"Sergeant Stevens, awake!"
He sprang to his feet and seized his rifle. The roaring of the battle
could be plainly heard, and a cannon-ball came crashing through the top
of their miserable shanty.
They leaped out to find all in utter confusion. General Winchester, who,
despite his faults, was no coward, was mounted on his horse rallying his
men at every point. Wells was forming on the open fields, and Lewis, in
a very disadvantageous position, was making a strong fight. It was
scarcely daylight yet. The air was sharp and frosty; but the snow had
ceased falling. Day was dawning; but in the deeper shadows of the wood
the night lingered in patches.
From the forest came those streams of fire, those storms of grape-shot
and the yells of savage demons. A bombshell came screaming through the
air and fell into one of the shanties, exploding and scattering the
loose boards in every direction.
"Who has attacked us?" some of the officers asked Winchester.
"Proctor from Malden," was the answer.
It was just as day began to dawn, that Proctor, with his combined force
of British, Canadians and Indians, attacked the Americans, while
Fernando was still lost in the mazes of a troubled dream. With his right
covered with artillery, and his flanks with marksmen, Proctor advanced
at first gallantly; but when he approached within musket-shot of the
pickets, he was met by such a galling and incessant fire, that the
centre of his army fell back in confusion.
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