Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1847-01-14
WOODSTOCK VERMONT THURSDAY, JANUARY a. ls47

WIZ SohC iusHlhP loiWdiuj luelr BUN
: front of bayonets cleaning in the battle
, light.
l In the moment of their flight, Blacl
Horse crashes over the field. The I'm
! known warrior reins his s,eed back on hi
J launches, right in the path of this broad
shouldered militia man.
, "Now, coward, advance another step
and | will shoe, you to the heart" shouts
The rider, extending pistol in either hand
''What are you Americans-mcn-ant
, fly before these British soldiers? Back
and face them once more-seize you
! arms-lace the foe, or | myself will ride
you down"
That appeal, uttered with deep, indig
nant tones, and face convulsed with pas
sion, is not without its effects. The mill
tia man turns, seizes his gun; his com
rades as if by one impulse, follow his ex.
ample. They form in solid order along
the field, and silently load their pieces
they wait the onset orthcse British bayo.
nets
"Reserse your fire until you can touch
the point OF your bayonets!' was the
whispered command Of the Unknown
Those militia-men, so lately panic-suck-
en-, now regarded the approach Of the red
coats in silence, yet calmly and without a
tremor. The British came on-nearer
and nearer yet-you can see their eyes
CLEAN, you can count the buttons on their
scarlet coats. They seek to terrily the
miIitia,men with shouts; but those plain
farmers do not move an inch,
In one line-but twenty men in all
they confront twenty sharp bayonets.
The British advance-they are within
two yards.
Now open upon the rebels-charge
bayonetsn shouted the rcd.coat officer.
They spring forward, with the same
bound-look! Their bayoncts almost
touch the muzzIes Of these rifles!
AT this moment the voice of the Rider
was heard.
Now let them have it-,frc'
A sound was heard-a smoke is SEEN
twenty Brtons are down, some writing
in death, some crawling along the sod,
some speechIess as stone. The remain
ing ten started back-but then is no time
for surprise.
Club your rifles, and charge them
home!' shouts the Unknown, and the
Beack Horse springs forward, followed by
the millia-men. Then a confused con-
fict-a CRY of 'quarter!'-a vision Of the
twenty farmers grouped around the Rider
of the Black Horse, greeting him with
hearty cheers.
Thus it was all the day long.
Wherever that Black Horse and his Ri
der went, there followed victory. The
soldiers in every parl Of The field seemed
to know that Rider, for they hailed him
with shouts, they obeyed his commands,
they rushed after him, over yondcr can
non, through yonder limo of bayonets,-
His appearance in any quarter of the field
was succeeded by a desperate onset, a
terrible charge, or struggle hand to
with the soldiers of Bnrgoync.
Was this not strange thing? This
unknown man, without command was o.
beyed by all the soldiers, as though they
recognize their General. They acknowl-
edged him for a Leader, wherever he rode;
they followed him to death whenever he
gave the word.
Now look for him again.
On the summit ofyonder hill, the Black
Horse stands erect on his launches, his
lore-legs paving the air, while the Rider
bends over his neck and looks toward the
cIouded valley. The hat has fallen
from that Riders brow, his face is cover
ed with blood and sweat; his right hand
grasps that battered sword How i'm
pressive that sight, as an occasional sun
beam lights the Riders brow, or red
flash of battle light, ba,hes his face, us in
rays of blood!
AT this moment, as the black steed
rears on the summit of the hill, look yon-
der from the opposite valley dashes Major
Armstrong, i'll search of that Unknown
Rider, who sees him coming, turns his
horses head and disappears with laugh
of scorn. Still the gallant Major keeps on
his way, in search Of the man, who ex-
cites the fears of General Gates-lhls
brave Rider, who was about to do "Some-
thing raSh!' .....
AT last, towards the setting of the sun,
the crisis of the conflict came.
That fortress yo0der on Behmus Height
was to be won or the American cause was
lost. ......
That fortress was to be gained, or
Gates was dishonored man; Burgoyne a
triumphant General.
That fortress yonder-you can see it
through the battle clouds-with its wall of
red coats, its lines of British cannon, its
forest ofbayonets.
Even those bold rllcmen, who were in
he wilderness with one Benedict Arnold,
who stormed the walls of Quebec, with
this Arnold and Montgomery, on the cold
daybreak of December lhirty-hrst, l775,
even those men Of iron fell hack, terrified
at the sight.
That cliff is too steep-lhat death is
too certain. Their officers cannot pur-
suade them to advance. The Americans
have lost the field. Even Morgan-lhat
Iron Man among Iron Men-leans on his
Il r Al. EA1l