d valuable addition to the little force of
patriots.

The first gray pencilings of dawn were scarcely visible when the
slumbering camp was roused by the rolling notes of the reveille from
the drum of little Solly Barrett,[A] the drummer-boy of Howard's
Maryland Regulars. Fully refreshed by a good night's rest, the men
prepared and ate their breakfasts with but little delay, and by seven
o'clock the entire force was in line of battle, awaiting the approach
of the enemy.

[Footnote A: "Solly" resided for many years after the war at Easton,
Maryland. A good portrait of him is still there.]

Tarleton, flushed with the assurance of easy victory, had made a
forced march during the night, and his command was much jaded when at
eight o'clock he came in sight of Morgan's outposts: notwithstanding
this, however, he determined, as was fully expected by those who knew
his disposition and mode of warfare, to attack the American lines
forthwith. It must be left to the historian to tell how the battle
raged with varying fortunes until Howard's gallant Marylanders taught
the British regulars that the despised provincials had learned the
trick of the bayonet, and decided the issue of the day. Up to this
moment the cavalry, which had been posted in reserve behind a slight
wooded eminence, had been chafing for a hand in the fray. As has
been stated, these troops consisted of McCall's mounted militia and
Washington's Light Dragoons. The latter were all well mounted and
armed, for their frequent successes in skirmishes with the enemy's
horse kept them well supplied. They were a crack corps, and well
had they earned their reputation. Just as Howard's regulars turned
savagely on their disorderly pursuers and put them to the rout, a
squadron of British light horse made a dash at McCall, whose men
were unused to the sabre, and had been demoralized by the first
bayonet-charge of the enemy, which they had sustained on foot. Now was
Washington's chance.

"Are you ready, men? Charge!" The words were scarcely off his lips
ere the noble mare which he rode shot forward, touched by her rider's
spur. With a wild yell, which drowned the regular cheer of the
Englishmen, the men dashed after their brave and impetuous leader,
who was ever the first to cross a sabre with the enemy. Rising in
his stirrups as the gallant chestnut answered the spur, Walter Peyton
looked backward at the men as he raised the light staff of his little
banner and shook its fo