bloody field, either
by their cowardice or their ignorance. And the
real soldier is made to suffer for their bad conduct.”

“Are you ill, John?” said the surgeon, passing

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his hand along the arm of the captain, until it instinctively
settled on his pulse; but the steady,
even beat announced neither bodily nor mental
malady.

“Sick at heart, Archibald, at the folly of our
rulers, in believing that battles are to be fought,
and victories won, by fellows, who handle a musket
as they would a flail—lads who wink when
they pull a trigger, and form a line like a hoop
pole. It is the dependance we place on these
men that spills the best blood of the country.”

The surgeon listened to his philippic with
amazement. It was not the matter but the manner
that surprised him. The trooper had uniformly
exhibited on the eve of battle, an animation
and eagerness to engage, that was directly at variance
with the admirable coolness of his manner
at other times. But now there was a despondency
in the tones of his voice, and a listlessness in his
air, that was entirely different. The operator hesitated
a moment to reflect in what manner he
could render this change of service, in furthering
his favorite system, and then continued—

“It would be wise, John, to advise the Colonel
to keep at long shot—a spent ball will disable—”

“No!” exclaimed the trooper impatiently; “let
the rascals singe their whiskers at the muzzles of
the British muskets—if they can be driven there;
but enough of them. Archibald, do you deem
that moon to be a world like this, and containing
creatures like ourselves?”

“Nothing more probable, dear John—we know
its size, and reasoning from analogy, may easily
conjecture its use. Whether or not its inhabitants
have attained that perfection in the sciences which
we have acquired, must depend greatly on the
state of its society, and in some measure, upon its
physical influences.”—

[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]

“I care nothing about their learning, Archibald;
but, 'tis a wonderful power that can create such
worlds, and controul them in their wanderings. I
know not why, but there is a feeling of melancholy
excited within me, as I gaze on that body of
light, shaded as it is by your fancied sea and land.
It seems to be the resting-place of departed spirits!”

“Take a drop, darling,” said Betty, raising her
head once more, and proffering her own bottle;
“'tis the night damps that chills the blood—and
then the talk with the cursed militia is no good for
a fiery temper; take a drop darling, and yee'll
sleep 'till the morning. I fed Roanoke myself,
for I thought yee might need hard riding the morrow.”

“'Tis a glorious heaven to look upon,” continued
the trooper, in the same tone, and utterly
disregarding the offer of Betty; “and 'tis a thousand
pities, that such worms as men, should let
their vile passions deface such goodly work.”

“You speak the truth, dear John; there is room
for all to live and enjoy themselves in peace, if
each could be satisfied with his own. Still war has
its advantages—it particularly promotes the knowledge
of surgery—and”

“There is a star,” continued Lawton, still bent
on his own ideas, “struggling to glitter through a
few driving clouds; perhaps that too is a world,
and contains creatures endowed with reason like
ourselves; think you, that they know of war and
bloodshed?”

“If I might be so bold,” said sergeant Hollister,
mechanically raising his hand to his cap,“ 'tis
mentioned in the good book, that the Lord made
the sun to stand still, while Joshua was charging
the enemy, in order do you see, sir, as I suppose,
that they might have day-light to turn their flank,

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or perhaps make a feint in the rear, or some such
matter. Now, if the Lord would lend them a hand,
fighting cannot be sinful. I have often been non-plushed
though, to find that they used them chariots
instead of heavy dragoons, who are in all comparison,
better to break a line of infantry, and
who, for the matter of that, could turn such wheel
carriages, and getting in the rear, play the very
devil with them, horses, and all.”

“It is because you do not understand the construction
of those vehicles for war, sergeant Hollister,
that you judge of them so erroneously,”
said the surgeon. “They were armed with sharp
weapons that protruded from their wheels, and
which broke the columns of foot like the dismembered
particles of matter. I doubt not, if similar
instruments were affixed to the cart of Mrs. Flanagan,
that great confusion might be carried into
the ranks of the enemy thereby, this very day.”

“It's but little that the mare would go, and the
rig'lars firing at her,” grumbled Betty from under
her blanket; “when we got the plunder, the time
we drove them through the Jarseys, it was I had
to back the baste up to the dead, for divil the foot
would she move, forenent the firing, wid her eyes
open. Roanoke and Captain Jack are good enough
for the red coats, letting alone myself and the
mare.”

A long roll of the drums, from the hill occupied
by the British, announced that they were on the
alert, and a corresponding signal was immediately
heard from the Americans. The bugle of the
Virginians struck up its martial tones, and in a few
moments, both the hills, the one held by the royal
troops, and the other by their enemies, were alive
with armed men. Day had begun to dawn, and
preparations were making by either party, to give
and to receive the attack. In numbers the

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Americans had greatly the advantage, but in discipline
and equipments, the superiority was entirely with
their enemies. The arrangements for the battle
were brief, and by the time that the sun had risen,
the militia moved forward to the attack.

The ground did not admit of the movements of
the horse, and the only duty that could be assigned
to the dragoons, was to watch the moment of
victory, and endeavour to improve the success to
the utmost. Lawton soon got his warriors into
the saddle, and leaving them to the charge of Hollister,
he rode himself along the line of foot, who in
varied dresses and imperfectly armed, were formed
in a shape that in some degree resembled a martial
array. A scornful smile lowered around the lip
of the trooper, as he guided Roanoke with a skilful
hand through the windings of their ranks, and
as the word was given to march, he turned the
flank of the regiment, and followed close in the
rear. The Americans had to descend into a little
hollow, and rise a hill on its opposite side to approach
the enemy. The descent was made with
tolerable steadiness, until near the foot of the hill,
when the royal troops advanced in a beautiful line,
with their flanks protected by the formation of the
ground. The appearance of the British drew a
fire from the militia, which was given with good
effect, and for a moment staggered the regulars.
But they were rallied by their officers, and threw
in volley after volley, with great steadiness. For
a short time the firing was warm and destructive,
until the English advanced with the bayonet. This
assault the militia had not sufficient discipline to
withstand. Their line wavered, then paused, and
finally broke into companies, and fragments of
companies, keeping up at the same time a scattering
and desultory fire.

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Lawton witnessed these operations in silence,
nor opened his mouth to speak, until the field was
covered with parties of the flying Americans.—
Then, indeed, he seemed stung with the disgrace
that was thus heaped upon the arms of his country.
Spurring Roanoke along the side of the hill, he
called to the fugitives in all the strength of his
powerful voice. He pointed to the enemy, and
assured his countrymen that they had mistaken the
way. There was such a mixture of indifference
and irony in his exhortations, that a few paused
in surprise—more joined them, until roused by
the example of the trooper, and stimulated by
their own spirits, they demanded to be led against
their foe once more.

“Come on then, my brave friends!” shouted
the trooper, turning his horse's head towards the
British line, one flank of which was very near him;
“come on, and hold your fire until it will scorch
their eye-brows.”

The men sprang forward, and followed his example,
neither giving nor receiving a fire, until
they had reached to within a very short distance
of the enemy. An English sergeant, who had been
concealed by a rock, enraged with the audacity of
the officer who thus dared their arms, stept from
behind his cover, and advancing within a few yards
of the trooper levelled his musket—

“Fire, and you die,” cried Lawton, spurring
his charger, who sprung forward at the instant.
The action and the tone of his voice shook the
nerves of the Englishman, who drew his trigger
with an uncertain aim. Roanoke sprang with all
his feet from the earth, and, plunging, fell headlong
and lifeless at the feet of his destroyer. Lawton
kept his feet, and stood face to face with his enemy,
who presented his bayonet, and made a desperate
thrust at the trooper's heart. The steel of

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their weapons emitted sparks of fire, and the bayonet
flew fifty feet in the air. At the next moment
its owner lay a quivering corpse.

“Come on,” shouted the trooper, as a body of
English appeared on the rock and threw in a steady
fire; “come on,” he repeated, and brandished
his sabre fiercely. His gigantic form fell backward
like a majestic pine that was yielding to the
axe, but still, as he slowly fell, he continued to wield
his sabre, and once more the deep tones of his
voice uttered, “come on.”

The advancing Americans paused aghast, as they
witnessed the fate of their new leader, and then
turning, they left to the royal troops the victory.

It was neither the intention nor the policy of
the English commander to pursue his success, as
he well knew that strong parties of the Americans
would soon arrive; accordingly, he only tarried to
collect his wounded, and forming into a square, he
commenced his retreat towards their shipping.—
Within twenty minutes of the fall of Lawton, the
ground was deserted by both English and Americans.

When the inhabitants of the country were called
upon to enter the field, they were necessarily
attended by such surgical advisers, as were furnished
by the low state of the profession in the interior,
at that day. Dr. Sitgreaves entertained quite
as profound a contempt for the medical attendants
of the militia, as the Captain did of the troops
themselves. He wandered therefore, around the
field, casting many an expressive glance of disapprobation
at the slight operations that came under
his eye; but, when among the flying troops, he
found that his comrade and friend was no where
to be seen, he hastened back to the spot at which
Hollister was posted, to inquire if the trooper was
returned. Of course, the answer he received was

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in the negative. Filled with a thousand uneasy
conjectures, the surgeon, without regarding, or indeed
without at all reflecting, upon any dangers
that might lie in his way, strode over the ground
at an enormous rate, to the point where he knew
had been the final struggle. Once before, the surgeon
had rescued his friend from death, in a similar
situation, as he supposed, and he felt a secret
joy in his own conscious skill, as he perceived
Betty Flanagan seated on the ground, holding in
her lap the head of a man, whose size and dress
he knew belonged only to the trooper. As he approached
the spot, the surgeon became alarmed
at the aspect of the washerwoman. Her little
black bonnet was thrown aside, and her hair,
which was already streaked with gray, hung around
her face in disorder.

“John! dear John,” said the Doctor tenderly,
as he bent and laid his hand upon the senseless
wrist of the trooper, from which it recoiled with
an intuitive knowledge of his fate, “John! dear
John, where are you hurt?—can I help you?”

“Yee talk to the senseless clay,” said Betty,
rocking her body, and unconsciously playing with
the raven ringlets of the trooper's hair; “it's no
more will he hear, and it's but little will he mind
yee'r probes and yee'r med'cines. Och! hone—
och! hone—and where will be the liberty now? or
who will there be to fight the battles, or gain the
day?”

“John!” repeated the surgeon, still unwilling
to believe the evidence of his unerring senses;
“dear John, speak to me—say what you will, that
you do but speak. Oh! God!” exclaimed the
surgeon, giving way to his emotions, “he is dead;
would that I had died with him!”

“There is but little use in living and fighting
now,” said Betty; “both him and the baste!—

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see, there is the poor animal, and here is his master.
I fed the horse with my own hands the day;
and the last male that he ate, was of my own
cooking. Och! hone—och! hone—that Captain
Jack should live to be killed by the rig'lars!”

“John!—my dear John!” said the surgeon,
with convulsive sobs, “thy hour has come, and
many a more prudent man survives thee—but
none better, nor braver. Oh! John, thou wert
to me a kind friend, and very dear; it is unphilosophical
to grieve—but for thee, John, I must
weep, even in bitterness of heart!”

The Doctor buried his face in his hands, and
for several minutes sat yielding to an ungovernable
burst of sorrow; while the washerwoman gave vent
to her grief in words—moving her body in a kind
of writhing, and playing with different parts of her
favorite's dress with her fingers.

“And who'll there be to incourage the boys
now?” she said; “oh! Captain Jack!—Captain
Jack! yee was the sowl of the troop, and it
was but little we know'd of the danger, and yee
fighting. Och! he was no maly mouth'd, that
quarrelled wid a widowed woman for the matter
of a burn in the mate, or the want of a breakfast.
Taste a drop, darling, and it may be, 'twill revive
yee. Och! and he'll nivir taste agin—here's
the Doctor, honey, him yee used to blarney wid,
wapeing as if the poor sowl would die for yee.
Och! he's gone—he's gone, and the liberty is
gone wid him.”

A heavy and thundering sound of horses' feet
came rolling along the road which led near the
place where Lawton lay, and directly the whole
body of Virginians appeared, with Dunwoodie at
their head. The news of his Captain's fate had
reached him; for the instant that he noticed the
body, he halted the squadron, and dismounting,

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approached the spot. The countenance of Lawton
was not in the least distorted, but the angry
frown which had lowered over his brow, during
the battle, was fixed even in death. His frame
was composed, and stretched as if in sleep. Dunwoodie
took hold of his hand, and gazed a moment
in silence;—his own dark eye began to flash,
and the paleness which had overspread his features,
was succeeded by a spot of deep red in either
cheek.

“With his own sword will I avenge him!” he
cried, endeavouring to take the weapon from the
hand of Lawton—but the grasp resisted his utmost
strength. “It shall be buried with him:—Sitgreaves,
take care of our friend, while I revenge
his death.”

The Major hastened back to his charger, and
led the way in pursuit of the enemy.

While Dunwoodie had been thus engaged, the
body of Lawton lay in open view to the whole
squadron. He was an universal favourite, and the
sight inflamed the men to the utmost: neither officers
nor soldiers possessed that coolness which
is necessary to ensure success to military operations,
but they spurred ardently after their enemies,
burning with a single wish for vengeance.

The English were formed in a hollow square,
which contained their wounded, who were far from
numerous, and were marching steadily across a
very uneven country, as the dragoons approached.
The horse charged in column, and were led by
Dunwoodie, who, burning with revenge, thought
to ride through their ranks, and scatter them at a
blow; but the enemy knew their own safety too
well, and standing firm, received the charge on
the points of their bayonets. The horse of the
Virginians recoiled, and the rear rank of the foot
throwing in a close fire, the Major, with a few of

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his men fell. The English continued their retreat
the moment they were extricated from their assailants;
and Dunwoodie, who was severely, but
not dangerously wounded, recalled his men from
further attempts, which in that stony country must
necessarily be fruitless.

A sad duty remained to be fulfilled:—the dragoons
retired slowly through the hills, conveying
their wounded commander, and the body of Lawton.
The latter they interred under the ramparts
of one of the highland forts, and the former they
consigned to the tender care of his afflicted bride.

Many weeks were gone, before the Major was
restored to sufficient strength to be removed; during
those weeks, how often did he bless the moment
that gave him a right to the services of his
beautiful nurse! She hung around his couch with
fond attention; administered with her own hands
every prescription of the indefatigable Sitgreaves;
and grew each hour in the affections and esteem
of her husband. An order from Washington soon
sent the troops into winter quarters, and permission
was given to Dunwoodie to repair to his own
plantation, with the rank of Lieut. Col. in order
to complete the restoration of his health. Captain
Singleton made one of the party; and the whole
family retired from the active scenes of the war,
to the ease and plenty of the Major's own estate.
Before leaving Fishkill, however, letters were conveyed
to them through an unknown hand, acquainting
them with Henry's safety and good
health; and also that Colonel Wellmere had left
the continent for his native island, lowered in the
estimation of every honest man in the royal army.

It was a happy winter for Dunwoodie, and smiles
once more began to play around the lovely mouth
of Frances.

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