In Hostile Red Part 40

"Because, if it does," said Marcel, "I hope the battle will be brought on at once, and that it will be a most ferocious contention. Then it may cause a shower heavy enough to cool us off."

"Whether it brings rain or not," I said, "I think the battle will soon be upon us."

Up went the sun, redder and fiercer than ever. The heavens blazed with his light. The men panted like dogs, and their tongues hung out. The red coats of the British opposite us looked so bright that they dazzled my eyes. The leaves of the apple-trees cracked and twisted up.

"It would be funny," said Marcel, "if the British were to charge upon us and find us all lying here in a placid row, dead, killed by the sun."

"Yes," said I, "it would be very funny."

"But not impossible," said the persistent Marcel.

We lay near the little town of Freehold in the Jersey fields, where we had overtaken the retreating British, and intended to force a battle, although we were much inferior in numbers and equipment.

I can say with truth that the men were eager for the fight. They had starved long at Valley Forge, and now with full stomachs they had come upon the heels of a flying enemy. Moreover, we had been raised up mightily by the French alliance. We did not know then how much the French were to disappoint us, and how little aid they were to give us until the final glorious campaign.

"Listen!" exclaimed a soldier near me.

"What is it, Alloway?" I asked.

"The battle! It's begun!" he replied.

The sound of a rifle-shot came through the hot air across the fields, and then many more sang together. A half mile away, under the low lines of trees, a cloud of smoke was rising, and the base of it was red with flashes. Presently a cannon boomed its deeper note, and the echo of shouts came faintly. At last the battle had begun, and our men, panting already in the heat, grew hotter with impatience. It was hard to lie there under the burning sun while the battle swelled, without us. But we had no choice, and we pulled at the dry gra.s.s, while we watched the growing combat.

CHAPTER THIRTY--_The Defence of the Gun_

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 impa.s.sive, 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 impa.s.sive 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 impa.s.sive. 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 sh.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.s 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 impa.s.sive men seemed to show no fear; they loaded and fired as if unconscious of the showers of b.a.l.l.s 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 h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sed another cartridge.

A sh.e.l.l screamed through the air, took off Sergeant Ross's head and pa.s.sed 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 hors.e.m.e.n, 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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.