turn towards the wood, for the sight of the coming of the next division of the army.
The only hostile demonstration during the afternoon had been the firing of the outpost upon a reconnoitering squad of dragoons and a bold dash down the road of a detachment of Hinds's horsemen, who, after a cool, impudent survey of the British camp, had galloped away again under a volley from the Rifles.
Darkness gathered over the scene. The sentinels were doubled, and officers walked their rounds in watchful anxiety. About seven o'clock some of them observed a boat stealing slowly down the river. From her careless approach, they thought she must be one of their own cruisers which had passed the forts below and was returning from a reconnoissance of the river. She answered neither hail nor musket shot, but steered steadily on, veering in close ashore until her broadside was abreast of the camp. Then her anchor was let loose, and a loud voice was heard: "Give them this, for the honour of America." A flash lighted the dark hulk, and a tornado of grape and musket shot swept the levee and field. It was the "Carolina" and Commodore Patterson; volley after volley followed with deadly rapidity and precision; the sudden and terrible havoc threw the camp into blind disorder. The men ran wildly to and fro, seeking shelter until Thornton ordered them to get under cover of the levee. There, according to the British version, they lay for an hour. The night was so black that not an object could be distinguished at the distance of a yard. The bivouac fires, beat about by the enemy's shot, burned red and dull in the deserted camp.
A straggling fire of musketry in the direction of the
