d in the service of a better cause,
be it that of king or Parliament, than this young soldier who had just
laid down his life for love of his country!

The slight check afforded by the interposition of the Americans was
over. The British were sweeping everything before them, when Colonel
Mawhood, the cool-headed officer, who had been sitting on a little
brown pony, with a small switch in his hand, directing the combat,
became aware of a large body of men coming up on his right flank
through the wood. With the readiness of a practised soldier, he
instantly stopped the advance of his men, wheeled them about, brought
up his guns, and prepared to open fire. The American officers had time
to mark with admiration the skill with which the manoeuvre was
effected, and the beautiful precision with which the men carried out
their orders. Then the force, a large body of Pennsylvania militia
which Washington had despatched at the first sound of firing in the
direction of Mercer, broke out of the wood, and advanced rapidly. The
muskets of the redcoats were quickly brought to the shoulder, and at
the word of command the British line was suddenly tipped with fire and
then covered with smoke. Many of the militia fell at this volley
delivered at close range; some of the fallen lay still and motionless,
while others groaned with pain; the raw troops fired hastily into the
smoke, then hesitated and stopped uncertainly as the volley was
repeated. It was another critical moment, and the hour brought the man.

Washington himself had most opportunely arrived on the field in advance
of the troops, attended by Seymour. One glance showed him Mercer's
broken retreating column and the hesitating Pennsylvania militia!
Everything was at stake. It was not a time for strategic manoeuvres
now, but for men--nay, there were men there as good as ever fought--but
for a man then. Providentially one was at hand. Putting spurs to his
gallant white horse, he rode down the line in front of the Pennsylvania
militia, waving his hat and cheering them on.

"An old-fashioned Virginia fox-hunt, gentlemen!" he cried gayly, giving
the view halloo! Galloping forward under the fire of the British
battery, he called to Mercer's shattered men. They halted and faced
about; the Seventh Virginia broke through the wood on the flank of the
British; Hitchcock's New Englanders came up on the run with fixed
bayonets; Moulder's Philadelphia battery opened fire from th