Part 37 (1/2)

Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowa.n.u.s' waters, Till of a sudden unlook'd for by defiles through the woods, gain'd at night, The British advancing, rounding in from the east, fiercely playing their guns, That brigade of the youngest was cut off and at the enemy's mercy.

The General watch'd them from this hill, They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment, Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle, But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them!

It sickens me yet, that slaughter!

I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General.

I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.

Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a pitch'd battle, But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle.

We fought the fight in detachments, Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck was against us, Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back to the works on this hill, Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us.

That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong, Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.

That and here my General's first battle, No women looking on nor suns.h.i.+ne to bask in, it did not conclude with applause, n.o.body clapp'd hands here then.

But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain, Wearied that night we lay foil'd and sullen, While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord off against us encamp'd, Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking winegla.s.ses together over their victory.

So dull and damp and another day, But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing, Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of him, my General retreated.

I saw him at the river-side, Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation; My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pa.s.s'd over, And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for the last time.

Every one else seem'd fill'd with gloom, Many no doubt thought of capitulation.

But when my General pa.s.s'd me, As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something different from capitulation.

[Terminus]

Enough, the Centenarian's story ends, The two, the past and present, have interchanged, I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.

And is this the ground Was.h.i.+ngton trod?

And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd, As resolute in defeat as other generals in their proudest triumphs?

I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward, I must preserve that look as it beam'd on you rivers of Brooklyn.

See-as the annual round returns the phantoms return, It is the 27th of August and the British have landed, The battle begins and goes against us, behold through the smoke Was.h.i.+ngton's face, The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept the enemy, They are cut off, murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them, Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag, Baptized that day in many a young man's b.l.o.o.d.y wounds.

In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears.

Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable than your owners supposed; In the midst of you stands an encampment very old, Stands forever the camp of that dead brigade.

Cavalry Crossing a Ford