encamped. They left their horses in
the rear and immediately began the battle, swarming forward on foot,
their commanders leading the attack.

The march had been so quick and the attack so sudden that Ferguson had
barely time to marshal his men before the assault was made. Most of
his militia he scattered around the top of the hill to fire down at the
Americans as they came up, while with his regulars and with a few picked
militia he charged with the bayonet in person, first down one side of
the mountain and then down the other. Sevier, Shelby, Campbell, and
the other colonels of the frontiersmen, led each his force of riflemen
straight toward the summit. Each body in turn when charged by the
regulars was forced to give way, for there were no bayonets wherewith to
meet the foe; but the backwoodsmen retreated only so long as the charge
lasted, and the minute that it stopped they stopped too, and came
back ever closer to the ridge and ever with a deadlier fire. Ferguson,
blowing a silver whistle as a signal to his men, led these charges,
sword in hand, on horseback. At last, just as he was once again rallying
his men, the riflemen of Sevier and Shelby crowned the top of the ridge.
The gallant British commander became a fair target for the backwoodsmen,
and as for the last time he led his men against them, seven bullets
entered his body and he fell dead. With his fall resistance ceased.
The regulars and Tories huddled together in a confused mass, while the
exultant Americans rushed forward. A flag of truce was hoisted, and all
the British who were not dead surrendered.

The victory was complete, and the backwoodsmen at once started to return
to their log hamlets and rough, lonely farms. They could not stay, for
they dared not leave their homes at the mercy of the Indians. They had
rendered a great service; for Cornwallis, when he heard of the disaster
to his trusted lieutenant, abandoned his march northward, and retired to
South Carolina. When he again resumed the offensive, he found his path
barred by stubborn General Greene and his troops of the Continental
line.

THE STORMING OF STONY POINT

In their ragged regimentals
Stood the old Continentals,
Yielding not,
When the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the plunging
Cannon-shot;
When the files
Of the isles
From the smoky night encampment bore the banner of the rampant
Unicorn,
And gru