NIGHT ATTACK ON FORT ERIE.(August 14th, 1814.)
(August 14th, 1814.)
Hostler! bring up the horses, we will cross to the Canadian shore, and ride leisurely o’er its battlegrounds. Tighten the girths, John. Take up another hole. So—never mind the stirrup. Jump—I’m in my saddle. Are you ready?—Allons.Well broken is that grey of yours, he has a good long trot—how easy it makes your rise in the saddle, and how graceful is the gait. But here we are at the Ferry. Now, we cross thy stream, Niagara! Now, we stand on British ground! Generous and gallant blood has deeply stained its soil! Observe these crumbling works—the old stone fort facing the river—the remains of ramparts and trenches—here a bastion—further on, a redoubt—there again lines and earthworks, forming a continuous circle of defence, but all now fast sinking to their original level. These are, or rather were, the fortress and defences of “Fort Erie.” When some years since I rode over the ground with our kind and excellent friend, the Major, I listened with great interest to his narration of the part of thecampaign acted upon this spot and the adjoining country. I will repeat it to you as we ride over it. Jump your horse upon this decaying mound—it was a bastion.
Standing on this bastion, “Here,” said the Major, “we had thrown up our lines, making the defences as strong as practicable. The British had also erected formidable works about half a mile in front, (the forest intervening,) composed of a large stone battery on their left, and two strong redoubts, from which they kept up an incessant discharge of shot and shells for several successive days, which was returned by us with equal vigour. At length a shell from their batteries having fallen upon it, blew up one of our small magazines, but with trifling injury to the rest of the defences. They greatly miscalculated the damage, and were elated with their success, and General Gaines received secret information that they intended to carry the works by storm on the following night. That night, said the Major, I shall not soon forget. It set in intensely dark and cloudy, extremely favourable to the design of the enemy. Every thing was put in the fullest state of preparation to receive them. The men enthusiastically awaiting the attack, were ordered to lie on their arms. Extended along the lines, and manning the fort and bastion, our little army, in perfect silence, awaited their coming.
The forest had been cleared about three hundred yards in front of our works—beyond that were, as yousee, the woods. As the night wore on, we listened with earnestness to every sound. A little after midnight, we heard on the dry leaves the stealthy sound of footsteps—pat—patter—patter. We listened—they came nearer. A short, sharp challenge: “Who goes there?” issued from that farther redoubt. The footsteps ceased, as if irresolute to advance or recede, and all was still. Another quick challenge—a rattle of the musket, as it fell into the hollow of the hand,—followed the reply:—“Picquet guard, forced in by the enemy’s advance”—“Back, guard! back to your posts instantly, or we will fire upon you,” rung the stern voice of our commanding officer. The footsteps of the stragglers slowly receded, and entire stillness again obtained. It was as profound as the darkness, not even the hum of an insect rose upon the ear. We laid our heads upon the ramparts, and listened with all our faculties. We listened. Perhaps half an hour elapsed, when we imagined we heard the dead, heavy sound of a large body of men—tramp—tramp—tramp—advancing through the pitchy darkness. A few moments passed—a brisk scattering fire, and the picquets came in in beautiful order, under the brave subaltern in command. The measured tread of disciplined troops became apparent. Every sense was stretched to the utmost in expectancy—every eye endeavoured to fathom the darkness in front, when, from Towson’s battery, that towards the river, glanced avolley of musquetry, and in another instant, the whole line of the works, bastion, redoubt, and rampart, streamed forth one living sheet of flame. Two eighteens, mounted where we stand, were filled to the muzzle with grape, cannister, and bags of musket-bullets—imagine their havoc. The enemy came on with loud shouts and undaunted bravery. By the continued glare of our discharges, we could see dense dark masses of men, moving in columns to three separate points of attack upon our works. Our artillery and musketry poured on them as they advanced a continual stream of fire, rolling and glancing from angles, bastions, and redoubts. Repulsed—they were re-formed by their officers, and brought again to the charge, to be again repulsed. At such times, hours fly like minutes. A life appears concentrated to a moment. We had been engaged perhaps an hour—perhaps three, when I heard in that bastion of the Fort, a hundred feet from me, above the uproar, a quick, furious struggle, as if of men engaged in fierce death-fight; a clashing of bayonets, and sharp pistol shots, mixed with heavy blows, and short quick breathing, such as you may have heard men make in violent exertion—in cutting wood with axes, or other severe manual labour. The conflict, though fierce, was short—the assailants were repelled. Those that gained a footing were bayonetted, or thrown back over the parapet. In a few moments, I heard again the same fierce struggle, and again followedthe like result and stillness—if stillness could be said to exist under continual roar of musketry and artillery. A third time it rose, sudden and desperate; it ceased, and presently a clear loud voice rose high above the battle from the bastion: “Stop firing in front there, you are firing on your friends.” An instant cessation followed. We were deceived. In another moment, the voice of an officer with startling energy replied: “Aye, aye, we’ll stop: give it them, men, give it them!”—and the firing, renewed, was continued with redoubled fury. The head of the centre column, composed of eight hundred picked men, the veterans of Egypt, led by Lieut. Col. Drummond in person, after three several assaults, had gained possession of the bastion, and by that ruse, endeavoured to cause a cessation of the fire—a result that might have been fatal to us, had not the deception been so soon discerned. But the prize was of little value, as the bastion was commanded by the interior of the works, and the men, under cover of the walls of an adjoining barrack, poured into the gorge that led from it, a continued storm of musketry. The firing continued with unabated fury. The enemy, repulsed with great loss in every attack, was unsuccessful on every point save that bastion, the possession of which they still retained—when I heard a groaning roll and shake of the earth, and instantly the bastion, bodies of men, timber, guns, earth and stones, were blown up in the air like a volcano,making every thing in the glare as clear as noon-day. A descending timber dashed one of my artillerymen to pieces within a foot of my shoulder. Profound darkness and silence followed. Naught but the groans of the wounded and dying were heard. As if by mutual consent, the fighting ceased, and the enemy withdrew, repulsed on every side, save from the parapet which they purchased for their grave. A large quantity of fixed ammunition had been placed in the lower part, and a stray wad falling upon it, had blown them all up together. My duty required that I should immediately repair the bastion, and most horrible was the sight—bodies burnt and mutilated—some of them still pulsating with life, among them Lieut. Colonel Drummond, the leader of the attack. There he lay in the morning light, stark and stiff, extended on the rampart, a ball having passed through his breast. History mourns, that his courage assumed the character of ferocity. His war-cry of “No quarter to the damned Yankees,” his own death-warrant, was long remembered against his countrymen. The enemy did not resume the attack, but retiring to their entrenched camp, strengthened their works, and prepared to make their approach by regular advances.
But come, spur on, we have far to ride—spur on. Here we are upon their works. Here is the stone water-battery, and there the two strong redoubts, and back of them the remains of their lines, and deep entrenchments.These are the works which were carried in the memorable and desperate sortie of Fort Erie. The right by Davis and Miller; the left by Porter and his volunteers. Here, on the left, quoth the Major, fell my gallant, my accomplished friend, Lieut. Col. Wood, at the head of his column. He was one of the most brilliant officers in the service, and as beautiful as a girl. I often gazed with astonishment at the desperate daring that characterised him in action; here he fell; he was bayonetted to death on the ground, on this spot“—and the Major’s voice quivered, and he turned his face from me, for the cruel death of his dear friend was too much for his manhood. His ashes sleep amid the Highlands of the Hudson, beneath their monument, near the flag-staff at West Point. Peace to his gallant spirit! The stars of his country can wave over no braver of her sons.