The men of Mercer's command reported that they had seen the two officers dismounted and fighting bravely, after having refused to retreat. The two young officers were very melancholy6 as they rode along the familiar road. Lewis belonged to a Virginia regiment7, and had known both Mercer and Talbot well, and in fact all the officers who had been killed. The officers of that little army were like a band of brothers, and after every battle there was a general mourning for the loss of many friends. The casualties among the officers in the sharp engagement had been unusually severe, and entirely8 disproportioned to the total loss; the bulk of the loss had fallen upon Mercer's brigade.
They found the general in Clark's farmhouse10, near the field of battle, lingering in great pain, and slowly dying from a number of ferocious11 bayonet wounds. He was attended by his aid, Major Armstrong, and the celebrated12 Dr. Benjamin Rush came especially from Philadelphia to give the dying hero the benefit of his skill and services. He had been treated with the greatest respect by the enemy, for Cornwallis was always quick to recognize and respect a gallant13 soldier. The kindly Quakers had spared neither time nor trouble to lighten his dying hours, and the women of the household nursed him with gentle and assiduous care. He passed away ten days after the battle, leaving to his descendants the untarnished name of a gallant soldier and gentleman, who never faltered14 in the pursuit of his high ideals of duty. Brief as had been his career as a general in the Revolution, his memory is still cherished by a grateful posterity15, as one of the first heroes of that mighty16 struggle for liberty.
Details of the British were already marching toward the field of action to engage in the melancholy work of burying the dead, when Seymour, under Major Armstrong's guidance, went over the ground in a search for Talbot. He had no difficulty in finding the place where his friend had fallen. The field had not been disturbed by any one. A bloody17 frozen mass of ice and snow had shown where Mercer had fallen, and across the place where his feet had been lay the body of Talbot. In front of him lay the lieutenant18 with whom he had fought, the sword still buried in his breast; farther away were the two men that the general and he had cut down in the first onslaught, and at his feet was the corpse19 of the man he had last shot, his stiffened20 hands still tightly clasping his gun. Around on the field were the bodies of many others who had fallen. Some of the Americans had been literally21 pinned to the earth by the fierce bayonet thrusts they had received in the charge; some of the British had been frightfully mangled22 and mashed23 by blows from the clubbed rifles of the Americans before they had retreated. Off to the right a long line of motionless bodies marked where the Pennsylvania militia25 had advanced and halted; there in the centre, lying in heaps, were the reminders26 of the fiercest spot of the little conflict, where Moulder's battery had been served with such good effect; here was the place where Washington had led the charge.
In one brief quarter of an hour nearly three hundred men had given up their lives, on this little farm, and there they lay attesting27 in mute silence their fidelity28 to their principles, warm red coat and tattered29 blue coat side by side, peace between them at last; indifferent each to the severities of nature or the passions of men; unheeding alike the ambitions of kings, the obstinacy30 of parliaments, or the desire of liberty on the part of peoples. Some were lying calmly, as if their last moments had been as peaceful as when little children they laid themselves down to sleep; others twisted and contorted with looks of horror and anguish31 fixed32 upon their mournful faces, which bespoke33 agonies attending the departure of life like to the travail34 pains with which it had been ushered35 into existence. Seymour with a sad heart stooped and turned over the body of his friend, lifting his face once more to that heaven he had gazed upon so bravely a few hours since—for it was morning again, but oh, how different! The face was covered with blood from the wound in the forehead, by which he had been beaten down. Sadly, tenderly, gratefully, remembering an hour when Talbot had knelt by his side and performed a similar service, he endeavored to wipe the lurid36 stains from off his marble brow. Then a thought came to him. Taking from his breast Katharine's handkerchief, which had never left him, he moistened it in the snow, and finding an unstained place where her dainty hand had embroidered37 her initials "K. W.," he carefully wiped clean the white face of his dead friend. There was a little smile upon Talbot's lips, and a look of peace and calm upon his face, which Seymour had not seen him wear since the sinking of the frigate38. His right hand, whiter than the lace which drooped39 over it, was pressed against his heart, evidently as the result of his last conscious movement. Seymour bent40 down and lifted it up gently; there was something beneath it inside his waistcoat. The young sailor reverently41 inserted his hand and drew it forth42. It was a plain gold locket. Touching43 the spring, it opened, and there were pictured the faces of the two women Talbot had loved,—on the one side the mother, stately, proud, handsome, resolute44, the image of the man himself; on the other, the brown eyes and the fair hair and the red lips of beautiful Katharine Wilton. There was a letter too in the pocket. The bayonet thrust which had reached his heart had gone through it, and it, and the locket also, was stained with blood. The letter was addressed to Seymour; wondering, he broke the seal and read it. It was a brief note, written in camp the night of the march. It would seem that Talbot had a presentiment45 that he might die in the coming conflict; indeed the letter plainly showed that he meant to seek death, to court it in the field. His mother was to be told that he had done his duty, and had not failed in sustaining the traditions of his honorable house; and the honest soldierly little note ended with these words,—
As for you, my dear Seymour, would that fate had been kinder to you! Were Katharine alive, I would crave46 your permission to say these words to her: 'I love you, Kate,—I've always loved you—but the better man has won you.' My best love to the old mother. Won't you take it to her? And good-by, and God bless you!——Hilary Talbot.
The brilliance47 went out of the sunshine, the brightness faded out of the morning, and Seymour stood there with the tears running down his cheeks,—not ashamed to weep for his friend. And yet the man was with Kate, he thought, and happy,—he could almost envy him his quiet sleep. The course of his thoughts was rudely broken by the approach of a party of horsemen, who rode up to where he stood. Their leader, a bold handsome young man, of distinguished48 appearance, in the brilliant dress of a British general officer, reined49 in his steed close by him, and addressed him.
"How now, sir! Weeping? Tears do not become a soldier!"
"Ah, sir," said Seymour, saluting50, and pointing down to Talbot's body at the same time, "not even when one mourns the death of a friend?"
"Your friend, sir?" replied the general officer, courteously51, uncovering and looking down at the bodies with interest; his practised eye immediately taking in the details of the little conflict.
"He did not go to his death alone," he said meaningly. "'Fore24 Gad9, sir, here has been a pretty fight! Your name and rank, sir?"
"Lieutenant John Seymour, of the American Continental52 navy, volunteer aid on his excellency General Washington's staff."
"And what do you here? Are you a prisoner?"
"No, sir, I came with Major Lewis to visit General Mercer, and to look for my friend, under cover of a flag of truce."
"Ha! How is General Mercer?"
"Frightfully wounded; he cannot live very long now."
"He was a gallant fellow, so I am told, sir, and fought the father of his majesty53 in the '45."
"Yes," said Seymour, simply; "this is where he fell."
The general looked curiously54 about him.
"And who was your dead friend?" he continued.
"Captain Hilary Talbot, of Virginia, of General Washington's staff."
"What! Not Talbot of Fairview Hall on the Potomac?" said one of the officers.
"The same, sir."
"Gad, my lord, Madam Talbot's a red-hot Tory! She swears by the king. I 've been entertained at the house,—not when the young man was there, but while he was away,—and a fine place it is. Well, here 's a house divided truly!"
"Is it indeed so, Mr. Seymour?"
The young man nodded affirmatively.
"What were you proposing to do with the body?"
"Bury it near here, sir, in the cemetery55 on the hill by the college.
We have no means of transporting it hence."
"Well, you shall do so, and we will bury him like a soldier. I remember the family now, in England, very well. Don't they call them the Loyal Talbots? Yes, I thought so. He was a rebel, and so far false to his creed56, but a gentleman nevertheless, and a brave one too. Look at the fight he made here, gentlemen! Damme, he shall have an escort of the king's own troops, and Lord Cornwallis himself and his staff for his chief mourners! eh, Erskine?" said the gallant earl, turning to the officer who rode near him.
"How will that suit you, Mr. Seymour? You can tell that to his poor old mother too, when you see her once again. Some of you bring up a company of troops and get a gun carriage,—there's an abandoned one of Mawhood's over there,—and we 'll take him up properly. Have you a horse, sir? Ah, that's well, and bring a Prayer Book if you can find one,—I doubt if there be any in my staff. I presume the man was a Churchman, and he shall have prayers too. We have no coffin57 for him, either; but stay—here 's my own cloak, a proper shroud58 for a soldier, surely that will do nicely; and now let us go on, gentlemen."
In a short time the martial59 cortége reached the little Presbyterian cemetery. The young man wrapped in the general's cloak was soon laid away in the shallow grave, which had hastily been made ready for him. Seymour, attended by the two other American officers, Armstrong and Lewis, after cutting off a lock of Talbot's dark hair for his mother, read the burial service out of the young soldier's own little Prayer Book, which he had found in the pocket of his coat; as the earth was put upon him, Cornwallis and his officers stood about reverently uncovered, while the sailor read with faltering60 lips the old familiar words, which for twenty centuries have whispered of comfort to the heart-broken children of men, and illumined the dark future by an eternal hope—nay, rather, fixed assurance—of life everlasting61.
There was one tender-hearted woman there too, one of the sweet-faced daughters of the kindly Quaker, Miss Clark. She had taken time to twine62 a hasty wreath from the fragrant63 ever-verdant pine; when the little mound64 of earth was finished, softly she laid it down, breathing a prayer for the mother in far-off Virginia as she did so.
Then they all drew back while the well-trained soldiers fired the last three volleys, and the drummers beat the last call. 'T was the same simple ending which closes the career of all soldiers, of whatever degree, when they come to occupy those narrow quarters, where earthly considerations of rank and station are forgot.
"Sir, I beg to thank you for this distinguished courtesy," said
Seymour, with deep feeling, extending his hand to the knightly65 Briton.
"Do not mention it, sir, I beg of you," replied Cornwallis, shaking his hand warmly. "You will do the same for one of us, I am sure, should occasion ever demand a like service at your hands. I will see that your other men and officers are properly buried. Do you return now?"
"Immediately, my lord."
"Pray present my compliments to Mr.—nay, General—Washington," said the generous commander, "and congratulate him upon his brilliant campaign. Ay, and tell him we look forward eagerly to trying conclusions with him again. Good-by, sir. Come, gentlemen," he cried, raising his hat gracefully66 as he mounted his horse and rode away, followed by his staff.
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收听单词发音
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1
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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exigency
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| n.紧急；迫切需要 | |
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precluded
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| v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 )；排除；妨碍；使…行不通 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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7
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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14
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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15
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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19
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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attesting
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| v.证明( attest的现在分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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28
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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29
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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30
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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33
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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34
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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35
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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39
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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41
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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42
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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43
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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44
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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45
presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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46
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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47
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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48
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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49
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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50
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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51
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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52
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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53
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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54
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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55
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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56
creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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57
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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58
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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59
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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60
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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61
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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62
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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64
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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65
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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