His sharp sailor-eyes and ears had detected the advance of the enemy before any others, and, according to orders given beforehand, he fired a round of grape-shot slap into the advancing foe.
Just then the mist lifted a little, and, by the early light, could be seen the serried lines of the British force, advancing to the attack in magnificent order.
There were two columns of troops, one on the right and one on the left. At the head of each column was a regiment, bearing fascines for filling up the ditch and scaling-ladders for reaching the crest of the defense. Between the two columns were marching a thousand Highlanders, in their picturesque garb, ready to support either column on their flanks, as might be needed.
At once the riflemen, with their unerring aim, began a rolling fire, while the artillery, served with great steadiness and coolness, joined in the battle.
There was great slaughter and confusion among the attacking troops, but, like veterans as they were, they rallied and came on again.
At first, Eph Clark was shocked by the effect of the fire; but he soon became excited, and, going from gun to gun of his battery, saw that each was well loaded and well pointed.
Up to the very ditch surged the brave men in front of them, and one officer, a lieutenant, came over the breastwork uninjured. Seeing Eph and a captain of infantry standing by their guns, close to him, he called out:
"Surrender! surrender! The place is ours!"
Rather surprised at this speech from a single man, Eph replied:
The young English officer, whose name was Lavack, did as he was told, and saw his troops either dead or wounded or in full retreat, and already some distance away.
"I'll have to trouble you for your sword, sir!" said Eph, after showing him this sight.
"And to whom do I surrender?" said the young officer, gazing at Eph's rig of silk shirt and sash and loose white trowsers.
"To Lieutenant Clark, of Lafitte's Battery." And the young officer was led away, to be well treated.
In the meantime, while the surviving British troops were retreating from the front, Eph Clark and those about him heard the "advance" blown from a bugle in front of them, and, seeing no one standing so near as the notes seemed to come from, at last discovered, perched up in a small tree--which must have been exposed to all the storm of balls and bullets, for many of its branches were cut away--a small music-boy of one of the British regiments, who had sat up there, sounding the "advance," all the time the fight was going on, and continued to do so when his regiment was half a mile away.