The tribune. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-03-22

|
sonfusion arises far ahead.
There is flashing of strange fires
through the folds of mist, lifting the
white pail for moment-there is
rolling of mrsketry, rattling like the
| thuhderbolt ere it strikes-there is the
tramp of hurrying legions, the far-off
| shout of the charging Oontinentals, and
the yells and shouts Of the surprised foe
men.
Sullivan is upon the camp of the ene-
my, upon them with the terror of ball
and bayonet. They rush from their can
non, they form hastily across the road,
in front of their baggage, each. red
coated trooper seeks his steed, each
footman grasps his musket, 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 tn. .re-to
your arms, lads, to your arms. Form,
comrades, form I"
In vain his shouting, in vain the haste
OF his men rushing from their beds,
into the very path Of the advancing Con-
tinentals The men of Sullivan are
upon them They sweep on with one
bold front-the forms 5ef the troopers,
through the mist, as with sword up
raised, and battle shout pealing to the
skies, they lead on the charge OF death
Con boys-on "-rings the voice of
Mad Anthony" on comrades es-on-
and remember Paoli 10
"Chargei" sounds the voice Of Wash
ington, shrieking along the line, like
the voice of a mighty spirit upon
them-over them !" Conway re-echoes
the sound, Sullivan has already made
the air ring with his shout, and now Pui-
aski takes up the cry" F0raUarts-
br1sdey1--Fos7oarts ,"
The British face the bayonets of the
advancing Americans, but in vain Each
bold backwoodsman sands his volley Of
death along the British line, and then
clubbing his musket, rushes wildly for
ward, beating tho red-coat 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 on,
with his legion of iron, and as his war
shout swells ON the air, the red-ooats are
driven back by the hurricane force of his
charge, the ground - strewn with the
dying, and the red hoofs of the horse
trample madly over the faces of the
dead.
The fire of the infantry, spreading
sheeted flame through the folds of mist,
lights up the scene. The never ceasine
clang of sword against sword, the low
muttered shrek of the fallen, vainly
trying TO stop the flow of blood, the
wild yell of the soldier, gazing madly
round as he receives his death wound,
the shout of the charge, and the invol-
untary cry of "quarter," all furnish
music most dread and horrible, as though
an internal band were urging on the
work of slaughter, with their notes of
fiendish mockery.
The form of Washington is in the
center of the fight, the battle glare
lighting up his face of majesty; the
stalwart form OF Wayne is seen riding
hither and thither, waving a dripping
sword in his good right hand; the figure
of Pulaski, dark as the form of an earth
riven spirit of some German story, breaks
on your eye, as enveloped in mist, he
seems rushing everywhere at the same
moment, fighting in all points of the
contest, hurrying his men onward, and
driving the affrighted British before
him with the terror of his charge.
And Col. Musgrage-where is he7
He shouts the charge to hts men, he
hurries hither and thither, h, 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 7"
The retreat commences, and then, in
deed, the hunt of death is up in good
earnest.
The British wheel down the German
town road, they turn their backs to their
foes, they flee wildly toward German
town, leaving their dead and dying in
their wake; man and horse, they fee,
some scattering their arms by the road
side, others, weakened by loss of blood,
feebly endeavoring to join 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 fight, ride down the fleeing ranks,
and scatter death along the hurryine
columns.
And in the very van of pursuit, his
tall form seen by every soldier, rode
George Washington, his mind strained
to 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 q
thing of living flame, his face was be-
grimed 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 Paoli!"
| "Now Wayne, now," shouted Wash
ngton-" one charge more and we
have them -