essness they suffered severely. Morris
rode right into the midst of the British, but, wheeling his horse,
escaped and rejoined his men, who were now badly scattered. Donald
Lovell received a severe wound in his side. His uncle, marching by his
side, picked him up as though a child, and across his powerful
shoulders carried him back to a place of safety.

Morgan, hearing the firing, was hurrying on to support the other line
when, finding it broken and scattered, he is said to have shed tears
in his chagrin at what he thought was due to carelessness and meant
defeat. Were the Rangers, the pride of the army, to be shattered in
their first encounter after all their boasting? It is not surprising
that Morgan felt that his fondest hopes had been recklessly ruined.

But the Rangers had been trained for just such emergencies and, when
their colonel blew the "turkey call" on the bone whistle which he
carried, and those piercing sounds were heard above the din of battle,
his men rallied.

Quickly they formed into line, eager to regain what they had lost.
Every man felt that his country and the honour of his corps were at
stake, and he was ready to die if necessary. Already the afternoon was
half gone, but before night could stop the bloodshed many a man would
pay the penalty of a soldier; some of those lithe, bronzed, hardy
fellows, throbbing with health and vitality, would not see the sun
rise over Bemis Heights on the morrow.

In the forest ahead a little clearing had been made for a small farm,
and there the Rangers came upon the advance line of the enemy.

"Now we'll get it hot!" exclaimed Rodney under his breath, but among
them all not a face paled nor a hand grasping a rifle trembled. On,
directly at the British, the men ran like deer, except a few detailed
to duty as sharpshooters, dodging behind stumps or climbing trees as
agile as monkeys. On go the Rangers. Now the British fire into the
line and some fall.

Why do they not return the fire? Ah! now their rifles leap to shoulder
at close range and every shot tells! What ghastly gaps are left in
the British ranks, and the Rangers are still rushing on like demons,
loading as they run! It is too much for those fighting machines
accustomed to fight, as they march, with mathematical precision; they
turn and run. Back they go to the hill behind, where there are
reinforcements waiting with cannon, the riflemen at their heels. Oh,
the cruelty of it all, shooting, stabbing,