CHAPTER XVI

THE ATTACK

And now because I am come so nearly to the time when I must cease setting down what we lads did--cease because we no longer hold ourselves as Minute Boys, but have become full-fledged soldiers in the American army,--it is necessary I hasten over events upon which I would dearly love to linger, for there is to me a world of satisfaction in going once more over those times when we put the lobster-backs to confusion, even though they outnumbered us three or four to one.

The Weaver of Germantown lost no time on the journey. He increased his pace as the moments wore on, showing that he was in haste to set about the plan which he had in mind, and there were moments when we lads were literally forced to run in order to hold our own with him.

It was night when we arrived at Valley Forge, and his first care was to lead us to that hut where our comrades were sleeping, after which he took his leave, and we saw no more of him until the following morning.

There is little need for me to say that young Chris and Sam were thoroughly astonished when we awakened them, for both believed we were lying at the Jolly Tar inn secure from all danger.

In my turn I was surprised because of failing to see anything of Skinny, and the first question I asked was concerning him.

Then young Chris told us that the prisoner had been taken from them and was confined in the guard-house as a spy, although it was hardly probable such charge would hold against him if he should be brought to trial.

Believing he would not be wholly safe in the custody of the Minute Boys, and knowing that it would be in his power to carry much valuable information to the lobster-backs if he succeeded in making his escape, the leaders of the army had taken charge of him, and, as Sam said, we were well rid of the sneaking cur.

Both the lads were filled with fear and apprehension when I told them of what had taken place in the city, and you may well fancy that we were not inclined to close our eyes in slumber during all that night, for we speculated vainly as to what would be the result in case the Weaver of Germantown carried out his bold plans.

Although we had had good proof of what our people could do, there was never one of us who believed that an attack upon a baggage-train guarded by at least an hundred lobster-backs, when our force was to number only forty, could succeed, and before the morning came we, in our ignorance and lack of faith, had set it down as a fact that those who went out with the hope of releasing our people from the hands of the Britishers, would come back to us no more in this world.

It was yet reasonably early in the forenoon when the Weaver of Germantown came to the hut where, having breakfasted, we were sitting idly together discussing this possibility or that as if we were old and well versed in warfare.

“If you lads are minded to come with me, then will I show you that which will warm your hearts in the years to come, when you look back upon it,” the Weaver said, and I asked if his men were ready for the venture.

“We shall set off within the hour,” he replied; “but you need not consider it your duty to come with us. I am free to confess that there must of necessity be much of danger in the enterprise, and perhaps it would be well if you boys were to remain here until the work has been done, or we have failed.”

He could have said nothing else which would have aroused us so thoroughly as did this intimation that we might be afraid to go with the soldiers, or would be willing to remain at Valley Forge simply because we might otherwise come to grief.

I was not alone when I said stoutly, although there was a sinking at my heart which I could not prevent, that I for one would follow him, and my comrades were equally determined.

All the preparations had been made, as we learned a few moments later, and it was only necessary for us to fall in line at the rear of the squad.

Then was begun the march, we heading straight away for the Delaware, counting to cross that river and lie in hiding somewhere nearabout Camden until the baggage-train should have crossed.

All this we did and without adventure, because of the caution which was exercised by our leader, who, as a matter of course, was the Weaver of Germantown himself. He, knowing thoroughly well all the country roundabout, led us at the expense of many a weary mile far out of all possible danger of encountering the enemy, and to a point on the river where were boats ready to carry us across, thus showing that he had made his preparations for this venture some time before.

During that day and all the night we marched, save while crossing the river, or when we halted five or ten minutes at a time, and when finally he gave the word that we were come to our journey’s end, we Minute Boys were so nearly exhausted that we flung ourselves down wheresoever we chanced to be and speedily fell asleep, not awakening again until the word had been passed from man to man that the moment for action was near at hand.

It appeared, so we learned later, that if our departure from Valley Forge had been postponed no more than six hours, then would we have come too late to effect that for which we hoped.

The baggage-train had already been sent across the river near to Gloucester Point, and within two hours after we had come to the end of our march and were bivouacked in the thicket, the Britishers set off, counting to gain New York without interference from our people, because their movements had been shrouded with so much of secrecy.

Exactly what took place from the time we were awakened until a veritable battle was begun, I can say very little, because of knowing comparatively nothing.

There was much moving to and fro among our squad, and frequent whispered consultations with the Weaver of Germantown as we marched up the road to where an ambush was to be formed; but we lads knew nothing whatsoever concerning the purport of this talk.

We only understood that an action was near at hand when we were posted on either side the road in two companies of twenty each, and then it was we had evidence of the thoughtfulness of this Weaver of Germantown, for he brought to each of us lads a musket and ammunition, saying that we were to obey orders so far as firing and re-loading were concerned, the same as would the men.

When I asked how it was we had not been armed before leaving Valley Forge, he replied that the march before us he knew to be a hard one, and, fearing lest we might fall by the wayside with fatigue, had had these weapons carried by some of the men to spare us so much of labour.

If anything had been needed to hearten us in the work to be performed, this evidence of his kindliness would have been sufficient.

When he had ceased speaking all the timorousness was fled from my heart, and, lad though I was, I felt myself capable of holding my own against half a dozen lobster-backs, although I dare venture to say I would have cut a sorry figure even if opposed to no more than two.

It was about seven o’clock in the morning when we concealed ourselves in ambush along the road. Two hours later I could see, through the foliage, the advance of a long train, consisting of no less than twelve heavily-laden wagons each drawn by four horses, and preceded by a party of men in red uniforms to the number of perhaps fifty.

Then as the train advanced, I saw an equal force in the rear of the wagons, and understood that the Weaver of Germantown had not been misinformed when he was told that a guard of nearabout an hundred would be sent out.

In addition to these soldiers who marched, there were two men on the seat of each wagon, therefore, as I hurriedly estimated the force, we would oppose ourselves to no less than an hundred twenty--perhaps a dozen more.

Although I had felt so bold when the Weaver of Germantown put the weapon into my hands, now it was that my heart thumped until it surely seemed that those who were advancing would be alarmed by the noise, and my tongue had suddenly grown dry as I tried in vain to moisten my lips.

Fortunately for me, however, we had but little time, after the first appearance of the train, before the work was begun.

In my ignorance I had believed that the full number of wagons would be allowed to go by, and we fall upon the rear guard, where I fancied were the prisoners, if so be there were any with the train. Instead of which, when the first of the lobster-backs were opposite our place of hiding the word was passed from man to man, that when the Weaver of Germantown sprang out into the open we were to discharge our weapons, having due regard to aim.

Then, before I could have counted ten, this man who had played the spy in Philadelphia, came out from amid the foliage as if courting death, and shouting to us who were concealed to take good care that every bullet found its billet.

At the same instant, even before the lobster-backs fully understood what the Weaver of Germantown was saying, came the order to open fire.

Strange as it may seem, I have no knowledge whatsoever concerning that action, save such as was told me later. It seemed as if with the report of the muskets I lost all consciousness of self. I suddenly became one who thirsted for blood, and had forgotten that death might be dealt by those who were in front of me.

There is in my mind a dim recollection that I loaded and fired, re-loaded and fired again, continuing to do so until the barrel of my musket became heated, and once I believed I heard someone say that the rear guard had come up--that the prisoners were being driven back by the teamsters.

I knew the horses were plunging about; that there were what looked to be blotches of red on the dusty earth, yet hardly understood that those crimson stains upon the yellow road was the life blood of the poor wretches who had come from overseas, without personal reason, to whip us colonists into subjection.

I was in a fever; consumed by the desire to add to those red, sprawling figures that lay stretched out in the dust.

My mouth was dry; everything swam before me; the trees opposite seemed to dance, and to have taken on a reddish hue, while before my eyes as I loaded the musket, it appeared as if both powder and ball had suddenly become scarlet.

The hue of blood was everywhere; the thirst to kill was overwhelming, and during such time as the action continued I was literally insane.

Then came the time when one of our men seized the musket from my hands, saying angrily as he flung me back toward the trees, that I should control myself better than to fire upon those who had surrendered.

Whereupon I dully asked if the engagement was over, and someone from a distance, as it seemed to me, replied with a cheer:

“Ay, lad, over, and with the lobster-backs surrendering like chickens crowding around a dough-trough!”

“And the prisoners?” I cried, now suddenly coming to my senses, and realizing for what purpose we had spilled so much of human blood as I could see before me.

“Look yonder!” Timothy Bowers shouted, and only then did I know that he had been by my side during all the fight; but in after days, when I questioned him concerning it, he could tell me no more than I myself knew.

Having become once more Richard Salter, instead of the crazy lad who was doing his part as a soldier unconsciously, I ran to the rear where was a throng of wretched looking men bound by the hands to a long rope extending from the rear of one of the wagons; but before I got there the Weaver of Germantown, who was just ahead of me, had cut the foremost loose from their bonds, and I clasped Jeremy by the neck, so overjoyed as not really to be able to utter the words that were in my mind.

There was good reason why we should rejoice, for had we not beaten the lobster-backs when they outnumbered us exactly three to one?

Yet there was no time for us to spend in words, since who could say that the noise of the attack might not have been heard by the enemy at Camden, and if we would save our skins after having won such a victory, then was it necessary to get away from there without delay.

It had been the purpose of the Weaver of Germantown not only to release the prisoners; but to capture the train for the benefit of the Continental army, and therefore it was we took up the line of march immediately, the British teamsters obeying the Weaver’s orders for the very good reason that they dared not do otherwise.

We had won a great victory, but in the doing of it had lost five of our men who were killed outright, and four others badly wounded.

Singularly enough, none of us lads had been injured, although, as we were told afterward, we had conducted ourselves bravely. In fact, the Weaver himself said we had won the right to be called soldiers, and that it should be his care to see we were given an opportunity to enlist.

Now, if you can believe me, we had not only set free Master Targe and Jeremy; but nine others beside, all of whom were to have been tried for various acts of so-called treason when General Clinton had got his army to some safer point than he believed was to be found in Philadelphia.

In addition to this, after four days of hard work we actually entered Valley Forge with the same heavy baggage-train of General Clinton’s, which had been sent away from Philadelphia early so there might be no possibility of its falling into our hands.

We well-nigh came to grief while crossing the Delaware in boats which were not large enough to freight the wagons safely; but by dint of transferring the cargoes, or, in other words, making two trips for each load, we succeeded in gaining the Pennsylvania shore safe and sound.

It seemed to me that we were hardly more than in camp and rested from our exertions, when came the news that General Clinton had actually begun the evacuation of Philadelphia, and then there was so much of seeming confusion that one found it hard to keep his wits about him.

It was General Washington’s purpose to follow the lobster-backs on their march to New York, and no time was to be lost in setting out after we learned that the Britishers were really on the road.

Then was the time when the Weaver of Germantown found opportunity to fulfil his promise to us, and we lads, who a few weeks before had agreed to call ourselves Minute Boys of Philadelphia, were allowed to sign the rolls in due form and become soldiers of the Continental army, being admitted to the ranks by order of the commander-in-chief himself, whose permission was necessary because we were not yet come to the age of men.

Thus it was that we lads who had done some little work for the Cause, were allowed to stand shoulder to shoulder during that battle at Monmouth, when General Clinton and his swaggering British officers came to know full well of what stuff our rag-tag and bobtail of an army was made.

It was after this battle, when we were ministering to the wounds of the Weaver of Germantown, who had stood in the ranks all the day fighting most valiantly, that we learned why he had never called himself by any given name during such time as we had known him.

It was because he belonged to the sect called Friends, who, as you know, are opposed to fighting, and many of whom were unfriendly to the Cause. Were I to write his name, which we learned there on that bloody ground, then you would know that not only he, but those nearest and dearest to him, regardless of the fact that their faith bound them to shun warfare, had done very much to aid the colonies in their struggle against the king.

It was the Weaver himself, in later days, who told us lads, that although the work which we did in Philadelphia might not have seemed of great value, he believed the commander-in-chief would ever remember what had been done by the Minute Boys of Philadelphia.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.