test of strength, courage, endurance,
for which they had left their homes. They might be poorly drilled,
ill-dressed, variously armed, yet these were fighting men.

It was at midnight when Morgan led us up the steep bluff, and out upon
the sandy road. We advanced silently, and in straggling column through
the darkness, passing the embers of camp-fires for several miles, the
recumbent soldiery of other commands sleeping on the ground. At Hopewell,
Washington was holding another council with his officers. As we swung
past we could perceive his tall figure standing in the glow of a fire,
and there arose from the lips of our men a sudden, involuntary cheer,
breaking strangely upon the solemn silence of the night. The group about
him were startled and looked about, and he paused a moment shading his
eyes.

"What troops are those?" he asked, his voice cutting across the distance.
A hundred answered him:

"Morgan's riflemen!"

"Good, my lads!" and even at that distance I could see his face brighten.
"There will be work for you at dawn."

With a rolling cheer, echoing down our ranks from front to rear, we
answered, swinging the guns over our heads, as we swept forward into the
dark night. There might be discussion, dissension about that council
fire, but there was none in the hearts of those who were going out to
die. Already rumors were flying about regarding Lee's unwillingness to
engage in battle. I saw him as I trudged past, standing beside Wayne, the
firelight on his face, although his head was bowed. Even to our cheers he
never once glanced up, and, as we passed beyond the radius of light, I
laid my hand upon the mane of Morgan's horse.

"Is it true that Charles Lee thinks we should let Clinton go without
fighting?" I asked soberly. "That was rumored at the ferry."

"'T is true enough," he answered, his eyes upon the dark column of
plodding men. "And he seems to have others with him. I know not what has
put the coward into the fellows of late. Saint Andrew! the odds are no
greater than we have met before. But there'll be no fighting, lad, I
fear, unless Washington takes the bit in his teeth, and orders it. I'm
glad the boys cheered him; 'twill give the man new heart."

"You favor the joining of issue?"

"Why not? Were we ever in better fettle? A retreating army is always half
whipped, and we can choose our ground. Why, lad, 'tis reported Clinton's
line stretches out full twelve miles, with train of baggage-wagon