Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1876-03-31

each relocated trooper seeks his
stced, each footman graspes his mus
ket, and the loud voice Of Musgrave,
echoing wildly along the line of
crimson attire and flashing bayonets,
is heard above all other sounds:
"Form, lads, form-fall in there
to your arms, lads, to your arms! !
Form, comrades, form %
In vain his shouting, in vain the
haste OF his men rushing from their
beds into the very path of the advanc-
ing Continentals I! They swept on
with a bold front-thc forms of the
troopers mounted on their war steeds
looming through the mist, as with
sword upraised and battle-shout peal
ing to the skies, they lead on the
charge of death
"On, boys, on J" rings the voice of
Mad Anthony. Con, comrades, on p!
and remember Paoli!"
"Charge!" sounds the voice of
Washington, shrieking along the
line, like the voice of a mighty spirit
-"upon them-over them" Con-
way re-echoes the sound, Sullivan
has already made the air ring with
his shout, and now Pulaski takes
up the cry-"Foracarts-brudern-
Eorscarts!"
The British face the bayonets of
the advancing Americans, but in vain.
Each bold backwoodsman sends his
vollcy of death along the British line
and then clubbing his musket, rushes
wildly forward, beating the redcoat
to the sod with blow that cannot
be stayed. The British troopers
rush forward in the charge, but ere
half the distance between them and
the American host is measured, Mad
Anthony comes laundering along,
with his legion Of iron, and as his
war shout swells on the air, the red
coats are driven back by the hurri-
cane force of his charge, the ground
is strewn with the dying, and the red
hoofs Of the horses trample madly
over the faces Of the dead.
The fire of the infantry, spreading
sheeted flame through the folds Of
the mist lights up the scene. The
never ceaslng clang of sword, the low
muttering shrek of the fallen, vain
ly trying to stop the flow of blood,
the wild yell OF the soldier, gazing
madly around as he receives his
death wound, the shout of the charge
and the involuntary cry of "quarter,"
all furnish a music most dread and
horrible, as though an internal band
were urging on the work of slaugh
ter, with their notes Of fiendish mock
cry.
The form of Washington is in the
centre of the fight, the battle glare
lighting up his face of majesty; the
stalwart form of Wayne is seen rid
ing hither and thlther, waving drip
ping sword in his good right hand;
the form of Pulaski, dark as the form
of an earth-riven spirit of some Ger
man story, breaks OH your eye, as en-
veloped in mist, he seems rushing
everywhere at the same moment,
fighting in all points of the contest,
hurrylng his men onward, and driv-
ing the affrighted British before him
with the terror Of his charge.
And Col. Musgrage-where is he?
He shouts the charge to his men, he
hurries thither, he shouts till he is
hoarse, he fights till his person is red
with the blood of his own men, slain
before his very eyes, but all in vain!
He shouts the word of retreat along
his line: Away, my men, away to
Chew's house-away!"
The retreat commences, and then,
indeed, the hunt of death is up in
good earnest.
The British wheel down the Ger
mantown road, they turned their
backs to their foes, they flee wildly
toward Germantown, leaving their
dead and dying in their wake; man
and horse, they flee, some scattering
their arms by the roadside, others,
weakened by loss Of blood, feebly
endeavoring to JON the retreat,
and then falling dead in the path
of the pursuers, who with one
bold front, with one firm step rush
after the British in their flight, ride
down the fleeing ranks. and scatter
death along the hurrying columns.
And in the very van of pursuit, his
tall form seen by every soldier, rode
George Wa hington, his mind strain
ed to u pitch Of agony, as the crisis
of the contest approached, and by his
side rode Mad Anthony Wayne, now
Mad Anthony indeed, for his whole
appearance was changed, his eye
seemed turned to a thing Of living
flame, his face was begrimmed with
powder, his sword was red with blood
and his battle-shout rung fiercer on
the air:
"Over them, boys-upon them
over them, and remember Poali!"
"Now, Wayne, now!" shouted
Washington. "One charge more
and we have them!"
brudern n-forwarts!
shouted Pulaski, as his iron band
came laundering on-"Forwarts-
for Washlngton-forwarts!
The British leader wheeled his
steed for a moment, and gazed upon
his pursuers. All around was blood
shed, gloom and death; mist and
smoke above; flames around, and
mangled corscs below. With one
hoarse shout he again bade his men
make for Chew's house, and again
the dying scattered along the path
looked up, and beheld the British
sweeping madly down the road.
The vanguard of the pursuers had
gained the upper end of Chew's wall,
when the remnant of the British
force disappeared in the fog; file
after file of the crimson coated Brit
lsh were lost to sight in the mist, and
and in the very heat and flush of the
chase, the Americans were brought
to a halt in front of Chew's wall,
each soldier falling back on his COM
rade with sudden movement, while
the officers gazed on each other in
vain inquiry for the cause of this un-
expected delay.
The fog gathered in dense folds
z,o,, S1,n k,cIo %lo J,o.,