STORMING OF STONY POINT.

As the position of the enemy at Stony Point enabled them to do much mischief General Wayne requested of Washington permission to form a corps of light infantry, with which he should march against it. To this the commander agreed, and drew up for the intrepid general a plan of attack.

Early on the evening of the 15th of July, Wayne arrived within a mile and a half of the fortress, and commenced a final reconnoissance. The steep hill that supported the fort, was washed on two sides by the Hudson, while on a third was a deep marsh. The only ascent was rugged and precipitous; while high over all, as though defying the utmost efforts of the assailant, the fort commanded every advance, and was glittering with cannon and musketry. The evening was beautiful; and as the cloudless heavens looked on that frowning height, and on the little band below, they formed strange contrast with the warring, jarring passions of man.

The orders issued to the soldiers that night were in keeping with the stern and terrible nature of their duties. They were to march with empty muskets, utter no word, make no attempt at retreat under pain of death. And they were strictly obeyed-the assault was a triumph of military discipline. At halfpast eleven, when all around was wrapped in slumber, the troops moved up in perfect silence. The army was divided into two columns, each preceded by twenty men acting as a forlorn hope. All command was given in a whisper; the tread of heavy columns was soft as falling snow; and a stiHness, more thrilling than the grave, brooded over their march. On arriving at the marsh, it was found flooded with water; but the officers waded through, followed by their troops. Then a sentry-gun broke amid the gloom, followed by another and another. Our troops had been discovered. In a moment there was a rushing of confused preparation, of alarm-guns, and shouts of command; the next instant the rock was blazing and heaving with artillery. But each soldier remembered his orders; there was no more whispering orders; Wayne's dreadful voice came pealing through the lines, and each soldier sprang forward through the withering sleet with renewed energy. Still those raging batteries poured down their blasts, and a sheet of livid fire leaped along the ramparts from six hundred muskets; but over rocks and precipices, and dead and dying, the wildly shouting hero leads his men. The advance reach the parapet, and employ their picks and axes to open a passage; man after man falls, yet silently they continue their work. Now the troops have gained the last ascent-but a little before them is the object of their dreadful labour. But the struggle to win it is terrible. The balls bore through and through their column, piling the dead and dying on every rock and every eminence. Wayne falls; but supporting himself on one knee, he exclaims, "March on! carry me into the fort, for I will die at the head of my column." Snatching him in their arms, they bore him to the rampart, and leaped among the enemy. The artillery ceased, and British valour recoiled before the iron shower that swept the breastwork. On, on through the fort the stern Americans charged, until the columns from either side met in the centre. Then the work of death was over; the fort was gained; Wayne had triumphed: and one wild, uproarious shout told this and much more, as it was repeated again and again among those towering cliffs.

In this assault the Americans lost sixty-three killed, and about forty wounded. General Wayne's wound in the head, believed at first to be mortal, proved but slight. The garrison had twenty killed and seventy-four wounded, including six officers. Our troops captured five hundred and forty-three soldiers and officers, besides a considerable quantity of ordnance and military stores.