ls, but some of the men had
rifles or light muskets.

The troop went forward at a gallop against the wind, there being
just sufficient light for keen eyes to make out the road ahead.
Harry Peyton was inwardly deploring the loss of time at Philipse
Manor-house, and fearing that the prey would reach its covert, when
suddenly the moon appeared in a cloud-rift, the troops passed a turn
in the road, and there stood a line of Hessians barring the way.

Ere Peyton could give an order, came one loud, flaming, whistling
discharge from that living barrier. Harry's horse--Elizabeth
Philipse's Cato--reared, as did others of his troop. Some of the men
came to a quick stop, others were borne forward by the impetus of
their former speed, but soon reined in for orders. No man fell, though
one groaned, and two cursed.

Harry got his horse under control, drew his broadsword with his right
hand, his pistol with his left,--which held also the rein,--and
ordered his men to charge, to fire at the moment of contact, then to
cut, slash, and club. So the little troop, the well and the wounded
alike, dashed forward.

But the line of Hessians, as soon as they had fired, turned and fled,
passing between the two lines of the second force, and stopping at
some further distance to reform and reload. The second force, being
thus cleared by the first, wheeled quickly into the road, and formed a
second barrier against Peyton's oncoming troop.

Peyton's men, intoxicated by the powder-smell that filled their
nostrils as they passed through the smoke of the Hessians' first
volley, bore down on this second barrier with furious force. They were
the best riders in the world, and many a one of them held his
broadsword aloft in one hand, his pistol raised in the other, the rein
loose on his horse's neck; while those with long-barrelled weapons
aimed them on the gallop.

The Hessians and Peyton's foremost men fired at the same moment. The
Hessians had not time to turn and flee, for the Americans, unchecked
by this second greeting of fire, came on at headlong speed. "At 'em,
boys!" yelled Peyton, discharging his pistol at a tall yager, who fell
sidewise from his horse with a fierce German oath. The light horse
men dashed between the Hessians' steeds, and there was hewing and
hacking.

A Hessian officer struck with a sabre at Peyton's left arm, but only
knocked the pistol from his hand. Peyton then found himself threatened
on the right by a trooper, and