at circumstances he fell has been told. As
they crossed the line of Greenwood Cemetery to take position at or
near "Battle Hill," the little command was greeted with a sudden
though harmless volley from the enemy. The men shrunk and fell back,
but Atlee rallied and Parry cheered them on, and they gained the hill.
It was here, while engaged in an officer's highest duty, turning men
to the enemy by his own example, that the fatal bullet pierced his
brow. When some future monument rises from Greenwood to commemorate
the struggle of this day, it can bear no more fitting line among its
inscriptions than this tribute of Brodhead's, "Parry died like a
hero."

Captain Edward Veazey, of the Marylanders, belonged to the family of
Veazeys who settled in Cecil County, on the eastern shore of that
State, and who traced their lineage back to the Norman De Veazies of
the eleventh century. The captain was fifty-five years of age, took up
the colonial cause at the start, raised the Seventh Independent
Company of Maryland troops, and was among the earliest to fall in
Stirling's line.

Captain Joseph Jewett, of Huntington's Continentals, perhaps defending
himself to the last, even when escape was impossible, was three times
stabbed with British bayonets after surrendering his sword. Cared for
by a humane surgeon, but still lingering in pain, he died on the
morning of the 29th, and was buried in the Bennett orchard, near
Twenty-second Street and Third Avenue. He left a family at Lyme, on
the Connecticut, where he lived, and from where he went to join the
army on the Lexington alarm. A soldier who fought on Long Island
remembers him as "an officer much respected and beloved, of elegant
and commanding appearance, and of unquestionable bravery."

The officers and men of the artillery, who fought the six pieces we
had in the action, covered themselves with honor. They were "the
flower" of Knox's regiment, picked for a field fight. Captain
Carpenter, of Providence, fell in Stirling's command, leaving a widow
to mourn him. Captain John Johnston, of Boston, was desperately
wounded, but recovered under the care of Surgeon Eustis. The record
which John Callender, of the same place, made for himself is a
familiar story. To wipe out the stain of an undeserved sentence passed
upon him after Bunker Hill, by which he was cashiered, he rejoined the
artillery as a private soldier, and then, as a "cadet," fought his
piece on Long Island until the enemy