The trumpets of the Virginians now sounded
long and lively; they were answered by a strain from the party in ambush
that went to the hearts of their enemies. The column of Dunwoodie
wheeled in perfect order, opened, and, as the word to charge was given,
the troops of Lawton emerged from their cover, with their leader in
advance, waving his saber over his head, and shouting, in a voice that
was heard above the clangor of the martial music.
The charge threatened too much for the refugee troop. They scattered in
every direction, flying from the field as fast as their horses, the
chosen beasts of Westchester, could carry them. Only a few were hurt;
but such as did meet the arms of their avenging countrymen never
survived the blow, to tell who struck it. It was upon the poor vassals
of the German tyrant that the shock fell. Disciplined to the most exact
obedience, these ill-fated men met the charge bravely, but they were
swept before the mettled horses and nervous arms of their antagonists
like chaff before the wind. Many of them were literally ridden down, and
Dunwoodie soon saw the field without an opposing foe. The proximity of
the infantry prevented pursuit, and behind its column the few Hessians
who escaped unhurt sought protection.
The more cunning refugees dispersed in small bands, taking various and
devious routes back to their old station in front of Harlem.
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