m we wrought, striving
as we might to stanch the ebbing life-tide or to ease the dying gently
down into the valley of shadows.

And as for my prayer, it went all unanswered. Once when I had a dying
Tory's head pillowed on my knee I saw a rifleman thrust his weapon
between the wheel-spokes of the outer wagon and draw a bead on me. I
heard the crack of the Deckard, the _zip_ of the bullet singing at my
ear, and the man's angry oath at his missing of me. Once again a
rifle-ball passed through my hair at the braiding of the queue and I
felt the hot touch of it on my scalp like a breath of flame. Another
time a mountaineer leaped the rock barrier to beat me down with the butt
of his rifle--and in the very act Tybee rose up and throttled him. I saw
the grapple, sprang to my feet and whipped out my sword.

"Stop!" I commanded; "you have broken your parole, Lieutenant!"

The freed borderer glared from one to the other of us. "Loonies!" he
yelled; "I'll slaughter the both of ye!" And so he would have done, I
make no doubt, had we not laid hold of him together and heaved him back
over the breastwork.

These are but incidents, points of contact where the fray touched us two
at the wagon barricade. I pass them by with the mention, as I have
passed by the sterner horrors of that furious killing-time. These last
are too large for my poor pen. As we could gather in the din and
tumult, the mountain men rushed again and again to the attack, and as
often the brave major, or De Peyster, led the bayonet charges that
pushed them back. Yet in the end the unerring bullet outpressed the
bayonet; there came a time when flesh and blood could no longer endure
the death-dealing cross-fire from front and rear.

I saw the end was near when the major ordered the final charge, and
Captain de Peyster formed his line and led it forward at a double-quick.
The mountaineers held more than half the hilltop now, and this forlorn
hope was to try to drive them down the farther slopes. On it went, and I
could see the men pitch and tumble out of the line until at
bayonet-reach of the riflemen there were less than a dozen afoot and fit
to make the push.

De Peyster fought his way back to the wagons, gasping and bloody. Some
of the Tories crowding around us raised a white flag. The major, sorely
wounded now and all but disabled, swore a great oath and rode rough-shod
into the ruck of cowering militiamen to pull down the flag. Again the
white token of surren