Laura Secord, the Heroine of 1812 | Page 7

fires ablaze,?And men in calm repose.
With bay'nets fixed?The section in advance fell on the camp,?And killed the first two sentries, whose sharp cries?Alarmed a third, who fired, and firing, fled.?This roused the guard, but "Forward!" was the word,?And on we rushed, slaying full many a man?Who woke not in this world.
The 'larum given,?A-sudden rose such hubbub and confusion?As is made by belching earthquake. Waked from sleep,?Men stumbled over men, and angry cries?Resounded. Surprised, yet blenching not,?Muskets were seized and shots at random fired?E'en as they fled. Yet rallied they when ours,?At word from Harvey, fell into line,?And stood, right 'mid the fires, to flint their locks--?An awful moment!--?As amid raging storms the warring heaven?Falls sudden silent, and concentrates force?To launch some scathing bolt upon the earth,?So hung the foe, hid in portentous gloom,?While in the lurid light ours halted. Quick,?Red volcanic fire burst from their lines?And mowed us where we stood!?Full many a trembling hand that set a flint?Fell lifeless ere it clicked: yet silent all--?Save groans of wounded--till our rods struck home;?Then, flashing fire for fire, forward we rushed?And scattered them like chaff before the wind.?The King's Own turned their left; the Forty-ninth,?At point of bay'net, pushed the charge, and took?Their guns, they fighting valiantly, but wild,?Having no rallying point, their leaders both?Lying the while all snug at Jemmy Gap's.?And so the men gave in at last, and fled,?And Stony Creek was ours.
Mr. Secord. Brave Harvey! Gallantly planned and carried. The stroke is good, the consequences better.?Cooped as he is in George, the foe will lack?His forage, and perforce must--eat his stores;?For Yeo holds the lake, and on the land?His range is scarce beyond his guns. And more,?He is the less by these of men to move?On salient points, and long as we hold firm?At Erie, Burlington, and Stony Creek,?He's like the wretched bird, he "can't get out."
Mrs. Secord. You speak, friend Penn, as if you saw the fight, Not like a simple bearer of the news.
Quaker. Why, so I did.
Mrs. Secord. You did! Pray tell us how it was;?For ever have I heard that Quakers shunned?The sight of blood.
Quaker. None more than I.?Yet innate forces sometimes tell o'er use?Against our will. But this was how it happed:?Thou seest, Mistress Secord, I'd a load?Of sound potatoes, that I thought to take?To Vincent's camp, but on the way I met?A British officer, who challenged me; saith he,?"Friend, whither bound?" "Up to the Heights," say I,?"To sell my wares." "Better," saith he,?"Go to the Yankee camp; they'll pay a price?Just double ours, for we are short of cash."?"I'll risk the pay," say I, "for British troops;?Nay, if we're poor, I can afford the load,?And p'rhaps another, for my country's good."?"And say'st thou so, my Quaker! Yet," saith he,?"I hear you Quakers will not strike a blow?To guard your country's rights, nor yet your own."?"No, but we'll hold the stakes," cried I. He laughed.?"Can't you do more, my friend?" quoth he, "I need?A closer knowledge of the Yankee camp:?How strong it is, and how it lies. A brush?Is imminent, and one must win, you know?Shall they?"?His manner was so earnest that, before?I knew, I cried, "Not if I know it, man!"?With a bright smile he answered me, "There spoke?A Briton." Then he directed me?How I might sell my load, what I should mark,?And when report to him my observations.?So, after dusk, I met him once again,?And told him all I knew. It pleased him much.?Warmly he shook my hand. "I am," saith he,?"Lieutenant-Colonel Harvey. Should it hap?That I can ever serve you, let me know."
Mrs. Secord. And then you stayed to see the end of it?
Quaker. Mistress, I did. Somewhat against my creed,?I freely own; for what should I, a Quaker,?E'er have to do with soldiers, men of blood!?I mean no slight to you, James.
Mr. Secord (laughing). No, no! go on.
Quaker. Well, when I thought how tired poor Dobbin was, How late the hour, and that 'twould be a week?Before I'd hear how Harvey sped that night,?I thought I'd stay and see the matter out;?The more, because I kind o' felt as if?Whatever happed I'd had a hand in it.
Mrs. Secord. And pray where did you hide? for hide you must, So near the Yankee lines.
Quaker. It wasn't hard to do; I knew the ground,?Being a hired boy on that very farm,?Now Jemmy Gap's. There was an elm, where once?I used to sit and watch for chipmunks, that I clomb,?And from its shade could see the Yankee camp,?Its straggling line, its fires, its careless watch;?And from the first I knew the fight was ours,?If Harvey struck that night.
Mr. Secord. Ha! ha! friend John, thine is a soldier's brain Beneath that Quaker hat.
Quaker (in some embarrassment, rising).?No, no, I am a man of peace, and hate?The very name of war. I must be