At length, upon the twenty-second of August, after days of expectation and suspense in the American camp, the British moved forward. Thoroughly informed of Washington’s position, the strength of his army, and the condition of his lines at every point, Lord Howe matured his plan of action deliberately, and decided to advance by way of Long Island. An attack from this quarter promised the speediest success and at the least cost, for, should he be able to force the defences of Brooklyn, New York would be at his mercy; or, failing in this, he could threaten Washington’s flank from Hell Gate or beyond, where part of the fleet had been sent through the Sound, and by a push into Westchester County compel the evacuation of the city. Preparations were accordingly made to transport the troops from Staten Island across to the Long Island coast and debark them at Gravesend Bay, a mile to the eastward of the Narrows. A thunder-storm of great violence on the previous evening, which had fallen with fatal effect on more than one of Washington’s soldiers, threatened to delay the movement, but a still atmosphere followed, and the morning of the 22d broke favorably. At dawn the three frigates Phoenix, Greyhound and Rose, with the bomb-ketches Thunder and Carcass, took their stations close into the Bay as covering ships for the landing, while Sir George Collier placed the Rainbow within the Narrows, opposite De Nyse’s Ferry, now Fort Hamilton, to silence a battery supposed to be at that point. Upon the Staten Island shore fifteen thousand British and Hessian troops, fully equipped, and forty pieces of artillery had been drawn up during the day and evening before, and a part of them embarked upon transports lying near at anchor. At the beach were moored seventy-five flat-boats, eleven batteaux, and two galleys, built expressly for the present service, and manned by sailors from the ships of war, which, with the rest of the naval armament, were placed under the direction of Commodore Hotham.

As soon as the covering frigates were in position, the brigade of light infantry and the reserves of grenadiers and foot, forming an advance corps four thousand strong and headed by Sir Henry Clinton and Lord Cornwallis, entered the flotilla and were rowed in ten divisions to the Gravesend landing, where they formed upon the plain without opposition. Then followed the remaining troops from the transports, and before noon the fifteen thousand, with guns and baggage, had been safely transferred to Long Island. All who witnessed this naval spectacle that morning were the enemy themselves, a few Dutch farmers in the vicinity, and the pickets of Hand’s riflemen, who at once reported the movement at camp.

The landing successfully effected, Cornwallis was immediately detached with the reserves, Donop’s corps of chasseurs and grenadiers, and six field-pieces, to occupy the village of Flatbush, but with orders not to attempt the “pass” beyond, if he found it held by the rebels; and the main force encamped nearer the coast, from the Narrows to Flatlands. As Cornwallis advanced, Colonel Hand and his two hundred riflemen hurried down from their outpost camp above Utrecht, and, keeping close to the enemy’s front, marched part of the way “alongside of them, in the edge of the woods,” but avoided an open fight in the field with superior numbers. Captain Hamilton and twenty men of the battalion fell back on the road in advance, burning grain and stacks of hay, and killing cattle, which, says Lieutenant-Colonel Chambers, he did “very cleverly.” Among the inhabitants along the coast, confusion, excitement, and distress prevailed, and many moved off their goods in great haste to find refuge in the American lines or farther east on the island; while others remained to welcome the enemy, for whose success they had been secretly praying from the outset.

The section of Long Island which the enemy now occupied was a broad low plain, stretching northward from the coast from four to six miles, and eastward a still further distance. Scattered over its level surface were four villages, surrounded with farms. Nearest to the Narrows, and nearly a mile from the coast, stood New Utrecht; another mile south-east of this was Gravesend; north-east from Gravesend, nearly three miles, the road led through Flatlands, and directly north from Flatlands, and about half-way to Brooklyn Church, lay Flatbush. Between this plain and the Brooklyn lines ran a ridge of hills, which extended from New York Bay midway through the island to its eastern extremity. The ridge varied in height from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet above the sea, and from the plain it rose somewhat abruptly from forty to eighty feet, but fell off more gradually in its descent on the other side. Its entire surface was covered with a dense growth of woods and thickets, and to an enemy advancing from below it presented a continuous barrier, a huge natural abattis, impassable to artillery, where with proportionate numbers a successful defence could be sustained.

The roads across the ridge passed through its natural depressions, of which there were four within a distance of six miles from the harbor. The main highway, or Jamaica Road that which led up from Brooklyn Ferry after passing through Bedford, kept on still north of the hills, and crossed them at the “Jamaica Pass,” about four miles from the fortified line. From this branched three roads leading to the villages in the plain. The most direct was that to Flatbush, which cut through the ridge a mile and a half from the works. Three quarters of a mile to the left, towards the Jamaica Pass, a road from Bedford led also to Flatbush; and near the coast ran the Gowanus Road to the Narrows. Where the Red Lion Tavern stood on this road, about three miles from Brooklyn Church, a narrow lane, known as the Martense Lane, now marking the southern boundary of Greenwood Cemetery, diverged to the left through a hollow in the ridge and connected with roads on the plain. To clearly understand succeeding movements on Long Island, it is necessary to have in mind the relative situation of these several routes and passes.

When word of the enemy’s landing reached Sullivan and Washington the troops were immediately put under arms. The commander-in-chief had already been prepared for the intelligence by a dispatch from Governor Livingston, of New Jersey, the night before, to the effect that he had certain information from the British camp that they were then embarking troops and would move to the attack on the following day. As the report came in that the enemy intended to march at once upon Sullivan, Washington promptly sent him a reinforcement of six regiments, which included Miles’ and Atlee’s from Stirling’s brigade, Chester’s and Silliman’s from Wadsworth’s, and probably Lasher’s and Drake’s from Scott’s, numbering together some eighteen hundred men. They crossed with light spirits, and were marched to alarm-posts. Miles’ two battalions went on to the Bedford Pass; Silliman was ordered down into “a woody hill near Red Hook, to prevent any more troops from landing thereabout." Hand’s riflemen, supported by one of the Eastern regiments, watched and annoyed the Hessians under Donop at Flatbush, and detachments were sent to guard the lower roads near the Red Lion. Within the Brooklyn lines the troops stood to their alarm-posts. Colonel Little, expecting that “morning would bring us to battle,” and remembering his promise to defend Fort Greene to the last extremity, enclosed his will to his son, and directed him in a certain event to take proper charge at home.

The morning of the 23d, however, brought no battle, nor did the enemy attempt any advance for three days. Washington made Sullivan an early visit, saw the situation there for himself, and during the day issued another of his fervent orders to the army. He formally announced the landing of the British, and again reminded his troops that the moment was approaching on which their honor and success and the safety of the country depended. “Remember, officers and soldiers,” he said, “that you are freemen, fighting for the blessings of liberty; that slavery will be your portion, and that of your posterity, if you do not acquit yourselves like men. Remember how your courage and spirit have been despised and traduced by your cruel invaders; though they have found by dear experience at Boston, Charleston, and other places what a few brave men, contending in their own land and in the best of causes, can do against base hirelings and mercenaries.” He urged them, too, to be cool, but determined; not to fire at a distance, but wait for the word from their officers; and gave express orders that if any man attempted to skulk, lie down, or retreat, he must be instantly shot down as an example. Those who should distinguish themselves for gallantry and good conduct were assured that they might depend upon being honorably noticed and suitably rewarded. Strict orders as to other matters were also issued. The commissary-general was to have five days’ baked bread on hand for distribution; the men were to have constantly ready with them two days’ hard bread and pork, and the officers were to see not only that they had it, but kept it. The officers of the newly arrived militiamen were instructed also to see that the cartridges fitted their soldiers’ muskets, and that each man had twenty-four rounds and two flints.

On the Long Island front, Sullivan was alert, and kept his division in readiness for the attack, which was now hourly expected. He ordered his command that afternoon, the 23d, to prepare two days’ provisions and turn out the next morning at three o’clock. For the night, he assigned Hitchcock’s and Little’s regiments to guard the Flatbush Pass, Johnston’s and Martin’s to the coast road, and Remsen’s Long Island militia to support Miles on the Bedford Road. They were all to be at their posts at six o’clock, and the regiments they relieved were to return to their encampments and, like the rest, “get two days’ provisions dressed, and be ready for action.”

Meanwhile some brisk skirmishing occurred in front of Flatbush. In the afternoon of this day, the enemy, as Sullivan reported, formed, and attempted to pass the road by Bedford, but meeting a warm reception from the riflemen, some “musketry” sent to their support, and two or three of our field pieces, they fell back. “Our men,” wrote Sullivan to Washington, “followed them to the house of Judge Lefferts (where a number of them had taken lodgings), drove them out, and burnt the house and a number of other buildings contiguous. They think they killed a number; and, as evidence of it, they produced three officers’ hangers, a carbine, and one dead body, with a considerable sum of money in pocket. I have ordered a party out for prisoners to-night." The enemy returned in force, and the American skirmishers, having but two wounded, withdrew to the hills; but their conduct in the affair was so highly appreciated by Sullivan, that he issued a congratulatory order in the following terms:

“The general returns his thanks to the brave officers and soldiers who, with so much spirit and intrepidity, repulsed the enemy and defeated their designs of taking possession of the woods near our lines. He is now convinced that the troops he has the honor to command will not, in point of bravery, yield to any troops in the universe. The cheerfulness with which they do their duty, and the patience with which they undergo fatigue, evince exalted sentiments of freedom and love of country, and gives him most satisfactory evidence that when called upon they will prove themselves worthy of that freedom for which they are now contending."

On the 24th, Washington was still in doubt as to the intentions of the enemy. Reports represented their numbers on Long Island at not more than eight thousand, whereas they were double this estimate; and it was suspected at headquarters that their landing might only be a feint to draw off our troops to that side, while the real attack should be made on New York. But the imprudence of running any risks on the Brooklyn side was obvious, and Washington sent over a further reinforcement of four regiments, which appear to have been Wyllys’s, Huntington’s, and Tyler’s of Parsons’ brigade (his entire command was there on the next day) together with the Pennsylvania detachments under Lieutenant-Colonel Lutz and Major Hay. On this date Brigadier-General Lord Stirling crossed over, where more than half his brigade had preceded him; and Brigadier-General John Nixon, whose name now first appears in connection with the operations on Long Island, was detailed as field officer of the day, with orders to take command of the outer line and post his men “in the edge of the woods next the enemy."

But the principal event of the 24th was the change made in the chief command on Long Island. Sullivan was superseded by Putnam. There were now on that side the whole of Nixon’s and Heard’s brigades (the two regiments on Governor’s Island excepted), the larger part of Stirling’s and Parson’s, and half of Scott’s and Wadsworth’s. As this roster included one third of the army’s effective force, the command could properly be assigned to Putnam as the senior major-general present; but it does not appear that the question of his rank entered into the reasons for the change. In a letter to Governor Livingston from Colonel Reed, the adjutant-general, dated August 30th, 1776, the statement is made that Washington, “finding a great force going to Long Island, sent over Putnam;” leaving the inference to be drawn that, apart from his rank, Putnam was considered the proper officer, or an officer competent, to command such a force. Reed states further that some movements had been made on Long Island of which the commander-in-chief did not entirely approve, and this also called for a change. Sullivan, too, was wholly unacquainted with the ground; although, as to this, Putnam’s knowledge of it was not extensive, as he had been over it only “occasionally.” That Sullivan was a brave, zealous, and active officer, his military career abundantly proves. Appointed a brigadier-general from New Hampshire, he commanded a brigade under Lee throughout the Boston siege, and had been sent, as already stated, in the spring of this year to help repair the misfortunes attending our force on the Canada border; but success was not to be met with there, and Sullivan, finding Gates promoted to the chief command in that quarter, returned, after visiting Congress, to the New York army. Like most of our general officers at that date, he as yet lacked military experience, especially in an independent capacity, for which his ambition to succeed was not a sufficient equivalent. How far Putnam was more competent to assume the command on Long Island, is a point which the issue there, at least, did not determine. His record before this was all in his favor. A veteran of the old war, a man of known personal courage, blunt, honest, practical, and devoted to the American cause, he had the confidence of at least the older part of the army, with which he had been identified from the beginning of the struggle. As he had never been tried in a separate department, Washington could not say how he would manage it, but he could say, from his experience with him at Boston, that Putnam was “a most valuable man and fine executive officer," and such he continued to prove himself through the present campaign. He seconded Washington heartily and efficiently in all his plans and preparations, and when he was sent to Long Island the commander-in-chief had reason to feel that whatever directions he might give as to operations there, Putnam would follow them out to the letter. But if Putnam took the general command across the river, Sullivan continued in active subordinate control, as second in command.

On the 25th, Putnam received written instructions from Washington. He was directed to form a proper line of defence around his encampment and works on the most advantageous ground; to have a brigadier of the day constantly upon the lines that he might be on the spot to command; to have field-officers go the rounds and report the situation of the guards; to have the guards particularly instructed in their duty; and to compel all the men on duty to remain at their camps or quarters and be ready to turn out at a moment’s warning. The wood next to Red Hook bordering Gowanus Creek was to be well attended to, and the woods elsewhere secured by abattis, if necessary, to make the enemy’s progress as difficult as possible. The militia, or troops which were least disciplined and had seen the least service, were to man the interior lines, while the best men were “at all hazards” to prevent the enemy’s passing the woods and approaching the works. He disapproved also of the unmeaning picket firing and the burning of houses, and warned the general finally that when the attack came it was certain to be “sudden and violent."

For brigadier for the day, General Lord Stirling was assigned to duty on this date.

In the skirmishing that continued from the 24th to the 26th the Americans showed skill and bravery, although at times indulging in desultory firing. The riflemen, supported by field-pieces, made occasioned dashes upon the enemy and picked off their men with almost no loss to themselves. Among the troops on picket near Flatbush, on the 25th, were Colonel Silliman and his Connecticut battalion; and from the colonel, who wrote from there, on a drum-head, to his wife, we get a glimpse of the situation at that point during his tour of duty. “I am now posted,” he says, “within about half a mile from the Regulars with my Regt. under the covert of a woody hill to stop their passage into the country. There are a number of Regts. posted all around the town within about the same distance and for the same purpose. The Regulars keep up an almost constant fire from their Cannon and Mortars at some or other of us, but neither shott nor shell has come near my Regt. as yet and they are at too great a distance to fire muskets at. I have a scouting party going out now to see if they can’t pick up some or get something from them.... They have wounded in all of our men in 3 days skirmish about 8 or 9, one or two mortally, which is not half the number that we have killed for them besides wounded.” On the 26th a considerable party with artillery attacked the Hessians and drove them in, killing several men belonging to the Von Lossberg regiment, which later in the day advanced in turn and compelled our skirmishers to fall back. In this affair Colonel Ephraim Martin, of New Jersey, was severely wounded.

On the morning of the 26th, Washington again crossed to Long Island, where he remained until night. The records are quite silent as to how he passed the most of his time, but judging from his letter to Congress of this date, in which he expressed his belief that the enemy had landed nearly all their force on that side, and that it was there they would make their “grand push,” it was doubtless a busy, watchful, and anxious day with him. To suppose that he did not inform himself of all the preparations made to meet the enemy, that he did not know what number of men were posted on the hills and at what points, that he did not study the several modes and directions of attack possible for the enemy to adopt, and that he did not himself give personal directions, would be to charge that at the most important moment of the campaign he failed to exercise that care and attention to detail which he exercised on so many occasions both before and after. Indeed, although Putnam and Sullivan were in immediate command on Long Island, Washington never shifted the final responsibility from his own shoulders, and as a matter of fact was probably as well acquainted with the ground as either of these generals. Towards evening, in company with Putnam, Sullivan, and other officers, he rode down to the outposts near Flatbush and examined the position of the enemy. How long he remained, or what information he was able to gather, does not appear; but both the other generals, Putnam and Sullivan, made a detour of the pickets either at this time or at an earlier hour in the day, visited Miles and Brodhead on the extreme left, took their opinion as to the movements and intentions of the British, so far as one could be formed by them, and then rode off to the right “to reconnoitre the enemies lines."

On this day also, the 26th, additional regiments were sent over. Two of these were the remainder of Stirling’s brigade Haslet’s Delaware battalion, the largest in the army, as we have seen, and Smallwood’s Marylanders, one of the choicest and best equipped. Either on this or one of the two previous days, Lieutenant-Colonel Kachlein’s incomplete battalion of Pennsylvania riflemen, with two or three independent companies from Maryland, crossed; and among the last to go over were one hundred picked men, the nucleus of the “Rangers,” from Durkee’s Connecticut Continentals at Bergen, with Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Knowlton at their head. These additions raised the force on Long Island on the night of the 26th to a total of about seven thousand men fit for duty.

Following in turn after Nixon and Stirling, Brigadier-General Parsons was detailed as field officer of the day for the next twenty-four hours the day of the engagement.

At about the time that Washington started to return to his headquarters at New York, on this evening, Sir William Howe began to set his columns in motion for the attack, and on the next morning, at the passes in the hills and along their inner slopes, was fought what is known in our Revolutionary history as the battle of Long Island.

Fortunately, a point so essential to the comprehension of the progress of any engagement, the position of both armies on Long Island, just before the attack, is now known nearly to the last detail. The record here is clear and satisfactory. On the night of the 26th, the various regiments and detachments on guard at the American outposts numbered not far from twenty-eight hundred men. At the important Flatbush Pass, supporting the two or three gun battery there, and with strong pickets thrown out to the edge of the woods nearest the enemy, were posted Hitchcock’s and Little’s Continental regiments, and Johnston’s New Jersey battalion, the two former being commanded by their lieutenant-colonels, Cornell and Henshaw. To this point, also, Knowlton and his rangers appear to have been sent. The battery or redoubt here stood about where the Flatbush and narrow Port Road united, and was apparently no more than a plain breastwork, with felled trees in front of it, thrown up across the road, and perhaps extending to the rising ground on the left. At the coast road, around and beyond the Red Lion, the guards consisted of Hand’s riflemen, half of Atlee’s musketry, detachments of New York troops, and part of Lutz’s Pennsylvanians under Major Burd. At the Bedford Pass, to the left of the Flatbush Road, were stationed Colonel Samuel Wyllys’s Connecticut Continentals, and Colonel Chester’s regiment from the same State, under Lieutenant-Colonel Solomon Wills, of Tolland, who had seen service in the French war and at Havana. Still further to the left, Colonel Miles was now encamped a short distance beyond, in the woods. Between these several passes, sentinels were stationed at intervals along the crest of the ridge, to keep communication open from one end of the line to the other.

As far, then, to the left as Miles’ position the hills were as well guarded as seemed possible with the limited force that could be spared, and at the passes themselves a stout resistance could have been offered. But it was still an attenuated line, more than four miles long, not parallel but oblique to the line of works at Brooklyn, and distant from it not less than one and a half, and at the farthest posts nearly three miles. Should the enemy pierce it at any one point, an immediate retreat would have been necessary from every other. The line could have been defended with confidence only on the supposition that the British would not venture to penetrate the thick woods, but advance along the roads through the passes.

It will be noticed that in this disposition no provision was made for holding the fourth or Jamaica Pass far over to the left. That the enemy could approach or make a diversion by that route, must have been well understood. But the posting of a permanent guard there would obviously have been attended with hazard, for the distance from the lines to this pass was four miles, and from the Bedford Pass two miles and a half through the woods. The position was thus extremely isolated, if the troops stationed there were expected to make the fortified line their point of retreat. None were stationed there during the five days since the British landed, and it nowhere appears that any were intended or ordered to be so stationed by either Sullivan, Putnam, or the commander-in-chief. There was but one effective way of preventing surprise from that quarter, and that was to have squads of cavalry or troops constantly patrolling the road, who on the appearance of an enemy could carry the word immediately and rapidly to the outposts and the camp. But in all Washington’s army there was not a single company of horsemen, except the few Long Island troopers from Kings and Queens counties, and these were now engaged miles away in driving off stock out of reach of the enemy. The duty, accordingly, of looking after the open left flank fell, in part, upon Colonel Miles’ two battalions. Lieutenant-Colonel Brodhead leaves it on record that it was “hard duty.” The regiment sent out scouting parties every day a distance of four or five miles; one hundred men were mounted for guard daily, and thirty more with a lieutenant were kept on duty on the left, evidently in the direction of the Jamaica Road. General Parsons reports that “in the wood was placed Colonel Miles with his Battalion to watch the motion of the Enemy on that part, with orders to keep a party constantly reconnoitering to and across the Jamaica road.” Should he discover the enemy at any time, it would have been expected of him to report the fact at once, oppose them vigorously, and retreat obstinately in order to give time for the other detachments to govern their movements accordingly.

One other circumstance is to be noticed in regard to this Jamaica Pass. General Sullivan, subsequently referring to his connection with this battle, claimed that while he was in sole command he paid horsemen out of his own purse to patrol the road, and that he predicted the approach of the enemy by that road. Whatever inferences may be drawn from this is not now to the point; but we have the fact that upon the evening of the 26th he exercised the same authority he had exercised in making other details, and sent out a special patrol of five commissioned officers to watch the Jamaica Pass. Three of these officers belonged to Colonel Lasher’s New York City battalion Adjutant Jeronimus Hoogland and Lieutenants Robert Troup and Edward Dunscomb; and the other two were Lieutenant Gerrit Van Wagenen, a detached officer of McDougall’s old regiment, and a Lieutenant Gilliland, who with Van Wagenen had crossed to Long Island, as a volunteer. What part this patrol played in the incidents of the following morning will presently appear.

Thus on the night of the 26th the American outposts stretched along the hills from the harbor to the Jamaica Pass, with unguarded intervals, a distance of more than six miles, while in the plains below lay the enemy, nearly ten times their number, ready to fall upon them with “a sudden and violent” shock. During the night one change was made in the picket guard. Colonel Hand’s riflemen, who had been on almost constant duty since the arrival of the British, were relieved at two o’clock in the morning by a detachment from the flying camp, which may have been a part of Hay’s and Kachlein’s men, and returning to the lines, dropped down to sleep.

If we leave our outposts now upon the hills and pass into the enemy’s camp on the plain below, we shall find them on the eve of carrying out a great plan of attack. The four days since the 22d had been given to preparation. On the 25th, Lieutenant-General De Heister crossed from Staten Island with the two Hessian brigades of Von Stirn and Von Mirbach, leaving behind Von Lossberg’s brigade, with some detachments and recruits, for the security of that island. With this addition, Howe’s force on Long Island was swelled to a total of about twenty-one thousand officers and men, fit for duty and in the best condition for active service. As disposed on the 26th, the army lay with the Hessians and the reserves under Cornwallis at Flatbush, the main body under Clinton and Percy massed at Flatlands, and Grant’s division of the fourth and sixth brigades nearer the Narrows.

Outnumbering the Americans three to one on the island, Howe could lay his plans with assurance of almost absolute success. He proposed to advance upon the “rebels” in three columns. Grant was ordered to move up from the Narrows along the lower road, and De Heister was to engage the attention of the Americans at the Flatbush Pass, while Clinton, Percy, and Cornwallis, with Howe himself, were to conduct the main body as a flanking force around the American left by way of the Jamaica Pass. A previous reconnoissance made by Clinton and Erskine, and information gathered from the Tories, showed the practicability of this latter movement. Grant and De Heister were simply to make a show of an attack until they were assured by the sound of the firing that the flanking column had accomplished its design, when their demonstrations were to be turned into serious fighting. It was expected that by this plan the Americans stationed at the hills and passes would be entirely enveloped and thoroughly beaten if not captured in a body. With what nice precision this piece of strategy was executed, events will show.

The first collision was ominous. Grant’s advance-guard, marching up from the Narrows, struck the American pickets in the vicinity of the Red Lion about two o’clock on the morning of the 27th. Whether because they were all new troops, a part of whom had but just come upon the ground, and were alarmed by the night attack, or because they were surprised at their posts and put in danger of capture, or whatever the reason, our picket guard at that point retreated before the enemy without checking their march. There was hardly more than an exchange of fire with Major Burd’s detachment, as the major himself writes, and in the confusion or darkness he, with many others probably, was taken prisoner. This was an unfortunate beginning, so far as our men had abandoned one of the very posts which it had been proposed to hold; but otherwise, there being other positions available, it was not necessarily fatal to the plan of defending the hills.

Word of the attack was quickly carried to General Parsons at his quarters and to General Putnam in camp. Parsons, as the brigadier on duty, rode at once to the spot, and found “by fair daylight” not only that the guards had “fled,” but that the enemy were through the woods and already on this side of the main hills. Hastily collecting some twenty of the scattered pickets, he made a show of resistance, which temporarily halted the enemy’s column. At the same time Putnam, whose instructions were to hold the outposts “at all hazards” with his best men, called up Stirling and directed him in person to take the two regiments nearest at hand and march down to meet the enemy. Stirling promptly turned out Haslet’s and Smallwood’s battalions and marched down. Colonel Atlee, who was also ordered forward, was on the road before him, with that part of his regiment, about one hundred and twenty men, not already on picket; and Huntington’s Connecticut Continentals, under Lieutenant-Colonel Clark (Huntington himself being sick), and Kachlein’s Pennsylvania riflemen were soon after started in the same direction. Meanwhile, within the lines, the alarm-guns were fired, the whole camp roused, and the troops drawn up at the forts and breastworks. Hand’s riflemen, who had but just lain down, “almost dead with fatigue,” were turned out to take post in Fort Putnam and the redoubt on its left.

When Stirling reached a point within half a mile of the Red Lion he found, as Parsons had before him, that the enemy had met with little opposition or delay at the outposts on that road, and were now on the full march towards the Brooklyn lines. As there were still good positions which he could occupy, he immediately made a disposition of his force to offer resistance. The road here ran in a winding course along the line of the present Third Avenue, but a short distance from the bay, with here and there a dwelling which together constituted the Gowanus village or settlement. Where the present Twenty-third Street intersects the avenue there was a small bridge on the old road which crossed a ditch or creek setting up from the bay to a low and marshy piece of ground on the left, looking south; and just the other side of the bridge, the land rose to quite a bluff at the water’s edge, which was known among the Dutch villagers as “Blockje’s Bergh.” From the bluff the low hill fell gradually to the marsh or morass just mentioned, the road continuing along between them. Right here, therefore, the approach by the road was narrow, and at the corner of Twenty-third Street was confined to the crossing at the bridge.

According to his own account, and from our present knowledge of the topography, Stirling evidently came to a halt on or just this side of “Blockje’s Bergh.” Seeing the British not far in his front, and taking in the situation at a glance, he ordered Atlee to post his men on the left of the road and wait the enemy’s coming up, while he himself retired with Smallwood’s and Haslet’s to form line on a piece of “very advantageous ground” further back. Atlee reports this preliminary move as follows: “I received orders from Lord Stirling to advance with my battalion and oppose the enemy’s passing a morass or swamp at the foot of a fine rising ground, upon which they were first discovered, and thereby give time to our brigade to form upon the heights. This order I immediately obeyed, notwithstanding we must be exposed without any kind of cover to the great fire of the enemy’s musketry and field-pieces, charged with round and grapeshot, and finely situated upon the eminence above mentioned, having entire command of the ground I was ordered to occupy. My battalion, although new and never before having the opportunity of facing an enemy, sustained their fire until the brigade had formed; but finding we could not possibly prevent their crossing the swamp, I ordered my detachment to file off to the left and take post in a wood upon the left of the brigade." General Parsons says: “We took possession of a hill about two miles from camp, and detached Colonel Atlee to meet them further on the road; in about sixty rods he drew up and received the enemy’s fire and gave them a well-directed fire from his regiment, which did great execution, and then retreated to the hill.”

This advantageous site, where Stirling had now drawn up his brigade to dispute Grant’s progress, was the crest of the slope which rose northerly from the marsh and low ground around “Blockje’s Bergh,” and which to-day is represented by about the line of Twentieth Street. Here was an elevation or ridge favorable for defence, and here Stirling proposed to make a stand. On the right, next to the road, he posted Smallwood’s battalion, under Major Gist; further along up the hillside were the Delawares, under Major MacDonough; and on their left, in the woods above, Atlee’s men formed after falling back from their attempt to stop the enemy.

When Kachlein’s riflemen came up, the general stationed part of them along hedges near the foot of the hill in front of the Marylanders, and part in front of the woods near Atlee. The line had hardly been formed before it was observed that the enemy threatened to overlap it on the left, and Parsons was accordingly ordered to take Atlee’s and Huntington’s regiments and move still further into the woods to defeat the designs on that flank.

Finding Stirling thus thrown across their path, the British also drew up in line and disposed their force as if intending to attack him at once. About opposite to the Marylanders, possibly on Blockje’s Bergh, Grant posted the sixth brigade in two lines, while the fourth brigade was extended in a single line from the low ground to the top of the hills in Greenwood Cemetery.

Here, then, was a regular battle formation Grant and Stirling opposing each other and we may regard it with interest not only as the only line of battle preserved, on the American side at least, during this day’s struggle, but as being the first instance in the Revolution where we met the British in the open field. Before this it had been fighting under different conditions the regulars mowed down at Bunker Hill, Montgomery attempting to storm Quebec, or Moultrie bravely holding a fort against a fleet; now the soldiers on either side stood face to face, and the opportunity seemed at hand to fairly test their native courage. Greatly disproportionate, however, was the strength of these two lines. Stirling’s, all told, contained not more than sixteen hundred men; while Grant’s, which besides the two brigades included the Forty-second Highlanders and two companies of American loyalists, was little less than seven thousand strong. But if we find here a threatening attitude, let us not expect any desperate fighting. It was not Grant’s object to bring on an engagement at this early hour, now seven o’clock in the morning, for he wished to keep Stirling where he was until the other movements of the day were developed. He contented himself with appearing to be on the point of attack, and Stirling could do no more than prepare for a stubborn defence of his ground.

The first move of the British was to send forward a small body of light troops from their left, which advanced to within one hundred and fifty yards of Stirling’s right. This would bring them not far from the little bridge on the road, where, from behind hedges and apple-trees, they opened fire on our advanced riflemen, who replied with spirit.

In the mean time, Stirling was reinforced by a two-gun battery from Knox’s artillery, under Captain-Lieutenant Benajah Carpenter, of Providence, R.I., which was at once placed on the hillside to command the road, and, according to Stirling, “the only approach for some hundred yards,” which must have been that part of the road running over the bridge. The skirmishing was kept up at a lively rate for about two hours, and occasionally, it would appear, our entire line engaged in the fire. Of the particular incidents which occurred at this point we have almost nothing; but perhaps, from one or two mere references that have been preserved, the whole scene can be imagined. “The enemy,” writes one of the Maryland soldiers, “advanced towards us, upon which Lord Stirling, who commanded, drew up in a line and offered them battle in true English taste. The British then advanced within about 200 yards of us, and began a heavy fire from their cannon and mortars, for both the Balls and Shells flew very fast, now and then taking off a head. Our men stood it amazingly well; not even one of them shewed a Disposition to shrink. Our orders were not to fire until the Enemy came within fifty yards of us, but when they perceived we stood their fire so cooly and resolutely they declined coming any nearer, altho’ treble our number." Colonel Haslet, although not with his regiment, reported to his friend Cæsar Rodney that “the Delawares drew up on the side of a hill, and stood upwards of four hours, with a firm, determined countenance, in close array, their colors flying, the enemy’s artillery playing on them all the while, not daring to advance and attack them;" and his ensign, Stephens, pointed with pride to the standard “torn with shot” while held in his hands.

Galled perhaps by the fire of Carpenter’s battery, the British light troops retired to their main line, and the firing from this time was continued chiefly by the artillery. On their left they advanced one howitzer to within three hundred yards of Stirling’s right, and in front of his left they opened with another piece at a distance of six hundred yards, and until about eleven o’clock the cannonading was vigorously sustained. Here was an engagement begun, and for four hours Stirling’s men were encouraged with the belief that they were holding back the invaders. Their general inspired them with his own resolution and bravery, both by word and example; and their good conduct in this their first experience under fire, exposed without cover to cannon and musket shot, indicated that Grant could not have pushed them back without suffering severely. The casualties had not been large, but the nerves of the men were none the less tested by the ordeal. Among the Marylanders, Captain Edward Veazey, who commanded one of the independent companies, doing duty with Smallwood’s regiment, fell “early in the engagement;” and either here, or on the retreat at a later hour, also fell Captain Carpenter, whose battery had been doing good work on Stirling’s line. Of the Delawares, Major MacDonough and Lieutenants Anderson and Course were slightly wounded. Accounts agree that few of the men in either Smallwood’s, Haslet’s, or Kachlein’s battalions were killed or wounded while holding this position.

The three regiments immediately under Stirling thus not only appeared to be doing well, but had actually proved themselves the best of soldiers, both by keeping an unwavering line when the British light troops advanced, as if to be followed by the main column, and in maintaining their ranks and discipline when subjected to the subsequent fire of the artillery.

Nor were these the only men who did themselves credit. That little party composed of Atlee’s and Huntington’s battalions, under General Parsons, which had gone into the woods to protect Stirling’s left, must not be forgotten. Our published accounts heretofore fail to particularize the service it did; but it was of no small account, as Parson’s and Atlee’s independent testimony and the returns of the British losses clearly show. The party, not much over three hundred strong, filed off to the left, and soon came in sight of “a hill of clear ground” about three hundred yards distant, which was judged to be the proper situation from which to watch the enemy. The direction Parsons’ men took, the distances mentioned, and the fact that tradition associates the site with part of the fighting on that day, can leave no doubt but that the hill referred to here was one of the two or three distinct elevations in the north-western section of Greenwood Cemetery, and to one of which has since been given the commemorative title of “Battle Hill.” A spot fitly named, for around it some brave work was done! As the detachment neared the hill, the British flanking troops were also observed to be marching to seize it. Atlee seeing this hurried his men to reach it first, but the enemy were there before him and poured a volley into his battalion. Fortunately, not being well aimed, this did trifling damage, but under the shock a part of his men, with two companies from the Delaware regiment, which had been ordered to join them, wavered. Rallying the most of them, Atlee soon ordered an advance up the hill, telling the men at the same time “to preserve their fire and aim aright;” and they all pushed forward with so much resolution, and apparently with such an effective discharge of their pieces, that the enemy fell back, leaving behind them twelve killed and a lieutenant and four privates wounded. In this encounter Atlee lost his “worthy friend” and lieutenant-colonel, Caleb Parry, who fell dead upon the field without a groan, while cheering on the battalion. Ordering four soldiers to take the remains of “the hero” back into the Brooklyn lines, Atlee halted his “brave fellows” on the hill, and all Parsons’ command here took post to await the further movements of the British on this flank. The force they had met and repulsed consisted of the Twenty-third and Forty-fourth and a part of the Seventeenth regiments, by whom they were soon to be attacked again. In half an hour after the first affair the enemy formed for another effort to seize the hill, but again Atlee’s and Huntington’s men opened upon them, and for a second time compelled their retreat, with the loss of Lieutenant-Colonel Grant, a brave and valued field-officer of the Fortieth Regiment, whose fall gave ground for the report, credited for some days after in the American army, that Major-General Grant, the division commander, was among the enemy’s killed in the battle of Long Island. Parsons’ men by this time had fired away all their ammunition (Atlee says that his battalion, at least, had entirely emptied their cartridge-boxes), and had used what charges could be got from the enemy’s dead and wounded, when Huntington’s ammunition cart “very luckily” came on the ground, and the men were re-supplied for still a third attack, which was threatened with the assistance of the Forty-second Highlanders; but the British this time kept a safe distance, and Parsons and Atlee remained on the hill, where they collected the enemy’s dead and placed their wounded under the shelter of the trees. Thus bravely and effectively had this small body of Americans protected Stirling’s flank and dealt the enemy the severest blows they suffered at any one point during the day, and this, as in the case of Stirling’s men, with but small loss to themselves. From behind fences and trees, and, if tradition is correct, from the tops of trees as well, and from open ground on the hill, they kept up their destructive fire and successfully accomplished what they had been called upon to do. That the British did not intend at this hour to drive Parsons and Atlee from their post is no detraction from the spirited fight made by these officers and their men, who knew nothing of the enemy’s intentions, and who actually won the field from the troops they met. All along this front, from Stirling holding the road on the right to Parsons holding the left, with a long gap between them, the fighting thus far had resulted most favorably to the American side. The main line, as already stated, had lost not more than two officers killed and three or four wounded, with a small number of men; while Parsons and Atlee both report that in addition to the death of Lieutenant-Colonel Parry they lost only one or two men wounded. But, on the part of the British, Grant’s two brigades, with the Forty-second Highlanders and the two companies of New York loyalists, lost, according to Howe’s official report, two officers killed and four wounded, and among the men twenty-five killed and ninety-nine wounded. The four regiments alone which at different times encountered Parsons the Seventeenth, Twenty-third, Forty-fourth, and Forty-second lost in the aggregate eighty-six officers and men killed and wounded.

While, now, Stirling and Parsons seemed to be effectually blocking the advance of the British by the lower road and the Greenwood hills, what was the situation at the other passes?

Up to eight o’clock, some five hours after Grant’s appearance at the Red Lion, no determined attack had been reported from either the Flatbush or Bedford roads. The Hessians had made some show of advancing from Flatbush at an early hour, but they had not as yet driven in our pickets, although approaching near enough for the guns at the breastwork on the road to fire upon them. No word had come from Miles; nothing had been heard from the patrol of officers at the Jamaica Pass. Whatever tactics the enemy were pursuing, it was evident that at this hour they had not developed indications of a simultaneous advance “all along the line.” Were they making their principal push against Stirling? Were they waiting for the fleet to work its way up to co-operate? or would they still attempt to force the passes and the hills at all points and overcome the American outguards by sheer weight of numbers? Whatever theory our generals may have entertained at this time as to the intentions of the British a point which we have no means of determining it is certain that at about half-past eight or nine o’clock Major-General Sullivan rode out from the Brooklyn lines to the Flatbush Pass, with the evident purpose of examining the situation at that and other points, and of obtaining the latest information respecting the enemy’s movements. We have this substantially from his own pen: “I went,” he says, “to the hill near Flatbush to reconnoitre the enemy." Nothing more natural, and nothing more necessary; the situation at that hour required that some responsible general officer should be in this vicinity to direct the disposition of the troops the moment the enemy uncovered their plan. Stirling on the lower road had his hands full, and it became some one’s duty to see that he was not put in danger by any possible mishap elsewhere on the hills. Sullivan, therefore, the second in command, went out to “examine” and to “reconnoitre.” He had been out the evening before, making the rounds with Putnam; to him Miles had reported the situation of affairs on the extreme left; and it was by his general orders that the last detail of guards had been made for each of the passes. He was accordingly familiar with the plan of the outer defence, and upon reaching the Flatbush Pass, where, as Miles states, he took his station at the redoubt or barricade on the road, he seems to have given certain directions on the strength of the information he had obtained. If we may credit the writer of one of the letters published at the time, the general was told that the main body of the enemy were advancing by the lower road, “whereupon he ordered another battalion to the assistance of Lord Stirling, keeping 800 men to guard the pass." It is not difficult to accept this as a correct statement of what actually occurred, because it is what we should expect would have taken place under the circumstances. That Sullivan took out any additional troops with him when he went to the pass does not appear, but doubtless some were sent there. But as to this Flatbush Pass, the most that can be said with any degree of certainty is, that at about nine o’clock in the morning the Hessians still remained comparatively quiet at the foot of the hills below; that our guards and pickets stood at their different posts, not in regular line, but detached on either side of the road, the commander of each party governing himself as necessity required; that they were expected to hold that point stubbornly, if for no other purpose now than to secure Stirling’s line of retreat; and that if attacked they were to be reinforced. At the hour Sullivan reached the pass the situation at all points appeared to be satisfactory.

But little did the Americans suspect that at the very moment their defence seemed well arranged and their outguards vigilant they were already in the web which the enemy had been silently weaving around them during the night. That flanking column! Skilfully had it played its part in the British plans, and with crushing weight was it now to fall upon our outpost guards, who felt themselves secure along the hills and in the woods. Cross again into the opposite camp and follow the approach of this unlooked-for danger. First, Lord Howe withdrew Cornwallis from Flatbush to Flatlands towards evening on the 26th, and at nine o’clock at night set this flanking corps in motion. Sir Henry Clinton commanded the van, which consisted of the light dragoons and the brigade of light infantry. Cornwallis and the reserve immediately followed; and after him marched the First Brigade and the Seventy-first Regiment, with fourteen pieces of field artillery. These troops formed the advance corps, and were followed at a proper interval by Lord Percy and Howe himself, with the Second, Third, and Fifth brigades, the guards, and ten guns. The Forty-ninth Regiment, with four twelve-pounders, and the baggage with a separate guard, brought up the rear. All told, this column was hardly less than ten thousand strong. With three Flatbush Tories acting as guides, it took up the march and headed, as Howe reports, “across the country through the new lots” towards the Jamaica Pass, moving slowly and cautiously along the road from Flatlands until it reached Shoemaker’s Bridge, which crossed a creek emptying into Jamaica Bay, when the column struck over the fields to the Jamaica Road, where it came to a halt in the open lots a short distance south-east of the pass, and directly in front of Howard’s Halfway House.

Here now occurred one of those incidents which, though insignificant in themselves, sometimes become fatalities that turn the scale of battle. The five American officers whom General Sullivan had sent out the evening before to patrol this pass had stationed themselves at this time, now between two and three o’clock on the morning of the 27th, a short distance east of Howard’s house, apparently waiting for sounds of the enemy on the line of the road. Evidently they had no thought of his approach “across lots” from the direction of Flatlands, or they could not have left the pass unwatched by one or more of the party. For most of them, this was the first tour of military duty of so responsible a nature, and whatever mistakes they made may be referred to their inexperience or ignorance of the relative situation of the roads in that vicinity. Who had charge of the party does not appear. So far as known, only one of them, Lieutenant Van Wagenen, had seen any considerable service; but although something of a veteran, having entered the army in 1775 and charged with Montgomery upon Quebec, he could have known nothing of the country he was now patrolling. Lieutenants Troup and Dunscomb were young Columbia College graduates of two years’ standing, who had eagerly taken up the cause of the colonists in the midst of adverse associations. Gilliland may have once been an officer in McDougall’s regiment, and Hoogland was adjutant of Colonel Lasher’s battalion. Had these officers, who without doubt were all mounted, been patrolling at the pass or nearer the lines, the events of the 27th might have worn a far different aspect. As it was, the British by coming into the road at Howard’s had put themselves in the rear of the patrol, and its capture was quickly effected. Captain William Glanville Evelyn, “a gallant officer” of the Fourth Infantry, or King’s Own, and a descendant of the eminent John Evelyn, of England, led the British advance this night, and it fell to his fortune to surround and capture all five American officers and send them immediately to Clinton, who commanded the leading column. Here was a blow inflicted upon us by the British, the real importance of which they themselves even were ignorant of, for they had made prisoners of the only patrol that was watching the Jamaica route from the pass down to the very lines themselves!

Clinton “interrogated” the prisoners upon the spot, and ascertained from them that the pass had not been occupied by the Americans. He then attempted to obtain information of the position at Brooklyn and the number of troops now there, by pressing the officers with questions, when Dunscomb, indignant at the advantage he was taking of their situation, replied to Clinton that “under other circumstances he would not dare insult them in that manner.” For this the young lieutenant was called “an impudent rebel,” and the British officers threatened to have him hanged. Dunscomb’s courage was equal to the occasion, and, scouting the threat, declared that Washington would hang man for man in return, and that as for himself he should give Clinton no further information. But stoutly as Dunscomb and his fellows maintained their rights and honor as prisoners, their capture was one of the fatal turns that brought misfortune to the American army.

Upon learning that the pass was unguarded, Clinton, as Howe reports, ordered one of the light infantry battalions to occupy it, and soon after the main column followed. It would appear, however, that he still moved cautiously, and that the battalion, or the troops that followed, avoided a direct approach, and reached the Jamaica Road on the other side of the pass by a roundabout lane known as the Rockaway Path. The innkeeper Howard was waked up, and with his son compelled to guide the British around to the road, where it was discovered, as the patrol had stated, that the pass was unguarded. When the whole force had marched through to the other side it was halted for a brief “rest and refreshment,” and then continued down the road to Bedford, where the van, consisting of dragoons and light infantry, arrived about half-past eight o’clock in the morning. So this flanking corps had succeeded in making a slow, difficult, and circuitous march of some nine miles from Flatlands during the night, and had placed itself directly in the rear of the left of the American outposts, before its approach was known in the Brooklyn camp. It was now nearer the lines than were our picket guards at either of the outposts on the hills, and by a swift advance down the Jamaica Road and along the Gowanus Road to its intersection with the Port Road, it could have interposed itself across every avenue of retreat from the hills to the lines. It was Howe’s plan to cut off the American retreat entirely, but while successful in reaching our rear he fortunately failed to reap the fullest advantage of his move. The loss he was now able to inflict upon us was hardly a third of what might have been possible. But for the Americans it was more than enough. From this point followed trial and disaster. The day, which had opened so promisingly on the lower road, had already, at early dawn, been lost to them at the Jamaica Pass.

What next happened after the British reached Bedford? What, in the first place, had Miles been about in the woods on the extreme left that the enemy should gain his rear before he knew it? Fortunately we have the colonel himself and his lieutenant-colonel, Brodhead, to tell us much if they do not explain all. Miles then puts it on record that, on the day before the engagement, General Sullivan came to his camp, to whom he reported his belief that when the enemy moved they would fall into the Jamaica Road, and he hoped there were troops there to watch them. On the following morning, at about seven o’clock, firing began at the redoubt on the Flatbush Road, and he immediately marched in that direction, but was stopped by Colonel Wyllys at the Bedford Pass, who informed him that he could not pass on, as they were to defend the Bedford Road. “Colonel Wyllys bearing a Continental, and I a State commission,” says Miles, “he was considered a senior officer, and I was obliged to submit; but I told him I was convinced the main body of the enemy would take the Jamaica Road, that there was no probability of their coming along the road he was then guarding, and if he would not let me proceed to where the firing was, I would return and endeavor to get into the Jamaica Road before General Howe. To this he consented, and I immediately made a retrograde march, and after marching nearly two miles, the whole distance through woods, I arrived within sight of the Jamaica Road, and to my great mortification I saw the main body of the enemy in full march between me and our lines, and the baggage guard just coming into the road.”

Had Miles been surprised? This is one of the problems of the battle. For four days he had been on the watch on this flank, and now the British were in his rear! Would he have made that “retrograde” march this morning, when the strictest attention to one’s particular orders was necessary, unless he had known that there were no troops on the Jamaica Road, and unless it was a part of his duty to reconnoitre in that direction? But he was now making a stout effort to find and fight Howe, and before charging him with a blunder let us follow the battle to its close.

One of Miles’ soldiers hurried into camp and reported to Putnam that infantry and cavalry were marching down from the Jamaica Pass; but all too late, for right upon the heels of the information came the enemy! They pushed down the road from Bedford, and across the country, to attack the American outguards in the rear, while the Hessians were to come up in front. So, if we glance over the field again at about half-past nine or ten o’clock on this eventful morning, we find the whole aspect changed, and our entire force on the hills apparently caught in a trap. Stirling was still facing Grant upon the right, but his rear was in danger; while Sullivan and the picket guards at the other passes were wedged in between the two powerful columns under Howe and De Heister. What now was done? Who escaped?

Evidently Miles, way out in the woods on the left, had the least prospect of getting back to the Brooklyn lines. When he found the British on the road between him and camp he first proposed to attack their baggage guard and cut his way through to the Sound, but on consulting his officers (his first battalion alone being with him) he turned about, determined to attempt a retreat to camp. It was impossible for him to succeed, for he had a march of full three miles to make; and after encountering the enemy once or twice in the woods, he, with many of his men, was compelled to surrender. Brodhead, while marching through the woods in Indian file to join him, was also attacked and his men dispersed, though most of them, with the lieutenant-colonel himself, escaped to the lines. The rout was speedily communicated to the guards at the two remaining points. At the Bedford Pass the detachments under Colonel Wyllys and Lieutenant-Colonel Wills appear to have realized their danger about the time the British reached Bedford village. Finding Miles’ troops broken up and flying, they too, through fear of being intercepted, took up the retreat. Finally, at the Flatbush Pass the last point in the outpost line to be attacked the peril was still greater, for now the Hessians were moving up in front. Here, as we have seen, General Sullivan had just arrived to examine the situation. He had not long to wait, however, before the nature of that situation fully dawned upon him and the troops at the pass. While watching the Hessians at Flatbush they suddenly hear the rattle of musketry on the left of their rear, where British light infantry and dragoons are beginning to chase and fire upon Miles, Brodhead, and Wyllys, and their broken detachments. The Flatbush Pass was a point to be held, for it was the centre of the outpost line, and retreat therefrom would endanger Stirling; but Sullivan and his men must act promptly if they would do no more even than save themselves, for the enemy by this time are much nearer the Brooklyn lines than they. Just what occurred at this juncture the records fail to tell us clearly. Did Sullivan, as one letter states, immediately send word to Stirling to retreat? This would have been the first and natural step. Whoever the commanding officer might be at the Flatbush Pass, it was for him to watch the situation at the outpost line and give orders to the right and left. All depended on what was done at that pass. If the guards there gave way all the others must give way instantly. Whether the word, therefore, reached Stirling or not, we must believe that Sullivan sent it, as he ought to have done, and is reported to have done. As for the general himself and his party, retreat was the only alternative. Leaving the advanced pickets to fall back before the Hessians, they turned towards the British in their rear. Very soon they encountered the light infantry and dragoons, who were now engaging in the attack with the highest dash and spirit. Reinforced by four companies of the guards, the latter captured three pieces of our artillery the same, doubtless, which had just been playing upon the Hessians, but were now turned, in the retreat, upon the British and which our gunners defended “heroically” to the last. Sullivan and his men fought well, and apparently in separate parties, until nearly all that had been stationed at the Flatbush Pass succeeded in breaking or making their way through to the lines.

Meanwhile the Hessians appeared. They came up from the Flatbush plains with drums beating and colors flying. Donop’s grenadiers and yagers led, and immediately after them followed the veteran De Heister at the head of the brigades. Reaching the summit of the ridge, they deployed their lines, and putting their sharpshooters in advance, moved rapidly upon the position which our Flatbush Pass guard had just abandoned. They met with little opposition, for they had nothing before them but our scattered pickets. Soon, however, they fell in with the retreating groups which the British had cut off from the lines and had pushed back into the hills, and upon these they fell fiercely, and in many instances cruelly. Where they found a rifleman resisting too long, they pinned him with their bayonets, and to some of the wounded they showed no mercy. Most of the prisoners fell into their hands, for the reason that they had been driven towards the Hessians by the British; but otherwise the day afforded no opportunity for fair fighting between these “foreigners” and our troops.

Thus all along the hills, from the Flatbush Pass to the extreme left, our outer guards were in full retreat! It was a flight and fight to reach the Brooklyn lines! Ten o’clock and Miles, Brodhead, Wyllys, Wills, Johnston, Henshaw, and Cornell, with two thousand men, were hurrying through the woods, down the slopes and across the fields, some singly, some in groups, some keeping together in companies, some in battalions, all aiming for one objective the camp! Here they fought the light infantry; there they were charged upon by the dragoons; those who were intercepted fell into the hands or upon the bayonets of the Hessians. It was a trying and desperate situation from which there was no relief and for a long time the woods echoed with the shouts and cries of the contending parties. But upon the whole the loss to the Americans up to this time was not heavy, and could Stirling have been saved, the enemy would have had no great victory to boast of. Full half of Miles’ two battalions reached the lines; Wyllys’ and Chester’s suffered but slightly; Henshaw and Cornell brought their men in without much loss, and in comparatively good order; the greatest blow to the Jerseymen was the death of their brave colonel, Johnston, their casualties otherwise being light; and Knowlton’s hundred rangers just saved themselves from the dragoons, “with the utmost difficulty and on the full run.” The artillerymen suffered more. General Sullivan himself, after showing good courage and avoiding capture until noon, endeavored to conceal himself, but was found and made prisoner by three Hessian grenadiers.

The day was lost at the left and centre, and it only remains to return to Stirling on the right. This general stood his ground firmly, though the firing in his rear grew ominously distinct. He refused to retreat, says Scott, for want of orders. If Sullivan sent him orders, as we have assumed on one writer’s authority that he did, they failed to reach him. The time had come for the general to act on his own judgment, and finding his salvation dependent on an immediate retreat, he fell back from Grant’s front between eleven and twelve o’clock, but only to discover that he too was surrounded. The force which had anticipated him was Cornwallis with the Seventy-first Regiment and the Second Grenadiers, and they were holding his line of retreat on the Gowanus Road. Stirling, realizing his danger, at once determined upon the only manoeuvre that promised escape for any of his command. Upon his left lay the Gowanus marsh and creek, where both were at their broadest, and where a crossing had never been attempted. But now the attempt must be made, or every man is lost. Upon the other side of the creek are the Brooklyn peninsula, the lines, and safety. Stirling therefore ordered his men to make their way across as they could, while, to protect them as they forded or swam, he himself took Gist and half the Maryland battalion and proceeded to attack Cornwallis. Against all the misfortunes of the day this piece of resolution and true soldiership stands out in noble relief. The Marylanders followed their general without flinching, and were soon “warmly engaged” with the enemy, who had posted themselves at a house the old “Cortelyou” house above the upper mills near the intersection of the Port and Gowanus roads. They rallied to the attack several times, as Stirling reports, and seemed on the point of dislodging Cornwallis, when reinforcements came up, and the British drove back the Marylanders into a piece of woods. Here, with conspicuous courage and determination, they formed again for still another effort to break through. Stirling’s example was inspiring. “He encouraged and animated our young soldiers,” writes Gist, “with almost invincible resolution.” But his handful of brave men had done all that was possible, and in their last charge they were met by great numbers and forced to retire again, “with much precipitation and confusion." They broke up into small parties and sought escape. Nine only, among whom was Major Gist, succeeded in crossing the creek, the rest having retreated into the woods. Stirling endeavored to get into the lines between the British and Fort Box, or by way of the mill-dam, but finding this impossible, he turned, ran through their fire, and eluding pursuit around a hill, made his way to the Hessian corps and surrendered himself to General De Heister. He had sacrificed himself and party as prisoners, but his main object was accomplished. The rest of the command was saved! They crossed the marsh and creek with a loss of but two or three killed and six or eight drowned.

It was during this scene in the incidents of the day that Washington and his staff came upon the ground. They had remained at New York watching the fleet, when, finding that no danger was to be apprehended from that quarter, they crossed to Long Island. From the top of one of the hills within the lines, possibly Cobble Hill, the Chief witnessed Stirling’s retreat and fight, and is said there to have been profoundly moved as he saw how many brave men he must inevitably lose. Colonel Smallwood, of the Marylanders, who had rejoined his regiment, petitioned for a force to march out and assist Stirling, but the general declined on account of the risks involved. Douglas’s Connecticut levies, just coming up from the ferry, were sent to the extreme right opposite the mouth of Gowanus Creek, where, with Captain Thomas’ Maryland Independent Company and two pieces of artillery, they stood ready to prevent pursuit of the retreating party by the enemy.

Last of all, where were Parsons and Atlee? Had they been holding that hill in Greenwood all the morning, with a tenacity worthy of veterans, only to be swallowed up in the defeat and confusion of the day? Such was to be their fate. For some unexplained reason, when Stirling fell back, he failed to inform Parsons of his move. Both Parsons and Atlee state that no word reached them to join the general, and that it was greatly to their surprise when they found the line, whose flank they had been protecting, no longer there. Whatever the mistake, there was no time to lose, for the enemy were now pressing on this little force, and it must retreat as Stirling had done. But it soon found itself more effectually hemmed in than any party in the field. Cornwallis, after driving the Marylanders back, had complete command of the road, and as Parsons and Atlee came along they found it impossible even to reach the marsh. Some escaped, but the greater part turned into the woods and were all taken. Atlee, with twenty-three men, avoided capture until five o’clock in the afternoon; while Parsons, more fortunate, hid in a swamp, having escaped from the action and pursuit “as by a miracle,” and with seven men made his way into our lines at daylight next morning.

The battle was over. It had continued at intervals, at one point or another, over a range of five miles, from three o’clock in the morning until nearly two in the afternoon. Less than five thousand Americans at the passes, including Stirling’s command and all others who had marched out during the morning, had been swept up or swept back by nearly twenty thousand British and Hessians. For our troops it was a total defeat. They had been forced to abandon the outer line of defence the very line Washington wished should be held “at all hazards” and had been driven into the fortified camp on the Brooklyn peninsula. This result would have inevitably come, sooner or later, but no one could have entertained the possibility of its coming in this sudden and disastrous shape.

Looking back over the day’s work, the cause of the defeat is apparent at once: We had been completely outflanked and surprised on the Jamaica Road. Where the responsibility for the surprise should rest is another question. Evidently, if that patrol of officers had not been captured, but, upon discovering the approach of the enemy, had carried the word directly to Miles’ camp and to headquarters, the enemy would not have gained the rear of our outposts without warning. Miles and Wyllys could have interposed themselves across their path, and held the ground long enough at least to put our troops at the other points on their guard. The surprise of this patrol, therefore, can alone explain the defeat. But as the officers appear to have been sent out as an additional precaution, the responsibility must be shared by Miles and his regiment, who were the permanent guard on the left. Brodhead, who wrote eight days after the event, distinctly asserts that there were no troops beyond them, and that, for want of videttes, that flank was left for them to watch. Parsons, as officer of the day, reports that Miles was expected to patrol across the Jamaica Road. But to charge the colonel personally with a fatal mistake or neglect is not warranted by the facts. His own patrols and pickets may have failed him. The simple fact appears that this regiment was put upon our left, that our left was turned, and the battle lost in consequence. As to the generalship of the day, if the responsibility falls on any one, it falls first on Sullivan, who sent out the mounted patrol in the first instance, and to whom it belonged to follow up the precautions in that direction. Putnam was in chief command, but nothing can be inferred from contemporary records to fasten neglect or blunder upon him any more than upon Washington, who, when he left the Brooklyn lines on the evening of the 26th, must have known precisely what disposition had been made for the night at the hills and passes. And upon Washington certainly the responsibility cannot rest.

What has been said of other defeats may be said with equal truth of this one: if it was a disaster, it was not a disgrace. Even the surprise upon the left discloses no criminal misconduct. In the actual fighting of the day our soldiers stood their ground. Necessarily we suffered heavily in prisoners, but otherwise our loss was inconsiderable. All the light that we have to-day goes to establish the very important fact, originally credited and reported by Washington himself, but which hardly a single historical writer has since ventured to repeat, that at the battle of Long Island the British and Hessians suffered a loss in killed and wounded equal to that inflicted upon the Americans. Howe reported his total casualties at three hundred and sixty-seven officers and soldiers. On the side of the Americans the total loss did not exceed one thousand. About eight hundred, including ninety-one officers, were taken prisoners; not more than six officers and about fifty privates were killed; and less than sixteen officers and one hundred and fifty privates wounded. No frightful slaughter of our troops, as sometimes pictured, occurred during the action. It was a field where the American soldier, in every fair encounter, proved himself worthy of the cause he was fighting for.

To those who fell in the engagement we may render here a grateful tribute, though something more than this is due. Their services and sacrifices are deserving of remembrance rather by a lasting memorial; for men died here who showed not less of individual worth and heroism than others who are immortalized on victorious fields. Thus at the Flatbush Road we find Philip Johnston, colonel of the Jersey battalion, which formed part of the guard there during the night. He was the son of the worthy Judge Samuel Johnston, of the town of Sidney in Hunterdon County. In his youth he had been a student at Princeton, but, dropping his books, he took up the sword for the colonies in the French war, from which he returned with honor. The troubles with Great Britain found him ready again to fight in defence of common rights and his native soil. Parting from his wife and child with touching affection, he took the field with his regiment, and when attacked on Long Island he showed all the qualities which mark the true soldier. A gentleman of high principle, an officer of fine presence, one of the strongest men in the army, he fought near Sullivan with the greatest bravery until he fell mortally wounded. That August 27th was his thirty-fifth birthday.

Equally glorious and regretted was the death of Lieutenant-Colonel Caleb Parry, of Atlee’s regiment, which occurred, as already noticed, at an earlier hour and in another part of the field. He too was in the prime of life, and eager to render the country some good service. A representative colonist, descended from an ancient and honorable family long seated in North Wales, and a man of polish and culture, he stood ready for any sacrifice demanded of him at this crisis. Parry came from Chester County, Pennsylvania, leaving a wife and five children, and crossed with his regiment to Long Island four days before the battle. Under what circumstances he fell has been told. As they crossed the line of Greenwood Cemetery to take position at or near “Battle Hill,” the little command was greeted with a sudden though harmless volley from the enemy. The men shrunk and fell back, but Atlee rallied and Parry cheered them on, and they gained the hill. It was here, while engaged in an officer’s highest duty, turning men to the enemy by his own example, that the fatal bullet pierced his brow. When some future monument rises from Greenwood to commemorate the struggle of this day, it can bear no more fitting line among its inscriptions than this tribute of Brodhead’s, “Parry died like a hero.”

Captain Edward Veazey, of the Marylanders, belonged to the family of Veazeys who settled in Cecil County, on the eastern shore of that State, and who traced their lineage back to the Norman De Veazies of the eleventh century. The captain was fifty-five years of age, took up the colonial cause at the start, raised the Seventh Independent Company of Maryland troops, and was among the earliest to fall in Stirling’s line.

Captain Joseph Jewett, of Huntington’s Continentals, perhaps defending himself to the last, even when escape was impossible, was three times stabbed with British bayonets after surrendering his sword. Cared for by a humane surgeon, but still lingering in pain, he died on the morning of the 29th, and was buried in the Bennett orchard, near Twenty-second Street and Third Avenue. He left a family at Lyme, on the Connecticut, where he lived, and from where he went to join the army on the Lexington alarm. A soldier who fought on Long Island remembers him as “an officer much respected and beloved, of elegant and commanding appearance, and of unquestionable bravery.”

The officers and men of the artillery, who fought the six pieces we had in the action, covered themselves with honor. They were “the flower” of Knox’s regiment, picked for a field fight. Captain Carpenter, of Providence, fell in Stirling’s command, leaving a widow to mourn him. Captain John Johnston, of Boston, was desperately wounded, but recovered under the care of Surgeon Eustis. The record which John Callender, of the same place, made for himself is a familiar story. To wipe out the stain of an undeserved sentence passed upon him after Bunker Hill, by which he was cashiered, he rejoined the artillery as a private soldier, and then, as a “cadet,” fought his piece on Long Island until the enemy’s bayonets were at his breast. Upon his exchange as prisoner a year later, Washington restored him to his rank as captain-lieutenant, and he served honorably to the end of the war. Harmanus Rutgers, one of the patriotic Rutgers brothers in New York, serving, it would seem, as a gunner, was struck in the breast by a cannon-shot, and fell dead at his post. The tradition preserved in his family is that he was the first man killed in the battle. Knox, hearing how well his men had done, wrote to his wife: “I have met with some loss in my regiment. They fought like heroes and are gone to glory.”

Of three others known to have been killed during the day, and who probably complete the list of officers, we have no more than the fact that they fell. They were Lieutenant Joseph Jacquet, of Miles’ first battalion, and Lieutenants David Sloan and Charles Taylor, of the second battalion all apparently from Chester County, Pennsylvania. Hardly more than three or four names of the private soldiers who were killed have been preserved, owing doubtless to the fact that, if they were ever known, it was not until long after, when no rolls would show their fate.

To the roll of the dead must be added also the honored name of General Nathaniel Woodhull, of Long Island. On the day after the battle, a party of British light horse, under Oliver De Lancey, rode out on the Jamaica Road and surprised the general at an inn, where without provocation he was cruelly hacked in the head and arm, and carried off a prisoner. He survived until the 20th, when he died at New Utrecht. His loss was greatly regretted, for he was a man of energy and ability, and had the success of the Revolutionary cause most fervently at heart.

This battle was regarded at the time as one of very great importance, and the result created a deep impression on both sides of the water. In England they had long been waiting for the news, and the king became depressed at the British delay in moving; in addition, the first reports, coming by way of France, were unfavorable. But at last, at three o’clock on the morning of October 10th, Major Cuyler, of Howe’s staff, reached the government with the official accounts of the victory. Immediately, as Walpole tells us, the Court was filled with “an extravagance of joy.” The relief was so great that it was displayed with “the utmost ostentation.” The king at once determined to send Howe “a red riband;” and Lord Mansfield, who had thrown the weight of his great legal abilities against America, was created an earl. The Mayor and Corporation of York voted an address to his Majesty “on the victory at Long Island;” at Leeds they rang the bells, lighted windows, fired cannon, and started a huge bonfire which made the town “quite luminous;” and at Halifax, Colne, Huddersfield, and many other places, similar rejoicings were held. At Limerick Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell ordered the garrison under arms, and fired three volleys “on account of the success of his Majesty’s troops at Long Island;” and, for the same reason, in the evening “a number of ladies and gentlemen were elegantly entertained at dinner by the bishop.” From Paris Silas Deane wrote to Congress: “The want of instructions or intelligence or remittances, with the late check on Long Island, has sunk our credit to nothing.” In Amsterdam, the centre of exchange for all Europe, English stocks rose; but the Dutch, with characteristic shrewdness, failed to accept “our misfortune” as final, and took the opportunity to sell out. In London Tory circles they considered the American war as practically over, and some began to talk of new schemes of colonial government.

As for America, the defeat, coupled with the subsequent retreat, everywhere carried alarm and keen disappointment. Greene speaks of the “panic” in the county. But at the same time many brave voices were raised to counteract despondency. Parsons, in the army, wrote: “I think the trial of that day far from being any discouragement, but in general our men behaved with firmness.” Bartlett, in Congress, sent word home to New Hampshire that he hoped the event would only make our generals more careful in their future operations. “We have lost a battle and a small island,” said Dr. Rush, of Philadelphia, in one of the sessions a few days later, “but we have not lost a State. Why then should we be discouraged? Or why should we be discouraged even if we had lost a State? If there were but one State left, still that one should peril all for independence.” “The panic may seize whom it will,” wrote John Adams; “it shall not seize me.” But the grandest words inspired by the pervading anxiety were those penned by Abigail Adams, the noble wife of the Massachusetts delegate. “We have had many stories,” she wrote from Braintree, September 9th, “concerning engagements upon Long Island this week, of our lines being forced and of our troops returning to New York. Particulars we have not yet obtained. All we can learn is that we have been unsuccessful there; having many men as prisoners, among whom are Lord Stirling and General Sullivan. But if we should be defeated, I think we shall not be conquered. A people fired, like the Romans, with love of their country and of liberty, a zeal for the public good, and a noble emulation of glory, will not be disheartened or dispirited by a succession of unfortunate events. But, like them, may we learn by defeat the power of becoming invincible!”

This was the true inspiration of the hour. It was this that sustained Washington and the strong men of the country through all the dark period that followed. The disaster of the 27th was a disciplinary experience. It was but the first of a series of blows that were to harden us for future endurance. The event was accepted in this spirit by all who had taken up the cause in earnest; and in this light the memory of the day deserves to be forever celebrated and perpetuated. Here, on Long Island, all was done that could be done, for we had met the enemy at the sea. Here America made her first stand against England’s first great effort to subdue her; and here her resolution to continue resistance was first tested and tempered in the fire of battle.

THE LOSSES AT THE BATTLE. So many widely different estimates have been made as to the extent of the American loss on Long Island, that it becomes a matter of historical interest to fix the actual figures, if possible, beyond dispute.

The first official reference to the matter occurs in the letter which Washington directed Colonel Harrison, his secretary, to write to Congress on the evening of the battle. Nothing definite on this point being known at that hour, Harrison, after announcing the attack of the enemy, and the retreat of the troops into the Brooklyn lines, could only make the vague report that the American loss was “pretty considerable.” On Thursday morning, the 29th, at “half after four A.M.,” Washington himself wrote to Hancock that he was still uncertain how far the army had suffered. On Saturday, the 31st, he wrote again, and in this letter gave an estimate in figures. This was the only report he made to Congress in the matter, except indirectly. “Nor have I,” he writes, “been yet able to obtain an exact account of our loss; we suppose it from seven hundred to a thousand killed and taken.” In subsequent public and private letters to his brother, to Governor Trumbull, General Schuyler, and the Massachusetts Assembly, Washington did not vary these figures materially (except to make the estimate closer, about 800), and they stand, therefore, as his official return of the casualties of that day.

Sir William Howe’s report, on the other hand, presented altogether a different showing. It left no room for doubt as to the extent of the British victory. Dated September 3d, seven days after the affair, it contained all those particulars of events up to that time which a successful general is well aware will be received with special satisfaction by his government. The landing at Gravesend, the occupation of Flatbush, the skilful march of the flanking column, the bravery of the troops, and the complete success of the entire plan of action were mentioned in order; while a detailed statement and estimate of the losses on either side, including a tabulated return of prisoners taken, only fortified the impression that a most damaging defeat had been served upon the Americans. Against Washington’s estimate of a total of one thousand or less for his own loss, Howe reported that the enlisted men he captured alone numbered one thousand and six, and that in addition he took ninety-one commissioned officers, of whom three were generals, three colonels, four lieutenant-colonels, three majors, eighteen captains, forty-three lieutenants, eleven ensigns, one adjutant, three surgeons, and two volunteers; and he “computed” that in killed, wounded, and drowned, the Americans lost two thousand two hundred more. On the part of the British, Howe reported five officers and fifty-six men killed, twelve officers and two hundred and fifty-five men wounded, and one officer and thirty men prisoners and missing. The Hessians lost two men killed, three officers and twenty-three men wounded. Howe’s total loss, in a word, was made to appear at less than four hundred; Washington’s full three thousand three hundred.

The apparent exactness of this report has secured it, in general, against close analysis. English historians, almost without exception, quote it as it stands, while there are American writers who respect it so far as to pronounce Washington’s report clearly, and even purposely, inaccurate. Thus the most recent English history of this period says: “The Americans fled in confusion, leaving upwards of three thousand killed, wounded, and prisoners, including their three generals of division;” and in a note the writer adds: “Washington’s estimate of the loss on both sides was grossly incorrect. In his letter to Congress of the 30th August, giving a very meagre and evasive account of the action, he says that his loss in killed and prisoners was from 700 to 1000; and that he had reason to believe the enemy had suffered still more. This would seem to be a wilful misrepresentation to prevent the public alarm which might have been caused by the knowledge of his real loss; were it not that in a private letter to his brother, three weeks afterwards, he makes a similar statement. General Howe’s returns of prisoners, and of his own killed and wounded, are precise.” (History of England during the Reign of George the Third. By the Right Hon. William Massey, 1865.) Among Brooklyn writers, Mr. Field asserts that Washington concealed the actual extent of his loss, and Dr. Stiles accepts the British report as it stands. Marshall puts the American loss at over 1000; Irving, 2000; Lossing, 1650; Field, 2000; Sparks, 1100; Bancroft, 800; Carrington, 970. Stedman, the earliest British historian, gives 2000, while Adolphus, Jesse, and Massey, who cover the reign of George III., blindly follow Howe and give over 3000 for the American loss.

There is but one explanation of this wide discrepancy between the British and American returns, namely: Washington’s original estimate at its largest limit one thousand, killed, wounded, and prisoners was almost precisely correct.

Of this there can be no question whatever, the proof being a matter of record. Thus, on the 8th of October, Washington issued the following order: “The General desires the commanding officers of each regiment or corps will give in a list of the names and the officers and men who were killed, taken, or missing in the action of the 27th of August on Long Island and since that period. He desires the returns may be correct, &c.” (Force). A large number of these lists are preserved in Force, 5th series, vol. iii., and from these we obtain the losses of the following regiments: Hitchcock’s, total loss, one officer and nine men; Little’s, three men; Huntington’s, twenty-one officers and one hundred and eighty-six men; Wyllys’, one officer and nine men; Tyler, three men; Ward, three men; Chester, twelve men; Gay, four men; Lasher, three officers. Smallwood’s lost, according to Gist, twelve officers and two hundred and forty-seven men; Haslet, according to his own letters, two officers and twenty-five men; Johnston’s New Jersey, two officers and less than twenty-five men, the rolls before and after the battle showing no greater difference in the strength of the regiment; Miles’ two battalions, sixteen officers and about one hundred and sixty men (Document 61); Atlee, eleven officers and seventy-seven men. (Ibid.) No official report of the losses in Lutz’s, Kachlein’s, and Hay’s detachments or the artillery can be found, but to give their total casualties at one hundred and fifty officers and men is probably a liberal estimate. Lutz lost six officers (all prisoners); Kachlein not more; Hay, one; the artillery, three. The regiments named in the foregoing list include all from which Howe reported that he took officers prisoners, from which it is safe to conclude that these were all that lost any. No others are mentioned as having been engaged. These figures show in round numbers a total of one thousand, and this was our total loss, according to official returns in nearly every case.

How many of these, in the next place, were killed and wounded? If we are to credit certain Hessian and British accounts, as well as those of our own local historians, the battle-field on Long Island was a scene of carnage, a pen in which our men were slaughtered without mercy. The confused strife, says one writer, “is too terrible for the imagination to dwell upon.” “An appalling massacre,” says another, “thus closed the combat.” “The forest,” writes a Hessian officer, “was a scene of horror; there were certainly two thousand killed and wounded lying about.” Lord Howe himself, as we have seen, “computed” that the American loss in killed and wounded alone was two thousand three hundred. But a striking commentary on this computation is not only the total omission on his part to mention how many of this very large number he buried on the field, but the important admission he makes that not more than sixty-seven wounded American officers and soldiers fell into his hands! Where were the twenty-two hundred other maimed and fallen rebels? Obviously, and as Howe must have well known, the Americans could carry few if any of their dead with them on their precipitate retreat, nor could any but the slightly hurt of the wounded make their escape. Full two thousand, by this calculation, must have been left upon the field. Who buried them? Were they the victims of the supposed frightful slaughter? Did the British general purposely give an evasive estimate to cover up the inhumanity which would thus have forever stained the glory of his victory? Far from it. That “computation” has no basis to stand upon; but, on the contrary, our loss in killed and wounded was not greater than the enemy’s, but most probably less.

This statement will bear close examination. On the 19th of September, after he must have been able to satisfy himself as to the extent of the defeat on Long Island, the commander-in-chief wrote to the Massachusetts Assembly that he had lost about eight hundred men, “more than three fourths of which were taken prisoners.” He wrote the same thing to others. So Washington felt authorized to state positively that we lost in killed and wounded that day not over two hundred men and officers. “The enemy’s loss in killed,” he added, “we could never ascertain; but have many reasons to believe that it was pretty considerable, and exceeded ours a good deal.” General Parsons, who saw as much of the field as any other officer, wrote to John Adams two days after the battle: “Our loss in killed and wounded is inconsiderable.” General Scott, writing to John Jay, a week later, could say: “What our loss on Long Island was I am not able to estimate. I think from the best accounts we must have killed many of the enemy.” Colonel Douglas wrote, August 31st: “The enemy surrounded a large detachment of our army, took many, killed some and the rest got off.... By the best account we killed more of them than they did of us. But they took the most prisoners.” Lieutenant-Colonel Chambers, who was in the way of gathering many particulars from the Pennsylvanians who escaped, says: “Our men behaved as bravely as men ever did; but it is surprising that, with the superiority of numbers, they were not cut to pieces.... Our loss is chiefly in prisoners.” Lieutenant-Colonel Brodhead, who had to retreat among the last over the very ground which others have marked out as the scene of the massacre, as the site where “lay nearly one thousand men, slain in the shock of battle, or by subsequent murder” (Field) Brodhead says: “I retreated to the lines, having lost out of the whole battalion, about one hundred men, officers included, which, as they were much scattered, must be chiefly prisoners.... No troops could behave better than the Southern, for though they seldom engaged less than five to one, they frequently repulsed the Enemy with great Slaughter, and I am confident that the number of killed and wounded on their side, is greater than on ours, notwithstanding we had to fight them front and rear under every disadvantage.” Colonel Silliman, of Connecticut, who appears to have made particular inquiries in the matter, wrote, September 10th: “I think upon the best information I can get that we are about 1000 men the worse for that action. The Enemy say they have about 800 of them prisoners. We have about 50 of them in the hospital wounded. Of the other 150 ’tis said that in the engagement a considerable number of the riflemen deserted and went over to the enemy and some no doubt escaped towards the other end of the Island. On the whole I do not think we had 50 men killed in the action.” (MS. letter.) These are statements made by officers who were present at the battle, and who wrote within a few days of the event. They all, with many others, reach the same conclusion that the enemy suffered in killed and wounded as much if not more than the Americans. Their testimony, moreover, is strengthened by what we know directly and indirectly from the returns and other sources. The loss in officers, of which we have exact figures, is one basis of calculation. Ninety-one, as already stated, were taken prisoners, of whom nine were reported wounded in Howe’s return. Among these were General Woodhull, Colonel Johnston, and Captain Jewett, all three mortally wounded, and Captain Bowie and Lieutenant Butler, of the Marylanders; Captain Johnston, of the artillery; Captain Peebles, of Miles’, and Lieutenant Makepeace, of Huntington’s. [Colonel Johnston is usually mentioned as having been killed on the field. But Howe’s return gives one New Jersey colonel prisoner, and Elking’s Hessian account states that he was wounded after being made prisoner.] Among officers known to be wounded, not captured, were Major McDonough, Lieutenants Course and Anderson, of the Delawares; Lieutenant Hughes, of Hitchcock’s; and Captain Farmer, of Miles’. Lieutenant Patterson, of Hay’s detachment, was either killed or captured (Colonel Cunningham’s return). The officers killed were Lieutenant-Colonel Parry, Captain Carpenter, Captain Veazey, and Lieutenants Sloan, Jacquet, and Taylor. Various accounts state that Colonel Rutgers, Lieutenant-Colonel Eppes, Major Abeel (of Lasher’s), Captain Fellows, and Lieutenant Moore (of Pennsylvania) were killed, but there is an error in each case, all these officers being reported alive at different dates after the battle. We have, then, twenty-one killed or wounded (six only killed on the field) among the American officers engaged in the action. If, as we have a right to assume, the same proportion held among the enlisted men, our total loss in killed and wounded could not have exceeded two hundred or two hundred and fifty, or more than one hundred less than the enemy’s loss. Parsons and Atlee write that they lost but two or three. Miles says that in one of his skirmishes he lost a number of men, but nearly all were made prisoners. Little’s regiment lost one killed; Hitchcock’s the same. The five companies of Smallwood’s battalion that attacked Cornwallis lost but one officer wounded, or at the most one killed and one wounded, and there is no reason to suppose that the men suffered very heavily. The loss among the Delawares was nearly all in prisoners. Lutz had six officers taken, but none killed or wounded; Hay lost one officer, either killed or prisoner. In Kachlein’s detachment it is certain that the lieutenant-colonel, major, adjutant, three captains, and three lieutenants were not killed, which leaves little room for casualties in a party of not over four or five companies. So of all the other regiments engaged, they suffered but slightly in killed or wounded.

Howe’s list of prisoners was undoubtedly swelled by captures among the Long Island militia and citizen Whigs after the battle. He includes General Woodhull and two lieutenants, for instance, who were not taken at the battle but on the day following, and who, as Washington says, were “never arranged” in his army.

The reports of the slaughter and massacre of our troops current in the enemy’s camp at the time were greatly exaggerated. Some of our men were probably cut down most wantonly in the pursuit through the woods, both by British and Hessians, but the number was small. It is a noticeable and significant fact that the American accounts make no mention of any such wholesale cruelty, and certainly our soldiers would have been the first to call attention to it. That word “massacre” should have no place in any accurate description of the battle.