The Life of General Francis Marion by M. L. (Mason Locke) Weems
page 44 of 286 (15%)
page 44 of 286 (15%)
|
At one time it appeared as though, by a strange kind of accident,
all their broad-sides had struck us at once, which made the fort tremble again. But our palmettoes stood the fire to a miracle, closed up without sign of splinter, on their shot, which was stopped by the intermediate sand; while, on the other hand, every bullet that we fired, went through and through their ships, smashing alike sailors, timber heads, and iron anchors, in their furious course. And thus was the order of our battle -- there, a line of seven tall ships; and here, one little, solitary fort -- there, British discipline; and here, American enthusiasm -- there, brave men fighting for a tyrant; and here, heroes contending for liberty. I am old now, and have forgotten many things, but never shall I forget the heart-burnings of that day, when I heard the blast of those rude cannon, that bade me be a slave; and still my aged bosom swells with the big joy when I hear, which I often do in fancy's ear, the answer of our faithful bull-dogs, as with deafening roar, lurid flame and smoke, they hurled back their iron curses on the wicked claim. But alas! for lack of ammunition, our opening victory was soon nipped like a luckless flower, in the bud: for the contest had hardly lasted an hour, before our powder was so expended that we were obliged, in a great measure, to silence our guns, which was matter of infinite mortification to us, both because of the grief it gave our friends, and the high triumph it afforded our enemies. "Powder! Powder! millions for powder!" was our constant cry. Oh! had we but had plenty of that `noisy kill-seed', as the Scotchmen call it, not one of those tall ships would ever have revisited Neptune's green dominion. They must inevitably have struck, or laid their vast hulks along-side the fort, as hurdles for the snail-loving `sheep's heads'. Indeed, small as our stock of ammunition was, we made several of their ships look like sieves, and smell like slaughter pens. The commodore's ship, the Bristol, had fifty men killed, and upwards of one hundred wounded! |
|