De Lancey turned upon his horse, waved his sword, and
shouted for the laggards to come on. We had only the light of musketry
to see by. Tom Faringfield was unhorsed and down; and fearing he might
be wounded, I leaped to the ground, knelt, and partly raised him. He
was unharmed, however; and we both got upon our feet, with our swords
out, our discharged muskets slung round upon our backs, our intent
being to mount over the rebel's rude rampart--for we had got an
impression of De Lancey's sword pointed that way while he fiercely
called upon his troops to disregard the fallen, and each man charge
for himself in any manner possible, ahorse or afoot.
But more and more of the awakened rebels--we could make out only their
dark figures--sprang forward from their huts (mere roofs, 'twere
better to call these) to the breastwork, each waiting to take careful
aim at our mixed-up mass of men and horses before he fired into it. As
Tom and I were extricating ourselves from the mass by scrambling over
a groaning man or two, and a shrieking, kicking horse that lay on its
side, De Lancey rode back to enforce his commands upon the men at our
rear, some of whom were firing over our heads. His turning was
mistaken for a movement of retreat, not only by our men, of whom the
unhurt promptly made to hasten down the hill, but also by the enemy, a
few of whom now leaped from behind their defence to pursue.
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