Excuse haste,
as the army is in sight. My determination is to defend the
garrison, (sic) though I have but twenty-one men but what has left
me. I refer you to Mr. Wmes (sic) for the rest. The army is within
three hundred yards of the village. You must think how I feel; not
four men that I really depend upon; but am determined to act
brave--think of my condition. I know it is out of my power to
defend the town, as not one of the militia will take arms, though
before sight of the army no braver men. There is a flag at a small
distance, I must conclude.
"Your humble servant,
"Leo'd Helm. Must stop."
"To Colonel Clark."
Having completed this task, the letter shows under what a nervous
strain, Helm turned to his lieutenant and said:
"Fire a swivel with a blank charge. We'll give these weak-kneed
parly-voos one more call to duty. Of course not a frog-eater of
them all will come. But I said that a gun should be the signal.
Possibly they didn't hear the first one, the damned, deaf,
cowardly hounds!"
Beverley wheeled forth the swivel and rammed a charge of powder
home. But when he fired it, the effect was far from what it should
have been. Instead of calling in a fresh body of militia, it
actually drove out the few who up to that moment had remained as a
garrison; so that Captain Helm and his Lieutenant found themselves
quite alone in the fort, while out before the gate, deployed in
fine open order, a strong line of British soldiers approached with
sturdy steps, led by a tall, erect, ruddy-faced young officer.
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